ã€ŠScionsongã€‹


 1.1 - Blue-bird Thaumaturge

    Aliyah

    The execution of the traitor-princess would be held at dawn.

    Aliyah cracked open a window on the darkening sky and watched with a sick feeling in her stomach as a line of dark mist undulated on the horizon. A flotilla of skyships floated high over the sands, so distant they appeared as mere specks of sailcloth.

    ¡°Magicians,¡± she said, looking away. ¡°Still out on the salt? They¡¯re going to be working all night.¡±

    Zahir stirred from the drowsy comforts of his armchair, a slender form clad in red. His eyes and his skin, both a tawny brown under normal daylight, were tinted almost as red as his robes by a nearby sun-lamp. He stretched, tipping his head back as he yawned. It reminded her of a storybook leopard¡¯s yawn¡ªdeliberately languid and with a hint of pointed tooth.

    ¡°Yes. The nets and the scaffold and suchlike. They do tend to take a while.¡±

    Her hand strayed to the spyglass on his desk, then hesitated. ¡°I should try¡­¡±

    ¡°I think it¡¯s a bit of a frivolous endeavour, but certainly, any practice is better than none. Don¡¯t pop your eyeballs, it¡¯ll hurt.¡±

    ¡°Really.¡±

    He tapped the side of his nose and sighed. ¡°It¡¯s happened before. Little idiots detaching all of their inner musculature. And people wonder why I dislike apprentices.¡±

    She ignored him and shoved at the window. The wood creaked in its grooves as she shunted it further open. Cool air surged into the room. She braced herself on the sill and squinted out of instinct, then forced herself to relax; her pupils were already dilating, away from the blood-red-brightness of the dying sun-lamps. The working of such fine adjustments always felt like moving through a thick slurry, grainy like sand and the colour of old bone.

    Breathing in, she placed two fingers onto her cheekbone and reached into the crypts of her own cells, skimming across skin and muscle and bone and into her own eye socket¡ªthere. Hundreds of thousands of microscopic rods and cones budded into existence within the back hollows of her eyes. Muscles stretched; a little prompting on the minute level, adding temporary cells and proteins such that they could stretch a little more beyond their natural physiological inhibitions, and then those fibers would relax in response, just like skimming a pebble across a still lake, and now¡ª

    Her vision wavered and the distance shimmered in and out of blurriness like a mirage as she made her adjustments. Then it sharpened almost instantaneously as the little crystalline lenses in her eyes flattened in shape.

    Past the expanse of flat, terracotta desert lay a sliver of salt pan. Beyond that was a haze of mist rising from the Killing Fields. She saw the Magicians¡ªlittle lapis-blue silhouettes scurrying around. Her adjustments were not fine enough for her to discern much beyond the shape and colour of their robes, but she could now see clear figures where before she could not. They were working with an almost frightening synergy, pitching silvery lines into the air in droves of robe and mask and magic. The ghost of a gossamer lattice was taking shape, but as Zahir had said, it looked like it would be hours yet before it was complete.

    She glanced again at the dark, caustic fog beyond. It wasn¡¯t so bad after all. Winds could change, but that was what Magicians, Weathermancers, and the net were for.

    The bone-sand-slurry nudged at the edges of her consciousness and Aliyah dropped it hastily as an unpleasantly familiar pressure made itself known at her temples. She blinked and her vision lapsed back to normal.

    ¡°Well done,¡± Zahir said, sounding almost entirely unamused. ¡°You¡¯ll certainly be safe if you ever need to read fine print under pain of death. Speaking of which, remember to review the chapter on clearing sepsis. I¡¯m going to infect a few peasants for you to practice on.¡±

    She shut the window with a jolt. ¡°¡­say that again?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m only joking. What kind of monster do you take me for?¡± he chuckled. ¡°No, I¡¯ll use some castle rats.¡±

    ¡°Again with the rats?¡± She shuddered.

    ¡°Cheer up, it can¡¯t be worse than the first time you tried to lance a boil.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t be awful.¡± She glanced out of the closed window, scene now warped by the ripples of aged cylinder glass. She hesitated, then said, ¡°¡­I don¡¯t want to go tomorrow.¡±

    ¡°Why not? It¡¯s not as if you have to reattach her head after they¡¯re finished.¡±

    ¡°Ugh.¡± She shuddered again, deliberately this time. ¡°You¡¯ve been to one of these before?¡±

    ¡°Mm. Of¡­criminals and suchlike. For training.¡±

    ¡°Did you reattach any heads?¡±

    ¡°Absolutely not.¡± He made a sound of disgust. ¡°You should know that¡¯s not possible. I just dissected their bodies afterwards, along with the rest of the cohort.¡±

    ¡°I am so glad that I am not your real apprentice,¡± she said.

    ¡°You could give the dissection a go,¡± he offered. ¡°They probably suffer less than what I put the rats through.¡±

    She pushed the associated mental imagery to the back of her mind. ¡°I¡¯m not particularly fond of what you do to the rats either.¡±

    Zahir clicked his tongue and lifted the upturned book in his lap. ¡°They¡¯re an infestation and this is my job. I don¡¯t hurt them for fun. That would be weird.¡± He opened the book, turned a page, and furrowed his brow. ¡°Why so reluctant? Haven¡¯t you seen them do it to animals?¡±

    ¡°Yes, but¡­¡± She frowned and walked over to where she¡¯d left her satchel, propped up against the door. ¡°It¡®s the fact that it¡¯s not an animal this time.¡±

    ¡°Humans are animals,¡± he pointed out, not looking up from his book.

    ¡°You know what I mean. I meant¡­a person.¡±

    ¡°Think of the princess as an unusually large rabbit, then,¡± he said, and turned another page. ¡°An unusually large, treasonous rabbit with a crown on its head and quite a fair bit more blood inside.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s not funny.¡± She could feel her expression melting into a scowl. ¡°I don¡¯t want to watch someone get killed.¡±

    You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

    ¡°Neither do I.¡± He shrugged. ¡°Getting a good night¡¯s rest might fortify you. The other option is, you deprive yourself of sleep a few days in advance such that you can hardly fathom what¡¯s going on beyond the shadow-people hallucinations. I wouldn¡¯t recommend the second one though. One of the bluebirds might gut you if you lose it and disrupt the ceremony.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re hilarious,¡± she said flatly. Any other time, she might have laughed. As it was, her stomach just churned uneasily.

    He gave a half-laugh himself, filling in for her. ¡°Indeed. It¡¯s a curse.¡±

    ¡°Yes, I imagine so. Goodnight,¡± she said, and left.

    Halfway down to the lower dining halls, she glanced out of a window and saw skyships dotted along the mountainous horizon. She leaned her head against the cool glass as she stifled a yawn. Rana was working another night shift. She wouldn¡¯t have anyone to talk to after dinner. At least one of them got to miss the execution.

    Zahir had been right; it was probably best to catch as much sleep as possible. No doubt she would have to stumble blearily through pre-dawn bells along with the rest of the illegitimate royalty, all of them herded onto zephyr-boats to watch the salt stain red with the princess¡¯s blood.

    ===

    In front of them, the Magicians were scraping lines into the salt flats. Several strode past her, close enough to reach out and touch¡ªnot that any sane person would dare. Their robes, shockingly blue, were so thick with embroidery that up close, the fabric was textured like waves. She suppressed a shiver and watched as their bird-like masks glinted in the watery light.

    The air crackled with loose strands of magic. This was no little sand rabbit for a river or a harvest. It was a royal execution, plain and simple. Around her, whispers ran amok under the rustle of heavy cloaks.

    ¡°I didn¡¯t believe you when you said it was the harpist,¡± a girl muttered to Aliyah¡¯s left. The chill air seemed to be worsening the crackle in her voice. ¡°She was full-blooded. A favourite, too. Why throw that away? It¡¯s crazy. What¡¯s the point?¡±

    ¡°It was money, or the gemstone mines, or something,¡± replied the young man by her side. ¡°I don¡¯t care. Who needs to be up at this time of day?¡±

    ¡°Watch it with that kind of talk, Nadim. It¡¯ll be us next.¡±

    ¡°Psh. Not you. They always need people for the kites.¡±

    ¡°Maybe.¡± The girl coughed; Aliyah could hear phlegm in the sound. The air was not still.

    Zahir¡¯s lessons murmured from over her shoulder, of the blistering of the skin and the burning of the lungs. Vesicles popping. This far out West, even on a good day¡ªa day scheduled for sand-boating or sacrificing alike¡ªthere was the tinge of something harsh and alkaline on the edge of the breeze. The beautiful silver spell net, as much as it could shelter them from a storm, could not fully purge the air of lingering poisons no matter how tightly or precisely it had been woven. For someone like the raspy-voiced, kiter girl, it was not an auspicious sign at all.

    Dozens of Magicians stood in impassive lines upon a raised platform crafted from hard-packed salt and slabs of stone. One of them, wearing a mask fashioned after the image of a falcon, was polishing a block.

    Near the Magicians stood the highborn group, draped in shimmering execution-white. She scanned the crowd until she found Zahir, his face impassive. At such a distance, she couldn¡¯t sense exactly how unevenly the highborns were breathing, or if any of them were trembling under their robes, but the stillness and silence of the crowd was sign enough. These people likely knew the princess Alhena, had spoken and joked and dined with her.

    There was a sudden stir among the Magicians, a hurrying into formation.

    The shadow of a royal skyship bore down upon them. It was a silent and graceful thing, gargantuan but with the most delicately ribbed of armatures. Today, the sails were coloured a blinding white.

    The ship touched down on the salt with barely a sound and the hatch unfurled like a beckoning claw.

