It was even bigger than the pilgrims said it was. Atleast the size of five conjoined manses and more, Cirin counted nine floors all situated with windows all the way to the angled roof. Despite this enormity, the manse itself was still of simple design as it could have just as well been a box with a singular roof arching down.

Azhar tapped Cirin on the shoulder and pointed to a large, dusted road a ways in front of the inn. Cirin stared it down well into the distance. It seemed to cut in right under where the sun would rise, sloping u pthe mountain path, and curving the hills beyond the rise.

“Look dere.” Started the man, “Dat be where da locusts fly by.”

“How can ya tell?” grunted Cirin.

“A part from looking at it fa days from a distance? I’d say from how da packs snakes seemed ta want ta go dere.”

Cirin gagged at the sight of both pack snakes slithering towards the other side of the road. There were more pack snakes there. Much more.

Then he noticed the crowds. He would have thought it impossible had he not seen the packed roads days prior. There were hundreds here. Most strayed from the main road, but everywhere else the travellers thrived.

While most of the snakes of companies took to the other side of the road, the members of those companies themselves packed the open lawn adjacent to the inn. A ten dozen stalls operated upon the larger regions of the lawn, and most formed orderly lines along it.

A well dressed man in night blue silks, approached them the moment they made to follow the snakes.

“Seven travellers and two snakes?” pipped the man, scribbling in his book.

“Ya, what of us?” entered Azhar.

“I’m here ta induct ya into da locust festival.” Chimed the man, “It be fairly swarmin dis year and I dun mean da bugs.”

Azhar formed a frown, “Right.”

The man cleared his throat and continued, “A wide variety of merchants have opened stalls in da appropriate areas dere,” He motioned to the lawn, “whereas we’ve designated spots fa pack snakes just across da road, dough it seems ya pack snakes have already gone dere demselves.”

“Why is dat?” asked Azhar.

“Dey smell free food Manama say.” Answered Manama.

“Da lady is quite right. Several of the more unfortunate locusts die here, at da base of da valley, so we sweep da remnants to da udda side of da road fa simplicity.” Smiled the man, “As fa ya residence, we only ask dat ya refrain from camping near our residence fa da remainder of dis festival, instead we have plenty of room ta accommodate ya.”

“Hadar!” called out a shrill voice, “Hadar, stop dis instant.” A plump woman ran out holding her dress as she did, “I know dat man.”

Azhar forced a smile and spread his arms a part, “Ya rememba me, Ferah?”

“Hadar.” Repeated the women once she reached the greeter, “Do not let dis man in my building.”

“Madam.”

Azhar stepped towards the woman. He spoke as she turned to him, “Ferah, I-”

Ferah nudged a finger at Azhar chest and tossed him a pair of eyes that spelt an immeasurable hatred. Cirin could not help glaring at this precarious women as she stilled a man twice her height., light skinned for an illivanmar with tied back locks,

Even then the voices of various festival goers echoed in the distance, the cries of merchants continued on, and the insufferable slithering of snakes made his ears curl.

“I know what ya did.” She hushed with ripe indignation. “I haven’t slept right since I heard dat awful rumor. Poor, poor Hannah.”

Azhar shook his head, “Ya have it wrong.”

“By da emperor’s breeches, I won’t believe da words of a muderuh.” She tossed her eyes about Azhar’s company, “I won’t stop any of ya from enterin’ my inn, but be advised dat dis man is not ta be trusted.”

She puffed through her nose, turned heel, and made back to the building.

Hadar fixed his collar and ran after the woman, “Madam? Madam!” he cried.

Cirin edged towards Azhar the moment the woman was gone, “Who’s Hannah?” He asked.

Azhar tossed him a quick look, then turned to Manama of all people. Manama shrugged and Azhar sighed.

“It be noting, mouse.” Azhar shoved his hands in his pockets and started towards the snakes, “Ya all heard her, I’m ta be da one exception to da rule so I’ll be making camp out here. Toftof, find a room fa us.” Azhar sat beside the nearest snake, “Make it enough rooms fa six.”

Cirin brushed by the inn door to a lobby that proved crawling with travellers. Between the snakes and azhar’s reluctance to shed light on what the woman said, Cirin had enough of the outdoors.

