Reaching the Schild Estate required visitors to pass six adjacent redoubts constructed on two hills. The thick gray stones that made up these small fortifications were smoothed by time and weather. They were built to be alike - the entrance to these low towers always faced the manor itself, and their upper portions served as either lookout posts or firing ports for small cannon. Whoever designed the defenses considered that a constant supply of soldiers would occupy them, even if one of the redoubts fell to an invading force.

  Hundreds of years would pass since their construction, and no enemy force ever tested this defensive network's mettle. Alberta was one of the few fortunate holdings that were hardly involved in a feud or were besieged by their neighbor's army. The next ruling generations of the land decided not to bring down the unused fortifications and gave them a new purpose of being the distinctive landmark to reach Alberta's ruling house. There were no soldiers on patrol by the time Euphemia and her companions trekked on the road between the redoubts. A gentle breeze sang to the low grasses on the slopes; butterflies perched on one flower and then were carried away to the next.

  Euphemia stood before a large entrance gate almost six times a man's height. The same emblem of the many-headed serpent sat at the center; its lance-like pickets were wrapped by metallic vines that gave off a dark blue hue over the black tone of the rest of the portal. She turned around to face the two soldiers who had been with her throughout her voyage and said:

  "We have finally made it. Thank you for ensuring my safety."

  "It wasn't a long time, was it? Markus?"

  "Was it?" Private Berens stretched his arms and looked at the setting sun ahead. "We were spared from taking that dreaded barge. A good night's sleep, even better meals, and a little walking: those count as a victory to me."

  "Those are very... reassuring, to hear. Just bear with me for a little longer, and you can consider your task here done."

  There was a smaller building that sat outside the gate, breaking the uniform look of the estate walls. Inside the place were uniformed men, though they were less ornate than the regular Imperial soldiers. A simple shirt and pants, devoid of ornaments except for the familiar serpent emblem worn near their right shoulders. Euphemia approached the front desk and rang a small bell three times.

  "Yes, of course." A gruff, somewhat aging voice responded to the ringing. The words were louder as the attendant emerged from a room behind. "How can we hel- Lady Euphemia, you're here?"

  "Yes, Georg." She smiled before reaching for a pen to log her name into the visitor's ledger. "Has it been a few years? Maybe six?"

  "This estate has sorely missed you. Look at you, I see that the clergy has treated you well."

  "I have learned a lot from them, but I've not neglected to look after myself, as you can see." Euphemia looked at the rough-looking desk officer. "Should I list my purpose of visit?"

  "For you, the purpose should- why are you signing on the guest ledger?"

  "I have been out for a while. Should it be...?"

  "You... wait, there is no need for the young mistress to have a reason to return home." Georg took the ledger and closed it. He let out a silent laugh, more on him almost falling for Euphemia's trick. "Your humor is yet to change, my lady."

  "It is Mother I worry about. Has she been doing well?"

  "Lady Agnes has quite the steely resolve. There is sadness in her eyes, though." Georg paused at the sight of the two soldiers accompanying the cleric. "These men are not from our ranks."

  "I'm sorry I've forgotten to introduce you to them." Euphemia looked at the two standing men behind her. "They're Private Berens and Private Buschmann from the Port Guards. I have asked the Empire for security, but there I failed to make arrangements. Please prepare a vehicle for them later. They've gone the distance for me, and I had to subject them to walking."

  "Not that I, we, be prying or anything, but," Private Berens broke from standing at attention and scratched the top of his hat. "You are the daughter of the Duchess, Duchess Agnes?"

  "Yes, I am." Euphemia looked at the waiting bench where the bags were placed. She opened one of them, revealing a few jars of jam and bags of biscuits. "These are for your troubles, both of you. You wouldn't mind if additional compensation comes in through the Accounting Office later, do you?"

  "My wife and children will love these jams and biscuits, Sister uh, Lady er, Your Grace...?" Private Buschmann took two small jam jars and two bags of biscuits.

  "I got tea waiting for me at home. These will be great." Private Berens helped himself without waiting for the cleric. "Thank you so much."

  "This is nothing. May His guidance be with you on your way home, and may you be blessed in the days ahead."