    The king emerged first, flanked by more Magicians. He looked unremarkable, for all the whispers of his power¡ªa tall man, with grey at his temples and beard. He carried a string of bells. The queen followed shortly thereafter, bearing her lyre. They were both surrounded by a full retinue of guards. Six full-blooded children glided after them with their own circle of guards, each carrying their instrument of choice¡ªtwo wore the blue of Magicianhood, but were unmasked. Then a Magician emerged, bearing a naked sword on his upturned palms. And finally, the traitor-princess Alhena was brought forth in chains.

    She wore white as well¡ªwas drowning in it. Layers and layers of fabric puddled around her, dragging across the salt as she stumbled forwards. The abundance of white cloth only served to highlight the darkness of her shackles and chains. They glistened with oily black ward-signs: the vicious and expensive kind that corroded at anyone trying to escape them, the type Aliyah had only read about in history books. The princess¡¯s fingertips were blackened with necrosis, the injuries not quite hidden by her draping sleeves. Aliyah had not been the only one to notice; rippling murmurs of horror erupted around her. One of the Magicians thumped her staff into the salt, calling for silence.

    The princess took slow, faltering steps, prodded by guards all the while. Aliyah stared at her hunched posture, at her trembling face framed by dark hair that looked as if it had been forcibly washed and brushed and pinned into place to expose her slender neck. Her eyes were red-rimmed. The princess did not embody a proud, scheming royal marching towards her death with dignity and disdain. She looked like a lost girl, barely older than Aliyah herself. The princess fumbled, grasping at her skirts with those awful rotting fingers as she lifted the hem to step onto the salt-and-stone platform. A Magician caught her by the elbow, turned her round and forced her to her knees. She did not struggle as they guided her head onto the block.

    ¡°We gather for the execution of the Seventhborn Princess Alhena Shadowsong,¡± the head Magician intoned, raising the blade until it flashed in the dawn light. His voice was booming and melodious, hissing slightly at the edges from how it had been amplified by a spell. ¡°For the crimes of treason, espionage, sedition, and attempted murder. The notes of condemnation shall now be cast.¡±

    One by one, the royals raised their instruments and cast dull notes into the air¡ªlittle slices of shadow. Some of their expressions¡ªthe king¡¯s, the queen¡¯s and one of the siblings¡ªwere twisted as if in sorrow; the rest appeared blank, peaceful. The twisting shadow-shapes surged towards the head Magician and sank into the metal of the proffered blade until it glowed white with runes.

    ¡°Seventhborn Princess Alhena Shadowsong. We expect neither forgiveness nor remorse. State your last words and choose them wisely.¡± The Magician grasped the blade by its gleaming handle and raised it.

    Another Magician leaned down and took the princess by the chin. His hand glowed with spell-light before he let go and retreated. The princess raised her head from the block, just slightly. She shaped her mouth around a word, but a trickle of blood emerged instead of sound. She coughed. Her expression crumbled as she tried again.

    ¡°It is too late,¡± she choked out. Her words rang out across the salt, imbued with that odd, crackling quality that came with amplification spells. ¡°They are coming.¡±

    ¡°Your words have been acknowledged.¡±

    The blade thrummed as it bore down. There was the crunch of yielding bone¡ªcervical vertebrae, thought Aliyah distantly¡ªa spray of blood¡ªarterial¡ªand the princess¡¯s body spasmed. Then, a wet, crackling sound. The blade had not gone fully through. The crackling may well have been the princess struggling to breathe through the ruins of her larynx, though she lay so limp that she could very well have died already. Aliyah hoped, quite fervently, that she had died already.

    The Magician raised the sword once more. It struck her then that it was a remarkably slender blade for the task. She wondered how she could have thought that the princess¡¯s head would come off in one, clean stroke like in the storybooks. It had not been like this with the springtime rabbits, which did not speak or scream or look as if they had been weeping. They had merely gone limp as their necks were twisted with a strong grip and a sure motion; bloodless, merciful.

    The disgraced princess was given no such dignity.

    The Magician swung once more and this time, the princess¡¯s head detached from her body and rolled, coming to a rest face-down in the salt.

    ¡°We proclaim that the Seventhborn Princess Alhena Shadowsong has been brought to justice.¡±

    A patch of red was spreading upon the salt-ground where the head lay. Blood pulsed forth in spurts from the fresh stump of the princess¡¯s neck. It flowed in dark rivulets down the front of the block and into concentric whorls over the salt, guided by the stenciled patterns that the Magicians had prepared.

    Aliyah¡¯s stomach churned. It looked almost uncomfortably ritualistic, beckoning forth old tales and whispered stories by moonlight; of blood magics and people being broken open with magic circles, of sacrificial lowborns just like her¡­

    The air smelled of hot iron. The royal blood steamed faintly in the morning chill.

    ¡°We are honoured by your witness,¡± said the Magician, and bowed. ¡°May you serve the crown well.¡±

 1.2 - Stitch Together

    Aliyah

    Aliyah sneezed. The laundry hall, cavernous and echoing as it was, smelled of wet dust. People flitted to and fro, hanging up sheets to dry; others sat in rings and passed conversation around as they did their mending.

    She perched at the periphery of her sewing circle, piloting six needles which darted in and out, closing rips and adding patches to preserve the precious linen. Most of her clothes were similarly darned, she thought gloomily, and wondered when she¡¯d next be able to afford new skirts.

    ¡°The next big Glister shipment isn¡¯t due for a couple of years yet,¡± one of the girls grumbled. ¡°My cousin¡¯s a Weathermancer and she says that they¡¯re cycling through rye before getting to flax. We¡¯ll be sleeping on woven reeds before the year¡¯s out.¡±

    ¡°Pah, didn¡¯t you hear? They¡¯re searching for gemstone sites up North. Fancy that, all you lads and lasses in shiny stones. Say, Caph, I think a string of turquoise would suit you.¡±

    ¡°Hah, I wish.¡±

    ¡°How was the execution earlier?¡± someone else asked.

    Aliyah glanced up from her work and flinched, but the question was for another scion-lowborn.

    ¡°Oh, it was awful,¡± he replied in hushed tones. ¡°She was all quiet and miserable and when they chopped, her blood went everywhere¡ªand did you hear? They caught at least a dozen sympathisers. Lord Reza was missing from his rounds this morning.¡±

    Aliyah felt cold at the thought of others put on that block, their blood pooling into the salt, guided into Magician symbols, forming miniature rivers¡­

    ¡°She had a courtesan-spy too,¡± another girl giggled. ¡°How glamorous.¡±

    ¡°Shhh, shut it,¡± the Weathermancer¡¯s cousin whispered, ¡°There¡¯s a highborn coming through!¡±

    ¡°Who?¡±

    ¡°A Healer, I think. One of the younger ones. Pretty handsome, if you ask me.¡±

    ¡°Tsk, not really,¡± someone else scoffed. ¡°You need better taste. I say, is that blood on his cloak?¡±

    ¡°Oh horrors, do you think it¡¯s from the execution?¡±

    A flurry of nervous titters and shocked sounds erupted through the circle.

    ¡°Why¡¯s he coming this way?¡±

    ¡°Shh, shh, quiet!¡±

    A hush fell. Aliyah glared down at her mending and pointedly ignored the sound of footsteps coming to a stop behind her.

    ¡°Aliyah,¡± Zahir exclaimed with a disturbing level of cheer. ¡°There you are!¡±

    When she glanced up at her fellow maids, her heart sank. The entire mending circle was staring at her. Some looked intrigued, others scornful. She was sure that at least one of them was on the verge of giggling.

    ¡°What are you doing here?¡± she hissed, attacking the linen in her lap with a cross-hatch of stitches. ¡°I¡¯m¡ªwe¡¯re working. I can¡¯t talk right now.¡±

    Her skin prickled under dozens of watchful eyes and her stomach sank as she reassessed her words, turning them over for any possible flaw. No doubt they were already inferring whatever subtext they wished to see.

    ¡°It is important. Can you leave early?¡±

    ¡°No.¡±

    ¡°Then could you point me to the hydrogen peroxide?¡±

    She finally turned around. ¡°Excuse me?¡±

    Zahir was still clad in pristine execution-white. It clashed against his dark hair and washed out his complexion, making him look almost sickly. She suspected that she looked similarly miserable in maidservant-grey.

    ¡°Blood,¡± he said by way of explanation, and gestured at the hem of his cloak. There was a large-ish stain there, an incongruous splash of rust. It was possible that he had wandered right over one of the Magician¡¯s makeshift miniature blood-canals on the way back from the salt flats, but she suspected it was more likely to have resulted from an accident with some poor castle rat¡¯s arterial supply.

    ¡°Your apprentices can¡¯t fetch it for you?¡±

    ¡°Funny thing, it¡¯s almost like they¡¯ve been trying to avoid me ever since I sent them to acquire a few samples from the septic tank on North corner.¡±

    She didn¡¯t comment on his inane attempt at humour. ¡°That looks dried. You¡¯ll need enzymes for it.¡±

    ¡°So by all means, lead the way.¡±

    Aliyah set down her linen and walked at what she hoped was a steady, reasonable pace down the hall to the chemical cupboard.

    ¡°Don¡¯t come in,¡± she warned him as she opened the door. Zahir raised an eyebrow, but did not otherwise comment. ¡°Just¡ªkeep standing there, please. Where they can see you. Thank you.¡±

    Such were the hazards of being an apprenticeling¡ªshe could feel her reputation being slashed to ribbons as she spoke.

    She fetched a jar each of hydrogen peroxide and enzyme paste from the musty depths of the cupboard¡ªit was more of a corridor than a cupboard, which still reminded her of the Higher Library and gave her the creeps. When she emerged, he was standing exactly where she had left him and shamelessly staring back at the various sewing circles¡ªalmost all of which had taken notice by now.