He glanced about the cavernous room, no Ferah in sight. The lobby had smooth granite flooring and had with it the statue of a woman with long hair and a man with two swords standing back to back. Cirin paced by this statue slowly as he continued his search. Despite the lavish interior, that statue seemed old and worn down.

The woman in the sculpture wore the same garb as Manama, a bundled multilayered thing. Her frozen hair even had beads laced within. The man besides her seemed of the stoic type, with both swords stowed behind him and mundane leather jerkin courting his chest.

He stared at the statue longer. The man’s chin was finely cut his nose, crooked and a scar that appeared to be a crack at first levied under his eyes. He turned to the woman. As opposed to the man, her face was unblemished, while her eyes… Cirin’s mouth went agape. Her eyes were kind.

A familiar touch on his shoulder made him snap back to reality. He relaxed his shoulder as Catherine came into view.

“You alright, Cirin? You just ran in here.” She started.

Cirin nodded, cuffing one hand with another, “A woman I neva saw befa just claimed my masta was a muderah. I got curious.” He admitted. “Where’s Sol?”

“With Toftof waiting outside. You honestly don’t think Azhar’s never killed before?” said Catherine.

“Of course he has.” Snipped Cirin. He lowered his head, “Just da way she said it. What awful rumah was she talkin about? And who is dis Hannah.”

“She was a good woman.” Entered Manama.

Cirin blinked her way, “You knew her?” he started.

Manama only smiled to that, “Dat old mon of ya’s, it be true he’s done some awful tings in da past. But dat be in da past, Cirin. Betta ta let what is buried feed da sand sprites den ta dig it back up. Tell me what ya tink of da old mon now? Do ya trust him?”

“Not a bit.” Smiled cirin, “Dough I trust him wit protectin da prince.”

Catherine pepped up to that as addressed Manama, “About that. Manama, I’ve been meaning to ask you something without Azhar here. It’s a bit of a gentle subject so would you mind talking in private?”

Cirin tossed his head between the two, “Private? Witout Azhar?” he coughed.

“I dun see da harm in it.” Shrugged Manama.

“Catherine, what is it mon?” pestered Cirin.

“I said, I wanted to discuss it in private.” Stressed Catherine.

Cirin lowered his head with his eyes levied at the girl, “I need to know.”

Catherine shook her head, “Look, I think I saw that women head into that bar over there,” She pointed to a door on the other end of the lobby, “go, I’ll come by shortly.”

Cirin stood his ground, “I won’t leave.”

Manama laughed to that, “Ya dun have to. Rememba what we discussed yestaday, Cirin?”

“Ya wouldn’t.” He started as he realised what she meant.

Manama made her way to the nearest bench and sat down on it. Then she held up a palm in half prayer, “Catherine, my girl?”

Catherine nodded as soon as she got there, mimicking her action on the other side of the bench, “I consent.” She murmured.

“Catherine!” blurted Cirin. He slumped when he realised it was too late. Both women were now engrossed in a sleep like state. They were in the clever man’s council.

Sleepily, he tossed his head to his last reasonable resort. The entrance to the bar floated in the center of his sights.

A decrepit thing, that bar. There was nary a dozen patrons the moment he walked in. Most of the dozen men were seated at the round tables on one end while three of them sat on stools by the counter. As it was in the lobby, the people here were as varied as ever. Among the three men seated by the stool, there was a tall wild haired swordsman downing what seemed his tenth glass, besides him a nervous and red faced old man glicking his white whiskers as he contemplated another cup. And there, on the far end sat one more man different from all the rest. He had pale white skin, long black hair, and piercing green eyes. A felian. One dressed as well as a noble with a peculiar black piercing on his left ear. Two burly men leaned side by side upon the wall nearest to the felian. Cirin flicked his eyes from bar goer to bar goer. Despite what Catherine claimed to have seen, the woman, Ferah, was not there.

Taba brushed passed him as he turned to exit.

“Degenerate.” She greeted him.

“What do ya want?” sighed Cirin.

Taba took her time to respond. He could see her brows narrowed at him, but her eyes kept tossing about. She bit her lip.

“I’m leaving.” Waved Cirin.

“Can we postpone da duel?” shot Taba.

