Cask’s return from Onera came with a plethora of ill omens and complications. A wave of desertion delayed departure from Onera. As feared, many of Lord Provis’ soldiers abandoned the campaign following their lord’s death. Then, at sea, one of the fourteen ships disappeared from the armada. Several accounts from sailor’s spoke of a sea-spirit sighting right before the ship’s disappearance. Each man and woman gave the same description, despite hailing from different vessels: An enormous dark body breaching the waves with a reef of spines down its back. Morale was low before departure. Now, there was little left. All the way to Casoya, dark clouds followed the convoy of ships and that darkness remained as the fleet sailed into the bay of Caso. Prince Aramuk Krimas had spent the entire week negotiating with anyone he could reach to secure safe and affordable docking for the armada. Each time, he was met instead with astronomical sums. Docking fees and taxes on cargo, personnel, soldiers, it all amounted to a bankrupting quantity of money. And so, after all the time and effort spent sailing to Casoya, the fleet was forced to continue onward elsewhere.

As the fleet sailed back through the straight into the wider sea, the dark storm clouds brought hard ceaseless rains. It was the type of storm that entices regular people to shelter and fools to brave. Ohacha’s eager hope to once again return to weapons-practice with Cask remained just that. By the end of the first day of rain, the ground was soft and sodden. By the second day, lakes pooled above the flagstone paths and garden beds. By the third day, any step outside the guesthouse would require sloshing through water higher than a shin. Only the hard work by Yohati’s staff kept much of the gardens above water and water flowing steadily like a river into the canal. Three days of tireless rain. When sunlight reappeared at the end of the long storm, with it came relief at the reprieve.

The leaves of the large trees that loomed wide over the manicured gardens dropped fat droplets on unsuspecting targets below. The endless buffeting patter of rain was replaced with birdsong. And for the first time in days, sunlight basked over the city of Caso. Water flooded much of the city. It was a storm for the histories. But to Ohacha, it had simply been an inconvenience. Those vines and creepers that had survived the tireless rains and wind clung onto the last droplets of water as if they were the last. The droplets refracted the warm sunlight. To Ohacha, it was beautiful. Beautiful only because Yohati’s oasis estate within the heart of the city had been spared the worst of the storm. Here, separated from the rest of Caso, they had been out of danger from the widespread flooding and mudslides seen elsewhere. Inconvenience, their only qualm

Ohacha had spent the last two days cooped up inside the guesthouse, finding all possible excuses to avoid his uncle Aramuk. It wasn’t that Ohacha didn’t like his uncle. He did. It was that Aramuk was a man who saw any time not spent learning, training, or improving as a waste. In his meticulous mind, there was no such thing as spare time. And Ohacha’s problem was that this philosophy was often forced upon him as well. While Aramuk could spend days reading dusty texts and strategizing for improbable scenarios, Ohacha simply couldn’t. And, with explicitly swordplay forbidden inside the guesthouse, the approved ways to pass the time did little to relieve his boredom. So, as expected, Ohacha spent every opportunity avoiding his uncle, opting to gamble with Rolena or practice knife fighting with Cask instead. The few chances Aramuk managed to distract himself from his planning long enough to fret over Ohacha, the game of hide and seek began anew and Ohacha would ultimately find himself hunched over a book learning histories with Gaba’ké or politics with his uncle. At each lesson’s conclusion, Ohacha would use a meal or a walk as an excuse to flee and the whole cycle would begin again.

This all ended on the second day. While practicing swordplay against Aramuk’s orders, Ohacha and Cask managed to break a metal illum stone lamp hanging from the wall. Cask had parried Ohacha’s thrust, but the practice blade ricocheted and struck the fixture, sending it crashing to the floor. Aramuk and the other soldiers burst into the room expecting an assassin, only to find two idiots with sticks. The game of avoidance was over; Ohacha’s freedom was officially gone.

From that point forward. Ohacha wasn’t let out of his uncle’s sight. Even Rolena was roped into keeping Ohacha occupied. It didn’t help that most of the times he had been caught, it was because Aramuk had found the two together playing dice. Her punishment for being involved was to teach Ohacha how to assemble, clean, and disassemble her crossbow as Aramuk watched from the sidelines interjecting with questions that were far too specifically rooted in military history and construction methods.

Despite being guests at Yohati’s estate, the old Patzau hadn’t spared any real attention towards looking into or after them. Cask and two other soldiers had been dispatched on a mission outside the walls into the city in the pouring rain to buy food. The three men came back drenched and carrying far less than expected. Meats were scarce, as were eggs. Instead, they carried heavy bags of rice, pearl millet, and sorghum for porridges. They also purchased several bags of familiar vegetables including peppers, onions, and okra, and some less familiar ones that Rolena said she recognized from Onera. Despite the exorbitant cost and the lack of variety, the change in diet was an improvement over the long journey south at sea.

The sun’s appearance after the storm subsided was a welcome relief. The change in weather meant Ohacha could finally see beyond his window and, more importantly, train outside with Cask and Rolena again. It also meant Aramuk would have a much harder time finding him for unscheduled lessons. Feeling light, Ohacha bounded down the stairs, passed Cask at a table, and collected his own bowl of stew from a large pot. He sat down and was met with a silent acknowledgment from Cask in the form of a brief nod.

“Where’s Aramuk?” Ohacha asked, dipping a spoon into his bowl. Cask responded with a shrug as he continued to spoon down his meal through tired eyes. “Gaba’ké?” Ohacha asked.

“In the garden. Behind” Cask answered, gesturing his spoon in the direction of the arched doorways that led out into the sunny patio. Much of the water that had covered the patio had receded overnight, leaving the gardens looking wet but no longer flooded. Rolena appeared from the direction Gaba’ké had pointed. She was in her ordinary clothes and sweat clung to her forehead. Her hair hung loose instead of its usual long braid. Under the glow of the sun, her hair had a fiery radiance.

“Good morning” she said as she strode through the doorway and into the room.

“Morning” Cask mumbled.

“Good morning,” Ohacha said, failing to keep his eyes from lingering. Her informal clothes revealed the muscles of her shoulders and arms. She was shorter than him, but she carried herself with confidence and strength that Ohacha envied. He was proud to have her protecting him, but her presence made him feel insecure. She had proved herself capable. She had saved Aramuk’s life. But he also knew that despite their differences in age and height, she could probably best him in most contests of strength. And yet it was only his experiences with her in the training yard that gave that notion. Cask, at least, had an overbearing competence and strength in everything he did that served as a clear warning to those looking to pick a fight. But any fool on the street, making the wrong presumptions about Rolena’s abilities, would learn that lesson the hard way. Ohacha had.

“It is swelteringly hot outside” Rolena said. “I didn’t think the difference would be so significant between Onera and Casoya. All I did was wash my armour and I’m soaked with sweat.”

“Lots of water in the air. Have you seen Aramuk?” Cask asked. “Ohacha was asking for him.”

“I saw him earlier this morning while he was cooking the stew” she said.

“Aramuk cooked the stew?” Ohacha blurted out.

Cask turned and pointed his spoon with the same daring challenge as he would his sword. “You have a habit of judging people, Ohacha. One day, whether its in a duel with a sword, a conversation with the wrong person, or a battle among armies, doing so will cost you. You must always remember that people are far more complex than you believe.”

