Paris frowned, her fingers trying in futility to adjust the tight bodice in her uniform. Up ahead, Vivian bustled as fast as her legs could carry her, just another nameless lady in the sea of many others.

The walls of the palace closed in on Paris, the wide, decorated walkways growing tighter and tighter with every step. Or maybe it was just the paranoia talking. She was against this plan to begin with but it wasn't like they had any other ideas...or choices.

The plan had been simple. Too simple, in fact.

Back at the shade of the Woods lining the town of Easelbrouk, Vivian had told Paris what the plan was while reclining atop a fallen log she had taken up as a cot for the night. "Sneak past the guards posted in the gates, steal some servants' uniforms, go to work, wander around the palace until we find the pendant, retrieve it, run, then go back to the colony."

Paris remembered bristling. "How are we supposed to go about each one of those steps?" she scratched the back of her neck, feeling like some of the vines had developed a playful streak and decided to play games with her. "How would we sneak past the guards? Where will we find the uniforms? How are we supposed to find the pendant when we don't know the palace's whole layout?"

Vivian waved a hand in the air, her other arm already over her eyes. "We'll figure that out when we get there," she said, her voice sounding muffled and tired. "That's the point of risky missions like this. Sometimes, it's better to have no plan at all."

When Paris failed to provide a reasoning but made sure her doubt still showed, Vivian removed the arm from her face and braced her weight with her arm, pushing her body slightly. The log creaked underneath her. "Look, there are a lot of things that can happen when we get there," Vivian said. "It's best to have a list of objectives in mind and just go from there. Too much preparation could give us away too."

But then again, it wouldn't hurt to prepare a little more, right? Paris decided to let it go. Vivian wouldn't listen to anyone even though it's with reason. As soon as she set her mind into something, there's almost nothing that could deter her. And Vivian had already settled on her simplistic plan, perhaps Paris should just go along with it.

Vivian appeared to know what she's doing the next morning she and Paris made it past Easelbrouk and stopped in front of the tall walls surrounding Maldegrad. Paris remembered seeing the beige walls up close, having sneaked behind a trail of wanderers and merchants, and feeling a tight clench grip her stomach. The walls stirred up memories of the ritual of the appeasement. All at once, the phantom hands appeared on her skin, brushing shivers down her spine and forcing her legs to tremble.

Vivian, on the other hand, was unaffected. The woman had the poise and gait of a wife of a trader, one who was known to manage her husband's finances from the business. Paris, meanwhile, looked like a lost child tugging on her cloak and making sure her curly strands of hair wouldn't accidentally show.

When they stopped at the gate for inspection, Vivian had put up a front, telling the armored soldiers that she was meeting her husband on the other side as she was just out for a quick errand. She called the inspection process "difficult", "a hassle", and "a complete waste of taxpayer money". That gained her a few nods and sympathetic glances from people in the queue. Paris had stood idly beside Vivian as she argued with the guard. If she spoke up, she would probably ruin the illusion Vivian was selling.

At that point, she understood what thinking on one's feet meant.

Vivian was done being difficult when the soldier decided being screamed at by a wealthy woman was outside his pay grade and let them in. Then, without wasting a beat to celebrate or even turn to Paris for a quick smile, Vivian hurtled through the busy streets of Maldegrad, in search of the things essential for the next part of their plan.

Paris followed Vivian into a shaded part of the city, an alley shielded on both sides by tall, wooden buildings with red brick shingles and dark mahogany for walls. They looked like twin buildings had it not been for the colorful awning the one on the left sported on its front door. Were all buildings uniform like this?

Before Paris could confirm her theory (which was probably true, by the way), Vivian disappeared into the nearest bend, going through a sort of road behind the other big road. Paris remembered looking behind her to memorize where she had been in case she and Vivian encountered a cul-de-sac and needed to run. She caught up to Vivian just as the woman was walking towards what looked like a garbage chute.

The smell still lingered in Paris's nose until now at the mere memory of the garbage alley. There, the real state of Maldegrad's low-ranking people showed. Images of peeling paint, criss-crossing wires bearing all sorts of laundry running past one house's window to another, and the near-absence of the blue sky flashed in Paris's mind. At least in Stonedenn, people owned their own drying racks for laundry. Compared to the grandeur of the palace hallways, that alley from back then felt like one step down to hell.

