2412, Iclis 14, Reshpe

Reeca pursed her lips as she stared out of the gap between the two folds of their tent. It had taken them a whole day to get used to the place which was alright considering Cardovia had no order when it came to daily activities. Magistrates, Cardovia's version of the Generals, managed their subordinates according to their wishes and most preferred to let people do as they please.

Elred found out that there was a scheduled meal time by listening in to a group of fairies washing their training garments from a nearby well. Reeca had snorted when Elred told her that there were three lunch times, three dinners, and three breakfasts and one could opt to eat at any of those times.

That's enough leeway for Reeca and Elred to comb the place.

Reeca had spent last night stalking guard points. Patrol rounds were done in pairs and guards were dressed in black all over. Most of the soldiers present in the camp either lounged around all day, waiting for orders from their magistrates, or doing menial tasks like food preparation, weaving, or sparring with each other.

Tents like the one Reeca and Elred occupied now littered the whole compound in hazy arrays, numbering to at least a thousand and housed at least three people each. When Reeca went out to spy last night, she came across a large tent in the middle of the camp made of sackcloth and hoisted up with sturdy poles. That's where the Heiress and her magistrates live.

Elred's front bore the identities of the magistrates when they reconvened in this tent. Repta Varis was in charge of the army and its constituents. Trisa Sarthra was head of the recruitment faction. Those two were the ones diving the black markets and illegal trade for any spare fairies, humans, or half-bloods—anyone—as long as they add up to the army's growing numbers.

Sylfior Ivanche, not to be confused with Cedar Vanche of the Seelie Court, was tasked to ensure the survival of the camp. His faction was in charge of procuring food, supplies, or weapons to keep the camp alive and going. A merchant by trade and probably the reason why he ended up with the position.

Malve Ventora, son of the deceased Felson Ventora of the Seelie Court, was in charge of getting the latest and most relevant information to the Heiress' ears.

Finally, Kymalin Iaro, Carleon's crown priestess and the deadliest magistrate, was in charge of training the new recruits before they were passed around to the other magistrates to go on several missions for the Heiress. Reeca's stomach had soured at that information. That's probably why Kymalin and her mentees had tracked Reeca in Asopus. It's just another field lesson for them.

Now, after a whole day of nothing but gathering information, Reeca and Elred didn't get anywhere as to where the thrones might be. It didn't help that they had to be discreet in directly saying what they're looking for and the average soldier didn't know much except who they're serving in exchange for a few versallis and what their roles were.

The magistrates all knew well to not blab around, too.

Disguising as a subordinate wouldn't get them any closer. That's how they spent the rest of last night in their tent, concocting their most dangerous plan yet.

As the morning sun reflected in the conjured sky hovering over the camp, Reeca stepped out of their stolen tent wearing Kymalin Iaro's skin.

A breeze carrying the faint smell of sweat and blood reached Reeca's nose and she resisted the urge to wrinkle it. She shook her head. Come on. How did Kymalin walk and smile?

Thinking of the banshee only sent Reeca's stomach swirling but she had to make this work or else it's over for the both of them. Elred, wearing a banshee's skin, trotted a few paces behind Reeca.

"I need to be close to you to keep the glamour going," Elred had said last night. Reeca kept her gaze straight ahead. Don't look back. Don't look back.

Reeca uttered a silent prayer to all the gods that the real Kymalin wouldn't get back any time soon from whatever mission the Heiress sent her to. The dining hall, the only structure that wasn't made of cloths and poles, loomed on the horizon. The bell for the first lunch time rang not a few minutes ago and there's already at least fifty people clambering for the entrance.

Reeca narrowed her eyes at the mop of dark hair sashaying a head higher than everyone. Malve Ventora—their target for the day. Reeca pursed her lips as she joined the throng of fairies past the double wooden doors of the dining hall and into the spacious room peppered with tables and long benches.

Malve hailed from a wealthy family down south. A pixie by blood. He's an excellent warrior and had gotten himself out of numerous tough scrapes with just his wits. He was known to have charmed his way into the beds of the most influential women not only in Peltra but in the neighboring territories as well. The Ventora family reportedly ran a prostitution network disguised as a pleasure tavern. Malve's activities in Cardovia remained mostly covert because of his family's line of work and that made him an effective spy.