    ¡°Here.¡± She held out the items. ¡°Take them.¡±

    ¡°Much appreciated. When does your shift end?¡±

    ¡°Noon.¡±

    ¡°Come up to the office as soon as you¡¯re done,¡± he said. ¡°It¡¯s important. I¡¯m serious, by the way. Not another rat-catching expedition.¡±

    ¡°Zah¡ªHealer Saar-Salai,¡± she said, catching herself. The nearest people were a fair ways away, but she was fairly sure that half the maids here had uncannily sharp hearing. ¡°I am working.¡±

    ¡°I know. Believe me, this is important,¡± Zahir said. Something about the urgency in his voice gave her pause.

    ¡°And why is that?¡±

    Zahir fixed her with an unimpressed look. ¡°Do you remember what the seventhborn princess said, earlier today?¡±

    Did she remember? She cast her thoughts back, even though she very much didn¡¯t want to. A chill ran down her spine as she recalled them.

    It is too late. They are coming.

    ===

    She burst into Zahir¡¯s office, magic pounding through her skull like a headache and panting with exertion.

    ¡°Damn you,¡± she hissed between breaths, trying to circulate oxygen, to steady her breathing. ¡°Could you not have put your quarters into a tower with fewer stairs?¡±

    Zahir looked up from the assortment of items spread out over his desk. A tall stack of papers had been shoved to the side; it looked in danger of collapsing.

    Stolen story; please report.

    ¡°Oh, hello.¡± he waved absentmindedly, blunt condiment knife in hand. ¡°You made it here early.¡±

    ¡°Of course I did! What with the ominous message and¡ªwhat are you doing?¡±

    ¡°I am making a sandwich,¡± he said, placing a slice of bread onto the plate in front of him. ¡°I was just thinking that this particular spread would pair well with the pickled vegetables.¡±

    ¡°This had better not be your idea of a joke,¡± she said. She could feel sudden outrage simmering in her chest, bubbling up like poison. ¡°You speak in cryptic riddles and walk off, I worry myself grey for an hour as my peers make stupid assumptions and ridicule me for them, and then you make me sneak into your doorway and run up hundreds of stairs just to show off your sandwich ingredients?¡±

    She knew she was probably being unfair, but that last hour in the sewing circle had been unbearable. She hadn¡¯t quite gone grey, but it had been a near thing, fretting over the mysterious message: they are coming. Who was ¡®they¡¯?

    ¡°On the contrary, I think it¡¯s extremely important to have a good last meal. Help yourself, I¡¯m sure you¡¯re hungry after all that laundry work and all of those stairs.¡±

    Her thoughts raced to catch up. Last meal¡ª? What in the hells was he going on about?

    ¡°First of all, what did you mean by ¡®it is too late, they are coming¡¯?¡± she demanded. ¡°Who are ¡®they¡¯?¡±

    ¡°Sit down and get some nutrition into you,¡± he said, applying a smear of green paste to a slice of bread. ¡°We¡¯re all probably going to die soon.¡±

    He said it lightly enough. That gave her pause and quelled her rising panic. He couldn¡¯t say it like that if they were actually in danger, could he? Then again, she¡¯d never seen him properly lose his composure, so perhaps he was simply under-reacting to a stressful scenario as was typical of him ¡ªonly this time, it could be a situation that really would kill them all.

    Fire could start raining down from the sky and Zahir Saar-fucking-Salai would be sitting there making a tactless observation over the rim of his teacup, she thought gloomily. He¡¯d probably say something like, ¡®it appears as if we¡¯re all going to burn to death. But not me, because I¡¯m a Healer. Want some tea before you go?¡¯

    ¡°Are you serious about the dying thing?¡± she asked, before her imagination ran away with her.

    She noticed, with no small amount of dismay, that he was using a crinkled map as a napkin. Still, her stomach rumbled and she was suddenly aware that the only thing she¡¯d eaten since the dawn execution was a bowlful of questionable pottage. She sat and began piling goat cheese and slices of tomato onto the proffered bread.

    ¡°I think that you are more susceptible to dying, but certainly, we are all at risk,¡± he said. He took a bite of his sandwich with a sour expression on his face, chewed, swallowed. ¡°They¡¯ll probably put my apprentices and I on that wreck of a Healer¡¯s ship and drop us into complete mayhem.¡±

    ¡°Wait, wait. Explain: mayhem? And who is the ¡®they¡¯ that the princess insisted was coming? Do you think that ¡®they¡¯ are going to kill us all, is that it?¡±

    He held up a hand as he finished swallowing his bite of sandwich. ¡°I suspect that the ¡®they¡¯ that Alhena referred to are whoever or whatever is soon disturbed in the Northern gemstone mountains, but I have not yet confirmed the nature of these beings or phenomena.¡±

    ¡°Beings or phenomena,¡± she echoed, and felt her expression twist into a frown. ¡°You think there¡¯s some horrible slumbering magic thing in the mountains? Something like another Killing Field? Or what, an Old-World dragon? You do know that this sounds incredibly dramatic, right?¡±

    ¡°No. Something a little less exciting than that, but likely still quite dangerous.¡± He paused and peered over at her plate. ¡°You should take more of the lettuce. It¡¯s fresh from hydroponics, you know.¡±

    She obliged, and noted¡ªbegrudgingly¡ªthat it really was quite good.

    ¡°Nice ¡®last meal¡¯, I suppose,¡± she said.

    ¡°Not quite your last meal,¡± he countered. ¡°I suppose you could fit dinner in before whatever happens, happens.¡± He gestured with his map-napkin and she noted that it looked as if he had been scribbling all over it with red ink. ¡°Due to distances and such. From the mountain mining site to the castle, a reasonable creature would take oh, about a day and then some before showing up on the horizon. I am estimating, of course. I could be wrong.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re sure about the whole ¡®mining¡¯ thing? On what basis do you believe the words of a dead princess?¡±

    ¡°You are not familiar with court politics, I assume?¡±

    ¡°Not at all.¡±

    Zahir set down his food and took a slow, deep breath. ¡°Suppose that you have noticed, in retrospect, that Alhena ¡®s currying of court favours became more pronounced and erratic over the past year as the King and Magicians grew in favour towards mining efforts in the mountains. Also consider the official Magician statements of her treasonous motives¡ªovertaking the mountain mines, presumed greed¡ªcombined with her final words: ¡®it is too late; they are coming¡¯. Could it be then, that Alhena knew something of the nature of those mountains that we do not?¡±

    Aliyah looked at him blankly. ¡°That¡¯s a lot of speculation and only the last part made any sense to me. Look, Behemoths don¡¯t hibernate in mountains. And I don¡¯t think I¡¯ve seen a witch come by with a warning in years. I mean, I guess they¡¯d have to travel far which is why I haven¡¯t heard of one for so long, or maybe I just haven¡¯t been listening, but they wouldn¡¯t just¡ªabandon the kingdom. Would they?¡±

    ¡°No,¡± he said, shaking his head. ¡°I do not think it is a Behemoth. That would be too obvious; the witches would indeed have noticed. We would have heard of it by now; people would be screaming their heads off. I think it¡¯s far more likely to be a disrupted herd of some kind, a dangerous but esoteric species. She did, after all, say ¡®they¡¯ and not ¡®it¡¯.¡±

    ¡°Disrupted,¡± she said doubtfully. ¡°Disrupted how? Oh, never mind. Right, because they¡¯re going to be mining there. But they¡¯re not mining out the whole mountain, you know. You make it sound like¡ªlike vengeful mountain creatures are going to invade the kingdom. I mean, it sounds so fanciful. I¡¯m pretty sure I read something like that in a storybook when I was small, except it was about skyfish. The message was to teach children to be kind to nature, or something.¡±

    ¡°Fiction is a product of its environment,¡± he said. ¡°Such circumstances do not merely occur in fables aiming to instill values which are antithetical to ecological destruction. There is a historical precedent for such things. Most notably, the former kingdom of Fawnfell was consumed by knife-spirits a mere century ago¡ª¡±

    ¡°Yeah, okay,¡± she broke in. ¡°But if Alhena knew about this, then why mess around in court? Why keep a spymaster?¡± None of this made any sense.

    Zahir sighed. ¡°The kingdom is¡ªdying, economically, if you haven¡¯t noticed.¡±

    He said it as if it were obvious fact, and yes, she supposed that fruit and imported fabrics had been growing more expensive for a while now. But that was just life, wasn¡¯t it?

    ¡°Foreign nobility is pushing at the borders and asking to be let in,¡± he continued. ¡°And that¡¯s the last thing the kingdom wants. Outside mastery of Songian magics dilutes its strength as a tool of warfare, and the court is stuck in the old ways. I suppose that it is difficult to be an isolationist empire in this day and age, even with a field of neurotoxins barring the way. Since bridging ties with the rest of the continent goes against Magician ideals, the kingdom has a vested interest in acquiring valuable resources. Precious gemstones and the ever-coveted energy crystals being among them. Alhena and the rest of the royals and all the upper echelons besides¡ªand that includes my peers and I, with all that our influence entails¡ªdepend on the kingdom¡¯s ability to finance its own affairs.¡±

    ¡°I still don¡¯t understand,¡± she said, bewildered. ¡°If she was sure that it was dangerous, then why not just say so? She was a princess, for star¡¯s sake. She might lose a bit of court status and you all might have been a bit less rich than you are now, but at least she wouldn¡¯t have died, that way. What¡¯s the point of shuffling the court and having a spymaster?¡±

    ¡°Too much caution,¡± he said dryly. ¡°She didn¡¯t have the benefit of hindsight that you do now. And she likely commanded less power than you assume. ¡®Princess¡¯ is, after all, just an inherited title that dooms her into producing future heir-spawn regardless of her taste in courtesans. ¡®Court harpist¡¯ is also a prestigious title, but not nearly as powerful as, say, ¡®Magician¡¯. I suppose there are many convoluted reasons as to why she did not speak up. When in doubt, suspect politics.¡±

    ¡°Zahir, she¡¯s dead,¡± she said, head still whirling from the onslaught of information. ¡°And you¡¯re just guessing at what the message was. You don¡¯t have proof. You can¡¯t go and ask her what she meant, unless you¡¯ve revived the art of necromancy.¡±

    ¡°Correct,¡± he sighed, ¡°I cannot. However, they still have her spymaster down in the dungeon. We will pay her a visit.¡±

    She startled. The dungeons? Dread pooled in her stomach as she considered it. ¡°What, right now?¡±

    ¡°After I finish my sandwich.¡±

    ¡°Why summon me, though?¡± she asked. ¡°I mean, maybe you just find it funny to mock me in front of the whole laundry hall, but what¡¯s this even got to do with me? I don¡¯t really want or need to go down there. You can do whatever you want. You don¡¯t need my help.¡±

    He fell silent for a moment, looking pensive. ¡°I thought you deserved to know. As I said, you¡¯re rather susceptible to dying, as things stand.¡±

    ¡°You really think that something¡¯s been disturbed in the mountains and it¡¯s coming to kill us?¡± she asked, exasperated. ¡°Even if that were true, we have Magicians. We have an army. It¡¯s not like the knife-spirits or mystical mountain-creatures or whatever¡ªit¡¯s not as if they¡¯re able to walk in through the gates and start killing people by the dozen.¡±

    But beneath the surface-level exasperation¡ªwhich was, to her dismay, mostly a front¡ªa poisonous nodule of anxiety wormed its way into her chest. True, Zahir had some hare-brained ideas from time to time, but he wasn¡¯t stupid. He was still a Healer, she reminded herself. Several leagues above her when it came to court tricks and machinations.

