Being an orinian in Unity's capital city was a singular experience. While Maebhe gawped at the sights and sounds, the locals gawped back. Then, when she caught them staring, they cleared their throats and smiled and passive-aggressively asked if she spoke ellesian, or if she needed directions anywhere. It was annoying, but never harmful. Not until today, at least. Between yesterday and this morning, something had changed.

It wasn't just the man that had spat at Maebhe's feet as she left the hotel, or the pair of Gallontean police officers that followed her from place to place and thought they were being subtle. People gave her a wider berth, unfriendlier stares. But maybe she was just paranoid. This cold city made her over-analyze and overthink, again and again in a constant loop. Having her companions close helped, but because she was a good sister — the best, really — she'd cleared out of the hotel to give her brother and his fiancée time to themselves. That meant keeping herself entertained, alone, at the café next door. It had salty pastries and weak coffee, weaker than anything you'd find in Orean, but it also had a private patio that kept strangers' eyes off her tail and ears and birthmarks.

She ripped her pastry in half and pretended to contemplate the flaky crust, but out of the corner of her eye, she watched the police officers lounge against the counter and whisper to the barista. Surely, she was just paranoid. Maybe they'd just wanted coffee. She was trying to read the barista's lips with little luck when a man suddenly blocked them from view. Ears flattening to her head in annoyance, Maebhe looked up, ready to tell him off.

“Oh,” she said instead. “It's you again.”

The man fidgeted with his bowler hat. He was less bloodied than he'd been when Maebhe saw him the night before, but the bruises left behind weren't pretty. Beneath them, though, he had a kind face — middle aged, with a full salt-and-pepper mustache. “Pardon the interruption,” he said awkwardly.

“No, it's fine. Is your face okay? What happened?” Maebhe asked.

Self-consciously, the man touched the bruise under his eye. “It's kind of you to ask. I'm alright, I just had a small accident. Fortunately, a kind soul stepped in to help.”

“Shit. I'm glad for that,” Maebhe said. “Sorry I didn't say anything last night, but you looked kind of scary with all that blood and I was very drunk,” Maebhe said. As soon as the words left her mouth, she regretted them. This man was religious, wasn't he? That's what the obelisk on his watch chain meant? She should probably keep her pastimes to herself.

But the man was too polite to comment on it, instead fidgeting with his hat again. “I understand. Is this seat taken?” he asked.

Maebhe gestured for him to sit. “I guess not. I'm Maebhe, by the way. Please no 'Ms. Cairn' or anything like that. I can't abide it.”

“Maebhe, then,” the man said, sitting. “Informality for informality, I'm Gareth. I rent the rooms across from yours.”

“I remember. You've got the cute kid.”

“My daughter Ofelia,” Gareth said with a smile that fell away quickly. “Maebhe...I'm sorry for bothering you if you're already aware of the issue, and I realize it's none of my business, but have you heard about Illyon?”

Maebhe tilted her head to one side. “Illyon? No, what did they do?”

“I was afraid you might say that,” Gareth said. He pulled a rolled-up newspaper out of his coat pocket and passed it to Maebhe. “You'd better see this.”

Maebhe read the big, blocky headline before she'd even fully unrolled the paper. “What,” she said, voice falling flat. She looked up at Gareth, who only nodded at the paper for her to continue. In all caps, the headline read: AN ACT OF WAR? WHAT OREAN'S ATTACK ON ILLYON MEANS FOR THE TWO CITIES.

Aloud, Maebhe read: “Long-standing rivalries between Illyon and Orean came to a head earlier this week when King Nochdvor of Alfheimr was abducted by orinian soldiers. Several Illyon officials died in the altercation and parts of Illyon’s famous Hampstead Hall destroyed.’ Oh, gods.” Maebhe glanced up at Gareth in horror before continuing. “It’s unclear how Alfheimr will respond to the attack, but the King’s nephew Leandros Nochdvor reported the event to Unity and remains in the city for reasons yet unknown. You may remember Prince Nochdvor from his father’s scandal, blah, blah…” She skimmed the rest. “Many believe the kidnapping was an act of defiance against Unity — oh, please! As if we'd be so stupid!”

Her yelling drew the attention of nearby patrons, as well as of the barista and the police officers. She lowered her voice before asking, “Do people actually believe this?”

