Oboe’s legs shook as she pushed herself to climb the stairs to the big dome. She leaned against the rail, out of breath.

“Wait,” she said. “Theo!”

Theo looked back, already at the entrance. He hurried back down with a worried look.

“You look terrible,” He said. She wished he would shut up. “I knew I should’ve carried the sword.”

“I’m fine!” Oboe said, wincing. “Just give me a couple minutes, okay?”

Theo took the sword from her hands. She didn’t have the strength to resist. Relief washed over her the moment it left her grasp.

“You should rest,” he said. It made her mad how nice he was being. “I’ll report what we found. You just wait out here until you feel better, okay?”

She made a grab for the sword but he pulled away. “No!” She slumped across the steps. “I want to help!”

“I’ll be right back!” He called from the top, and disappeared inside.

Oboe rested her cheek on the cold concrete and contemplated how she hated this particular set of stairs more than anything else in the universe. Humans stepped around her until she mustered the energy to roll off to the side and sit up.

She was bad at this. Theo was going to give the sword away to some big important human and then grandmother was going to be furious. What was she supposed to do? She tried telling Theo the sword was boring, but Theo was too bent out of shape about his dad to listen.

Oboe’s felt a chill. She looked up. A raven was watching, perched high on a lamp post across the street with eyes fixed square on her. It pointed its beak towards an alleyway.

Legs aching, Oboe raced down the stairs like a drum roll and stepped into the dark, empty alley.

“You let him take the sword,” grandmother said, looming from a windowsill.

A second Whisper joined them, lighting on a high wall, identical to the first. “You are wasting time.”

Another landed behind Oboe, blocking the way out. “I have been so generous with you, child. Do you mean to insult me by playing games?”

They were all around. It scared Oboe how they all spoke with the same voice. How many were there? How was it even possible for there to be more than one?

“I’m sorry!” Oboe said. “I’m trying! I don’t know what to do!”

The Whispers shook their wings. “You are a fairy! You are cunning. You are deceit. Unless you are worthless, you are born with all you need.”

“Okay, but—“ Oboe wrinkled her forehead. “…That sword is important to Theo. Taking it away would be mean! We should wait until he’s done with it. That way everyone can be happy.”

The three Whispers exchanged baffled glances before snapping their attention back to Oboe.

“Was it a mistake to trust you with a task so important?” said the first.

“Did I err to see some mote of worth in you?” said the second.

“Mistakes can be fixed,” said the third. “I gave you this chance thinking you could serve a use. If that is not so, then you have no use of your name.”

“No!” Oboe wheeled around. “You can’t! I just got it back! I don’t want to be nameless again!”

“Then show me you are worth keeping,” Grandmother said. “Prove to me you are worth something. Bring me the sword! Or else I will send someone who can.”

“I can do it!” Oboe said. “Just give me more time!”

“Yes.” A shiver ran down Oboe’s spine as a beak brushed past her cheek. One of Whispers had crept up behind her ear without her noticing. “He trusts you. I can see it. You need only act the part.”

The other two took to the air, leaving only one Whisper digging talons into her shoulder.

“You cannot afford to disappoint me.”

Theodore planted his father’s sword on the desk of Governor Farbend and slammed the laboratory analysis down beside it.

“Read this,” he said.

Gregory Farbend shot him a skeptical look. He flipped through the report. “This is a lot of big words for an old man, Grayweather. I have things to do today. Do you want to just tell me why you’re bringing a weapon into my office again?”

Theodore leaned over the desk. “I found this sword in the Fairy Circle. It has a spell on it, an illegal fey killing spell. It was brought there by an assassin.” He took the sword, hilt up, and pointed his family crest at the Governor. “My father.”

The pages fell limp in Mr. Farbend’s hand. “What? Is this some sort of joke?”

“No.” Theodore smiled despite himself. “I discovered it in a deep, forgotten fold of the Fairy Court. It was plunged through the body of a helpless nymph. He was still alive, tortured by the magic in this sword. The Hero Champion was responsible.”

The governor’s mustache bristled. “That…” He searched through the report, as if looking for some other answer. “Ridiculous. Lance would not do that! Not without good reason.” He looked up. “Where is this nymph now?”

Theodore’s smile vanished. “He’s… dead. When I removed the sword, he perished.” He clenched the sword tighter. “The spell killed him.”

“Good,” Farbend said. “That simplifies things.”

“Sir?”

“This could’ve started a revolt.” The governor sat back. “If there’s no witness, we can carry on.”

“Carry on?!” Theodore said. “This proves the Hero Champion was a criminal! You want us to act like nothing happened?!”

