The Unseen Magician: The Unseen Chronicles, #3

By Stacie Hanson

An apprentice with pure talent. A City that is setting out to test her. Some want her to succeed, and others want her dead. Can she survive the nefarious schemes of this dark place?

 

Three years have passed and Meg Thorne, once an ordinary desk clerk, is on her way to becoming a magician. Through raw talent and determination, she has proven to be a match for any challenge that her teacher, Seberon Wilde, can throw at her. But even Seb, for all his wisdom, is not prepared for the unexpected.

It is time, the West Borough demands, for her to come and be tested deep within its dark heart.

 

Without realizing the danger she is in, Meg delves deep beneath the West Borough, learning more about its tragic past as she completes each of its odd tests. But she is not alone within the West Borough. Someone has followed her down into the depths of the Borough. They mean to capture Meg's magical talent for their own, to force her to follow a path that will leave her nothing more than a puppet.

 

They just didn't quite realize whom they were dealing with. For Meg is no mere magician's apprentice. 

 

She is about to become something greater.

 

This third installment into the incredible world of the Unseen, The Unseen Magician is an adventure ride that is the perfect addition to The Unseen Chronicles, a fantastical series developed by fantasy author Stacie Hanson in the style of legendary books such as The Wizard of Oz. 

 

Come and dive deep beneath the Wheel Road, where Meg tries to earn the right to call herself 'magician', and purchase The Unseen Magician today!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Stacie Hanson
• Release date: May 17, 2021
• ISBN: 9781990431012

Stacie Hanson

There's little doubt in anyone's mind (anyone who knows her that is) that Stacie was to become a writer. A perpetual daydreamer who takes more pleasure in crafting worlds and characters than dreaming up bank reports, she spends her time writing fantasy and drinking tea. An avid equestrian, she also divides her time between moseying down the trail and finding places for inspiration for her books. She lives with her three cats and a dog, and her trusty laptop that lets her write as much as she can. She can be reached at her website www.stacieiscreative.com

Book preview

For Reggie, who has loved my stories.

For all those who face challenges and overcome them.

Chapter 1: The End Times

'D eath is nigh! Kiss thy loved ones and wish them well!' read the sandwich board being proudly worn by the stubby little woman as she paraded down the Elm Street corridor. 'For they have no purpose now except to die!'

It was a dismal start to Meg Thorne's Thursday morning and upon reflection, she perhaps should have stayed in bed.

The End Times, Meg had learned, was a favourite topic in the Unseen. At the very least, the Wheel Road seemed in a state of perpetual wonder over how it all might end. Pamphlets and sonnets were composed about the latest rumour and speculation on the actual date. Everyone had a theory about which god would finally lose the last threads of their carefully cultivated sanity and go postal. There was little doubt it would happen but you had a better chance at guessing when the next rain was coming than you did predicting the End Times and which god would be responsible for it.

The gods, after all, were a temperamental bunch prone to dramatics.

When Meg had pointed out how morbid this curiosity was, her teacher Seberon Wilde had looked at her as if she had sprouted another head. People need something to look forward to, he pointed out.

That was the moment that Meg had realized the Unseen version of 'fun' was what could only be described as an obscure thing.

Armageddon was a hot topic because every myth, every religion, every creature, had its version. Giants squishing the small, serpents choking the world, wolves swallowing the sun. Everything seemed possible to them. And everyone had the possibility to be right, according to themselves. It wasn't unusual to see sandwich boards dictating that the 'End was Nigh' being carried outside of tea houses and botanist shops while at the same time the ringer would be touting the newest book about End Times on sale. 

After a while, Meg had learned to ignore it. Much like every other human might she supposed. But some days she could still be surprised. Usually on a Thursday. Thursday was usually when she let her guard down.

