Leudora Galbur took a deep breath, leaning over the ship's railing. The empty forecastle behind her drowned in morning mist, salty dewdrops covering every part of the vessel. She closed her eyes, listening to the waves hitting the bilge of the Jadrolinija ferry on its way to Kotor. She barely suppressed a twitch of an eyebrow when a distinct smell of a gravity-switcher reached her nostrils.

Goran had already tried to strangle her once he regained consciousness, but to Leudora's surprise, he did not do much except for grabbing the high collar of her coat and lifting her off the ground like a puppet. She wondered if it was Slavoj's constant company and Goran's odd upbringing that made him blush every time he saw a pretty woman. She did not believe he had communicated with girls often enough to develop a calm reaction to the presence of anyone but Slavoj by his side. She smirked, thinking that most of his knowledge about people of all genders came from those romance novels that he kept hidden in his backpack. It could be worse.

Leudora's lips curved in a sly smirk when Goran tried to sneak up on her.

"If you have come to offer me your apologies, then I accept them." She did not turn.

"Well..." If confusion and shame had a sound, Leudora heard them in Goran's voice. "How did you know I was behind you? Do I emit a specific energy signature that you can identify?"

She mocked him, "You're as loud as a jet plane taking off."

"An Alkar should not be loud..." Goran murmured. Leudora shook her head, turning to face him.

"Impossible to know if you measure up, isn't it? The Alka, Kosar and his stories about the valiant Serpent, the shadows of your parents." She held his gaze for a long while, wondering whether he realized that their faces shared a daunting resemblance. Biting his lips and drawing blood, Goran broke the spell of her metallic stare.

"We should not have left my mentor there!"

Leudora stifled a sigh: she almost envied the clarity of Goran's perception. She quickly approached him and seized his shoulders, once again burying her taunting gaze into his blinking eyes.

"The right thing to do is not always the right thing to do," she said. "Your protection is more important than our ambitions, grievances and desires. Slavoj understands that. Do you?"

"Why?" he demanded, a stubborn crease marring his smooth forehead.

"Because you are a Gothar, who is supposedly resistant to blood lilies. Because your parents knew something about the Veil and the Great Collapse that brought their death upon them. Because neither I, nor Slavoj, know who killed them or why. Because I want my kin to survive and, even more than that, I want to know the answers to all these questions. It's a long list, Goran."

"I can protect myself." Goran lifted his chin proudly. Leudora loosened her grip and stepped aside.

"All you can do is trade impressive kicks and punches with your opponents."

"Impressive kicks and punches would have helped us defeat those people!" His voice rang with guilt and despair. Leudora recognized the feeling all too well.

"And then what?" Leudora asked, feeling autumn sun caress her cheeks. "Tomislav Drašković and his cronies know that Kosar can't prove his innocence by attacking his kin. If Tomislav spots a Byzantine Blood by his side, it won't take him long to conclude that we were the ones to help Kosar escape the wrath of the Council fifteen years ago. And if he figures out that part, he will guess who you are and why we've been keeping you safe all these years. I doubt that he'll release you. But even if he did, you may not live long."

"Then what would you have me do?" Goran stood in front of her, cold resolve in his eyes, his arms crossed on his chest. Leudora looked away. The sudden realization of what he might become troubled her more than she could have admitted.

"Search for allies, Goran. The Alkari can protect you, but you do not need to believe them. The Alka is not everything."

"It is!" A stubborn frown crossed his face. Leudora knew passion when she saw it.

"It is not. Guardian Myzeqari, a friend of mine, opposed Kosar's expulsion and chose to leave the Alka after the assassination of your parents. She may become a precious ally. And there are others."

"Like you?" Goran stared at her expectantly. Leudora gave him a cold, piercing look.

"I have nothing to gain and a lot to lose from your death."

"Am I supposed to be happy with your answer?" Goran scoffed. Leudora shrugged with a wry smile. The boy did possess a certain charm that she could not deny. A dangerous kind of charm.

"Remember one thing, Goran." Leudora's tone became grave. "If you find yourself cornered, search for a Hungarian time-master called Ferenc Szemere." She handed him an old-fashioned paper with a name written on it. Goran stared at it in surprise. "He is the only man you can trust."

"How is he different from everyone else?" Goran frowned.

"He doesn't have a single selfish interest in you."

"Is this how you determine whether to trust someone?"

"Only when I have the luxury of a choice."

"Since you've killed the Dalmatian Serpent, I guess I'll have to rely on your friends."

