Craumont, in my opinion, is much prettier under the sunlight. The


    nighttime view is just a chaotic scattering of light and smoke.


    But it really is <i>pretty</i>, during the day. The buildings lining


    the main streets are decorated <i>wonderfully</i>. Stone and brick


    isn''t terribly interesting to look at, but they make it up with


    bright paints, decorated shutters, broad windows displaying all sorts


    of finery... and lots of flowers. Countless flowers, real and fake.


    Spreads of wildflowers in their flowerboxes sit near the steps,


    collecting the drippings from last night’s rain. Window boxes


    overflow with hanging vines, and in one case, a massive fern sits


    proudly at a blind corner. Some poor sod, nose buried in a book,


    walks straight into it and gets a mouthful of green for their


    trouble.


    And then of course, there’s the painted walls. Where the real


    flowers end, their impressions begin, climbing vines and beautifully


    impossible flowers bloom on the walls. A tradition that trickled


    through the Collapse, and one Craumont has embraced utterly. I find


    it hard to tear my eyes off a particularly breathtaking smatter of


    painted wildflowers.


    A pretty entertaining to start the day, at least for me and Helena.


    It’s pleasant enough for me to almost like Craumont. Just for a


    bit, though, and it makes my heart ache for the cities I’d made my


    home in the past five years. Anywhere but here, anywhere less


    burdened by memory. I''d even take the Ard Judician capital, and I


    quite literally tripped over a bureaucrat at least twice in my


    two-day stay.


    We don’t have much trouble finding Sharrow Avenue— not that I can


    really get lost, I''ve memorized every street— because I can smell


    the bakery well before it comes into view.


    That, and now that we can see it, it’s got a bunch of cute little


    tables outside and this lanky man shouting at half the passersby with


    more cheer than seemed reasonable. His embroidered apron just <i>screams


    </i>bakery, really.


    "They do wheat bread, some mornings. No potato flour at all,


    just like what we had last night. It gets really expensive, though."


    Helena tells me, taking a long sniff at the air. "It’s


    fantastic fresh out of the oven, and since I, um, fix Charlie and


    Marie’s aprons, they give me some for free sometimes.”


    I smile at that, lips held over my teeth. Back on the noisy main


    streets of Craumont, I can''t just go around spooking the townsfolk.


    Er, cityfolk. There''s a joke about dragons and Drakes in there, but I


    don’t plan to be a storybook villain raiding towns for gemstones


    and gold.


    "Huh. That''s nice of him. You said it''s not cheap around here,


    and I''ll admit," I put a hand out, palm down, and wobble it in a


    ''so-so'' motion. "I''m not so keen on wasting coin on wheat bread


    every day."


    “Ah, I''m the same. I can''t afford the more expensive food here,


    really...” Helena says quietly, putting a hand to a pocket. “Um,


    I feel like there was a but in your statement?”


    I snort, turning my outstretched hand into a thumbs-up before


    dropping it. "Yeah. Might pick up some extra for lunch and


    dinner while I''m here. I don''t think I''m going to be in Craumont for


    more than a week, really.”


    We step to the side as a carriage rolls by, coachman ringing the bell


    a bit too loudly for my taste. At least they''d done their job of


    clearing the road, I suppose. The problem is when there''s lots of


    them, bells ringing everywhere.


    "Did you come in by train, Ivy?" Helena asks suddenly,


    dragging me out of my internal whining. She has to crane her neck to


    meet my eyes, with how close we are, so I take a step to the side.


    I nod absently as we start walking again, taking care to step around


    what the horses had decided to deposit in their wake. I also pull my


    tail up, wrapping it loosely around my leg to keep it firmly off the


    street. At the same time, Helena''s nose wrinkles, but I bat the smell


    away with a wave of Wind from my hand.


    "Thanks. Um, sorry, was I too quiet?" Helena repeats. Her


    eyes are focused on my hand. Probably staring at the scales and claws


    like everyone else, though they''ll go away before long. Hopefully.


    I blink, shaking myself free of my thoughts once more. Focus, Ivy! "I


    guess you didn’t see my nod. Yes, I came her by train, and it was


    pretty late when I arrived. Why?"


    Helena pauses, tracing out a bunch of squiggles and lines with one


    hand. "Ah. Sharrow Avenue Bakery isn''t... on the way between the


    Crawford Mansion and the station. How''d you see it, if you don''t mind


    me asking?"


    "It''s the Crawford Manor, not mansion," I correct,


    visualizing a map of the city. I need to figure out that trick with


    Lightning, leave little doodles in the air to draw out my path with.