  Engine noise was heard from outside; the vehicle meant to pick up the two soldiers had arrived. Someone wearing the same uniform as the privates entered the hall. There was an exchange of salutes, followed by Private Berens and Private Buschmann being led away. Euphemia went outside the guards' post and watched the two embark on an old truck. She waved her hand shortly and stayed until the gritty sound of tires against the road could no longer be heard.

  The gates were opened for the cleric. She walked a wide cobblestone path that led to a large marble fountain.

  "Mother always said - when I'm lost - just look for the fountain lady."

  At the top of the fountain was a woman of stone, wearing a robe and cloak from a forgotten era. A stretched hand led to a path at the center, where the family's abode lay ahead. Schild Manor had three tiers, with each window on the uppermost floor marked by gables. It was built less as a proud castle to take advantage of the protection the walls and the hill afforded. The space and volume of the estate made up for what it lacked in height; the mansion alone occupied a fifth of the hill, and what was left of the area was divided among the guest houses, the courtyard, and the perimeter.

  Up ahead was the main house. The retiring sun left behind a violet haze. Nobody tended to the courtyard at the time. It was like the old duchess to not post guards at the home entrance - at least, not until it was the night patrol's turn to make the rounds. Euphemia stared at a large brass serpent head that held a thick ring in its jaws. She lifted the knocker thrice; each sound traveled louder than the previous. There was a click of the doorknob; a fair-toned woman with glimmering ashen hair swept back into a large white-draped bun answered the door. She stood straight, but she had to slightly tilt her head to fully see the canoness's face.

  The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

  "Mother!" Euphemia put down her bags and threw her arms around the bespectacled woman.

  "Phemie." She hugged back, her arms attempting to find a secure spot to brace Euphemia's upper arms. There was a sudden squeeze from the daughter, making her say, "You are just like your father with this embracing business of yours."

  There was an attempt to laugh, only to be diffused into quiet streams of tears in moments. They stood still in the open door, fully letting the dying afternoon breeze and darkening orange pillars of light into the manor.

  "You're early." It was Agnes who first let go of her hold; she fixed her glasses and walked side-by-side with Euphemia. "Come. The servants should have finished with dinner preparations. You have been skinnier than you were the year before you joined the Church. Are those aether heads not feeding you right in their halls, or have they been putting you on your feet in too many places at once?"

  "I am eating just as well as the rest of the convent. It's not like a banquet is prepared for us."

  "No wonder you are all delirious in prayer. Perhaps a fine meal will snap you out of your delusion."

  "Mother, we are taught not to live on bread alone."

  The ladies took to the east to a room with a long dining table. Only two of the fifty chairs were pulled up; there were no servants to be seen anywhere. Three chandeliers gave off an all-encompassing brilliance; pointed crystal lamps took the place of where candles used to sit. Large portraits took up much of the walls' space; previous heads of the Schild clan stared at the dining table. These same eyes, captured in oil paint, would glance at the diners once mother and daughter were seated.

  "I do not feel the need to bother the servants with our talk. Also, I expected you to arrive the following morning since I did not receive a reply from the Signals."

  "That's my fault. I received the news, then I forgot to plan anything else."

  "You are here with me: that's all that matters." Both women were seated in their chairs at the same time. "This is one of your quick favorites - swordfish in citrus and herbs."

  Everything was laid at the table; the food cooled in the growing chill of the dining hall. The assortment of fish, fruit, herbs, and wine scents was confined to the table. The canoness led a quick grace before meals, then they silently went through the entrées of soup and stalks. Euphemia, starved due to her travels, quickly cleared her plate of the tasty dish. She thought of going for more, but life inside the cloister posted a protest in the form of a question:

  "Must I indulge? This may be the last time I will even have this opportunity. Forgive me, for I cannot let good food go to waste."

  She went for a second and third helping. A red-orange glow from devices with serrated flaps and fins was seen from the upper walls.

  "Have the heater timers been changed, Mother?" Euphemia was close to finishing a chunk of swordfish.

  "It must be after the replacements were installed." Agnes looked upward, then resumed eating. "Setting them a little earlier can help with the cold. I'll speak with Voltemand when I get the time. I haven't been dining here since..."

