《An Ambitious Woman and her Very Normal Pet | Second Life Cozy Fantasy》


 An Irritated Woman with Very Dead Pets

    *Authors note: Hey everybody! Thank you so much for picking up the first episode of my serialized novel: An Ambitious Woman and Her Very Normal Pet! I hope you enjoy it, I had a fantastic time writing it! Updates will be posted every Wednesday!


    Without further ado:


    <hr>


    <u>Act 1: Sybil</u>


    ¡°Sybil Whitman, you are being hung for crimes of heresy and shattering the sanctity of death. Through your evil magic, you have raised armies of sacred dead to raise arms against the Kingdom of Led.¡± The words hang in the air and there¡¯s an uncomfortable itch in my shoe that is driving me insane.


    I can hardly scratch it up here in the gallows; Bill might laugh at me. I don¡¯t think that¡¯s his real name, he didn¡¯t give his name to me when I was brought up here to face my doom. His hands were particularly gentle when he slipped the noose around my neck. I appreciate that about Bill. He probably has a kind face with those kind kind of eyes that stare out at me through his executioner¡¯s hood.


    I wonder absently whether if I did bend down, if it would ruin this whole show they¡¯ve got going on. Maybe mess up the ropes. What¡¯s the worst that can happen? They kill me again?


    Oh no, necromancer hung for war crimes, oh gods. I fight the urge to roll my eyes at the ludicrous idea.


    I glance around the great arena. I am the only one on the raised platform. The whole thing makes me want to laugh aloud: the scores of men and women looking up at me. Their faces are hard, and I think a little scared. After all, I¡¯m one of them. Or, I used to be, at least.


    Before the war.


    ¡°Do you have any last words?¡± The man that has decreed my many crimes of magic against their¨Cpointedly invading¨Carmy asks from his pulpit below. I¡¯ve been made into a war criminal by a nation that could never understand the sacred beauty of necromancy. Of how gentle the bones call out to me, how they sing beneath my fingertips¡­ how they ask for life. The living never asked; and dead men could never tell.


    I shrug. ¡°Yeah, probably.¡±


    The man¡¯s nose scrunches up and he momentarily resembles a seagull. I almost smile, almost laugh, almost whisper Squack beneath my breath. ¡°Say your peace, witch.¡±


    Hooo! Testy. I also want to clap. Maybe start the standing ovation leading to my imminent demise, release the tension in the room. I cast another look around at the subjects. Invaded to be ¡°liberated¡± from the evil necromantic overlords, (Who? Even I¡¯m not certain) they are here to witness what happens when people like me act on generations of sacred tradition. I am the last warning they¡¯ll receive. All of my siblings faced this fate before me. I¡¯m not excited to join them, by any means, but once our armies were overwhelmed, well. It was a given. We were more undead than the undead we raised. Only took two years, too, for the new reigning prince, Antonio de Cardenas, to round us up and put us out of our misery.


    He liked leading us on like that. Never saw the guy, he was probably nice on the eyes. Still hate him though.


    I inhale deeply and lift my knee so I can scratch my ankle. Bill coughs behind me. I knew he would laugh. He seems like a laugher. It smells like dirt and blood, and I think someone peed themselves. It wasn''t me. Or¨CI don¡¯t think it was me. If it was, I could forgive myself for it. Wasn¡¯t every day someone faced their execution after all. I¡¯m still pretty sure it¡¯s not me, though. I step up onto the box on the false floor. ¡°Your words?¡± The man sounds annoyed.


    He should be. I know my rights. I¡¯m allowed to have my last words. I swallow down the little flutter of nerves in my belly. Facing death is something I¡¯ve done my whole life, but I can¡¯t say that I¡¯m not a little bit scared. I know it¡¯s going to be quick, at least. So I smile. I smile bright and big, and I say loudly: ¡°This is stupid.¡±


    And then the lever is pulled. And something snaps. And all goes black.


    When I thought about death before, I didn¡¯t think it would be blue rivers of light in a black void. Sometimes the bones would tell me flickers of their deaths in fleeting memories, of what they knew of the beyond. But bones were still earthly things, grounded in the world of the physical, of the present. Their memories were hazy at best. Even femurs, who held the most memories; and skulls. Skulls are a bad example. Skulls are just zappy. In any case, every person¡¯s death is different: unique. Why mine is black and blue, who could tell? Maybe it¡¯s because of the bruises I¡¯d sustained in the jail cell leading up to my execution. Maybe the rivers are reminiscent of those rivers that ran red with blood during the wars: filled with pain and angry release.


    The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    These rivers are more beautiful though: like ethereal blue souls winding and glittering onto the next beyond.


    ¡°Why is it stupid?¡±


    I don¡¯t recognize the gentle voice that surrounds me in the darkness.


    ¡°Because it is,¡± I say, bending to the river that winds near me. A blue wisp curls off of the river. I watch it in awe, reaching out to cup it in my hands. It is warm and sparkly, a delightful feeling on my fingertips. I let it go.


    ¡°What is it?¡± The voice asks, befuddlement clear in their tone. ¡°The war you fought?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± I dip my fingers into the river and yank my arm back, the electricity that jolts up my elbow making my eyes water and I bite my lip against a yelp. ¡°Are these souls?!¡± I gasp, shocked.


    ¡°Yes¨C¡± the voice answers distractedly, nonchalantly, as if waving away my deep-seated fear that I have just destroyed the very life force that was meant to enter the world, ¡°Is it the prince?¡±


    ¡°What? No. He¡¯s probably fine. Is it okay that I touched a few?¡± My heart is pounding as I glance around the great void, but I don¡¯t see the speaker.


    ¡°No, they¡¯re fine¨Cbut¡­ Sybil, he executed your entire coven, everyone you ever knew.¡±


    ¡°Some of them were jerks,¡± I shrug. ¡°... Most of them, actually. They didn¡¯t handle the dead with grace. They couldn¡¯t hear the bones. I think that¡¯s what the young prince saw.¡± My memory flashes with the faces of my twelve siblings, ten of whose deaths I witnessed firsthand. My heart clenches at the thought, but I know that it¡¯s true. As gentle as they appeared, war hardened them. War hardened me. Before, our constructs were our family, our friends, our partners¡­ Once we fought the living, we forgot. The bones became our weapons, our machines of destruction. That thought alone was more painful than the deaths of my coven: and that was saying something.


    ¡°You¡¯re not mad?¡±


    I lean back on my hands and stare up at the empty darkness above. ¡°No. Not at all.¡±


    ¡°Sybil. Why is it stupid? What is stupid?¡±


    I sigh and close my eyes, feeling tears pinprick my eyes. ¡°It¡¯s funny, is all. I should have just stayed out of it, you know?¡±


    ¡°What do you mean?¡±


    I gulp down a sob. ¡°The coven, the war, the dying¡­ it was all¡­ so exhausting. What a complete waste of my time; complete waste of bones and memories.¡±


    The voice doesn¡¯t answer right away. ¡°That¡¯s¡­ sentimental.¡±


    I chuckle around the knob in my throat. ¡°I¡¯m a bit of a softie.¡±


    ¡°What would you do, if you could do it again?¡±


    I laugh heartlessly. ¡°Honestly? I¡¯d build a farm.¡±


    ¡°A farm?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s¡­ silly.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s important and relaxing¡­ and beautiful.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve¡­ never thought of that.¡±


    I wipe my eyes with tight fists. ¡°It¡¯s okay,¡± I cough, trying to cover it up, and gather myself. ¡°So! What¡¯s this Great Beyond everyone tells me about?¡±


    ¡°Do you want to go back? Try again?¡± The voice surprises me. I didn¡¯t anticipate this question.


    ¡°Do I?¡± I consider it. ¡°I didn¡¯t think that was an option.¡±


    ¡°It usually isn''t, but¡­ I¡¯m curious.¡±


    I stand and wipe my hands on my skirts. ¡°I mean¡­¡± I think about it for a long moment. ¡°I¡¯m going to be frank with you, I¡¯ve never thought about it seriously.¡±


    The voice sounds disappointed. ¡°I won¡¯t push you, if you¡¯re ready to rest, I¡¯ll lead you on.¡±


    Something makes me hesitate in that great emptiness. I gather something akin to courage and say: ¡°Alright. I¡¯ll do it.¡± I hesitate. ¡°Just one more time, right?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡± They sound like they¡¯re trying not to be excited. It makes me smile a little. Who was this small godling?


    ¡°Do I get to keep my memories?¡±


    ¡°I think you would have to, wouldn¡¯t you?¡±


    I feel my lips curve involuntarily. ¡°Yes. I think I¡¯d like that. Just one more go.¡±


    ¡°You just can¡¯t¡­ you know. Change anything besides that.¡±


    I want to laugh. ¡°It was all stupid anyways,¡± I tell them. ¡°Don¡¯t worry about that.¡±


    ¡°I can bring you back.¡± The voice levels.


    ¡°I know you can.¡±


    ¡°Good. Okay.¡± They pause, then in a voice as excited as it is anxious, they say: ¡°I¡¯ve actually never done this before.¡±


    ¡°Me neither.¡±


    ¡°Here goes¡­¡±


    Blue light seeps from the river, flooding out over the cusp of darkness, and curls around me. The electricity hums, but this time it is a gentle, warm buzz. I close my eyes and lean back as the warmth wraps around me.


    ¡°Good luck!¡± The voice says cheerfully. ¡°I¡¯ll see you again.¡±


    ¡°Not too soon,¡± I hope.


    Their laugh feels like bells in my skull¨Ctinkling unobtrusively.


    <hr>


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 A Reborn Woman and Her Old Life?!? How do I get myself out of this one...

    When I open my eyes, it¡¯s a new day. The sunlight is warm against my cheek, and there is a glorious smell coming from somewhere nearby. Breakfast.


    Breakfast?


    The last time I had breakfast was¡­ my eyes slide open and I find myself in a little room that I have dreamed about every night for the past three years¡­


    Home. Home? I sit up and anxiety plays a tune on my ribcage.


    ¡°Sybil, breakfast is ready!¡±


    ¡°Yeah, come on, Syb! We don¡¯t wait that long.¡±


    The sounds of my coven-siblings¡¯ voices carry through the communal house, and a little sense of doom flows over me, beginning from my lower back and stretching like a cowl over my head. I didn¡¯t really think I¡¯d be brought back to, well, here. But it made sense. This is the only place I knew before the war. I was brought here when I was a baby, this was the only family I ever knew. Most of us were kids leading kids. The oldest of us were Maisley, who was about ten years my senior, and then there was Ryan¨Cbut before them we had Ben and Goddard, and some others I never met. They¡¯d all struck off on their own or passed on. Orphans still came and went through our home. There weren¡¯t druidic churches in this corner of Led, so the duty of caring for the widowed and the orphaned came to our doorstep. After all, we had plenty of labor: which meant plenty of extra food and clothing. We weren¡¯t rich, by any means, but we were respected.


    I glance around my small bedroom. There are two twin bunk beds, all emptied of their occupants but my own. I always slept in, back before we left for good. I was on the lower side of the middle of our large family. The older siblings would wake before the sun to start on the chores, and the younger ones were roused from bed to be bathed and set to work soon after, but the middle children, like me, were often forgotten about. We could rouse ourselves from bed and get our chores done¨Ceven if it meant staying up into the night watching or caring for our constructs. That was my job, most of the time: working through the night, keeping the constructs company while they worked. I hadn¡¯t bonded with any of the constructs currently working, but they still liked me all the same. We¡¯d often stay up talking into the early hours of the morning.


    There¡¯s very little in this room that is mine, I realize as I look around. The thought is a sad one. Just a pair of thick stockings, my work boots, two dresses, two cotton shirts, and two linen pairs of pants. No books or keepsakes. Had I ever had the opportunity to express myself? Did I even know who I was?


    ¡°Sybil! Get up!¡±


    Did I ever know any of my siblings, really? After all, Ryan, Fred, and Roland would betray us. They would become spies of the Cainern army, then immediately executed once the Led king knelt to the invading prince. They were rash and foolish. And they would be waiting for me downstairs. I swung my feet over the edge of my bed and plucked at the soft bedspread. How am I going to face them?


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    During the Great Wars, we waited patiently. Necromancy was never meant to be weaponized except in the case of grave danger. We are, for all intents and purposes, shepherds of dry bones. Guiding them, if they¡¯re willing, into productive machines. We give them a second life. We honor their journey, their passage, their resolve. We learn what we can from the bones, and they serve us. The art of necromancy is just that: a sacred art. There aren¡¯t many of us. That is all to say that when facing my siblings again for the first time since I watched them die¨Csome on the battlefield with their bodies battered, some hanged for the very tradition we had honored for generations¨Cit was so hard not to grasp them to me tightly and cry into their shoulders.


    Maisley, the oldest sister of us initiates, gives me a side-look when I come into the kitchen; and an older coven-brother, Wilhem, yanks one of my braids as he passes. ¡°Sybil, you¡¯re staring.¡±


    ¡°Are you alright, Syb? Not feeling well?¡± Maisley asks. Lillian crashes through the front door, arms laden with a woven basket filled with carrots and celery.


    ¡°Look! Something to add to breakfast!¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m alright,¡± I say, trying not to tear up.


    War, as much as it¡¯s caused by people, is almost a force of nature. It captures unwitting people into its furious winds and carries us to places we never wanted to see. It pushes us to be people we never meant to be. Now, sitting among them, I find it hard not to smack the back of Roland¡¯s head, or kick Ryan in the shins (he was far too tall for me to hit him properly), or squeeze sweet little Fred¡¯s hand a little more tightly during our pre-breakfast blessing.


    I search the faces of my twelve siblings, and know that Wilhem and Maisley will sit us down in two years: tell us that the grave danger has arrived, and it was time to honor our pact with the kingdom. Ryan¡¯s face is impassive, brown hair dirty and face smudged with dirt from the fields that morning, as he stuffs a bread roll into his mouth and reaches for an apple. Roland¡¯s blond hair falls over his face as he tries to feed one of the babies that has recently been brought to us. Fred is still fourteen: all limbs and attitude. I feel an overwhelming grace fill my chest. I was never angry with them. Not during, and not since. Even still, I know that I don¡¯t want to follow the same path.


    Maisley¡¯s eyes never fall from my face, though. Not through the bustling breakfast, surrounded by the only family I ever knew, and not when I clean myself up to help with the chores outside. She catches me during laundry in the afternoon. ¡°What¡¯s the matter? You¡¯ve looked out of it all day.¡±


    I look out across the green fields that trail out into the forest below. The great bulks of our constructs moving through the tall grain and rolling stones. Their bare skulls flash white in the golden light. ¡°I think I¡¯m ready to head out on my own,¡± I tell her.


    She stiffens beside me.


    I continue. ¡°I¡¯m happy here, but¡­ I think there¡¯s more.¡±


    She is quiet for a long time, even as she helps me hang the linens over the clothesline. ¡°Where would you go?¡±


    I shrug. ¡°I don¡¯t know, actually. I just want to see the world.¡±


    She nods slowly. ¡°Like Ben?¡± She says his name carefully, as if it might touch on a nerve.


    It does.


    My fingers stall. I haven¡¯t heard that name in many years. My heart clenches. ¡°Yeah.¡±


    She nods. ¡°When do you think you¡¯ll leave?¡±


    I pat my hands down on my apron. ¡°When I can. Not right away.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ll always have a home here.¡±


    Always. I grimace and push down a desperate feeling, about how short ¡°always¡± actually meant. I just nod. That''s all I can do.

 A Traveling Woman and her New, Very Normal (And Very Dead?) Pet

    I don¡¯t stay very long after that.


    I set out on the road with my bag, a map, and few expectations. I didn¡¯t have any idea where I was going, but I owed it to that little deity in the Beyond to give it my best shot.


    So I did.


    Those first few days on the road are filled with dust and memories. The haunting, dead faces of my siblings resonate with every step forward, each one of them begging me to turn around and warn them¨Cor plead with them never to join the war. On one hand, I¡¯d made a promise. On the other hand, they would inevitably be called upon, and they would rise to meet the challenge: for the sake of their land, for the sake of traditions as old as time itself.


    Telling them they would die changed nothing¨Cthey had been prepared for that outcome when they went into war. They understood that the invading kingdom knew nothing, or very little about their practice¨Cknew that they would appear more dangerous than they actually were.


    How different the world looked in just three short years. How different we were viewed, how different we viewed ourselves. War did something to us. Suddenly, our constructs weren¡¯t our friends, our help: they were means to an end. We lost respect for the bones and the bodies.


    Is that what Ben saw? Is that why he left?


    I shove that thought down. I can¡¯t think about my brother. He¡¯d left so long ago: I was really a young child. It wasn¡¯t worth spending time or energy on.


    I follow the road to the north, the opposite end of the continent from the invading kingdom. I hoped it would buy me some time and peace. Maybe when we were invaded, the damned prince wouldn¡¯t notice me and I could continue to live comfortably under the radar until my second death.


    I suppose it doesn¡¯t matter either way. Death is inevitable, I knew that better than anyone.


    It¡¯s never been a matter of whether, but a matter of when.


    Three years doing something I loved with the remaining time I had was the only way I could ensure that it wasn¡¯t¡­ literally¡­ stupid.


    The first two towns I encountered are regular places that are filled with regular people, but they¡¯re too big for my taste. I¡¯d be far too obvious in places like these. The stops do offer me pointers, though. I follow the fingers through the mountain pass and into the cooler environment of the Norsard Highlands toward a little town called Reisau. It is greener here than at home and the air tastes different, the flowers are different, the light from the clouds above looks different: it¡¯s a nice different.


    The first day after I leave the city of Torsen on my way to Reisau, a sound startles me in my campsite by the roadside. I sit and look around, confused. The sound comes again, a gentle crashing that isn¡¯t far off¨Cas though something very large is trying very hard to be quiet. I frown, Is it a bear? No. A bear wouldn¡¯t care about how noisy it was. This thing took a gentle step, hear the crash, then did not make another noise. It was trying to move away from the camp I¡¯d built the night before. I frown. Human? I send out little waves of my green and purple mana, digging into the soil with my fingertips. I feel it flow through the earth: it twines in mycelium and dead roots, then splinters up a dead tree to create a long arch over where I¡¯d heard the sound. Bones. Bones and¡­ clay?


    They shift beneath my tracing, as if startled to feel my touch.


    A construct.


    My eyes open and I frown. What are you? How do you move? Who leads you? I prod through the webbing of magic as I draw myself from my bedroll.


    The construct doesn¡¯t answer, only shies away from my magic: large, hulking body easing away from the place it stood. ¡°Where are you going?¡± I call, both in magic and in alarm. I don¡¯t want it to flee. It¡¯s so strange to encounter a construct on its own out here. ¡°Please don¡¯t leave! I mean no harm.¡±


    The giant hesitates, and I feel its energy consider me, but then it turns and crashes away from my magic into the forest. Too skittish, I realize. How long has it been out here alone? I wonder, heart tugging sadly. The only reason a bone construct would still be alive without its necromancer is if its necromancer had left without passing its life force onto another¡­ or, worse, the necromancer had unexpectedly died. Without someone offering the construct a physical anchor, the magic could become erratic at best, and dangerous at worst. How peculiar that this one shied away from me. I push the thought of the hulking construct from my mind and break down my tiny campsite. A construct out here meant there was another necromancer out here, and the construct was safely contained. After all, it did no harm¨Cin fact, it demonstrated incredible foresight and curiosity.


    I smile, respecting the workmanship. A sad thought occurs to me: either it was well-formed, or it meant that the erratic behavior had ended and the construct would pass along again soon. What made the idea even worse was that it would not be given a proper committing ritual. Committing a construct back to the earth was usually accompanied by great ceremony: a grand gesture of gratitude for the bones in their second life and second passing. We hold our constructs with great honor and reverence in their last moments before returning them to the soil.


    There are many reasons we might pass them along. Sometimes the bones become fractured or splintered in ways that we cannot abide using their form any longer without inferring great dishonor to the soul it once housed. Sometimes, the magic becomes finicky and the constructs grow violent ¨C a rare and dangerous thing that should never happen. Young necromancers are always accompanied by a mentor in their first Awakening to avoid such a terrible outcome. It was rare, to say the least.


    To see a construct repaired with clay was¡­ Well, it felt like this construct was old. Without the use of other bones to supply its bulk, it was not a raising of convenience. It was an act of friendship, or of love. It was as though the necromancer that had brought it into being cared very much for the bones, and so supplemented its breaks with clay and sticks and mud: fashioning a body that would be sustained in weather and long hours, in the sun and in the night.


    And it was so far from town, too¡­


    I walked a great portion of the day before I heard the telltale crash of the construct following me. I cast my magic fingers through the earth to prod its feet, and found that it was the same energy as the creature I¡¯d encountered earlier. I retracted my magic quickly, hoping not to startle it away. If it was so curious of me, it would wander to the edge of its territory, then return. But by midday, it was still keeping a generous distance behind me.


    I ducked into the forest, seeking reprieve from the sun and to sit and maybe eat a small lunch. The construct stilled just out of my reach of hearing, but I could feel its eyes follow me as I moved. I opened up my rucksack and the dried mushrooms I had saved for my trip. I sat down and chewed them thoughtfully. The construct watched with interest, and even with my naked, magicless eyes, could just see the flash of its white skull behind a tree.


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    Where was its necromancer, its anchor? Why had it followed me so far?


    I sit forward and set my hands on the ground, rooting my fingers into the earth. I cast a web of my magic out, seeking¨Cthere. A graveyard. It¡¯s old and falling apart, and the bones are ancient and nearly dust. I gather my things and trek deeper into the forest. Where there was a gravesite and a construct, there must be some sort of trace of another necromancer.


    My feet lead me to a small plot of graves. Their headstones had so deteriorated from the elements, and great swaths of moss and overgrown trees draped them into one another. Even the fence around the edges has fallen to barely ankle-height in places. It¡¯s a place that has not been touched in centuries.


    I frown and step into the circle. A rush of energy flows into me through the balls of my feet, ricocheting up my legs and into my torso, and I have to grip a nearby tree to avoid falling. A crashing sound erupts from behind me: the construct running toward me, and I have the beginning touches of fear. I try to take a step away and out of its path, but realize my feet are being pulled into the earth. Tendrils of roots flicker over my feet and pull me down, the dirt and grass separate around me and I cling to the branch of the tree. What?


    The panic sets in when the branch breaks and the roots have pulled me into my ankles. ¡°Help!¡± I know no one can hear me, in my heart of hearts. I dig the broken branch into the ground anyways, trying to force myself from the ground even as it sucks me down, but I¡¯m not strong enough to push myself out.


    This is a trap, I realize belatedly: an ancient tripwire set for people like me.


    A root snakes up my knee, wrapping firmly against my thigh and tugging. I scream. I¡¯m not proud of it, but I do. You would too.


    Great, skeletal hands grasp me from under my armpits and lift me from the graveyard. The roots tear and the blanket of moss that had begun blanketing my torso rips like cloth, and they set me gently onto the overgrowth outside the fence. I stare up at orbital sockets in a tilted skull. It stares back.


    The ground cracks as the roots slither back into the earth, the ground repairing the pitfall from view. My head is swimming with adrenaline, and I think I want to throw up. I sit on the ground and take deep, ragged breaths into my chest, trying to calm my thundering heart. Once my body realizes the danger has passed, I squint, confused. I look up at the construct again. ¡°You saved me.¡±


    It nods, a slow, awkward tilt; as if it hasn¡¯t nodded in years. As if it hasn¡¯t spoken in centuries. I suppress a shiver. How old is this construct?


    ¡°Why?¡±


    It stares down at me, making no movement to indicate that it has heard me at all. Then, it looks around, rearing up to its full height, and I realize how large it really is. The windows on the second storey home that I had grown up in with my coven would have met its eyes. Its great swaths of clay back and arms have overgrown with bits of moss and broken tree branches. He was green and gray and red. The only bits of bones I see in the colossal body are its skull, its hands, and its legs: big, bowing things that don¡¯t look like they were human in life.


    Giant? Was this construct built from the bones of a giant?


    ¡°Where did you come from?¡± I try asking, but it has already turned away from me, scampering behind the trees, crashing away. It appears I¡¯ve exhausted its social capacity for one week.


    When the crashing stops, I can see its orbits glowing at me from the deep shade of the trees. It¡¯s watching me, still. My personal¨Calbeit shy¨Cprotector.


    What on earth?


    I cough and look back over at the spell trap, then back at the eyes that stare at me. ¡°Thank you,¡± I say gently. And even though my voice doesn¡¯t carry very far to my ears, I know it can hear me. I feel the thrum of its pleasure in a little spike of copper colored magic that curls its way back to me. It suits the construct.


    I bend down and scrape away at the edges of the graveyard and find what I¡¯m looking for: buried under years and years of growth is a corner stone carved with ancient runes. Druids. I roll my eyes. Druids and necromancers were at odds centuries ago in their own great war. In their own great, stupid war where lots of people died, but then decided they got along after all¨Cat least, mostly. Some fanatics absconded to Cainern, and stewed over whether Led belonged to the necromancers or the druids. It was part of the reason for the war, after all. Antonio de Cardenas was a druidic fanatic, like his father before him. Not that I knew much about politics before or even during the war. I just knew my home. I knew my tradition. I knew that the druids and necromancers of Led had long since set aside their differences: this was just a mine that had been untripped for centuries.


    I¡¯m lucky that the construct was following me, and it had the wherewithal to help me.


    I glance over my shoulder and find the little skull several trees down, peering at me around the edge of a tree as though the trunk could hide its massive bulk. I smile. It¡¯s cute: all twelve feet of it. I turn back to the stone and dig it out, pushing my magic into the center of the graveyard and pushing mushrooms through the top. The trap triggers again, and the druidic magic pours into the poor mushroom. Great vines and roots erupt from the ground and close over it, dragging it deep into its belly. I hesitantly press a fingertip into the loam beyond the boundary¨Cno zap this time, and settle back onto my heels, sighing in relief. ¡°Good. It¡¯s safe now.¡± I look back up at the construct who is watching me with interest.


    ¡°Thank you,¡± I tell it again, rising to my feet and brushing off my skirts. This doesn¡¯t answer my many, building questions, though. There is no trace of another necromancer here. There aren¡¯t any bones nearby besides those within the trap and the construct who has made itself my protector. If a necromancer was in this area, they would have dispelled this trap ages ago.


    I sigh and rub my face. ¡°Where did you come from?¡± I wonder aloud, knowing it won¡¯t answer me.


    It does, however, amble a little closer, head tilting with curiosity. I pause, frown. It¡¯s trying to tell me something. ¡°Are you coming with me?¡± I ask it.


    Its head tilts. A question.


    I press my magic into the earth again, gently touching its body. ¡°Do you want to come with me?¡± I ask, both magically and aloud. It¡¯s a habit I got into a long time ago. Some of my siblings never spoke aloud to anyone besides the living, but for me¡­ I think I preferred to let them hear my voice, even without the organs to hear.


    It cocks its head another direction, as though considering. Then it nods once.


    ¡°Is there anyone who can claim you?¡± I ask, suddenly nervous. ¡°Are you all alone out here?¡±


    It shakes its head, then it nods. I realize it¡¯s answering each question individually.


    Well. That¡¯s quite something. I rub my arms in the mid-afternoon chill. ¡°How long has it been?¡±


    It doesn¡¯t answer me, or make any indication of having heard me at all.


    I nod to myself. ¡°Okay. For safety, would you be alright if I bonded my magic with yours?¡±


    It clearly hesitates, then crawls, ever so slowly, forward. It still looks skittish: its large body is humming with nerves as it approaches me. ¡°This won¡¯t hurt.¡± I promise it¨Cbecause it won¡¯t.


    It presses the large expanse of its skull against my extended palm, a heart-melting demonstration of trust. The bone is warm to the touch. Dry¡­ I close my eyes and lean into it. Copper magic floods around us, mingling with my purple and green. It shoots up and wraps around our bodies, warm and tingling.


    Bonding with a construct is one of the most pleasant sensations I¡¯ve experienced in my life. Most of the constructs I¡¯ve bonded with that were not my own gave me a similar sense of sweet comfort. Some constructs were prickly in their bonding, and proved difficult to work with in the time I spent with them before passing them back to a sibling.


    But this one¡­ this one felt right, like a puzzle piece finding its home in my chest. Our individual magic weaved together in perfect synchronicity and settled over our shoulders like a mantle. The perfection of the connection gives me emotions I don¡¯t know that I can name, and tears well in my eyes. I look up as the mana settles about us and find myself staring into its deep, empty orbital sockets. ¡°Well,¡± I say, pulling my hand back and clearing my throat. ¡°I suppose you¡¯ll need a name. Do you have a name?¡±


    The great head shakes its negative.


    ¡°May I give you a name?¡± It gives me a shy nod. I don¡¯t have to give it too much consideration before the name comes to me. ¡°How does Henry sound?¡± The construct gives me a firm, enthusiastic nod.


    I swallow. That was almost too easy. Had the magic spoken for him through me? I nod and extend my hand. ¡°Okay, Henry.¡± Its phalanges dwarf mine but are gentle¨Cas though it¡¯s afraid to crush my hand. ¡°It¡¯s so nice to meet you.¡±

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 A Travel-Weary Woman, Her Pet, and a Rundown Farm House

    For the rest of the day, we travel through the forest, Henry keeping their distance away from me as we go. I feel like they¡¯re more comfortable with me, though still a bit shy. The air between us thrums with a gentle familiarity.


    It feels nice to have company again, even if they stay so far back. The construct feels different than other constructs I¡¯ve bonded with or raised. They feel like a whole body. As if its soul never quite left its bones: not an amalgamation of memories too distant to recall, or bones put together from multiple sources. It¡¯s a strange feeling, but I try not to think about it too long. When they feel comfortable with me, maybe they¡¯ll tell me themselves.


    In the meantime, it¡¯s a comfortable silence.


    The terrain gets more and more difficult for me to traverse as we start to gain some more elevation, and I find myself needing to walk in the road. I send a gentle reassurance through our connection, passing my intentions through to them, and they seem to understand. They keep their distance from the road, deep in the trees, but close enough that I can feel them nearby. We travel this way the rest of the day and hunker down for the night. They stay on the opposite side of the fire, sitting hunched over their feet with their large, gangly arms dangling over their knees.


    I want to ask them questions, but after a long day of magic use and walking¡­ I¡¯m kind of exhausted. They are a gentle, safe presence. I know that with them around, I¡¯ll be able to sleep.


    And I do. I sleep through the whole night, dreaming of screaming people and blue rivers. Of Bill¡¯s kind eyes before he had to pull the lever. And then the warm embrace of copper magic swaddles me and the dreams fade into darkness¨CI am left only with sleep.


    The town the kind folk of Torsen pointed me to was a little place called Reisau. It was fortified round with wooden spikes driven deep into the ground on the outskirts, and the little streets weren¡¯t cobbled or paved¨Cjust dirt that had worn down over years of use. It was early spring, and I could hardly wait to see the blooms. When I arrived in Reisau, I¡¯d been on the road for three weeks and few days from the nearest city, Torsen. My hair and clothes were covered in dust. As much as Henry had attempted to gently pull twigs from my hair, there was a significant amount of leaves and residue left behind. The construct stayed out on the outskirts of town when I went in, but I can still feel them sitting just beyond the treeline, orbits following me past the stone walls that mark the boundary of Reisau and the outside world.


    There are a few people out and about, chopping wood and building rock walls around their gardens. I pass by a small smithy on the edge of town, which provides an almost constant tinging of tools that filled the air. It has a nice rhythm to it. I look with interest into a small bakery, a hat shop¨Cthey all look up as I walk past. One woman at one of the first houses waves me over, meeting me at her gate. ¡°You¡¯re a new face around here. What brings you up this way?¡±


    I smile at her, trying to give her the best first impression I can. She¡¯s a slight thing with auburn hair and bright blue eyes that seem to penetrate my very soul. This woman makes me nervous already, and I¡¯ve barely met her. I try to dig into the proverbial pocket of things that were appropriate to say, but end up saying something along the lines of: ¡°I was sent up here to look for some land, I¡¯d like to start a farm.¡±


    She crosses her arms over her white cotton dress, and gives me a thorough look-over, and I¡¯m surprised at how forward I was. ¡°Just you?¡± she asks skeptically.


    ¡°Just me.¡± I answer, and it is the truth¨Ctechnically. I don¡¯t know how many necromancers these folk have encountered, so I¡¯m not sure if I would be revered as a priestess or garner suspicion. Rumors kind of do that, don¡¯t they? Having no touchstone in that regard gives me even less ideas of how they might respond to Henry.


    She doesn¡¯t look convinced. ¡°Why up here, of all places? Ground¡¯s filled with rock.¡±


    I shrug. ¡°Probably means the land is cheaper. I have experience growing in difficult places.¡± And I do, home was on its own rocky ground. I gesture at the tall, black mountains around us. ¡°There¡¯s lots of volcanic rock out here, which probably means the ground is really fertile too.¡±


    This piques her interest and she leans against the garden wall. ¡°There actually was a farm up here, long time ago. We mostly grow our needs in our own gardens. What would you grow?¡±


    ¡°Vegetables. Potatoes, tomatoes, celery, lettuce, herbs, flowers,¡± I muse. My sisters gave me so many seeds when I left. ¡°Pumpkins, legumes. I¡¯ve got a lot to offer.¡±


    She thinks about it for a moment, long fingers tapping along her elbow. ¡°Hey, Charles!¡± She shouts into the house behind her with its steep roof.


    ¡°What?¡± A male voice calls from within.


    ¡°I¡¯m taking the visitor up to Old Jem¡¯s place.¡±


    ¡°Why do you think I care?¡±


    She rolls her eyes and drops her trowel. ¡°Follow me,¡± she says, striding past me. I follow politely a good distance behind as we walk through Reisau to the other side, and begin our ascent along a winding path. ¡°I¡¯m Maggie, by the way,¡± she finally says once we¡¯re out of town.


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    ¡°That¡¯s a nice name,¡± I comment. ¡°Sybil.¡±


    ¡°Sybil¡­ old name. Family name?¡±


    I feel my smile begin in a quiet, small sort of way. ¡°You could say that.¡±


    ¡°Sybil, you look like a nice girl¨Csmart girl. Why here?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± I tell her. My mind swims. ¡°It just feels right?¡±


    Her footsteps slow a little ahead of me, and I almost crash into her, but she picks her pace up again. ¡°Feels right, you say? Like something guided you here?¡±


    I mull over her words, a little confused. ¡°I guess you could say that.¡±


    She doesn¡¯t say anything afterwards, just leads me up the path.


    When the ground flattens, it does so over a large plateau mid-mountain climb. The space stretches out as far as I can see and backs up against a peak that reaches into the air with sharp fingers. Like she said, it¡¯s mostly rock and overgrown bushes. The air is thin up here, but manageable¨Cwe haven¡¯t hit the tree line, not by a longshot. ¡°Well, here it is. About three-hundred acres, give or take. Little shack up the way.¡± She sets her hands on either side of her waist and scowls at it. ¡°It¡¯s not been touched for about ten years, not since Jem.¡± She sighs and pushes a stone from the ground with the toe of her boot, kicking it along. ¡°Cheap is right, but I don¡¯t know that you¡¯ll want it.¡±


    ¡°May I?¡± I ask, and she nods, gesturing me ahead.


    I walk a bit further, and Maggie stays where she¡¯s at. When I¡¯ve walked far enough away, about halfway to the shack she¡¯d pointed out, I turn to look at her over my shoulder and find that she¡¯s not watching me. Her eyes are locked on the shack past me. From this distance, I can¡¯t see the expression on her face, but I wonder whether it is sad or angry. What happened to Jem, the previous owner? No children to pass the farm along to? Did he leave?


    I close my eyes and let a thread of magic drift through the air. Henry¡¯s magic raises to meet it in a comforting warmth. I wasn¡¯t alone. I bend down to the ground and dig my hand into the cold earth. I feel through it with my magic and a thrill shivers up my spine. Bones.


    Colors of ombre and teal, pink and orange, green and purple all reach out to me beneath a thick layer of slate bone dust that has been churned into the soil with fertilizer. I feel the fungal growths beneath the surface reach their own magic out to me. It feels like they say, we are here, where have you been? And the bones ask, Who are you? Are you staying? The bone dust thrums beneath my fingertips, welcoming.


    Will you help me? I ask the chorus of voices.


    Resounding yes¡¯s sound through my fingertips in warm zaps of energy, from the fungi and the bones and the dust, all reaching out to me with excited tendrils of mana.


    Okay. Well. That settles it. I stand and wipe my hands off on my skirts. ¡°Can you take me to the mayor?¡±


    Maggie has started making her way closer to me, and she comes to a stop a few steps behind me. ¡°Catches your fancy?¡±


    I smile warmly at her. ¡°Actually, I think I¡¯ve caught its fancy.¡±


    She returns the smile quizzically. ¡°Mage?¡±


    ¡°Of a sort.¡±


    Her look is suspicious, and I can only imagine what she thinks I mean by that. It doesn¡¯t seem to scare her, however, because she smiles. ¡°Look, if you can do something with it, we¡¯ll talk pricing. Give it a week or two, see how you do, and then talk to me.¡±


    It¡¯s my turn to give her a suspicious look. ¡°You¡¯re the mayor?¡±


    ¡°Of a sort,¡± she shoots back with a smile.


    ¡°You¡¯d let a stranger work your land for free?¡±


    Instead of answering me, she passes by me and up to the little shack. ¡°We cleaned it out a few years ago,¡± she says, producing a key from her pocket and unlocking the house that is not much larger than a toolshed. ¡°But there¡¯s a loft. A little bit of a kitchen.¡± I follow her into the little structure. It¡¯s a thin, wooden building. The wood paneling beneath my feet is old and a little rotten in places. A small kitchen takes up the majority of the bottom floor, complete with a wood burning stove, and an old ladder that leads up to the loft above, where I assume a bed must be. Maggie stands to the side so I can take a closer look. Henry wouldn¡¯t fit in here, I realize¨Cthough he wouldn¡¯t necessarily need to.


    I test the feel of the rungs and wince. I could sleep by the stove until I got it replaced. It¡¯d do me no good to start off my second life by breaking my neck getting out of bed one morning. ¡°It¡¯s got a lot of life,¡± Maggie says.


    ¡°It certainly does,¡± I agree. I think that surprises her a little, because she shakes her head with a smile.


    ¡°That¡¯s what he would say.¡± She turns and leaves the little home and I follow her. ¡°Anyways, you can stay up here. We¡¯ve had a few people come through and try, but they end up selling the land back more and more expensive than they buy it for, and¡­¡± she hesitates. ¡°It¡¯s been getting to be too much for us to keep up with. Now we lease the land to those passing through on a trial basis. If we like what you do, we¡¯ll let you bid for it.¡±


    ¡°Who is ¡®we?¡¯¡± I ask.


    Maggie smiles, ¡°Reisau. I¡¯ll send someone up every few days to check on your progress.¡±


    ¡°Is there anything you¡¯re looking for specifically?¡± I wonder.


    She stretches her arms and starts walking down the hill. ¡°That¡¯s not for you to know,¡± she calls. ¡°Good luck!¡±


    I look around at the great, empty space, and think that I probably need all the luck I can get.

 A Woman and her Very Normal Employees

    The first thing I do is sit with the bones. Henry comes up to the farm when he knows Maggie is well out of sight and joins me. We sit side by side, Henry with his unending stare keeping watch while I cast my awareness into the ground below. I commune with them. I get to know their different colors and flavors. Unique sensations fill my mind with each new individual that returns my gentle reach. They have names, each one, and they¡¯re pleased to share them with me. All of them are eager to meet me, to finally have someone to talk to after so long buried beneath the surface.


    Was this a graveyard? I ask through my mana, spreading it out wide to capture the greens and blues and oranges and yellows that reach up to capture my light.


    No, I feel, rather than hear the response of all the voices chiming in, thrumming against the lacuna in my skull. There was a necromancer a long time ago who brought them here from other places. He had faltered at some point, they tell me, and their magic had worn down. Not fully returned to their rest, only hovering in awareness until they could be brought back to animation or released for the final time.


    Many of them want the former; some of them want the latter, and I stand up to find a shovel to do just that. The ground is still cold from the early spring and years of disuse. It surprises me, just a little, that a necromancer once owned this land. How long ago? I wonder, but I know I won¡¯t have an answer. Seasons, the bones had told me in my questioning. Several seasons. It told me basically nothing. It could have been years or decades, I reckon. I carefully dig each and every bone from the earth. Many are under just a few layers of sediment, and yet still are tucked deep within the gentle embrace of the earth. I line like bones with like bones, until I have seven working skeletons. I¡¯m truly excited to find that they are mostly in-tact, down to the metatarsals and phalanges. They are extremely well-preserved. I pick up an ulna from one such individual and hold it up to the afternoon light. A small sigil is etched there, just against the surface. ¡°Do all of you have this?¡± I ask, now that they have all been birthed from their most recent holding.


    Some, this one, a blue, shining energy identified as Willard, tells me. Many of us. It helped us move more easily.


    I nod, admiring the handiwork of the crescent crossed with a line. It was a simple cut, but effective. Clean. It¡¯s what my sisters taught me when I was young. I pull an athame from my belt and ask Willard. ¡°Do you mind?¡±


    Not at all, he assures, and I begin my own cut. A downward V and a circle, two punctured dots, and my purple-green magic flows through my fingertips and into the dry bones.


    I replace the ulna with its brothers and stand, pulling the energy from the ground through the bottoms of my feet and pushing it out through my palms. ¡°I ask thee, Willard the Blue, to join me. As friend, as helper, so long as my feet tread this ground. I will be kind and protect you until you are ready to return to the earth.¡±


    Yes, please. I serve and protect, until the day I fall to ash. Willard¡¯s voice is eager in response, and his bones rattle together, joining at empty joints. The fingers and vertebrae snap together on the ground beneath my hovering palm. The sensation is warm and prickly against my skin.


    ¡°This day I have formed you, Willard of the Blue, but you are not beholden to me. You bear my sigil, though it does not bind you.¡±


    The magic flashes between us and the skeleton¡¯s legs flex backward and it leaps to its feet. ¡°Boy, I haven¡¯t had this much energy in years!¡± Its jaw moves, and the voice I hear is mostly magic, even still it makes me smile. Willard bows over his arm, flicking out his wrist behind him and taking my hand to press against its teeth. ¡°I¡¯m honored to serve, Lady Sybil.¡±


    I blush and pull my hand from his, ¡°Thank you, Willard.¡± I¡¯ve animated many corpses, but none so ecstatic as this.


    ¡°What shall I do first?¡± He rubs his phalanxes to crack together. ¡°Why, I think I could run for miles.¡±


    I grin. His enthusiasm is contagious. ¡°I suppose if you want a task¨C¡±


    ¡°I do.¡±


    ¡°You can start taking the rocks out from that area.¡± I point to the edge of the field closest to the little home that is now mine. ¡°Only if you¡¯re up for it, though.¡±


    ¡°Lady Sybil, I was born for it.¡±


    And Willard takes off in that direction, and I can¡¯t help but smile. Born? Rebirthed? Reanimated? I wonder what Willard was like in life, and whether the echoes of his former life were still deeply embedded in the lumen of marrow.


    The next bones I come to are siblings¨Cwhether in their previous life or that their souls had bonded as such after death, I wasn¡¯t quite certain. She was yellow and he was blue, each with their own relaxed sort of energy. ¡°Are you ready?¡± I ask them, sitting down onto my haunches and hovering my hands over them, trying to feel where they might feel right being marked.


    Here, love, she told me, I don¡¯t mind my sigil anywhere as long as it isn¡¯t on my skull, but Roderick, well¡­


    I do not, the man grumbled, I don¡¯t think I care very much at all. Let Miss Sybil mark us where she wishes.


    He doesn¡¯t mean that, she chuckled, he¡¯s just too nervous to say otherwise. Mark me here on my clavicle, and get his third vertebrae.


    I¡­ well¡­ Roderick started to protest, but then assented, Yes, that is where I prefer.


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    I chuckled, enjoying their light banter and scribed the same sigil with the athame onto their preferred bones, performing the same ceremony as I had with Willard. I hesitated when I got to hers, ¡°I didn¡¯t catch your name.¡±


    Her magic swelled bright around mine like a gentle embrace, That¡¯s alright dear, I¡¯m Amelia.


    ¡°It¡¯s so nice to meet you, Amelia.¡±


    It¡¯s my utmost pleasure, Sybil. We¡¯re going to be great friends.


    I believed her with all of me.


    And so it went until I was magically spent. In addition to Amelia, Rod, and Willard, I also met and raised three others: an older soul who carried themselves as though they feared the oncoming rain named Jun; a spirited young person named Lasis; and a young woman who simply called herself Samantha. By the time I finished raising Samantha, my hands were trembling and my body felt heavy. I hadn¡¯t done such a large raising since¡­ well, the war, and I hadn¡¯t even developed the stamina in this second life yet. Even still, the bones did not protest. I had set aside the ones that wanted the commitment ceremony, but knew I could only do them one at a time the following day. They were patient about it, but I still couldn¡¯t fend off the small thread of guilt I felt for not getting to them sooner. I couldn¡¯t very well leave bones out in broad daylight, either, so I put my helpers to work gently moving and covering the remaining corpses.


    ¡°Mistress Sybil, go get some rest, we¡¯ve got it from here,¡± Amelia placed a bony hand on my shoulder.


    ¡°I need to make you a shelter,¡± I grimace and Henry, who has stood watch this entire time, sits on their haunches behind me and shakes their skull.


    ¡°I think they¡¯re telling you it¡¯s time to rest. We can take care of the rest.¡±


    ¡°If the townsfolk see you?¡±


    Amelia made a frustrated noise and pushed me toward the little shed as the sun careened into the horizon. ¡°We¡¯ve done this a very, very, very long time, Miss Sybil. We¡¯ll make ourselves scarce once we¡¯re done.¡±


    Henry nodded emphatically and led me to the door.


    ¡°Are you sure?¡± I ask, though my eyelids are already too heavy to bear.


    ¡°Go,¡± she all but growls at me, and I hide a smile. She pauses when I step into the house and catches the door with her hand. ¡°Do you have a blanket in there, my lady?¡± Her voice drops into a gentle, worried tone.


    I hadn¡¯t thought of that. I glance up at the loft and its rotted ladder and wince. There¡¯s no way I¡¯m getting down from there in one piece. Amelia follows behind me and before I can register what she is doing, she hoists me up using my armpits onto her shoulders. ¡°Can you see now?¡± She asks from below me, skull angled up, and I can swear she is looking up at me expectantly.


    I peer into the loft. There¡¯s a small straw bed in the corner on the floor with a threadbare blanket draped over it. It looks extremely uncomfortable, but I can certainly make use of the old blanket, if it¡¯s not entirely moth-eaten. ¡°Yes,¡± I tell her, ¡°I think I see one.¡±


    A sound startles us and we look over to see Henry trying to fit themselves through the doorway.


    Amelia chuckles. ¡°You¡¯re no use to her if you can¡¯t fit in the doorway,¡± she scolds them, not unkindly. Henry visibly deflates and sits on the ground, waiting for further instructions. Amelia helps me climb up onto the old wood and I inch carefully across the floor and snatch the blanket from the bed. I don¡¯t know what I was expecting. Maggots, maybe. Lice. Bed bugs. Some half-eaten corpse of an animal. I would have known, though¨Ceven in my exhausted state. The dead spoke to me louder than anything living. Even still, I was surprised that nothing was underneath the blanket.


    ¡°Everything alright up there?¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± I call down, wrapping the scratchy purple fabric underneath my arm.


    ¡°Step onto my shoulder¨Cthere you go, for goddess sakes, woman, use my ribcage it doesn¡¯t¨Cooh, actually, that hurt.¡± I clamber down her body awkwardly and freeze when she exclaims. She chuckles and pats my back, ¡°I¡¯m joking, love. You know I don¡¯t have nerve-endings. There¡¯s nothing to hurt. Down you go.¡± And then I¡¯m standing on the floor, safely, if not completely embarrassed.


    She takes the blanket from me and snaps it open. A plume of dust and straw twigs explode in the small space and I cover my mouth. It¡¯s too late, though, and I double over into a coughing fit. Amelia doesn¡¯t pause though, just surveys the blanket with what I can only assume is a critical eye. ¡°We can do better than this.¡±


    ¡°Yes, I imagine you can, but¨C¡±


    ¡°Jun!¡±


    The old skeleton hobbles to the door, arms laden with logs for the stove. ¡°I¡¯m here.¡± They start a flame in the small wooden stove, using a dash of magic from our bond, but not so much that I feel any worse than I currently do. The warmth will help bring some life back into my own weary bones. Jun seems to know this well enough. I rub my eyes sleepily. This is quite an independent crowd I¡¯ve raised, I realize. Pretty self-sufficient and¡­ caretaking. ¡°This is absolutely abhorrent, is it not?¡±


    Jun grasps the fabric in their fingers and shakes their skull. ¡°No, this won¡¯t do.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s what I was saying.¡±


    ¡°Amelia, leave her alone, Lady Sybil needs to rest. We¡¯ll all be goners otherwise,¡± Rod called from the door.