Cirin’s head snapped towards her. He felt the slightest hint of pleasure as a grin itched on his mug. She was afraid of him. The very sands had blown passed what he could only assume before. Her strange presence around him, the way she talked to others when he wasn’t around, and most importantly that face she made at him. It was fear. A devious plot coagulated in his mind. He made a show to cover that face with one hand while his other supported his elbow. In that moment he realised he stood to gain from, so he wagered a bluff.

“Considerin ya most certain ta lose ta me, what will I stand ta gain by postponin’?”

Taba frowned and puffed, “Isn’t it punishment enough dat I need ask a peasant, as well as a degenerate about dis? Fine. How about a change of conditions?”

“Go on.” Urged Cirin.

“If I win, you need not leave, radda, I get ta stay witout da uddas finding out about me.”

“And if I win?”

“I leave. Fa good.” She hushed solemnly.

Cirin lowered his arm. His eyes expanded. For once he was winning, yet it wasn’t the feeling of satiating victory he’d imagined. It was bittersweet. The more he tasted it was even more sour. He’d earned her fear, but at the cost of a duel with unfair ends. He had nothing to gain, while she had everything to lose. Cirin shook his head. When had losing Taba been nothing to gain?

He levied his ruby reds to her glimmering golds, “Alright, but if we do dis, I suggest da duel be postponed till afta we leave da desert.”

That queued something he had never seen of the girl, at the very least not directed towards him. A smile. That smile faded as she regained her composure, “Dat seems ta be a fair compromise, fa a boorish brigand.” She nodded, “On da outskirts of da bazaar den?”

“Easier ta leave witout getting noticed.” Added Cirin. No matter how sour it felt, he still had no intention of losing.

The bar door creaked open and both children moved out of the way of it by instinct, yet the moment newest patron of the bar showed himself, both Taba and Cirin could only gawk.

“So-Sol?” gasped Cirin.

“Cirin!” cried the boy.

Cirin’s ear twitched. The nearest stool had scraped the ground and with it, a chorus of steps followed.

One pai,r light and measured, while the other two spoke of a heavy bearing. Cirin’s eyes balanced on the approaching trio, his ears had not failed him.

He postured himself in front of the prince instinctively, but not quick enough. The main man of the trio, a lanky fellow, had already gotten to him. The felian leaned down towards Cirin, his black hairs dangling as he spoke.

“Move aside wretch.” Spat the man.

Cirin tilted his head. The man was smiling.

Before he could reach for his blades, the man’s two associates stepped close and held their own at both Cirin’s throat and Taba’s. The tips of those sabres pricked the skin of Cirin’s neck. He couldn’t so much as swallow with the blades so near. He tossed his eyes at Taba and found her in a similar position. Then and only then, did his quivering ruby specs fall upon the boy. As did the felian’s.

“What are the odds I’d find you here?” started the man. He brushed passed Cirin and made for the boy.

Cirin struggled to speak without moving his throat, “R-r-run.” He managed.

“and why would he do that?” Interjected the man. He turned his emerald eyes on the boy, “Do you remember me, Sol? Surely you haven’t forgotten you’re brother.”

“Nero.” Quivered the boy.

“In the flesh dearest borther!” applauded the prince. He took another step towards Sol, and then without so much as a word, he grasped the boy by the collar and flung him to the side wall where his two bodyguards had just been leaning.

Cirin shivered where he stood. He had half the mind to grasp the blade with one hand and run the felian through with the other.

“Restrain them.” Instructed Nero before Cirin could enact his plan, “especially the girl.”

Cirin realised that Taba had in fact tried to retaliate as well. Her hands were positioned to snap when the man grasped those hands and held it above her. Cirin’s own captor did the same. Soon, both Cirin and Taba were both pressed against the wall.

Cirin could only watch as Nero swaggered towards Sol speaking all the while.

“Your place as one the three is the only thing keeping you alive, brother. Oh but you’ve already killed mother dearest haven’t you? Not that I ever cared for the wretch. Are you still alive by the way?”

Sol gagged and managed to sit up.

Nero smiled to that, finishing the last of his steps to the prince, “Looks to me that life with the sand savages has made you resilient.”

