The Crown's residence within Rios has always been the Winged Keep, a large castle that oversees the mouth of the Lacine. These days the actual parts of the Keep used by the royal family are limited because the royal palace was constructed as a separate building, and only shares minor areas with the much older Keep.

  Excerpt from 'The Royal House of De Astorte'

  Sitting at the desk in her bedroom, Cecille stared at the blank sheet of paper in front of her. It was already late in the afternoon and yet she had not managed to put down a single word. She knew that what she learned last night was important, and that the Whisper should be notified immediately, yet she could not stop herself thinking back to the moment Fazir had caught her in that dark passageway.

  With a sudden burst of anger, she hurled her pen across the room. Why does this always happen to me? Why do I always have to suffer humiliation?

  She had spent most of the morning crying, leaving her eyes red and puffy. The only reason she wasn't doing so now was because she had no tears left.

  With a heavy heart she got up to retrieve the pen, then gazed at the scene outside her window. A sea of rooftops stretched out below her in the bright spring afternoon light. Normally Cecille would take the opportunity to enjoy some sunshine in her tiny garden after the cold winter, yet today the warm sun seemed harsh and Cecille pulled the curtains shut to keep it out.

  Why me? Other agents do these things all the time without a problem, but I try it once and get caught.

  She touched her thighs where her bruised flesh had already started to turn blue. I'm going to feel this for days.

  Looking at her bed, she briefly considered simply curling up beneath the protective blankets, but at the same time she knew that wasn't an option. Ventus had been very distressed by her appearance in the morning, and she had sent him away to the scribe guild to find information about Lord De Reswinn's dealings. It wouldn't be much longer until he returned.

  Again she sat down at her desk but could do nothing more than stare at the paper, replaying the previous night's events in her head over and over again.

  She had no idea how much time had passed, when she was wrenched from her thoughts by the sound of someone knocking at the door. The paper in front of her was still as blank as before.

  Go away, I don't want to see anyone.

  The knocking persisted. “Cecille, I know you're home,” a male voice called loudly.

  A feeling of despair washed over Cecille. Oh no, it's Rocam. He probably wanted to know what she learned at the soirée yesterday.

  I could ignore him, but then he'll just pick the lock and come inside anyway.

  With a heavy sigh that came from deep within her stomach, she rose from her chair. She would have to face Rocam sooner or later, so she might as well get it over with.

  I'm not getting anything done anyway, she thought, descending the stairs towards the front door.

  “You look like shit,” Rocam said the moment he laid eyes on her. “What the blaze happened to you?”

  “Just come inside,” Cecille snapped. She walked away to her couch, leaving the door open.

  “Ventus isn't here?” Rocam asked as he closed the door.

  “No, I sent him on an errand.”

  “So,” Rocam said as he seated himself opposite Cecille. “Care to tell me why you were crying your eyes out on the ride home?” He studied her face. “And this morning.”

  Her mouth became a tight line and her gaze hardened. Nerial told him, of course. “That's not important, but what I learned is,” she replied.

  “Alright,” Rocam said, leaning backwards. “Let's hear it.”

  She told him about her night. About the little chimera fox, the armoured servants, the three suspicious Dusters and the conversation they had with Lord De Reswinn.

  Fortunately, the story seemed to make Rocam lose interest in the reason for her grief. Instead he stared at the ceiling, listening with a dark expression on his face.

  “And that's it,” Cecille said. “After the conversation ended, I snuck back to the soirée and went home.”

  “Are you certain it was the baron?”

  “I overheard him myself asking for a private conversation, and that cracked voice was definitely his.”

  Rocam's frown became even deeper. He slowly shook his head.

  “What? You don't believe me?” How dare he, after all I went through?

  “No, I'm worried.”

  That took Cecille aback. He's worried? Him?

  A sudden shiver ran through Cecille's body and she instinctively pulled her shawl closer around herself. She had been so preoccupied with what had happened with Fazir that she had given no thought to the possible implications of the meeting between the baron and the Dusters.

  “Why are you worried? Do you know who those Dusters were?”

  “They're probably part of a syndicate.”

  “A syndicate? As in a group of criminals?”

  Rocam nodded while maintaining his gaze towards the ceiling. “You might recall that there was a war in the Tasselhane underground a couple of years ago?” He glanced at Cecille, who nodded. “That particular scuffle ended with the Black Rose and the Nameless syndicate forcibly removing Ank Karresh and that other Duster syndicate from the city.”

