Closed.

Prince smiled and took her hand, then wrapped his other arm around her waist, leading her to an elegant waltz.

Couples swirled about the floor. The Vlaskesari circled each other with deliberate steps that avoided crushing the women's skirts. The Mercians moved together in a flutter of softer fabric. At the ballroom's outer edges, the servants moved in patterns of their own.

Prince's hand slipped slightly from Clare's as she glided into a spin and his fingers wrapped around her wrist.

She suddenly felt weak in her knees, her feet clumsy, her body shivering.

Until she stumbled forward, collapsing against the Prince's chest.

"Poor lady, was the dancing too much for you?" Prince asked, his tone calm, arms wrapped around Clare.

- Answer and try to straighten up.
- Step away from him.
 
-Answer and try to straighten up

Clare was focused on doing the waltz right for some reason. It wasn't necessarily for the mission, nor for the prince. It just reminded her of the dirigible and of North. She found herself missing him slightly.

When she spun, she felt his hands wrap around her wrist tightly. Then, she felt weak.

She tried to brush off her stumble, nodding her head and backing up. "I'm fine. I just lost my footing. Having too much fun I suppose." She said, her eyes darting to his hand for a moment. That's odd. She thought, remembering his hand and the way she felt.
 
"Of course." The Prince nodded. The dance had ended and suddenly as Clare turned to go she could see Finch by the edge of the dancing crowd. Their eyes met and he signaled her over.

The Prince was met by Madame Albescu, who was followed by the silent steward carrying a tray with a wine bottle and two glasses.

"Since I know you do not care for vodka." Madame Albescu said to the Prince. "I told the Ambassador he must send to Debenham & Lord's for a bottle of your favorite Chateau Gerard 1790. He has acquired it this evening just for you."

Perhaps it was just a trick of the flickering candlelight, but for a moment the Prince's blond curls seemed to gleam with a reddish sheen.

- You see it all clearly now, you have to get out of there and report to Woodsworth.
- There's nothing suspicious going on, stay and enjoy the night.
- Check with Finch.
 
-Check with Finch

She quickly started to walk back to Finch. She wasn't sure what to think until she heard the Madame's conversation over the wine. Her breath hitched and she found herself staring at the couple. Oh no. No. It can't be right? But, things started to click in her head. She quickly grabbed Finch and lowered him down to whisper to him. "I saw a normal light magic user, start to become uncontrollable after drinking a wine glass. When I was dancing with the Prince, something werid happened when he grabbed my wrist." She looked to him seeing if he would catch on.
 
Finch caught on as well. In fact, he looked more alarmed than she was.

"Let's make our exit." He said, leading her out of the ballroom and to the carriage.

--

"Let me get this straight." Woodsworth said. "The Vlaskesari have invented a chemical compound that turns people into Lighteaters?"

From her completed analysis of the wine Clare found out that it was some sort of a concoction that activates latent inherited traits. Hair color, eye color, certain weaknesses or illnesses. And what was once known as 'the touch of the Sun'.

Woodward turned pale at their explanation.

"So..." Finch added. "Is there something you would like to tell us about the Royal Family?"

"Would I like to tell you?" Woodsworth muttered. "No, seems that I have to do it now. You can see why the Royal Family would be disinclined for the news to reach the public. In fact, the Prince has an excellent motive to conceal his situation even from his own family. It has been some generations since a prince was born sun touched and it did not turn out good. Seems obvious now why he would lean toward a Vlaskesari." He shook his head. "A brilliant plot on many levels. If you hadn't discovered it, Mercia might have been destroyed from within by a pro Vlask King. Or by a civil war."

--

Woodsworth demanded that action must be taken without delay. He had learned of Clare's plan to concel Jed Baker's light eating abilities. He promised her a good talking to after everything was done. Jed's abilities faded once he stopped drinking the substance. But there was no way to know what the Prince's longer exposure might mean, or even if there was a tipping point past which the effects cannot be reversed.

In the following days Woodsworth informed Her Majesty, obtained her consent and assembled a team of men in full Lighteater gear to go and detain His Royal Highness.

- Volunteer to be one of them.
- Suggest that someone should explain the Vlaski plot to the Prince, hoping to persuade him.
- Suggest that someone should explain the chemical compounds of the wine to the Prince.
- Suggest luring the Prince to an ambush.
 
-Volunteer to be one of them

She felt slightly guilty for keeping the wine a secret from him. She didn't know the implications until they became high. Which was now. She decided to volunteer to help ambush the Prince, she didn't want him to be scared or upset, she just hoped to be there to explain the danger he's in. She just hoped she wouldn't be hurt. No, she actually hoped she wouldn't have flashbacks.
 
Woodsworth nodded at Clare's eagerness. "Go and get ready."

