For stealth, Heron had abandoned the main road, for sinuous forest paths that stretched the time to reach the royal domain. Still, he alternated glances between the road behind and the unconscious boy he was carrying. By the time he arrived in front of the ramparts, Wylmon's skin was normal again, but he was still out. Heron wasn't certain when the voices in his head had faded.

To organize Wylmon's entrance into the royal domain, Heron counted on Elana. But he hadn't been expecting her to be waiting for him in the entrance of the stables, arms crossed against her chest. She remained static until Heron walked past the door, stepping onto the hay. Her lips quivered.

"I can bear you having your secrets. However, I won't be lying to your father about your whereabouts again. You're lucky I knew you wouldn't be back by dinnertime as you'd promised. I told your father you'd be back by mid-solar arc today. But then I couldn't sleep. This infection you have, the rebels could have gotten to you, an accident..."

"Sorry. I will take care of the infection. I—" He wanted to say what Elana wouldn't voice: he was stupid, stubborn, inconsequential. He had seen evil incarnated in that forest. At moments he'd believed he would be taken by it. But he had escaped. His justification to evade the sickhouses seemed hollow now. "I will have Lady Zuna treat it once and for all."

She frowned. "Just like that... whatever happened?"

"You look tired." He attempted the only evasion he could manage.

Elana shook her head. "You bet I do. Congratulate yourself on that." But she wouldn't let Heron escape that easily. "You're not telling me what happened?"

He wasn't averse to the idea of sharing it all with Elana. But for now, he found he lacked words for it. "I am sorry I have to ask for your help now."

Elana stepped an arm-length away from him, her stance of defense conjured: eyes narrow, arms crossed against her chest again.

When he felt cornered, lies fell off his tongue naturally, "I came across an injured traveler. He's unconscious outside the ramparts." She was already shaking her head. "We could take a carriage and keep him in our chambers. No one should be aware, especially Father or Master Salmior."

"In our chambers..."

"It's the only place we can restrict access to."

"Seems you have thought it all out. Who I am to voice contradiction?" She turned away and left the stables.

Heron was supposed to go behind her. Reassure her perhaps. He couldn't.

• • •

On Elana's demand, Mainor had to be let in in the secret. As the bride of the Monarch cannot go outside the ramparts without her personal guard, she argued. Torn between the news of Mainor being her personal guard, and Elana insisting he escorted them, Heron acquiesced.

It annoyed Heron that Mainor was the one to poke holes in his plan and come up with a better solution. "Well, you have covered how to get the traveler into the royal domain but how will you get him inside your chambers without anyone noticing?"

Mainor was thoughtful for a while then came up with the solution himself, as if he'd known the answer to it even before asking the question. "I have a pair of old uniforms we can dress him with." He looked at Elana—never at Heron—smiling a smile cornered with dimples.

Mainor knew what he was doing. And perhaps even was aware of what Elana said to Heron once they were alone in their chambers again, "He's quite smart and farsighted, your brother."

Heron nodded simply, neck stiff with reluctance. Because if he spoke, he feared he would start an argument with Elana.

When they managed to get past the ramparts, mid-solar arc, Wylmon's torn clothes were discarded in the forest. Still unconscious, Mainor dressed him. As though he understood his natural role as the only one with low blood among the three. "He'll be well?" he asked.

Believing none of his concern, Heron said, "Yes. Of course, he will. Hurry up."

Elana glared at him. Echoing her, Heron mumbled, "What?"

Infuriatingly, Mainor had been thoughtful enough to bring a stretcher, too. To Elana's absolute pleasure and reassurance on her idea of him being farsighted. While transporting Wylmon to their chambers, faced with inquisitive stares from passers-by, he said smiling, "Training was a bit rough today. Lady Zuna is coming to take care of this fellow."

Once finally in bed, Heron asked Elana to reassure his father he was well, locked the door, and attempted to sleep by Wylmon's side. But he found himself unable to shake off the image of the woman in the forest whenever he shut his eyes.

