Leandros eyed this strange negotiator. “And what is a tactical team in this context, exactly?” he asked.

“A specialized unit trained in combat that’s called in to handle high-risk, high-stakes situations. Evelyne’s team may step in if negotiations with your uncle’s kidnappers fail and we need another way to extract him,” Trin explained. “Hopefully, it won’t be necessary, though I’m sure Evelyne would disagree. Hostile tactics are always a last resort.”

“So they’re not just for security, after all,” Leandros said, raising an eyebrow at Eresh. He was beginning to see the shape of those ulterior motives he’d questioned the Magistrates about. Unity was preparing for more than a diplomatic mission, for something Leandros couldn’t quite identify. He wanted to believe it was as Trin said, a tactical angle to rescue his uncle, but he knew Unity too well. They didn’t expend this kind of energy unless they had something to gain.

“I’m not the one getting ahead of myself, Trin,” Evelyne pointed out. “We don’t even know who the kidnappers are, or if they have any demands to negotiate. All we have are two flawed accounts from the sole survivors. We need to launch an investigation in Illyon before we can even make contact with Orean.”

 It was only thanks to a lifetime of training that Leandros didn’t flinch at the word flawed. How much of his and Rhea’s account had Unity told her? All of it? He wasn’t the only one who noticed Evelyne’s wording, either. “Flawed?” Trin asked. “Flawed how?”

“Ask him,” Evelyne said, jutting her thumb at Leandros.

“I know it may be difficult to recount, Prince Nochdvor, but if you could,” Trin prompted.

“It’s fine,” Leandros said. He’d expected this, had prepared a version of the story slightly more plausible than the truth. Of course, that would mean nothing if the Magistrates had already told Evelyne everything. “We were assembled at Hampstead Hall when an orinian woman broke in and used some sort of explosive device. In the chaos, she escaped with my uncle.”

“What kind of explosive device? And how did one woman carry off a grown alfar? How did she make it through all of Illyon like that?” Evelyne asked. The Magistrates had told her everything.

Leandros bit back his irritation, but it came out on a sigh. “I’m only telling you what I saw, and I saw her lift him without trouble. After that, I was rather preoccupied with keeping myself and my cousin alive. If that makes my story flawed, then I supposed it’s flawed.”

The noise Evelyne made in response was doubtful at best.

“I’m sorry for your loss. Were you and your uncle close?” Trin asked. While her tone was kinder than Evelyne’s, it was analytic, not sympathetic. Leandros realized that to her–to all of them–he was not just a stranger: he was a liability, a mystery to unravel. Part of the problem, not part of the solution, and certainly not someone they’d recognize as a leader.

“As close as Alfheimr royalty can get,” he answered, intentionally evasive.

“You can trust me, Prince Nochdvor,” Trin said, and the condescension in it was a twist of the knife. “I’m here for you – we all are. What can you tell me about Amos that might affect how we approach Orean? Do you think he would try to escape? Is he the type to reason with his kidnapper?”

“Yes to the latter, no to the former. He’d know people were coming to help and wouldn’t make things more difficult for them.”

“How is he under pressure? Does he have a temper?”

“If he does, I’ve never seen it. He’s the most patient man I know.”

Some of his thoughts must’ve made it into his voice, because Trin asked, “And do you, Prince Nochdvor? Have a temper?”

Leandros smiled at her. “Only if I feel I’m being talked down to.”

“My apologies, Captain. I almost forgot who I was talking to,” Trin said with a toothy grin. She addressed the gathered group: “We’ll need to be patient on this mission, build trust and rapport with the hostage taker–once we identify them, as Ms. Corscia helpfully pointed out. We’ll need to trust each other, too. All of us. Captain, if you remember anything else about that day, please tell us. We really are here to support you.”

“I will,” Leandros said, ignoring the feel of Evelyne’s heavy gaze on him. He’d seemed to earn some level of respect with Trin, at least. It was a start.

Voices drifted down from the hallway, then, followed by a flurry of movement from the doorway. A tall man came in first, ahead of the maid, and threw his arm around Trin’s shoulder. “Well, if it isn’t Trin! It’s been too long,” he said. He had the pointed ears of an alfar, but the flat Gallontean accent. A patch covered one of his eyes, the other sleepy and half-lidded. It matched his wide, lazy smile. A stern man entered behind him, lingering in the doorway with his arms crossed. Leandros knew which team they belonged to even before Evelyne said it.

