《Sceptarch》


 1. The Diadem

    That morning, when I''d gone to work, they hadn''t been there.


    That afternoon when I''d had lunch, they hadn''t been there...


    It was only as I was washing my hands in hot water, soaking them to try and ease the pain from scribing, that they decided to appear. Like ink dropped in a bowl of water, the markings scrawled themselves on my skin.


    And I knew what they were before they''d even finished forming. There was only one thing they COULD be, after all.


    There was only one Diadem that chose commoners anymore. And it wasn''t one I wanted.


    "No, no no," I whispered and tried to scratch and scrub with my fingernails. "No, I refuse, I do not consent, go away." But the Diadem of the Sceptarch needs no permission. It is not a person you can negotiate with or an entity with a soul to be bartered.


    The Diadems, all of them, were a force of nature. Entirely undeniable.


    And yet I struggled and scratched anyway.


    My life had been going so well.


    Finally I''d gotten to be an adult on my own. Finally I''d gotten a job that suited me. Finally... I was starting to talk to people in a way that didn''t feel like it was constantly draining me.


    Not that I like people, necessarily, but it was a hazard of the job-


    And I could finally do it without a nap in the afternoon!


    So there I was, with a pair of brambles wrapped around my wrists. One silver and one gold-- my head on fire as the actual diadem etched itself into my forehead. Thinking...


    Shit. My life is over.


    The Sceptarch is the one position that is always human and always a commoner. And the reasons were a mystery to all and sundry because no one knew what ''traits'' needed to be cultivated. If they did, they''d all have cultivated the exact opposite traits in their children and the Vireld had to know that.


    So we were stuck in a repeating cycle of a new human commoner taking up the mantle every time the last one dies. And my predecessor apparently died just as I was massaging my hands in warm water.


    It doesn''t necessarily happen instantly, I guess... I thought as I stepped over to my desk to look in the small mirror that Brint had given me for last solstice eve at one of the few parties I ever attend.


    The Diadem is just as described in the stories told to every child below the nobility.


    Brambles arching across your forehead, with a gemstone grown from the center. A real gemstone. It was the focus for the abilities of the Diadems. The Diadem of Exchange was a Diadem of death. Literal death.


    The silver brambles on my right wrist were for the power of death, and the gold brambles on my left were the power of transference of life. I could theoretically draw life from others to fuel my own body-


    But you''d turn into a Vireld if you did that. And then the Vireld had to kill you so that another human commoner could take up the mantle.


    The gemstone itself was dark blue, but the brambles on either side of it were a mirror image to the ones on my wrist. Silver on the left, Gold on the right. And the gemstone itself was real. Unlike the embossed and raised designs on my skin and forehead of the brambles, the gemstone when I reached to touch it, was made... of real gemstone.


    And it hurt.


    Not because it had been fused to my head, but because it had grown from my skull.


    Everyone with a Diadem, had a gem. Right in the center of their forehead. It was just how they manifested. And it wasn''t something you could change. If the gemstone was removed, you''d just die. Well, usually. People sometimes said if you got it back fast enough and reattached it, it might be possible to survive... but I''d trust that tale about as much as any other that people gossip about at work.


    I can''t let them see it, I decided and rushed to cover the marks with a scarf and some bandages I had in my office. Thankfully, I just had to pull my hood up and lightly wrap my scarf around my forehead, like I was keeping my hair back. And my sleeves were long, so I could hide the loosely wrapped markings on my wrists without much effort.


    The cloak was something I didn''t ordinarily wear unless it was rainy, winter or there was a chill outside... but I was hoping no one would care today.


    I was very stupid.


    "Celia!" Brint called to me just as I left my office and had begun heading for the front door. "You alright?"


    Brint was a bit of an annoyance, but not so much that I would snap at him, ordinarily. He was just an overly-worried person concerned about everyone he thought needed ''help'' and ever since moving here, he''d decided my antisocial tendencies made me some kind of damsel in need of rescuing.


    In order to be truly annoyed about that, I would have to care and I simply didn''t.


    "Have you caught a chill?" Mish asked, from just beside Brint. She actually looked concerned, which was surprising... and suspicious.


    Mish hated me. Because she liked Brint and she thought Brint liked me.


    THAT was something to ruminate on, did I actually look that bad? That''s what I wondered as I responded.


    "I heard it was going to be windy after work today," I replied. "Better safe than sorry. I''ll be heading home now-"


    "Ah, wait!" Brint moved to block my exit and I was... a bit shocked.


    Brint was insistent of course, but he''d never been outright obtrusive. At least not physically. I assumed he must have something very important to say and simply tilted my head at him and waited.


    If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    He cleared his throat and reached up to run his fingers through his hair.


    Oh no.


    "I was wondering if you were going to the Jamboree?" he asked in a tentative tone.


    Why the fuck now?


    "No, actually," I replied. "Something in my family actually came up for that whole week. My mother managed to finally get in contact with me and I have to handle it."


    It''s was as good a reason as any. Everyone knew I hated my family, but they also kept offering the very unhelpful ''advice'' that I would regret not going back if someone died or something.


    So, easy for them to swallow as a reason why I''d leave and then never come back.


    Brint though, he looked like he was just slapped and tripped over something and landed straight on his face. "I... I see... well, then maybe-"


    "I''m sure I''ll see you at work for the rest of the week," I cut him off. "But I have to get home and get started on dinner now, or it won''t be ready by bedtime."


    "I-but-" he tried to grasp at my wrist, but I whirled away and grabbed the handle to the door.


    "Brint, if you wouldn''t mind, I''m trying to leave," I said as I wrenched open the door, even though his body was still blocking it, slamming it into his shoulder. "Thank you!" I chimed as he flinched and staggered away.


    I didn''t know why he was so obsessed with trying to invite me to Jamborees and other parties, but he''d been that way almost since I arrived. As though he believed a party will fix all my ills. As though he even knew what my ills were.


    Of course I attended functions where my boss and some other few coworkers would be, to network. I attended when a potential client would be. That sort of thing. But apparently that wasn''t enough?


    His attentions would be better spent on Mish, whom everyone assumed he''d get married to in a few years. But he was so caught up in the idea of being a savior of some kind... I hoped the girl found someone better for her.


    Being twenty-eight, I was nearing ''spinsterhood'' and everyone reminded me of it, constantly. I didn''t understand their obsession with whether or not something was going in or coming out of my nethers.


    Mish''s mother and Aunt were some of the worst. They thought I was about to steal Brint out from under Mish and have encouraged me to find another husband, multiple times. Though they did calm themselves slightly when I told them I didn''t want to marry, ever... it seemed they didn''t truly believe me because it never completely stopped.


    The road to my home was not as well-beaten as the main road in town, but it only took me ten minutes to walk to and from work, so it wasn''t that far from everyone else. I didn''t understand why the girls in the sewing circle would see me walking and tut that I was so ''isolated and alone'' when I was at work every day? With people?


    I nearly tripped a few times, but managed to catch myself. The twinging in my head and wrists was intensifying. I hurried through the last few minutes of my walk, gasping a bit for air by the time I got inside. I didn''t know why, I''d run the full distance before when I needed to work up better muscles so that I could sit for long periods without getting a spasm in my back.


    When I removed the bandages, my marks were red and irritated, but almost immediately began to recover. As did the mark on my forehead when I finally removed the scarf and hood.


    Nothing in the old stories said you couldn''t hide your marks, so it must''ve just been that my skin was too irritated to have anything touching it right then.


    In response to that, I decided to do some small amount of doctoring. Though I wasn''t a medic by any means...


    I had a few small things that I''d accumulated over time. A tin of ointment for burns, cuts and other such painful things was one of them. Enchanted with the Diadem of Stasis, by the daughter of an industrialist, so far as I knew.


    The Diadem of Stasis wasn''t given to the head of the family, but instead to a family Mascot, as the head couldn''t be expected to be blessing vessels all day long.


    I once thought it would be nice to end up with the Diadem of Stasis or even the Diadem of Plentiful Growth... to be the Mascot would be an easy job, wouldn''t it? Bless the fields, bless the vessels... go home and live in the lap of luxury.


    I''d have been able to follow my hobbies perhaps in the hours I wasn''t working... and get better at painting, which I''d been trying to do since I was fourteen.


    The ointment went on easily enough. My markings had seemed to calm down and I wasn''t feeling an intense stinging anymore...


    And that''s when I spotted the stiletto on my bedside table and remembered... The Blade.


    They were in the stories, too. Men and women of Vireld who were chosen by the Diadem of Exchange to protect the Sceptarch. The Blades of Vireld were held in a very unique position.


    Amongst diadems, secondary holders were nearly nonexistent. There was just Exchange and Balance, so far as I knew.


    Balance was all about some kind of equalization that took one thing and turned it into another? And Exchange was about life force. Each one had a dual aspect of giving and taking, destroying and creating. So the users had to be dual as well.


    But there was a primary user, and a secondary user. The primary was the ''Diadem Holder'' and the secondary was usually considered a bodyguard. As their life continuing depended upon the Holder surviving.


    The only person in this world who CAN''T kill me, because it would kill them as well, I thought with a bitter twist of something... I wasn''t sure what to call it? Relief that I knew there was one person out there who WOULDN''T kill me if they could help it?


    But then again, you don''t have to kill someone to hurt them, now do you?


    There''ve been a few times the Holder has committed suicide immediately, but I couldn''t do that, even if I wanted to die. I''d have to talk to the Blade first and see if they also wanted to die. It''s irresponsible and selfish to take someone else''s life just because you think you might be a bit miserable in one way or another.


    It was, after all, a rulership. You''d never want for good food and fancy clothes again. You''d just be forced to handle the... aspects of the Rulership that nobody wants.


    Like carrying out executions in the kingdom.


    That would be difficult, I felt. But it wasn''t like it would be impossible. All you had to do was touch them, or something. They could just put them to sleep before I walked in and- tap, done!


    Maybe. But the fact that I wouldn''t get to choose who lived and who died, would... bother me. It always bothered me. When I heard about how someone was being executed for crimes against the crown and it turned out the crime was.... having had relations with a princess, duchess, etcetera.


    It wasn''t as though adulterers weren''t disgusting, but nobles were in political marriages-- so the real reason they would be executed was that they made the nobleman feel small and undesirable. And I just didn''t want to kill a man for that.


    But if I didn''t do the duty of the Sceptarch, they''d kill me and the next one would be at their beck and call, because they''d be so terrified of what happened to me, happening to them.


    ...but I did have control over the entire process, if I remembered correctly.


