It took a couple of shouts, but either someone heard her racket or Stella sent word that she had woken up. Cleri blustered in with a peal of joy, nearly jumping on the bed before Netali strode in after them and grabbed the back of their collar like a bedraggled kitten. Cleri half-heartedly whined when the older merchant woman moved them out of the way.

“You!” Netali snapped, walking over to the bedside.

“Guilty as charged.” Fabrian raised her hand defensively. If she didn't know better, Netali looked like she might actually kill her. 

Netali braced one hand on the back at the headboard and leaned forward, her gaze furious. “What did I tell you? Why didn't you listen?”

“Look, I couldn't leave that man there to fend for himself,” Fabrian protested, leaning back into the wood, trying to put more space between her and Netali.

“You could have. You had a choice.” Netali's anger simmered down into an exhausted frustration and she rested her forehead against Fabrian's crown. “You could have died. What did I tell you? What would we have done if—?”

Cleri shifted to lean against the wall and nodded in agreement. “You were barely breathing. Whether it was the stress, or the pain from your wounds, you were violently ill from the whole ordeal. And what if Armon and I hadn’t shown up in time? You really would have been slain.”

Fabrian felt something tug in her chest. She thought of her younger, fellow lieutenants who had looked to her for advice. Even though their status was the same, her years of experience tended to be helpful. She thought of the captain they all reported to and how they always said to rely on your squad. They might be the only thing standing between death and life. She thought of Major Rosalez…Mando…what would he have done?

“I'm sorry,” she whispered. 

Mando's question echoed at the base of her skull. When she was twenty four, and just barely in her second year of college, she didn't know what she wanted. But Mando had asked her if she had anything better to do. And at the time, she really had nothing better—continue on the path designed for her to go back to her parents’ orchard, continue the generational occupation that was destined for their family. That would be it. She’d become the next caretaker for the land. Yet when he reached out his hand, she saw something at the end of it. Something she for once really wanted;  she had something better to do. 

“But I had a choice,” Fabrian whispered. “And I wanted to help Stella. That's all there was to it.”

Netali exhaled through her nose and stood upright. “I've told you, you're a pain. Admirable, but a pain nonetheless.”

“Wouldn't have it any other way,” Fabrian said with a soft glance. “So speaking of pain, I can't move my arm or leg. What's the deal, am I paralyzed or something?”

Cleri sniffled and wiped an invisible tear from their cheek. “That's right, you may never move like an uncoordinated goose ever again.”

“Damn.” Fabrian rolled her eyes while Netali shot an unamused glance at the guard.

“The magician shut down your body's sense of feeling on your arm and leg while they and the doctor healed you. You should regain movement and feeling in a couple of days. Your body is currently healing at three times the speed it normally would—the doctor disinfected and stitched up your wounds, and the magician increased the healing rate,” Netali said.

Fabrian sucked in a sharp breath, trying to get more comfortable. “So magic is really a thing here?”

“Where have you been hanging around all this time, Miss Noble?” Cleri snorted, “Under a rock?”

“Leave us,” Netali barked out.

Cleri booed jokingly, but their gaze narrowed and their fist clenched as they walked out of the room, closing the door behind them. 

Fabrian watched warily as Netali sat down at the coffee table Stella had been occupying earlier. In the sunlight, she could make out the deep, dark circles under Netali's eyes—the merchant's body even sagged in relief once resting in the chair. She drummed her fingers along the tabletop for a while before she glanced at the food tray that the previous visitor had brought. With a tired shake of her head, she grabbed the tray and scooted herself back to the bedside, placing the tray on Fabrian's lap. Fabrian thanked her and immediately reached for the spoon with her good hand, eagerly eating down what looked like a pale bisque. The flavor of potatoes and carrots bloomed in her mouth, and she decided she owed her life to whoever made this. It felt as if she hadn't eaten in years, and she was more than okay with ravenously scarfing down the meal. 

“Slow down,” Netali warned before saying quieter, “I'll tell you what you want to know about magic, but I need you to tell me some things first. What do you know about the queen's relationship with the crown prince?”

Fabrian looked up from her meal. “You mean Hepatitis?”

“What?” Netali gave her a bewildered look. “Hector Celindae.”

