13

Lost Wisdom

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Rhyparia stepped through the waterfall into a cavernous tunnel. She was joined by eight others: the agile fox, Atarax; the brawny wolf, Kakos; the docile honey badger, Biaza; the sly weasel, Moros; the gentlemanly rabbit, Therapif; Saikatto and Rayne, two of the original Jestivan; and Musku’s son, Prakriti.

Each of the craftmasters retrieved a torch from a wall and pressed forward with Atarax leading the way. Some of them carried bags on their back while others pulled wheeled containers behind them. Tarp covered each container, bound in such a way that its contents wouldn’t empty regardless of how it was handled. This was vital for the journey they were embarking on.

They walked in segmented groups, naturally forming as they saw fit. Rhyparia found herself next to Biaza and Moros.

Moros punched Rhyparia’s leg with his tiny fist. “Don’t get us killed in here, alright?”

Rhyparia glanced forward to the shirtless wolf walking next to Atarax. “I can’t make any promises for Kakos.”

Moros chuckled. “To be expected. He wasn’t part of my ‘us’ anyway.”

“You joke about this, Moros, but you understand the reality of death during such a journey,” Biaza said. It was always a surprise to hear her talk.

“I do.” He snickered. “Yet, as the oldest of the craftmasters, I have the right to joke about it. Clearly, I’m too elusive for something as silly as death.”

“That’s the biggest lie I’ve ever heard,” Biaza said.

Rhyparia looked down at the weasel, who was riding Biaza’s shoulders. “How old are you?”

“Six hundred and ...” He tilted his head with an exaggerated sense of wonder. “Biaza, help me out here.”

“Seven hundred and two, old man,” Biaza droned.

“Damn, I hit the eighth century?”

“Your dementia has set in.”

This shocked Rhyparia. She would have guessed Moros to have been the youngest of the craftmasters, simply based off the playful manner in which he carried himself. After some thought, however, it made a sort of sense. Moros was most comfortable with pushing Kakos’s buttons, and the wolf had never bothered retaliating during the time Rhyparia had known them.

“Why do you think I carry him everywhere?” Biaza asked.

“I don’t know. He seems to move around perfectly fine,” Rhyparia replied.

“He’s agile in spurts,” Biaza said. “But because he’s so ancient, his joints become inflamed.”

“That’s not all that’s inflamed,” the weasel declared, snickering to himself with a nefarious smirk.

Biaza gazed up with a bored look. “Don’t pay attention to his crass nature.”

That ended the conversation for Rhyparia. They reached the cave’s depths, and the eight of them gazed over the edge. It was impossible to see far into the darkness, but as a few of them extended torches over the abyss, withered roots and trees became visible nearby.

“Any bets on how long it takes before Rhyparia falters with her weaving and we fall to our deaths?” Kakos asked.

Rhyparia raised her foot and kicked him into the hole. The wolf’s howls grew distant, as did the sounds of snapping branches.

“What are you doing?” Prakriti balked, who had been quiet up to this point.

“Punishing a puppy,” Rhyparia said. Seconds later, Kakos levitated out of the shadows until he was placed back on land with the group. “You sound like a wounded dog,” she said.

Kakos snarled, but he had lost the ferocity.

“Just remember that if anyone falls to their death, it will be you,” Rhyparia said.

“Can we get on with this?” Atarax asked, seated on the edge alongside Rayne and Saikatto. They tended to be the most focused of the group.

Rhyparia made a slight adjustment to her umbrella and said, “It’s ready. Your legs shouldn’t feel like they’re dangling anymore.”

Rayne’s eyebrows rose. “You’re right ... and yet my upper body still feels normal gravity.”

“Because I only adjusted the gravity in the hole,” Rhyparia explained.

It took a few minutes for everybody to get comfortable with the idea of climbing into a bottomless hole. Despite the fact that they were clearly glued to the wall, it was still disorienting. This was a far cry from normal.