    As my mind spun on, I slowly undressed and turned on the spigot in my water closet. The water was always lukewarm because I could only afford the lower-tier stones, but it was... warm water. Which was always MUCH better than cold water.


    So I couldn''t complain.


    The process of washing my hair usually took the longest out of everything. I could just scrub my back with my lufa on strings, and the rest was quite easy. But my hair...


    Washing it took so long because I was very careful about breakage. I used my fingertips to massage my scalp free of dirt and oil. Then used the special hydrating oil made from some sort of seed I couldn''t pronounce and...


    Then I had to comb it, of course. So once I got out of the shower and wrapped my hair in a towel, padding around my cabin naked to get dinner started, that was only step two.


    The stew I''d been eating for the past week was on its last legs, and that was quite good as it would''ve spoiled soon anyway. Even with the stasis enchantment on most pots and pans, you have to cover it for it to have any effect. So every time I opened it, took stew out and then covered it again-


    Well, thankfully it hadn''t gone off yet, so I was able to make two bowls of stew from what remained and took the pot to the water closet to wash it. Thankfully it''d also been lightened, so I didn''t break my back doing it.


    Most people with my kind of pay could afford those things... but I didn''t have them growing up. It was so different, to be able to do anything and everything by yourself instead of having three women in the house who were all expected to share in the labor.


    Eating the stew was a bit difficult, as with all the times I opened and closed it and mixed the stew around, it was only barely warm by the time I got to eating it. But I was able to eat the one bowl without issue and simply set the other bowl aside for breakfast. I could use the pad on the table to warm up the contents and eat it in the morning...


    There was some breakage when I combed my hair out, as I couldn''t really avoid it. But it was minimal. And I only had to grab my scissors and snip it above the breakage point to keep it from splitting the whole way up.


    By the time I was finished and dressed in my nightclothes, I didn''t have much energy remaining.


    But I took a moment to sit in bed and pulled a notebook out of my nightstand to start writing down things I needed to do.


    Sell the House


    Sell everything IN the house


    Buy travel clothes


    Buy food for the journey


    It felt less like a monumental change in my life and more like a manageable problem, that way.


    After all, life goes on, doesn''t it?

 2. Love Yourself with Impunity

    I had work, but I sent one of the urchins in the village to my boss with a note that I was taking the day off. Scribing was laborious work at the best of times. Taking a day off every week or so to do other things and get your hands back into working order was pretty much expected.


    They''d probably worked someone to the point that they couldn''t use their hands anymore and then they sued for compensation, or something. Or maybe the owner is just reasonable and realistic.


    Rare, for the rich.


    "Oh my," Missus Leighter spotted me as I walked past her booth. "Are you ill, honey?"


    "Perfectly fine, Adora," I replied. She''d always wanted me to call her by name. I figured then was as good a time as any.


    I won''t be around much longer.


    She fluttered with happiness and gestured at me to wait while she built a basket. It''s a thing made of river reeds. Sturdy and reliable. She builds them as the customer watches. I didn''t know if it was some ploy to get me to feel guilty and buy a basket because she went to all the trouble and ''here, it''s discounted!'' or what...


    "Here, for you," she handed over the basket once it was finished. "I always thought if you ever called me by name, it''d be such an accomplishment that it''s deserving of a free basket!"


    Ah. One of those... weird little things people do to try and make friends, or something. I''ve never really understood that whole process.


    Just say you want to be friends and then say you are. What is difficult about that?


    "...thank you?" I said and then took the basket. "It''s very useful."


    Does she need another type of compliment? I can''t think of anything that doesn''t have to do with work ethic.


    "You be a dear and if you ever need another, just be sure and get it from me so''s we can gab," she said, smiling brightly. "I''ll even give you a discount, how''s that?"


    That was terrible business practice. I didn''t think she''d like to be told that. People often don''t.


    "Uh... that would be advantageous for me, yes. Is the Baker out of cheese buns yet?" it was the only vaguely social thing I could think to say.


    "Ohh if you''re after those, you''ll have to run!" she said and shooed me away.


    I was so relieved, I actually did trot all the way down to the bakery and sighed in disappointment at the lines.


    Thankfully, during the night my... my ''wounds'' had healed enough to be able to wrap them in soft gauze without it irritating my skin. I covered that gauze with a bandana wrapped around my forehead and long sleeves and bracelets I''d never worn, all layered up over my wrists.


    So hopefully people would just think I was doing a weird fashion thing. They seemed to, in the past, accept my ''oddness'' here and there without asking questions.


    It may have been too much to hope for, that it would happen today.


    "What''re you wearin'' that stupid thing for?" a woman I know only as ''Kesla'' asked me as I stepped past the Bakery and toward the grocer''s market.


    I didn''t think she was speaking to me at first, until she shouted ''Hey, freak!'' at me.


    At which point I swiveled and simply replied, "calling someone names is not going to get them to answer your questions." And promptly started walking again.


    This offended her. Which, fair, it was supposed to. Not like it was actually offensive, but more in the sense that she wasn''t worth my time and I as much as said so. It was difficult to keep in mind which responses and movements irritated people, but at least it meant I always knew the best way to piss people off if I really wanted to.


    "Oi," she came storming after me. "Who in blazes d''ya think you are?"


    "A person being disrespected and insulted," I replied without slowing down. She was lagging behind me with her heavy skirts.


    I didn''t know why women in the village did that- we weren''t high society nobles, we did actual work- with our hands. They were just making life harder on themselves and like usual, it made no sense at all to me.


    This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.


    "All I asked was what you were wearing," she taunted as she followed me down the street and the people around glanced over and surreptitiously watched.


    People in arguments were entertainment in a town without any theater or coliseum. And this was a village on the edge of nowhere, essentially.


    "Why is it you''re so concerned with what I''m wearing?" I whirled on her with a snap and an expression I''d practiced before to look menacing. It was the only way to really get people to think twice about harassing you in pubs. As talking to them usually only encouraged them.


    I''m going to be swept up by the Blade any day now. I wont'' be here for long. Kept looping through my head as I advanced upon her.


    She actually appeared to be quite taken aback, lifting her skirts to step backward until I had her pinned between me and the wall of the ferrier''s shop.


    "I-I just wondered-" she was about to recover.


    But that would be annoying, so I stepped forward and slammed my fist into the wall near her head and she jolted but went wide eyed and silent.


    "Kesla, wasn''t it?" I asked.


    She nodded very hesitantly. Her expression was interesting. She was turning pink, but her brows were drawn in and up. Her lips pursed as though afraid or irritated. I didn''t know what that look meant. It must''ve been a complex one, I thought.


    "I am not interested in a friendship or rivalry with you. Kindly leave me be or you''ll be eating manure," I said as I leaned in closer and stared into her eyes until she averted them with trembling lips.


    Then I backed up and walked away. No longer bedeviled.


    Knowing there''d be no lasting consequences for venting my spleen is marvelous, actually?


    Certainly, for the next few days, they could make my life a living hell if they pleased... but I highly doubted it''d be worse than putting up with it all, knowing I didn''t have to.


    All they could really do was upcharge for goods, which wouldn''t matter much, as I was going to buy everything I needed today. By the time the incident got around and they decided what to do about it, I''d likely be gone.


    The basket was very useful, actually, as I didn''t have to put everything in the sack I brought with me. I was able to get jars of jelly and even swung by the baker''s after the morning rush and got one cheese biscuit to eat for breakfast, and two loaves of sourdough bread for the road.


    As I left, I even smiled at the baker and I don''t know why, but he nearly dropped the bread knife he was holding at the time. It wasn''t as though I were missing that many of my teeth and that was about normal for most...


    I thought perhaps it was because it was awkward. I didn''t smile anymore, really- so it was possible I just forgot how.


    Used to practice so mother wouldn''t shout about how I was making her look bad to all the other mothers who thought I was sullen and disobedient, simply because I did not smile.


    After leaving, I may have made it a point not to smile.


    Well, I couldn''t do that anymore. I was going to be the equivalent of a Duchess or a Queen... I wasn''t entirely clear on where the Vireld sat... politically speaking. I just knew they had a huge territory they took care of, paid some taxes to the crown and mostly just steered clear of human lands.


    I''ll have to attend balls and the like. Ugh. It''s going to be so much worse than work functions.


    "Oh, Celia!" Brint again.


    I didn''t want to make a face, but after he''d tried to impede my egress yesterday, well... I wasn''t feeling terribly charitable.


    "Yes, is there something work-related we need to speak about?" I asked him. "I took the day off to rest my arms and hands, but I can still use my voice, after all."


    He smiled and laughed. But I wasn''t trying to be funny, so it fell flat and awkward. "Uh, yeah. Um. I was just wondering if there was any way I could persuade you to come to the Jamboree? We wouldn''t even have to go in! Just... uh... walk the grounds as it were."


    I understood that he tried to think of an alternative. But it was such a piss-poor attempt that it actually irritated me.


    "I don''t like the grounds of the main keep," I replied in an even tone. "They''re dark, covered in brambles and tend to invite criminal elements for the unsuspecting. I''m sure you weren''t aware, but please stay away from places like that."


    "Ah-of course!" he grinned brightly, gods knew why. "So uhm... well, we could just come over to mine? I can make dinner and we can invite some people who also aren''t going, or it could just be us? I enjoy spending time with you, but I feel like we never get any time to get to know one another-"


    "Brint," I sighed as I cut him off. "Maybe being married to you, wouldn''t be the worst thing in the world. But it also wouldn''t be what I wanted out of my life. I wanted to work quietly for the rest of my life and pass away, leaving my things to my younger cousins. That was my life plan. That''s now been derailed by a rather grievous happenstance, but I''m even less disposed toward marrying you now, than I was then."


    "G-grievous happen- marriage? I only-" His eyes were wide and he appeared to be panicking, if I were to judge by the stammering and the way he was twisting that hat in his hand.


    "If you hadn''t intended upon marriage, then you''re worth even LESS of my time," I replied with a cross look. "Friendship overtures and Romantic overtures might be similar, but I DO know the difference, after some rigorous study. And I''m not a fun time you can drop anytime you like."


    He began to stammer and splutter so badly that he couldn''t even get a full sentence out coherently.


    "If you''d like to be friends, we can revisit that conversation later," I said. "For now, I have to pack- as that situation that I told you was grievous? Is a bit life or death and I have to leave by tomorrow."


    Not warning my boss days ahead of time was going to make him a bit angry perhaps... but considering what I was dealing with, he might''ve just said a prayer for me, instead.


    I then smartly turned and left. Because there was really no more left to say.


    "Tch, stuck up bitch," I heard a voice mutter.


