“And the thief?”

“Whether they live or die is inconsequential before the swift and careful recovery of the egg.”

“To clarify then, Your Majesty, I am just as free to kill those involved in the theft as I am to let them live should it also mean securing the egg?”

“The egg takes precedence, but make no mistake, Fia, death marks their existence either way. Whether by your hand or ours, theft of imperial property must be punished. Should you find yourself capable of obtaining both thief and egg, without harm to the egg, bring me both. Or have I overestimated the abilities of one such as yourself?”

“So, you want the thief and the egg.”

“I want justice, Fia. The empire cannot tolerate any who would undermine it, for the safety of its people above all, and it is your job to secure those foundations.”

Rather than bring the carriage to the main stable yard, it had been driven to a large underground corridor situated beneath the far end of the palace’s east wing. Few had access to this particular hideaway, its existence more speculation than known fact. It served as an escape route, with a series of winding tunnels snaking beneath the building, all of which eventually converged upon this secret room and could be accessed by hidden doors scattered around the palace. Those closest to the emperor knew where some of these secret entryways stood, having been entrusted with only a select handful of these locations.

Fia had always suspected some sort of system like this existed, and now he knew the extent of it. They weren’t uncommon among royal houses as most people with any taste for power knew the worth of a proper escape path. His own home had something similar built beneath it, though its underground labyrinth spanned the whole city and provided not only endless opportunities for escape but for entrapment as well. 

“You look amused.”

“Do I?” Fia asked, shifting his attention to Virtan. They stood inside an empty stall lined with fresh straw, a bucket filled with cold water set in the far corner. Another bucket, full of grain, hung from a chain hooked to the iron bars that closed in the top half of the stall, each bar set just far enough apart for a horse to push the tip of its muzzle through them.

Behind him, a member of the Winter Guard secured the small door, its outline fitting seamlessly with the stone bricks that made up the wall. A soft click followed as the apparent locking mechanism slotted into place. Had Fia not seen the set-up for himself, he would have had a hell of a time picking the door out from the rest of the wall. The trick to it was the lack of mortar, but the lines were so fine human eyes could all too easily be coaxed into overlooking it. 

“You do,” replied Virtan, an edge like winter's first breath cooling his voice. 

The general did not look at him but instead dropped his gaze to the floor and toed at the stall’s bedding. Fia lifted an eyebrow.

“You brought me down here,” he said.

Virtan exhaled a mere ghost of a laugh and strode out into the corridor. “You say that like you already knew this place existed.”

“Perhaps.”

“Should I be worried about this, Fiarac?”

Fia shrugged as he followed Virtan out of the stall. A smirk, slow to form but viciously honest, carved itself into the corner of his mouth. “I thought you all were done with being worried about me.”

“And so we brought you down here. Or need I remind you that your duty is to keep this empire safe?” Virtan tipped his head ever so slightly to the side, just far enough for his gaze to catch on Fia’s. The threat lingered, silent but unmistakable, as bright and cold as steel set against flesh, the only thing to be read in his grey eyes. When Fia said nothing, Virtan sighed and gestured toward the carriage. “You can tell already, can’t you?”

He could.

By itself, the carriage looked unremarkable. Pale blue, clean but not too clean. For someone not used to travel, nothing worth commenting on, but for the well-traveled, it might have suggested a relatively short trip on a clear day. Dust powdered the underside and coated the wheels. No reliable markings. Nondescript, but not quite forgettable. The color would make sure of that, though it stood out less than an all-black or all-white carriage would have in Taivaadan’s streets, given the current fashionability of brightly colored carriages among the nobles. A new trend spawned by the influx of dyes and textiles from recently acquired trade partners. 

Which was a rather pleasant way of terming conquest. 

At the head of the carriage stood the typical two-horse team. Trade merchant, then, Fia noted. Light on wares. That had been the disguise.

The interior typically gave a better idea of what was being transported. Those carriages hollowed out with only a single bench for seating allowed for more storage area, generally used by merchants carrying examples of their merchandise in the hopes of enticing future trade partners or, in the case of tailors, completed outfits, usually rushed for some last minute dinner party and not granting the time needed for proper packaging. The other type of transport carriage modeled in this fashion retained both its inner benches, allowing for more guests, and by guests, this usually meant guards. Reserved for the incredibly rare or exceptionally expensive item, often taken in hand by one of the merchants themselves or some trusted employee, these carriages also contained inner and outer locking mechanisms to secure their doors. Such carriages were not meant to carry in number but rather in scarcity.

