_“How long do you think before she’s dead?” _Achuril, the newly anointed privy-maid whispered. _“I mean she’s even whiter than the snow now,” _Her giant blue eyes framed by the laced blonde hair, almost sparkled in the dim light of the royal bedchamber.

J’haraa shushed at the girl. _“I’m trying to focus,”_

_“Father told me that if she dies, it’ll be a matter of time before we see an all-out war,” _The girl droned on, before lowering her head: _“I can’t bear to postpone my wedding a second time”._

J’haraa ignored the girl’s incredible ignorance, instead choosing to concentrate on the huge ornate mirror at the opposing wall. The eighteen summers in Oxydia had been as rough on her as sunlight on parchment. Her skin, once tinted as the most beautiful ebony, now glistened pale and dry. She caught a glimpse of one straw of burgundy hair that had escaped from the tight wound knot on her head. _How on earth did Achuril manage to stay so… beautiful?_  _ _

At both sides of her, the privy-maids were lined as soldiers along the paneled walls, with stoic faces and hands clasped in front of them. All dressed in the mandatory black robes with a chest piece of creamy white fabric.

The Matron, clad in her large bonnet and blood red robes, appeared in front of them as if she had caught some nasty animal at the castle gates.

_“Do I need to remind you two that silence is the greatest asset of a chambermaid?” _She scoffed at J’haraa, before she turned back towards the enormous wooden bed.

The stench coming from the bed was almost unbearable, but she was used to it by now. The mystical illness had confined the Empress to her chambers for almost a year now, with no improvement to be seen.

_“You know,” _Achuril leaned in towards her ear.”_They say that it’s some sort of evil magic,” _Her excitement was tangible. _“I’m inclined to believe it, I mean, have you ever seen a disease like this where you come from?” _

She felt an ache in the side of her chest. Willingly or not, the young girl had touched a sore spot.

During the devastating months of The Great Storm, a five-year-old J’haraa had crossed over the Sapphire Bay, before arriving in The Oxydian Empire malnourished and on the verge of death. In the raging winds, she had been forced onto the docks, still wet behind the ears and not yet flowered. Even though everything had changed since then, she remembered it like a vivid dream.

_“The south isn’t all about diseases, you damn fool- “ _

J’haraa felt her anger towards Achurils bigotry, but before she could continue, a rasping sound followed by the ruffling sound of footsteps on carpet, emerged from the bed. She could hear how the empress struggled to breathe but most of it drowned out in the sea of hissing noises from the Matron.

_“You! Foreign girl!”_ The Matron had turned towards her, eyes ablaze like raging bonfires. _“You came here from the south, what do you think of this?”_ Two guards bearing the blue jerkin of Oxydia marched towards her. Around her the other chambermaids parted. The guards grabbed her before jerking her towards the bed. The putrid smell, mixed with myrrh and other perfumes, increased before becoming almost violating. In the bed, draped in white linen cloth and an abundance of expensive jewels, the empress seemed almost waxy. The flesh on her cheeks were emaciated to the point of her face resembling a skeleton, but her beautiful features remained.

_“Well, spit it out!” _The Matron snapped. She had placed her bony hands on the bedpost, trying to keep herself from collapsing. _“Remember that her majesty brought you to court for moments like this,” _She narrowed her eyes, towards J’haraa, clearly not keen on the fact that it was a foreigner who now held the fate of the Empress’ life in her hand.

J’haraa swallowed before she spoke:

_“For what I can see, it seems like her majesty is the victim of a severe case of South-bile, but there’s something else, something dark…” _She went around the bed, placing herself at the Empress’ side. She carefully removed her glove, before she gently placed a hand on the Empress’ broad forehead. The sweat had made the skin clammy, the flaxen hair damp, and the fever… the illness had made it burn hotter than anything she had ever witnessed. _“Her complexion has turned milky, almost curdled,” _She mused. _“As far as my knowledge of these foreign diseases goes, there is no known cure. May I suggest that we call for The Apothecary?” _The sheer thought of fetching the Apothecary for such a severe case of South-bile, made her stomach turn.

For a moment the Matron stared at her with stone-cold eyes. After a moment, she turned toward the guard beside her, whispering into his ear.

_“For your own safety, I hope you know what you’re doing…” _She sneered as the guard made it out of the chamber into the corridor.

J’haraa fought the urge to jump at the Matron, but her teachings as an apprentice to the Royal Sorcerer and a Senior Privy-maid had taught her to remain calm, even with the bigoted views of her superiors. Instead, she placed her hands silently in front of her, and calmly smiled at the old, wrinkled lady.

