Leyla stood in attendance in the temple’s worship hall. More people were coming in their festival finery every week. It was only the twenty-fourth of Sab, and even some of the regular worshippers who usually came in their work clothes had started wearing their best to fit in with the crowds.

She had set out prayer mats throughout the whole hall, and a quarter of them were filled during the day. The hall had started to fill with the sounds of whispers too. Dozens of voices seemed to swirl in the air like ghosts. Sometimes they would fly among the rafters, and other times it sounded like they were playing tag through the pillars and side hallways.

The smell of incense hung in the air. There was only the barest hint of an acrid smokiness that could be seen.

Leyla barely noticed it anymore except when she walked in after being out in the town all day. She shifted from one foot to another and shifted her shoulders and hips. She desperately needed to stretch and relax, but it was still an hour before another priestess would relieve her.

She felt horrible for slapping Rylen, especially after he had been attacked, but a part of her said he deserved it. Her conflicting feelings only added to her disquiet. The guardsmen of the city had ostensibly looked into it but hadn’t found any solid evidence or eyewitnesses to support the accusation that the nobles were the culprits.

A man dressed in a robe of gold with rich orange cuffs approached her. It was clothing most often worn to festivals by village craftsmen. He had pale skin and dark blond hair.

“Excuse me,” he said. “I, uh, have a question about the king.”

“Yes. I’ll will do my best to answer it.”

The man stroked his beard.

“Eh, heh, heh! I was thinking you might be able to take me to your head priest. I, uh…it is a rather sensitive question.”

“I will inquire of him and see if he’s available.” Leyla gave a slight bow and moved into the side wing of the temple, feeling the stiffness in her legs and soreness of her feet.

Scribes, priests, and priestesses weaved past her in the hall. No one forced her to give way to them. If they couldn’t weave past her politely, they would stand aside until she passed. She reflected as she walked.

As the daughter of the head priest and priestess, it was her duty to see that the Inn was given a gift for Rylen’s misfortune. As it happened, she knew exactly what it was that the Inn needed. The temple also so happened to have those very things in their storehouse: fruit, nuts, and sugar.

The Inn was the most established business in Edge and had a long reputation for generosity toward the Temple of the Sun. After her father and mother had the scribes look into it, they had found that such a generous gift from the temple’s stores was acceptable. The tavern’s recent misfortune and yearly allowable gift allowance, plus its needs for supplies for the festival, entitled it to such a blessing from the king.

It was customary for her to oversee such large gifting, so she had gone with the porters that morning. While overseeing the transfer of goods, Hyrestl had asked her if she had seen Rylen. She told him she had last night, but that was all. A weight seemed to settle on Hyrestl’s shoulders, and his face creased in worry. He had simply nodded and gone back to work.

It wasn’t unusual for Rylen to go out on adventures on his own, but the whole town was gearing up for its busiest time of the year. Even he wouldn’t skip out while that was going on.

So, Leyla didn’t feel right about it. She had purposefully held back the goods to spite him for using her like that. Then, when she’d learned the full story of how he’d been beaten up, she felt like it was the only thing she could do to help him out.

That didn’t mean she wasn’t upset with him anymore; it only meant that she was frustrated with herself. She wanted to talk to Rylen to see if he was okay, but another side of her snidely reminded her that he had got what was coming to him.

Even the scribes under her had lauded her idea as perfectly fitting. Well, it wasn’t her idea, but it needed to come across like it was. The temple didn’t take requests for gifts: Hyrestl was an exception. In any case, as one of the main workers at the inn, losing Rylen would put a lot of strain on the barman and the other workers. Helping procure some of the needed supplies took some of the pressure off until Rylen healed.

Then there was the look on his face when everyone else in town had been cowering in fear, including her. Instead of trying to comfort or protect her, he had been smiling, almost rejoicing at the sight of the dragon. She had seen it in his eyes too, the way a sudden light danced in them.

It made her want to punch him in the face. Didn’t he care how many people the Ara-Erans had killed and hurt? Why wasn’t he afraid?

Leyla couldn’t decide whether she wanted to be nice to Rylen or make sure he was still punished for lying to her. Not to mention she felt like she had helped him in his crime. She felt guilty. She was helping a friend, wasn’t she? She didn’t gift the goods to the inn until Rylen had been hurt. So, that made it a legitimate gift from the king. Right? Would a guardsman see it the same way? Perhaps it was just a really, really good cover-up. A perfect one, actually.