On this particular Thursday, Meg was carrying a load of groceries in one arm and eating an apple with her other hand as she headed towards the Elm Street bridge when a cen-nymph woman approached her. Dressed in a white wimple habit and blue pinafore, the creature made an awkward sight as she came toward Meg with a clip clop of hooves. Her eyes were blazing with intent. Meg finished biting into the apple and dropped it back into her bag as she stared at the woman who wasn't moving out of her way. Short of crossing the street, there wasn't anything she could do to avoid her. The woman looked incredibly focussed on her, Meg thought as they came face to face, and then her spindly, hairy hands reached out to grab hold of Meg's arms. Meg's eyes widened and she froze when the woman gave her a gentle shake.

It is all going to end, the woman said with great earnest.

Oh? Meg tried not to squirm as those cold hairy palms bit into her arms. 

It is all going to end in plague, in the nothingness of Chaos. The Unseen will be ripped asunder. The nymph's white hood crinkled as she turned her head and looked around. Then she leaned closer to Meg, her musty smell intense as she breathed on her. She whispered in a conspiratorial way, Everything will end.

Will it end before supper? Meg asked as she backed up a step. I'm expecting company.

The nymph's brown eyes flickered. Oh, you don't know... she whimpered and then she bowed her head. Oh dear.

She scuttled around Meg and was gone around the corner before Meg could even think to stop her. Not that she was sure she wanted to. She huffed and blew out a stream of air that lifted her hair away from her eyes. Strange. It had been over three years in the Wheel Road and still she could be surprised by what could happen here. 

Meg fished out the apple from her bag and bit into it again. Seb was expecting her soon to start their afternoon lessons in his study and she was supposed to be on a schedule. He made sure she kept to her schedules these days, what with learning manipulation of energies and whatever else he tossed her way, including her language lessons with the ravens and now the local linguist teacher Miss. Marm. Besides that old woman, Seb kept her piled with work to keep her out of trouble. It had been three relentless years and Meg wouldn't have had it any other way.

Though she was edging on exhaustion today. She could have easily slept the day away but Seb had been insistent that they needed some groceries. A hungry magician, he liked to say, was a poor magician. Which could have been a literal meaning, she really wasn't that sure. Seb's metaphors tended to be a mixed bag at best.

Meg turned down a side street to shortcut her way on the route to the townhouse and obediently the streets began to shift.  She grinned widely and stroked her hand down a lamppost before crossing the street to head down the new alley that had formed. Seb had complained about how easy she found it these days but Meg had learned she could sweet talk the city to do her will. It was a matter of knowing the right words to convince the city it wanted to help her.

Pretty place, so perfect, she cooed as she skipped up a curb and headed down the walkway that led over the street. So helpful.

Maybe it was her imagination but she could feel the city preen under her praise. It certainly had led her to a nicer area of North Borough. The pristine green walkway twisted downward to a tunnel and she nodded as she realized where it led. The parkway between the east and the north. 

Perfect. Another shortcut.

Meg started down the tunnel that led beneath the walkway and through the tall iron gate that hung there. Meg opened it up and slipped through, still chewing on a bit of apple as she looked around. She swung the iron gate closed so that it made a loud, ominous clang and paused to look into the shadows across from her. Odd. They seemed to have been moving.

Which could only mean one thing: she wasn't alone.

Exhaling sharply, Meg rotated her neck on her shoulders a few times to ease the tension and forced herself to stay calm as she continued on her way. Her spurred boots made loud jangling noises as she kept to the cobblestone path and the sound was as ominous as the clang of the gate. Meg could feel the shadows lingering at her back and she ignored them as best as she could. Anything was better than feeling that cold trickle of dread down her spine. Soon though, she couldn't ignore it. She knew she was being followed. She had been since leaving the Market and the Charing Shop. Meg had just chosen to ignore it for a little while. Now she couldn't. There really was no question what could be waiting for her on either side. If she didn't do something, she'd be surrounded.

As if in response, she caught the wisps of shadows in the form of serpentine women slithering about. They wrapped around one another, hissed at her through the shadows, and their eyes glinted with fire. The threat was very real now and she knew that she had to think of something.

What would Seb do?

Oh yes, she knew what he would do. 