In the afternoon Elana brought Lady Zuna into the chambers. After measuring his vital signs, she said, "Isn't he just a heavy sleeper?" Both Elana and Heron seemed confused. "His vital signs are all well. If tomorrow he's not up, come to me." Her eyes drifted to Heron. "As for you, I won, after all, you see?"

Yes. She had won. But Heron pretended he didn't know what she was talking about. "It's an infection," Heron said, exposing his wounded leg.

"I have something for you." In her sacks, she retrieved a small cruet full of small balls of what seemed like...

"Mold?" Heron's face twisted with a grimace.

"Of the best quality," she said." You'll use one for the wound and another to drink in the morning and at deepnight. For ten days. You forget it once and you might have as well not started the treatment."

Elana's hand fell on his shoulders.

"He won't."

It seemed to amuse the Lady. "What would they be without us?"

"I wonder every single day," Elana mused.

Despite Lady Zuna selling it like pure silver, her medicine seemed to make him much sicker than he had been. By deepnight, when Wylmon was finally awake, Heron battled nausea and cramps to get food to him: fruits, herbs, roots, grains mostly. When Heron was back in bed, Wylmon was already seated, his face so raw it reminded Heron of a grumpy little feline.

"It was Elana, my wife, who prepared this." Heron placed the tray of edibles by his side. One should eat the fruit first, but Wylmon tackled the grains immediately, then devoured the roots. And when Heron spoke of the soup and meatbread, Wylmon was having none of it.

"I'm full."

No thanks. No manners. No class. Heron wondered why he'd expect more of a simple-blooded. "What happened in the forest?"

"My worst nightmares became reality." He outstretched an arm and took Heron's wild strand of hair away from his brows. "And it seems that made you really grumpy."

Heron huffed.

"That woman is the worse person you could imagine. Anya Dalyr's yma i. She has a horde of her own. All like her. Well, like me. Gulgra. As you call us: masters of the supernatural arts. I escaped her control years ago. Leaving the capital was never an option because she has pawns even in the border guards. But I was able to avoid her for five years now. I don't think it's a coincidence that she found me when I did you."

"She's after me?"

"If I was you, I'd never set foot in the city again. She will kill you when she finds you."

That was another to the list of people who believed the world would be a better place if he simply stopped breathing. He suspected perhaps foolishly; he didn't feel more afraid than he had been. "You kept her away, still."

"It's by luck that I was able to keep her away. I am completely out of practice. Remember what happened next? I passed out like a sack of rice. How long had I been out?"

"The whole day. If it reassures you no one but two people I trust know you're here.

"Venomous bat's arse!" he cursed. "Ancients just hang me. I am late. I should go."

"The main road is blocked thanks to you—" he paused, "Gulgra playing gods." Saying the name out loud felt surreal. "Plus, you still have half a platter to eat, a soup, and proper meat bread for once in your life."

"You should decide if you want to insult me or offer me a royal dinner, my Lord. The combination is not appetizing."

Heron laughed faintly. "Fair enough." His real aim was to make him stay long enough to have answers. "If what you're saying is true, Anya Dalyr's, she'll get to me one way or another."

"With the amount of Opace you have in the royal domain, she will never set foot here. I am not even certain I should be here at all."

"Opace?" Heron asked. The name wasn't foreign to him, but even if he already thought Heron was incompetent, Wylmon still thought Heron knew more than he actually did.

Wylmon looked at Heron curiously. "Anti-spiritual black mineral..." he said tentatively as if buying in a foreign language from a local merchant. "Well, Gulgra can't handle its presence. It burns like a fire one cannot see. Legend says there is enough of Opace in the royal domain to build a fifth palace with. I've always believed it, but I'm wondering now if it's all not just a legend."

Knowing the ruling council, it could have been something else Heron had been kept out from. He wanted to bolt outside and go confront his father, but he refrained from that. If any of what he was saying was true, bringing up the subject with his father while Wylmon was in the royal domain could be signing his death sentence.

