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Mallowston.

THE slums presented a stark contrast to the rest of the town. As Lovell made her way through the narrow, winding streets and alleyways that comprised Mallowston's squalid underbelly, she was immediately struck by the squalor and poverty that pervaded every corner. The buildings were run-down, with leaking roofs and crumbling walls covered in an absolutely revolting layer of grime. The paths were muddy and strewn with garbage, while the horrid stench of weeks-old sewage and rotting food overwhelmed the senses.

The slums were crowded with families crammed into small, one-room hovels. Children ran around barefoot and half-clothed, their faces dirty and their bellies empty. Lovell tossed a single Lin in the lap of one wretched fellow, daintily raising her dress as she hopped back to dodge his filthy, outstretched hand. "Where is the apothecary?" She asked the beggar, who pointed down the street.

Following his directions, Lovell carefully made her way toward the indicated hut. The dwelling was small and simple, crafted of teak wood with walls made of wattle and daub. The thatched roof peeked above the structure, and a small chimney made from roughly hewn stones completed the humble abode.

Lovell knocked on the door before pushing it open. "Hello!" she called, knocking on the wooden door again. The room inside was dimly lit by a single candle; windows nonexistent and the air stale with the musty, earthy smells of herbs and salves. "Hello!" she called again, rapping her knuckles on a wooden shelf as she walked inside, the door swinging shut behind her.

"I'm coming! I'm coming!" came a grumpy reply from the hut's inner chamber. Moments later a woman appearing to be in her late fifties with reddish brown hair walked out. "What do you want, lassie?" she demanded.

"Morgvy?" Lovell asked.

"Yes? Who's asking?" the woman replied cautiously. "No! No, no, no! I am sorry but I do not accept refunds!" she added hastily.

Lovell chuckled faintly as she lifted her veil. "It's me, Lovell."

The woman's face scrunched up in confusion for a few seconds before comprehension rose to take its place; then came an expression of delightful surprise followed quickly by laughter. "You! Lovell! Look at you! You're all so big, beautiful and grown up! What are you doing here? … Is Her Holiness here with you? Where is she?"

"Easy, Morgvy," Lovell giggled as she fended off the older woman's grasping hands. "Easy. One at a time, you are overwhelming me here. And yes, Aunt Vaiu is here; she's a guest at the earl's keep."

"Oh, gods," the woman cooed wistfully, "It's been so long. Come, come, my dear. Let me make you some tea,' she said, pulling Lovell by her wrist into the hut's inner chamber. The room appeared as simple as the previous one with nought but a simple wooden cot with a straw-filled mattress and a few blankets. A small hearth lay in one corner of the room, red coals smouldering within.

"Sit," Morgvy said, pushing Lovell to sit on the edge of the little cot. She smiled, setting a small stool before the younger woman before shuffling away to pull out a dainty basket of jars and utensils hidden in the floor boards in a corner of the room. "Here," the woman said, wiping a small porcelain cup with a silken handkerchief before setting it before Lovell, "hold this will I get the fire going."

"This isn't necessary, Morgvy," Lovell complained with an exasperated laugh but the older woman gestured for her to stop talking. "Oh hush," Morgvy said, her tone light, "this is the first time I am seeing you again in over half a decade and you tell me a simple cup of tea isn't necessary? What have those silly abbesses been teaching you in my absence?"

Lovell watched with a smile as the woman shuffled off again to dig up another porcelain jar, this one filled with what she assumed to be white tea leaves from Aries; how the supposedly isolated apothecary-cum-sleeper cell managed to get her hands on such rare, expensive specimens eluded the younger priestess.

"...How have you been?" Lovell asked, fingering the rim of her cup.

