Syla’s chosen residence was neither where, nor what, Ezerkal had expected.

  This home lay in the Sun District, nestled in the city’s north. It was covered in expansive estates, burgeoning gardens and opulent palaces. Nerkai’s extensive wealth was fully on display here and the district was inhabited almost exclusively by the wealthiest of the noble and merchant castes. It was the smallest of the three districts, but by far the most famous.

  Ezerkal himself resided in the Crown District, owning a quaint home two streets over from the court. It was from here that he had set out this morning, with a street name and door number in hand.

  Syla’s abode sat on the main thoroughfare connecting the temple-pyramid of Aten to the gate at the city’s northern apex, in the very centre of the Sun District. It was an opulent, three-floor, pearl white villa made from imported marble. Most notable of all was its size. The building stretched back further back from the thoroughfare than any of its immediate neighbours, twice their width.

  Ezerkal smiled involuntarily as he approached, the simple prospect of entering such a place kindled a sense of awe within him. Perhaps he was being na?ve, or maybe his mindset was too deep-seated in his beloved fictions, but he could not help it. With the sun hanging overheard, its warmth spreading through his body and galvanizing him onwards, he could not contain his bubbling excitement.

  I no longer feel like a glorified quill-pusher, he thought, as he strode under a balcony extending from the fa?ade of the building. He took a moment to compose himself, straightening his clothes and restraining his smile, before knocking upon the door.

  His two firm knocks were swiftly answered by a lanky figure in tight-fitting clothes of black and brown. The figure appeared to be a butler or servant of some kind, with scales of a deep, dark blue and a long, slim face with sunken yet stern features. Curiously, his caste-marks, once little scars placed behind the eyes, had been removed and replaced with the never-fading black of the blood-caste in long half-moons on his neck. The caste of soldiers and mercenaries.

  “Do you have an appointment?” the butler droned, his tone making it clear he wished to be anywhere but here.

  Ezerkal nodded. “Ah, yes, I am here to see Madam Syla. I believe she is mistress of this household?”

  The butler’s face contorted into a scowl, and he let out a low growl. “Wait there,” he grumbled flatly, before turning on his heel and slamming the door shut in one fluid motion of contempt.

  Stunned by the rudeness of this man, Ezerkal frowned and warily stepped back from the door. Taking a moment to look around while he waited, he discovered a few things he found curious.

  He searched for meaning in the architecture before him. He wanted to find signs of what it may have once been, perhaps an indicative feature that denoted at least the type of owner it had belonged to in the past. Surely Syla couldn’t have had such an opulent place built purely for her uses?

  He could find no such thing, in fact, the architecture bore none of the marks of heraldry or loyalty that much of the villas on this street bore proudly. Particularly, the columns holding up the balcony above him caught his attention. They were carved with flowing, intricate patterns that overlapped and intertwined constantly, but seemed not to symbolise or mean anything within his boundaries of knowledge.

  The long, scowling face of the butler loomed through the doorway once more. “Come in, the mistress will see you now,” he said.

  Ezerkal gingerly slipped inside, taking a moment to peer down one of the short corridors extending off from the surprisingly modest entrance hall, from which murmured conversations drifted. The butler threw the door closed once more, this time shunting a heavy lock-bolt in place to keep it closed. The hall was curiously lacking in ornamentation, the walls and floor utterly bare. The only thing ensuring the hall was not simply an empty pale void was the presence of a flight of stairs against the wall to his right.

  The butler pushed past him, his tail dragging on the flagstones like a dead animal and clawed feet tapping on the hard-stone floor with each step. “Come with me.” His voice remained flat and contemptuous.

  Ezerkal bridled somewhat at how the butler had treated him thus far, but the feeling was overpowered by his curiosity. The place’s strangeness fascinated him. Thus, after a brief moment of what he considered polite defiance, he quickly followed along.

  The butler trudged up a long flight of stairs and crossed the landing towards a second staircase, never sparing a look back or uttering a word. Ezerkal did not see another living soul throughout the building as they rose upwards, though, he supposed, he was only seeing a fraction of its interior.

