These easterners are such an interesting lot. They seek to count all things, which is their mandate from the one they call the Juggler of Spheres. Their obsession with counting extends down to the roots of their society, threading through everything. It is their documentation of what they find that I find most interesting. Fights and even the occasional murder has been known to happen as the people debate where exactly in the four holy disciplines such observations should be sorted.

  -Tales of the East

  Silence, like a nagging itch on the back of my neck, fills the ship as the Watcher takes place at the front. Tension shakes up Jor’Mari’s arm, at being dismissed so easily by the man or on my account, I don’t know. I keep my eyes down, not doubting for a second that this man can still sense every move I make despite his back being turned toward the image of the wide-open sky beyond the dome. He unsettles me, and I do a poor job of hiding it.

  The ship, under Galea’s control, sails away in the direction indicated by the Watcher. We are so high in the sky now that any keep will stand out long before we come upon it. I steal a glance at the Watcher, my eyes picking out the magical equipment all around him, boots that give him the air, white silk gloves with more power stitched into them than I can quantify, and those eyes, my own can’t even begin to make sense of them. Are they also some faethian artifact?

  In the eerie quiet, the thrum that runs through the center of the platform we stand on stands out, the whir of enchantment running beneath our feet. The sky looks too perfect to be a real thing, clouds laid too nearly and curling white to be anything other than paint on blue. The effect is made even more powerful with how much nearer we are than usual.

  One stands out, marred a sooty black, and my eyes track the trailing line of dark down to a hamlet built on the side of a hill. I don’t even notice the ship slowing as I approach the edge of the platform, drawn away by a sudden ill-ease that creeps upon me. The line of smoke curling up to color the clouds is far too much to even be a festival bonfire. The eyes of a magician, especially the eyes of this magician, cannot miss the details once they are turned down to see them.

  The dark fumes of several roofs pool together at the base of the snaking line, the lick of flame having long left their windows. Other parts of the small town can only be described as dark shapes burned into the dirt, timbers and square poles sticking up out of the earth to tell of their frames. One fire continues to burn in the center of the town, a huge tree set alight and burning freely in an inferno that changes color as I watch it, shifting between orange, blue, and green. Men move around between the ruins, dragging shapes into a pile near the burning tree. I turn away before I can fully decipher what it is they drag; my mind has already guessed it.

  The Watcher is there when I turn back in on the ship, standing just a few feet away from me, an imperious look in his wide eyes as he stares past me toward the burned-out town. “Far Haven,” he says.

  “Eh?” Dovik asks. He and Jess stand near the edge of the platform as well, still looking down at the destruction below us.

  I glance at Jor’Mari, seeing him linger on the throne at the center of the platform. From there, I don’t doubt that he can see it just as clearly as any of us, probably better, given the pure void of his eyes, a signal that he is straining his perception to the limits.

  “Far Haven,” the Watcher says again, looking at Dovik. “Just a small hamlet, the nearest to the border. There are many such places throughout the empire. They give refuge to travelers, stock news, and get by on selling wares difficult to acquire within our borders. Last night, Far Haven was sacked, the only survivor was a boy who had run off into the woods before dark after getting into a fight with his sister.”

  “Who would do something like that?” Jess asks, her hand covering her mouth.

  “That,” the Watcher says, looking over each of us in turn, his eyes lingering on me, “is what I intend to discover.”

  Jess and Dovik continued to watch the smoking ruin of Far Haven until we passed out of sight of it, the snake of smoke soaring into the sky turning into a retreating wisp that eventually blended into the blue. The ship sailed away, flying through the air at speed, taking us on the course toward the keep.

  The keep appeared on the horizon as a wall of gray stone, a squat rectangle that gradually produced detail as we sped on toward it. The town outside the keep spilled away, six mills turning in the water of the shallow river the keep sat sentry over, carts and people making traffic on the street like it were any other ordinary day. The powerful red doors of the keep’s wall stood open, a small patrol lazing at the entrance, looking on as two members inspected a cart that was in the middle of coming or going. Children splashed in the shallows of the river, just a few strides downstream from a pair of men with lines cast out into the water, sharing an amber jug between them. Birds, huge things with long spindly legs and white feathers perched in the water or on the slanted, tiled roofs of the buildings near the water with utter disregard and audacity. I wonder as I look down upon them, faces turning up to gaze at the golden ship sailing over their heads, if anyone even knows what has happened just a few miles down the road. Did they even care?

