29 March 1686 of the 6th Era, Nightingale Road, South District

  The room was almost dark, with the last rays of the setting sun playing on the ceiling, painting it all sorts of gentle purples, reds, and golds. It felt familiar in some way. The small writing desk at the opposite wall from the bed she was lying in, the ornament adorning the edges of the ceiling, the dark floorboards, the walls with a simple, but elegant flower pattern, and a small fireplace, presently well lit… Somewhere downstairs, a brass clock was monotonously ticking away the minutes, or perhaps even hours. She had never stayed in this room, but the house was oddly familiar. And so was the faint smell of fresh pastry mixed with cherry blossoms, even though their blooming was at least a month away from now.

  Charlotte slowly drifted in the haze of her own mind, not quite asleep, but not awake, either. She wasn’t sure how she ended up here, or why her body felt so weak. Heavy even. Was it even her own body at this point, or did the Lady finally decide that she had fulfilled her purpose, and these were just her memories, whatever last glimpses of her consciousness, lingering around? Will they, too, dissipate, leaving nothing behind?

  No, that was not yet the case. She blinked a few times, then tried to sit up. From the corner of her eye, she noticed a large fluffy cat briefly appear in the doorway, look at her, and then rush out, shouting something. She couldn’t quite understand what it was, her hearing still not fully restored. Was it calling someone?

  She didn’t hear any footsteps. Just at some point, saw someone appear in the doorway, who then quickly walked up to her. He asked something, but Charlotte could only shake her head, still unable to see or hear properly. Realising what she was trying to do, he gently lifted her up and propped a couple of pillows behind her back for support, then sat on the edge of the bed, looking at her with great concern.

  Right. This was Mr Levy’s house, wasn’t it. Her eyes regained focus, and she lifted her hand to her temple. Her thoughts were still fuzzy and it hurt tremendously, but she was finally beginning to remember… something.

  “What time is it?”

  “Too late to visit Mr Fincke,” Antony let out a relieved sigh. “Hopefully it puts your mind at ease knowing that I warned him we wouldn’t be coming. He was very understanding of the situation and said that he would be happy to talk to you whenever you feel better.

  “Do you need anything? Water, something to eat, maybe?”

  “No, thank you,” she closed her eyes, leaning on the pillows. “I didn’t mean to cause you trouble.”

  “You shouldn’t be apologising. I should though, for shouting at you back then. I’m really sorry.”

  Instead of replying, Charlotte placed her hand on top of his, lying still, resembling an intricate doll come to life with her sharp facial features, pale skin, and her hair strewn across the pillows.

  “I wanted to take you to the hospital, but Ms Liebheart told me that there was no point in doing so. To quote her, either you were going to wake up on your own or not wake up at all. So after some deliberation we decided to bring you to my house,” he continued quietly, as if scared of the lingering silence. “She’s the one who changed your clothes. The fact that she knows what you are definitely made things easier.”

  “She was always one for dramatics,” Charlotte couldn’t help but smile, making a mental note to tell Agnes what she thought of that decision. This at least explained the frilly cream-white nightgown made of thick, heavy cotton and decorated with elaborate ribbons that she was wearing. “It’s not that grave, however.”

  “You’ve been out for an entire day. You do realise where my thoughts went, don’t you?”

  “What’s worse, a severe head trauma or me turning into a Seer, the True Avatar of the Lady of the Dead Moon, before your very eyes?”

  “At least you’re acknowledging that one,” he sighed. “Care to at least tell me what’s happening to you? One moment you’re full of energy, telling me in no uncertain terms to mind my own business and stop fussing over you just because you were gone for more than a couple minutes. Even reminding me of my place in this investigation. And then I notice you suffering from what looks like a migraine attack, which leads to you collapsing on the floor for no reason.

  “And… You’re not cold, are you?”

  “Not with this amount of blankets,” she shifted a bit, sitting almost upright, as her mind finally started functioning properly. “I told you before, whenever I channel Her magic, it takes a tremendous toll on my body. This is the aftermath.”

  “I didn’t see you use any spells.”

  “It’s not just spells. Actually, it’s very rarely spells. Let me explain this whole thing properly, because what I told you back then is… Ugh. My head still hurts.

  “I told you, Seers are best described as living, breathing puppets. You read that when you accessed my file, surely. Her Destined Avatars have a semblance of autonomy, but they, too, can be used by Her the way She sees fit. In other words, I do not decide if or when I wish to channel Her magic. Sometimes a spark gets weaved into a purification spell, and I might feel somewhat queasy for an hour or two. Other times She completely takes over, in which case it’s a gamble if my body can take it or if I end up unconscious on the floor,” she chuckled suddenly, remembering something. “There’s actually more chances I’d be up and about if I faint before She decides to take matters into her own hands. There have been a few fights I cannot remember, where people were certain I perished due to being hit by a spell or, say, a falling pillar, and yet here I am, with not even a scar to show for it, and they have a story about an exceptionally powerful cleric of the Lady of the Dead Moon who defied death and dealt with, oh, I don’t know, a Death Mongerer all by herself.”

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  “That doesn’t sound at all reassuring. But I guess it’s Her protecting you?”

  “Basically. She doesn’t want me dead, Mr Levy. On the contrary, She wants me to thrive, but there are times when She is forced to bestow Her powers on me, no matter if I want them or not. No matter if I need them or not. This time it wasn’t even a spell that got me. It was a premonition,” Charlotte looked at him, then suddenly tilted her head. “Your eyes…”

  “What? Ah. I am too distraught to keep up that illusion,” he took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Almost dropped it when talking to Ms Liebheart.”

