The hall of the Remadís castle shone with a thousand candles. The crystal chandeliers floated in the ceiling, reflecting light on the guards' armour and the ladies' dresses. The tables, covered with white cloths, bent under the weight of silver and gold. The smell of wine, roast meat, expensive perfumes, melted wax – everything mixed in a warm haze that rose to the painted vaults.
The coats of arms of the noble houses of Endomyar hung on the walls: the golden lion of Remadís, the white tiger of Decatry, the white moon of Lunos, the black octopus of Graylor, the cat and vines of Eladir, the scythe and rabbit of Derylini, the hammer and anvil of Mercius. And, in a place of honour near the king's throne, the newly restored coat of arms of Erréndias – a lynx in flames – in a melancholy tribute to the fallen house.
Zirinos stood at the centre of it all.
The dark tunic, tight, emphasised his broad shoulders and muscular chest. His hair, half gold and half blood, shone in the half‑light like liquid flame. The dark steel sword at his waist was not an ornament – the nobles knew that blade had killed.
"The hero of Endomyar," whispered a bespectacled lady to her husband.
"Trussum's killer," he replied, with admiration.
"The saviour of the academy," added his daughter, blushing.
Zirinos did not react. He just drank his wine – a small sip, just to moisten his lips.
---
King Dizius Remadís occupied the throne of black ivory at the top of the hall. His small dark eyes scanned the assembly with the slowness of someone who weighs every gesture, every word, every alliance.
"Your Majesty," began Andy, standing before the throne. "Tonight is a celebration. The demon lord Trussum has been defeated."
"By a hero," replied the king, with a smile that did not reach his eyes. "A hero from where, Duke?"
"From far away, Your Majesty. From very far away."
"Heroes from far away are as fragile as those from nearby." Dizius raised his glass. "Let us toast our hero. May his luck never fail."
"Let us toast," repeated the nobles.
Zirinos raised his glass. He felt the king's gaze weighing on him. *A threat*, he thought. 'Veiled, but clear.'
The music resumed. Couples formed in the centre of the hall.
---
Zirinos danced with a lady from Lunos, whose silver hair shone like her daughters'. Then with a cousin from Eladir, who spoke fast and laughed for no reason. Then with a young woman from Mercius, who did not know where to put her hands.
"You are very handsome, my lord," said the lady from Lunos, blushing.
"Beauty is fleeting," Zirinos replied, with a rehearsed smile. "War, unfortunately, is not."
"You defeated Trussum!" exclaimed the Eladir cousin. "You are the greatest hero of our generation!"
"I had help." Zirinos spun her gently. "No one wins alone."
"You are modest," she insisted. "That is rare."
"Modesty is the armour of fools. I merely state facts."
The cousin blushed more. Zirinos looked away.
In a corner of the hall, Mercudoth Mercius, the pot‑bellied count, spoke quietly with Deur Derylini. His ring‑covered fingers drummed on the wooden table.
"The hero has no family, no lands, no title," said Mercudoth, low. "He is a ghost with a sword."
"Ghosts are useful," replied Deur. "They kill. And disappear."
"And when they don't disappear?"
"Then they are buried."
Mercudoth laughed, but the laugh did not reach his eyes.
---
Ethan leaned against a column near the arcades leading to the garden. The formal clothes chafed his neck. The discomfort was as physical as it was social. He looked at Ana – she danced with a young man from Lunos, her face pale, Anorys's mark hidden by her high collar. Sara and Ariny were with Andy, talking to an ambassador from Aryster.
No one looked at him. Until Zirinos approached.
"Smile, Ethan," he said quietly, pretending to toast. "You look like a criminal on the scaffold."
"I don't know how to pretend."
"Learn. Or die."
Zirinos touched his shoulder with his free hand – a quick, almost brotherly gesture – and walked away. Ethan stared at his empty glass.
'What does he want from me?', he thought. 'Friendship? Loyalty? A shield?'
The answer did not come. Nor would it.
---
Andy approached Irina. The duke and the director did not look directly at each other, but their bodies formed a perfect angle – enough to speak, not enough to touch.
"Zirinos is being acclaimed," said Andy.
"He is."
"What do you think of him?"
Irina drank wine. The silver chalice gleamed.
"I think heroes are dangerous. They give hope. And hope, when it dies, kills more than war."
"He saved the academy."
"He did." Irina put down the chalice. "But the Contraranures fear Ander Féris."
"Ander?"
"The baron. The man who made Zirinos a squire. The one whose wife was murdered." She looked at Andy. "Do you know why the Contraranures fear him?"
Andy did not reply. He just looked away.
"Trust no one, Andy," Irina concluded. "Not even heroes."
"I trust you."
"You are a fool."
"I am."
---
Princess Livia Aryster approached Zirinos when the dance ended. She wore a simple dark dress, without the embroidery of the other ladies. Her black hair, pulled back, made her pale face even more striking.
"Lord Zirinos," she said, with a nod. "May I have this dance?"
"The honour is mine, Princess."
They circled the hall. Zirinos felt Andy's gaze on his back. And Irina's. And Deur's. 'They are all watching me', he thought. 'All measuring me.'