    I halted, dropped my basket and turned to see Mish, who looked shocked at my reaction.


    ''Bitch'' is perhaps a word I hate more than any other.


    Defend yourself from Ridicule? Bitch.


    Tell someone off when they harass someone? Bitch.


    Have any feelings whatsoever and try to express them? Bitch.


    The tiredness in my bones transformed into something else. It was warm but had a razor-sharp edge. And I stared at Mish until she bowed her head with her entire face flushed and muttered an apology.


    What did it matter? Nothing at all.


    How did it make me feel? Not much different from usual.


    But was it satisfying?


    Absolutely.

 3. Two Kinds of Blades

    The day had been long and Brint and Mish had been annoying.


    So I went straight home and packed my things. But it was difficult to decide what to take and what to leave.


    Any kind of comfort item would likely be replaced with a better version once I was ensconced in whatever Estate I was meant to live in. I didn''t really have sentimental effects aside from a handful of scented candles from my aunt and maybe this pendant my mother had given me because it belonged to grandma.


    She''d basically tossed it at me after gran passed, saying it was worthless and she couldn''t even pawn it for a good price. And when I wore it, she got to brag about it.


    Cracked my neck when I was feeling a bit... iffy, about the past. My knuckles, my back, anything. If it could be cracked and there was a satisfying cracking noise, it felt... like I''d broken the feeling or something. I don''t know.


    Handy trick to have when one is so often bedeviled by memories.


    I''d never really needed a reason to lock my door. But I did. Every night.


    I locked it with the standard lever and the bolt. No one was coming in unless they battered the whole door down.


    And yet still, he got in.


    Just as I''d been packing the last of my bags, dressed in my nightgown- a silken robe that was a balm to my nerves -he slammed into the door.


    There was no chance I''d be able to call for help before he got in, though at the time of course, I hadn''t known WHO he was.


    I''d simply grabbed my stiletto and gotten under the bed before he finally broke my door down. Knowing he''d likely see me hiding, but not see the stiletto.


    My thought was, well. I could surprise him.


    I didn''t account for him surprising me.


    When he lifted the bed and basically tossed it over to lay on its side, sending my mattress and everything atop it tipping over- I stabbed his foot with the stiletto.


    The scream he unleashed was what surprised me into looking up. But his face was what surprised me into loosening my grip.


    It was Brint. I had a moment of confusion over it, too. Did he come here in concern? Did someone tell him they''d seen the marks on me? Did he see someone lurking around and think I was in danger?


    I wanted to think the best of Brint, because he''d never given me reason to do otherwise. He was a bit annoying, but he was never outright violent.


    He kicked my hand holding the stiletto, when it was clear I was frozen in shock. And then he grabbed me by the hair.


    I knew what would come next. Every woman does when a man grabs her like that. Good men who are angry might snap or even grab you by the shoulders and shake you a bit. But a man who grabs you by the hair and drags you across the floor for being frightened and defending yourself...


    Is not a ''good'' man.


    And bad men who grab you by the hair are going to do one of two things, though he usually ends up doing both.


    "Little fucking tease!" He shouted at me as he threw me to the ground.


    I''d been trying to claw at his hands, but it was difficult. And when he threw me, my head hit the floor hard and it was difficult to even get my bearings, let alone get up.


    Which is when he grabbed my hands and pinned my wrists, wrapping them with some twine from what I assumed was the work supplies he kept in his house.


    Everything was quite detached for me, usually. But the apathy became extreme when something ''bad'' was happening.


    I was able to think around my fear, because I knew I was going to die tonight anyway if I did nothing. So if I did nothing and died, I would be a wretched soul.


    But if I at least tried to live, that would be different.


    It came to mind that he couldn''t see the Diadem or the markings on my wrists because it was dark and I had only one candle burning on the other side of the room.


    I could''ve called for the Blade before, but when he shoved a ball of cloth in my mouth and tied a cloth around THAT... I was unable to.


    Cursed myself for that. I could''ve gotten out of all this if I''d just remembered to call out for him.


    So I had to get myself out, as usual. Even though there was an easier path, someone had put an obstacle in my way, yet again.


    There was an option, but I hadn''t really considered it until he cut open my robe down the front. He had to let go with one hand on my bound arms, so used the leverage to grab his arm holding mine down. Not really much of a grab- more of a tap.


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


    Nothing was happening, but he was putting the scissors he''d used aside and looking at my chest, so I had a few seconds.


    Squeezing my eyes shut, I thought very hard about the old legends. They had no instructions for using the power. It was just supposed to come easy!


    I just want him to die. He''s committing a crime that deserves the death penalty, after all. If this is a death penalty power, why isn''t it killing him?


    But... there was nothing. Except some dust that made me sneeze... and a sudden lightness...?


    Nothing happened. Nothing was moving. There was more dust and I sneezed again. But there was no touching... and it felt like Brint had gotten off of me.


    Has he changed his mind? I wondered and opened my eyes.


    But Brint was gone.


    Instead, I was covered in black dust. I frowned and sat up slowly, looking around. My vision swam, so I had to scoot back and lean on the wall.


    Black dust? I felt fuzzy and unfocused. I knew I couldn''t pass out with something in my mouth, so I slowly worked the strap aside enough to spit out the cloth and...


    "Blade," I croaked. "Come to me."


    The words felt weirdly heavy. But so did my eyelids.


    As I fell deep into darkness, there were a pair of hands I could feel wrapping around my shoulders and a voice murmuring to me.


    But I had no sense left to figure out what it was saying or why they were touching me.


    I just fell into the nothing for an indeterminate amount of time. And it was cool and soothing and I felt like I had nowhere to be.


    Slowly I regained my awareness, but it took a while. And I knew it was a while because I became more and more aware of my surroundings as I dozed. And soon I was dozing on the surface of my consciousness, merely lying in bed and feeling comfortable.


    ...until my head twinged with pain and I flung myself upward into a sitting position to grab at it.


    I saw the shape in the chair next to my bed almost instantly, but pretended I hadn''t, as I squeezed at my head with my hands.


    Something had happened, but what? What what what-?


    The memories were murky, but I remember someone attacked me. When I saw the bandages around my wrists, I thought they were likely for burns and cuts from the twine as I struggled and strained.


    But I had no idea what happened next.


    "Sceptarch," a low, somewhat gravelly voice addressed me. "Won''t you greet your Blade?"


    It was unexpected, but then I''d been expecting him to show up at some point, yes? So it didn''t shock me, but... it was a surprise.


    "How..." I croaked and coughed. "What."


    I reached up and gripped my throat. Why did it hurt?


    An image flashed through my mind of my hair being pulled and screaming. I didn''t realize at the time that I was. I don''t know how I could''ve missed it.


    He was holding out a mug of tea when I finally glanced over and I took it.


    The Blade was no danger to their Sceptarch. Their lives were inexplicably twined. If he''d wanted me dead, he could just kill me with that Saber on his belt.


    It was long, too. Curved enough it didn''t hit the floor, though. Even in the sheathe, that wasn''t advised. So the fact that he knew how to care for his sword and how to sit with it right- probably meant he was pretty good with it.


    What surprised me most, though, was his face.


    I''d been told my whole life that the Vireld were grotesqueries. They looked undead because they worked death magic and all. They were surrounded by it. They weren''t like Liches, but they were close enough by many people''s reckoning.


    Still, though he lacked a nose and had only a cavity there- the rest of his face was fairly normal aside from the black sclera.


    He did have gold and silver heterochromia, but most death magic practitioners and their families, did. It was representative of the balance between life and death. Killing and Healing. The line they walked.


    That''s also why the brambles on my wrist and forehead were both gold and silver.


    Though the Sceptarch''s eyes usually remained what color they were at birth, because the power may''ve flowed through them but they didn''t claim it. As they were forced to carry the Diadem, I supposed that meant they weren''t ''true'' practicioners.


    He did appear to have some sort of scarification on his lips. Like he''d had them split with a dagger and then sewn back together and healed in at least four or five places on each lip. But it was a subtle thing.


    What he didn''t look like, was a grotesquerie. He was just a man without a nose, with special eyes... and greenish skin. There was also the long, pointed ears with several tears and cuts battering them and the bright silver spill of hair over one side of his face. But those were fairly normal features.


    Elves usually had silver or blonde hair of some kind, after all. Even the darker tones usually contained a silvery glint. The Vireld were no different, simply because they were dedicated to death, rather than nature or some particular aspect of said nature.


    He looked like a perfectly ordinary elf, missing his nose and with black sclera. Who''d been through a war perhaps and had green skin... but he wasn''t ugly.


    I''ve never really been able to judge that though, so perhaps I''m wrong.


    As we sat in silence, I simply sipped the warm tea that I usually kept for special occasions, until it was gone and my throat felt better.


    "What happened?" I asked. It grated a bit. Not as much as before.


    "No memory?" he asked as he sat back in the rickety wooden chair with a creak, crossing his arms. "Shame. It was a beautiful kill. He thought he had you dead to rights. You turned the tables on him in spectacular fashion."


    There was a smile on his face, but it was cold and cruel. Or it would be, if it were on a human face. I had no idea how the Vireld smiled, usually. He was certainly taunting, but I assumed he meant to taunt Brint and not-


    I inhaled sharply.


    Brint.


    The memory was hazy and faraway, but I recalled what he was trying to do, at least. And that he''d died. Maybe? The Blade said so.


    "How did you find me?" I asked in a gritty tone.


    "You called for me," he replied. The smile was smaller. I''d call it a ''businessman'' smile. It was faint and pleasant, but it said nothing about his thoughts or feelings. "After you dusted him. I found you slumped against the wall."


    It came back slowly, but I could recall most of that.


    "Dusted?" the image of me fending off Brint with a featherduster almost had me in hysterics. Mostly because I knew that couldn''t be what he meant, but-


    "Your power of death," he leaned forward, unfolded his arms and reached for my right hand. He lifted it and flipped it over, slowly unwinding the gauze until I could see the burns and cuts from the twine... and the fluctuating energy that appeared to be filling up the silver brambles that were embossed in my skin.


    "I... I couldn''t get it to work," I whispered, swallowing hard and wincing. "How..."


    "You needn''t do anything," he replied. "But want the person you are touching... dead." His expression was the same as he looked at me. "That is the gift of the Sceptarch. A perfectly controlled power of death. You will only kill if you want to. If you do not, even if you must, you cannot."


    That seemed annoying. What if you needed to kill a family member and your psychology said you didn''t want to, because it was your mother or brother or something? What if they came at you with a knife? What if they tried to poison you? Would it still not work?


