“No,” Moira said. “We've done nothing all day but try to compromise. If you won't see sense, then the discussion is over. Alfheimr is not to engage with Orean. Unity will investigate your father's disappearance and negotiate his return, and that is that.”

Rheamaren frowned, the thick mask of Alfheimr restraint cracking. “Why won't you just—”

“Rhea,” Leandros warned. The single word silenced the princess instantly.

Malong smiled, one corner of her lip curling up to reveal sharp fangs. “Best listen to him. You've been very quiet all this time, Prince Nochdvor. How do you feel about your cousin's instigating? If I recall, you used to be quite against violence, in your youth. Though perhaps that changed after Histrios?”

Leandros' jaw clenched; his hands curled into fists at his sides.

“We are not speaking of past affairs,” Rheamaren said, her voice like stone.

“Forgive Malong. We only want to help you, Your Highness,” Diomis soothed, finally stepping into Gareth’s field of view. The two alfar were tall for humans, but the nympherai Magistrate stood heads taller than them both. Their legs tilted oddly as they stepped forward, enough to draw attention to their smooth gait and the hooves peeking out from beneath their skirts. Atop their head sat something like a crown made of kelp. “We have people who are well-equipped to handle situations like these. His Majesty will be safe in our hands.”

Moira picked up where Diomis left off: “Think about it: whoever took your father took him for a reason — if not, why not kill him on the spot? If there's a reason, then he's still alive. And if our agents can learn the kidnapper’s reason, they’ll have a better chance of getting him back than if you charge in senselessly.”

“I already told you who took him. You just refuse to listen,” Rheamaren said, making the Magistrates exchange looks. “What of that woman? Will your agents be prepared to handle her?”

Diomis laid a bony hand on Rheamaren’s shoulder. “You are distressed. It is understandable. You witnessed something terrible, and your mind filled in a fantasy to make sense of it. Forget this orinian woman. If she exists, we will handle her.”

“Are you saying we lied?” Rheamaren asked. Words like those seemed strange coming from such a blank expression.

“Of course not,” Diomis replied. “We just don’t know what to think, not without an investigation.”

“What we do know is that Orean is ready and willing to use violence,” Moira said. “Whether that violence was alchemical or something else entirely matters little to us. And we know that responding in kind could drive them to further extremes. While they have your father, that's dangerous.”

“But—”

“Rhea,” Leandros said again, so quietly this time that Gareth almost missed it. Rheamaren turned to look at him, and Gareth wished he could see her expression. What he did see was Leandros' subtle nod and the way Rheamaren's shoulders slumped in answer. Finally, Leandros turned to the Magistrates. While his words remained deferential, his voice soothing, shadows thrashed beneath his icy eyes. “I hope you'll forgive our hesitation, Magistrates. It's been three days since my uncle's abduction — three days of high tensions and little sleep on our end. You've not only conceived a plan that will keep the continent peaceful, but considered our king's safety in making it. We should be thanking you.”

Gareth could practically see Moira relax into the couch, relieved to be talking to someone with sense. He saw her perceived victory in the slow curve of her smile, but then Leandros continued.

“But you also know Alfheimr needs to be the one to bring him home — for our relationship with Orean, for our people's confidence in their future queen, and for the rest of the world, looking on. If you force us out, it will not go well for you,” Leandros said.

Moira sat up again. “How do you figure?” she asked.

Leandros smiled like a cat in the sun. Or perhaps, Gareth thought, like a chess master that just laid a trap. It was more expression than he’d ever seen from an alfar, and Gareth found it even more unsettling than a blank stare.“Everyone knows how much Unity hates Orean, and they know how long you've been waiting for this chance. If they find out you banned Alfheimr from rescuing its own king, won't they question your motives? If they learn the truth of what Rhea and I saw in the tower, what will they think then?”

“The truth,” Malong spat. “You saw nothing in that tower that day. You were in shock. Going around and spouting nonsense about magic — no one would believe you, even if you tried to tell them.”

Diomis shot her a warning look, but Leandros only shrugged. “I suppose there's only one way to find out. Suspicion spreads like poison, swift and lethal,” he said. It was a clear threat: if the Magistrates went forward with their own plan, cutting Alfheimr out of its own rescue mission, he would tell the world what he had seen. Silence fell as the possibilities settled over the Magistrates. As if he didn't even feel the hostility, Leandros continued, “There are other truths I could tell them, as well. Ones I have been silent to until now. Shall we see who they believe?”

Moira’s brows drew together, Diomis stared, their ichthyic eyes unblinking. Malong seemed to have the strongest reaction, her tail whipping angrily behind her. “What do you want,” she ground out.

Again, that smug smile. “I’m glad you asked. I’ve thought of a compromise that I believe will satisfy us all.”

“Go on,” Diomis said.

“Unity wants a team to investigate and negotiate Amos’ return,” Leandros summarized. “Well, Alfheimr having a representative on the team that we trust, one with a personal stake in seeing Amos safely home, would go a long way in assuaging our people. Surely, that is not an unfair ask?”

“I suppose not,” Diomis said.

“Wonderful. Then I volunteer for the position,” Leandros said.

The Magistrates considered this bold alfar. “You want to join the team?” Diomis clarified.

“Not quite,” Leandros corrected. “I want to lead it.”

At that, Moira laughed. “You have quite the pair on you, boy,” she said.

