What began as an exclusive practice by trained professionals has been modernized to a simple test. Lo, for I remember the days of old, in which the man who performed the trial of blood was a revered gentlemen of the court! Now, it is a practice performed by any wandering alchemist. Surely this explains the false security befalling us all...

The shop was some kind of herbal storehouse, with a variety of plants hanging from the shelves with pots beneath them. Icara and Gwindon sat at a small wooden table hidden away in a corner near the back, the heat and humidity of the building bearing down on them. Neither was terribly off put by the environment itself, but the pretense for its arrival had them sweating.

“I do hope you both won’t mind if I chose a tea of my own liking. Given your appearances, I cannot say for sure I’d have what you like in store,” the man called from a room in the back.

Icara hit her fist against the table and grit her teeth, leaning forward with a snarl. “What’re we even doing here?!” she hissed at him. “If he’s going to turn me in, he should’ve done it already, why bother toying with us?”

“What I want to know is why I got dragged into all of this...” Gwindon muttered in response while the chair creaked as he leaned back.

“Because you seem to be attached to me for some reason,” Icara said as she kicked his shin.

She winced and retracted her foot, the metal plate on his leg having hurt her toe more than she intended. Gwindon rolled his eyes at her minor fit and watched as the mysterious stranger returned with three cups of tea balanced on a tray. He set one down in front of each of them before taking a seat of his own. Gwindon lifted his up and took a slow sip, watching Icara out of the corner of his eye. She was far less graceful, and lifted the cup to inspect its bottom before setting it back down.

“There’s poison in this, isn’t there?”

The man put a finger to his chin and tapped it in thought. “Maybe?”

Gwindon set his cup down and pushed it away before he leaned forward. He tried to stare down the stranger, but whenever their eyes met, he shut it down with a large smile. He gave up on intimidation and tried to smile back, but the man had already shifted his attention to Icara.

“You know, it’s quite strange to me that someone of your stature hasn’t exchanged names yet. I thought it was common for genuine royals to get etiquette training these days.”

“If you’re going to try and push that lying filth Koshchei’s rumor that I’m just an imposter, you can forget it.” Icara said and rested an arm on the table. “When you’re hunted, you don’t exactly keep up appearances.”

The man lifted his own tea and took a sip. “Which is another matter of contention, you do seem to have the eyes of someone befitting the rank of princess. I’m a man of science, so I’m not willing to take information for granted right away. Why do you have those eyes?”

“Because I AM Icara Valarus!” She shouted, slamming her hands on the table and shooting upright.

He looked up at her and winked with his right eye, giving Icara pause. The man chuckled before she could fully register his action, and he gestured for her to resume sitting.

“Very well then, let’s continue from there. You may call me Cherno Cantrips.” He said and nodded his head towards Gwindon. “And you?”

“Gwindon.”

Both Icara and Cherno turned to each other and waited for him to continue, but nothing followed it. Gwindon rubbed the back of his head before he explained further.

“I abandoned my family name, alright?”

“Odd behavior for a supposed knight...” Icara said, looking up to hide her smirk.

“If you’re implying I was disgraced, you’re wrong. I kept my honor to the end of my kingdom. My home was destroyed by a monster while I was away. Can’t exactly carry a name that’s been marred with blood.”

He stared down into the cup before him with a stony expression. Icara lost her grin and leaned forward as well, mimicking his actions. Her own cup was still close enough for the steam to wash over her face. The scent had hints of apples in it, the sour kind, and made her smile nostalgically. Cherno clapped his hands and both of them were brought out of their memory trips.

“Well then, you certainly seem to be genuine people. What are you goals for being in this city?”

“Why would I tell you that?” Icara countered, taking a drink from the tea.

Cherno waited for her to place the cup down before folding his hands. “So I’ll give you the antidote, obviously.”

Gwindon and Icara froze in place at what he told them. They looked into their cups with confusion for a moment as it sunk in. Icara acted first and launched over the table before she grabbed the collar of his robe. She smashed him against the floor and tried to continue the assault, only stopped by Gwindon holding her back. Cherno pushed himself up on his elbows and rubbed his head, laughing with a small wince.

“You cannot say I didn’t warn you,” he said with another wink to the struggling duo. “Don’t think I’m doing this to turn you in or anything. Money is far from my mind in this instance, in fact, but I want information. The last time we met you refused to give anything of the sort, and slipped away without telling me anything. I could hardly pass the opportunity this time, could I?”

“Did you really have to jump to poisoning?” Gwindon asked.