  “The Bishemed Kartel,” Cecille said immediately. “I know about that. You think they're back?”

  “Them or another group. Doesn't really matter. Either way, it's trouble.”

  A syndicate. It had not occurred to Cecille at the time, but now that she thought about it, it made perfect sense. It explained the men wearing brigandines, the discomfort Fazir and Kaseem had displayed while in a social setting, and their need to have conversations in private.

  “But what's Lord De Reswinn's connection?” Cecille wondered aloud.

  “That's the worrying part,” Rocam replied. “I always thought the baron just had a nose for good deals, which is why he isn't a destitute beggar like most nobles. But it seems our magistrate might have used some more underhanded means.” Again he glanced at Cecille. “You didn't hear anything about what the connection between the baron and this syndicate might be?”

  Cecille shrugged. “I only heard that he wanted what was promised to him and that whatever it is, he will get it soon.”

  “What about the part you didn't tell me yet? The part that caused all the tears.”

  Cecille froze and looked away. He didn't forget.

  “Well?”

  “I don't want to talk about it,” Cecille snapped. Her anger began to rise.

  “I got that part, but that doesn't matter. It's obvious big things are happening, and I can't have you keeping things from me.”

  “I said I don't want to talk about it. It's irrelevant.” Why can't he just listen to me for once? I'm the operator.

  “You are too emotional to make that call,” Rocam stated coldly.

  Cecille pressed her nails into her palms. She wanted to scream at him, tell him to get lost and leave her alone. But at the same time she knew it would make no difference. Rocam would simply stare at her with disinterest as she raged. To him it would be just another confirmation that she wasn't capable of doing the job.

  She swallowed once. Keep it together. Just tell him the gist and he will leave.

  “After I overheard the conversation, Fazir caught me,” she said softly.

  There was a moment of silence.

  “And?” Rocam prompted.

  “I pretended to be drunk, but he wasn't going for it so I...”

  Again Cecille fell silent.

  “You let him fuck you?!” Rocam exclaimed before letting out a chuckle.

  Too sharp, he's too sharp. This time she felt grateful, however, as she didn't have to explain things further. She nodded.

  Rocam chuckled once more. “Old habits die hard.”

  “Go drown yourself in a murky pool,” Cecille snapped bitterly.

  “That's it?” Rocam continued unperturbed. “You let him between your legs and he just let you go?”

  Cecille didn't respond.

  “How do you know he won't tell on you? One if his friends might not be so convinced of your innocence.”

  “He warned me not to tell anyone about the open gate,” Cecille said. “I think he was responsible for security.”

  Rocam narrowed one eye. “I suppose that will work. Yet I wonder, why didn't you hide yourself instead?”

  “If they caught me hiding, I wouldn't have left at all.”

  “Probably not,” Rocam admitted. “I suppose we each have our talents,” he added with a smirk.

  Cecille turned her head back to give him a searing stare.

  “Yes, yes,” Rocam said, waving his hand dismissively. “You hate my guts and I don't care. Still, I'm going to leave you alone now. Just hand me the report and I'll ensure it goes through with the next blueshift.”

  “It's not done yet,” Cecille said with a slight sense of triumph. Anything to spite that insufferable bastard.

  “When will it be done?”

  “Soon.”

  Rocam did not seem to like that answer, which delighted Cecille.

  Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

  “Best hurry it up,” Rocam said. “A province magistrate involved with shady dealings is something the leadership will want to know about.”

  Cecille looked away from him to study the glass vase on the cupboard.

  Rocam sighed. “You want me to kill him?”

  With a snap, Cecille turned her head back. “What? Kill who?”

  “Fazir.”

  “You think that will fix anything?” she asked indignantly.

  “Not really,” Rocam said, “but like this you are useless.” He shifted in his seat to lean forward. “Look, what you discovered yesterday is important. Probably far more important than we even realize. And you did it all by yourself.”

  Oh, so now you're being supportive all of a sudden?

  “The next blueshift to Rios is tomorrow morning,” Rocam continued. “The one after that is two days later. Now, if you want to wait for that, feel free, but know that if the operation those Dusters were talking about is related to White Candle, this outfit will be terminated in a heartbeat if the leadership finds out we sat on critical information for no good reason.”

  Cecille winced. He's right, they would.

  “If you can't bring yourself to put pen to paper,” Rocam continued, “you'll just have to go by yourself tomorrow.”