    ¡°Not quite,¡± he said. ¡°I think that the Magicians will kill you to combat whatever comes out of the mountains. This supposed invader is, as you say, ¡®mystical¡¯ in nature. The Magicians fear that. Surely you¡¯ve heard the stories, seen the festival theatrics? Slaying gluttonous dragons and burning nymphs alive. You know the like.¡±

    ¡°The Magicians¡­? You¡¯re joking,¡± she said. She frowned at him even as she cast her mind back to footnotes in textbooks, stories told in hushed voices, mock-terror by moonlight, the execution that had happened¡­had it really been just this morning? The event felt simultaneously close and weeks past, breathing down her neck and yet swimming out of focus, a mirage over the salt. ¡°Are you talking about the whole¡­blood ritual thing?¡±

    The very words sent a shiver down her spine as they came out of her mouth. Hadn¡¯t she thought, just earlier today, that the blood flowing through the channels had seemed uncomfortably ritualistic?

    ¡°That¡¯s not a real tradition,¡± she added hastily. ¡°It¡¯s just a legend. A dumb wartime story.¡±

    ¡°I hope so,¡± he said quietly. ¡°I really do hope so.¡±

 1.3 - Spymaster

    Aliyah

    One look at Zahir¡¯s Healer badge¡ªthe silver curled like an open hand¡ªand a simple ¡®she¡¯s with me¡¯, was all the pair of guards on duty needed. She sort of expected it, but it was still discomforting to see them practically scrape and bow to let them through.

    They descended, Zahir first and Aliyah second, into the dark core of the castle dungeon. The spiraling staircase whorled ever-onwards.

    She was wearing one of Zahir¡¯s old Healer cloaks over her maidservant uniform. It made for plausible-looking apprentice¡¯s gear after a hasty hemming¡ªthough the fabric carried a lingering scent of rosewater and what she strongly suspected was burnt hair. She clung to a makeshift lantern: two freshly-charged, bulbous sun-lamps lashed to a pole.

    Zahir held a set of crooked keys which he used to unlock and relock gates on the way down; Aliyah averted her eyes from their light. Lightning-white runes flitted over their surfaces like fractal insects, and perceiving them induced a roiling nausea that she could not dampen by merely cheating parts of her own biology. Twice, she had looked for too long and had to turn away to gag.

    They were three gates down when she strained her ears, shifted more than a few mechanoreceptors around, and asked ¡°¡­Is that singing?¡±

    ¡°I believe so. People can have unusual responses to pain.¡±

    She digested his response for a minute. She fixed her eyes on the back of Zahir¡¯s head, glancing every now and again at the tempting glint of the nausea-keys hooked onto a loop at his belt.

    They walked. The air felt cool and dry against her face.

    ¡°So do you torture people?¡± she blurted out, then winced immediately afterwards. Very polite, Aliyah, she thought. What an innocuous and unprovocative accusation.

    His stride didn¡¯t falter. ¡°Hm? What makes you ask that?¡± His tone sounded oddly neutral¡ªblandly cheerful, even. It was the tone he used when feigning polite interest at courtly visitors.

    ¡°You mentioned pain. You have keys to a dungeon. Which I assume involves torture, if the princess¡¯s spy is being held there. Because¡ªum. Magicians.¡±

    ¡°Indeed,¡± he said, and her heart sank.

    ¡°So. You either stole these keys from someone, which is bold even for you, or¡­¡±

    ¡°Or¡­?¡±

    ¡°Or you come down here to torture people.¡±

    ¡°Hmm,¡± he said in that odd tone again. ¡°The Magicians torture people. I¡¯m just a simple Healer.¡±

    ¡°Simple Healer. Right.¡± Aliyah scoffed. ¡°So you heal the people that they torture?¡±

    ¡°True enough, but there¡¯s more to it than that. Think about it. And¡­?¡±

    Aliyah mulled over that one for a little longer.

    ¡°¡­and you heal them so that they can be tortured again.¡±

    ¡°Right on, little Aliyah. Take some time to process that if you need to.¡±

    She was suddenly and acutely aware that she was following a verified torture-enabler down into the bowels of the castle, with multiple locked gates behind her.

    It¡¯s still Zahir, she reminded herself. The reason she was not currently doubled over in chronic agony. The at-times irritating, sort of flighty mentor with a habit of nicking fresh vegetables from the hydroponics department. She¡¯d known him for long enough to know that he was trustworthy, right? Second-rank Healer Zahir Saar-Salai, who maybe-probably-definitely wasn¡¯t going to hurt her.

    Her gaze moved from the back of his head to the sliver of his neck that was visible over the collar of his robes. She wondered idly as to his reaction if she were to hit him there with the sun-lantern she was gripping, right in the junction between his atlas and axis bones. She brushed the intrusive thought away and focused on walking. For a little while, the world felt as if it only existed in pieces.

    The echoing sound of their footsteps on stone.

    The yellowish-white glow of the sun-lamps.

    The flicker of the keys at the edge of her vision.

    The faint, faltering prisoner¡¯s song at the edge of her hearing, until she dropped her ears back down to their normal sensitivities and the sound flickered out.

    It was Zahir who broke the near-silence as they stopped to unlock yet another gate. ¡°Second week after registration, we take the apprentices down here and see if they can handle it,¡± he said. ¡°It shapes them into excellent blunt weapons.¡±

    She thought of the two hundred and six bones in a human body, from the delicate stirrup of the ear to the curve in the ribs, the deep crevices of the skull. Of how they could be splintered beyond recognition and then uncrushed, reknit, made whole. How she probably couldn¡¯t do that.

    ¡°Well, um. If they fix people and not rats, that would make them better than me,¡± she said, trying not to sound bitter about it.

    ¡°Would it? Clumsy little learners, it matters not if they mangle and maim.¡± His tone grew darker still. ¡°Sometimes, they are even encouraged to.¡±

    ¡°Uh. Are you¡­alright?¡± It was the most somber she had ever seen him.

    ¡°I¡¯m well, thank you,¡± he said, a blatant lie.

    It felt like watching someone sinking while standing on the riverbank. Old children¡¯s tales of madness-workings woven into the very mortar of cursed castles crowded into her head. Ridiculous, of course. She shivered, doubted that there was anything she could say or do. Zahir was an excellent, if sometimes irritating, mentor. At times, he was flippantly morbid in the way that a lot of Healers seemed to be. But never before had he betrayed such disquietude. She drew the silence around her like a shielding, stifling blanket as they walked and walked and walked ever-downwards, with only the sun-lamps to light the way.

    Zahir stopped before the final gate and simply stared at the lock.

    ¡°Zahir?¡± she asked a little frantically when he did not move to open it.

    ¡°Forgive me,¡± he said, shaking his head, seemingly emerging from a reverie. He started on the lock. ¡°It brings back memories. I haven¡¯t been down here since I was an apprentice.¡±

    So if he had participated in inflicting torture, then it had been many years ago. That didn¡¯t make her feel less uneasy.

    The last gate clicked open; beyond, a surprisingly well-lit corridor with doors¡ªsome with viewing windows, others impenetrably opaque¡ªset into both sides. The sing-song prisoner¡¯s tune emanated from within one of the opaque doors; a light, feminine voice that produced more of a pained warble than distinguishable words, interspersed with long periods of tuneless humming. Door four on the left side, she noted. A warden, tall and broad with a rippled scar across one cheek, stood next to it. He rested his hand on the pommel of a shortsword at his hip.

    ¡°Sir Healer,¡± he said, dipping his head. He eyed Aliyah, frowning. ¡°And¡­new apprentice, is it? I must say that Lady Sadrava¡¯s current condition is¡­well, the young lady may wish to remain outside.¡±

    ¡°That won¡¯t be necessary,¡± Zahir said.

    ¡°Very well, sir.¡±

    The warden unlocked the door from which the singing emanated. Zahir opened it and entered. She followed close behind, feeling distinctly as if she shouldn¡¯t be here.

    ¡°Shut the door, please,¡± he called over his shoulder.

    She did so and when she turned back to the room, it was all she could do to stand and stare for a moment.

    There was a table, a big metal table bolted to the floor at the center of the room. There was a body on the table and it was covered in blood.

    She was no stranger to injuries, but the sheer amount of blood gave her pause¡ªso much blood in stark contrast to the minimal brightness of the torture room. The metallic tang warred with the stink of strong disinfectant. She held her breath for a moment, then started to carefully breathe in through her teeth. Harsh lights. Plenty of visibility. She forced her eyes to adjust and to break down the sight in front of her.