He sighed. “The people remember Lance. He drove back the Korvelian military and brought an end to the North Manor raids. He stopped the Black Candle riots.” The Governor chopped a hand through the air. “He talked a dragon down from attacking our villages! He is a national icon! I knew him. He was a good man.” Farbend glared, his eyes electric. “Whatever possessed him to do this, I know it was for the good of everyone in Laien.”

“No!” Theodore’s fingers curled stiff like hooks. “You can’t keep doing this! Laws have been broken! He killed a creature! The facts are here, right in front of you! We need to hold people accountable! You can’t just ignore the law!”

The governor stood up, his girth a wall. “The law exists to serve the people, not the other way around. What good would it do anyone if we brought this to light? There would be a scandal. The people would lose a hero, a man who inspired countless people. Our alliance with the Whirlwood Fairy Circle would be tested. An alliance, need I remind you, which grants us the privilege to harvest magic from the Fount.” Farbend shook his head. “You would have us risk that. For what? To punish a man who’s already dead? Are you mad?”

“Look at the report!” Theodore pointed. “Look at what he did!”

“There is no need.” Mr. Farbend dropped the report into desk drawer and locked it shut. He corrected his posture. “The crown trusts the Hero Champion to make decisions that are beyond the letter of the law. Whatever Lance’s intentions were, it’s been six years since he died. He left us safe and prosperous. Any crime he committed had no consequence for us.”

“What about the fairies?” Theodore said. “Do they not matter? We’re sworn to protect them and we’ve wronged them!”

“There has been no complaint,” he said. “Either the Fair Lady does not know this happened, or, more likely, she was wise enough not to let this destroy a partnership that has lasted generations. It is better we do not push our luck.”

Theodore couldn’t stand the calm in the old man’s face. “You’re saying we should ignore this injustice.”

“I’m saying our priority is to insure peace and happiness for everyone. Dragging this secret into the light can only cause strife. Is that what you want?”

“No!”

“Good.” The governor took the sword and shoved it back into Theodore’s hands. “Then get rid of this thing. Stop investigating. I can’t risk you pulling the dragon’s teeth on this one. There’s too much we stand to lose. Do you understand that?”

Theodor’s grip on the sword slackened. There was truth in what Mr. Farbend was saying. There was no telling what kind of damage this investigation could cause. Theodore looked down.

“Leave the weapon with my secretary,” Mr. Farbend said. “I’ll have her take it to Agent Records, where we’ll be sure it won’t cause any more trouble, alright?”

Theodore nodded, his neck feeling like it was ready to lock in place. “Yes, sir.”

He turned away and reached for the door, pausing when he saw the ring on his finger. It felt tight. The laws were made for a reason. What good were they if they could be thrown away out of convenience? Was it right to take advantage of the Fair Lady’s prudence if it meant her people were wronged? How many times before had creatures suffered because the law had not been held? How many of those creatures had become Red Caps?

Theodore let the door swing shut behind him. He marched past the secretary’s desk without looking back. The governor was not going to do anything. It was a mistake to come here, to think it would be any different than before. He made a sharp turn down the hall, sword in hand, his stride gaining speed. There was no way sealing the truth away in a vault was the right thing to do. Nothing would change. All the same problems would go on and on forever.

He crossed Oboe in the stairwell, who must’ve decided to catch up to him.

“Theo!” She said, startled. “What’s going on?”

“We’re leaving!” Theodore said, storming down past her.

“Is that him?”

Oboe stopped in front of that awful statue. The king had erected the tacky, overblown bronze figure of Theodore’s father right in the center of Park Square. The Hero Champion was thrusting a sword to the heavens with a pompous scowl, standing atop a marble fountain. When Theodore still worked in the city, he made a point to take the long way to the Bureaucracy Dome to avoid looking at it.

“He looks a lot like you,” Oboe said. “Well, if you had muscles and were made out of metal.”

Theodore sighed. The pointy nose was probably what gave it away. “Yes. That is Lance Grayweather. Hero Champion of all Laien, and beloved murderer. He’s the man we’re investigating.”

“But he’s your dad too, right?” Oboe said. “He looks nice.”

There was no accounting for taste. “It doesn’t matter what he looks like. He was rotten on the inside.” Theodore folded his arms. “No one can shut up about how amazing he was. I wish they all knew the truth.”

Oboe’s ears flicked wild, her eyes tense. “Theo, he’s your father. He’s family. I know you hate him. Why do you have to make everyone else hate him too?”

“Why?” Theodore wanted to laugh. “Do you understand what he did to that nymph? The man was a monster!”

“…Maybe he had a good reason,” Oboe said.

“No!” Theodore said. “You can’t justify cruelty like that! I always knew he was a killer, but this… I can’t believe he wanted to make me like him.”

Oboe sat on the edge of the fountain. “He tried to make you a knight. You make a good one. Is that so bad?”

