It was only by the luck of the fae that Raith was able to make the funeral on time. Of particular note regarding faerie luck. It always came with a catch.

  He had not been to many funerals, but the sea of prismatic robes as he entered the great hall was dizzying. This last celebration of vibrant colors brought him down from the distracted urgency of arriving on time to the reality of why he came in the first place.

  Uncle Merin’s last visit had been over a year ago. It was the first time Raith had seen him since weaving the [Rope Dart Wielder] class, and his dad still hadn’t let it go.

  “It’s me he’s really mad at,” Merin said with a sad smile. “We joined the king’s army together, and your dad felt betrayed when I left to become an adventurer. His dream was for you and Derry to fix that hurt somehow, and that isn’t fair to either of you. Don’t worry, I’ll talk to him.” His callused hand clapped Raith on the shoulder. “I never want you to lose that drive and curiosity. The greatest adventures in this world require the greatest levels. If you ever need my help or advice, send a message through the Adventurer’s Guild.”

  Merin had been the only one in the family to really support his decision. And now he was gone. Upon the dais across the room, his body lay tightly wrapped head to toe in pure white fabric, symbolizing his passing to the hueless realm.

  Raith was amazed at how many people were crammed into the hall. It was spacious, but felt hot and stuffy with at least two hundred people milling about. Body odor mixed with the smells from the buffet table, while the thrum of many conversations lay heavy on top of the bard’s pleasant lute.

  Looking around the room for familiar faces, he was having trouble distinguishing people with everyone wearing more or less the same thing. As he panned back across the crowd for a tolerable group to stand with, he caught his mother break off and make a beeline for where he stood near the entrance.

  She did not look happy.

  “Your robe is on backwards.” She flinched as she got next to him and wrinkled her nose. “And threaded gods, you smell. Did you come here straight from a skirmishers match?”

  Raith looked down, and sure enough she was right. He tucked his arms inside the robe and managed to rotate around, then poke his arms back out. Pulling the collar out a bit, he sniffed down the front of his robe and winced.

  Ok, yeah. That’s pretty bad.

  “Sorry. I was running behind and didn’t have a chance to wash up. I made it on time, though.”

  “Nothing to be done for it now. Come with me. Merin’s adventuring party wants to meet you. Be careful of the satyr mage. He’s in his rumwilder phase. It’s barely midmorning and he’s already drunk.”

  While they mature to adulthood at about the same pace as humans, satyr’s aging slows to a crawl once they reach around twenty. As the race approaches seventy years old, the billies get notoriously randy for several decades before calming back down again. It was a large part of why the species abandoned their home with the true fae to ally with the gods in the age before the towers. When they weren’t being murderous tyrannical monsters, the gods had been a lot of fun to party with.

  A satyr drinking straight from the whiskey bottle leered at his mother as they approached. Every one of his fingers had a bejeweled ring, and Raith wondered if they were all magical. He was standing with the widest dwarf Raith had ever seen, and a whip thin woman with darting eyes.

  “Raith, this is Merin’s adventuring party. Sangal, Drum, and Carathenn.”

  Sangal turned his attention to Raith, interested in his presence for the first time.

  “Merin told me your best friend is a faun. Is she here now?” He peered over Raith’s shoulder, as though he may be hiding her behind his robe.

  “No, she didn’t really know uncle Merin.”

  Disappointment plan on his face, the satyr spotted an attractive gnome across the room and made a beeline through the crowd.

  The dwarf spoke, and his voice was so deep Raith felt it reverberate in his chest.

  “Please forgive Sangal. His people can be trying when they go through this phase.”

  “Some are more trying than others,” the woman said, frowning after her teammate.

  “Enough of that. We are here to celebrate the life of our friend. Merin told us you’ve set your mind to becoming an adventurer?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Tremendous! Come, we have much to discuss.” The dwarf clapped him on the back with a hand that felt like granite, then proceeded to the buffet table.

  His mother opened her mouth as if to say something, then seemed to think better of it and headed off to find his father.

  The next two hours passed in a blur of colorful tales, laughter and names he would almost certainly forget. But not the stories. Those he tucked away in his heart to take out and admire when he needed to remember his uncle’s stubbled face and the warm smile that was so much like his own.