I know you're there, she whispered as she headed into the depths of the tunnel. They didn't disappoint her. She heard the snickering and the hushed whispers of the shadow women as they followed her. The magic signature itself she recognized as Charles Vex. He never did disappoint. He would be so bold to send a bunch of creatures after her in an attempt to test her, to try to kill her if they could. Meg felt their presence like a pressure at the back of her skull and the harder she fought it the harder it became to ignore. Meg flexed her fingers on her paper bag and realized then that if she kept walking like this into shadow she'd be better off not doing it alone.

Shadow women aside, of course.

Sighing, she stopped in the street and set her groceries down. Then she reached into the satchel she always wore at her side these days and felt for the cold glass bottle she always carried just in case. Meg grinned as she drew out the tiny flask and doused her hands with the warm liquor, wringing her hands together again and again until they were properly coated.

Flight to flame and flame to life, she muttered and she heard a snick. She closed her eyes and they rolled behind her lids a few times as she pictured it all. The perfection of such heat and light seemed to come alive beneath her closed lids and she opened her eyes to reveal the deep candle light within them.

Her hands engulfed in flames immediately and she felt the incredible rush of heat to her palms, to her fingertips through her nerve endings, and the rush was intoxicating. Meg pulled her hands from her satchel and the flames shot to the roof of the tunnel. Meg let the flames caress her face with their warmth before extending them out before her and behind her.

I see you, she said and one of the shadow women shrieked in fury. Meg kept her attention straight ahead and the flames let her see the horror that waited for her if the darkness became overwhelming. The women stood as if hung by invisible strings on their limbs and shadowy heads, jerking left and right around her, and their legs lifted in stilted jigs as they tried to force themselves closer to the light. Meg stopped and lifted her right hand before her face. The one woman came closer then, extending her horrible countenance closer and closer until they were nearly nose to nose. This woman looked like she'd had her sinewy jaw broken over and over again, her jagged teeth jutting out past her lips. She inhaled in a wheeze and her broken nose twitched at the nostrils. Her hollowed-out eye sockets were like twin pits of despair. But Meg only smiled at the shadow woman.

You're not so scary, now are you? she asked. Would you like to see how you really look?

The shadow shrieked and reached for her. Meg focussed on the flame and it shot up between them, sending a brilliant relief over her face. The glow of her eyes reflected the shadow woman and the creature shrieked again before she dove for the darkness.

Meg cracked her fingers and grinned.

This is getting easier, she mused. Yes, indeed, it was.

One of them was moving to her left and she turned her left hand out, shooting fire outward until it struck the shadow on the shoulder. It went down, cursing and screaming in a guttural Germanic language.

Yes, it was getting easier. 

Meg grinned and continued on her way to the other end of the tunnel, unmolested by the shadows.

It was amazing what a little bit of time and so much knowledge could do.

Chapter 2: The Townhouse

When she entered the townhouse, the entire building shuddered in apparent pleasure at her arrival. The lights flicked on with a warm glow, the draft from beneath the door was cool, and everything about it oozed coziness. It was like coming home to the best kind of place. The townhome had taken on the cozy look she loved, with cottage style of decor, rustic and a little threadbare, and it smelt of baking bread. With a whistle of appreciation, Meg smiled and hung up her coat. Have you had a good morning? she asked.

The house seemed to groan and Meg took that as a bad sign.

Likely something he did, she muttered as she headed for the back stairs to the kitchen. The townhome rarely lied to her about things like this. It meant so much more to her that the house trusted her enough to let her know the truth. But the real question was what had set it off. Or, rather, who had caused its melancholy mood. The moment Meg hit the stairwell leading to the basement she smelt it. Charred meat and rancid oil. Thick smoke hung in the narrow passage and she coughed as she continued down the steps into the kitchen, banging the door open.

The haze was incredible and stank horribly but she kept moving in hope that she'd find the source. Jostling her grocery bag onto one hip, Meg waved her hand a few times to clear the air and headed for the big cooking table. She set the bag down on the table and headed for the closest window, only to trip over a pair of big feet poking out from under the kitchen table. Of course he would be under there. For good measure, she kicked Seb with a vicious foot and stamped her heel just beside his knee.