    I didn''t want to ask, though. Not now. My voice needed to be saved for the important questions.


    "Are we going?" I asked.


    "Soon enough," he replied. "Rest and heal, until you are strong enough to shout again, and we''ll be off." But he didn''t say it with warmth. Or kindness.


    It was the cold logic of someone whose job it was, to keep you hale and whole.


    Comforting. Maybe to no one else... but to me... it was comforting.

 4. Daft Accessories

    He was leaner than I thought he''d be, my Blade.


    Walked around my cabin in close-fitting dark blue leather that made him look more like an assassin, than a bodyguard.


    So of course, I asked.


    "Why do you have a sword, if you''re wearing leather armor?" was my question.


    He''d paused from where he''d been using Wax to draw designs in a dish. I didn''t know why he was doing it, but I''d given him the candle to amuse himself with when he asked... out of curiosity.


    "Because my method of fighting is fluid," he replied. "Humans only fight fast and fluid enough with daggers and other small weapons. Elves don''t have that sort of restriction. And the Vireld are faster and stronger still."


    My mother used to tell my cousins and I the story of the Vireld- but she''d tell it differently than my aunts and uncles. She didn''t hide the ''ugly'' parts.


    The Vireld died younger than other Elves, as a trade-off for their power and speed. Around eighty years of age, made them longer lived than a lot of humans, but not all of them.


    Most nobles lived to seventy or so, and a lot made it to eighty.


    It was unheard of for an Elf not to live to two-hundred at least. Two-ten was the absolute limit for them, usually. That''s what comes of being connected to the natural world on such a deep level.


    "It''s just a very long sword," I said. "But not that long. It seems like you''d have to get up close to use it, but it''s also unwieldy to take around if you''re not a warrior."


    He hummed. "I assure you, I can wield it just fine."


    "What about your armor?" I asked.


    His lips curled at one end and he looked directly at me. "What about it, Sceptarch?" He seemed to be trying to be respectful, despite the fact that he thought my question was somehow stupid.


    "The color, cut and symbols sewn and engraved into it are foreign to me," I said. "I didn''t think they made that shade of blue leather."


    He bared his teeth slightly but it was less a smile and more a performance. "They don''t. This color is the natural hide of a Vriska. A beast we raise specifically to fight in the arena. Anyone with this armor has proven themselves against the Vriska and so had their hide made into the finest armor."


    Finest, I took note of that word. That meant it wasn''t something just anyone could do.


    I had no idea what a Vriska was. Nobody had ever told me about it. He could''ve just made it up and I''d never know. I wondered why.


    Everyone whispered about the Diadem of Exchange like a ghost story they couldn''t put down, but wouldn''t talk about a fearsome beast that almost no Vireld could defeat?


    "As for the designs," he said, breaking my reverie. "They''ll make sense to you if you ever learn the dialect of Elvish we read and write with."


    So it''s Elvish words, I thought. It was an umbrella term we used to refer to the overculture. But really the languages were divided into three major and about twenty or so minor language dialects. And that''s without the Vireld versions added in.


    "Which dialect is it based on?" I asked.


    "Inkini," he replied dryly. "The original."


    Damn. Inkini was the language Elves were using when they had just sprung from the Eldertree. The birth of their entire species. Each race within the species was birthed differently, too. Or so they say. Some from a branch, some from a root. Etcetera.


    "Going to be hard to learn, then," I replied. "I am only familiar with Oesha and Ilam." Elvish didn''t have as many hard ''k'' sounds nowadays, so that was one big difference I could already see. "I only know a few phrases of either, so I''m no expert with them."


    "I''m surprised you''d know any at all," he replied. "Isn''t it usually peasants who become Sceptarch?"


    It is.


    "I was born one," I replied. "Grew as one. I just... became very luckily obsessed with reading and writing. I''m a scribe- was. I was a scribe."


    "Hmmm," he thought that over. "I suppose it doesn''t matter. You''d only be killed if you were Vireld or Elf or some other species. As long as you''re human, it doesn''t matter what else you are. Just an... interesting detail."


    "You speak very good Trade," I said. "I expected us to have some troubles. Vireld would only be required to learn if they had contact with humans, wouldn''t they?"


    He scoffed with a wry-looking smile. "Humans do things that way. Our people learned every language every Sceptarch has ever spoken. Trade has been the most prominent, most of our people know it. Or at least some of it."


    "Oh," I said. "Humans only do what they have to."


    "I suppose it''s because we can still recall being Elves," he said. "In a sense. They have nearly all the time in the world for every little thing, don''t they?"


    "You came here alone?" I asked then. "I thought you''d have to bring at least one servant or doctor with you. Considering I might''ve been targeted for having the marks."


    Didn''t happen, usually. But those who wanted to weaken the Vireld would keep killing every Sceptarch as soon as they made themselves known and then...


    "Very unlikely," he replied. "But no, I didn''t. I brought the Edges with me. I had to leave them behind when you called for me and use the shadow walk." His lips twisted up like he didn''t like the taste of the words in his mouth.


    Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.


    "What are Edges?" I asked. Wondering if it was just some weird name for a servant.


    "They''re a secret force of enforcers and bodyguards that are raised from birth to serve the Sceptarch and Blade," he replied. "When I die, so too will they and they will be replaced as I am."


    It sent a chill down my spine the way he said it. It was of no consequence to him.


    But it had to be. He wasn''t raised to be the Blade. No one is. It happens to them, like it happens to the Sceptarch.


    His expression is pleasantly smiling that businessman way again. But it took me near-thirty years to learn anything about human facial expressions... and it was likely just that I knew nothing about Vireld expressions yet.


    There was a knock at the door and I froze up. I was still lying in bed, as he hadn''t let me get up for the past day and a half. He''d fed me all kinds of calming sleepy teas, gotten me to sleep from midday to mid-morning and then brought me all my meals...


    So I haven''t been moving and I''m entirely defenseless as he took my stiletto from me and hooked it on his own belt.


    I didn''t know if that was a pride thing, but damn it, I wanted my stiletto.


    He stalked over to the door and pulled the hood up on his armor to hide his face. It had some kind of magic on it, because I kind of couldn''t tell what his face looked like when he did. Intellectually, I could catch on details. Green skin, nasal cavity-


    But my mind would slide over those things like they weren''t there, when his hood was up.


    When he opened the door, there was a yelp, but then a babbling began. "Ah! Oh, oh uh... oh, you must be from the town guard. I''m sorry to interrupt. I just came to see... uh... is the lady of the house present?"


    Town Guard? I wondered if he looked like that to her because of whatever magic was on his hood.


    "I wonder," he replied.


    "Let her in," I muttered. I was curious and... distrustful. I didn''t know if anyone even knew Brint was dead yet... but...


    "The Lady says you may enter," he stepped back and did some parody of a bow.


    She merely smiled and stepped across the threshold. I''d recognized her voice, so it wasn''t a surprise to see Mish standing there. It was just... why is she here?


    Something connected in the back of my mind, but I didn''t know why.


    "Uh, Celia!" she said with a faux brightness that was quite obvious. "I had heard you were under the weather and came to check on you."


    If it were true, she deserved some courtesy. But if it were guilt or gloating, either way it would merit an altogether different response.


    "I see..." I said and watched as her eyes slipped over the Cabin with a tiny wrinkle appearing between her brows. "Looking for something?"


    Her eyes snapped back to me and she hemmed and hawed before finally stating, "I just... Brint never went home last night. People are beginning to talk and he said he was coming to see you..."


    Things began to click into place.


    There were laws about men taking advantage of women. If the woman was dead, they had to pay money to their family and then go to prison, possibly be executed. If they weren''t... they had to marry them and provide for them for the rest of their lives.


    And yes, it was utterly stupid. But the assumption on the part of the men in parliament was that they were ''punishing'' the man by forcing him to take responsibility and ''caring'' for the woman who might never get married because of the attack and possible pregnancy- by forcing him to do so.


    They didn''t appear to really think about the horror of the event and how it would effect the woman''s mind. I wouldn''t have blamed those women if their husbands all had spontaneous ''heart attacks'' on the wedding night. Not at all.


    But they couldn''t, because their husbands were to provide for them. ''Sullied'' women don''t often get jobs from reputable establishments. And even though they COULD choose not to marry them, they often had to, to survive.


    Sad. Cruel.


    And that''s what Brint had planned for me.


    He told people he was coming, so that one of the gossips would show up at an early hour and find him obviously having stayed overnight. He''d likely have untied me but left me passed out somewhere and would have roused me to talk to them.


    Whether I''d pretended it was consensual or not, eventually the result would be the same.


    To his mind. I''m sure.


    No one bothered to learn more of the law than they needed, so he likely didn''t know that if I''d pretended it was consensual, I could''ve just simply... refused to marry him. Especially if I wasn''t pregnant. And there are plenty of concoctions to ensure I wouldn''t be.


    It was the forceful taking that was considered to render a woman ''sullied'', not consensual dalliances. As long as I was just easy, then that was a choice. A woman Sullied is thought to be some kind of disabled. She''s been ''harmed'' in a way that many people don''t understand and no one wants to employ one because they think it''s ''better'' if the woman allows the man who hurt her, to work for her comfort for the rest of his life.


    They don''t often ask her opinion.


    Even if he managed to convince people it was against my will, I could still say no, but I''d likely have to fake my own death, get a new name and move to an entirely different region.


    So either he knew that and planned to kill me- which telling other people did NOT suggest... or he didn''t know and he was an idiot to the end.


    "Hmmm," I said and stared at her.


    She didn''t seem to notice the markings on my forehead, or the very obvious gemstone.


    At least not until she searched my face with a frown, because I wasn''t responding in the way she''d intended.


    When she finally registered it, her face went white and she stumbled backward.


    But the Blade was there and she jolted forward away from him, turning as he lowered his hood.


    "Ah!" it was a short shriek, but entirely unnecessary.


    "Mish," I said. "It''s funny... I would''ve expected him to tell someone else. You''re not exactly a gossip, now are you? It''d be pointless to tell you when he probably knows about your feelings. He''d just assume you wouldn''t tell anyone and ruin his plans..."


    Another click. A piece that fell into place.


    "...unless you were in on it for some incredibly stupid reason?" I asked.


    She tried to rush out the door, but she had to go past the Blade for that.


    He grabbed her by the back of her outfit and lifted her slightly so she was no longer on her feet. She was shrieking, screaming for help and he just slowly turned until she was facing me.


    "Can you just smack her silent a little?" I asked as she continued screaming.


    So he did. Not very hard, but enough to shock her into stilling. Her eyes welled up with tears and I had...