  The suggestion caught her by surprise. Go to Rios? She closed her eyes to think it over for a moment. Considering how her day had gone so far, it was pretty obvious she wasn't going to get anything done today. Going to Rios in person instead would void the need to write a report.

  Still, why should I be the one to go? She opened her eyes. “Why don't you go?”

  “As you may recall,” Rocam said, smirking, “I was assigned to the Tasselhane outfit rather than be thrown in jail with a few conditions. One of which was that I would never show my face in Rios again unless explicitly invited.” He grinned. “Also, you're the operator and the one who discovered the information in question.”

  “How convenient for you.”

  “I thought you would love the idea of going to Rios. Get away from scum like me for a change.”

  “I can't go there to report to the leadership,” Cecille said. “The grandmaster himself will probably want to speak to me.” The thought made her shudder. She had never met the Whisper's grandmaster, but she had heard stories.

  “Since when is it a problem for you to talk to people? You do it all the time.”

  “This is different,” Cecille said. “Here in Tasselhane, I'm Madam De Alistrin, perfume trader. In Rios I will be one of the rejects of the Tasselhane outfit.”

  Rocam raised his head and it looked like he wanted to say something, but then he changed his mind.

  They both sat in silence once more.

  “Look,” Rocam said eventually, “I wouldn't mind going myself at all. If anything, we might finally learn more about what this entire thing is about. But as I said, I can't. I'm not going to antagonize the leadership after keeping my nose clean for nine years.”

  “Why do you care so much about this? Usually you don't care at all.”

  “Why? Because first it was only about Echeb. But now we know that even the magistrate is involved somehow. This is no longer a fire; it's a blazing inferno, and I don't like that one bit.”

  Cecille studied Rocam's face. His eyes were slightly narrowed and his grin had disappeared.

  He's serious about it.

  She covered her eyes with her hand. So what am I supposed to do now? Do I really need to go to Rios?

  Deep down she knew she had to. And the more she thought about it, the more she realized that she wanted to go. Being away from Tasselhane for a few days would be liberating.

  “Are you going or not?” Rocam asked.

  Cecille nodded.

  “Good,” he said, getting up from his chair. “If you tell Ventus to keep his head down, I'll take care of the rest.” He winked at her. “See you in a couple of days.”

  The next morning, Cecille arrived at the Ministry of Transportation with a small satchel filled with clothing. She wore a plain dress made from sturdy cotton and a large, thick woollen shawl to keep out the cold.

  This branch of the ministry was based in one of the older buildings in the centre of the city. It used to be a fortification of some sort, which was still evident in its thick walls, narrow, winding stairs and tiny windows. The ministry officials had tried to dress it up by hanging tapestries at every blind wall they could find, but this did little to alleviate its ugliness.

  There was a small line at the reception desk and Cecille eyed the large board that listed the blueshift schedule.

  This morning's blueshift: zero spots remaining.

  It wasn't until last night that she realized that if she wanted to go herself instead of sending a letter, she would need a reservation. Blueshift spots were limited and usually reserved weeks if not moons in advance, so that was an issue she needed to address first.

  The man in front of her moved away and the young receptionist smiled at Cecille. “Welcome, how can I help you?”

  “Good day. I need to speak with Bars Evion.”

  “Do you have an appointment?”

  “No, but tell him Cecille de Alistrin is here to see him, it's important.”

  “One moment, please,” the receptionist said, picking up a runestone.

  Cecille waited a few moments, observing the nearby tapestries.

  “Scribe Evion will see you now,” the receptionist said. “Corridor B, room five.”

  “Thank you,” Cecille replied.

  The room wasn't hard to find. Cecille knocked twice on the unassuming door.

  “Enter,” a male voice said.

  Cecille stepped inside the room and closed the door behind her. In front of her, sitting behind a large mahogany desk covered in stacks of books, sat a middle-aged man with greying hair and a nose that seemed too big for his face.

  “Cecille,” Bars greeted her. “I wasn't expecting you here. What can I do for you?”

  “Nothing much,” Cecille said. “It's just that I need to go with the next blueshift to Rios.”

  Bars frowned. “I have received no word of that.”

  “I have dispensation; surely you remember? You should have received word of that around the sixteenth this moon.”