“Same difference.” Fabrian shrugged. “Not much outside of what Cleri told me. He didn't like this previous body's owner ‘cause she was younger than him. He also found her annoying? In my sister's story, he and Amelia were the heroes, so I'm afraid there's not a lot of negative things that I know about him.”

Netali hummed to herself and stared down at her feet. 

Fabrian felt a pit form in her stomach; she put down the spoon. “Why?”

Wordlessly, the merchant pulled a strip of cloth from the lining of her coat and held it out for Fabrian to take. Taking the material, Fabrian turned the stiff cloth over to see the crest of a silver swan with a crown of gold stars on its head. She recognized that symbol. It had been everywhere in the throne room at the palace. On banners hanging from the ceiling in swaying heavy drapes of satin, embedded in the crimson rugs on the floor.

“Is this—?”

“The emblem of the King of Natalez, and the crest that the First Order of Royal Knights wear on their uniforms.” Netali crossed her arms. “That man, Stella, said they were envoys from Agan when they came across a blockade on the road with the disguised guards. And while he didn't think they were the ones the knights were waiting on, they did not hesitate to attack his coach.”

“Envoys from Agan,” Fabrian whispered. “Those were soldiers, not bandits.” 

She felt the muscles in her chest tighten and her heart palpitated painfully against her sternum. Blood rushed to her ears, and she could clearly see the map she had outlined a month ago. Was Stella one of the knights serving the barbarian king of Agan? Were they the envoys that Hector and Amelia killed off along with the king in her sister's scripts to start the deliberate war? That was the fourth key plotpoint in her own outline of her sister's story. 

But what worried her was the missing major plot event. Afterall, up to this point, the nameless queen was supposed to be dead before the assassination of the barbarian king. 

It was a grimmer thought. She had not left Natalez yet—and while she didn't think the tail from the day she was exiled followed her after she bribed them, was it possible that Hector had other means to observe her? She thought about how magic was possible in this world. Perhaps he had different ways to spy on her from his castle; fantasy stories often favored magical means of scrying. Maybe that was possible here. She couldn't remember what Amelia's powers were, but she wondered if it was part of her foresight as a prophetess.

And all I've got to defend myself is a fancy stick, Fabrian thought sourly. 

“It seems you had the same thought I did,” Netali said. “The king made two things publicly declared in decree: your name was not to be mentioned by any citizen, and you were to be completely banished from the country. The first one tells me that a mage might be monitoring if your name is ever mentioned, but the second one might be a more lenient observation. Honestly, the crown prince may not have expected you to survive this long. But seeing as it’s a month into your excommunication and you're still alive and in the country has probably raised alarm.”

“I need to get to Agan.”

“Yes. I've already told the merchants we will not be stopping from here on. Luckily, we're in the town of Lucaraville. It's about the furthest north in Natalez you can go before crossing the border.”

Fabrian frowned. “Won't there be a military checkpoint?”

“I doubt it.” Netali said. “They want you gone, not dead.”

“The armed perimeter that Stella ran into says otherwise. What a pain.” Fabrian’s head thunked against the wooden bed frame as she stared up at the ceiling. “So what all should I be worried about as far as magic is concerned?”

“Magicians and witches are the lowest tier of magic users—they are normally healers or land blessers. Their magic works in the form of suggestions, they offer the idea of healing or growth and it is up to the recipient whether they are influenced. Some people are more immune to the suggestions than others.”

“So…like hypnotism.”

“In a way,” Netali supposed. “Next are wizards and warlocks. They are perhaps what we might think as traditional magic workers—they draw their power from elements. They can invoke fire, water, plasma, and so on. They are often employed by the knights due to the convenient weaponized nature of their gifts. If their invocations are strong enough, they can also give form to their elements in the shape of familiars.”

“This is already way beyond me. Anything else?” Fabrian grimaced.

“Yes, one more. Prophets.”

Fabrian knew it. “Like Amelia.”

Netali nodded slowly. “They gain their power from Lien. Not much is known about them since only two Stewards of Lien can exist at a time—usually a Prophet and a Prophetess. It is thought that they can do everything that the others can, and then some. But again, there's less study on them.”

“So where's the other one aside from Amelia?”

Frowning, Netali looked out the window and drummed her fingers along her arm. She hesitated for a bit. “No one knows. It's possible he hasn't even been born yet.”