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Chapter Text

Corentin is in the middle of a rather scintillating read on the current make and chemical composition of House Wolffort’s martial weapons. He scribbles ideas for himself to look at later on a bundle of parchment scraps, brow furrowed, as he contemplates what the tensile strength of such a weapon might be if it were made entirely of ice instead of metal—

He jumps half a foot in the air as someone taps his shoulder. “What?!”

“Sorry,” says Erador jovially, “but I can’t believe ya didn’t notice me. I musta called yer name around a dozen times.” He jerks a thumb out at the door. “Lord Serenoa’s askin’ fer ya.”

“He is?” Corentin blinks. “Why?”

“Dunno, really. You’d better go now, though. Seemed important.”

“Hmph.” Corentin shoots the door a glare, as if it could rescind his new lord’s summon. But alas, the door remains inert, and Corentin regretfully shuts his book, leaving a small bit of parchment in the place he last stopped. He stares at the book forlornly. Hopefully no one disturbs it, or his notes…

Geela, who had been reading something else in a chair across the room, smiles indulgently. “I’ll guard your notes with my life, Corentin.”

“Thank you, Geela.”

Erador smirks. “And I’ll come with ya t’ see Lord Serenoa! Maybe we can all head out fer some drinks again once yer done— that is, if you can stay upright this time!”

Corentin flushes at the memory, nearly as red as he had been when the alcohol hit him back then. “Not all of us have such... sturdy constitutions,” he mutters weakly, and storms out of the library accompanied by the fading chuckles of the Aesfrosti healer and the good-natured booming laughter of his companion.

The hallways of Castle Wolffort are finely decorated; plush carpet rolled out along the floors and dark wooden carvings in the shapes of beasts— heavily featuring, of course, the namesake wolf. Corentin and Erador pass by Jens in the hall, who seems to be eyeing one of those carvings.

“Hey, Corentin, Erador. Well met!”

“Ah. Jens. Hello.”

“Jens! Good ta see you!”

The blacksmith smiles. “Can you believe these carvings? Whoever made them was talented beyond measure!”

“Sure was!” Erador beams. “I’ve been told it was onna the old Lords of House Wolffort who carved ‘em all by himself. What was ‘is name again…”

Corentin taps his chin thoughtfully. “I recall the maker being listed in House Wolffort’s library. Lord Sameth Wolffort, I believe?”

“Right you are!” Erador slaps Corentin on the back as he laughs, hard enough to make Corentin stumble forward a few steps. Corentin glares, but Erador simply grins, oblivious. “You’ve a mind like a steel trap an' a body like a willow, don’cha?”

“Whereas you seem to be a rather dense block of iron all over,” Corentin mutters, rubbing his back.

Jens is already turning away, looking thoughtful. “Lord Sameth Wolffort, is it? I’ll have to take a jaunt to the library, then— see if he wrote down any of his techniques.” He starts off, but stops for a second. “By the way, Corentin– Lord Serenoa was asking for you.”

“I’ve heard,” Corentin says drily.

Jens shrugs. “I think he said someone from Hyzante was here? I don’t know much, but Benedict seemed rather incensed.”

“Hyzante?” Corentin’s frown deepens. He glances at Erador, who shakes his head, puzzled. “I ain’t got a clue. Hughette only said ta call you over.”

They quicken their pace until they’re nearly at the door to Lord Serenoa’s drawing room. Corentin frowns. A visitor from Hyzante? Have they come to visit him? Or have they some other, more nefarious purpose—

“Corentin!” It’s Benedict, this time, who Corentin rather respects, and Anna is by his side as ever. The older man, however, is in no pleasant mood— he’s furious, veins throbbing in his forehead as he works to unclench his jaw enough to speak.

“…Benedict?” Erador ventures, frowning as he takes in his old friend’s agitated state.

“Is something wrong—” Corentin begins, but he’s interrupted by Anna’s quick footsteps moving to stand behind him, and Benedict himself, saying—

“We have reason to believe a spy from Hyzante was plotting to poison Lord Serenoa. What’s more, they asked after you to vouch for them.”

And before Corentin can even start determining how he’s going to react to that, Anna ties Corentin’s hands behind his back.

Corentin freezes. Alarm courses through his arteries until his blood feels like ice, sublimating to vapor at the edges under the force of Benedict’s thousand-sun stare.

“Whoa– hey!” Erador interjects, a little belatedly, as Anna secures the knots on Corentin’s wrists. “What’s goin’ on here? Corentin didn’t do anything wrong, did he?”

“He’s complicit by association until proven innocent, Erador,” Benedict says through gritted teeth. “Step away.”

“What in the blazes…” Erador doesn’t move away, but he doesn’t step in to help, either.

Benedict turns to Corentin. “Will you submit without resisting?”

Corentin’s mind whirls. What else can he do? His fate lies in their hands, and in the hands of whatever damned spy decided to come for the life of the Lord of Wolffort. Why now? Why must this happen just when Corentin finally found a Lord willing to sponsor his magic research freely, to let him study what he likes?

The people of House Wolffort were almost his friends.

