Declan thought of the girl. There had been something off about her, something strange. First of all, she was veiled from head to toe, only her eyes visible through the gap between the gossamer fabric. In a fairly temperate climate such as Milona's, there was no pragmatic need to be so covered. And he had studied the culture of Milona for many years as a boy, yet found no reason for a woman to be so very hidden away.

Their culture dictated that married women and priestesses be covered, yes, but not to the extent that she was. They mainly veiled their hair, not their faces. And then there was the reticent way that she had spoken with him. The words pouring from her lips had been few, to be sure, but edged with a wariness that made her all the more intriguing. What had pushed him to spout all those lines as he had, though? Yes, she had lovely eyes, but every inch of her was so draped with garments that not a curve of her body could be seen. And still, this aura of power had radiated from her, this aura of something not to be tampered with. Yet tamper he had wanted to.

"Find anything interesting today?" Nolan nudged him. The bodyguard's presence irritated him to no end; Nolan was a younger cousin, and at the age of twenty-two he was younger than Declan by three years. He had been assigned to watch Declan by the command of Declan's father, the king. Declan knew he was only taking the position because he wanted to gain favour with the monarch. Nolan had just returned from schooling with top marks and though he had the mind of a scholar he also unfairly had the body of a warrior. It was extremely unjust for the gods to bestow this many gifts and a sense of humility upon Declan's younger relation. Especially since he was not even the heir to the crown, but everyone treated him as superior. "Or anyone?"

"A priestess," Declan said, uttering the bare minimum. He lifted a hand to shield his eyes from the sun. "At the temple. Covered from crown to heel."

"That does not seem so odd," Nolan said, fingering the hilt of a blade on his belt. His red hair shone in the sunlight as they strolled through the marketplace, looking at various items. "Are you certain that there is magic in Milona? There seems to be no sign of it anywhere, and we have been here for over a week."

Declan rolled his eyes. "Just because you read in your silly little books, that magic is revealed in certain ways that are not present in Milona, does not mean that magic does not exist here. Milona is an ancient city and all your books are written by those newfangled scholars who do not know what they are talking about."

"For the last time, Declan," Nolan began before coming to a stop, putting his arm in front of Declan as an old crone hobbled in front of them, her cane thumping against the cobblestones. Declan hadn't noticed her and had been about to cross anyways.

"Thank you, you handsome young man," the crone said, turning her wizened face toward the two of them. Her green eyes gleamed with wisdom and something murkier. It felt rather like looking into a swamp, not knowing the integrity of the ground beneath one's feet. She stepped too close to the two men, close enough that they could smell her breath--sage and peppermint--as she shook her finger in Declan's face, causing him to take a step back. "And as for you... you, sir, are a no-good, inconsiderate rascal."

As her cloak trailed over the ground and lifted a swirl of dust, Declan suppressed a snicker, having been called much worse. "Well, that was rude."

Nolan frowned. "I don't think she was that impolite."

"That is because she called you handsome." Declan peered at a set of keys dangling from an iron ring, which was one of many similar items at a stall that was cluttered with intricately wrought gold and brass creations. When the vendor's back was turned, he pocketed the item.

Nolan elbowed him with a hiss. "Why did you steal from him? It isn't as if you cannot afford to pay for those keys!"

"We have been coming to this market for the past three days and he cheats everybody with his poorly made wares. The gems in those daggers are mere glass, yet he hawks them as if they were diamonds. It was justice, of sorts, really."

"Then why not confront the man?" Nolan said. "Petty thievery solves nothing."

"Do you know what I like about you, dear cousin?" Declan said, not answering the question. The keys jangled in his pocket. "You're so innocent. So naive. You really believe in the ability of the justice system and the lack of corruption in powerful men."

He let the accusation hang in the air momentarily, ignoring the irony it had when it came from the mouth of a prince.

"Forgive me if my old age-related cynicism has yet to set in," Nolan said. He always had to bring up their age difference. "I am sure I shall think just like you when I am an old man as well."

Declan shoved his shoulder with a clank of chain mail. "Shut up."

