“You didn’t tell me you had a brother,” Aaron said, the next he was at Onekin. The trip had been pleasantly uneventful, and made entirely on the feet of horses rather than upon his own sore hooves.

John Baker did not look up from where he was kneading dough with unnecessary force. “Do you have a letter for me?”

“Not this time. Delivered yours, though,” Aaron said. “You didn’t tell me you had a twin.”

“It’s not a thing most find important, down here.”

“Maybe you haven’t gone down far enough,” Aaron said.

The enclave boy looked at him for the first time in this conversation, blowing a strand of hair out of his eyes. His suspicious look was a match for his brother’s.

After a moment, he wiped flour off on his apron, then pulled a somewhat crumpled letter from his pocket.

Aaron took it.

* * *

The Lady had poisons in her room. So very, very many poisons. Any of them would have done for the former king, may his soul not wander. Or helped him, if he’d had the kind of illness that could be helped. The difference between medicine and poison was often dosage.

If she had all these, then why had she kept sending him to Twokins with orders for more?

Aaron, for the first time in his life, wrote a letter. His handwriting was big and blocky and inconsistent, and he was not entirely certain he’d spelled everything right, but if there was anyone who could figure out his nonsense it was the raccoon down in Twokins. He took off his too-fine red coat; despaired a little, when he realized he didn’t have anything properly scruffy to change into. Then he went to the Downs.

He didn’t bother much with First Down; walked through it, mostly, stopping at one of the bakeries on his way, just to buy for once the best bread he’d ever stolen. It wasn’t as good as John’s. Probably paying for things affected the taste, somehow. He pocketed half, and found the nearest stair.

He started the search for real on Second Down; found what he was looking for, on Third. The Face was a girl a little younger than Rose, who was smart enough to make him set the bread down and back off before she grabbed it. She didn’t know him. Which was… an odd feeling. And not the point. She did know the old coon. Was suspicious of how someone as fancy-seeming as him knew the woman, and what trouble he was trying to bring, and did he have more of that bread. He didn’t. But he had money for sending his message, in small coins she could spread across as many pockets and hidey-holes as she pleased. And some hard cheese from his very own pocket pantry as a payment no one could filch from her. Not if she was quick about eating it. Which, Aaron was confident, was a skill shared by all Faces. He also had a promise for more of both the next he was in town, if she could simply leave the raccoon’s reply stashed up in the church to Man’s God, in one of his own old hiding spots.

There was probably still some money there, he realized, as he took the stairs back up to sunlight as quick as he could. There wouldn’t be, after the girl saw it.

He didn’t need it, he realized. Which was an even stranger sort of thought.

* * *

Aaron knocked on Connor’s door. Not the one he was supposed to be using; the one from the old ways.

“Rooftops again?” the boy asked, with a certain delight.

“I thought you might want more light than that,” Aaron said, and brought out his own delivery to the boy. It was a bone, thin as a finger, and a bit longer than Aaron’s hand.

The crown prince gasped. Snatched it up, and held it up to the nearest lamp before bothering to look abashed at his own unprincely behavior.

“Is this…?” Connor asked, looking half ready to give it back.

Aaron wasn’t sure how the boy meant to finish that: Is this for me? or Is this dragon bone? He answered the one, so he could ignore the other.

“It’s from the tip of a wing. Rescued it from the stock pot for you. I hope a little one is okay; I couldn’t carry larger.”

In case he needed to tuck it under a cloak and run on four legs. But the prince didn’t need to know all that.

…Though he’d probably like to, come to think of it.

“It’s perfect,” the boy said.

“I’ve got some stories for you, too,” Aaron said, shifting. “Not of your siblings. Just… what I’ve been up to. If you’d like them.”

“Yes.”

So Aaron perched on the edge of one of His Highness’ tables, and talked about dragons and bears and flowers blooming on spring babes, and other things that were… just him.

And the prince listened raptly, even as he carefully sawed the dragon bone into cross sections as best as one could with a regular knife. There was much exclaiming over the strange cross-hatching inside, and much lamenting about how much he’d accidentally broken.

Maybe Aaron should get the boy a bonesaw, next. It seemed the sort of gift best arranged while the good lieutenant was still away.

* * *

Aaron checked a map. He could have gotten a fancy one from the library, but some of those were too hard for him to make out, with their squiggling lines that meant things like elevation and other things that weren’t meant to be drawn so flat.

He went to the little side room where King Orin’s council met, instead. It didn’t look to have seen much use in His Majesty’s absence. The servants had reset the councilors’ chairs into a perfect circle around the rug on the floor, which was a map of Last o’ the Isles that even Aaron could decipher.

He found the enclaves to the north. Took a little side-step down the coastal road. Then stretched out his legs, like he was a thing that could fly, straight over the Lord of Seasons’ forest and into the mountains that cradled the capital.

Well. That probably wasn’t good.