Corentin looks Benedict in the eyes, trying to project honesty. “I am innocent, Benedict, so I will submit. And I promise to do all in my power to clear my name.”

Erador lets out a breath. Benedict’s glare softens, just a bit.

Anna’s voice behind him is quiet and measured. “I agree that we should be cautious, Benedict, but… I investigated Corentin thoroughly before and after he joined. I don’t think he has a part in this.”

“I see.” Benedict sighs, pushing his glasses tiredly up onto the bridge of his nose with one finger. “Honestly, Corentin, I believe you. You’ve handled yourself well in battle so far— and you were invaluable in the escape from Whiteholm yesterday evening. Still, I’d rather keep you like this for now. Just a precaution, you understand?”

Corentin rubs his wrists uncomfortably against the rope at his back, but he nods— he does understand. Hyzante would have done worse to a suspected spy. Much worse.

“And Corentin, if you could identify the spy for us— if you could tell us anything you know… Well. I don’t need to make it clear that it would go a long way towards clearing your name completely.”

From the depths of Corentin’s mind, a theory emerges— a possibility that would explain all of this. There’s only one woman in Hyzante that he knows is a spy; one woman who specializes in poison. 

He has no idea why Milo is targeting Lord Serenoa now, but if Corentin is asked to give her up…

It hurts, almost physically, to betray Minister Lyla like this after everything she has done for him. But the rest of the Seven have never even registered on Corentin’s radar, and if he has to make a choice between his own death and that of Milo, spy for the oligarchy of Hyzante… well, that’s no choice at all, is it?

Corentin glances at Erador, who still looks worried. Everyone here has treated him well. Experimenting with the differences between fire and ice magic in Lady Frederica's— a Rosellan’s!— study, comparing notes on weaponry with Jens, chatting with Geela about healing methods in the library, even that one time he went out for drinks with Erador— It's been a culture shock like no other, yet one he somehow already cherishes. He won't let it go so easily, not when the promise of so much more lurks just beyond the corner.

“Of course,” Corentin replies simply. “I’ll tell you everything I know.”

“Alright,” says Benedict with a loud exhale. “Follow me.”

Corentin is led to the Wolffort Castle atrium, a large hall with balconies on either side overlooking the brightly-lit entryway. Multiple figures wait in the room: Lady Frederica and Lord Serenoa, who are conversing in whispers; Prince Roland, digging through a large satchel; and Hughette off to the side, staring almost unblinkingly at the woman kneeling in the center with her hands tied behind her back.

Corentin follows Benedict down the stairs, guarded closely by Erador and Anna. The kneeling woman looks up at him, tears streaming down her face.

“Why are you here, Mi–” Corentin begins, before the true identity of the figure registers.

Wait. What?

Her?

“Researcher Corentin?” the girl asks tremulously from the floor, and Corentin’s theories and plans are thrown into disarray as he blurts out the accused assassin’s highly improbable— no, outright impossible— identity.

“Medina!?”

Chapter Text

An hour ago

Medina readjusts her satchel as she marches across the grassy plains outside Glenbrook.

She marches with purpose, now. Ever since that day… the sounds of his death have continued to echo in her mind. The rasping breaths, the choked coughs. The cacophony of illness that consumed that poor man until he perished, alone, with Medina so close beside him but powerless to help.

She’d never even known his name.

“He’s a Rosellan,” Minister Lyla had said. “The other one deserves attention first.”

And Medina had complied, treating the other patient and leaving the young man with the pink hair to die. How she regrets it, when she knows she could have saved both of them if only she’d had the courage to stand up to Minister Lyla; to defend what she knew was right.

Even now, she knows she doesn’t yet possess that courage. But neither does she have the patience to withstand such blatant mistreatment. She began her studies with the Ministry of Medicine to help people. And if she can’t do that in the Ministry, then… she’ll go somewhere she can.

Medina still remembers that strange Lord of Wolffort; the man who waltzed into Hyzante with a Rosellan fianceé on his arm and the second Prince of Glenbrook at his back. He and his entourage had rather openly expressed their thoughts on the nation’s inherent inequality. They came in and blew out like a desert storm, and though no one has been able to prove anything, Medina suspects they took Researcher Corentin with them.

Hence Medina’s hopes. If this Lord of Wolffort could accept a Rosellan as a wife and also accept a Hyzantian researcher as a vassal, then Medina has a chance. Maybe— and it is heresy to think so, yet she still allows the thought to cross her mind— maybe Corentin was right to leave.

She hitches a ride with a traveling caravan into Wolffort, then hikes inward towards the castle walls on a secluded ridged path. The harsh canyon winds kick dust up into the air and onto her tied-off white pant legs and leather tabard. She’s given up trying to keep herself clean.

As she treks up beside the stone fortress and turns around, the angle of the cliffs give way to open plains, and Medina’s mouth falls open. An entire army is pitched in tents out front before the Gates of Wolffort. At first, she assumes this is the might of Wolffort, gathered to oppose some unseen force. But further investigation reveals otherwise. The soldiers by the tents display arms and sigils of proud, bold red, and the banner of Aesfrost flutters high above their heads as they march in drill formations.

