Prologue

Commander Godwin Astara could feel his blood rushing in his veins as he strapped on his dark leather armour, tying back his shoulder-length brown hair, feeling like a thief in the night, not the leader he knew himself to be. Tonight was the night he had been planning for. His wife, Teresa, was spending the evening at the Arcanum for the festivities. As the High Sorceress, she had many ceremonial roles to perform on holidays such as today, Midwinter. From his balcony, he could see the glittering city below, his dark brown eyes sharp and keen, noting each of his guards below as they moved about their patrols. Well-trained as they were, none suspected the light roster was intentional- the festival had offered sound reasoning for a light guard duty.

Midwinter was important to those in the magical communities- the veils between the planes were always at their thinnest, and aethermancers, those gifted to pierce the veils, would seek to accrue additional powers under the guidance of their high sorceress. It would be common for a particularly favoured spellweaver to discover an additional aspect to their magecraft, should Teresa allow it.

The celebration of Midwinter filled the air with laughter and music, a stark contrast to the turmoil churning within Godwin. In the distance, he could see his eventual destination, Mara Square, the nexus of the city and, some would argue, the empire. Aronia was massive as cities went- nothing in Adenesa could compare to the capital's grandeur. Godwin felt his heart swell with pride over everything they had accomplished: lasting peace and prosperity for all citizens- the empire truly was a beacon for the world to admire. Yet his stomach knotted as he strapped a recently acquired dagger onto his belt, hidden beneath his long cloak. Tonight, his actions were not for the good of the empire. Tonight, he was the villain in the dark.

The Palace felt empty as he casually walked down the long hall to the small room overlooking the gardens. The door had a single guard, all that could be spared on such a busy night. Godwin appraised the man with a sinking heart as he approached —the sharp-featured face of Halref became clear in the light of the wall crystal. It was unfortunate that such a loyal guard had drawn this duty. The man snapped to attention as he noticed Godwin.

"Good Evening, Commander," the older man shouted with practised ease. Godwin waved a hand dismissively, trying not to look into the man's eyes as guilt bit into him.

"Be quiet! You’ll wake the little ones!" He snapped back in a whisper, regret building in his chest for what he had to do next. Halref nodded apologetically and offered him the room key.

"Forgive me, Sir. I was not expecting you at such a late hour," the guardsman replied. His surprise was well-founded- it was past midnight. If it were not for Godwin's rank, he should have been questioning why anyone would be wandering around the Palace, especially dressed in fine dark leather. Twenty long years of loyal service, Godwin thought as he unlocked the small room.

"Step inside with me, Guardsman," he said silently, his tone firm with authority as the door creaked open. Inside, Godwin took a long moment to look at the tiny faces of two sleeping babies, identical in their well-crafted cribs. Halref stepped into the small room as Godwin closed the door behind him. The guard softly spoke while looking down at the baby twins.

"They are sleeping like de-" Halref's words were cut short as Godwin's dagger came through the back of his neck and out of his throat. The older man gurgled and choked as he fell forward, buckling into a pile before the twin cribs of the two sleeping babies. Godwin's hand was shaking as he stood over the fallen guard. A line had been crossed, an oath broken- in this moment, he was committed.

"Forgive me, by the primal gods- forgive me, there was no other way." Godwin swallowed as he watched the man bleed out on the stone floor, the borrowed dagger still protruding from the back of his neck. Moving quickly, Godwin stepped over to the baby twins, his thick leather gloves brushing against their cheeks as he inspected them. He uncorked a small vial retrieved from his belt and dripped it between their delicate lips. Once both had swallowed the luminous pink serum, he wrapped them in a warm blanket. "When you grow up, I hope you forgive me, too." The words fell flat as the dying man gave his final gasp. The twins wrapped into a tight bundle, their faces scrunching as they squirmed against their bonds, yet they did not wake. Godwin felt the lump in his throat as he tied the blankets around his chest, fixing the small infants against his breast. The sleeping potion the Mender had given him seemed to work as neither stirred.

The bitterly cold wind tugged on Godwin’s thick hide cloak as he made his way out through the servants' doors, the staff already dismissed for the night. He braced himself against the wall in the tight, dark alley between the palace and its fortified walls, shielding his valuable cargo from the harsh conditions. Pushing his back up against the wall, the distant spires of the Arcanum caught his eye, where his wife Teresa would be conjuring the spirits of winter, “I am sorry, my love, I support you in all that you do, but not this”, he thought to himself as he watched the shimmering lights in the distant windows. Teresa was not only the high sorceress- she was the only sorceress, the last of a powerful lineage, and her plans for their children scared Godwin more than any enemy he had faced. Tonight's dark action was the only way to save the babies from their mother and Teresa from herself- he was certain of it. Moving deeper into the palace courtyard, Godwin peeked around the corner of the guardhouse. Two palace guards, garbed in bright silver plate armour and long crescent halberds, stood vigilant over the gate. The harsh conditions would have encouraged lesser men to retreat to the structure’s safety, but these men were handpicked and well-trained. He waited patiently in the shadows between the guardhouse and the barracks. Time was against him, but being seen was not an option.

