Saturday, July 30, 4 S.E.

  “[A succession crisis?]”

  Xarina nodded tersely at the question, her lambent crimson eyes surveying the forest around her as she spoke to the Night Sister receiving her report. The other woman was her senior in service, which demanded a measure of careful respect, but they were ultimately still sisters—part of the same Society, the same Blades of Nocturne.

  “[This is fascinating news, sister,]” the other woman, Yarilla, said thoughtfully.

  The pair of them were hooded and cloaked, attired in such a way as to veil everything but their eyes as they met in the forests beyond Dawnhaven. The weeks of her insertion had been torturous for Xarina, who hated everything about the lightlander settlement—especially the seeming abundance of harvest and good food.

  It seemed almost criminal to have so much luxury openly on display.

  “[By all accounts, the Prince is the favorite to win, according to the Haelfenn,]” Xarina said curtly, her posture shifting as she leaned back against the tree she stood before. “[However, this Terran named Achilles is a wildcard. An ‘Archon’, which my investigation seems to portray as some manner of extremely rare Class within the System.]”

  “[Archon, hm?]” Yarilla said mildly, her orange eyes shifting as she pondered the word. “[Not something I have heard of.]”

  “[It is purportedly singular to the world of Altera,]” Xarina said informatively, tightening her arms under her bust beneath the cloak. “[It requires specific Alphas, according to the locals, though the exact combination is not expressly known.]”

  “[Odd,]” Yarilla said in return, her gaze drifting back to Xarina. “[Is the secret so tightly kept?]”

  “[Reverently so,]” Xarina confirmed with a hint of annoyance, shaking her head as she said it. “[I have deduced that [Psi] and [Knight] are two of them, but the Ambition remains relatively obscure, and I have heard Duelist, Assassin, and even Reaver for the Aspect, though of those, only Duelist seems to be likely.]”

  Xarina’s efforts to uncover the secrets behind the Archon Class for the Starhold had been met with frustration, time and again. Even speaking about the Class seemed to put people on edge, and she’d heard the odd phrase ‘Suicide by Archon’ muttered more than once, as if it were simultaneously a curse and a warning all at once.

  It was a maddening exercise in frustration, but she was determined to see her task completed.

  “[What of the City’s defenses?]” Yarilla asked, bringing Xarina back to the moment. “[Our scouting reports can only give us so much. What have you learned?]”

  Xarina grimaced at the question but answered regardless.

  “[A substantial amount, and barely anything at all,]” she said with a flicker of self-castigating irritation. “[The City is defended primarily by two rotating Watches; the Dawnguard and Duskguard, controlled by the Colony’s two premier defenders: Dawn-Lord Uriel Aventus, and Dusk-Lord Ceruviel Latherian. They are both, according to substantiated rumor, mid-rank Venerates.]”

  Yarilla hissed at that in frustration and reached up to tap her fingers against her forehead.

  “[You are certain they are Venerates?]”

  “[I am, sister,]” Xarina said steadily. “[I was skeptical myself, but after considerable investigation, I am very much positive. Two Venerates, both at mid-rank as stated, and both Knights. The Dusk-Lord, who calls herself a ‘Duchess’, is the Archon mentoring the Queen-Potentiate’s Champion, Achilles.]”

  Yarilla cursed at that in Talrinian, and Xarina could hardly blame her.

  Venerates simply existing in the City complicated a great many things.

  “[What of their conventional forces? I presume these Dusk and Dawn Guards are their special societies.]”

  “[The City holds a Royal Army as well, which numbers somewhere between five and eight thousand. It is a less specialized, more brute-force martial power,]” Xarina said from memory. “[Well-organized, well-trained, surprisingly disciplined—but lacking in the hardiness of our Starhold’s societies. The Truthguard could probably make them sweat,]” she finished derisively, much to her sister’s chuckle of amusement.

  “[That is good news, at least. Yvrain will be pleased.]”

  “[And what of me?]” Xarina asked immediately, her fingers idly itching at her arms from the blasted sunlight. How the lightlanders dealt with the offensive heat she’d never understand.

  “[What of you, sister?]” Yarilla asked with faint amusement.

