SERAVEL ROVODIA IS A REBEL WITH A WARRANT. As the head of the Daily Embers, a chronicle criticizing the tyranny of the current ruler, Seravel gained significant enemies who preferred to keep the truth in the dark. When a number of small accidents st...
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2412, Rab 31, Reshpe
Sera stretched his legs, balancing his chair on its hind legs as he propped his feet on his table. It was a slow morning, and without the Ember Chronicles, he had an entire afternoon off. A thought nipped at the back of his mind. Was this Darmer's scheme? Did his mechanic friend want Sera to take a break so much that Darmer had to torch the studio?
Plausible, but it's Darmer they're talking about. Sera would never understand what goes on in that sprite's head in a million years.
He glanced at the open windows, watching a strip of clouds crawl across the blue sky. Maybe he should be doing work on the Crown Prince front. Oh, right. All of the reports were stalled because of Adviser Yerhon's meddling. It'd take a week before those reach the Potentate's office, and Sera really needed action on most of them. That's the government for him.
Something black darted in his periphery, followed by the loud batting of wings. In his haste, Sera flung his legs off the table, forgetting he hung in a balance. His world blurred as his form crashed backwards. The back of his head slapped the rugs.
"Ow," a groan escaped his lips.
A distinct caw took his attention towards the window. A heartridge tittered, talons clinking against the sill as it hopped around as if the rock's on fire. Oh, it was just the bird. Which meant...
Sera crawled on all fours towards the window before bracing the sill to heave himself up. The bird skipped sideways to give way to his fingers. He got up to his knees, becoming eye-level with a strip of rolled parchment tied to the bird's leg. A message? From who?
He stilled the bird and untied the twine. With a squawk, it hopped off his hold and flitted into the open air. Well, there went the trusty messenger bird. If not for the random fowls he was able to tame all those years, he wouldn't have means to contact his friends outside the territory. So...who was it this time?
The chair grated against the rug when Sera righted and sat on it. His fingers unfurled the parchment, and Ariden's familiar handwriting glinted on the surface. It read:
Aprikoon? Never heard. They sound dubious to me, though. Fake companies do exist. Beware of them. They usually use these names as a front for illegal activities. Why? Have you encountered one?
The note ended on an open question, prompting Sera to reply. He poised a pen over a new strip of parchment, scrawled his quick answer just to terminate the conversation and ease his friend's worries—if that brickhead ever bothered—and summoned a new heartridge. Most of them feasted on the rhenne fruits on the palace's courtyard, and if not for Sera fighting to keep them there, they wouldn't have a peaceful home.
When he sent the bird and his message forward, he retreated back to his seat. Fake names, huh? If he could trace this Aprikoon company in the local records of those who did trades inside Lanbridhr over the years, what would he find?