    ¡°Yes, guys,¡± I murmur, gently taking the blanket from Jun¡¯s hand. ¡°I am really spent. There are some clothes in my pack I can fashion into a pillow. This will be fine for tonight.¡±


    Amelia¡¯s jaw opened, but I held up my hand to silence her, ¡°I promise to both of you, to all of you,¡± I stare at the empty orbital sockets that have all crammed into my door frame to watch after me. ¡°That I will go into town tomorrow and get a proper bedroll and blanket. Fair?¡±


    Amelia sighs as the others nod. ¡°You are the boss.¡± She claps her metacarpals together and leans in excitedly. ¡°Something green would really suit you¨C¡±


    Roderick bows to me as he enters and unceremoniously drags his sister away as she continues chattering about what sort of blanket I should buy and what material of the bedroll would be best for my neck support and¡­ I rub my temples and Jun takes my hand, guiding me to the makeshift bed they¡¯ve made from my belongings in my pack, set up near the stove. ¡°Let¡¯s get you some rest, mistress,¡± their voice is gentle and mahogany, silky smooth and comforting.


    I couldn¡¯t deny her that. Henry shooed off the rest of the skeletons, all eager to serve their new master¨Ceven to her utter exhaustion. As tired as I am, as I settle against the mound of clothing and feel the warmth of the fire wash over me, it feels nice to be taken care of like this. Jun moved carefully around the small kitchen space. They must find a broom somewhere, because as I¡¯m falling asleep, I hear the gentle scraping of its bristles on the floor. It¡¯s such a comfortable rhythm that it effectively does all of the work for my body, lulling me into a deep and dreamless sleep.

 A Timeless Woman and her Totally Normal Visit to Town

    <hr style="font-weight: 400">


    The next day I wake with the sound of water filliThe next day I wake with the sound of water filling a pot on the stove somewhere above my head. I groan, stretching out to my full length on the floor, kicking my feet out and curling my fingers in the air.


    ¡°I don¡¯t suppose you¡¯d want some breakfast, Lady Sybil?¡± Jun asks. Their skeletal figure hovers over the stove. I know they didn¡¯t sleep last night¨Cnone of them did. I drag myself up into a sitting position and rub my eyes.


    ¡°What day is it?¡± I ask with a yawn. I¡¯m still so sore after the days on the road and the magic that had raised my army of helpers.


    The door slams open and Willard all but dances into the room. ¡°Good morning, Lady Sybil,¡± he flourishes a bow over his arm.


    I wince at the loud noise. While he is not speaking using a voice, but rather through magic that only I can hear in my mind, I am rattled by its volume so early in the day. I feel Jun scowl at Willard from across the kitchen, but he must not notice or doesn¡¯t care, because he crouches beside me on the floor and continues to speak. ¡°It looks like the day¡¯s already here. We made sure to be extra quiet through the night¨Cthough we may need some more nails and hammers so we can finish our own sleeping quarters, well you know how we don¡¯t sleep, my lady, but we all put our skulls together, Henry too, by the way, though they don¡¯t talk much¨Cand we agreed to stay out of view during the day and work through the night so that¨C¡±


    I hold up a hand, and out of the corner of my eye I see Jun moving ever-closer with a ladle in their hand. ¡°Hold on, Willard. Slow down, please.¡± I beg, my head is already spinning.


    Willard nods enthusiastically and Jun watches me carefully from over his shoulder, ladle raised and ready to use at my say-so. I just want to go back to sleep. He raises a finger. ¡°Shelter, mostly done. Need nails.¡±


    Actually, that was way better than I expected, I think and nod. ¡°I can do that. What do you mean mostly done?¡±


    He taps his jaw with a fingertip, making a gentle clicking noise of consideration. He glances at the door, where Henry¡¯s hulking form blocks the early day¡¯s sunlight. The great clay shoulders raise and lower. Willard nods, ¡°What they said. It¡¯s basically done.¡±


    ¡°By basically, you mean¡­¡±


    ¡°It looks really nice, boss ma¡¯am,¡± Lasis murmurs, peeking through the doorway at me. ¡°Do you want to see?¡±


    I glance back at Jun who has set down their ladle. They nod twice at me. I return a weak grin. ¡°Okay,¡± I say and work myself into a standing position. I follow them out into the yard and stall, stunned.


    I rub my eyes, thinking I¡¯ve emerged from a dream. The yard looks completely different than it had when I had gone to sleep. There are already three rows tilled, a broken plow halfway through a fourth; rocks had been pulled from the ground and stacked the beginnings of a fence around her little hut and an entirely new structure.


    The shed didn¡¯t exist yesterday, but today it¡¯s about six feet high, all dead lumber dragged from the nearby treeline, chiseled and fitted together and lifted one over the other over the other until it was essentially a home for her new friends¡­ without the very important detail of a roof.


    Willard gestures excitedly at it, waving his arms to take in the building. ¡°Just a few touches necessary, then we¡¯re good.¡±


    I¡¯m speechless, frankly. I clear my throat. ¡°Did you do all of this last night?¡± I ask the gathered group of skeletons.


    Jun is standing behind me in the doorway. They crane their head over mine to see and I can feel them frown.


    ¡°Most of it,¡± Lasis says, digging their foot through the dirt.


    ¡°Oh I knew she wouldn¡¯t like it,¡± Amelia sighs, sounding miserable.


    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t go that far,¡± Roderick assures her, hands resting gently on her scapula. ¡°She probably just needs to come to terms with the productivity.¡±


    A sputtering built up deep in my stomach, then spewed through my mouth. ¡°You did this in one night!?¡±


    Henry nods emphatically behind me.


    ¡°Yes, my lady. Henry helped us with the logs, Willard and Roderick cut into it. Lasis and I worked the earth,¡± Samantha¡¯s soft voice speaks up. ¡°Was it too much?¡±


    I rub my face, trying to perform the calculus it¡¯ll take to convince the townspeople I certainly did this all on my own, if they were to come up this way today and see all of the many improvements that had been made to the farm.


    But there had been a necromancer here before, I reminded myself. Maybe the townspeople wouldn¡¯t be as averse to my magic as I thought.


    But on the off-chance this northern town was too disconnected from the area I grew up in¡­ I wince. ¡°Okay,¡± I say and clasp my hands together. ¡°Here¡¯s the deal. I¡¯m going to go to town and see about getting us a roof.¡± Willard, Rod, and Amelia all cheer. Lasis, Samantha, Jun, and Henry straighten. ¡°But you need to go¡­ rest. Go into stasis. I can¡¯t have you on the farm doing that.¡±


    Amelia nods at me. ¡°That won¡¯t be a problem, my lady. We found a nice, hidden spot in the forest. It¡¯s where we placed the others.¡±


    The thought of having more helpers when I was already struggling with this over-productivity dilemma made my heart sink, but I pushed it away. ¡°Okay. Hang out there until I return.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ll remember to get a blanket, won¡¯t you?¡± Jun asks from behind me, their voice rough.


    ¡°Yes, I will get a proper bedroll. Like I promised.¡± I smile reassuringly, and they nod.


    ¡°Only problem.¡± Willard scratches his skull, distal scratching against his cranium.


    ¡°Yes?¡±


    ¡°What are we supposed to do?¡±


    Samantha shakes her head at my side, ¡°Rest.¡±


    Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.


    Roderick shrugs. ¡°Not sure if I even know what that means. We¡¯ve been resting too long.¡±


    Henry is silent, solid, awaiting my directions.


    I cross my arms over my stomach, the chill of the morning finally creeping from my numb feet into my shins. ¡°I don¡¯t know. Find us some food? Edible mushrooms and herbs.¡± I raise a finger quickly as they begin to turn away from me, eager to obey. ¡°No meat.¡±


    Willard salutes me, ¡°No meat, my lady.¡±


    They hustle away from me, and I¡¯m left alone with Jun and Henry. I turn to them, ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Jun, I¡¯ll need you to be out there too.¡±


    Jun shrugs, ¡°As soon as you eat breakfast.¡±


    I exchange a look with Henry. They also shrug, as if to say, You heard them.


    Sighing, I follow them back into the little house to eat.


    The walk down to town is a bit shorter than I remember from the day before; which may or may not have more to do with the fact that I¡¯m walking downhill than that it¡¯s actually a shorter distance. In either case, it still takes me almost an hour. In my defense, I needed to take a short break to dig a rock from my shoe.


    I spent a lot of the time coming down the hill worrying about my little group of ambitious friends. I expect very little beyond a pile of food foraged through half of the forest that I¡¯ll need to figure out how to preserve. When I finally see the steep, thatched roofs, my feet kick up in excitement. And then they slow as a nagging anxiety pulls at me. Will they like me? Should I stay out of the way? Should I make friends?


    I spent a great deal of my last life avoiding people¨Cor rather, any person that might be caught in the crossfire of a war while they tried to maintain their livelihoods. Before then, most of my social life had been contained within my small family unit of other necromancers and the nearby town that embraced us as protectors and providers; priests and priestesses of the land, of the living and the dead.


    When I had been asked in that dark space whether I would start again, I didn¡¯t consider whether I would be a friendly, outgoing person. Was I ever? I try to think back over all the different social exchanges I¡¯ve had up until this point, but all I can remember are the dark days of war. I certainly can¡¯t remember my life before the war, or how I interacted with other people. I just remember the disappointment of seeing my family turning against me, of the lifeless eyes of the soldiers slain on the battlefield, of the billowing flags of the enemy. Of being hidden away in back rooms by sympathetic families, avoiding the new, established army.


    I can¡¯t remember if I smiled before all of that. I must have been a smiler. Certainly, I¡¯ve smiled in the last few days; and in the last day those smiles had been authentic. But dealing with¡­ well¡­ dead people was a lot easier than dealing with the living. I could always put the dead back to sleep. It¡¯s frowned upon in all thirty-four provinces to do so with the living.


    I make an executive decision to cut around the town toward the rhythmic sound of the blacksmith. Certainly he¡¯d have nails.


    Or.


    She.


    I skid to a stop at the edge of the blacksmith¡¯s yard at the sight of the slim woman with chorded arm muscles and dirty face. She pauses in her swing to look up at me. ¡°Oy, give me a bit, I¡¯ll be right with you.¡±


    I nod and wander into the yard, taking it as an invitation to enter through the small wooden fence into the small yard. The heat of the forge radiates all the way to the edge of the yard, and I lean into it. The hike down the mountain had cooled my extremities, and I had long forgotten what blood felt like. Horseshoes hang from the ceiling, and tools are displayed on small metal shelves that line each wall of the open-air shop.


    Her anvil is well-worn, and her forehead is slick with grime and sweat. Eventually, she quenches the project she¡¯s working on and sets it to the side, tearing off her gloves and stepping over. ¡°What can I do you for?¡± she asks, voice low and husky. ¡°You¡¯re the new girl, right?¡±


    I stare at her for a half-beat, before I realize she¡¯s addressing me. I kick myself mentally, Who else would she be talking to? ¡°Erm. Right. That¡¯s me, I wanted to get some nails and¡­ um,¡± play it cool. ¡°A plow.¡±


    She regards me, green eyes flickering over me, taking in the height of me. ¡°Sure,¡± she says. ¡°Nails are no problem, I can sell you thirty now for a reasonable price, but the plow¡­¡±


    I nod and quickly interject: ¡°That doesn¡¯t need to happen right away. As it is, I¡¯ve got about two rows plowed and¨C¡± I was rambling. She doesn¡¯t seem to mind, her lips quirking up a little.


    ¡°No, I meant, I think I have one in the back, but I wouldn¡¯t charge you anything for it,¡± she smiled. ¡°I¡¯m Haven, what¡¯s your name?¡± She says her name as though it is meant to reassure me, as though I¡¯m an anxious prairie dog who has only just stuck its head out of its hole for the first time in the season. I don¡¯t mean to feel grateful for it, I didn''t know I would be, but I am anyways.


    ¡°Oh, that would be¡­ good. Thank you. I¡¯m Sybil.¡±


    ¡°How is the farm?¡± Haven turns away from me, aiming to continue conversing lest I disappear on her. She isn¡¯t wrong, I¡¯ve already dug my fingers into my coin purse with the intent to dapple them on the workbench and vanish the moment the nails are in my possession.


    ¡°Easy going so far, the land is very welcoming.¡± I tell her, thinking of the friends I¡¯ve recently raised¨Cor made. A little of both.


    ¡°Hang on,¡± Haven says and she disappears into the back of the forge and returns with a mesh bag filled with nails and tugging along a plow. She picks up the conversation as if she hadn¡¯t disappeared for all of two minutes. ¡°Is that right? I heard from the previous trial-farmers that the land isn¡¯t forgiving at all. And the last few kept digging up bones.¡±


    ¡°Oh, well.¡± I wonder if she¡¯d have known the previous owner, the necromancer that had come before me. ¡°I guess it¡¯s not too different from the land I used to work back home,¡± I shrug.


    ¡°Bones and all?¡± She smiles, taking the coins I offer her. ¡°Let me get you a wheelbarrow for the plow, unless you know someone who can bring it to you?¡±


    I return her smile. It feels like the right thing to do. ¡°Yes, I think the wheelbarrow will be fine.¡± Then I reluctantly and anxiously ask: ¡°I don¡¯t suppose you know a necromancer that can help me commit them?¡±


    I watch her face carefully, but she gives nothing away, only shakes her head. ¡°The last necromancer lived here before I did,¡± she tells me.


    She doesn¡¯t elaborate, so I continue the line. I tap my chin in faux thought. ¡°Do you know what happened to them? Run off?¡±


    ¡°Oh, gods no. Everyone here is very friendly, no matter their religious affiliations¨Cmost of the folks here are Flor devotees, if it matters.¡± She shook her head, ¡°I couldn¡¯t say, I just know that he used to own the place before.¡±


    The name rings a bell, and I¡¯m momentarily distracted. Flor. Flor is the northern god of the forest; of fertility and pine and life, of mushrooms and carrion and death. It was a local god¨Cand an old one. Neither male nor female, but gathering the aspects of each when they suited them best. During the wars of my past life, there had been rumors that the god had made an appearance to the north, rallying their own troops to join, but the rumors had fizzled out once the invading empire had breached the border. I always thought it strange to hear of an ancient god rousing from their sleep to deal in the matters of mortals.


    In any case.


    I gather up the handles of the wheelbarrow that Haven offers me and nod at her. ¡°Well, if you hear anything about a necromancer, please let me know?¡±


    ¡°Sure thing¨Cdo you want some help with the plow?¡± Haven looks concerned. I don¡¯t blame her, my arms look noodly.


    I shake my head. ¡°If anything I¡¯ll just take some extra breaks along the way. Oh¨C¡± I turn back to her. ¡°Roof¨Croofing.¡± I almost forgot. Willard and Rod would have been so upset: for me hiking the plow up to the farm on my own, and forgetting the roofing.


    ¡°Oh, yeah, I don¡¯t do a lot of that. Most of our roofs are thatched over wood.¡±


    ¡°Right.¡±


    ¡°But I know someone who can. Do you want me to send them up your way?¡±


    I think about it. ¡°Sure. I¡¯ll be back in town in two days, too,¡± I tell her, committing myself to following through on the pseudo-promise.


    ¡°I¡¯ll have them meet with you, if they¡¯re interested. Drinks? Lunch?¡± She tilts her head, a gleam in her eyes.


    ¡°Yes, that¡¯ll be fine.¡± Discomfort writhes up my spine, but I ignore it. ¡°Thank you, Haven.¡±


    ¡°Any time, Sybil. I look forward to getting to know you.¡±


    I nod and start trundling my fare away from the blacksmith, taking them up the side road. Her words echo in my head and I realize that the tone sounded genuine: she did want to get to know me.

 A Little Goddess and her Ambitious Pet--I mean person

    ¡°You forgot a bedroll?¡±


    Amelia stands before me in the small kitchenette of my home, surrounded on all sides by mushrooms and herbs that Jun has set down to listen to the conversation, her arms crossed. Outside the little house, there is the ongoing percussion of nails being hammered into the exterior of the home. Rod and Willard had taken it upon themselves to build me a ladder and seal some of the holes on the exterior of my home before they built a roof for their own shed¨Cthey were even excited to hear that I might have someone that could help build the roof professionally. I hang my head. ¡°I was¡­¡±


    ¡°Nervous?¡± Samantha supplies, twisting a root around a bushel of lemongrass that Jun intended to hang in the rafters for drying.


    ¡°Yes,¡± I say, relieved that someone understood.


    ¡°That¡¯s dumb. When you need something for yourself, you need to be able to ask for it.¡± Lasis grumbles from their cross-legged space on the floor, shelling the nuts they¡¯d found.


    Heat threatens to redden my cheeks but I hold firm. ¡°No, it isn¡¯t,¡± I grumble.


    ¡°Well, at least Will and Rod have their nails.¡± Amelia says with a sigh, making me feel entirely more ashamed of myself than is probably warranted. Wasn¡¯t I their master?


    The thought makes me smile as I look around, my little home filled with skeletons that have just stuffed it, brimming to the windows, in foodstuffs found in the forest. Henry sits in the door, their bulk too large to enter, but nonetheless wanting to be a part of the goings on. As much as my contract with them was to serve and protect them from harm, they took their end of the contract just as seriously. I¡¯d almost literally raised myself a whole family. They didn¡¯t need to eat, and yet here they were, without my say-so, preserving all the food they had foraged for me in the woods that day. These bodies that didn¡¯t need sleep or stasis, yet worried about my ability to rest and recover.


    My heart felt like it would burst at the very thought. I grip their bones in my arms, gathering them into a group hug. ¡°Thank you.¡± I whisper.


    Amelia goes rigid beneath by hold, but pats my back. ¡°What for? Yelling at you? I can certainly do more of that.¡±


    I steel a secret smile into my heart and release them. ¡°Yes, continue to do that.¡±


    Lasis returns to their seat on the floor and taps their fingers on their femur. ¡°Lady Sybil, I hope you don¡¯t mind but¡­¡± they hedge for a moment, seeming shy. ¡°I had a feeling you might not return with a proper blanket so¡­¡±


    ¡°Come on, len. Go ahead and show her what you made.¡± Jun presses gently.


    Made? I don¡¯t need to wait very long to learn what they¡¯re talking about. They dash outside, and I hear them speaking in low tones to Rod and Willard who have ceased their hammering. Lasis returns with a folded sheet made of moss and grass.


    ¡°It still needs to be dried out, it¡¯s meant to be a carpet later.¡± they say, shyly, ¡°But if you need it tonight¨C¡±


    I take it in my hands and thumb over the beautiful weaves. ¡°How did you do this?¡± I ask, in absolute awe.


    Lasis shrugs.


    ¡°They used to be a weaver in life,¡± Samantha quips. ¡°Isn¡¯t it beautiful?¡±


    ¡°It certainly is,¡± I murmur, unfolding it carefully to get a better look.


    ¡°Let''s set it by the stove and let some of the moisture come off of it,¡± Jun suggests. Lasis takes the rug from my hands and folds it over one of the drying racks Jun built sometime during my absence that day.


    ¡°Thank you.¡± I say, feeling more heart-heavy than I did even twenty minutes ago.


    ¡°Of course,¡± Lasis says before plopping back onto the ground to deshell some more nuts.


    Henry shifts loudly and I look up to see Roderick sidling through the door. ¡°That should do it for now, Lady Sybil. We¡¯ve gathered some extra wood alongside the shed for the roofers when they come out.¡±


    I nod. ¡°That¡¯s great,¡± I tell him.


    ¡°It¡¯s still midday, are there any other tasks you want us to attend to?¡± He wipes down his finger bones.


    ¡°Is it too much to ask for you guys to rest?¡± I ask incredulously.


    ¡°Yes.¡± They say in unison.


    ¡°Okay.¡± I set my hands on my hips. ¡°I have to commit some of our friends to the earth¨C¡±


    ¡°Henry found a good space for just that, my lady,¡± Samantha offers. Henry nods shyly.


    I smile, ¡°Okay. Amelia, Lasis, would you guys come with Henry and me?¡± I ask, ¡°The rest of you can put our brand new plow to some good use, if you wish. I¡¯d like to start getting some sowing done before it gets too warm.


    Roderick nods. ¡°I¡¯ll grab Willard, he¡¯s getting restless.¡±


    ¡°Already?¡± I groan, and Jun chuckles.


    ¡°I¡¯ll get some lunch made up for you when you return. You¡¯ll likely need a rest.¡±


    I pat their arm, ¡°Thank you, Jun. Well, shall we get moving?¡±


    The ceremony to commit the others to the earth was a simple yet heartwarming ceremony.


    The remains that we had gathered the day before were laid side-by-side in a short row under the eaves of old trees. The wheelbarrow came in handy once again to transport them through the forest and into the cheerful, serene grove that Henry had found. The soil was soft and pliable, easy to cut into with the rusty shovel Willard had found the night before. Amelia, Lasis, and Henry prepared the bones by finding flowers in the area, tucking them around the bodies while I dug. Henry gently set each bone into the ground, gingerly pressing them into the soil like seeds, and we spread flowers in and around them.


    I gather up the energy from the earth and wrap it around the bones in a wreath of gentle, glittering magic. My voice sings out:


    ¡°Blessed are you, great earth,


    Who gathers us within her embrace;


    Who fills us with her energy,


    And beyond the veil hides her face.


    I, with these souls, commit to you,


    O holy one of green and brown,


    The same energy that you hath trusted,


    To your loving arms within the ground.¡±


    In harmony, the souls within the bones thrum with the same energy, twining around mine in their own unique shades of color. They swirl into the ground, scattering like firecrackers dancing in their freshly dug graves. Thank you, they whisper, gently in to my ear, as if along a breeze.


    ¡°With the power you have given me,


    Stolen story; please report.


    O Mother, O Sister, O Daughter, O friend.


    I commit these souls to you,


    May never again their energy lend.


    Allow them rest, my goddess,


    And passage through your pine gates


    Into the next world, the next lifetimes,


    Whatever their fates.¡±


    The magic settles, and I am filled with an overwhelming exhaustion, having drained my own mana into the ceremony. My knees sink into the loam, and I feel the earth come up to meet me, wrapping her energy around me. My eyes glisten.


    ¡°Thank you for all of the time you have given, and spent with the people who came before me,¡± I whisper to the bones. ¡°Though I did not meet you, did not know you, I am honored to be your last rites.¡±  From my belt purse I pull a small vial with blue liquid and dribble a few drops from its lip onto the bones below. ¡°Sleep easy, my friends. I¡¯ll see you in the next life.¡±


    The last words are spoken as a muscle memory, I realize, though I know I won¡¯t get another chance at this life. They are the words one says in a final commitment ceremony, and in some regards, I mean it. Whatever lay beyond that Great Chasm, down that beautiful river into whatever is Next, I hoped I could meet these souls again. These souls and the souls of the bones around me, the friends and comrades I had made along the way. Henry and Lasis helped shovel the earth back into place and Amelia bent to wrap her bone-arms around me. I didn¡¯t realize I was crying. I lean into her ribcage and let the feelings take over me. I don¡¯t know if it¡¯s the release of energy, the regular heavy emotions I get when I do a commitment ceremony, or if it¡¯s the realization that I will never get another shot at life. I will never reincarnate, my bones will never be used¨Cespecially if the invading kingdom still, well, invades. I think above all, it¡¯s the release of the control I have on all of it.


    I pull away from Amelia and I dig my fingers into the earth, all the way up to my wrists. Henry and Lasis halt in their work, watching me with surprise. Somewhere deep inside, I find my voice. This is the last thing I need to say before the end, before the beginning: lest I ever lose track of my duty. ¡°Goddess, I commit this last lifetime to your works, until I return to your soil.¡±


    ¡°I wondered when you¡¯d get around to that.¡±


    All of our heads whip up at the small voice coming from the treeline.


    A small figure in gray clothing walks toward us from out of the dark of the overgrown evergreens, stepping over needles with small limbs and pale skin. Her hair is long and silver, twisted into wild braids that reach past her shoulders. Her face is impassable, but her slate yes are knowing. My mouth goes dry. ¡°Wha¨C?¡±


    ¡°Sybil Whitman, whose timeline has been reset, I have been waiting for you.¡± Her voice is like that of a child¡¯s, but it also bears a weight: a heaviness that might pass as agelessness.


    ¡°Who are you?¡± Amelia asks for me.


    She ignores my construct, taking another few steps toward the open grave. She gathers another handful of soil and lets it pass over her palm onto the bones below. ¡°Another blessing, from the Daughter Herself, may you pass with Arceme into the next life with ease. Rest easy,¡± she closes her eyes. We watch her carefully, each of us trying to decide how, or what questions to ask this child. She breaks her prayer with a nod to Henry and Lasis. ¡°Please, continue. Sybil, come with me.¡±


    Henry and Lasis glance between me and the child, but start back to work.


    Amelia grips the edge of my shirt, but I shake my head. ¡°Stay here with the others. If I don¡¯t come back, finish the farm. Sell produce to the townspeople. Do this until someone else comes and can bind with you.¡±


    ¡°You will be the last one,¡± Amelia whispers, voice tight. ¡°You are the last for all of us.¡±


    I smile weakly at her, and the little girl stops at the edge of the forest, a look of annoyance gracing her features. ¡°I¡¯m honored.¡± I squeeze her fingerbones. ¡°But do as I say.¡±


    Bound to me, she must listen. She nods, and I feel the disappointment in her energy that blends in mine. I know she wants to come, to protect me, but if this little girl is the Goddess she claims to be¡­ well¡­ There¡¯s very little anyone can do to save me.


    I step into the brush with the little goddess, and let her lead me beyond sight of the grove.


    ¡°I¡¯ve been meaning to get you alone¨Cfor a chat, but I haven¡¯t had the opportunity.¡±


    I watch her small back as she climbs over fallen trunks, bare feet sticking to needles and black soil. ¡°Who are you?¡±


    ¡°I finally got my chance,¡± she says instead. ¡°I have questions for you.¡±


    I chew on my lip, frowning. ¡°As a matter-of-fact, I¡¯ve got plenty myself.¡±


    She turns her head and regards me. She¡¯s not the smiling sort, but she doesn¡¯t look offended. ¡°Touchy,¡± she says, twirling a braid around her thumb. She turns and scrambles up a large boulder, sitting at the top to look down on me. She crosses her arms over her knees and stares into my eyes. The unnerving sensation raises goosebumps along my arms and the back of my neck. ¡°I need you to answer some of these next questions, and I¡¯ll let you go back.¡±


    ¡°Who are you?¡± I try again, narrowing my eyes at her.


    ¡°You know who I am, Sybil. You¡¯ve always known it. My sibling, Arceme, couldn¡¯t help themselves and I intend to take full advantage of that fact.¡±


    I frown. If this little girl was the goddess she claimed to be, what could I offer her?


    She raises a finger at me. ¡°You are going to tell me how this war is going to come about, and you¡¯re going to help me stop it.¡±


    I stare at her for a beat. Then a laugh bubbles out of me.


    She frowns, the first emotion she has displayed on her pale features since she revealed herself to us in the grove. ¡°What?¡± she demands, ¡°What is so funny?¡±


    I grin up at her and shake my head, trying to clear the giggles from my chest. It helps¡­ barely. ¡°You don¡¯t know what happens?¡±


    ¡°You know I have the power to remove you from this earth¨Cas though you had never existed. Not once, and certainly not twice,¡± she threatens, and I cannot help but hear the tone of a spoiled child being refused a sweet.


    I bow low and turn around. ¡°I¡¯m not going to be any help to you with that, my Goddess,¡± I tell her over my shoulder. I start walking back to the grove, half-expecting for her to smite me. The lightning never comes, and trees don¡¯t whip me into the air to be crushed by gravity. Instead, I hear her feet hit the ground and she runs toward me.


    ¡°Hey! Wait!!¡± She catches up to me, tugging on my shirt, pulling me to a stop. ¡°What did they tell you?¡±


    I smile at her. ¡°Do you know what my last words to the world were, when I died?¡± I ask.


    ¡°No,¡± her brow furrows, wondering where I¡¯m going with this.


    ¡°This is stupid.¡±


    Her expression doesn¡¯t shift. ¡°What does that mean?¡±


    ¡°It means many things. More than anything, it means that I¡¯ve already promised Arceme, if that¡¯s who ¡®reset¡¯ me, as you say, that I would not interfere with this world¡¯s timeline.¡±


    Her eyes narrow minutely. ¡°You¡¯ve made an oath.¡±


    ¡°To not get involved,¡± I finish for her, nodding cheerfully.


    She scowls. ¡°How am I supposed to win, then?¡±


    ¡°How did you win the last time?¡± I ask.


    ¡°I didn¡¯t.¡± I tap the side of my nose. Her eyes darken. ¡°You just swore yourself to me, to honor me.¡±


    ¡°I can¡¯t break an oath I¡¯ve already made.¡± I explain, stepping over the log. I hear Amelia and Lasis talking in low voices by the grave.


    ¡°I will follow you around,¡± she says it like a threat, and I can¡¯t help but smile.


    ¡°Sure, you can do that.¡±


    ¡°I mean it!¡± she grumbles, following along beside me with her fists bunched up at her sides.


    ¡°What kind of Goddess won¡¯t smite me when she¡¯s most angry?¡± I wonder aloud.


    She frowns and gathers herself with a huff and a scowl. ¡°I¡¯m benevolent to a fault, I suppose. Can¡¯t be killing everyone as I please. No one would worship me then.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s a fair point,¡± I tell her.


    We breach the treeline into the grove and Henry straightens up, big fists curling defensively. I raise my hand, ¡°It¡¯s okay,¡± I tell them, and Lasis and Amelia seem to sigh in relief. They eye my companion warily. ¡°Gents, this is¡­¡± I look down at the child-god.


    She doesn¡¯t look at me, scowling at some point ahead of us. ¡°Vi,¡± she mutters, defeat heavy in her voice.


    I bend at my waist and cup my hands around my ear. ¡°Sorry?¡±


    ¡°Via,¡± she says it with annoyed deliberation.


    I smile reassuringly down at her. ¡°Nice to meet you, Via,¡± I tell her and her scowl eases some. ¡°She might be staying with us for a little while.¡±


    ¡°A little goddess?¡± Lasis asks.


    ¡°Gods are finicky things,¡± Amelia grumbles, and Via shoots her a glare.


    I shrug, ¡°Finicky or not, I think that she¡¯s going to stick around. We ought to keep her comfortable.¡±


    ¡°You can barely take care of yourself,¡± Lasis mumbles, and I laugh.


    ¡°Yeah, you¡¯re right about that. We can let her use the blanket tonight and then I¡¯ll take her into town tomorrow.¡± Via opens her mouth to argue, but must decide better of it, because it closes immediately. ¡°Sound like a plan?¡±


    ¡°Should one of us go down with you?¡± Amelia asks.


    ¡°How would we do that?¡± Lasis frowns. They tuck the shovel over their shoulder and grinds a toe into the earth. ¡°Unless one of you knows glamor magic.¡±


    Amelia¡¯s teeth grind, but she doesn¡¯t say anything. ¡°Anyways,¡± I say, extending the sound. ¡°Let¡¯s get going back before Willard and Rod plow an acre and Jun and Samantha cook everything including the house.¡±

 A Zombie Goddess and her Necromancer

    The following day I took Via down to town. She was stony faced, per usual, and didn¡¯t speak unless she responded to one of my questions. Even still, the questions were short and deadpan, as if she were annoyed.


    ¡°Do you always exist in the little mortal body?¡± I ask her at one point during the trip down to the village.


    ¡°Not always,¡± she tells me.


    ¡°So if you could, you could return to your ephemeral projection?¡± I pose.


    She scowls, ¡°Are you trying to get rid of me that easily, Sybil Whitman?¡±


    ¡°And lose your magic? No.¡± We¡¯d discovered the night before that we might not need to wait for spring for the sprouts to grow in the half-acre that had been plowed. Via had used her magic to sprout what had been sown earlier that day, explaining that she refused to wait to eat good food until the summer. It turned out she did in fact need to eat and sleep, unlike our bony companions. She¡¯d also raised the rest of the bones for me the night before, adding to our growing ranks of working skeletons four new spirits: Jim, Neil, Rose, and Morgan. They were just as excited to be of service as the rest of them, contributing to the earth with their work almost immediately: claiming to have rested far too long to rest easy.


    It was admirable, honestly. The work ethic of these bones. Never before had I worked with any bones that exuded such go-getter energy. Many of the bones I raised over the years were tired, obedient bones that didn¡¯t talk much. Not that they didn¡¯t have their own personalities, or didn¡¯t enjoy their servitude, just that they were different. Maybe more even-mannered? If that made any sense. These bones¡­ These bones took charge. It could be a variation of my personal sigil and the binding I used that inferred considerable more free-will and autonomy than some of my siblings¡¯ construct sigils. It also felt like it had a lot to do with the necromancer before me, whoever they were. Haven had said it was a man, I realize, thinking back to our conversation the day before. He seemed to have left a lasting, familial impact on these bones¨Cone that they were eager to return to and provide for another little necromancer finding her way in the world¡­ again.


    ¡°Sybil!¡±


    I look up and find Maggie coming up the road to greet us.


    I wave shyly, remembering my discomfort at being with strangers only the day prior. ¡°Hey, Maggie.¡±


    ¡°Who is your friend?¡±


    Via looked up at me, and I think she¡¯s wondering if this person is worth her time. I force a smile, discomfort sitting heavily in my stomach. I wonder if I¡¯m looking at her eyes enough, or if she¡¯ll notice if I feel more comfortable with my eyes on the space of her forehead. ¡°Um. This is Via.¡±


    ¡°Well, hi, Via!¡± She bends down and I can feel Via¡¯s fury radiate off of her shoulders. ¡°How old are you?¡±


    She opens her mouth, ready to lay into Maggie, but I grip her shoulders tightly. ¡°She wandered onto the farm last night. Doesn¡¯t talk much,¡± I say pointedly, and feel daggers jab into me as lathes of energetic vines prickle against my hands. I ignore the pain, knowing Maggie can¡¯t see them. ¡°She says she¡¯s about eleven.¡± That¡¯s the closest I can gauge given the body she¡¯s chosen.


    ¡°I didn¡¯t wander,¡± Via mutters, her voice taking on a more infantile lilt. She stares up at me and back at Maggie. ¡°I was scared.¡±


    ¡°Scared of what, honey?¡± Maggie asks.


    ¡°I woke up in the dirt,¡± Via rubs her hands on her slacks and looks away. Performative goddess. Sly.


    ¡°You woke up in the dirt?¡± Maggie¡¯s clearly confused, until the light catches in her eyes as understanding clicks into place. ¡°Was there a necromancer that found you?¡±


    ¡°Not for a loooong time,¡± Via moans. ¡°But when I found Miss Sybil, I knew that I would be safe again.¡±


    ¡°How long have you wandered off on your own?¡± Maggie doesn¡¯t seem perturbed over the necromancy, or that Via is insinuating that she is a zombie. I think about it, truly consider it, and realize that for all intents and purposes, she is a zombie.


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    Via¡¯s eyes fill with tears. ¡°I don¡¯t know.¡±


    ¡°Oh, you poor thing!¡± Maggie pulled Via into her arms and squeezed her. Via looked up at me with a snide grin. She reassembled her face when Maggie pulled away and sniffed.


    ¡°Miss Sybil is such a nice necromancer,¡± she whimpered. ¡°I¡¯m glad she found me.¡±


    I stare, dumbfounded at the goddess, my mouth going dry. ¡°Well, hey¨C¡±


    ¡°Aww, yes,¡± Maggie says, patting Via¡¯s cheeks. ¡°We think so, too.¡± She smiles up at me and mouths, It¡¯s okay, we know, but my mind is spinning. How long had they known? And how? I thought I¡¯d been careful¨Cbut my constructs hadn¡¯t been, I realize. I squeeze the bridge of my nose and collect myself. Maggie stands and takes my elbow. ¡°Well, in any case, we¡¯re glad to have you around, Via. Do you ladies want to come with me? I need to chat with Miss Sybil.¡±


    Via nods, her cheeks still wet with fake tears. I fight the urge to roll my eyes and let myself be pulled to the tavern in the middle of town.


    It is mid-morning, venturing on lunchtime by the time we made it to town, so there are already a few patrons in, getting a bit of a bite to eat before they return to their work. Maggie sits us in a booth and orders us both some ale. ¡°Sybil, can we talk candidly?¡±


    Yes, please. ¡°Sure,¡± I say, trying to gather my composure. This morning so far has been one carriage wreck after another.


    Maggie tents her fingers. ¡°You¡¯re a necromancer, right?¡±


    I stare at her warily, and she meets my eyes calmly. I nod imperceptibly.


    She claps her hands together. ¡°Great, because we¡¯ve been waiting for you. The land is yours.¡±


    My jaw falls open, as if the joints that connect my mandible to my temporal bones have dissolved. ¡°What?¡±


    The ale gets delivered, interrupting Maggie before she can continue. She takes a deep sip, holding up her finger to me. I ignore it. ¡°I don¡¯t understand.¡±


    Maggie sets her tankard down and wipes the foamy mustache from her lips. ¡°It¡¯s yours. Either it would go to the next necromancer to grace us this far north¨Crare enough, or someone respectful enough of the land and its caretakers¨Ceven rarer.¡± She smiled at me. ¡°We got both.¡±


    I catch Via staring at Maggie, and there¡¯s something I can¡¯t name in her eyes. I make a mental note to ask her about it later. ¡°You¡¯re the mayor,¡± I confirm with an exhaled breath, then my mind careens back to her words. ¡°The caretakers? Do you mean the bones?¡±


    Maggie nods. ¡°When¡­ well, when Jem left, they stayed on until the energy left them.¡±


    I blink at her. ¡°The townsfolk buried them.¡± It isn¡¯t a question.


    She nods. ¡°Just bones, but they meant so much to us.¡±


    I squint. ¡°You¡¯re not older than forty,¡± I start, ¡°Did you know Jem?¡±


    She smiled sadly, ¡°Yeah. It¡¯s been about fifteen years, I¡¯d say. He wasn¡¯t here for very long.¡±


    The forlorn look on her face tells me she doesn¡¯t want to discuss the matter any further, though I am brimming with questions. Who was he? Why does no one want to talk about him? Why did he leave when he so clearly loved the land, and the land so clearly loved him? I had no active constructs when I left home just three weeks ago, but I couldn¡¯t imagine leaving any of my bones without some sort of conduit to feed from¨Cletting their life dwindle away slowly over the months until they could no longer move, though their eyes could see¨Ccould no longer speak, but their minds still alive.


    It sounded like torture.


    I catch Via staring at me, and her slate eyes have softened. I wonder if she can read my thoughts on my face. I hide it in my own tankard, taking a long drink of it myself.


    ¡°Tell me you¡¯ll take the land,¡± Maggie says, leaning forward.


    ¡°I thought I¡¯d have to convince you over three weeks,¡± I counter after I swallow.


    She clicks her tongue. ¡°We¡¯ve already been up to see the place, Sybil.¡±


    I blink. ¡°When?¡±


    ¡°When you were in town yesterday. Saw you pass around and went up to see it myself. You¡¯ve done quite a number on the space. We didn¡¯t want to scare you, though. Wanted you to come to us when you were more comfortable.¡±


    I eyed her warily. ¡°But Via gave it away?¡±


    ¡°Are you uncomfortable with us, Sybil?¡±


    I think about it, then blurt. ¡°Yes.¡±


    She grins and finishes her ale. ¡°Excellent.¡± She stands. ¡°Let¡¯s keep it that way.¡± She pats me on the back. ¡°And stay. We could use some fresh vegetables en masse. Please keep being uncomfortable with us.¡±


    Haven catches us as we leave the tavern, Via¡¯s hands grip my shirt so I don¡¯t run into her on the street. Maggie has already paid for our drinks and left. I half-believe she¡¯ll show up on my doorstep the following day with the deeds in-hand.


    ¡°Hey,¡± she says, ¡°Heard you might be here.¡±


    I smile awkwardly. ¡°I¡¯m feeling a little set up.¡± I look down at Via, ¡°Am I being set up?¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± Via mumbles sweetly, but even she looks uncertain.


    Haven chuckles, ¡°You might be. Just a little bit.¡± She tucks her fingers into her pants pockets and shuffles her weight. ¡°I have the roofer available, if you¡¯re up for meeting with him.¡±


    ¡°Sure.¡± I turn to Via. ¡°Can you go buy the things we need while I meet with the roofer?¡± I ask her.


    ¡°Yes, ma¡¯am!¡± she salutes, grabbing the coin purse from my offered hand and bolting away.


    Being called ma¡¯am by a goddess¡­ I will never top that, I suppose. ¡°Lead the way.¡±

 An Ambitious Woman and... ..... SPIDER!?!?!

    She guides me to a small residential cottage that is as dark inside as the wood its made of. All of the windows are shuttered against the daylight. ¡°Soleil, I¡¯m here.¡± Haven calls.


    ¡°Goodness, I¡¯m sorry. I should have made myself more presentable,¡± a deep voice rumbles, and as my eyes adjust to the dark light, my breath catches in my throat. I realize why she had been dodgy about her friend before.


    He¡¯s a spider.


    A giant spider.


    ¡°It¡¯s alright,¡± Haven murmurs softly behind me, blocking me from scampering out into the street. ¡°Soleil is a proper gentleman, aren¡¯t you?¡±


    ¡°Oh, goodness me, where are my manners?¡± He steps forward. ¡°Sorry, it¡¯s a bit difficult for my eyes in the daytime, but I wanted to be sure that I caught you today.¡± He is all man from the waist up, his hair is long and onyx, with four shining eyes that stare out at me through absurd spectacles that sit atop a shockingly normal nose. His features are striking: broad but angular, strong. My eyes root themselves to his face, as alien as it looks, to avoid dragging them across his chest and down to the eight, large, hairy appendages. ¡°Haven tells me great things about you.¡±


    Another carriage wreck plows through me.


    ¡°Oh, she¡¯s going down.¡± Haven gathers a chair from the corner and sets it behind me and Soleil steps, steps, steps, and steps towards me, but Haven waves him off. ¡°She¡¯ll be okay. Just a lot of surprises today, I think.¡±


    ¡°I think I have a¨C¡± he scuttles back into the shadows and a fan is tossed into the light. Haven catches it easily and flaps it in my face.


    ¡°Thanks, Sol.¡±


    ¡°Will she be okay?¡± his voice is soft, concerned. Confusing. I see stars and my mind swims painfully between my ears.


    ¡°Yeah, I think so.¡± Haven rubs my back gently. ¡°Hey, Sybil. You¡¯re going to be okay, right?¡±


    ¡°Yes?¡± I squeak and tuck my head between my legs.


    ¡°Do you think she¡¯s scared of me?¡±


    Haven chuckles, ¡°Of course she is. No one sees driders in this day and age.¡±


    ¡°You didn¡¯t seem to mind me too much.¡±


    ¡°We grew up together, Sol.¡± Haven says, exasperated. ¡°Don¡¯t worry, she¡¯ll be fine.¡±


    I don¡¯t feel fine right now. I feel nauseous. I take deep breaths through my nose and out of my mouth until the world stills around me. I sit up, my eyes still closed, and I smile. ¡°Sorry,¡± I mutter. ¡°This is so incredibly rude of me.¡±


    ¡°Not rude,¡± Soleil says gently.


    ¡°Natural,¡± Haven pats my shoulders. ¡°Better?¡±


    ¡°Yes, I think so.¡± I gather up my courage and let my eyes fall open. It¡¯s easier this time, now that the initial shock has worn away.


    He smiles at me, his teeth sharp behind his lips, but they don¡¯t seem too dangerous. I still feel myself trembling at the sight of them, against my rational judgment. ¡°So. You¡¯re the roofer?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s me¨Care you sure you¡¯re okay?¡± His eyes are impossibly gentle, and I try to focus on them, but¡­ there are four of them. Six of them? I start to feel dizzy again.


    ¡°I¡¯ll be okay,¡± I lie. ¡°Don¡¯t¡­ arachnes¡­ spin?¡±


    Soleil has the grace not to look offended, smiling sideways at me. ¡°No, not all of us.¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s a scribe,¡± Haven supplies cheerily.


    A pair of large, spindly legs, lift in a shrug around him. ¡°Doesn¡¯t pay the bills. I make more money fixing peoples¡¯ roofs.¡±


    ¡°Great, uh¡­ what was your name?¡±


    ¡°Soleil, Miss Whitman,¡± he crosses an arm over his middle and bows over it, his silky black hair cascading over his shoulder in the process.


    ¡°Right.¡± I caught that earlier, didn¡¯t I? I flounder for some way to salvage this exchange. ¡°How much do you charge? And when can you start?¡±


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    His dark eyes glitter cheerfully at me. ¡°I can start tonight.¡±


    ¡°We just didn¡¯t want to scare you,¡± Haven tells me. ¡°Call it a friendly neighbor gesture.¡±


    I glance between them, feeling returning to my fingertips and toes. ¡°Do you do this to every person who comes into town intending to stay long?¡±


    Soleil looks embarrassed, and Haven answers for the both of them. ¡°Of course we do. Show of good faith to the right people, of course. I¡¯ve never been wrong yet.¡±


    Soleil nods uncomfortably.


    ¡°Right, well.¡± I stand and dust myself off. ¡°It was really nice to meet you, Soleil,¡± I say genuinely. ¡°I apologize for my current and¡­ future skittishness. I mean no offense.¡±


    He smiles, and it reaches his eyes again in a beautiful display, like light glittering on obsidian jewels in white alabaster. ¡°None taken, I look forward to chatting in the future.¡±


    I look at Haven, ¡°Now, if neither of you minds, I¡¯d like to run screaming from this room.¡±


    ¡°Maybe a little less screaming?¡± Soleil suggests with a playful grin.


    ¡°She¡¯s already so much nicer than Greg,¡± Haven chuckles over my shoulder as she turns me back toward the doorway and I swear I hear Soleil chuckling behind us.


    Via and I start on the long journey home, arms laden with supplies and the deed that Maggie hastily tucked into my pocket when my hands were filled. With Via¡¯s sudden appearance and my secret out, it¡¯s as though every one of the townspeople came out of the woodwork: each one bearing gifts and friendly greetings. Each authentically kind and welcoming. Many that weren¡¯t quite human, but were far more passable as mortal men than Soleil. A haven for misfits, it seemed. Like me.


    ¡°Did you know about all the people in town?¡± I ask Via as we climb the hill back home.


    Her lips tighten. ¡°Why, should I have?¡± she asks, offended.


    So no, then. ¡°I mean, they live on your land.¡±


    ¡°Everyone lives on my land, Sybil.¡± She reminds me.


    ¡°Well, sure, but¡­¡± my voice drifts off, and I realize I don¡¯t really know what else to say. ¡°You don¡¯t¡­ live in the area?¡± I ask.


    The small goddess sighs. ¡°Don¡¯t let the physical embodiment fool you, I¡¯m an omnipotent being beyond your mortal comprehension.¡±


    ¡°Did you really raise a zombie girl?¡±


    She stares ahead, and I feel the annoyance that I didn¡¯t address her statement roll off of her shoulders. ¡°Do you really want to know that?¡± She bites back.


    I think about it. I decide I don¡¯t. I do, however, decide that needling a goddess until she leaves me alone might become one of my favorite pastimes in this life.


    When we arrive back at the house, Amelia runs out of the house, as if she¡¯s been waiting for us since the moment we left, watching out the window.


    She stops when she gets to me and helps gather the load from my arms. The others follow behind until my arms are empty and Via still struggles beneath the weight of her own burdens. I take pity and help take some from her little arms. Henry comes up behind us and pats her gently on the head.


    She scowls up at them, but they don¡¯t seem dissuaded, seeming to smile down at her kindly.


    ¡°You finally got a proper bedroll and blankets. Perfect timing, too.¡± Lasis says, leading the way into the house. I stop at the threshold, my eyes struggling to find just one spot to land.


    We¡¯d been gone most of the day, and in the time left alone, they¡¯d all but re-built the inside of the house. The rotten floorboards have been replaced and sealed, shining like new. There are no more holes in the walls, every gap filled with a clay and grass slurry. The ladder to my loft has been fixed, and the protective rail repaired. The stove has been cleaned to a shine, and the little table has been fixed and is surrounded by little chairs¨Cenough for everyone to cram themselves around it. Overcome with emotion, I set my bundle onto the table and climb the ladder into the loft, where a brand new bed frame awaits me.


    ¡°Does she like it?¡± I hear Morgan ask Rose quietly.


    ¡°I think she does,¡± Roderick whispers back.


    ¡°She just hiked up a whole mountain carrying all of this stuff,¡± Amelia scolded, ¡°Give her some space.¡±


    Jun tuts and starts sweeping everyone out of the one-room building. ¡°That includes you, my dear,¡± they say, commandeering the lead.