They continued on their walk, the old woman forgotten.

•

Tankards clacked together as he walked into the dimly lit pub. Sitting down at a liquor-stained table in the corner, he took a mental inventory of his discoveries since arriving in Milona. The keys seemed important for some reason. He had been sent here to look for a key, some magical item of great power and import. But he doubted it would be found among the goods of some dubious merchant.

A bell jingled as another man walked into the crowded pub. Scanning the area, he must have found no other seats than the one directly across from Declan and sat down. The man's hulking form dwarfed the table. He looked somewhat familiar. Then, Declan realized he was one of the men who had been on the beach when he had encountered that strangely attired priestess.

What was his relation to her? By the looks of him, the man had to be a guard. He was attired in armour and weapons clanked against his belt when he shifted in his seat. The man grunted, looking defensive when he caught Declan's stare.

"I was only trying to pinpoint where I had seen you from. I have newly arrived in this city and would find a friend... useful." He extended a hand and gave a false name. "Alexander Summers."

The man shook it but did not speak to introduce himself. If he were a guard he would have gone through the archaic process of having his tongue ripped out to prevent speech. Either that, or he was being stubbornly antisocial. He traced letters on the table for Declan to read: J-A-C-K.

"You're a guard, aren't you? I saw you trailing that priestess around, the one who was all covered up." Declan tried to keep his tone nonchalant as he prodded at the mashed potatoes on his plate.

Taking a sip of beer, Jack gave a nod of assent.

"Say, would you be willing to, I don't know, tell me more about her?"

He cocked his head, looking expectant. Declan knew that look all too well: everything comes with a price. He reached into his pocket and began to pull out a bag of coins. Their clink against the table raised Jack's bushy eyebrows as he picked up the pouch, sifting through the pieces of silver before giving another nod. He pulled out a scrap of paper from his pocket and wrote down an address before sliding it over to Declan.

Declan tucked it into his pocket. "What, exactly, would you be willing to tell me about her?"

Jack made the gesture of protection against evil. The universal symbol, the three-clawed finger over the heart, that symbolized a curse.

Declan's eyes widened and he felt his heart stutter. Something had been eerie about the priestess, then. "Why do you guard her if she's cursed?"

Jack shrugged and pointed to the bag of coins. It's good money. But, what if Declan could offer him better money? It was true that a mute man was not the best sort of spy, but it was better than having no arrows in one's quiver.

Declan leaned forwards, putting his elbows on the cramped table next to his cutlery and ignoring the years of court training he'd had that told him not to sit in such an undignified position. "What kind of curse does she have?"

Jack drew a finger across his throat. Death? Was she fated to die? Was it that she was a killer? Did she have guards to protect her from others? Was she a gorgon, that all who looked at her turned to stone? Was that why she was so veiled?

A few minutes passed, his speculations remaining silent. "When would you like to meet?"

Jack tapped at one of the hands of his watch. The loud chatter around them would prevent any real conversation from being had, anyways, so perhaps it was better that Jack could not talk.

"Tomorrow?" Declan asked, sipping his mulled cider out of its copper mug.

With a nod, Jack stood, brushed off his trousers, and marched off, leaving the pub.

•

The next day, Declan waited in the pub, one hip leaning against the sticky bar counter. Had Jack decided not to come after all? Trying not to shift from one foot to another--he was no anxious schoolboy about to approach the girl he fancied--Declan studied the room instead, maintaining his regal posture. Nolan had left him for some mysterious reason, saying he wanted to check on something on the outskirts of Milona, where grand temples gave way to shacks and huts and farmland. Declan could not speculate as to what kind of affair his cousin might be handling, as his gaze darted over rickety wooden chairs and a handful of men hunched over their pints of cider or mead. Knowing Nolan, it was bound to be something dull.

In the meantime, however, his cousin had cautioned Declan to stay out of trouble, which was frankly a far too difficult command to follow, even if he had been the type to take orders. Still, Declan had some plans that he doubted his cousin would approve of. Nolan did not agree with what he deemed Declan's "fool's quest" and "wild goose chase" for a key, and so he would definitely not believe that the ideas Declan had in mind would be successful.