Once everyone gained their bearings, they proceeded onward. Atarax and Saikatto—the two swordsmen—led the way, hacking at decrepit underbrush to clear a path. Both were fast, their arms moving in a blur—in the case of Atarax, his tail included. Rayne held a torch with a sizable flame. Being the lone Passionian of the group, she served as the literal beacon to this journey. They would follow her light and use it to remain aware of their surroundings.

Trees were parallel with the ground; they had drooped toward the chasm’s depths after over a millennium of normal gravity pushing on them. It was a strange phenomenon. Rhyparia could gaze across the dead forest, her vision mostly unobstructed.

“I can make use of my ancient,” Prakriti said, falling in line behind Rhyparia. “Since this is the beginning of our journey, our energy stamina is far from being exhausted.”

“No point,” Rhyparia said. “While we have supplies in this first month, you must use your ancient as little as possible. Only use it for when the group sleeps. Once our supplies run low, you can start weaving more often. We’ll have a greater need for nature at that point.”

Prakriti fell silent, then said, “That’s fair. It’s just that this place is dark and depressing. It’s going to be a long couple of months.”

Rhyparia didn’t respond, electing to remain in her thoughts. Prakriti wasn’t wrong. They weren’t going to see the sun for—at the very least—sixty days. No matter how intensely Rayne weaved fire, it would never match the sky’s biggest star. Rhyparia could see why this would bother someone like Prakriti, who had spent his entire life in the beautiful village of Epinio. There was no shortage of green in its lush grass or weeping willows. And its lone river was the clearest source of natural water she had ever seen.

Rhyparia, on the other hand, had spent most of her life in the dumpster fire that was Olethros. Even her time spent at Phesaw was in the slums. No amount of time spent in Lilac Suites the past few years had made her forget what that was like. Those memories would stick with her forever; it was how she was raised. She was used to depressing.

She only wondered how much time would pass before reaching their first complication. The first couple weeks should operate smoothly, but beyond that was a guessing game. Nobody knew what this tunnel contained. Honestly, the story of Dimiourgos could have been an elaborate fairy tale. There might not be another side to this pit.

* * *

Himitsu, Fane, and Horos sat against a tree’s trunk in the outskirts of a small thicket. Trees were hard to come by in the Archaic Kingdom because of its scorching heat and frequent droughts, so they made do with what they could. The three assassins stared across a vast flatland to a bridge, the backdrop of Balle behind it. The setting sun cast the dead grass between them and the bridge in an even brighter gold. From this distance, it was difficult to distinguish the number of officers that occupied the bridge’s midpoint, but it was clear their forces were considerable. Several rode atop stallions and others ran in and out of wagons.

“Balle is the most secure city in this kingdom—even more so than Phelos,” Horos explained. “And not because of its guards, but rather its location. It has rivers to the east and west, and to the south those two rivers converge. The only area exposed to land is its northern border, but even that has Accus Canyon to ward off any intruders.”

“So we take advantage of the weakness, which is the guards,” Himitsu said. “And we’ll do that in some sort of inconspicuous way, I’m assuming.”

His father chuckled. “Of course. We’re assassins. Head-on confrontations are what we avoid.”

Fane hummed with thought. “What would be your plan, Himitsu?”

The Passion Jestivan twisted his lips. “Wait for nightfall; that is our specialty.”

“Good start,” Fane said.

“Move in the shadows of our flame until reaching the bridge ...” Himitsu paused. Their choices were limited. They could travel across the bridge under the cover of their flame, but the bridge was narrow, and the officers had a blockade stationed across its width. There was no sneaking past that. Surely, they’d be spotted and a battle would ensue.

“Look at those gears spinning,” Fane said to Horos with a grin. “Your son’s got his mother’s thinking face.”

“I’ll take that over her pissed face,” Horos said with a shiver. “Haunts my nightmares.”

Himitsu’s eyes slowly widened. “How firm are your grips? How strong are your arms?” he asked.

“Ah, that’s my son!” Horos exclaimed in a mighty whisper. “Stupid question because obviously assassins are gifted climbers—we scale buildings for a living. However, I can tell you’re on the right track.”

