In a village inn near the Imperial Capital, a man and a girl of about fourteen were conversing. Both had black hair and blue eyes, a testament to their unbreakable bond.

  “Is she well?” the girl asked, her voice tinged with worry.

  “She appears… to be in good health.”

  “Then… I may see her?” she murmured.

  A silence fell; the truth needed no words. The Cerena he had glimpsed at the wedding ceremony was no longer the one he had left behind during the fire, but more like the woman she was after he had rescued her in the mountains. Yet there was something different in her gaze: it was no longer fear that animated her, but resignation. Her daughter did not need to know this.

  “Tell me, Elvira… what is it you wish to do?”

  “What do you mean?” she replied, startled.

  “What do you hope to achieve with your journey? What do you intend to accomplish?”

  Elvira paused a moment to think.

  “I wish to see Mom again; to be with her,” she answered.

  “Do you wish to save her?”

  In response, she asked another question:

  “Does she need saving?”

  The young man, taken aback, stared at her, then shook his head.

  “I don’t believe so; at least, not in the way you mean. She may not be happy, but she doesn’t appear to be in immediate danger.”

  “That’s a relief. But I wish to see her for myself, and to be there for her.”

  Elvira and her father had left the village a little over six months ago. When they had heard the announcement of the marriage, they had feared it might be a trap. After all, they knew themselves to be under constant watch. She had wished to attend the ceremony, but her father had decided to go alone, while she waited somewhere safe.

  “Listen, my dear,” he said. “I know you long to see her again, but you mustn’t rush. I’ve seen the Emperor; he’s of an entirely different order. You mustn’t seek to confront him. And if you wish to approach her, you must show him that you are no threat. For that, I won’t be able to accompany you.”

  “You can’t?”

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  A sad smile touched his lips as he replied,

  “Unfortunately, it’s impossible. You still have much to learn, but I’m confident you will succeed. And the village also needs me; I’ll have to return sooner or later. Even when we part ways, you will always know where to find me.”

  Elvira lowered her gaze, lost in thought.

  “So, does that mean I must choose between the two of you?” she asked, sorrowfully.

  “No,” he said, shaking his head. “There is no need for choice. You must find her, for she needs you. And she’s not the only one who may need you. Don’t forget your brother…”

  “But we have no idea where he is… it has been so long since we heard any news of him.”

  “I am not so sure. If we do not know where he is, then it certainly means no one else does either. That is rather a good sign. It can also mean he hasn’t yet acted. Like us, he must wait for the right moment. And on that day, you must be ready, for you will likely be the only one able to help him—or to stop him.”

  She tilted her head to one side.

  “To stop him?”

  “I don’t know what he intends to do, but… perhaps he is the one who will need to be saved—saved from himself.”

  ???

  On the road to a neighboring kingdom, a young woman traveled, escorted by men-at-arms. Blonde-haired, blue-eyed, and approaching her thirtieth year, she had attended the Emperor’s wedding ceremony.

  As a princess, she often traveled as an envoy on behalf of her parents. She was meticulous about her principles and always acted with formality and respect. However, the Empire was rarely accessible to foreign emissaries, and she seldom risked venturing there. She had heard of the marriage only by word of mouth, as news slowly reached her kingdom.

  Yet the bride’s name was far from unfamiliar. It was the same as her long-lost younger sister’s. Her family had never dared to speak it again, and she had long resented them for it. Even when she had questioned them, they had turned a deaf ear, as though her sister had never existed.

  So she had decided, on her own initiative and in secrecy, to attend the wedding. She needed to know the truth for herself. It was a considerable risk of a diplomatic incident, besides traveling alone without escort.

  In the end, she did not regret it: her heart whispered that the young woman, now the Emperor’s wife, was undoubtedly her long-lost sister. And even though seeing her in such circumstances had broken her heart, she nevertheless felt reassured, knowing she no longer had reason to worry.

  Before setting off again, she had slipped her a letter, hoping to make amends for her family’s wrongs and to ease her own conscience.

  Having completed her personal mission, she did not linger and soon resumed her journey home.

  ???

  When the princess finally returned home after several weeks of travel, she found her parents, dejected and pale. They had received a visit from a herald of the Emperor.

  The message he had delivered left a bitter taste. The Emperor had officially acknowledged that he had married their second daughter. By abandoning her at birth, they had deliberately relinquished all right or authority over her, and any attempt at contact or subsequent reclamation would be regarded as a hostile act.

  A sense of unease settled in the room. The princess, her gaze dark, wondered what all of this might still conceal.