Leudora raised her left eyebrow, eyes narrowing.

"Don't tempt me, Goran. The result will disappoint you. I am not going to confess my sins to you."

Goran approached Leudora and leaned forward, a dangerous sparkle in his greyish eyes. "You loved him, didn't you?" he asked. Leudora gaped, feeling as if the air had been sucked out of her lungs. "Your energy-wielding tricks never worked on him! He would not betray the Alka for you, and you killed him. Because you loved him!"

Leudora frowned, stepping away, leaning over the edge of the ship's board. The boy had nerve – a cruel bravado that allowed him to inflict painful blows without aiming. Long heavy silence stretched between them. A vortex of acrid emotions rose beneath the calm surface of Leudora's blank expression. Then something inside her cracked, and she laughed a sharp artificial rattle. Leudora barely recognized the clear sound of her voice when she spoke again.

"Do I look desperate enough to kill a man for refusing my advances?"

Goran sulked, mumbling something incomprehensive.

"You're a smart young man, Goran. You're entitled to your own opinions, but not to your own facts." Her eyes suddenly darkened, and her mocking tone turned into a hoarse whisper. "Dragomir Drašković was an outstanding man. Glorious. Smart as a whip. It was easy to fall under his influence. It was even easier to worship him, shower him with purple roses. But much to your disappointment, I have nothing to tell you."

Goran shook his head, as if refusing to believe it. "You don't look like someone who kills on a whim. Why would you kill him...?"

"If not out of spite and jealousy?" Leudora shot him a questioning glance. "Some stories can only be told from multiple viewpoints: that is the only way you can see the whole picture for yourself." Salty air, cliffy islands and distant expanses of green created a blurry picture in her mind and distracted her from the bitter feeling of frustration. She sighed, ignoring Goran's pointed stare.

"Hm... You're just avoiding my questions," Goran scoffed. Leudora smirked, her fingers diving into the pocket of her long coat, brushing the bumpy surface of the snake-ring. She clasped it in her palm and then showed it to Goran, slowly unfurling her fingers.

"This thing alone conceals a story I have been trying to crack for many years." She paused. "My uncle Svetozar believed the ring once belonged to Larisa Lascari. She used to like purple roses much like myself. But all that is left of her is a blood lily stone."

"Larisa Lascari?" Goran frowned. "She was one of the purple-wearers of the old, wasn't she?"

"Her story may be just as exciting as that..." She scoffed, trying to remember the title of the romance novel Goran carried in his bag. "What was it called? 'Deadly artificer'?"

"Deadly Artifice!" Goran blushed, ducking his head.

"Ah, that makes a lot of difference, I suppose." She rolled her eyes and then grinned, watching Goran bite his lips. "Larisa Lascari was a 'deadly artificer' with too much energy running through her veins."

"So...what did she do?" Goran asked, trying to feign indifference but failing, much to Leudora's amusement.

"They say lightning-bearers are bound to cause disasters," she said pensively. "Larisa Lascari was unlucky enough to receive the curse. Just like I did. She was left alive under one condition: she was supposed to join the Fasma and serve the knowledge. The circumstances of her birth bestowed unprecedented privilege upon her: she was the niece of a Councilor, and supposedly a woman of rare beauty and scientific talent." Leudora tilted her head to the side, measuring Goran from head to toe. "It was no wonder she quickly rose through the ranks of the Fasma, becoming the only Archoine whose name is never mentioned by my former colleagues. This is what made me so interested in her. Forbidden is the only kind of knowledge worth pursuing."

"She could have just been crazy," Goran scoffed. Leudora lifted an eyebrow.

"Not crazier than the rest of us. She started out as a shrewd politician, a true devotee of the Fasma cause. By the time she was thirty, she had it all: influence, reputation, a circle of admirers and a circle of enemies. But then... something happened. Her feud with the Spy Guild resulted in an assassination attempt. An Alkar, a young Slav, saved her from an ambush in the Balkan Mountains. She almost died on a rocky road from Constantinople to Sredets. The details of this dramatic event remain shrouded in mystery. But there was something about that gravity-switcher that changed her. Some say Larisa Lascari was so proud she would never allow herself, a pure Byzantine Blood, to owe anything to anyone, let alone a Balkan gravity-switcher. Others claimed she hated him so much that she ended up falling in love with him." A sad smile crossed her lips as she watched Goran blink, gawking at her. "It is the beauty of the story that remains when all truth is gone."

