His attempt to meet the Grand Magister failed. Predictably, the old fox chose to wait out the storm and hide. The familiar corridors of the Tower seemed alien to Dragomir as he walked through them, listening to the echo of his footsteps. He frowned, touching his burning forehead: the migraine was back, and he had no bitter mint tea to ease the pain.

Peace was a taunting mirage that always remained out of his reach. He had spent his whole life fighting against his own fractured mind and the foolishness of others. Sometimes he thought he could not bear the burden. It was easy to be righteous without taking responsibility, and most people preferred to condemn him for his lack of sympathy. But their opinions mattered little to him. What was there to respect in those who did not see beyond their own noses?

That night Dragomir reached Slavoj Kosar via his light projector, standing on a spacious balcony overlooking Maksimir Park. The Magister looked barely alive, deep dark circles making his brown eyes pop out. Dragomir noticed fresh blood on his sleeve and dust in his tangled hair. He was sent to Northern Albania, as Dragomir had suspected before. Shipping off Kosar, the Grand Magister kept Dragomir away from the frontlines: the Alka's master of underhanded tactics was more useful to him in the Tower than a valiant fighter like Kosar. He observed his mentor's round face. It was strained with deep concern.

"Magister," Dragomir bowed slightly. "I must inform you that I intend to stop my family from murdering Leudora Galbur."

"The meeting organized by Tomislav and Domagoj is a scam, isn't it?" Slavoj groaned inwardly.

"Most certainly," Dragomir confirmed. "Having analyzed the Spy Guild's dossier on her I have come to an unsettling conclusion. She possesses powers she does not control but can unleash."

"What makes you think so?" Slavoj sounded shocked.

"Even most trained gravity-switchers cannot resist a lightning-bearer gone insane. And if she is half as driven and decisive as the Spy Guild believes her to be, she will go for the kill – at the cost of her own life and sanity."

"What do you mean...?"

"Grand Magister Blažetin has been following Lady Galbur's career since the appearance of her controversial article about our origins and the Ancestors." Dragomir spoke clearly and distinctly, measuring every word.

"Blažetin is a careful man." Slavoj frowned. "And he expects you to fail. But you know that already, don't you? What about Leudora Galbur?"

"She is... unconventional. That's why I asked you to address her in the first place."

"So are you, Commander."

"Possibly." Dragomir nodded reluctantly, "If she makes threats, I would take them seriously."

"Well. What do you intend to do then?" Slavoj pressed his lips tightly together and tensed as if expecting a blow. Dragomir raised an eyebrow, collecting his thoughts. He had spent much time alongside Slavoj, yet all too often he realized that even his mentor could not fully grasp his motives and tactics. With a strange thrill tightening his throat, he wondered if Leudora Galbur could. In his whole life he had never encountered a person whose mind was so similar to his own. It was an unsettling discovery.

"The Grand Magister has ordered me to retrieve Svetozar Galbur. If I fail, I prefer to keep the Alka's reputation untarnished. You will inform the Grand Magister that my actions were not sanctioned by you or other Magisters if Svetozar Galbur dies. I am overstepping my prerogatives as the leader of the Red Bond. This is the most I can do."

"Dragomir!" Slavoj exclaimed. "I won't let you do that!"

"I have made my decision." He remained calm and stiff.

Slavoj coughed through the dust. "I won't let you do this alone!"

"I am not leaving you a choice, Magister." Dragomir bowed curtly before switching off the light projector. Slavoj was easy to impress, and he preferred to let his Mentor believe he had not been preparing for this outcome for months.

"Noble, noble of you, Red Leader!" Orjeta clapped her hands behind his back. She did not startle him. The invisible burden lay heavy upon Dragomir. Now he shared the weight with this young mocking girl with dark-blue eyes and a heart-shaped face.

"Apostle Myzeqari." He did not turn.

"You are a snake, aren't you, Red Leader?" she sounded genuinely offended.

"You should not be here."

"I am here because I chose to follow you! We have a deal, don't we?!"

They did. But Drašković did not deem it necessary to remind her of the agreement. Orjeta was useful, she was an ideal soldier with impressive strength incongruous with her small build. Orjeta was irreplaceable with her stubborn courage, but she was difficult to tolerate. Dragomir clasped his hands, his long fingers intertwining – an old habit that was difficult to control.

"We have a deal," he said after a long pause.

"You and Magister Kosar are the only people who want to end this war! You see what Blažetin and the rest do, don't you? Of course, you do! You are smart! People like you, like Wiegler, like Kosar... we need to make this exchange happen! No matter the cost."

Dragomir was silent. He watched her for a long minute, noticing how fiercely her eyes burnt. But his mind was elsewhere – he remembered the mountains in the Dalmatian hinterland and the blossoming white wisteria climbing up an old wall of crumbling stone: why did he always see that vine when his thoughts were most troubled?

"Why do you trust me?" he asked, shooting her a flash of his alien eyes.