    No sympathy.


    Odd. Despite my lack of understanding, I always felt some sort of... reaction. To people''s pain and suffering. As though I felt it myself. It''s the main reason I didn''t simply kill people who annoyed me, honestly. Because I could see them as people.


    But in that moment, I didn''t see Mish as a person. She was an enemy. And therefore became something else.


    I didn''t really like that. No matter how evil, you must be aware they are a person. To do anything else is to delude oneself. I''d never had that reaction before...


    I will have to reassess myself.


    "Mish... why would you do such a stupid- oh for god''s sake," I closed my eyes and had a realization. "He promised to make you his second wife. Which would never happen, Mish. Was he going to let you make me infertile? Have me as his wife for two or three years, while people made humiliating jokes about his manhood until he could FINALLY marry you and have children to prove it wasn''t his fault?"


    Her lips were quivering and her tears were falling. "You don''t know anything. He loved me. He just wanted the best chance at life for our children. You''re a Scribe. It''s a job you could do even after you got married. We''d have had three incomes. Two of which were really good. Our children would''ve wanted for nothing."


    Sounds like a perfect fairytale... for the people who agreed to it, I thought in a dull inner tone. I don''t even know if it''s actual words, or just concepts.


    "What do I do with her, Sceptarch?" My Blade asked me.


    "Tie her to something until we can take her home. It''d be best if she didn''t run off shrieking about anything," I replied. "And killing her would just make people angry."


    I looked up and caught her eye just as she began to feel relieved.


    "We''ve already killed one, after all. But they''ll likely let that go as self defense once it''s explained,"


    Mish''s eyes went wide and she looked to where the Blade gestured- to an urn on my kitchen table.


    "Speaking of. I cleaned the ashes for you, in case you wanted to do something with them. I heard the last Sceptarch used the ashes of the dead to fertilize his garden," he said in a low, dry tone, watching Mish.


    Her mouth opened and she screamed.

 5. Punish the Inept

    It was funny letting Mish just scream her head off until she got too tired and hoarse to do it anymore.


    My cabin was on the fringes of the village. Nobody would hear it. And if they did and they burst in, they''d see my Diadem and Blade a moment later and run away.


    If there was proof I was just unlawfully holding someone from another territory, that might be an issue. But the honest truth, is that those laws are for nobles. Merchants. The ''important'' people.


    Commoners have to fight each OTHER for their own resources and protection, most often within the same territory.


    Mish was just very obviously an idiot. Like Brint, apparently.


    It was disappointing for more than one reason. I''d actually been able to tolerate Brint to a degree. I thought it would create too much bad blood between myself and Mish''s family and all their friends to actually marry him, though. Aside from the fact that I didn''t want to marry, it was just too much of a hassle to marry him.


    And I feel, if you''re going to do something that constitutes a crime or a manipulation... you should at least think it through and do it clever.


    "Ahh," the Blade picked up a scarf from my bureau. "Is this soft enough?"


    I''d told him not to put a mark on her until I wanted him to.


    "Sure, just don''t stuff anything in her mouth or she might choke to death," I said and swallowed hard.


    I can still remember the squeaky-terrible feeling of that cloth against my teeth. The memory shudders through me and I forcibly shake my head once to get rid of it. Refocus my thoughts on the preparations.


    The food was prepared for a short trip, though I was certain they''d have brought their own, I wanted to be sure I could eat, even if they had nothing but foreign ingredients I was too afraid to try. I''ve always been picky.


    Never know when you''re going to be hit with the impulse to vomit for no discernible reason at all, simply because your body ''disagrees'' with a certain food.


    I was assured it wasn''t an ''allergy'', but... that isn''t saying much, is it? It won''t kill you! Unless it''s your only source of food.


    Who knew what Necromantic Elves ate?


    "Mh! Mh!" Mish was trying to scream again, but with the scarf tied that way, it was difficult, apparently.


    I''d never seen a ''gag'' tied around the outside of the mouth instead of going between the lips. It seemed it was restricting her jaw movements.


    "I want you to teach me how to do that, later," I said.


    "As you wish," he replied. And then paused. "They''re finally here, Sceptarch."


    Right. I''d almost forgotten about them. "They were so close?"


    "We were almost to the location I could feel your energy in," he replied. "...when you called for me. The Blade is always very quick to find his Sceptarch."


    Because if they die before you find them, you''re dead too.


    "Let them in, then," I said.


    My Blade moved to do so. And when he had opened the door and stepped aside, I got my first glimpse of them all.


    They wore strange face coverings, it was like a mask made of some kind of flexible material. Black and clearly meant to hide their missing noses.


    After filing in, they spread out in a line of four and got down on their knees.


    "Remove your masks and hoods," the Blade instructed. "Show the Sceptarch your faces."


    They did so. It was like it was... a ceremony? It felt a bit special. Not like a festival or a religious event... more like a birthday.


    "I am Thorn," the first in line said as he did as he was bid. His hair was long and white and held back in Elven braids. The impression I got from him was very... stolid. He was cheerless and ramrod. Professional and proud of it.


    Then came the next. "I am Spike." And his hair was short, wavy and gray. Shaved on the sides. His body was bulkier than the others'' as well. Almost to the point of disbelief. Elves don''t typically come in that size. He was looking up at me, no effort to stare at the floor.


    "I am Needle." The third''s hair was darker gray than Spike''s, short and slicked back on his head. The impression he gave with his ramrod positioning, but glancing upward to get a look at me, was... calculating and careful. He wanted to show deference, but he was curious.


    "I am Barb." And then the fourth, whose hair was Black with a silver sheen and cut in many layers so that it framed his face... quite nicely, actually. And he was staring over at Mish from the corner of his eye.


    Love what you''re reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on.


    "You seem to have a question, Barb," the Blade pointed out. He was standing behind them and closing the door, so I had no idea how he knew that.


    Barb lowered his head immediately. "Only a curiosity."


    "Questions are good," I said. It more popped out than I allowed it to escape... "They mean you''re paying attention."


    Barb glanced up and almost seemed surprised at what he saw, but it was a flicker. I could''ve been mistaken. "Then Who... is that woman, Sceptarch?"


    "Oh that? That''s Mish," I said and gestured dismissively. "I''m punishing her for being an idiot."


    Mish made screaming noises and thrashed around, trying to get free of her bonds.


    "I don''t really care that she tried to perpetuate a crime against me," I said. "People like that are... well. Beneath it all, they''re very pathetic. But she did it for such stupid, stupid reasons, I just can''t stand it."


    "What did she do, Sceptarch?" Thorn asked next. Completely emotionless. But he had something burning in his eyes as he looked at Mish.


    "It isn''t important," I shrugged. "What''s important is that she did it so a man would like her. And it was obvious he was just using her to get to me. So incredibly obvious that anyone could''ve picked up on it. And anyone with any self-respect would''ve said ''no''."


    Their expressions mostly stayed the same, but the way they glanced aside at Mish seemed to be slightly hostile.


    They must resent that she tried to do something to their sovereign for such petty reasons. That''s something knights resent, isn''t it? Not only the attack, but also the reason they put the monarch in danger?


    It was strange to me. Any human knight of any kind would be pleading with me to have mercy on a maiden. Though I doubt she IS any longer... I would assume Brint likely fed her some form of contraception after every time, though.


    Out of curiosity, I asked. "Hey Mish," I looked aside into her angry, frightened eyes. "Brint feed you after you had your... liaisons? Did he make extra sure that you had something?"


    Her expression went blank.


    "Yeah, I figured," I said and returned my attention to the Edges. "Are you boys willing to carry my things? I''m not sure if you''ve got a carriage or horses or if you came on foot..."


    "We brought the Sceptarch''s Carriage, of course," my Blade said in a smooth voice.


    There was some kind of loud shouting from outside then...


    "The villagers have found the carriage," Barb remarked.


    "Why are they shouting?" I asked.


    "The horses might be frightening them," Needle said. "We can only hope they aren''t dumb enough to get close-"


    "Don''t assume," I said. "Bring the Carriage here and knock back the guard if they give you trouble, but try not to kill anyone. Incidents must be avoided until I''m ensconced in the... my people call it the Palace of the Dead."


    "Itra," my Blade said. "The Itra palace. The meanings are equivalent, but... ''palace of the dead'' is inelegant."


    "You are such a snob," Barb muttered very lowly.


    Blade shot him a look, but Barb was obediently staring up at me, likely assuming I hadn''t heard. Elves were often misjudging how well Humans could hear.


    I didn''t see any reason to correct it.


    "Before we go, did you boys bring any coin with you?" I asked. "I got all my travel clothing and food before you showed up, but I could use something a bit more regal for taking Mish home."


    "What is it you need?" the Blade was nearly purring it. "We have the stamp of the Sceptarch which is good anywhere. Though you are the one who must use it."


    "Just something more becoming of a ruler than this," I gestured to myself in my everyday wear. "Something that commands respect. I purchased most of my belongings for fading into the background and not drawing attention, before now."


    "We''ll secure you the items and bring you the proprietors so you might use the stamp, if you''d rather not be seen until then," Thorn offered me.


    "Would you?" I asked with an uptick to my voice. "How thoughtful."


    I was under no illusions. These people were not bound to me. I''d bet that instead of the Blade, it was the Edges who killed the Sceptarch if they were going against Vireldi interests or dabbled too far in death magic and became too like them.


    "We brought a maidservant as well," Needle said. "She will take a list and retrieve everything you need."


    "Good," I said and turned, grabbing the notebook by my bed and turning to a new page to write out exactly what I wanted. "Be sure and let her know, if it takes a few days, I''m perfectly content to wait. No need to rush."


    Mish screams from behind her gag again.


    "Oh, don''t worry Mish," I said. "We''ll see to it that you''re properly fed and watered in the meantime. It''s only proper. I did say I wouldn''t kill you, after all, didn''t I? And allowing you to die of thirst would count as killing you, now wouldn''t it?"


    She was crying again, though her eyes were so irritated and red, I doubted she had many tears left.


    Irritating. It was always those who would trespass against you in the most horrible of ways... who were truly pathetic people on the inside. Underneath their veneer of civility. Sniveling things that would beg for mercy and then put a knife in your back when you turned away to let them run.


    That was how it was back home. That was how it was now. It was likely one of those unassailable truths. It would always be the case. But well, I''ve never felt sympathy for people acting pathetic. I''ve only ever felt revulsion. If they had no arrogant pride or some kind of conviction... why did they do it?


    I tore the page from my notebook and put the notebook itself into my last bag. "Here, make sure she gets at least most of that," I said.