“Yes! I…” Theodore stopped. He was getting too heated. He tried his best to calm down. There was no reason to shout at his friend. He exhaled. “…You don’t understand. When I was a child, my father never left me alone. Every day he forced me to learn how to fight and to kill. He tried to make me into something I wasn’t. I hated it.”

She clutched the sword a bit tighter. “Well, at least he spent time with you! You should be happy. He must’ve cared a lot.”

Theodore scoffed. “The only thing Lance cared about was his legacy. That’s the only reason I mattered to him. He was awful! Before I could read, he was dragging me off to dangerous places! He killed creatures right in front of me! I’m sick of everyone celebrating him!” He thrust a finger at the statue. “People should remember the truth, not this farce!”

Oboe hopped onto her hooves with new energy. “Even if he did bad things, he’s still your family! If he spent time with you and trained you, I think that means he loved you. He saw something special in you. Having someone like that sounds wonderful. Why do you want people to hate him? It sounds like you’re the one who’s being awful.”

“This isn’t about me!” He said. “If Lance was a criminal, there needs to be consequences.”

Her lips tightened. “But it’s okay that we tried to help Percy?”

Theodore felt like he’d had the wind knocked out of him. Oboe watched him, waiting for a response he struggled to find.

“This is different,” he said. “Doesn’t it bother you that he was killing creatures? What if he had gone after a member of your family? How would that make you feel?”

Oboe slouched and Theodore gained some ground. He went on. “The Fairy Circle has been a loyal ally to the kingdom. If my father had a reason for what he did, I don’t see it. If my family wronged your people, I owe it to you to find out and set things right.”

“I didn’t ask you to fix this!” Oboe said. “It doesn’t matter anymore! Your boss told you to stop! But you won’t!! You’re not even trying to think about why your dad did it! Making everyone hate your dad isn’t going to make anything better. You just want to be mad!”

Her anger startled him. He lowered his eyes, searching his feelings. “I just…” He didn’t know how to finish that sentence. He fell back into a park bench, and buried his face in his palms. A shudder rolled through him and he wet his palms with tears. “…Maybe you’re right.” He looked up. “I don’t know. Oboe, I feel like my father crossed a line. Maybe I’m being stupid, but I feel like what he did goes beyond my problems with him. A betrayal of basic decency.” He took a deep breath. “Oboe, you’re outside my head. Am I really in the wrong here? I need you to help me look at this right.”

Oboe hesitated. Something was changing in her expression. Her scowl softened into something uncertain. She tightened her grip on the sword bag. Her eyes hardened.

“This is more about you than him. You need to stop. Let it go.”

“But…” No. She was right. Once again Oboe was thinking clearly while he was letting his emotions cloud his judgement. He needed to trust her. He exhaled. “Okay.”

She stepped back, glancing off. “I’m going to get rid of this,” she fixed her grip on the sword. “It’s making you upset.”

He wanted to argue, to get back up and shout about his father’s crimes. He pushed those thoughts aside. It was misplaced anger and it was time to get over it. “Alright.”

Like that, the argument was over. Oboe gave him a nod and walked away with the sword, leaving Theodore with a painful knot of feelings to untangle.

Theodore sulked on a park bench, stewing on the words Oboe had left him with. She was right. He didn’t know what was going through his father’s mind, but what possible justification could there be?

He leered up at the fountain, at that gilded lie of a statue. His father always talked about duty, about how serving the greater good was in their blood. Theodore squirmed in his seat. What was the truth? It was too late to ask Lance himself, but perhaps it was not too late to find out.

When Lance died, he left behind a will dictating one last ultimatum. If Theodore failed to join a knight order by the age of eighteen then the whole of his inheritance would be sold off and donated to charity. Theodore saw no reason to deny orphanages and poorhouses much needed funding. He walked out the door and never looked back. Until now.

A trolley ride and a long walk led him to the doorstep of the Grayweather family estate. It was still standing right where he left it. He knocked. The butler was so befuddled to see a man in uniform that he agreed to fetch the new owner at once.

“Mother’s tits! Who the devil are you?” He was a pudgy, unkempt man, who talked with a cigar clenched in his teeth. It was midday, but he was still in his bed clothes. “This had better be important. I was in the middle of some important business.”

Theodore forced a polite smile. “I’m sorry to bother you. My name is Theodore Grayweather. I lived here a long time ago, and I was hoping you could help me?”

The owner scowled. “I don’t care! I ain’t interested in selling!” He went to slam the door, and Theodore braced it open with his shoulder.

“Wait. I’m not trying to take your home from you!” He said. “I was looking for some things of my father’s. I was hoping they might still be here!”