“Aramuk has never cooked for us before today and I’ve lived with him all my life” Ohacha countered.

Cask ran his fingers over his scarred scalp, “Never rely on history alone to tell you what the future might bring. You leave yourself blind spots. I bet you also didn’t know that I can juggle or that Gaba’ké had a daughter.”

“Gaba’ké had a daughter?”

“Shit. Yes” Cask answered, covering his eyes. “And don’t you dare mention that I just told you that.”

“Why not?” Ohacha said.

“Because I wasn’t supposed to say that” Cask said.

“I can lick my nose” Rolena said into the quiet room. Ohacha and Cask turned and stared for a moment. Ohacha then tried and failed to lick his own nose, soliciting a hearty laugh from her as she left towards the stairs.

“Everyone,” Cask continued, “has some secret or some hidden skill…”

“Like licking one’s nose” Ohacha jested.

“Spirits, Ohacha…” Cask said with a sigh. “Everyone has something that they are good at. Everyone has something about them you don’t know. Everyone has a history that extends past the day you met them and will continue beyond the day you part ways. It is better to overestimate everyone, than underestimate them and be wrong.”

Rolena stood near the top of the stairs still listening. Wise words. Spoken like a man who has already leaned from unexpected surprises. She understood. Not wishing to linger, she continued her climb up to her bedroom to change clothes.

Ohacha finished his stew, dawned a pair of sandals, and stepped outside into the sun-baked patio to enjoy the good weather. Sunlight blanketed everything and humid air made the morning air feel sticky. Beyond the patio, pools of water still filled the gardens and much of the pathways remained covered in dark pools. Ohacha strode forward towards a section of the garden that was eclosed by tall shrubberies. Inside, a long eloquent stone table filled the space and, in the center, sat Gaba’ké, who was reclined in a chair with a tablet in his hand.

“Good morning” Gaba’ké said, not turning to face Ohacha.

“Good morning Gaba’ké.”

“It is a beautiful day and I understand how restless you have been. We’ll skip lessons today and instead spend some time together after the sun has set. How about that?”

“Thank you, Gaba’ké.”

“But–” Gaba’ké interjected. “I want you to be prepared. You uncle left you a book on Casoyan histories on loan from Patzau Yohati. If you haven’t already finished the first chapter, I expect you to come to today’s lesson with the chapter completed. Am I understood?”

“Yes, sir” Ohacha said. “Have you seen Aramuk? I haven’t yet seen him.”

“He is meeting with Patzau Yohati” Gaba’ké said. “I expect he will return with more information regarding how long we can stay and what kind of arrangements are expected. More specifically, how much his protection will cost us.”

“He went to see Patzau Yohati without me?”

“He went alone. Yes”

“Should I not be there?” Ohacha asked, insulted.

“Yes” Gaba’ké said, finally looking up from his book. “You should be there. But instead, you spent most of the past two days dodging your uncle and staying up late gambling away your money with Rolena. You have done little to no preparation to negotiate at this time and your behaviour demonstrates that you have no interest in doing so. I’d consider you unfit to participate at this time.”

Ohacha reeled as if struck. The accusational tone, especially from Gaba’ké, was a blow he hadn’t anticipated. Shock surged into denial, and then anger. “This is unfair!” Ohacha protested. “I want to speak with my uncle.”

“He’s gone” Gaba’ké said with a dismissive gesture. “He met with Patzau Yohati over an early breakfast. Aramuk’s spryer than a water spirit. The two of them left already, together to speak with another Patzau from the council.”

“Which one?” Ohacha asked.

Gaba’ké looked up again, now irritated. “You are a smart young man, Ohacha. You’re being educated to rule a kingdom. Surely you can deduce the answer on your own. Instead of reacting, think for yourself. Come to your own reasonable conclusion as to which Patzau Prince Aramuk would want to meet.”

Ohacha almost rose to the baited challenge. Instead, he withdrew, wary of the old Aginjigaade’s aptitude for talking circles around him. At least, unlike his uncle, Gaba’ké never made him feel small or inconsequential. Ohacha skulked off, opting instead to let the rage brew inside him. Gaba’ké turned back to his tablet as Ohacha trudged briskly into the gardens, splashing in puddles with each step. With each step, Ohacha passed luscious ferns and broad-leafed plants flowering plants. He didn’t know where he was going. That was the point. He walked simply to get away for a while, not caring where he might end up. Not that he could leave. The large stone walls of the complex that towered at twice his height ensured he couldn’t go anywhere he wasn’t supposed to.

Soon he found himself exiting the small path onto the main walkway that stretched from the guardhouse on the left, and up to the main estate on the right. Unable to proceed left, and unwilling to turn right towards the big house, Ohacha crossed the main roadway following the continuation of the same narrow trail that led towards the other side of the complex. Here, the same tall ancient trees with their wide canopies and broad leaves opened onto a small clearing. Inside there was a pond sunken into the ground with dozens of large beautiful fish. A C-shaped pergola covered in pink roses surrounded pond to the right and a small gazebo on stilts sat atop the pond. Inside sat two women who stared back at Ohacha where he stood on the other side of the clearing. The two women sat in small metal chairs beside a small table with food and drinks perched between them. He recognised one as Reah Yohati.

Ohacha froze, unsure what to do. Was his presence an intrusion? Should he leave? He was about to turn to go to leave them to their privacy when one of the women, the one who wasn’t Reah, waved to beckon him forward to them. Ohacha hesitated again, unsure if he was being invited to join them or summoned to be scolded for his intrusion. He walked around the pond and under the flowery pergola, all the while aware of their gazes. He looked down at his clothes, informal, and his feet, exposed and regretted his choices. He walked up the two wooden steps that led to the platform over the pond at which the two women sat. They both wore fine sarong dresses with embroidered blouses over top that covered their shoulders. Reah held the same calm and confident poise she had shown during their first meeting. The other woman had a longer face with farer features. Unlike Reah, she appeared deeply curious at his arrival. Ohacha approached and stood a comfortable distance away, waiting for them to speak first.

“Well,” the unknown older woman said in a smooth and very feminine voice, “good morning handsome. And who might you be?” Ohacha looked over at Reah, unsure if he should speak for himself or whether she might introduce him on his behalf and found the same curious look on her face as the other woman’s.

“Good morning” Ohacha said, bowing. “Lady Reah” he said, acknowledging his host and then turning to the other woman he said, “I am Prince Ohacha Krimas of Gaag.”

“Oh my?” the woman said with surprise. She took a sip from her small cup, “a prince? Where ever did you find this boy?” the woman said, turning to ask Reah.

“Didn’t you hear?” Reah said, “Prince Ohacha and his uncle Prince Aramuk were dethroned by none other than Ohacha’s other uncle, Prince Aramuk’s younger brother.” The other woman let out a quick gasp. “Now the young prince here is travelling the world, seeking a way to reclaim his lost throne.”

Ohacha scowled at the interpretation. “My city was to be invaded by the Careyago and instead of protecting our way of life from imperialist expansion, my uncle Belvaas let the invaders into the palace to give himself control over the new imperial province.”

“I see” the younger woman said. “So, do you have an army? Are you planning to remove the invaders from your homeland?”

“One day” Ohacha said, “I will retake my ancestral throne and remove the Careyago from Gaag.”

