The usual morning routine came and went, and Tristan met Obadai along with the fairy dragons responsible for their horses in front of the Queen’s Wood.

  The Matriarch walked over in her tall, Elfanoid form. “Lord Tristan, a moment, if you would please.”

  Tristan nodded, “As much time as you need.”

  She smiled and looked over at Obadai, “Master Grimtome. I thank you for revealing to me the nature of the device on the top boughs. I believe, though, you left it calibrated to a different Realm than our own. I would ask you to return it to glimpsing at the skies of the Fey Realm, as I can use those in my own divination spells to assist in safeguarding the Realm.”

  Obadai blushed in embarrassment – something that Tristan did not expect to see from the middle-aged man – and then chuckled. “My mistake. I apologize. It will not happen again.”

  The Matriarch nodded and glanced down at Felicity atop Tristan’s head. “Daughter, if you happen to come across something the Mortal Realm calls whiskey, please bring it back. I have a craving for the liquor.”

  Felicity nodded, “I’ve had it before! I’ll make sure I get some.”

  The Matriarch stepped away, “Safe travels.”

  Tristan spun his essence crucible, pushed the essence through his channels, and the, focused it into the ring on his finger. The trio vanished as the spell activated, and they along with their mounts arrived where they had departed from. Mounting up on their steeds, the duo began traveling south toward Jewel’s Point.

  “Tell me about your homeland,” Tristan said as the sun began to crest past noon.

  Obadai glanced over at Tristan, “The Empire?” Tristan nodded, and Obadai cracked a smile. “The Empire of Dorcelli rules the whole continent of Dorcel.” He pointed to the west, “If you go directly west from here, you will arrive at Klaktol – that large, central continent. Keep going, and you hit the islands called the Verdant Archipelago, ruled by the merchant state of Trimarchy and their vassal states. Then, you would arrive at the two west-most continents on a traditional, flat map – Forsol to the south, and Dorcel to the north. Keep going, and eventually you would cross over the farthest ocean called The Deep, and arrive back on Gvand,” he pointed to the east, “Behind us. But that journey from Dorcel to Gvand going east is perilous and takes Seasons.”

  “Thanks for the geography lesson,” Felicity muttered as she lay flat atop Tristan’s head, her tail swishing back and forth behind him and tickling against the nape of his neck. “But he asked about your homeland, not where it is.”

  Obadai scoffed, “Young people, no respect for their elders.”

  “Damn right. Up yours,” Felicity said with a smirk.

  Obadai ignored her and focused his gaze on Tristan, and once more he was struck by the Archon’s odd eyes – blue and gold in one, black and red in the other. “The Empire is ruled by our empress, Naomi. The Empire has been around for as long as I’ve been alive and persisted for longer than Bhant has been around. Albeit it was a series of independent city-states until the past...ten years, or so?”

  “You’re telling me that a single woman united the city-states of a disparate region into an empire, in ten years, and now wants to expand to cover the whole world?”

  Obadai smiled, “Yes. She is a woman of ambition and had all the right connections. She was the descendant of several generations of careful, selective breeding – just like me. But instead of trying to obtain powerful bloodlines for their offspring, her ancestors were intermarried across the ruling families of those city-states. She is bound by lineage to every one of the places that swore fealty to her vision of a unified Dorcel.” He lowered his voice to a whisper, “There are rumors that the very gods themselves favor her plans. But those assholes have never done anything that I’ve seen directly.”

  Tristan nodded as he recalled his few lessons on the gods. His grandfather was a more pragmatic man who thought that faith was useless, especially when Realm Protectors existed which were godlike. But his mother was religious, and the prevalent belief was that the gods were the Mortal Realm’s protectors. They were worshipped for their various roles and domains they supposedly had rule over.

  Traft the justiciar, Vil the provider of provenance, Wesker who toils in waves, Albert the gentle, Pila the boisterous, Monu of the far reach, and Froyr, he who awaits the end. Tristan never gave them much notice outside of feast days and the few religious festivals that his mother dragged him to in the temples all seven shared.

