“There is an occupation prevalent in nearly every kingdom called a ‘Finder.’ It is actually a shortened name from a Preachán word that is practically meaningless now, as the Preachán have adopted the Aeduan tongue as their own. A Finder is trained to ‘find’ what is lost—be it a person, an object that is stolen, or a safe path through the maze of the city. They even have a guild. Finders also exist in the wilderness, and their services are highly prized and well paid. It was said by one of the wise ancients that it is the very perfection of a man to find out his own imperfections. In a sense, that is what Finders do, but to others, not themselves. Even the tiniest impression of a boot heel can bring a criminal to justice or retrieve that which is lost. The most subtle and patient are the best Finders.”

– Possidius Adeodat, Archivist of Kenatos

Hettie returned to her barren sleeping chamber and sat down on the reed mat, leaning back against the rough stone wall. Master Shivu had chosen a Vaettir to be her companion on the journey to Havenrook. It was a disaster in one sense, but a workable one. He was quick to speak and take offense. That made him a danger to himself and to her goal.

She rubbed her eyes, trying to clamp down her burgeoning resentment. The meeting with Tyrus had not gone as she expected. The stay at the temple had not either. There was so much to accomplish in so short a time. Her fingers strayed to her left earlobe, untouched by a pinprick or an earring. She had a fortnight to win her freedom. It almost seemed too much to hope for.

Biting her lip, she let her head rest back against the stone wall, staring up at the cobwebs and the dust in the corners. There were no windows, only open slats near the ceiling allowing the sunlight and breeze to enter unimpaired. She recalled seeing shutters on the exterior and thought how cold the temple would be during the winter. It was a life devoid of comforts. At least she had spent the last ten years in a cabin in the mountains of Alkire, always with plenty of wood to stay warm, providing she expended the effort to chop it.

A bell sounded from the outside, grabbing her attention instantly. Bells were harbingers of change in the city. She had been told that certain bells announced the arrival of Plague and that the city would be locked down as a result. This was a quiet bell, and she recognized it as belonging to the front gate. Was it Tyrus come to see her again? To provide the information he had withheld on how to open Drosta’s treasure?

It was all such a riddle and a game. It frustrated her. Find a Preachán in Havenrook named Erasmus. He would know the location of the lost treasure. The key to securing it, in whatever form that took, would be given to her Bhikhu protector or to another individual he might enlist in the effort. He had assured her that she would leave on the morrow and she wondered whether the additional aid had arrived. Having the Bhikhu along would prove troublesome and likely aggravating. Adding another? She ran her fingers through her hair and sighed deeply.

Havenrook. Of all the kingdoms in the land, why did it have to be there?

It was not a long wait, but she did hear the sound of clapping sandals and the softer noise of sturdy walking boots. She listened closely, recognizing the footfall of Master Shivu. The other sound, she did not recognize. The step was too light to be Tyrus. One of his minions then, she thought.

The two stopped at her door; she heard a knock. She rose, tried to brush some of the travel dust from her pants, and opened the door, ready to dislike the person immediately. Most people hated Romani, and though she tried to obscure the fact that she was one, she could count on her uncle disclosing it.

As the door opened, she caught her breath.

Master Shivu, she recognized. But the young man next to him was her own age and bore a striking resemblance to her own reflection, especially his facial features. He was a little taller than her, his hair the true reddish hue that hers was when she did not dye it. He had some hair on his face, but definitely not a full beard. She saw the Druidecht talisman immediately.

“My name is Annon,” he said, looking at her with an intensity in his eyes that startled her and a depth of emotion in his voice that struck her heart like an arrow bolt. “I am your brother, and I’ve come to help you.”

She stared at him, completely shocked by his sudden appearance. What in all due glory was this? She could not speak. She stared, looking at his features.

He smiled kindly at her and held up his hands. She could see the calluses on his palms. “Our uncle said that you might not be convinced and suggested coming back to the tower; he will fetch a Rike to persuade you. But one look at you, and I know it is true. We look alike. Don’t we? We are twins.”