    "As you say, Sceptarch," Thorn took the paper and immediately folded it smaller before leaving. He put the mask back on and pulled up his hood, first.


    Magic from the Diadems was powerful. The only truly powerful magic there was. Everything else was subtle, like their hoods. Causing your eyes to slide over, but not really obscuring anything. Or like the Shadow Walk, my blade mentioned. It wasn''t something you could use to blow anything up and it only worked over short distances, but... you could glide from shadow to shadow for miles, if they were close enough to each other.


    I''d never learned any, besides the little ones everyone is taught as a child. How to start a fire with a huff of warm breath or hide from attacking forces by breathing slow and curling into a ball in a shadow. Children''s magic. But...


    I had always wanted to know more. And these Vireld appeared to use magic quite often. More than humans did. So I turned to the other Edges and asked... "Is there a spell I can learn within the next week? Something that will help me to stun or frighten, instead of immediately killing people with my touch?"


    "That is something we should discuss," my Blade said as he secured the door behind Thorn. "Do you see the glimmering energy in your death hand?"


    I looked down, but I knew what I would see. It hadn''t died down since earlier.


    The brambles on my right wrist were glowing slightly. Subtly. With bright silver energy. "I noticed that. I thought it would go away when I transferred the energy to someone."


    "It will," he replied. "But it can also be used to fuel spells."


    Oh? Fascinating.

 6. Getting the Self Together

    I could tell they were puzzled by what I was doing- well. Some of them.


    My blade, Thorn and Needle seemed to understand some of it. Spike and Barb though, appeared to be helplessly sitting by, rather than standing by on guard. Slouched against the wall and glancing around the cabin as things were prepared...


    Needle stepped in not long after the maidservant arrived with the cosmetics I''d asked for, testing them on my inner wrist before allowing them to be applied on my face. Muttering words that made my skin tingle.


    "What is that spell?" I asked.


    "It accelerates reactions. If your skin was going to blister or redden with allergy, we would know in seconds," he replied. "This is safe for your face. The inner wrist is similar to the skin on your face..."


    "Is that different from a healing spell, or is a healing spell just an acceleration?" I asked.


    He lifted his head slightly and glanced up at me. "There''s actually some debate about that in the-"


    "Not now," my Blade cut him off. "The Sceptarch has to get ready. We have a journey back on which she''ll be quite bored. Save it."


    I noticed something, about the way they spoke. Needle was very proper in one specific way. He was an intellectual. But my Blade was proper differently.


    Noble, I thought. Or a rich merchant or something...


    Not anymore, though. I wondered if he resented that.


    "Come, Sceptarch," the maid was wearing a veil over the bottom half of her face. Hiding away her nose and mouth and jaw with blue and black lace.


    When I followed her into the water closet, she glanced around and asked, "is this the only space we have that is private?"


    "Yes, I was a scribe, this is more than the others in town have, unless they live in a generational home," I replied.


    "I see," she backed into the far wall as far as she could. "Disrobe then, and I will help with your ablutions and the application of cosmetics."


    I did so with a feeling of shaky trepidation. I''d not disrobed in front of anyone who wasn''t a family member or doctor before. It wasn''t usual to have a maid help one bathe and dress. Thankfully, since I''d already bathed a few days before and hadn''t gone outside at all, I only needed a good scrub with a washcloth. Warm water and soap were in good supply, as I''d even bought extra in the market through my new maid.


    "How did the people react, when they saw you?" I asked.


    "We informed them, when they asked," she said as she scrubbed at my back. "That the new Sceptarch had been Crowned and we were going to bring her home. They appeared to be frightened."


    "How did the Seamstress feel about making my dress?" I asked. "I can''t imagine she''s not terrified I''ll give her the touch of death if she gets something wrong. Is there any way to to mitigate that? Terrified people make mistakes more than any other kind."


    "I assured the Seamstress, when she tried to refuse," the maid moved on to my arms. "That the Sceptarch is only allowed to kill those who mean them harm, or those who have been sentenced to death by the state. And the worst you could do for a ruined dress is simply not patronize her again, perhaps tell other nobles not to, as well."


    Which wasn''t really a big threat, considering there weren''t any nobles shopping there to begin with.


    "She did find some fine quality lam¨¦," the maid went on. "It was only enough for one dress. She said she''d been saving it for her daughter''s wedding. I informed her that with what we were willing to pay, she would be able to make one for her daughter and herself."


    Money talks and people listen.


    "It did have to be made of a lower-quality fabric," she said. "As they did not have anything befitting you. But the Tricot was the only fabric I could find with the rich dark blue of the Vireld. The gold lam¨¦ will accent it beautifully, in any case. Though in the future, we do use primarily silver for accenting. You will have to ask for gold, if you want it."


    "That''s good to know," I said as she finished scrubbing down my legs.


    I was able to handle my torso and face on my own while she did the rest, thank god. I didn''t think I could handle her touching anywhere actually vulnerable on my body.


    At that point, she started with the moisturizing cream that had a slight shimmer to it. It wouldn''t show on my face, but my arms, throat and cleavage would sparkle and that was the desired outcome. They managed it with a sort of bronze colored... mineral? It was ground into a fine powder, and it was called Mica, that was all I knew.


    Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation.


    For my eyes and lips, we went with Blue and black. The maid painted a design on them without asking, so I was curious.


    Spider webs, for some reason. I asked why.


    "For the Vriska, of course," she replied.


    Vriska were giant blue spiders? I wondered if the Blade had been... playing around, when he told me they fight them in an arena. "And... they make up your armor?" I said with a leading tone.


    "Yes, did they tell you?" she asked in a distracted tone as she began to outline the webbing with blue. "They have a tough, leathery hide. It''s perfect for a Vireld warrior, as it''s flexible enough to allow movement, but does not easily allow either slashing or puncturing."


    "You''re not just a maid," I said simply.


    "Ahhh," she smiled with her eyes. "Caught me, did you. I am your Shadow, my lady. You may call me by any name you please. Shadows give up their identities when the Sceptarch is crowned."


    "That sounds different from the Edges," I said. And I wondered... why were there so many other positions? Edges, Shadow... was the Blade not enough to protect the Sceptarch?


    "Yes, Edges are meant to have easily remembered names that pertain to their role," she said. "A shadow can remain nameless, if their patron so pleases."


    "I''ll call you Melantha," I said.


    She seemed surprised. "That''s a human name derived from Elven, isn''t it? The Ilam dialect."


    It''s funny to call it a dialect, when it''s essentially just a trade language. It was cut apart and put together like the common trade language amongst humans. "A Dark Flower. An ominous but beautiful death."


    She smiled with her eyes again. "I shall wear it well, Sceptarch."


    I noticed her eyes were both gold, instead of silver and gold, like the Edges and the Blade. I didn''t ask, because I wanted to figure out that mystery on my own. After all, if it were about healing, then Needle should''ve had purely gold eyes, but he did not.


    When the cosmetics were finished, I couldn''t believe how I looked. I couldn''t believe my eyes. Literally. "Wait, what-- have my eyes been purple this whole time!?"


    "Yes, Sceptarch," Melantha replied. "Tsk! Tis that old wives tale again. Your eyes remain the color you were birthed with, but oftentimes that color is different from what you believe. The magic in you, intensifies everything. The color of your eyes reflects the fact that you are powerful. If you''d had hazel eyes, they likely would''ve turned a bright grassy green with brown patterns clearly seen or perhaps they would have turned brown with green spots like little leaves floating in dirty water. It''s happened before. You''ll see the other Sceptarch''s portraits in Itra."


    It was confounding. My eyes had always been a bit muddy gray-blue. To think that was because there was PURPLE in them was frankly laughable. One would think if there was purple in blue eyes, the blue would merely turn lilac or some such shade. Not muddy gray.


    But there was no mistaking that purple in my eyes...


    "Is there a reason the Vriska is the creature you find most..." I sought a word that didn''t imply religion. I had no idea if the Vriska was sacred or just useful.


    "It is the creature we cannot entirely conquer," she replied. "Vriska may be befriended. Trained. But in every litter, there is born one which does not care for you, for your food and love and care. It is wild and always will be. We respect this spirit, which is why we only fight those in the Arena. The others are not docile and would suffice, but... it would not be truly respectful of their spirit. Their spirit is to accept us, whereas the wild ones do not. We must honor both. The wild ones give us armor and the others give us many things we can use. Their silks are strong and beautiful, not to mention they are quite the security measure."


    "Will I see many of them?" I asked. Spiders weren''t my favorite creature, but that was mostly because of how small and fast they were. If they were larger, they would likely be slower. Less frightening when you can see it coming, after all.


    "You will be expected to kill for their leather if you please," she said. "In the arena, as all others do. But if you refrain from doing so, you will only see them on top of the buildings, in the alleys and other out of sight places. They hide and ambush those who have not been marked with the scent of the Vriska. We shall bathe you in the oils before entering Gresh."


    Before entering the Country?


    "I see," I said. "Well, how easy is it to get your hands on that oil?"


    She hummed as she helped me into the dress. "Not that easy, unless one is a capable warrior. You could always kill many Vriska, and use the small amounts of oil left on their webs to pat yourself down for a brief foray. Of course, we have a special formula. They may not scent him if he sneaks in for a bit, but if they pay attention to what he smells like, at all, they''ll be able to pick out the difference."


    "That''s good," I said with some relief. There was no possible way to confuse the spiders, unless you were to use the correct or incorrect oils. Which meant that there were oil experts. And if you get handed a vial of oil from one of them, it''s less likely to have been tampered with. "I want the Blade to fetch an entirely fresh bottle, I don''t want to use anything that''s exchanged hands with someone else. Including food."


    "Well now," she said as she arranged my hair, loose and waving. "You might just last as long as your past four predecessors."


    She didn''t say it like it was positive, exactly. A step up.


    "How long did they live?" I asked.


    "Oh... twenty years at the longest," she said. "Ten at the shortest."


    That was the past four. "How long did the longest go? Overall?"


    "Oh that''s a tale," she said. "The Tale of Sceptarch Markus who lived for fourty years after he took up the mantle. He was quite the character. I''ll tell you about him on the ride."


    "And the shortest?" I asked.


    "Ha, that was Sceptarch Elgard," she said. "He walked in, saw the spiders and started screaming and running. Apparently he triggered their hunting instincts and they wrapped him in silk and wouldn''t let the Blade of the time find him until he suffocated. Course, then the Blade dropped dead as well so it took a few days to find them after that."


    "Why would you scream while running if you wanted to go undetected?" I asked. It''s always confused me how a Human''s first instinct is to scream. I don''t know about the other types of people. But humans always shriek. Which is not conducive to hiding or running away.


