The great people of Vassermark had begun to fill the grand hall, following the unspoken rule that the least important were to arrive first if not part of an entourage. The more important waited until later, when there would be more of a reception, but not so late that the king arrived before them. King Arandall was of course happy to oblige his personal delay. The man happily drank with his engineering staff, which gave his steward a good deal of worry that something would explode and injure him.

Thus, the king would be the last player to arrive at the feast, and before him the owner of the table Lucius sat at. Before them was an arrival I wish I could hide from you, dear reader, as her fate hung in the balance until very late in the war and to introduce her now undercuts much of the tension. Of course, her own rumors precede her and even a casual historian would know the source of her fame came after the rebellion so she must have survived it. There is also the simple fact of textual psychoanalysis that I would not have given her the attention that I thus far have if she were to be offered up as a sacrifice on the altar of politics.

So, for these reasons, I pull down this sham tension and confirm that, at the feast, Aria vi Solhart was alive and well, indeed on good terms with my pupil. Thus, he was momentarily surprised when she stormed over to him. Clad in a layered dress of blue with pleated skirt fluttering down to her heels, a layer of paint struggled to obscure the incensed flush of her cheeks.

Sister confronting brother was hardly remarkable, until those nearby heard her ask, “What do you think you’re doing?”

Lucius grimaced and rose from the table to circle round. In a quieter voice, and speaking through a smile he didn’t feel with the elegance of a ventriloquist, he said, “Politics.”

Aria stabbed his chest with her finger. “Don’t you know Felicia had a seat for you?”

“Practically at the door, I’m sure.”

She rose up on her toes to snarl at him more closely. “You may not have grown up with her, but she thinks you have. In fact you’ve given her a rose-tinted memory. Do you have any idea the shock you gave her when she learned where you were?”

Lucius rose up and his eyes distantly met the dark haired girl whom Aria had just separated from. “You know I can’t speak too much with her. And here? You want to know what is going to happen? I’m going to get pulled over to the king’s table. It will be Aisha who has to entertain the two cousins. It’s a small wound to the prince’s pride that he’ll have to slink over here by the grace of his father. Just wait and see.”

His alleged sister wrinkled her nose at him. “Just who taught you how to treat women?”

Lucius burst out laughing, unable to contain the contradiction of his past and who he was about to meet once more. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

Aisha sighed. “Sometimes, I’m glad you never met my father.”

At once, the boy was somber. He muttered the same apologies he always muttered, regardless of the fact that time was soothing the wound. A wise maneuver regardless. Aria replicated it with far more passion, the way women typically can.

The redhead waved them both off. “Please, if neither of you are going to tell me whose table we’re at–I am a foreigner here afterall–then can you at least assure me that I’m not going to be dining with the angel? I don’t have a good track record with that.”

Lucius grinned. “Unless she party crashes, she will be at the king’s table. Have no fear, my love.”

“Why should I be afraid. You’d protect me, wouldn’t you?”

Of course, months prior, Aisha arrived in her home city without Lucius. The city guard had changed, as most of the towns youth were buried outside Rackvidd. Further, she hesitated to use her family name without knowing the welfare of her father. Leomund had to take the lead, walking his horse up to the inspection officer manning the portcullis. “M’lady has business in the city. You’re not going to tell her she has to bed in the stables, are you?”

The man was old enough to be gray haired and wrinkled. A stiff shove from the northman would have bowled him over, but he stood with the strength of duty. “And where is your lady from? Does she have a name?”

“She’s a pilgrim of the Shepherd. Her name is Aisha. Mine is Tolzi.”

Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

To the surprise of his companions, it was Tolzi’s name that sparked recognition in the man. “The bounty hunter? Why, it’s been nearly two years, has it not?”

Leomund crossed his arms and softened his tone. “A bit less. Time isn’t flying that fast. I’ve been busy playing bodyguard as you see.”

The man nodded. “And your friend?”

“A scholar I’m teaching to fight. Name of Sacerdote.”

“Well, I’m glad to see you returned, Master Tolzi. We’ve had far too many vagabonds of late. We’d sure like it for you to round them all up, though I imagine the council will go bankrupt paying you!”

The northman laughed. “Well I’d happily spend their coin here, but my sword is already spoken for. What’s the name of that tavern I liked? The Emerald Leaf?”

