"Don’t fool yourself, my friend. You must miss the Great City. It’s impossible not to love it, isn't it? Let me tell you all the news. The Postumus Tavern is still the most fashionable spot in town. The prices are outrageous, but if you haven’t been there, no one in polite company will even talk to you, so everyone lies about having been. This year, everyone is obsessed with saffron-colored clothes, though I can’t think of anyone it actually suits. Among actresses, Theodora is the most popular now — the one with the thick legs..."

"Are you insane?" the redhead interrupted indignantly, trying to pull his arm free. "What saffron? What Theodora?"

They seemed to have moved far enough away from the Arya camp. Lyn stopped abruptly and asked sharply:

"Who gave you the idea to talk to me?"

"What?.." The man was startled. "Why would you think anyone gave me the idea?"

The honest answer would have been: you look every bit like a dummy anyone could manipulate. But Lyn refrained from saying that.

"Just tell me. Was it your Prince — what’s his name — Ardashir? That would at least make sense. In his place, I’d start by finding out what this new Archon is like..."

'...Though not so clumsily,' Lyn added in his mind.

The redhead frowned, lost in thought.

"No," he finally said. "Not him. But you guessed right. I was told to say something offensive to the Archon, anything at all."

"And if they told you to jump off a roof, would you do it? Maybe even take a good running start first?"

The redhead clenched his fist but seemed to acknowledge Lyn’s point. He responded sullenly:

"They said it was a test of Bizanth’s good intentions."

"And if those intentions weren’t so good," Lyn said almost gently, "do you know what would be left of your camp right now? Or did you think the Archon would just punch you in the face like a normal guy, you’d hit him back, but in a friendly way, and in half an hour you’d be sharing wine and swapping jokes?"

The redhead had clearly pictured events unfolding exactly like that. Or perhaps he hadn’t thought it through at all; some people’s foresight extended only as far as the tip of their noses. He awkwardly scratched his chin and said:

"Look... I’m sorry. I did a stupid thing, okay? Yeah, I approached you just because I was told to. Your outfit’s fine. It’s just... you don’t really seem to suit it. Never mind, I don’t even know what I mean by that. Forget it."

"Not the brightest in your village, are you?" Lyn couldn’t resist. The redhead clearly didn’t understand anything. "Here’s some bad news for you. Whoever told you to approach me — watch them carefully. People pull stunts like this to provoke a fight or as a test right before starting one. Get it? If someone plans to disrupt these negotiations, they’d want to know if I’m just a showy fool or really the Archon, scourge of Arya, smiter of heretics, and so on."

Finally, the redhead seemed to understand.

"No. No-no-no... You think I’ll believe you? That’s just impossible! You’re trying to pit me against my comrades! You’re used to living in a snake pit, so you think everyone else is a snake. I lived there too and thought the same about people, but Arya are different! None of them would do something like that. And why are you suddenly so open with me? That’s what’s really suspicious!"

"Since they’re not returning you to Bizanth as a trophy, you’re probably the only person in this camp who cares about the outcome of these negotiations," Lyn replied. "A bridge between cultures, so to speak. You probably don’t want your former ‘people’ despising and hating you forever, nor your current ‘people’ distrusting and, again, hating you."

"And why do you care?" the redhead asked.

"Because I really don’t suit this outfit," Lyn said wearily. "And if the war continues, it’ll give me even more headaches."

The redhead thought for a while.

"If you want me to believe you, tell me: are your people going to return the prisoners? And when? Are they alright? The Arya are worried. They know their people aren’t here in Iron Pass."

Lyn had just heard about some prisoners for the first time.

Of course they’re perfectly fine, he probably should have said. But outright lying wasn’t just unpleasant; it could lead to nasty consequences down the line.

"So it’s true, then, that you guys have some kind of ‘second sight’?" he asked, stalling for time.

"Something like that," the redhead replied evasively. "At the very least, it’s hard to miss the life force of a hundred people."