    "Beats me," Melantha said. "Your appearance has been perfected to the best of my ability, Sceptarch. Let''s go and show the Edges."

 7. Dinner and a Show

    It was all a lot to arrange. Sending someone to Mish''s family with a note that she''d be out for a few days, but they needed to come and pick her up after her arraignment, as she''d been apprehended as the accessory to a grave crime... that was the easiest part.


    Getting the dress made, the cosmetics in the right mixture and the Carriage away from anyone''s prying eyes out behind the cabin, that was all fine as well.


    I''d never realized the tax that stress took from ones'' body when one was doing something... not monumental, but bigger than usual? In the public eye. Where everyone would look at you and judge you. And find you wanting no matter how you behaved or what you said.


    Years ago, I''d decided not to care what people thought, but it''s a different matter when they could quickly form a mob and kill you before you can even get into the safe embrace of your fortress. A fortress I''ve yet to even see.


    "You look vaguely ill, Sceptarch," Melantha said from across the carriage. She was garbed in what could be called sneak-thief attire. Since I''d figured out she wasn''t a maid, I asked that she not behave like one unless I specifically needed her to. I didn''t like that she was wearing some weird stiff dress that would make it harder for her to fight, instead of her armor.


    "Have you ever felt," I started. "That it''s fine if you die, but you don''t want to die that way?"


    "Of course," she replied. "A death befitting oneself is one of the base dignities."


    Right. Death Revering Elves.


    "I don''t think an angry mob befits me," I said.


    "Have you ever fought anyone before?" she asked.


    "Technically no, if we''re talking about ''to the death''," I said.


    "If you''ve fought but not with your life on the line," she replied. "Then the death befitting you is much lower than it would be if you had."


    "What about battle makes me more befitting?" I asked.


    We were riding down the road toward the center of town where the bandstand was. It was used for festivals and trials both. To announce sentences, rather than holding the whole thing. Mish''s trial was taken care of just this morning when an interrogator was sent with a stone blessed by the Diadem of Verity. It was quickly and easily sorted-- though I was suspicious of how easily. After all, the Stones of Verity could only determine if one was telling the truth. It could not detect half truths or lies.


    "Battle where one puts their life on the line," Melantha spoke with an even tone. "Is the place where you learn if you are befitting or not."


    Ah, one of those... self-discovery things.


    "I just think it''s ridiculous I survived my mother literally poisoning me, only to get murdered by a mob," I said. "So I just hope it doesn''t happen."


    "Poison?" she tilted her head at me. "That is its own kind of survival skill. How did you live?"


    "She was giving me very small doses. But not small enough," I said. "She wanted to make me throw up. I was too fat for her, you see."


    "Disgusting," she made a face. "Making ones'' children immune to poisons is a duty and she only did it for that stupid reason?"


    Well, that answered some of my questions about child-rearing, I suppose. "Yes, she was a stupid and ridiculous person. She only ever picked on the weak and used whatever she could to disadvantage the strong so she could win. But not because she should''ve won, just because she couldn''t stand to lose."


    "You don''t seem that stupid," she said. "I suppose her actions served a purpose, if only to teach you exactly how pathetic she was."


    It felt weird, other people calling my mother pathetic. I''d always thought so, even if I''d never gotten any confirmation. That she was the type of person to scream and beg and cry, but then lord over you if she was given the higher position... and yet it was so odd. Like a shame I needed to hide. Like being raised by someone like that put some kind of black mark on my record.


    Teaching me how not to be pathetic by giving me a terrible example. That was something I''d never considered before.


    "We''ve arrived," she said as the carriage pulled itself to a halt.


    The carriage itself was quite lovely, but obviously also old. The gilding wasn''t flaking and the wood was well-polished, but the style was a century or so back. I knew because it had modifications to suit the new regulations and designs, it was not build with them. That much was obvious by the slightly lighter shade of the wood which hadn''t been varnished and polished for a century or so, like the rest.


    Blue and gold. Strange, considering she said they used Blue and Silver only. I thought, perhaps she meant for clothes-


    "Are you ready, Sceptarch?" she asked me. There was a challenge in her golden gaze, I could feel it as much as see it. She wanted to know what I would do. What kind of ruler I''d be, I''d assumed.


    "No, but who ever is?" I asked and stood from my seat just as the Blade opened the door and held out a hand to me.


    The stair just below me was easy to navigate, but it did feel more secure when I took his hand to step down. They must have adapted to human norms. A woman not being helped out of her carriage by a man would be seen as disrespected. The man as rude or the woman as disreputable.


    If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    When I stepped down onto the ground, just beside the bandstand, the Carriage was hiding me from view, as I''d told them to do beforehand. But then the Carriage was being moved and I had to walk up the steps, to reveal myself.


    There were gasps of shock and surprise, most likely because no one would''ve really recognized me as of yet. They''d be reacting to the Diadem and the Blade escorting me. Shadowing my every step, while my actual shadow stayed out of sight.


    "Sceptarch of the Vireld," the Mayor had been called and there he stood. On the other end of the bandstand, speaking with a booming effect through the amplification crystal he was using.


    The Blade stepped behind me and fastened the necklace around my throat that held my own. It was on loan from the mayor''s office. Until this was over, though, it was mine.


    His fingertips were so deft, I barely felt him moving my hair and fastening the necklace at all. Just a brush of leather and then he stepped back, away.


    "Mayor Agresse," I greeted him in return. "How has your investigation gone?"


    "Oh it went well enough," he replied. Niceties to show we''re not fighting, everyone is in agreement. "We used a verity stone to take her testimony, as you know. And we found she was lying about quite a few things. So after some pressing, we managed to get the real story."


    I was intrigued, as he pulled a stele out of his inside pocket. They held information, but he could have simply memorized the story if it were short. Was he going to humanize... or demonize?


    "Miss Mishrakala Vant," he spoke with authority. "Did knowingly take part in a violent crime upon the person of Celia the Scribe."


    I didn''t have a surname, as most commoners didn''t. Already he was portraying me as underprivileged while Mish was storied and well-off. Compared to everyone here, anyway. He also made it a point to call her ''miss'' and myself ''the Scribe''. It was funny. With that one specific move, he''d highlighted the fact that I was a worker and Mish was just the type to get married and be a homemaker. Which is admirable to most, but would make her look lazy compared to me.


    A bit unnecessary, but I didn''t really care.


    "We investigated this matter as it was brought to our attention," he stated. "The prisoner was taken from the Sceptarch''s custody, fully fed and unbeaten. She had only self-inflicted wounds from tearing at her bindings."


    She tried to escape her rightful imprisonment. Look how guilty she is. Wasn''t the Sceptarch so nice to have taken pity on her? That was the general idea, as I could see it.


    "The Sceptarch has asked for Miss Vant to be placed back into her custody for sentencing," he said. "While I myself would prefer to keep her and charge her, she has offended the ruler of a subordinate state-"


    Ah, that was the term I couldn''t recall before! It wasn''t a Kingdom or a Duchy, but a subordinate nation. The mayor called it a ''state'' because Humans like to think they conquered the Vireld. Everyone knows that isn''t true, but they like to pretend.


    "So I have decided to grant this request," he said in a very sad tone of voice. "So as not to offend our friends who defend the borders."


    Yes, can''t have the brutal Elven soldiers recalled- how messy that would be.


    "I called Mish''s family here, are they present?" I asked.


    "We''re here!" a man shouted from the crowd and then shoved his way through. Three women walked behind him. I recognized all of them. Morrison, Kay, Elle and Greta. Mish''s father, mother, aunt and grandmother.


    As they walked up the staircase nearer the Mayor, I wondered something. Morrison was glaring at me, Kay looked terrified, Elle was frowning like she didn''t understand or was irritated this was happening. Miss Greta was the only one who looked the appropriate amount of scared and respectful. She was aware of what kind of thing was about to happen and knew exactly what kind of power I wielded... and she seemed to know what Mish had done. But I couldn''t be certain.


    "Miss Elle," I said as they settled across from me on the platform. "Did you know about this plan?"


    "What plan?" she demanded. "No one has seen fit to tell us anything!"


    Ah, so Greta just knows that Mish is guilty, but most likely not of what... unless she confessed to her dear grandmother.


    "Mish planned, with Brint, to have me forced into sexual relations with him," I said.


    There were gasps, people shoved each other to get closer, some people started shouting something about it being ''bullshit'' or ''not true''.


    "I assure you, good people, we interrogated Miss Vant all last night and this morning," the Mayor spoke over the mutterings and random shouting. "She did indeed conspire to force the Sceptarch into a situation wherein she might be forced to marry Brint, the Scribe." Brint also had no surname. His family were just known as the Cobblers, for the most part, and he didn''t take over the family business. "At which point, she was going to feed a medicine to the Sceptarch, to make her infertile. They would wait for two or three years and then eventually Miss Vant would be married to Brint the Scribe as his second wife."


    So much disbelief. Not because they thought it was such a terrible thing to do, exactly. But because Mish was so vapid and weak. All she cared about was Brint''s approval and how she looked and how Brint felt about how she looked.


    I could hear a few of them speculating that Mish was taking the blame for Brint and actually had nothing to do with it. It was mostly because the crystal was amplifying sound around me, which was one of the ''side-effects'' of amplification magic. Sometimes it amplified things for the user as well, like this. It usually means the product is low quality, produced by backstreet practitioners.


    The Mayor should more effectively hide his embezzlement. You never take from what you show to others. Only your own creature comforts, if you need money that badly. Otherwise, someone could notice. I thought everyone knew that.


    "My Daughter," Morrison spoke by grabbing the Mayor''s shoulder and then lifting his crystal to his mouth. "Would never do such a thing!"


    "I''m afraid the stone of verity-" the Mayor attempted to say.


    "She only did what that skinny, limp-dicked little boy told her to do!" Morrison thundered. "He threatened her, I know it! My daughter knows better than to act like that!"


    Indeed, I thought. You very obviously beat it into her.


    It was something that the inhabitants of the village didn''t really like to think about. Of course, no one really wants to think about such a thing, do they? Not just that it happens, but that you can''t do anything about it. You can''t, or you become a criminal and suddenly, things are worse than before.


    Family issues are to be resolved in the family.


    But that does give me... thoughts...


    "I see," I said and the amplification of my voice cut right across Morrison''s tirade. "So you''re aware of the fact that beating and belittling your daughter her whole life, primed her to accept the same treatment from other men?"