  “[I have found as much here as I can,]” Xarina said carefully, choosing her words and attitude with caution so as not to oversell it. “[I would like to return to the Starhold if I am no longer—]”

  “[Apologies, sister, but the Matriarchs’ united orders were clear,]” Yarilla said, and for a wonder, Xarina did hear a measure of genuine apology in her words. “[You are to remain here until the assault is completed. We have made a… compact… with a native force, one which also wishes to see the City decimated. It will be fruitful to have you on hand for the night of the assault.]”

  Xarina’s eyebrows rose under her cowl, and she carefully disciplined herself to remain casual. An assault? A compact with natives? What were the Matriarchs playing at?

  “[When is this scheduled to commence?]” she asked immediately.

  An assault would play havoc with her plans. She hadn’t even progressed her Quest beyond a confirmation that she was in the right Sector. Tracking down even perfunctory news about the Cataclysm had proven next to impossible. Most of the Nyrfenn and Natives looked at her like she was mad, to say nothing of the detestable Haelfenn.

  “[Some time in the next month,]” Yarilla said to her vaguely, waving a gloved hand dismissively. “[When the date is set, you will receive clearer orders. For now, continue your reconnaissance and infiltration. We have arranged a boon for you to use to your advantage.]”

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  Xarina’s eyes narrowed at that, and her itching fingers stilled.

  “[What manner of boon?]” she asked carefully.

  “[A local lightlander noble has agreed to take you on as a sponsored guest, in return for certain wares from the Starhold, and the safe passage of his family from the City upon the assault beginning,]” Yarilla said, her voice derisive at the implied cowardice—a sentiment Xarina shared. Neither of them could abide such self-interested backbiting. Disgusting lightlanders. “[He will also aid you in learning to avoid any societal pitfalls that may ensnare you,]” Yarilla continued, “[while giving you access to the higher echelons of this Colony’s Aristocracy.]”

  “[Am I to eliminate someone?]” Xarina asked immediately.

  “[Not at this juncture. A decapitation strike would not be outside the realm of consideration, as things progress, but for now, your orders are simply to observe and report. If you can find a way to ingratiate yourself with someone of influence, all the better.]”

  Xarina clicked her tongue at that and narrowed her eyes faintly.

  “[There are precious few chances for that. The Haelfenn control the power in the City without exception, and they are as arrogant as the ones on Tarilnar—worse, even, given these Alterans seem to have an obsession with some twisted form of martial decorum.]”

  Yarilla hummed faintly at her words, and then cocked her head.

  “[What about this Achilles? The new Queen’s Champion?]”

  “[What of him?]” Xarina said a little too obstinately, regretting it immediately.

  Yarilla was not fooled by her lack of enthusiasm and saw right through her.

  “[Your dissatisfaction with males aside, sister, is he not a prime candidate for your efforts? He is no Haelfar, Xarina, and these natives have proven susceptible to the attentions of the Svartfenn.]”

  Xarina curled her lip in disgust under her cowl, but did not make the mistake of an outburst. Yarilla was not wrong, strictly speaking, but the very idea of debasing herself for the amusement of a local—let alone a bumbling male—set her hackles up.

  “[I will look into it,]” she said instead of protesting, making sure to deliver the words with cool acquiescence. “[I highly doubt it will be fruitful, if his tastes run toward Haelfar, but I will do what I can.]”

  “[This is important, Xarina,]” Yarilla said again, forcing Xarina’s attention to her as she invoked a more authoritative tone. “[You are a Blade of Nocturne. I understand your reservations, I do, but this is bigger than your obsessive need for celibacy. I am not asking you to bed the creature, but inducing his affections to some extent would help immeasurably—especially if he can grant you access to the Queen. If you were in a position to kill her during the Assault…]”

  Xarina locked her jaw and took a breath, exhaling it through her teeth as her fingers twitched toward her hidden shortswords. Yarilla’s point was well-made, and as much as she hated to admit it, she had seen the way the Natives looked at her—like she was an exotic prize they coveted. The idea made her skin crawl, but the Starhold’s prosperity had to come before her own reservations.

  Within reason, of course. There were some lines she would not cross.

  “[...so long as I am not expected to give my maidenhood to the animal, I hold no objection,]” she said at last, her voice stiff to her own ears. “[These natives are simpletons. A moderate flirtation is not beyond me, as insufferable as the thought is.]”