“The Emerald Jawhara, just as lovely as it ever was.”

Leomund strolled into the town, leading his companions as if it were he that had grown up there. After only a few streets, both he and Aisha had made note of something on a subconscious level but for nearly opposite reasons. There were hardly any men left in the city. Aisha noticed the lack, while Leomund noticed the plethora of women.

When Leomund stopped at the Emerald Jawhara, a resplendent gambling hall that was layered with rooms for travelers. It was also atop a tunnel network so the good people of Tavina didn’t have to see the debtors get hauled out in chains and sold as slaves near the city gates. Such economics were left to the shadows, even if they did fund the city watch almost single handedly.

Aisha said, “We’re not going in there.”

Leomund frowned. “Why not? This has to be the best place in the city to find someone. Or to find a way to find them at least.”

“Why do you think?” she retorted, which only furrowed his brow further.

Sacerdote laughed as he scratched his steed’s ear. “Why pay for a room when hospitality is free elsewhere?” he said, guiding his animal to follow Aisha as she continued on to the mercantile district, and from there to a tight, cobblestone road that was like the mixing of oil and water. On the one side, rebuilt and plastered over homes spilling against one another with expansions and extra floors. On the other side of the road sat the plain and regular dwellings of the clergy. The road marked the border between the mercantile district and the temple district, and thus was filled with children running between homes and school buildings. The littlest went to general lectures while the older children sought apprenticeships. Naturally, many found themselves in lesser employment than a skilled trade, but serving as boatmen or farm workers was not such a lowly life that they couldn’t smile.

In fact, the most troubled man on the road had put on rings of fat from many months of subsisting from wine. His trade contracts had been with Vassermark and most went unpaid because of the rebellion. The stink of ethnic betrayal meant he could hardly find new work for his ships, most of which had been sunk outside Rackvidd.

Despite all this hardship, and the lack of employees to serve his house, the man blossomed like a spring flower when he laid eyes upon Aisha, for he was none other than her father. Tears burst from his eyes as he fell on his knees hugging her. At once, she felt miserable for not ensuring her letters reached the old man. For this, I must take partial fault, as the nature of her oath dulled such thoughts in her. Explaining all that happened ran the risk of exposing Lucius’ secrets, and thus made her subconsciously loathe to put ink to parchment.

With a parent’s intuition, Master Canta broke off from his embrace of his daughter. “What is this I feel?”

She understood at once. “Inside, father, may we?”

He scowled at the two men accompanying her, and as soon as the door was shut she had to assure him that it was neither of her current companions that had put a child in her. Naturally, he struck on the fact that made it worse. “Who are these men you’re traveling with then?”

Leomund snorted as he stole himself a bowl of dried fruits, which Master Canta had been too morose to bother with. “The father’s sword instructor.”

Sacerdote, quietly took a seat, “A fellow scholar.”

Aisha shook her head. “They’re the friends he could spare while he fights a war. The three of us are here looking for a woman named Vita. Tall, beautiful, black hair. Ring any bells?”

Her father frowned. “The one who bought the Emerald Jawhara?”

Leomund laughed. Aisha sighed. “At least we’ll be able to find her.”

“Easily enough, but why are you looking for a whore mistress? First you come home with child, on horses no less! Then you seek out one of her? Were you not raised in the temples my dear? Who even is the man who took advantage of you?”

“He didn’t take advantage of me!” she snapped. “My man is Lucius von Solhart, a nobleman of Vassermark.”

Her father was even more crestfallen. “You’re a concubine?”

“I’m to be wedded to him.”

“One of many, I’m sure. Why didn’t you talk to me about this?”

“Why didn’t my brother talk to you before swearing a vendetta!”

Silence gripped the Canta household. Leomund and Sacerdote played the role of polite guests. Before her father could say something, Aisha threw her arms around him again. “I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner. I’ve been so busy, I wish I could tell you about it, Dad.”

Her father nodded. “In a rush, are you? For something only a witch can provide. I’ll do what I can.”

I wish I could say the two of them had a touching night of catching up, and while that’s a true statement history is marred by the fact that Leomund didn’t stay the night. He went to the Emerald Jawhara and started a chain of events that would ultimately lead to his demise.