What the hell are you doing? she demanded.

Seb's thick accent grumbled back at her, Did you know there's four large knots in the bottom of the kitchen table?

Meg rolled her eyes and stared at his long legs as they sprawled there. And why is that important? she asked.

One of his hands came out and wiggled in a so-so gesture. I'm just suggesting that maybe whatever tree was sacrificed to make the table cursed the house, Seb explained.

Cursed? You think the house is cursed? Meg asked. He must be having a very slow day if that was the case.

I did burn the meat, he answered, waggling his fingers towards the pile of charred meat stacked on a plate on the table.

You always burn the bacon, Meg pointed out, so that's no shock, sir. 

He slowly squirmed out from beneath the table and stared up at her through the smoke, his handsome face pulled into a look of abject hunger. You got the groceries? he asked, not even bothering to hide his eagerness.

Fresh from the Market, she said.

Good lass. We'll air out the kitchen and have cheese and apples on the patio.

Meg glanced around. Where's Jack? she asked. The dog usually wasn't far from Seb. 

Out hunting shadow cats, if I know him, Seb said as he eyed the bag of groceries. His total lack of concern really wasn't that surprising. Lately Seb had been in a foul mood but he never explained to Meg why that was. It was best to stay out of his way and just do as he said most of the time though she wasn't without her urge to rebel sometimes. It did make their lessons all the more interesting when she challenged him.

Watching him climb to his feet and wave his hand with absentminded intent to fix the nearby dirty dishes to rights, Meg bit into her lower lip and fell into her own line of thinking. It had taken a year and a half for her to come back to what he deemed acceptable power, and only now she felt like she was gaining ground. It had been three years of rewarding but hard lessons of magic, coupled with harder emotional reactions to control. It had been frustrating and exhilarating to learn magic but it felt as if it exhausted her at the same time. Sometimes she barely made it to six before her head was on her pillow and she was unconscious until five the next morning. 

Still even now, her once broken hand ached with a reminder not to overdo it and her eyes actually ached from the bright lights of the Wheel Road streets. She'd forgotten her violet spectacles today and she was paying the price with a headache building just behind her eye sockets.

Meg's face must have betrayed something because as he snapped his fingers at the tea pot to scurry over to the burner, Seb's scowl deepened. You forgot your glasses again.

I was in a rush. Someone wanted breakfast, as I remember it, Meg grumbled. She started to reach for an apple when she caught his raised brow. Rolling her eyes, she instead reached for an orange and focussed every sliver of intent and imagination she had on the orange. How the Wheel Road found oranges Meg really didn't want to know. But the orange began to glimmer in her palm and, with an almost casual pop, burst into a shiny red apple. The apple, when she bit into it, had a faint citrus taste, but she made sure not to give that away to him. 

We've an appointment this morning, he explained as he watched her warily. With Darcy Lane at the Clocktower. Then we have a party to attend tonight.

One thing Meg had not grown accustomed to was Seb's constant need to be out every night. She wasn't often invited to go with him but tonight was the beginning of the Festival of Colours and therefore it was an important night at the Ravens' Cathedral. He wanted to trot her out as his apprentice and make an impression, Seb said. Meg suspected it had something to do with his currying favour from higher politicians and traders but she didn't dare comment on it. Seb had been touchy lately. 

Despite her reluctance to go, Seb had offered to be sure she was ready for the inevitable questioning from the creatures that frequented the Wheel Road. Meg had made casual acquaintances so far, people who passed her in the street with a friendly smile, but no friends and Seb had made sure of that. The Magical Mystique, as he called it, needed to be maintained. That was bullshit, Christopher Hardy had told her one day, but it was bullshit that worked.

Who's all going to be there? she asked. All you told me was that the Ravens throw a party and hundreds of the need-to-know of the Wheel Road go.

Clara and Darcy for certain. Hardy will send a few representatives, he counted as he scooped tea leaves into the pot. Not sure old Hardy will come along.

Meg did her best to look disinterested. Oh? That's it? I thought you had more friends than that.