From the outside, however, there was no way to distinguish which was which, though the former was far more common than the latter. If a driver managed to push a horse team through the streets with some sense of urgency, then it played all the more likely that one was dealing with a tailor’s last-minute hurrah. 

Given the slight droop to the horses’ heads, it appeared as though that may have been the case here. 

A mid-level but promising cloth merchant trying to make a name for themselves. Was that the theme here? 

“I can tell,” Fia finally answered. The theme didn’t matter. That wasn’t what Virtan had asked about. Fia could see it, though, the pale smoke that lingered around the symbols cascading down and around the carriage’s body. Faint but present, with no scent to identify it. He turned to look at Virtan. “Can you see it?”

“No.”

Fia huffed, more in amusement than disappointment. He reached out, ran his index finger in a line down the carriage door, close but not quite touching it, and watched as the tendrils of smoke unfurled in his direction like flowers aching for the morning sun. Before they could make contact with him, he pulled his hand back and set it stoically at his side once more.

“Then how did any of you know?” Fia asked.

Virtan took a step forward and bowed his head, aiming to take a closer look at the carriage. “The empire has its methods, Fiarac. We may not welcome all magic nor see the viability of those particular arts given the harm they pose to those less inclined toward magic in general, but we are aware of its continued existence. Your very presence here is proof of that.”

“You have your methods, and yet —”

His voice broke apart as though it had slammed into a brick wall, shattering his next words before he could speak them. Something shifted inside of Fia, and a sense of unease shook loose with it. It slithered about his chest, coiled around his heart, and climbed along the ladder of his ribs. He swallowed. The thing inside him paused, but Fia swore he could feel it staring into his soul. However, the moment he tried to grasp for it, the breath in his lungs shuddered. He let it go and looked over at Virtan instead. 

Done with his inspection of the carriage, the general walked over to Fia and placed a hand on his shoulder. His touch light, more specter than man. Leaning in close, he murmured, “Pray you remain useful, Fia. The empire has no love for the magic that makes a home of you." Straightening himself up, he cleared his throat and patted Fia twice before moving off to where three of the emperor’s guards, dressed in their evergreen finest, stood before a large iron gate. Beyond it, only darkness. “There is a horse and a team waiting for you outside. Gather what information you need from this and make haste. The emperor expects success and soon.”

Far too silent for its apparent weight, the gate rose from the ground as one of the guards shifted a lever on the wall. It moved with a soft clanking that barely resonated around the underground chamber. More magic. The implications of that Fia left buried in Virtan’s wake. He turned back to the carriage as the general disappeared into the dark of the tunnel.

Eight guards remained with him. All dressed in the uniform of the Winter Guard. Fia glanced around him. Two soldiers stationed by the gate. Two more on each side of the carriage, standing a good five feet away from it, far enough to give Fia room to work, close enough to intervene with only a quick step. The last two worked to unharness the horses, who flicked their ears impatiently and nipped at the dark green sleeves of their jackets.

Fia exhaled and beckoned toward the last stall, the darkest one, in the corridor. “Come then, Ithíofan. I have a job for you.”

From the shadows, a large black wolf emerged with a yawn. It slid through the wood of the stall’s lower door, its body rippling like a lake’s surface pelted by rain. The wolf shook itself as it cleared the door, and with each step it took, the shadows clinging to its fur peeled away as though the darkness tethering it could no longer keep its hold upon the creature. By the time it trotted over to Fia’s side, it was more flesh than dream. Fia set his hand on the wolf’s head and patted it appreciatively. 

“Fucking hell!”

The wolf perked its ears forward. It opened its mouth and began to pant, unconcerned by the commotion it had stirred around it. If Fia had to say anything, though, he thought Ithíofan looked amused. He was certainly amused.

“A right twisted joke...” muttered the guard to the left of the gate. Fia didn’t look behind him. It didn’t matter. They could hear every word spoken down here. “Blood magic’s bad enough, but he’s got command of the spectral too?”