It is only then that Medina realizes: Castle Wolffort is under siege, and she is walking nonchalantly not through an open field, but through the battleground upon which a war might at any moment occur.

Medina shivers, and makes to retreat before she’s seen— but it’s too late. Within minutes, a large hawk is screeching in the air above her. She shrieks and dives for cover as the hawk swoops down– but it does not rip her to shreds, merely lands on a nearby stone protrusion. From atop the hawk’s back, a severe-looking woman gazes down at Medina.

“Who are you?”

“W-what? Oh.” A flash of recognition strikes. “You!”

It’s the hawk rider woman. She’d been there at the battle against Researcher Plinius in the Ministry. Corentin had fought alongside her. Medina had even seen the woman’s prowess herself from the windows of the tavern where she had holed up during the fight. Arrows flew like lighting bolts from the hawk rider’s deft hands, striking fear and death into the hearts of her opponents. She was— and surely still is— a force to be reckoned with.

The hawk rider lets out a sharp whistle; her mount backs up a step. The woman nocks an arrow to her bow and repeats herself, the edge of her voice sharper even than her weapon.

“Who. Are. You.”

Medina scrambles to answer. “Right, sorry! I’m Medina! I’m a student from the Ministry of Medicine of Hyzante– I’ve come to volunteer for–”

“A likely story.” Hughette scoffs, but the arrowhead hovering in front of Medina’s face lowers just a fraction. “Prove it.”

Medina had come prepared for this. “Um, okay. Let’s see...” Papers rustle and bottles clink as she sifts through the various odds and ends she keeps in her apothecary satchel. Eventually, she pulls out her documents and hands them to the lady on the hawk, who scans them with a glare matching that of her animal companion. The hawk is rather intimidating all on its own, honestly. Medina tries giving it a nervous wave. It flaps its wings sharply once, and Medina scampers backwards, letting out an unfortunately high-pitched squeak.

The hawk woman’s gaze leaves the documents in her hand. “Papers can be forged,” the lady says, eventually, and Medina’s heart sinks. She draws in a deep breath; gets ready to beg for entrance, or even for survival, but is distracted by—

“Oh, wait!” Medina exclaims. “You’re hurt!”

The hawk rider frowns so deep her thin, sharp eyebrows nearly touch. “Excuse me?”

Medina raises her eyebrows, unintentionally adopting the chastising persona she wore so often as a student nurse. “You’re hurt— what, seriously? You didn’t see it? Look at your right leg! On the side, near your thigh— oh, it’s infected; might even be poisoned, I can’t believe you haven’t treated it yet!”

The woman’s expression morphs into confusion as she checks the bleeding gash on her leg. “Well. So it is. I didn’t notice.”

Medina nods sagely, forcing herself to feel more comfortable in her role as she speaks. “Just got out of a battle, did you? Adrenaline can keep you going through more pain than you might think. Still, if the enemy has used poisoned weapons, that’s less of a good thing than it might be.” She rummages in her satchel. “Here, take this for the pain. And this for the potential infection– I do believe it’s poison, so you’d want to get that healed as fast as possible.”

The hawk rider eyes the health and poison recovery pellets with a general dose of suspicion. She sniffs them, then holds them to her hawk to sniff as well– Medina wasn’t aware that hawks had a sense of smell, but she’s not about to question the woman that has her at bow point. The health pellet, seemingly having passed some sort of check, is deemed safe, and the hawk rider murmurs a quick prayer and swallows the health pellet. Her wound, which had been bleeding sluggishly, begins to close over in seconds, healing itself at many times the normal speed. The green tinge around it remains, but the wound has nearly vanished.

The hawk rider raises her eyebrows and gingerly moves her leg, then moves it again, faster. “That pellet– what did you put in it? It’s… strong.”

Medina grins. Her work is as good as ever. “Nothing different, really! I just made these pellets on my own, and I’m the best of the best at chemical refinement. Even Minister Lyla says so.”

“Hm. You do seem to be an actual researcher from Hyzante. And we have no quarrel with the Seven at the moment.” The hawk woman seems to ponder this for a moment. “And you want an audience with Lord Serenoa?”

“Yes!”

“I can’t verify the contents of this… poison recovery pellet… yet. It doesn’t quite seem like the ones Lionel sells.”

“That’s ‘cause I made it myself too! Extra effective, I promise.”

“Hm.”

The pondering continues. Medina thinks it might be time for one final gambit. She doesn’t know for sure that this is where he went, nor if they truly accepted him, but…. “Listen, if you have any doubts, please, ask Researcher Corentin. He’ll vouch for me.”

The hawk rider gazes at her for a long moment. Medina isn’t sure what exactly is going through the woman’s mind, but she palms Medina’s poison recovery pellet and gestures to her. “I won’t promise anything. Still, come with me.”

Medina gulps. That’s a good sign, isn’t it? She gingerly climbs onto the hawk, and they make their way towards the castle.

Present

“Medina!?” Corentin gasps, and stops dead in his tracks. 