Wylmon stood. "I'm leaving tomorrow before the start of the solar arc." He inspected the old crumpled uniform, wrapping him tightly. Walking up to the window, his eyes wandered around the room. A smile crept on his face. "Neat. And all this time I thought I was well off breaking into nice houses in the city."

Heron joined him near the window, quickly scanned the courtyard to spot observers, then pulled the curtains shut. "You're not supposed to be seen. Believe me when I tell you it's for your own good that my master doesn't learn you're in the domain."

"This is what a royal room looks like outside of an illustration." Making no case of Heron's warning, Wylmon paced around the room, touching everything he encountered: armchairs, table, drawers, mirror. "The floor is," he marveled, crouching to touch it

"Kelap stone," Heron said. He would lie if he didn't admit swelling with pride over Wylmon coveting things Heron hardly noticed.

Wylmon ran his palm on the black polished stone. Then he stood and did something Heron could never have forecasted. He walked up to him, took his hand, and sniffed it.

"You bathed in perfumes, you?" he asked, a broad smile on. "Where are the bathing rooms?"

"Oh, no. Wylmon—" But the boy was already standing at the door, attempting to unlock it. "It's locked," Heron said, then it wasn't anymore, after a simple brush of finger. Heron ran up to him, gripped his arm, and violently shoved him back inside the room, pushing the door shut and trapping Wylmon against its wooden surface and his own body.

"You're going to ruin everything at this rate," he spoke through gritted teeth. He didn't understand why Wylmon was so tense until he realized that they were chest to chest, their faces less than a finger apart.

They remained there, just breathing in each other's face, furry burning hot in his chest slowly giving place to warm desire blooming down his belly. Wylmon gulped, his head tilted slightly to the side, his tongue sliding up his bottom lip. Down his borrowed military trousers, something swelled. His erection pressed against Heron's leg.

It wasn't Wylmon in particular. Heron realized he'd been so deprived of the warm touch of a boy that, in a mere heartbeat, he could transition from wanting to punch him, to aching to kiss all the skin from his nape to his bottom.

But Heron couldn't kiss him first. Wylmon needed to be the one to do it. So that when Elana discovered it had happened, Heron would have that as his sole alibi.

To his displeasure, paces echoed on the floor outside the room. The warm feeling in his belly turned hot again, rushing upward to his head. They separated, in panic. As keys turned on the lock, Heron rushed to the window, parting the curtains and pressing his erection at the wall, all while praying it died out fast. When Elana was deep inside the room, he was still fumbling to open the window.

Wylmon was much more efficient. He lay with the sheets covering up to his stomach, disconcertingly calm.

"Is everything well," she asked.

"Yes, marvelous," Heron chimed. "Why?" He felt the pressure to fill the heavy silence that had ensued. "Wylmon will be leaving tomorrow," he said, turned to Wylmon, "at dawn, right?"

The bastard didn't respond. Heron burned with embarrassment.

"Wylmon yma i, then," she said. "Elana yma da. And of course, I'll tell Mainor to mobilize his help.

Since Heron's penis wasn't evidence of crime anymore. He abandoned the window altogether. Not quite managing to look at Elana, he said, "I will spend the night in my old room. You both can stay here."

"You're leaving your wife to spend the night with a stranger?" Elana turned to Wylmon, who, like her, found humor in the situation. "I mean no offense to you."

"None taken." He winked at Elana! The simple-blooded city boy— responsible for Heron spewing things without thinking—had the nerve to wink at Elana.

"No. it's not—" How could he be so stupid? "I—" the words wouldn't come out because there weren't any. He'd talked faster than his brain could think things out.

Kind as she was, Elana came to his rescue. "What if I take your old room for tonight? In fact, I'm tired. So, I'm retiring now. I'll pass by the barracks to warn Mainor of Wylmon's leave. The sun shine on you."

The door shut behind her. Heron looked at Wylmon. "I—" he trailed off. "Well, I will be training."

"Alright."