Nero shoved his hands in his ornate pockets. “Care if I test it?” He kicked Sol in the chest.

“No!” barked Cirin.

Nero picked the boy up once more and slapped him across the face, “Talk back, will you? This is supposed to be a reunion.”

Sol kept silent, choosing only to blink meekly, so Nero batted the boy again, only this time with back of his hand.

Nero scratched his face, “I’ve also heard that you’ve been quite the popular royal lately. What was it? Three attempts on your life the last two months alone? Why, if I wanted to, I could kill you now. Wouldn’t take a lot to hide it. Unfortunate accident.” He waved his free hand in gesture, “That sort of thing. Father would even reward me. This country would reward me! The fact that no-one in this bar is acting to defend you is proof of that.”

Nero glanced about himself as did Cirin. Almost all of the patrons had noticed the commotion, but had since looked away. The only man Cirin was sure had not noticed was the lone swordsman now drinking to his heart’s content.

“See? So how about it, dear brother? Would you die for me?”

The door creaked. Steps echoed and with it a gasp that could only belong to one person.

The tone of Catherine’s voice spelled out her shock. “Cirin? Taba?” a flick of the neck, “By the gods! Sol?”

Nero dropped Sol the moment he saw the girl, “A beauty to be sure. Nay! A gem in succulent flesh.” He took steps towards her, “Do you have a name, my girl?”

Catherine rushed passed him to Sol’s side.

Nero turned heel, his unblemished mug a distort of disgust, “Gah! What do you see in him, that you do not in me?”

“Sol? Dear gods, Sol? Are you alright? Hold on, I’ll get you to Toftof.”

“t-th-the others.” Coughed sol, meekly pointing at Taba and Cirin.

Catherine’s eyes expanded when she saw them, “Fiends! Unhand them!” She stood with her back immaculately straight. She levied one hand at the burly men, the tips of her fingers glimmering with light.

Nero stepped in the way and the light in Catherine’s fingertips vanished abruptly. She glanced at her own hands. Her face had become a flush with confusion.

“Galokin magic? I must be the luckiest prince alive.”

“how?” started Catherine.

The prince let out a telling laugh and tapped his earing, “This earing. With it, I’m immune to the magic of Galokin, darling, as is my elder brother and the king of our great country.” He edged closer to Catherine, “Now shall I escort you to my bed chambers?”

Catherine looked from one hand to the other and held both of them up as Toftof would have.

“I may not have magic, but I’ll fight you and your goons anyday.” She dared.

“That’s cute.” Humored the prince. He shot one hand in the air and snapped it, “One of you, kill the child you’re holding and restrain this girl.”

The burly man holding Cirin nodded to his compatriot and freed one of his hand to reach his blade.

“What?” gawked Cirin at his mustached captor, “You’re killing me instead of her?”

“Well, I am a girl you twat.” Snapped Taba.

Cirin reared his eyes to his captor, “Is that really your reason?”

The man grunted and shrugged.

“Cirin!” cried Catherine, stuck between Sol and Nero.

Cirin narrowed his eyes. There had to be a way. He realised it the moment he saw Taba’s reflection on his assailant’s blade.

“Wait! I know someting dat might interest ya.”

The burly man held his blade.

“Speak.” He grunted in baritone.

Nero dodged the first of Catherine’s punches .“What are you doing you fool, kill him!” ordered the prince.

“Well.” Started Cirin, “Da girl next ta me? She can destroy da towas.”

“Shut up!” screamed Taba. “Da isn’t true!”

“See? She be denying it sa it must be true. I hear da emperor pays good money for dat.” Wagered Cirin, “But only if ya hear me out. Consent, and I’ll tell ya personally.”

“Why should I believe some kid?” chuckled the man.

“Maybe he be tellin da truth mon.” shrugged the other captor, “I heard a couple black necks boastin bout deir pays in a bar back in Benka.”

“Still.”

“Alright, dun believe me den. Kill me as any good dog of a foreign prince would do, gain ya pay same as always, but dun be regretting dis one chance ya may have had to be something mo.”

“Something mo?” echoed the man.

“Something bigga.” Enticed Cirin.

