Leandros hated Illyon. Every time he had visited the dingy, self-important city, he had ended up regretting it. Smoke from Illyon’s factories turned the sky gray, its lower neighborhoods reeked from a sewage system too small to fit the growing population, and at times, it seemed Atiuh himself had forsaken the place.

There wasn’t much good to be said about Illyon, but in its defense, its people were proud of their city and glad to live in it. That was certainly more than could be said for other cities like it, cities on the brink of industrialization.

And as much as Leandros hated Illyon, visiting still beat staying home. This time, he had known what he was getting himself into, accompanying his uncle on this business trip. More importantly, he had known what he was getting himself out of: a week alone at home with only his mother for company. He would happily take the trade, even if Illyon was dirty. Even if it was boring. Even if it sat far removed from fashionable society and any unusual goings-on, leaving its people far less interesting than they believed themselves to be. Even if his cousin had insisted on dragging him out of their lodging to give a tour he didn't care to give.

It proved to be an eventful tour, at least, when a very unusual and interesting person crashed into Leandros in the crowded market.

He had gotten only a glimpse of the person's face, of her mottled skin and open wounds, but it was enough to root him in place and make cold horror flood his veins. It was enough that when, with one look at his expression, the woman turned on her heel and bolted, Leandros could only grab his cousin’s wrist and follow.

They pushed and shoved their way through the market, finally breaking out from the crowds like a bullet from the barrel of a pistol. Leandros dragged his cousin along through dusty streets and around bends, people around them clearing the way with exclamations of surprise. Always, he kept his eyes on the back of the stranger’s antiquated cloak, far ahead of them.

He watched until its tattered edges disappeared around a corner.

“Leandros, slow down!” his cousin cried. “Where are we going?”

When they turned the corner themselves, all traces of the cloak and its owner were gone, vanished into nothing. Before them stretched an empty street. Leandros swore under his breath and finally slowed, releasing Rheamarie’s wrist as he did.

“What was all that about? Seriously, what is wrong with you?” Rheamarie asked, rubbing her wrist. “Some warning would have been appreciated.”

For the first time since he had glimpsed the stranger’s face, Leandros stopped to think. He frowned down the street; it broke off into two directions at the other end, uphill and down, and he had no way of knowing which way the stranger went. “I…saw something strange.”

Rheamarie gave him a flat look. “Strange? You dragged me through the dirt for strange?” she asked. “Strange how?”

Leandros scratched his chin, embarrassment overtaking him. This behavior was unlike him; he was someone who waited, who thought things carefully through, who didn’t run after strangers. But he was also someone who trusted his instincts, and instinct told him there was something very wrong about that woman. He had never felt such creeping dread. “It was an orinian.”

Rheamarie scoffed. “So? Orean is just across the valley. I’m sure plenty of orinians visit Illyon.”

“I wouldn’t have followed her if that was all, Rhea. She felt like trouble,” Leandros said. “I don’t know how to explain it.”

Rheamarie studied Leandros’ expression, frowning at whatever she saw there. “Should we look for her?”

“Something tells me we wouldn’t find her if we tried,” Leandros said, despite his reluctance. He felt, strangely, like that woman was an ill omen and that letting her go now would only sow tragedy. But his mother always warned him about indulging his foolish imaginings, and he’d already indulged this one too much. He shook off his unease and checked his watch. “Besides, we’re going to be late if we don’t hurry back, and keeping your father happy is more important.”

“If you’re sure,” Rheamarie said. She looked around. “So where are we?”

“Illyon,” Leandros answered automatically.

“You know that’s not what I meant.”

Leandros smirked, the expression falling when he looked up and down the street and realized he couldn’t give a more precise answer if he’d wanted to. It had been a long time since he’d visited Illyon, and their little chase had pulled them away from familiar paths and into a cold, run-down corner of the city.

“How do we get back from here?” Rheamarie asked when Leandros didn’t respond.