  The fortification inside the wall rears as we approach, revealing a rectangular building that looks more made of stained glass than tan brickwork, high windows stretching more than twenty feet down to the base. The symbol of the Stormmother stands at the apex of the castle’s sole tower, the shining light of the sun perfectly captured by the gilded thunderbolt. The inner court of the keep was abuzz with activity, movement that beat in clear contrast to the content malaise I saw outside the protection of the walls. An elven man dressed in fine groomsman leathers wrestles with a horse in the center of the yard, pulling it by a lead as it thrashes and kicks up a cloud of dust. Officials, marked by their fine clothes and worried faces, scurry through the central walkways while guardsmen, marked by their armor and relax, stand against the walls or doorframes. Eyes turn upward at our approach, but there is little of the awe that was worn on the faces of the townsfolk, though it is not entirely absent.

  “Land there,” the Watcher commands, pointing to a stone square on the east side of the keep itself. Jor’Mari pretends to fiddle with the arm of the throne while I relay the order to Galea. My ship moves smoothly, coming to hover over the spot before lowering to the ground and stilling. A rectangle of light appears as the door to the ship opens, looking from the inside to be a spot of the open air just a bit brighter than all the rest.

  “This isn’t right,” Dovik whispers to me as we disembark the ship.

  “That isn’t for me to decide,” I tell him, aware that the Watcher likely can hear the entire conversation. “You wanted to visit the empire. This is it.”

  “I thought we might at least make it to Gale,” he says.

  “Me too.” I remember that when we left, Arabella flew her manor above the clouds. My ship is not capable of flying so high. Perhaps that is something to consider for the future; it would certainly put it out of reach of Watchers, I think.

  The Watcher leads us away into the keep itself. There is no room inside that is not fully illuminated by colored light leaking in through the shaded windows, every floor turned into a tapestry depicting some elven event or another. I have no knowledge of the history of this kingdom, didn’t even know it existed until a few months ago, but even my uncultured and untrained eye can see artistry put into the work. We pass human work staff inside that bow their heads and avert their eyes from the Watcher as we pass.

  An open doorway leads into a lounging room filled with young elven men dressed in finery, several crystal decanters standing empty on a table in the middle of the plush carpet, the smell of chewed cigars wafting out from inside. My eye takes their measure in an instant, the sons of local lords, one the son of a baron. One stands out to me, an elven man with a bit more meat on his bones, his blonde hair the color and luster of spun gold, laughing and waving a cigar to puncture the end of some great joke. Beside him, the only human in the room, a boy that can’t be older than me, stares blankly at the wall with dull gray eyes. My attention lingers on him for a moment, that strange elven man, his name doesn’t seem elven to me, Jadis Kelp.

  Then we are past, and I don’t have the courage to call the Watcher to stop so that I might have time to investigate the oddity. He leads us to a sitting room, as plush and adorned as the one I just observed the gentlemen sitting in before. The room itself is easily half the size of the base floor of my home back in Gale, mostly empty with cushioned sofas and chairs pressed against the wall, a wide bar sitting along one corner, decorated with decanters of amber fluid that glitter in the blue sunlight from the window.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

  The Watcher bids us to take our leisure while he pursues his investigation, motioning to the chairs set about the room. His too still eyes linger on me a moment as he retreats into the hall, closing the door behind him. We listen for a moment as the footfalls of the Watcher retreat away.

  Jess shivers. “What an unsettling man.”

  “That is an understatement,” Dovik says. “Why would he detain you?”

  “I don’t pretend to know why a Watcher does what they do,” I say. I sigh, falling into one of the plush chairs. “Maybe they think that I have something to do with what happened to those people.”

  “You don’t,” Jor’Mari says, finding a chair for himself. “But they might think to make you a scapegoat for it, find someone to pin the crime on quickly so that the business is done with. It wouldn’t be the first time that I heard of something like that happening.”