  They stopped abruptly at an ornate door formed from panes of aesthetically warped glass, leading out to a small open-air garden which stood in place of the north-east quarter of the third floor. “Wait,” the butler commanded, leaving Ezerkal standing awkwardly as he approached a pair of occupied loungers overlooking the gardens at the rear of the house.

  He could only see vague shapes and colours through the glass, but the conversation was clear enough. A black smudge that was the butler had moved beside the squirming lines of the loungers and was waiting with surprising patience, as a splatter of green topped with a curious rose dot spoke to a thin dark smear topped with a dab of azure.

  “What are you implying?” the dark smear asked, her tone level and firm, in a voice that could only be Syla’s.

  “That education on the topic is as hard-line as it is for a reason, contrary to the beliefs of some,” the green splatter replied with a voice he did not recognise. It was soft, a pleasant voice, and it carried an air of matronly wisdom. “A very good reason at that,” the voice continued, after a pause. “It is not for lack of understanding on the topic, quite the opposite. We understand too much. We comprehend full well the mechanisms by which this otherwise benign energy is converted into a reality-bending force. However, with such deep knowledge we also understand its risks, and that unsanctioned experimentation is dangerous, lethal even.”

  “That would explain the initial reaction to Meldan’Kellia,” Syla replied matter-of-factly. “Precisely!” the other voice exclaimed cheerfully. “Now that House Tetra has become less guarded about its mountain hideaway, and the priesthood has more presence there, the friction and accusations have melted away because we are there to observe and support. We keep them safe from themselves.”

  “I see, that is quite enlightening,” Syla replied, before politely excusing herself as the butler lowered himself to whisper in her ear, blending their colours together in the frosted glass. After a few moments of quiet conference that was out of Ezerkal’s earshot, the butler rose and retreated a polite distance. “I do apologise, but a guest of mine has arrived who I must speak with privately. Shall we continue over lunch?” Syla said to the green figure.

  That indicated his visit would be a short one. That was a disappointment, he had skipped breakfast to be here.

  “Of course, I shall await in the parlour,” the figure said as it rose to its feet. It began to move swiftly towards the door, joined by the butler-smudge trailing a few paces behind.

  As the door opened, it became incredibly obvious who, or at least what, this figure was. Most definitively female, and a reasonably senior priestess based on the extensive embroidered ornamentation on her loose-fitting green garment. She was notably larger than Ezerkal, so much so he had to crane his head backwards to look her in the eye. She was pleasantly beautiful, in stark contrast to Syla’s hard-edged and angular beauty, her features were soft, and curved in a way that flowed together comfortingly. She had the wide-hipped and ample frame of a motherly figure and carried herself with the same kind of amiable confidence.

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  “Good morning,” she said politely as she drifted past

  “Oh, uhm, good morning!” Ezerkal replied, receiving a polite smile in return as both she and the butler disappeared down the staircase.

  He turned back, peering through the now open door out into the space beyond. In the brief moment he had looked away, Syla had stood up and was now leaning against the low wall at the edge of the garden with her back to him. She was dressed differently today from the few times he had seen her before; a jacket of black silk reached down to her thighs, form fitting and held in place with silver buttons worn over a plain white shirt, and finished with dark trousers and knee-high boots.

  A rather masculine ensemble, but it fitted her attitude and stature perfectly.

  “You don’t have to stand there you know; you can come over,” she said, without turning away from the view.

  “I was being polite,” he said as he began to walk over. “Interesting company you keep.” He looked around, taking in the space.

  The terracotta tiles were open to the elements, with a waist-high wall along the edges and a staircase going up to the roof proper. The wall was built in two layers separated by a bank of earth. Along the east wall, various small shrubs and flowers grew, while several tall, thin trees stretched up from the north wall to provide privacy from the neighbours. A pair of loungers with a small table between them sat facing the east. Barring that, the space was empty; she clearly was only accepting one visitor at a time.