“Ivor Linde and Aaror Thomason, both my men,” she supplied while Trin shrugged off Ivor’s arm.

“I have paperwork for you both,” Eresh said, digging through his stack. “You too, Trin.”

“My favorite,” Ivor said with an eye roll. Still, he took the papers when Eresh offered them. While more expressive than the security lead, he had the same cold detachment in his eyes. So did Aaror. “Aaror and I can’t stay. We just came for the paperwork.”

“Take Will and Chia’s, too,” Evelyne said. At Eresh’s questioning look, she explained, “Will can’t make it today and Chia’s out of town. She’s expected back on Thursday; we can leave for Orean then.”

“That’s three days from now,” Leandros pointed out. “That’s a long time to wait, in hostage situations.”

“It’s not ideal,” Trin agreed.

“Eftychia is crucial to this mission. You should know that,” Evelyne said. “Besides, Eresh still needs to prepare us for departure, which could take a couple days on its own.”

Trin sighed and gave Leandros a shrug. “If Amos is still alive, statistically, the hostage takers will keep him alive longer–as long as needed for their demands to be heard.”

“I’ll defer to your expertise on the matter,” Leandros said, the words sour in his mouth. He shifted uneasily on Eresh’s overpriced floor cushion. “If you don’t mind, I’m going to step out for some air.”

As he stood, his bruises and cuts from the jump out Hampstead Hall’s window ached. No one stopped him, but he felt curious eyes on his back all the way to the door. As he took the stairs two at a time up to the balcony. He told himself that it was the humidity in the house, not his teammates, that made it so hard to breathe. He took the stairs two at a time up to the balcony he’d seen on the way in, but when fresh air didn’t stop the feeling, didn’t stop his heart from beating too quickly in his chest, Leandros sat cross-legged in the middle of the balcony floor.

Not for the first time since this all began, he wondered what he’d gotten himself into. And then, for the first time, he wondered what he’d gotten Orean into. The unknowns were adding up, and the phrase eager for blood had stuck in Leandros’ mind from the moment Trin uttered it. He should be grateful Evelyne and her tactical team were on his side. He should be grateful they wanted to help his uncle. But he wasn’t and he still couldn’t shake the suspicion that they didn’t. Paired with Devikra’s visions of riots and cities on fire…

Leandros liked to think he had good instincts, and with every instinct in his body, he did not trust this security team. As he sat on the balcony and steadied his breathing, he lost track of time. Eventually, his sharp ears picked up the sound of the front door opening below him. “Oh. He’s not here,” said a quiet voice. Evelyne.

“With any luck, he ran home to Alfheimr,” came a second–Ivor. There was a soft thump, then: “Ow! It’s a joke, Ev. What’s with you? He’s just a spoiled little princeling.”

“Quiet,” Evelyne snapped. “Don’t underestimate him. He knows more than you think.”

There was a heavy pause, and then Ivor asked, “About us?”

“Just keep your head down and do your job,” Evelyne warned.

Leandros missed Ivor’s reply under the crunch of three sets of boots passing onto gravel. Not wanting to be seen, he eased onto his back so he’d be hidden behind the flowerpots that lined the balcony. He tucked his hands under his head and smiled bitterly up at the passing clouds, counting in his head and listening for the sound of crunching boots to fade. Finally satisfied they were gone, he sat up and peered over the railing–only to find a new person picking their way up the drive. More strangers.

On second glance, though, Leandros realized he recognized this person. He pushed himself to his feet, then called down, “Mr. Ranulf!”

Gareth Ranulf jumped, looking around before looking up, a sheepish grin spreading across his face when he spotted Leandros. It was, to Leandros’ surprise, covered in ugly bruises. “Prince Nochdvor! Yes, I’m surprised you remembered!”

“After only a day?” Leandros leaned over the railing, resting his elbows on the painted wood. “And after your kind gift, how could I forget? Thank you again for that; it helped me take my mind off things, if only for a little while. But don’t tell me you’ll be joining us in Illyon?”

“I will, in fact.”

“Hold on,” Leandros said, pushing away from the railing. “Let me join you downstairs.”

