In the days to come, Argrave amply demonstrated the fragility of Ivan’s hold over the region to Vasilisa.

From the outside looking in, a fortress might seem unassailable. From the inside, one could see the deficiencies the outside hid. Ivan was lord of all the wealthy lands of the north. And yet… the things that he had done did not pass unnoticed, and his manner of rule paled in comparison to Quadreign significantly. Vasquer was shattered, and people took note of that. And lastly, a lord’s vassals often mirrored their lord. Ivan was an opportunist and so surrounded himself with the like-minded.

Argrave first made mental notes of who he recalled being prominent in First Hope. Once these were established, he offered vagaries to Vasilisa suggesting places they might check out—it was just an excuse to confirm that things were as Argrave remembered. Though it wasn’t easy to get in contact with these prominent people, everyone knew who had the power on the island: all they had to do was ask around.

In many cases, they were just the same as Argrave’s memory. For instance, Margravine Sophia, née Drawnwater. She was the estranged wife of the margrave who lived on an estate outside Ivan’s tower. She maintained a prominent position in the aristocratic social world which Ivan refused to take part in. That prominence lent her cousin Pavel of Drawnwater significant mercantile clout. He had a monopoly over luxury goods because Sophia ensured all would-be buyers went to him first.

Ivan and Sophia’s marriage remained childless—a point of heated contention between husband and wife. With the right poison to an already strained relationship… with the right assurances from a third party… to say the least, Argrave didn’t need to spell out the plan to Vasilisa. Though he’d need to speak to the margravine to be sure, Argrave believed these two could form the cornerstone of their faction.

Beyond that pair, there were many others. The margrave’s knight-commander handled most military matters, as Ivan had no interest and no expertise in the matter. The mayor of First Hope handled the entirety of the city—administration, taxes, tolls, the city guard, and tariffs. He was in close contact with the margravine. On top of that, there were the many nobles swearing fealty to Ivan. They controlled the dependent settlements on the coast. Many of them were part of the aforementioned aristocratic social world dominated by the margravine—if not them personally, most had relatives involved.

Vasilisa and Argrave sat alone in their inn late at night. The magister was enjoying a drink as she often did. Galamon was out, refilling his flasks of blood.

“By now, I think things should be clear to you,” Argrave told her as he tapped his fingers on the table.

“You’ve all but said it—most things link back to the margravine,” she shook her head. “I still don’t see a way she can help us, beyond giving more insight as to where my house’s flame might be.”

“Let’s see if we can’t talk to her. This is where that link of yours comes in—I think we can leverage the idea of something profitable in Quadreign to arrange a meeting with Pavel, and then in turn the margravine. Provided she’s trustworthy, that whatever we talk about won’t reach the margrave… I think we have our in,” Argrave spread his hands out on the table.

Vasilisa bit at her lip. “I’m not exactly comfortable with the idea of promising something I don’t have. Now that I know why you’re trying to get the flame, I don’t doubt your genuine commitment. Even still…”

Argrave nodded, thinking of alternatives. Then… it felt like a moment of genius had come to him.

“Do you have any friends you might call upon? People that would be willing to go above and beyond… or perhaps someone who owes you a favor? Someone very wealthy?” Argrave asked, leading her to a conclusion.

Vasilisa looked down into her empty cup. “…I do. Unfortunately.”

Argrave asked with a blank face, “What does that mean?”

“The person in question is somewhat unsavory. And she’s close to the claimant king, Argrave,” Vasilisa said bitterly. “But… she does owe me a favor. Owes my house a favor, to be specific.”

“Is that so?” Argrave raised his brow. “Where’s the problem?”

Vasilisa raised both her hands to her temples and massaged. “I had hoped to avoid involving external powers in this…”

Argrave remained silent for a few moments, choosing his words carefully. “Frankly put, involving external powers might just be the thing that can unite the powers here easiest.” Argrave placed his elbow on the table and rested his head on his hand.

Vasilisa squeezed her head tight, and then fixed her blonde hair back. “…I’ll do it. But only once I know for certain that my house’s flame is actually here.”

Argrave gave a nod, suppressing his happiness. He had been deliberating how to tie their endeavors here to their base of power in Relize, and now it had come to him.

“Once Sanora’s bird isn’t tied up, she can deliver a message within the day,” Argrave informed her. “For now, let’s focus on arranging things with the margravine.”

#####

After discussing a few more things with Vasilisa, Argrave returned to their shared room to find Anneliese pacing about. As soon as he opened the door, her head whipped to him. She stepped to the door and shut it quickly so their conversation could not be heard.