Still, Vivian had craned her neck to the laundry lines, her eyes searching for the one thing she was concerned about—the servants' uniform. Apparently, a palace worker lived along this lane. Eventually, after the excruciating details Paris didn't want to recall—she'd rather bury that memory at the bottom of her mind—Vivian passed Paris a set that seemed to resemble a maid's dress.

When Paris tried it on, it was several sizes too small, causing the bodice to make Paris's nonexistent breasts pop up and her waist to feel like it was being wrung dry by some unknown force. Her breaths came in quick rasps, making it harder to sprint after Vivian's brisk walk without running out of them.

Still, after settling in for the night in one of Maldegrad's inns (Vivian paid for it with the money she stole from a passing civilian), those uniforms, no matter how impish they were, got them through the gates without inspections or earning strange looks.

As soon as they were past the glittering, golden gates of the inner wall surrounding the palace, Vivian joined the gaggle of similarly-dressed people as they trudged across the manicured lawns, talking among themselves or carrying their tools and materials for the day.

It's only a matter of time sneaking into the servants' stocks, grabbing the first things they saw—a broom and a pile of white linens—, ducking out, and re-joining the herd until it led them to the back entrance to the actual mansion.

There, Paris tried to not ogle at the vast assortment of vases, portraits, decorative weapons, and human-less armor lining each and every corridor she and Vivian passed. She was supposed to be a servant here. Servants had gotten used to these things. They shouldn't look at these things like they're shit made of gold.

"Hurry up," Vivian's hissed warning bled into Paris's ears.

Paris resisted rolling her eyes at Vivian. Sure, the woman had it easy. She got the trousers-and-tunic combo, which to Paris, looked like what stable boys wore. Thankfully, Vivian had tucked her long, brown strands inside a bonnet she fished from inside the stocks.

Paris adjusted the hem of her bodice as it once again bit at her stomach. "Just a second," she gasped, forcing herself to half-run, half-scramble after Vivian. "I'm not made for these clothes."

"Yes but apparently, they're made for you," Vivian's tone was impatient but still managed to be playful. "Come on. The earlier we start the search, the better."

Paris eyed the other servants passing them by without a care. Weren't they going to suspect these two newcomers talking about searching the palace?

"Are we really going to walk around this whole thing?" Paris asked. Her feet, which she had shoved into stolen boots, had begun to cramp and throb. She doubted she could take any more walking trips. "It will take days. There's gotta be some quick way we could narrow it down."

Vivian opened her mouth to object but Paris stepped in the way of the next passing servant. From the corner of her eye, Paris observed Vivian grasp the air in frustration only to straighten and put on a passive face the moment the servant stopped in front of Paris.

"Can I ask you a question?" Paris said, channeling out her inner Diane—meek, soft, and gentle. "It's my first day here. I don't know what I'm doing."

A sympathetic expression passed across the servant's face. Unlike Paris, whose curls were just pinned up her head, the maid had all of her hair tucked into a coif, covering the back of her head and her ears.

"What do you want to know?" the maid said, brushing her cream-colored skirt. "I don't promise to be able to answer them but I will try."

Paris pretended to think, tapping her fingers against her chin. "Are there any forbidden places in the mansion?" she asked. "I don't want to step into the wrong room in my attempt to clean them, you see."

The maid's eyes sparked with recognition. Aha. She knew something. "The inner atrium," she said. "The library. Oh, the armory too. Those places required a hand-picked team of servants and these teams were changed weekly. It would be wise to avoid the entire west wing."

Paris ducked her head. "Would you be kind to point out the way?" she said. "I haven't been able to memorize this place yet."

The maid could only indulge. Soon, after Paris had profusely thanked the maid into blushing and bumbling away, they have the directions to the three forbidden places in the palace. "I hope you got all that," Paris turned to Vivian whose mouth opened and closed without words spilling out. "It's quite a handful. Do we split up and search the library and the armory? We could meet at the atrium."

Vivian snapped out of whatever reverie she was in and shook her head. "We go together," she said. "If either of us got lost, it'll be a big problem."

So, on they went, clearing the way with renewed vigor in their steps. The library was, of course, a library. Books lining the shelves, desks, chairs. Ladders twice Paris's height rested against the walls, waiting for someone to prop them against a shelf to retrieve a specific book. Paris wrinkled her nose, both at the dust and at the apparent waste of space and paper. Reading has never been her hobby.