Downstairs, when Gareth held a hand out to Leandros, Leandros shook it happily. “Pleasure to meet you again, sir,” Gareth said. Up close, his bruises looked even worse. Curiosity gnawed at Leandros, but he held his silence–he had no right to ask, and anyway, he doubted Gareth wanted to talk about it.

“Likewise. Though I must admit, I’m surprised to see you here.”

“Surprised my sister would put me in this position, you mean,” Gareth guessed. “I’m sure I could have refused, but…ah. Well, never mind.”

“Tell me,” Leandros said. “If you have reservations, Mr. Ranulf, I’d like to hear them.”

Gareth eyed Leandros like he didn’t quite believe him, but explained, “I was determined to turn Moira down, but last night, I ran into three orinians who are staying at my hotel. They’re young, Prince Nochdvor, and so carefree. It made me worry…well, I’d like to make sure Orean’s treated fairly in all this.” At Leandros’ thoughtful silence, he hurried to add, “That’s not to say you won’t, but you have valid reasons for disliking Orean. I’d just like to be there.”

It echoed Leandros’ own concerns. “I appreciate your honesty.”

Gareth nodded and rocked back on his heels. Like a peace offering, he withdrew his cigarette case and held it out to Leandros. “Cigarette?”

“Please,” Leandros said. He didn’t make a habit of smoking, but at this point, he’d try anything to steady his nerves. He leaned in while Gareth lit the cigarette for him, then took a long drag before saying, “To tell you the truth, I’m grateful. I get tangled in my emotions easily; I’d appreciate having you to keep me in check.”

“Of course.”

“You may want to warn your neighbors about what’s coming, though,” Leandros added. “If I know this city, things will get hard for them here–and soon.”

“They’re just tourists. Unity wouldn’t do anything to them, would they?”

“It wouldn’t be the first time,” Leandros said. At Gareth’s blank look, he explained, “Look at what happened to Egil. The aftermath of Histrios didn’t end with him: Unity punished anyone even associated with his name. Lords and leaders, allies and associates. Even the Oracle of Damael didn’t escape unscathed. Your orinians, to Unity, are even less than that. Anyone from Orean is the enemy, and they could be here for any number of reasons–maybe they’re spies, maybe they’re assassins. Maybe they’re in league with the kidnappers.”

“They most certainly are not!”

“I believe you, but do you think Unity cares if it’s true? If the police, whose salaries Unity pays, care? All they need is a plausible excuse, then they can arrest innocents and the people will praise them as heroes.” Leandros shook his head. “Have them take the train to Adriat. News is always slow to reach there–if they leave today, they might beat it. Then they can catch a ride on to Orean.”

“I…yes. Alright. I’ll warn them as soon as I get home. Thank you, Prince Nochdvor. If you’re right, you may have just saved their lives.”

Leandros shrugged, biting back the guilt that rose on his tongue like bile. It was the least he could do, he thought, when he was the one leading Unity to their home, when he was the one seeking retribution and the return of his uncle at any cost. He had good intentions, peaceful intentions, but what use were those in matters like these?

Changing the subject, he asked, “Did you pass a maranet woman on your way up?”

“I did. Ms. Corscia, right?” Gareth asked. Leandros’ heart sank, but then Gareth continued: “I assumed she was part of our team, so I stopped and introduced myself.”

“You weren’t already acquainted?” Leandros asked, relaxing again. “I must say, I’m relieved. The rest of them seem to know each other. What was your impression or her?”

“Hm,” Gareth said, a heavy sound. His sister voiced her disapproval in the same way–it must have been a family trait.

“What is it?” Leandros asked.

“Well,” Gareth hedged. “We didn’t speak long, but there’s something off about her, don’t you think? About all of them. My father had a similar air about him.”

“And what sort of man was your father?”

Gareth stomped out his cigarette and didn’t look at Leandros. “A cruel one.”

It was no comfort to hear, even as it echoed Leandros’ own impressions. He wanted to say more, to voice his theories about their tactical team, but Gareth was still the son of a Magistrate, the brother of a Magistrate. Despite the man’s words about fairness, Leandros couldn’t trust him. From the moment he’d made his risky move with the Magistrates, asking to lead the team, he’d known he would be alone in this. Still, knowledge didn’t ease loneliness.

Instead of voicing anything, he simply said, “We should get inside. Mr. Ochoa has paperwork for you.”