    ¡°Lady Sybil, we¡¯ll be outside!¡± Willard calls.


    ¡°I will not be¨CAAH!¡± Via cries out as Henry gently snatches her up by her shirt in two fingers and pulls her from the house.


    The sudden silence is as comforting as it is startling. I swing my legs over the ladder, staring at the empty room below. I bury my head in my hands. As thankful as I am for the moment of silence, to let my thoughts finally catch up to me from the past three days, I am also struck with the realization that I will never have to be alone again. ¡°We were waiting for you,¡± Maggie had said. And I knew in the deepest of my hearts that she meant me. Not another necromancer, not a kind-hearted traveler interested in farming. Me. Sybil Whitman. I was exactly in the space I was meant to be, in this timeline, in the last timeline¨Cin any timeline. I¡¯d never have to worry about watching my family fade from view, my eyes following their backs until I can¡¯t see them anymore. I¡¯d never have to worry about being separated, or watching them die. Not like that.


    I knew that whatever it was I was meant to do here, in this place would keep me long and happy for the rest of my days.


    And it did.


    For years.


    Until, of course, Antonio de Cardenas completed his invasion of the southeastern border and usurped the land¡¯s king.

 An Ambitious Young Prince

    <h2>Antonio</h2>


    I expected to complete the invasion of Led. The Cainern had long prepared to take back their ancient, holy borders back from the grips of the heathens that had claimed them centuries ago. They¡¯d laid in wait for generations: parents telling children about the homeland that teemed with fathomless energy, usurped by those that would defile its magic with foul practices like raising the dead. Well, that and its seemingly endless supply of lumber and commercial wellbeing, but the public didn¡¯t seem to take well to that explanation. I hadn¡¯t, really, either, given the emissary trips over the years; of peace talks, of repeated and ceaseless attempts of congeniality. I had to say that I didn¡¯t quite¡­ buy all of the false airs that the rulers of Led put on.


    That coupled with my stalwart religious bias toward druidism, and it was a concoction bubbling over¨Cready to burst. Now that I sat upon the gilded throne in the bloody throne room, courtiers bound and held prisoner by my military against the walls, staring down at the bald spot peering out from the bowed head of the Led King, and it feels so underwhelming. I almost want to scream and shout. Sure, when the wretched necromancers joined the war ¨C I was surprised to find they hadn¡¯t joined until near the end ¨C there were plenty of casualties in my ranks, but there were so few of them, that¡­ well¡­ my holy rage was starting to falter. I even expected that the king would guard himself with scores of them; I¡¯d always envisioned this last battle to be shattered bone dust and blood spilled, of lightning called from the sky onto burnt and useless ground.


    On the contrary: the gardens outside the castle walls were well-groomed, and brilliantly colored. They hadn¡¯t even fully evacuated the city by the time my contingent took the stronghold. It was¡­ surprisingly peaceful. And¡­ very little dead. Most everyone we encountered on our way were terrified, of course. That would have to be remedied with widespread public relations. After I hunted down every last necromancer.


    Maybe that would give me the satisfaction of having taken back my forefathers¡¯ land, the satisfaction of conquering the evil that plagued this long for too long. All the people needed to realize was that they were no longer under the tyranny of the influence of necromancers and their blasphemy; to undo the centuries of brainwashing the dead-drivers had obviously committed their people to.


    ¡°My prince,¡± Luis, my advisor, whispers into my ear. ¡°The castle¡¯s been secured.¡±


    This is it? I want to yell. No necromancers hiding behind corners, ready to crush us when we let our guards down? Instead, I wave at my body guards to take the king bowing at my feet away. I gesture Luis closer and he bends his ear to my lips. ¡°Write the king, let him know that we¡¯ve completed our crusade. I will quash the rest of the threat.¡±


    ¡°Highness.¡± He bows away and I hear his feet clatter on the stone floors.


    I had to tread carefully now. These people had clung to their beliefs so strongly for so long, I was going to be their enemy for a long time. It would take some time to come to terms with my rule. Every word I said would need to be careful, every smile calculated. That wasn¡¯t so bad, though, I¡¯d lived my entire life that way. So the last year of war had allowed me the freedom of not worrying about whether people saw me being polite or kingly, I needed to break that habit¨Cimmediately.


    I stand and walk down the steps of the dais. ¡°Unbind them,¡± I tell my guards. They look at me warily, and I give them my best grin; all teeth and dimple, like my mother used to tell me. ¡°These are our friends, not our prisoners.¡±


    They do as they¡¯re told, cutting through the leather bonds wrapped around wrists and ankles. The courtiers eye me with suspicion, and I project my voice to the wider room. ¡°I¡¯m so sorry you¡¯ve been subjected to this treatment, I hope you understand it was just a means to an end: a performance,¡± I tell them, and it¡¯s mostly true. ¡°Now that we are established here, you and your families are in no danger.¡±


    I don¡¯t think they believe me, and they won¡¯t. ¡°Go home to your families. Today is a day of celebration, not of tears. Today, I have liberated you.¡±


    I hear someone murmur something akin to Mad King, but I ignore them. The guards watch their charges flee from the room, watching me. They are waiting for me to give any sort of signal for them to capture their prey¨Cstill jumpy from the skirmishes and battle. I can¡¯t blame them. In any case, the people run.


    ¡°You¡¯re going to be assassinated,¡± one of my men mutters.


    ¡°Not while you¡¯re with me,¡± I give him a smile. ¡°Let¡¯s go celebrate.¡±


    After three weeks of a celebratory tour from the center of Led to the eastern border, Luis brings me a long list of suspected necromancers and where they were located within the kingdom. I am nursing a headache in one of the manors a nobleman has offered my traveling party when he enters with a bow. I eye the list as a sense of deep displeasure sets into my gut. ¡°There¡¯s only seven?¡±


    ¡°Yes, excluding the ones that have been brought under your command as spies and subsequently executed as traitors.¡±


    ¡°There were only two of those,¡± I rub the bridge of my nose. Where were the powerful necromancers that I had been told about my entire life? Was necromancy a dying magic after all?


    Had time done my lifelong duty for me? Was there nothing left to conquer?


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    ¡°How many of these have been captured?¡± I ask.


    ¡°Four. They¡¯re awaiting sentencing,¡± Luis tells me.


    I nod, absorbing the information.


    ¡°Will you oversee that, Your Highness?¡± he asks when I don¡¯t respond at first.


    I tent my fingers over the book I was reading. ¡°No,¡± I decide. ¡°Go ahead and take care of it for me. Make sure that they¡¯re sentenced appropriately, make sure the locals know who it was that caused them so much generational trauma.¡±


    ¡°Yes, Your Highness, I¡¯ll see to it. I will leave in the morning.¡±


    ¡°Thank you, Luis. Oh. And one more thing: space them out? Once a month is fine, but all at once¡­¡±


    He nods with understanding and bows. ¡°My Prince.¡±


    I pick up the list when he leaves and scan the names and their suspected locations.


    Reiland Winters, Cavetown; Hans Schreiber, Cape Whistledon; Sybil Whitman, Whereabouts Unknown.


    That last one catches my eye. Everyone else on the list has some suspected location except for this last one. How had she avoided my intelligence networks, deeply rooted into the sprawling countryside? How had all of the other necromancers we¡¯d gotten to talk known about her but not where she could be?


    With such an uncommon name like that, too. The thought unnerved me, like an itch somewhere deep in my brain or my chest that I couldn¡¯t reach. I wondered if she was an old witch that lived in the deepest of the forest to the north. Maybe she only came into town once every five years to gather supplies she and her abominations couldn¡¯t build or make on their own. Maybe she was raising her own coven of little necromancer helions. Maybe she kidnapped them from the nearby cities, with her gnarled nose and warts, raising them to send me packing back to my country.


    She wasn¡¯t going to get very far, I decided with an annoyed huff. My body guards looked up from their positions nearby. I wave their curious glances away and they return to attention. I would need to send out decrees, reminding my new people that necromancy was no longer legal. From what I heard from my new entourage of courtiers, it didn¡¯t affect their daily life too much. It gave me some hope that the work I had put in wasn¡¯t in vain in Led. Soon enough, this would be my home, also¨Cand be welcome as the king I¡¯d eventually become, with my father¡¯s blessing.


    He¡¯d sent a few letters since my relative coronation in Led, congratulating me on the successful conquest. I¡¯d never felt his pride in me so clearly as I did that day. He was always a proud father, and I was never spared any of the greatest pleasures, even if I was the third son of five. He still spent as much time with me as he did my brothers; hunted with us, brought us all into court to hear the going ons of the kingdom, taught politics and tactical warfare. We were all groomed to be the best rulers we could be; so that even while not all of us would inherit Cainern, we might all someday rule. And so it was when I asked for permission to head up the acquisition of Led. The oldest of my brothers was preparing to take over the throne when my father passed, my second brother was heading up the treasury and he was not interested in conquering back what was ours most sacred. No one could fault him for it; he¡¯d built a comfortable life.


    Our father was proud of each of us in our own unique ways. Even my sisters. Considering the royals I¡¯d met from around the world while I was growing up, the fact that my father was a family man was a rarity among the gentry. Many of the other lords and regency would whisper behind closed doors that it made him weak ¨C but I had always understood it to be the opposite. It made us stronger as a family. There was very little interfamily bickering; and while we argued some, fought some, we were never so at odds with one another that we would ever betray the other. Little of the same could be said for our counterparts in other countries.


    ¡°Prince Antonio?¡± A voice comes at the door. It¡¯s Lord Banohr, the man who has lent us his home.


    ¡°Please, come in.¡± I say, standing from the desk. He bows as he enters. He¡¯s a slant man with a perpetually sweaty brow and red face. ¡°Thank you again for allowing us solace in your beautiful home.¡± I incline my head to him.


    ¡°Of course, Your Highness, it¡¯s my family¡¯s pleasure. We are so pleased you are gracing us with your presence.¡±


    ¡°Please rise,¡± I ask, and he does, meeting my eyes brazenly. Even still, I like the man, so I make no note of his indecency.


    ¡°My lord, as tomorrow is your last night in our midst, I would politely request your attendance in the party I am throwing in your honor.¡±


    ¡°A third of such,¡± I raise my eyebrow at him. Banohr has been keeping alcohol and music close at hand since we arrived. My guards are working in overdrive, each investigating each night to ensure my safety. We are all tired. ¡°Lord Banohr, I so appreciate your unparalleled hospitality, but we must rest before we start our journey back to the capitol tomorrow.¡±


    He looks crestfallen. ¡°Of course, Your Highness. It is only that, well, if you beg my pardon, my daughter is quite infatuated by you, and she has been seeking her courage to ask you to¡­¡±


    I feel my face fall into a steely expression, and his voice trails off, as if he swallows his words. I give him a smile so false I know he can see it. ¡°I am flattered your daughter thinks so highly of me, sir, but I insist we must really be on our way bright and early.¡±


    He is not an idiot and takes my meaning clearly. I am not searching for a wife, please do not broach the subject again.


    He bows politely. ¡°Right, sire. I¡¯ll take my leave. It would be an honor to be graced with your presence once more before you leave tomorrow morning.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯d be my pleasure,¡± I say, though I hardly mean it anymore. ¡°I will certainly see you at supper.¡±


    ¡°Yes, right. Well. If you¡¯ll excuse me.¡± He bows and I nod, dismissing him.


    The door closes firmly behind him and I take a seat behind the desk, gathering up another leaf of paper and a quill. It would behoove me to find a fiancee quickly so that nobles aren¡¯t actively trying to set me up with their children. Someone who understood their place as a figurehead and nothing more¨Cat least until I could properly settle. A contract agreement, I imagined, until I found the person I could be the family man my father demonstrated to me as a child. A clean break would be quiet, simple; they would be handsomely compensated for their time and commitment, and a new reigning sovereign would suddenly arise in their place.


    By the time I draw up my qualifications for the position of my fiancee, I realize it sounds ridiculous. I won¡¯t be able to start seeking a spouse until my enemies are totally quashed; whether for love or for my image alone. Which meant I needed to find Sybil Whitman.

 A Young Princeling and Dire Circumstance!?

    I spent the next three weeks on the road, completing my tour; meeting my new countryman. In every village I visited, I was met with suspicion, not that it surprised me. I could respect their concern: if my country had been overrun by a stranger, I would be wary too. It made me feel better to know that, at least, in many of the metropolitan areas, I often left to fanfare. I knew I couldn¡¯t win them all, but starting with the larger, commercial areas would eventually bleed into the smaller, rural communities. Before long, I would certainly have won over the hearts of the majority of the kingdom. It was only a matter of time.


    When I learned that my father and brothers intended to join me for the Midwinter festivities, I made certain to spruce up the place as best we could, drawing from the remaining coffers to decorate every room in the castle and prepare a fantastic feast. I had my staff prepare balls in honor of our guests, and invited the noble houses from all corners of the country. I hired and assigned staff to specific wings to best accommodate my family. I was excited to show them what I¡¯d made of the place.


    So when they arrived, and my father swept into the throne room and looked around, I expected the pride on his face. His brown eyes sparkled with delight at the tapestries and flags, the grand, lit trees in each corridor. I took particular pleasure in the glee in his face as I walked him around the various rooms. Once the grand tour had been completed, I brought them into my study to sit at the large map table and we get down to business.


    ¡°Antonio, you¡¯ve done a fantastic job,¡± my father tells me. I noticed while we were walking through the castle that some new lines had been added to his face since before the war; his black hair struck through with white. His mustache had been carefully twisted on either side of his lips, creating the semblance of an ever-present smile. He¡¯s sitting next to me, at the head of the table.


    I bow my head politely. ¡°Thank you, Father.¡±


    My brothers sit at the table, tenting their fingers and looking around with polite eyes, and my father raps his knuckles on the table. ¡°You¡¯ve certainly set this up nicely for Herman, he will have want for nothing.¡±


    My heart stalls and I think I mishear him. I look over at my brother, but he doesn¡¯t meet my eyes. I scratch my ear. ¡°Father, I didn¡¯t know I was conquering Led for the purpose of passing on the rule to Herman.¡±


    Father blinks at me, as if he cannot understand the words coming from my lips. He smiles. ¡°You think I was going to take control of it?¡±


    ¡°No, Father.¡± I tell him quickly, feeling absurd. Had I misunderstood something? Why was he passing it on to Herman? I had done a well-enough job of keeping Led on its course thus far, I¡¯d always assumed that I would be the one to rule it on behalf of Cainern.


    ¡°Right. Herman will take over from here, beginning in the new year.¡±


    Herman still doesn¡¯t meet my eyes. I feel ashamed at the sensation of betrayal that rears its head in my chest. ¡°Father, I beg your pardon. I was under the impression that you might have me rule Led.¡±


    ¡°Why would you think that?¡± Father doesn¡¯t seem particularly phased, so I feel confident in continuing.


    ¡°Herman is the head of the Treasury of Cainern, I was under the impression he was quite happy with that position and you were happy with him continuing that line of work. And besides,¡± I add, ¡°You approved of my coronation as the reigning king of Led just months ago.¡±


    ¡°That was to ensure that no Ledites could rise up suddenly and claim the throne,¡± Father explains. ¡°And Herman is your older brother. You will have many more conquests in the future, gather more, abundant land for Cainern¨Cmake us into the wealthiest alliance of countries the realm has seen. Let him have this one.¡±


    I swallow down what I can only name are selfish arguments: he didn¡¯t conquer it though, I want to say. He sat comfortably at home while I slept in tents and killed men. I had never resented my brothers for their comfortable seating back in Cainern during the great wars. Maybe now I did, just a little bit.


    I scratch the stubble that has overgrown on my face since the morning. ¡°Father, I never intended on any further conquests.¡±


    Father waved this away, ¡°What do you mean, Antoniolito?¡± He grasped my upper arm. ¡°You¡¯re so young and spry, there will be many opportunities for you to gain land and glory.¡± I frown, the rationale still not clicking in my mind in the doubling over to appease my father. ¡°You wouldn¡¯t want to imply you¡¯re in disagreement with the king of Cainern, would you?¡± He says it as a joke, but for the first time in my life, his words ring in my chest.


    I don¡¯t doubt for a moment that if I argued with my father here, he would find a way to snatch Led from my fingers. My holy land. The people of Led could not weather another battle against Cainern¨Cnot to mention that many of its current military was on retainer from Cainern. All I had to do was give up my battle right to my older brother. I was also struck with the sudden realization that I would never be able to trust my father again.


    I brooded during all of the balls. Father agreed with me that I did not want to alarm the subjects of Led by suddenly stepping down, so we would plan Herman¡¯s coronation in a few weeks¡¯ time. In the meantime, I was seated front and center for all of my new subjects to see. The false smile I had to plaster onto my face was threatening to become permanent. Herman still hadn¡¯t spoken to me, and every time I attempted to pull him aside and have a private conversation: learn if he was in on it the entire time, I had been interrupted or Herman found some way out of it, slipping away at the last moment possible. Soon enough, they all departed, and left me alone in my castle¨Cfor the last two weeks before I was forced to pass it along.


    After bidding farewell to my family that cold night, I hid myself away in my study where the fire roared in the hearth. I had a maidservant bring me a goblet of wine and I stared into the fire, watching it lick against the brick. Luis joined me at some point in the night, appearing suddenly at my elbow. ¡°Your King Father has left the staff with instructions to prepare for Herman¡¯s coronation.¡±


    I nod silently.


    ¡°You¡¯re just going to hand over Led like that?¡±


    I let my eyelids close, feeling so tired and heavy. ¡°Led cannot bear another war, not so soon.¡±


    ¡°You would go to war with your father?¡± Luis asks.


    My eyes fall open to the scarlet liquid. Yes, I want to say, but I remember the hunting trips and being taught to swim, I remember dark winter nights, like this one, where we would sit on the floor of the drawing room and play games to pass the time. Very suddenly, Sybil comes to mind for the first time in months. Was this what she felt when she vanished into thin air? I wondered. ¡°No.¡± I tell Luis. ¡°Not like this. Let Herman take it, it¡¯s better in the hands of the Cardenas family.¡±


    This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    Luis is quiet for a long while. ¡°Begging your pardon, my prince, but where is your pride?¡±


    I stare up at the ceiling. ¡°I wish I knew.¡±


    It happens before I can fully comprehend it: a flash of silver in the light, and my instincts have me throwing myself back in my chair, dodging the sharp knife and rolling away. My eyes are blurry, though, and my limbs are so heavy. Drugged. He drugged me? My closest confidante was trying to murder me.


    Luis approaches me slowly, and I cannot see his face in the shadow cast from the lit hearth. ¡°I¡¯m sorry for this, old friend.¡±


    ¡°Luis¨C¡± my head begins to swim, and panic sets in. I have to get away from this place as fast as possible. I have to flee. I have to¨Cbut I am too heavy. I crawl away from Luis until my body can move no more, and I ask: ¡°But why?¡±


    ¡°Hey, you. You¡¯re finally awake.¡± A gruff voice says as the world comes into focus from darkness.


    My body feels indescribably heavy. All of my limbs are weighed down with horses, even my neck feels like it¡¯s carrying thirty pounds. My mouth is parched dry. ¡°Wh..?¡± My voice is sluggish and cracked, as if unused for days.


    ¡°Take it easy, man, you¡¯ve been asleep since they caught you.¡±


    It¡¯s dark and I am laying on cold, hard stone. It smells like standing water and mildew. I am covered in caked dirt and my hair is clumped and scratchy. All of this, and my body hurts. ¡°C¡­?¡± My lips are cracked and my tongue is swollen. And I thought I could string two words together¨Chow terribly foolish I was.


    Arms lift me up into a sitting position and liquid touches my lips. Water fills my mouth and I swallow gratefully. It tastes bitter, acrid, and part of me wants to spit it out, but my body has a mind of its own: gulping down whatever is in the person¡¯s drinking vessel. ¡°There. Better?¡±


    I cough and try to speak again, and find that my mouth has decided to work again. ¡°Caught¡­ me?¡± My voice finally comes, but it feels coarse. I still feel too heavy, too shaky to move my limbs.


    ¡°You must have been caught if you¡¯re in here with me.¡±


    The face of the voice that is speaking to me swims into view. It¡¯s heavily lined from years in the sun and smiling, with odd-colored green eyes that watch me pitifully. When I don¡¯t respond, he shakes his head and mutters, ¡°So young, too.¡± He leans me back against the ground. ¡°I¡¯ll give you some more water in a bit, kid, but we¡¯ll need to conserve it as best we can while we¡¯re here.¡±


    Here? Where is here? I wonder, and then I hear an iron door slam in the distance, echoing through the hallways and it dawns on me: I¡¯m in a prison cell.


    I spend the first two days¨Cas far as I can tell, drifting in and out like I was¨Cgathering my strength. Simon, as I¡¯d gotten to know him, kept a close eye on me, sharing his water with me when he could, but he was right: we had to ration it. Once a day, they brought us a few heels of bread and a skin of water to replace the empty one. There was not enough water to wash. There was barely enough water for us to drink, as it was. The third day, I was sitting up again, and fully processing what had happened to get me here: my father performed the quietest coup in history, immediately followed by my closest friend trying to kill me.


    But why didn¡¯t he? The thought probes at the back of my mind as I gather my strength over the following days, but I can¡¯t rationally find the reason.


    Simon and I don¡¯t talk much as the days pass. I think we¡¯re trying to conserve our energy the best we can¨Cand no guards come to get me to question me.


    The best that I can gather is I¡¯ve been arrested, or worse: left for dead. But for what crime, I can only guess at. Simon doesn¡¯t seem to recognize me, but I reckon it¡¯s either because he has been in this cell for longer than I¡¯ve been reigning king¨Cor because I¡¯m so beat up, or because it¡¯s in Northern Led, well beyond the reaches of my post-war tour.


    Eventually, I feel up to talking. ¡°How often do they come in to check on us?¡± I ask him.


    ¡°Every morning with food?¡± Simon raises an eyebrow. They are both leaning back against the cold wall, facing the cast-iron bars.


    I shake my head. ¡°I mean, on your case?¡±


    ¡°What case?¡± Simon¡¯s eyebrows furrowed. I hesitate. I¡¯ve heard a million stories about how men in prisons get seriously injured for merely asking what the other is in for. Simon sees the worry on my face and cracks a sad smile. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, kid. We don¡¯t get cases. We¡¯re in here.¡±


    ¡°This is it? No trial?¡± I ask, worry gnawing in my stomach.


    Simon shrugs. ¡°I¡¯ve been in here a long time, kid. Nobody¡¯s come for me. Not since they threw you in with me.¡±


    My stomach drops into my feet. ¡°What did you do to get in here?¡±


    Simon shrugs. ¡°Would you believe me if I told you I was the wrong guy?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± I tell him honestly, turning my gaze to my feet in threadbare sandals.


    ¡°I didn¡¯t think so.¡± He yawns. It¡¯s been a long day of staring at the cracks in the cobblestones, and the sun has long-set. ¡°How about you?¡±


    I chew on the inside of my cheek. ¡°Would you believe me if I said that I don¡¯t have the slightest idea?¡±


    ¡°No.¡± He chuckled. ¡°Besides, there¡¯s not much hope for us anymore. Once that young prince took the throne¡­ well, no one knows what¡¯s to come.¡±


    ¡°The young prince?¡± I ask.


    He regards me with narrowed eyes, ¡°How hard did you hit your head?¡±


    I wince. ¡°Maybe harder than I realized.¡±


    ¡°Antonio de Cardenas,¡± Simon says, leaning his head back against the wall. ¡°Maybe a fine guy, all in all, but terribly misguided. He¡¯s the reason I¡¯m in here.¡±


    My name sounds so strange coming from his mouth, as if it¡¯s someone else¡¯s name.


    ¡°Is he?¡± I swallow nervously.


    Simon nods slowly. ¡°Water under the bridge for dead men like us, kid.¡± He turns over and settles into his straw bedroll. ¡°See you in the morning. Save your strength. Maybe tomorrow someone will tell you what your crime is.¡±


    I nod. ¡°Maybe someone will come tell you you¡¯re an innocent man,¡± I mutter, because against my better judgment I truly believe him. He gives a friendly grunt and is asleep before I can ask him any more questions.


    Why did my relatively short reign cause him to be in this prison cell? Why was I in this prison cell? The only people I held a vendetta against, in any capacity, were war-criminals and¡­ necromancers.


    I watch Simon¡¯s back and the rise and fall of his breath. The man who had nursed me back to health, even though there was no guarantee that it wouldn¡¯t bite him later¨Cbut from the kindness of his heart. He could have kept the water skin to himself, or could have eaten the two portions of rations. He could have left me to die.


    But he didn¡¯t.


    Either he was repenting, or he actually was an innocent man.


    I turn over in my own bedroll and fall back into my angry musings, thinking of my father and my brother; thinking of Luis. I let the rage roll in my stomach and my head. I¡¯d been gone so long, there was no reason that my father hadn¡¯t come to take me from this cell. Unless, of course, he thought I was dead. Or even worse¨Cif he¡¯d wanted this to happen since the beginning.

 Sybil: Two Years in and Im not sure if Im safe? Am I safe!?

    <h2>Sybil</h2>


    I wipe the sweat from my brow in the hot sun, stretching my sore back and looking over the fields. My bone-family was working tirelessly under the summer sun. It¡¯s a weeding day, and there are some fields that need harvesting. The eleven of us have been working since dawn.


    Already, two years have passed. The war had come and gone, with the barest of whispers in Yvolstein¡¯s bar in Reisau, and then¡­ nothing.


    My fingers and shoulders ache, and it¡¯s just about quitting time. Via lets her basket drop a row over from me and flops onto the soft earth. ¡°I am done!¡± she moans.


    I hide my smile. The little goddess has not stopped throwing her fits, and she hasn¡¯t left my side since the first day either. Whenever I asked, she would say something about learning my secrets, or getting ideas on sidelining the war. But since the Cardenas royal family took the Ledian crown, she found other excuses like: ¡°Need to keep an eye on you, make sure you don¡¯t lose your head.¡±


    I didn¡¯t mind her company, at the end of the day, and I couldn¡¯t quite figure out how to convince her to leave¨Ceven if I wanted her to. Besides that, she helped my crops grow faster, more abundantly, and larger than I could manage on my own merits, and Maggie had long fallen in love with her spunk.


    The great footsteps of Henry make me look up again. ¡°Are you done too?¡± I ask them.


    Their copper magic touches mine with a gentle nudge. They want me to rest, actually. I sigh and pick up my basket and Vi¡¯s. ¡°Okay,¡± I tell them both. ¡°Let¡¯s call it a day then.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ve wanted some of that cold drink Yvolstein¡¯s concocted, too.¡± Via agrees. ¡°Don¡¯t want to keep you from that.¡±


    I smirk. I don¡¯t know about any of Yvolstein¡¯s new creations. ¡°Goddess, that does sound good.¡±


    ¡°It would be good for a goddess too,¡± Vi says casually, jumping up to follow behind me, clasping her hands behind her back in casual nonchalance.


    ¡°I think I¡¯ve given quite enough offerings to the local goddess,¡± I tease, ¡°I¡¯m beginning to feel like a fanatic.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t think the gods can get enough offerings, frankly.¡±


    ¡°Can they not?¡±


    ¡°They certainly won¡¯t be opposed to a cold offering on a hot summer¡¯s day,¡± Via points out.


    ¡°Alright, we¡¯ll go down to Reisau.¡± I pretend to cave, as if I hadn¡¯t already anticipated taking her into town anyways. Besides, I had some friends I needed to visit. It¡¯d been a week since we¡¯d been down to town with all the harvest preparations we¡¯d been at. Haven and Soleil were eager to continue the card game we¡¯d left off on. We dropped off our baskets with Lasis in the processing room first.


    They arranged them in the stacks of baskets to sift through. ¡°It¡¯s looking good so far, Sybil.¡± They tell me. ¡°I¡¯ll need you to meet with some buyers on Tuesday. They¡¯re interested in buying up our wheat for flour when those are ready.¡±


    I wince. Lasis has been in charge of most of our shipment, since they¡¯ve had a mind for numbers and business. They were unfortunately limited with business meetings, considering their lack of flesh and the new laws against necromancy. I¡¯d had to learn fairly quickly how to conduct myself in business meetings. The first few times, Lasis tutored me late into the night until I managed the right face, and didn¡¯t allow myself to be low-balled during their roleplaying business agreement meetings. ¡°Where are they coming from?¡±


    ¡°Blaiszen.¡±


    I whistle low. ¡°That¡¯s pretty far.¡±


    They shrug and gesture at Via who has laid down on a potato sack and has her arms thrown over her face. ¡°Word¡¯s gotten around,¡± they say, as if that explains everything.


    It does.


    I rub my temples. ¡°Okay. Tuesday you said? Where?¡±


    ¡°They¡¯re willing to come here but¡­¡± Lasis drums their phallanges on the wooden desk where they¡¯ve been keeping a careful ledger of our inventory.


    ¡°Got it. Write that I will meet them in Torsen, then.¡±


    Lasis nods. ¡°You¡¯ve got it.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re heading into town, do you know if we need anything?¡±


    They thumb through the ledger, consider, then shake their head. ¡°No, I think we¡¯re good.¡±


    I nod and gather up the limp Via, twisting her small frame onto my back. She grips around me gratefully and rests her head on my neck. She still had the constitution of an eleven year old, despite being an ageless being. She would bounce back after a little nap. ¡°Alright. Thank you, Lasis.¡±


    They wave me off. ¡°See you later tonight.¡±


    In the past two years, we¡¯ve built up an impressive compound of sorts. The farmhouse had been expanded from a small loft shed by building off of it. We¡¯d included a dining room and a reading room, and a few extra rooms in the loft area for when Soleil and Haven, or any other visitors from town, needed to stay the night.


    The shed the constructs had built on our first day together had been remodeled into a barn, and they had built another building that suited each of them more closely. While none of them strictly slept or ate, they still needed to experience stasis to regenerate energy after long stretches of arduous labor. Their building had been built in anticipation for the necromancy ban, and so from the outside looked like another nondescript processing facility. Inside, however, each soul had their own room, decorated to their own unique expression. Samantha¡¯s room was filled with flowers, both potted and cut; Lasis¡¯ room was fashioned in a minimalist fashion; Roderick¡¯s room was filled with various tools and a few flower boxes to test different fertilizers; Amelia¡¯s was filled with color and decorated in plush pillows and rugs; Jun¡¯s room was covered in the various quilts they¡¯d stitched together in the past few years with a singular rocking chair underneath the window; Willard¡¯s walls were covered in tapestries depicting knights and battles long past, and he¡¯d accumulated quite a collection of rapiers; Jim¡¯s room was darker in color, filled from ceiling to floor with books; Rose¡¯s room was simple yet plush, leaning on a cool colored theme; Neil¡¯s room held a myriad of sailing paraphernalia; and Morgan¡¯s contained practice dummies and pugilist gloves. Henry had a large room all to themselves in the back of the house, also. Soleil had helped fashion them a door that they could use comfortably without needing to duck or turn sideways. Their room was filled with small potted succulents and plants trimmed to look like little trees.


    The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    In all my years as a practitioner before Reisau, I¡¯d never seen constructs express themselves so creatively. It was such an honor to lend a little bit to their after-life joy.


    As we walk back to the farmhouse, Henry scoops us up and sets us on their shoulder. I grip onto one of their vertebrae and lean into them. Our magic twines together in a gentle embrace. ¡°You¡¯re tired today, too,¡± I comment, pressing the purple and green magic of my soul into the sensation of their copper essence.


    They nod.


    ¡°But you¡¯re worried?¡± They incline their head, considering.


    Henry has remained mute over the years, but we¡¯ve learned together that with inflections of our mana, we¡¯re able to communicate. Above all, they have remained my closest construct; my silent guardian. They¡¯d also taken quite a liking to Via.


    Henry nods finally in decision and their copper magic presses in shapes against mine. Is war coming? You are worried, they sign.


    ¡°I am,¡± I say, signing back. I hesitate. ¡°I don¡¯t know what happens next.¡±


    Henry nods. No need to worry. They sign. We are safe here. We are secret.


    My fingers tighten against Henry¡¯s vertebra as we get closer to the house. I sign back to Henry. What if they kill me? I don¡¯t say the words aloud. Via¡¯s grip around my shoulders and middle is still tired, but I know she¡¯s still awake, listening.


    Henry¡¯s magic is gentle and it curls around me. I won¡¯t let them, they say simply, concretely with the punctuation of finality that suggests they don¡¯t need to expand on the details.


    You¡¯ve been around for centuries, Henry, I don¡¯t want to risk your life.


    Henry lifts a massive hand and ever-so-gently pats me on their shoulder as their copper magic signs against mine: It is what I was created for.


    I don¡¯t like that.


    We¡¯ve reached the house and they gently lift me from their shoulder and set me and Via on the ground. I swing the half-asleep goddess around to my front, finding it a little easier to balance her on my hip. Henry seems to smile down at me. Do you want me to carry you into the village? They ask.


    ¡°Not this time,¡± I say aloud this time, still signing against their magic. ¡°Go rest, please?¡±


    I will, they sign and dip their head to me. I lift my hand and press it gently against their skull.


    ¡°Thank you,¡± I say.


    Yes.


    They straighten and amble toward the construct building and I carry Via into the house. Jun meets me at the door. ¡°Getting warm out there,¡± they say, lifting Via from my arms and settling her into the plush couch. She curls herself around a pillow like a cat, and is fast asleep before we make it to the kitchen.


    ¡°It is. Via wants to go into town in a bit. Thought we might rest a little before heading down.¡±


    Jun clicks their teeth. ¡°You need water.¡± They say simply, filling a glass from the tap. Running water was a fun luxury that Haven helped me with a year ago. I would never be able to thank her enough for the marvel that was indoor plumbing. They hand it to me and I gulp it gratefully, leaning against the counter. ¡°And probably a bath,¡± Jun adds, watching me with an incredulous look in their eye.


    ¡°Thank you, Jun,¡± I mutter sardonically at the grumpy skeleton. Their magic brushes against mine like a gentle chuckle, but they don¡¯t respond.


    ¡°House is clean,¡± they say instead. ¡°Storm coming though.¡±


    I wince. ¡°You ought to go take a break, then. Thank you.¡±


    They nod. ¡°I can do that,¡± they say. ¡°I also set aside a light lunch for you both, if you wanted to eat before you head down.¡±


    ¡°Okay, thank you, Jun. I¡¯ll check in with Via.¡±


    Jun grasps my arm as they pass in a gentle salutation before leaving the room. I gather up lunch from the icebox and sit down to eat. I know Via will be bouncing off the walls in just a few moments, but for now I want to enjoy the silence.


    My mind darts back over the news I¡¯d heard from town before we got started in our harvesting work. Word had come into Yvolstein¡¯s tavern from a traveling vendor heading north from the southlands, by Cainern. It¡¯d been six months since the Cainern Cardenas king had taken over the throne, deposing the young mad prince, Antonio. The man that I could never bring herself to hate. No one had seen or heard from him since King Herman¡¯s coronation. There were rumors abounding that he had been killed, resulting in a seamless transition of power. Some rumors said he¡¯d run off to save himself the embarrassment of his brother sitting on his throne. That all to say that Herman de Cardenas was not a better ruler than the young Antonio. Frankly, the laws pertaining to non-human creatures were increasing at an alarming pace.


    While I had never worried about death, in the sense of the matter that I did not fear dying but was concerned for the wellbeing of my family on the farm, I was beginning to worry about my newfound friends in Reisau and their livelihoods. It was hard enough running a full operation managed primarily by the undead with a living and breathing person as its figurehead¨Cit was another story entirely for those, like Soleil, who could not change or glamour their appearance away into humanoid. The drider would live a very long and very lonely life. Not to mention the others who could glamour themselves into resembling humans and flying under the radar¨Cthey would never quite feel safe in a world that had deemed them evil creatures.


    I hadn¡¯t cared for politics during the wars all those years and a life ago, but now I kept my ear a little closer to the ground. If the fanatic druid-descendants from Cainern could take over our country and establish its own legislation outlawing my kind, I will have lost everything I ever held dear.


    My duty to my tradition warred within me with the desire to remain in my newfound peaceful life on the farm. What good could I do on my own? So I was the last necromancer, and no necromancers was not an improvement over one. I didn¡¯t have an army to face the Cainern king, and they had already embedded themselves into the acting military. I couldn¡¯t use my voice: I don¡¯t think they would take kindly to a necromancer waltzing into their castle seeking audience with their king.


    And beyond all of that: my bone family needed me, my supernatural friends in town needed me. If I were to go galavanting through the doors to reclaim ¨C what, exactly? I wouldn¡¯t risk only my own life, but the lives of everyone I held dear. My ¡°real¡± family was long-dead, bound by duty and purpose. I would not let myself meet the same fate.

 Sybil: Cozy Driders and Cute Blacksmiths are TOTALLY my favorite past time...

    Sybil


    After I finish lunch, I rouse Via so that she can eat before we head into town. It¡¯s a hot walk and by the time we make it to Maggie¡¯s house, Via runs ahead to let herself into the mayor¡¯s home to get some cool air and a beverage. Maggie is, frankly, fairly in love with the little goddess, and has been treating her like her own daughter for the past three years.


    I hear the tell-tale sound of Haven¡¯s hammer pounding metal. I crouch down in the dusty town street and thread my magic to the blacksmith¡¯s shop. She¡¯s wearing leather boots coated in old bloody residue. I press against the organic matter with a tendril of magic that snakes up her ankle and hear something clatter in the distance. I retract my magic and stifle a chuckle, drawing myself up. ¡°SYBIL!¡± I hear her yell over the tops of the houses, but I¡¯m already walking towards Soleil¡¯s.


    I know he¡¯s fast asleep, avoiding the hot of the summer, so I don¡¯t let myself in. I do, however, leave a small bag of vegetables and a little pouch of bugs we¡¯ve trapped as a treat, in the parcel box he¡¯s built outside his home. Then I finish my trek to the tavern, where Yvolstein has supposedly thrown together a new drink for summer. I find a seat along the edge of the large dining room. He waves pleasantly from behind the bar and turns to mix his magic. Yvolestein is Reisau¡¯s resident satyr with curly golden hair that covers up the little horns atop his head. During the day, he uses the apothecary¡¯s glamour potions to appear as human as he can, in case of surprise visitors.


    It seems exhausting, frankly, but no expense is spared in the protection of our town.


    He sets down the green, minty drink in front of me and returns to work when Haven barges in. ¡°Did you have to scare the fire-loving¨C¡±


    I push the glass towards her as she collapses into the chair, untying her hair to fall around her face in auburn waves. She tips the glass back and glugs it down gratefully, and I watch her with tented fingers. ¡°You were saying?¡± I grin.


    She sets the emptied glass on the table and shakes her head, trying to catch her breath from her run to the tavern and chugging the cold liquid. ¡°Whatever,¡± she grumbles. ¡°I¡¯ve missed you,¡± she mumbles and I squeeze her hand affectionately.


    ¡°Didn¡¯t like my surprise?¡± I tease.


    ¡°I thought you¡¯d be up at the farm all week.¡± Her change in subject isn¡¯t lost on me but I let it go and shrug.


    ¡°Vi wanted Yvolstein¡¯s new drink¨Chow was it, by the way?¡±


    She leans back and taps the side of her glass, ¡°Going to need another one, I couldn¡¯t tell,¡± she grins knowingly at me and I roll my eyes.


    ¡°Yvolstein?¡± I turn and he grins, ducking back beneath the bar to make another. I sigh, returning to Haven. ¡°You¡¯re going to drink me out of house and home.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s only half of what you deserve¨Cthank you!¡± Yvolstein sets another two glasses in front of us and winks, whisking away Haven¡¯s empty glass.


    ¡°Thank you,¡± I smile back at the satyr and take my own drink into my hands. Cold condensation has already beaded on the outside of the glass. I take a tentative sip. The delightful refreshing flavor of mint and cucumber fill my mouth. ¡°Oh, that is nice,¡± I whisper, closing my eyes.


    ¡°Yvolstein is practically a drink-god,¡± Haven agrees.


    ¡°I¡¯ve not been gone that long,¡± I argue, returning back to the previous subject.


    ¡°Long enough that Soleil is winning all of my hard-earned money.¡±


    I smile, ¡°You¡¯re just upset you don¡¯t get to take all of mine.¡±


    Haven runs her fingers over the rim of her glass. ¡°I¡¯m back to being the bottom,¡± she smiles teasingly, ¡°Soleil is just too good.¡±


    Our regular poker games had been put on hold since work picked up on the farm. ¡°It¡¯s only been a week,¡± I remind her.


    She squeezes my forearm, ¡°A week is a long time.¡± Her brown eyes meet mine longingly and my stomach drops out. ¡°Even Sol is hiding from the sun. I barely see him either. And he misses you.¡±


    I can¡¯t help the warmth in my face and I drop my gaze, squeezing her arm back. ¡°I can¡¯t convince you guys to come up to the farm? Take a vacation?¡±


    Haven shakes her head and groans. ¡°There¡¯s an order coming up from Torsen I have to fulfill.¡±


    ¡°You hate taking orders in the summer,¡± I point out, tracing my fingers over the back of her wrist, biting down the butterflies that fill my stomach.


    ¡°I do,¡± she sighs, eyelids fluttering closed. She sets her forehead on the wood of the table and groans. ¡°I have to get back to it. He¡¯s paying me a lot of good money.¡±


    I smile and sit back. ¡°Want me to come? Keep you company?¡±


    She shakes her head, standing. She leans on the table and pushes my hair back from my face, pressing her soft lips into my forehead. My arms automatically circle her waist. ¡°You¡¯d be too distracting,¡± she tells me. ¡°Besides, it¡¯s too hot outside.¡±


    ¡°I work outside.¡±


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    ¡°Not in a forge, you don¡¯t.¡± She pulls away, ¡°Take a nice break. Go wake up Sol, he¡¯d like that.¡±


    ¡°Are you sure?¡± I ask. ¡°He won¡¯t be too grumpy?¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s been a puddle of mope this past week, grumpy is the last thing he¡¯d be.¡± She assures me. She looks around. ¡°Where is Vi, anyways?¡±


    I shrug, ¡°Maggie¡¯s got her.¡±


    She grins, ¡°Such a grandmother, that one.¡± She squeezes my hand again. ¡°Okay, bye.¡±


    ¡°Bye,¡± I smile up at her and with a hesitant sparkle in her eye, she returns to press a gentle kiss against my mouth. Her lips are cool and minty from the drink, but also cracked. I return the kiss and grasp her chin, pushing her gently away. ¡°Promise me you¡¯ll drink some water?¡±


    ¡°I will.¡± She kisses me again. ¡°I¡¯m really, really happy to see you, Syb.¡±


    ¡°Me too.¡±


    She hurries out before she can change her mind and I lean back in my chair, stretching my arms above my head. I wait a bit for Vi and Maggie, but when they don¡¯t appear, I pay Yvolstein and thank him again for the refreshment. I leave him some money in case Via shows up.


    Entering Soleil¡¯s house is always easy. In the time that I¡¯ve spent getting to know him and Haven, I¡¯d learned that he is as ditzy as he is clever. I¡¯d learned that his nose is always stuffed into his books and his mind is always somewhere else. I¡¯d seen the first of his clumsiness when it came to my roof. Even while I was terrified of him, and Haven needed to mediate between us since I could not hold even a hammer near him without trembling, he was particularly endearing. His hair had been pulled into a high ponytail and his spectacles tucked into a shirt pocket. His brow had furrowed and his porcelain face shone with sweat. Every time he dropped a nail, it would roll past the reach of his long, spidery legs, and he would panic, four eyes widening as he dashed to the edge of the roof to catch them. He blanched at the size of Henry when they¡¯d first met, but quickly became comfortable with the hulking construct who was his primary ally when it came to dropping nails.


    Henry liked Sol. If they liked Sol, I could too.


    The room was dark when I entered. Haven had installed his summer shades on the inside of his windows: keeping the heat and sunlight out and the cool air in.


    I hear his gentle snores before my eyes adjust to the light. He¡¯s curled up in a nest pulled together with straw and open books. A thin sheet of paper clings to his arm, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, crossed over his black, fuzzy abdomen. I cross the room and gently peel the sheet of paper away from his skin. There¡¯s a vial of spilled ink he must have knocked over when he fell asleep. His eight legs are curled beneath him, his bulbous abdomen arched into the air behind him, and his black hair spreads out in a pool around him. He moans in his sleep and one pair of his eyes blinks open at the brush of my fingertips. ¡°Wha¨C?¡± His lower eyes pop open and he sits up. ¡°Syb is that you?¡±


    I close the book he¡¯s fallen across, using a few strands of straw as a bookmark and lift his face. His study has exploded since I was last here, the usual mess approaching catastrophic levels. ¡°What have you been working on?¡± I ask him, bewildered.


    He blinks blearily at me, as if he can¡¯t believe I¡¯m not a dream, and worry wrinkles his brow. ¡°Don¡¯t be angry,¡± he murmurs, pulling me into him. His clothes are rumpled and his hair is greasy, and he smells like ink and paper and sleep.


    ¡°I won¡¯t be,¡± I tell him.


    He snuggles his massive body around mine, eyes drifting back into sleep. ¡°Good,¡± his deep voice thrums in his chest. His arms are warm, and his spider body is soft against my legs. It takes all of three deep, sleep-ridden breaths, before he freezes beneath me. He sits up again, black eyes shooting open. ¡°Sybil?¡± I smile and sit up, pulling straw from my hair, but he barrels into me, pressing me into his nest. ¡°You¡¯re really here?¡± His abdomen sways in the air, like a puppy wagging its tail.


    ¡°I¡¯m here,¡± I tell him, snaking my arms around his neck.


    He presses his lips into my neck and inhales deeply. ¡°You feel real.¡±


    I kiss his cheekbone. ¡°I don¡¯t think I¡¯m a dream.¡±


    He sighs contentedly and settles me into his lap, his many legs building a soft cage around us as he nuzzles into my hair. ¡°How is the farm?¡± He asks, resting his face against my head.


    ¡°It¡¯s great.¡± I tell him gently. He¡¯s trying to stay awake for my sake, and I fight against the wave of guilt for waking him up.


    ¡°The harvest? Is it going well enough? And the bones?¡±


    ¡°Bones are all good,¡± I say. ¡°What kept you up so late?¡± I pluck a paper from the straw and wave it in his face.


    He blushes and reaches for the sheet. ¡°Nothing.¡± I pull it away from him and look at the ink. It¡¯s written in glyphs I don¡¯t understand, so I let him swipe it away, his free hand gripping my waist. ¡°It¡¯s just¡­ work.¡±


    I capture his face and make him look at me. All four eyes take me in, unblinking. ¡°Did one of your essays get accepted?¡± I ask.


    He grins sheepishly. ¡°Too soon to say,¡± he says it quietly, like a secret. He sets the sheet of paper down and tucks his face into my neck again. ¡°I¡¯m afraid that I may jinx it.¡±


    ¡°You are a jinx.¡± I tease him.


    He doesn¡¯t answer, but I feel him smile.


    ¡°Haven tells me you¡¯ve been stealing all of her money.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re her luck,¡± he tells me, voice vibrating pleasantly against my skin.


    I smile, ¡°I¡¯m your luck, too.¡±


    He pauses for a beat, then squeezes me into a hug. ¡°You are, yes.¡± He pulls away. ¡°Have you seen her? She¡¯s been missing you.¡±


    I cradle his face in my hands. ¡°I did. I didn¡¯t want to wake you.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m glad you did,¡± Soleil tells me, ¡°Did she tell you to?¡±


    ¡°She did.¡±


    He hums approvingly. ¡°I thought you were a dream,¡± he says. ¡°Do you have to go?¡±


    I wrap my arms around his shoulders and squeeze him tightly. ¡°I do. I¡¯ve got Vi with me.¡±


    ¡°I like Vi,¡± he tells me, voice drifting into sleep.


    In the past three years, Via has been a staple in my daily life. After she realized she couldn¡¯t get answers about the war from me, she stuck around. She said that eventually I would cave, but I think it was just that she liked hanging around. We liked her, too. Not that I thought I could get rid of her at this point, even if I wanted to. I didn¡¯t. Want to, that is. ¡°I do too,¡± I tell him.


    He kisses my shoulder and pulls away. ¡°Alright. You better go then.¡±


    ¡°Can I clean up a little bit for you?¡± I ask, looking around his nest that looks like it had been set upon by the gremlins of Bookvale.


    He smiles sleepily at me and shakes his head. ¡°Thank you, it¡¯s okay. I have a method to this madness,¡± he says it like an oath, and I crack a grin. He captures my lips in his and I melt into him. He leans me into his front legs, curling himself around me. He breaks it and presses his forehead against mine. ¡°You better go before I keep you for myself, Miss Whitman,¡± he threatens. I squeeze my arms around his strong middle and extract myself from his many appendages. He watches me go with a sleepy grin. ¡°When I see you next, I¡¯ll have an essay accepted by the Academy of Magic,¡± he promises me.