Unfortunately, this causes Erador to bump into him and knock him off balance. Corentin tips forward with a shout, unable to right himself with his arms tied behind his back. For a second, he’s in freefall, and the ground rushes up to meet him. But Erador lunges to catch him, and Anna is there in a flash to stop him from overbalancing, pushing him back into Erador’s sturdy grasp. 

“You alright?”

“Yes, yes. Fine.” Corentin gathers himself and stumbles down the last few steps into the hall, shrugging off a sheepish apology from Erador.

Medina has her hands tied behind her back as well. Light tear tracks stain her cheeks, and she’s speckled with a decent amount of dust, but she seems otherwise unharmed. Still, her eyes are wide, and though her posture speaks of determination, Corentin can just barely see that she’s trembling.

“So her name is Medina,” Lord Serenoa notes, as calm as ever. “It’s good to know she wasn’t lying about that.”

Corentin looks back at Anna and Benedict, perplexed. “This is who you were talking about? Medina attempted to poison Lord Serenoa?”

“Yes.” Anna confirms.

Benedict quirks a brow. “Does that seem unlikely?”

“Exceptionally so!” Corentin mumbles. Medina has been staring at him rather forlornly, but is keeping silent– smart girl; she’s looking to see what Corentin’s situation is. No doubt she has concluded incorrectly that Corentin is a fellow prisoner, judging by the fact that his wrists are also currently bound.

Of course, if Corentin can’t defend himself here, that might very well be true before long.

Corentin is no master at political maneuvering. Nor is he a wordsmith, nor even particularly charismatic, if he’s being honest. He’ll have to handle this carefully.

He addresses his next question to the room at large. “What… exactly happened here?”

Hughette begins. “I found this girl lurking by the castle walls. She told me a tall tale about trying to join Lord Serenoa’s army, then gave me two items in an attempt to treat my wounds. One was a health item, which I was able to determine was safe.

“The other was this.” Hughette holds up a small pellet. “She called it a poison recovery pellet, but it is not the same– it contains different ingredients. I could tell. I brought her back here, where Lord Serenoa asked her the same question, and she had the audacity to suggest that Lord Serenoa try the pellet himself. Anna intercepted the pellet before he could, of course, and verified that it is dangerous. It contains a different type of poison than the one Anna uses, but still one that she is familiar with– fast-acting, and deadly.”

“The situation is clear,” Benedict declares. He begins pacing, traversing the hall as he gestures in his agitation. “The girl was caught sneaking into the castle by Hughette. She attempted to win Hughette’s trust with the first pellet, then tried to poison her with the second to rid herself of witnesses. When that failed, she tried openly to secure an audience with Lord Serenoa so she could use the same maneuver on him. Unfortunately for her, Hughette noticed that something about the pellet was off, and Anna identified the poison. We were able to thwart her plans.”

“Yes, but why would Hyzante send an assassin after Serenoa?” Roland asks. He snaps the buckle shut on the satchel he was looking through— which, on closer inspection, clearly belongs to an apothecary such as Medina. “I just don’t get it. If they were after someone, surely it should have been me?”

“She could have been trying to get to you, but was found out too soon,” Lord Serenoa theorizes.

“Or she could have been targeting us,” Lady Frederica says quietly. “My lord, I have told you what the people of Hyzante think of Rosellans such as I. If this was their form of retaliation… perhaps your death would have been meant as a lesson to those who bring Rosellans unchained into the nation of Hyzante.”

Medina sobs once, and shakes her head vehemently, but remains silent.

Corentin bites his lip, thinking hard. If it was Milo on the ground before him, then yes, all their theories would sound reasonable. But Medina!? No. Never. 

Because Corentin knew Medina. They weren’t friends; weren’t even acquaintances, really— but Minister Lyla always kept an eye on the star students of each batch at the Ministry, and Medina had been one of them. From what he’d heard, and what he’d seen on occasion when giving guest lectures, Corentin could put together a reasonable picture of the woman’s character, and absolutely none of it was malicious.

Medina had been the type of student who flinched at having to dissect live frogs; who carried desert spiders outside instead of killing them; who ran herself ragged, taking extra shifts to tend to the overflow of patients when the summer heat wave struck. Medina had found Corentin, once, after he passed out from malnutrition and exhaustion after a full three days without sleep, buried in research. She was unfailingly courteous as she treated him, as he faded in and out of consciousness, and she sent him off once cured with a laugh and a warning never to do it again.

This situation… simply doesn’t add up.

“May I speak, Lord Serenoa?” Corentin begins. Serenoa nods.

“I can’t presume to know what exactly occurred here, but…” Corentin turns to Benedict and Erador. “I must say– Medina has always been an incredibly kindhearted soul. I don’t think she would harm Lord Serenoa.”

“And yet she tried.” Benedict’s gaze burns where it pins him down.

Corentin winces. “Could it be possible that her actions were interpreted in a way that–”

“She deserves death for even attempting it!” Benedict interjects, gesturing with his staff.

Medina lets what sounds like a muffled whimper escape her, and Corentin can’t help it— though his brain is screaming at him that the most logical course of action is to stay out of this— he pushes that part of him aside and takes one step forward, placing himself between Medina and Benedict.