“We’ll approach the riverbank several hundred paces away from the bridge while obscured by flame,” Himitsu explained. “We’ll use normal assassin flames to hide us—not your special ones, Dad. Those would suck the light from the bridge’s torches, which would alert the officers. We’ll follow the bank to the bridge, taking advantage of the ridge that forms underneath it. Once under the onboarding ramp, we’ll climb the supports. Then we’ll traverse the bridge from underneath, hanging above the river.”

Horos pat his son’s shoulder. “Sounds like the perfect strategy.”

“Sounds like fun, too,” Fane added.

Himitsu nodded. “Luckily, the thing is made of rickety wood like pretty much everything in this kingdom. If it were stone, we’d be screwed.”

Hours later, after the sun had set, the three assassins shifted their position in the thicket to better suit their desired path. They wanted to put as much distance between them and the bridge as possible. It wasn’t until the torches on the bridge became like flickering stars in the sky that they were satisfied.

“You do the honors, son,” Horos said, gesturing toward the open field.

That meant Himitsu was in charge of weaving during their sprint. The pressure was on him to keep the group concealed. He exhaled slowly, then said, “Let’s go.”

They broke away from the trees, picking up their knees to power their way through the tall grass. Himitsu slowed in order to focus on weaving fire around them, but he was surprised to realize that he still ran faster than both Fane and Horos. He gazed back, extending his trail of fire behind him to match the pace of the older men.

Before he knew it, he was sliding down the ridge and onto the safety of the bank, his heart pounding inside his chest. Horos and Fane joined him moments later.

As the two men wheezed, Himitsu stared at them with an amused smile. Although unnecessary, a wall of black flames continued to mask them from the bridge. Nobody atop would have been able to spot them without approaching the rail and looking at a downward angle.

“You’re old,” Himitsu said. “I don’t remember this reaction when we fled Phelos Palace during the uprising, Rim, or the Dev teleplatforms ...” He paused with a frown. “Come to think of it, we do a lot of fleeing for our lives.”

Fane finally looked up. “I don’t recall you ever running that fast. What was that?”

Himitsu snickered. “That’s right. I forgot that all the speed percentage training I’ve done with Bryson and the rest of the Jestivan isn’t normal for non-Adrenians.”

“Bryson?” Horos said. “He taught you to run like that?”

Himitsu nodded, then gazed down at his hip. He grabbed a handle and partly unsheathed his sword. “With the help of Toshik,” he muttered.

“That speed will come in handy one day,” Horos said, straightening up and gazing underneath the bridge. “But let’s get going before we’re spotted.”

They followed the river’s edge for only a minute before entering the shadowy underpass. Their boots slopped in mud; the ground there hadn’t seen much sun throughout the day.

“Such a pain in the ass,” Fane whispered, looking down at his boots.

Horos sloshed toward a wooden support beam and grasped onto it. He jostled it to determine its strength. “Not bad,” he said. “But yes, we’re going to have to ditch the boots.”

“We’re doing this barefoot?” Himitsu asked.

“You didn’t think we’d be hanging from a bridge in boots, did you?” his father asked while digging into his travel sack. “Here ...” He withdrew a pair of flimsy shoes and tossed them at Himitsu. “That’s the footwear of assassins when scaling buildings.”

The Jestivan studied them, flipping them over between his fingers. He bent and twisted them with an eyebrow cocked.

“Good idea, son,” Horos said. “Break those bad boys in.”

Fane cracked a grin, placing his own boots off to the side before slipping on his special shoes. “That boy has no clue what he’s doing.”

“We’ll give him the benefit of the doubt,” Horos said.

After staring at them for a long moment, Himisu finally flexed his feet into them, not allowing them to land in the mud. That would have sacrificed traction—a vital aspect of this maneuver.

Once he pulled himself up, each of the assassins stood with their heads bowed over, wary of the bridge directly above. Horos craned his neck, his eyes gliding from just above to the opposite bank. Slivers of moonlight peeked through the wooden planks, just big enough for fingers to slip through.