    ¡°I believe it,¡± I tell him, dropping a kiss onto his head. ¡°Rest now, though.¡±


    He folds into himself and is asleep before I can grab him a blanket.

 Sybil: Building hostels for the unglamoured

    I join Via and Maggie back at Yvolstein¡¯s after I store some of the vegetables and bugs in Soleil¡¯s pantry and cleaned up a few things around his little house. Not enough to stress him out, but enough that he would know that I was there¨Cthat I wasn¡¯t a dream, and that I cared for him very much.


    They¡¯re sitting up at the bar, drinking the same minty cucumber drinks. Maggie¡¯s gray has come in thick streaks in her auburn hair and the lines have deepened in her face. They look up when the door closes behind me and a rush of hot air floods the dining room.


    Maggie smiles warmly, ¡°Sybil, I was wondering where you got off to.¡±


    Via rolls her eyes and sucks at her drink from the straw Yvolstein commissioned Haven for specifically for their tiny zombie resident. ¡°Probably seeing Haven and Spider Guy.¡±


    ¡°Oh, they¡¯ve been proper mopey since you¡¯ve been up at the farm,¡± Maggie pats the seat beside her and I take it gratefully.


    ¡°Thanks. Yeah, I¡¯ve missed them too,¡± I tell the mayor, eyeing Vi on the other side of her. Vi ignores me, kicking her feet. I lean on the counter, ¡°Thank you for hanging out with Vi.¡±


    ¡°Of course, she¡¯s such a sweetie,¡± Maggie rubs Vi¡¯s back and the little goddess swells with pride, as if she isn¡¯t thousands of years old, but is actually the eleven year old sitting on a bar stool with her grandmother Maggie believes her to be. ¡°I¡¯m glad you were able to see them. It¡¯s been making my job a little harder, keeping an eye on those two.¡±


    I chuckle. Soleil can only work through the night in the summer because of the heat, and he picks up much of the physical labor around the town when he¡¯s not buried in his books. He and Haven make a fantastic team in keeping the town of Reisau in shape. ¡°How is Reisau?¡± I ask her.


    ¡°Getting busier, against all odds,¡± Maggie sounds stressed. Yvolstein¡¯s head drops a little behind the counter.


    ¡°More visitors?¡± I ask.


    She nods solemnly. ¡°We used to only get a few people here and there, now we see more than twenty new faces daily.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s got all of us on edge,¡± Yvolstein adds, his honeysuckle voice trickling over the bar.


    ¡°Probably keeps Mathieus¡¯ business thriving,¡± I joke half-heartedly.


    Maggie nods. ¡°Yes, but his stocks are running low.¡± Her knuckles tighten on the glass. ¡°Sybil, I hate to intrude but¡­¡±


    I level a hand on her shoulder. ¡°I can ask the bones if they wouldn¡¯t mind building some housing. Just in case.¡±


    She smiles at me, her eyes tired. ¡°Thank you, Sybil.¡±


    I nod. ¡°When is the next town hall?¡±


    ¡°Tuesday. Will you be able to come?¡±


    I shake my head, ¡°Lasis has me meeting with a buyer in Torsen. Haven¡¯s got an order to drop, so I might accompany her.¡± I smile, ¡°If she¡¯ll have me.¡±


    Maggie casts a side glance at Vi, and I pick up on her hint. ¡°Vi, sweetie, I have an order from Mathieus pending, can you go pick it up for me?¡±


    Vi rolls her eyes at me where Maggie can¡¯t see and I shoot her an apologetic smile. I¡¯ll fill her in later. ¡°Sure, Mom,¡± she chides and hops off the stool.


    We wait until the door closes behind her and Maggie leans forward, ¡°Sorry, Syb. I don¡¯t want to scare Via.¡±


    I wince. ¡°That¡¯s okay, Mags. What¡¯s going on?¡±


    ¡°We got word that they¡¯re moving some prisoners through, heading up north. They should be through on Tuesday.¡±


    I frown. ¡°Prisoners?¡±


    She shrugs, ¡°I have some connections in Torsen that have warned us.¡±


    ¡°Must be some pretty rough folks if we¡¯re getting warned.¡±


    She shrugs, ¡°You¡¯re right that we don¡¯t normally hear about it, but I can¡¯t say I know for sure.¡±


    ¡°But it makes you worried.¡±


    She nods, steepling her fingers over her drink. ¡°We don¡¯t have any town guard or policing. Never needed it.¡±


    I wince, ¡°I wish I could lend you Willard or Henry. They¡¯ve kept us pretty safe.¡±


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    ¡°They can¡¯t glamour though,¡± Maggie agrees. She rests a hand on mine. ¡°Anyways, I¡¯m telling you this because I need to know your farm is going to be safe.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll make sure everyone stays inside.¡± I assure her.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, I know that interferes with your harvest.¡±


    I shake my head. ¡°Don¡¯t worry about that. Will they be staying in town?¡±


    ¡°I hope not, but who can say?¡± She sighs. ¡°These new laws will be the end of us.¡±


    I pat her hand gently, a small fear nagging in the back of my neck.


    That night I stare up at my ceiling. Worry has tied itself into a knot in my stomach and the tea that Jun brought up for me has grown cold in my stomach. I explained to Via on the way home what Maggie had told me. She was quiet for a little while, but she eventually nodded and changed the subject. It did nothing to assuage my concerns that the goddess Herself didn¡¯t want to talk about it.


    I turn over, folding my pillow under my head.


    There¡¯s a light knock on my door and I sit up, ¡°Come in.¡±


    ¡°Still awake?¡± Samantha asks, shuffling into the room. She sits on the edge of my bed.


    I can¡¯t help but smile. ¡°What brings you up to the house anyways, Sam?¡± I pull my pillow into my lap and cross my legs. She leans back, crossing her arms behind her skull.


    ¡°Jun mentioned some cobwebs up in the ceiling rafters, they couldn¡¯t reach it themselves. Thought I¡¯d help.¡±


    I smile. ¡°You all are so kind.¡±


    ¡°I hope I didn¡¯t wake you.¡±


    I shake my head. ¡°You were very quiet.¡±


    We sit in the quiet for awhile before she pipes up. ¡°So¡­? Is it the same reason Vi can¡¯t sleep?¡±


    The thought of Via lying in her own bed doing the same thing I was tugged on my heart. ¡°Maybe? I can¡¯t imagine the stresses of the mortal world really worry our goddess over the turnings of the cosmos.¡±


    Samantha laughs, her pink magic glitters in the air. ¡°She loves us a lot.¡±


    I agree. In the time that we¡¯ve spent together, I¡¯d expected her to turn into the forest and return to her work as a deity. Instead, she slept in our home and ate our food; she made friends with the people of Reisau under the guise of a little girl, and helped our crops grow. Every once in awhile, maybe two or three times a year, she might disappear into the forest for a few days, but would return as though she had never left to begin with. She stopped asking me about the life that had been, and how different this timeline was from the one that I had experienced. Not that I could tell her. Even then, as time marched on, it was becoming more and more difficult for me to guess what had changed since my resurrection had altered the line we¡¯d set upon.


    Sometimes I did wonder if some of the events in the shift of power would have been different. Some sort of butterfly effect that would have resulted in some sort of overturn of the power grab. There was no doubting that Led was more prosperous financially since it had been invaded by the Cainern empire. It probably influenced the increase in visitors in the area, too.


    Samantha nudges my leg with her knee, bringing me back to her question. Sigh and knock my head back against the headboard. ¡°I¡¯m going to be out of town when a prison escort comes through,¡± I tell her. ¡°And we need to start building some temporary lodgings in the east fields once we clear out the wheat. Reisau is getting busy.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s not a good thing,¡± Samantha agrees. ¡°I see why you¡¯re worried.¡±


    I nod.


    ¡°Have Haven and Soleil said anything?¡±


    ¡°I didn¡¯t get a chance to talk with either of them much today.¡±


    Sam pats my knee. ¡°You¡¯ll get to.¡±


    I smile tiredly at her. ¡°Thanks. This year¡¯s harvest is harder than it was last year.¡±


    She chuckles. ¡°Of course it is. Your honeymoon phase is over, we¡¯ve never had so many fields to clear, and the threat of the empire is getting ever-closer.¡±


    ¡°Is this what life was like for you?¡± I wonder.


    She smiles weakly at me, as much as a skeleton can. ¡°You know I don¡¯t remember,¡± she tells me. ¡°But probably.¡±


    I hesitate. ¡°Can I ask you a question?¡±


    ¡°Sure.¡±


    ¡°What made you want to come back to the land of the living?¡±


    Samantha plucks at the quilt, contemplating her answer. ¡°I think¡­ I think I wasn¡¯t ready for the great beyond. That, and the necromancers I¡¯ve had the honor of working with were the right people.¡±


    ¡°Would you have passed on if I didn¡¯t raise you?¡±


    ¡°Of course, we all do.¡± She shrugs. ¡°It¡¯s not as if we get a choice in that matter, one way or another.¡± She pauses. ¡°You¡¯ve never asked any of us that question before?¡±


    ¡°I wasn¡¯t sure it was my business,¡± I admit.


    She nods thoughtfully. ¡°The memories of these bones are not the same as the memories of the shells these bones held up,¡± she reminds me. ¡°Not all of this,¡± she gestures lamely at herself, ¡°is the same soul.¡±


    I nod.


    She pats my leg. ¡°Well. Anyways. I think the others will be looking for me. We¡¯ve got a game going on down at the bone house.¡±


    ¡°Thanks, Sam.¡±


    ¡°Of course,¡± she squeezes my hand and stands. ¡°I hope you¡¯re able to get some more rest before morning.¡±


    ¡°Thank you.¡± I slide back under my covers, tucking my pillow beneath my head again.


    She pauses at the door. ¡°One more thing,¡± she hesitates. ¡°I don¡¯t mean to add to your cart filled with worries but¡­¡± I gesture for her to continue. ¡°We think Jun might be almost ready for committing. They¡¯re slowing down quite a bit.¡±


    Sadness fills my chest, and I feel like I might drown. I¡¯ve relied on Jun so heavily in the past three years. They were the oldest bones of all, besides Willard and, obviously Henry, but they weren¡¯t as spry. Their soul was quieter, more tired. I nod stiffly. ¡°Have they said as much?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± Samantha admits, ¡°And I don¡¯t mean to be a gossiper.¡±


    I shake my head, ¡°It¡¯s okay. I¡¯ll talk with them.¡±


    She nods. ¡°Thank you.¡±


    The door closes and I¡¯m plunged back into the darkness of my bedroom. I pull the quilt beneath my chin and sigh. Tomorrow is going to be a tough day, I realize with dread. Especially if I can¡¯t get to sleep. I know Samantha meant well, but she was right to be concerned about adding to my cartload of worries.

 Antonio: My Extravagant Carriage Ride to Torsen

    <h2>Antonio</h2>


    When we¡¯re loaded into the barred wagon, I still don¡¯t know what I¡¯m in handcuffs for. I especially don¡¯t know where they¡¯re taking us. Simon and I were led from our cell in the middle of the night just a day ago, and the road has not been kind to either of our joints. We are chained with another six men. We are all stinking, hot, and in desperate need of a shave.


    When the wagon turns north, I feel a sense of relief, knowing that we will be coming into cooler weather. No one knows where we¡¯re going or why we¡¯re being moved. Simon thinks that it has to do with funding and overpopulation. The way we are stacked in like tuna, I can¡¯t help but agree with him. Most of the men look fairly the same to me as Simon does: two legged, upright, clearly human men. And then there are a few that are relatively men-shaped¨Cuntil they -aren¡¯t.


    I¡¯d never come into contact with a satyr before, or other half-beast folk. There are three huddled together in the back corner of the wagon, keeping largely to themselves as we trundle along the bumpy, dusty road. I can¡¯t help myself: I stare. I must have been locked away for far too long, because my social delicacies has clearly fallen away. Just a year before, I would be embarrassed by my brash, unashamed gaze. I was curious.


    Simon must have caught my gaze, because he chuckled. ¡°I¡¯m beginning to believe you¡¯re not from Led.¡±


    I startle and shift my gaze away, dragging it down to my hands in my lap. ¡°What makes you say that?¡±


    ¡°Almost everyone knows a beastman, or the like,¡± he explained. ¡°You¡¯re looking like you¡¯ve never seen one before.¡±


    I cleared my throat. ¡°Sorry, everyone knows a beastman?¡±


    Simon wedged a pinky into his ear in consideration. ¡°Just about,¡± he repeats.


    ¡°But not in other places?¡±


    Simon shakes his head, ¡°Led was maybe the only country in the whole four realms that wasn¡¯t afraid of them. They¡¯ve been here for generations; old as the land itself in some places.¡±


    ¡°Really?¡± I frown.


    ¡°It¡¯s a shame. They haven¡¯t done anything wrong besides existing.¡±


    ¡°They¡¯re not here for crimes?¡±


    Simon shakes his head sadly. ¡°Only the crime of existing.¡±


    My brow furrows. ¡°They¡¯re not¡­ I don¡¯t know. Volatile? Aggressive? They don¡¯t act out of their animalistic instincts?¡±


    His gaze makes me wonder if I¡¯ve grown a second head. ¡°What are you on about, boy? Of course not.¡± He pushes me, and it¡¯s not entirely kind. The first show of anger I¡¯ve seen him display in all the time I¡¯ve spent with him. ¡°They¡¯re men, just like you and me. And probably less inclination than you and I have about why we¡¯re here in the first place.¡±


    I lose my voice.


    He huffs beside me, and I feel like a young child getting chastised by a tutor when I was a child. ¡°In fact, you should go over there and meet some of them. You¡¯ve been staring, maybe you ought to apologize for your rudeness.¡±


    I blink at him. ¡°Rudeness?¡± I guesture around at the rest of the prisoners. ¡°We are all prisoners. We have no autonomy. There¡¯s no reason for manners.¡±


    He frowns, and my soul creeps back into my body a little further. ¡°There is always a reason for manners, Tony. Integrity is what makes a man.¡± He shoves me forward as a bump takes the wagon wheel, and I¡¯m sent sprawling into the legs of someone else. ¡°Now go apologize.¡±


    I scrape myself off the floor and start my apology tour with the men I just bumped into, who sneer down at me.


    I drag my feet forward, stepping carefully over the legs and bodies of people napping. I grasp one of the heavy bars, swaying above the group of crouched beastmen. They don¡¯t look up at me, but judging from the stiffness in their shoulders, they know I¡¯m hovering over them. I cast a glance over my shoulder at Simon, who is still watching me carefully. I know I can¡¯t bend out now. I raise my voice over the din of the sound of the wheels. ¡°Sorry, hello. I¡¯m¨Cuh¡­¡± They all turn up to look at me. Those with animal-like ears have them pressed flat against their heads, and all of their eyes look at me with a healthy dose of distrust. I lose track of what I¡¯m going to say. My heart is thundering in my ears. What if they hurt me? They didn¡¯t look too strong, at least, but I¡¯d been out of commission for a very long time¡­ ¡°I just wanted¨Csorry, can I sit?¡±


    One of them glares at me.


    ¡°Okay. Got it.¡± I am floundering, drowning in my embarrassment and fear. ¡°Right. I¡¯m sorry for staring. I¡¯m¡­ where I¡¯m from there aren¡¯t many of you. That was¡­ um¡­ really rude of me.¡±


    I bow my head. They watch me carefully, but give no other sign that they had heard me.


    I nod and start to turn away. ¡°Anyways. Sorry again. I meant no offense.¡±


    Someone laughs and I spin back around. A young man with dusty brown hair and fox-like ears. He stands up, using the wall to balance himself. He extends a hand to me: all skin, like mine. I hesitate. ¡°It¡¯s okay. It isn¡¯t like we aren¡¯t used to the stares,¡± he tells me. His voice is light but gravly: as if he¡¯s swallowed a few pebbles and they are hanging out in his voice box.


    I take his hand. It¡¯s warm, his handshake warm. ¡°Sorry, anyways.¡±


    He grips my hand. ¡°I¡¯m Tols, who are you?¡±


    His forwardness startles me, but I weigh my emotions against the war of fear that roils through me. ¡°Tony.¡±


    ¡°Ah! Another T-boy. We stick together in these parts.¡±


    The other beastmen seem to relax below us. ¡°Ah. Right.¡± My mouth says. My brain has long shut-off.


    ¡°I¡¯m what they call a Fenex. Kind of like fennec.¡± He releases my hand so that I can see his bushy, vulpine tail.


    ¡°Right.¡± I try to turn again. ¡°Thank you.¡±


    He grabs my elbow and pulls me into the circle. ¡°This is Oryx, he¡¯s a satyr. Half goat. They¡¯re known for¨C¡±


    ¡°Stop it, T,¡± Oryx is blushing, staring at his hands. ¡°Don¡¯t waste your energy on bullshit like this.¡±


    The aggression startles me, but Tols shrugs it off, as if it¡¯s a bead of water that rolls off his shoulders. ¡°There¡¯s no reason not to make a friend.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re going to die, Tol,¡± says a man with brown, feline ears.


    ¡°Well, sure. Of course we are,¡± Tol shrugs. ¡°We all die at some point.¡±


    Someone lets out an exasperated sigh and I decide it¡¯s my turn to extract myself. ¡°Well. It¡¯s nice to meet you all. Sorry, again.¡±


    ¡°Come back again, you know where we¡¯ll be!¡± Tols says cheerfully to my back as I retreat back to Simon¡¯s side¨Call of four feet away.


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    Yes, I certainly will. I respond in my head. I don¡¯t think I¡¯ll be able to get away from him.


    Simon pats me gently on the shoulder as I sit down. ¡°There you go, lad. Was that so bad?¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± I whisper hoarsely.


    ¡°Ah, you¡¯ll get used to it.¡±


    I sincerely doubt I ever will.


    Tols, or short for Tolstoy, as he comes to tell me, does not leave my side the remainder of the trip. He is accompanied by a beastman occasionally, and before long, the whole group of beastman has made our corner of the prison-wagon their own. Tols does not stop talking. At first this is irritating to me. The sun beats down on us through the bars of the cart, and my backside hurts from being immobile for so long, and his high-pitched, rough voice grates on my last nerve. But as the trip carries us into the mountains, it gives my brain something to anchor itself to. I find myself even enjoying his light anecdotes and stories.


    He tells me about his home; his family, including a great many siblings; and the jobs he used to do. He used to carry mail to the neighboring towns, he tells me proudly. Sometimes he would be on foot, other times he would ride along on wagons like we were now ¨C though I sincerely doubted he meant prison wagons ¨C and then in the towns he¡¯d visit, he would pick up other odd-gigs. Helping old ladies with their errand-running mostly, from the sound of things.


    He seemed to take these jobs very seriously, from watering plants to scaling trees for childrens¡¯ kites, and even getting people¡¯s medications.


    That one caught my attention, but he quickly moved away from it. I lost my chance to politely ask if he meant illicit drugs or apothecary wares.


    ¡°Where do you think they¡¯re taking us?¡± I ask at one point during the road trip.


    ¡°To our deaths,¡± Nicholas, the feline beastman moans.


    Tols shrugged. ¡°I think you¡¯re being dramatic.¡± He chides.


    ¡°I imagine we¡¯re going to be deposited in Torsen by next night,¡± Oryx says with a shrug. ¡°From there, they¡¯ll take us into Reigh.¡±


    ¡°Why would they take us to Reigh?¡± I wonder aloud. The north-western country to Led was known as a barren winter wasteland.


    Simon clears his throat and raises a hand. ¡°If I may?¡±


    ¡°Hey S-Man,¡± Tols gestures at him.


    Simon nods at him, though I can tell he doesn¡¯t particularly like the new title bequeathed him. ¡°If we make it to Reigh, where slavery is legal¡­¡± his voice is low and trails off. The beastmen go pale.


    ¡°In Torsen, endenturing is commonplace,¡± Oryx adds, also beneath his breath.


    My heart picks up in its pace. So, we¡¯re meant to be slaves.


    Or, it would be like Nicholas said and we will be executed.


    For what? I still haven¡¯t sorted. Simon hasn¡¯t told me what he thinks he¡¯s accused of, and I am only a traitorous sovereign. The beastmen: for existing in this world in the bodies they do.


    I curse myself at that thought, realizing the gravity of it. One of the edicts I had been given to sign had said something about beastmen, and in my haste to make it through the day, I¡¯d signed it off. Of course I¡¯d read it, but back then, I believed that beastmen weren¡¯t to be trusted: that they were a danger to society as a whole. How wrong I was.


    When the night fell over the wagon and we were pulled off to the side of the road, I sat close to Simon. The guards were taking prisoners one at a time to do their business, and we had already been granted our relief.


    ¡°Simon?¡± I whispered hoarsely in the dark night. Many of the other prisoners had already laid out to sleep.


    ¡°Mmm?¡±


    ¡°What is it you¡¯re in for?¡±


    Simon hesitates. ¡°Well.¡± He shrugs. ¡°I participated in activities that are now deemed illegal by the current monarchy.¡±


    ¡°And that is?¡±


    He sighs. ¡°I commit bones to the earth.¡±


    I frown, confused. ¡°You¡¯re a priest?¡±


    He chuckles low, ¡°That¡¯s a summation, yes.¡±


    My brow furrows further. ¡°I don¡¯t understand.¡±


    ¡°The rituals I was brought up with, that I was trained with¨Cthey¡¯re necromantic in nature.¡±


    My mouth goes dry and a lifetime of resentment floods into me. I try to bite it aside, knowing I cannot give myself away, and he continues.


    ¡°I was never of the arts, I guess you could say. But I follow the same principles when it comes to committing bodies to the next life.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re not magical?¡± I bite out.


    ¡°I didn¡¯t say that,¡± he corrects. ¡°I have¨Chad a weak grasp of the mystical.¡± He shakes his head. ¡°But not with the dead.¡±


    I stare at him, puzzled. The moon casts us in a silver glow, and I can see the lines in his face stretch and crease as he chooses his next words. ¡°When we commit the dead to the earth, there are certain rituals we must partake in to give the bones of our fallen the opportunity of choice.¡±


    ¡°Choice?¡± I wonder, my head feels pulled in three different directions. How did someone follow the rituals of the necromancers without being one themselves?


    His eyes flicker up to the stars above. ¡°All spirits have a choice, Tony. Do you know the term, ¡®animism?¡¯¡±


    I shake my head, frowning. It sounded like something having to do with animals.


    ¡°It¡¯s a concept that was studied by both druids and necromancers. It¡¯s the belief that all things have spirit.¡±


    ¡°Like a soul?¡± I look down at my hands. Now that he mentions it, it sounds vaguely familiar¨Clike something my grandfather might have taught me when I was very small. Something like all of the rocks and trees and flowers all had a spark of life very different from the next.


    ¡°Sort of, maybe not as such,¡± Simon shrugged. ¡°The druids and necromancers alike believed that everything: animate or inanimate, has a right to a choice in their growth and in their death, respectively.¡± This doesn¡¯t answer any of the questions that are building into a tumultuous tower in my head. I open my mouth to ask another, but he continues: ¡°See, druids felt that there is always a choice for life, and necromancers believed that there is always a choice in death. They are two very similar sides of the same coin. For example, druids had long-standing rituals where they might offer the choice of life to seedlings in a field. Necromancers, well, we¡¯ve had long-standing traditions of asking bones their choice in death.¡±


    ¡°When something is dead, they are dead,¡± I argue.


    He nods, ¡°Sure. But the bones can decide if it is their time as sure as the soul of the person can decide if they¡¯d like to be recommitted to the cycle of life.¡±


    ¡°The cycle of life?¡±


    He nods. ¡°Sometimes spirit just wants rest, sometimes they¡¯d rather be committed back to reincarnation. Sometimes they¡¯re not ready to pass at all. That¡¯s where necromancers get their power. They find bones that haven¡¯t passed, they give them purpose until they are ready for the next part of their journey.¡±


    I could not wrap my mind around the idea that the evil I had hated my entire life was politely asking for permission to raise them. ¡°Aren¡¯t there necromancers who don¡¯t ask for permission?¡±


    Simon scowls, his face constricting at harsh angles. ¡°Said like someone from Cainern.¡±


    I stare at my fingertips. ¡°I grew up near the border,¡± I lied.


    He shook his head and spat into the dirt. ¡°No. Without spirit, without a will, there is no way for the bones to build, to live again. To be given purpose and motion.¡± He grips a twig so hard it snaps between his fingers. ¡°There have been necromancers, long ago, who used bones without their permission. Sometimes, bones don¡¯t want to be raised by a particular necromancer. Maybe their magics don¡¯t blend together well¨Cthose have been the worst cases of Construct Frenzy.¡±


    ¡°Construct Frenzy?¡± I ask, but I can already envision it.


    ¡°Bone monsters wrecking havoc. They lose their voice, their spirit.¡± I shudder at the thought and he nods. ¡°A long time ago, there was an uprising of those necromancers. It¡¯s one of the reasons for the druidic wars.¡±


    I know that history. ¡°How do you stop them?¡±


    ¡°A great many druids rose against those necromancers, but it really took other necromancers to commit the bones back to the earth. They worked together. It effectively ended the war, once the frenzied constructs were set to rest and their necromancers put to trial.¡±


    I stare at him, stunned. That wasn¡¯t what I had heard.


    In all the history books I¡¯d been tutored through, the way the druidic wars ended when the necromancers pushed the druids from their land, utilizing the frenzied, giant constructs made of bone and clay, purging all druidic magic from their land. It¡¯s why the Cainern druids were so bitter about the war. I knew that all histories had different sides and conflicting facts. The wars had happened hundreds of years ago, also, so it was difficult to root out actual facts from their oral and written tradition.


    I want to ask more questions, but I know that I will only give myself away as a foreigner if I continue.


    ¡°What is it you think you¡¯ve been accused of?¡± Simon asks me.


    I startle at his words. I grimace. ¡°You wouldn¡¯t believe me if I told you.¡± Which wasn¡¯t the truth, technically. I think he would believe me. I think he would believe me, and then he would hate me¨Cand I didn¡¯t like the idea of Simon hating me, even if we stood on opposite sides of an old feud. I respected Simon. And I think to some degree, he respected me¨Ceven if I stumbled through social foibles and had what he considered the wrong history of things.


    He sniffed disapprovingly and laid down. ¡°Well. Whatever it is, I hope they¡¯re wrong.¡±

 Antonio: Wherein I experience the full consequences of my actions.

    The following day, we rolled into Torsen. It was a quaint town in the rural Northwest. Farms dotted the landscape around brick buildings with steep roofs. The sun was still a summer hot in the thin air, but it was more manageable than to the south, against the Cainern border. Even still, I could hardly recognize my dark skin that had bronzed a caramel brown during our journey. I liked the idea of Torsen as much as the previous towns we passed: in that I was focused on where the wagon was taking us over how interested I was in the people that inhabited them. They all dressed very plainly, with scarves over their heads to block the sunlight, and bustled about their business like any other town we¡¯d passed through.


    To our surprise, we stopped in the middle of the street and the drivers hopped out. The guards took up their post around our wagons, standing stalwart against our impending escape¨Cnot that any of us had moved to do so¨Cand eyed the passersby with critical eyes. This was the first time we¡¯d stopped in a town since we¡¯d left¡­ wherever it was we had left from.


    Tols had leaned his head against my shoulder and was snoozing in the sunlight. He¡¯d gotten comfortable with me over the last few days on the road, and I didn¡¯t mind his close proximity much anymore. My eyes followed a driver as he exited the building they entered and came to speak with one of our guards. ¡°Go ahead and load them out,¡± he told the guard in a hushed tone. ¡°We¡¯ll get them sorted inside.¡±


    The guard nodded once and I shook Tols. ¡°Hey, wake up.¡± Simon sat on the other side of me, his face impassive. Tols groaned against my shoulder and pushed himself up just as one of the guards unlocked the door to the barred wagon.


    ¡°Come on out then, keep your hands in front of you.¡± Two guards stood on either side of the door, one with lengths of rope hooked over his belt. We were going to be bound.


    Tols looked at me alarmed, but I followed Simon¡¯s lead. He was one of the first to stand, just as one of the guards moved to grab the first prisoner. He walked with his wrists pressed together in front of him. The others looked at one another, watching as the guard bound him. I swallowed, squeezed Tols¡¯ shoulder, and stood, following behind. If he was going to be brave, so was I. If I was going to be sold as a slave, then so be it.


    I¡¯d spent too much of my life letting life happen to me: if I had any autonomy at all, I wouldn¡¯t be beaten on the floor of a prisoner¡¯s wagon. Tols stepped up behind me, and his beastmen friends. Soon, much of the wagon was standing, waiting to be bound.


    When I got to the front, the guard grasped my wrists roughly and tied me with the coarse rope, the other guard stood me beside Simon against a wall. The others were lined up beside me until the line dwindled to a few men grasping onto the bars of the wagon. The second guard ducked into the wagon as we were led into the building, the cries of the men who stayed behind following us as they were beaten into submission.


    We were led into a long warehouse with dusty floors and stone walls. It was empty inside but for six figures standing in the center and a raised platform along the side. As we came closer, I realized it was four men and two women. One of the men is dressed like a worker, two appear to be bodyguards for one finely-dressed man in the center. Then there were the women.


    The woman with red-laced brown hair was gripping her fingers into tight fists at her sides, displaying corded muscles that were only awarded to laborers. The woman beside her stood contemplatively, pale eyes flickering between her companion and the well-dressed men across from her. Her jaw was set and her lips formed a thin line as she watched us. ¡°This wasn¡¯t what you called us into town for!¡± the other woman was saying.


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    The man inclined his head. ¡°I¡¯m certain I have asked Miss Whitman to come into town for payment.¡±


    The guards gathered us into a group near the platform. Tols gripped my arm, and I held firm for him. ¡°Are they selling us?¡± I whispered to Simon when the guards turned.


    ¡°Appears so.¡±


    ¡°Alright.¡± Her voice was quiet.


    ¡°Syb¨C¡±


    The name rang a bell in my mind, but I couldn¡¯t place why. The pale woman grasped the other¡¯s arm. ¡°It¡¯s okay,¡± she told her lightly, eyes locked on Tols¡¯s ears. The redhead glanced over and understanding crossed her face. ¡°You¡¯re trading several kilos for indentured servants, including beastmen?¡± She clarified.


    The finely dressed man nodded. ¡°When the monarchy changed over, the laws were muddled. These prisoners fell through the system, they¡¯re not assigned hearings or convictions.¡±


    ¡°And you didn¡¯t release them?¡±


    His eyes crossed the room and surveyed us coldly. ¡°No. Half of them are beastmen, the other half are accused of necromancy.¡±


    ¡°Why do you think she¡¯d be interested?¡± The redhead asked, her voice stern.


    ¡°Ma¡¯am, would you like to see¨C¡± one of the guards started, but the look that the pale woman cut him across the room silenced him immediately. I felt the icy tendrils of fear creep into my gut.


    ¡°Fair priced labor for your farm in exchange for the best produce in the realm,¡± the man shrugs. ¡°For your shipment this month and for shipments of produce for three months in the future.¡±


    The redhead scowls at him but the pale woman¨CWhitman, the man called her¨Ckeeps her gaze steady. ¡°I need to discuss this with my bookkeeper,¡± she tells him firmly. ¡°Do you mind if I step out?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t think I need to explain the¡­ discretion I ask for in this deal,¡± the man says tightly, moving to block her from leaving.


    ¡°No worries, I¡¯ll leave Haven with you.¡±


    The redhead sputters in angry disbelief: ¡°Syb¨C!!¡±


    Whitman rolls her eyes and captures the woman¡¯s arm to pull her in for a whisper. Haven¡¯s anger falls away and she nods. ¡°Fine,¡± she mutters.


    The man regards them and then sighs, ¡°I¡¯m sending one of mine with you, too.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s fine. We¡¯re only stepping outside.¡±


    My eyes follow them out of the warehouse and flicker back to the redhead that is left standing with the two remaining men.


    Her pale, freckled face is blotched red and I think I see her hands shaking at her sides. ¡°We¡¯re being sold,¡± I mutter to Simon who just frowns.


    ¡°What does that mean?¡± Tols asks me, voice a mere whimper. A guard hushes us, and the group goes silent around us.


    I shake my head in response to the young beastman. I don¡¯t know. I didn¡¯t know that human trafficking was something occurring in Led. Maybe it wouldn¡¯t have become an issue if I hadn¡¯t outlawed the beastmen in the first place, I realize belatedly. The thought pierces me in my gut and a deep sadness overwhelms me. How long had this been going on? Since I led the armies of Cainern into the land of Led? Before then? My eyes brim with tears but I school my features into impassivity. I can¡¯t let Tols see that. I needed to be strong.


    ¡°Syb¡± returns not very long later, striding quickly across the space. She leans in with the fancy dressed man, her tone stern even from a distance.


    He nods and waves one of our guards over.


    The guard returns and speaks in low tones with the guards. I keep my eyes rooted to the women who watch us with resolution. ¡°Alright, out you go, single file!¡± The guards call.


    We were bought.


    They load us back into the wagon and the wheels trundle us up the road, continuing our journey to the north.


    ¡°What happens now?¡± I ask Simon. Tols has curled up against my side, no more words to utter.


    Simon shakes his head. ¡°We hope that our master is a benevolent one.¡± He sighs and curses under his breath. ¡°That damned prince.¡±


    I know. I think the same thing.

 Sybil: I dont really have any weight in moral dilemmas, lets be honest...

    <h2>Sybil</h2>


    ¡°Why did you buy them?¡± Haven asks me when we start our trek back home. We¡¯re lucky we brought our own wagon this time, instead of our usual walk. ¡°Endentured servants don¡¯t pay the bills. They don¡¯t feed the skeletons.¡±


    My smile comes unexpectedly. I bite down a laugh at the thought of Willard trying to chew on a man¡¯s arm. The uneasy self-satisfaction has plagued me off and on since we left Torsen. ¡°I have enough food to feed the empire,¡± I remind her.


    She rolls her eyes and elbows me, hands otherwise occupied by the reins. I fight the urge to take her hand for the thousandth time since we left for Torsen the day before. The road to and from Reisau was much shorter with a set of wheels, a horse, and a warm companion. ¡°Syb,¡± she whines.


    ¡°Look, if they want to work on our farm, they can. If they want to go home, they can. Reisau is a safe place for beastmen and sympathizers.¡±


    Haven sighs, ¡°Maggie is going to be pissed.¡± Probably. ¡°What if not all of them aren¡¯t¡­ innocent bystanders?¡±


    I shrug. ¡°We¡¯re letting them go. What they do after Reisau is none of my business.¡±


    Haven sighs, ¡°That¡¯s the stupidest thing I¡¯ve ever heard.¡± She smiles at me. ¡°But it is very sweet.¡±


    ¡°Will you protect me?¡± I ask, leaning into her side. She passes the reins into one hand to hook her arm around my waist and kisses the top of my head.


    ¡°From Maggie?¡± She shakes her head, ¡°That¡¯s all on you, Syb. No force in the realms could stop that woman¡¯s wrath.¡±


    I nod. I knew as much. I rub my forehead. I¡¯d gotten caught up in the war again. Except this was a different battleground. The irony wasn¡¯t lost on me. I¡¯d long come to terms that all wars were the same, just on different days. My self-righteous nose couldn¡¯t leave clean enough alone. ¡°That damned prince,¡± I mutter.


    Haven must hear me because she nods. ¡°That damn prince,¡± she echoes.


    We aren¡¯t far behind my new wagon filled with personal slaves¨CI bristle at the thought. Once we returned home, I would have Lasis cut ties with that buyer as much as humanly possible¨Cunless¡­ Unless it would afford me the covert opportunity to purchase and release as many of the people he was actively trafficking as possible. I didn¡¯t imagine he¡¯d have use for more produce so quickly though, and I couldn¡¯t imagine that human trafficking was a particularly slow trade. We rode up behind the wagon. Morose eyes peered out at us through the bars for miles before I urged Haven to ride ahead. We would have to warn Maggie, for one, and on the second hand¡­ I couldn¡¯t bear to ride so closely to them with those dumb guards around.


    But then, when the night came and the road became difficult to see by, we were forced to pull off and build camp. I shuddered in the cold while Haven built a small fire for us. It might be the middle of summer, but the colds still got cool this far north. She finished her work and came to sit beside me, pulling me into her and wrapping us in a cotton blanket that Jun had packed for us. ¡°You are too good for your own¡­ good,¡± Haven scolds me in a sweet whisper that raises goosebumps along my arms.


    She kisses my shoulder and I¡¯m filled with warmth from my chest to my curled toes. ¡°Am I?¡± I ask distractedly as desire burns in my belly. She slips her fingers beneath my shirt and pulls me to sit between her legs. I shiver at the contact.


    ¡°What are you going to do with the ones that stay?¡± She asks, voice vibrating against my collarbone. My neck reflexively arches away, leaving it open for more of her warm kisses.


    I whimper a moan, ¡°I can¡¯t think when you do that,¡± I breathe. She pulls away, inviting the cool air to nip at the small wet kisses she¡¯s left behind. I grimmace, ¡°That was mean.¡±


    She squeezes my sides, tickling me, and pulls me tighter against her chest. ¡°So?¡±


    I sigh and shake my head, ¡°Mags asked if I could build some temp housing on the farm property. I could employ them to do some of that work. They could live there with the beastmen if the king¡¯s men ever come to call.¡±


    She sets her chin against my shoulder and leans her face against mine. She smells like sweat, road dirt, and honeysuckle. I could drink her in for hours. ¡°Is Mathieus running out of glamor potions?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s what Maggie said.¡±


    ¡°Do you really feel comfortable with all those strangers on your land?¡±


    I smile, ¡°It isn¡¯t like I don¡¯t have people on at all hours,¡± I remind her. ¡°We have the space, and it¡¯s a great deal better than letting them have free reign over Reisau.¡±


    She sighs, ¡°We have to warn Maggie before we get there.¡±


    She freezes behind me and I sit up straighter, inclining my ear. Beyond the fire, I hear the tell-tale clop of hooves. I sigh. ¡°They didn¡¯t stop.¡±


    Haven winces and pulls away from me, wrapping me up in the blanket. ¡°Do you want me to ride ahead? You ride with the prisoners? Maybe slow them a bit?¡±


    I look up at her in alarm. ¡°You¡¯re gonna ride through the night? Alone?¡±


    She kisses my forehead and squeezes my bicep. ¡°It won¡¯t be bad. I¡¯ll sleep when I get home.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s another six hours out,¡± I argue. Luckily the road between Torsen and Reisau were generally safe, but the idea of her riding with so little sleep unnerved me.


    Haven watches the approach of the wagon along the road and pats my shoulders, ¡°It¡¯ll be better. I¡¯ll see you at home. I¡¯ll be safe,¡± she promises and kisses me sweetly.


    I grasp her elbows, reluctant to let her go, but she pulls away and rouses the horse.


    By the time the wagon rolls into the campfire light, Haven has hitched the horse to the wagon and has disappeared into the night toward Reisau. I wave the guards down. ¡°Come on, get off the road,¡± I grumble at the alarmed men on the seat who stop the wagon. ¡°You¡¯re not going to get all the way to Reisau in one bout.¡±


    The guards exchange a look but shrug and turn off the road by my fire. ¡°Where¡¯s your ride?¡± One of the men asks.


    ¡°Sent ahead to ready lodgings for our new¡­¡± I hesitate, looking for a word that might throw suspicion, ¡°help.¡± I decide. ¡°I¡¯ll ride with you in the morning.¡±


    They nod and begin to unload the prisoners. They¡¯ve obviously done this so often that they have it down to a routine: the prisoners get led out in pairs with a guard¡¯s supervision into the woods to relieve themselves before being led back to the prison wagon with its bars. The other guard kept watch on the prisoners laying along the floor, trying to catch some shut-eye, I think. I avoid the temptation to drift over and talk with the beastmen, instead rolling out my bedroll out across the ground near the campfire.


    A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.


    Once all the prisoners had been let out to take care of business and were locked back in their awful cage-on-wheels, the guards started setting up their own sleeping accommodations across the fire from me. I bristled at the thought of sleeping around people I didn¡¯t know, especially without my usual (over-) protective friends.


    I was pleasantly surprised when one of them took up guarding while the other turned over to sleep, starting to snore almost immediately. Good, I think to myself as I roll over, myself. I didn¡¯t want to talk to anyone, much less a random guardsman that was holding mostly innocent (or all innocent) prisoners hostage. The thought made my blood boil. I close my eyes and take a deep breath, trying to still the wrath that ebbs just beyond my reach. It would do no good unleashing my fury onto these men who were doing nothing more than a job they probably didn¡¯t enjoy to put food on the table for their families.


    Once my breathing settles into a natural rhythm, I wiggle my fingers into the soil just beyond my blankets, and press my magic out in a wide net. I twine my magic in around that of mycelium just beneath the surface, asking if they wouldn¡¯t mind waking me if something amiss occurs. A flare of yellow magic scrapes gently against mine and I gasp, coming back to myself. It was coming from the prison wagon. I turn and look at it, expecting to meet someone¡¯s eyes, but no one seems to have moved.


    I rub the magic out of my fingertips, feeling self-conscious. To my knowledge, I am the last of the necromancers in Led. The only necromancer I hadn¡¯t accounted for was Ben, but no one had seen him in decades. Could Ben have branched off to start his own community of necromancers? The yellow magic had been faint, but it was clear¨Cunmuddied. It was pure. I shiver under my blankets, thinking of Haven and Soleil.


    I hadn¡¯t seen Soleil since the other day when I¡¯d come into town, and I missed him sorely. Just as much as I missed Haven, whose breath I could still feel tingling against my neck, long after she hit the road to home. I worried about her trek over the night road. Luckily these roads were relatively safe from the highwaymen of the East, but there were still animals in these woods¡­ and old druidic traps. I wince at the memory and miss Henry.


    I close my eyes and feel the brush of mycelium agreeing to warn me of any unsavory activity. The yellow magic doesn¡¯t resurface again and I wonder if I¡¯d imagined it. The day¡¯s events catch up to me and I am dragged into a gentle sleep.


    I sit on the seat between the guards the following morning, trying without success to avoid brushing the arms of the men on either side of me. I hear the quiet murmurings of the men behind us in the wagon. It is a long six hours. The tree cover lends some reprieve from the sun above, but the humidity from the rain just a few days ago hangs heavy in the air and makes my clothes stick to my skin. My fingers itch to dig into the soil, knowing that my family is at home toiling without me. I spend six hours hoping the wagon hurries so that I can let these prisoners go and get back to my life.


    We eventually pull into Reisau only to be met by Maggie, who has taken up standing on the side of the road with her hands on either hip. My heart dips into my stomach. She was not happy. Not that I blamed her. The prisoners we were told were coming through were not supposed to be my property all of a sudden¨Cmuch less allegedly innocent products of a discriminatory law instated by a long-missing prince.


    I¡¯d hear about it later, for certain.


    ¡°Ho, there boys. Where ya headin¡¯ to?¡± She calls as we approach.


    The guard raises his hand in greeting while the other slows the horses to a stop. The one regards me carefully before telling the mayor, ¡°Just passing on through.¡±


    I take advantage of the stalled wagon and hop down. My legs are wobbly from all of the sitting I¡¯ve done. ¡°Hi. Uh. Yes. Transporting prisoners.¡± The guards know as well as I do how illegal human trafficking is, and this is my responsibility now. I didn¡¯t want them becoming suspicious that I wasn¡¯t taking slaves. ¡°Can you, erm.¡± I hesitate, realizing how absurd I sound. ¡°Unload them so that we can sort them into their cells?¡± I call.


    The guards do as they¡¯re asked, lining up prisoners against the rock wall that Maggie has painstakingly built over the years, stone by rugged stone. She sidles up to me. ¡°Really?¡± she asks incredulously in a whisper.


    ¡°If it wasn¡¯t me, they¡¯d go to someone else,¡± I whisper back. ¡°Look at them,¡± I nod my head as the guards have them sit on the ground, wrists all bound.


    ¡°I saw,¡± Maggie grumbles. ¡°We don¡¯t have nearly enough glamour for that many people and our own.¡±


    I nod, ¡°The ones that decide to stay can do so in the hostel I¡¯m building for town.¡±


    She winces. ¡°That was meant for our people,¡± she reminded me.


    I shrug. ¡°What¡¯s a few extra hands? It¡¯s not like all of them will stay.¡±


    ¡°What if some of them actually are dangerous?¡± she hisses.


    ¡°Then they¡¯ll be dangerous elsewhere,¡± I tell her.


    ¡°You¡¯re offering them a free place to stay.¡±


    ¡°No,¡± I raise my finger, ¡°They¡¯re going to work. They¡¯re going to work hard. But they¡¯ll be safe, they¡¯ll have food and a roof over their head, and they¡¯ll earn a wage. If they want. They can leave at any time.¡±


    ¡°Can you afford more farm hands?¡±


    I remember the conversation I had with Lasis the day before in Torsen. I¡¯d stepped into an alleyway and pulled out the magical device, holding it close to my ear. When they¡¯d insisted we purchase it from Mathieus, I¡¯d thought it looked like a silly looking rock: rough on all sides and an unattractive gray color. ¡°You¡¯re running behind,¡± Lasis accused when they answered.


    ¡°I¡¯ve run into a problem,¡± I whispered into the rock. I¡¯d eyed my surroundings carefully, realizing I looked particularly absurd talking into a rock. ¡°They¡¯re not paying.¡±


    ¡°What do you mean?¡± Lasis¡¯s voice hitched.


    From the other side of the rock, to someone not attuned to necromantic magic, they might hear only squeaking and gnashing of bone against bone as Lasis¡¯ face bones moved. Yet, somehow, it lengthened the wavelength of our magic just enough to communicate, but not to do much else with. ¡°They don¡¯t want to pay with money,¡± I elaborated. ¡°They want to pay with labor.¡±


    ¡°We don¡¯t do trades,¡± Lasis cut me off sharply.


    ¡°That¡¯s not the problem,¡± I grumble, ¡°I agree with you. But¡­¡±


    ¡°It better be a big but.¡±


    ¡°They¡¯re beastmen and other¡­ well¡­ they seem innocent. Caught in the in-between of Antonio¡¯s mad legislation and disappearance.¡±


    There was a heavy pause on the other end of the rock. ¡°Okay,¡± they finally uttered. ¡°I see where you¡¯re going with this. I¡¯ll tally up some income dividends. How many?¡±


    ¡°I counted¡­¡± I ran my memory back over, trying to imagine the faces of the people bound in the warehouse. ¡°Twenty? No more than twenty-five.¡±


    Lasis whistles low. ¡°Okay, I¡¯ll see what I can do, Syb.¡±


    ¡°Thank you.¡±


    ¡°Sybil?¡±


    ¡°Yes?¡±


    ¡°... You¡¯re a good person,¡± they crack out before the connection ends and I no longer feel their magic curling around mine.


    Now I nod to Maggie. ¡°Lasis was making a plan,¡± I tell her.


    She considers this for a moment then nods. ¡°If Lasis can put it together¡­¡± she shakes her head, ¡°Just be careful, Sybil. This is a big undertaking.¡±


    ¡°I will,¡± I tell her when one of the guards returns.


    ¡°All unloaded,¡± he tells me, and I reach into my purse for a few silver coins.


    ¡°Thank you,¡± I tell him, and he nods and takes off. The prison wagon turns about and rolls out of town back toward Torsen.


    ¡°Wonder what hurry they¡¯re in,¡± Maggie grumbles. ¡°Probably more¡­ jobs.¡± She groans. She turns to me, ¡°At least let me interrogate them before you let them run amok.¡±


    I shrug, ¡°If you can, that would be fine. When you¡¯re done, send them up my way.¡±


    She nods. ¡°What¡¯s our angle?¡±


    ¡°They¡¯re still prisoners, until proven otherwise,¡± I tell her. She throws me a thumbs-up gesture. I turn and head off toward Soleil¡¯s, I know that I¡¯ll find Haven there and I really need my partners¡¯ support¡­ and maybe a few hugs.

 Sybil: Dont get mad at me, Im literally just exhausted from living.

    Soleil¡¯s house is dark, but it smells delicious, like someone¡¯s been cooking. I can smell it halfway down the road: mushrooms, onions, and something spicy. My mouth is already watering as I let myself into the darkened home. ¡°She¡¯s here!¡± Haven calls when the door closes behind me, she¡¯s standing behind the rumpled figure of my drider. He turns and throws me a warm smile. I¡¯m already a melty puddle of affection when Haven sweeps me up into her arms. I curl my arms around her and inhale her scent.


    ¡°You made it back safe and sound,¡± I murmur into her hair and I squeeze her tightly.


    ¡°I told you I would,¡± she chuckles and kisses me, swiping her thumbs over my cheeks in the process to light my skin aflame.


    ¡°Am I going to get a turn?¡±  Soleil teases from the kitchen.