“That’s very noble of you” Reah said. “But I must ask, Prince Ohacha, were you looking for me? Or have you just so happened to stumble upon us in the gardens.”

“I just so happened upon you” he said. “I apologize if I am interrupting your conversation.”

The other woman let out a quick giggle. “Interrupting?” she said. “Oh my! What a cute boy you are” Ohacha winced at the word but held his tongue. “Why, your very presence has added to the entertainment of our conversation. Wouldn’t you agree, Reah?” to which Reah nodded politely.

“I am sorry, but I do not yet know your name” Ohacha said.

“Oh! Of course,” the woman said. “I do apologize. I sometimes forget that foreigners perhaps aren’t familiar with the Casoyan families. I am Piitra Hadashenta. Patzau Hadashenta is my husband. He’s off with your uncle, I believe.”

“Patzau Hadashenta?” Ohacha repeated, “Of the Auction House?”

“Yes” Piitra answered with a smile, “That’s us.”

“Would you like to stay and chat with us, Ohacha?” Reah asked. “I can have someone bring you a chair and your own drink. Tea? Fruit juice? Wine?”

“No” Ohacha said, politely, “You honour me with your offer but I would be embarrassed to be seen as a trespasser in your time together.” I’m not sure I have the patience to play nice for an extended period of time.

“Nonsense” Reah said. “You are more than welcome to accompany us today. You can enjoy the gardens another day with better weather.” She whistled sharply and a servant appeared from just outside of their view, then left to return with a chair and a cup of wine.

“Now, Ohacha” Piitra said, you must tell us more about life in Gaag. We have many merchants from Ayaan and Hosagiin. And many traders from the east as well. These cities and their ways of life are well known to us. But Gaag was always a quiet reserved little kingdom. Tell us about it. You must miss it, right?”

“I do” Ohacha said, the anger in him subsiding. “Gaag is a smaller city than Ayaan, or Hosagiin, or Caso. Perhaps half the size but much older in its roots and history. The city is built on a high ridge surrounded by the sea to the east and by lowlands and wetlands to the west. The land is rich with clay. And–”

“I can read all of that in a book” Piitra cut in. She gave a look that suggested he relax and Ohacha tried. “Tell us about the things you remember that we couldn’t learn from a history.”

Ohacha tried again. He thought of the flat lowlands outside the city that could be seen from the ramparts of the royal castle. He thought of the homes below and their red and orange tiled rooftops. “My family’s castle overlooks the sea. In the evenings, the sun sets over the lands to the west and the lowland rivers and estuaries glow for miles. Birds we call Almingos flock in the hundreds to the river’s edge and spear for little crayfish and minnows. The air smells of smoky earth and cedar because of the brick and charcoal kilns. Every few weeks there’s a large market and farmers and traders and fishermen and all sorts of folks come from all around to sell and barter and trade. I remember being allowed to go once, with my mother, and we went from shop to shop together. We revere our ancestors and life spirits. Seeing one is considered great fortune for any Gaagian. It was… peaceful.”

Ohacha blinked, realizing that he stopped talking. He had gotten lost in his thoughts and let silence linger. It occurred to him that his memories of Gaag seemed less and less real over time. Less like memories with details and more like descriptions he had learned. He wondered how much had changed since he had last been home. The comprehension left him feeling a nostalgic melancholy.

“I’m sorry, Ohacha” Piitra said. He shifted his gaze down to her concerned face. “I asked out of a place of curiosity. I can see by you face that these thoughts are heavy for you. But I appreciate your willingness to share your memories with us. It sounds like a beautiful place. One very different than our home here in Casoya.”

“It is” he said. “A different kind of beauty.”

“Have you had a tour of the city yet?” Reah asked. “We could arrange something for you and your friends.”

Ohacha pursed his lips, embarrassed. “I am flattered by your offer, but I am forbidden from leaving the estate without permission” Ohacha answered. He realized how pathetic is sounded as the words left his lips. Like a child that still needed his hand held.

“You are forbidden?” Piitra asked. “Your uncle won’t let you explore the city? Not even with a guide?”

“It is not that simple” Ohacha explained, trying not to give offence. “My uncle and I are…” enemies of a foreign empire. Targets for assassination. Tired… “hunted” Ohacha finished. “Our family has been split into those loyal to the Careyago Emperor and… well, us. Who are not. The emperor sends assassins and cut-throats to ensure we, who hold the rightful claim to the Kingdom of Gaag, never again set foot in the city. Leaving the estate would be an unnecessary risk to my safety, as much as it pains me to decline.”

“I thought that all this happened years and years ago?” Reah asked. Her face had gone pallid. “Your enemies still send killers after you?”

“Yes” Ohacha admitted. “It was an attack against us that pushed us to leave Onera for Caso. Assassins from the empire breached the walls and killed dozens….” Ander’s lifeless corpse on the white marble, his father’s grief filling the hall. Tears began to well in Ohacha’s eyes. He forced them down.

“You are far too young to have had such a difficult life” Piitra said. “It’s always okay to feel the things you need to feel” Ohacha wasn’t sure if her words were for his comfort on her own.

“No” Ohacha exclaimed, trying to regain some control over his emotions. “It is my duty to learn and become stronger. To conquer my own weaknesses. To restore our Kingdom to its former place, free and independent. To lead my people into that future.” He not-so-subtly wiped the tears from his eyes and took the glass of wine held out towards him. “Thank you” he said, taking a long sip.

“Am I interrupting something?” a younger woman said, entering from behind him. Ohacha turned over his shoulder to see the newcomer. She stood, almost the spitting image of Reah but far younger. She had the same diamond shaped face, the same confidence and grace, but her father’s calculating eyes.

“Ah, Fera” Reah said. “I wasn’t expecting to see you this morning. You remember Piitra?”

“Of course,” Fera said politely, “I’ve grown up seeing Piitra more than my own aunts and uncles.”

Reah smiled, “And this here is young Prince Ohacha Krimas… from Gaag” she added. Ohacha found her gaze intimidating. The fact that he had just moments ago been holding back tears made him feel all the more insubstantial.

“A pleasure” Fera said, her polite smile revealing that it really wasn’t. “Mother, may I have a word with you?”

“Of course, dear” Reah answered. She excused herself and stood, following Reah out into the gardens and away from the pond, leaving Ohacha with Piitra.

Ohacha turned his face back to Piitra. Her face was filled with a giddy excitement that Ohacha immediate distrusted. “How old are you, Ohacha?” Piitra asked. She eyed him like a piece of meat.

“I’m sorry?”

“Your age” she repeated. “How old are you?”

Ohacha had to think for a second about the answer. “This is my twentieth spring”

“Hmm” Piitra said. She spun the wineglass in her hand with a confident ease, the liquid swishing around the clear crystal. “You’re a cute young man, but you might be too young for Fera.”

“For her?” Ohacha asked, surprised by the shift in conversation.

Piitra continued speaking, ignoring him. “Then again, there’s also the fact that you’re a prince with no kingdom. And, as you put it, are an enemy of the Careyago Emperor. On second thought, being too young is the least damaging reason against you.”

Ohacha thought back to Fera’s face and he blushed, not having considered a match. “You’re trying to find her a husband?” Ohacha asked awkwardly.