Seb clicked his tongue at her. You're not very subtle.

You told me to be friends with the Ravens, remember? she snapped. Or is your memory that bad?

He made a face. You have done exactly as I asked, I know. He set the pot lid down and turned toward her, resting both hands on the table between them. But yes, some of the Conspiracy will be there. It is a badge of honour for them to go.

Oh.

Which means your raven friends will be there. Bran will be at the beck and call of his fathers so he likely won't socialize all that much. Or if he is, he'll be schmoozing the higher powers that be and not a lowly apprentice, Seb said but not unkindly. His smile softened the blow. I forgot how good a friend you've become to him lately. It has been a nice change. Bran's not so...

Stoic?

That is one way of describing the stick up his ass, Seb agreed.

He's been very nice though he takes his job seriously.

A job that the less you know about the better, eh? her mentor asked and Meg sighed. It was true. She'd had grown accustomed to the fact that one of her best friends in the Wheel Road was little more than a glorified gangster but she really was in no place to be particularly choosy when it came down to it. She didn't have many other people to talk to here, besides Seb and he was mercurial at best.

He's been very happy to hear how you've been training me, she said to change the subject. Almost impressed. 

Seb glared at her. My job is not to impress a puffed up bird.

Still, a happy Bran means he doesn't interfere with you all that much, right? she wheedled which earned her a very wary look. 

You're hanging around him too much, that's exactly a question that a raven would trick me with, he grumbled. She grinned and Seb shook his head. Get your coat. We'll skip breakfast and head to the Clocktower to speak to Darcy. Something about perusing the texts for magical signs of apocalypse.

Meg frowned. Is that a theme for this week?

You know the Wheel Road, Seb said, it is never an interesting week if the world isn't going to end tomorrow. But on the off chance that it might be important, why do you ask?

I just got jumped by a very emotional nymph...one of the centaur daughters, I think.

Nymphs are so passionate, he said with a roll of his eyes. What else is new?

She just seemed so distressed.

End of the world does that, kit, you know that. How long have you been here again? he demanded and Meg glared at him. Seb sighed. What's really on your mind?

I mean, if predictions happens so often, when will any of you actually know it is going to happen? she asked, trying not to sound too worried. She likely failed since he actually softened a little.

It won't happen for some time yet. These creatures, these people? They've been here so long that they're hoping for some way out, you know, and the apocalypse is the best way for it.

So you don't believe in any of it? Meg asked. 

No reason to. It just would suck all the flavour out of life to be so...tragic. Seb leaned on the table and looked at her. Besides, I believe if the Wheel Road were to end, it would happen slow. A decay. Not because of some vengeful god. Being which, no god here has that sort of power as it is, despite their boasting.

Hadn't thought of that, she muttered. 

I thought you might have quizzed Hillon on that, he pointed out. Meg shook her head. Hillon, an old god of music, had little care for much else than his songs and for his own sense of tragic artistic ability. He was, as Seb had once pointed out, the epitome of tormented, sensitive artist.

Which may have been why Meg enjoyed his occasional company so much though she was careful to keep that interest friendly. A god was deeply out of her league and Hillon did intimidate her at times because no one, not even Seb, knew exactly what a god like that was capable of. But he made a far better friend than an enemy. Meg had learned one thing about the Wheel Road in her few years here and that was to be very careful who was your friend because even a friend could be as deadly as an enemy. 

Seb seemed to read her thoughts. No, I'm not sure Vex has it in him to be the Harbinger of Doom, he said. 

The other magician had been suspiciously quiet these few years. He often showed up to test Meg in some way, by tossing pookas and riddling sphinx her way, but nothing that seemed to actually be too hard. Nothing like shadow giants or magic duels from three years ago when she'd spent her magic beneath the West Borough, battling for her life.

He won't be there, will he? she asked.

Seb shrugged. If he is, he won't cause trouble. He's as careful around the Ravens as the rest of us. Bran terrifies him.

Bran? Why? Meg knew Bran had his moments, had witnessed his odd...intensity at times, but she had never found him terrifying. 