--

Clare hadn't worn full Lighteater protective gear since Goraska. Pulling the supple fabric over her skin, she could almost hear the wind whistling among the rocks.

She was in more danger now than she ever was then. At least in Goraska, she could rely on ranged weapons, but firing bullets at the Crown Prince was manifestly out of the question. This would have to be done at close quarters, hand-to-hand and though she and her teammates had covered as much skin as possible, their faces were vulnerable.

Finch was dressing besides Clare. He looked up from the fastenings, meeting her eyes, and nodded once.

- "Good hunting."
- "Take care."
- Kiss him.
- Don't display affection publicly, but give him a knowing look.
 
-Don't display affection publicly, but give him a knowing look.

Clare felt a little clammy as put on the suit. She thought back to Jed and his friend. Those marks. You're protected. It'll be okay. She drew out a breath and finished fastening the suit before looking at Finch. Of course she was a little upset when he volunteered. He was certainly skilled in capturing, but she wanted to be doing this alone. He didn't want him to get hurt protecting her again. Although, when he looked up her heart melted a little. She didn't want to display her feelings towards him publicly considering the situation, so she gave him a look, then proceeded to follow the rest.
 
They held each other's eyes for a moment. And then it was back to business.

Their team leader gave the signal. And they flooded into the Imperial Palace to arrest the Crown Prince.

--

Most of the servants had been moved out of the way. A very few old retainers have been warned in advance. They did not interfere with the uniformed men running down the corridors to the Prince's apartments.

The Prince reacted exactly as one might expect when a group of uniformed men and women kicked in his door.

He had been trained in hand-to-hand combat and in the use of the sword. Without much thinking he grabbed a sword from the collection of decorative blades on the wall. Although he was outnumbered significantly, all of the operatives were trying not to hurt him, while he felt no such compunction.

"Back off!" The Prince shouted, moving to attack.

Stevenson used an embroidered pillow as a shield and though the Prince cut through it easily, it engaged His Royal Highness's attention for the moment. Stoker flanked him, trying to take a hold of him.

The Prince twisted around quickly, slapping his free hand onto Stoker's face. Stevenson had an opportunity, but froze for that split second - and then the Prince pushed Stoker off, slashed at Stevenson, and sprinted for the door, right at Clare.

She could see an opening, having only an instant to decide how to use it.

- Approach him, risking to be touched, but allowing someone else a chance to grab him during the distraction.
- Grab a book from the end table and throw it at him.
- Grab a decorative knife and throw it at him, hoping to hurt him.
 
-Approach him, risking to be touched, but allowing someone else a chance to grab him during the distraction

Clare frowned a little at the lack of explanation the servants had, but she understood why. No one should know about the Prince's hidden talents. She followed swiftly and stood besides the door as the agents engaged.

She saw him sprint toward it and quickly moved to stop his path, hoping he didn't attack her.
 
It was a desperately brave thing to do and it required more fortitude than Clare expected.

The Prince swung to meet her.

But she misjudged the angle. Instead of attacking her with the palm of his hand, he slashed at her with the sword. The blade cut painfully along her bicep and the Prince was not distracted at all from his goal. He barrelled toward the door.

David Finch brought him down with a desperate flying tackle. They scuffled together on the rug and Finch got a couple of glancing palm attacks he wasn't quite quick enough to dodge, but by then the rest of the team was there, shackling the Prince, stuffing a gag in his mouth, muttering apologies.

--

"You almost let him get away!" Woodsworth snapped at Clare when he heard about it later.

Finch gestured meaningfully at her blood-soaked makeshift bandage, then back to Woodsworth.

Woodsworth had the grace to look embarrassed, sending her off to have the injury properly treated.

--

After getting her injury bound, Clare rejoined Woodsworth just as he was receiving the news that the team sent to retrieve Madame Albescu found that she had vanished. He cursed briefly.

"Well..." He said, refocusing. "We've rescued His Royal Highness, which is the most important thing. Learning the details of the plot would have been preferable, but we may catch up with Madame in time. Meanwhile, we shall put it about that His Royal Highness has pneumonia, and take him to Caislean, the royal residence in Dunleitir, by Her Imperial Majesty's private dirigible." He looked meaningfully at the two Detectives. "You are going to accompany him, of course."

- Protest.
- Comply.
- Stay silent.
 
-Stay silent

Clare could feel her arm throb every time she tried moving it. She was even more pissed when he pinned their slight misstep on her. He seemed to do that more and more often. Whenever she slipped up a little, he would lash at her. She was tired of it. Therefore, when he said they will come with the Prince, she stayed silent.
 