  Obadai continued speaking, “I was raised in a place where essence-weavers were prominent. A now-merged into The Empire city-state called Faldorn. I was raised learning essence-weaving from the minute I could walk. That, combined with book-learning, took up most of my youth. As a young man, I was sent to work several simple trades to understand the plights of the common people under my family’s auspices. A bunch of odd jobs – farming, sailing, fishing – a lot of fishing thanks to our position on the coast.”

  Felicity yawned and rolled over so her belly was facing up, and she made dramatic snoring noises. Tristan shook his head gently and spoke, “Please, continue. Felicity is just being an ass.”

  Obadai cracked a smile and kept going, “I was an only child, but I had a lot of cousins. Once I became an adult, I traveled to Yustat, and joined The Citadel of Essence.”

  “That’s the essence-weaver school, correct?”

  “Yes. Once I had learned all I felt I needed to, I returned home and administered spells to the masses – mostly being called in to resurrect those who died of unfortunate accidents. Revival is an essence-intensive spell type, though, and it has time limitations that I’ve mentioned before. I could not, say, be summoned to travel for Seasons to resurrect a dead noble. But a farmer who experienced a freak accident while I was near? That was doable.”

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  His face turned from a smile into a grimace, “And then war came. A small bit of war, but I was called upon to raise the corpses of the dead using necromancy. The corpses of our own, and our enemies – used against our foes. That is where I earned my surname. Grimtome.” He glanced to Tristan, “Surnames and family lineages exist there, but one may build a reputation enough that instead of using a title, they adopt that distinction as who they are. Then, our empress rose to power, and she recruited me to her court. I helped her unite the city states.”

  “And then you were sent to spy,” Tristan finished. “And destabilize the kingdom of Bhant for expansion.”

  “Right you are. I was six years into my assignment before events unraveled.”

  Tristan leaned forward and rubbed Onyx’s neck. “What do you think revealed it?”

  Obadai sighed and filled up his pipe, “It was a mix of circumstances, I fear. Political maneuvering, mostly, which I was never too skilled at.” He chuckled and glanced at Tristan with a sideways eye, “That sister of yours, though. My, she worked her wonders. Insinuated that somehow I was allied with you and involved in the affairs at your estate, because of our two conversations. Crafty, she is. Perhaps making a play for the throne. If the king were to die, and his cousin Richter, also died, then there would be no blood heir, and the noble houses would vote on a successor.”

  Tristan looked ahead and frowned, “Gisele is smart. Natural swordswoman. Cunning. She was…kind when I was younger. But once my heritage became apparent, she grew distant like everyone else.”

  Obadai clicked his tongue, “Shame, that. Well, like I said, if working for The Empire ever interests you, the empress is strictly against discrimination based upon heritage. She believes in…what’s the word…ah! Meritocracy. Only the most proficient may work in her court as advisors.”

  Tristan felt slightly uncomfortable at hearing that, “So you are telling me that a simple village apothecary, with enough experience and mastery, could demonstrate their skills and rise through the ranks of nobility?”

  “Indeed. Prowess over lineage.”

  Tristan scoffed a bit, “That does not sound proper at all.”

  “It wouldn’t, coming from someone who was raised in a monarchy and a position of privilege.” He looked aside at Tristan and chuckled, “Now you are greater than even an empress. Ruler of a whole Realm! That is something. I heard fairy dragons discussing an event with a Fallthorn Elf who tried to go against your will, and you removed her finger?”

  “Not quite,” Tristan replied as he explained the scenario and circumstances, ending with, “…and she learned her place in the hierarchy.”

  Obadai frowned slightly, “Maybe you would not get along with my empress. You could be mutually beneficial towards each other, but she is against the idea of nobility by blood alone.”

  “Ironic,” Felicity said as she rolled upright and yawned. “A lady who got her position because of planned reproduction and has the perfect accumulation of lineages is able to become an empress, and then decides that everyone else has to follow the rule of whoever is most skilled?”

  “Hypocritical is what it is,” Tristan replied.

  Obadai shook his head slightly and looked off into the distant horizon to the west, “Well…maybe allies, then, if not bedfellows.”

  “Oh, he’s already got one of those,” Felicity proudly stated.