Seb shrugged. Who's to say? He flicked open his waistcoat and fished out his pocket watch. Seb checked the time and clicked his tongue a few times in dismay. Very well. Let's move. I want to be back here before sundown.

He left her to puzzle over his comments on Bran and Vex which was, in itself, very typical of Seb Wilde. It wasn't that he didn't like to keep her informed, it was just that he was very selective about what information he repeated. Especially about Bran. As she gathered her books from the table, Meg shrugged.

She was getting used to being left in the dark.

Chapter 3: The Festival of Colours

The Festival of Colours was the one time that the Wheel Road closed every avenue in and out, the one night that everyone in the City could come together regardless of who or what they were. Rank and riches, magic or not, it didn't matter so much. Parties littered the streets, musical numbers were executed with meticulous care, and great estates were opened by usually absent landlords. The air smelt of cinnamon and beer, while streamers of light and powdery glitter decorated every surface. The kobolds who kept the city streets spotless moaned and pulled on their black beards at the mess but few paid them much mind. The Festival of Colours was there to draw out even the sternest of the Unseen. Even the vampires and rakashas, normally locked within their great Library, would be out amongst the citizens and that alone was a sight to be seen. 

After all, predators among prey without bloodshed would be a miracle.

Even the lowest of Unseen, the lowest of magical lows, could be found enjoying the festivities. Even the highest of high stooped to rub elbows with the lesser and barriers were often broken during the Festival. It was why the best deals were brokered between creatures and even treaties had been signed thanks to the joyful nature of the Festival.

Immortals though...they tended to be less joyful regarding the Festival of Colours. To them, it was more a pain like a kick in the teeth. To them, the Festival of Colours was monotonous and they saw it for what it was really there for.

Distraction.

Bran sighed as he stood at the edge of a balcony to the Grand Cathedral and for the millionth time he debated on flying off under the pretence of watching the roadways for trouble. His fathers had insisted on his presence though and years of engrained obedience had him here, feeling foolish in his finery. Every three years the Festival came around and every three years he had to suffer through drunken revelry and rescue nymphs from overzealous satyrs, keep statues from coming to life, and pretend for the millionth time he was interested in treaties between Old Magic and New Magic.

Adjusting the collar of his black dress coat, Bran cleared his throat and eyed a raven perched on the rail. Lola, a younger raven. She squawked at him and he sighed. You're very lucky, he said. You're just on watch tonight.

She squawked again at him in sympathy.

Bran?

He turned at his father's voice and painted a bright grin on his handsome face to hide his boredom. Father. I was coming, I'm sorry.

Good, said Huginn as he opened the glass door wide for his son. His iron grey hair was capped with a crown of thistles and his black eyes darted over Bran in a thoughtful way. His smile was gentle. You do seem less than enthusiastic. Something wrong?

I can't help it. The last time I was here I was threatened by a Jot who wanted to defeather me.

You handled it well, as I remember it, Huginn said as they walked down the long hall leading from the balcony. Considering all things, the younger of the Ravens knew his father had a point. He could have exploded but instead he'd managed to keep his head in a tense situation. The memory of it was uncomfortable though, so Bran occupied himself with gazing at the statues of Valkyries who guarded his father's private chambers. Anything to avoid showing any kind of betraying emotion. Huginn wasn't fooled though because he remarked, You do hate the formality though.

Wild at heart, Bran agreed with a grin. You know that.

You went native too long in the Seen is what I think, Huginn pointed out. They made you feral.

His father said it gently but with such a clever little smirk that it reminded Bran his father could be just as tricky as Bran could. There were some interesting escapades in Cardiff but that was a lifetime ago.

As they headed into the stairwell that led to the main corridor where the party was, Huginn glanced at him. Do you miss the Seen? he asked.

Bran shook his head. No. I haven't any inkling to go back to that place.