Reeca clicked her tongue as she strode towards a bench where Malve had taken for his own. The other subordinates were wise enough to stay out of his way. Spying couldn't be the only reason the Heiress was keeping him around.

The guy was pleasing to look at and he knew it. It didn't surprise Reeca that he would use his face to his advantage. His brown skin was as smooth as a flower-child's. Thick, dark lashes curved from his lids framing his electric blue irises. He moved in that kind of grace that rivaled that of trained soldiers.

Reeca tamped her blush down as Malve smiled at her, showing off his rows of perfect, white teeth. Kymalin might have sworn off men for life but who was Reeca to know that? She mentioned dating to the banshee way, way back and Kymalin didn't respond. Reeca remembered telling Kymalin to just be a priestess and the banshee stopped talking to her for a day.

Now that Reeca knows that Kymalin's mother was none other than the High Priestess of Carleon, guilt twinged in her gut for making that joke. But then again, Kymalin did try to kill Reeca multiple times, so whatever.

Reeca sank into a bench opposite Malve's while Elred's plain-looking fairy bustled off to a neighboring table. She may look mute and disinterested but Reeca wouldn't put it past anyone to conclude that the shard fairy would be listening in. To everything and everyone.

It's all an act—the banshee skin, the timid personality, heck, even the backstory Elred crafted the night before. But it's all so convincingly real that Reeca found it hard to believe that Elred still existed inside the fairy now seated on a table to her right.

Subordinates with different colored bands on their sleeves chattered with their companions as they dined in the hall. Some ate from bowls and plates while some just swigged potions from vials. Reeca took nothing.

Malve cleared his throat, waving his fork crusted with sugary cream. He's eating a slice of cake. For breakfast.

"You're back early, Kym," his eyebrows made that annoying wave Reeca had seen him do to an unsuspecting subordinate. It's meant to make him look hot and irresistible but it just reminded Reeca of a worm. Big, black, bushy worms. "Why?"

Reeca crossed her arms, channeling disgust into her expression. Let her hope that it's believable enough. "What is that to you?" she asked. She blinked after hearing her voice sounding eerily similar to the real Kymalin. Then, she shook her head and tamped that thought down. Deep, deep down. She inclined her head at the magistrate in front of her. "We mind our own businesses."

Malve chuckled. "Maybe you do," he nodded a few times before leaning in and dropping his voice into a conspiratorial whisper. "But everything around here is my business."

He winked as he licked his lips as he drew back and took another bite of his breakfast. Reeca fought the urge to visibly recoil. Her stomach was already doing it anyway. She forced a tight smile to her lips. "Maybe," she said. "If everything's your business, perhaps you can tell me a few things."

Malve wiggled his eyebrows again. "Oh, you're finally availing my services, Kym?" His tone was crude. Amused. "Because the things I know require...a different sort of payment."

Reeca wanted to punch his teeth out of his gums just by suggesting that. This was impossible. They needed to find another target. This was—

"Calca," Elred said in a squeaky voice she invented for her character. Reeca turned to a banshee inches shorter than Malve standing beside their table looking down at the magistrate. "If you don't tell us anything we ask, we will make sure the Heiress knows of what happened there."

Malve paled. Visibly. Reeca glanced at Elred, demanding an answer but the shard fairy stared at the table without meeting anyone's eyes. Reeca blinked before clearing her throat. Let her just get this over with. "Y-yes, Calca," she turned to Malve and did her best Kymalin-like grin. "You're not the only one with information here. Now, are you ready to talk?"

Malve narrowed his eyes at both of them but nodded. "Your protege drives a hard bargain," he inclined his head with a chuckle. "She's more valuable than I thought. Maybe her bed's next for me."

He winked. The thought of him and Elred alone in a room seared an image in Reeca's mind that made Reeca's gut clench. Nope. Remove that image. Nope. Nope. Elred would never forgive her. Reeca won't forgive herself for thinking that, either.

Reeca crossed her arms, Kymalin's front asset providing her with another distraction. The frown that crept to her lips was the realest one she could muster in this whole charade. Ugh. Would this day get even worse?

Reeca gathered what's left of her facade and jerked her chin at Malve. "Let's go."