“I believe you’ve met the young lady? This is just about the only way I could actually get anything more than non-answers from her.”

The both of them stopped fighting and Gwindon looked away to hide his nod of agreement. Icara growled in fury before folding her arms and glaring down at Cherno.

“Fine then, get on with your questions before I show you how much noble etiquette I’ve got.”

“None, would be my assumption.” Gwindon said, which earned him a smack to his chestplate.

Cherno shifted to a sitting position on his knees and looked up at both of them. “I believe I’ve already asked the first one. Why are you both here in Alastair’s heart?”

“Because this is my home,” Icara answered as she stared daggers at the alchemist.

“Hm, a fine answer if it weren’t for your extreme circumstances. Homesickness is usually weaker than one’s sense of self-preservation, you know. I believe I can take a guess at your real purpose, but let’s hear your friend’s response first.”

Gwindon shifted awkwardly in his footing. “I’ve resigned myself to wandering for the most part, but... I’d heard that one of the conscripted mercenaries is from my homeland. More than that, I think it might’ve been someone I fought with. I want to find out if it’s true and meet them. To make sure the monster didn’t claim the whole of the life I had before.”

Both of them were taken aback by the knight’s actions once again. Icara lowered her hostile stance for a moment and reached a hand out to his arm. The moment it touched, he snapped his gaze to her with a cold determination. It was a silent acknowledgement of her pity, and an open rejection of it. She retracted the touch and firmly nodded before she looked back at Cherno. He had watched the exchange with rapt attention, and gave another wink of his right eye as he stood up.

“Now that is something I can believe. He spoke not only with conviction, but without hostility. Icara, why don’t you try and take another try?”

“You want me to try beating the antidote out of you?” Icara growled at him.

“Fine, then I shall guess myself,” he said as he dusted off his backside and moved closer. “Despite your claim of home here, you spoke in rather vague terms. You didn’t say ‘this country’ or ‘this city’ you spoke as if they were all apart of what you considered your home. Going by reports of some mercenaries and other... choice profilers, you’ve been on the run for quite some time. Carving a path where needed, and running like a whisper through the ones who put up no fight. That would mean you’d have been on the run for about a decade. Correct so far?”

“H-How did you—?” Her eyes widened as he spoke.

Cherno lifted a finger to her lips as his eyes lit up like emeralds in sunlight. “What I can tell from this is that you are looking to lay low, but not above performing violence. At least, that is what I would have claimed until your actions within this city. You seem to have gotten into two fights so far, an unusual characteristic for someone on the run, but lending credence to your claim of homesickness. The most odd thing is that you make no effort to conceal your own actions, a trait claimed as clumsiness by your trackers. But you’re smarter than that aren’t you? You knew better than to drink tea from a stranger at first in any case, so I’m waging that your actual intent is to make your name solidified in this area. Why? Why would you bother with something so counterproductive when you’re so good at surviving? What made you drink that tea?”

His eyes consumed everything in the room around her. The melodic tones twisted into a heartstring song that muffled her ears to anything but the beating of her own heart. Cherno’s expression had also turned from distant to focused. His very essence poured over her like a flood and washed away the anger she had. Icara tried to take a step back, but Cherno caught her by the wrist tight. Sweat began to rise from her temples as he asked why and she squeezed her eyes shut.

“Shut up!” She shouted and flung herself backwards into a wall, covering her torso as if awaiting a sword strike.

Cherno broke the intensity for a moment and flashed a wicked grin.

“Ah, forgive me. I often get caught up in the moment of such things, and can tend to overwhelm others with a lot of nonsense. Perhaps I should rephrase again, and offer you a more simple out to this interrogation...” he paused to let her relax. “What are you doing in this city, Icara?”

Icara swallowed hard and looked up at Gwindon. He looked between the two, showing that Cherno’s intensity had truly been zeroed in on her alone. After collecting herself, she relaxed back a little and looked away from him. With her eyes closed, she took a deep breath to speak, inhaling the mint flavor of the store.

“I’m here... for revenge. On the man who murdered my parents and sent me away as a child. Is that a good enough answer for you?”

Cherno nodded and straightened out his back, lessening the grin into the same smile as before. Only his eyes betrayed the fire he had shown just moments before.

“More than enough. You’ve told me a great deal with such little information, but I think I’ll have to cross reference a few more things before I can fully understand the situation. Given you’ve been so... helpful, is there anything you’d like to know about me?”