“Of course,” Piitra said. “Alas, I never had daughters and my two boys are far too much like their father and never let me meddle. I’ve always been like an aunty to Fera, and she’s as close as one finds to a princess in Caso. It’s only right that I help her mother find her a husband soon.”

“And you considered me?” Ohacha asked, blushing.

Piitra covered her mouth with a squeak. It was an odd gesture, almost juvenile. It contrasted against the fact that, despite looking younger than Reah, Piitra was still old enough to be his mother. “I apologize. I get a little carried away with gossip sometimes. Forget I said anything of the sort.” She pulled her cup to her mouth and sipped from it. “It’s a shame, Ohacha. You’re a handsome boy with, what seems like a good head on his shoulders. Finding you a wife will be difficult when it means boldly standing against the Careyago.”

“Finding a wife is the least of my worries” Ohacha admitted into his cup.

Reah returned without her daughter and cast a glance between Ohacha and Piitra. One, still giddy and the other still too embarrassed to make eye contact. Reah sighed and reclaimed her seat, “She tried to play matchmaker again, didn’t she, Ohacha?” Reah smiled as she sipped from her cup and Ohacha’s blush deepened. “You two write it ever so clearly across your faces.”

“Am I so predictable?” Piitra asked with a grin.

“Well,” Reah announced, “I’ve returned to inform you both that unfortunately I cannot stay any longer. A matter of importance has arisen. Please feel free to stay, but I must take my leave.”

“For a woman who doesn’t work” Piitra glowered, “you spend a lot of time working. I thought we’d have time to go shopping today.”

“We’ll find another time” Reah replied. “And I have to stay healthy somehow. Helping Burrenal is the best way.”

“Will Fera be joining us?” Piitra asked cautiously.

“I’m afraid not” Reah said softly. “Fera has plans to visit the Ashill estate today. You remember Yanata’s girls, Kida and Yuromi.”

“Of, course” Piitra said with a smile that hid her disappointment. The two ladies exchanged a kiss, cheek to cheek, and Reah left.

“I should probably leave as well” Ohacha said awkwardly, “I have weapons training today.”

Piitra stared at him, seeing clearly through the excuse. “It was lovely meeting you Ohacha. If your uncle is any bit as charming as you are, and I will ask my husband when I see him later, than it would be a shame not to invite you both to spend an evening with us as our guests. With proper precautions, of course”

“That would be most gracious and an honour” Ohacha said. He meant it too. Ohacha left feeling calmer than he did entering the private pond area. The anger and disappointment from his conversation with Gaba’ke had subsided. In its place, Ohacha now felt inadequate. He wasn’t meeting his elder’s expectations. He wasn’t level-headed enough or strong enough or wise enough to do anything, or so it felt. It made him even angrier. This time, that anger was self-directed. These were things that could change. Things he could change. Improve upon. Become wiser. Become stronger. Become a great leader. He just needed the opportunity to prove himself.

Ohacha walked back down the pathway towards the guesthouse ready to put those feelings into actions. And with the return of Cask and good weather, so to had Ohacha’s weapons training. He looked forward to it. Looked forward to hitting something. That would take his mind away from the thoughts that circled around his head.

The afternoon sun basked the small clearing. They stood in a circle of lush and vibrant plants. Ohacha stretched his limbs, the sweat already sticking to his skin. The air was thick with humidity and the fragrance of the gardens. He swung the practice sword a few times, the anger being channeled into focus. Into a desire to swing hard and smash something. He spun the wooden blade with his wrist, warming up for training.

Cask appeared, his bald head reflecting beads of sweat. In his hands, he carried his twin swords, the ones gifted to him by Ohacha’s grandfather. They were marvelous, with the crest of Gaag etched into the ornate pommel. Seeing them gave Ohacha hope. They were a tether, a reminder, of what they were fighting for. Ohacha tightened his own knuckles around his practice blade, eager for Cask’s instruction.

But that was when Ohacha noticed that with Cask wasn’t wearing his training clothes. And following into the clearing was another person. Rolena marched in carrying her own practice sword and round shield. She looked calm as she took up her stance across from him. Back straight, knees poised, her hair tied back so as not to be a hinderance. It took Ohacha a moment to realize she carried the weapons backwards, with the sword in her left hand and her shied in her right.

“What’s she doing here?” Ohacha asked. “Am I supposed to fight Rolena?”

“Who else would you be fighting?” Cask asked.

“You” Ohacha said. “I was getting the hang of it. Surely it would be beneficial to learn from fighting a master such as yourself?”

“You have indeed proven that you understand the foundations, Ohacha” Cask said. “But you have yet to prove you can hold to what you have learned in a real fight. Rolena will serve well. Grab yourself a shield.”

“Warriors of Gaag don’t fight with shields” Ohacha protested. “You’re a master of the twin swords.”

“That’s nonsense” Cask said. “If I ever march into battle, I’ll do it with a shield on my arm or not at all.”

Ohacha stood his ground. “I don’t need one.”

Rolena looked to Cask for assurance but he dismissed her concerns. “So be it” Cask said. “Before we begin, Ohacha. Remember our lessons. Be nimble on your feet and strike fast. The blade is an extension of your body and–”

“I remember” Ohacha said, interrupting. Cask frowned but Ohacha wasn’t watching. Cask whispered something to Rolena but Ohacha didn’t care to listen. He was ready and focused Even though she was a girl, he wasn’t going to go easy on her. Nor would he underestimate her. She was a warrior, after all. What did she tell me? Her father trained her to fight?

Rolena stood across the clearing in a foreign stance–not at all the Gaagian style. The short sword looked oddly comfortable in her hand. Ohacha had only ever seen her with her crossbow, but he knew she carried her own blade. Aramuk and Cask both seemed confident she knew how to use it. Her dark eyes surveyed him. She won’t go easy on me either.

Between them, standing like a statue, was Cask. Despite his calm appearance, his focus was sharp. He was a master among masters and Ohacha had seen his skill first hand more times than he wished to have. Unlike his uncle, Aramuk, Ohacha yearned to be more like Cask. He was strong, confident, and capable. It was like Cask could face no challenge he couldn’t overcome. The swords master had been an idol to Ohacha even as a young boy. Cask, who appeared so amiable, roared to life with terrifying skill and passion, like an ember combusting into flame.

“Ready?” Cask bellowed. “Go!”

Ohacha leapt into motion. He raised his sword high and slammed it as hard as he could into Rolena’s shield. She grunted under the impact and Ohacha stepped out of range from the counter swing that came from his right. Or so he thought, as the blade slipped further forward than he judged possible and stabbed him painfully in the chest.

“Dead” Cask declared. “Rolena takes the first fight.”

Ohacha winced, dumbfounded. The blade wasn’t sharpened, but it still hurt. Cask’s eyes were on Ohacha, but there was no judgment in them. “This is why we train” Cask said. “Underestimating a real opponent means death. You die here, in this clearing, as many times as it takes for you to understand how not to die out there.”

Ohacha nodded. He was embarrassed, but also still stewing in his anger. They fought again and exchanged several blows. Then without his noticing, Rolena managed to switch her shield and sword hands catching him off-guard and exposed. Cask announced her win and Ohacha held his bruised arm where her blade had caught him. Twice, he had lost to her without her breaking a sweat. Or, at least breaking a sweat from the effort. He was mortified. What had all that training been for?