The door to the barracks opened not five feet from where Godwin was hiding. The sound of merriment and celebration flooded the courtyard—a man stepped out into the cold, gilded silver armour, adorned with dark black epaulettes and cape, his face handsome and lean, suggesting Mer ancestry, his long flowing blonde hair streaming behind him. Godwin lowered himself into a crouch, carefully manoeuvring the melon-sized bundles under his cloak. The man strode past with his gaze fixed on the gate guards. Godwin felt himself breathe out a breath he didn’t realise he was holding.

Even with a long history of dangerous missions, tonight rose above his whole career. He was defying the most powerful woman in the empire. Unconsciously, he gripped a small jewel hanging from his belt, checking that it was still attached. The small crystal, when active, would fog memory. It was here that even he would forget the events of the evening. Godwin thought the Arcanum truly did create marvels as he refocused on the task at hand.

Leaning around the corner once more, Godwin observed the interaction. The guards at the gate turned to salute the man as he approached. He returned the gesture,

“It’s Midwinter’s lads- why don’t you join the others? I’ll take the shift,” the blonde-haired man said with a jovial tone.

The two guards looked at each other, astonished, “But Sir, the commander’s orders-” the more senior guard started before the man cut him off,

“The Commander is enjoying Midwinter. You report to me. Do you not want the evening off?” Then, extending his hand, he held out a pair of silver alics. “Midwinter's bonus, get yourselves something warm.”

Godwin ducked back into the shadows as the two guards broke from their duty and started towards him. They were almost running as they passed the alley,

“Lord Justinian is one of the good ones…”

They muttered as they jogged past, clearly appreciating being given the night off and keen to get into the warm and start drinking. Under his breath, Godwin thanked his long-time friend for his distraction and counted to thirty as he watched the figure move into the arch under the wall.

“It’s clear. I’m changing the crystal in the wall lamp.” The man said from the gate, his tone calm and clear. Surveying the area one final time, Godwin stepped silently from the alley and moved swiftly around the guardhouse. As promised, the man in silver was facing the wall, removing the glowing crystal that illuminated the palace gate. Godwin watched as the short tunnel went dark. Taking his opportunity, he vanished out through the gate. His co-conspirator didn’t turn as he reinserted the crystal, light quietly returning to the fortification. Justinian obeyed without question or query- should the Arcanum put him to the truth, he would have little useful knowledge to offer or at least options for evasion.

The steep, snowy hill descending down from the wall felt treacherous as he avoided the stone road leading down into the city. He had gone to great pains not to be seen leaving the palace grounds, and being seen entering the city through the Empress's road would not be considered subtle. The wide, well-maintained road was well-travelled, and most temples offered revellers festive blessings and warm wines.

Aronia was the largest city in the Empire, resting on the western coast of Adenesa. It was the pride of the nation, a symbol of over a hundred years without serious conflict and a hub for trade and culture. Godwin had served the city guard for nearly half his life, and finding his way through the maze of streets would not be difficult– he just had to do so without being noticed.

Godwin took a small reprieve under the cover of the Temple of Destiny, the closest building to the palace grounds. Unlike the other temples on the Empress's road, the Temple of Destiny had been closed to the public. There were no Midwinter celebrations or revellers to see him here. He pulled back his cloak to reveal the two small bundles tied to his torso. Removing his leather glove, He carefully slid two fingers between the linen layers in the first bundle. Letting out a little sigh of relief, he moved to the second, a thankful smile on his lips.

“I wish I could make my heart beat as calm as yours. I fear your mother could appear at any moment, ready to bind you both into her designs.” He pulled the cloak around him again and slid the leather glove back into place. Throwing up the hood of his cloak, he silently moved along the buildings’ back towards the docks with the skill of a veteran thief.

The Midwinter Markets were a flurry of life and activity. Merchants flocked to Aronia from all over Adenesa to sell exotic foods and drinks to the masses. People often saved their alics, the primary currency within the empire, for ves, to fund one night of revelry. Even with the cold temperatures, snow flurries, and harsh winds, the atmosphere was festive.

