Amelia thought death was supposed to bring everything to a halt. When her mother had died, the whole world had been one long unbearably sunny, silent morning, an empty forever punctuated only by sleep and tears. This time there was no agonized wailing, and it was Amelia's turn to be one of the adults whose robes she'd wept into as a child. But there were no children to console. In fact, almost no one at the palace wept at all. Seyruun had prepared for the king's passing since Eldoran had learned of the plot to usurp the throne with Kanzel. The old man had responded with frantic, almost violent denial, and spent his last years in incoherent despair. Black velvet banners and dirges had lain in wait ever since. Now the moment had come, his suffering had ended, and everyone was relieved.

The funeral took place at the St. Baruch of the Divine, a splendid temple at the furthest outskirts of Seyruun, which meant a long and somber parade crisscrossing the capital. Amelia sat in a covered carriage alongside her father as they looked out over the gathering crowds who had come to watch the end of an era. Enormous Seyruun horses draped in black led the way followed by mourning music and priestly phalanxes performing ritual sorcery.

Prince and princess held their faces in perfect stately solemnity the entire time. It did not matter that the man who had died was her grandfather, Phil's father: this ceremony was for the people, a restrained show of strength, to prove Seyruun's stability was never in question.

"Look at the roads, Amelia," her father said, gesturing meaningfully. "Look how well kept they are. The fountains and the bridges, the public housing for the poor, those are all your grandfather's legacy. He followed the legacy of his great-grandfather, William Al Hadi di Seyruun, the first king to strip our magic armies to the bare minimum and instead invest in our people. That we should find prosperity through peace...that is our proudest legacy. But the work is never-ending! It remains for us to carry on."

Amelia looked at the roads, the bridges, all of brilliant sparkling Seyruun. For three days she had been waiting for him to even say his eldest daughter's name. He hadn't, and it had become more than she could stand. "And Gracia," she said.

Phil stiffened, but his face remained fixed. "Your sister's path," he said, his tone threatening darkness like gathering storm clouds, "is her own."

How could he say that? How can he abandon her? She gripped the side of the carriage with one hand and stared out at the sea of spectators. There were some tear-stained faces in the throng, mostly wrinkled and elderly ones who remembered the better years of Eldoran's reign. Amelia hoped they would all have a good cry on her behalf.

"Why doesn't she belong in Seyruun with us?" It took incredible control to speak in such a stoic way, to all but lash out while dulling her voice so that nothing showed emotion or sounded out of place.

"She made a choice, Amelia."

"But she was so young! She was younger than I am now when she left." Years ago Amelia had thought twenty was old, but now she thought she knew less than ever.

"That's right. She was still a child. What she does now is her decision. Every day, where she goes or does not go, is her decision. But her decision to leave back then…"

Phil turned abruptly back over his shoulder, back towards their home opposite the setting sun. Confused mourners in the crowds turned with him. From his carriage behind them (always behind them, always over their shoulders, always waiting) Christopher looked concerned. Amelia couldn't tell what her father was looking for in the palace complex's sky-piercing minarets and domes, or whether he was looking for anything at all. She couldn't see his face.

"...that is my legacy."

xOxOxO

The days following their return to Seyruun were among the most uncomfortable in Zelgadis's thoroughly uncomfortable life. It was bad enough that everyone in the country seemed to think the mourning period was at least two weeks too long, and they were all just awkwardly counting down until they could wear normal clothes again. He could not stand to be around Amelia while she tried so hard to keep a brave face, radiating so much tension he could smell it. When he finally called her on it she'd calmly told him she wasn't tense, there was nothing to worry about, and Lina was currently bringing her long-lost sister home so she could assume her proper title as crown princess.

Zelgadis had no idea how to respond. He knew nothing about the missing princess, other than the standard line that she was "an independent young woman" who was "training out in the world." The only other thing he had heard came from overhearing a conversation with Franz, who one night after too many cups of raisin-barleywine, mentioned that the princess was UTS, a government acronym for unfit to serve. It technically described anyone whose criminal history rendered them unqualified to be on juries or hold public office; among officials, it was slang for someone useless or grossly incompetent. In a world where Martina could be a passable queen, how could a princess be incompetent? And what did Lina have to do with it? Zelgadis didn't know, but he was sure there was about to be another collision between the simple narratives of high-minded hero stories and the real world, and this one was going to be a lot nastier than usual.