    Haven curls her arms around me and pouts. ¡°In a second. Besides, you¡¯re busy with dinner.¡±


    I kiss her cheeks and gently tug out of her arms and pull her back into the little kitchenette and over to the chuckling drider. He¡¯s got his long hair pulled into a loose bun atop his head, with errant strands cascading down in gleaming rivulets. He is using one of his eight legs to scissor through some vegetables on the countertop while he stirs something on the stove. He smiles down at me through his spectacles. ¡°I haven¡¯t seen Sybil in two weeks,¡± he reminds Haven playfully. He leans down and presses his face against my head and inhales deeply. ¡°You smell like road dust,¡± he declares.


    ¡°You smell like mushrooms and onions,¡± I return with a grin.


    ¡°Thought you might be hungry,¡± he says a little shyly, pressing his lips to my forehead.


    ¡°Ravished,¡± I affirm, enjoying the scent of paper and ink on his skin. His shirt is rumpled with sleep and there are ink stains over his wrists and forearms. I should get him soap from Mathieus¡¯s shop next time I get a moment.


    ¡°Here, take this, Second-rate,¡± he teases Haven and passes the spatula over. Haven rolls her eyes and takes it, stepping up to the stove, but smiles lightly. ¡°I need to show Sybil my new manuscript.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t be too long,¡± she chides, ¡°I will burn this, and not for lack of trying.¡±


    ¡°New manuscript?¡± excitement flutters in my chest, ¡°How far did you get?¡±


    ¡°I think this one might be done,¡± he rustles through some of the papers fitted between books near his nest. ¡°I think I¡¯ve compiled all of the known uses of druidic trap circles from the third age. And, I think I found a maternal pattern line stretching back from the fourth war.¡± He taps a ream of collected papers against his pedipalp, righting them.


    ¡°That¡¯s incredible,¡± I tell him, my mind swimming, thinking of the trap I¡¯d fallen into three years ago. There weren¡¯t many anymore, and druidic magic had waned over the years. There were few living practitioners in Lem, and many of them spent their days in craftsmanship.


    He hesitates before handing them to me, rubbing his hand over his scalp self-consciously. ¡°It¡¯s a lot, but I hope you¡¯ll read them.¡±


    ¡°Are these originals or copies?¡± I ask, thumbing through the pages alight with his elegant script.


    He blanches ¨C if that was possible. One of his posterior legs taps in anxiety, a tic I¡¯ve found terribly endearing. ¡°It¡¯s the original.¡±


    I pass it back in a hurry, overly conscientious of my dirty fingers, pushing it into his hands. ¡°I can¡¯t hold this!¡±


    ¡°No, no, it¡¯s fine!¡± he pushes them back at me.


    ¡°I¡¯m filthy, Sol, I¡¯d feel safer with copies¨C¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve told him to make copies,¡± Haven calls. ¡°I even said Lasis might be interested in helping, but¨C¡±


    ¡°No,¡± Soleil grumbles, not meeting my eyes, all four of his eyes darting around. ¡°I wouldn¡¯t want to be a bother.¡±


    I shake my head earnestly, ¡°No, that¡¯s a fantastic idea,¡± I tell him, squeezing the joint of his pedipalp. ¡°We¡¯d all be so happy to help you.¡±


    His back leg tippy-taps anxiously, but it slows as he considers and he nods awkwardly, rubbing his neck. ¡°Okay,¡± he smiles weakly down at me, ¡°Thank you.¡± The gentle tone of his voice strains at my heartstrings.


    ¡°Good,¡± I tug on the front of his shirt. ¡°I can take it up to the house later to have it transcribed. Would that be okay?¡±


    He nods. ¡°It¡¯ll fit nicely into a book for safe carrying,¡± he adds, fingers trailing absentmindedly over my arm before turning to his book case.


    ¡°It¡¯d be a good excuse to come up to the house,¡± I tease him.


    Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.


    He hesitates. ¡°I¡¯d love to, Syb¡­¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re just scared.¡± Haven says from the kitchen. ¡°Oh, shit.¡±


    The scent of something burning catches in the air and Soleil¡¯s papers flutter to the floor as he rushes over to the stove. I try to capture the pieces of paper as they fall, hoping not to leave my dirty finger prints behind as Soleil and Haven fuss over dinner.


    Once dinner is settled, the three of us sit down to the small table. Soleil has somehow salvaged dinner. There are two chairs at the small table that Haven and I take up, and enough space for Soleil to hunker down at the head of the table. ¡°You wouldn¡¯t believe what Sybil did,¡± Haven poses once we dig in.


    Soleil¡¯s smile is mischevious. ¡°Our Sybil?¡±


    I keep my eyes trained to my food, embarrassment flooding me. ¡°It¡¯s not that bad.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s pretty bad,¡± Haven teases, squeezing my knee under the table. It shocks warmth in my lower belly and I shove another forkful into my mouth to distract my thoughts from retreating into the dark.


    ¡°What¡¯d you do?¡± Soleiel asks me, mirth dancing around his eyes.


    ¡°She bought some slaves.¡± Haven tells him proudly. I cough, choking on my mouthful, and Haven laughs, pounding my back.


    Soleil¡¯s jaw drops in shock. ¡°You what?¡±


    I suck down some water and clear my throat. ¡°I technically bought some slaves,¡± I admit, casting Haven a dirty look.


    She grins back, mischief growing in her gaze. I narrow my eyes, sending her a silent Just you wait. Her smile grows three sizes.


    Soleil rubs the frown that¡¯s gathered in his long forehead, looking world-weary. ¡°How? Why?¡±


    ¡°They were going to be sold to someone one way or the other. I wanted the opportunity to¡­ I don¡¯t know, give them a different life?¡± I explain, setting my fork down.


    ¡°They¡¯re prisoners arrested during the strange time between kings,¡± Haven explains to him. ¡°Mostly beastmen and sympathizers, I think.¡±


    Soleil¡¯s hard gaze softens, turning into pride. My insides turn to absolute pudding at the sight and I return to my food. ¡°That¡¯s incredible. What are you going to do with them?¡±


    I chew and swallow, buying myself some time. ¡°I don¡¯t really, really know. Maggie¡¯s going to get Mathieus to make some truth serum and they¡¯ll all be questioned on their crimes. Root out any potentially dangerous folk. Then we¡¯ll offer them a home, jobs.¡±


    Haven nods enthusiastically and captures my free hand across the table, wrapping her twining our fingers together. I smile, feeling the warmth of her love pooling in my body. ¡°Our Sybil is very clever.¡±


    Soleil squeezes my shoulder. ¡°I hope they turn out to be good people.¡±


    ¡°I hope so, too.¡± I hesitate. ¡°I hope all of this calms down.¡±


    Soleil nods, ¡°I could do with going outside again.¡±


    Haven doesn¡¯t say anything, lips thin in her face. She squeezes my hand and returns to eating. I make a mental note to ask her later, but I think I know already. Since Reistau had gotten busier, Soleil didn¡¯t go out anymore. He was confined inside his home for fear that someone might catch sight of his large, 8 legged body. He would certainly be a kill on sight if any of the king¡¯s guards ever caught wind of his existence. And though we didn¡¯t have any such enforcement in our small village, word travelled quickly across the realm.


    If I could get the housing building up and running, I might be able to accommodate our townsfolk until Mathieus¡¯ stock of glamour potions was back. Soleil could live as himself. We would just need to get him there. Unfortunately, since he had too many legs, the glamour potion worked a little differently on him than it did the bipedal bestmen. Terrifying was one word for it: with eight bare human legs sticking out of his torso at odd angles.


    It hadn¡¯t taken very much trial and error to decide that glamour potions weren¡¯t going to work for Soleil.


    When dinner is done, Soleil tucks the manuscript into a book for me and Haven wraps up some extra food for me to take home for Vi. He pulls me into a warm hug and kisses the top of my head. ¡°Thank you,¡± he whispers into my hair.


    My stomach twists into a sad knot, knowing that I probably won¡¯t see him for another few weeks what with the harvest. ¡°I¡¯ll get it down to you soon,¡± I promise him. ¡°I¡¯ll make you three copies.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯d like that.¡± He smiles, rubbing my arms.


    ¡°I¡¯ll come visit soon.¡±


    ¡°Take your time, I¡¯m not going anywhere,¡± he jokes, deadpan.


    He squeezes my hand and I follow Haven out onto the street.


    ¡°I¡¯ll be back tomorrow!¡± Haven calls over her shoulder and he waves her away. When the door closes behind us, we¡¯re left in the road in the dark of night. ¡°Are you sure you don¡¯t want to spend the night?¡±


    I chew on my lip. I desperately want to, and what with her abundant teasing, there¡¯s a bit of pent up stress I¡¯d like to take out on her. I wince. ¡°I should go home, Vi will be wondering about me. And Lasis.¡±


    ¡°Can that wait for tomorrow?¡± Haven asks, fingers featherlight on my wrist, her eyes demure in the darkness.


    I swallow, look up at the sky, and sigh. ¡°You¡¯re convincing.¡±


    ¡°I know I am.¡± Haven tucks her arm in mine and pulls me to her shop. ¡°It required so much energy, too,¡± she teases sarcastically.


    I roll my eyes, shy warmth spreading through my body. ¡°I could change my mind,¡± I remind her.


    ¡°You won¡¯t,¡± she tells me.


    ¡°Why is that?¡± I ask, eyes searching through the dark streets for her forge.


    She slides her hand into my fingers and pulls me between houses and against Mr. Feindley¡¯s rock wall fence. My stomach flip flops as she takes my throat in her hand and kisses me deeply, fingertips tracing over my stomach. I almost drop the food she¡¯s saved up for Vi. Just as the world begins to spin away from me, she pulls away. I reach for her but she steps out of my grasp. ¡°Because you¡¯re going to have to get back at me for that,¡± she explains, winking. It¡¯s all I can do not to grab her by the waist and press into her. She¡¯s read me completely, and I do intend to take my revenge on her for all of her teasing the last two or three days. I¡¯ll go home in the morning, and hopefully by the following week, I¡¯ll have answers on who is going to work with me. Until then, I deserved a little bit of a break in the arms of one of my lovers.

 Antonio: To Rice-saw? And to honesty.

    <h2>Antonio</h2>


    We watched in horror as the woman who bought us walked away, leaving us under the jurisdiction of the middle-aged woman with a sternly-set face. She and some other men gathered their group and hustled them into a building that looked nothing more than a residential property from the outside, but had been hollowed out in the inside, with a gathering of chairs in a wide circle, facing inward. She had all of them sit as she stepped into the far corridor to speak with a small, hunched man in dark robes.


    ¡°What¡¯s going on?¡± Tols asks me under his breath, seated on my left. My fingers twist nervously into the fabric of my pant leg. I don¡¯t know. I haven¡¯t known what to do since before my father came to visit me all those months ago. How long had it been? I¡¯d lost track of days, and Simon had long since lost track before I was introduced into his world.


    Simon sits on my right, his lips in a thin line. All of my moves so far have been modeled after Simon¡¯s advice. My pride bubbles up, and I¡¯m afraid to relay the question over. He looks pensive, and I can¡¯t imagine that he knows any better than any of us in this instant. Were we slaves? Were we indentured servants? Were we free? The fact that we were all still bound led me to believe we weren¡¯t technically free, but they¡¯d left us alone in a room without guards.


    I¡¯m not the only person who realizes this. Some of the men look at the door, eyes drifting from the woman and the man in the corridor talking under their breaths. Someone gets to their feet and starts to meander toward the door, and the woman¡¯s gaze sharpens on us. She steps into the room. ¡°If you want to leave, go ahead, but you¡¯ll have to figure out how to get your hands undone.¡± The man freezes and slowly turns to face her. She addresses the rest of us, ¡°If you¡¯ll just give me a moment with Mathieus, I¡¯ll explain your situation and give you gentlemen some options.¡±


    The man looks around at the rest of us, then shrugs and sits back down.


    ¡°We haven¡¯t decided if you¡¯re prisoners yet,¡± she tells us, a gentleness creeping into her stern voice.


    I feel myself bristle. What did that mean? They hadn¡¯t decided? Isn¡¯t that something one decided when they purchased people?


    I rub the web between my forefinger and thumb and stare at the floor. In either case, it wasn¡¯t like I had the power to do anything about my situation.


    She eventually claps her hands and comes to stand in the center of the circle. ¡°Alright, thank you all for sitting quietly while I sorted out our next steps.¡±


    No one says anything.


    She turns to look at each of us individually. Her eyes land on Tols and she smiles a sad smile at him and tucks her fingers into her pockets. I want to stand in front of him and block her gaze, but what she says sets me on even more uneven ground than I already feel that I¡¯m on.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry you all have been along for this terrible ride,¡± she says. ¡°Many of you, I imagine, have been taken from your homes without reason. Some of you might not even know why you¡¯re here, or even where you are.¡± She gestures around, as if her hands can encompass the small village they¡¯ve entered into. ¡°This is Reisau. Welcome.¡±


    There¡¯s an uncomfortable shuffling in the chairs. What did this have to do with anything? Weren¡¯t we going to be put to work?


    ¡°In regards to your current situation, we have options.¡± She raises a finger. ¡°We let you loose, you go into the hills. You find your way home. You¡¯re free.¡± There¡¯s a surprised murmuring and some people move to stand. She raises her hand to silence us. ¡°Or,¡± she continues when it bubbles into an uncomfortable silence, ¡°you stay in your situation just a few days longer and we offer you room, board, and wages.¡± She gestures to the beastmen, though I know she isn¡¯t excluding the rest of us. ¡°You will never need to hide yourselves again. You can live your lives out as you are.¡± She hesitates and winces, ¡°But this, unfortunately, requires some additional¡­ questioning.¡±


    I frown and open my mouth, but it¡¯s Simon who speaks first. ¡°What does that entail?¡±


    She nods to him, ¡°Excellent question. You might not like the answer, but for our town¡¯s safety, it¡¯s absolutely necessary.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re going to question us under the influence of a truth serum?¡± Simon infers. My heart constricts and fear pulses through me. The use of truth serums hadn¡¯t even crossed my mind when she¡¯d mentioned questioning. If he decided to stay in Reisau ¨C not that I had decided at all ¨C I could have easily lied my way through an interrogation.


    The introduction of a truth serum made my situation far less tenable, if it had been secure at all.


    His finger taps anxiously on his thigh for a moment. ¡°And we are consenting to this?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°What questions are you asking us?¡±


    At some point during the long wagon ride here, Simon became the group¡¯s leader. The heads all around the circle nod simultaneously.


    This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    She nods at him. ¡°We¡¯re going to ask all of you why you were arrested in the first place. This will establish if you are a danger to our community.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ve already established we are safe in your community,¡± Simon poses, eyes narrowing suspiciously. ¡°And you¡¯ve also offered us our freedom. Say some of us aren¡¯t truly innocent of our crimes, you¡¯ve revealed yourselves to be a safe-haven.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s determinant on whether you believe me or not,¡± She tilts her head at him. ¡°Do you see any beastmen walking around? Or necromancers?¡±


    Something strums within me, and I¡¯m reminded of the pale woman who brought us here. It feels like an itch I can¡¯t scratch, like something is hovering in the back of my mind, just out of reach. Why did her name sound familiar? Whitman¡­


    ¡°No,¡± he admitted.


    ¡°Then you don¡¯t know if I¡¯m lying or telling the truth,¡± she splays her hands. ¡°I¡¯d prefer to question each of you, of course, but again: you aren¡¯t prisoners  here. I will not hold you against your wishes. You are free to leave.¡±


    The murmuring starts up again, and Simon is silent for a long moment, considering.


    I clear my throat, ¡°So you¡¯re saying we have one of two choices.¡± She nods. ¡°What happens if the questioning results in the guilt of the questioned?¡±


    ¡°We try them for their crimes using our own jurisdiction processes. Depending on severity, we will deliver them to Torsen.¡±


    I swallow. Returning to Torsen, where I was sold, was not an option. I could leave now, but where would I go? There was no home for me anymore. I half expected that my father was behind my abduction to begin with and Luis had always been his eye and ears throughout my campaign and into my reign.


    To everyone¡¯s surprise, Tolstoy is the first to stand, his ears laying flat against his head and his usually bushy tail limp behind him. ¡°I¡¯ll consent to the truth serum,¡± he says aloud, even as his voice wavers.


    The other beastmen stand beside him and nod.


    Someone across the circle, a human, stands and holds his arms out. ¡°I¡¯d like to leave, if it¡¯s the same to you.¡±


    She nods and gently unties him. The man looks stunned. He thanks her quietly and departs. The door closes behind him and the rest of us stare after him in surprise, but soon some of the other men are emboldened and are, similarly, released. In only a few minutes, only six of us remain: Tolstoy, Nicholas, and Oryx, Simon, a young man across the circle from us, and myself.


    All eyes turn to me, and I realize I¡¯m the last person to decide. I swallow hard. Simon takes my arm gently. ¡°This is only a decision you can make for yourself, Tony.¡±


    Tols looks at me longingly, his ears twitching. I imagine the road beneath my feet and the hot sun beating down on me on the road, of the dark forest on either side of the road. I think about my brother¡¯s face when I appeared before him: covered in road dust and my clothes little more than rags. Then I thought of the beastmen in front of me, and his friends. Knowing they chose questioning over returning home because they knew they could not return home safely jarred me. Something needed to change, and if anyone was going to change it, it was going to be me. I needed an army.


    My eyes level with the woman and I nod. ¡°Okay.¡±


    <h2> </h2>


    I position myself in the room so that I am the last to go. If anyone notices, it¡¯s not immediately obvious. The day stretches on until the light fades into sunset. Once someone has been brought out of the room, they do not return when Maggie, as we¡¯ve come to learn her name is, comes to fetch the next person. She tells us that we¡¯re being moved into a room to sleep off the effects of the truth serum someplace safe. Whatever safety means, I know we cannot know for certain.


    The beastmen go first, one after the other until it is only Simon and me remaining. When Maggie comes into the room she gestures to us in turn. ¡°Well, which of you gentlemen are up to the plate?¡±


    Simon pats my back and stands. ¡°I¡¯ll go,¡± he tells me. ¡°I imagine you¡¯ve got a lot to talk about.¡±


    I blink at him, startled. ¡°What do you mean?¡±


    He just smiles. ¡°I¡¯ll see you on the other side, I hope.¡± And he follows Maggie out of the room.


    His words gather in my head in confusing clumps of memory, as if he had told me something in code with a cipher I hadn¡¯t learned. Had he picked up on my secret? Did he believe I was a war criminal from the war with Cainern? Did he know the truth, that I was the cause of all of this suffering in Led? There wasn¡¯t any way he would have learned that, I rationalize. It was abundantly more likely that he believed I was some sort of soldier from the war.


    Whatever Simon was questioned for took a bit longer than with the others. The sun disappeared and the town was filled with the sticky sweet cool of the summer night. In the distance, I heard some doors opening and closing, some people chattering in the street before dying into the gentle hum of crickets. Footsteps skipped up the road and the door eased open. A small girl peered into the room, her skin was pallid and her eyes were set deep into her face, almost too bulbous for their sockets. Her hair was blonde and thin, and her lips were a blueish white. When her eyes land on me, they narrow and widen in shock. ¡°What are you doing here?¡± she asks, striding into the room. Her words are certain and steady, as if they aren¡¯t uttered from a young girl¡¯s mouth. As if she knows exactly who I am. The hair rises on the back of my neck, and fear stirs in my stomach.


    ¡°Sorry?¡±


    She crosses her arms, ¡°You were missing for months, why are you here?¡±


    I frown, perturbed. ¡°I don¡¯t know what you¡¯re talking about.¡±


    She smiles sweetly, knowingly. ¡°Where¡¯s Maggie?¡± A childish lilt replaces the strange, unnerving maturity. I wonder if I¡¯d imagined it at all.


    I nod toward the door. She smiles, showing black gums. My heart sinks into my stomach in surprise. ¡°Thank you!¡± she coos and skips out of the room. My stomach flip flops over itself as reality sinks into my stomach, and my mind churns into itself as it processes that the little girl who was speaking to me just moments ago was, in fact, dead. The name Sybil Whitman clicks into place, as the memory of the scroll Luis had given me flickers into place. The list of known necromancers and their sympathizers. The last necromancer of Led was the woman who had bought and offered us our salvation.

 Antonio: The truth of the matter is...

    Maggie returned to the room then, the little girl¡¯s hand in hers. ¡°She¡¯s probably with Haven,¡± she¡¯s telling the animated corpse. Her voice is gentle and motherly, and there¡¯s a loving sparkle in her eye. Nausea rolls into my throat and I close my eyes, trying to fight it down. I can almost feel Simon¡¯s disapproval. I try to remember what he had told me about necromancy, and about how it was the magic of offering the choice of death, not bestowing a curse.


    ¡°Oh, aww. I guess I¡¯ll just have to spend the night then, Granny.¡±


    ¡°Alright, go on and see Charles. We¡¯ll get you sorted out for the trip back tomorrow. I¡¯m sure she¡¯s just exhausted.¡±


    I open my eyes to see the little zombie girl roll her eyes. ¡°She¡¯s always with them.¡±


    Maggie rubs her back. ¡°We all need our friends, love. And she¡¯s been through a lot the last few weeks.¡±


    ¡°Friends,¡± the girl pouts. ¡°Okay, I¡¯ll go home. See you soon?¡±


    ¡°Yes, sweetie. I¡¯ll be along shortly. We just have one more,¡± Maggie smiles apologetically at me. I must look as green as I feel because she hurries the girl more quickly across the room and to the door.


    She catches the door frame and turns to catch my eye. I feel something shift in my soul, as if she sees through me. She gives me a wicked smile, and I realize I hadn¡¯t imagined her words earlier. But she doesn¡¯t say anything, only turning and disappearing into the night.


    ¡°Sorry about her,¡± Maggies says after the door closes. She returns to me and nods to the opposite side of the room. ¡°Are you about ready?¡± she asks me.


    I feel shaken up, but I gather my strength and nod. ¡°Simon?¡± I ask.


    ¡°Already asleep, luckily.¡±


    I stand and follow her from the room and down a short hallway. She opens the door into a small room where Mathieus sits hunched over his knees. He straightens when we enter, a dark rim around his eyes. Maggie closes the door behind us. The room is small with green carpet and blue walls, and a large map takes up the majority of the north wall. There¡¯s a sofa and two chairs around a small coffee table in the center. Mathieus gestures at the sofa. ¡°Last one?¡± He smiles at me.


    I try to smile back, but I¡¯m still disconcerted from my interaction with the little girl, so the movement feels strained. I sit on the plush couch, wiping the sweat from my palms onto my knees. Do I tell them half truths, or would I tell them the whole story? What would they do if they learned my identity? Would they kill me here?


    ¡°Last one,¡± Maggie affirms, sitting in one of the chairs.


    Mathieus sets a small vial of milky white liquid onto the table between us and crosses his fingers. ¡°This is a truth serum. One of my more potent blends. It¡¯s from the same batch those before you have taken. It causes fairly drowsiness once it wears off, and there may be a short period of time after that you find yourself blurting out what¡¯s on your mind for a few days afterwards,¡± the alchemist explains. ¡°It¡¯s going to taste bitter, and it may cause some headache in the morning, like you¡¯ve had a fun night out,¡± he shrugs, ¡°Nothing too bad.¡±


    ¡°Of course, you still can back out,¡± Maggie tells me. ¡°We will not force the potion down your throat. If you drink the potion and leave the room, we won¡¯t chase you down.¡±


    ¡°Do you have any allergies?¡± Mathieus asks me.


    ¡°Not that I¡¯m aware of,¡± I mutter reflexively, as though he is the court physician and I¡¯ve been asked this a thousand times.


    She gestures at the vial. ¡°Whenever you¡¯re ready.¡±


    I smile weakly at her, ¡°No chance that I can answer your questions without it?¡±


    She cocks her head, ¡°Depends,¡± she said. ¡°Are you going to lie?¡±


    I consider that. ¡°No,¡± I tell her, ¡°But I don¡¯t think you¡¯ll believe me.¡±


    She smiles sadly at me. ¡°If it¡¯s all the same to you, then,¡± she gestures at the vial in indication.


    I hesitate, and close my eyes, bracing myself. Nausea rolls over me again, and white flashes behind my eyelids. ¡°I need to know something,¡± I say, finally.


    ¡°Yes?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re going to jump to conclusions,¡± I hear myself say. I open my eyes and catch Maggie¡¯s gaze. ¡°We are going to be here awhile, I think you¡¯ll have a lot of questions for me. I just ask that you do not kill me once you hear what I have to say.¡±


    ¡°Are you a criminal?¡± Maggie asks me, eyebrow raised.


    I scratch my chin. Was I? I hadn¡¯t broken any laws, technically speaking. I was a tyrant, though. ¡°I guess that just depends on how you define criminality,¡± I admit. ¡°Some might say I¡¯m the worst in Led. I¡¯m chief among them.¡±


    She frowns.


    Mathieus¡¯s fingers tap along his knee. He clears his throat. ¡°I think you ought to take the serum, boy.¡±


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    I wince and nod, scooping up the small vial. I unstopper it, and before I can persuade myself otherwise, I down it all. I wince at the acrid aftertaste and set the empty vial on the table.


    ¡°I think you¡¯ll want to lay back,¡± Mathieus suggests, and I do.


    ¡°Thank you, that does feel better,¡± I tell him, my mind slowly sharpening into a pinpoint. ¡°How strange,¡± I mutter. ¡°I can hear myself think.¡±


    Maggie chuckles. ¡°Not like that for many of us.¡±


    ¡°No,¡± I agree, ¡°I don¡¯t think I¡¯ve heard my own thoughts in¡­¡± I start counting on my fingers, ¡°At least six years,¡± I grumble. ¡°Not since the war.¡±


    I catch Maggie giving Mathieus a look. She clears her throat and sits forward. ¡°Can we start with your name?¡±


    ¡°Tony,¡± I tell her. ¡°That¡¯s what they¡¯re calling me lately¡­ I like it better.¡±


    ¡°Better than?¡±


    ¡°Antonio,¡± I tell them simply.


    ¡°You mentioned the war, were you a part of that?¡±


    At first, I feel genuine warmth in my body at the thought. Pride, embedded deep within me. ¡°Oh yes,¡± I say, and then I remember the dead eyes of soldiers staring into the sky and my mood immediately darkens. ¡°You could say I¡¯m to blame for it.¡± I scowl at the ceiling. ¡°I¡¯m the youngest in my family to ever manage such a conquest. I can¡¯t help but be proud of that¡­ and yet¡­¡± I shake my head. ¡°It wasn¡¯t good.¡± I feel tears welling in my eyes, and I touch my fingers to them in a test, staring in surprise at the wetness.


    ¡°Tony?¡±


    I sit up and fold my hands. ¡°War is an awful thing,¡± I tell Maggie. I shake my head fervently. ¡°I shouldn¡¯t have pursued it so half-heartedly. And then¡­ when everything went so smoothly, I should not have been so proud. And yet¡­¡± I struggle to find the words, even as the truth serum floods through my veins. ¡°There¡¯s a word for it. Foolishness doesn¡¯t begin to reach the depths of it.¡±


    Maggie doesn¡¯t respond, but her green eyes pierce through me.


    ¡°You look frightening,¡± I tell her, point-blank.


    ¡°What is your name?¡± She asks me again.


    ¡°My whole name?¡±


    Mathieus nods.


    ¡°Alejandro Antonio de la Cardenas,¡± my name rolls off my tongue like an old friend, and I remember my mother¡¯s voice scolding me in the distance, as if coming from a different life. A different time. I feel the tears well in my eyes again. ¡°It¡¯s been a long time since I¡¯ve heard that name.¡±


    I look up and see both of them watching me, their gazes guarded. ¡°You¡¯re going to kill me,¡± I say aloud.


    ¡°That depends very much,¡± Maggie mutters, her voice low and angry. ¡°On how you answer your next few questions.¡±


    I swallow, ¡°You are scary.¡±


    ¡°Good.¡± Maggie gathers herself. ¡°Do you mean Reisau harm?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± I shake my head adamantly.


    ¡°Beastmen?¡±


    My mouth falls open in surprise. ¡°Absolutely not,¡± I tell her. ¡°Simon told me about the bloodlines, and Tols¨Cwell, us T-boys stick together, he said.¡± I feel myself rambling. ¡°No,¡± I repeat, and find heat rising to my cheeks. ¡°I think he means a lot to me, Tols. I think I like him around.¡±


    ¡°I didn¡¯t ask you about Tolstoy.¡±


    My eyes meet hers. ¡°I didn¡¯t mean only Tolstoy,¡± I clarify.


    ¡°Do you mean harm to those who sympathize or partake in the ancient magicks of necromancy?¡±


    I frown. ¡°Yes.¡± I shake my head. ¡°I mean. No. Not exactly.¡±


    ¡°What do you mean?¡±


    ¡°Sybil Whitman,¡± her name falls from my lips. ¡°Did she turn that little girl?¡± I ask, feeling myself grow angry.


    Maggie cocks her head, surprised. ¡°Sybil?¡±


    ¡°The necromancer that bought us,¡± I told her. ¡°She¡¯s the last on the list.¡±


    They both stare at me. ¡°The last what?¡±


    ¡°The last necromancer,¡± I explain. I find myself growing frustrated. ¡°Did she raise that little girl without her consent?¡±


    Maggie¡¯s eyes narrow into slits. ¡°No.¡± She tells me. ¡°No, that isn¡¯t how necromancy works.¡±


    ¡°She wanted to be alive?¡± I ask.


    ¡°Yes.¡± Mathieus tells me.


    ¡°Then no,¡± I shake my head. ¡°No, I don¡¯t mean harm.¡± My face twists into a scowl. ¡°I¡¯m not used to it all the way,¡± I admit. ¡°But no. I don¡¯t mean any harm.¡±


    ¡°What is your goal?¡±


    ¡°My goal?¡± I ask. ¡°What do you mean?¡±


    ¡°You could have walked out of here, us none the wiser. Why drink a truth serum and reveal who you are to us?¡±


    ¡°Protection,¡± I say easily. ¡°Someone made me disappear,¡± I tell her. ¡°I don''t know why, I don''t know what their intentions were. I intend to find out.¡±


    ¡°Why would we offer you protection? We could kill you now and be done with it. All of the pain you''ve put our country through. It would be easy.¡±


    I nod. ¡°It would be. But you won''t.¡±


    She scowls. ¡°Why do you think that?¡±


    ¡°Because I''m your best bet at setting things straight. For giving rights back to beastmen and necromancers. For bringing peace.¡±


    The drowsiness is starting to kick in, and Maggie''s face blurs just a moment so I cannot read her expression.


    I hesitate. ¡°I hope you don¡¯t mind my saying, but I really hope you don¡¯t kill me.¡±


    ¡°How did you end up in that prison cell, Antonio?¡± She asks instead of responding.


    I squint, trying to make the objects in the room come into focus. ¡°My personal assistant, Luis.¡± I frown. ¡°He did something to me. He came at me with a knife.¡± The events from that night swim together in my memory, an hazy artifact as incongruous as the room around me. I shake my head. ¡°I don¡¯t remember anything after that, only that I woke up and Simon helped nurse me back to health.¡± I grimace. ¡°I didn¡¯t want to give up power to my father. I did not want to give Led to my brother.¡±


    ¡°Why didn¡¯t you want to give it to him?¡±


    ¡°Pride,¡± I explain, waving my hands around. ¡°It was my conquest, my tour, my glory. My brother wasn¡¯t on the battlefield. He didn¡¯t travel around the country meeting with the people of Led. Didn¡¯t hear their wishes. They were from the outside, and I was beginning to believe that I, too, was one of you.¡± I shake my head. ¡°Admittedly, I was talking to the wrong people.¡±


    ¡°You think?¡± Mathieus scoffs and I think Maggie shoots him a look because he falls silent.


    ¡°So what now, Tony?¡±


    ¡°Work,¡± I tell her. ¡°Pay my dues. Build an army.¡±


    ¡°An army?¡±


    I nod, and roll onto my side, propping my heavy head up on my arm. ¡°Allies. If I¡¯m going to change¨Cno, fix what I did, I will need help. I will need allies, and with allies, I get an army.¡±


    ¡°You want the town of Reisau to go to war with you?¡±


    ¡°No.¡± I tent my fingers. ¡°I want Sybil Whitman to go to war with me.¡±

 Antonio: The Truth Was Told... And now... Labor? Freedom? My Army??

    I don¡¯t know what happens next, only that the rest of the world gets blurry and I wake up in a stiff bed and it¡¯s early morning and my head is an absolute, pounding mess and my mouth is filled with cotton. The light outside has streamed through the blinds in stripes of blue light. It¡¯s early. I wrap my arms around my head, fighting against the rolling nausea. I¡¯d had alcohol before, certainly, but I¡¯d never drunk to excess before. The sensation was¡­ horrific. I didn¡¯t want to repeat it. I roll my feet onto the floor and push myself into a seated position. I should be more tired, I realize. I¡¯d been in a wagon cooking under the hot sun for two weeks, and before then I spent months in a prison cell. This was the first time I¡¯d slept in a bed. As stiff as it was, it felt more luxurious than the feather beds with down pillows back in the castle.


    I push myself to stand, I need to find some water. I get to the door and turn the knob and turn. My heart sinks. It¡¯s locked. Fury rises in me. Did they lie to just me or did they lie to all of us? Was it because I was the missing tyrant of the kingdom? Was it because I wanted to raise an army against my brother? Maybe I¡¯d said too much, revealed too much of my hand.


    There¡¯s nothing to do about it right this moment, I tell myself. Someone will be along sometime to fill me in on what went wrong¨Csend me to my death, if necessary. In the meantime, I need to find some water. I take in my surroundings. The little bed is pushed up against the wall opposite a window that looks down into the street below. It¡¯s a single pane of glass that doesn¡¯t appear to open. The sheets on the bed are a light blue cotton. There¡¯s a small nightstand by the bed with a candle holder and a stack of books. My eyes greedily eat them, in spite of my thirst. I hadn¡¯t held a book in so long. There¡¯s a vanity in the corner, with a dirty, rusted mirror. It¡¯s obviously been well-loved over many years, repainted and the metal of the drawer handles oiled fairly recently. I¡¯m most interested in the carafe and mug that sits on it, though. I pour a mug of clear liquid and smell it. Judging it clear, I take a tentative sip. Just water, I gather, and down the remainder of the carafe of cool water. It helps a little with the pounding in my head, and my tongue seems to move a little better in my mouth. I¡¯ll need some more water soon enough, but it¡¯s still early in the morning. It will be awhile before anyone comes to see me.


    I pick up one of the books on the nightstand, eyeing the cover, but the title is too faded for me to read. I shrug and open it, climbing back into the bed and pulling the blankets over my legs. I¡¯ll just read until I get tired, I decide. If they don¡¯t come before then, at least I¡¯ll be able to sleep some of the time away.


    It¡¯s when the door slams downstairs an hour later that I realize I dozed off. ¡°Where is Maggie?¡± I hear a feminine voice grumble loudly.


    I don¡¯t hear the response, only making out the cadence of an unfamiliar male voice.


    She lowers her voice, so I can¡¯t hear what¡¯s said, and they go back and forth for a little while. Finally, she sighs and stomps up the stairs. I hear some footsteps creep out from another room down the hall and meet her on the landing outside my room. ¡°You called?¡± The woman, who sounds more familiar now that she¡¯s closer, demands.


    ¡°We needed to talk,¡± I hear Maggie¡¯s voice. ¡°He¡¯s probably still asleep.¡±


    ¡°I was still asleep,¡± Sybil Whitman sighs.


    ¡°I¡¯m glad you were still in town.¡±


    There¡¯s a pause, and I imagine some intense stare down. When Sybil speaks again, it¡¯s tired. ¡°Why did you send Via?¡±


    ¡°I had to be here,¡± Maggie says, an apologetic tone threading through her voice. ¡°I needed to be here, make sure he didn¡¯t make a run for it.¡±


    ¡°Who? Haven¡¯t they been freed, one way or the other? Isn¡¯t that what we agreed on?¡±


    ¡°Slow down, Syb. There¡¯s a whole lot to catch you up on, can we take this downstairs?¡±


    ¡°Are they or are they not free?¡±


    ¡°They¡¯re free.¡±


    ¡°Then why was I woken up at dawn?¡±


    Maggie sighs. ¡°Stop it, Sybil. Let¡¯s go downstairs, get you some breakfast to cure whatever this is, and then I¡¯ll fill you in on why exactly one of your prisoners is up for debate.¡±


    Sybil sighed. ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± she muttered. ¡°I haven¡¯t spent the night with Haven in awhile, what with all of the¡­¡± her voice drifts off.


    ¡°I know, I wouldn¡¯t have sent for you if it wasn¡¯t important. Can I get you something to eat? The sooner we get this sorted out, the better. He¡¯s probably still dead asleep.¡±


    ¡°Alright. Thank you, Mags. I¡¯m sorry for the attitude, I do appreciate what you did for me yesterday.¡±


    Maggie chuckles. ¡°I owe you for the work you¡¯re going to put them to. It¡¯s mutually beneficial.¡±


    Their feet retreat down the stairs and I set the book on my face. That answered my question as to whether or not the others were still free to roam. I feel relieved. As much as I¡¯d like to be able to tell my story on my own terms, truth serum or not, I had already done the best I could. Now that I had put my best foot forward, there was very little left to do but wait. My stomach rumbles, and my mind drifts to the thought of the pair of them eating dinner downstairs. I hope they finish quickly and offer me something to eat. What I wouldn¡¯t give for a stale heel of bread and moldy cheese.


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    I cross my hands over my stomach, letting my thoughts drift from food to the elaborately decorated hallways of home. Of my brother, Herman, and my father, and the task ahead of me. I¡¯d fortified the capital far better than it had been when I¡¯d claimed the throne, and I doubted that Herman had changed much since I had ruled a few months ago, but I also didn¡¯t know how long I would need to prove myself here in Reisau.


    I must have drifted back to sleep again, because when the knock comes at the door, the sun is higher in the sky, as if I had only blinked.


    I groan and sit up, my head throbbing with the extra sleep and the hang over from the truth serum. ¡°Come in?¡± I ask, because I don¡¯t know if it¡¯s even within my power to allow anyone into a room that I¡¯ve obviously been confined in. I appreciate the effort, though.


    The door knob turns, sticks, and a half-grumbled: ¡°Oh. Right.¡± Sounds through the door. I hear a key enter the lock, and now the handle turns and the pale woman I¡¯d searched for years for steps into the room, looking around blearily. Her raven hair is messy and falls around her in a waterfall of purple-black. ¡°Hi,¡± she says awkwardly.


    There¡¯s a feeling in my chest at the sight of her: an inadequacy compared to what I expected I would feel when I met her. Years ago, I would have been filled with a righteous fury, a proud success. Now, there is the ghost of that feeling, coupled with a deep, sinking sensation of loss. She represents everything I thought I knew being crushed under the weight of the reality that I had been misguided. She was the personification of all of my wrongdoings, all of my missteps, all of my failings. ¡°Whitman.¡±


    Her lips quirk at this, but her dark eyes still look through me, face unreadable. ¡°De Cardenas.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve been looking for you for a long time,¡± I admit, trying to push down the uneasiness under lighthearted humor.


    ¡°I¡¯ve been hiding from you for a long time,¡± she tilts her head. ¡°You¡¯re shorter than I imagined, actually.¡±


    I blink, my brain falling blank. I don¡¯t know how to respond to that. Had she never seen me? I suppose there weren¡¯t many opportunities for my portrait to make the rounds. Had I even been painted since the wars?


    She waves her hand through the air and gestures to the chair at the vanity. ¡°May I?¡±


    ¡°Please.¡± I scoot to the end of the bed, running my hand over my ruffled hair. I¡¯m in desperate need of a haircut. And a shave. I probably stink to high heaven. She watches me perched sideways on the chair, fist pressed against her temple with her elbow looped over the back of the chair. I wonder what I look like from her eyes. I hook my fingers together over my knees and cough, opening my mouth to speak, but she beats me to it.


    ¡°You want an army.¡±


    I close my mouth. She¡¯s direct. ¡°Yes,¡± I admit. ¡°But I need to prove myself to you first.¡±


    She nods, ¡°You¡¯re a smart kid, when you¡¯re not inciting genocide.¡±


    Ashamed, I look at my palms. ¡°More than anything,¡± I add, ¡°I want to redeem myself. I want to fix the damage I did.¡±


    She shakes her head. ¡°You did do a lot of that. The damage thing.¡± She sighs. ¡°Look, I made a deal. I won¡¯t go into the details of that deal, but I can¡¯t be talking to you.¡±


    I frown, not understanding. ¡°You can¡¯t talk to me?¡±


    She shakes her head. ¡°You¡¯re too important. Time and space. Something or another,¡± she waves her hand around randomly. ¡°So you need to not be important.¡±


    I squint. ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°No army,¡± she tells me. ¡°No taking back your throne. No ideas of grandeur. No trying to change the world. Leave it the way it is, and I¡¯ll let you work for me.¡±


    I stare at her. ¡°You don¡¯t want me to fix what I did?¡±


    She waves this away. ¡°You¡¯ll do it somewhere else if not here. I won¡¯t be involved.¡±


    I don¡¯t understand. ¡°Your friend, she¡¯s a zombie¨C¡±


    ¡°Oh, I have more than her,¡± she gives me a cold smile that is all teeth and I feel a shiver run down my spine. Simon said that necromancers were harmless¨Creverent even. In this moment, I¡¯m not sure if I believe him.


    I swallow down the bite of fear and continue: ¡°Aren¡¯t you worried that they will be hauled away from you? That you will be executed?¡±


    ¡°Will you tell anyone where I am?¡±


    I hesitate, searching deep into myself for the answer. I¡¯d made a promise to myself that I would be honest from here on out, and I don¡¯t see the point of lying, ¡°No,¡± I say finally.


    She shrugs. ¡°Then I have nothing to worry about.¡± She stands. ¡°It was nice meeting you, Antonio. Good luck.¡±


    Anxiety bubbles up in me as she makes her way to the door. ¡°Wait,¡± I stand. ¡°I have nowhere to go where I won¡¯t be¡­¡± killed? Arrested?


    She pauses, waiting to hear the rest of it. ¡°Okay,¡± I tell her. ¡°No armies.¡±


    She turns to me, hands on her hips. ¡°What makes you think I believe that?¡± She shakes her head. ¡°That kind of ambition, it¡¯s rooted in your soul, Antonio. And it¡¯s righteous, it¡¯s justified, and it¡¯s correct. With me, you would need to kill it, at the detriment of the rest of Led.¡± Her dark eyes scrutinize me.


    I drop my eyes to my lap. I don¡¯t have an answer for her.


    ¡°Besides,¡± she continues. ¡°Why would I want to follow a regent that cannot commit to something so pivotal as fixing his own mistakes?¡± She shakes her head. ¡°Why would I want that?¡±


    I chew on my bottom lip. ¡°I¡¯m desperate,¡± I tell her, point-blank. ¡°I don¡¯t know who I can trust, I don¡¯t know where I can go where I am safe.¡±


    She nods. ¡°Sounds like something you should sort out.¡± She opens the door.


    ¡°I¡¯ll leave.¡±


    Her eyebrow quirks up, questioning.


    ¡°I¡¯ll leave,¡± I explain, ¡°When I¡¯ve built my confidence. I won¡¯t tell anyone. I won¡¯t ask anyone to join me, I will sneak away in the middle of the night when I¡¯m ready and find my army somewhere else. Will that satisfy your terms?¡±


    She considers it for a moment. ¡°You¡¯re really that desperate, aren¡¯t you?¡± she mutters.


    ¡°I am.¡±


    Her head whips around and my gaze is dragged into the depths of her eyes. I can¡¯t tell if they¡¯re dark brown or black, but I suddenly feel like I am falling: like she can see the very core of me. My hair raises on my neck, and I feel like I can¡¯t breathe.


    Her eyebrows drop into a frown, breaking the spell. ¡°We¡¯ll see.¡±


    She closes the door behind her without another word, and I am left to sit, stunned, in the cold silence she leaves behind.


    I don¡¯t understand.


    I stare at the space she¡¯s vacated in bewilderment. I hear the distant twitter of birds, and people talking down the street. Children giggle in the street and I hear Sybil¡¯s voice talking to a woman outside and the sound disappears. Time moves around me, but I feel like I am stuck in a time bubble.


    It takes me a long time to realize she didn¡¯t lock the door behind her.

 Antonio: So the end of a chapter is the beginning of a begin?..ning? Or something?

    When I step out of the room, the jovial man behind the bar gives me a gentle wave. His cheeks and nose are rosy, and he reminds me vaguely of Oryx, though I can¡¯t put a finger on why. I raise my hand in a return wave, feeling entirely outside of myself, and step out onto the street outside.


    Judging on the sun above, it¡¯s noon now, and there are people walking about. Almost an hour must have passed in the time since Sybil left my room in the tavern.


    I look up and down the street, uncertain, but no one passes me a glance. No one rushes out to stop me. I take uneasy steps forward, feeling like I am walking on an unsteady beam and the world around me might fall out at any time.


    ¡°What are you doing, standing in the middle of the road like that?¡± A voice surprises me from behind. I spin around, raising my arms in defense. It¡¯s Maggie.


    She tuts and shakes her head. ¡°I see she let you go.¡± Was that the only other option? I wonder. ¡°You¡¯re going up to the farm house, I assume?¡±


    I stare blankly at her.


    She rolls her eyes. ¡°You¡¯re helping Sybil, right?¡±


    ¡°She didn¡¯t say that.¡±


    ¡°She doesn¡¯t say a lot of things, but she is our main export product, so she carries a lot of weight around here.¡± She smiles, ¡°Not to mention, she¡¯s very sweet.¡±


    Sweet? My thoughts flicker back to the cold smile that was all sharp teeth and shivered. ¡°She didn¡¯t say,¡± I repeat. I run my hand over my head, ¡°I think she wanted me to leave, actually.¡±


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    Maggie shook her head. ¡°If that¡¯s the case, it¡¯s not part of the plan.¡± She taps her chin, and my heart sinks into my stomach at the inference. Were they going to kill me after all? She steps past me and points towards a path that veers off of the main road and climbs away from the town to the west. ¡°Take the path up that way for about half an hour. It¡¯s hot, you¡¯ll live. You¡¯ll come to her farm.¡±


    ¡°What?¡±


    She nods and passes me with a wave. ¡°Good luck, princeling. You¡¯ve got a lot on your hands with that one.¡±


    I consider whether to follow her directions, uncertain if she¡¯s just sending me off to die in the dark woods that border the path, but decide that I¡¯m no worse off than I already am and a bit of direction isn¡¯t inherently a¡­ bad thing?


    Usually.


    The road twists underneath my feet and guides me up into the hills outside of the little town of Reisau, which disappears almost immediately from sight behind me as I climb. About twenty minutes in I wonder if I¡¯ve actually made the right choice by following Maggie¡¯s directions, but then I turn the corner and see the ground level off into fields of wheat stretching as far as my eye can see until it reaches the base of the mountain.


    There¡¯s a few structures that climb out of the waving ocean of green like great galleons. There¡¯s white and brown that flash through the greens like fish coming up to touch the surface before diving back down. My stomach drops out of me. I don¡¯t know that I¡¯m equipped for the hard labor that confronts me. I feel the sun on my shoulders more acutely now that I eye the brown of the peaked hats people are wearing. I was a prince, once. Certainly, I¡¯d led my men into battle in the hot summer months during the war, when the sun would reflect off of armor and sweat would drip into my eyes and soak my clothes. That was hard work, too. But without my sword, I can¡¯t fathom the work that awaits me.


    Stop being a child, I scold myself. This was the first step to becoming a better version of myself, of redeeming my sins, of correcting my wrongs. To become a better ruler. I needed to be humbled before I could rise. My promise to the necromancer echoed in my bones as I take another solid step forward: I would gather my confidence here, and then I would leave.


    If only it was so easily earned, because as soon as I rounded the path to the farm house, a large, hulking construct made of bone and clay towered past the building carrying two pine trees in either arm. I felt my heart shudder to a halt and the world went dark.

 Act 3: Sybil: When time marches forward... We live.

    <h2>Sybil</h2>


    After the initial fainting spell of the Missing Mad Prince, Antonio de Cardenas, on my front porch at the sight of Henry, we made a good effort to assimilate him into his work. With an abundance of caution, we introduced him to the rest of the family, and reunited him with his friends from the transport. He seemed especially relieved at the sight of the strange man who looked at me with an uncomfortable reverence reserved for priestesses of old. He was nice enough. He was also particularly excited to be in the company of the young beastman who talked quite a bit more than necessary. Not that any of us minded, it added a rhythm to the day to day, and I quite appreciated how much it annoyed Via.


    She could take a bit of callus building, I think.


    I think they were surprised that instead of field work, they were working with my skeleton crew to build temporary homes across the property. Antonio certainly looked relieved. Oryx and Nicolas asked if they could help in the fields, so I switched them out with some of the other hands to balance out the groups. Lasis worked out hours and hourly wages for each of them, reflecting the wages of the employees we¡¯d already hired. They would earn a living wage, and they weren¡¯t restricted to living up at the farm unless they felt safer.