She ascended a few steps and came to a door of colored glass artfully arranged in the likeness of Gwyan’s first king, Abengadi. He was shown leaving his father, Rawala, who was enveloped in a ray of sunlight. Light shone through the door and lit the hallway with different hues. She could hear low tones, muted voices. She opened the door a crack and peeked inside. She saw her father speaking with a man who she knew as a farmer from farther down the valley. The room’s ceiling was domed and made entirely of stained glass depicting a blazing sun. Double doors on the far side were opened wide, and two side doors were also open to circulate cool air from the gardens.

She tapped lightly on the doorframe.

Her father looked up and smiled, and he motioned her in. As she entered, a soft breeze blew against the hem of her robe. Kassim and the man stood up at her entrance.

“What is it?” Kassim asked kindly.

“There is a man who would like to speak with you.”

“All right. Tell him I’ll be available in a few minutes.”

“No, I best be going. I’ve kept ya long enough,” the farmer said.

Kassim held out his hand to him, and they shook. “You can stay longer. Please, it won’t bother us at all.”

“No, no. I best be going. I gotta get back down the valley and get some work done. Thanks for listening to my rambling.” He turned and followed Leyla back through the door.

When the door opened again, Kassim froze at the sight of the new visitor.

“Eh, heh, heh, heh! Surprised?” Harbiya gave him a winning smile.

The blood drained from the priest’s face. His body tensed and he backed away.

“Come, come! What do you have to fear from me? I’ve only come for a little chat.” He closed the door to the main temple behind him. “Honestly, I haven’t heard much from you lately. You don’t send letters. It makes me wonder what you’re doing up here.”

Harbiya smiled again and motioned to the wooden bench.

“Please, sit. You’re making me nervous.”

Kassim hesitated, eyeing the man. Harbiya tilted his head, then shrugged and sat. Kassim reluctantly did the same.

“Now!” Harbiya energetically slapped him on the knee. “Tell me everything that’s been going on around here. How have you been?” He brushed back his hair with his right hand and caused his sleeve to fall back. It revealed a deeply scratched and dented silver bracer. The damage done to it detracted from the beautiful etchings in its surface.

Kassim replied stiffly. “I’ve been fine. Not much has been going on. I’ve simply been doing my duties as a priest.”

The unwelcome visitor held up a finger. “You’ve been performing head priest duties. Very different. You get to talk to anyone and everyone. The mayor, the guardsmen, the priests from down the valley, tradesmen, farmers…” He looked pointedly at Kassim. “Everyone. Even the king doesn’t hear as much from his people as you do. You see, he gets all of his information specially—hmmm, how to say it?—he gets it all selected for him by people that have their own agendas.”

Kassim cleared his throat. “How about you? How have you been faring?”

“Well, I can’t complain. I’m a lord, y’know, and I’ve got to do lordly duties.”

Kassim nodded numbly. “Yes, which is why I’m so surprised you came to visit this lowly temple.”

Harbiya was taken aback. “Lowly? This is a wonderful temple. Everyone worships sincerely here. There isn’t a temple quainter in all the kingdom.”

“Then, why have you come? Why are you here, Harbiya?”

“Pfft. Won’t even enjoy our small talk while we have it. We didn’t even get to talking about your child.” Harbiya motioned in the direction of the door. “She’s such a remarkable child. She could accept any offer from any lord. She could even enter the selections to be a priestess directly for the king.”

Kassim’s teeth clenched for a moment.

“Eh, heh, heh! But you don’t want to talk about that, do you?”

“Sim?” called a woman’s voice from the garden. “Are you almost done with your audiences?”

Adilah glided into the room. “Oh, you have a guest—” She caught Kassim’s intense gaze, and her eyes flickered to Harbiya. Recognition crossed her face, and her countenance instantly hardened. She looked back at her husband, and for a few moments her eyes were locked with his.

Harbiya watched them both, then he raised his arms and wiggled his fingers in the air between them.

“I can feel the words only lovers hear when gazing into each other’s eyes.”

Adilah broke off her gaze with Kassim but glanced back a few times. She looked down at Harbiya.

“What is it you want?”

The man sighed. “I would kill to have some small talk every once in a while. Well, I was just talking with your husband about how much wealth has been amassed in Edge.” He shrugged. “It’s strange, there’s hardly a Kamwa story that takes place here. I just don’t get it. You would think that, with all of this wealth, it would attract Kamwa from all over the kingdom.

“Is that what you’re here for?” Kassim asked. “We’ve already made our arrangements with you.”

“Can’t say I’m not a little jealous.”

Adilah moved slowly to a bench across from Harbiya and sat down warily.

“We’re no longer a part of the Kamwa. I don’t see what business you have here with us.”

Kassim shot his wife a look, and she darted one just as biting back at him.

Harbiya cocked his head. “Why, I never brought up such a subject. I’m not asking you to come back. Whatever made you think that?”