  “Is that an indictment, or do I detect pleased surprise in your tone?” Syla asked.

  “Most certainly the latter.” Ezerkal smiled, moving alongside her and leaning his own arms on the ledge. “Whoever would look down upon associations with a priestess?”

  Syla let out an amused snort. “I’m sure I could find a few for you.”

  Ezerkal was not surprised in the least, but he considered it a point of personal pride that he never associated with such figures. The priesthood was a vaunted institution; its detractors were not to be trusted.

  The garden proper was an impressive sight. Thick, tall hedges neatly demarcated the property, and the interior was filled with life: bushes, flowers, shrubs and a considerable amount of grass covered the area, forming archways, knotted mazes and broad spaces for gatherings. He could not name even half of the species there. He suspected it was all grown from expensive imported earth from the more temperate north or west, as the arid desert around the city could never support such life. Even now Ezerkal could see some of the numerous gardeners attending to the extensive greenery. It must be new, he thought, and it could never be permanent. Even with such dedicated caretakers the heat and lack of rainfall would surely reclaim it eventually.

  But he also spotted something else. A gaggle of figures, looking curiously out of place in rough, darkly coloured outfits against such bright and vibrant scenery. They were huddled furtively around a table at the far end of the garden, arguing over something that was spread out over the surface between them. From the colour he assumed parchment, but he couldn’t discern its contents from such a distance; it was certainly the longest garden he had seen in all his years.

  He frowned, but bit his tongue, deciding it was best not to ask Syla about the strange group yet.

  Instead, he turned his attention to her. “So, how goes our endeavour thus far? Did your meeting with my…proposed candidate leave a good impression?” he asked.

  Syla smiled. It was at this moment Ezerkal realised she was staring directly at the group he had noticed. “It goes well. Your friend left an impression, and they will have their…uses,” she said, her smile transforming to a smirk. “Aren’t you curious as to what’s going on down there?”

  Ezerkal froze. His mouth went curiously dry and his mind could suddenly only process the worst possible scenarios. She slowly turned to face him, resting her head on her hand. All the while Ezerkal’s infinitely creative paranoia was suggesting all the ways this could give Syla to blackmail him, maim him or even kill him.

  “Well, don’t you want to know?” she said, so very calm and collected. It was almost infuriating.

  Ezerkal calmed himself with the assurance that nothing, in his entire life, had ever lived up to the expectations of his irrational thoughts. He put on his most charismatic smile, and inclined his head. “It did strike me as curious. They clash somewhat glaringly with the scenery.”

  Syla sniggered. “Oh yes of course, they do so ruin the garden!” She laughed, though her humour was short lived, dissolving as quickly as it arrived and leaving Ezerkal questioning when she last laughed without restraint. “Regardless, I felt they should get some sun. A bit of heat in their blood should help clear their thinking.”

  “And what do they need to have such clear heads for?” Ezerkal asked, looking back towards the group. They appeared to be in a particularly heated discussion now; one of them was gesticulating wildly and pointing fingers at their fellows.

  “They are to acquire for me a…gift. An investment, if you will, in House Krie,” Syla replied, turning to lean against the wall and fold her arms over her chest. “I have decided it would be a suitable piece of dramatic irony that such a thing should come from Ra’ven’s pockets.”

  Ezerkal grimaced. “Oh? Unable to provide it yourself? I believe you said you had means…” he said, deciding to ignore her obvious implication for the time being. If anyone questioned him once whatever dubiously legal scheme she had in mind was over, he intended to feign ignorance.

  “To make the most of the truce you have oh-so-graciously provided for us, a substantial investment is required. I’m sure you understand why. I don’t need to explain their troubles to you,” she continued, standing upright and moving over to the lounger she had been lying in before. She sat on the edge of it and looked up at him. “However, that is not what I desired to talk to you about. We have two important matters to discuss.”

  “And what could be more important than our ‘deal’ with House Krie at this moment?” Ezerkal asked, taking a seat on the second lounger so they were facing each other.

