As they walked, the clicking of Leornars's geta (wooden sandals) echoed with a rhythmic, feminine grace that still set Stacian's teeth on edge. It was too perfect. Every sway of the hips, every flick of the sleeve was calculated to a millimeter.
"Stacian," Leornars said, his voice regaining that melodic, airy quality he'd adopted for the persona. "Stop staring at my back. It's making the illusion flicker at the edges."
"I can't help it! Seeing you act like a refined lady while talking about 'puzzles' and 'interrogations' is giving me a migraine," Stacian groaned. She rubbed her temples. "And that name... 'The Harbinger.' Sounds like a bargain-bin villain name."
"Names are branding, Stacian," Leornars replied, pausing at a heavy mahogany cabinet in the foyer. He reached in and pulled out a fan made of sandalwood and black silk. With a flick of his wrist, he snapped it open, partially obscuring his face. "In the world of the shadows, a name like that acts as a filter. It scares off the weak and attracts the ambitious. If we find this Harbinger, we find the head of the serpent."
By dawn, a black-painted carriage stood waiting in the courtyard. It bore no crest, no markings of royalty—just the understated elegance of a wealthy merchant's transport.
Zaryter was there, leaning against the stone wall. He looked like he hadn't slept a wink; his eyes were bloodshot, and he flinched every time Leornars moved.
"Zaryter," Leornars acknowledged, his voice dropping an octave into his natural tone just to mess with him.
Zaryter let out a tiny, pathetic squeak. "Lord... Lord Leornars. I've checked the perimeter. The road to the Dragon's Teeth is clear of bandits for the first fifty miles."
"Good. You stay here. Manage the border patrols. If I find out you've spent the whole time in the tavern, I'll let Salene practice her 'origami' on you."
Zaryter turned pale and gave a frantic salute. "Yes, sir! Ma'am! My Lord! High...ness!"
Leornars stepped into the carriage, Stacian following close behind. As the door clicked shut, the interior was plunged into a comfortable, velvet-lined dimness.
"Now," Leornars said, settling into the plush seat. "Hand me the perfume Ayesha prepared."
Stacian pulled a small, crystal vial from her pouch. "She called it 'Midnight Narcissus.' She said it has notes of jasmine, musk, and... something she called 'the scent of a dying empire.' Typical Ayesha."
Leornars uncorked it and dabbed a drop on his wrist. Immediately, a heavy, intoxicating floral scent filled the carriage. It was beautiful, but underneath it was something sharp and metallic—a scent that commanded attention.
"Perfect," Leornars whispered. He leaned his head back, his cyan eyes glowing faintly in the dark. "Stacian, remember your role. You are my handmaiden. You are quiet, efficient, and slightly terrified of me. It shouldn't be hard to act."
"Oh, believe me," Stacian muttered, looking out the window as the castle gates receded. "The terrified part is already taken care of."
Three days of travel brought them to the edge of the Dragon's Teeth—a range of jagged, obsidian peaks that looked like the jaw of a colossal beast. Nestled in the valley below was the "Hidden City," known to the locals as Oakhaven, though there was nothing heavenly about it. It was a lawless hub where coin was the only god and flesh was the primary currency.
The carriage slowed as they approached the iron-wrought gates of the city's trade district. Two guards, clad in mismatched leather armor and carrying heavy halberds, stepped forward.
"Identify yourselves!" one shouted, banging the butt of his weapon against the ground.
The carriage window slid down just an inch. A pale, slender hand with perfectly manicured nails (another detail of the illusion) extended a gold-embossed invitation—the one Salene had 'borrowed' from the jigsaw-man.
"The Lady Elara of the High Moon," Stacian said, her voice trembling slightly—half from the role, half from nerves. "She does not like to be kept waiting in the heat. Open the gates, or she will find another port to spend her ten thousand gold pieces."
The guard took the invitation, his eyes widening at the seal. He looked through the gap in the window and caught a glimpse of silver hair and a piercing cyan gaze. He swallowed hard.
"My apologies, My Lady! We weren't told to expect such... distinguished guests today. Open the gates!"
As the iron bars groaned open, the carriage rolled into the city. The atmosphere shifted instantly. The air was thick with the smell of roasting meat, cheap ale, and the distant, rhythmic clanking of chains.
They passed the main square, where platforms had been erected. Even from the carriage, they could see them: demi-humans of all kinds—beast-kin, elves, and spirits—standing in lines, their eyes hollow and hopeless.
Stacian felt her blood boil. She looked at Leornars. He was staring out the window, his expression unreadable, but the fan in his hand snapped shut with a crack like a whip.
"Find the most expensive inn," Leornars commanded, his voice cold. "We need to make an entrance. We aren't just here to watch, Stacian. We're here to buy out the market... and then burn the shop down."
The Gilded Serpent was the only place in Oakhaven that didn't smell like a sewer. It was a den of opulence built on the backs of the suffering outside.
As Leornars stepped out of the carriage, the entire street seemed to go silent. The silver-haired 'Lady' moved with an air of such supreme arrogance that even the local thugs instinctively stepped back.
The innkeeper, a greasy man with gold rings on every finger, practically tripped over himself to greet them.
"Welcome, welcome, My Lady! I am Barnaby. How may I serve a vision of such beauty?"
Leornars didn't even look at him. He snapped his fan open, fanning himself slowly.
"The penthouse suite," Leornars said, his voice a haughty purr. "And tell the Harbinger's representatives that a buyer has arrived. I have no interest in the common trash being sold in the square. I want the 'special' stock."
Barnaby's eyes gleamed with greed. "Of course, My Lady. The special stock. Only the best for Lady Elara. I shall send word immediately."
As they were led up the stairs, Stacian leaned in and whispered, "You're really enjoying the 'haughty lady' thing a bit too much, aren't you?"
Leornars gave a small, wicked smile behind his fan. "Infiltrating a den of thieves requires one to be the biggest thief of all, Stacian. Now, get the tea ready. We have company coming."