The owner slacked his pushing. “Oh yeah? I still got some things lying around. What’s it worth to you?”

It took Theodore emptying his wallet for the door to swing open. Theodore would have to walk home, without anything left to pay for a trolley. The scruffy man introduced himself as Bertrand Blackwood.

“Best investment I ever made, this place.” He counted the coins and bills off, chuckling to himself. “Bank sold it for a song, you know. I have an eye for deals. Come along, but let’s make this quick.”

It was surreal for Theodore, walking through his childhood home again after so long. Walls had been knocked down and rebuilt. Familiar furniture was rearranged or replaced. The new wallpaper was eye searing. Tasteless statues and paintings of nude women replaced the family heirlooms. It was his home, but not his home anymore. The feeling bothered him more than he thought it would.

Bertrand lit a lantern, and a fresh cigar while he was at it, and led Theodore down into the cellar.

“Sold most of the good stuff after I bought the place. Made a mint on all the swords and armor. Crammed the junk down here. You’re free to take whatever is left, besides the antiques! I’m keeping the furniture! No refunds!”

The light pooled at the basement floor. Lines of old portraits were stacked against the walls. Theodore stood, surrounded by the painted gaze of his ancestors. Uncle Dirk, great aunt Gwendolyn, great grandfather Gallant, uncle Claymore, Grandmother Marsha: All of them stared at him on the edge of flickering lamplight. A shiver ran down Theodore’s spine.

Bertrand forced the lantern into Theodore’s hands.

“My butler will see you out when you’re done.” He yawned. “I need to back to more important matters.”

“Thank you,” Theodore said. The new owner climbed the creaking stares and left Theodore among the dregs of his heritage.

Apart from family pictures, what was left to search through was a mess. Mementos, old documents, and knickknacks were piled into crates with no rhyme or reason. The new owner could have been humane and categorized the inventory by material at least. Instead Theodore was forced to sift through miscellaneous boxes of broken tea kettles, tax documents, ragged old clothes, and novelty kitchen appliances.

What was he even hoping to find? Everything of value had already been sold off. It wasn’t like Theodore was going to find a signed confession of wrongdoing. His father’s mind would remain a mystery.

He pushed aside another box and a painting clattered onto the floor. He sat it up again, as if it mattered, and paused at the face. A woman. Her posture was proper, hands folded, and no trace of a smile. It was the picture of his mother that his father had painted. A long tear ran down the middle of the canvas now. He remembered hating this portrait. Mother looked so scary, her eyes fierce and intelligent. He wondered how much he took after her.

Theodore never knew his mother. She died from birth complications. Lance always spoke of how wonderful she had been. It made him feel like he should have been the one who died instead.

He pulled the torn vellum from its frame and folded it gently. It seemed wrong to leave it here. Turning back, he continued searching through the junk. He found himself setting aside letters. Things his father had written to his mother and vice versa. Nothing that looked useful, but left him curious. He stuffed what he collected into an old leather potion bag, but cautioned himself not to go overboard. It was a long walk home without any money.

There was an old oak desk in the corner. It was ugly, and not quite level. Lance was a man of many talents, but wood working was not one of them. He must’ve been proud of it, because Theodore remembered his father using it every day. The drawers were empty, except one which was locked. The wood was scratched, like someone had tried and failed to pry it open. A rotating number lock kept it closed.

Theodore ventured a few guesses at what the combination might be. He tried the important dates he could remember. The day his father had become Hero Champion, his mother’s birthday, their marriage anniversary. To his surprise, the lock popped and the drawer slid open when he tried his own birth date.

Inside he found a quart of now aged scotch and a journal bound in drake leather. Theodore’s heart raced. This might be what he was looking for. He set the lantern down on the desk, and pulled the book open to find the pages filled with yellowed investigation notes. He flipped toward the end, and stopped on a detailed sketch of a familiar looking raven. It was one of the last entries. Theodore read on.

Had another run in with this so called ‘Whisper.’ No record in creature archives. I thought I’d killed her already, but this bird was identical. Dealing with a powerful fey. A shapeshifter. I’m certain she’s behind the kidnapped nobles, maybe even the missing ambassadors from last year, but I need evidence before I take this to the King. If my suspicions are right, I have to be careful who I tell.

The last page left Theodore hanging.

Had another argument with Theo. Mother’s mercy, I wish I knew how to talk to him. He has everything it takes to be one of the best, but he won’t listen to me. Devil damn me. He’s probably right. I bet I’m the problem. I wish Margaretta were still here. She’d set me right. She was always smarter than me.

I secured one of Whisper’s feathers. Can’t identify its aura, it’s incomplete. It’s enough to for a tracking spell, though. Took some precautions with father’s sword, just in case. Plan to get in, grab some evidence, and get out.