  “That would have been a rather awkward situation.”

  “I’d say a rather dangerous situation, as people really dislike someone capable of seeing things for what they are. Andrew, too, would probably get into hot water. I am with him during every single meeting. How many little secrets have I spied, and how many of those have I conveyed to my employer?” Antony shuddered at the thought. “You belong to a very small circle of people who know why my eyesight is so poor.”

  “So the Secret Service…”

  “No. Time magic is a useful skill. Seeing things for what they are without the need of a potion or a spell… Such a person is instantly too much even for their handler. Especially for the handler.”

  The room was rapidly getting dark with the sun having finally set, and Charlotte saw the first stars appear in the velvety-purple skies. As if they were shy young girls entering the ballroom for their very first dance after being introduced to the court, their dresses shimmering in the candlelight.

  Charlotte sat still, completely losing the thread of the conversation, staring at what little she could see of the skies from this corner of the room. Then, slowly, she got up and walked up to the window and climbed on the wide window sill. Her eyes changed colour ever so slightly, and it was hard to discern if they were merely reflecting the sea of stars or gained one of their own.

  “Lady Dawntreader?”

  She could see that Antony was looking at her, his whole body stiff and his face a mix of bewilderment and embarrassment, so stunned was he with her behaviour. His eyes kept darting from her to the door, as if he was trying to choose the best course of action. Join her by the window or walk out before she comes to her senses?..

  “They’re so pretty.”

  “What?”

  “The stars,” she turned towards him. “Though judging by the colour of your face you’re thinking of something else entirely.”

  “You’re the one to talk. You do realise that you’re–”

  “Breaking every single rule of etiquette in existence, yes. But you’re not supposed to be in a woman’s bedroom, either, let alone found sitting on the edge of her bed. Also, it’s Charlotte. One more ‘Lady Dawntreader’ uttered while we’re alone and I swear I will make an ice sculpture out of you.”

  “Provided you stop calling me Mr Levy,” he got up, finally having made up his mind, walked over to her, and leaned down slightly, raising his head to get a better view of the firmament.

  “They are indeed beautiful,” he said after a minute’s silence. “There’s always something mysterious about them, even when you know what they’re made of.”

  “Superstitions, beliefs,” she thought for a moment, then shifted, so that her back was against the wall, and continued to gaze at the picturesque darkness above. “Old stories about star spirits. Mixing up the stars and the Celestial Plane, thinking that these tiny orbs are distant lights of the gods’ homes. It all adds up. Besides, even when you know exactly what these things are, they don’t become any bit less mysterious. It’s unfathomable what processes make them function, or how they’ve existed for as long as the gods have and will continue to exist long after we’ve all perished,” she turned to him, her face illuminated by the fire dancing in the hearth on one side and by the cold light of the rising moons on the other. “I don’t know why, but whenever night falls, I get dragged towards the skies. There’s something special about them that I just cannot explain.”

  “I rarely have time to look up. To be honest, night is the best time for me to concentrate on my work. Most will have gone home at that point, and the building becomes chillingly quiet. And even when I spend time at home, I prefer to just bury my head in a book or a new scientific piece on some Third Era artefact or other,” his voice became incredibly quiet, and she had to strain to catch the last couple of words.

  “Why?”

  He looked at her, surprised by the question, “I don’t think I understand.”

  “Maybe it’s not my place to ask, but… From the tone of your letters, from the way you have been conducting yourself so far, from your flowery language, I feel like this world has lost a wonderful poet. A dreamer. Someone who sees magic in the most mundane of things,” Charlotte pressed her temple against the glass. The cold surface finally gave some reprieve from the headache, and she briefly closed her eyes, enjoying the sensation. “Instead it got someone so terribly practical that it almost hurts. Someone who would rather spend the entire night reading a budget report, or listening to someone rave on for hours during yet another boring meeting. Someone who wants to blend in, disappear in the crowd the very first chance he gets. Someone who’d rather work as a secretary than pursue his one true passion. I cannot help but feel like you’re doing your darndest to extinguish that very last spark of curiosity that is left in you.

  “Moreover, you met me five days ago – unless, of course, we had met before and I just cannot remember for one reason or another – but you already act so overprotective of me that it feels somewhat suffocating, if I can be honest with you.

  “And finally,” she looked at him, but Antony carefully avoided her gaze, his face having become an impenetrable mask devoid of any and all emotion, his hands firmly behind his back and his posture overly official and distant. “Finally, the way you cowered when that ghoul attacked us. I’ve seen similar reactions before. While I understand that fear was the main driving factor, it strongly reminded me of a few people I know from my days on the Eastern Archipelago. One of them is morbidly afraid of any sudden noise, and cannot stand the sound of fireworks.

  “You don’t have to explain yourself if you don’t feel like it,” she pulled her legs to her chest and propped her head against her knees, her voice becoming somewhat muffled. “I just want to know if there is something I can do for you.”

  She waited, but there was no answer. Antony continued standing some distance away, still as one of those little toy soldiers that boys often got for Solstice. It was hard to say what was going on in his mind and in his heart, as nothing in him betrayed his emotions. But one thing was clear. Charlotte had disturbed something very painful within him.