"Trussum's death," said Livia, as they moved. "Was it difficult?"
"It was. But he is dead."
"Is he really?" Her voice was low, almost a whisper. "Or is it just a lie it suits us to believe?"
Zirinos kept his smile.
"The dead do not lie, Princess. The living do."
"And you, my lord? Do you lie?" She smiled.
"When necessary."
She did not ask further. The music ended. Livia curtsied and moved away.
Zirinos stared at the window glass. His reflection smiled back.
---
King Zayan Ban sat at one of the side tables, next to Duke Magnus Troydís. His bronzed face, the deep shadows under his eyes – the tiredness of the famine in the islands was beginning to lift.
"The Mercius accepted the agreement," said Magnus quietly. "They will sell grain to Ban. At a friendly price."
"There are no friends in business," Zayan replied. "There are interests."
"You saved my people, Zayan. That is not interest. That is gratitude."
"Gratitude dies of hunger. Interest does not."
Magnus did not answer. He just drank.
---
Zirinos felt the air grow heavy. The heat of the candles, the ladies' perfume, the wine that no longer tasted of anything. He excused himself from a group of Lunos knights – who were praising him for the victory – and went out into the garden.
The moon was high. The fog was beginning to form, low, creeping, like pale arms touching the grass.
He heard footsteps behind him.
"Zirinos?"
It was Luna Lunos. Her silver hair fell over her shoulders. Her light dress trembled on her body. Her pale face was marked by something that was not the cold.
"Luna," he said. "You should be at the ball."
"I can't." She sat on a stone bench, her hands on her knees. "I saw something."
"What?"
"My father. Merius. And my aunt. My mother's sister."
The silence stretched. Zirinos sat beside her, not too close, not too far.
"They were…" Luna could not finish.
"I know."
"My mother doesn't know. If I tell her, I destroy the family. If I don't, I live with the lie."
Zirinos looked at the garden. The rare flowers, the ones that only bloomed in August, glowed faintly.
"Sometimes," he said, his voice softer than he intended, "silence is the only revenge possible."
Luna looked at him. Her light eyes, moist.
"Have you ever had to be silent?" she asked.
"Many times."
"Did it hurt?"
"Always."
She leaned her head on his shoulder – just for a second. Then she stood up.
"Thank you, Zirinos."
"You don't need to thank me."
"I do."
She walked away. Zirinos sat looking at the fog.
---
Mira was bored.
The dances were slow, the conversations dull. The adults talked of wars and harvests and alliances – nothing a six‑year‑old girl wanted to hear. She asked Ander for permission – he was talking to a baron from Eladir – and left the hall.
The castle corridors were dark, darker than at the academy. The torches crackled. Shadows danced.
A door at the end was ajar.
Mira approached. She pushed it slowly.
The smell of mould and urine. A figure huddled in the corner, in torn clothes, dirty hair, a thin face.
"Who are you?" asked the figure, in a hoarse voice.
"Mira," the girl replied.
"Mira? I've never heard that name. Are you one of the duke's children?"
"No. I'm Mira. I came with Zirinos."
The figure raised its head. Its sunken, empty eyes gleamed.
"Zirinos?" it whispered. "Lysara's killer?"
Mira did not understand. The name Lysara meant nothing to her.
"My mother was called Lysara," she said slowly. "She died."
"Was it him?" The figure's voice became sharp. "Was it he who killed her?"
"No. It was a bad woman. And a bad man. Zirinos saved me."
The figure laughed. A dry, ugly laugh that echoed off the stone walls.
"Save you? He killed your mother, girl. And he will kill you too."
Mira stepped back. The figure's eyes shone in the dark.
"Who are you?" she asked, in a thin voice.
"The ghost of a fallen house." The figure curled up again. "Go away. Before he finds you."
Footsteps in the corridor. Mira fled.
---
The ball ended near midnight.
Andy, the duke, climbed the improvised stage. Silence fell over the hall.
"Friends, allies, nobles of Endomyar," he began. "Tonight is a celebration. The demon lord Trussum has been defeated."
Applause. Zirinos kept his face neutral.
"The bishop of Desty," Andy continued, "invites our hero to a ceremony tomorrow, at the church. To bless the victory. And so that the gods may continue to protect us."
"I accept," said Zirinos, with a bow.
"Then so be it."
The nobles toasted. Glasses clinked.
Ethan, leaning against the column, looked at Zirinos. Their eyes met. Zirinos smiled. Ethan did not.
---
The fog thickened when Zirinos left the castle with Helena and Mira.
"It's cold," said Mira.
"It's just fog," Zirinos replied. "It will pass."
The fog did not pass.
Helena, silent, walked beside him. The golden armour, which she had not taken off since leaving the elves' layer, creaked with every step.
"Do you trust the bishop?" she asked quietly.
"No."
"Then why are you going?"
"Because I need to know what he wants."
He looked at the sky. The moon was hidden behind the low clouds.
"And you," he said. "Are you coming with me?"
"I am."
"Why?"
"Because you are my only way to return home." Helena tightened her hand on her sword. "And because I have no one else."
Mira, between them, held Zirinos's hand.
The church of Desty, in the distance, glowed with a pale light.
The fog grew.