‘One were strong as seven.’

The etched words on the rim of the silver painted spyglass referenced a part of the puzzle they were missing. Nikase and her colleague, the first mandolin, squinted at it together, standing in the center of a dark purple hallway, under a lone skylight. 

Until that rainy autumn day, Nikase had never visited any of Gaidos’ famed ‘puzzle houses’, or heard of them for that matter.  Zui, the colleague, took the time to explain that they were a sort of ‘fun house’ with many puzzle-filled rooms, and depending on the order you solved them, you would be carried through a different story. The ciphers could be tackled individually or as part of a group effort. 

All 80 members of the Philharmonic had been invited to the outing on the Crown’s dime. A penance of sorts. Half the orchestra hadn’t bothered to show up. They were put off by the weather, or the incident itself, or both. 

The incident– Nikase shook away the second hand embarrassment and glanced at Zui who was dismantling a flower pot. 

“I don’t know if that’s meant to come apart,” she observed, pointing the spyglass at the skylight.

Zui was the sole member of the orchestra who either didn’t know about the circumstances of her husband’s death, or chose to ignore them. He was the only person willing to be in a group with her, and because he was the sort of person who got along with everyone, she hoped that doing well at the puzzles would improve her chances at making other friendships. 

Keeping her expectations and optimism at reasonable levels was a balancing act in its own regard. 

“Nonsense, if it wasn’t part of the puzzle it would be bolted down— aha!” he exclaimed, holding out the base of the planter. It was thicker than it needed to be and on closer inspection appeared to be a clay dial, with seven square slots along the rim. “I think I remember seeing something that could fit in here in that ugly yellow octagon shaped room. Stay here, I’ll be right back!” 

He set the base down on a table and ran off. 

Nikase walked along the hall, pointing the spyglass at anything and everything. She thought she had a stroke of genius when she got the idea to point the spyglass at the clay planter base, but that resulted in nothing.

Looking up at the skylight, the panels were different colors, and it had the likeness of a clock—if the day had far fewer hours in it. Seven silver squares were painted on the ceiling around the window, meaning it was related to the ceramic dial. 

She turned around to where the dial sat on the table and startled both herself and the young, blond, woman who had soundlessly joined her in the hall.

“Oh–I’m sorry!” she exclaimed. 

The woman wasn’t part of the orchestra, she was—

“Your excellence!” Nikase wobbled her way into a clumsy curtsy. 

Dovec culture had a government that contrasted Bevij’s. No monarchs, no bowing, no curtsying. 

“Oh please don’t—you don’t have to do that,” Princess Unah said flustered, setting the dial down on the table. “I’m the reason we’re all here after all! God this is so embarrassing to begin with. Not being here! Sorry, I hope that didn’t sound like I don’t want to be here, or that I think I’m too good to be here.”

Princess Unah was Prince Valkom’s new wife, and… the instigator of the incident. 

Prior to her arranged marriage, she had come out into proper society as the eighth daughter of the King of Desol, a large industrious nation east of Bevij, with a huge monopoly on silver ore. She was beautiful, at least by Dofec standards. There were bigoted parts of the world who didn’t see the beauty in dark cool skin tones, but over the last century or so, Bevij (Gaidos especially, thanks to the tourism) had become a bit of a cultural mosaic.

She was a good-natured person with an unproblematic past, and overall a very favorable princess. This is all to say that the events that took place the night of the incident were unforeseen by all. 

On a spur of the moment decision, during an outing in Northern Gaidos, the royal family decided to attend a performance of the King’s Philharmonic at Rajendr Mias Hall, and every single second leading up to the incident had been horrible. 

The director and conductor took the stress out on anyone and everyone who got in their way. And with everyone rushing to make sure every inch of the theater was worthy of its name, avoiding them and their rage was futile. 

Nikase changed her outfit twice at the demand of the director because according to him her skirts were a tinge off-black. When she came back from her apartment, the mood was sour because the man had made 4 different changes to the night’s program in the last hour. 

Back home, her program director was flippant in his decisions time after time, and she often savored the rush of adrenaline imposed by last minute adjustments. Music was wonderful that way. Raw, improvised, and imperfect. But here, away from everything she loved, such changes only strained and stiffened her talent. A real problem here in a land of promised perfection. 

And then the curtains went up.