Gareth hemmed, then hawed, then eventually said, “Everyone knows how the papers like to sensationalize, but this is rooted in some fact, I'm afraid. I've spoken to Prince Nochdvor myself on the matter.”

Maebhe sat back in her chair, staring at her shredded pastry without really seeing it. “Fuck,” she said.

Gareth covered Maebhe's hand on the table and gave it a comforting pat. Maebhe resisted the urge to pull away. “I suspect there's some misunderstanding, but until it's sorted, it might be dangerous for you to remain in the city,” he said.

Maebhe's eyes widened. “What do you mean, dangerous? We didn't do anything! It says this week, right? Íde, Kieran, and I have been here for over a week, so we couldn't have had anything to do with it!”

“I believe you, I really do,” Gareth said, “But the unfortunate truth is that people aren't always reasonable or understanding, especially when they're afraid.”

Maebhe massaged her temples. “Fuck. I have to go tell Kieran and Íde. We'll need to pack, and...and buy new train tickets, I guess. Is it even safe for us to go back to Orean? Is Orean safe?”

“I have full faith this will be resolved peacefully,” Gareth said, but his smile was troubled. “You should be safe to return home. Please, allow me to help you with the tickets. You'll have your hands full with packing, and it's the least I can do.”

Maebhe stopped massaging, instead watching Gareth with narrowed eyes. “You're being so kind. Why?”

“I’m only alive now because someone took the time to show me kindness,” he said, his hand twitching on the table as if to touch his eye again. He followed Maebhe’s gaze to the police officers at the counter. “Would you like an escort back to the hotel?”

Ears pressed flat to her head, Maebhe nodded and clutched the damning newspaper to her chest. Before following Gareth out, she tied her jacket around her waist to hide her tail. She hoped she only imagined the way the cops pushed off from the counter as she walked past, as if to follow. With Gareth at her side, they didn't bother her, at least, and they made it all the way to the hotel elevator without trouble.

“Here we are,” Gareth said a minute later, when the elevator dinged and they stepped out onto their shared floor. “I'll have the concierge leave the tickets at the front desk for you. Safe journeys, if we don't speak again, but if there's anything else I can do for you, I'm just across the hall.”

“Thank you,” Maebhe said. She waited for Gareth to leave, then threw the door to her rooms open hard enough that it struck the wall with a BANG. She was halfway through the entranceway when she remembered why she'd left in the first place and flung her arm over her eyes, calling, “Are you decent? Can I come in?”

Maebhe heard a soft huff of laughter and the distinct sound of a page turning. “Knocking works just as well, you know,” her brother called in answer. Not quite trusting that, Maebhe felt along the wall with her eyes still covered until she reached the point where the hall opened up into the sitting room. There, cautiously, she lowered her arm and found Kieran at the table, his feet up and his fiancée nowhere in sight.

“Where's Íde? She wouldn't like you sitting like that,” Maebhe said.

“Napping,” Kieran replied, not looking up from his book.

Maebhe shoved Kieran’s boots off the tabletop, making him lurch forward to catch his balance. At that, he finally looked at her, his ear giving an annoyed flick. “Maebhe, what?”

“Read this, then come and find me,” she said, throwing the newspaper at his face. Without waiting for an answer, she pushed through the sitting room, past the hotel’s tacky velvet furniture and striped wallpaper, and didn't stop until she reached the balcony off the dining room. She stepped back into the seaside air, her arms hugged close to her body and Gallontea laid out below her. Not for the first time, it struck her how alien the buildings were, tall and new and strange. From here, she could see over them to the gray outline of Unity's island. Its silhouette reached like a gnarly, clawed hand into the sky, the clock tower a finger pointing toward the heavens.

She'd known she hated this place from the moment she laid eyes on that island. They'd toured it, their first day here, and it had firmly convinced Maebhe that orinians and Unity just didn't mix. Every orinian grew up hearing that; every orinian knew how Unity felt about them. It was a grudge that dated all the way back to the Great War: when Runderath the Mighty slayed Tellaos and the goddess Ellaes created Unity, Orean had refused to join. Centuries had passed, but like a spurned lover, Unity had never forgiven the snub.

It had been risky to come here on holiday, and now they were paying the price.