Cask wiped his head and spoke again, “Better! But I can sense that you’re in your own head. It’s clear that you’re angry Ohacha, but you can’t let that anger control you. You can use it as fuel for your swings, but never as fuel for your mind. Focus, but don’t overthink! Your body knows what to do, you mind just needs to tell it when to react.”

Ohacha’s gaze shifted momentarily towards Cask, nodding in acknowledgment. Focus, he repeated to himself. His mind raced and he did his best to calm himself. She was better than he expected. Or perhaps, he was far worse than he thought. His shoulders tensed and then relaxed. His grip tightened until he could feel the weight of his lonely sword.

“May I take a shield?” Ohacha asked. “I think you were right.” And I was wrong.

“That’s why I’m the master” Cask said, handing Ohacha his own shield. “Only when you are fully confident in your offence can you forgo your defence. Now ready up.”

Ohacha retook his place across from Rolena. She shifted her stance, her small eyes narrowing. She grinned, and Ohacha found the expression unnerving. This time, he wouldn’t underestimate her. She was a soldier—her movements calculated and precise, never wasted. She already was what he hoped to become.

The thwack of hardwood echoed across the garden as Ohacha swung his blade in a wide arc, testing the space between them. Rolena parried with a swift but gentle block, her sword moving with a blur, deflecting his strike with little effort. He swung again, this time to the left, testing to see where she would commit her guards. She avoided the swing and parried the next two that followed.

“Much better” Cask’s voice broke through the tension again. “But your offense lacks conviction. Testing an opponent helps you learn what they might do, but it also lets them learn how you think as well.”

Rolena glowered again as she avoided a more committed swing and then caught the follow up blow on her shield. He tried again with no change. Frustration bubbled inside Ohacha, but he drove it down. Focus, he repeated. Getting angry had gotten him killed in the last two bouts. He couldn’t afford to let it happen again. Ohacha repositioned, stepping forward with a renewed sense of focus, his shield raised to catch Rolena’s blow. He caught her swing high, leaving her sword-hand out of position and he slashed out, aiming at Rolena’s exposed shoulder. She deflected it easily with her shield, stepping back until her sword was freed. She pushed him back with a thrust aimed at the same spot in the ribs she had struck earlier. Ohacha sidestepped, his movement fluid but a beat too slow. The attack only barely missed. 

“Your attack was far too predictable,” Rolena challenged. “At the start, your footwork is good but as you go on, it gets slower and heavier. And you’re thinking too much. Trust your instincts more.” Ohacha wasn’t sure whether she was trying to give genuine advice or if she was taunting him.

His breath caught, but he didn’t let it show. He would not falter. Another attack, this time his blade aimed at her head. Rolena moved out of the swords path. She dodged often and committed to defence only when necessary. Her jabs were timely and precise. He swung again slashing low at her legs. She jumped backwards with ease and swung her blade upwards across his face. He stepped out of range, but the sting of the near-miss bit at his pride.

“Now you’re getting the hang of it!” Cask bellowed. “Don’t think. Feel the rhythm of the fight. The mind sees and reacts, but the body decides the course. You have trained for this.”

Rolena stepped in, her eyes flicking to Cask, who gave a slight nod. With that, she moved to engage more aggressively. Her sword came down in a vicious diagonal slash aimed at Ohacha’s shoulder. He blocked with his blade, but the strike left him exposed as she reached forward with her empty hand. Except, Ohacha remembered her having a shield in that hand before. She had dropped it, committing everything to this last attack by grabbing his arm with her own.

Rolena twisted and tried to pitch him over her shoulder but Ohacha abandoned his own sword to counter the throw. They grappled, each one trying to trip the other. Rolena still gripped her sword awkwardly between her body and Ohacha’s shield. Their hands pulled and grasped for control. Rolena’s foot caught Ohacha off-balance but Ohacha held on, ensuring they tumbled to the ground together and her sword didn’t skewer him in the process.

Ohacha slipped free of her grasp and both fighters rose at the same instant, Rolena with her sword in hand and Ohacha with his shield. Without a weapon, Rolena pressed forward sword held high. Ohacha didn’t think, he simply reacted despite the ache in his arms and shoulders. He swung the shield and it caught her square in the chest. She flew backwards and hit the ground hard, fighting off the unpleasant sensation of having the wind knocked out of you.

“Good,” Cask said, his tone more approving now. “Much better. I think that’s a win to Ohacha.”

Rolena rose again, she collected her shield and Ohacha his sword. Rolena’s lips curled into a grin, “Now you’re getting it.”

Ohacha lowered his blade, taking a steadying breath. Sweat dripped down his face, but there was a spark in his chest that hadn’t been there before—something that felt like progress, even in the smallest of ways.

“Again, Ohacha. You must ready yourself to face your destiny. If you truly wish to defeat your father’s enemies, then you must first conquer each challenge that comes before,” Cask said, stepping forward. “Do you understand?”

Cask’s question hung in the air. Ohacha’s chest heaved under the strain. His lungs burned. His muscled ached. He was tired. But for the first time since exile, Ohacha found something within him that said, yes, you can do this. It felt like hope, perhaps. Or power. A glimpse at a future where he had control and agency. He pictured it; the dream of one day returning to Gaag to reclaim what was stolen from him. “Yes” Ohacha answered, still catching his breath.

“Good,” Cask said, “Focus up and go again.”

With the sun’s departure, the evening air felt cool. Gaba’ké dressed in his most formal of clothes, a set of robes from bygone days spent living in the Krimas castle back in Gaag. The last time Gaba’ké had worn this very outfit, it had been in the weeks before the betrayal. The memories were heavy and they settled firmly over his heart, making it difficult to look forward to the night’s merriment. Gaba’ké combed his long white hair and even did his best to fix the shape of his bushy white beard. This was an important night. Aramuk and Ohacha had finally received their formal invitation to dine with the Yohati family. He took one last look at himself in the small reflective glass, and descended the steps to the ground floor.

Gaba’ké had been an Aginjigaade in a king’s court for most of his adult life. He was accustomed to the lavish banquets and meals that accompanied important guests and dignitaries. As such, he had some semblance of what to expect as he followed Aramuk and Ohacha across the estate gardens up to the grand front door of Yohati’s mansion estate. The princes wore their most esteemed Gaagian attire. They wore sightly differing maroon tunics with threaded gold patterns. Gold and turquoise accents matched the noble colours of the Krimas family, and those of the Kingdom of Gaag. Ohacha wore, in Gaba’ké’s own opinion, far too much jewelry. He wore gold chains, earrings, bracelets, and rings that felt as if the boy were trying too hard to validate his status. One look at Aramuk’s face suggested he agreed, but wasn’t keen on arguing with Ohacha right before such an important meeting.

The door to the estate opened and a servant with a long face and wide eyes greeted them at the door and led them through the small foyer, down a narrow hall, and into a wide and opulent banquet hall. The room was massive, with high arching ceilings and space enough for two hundred. It was a room built to entertain, and in the center was a table long enough to seat thirty and filled with enough food to feed the same number. Spread across the table were countless silver platters, each complete with steaming dishes that filled even the large room with their enticing aromas. Gaba’ké spotted several whole fish, baked crabs, roasted ducks, prawns, and crystal goblets of wine all surrounding a small but still sizable roasted boar. Vibrant scents danced around the nose – jasmine, coconut, garlic, and savoury nutty smells. It was enough to make Gaba’ké’s mouth water. This was a feast more lavish than any he had known. Gaba’ké blinked, thinking perhaps they had misunderstood the invitation. But, sitting on the far side in the middle of the table were only three people, Patzau Yohati, Reah Yohati, and their daughter Fera.