“Don’t use the planks to maneuver,” Fane said. “We cannot risk the officers spotting any fingers through the floorboards.” He pointed at three wooden beams that stretched along the length of the bridge—one on each side and one in the middle—acting as the structure’s spines. “We’ll shuffle across those. I’ll take the middle since it’s trickier. Horos take the left and Himitsu the right.”

They resituated themselves into position. Horos had to leap for a beam, where he hung for a second before swinging to another nook. He turned toward his fellow assassins and nodded, signaling to begin.

Himitsu reached up and grabbed his pole, using his core to swing his legs up and around it, too. He hugged the beam tightly. A tactic such as this was daunting. Slowly, he began shuffling along, letting his head hang back to see where he was going. It was an uncomfortable position—especially for his neck. Along the way he made the mistake of looking down. While it wasn’t a high bridge, just knowing he was this far out over a powerful body of water was unnerving.

He reached the crest of the bridge’s subtle arch. Activity thrummed from above. The planks creaked as officers lazily waltzed around. Conversation and laughter trickled down. The beam reverberated against Himitsu’s forearms whenever a few horses would trot one way or another. He hadn’t noticed it until he glanced ahead to Fane and Horos, but he had become deathly still. The two men were well ahead of him, on their way down to the opposite bank, while he was sweating through his cloak. It took a force of will, but he eventually unglued himself and continued on.

“Not bad,” Fane said.

Himitsu plopped in the mud, crinkling his nose in disgust as he gazed at the hems of his trousers.

“You may have us old men beat on the ground,” Horos said, “but you still got some things to learn when operating with your hands.”

They continued their journey, mimicking their route from across the river. They followed the bank, using flame as cover. This time they walked farther, waiting until the bridge’s torches were no longer distinguishable.

“Where is the navy?” Himitsu asked. “Shouldn’t they be patrolling the river for unauthorized vessels trying to enter Balle?”

“No, because this is the lesser of two rivers,” Fane said.

Himitsu glanced back as they climbed a slope, the dirt becoming grass as they put distance between them and the river. “That’s the lesser one?”

Fane nodded. “Yes. If we had approached from the east, this process would have been a lot more difficult. It’s not only the navy that blankets the main river, but merchant galleons and aristocratic vessels. It’s nothing like the Gulf of Sodai in the Spirit Kingdom, but it’s far from your standard port, especially now that Toth Brench has made it his business’s home.”

Himitsu’s gaze shifted to the building looming over the city in the distance, likely nestled against the far river. “What was it before Toth took it over?” he asked.

“Nothing but a mansion for noblemen who liked to call themselves politicians,” Horos said. “But as you know, in a kingdom like this, there is no need for such positions—the royal head directs everything unchecked.”

They traveled unopposed. Nobody stood guard on the distant roads. Before long, they were traveling through a significant expanse of rural farmland. Perhaps the river provided proper irrigation for the area.

They reached a section of dirt road with a building on each side. A two-story cabin stood to the left. In the tarp-covered dirt yard out front was an anvil atop a stone slab and a table covered in all kinds of tools. An ash-dusted stone furnace rested off to the side.

The three assassins turned right toward the opposite building. It held the same number of floors but had more square footage. Fane walked in while Himitsu and Horos remained outside, waiting until Fane ushered them inside. They couldn’t risk being recognized by anyone of importance, which made Fane the ideal scout. He didn’t have the same reputation as the two Vevlu men, so someone identifying him was unlikely.

He poked his head back out the door. “It’s clear.”

They followed him inside into a small bar. Six tables crowded the space. The bar was long enough to only seat four. A young man stood behind the counter, wiping down its surface with a rag. “What would you like to drink, gentlemen?”

The three of them picked a stool and sat down. “A glass of water,” Horos said.

Himitsu glanced at his father, knowing what game he was playing at. He was trying to refrain from drinking alcohol with Himitsu around—a sign of support. Horos didn’t return his gaze, trying to make his gesture seem like nothing.

“Water,” Himitsu mumbled.

“The darkest whiskey you got,” Fane said with some gusto.

The barman grinned, turning to prepare the drinks. Horos spun in his seat and scanned their surroundings. It wasn’t only empty, but eerily quiet. “Get any business out here?”