He hated the idea of being around for the fallout, but he hated the idea of missing it even more, and so he was trapped. It felt like waiting for one of Jillas's bombs to go off. He could only watch as Amelia tried valiantly to stay distracted until the designated coronation day. When the royal household finally arrived from Ruvinagald amidst a hubbub of lamentation and loud moans, she was the first to investigate.

By the time they arrived all of the servants' quarters were shrouded in viscous white mist. Porters and maids, already distraught, were now inconsolable upon hearing of the king's passing. Baffled healers cast Recovery spells and carried away those who had fainted.

"What happened here?" Zelgadis asked Hans, who was wiping away tears.

"Hell if I know. It started when we left for Seyruun with one maid and four days later it's an epidemic. With all that fog, too. And then Eogre almost had a damn heart attack!"

This last part by itself was not so suspicious, as Eogre was known to polish off chowders with a quart of cream. But other servants who were less reckless with their arteries were just as unwell, and everything aligned with Amelia's story of the mysterious mazoku from Ruvinagald Castle. After evacuating the apartments and fetching a hefty pot of holy water, Zelgadis and Amelia went on the hunt.

"It's strange that a mazoku would follow us all the way home."

"That's one word for it." Zelgadis wasn't convinced that they were dealing with mazoku, although the alternative was some class of magic entity he knew nothing about, which couldn't be much better.

"Maybe it lives in people's hearts. That's why they get chest pains and they're so sad!"

Only Amelia could reach an interpretation that was both poetic yet hyper-literal. She must have been infuriating in school. "It could be some type of engineered weapon targeting the royal family," he said, then wished he hadn't. It seemed impossible to talk about her family without the looming specters of plotting and death.

Fortunately Amelia took it in stride. "A living weapon?" she exclaimed. "That's devious! But I'm not going to be afraid. We're in Seyruun, surrounded by the world's most powerful white magic and the forces of love and justice!...not to mention so many brave and handsome knights."

Zelgadis shot her an exasperated look. "How long are you going to keep calling me handsome?"

"Until you believe it," she chirped.

He made a great show of groaning and rolling his eyes, and Amelia went on ahead of him. They were approaching the kitchen when he spotted it: a shimmering strand, roughly the length between his wrist and elbow, crawling along a sconce. It lifted up one of its ends-

"Bomb Di Wind!"

It launched a beam of light directly at him that he took head-on, and he was struck with the weight of every time he'd ever failed: all of the most intense late-night self-loathing he'd ever experienced, all at once. Zelgadis staggered backwards, knocked breathless by a blow that seemed to come straight from Rezo's cold hands, and only just caught himself before falling down.

Further away he heard Amelia's voice ring out with "Freeze Arrow!", but no spell came in his direction. They met in the kitchen, near the stove where Amelia had dropped off the holy water in a cast iron pot.

"I think I got it, Zelgadis-san!"

"What? I just hit it, back there..."

They looked at each other in confusion, then Amelia let out a revolted shriek. She pointed towards a corner where a discarded apron was covered with a knotted mass of glowing, slimy pieces. The monsters writhing together gave it a sickening supernatural pulse.

Amelia and Zelgadis chanted and unleashed simultaneous Elmekia Flames. Even with such a broad strike only some of the creatures collapsed on the spot, while others went flying into the air. Several stopped and caught themselves in a manner that made Zelgadis shudder: they were not just floating, but traversing planes, wriggling between the astral and physical world, phasing in and out of sight. His brau demon instincts wanted to devour them.

"Freeze Bullet!" Amelia cried, wielding her spell like a dodgeball towards a handful of the strands as they arched across the ceiling. She missed most of them as they nimbly bent out of the way. There was a blinding flash and she swayed on her feet, but rallied and snatched a ladle. "You can't break my spirit! Targeted Tsunami of Holy Water!"

Zelgadis watched as she dished out cold, wet blessings and had an idea. "Amelia! Turn on the stove!"

"Right!" She paused. "Wait, can you do that? Will that boil the holy out of it?"

"Is that...possible?"

"I don't know."

The monsters, now spread to all parts of the kitchen, unleashed more attacks in beams of unnatural light. Zelgadis leapt out of the way from one hit and cast a shield to protect Amelia from another. "I thought you were a shrine maiden?!"