The performance took off. The Voyage to the Tegran Sea was a two-act ballet, with each act lasting about 40 minutes. The story was a tumultuous one, of a hero traversing the Tegran Sea, juggling pirates and sea monsters, as he struggles to complete the quest on behalf of the Goddess Eula. 

The composer, Romanika Davero, was one of Nikase's favorites. A double-edged sword. She knew the piece well and could play it by heart, but by doing so it was very easy for her awareness to slip onto that shelf, hovering over her head. 

Tumbling through the song at the mercy of its rhythm kept her awake through the first 20 minutes. But on their steady approach to the intermission, something changed. The momentum and intensity of the music slowed, and she thought it was a flashback at first. To a fickle argument she had with her late husband, a whole lifetime ago.

“What would you know of my body anyway?” The crack in her voice resonated in the hall. 

“Stop? Why should I care? You don’t! You don’t care about any of this!”

“You didn’t have to bring her!” 

The last cry made her realize that it wasn’t a flashback and the situation wasn’t her own. The crowd stirred, heads turning in the darkness, searching for the source of the sound. 

“Then you shouldn’t have brought me!” 

Up in the box seats, Princess Unah shoved her way past a staff member, only to shove her way back and throw the remains of her drink on Prince Valkom. On her way out, she fell over, catching herself on the sleeve of another person in their party, and tearing it down along the way. She shrugged away the person and their offer to help before stomping off. The theater gawked in silence as the curtain came down. 

“I’m mortified, truly,” said the woman standing before Nikase, trying in vain to twist the dial on the table by force. “I had too much to drink and really let Valkom’s friends get the better of me.”  

Nikase sought to bring her solace. “I find that Bevij is a hard place to make friends.”

“Yes!” Princesse Unah exclaimed. “And Valkom’s friends, they’re not bad people. They just have an impenetrable wall of history between them that I know I’ll never make my way over. There’s one red-haired woman in particular that is apparently good at everything. And of course I know Valkom doesn’t want me there—But anyway, now we’re here, and I’m no good at puzzles, so I’m hiding and subjecting you, a stranger, to my complaints.”

From the get go, the musician felt compassion for the princess. They were both strangers to the land, adding a layer to the scrutiny imposed to them by their peers. As women, they were held to a higher level of criticism. 

Prince Valkom could go to Dofev, instigate a fight, and claim it was the influence of alcohol that impacted his decision. And no, he wouldn’t be free of all judgments, but it wouldn’t be held against him either. Not to the same degree as they would hold it against Princess Unah.

There was a chance that Nikase was putting too much of herself on Unah’s character. People would forget. Especially since the majority of those present during the incident had been travelers. 

 “I’m no good at puzzles either,” she said, thumbing the edge of the spyglass. The wider end had been sanded down from its round shape, giving it an angular heptagon shape. “Wait—hold on.” She took the dial from the princess, who flinched at the accidental brush of Nikase’s fingers. No one ever expects the fingers of a harpist to be calloused. 

She took the wide end of the spyglass and fitted it into the odd sized center of the dial. The fit was perfect, and the dial turned with a satisfying click. A slot opened on its side to reveal a gold painted key inside. 

Princess Unah gasped, “Oh my gosh, how brilliant! Do you have any idea what it opens?”

“Not at all.” She took out the key and held it out for her. “But if you take it back to your group, they might find it rather impressive.”

“Oh, but you opened it.”

“With your assistance.”

The princess smiled to herself, her expression and voice soft, “Very well. Thank you. Pray what is your name?”

“Nikase Ojeda.”

“Of the Ojedas? In Dofev?” 

She was familiar with Nikase’s family, but did she know about Nikase’s situation?

“What are you doing out here?” 

Apparently not. It was Nikase’s turn to speak in a soft, sheepish voice, “I’m visiting for a couple of months.”

“Where are you staying? In Northern Gaidos?”

“Yes, at the Resort Black.” Her brother put her up in the luxury resort despite her protest. The family name had a standard to live up to.

Unah’s eyes lit up, “I love the Resort Black. It’s the best place outside of the Palace to stay. Anyway, if I send for you to join me for cards, would you do me the favor? I’m going to make an effort to make friends of my own from now on,” she beamed.

Nikase’s heart fluttered, because who knew if the woman would be extending the invitation if she knew—

Stop, her subconscious begged. She smiled and nodded at Unah instead.  “Absolutely.”

“Perfect, thank you, Lady Nikase.”