Jynn . . .

Let no man leave this city . . .

Jynn . . .

Lock all gates . . .

"Jynn!"

The caster's eyes inched open.

"Rise, boy."

Jynn woke amidst an uproar. Loud horns blared through the bedchambers grated windows, and he could hear screams and clamor from panicked crowds in the inner city below. Guards and high-ranking officials were shouting orders as they stampeded through the palace hallways; their armor clinked and clanked against the marble floor. Towering above him was a familiar face, that didn't look nearly as inviting as the last time he had seen it.

"Lord Craetys," Jynn mumbled, rubbing his eyes.

"Rise," Craetys said once again. He grabbed Jynn by the arm and dragged him from bed.

Jynn staggered to his feet. "What's the matter?"

"Ill timing," Craetys said with his baritone grouse. "Gather your garments and make haste of it."

Jynn did just that. He didn't put on the dressy garb he arrived in, but slid on a sable, hooded robe with the Nim insignia woven into the back in jade-green. He threw on his boots and had not even a second before Craetys had him by the arm again and practically drug him from the chamber.

Jynn was starting to feel panicked himself. They made their way around the outer circle against the grain of rushing guards. They passed the King's corridor and at the end stood Azrael. It scared him to see the King's face severely beaten; screaming and waving his hands in a coughing fit.

"How am I to remember?!" Azrael yelled, "The hour was late. The bastard nearly killed me as well! It's all a blur. He was the height of a standard man, wore a heavy cloak, hooded."

"But Your Grace, you must have saw a face?" a guard said , "Anything?"

"I will not say it again." Azrael spat. "He wore a hood! His face was veiled."

"And you say he escaped through the window?"

Azrael growled and knocked the contents of a decorative table off in one brisk swing. Ornamental plates and other fragile pieces fell and shattered against the floor. He went out of sight as Jynn passed the corridor, but he continued to listen to Azrael's howlings.

"You will question me no further. I've told you all I know. Do as your King commands this instant! Find the bastard. Find him and kill him, unless my wife's blood runs in your hands."

Jynn eyes widened. "What does he mean by that?" he murmured. He looked to Craetys for an answer, but there was none, just his rugged, stern, and reticent expression. They quickly made their way through the circular halls. He struggled to keep up with the bulky giant. Craetys kept one hand tightly around his arm and one around the hilt of his cleaver-like blades. They descended a couple flights of stairs and took the corridor with large double doors at its end. Guards stood posted at the entrance. Craetys snapped his head in a move gesture. The two nodded in return and made way, speaking briefly as they passed.

"G'mor, Lord Craetys."

Craetys only grunted and continued into the dining hall.

An abundance of folk crowed the room, but it wasn't for breakfast. From highborn and royalty, to select servants and others, they were all talking amongst themselves. Jynn heard some of the mutterings.

"How could this have happened," one woman said.

"I know, she was so young too. Who would do such a thing." said another.

The queen? Jynn thought, has she passed?

Guards lined the walls in high alert, armed and ready to kill. Through the hall's muttering, Jynn heard sobbing and mourning. Towards the back stood prince Sora, with his sodden eyes of red and blue. A woman held him in her arms. A woman who was taking the news as bad, if not worse, than he was. Around them were what he assumed were relatives or close friends of the queen. Tears rolled along most of their faces while some blew their noses on silken cloth.

"Lysandra," Craetys said.

The sobbing woman holding Sora looked up. Her face was the staple of distress, tear-soaked, and snot-ridden.

"Craetys," she cried, running to embrace him. Her arms clenched around his neck. "How could this have happened?"

Craetys held her. Gently rubbing her arm in a silence. Her tears struck and rolled along his ivory breastplate. I'm so sorry," he said finally, rocking her slowly. His usual rugged voice fell frail.

"Why her," she bawled, "What has my sister done to anyone?"

"I know not," Craetys said. He pulled her away and wiped away her tears with his thumb. "Try and find peace, love. We - I, will find the hand that cast this stone."

Jynn saw that she found assurance in that, she nodded and brushed her face with the back of her palm. Gods it must be true, he thought, the queen is dead.

"Lysandra," Craetys said, "Keep an eye on this boy for me." He turned and looked at Jynn

"The caster?" she asked.

"Aye." he said. He placed an inviting hand on Jynn's shoulder and introduced them. "Jynn, this is Lysandra. My wife, and sister to Queen Eva.

Jynn saw Lysandra's eyes begin to well up again, but she held them back with a pained smile. He bowed. "Well met."

"The pleasure is mine," she replied.

"You all stay put until things calm." Craetys said "The whole damned kingdom is in an uproar."