"The Alkar swore his life and heart to protecting the kin. Sounds familiar, doesn't it?" she asked. "Later Chroniclers would claim that Larisa Lascari begged him to leave the Alka, but he refused, remaining faithful to his ideas and upsetting a woman who was too powerful for him to handle. As you may guess, powerful emotions have dangerous consequences."

"Larisa Lascari's life plummeted into a fiery abyss. The rumors of a handsome Alkar rejecting a Psychic spread fast. Hurt and humiliated, she descended into deep and unsettling paranoia, the seeds of which we all carry in us. Eventually, she swore to destroy every associate and every bond the Alkar had, so that he'd have nobody to turn to, except for her. Larisa Lascari used her extended connections and enhancement to slaughter, stab and obliterate the Alkari. A rather banal move, I must admit. But it makes for a beautiful story, nonetheless." She sighed.

"Venetian gravity-switchers owed a debt to the Archoine, but her conditions surprised them. She ordered them to poison a delegation of twenty prominent Alkari, including two Magisters who intended to pay them a visit of courtesy. In return, Larisa Lascari promised her Venetian allies riches beyond measure, and favors from her uncle. The deaths of those Alkari would have crippled the Alka forever. They would have stripped the young gravity-switcher of his sanctuary. So she thought. And her allies agreed."

"The day the Venetian gravity-switchers poured blood lily venom into the goblets of the Alkari, the Archoine of the Fasma appeared in her purple robes. She was accompanied by a magnificent throng of most distinguished knowledge keepers, all carrying chests filled with technological marvels of the Ancestors. She wore a simple serpent ring on her finger - a present from her most devoted associate. Larisa Lascari walked up the stairs of a Romanesque residence with her luxurious train wiping the marble floors, triumphant and eager to witness the downfall of her enemies. Her servants opened the doors and she entered a spectacular room adorned with extravagant frescos. Can you guess what she saw?" Leudora fixed her metallic stare on Goran. He shrugged.

"I would say that she saw her people killed. Double-crossed by those Venetians," Goran replied.

"If you record this story, make sure you do it your way." Leudora nodded, slightly bowing her head. "Larisa Lascari did see the corpses on the floor. What she did not know was that among the two magisters who were supposed to attend the party, one was the newly appointed Grand Magister. Unwillingly, she killed the man she had been so obsessed with.

"In her rage, she went insane. She called down the lightning and slaughtered her own people together with her Venetian accomplices. Everyone perished in a storm of wild energy." Leudora paused. "When all her enemies and allies perished, she seized the Grand Magister's hand and unclutched his fingers, pulling his cup away. She downed the remaining wine and lay beside him, her long hair falling loose. The ring I am holding in my hand now was found beside the Magister's body."

"Did she die?" Goran interrupted her.

"Probably," Leudora answered with a note of mystery in her voice. Goran frowned.

"How can that be?"

"There was a time-master among her most trusted advisors. He saw death coming upon everyone around him and managed to cheat it, avoiding the Archoine's fury. Distracted and destroyed, she must have simply missed him. When he approached her body in a circle of corpses, she was still breathing. He saw her deep death-like slumber. The time-master took a slipper, wrapping her body in the purple cloak, and disappeared. He carried Larisa Lascari away. Neither of them was ever seen again."

"Where did they go?"

"It would not be a good story without a mystery, would it? One legend says the nameless time-master built her a crypt somewhere in the Balkan Mountains or the Tatras. There she sleeps forever in a marble sarcophagus in her purple gown stained with red wine, an amethyst necklace around her neck. Her secretary guards her sleep so that she may never return." Leudora looked into his eyes with curiosity. "Did you like the story?"

He nodded reluctantly. "Your whole family is screwed."

"You're learning." Leudora gave him a patronizing smile. Then she drew a deep breath.

"I killed Offcasts, Goran. I can't change my choices. And I would not. Both I and the Serpent deserved everything that happened to us. We knew the price. We saw it coming, both of us."

Goran winced but said nothing.

"We won't stay long in Kotor," Leudora continued. "I need to contact an old acquaintance before we can reach my cousin Sava."

Just as Leudora uttered the last words, a graceful silhouette of a town appeared in the morning mist, surrounded by green mountains and jagged cliffs. Goran froze as if enchanted by the stupendous beauty of those white-grey walls, heavy stone facades and elegant towers reflected in the dark-blue water of the lagoon. It was a place where the sea melted into land. Kotor.