  When the press of voices and bodies began to make him feel claustrophobic, Raith closed his eyes and took a long break in [Staccato]. It was peaceful in the silence and darkness. He took what time he needed to recover from the riot of color and noise before returning to the world.

  “I wish I could do that,” Nyhm said.

  Raith jumped, forgetting his brother had been standing there.

  “Do what?”

  “Take a break from all this with your [Skill]. I don’t care for crowds.”

  “How do you know I used my [Skill]?”

  Nyhm wiggled his fingers towards his eyes.

  “You do a blinky thing.”

  Son of a fucking harpy.

  “I need to sit down for a minute.”

  Nyhm moved to join, but their mother intercepted him and dragged the poor elfling off to meet more people.

  Better him than me.

  A row of tables lined two opposing walls, but the food spread took up half of one side and it was surrounded by people. Raith headed to the other side of the room, where there were only a few people and space to sit apart. He’d sat down for barely a moment when a stranger eased himself onto the bench across from him.

  Raith hadn’t noticed him in the room before, but it was crowded and he didn’t know most of the people here. The man was wearing expensive robes, with colors almost too vibrant to be real. He looked to be very fit, and was at least two decades older than Raith, with long black hair in an intricate braid and ice blue eyes.

  “You are Raith, yes?” The man had a Malutian accent and way of speaking.

  “I am. Were you and my uncle close?”

  “It was only once we met. Of no particular import, and no story attached, yes?”

  Raith put his feet flat on the floor and leaned back from the table.

  “You’ve come a long way for a man you did not know well, Mr….?”

  “It is not so long a journey if you know the right roads. Please forgive my rudeness. I am Remi. It is you whom I have been instructed to meet.”

  Something about the way he said that sent a cold fear into Raith’s gut. He looked around the room filled with people that would jump to his defense if this man tried to harm him. As if reading his mind, Remi gave a relaxed smile and showed his palms.

  “I mean you no harm, young sir. It is an offer I have come to make. Or perhaps a bargain.”

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  “Who are you?”

  “An esteemed member of the Forgotten Ones.” He gave a seated bow, and it seemed like all the noise in the room was sucked away in that instant. Raith couldn’t decide if he wanted to scream for help or vomit. Or both.

  It was a hotly debated topic if they even existed at all, but Raith was close enough to the halls of power that he knew the rumors were true. Moments after they left your sight, every detail of a Forgotten One fled from your mind. Their description, any discussion you had, who had committed whatever atrocity they left in their wake. All of it gone. After being inducted into the secretive order, not even their own mothers remembered them.

  Although primarily information brokers, it was the rare occasions they dipped their toes into the murder business that struck fear into the hearts of all. It was said the Assassins Guild once tried to war with the Forgotten Ones for infringing on their business. The top ten ranking members of the Guild were slaughtered in less than a week. No one ever tried that again.

  “And you shall know them by their masks.”

  Raith repeated the phrase before he could stop himself. When they kill, the Forgotten Ones don masks that are enchanted to be the only detail anyone can remember. Witnesses all agree it is utterly horrifying.

  Remi chuckled, but his eyes saddened.

  “Ah, that. You can see there is no dreaded mask upon my face, yes? It is not a business with which I am involved.”

  “Then what do you want with me?”

  “Certain information has come to light regarding a thread that may run through you.” He leaned forward and locked eyes. “A divine thread.”

  There is no possible way Thea told anyone.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Those cold blue eyes held his for a long moment, and Raith found himself holding his breath. Eventually, Remi looked a way and casually leaned back.

  “Perhaps this is so. If it is the truth you tell me now, there is no harm done. I will leave, and you will forget this conversation took place.” He waved his hand in the air dismissively, then leaned in again. “But if what we are hearing is true, perhaps you would consider joining us.”

  It took a long time for Raith to process that. He was being offered a place in the Forgotten Ones?

  “Why?”

  “Why, why, why. It is for gold we tell people the why of things. But for you, I am feeling generous. You have gone to great lengths to obtain patterns that can only be spun by the godlaced. We know this to be true, but there are other truths which we do not know. So now it is your turn to tell me the why, yes?”