Jynn nodded and asked, "My lord, how can one man make his way through an entire palace without being seen or even suspected by anyone?"

"For that I am not certain, caster" Craetys said, "I've ravaged my mind of this also. Azrael requested no guard be posted at his chambers yester-night. To spare vulgarity I won't mention details, but -"

"The sick bastard!" Lysandra flamed, "Belly deep in some-"

"Calm yourself," Craetys growled in a harsh whisper, glancing around at a few who've taken notice to her outburst.

Lysandra took a deep breath and looked around. A few eyes were still on her. Embarrassed, she slid her hand against her face "Sorry," she muttered. "To be honest, I wouldn't doubt His Disgrace killed her himself."

Craetys crossed his meaty arms, rolling his fingers against his bicep. "While I admit his tale seems dubious at worst. We have no evidence it was Azrael, even so, there would be nothing we could do." He went silent for a moment. "But for a man to enter a guarded palace with no recollection of being seen is quite the feat. The detail that stands out the most is that the assassin escaped - excuse me, jumped - from the bedchambers window. That window yields a distance of at least fifty men from ground up. No mortal man would survive such a fall."

"Unless you were a caster." an eavesdropping, bystander muttered.

Jynn quickly took notice to an elderly woman staring directly at him. An unpleasant face. Thin, bloodless lips outlined a frown set in a face riddled with sores and wrinkles. Her eyes were dull and droopy and sat above a nose that was the highlight of someone as short and crippled as she.

"Keep your big nose where it belongs, servant." Craetys beamed. "Besides, Jynn doesn't fit the King's depiction."

The woman shrugged pretentiously and staggered away on a cane a bit long for her statue

"Pay her no mind, Jynn. All the hag knows is woe," Craetys said loud enough for her to hear. He looked at his love and sighed. "I must go."

Lysandra acknowledged him with a dropped gaze and nod of dismay.

He gave Jynn's shoulder a pat. "Jynn, I apologize for you to have arrived at such conditions."

"It's quite alright," Jynn said, "My heart aches for us all." Lysandra eyes again welled, this time unable to hold back, and she began to sob. "Oh no," Jynn refrained "I didn't mean to -"

"It's fine, let her be," Craetys said. He took to a knee and looked the caster eye to eye. "Listen," he whispered, "I asked Lysandra to see after you, but it's rather the opposite. You're more capable than any guardsman here. I know it is a bit ridiculous, but we must do as the King commands. It's more of a veil if anything - a distraction."

Jynn's brow raised curiously, "A veil? What are you saying?" he whispered. "Are you telling me that you indeed believe she was victim to the King's hand?"

Craetys momentarily went silent again. "Caster, I'm not sure what I believe. If Azrael indeed did such, what purpose had driven him so? What did he have to gain by taking the life of his own? Chilling thought, say true. His sickness is driving him mad."

"Sickness?" Jynn asked.

"Aye, why do you think he summoned you."

"Why, to heal him? Is that why he appears the way he does?" Jynn asked.

Craetys nodded. "Repulsive."

"What is it that plagues him?" Jynn continued, "His own flesh looks like that of dead man's."

Craetys sighed "That is something that I cannot answer. Neither can any of our best men of doctrine."

"Then why summon me?" Jynn said, "Casters can draw sigils for basic remedies, but even as blessed as I, depending on how severe, I may not be able to cure him."

"We are aware." Craetys said, "Other casters have tried to no avail, but when the His Majesty got word of you, he thought if anyone could heal him it would be the Nim prodigy of East Eden."

Jynn gave a small laugh, "How can I cure a man if I know not of even what ails him. Why not bring someone from the Healing Shores of South Eden, an oracle even?"

"We have."

"To no avail?"

Craetys hung his head. "Nay - rest their souls."

Rest their souls? Jynn thought and looked at him peculiarly, wanting to know more, but was interrupted before he could ask.

"Craetys," a voice called.

Both glanced to the entrance of the dining hall, met with the sight of King Azrael storming towards them. His expression, riled, with a split lip crusted with dry blood and a face that housed the swellings of several bruises.

Craetys stood at once. "Your Grace."

"What do you think you are doing?" Azrael chided, "You and your men should be searching every last corner of this city! Take your leave."

Craetys bowed. "My apologies, Your Grace, right away." He looked briefly at Jynn and marched from the hall.

Jynn took notice that Lysandra had stopped crying and was leering at the King with an expression of apparent anger.

Azrael either didn't notice or didn't care and took Jynn by the arm, leading him out of the hall as well. "Come with me." he said, "We have much to discuss."