Steampunk_Tendencies_Cardinal_Airship.jpg

The trip to Dunleitir was grim. The Prince spent the entirety of the night howling abuse at Woodsworth and any of his security force. Woodsworth sat with him in the main cabin for the entire night. The rest of them rotated in and out, serving as Woodsworth's second pair of eyes and pair of hands. The rest of the time, Clare sipped tea provided by the Prince's steward in the brief intervals when the Prince fell silent.

"At some point." Finch said during one of these. "We ought to consider how the Vlaskesari managed to move Madame Albescu so close. Someone else had to have been involved." He sighed. "Because what we needed was another uncaught villain lurking in the background like the Professor, one more unresolved and recurring threat looming over our heads."

Finch exhaled a breath that seemed almost like laughter. His eyes were red-rimmed with exhaustion, the tea wasn't helping. The dirigible sailed on through the black night.

"What I think we actually need is a holiday." He said. "Spend a fortnight fishing or something, then come back to all the unsolved problems with clear heads. And I hate holidays. Which should tell you something."

- Respond.
 
She hated hearing the Prince. She felt like she was committing treason for hurting such a prized person from Merica. She imagined Woodsworth felt the brunt of it however, being in there constantly. This made her a little less mad at him, their relationship had been strained since her witholding of information. She didn't know how to fix it however.

Another thing she didn't know how to fix was Finch's tiredness. She wasn't quite as tired as him even though she should be, she didn't understand what had taken such a toll to admit he wanted a holiday. "I can't really imagine having a holiday. When I was deliriously sick would have been nice, but I wouldn't be able to clear my mind." She reached out and touched his hand. "Let's not talk about the future. Right now, you should rest. You don't look too hot."
 
Before she could get a response, Clare heard from the Prince's cabin behind her, a smooth, silken voice. "Don't move, Mr Woodsworth."

Beside her, Finch went rigid.

"Come, Your Royal Highness." The voice continued. "I have a lifeboat prepared for us and the others safely disabled. Your allies will keep you safe in Vlask until we can devise a way for you to wrest your throne from your lady mother."

"Your Royal Highness." Woodsworth begun in the deliberately reasonable tone of a man trying not to panic. "You are ill and cannot know what you are doing. Surely you can see that these so called allies do not have your best interests-"

"And I have a bottle of wine waiting for you." The silken voice spoke over him.

- Rush through the door.
- Carefully sneak up to the cabin.
 
-Carefully sneak up to the cabin

Clare's face went pale when she heard a voice. She felt her breath halt as she tried to listen to the voice. How did they get on? How did they know what was going on? Questions ran through her head as she quietly started to move. Then she heard a mention of wine. She bit her lip to stop herself from running in. It makes sense now. She just needed to get inside.
 
An enemy was in there with Woodsworth and the helpless Prince. Clare could only guess how they got on board. Did they stow away somehow, or could they have somehow disguised themselves as one of the operatives, or... was Woodsworth's organization compromised? That would explain how Madame Albescu knew to tidy up loose ends and flee.

She reached the cabin door, seeing - the Prince's steward!

His hand was plastered over Woodsworth's face and his head thrown back in a Lighteater's feeding ecstasy.

- Rush to Woodsworth's defense.
- Shield the Prince.
- Stick to the shadows and sneak up.
- Draw your gun and shoot once you have a clear shot.
 
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-Draw your gun and shoot once you have a clear shot

As soon as she saw Woodsworth in trouble, she grabbed her gun without a moments hesitation. "Let him go!" She shouted, in a frenzy that there was active lighteaters among them. She moved with her pistol to the enemy. She let the bullet fire, when she saw how much Woodsworth was being drained.
 
The steward whipped around, Clare's first bullet flying clear of him. Woodsworth collapsed bonelessly at his feet. He moved just a slight step before Clare could fire another shot. One elegant, well-kept hand held a large and very serious looking pistol.

Which was jammed into the back of the Crown Prince's skull.

"Over there." He said softly, in a tone as rich as velvet, and motioned Clare and Finch to join Woodsworth in the corner.

It was pretty much the only threat that would have induced Clare to comply. It was her duty to serve her country and that included the Royal Family. Finch hesitated for a moment - then moved where they were directed.

The steward reached down with his free hand and used a knife to sever the Prince's bonds. "Come, Your Royal Highness." The Prince shuffled mutely ahead of him out of the room.

The key turned in the lock.

Almost before it was done turning, Finch had thrown himself at the door, fumbling the lockpicks out of his pocket.

- Shoot the lock, it's quicker.
- Break open the doors, it's quicker.
- Be confident that Finch's way is the quickest.
 
-Shoot the lock, it's quicker

She wanted to check on Woodsworth more, but immediately saw her error. The Prince was being taken. She complied and wanted desperately to actually use her abilities. She just wanted to stop him then and there. But, had to stay still until the door closed.