Next came the atrium. It was on the way to the armory which lay on the opposite side of the west wing. There was nothing of significance that caught Paris's attention as they stepped past the glass doors separating two sides of the west wing. An indoor garden—that's what the atrium was. Lush trees whose leaves stayed still with the absence of wind blowing from the outside peppered Paris's view of the expansive ceiling made with more glass. Light from the sky streamed past the glass, showering the entire space with bright streams.

One thing was for sure, though. The pendant wasn't here. Unless it was hidden inside a random trunk and later covered up, it wasn't here.

Knowing how lazy and inattentive the Council was, having met them personally and seen the state of their own house, the pendant would just be slotted inside a locked room and hope for the best.

That's the state of the armory when Paris and Vivian rounded the fateful corner and came across a set of double doors void of any guards. For a place filled to the brim with pointy things that could stab, it stood naked in front of them.

If that was a sign for anything, Paris didn't dare think about it. The pendant was just beyond that door. The sooner they could get this done, the better. Vivian plunged ahead, eyes flashing from left to right. Apparently, like Paris, she also wanted to get this done as quickly as she could.

The doors gave way with a quiet hiss under Vivian's prodding. Paris's eyes immediately rested on the only pedestal present in the center of the room. Inside a glass case, seated atop a velvet pillow, was the pendant.

Paris crossed the space in a few, long strides, Vivian at her heels. When they came to the pedestal, a breath of awe flitted out from between Paris's lips. "This is..." she started.

Vivian shot her a piercing glare. Without much ceremony or respect, she grasped both sides of the glass and hefted it. "Get it," she said through gritted teeth. Was the glass that heavy? "Quick."

In a flash, the pendant was closed around Paris's hands.

That's when a set of heavy, metallic clanking filled the only hallway leading in and out of the armory. "There they are!" a familiar voice shouted from the doorway.

Paris whirled to the source to find the maid who gave them directions. Her insides curled with unbridled anger. That wench. She's going to pay for this. A sharp shriek of metal reached Paris's ears. She turned to find Vivian already unsheathing a blade. Well, duh. This was the armory. Paris could just grab whatever weapon she could find.

As the soldiers flooded the room, Paris tucked the pendant into the gap between her breasts. For once, she was grateful the bodice was tight. It would prevent these damned things from moving too much. It was a good storage space too.

She dashed towards the nearest rack of weapons and closed her fingers on the first sheathe she could. It was a short sword with gold filigree. Close to a dagger, right?

A soft whine emanated from the blade when she slid it free from the sheathe. The first line of armored soldiers clunkered near Vivian. The woman grunted as she met blow after blow in an expert combination of swings and parries. Paris glanced at her sword, feeling the increasing dread in her stomach. She could do this. She wouldn't let Vivian die.

With a scream, she plunged into battle.

The world blurred around her with her entire focus stuck to keeping her head attached to her neck and protecting Vivian's back. A whirlwind of strikes and grunts stirred up a maelstrom of instincts in Paris's muscles. All the time she spent sparring with Joyce and Vivian rose to the surface.

She blocked, kicked, and slashed her sword for dear life. A streak of silver whizzed towards her neck. She ducked, swept her foot in a wide arc, and sent a soldier toppling down against his comrade. Together, they went down in clunks of metal crunching against each other. That. Paris should do that more often.

"Paris, what are you doing?" Vivian yelled from the other side of the armory. Huh? When did she get there? Vivian dealt with three soldiers at once, expertly holding them back. But...for how long?

Paris gritted her teeth and swung her sword at an armor. Sparks flew when the sharp edge of the blade sliced against the soldier's breastplate. A loud, grating sound filled the room, making the soldier wince. Paris answered with a wrist up his nose, thanking the Ancient Ones the palace guards wore no helmets.

The soldier crumpled to the ground, giving Paris a full view of Vivian's situation. Two more guards lay unmoving at her feet. She's still slashing with her sword, driving more sparks and metallic ringing every time she could.

Paris gripped the hilt of her short sword. It wasn't as light as her dagger and was far from the sleek finish she adored in it but it'd have to do. She glanced at the pair of eyes reflected from the blade's silver side. What stared back at her was someone she didn't know.

A spray of movement tore her attention from her blade. When she looked, a sword struck down. A cry of pain rang in the air.

Blood painted the floor red.