“Not much,” the barman said. “We only have four rooms, two of which are occupied permanently by family. The other two we rent out, but they stay vacant for the most part. We don’t get many wanderers—especially during these times.”

Horos whirled as two glasses of water were placed in front of him and Himitsu. “Difficult to travel under the new regime, eh?” Horos asked.

“I didn’t travel much anyway. Everything I need surrounds this building. But yes, things are a little tense after news from Phelos reached Balle.”

“How do you feel about it?”

The barman slung a glass of whiskey down the countertop toward Fane, who caught it with an outstretched hand. “I reckon I feel okay,” the man replied. “You’ve seen that big building in the distance?”

Horos nodded. “Yea, King Brench’s new estate.”

The barman wagged a finger at Horos as he leaned against a barrel behind the counter. “It’s going to make us a lot of money.”

“Is that so?” Fane asked, smacking his lips after a quick sip of his drink.

Horos, too, expressed his doubts. “I hear there are naval fleets from the other four Light Realm kingdoms stationed at the Archaic River’s connector into the Sea of Light. How can the king conduct trades when he can’t even escape this corner of the world?”

“They’ll find a way,” the man said. “Or at least I hope so. I don’t want my kingdom to suffer any longer than it already has under previous leadership.”

“The Amendment Order?” Himitsu asked.

The man headed to a bucket, grabbed the rag from his shoulder, and wrung it out into the pale. “Meh. What happened wasn’t their fault. I feel as if that ordeal was an unfortunate misunderstanding, and it’s hard to tell who was right. Everyone thought they knew which way the kingdom should have been headed, but none could agree. And each of them committed atrocities.” He bent over to tie a bag of flour closed. “Grandarion, Ophala, and Rosel allowed Rhyparia’s escape. Then Wert and King Toth formed an uprising.”

Horos chuckled, but Himitsu could hear the false nature of it. “Seems like apples to oranges.”

“Maybe,” the man said. “After all, who knows if Rhyparia is actually guilty or not? The point is that this kingdom truly began its demise when Dolomarpos came into power. Then Itta continued the destruction in his own special way.”

“You know your stuff,” Horos said. He took a swig of his water, making a face after swallowing it.

“You don’t have to drink that, Dad,” Himitsu whispered, only to be rewarded with a swift punch to his shoulder.

“Shut up,” Horos said.

“Where are you three from anyway?” the man asked.

“A small village in the footholds of the Bliss Peaks,” Fane said. “You won’t find it on a map.”

The man chuckled. “This kingdom is full of those kinds of places. I’m guessing the population doesn’t break fifty people.”

Fane grinned. “Thirty-seven,” he said, raising his glass with a nod.

The man’s eyes softened, as if his mind had drifted far away from the present. “I miss my home. Wasn’t exactly the cleanest of places, but it was special.”

“And where was that?” Horos asked, getting up from his stool.

The barman paused as he stared at the floor. Eventually, his eyes lifted toward them. “Olethros.”

* * *

The three assassins were granted stay in the tavern for a few nights. As expected, it cost them little for such a place, but Fane had given the barman a considerable tip. Fane had already disappeared into his room when the Vevlu men had entered their own, electing to share the final room.

Himitsu plopped into his bed with a sigh, his limbs outstretched toward each post. “Poor guy.”

Horos gazed around the room, but there wasn’t much to look at. It was a compact square with two twin-sized beds shoved against the two side walls. There were no tables or wardrobes, not even a candle—just an overturned barrel crammed between the two beds to serve as a nightstand.

Himitsu sat up. “Wait, where’s the bathroom?”

Horos pointed toward the room’s corner, and Himitsu’s stomach churned. “A bucket?”

Horos chuckled, sinking into his own bed. “It’s better if you just go outside and relieve yourself.”

“What am I supposed to do with a bucket anyway?” Himitsu asked.

“You do your business and then toss its contents out the window.”

Disgust twisted its way onto Himitsu’s face. His dad keeled over laughing, the side of his head plopping into a pillow. “You’ve never known such a life, son. Be thankful for that.”