_“I am supposed to tend to the Empress!”_ the man tumbled towards the guards. J’haraa swallowed as Apothecary Mervyns rasping voice reached her ear. Without looking she could tell that he’d been drinking. _“As the Court's physician it is my honorable duty to give her majesty my full expertise,”_ He continued flamboyantly as the guards reluctantly lowered their weapons. His waddling stride reminded J’haraa of the ostriches that roamed the northern shores of Oxydia, near the Sapphire Bay. That, or one of the heavily pregnant wives of the late Westermeerian Emperor. It was hard to believe that this petty excuse for a man, once had been the greatest sorcerer in the empire. And far beyond for that matter. Now, as an ordinary physician and apothecary, he ranked well below her.

_“Now, if everyone would be so kind as to leave the Empress in my capable hands,”_ He shushed the guards away with a gesture of his fat hands as he went to the side of the bed. With a last scolding stare, the Matron eyed her before she guided the endless line of Chambermaids out through the door, leaving the royal chamber almost like a tomb.

When the last muddled curse from the guards had disappeared J’haraa broke her silence.

_“Are you sure this is gonna work?”_ She quickly eyed the Empress who drifted in and out of consciousness.

_“Oh dear, Jarry,”_ The apothecary, with a badly hidden trace of arrogance, shook his head. _“When it comes to exotic diseases, when am I ever wrong?”_

_“I’m just saying,”_ She walked around the bed, closer to the man, until his spirited breath reached her face. _“Remember, it was me who stood up for you when everyone else sought to have you expelled from the Court,”_ She locked eyes with the man. _“don’t give me a reason to revoke it,”_ Even if he didn’t seem to hear her, she could tell that he was aware of the danger. A hint of sweet sweat crept in amongst the sharp-spirited odor.

_“Jacobin has taught you well, J’haraa,”_ he sneered with a whispering voice.

Mervyn reached into his sleeve for the phial he’d been hiding. The icy-blue liquid sloshed around, reminding J’haraa of the raging water of the Sapphire Bay. Slowly he leaned forward towards the Empress. A shiver went through her limp body as the liquid touched her pale lips. She convulsed a few seconds before lying completely still.

_“And then, we wait,”_ said Mervyn with an almost jolly smile. He looked upon the Empress with a mix of hope and disgust, as if he found the whole scene disgusting. _“I will watch over her, for the night,”_ He added as he placed himself on the small stool next to the Empress bed. _“You can go, Jarry,”_

He waved a fat hand at her, before he took out a small green book from one of his sleeves, adjusted the square framed glasses and emerged himself in reading.

J’haraa bid the apothecary farewell before she silently went out the door. She had another place to be. Someone she promised to meet after her business with Mervyn was done.

Once she was out of the Empress Bedchamber, she ran. The west corridor flew before her as a green streak. Even so, she still managed to get a glimpse of the corridor’s unmistakable beauty. Placed on a stone arc, well above the water, the air had a salty smell to it. The former Empress had ordered thousands of plants and herbs for her Sanctuary, to be planted in the courtyard. Over time the herbs and plants had covered the corridors that surrounded it, in a pleasant aroma. J’haraa loved it, and after hundreds of walks through the place, she had finally felt at home in the strange land. The sky, over her head, had turned a dark shade of purple, and the silver moon covered the courtyard in an almost dreamlike ambiance. She fought the urge to stop and enjoy the scenery, and continued towards the Labyrinth where her meeting was to take place.

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_“What took you so long?”_ Filura asked with her cold voice. Her trademark. _“I thought you got caught, sneaking out of the Castle,”_

Filura, or The Icemaiden, a name she was given due to her place as the Empress’ adoptive sister, sat on one of the marble benches near the Labyrinth. In the dim moonlight her gaunt appearance was even more exaggerated.

_“Mervyn had been drinking again,”_ J’haraa placed herself next to Filura on the bench. A thick, juniper scented aroma was a welcoming change from Mervyns spirit-drenched smell. Filura nodded stiffly, her back arched.

_“Did he at least manage to give her the mixture?”_ She turned her head towards her. Even though she was adopted, Filura still bore some resemblance to her dying sister. Her forehead was broad, but where the empress’ eyes were welcoming and her hair thick and the color of flaxen, Filura had eyes the color of water and thin hair the color of charcoal.  _“The ingredients were hard to acquire you know,”_

_“I made it clear to him that I’m the only reason your sister is still holding on to him, and yes, I watched as he did it,”_ she added when she saw an impatient stare creep onto Filuras face. That was another difference between the Empress and the Icemaiden of Lustrax.