  Bars pinched his nose and closed his eyes for a moment. “Yes, I do remember that,” he said. “But I also recall that dispensation was for an unscheduled shift. Not to slide in an extra person during a regular one, and I'm quite certain it was for a limited period only.”

  Cecille held back a sigh. Completely married to the rules. No wonder they stuck him here.

  She pouted. “I thought you would be glad I took the effort to arrange it in this way. I know how much you dislike unscheduled shifts.”

  Bars released his nose and stared at Cecille's lips. “Well yes,” he stammered. “I do dislike those, but because of recent demand we've already raised the amount of spots, and the ?ther nears the crest point every shift.”

  “This is important, Bars,” Cecille said, leaning forward. “And I know you keep spots open for emergencies. I can fit.”

  Bars slowly bobbed his head to the side and back again while his eyes flitted around the room.

  “Very well,” he said finally. “I'll inform the channellers.”

  “Thanks, you're a dear,” Cecille said, beaming her most charming smile at him.

  That smile rapidly disappeared after she left the room and made her way to where the blueshift portal would appear. Acting like that made her recall her actions at Echeb's soirée and she did not want to think about that right now.

  The shift room was filled with people lined up in front of the gateway, and Cecille was quickly ushered to the end of the line after she told the civil servants who she was.

  Here I go.

  A sense of nervousness suddenly struck her. She had only visited Rios a handful of times in her life, and the Stockade only once. That was when I was told I was being reassigned to Tasselhane. How many years ago was that now? Ten? Eleven?

  Becoming lost in her memories for a while, she was jerked back to reality when the portal opened. Immediately the line started to move at a brisk pace, and Cecille fell in with the required marching step. She could tell she had stepped through the portal because the scent and feel of her surroundings suddenly changed, from cold and dry to humid and warm, with a hint of saltiness in the air.

  The line of people was swiftly ushered from the room towards the exit, and a few moments later Cecille set foot on the cobblestone street in front of the ministry building in Rios.

  A damp breeze blew through her hair and she stared at the sky where seagulls circled some unidentified spot in the distance.

  For an instant, Cecille felt compelled to walk towards the coast and stare across the ocean for a while, but she shook the feeling off. She was here to prove that the Tasselhane outfit, especially herself, was worthy of being a part of the Whisper. Staring across the water like a wistful maiden will not do. I told myself this was my chance; so listen to yourself, Cecille.

  She approached one of the nearby carriages.

  The Winged Keep looked exactly as Cecille remembered it. Tall curtain walls between five drum towers that surrounded the top of the hill. The outer fortification was left over from many years ago and was no longer properly maintained. Cecille could see creeping vine running up the walls in several locations and the crenellations showed gaps that shouldn't be there.

  Cecille shuffled towards the north gate that led through a massive and bulky gatehouse. She wasn't entirely certain how to go about this, as she had no idea what the current protocol was to gain access to the Stockade.

  I can't just tell a guard that I'm with the Whisper, can I?

  She did know one thing she could say, but that was supposed to be for emergencies only. And this doesn't exactly qualify. From the corner of her eye she saw a guard approach her.

  It will have to do.

  “Your business?” the guard asked as he eyed Cecille from head to toe.

  “I'm here to speak to Tam de Siel,” Cecille said.

  “And who might that be?”

  Oh krat.

  She feared this might happen. Tam de Siel didn't exist, of course, the name merely being a codeword to be used by an agent in distress. The problem was that this particular codeword was over ten years old. There was a very good chance the guard wouldn't know about it.

  “He works in the Stockade,” Cecille improvised.

  “As what?”

  Cecille briefly considered making something up. No, that's probably a bad idea.

  “I don't know what he does exactly,” Cecille said with a charming smile. “But if you don't know him, could I perhaps speak to your captain?” Maybe he still remembers.

  Again, the guard eyed Cecille in her entirety. It was obvious he didn't really know what to make of her.

  “Wait here,” he said, before stomping off towards one of his fellow guards. She saw them speaking briefly until the second guard shook his head after looking at Cecille.

  The first guard walked through the gate and around the corner, leaving Cecille to wait.

  It was a while before the guard returned, but when he did he beckoned her to follow him.

  With a small sigh of relief, Cecille passed through the gate and stepped onto the bailey. On the east side she could see the royal palace, its baroque appearance with small spires, red-brick walls and large windows in sharp contrast with the old wall that surrounded it.