“A letter was sent to us,” the priest said, “that detailed factions within the Kamwa and their movements. Not to mention detailing the more credible rumors of plots among them and the nobles. Only city leaders receive those letters.”

“Oh,” Harbiya said, nodding, “you’re right, of course, there isn’t a need to ask you back. You see, you’re still a part of the Kamwa.”

“We are not a part of them anymore,” the priestess spat out.

“Oooh, no need to be angry at me! Last I checked, someone was pulling their weight and keeping cell groups from developing in their city.” The unctuous man motioned to the area around him. “It is peaceful, isn’t it? A person can just feel the city thriving.” He rubbed his hands together. “It is a shame that all that wealth is just sitting in people’s pockets, that all that wealth from all of Gwyan comes here for the festival, and that all those nobles have made expansive vaults—I mean villas—here, and nobody has truly taken advantage of it.”

The mottled light from the colored glass cast a strange glint in his eyes.

“Some have begun arguing who should replace the current rulers, ahem, mayors, uh…mayor in the town. Ah, but all of that is just gossip which I shouldn’t repeat. Come now, tell me about some of your most devout worshippers. How have they enriched your lives?”

The couple were silent.

“Eh, heh, heh, heh! Have I misjudged? Are your worshippers truly that bad? If they don’t shape up, then all of their blessings will be taken away. That’s what you preach, right?”

Harbiya glanced between them. “Please don’t tell me you have that many unbelievers here. Tsk, tsk, tsk! Well, I’ll tell you what. If you’re not careful, the king himself will set things straight.”

He stood and walked toward the door. “Well, I don’t have much time. You see, I’m looking for something. I haven’t heard any word of it from anyone I’ve talked to from every corner of Gwyan.” He opened the door, stopped halfway through it, and looked back at them. “This is the only place that I never hear any news from.”

He smiled and shrugged. “I figured the best place to start looking for something lost is where I haven’t looked before.”

He closed the door behind him.

Kassim and Adilah waited a few tense moments, then relaxed slightly.

But the door opened again, and Harbiya stuck his head in. “Oh, by the way.” He whispered something that caught on the air. It swirled around the small room, and the draft from the door caught it as if to take it out into the garden.

Then he left.

The whispers on the air were caught in the eddies of the room and settled slowly upon the man and woman. For many long moments they sat listening to the whispers on the wind. They listened to their words even until they settled down by their feet and lingered there, repeating the words over and over.

***

Hyrestl sat on the ground with his palms resting firmly on his knees. He watched with the other parents as a young warrior of their village was put through his final tests. To his right was his wife. She sat near enough to him to be touching and leaned toward him. It wasn’t enough to be easily noticeable and so dishonor him, but it was enough to tell anyone who was paying attention of her devotion. To his left were his two young children: Yasi, Molo.

Hyrestl smiled. Their faces were enraptured with the ceremony before them. Molo was almost beside himself with excitement. Hyrestl could see the many stories he was already creating in his little head about what he would become when he grew up. Yasi sat quietly, but her eyes followed every move of the village’s dojo master and the young warrior.

Hyrestl turned his attention to the young warrior. His name somehow escaped him. It was a small town, though; everyone knew who everyone else was. Why didn’t he know this young man?

The warrior finished offering his prayers and readied himself for a sparring match with the dojo master, Shun Mori. He turned to his children and whispered.

“They say a warrior of Telam is only held back by three things: how powerful their parents are, how well they are taught, and how well they learn.”

Molo and Yasi looked at him expectantly. Hyrestl glanced at the warrior and back to them.

“Your parents are more powerful than his, we teach you better, and lastly,” he grinned and ruffled their hair “you catch on quicker.”

This brought smiles to their faces, and they turned back to the ceremony as the bout between the warrior and Mori began.

Hyrestl turned his attention to the bout as well. He could almost envision the progress Yasi and Molo would make. He could see how each would develop their own fighting style and draw on the strengths of both his and their mother’s teaching. He could see them contending with Mori and making the watching villagers gasp in surprise at their talent. They were his children. How could they achieve anything short of bringing him honor?

The sparring match before him darkened and grew fuzzy. He felt like he was lying on his back.

He wearily opened his sleepy eyes and blinked at the ceiling above him.

Edge.

He turned his head to the side. Rylen still hadn’t returned. The worry that had gnawed on him yesterday gripped him again.

He rose and took off his night shirt. He checked his own bruises and tender areas from whatever he had done on his trip to Tayra. His ribs were still tender. From the damage done to them, he was positive he had been kicked on the ground just like Rylen, only with boots, not slippers. Somehow, he had come away from it without broken ribs, only cracked ones. That likely meant he hadn’t been on the defensive the entire time. He shuddered to think of what may have happened to whoever had attacked him.