They sat in silence for a few minutes, watching the fireflies buzzing eagerly over the labyrinth. Slowly, the moon disappeared, and darkness took over.

_“Have you ever considered joining The Shadow Guild?”_ Filura maintained her stare at the entrance to the Labyrinth, even when this was clearly a question. _“I mean, you clearly have some skills when it comes to extorting elderly, alcoholic physicians,”_

_“You know I can’t do that,”_ J’haraa turned towards Filura. _“You know the rules for joining any of the guilds in Oxydia,”_ She breathed out. _“Rules I need to follow if I’m to stay in the Empire,”_ She felt a sting in her chest. The same as she had felt when Achuril mentioned her heritage. Even after eighteen summers, the fact that she was a foreigner was still frowned upon.

Filura let a smile unto her usually expressionless face.

_“I can see that you are allowed to join. You know that even as an adoptive daughter I can at least do that. That is one of my few privileges.”_ As sudden as it had appeared, as quickly her smile disappeared.

_“No,”_ J’haraa let out a sigh. _“I can’t risk it. I was raised at the court, and Jacobin expects me to stay there. You know he took me in, when everybody wanted to drown me,”_ She caught a glimpse of Filuras face. She had always wondered how Filura seemed so indifferent, whenever the story of her rescue from the foreigner’s fate was recited.

Filura jolted from her place at the bench.

_“It’s always the same,”_ J’haraa felt a shock when she saw Filuras eyes. Even in the darkness, she could see the tears streaming like silver down her face. _“Whenever I try doing something nice for you, you always ramble on about how Jacobin is some kind of saint,”_ She flung her hands in the air, cursing at the wind. _“Why won’t you accept my gift!? Let me help you!”_ The words escaped her mouth as small darts of ice.

J’haraa rose to her feet.

_“I would be more than happy to accept your gift, but”_ She hesitated for a second. _“I love you, but I owe it to Jacobin to be loyal to him,”_ For a second, she thought Filura would hit her, but instead she crossed her arms.

_“That’s the first time you’ve said that”_ She lowered her gaze.

_“Said, what?”_ J’haraa asked, knowing very well what she had said. It hadn’t been her intention.

_“I love you too,”_ Filura seemed to melt as she spoke the words. She walked towards J’haraa with a smile plastered on her face, the tears still running. _“You know I would do anything for you,”_

A bell rang in the distance. Sharp and loud. She needed to be back before the Night Guard began their duty. And the Matron made her nightly walks in the corridors…

_“I will meet you tomorrow, once the mixture is working, be sure to have more of it ready.”_ She placed a soft kiss on Filuras forehead. _“And, thanks for the gift,”_

Filura said nothing. She was back to her old demeanor. Instead, she nodded, before she turned around and drifted away up the winding stairs, carved into the castle’s stony walls. J’haraa eyed her until she was out of sight, then she too made her way back to the Maidens Chambers.

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_“May I ask where you went last night?” _

Jacobin's voice was airy, and barely audible for the loud clicking of the instruments in front of the old man. His enormous beard, which seemed to be more and more unkempt as his age progressed, laid curled across the floor like a white snake. Even at this advanced age his wit was sharp as a knife. A knife which was only meant to cut certain things.

“Just needed to get some air,” She leaned back in her seat at the sorcerer’s table. “Mervyns been drinking again, and the Matron’s been at me like she always” The sorcerer didn’t look up. Something on the plate in front of him had gone awry, emitting a lot of steam. “I don’t know what the Empress sees in the man,” The thing suddenly jumped up from the plate, before landing with a loud clunk, on the floor.

“Oh, for the love of Delamere!” Jacobin pulled his beard towards him, before the thing could set it on fire with the steam, which had turned suspiciously red. “I’m sorry, what were you saying my dear?”

“Just forget it,”

She loved him with all her heart. That she couldn’t deny. But sometimes his scatterbrain made her so frustrated that she could cry.

His eyes rested upon her for what seemed like an eternity. He had an uncanny ability to make her feel uncomfortable from the pressuring silence.

“You met up with her again, didn’t you?” He exhaled loudly, before he shook his head. “Sometimes I wonder if you know what she is capable of- “

“I know one thing for sure,” she snapped. “she’s capable of understanding me,” She felt a heat in her gut, a heat she felt whenever Jacobin voiced his opinion of Filura. “Something nobody else seems capable of,” Her chair scraped against the wooden floor as she rose. She needed to stand up.