  Over the ages the Winged Keep had been partially destroyed and rebuilt several times, leading to its current mismatched appearance. The old donjon in the centre of the Keep, for example, had stood there for as long as anyone could remember and was likely built even before the Second Bane.

  The guard led her through a door into the outer curtain wall and they arrived at a small room lit by two sun sigils.

  “Can I see your bag?” the guard asked her.

  “It only contains clothes,” Cecille said, handing him the bag.

  “Any runestones?” he asked as he briefly rummaged through Cecille's clothes.

  “None.”

  “Wait here,” the guard said, returning the satchel and gesturing towards one of the benches in the room.

  “Thank you,” Cecille said, taking a step towards the nearest bench.

  The guard closed the door behind her, followed by the creaking sound of a key being turned and the short snap of a lock falling in place.

  She spun around towards the door. “Hey!” she exclaimed. “Why are you locking me in?”

  The guard did not answer and Cecille could hear footsteps moving away.

  She tried to open the door to no avail. She was trapped.

  They didn't believe me after all. Now what do I do?

  A quick look around confirmed that she wasn't going to leave. The door was solid oak and the walls were thick limestone bricks. She had not brought her lock picks either so she simply sat down on one of the benches and waited.

  Time went by. Cecille had no idea how long she was there until finally she heard footsteps approaching and the sound of a key being turned in the lock.

  Cecille jumped up, straightened her dress and tucked an errant lock of hair behind her ear.

  The door opened and two men and a woman stepped through. The woman was dressed as a servant and stood to the side as the two men approached Cecille. One of them was average sized, in his thirties, with a set of eyebrows that almost connected above his nose. The other was an older man with a pleasant but withered face.

  No guards?

  “This woman is going to search your person,” the man with the eyebrows said.

  Cecille just nodded and did not protest as she knew it would be pointless.

  The servant woman started to pat her down, causing Cecille to wince slightly when she touched one of her bruises.

  In the meantime, the elder man had seated himself on one of the benches as he watched the servant finish her work.

  “Nothing,” the servant woman declared.

  “Alright, leave us then,” the man with the eyebrows said, before turning towards Cecille.

  “So who might you be, then?”

  “Cecille de Alistrin,” she said without hesitation. There was no reason to hide that as she was certain these two men were part of the Whisper.

  “And who were you looking for?”

  “Tam de Siel.”

  “That man has been dead for years, didn't you know?”

  “It's been a while since I was last here.”

  “Why did you need to speak with him?”

  “I have important information.”

  “Concerning what?”

  “A trader called Hischi Echeb.”

  “Never heard of him. Where does he live?”

  “Tasselhane,” Cecille said as annoyance started to creep into her voice. How long are they going to play dumb?

  The older man seemed to have read her mind as he spoke up. “That's enough, Raviel; I believe she is who she claims.”

  Cecille gave the older man a closer look. Have I met him before? He's certainly old enough to remember me.

  “We haven't met before,” the older man said, again as if reading her mind. “And I have to admit I'm surprised to find you here in person.”

  He turned towards Raviel. “Fetch something to drink, will you; Madam De Alistrin looks rather thirsty.”

  “Of course, grandmaster.”

  Cecille felt her blood chill as her mouth fell agape. Did he say grandmaster? But that means...

  “As you just heard, I'm Grandmaster Lakrin of the Whisper,” the older man said.

  “Ah,” Cecille stammered. She suddenly felt naked. She had expected to be probed and prodded for a good while longer, but instead the grandmaster himself had showed up right from the start.

  Rocam was right, there is a really hot fire burning underneath this.

  “So what's the emergency?” Lakrin asked.

  “There isn't one,” Cecille admitted. “I didn't know any other codewords.”

  A brief smile flashed across the grandmaster's face. “When I heard about a woman trying to enter the castle using such an old name, I wondered who it could be until the guard described your appearance. Then I knew.” He paused for a moment and his look became a bit softer. “It must have been hard on you.”

  It was like a dam burst inside Cecille.

  Tears started to run down her face and within moments she was sobbing uncontrollably. Everything she had endured up until now—not just the humiliation with Fazir, but all the grief of ten years in Tasselhane too—came pouring out in uncontrollable waves.

  She was still crying when Raviel stepped back into the room carrying a flagon. Surprised by the sight, he looked from the grandmaster to Cecille and back again.

  “I think we should relocate ourselves first, Raviel,” Lakrin said, rising from the bench. “It seems Cecille has a lot she needs to talk to us about.”