“You return. Vera and Hegazar made harbor on a passenger ship some time ago,” Anneliese declared at once in a quiet, frantic tone. “I managed to get a message to them in hopes of arranging a meeting, but I cannot be sure how effective it will be. Hegazar concealed the both of them with an illusion once he received the message, and I could not follow them further. You know both of their personalities better than I do, and I am unconfident in turning their heads as easily as you—”

“Relax,” Argrave said at once, placing his hand on her shoulder. “You said you arranged a meeting?”

“Yes,” she confirmed, taking a breath. “I mentioned the living fortress to draw their attention. I could think of only one place in such short order—the ferry we landed here on. It was secluded enough, but far from town. Would they go to such a place?”

Argrave ground his teeth together, stepping towards their room’s open window and peering out. “Only one way to find out, isn’t there?”

“But Galamon is still out…” Anneliese pointed out, hesitant.

“Galamon can find us,” Argrave turned. “He’s steadfast. For now, I need to know these two on our side. Twisted though they might be, Castro has persuaded them of Gerechtigkeit’s existence—that must make them more willing to help.” Argrave took a deep breath, calming himself. “Vasilisa drank a lot, so I imagine that she’ll be going to sleep for certain. So… let’s go.”

#####

Galamon walked through the streets of First Hope. He never liked to return immediately after he’d finished filling his flasks of blood. It felt like there was some part of him that needed to be exercised until it calmed… though, perhaps ‘exorcised’ was the more fitting description. It had been a long time since he’d last killed while feeding and today had been no exception, yet the self-resentment remained no matter how he got his blood.

In sizable cities like this one, he preyed on the drunk or the beggars. He would knock them unconscious in a secluded area, then cut precisely to drain their blood into flasks. He never used his fangs—he hated doing so. Though he loathed admitting it, he had grown rather skilled at draining the unwitting of their vitality without harming them seriously.

Galamon found himself in one such secluded place: an alleyway, devoid of any but rats. He was feeling his mind begin to calm from the act, and so tried to remind himself of what he should do. It was time to return, his head clear.

A noise from above spurred Galamon to turn. He narrowly avoided something whizzing through the air towards his head. It sunk into the stone wall of the alleyway. Yet another projectile came just as quickly, this time grazing his helmet. He spotted two thin wires tied to each projectile. They quickly closed in around his neck.

Galamon grabbed the Giantkillers at his waist and raised them to the wires, catching them both. They sparked with hostile magic, yet the nigh-indestructible daggers resisted ably. Galamon was glad his instincts had not failed him, for he was certain his hands and gauntlets could not resist whatever these wires were made of.

After freeing himself of the precarious position between the wires, Galamon looked to who’d thrown those projectiles. They’d avoided even his senses. Something sounded behind him—a rock hitting stone—and Galamon pretended to be fooled by what he perceived as a distraction. On cue, a foe stepped out of shadows at another point, swinging a wide curved blade towards his neck.

Galamon whipped around, elbowing the flat of the coming blade to redirect it. His foe took the hit, arm reeling backwards from the tremendous impact. The assailant had another identical blade in his second hand, though, and it struck out towards Galamon’s stomach. He tried to dodge the blade by leaning backwards, yet the blade still met him. The royal-forged armor stood strong, though. The sword glanced off the armor with a spark of magic and a loud clang, leaving behind a sizable dent.

Seizing the opportunity, Galamon thrust out the Giantkiller in his other hand. His foe was agile—remarkably so—and managed to duck away. Undeterred, Galamon stepped forward, slamming his boot on the ground hard enough to shatter the road. He’d been aiming for his foe’s foot but managed only to graze his boot. Still, the glancing blow did set his foe off balance. Galamon crouched low, then lunged forward with another stab.

At the last moment, the attacker pulled on the wires once again which remained bound to his arms. He pulled himself to the side, dodging Galamon’s deadly thrust. The would-be assassin rolled gracefully, coming to a stop just beside his thrown projectiles. He yanked the items—Galamon saw they were strange, barbed throwing knives—free of the stone, and then wrapped them back around his wrists.

Galamon prepared for more combat, sizing up his foe. Whoever it was wore pitch black light armor, and the only detail visible was the man’s eyes—they were wholly red. The man rose to his feet, jumped up, and climbed up the alleyway with uncanny speed. Galamon briefly considered giving chase, but then decided now would be the best time to get away just as his opponent. Both fled, leaving no witnesses other than the two of them.