Reminder: Look into university applications for Theo on return. Mom is going to haunt me, but maybe it’s time. He’s all I have left.

The sword was awful. Every step with it took more effort than the last. The blade sucked away her magic faster than the Whirlwood filled her and left her sluggish and weak. It was hungry, and its aura made her mind feel scratchy. She forced herself to hurry, pushing toward the Circle, wanting to get rid of it.

As she neared a fold curving into the Circle, she heard the shrill calls of ravens overhead. They flashed through the trees, looping overhead, growing in noise and number until she stood before the entrance of the Circle. Dozens of ravens watched her from above, perched among the boughs of the trees.

Oboe’s breathing was ragged. She recognized the raven, but there was so many of them. “Grandmother?”

“Yes child,” one spoke. “You have brought the sword. Sloppy work, but you have done as I commanded. Very good.”

Oboe braced herself against a tree. Her eyes darted between the dozens of ravens in the trees. There was so many of them. How many places could grandmother be in at once?

“Plant the sword in the ground,” grandmother said, and then another continued in the same breath: “You are free to go until I have need of you again.”

The shrieking of birds died down as a troop of spriggan came marching through the gate. Most of them fauns and nymphs armored in bronze. They brought with them a frightened looking leshy. She had hair like willow branches and bare skin like woven twigs. Her family garment was missing.

“What’s going on?” Oboe asked. Something was wrong. The leshy woman’s face was wet with tears.

“None of your concern, my pet.” Bassoon said. “Leave the sword and go. Your work is done.”

Something was wrong. “I’m not leaving until you tell me what’s going on!”

The lead spriggan looked toward the nearest Whisper. “Shall we get rid of her, my Lady?”

“A moment, if you would.” She said, and turned her attention back to Oboe. “This is a ritual. A terrible but necessary ritual. You will sleep easier if you do not witness it.”

Oboe stuck the sword in the ground, eyes narrowed. “I want to see it.”

In unison, the ravens began to laugh. Chuckling on all sides, drowning out all other sound. The Whispers took to the air and gathered, piling onto one another in the center of the clearing, morphing together until Bassoon the faun formed out of the shifting mass.

“You do know how to charm me, child.” The Fair Lady smiled, her fingers curling along Oboe’s chin. “Very well. What is life without a bit of blood?” She ripped the sword out from the ground and strolled toward the leshy, who averted her gaze. Grandmother tugged the leshy’s face to meet hers.

“This wretch was, until recently, Camellia of the Bellflower family. She has disgraced her name for crimes against the Circle, and left her children with no way to survive. But I, in my mercy, have offered her a chance at redemption.”

Magic poured out of Basson’s hand, raw as if it were out of the Fount itself, coating the blade of the sword. It was too much for the sword to dispel at once. A noise of color without shape.

“The needs of her children will be met, and she will serve a purpose. The curse on this sword will be satisfied.”

Camellia said nothing. Her eyes were trembling.

“If you are truly my daughter,” The Fair Lady said to Oboe. “You will not look away.”

Rearing back her arm, she plunged the sword deep inside Carmellia’s chest. Her head arched back, her silence broken by an agonized howl of pain. The leshy woman fell to her knees, the wound freezing to stone. Oboe stared, transfixed in horror. A hint of a smile curled on Bassoon’s lips.

Theodore left the Grayweather estate with a heavy satchel of mementos, and a heavier heart. He did not know what to feel.

 A few words on an old note could not erase years of anger so easily. Yet, his grip had loosened and the familiar vitriol was leaking through his fingers. Now he wondered how different things could’ve been. What if his father had lived? Would it be the same old game, or could they have found a way to reconcile? There was no way to know. Lance was dead.

Theodore stopped to rest on a cobblestone wall, slouching, his nose pressed into the journal. It surprised him how often he was mentioned in the notes. Lance seemed to fret often about going too far, about how it might be too late to fix things, about how everything he said made things worse.

The last entry was dated a few days before Lance was found dead. The details of his last mission were never revealed, but this didn’t stop the bards from capitalizing with ballets on how the Hero Champion had given his body for the kingdom. All Theodore knew was that Whisper, the fairy who had conspired to abduct Prince Perceval, was involved somehow. There was a score to settle there.

A detour was in order. He wound his way back to the Bureaucracy Dome.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Grayweather.” Ella Greenwood was the House Secretary for the Governor’s office. A non-descript woman whose face was masked by her long white hair and thick bifocals. Theodore always admired the tidiness of her desk, and how well she ironed her suit, but often forgot she existed the moment he stepped out of the office. “Mr. Farbend is in other meetings now. He was rather angry that you left earlier without handing over sensitive evidence. I don’t believe he will be happy to see you unless you have brought the object with you.”