  [Life in Staccato]

  What the threaded fuck is going on right now?

  Raith needed time to calm his racing mind and figure this out.

  First, relief. It had not been Thea. He really didn’t think she’d said anything, but it was nice to remove that nagging sliver of doubt.

  So what was he talking about with this book? One benefit of his [Divine Skill] was that it synergized with [Recall Passage] for waiting out the cooldown. He started going through Exalted Patterns bit by bit from the beginning. He had just assumed Stone-eye’s talk of the ‘chosen of the gods’ and ‘patterns of greatness’ were normal giant-kin arrogance. With Remi’s words in mind, it seemed so obvious now.

  He wondered idly if giant-kin were godlaced more frequently than other races. It would make sense, since the true giants had been the god’s closest allies. The only one among the three True Races: Giants, Dragons and Fae.

  And the only reward for their loyalty was to get trapped with the gods for eternity.

  That was a puzzle for another day. Right now, his biggest problem was sitting right across from him, piercing his soul with ice blue eyes and a much too casual smile.

  So if Remi knows, the Forgotten Ones found out from their agents in the Order of the Loom. Which means the Order knows, too. He wished he could mentally slap himself in the forehead.

  That’s why they let me go. It wasn’t Thea’s dad at all. Fuck, this is so much worse than I thought. I need to get far away from this city as soon as possible.

  One thing was for sure, he wasn’t signing up with these freaks or confirming anything they suspect. Remi said his plan was to just leave if this didn’t work out. If the Forgotten Ones wanted him dead, then he was dead, so there was no reason to dwell on that scenario.

  Raith was ready to answer the ‘why.’ He ended his skill and focused hard on not blinking.

  “I’m afraid there is nothing to say, my Malutian friend. I had no idea those patterns could only be spun by godlaced. It was all an embarrassing mistake.”

  Remi’s mouth flickered from a smile to a frown and back almost too fast to catch. He held his hands out wide, palms up, and shrugged.

  “Then so it is. Who am I to tell your truth?” He made a big show of stroking his chin while he considered for a few moments.

  Raith tensed as the man reached into a pouch on his waist, producing a large ring. “If you would do this humble purveyor of truth the smallest favor, please accept this token of remembrance.”

  He examined the ring more closely. Initially, he’d thought it was some blackened metal. On closer look, he could see the fine grains of a very dark, polished wood.

  “No thank you. That would only fit on my thumb, and I don’t care to wear a ring there.”

  Remi set it on the table and pushed it across, and Raith flinched like it was poisonous.

  “Please. It will resize to whatever finger is most comfortable. Its purpose is to leave a thread in your mind to this conversation. You will remember neither my appearance nor my voice. But the words we have spoken this day? Those you will remember. This is how we do business through our intermediaries, yes?”

  Raith picked it up off the table. It was almost weightless.

  “No offense, but I don’t want to be one of your intermediaries either.”

  “I offer apologies. This misunderstanding is from me. I give you the token for if you wish to reconsider our discussion today. It is not possible to reconsider what one cannot remember, yes?”

  Although Raith had no intention of ever reconsidering, he desperately needed to remember this conversation. It was his only way to know of the Order’s suspicions.

  “Even if I did reconsider, I have no way of contacting you.”

  “Ah, but you may use the ring.”

  “But you said its only purpose was to remember. So it can what? Eavesdrop on me? Magically track my location? Maybe this isn’t going to work.”

  For the first time since sitting down, anger clouded Remi’s face.

  “I must insist you do not accuse me of speaking untruth. My words spoke of its purpose, but this ‘only’ you have wrongly added.” His gaze was fierce as he held Raith’s eyes.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to accuse you of lying.”

  Remi’s face relaxed.

  “Your apology is accepted. Now the ring. To reach out, you must twist it on your finger three times in one direction, the opposite way five times, then reverse for another three. It does not matter which way you start. Then, and only then, it will send to us your location and we will know you wish to talk. I must warn you never to do this for frivolous reasons. The consequences will be dire, and not at my discretion.”