Jack appeared in the doorway. Declan didn't look his way in case anyone was watching, and instead, he studied his pint of mead, the amber liquid redolent with golden honey. The mute guard perched on a barstool next to his, the barmaid giving him a tankard of beer and a dish of food without his needing to say a word. The leather and wood seat creaked beneath his weight.

"Tell me, where will the priestess be tomorrow?" he asked, before wondering how exactly the guard was supposed to answer that question. "Is there some sort of festivity going on?"

The city had been abuzz the past few days, all the maids in his household discussing in hushed whispers which dress they would wear to one festival or another and how they would style their hair and which boy had caught their eye. It reminded him of living with his gaggle of sisters.

Jack nodded. A flower had drifted into the pub's floor, and he picked it up, pointing at it.

He frowned. "A flower festival?"

The other man shook his head, clearly frustrated.

Declan tried to use his brain, which, despite Nolan's protests to the contrary, he did in fact possess and utilize from time to time. "Will she be attending the spring festival?"

Jack nodded. He drew a circle with his finger on the counter.

"All the priestesses will be attending it," he mused, realizing what the man meant. "And what does this festival entail? What sort of celebrations will be taking place there?"

Jack arranged the mashed potatoes on his plate into a small mound, which he mimicked walking up with his fork.

Declan frowned. "Hiking up a mountain?" Jack shook his head. This was like an elaborate game of charades and a test of patience for both of them. "There are no mountains in Milona... The highest point is at the cliff. Walking to the cliff. And doing what, exactly, when they reach the summit?"

Jack pulled a match from his pocket, lit it, and then mimed adding it to a structure of some sort.

"A pyre," he breathed. "That would make sense. The death of winter and the rebirth of spring..."

There were tales and myths, of course, about the changing seasons in Milona, just as there were stories and old wives' tales about such things everywhere. Milonan folklore, however, seemed particularly tragic and especially beautiful. The death of winter was depicted in fairytales by the passing of an old woman, who, upon giving up her life, was immediately transformed into a beautiful young maiden, destined to magically lead and give up her life in cycles, as she became an old crone every winter and a young maid each spring.

Jack swigged some beer before taking a mouthful of his chicken pot pie. An idea clicked in Declan's mind as he thought of all the possibilities that a pyre would bring him...

"Thank you for your time, Jack. Here, have a handsome recompense," he said, tossing another bag of gold onto the table before striding out of the pub.

•

"We will begin carrying out our plans during the spring festival," Declan said to the assembled Astroian guards around him, laying out a map that he then smoothed flat on the table. Red circles and blue lines dotted its white page. "As I discussed before, Ivan should have already caused a diversion by tampering with the pyre. Then, we shall begin our mission at the temple, in the centre of Milona, before radiating outwards, like so."

He drew imaginary lines with his fingers on the paper, reminded of Jack's useful demonstrations at the bar.

"We are not seeking to completely destroy the city. We are seeking to look for a key," he stressed. "No ransacking, looting, pillaging, rape, or other offences should be committed under any circumstances. We will be targeting libraries, temples, and academies, looking for a trace of magic. Does anyone have any questions?"

"Your Highness," said a small boy, raising his hand. His eyes were big and wide, and he looked scarcely old enough to grow facial hair, let alone be a guard. He must have been a page or a squire. "What, exactly, are we meant to be searching for?"

"You are...?" He squinted down at the boy.

"My name is Gerard, Your Highness," he replied, his voice breaking into a crack at the last word. Gerard flushed a pale pink beneath his starched collar.

"We are searching for a key that is promised to give its wielder great power," Declan explained. "My father, the king, sent me to Milona to look for it, and I trust that neither I nor any of you men will disappoint your king?"

They all shook their heads, their voices echoing in the barracks he had set up near the villa he'd been renting. "No, Your Highness."

"Very good." A smile crossed his face. "Now, shall we get to work?"