Theodore shook his head. “I don’t want to trouble him. I’ll have the sword brought back, but there’s something I need to investigate first. I was hoping I could review the agent records.”

Ella scowled at him. “Those records are classified. Matter of national security. You need the clearance of at LEAST a Knight Detective to be allowed to read them.”

“I know that.” Theodore wondered what he had expected. “Listen. I’m hoping an exception can be made. It’s about my father.” He showed her the journal, and the sketch of Whisper. “I found this, and I think he might be involved in some sort of conspiracy against the Crown. It doesn’t have to be today, but I’d like to apply for special permission.”

She stared at the journal, lips reading in silence. “The Hero Champion wrote this?” She looked behind her, and got up. “Where did you find this?”

“In a locked drawer among my father’s things.” Theodore said.

“Follow me.”

Ella led Theodore through the office, down into the second basement. A pair of stout royal knights stood guard at a heavy oak door. “No entry!” They said.

Ella glared at them and waved her hand. “Official business,” she said. They stepped aside with a surprising lack of resistance. Theodore was grateful, but appalled by the security risk.

Ella closed the door behind them. “Make this quick.”

The room was a vault of filing cabinets, each set in the wall and emblazoned with the name or code name of the most trusted agents of the crown, and each aglow with enchanted iron and silver. Theodore identified his father’s cabinet and slid a rolling ladder into place to access it. It clunked, locked tight.

“What’s the combination to open this?” Theodore asked.

“You don’t know?!” Ella’s usual patience was replaced with irritation. “Didn’t you find a code or something to find that journal?”

Theodore knew his father wasn’t so stupid as to use a guessable date to lock up state secrets. He plugged his birthday in anyway. The lock sprang open and Theodore slapped his face in embarrassment. Inside was a deposit box of evidence and a box of case files. Confiscated weapons, illicit potions, contraband, among other things. Theodore fished out the most recent case, Lance’s last mission briefing, and brought it over to the reading table.

Lance.

Duke Ambergrail is the most recent to disappear. Family wants it kept under wraps until he’s retrieved, so his seat in parliament isn’t threatened. Like the others, this is a presumed kidnapping but there has yet to be any ransom. His relatives know to expect you and will give you full run of the estate to investigate. Please make this a priority.

Xavier Stonewall

The only piece of hard evidence in the file was wrapped in silk cloth. Theodore lifted it, and a single black raven’s tailfeather fell out.

“This is it.” Theodore turned it between his fingers. “I can use this in an aura tracker to find Whisper.”

Theodore felt Ella’s fingers slide across his shoulders.

“Incredible,” she said. Then, without so much as a grunt, she lifted Theodore off his feet and threw him across the table.

“Gah!!” Theodore landed face first onto the floor, and pushed himself onto his feet in a daze. He staggered back to see Ella smiling. She placed her folded glasses into a pocket as her face and hair melted away. A pallid, blank eyed mannequin stared at him now.

“You’ve no idea how long I’ve needed to find that feather.”

“You’re a doppelganger!” Theodore said, circling Ella at a distance.

She looked at her hands in pretend shock. “Really? Wow. They should have made you Knight Detective after all.”

Theodore made a break for the door, and found it locked. “Guards! Help! A fairy has gotten into the vault!”

She laughed at him. “No one can hear you, moron. First thing I did was throw up a silence spell.” She took the locket she wore around her neck and flicked it open. “Mistress, if you’ve a moment, this is Acorn Seven.” A voice answered, too low for Theodore to make out. “…I’ve secured your missing feather. I have the Ranger Deputy cornered. Requesting permission to eliminate.” Another inaudible reply. “Of course. Just have one of the others takes my spot here as Ella so no one suspects anything.”

‘Ella’ closed the locket with a smile. Her face rippled again, taking on a mirror image of Theodore’s own face. She squeezed the nose, frowning.

“Ugh. This is going to take some getting use to.” She said. “Hey, do me a favor and say something. I want to make sure I get your voice right before I kill you.”

“You’re a spy!” Theodore could not believe what he was seeing. “How did this happen? Imitating a public servant is against the law!”

“You’re a spy!” She deepened her voice. “No. Whinier than that.” She coughed and pitched her voice up. “You’re a spy! There. Perfect.”

“I don’t sound anything like that!” Theodore said and dodged out of the way as the doppelganger hurled the reading table at him. She ran towards him, a clone of himself wearing a manic grin. He sprinted away, and she gave chase.

“By all means, make this fun!” She said. “I could use a good fight after years in this boring, awful office job!”

Theodore choked back his disgust. “Working in the Bureaucracy Dome is an honor and privilege!”

