He wasn’t sure what he had expected upon entering the residence of a Chaos user, or even really a mage. Perhaps dozens of low glowing candles with macabre effigies piled in corners. Or even mad scribblings written in blood across the walls. Instead, though, Vallerian came face to face with what turned out to be a rather plain looking shop. Clean, gently glowing bottles sat atop small shelves that lined the walls. A few tables with catalogues and books open for would be customers, offering potions and enchantments at a glance. In the corner stood a counter with a curtain covered doorway behind it, presumably leading into the rest of the building. It was all so… normal. Hardly at all what he had expected.

“Hm, what do you want?” An older Fereni man pushed through the curtains, his face a map of wrinkles with jowls that hung nearly to his collar and a back as bent as they came. The man, Kredik presumably, narrowed his eyes as he stared at Vallerian. “Another lord come for some cure-all ‘cause he slept with the wrong whore? Well come on, spit it out now. I know your lot when I see ya.”

Vallerian blinked at the man’s audacity. He had assumed that the training involved with becoming a magi would at least impart some sort of decorum. But unfortunately education, it seemed, was no cure for lack of breeding.

“Master Kredik, I presume?” Vallerian asked and the man nodded. “I have come on behalf of a certain… benefactor.” Vallerian said, reaching into his chest pocket and pulling out the two vials. “I was told that you can test these for me.”

The man leaned in, focusing on the vials for a moment, before his eyes widened. In a heartbeat, he straightened his back and pushed out from behind the counter with a haste Vallerian would not have expected. Kredik brushed past Vallerian, pushing over to the door and locking it quickly.

“I, ahem, wasn’t expecting you today. And I wasn’t expecting a Fereni lord if I’m being honest.” He stammered nervously, turning around and giving Vallerian a low approximation of a bow. “My lord.” He added before stretching out his hands to Vallerian. Vallerian handed him the vials. With that, the man bustled off, rushing behind the counter with haste. Vallerian followed.

Stepping around the counter and pushing past the curtain, the back room proved much different than the unassuming front. A larger room, about fifteen paces in each direction, it still managed to feel cramped with the dozens of gently thrumming crystals lying about, hundreds of books piled up in every corner, and a plethora of alchemist’s equipment – odd bronze tubing and glass pitchers – strewn about the room. In the back corner of the space there was a staircase that led up to a second floor. By the messy daybed in the corner of this room and the cobwebs spread across the staircase though, Vallerian doubted the man had gone up there in years.

“Will this take long?” Vallerian asked sliding his finger across a dusty shelf. The man bustled about, frantically clearing space on a low table and plopping a large metal contraption down.

“Hmm? Oh, no, not at all. Just a moment actually. My lord.” Kredik coughed as he worked, dust being tossed into the air as he uncorked one of the crystal vials and carefully poured it into a small brass bowl balanced on the contraption. “I get these jobs occasionally, I do.” Kredik mumbled as he worked and Vallerian walked over to watch. “Lords wanting to know if a whore’s child is theirs and whatnot.” He turned and looked at Vallerian after pouring the second vial into another, identical bowl. “But I must say, I’ve never had a Theremya inquire about it.” The man seemed to like to talk as he worked, and as the air thrummed with arcanum, Vallerian didn’t mind the distraction. “From my understanding the Theremya practice matriarchal lineage, making it difficult to fake blood lines.” A glint formed in the man’s eyes. “Whose blood is this anyways?” He asked, trying to make it seem offhand.

“We’re not paying you to ask questions. Just do your work magus.” Vallerian snapped. The man looked up at him with a scowl, but after Vallerian began twirling a knife across his fingers, he sheepishly returned to his work. “Now, explain to me how this works.”

The man’s hands shook now as he worked, and Vallerian grinned. Knives rolling across fingers seemed to have that effect.

“Are you familiar with the theory of arcanus heritus and hemoresonancy?” Kredik asked without turning.

“Use simple words friend.” Vallerian responded. “I’m dangerous, not smart.” Magi loved tossing their made-up words around. Give him a treatise on political theory and he’d do fine, but this magi theory garbage was too strange for him.

“Ahem, well, there is an understanding that all the godborne carry a certain amount of, well, natural arcanum within our blood. That’s actually how we believe some people are able to…”

“Stay focused.” Vallerian snapped. There was that thunderstorm like feeling in the air again, leaving him on edge. By the gods he hated magic. “Just tell me how this works, none of the other fluff.”

“Ah, well, apologies.” The man apologized. “It’s quite simple, if the blood is of a kin, then when they are both ignited by the arcane, they should form a resonance. Er, um, a sort of similarity to how they burn.”

“And that means they’re family?”

“Yes, well, kind of.” The man seemed unsure for a moment. “No, absolutely they are certainly family if it matches. May we begin?”

Vallerian motioned for the man to start, and he got to work. Reaching into his pocket, Kredik pulled out a small glowing blue crystal and placed it in a metal cage attached to the contraption. Tapping it, he whispered some sort of spell, and in seconds the blood ignited as the glowing blue crystal radiated brightly.

Kredik gasped and Vallerian narrowed his eyes as they stared at the flames. These were no normal flames. They were golden, almost sparkling, with cinders of silver dancing in the air around it. The blood of a prophetess and a prince. Or perhaps a princess and a prince.

“By the Pantheon.” Kredik gasped, wide eyes. “Who… whose blood did you bring me?” He asked nervously, turning to look at Vallerian with shock in his eyes. Vallerian returned with a cold look.

“Are they kin or not magi?” He asked, letting every ounce of his frustrations and impatience seep into the words. They looked similar enough, but with magi he couldn’t be sure. She couldn’t be the heir. She had to be a fake, Vallerian found himself hoping. The man’s face grew pasty white, then he nodded.

“Y… yes. Yes, I believe they are.”

Vallerian bit his lip, then nodded. It was true then, all the rumors, all the speculation. “I was never here.” Vallerian snarled, slamming his dagger into the table and watching the blood quickly burn out. As the light faded, the room became cast in darkness, only the faint blue glow of crystals providing illumination. “You never saw any of this.” Vallerian reached into his pocket and dropped a handful of gold coins on the table. “Not even if a Theremya comes to ask.” He stated, then began to walk out of the room. He wasn’t sure what to do now. With the man’s silence bought he could lie. He could tell Crysilla the girl isn’t the heir. It would be better for Celeste that way. It would…

Celeste is the lost heir, Vallerian thought with a flash of panic. She really is the lost heir. He swallowed, bit his lip, then stepped out the door. No, he would tell the truth. He would tell the Marchioness of the girl’s blood. It didn’t matter. None of it mattered. She was just a girl, just a tool for his survival. Necessary.