Argrave opened the door to the bottom floor of the inn, expecting to find it empty. Instead, Magister Vasilisa sat in an otherwise empty dining area, a great many tankards before her. Argrave was taken aback for a bit, and doubly so when he saw the blonde woman staring at him with clear and focused eyes. She certainly wasn’t drunk.

Anneliese and Galamon entered behind Argrave, the two of them taking in the sight much the same as he had. There were few other sources of dread so intense as being caught returning after sneaking out. Nonetheless, Argrave remained calm and kept his facial expressions under lock and key.

“Have a seat, take a drink,” Vasilisa commanded. She snapped her fingers, and a ward surrounded the room so that no noise would escape. As ever, her magic needed no matrix to cast—a peculiarity unique to her, he knew.

Argrave stepped within. “Vasilisa, I—”

“Have a seat,” she picked up a tankard and set it down loudly. “And take a drink.”

Argrave shifted his balance on his feet a few times as he thought about his options. Then, he pulled back the chair and sat. He sized up the liquid on the table, grabbed the tankard, and tipped it back. It was a potent, sharp brew—he’d been expecting something earthy like a beer or ale, but it tasted more like alcohol designed for nothing more than to make one drunk. He might as well drink paint thinner if he wanted a similar experience.

“That…” Argrave set down the empty bottle, mouth contorting involuntarily into a grimace. “…is very foul.”

Across, Vasilisa sipped at her own drink leisurely. She showed no such displeasure. Argrave wondered if she’d chosen a different drink.

“Have another,” she prompted, pushing a new tankard over by his hands.

Argrave sighed. He wish he had a cherry or something nearby to mitigate some of the discomfort, yet he obediently took the drink and drained it as quickly as he could. Once it was done, he set it down.

“We found Magisters Vera and Hegazar,” Argrave began. “You were rather asleep, so we took the courtesy of confirming their presence.”

“Took you three hours,” Vasilisa nodded, her eyes seeming especially sharp at present.

Argrave furrowed his brows. He was about to play innocent, yet then Anneliese interjected, “You met with the man who is hunting Vulras.”

Argrave cast a glance to her as she pulled a seat up beside him, completely perplexed how she had come to that conclusion. Having a near-supernatural empathy was one thing, but that claim—if indeed it was true—was far beyond. It was virtually mind reading.

Vasilisa looked taken off beat for a brief instance, yet she hardened in not a few moments. “My niece has allied with him. They thought to inform me I was keeping a vampire in my company. If you should put that forward as accusation, you cannot say I am being dishonest. I question if you can say the same.”

That Anneliese’s bold, out-of-the-blue accusation was correct surprised him more than the fact she had made it. Yet the Magister’s words did strike a chord with him. Their journey, brief though it was, had lent Vasilisa a newfound respectability in Argrave’s eyes. He didn’t enjoy lying to her. It had a necessity to it, though. And revealing the truth now might make the entire operation backfire terribly.

Even still… you can’t forget the lessons you’ve learned in matters like these.

“Alright,” Argrave nodded. “If you want honesty, I’m prepared to give it.”

Galamon looked to him. “Are you sure that’s prudent?”

“Why not?” Argrave turned his head. “I like Vasilisa. I’m tired of keeping things hidden from her. This whole time, she’s been risking things time and time again. She showed us to her city, her sister. She exposed her house’s debt. She trusted us in all our endeavors here in First Hope. She let us have the lead in the conversation with the Drawnwater family. Trust goes both ways, doesn’t it?”

Vasilisa stirred in her seat. “…it’s not my city. Quadreign belongs to my sister, and always will.”

“Sanora? No… Anneliese, what do you think?”

Anneliese looked to him. “I agree. To her, and only her, I believe it more than deserved.”

Argrave smiled, then turned to a still-perplexed Vasilisa. “Alright. You two—give me a hand, would you?”

#####

Vasilisa watched, utterly confused, as those she knew as Sanora and Vulras stood up to grab at Silvaden’s hair. They pulled at it gingerly, and she saw the white slowly tear away with an uncomfortable noise. Soon enough, it was rather obvious that the long mane of white hair was a wig. She had seen their like before in the distant past, though mostly on balding or bald men.

Soon enough, a set of short, recently cut black hair of a particular dark shade revealed itself… and distinctly human ears just beneath them. For a moment, she didn’t know what to think. The more she stared, though, the more another face came to mind. If she removed the eyes… elongated the hair a great deal… then…

No, Vasilisa reasoned. The conclusion that she was coming to was ridiculous. What was she missing? Still, no matter how she tried to dismiss the thought, more and more evidence came creeping in. The moment before she left Relize, the king had allegedly returned to the city and gone into hiding. He was rumored to have wed a snow elf, and stood at seven feet tall himself. And the man before her, his hair… it was unmistakably like obsidian, just as all related to House Vasquer were purported to be.

