Othar par Venatia, only prince of Davil sipped from a couple of tea as he sat legs crossed in the chair. His light brown skin clashed against his dyed curly blue hair- a bet he had once lost to his elder sister that he had come enjoy and thusly kept. He was a stocky lad, clean shaved on both face and body and was in a white puffy shirt and well-worn pants, not needing to wear his usual robes for Tea with his younger sister.
“He’s getting worse. Yesterday he tried to order a Hustarian servant executed.”
“Who?” Amelia asked.
“One of yours. The bald one.”
“Why was father in the horse stables?”
“I have asked and been given no reason why.”
“And what did Andrius do or say to get a death penalty?”
“He did not bow deep enough.”
“That’s all?”
“That and his eye color.”
“I grow more and more worried he’ll forget he sired me.”
“You look too much like your mother to have him forget. Much more than Tamara and me for ours.”
“You have your mom’s nose.”
“And it fits awful.”
Amelia sipped her tea, “Speaking of Tamara, when is she due back?”
“A few weeks.”
“And then we can…”
“Yes, then we may begin the process of removing father before he can do any harm.”
“He will not take that well.”
“He will have no choice. I have the votes and we heirs all agree he needs to go.”
“How many knights would we need if he freaks?”
“A few dozen if Tamara and I don’t try.”
“And I?”
“Amelia, you can’t even use either of your possible magics.”
“Maybe a high stress situation would force it to activate.”
“It activates when you figure out what it is. That’s how us royals work.”
“Yes, if it is Davilk, but it could be Hustarian.”
“Your mother was high class enough that it could be either and my explanation would stand. Where’s Sasha?”
“With her father in town. Where are Garrison and Boa?”
“Around. Unlike Sasha my guards prefer to protect me in a less attention drawing way.”
“More like Sasha is a friend and Garrison and Boa hate you.”
Othar laughed, “People not being a friend, does not mean they hate you.”
“What would you know about having friends?”
“How are your lessons going.”
“How do you think? I had Miss Coco all week.”
“You really need to learn to hold your tongue.”
“I have actual emotions, unlike you.”
“I have emotions, I just don’t wear them on my face and tongue.”
Amelia leaned back in her chair and looked out the balcony onto the city, wondering if Sasha was enjoying this rare day off.

