“Gimme a sec,” Yssac quickly opened the envelope, Triteita and I both standing on either side of him as he sat at the table, carefully pulling out the sheets of paper. It was clear Yssac hadn’t expected such a long letter and he straightened them out with both hands, smoothing the creases as he laid them on the table. Tritetia leaned in a little closer from his left side, her eyes darting across the script even before Yssac began reading aloud, while I stayed silent on his right, watching his face instead of the paper.

  He took a breath, then began.

  My dearest Yssac,

  Your most recent letter was, admittedly, a surprise. I was not convinced at first that aligning yourself so closely with the Crown Prince was wise, but it seems you have proven me wrong. Gaining the trust of someone so… guarded is no small feat, and I commend you for your ability to make yourself indispensable.

  Yssac scoffed under his breath and I chanced a look at his face. He was scowling—not out of anger, but something closer to disgust. His fingers tensed on the edges of the paper, enough that the page crinkled slightly before he forced himself to smooth it again.

  Shortly after your departure, I was made aware of a substance that could potentially affect Caspian by one who shares our vision for Naera. Due to the danger of the substance, it took some time, but Duke Miller was recently able to acquire some on one of his trips to Pyraxia. I must implore you; do not go near Caspian while he succumbs to the poison. Find an excuse to distance yourself.

  “He should know you’ve already been forced from Elverston Palace,” Tritetia muttered and I blinked, slightly confused. I had never heard the name of Isadora’s palace before. “That doesn’t make sense.”

  “It’s possible my father doesn’t have anyone in the palace beyond me. After all, Caspian is aware of my father’s dislike and distrust, and likely heavily vets anyone he allows near him and Isadora,” Yssac explained, quickly scanning through the pages as he answered. “Usually his information comes from nobles and servants in the capital, not the palace directly.”

  “But then how did he–”

  “They likely didn’t know that Caspian was heading to the border until he arrived,” I interrupted, glancing down at the papers as Yssac searched. “Duke Miller likely hastily poisoned the beast before rushing back to deal with Seymour and the two events just happened to coincide.”

  “Yeah. A lot of this is my father telling me that Duke Miller is a liability and due to the rumors I should distance myself from them. I haven’t even talked to Seymour since coming to the palace,” Yssac scoffed and I nodded, slightly relieved. I had figured Yssac had stopped hanging out with his friends since I never smelled the magic weed on him after the first few weeks, but it was good to know that Yssac hadn’t secretly been maintaining his relationship with him. “Wait, here!”

  Now, here is how we will proceed; give time for the poison to do its work. Based on the information I was given, Caspian should finally succumb two weeks after this letter reaches you and once he does, you will reveal the source of the poison to the Empress directly. Place the blame on Duke Miller; with Seymour unable to speak in his defense, the family will fold easily under pressure. Duke Miller has grown hesitant in his commitment to our cause since his son's accident, and I believe it best that we cut ties before he becomes a liability. He will be executed, and if we are lucky, the Grand Duke may finally annul Seymour’s engagement to his daughter.

  There was a silence between the three of us as Yssac’s voice trailed off. He didn’t read the rest of the letter aloud, but I saw the way his eyes flicked to the final paragraph—something short and scrawled, likely another condescending congratulations or an empty fatherly platitude. Whatever it was, Yssac’s jaw set tighter the moment he saw it, and he folded the letter in half like it had offended him just by existing.

  “Sandwalker blood,” he said finally, voice flat.

  I blinked. “What?”

  “Sandwalker blood. It’s not a common hazard here in Naera but it's well known in Pyraxia,” Yssac dropped the letter and stood, making his way over to the shelves. I looked over to Tritetia, who merely shook her head as she followed him with her eyes, clearly unfamiliar with the name as well. He began running his fingers along the spines of the books, muttering titles under his breath, until he found the one he wanted. He yanked it free and returned to the table, flipping through pages rapidly until he jabbed one with his finger and turned the book around for us to see.

  “Sandwalkers are the intelligent magical beasts native to Pyraxia. Unlike sea beasts or dragons though, they don’t produce hybrids,” Yssac explained, his voice heavy as he began to flip through the book. “Any child that survives their blood awakening is a Sandwalker. Beyond the effects of their blood, Sandwalkers are rumored to be able to see and manipulate magic in a way that surpasses what humans can do, but they have to drink blood to do so.”

  The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

  “Drink… blood?” Tritetia gasped softly and I shrugged, crossing my arms.

  “What Sandwalkers can and can’t do doesn’t matter right now. If it’s Sandwalker blood killing Caspian, then we need the antidote.”

  “That's the problem; even Sandwalkers don’t have one,” Yssac sighed, cradling his head in his hands as he stared at the pages. It was then I noticed that his hands were shaking, as if he couldn’t quite hold himself together anymore. His fingers curled tight against his scalp, and for a moment, I thought he might actually tear the pages out of the book in frustration. But instead, he breathed out—slow, deep, and heavy—and lowered his hands to the table. “So I’ll have to make one.”

  “What?”

  “The symptoms are well known, and again, dragons are immune to sandwalker blood. Dragon blood may be hard to find since Kapral was slain, but I’ll go to Driria if I have to,” Yssac’s tone was set and I couldn’t help my surprise. Despite all the years under Caspian, this was the first time he ever sounded driven. Determined. “Kapral’s corpse is still there, and while it’s likely decayed a bit, it should still be okay. Dragons take thousands of years to decompose.”