As the implication of that thought set in more, her denial only increased. A king had abandoned his army on the edge of war to head to the north? Why? For what purpose? Moreover, her thoughts wandered back to the things she had said on the journey. She’d thought Silvaden neutral in the conflict in Vasquer, and so she’d spoken freely… what exactly had she said about Argrave?

Some words came to mind—craven, coward, opportunist. Had she said them about him? What had she said while drunk?

“You’re getting red,” Argrave noted. “Is your liquor that strong? Do I look that much handsomer with black hair? Or… and this is probably the most likely answer… do I not need to explain myself?”

Vasilisa raised her hand to her forehead. “No, I think you do need to explain yourself. I think that’s needed now more than ever.”

“Well…” Argrave ran his hand through his hair, fixing it from its time matted beneath the wig. “Magister Traugott was an unpredictable element. We don’t really have the long-term support needed to defend against him at all times. We didn’t really know what he wanted. On top of that, there was the north—largely neutral, extremely valuable in terms of magic potential, and with the flame of your House Quadreign lurking there, idle.”

“So… your first thought of solution was dropping everything you were doing, travelling with a Magister under the guise of a snow elf, and coming here?” Vasilisa placed both her arms on the table.

“Not my first thought,” Argrave shook his head. “…but among the first, I will admit. I was feeling useless cooped up in Relize. I thought I’d feel similarly useless leading an army into battle, considering how utterly ignorant I am of the matter.” Argrave leaned in. “But the matter with your house’s flame? A cure for Galamon’s vampirism? That’s his name, by the way…” Argrave glanced off to the side where the hulking elf stood. “Those two reasons were just as contributory to my coming here.”

“Your father-in-law,” she said under her breath, still coming to grips with things.

Argrave laughed. “No, no,” he shook his head. “He’s… a very good friend, and my knight-commander.”

Vasilisa cast a glance at the man called Galamon, and he gave her a slight dip of his head.

“My head is swimming,” Vasilisa said disbelievingly.

“I do apologize for the deception,” Argrave said. “But from the beginning, I never bore you or your house any ill-will. I just wanted to get a more direct hand in things, and I was a bit tied up with my current role.”

Vasilisa stood up from the chair and walked away, pacing back and forth for a bit as her mind quickly worked to figure out how this factored into things. It was still near impossible for her to accept this manner of king—a king who would simply up and leave the seat of his power in some far-fetched scheme.

Yet as her mind quieted, she came to confront a fact: his plans had been working. He had already gotten to talk to Margravine Sophia, and already convinced her to take part in his reckless coup d’état. What’s more, he had left today to speak to two Magisters.

Argrave’s designs on the north were more than feasible. They were coming to fruition.

When Vasilisa turned back, Silvaden was gone. King Argrave sat there—a shrewd diplomat, a manipulator unlike any other she’d come across. He had outlandish ideas and uncommon sense that made them come to being. Someone like that getting what they want… getting all of the north…

Maybe there was something in her gaze, but the knight-commander Galamon placed himself in her line of sight, and Vasilisa raised her eyes up. That brought another point to her mind. This man, this king… he’d come here for a reason. Argrave had come here, even if only in part, seeking some vague hope to cure his good friend of an ailment.

Vasilisa stepped forward slowly once again, putting her hand on the edge of her vacant seat. “What do you want with the north?”

Argrave considered his words. “I want its spellcasters. Whether in Atrus or the former Quadreign crownlands, they’re a great untapped force. That’s my sole weakness, at present. If we engaged with central Vasquer, we’d lose because of that.”

“And after?” she struck at what was important to her. “What do you intend for the region?”

Argrave clasped his hands together. “I think you should speak to Vera and Hegazar.”

“You’d make those two the north’s overlords?” she pressed.

“No,” Argrave said. “If I didn’t have bigger concerns, I’d offer to restore the Queendom of Quadreign under Diana… once her tumor is dealt with. But I do have bigger concerns, so I can’t promise that. This kingdom needs to stay united more than ever. As such, I’d like for you to speak to Vera and Hegazar.” He rose to his feet. “War isn’t the only problem coming. Things will climax only once this war is over.”

Vasilisa crossed her arms. “Can I trust that meeting, with two Magisters?”

Argrave spread his arms out. “Hold me hostage,” he suggested. “I trust you well enough to offer that.”

The Magister raised her thumb up, biting her nail in anxiety. “I… alright, I’ll talk to them.”

Argrave smiled. “This won’t take long at all.”