It’s happening again. The accusations; the mistrust. Whether it’s warranted or not, it’s happening again.

Plinius...

“Benedict, please. Think this through,” Corentin says desperately.

Erador speaks up at the same time. “Hey, now! Benedict! Don’tcha think that’s a little harsh!? We don’t really know anythin’ fer sure…”

He continues talking, and Corentin takes the chance to glance towards Medina; to gauge her reaction and provide whatever comfort he can, though he knows he’s particularly ill-equipped for such a task.

This action does not go unnoticed. Benedict’s voice cuts through Erador’s words like a knife. “Corentin. You had best decide now where your loyalties lie.”

Corentin can feel the hairs on the back of his neck rising. Dread seeps into his heart. Not again. Not again.

“With House Wolffort. Unquestionably.”

“It does not seem that way— and if you continue to waver like this, Corentin, I’ll have to consider you a threat as well.”

Corentin can’t hide his flinch at that statement.

“Stop!” Medina cries out, speaking for the first time in Corentin’s presence. 

All eyes turn to her. Her bottom lip is wobbling with the force of her emotions. She gazes steadily at all of them despite the tears that trickle down her chin.

“You don’t need to threaten anyone! This is all a huge misunderstanding! If you’d just listen to me—”

Benedict glares. “Your ‘explanations’ are clearly nothing more than the ramblings of a caught assassin—“

Corentin can see that this is spiraling quickly out of hand. He takes a gamble on impropriety and interrupts Benedict.

“Lord Serenoa. Might Medina be allowed to explain her version of events?”

Benedict falls silent with a pointed glower.

“She has attempted to do so already,” Serenoa says. “But I’ll allow it once more.”

“My lord—”

“It’s alright, Benedict. Corentin, I accepted you into my fold, and I trust you. I’d like you to hear what this Medina had to say, if she would repeat it for us.”

Medina sniffs and blinks a few times to clear her eyes. “Okay. Right. I can do that. So— I came here to join Lord Serenoa’s army–”

“—Of course you did–” Benedict mutters.

“And I noticed Miss Hawk Rider was injured. I wanted to help her! I gave her one of my specially formulated health pellets–”

“—Which I verified thoroughly before eating,” Hughette adds. “Same ingredients, but well-refined. I must admit it worked excellently.”

“Thank you, I try really hard on those! I also gave her a poison recovery pellet of my own making.”

Hughette nods. “This was the issue. I could tell that this was no poison recovery pellet. I didn’t want to raise her suspicions, so I took her to Lord Serenoa.”

Medina takes a deep breath. “Yes. Lord Wolffort asked me the same: if this was really a poison recovery pellet.”

“I don’t know anything about them, but it did seem to be packaged differently,” Serenoa clarifies.

Medina’s voice rises to a tearful crescendo. “Right! —And all I said— I admit I might not have understood the connotation!— but all I said was that it was perfectly safe, and that if he was unsure, he could try it!”

There’s a bit of silence after this.

“Ah.” Corentin says. “And I am assuming that is when Anna verified that the pellet contains poison?”

“Yes. It does.” Anna’s voice is quiet and clear. “I am certain of it.”

Corentin raises an eyebrow at Medina. If he blocks out the situation around them, the walls and floors and people of House Wolffort, and the tears on Medina’s cheeks– it’s almost as if he’s a guest lecturer at the Ministry again, and Medina’s under examination. He thinks he knows what happened here.

“You didn’t explain further?” Corentin asks.

“I tried! They wouldn’t let me!”

“I ask again, my lord. Might she explain now?” Corentin says, and Serenoa hums approval.

“I admit that the situation seemed quite clear before. But if you think there’s a valid reason for all this, Corentin, I’ll allow it. Go ahead.”

“It’s all about the dosage and application!” Medina bursts out. “Many poisons can be used as medications when applied in certain dosages and at certain concentrations— and I, like many others at the Ministry, am perfectly capable of administering drugs at the correct levels depending on the symptoms and corresponding comorbidities.”

Frederica tilts her head to one side in confusion.

“The ramblings of a caught assassin,” Benedict repeats in a low tone. 

Erador scratches his scalp with a hand. “You’ve lost me there, lass.”

Medina huffs. “All I’m saying is that sometimes, a medicine can become a poison if you take enough of it, and vice versa! Like– okay, imagine that you’re sick, and your heart is beating too fast. To stop that from killing you, you’d slowly take a reallllly small amount of a drug that decreases the speed of your heartbeat, right? So the drug that slows your heartbeat would be a medicine to counter the poison.”

“That… makes sense, I guess,” Lord Serenoa says.

“Right! Now imagine I took that medicine that slows your heart rate– and instead of giving it to you gradually, I stuck it in your bloodstream all at once. That would stop your heartbeat, and it would kill you. So it would be a poison, then, you see?”

“Okay…” says Erador.

“It’s a lot more complicated than that, of course,” Medina continues, “but the same drug can be a medicine or a poison, depending on the way it's administered. Get it?”

“Huh,” says Lord Serenoa.