He’d seen the aftermath of it a couple of times or had heard about it from his squad mates back in Telam. It surpassed his knowledge of the arts, and that fact alone frightened him.

He carefully removed old bandages. He didn’t wince as he replaced them over a couple of the knife wounds he’d received. He’d gotten used to this level of pain a long time ago. Fortunately, none of the cuts had been deep.

Once he had replaced all of the bandages and had tied the new ones snug, he dressed and took the old bandages downstairs to the fire to burn them.

Only then did he start getting the inn ready for the day.

He bustled about, cleaning tables, taking orders, washing dishes, preparing food, tidying guest rooms, fetching supplies, wiping tables, and disciplining Pahanna.

He had to make up for Rylen’s absence as well as Talith’s. After Rylen’s incident, her parents had forbidden her from working there again. They had stated that they felt it wasn’t safe for her anymore. Hyrestl took a customer’s order brusquely, hurried it back to Rasha, and quickly served those waiting on their drinks. He had also noticed a dip in their regular customers. He hoped they would return in time, but he knew some of them likely never would.

Today was the twenty-fifth of Sab, and with it came a chill wind from the mountains.

Hyrestl had gone out and spent a little of their money on Shabik spices so he could make fresh hot cider. While the number of regulars had dwindled, there wasn’t an end to the travelers coming into Edge. The Day of the Sun Festival was on the twenty-first of Amin next month. Hot cider was a common drink served at the festival, and if a shop or tavern didn’t serve it, then they were losing out on making money. He brought a man his drink and set it on the table in front of him. The man looked at it and frowned.

“Wood. I asked for it in a wood mug, not clay. Bring the right one, and make sure it’s on the house.”

Hyrestl repressed a sudden urge to dump the mug’s contents on the patron’s velvet vest. He nodded in deference to the man and removed the cup. He delivered the other drinks from his tray before returning with the man’s corrected order.

“Finally!” the man huffed. He took a drink of the hot cider and nodded appreciatively.

Despite Hyrestl’s annoyance at the man, the fact that he was enjoying the beverage softened his irritation.

While business seemed to go on as usual, he remained tense. The hairs on the back of his neck had been standing on end since yesterday. What’s more, there was something familiar about the feeling that he couldn’t place. It was comparable to when he knew someone was watching him, but it felt different somehow. While he was cleaning mugs and glasses, he eyed travelers with suspicion. He didn’t recognize anyone, but he felt he should. He’d been unable to rest well last night or the night before, and this only added to his sour mood.

Another worry was churning in his gut. Because Rylen was missing, his sleeping self had been out stalking the night, searching for him.

Hyrestl wiped the sweat beading on his brow. He was a soldier; he was used to stress. But this—these were worries he couldn’t ram a spear through to make them go away. He felt them wearing him down.

Something crashed and shattered in the kitchen. Hyrestl hurried to the back and found Pahanna picking up pieces of broken plates.

“Pahanna, how many were you carrying?”

Pahanna looked up with wide eyes. “Um, uh, this many.” He held up his hands to show how high the stack had been.

“I’ve told you, you can’t carry that many. Now, clean it up quick, and get back to the other dishes.” Hyrestl gave the boy a cuff on the ear and went back to the bar to fill drink orders but soon returned to the kitchen. Pahanna was almost done scooping up the pieces. He started when his employer came back in the room.

“Pahanna, after you’re done with that, go tell Jak that Rylen is missing and hasn’t returned. Okay?”

The boy nodded and hurried to finish cleaning up his mess. Hyrestl went back to his own work. He filled drinks and bussed a table. A few more customers came in. For a moment, he looked around at the tables. A couple more needed clearing, he could see the annoyed glances from one party that had been waiting too long, and he needed to roast more beef over the fire and cook more bread. He ran his fingers through his hair, then turned on his heel and walked into the kitchen.

He fetched a barrel of wine from the cellar and set it on the counter. His skin prickled as the hairs on his arm stood up.

He remembered then. He remembered what this feeling meant. He stood still and held his breath as his thoughts raced, trying to put together the pieces of the puzzle that were suddenly clear to him.

This feeling was from the presence of a certain man, a presence that he hadn’t felt since he had worked for the Ara-Eran lord.

The feeling suddenly subsided, though the hairs on the back of his neck were still raised. He waited a few more moments.

He forced himself to continue his work, but now he was more on edge than before. For some reason, an old enemy had passed close by. Someone he had never expected to run into again as long as he was outside of Ara-Era.