On the famous Mara Square, a large open trading ground along the edge of Aronia’s harbour district and a centrepiece of the capital, each thoroughfare leads into its own city district. The Old road leads east into the Artisans quarter, where massive workshops churn out technical and arcane marvels; The Scribes road leads west up towards the twisting spires and enchanted grounds of the Arcanum, and the Empress's road leads north towards the Palace grounds, a towering spectacle that attracts visitors from all over.

Amidst this splendour, Garn Harver stared in disbelief at the woman standing opposite him. She was well dressed and spoke with clear education, her garments suggesting she was from one of the wealthier districts. Not magical, though. All magical folk were required to wear their Arcanum garb. One of the things he appreciated about the Arcanum was that they at least made their presence known. This woman, however, contorted her face in entitled disdain, apparently offended by his prices.

“FIVE silver alics. That is the best deal you will find in Western Adenesa!” he spat. The woman lifted her hand to her mouth as she gasped at his rude response.

“Candles are no more than a tin bit! Why would you be so unfestive!” The woman retorted with a striking glare of offence and a lift of her chin in disdain. Garn dragged his hand in a sweeping motion over the candles on display.

“If you want normal candles, go and talk to your local chandler! These are coloured candles! The product of the alchemists of Kalista! They are FIVE silver alics!” He realised as he spoke that he was being short with the woman, but she was just the latest in a long string of ignorant customers.

“I don’t see why I should empty my purse for something so frivolous. It’s just colour. You can’t seriously expect people to pay so much more for that,” her head shaking as if striking a concluding blow. Garn lifted his thick hand to the side and pointed to another market stall.

“That’s the price for craftsmanship. If it’s simplicity you seek, Marie has plain candles. They’re more suited for your purse,” he said with a stern tone of finality. The woman followed his finger before snorting, muttering something inaudible under her breath and stomping away. Garn shook his head as he reached under his small market stall for his glass of warm berry wine.

He loved midwinter in Aronia. He enjoyed good food and entertainment while making a tidy profit from his carefully curated stock. He had established himself as a merchant of the exotic. People would come to him for things just outside the ordinary, a reputation he enjoyed even if it wasn’t the most lucrative of markets. Stroking his thick beard, he saw the woman arguing with Marie. From the tidbits he overheard, it sounded like she wanted coloured candles. Taking a moment to chuckle over the absurdity of it all, he shuffled his stock around as something drew his eye.

The Merchant turned as he glanced back towards the harbour, something caught in his peripheral vision: a well-built, athletic figure moving along the docks, with a dark cloak making it difficult to outline against the nighttime scene. Then the figure turned down a narrow pier and, to Garns' shock, jumped into his houseboat. “Borin, watch the stand for me. Candles are five silver alics, not a tin bit less,” he called to his assistant. Borin was an older man, thick of stature from a lifetime of labour and covered in dark brown hair. He was his long-time employee and friend. A man of few words, he nodded firmly to Garn as he put down his cup of wine.

Pulling out his long-handled mace from under the market stall, Garn disguised the weapon against his leg as a crutch, walking casually down towards the harbour. His simple mace was a firm, leaden ball tightly fixed on a sturdy oak shaft. Having rarely been swung in anger, it was mostly for show.

Hundreds of small trade ships moored up along the harbour. The fact that Garn had seen this mysterious figure and that they had chosen his boat seemed like an unlikely coincidence. Climbing up onto the deck of his houseboat, Garn raised the mace sideways with two hands. His home, The Harver’s Folly, was a shallow water trading vessel. It only had two levels across fifty square feet. Garn thought there were few places to hide as he slowly opened the door to the lower deck. Jumping the steep stairs into the room, Garn spun his body to carry the momentum as he dragged his mace sideways; the low ceiling prevented his preferred overhead strike. The man inside jumped backwards away from the swing as Garn’s mace crashed into the central mast support with a bone-crunching crack.

“Wait! Wait!” The man cried out as he pulled the cloak down. Garn sneered at the now-revealed man as he readied his mace for another swing.

“You think knowing it’s you, Godwin, would stop ma second swing!” he growled as he stepped closer, Godwin backing away from him with his hands out in a pleading gesture.

“It’s been a long time, brother. I need your help. I’ve never asked you for anything.” The man calmly pushed a small crystal into a bracket on the wall, his charming, and irritatingly so, smile becoming visible in the crystal light. Garn sighed in annoyance as he lowered the mace.

“You’ve not asked! Twenty seasons, you’ve not spoken to me!”