    Simon and Antonio shared a room down at Yvolstein¡¯s until they earned enough money each to rent rooms of their own. That took a few weeks. I was a nervous wreck being in charge of so many people¡¯s livelihoods, but the money flowed well enough, and Lasis assured me we had nothing to worry about. I trusted them implicitly. Via spent the majority of her days sitting on the fence watching the construction, arms crossed over her chest and giving Antonio sharp smiles whenever he looked her way, laughing when he would get pale and quickly turn back to the task at hand. He was still getting used to the bones, too. Especially Henry.


    I couldn¡¯t blame him. His entire life had been spent hating the people like me and my friends, living and dead. It was going to take time to get over the knee-jerk responses. It reminded me faintly of the time it took for me to get used to Soleil. I was lucky that Haven had been around for many of our first encounters, and my resolve not to make a complete asshole of myself. Not to mention the sweet chemistry that had blossomed between us, in spite of his many additional appendages.


    I found myself thoroughly enjoying our conversations late into the night when he came up to work on my roofs and other projects back then.


    I smile at the memory, standing on the edge of the construction site, leaning over the fence next to a sitting Via.


    ¡°Are you sure about this?¡± Via asks me.


    ¡°What are you referring to?¡±


    ¡°Letting the prince stay.¡±


    I let my head hang as exhaustion pounds my temples. I¡¯d been helping with the harvest for the last several hours. Once the sun reached its peak, I sent people home. We would start in the morning with early dawn when it was cool enough to work, and just light enough to see our hands in the dark. In the meantime, I couldn¡¯t follow Jun around through the farmhouse, and I was too tired to make the trip into town to see my amores¨Cnot that Soleil would be awake, and Haven would also be taking her own siesta. I was too tired to make sense of the goddess¡¯s comment. ¡°Can you elaborate?¡± I grumble, rubbing the back of my neck with stiff, aching fingers.


    ¡°Arceme¡¯s deal,¡± Via says simply.


    The words shift something in me and I stand straighter, neck pain forgotten. ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± I answer her honestly. ¡°It¡¯s been a few weeks since he started, and Arceme hasn¡¯t pulled me away. They haven¡¯t taken me away¡­¡± I chew on my lip. ¡°Maybe the prince is right, and he¡¯ll fade out on his own when he¡¯s ready, and I won¡¯t lose my ¡­¡± I can¡¯t say the next words, but Via knows that I mean my second chance at life.


    ¡°These stones you are rolling might be bigger than any of us knows,¡± she muses.


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    ¡°I hope they¡¯re pebbles.¡±


    She chuckles. ¡°I like that we scare him.¡±


    I roll my eyes and shake my head, ¡°I¡¯m glad that you¡¯re enjoying yourself.¡±


    ¡°He can¡¯t get over that I knew him.¡±


    I scratch an errant fly away from my arm. ¡°How do you know him? Do you know everyone?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± she kicks her feet, her heels smacking into the fence posting. ¡°But I do know him.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re going to keep all of that mystical god nonsense to yourself, I assume?¡±


    ¡°Will it bother you if I do?¡±


    I crack a grin. The banter between us has never gotten old. ¡°Not at all.¡±


    She pouts but I can see her eyes dance. ¡°I know him like I know that Simon man,¡± she points over at the middle-aged man who is helping to raise the last wall of the fifth small building. I¡¯m hoping to persuade Soleil to join us soon with his impeccable roofing skills¡­ and maybe a leisurely vacation from worrying over the post whenever a letter came in. He had finally sent off his dissertation to the academy of druidic sciences two weeks ago, and since had taken to sleeping by the mail slot in his door so he wouldn¡¯t miss a reply. This resulted in deep, dark circles beneath his eyes. All four of them.


    Haven had even taking up urging him to come up my way for a retreat. She was on a regular circuit to Torsen, and while I missed her dearly, I knew she was making quite a bit of money to hold her over through the winter when business slowed. When the harvest season ended and her work slowed, we would be able to put our feet up by the fireplace and relax into one another like we had the past two winters.


    ¡°The druid-kin?¡± I ask aloud, letting my thoughts come back to me.


    She nods stiffly beside me. ¡°The druid trained in necromancy,¡± she chuckles. ¡°One of the last of his kind.¡± She flips upside down, letting her pale hair drape over the ground beneath the fence. ¡°Tony is like that. Except without the necromancy. He¡¯s descended from one of the greats.¡±


    I whistle low, ¡°That¡¯s pretty impressive,¡± I tell her. ¡°And he doesn¡¯t know?¡±


    ¡°I think he knows¡­ but maybe doesn¡¯t understand the implications. Like his affinity to magic¡­¡± her voice trails off meaningfully.


    I wince. ¡°He has an affinity for magic and can¡¯t use it?¡±


    ¡°He doesn¡¯t know he can.¡±


    I shake my head, thinking of how integral my magic is to my character, and wonder what it would be like to never tap into it.


    A tendril of magic touches to mine. It¡¯s Henry. We¡¯re nearly ready to go.


    Okay, I sign back against his magic. I straighten and stretch. ¡°Don¡¯t let the blood pool in your head,¡± I nag Via, who sticks her tongue out at me and grumbles something about congealed blood, but I don¡¯t stick around to hear the whole thing.


    I swallow and shake myself, turning toward the farmhouse where I know many of my bones are waiting for me.


    ¡°Priestess!¡± I hear a voice behind me and I feel my hair rise uncomfortably. It¡¯s Simon. He¡¯s always calling me some weird variation of holiness. It grates, but I can understand it. Actually¡­ I turn and see him walking toward the fence. ¡°I didn¡¯t see you there.¡±


    He¡¯s an older man with leathery brown skin, and as much as he gets under my skin, I do like the man.


    ¡°Yes, sorry. I was watching the buildings come up. I¡¯m actually heading to a ritual, would you like to come along?¡±


    I see a flicker of awe and pleasure cross his face and he bows his head quickly to hide it. I fight the urge to roll my eyes. ¡°I¡¯d be honored.¡± Over his shoulder, I see the mad prince approach.


    ¡°Are you heading out, Simon?¡± He asks after giving me a curious nod in greeting.


    ¡°I was inviting him to a ritual, would you like to join?¡± I offer, cocking my head.


    I can almost see his dark skin turn white, but he composes himself quickly. ¡°Is it about the bones?¡± He asks.


    I nod, biting down the first tickle of grief. ¡°I¡¯m committing Jun to the earth, they¡¯ve decided it¡¯s their time.¡± This must spark his interest because he glances over his shoulder at the foreman. ¡°You¡¯ll be paid for it,¡± I assure him. ¡°It¡¯ll be good for you to see. For both of you,¡± I nod to Simon.


    Antonio swallows and nods. I wave at Via, ¡°Can you let Lasis know?¡±


    She¡¯s still hanging upside down on the fence, but she gives me a thumbs up with a wide, childish grin.


    ¡°Come on, they¡¯re waiting for us.¡± I tell the men and I start walking toward the farmhouse, trusting them to follow me.

 Sybil: Goodbyes Have Never been my Strong Suit.

    When we make it to the house, the gathering of my first bones waits for us around the door. I raise a hand in greeting and let my magic shoot through the earth to curl with the cloud of their blended magics. I feel, rather than see, Antonio slow behind me. He was getting better as the weeks went on about not being so shocked around the bones, but I understood it took time to get assimilated to their¡­ boniness. ¡°Sybil,¡± Lasis raises a hand. They¡¯re wearing well-tailored work clothes, and they hang around his white bones in pools of cloth. Over the years, some of the bones decided they enjoyed wearing clothes, while others preferred to embody their clothesless lives. Lasis was one that believed that the clothing gave them an edge of competence. ¡°They wanted to go down the hill.¡±


    I nod. ¡°That¡¯s a nice spot.¡± I glance down the hill toward the edge of trees, knowing the small wildflower clearing Jun probably decided upon. I inhale the sweet taste of the summer afternoon and gather myself. ¡°Okay. Let¡¯s do this.¡± I lead the procession down the hill, the clink of bones and the footsteps following solemnly behind me. The energies are quiet around me, but they gently touch against mine like hands pressed gently on my shoulder. It¡¯s a comfortable weight that makes me feel more emotional about this than I would otherwise be.


    When we make it to the clearing, Jun is laying in the grass, and I get the sensation that their eyes, though there is no skin or bones, are closed. They are taking in the last rustles of the summer wind and enjoying the scent of the flowers and grass. I reach out with my magic and curl it around theirs. I feel them smile. ¡°Is it time?¡± They ask.


    ¡°I should be asking you that,¡± I tease, sitting down next to them. My hand slips into their phalanges, and the others wait at the edge of the clearing, watching. They squeeze my hand.


    ¡°I think it is,¡± they admit. ¡°Today is a beautiful day.¡±


    ¡°It is,¡± I agree.


    ¡°You¡¯ll be okay?¡± They ask, maternal magic gentle against mine.


    I squeeze their bones. ¡°You know me well enough to answer that.¡±


    They chuckle, ¡°I don¡¯t know if that puts my worries to rest.¡±


    I smile. ¡°You¡¯ll be missed.¡±


    They nod, their head shifting in the grass. ¡°I¡¯ll be missing you all too,¡± They turn their head to take in the rest of our original troupe. In the last three years, many others had been raised or constructed, but Jun was the first to be committed. ¡°It¡¯s time, though,¡± they say with a contented sigh. ¡°And I see no better day than today, surrounded by my family and the beautiful wildflowers.¡±


    I fight down the grief that bubbles into my throat, the strain in my chest. I try to remind myself that all souls get tired at some point, it was just Jun¡¯s time. ¡°Are you ready?¡±


    They nod.


    I give their hand one last squeeze and press a gentle kiss to the brow of their skull. ¡°Thank you, for everything.¡± I tell them. ¡°Modder of mine.¡±


    They chuckle and pat my back. ¡°I¡¯m honored to bear the title. Tell Haven and Soleil goodbye for me?¡±


    I feel my eyes well up with tears. ¡°They will have sent you their salutations, too.¡±


    They nod. ¡°Yes. They¡¯re good for you.¡±


    ¡°I think so too.¡±


    ¡°Goodbye, my dear.¡±


    I want to clutch their frail skeleton to me, but I know that I would not let go: I would not perform their last rites.


    I swallow and stand, gesturing for Simon to approach. The man sidles up beside me. I nod to the rest of them, and they all come to squeeze Jun¡¯s finger bones and say final words. Then, they all stand in a wide circle around me. I take a deep breath, nod to Simon, and close my eyes. I raise my hands above the Jun. Roderick has brought a small drum and he rattles his thumb bones across the top of it, and I hear the magical notes of Samantha and Amelia¡¯s magic singing while the others sway. I let the sound ground me and let my magic flow out into the earth. I tap Simon¡¯s green aura with my magic and feel him jerk beside me. With my physical hand, I take his arm gently. ¡°Let your magic flow with mine,¡± I tell him in a low tone. I know that this will be tricky with his latent druidic magic, but I believe that he deserves to feel where his tradition has come from, even if it is a blended one. He nods beside me, understanding, and I open my mouth to sing.


    ¡°Blessed are you, great earth,


    Who witnesses us here today, in our space.


    Who fills us with her energy,


    And guides our journey, and our pace.


    This congregation commits to you,


    O holy one of russets and green,


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    The same soul that you have shared,


    To your embrace, serene.¡±


    Simon¡¯s voice and magic harmonizing with mine on the common prayer pieces. His magic feels magnifying and light, different. I realize I haven¡¯t worked with druid magic like this before. It feels nice, like a gentle complementary color spread like velvet into mine. It smells of eucalyptus and tastes like sap and pine needles. I feel a third magic tentatively test against ours: gray and thorny, with the distinct scent of roses. It is also druidic. I¡¯m tempted to feel back to see if the magic is Antonio¡¯s, but I narrow my focus to the ritual at hand. It will bear investigation later.


    ¡°Blessed are you, great earth,


    Of flowing and undulating grace,


    Who fills us with her energy,


    And hides her face.¡±


    Via would have particularly liked the line about grace, though I would never tell her I had added it after watching her dance in the stream that bordered our property.


    ¡°With the power you have given us,


    O Sister, O Daughter, O friend.


    I commit this sweet, loving soul to you,


    May never again their energy lend.


    Allow Jun rest, my goddess,


    And passage through your pine gate


    Into the next world, the next lifetimes,


    Whatever their fate.¡±


    My voice hitches at the end, and I feel Jun¡¯s energy twist around the clearing, wrapping around my shoulders in a final hug before fading away. My eyes remain squinted shut as Rod¡¯s drumming reaches a crescendo and the vocalization fades off. I choke back a sob, feeling out with a tendril of my magic to the empty bones and recoil in surprise, eyes popping open. Jun¡¯s inanimate bones are covered in wildflowers and beautiful vines, twisting in through their ribs and sprouting through the mandible, wrapped in a grassy embrace.


    Before I realize what is happening, I am on my knees, crawling to their body, fingers hovering over the singing mushrooms that tickle over my magic, excited at the sudden new growth. I throw myself over their ribcage and cling to the vacant frame. They are truly gone, now, but in their place, the druidic magic has brought life. It¡¯s a beautiful manifestation of painful and peaceful loss. My sobs echo into the forest around us. This is exactly the commitment Jun deserved, and they would have been so pleased to see it. I know the others are watching me, but I spare them no thought, letting my anguish crash over me in waves.


    Once the breeze cools on my neck and my throat is too sore, my eyes too tired to cry, I fumble with the vial at my belt and haul myself away from their body. I wipe my face sloppily across my forearm and cough. I pop open the container and dribble a droplet onto the corpse. ¡°Sleep easy, my dearest friend,¡± I whisper hoarsely as it disappears into the grass cascading over their ribcage. ¡°If I see you again¡­¡± I can¡¯t finish the benediction. The words catch in my throat. I don¡¯t know what to say. I don¡¯t think I¡¯ll have another life, but I am so thankful for the life I got to share with Jun.


    I reach for their hand, but the magical adhesion is gone, so the metacarpals fall apart, and I am left with a proximal phalange. I set it back in its place and pat it into the ground, knowing it is better served with its sisters. I clear my throat and wipe my wet face again before I stand and face the rest of them.


    Their eyes follow me as I excuse myself into the forest, and begin to take turns saying their final farewells.


    Henry catches up to me, and their large arms fall around me, pulling me into their clay body. They are silent, there is no signing into my magic. I melt into them, exhausted from my sobbing.


    Why is it that you are not tired? I sign into their magic, my lips not moving.


    They squeeze me tighter, large hand taking up the whole of my back, but they are silent. I think I¡¯m glad they don¡¯t respond, because I don¡¯t know that I could handle the passing of Henry, too. They hold me for a little while longer until my magic stills, and the shaking in my shoulders eases. I pull away and wipe my face again, standing on my toes to pat the side of his massive mandible. ¡°Thank you.¡± I say aloud.


    They nod.


    I pat my hands on my pants legs and stretch out. ¡°Jun would want a celebration, I think.¡±


    Yes, I think so, they sign.


    All that¡¯s left to do is get the group of skeletons and the two humans up to the farm house for some music and food. When we return to the clearing, they are chatting amongst themselves already, the clacking of teeth bones and finger bones a gentle cacophony. Antonio and Simon huddle together, silently watching the rest of them. ¡°Thank you for coming,¡± I call out to them, my voice still hoarse. ¡°Let¡¯s go celebrate.¡±


    The skeletons cheer and gather their things to head back up to the house, this time Lasis leads them.


    I hang back with the other two humans¨Cdruids. I take Simon¡¯s arm, effectively stalling both men. ¡°You did well,¡± I tell him.


    Even in the lowlight of the evening, I see his eyes light up with pride and he bows his head, ¡°That was wonderful to witness, Priestess.¡±


    ¡°Please don¡¯t call me that,¡± my lips quirk in a painful grimace. ¡°I¡¯m no priestess.¡±


    He opens his mouth to disagree but I narrow my focus to Antonio, ¡°You.¡± His eyes dart to mine in surprise, and I continue before he can say anything. ¡°You have more power than you¡¯ve let on.¡± I cross my arms and frown at him. ¡°I understand the latent magic, or whatever, how long have you been able to manipulate the ether?¡±


    He frowns. ¡°The what?¡±


    Simon nods, turning to the prince. ¡°The ether, I felt it too. Yours was the energy that grew the flowers around Jun¡¯s body.¡±


    Antonio¡¯s eyes flicker between us, his black eyebrows stitching together over his angular nose. ¡°I don¡¯t know what you¡¯re talking about.¡± His frown eases as he looks at me with a soft gaze. ¡°It was a beautiful ceremony.¡±


    ¡°Thank you,¡± I say dismissively. I fight the instinct to offer to help cultivate the magical affinity in him, Arceme¡¯s deal swimming in my head. I chew on my lip and turn to Simon, ¡°Help him.¡± It¡¯s braver than I expected, and I half-expect my life to end.


    But nothing happens, and Simon regards me thoughtfully. He nods slowly. ¡°Okay, my lady.¡±


    I step past them, taking up after my family, ¡°Let¡¯s get on to the wake,¡± I tell them over my shoulder. ¡°It¡¯s a lot more fun than the ritual, anyways.¡±


    I hear their quiet debate and then they pick up speed behind me, following me to the farmhouse.

 Sybil: Wakes and Wonders... and Worries.

    The wake was in full swing when we arrived, Willard had gathered his lute from the bone-barn and was tickling out a jaunty tune, Amelia and Rose had brought out easy dishes from the larder and root cellar, and someone brought out the wine and mead. The other farm hands filled the space with the skeletons, mingling with chatter and some dancing. I reveled in how much the space had changed over the years since I took over the land. When Simon, Antonio, and I walked into the house, it was brightly lit from every room, shining like a beacon in the night.


    As much as I wanted to go to bed and sleep off the emotional and magical exhaustion of saying goodbye to a dear friend, I knew it was imperative to mingle with my employees¨Cmy family. They needed me as much as I, begrudgingly, needed them. Jun had been so important to daily life at the farm: there wasn¡¯t a single life they did not touch.


    My eyes scan the faces in the busy house, finding people I loved from one end to the other. There were some new faces that I appreciated, like the beastmen who had come under my care with Simon and Antonio. There were old and new skeletons, the family I¡¯d cultivated from the earth. Henry still couldn¡¯t fit through the door, but sat outside the kitchen door, flung wide open, so that they were involved. Samantha and Lasis stood by them, jaws chattering together in a bright tattoo. Their magic isn¡¯t reaching me, so I can¡¯t hear the words they¡¯re saying.


    Someone wraps an arm around my shoulder and I look into a tan face filled with freckles. My heart clenches. ¡°Haven?¡±


    Haven grins. ¡°Me!¡± She wraps her arms around my middle and pulls me into her chest, and I fight the urge to fall apart again.


    ¡°What are you doing here?¡± I ask, and I feel my eyes well up with tears.


    ¡°I heard about the wake, Neil sent someone down to town to let Maggie know. Maggie let Soleil and me know.¡±


    My heart clenches and I make a mental note to thank the skeleton later. ¡°Is Soleil here?¡± I ask, pulling away, but I already know the answer.


    She shakes her head sadly, ¡°Maybe we can sneak him up here soon, but it¡¯s still too hot with all the king¡¯s men passing through like they have been. He sends his love, though. Told me to give you a proper hug for him.¡±


    I wipe away a stray tear and I nod, ¡°I can¡¯t wait to have you both up here more regularly again.¡±


    ¡°We are too,¡± she traces her thumb underneath my eye, capturing another errant tear and I feel like fracturing again. I can¡¯t help the trembling of my bottom lip, and she quickly grasps my wrists. ¡°Come dance with me? It¡¯ll help. A little.¡±


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    I nod and let her pull me closer to Willard¡¯s chaotic luting. I take her hand and pull her through a few spins, watching her short hair spin with her sleeves. We stomp our feet with the beat of the music and twist with the melody, and I revel in the joy in her eyes. When I pull her into a dip, she ducks back behind my arms and twists me into a following position and I laugh, content to let her take the lead, keeping a close eye on her broken rhythm. Dancing with Haven was always a fun experience: her enthusiasm made up for her inability to keep up with the beat. She was flamboyant enough to cover up missteps from her two left feet.


    We dance for hours until our feet blister, passing between partners and returning to join hands and tap out whatever Willard had the ear for. We collapse onto the sofa at the end of the night, and Haven gets up to find us some finger food. Before I have time to fall into my musings, I¡¯m joined by Antonio, who takes an awkward seat beside me.


    ¡°What do you want, little prince?¡± I mutter, throwing my arm over my eyes while I try to catch my breath. ¡°Tonight is not a good night.¡±


    ¡°Right. I know.¡± Antonio tells me, voice nervous. ¡°I wanted to keep you company, just a little bit.¡±


    A sardonic laugh bubbles out of me, startling me. ¡°You can barely be in the same room as the bones.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m still getting used to the whole idea that they¡¯re here of their own volition,¡± he admits. ¡°But obviously, they are. Otherwise Jun would still be here.¡±


    I swallow down a knob in my throat. I can¡¯t say anything, I don¡¯t know what to say. Not that I was trying to forget the reason we were in the middle of a wake, but it felt strange to hear their name.


    He doesn¡¯t say anything else, just sits beside me. I can¡¯t deny that I¡¯m thankful for his company. It¡¯s a show of trust that we didn¡¯t have between us before, a show of understanding.


    Eventually, Haven returns with a small plate and waves Antonio away. He hesitates, then stands. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Sybil.¡±


    I blink at him from under my arm, surprised. ¡°Yeah. Me too.¡±


    He wanders away and Haven takes his place beside me. ¡°Damn kid,¡± she grimaces. ¡°Have you told anyone else?¡±


    I pull my arm back stare at her in shock. ¡°No, of course not,¡± I tell her quickly. ¡°I don¡¯t want him dead.¡± The thought is terrifying. If part of this time continuum was for Antonio to regain the throne, letting an entire town of cryptids know was certainly the method of killing him ¨C which would disrupt the universal plotline. No, he needed to get his confidence back and gather his army and regain his throne ¨C preferably without me. I liked my life, and I didn¡¯t want to screw up my deal with Arceme.


    My gaze darts across the room where he leans up against a wall, his darkly tanned face an extra shade of red as Tolstoy talks his ear off. There¡¯s a panicked look in his eye that I can¡¯t help but notice is not at all to do with the conversational trap that Tols has locked him in: Antonio de Cardenas was beginning to realize he¡¯d caught feelings for the little beastman. What a day.


    ¡°Why not?¡± Haven asks.


    ¡°I don¡¯t want the blood of a young monarch on my hands,¡± I tell her in half-truth.


    She rubs her eyes tiredly and changes the subject, and I am immensely grateful for the distraction.

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 Antonio and his first Perfect Moment.

    Antonio


    The night draws on with the music with the rattata of finger bones on the leather-skin drum and against lute strings. I never considered the difference the sound would make without skin and flesh, but the musicians have obviously spent a lot of time playing with the possibilities, creating their own unique sound. The first hour put my teeth on edge, with its sharpness, but as I inclined my ear, I began to find myself enjoying it. It might have to do with the mead¡­ and with the conversation.


    Tolstoy finds me after I keep Sybil company. I¡¯ve evaded him most of the night up to that point, afraid that I might not be able to keep my face and my words to myself. There was something different with Tolstoy these days, and I didn¡¯t understand it ¨C the uncertainty frightened me.


    It started in small doses of him smiling or spending a great deal of our work side-by-side talking about things that interested him greatly, where I had started to notice the light in his eyes when something excited him. Then it was the little friendly touches¨CTols tended to be physically affectionate with everyone¨Cthat bit into my skin like rose thorns. After that, I was thrown into an uncomfortable world of ceaseless self-consciousness. It was a bitter and fearful dance, one that I couldn¡¯t remember ever experiencing before. I worried more than anything that it was a passing fancy¨Canother young person my age that was giving me his full attention was no doubt going to capture some of my feelings, whether misguided or true. And so the strange footwork needed to be slow and considerate.


    Beyond that, I had made a promise to the necromancer that I would leave her farm eventually¨Cand taking Tolstoy with me into war was absolutely out of the question. That and bringing him along in the fight against my family¡­ Tols was so pure. He deserved more than being thrown into another land grab war. I wouldn¡¯t put him through that.


    So now, as he¡¯s telling me about the benefits of using some sort of fertilizer for the pumpkin patch they¡¯ve recently planted, I am trying very hard not to look him too closely in the eyes, but I can¡¯t help but catch the flecks of gold that shine there. So then I spend far too long trying to avoid looking him directly in the eyes that I lose track of the conversation and he brings me back in with a gentle touch to the arm. ¡°Hey T-man, you alright there?¡± he asks, eyes bright and his smile concerned. His ears angle slightly downwards and I fight the urge to ruffle his hair.


    ¡°Yeah, sorry,¡± I tell him, trying to remain cool. ¡°It¡¯s just been a long day.¡±


    His ears quirk lower and I feel a bit guilty for the half-lie. ¡°Yeah,¡± he says, ¡°It¡¯s been a day. Lots of people loved Jun very much.¡± He gives me a soft smile, ¡°Even I was really lucky to have met them.¡± I nod and let him prattle on. ¡°The first night I spent up here, I took a walk around the farm, just¡­ to see the sights. They called me in for some hot chocolate,¡± he smiles at the memory and I find myself smiling, too.


    ¡°They were very nice,¡± I agree, flipping through my own memories of the skeleton family¡¯s atriarch, though I don¡¯t have very many. Most of them are of me shuddering under their sightless-orbed gaze and feeling the distinct sensation of disapproval. Not that I had any cause for thinking as such, they¡¯d not said much in passing to me beyond what was required of my duties, but I knew how much they cared for the other farm and building hands. I¡¯d never want to take that away from others, even if I had never experienced it first-hand myself.


    Beyond that, seeing Sybil break down so heavily at their loss was evidence enough to me that they were mightily loved by their family.


    ¡°I¡¯m going to miss them,¡± Tolstoy admits, and perks up a little. ¡°You know what always gets me feeling better?¡±


    ¡°What is that?¡±


    ¡°Come with me.¡± He tugs my arm and I let him pull me through the room into the night air. He leads me down a rough path into the woods beyond the outer residential buildings of the farm. The tree boughs meet above our heads so that the silver shine of the moon cascaded across our faces in stripes. I look over at Tols and see his lips are curled into a wide smile.


    ¡°Where are we going?¡± I ask him, trying to ignore the fact that he hasn¡¯t released my arm since we left the house.


    ¡°My favorite spot. You¡¯ll see.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m halfway sure you¡¯re just taking me out into the middle of nowhere so that they can¡¯t hear me scream,¡± I tease as we climb over a fallen log.


    I hear him chuckle in the dark ahead of me, hand sliding down to grip mine loosely. ¡°Ah, you caught me,¡± he jokes monotonously. ¡°Just don¡¯t make it too quick by cracking your head open, I won¡¯t enjoy the thrill as much.¡±


    I laugh and keep my eyes trained on the dimly lit terrain ahead of us. Tolstoy¡¯s fenex eyes are more well-adapted to the dark than mine are, so I trust him to guide me.


    When we emerge in a small clearing, it¡¯s all I can do to stifle my surprise. The moonlight falls into the nearly perfect circle filled with flowers that were in full bloom under the silver light, filling the space with pinks and whites that glittered with lightning bugs. I must let out some sound because Tolstoy grins up at me, his ears perking up and twitching with pleasure. He stands up on his tiptoes to whisper in my ear. ¡°I thought you¡¯d like it, it¡¯s my favorite place.¡± His breath tickles my ear and I suppress the warm shiver that bubbles up through my stomach and raises goosebumps along my skin. I¡¯m glad it¡¯s dark, because I know I¡¯m blushing.


    ¡°It is beautiful,¡± I reply, feeling inclined to match the level of his whisper. His grin widens and he releases my fingers. My hand immediately reaches for him, seeking the warmth in the chilly summer evening, but he¡¯s already thrown himself into the bed of grass and flowers with a happy sigh.


    I smile and gently crawl into the grass beside him, laying on my back so I can see the stars and moon above.


    ¡°It¡¯s perfect,¡± I whisper and he stills, his head popping up through the grass.


    He crawls over to my side and rolls onto his back, stretching his arms over our heads so his fingers can wriggle in the soft blades of grass. ¡°It is, isn¡¯t it?¡±


    ¡°Are we whispering for a reason?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t want to disrupt the moment,¡± he teases.


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    I roll my eyes. The man who could never stop talking unwilling to ruin the silent serenity of the glade. The irony. I close my eyes and let the breeze slide over me, cooling my warm skin.


    We lay side by side for a long time before he whispers again. ¡°You know what makes this more perfect?¡±


    ¡°Hmm?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re here.¡±


    My eyes shoot open and my stomach clenches into a tight knot. Did he mean that? What did he mean by that, exactly? ¡°Really?¡± I ask, my voice wry. I don¡¯t want to believe him.


    He props himself on an elbow and looks down at me, and there¡¯s a gentleness in his eyes that makes my heart thunder painfully. He reaches for my hand, folded on my chest, and the world dims into a dim thundering noise as the blood rushes through my head. My mouth goes parchment dry. ¡°Really. Tony, I¨C¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s something you need to know,¡± I rush blindly, cutting him off as his eyes flicker across my face, lingering briefly on my lips. I feel like my skin is on fire, warring with the bitter guilt that has become thorn-stuck in my gut. Was he going to kiss me? The thought scares me, but not in the way that I thought it might. I realize that there¡¯s very little I would rather have than to silence this frustrating, talkative, gentle fox with my mouth.


    He closes it, though, and my eyes return to his eyes where his eyebrows furrow in confusion. ¡°You don¡¯t like me?¡±


    My heart creaks. ¡°I do!¡± I sit up, squeezing his hand in mine. It¡¯s built some calluses since we met from all of the manual labor, but it''s warm. It¡¯s steady. He isn¡¯t shaking like I am, he¡¯s assured. I¡¯ve never felt so far from steady. ¡°I¡­ You don¡¯t want me.¡±


    His gaze flashes in a hungry gaze that rolls my stomach in a hot syrup. His fingers squeeze around mine, ¡°I¡¯m sure that I do.¡± Gods.


    ¡°Even if my name is Antonio?¡± I ask, and I feel like it¡¯s a breath.


    His head cocks to the side. ¡°Well, you call me Tols and my name is Tolstoy¡­¡±


    ¡°De Cardenas?¡± I add, bitterly hoping he doesn¡¯t jolt away from me.


    He doesn¡¯t, though. His face evens and a slow grin spreads across his features. ¡°I know.¡±


    I frown. ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re the mad prince.¡±


    I stare at him, speechless. ¡°You¡­ knew?¡±


    He points at his ears, ¡°You think these are decorative?¡±


    ¡°No? But when¡­?¡± Sybil had kept it a secret from the rest of her staff, as much as sometimes Haven would shoot me ugly looks now and again, so I knew she¡¯d relayed it to her partners. Not that I¡¯d ever met the second one. Lasis said that it was hard for him to make the trip up the farm. In any case, I hadn¡¯t recalled any time she and I had discussed it besides¨C ¡°At the party?¡±


    He laughs, and the sound fills me with warmth. Being here fills me with self-consciousness, the sensation made worse by the steady weight of his hand on mine. ¡°Well, then, too. But you and Sybil talk about it. I¡¯ve known for a few weeks. She calls you princeling, and her amores¨Cis Maggie one of Sybil¡¯s amores?¨Cgive you strange looks. It didn¡¯t take much to put the pieces together. I thought about it for a long time, but¨C¡±


    A few weeks? ¡°Does Simon know?¡± The idea of my mentor knowing set my teeth on edge.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± he admits. ¡°You would have to ask him.¡±


    I lay back down on the grass, my mind reeling. ¡°But you like me?¡±


    ¡°Sure, unless that¡¯s a problem¡­?¡± Tols¡¯ voice meanders, then returns, firm. ¡°No, actually, no unless. I like you.¡±


    ¡°Why?¡±


    His tail flicks in that way it does when he¡¯s laughing inwardly. ¡°Why shouldn¡¯t I?¡± I turn my head and find his eyes staring fondly into mine. ¡°You¡¯re the same Tony who apologized for staring at us in the wagon. You¡¯re the first to admit you¡¯re wrong about something, you spend so much time learning to do things outside your comfort zone. You¡¯ve grown. You¡¯re not the mad prince that everyone thinks you are.¡±


    ¡°Oh.¡±


    He nods.


    ¡°So you like me?¡±


    He nods again, his features pulled into a silly grin. ¡°I do.¡± His tail flicks again, waving in the air. ¡°And you like me, too. You said so yourself¡­¡±


    I smile even if my chest feels like it¡¯s falling out of me. ¡°I¡¯m scared,¡± I tell him.


    He slips an arm across my chest and I lean into him. He tucks his forehead against mine. His ears brush against my hair. He doesn¡¯t speak, and I realize he¡¯s opened up the space for me to explain.


    I don¡¯t want to speak, I want to enjoy the magical night, and I¡¯m afraid that if I explain myself, it will end. I want to kiss Tolstoy. I want to hold him tightly and forget that I need an army to take on my brother. But I also can¡¯t mislead the fenex. I needed to fix my mistake, to give him a life where he could return to his family that he misses so much. I needed to give him his life back¨Cthe life I had stolen away from him.


    ¡°I can¡¯t,¡± I tell him, and my voice is still the whisper-tone we¡¯ve been exchanging. ¡°I can¡¯t like you. I have to go to war.¡±


    He giggles. ¡°That sounded funny,¡± he whispers back. ¡°I know. You have to fix things. I won¡¯t go with you, if that¡¯s what you¡¯re worried about.¡±


    My eyebrows shoot up. ¡°You¡¯ll stay here?¡±


    He nods and slides a leg over my waist so he can hover above me. My breath feels like it¡¯s caught in my lungs. There¡¯s the sound of crickets and the moon catches on the golden strands of his hair, and the flowers all around us are glowing silvery bright, and his breath smells like honey-wine against my cheeks. My hands have reflexively circled his thin waist, as if they are returning to a natural place¨Cas if they had always been meant to rest there. ¡°Are you going to kiss me, then?¡± He asks, nose brushing against mine, shocking a jolt of pleasure through me, and if he feels me stiffen, he says nothing.


    ¡°Don¡¯t wait for me,¡± I pray, desperately.


    ¡°I won¡¯t,¡± he promises and presses his mouth against mine. My body shudders beneath his lips, as if they are the hinge that the universe hangs on. They¡¯re soft and hungry, searching but patient. Tolstoy, the beastman filled with delightful contradictions. Who calls me ¡°T-man,¡± and drives the other hands crazy with his neverending streams of dialogue; who picks flowers and holds people when they cry. Who in one sentence says he wants to be with me and will not wait for me to return from a madman¡¯s conquest.


    I turn us over, losing my sense of thought and letting my body give way to feeling. This man who continues to give of himself, no matter if he is a prisoner or a courier or a field hand or a construction worker.


    He hums low in his throat, letting me know that he likes that I¡¯ve moved us, and his tail wags in the grass in slow brush strokes, and I trace my hand over his face and neck. He doesn¡¯t need to give in this moment, and yet he does by emitting small noises that set my nerves on a precarious edge. It frustrates me as much as it turns me on. I want to give him one moment where he can relax and just take, but he¡¯s always giving. A growl raises at the back of my throat and he sighs into me, the conflict in me rising with the heat in my body. I break the kiss to scold him, to admonish him for the strain, but he stares up at me with a dewy gaze that crumbles my resolve, and like a man in the middle of the desert, I am drawn back to his mouth. His fingers grasp my chin and I find myself dissolving into him.


    It¡¯s a give and take, I realize, this exchange¨Ceven as I lose track of myself in his hungry love. Each hitch of breath he takes, I return; every press exchanged; every moan¨Cand it is the purest, most unconditional thing I have experienced in all of my life. As our fingers dart under one another''s'' clothes to explore, I know that whatever tomorrow brings, this pocket of space for just the two of us will exist forever.

 Sybil, and a life of cowardice

    Sybil


    The morning dew lights on the plants outside and my feet squelch in the cool soil as I watch the dawn fill the world with a golden glow. I feel the deep, grieving emptiness of the morning in the kitchen. There¡¯s no kettle on the stove and a quilted skeleton handing me a mug, there¡¯s no gentle press of Jun¡¯s hand on my shoulder when they notice my dark mood before I do. It¡¯s so impossibly lonely, this summer morning. I¡¯m still in my night shift, one of Jun¡¯s quilts wrapped around my shoulders, and the breeze tickles the thin shift cloth away from my knees.


    It should be a perfect summer morning.


    I look at the tall green stalks of wheat that stretch on and wave like ocean currents across the space; I see the outcropping of new buildings, wooden walls solid but roofs bare bones and the smell of sawdust in the air; I see the hats of the early morning workers already making their way through the crops; weeding and harvesting the complimentary crops, planting autumn crops. The sound of saws and hammering would start soon.


    Lasis would most certainly be in the warehouse with his figures, but I don¡¯t want to seek them out. Amelia would be amidst the crops, finger bones digging into the soil and singing to herself. Willard would be hiking in the forest behind the house. Henry would be watching the sun rise. Thinking of facing any of my bone family without my modder feels impossible: a reminder that they, too, would want me to commit them someday. ¡°You will be the last, for all of us.¡± Amelia¡¯s voice reminds me from three years ago. I am their last master. They will all want to return their energies to the earth with me. I will need to tell all of them goodbye.


    Haven walked home last night with the other party-attendees from town. She¡¯d asked if I needed anything, but I made sure she knew I was fine.


    I wasn¡¯t fine.


    In any case, it¡¯s only been a few months since we began this courting dance, and while I know I can rely on her, and on Soleil, too, who is an even newer surprise in my life¨CI think dragging either of them through my melt downs would be entirely unfair. Especially considering they know only half of the story: I wouldn¡¯t be around forever.


    The thought is a bitter echo that has been ringing in my skull for the past three years. Arceme might have accounted for the cozy life, but had they accounted for the constant paranoia after the Great Wars? Not that I wasn¡¯t happy for my second chance¨Cthe joy of living was just as brilliant as the peace of death: if no less bittersweet. Jun¡¯s commitment only reminded me of the fragility of my current timeline.


    ¡°What are you staring at?¡± Via asks sleepily from the doorway behind me.


    ¡°Flor¡­¡± I start slowly, my voice empty on the morning air.


    I hear her hesitate. I¡¯ve never once used her proper name. The silence stretches between us for a long moment, but anxiety does not set into my bones.


    ¡°Yes, my child?¡± The words aren¡¯t spoken from the mouth of a little girl, but of an ageless goddess.


    ¡°Will Arceme come?¡±


    ¡°I cannot know that, Sybil.¡± She pauses. ¡°Why have you called on me this way?¡±


    ¡°Because¡­¡± I frown. ¡°Because I want more.¡± I turn to face her, and she stares up at me through small, serious eyes set into a vaguely green face. ¡°I want to love and be loved.¡±


    She frowns. ¡°You have been. You¡¯ve experienced far more contentment than you would ever had in the past life. Not since Ben¨C¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not permanent.¡±


    She swallows. ¡°No. No, it isn¡¯t.¡±


    ¡°How am I supposed to love with my whole being if I¡¯m supposed to be leaving? I¡¯ll just leave more heartache in my wake.¡±


    Flor steps forward and takes my hand. ¡°It is not for me to know, Sybil. Only Arceme knows what they are doing.¡± A childish glint flickers through her eyes. ¡°Besides, if I could get my hands on that slithery sibling of mine, I would. I have my own questions.¡±


    I want to smile, but I don¡¯t feel like smiling. I pull my hand from hers and step past her into the house, ¡°I¡¯m going into town, are you coming?¡±


    Via watches me, worried. ¡°Yeah, I¡¯ll come.¡±


    ***


    I knock gently on Soleil¡¯s door, Via follows at a distance. She¡¯d pretended to go hunt down Maggie when we got into town, but she wasn¡¯t as quiet as she thought. I wasn¡¯t deaf, and her footfalls in the quiet morning of the town were hardly silent. There¡¯s a gentle scrambling inside the door and the door creaks open to reveal a raccoon-eyed Soleil wearing a scarf over his first two eyes¨Calmost normal human looking.¡°Sybil?¡± he asks blearily, then with a glance down the street, opens the door and pulls me into his arms, closing it firmly behind me. His arms lift and press me against the door, and his face burrows into my neck. ¡°Are you okay?¡± he asks.


    ¡°I¡¯m fine,¡± I lie, squeezing my arms around him. He pulls away, setting me gently on the floor, and I wrap my fingers around his face. ¡°You look so tired,¡± I tell him, tugging his scarf off of his eyes. His eyes blink rapidly and he sighs in relief.


    ¡°I¡¯ve been trying to stay awake during daylight,¡± he admits, ¡°haven¡¯t gotten my sleeping schedule sorted.¡±


    I wince. ¡°In the summer? Sol¡­¡±


    ¡°I know,¡± he rushes, ¡°but if it will be easier for you¨Cand besides, I need to be awake for the postage. And if a new glamour spell¡­¡± his voice drifts off and I understand what he¡¯s saying.


    It feels like a gut punch.


    ¡°Anyways, what are you doing in town? Can I make you some tea?¡± he asks, skuttling into the small one-room home.


    ¡°No¨CSol¡­¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s really okay,¡± he tells me. ¡°With this new draft, I need to be awake at odd hours. Plus, I need to be more available for you.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, I¡¯m really proud of you,¡± I follow him into the room. I hesitate. ¡°I¡¯m actually here about the roofing.¡±


    He pauses and gives me an apologetic look. ¡°Oh.¡± He scratches his stubbled face, ¡°I¡¯m sorry I haven¡¯t been up yet¡­¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s really okay,¡± I tell him in a rush. ¡°I was actually going to ask if we can come get you with a wagon tonight?¡±


    He considered this. ¡°I didn¡¯t think about that.¡± One of his legs taps thoughtfully.


    ¡°We can cover you with a tarp.¡±


    ¡°Tonight?¡±


    ¡°Yes, I can ask some of the guys to come back overnight to help you.¡±


    He dips his body down so that we¡¯re eye level and he gently takes my elbows. ¡°Sybil, we can wait if you need some more time to grie¨C¡±


    ¡°No,¡± I hurry before the tears come. ¡°I need some routine.¡± I give him a broken smile. ¡°Please?¡±


    He rubs his jaw. ¡°Okay. Tonight then. I¡¯ll get some early sleep.¡±


    ¡°Thank you¡­ And¡­ Sorry to push you.¡±


    ¡°No, it¡¯s okay,¡± he smiles at me, worry flickering in his four black eyes. ¡°I¡¯ll have someone watch for my postage. It will be good to have those homes ready sooner than later, too.¡±


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    ¡°Would you stay there?¡± I ask, hopeful.


    He bends his forehead to press against mine, squeezing my forearms. ¡°Until all of this blows over, yes.¡± He grins, ¡°I¡¯d get to see you more often too.¡±


    I don¡¯t know why that makes me feel worse, like I pushed him to do something he wasn¡¯t comfortable with. That I was putting him in danger, but I couldn¡¯t offer him anything in return besides money. I could barely give him my time.


    I leave quickly before I can second guess myself any further. I don¡¯t touch him. I don¡¯t kiss him goodbye. He watches me sadly as I hurry back onto the street and back on the road home. I can¡¯t bear the thought of it.


    Haven catches me on my way out of town. ¡°Hey,¡± she calls out, and jogs up the dusty street to me. ¡°Vi got me. I didn¡¯t know you¡¯d be in town, are you alright?¡±


    My chest is filled with apprehension. I don¡¯t want to see Haven right now. I didn¡¯t even really want to see Soleil. As much as I crave their company, I feel burdened by the fear that I may just lose everything. I was the last person alive to raise the bones, and the last to commit them. I¡¯d already fallen in love with two people who¡­ for all intents and purposes, loved me just as hard. And the little village where beastmen and necromancer sympathizers were becoming increasingly unsafe, I was building a place of escape for them from Herman¡¯s rule. It was only a matter of time before Arceme took me. I¡¯d influenced this timeline far too much.


    ¡°Hi.¡± I slide my hands into my pockets. Via hadn¡¯t emerged from the alley behind Haven, but I knew she was there.


    Haven doesn¡¯t respond, but her gaze flickers over me. ¡°Okay,¡± she says finally.


    My heart catches in my throat. ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°You need space,¡± she announces.


    ¡°No, I¨C¡±


    Her face is sad, ¡°It¡¯s okay, Syb. I get it. I was the same way when my parents¨C¡± She coughs and looks down into the dirt. She regains her composure and closes the last two feet from me and squeezes me into a hug. ¡°It¡¯s okay. Just come back when you¡¯re ready, okay? We¡¯ll be here.¡±


    I am trembling, keeping my hands in fists at my side. She doesn¡¯t seem to mind, though. She squeezes once more and pulls away. ¡°We¡¯ll always be here for you, Syb.¡±


    ¡°Okay,¡± I tell her, finally, and I hate the quiver in my voice.


    She squeezes my arms and turns around, following the dirt path back to her forge. She looks worn, her shoulders aren¡¯t as straight. I steel my resolve and turn back to the road toward the farm. ¡°Come on, Vi.¡± I call over my shoulder, and hear her step out from her hiding place and scurry after me.


    I need to finish building the hostel for the townspeople of Reisau, and then I have to leave. Before anything more drastic happens ¨C before anyone else gets too attached.


    When I return to the farm, I throw myself into my work, rolling up my sleeves and donning my hat. Via and I don¡¯t talk, but we work side by side, her eyes watching me closely. I bristle at it a little, but I know it comes from a good place. If there is anyone I don¡¯t need to worry about getting too close to, it¡¯s the only other god(dess) I have in my corner. She will see me into the next un-life, and she¡¯ll get her chance to interrogate her sibling when she does.


    Henry is pulling dead trees from the earth and helping the construction workers break it into uniform shapes to add to the growing family of bone homes. There¡¯s a great raucous from that side of the yard: whoops and hollers of men and the crash of ancient vegetation hitting the ground, shaking the earth beneath my feet. The sound has my teeth on edge, but I know they asked the trees. I trust my bones.


    ¡°Sybil, you should take today off,¡± Via suggests, worried.


    I grumble something about routine and yank a weed that pre-maturely tugs through the roots of some beans. I wince at the pain it shoots up my arm in warning. This little plant won¡¯t recover from the damage of its roots. I release a whimper, but Via is already there, small fingers brushing past mine and darting into the soil. The pain retracts, and I can no longer feel its scared grasp on me. ¡°Thank you,¡± I tell her.


    ¡°The weeds don¡¯t bite you?¡± she asks.


    ¡°Not usually,¡± I shrug. ¡°Sometimes.¡±


    She chuckles mirthlessly. ¡°All of them bite me,¡± she grimaces and shakes out her arms. ¡°It¡¯s tingly.¡±


    ¡°The weeds?¡±


    ¡°And the trees,¡± she gestures in the direction of the forest. ¡°Not just here.¡±


    I narrow my eyes at the soil as I tug another weed from the earth a little bit further down the line. ¡°How do you bear all of that?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s all part of a cycle,¡± she shrugs. ¡°You get used to it.¡±


    ¡°How long have you existed?¡± I wonder aloud.


    She shakes her head. ¡°That¡¯s for me to know,¡± she silences me.


    ¡°Do you have parents?¡± I muse miserably ignoring her efforts to end the conversation, hissing as a sticker thorn gets my thumb. I yank the offender from the earth and pop the bleed in my mouth.


    She rocks back onto her heels. She¡¯s changed to children¡¯s trousers, covered in dirt and manure, and her thin hair is wild. ¡°Well, in a sense. It isn¡¯t like mortals, though.¡±


    The throbbing in my thumb has dimmed, so I dug back into the earth further down the line.


    ¡°I guess to be a world¡¯s mother, I have to have a concept of what a mother is. Giving, loving, embracing.¡± She mutters, sitting on her rump and wiping her hands over her dirty knees, adding another layer of grime to the laundry we will undoubtedly have to do later. ¡°I guess that¡¯s what Life is to me.¡±


    I pause, my hand freezing in midair. ¡°Life and Death?¡±


    ¡°Sure, they¡¯re my¡­ for lack of a better term, parents, overseers, just as they are for you.¡±


    ¡°Arceme?¡±


    ¡°A sibling,¡± she tells me. ¡°They¡¯re not Death, they¡¯re a guide of the shifts of time. Older sibling,¡± she adds. ¡°Though time is¡­ nonsense.¡± She gestures inarticulately a concept I have the barest concept of myself. ¡°So older means nothing.¡±


    ¡°There are other gods besides you and Arceme,¡± I dig bitterly into the next weed.


    ¡°Sure. Lesser and greater gods alike. I am not, for example, the god of the harvest,¡± she chuckles, plucking a diseased leaf from a green wheat stalk. She curses something entirely unchildlike and spits. ¡°Looks like we have aphids, sixth one this row.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll tell Lasis we need to get some more lady beetles for this row,¡± I say reflexively, taking a mental note.