The Patzau and his wife rose from their seats where they had been waiting. Reah swept forward with the charm and grace of a woman who had attended an uncountable number of such gatherings. The compact and unreadable Patzau Yohati ambled behind. Only the daughter, Fera, seemed uninterested in the formality of the occasion. Her eyes lifted from the spread of food before her, but her interest didn’t linger on her guests.

Polite greetings were made and soon all were seated along an amusingly small portion of the absurdly long table. To his surprise, Gaba’ké was seated in the middle of the table. The two older men, Aramuk and the Patzau, were placed on his left to share in their own more private conversation while he and Reah served as the buffer between the adults and the children. Ohacha seemed put off at being relegated to a seat as far from the Patzau as possible, and more insulted at the obvious lack of interest his own dinner partner displayed. Their meager polite platitudes felt a strained affair. Servants moved silently though the great space, even the soles of their feet soundless against the hard wooden floor. They cleared shells and bones, refilled goblets and ensured the ensemble of dishes maintained the appearance of being untouched, despite the contrary.

When all were seated, Reah raised her glass. “To old friends,” she said, her smile drifting between her husband and Aramuk. “May this evening rekindle a relationship steeped in time, but never forgotten.”

“It warms our hearts to be here and to see you so well after all these years,” Aramuk responded. “We have important business to attend to here in Caso, and your generosity and hospitality will not go unappreciated or unnoticed. Cheers, to the rekindling of friendships.”

Goblets clinked. All drank. But Gaba’ké noticed the old Patzau was yet to smile. He wasn’t sure if this was something to be concerned about, or simply the old man’s nature. Reah and Aramuk did most of the talking in the beginning. Reah was the kind of woman whose charm seemed to fill the entirety of the room. She spoke openly and asked interesting questions. She reacted in all the subtle ways that made a person feel heard. It made her instantly likeable.

Aramuk was equally pleasant. He had always been the smartest of the three brothers and what he lacked in charm, he made up for in knowledge and wisdom. He steered the conversation effortlessly though a range of complicated topics even Gaba’ké felt he knew little about; Casoyan trade routes, markets, and politics.

Yohati was of a different type of person than his wife. His questions were forthright and direct. It felt as if each question he asked was a test or a quiz. He asked about the minute details and listened with a sharp gaze that felt like he was calculating each and every response. He offered little information in return. There was a tension in his tone and questions that made Gaba’ké feel just the slightest bit uncomfortable. There was a cold undercurrent that even Reah’s charm couldn’t completely smooth over. From time to time, Gaba’ké would add to the conversation, but his attention was split equally between the two men and Ohacha and Fera on his other side.

While the conversation between the older folks was generally thriving, Ohacha was stumbling through his attempt at conversation with Yohati’s daughter. Fera was as graceful as her mother with her words, but as charming as her father, which is to say not at all. Ohacha’s earliest attempt at conversation had begun with an attempt to impress Yohati’s daughter with tidbits about the interesting places he had been and things he had seen. When that didn’t work, he tried talking about Caso, then swordplay, then histories, and even dancing. No matter what Ohacha tried, Fera seemed uninterested. She sat across from him with poise and maturity, but her few responses made it clear she had dismissed Ohacha entirely.  Worse, the lack of engagement seemed to be wearing on the boy’s nerves. Ohacha was a prince, and had never been so openly disregarded. It wasn’t until Reah turned and asked a question to Gaba’ké about his abilities as an Aginjigaade that the girl’s interest perked up.

“You’re an Aginjigaade?” Fera asked with interest, interrupting Ohacha, who had been mid sentence. She set down the shell of the strange meat she had been eating, ignoring Ohacha, who was now visibly angry. “Were you born in Gaag like Ohama here?”

“Ohacha” Ohacha corrected through gritted teeth. Fera ignored him.

Gaba’ké floundered. She was doing it on purpose. For whatever reason, it was clear she wasn’t fond of being sat away from the more important conversation. Ohacha clearly felt the same way, but at least the prince had tried to make something out of it. “No” he answered after a hesitation. “I was born in a small village just the north of Ayaan. I came to Gaag when I was much older.”

“What is your Aginjigaade moniker?” Fera asked. “I hear all the Aginjigaade love to take up a name that represents them.”

“He is known as the Stone Aginjigaade” Ohacha announced proudly, attempting to reclaim the conversation. Fera continued to ignore him. She turned her full attention to peppering Gaba’ké with questions about his abilities, his travels, and how and why he had come to be in the service of the Krimas family. Gaba’ké answered politely, but did his best to shift the conversation to less personal topics to little result. The girl was as persistent as her father and Ohacha remained relegated to a silently fuming spectator to the point where his ego was clearly bruised and his immaturity was put on full display.

As the meal wound down to its end, Ohacha, lulled by the wine and the constant frustration of being unheard answered carelessly to one of Yohati’s questions. The Patzau had asked what their party was looking to purchase with the influx of coin the auction house sale would be enabling. Before Aramuk had the chance to answer, Ohacha chimed in that they were interested in purchasing additional ships for a fleet and to spend it on soldiers. Whether he had been hoping to appeal to Yohati’s business acumen, or looking to impress Fera, Gaba’ké wasn’t sure. But a sharp look from Aramuk was enough to make-clear that Ohacha had said more than was appropriate. None saw the flicker of satisfaction that passed across Yohati’s face. Despite the gaffe, Aramuk was quick to clarify that the money was for refurbishing the existing fleet and existing retinue of soldiers for the next ten years, which was true in some ways. All eyes shifted to Aramuk in the wake of this new information. Yohati’s questions on the subject intensified until Aramuk managed to shift the conversation away at last.

The evening concluded and the endless trays of dishes disappeared into doorways never to be seen again. Gaba’ké couldn’t help but wonder what happened to all that food now that they had finished with it. Would it be fed to the serving staff, maids, and cooks, or simply discarded. Part of him feared the truth. As they were led out by the Yohati’s, Aramuk was invited to meet with the Patzau again in a more private setting where they could discuss business. Ohacha, once again left out, felt scorned. First it had been Fera Yohati, now her father and his uncle. Gaba’ké shared in Ohacha’s disappointment. Aramuk hadn’t even tried to include his nephew in the meeting. Despite his constant declarations that Ohacha was in charge, his actions proved otherwise.

Night had fallen and the large branches from the old trees above cast dark shadows where the moon’s light couldn’t reach. Even in the darkness, the scowl across Ohacha’s face was unmistakable. Gaba’ké wanted to find something to cheer the boy up with, but wasn’t sure what he could do. He had little to offer and it was difficult not being able to help. Making matters worse was the fact that Aramuk seemed oblivious to his nephew’s feelings. Part of him worried that Aramuk was being dense purposefully because of Ohacha’s slipup.