  “They would have to go through me to do that,” Dovik says. Behind him, Jess gives a grunt of agreement.

  “They would try to do exactly that. I’ve heard that Watchers are formidable, but I’ve never seen one fight. Maybe you could take him, but could you take on the nobleman that would come next? Have you ever fought a fully endowed noble son?”

  “I have,” Dovik says. His voice is hard, but I notice the way he swallows. According to what I was told about endowed nobles, the least of them is a match for a rank three magician in terms of raw power. “I’m not saying that it would be simple, but I wouldn’t back down either.”

  “It wouldn’t be simple,” Jor’Mari agrees. “Which is exactly why we should just leave now. The man didn’t take away access to the ship. Let’s just fly away and leave this kingdom’s matters where they are.”

  “No,” I say. Despite myself, I feel so exhausted. Coming back here was a terrible idea after all; I should have stayed out in the wild dispatching monsters. “The Watcher has my papers. He knows where I am from, and if we left, he would just go there, maybe. I don’t want to bring anything down on the heads of my family.”

  “So, we should just wait here and let him do whatever he wishes?” Jor’Mari asks. “Should we just give you up to him? You know what men like him do.”

  “I don’t know,” I say, even my anger at his questions is a guttering thing. The machine of the empire is too great a thing to struggle against; I would be like a grain of sand in its grinding gears. “You are the one that is supposed to know courtly ways.”

  Jor’Mari stills at that, eyes flicking over to Dovik. “You’re right,” he says. “I lost my head. It would be best to find a plan. I don’t have all that much good will left back home, but the name of Mari still carries weight, even out this far. I may be able to do something with that.”

  “Who is the lord here?” Dovik asks.

  “Baron Kise Tel’Darakim,” Jor’Mari answers at once. “At least I believe so. My etiquette lessons were a few years ago, but the lords don’t exchange places that often.”

  “A baron,” Dovik says, tapping his chin.

  “Pfff,” Jess flops into a chair near me. “One of the least of your nobles. Show a man with a weak holding deference and he will think that he has power over you.”

  “Doesn’t he?” I ask.

  “Only if you let him,” she says.

  “That is not exactly how the game of politics works,” Dovik says. “Likely, he will make us wait for a long while before separating us from Charlene. If this watcher is anything like an inquisitor, they will want to question her alone, at which time they will conjure evidence against her out of the air. The one thing that we cannot allow to happen is for us to be separated.”

  Just then, the door to the room glides open on well-oiled hinges. An elven man dressed in finely tailored blacks, wearing brass-rimmed spectacles walks into the room, looking between all of us and offering a swift bow to Jor’Mari. “Lord Tel’Darakim would like to offer his express apologies for your detainment, but he finds the meeting fortuitous. He has asked that you join him in his audience hall and has bid me to show you the way.”

  “So, I do remember something after all,” Jor’Mari says, scratching his chest through his robe as he stands and inclines his head to the butler. “We appreciate his grace in this matter, of course. I’m certain that we all understand that the lord does not control the watchful eyes of the emperor.”

  “Indeed,” the man says, bowing once more. “Any offense the lord hopes to nullify with…well, that is not my place to say.”

  “Lead on, goodman.” Jor’Mari is the first to the door, taking the lead. I don’t mind it, ever since we crossed the line back into the empire, I have felt cramped, like my whole body is trying to fit back into the shape of a fourteen-year-old girl who knows to keep her eyes down when her betters are walking around. My head feels stuffed. I still remember the righteous anger I felt toward these people, still remember how they kept me in ignorance my whole life, but it is so hard to tap that well now.

  We follow the butler from the room, walking through a long hallway filled with light that kisses my skin. The clack of our boots bounces from the walls, and the smell of old flowers trying to cover the dust of an old building stabs at me. Dread itches at my back, pushing a warmth into my neck despite the butler’s words of mollification earlier. Could it be so easy to escape the notice of a Watcher?

  The door to the baron’s audience chamber is no great thing, a simple construction of brown oaken slats pulled closed with the simplest of knockers. The butler raps upon the wood, waiting a full six seconds before slipping his hand down and opening the door.