    ¡°You could be the god of the harvest,¡± she chuckles. ¡°You¡¯re very good at this.¡±


    ¡°You make it grow, I just manage the rest.¡±


    She shrugs. ¡°I do a great deal less than what you think I do, Sybil Whitman,¡± she says in her distinctive Flor voice.


    I ignore her and stand, stretching my back. ¡°Can you finish this row? I¡¯ll go talk to Lasis.¡±


    She sticks her tongue out at me.


    As I pass her, she grabs a handful of my skirts. ¡°Sybil,¡± she warns. ¡°Whatever it is you¡¯re trying to do, just don¡¯t.¡±


    I look down at her, but she¡¯s not looking at me. I tug my skirts away. ¡°I don¡¯t know what you¡¯re referring to.¡±


    She looks up at me, her eyes narrowing in the light. ¡°This self-destructive behavior is unbecoming, child. Rest, grieve, but don¡¯t topple what you¡¯ve spent so much time building.¡±


    I try not to let her words echo, but goddesses have a way of letting their voices be heard. Even when we don¡¯t want them to.


    ***


    Lasis puts in an order for lady beetles for me, and leaves to notify some of the men to hang back after duties to work on the roofing with Soleil that night. I wander the farm, taking each feature like a woman on a doorstep saying goodbye with the grocery notes. I am quiet, I smile, I try to remain calm as can be, but I am devising an escape plan. I map out in my mind the next steps of my plan. Simon has learned to commit bones to the earth during last night¡¯s ceremony. He will be able to do it well for years to come. The magic will not frenzy on the farm. It¡¯s already so self-sufficient, between beastmen, men, and bones. Once Via leaves, it will be as much a natural farm as any.


    For the first time in sixteen years, I let myself think of my older brother, Ben. How he disappeared suddenly. One night he was sitting on the rock down by the river, showing me how to skip stones. The next morning, his space was empty at the breakfast table. I wonder if this is what he did. I wonder how long he spent in the planning stages. Was it weeks? Years? Or did it come upon him in the night, like it did me? The need to flee. To slip out before anyone noticed because saying goodbye was too painful?


    As the sun begins to arc from the pinnacle of the sky toward the horizon, I gather a bundle in my room and set off into the forest behind the house. I etch some sigils into the earth on the edge of the farm: pressing my energy into the farm so that the bones can continue to live their own second lives without my close proximity. It¡¯s exhausting, but it feels like a period to the sentence that punctuated the last three years. The end of a chapter.


    The silence surrounds me in the late afternoon haze as I walk. I step over fallen logs and around giant boulders, I listen to the birds in the trees and feel the mushrooms in the mulch beneath the pine needles and rotting leaves. I head north-east.


    It isn¡¯t until nightfall that I feel the familiar energy press against mine: clay and bone, gentle and protective. I hesitate. ¡°Henry?¡±


    They are sixty feet behind me from the direction of the farm, and their magic presses into mine in a concerned greeting as strong as if I was beside them. I bite down a bitter sorrow. The one construct who came before me, and who would follow me to the ends of the earth, the first and the last of my family.


    As much as I wanted to be alone, it felt fitting for us to travel together. I slow in my walk so they can catch up, and we walk through the forest side by side. They lift branches out of my way as I scramble up and over obstacles until my feet can¡¯t carry me any further, and the light is impossible to walk through safely.


    They make a makeshift wind block for me and sit beside me as I start the fire.


    They don¡¯t sign to me, but their magic is a comfortable weight around me. They¡¯re not judging, only worried. Only caring. They will follow me wherever I go, I realize. Even if mine was not the origin magic that made its body move.


    ¡°How long have you been with me?¡± I wonder aloud.


    They don¡¯t answer, only tilt their head up at the sky.


    I curl up against their humerus, ready to fall asleep, when their skull snaps toward the direction of the farm, and their magic floods me with their fear. Soleil.

 Antonio and the Color of Magic

    <h2>Antonio</h2>


    When Lasis approaches me and Simon about taking the day off and returning to help Soleil with the roofing that night, I can¡¯t help but be intrigued. We haven¡¯t seen Soleil yet in all the time that we¡¯ve worked on the farm: Sybil¡¯s elusive lover. Certainly, we all see Haven a lot of the time, but we¡¯ve only ever heard whisperings of the amore. I also think about Tolstoy who stays in the bone-lodgings, and the sweet soreness from the night before. I wonder if it will take long and if I can sneak into his room and hold him another night.


    ¡°Yes, of course,¡± I tell Lasis after reading the board. Only Sybil can really talk to the skeletons. The skull nods thoughtfully and looks to Simon.


    ¡°I will, also.¡±


    Lasis scrapes away and scribbles on their board with charcoal: Would you two be so kind as to bring him here? I will have a wagon prepared. Since it¡¯s on your way back.


    I shrug, looking over at my mentor. The man nods, ¡°I would be honored.¡±


    The bizarre clothed skeleton scrapes their fingerbones against the board, white coming away black, and they scribble again. It doesn¡¯t do much in the way of clearing out the underlying charcoal, only leaving smudged words and clear words. Normally, Lasis carries a dry cloth with them for this purpose, but for some reason hasn¡¯t brought it. Fantastic, I¡¯ll be sure to put aside some extra for your pay. Please pick him up at sundown.


    I nod and tuck my hands into my pockets, watching Lasis amble away, all creaking bone against bone and the swish of linen. ¡°So, we¡¯ve got some time to rest before tonight.¡±


    Simon nods thoughtfully. ¡°Before we go back to town, Tony, I think we should start your lessons.¡±


    I grimace, remembering the uncomfortable conversation the night before after Jun¡¯s commitment. ¡°Simon, that wasn¡¯t me.¡± But even I don¡¯t believe the words from my mouth. I remembered the warm sensation of green twisting around my arms and bursting through the ground.


    ¡°It was.¡± He tells me firmly. ¡°Was that the first time you¡¯ve used magic?¡±


    I shrug. ¡°I didn¡¯t use magic.¡±


    Simon sighs. ¡°It was. You¡¯re foolish to ignore such power. It comes through you so naturally.¡± There¡¯s a slight tone of envy that I ignore. I start walking to the edge of the farm to head back to town.


    ¡°I¡¯m just going home to sleep,¡± I tell him. ¡°We¡¯ll be up all night.¡±


    Simon sighs and grabs my arm, pulling me to a patch of grass on the edge of the yard, off of the road. ¡°Sit down.¡±


    There¡¯s something in his commanding presence that makes me obey. He sits beside me. ¡°Close your eyes and press your hands into the grass, tell me what you see.¡±


    ¡°What I see? With my eyes closed?¡± I grumble. All I can think of is the honey-wine sweetness of Tolstoy¡¯s mouth and the glisten in his eyes, the warmth of his body curled into mine. I just want the day to end so that I can return to that.


    ¡°Yes, with your eyes closed. And then I¡¯ll let you free for the day.¡±


    I sigh and do as I¡¯m told. ¡°I see black.¡± I tell him after I close my eyes.


    ¡°Hands, grass,¡± Simon reminds me shortly.


    I roll my eyes and press my fingertips into the crisscrossing blades of summer green. ¡°Black.¡±


    ¡°Do you remember the feeling of the green magic from last night?¡± he asks to my right.


    I recall it, the rose aroma that filled my nostrils and mind; the prickly green and black that curled down my arm and over my fingertips.


    The moment I recall the sensation, another sensation fills me. Pinks and greens and yellows and blues cascade over my fingertips, toying and flexing against the green black. They meet me gently, jovially, pleasantly, in gentle humming noises.


    ¡°See it?¡± Simon asks me.


    ¡°What is this?¡±


    ¡°Druid magic.¡±


    I open my eyes, and my vision blurs with the brilliant flashes of color glowing from each blade of grass, every stalk of wheat, every weed. I shut my eyes quickly, overwhelmed by bright light and thousands of little voices echoing in my mind. ¡°How do I turn it off?¡± I ask weakly, fearfully.


    ¡°Pull your own color back into yourself, you¡¯ve extended it too far,¡± he tells me patiently.


    The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    I find it a difficult task, trying to untwine my magic from that around me. It feels like gently pruning the pieces of tangled ivy away from an errant garter snake trapped in the foliage. It takes time, but I manage it. When I open my eyes again, it has returned to its normal colors and sounds, except there is a long line of rose buds that have crawled across the ground, interspersed in the first rows of wheat and tangling with the wildflowers at the edge of the plowed land.


    Simon grins greedily at me, and I feel sick. I stand, ¡°Probably not good to leave these here,¡± I grumble, pulling my work gloves from my pocket and starting the painful work of uprooting the roses from the crops before they strangle their growth.


    ¡°You did good!¡± Simon calls as he walks to the path home, leaving me to clean up the mess of my magic on my own.


    As I walk home, I feel out of my body with the new sensation, touching the leaves in the trees, the grass on the path¨Cthen panic when I can¡¯t bring it in fast enough and the magic becomes too overwhelming for me to understand. I wonder distantly if this is what it is like for Simon and Sybil, albeit Sybil¡¯s must be slightly different. Maybe she sees decay and dead trees and bones and their light, hear their voices, instead of the pretty little white flowers that sing to me. Every time I reach out with my green and black tendrils, I find myself becoming just a little more tired. In any case, I can¡¯t help but enjoy it. I try to think back over my life to a time where I could do the same thing, but come up blank. If I had always had this in me, how had I not even known to use it? How had I not accidentally used it, if it was so easy to use?


    Once I get to Reisau, I am so spent that I hobble up to my rented room and collapse into my bed. My thoughts turn to dreams of soft orange-yellow ears and blooming roses.


    When I wake, the sunlight has taken on a late afternoon hue. I rub my tired eyes and throw my feet over the edge of the bed. I only had the time to grab some dinner before I met up with Simon to pick up Sybil¡¯s amore. In many ways, I¡¯m glad that I had the opportunity to sleep after a relatively sleepless night with Tolstoy the night before, and an early morning with the construction. From here, though, it would take some effort to get my sleep schedule back in order. At least the work would take a few days.


    I change from one set of work clothes into another and make my way to the inn. Yvolstein has a pot roast going and was more than happy to serve me a plate. He was the nicest townsperson I¡¯d met since I started working with Sybil; which hurt my pride even more, now that I knew he was a satyr. Had I really been so blind to be afraid of the kindest beastmen in the realm?


    Simon slid into the seat across from me after I take my first bite, and I curse myself for having my back to the door. ¡°Good morning,¡± he chimes and waves for Yvolstein to get him a bowl.


    Apprehension fills my chest. ¡°What exactly does teaching me look like?¡±


    He smiles, the wrinkles in his leathery face creasing deeper. ¡°Just like earlier. No gimmicks.¡±


    ¡°It felt gimmicky,¡± I retort, taking another bite of my food.


    ¡°Just be careful with your use,¡± he explains as Yvolstein sets pot roast in front of him. ¡°It takes a lot out of you, especially when you¡¯re new.¡± He chews on a shred of stewed beef thoughtfully. ¡°Beyond that, I don¡¯t have much to teach you.¡± He admits. ¡°I¡¯m not very magically inclined, as it is. Not like you or Lady Sybil.¡±


    I smile wistfully, knowing the reluctant look her face twisted into from the titles he poured over her. ¡°So what happens when I surpass your magic?¡±


    ¡°You already have.¡±


    I blink. ¡°Just like that?¡±


    He nods. ¡°I have a weak attachment to druid magic. I think dealing in necromantic rituals might have something to do with it. I know it¡¯s not all bloodline.¡± He pauses, ¡°To be honest, we don¡¯t really know. There aren¡¯t many druids around since the Great Wars.¡±


    ¡°How did the necromancers outlive the druids anyways?¡±


    Simon shakes his head. ¡°That¡¯s not how it worked, kid. Traditions, druidic or necromantic, they all rely on people. They all need to pass it on to their children, or their protegees. The trouble is,¡± he rubbed his face self-consciously. ¡°When you have a world that builds and eliminates its need for magic, the tradition fades away. The druid communities were so intertwined with politics and invention that they began to lose all relevance. The necromancy communities have always been more secluded¨Cexisting in a peaceful solitude on the countrysides. They operate as orphanages and other community assistance, so there are always an influx of interested protogees to cultivate and instruct.¡±


    I frown, trying to think of the druids back in Cainern: great court magicians who portended the weather and harvests¨Cthings that I¡¯d come to realize were pure poppycock¨Cand fringe witch doctors. I wince at the thought, had the druidic tradition fallen away more than he¡¯d realized? ¡°Have you met Soleil?¡± I ask, changing the subject.


    He shakes his head, ¡°No one has met him, not from our group. The bones say that he¡¯s not come around because of the laws. The glamour potions haven¡¯t¡­ erm, worked well on him.¡±


    ¡°Why is that?¡± I wonder aloud.


    He shrugs, ¡°They won¡¯t tell me, something about needing to meet him for myself.¡±


    I frown. ¡°Are they playing a joke on us?¡± There have been few occasions where I¡¯m not used to looking over my shoulder after Willard or Roderick scratch out something I take to be fact, only to stumble into a well-laid prank.


    ¡°Possibly, but it could also be that it isn¡¯t their place to say.¡±


    That was an easy enough explanation, and even as I¡¯m wary about the potential prank, I¡¯m still not prepared when the roofer¡¯s door opens at dusk and I come face to face with the frumpiest nightmare I could have imagined.


    At least he¡¯s polite when Simon and I jump back in surprise. ¡°Hello,¡± Soleil says in his crystal clear voice, pushing his spectacles up his nose so he can peer at us more easily in his lower four eyes. His black hair is pulled tightly back in a ponytail, and his shirt is folded up at the sleeves. ¡°It seems they didn¡¯t warn you ahead of time. Thank you for getting me,¡± he bows his head cordially.


    I swallow tightly. ¡°Yes, well.¡±


    Simon coughs and chuckles. ¡°It¡¯s our pleasure,¡± he returns the bow. ¡°Can¡¯t say I¡¯ve seen an arachne in many years.¡±


    Soleil smiles, his teeth all pinpoints of sharp contrasting with the gentle awkwardness of his gait. ¡°Neither have I.¡±


    Feeling incredibly self conscious and needing to contribute something to the conversation, I gesture at the wagon behind us. ¡°Are you ready to go?¡±

 Antonio and giving up and going after my army.

    Soleil dips his head in a nervous nod, gathering up his tool belt with a pedipalp and drapes it over his shoulder. He glances nervously down the street, and I look over my shoulder. I don¡¯t see anyone out of place, but I understand his hesitance. I can¡¯t imagine how a glamour potion, as many of the locals used, would affect Soleil¡¯s abundance of appendages. Not particularly nicely, I figured and winced at the mental image. Anyways, I pulled the tarp from the wagon and threw an end to Simon, who caught it easily, and we blocked Soleil from view so he could quickly move from his door to the wagon.


    He walked swiftly and settled into the broad wooden vehicle, folding his abundance of legs around and underneath his torso; almost feline like. I smile, knowing that it¡¯s a little superfluous, but if it makes him feel more secure, I don¡¯t mind doing it for him. Simon and I tuck the tarp into place around the walls of the wagon bed in a way that he can breathe, but still be hidden from view of the passersby. And then we start to move. Simon takes up the reins and I sit in the back with Soleil.


    Soleil is quiet for the first few minutes as we wind through town. I wave at some of the fellow townspeople as we move, trying to keep a straight face. ¡°So what do you do for fun?¡± I ask quietly to the hidden drider.


    ¡°Fun?¡± Soleil asks hesitantly. ¡°I guess¡­ I write some. Nothing too fancy.¡±


    ¡°Like what?¡± I ask, wiggling my knee against his large spider-leg, trying to gently break the tension that shrouded him like a thick veil.


    ¡°Well¡­¡± his long fingers drum against the wood boards anxiously. ¡°There¡¯s a theory I¡¯m exploring regarding druidic runes and their patterns ¨C I¡¯m tracing them back through a maternal lineage of practitioners all the way to the fourth age¡­¡±


    My brain tries to process all of these words. I understand them individually, but together¡­ ¡°You study the lineage of magic?¡±


    He nods, and the tarp shifts with his head bobbing. ¡°Rather, the practice of magic. Runes aren¡¯t particularly required for either druidic or necromantic magic,¡± he explains, voice gathering confidence as he goes, and I find myself entranced by his excitement. ¡°It¡¯s more or less a¡­ how do I put this¡­ conduit to a person¡¯s specific lineage. For example, Syb¨C¡± I hear his voice change an octave at the sound of her name, and it makes me think of Tolstoy with a pang of longing. ¡°Uses what we call Life Water when she commits the energies of bones back to the River.¡± I know he¡¯s referring to the River of all things ¨C where all life begins. ¡°But not all necromancers use it, in fact, most don¡¯t find the use for it. It¡¯s part of her lineage, for lack of a better term¨C¡±


    I was so engrossed in his explanation that when the wagon stops suddenly with a shouted, ¡°Ho!!¡± from Simon, I do not realize we¡¯ve been surrounded. Four guards stand on each side of the wagon. One lunges forward and grabs the corner of the tarp, tearing it away from my legs and Soleil¡¯s body. I fling myself into the wall, heart pounding as the world starts to shift into adrenaline-riddled focus. ¡°You¡¯re hereby under arrest under law of His High Eminence, King Herman, in violation of the third Cardenas law in regards to unnatural beasts.¡±


    ¡°Wait¨C¡± I feel myself stand and reach forward, but the guard on my edge of the wagon wraps a forearm around my neck, pinning me to the back edge. ¡°Wait! He¡¯s innocent!¡±


    Soleil, stunned, pulls from his shock and tries to raise himself on all eight legs, to turn and run ¨C to do anything, but the two other guards at the foot and the other side launch themselves onto him, holding him down. ¡°Stop!!¡± He cries, even as I squirm against the guard. I look desperately toward Simon, who has his hands up against a fourth guard who has pressed a sword to his neck. ¡°Help!!¡±


    I tugged and pulled against the guard, but his grip tightened against my throat. Soleil strains against his own guard, his powerful legs push and grasp at the grain of the wood, but he doesn¡¯t gain purchase. I realize belatedly that he probably could break free and flee, but judging from the size of his pupils and how pallid his normally alabaster skin has turned, his mind has chosen the frozen in the fight or flight variety.


    I yank hard against my captor, but he levies a dagger to my throat. ¡°Keep struggling, kid. You¡¯ll be brought in too.¡± He says it with an ugly smile that curdles my blood, and I stop trying to wedge myself out from his arm. The memories of the cold cell and the moldy bread and the unrelenting sun in the prison wagon flashing against memories of broken skulls on the battlefield. I think I¡¯m going to be sick.


    Soleil whimpers a sob as the other two guards round on him, fighting a sack over his head and hauling him bodily out of the wagon.


    ¡°Go on, get out of here.¡± The guard at the front of the wagon with a frozen Simon tells us. ¡°If I so much as see you turn back around, you both will be arrested under conspiracy against the crown. Do I make myself clear?¡±


    Simon lets out a strangled noise that only vaguely resembles affirmation, and then he steps out of the middle of the road, letting us pass. Simon snaps the reins and the horses pull away and I watch in terror as they lead a stumbling drider down the hill back to town. We sit in shocked silence for all of five minutes before I whip around. ¡°We have to go back!¡±


    ¡°We can¡¯t, Tony,¡± Simon says. ¡°We need help. The two of us aren¡¯t going to do any harm.¡±


    I close my eyes and feel for the light and life around us. ¡°But we have magic!¡±


    He scoffs. ¡°Magic isn¡¯t a cure-all, kid. We need help. We need Sybil, and the bones.¡±


    A thought strikes me. ¡°We need to get him back¨Cwe need to fight Herman.¡±


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°I need my army ¨C now.¡± I crawl over the board to sit next to Simon. ¡°Let¡¯s go.¡±


    ¡°Your army? What are you on about?¡± Simon scowls, but flicks the horses into a canter, even as we round the corner to see the farm appear in the distance.


    ¡°I lied to you,¡± I tell him, fingers gripping the wagon seat, but if I¡¯m going to convince anyone to follow me into the bowels of the beast, I needed to start with honesty ¨C I needed to start with Simon. He glances at me in his peripheral vision, angry confusion crossing his weathered face. ¡°I¡¯m the mad king. I disappeared. I need to get my brother off of the throne.¡±


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    His face rears around to face me so quickly that I wonder if my words physically slapped him, his features frozen in wild anger. ¡°YOU¡¯RE WHO?¡±


    ¡°Antonio de Cardenas,¡± I tell him, slipping the reins from his hands and pulling the horses to a stop outside the front of the farm house. The construction hands and bone family hurry toward us. ¡°I need to fix all of this.¡± I turn to Lasis who has walked over, scribbling something on their board. Their posture conveys an awkward hurry that I wonder has to do with our empty wagon. I hop off the seat and round on Lasis. ¡°They took him,¡± I tell the foreman, who stalls in his scribbling to stare at me with empty orbital bones, jaw half-cracked. He bends down to finish his scribbling on the board and hoists it up for me to read:


    Sybil is gone.


    ¡°What do you mean she¡¯s gone?¡±


    Lasis shakes their head, and gestures wildly at the wagon, jaw clacking in a panicked manner.


    I push past them and into the farm house, racing up the stairs and throwing open all of the bedroom doors. The bones are hot on my heels, gesticulating wildly and jaws chattering in a desperate effort to communicate something to me, but too frantic to write it down. By the end of the hallway and the last door thrown open to another empty room, it sinks in: Sybil is gone.


    When I walk out of the house, Simon meets me at the door. ¡°Where is she?¡± he asks, frantic. Others have also started to congregate outside the farm house, including Tolstoy whose ears lay flat against his head, his eyes squinting with worry.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know.¡± I tell him. How could I? I want to say. But I need her ¨C Soleil needs her.


    ¡°This would have never happened if it weren¡¯t for you!¡± Simon jabs his finger into my chest. It stings ¨C not the physical pressure.


    ¡°You¡¯re right,¡± I say, squaring my shoulders with his. I¡¯m not going to back down. I¡¯d spent most of my life rolling over for authority figures in my life. No longer. Not even for Simon. ¡°It is my fault. Help me fix it,¡± I say the last bit through gritted teeth just as Willard slides between us, jaw clattering and hands raised in a placating gesture.


    I think he¡¯s telling us to calm down.


    ¡°I should have known¨Cit all makes sense now,¡± Simon is saying, running his hands over his head.


    ¡°Simon.¡± He looks at me over Willard¡¯s clavicle, eyes snapping to mine. ¡°I was wrong. I know that now. You taught me how wrong I was. Will you stand with me?¡±


    He scowls, opens his mouth, closes it. Tolstoy steps forward. ¡°Simon, you know Tony as he is. Who he is now. Whoever he was before doesn¡¯t change who he is now.¡±


    Simon¡¯s eyes are held by Tols¡¯s for a long moment.


    Roderick shakes his head and smacks the back of Simon¡¯s. He gestures at me with his hands splayed, as if presenting me to him for the first time. Simon rubs the offending injury gingerly and scowls at the skeleton as he gestures an introduction between the two of us and claps his hands together. He gestures angrily at the road. Simon, meet Tony. Now you two have met, let¡¯s go, the gesticulating seems to say, We don¡¯t have time for this nonsense.


    Simon¡¯s gaze widens. ¡°Wait. How are you all still standing here if she¡¯s gone?¡± The bones¡¯ heads all snap up in unison at him.


    ¡°What do you mean?¡± I ask, eyeing the wagon. We need to go. We need to get Soleil back before he gets too far away.


    He starts walking, and the bones follow on his heels as they run to the edge of the property. He presses his hands into the ground near a sigil written in the dirt. Lasis kicks a foot through the sand nearby in a rare show of anger.


    ¡°What is happening?¡± I ask, trying to get a better look at the rune.


    ¡°She committed their energy to the land, they can¡¯t leave without her.¡± He frowned and touched the edge of the sigil. It didn¡¯t budge.


    ¡°Can you destroy it?¡± I ask.


    Lasis shakes their head and grabs their skull. They throw their arms down and walk purposefully toward the boundary of the farm and collides with an invisible wall. They kick it.


    ¡°No,¡± Simon says. ¡°I don¡¯t think I can hold their energy to my own. They might collapse into piles of bones, their Spirit gone.¡±


    My mind roils. Why would she do that? Why did she run away? Was Jun¡¯s passing so traumatic that she couldn¡¯t handle it? No. I didn¡¯t know much about the necromancer, but I knew she cared very much for the family she¡¯d built. She wouldn¡¯t leave them unless she was trying to protect them ¨C but from who?


    Someone sighs, interrupting my thoughts, and we all look down to find Via standing with her arms crossed over her little chest, blonde hair sticking to her slightly celadon skin. ¡°She really did it, then?¡± Her voice is the same voice I heard my first night in Reisau, and it brings goosebumps to my arms and neck. It¡¯s not the voice of a little girl.


    We watch her pensively as she bends down to the sigil and traces her fingers through the dips and curves. Simon¡¯s breath catches and the bones stiffen. If she interrupts the rune, it could take away their lives. My heart thunders in my ears, so I almost don¡¯t hear her when she mutters, ¡°Arceme, you bastard.¡± I frown. Who?


    She pulls her fingertip away from the runes, and the group visibly relaxes, and presses her hands into the ground.


    In an instant, moss and ivy grow around her, growing up and over her arms and back, spreading over her head and blossoming into a laurel and myrtle green veil. A thought occurs and I pull into myself and cast out a web of energy and encounter an overwhelming influx of druidic magic that I¡¯m brought to my knees. I make the mistake of opening my eyes and am blinded by the brightness of the little body that is crouched in the dirt. I squint but cannot avert my focus as I watch tendrils of brilliant white cascade through the earth and Via¡¯s body ¨C the magic in the air tastes old, of pine and nettle and sap. I close my mouth, but there is no escaping the flavor. It¡¯s all-consuming in the air and earth around, like the forest rises to meet with her magic.


    ¡°Who are you?¡± I ask, and her eyes flicker to mine. The incandescent imprint of a woman coalesces just beyond her physical form. She smiles, and with it, so does the shape.


    My magical sight retracts and I have to close my eyes against the lack of color ¨C as if the world has gone completely dark even in the last remnants of the sunset as twilight creeps upon us in the glade.


    ¡°An ambitious woman,¡± Via shakes her head and a cascade of moss and dirt showers down around her knuckled hands. ¡°With a particularly ornery pet.¡± She pulls out of the vines that curl after her like reaching fingers, desperate to touch her skin. She shakes off the rest of the growth and stands. ¡°She¡¯ll be back tonight,¡± she tells us. ¡°Henry is with her. They have already let her know.¡± She regards the bones. ¡°Your spirit is now bound to me, we are safe.¡± She kicks the rune out on the edge of the property, and the bones visibly flinch away¨Cbut notably do not crumple into a pile of lifeless bones.


    Simon lets out a sob and falls to his knees, grasping her little hand. She looks down at him uncomfortably and tugs her hand from his grasp and steps away before he can take it again.


    ¡°What do we do in the meantime?¡±


    Her eyes flicker to me. ¡°You¡¯re going to claim your army, my sibling be damned.¡±

 Sybil: What I was really missing was...

    <h2>Sybil</h2>


    When the light of the farmhouse reaches me from where I sit atop Henry¡¯s shoulder, I understand a few things with the intensity of a drunkard being sober for the first time. First, that my lover is missing, and we are certainly, without a doubt, going to war. We¡¯ll need to figure out where they¡¯ve taken Soleil. Maybe Tony and Simon know, based upon their recent career endeavors as prisoners. Second, I have a lot of explaining to do when we cross the boundary onto my farm. I already know that I have cast off the threads that bind me to my constructs: if Simon has not bound them to his magic, or Tony ¨C then certainly Via has. That was probably the most effective, and therefore likely, scenario. When Henry¡¯s large feet skid across the dirt around the front of the farm house, I was confronted by a large semi-circle¡­ well, mob is the best term for it, they are all waiting for me. Via stands tall and strides forward. ¡°Sybil Whitman.¡±


    I blanch and realize a third thing: I am an absolute coward. I ran away from the crown while my family was slaughtered around me; I chased away death to try my hand at another life; I fled from the only family I¡¯d ever known, and I didn¡¯t learn my lesson with the found family I¡¯d gathered along the way. It was my fault Soleil was gone: I wasn¡¯t here to save him when he needed me most. I threw my responsibilities to my bone family into the ground and took off when the slightest provocation arose. I¡¯d been running my whole life.


    Henry helps lower me to the ground and stands strong behind me, my rock. ¡°Via.¡± My voice is strong. How I got it there, I¡¯ve no clue. I¡¯m ashamed of myself, but also¡­ invigorated.


    And terrified.


    ¡°I have bonded with your bones,¡± the little goddess says. ¡°Which means I¡¯ve revealed quite a bit more of myself than I¡¯m particularly fond of.¡± She eyes her fingernails and shakes her head over them. ¡°You¡¯ll be compensating me appropriately.¡±


    This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    ¡°Of course.¡± I bow my head. ¡°Thank you.¡±


    Tony steps forward beside her with a confidence I haven¡¯t witnessed. I straighten, and meet him halfway. ¡°I have to break my promise,¡± he tells me.


    ¡°I¡¯ll break it with you,¡± I return with an awkward smile. ¡°Honored to do so, actually.¡± I kneel, pressing my arm over my knee in a show of fealty I wasn¡¯t sure was entirely the correct decorum. I hadn¡¯t met a king before.


    He clasps my arm and pulls me up. ¡°It¡¯s an honor to fight alongside you, Whitman.¡±


    I smile. It¡¯s a cracked thing. A broken thing. I¡¯m dragged back to standing on the gallows wondering about what the man who had sentenced me to death truly looked like. Turns out he has gentle brown eyes and darkened skin¨Cand a hell of a way of recognizing and righting his own wrongs: something I had to learn.


    I look around at the rest of the bones and beastmen and necromancy sympathizers, and raise my shoulders. ¡°Ready to go do a war?¡±


    They lift their arms in a loud cheer. And I nod over at Tony. ¡°Well, there¡¯s your army, kid.¡±


    He smirks and straightens his shoulders, raising his voice to address the crowd that has gathered: ¡°I will be honored if you were to join me in fixing what I got wrong. I know it¡¯s too little too late, but if we can get Soleil back,¡± he nods at me, ¡°And I can usurp my brother from the throne, I can position myself back into a place of power to abolish the rules I¡¯d enacted and put Led back to the way it was.¡± He swallows and lifts an arm. The rest of the group falls silent, eyes watching him: bright and hopeful. I feel my own heart skip a beat. ¡°I cannot promise you safety. I cannot promise that this endeavor will not plunge Led into another war with my father¡¯s empire, but I will promise that the defense starts here.¡± He stomps his foot into the ground and roses erupt, flowing out from his feet and cascading over the ground. ¡°And we will not back down.¡±


    The fourth thing I realize¨Cas the cheers rise up around us and a swell of pride fills my chest, of which I had no right to feel, is that I had fully knocked the timeline off of its already tenuous ground, and Arceme would have to take me out of this timeline themselves.

 Act 4: Antonio

    Arming squadrons made up of civilians into a proper platoon might be the hardest task I¡¯d ever set out to do, minus maybe coming clean to Maggie about my identity. It was certainly harder than going to war and claiming the Leddian throne and enacting legislation built on a foundation of fear ¨C that was easy. In the morning, after a fitful few hours of sleep for everyone, I went with Sybil into town to talk with Maggie, who sent her husband, Charles, off to rouse her own troops for an emergency town hall meeting.


    After which, Sybil and I stand outside Maggie¡¯s house. Sybil hmms and haws, digging her feet into the earth for a solid ten minutes before I get fed up. ¡°Come on, it¡¯ll be better if she hears it from you,¡± I take her elbow and steer her through town.


    She grimaces. ¡°I don¡¯t need to hear that from you.¡±


    I pull her into a halt. ¡°You do,¡± I narrow my eyes at her. She holds my gaze defiantly. ¡°I¡¯m exactly the person you hear that from.¡±


    Understanding flickers in her eyes and she sighs, ¡°I know. I¡¯m sorry,¡± she relents. ¡°I¡¯m just scared. He¡¯s her best friend, and¡­¡± her throat bobs, and I know she¡¯s holding back tears. Her voice cracks just a little. ¡°I shouldn¡¯t have left.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not your fault.¡± I tell her firmly. ¡°And anyways, you¡¯re here now. That¡¯s what matters. We¡¯re going to get him back.¡± I look over her shoulder to the outskirts of town where the hammering of metal has already started up, clanging its tattoo against the small, waking buildings of Reisau. ¡°It would be better if it came from you than Charles.¡±


    She cracks a smile. ¡°He¡¯s the worst.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t know why Maggie married him,¡± I add, though I don¡¯t mean it. I don¡¯t think anyone in town means it. I¡¯d only laid eyes on the man, myself.


    She starts walking more confidently then, and I follow behind.


    When we turn the corner into Haven¡¯s yard, the hammering is interrupted by the hiss of squelching. ¡°Syb!¡± Haven calls, excited, until she sees me behind. Sybil keeps her eyes low to the ground as we pass through the front gate, and Haven¡¯s face falls further. ¡°What happened?¡± She gives me an ugly look, ¡°Why is he here?¡±


    Sybil hesitates for a brief moment, casting an apologetic look over her shoulder at me before she steps into the forge. ¡°You¡¯re going to want to sit down for this.¡±


    Haven¡¯s scowl is so heavy I¡¯m worried the lines will be etched permanently over her freckled brow. ¡°Sybil, what happened?¡±


    Sybil chews on her lip. ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡±


    Haven¡¯s eyebrows shoot up and she quickly sets down the project she was working on, taking Sybil¡¯s shoulders. ¡°Baby, what¡¯s wrong? What happened?¡± She gives me a fierce look. ¡°Did you hurt her?¡±


    ¡°No, Haven.¡± Sybil¡¯s voice cracks. ¡°No, he didn¡¯t hurt me.¡±


    ¡°Then wha¨C¡± Understanding crosses her face, and her hands drop from Sybil¡¯s shoulders. ¡°Soleil?¡±


    Sybil swipes a hand over her face and Haven pales. My stomach turns over. I try to imagine the nauseating fear I¡¯d feel if I¡¯d lost Tols and my heart swells in empathy. ¡°I asked him to come up to the house and¨C¡± She stalls to catch her breath. ¡°Haven, they arrested him.¡± The words begin to tumble out of her mouth. ¡°I¡¯m sorry. After Jun, things got to be too much and I didn¡¯t know what to do, so I gave the bones to Via and ran off¨Cif I had stayed, I would have been closer and we could have gone after them sooner and¨C¡± her babbling is cut short by a sob, and Sybil slides to the ground at Haven¡¯s feet.


    Haven looks between us, shock wearing down to be replaced with determination. She kneels to Sybil and pulls her to her feet. ¡°Baby,¡± she tells her, cupping her chin. ¡°Baby, it¡¯s not your fault,¡± she wraps her arms around her and Sybil melts into them. She looks over Sybil¡¯s shoulder at me and asks: ¡°We¡¯re going after him? You¡¯re building your army?¡±


    ¡°We are,¡± I say. ¡°I need your help. We need to outfit everyone.¡±


    Haven nods, and ducks her head into Sybil¡¯s waterfall of onyx hair.


    I know a dismissal when I see one. I also know an agreement when I see one. I turn on my heel and retreat from the yard, letting Haven and Sybil hold each other. My heart aches to see it, my fingers itching to hold Tolstoy close. It could have been him, if he¡¯d come with Simon and I into town to fetch Soleil. It could have been any one of my new friends. My feet carry me up the farmhouse, alone, to relay the news to my new troops¨Cand maybe get a chance to get Tolstoy alone.


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    I do find him in the kitchen of the farmhouse, after bypassing several members of my new command who ask me increasingly irritating questions like: ¡°What¡¯s next?¡± and ¡°When are we getting weapons?¡± and ¡°When do we leave?¡± ¨C none of which I have clear answers for. I extract myself from each of them with vague answers and excuses.


    Tols is standing at the stove; having just put a metal sheet of something into the oven that smells heavenly. He looks up when I walk into the room and his ears pop up, tail swishing to match the smile that creeps over his face. I collapse into his chest, and he wraps his oven-mitted hands around me. ¡°Hey T-man,¡± he whispers into my hair.


    ¡°It could have been you,¡± I mutter, clinging against him.


    ¡°And you would be gathering up an army to come get me,¡± he reminds me sweetly. ¡°Just like you¡¯re doing for Sol.¡±


    ¡°I would,¡± I grumble.


    He yanks his oven mitts off without breaking my grasp around him and runs his hands up my back to sit between my shoulder blades. ¡°That¡¯s the man you are, Antonio de Cardenas,¡± he whispers, kissing my forehead. My heart flutters and I lean into it. ¡°But it¡¯s not me, I¡¯m right here. And you¡¯re going to war.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re not coming with me,¡± I remind him.


    ¡°I¡¯m not,¡± he nods. ¡°But I¡¯ll be here when you come back.¡±


    I pull away then, my chest splitting. ¡°But I¡¯m not coming back.¡±


    ¡°Of course you aren¡¯t.¡± He nods and pulls me to the little kitchen table in the corner of the room. ¡°Not to stay.¡±


    ¡°I will visit.¡± I let him push me into the chair and brush my hair away from my forehead, leaving tingles along my skin.


    ¡°Hopefully for longer than a kiss?¡± He teases cheekily, sliding onto my lap and holding my face in his callused hands.


    I smile and kiss him, just long enough to know he tastes like cookie batter and home, before I set my head against his shoulder. ¡°What are you doing in here anyways?¡± I ask, pulling him closer.


    ¡°I wanted to make some cookies for Sybil and the hands. Some food motivation, I guess. Everyone¡¯s been on such high alert lately. I needed to feel useful, what with the roof project stalled and the field hands¡­ well¡­¡± He glances back at the door to the kitchen, and I remember the teams lined up outside the farm house, swinging wooden branches through the air in a haphazard training ground.


    I grab his chin and turn it back to me. ¡°Always taking care of everyone else,¡± I chide. ¡°When are you going to take care of yourself?¡±


    He wiggles tantalizingly against my crotch with a playful grin. ¡°This evening, probably.¡±


    The mind boggling sensation elicits a low growl from me and I try to pull him closer, but he dances away from me, traipsing back to the oven. ¡°Go see about your troops, T-King.¡±


    I stare at him. ¡°T-King?¡± I frown.


    He sticks a tongue at me, his tail flicking playfully, and I can¡¯t help but laugh. ¡°Don¡¯t like it?¡±


    ¡°Not at all.¡± I stand and move to the door, pulling my shirt down.


    ¡°Come back for cookies!¡± he calls. ¡°And other things!¡±


    I ignore the heat that rises in me as well as the grief that fills the bottom of my stomach. I fight the twinge of sadness as I walk through the empty house that just the night before had been filled to the brim with loved ones, bright music, and laughter. I¡¯m glad Tolstoy is staying behind. It comforts me to know that he is happier where he is at; and even if I sit on the throne, he won¡¯t be plunged into the world of fake smiles, careful jokes, and subterfuge¡­ he¡¯ll be free from it all. And while I¡¯ll wish he stood by my side, it was more important to me that he was free.


    I step out onto the grass to find my troops taking a water break, their bodies glistening with sweat already in the mid-morning light. I catch sight of Simon across the field, a notebook open across his lap, scribbling furiously, and make my way over to him. I get close enough to see that he¡¯s scratching out some runes and taking notes alongside them, but he closes the notebook when he notices me, looking up and scowling at me. ¡°What do you want?¡±


    ¡°Let¡¯s talk.¡±


    ¡°You lied to me,¡± he says matter-of-factly. ¡°For months.¡±


    ¡°What was I supposed to do?¡± I roll my eyes. ¡°You¡¯d have let me die.¡±


    He hesitates, feet stalling. He balls his fist and lets it fall. ¡°Yes. I would have.¡±


    ¡°Simon,¡± I start, my voice is firm, kingly. ¡°I owe everything that I¡¯ve learned to you. You held me accountable. You taught me morality and ethics. You informed me of my shortcomings, how wrong my understanding of our histories were. You did that.¡± He doesn¡¯t turn. He does, however, start walking again. ¡°I owe everything I am to you!¡± I call after him, but I let him go.


    He has already agreed to join us in our march on the capital city out of some silent necromancy code of conduct, the same that Sybil is held to. The same code that marched her family against me in the war. The list of names Luis showed me all those years ago weighs heavier on me than ever these days, now that I understand the tradition. The necromancers weren¡¯t given a choice in the matter: while they wielded as much strength as they could against my army, they knew they were doomed from the start.

 Antonio: The truth of the matter was.....

    I turn back and join my troops as their water break ends. I strip off my shirt and begin working alongside them through the movements of swordplay. It¡¯s been so long since I practiced like this, much less with others, and the familiar motions feel stiff and awkward. Nonetheless, I find myself enjoying the rhythm of it.


    When we break for the day, the platoon disperses to get some water and rest their weary muscles and I find a seat on the edge of the property. Sybil hasn¡¯t returned to the farm, yet, and Tolstoy has long-since handed out cookies.


    My hands spread out into the blades of grass. I close my eyes and let my mind wander, my internal gaze shifting into magical sight. I explore out with the magic, touching against flowers and trees, against the blinding sea of wheat. I follow my breathing and let it settle my nerves and frustrations.


    I finally tackle what has been haunting me: how I ended up in that prison cell.


    I filter through my memories one by one like turning pages in a book. My tutors back home on the sunny terrace surrounded by hibiscus flowers and the distant sound of a market, going over fabricated history lessons in textbooks; learning tactics on large map tables in mahogany rooms; sitting beside my father during court and hearing what I had then understood to be the trifles of the working class ¨C which I realize now must have been those of the gentry. I remember Luis by my side through all of it.


    How he betrayed me twice.


    The first time, we were out on the battlefield, and he¡¯d struck me from behind. Always from behind, I realized. I remember the blood leaving my body and my desperate plea to live, live, live.


    I¡¯d forgiven him, then, and our relationship had been rocky ever since. So was it at all surprising that he¡¯d turned on me a second time? The dagger hung loosely in my foggy memory, all blurred edges and fuzzy lines. I try to remember it as clear as I can, the way the world shifted, waking up in the cell beside Simon.


    Do you want to know what happened? Truly? I hear Via¡¯s true voice echo in my mind and my eyes snap open. She sits across from me, legs crossed. My magical gaze sees the after-image of her brilliant glory, extending out from her small body.


    I frown at her. She smiles and tilts her head. Well?


    ¡°Yes,¡± I say aloud, but I feel uncertain. Do I want to know? Do I want the memory of my closest friend to be shattered? The swimming hole memories when we were boys? Passing notes in lectures of poorly drawn male genitalia?


    You¡¯re a good kid, Tony.


    Am I? I let my eyes fall closed again and let go of the breath I was holding. I remember the list, the vow to hunt down every last necromancer in the land. To remove as many beastmen as I could ¨C to make Led ¡°pure,¡± like I had been taught. To return it to the heretic druids that were forced into Cainern.


    Of course you are. You don¡¯t want to hate your friend, you want to give him the same forgiveness you¡¯ve been given.


    Oh. Forgiveness. What a terrible word.


    I still need to redeem myself.


    Of course you do, but that doesn¡¯t mean you don¡¯t get to accept the occasional gift of forgiveness. It also doesn¡¯t exclude you from extending it to others.


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    Did he try to kill me for my father or for himself?


    I feel Via chuckle. Does it need to be either of those two choices? You know the truth is often more nuanced than just that, Antonio.


    I frown, but I understand what she means.


    Images begin to filter into my mind. I¡¯m standing in the study, the fire crackling away, but I see myself younger, clean-shaven, more muscular, sitting in a lush chair. A feeling of vertigo swiftly overcomes me, and I feel nauseous. I swallow against it just in time to see Luis as he walks into the room and hands me the glass of wine. I see what I hadn¡¯t seen before: the uncertainty in his face even as it flickers into a carefully practiced nonchalance. I watch myself drink the wine, I watch us talk. I watch as the knife appears in his hand and he rushes toward me. I watch him apologize to me as I struggle to crawl away ¨C I watch the door burst open and Herman throw Luis off of me.


    Surprise fills me.


    I watch Herman and Luis struggle while Herman¡¯s Second, Diego, storms into the room and helps secure Luis to the floor. I watch my Second as he kicks his feet and snarls, trying to break free from my brother. I see their mouths move in angry shouting, but the images carry no sound.


    My brother?


    I feel Via nod.


    I have to write him, I realize.


    Wait, child, see everything for yourself. Luis, finally bound with Diego¡¯s help, is spitting vitriol from a darkened face. I see Herman wipe a wrist across his sweaty brow, scraping a thin line of blood. I hear him talk quietly to Diego, jerking his head at my body and the door I had almost made it to. My limbs are all askew, my face looking painfully uncomfortable against the floor. Diego nods, looking a little pale, but hops to: gathering up my limbs and carrying my lame body from the room.


    He sent me to jail? I wonder, confused.


    Herman looks around, seated on Luis¡¯s back. I hear their mouths move, and Herman just looks unimaginably sad.


    I need to write him. I decide.


    You don¡¯t care that he sent you to die? The images flash away from me.


    There¡¯s an old story about two brothers, I muse, floating back into my body seated in the grass. We used to hear it when we were children. The younger brother offered an abundance of gifts to Diemes, the god of thunder. After a grand festival, the older brother slays him in front of the temple, letting his blood run over the steps of the building. When asked, the older brother says nothing. Three days later, the city and all of its people were burned alive, the echoes of their screaming can still be heard to this day.


    That¡¯s not a fun story.


    No, I smile. It was a lesson for children to avoid jealousy and hatred, but I read it differently.


    I open my physical eyes and see Via¡¯s eyes open, holding my gaze. Her eyebrow quirks up.


    Gods don¡¯t care enough about any one person to send a fire so powerful to destroy an entire city to the ground, I tell her and a knowing look flashes in her eyes: comprehension. The historical record shows us that the city was set upon by their father¡¯s enemies after the younger brother was not traded as part of a peace treaty. The older brother did the only thing he thought he could: he killed his beloved brother to save him the horror he might experience later.


    She smiles. Clever boy.


    Our connection breaks off in one sharp cut, and she stands and stretches her arms over her head. She extends a hand down to me as the magic fades from my eyes. I take it. ¡°Thank you.¡± I tell her as she helps me up to my feet. ¡°For showing me everything.¡±


    She nods and smacks me on the arm. ¡°You¡¯re a good kid, Tony. I¡¯m glad to meet you, even if Sybil isn¡¯t.¡±


    I cock my eyebrow at her, but she shrugs and doesn¡¯t elaborate, proceeding to wander off.

 Antonio: Building an army, one town at a time...

    That night, I write to my brother, using a codename and a cipher, hiding my words behind an inquiry to the king himself. I don¡¯t hear back.


    After a week, with daily assurances from Via that Soleil is still safe, Haven finishes outfitting our small platoon of half-trained combatants and we start our march on the capital.


    We spend the majority of our march from Reisau to Torsen with morning exercise routines and conversations over maps with Sybil and Lasis, who have taken up some of the tactical conversations with me. If Herman had, indeed, sold me out to protect me from my father like I suspect, it should be reasonably easy to negotiate a hostage release ¨C and maybe even to discuss some sort of peace treaty. Not that he didn¡¯t already have the Cainern army¡¯s support behind him and I had a ramshackle group of dedicated and morally wronged farmers and an ¡°ambitious woman¡± who I was beginning to suspect was a goddess, and her very normal necromancer pet.


    Speaking of, Via is often nowhere to be seen the majority of the time, only returning to camp for dinner.


    Sybil and I agree not to hide the beastmen or the bones from view. We will fight off any opposition we come to, and we don¡¯t expect very much this far out. If anything, we think it will be a show of support that might be joined. Torsen is a reasonably safe place to test this bet.


    As we travel, we encounter many people on the road: mostly people in wagons who shrink away from us. The forward scouts don¡¯t witness any capital guards to report about, until we get closer to Torsen. They report that the guards turn tail and return the way they came, which bolsters my confidence and the confidence of the troops.


    Lasis and I restructure the forward marchers to allow for humans to be at the forefront, including Sybil and Haven and I, while the beastmen take the middle, and the constructs take the rear. Haven has armed us all to the teeth, and I owe her quite a bit of my coffers if¨Cwhen we storm the¨Cmy castle.


    When we arrive in Torsen, it is silent as the grave. The front line is tense as we walk carefully through the town, eyes on the shuttered windows as we creep forward. Henry is a formidable shadow over us, even if he is at the rear of our small 30-man, crouched on his front knuckles so that he doesn¡¯t tower over the small buildings.