"I'm a shrine maiden, not some kind of...of unholy chef!" She gave him a glare that preempted any thoughts he might have had about mentioning her cooking skills. But she complied, and when the stove seemed to be too slow for her liking, she cast a small Fireball and slammed the lid down on top.

With their enemies facing them in all directions, it was getting harder to dodge. Even the ones that missed left a trail of despair and sadness in the air, nearly as thick as the mist, which Zelgadis found particularly insulting. Nothing else is allowed to make me feel worse than I do.

He cast Raza Clover, a glittering storm of bright light, and used a Bam Rod to lasso the monsters that fell. With a swift flick of his wrist he maneuvered them towards the pot, where Amelia was waiting with the lid held off. They sizzled and screamed and gave off a steam dense with astral misery.

After a few tense minutes he reached into the boiling water, yanked out a creature and threw it as hard as he could. It lay motionless and flat against the wall. Amelia, seizing the opportunity, wound up to finish it off with a Visfarank.

"Don't bother," Zelgadis said, and sure enough, within seconds the strand dissipated altogether.

"How did you know it was done?" she asked curiously.

"It stuck to the wall."

Between large-scale spells, blocking and defending, and a bit of magic whip action, they cleared out the kitchen. At last the mist began to ebb, but Zelgadis couldn't tell whether they had truly finished off the beasts or just driven them into hiding. Although Amelia had only taken one or two blows, she looked substantially worse for the wear. "It's okay," she said in a warbling voice that was anything but. "It's not so bad if you think of happy memories!"

What are those for you? In a different place and time he would have asked. The serving kitchens were along the edge of the palace grounds, which meant a long walk back. Without the distraction of more excitement they returned to a vaguely unhappy silence.

"Zelgadis-san."

He felt a tug on his cloak and he whipped around, bracing for the explosion.

"I feel terrible," Amelia announced, as if there weren't many good reasons why this could be the case. "I'm not still being poisoned, right? Didn't you stop that?"

Damn. Reluctantly, he told her as much as he could about what they'd found in the household. Amelia listened with mounting disbelief.

"So...everyone's doing drugs, and I just got some by mistake?"

"They're mostly for staying awake, soothing pain, things like that," Zelgadis said, letting 'mostly' do the heavy lifting. He saw no need to mention her beloved elderly pastry chef also had a taste for hallucinogenic mushrooms in quiche. "Most of them are just drinking powerful herbal teas, and in some cases they might not have known what they were taking. It looks like an accident, although at least one person knew you might be sick and did nothing to stop it. We're still investigating."

"Hmm…" Amelia held her thumb and forefinger to her chin. "Did you ask Filia-san? If anyone's an expert on tea, it's her!"

"I did," he said, annoyed. "Anyway, I'm handling it."

"Still…" Amelia looked disheartened. "I thought I knew everything that happened in the palace. We trust our household completely! They feel almost like family."

"That's just it, they're not family. You don't pay your family, do you?"

When Amelia lowered her head guiltily, Zelgadis remembered she had no working knowledge of what normal families were like. For all he knew the royals in Seyruun bribed each other to put down their knives while sitting for group portraits.

He tried again, making a conscious effort to be a little less blunt. "It's just their job. They care about you, but you're their boss, and you can't have a family relationship with somebody you pay. All these people still have lives and families of their own...and their own secrets." Like casting black magic curses on people here to protect you. "You can't expect to know everything about them."

"Zelgadis-san…" Amelia tapped her forefingers together with a faraway look. "I'm...Daddy's not...just your boss, right?"

Zelgadis stared at her.

"D-don't be ridiculous. Phil doesn't need to pay me." What? But that was true, wasn't it? He felt his face go hot. "It's not like you could tell me what to do anyway," Zelgadis muttered, willfully ignoring a very long list of memories containing inconvenient evidence to the contrary. Maybe I'm a nice guy who really wanted to go fishing for Pokota that day. Out of the goodness of my heart. Yeah.

"You're right," Amelia said, and she brightened just a bit. "I'm taking a private audience tomorrow. Would you like to join me?"

Audiences, even private ones, were one of the worst parts of royal business, a complicated game at the intersection between politics and theater. It was all the ugliness of backroom dealing glitzed up for the gossip mill, where every glance and witticism was just as important as the official outcome. Zelgadis loathed that sort of artifice with his entire being.

