On the verdant fern path of his Zanovar estate, Tyros Reffa studied the scrollwork language on the laminated ticket in his hand, trying to interpret the obscure pictographs. He relished the challenge. Sunshine through the leafy canopy dappled the card. Puzzled, he looked up at his revered teacher and friend, Docent Glax Othn.

“If you cannot read the words, Tyros, you will never appreciate the gift itself.” Though few members of the Taligari family remained alive, the Docent was one of a long line of teacher-lords who had inherited the fief from the last traditional nobleman and continued to operate it under the original name. He and Reffa shared a naming day, separated by a gulf of decades but bridged by an enduring friendship.

Hummingbirds and jeweled butterflies flitted around the waving fern fronds, chasing each other in fast, colorful aerial maneuvers. High in one of the scaly trees, an off-key songbird sounded like a dry, squeaky hinge.

“May the fates save me from an impatient teacher.” Reffa was in his mid-forties, stout of build and athletic in his movements. His eyes held an unwavering intelligence. “I can translate something about the Taligarian Court here… performance… famous and mysterious…” He drew in a quick breath. “This is a ticket to the suspensor opera! Yes, I see the code now.”

The Docent had given him only one ticket, knowing that Reffa would go alone, fascinated and voracious to learn, drinking in the experience. The old man himself no longer attended such off-world performances. With only a few years remaining in his life, he had laid out his time carefully and preferred to meditate and teach.

Reffa studied the ticket’s scrollwork and deciphered every word. “This is a pass to go to the lighted tanks of Taligari Center, in fabled Artisia. I am invited to watch an illuminated dance presentation in subliminal languages, which describes the emotional overtones of the long and complex struggles of the Interregnum.” He traced a finger over the strange runes, content in his abilities.

His gaunt mentor nodded with deep satisfaction. “It is said that only one in five hundred viewers can understand the nuances of the magnificent piece, and then only with extensive attention and training. Still, you will want to see the performance for its own sake.”

Reffa embraced the Docent. “A wonderful gift, sir.” They veered off the wide cobblestone path onto a smaller gravel lane that crunched beneath their slippered feet. Reffa loved every corner of his modest estate.

Several decades ago, Emperor Elrood had instructed the Docent to raise a bastard child in comfort and secrecy, without instilling in him any hope of his heritage, but keeping him worthy of his Corrino blood. The Docent had taught him to savor quality rather than extravagance.

Glax Othn gazed at the younger man’s chisel-featured face. “There is also a matter of some concern, Tyros. Another reason it is perhaps a wise idea for you to go to Taligari for a while, leave your estate here… just for a month or two.”

Reffa looked at the Docent, instantly alert. “Is this another puzzle?”

“Unfortunately, not one for mere amusement. In the past two weeks, several men have made rather rigorous inquiries into you and your property. You have noticed this, correct?”

Reffa hesitated, only slowly growing concerned. “It was perfectly innocuous, sir. One man was inquiring into prime real estate here on Zanovar, even hinting that he wanted to purchase my property. Another was a master gardener who wanted to study my conservatory. The third—”

“They were all Imperial spies,” Othn said, cutting him off. Reffa was instantly speechless, and the teacher continued, “I was suspicious and decided to check them out. The identifications they gave you were false, and all three came from Kaitain. It has taken me a bit of effort, but I have proven that those men are secretly in Emperor Shaddam’s employ.”

Reffa pursed his lips, fighting his desire to blurt out questions. The Docent would want him to sift through the consequences. “So they were all lying. The Emperor is trying to check up on my home, and me. Why, after all this time?”

“Obviously, because he has just learned of your existence.” The Docent took on a stern demeanor, and his voice became pedantic as he remembered the great speeches he had given inside echoing halls filled with students. “You could have had so much more, Tyros Reffa. And you deserve it precisely because you do not want it. It is something of an Imperial paradox. I think you could be in some danger.”

The Docent understood why the young man must maintain his quiet life and not call attention to himself. This bastard son of Elrood IX had never posed any threat to Kaitain, had never shown any ambition— or interest— in Imperial politics or the schemings of the Golden Lion Throne.

Instead, Reffa preferred to make his mark by entertaining audiences, performing under a stage name with off-world acting companies. He had studied with the Mimbanco teachers of House Jongleur, the greatest entertainers in the Imperium, actors so talented they could manipulate the strongest emotions in an audience’s heart. Young Reffa had loved those early years on Jongleur, and the Docent had been exceedingly proud of him.

Reffa stiffened. This went beyond the bounds of what they were permitted to mention, even in private conversations. “Do not speak openly of such things. Yes, I will leave this place and go to Taligari.” Softening his tone, he added, “But you will diminish my pleasure in this wonderful gift. Come, see what I have gotten for you on this naming day.” His face remained troubled, though.

Reffa clasped the ticket in his fingers, then turned to the old man and managed a smile. “You taught me, sir, that the act of giving is more effective by tenfold when it is reciprocated.”

The Docent feigned surprise. “Right now we have greater concerns. I have no need of gifts.”

Reffa took his mentor by the bony elbow and steered him through a hedge of feathertrees that opened into a central courtyard. “Neither do I. But neither of us ever makes time to treat ourselves to little pleasures unless we are forced into doing so. Don’t deny the truth of what I say. I have arranged something for you, too. Look, there is Charence.”

The dour-faced house master stood on the opposite side of the paved area, waiting for them by a scarlet pavilion. Charence looked to be a morose, ill-natured man— but he was highly efficient and had a bone-dry sense of humor that Reffa appreciated.

Abashed, Glax Othn followed the stocky young man to the pavilion, where he had placed a small wrapped box on a shaded table. Charence lifted the box and extended it to the Docent.

Othn took it in his hands. “What could I possibly want? Other than more time, and more knowledge, that is. And your safety.” The old teacher tore open the foil wrapping with an expression of puzzled delight, followed by genuine confusion as he studied the shiny object. It was a crystal pass-chit, a one-day membership token. “An amusement park, with rides and displays and thrill-simulators?”

Seeing his reaction, dour Charence actually smiled.

“Zanovar’s finest,” Reffa said. “The children love it.” He beamed. He had gone there himself, just to make certain it was not the sort of spot the overly serious Docent would ever have visited.

“But I have no children,” he protested, “no family. This is not really for me, is it?”

“Have some fun. Be young at heart. You have always insisted that a true human being requires new experiences for sustenance.”

The Docent flushed. “I say that to my students, but… Are you trying to prove me hypocritical?” His brown eyes twinkled.

Reffa closed his mentor’s hand over the token. “Enjoy yourself, in payment for all you have done on my behalf.” He clapped a palm on the Docent’s shoulder. “And when I return, safe after a month or two on Taligari, we can compare our separate experiences— you on amusement-park rides and me at the suspensor opera.”

The old teacher nodded thoughtfully. “I look forward to that, my friend.”