    Okay, now to break this without getting a loud reaction from Helena.


    "Someone tried to mug me, actually. Had to head down to a


    station and report it, which was a bit out of the way." I say


    the last part quickly, talking over the beginnings of Helena''s


    alarmed exclamation.


    "Tried to mug you?!" Helena repeats loudly, and I wince as


    a few passerby turn our way. She lowers her voice and gives me a


    worried look before continuing. "And you''re alright?"


    I eye the rapidly approaching bakery and decide it''s a bit too far to


    use that to brush it off. "Of course I’m alright. I think I


    ruined my old rain cloak, though.”


    “Oh, thank the— um, the Gods.” Helena gives me a wavering


    smile, awkwardly patting me on the forearm. “That you’re alright,


    I mean.”


    Do I brag here?


    I should brag here.


    “He even tried to cut me up along the arm, right—”


    “Lena! There you are, sweetie! And with a lady on your arm, hmm?”


    That guy outside the bakery is looking our way now, fixing us with a


    beaming smile. More accurately, he’s beaming at Helena (Lena, I


    guess?) and giving me a weird side-eye. If it was supposed to be an


    intimidating glare, the effect is ruined by his massive,


    flower-embroidered apron.


    ...I can''t really get mad that my bragging was interrupted, but I


    pout anyways. Inside my head, where nobody can see it, of course.


    “Charlie!” Helena speeds up, rushing into a gangly hug from the


    man that is apparently the Charlie she’d mentioned earlier.


    I just shuffle around, keeping a polite distance while moving myself


    towards the door of the bakery.


    “Lena!” Charlie says again with a chuckle, just as loudly as


    before. His voice is slightly shrill to my ears, and his earlier


    side-eye is turning into a two-eyed glance. It starts with my face,


    moving downwards until I feel his eyes lock on to my tail.


    I flick my tail to the side, giving Charlie a polite nod. Maybe I


    should just go inside, pick up some food, let these two do whatever


    it is?


    “Mind introducing me to your friend, Lena? I feel like I’d


    remember a lady like this.” He clicks his tongue, gesturing broadly


    at me.


    Now I’m just confused, and from the looks of it, Helena isn’t.


    I’ll need to get an explanation later.


    Helena— Lena?— shakes her head emphatically, stepping closer to


    me. “Charlie, this is, um, Ivy. She helped me out last night, and


    she’s very interested in your bakery’s menu. Right?”


    “Right,” I say, for lack of anything better to follow that up


    with. I stick out an arm in greeting, fingers splayed wide. “Nice


    to meet you, Charlie.”


    Charlie looks at it, looks at my claws, and clasps my arm with his in


    greeting. He recovers his bravado almost instantly though, fixing me


    with a mock-stern look.


    “And you’ll treat Lena right, I’m sure. A pleasure to meet you,


    Ivy!”


    "Charlie!" Helena hisses. "Cut it out! Ivy, come on,


    I''m getting hungry."


    As we separate, I raise an eyebrow at Charlie, drawing on every ounce


    of my otherwise useless etiquette and poise tutoring to loom. "I''m


    hardly going to court a woman I met last night, Charlie. And I agree


    with Helena here. Got any recommendations for breakfast?"


    Charlie takes a step back, chuckling and rubbing his forearm. Gods,


    did I bruise him? I didn''t even squeeze.


    He does a spin on the spot, swinging the front door to the bakery


    open and waving us in. "If it''s breakfast you''re here for,


    girls, Marie and Celine will treat you right."


    A wave of delicious, mouthwatering scent washes over us, pouring out


    of the door. Baked potato, potato bread, mixed bread, wheat bread...


    lots of bread, really, but there''s a sweet and buttery undertone to


    it.


    My tail is lashing, clicking against the ground, and Gods I''m making


    that weird rumbling noise. Focus.


    "Celine?" Helena echoes, now recovered from her earlier


    blush. "I didn''t know Marie had hired an assistant."


    Charlie gasps dramatically, putting a hand to his chest. It gets a


    little smile out of me, one I make sure keeps my teeth covered.


    “Lena! Marie works for me, as you well know. I hired Celine, and


    you’ll love her, sweetie.” He winks in my general direction.


    I give him an unimpressed frown as Helena giggles, and I take that


    moment to slip inside, batting the bell hanging on the doorframe as I


    go. Goodness, it’s an impressive setup they’ve got here, and one


    that instantly brings questions to mind.


    Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.


    The polished stone floors are normal, and they’re clearly well


    swept. That’s fine. There’s a few curious customers, some of


    which are holding confections I don’t recognize. That’s exciting,


    even if a few of them are giving me the expected sort of weird looks.