I'm glad. The Seen is seductive at times but our kind is best suited to the cities we were born within, you know that. Huginn didn't see the face Bran made as he continued, Ever since we escaped our servitude, Bran, we have built our resources, our influence, and it is in your father and mine's best interests to keep it that way. We depend on you to help us in keeping our rightful place within the Unseen.

You know that you have my support, Father, Bran said with a respectful nod as they rounded a corner and headed toward the large oak doors. Have I given you reason to doubt me?

Not often, no. Nothing since your youth. Lately, however, you have been..., Huginn waved his gnarled hand in a sweeping way, his black nails long and threatening in the dim light, distracted.

I don't know what you mean, Bran said as they walked through the hall doors and to the marble balcony that overlooked the growing crowd within the great hall. The noise was becoming deafening and he had to twitch his head to the side to hear his father better.

Huginn gave him a side-long look that spoke volumes. Volumes of something so uncomfortable that Bran didn't dare meet his eye. No, of course you don't. Let's just enjoy tonight, shall we? he said in his gentle yet vague way.

Bran nodded and put his hands on the rail as he looked out over the crowd. It was like looking at a sea of brightly coloured butterflies and his first impression was that it hurt the eyes. The Ravens always held a formal get-together during the Festival of Colours for those of influence in the Wheel Road and they took it seriously, wanting to display their influence. Of course, it meant that everyone invited put on their very best display to show off their own influences. Even though Bran wore leathers and linens in black, in the crowd he saw creatures and peoples in every colour imaginable, in every fabric imaginable. Some of it was magical, gossamer made from spider silks or from unicorn tail, and some of it was plain but embroidered with heavy jewels and brocades. Seeing it all made him glad he had settled for a plain dress coat with light silver trim and black trousers. He felt less on display and less likely to be noticed. It was, in his opinion, the job of the Raven Gods to be noticed, not their obedient son. Bran smoothed down his hair before he ruffled it up again, trying to get comfortable even as he began grinding his teeth when the overpowering smell of flowers swept in with the breeze from the open cathedral ceiling. The violet and orange twilight air was speckled with shimmering dust that settled in thick clouds of glitter and perfume. It made him long to sneeze.

Smile, Bran. You are the son of gods, remember? Munnin said in his typically airy tone as he joined his mate and son at the rail. 

I'm doing my best, Father, he said before turning to the small man. Munnin was almost too petite next to his tall mate and his son, but his elvish appearance was a deception. Inside was a deep core of strength that had served the Ravens well for years.

Next thing you know, you'll be wanting to fly sentry duty during festivals. You're too much of a recluse sometimes, son. You need to get out and enjoy life, Munnin commented.

It did cross my mind to stay on sentry, Bran admitted. But I didn't want to disappoint you.

Oh, we can't say much to you wanting to do your duty, son. You're a shining example of devotion to duty, Munnin said and his son was almost certain there was a little bit of mockery in his tone.

I'm not sure what you mean? Bran asked.

Only that we've been trying for months to turn your head with potential ravens or gods, and you've not taken any time away from the Wheel Road in some years. Has something here caught your eye instead? Munnin returned with a casual sort of interest.

Not knowing what to say, Bran only stared at him with wide eyes and gave him respectful distance when he walked around them to head down the stairs. With a wink to Bran, Huginn followed him at a less than eager pace. Together, the Raven Gods looked ethereal and intimidating. Not knowing how to respond to his father's subtle jab, Bran simply fell into line as they pressed into the crowd. 

Here the feel of too many bodies, too many fabrics, too much energy was frankly overwhelming and Bran tried hard to follow the Raven Gods without betraying how he felt as they greeted citizens left and right, unaffected by the closeness. His fathers didn't have his apprehension towards being surrounded. Why should they? They didn't know all that he did within the Wheel Road to keep the roadways safe. He knew the amount of security he'd had to put into place to keep this very building impenetrable by anyone not invited. It was tiring work, exhausting and infuriating, keeping the safety of everyone in order. Especially since there was such unrest beneath the surface. But his fathers only wintered in the Wheel Road. In a matter of months, they'd return to the other cities within the Unseen that they preferred. Then Bran's life would be slightly more normal;