Standing silently for a long moment, the two men appraised each other. Godwin stepped closer, reaching slowly into his cloak and pulling out a small velvet pouch. Garn couldn’t help but notice how well-made the leather was under the shabby, thick cloak—thick regal leather armour that was a custom fit. Godwin tossed the purse to his brother, who snagged it awkwardly from the air, letting his mace thud against the floor.

“What’s this?” Tossing the pouch in one hand to feel the weight, his merchant's sense, guessing there may be fifty coins inside. Godwin lifted his hand in a dismissive gesture.

“Some compensation. It’s yours even if you choose not to help.”

Garn studied the velvet bag. The pouch must be worth at least a crest, the common term for a gold alic. It was a frustrating display of wealth from his younger brother. His fingers struggled with the delicate ties as he finally fumbled it open. Tilting it in his palm to look inside, Garn felt his heart stop for a long moment as he turned his gaze back to his brother.

“Platinum alics? I’ve never seen more than one before.” Garn struggled to keep the awe from his voice as he tried to comprehend the value of what had been idly tossed to him. “The last time I saw you, you pretended you didn't know me. Now, you appear out of the darkness with a bag of coins and expect me to forgive and forget!” His words felt hollow– the pouch was retirement money, and he could forgive his brother for that, his merchant nature betraying his sense of dignity.

Godwin sat on the edge of Garn’s desk, pushing the chair towards his brother as he gestured for him to sit.

“I was young and stupid, and you deserved better—that is true. There are no words to make up for how I treated you that day, and your anger is justified. Shouldn’t that be enough to pay off what you owe on the boat and keep you sailing for a few years?”

The statement was not a question, as both men knew how much wealth his brother had casually thrown at him. Closing the pouch, Garn tossed it to the desk next to Godwin. Taking the offered seat, he picked up his fallen mace and rested it on his lap.“Right, you have my attention- now, what does a member of the palace guard want with a local merchant?” Godwin’s face twisted a little, Garn soaking in the moment. His brother was surprised that he had been aware of his position. “Just because you cut me off, dun mean I forgot about you. Now cut to it.”

Godwin smiled at his brother as he withdrew a bundle of papers from his cloak. He handed them over and explained, “My children are no longer safe in the palace. They never were. I need you to take them, hide them, and never return to Aronia. These are their papers, officially enchanted and protected.”

Garn unfolded the papers- they were birth certificates. Looking back up towards his brother, he waved the documents, shaking his head.“So you thought you would appear after twenty years and ask me to raise your children? These documents arn’ even real!”

The two stared at each other a moment longer, Garn trying to read the concern etched into his brother's face, before Godwin slumped forward from the table and fell to one knee beside his brother. He took his hand as he locked eyes with him- in their proximity, Garn saw his younger brother, his face gracefully aged, but still his brother.

“I have no choice. Teresa’s gone mad. She has all but donated the twins' futures to the Arcanum. The other night, she discussed starting their education before they learned to speak, and her long-term ambitions are even more concerning. Garn, we’ve been estranged so long that I am certain she's forgotten you. You have to take them, please, brother. If not for me, do it for them!”

As he finished speaking, he nodded and turned towards the bed on the back wall. Two small bundles were lying amongst the cotton sheets. Garn shook his head in resignation as he stood and pushed past Godwin. Approaching the bed, he saw the two tiny sleeping faces.

“Twins, I heard about them when they were born. It was big news. So small and still asleep, my mace blow would have woken me, and I sleep like the dead.”

Godwin moved beside his older brother, the two babies breathing lightly on the bed.

“The Arcanum were very public about it, too much so, if you ask me. They are asleep because of a potion. I had to keep silent during my escape. It was not my first choice, having their mother's resistance to magic. Sleep spells wouldn’t take, especially not on this little one.” Godwin gestured to the larger of the twins on the left. “And the papers are real- they are just protected- it’s… a privilege afforded to those in higher circles. They will show whatever name the bloodbound owner believes it should say. I recommend not using my family name- the Astara name is storied, even among the general population.”

Garn glared at Godwin as he turned away. Striding over to his desk, he flipped a rough wooden mug out from a cabinet and uncorked a stout bottle filled with dark purple liquid, sniffing it once before pouring it out.

“Magic, you know my stance on that mysticism. If you leave them with me, there will be no magic! I don’t care who their mother is. Everything these days is enchantment this, imbued that.”

Garn declared as he lifted the bottle to his lips, downing the contents immediately before offering the mug to his brother. Godwin came to stand with him, politely refusing the mug with a gesture. He reached into a pouch at his belt, fished out a small charm on a delicate chain, then unclasped a crystal hanging next to it, handing both items to Garn.

“No magic. I had this made to suppress Teresa’s magic during her pregnancy. She lost control a couple of times. There is an outside chance one of them will develop natural magic. Get them to wear this.”