  That didn’t seem too complicated.

  “It does nothing else?”

  Remi firmly met Raith’s eyes.

  “These things I have said are the only magic the ring possesses. This is the truth I tell you now.”

  There was an emphasis on the word ‘truth’ that Raith found extremely convincing.

  “Very well. I accept your token.” He slipped the ring on, and it snugged comfortably around his finger as if made especially for him. It was both relieving and disappointing that no other sensations came with donning the object.

  “Marvelous. I will then conclude our business this day.” Remi stood, presenting Raith with hand to heart salute, then turned and disappeared into the crowd without another word.

  Raith tried to track him through the crowd with his eyes, but the man was slippery. As he tried to reacquire a visual, Raith realized he didn’t know what he was even looking for. It was a profoundly disturbing sensation. Remi was a man’s name, so the person who had been here was probably a man, but he wasn’t even certain of that. Then a panicked thought occurred to him.

  Fortunately, a man he had never seen before approached the table looking directly at him.

  “I’m glad you came back, Remi. I need to ask you, what happens if I take the ring off?”

  The man paused with his mouth open, then snapped it shut and furrowed his brows in confusion.

  “I believe you have mistaken me for someone else. The rites are about to begin, and your dad asked me to send you his way.” The man gestured a sword-callused hand across the room to where Derry and his father stood. Derry caught his eye and waved for him to come over.

  “Of course. Sorry, just not thinking very clearly today.”

  The man gave a sympathetic frown.

  “It’s never easy to send a loved one to the hueless realm.”

  Raith nodded in thanks and awkwardly made his way past the man to join his family. Leah and Nyhm arrived at the same time. Their dad was in quiet discussion with Callaway, the gray bearded Master of Rites. He finished up and turned to his children, eyes glistening with unspent tears. Raith was accustomed to seeing his father happy, angry, or occasionally playful. But rarely full of such sorrow.

  “We’re ready to get started.”

  Callaway stepped onto the dais on the far side of Merin’s pedestal and called the hall to attention. His father stepped up, facing the Master Rites from across the body. Raith, Leah, Derry and his mother fell in along side him. Nyhm held back, as always insecure of his status as a member of the family. Leah grabbed his hand and pulled him up next to the rest of them, to a nod of approval from their father.

  The somber and frail voice of the Master of Rites carried out over the silent crowd.

  “Much too soon, another soul passes from this realm. The colors he brought into this world shall remain his gift to us, never unseen by those who loved him. They shall now return that gift.”

  He raised his bony hands wide. Callaway’s frail voice transformed, speaking the low rumble of a rune phrase that sounded like two simultaneous voices. Raith flinched as he felt the magic connect to his weft. No one could forcibly alter the fabric of your soul, and he had to make himself relax his instinctive resistance to the tug. Listening to Leah and Derry taking deep, calming breaths beside him, he knew he wasn’t the only one.

  “With thread willingly spun from the hearts of his family, we weave the prismatic shawl to accompany Merin on his journey, so that he is never bereft of color in the hueless realm.”

  Raith felt a slight tug from deep within the center of his chest, similar to giving up weft for a [Quest]. Callaway began intoning the magic phrase, this time accompanied by complex movements with each hand.

  Motes of white light trickled out from the center of each person standing on the dais. The lights floated above Merin and began an intricate dance of swirling and braiding. The lights spun faster, taking on form and color. Slowing gradually, the display coalesced into a splayed iridescent shawl. When the final words of the spell were completed, the shawl drifted gently onto the body, covering it entirely.

  Every color imaginable was somehow contained in each thread of the incandescent fabric. Raith was grateful to have been a part of its creation and felt the warmth of tears on his face for the first time since hearing the news of his uncle’s death. He looked towards his sister, whose face was splotchy and wet. She pulled him into a hug, and he felt the rest of their family pile around them in a group embrace.

  Raith’s thoughts drifted to Remi and his offer. For all that he wanted to cut the strings of gods and kings, he wouldn’t do it like that. Not if it meant being forgotten by his family.

  That still left him with the problem of the Order’s suspicions, though.

  I need to get out of this city.