    When nothing happens as we approach the plaza, an idea comes to me. I round us into the center of the plaza and climb atop Henry. ¡°City of Torsen!¡± I cry, my voice echoing against the seemingly vacant buildings. Though no one unshutters their windows or steps into the street, I know I am heard. ¡°I am Antonio de Cardenas, former mad king of Led and prince of Cainern.¡± I let the sound fade away into the cobblestoned streets. I see a door creak open. ¡°This day, I march with my friends upon my own rule ¨C upon my brother¡¯s rule.¡± My voice carries over the shingled roofs and I see Sybil¡¯s hand grasp Haven¡¯s tightly. A window slowly pries open and a curious face peers out of the darkness at me. ¡°I march once more upon the capital that I had marched upon three years ago. This time, as one of the very sympathizers I condemned. This time as a friend of a necromancer,¡± I stand on Henry¡¯s shoulder, using their skull for balance. ¡°This time, as a lover of beastmen. This time, as one of you.¡± Now, I see faces staring out onto the street. A few people have stepped out of their home. From the far end of the street, I see guards begin to march into town. ¡°This time, I stand before you, not a Cainern prince, but a citizen of Led. This time I stand before you as the Mad King ¨C and I intend to root out the evils that I brought.¡±


    I keep a close eye on the approach of the four men in armor, but more people step out into the street. ¡°King Antonio?¡± a woman calls, stepping into the middle of the road with her neighbors.


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re shorter than I imagined.¡± She gestures at the hulking construct I¡¯m standing upon. ¡°Barring, you know, the assistance.¡±


    I smirk. ¡°I¡¯ve heard that.¡± I tap Henry¡¯s side and they set me on the ground. Haven tenses as the guards make it halfway down the street, and I hear Sybil murmur something about time to move on, but I recognize the opportunity. I need to seize it. I walk through the forming crowd that parts around me, more curious than scared. I offer my hand and she takes it, suspiciously. I kneel. ¡°I¡¯m sorry I haven¡¯t come out this way sooner. It was my mistake listening to the gentry of Led over its common people. I will not make that mistake again.¡±


    There is a moment of silence, but the woman retracts her hand, patting my head. ¡°Stand up, shorty,¡± she looks around at the gathered crowd as I rise to my feet. ¡°Well, Torsen, what do we think?¡±


    ¡°Hail the Mad King!¡± Someone shouts. And a few people murmur affirmation.


    The guards slow their walk toward us.


    ¡°Well, hang on just one moment!¡± Someone calls from a side street. My troop turns, and I¡¯m surprised to find the man who was responsible for selling me and my friends to Sybil. He and his cronies carry wooden clubs and wear threatening smiles. ¡°You¡¯re marching on the capital? With what army?¡± He eyes my group. ¡°Looks like you¡¯ve made quite a name for yourself, there, Miss Whitman.¡±


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    Haven steps between him and her lover. ¡°You,¡± she growls.


    I step toward him. ¡°Slave trader.¡±


    ¡°Slavery is still illegal in Led, on what grounds do you accuse me?¡±


    ¡°Shut up, Raphael.¡± Sybil says. ¡°You know very well that I purchased half of these people from you just a few weeks ago.¡± Her outburst surprises me, but I see Lasis¡¯ hand on her shoulder, and realize they are talking through her.


    He stares at her for a moment, then takes in the rest of his crew. ¡°You come into my town and accuse me of human trafficking?¡± He shakes his head, and I catch the flicker of movement from the other side of the crowd.


    I turn and clock Simon with a nod. He returns it, letting me know that he sees who I¡¯m meaning him to. ¡°Careful,¡± I mutter, stepping back. Henry¡¯s large hand covers my back.


    The volatile situation sparks when the first of Raphael¡¯s swings his club down at one of the skeletons. They leap to the side and twist in the air to punch his lights out. ¡°Watch out!¡± I call as the guards on the opposite side of the crowd start raising their own batons to beat down the gathered townspeople.


    ¡°You were ordered to stay inside!¡± one of the guardsmen is yelling over the panic of the crowd.


    ¡°Protect them!¡± I yell and dive in, pulling my sword from its sheath at my hip once the people have moved far enough away from my range of motion for it to be safe. In the meantime, I elbow-check one of the guards as hard as I can in the stomach. Simon presses his hands to the ground. Thick vines shatter through the cobblestones and grab onto the second guardsmen just as I lift my hilt into the underside of his jaw. I hear a crunch of teeth and bone and parry a baton coming down from the third.


    By now, a beastman takes up the back end of the assault, allowing me the room to twist around and make sure the rest of the townspeople of Torsen are safe.


    I¡¯m surprised to find Raphael and his men already bound together, Sybil and her constructs forming a protective line between them and the townspeople, who are reaching for and throwing stones at them.


    ¡°Wait!¡± Haven shouts over the din. ¡°Wait! You can have these men, you can try them, and you can sentence them, but you cannot kill them!¡±


    ¡°Good for nothing¨C¡±


    ¡°Run this town too long¨C¡±


    ¡°Let me at him!¡±


    The mob surges forward and Simon nods once at me, I catch the orbital gaze of Henry who lifts me easily into the air. ¡°Stop!¡± I yell, and the whole plaza goes quiet. ¡°Stop this madness. You can take Raphael and his men, and do whatever you wish to them ¨C but it will be done justly, and fairly.¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s no law in the land but your own!¡±


    ¡°Then try him on his own laws that he¡¯s set forward for Torsen,¡± I narrow my eyes at the woman who raises her voice. She holds my gaze for a long moment, as if she¡¯s testing me. As if she needs to know that I mean what I say. I do, so she turns and gestures for her men to settle down.


    ¡°Throw them in the slammer. Sam, you and your boys go round the warehouse, catch any of the runaways.¡± She turns back and strides through the crowd that begins to assemble themselves, clearing up the plaza and tying up the guards. She stands firmly in front of me. ¡°Thank you, for giving us the opportunity to take back our town, son.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s my pleasure,¡± I level her gaze. ¡°So the indentured servants?¡±


    She shakes her head, ¡°We¡¯ve been fighting it for a long time. We were waiting for the right time. You brought it right to our doorstep.¡±


    I nod and look back over at the guards. ¡°Will you need more sent when I¡¯m in power?¡± I gesture to them.


    She raises an eyebrow. ¡°Get on the throne first, then we¡¯ll talk.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ll have my ear.¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s a good boy.¡± She pats my arm. ¡°I¡¯ll send a Torsen delegation with you. Ya¡¯ll are from Reisau?¡±


    ¡°We are,¡± Sybil says at my left.


    ¡°Tell Maggie I say hey. We have some old veterans from the old wars, they¡¯ll be biting at the bit for a chance to take on your brother.¡±


    ¡°Thank you,¡± I tell her. ¡°Will there be any trouble?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ll take the trouble with you.¡± She grins. ¡°The capital¡¯s guys have already up and left, they mean to gather y''all into a chokepoint near the edge of the Norsards.¡±


    I look at Sybil who nods understandingly. I¡¯ll need her and Simon to help me navigate the geography of Led, as I was only shown a small quarter of the country. ¡°Thank you for the warning.¡±


    ¡°No need. Thank you for helping us get rid of these guys.¡± She whistles high and a few of the older men¡¯s heads shoot up. She jerks her head at me and they salute.


    ¡°You¡¯re¡­¡±


    ¡°A force to be reckoned with,¡± Hazel finishes when Sybil¡¯s voice carries off.


    ¡°Have to be,¡± the woman says. She narrows her gaze at me once more. ¡°Set things straight. Send my guys back safe.¡±


    I smile. ¡°I¡¯ll do just that.¡±


    She nods decisively and saunters away.


    ¡°That went better than expected,¡± Simon says, finally catching up with us. I wave one of our beastmen over and direct them toward the older men who are walking toward us. ¡°Go with them, get them sorted out, and rendezvous with us. We are marching ahead.¡±


    The beastman nods and takes off. I slap my hands together. ¡°Alright. Any last thoughts before we go?¡±


    Sybil smiles halfway. ¡°I can see why it didn¡¯t work the first time.¡±


    My gaze meets her eyes in surprise. ¡°What do you mean?¡±


    Via appears at my side and tugs me away. ¡°Not for your ears,¡± she sighs, shooting Sybil a glare. The necromancer just rolls her eyes with a grin and follows behind. ¡°Fabulous work, there, Tony. I just have some notes¡­¡±


    My thoughts trail off as the platoon exits town surrounded on all sides by an excited crowd. They cheer as we leave town, and I find my heart tightening. If this is what they were waiting for¨Csomeone to give them the opportunity to liberate themselves, well. I had certainly taken Led for granted three years ago.

 Antonio: What I didnt see the first time

    The second town, Bimana, was mostly quiet when we entered, but the townsfolk were not hidden. We didn¡¯t see as many guards. This time, I met with the town¡¯s leader, a gentle man named Kenneth, and delivered my speech. He asked us to stay a day and, against Sybil and Haven¡¯s antsy toe-ing, I agreed. It would be in our best interest to be in the good graces of as many people as we could. We compromised on Sybil, Haven, and Henry scouting ahead while we waited for the veterans from Torsen to catch up with us. In the meantime, the rest of our troops would take advantage of what might be our last opportunity of soft beds and warm meals.


    I spend the first part of the night in Kenneth¡¯s office. He¡¯s an older man with weathered skin and a discerning eye. He has set Simon and I up in his home with his lovely wife. Their children had long since grown and they were happy to share in our company. Simon and I sit close together at the man¡¯s desk while the smells of dinner cooking beneath us permeates through the plain, two storeyed home. ¡°So tell me, Antonio, what is it you¡¯re aiming to do?¡±


    Simon leans back in his chair and surveys me from the corner of his eye. I sit straighter in my chair, nursing the mug of water that had just been given to us. ¡°I¡¯m building an army of sympathizers, the very people I put behind bars, to face off against my brother and reclaim my throne. I intend to make Led a safe place for necromancers and beastmen again.¡±


    He nods, ¡°That¡¯s a pretty lofty goal, kid.¡±


    ¡°Is it?¡± I fold my fingers across one another. ¡°I think the loftier goal was doing what I did three years ago.¡±


    He smirks and lifts his own mug of water in cheers. ¡°But this time, you¡¯re starting with an army from scratch?¡±


    I shake my head. ¡°No, not from scratch. I imagine there¡¯s hundreds of people in Led that would flock to the cause.¡±


    Kenneth considers this and sits forward. ¡°Without any opposition from the throne? Cainern backs King Herman with ten thousand men. With hundreds of people, that is barely enough to put up a fight.¡±


    I think about what Via showed me a few days ago. I don¡¯t want to mention the unknown: that I believe Herman is more likely to back down from the fight than to call on our father for backup. A lot of it is the de Cardenas pride I was innately familiar with; the other half was my suspicion of his brotherly affection, which from any general¡¯s purview wasn¡¯t reliable.


    Beyond that, I didn¡¯t want to deliver on falsities. I  was going to do this right if I was going to do it at all, so instead I say: ¡°You¡¯re right. Which is why I need a strong, loyal following. Can you offer me that?¡±


    His face gives away nothing as he holds my gaze. There¡¯s no twitch of muscle by his eyes or flicker of his lips. ¡°What are you offering my township in return?¡± He asks.


    I smile. ¡°What is more valuable than your freedom?¡±


    ¡°Is that a threat?¡± He doesn¡¯t move, and his voice doesn¡¯t fluctuate at all. He doesn¡¯t seem offended.


    I shake my head. ¡°No. It¡¯s a promise of liberation.¡±


    ¡°From your own policies?¡± An eyebrow finally quirks up, but he is steady.


    ¡°Exactly that.¡±


    He folds his arms over his chest. ¡°Why the change in heart? You invaded Led three years ago to enact those policies.¡±


    I nod to Simon. ¡°I made friends. I was shown a different way of life.¡±


    ¡°Sure, but what is holding you accountable to those policy changes if you reclaim the throne? Who am I to trust the same man that took away my people¡¯s rights to live will rescind the very laws that took their lives away?¡±


    I was expecting this¨Cbut even still, his words bite me deep inside. So many people have died because of me in the last few months ¨C the last three years, in fact. All blood on my hands. While Herman¡¯s policies did increase in volatility and severity, it was I who had enacted them in the first place. He was only following my lead and the governance of our father. Herman was only a puppet to the rule that was Cainern.


    ¡°You¡¯re right. There¡¯s nothing that I can firmly give you to trust me.¡± I tell him. ¡°And a man¡¯s word is worth nothing compared to his actions. If you lend your help, if only by two or three combatants, I can only offer my word that I will commit myself wholeheartedly to you and your people¨Cand to the people of all of Led. And that is a risk you are going to have to take.


    ¡°I can¡¯t offer the money in coffers I do not have. I can¡¯t offer that we won¡¯t go to war with Cainern¨Cquite the opposite, actually. I can almost guarantee my return to the throne will plummet Led into a greater war than it has ever seen. But I do promise that we will be ready for the task.¡±


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    Kenneth watches me carefully, and I feel Simon beside me hold his breath. I¡¯m not unfamiliar with budding alliances. I¡¯m not unfamiliar with making friends in strange places and making treaties. What I am unfamiliar with is doing so without any collateral. What I was selling was a dream, at best ¨C ethereal and intangible. I had no right to expect this man to take me at my word without understanding the depth of my character.


    The room fills with thick, molasses tension that settles over our shoulders and across the furniture. I hear Simon gulp. I control my breathing, I watch Kenneth, who is as steady as a cold, stone wall.


    Finally, he breaks the tension with a laugh. ¡°You have guts, kid. I like that.¡± He stands and shakes my hand.


    I feel myself deflate a little, but I make no show of it, clasping his hand firmly. ¡°I am sorry for your losses. That blood is on my hands, and I will atone for that my entire life.¡±


    He pulls me a little closer to grasp my shoulder with his second hand. ¡°I want to show you something, son.¡±


    ***


    Kenneth leads Simon and I down through the kitchen, where his wife looks up and offers us careful smiles and promises of dinner being ready soon. Kenneth opens a panel in the pantry, revealing a staircase that disappears into the darkness. ¡°What is this?¡± I ask. Kenneth passes us a smile and descends. Simon and I exchange a look that relays that neither of us is certain that this isn¡¯t a trap. Simon takes a few steps ahead of me and disappears into the darkness behind our host. A few moments later, he returns and nods. I follow them back down into the cellar. Kenneth has already pulled aside a shelf and lit the accompanying, hidden room to reveal rows of cots and trunks, resembling a barebones clinic or hospital.


    I raise an eyebrow.


    ¡°I hope you don¡¯t mind the smoke and mirrors, Sire.¡± Kenneth¡¯s lips quirk, amused. ¡°Once we heard that the war was not going well for our side, and the former king did not raise a draft for our men, we knew it would only be a matter of time before Cainern would complete their invasion and we would be under its rule.¡± He gestured around and I took a closer step, peering into the room. He didn¡¯t seem to mind my paranoia. ¡°We started working immediately to make sure our people were safe.¡±


    ¡°Where are they?¡± I ask, noting the bare room.


    ¡°They go about their days as usual, mostly,¡± he tells us. ¡°As long as there aren¡¯t guards around. Once we had gotten wind that they were building an attack to meet you in the Pass, we¡¯ve not seen anyone pass through these parts. It¡¯s been a few days.¡± He gestures us back into the small cellar and picks up a vial from one of the shelves. ¡°Glamour potions, even if our supply is dwindling. Most of our citizens are beastmen of some form. If we run out, they will reside here until we get more. Until then, this serves as a bunker for beastmen ¨C a safe house, if you will, for people running away from your rule.¡±


    I feel a warmth fill my body at the thought. ¡°It¡¯s brilliant.¡±


    He nods. ¡°So when I tell you that your policies carry blood, countless deaths of innocents¨CI want you to understand that it is true.¡± He gestures around us. ¡°But we are a resilient people. We bide our time. We strike.¡± He crosses his arms over his chest and I turn to see the serious look in his eyes. ¡°I know that you have nothing to offer us in return for our support, Antonio,¡± he says, using my first name. In another life, I would have been insulted at his disrespect, but in this life, I feel a different respect for it. Here, the man who addresses kings by first name. ¡°And we will give our support, willingly, because we have been waiting for the opportunity to strike since you came to power three years ago. I will even gladly send word ahead so that you will find yourself well outfitted in men and in sword. We will supply you your army and weapons. Suffice to say: I am excited to send my men with you if it means that they are close enough to you.¡±


    There¡¯s a tone in his voice that makes me realize that he is threatening me. For just as I will have veteran soldiers accompanying me in my fight to return to the throne, so too does he have a dagger to my throat. I smile. It is exactly the outcome I hoped for. I offer my arm. ¡°I¡¯ll tread carefully, then.¡±


    ¡°Good kid,¡± he grasps my arm. The deal is made. ¡°Let¡¯s go get some supper, then.¡± He gestures us ahead of him up the stairs so he can close the hidden room and turn down the lights within. That night we eat, and we rest comfortably in beds. I share a room with Simon, stuck in the middle of my paranoia¨Cand though we do not talk, I know that I trust him implicitly with my life, and he trusts me enough not to run me through in my sleep.


    It isn¡¯t until the next morning that I find out that nobody has seen Via since the day before.


    Kenneth had set up an area for us to meet the troops he was giving to us in the grass just outside town, and they were now moving through training exercises. For such a small town, I was surprised that he was able to offer us another 50 men ¨C many of whom are beastmen. Bimana was also able to outfit us with more swords and armor, which Simon was expecting and cleaning with some of the other troops, and fit some of the new and oldcomers before loading it all into wagons.


    ¡°Your Highness, the little one,¡± the soldier that approaches me is one of the fieldhands from Sybil¡¯s farm. ¡°We can¡¯t find her anywhere.¡±


    I frown. ¡°Where did she spend the night last?¡±


    He shakes his head, ¡°To be honest, I¡¯ve no clue.¡±


    Another person steps forward, someone from Torsen. ¡°With all due respect, your highness, traveling to war with a child¡­¡±


    I ignore him and gesture across the way to Lasis. Their skull whips up from their inventory tallying and nods, stalking over to me. ¡°Can you ask Sybil if Via is with her?¡± I ask, tiredly.


    The skeleton nods and steps out of sight. While I was made aware of the speaking stones they and Sybil used to communicate over long distance, I didn¡¯t want the rest of the army to be privy to them. They were a trump card I would like to keep as close to my chest as possible.


    They return after a few minutes, note scribbled on their board already in hastily drawn chicken scratch: ¡°Says yes, no signs yet.¡±


    ¡°Thanks Lasis, can you relay that we¡¯re going to start marching their way tomorrow. We are still acquiring forces and allowing these troops to say their goodbyes before we move on to the next place. We¡¯re going to be slowed down with all of the new men and wagons.¡±


    Lasis nods and strides off. They don¡¯t return, not that I expected them to. They understood well enough that it was all I needed from them.

 Antonio: Getting to the Place of Most Resistance -- or so I think.

    We did eventually catch up to Sybil and her group a few days later. They made up camp a day or two from the pass and waited for us. We did traverse through two more villages since then, each of them giving us more troops and weapons. We had grown from a small troop of around thirty to numbering two-hundred.


    When we crest the hill about mid-afternoon, I find that Sybil and Via have also been hard at work, as they¡¯re flanked with thirty or forty skeletons and clay-constructs similar in shape to Henry, but none near his size. I can¡¯t help but feel my smile stretch wide. Whatever had scared Sybil from helping me with my army had clearly been foreshadowed in light of Soleil¡¯s capture. Now, she was all in. The last time I¡¯d seen so many skeletons was the first year into the invasion, when I encountered a formidable necromancer by the name of Maisley. She had rushed our flank in the night with an army numbering two fold of my men. It was a bloody night that had forced us to retreat. It had been reported to me that she had died a few weeks later from a bout of pneumonia ¨C back then, I felt that it was a small price to pay for the lives she had taken from me. Now, I understood the truth: she died relatively peacefully in an unfamiliar and scary place protecting her home. I was glad she didn¡¯t die in battle.


    I marched up to Sybil who was helping settle in some of the new troops. She offered me a weak grin and I offered her my arm. She took with an uneasy glance and I slapped her on the back in a show of camaraderie. ¡°Thank you,¡± I whisper into her hair before releasing her.


    She waves me off. ¡°It¡¯s nothing.¡± She says, but I see the dark circles under her eyes.


    Via bounds up to me. ¡°Hello, princeling!¡± she crows in her child-like voice.


    I roll my eyes when I know no one can see me. ¡°You gave a lot of the men quite a scare,¡± I chide underneath my breath. ¡°They thought I¡¯d lost a child.¡±


    She holds her hand to her chest in mock offense. ¡°Tony! You wouldn¡¯t misplace a child would you?¡±


    Haven swats her away and crosses her arms. ¡°Via says that Sol is being held in a distribution warehouse in Pirovo. Depending on how fast we can get through this bottlenecked attack ¨C of which we¡¯re so sure is going to happen¨C¡± she says snidely, ¡°We should be able to reach him in three days. Will we be able to break him out?¡±


    I consider for a long moment. ¡°What if,¡± I pose, ¡°I send a forward group to draw them out, and a small group of you move around them and make your way into town?¡±


    ¡°Sneak behind them and around?¡± Sybil considers.


    ¡°Not to attack from behind?¡± Simon asks, coming up behind us.


    I shrug, ¡°We can do two different groups, then. Break them up. Surprise attack from behind, let some of the others go on ahead and we¡¯ll take care of this here?¡±


    Simon nods to himself.


    ¡°I think that¡¯ll work very nicely,¡± Via muses, sitting on a rock nearby us.


    My eyebrow quirks. ¡°Any chance you know our rate of success?¡±


    Via looks legitimately insulted this time. ¡°No,¡± she says shortly and walks away from us.


    ¡°She can¡¯t see the future,¡± Sybil says under her breath, and I think I¡¯m the only person who can hear her. ¡°She¡¯s a little touchy about that fact.¡±


    ***


    I gather the elected lieutenants and inform them of our strategy, and then we set our trap. The following morning, we move quickly in formation. Two squads, including one squad made up of Sybil, Via, and two beastmen, take a long detour into the forest. The main formation breaks into two platoons, the first one creeping forward over the hill and into the bottleneck between two cliff faces that have somehow naturally sliced through the atmosphere high above across a narrow path from one another.


    I hang back with the second formation that stands away from the forward march, arms prepared. Eventually, there¡¯s a clatter of metal and a shout, and I know that we have intercepted the king¡¯s troops. It takes about an hour of careful maneuvering backwards until the heads of the formation. Once the heads of the forward formation were in sight, I give the orders and we surge forward, weapons raised. The enemy group are numbered just as our forward scouts told us: relatively one-hundred men in full dress.


    I direct the force to wrap around the enemy like a stiff and loud embrace. We descend upon them with swords and spears in a surprise convergence that knocks their forces unsteady. I feel the stone in my pocket tug, and I know that Sybil and her team have been able to sneak beyond their forces. Good. I run into the fray, knowing we need to finish this quickly to continue on our way to the capital.


    Our forces are surprisingly well-matched to the formally trained troops of the capital, and it doesn¡¯t take us very long to overcome their forces, rounding those that we can and forcing them to surrender ¨C in its entirety, the battle takes all of two hours. While we benefited from the surprise attack, we still incur some losses.  I send a few troops back the way we came to let the people know of the dead while Simon and some of our men help commit the bodies of both our own people and the guards we overrun to the next life.


    The ritual takes up most of the afternoon before we load up the surrendered troops bound into the back of one of our wagons to drop off at the next town. We are tired, we are hungry, and we are battle-worn already, but our feet need to carry us onward. The sooner we get moving, the closer we are to helping Sybil and her party rescue Soleil, if they need it¨Cand the closer we are to my brother¡¯s throne.


    ***


    It takes us four days to make the journey that takes Sybil and her team two ¨C according to her correspondence with Lasis. The forward scouts bring back the information that the city is completely closed to outsiders when we¡¯re a day out, but we aren¡¯t sure whether they are friendly or not. We decide to make camp, where I leave my budding army in the capable hands of Lasis. Simon, one of my lieutenants, and I make our way into town. We are stopped at the gate by two guards that are in full armor: helmets glinting in the sunshine and their hands weighing on their hilts. ¡°State your business.¡±


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    ¡°Visiting a friend,¡± Simon tells them.


    ¡°Who is your friend?¡±


    He straightens, ¡°He¡¯s actually held in one of your jail cells. He was recently arrested from our town of Reisau. We want to finalize some details of his estate before he gets taken in for trial.¡±


    ¡°A lawyer?¡±


    Simon nods.


    The other guard speaks up, ¡°And who are these two?¡± he gestures to me and the lieutenant, who are wearing chainmail and leather bracers, our own swords strapped around our waists.


    ¡°Road protection,¡± Simon says easily, he, in his regular cloth outfit, posing no more threat than a wandering peasant. ¡°It¡¯s been dangerous out. I¡¯ve heard tale that the Mad King is rising again ¨C raising an army as he goes.¡±


    The guards nod knowingly. The first gestures us inside. ¡°Whatever your deal with your prisoner is, I pray it is resolved quickly. How long are you staying in town?¡±


    Simon shrugs, ¡°Maybe three days. Who can tell?¡±


    ¡°Keep your wits about you.¡± The second guardsman says.


    And then they let us pass.


    The city is still bustling with activity, though the usual chatter that I anticipate from a city of this size is muted. People who move past are worried, their faces ashen and smiles strained. ¡°Sybil said she would wait for us at the Dragon¡¯s Tongue,¡± I tell them and look around. ¡°Have either of you been to Pirovo before?¡±


    Simon shakes his head but the Lieutenant nods. ¡°Only a few times,¡± he admits, ¡°Ma had a sister that lived out here. ¡°Used to spend the summers visiting when I was a teen, helped her out.¡±


    His response reminds me of Tols that my heart skips a beat and my chest clenches. I swallow down a knot of loneliness.


    ¡°The Dragon¡¯s Tongue is an old establishment, I think it was in the Grey Quadrant.¡± He sets off and Simon and I follow along, eager to be on our way. The way Lasis had relayed it, Sybil and Via were having a difficult time around the prison, and needed some back-up to properly spring her lover from the captivity of the crown. They had confirmed his whereabouts, at least.


    The city was so large that it took us thirty minutes to traverse from what Lieutenant was calling the Yellow Quadrant into the Grey, where the streets and buildings gradually shift from bright and colorful into stone buildings and streets. Not that there is a particular lack of color in this quadrant ¨C the people who lived in this section hung colorful scarves across their windows and doors, and banners criss-crossed above the streets. The Dragon¡¯s Tongue itself was a thin and long building that crouched into the neighboring church, leaving an alleyway on the other side, distancing itself from the cobbler¡¯s shop next door.


    We enter from the street side into a bustling tavern room filled with quiet patrons. I sidle up to the long, square bar in the center and flag down the barkeep. I press a coin onto the countertop and smile genuinely, ¡°I¡¯m looking for a pretty woman, long black hair? She¡¯s traveling with two others.¡±


    The barkeeper flicks the coin from my fingertips and nods to a corner booth where I catch sight of Sybil. ¡°They¡¯ve been here all day. Waitin¡¯ for you, my guess. Thanks for the coin though.¡± He turns to address his other patrons and I lead Simon and Lieutenant over, bemoaning the loss of my precious money for only a beat.


    Sybil stands up when she sees us, Haven has rested her head on her arms beside her, and Via sits with her knees drawn up to her chest in the chair. The beastman with them smiles up at us as we approach the table. ¡°They shut the city down after we got in yesterday,¡± Sybil tells me as we sit down across from them. ¡°Henry is hiding in the woods beyond the city.¡±


    ¡°We staked out some of the area around the facility last night,¡± Haven adds, her voice muffled by her arms. Her red hair is in disarray and she seems crankier than usual.


    ¡°We didn¡¯t learn much,¡± Sybil explains. ¡°We were able to mark some of the passing guards but we haven¡¯t been able to sort out their shifts.¡±


    ¡°Have you been in to see him?¡± Simon asks.


    Haven glances up, her eyes are watery and her nose is red. ¡°I take that as a yes,¡± I say underneath my breath and she shoots me a dirty look.


    She shakes herself out and wipes at her eyes. ¡°Yes. Sybil and I went in to see him.¡±


    Sybil nods, her face thrown into a deep scowl. ¡°He¡¯s doing¡­ okay,¡± she explains, voice steady. ¡°They aren¡¯t feeding him well, for one. But how could they, when they don¡¯t know his diet and they won¡¯t listen to him when he speaks?¡±


    Haven grumbles in affirmation and Sybil charges on. ¡°They broke his glasses along the way, so he¡¯s having trouble seeing properly. He¡¯s tired, and scared, and¡­¡± I take a good look at her as her voice drifts off and see her fists in white-knuckled grips. I realize that while Haven is dealing with her anger in tears, Sybil has a silent and deadly vendetta that she intends to carry out. I suppress a shiver as I catch her cold gaze staring past me at the half-wall that blocks our booth from the patrons behind us.


    ¡°Tell us where to stand,¡± I tell her, ¡°Whatever you need. Our army is just outside of town.¡± I gesture between us.


    ¡°Our army,¡± Sybil scoffs, crossing her arms in half-disgust. I can¡¯t very well blame her. She¡¯s been through so much the past three years.


    Simon shakes his head disapprovingly. ¡°No, Sybil. He¡¯s right. It isn¡¯t just his army anymore. It¡¯s also yours. The two of you have built it up from bones and dust in your own way.¡±


    She hesitates, then meets my eyes again. She nods once. ¡°Our army, then.¡± She amends. ¡°Anyways, I¡¯ll need a handful of people to help us get inside.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m a lawyer,¡± Simon suggests. ¡°I¡¯m representing our friend Soleil.¡±


    I nod. ¡°I brought you some help, too,¡± I gesture at Lieutenant. ¡°This is Lieutenant Fredrick. He¡¯s a member of the Bimanan militia. He¡¯ll go with you. If you can get a message back to Lasis, he can maybe send a few more of our people disguised as merchants. I¡¯ll try to get a meeting with the city councilmen, strike some sort of deal or compromise: see if they are interested in joining our cause and what that would cost.¡±


    Sybil nods. ¡°I¡¯ll let Lasis know,¡± she agrees. ¡°In the meantime, Lieutenant, Haven, and I will stake out the rest of the day. We have rooms upstairs already for the night, if you need to rest.¡±


    While the idea of a warm bed is terribly inviting now, I know I need to get a move-on. ¡°Simon, go on ahead, see what you can learn from the inside under the guise of taking Soleil¡¯s statement.¡±


    Simon nods and picks up his things, hurrying from the room.


    Via looks up at me blearily. ¡°I think I might nap,¡± she whispers.


    ¡°You have been grumpy,¡± Haven groans beyond a stuffy nose, and Sybil threads her arm around Haven¡¯s shoulders and presses her forehead tightly against Haven¡¯s head.


    ¡°We¡¯ll get him back,¡± she promises.


    ¡°I know we will,¡± Haven grumbles, digging a fingernail into an opposing cuticle. ¡°I just hope we can get him out quickly.¡±

 Antonio: For Goddess -- Sorry Vi -- sake, I AM your king.

    ¡°You¡¯re here to do what?¡± the footman asks me, standing at the last set of doors between me and the conversation I¡¯d been working towards for the last two hours. I¡¯d long lost my patience.


    After talking with Sybil and the others, I took full use of the rooms they¡¯d purchased to bathe and make myself presentable enough to be taken seriously as a renegade king. And with it, I girded myself with the stern authority I had learned over the course of my life. ¡°I¡¯m here to meet with your councilman.¡±


    ¡°Do you have an appointment?¡±


    I roll my eyes, bureaucracy. ¡°I do not need an appointment.¡±


    ¡°Right, I¡¯m certain you are quite important, Sir¡­¡± The man¡¯s eyes take me in from head to toe.


    ¡°Sire,¡± I correct. ¡°My name is Antonio de Cardenas, the Mad King of Led, Prince of Cainern. You will let me in or you will speak to my brother, my army, and my father¡¯s country.¡± I give him a scalding look.


    He crosses his arms. ¡°Do you have any form of identification to corroborate such claims, young man? Why! The gall of the youth these days.¡±


    I sigh and push past him. ¡°Wait, you can¡¯t¨C¡± He tries to grab my shoulders but I push him back.


    ¡°You will not touch me with your filthy hands,¡± I bellow. ¡°I am far more powerful than you could hope to fathom.¡±


    He starts to shrink back, face pale and eyes widening before a red pigment begins to bloom in his cheeks. ¡°Why, I nev¨C¡±


    I push through the doors, letting him fall over my heels as I storm into the room. A fat man stands behind a long desk. Rows of bookshelves line the walls of the bright room. His face jerks up in surprise at my entrance. I cross my arms over my chest once I am within an arm¡¯s length from him. ¡°State your name,¡± I demand.


    The man turns tomato-red. ¡°I ought to be demanding that of you, child¨Cwho let you in here?¡±


    The footman behind me bows deeply. ¡°Councilman Faulkner, I apologize for the¨C¡±


    ¡°Faulkner?¡± I narrow my gaze at him. ¡°We¡¯ve met before, though you do not recognize me. Kneel.¡± His white eyebrows shuttle down over his angry eyes and he sputters something in confusion. ¡°Kneel.¡±


    ¡°Who are you to demand that I kneel?¡± His voice echoes in the tiled room.


    ¡°I am Antonio de Cardenas, and you owe your fealty to me, Jim Faulkner.¡±


    The last syllable rings out between us, plunging the room into a stunned silence. Recognition flickers over his features, and his face goes pale white. He crashes down to his knees and bows his head. ¡°King De Cardenas¨C¡±


    ¡°You and I made a deal long ago, did we not?¡± I walk around him and sit at his desk. He does not move. Good. Maybe this will make it easier. ¡°When I disappeared, you took up support with my brother and my father. Your staff could not even recognize their king.¡±


    ¡°You were nowhere to be found, sire¨C¡±


    ¡°I am here now.¡± I cut him off and watch as his head dips back down. ¡°And I intend to reclaim my throne.¡±


    ¡°Yes, Sire.¡±


    ¡°Will you give me what is owed to me?¡±


    His face is slick with sweat, and his voice trembles, ¡°It isn¡¯t so easy as¨C¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s exactly as easy as you will make it, Faulkner. You swore an oath to me.¡± I stand from the chair and stroll around him so that he can see me fingering the hilt of my sword. ¡°Or was that oath just words of a dead man?¡± I whisper, crouching near his ear. ¡°That one might swear loyalty to any king were the wind to change?¡± I can feel him quake just beyond my skin, his entire body vibrating and terrified. Good.


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    I stand and walk back to his desk, leaning back against it. ¡°That being said, Faulkner. You know that I am a benevolent king. All nice guys here, aren¡¯t we?¡± I gesture to the room around us. ¡°We could be civil men and go on our way, or,¡± I level my gaze at him, meeting his eyes as he dares a look up from his bowed head. It holds him firm. He is terrified of me, but I have softened enough to make him listen to me. ¡°You follow through with your original oath to me. You lend me your aid.¡±


    ¡°What would you have me do, Sire?¡± He asks, his voice tight.


    I examine some dirt beneath a fingernail that I hadn¡¯t quite scrubbed out. I use the letter opener from his desk to scrape it out. ¡°Have you heard the rumors about me, Faulkner?¡±


    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t dare¨C¡±


    ¡°Oh, it¡¯s no matter. Rumors are rumors. Some of them are my own.¡± I squeeze just a bit of humor into my voice to lighten the air. ¡°What have you heard?¡±


    ¡°Only that you¡¯ve gone missing.¡±


    ¡°And?¡± I dig, blowing out the little bit of gunk I¡¯d been able to pry from beneath my nails. ¡°Certainly you¡¯ve heard more.¡±


    ¡°That your father tried to have you killed, but those are only whisperings.¡±


    My chest constricts. So that had been considered, and it was probably as close to the truth as I was going to hear. ¡°And?¡±


    ¡°That¡­ well, if you don¡¯t mind my saying so, that you have become a sympathizer¨Cbut I would never presume¨C¡±


    ¡°Presume away.¡± I tell him, opening my arms. I twirl the letter opener through my fingers, a nifty trick I picked up from one of my soldiers in the war, and tuck the other into my pants pocket. I circle around him. ¡°How many people have you shuttled off, Faulkner? Men, women, children even?¡±


    ¡°It was¨C¡±


    ¡°Yes, my laws. My father¡¯s laws. My brother¡¯s law. I can hardly punish you for simply following my lead, can I?¡± I take a seat behind his desk again and gesture for him to rise and approach. He does, looking severely uncomfortable. I can¡¯t blame him. I can¡¯t imagine having a missing king, presumed dead, showing up and taking over your study in the middle of a Tuesday. ¡°I¡¯ve had a change in heart, councilman. I¡¯ve met with the necromancers. I¡¯ve met with beastmen, and I do believe that I was woefully underestimating the resilience of my people. But that¡¯s quite enough about me. Tell me, Faulkner¨Cand this is a safe place, I will not harm you for your dalliances or sympathies, how many of your own beloved subjects have you had to shuttle off due to my policies?¡±


    He doesn¡¯t answer right away, staring at the grain in his own desk. He does not meet my gaze. Even still, I see the cogs in his head spinning and turning.


    Before he responds I add. ¡°There¡¯s a friend of mine being held in your prison as we speak. A drider by the name of Soleil.¡±


    ¡°A spider man?¡± he asks in surprise.


    ¡°Yes. I would very much like to return him to his loved ones.¡±


    ¡°Yes, of course. Say the word, I will have him released.¡±


    I arch an eyebrow. ¡°So you agree that my previous policies were filled with bigotry?¡±


    He pales, ¡°Well, sire, I¨C¡±


    ¡°How many of your friends did you have to watch me drag away? How many deaths did you have to order?¡±


    He stares past me, nervous. ¡°I¨C¡± His voice catches in his throat, and I know I¡¯ve put him in a tight spot.


    ¡°Faulkner, you and I have a lot of atoning to do, don¡¯t we?¡± I lean back and look up at the tiled ceiling. ¡°A lot of blood on our hands. On my hands. It¡¯s not your fault that I had ordered you to do something. You would have lost the lives of your own family had you not followed my laws. You would have lost everything.¡±


    ¡°Sire¡­¡± His voice is a bit gentler now and I look down to see his blue eyes misty. ¡°I¡­ Thank you, your highness.¡±


    I shake my head, trying to scare my own wistfulness away. ¡°That rumor is true. I am aiming to reclaim my throne, and when I do, I will rid these lands of my own policies. I¡¯ll build Led anew, as it was before I came. I¡¯ll protect its traditions and values.¡± This time when I smile, I flash my teeth at him. I want this next part to land with the threat I fully intend on relaying. ¡°And I will protect it at all costs against anyone who seeks to destroy it. Including its own people, including my own family¨Cincluding myself. Do I make myself clear?¡±


    ¡°Yes, Your Highness.¡± I see a light flash in his eyes¨Ca kind one. It¡¯s the first light that I remember seeing during my tour.


    I nod and stand. ¡°Release Soleil to my friends, they are at the prison already. I have an army at your gates: skeletons and beastmen alike.¡± His eyes widen. ¡°Allow them in. We will not harm you unless you give us reason to. And then you and I will dine and discuss how you can generously support our endeavors.¡±


    I feel the tension fall apart then, because he smiles. ¡°It shall be done, my King. It would be my pleasure.¡± He nudges his foot at the footman who had addressed me so harshly at the door. He is still in the lowest kowtow I have ever seen. ¡°Get up, man. Go get that drider out of jail. Open the network. Let the people know that glamour is no longer necessary in Pirovo. We are not in danger of the empire any longer.¡±


    And I smile, too, because that is exactly what I had hoped he would say.

 Antonio: We get our Drider back!

    When I return to the inn a few hours later, Simon and Lieutenant Fredrick are waiting for me downstairs. Simon stands up and pulls me into a tight hug. ¡°Thank you.¡±


    I freeze in his arms. ¡°What?¡± I glance back at the guards Pirovo has offered me, who have their hands tight against their hilts. I wave them down. ¡°It¡¯s okay,¡± I tell them. ¡°He¡¯s a friend.¡±


    He steps away quickly, wiping his heel to his eye, and he kneels. The lieutenant bows his head. By now the tavern patrons¡¯ eyes land on us, and I squirm under their gaze.


    ¡°At ease?¡± I frown, my voice unsteady. These are my friends, not my subjects. My subjects, too, but definitely my friends. ¡°You don¡¯t need to bow to me.¡± I grasp Simon¡¯s shoulder and pull him to his feet. ¡°You¡¯re my mentor. I would sooner bow to you, if you¡¯d let me.¡± I gesture around at the tavern. ¡°In fact, everyone should give you that respect.¡± I bow at the waist. The people that are within earshot ¨C which is quite a bit of that small room, start to bow their heads.


    Simon¡¯s hands flutter to my shoulders as he rushes, ¡°No¨CI, never. Please don¡¯t.¡± He pulls me up. ¡°I¡¯m just a man.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re a necromancer,¡± I remind him. ¡°A priest.¡±


    ¡°Hardly a priest,¡± he reminds me, ¡°I¡¯ve only just¨C¡±


    ¡°Antonio!¡± I hear, and I look up to find Sybil running down the staircase. Her face is splotchy from tears. She slams into me, wrapping her arms tightly around me.


    ¡°Slow down,¡± I pry the necromancer off of me.


    ¡°You got him out. We were going to have to break him out and¨C¡±


    Via bounds up beside her and puts a hand on her arm. ¡°Holy bones, child,¡± she mutters, rubbing Sybil¡¯s back. She smiles up at me. ¡°You¡¯ve certainly made room for yourself, haven¡¯t you, kid?¡±


    My guardsmen stare down at her in shock, but I ignore them, kneeling. ¡°I do hope so. Can we go somewhere more private?¡± I mutter. ¡°All of us?¡±


    Via nods and gestures upstairs.


    I wave at the assembled crowd who cheer and follow my friends upstairs. One of my guards stands protecting the staircase from below, and the other stands at the door to our suite. The windows are shuttered to make the suite a dark, cool cave for the man who is curled up in a makeshift nest made of blankets and pillows. He is thinner than I remember just a few weeks ago, when we left. I crouch near him once we get in, Haven is curled up at his side, their hands locked tightly together.


    ¡°How is he?¡± I ask Sybil who shakes her head.


    ¡°Tired,¡± she explains. ¡°And hungry. They weren¡¯t feeding him right. He can¡¯t process bread. He says he ate the occasional rat that came his way, but we¡¯re not entirely sure they weren¡¯t poisoned. He¡¯s running a bit of a fever.¡±


    ¡°Is there anyone I can send? A physician maybe?¡±


    ¡°Does Pirovo have someone that knows how to care for Driders?¡± Simon asks.


    I shrug, ¡°I can ask.¡±


    Sybil deflates onto a chair and Via perches on the back of a sofa. ¡°It¡¯s worth a try, Syb.¡± Via suggests. The Lieutenant stands at the door and Simon sits. My fingers itch for action ¨C any action ¨C that might help my friends.


    ¡°I¡¯m just¡­ so tired,¡± Sybil whispers between her fingers. She smiles meekly at me. ¡°I¡¯m so thankful that he¡¯s safe. That Haven is safe.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m glad, too.¡± I tell her. ¡°I¡¯m glad Led isn¡¯t what I expected when I invaded,¡± I murmur, chancing a glance at Via who smiles sagely at me. ¡°I need to finish what I started.¡± I look at the sleeping bodies of Haven and Soleil. ¡°Will you come with me?¡± I ask Sybil without turning toward her.


    I hear her hesitate: a quick intake of breath. I chance a look and see her exchange a glance with Via. The goddess looks up at me, ¡°There¡¯s a lot we can¡¯t tell you, Antonio,¡± she tells me.


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    ¡°I¡¯ll do it,¡± Sybil says, still looking at Via who returns her look in surprise.


    ¡°What?¡± Via asks, her eyebrows scrunching up. ¡°Syb, are you sure?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡± The necromancer says. ¡°I¡¯ve spent too much time hiding, cowering, running away. I¡¯m done. They can¡­¡± Her voice drifts off.


    My eyes cut to her, frowning. Who can? What?


    Via shrugs. ¡°Okay,¡± she looks up at me. ¡°We¡¯re in. Well. I was in before, and now Sybil is also in.¡±


    Simon looked at the sleeping bodies and winces. ¡°I need¡­ I think I need to return,¡± he tells us.


    Sybil nods, ¡°Please. Take Haven and Soleil home. You might carry druidic magic, but you should be able to bind some of the working skeletons to you, I¡¯ll show you how. Manage the farm in my stead?¡±


    Simon blinks at her. ¡°Priestess¨C¡±


    ¡°None of that,¡± she scolds him. ¡°I am not a priestess to be put on a pedestal. And I am going to return if it¡¯s within my power. I will claw my way back home if I must.¡± Her eyes dart to her lovers curled up in their nest, then back to mine. ¡°You too?¡±


    I think about Tolstoy, about our promise. I grit my teeth and nod. Promise be damned. I would come home to Tols ¨C as a king or as a beggar, I would make sure to hold him in my arms again.


    ¡°It¡¯s decided then.¡± Via claps her hands together. ¡°We¡¯re committing to the bit!¡±


    ¡°What bit?¡± I ask.


    Sybil shakes her head, ¡°It¡¯s a long story. We can¡¯t talk about it.¡±


    ¡°That is the closest we¡¯ve been able to talk about it,¡± Via commends with a wry smile.


    I finally take a seat, letting the day set into my bones


    I don¡¯t feel very king-like after the last few months of being a prisoner and laborer. The outburst I pulled on City Councilman Faulkner had been exhausting, although worth the outcome. It was the closest I¡¯d been to the self I was before my capture. I would bargain that I¡¯d be playing politics from here on out.


    I inhale deeply through my nose and count, 2, 3, 4¡­ then let it go.


    ¡°Here¡¯s what we¡¯re going to do.¡± I say, straightening. ¡°Simon, take Haven and Soleil and some of the bones home. Sybil will teach you to bind them before you leave¨Cyes?¡± Sybil nods. ¡°Then Sybil, Via, and I will march with the army through to Kisvas. We will continue to grow our numbers, just like we have been.¡± The group nods. ¡°If we go to war with Herman, we will go to war.¡± I breathe in deeply, and eye Lieutenant Fredrick. I lean forward and drop my voice. ¡°I have suspicions my brother will not fight us, but we need to be prepared. At the end of the day, even if we seize the capital without bloodshed, my father is just behind him.¡± I catch Sybil¡¯s eye and hold it. ¡°You may not return home soon. It could be months. It could be years. Are you okay with that?¡±


    She nods. ¡°I will be careful in saying my goodbyes this time.¡±


    I press on. ¡°Via, you¡¯re going to be our mediary between home base and our front.¡±


    Via tilts her head with a grin. ¡°Of course I will be. Not that I mind, mind you.¡± Her voice returns to its child-like cadence that gives me uneasy goosebumps: ¡°Granny Maggie will be needing to hear from me now and again.¡±


    ¡°Good.¡± I clap my hands and lean back. ¡°In that case, I¡¯m going to go dine with Faulkner and his allies, see what we can do about adding to our numbers from here, and see if they will send word on ahead.¡±


    The group nods.


    ¡°From here on out,¡± I take another deep breath, trying to steel my nerves, and start again. ¡°From here on out, you all are my advisors.¡± I lower a finger to Sybil. ¡°You are my Second ¨C no, my First. I will be your First, your Second. This means you¡¯re going to need a lot of time getting trained the way I need you to be. I need you sharp, I need you agile, and I need you ready. Not for the first battle, but for the last.¡±


    ¡°The last?¡± She frowns, confused.


    Via claps her hands together, excitedly. ¡°It¡¯s just like the olden days!¡± Her feet bounce on the sofa cushions. ¡°A druid and a necromancer, ruling Led!¡±


    Sybil frowns at me. ¡°I¡¯m not sure what that entails.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯ll be equal-ruling monarchs. Oh goddess, don¡¯t make that face. I don¡¯t mean marriage,¡± I tell her firmly. ¡°No offense, but you aren¡¯t my type.¡±


    She grins. ¡°Neither are you, kid.¡± She sighs and rubs her forehead. ¡°I just wanted rest,¡± she mumbles beneath her breath, but she straightens and stands, popping her back. ¡°Okay.¡± She shakes her head. ¡°If that¡¯s what we need to do to unite the country and fight back your father, then that¡¯s what we¡¯ll do.¡±


    Via smiles proudly at us, and I see the faint outline of the goddess image beyond her smiling just as fondly. I blink the after-image away from my eyes and I take a deep breath again.


    ¡°Good.¡± I let the wave of relief pass over me. ¡°In that case, you two get on with it, and I¡¯ll meet you at dinner this evening.¡± Simon nods and Sybil blanches. ¡°Yes,¡± I tell her firmly, ¡°you have to. Via?¡±


    Via¡¯s grin widens facetiously. ¡°I¡¯ll make sure she¡¯s there.¡±


    ¡°And say goodbye,¡± I grasp Sybil¡¯s arm, giving her a pointed look. ¡°It¡¯ll be awhile.¡±