Sir Asa Falladay, now graying and wrinkled but still physically as fit as he was in his prime was enjoying his day with his daughter. She was as always complaining about the youngest princess. They had been inseparable as sisters ever since Amelia was brought to the castle.
“You could take a short leave if she exhausts you so, daughter?”
“And let her alone? You know as well as anyone she needs supervision.”
“And where is she now?”
“With her brother and his guards. No worry of her safety there.”
“And Prince Othar’s safety?”
“He can handle his sister better than most.”
They walked along some more, into the more packed middle districts of the city- where Sasha had been born and raised. A few people greeted them with a familiarity in their voice that lacked much of the respect those above and below them often lacked. The father-daughter duo made their way into a row of stalls, empty and boarded up.
“It’s not a holiday, is it?” Sasha asked.
Her father scowled and shook his head, “No, I suppose they’re worried.”
“Worried? Why?”
“Rumors of gangs breaking in and stealing.”
“These rumors, are they truth?”
“Perhaps. There is growing unrest amongst the lower class Hustarians. Though I wouldn’t worry as much if I were them.”
“Higher classes first? They are in the way still, father.”
“Yes, true but also I don’t think vegetable stand owners are the kind a radicalized mob would target.”
“It’s a mob, no telling how it would go if it appeared.”
Sasha cracked her neck and stretched. Speaking of Hustarians, a few were chatting in a corner. He father nodded and they approached them. Immediately Sasha recognized one of them as that white haired painter that Amelia was fan of, Gadi. She was stuck between fear of the Captain of the Guard and excitement of seeing Sasha who she had wanted to paint for a while approaching her. Beside her was a chubby little man, with bright orange hair and a wide smile. Leaned against a wall was a hooded figure who didn’t give any notice to the two knights. Sasha wasn’t even sure they were awake.
“Hark, citizens. Tell, have you heard any rumors of robbery?”
The ginger responded, “None more than you probably have sir. I do not often hear from the lowest rung.”
The artist nodded as well, “Unrest is all I hear. Tell me in exchange, do the terrorists exist?”
Sasha shook her head, “What do you mean? The ones that are Hustarian who claim their leader as crown prince or the one in the city? The former has proof the latter is on.”
“Just worried about you all. Tales of the King going mad are quite rampant.” The ginger replied.
“Are you a terrorist?” Asa asked.
“Only to the ladies.” The man winked at Sasha who was busy trying to figure out if the hooded figure was conscious.
“Who’s the friend, Gadi?” Sasha pointed at them
Gadi turned and looked. “Them? No clue. They were asking directions to the chapel up there.”
“Were they?” Asa smiled, “Good to see a Hustarian take interest in the faith.”
“Dad, you can’t even see their eyes.”
“He is right, the kid is a full blood like us.”
“Well, we can show them to the chapel if they wish. I need to do some confessions anyways. What say you Sasha?”
“You enjoy being a tour guide too much, but sure. As long as they take off the hood. It’s suspicious.” She said walking over to the youth. “You, name?”
A voice answered, weirdly low in pitch but high in tone. It was at once androgynous and yet not at all. It felt shaky, like it was out of practice or not practiced enough. “Don’t know yet.”
“Don’t know yet?”
“Haven’t chosen to be more precise.” The youth replied.
“Oh, any… last name then?”
“Not precisely. Um… I guess you could call me Mister Oaks for now. That’s the name of the house I’m living in. The Oaks.” He replied. Sasha had heard of it, it was once the orphanage that Amelia had been in, but after most of the orphans got adopted and the church moved across the city it had fallen into disrepair until a group of Hustarian bought it and refurbished it into a home for the less fortunate among them- which was a fortune quite lowly indeed. Sasha hadn’t gone herself but often guards had to prevent it from being burned down by people mad they were also using the old church as a place to sleep, among some more obvious reasons. Sasha had wondered for a while who set it up, but all the paperwork said was it was a businesswoman from Hustaria. It had a few benefactors besides that, but they all registered under a company, to avoid their names being placed with the house for reasons of safety. Sasha had seen it once, and it was rowdy but well run. Of course, she also wouldn't call it a good place to be- though Amelia would have had her ear for saying that about what was basically where she grew up for half of her current life.
Sasha coughed, “Oaks, hood.”
“Um, actually can I keep it up, it helps my mood.”
“Let me see the face to make sure you aren’t on a wanted poster.” Asa said, walking up towards them. Mister Oaks tilted his head back and he examined him. After a few seconds he told him that he could return to his poor posture and turned to Sasha.
“So?”
“He is certainly a new face to me.”
“Any notable details?”
“Not really.”
“How old do you reckon?”
“Uh… twelve.”
“Really?”
Asa shrugged and turned to Mister Oaks, “Ready?”
He nodded and started to follow them,
“What business do you have at the chapel?” Ada asked.
“Oh, a friend of mine got in under Father Farcli.”
“Oh, yes I heard he had finally convinced them to give another Hustarian a chance.”
“Yes, pray, do you know what he did?” Oaks asked.
“Simply pointed out that he’s getting up in age and without a Hustarian in the Upper Levels of the Church the rabble might grow restless.”
“I see. Are you religious, sir?”
“I believe in the faith but not the restrictions. Be rather awkward for my daughter if I did.”
“What a great father, putting her above faith.”
“Don’t listen to him, kid. He never prayed even before I was a twinkle in his eyes.”
“I prayed sometimes. Like when I prayed for the drill sergeant to die.”
“Such a faithful man.”
“Is your friend religious?”
“Yes, quite indeed. He was always a favorite of the Sisters.”
Asa nodded, “And is the path of faith what he wants?”
“Yes, sir. More than anything else.”
“It is good to find one’s path so early
“Yes, sir. I hope to find my path soon as well.”
The Chapel was a rather odd-looking building for a place of worship. It was a tower, ten stories tall and made of marble, looking as if it had been carved out of a single piece, no seams or gaps to show where the builders had place slab upon slab. The lower three levels had walls at forty-five-degree angles with small notches where cannons were to be placed in case of a siege inside the city walls. A siege within a sieged city if ever the opportunity for their use came to pass. The top of the building was a large clock, which no one but those in the caste could hope to see, and who’s automated bell had been out of sync for generations now.
Oaks thanked the two and went inside.
He made his way past the pews, ignoring the gazes of the worshippers and into the abbey where his friend said he’d be waiting. An old wizened looking green-eyed man in white robes appeared.
“Father Farcli.” Oaks greet.
“You must be Henry’s friend. He is awaiting you in the organ room.” He pointed towards a room in the distance. Oaks bowed and ran forward, throwing open the door.
Henry glared at him as it swung open, interrupting his practice. “You are late.”
“Sorry, I got lost.”
“And whose fault is that?”
“A guy named Henry.”
“Really, from my standing it seems more like a guy named… whatever you’re going to choose.”
“I mean if we want to be specific, it’s more the bosses’ fault.”
“Not like they could have spared anyone.”
“I mean she could have come.”
“You know well enough why she wants to avoid the upper.”
“Not like anyone should recognize her. Or any of us. Even they’d be pressed to realize it was us.”
“You literally look the same but with a buzz cut.”
“Rude, I have some stubble.”
“That is peach fuzz. You aren’t even on anything.”
“Anyways, how goes the mission?”
“Slowly. I was shown the idol, but I was blindfolded while they took me down.”
“And I take it the guard schedule is the same?”
“Can only note what I can I see.”
“And?”
“What I’ve seen is lax. Though again, blindfolded towards the idol.”
“Great. And how goes the Father?"
Henry shook his head, “He is a pious man.”
“Then be more pious.”
“I am not like Sherwood was.”
“Don’t name the dead. You were trained in it.”
“Yes, basic acting to help my cover. I cannot fake true devotion. Someone like Farcli would see through me like glass.”
“Regardless, they asked you to turn him off you could, so like try your best.”
“Sure sure. Speaking of trying, I heard a rumor about that one?”
“Yes. Saw it myself, starting to change.”
“Well, as long as it isn’t going to affect them during the mission.”

"She is here to steal and nothing more."

Henry nodded, "I will try my best then."
Oaks bowed, “Hustaria Fa Geala Voi Motre.”
“Hustaria Fe Otrea Ples Jior.” Echoed back Henry before the hooded boy left.
Henry turned and hit a G sharp on the organ, letting it ring for a while. Then he grumbled and opened up a Bible so he could become more pious. He looked at himself in the reflection of the wood, his slightly crooked jaw staring back. Pious for the religion of the assholes that beat him up as a younger kid. He was going to have to hold that rage in. 

They really should have just sent her.