Garn inspected it—a simple brass disc on a thin silver chain. “What does it do?”

Godwin shrugged, “It's a counter-charm or some such. I'm not knowledgeable about the inner workings of the enchanting, but it blocked Teresa’s magic. It should also protect them from scrying. The Arcanum’s Seers will no doubt be looking around.”

Garn sighed as he drank the mug Godwin had refused in several large swallows and then looked down at the velvet pouch. Two babies lay silently on the bed, and his brother, whom he thought lost, was staring at him pleadingly. The merchant rolled his eyes. “Only one of them? Not the pair?” he affirmed, lifting the single amulet.

Nodding, the younger brother looked wistfully towards the hull wall, exhaling slowly. “Teresa’s bloodline is blessed, or cursed, depending on your perspective- one in each generation is born with the gift.” His frustration was evident as he turned back to the sleeping twins. “I suspect the signs will manifest early in life- have them wear the amulet once you are sure.”

Garn felt uneasy as he moved his focus to the small glowing gemstone. “And this? What witchery is this?” he snarled, lifting the tiny pulsing gemstone between them.

Godwin shrugged, almost as if it were insignificant, “Memory Stone, well, more accurately, it’s a Smokestone. It's been fogging up my memory since leaving the castle and yours since you came on board.” his posture tensed, knowing the reputations the various memory stones held.

The merchant frowned as he inspected the ashen grey stone between his fingers, which emitted a faint blue light. “I don't get it. My mind feels fine. Is it working?” Internally, he probed around his recent memories. He recalled coming and swinging his mace true enough.

Godwin nodded apologetically, “Clever things, Smokestones. I’ve no idea how I got the twins out of the castle. I know I did, I know why, but I do not recall doing it. Soon, you will forget the details of this meeting, assured of its outcome. The stone should be depleted during the night. Come tomorrow, you will remember why but not how. It will help, should the Arcanum put you to the truth.”

Garn mumbled something about complications under his breath as he shook his head, putting the stone and amulet down on the wooden counter. The large man then turned, his sharp, appraising eyes taking in his brother's posture, weary expression, and hopeful eyes. “Fine, I’ll do what I can for them. I’ll still be attending the festivals in Kalista and Carvene, though. That’s my only condition.”

Godwin grinned and launched into an embrace, the empty mug falling free from his hand as Garn stumbled backwards. The two brothers embraced after decades apart. Garn still felt like his brother was a stranger to him, but blood was blood. “Can you set sail tonight? You must be gone before the festivities end. Teresa will lock the city down when she finds the crib empty, and they will likely close the harbours.”

Garn stared in disbelief. What did he mean by closing the harbours? It suddenly dawned on him that they had not asked enough questions before agreeing to this arrangement. “Close the bleedin’ harbour! Your wife is an advisor, ain’ she?” he exclaimed. Turning away and pacing onto the main deck into the biting wind, he entered the cold night.

Godwin joined him moments later: “She is an advisor. That's true. She is also the High Sorceress of the Arcanum. The emperor may not take orders from her, but he would be the only one in Aronia with that luxury.” The word came with a mix of reverence and fear.

Garn took a moment to study the flag on the mainmast. “I may not know what a High Sorceress is, brother, but you are making this favour sound awful dangerous,” he complained, enjoying the breeze momentarily. “The wind is still strong. I’ll get Borin to pack up the stand. It would seem suspicious otherwise. If I get caught, I expect a daring rescue.”

Godwin nodded. “Daring rescue, understood. I’ll do my part to keep Teresa from discovering you–-- I should get back to the palace before she returns,” Then he turned to face his brother, extending his hand and offering a small sack of provisions. “You have my thanks. I am sorry for...well, everything. The next time we meet will be under better circumstances. Safe travels, brother.”

Garn took the offered provisions and pulled Godwin into another embrace. He knew the lie in his words. In his mind, he grieved Godwin's loss years ago. The commander of the palace guards had come skulking around in the dark, smuggling children. There would be consequences. “Be safe, brother. Stay alive for their sake. One day, they will come looking.”

Godwin smirked and nodded as he pulled his dark cloak tight. He leapt from the boat and vanished into the darkness in one smooth motion.

Garn went below deck. The two motionless bundles almost seemed unreal as he looked down on them. Taking the two enchanted birth certificates, he read them aloud: “Cassandra Astara, Born Qwen’ves of the two-hundredth year, Miridon Astara, Born Qwen’ves of the two-hundredth year. Astara twins, only six ves old.” Glancing at the small sack of provisions, reality slowly settled in.

“What did I just agree to?”