    A rather attractive young lady is standing behind a counter


    absolutely loaded with bread and confections, her bright expression


    and sharp features somehow fitting perfectly with the oversized apron


    and poofy hat that holds her hair. That’s... well, that’s


    pleasant. The baked potatoes sitting on a rack next to her are


    looking pretty tempting, too.


    What confuses me is that there is a phoenix with a chef hat manning—


    birding— the ovens. They’re handling the big spatula-thing with


    surprising grace, using their talons and bursts of flight to move the


    thing around. I wouldn’t be shocked if they were powering the ovens


    using their own feathers, given that’s what the phoenixes running


    the trains did. So, yes, I have questions.


    Namely, how is this the first time I’ve seen a phoenix as a baker?


    And more importantly to my curiosity, what are those big


    spatula-things called?


    “Were you in business five years ago?” I say, keeping my


    questions inside my head. “I feel like I’d remember a place that


    looks and smells this good.”


    “And this one feels like you would be remembered, scaly one,”


    trills the phoenix, cocking their head to look at me. “We do not


    serve meat pies, if that is what you came for.”


    Helena’s sidled up next to me now, her conversation with Charlie


    apparently over. “Sorry, Ivy, she’s a bit... rude. That’s why


    Charlie does all the talking.”


    I snort. “I’m used to it.”


    “Marie, please don’t insult the customers,” says the girl at


    the counter with a bizarre amount of cheer, giving me a slight bow.


    “Welcome to Sunrise Bakery! We’ve got our full menu today, though


    I’m afraid you’ll have to wait for anything glazed. The sugar


    came in a bit late.”


    “Everything is so, oh dear,” Helena sighs, eyes trailing over the


    display of bready deliciousness before turning back to me.


    After a moment, I realize she’s beckoning me closer, so I hurry up


    to the counter and lean forward to inspect the bread.


    “Ivy?” Helena says quietly.


    “Yeah?” I hum, tail curling forward as someone shuffles past


    behind us.


    “Would you mind if I— um, if we— got a fruit loaf,” Helena


    mumbles. “Nevermind.”


    I sigh, straightening and pointing at a delicious looking jam-filled


    doughnut. “I’ll have two of those, please. And a fruit loaf.


    Actually— Helena, do you want a doughnut too?”


    And, after a little bit of thought, I add, “Helena, Lena, whatever,


    I’m rich. I don’t go around biting people’s heads off, and I’m


    hardly going to get mad about a <i>question</i>.”


    Helena mumbles a few words, straightens beside me, and beams. “Thank


    you, Ivy. You’re too kind.”


    "No, I''m not. Just an apology, and entertaining a guest," I


    wave it off, looking away. “It’s what a good host does, right?”


    Obviously, I buy the “fruit loaf” as well, though Lena ends up


    picking a baked potato instead of doughnuts. Her indecision ends up


    being a huge help, too; her three minutes of fussing were enough time


    for me to figure out what pocket I''d left my money in.


    <hr>


    "It''s mostly instinct at this point," I say to Helena


    around a bite of jam doughnut. "Years and years of practice does


    that."


    I splay out a hand for her on the table, palm facing up, and push the


    tiniest bit of Wind through it. It''s a little awkward, since I have


    to sit sideways in the chair due to my tail, but I manage.


    "So, the logic of magic becomes an instinct, with time, when


    using your body as a focus. That''s fascinating. Do you think that


    applies to standard magecraft as well? Or to concepts you aren''t


    natively attuned to? I wonder..." Helena has her rant-expression


    on, eyes practically sparkling in the sunlight streaming through the


    bakery window. She puts a hand over mine and closes her eyes.


    I feel a tug in my gut, and after a moment of hesitation, I release


    my hold. Wind shivers up Helena''s hand, shimmering green as she wraps


    her own magic around it.


    Her eyes snap open, and the Wind dissipates. "Oh, that''s much


    easier than accumulating it in the air, but I don''t think I could


    cast a single proper spell with it. Are you limited to magic around


    your person, or, um."


    "I don''t really have much range, not without pouring on a lot of


    extra energy. It takes a bit out of me." I shrug. "Is this


    helping at all?"


    "It is," Helena whispers, a current of... something, under


    her tone. "Thank you. Structures are a little hard to visualize


    without a reference. A few more of these, and..."


    The bell on the doorframe jingles, and Helena trails off. Recognition


    sparks in her expression, and she carefully takes her hand off mine.


    "Oh, Restoration bless me! You''re alright," says a man from


    behind me. "I figured you''d be here, Eiches."