“Respectfully, Magistrate, I'm twice your age,” Leandros said pleasantly. “And you know I’m qualified for the position. I have experience leading similar missions for the Oracle of Damael, direct personal knowledge of Orean, and a dual degree in psychology and law. Not to mention, as Magistrate Malong kindly pointed out, a reputation for both peace and ruthlessness that will ensure Orean takes me seriously.”

“Absolutely not,” Malong hissed. “With your history? Your father's history? Your threats? All that, and you expect us to believe you're impartial?”

Leandros nodded as if he'd expected this. “I'm from Alfheimr, aren't I? Impartiality is what we do best,” he said. More earnestly, he continued, “Magistrates, I'm asking to work with you to get him back. Alfheimr can't do this alone, but neither can Unity.”

Gareth didn't understand the significance of any of this, of the references to magic and motives and secrets and histories, but he knew how his sister looked when she was genuinely considering something. And though Rheamaren stared at her cousin with wide eyes, she straightened her shoulders and joined in. “My cousin's compromise sounds reasonable to me. If he leads the team, then you'll hear no more objections from me or Alfheimr. Leandros will report to you, and the team itself will still be of your choosing.”

Moira twitched, crossing and uncrossing her legs. It was Diomis who finally spoke, a rueful smile on their thin lips. “You make reasonable points.”

“You’re not actually considering this?” Malong hissed at them.

Diomis shrugged. “Having the Hero of Histrios join with Unity once more...it's a compelling narrative.”

It was only because Gareth watched Leandros so closely that he noticed Leandros react: he blinked twice, rapidly, his mouth twitching down into a frown. Gareth imagined it was the alfar equivalent of flinching.

“Do you use that law degree of yours, Prince Nochdvor?” Moira asked.

“Not currently.”

Moira hummed. “You should.”

“You’ve given us much to think about,” Diomis said. “Crown Princess Nochdvor, Prince Nochdvor, may we have a moment to discuss? I propose we meet here again in an hour.”

Gareth scrambled back from the door before he was caught, but not fast enough. Rheamaren Nochdvor threw it open with such force that it nearly hit him, throwing off his balance. He landed on his backside, the contents of his bag spilling out over the hallway. The princess barely seemed to notice, storming off in a random direction, her expression still frighteningly neutral, and Gareth pushed himself up onto his elbows just in time for Leandros to follow. Unlike his cousin, his own expression was far from neutral: it was fiery, furious, though that fell away to surprise when he saw Gareth.

Gareth blinked at him. Leandros blinked back. And then Leandros Nochdvor did the unthinkable: he crouched and started to gather Gareth's scattered papers.

“Please don't!” Gareth said in a mortified whisper. “Really, that's not necessary. You can just leave it.”

“Nonsense.” Leandros tapped a bundle of papers against the ground to straighten it. “That was my cousin that crashed into you just now; if she won’t take responsibility, I will. Forgive her, she’s had a difficult week.” He glanced up at Gareth, his catlike pupils blown wide in the dim hallway. “Were you on your way to see the Magistrates?”

He seemed so...gentle, outside the tension of the Magistrates' Chambers. It made his resemblance to his uncle even more uncanny. For a moment, Gareth could only stare, but he jumped when he realized Leandros was waiting for a response. “Ah! Yes. Moira is…” he said, trailing off when the alfar’s attention shifted to the small pamphlet he’d found among Gareth’s papers. Gareth made a grab for it. “Please, pay that no mind!”

Leandros held the pamphlet out of reach, however, and turned it so Gareth could see the scandalous black-and-white illustration on the cover. The alfar raised a questioning eyebrow at him while Gareth struggled to make an excuse. Then Leandros surprised Gareth once again by asking: “Are you finished with this? I don’t suppose you’d let me borrow it?”

Gareth’s brain stuttered to a stop all at once. “Are you…a fan of the story?”

Leandros ran his thumb over the penny dreadful’s cover. “Something like that.”

“Then by all means, it's yours. It’s my wife’s, but she’ll be thrilled to have someone make good use of it.”

Leandros almost smiled at Gareth, the expression barely there. “You’re sure?” he asked. He climbed to his feet, then offered a hand to help Gareth up as well. He was stronger, broader than he’d seemed from a distance, and Gareth felt embarrassed at how easily he was pulled up.

“Quite,” Gareth managed.

Leandros made a soft, pleased sound and tucked the pamphlet into an inner coat pocket. “Thank you, sir. For what it’s worth, you’ve made one of the worst days of my life slightly more bearable.”

“I’m glad I could help,” Gareth said. Then, in the awkward silence that followed, he blurted, “I’m sorry for your loss.”

It was an admission of guilt, he knew, a confession that he’d been eavesdropping, but Leandros didn’t seem bothered by it — or if he was, it didn’t show. Instead, he simply said, “I've heard that over and over, these last few days, but you're the first one who's said it and seemed genuine. Thank you.”

Awkwardly, Gareth held out his hand. “Gareth Ranulf,” he said. Seeing the recognition in Leandros’ eyes when he said his last name, he added, “And please forgive my sister. She cares more than she lets on.”

“Hm,” Leandros said, shaking Gareth's hand. “I should really go after my cousin, but thank you again for the chapter. I thought I’d missed my chance to read it. Please...don't tell anyone about this.”

Gareth couldn't tell whether he meant the kidnapping or the penny dreadful. “Of course,” he said, moving out of Leandros' way. “Her Highness went that way.”

Leandros bowed before following his cousin’s stormy path. Gareth watched him go, waiting for him to round the corner, then snuck quietly away before anyone else found him there. He decided he had best leave Moira to her work, after all.