A hundred prisoners! Breaking such an agreement would be serious — possibly even catastrophic...

"I’ll try to find out about the prisoners," Lyn sighed, fully aware that after saying this, he wouldn’t seem as impressive as he had hoped.

The redhead studied his face carefully, then suddenly smiled hesitantly. He had already been attractive — with the guileless charm of a big, friendly dog — but the smile made him irresistible. Only now did Lyn realize that the man was seven or eight years older than him; at first, he’d seemed almost the same age.

"Alright. I probably shouldn’t trust you, but for some reason, I do. I’ll keep an eye on her."

On her, Lyn noted to himself. The man was a natural find for a spy. The redhead continued:

"Listen... If you think things might get messy, you should wear a chainmail shirt under that red rag of yours."

"I’m the Archon," Lyn said, raising his head indignantly.

"So what, does that make you invulnerable? No, I really don’t know... Does the Archon’s power even protect against a stray arrow?"

To be honest, the redhead was absolutely right. Lyn, unfortunately, had already realized that the Archon’s power didn’t protect against much. It only shielded him when he intended to kill. And to consciously order someone out of existence required a certain kind of character. Not one like Lyn’s.

The redhead correctly interpreted Lyn’s silence and concluded:

"Exactly... In chaos, no one checks who’s friend or foe. And it wouldn’t take much. Archon or not, you're pitiful to look, weak as you are, nothing but skin and bones."

That wasn’t much of a compliment, but it didn’t seem like the redhead meant to insult him this time.

"Thanks," Lyn said after a moment of hesitation. "Take care of yourself, too... What’s your name?"

"Justin," the redhead said.

Neither Sophia, Cassiodorus, nor any Council members had mentioned prisoners, and Lyn couldn’t think of a clever way to extract information. He had no leads to go on, so he bluntly told Sophia upon returning to the camp:

"The Arya are worried about their prisoners."

Sophia’s response was predictable but no less unpleasant:

"Archon, no offense, but that’s none of your business. You shouldn’t have gone to the Arya camp, let alone spoken to them."

"But if there was an agreement to return the prisoners..." Lyn began, but Sophia cut him off:

"Each of those prisoners is a battle mage who has seen the Great City with their own eyes. And they hate that city more than you can possibly imagine. You’re not stupid; you must understand what that means."

'These creatures can jump through space. If they’ve been to a place or even seen it from the inside,' Lyn remembered and fell silent.

Sophia softened her tone slightly:

"Listen, Cassiodorus and I know what to say. We’ll convince them. Don’t worry. Everything will go well. After all," she winked, "you’re here for that very reason. Just, I beg you, keep quiet tomorrow. Every time you open your mouth, you stop seeming so... hmm..."

"Terrifying," Lyn finished.

"Convincing," Sophia corrected him.

When Lyn left Sophia’s room, he was intercepted by the men assigned to him back in the Great City:

"Ah, there you are, Archon! We’ve been looking all over for you..."

Lyn suddenly realized something interesting: the entire time he’d been observing the Arya camp and talking to the redheaded Justin, his so-called bodyguards had also been wandering off somewhere instead of guarding him. Maybe they were scouting too? Talking to someone? He wondered who and about what.

And, after all, who had assigned these people to him, and why? Specifically to him... Though why him was all too clear. Until now, Lyn had only considered that someone might want to disrupt the negotiations, but he hadn’t thought that someone might want to get rid of the Archon himself. At least not someone from Bizanth. That seemed absurd. But... if you think about it... if the Archon happened to stand between someone who wanted the war to continue and the war itself...

And wasn’t it convenient how that carriage accident had befallen poor, tedious Antipater at just the right moment..?

The thoughts felt paranoid. Then again, Lyn’s thoughts often leaned toward paranoia. But, as the saying goes, just because you’re paranoid doesn’t mean they’re not out to get you. Especially if you’ve had the dubious fortune to bear the mark of the Archon of This World on your forehead.