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“What set the imposter off? Why would he just attack her when he obviously had a good cover?”

“According to the members, preparations were being made to explore the Clifftombs in search of some tome they thought was still there.” Sett rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Guildmaster Briton—or at least, the imposter—was trying to force Haron to lead the search party. Obviously, that ended poorly.”

The same questions kept eating away at me. "Why… why would anyone think Haron could access the Clifftombs? The wards there are so powerful, only the caster would be able to—"

My thoughts came to a screeching halt. They tangled in the words running out of my mouth until the all fell to the ground, immobilized. Sett stared at me curiously as I stood, probably gaping like a fish, as all the pieces of the puzzle that was Haron Val Toric snapped together to reveal the bigger picture. A picture I now felt incredibly stupid for not seeing earlier.

What were the chances of the ward's spellcaster surviving long enough to have offspring? Specifically, a necromancer known to have stayed behind in Julra when it fell and had the chance to put up those wards. I was the least knowledgeable in necromancy, but maybe there was a way that kind of information can be passed along from the grave. It would likely be through a generational connection, to be able to reach a span over a hundred years since the ancestor's death.

Could Haron… be related to Morrette Hilj? Could she have spoken to the princept's spirit and learned how to break the Clifftombs' wards? It didn't seem impossible given her magical aptitude.

"How long do you think Nebold was dead?” The question came from numb lips, my eyes set on the wall across the room as I tried to rationalize this new possibility.

Sett answered warily, “When I visited his home to ask the attendants about his absence, they could not confirm exactly how long he had been gone or when they last saw him. They all had vague recollections of seeing him but couldn’t give much detail beyond four days ago. I suspect their minds have been manipulated.”

A chill was beginning to creep down my spine. “Any suspicions of who could do something like that?”

“Mind manipulation?” He shrugged, then began pacing a few steps back and forth in front of my desk. I’m not sure Sett wholly realized he was doing it. “Maybe a skilled hydromancer? There is an obscure sub-skill that specializes in advanced potion making, some of which could trigger memory loss or substitution. I would have to consult with Dayer to what extent a potion like this could accomplish.”

“You are a hydromancer. How do you think this could be accomplished?”

Sett paused in his pacing. “My skill lies in manipulating my appearance, using a very thin layer of water over my skin and bending the light it reflects. I can change most of my features to an extent, but there's limitations. I'm unable to change my proportions, for example, or add onto my structure from what's already there like a bust or wider hips. I could speculate that total body augmentation would entail light bending coupled with a water barrier to give a more solid appearance, but the sheer amount of magic it would take to maintain would be beyond anything I could imagine. That kind of power would be… unnatural.”

As he spoke, I felt the dark chill of dread sinking low in my stomach. At this rate I would be entirely frozen by the end of this conversation. “So, you’re telling me there’s a way for someone to change their entire appearance with hydromancy, to the point it would be difficult to detect if it was real, and use potions to fabricate everything else about their story?”

“With enough years of practical study, it could be possible.”

“What if…” I couldn’t bring myself to finish the question.

What if Haron was right? What if Gennel could become anyone? Surely there was a limit to her power, that it was impossible to impersonate someone to this degree. What if… what if Gennel realized Haron could contact someone from the Hilj royal family? Is that why Gennel tried to kill her?

“Although,” Sett carried on. “I would add the caveat that this particular blend of hydromancer skills would be both unlikely to master and difficult to maintain long term. There would have to be extensive rituals involved to collect that kind of power.”

“Extensive in what way?”

“Well… they would likely be sacrificial in nature. Therefore, I doubt it would be guild sanctioned.”

I could hear my heart pound in my ears, drowning out whatever else Sett was saying. It was in front of my face the whole time. Even worse, this horrific truth was one Haron tried to tell me over and over, that Trisne’s death was more than just a murder. That her body showed signs of organs and pieces taken from her while she was still alive. A living sacrifice, kept alive far longer than she should have been, likely to be used in several consecutive rituals.

Haron was right. And I’d ignored her.

“Find Haron Val Toric. Bring her in under the assumption she is being questioned for Nebold’s death, if she fights you. I believe she is in danger, and I don’t think she will be taken in willingly.”

Sett’s eyebrow lifted skeptically. “Should I go with a patrol? You make it sound like I’m capturing a feral practitioner.”

It didn’t happen often, but Sett was usually the one to help neutralize those kinds of spellcasters, so I understood his confusion. “No, and I doubt she would take kindly to a group of soldiers showing up at her door. But I think she would be even less likely to respond well to myself or Beolf retrieving her, so I rely on you and your tact to convince her to come into custody. This is incredibly important. If she is going to the Clifftombs, I don’t think we will be able to catch her once she leaves the city walls.”

At that, Sett’s stiffness softened a little. An understanding look crossed his stoic face. “You care for this woman, Prince Irin?”

I wasn’t entirely sure how to answer such a direct question. She definitely got under my skin like no other person I’d ever known, man or woman, and took over more of my absent daydreaming than I would care to acknowledge. Haron was a walking contradiction, her history unknown to me, but still incredibly honest with anything I’ve asked of her. Maybe she wasn't really Haron at all, but I couldn't bring myself to admit the alternative until I looked her in the eye again and asked the question that burned in my chest now.

Who are you, Haron?

“Yes. I do.”

Chapter Seventeen

Haron