"I don't." She chortled. "You are ruthless, devious, and unscrupulous."

He arched an eyebrow. "Anything else?"

"Vicious, cold and about as compassionate as a stone."

"Have you run out of adjectives yet?"

"Oh, no. I am very well-read. You are weird and indifferent to the pains of others. You even look creepy."

"That is rather unoriginal," he pointed out matter-of-factly.

"I don't care," she grinned, "I don't like you. But I hate Jurčević and Blažetin more. And even I must admit that you know how to get the job done. I don't know how you do it, but it always works out. Thus, I will even tolerate your creepy eyes for a while."

"Alien?" His lips twisted. At least she did not lie to him. She shrugged her shoulders.

"Unfortunately, you are the brightest we have!"

"Should I be flattered?" He paused, considering her words: it was the closest Orjeta could come to paying someone a compliment. "Apostle Myzeqari, I must ask you to do something."

"Should I catch the Byzantine Basilisk?" She sounded almost excited.

"No." One twitch of an eyebrow was enough to convey dissatisfaction. "You should deliver Svetozar Galbur to his kin."

"What!?" Orjeta gawked at him.

"I have reason to believe that as soon as Svetozar Galbur is set free, he will be re-captured."

Orjeta's face suddenly grew solemn.

"I should protect him then...?"

"I cannot order you to risk your life for Svetozar Galbur. I am already overstepping my boundaries."

"If you believe it's necessary, then it is." She sighed. "I will keep an eye on Lady Lovren and the others." She touched her belted scimitar. "It's time I did something useful."

Dragomir's transparent eyes were serious and focused. For the first time he asked himself when he had stopped feeling guilty for treating others like his pawns? The king was the weakest figure, and he had fewer options – was it his new justification now?

"Apostle Myzeqari." He took a deep breath and turned around, changing the alignment of his posture. Dragomir's tall body loomed over her like a cobra over a tiny squirrel, but she did not withdraw, her hands placed firmly on her hips.

"I need you back with the Alkari once this is over." He returned to the railing and looked down. She chuckled and nodded.

"Oh, I will return and continue annoying you, Red Leader."

Dragomir shot her an exasperated glare, then his blank expression altered to a frown and his eyes narrowed. Orjeta shook her head and disappeared in the Tower's corridors.

Korina Lovren disturbed him late in the night, when he was already preparing to leave his laboratory in the Tower.

"Dragomir!" The silvery silhouette emitted by the projector trembled. "You need to come here! Now!"

He recognized the abandoned cottage he had previously visited with Orjeta and tensed: was she indeed that daft?

"Galbur?" he asked, his dispassionate expression barely indicating polite interest. He watched her every motion with undivided attention, and something in her pretentious babbling seemed too artificial to be true. His instincts forced his heart to double its pace, despite Korina's stilted speech: what if he missed something in his plan?

"He is dying! That Byzantine scum is dying!" she shouted. "You were right! We are doomed if he dies now!"

Mechanically he grabbed a briefcase from the table together with the light projector, then stormed out of the room. He could find a medical kit on his way, but time was of essence and he did not wish to lose any. He rushed out of the building, crossing the field in wide strides. Suddenly, while he was forcing his mind and body under control, a dim realization struck him: "Had Korina drugged him, Svetozar Galbur would have been long dead by now. Considering the damage his mind and body have already sustained..." He frowned, scowling inwardly: was he truly going to believe Korina's words? Either way, Orjeta was already taking care of the issue, buying him precious time.

He swept through the field beneath the tower, heading to a shining slipper. A young Apostle on duty opened her mouth to ask him something but changed her mind, averting her gaze. Dragomir suppressed a bitter scowl: why was it always so easy for him to terrify people despite his best intentions?

"Report to the Grand Magister, Apostle," he ordered quietly.

"But..." The girl almost dared to raise an objection but was cut down by his sharp and unforgiving stare.

"Yes, Commander Drašković."

He pressed his lips tightly together and felt the slipper swallow his long lanky frame. Dragomir brushed his hand through his hair, closing his eyes for a split second. Again? He had been trying to subdue and cure those devastating headaches for years to no avail. Whenever he felt a small detail from his childhood memories resurface, the pain became impossible to bear.

"Not now," he whispered to himself, gulping for air, leaning on the warm and soft slipper shell. With cold resolve he bit his lower lip and tasted his bitter blood, forcing his body to comply. He was never going to give up.

"Korina is buying them time, trying to redirect my attention." He slowly returned to his calculating self. "They will listen to my father and uncle and choose a secure place, where the Basilisk cannot expect assistance." His thin lips twisted in a morbid half-smirk. "It is almost shocking... to realize how easy it was to manipulate them into following my plan. I wonder if Tomislav suspects that his people are doomed. I wonder if he cares. Do I?" His left hand clenched the hilt of his scimitar. If only he could avoid the bloodshed entirely. If only. Another bill added to his list of decisions. A price to pay.