"Okay."

xOxOxO

Amelia peeked through the curtain at the gathered assembly. Nobles and dignitaries in their finest robes talked quietly amongst themselves, showing off their rings and the gilded edges of their bishts. The foreign minister was dragging Zelgadis away from his preferred spot along the wall. An elderly man with a ruddy face and rounded jowls leaned on a cane at the center of the room. He wore a green three-piece suit, an odd fashion Amelia had only ever seen on the boat to Gioconda.

"He's so old," Amelia remarked to her maid Maris, who was doing one last once-over of the princess's dress and coiffure. Maris was only a little bit older than Amelia and her favorite maid for managing the surprisingly thorough business of princess upkeep. "What are they thinking?"

"I'm sure you'll find out soon, Princess."

"You're right. And Maris-san…" Amelia took her hands and smiled. "Thank you, truly, for everything you do."

Maris blinked.

A trumpet sounded and Amelia took her cue to step out from a side entrance. She adopted the slow, steady glide of royalty on display, briefly greeting the other diplomats and officials as she moved to the throne. Several of them offered tips ("I think he's an academic," said the foreign minister) as she passed. When she reached Zelgadis's side she paused and gestured for him to bend down. Their guest didn't need to know about his ultra-powerful hearing.

"Was he rude to you?" she whispered, close enough that his ear twitched against her lips.

"Not used to seeing chimeras," he replied quietly, "but no, not rude."

"Good." Amelia made a point of being more affectionate with Zelgadis on formal occasions. She wanted everyone to know he was perfectly human and anyone who might disagree would never be in good standing with the kingdom of Seyruun. She assumed Zelgadis didn't care for it, but he never pushed her away or complained, which was the clearest sign that he didn't quite mind. He was never shy about making his objections known.

Amelia gestured at the crier standing beside the throne, prompting him to speak.

"The chief parliamentarian of Yalain, Lord Evre Ortolan."

He's not even an ambassador? She looked out over the assembly, tilted her head in acknowledgment, and sat down. The rest of Seyruun's delegates sat with her. Amelia nodded at the peculiar distinguished visitor.

"You may speak," she said kindly.

Ortolan bowed as much as his bent back would allow. "It is the greatest honor of a very long lifetime to be in Seyruun," he said. He had a guttural accent and gave his Rs a light, crisp trill. "I only regret arriving on such a sorrowful occasion. Please accept the deepest sympathies from the duchy of Yalain."

"Thank you, sir," Amelia replied, her chest tightening.

"Yalain was once a place of great white or holy magic, too," he continued. "It's all quite lost to us now, of course. Our people haven't used magic in more than a thousand years and we know very little about the old ways. But that may be about to change.

"Two years ago, we discovered what archaeologists believe is an ancient holy shrine near our northern border. It's sparked great interest in the study of magic. However, we aren't in thrall to the ancient world. Many people in Yalain believe magic of any kind is reserved for the gods alone." He spoke matter-of-factly, but with an apologetic undertone. "Now we have a crisis on our hands. The duke is under pressure to pass an edict that would outlaw magic altogether, and we've had groups assaulting suspected sorcerers. A young man was killed by a mob some months ago just for possessing a book on holy rituals."

Amelia jumped to her feet. She could almost hear the diplomats wincing. "Violence and persecution can never be condoned!" she declared, arm outstretched and finger pointed. "To enshrine that persecution into the law would be the gravest injustice!"

Ortolan showed no surprise at this less than dignified show of passion. If anything, he looked pleased. "Why, yes. This is why I've come to Seyruun. I humbly request your aid in persuading the duchy to protect the rights of sorcerers, or even just those who might want to study it. We fear that without external assistance, Yalain could descend into sectarian violence that threatens the safety of sorcerers everywhere."

Amelia burned with righteous fury, but the foreign minister doused her flames in chilly skepticism. "Are you here in a private capacity, Lord Ortolan? If things are as you say, one imagines the Duke doesn't condone his government seeking help from sorcerers."