It wasn’t until they reached the guest house that Gaba’ké pulled Ohacha away from his uncle to have a moment alone. “I just want to talk for a moment” Gaba’ké said. They retreated into the darkness and found a large stone table a short walk from the house.

“I don’t want to talk about the ships thing” Ohacha rebuffed. “I know I made a mistake.”

“No, no” Gaba’ké responded. “Not that. I don’t care about that.”

That seemed to work and Ohacha’s face lifted with new interest. “The girl. Fera” he said.

That sunk Ohacha’s hoped all over again. “No” Gaba’ké added sternly. “I think she was trying to make you angry.”

“Well then she did a good job” Ohacha said derisively.

“Look, I wasn’t able to listen to everything you two talked about, but she seemed deliberately abrasive. You brought up a wide range of interesting intellectual topics and she didn’t engage with any of them. I think, despite her antagonism, you handled yourself well up until the end.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Ohacha chaffed.

Shit, Gaba’ké thought.“That’s not what I meant” he corrected. “I’m just trying to let you know that you were great and that some people just aren’t great conversationalists.”

“She seemed to have a wonderful time asking you all sorts of questions about being an Aginjigaade” Ohacha countered. “I bet if I were an Aginjigaade, she would have been enthralled with me too.”

“Again, I think she was trying to upset you” Gaba’ké added a little more sternly than he intended.

“If I were an Aginjigaade, things would be so much easier” Ohacha said.

“And I once thought things would have been easier for me if I were a prince” Gaba’ké countered. “And that’s where we’re both mistaken.”

“You don’t understand…”

“No, you don’t understand!” Gaba’ké contradicted. “You put my kind on too high a pedestal. You see us as powerful, capable of seemingly impossible feats. I can see it in your eyes that you both revere and envy our capabilities and strength. So much so that you see us as greater than. But this is a fallacy. Seeing us in this way blinds you to our humanity. Behind the great feats, we are just people, same as you. We can lie and cheat and steal. We can love and yearn and need. We succumb to all of the same weaknesses of any other man; greed, cruelty, arrogance, apathy. Perhaps even more so. With few exceptions we can die in all the same ways you can and also in several more that you cannot. We can abuse the powers we have been gifted for our own gain. And those powers we presume to control are by most accounts the very same abilities that lead us to early graves.”

Ohacha stared back, unsure what to say. Gaba’ké sighed and sat in one of the chairs at the table. Ohacha followed suit. Gaba’ké took a breath and tried again. “When I was just a young boy in Ayaan, still a student at the Aginjigaade academy, I thought my purpose for being there was to learn to control my abilities. To hone them. To become powerful. As an older man, I now realize that what I was taught was not how to be strong but instead how to be a decent person; a member of society in spite of my gift. What you misunderstand is that people look at you the same way you look at me. They see the wealth and the title and the power that being a prince gains you. They see the men, like me, who serve you and lords who fly your colours and miss the same difficult more-complex truth of who you are – your personal strengths and flaws. They may see you too as greater than. They don’t see the hardships you have endured. They don’t see suffering that you have weathered because of it.”

Ohacha nodded, slowly. “I think I understand.”

Gaba’ké continued, “You can’t control what other people think, or do. Their reverence of you is their choice. And unfortunately, their disinterest in you is also their choice. Their thoughts and feelings are their responsibilities, not yours. What I am trying to tell you is that regardless of what others perceive, or expect of you, your only responsibility is to be yourself and to do what you think is best.”

“What if I’m not sure what that is?” Ohacha asked.

“Then you have two choices,” Gaba’ké answered, “ask for help from somebody you trust, or try your best to figure it out on your own.”

“But what if I make the wrong choice? What if I mess it all up like I did today at dinner.”

“You didn’t mess everything up, Ohacha” Gaba’ké said calmly. “And the answer to your first question is that you learn from the mistake. You think I was born knowing the answers?” Gaba’ké chuckled. “I made a lot of mistakes when I was your age. Bigger mistakes than you’ve made, and I turned out alright.”

“Like what?” Ohacha asked.

Gaba’ké sighed. “I’ll tell you sometime, but not tonight.” He placed his hands on his knees and rose to his feet. Extending a hand, he pulled Ohacha to his feet as well. “Let’s go inside and get some sleep” he said. “I’m stuffed from that feast.”

Yoharum stepped out of the small inn he had been staying at inside the city. It primarily catered to foreigners and the man behind the counter was too detached to ask any questions. Just the way Yoharum liked it. It was already close to mid-day. He’d been out the night before, visiting the usual underground spots that attracted the kind of crooks he had been looking for. Later, he would pick out some thieves and lower tiered scoundrels. They would be used as the first line of fodder. Between his usual crew and the newly hired muscle, Yoharum felt confident. All he needed now was the opportunity.

The sun beat down overhead and even through the loose clothes; he was already feeling the heat. The humid morning air carried the strong aroma of wood smoke, warm bread, and spiced poultry. The scents permeated out from the small restaurant and into the street like an invitation. The restaurant was a little hole-in-the-wall nestled between two of the larger tenements on a narrow side street. Out front were a number of small makeshift chairs and a short wall for patrons to find a seat. A gray-haired man with a thin face tended to the food on the skillet with a long metal spoon in one hand and a metal poker in the other. He wielded the two instruments with a level of skill one might expect of a Mada’abi stone assassin. Yoharum ordered a skewer and some fresh bread and found a place on the half-wall on the opposite side of the street. He had considered the little chairs, but wasn’t confident in their ability to support his large frame.

The calm following the storm felt stark in its contrast to the tempest that was his thoughts. Yoharum’s mind raced, always calculating the best path to winning. He finished his meal and looked around in disappoint. How far this city has fallen. There were only two types of people inside the city’s walls these days, rich Casoyans and rich foreigners. Foreigners, Yoharum thought, rolling the word over and over so as to punctuate the pejorative taste it left. Everywhere you look, wealthy fucking foreigners.

When Yoharum was younger and stupider, he spent his days on the streets robbing rich foreigners to survive. He needed the money. His parents needed the money. But a child is no match for a full-grown adult, and his career as a thief was swift and short-lived. He had the long scars on his back to prove it. Had he been older, it would have been a hand. But this harsh lesson taught him an important truth: dead people don’t seek revenge, and people don’t lose sleep over missing foreigners.

After finishing his meal, Yoharum set off for Patzau Palace. He shot a despicable glance at three foreigners at one of the small street-side tables, but they didn’t notice him—they never did. Weaving his way onto the main thoroughfare, he moved among all kinds of people, from those out for a luxurious stroll to others, like him, with places to be and families to feed. In the back of his mind, a dark thought always whispered urges to simply off some nagging, rich bitch or pompous old nobleman. The kind of people who spouted discriminations about people they were too sheltered by wealth to ever encounter. A passing patrol of guards, with their lances held skyward, served as a charming reminder of why he chose to ignore those thoughts.

Soldiers wandered in packs around the palace and Dohina square, where the entire area was bustling with activity. Children, some the same age he was when he got his big lashing, ran in and out of the palace as messengers. They carried letters and information between important places and people in the city. A younger boy ran at full speed in front of him, a small wax tablet grasped firmly in his hands. It was a common job for young people. Messengers from the palace were paid in meals and coppers, and there was a common agreement among everyone that they were not to be messed with.