    The prone form on the table was a young woman, chained up, not dead, humming softly. She was dressed in sparse, bloodied underclothes and her face was turned away from them. She had long, dark hair and tan skin that looked a touch paler around what Aliyah could see of her blood-stained cheek.

    Zahir stood by the table and unhooked a contraption from his belt¡ªa large, egg-shaped, silvery thing that made the air cold with a magical working as it unfurled like a clockwork flower. Aliyah felt her ears pop as she approached. She recognised yet more nausea-inducing runes on its insides and hastily averted her eyes.

    ¡°Lady Sadrava,¡± he said. ¡°I am sure you can ascertain that this is a legitimate shielding. Speak freely.¡±

    Alhena¡¯s so-called right hand and spymaster stopped humming and turned her head to face them. She looked about Aliyah¡¯s age, only with a more finely-shaped, classically-beautiful face¡ªa face that was contorted in pain, eyes scrunched up and lips pressed tightly together. She cracked her eyes open; they were a disconcerting and unnatural shade of ice-blue.

    She was chained to the table by each limb; a cruel-looking collar encircled her neck. The rune-chains vaguely resembled the princess Alhena¡¯s at her execution; Aliyah scanned her for signs of necrosis, but found none. Instead, cuts had been opened all over her body. The yellowish, bubbly gleam of adipose tissue peeked out from a long, gaping gash on her calf. Most of the wounds weren¡¯t actively bleeding¡ªsome sort of powerful Magician stasis, applied through the chains?¡ªbut the shallower cuts oozed fresh blood. She glanced away to the floor, noted pinkish water dripping into drainage-grates at the base of the table¡ªdrainage grates?¡ªand took a few slow, shallow breaths. Concentrate.

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    ¡°Good day, Saar-Salai¡ªor Zahir, was it?¡± Lady Sadrava said, voice hoarse with pain. ¡°All this ¡®Lady this, Sadrava that¡¯, it¡¯s rather lost on me now. I prefer Kionah.¡±

    Aliyah felt sick.

    ¡°Very well, Kionah,¡± Zahir said, as if he were not speaking to a bloodstained woman chained to a table. ¡°I have been told that you have divulged very little information.¡±

    Kionah squeezed her eyes shut once more and winced in response.

    ¡°Myself and my student were both present for the execution of your patron, the Princess Alhena Shadowsong, earlier today,¡± Zahir continued.

    Kionah cracked an eyelid open. One of her hands made a faltering, dismissive movement; Aliyah¡¯s stomach, already tender from the onslaught of nausea-runes, lurched as she saw that her fingers were missing the nails, ragged and bloody.

    ¡°Yes. I know,¡± she said slowly. ¡°I know your game. Answer questions first. Then healing. Then unhealing. Then more questions.¡±

    ¡°How inefficient. You can¡¯t possibly be expected to articulate yourself in such a state.¡±

    He placed a light hand upon the tattered flesh of Kionah¡¯s shoulder. And then her numerous wounds melded shut, like it was nothing. Her fingernails regrew too, keratin surging smoothly from their roots.

    Aliyah stared, wide-eyed. Zahir had healed her so cleanly and precisely, in a manner of seconds. An irrational pang of envy struck her square in the chest. To achieve something similar would have taken her, what, at least an hour? And it would cost her blood and a headache, a rather lot of both. As far as she could see, he was barely breaking a sweat.

    ¡°The Princess Alhena¡¯s last words were ¡®it is too late¡¯ followed by ¡®they are coming¡¯,¡± Zahir continued. ¡°What is the meaning of this to you?¡±

    ¡°It means it¡¯s too late,¡± said Kionah wearily. ¡°It means I¡¯ll die with the rest of you, if not by the Magicians.¡±

    ¡°Kionah, who are ¡®they¡¯?¡±

    She laughed. ¡°What reason do I have to humour you?¡±

    ¡°Lady Kionah. Where could you run if I let you go?¡±

    Aliyah¡¯s idling thoughts came to a screeching halt. What had he just said?

    ¡°Pardon?¡± Kionah croaked.

    ¡°You were caught fleeing. Not found hiding with a dagger in hand, not backed into a corner now that your princess had been caught, but fleeing. So am I correct in presuming you have some way of leaving Shadowsong? Or has that skyship long left port?¡± He smiled tightly at his own joke.

    Kionah remained silent.

    ¡°Do tell, Lady Kionah. I have seen the changes in the Magicians. I know they were the ones who revealed your treachery, but how could they have known your movements so intimately? That is a pretty question indeed.¡±

    ¡°You already know what the magicians want. Power.¡±

    ¡°I will ask again. Can you flee somewhere safe if I let you go?¡±

    He couldn¡¯t be serious. Aliyah could feel her heart rate rising. She was starting to¡ªquietly¡ªpanic. This was treason, wasn¡¯t it?

    She pinched herself discreetly, felt her nerves respond in kind. Definitely not a bad dream, then. She hadn¡¯t thought so¡ªher nightmares tended to be less about other people bleeding¡ªbut Zahir¡¯s words were starting to make her understanding of the situation fray at the edges.

    ¡°And why would you do that?¡± Kionah laughed softly. ¡°The Magicians won¡¯t kill you. Too useful. Also too much to lose if it were traced back to you.¡± She paused. ¡°And many answers to gain along a line of questioning that dangles freedom in front of my nose.¡±

    He narrowed his eyes. ¡°You¡¯ll have a better chance of escape if I tell my student to flee with you.¡±

    Aliyah flinched.

    ¡°What?¡± she exclaimed. Her own voice sounded strangled¡ªsmall and scared, pitched too high. No. No, this couldn¡¯t be happening. Help the spymaster escape? Zahir couldn¡¯t be serious. It had to be a part of his strange interrogation technique.

    ¡°Her?¡± Kionah asked half a beat later. ¡°Why¡¯s that?¡±

    ¡°In the face of whatever is coming, they would kill her. If Alhena is to be believed¡ªif it¡¯s truly as bad as she claimed.¡±

    ¡°Zahir? Again with the killing?¡± Aliyah interrupted, aghast. ¡°No. That sort of thing hasn¡¯t been done for decades.¡±

    He crossed his arms, looking heavily unimpressed by her reasoning. ¡°The fact that you are aware of the historical basis is telling. Though, a mere seven or eight decades is a blink of the eye when it comes to history.¡±

    ¡°Okay, look¡ªyes, we know and people joke about it, but¡­¡± She winced inwardly at the trace of desperation at the edge of her voice. ¡°It would take a full war for them to start siphoning off lowborns. Even if they¡¯re lowly maidservants.¡±

    ¡°It could well be a war,¡± she caught him muttering under his breath.

    ¡°War? Doubtful. Maidservant though,¡± Kionah said, suddenly interested. ¡°Oh yes, they¡¯d kill you if it was important. And it will be important.¡±

    ¡°Little Aliyah here is not a true apprentice,¡± Zahir said. ¡°Thus, the Magicians neither know nor care. They cull based upon living quarters and I do hate to see years of teaching go to waste.¡±

    ¡°Zahir,¡± she started. ¡°This isn¡¯t¡ª¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t want you to die,¡± he snapped, voice suddenly brittle-edged.

    He was¡­stressed, she realised. More stressed than she¡¯d ever heard him, even counting that time the combustible potion had boiled over and he¡¯d burnt the skin off his hands trying to contain it.

    Kionah looked at her critically, those frost-pale eyes glinting in appraisal. ¡°So she can heal?¡±

    ¡°Yes. Better than my official apprentices in some aspects.¡± His demeanour had steadied now. She wasn¡¯t sure how he did it and part of her was indescribably jealous.

    ¡°N-not like a real apprentice,¡± she retorted, flushing self-consciously.

    ¡°Can you fight?¡± Kionah asked.

    She hesitated, wondered whether to give a truthful answer. ¡°No.¡±

    Kionah sighed and turned back at Zahir. ¡°Do you have an apprentice who can fight?¡±

    ¡°Not at all. Most of us are a bit pathetic when it comes to blades bigger than a scalpel. And even if I did have an apprentice to your liking, none of them would be susceptible to death via Magician. Aliyah is your best¡ªonly¡ªoption and I don¡¯t think you¡¯re in a position to be particular.¡±

    ¡°Then yes. I know a way out. To Glister City. If I were unshackled.¡±

    ¡°But¡ªwhat¡¯s coming?¡± Aliyah demanded, anxiety surging in her gut, a greasy tangle of fear and unease. ¡°What¡¯s this supposed threat, this thing that supposedly, lives under those mountains?¡±

    Kionah scowled and glared at her with those piercing eyes. ¡°Faeries,¡± she spat. ¡°A big fat cluster of wild faeries. Not that they¡®re the ones you should be afraid of. The Magicians. Soon.¡±

    ¡°I see,¡± Zahir said. ¡°Well that¡¯s sure to push on the Magician¡¯s buttons.¡±

    He unhooked the nausea-keys from his belt and pressed them into Aliyah¡¯s hand. She tried not to look at the runes and ward-signs, cold and bright and sickening.

    ¡°When chaos descended upon the city, you stole these from my office and fled with the prisoner,¡± he said.

    ¡°What?¡± she asked, horrified.

    ¡°Your keys are well-warded,¡± Kionah said, squinting at them before paling and turning her gaze away.

    ¡°Such a shame that the ownership runes don¡¯t fully activate in the hands of those with Healing magic,¡± Zahir said in an odd, low tone. ¡°Poor fool, that Zahir, for having trusted that lowborn apprenticeling. We¡¯ll have him whipped once he¡¯s recovered from protecting our sorry little kingdom in battle.¡±

    Aliyah flinched. A vision sprang to her mind unbidden, of Zahir lashed to a post, screaming, covered in wounds and bleeding. Rough wood¡ªsplintered. Iron ring, rope, lash. A crack in the air, too sharp. Death by Magicians was abstract; whipping was a heavy, real fear that filled her lungs with lead¡ªa real fear, perhaps even for highborn Healers.