  “I have brought the magicians as you have asked, lord,” he announces, stepping into the room with a bow and holding the door open behind himself. Again, Jor’Mari is the first over the threshold, confidently striding into the room, the first room in the keep I have seen illuminated by something other than sunlight.

  The audience chamber itself is not so grand as I might have imagined. A carpet trod by thousands of feet over the years lays spread over the tan stonework that comprises the floor throughout the keep. A wooden platform stands at the far end of the room, upon which sits a large desk with a powerful chair of strong wood set beside. Two stairways flank back along the rear wall, leading to doors up at the second level and a shallow balcony that rings the room. In the center, suspended from the ceiling, is a chandelier that at first glance looks to be illuminated by candlelight, but the steady white luminescence is magical in origin.

  An older elven man sits in the chair, his finery extending to lush purple robes and a single golden ring wed to his right hand housing a pristine and shining emerald. Laying against the chair is a sword, still contained in its sheath, the properties of its obvious magic blocked by that thin cover of leather. An aged man, human, sits at the desk near the throne, his nose down and his hand speeding at the words he scrawls on the page.

  A click as the door is glided closed once again steals my attention. The butler glides forward bending toward the man in the chair, one hand sweeping out to encompass us. “His lordship, Baron Kise Tel’Darakim,” he says. “My baron, I present the magicians you asked for, Team Blue Horizon.”

  “Thank you for seeing them in, Tavad,” the baron says, waving the man back as he sits up in his chair. He looks over us, eyes scanning us in quick order. “You are the leader of this team?” he asks of Jor’Mari.

  “No, my lord.” Jor’Mari sweeps a well-practiced bow, motioning toward Dovik. “The young scion of the Willian Guild is our leader.”

  Dovik steps forward, bowing, but not very low. “My lord. I wish we might be meeting under better circumstances. My first impression of the empire is somewhat colored by events.”

  “Truly,” the baron sits back in his chair, motioning to the side. The Watcher approaches out of the shadows, striding over to the baron. “Would that circumstances were different, but there has been…difficulties recently. I was told that you saw the remnants of Far Haven on your way to the keep.”

  “We did,” Dovik says. “A terrible thing.”

  “Indeed, it is.” The Baron looks up at the Watcher. “Return to the girl her belongings, I am clearing her of your suspicion.”

  “My lord, that is a most unwise action.” The Watcher does not raise his voice. In fact, no emotion seems to break his calm. Not even the curl on his lips drops for a moment.

  “Unwise is taking to the practice of capturing those that pass through my lands without my forbearance. I have already told you what destroyed that village, yet you fail to head my words. You look for snakes in the grass rather than heading the beast running you down. Now, Watcher, return her papers to her.”

  The Watcher stands for a long moment, looking down on the baron with a hint of a smile on his face. Then, he turns his head, placing the focus of his unmoving eyes upon me, and I feel a shiver run down my spine. The man walks down from the wooden platform, reaching into a pocket, and I tense at the gesture, half expecting a blade to appear in his hand. The Watcher produces no weapon, pulling free my papers of identification and holding them out to me.

  “Thank you,” I say, keeping my eyes down as I reach for the bundle. The feel of the papers in my fingers once again is a comfort, but when I try to pull them away, I find the Watcher’s hands holding tight to them.

  “I see you, heretic,” he says. “I see you.”

  “Enough!” the baron barks, and at the word the Watcher lets go of the papers.

  I take a step back with them, holding them tight as the man turns and stalks back into the shadows.

  “I will not apologize for the Eyes of the Emperor,” the baron says, looking at me. “They are bred to hunt people, that is their one trick and they are rather good at it. What destroyed Far Haven, however, was no mortal being. You are a group of adventurers, yes, stained with the blood of man monsters?”

  “Much blood, your lordship,” Dovik says. While not untrue, we have not culled even a field rat as a team as of yet.

  “What badge did the league give to your team?” the baron asks.

  Dovik holds up a badge, one identical to the one he gifted to me before we left Grim. “Silver.”

  The baron nods, expecting this. “Good. It was not a person that destroyed the good peoples of Far Haven, but I do know what it was. Tell me, young master Willian, is your team up to taking on an orange contract to put down such a creature?”

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