"Fine, fine," Morgvy said from where she fussed over the hearth. "It's been peaceful these past few months despite Aden's boy throwing a rather dreadful tantrum, setting forts ablaze and torturing nobles in public." the woman sighed. "The worse was his decision to sic his over-eager knights on the town, ordering them to ransack the entire place in search of spies; not that they found any of great significance. They did manage to scare away all my most important couriers for a long while yet though. No one dared carry any parcel and risk getting snared, nor was there any point in doing so since the lord forbade anyone from leaving the town. Not a single message would survive the trip across the town's borders. Terrifying how many good people would turn on their neighbours just for some coin."

"...You weren't hurt, were you?"

"No," Morgvy chuckled. "Those bullies did not shake more than a handful of coin and some salves from my person. I have a very close partnership with Mallowstons' ribalds and I am well-liked in these parts; no one would risk the ire of the entire slums and grievously assault me."

Lovell nodded in relief. "...What did happen to the earl? I read the messages Eliva sent but I still don't understand why such could happen."

Morgvy shrugged. "I hear whisperings of demonic possessions and what nought, but I reckon the fall he took the night his brother fled simply scrambled his head. Or worse still, the accident awakened some dark bloodlust in him; the Grifenburgs always did have a vile urge for mindless bloodshed. Just look at many macabre deeds committed at the hands of his swindler of a father, grandfather and uncle. Eliva mentioned she had the boy checked to confirm he wasn't replaced, so it couldn't be one of our own masquerading as him for whatever reason. Either way, he clearly is much more dangerous and cunning than he was before; I know Her Holiness might find such a fellow, strange as he is, intriguing, but please plead with her on my behalf to take due caution when dealing with him."

"...Understood."

Morgvy stood from her crouch carrying with her a small kettle of boiling water. The older woman dusted a small spoon of tea leaves into the kettle before stirring it around and sieving it into Lovell's cup with a fine copper mesh. "Here," she said, passing Lovell another jar from the basket, "have some honey."

"Thank you."

"Anyways, I would advise you and Lady Vaiu to leave these parts soon."

"Why?" Lovell asked, confused.

"...The Lion of Khule raises a great army at Sean's behest to march east and claim Aden's lands; the Bloody Gryphon might not appreciate the gesture. Either way, I foresee another war these coming months and would feel at ease knowing you both are a few dozen leagues away from it…"

The woods north of Mallowston.

Count Josh took another harried breath as he glanced over his shoulder, fleeing with nought but the clothes on his back, his heart pounding with fear and exhaustion. As he stumbled over roots and rocks, his clothes torn and muddy, he wondered again how he found himself in such dire straits. The early spring rain poured down, drenching him to the bone; the late-winter winds cut at his wet skin, his jaws clattering incessantly from the cold. He ran with no food or shelter, feeling his body slowly give out under him. It hath been three days since he was forced to beach the Dandelion and his pursuers showed no signs of relenting.

Every sound made him jump, every rustle in the bushes made him fear that he had been caught. He ran still, pushing himself forward despite his exhaustion. He felt it, that cruel certainty harboured in the darkest crevices of his mind, that if he stopped—if he gave up—they would catch him.

Whomsoever they were.

The first day was a blur of panicked running, with wet branches slapping his face and rocks tripping him up. He didn't stop to rest, only pausing for a moment to drink from a stream before pushing on with the enemy hot on his trail. By the second day, the hunger pangs had set in, and his feet ached from the constant movement. He was forced to slow down, conserving his energy as best he could. He scavenged for edible plants and drank droplets of water from the trees he passed upon failing to find another stream, but his stomach growled in protest still. The long nights were cruel to Josh, and morning brought no respite. The count could hear them now, their heavy footfalls echoing in the trees behind him.

"There is one!" came a shout behind him. He had been spotted, and by a stroke of ghastly luck, he tripped on ancestors knows what, falling face-first into the muddy forest floor. The count tried to rise, but his body, worn and battered, failed him. He watched as the hunting party emerged from the trees, the mounted men and their hounds surrounding him. Josh sighed, falling back into the mud to stare at the cloudy skies above. Despondent. He had lived long enough to know when a fight was no longer worth having.