    ¡°Wh¡ªthey¡¯d really whip you?¡± she asked. ¡°You?¡±

    ¡°No,¡± Zahir said. ¡°Yes,¡± said Kionah in the same instant.

    The keys felt cold and heavy in her hand, like a dead fish. ¡°And you want me to flee the kingdom with a¡ªsome stranger?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m the best stranger you¡¯re going to get,¡± Kionah murmured.

    ¡°I can¡¯t¡ªthis is treason,¡± she hissed. ¡°They¡¯ll kill me, Zahir. They absolutely will. You can¡¯t be serious.¡±

    ¡°They¡¯ll kill you anyway,¡± he said, completely serious.

    ¡°Y-you¡¯re both certain it will be that bad,¡± she said. The shock had washed over her by now, and the sensation of something dull and heavy had come to rest in the pit of her stomach.

    ¡°The Magicians move,¡± Kionah said. She stared at the ceiling with bitter eyes. ¡°Swallow the keys if you must; they will not give you time to pack.¡±

    ¡°Why wait then, if it¡¯s so horrible?¡± she demanded. ¡°Why not run now?¡±

    ¡°One,¡± Zahir said, ¡°I don¡¯t want to be implicated for treason or incurable stupidity. And two, the guards and Magicians aren¡¯t going to be in one easy-to-avoid location until they¡¯ve got wind of trouble and have headed there, after all the sacrifices are in place. As of now, there are eyes all over the sands.¡±

    ¡°So can¡¯t I¡ªI don¡¯t know, can¡¯t I hide in a cupboard until then?¡±

    ¡°You risk them sending a Magician after you if you¡¯re found conveniently missing from your bed,¡± Kionah murmured. ¡°Though I loathe to admit it, your master is correct¡ªthe worst way is the only way.¡± She swore under her breath. ¡°I don¡¯t like it any more than you do. Too many moving parts.¡±

    ¡°So you¡¯re saying¡­you¡¯re saying I have to let myself be captured and escape from a bunch of Magicians who all want to kill me before coming down here and breaking the prisoner out? And¡ªfaeries? Real ones? Like¡ªlike in the fucking festival plays?¡± Her words were coming out in a tumble and she was starting to hyperventilate.

    She caught herself and forced her breathing to slow. Inhale¡ªignore the underlying stench of blood, hold and count to three. Exhale the bad memories¡ªcleanse the lungs of the blood-scent, two three. Repeat.

    ¡°Well when you put it like that, it sounds quite bad, really,¡± Zahir said. ¡°But after they lock you into a room or something, they¡¯ll probably leave and head out to fight right away. You can escape then. It¡¯s only if things get really bad that they come back to start exsanguinating you all.¡±

    ¡°But¡ªif I help her, they¡¯ll kill me,¡± she said. ¡°I¡¯ll get caught¡­the courts remember the thing with the Library. I can¡¯t mess up again. To go so far as treason¡ªthey¡¯ll do what they did with¡ªwith the princess, on the salt, with all the blood¡ªI can¡¯t¡ª¡±

    Inhale, now. Hold it¡ªone, two, three. And out, again. It wasn¡¯t helping nearly as much as she needed it to.

    ¡°Yes,¡± Zahir replied, frustration bleeding into his tone. ¡°Which is why you help her and then you leave.¡±

    ¡°What¡ª?¡± she half-yelled, shaking and terrified and outraged all at once. He was saying to¡ªto betray the kingdom, to leave Shadowsong? All to aid a foreign spymaster? For star¡¯s sake¡ªfor all that she¡¯d been born here, she¡¯d barely been outside of the main market square. ¡°What kind of secret treasonous plan is this? You¡¯re going to send me off with her to¡ªwhere, exactly? You won¡¯t even tell me?¡±

    ¡°Glister City,¡± Kionah broke in.

    ¡°What if¡ªwhat if I just say no?¡± she asked.

    Zahir pinched the bridge of his nose and exhaled, a sharp hiss. ¡°Then you¡¯ll probably die. Hellgods, Aliyah, isn¡¯t it clear to you?¡±

    ¡°You don¡¯t know that,¡± she snapped. ¡°You¡¯re using historical mythology to get me to do what you want. You could both be court conspirators for all I know. This could just be one big joke.¡±

    ¡°How, exactly, does this benefit me?¡± he asked. ¡°I¡¯m a bloody Healer. The current state of the kingdom suits me just fine. You think I¡¯ve dragged you down here for what, political kicks?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know!¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t particularly care if Lady Kionah dies,¡± he said suddenly. ¡°But you would, wouldn¡¯t you?¡±

    ¡°Wh-what?¡± she asked, unnerved by his sudden change of topic. Her heart felt as though it had dropped through the bottom of her stomach.

    ¡°Clearly, you don¡¯t quite believe me when I say the Magicians will kill you. Put all that aside for a moment. You do believe that they will kill Lady Kionah here? Eventually?¡±

    Kionah made a strangled sound, halfway between a cough and a sob.

    ¡°I¡ªI¡­¡± She clutched the keys in her hand, the metal edges digging into her palm. She could feel her pulse in her ears, resonating.

    ¡°Did those wounds look like a joke to you, Aliyah?¡± he asked quietly. ¡°Cutting down into fat, almost to deep fascia. Do you think they¡¯re messing around? Think they¡¯ll get their answers and just let her go?¡±

    ¡°I¡ªyou want me to¡­¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re free to look Lady Kionah in the eye and then walk away,¡± he said. ¡°I can¡¯t stop you from doing that.¡±

    Lady Kionah started to laugh, a stuttering, hiccup-y laugh that sounded like it only existed to distract from the tears welling up in her eyes.

    ¡°Well?¡± he asked, still staring at her head-on. He didn¡¯t even glance at the spymaster, bloodstained and weeping on the torture-table. ¡°You can let the Magicians kill her. But unless I¡¯ve been very wrong about you, I don¡¯t think you will.¡±

    Aliyah looked at Kionah for several moments, felt needles of cold prickling at the back of her neck, running up her spine to slink into the back of her throat. She ground her teeth together and tried not to choke on the lingering tang of blood in the air.

    ¡°Okay,¡± she said. ¡°Okay, please¡ªplease stop crying. I¡¯ll help you.¡±

    ¡°Much¡ªmuch obliged.¡± Kionah said, and kept cry-laughing under her breath. Aliyah could hardly fault her for it.

    ¡°Thank you for your assistance, Lady Kionah. My apprentice will be in touch.¡±

    Zahir closed his sound-shielding apparatus¡ªthe air temperature warmed and settled¡ªand strode to the door. His robes flared in his wake, a crest of red as bright as fresh blood.

    She stood frozen for a moment by Lady Kionah¡¯s side, reeling from the abruptness of it all, how neatly she¡¯d been maneuvered into a corner, the murky implications looming ahead. Zahir kept walking. She wondered how many people had seen him this way, a fleeting and fading salvation.

    She hurried after him and realised that to Kionah, she might look very much the same.

 1.4 - Fare Well

    Aliyah

    ¡°Tell me she was joking when she told me to swallow those,¡± Aliyah said, slouching into the comfortingly familiar plushness of her armchair. It wasn¡¯t hers¡ªit belonged to Zahir, but after the first year or so of on-and-off study, she¡¯d started thinking of it as hers. She picked uneasily at a loose stitch in the upholstery. ¡°I feel like I¡¯m going to throw up just looking at them.¡±

    They were back in Zahir¡¯s office and he was threading different colours of ribbon onto each key.

    ¡°Mm, you¡¯re not thinking like a Healer,¡± he said with a small shake of his head. ¡°Terrible, terrible idea to involve internal mucosa if you don¡¯t have to. The thing to do with relatively small objects is to create a sheet¡ªmore of a flap, really¡ªof skin, stick the object inside, then seal it to your actual skin such that it forms a continuous pocket. I recommend either on the stomach or upper thigh, depending on where the buttons or fastenings are placed on your uniforms. Mind you, it needs to be disassembled within a day or two, or it¡¯ll start to fester.¡±

    It did sound like the sort of thing a particularly unhinged Healer would do. Zahir had told her tales of elderly Healers who kept stacking fresh kidneys inside their bodies as each successive one failed; she didn¡¯t know why she was surprised.

    ¡°Lovely,¡± she said, grimacing. ¡°I¡¯ll get started, then? Do I do it like a graft? Except, err¡­double-sided over most of it?¡±

    ¡°Yes, double-sided. But wait a minute. You¡¯re going to need to fit a couple of extra spell-slips in there,¡± he said, tossing the now beribboned keys to her. ¡°Red to violet, top to bottom. I wish I could undo the ownership runes for you, but it¡¯d be too suspicious. You can give it a go yourself, but it¡¯ll be a waste of a headache.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m flattered by your high regard of my spellworking abilities.¡± She scowled as she caught the keys.

    ¡°You¡¯d need unraveling, not spellworking. Cheer up, almost no one can do it. And if they could, they¡¯d be begging me for horse tranquilizers afterwards. And here,¡± he said, passing her a small, stoppered vial. ¡°Anti-haemolytic concentrate. Don¡¯t drop it. It took three months to brew and another yet to distill. Take it with your supper.¡±

    Aliyah frowned at the vial; the substance within looked a lot like pale honey, though streaked with dark red. Not the most palatable of appearances. Zahir was circling around to his desk. He flipped through one of his books until he found what he was looking for.