After a few more laughs, they turned in for the night. Tomorrow would be a long day.

* * *

The following morning, Himitsu, Horos, and Fane made their way to the childhood home of Agnos and Toono. They had asked the barman before they left if he knew of any orphanages in the city. He responded with two words: Lost Wisdom. He didn’t know its exact location within the city, but he said he’d heard that a boy once lived there before transforming into the monster known to the world today: the Rogue Demon.

After asking around the city, they had finally found their destination. The establishment occupied its own block and stood at an impressive three stories. It even had a gated yard that enwrapped it—albeit, not very large, but still a jarring sight in such a congested sector of the city.

“It looks like Agnos and Toono lived lavish,” Himitsu said.

“Don’t judge a book by its cover,” Fane replied. “Something so alluring in a location such as this screams of deceit. It’s definitely a façade.”

Horos nodded in agreement before crossing the gravel street and climbing the front steps. “They’re overcompensating for something,” he said.

They stepped through the open front doors and walked across a quaint lobby carpeted in beige. As they approached the front counter, Horos said, “We’re looking to adopt.”

The secretary’s green eyes scanned over the three men before asking, “All three of you?”

“Oh, no,” Horos said. He pointed his thumb toward Fane. “Just me and him.”

The secretary smiled. “Oh, I see. This other one is your—”

“My biological son,” Fane said. As the clerk’s eyebrow rose, Fane elaborated, “Back when I wasn’t sure what I was.” He glanced at Himitsu, who was trying not to break character. “I’m not sure how I managed it. I definitely wasn’t sober.” Fane looked toward the clerk again. “Accidents happen, I suppose.”

Horos playfully elbowed Fane in the ribs. “And look at you now. You got a son and a man.”

Fane sighed. “I do feel bad for Bertha, though. She probably should have gotten the boy.”

“How is she doing by the way?” Horos asked.

“Oh, she’s dead.”

Himitsu slapped his hand on the counter, interrupting their banter before they burst into laughter. “Okay, how do they go about this?” Himitsu asked.

The secretary began gathering parchment from a drawer to his right. Horos smacked Himitsu’s shoulder and chuckled. “Always getting right down to business.”

“That’s our boy,” Fane said.

They returned to a sitting area in the lobby’s corner, where Fane scribbled over some parchment, filling it with fake information about him and Horos.

“You two were a little too comfortable in those roles,” Himitsu said.

“All in good fun,” Horos said, running a finger across the scar on his cheek.

They waited for what felt like an hour before an older woman with ivory hair pulled them away from the lobby and led them down a side hall. Here the floor became polished wood. As they walked, the lady said, “It’s not typical that clients ask to see the older children—especially teenagers. We always grow excited when that rare occasion presents itself.”

“And why is that?” Horos asked.

“People want young minds—those that can still be molded and nurtured. The teenagers are who they are, or at least that’s what the clients believe. And in most cases, these teens have been orphans since they were born.”

Himitsu thought about Agnos. “That’s a long time to be parentless.”

“Yes, it is,” the lady said. “Hopefully, today someone will finally have a proper home.”

A twinge of guilt rushed through Himitsu. They weren’t here to actually adopt anyone. They’d be giving these orphans false hope. The guilt grew as they passed different rooms filled with children. He peeked in on some kids having lessons, others playing in activity rooms, and a few in the library.

They eventually reached a door at the end of the hall. Before opening it, she turned with her back pressed against it. “Fair warning; some can be hostile. We ask that you don’t do anything that would alarm them.”

Himitsu’s eyes narrowed. “Are we in an orphanage or a zoo?”

She ignored his wise remark and turned to open the door. They stepped inside an assembly hall as big as those seen in Phesaw’s main building, but not nearly as orderly. A buzz of white noise filled the hall. The wooden floorboards weren’t polished or treated at all, the drywall’s paint was chipped or completely missing from certain areas, and the dozen-or-so tables that ran across the hall’s width were littered with trash. It was hard to imagine that his room sat in such a luxurious building.