    Now that''s a name. Sounds just like the letter H, but pluralized. Not


    nearly as cool as being named after a plant, in my opinion.


    Helena bites her lip. "Of course I''m fine, Jordan. Um, thanks


    for your concern?"


    Oh, that''s quite a nickname she''s got. From her sour expression, it''s


    not her favorite.


    A few stamping steps later, there''s a bulky man in a purple robe


    standing over our table. He''s got short brown hair, brown eyes, and


    the tan of a farmer''s kid. The sunburn of one too, with a big splotch


    of red on his nose.


    He stares at me for a moment, eyes flicking to the scales on my


    wrist, then down to my tail. I drag it across the ground as he


    watches, curling the tip to point up towards him. His lips curl, ever


    so slightly, but he visibly tamps it down.


    Jordan looks away, and turns to look at Helena. "You''re not a


    full mage, Eiches, you''re a tailor. Priest Dongbaek is worried about


    you. There''s, —"


    Helena raises a hand, and sends an apologetic glance my way. "Helena.


    I''m Helena, you know I hate Eiches."


    I do my best to make a show of being relaxed, giving her a nod that


    is calmer than I feel.


    "Just teasing, Helena, relax." Jordan winks, shrugging.


    "But I’m still worried. You didn''t see anyone at the Crawford


    Estate, did you? We couldn''t get in last night to warn you."


    Oh, this is one of the intruders. Glad I locked them all out,


    honestly; this man is too punchable, and my temper was shorter than


    usual last night.


    "Warn me about what, Jordan? Um, the Crawford Manor has more


    defensive enchantments than City Hall or our church. I should be safe


    there." Helena sighs, looking down and away. "...you''re


    making a scene. Please quiet down."


    Oh, so we are. Everyone''s listening, I can see it in how they sit, if


    they aren''t staring openly. Well, Marie isn''t, but she''s focused on


    baking.


    "That''s the problem, Helena," Jordan insists at the same


    volume, waving Helena off. "Look. I know you aren''t involved


    with the big stuff. But Amelia Crawford is back in town, and she''s


    been trouble for us before. It''s not safe to be up there."


    Amelia. I snort. "She''ll be fine, kid. The House likes her, and


    I can make sure she''s safe."


    Helena''s expression is, to put it lightly, odd.


    "She’s been trouble?" Helena repeats, looking at Jordan.


    Jordan, however, is looking at me with a furrowed brow. "You’d


    want to stay out of this, Drake, trust me. Getting mixed up with the


    Dame is dangerous, and you wouldn’t understand just how dangerous."


    I incline my head, shoving down my instinct to stand up and snarl at


    the man. "That''s a fair point."


    "What do you mean by trouble?" Helena says, louder this


    time. “Jordan.”


    "It''s... complicated," Jordan says thoughtfully, "Some


    court troubles, years back. Don’t worry about it. They only really


    explained it to me last night. Just stay away from the Estate,


    alright? Now that she''s back, we might even make some progress on


    the... nevermind."


    Helena stares at Jordan, something glinting in her eyes. Acting on


    instinct, I shuffle a boot forward to touch hers— I''m terrible at


    this reassurance stuff, but I can try.


    "Thank you, Jordan. Tell Priest Dongbaek I will be back before


    lunch. Um. Can I finish my breakfast now? You''re making a scene


    still..."


    "I—" Jordan starts, frowning.


    I let a growl rumble out of my throat, just in time for Charlie to


    materialize behind Jordan.


    Charlie taps Jordan on the shoulder, and all that lanky height is


    suddenly being used to loom over the Restorer. "Sir. You''re


    distracting my customers and scaring some of them away. Please


    leave."


    And, fortunately, he does. He even mutters an apology, though it was


    directed at the room rather than Helena. We eat in silence for a


    minute. I know the question is coming, and Helena is probably just


    gathering herself to do so.


    I''ll do this on my own terms, I decide. Throw it all out there, see


    how long it takes her to run. Or, maybe I''ll get lucky, and she''ll


    ignore it like she does my scales and tail.


    "If you haven''t—"


    "So who is—"


    We talk over each other, starting and stopping in an awkward game of


    bad nonverbal communication that devolves into a spurt of strange


    laughter. I can feel the tension ease around us, only to snap into


    place once silence returns.


    "You go," I say, waving at Helena. "You must have a


    few questions by now, huh?"


    "No, no. You go. I need to hear your side of, ah." Helena


    pauses. "I think we''re talking about the same thing."