Just when he thought his ploy had worked, another stool scrapped out. Then quick steps and a thud so quick he would have missed it if he were speaking. Cirin’s captor swayed a little infront of him, then abruptly let go of the boy and fell backwards. Taba’s captor did the same.

A single man, sheathing his blade with his back to the children stood ahead of them. Cirin blinked. It was the drunk swordsman, wild haired and badly dressed.

“Oi, prinsh of whateva kingdom ya from. Let da girl go.” Slurred the man. He swayed to the side revealing his uncouth face to the Cirin. From there, the man winked slyly at Catherine, possibly even the prince.

Cirin reached for his blades, but the man steadied him with one hand held up.

“Do not speak to me in that way you sand knave, my stature is much higher than you or your emperor will ever be born into.” The prince balanced his eyes on the man’s sword hand once the drunkard reached for his blade, “If you even draw that blade, I can have you executed.”

The man rose his arms to that as if he had given up. “Sorry, sorry.” he started as he swayed towards the prince, “den how aobut we discuss dis, eh? Good and propah, eh?”

Nero fixed his coat, “Clearly you have proven yourself above my current help. How about you work for me. At the moment, you seem to be against to my advances towards this girl, which I cannot fathom why. But I’m sure with a little monetary convincing, you’ll changed your mind just as quick.”

The drunk produced a fool’s smiles and gestured the prince to come closer with a finger.

The prince tossed that same smile back at Catherine and approached the drunk, his hand already reaching into his coat pocket.

The prince had his eyes on Catherine all the while, who had since abandoned her defence to care for Sol.

“I see you are a reasonable man, mister…?”

“Sank.” Said the man as stepped ever closer.

“Mister Sank. Though we can discuss your payments on a later date, for now I’ll pay you five-”

Catherine narrowly managed to whisk Sol away as Nero’s disgruntled body slammed against the wall.

“You- you Creton!” swore Nero, as he stood up, “I’ll have you strung! I’ll have you burned and butchered! I’ll have you… I’ll…”

Nero voice degenerated into a matter of ahs and ums while his eyes trailed to the man who stood above him, towering.

That man picked the prince up by his collar.

“I came here ta drinksh and relash, but next tign I know dere be damned children held againsht walls and women being harrashed by snoty princesh. Ya know what I mean?” he blurted at the prince.

“Unhand me.” Roared Nero.

“Get ya pampered tailcoats out of my bar.”

“But this lovely lady-”

“NOW.”

Nero audibly gulped. “Yes, sir.” He nodded.

Sank dropped the man and watched him with the corner of his eyes as the once proud prince crawled away from him and bumbled out the bar. Cirin and Taba ran to Sol.

Sank cracked his knuckles and burped loudly. He swayed a little and barely managed to catch himself on the wall.

“Oi, girl.” He said, swaying his head to Catherine, “Ish dat shrimp alright?”

Catherine nodded, “He’s breathing. A couple bruises, but otherwise ok. Thank you.”

Sank motioned his hand to the barkeep, “I tink I’ve had enough ta drink, give my bill to dis girl.” His slow eyes drifted to Catherine, “I dun work fa free ya know.”

After that Sank waddled to the door and left it, stopping briefly to let someone else pass by him.

“Spirits! Is he-he…?”

“He’s alive, Toftof.” Said Catherine, addressing the man, “Where, by the gods, were you?”

“We split up searchin fa him rememba? Let me see to him.”

Catherine and others got out of the way as Toftof hoisted the boy up, feeling his chest. “Spirits. Spirits. Spirits! He’s got a few broken ribs, a couple of bruises,” He held Sol’s head down, “Some bleeding on da head. What happened?”

“His brudda happened. Do one named Nero.” Entered Taba.

“Brudda? Spirits.” Cursed Toftof for the hundredth time, “First da princess, now Nero? Just how many of Galokin’s royalty are is dis country?”

Catherine caught Toftof’s eyes, “You don’t think this is related to the attack at Gin? That Nero’s the one behind it?” she postured.

“It could be.” Sighed Toftof, dressing the last of Sol’s wounds with tattered scraps from his shirt.

Again the door creaked open. Manama and Azhar entered together.

“Old mon.”

“Cirin. Taba.” His eyes snapped to Sol. “Who did dis?” he said stoutly.