The orphans were chaotic. They sat on tables, chased each other between benches, and screamed at each other. Some seemed to have a more sensible state of mind, as they sat at the tables like normal people, bowing over their plate of food.

“Well, take your pick of who to speak to!” the woman shouted over the din. “We don’t perform routine interviews when it comes to the teens. All investigative work is on you and must be carried out in here.”

“So we just walk around and pick and choose who we want to talk to?” Horos asked.

“Yes! I’ll be standing right here, observing. You have one hour!”

The three assassins split up to cover more ground. As Himitsu combed the area for potential prospects, something slimy hit his face. He peeled it off and saw that it was a pickle. Looking in the direction it had come from, he saw a group of boys—no older than fourteen—snickering in a huddle. Shaking his head, he ignored them. He’d leave them to his dad or Fane.

Himitsu had questioned a few kids, but gathered nothing valuable from their discussions. After spotting a young woman hunched over a book, he decided to approach her. She seemed studious, responsible and, most importantly, distant from the lunacy of this place. He took a seat on the floor next to her, groaning as he placed the back of his head against the wall. She tilted her head slightly, a single strand of silvery bangs swinging in front of her hazel eyes.

Himitsu hesitated, then regathered his thoughts. “Hey.”

“You’re new,” she said before refocusing on her book and turning a page.

“Oh, I’m not ...” He trailed off, not knowing how to phrase it. “I don’t live ... I’m just—”

“I get it,” she said. “So who are you, then? You’re too young to be adopting—especially someone of my age. You could be my sibling.”

Himitsu paused, staring at the side of her tanned face—her freckles only a slightly darker shade than her skin. She had tucked her stray strands of hair behind her ear again. The rest was tied back in a messy bun that frayed loosely like the leaves of a palm tree. She glanced at him, and he quickly turned away, feeling heat rush into his face.

“You should leave,” she said.

“I’m sorry,” he replied, turning his head to hide the red in his face. “I’m just waiting for my dads to finish this whole process.”

“Your purpose isn’t adoption, nor is it your dads’.” She licked her finger, grabbed a sheet’s corner from the book, and ripped it out. “So many false facts in these textbooks.”

“What do you mean?”

“About the false facts?”

“The other thing.”

She crumpled the page and tossed it to the side. “You have an alternative purpose here,” she explained. She gazed up toward the rest of the hall and said, “Your ‘dads’—” she signaled quotes with her fingers “—are better at masking it, but you ... you reek of deceit ... and lust.”

“What?” Himitsu said, his neck becoming unbearably hot. She never looked at him fully—just an occasional glance from the corner of her left eye.

“So tell me,” she said. “What is it that you’re truly here for?”

Himitsu knew how to pick out the best of them. He smirked and shook his head. “Information.”

“And you came to me—the obvious outcast with her head in a book—to find it.”

“Doesn’t sound quite that great when you put it that way,” he muttered.

“It’s good intuition,” she said, her head dropping back toward the book. “The silent ones tend to absorb the most information. I listen much more than I speak.”

He caught himself staring at her sleek silver hair again. “I don’t know how you’re an outcast.”

“What is it you want to know?” she asked, retrieving a quill from an ink bottle to revise a block of text in her book.

“Your name.”

“Kaylee, and I don’t need to know yours.”

He paused, then asked, “How familiar are you with this establishment’s elders?”

“I know them all very well, and I could know them better if I so chose.”

He didn’t bother with the peculiarity of her answer. Instead, he said, “I need the names of any adults who worked here eleven years ago.”

“Tell me why and I’ll think about telling you.”

“I’m trying to find anyone who had connections with Toono when he was a child.”

Kaylee slammed her book shut, gathered her belongings, and pushed herself off the floor. “Come back tomorrow,” she said, her back turned to Himitsu. “Request an adoption meeting with me, but make sure to offer a large sum of cash. That’s the only way they’d allow such an arrangement for someone of my age.”

As she walked across the hall and through the crowd, the orphans split apart and stared at her. It didn’t seem to be fear that made them react in such a way, but disgust. Himitsu couldn’t see it. She was beautiful.