Leandros bit his lip, then pointed off down a side street. “This way, right? It’s all uphill to Uppstad Hall, so this must be it.”

“Why do you say that like it’s a question?” Rheamarie asked. Despite her grumbling, she followed Leandros down, wrinkling her nose like she smelled something foul (and in this part of Illyon, it was impossible not to). “When I asked you to show me the city, I meant culture, history, shopping plazas. Not…this.”

“You’ll have to be more specific next time,” Leandros said. He glanced over his shoulder. He almost expected — dreaded, hoped — to see that orinian woman again, but the street was still empty.

“You’ll have to make sure we don’t get lost next time,” Rheamarie countered.

“We’re not lost,” Leandros lied, turning his attention to the city around them. Always under his mother’s watchful eye back home, it had been a while since he passed through streets like these, dirty and decrepit. “In all seriousness, Rhea, it’s your duty to see and understand what’s happening in your province, beyond culture and shopping plazas. Take this as an opportunity: look around and commit this to memory. You’ll have the power to fix it, someday.”

A small line appeared between Rheamarie’s brows as she took in the dark storefronts and muddy streets. Across the street, a group of dirty children played skip rope, chanting an old rhyme to the beat of their jumps.

Taurel, taurel, old stone and coral,
Where do you end your reign?
Spread through the valley, down to the trees.
You will be Egil’s bane.

Leandros’ step faltered at the last line of the rhyme. Hoping Rhea didn’t notice, he scowled and lengthened his strides.

“What’s wrong now?” Rheamarie asked, hurrying to keep up and sensing yet another mood change from her cousin. She glanced back at the children, a soft “oh” slipping past her lips. “Annoyed by a little rhyme, are we?”

Leandros tried to ignore the children, who’d paused their playing to watch Rheamarie and Leandros pass, their eyes lingering on the Nochdvors’ rich suits. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“It’s been decades, Leandros. Most people would have moved on by now,” Rheamarie said.

“I don’t care about the rhyme,” Leandros said, and it was only partly a lie.

“Liar. I have no sympathy, you know. You wouldn’t have had to hear that name if you hadn’t gotten us lost in a rookery to begin with.”

Leandros pursed his lips and remained silent, fighting the irritation that boiled in the pit of his stomach — irritation at himself, his impulsiveness, for chasing that stranger, irritation at being lost because of it, irritation at hearing that name. When he looked back at Rhea again, he saw her studying their surroundings with wide eyes and open curiosity. Perhaps something good would come of this detour, at least: Rheamarie had always been sheltered. Leandros resolved to get her out of the palace more.

They continued on, the sound of the children’s game soon fading into the thrum of city noise. The noise helped soothe Leandros. Being back among people, the normal and the living, Leandros could dismiss both his strange encounter and the ghost that haunted him through children’s games. He could focus on the present, the tangible, and the fact that they were very late for their afternoon meeting.

“Leandros?” Rheamarie asked, skipping to keep up with Leandros’ longer strides.

“Hm?”

“What’s taurel?”

“What?” Leandros asked, looking at Rhea.

“Taurel, from the rhyme. I’ve always wondered.”

“Oh. I sometimes forget you’ve never left Alfheim, Rhea. It’s a flower, grows on the eastern coast. Ah-hah!” Leandros cried, stopping so suddenly Rheamarie almost ran into him. “Look there – I can see Uppstad Hall. We’re close.”

“For a moment, I thought you were going to send us on another wild hunt,” Rhea said, pressing her hand to her heart in a feint of relief.

"Very funny."

They followed the glint of silver brick peeking between dark buildings until lower Illyon fell away, replaced by large manors and cobbled streets. The guards of Uppstad Hall were surprised to see their guests of honor on the wrong side of the gate (how could they have known the cousins would go to such lengths as to scale a wall to get out and explore without guards?) but hastily let them inside.

Both covered in dirt from the city streets, they paused in the courtyard to clean up. Leandros sighed. “I’m going to take the blame for this.”