  Syla waved her hand dismissively. “Krie is set to be saved by my hand, and thus dealt with. Everything is in place; it is simply down to the execution now.” She leaned inwards, pressing her elbows on her knees. “In the meantime, two pressing issues. Firstly, I have the list you desire, and we will go over it, in detail, shortly. Secondly, Aiur.”

  “What about him? Is he causing an issue? Or do you simply need more information on him?” Ezerkal replied. He had deliberately avoided Aiur since his outburst; that was about to bite him, he was sure.

  “He has a strong service record, good connections in the city and a history of dependability. He would be useful. Key, even,” Syla clarified.

  “But he’s not interested.”

  “Just so,” Syla agreed with a nod. “You intimated that he too would be in attendance that night, and I was thoroughly disappointed by his absence. Both in him, and in you.”

  “He did not seem particularly enthralled by my proposition,” Ezerkal admitted, avoiding her eyes. She was lucky he even risked asking Aiur directly; though he would never say as such. “He was, in fact, outright suspicious and at times, I dare say accusatory when I even mentioned the subject. Your…castlessness was quite a point of distress.”

  “That does not seem to have troubled you overmuch,” Syla said, raising an eyebrow.

  “Frankly, it does bother me,” Ezerkal whispered, almost swallowing his words. Her stare was like acid, irritating the scales where it fell. “But I am more cognisant of the changes in the world. I understand what must be done.”

  “Then make him cognisant. Is that not why you are working for me?” Syla hissed, her stare only narrowing, hardening.

  “Were it so simple I would have done so,” he offered quickly, raising his hands. “He has been a part of House Zerkash for much longer than I. For lack of better words, he’s comfortable, with deep-seated convictions. He has so much more to lose than I do.”

  “He will lose much more, if you do not bring him to our side,” Her words send sharp chills down Ezerkal’s spine.

  “Would it not be easier to just…leave him be? For now, at least?”

  “No. His bodyguards have seen too much, too much for us to just give up because of a poor initial impression. If Ra’ven discovers what I am doing through him, there will be no chance for us in Nerkai. We have to recruit him as soon as possible. Every day we tarry in doing so brings risk,” Syla explained, tapping her fingers together idly as she spoke. “Or we must kill him.”

  The suggestion made the bile rise in his throat. Horror flooded his senses. For a moment he was frozen, but he forced the reaction down just to keep her from realising it. “Thus, you need my advice. The best way to recruit him quickly?” He cast the vicious alternative from his mind, it was something he would never allow to happen.

  “Precisely that. His contention with our cause seems to grow from the same roots as yours, simply more extreme. Oaths of loyalty bind him, and he does not want to break them.”

  Ezerkal sighed heavily, shaking his head. “That would be one of many issues, and likely the only one he would say to your face. As I said, he is deeper-set in his oaths than me. He may not like the course Ra’ven has set, but they have been working together for decades. Their relationship is strained, but he does not yet resent him quite like I do.”

  Ezerkal looked out towards the garden, resting his chin on his fist. “On the other hand, I don’t think that’s anywhere near the biggest issue. I think his greatest problem will be with your…outwardly criminal nature,” he said diplomatically, nerves edging into his voice. Aiur had spent much of his life between campaigns hunting criminals just like her. “I think the best solution is the simplest. I must catch his ear and propose your solution, divorced from yourself. And then, we shall leave him to consider it.”

  “That is precisely what we won’t do!” Syla snapped with a brief flash of her teeth, making Ezerkal recoil. “I understand somewhat that he takes issue with my… ‘outwardly’ criminal nature,” she continued, levelling her tone. “But we cannot simply leave him to his own devices to decide what he thinks of us, he will simply ignore it and proclaim himself busy. Or worse, he will inform others. We must force him to make a choice.”

  “Then what am I to do?” Ezerkal asked, swallowing his pride.

  “I ask you to be subtle, and I ask you to be persistent. No matter the pretence, you must make him accept a meeting.”