Soldiers wandered in packs around the palace and Dohina square. The entire area was bustling with activity. Children, some the same age he’d been when he’d received his big lashing, ran in and out of the palace as messengers. They carried tablets and messages between important places and people across the city. A young boy ran at full speed in front of him, the wax tablet large in his firm grasp. Boys and girls who worked as messengers were paid in meals and coppers and even Yoharum deemed harassing a messenger as deplorable.

Yoharum crossed the canal along the bridge closest to Yohati’s estate. He was here just to scout it out, hoping to catch a glimpse of his targets. Yohati’s boathouse came into view, as did the soldiers who stood watchful on the docks. He walked the walls of the estate and found it as impregnable as he feared. A large portion of the estate hugged the canal, while another third was hemmed in by the walls of other large and well-protected castles and villas of the elite. That left only the long stretch of wall along the cobbled street. Yoharum strolled along their length. The walls were twice his height with poor handholds and slick mossy growth. Spikes protruded from the top, and soldiers peered down over the spikes. His original assessment remained valid, the estate would be near impossible to break into. A single gatehouse revealed the only apparent entrance and exit, disregarding the boathouse. There hadn’t been any obvious escape routes. No backdoors or openings. It was possible that the adjacent properties shared some kind of secondary exit but Yoharum felt confident he wouldn’t find it. He circled the block one more time and returned to the canal bridge once again to reassess.

From his vantage on the bridge, Yoharum leaned over onto the hot stones and pulled out a round pear. He took a juicy bite and looked back over towards the estate. The walls were too high to get a good view, and so he turned his attention towards the row of three- and four-story buildings that occupied the opposite side of the street. If he could gain access to one of those units, he could get a better vantage of his targets inside the walls. That would be the best path, while he waited for Bartiin’s plan. Yoharum finished his pear and tossed the core into the canal. It landed with a small splash.

When he looked back up, he spotted a familiar face, “Zhenya?” Yoharum called out to her, but she’d seen him first and was already walking his way. She wore a noblewoman’s kebaya with a sash over her long skirt. Without seeing her face, he might have passed her off as any other woman in the city. She was shorter than him, but taller than most women and walked with all the grace of an aristocrat and all the strength of a true Casoyan. Her family was from the mountain villages, same as his, and they had originally met through their specific line of work. She was like him, raised poor and ostracized by city folk. The main difference was she had the gift and the gift made her valuable to thieves and gangs.

“I got your message” Zhenya said as she approached. She closed the distance between them before she continued speaking. She leaned backwards on the railing to face him, while he leaned forward over the railing to keep an eye on his prize. “So, you’ve got a new job?” she asked.

Yoharum smiled. He and Zhenya had worked together for years and there was nobody Yoharum trusted with his life more than her. She was no amateur. Despite being his senior by more than a decade, she was the only person Yoharum trusted. “A big one” Yoharum answered, switching from city Casoyan to the dialect that the mountain people spoke.

“A big one?” she repeated. “Who’s the client?”

“A foreigner. He’s looking to kill some other foreigners” Yoharum answered, “Seems political. Disgraced princes that have been run out of their castles.”

“Princes?” she repeated. “Sounds like that might stir up a fuss.”

“Not likely”

“Where are they?”

“In there” he said, gesturing to Patzau Yohati’s estate.

“In one of the estates?” she asked. “That’s Yohati’s. You know that one’s Yohati’s right.”

“Correct” he answered.

“I’m out” she said. “There is no reward great enough for the risk it would take to break into one of those estates.”

“Wait, wait, wait!” Yoharum said. He reached out to stop her from leaving. “We don’t have to. We’re not breaking into any of the estates.”

“We don’t have to?”

“We’re to jump them after they’ve already left the estate. We make it look like a robbery gone wrong” he said through a wide grin. They’re supposed to be rich too. Might even score some extra coin along the way.”

“If it’s a big job, then there’s some kind of obstacle” Zhenya surmised. “What’s the catch?”

“The bodyguards are the hiccup,” he said, “at least based on the information I’ve been given. We’ve got to kill the two princes, but they’ve got bodyguards.”

“What’s so special about the bodyguards?”

“One’s a famous swordsman and the other is a master Aginjigaade” he said. She frowned at him in response. “Hey” he continued, “I said it was a big job, not an easy one.”

“Spirits” she said, “A master Aginjigaade? Who is it? What’s the affinity? I won’t do if they’re a flamer or an icer. And I know there’s an icer in the city. I’ve felt it.”

“That’s fair” Yoharum said. She had shared stories of an ill-fated encounter with a flamer. The madman burned everything in sight. “I agree, no fire or ice Aginjigaade” Yoharum continued. “The bodyguard is a stone Aginjigaade, famous for his defence. From what I’ve learned, he hardens his skin to protect against physical attacks. The swordsmen, however, can die the same as any other man. That’s why I need your help with the Aginjigaade and to make sure he’s the only one. No surprises.”

“You want me to fight a master Aginjigaade?”

“No, no!” Yoharum said, “I just need him distracted while we kill the others. You use your mental thing and distract him or whatever. Then you pull back and let the grunts do their thieving and the muscle do its murdering.”

“How many people are you getting involved?

“The regular crew and yourself, if you’re still interested. I’m planning on hiring a bunch of extra thugs for numbers. I’ll reach out to Viiran to send us some of the fresh blood from his gang. Kids they’re not afraid of losing. They can serve as the vanguard of the attack. The young ones are always the thirstiest for blood.”

“What’s the take?” Zhenya asked. Yoharum reached in her direction and placed an object on the stone wall of the bridge. He removed his hand and the golden coin gleamed in the hot sun. Zhenya picked up the coin and studied it.

“Careyago” she said, studying the coin. “They’re the clients again?”

“I guess so,” Yoharum answered, “and there’s plenty more where that came from.”

“How much more?” Zhenya asked, returning the gold piece.

“Theres forty more in my pocket” he said, and her eyes ears perked up. Yoharum smiled, “And a hundred more for completing the job, both targets killed.”

Zhenya’s eyes went wide. “You’re serious?” she asked. He nodded. “Spirits, you could buy your own palace for that much. What’s the split?”

“Twenty for the crew, and ten more for the gang members. Two of which would go to Viiran. That would leave ten, split between you and me just to attempt it. I’ll give a bonus to the crew if we pull it off and split the rest between us sixty-forty” he said. “Sound fair?”

“Sixty for me?” she asked with a sly smile.

“Sixty for me” he countered.

“It seems like a decent job” Zhenya said. “Can we trust your client?”

“Never” Yoharum answered. “I was contacted by the prime. The same one who paid us for the Northrock job. So clearly this Bartiin guy has connections in the city. Equal to those of the two princes. Considering our record with them and the discretion associated, the job seems credible.” Zhenya let out a long sigh in response. “You disagree?” Yoharum asked.

“No, I’m in.” she said. “It sounds almost too good to be true, and that’s why I’m hesitant. Either way, regardless of whether or not things go right or wrong, I’m not looking forward to having to leave the city to hide out in some backwater hamlet for the rest of the year.”

I could be one of those rich foreigners travelling to far off places, Yoharum thought to himself. “Who knows” he said, “people always say there’s more to the world than the isle of Caso. Perhaps we leave this hellhole of a city for a while instead.” Or, maybe its enough to change things for the better.