“Looks like it," the guard opposite him replied.

“And this doesn’t...?”

Fia gestured toward the carriage. Taking the cue, Ithíofan moved forward and began sniffing around the back wheels. For his part, Fia studied the magical symbols scrolling down over the carriage’s sides. Few would have been able to see such a thing, which suggested a mage of considerable ability at the heart of the theft. Layer after layer of magic had been woven into the carriage’s framework, including defenses against magical interference.

None, however, spoke to a prospective assault from the shadows. 

“Blood and death go hand in hand, doesn’t it? No wonder he’s got both. Shouldn’t be that surprising.”

The guards standing to the side of the carriage stepped back further as both the wolf and Fia continued their inspection. 

“Leave the horses, Ithíofan,” Fia said absently. The wolf paused, then leapt easily to the top of the carriage with a dismissive snort, rattling its frame and causing the two horses to start. But that was all the reaction Ithíofan’s antics earned him. Unsurprising, however. Those weren't typical carriage horses but combat-class mounts. Few in the empire wouldn’t recognize the pearly white coats of Aurinon’s war horses. The sight of them on the field had brought more than a handful of battles to a quicker-than-expected end. 

“Heard the only thing he’s not great at is the auroral stuff, on account of all the death…”

Behind him, the conversation at the gate continued.

“That and pleasing the Queen.”

A ripple of laughter through all the guards.

“You know, I always wondered why he wasn’t part of her harem...”

Fia drummed his fingers over the carriage door. A code had barred entry into the carriage at some point, but it had since been dismantled with no evidence of violence. Smoke lingered around the handle of the door, and as Fia took hold of it, the pale grey tendrils reached out for him once more. He brushed them aside with a flick of his fingers and opened the door.

“You wondered? The Queen’s got more against his type than anyone else. ‘Sides, that stuff about the harem is nonsense. People put anything to rumor these days.”

“Rumor, huh? But wasn’t his clan part of the slaughter on the Maanithrean border? That’s where she’s from, ain’t it?”

“And he tried to assassinate the first prince...”

“Even without all of that, everyone knows she’s got a thing against soul-meddling magic. Don’t matter if they are as strong as him. Not natural, she says.”

The inside of the carriage was remarkably clean but clearly modified from the typical merchant transport. Between the two cushioned benches rested a long, hollowed-out wooden box spanning the length of the carriage with a circular hole in the center just large enough for a dragon’s egg. The box had been stuffed with straw over which a thick green velvet blanket had been draped. More blankets had been folded neatly over the seats, piled so high they reached the ceiling of the inner carriage. Added cushioning should the road get bumpy and the egg dislodged.

"Can you blame her? Blasphemous business that sort."

“Goes to show you a pretty face won’t get you everything.”

“You know he can hear us, right?”

Fia stepped back out of the carriage, the wisps of smoke following him. He waved his hand to disperse them. Above him, Ithíofan sniffed near the carriage’s box seat with dedicated interest. 

“What of it? Not like the blood bastard can do anything about it.”

They weren’t lying. As much as Fia would have liked to deck every single one of the guards here, the moment he so much as tried to think of it, a chill crept into his chest. He whistled instead, cutting into the conversation. Ithíofan jumped down off the carriage, his violet eyes glowing preternaturally bright. Fia smiled at the wolf.

“We’re done here,” he said.

The guard to the left of the gate stared at him, suspicion clouding his gaze. “Are you? Get along, then. They’re waiting for you up top.”

Wasting no time, though not because he felt any particular hurry, Fia strode toward the tunnel with a slap of his right hand against his thigh. Ithíofan fell into step beside him, and the shadows of the tunnel swallowed them both. Despite the wolf’s apparent disappearance, once more engulfed in the darkness he called home, Fia could still feel him trotting easily by his side.

The last of the guards' conversation chased after them.

“So, it's true about the contract?”

“Heard they made him sign it with his own blood. Now he can’t do a damn thing against the empire.”

“Makes me think I’d rather stay a free man than a powerful one.”

“You saying you don’t like money either?”

Laughter echoed deep into the shadows. 

“He gets paid the same as us.”

“Still, I wouldn’t say no to more coin. Money’s a different sort of power anyway.”