She moved Finch away from the lock and shot at it. She was positive it was a quicker way then Finch fumbling about.
 
It took her only two tries to disable the lock by shooting it. Hopefully the sound of gunshots would have the additional benefit of alerting the rest of Woodsworth's security.

Bursting out of the cabin, Clare saw two pairs of legs belonging to the Prince and his servant, leaving the last step of the stairway for the boat deck.

The stairway was littered with the bodies of Woodsworth's operatives. Some appeared to be injured, others merely asleep. Something must have been in that tea the steward handed out to everyone.

Clare emerged onto the boat deck to see the Crown Prince untying a lifeboat. The steward now held his pistol pointing straight up. If he shoots the engine, the ship will plummet into the sea. He probably intended to do just that, as soon as he and the Prince have disembarked. His eyes swept the deck, the stairways, the shadowed corners. Every muscle in his body was tensed, ready to jump at whatever danger presented itself.

Clare had no more than an instant in which to choose a plan of attack. Never before had she played for such high stakes. The life of Mercia's Crown Prince hung in the balance and she had to get this right the first time.

- You are confident you can shoot the steward, even if the light is bad.
- Ask Finch to make a distraction so you can get a better shot.
- Throw yourself to tackle the servant.
- Try to taunt to steward and wait for an opening.
 
-Ask Finch to make a distraction so you can get a better shot.

She ran as fast as she could, acidentally hurting a few operatives by kicking them. She immediately stopped when she saw how close they were at getting away and how he pointed the pistol to the engine. "No!" She shouted and raised her pistol. "I won't allow you to hurt anyone anymore! Let the Prince go! Finch!" She felt fire running through her. She felt for the first time a clear focus. Pierce is dead. Woodsworth is fine. The Prince is in danger. And this man is dead.
 
She achieved a position from which she had a better angle, but her shouting had the opposite effect. She attracted the steward's attention instead of sneaking and adjusting her shot, which proved counterproductive.

The steward shifted.

Clare had never seen anyone react that fast. He whirled, firing. Flame exploded in her thigh. She was thrown backward and her head struck something. Hard.

Her vision was blurred, blackening around the edges.

She could just make out Finch struggling with the steward, trying to get the revolver away from him. The contest was uneven, since the steward was using the palm of his free hand to weaken Finch moment to moment.

Finch was gasping at the Prince to get clear, get away, but the Prince was in the thick of the fight, trying to pry the steward's hand from Finch's skin, trying to help overpower his traitorous servant.

- Try to find your gun and shoot again, it must be there somewhere.
- Try to get to your feet and help out.
- Try to attract the steward's attention by calling out to him.
 
-Try to attract the steward's attention by calling out to him

Clare struggled to stand. The blow made her want to cry out in pain. Her fingers tried to grab hold of a gun, but she felt the floor instead. She slowly drew her eyes up to see the three of them brawling. She frowned and leaned on a pole as she raised herself up. Then, she shouted straight at the Steward, moving her arm to position as if she was going to shoot him if he wasn't paying attention.
 
Her body was painfully slow. Her voice emerge in a whisper and even so slight an effort set bells clanging in her brain. Brilliant colors shot through her vision as she fell back, almost sick to her stomach with the pain.

Finch collapsed to hands and knees on the deck.

The steward leveled his pistol at the heir to the throne.

Finch lurched upward, flinging himself at the steward in a clumsy tackle - but not quite quickly enough. The pistol went off. The Crown Prince collapsed with a choked gurgle.

Finch used momentum and gravity to slam the steward into the rail - and half over it, off balance. He had gained control of the steward's pistol, had it jammed up against the man's chest.

But the steward's other hand fastened on the side of Finch's head, fingers tangled in her lover's hair and palm plastered to his skull.

For a brief moment Finch cast one look at Clare, but her vision was wavering too much to be able to read his face.

In the last instant before the paralysis of Lighteating rendered him utterly helpless, Finch forced his finger to press the trigger.

The sound of the shot ripped through the night.

The universe seemed to hold its breath.

And then both Finch and the steward toppled over the rail, falling, streaking toward the black water below like shooting stars.

Clare lapsed into unconsciousness before she heard the splash.

--

Even before she was able to force open her eyes, she knew she had been moved to a hospital. The smells were unmistakable.

The sounds were muted, however.

Woodsworth sat in the chair beside the bed. He looked to have aged twenty years since Clare saw him last and bore the particular white, drained look of a man who has been a Lighteater's plaything. A little of the tension left his face when he saw her awaken.

Whose fate Clare most urgently needed to know?

- Ask about Finch.
- Ask about the Prince.
- Stay silent.
 
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