“Do I need to remind you that I was the one who persuaded Empress Galangal to let you live?” Jacobin too had risen. Even though his age worked against him, he still loomed large over her. “I understand you, J’haraa, but sometimes even I can’t fathom that you fraternize with the Queen's adoptive sister,” He gently pushed the chair out of his way. As an instinct, she took a step back. “You know that death is the punishment for what you two are doing,” His breath smelled foul, but that didn’t make her flinch. She turned her head down. Embarrassed. She knew the punishment was harsh for anyone outside of the royal family to form a romantic relationship with one of The Anointed Ones as the royal family was called among commoners.

“I’m sorry,” It was the only thing she could say. His eyes softened and he was back to his normal self.

“Sometimes I wished you would open to me, J’haraa,” He placed his hands on her shoulders. All the automatons around them, momentarily forgotten. “Fancy a stroll ‘round the garden?” He gave her a smile. “I know how you like to take in the smell of those beautiful flowers,”

She nodded. Anything to take her mind from the tasks laying ahead. Even if the distraction was momentarily.

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They had to stroll through the castle's courtyard before they could reach the garden. In the light of day, the castle seemed so much bigger than the hollow shell it had been in the silvery light of the night. The castle itself was a monstrous building of epic proportions sporting four exquisitely built towers, which stood against the primary dome. The Heart, as it was called, was built in the early days of the Oxydian Empire and had been repaired many times due to the different conflicts the Empire had been embroiled in over the years. J’haraa liked to imagine the Castle as an inanimate phoenix of sorts. The way it rose from the smoldering ashes, every time becoming stronger and stronger.

The courtyard surrounded the Heart. The dusty bricks which were used to build the roads had over time been worn down to a wobbly street. Jacobin, well up in his 70’s, often had his troubles walking through the streets, and often preferred to send out servants to fetch him whatever he needed. That job had more than one-time befallen J’haraa, which over the time had let her develop a keen knowledge of the area and its secrets.

They walked across the Bridge of Rust, where the fishmongers and other merchants had taken place. The sweet smell of fruit and vegetables mixed itself with the salty smell of fish, resulting in a cacophony of different aromas. Some of the merchants eyed her suspiciously, but she ignored it. That was something she had to live with. When you looked like she did, when you didn’t fit into the racial mold, you had to get used to being gawked upon like something the cat had dragged in twice.

“What do you say about getting a drink with your old mentor?” Jacobin had stopped. The salty wind blew in from the east and made his graying hair seem alive. She wasn’t much for drinking, but maybe it was a good idea to make Jacobin think of something else than her nighttime affair with Filura.

“As long as you don’t drink yourself pissed as you did the last time,” She placed a supporting hand under her adoptive father’s shoulder. “I still owe Mrs. Onyx 50 copperheads for the last time she had to escort you back home”.

Jacobin put up his booming laugh.

“I can’t promise you that, but I will try my best, my dear,” A loud noise rang out from the port below. The Bridge of Rust connected the Castle to the rest of the city, but the real business of The Oxydian Empire unfolded 100 feet down there. The smell of oil and salt were all around them. From where they stood, J’haraa could take in the sight of several newly arrived frigates lined up at the dockside. The sound they’d heard came from the massive horn mounted at the top of one of the ships, indicating the time to unload the cargo. The ships had arrived from all over the world. She felt relief at the thought that even in this political climate, there were still ships that ventured into the world, desperately trying to maintain a sense of normality. One of the enormous ships, the largest and most elaborately decorated of the lot, wobbled dangerously in the water as the crew, with voices almost as loud as small temple-bells, tried to maneuver dozens of huge cages out from the storage room onto the pier. An angry trumpeting ruckus erupted from the steel rods at the side of the cage, followed by a greyish snout poking out from between the steel bars. Judging by the sails she could see that the ship had come from The Whispering Isles, a group of islands bonded by a heretic interpretation of the Holy Scrolls of The Pantheon. The crimson red fabric of the isles upper class bore the burning mouth. The heraldry of Torgrin Firespewer, The Pirate Lord of The Whispering Isles. She could see it as clearly as if she had stood right in front of the massive beast of a ship. She shuttered at the thought, but quickly regained her composure as Jacobin, spurred her on down the bridge towards the Square of Spirits.

She gave the dockside a last glimpse, before following her mentor. _If I ever manage to escape this godforsaken-._ Her train of thought was cut short as soon as they stepped onto the cobblestones of the Square.

Behind them, the ominous sound of a hollow bell rang out. It rang three times this time.