    ¡°Aha. These should work just fine.¡± He tore out two rectangular slips of spell-paper, both inscribed with words of power. ¡°They¡¯ll melt away most enchantments¡ªone for your restraints and one for Lady Kionah¡¯s. Don¡¯t drop these either, they¡¯re expensive. Also the only ones that I have.¡±

    She caught the spell-slips as they fluttered towards her. ¡°Maybe you shouldn¡¯t flick them around so carelessly if they¡¯re so special.¡±

    As if to spite her, he tossed another thing at her from across the room¡ªa small, clear pouch. Within it, dozens of spell-slips huddled together like a nest of papery desert grubs.

    ¡°I also prepared an assortment of spells for Lady Kionah. Make another skin-cache on the opposite leg to balance it out.¡±

    ¡°Um. Great,¡± she said slowly. ¡°Do you have a seam ripper?¡±

    ¡°Do I look like a seamstress to you?¡± he asked.

    ¡°A small knife, then. Or some sharp scissors. And don¡¯t throw them at me, please.¡±

    ¡°Why cut a hole? Can¡¯t you just, oh I don¡¯t know, hitch up the skirts or something?¡±

    Her jaw dropped open. ¡°Do you not see that this is fully ankle-length? It would be¡ªnoticeable, if someone walked in on me simply ¡®hitching it up¡¯ to the thighs.¡±

    ¡°Still, cutting holes into your clothing from the very beginning is hardly inconspicuous.¡±

    ¡°Not if I open the inner seam of the pockets. Did you seriously never try that?¡±

    He snorted. ¡°Highborn clothes don¡¯t have pockets.¡±

    ¡°I almost feel sorry for you,¡± she bit out. ¡°Running around doing espionage with holes in your clothes because your dressmakers were too fashionable to add pockets.¡±

    ¡°It was nothing so exciting as espionage,¡± he said, sounding almost offended. ¡°It was for sneaking alcohol around during my unruly apprentice days. No holes in the clothes either; the old uniform shirts had buttons down the front.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s all very cool of you, but I need to ruin my pockets now. Do you have knife-scissors, or not?¡±

    Zahir sifted through the jumble of quills and parchment on his desk and passed her a letter-opener; or at least, it was about the right size and shape to be a letter opener, and she¡¯d seen him use it that way. Otherwise, it seemed more like a miniature dagger, the way it¡¯d been honed to a too-sharp edge. ¡°Will this do?¡±

    ¡°Yes. Thank you.¡±

    She retreated into the bathroom and shut the door. The air inside was scented with rosewater and lemongrass. A further clash of fragrances emanated from a large dish piled high with bars of soap.

    ¡°¡­my word, you have a lot of soaps in here,¡± she said, starting on the questionable graft. She was suddenly glad that she¡¯d eaten the sandwich, earlier; the synthesis was going to be tiring in of itself.

    ¡°People always gift me scented soaps,¡± he grumbled. ¡°I do believe it started after I had to attend a function immediately following a lengthy session with an unfortunate individual who had been projectile-vomiting blood, among other substances. It was years ago and just the once. Just once, and now all I receive are soaps and little clay ornaments with trite sayings engraved onto them.¡±

    ¡°And the multiple jars of bleach in the bathtub, are they gifts too?¡±

    ¡°Our ceremonial clothing is usually white,¡± he said. ¡°Very impractical.¡±

    ¡°Why are there pills next to the sink?¡±

    ¡°Why are you sticking your nose into my personal belongings?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s just, uh. That¡¯s a lot of unlabelled medication.¡± She paused, breath stopping in her throat. An unpleasant thought struck her like a spear through the gut, puncturing and twisting. ¡°You¡¯re not like¡­dying or anything, are you?¡±

    ¡°No, I am not dying,¡± he echoed, sounding exasperated. ¡°What sort of Healer would I be, if I were dying? Are you reading more of those ridiculously melodramatic novels of yours? From what you say of them, it seems that the slightest headache always, without fail, foreshadows a fatal aneurysm. Real life often doesn¡¯t work like that. Certainly not in my case.¡±

    She exhaled. ¡°Then why¡ª¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s a Healer thing.¡±

    She scowled and focused on forming the skin-pockets. ¡°You didn¡¯t give me anything to deal with the guards or the warden.¡±

    ¡°Because you can only carry so much,¡± he pointed out.

    She hated that he was right; she would have liked to bring a broadsword with her for reassurance, never mind how she had no idea to wield one.

    ¡°A little vasodilation should do the trick; then you make them sleepy, because unconsciousness will only last for a few seconds, or a couple of minutes at most. Unless they hit their head falling and there¡¯s brain damage. I learned that one the hard way.¡± His tone remained light on that last part, but she wasn¡¯t completely sure that he was joking.

    ¡°I always wondered why you had me read up on that. But I haven¡¯t actually done it¡­¡±

    ¡°As I have always said: the world is a dangerous place. You have some time to practice once you¡¯re done with the pockets.¡±

    ¡°So, um.¡± A thought struck her and a chill shivered down her spine. ¡°What about¡ªother people? I have a friend, you know. Rana.¡±

    He hesitated audibly. ¡°When the trouble begins, I do not think you will have the time to look for your friend and I am sure you know the same. It is convenient that you only have one.¡±

    ¡°Convenient¡ª¡± Aliyah sputtered in outrage, her concentration lapsing. The sheet of skin forming under her hands withered at the edges. ¡°And here I was thinking that you¡¯d say something helpful. Convenient to abandon one friend instead of two? I¡¯m not going to just let her die.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯ll have to leave anyways,¡± he said. ¡°Don¡¯t tell me that you¡¯ve changed your mind now, for the sake of but one person.¡±

    ¡°Lady Kionah is¡ªshe¡¯s just one person,¡± she said quietly, stilling in her work. She thought back to the dungeon, to the pinkish water seeping into the grates, and imagined Rana in the spymaster¡¯s place. Her stomach churned. ¡°Once you think about it, if you insist on putting it like that¡ªit¡¯s a one to one swap, isn¡¯t it? Who lives and who dies. If you¡¯re¡ªif you¡¯re making me choose between saving the traitor spymaster and saving my best friend, then I will choose Rana.¡±

    Zahir sighed. ¡°It isn¡¯t just the Lady Kionah, remember? You¡¯re a lowborn too.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t care,¡± she said.

    He scowled faintly. ¡°I presume this ¡®Rana¡¯ is a lowborn like you? Scion?¡±

    ¡°Yes, but not Scionsong. More important than me because¡ªknown progenitor. Rana Khan. So then the Magicians¡ª¡±

    ¡°What does she do?¡±

    ¡°She¡¯s a scribe.¡±

    ¡°Merely the Lower Library, I presume?¡±

    ¡°Yes, but¡ª¡±

    ¡°Then, all other logistics aside, you can¡¯t take her with you. She¡¯ll only be a hindrance.¡±

    ¡°You made it very clear that the lowborns are likely to be siphoned off by Magicians,¡± Aliyah snapped, working at her newly-formed false-skin. ¡°If you want me to flee, surely there¡¯s a way I can take her with me.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m sure this is very difficult for you, but I place a lot of belief in your sense of pragmatism,¡± he said. ¡°I don¡¯t relish the prospect of scores of lowborns dying, either, but it¡¯s risky enough as it is to have you cooperate with the Lady Kionah.¡±

    ¡°I could warn her, or hide her before they take us¡ª¡±

    ¡°Well, my well-meaning apprenticeling, if she believes you, then she will likely have other friends or family that she wishes to save. And those friends will have friends or family too. So on and so forth. Also, Magicians on the prowl. In case that little detail slipped your mind.¡±

    She thought about it, about leaving. Forever? To never see Rana again? She felt cold, and a little shaky inside¡ªhollowing out. Tears prickled at the edges of her eyes and she tried to blink them back. When that didn¡¯t work, she swiped them away on her sleeve.

    ¡°You¡¯re asking me to leave and to never return,¡± she said through the tightness of her throat. ¡°You want me to leave forever, not knowing if she¡¯ll be okay. To not ever know if she¡¯s okay.¡±

    This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

    From the other side of the door, Zahir sighed. ¡°No, Aliyah, not ¡®forever¡¯. I¡¯m sure you can stop by in a few years, once everything¡¯s cooled down, though perhaps with a disguise at hand. The Magicians aren¡¯t guaranteed to¡ª¡±

    ¡°No,¡± she interrupted. ¡°No, I won¡¯t just leave her.¡±

    She finished up the task of making the skin-pockets nonetheless. She dropped the keys into one and the spell-slips into another, shuddering as she melded the flaps shut. Then she stormed out of the bathroom.

    He sighed. ¡°The first rule of being a Healer is that¡ª¡±

    ¡°That you can¡¯t save everyone,¡± she hissed. ¡°I know. I know! But she¡¯s not just anyone. She saved me.¡± She glared at him with as much menace as she could muster. ¡°She¡¯s the reason I¡¯m even here in the first place. The whole Library thing¡ªshe talked and bribed to fix it and before that, she searched for people who could help me. You helped, sure. But if not for her, I might not have survived the aftermath. She went out of her way to save me from a lifetime of needless pain and you¡¯re saying there¡¯s nothing you can do? You want me to leave her to die?¡±

    Zahir pinched the bridge of his nose. ¡°I want you to make wise decisions.¡±

    ¡°Actually, no,¡± she snapped. ¡°Never mind, I don¡¯t care what you want. You have to help¡ªthere¡¯s got to be something you can do.¡±

    ¡°I¡­¡± He looked uncertain, for once. ¡°I don¡¯t think so.¡±

    Anger gripped her by the throat, heavy and dark¡ªchased by fear, of course. She clenched her fists and willed herself to stop trembling.

    ¡°You don¡¯t think so?¡± she asked. ¡°You, the second-rank Healer highborn with all of your¡ªyour books and trinkets? Can¡¯t you, I don¡¯t know, put in a word with the Magicians?¡± Her tone was pleading now; she hated herself for it, but she¡¯d hate it more if Rana died.