“No one we can go afta, I’m afraid.” Said Toftof, “Ya familiar wit da prince Nero?”

Azhar slammed the nearest wall with his fist, prompting glances from the patrons.

“are we safe anywhere?” he questioned aloud.

“Sir? Sir!” Hadar’s voice beat his steps to the door, “You are ta vacate dis building, immediate- oh my.” Hadar stopped short of the Toftof caring for an injured Sol. “Oh. Madam, ya mustn’t come here.”

That redirected Cirin’s attention to the woman from before, only now standing at the base of a shaded set of stair he had missed earlier. Cirin craned hs head. It was on the other end of the bar counter, hidden behind a collection of drinks.

“I had heard what I could’ve only described as a brawl coming from da bar.” She started calmly, “why am I not surprised dat it you, Azhar, dat was behind it.”

“He wasn’t, Madam.” Corrected the bar keep, “Da foreign prince who had been staying here was da culprit.”

“Nero?”

“He assaulted da boy dere and insinuated da girl beside him ta bed wit da bastard.” The barkeep lowered his head, “excuse my language.”

“No. you’re right. Nero was a bastard.” Conceded Ferah, “And which one of you shall I tank fa removing dat blight?”

“Dat man is gone as well, madam.”

Ferah nodded to herself, “Well.” She started, clasping her hands, “What are ya lot waiting fa? Come wit me. I can’t have a guest beaten in my inn witout compensation.”

Toftof hoisted the boy on his shoulders and one by one the company made after Ferah.

“Ferah, I need ta talk ta ya.” Said Azhar.

Ferah paused and sighed, “I still dun trust ya, but considerin’ what happened to dat poor boy ya be caring fa, I suppose I owe ya dat much.” She gestured her head at Azhar to follow her. “Prepare yaselves. We be going up nine flights.”

Ferah rarely talked as she guided them up. Though, Cirin imagined, she would have gotten little responses if she tried. All eyes, even those of Sol’s carrier, were focussed on the beaten boy. Catherine tried her best to keep him awake with her notorious ability to chatter, whilst Manama and Azhar formed held the flanks in check. It seemed they left nothing to chance on the matter. Cirin followed helplessly. His gaze remained fixated on the stairs when he wasn’t gawking at Sol. His hands were useless. He could only ball them. It was Gin all over again. Perhaps even Ezmir. Perhaps even Lamanori.

One day he would fail again. One day that failure could mean Sol’s life.

Cirin was nigh quivering when the pummel of feet surrendered.

“We’re here.” Noted Taba.

Cirin looked to her. Her face was unmoved. Her golden eyes plastered directly in front of her. He wondered what went on in her mind when she saw what he did. If it truly had bothered her, then she was a master of hiding it. Cirin scowled her away, tossing his narrowed gaze at Sol.

Azhar’s hand met Cirin’s shoulder, “Oi, mouse.” Started the man, “I gadered what happened from Catherine. Ya didn’t fail. Ya were just caught off guard. No matta how strong da swordsman he be still a man. Dun forget dat.”

“Old mon.” Cirin sniffed and wipe his brow. He nodded curtly.

Azhar let go and made for Ferah. He glanced about himself and Cirin found himself doing the same. At first glance, it was a maze of hallways, with a door in the wall at even distance. From how apart each door was from another, it was clear that these rooms were of no small dimension.

Even the crisp velvet carpet and the light golden walls assured that this was no regular inn.

“Is dis where we stay?” queried Azhar.

Ferah produced a ring with nearly a hundred keys jiggling on it, “It’s normally reserved fa visitin’ nobility but eva since dat Nero showed his face, all nobility has wondered off. Wit him gone to, dis floor should be completely empty.” She tossed her mossy eyes to Azhar, “Dis entire floor be yours.”

“I appreciate it.” Said Azhar.

“I dun need ya to.” Quipped the woman. She nudged her head at the others, “go, take whateva room ya see fit. Dey be unlocked. Da only room dat is locked however.” She returned her weary eyes to the man who gave warrant for them to be weary, “Dat is my room. We talk dere, come.”

Azhar followed her as she bode him to the far end of their immediate hall.

“Cirin?” croaked the prince.