    “Yes, we are.” I let out a long sigh, my tail drooping onto the


    floor. It''d be really nice to just bull through and not deal with


    this. But I’d let myself get tangled up with a member of the


    Restoration Church like the fool I am. Better to say it now than lie


    and get hurt more later.


    "Amelia Ivy Crawford," I say, eventually, tracing a talon


    along the surface of the table. I can manage eye contact, but it’s


    a bit hard to hold it. “That’s my full name.”


    A pause.


    "I... I prefer Ivy, and no, I wasn’t trying to hide my


    identity."


    "Okay." Helena says simply. "And the— the


    ‘trouble’?"


    There it is. I square my shoulders, drag my mood back from the brink,


    and nod. "Yeah. Back before I left, I caused a bit of trouble


    for...”


    I hesitate, even though I know damn well I’m going to tell the


    truth regardless. We’ve got enough eavesdroppers that it might even


    go in my favor. Or maybe the rumors will swing against me, like


    before.


    “The Crawfords left a lot of things to your Church. Things that my—


    that they didn’t think much about,” I say evenly. Gods, a whole


    year and a half of my life down the gutter, fighting fang and claw


    for things the Church had no right to take. “A lot of things that


    were mine legally, including my home. So I took them back, and I got


    in more than a few scraps because of it. Nothing more to it.”


    Not quite a lie, not quite the truth. But the details of my parents’


    madness aren''t her business, nor would she believe me.


    "Okay. I thought you were, um, a cousin, or something.” Helena


    says, trying to smile in return. At least it isn’t weighing too


    heavily on her, I think? "...What about now? They''re my family.


    I... I can’t really stand for it if you hurt them."


    “Are they going to try and steal my home again, now that I’m


    here?” I say bluntly, arching an eyebrow. “Are they going to wave


    that damned will around to get what they want? I can’t make


    promises, Helena.”


    Helena sighs, looking away.


    Finally, she stands up, using one hand to tug her long brown hair


    over one shoulder. "Ivy. I... um, I understand. I really do. But


    I''ll need some time to think, if that''s okay?"


    Something aches in my chest, burning like Adamantine''s own flame.


    Come on, Ivy, she’s not saying no. "Sure."


    "I''m sorry, Ivy. I just..."


    I laugh dryly, waving her off. "Don’t apologize. Just take the


    fruit loaf and go, my treat. The Manor''s still open to you, and it’s


    big enough we won’t need to run into each other while you think. I


    get it, don''t worry about it."


    Something squishes in my other hand, oozing out and sticking to my


    skin.


    It''s half a jam doughnut, I reflect dully, watching the bright red


    goop spread across my hand. Distantly, I hear the rustle of fabric,


    and the door jingling.


    I don''t know why I''m surprised. Drake Magebloods like me are rare,


    rare enough to draw curious gazes... and the changes are enough that


    almost nobody recognizes me. Of course Helena wouldn''t recognize me


    as an enemy of her Church. Gods, it looks like I was old enough news


    that Helena didn’t know of me, though there’s probably something


    else to that. But being okay with scales, a tail, and claws didn’t


    mean she’d be okay with Amelia.


    My tail slaps the floor, once, twice, three times. I really should


    growl, let those feelings out, but I don''t want to bother the bakery


    more than I already have. So, deep breaths instead.


    "So you''re Amelia," I hear Charlie say delicately. He''s


    holding out a washcloth of some sort. "You had red hair before?


    White hair suits you so much better.”


    I stand up, taking the washcloth and using it to wipe off my


    jam-soaked hand. "Thanks, and it does. It was one of the first


    things to change when I started Delving— and I''m Ivy now, not


    Amelia.”


    Charlie snorts, taking the towel back and holding it carefully by a


    clean corner. “Sweetie, nobody would believe you’re that willowy


    little thing from the courtroom cases, even if you did break that


    poor priest''s nose. Now, are you going to chase after your girl, or


    what?"


    I could, I realize. But she needs time if she’s coming back at all,


    and... well, I am here for a job, aren’t I? I’d nearly forgotten,


    somehow.


    Shaking my head ruefully, I bend down to pick up my day-pack.


    Hopefully Benny packed something for sticky hands. "No. I''m here


    to do a job for Craumont, believe it or not, and I think it''s time I


    stop messing around."


    “Ooh, now there''s a juicy detail!”


    I''m halfway out the door, bell jingling, when Charlie speaks again.


    "What were you hired for? I need some gossip!"


    That drags a proper laugh out of me, one strong enough for me to pull


    myself together and get on with it.


    "What do you think? They hired a Delver to look at a Delve.


    Holes in the World don''t fix themselves."