“For us being late? Well, it is your fault, chasing random orinians,” Rheamarie said, lazily brushing the city’s dust from her boots.

“Stop bringing that up.”

“Then stop trying to guilt me into moving faster. Just imagine the fuss father will put up if we arrive late and in total disarray.”

“I’d rather not, if you don’t mind.” Leandros pulled his old pocket watch out of his waistcoat. The front was dented, the metal tarnished, but when he opened it, it ticked loudly and steadily. Leandros’ eyes carefully avoided the initials carved on the inside cover as he snapped the watch shut.

Around them, the silver brick of Uppstad’s wall caught in the light of the suns, making the place feel like a mosaic of glittering tiles. It shone on Rheamarie’s long hair, the same golden shade as Leandros’ own. They were alone in the courtyard, but now and then, Leandros glimpsed a servant scurrying along one of the upper corridors, disappearing and reappearing between ivy-covered columns.

“I’m finished,” Rheamarie announced. “Would you like to whine more, or shall we go?”

“By all means, let’s go. I can whine on the way.”

“I’ll tell them sneaking out was my idea,” she said, passing a small knot of servants that bowed as they walked by. “We don’t even have to mention your orinian friend. That way, they’ll know it wasn’t your fault.”

“With all due respect, Princess,” Leandros began, “You could have dragged me out on threat of death and to them, it would still be my fault.”

“How can you think that?”

“Cynicism,” Leandros said. “It’s my best line of defense.”

They climbed and climbed to the upper meeting chambers, the stairs ending before a set of gilded doors held open by Illyon guards. Rheamarie swept through first, treating her arrival like a gift to those inside. Leandros smiled to himself, but wiped the expression from his face before following after her.

Expression would only be used as a weapon against him.

Through the doors was a room flooded in light, circled all around by delicately arched windows. The suns outside blinded Leandros, as did the nobles inside, all decked in sparkling fabrics and bright jewelry that refracted the sunslight along the floor and domed ceiling. Spaced throughout the open room, they circled a man at the center, caught in his magnetism, planets circling a golden-bright sun.

Nobles and politicians, circling the King of the Alfheim province.

Amos Nochdvor turned when Rheamarie and Leandros swept in. “Ah, there you are.”

Rheamarie bowed low and Leandros followed suit. When she straightened again, Rhea said, “Apologies, father. I asked Leandros to show me the city.”

Amos turned his attention to Leandros, sharp eyes pinning him in place. A ripple passed through the room at the mention of Leandros’ name, more than a few nobles tilting their heads to look down their noses at him. “You couldn’t have chosen a better time for your tour?”

Leandros bowed again. “I’m sorry, Uncle.”

Some shifted disapprovingly, scowling and whispering to each other, but King Nochdvor only nodded. “In the future, be more conscious of the time.”

With that, he waved them away and returned to the conversation they’d interrupted. Rheamarie tugged Leandros toward an open space by one of the windows, out of the way.

“That wasn’t so bad,” Rheamarie whispered. “Though I’m sure he’ll have more words later.”

The meeting passed slowly, filled with small talk, court gossip, and absolutely nothing of interest to latch onto— that is, until a sudden knock came at the door. The room went quiet when the Captain of the Illyon guard entered and bowed before the King.

“A messenger from Orean is at the gates, Your Highness,” the Captain said.

Leandros hadn’t thought it possible, but the nobles reacted even more disdainfully to the mention of Orean than they did to his name. They’d avoided the subject until now, content to pretend the city-state across the valley didn’t exist.

“Bring them up, then,” the woman beside Amos – Illyon’s governor, Leandros remembered from earlier introductions – said impatiently.

“If you don’t mind my saying,” the Captain began, not even risking a glance up. The man, who’d seemed so fearless the few times Leandros had spoken with him, shook from head to toe. “There’s…something wrong with her. Something unnatural. I wouldn’t let her up here if I were you.”