Icara stood back up and puffed out her chest. “I’d like to know what a man like you wants to know that stuff for? Anything I should be worried about?”

“As I told you before, I just want information on your matters. Like it or not, the amount of money on your head has caused quite a stir in the whole of the kingdom. Especially since this country isn’t in a position to be tossing ludicrous funds for random vagabonds, no matter how large their body count.” Cherno explained with a dismissive roll of his hand.

“It was an oddly massive sum, I just figured she stole something from a fellow noble...” Gwindon muttered to himself. “Hey wait, how high is her body count?”

“Oh, you mean she hasn’t...?” Cherno began, but looked to Icara’s snarling expression and chuckled to soothe her. “Nevermind, I’m sure a knight can understand self defence.”

Gwindon narrowed his eyes between the both of them but remained silent.

“Anyway,” Icara cut in. “What exactly do you mean not in a position? Alastair isn’t the largest kingdom, but it was never a poor one when I was a child.”

“Well the great expanse of the nation certainly brought a toll on the land, but not a non refundable one. You can’t expect to have appropriated 11 whole territories through diplomacy without a great deal of money exchange after all. Especially since Koshchei—”

“Koshchei?!” Icara burst out as she balled her fists in an instant and dashed towards Cherno. “That scoundrel is still anywhere near power?! Who would even listen to that monster...” she spat out.

“Who wouldn’t? A country follows the lead of her king,” Gwindon interjected, raising an eyebrow.

Icara turned back to the knight and shocked him once more. Her face was pale and frozen, as if the words had punched a hole in her gut. She stumbled back from them and her eyes sprung to life first. They dashed over the floorboards in a panic as she muttered things to herself.

“No, no, no... I knew they had crowned someone but not him... why him...?!”

“So you do have something related to the king?” Cherno asked, a smirk puncturing the calm demeanor. “Is he the person you’re so afraid of?”

Icara had clasped her hands over her face as Cherno spoke. Only after a brief pause did she pull them back to reveal a face full of color again. It was red with rage, the bright halos of her eyes burning back at him. He lost his smirk in the intensity, but she refused to relent as she bounded forward and grabbed him by the collar. Her breath was slow and determined as she lifted him off the ground and closer to her face.

“Afraid?! I hate him! He’s the man who ruined my life all those years ago!” She fumed, letting Cherno drop to the floor. “He’s the man I came back here to murder!”

The fury in her voice left the second the plan was outed. She covered her mouth too late. Both the men looked at her in awe for the threat, but Cherno was the one to first regain composure. He stood up, watching Icara’s paranoid gaze settle on him, and moves as slowly as he could as not to alert her.

“Steady your mind, you’re panicking right now and probably planning something irrational, like trying to run out of the shop,” he waited until she glared at him to confirm the idea. “Well don’t. For one thing, there’s still the mercenary bands outside that’d be too much to deal with in public like this. You’d make too much of a scene, even for someone of your undoubted skill. Secondly, I don’t think either of us here would turn you in for—”

“Don’t speak for me,” Gwindon cut him off.

Icara looked at his stoic expression as he passed by, heading for the door.

“If you’re planning on committing regicide, I’ll have no business with you. I’m not here to get caught in the blood feud of someone I just met,” he briskly explained, pausing in front of Icara to give her a cold look. “Especially not someone with such a childish fixation. I’ll be leaving now. Oh, and Icara, the poison was likely just a lie.”

“Heh, what a perceptive fellow...” Cherno remarked quietly.

Icara ignored the news, and took hold of Gwindon’s shoulder. He shrugged off the first attempt, but she followed with a stronger grip and spun him around. He stumbled, but pushed her away, refusing to hold eye contact for more than a glance.

“Look me in the eyes, old man.” She demanded, her voice shaking like a storm.

Gwindon gave her one last, pitying glance before he moved for the door once again. He placed a hand on the doorknob when he heard a familiar buckle unfasten behind him. Gwindon opened the door but looked back just in time to dodge the blur of mass aimed for his shoulder. It pierced into the floor with a thunk as he stumbled into the building again.

Icara yanked her weapon from the floor, a massive sword easily the length of her torso. The blade was composed of some dull, stony material and had a jagged edge formed along a clearly eastern design. He remembered her statement in the bar, and instantly realized she was wielding a weapon from the desert Korrem, home of the Karkh’ala. She moved to the entrance and closed the door, shouldering the weapon as she did. The exit blocked with her body, she glared down at him.

“We’re not finished talking, Gwindon.”