  "Father." Euphemia set her fork and knife aside, then put her hands on her lap. "Is there any news? Any developments? Are we going to send someone out to find him?"

  "The Empire has assigned an investigator in charge." Agnes sliced a piece of fish. "A descendant of the First Families. He has some experience dealing with the ones behind this."

  "What of Uncle Johann? Uncle Matthias? Don't we solve these matters on our own?"

  "Phemie, we have to see how the Empire acts on this before we plan." Agnes was about to cut another piece of fish, but ended up setting it on her plate. "Your father was not open about his mission before he disappeared. We won't even know where to begin."

  "There must be something we can do other than wait here."

  "I want to be out there looking for him, too, believe me, but this is something that more capable people should handle for us."

  "I... only want what's best for the family." Euphemia looked away from Agnes' stern face. "I don't want to sit around and wait. What if...?"

  She was unable to finish speaking. Her mother stood up and approached Euphemia. Agnes bent towards the young woman, caressing her shoulders. The duchess said:

  "There's a right time for everything. If I can only turn away from governing the city and be part of the search, I would have done so now." Agnes leaned Euphemia's head against her chest. "We will weather this together. I can also use your prayers at this time. Maybe the Creator will grant us clarity, then courage to make our family whole again."

  "I've not been myself, Mother. I do not want you to worry about me, too. I'm sorry."

  "Don't say that, Phemie. Your father is a strong man. We have to believe in him. We have to put our faith in his resolve, wherever he may be." Agnes held Euphemia's shoulders at arm's length, staring at her with a weak smile. Her glasses had slightly misted. "We shouldn't let dinner go too cold. I wouldn't have the servants deal with leftovers."

  They went on with the rest of the meal. There was nothing else left but fruit, which the two ladies spent peeling and eating without saying a word to each other. This quietness carried over even after leaving the dining hall and was only broken after an exchange of greetings when Euphemia led the duchess to the master's bedroom. The door clicked shut, and the rest of the night was left all to the canoness.

  Euphemia's room was close to the master's bedroom; a smaller room for cleaning supplies separated hers and the parents' chambers. She bent down, taking off her shoes and setting them on a humble rack beside the door. Everything seemed to be in place when she entered her bedroom, except that most of her belongings were kept in stacks that were three boxes high. Opposite her bed to the right was the vanity mirror that was cleared of everything on its tabletop. None of the servants were around when she arrived, leaving her to sort things out and to find them on her own. The familiar scent of fresh linen rose out of the bed; the sheets had been recently replaced by the housekeepers.

  She let out subdued laughter before whispering, "Oh, boxes. Was Mother expecting I would never set foot here again? Maybe the servants didn't anticipate me returning so soon."

  Ten hairpins were removed and set on the mattress when Euphemia loosened the veil from her head, letting loose long, flowing ebony locks that touched her waist. She felt a whiff of air pass by her scalp; its cool sensation was a cry of freedom from the oppressive headpiece that cramped her hair. Euphemia looked around, hoping to find the old comb she had used for years. A scan followed by opening the nearest boxes was the only effort she exerted before resorting to using the coarse-toothed implement she had in her bag. Three long strokes and a few light passes of the wooden comb were all the young canoness needed before dropping the instrument to the bed along with the pins.

  Her cloak of hair was set loose on her back when the young woman crouched and pulled out a metal box from under her bed. Its graying pewter body was covered with a thin, dusty film that dirtied her fingers. She pressed two button mechanisms on the left and right sides of the container; weak clicks confirmed that it was ready to be opened.

  Inside the box was a silvery-white armlet that gleamed against the room light. Euphemia lay on the side, putting the intricate-looking object in her hands.

  "Never have I imagined pulling this out of all things, again. Do I still know how to use it?"

  It resembled less jewelry and more like a piece of armor, only that it was streamlined to fit the wearer when used. It had a curious design; eight beams that stretched out like a depiction of the sun's rays, each ending in a round jewel that looked detachable. At the center was its 'sun': a smooth, large white stone that looked and felt like an embedded half-sphere. Euphemia looked at the article and set it back in the box, but she did not bother closing the lid. She lay on the bed, tucking herself in, and simply stared at the artifact until she unwittingly fell asleep.