"Not private, precisely, although as a doddering old fool my failure would mean much less than the ambassador's," he said, with a wide smile that exposed two gold teeth in the sides of his mouth. "His Lordship dislikes your kind, but he dislikes domestic instability even more, and we can't afford a reputation that might provoke other nations. We must establish, at least, a minimal tolerance for sorcerers as people." Ortolan adjusted his suit jacket with his free hand, looking proud of himself. "Can't say I share the current fervor. Why, I used to teach a class on the history of holy magic at the university in Calakmul."

"How did you teach a class in a country that knows nothing about holy magic?"

He frowned. "I didn't say it was a long class."

"Lord Ortolan, what sort of assistance are you requesting?" Amelia asked, sitting again.

He held up his cane and waved it in a small circle. "Nothing extravagant. As I said, Yalain has no great love for sorcerers. I envision a...cultural expedition of sorts," he proposed. "Priests and healers, people of unimpeachable character and unquestionable skill, who can best represent the might and majesty of Seyruun. I want to present magic as something benign, a difference in traditions, as much Yalain's heritage as yours. My country may never again achieve a great love for magicians, but we may at least put a stop to the violence. Peace and tolerance benefits us all, I always say."

Amelia resisted the urge to commit all of Seyruun's diplomatic corps on the spot. The old man had an enigmatic, grandfatherly charm that appealed to her, but she knew it was exactly that sort of charm that should put her on guard. It's a strange situation...but he's not asking for soldiers, weapons, or military intervention…Amelia squinted. And he's so old!

The bells of the palace chapel tolled three. On ordinary working days that meant it was time to delegate domestic priorities over hibiscus tea and watercress sandwiches, but this was not an ordinary working day. Her chest clenched again.

"We are gratified to know you hold Seyruun in such high esteem," Amelia said. "As you know, you've arrived at a historic time for our kingdom. We will consider your request in three days' time following the coronation of my father and the official announcement of the crown princess. Until then, we are pleased to host you here as our honored guest."

"Oh no, Your Royal Highness!" Ortolan said, waving and half-bowing and pounding his cane into the floor for emphasis. He beamed all the while. "The pleasure is entirely mine."

Amelia snuck a look around the room, where the reactions seemed to range from polite neutrality to silent contempt. Zelgadis, arms folded and brows slanted down, was clearly not buying it: hide the silverware, his expression said. She decided that at least Ortolan's assessment of the situation was correct.

xOxOxO

Much later that night Zelgadis was alone in the library reading, or practicing convincing reading-like motions, with a troubling and deeply personal book about belief and the universe. After an hour of beating himself up for his own lack of infinite resignation he'd come to admit that he wasn't really in the mood to read and his attention was elsewhere: not on a book, not on reconciling oneself to existence, not even on the pending coronation that drew ever closer and more real with each passing hour.

Phil doesn't need to pay me. It was one of those truths that can't be fully perceived until spoken aloud, when the act of speaking reveals an unexpected meaning the brain hadn't quite understood. Phil didn't need someone to protect Amelia. He needed someone who wanted to protect Amelia, whether that meant cutting down monsters or crawling in sewers, whose loyalty wouldn't change with the ebb and flow of political fortunes. Looking after Amelia had been Zelgadis's lot even well before that fateful time in the Kataart Mountains. Phil had somehow seen that in him and just added a fancy title to it.

Protecting her, he realized at last, wasn't a cover for being a spy; it was the other way around.

Zelgadis was suddenly seized by a gnawing fear that everyone in the world could see him for what he was, even more clearly than he saw himself, that he was the only one stumbling around oblivious to what other people knew and felt. Was he as transparent as Filia's tea fanaticism? It couldn't be, because if anyone saw him, truly saw him or knew him (or even suspected the degenerate filth he imagined sometimes), he wouldn't be in any place of honor. It couldn't be because otherwise Amelia would never have asked such a senseless question.

Zelgadis had to set down his book to keep from accidentally tearing it apart. Super strength and high stress were a bad combination.

So I'm a job to you? - Well, yes. How had he gotten it so wrong? Zelgadis had thought that being a knight, even a sort-of part-time one, elevated him in her eyes beyond being just a traveling companion and battle partner. Whatever regard for him, whatever little soft spot she had in her heart that was nonetheless irrelevant because she was a princess and he was literally made of rocks, being a knight had to mean becoming something...closer. Something more significant than what she already felt.

It had never occurred to him that, by itself, it might be less.

xOxOxO

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