    Everything went dead quiet. Kay looked terrified, Elle was trying not to have a reaction and Greta simply bowed her head low. I thought Greta must have guilt over this. She became too ill and feeble to protect her daughter from her husband after she got married. Her body broke down after a lifetime of hard labor. And no one else in the family had the physical strength to stop him.


    I''d only moved here a few years ago... when I was twenty-six or so. But I still managed to hear everything about everyone at the parties I was forced to attend.


    As I stood there and watched Morrison''s face get redder and redder as he seemed to be working himself into a lather, I covered the crystal with my hand and muttered, "Catch, don''t kill." Because I knew he would pounce. A man like Morrison being questioned by a woman. The kind of person he''d been beating on completely uncontested for his entire marriage to Kay... talking back to him?


    He just couldn''t stand it. Even though the Mayor tried to babble some nonsense about ''who knows why she did what she did, we just simply know she did!'' and things of that nature... he stared me down. He turned redder and redder. He leapt.

 8. The Outcome

    Morrison was not usually a stupid man.


    As a matter of fact, he could be frighteningly conniving at times. He could convince people that it was just fine for him to slap his daughter or wife or even his sister across the face, because he was the sole provider for the home. How dare they inconvenience him with petty trifles?


    People might not have agreed, but he was convincing enough they could lie to themselves.


    Oh he really loves his family, he''s just a disciplinarian.


    It was only illegal to permanently harm a female family member or spouse. Maim them, make them infertile or leave a scar and you''d be taken in for that. It was illegal to maim men too, but there were different rules around that.


    So he always made sure to beat them with an open hand in public. And in private... he likely only hit places that couldn''t be seen until the wound healed. And he likely made sure not to leave scars.


    But he was angry.


    When he lunged at me, I had time to step back, but I didn''t.


    The Blade caught him by the arm and sent him to the floor of the bandstand, in one smooth movement. His boot planted itself in Morrison''s back and that was that. Morrison groaned and shoved, but he just couldn''t lever himself up from that position.


    "Well, this creates a whole other problem," I said after uncovering the crystal. "So, on top of Mish''s punishment, there''s this idiot. Who just attacked the ruler of a Subordinate Nation. Kay." I turned to regard her with a tilt of my head. "Would you rather I punish him, or Mish? I can transfer all of Mish''s punishment onto Morrison, or I can punish Mish and give Morrison a slap on the wrist. I''m curious. What do you think should be done?"


    Her eyes went wide and she paled.


    "How can you even ask that!" Elle demanded. "How could she even choose between her husband and child!? You''re being unreasonable!"


    I quirked a brow at her and tilted my head. "Well, it''s not like I said I would kill either of them, so what''s the issue? I said ''punish''. Meaning... who do you think, is at fault? Mish for doing what she did, or Morrison for raising her to be a big pushover for any man who had half an idea of how to manipulate her? And for attacking me, we can just call that a felony misdemeanor. He didn''t actually hurt me, but he DID intend to. So we can''t punish him for a crime he didn''t commit, but we can certainly punish him for intending to commit it, now can''t we?"


    "It''s still cruel!" Elle insisted.


    "Why?" I asked and tilted my head. "If you want my opinion, my love for any man would die the moment he put his hands on my child. Why should this be a hard decision then? Are you saying Kay is such a reprobate, that she seriously still loves her husband, after all he''s done?"


    Elle went pale and her mouth opened... but nothing came out.


    "We couldn''t leave," Greta said. "We have to live with him after you''re gone, as well."


    The older woman was the only one in the family with backbone, but she was old enough that her hands were knobby with arthritis and her hair was pure silver-white. She could''ve never stood up to Morrison, so she remained quiet, likely hoping that her daughter would do something herself.


    It was a very subtle way for her to tell me ''Why wouldn''t you kill him and remove this misery for us?''.


    "Well..." I began. "I never said I wouldn''t kill him, either. I''m only asking, genuinely... do you think he''s at fault? Or is Mish?"


    "The girl is an idiot," Greta said. "But she''s just a girl. She has time to learn, especially if someone teaches her. But that demon has been eating my family alive for twenty-eight years, now."


    "Mother!" Kay said in a wispy, breathless sort of voice. "He- He''s just-"


    "Are you going to make another excuse for him?" Greta demanded. "Look at what your daughter did because he taught her to step on the weak. Look at it! Your daughter might be executed!"


    Kay looked from Greta, to me, confused. When she saw the placid look on my face, she went even paler than before and started to violently shake.


    "My brother is just an angry person," Elle said in a muttered undertone. "We... we know how to keep him from getting angry. We''ve been managing it!"


    "Why?" I asked.


    Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    She shuddered and clenched her hands together. "He''s my brother, he''s family."


    "I''ve always been confused by that line," I said. "If they were really family, shouldn''t they be held to the same standards you''re holding yourself to? Why does HE get to do as he pleases and you''re the one who has to behave like family? It''s just so very stupid, I think."


    I then turned away from the family and back to the Mayor. "Is Mish nearby?"


    "Yes, we''ll remand her into your custody!" he said and scurried to the side of the stage. "Bailiff! Bring the Prisoner!"


    Kay began openly weeping at the mention of Mish.


    The Bailiff emerged from the nearby Doll Shop. So very strangely fitting for Mish. That''s all she was ever allowed to be, after all. A pretty little doll who would one day get married and obey her husband, because to do anything else would bring down the wrath of her Father.


    "Uh," the Mayor cleared his throat. "Eh-herm, well... what do you intend to charge Morrison Vant with?"


    Mish was being herded up the stairs when she heard that and looked over to see her father on the bandstand, being stood on by the Blade.


    She had no gag, so she simply screamed as much as she pleased. Obscenities mostly, but she also called me an evil witch and a frigid bitch. She went on at length about how I ruined her whole life by not seeing that Brint LOVED me and she let it really rip when she got a good look at my totally unaffected expression.


    "You KILLED HIM!" she shrieked. "You KILLED the man I LOVE! I will NEVER forgive you!"


    "As if you''re the wronged party," I muttered, the crystal carrying the sound well. "Like you did absolutely nothing wrong."


    "MISHRAKALA VANT," Elle shouted when Mish opened her mouth again. "SHUT UP OR YOU''RE GOING TO BE EXECUTED! DO YOU NOT UNDERSTAND WHAT''S HAPPENING HERE?"


    Mish paused and looked at the huge crowd. Then back to her father, and then her pale white skin seemed to flush so red that I began to fear she might overheat and pass out. Her breaths were coming in pants and she was jerking as though her arms were spasming out of her control.


    "Once again, Kay," I said and turned to the woman. "I''ll offer you a deal. I can leave Mish alive and simply punish her aptly... or I can kill her. But in order to leave Mish alive, I''d have to know the root cause of the issue is taken care of."


    She was still sobbing and started shaking her head.


    "Does that mean you want Mish to die?" I asked. "Sorry, I don''t speak inconsolable moron."


    "JUST TAKE HIM!" Elle shouted.


    "No," Greta said in the wake of her loud voice. "She has to do it."


    Kay looked up at her mother with wide, teary eyes.


    "Don''t look at me," Greta said. "You are a weak woman, I''ve always thought that. T''isn''t a sin. But to stand and watch as your husband backhands your daughter because she put on a dress that was a tad too tight, and then tell the monster that you love him and he''s a good father- is something I never thought you capable of. That is not weakness. You chose to go through all that hardship and when Mish was old enough she shouldered the lion''s share of the beatings with Elle. You were nearly unharmed for the past two or three years, or so. You don''t love anyone in this family more than you love yourself, Kayva."


    Ohhhh full name. The Vant family was very familiar with each other. They didn''t call each other by their full names so I only knew Mish''s because she went about bragging over it. Kayva was also an elven-inspired name, I thought.


    Kay looked utterly gutted and just sat down on her ass, staring off into space.


    "If you''ll let me speak for my stupid daughter," Greta said, "take the bastard."


    "Grandma!" Mish sobbed. "No! Daddy, I''m sorry!"


    "Don''t apologize to that man," Greta said in a harsh tone. "You''re stupid, but you''re not that stupid are you, girl? Do you want to die? For a man who never cared for you unless he could beat you or show you off to the world?"


    Mish was shaking and gasping for air.


    The people watching were wide-eyed, crowded close to the bandstand and some few were sneaking off into nearby buildings, trying to escape the sight without leaving the vicinity so they could still know what happened next. Small towns.


    "Well," I said. "I dislike that Kay is escaping recrimination for her own part in this, but my hope is that people will see what a terrible mother she''s been and hold it against her for some time," I said. "So, Greta, I''ll take your choice."


    "NO NO NO!" Mish was fighting the Bailiff with all the power in her tiny frame.


    It was very effective to resort to tears when you wanted to look like a victim.


    "So, do you offer to die in your father''s place, then?" I asked her as she blubbered nonsensically. "No? Useless words then, aren''t they?"


    I stepped next to the Blade and knelt down. Morrison grabbed my ankle, but I was able to shove my hand flat against his head before he could do anything with it. And then he was a pile of ash.


    It was strange to see it work with my eyes open. A flash of silver light went over his whole body and he dissolved to ash almost instantly.


    Mish let out a sound that wasn''t human and her mother just collapsed into a heap on the bandstand. Ella rushed to catch Kay, but her head still clunked on the wood.


    "ARE YOU HAPPY NOW?" Elle demanded.


    "Well, the person responsible for my near-rape is about to be punished and I just killed the person who made her think it was alright to do that to me," I said. "Yeah, feeling pretty happy. Why shouldn''t I? Because someone died? And what if I''d taken my own life after what they planned to do to me? Would you have wept for me, Elle, or would you have said I was a fool who died over nothing?"


    They were all sobbing except Greta. So I walked over to her and offered my golden hand. She stared at it for a bit before reaching out and grabbing it.


    "Greta!" Elle seemed aghast, but it was too late.


    Greta began to glow with an inner golden light. The power transferred, little by little. Turning back the clock. Oh, it wouldn''t actually make her young. You couldn''t do that without turning someone into an undead thing. But it would make her body robust and young-seeming until the day she died from old age.


    By the time the full amount of power was drizzling across the connection and I took my hand back, Greta looked ten years younger. She was still weakened and her hands were still knobby and her hair was still silver... but she began to cry then, and gripped her hands to her chest. "Oh... the pain is lessened, so much. The pain... it''s still there, but... gods, I haven''t felt this good in decades."


    "Now you''ll have enough strength to whip your family into line," I said. "Though I will ask you allow me to keep Mish. I''ve decided her punishment."


    "What would that be?" she asked, wiping the tears from her eyes.


    "I''m going to arrange a marriage for her," I said and smiled.