  Yarilla relaxed when Xarina relented and nodded once.

  “[That is well, it would be beneficial if you could use him to—]”

  The pair of them froze at the distant sound of a breaking branch, and Yarilla motioned her closer. Cautiously, Xarina obeyed, bending her head to listen.

  “[You will receive a great reward for this, Xarina,]” Yarilla assured her softly, her voice so low that Xarina could barely hear her, even while standing less than a foot apart. “[The Starhold’s prosperity will be assured once this compact is complete, and the Svartfenn will finally have a home of safety, away from the nightmares of Tarilnar’s skies. Do your duty, and return in glory, for all the souls lost in the evernight.]”

  Xarina felt some of her resistance melt, genuinely, at the inducement and reminder of their species’ generational peril on Tarilnar—locked in a constant war for survival beneath the nightlands’ predatory attentions. Stiffly, she nodded once.

  “[I will do as I can, sister,]” she promised with sincerity, her fingers twitching once more.

  “[...try not to kill him if he touches you,]” Yarilla said softly, laughing barely above a whisper. “[It will ruin your efforts.]”

  “[I will do my best,]” Xarina concurred humorlessly, and stepped back as Yarilla nodded to her.

  “[Two weeks, Xarina. I will see you here again in two weeks,]” Yarilla promised, and after Xarina nodded to her, handed her a scroll, slipped away, and folded back into the Shadows which the Night Sisters called home.

  Of all the wretched luck, Xarina thought furiously, while stepping forward and effortlessly embracing the darkness in kind, her form turning invisible to the naked eye as she tucked the scroll away. First, the Cataclysm is a dead end, and now I have to pretend to tolerate some Native simpleton with what is no doubt an Ego to match his senseless elevation. Nocturne, preserve me.

  Xarina loped forward with perfect economy of movement as she grumbled to herself mentally, racing back toward the city despite the afternoon sun, her feet eating up distance at a rapid pace.

  If this Haelfar lordling is not perfectly accommodating, I’ll have to teach the lightlander weakling manners. If I must suffer this indignity, I will not do so without the proper knowledge to survive it.

  Her rapid stride brought her quickly toward the City gates, and Xarina spared a moment to slip in beside the wall and swiftly doff her cloak and shrouding accoutrements, storing them within her [Spatial Storage Ring] and resuming her appearance as another run-of-the-mill lone Adventurer. She’d already seen several Starhold agents in the city, though they were keeping a markedly low profile—and none of them had been foolish enough to approach her.

  Women, all of them, thank Nocturne. They were actually sensible.

  Xarina slipped out of the shadow of the wall and effortlessly blended in with the foot traffic approaching the gate, fetching her Gold License from her ring and holding it ready as she approached the checkpoint, affecting a look of weariness as if she’d done a hard day’s hunting.

  These lightlanders are vigilant, if nothing else. The Truthguard alone could still stymie them, arm for arm, but I cannot fault their adherence to duty.

  She had always believed lightlanders to be lax, but begrudgingly, she had to admit that Dawnhaven reared them better than other examples she’d seen. The Haelfenn were arrogant and self-important to a one, but their veneration for martial tradition aided them in ascending above the laxitude their privileged lives would normally breed.

  Once she was inside the city, ushered past by an attentive member of the Dawnguard, Xarina peeled away from the crowd—moving languidly toward the Adventurers’ Guild and entering the hall unobtrusively. Her eyes swept the interior, and she paused upon seeing the Guild Mistress above, speaking to a large man with dirty-blond hair.

  Sinalthria and Marthulf, she mentally recounted, both Adamantine.

  Xarina stepped further into the hall before she could attract attention, then lazily walked toward a distant corner, finding a seat and signalling one of the attendants to bring her a drink, her license set on the table. Whatever else Dawnhaven was, it was definitely not bereft of enjoyable beverages.

  While she waited for her drink, she retrieved the scroll she’d been given, unfurling it to read the name written in Night Sister cipher near the bottom.

  Count Cartellis, she translated idly, and committed the name to memory.

  First, she’d have her drink and wait for the change of Watch.

  Then, in the comfort of the night, she’d pay this ‘Count’ a visit.

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