“Ah ya be awake, Sol?” smiled Cirin.

“Can we… Can we explore?” coughed the prince.

“Ya be too weak, my prince.” Warned Toftof.

“Not wit such a trusted mule carrying him.” Laughed Manama.

“Oi-”

“How about we go down dere den?” started Cirin, “I bet every room be different.”

“If it involves nobles, I imagine it is.” Agreed Catherine. “Taba?”

Taba glanced over her shoulder from the hallway she was heading into, “I’ll explore on my own.” She said.

“No. I’ll go with you.” urged Catherine.

Taba smiled as the older girl jogged to meet her, “I’d like that.” She beamed.

Cirin pointed directly opposite to where Taba was heading, “We go dis way.” He commanded.

“Heh. He looks like Azhar and ordahs like him to.” snarked Toftof.

Manama swaggered forwards, laughing at the inclination, “Manama say he’s learned mo dan just fightin from da man. One need only look at his hair.”

Cirin scowled at her but not so much as to dismiss her company. Cirin lowered his head, if this really was Nero’s former lodgings then he’d rather not explore them alone. After all, Manama was much more capable than she let on.

Thankfully, his fears remained unfounded as all of the rooms and the hallways proved deserted. The rooms themselves were a thing of wonder. Nearly all were triple the size of an ordinary room and each happened to distinct on its own. The first of the rooms Cirin’s poked into wagered a bar in it’s corner and a miniature pool in the other. Another room seemed no more than a fully cushioned lounge with unhealthy amount of liquors piled in a singular middle table. Yet another boasted a magnificent palisade with a beautifully crafted bramble hosting a corner of its own. Cirin stumbled into this one with a face just short of awe and splendor. The middle of this room had its own boxed rotunda with a skylight pouring into the already verdant greens of the bramble. The room was scented to. It smelle d of lavender and honey.

“I’ll stay here.” Declared Cirin.

“Me too!” joined in Sol.

Toftof laughed with a smile on his face and his eyes upturned to the boy on his back, “any one of dese rooms be big enough fa all of us, so ya can count me as a room mate.”

Manama leaned against one of the archways of the rotunda, “Perhaps it be best if all of us stay here. Fa security.” She postured.

For once Toftof nodded agreeingly at the woman, “Betta get Azhar knowing of dis, lest we have da poor sop wonda around.”

“I’ll go.” Volunteered Cirin.

“Den I’ll find Taba and Caterine.” Entered Manama.

With their tasks assigned Cirin left, stopping only to bid the prince adieu.

“I’ll be right back. Promise.” He uttered.

Sol smiled at him weakly. Toftof had let him down by one of the lounge couches by the wall. The man had already begun tending to the boy’s wounds.

Toftof bounced in front of the prince, “Dun worry. If dat Nero shows up, I’ll pommel him twice as hard as he did da prince.”

Cirin pushed open the door, finding it nigh impossible to drag his eyes off the prince. He took a deep breath. If Nero reared his muzzle once more, Cirin would’ve done much worse than just pommel the lout.

Cirin brushed passed the ornate woodwork. His brows contorted and his head throbbed. He wanted the man dead.

The walk back to the stair well was a quick one. His pace played a steady tempo as he raced himself to the stair well, yet little by little that near perfect beat tapered silent. He could hear voices. Voices that got louder as he edged towards them by instinct.

The first muffled voice was shrill, a woman’s. Once he got closer, he recognized it to be Farah’s “So, you’re ta tell me ya dat not only did Hannah die by her own hands, but da reason why… da boy ya be escortin be wanted dead?”

Cirin balled his hands. “Sol.” He whispered aloud.

“I’m not da only one escorting him. Da fortune tella and da sandrat be escorting him too.” Answered Azhar, “Dat boy be da only reason dey here.”

“Incredible.” Hushed Ferah.

“Not incredible. Unfortunate.” Snapped Azhar, “He was safe in Lamanori, but eva since dis all happened he’s been in constant dangah.”

“Eva since da first assasination attempts ya mean?”

There was no answer, but Cirin was sure the man had nodded.

“Every day I tink dere be less and less of a place ta go dat be safe.” Sighed Azhar.