She was closing in. There was nowhere to go. He was sealed into a rectangular room lined with vaults.

“We can talk about this!” Theodore shouted. “You don’t have to be wicked!”

She grabbed him by the hand. “Don’t think so. Gonna have too much fun being you.” She yanked him closer, almost off his feet.

There was no reasoning with her. Oboe wasn’t here to save him. He was going to die unless he took action to defend himself. For the first time in his life, he wondered what his father would do.

He already knew what his father would do. How many lessons had his father dragged him into? How many self-defense drills had he tried to forget? Theodore called on just one of them, and took hold of the fairy’s free hand and twisted her fingers and arm back. She let out a scream and released him.

The moment was all he needed. He jumped onto one of the rolling ladders. It slid down the length of the vault and banged into Lance’s open deposit box. He reached in and grabbed a confiscated sword from evidence.

His mind buzzed, trying to remember the rules. If there was one thing he was good at, it was remembering rules. He jumped off the ladder. Feet apart, a narrow stance pointed sideways toward his opponent. She came barreling towards him, enraged by his grappling trick.

“You think you can fight me?!”

Her momentum could be used against her. He stepped aside, kicking the back of her shins. She tripped. Before he realized what he was doing, before he could stop himself, he swung the sword and carved a red tear through the back of his doppelganger.

“Auggh!” She toppled onto the floor, blood running down her back. She turned, glaring at him with his own eyes, her teeth clenched. Something gave. Her face melted back to a blank canvas, and she slumped.

“What’s going on in there?!”

The silence spell must have failed with her defeat. The guards barged in, finding Theodore hyperventilating.

Ella was bleeding out on the floor. Theodore dropped his sword. What had he done?

“Don’t just stand there!” He shouted at them. “Find a medical kit!”

 Fife put a breakfast of breaded fish with grapes in front of Oboe. She felt queasy just looking at it.

“Don’t be shy,” her brother said. “You’re welcome to anything in my home.”

Most of the family had been busy after the reunion. Everyone had jobs or children to worry about. Fife had both, but had gone out of his way to make time for Oboe. They sat together on his patio in a pair of wicker chairs, watching his kids scream and wrestle in the yard.

Oboe forced herself to eat a grape. “You work with grandmother, right? Do you know a lot about her?”

“Less than you’d think.” Fife said. “I am only an envoy. When I do see the Fair Lady, she is aloof. Distant. I count it a blessing. It is dangerous to be close to her.”

Oboe stared at the limbs of the nearby trees. She wondered if any Whispers were nearby. Leaning toward her brother, she spoke in a hush. “I saw her hurt someone.”

Fife did not bat an eye. “Did you.”

“She made me bring her a sword made of suffering,” Oboe said. “She drove it right into a fairy. That poor fairy is going to be in pain every day forever now.”

“I see,” Fife said. “Then the Fair Lady sealed the curse again.”

“Huh?” Oboe stared at him, eyes widening as realization dawned on her. “You knew.”

Fife set his glass down. “Not officially, but it’s easy enough to pick up on these things in middle management. A human assassin came to the Circle years ago, and almost managed to kill Bassoon. She has taken… measures to make sure the spell does not work as intended.”

“You knew!” Oboe said again. “Those fairies are in pain! Why haven’t you done anything?!”

“Sister.” Fife had just the hint of a grimace. “A word of advice. Try not to think about it.”

“Don’t think about it?! What?? How am I supposed to do that?! What grandmother is doing is awful!”

Fife tore a handful of grapes off their stem, and popped one after another into his mouth. “You do not grow as old as the Fair Lady without a silver tongue and iron fangs. Spilt blood is the reality of the Fairy Circle. We must put up with it, or we wind up like father.”

“What do you mean?” Oboe said.

“He never had the teeth to serve Bassoon. He stopped following orders. So, she had him fired from his work. Forbid him from using his magic, left him with no way to gather Fates. …He won’t live much longer.”

Oboe sat up. “That’s why grandmother looks so much younger than him.”

“She has been with us since the War of the Devil King,” Fife said. “It is not natural for a fairy to live that long. I can’t imagine how many Fates she needs to sustain herself.” He rolled the last grape between his fingers, staring. “Enough that she must steer the course of history. She’s… terrifying.” He took a shaky breath. “You’ve really captured her attention. I’m not sure whether to be jealous or afraid for you. This is dangerous work. Keep your head down and do as she says, no matter how bad it gets.”

“Why?” She asked. “Why do you work for her if she scares you? If she makes you do things you don’t like?”

Fife broke eye contact. “I’m not proud of the work I do, but I won’t wind up like dad. I want a good life for me and my girls. I have to do whatever it takes.”

There was a loud crash that made him wince. He jumped to his feet.