  The Archon gave Tristan a quizzical glance, “You…uhm…share relations with a fairy dragon?”

  Tristan shook his head, “Felicity is a companion. And, apparently, since Winterbloom have unlimited longevity as long as we merge our essence crucible with the Fey Realm, I would trouble to find companionship from anyone who didn’t live a long, long time.”

  “How long does a fairy dragon live?” The Archon asked.

  Felicity made paw-claw biscuits on Tristan’s head, “We live forever, unless we are injured or get sick. Which can happen. But it’s rare. And injuries inside the Fey Realm are pretty easy to repair as long as we are conscious! It’s how I could regrow my wing despite Tristan cutting it off when he first caught me.”

  The Archon looked back to Tristan, “When you say companion-”

  “She is my traveling companion. She has also taken to sharing my bed – whether in this form or her elfanoid form.”

  “So…urm…I don’t mean to pry-”

  “No,” Tristan replied. “We aren’t doing that. Far too soon.”

  “Too soon,” Felicity agreed.

  Tristan looked ahead to the road, “It is…comforting, having someone next to you when you sleep. And I have shed many a tear for my mother, grandfather, and others whilst Felicity comforted me.”

  Obadai nodded, “Well, it is unorthodox, but weirder things have happened.”

  Felicity snorted, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Well, you’re not really a person, per se-”

  Felicity growled, “I am a person as much as you are! You old codger! Dingbat!” she blew a raspberry at Obadai before lifting off Tristan’s head and flying ahead of them. “I’m scouting ahead!”

  Obadai cleared his throat a bit before glancing at Tristan, “She acts quite childish.”

  Tristan shrugged, “It’s just how fairy dragons are. Playful, sometimes annoying, but all in good-spirit. She’s only two years older than I, and yes sometimes her childish antics are not quite appropriate in the Mortal Realm here – but you have to admit, that starberry fortune spell training was fun.”

  Obadai chuckled, “It was entertaining until I got caught in the crossfire.” He looked ahead to the road, “And I was serious saying weirder things have happened. Demon lords of the female persuasion – don’t ask me why they still call themselves ‘lords’ instead of ‘ladies’, that knowledge is beyond me – they will sometimes take Mortal Realm husbands from the various heritages. So cross-Realm intermingling is not uncommon. But, as far as I know, offspring are not viable or even possible. Something to do with ancient laws of creation.”

  Tristan shook his head, “I don’t want children.”

  “Despite being the last of your bloodline?”

  “Especially that,” Tristan replied. “I have already experienced changes because of my grandfather’s bloodline. I…desire more. I covet my Realm’s essence. Before you arrived, that Fallthorn Elf who came into the Fey Realm…let’s just say that I did not want her to stay.”

  Obadai nodded, “I know Fawkes became more of a greedy bastard after consuming his first dragon essence crucible. There is truth to your words. I know most Elemental Realm dragons are driven by desire, but it is intriguing that it affects you so much.”

  Tristan sighed, “I honestly don’t know what I want, truly. After I give my family’s rightful heir marker to Bertram and get my grandfather back on his feet…track down the assassins responsible for my mother’s death. But after that? I don’t know. Grow my Realm’s population? Sure, if people want to go there. I could make money easily enough. I could just withdraw to the Fey Realm and learn essence-weaving for years and years…but it doesn’t feel right to withdraw from the world or be like that.”

  Tristan looked over at the Archon and frowned, “My mother raised me to be kind and generous. And despite my grandfather’s greedy disposition to do whatever he wants…wanted, I should say…he still helped people when he could.”

  “There are lots of dragons in the world,” Obadai replied. “You could always join The Pathfinder Company and travel the world seeking out dragons to slay. Or, if you wanted to pursue essence-weaving with tutelage, travel to Yustat. Remind me, and I will use my most powerful divinations each night before we travel to the Fey Realm to rest, to try and find these assassins who seek not only your death, but the deaths of prominent bloodlines.”

  “Who benefits from that?” Tristan asked.

  “Someone who does not want their power threatened by mighty essence-weavers from those prominent bloodlines.” The Archon frowned, “And we both are definitely prominent.”