Corentin nods. He’s unfamiliar with the specific doses involved in many of these drugs, but he knows the general principle. Poison recovery pellets are just standard doses of anitdotes that dissolve slowly in your bloodstream; meant to counteract common poisons– safe enough that anyone can use them. Medina, however, likely tailors her poison recovery pellets so that she can decide to use them as poisons if she needs to– and so that her patients recover faster.

Medina shuffles forward, still on her knees. “The pellet I gave Miss Hawk Rider could have been used as a poison– but not the way I gave it to her! It really would have cured her of her poison– and it would have done so better than a standard recovery pellet! And it wouldn’t harm anyone else who ate it– the pellet’s contents are meant to interact only with the poison, and the dosage is low enough that it won’t do more than make you feel a little lightheaded for a bit.”

“Even if you have pre-existing heart conditions?” Serenoa asks out of the blue.

Medina blinks, taken aback at the complete non-sequitur. “Yes, even if you have pre-existing heart conditions. Why do you ask?”

“I have a family history of heart conditions,” Serenoa muses.

“You do!?”

“Yes. My father suffers from a heart disease— I merely wished to compare the symptoms. I’ve never experienced any of those symptoms myself, though.”

Corentin chances a quick look at Benedict to see the man looking incredibly uncomfortable at that revelation. He must not like that Serenoa has chosen to give away such critical information to a potential enemy– although it is, to some extent, common knowledge that Lord Symon is unwell.

Medina shakes her head, as if to clear it. “Well– no matter– as I said, it doesn’t make a difference! The item I gave her is a recovery pellet– it’s perfectly safe! Please, you have to believe me!”

“I see…” says Anna.

Roland taps his foot against the carpeted floor, thinking. “This… all sounds very thoroughly reasoned out.”

Benedict frowns. “And yet, how can we believe anything you’re saying?”

Medina lets out a sharp little noise of frustration. A few more tears fall loose.

“I… I don’t know! I don’t know, but you have to believe me! Please! The Hyzantian Ministry of Medicine is a wonderful place and they’ve taught me a lot, but they won’t treat anyone who doesn’t conform to their worldview– and I couldn’t handle it anymore! I couldn’t stand watching another Rosellan die because I was ordered not to treat them first! And I saw you, Lord Wolffort, and your fianceé, and I heard what you said there in the Ministry, and I thought– maybe with you, I could finally– I could actually make a difference…”

She sniffs, and bows her head.

Corentin feels his heart twist as he watches her tears drip onto the floor. The impassioned speech; the indignation at Hyzante’s current state of affairs— he’s heard it all before from a different source; in a different voice.

Last time, he couldn’t muster up the conviction to choose a side. And where had that led them? His mentor straight to the gallows, and Corentin himself to a life of exile and suspicion that he has only managed to escape through sheer luck and Lord Serenoa’s mercy.

This time will be different. It has to be.

He straightens up as much as he can with his wrists still bound behind his back.

“Let her eat the pellet, then,” Corentin suggests to the others. “If she dies, she’s lying. If she lives, she’s telling the truth– and I’m inclined to believe that she is.”

Medina sobs again. “It’s hopeless! I already offered– they said no.”

Benedict shakes his head. “It’s clear that she has more than enough knowledge of poisons and their antidotes to counteract whatever is in there. She might have taken the antidote already in preparation for a scene just like this.”

“Then…” Corentin hates that he’s doing this. He can’t believe it. But he has to. He has to. To send her to the gallows, to fail her as he did him— Corentin cannot allow it.

“Then let me eat it,” Corentin hears himself say.

“What!?” Erador exclaims from right beside him. Lord Serenoa’s eyes widen, and Lady Frederica gasps.

Medina’s head shoots up and her eyes well with tears. “Corentin… You believe me?!”

“You promise it’s safe?”

“Yes!”

“You realize that if I die, your death is imminent? Lying right now provides you with no benefit whatsoever.”

“Yes! I’m not lying! I promise!”

Corentin looks up. “Would that suffice for you, Benedict? Lord Serenoa? I’ve been in the library since long before Medina arrived here– Geela can vouch for me. I have not had contact with Medina since I left Hyzante.”

“It… it would suffice as proof,” says Benedict, and Serenoa nods.

“Are you sure you’re willing to do this?” Frederica asks, troubled. “You’re betting your life on her words.”

When she puts it like that, it does sound rather unwise, but… “That’s true, Lady Frederica, but I won’t lie– I’m not just doing this for her.” Corentin gestures to his own bound wrists. “As long as suspicion remains around her motives, you will suspect me as well, and I can’t have that. I value my position here, and I would prefer not to compromise it. I have nowhere else to go. I believe her, and I want there to be no doubt that I am trustworthy. This is insurance for my own future.”

He looks at Medina. It is foolish to trust the words of someone he never knew all that well. But, out here, far from Hyzante, she’s… something of a reminder of home. He can’t let that die.

How he wishes he had done that for his old friend and mentor— for Plinius.

Corentin had known what Plinius was going to do; he’d known Plinius would run and take his research with him. Plinius had told him so himself, two nights before, with righteous anger fueling his impassioned words, hot enough to thaw the icy chains that held him captive there at the Ministry.