“Oboe Diane Tworeed!” He said, raising his voice. “What did I tell you about throwing your sister?!”

The other Oboe stood over her dazed sibling, amid the debris of what used to be a very fancy wooden archway in the garden. “She started it!”

Fife covered his face. “I don’t care who started it! Go to your room!”

Under enormous protest, the children were banished to their respective bedrooms. Oboe helped her brother clean up the mess. She gathered the broken pieces of wood and felt a growing sense of unease. She hoped that seeing her family would make her feel better about what happened, but it was making it worse. “It bothers me that you don’t like what grandmother does, but you don’t want to do anything about it.”

Fife creased his brow. “It’s how things are. We can’t change it. You remember what it’s like to be nameless, don’t you? It’s taken me years to get where I am. Don’t forget what it’s like to have something to lose.”

The argument with Theo ate at the back of Oboe’s mind. He was so upset that his father had done something terrible. He wanted so bad to set things right. Even so, Fife was right. Oboe did have something to lose. The idea of losing her family again made her want to cry, but being told to forget what she had seen made her feel worse.

“Grandmother is wicked,” Oboe said. “We should do something. There should be consequences.”

Fife grabbed her by the shoulders, startling her. “Oboe. Don’t talk like that. Not here, not in front of any of your family. Creatures that cross the Fair Lady disappear! I won’t have you put yourself or any of us at risk, do you understand me?!”

Oboe pulled away. The fear in her brother’s eyes left her scared too. “Then… what am I supposed to do?”

“Nothing,” Fife said. “Do as you’re told. Don’t think about it. Stay safe.”

It was too late to save the doppelganger.

The knights had no idea where the first aid kit was, despite standard training protocol, despite Theodore’s shouting. It fell on him to find it himself. The knights ran off to alert their commander of what happened. By the time Theodore returned, the life had gone out of the creature he had known as Ella.

“A doppelganger? Here!?” Governor Farbend squeezed past the guards to reach the crime scene. “It’s true then. Mother’s mercy.”

Theodore slumped in a chair. There was a blur of knights on the periphery of his vision all moving and working. He watched the pool of blood creep farther and farther across the floor of the vault until sawdust was dumped to absorb it. Questions were asked. Forensics notes were taken. It all felt so distant, like it was happening in some far away country. He was staring at his hands when the governor shook him from his stupor.

“Look at me, lad!” The governor’s familiar calm was gone. “Tell me what happened!”

Theodore tried to speak, to focus, but felt like his mind was wading through molasses. “Your secretary. Ella, she… She was some sort of spy.”

Mr. Farbend looked at the lifeless, faceless body as it was wrapped in canvas and carried away. “I don’t believe this. I’ve known Ella for years.” His slack jaw tightened. “This is a massive security breach. Did it say who it was working for? Feymire? Korveil? What are we up against?!”

“I don’t know.” Theodore’s eyes felt sunken and dry. “I don’t know.”

Gregory Farbend heaved a frustrated sigh. “An easy answer is too much to hope for, I suppose. What happened?”

“I… I asked her to let me look at the records.” A lump choked his throat. “She attacked. I killed her.”

“Fine work. Your father would be proud.” The Governor patted Theodore on the back, crushing him. “Hopefully whatever secrets the creature stole died with it. We cannot allow an intelligence breach of this magnitude to go unchecked.”

Theodore nodded, trying not to break. He wasn’t allowed to sniffle. He pushed those feelings down and straightened his tie. There was a kingdom to think about.

“Ella was using her necklace to communicate with a superior,” Theodore said. “You should examine it.”

One of the knights flipped open the pendent. “Hello?”

The gemstone inside flashed red and exploded in the knight’s hand. He screamed as his arm was scorched black with burns. The man was lucky the medical kit was still at hand.

“You idiot!” Governor Farbend said, wringing his jowls with his hands. He pulled a Knight Captain aside. “I want a full sweep of all government agencies! Check all personnel with adder stones and weed out imposters.”

The Knight Captain grimaced. “We only have a couple of stones on hand.”

“I’ll have my secretary put in an order—” He caught himself. “Devil damn me. I still can’t believe this. No, I’ll draft the work order myself. The University will supply your men with the stones.”

“Yes sir,” the Captain said. “I’ll prepare a squad at once.”

The governor turned back to Theodore. “Thank you for bringing this to our attention, Grayweather. I’ll expect a full report. We need anything you can tell us about who might be behind this. The safety of Laien may be on the line.”

The feather was still on the reading table. A single black raven’s feather. Whisper’s feather. Theodore pushed himself out of his chair and picked it up, his breathing still shaky.

“I don’t know who’s behind this, but I know how to find out. Get me an aura tracker and I’ll have something major to report.”