  “B-b-but Yssac,” Tritetia’s soft voice made us both look at her, and she was staring at her hands, playing with the folds of her dress. She seemed like she didn’t want to be the one to say it, but her brow furrowed as she forced herself to speak anyway. “If you make an antidote… and Caspian survives… your father will know it was… you.”

  The words hung between us, sudden and sharp. I felt the weight of them settle into the room like a fresh layer of dust on everything we’d just uncovered. Tritetia wasn’t wrong, and Yssac didn’t try to deny it. His fingers froze on the edge of the book, his expression unreadable for the span of a breath. And then, finally, he let out a quiet laugh, one that was devoid of all humor.

  “He’ll know,” Yssac agreed, voice low but steady. “And I don’t doubt he’ll punish me for it, but he won’t be able to do anything publicly. After all, Caspian is supposed to just be injured to the empire and sick to those in the palace. How would a Marquess so far from the capital know it was poison before the Crown Princess herself?”

  I watched him carefully, noting the shift in his posture. He wasn’t afraid; it was more like he’d already accepted the outcome. His body wasn’t tense with indecision, and he smiled as he stood from the table, looking down at me.

  “I know it may not be possible, but is there somewhere here I can work? I’ll get the components I need, but I’ll need space to try and synthesize possible antidotes.” Yssac’s expression made my chest twist uncomfortable, but I did my best to ignore it. It wasn’t helpful right now, and I paused, considering the layout of the palace.

  “The basement. It’s not being used for anything, and I could have some servants set it up for you,” I offered, Yssac nodding as he returned to the shelves, clearly searching for more books. “I’ll see what I can do about getting Kapral’s blood as well as some of Caspian’s.”

  “Yes, I’ll need that too. Maybe some sandwalker blood in general but if I ask Duke Miller he may get–”

  “We can ask one of the merchants. They all feel indebted to Caspian for killing the beast, and they should be more than willing to provide the blood if we ask,” I interrupted, my voice calm, despite the spiraling thoughts in my head. “They’re already sending him gifts. It wouldn’t take much to send one of them a quiet message.”

  Yssac nodded, and without another word, started pulling more books from the shelves. His hands moved quickly now—less frantic, more methodical, like someone trying to solve a puzzle he was already halfway through assembling. Tritetia stood silently, her eyes following him with quiet worry. She didn’t speak again, but I could feel her tension from across the table. I turned back to the painting of Thorne, frowning as I remembered it,

  “Tritetia, let's return the painting to your room for now. I want to know more about how this relates to Thorne, but first we need to save Caspian and my mother,” I offered and she nodded, quickly moving to gather the painting and the tube from where it had been forgotten on the floor near the wall. She tucked it carefully into the canvas again, her hands delicate with the edges like she was afraid of creasing it more than it already was. “I’ll go get the servants moving. Feel free to head down to the basement and I’ll meet you there later.”

  Yssac nodded noncommittally and I turned to leave, trying to ignore the rolling thunder I could hear approaching. Tritetia followed shortly after, the soft pad of her feet echoing behind me as I stepped out into the hallway. Manipulating so many servants would be risky, but I didn’t have much of a choice.

  We had work to do.

  ***

  Yssac listened as the two children left, letting out a deep breath once he was alone. He had downplayed the potential fallout to reassure the princess, but Yssac already knew how swift his father's anger would be. It would not be gentle and he knew his father would not hesitate to punish him for acting against him.

  Yssac turned, glancing back to the letter where it sat on the table. He had closed it on purpose, not wanting Cyran or Tritetia to see what his father had written in that final paragraph. How easily his father spoke of making Naera the first human-only nation, an empire that would “liberate” itself from the oppression of magic.

  “Stupid,” Yssac muttered, walking deeper into the library as he sought out more books to relocate to the basement. Growing up, Yssac had never cared about his father's ambitions, only hiding his affinity for magic to appease his mother. When she died, Yssac immediately left for the capital, using the excuse of grieving and wanting to visit his mother's family to escape his father's control.

  But now…

  Yssac paused, considering all Tritetia and Cyran had told him. To think that Cyran, distant and cold Cyran, would also be non-human, or that poor Tritetia would be a seer at such a young age. That his father had been right about Caspian not being human. The Marquess seemed to think that confirming the truth would make Yssac align to his ideals, but it had done the opposite.

  Yssac stood in the silence of the library, the storm outside still only a whisper, distant thunder curling low across the sky like the growl of something ancient. He rested his hand on the back of a nearby chair, gripping it tightly as he stared down at the floor.

  None of them had chosen to be what they were. But all of them were doing what they could with what they had. Caspian didn't have to try and help Yssac succeed at his interests but he did. Linota didn't have to support him and listen when he complained. Cyran and Tritetia shouldn't have had to deal with such adult problems at their age, but they were,i and doing a better job than most adults.

  That was more human than anything his father had ever taught him.

  Yssac turned away from the chair, letting go of it as if it had never mattered. Let his father punish him. If saving Caspian and protecting Cyran and Tritetia called for his suffering…

  Then so be it.

  ***