They’re committing atrocities beyond the scope of anything you could possibly imagine here, Corentin. Everything I’ve been working on, everything we’ve all been working for… I won’t let her turn it into this. I’m leaving.

What!? You can’t!

I can, and I will.

W— wait! Listen, Plinius. I know you’ve always been… uncomfortable with how the Rosellans are treated here, and I’ve seen that recent spike on the chart of death rates. But surely it’s an unavoidable consequence of the latest flu, and will abate soon—

No. Hah, no, Corentin, it’s so much worse than what you’re thinking. I have no choice but to go. You haven’t seen it, the experiments they’re doing. You don’t know the half of it. But soon enough, they’ll stop letting you work on crystalline ice and set you on crystalline magic instead, then you’ll understand. No matter how much I once cared for her, and how much I still care for our— …No. I can’t allow this anymore. I’m leaving. I’m leaving.

How!?

I don’t know, but I must try. And… Corentin, you— you know her schedule; your research is immaculate— you’d be an invaluable asset to both the escape and our future efforts. Corentin, we plan on putting our knowledge to good use. Helping people, in ways the Ministry would never allow us. Are you in?

This is too sudden! I— You can’t just—

Make a decision, Corentin! Are you in?

So many of their fellows had joined him in his exodus. And Corentin, as the assistant to Minister Lyla herself, had indeed had the chance to aid in Plinius’ escape, to help him get away unharmed.

Yet Corentin had stood aside.

Out of a selfish aversion to risk; out of a sense of unease, he’d done nothing to help. He had even participated in the battle against Plinius at Minister Lyla’s insistence— and though he’d tried to throw the fight, Serenoa’s forces had been far too efficient. No matter how much Corentin owes Minister Lyla, that was one command she should never have given him– and his reluctance to follow it left her suspicious of him as well. She’d eyed him with suspicion one too many times, that last night. It was the final catalyst that forced him to leave.

Plinius is dead now– executed for treason against the state of Hyzante, when all he wanted was to pursue his interests for the benefit of all. Corentin won’t allow the same thing to happen to Medina.

This time, he won’t stand idly by.

“Hand that pellet here,” he says to Hughette, and swallows it in one gulp.

Time slows to a crawl.

The lights of Castle Wolffort’s hall shine intensely, enveloping Corentin in their blinding heat. The very atmosphere in the hall thickens, tension filling the air and stretching it tight to constrict Corentin’s chest.

He can hear the distinct beats of his own heart as if it were a drum made for a carnival procession, marching along at a frantic pace.

A bead of sweat trickles down his forehead and into the thin locks of his hair curled beside his neck.

The worn fabrics of his threadbare robes brush audibly against his skin.

All occupants of the room watch with bated breath.

And, as one full minute finally ticks past at a glacial pace with Corentin still standing by the banister in the center of the hall, the truth becomes apparent.

“If the poison I recognized were active as I thought, he would have been dead by now,” Anna says. “It seems the apothecary was telling the truth.”

The anticipation that had frozen over the room begins to melt away like ice over a spring pond. Corentin lets out a shaky exhale. His knees buckle.

“Thank the heavens,” Erador mumbles, helping Corentin gently sit down and lean sideways against the banister of the stairs. Medina is crying silently, still kneeling in the center of the floor.

“Well. It seems we were mistaken,” Benedict says, without any ire and with the full force of an apology. “Anna?”

Anna is already on it– she has released Corentin’s wrists, and moves to do the same for Medina. Medina sniffs and wipes her cheeks, finally able to dab at her tears as she makes her way over to Corentin, where she kneels again and leans in.

“Thank you,” she whispers, heartfelt, her arms wrapped tight around him. Corentin doesn’t know what to do. He puts an arm around her in return, gingerly, and draws it back just as quickly when she moves to stand again.

Serenoa clears his throat, drawing her attention. “Medina, I must apologize. We are all on edge around here– especially considering the recent attacks on Glenbrook and the current siege by Aesfrost. I would understand if you wish to leave immediately. If that is so, Hughette will escort you to the Wolffort borders right now.”

Corentin waits for Medina to nod and take the offer, but– no, he should have known better. This is a woman with the resolve to travel across half of Hyzante to make it to Castle Wolffort. With her hands free, she stands resolute now, and just as determined as ever. She takes a deep breath, clears the last of her tears away, and speaks.

“I’d rather not, Lord Serenoa. I came here to join you, and I still aim to do so, if you’ll have me. I’m incredibly useful on the battlefield– just keep me stocked with the requisite supplies. I believe that your cause is righteous. As long as it continues to be, I’ll stay at your side. Let me help you!”

Lord Serenoa is wearing a soft smile. “I can’t say no to that, can I? What do you all think?”

“I must say I’m not particularly in favor, my lord,” Benedict says. “But if that is your decision, I won’t stand against it.”

“I believe her, Serenoa,” says Frederica. “I think she and I are of the same mind in certain matters. I would like her to stay.”