“Dere is one place.” Pointed out Ferah, “Da Bazaar.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Tink about it ya big oaf, out of all da free cities dat one has da most capable fightahs in all Illivanmar. I mean, you, Jafna, and Etro all came from dere and ya be da best around!”

“humpf.” Puffed Azhar, “Not da best. Dat man be betta dan all of us.”

“Hyrin?”

“Aye, I ran inta him a couple months ago at Ezmir. He hasn’t changed, Ferah. Da same as always. Dough a little different somehow as if-”

“As if he means it dis time? Dat man will destroy dis country if ya let him. ” sneered Ferah, “You and ya friends were kind to me and Sen simply cause ya wanted ta do da right ting. Dat man, however, wanted only ta help wit da hopes of getting Sen on his side latah on. If it wasn’t fa ya convincing him uddawise, Sen may have neva decided ta stay here wit me.”

A silence intruded upon the mention of ‘Sen’.

“I’m sorry ta hear about Sen by da way.”

Ferah’s laugh revealed a hint of her age, “It’s been twenty years, Azhar. Twenty good years wit da man I loved. I regret noting about dose couple decades, and I tank da spirits every day fa letting me have him. Da point is, Hyrin almost took dat away from me. Ya stopped him. And yet I tought none of dat mattah’d when I heard ya killed ya sistah.”

Cirin flinched.

Ferah soldiered on, “I was sa busy wit dis business I didn’t stop ta find ya and confirm it myself. Fa dat I’m da one dats sorry.”

“Ya believe me den?”

“Ya not da kind ta lie, Azhar. I should’ve known betta befa overreactin’. ”

“Ferah.” Started the man, “I don’t intend ta stay here long. It neva bodes well when we do.”

“I didn’t tink ya would. Dough I couldn’t have ya leavin less ya can assure me ya be heading ta da bazaar.”

Azhar’s sigh was a telling one, “Ya dun get it. If YOU reacted da way ya did ta dat rumor, how ya tink my folks will? Dey may well be alive ova dere.”

“Tell dem da truth and dey will undastand. Radda, show dem da truth.”

Azhar’s voice had become laden with breaths, “I suppose, I’ll tink about it.” Said Azhar.

“Does he know?”

Silence then Ferah’s infuriated sigh.

“Ya bickering idiot, when ya gonna tell him, eh?”

The sound of chairs scrapping warned Cirin to escape. As he did, he heard Azhar fading voice, “When he’s old enough.” Echoed the man.

Cirin ran up to a little ways by the stairs, then turned and made it look as if he had been casually strolling to where Azhar had gone.

The door to Ferah’s room swept open as Cirin finalized this act.

“Mouse?” questioned Azhar, “How long ya been here?”

Cirin played it off, directing the man with his chin over his shoulder, “Just got here, old mon. Toftof sent me ta fetch ya, said we best be staying in da same room.”

“Wise choice.” Remarked Ferah. She had her eyes glued on Cirin. She had those spec narrowed, giving them a curious distinction. “I’ll post two inn guards fa ya security. Azhar.” She said turning to the man and nodding.

Azhar nodded back, with one hand pressed against the other in a bowing motion.

“Let’s go, mouse.” He ordered, “We be leaving tommorah by da way.”

Cirin rolled his eyes. A sly act.

“Old mon!”

“No refusing, else I’ll have ta leave ya behind.”

Cirin returned to the warm reception of his companions and the sour realization that Taba had claimed the best bed in the room. Cirin put on a show of clear protest to Azhar to the atrocious act, despite his clear inclinations to it when they first discovered the place. Of course, Toftof had never been a reliable source so Cirin had to opt for the second best bed. That night, he cursed both Toftof and Taba and drifted into a sleep full of pommeling evil princes and exploring room larger than life.

In the midst of that slumber, he was awoken by an over ecstatic Catherine who demanded he go to the inn window.

So he did, rubbing his eyes all the while he arrived at the frosted window. There he wiped it lazily and came to gawk at a golden river of locusts flowing by the inn side. The locusts not only hugged the roadside, but also spanned all the way to their very floor.

It was magnificent. Flickering, swarming, a constant glimmer. As if the very stars fell from the heavens and raced towards it once again. Afterwards Cirin could hardly tell if that was a dream as well.