“It seems to me that having more citizens of Hyzante on our team could be a blessing in the long run,” Roland adds. “Aesfrost is the true enemy– we need all the allegiances we can get.”

The others murmur assent in various forms. Erador gives a decisive nod and a hearty chuckle. Serenoa turns. “Corentin?”

Corentin’s lips quirk upward into an approximation of a smile. “I think she’d be a valuable asset to us, Lord Serenoa.”

“Very well, then. It’s settled. Welcome to the team, Medina!”

Medina, despite everything, grins. “You can count on me!”

Chapter Text

“Minister Lyla.”

Lyla turns, stifling her surprise, to see a familiar face and an even more familiar smirk.

“Milo. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Do I need a reason to pay a visit to my favorite Saint?”

“Don’t let your master hear you say that.” Lyla rolls her eyes and turns back to her experiment. The gem of crystallized magic in front of her glows a deep, saturated purple. It is powerful, yes. But not yet powerful enough to blast through a stone wall, nor to move the corpse-like doll that is laid out beside her. Lyla ignores Milo, relishing the silence, until she can feel the other woman’s eyes narrow at her back.

“Fine. I’ve a report for you.”

“Concerning?”

“Medina Alliam.”

“Who?” Lyla blinks, but recalls quickly. “Ah, our star student. Has she done something inappropriate?”

“Worse. She ran away to join the Wolffort boy.”

Lyla stiffens. She turns to face Milo once again, but this time, with her full attention. “The Wolffort boy? Serenoa? That means— Milo, have you infiltrated Castle Wolffort!?”

“Yes.”

Lyla draws in a sharp breath. “That could be considered a sign of war! If Minister Idore knew what you’d done—“

“He was the one who commanded me to do it.”

Lyla blinks. “I— I see.”

Milo saunters over to a table and picks up a large, less refined but equally concentrated gem, nearly violet in color. She gazes into it. “What would happen, Minister Lyla, if I activated this right now?”

Lyla eyes her warily. “We would both be torn to bits in the resulting explosion. As would the patients in the next room, and all of my research. Idore would be furious.”

“Hm,” says Milo, and lifts it up higher. For one sharp second, Lyla’s hands twitch on her staff. She considers stopping Milo’s time and snatching the gem away before the dancer dooms them both. But Milo does not make any sharp moves; merely sets the stone down with the grace she puts into everything else.

“Wolffort’s army is strong. They may be few, but they are fearless and perceptive— both the hawk rider and the small woman in the shadows came perilously close to spotting me. In a way, I was lucky your Medina was there providing me with a distraction. I took the opportunity to break into Lord Serenoa’s office, and I’ve identified their next course of action. They plan to protect Roland against the entire Aesfrosti legion led by General Avlora.”

“They’ll be destroyed,” Lyla murmurs. She can’t stop a hint of sadness from sneaking into her voice. Medina was a wonderful girl. Young and bold and determined to help people— the way Lyla was once, herself. And now, to be caught in that castle alone amongst enemies, facing General Avlora…

“You never know,” says Milo. “The young lord seems to have a plan. His study contained a directory of supplies and a carefully annotated map of the town’s aqueducts. I’d wager he has a backup option, just in case the battle doesn’t go the way he wants. Oh, and Minister Lyla, you’ll never guess who else was there—“

This she knows. Lyla lifts her head high and interrupts. “Corentin.”

“—your old assistant, Coren— wait. You knew?”

“I suspected that was where he went.” It’s a pity, and all the more so that he’ll die by the morning. He and Medina— they have no hope against Aesfrost’s best. And even if they survive that, they have no hope against the weight of the world. They’ll end up like Lyla soon enough. Innovation shackled by the chains of greed and ambition— and blackmail. Or dead before they can make a change, like… like Plinius.

But what if things end up differently for them? What if she’s wrong— goddess above, she hopes she’s wrong; hopes fervently that Corentin and Medina end up on a different path.

For that matter, what if things had been different for her? What if Lyla had realized where she was headed and left it all like they had? What if Idore had let her? What if she’d stayed in that peaceful village where she’d left her— no, no, she can’t let herself think about what she’s lost; ignoring it is all she has left to keep herself from drowning.

“A coin for your thoughts, Minister?” Milo says, sultry tones dipping low as she sidles in beside Lyla.

Lyla shrugs the other woman off. “My thoughts are worth far more coin than you could ever spare,” Lyla retorts, working to keep herself as impartial on the surface as she can. “Leave, lapdog. Go back to your master.”

Lyla misses the flash of disappointment, and perhaps something else, that makes its brief debut on Milo’s face.

“If that is what you wish,” the dancer says, stepping away. 

Lyla watches her go, but Milo turns just as she’s nearly through the door and her mouth to speak. She stands there, silent, for nearly half a minute, mouth opening and closing as she debates with herself. When she finally does speak, her voice has lost the seductive overtones Lyla is so familiar with.

“For the record, Minister Lyla, you weren’t the only one who knew them,” Milo says evenly, at a near whisper. “And I’m certain you aren’t the only one who hopes they’re still alright.”

Her steps fall silent amidst the fountains and stone as she leaves.