    He furrowed his brow and sighed. ¡°You greatly overestimate my influence.¡±

    ¡°You don¡¯t even have another dose of the anti-haemolytic?¡±

    ¡°If I did, I would have given it to you,¡± he said tiredly. ¡°I¡¯m not a monster, Aliyah.¡±

    Her thoughts raced. She took a deep, steadying breath, sifting through anything and everything she could possibly do, which wasn¡¯t much.

    ¡°I¡¯ll give her my anti-haemolytic, then,¡± she said.

    He frowned. ¡°Really? You had best be sure of your ability to free yourself quickly. And pray that you don¡¯t run across any Magicians on the way out.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m the apprenticeling, aren¡¯t I?¡± she said. ¡°I can¡ªif I get hurt, I can fix it better than she¡¯d be able to.¡±

    He made a tutting sound, one that suggested she was being unwise, but remained silent. Well, whatever. That just meant she had a point. She¡¯d take what acquiescence she could get.

    ¡°What can I slip your potion into so that it doesn¡¯t look like I¡¯m trying to steal her kidneys?¡±

    He walked over to his desk and dug around in the drawers, scowling. ¡°Oh, I don¡¯t know, vanillin tea? That stuff¡¯s usually sweet enough to disguise a whole myriad of things.¡±

    ¡°We don¡¯t have that in our dining halls.¡±

    Zahir tossed her a small leather pouch. It clinked as she caught it. ¡°So bribe the cook.¡±

    She unlaced the pouch, frowning as she peered into it and saw the glint of gold. ¡°Are these crowns?¡±

    ¡°Thirty seven of them,¡± he said, and winked.

    A cold feeling suffused her chest, slow and crushing like a glacier of old. ¡°You¡­you can¡¯t just¡­¡±

    He waved his hand dismissively. ¡°You¡¯ll need it more than I do. I do hope this friend of yours is worth it.¡±

    She fell silent. The dread continued to flood through her body in cold waves, steady and relentless. Was this what the beginning of the end felt like? This was all she had¡ªa room in the castle, one mentor, one real friend. This was so little, and all the more precious for it. And she was just going to run away, based on the word of a traitor? But the Magicians¡­Lady Kionah had been hurt. She¡¯d been more than hurt; she¡¯d been tortured. And she had seemed so terribly sure.

    ¡°Will it be enough to keep Rana alive?¡± she asked. ¡°Through the¡­bleeding, that is. And after.¡±

    ¡°I can¡¯t promise anything, though the potion¡¯s as good as you can get. I wouldn¡¯t have given it to you if it did nothing.¡± Zahir frowned. ¡°And those who survive being bled extensively are hardly killed once the threat is past. It will be chalked down to luck, or the light of some merciful star or other. The Magicians may indulge in a little madness, but they are not insensate.¡±

    ¡°Right, she said, swallowing hard. ¡°Okay.¡± She placed the vial and bag of coins into her belt-pouch, seeing as both pockets were compromised. The keys felt cold against her skin. ¡°Now what?¡±

    He sighed. ¡°Now, you should attempt to use vasodilation to force me to fall unconscious.¡±

    She startled. Vasodilate him to unconsciousness? Had she heard that right?

    ¡°Not that I think you¡¯ll succeed,¡± he continued, ¡°but I will be able to approximate if your efforts are sufficient.¡±

    ¡°Well, um. Really?¡± she asked. He had used himself as a test subject for her learning before, for mild injuries like when he slipped up chopping brewing ingredients¡ªboth because he could fix it if she didn¡¯t do it right, and because there were no other volunteers unless she counted the rats and the occasional chicken or goat. But those exercises had been in actual healing. This felt¡­like the opposite. It felt¡­sort of violent, actually.

    ¡°You¡¯ll probably need to do it,¡± he pointed out. ¡°I know you can cast false-sleep, every apprentice learns it in the first few weeks lest they can take naps on command, or else they die. That is to say, you don¡¯t have the selection pressure of their workload, but you do have the skill. Don¡¯t you?¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± she said, thinking of her late shifts. ¡°I¡¯ve done that a few times. Only on myself, though.¡±

    ¡°Excellent. It¡¯s not that different. You don¡¯t have to worry, but you can try it on me as well if you like. Just to be sure. But the vasodilation is the trickier one here.¡±

    ¡°So I just¡­go ahead and¡­?¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± he said. ¡°Though in an actual fight, you would preferably get the drop on me. Nonetheless¡ª¡± and here he rolled up the sleeve of his robe and held out his arm, ¡°¡ªtry your best, and we¡¯ll go from there.¡±

    She spent the next hour or so pushing magic into his circulatory system. He was right; she couldn¡¯t make him actually faint. He held himself in bodily equilibrium; there was always a resistance wherever she pushed, a counter-force that kept his veins from actually widening enough to make him fall unconscious. She guessed that he could measure the relative strength of her casts, though in what units, she couldn¡¯t imagine.

    ¡°Again,¡± he kept saying. ¡°You can vasodilate harder than that. There is a large margin of error when it comes to this particular cast. I highly doubt you¡¯d be able to permanently injure, much less kill, anyone with this.¡±

    So she did, even though her gut churned uncomfortably when she thought about actually having to use it on someone. But whether it was Zahir¡¯s presence or the repetitiveness of the drills or the passage of time itself, she eventually found herself lulled into a calmer state, immersed in the shape and rhythm of the cast, refining it bit by bit until he said that she had performed it strongly, and with enough efficiency. Then he pointed out that the warden likely wouldn¡¯t have his sleeves rolled up. So she tried it through the fabric of his sleeve, which she managed at the cost of a nosebleed. He assured her it was simply the effect of the cumulative spellwork, which wasn¡¯t actually reassuring. What if she had to vasodilate ten different Magicians? Though, if she found herself up against ten Magicians, perhaps there¡¯d be little point in trying.

    ¡°You¡¯ve got it now,¡± he said. ¡°Don¡¯t expect it to be flawless when¡ªif you end up using it. There is mental stress to consider, and other factors unique to such spontaneous situations. But from what I¡¯m seeing, you won¡¯t dip below the effective threshold; it will do the trick.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s it?¡± she asked. A part of her doubted him, doubted that this last-minute lesson was enough to prepare her for whatever Magician-led, ritual-mass-murder event was to come.

    ¡°Don¡¯t look so worried,¡± he said, retreating to his armchair. He gestured at the low table between them. ¡°You¡¯ll be fine. Take a seat, have some biscuits. You don¡¯t want to burn yourself out in advance.¡±

    She did, and felt her anxiety rising once more. The biscuit was dry, and seemed to stick in her throat. ¡°It¡¯s just¡­I really don¡¯t know that much. I can¡¯t fight, and¡­¡±

    ¡°You can heal cuts and set bones,¡± he said calmly. ¡°You¡¯ll be fine. Try not to get hurt, of course, but I¡¯d say that you can take a spell far better than most apprentices your age. And who knows, perhaps that eyesight trick of yours will prove helpful in these circumstances.¡±

    ¡°But I don¡¯t,¡± she began, and twisted her fingers together into a white-knuckled knot. ¡°I¡¯m not a real mage. The Magicians are, and I can¡¯t even shield, for goodness sake. I have cutting spells, but they¡¯re all specialised for stuff like desert-radishes and ironwood. Not for¡ªuh, people-flesh. I mean, they¡¯re really not for combat. I don¡¯t know any combat spells and I can¡¯t fight with a weapon or anything like that. From what you said, and what Lady Kionah said¡­¡±

    ¡°Then you¡¯ll have to play to your other strengths.¡± He raised an eyebrow. ¡°You seem quite worried. Do you think you¡¯re going to die?¡±

    ¡°No?¡± she asked, startled. The thought had occurred to her, of course, but she knew it was a baseless anxiety-thought. Hearing him say it made it worse. ¡°No! I don¡¯t know,¡± she snapped. ¡°You¡¯ve been making enough jokes about it that it¡¯s making me worry.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m a Healer, not a seer,¡± he said breezily. ¡°Don¡¯t read too much into it, Aliyah, they¡¯re just jokes. True, any of us could die. But realistically speaking, it isn¡¯t going to be you.¡±

    She unknotted her hands and stared at them, palms-up on her lap. ¡°But I¡¯m not like you,¡± she said. ¡°I can¡¯t cast anything strong enough to guarantee my protection. You realise that, right?¡±

    ¡°No one is,¡± he said sharply, and sighed. ¡°No one can guarantee they won¡¯t die in a fight. I can prevent myself of dying via surprise venous thromboembolism, but I can¡¯t definitively prevent myself of dying via surprise enemy spell to the head.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s not funny¡ªyou know what I mean,¡± she said, and it came out harsher than she meant it to. ¡°Sorry,¡± she added guiltily. ¡°I¡¯m just¡ªthis is crazy. I can¡¯t fight a Magician. I¡¯m not sure I can fight anyone. It¡¯s not like I¡¯ve ever done it before. Maybe I¡¯ll be one of those people who just¡­freeze up.¡±

    ¡°I knew what you meant,¡± he said. ¡°But you have to realise that we¡¯re going to be in different predicaments that scale with our respective abilities. Don¡¯t worry too much about the Magicians after you escape and find your way to Lady Sadrava. Even the most mundane of mages will be able to do something with the spell-slips I gave you. Besides¡ªmost, if not all, of the proper Magicians will be out on the field, where I have to go. If you run into any so-called ¡®Magicians¡¯, they¡¯ll likely be senior apprentices at most, even if they look the part.¡±

    ¡°I guess,¡± she said, still feeling uneasy. ¡°I just¡­I don¡¯t know. Even a Magician apprentice is an apprentice, right? Like, with formal schooling hours and stuff. And what about the faeries?¡±

    ¡°What about them?¡±

    She frowned. ¡°If I get attacked by an invading faery, is any of this healing stuff going to work? Remember when you said that I should kill people, if I really have to? It¡¯s starting to feel real. Not that I could, even if I tried, but I don¡¯t like this.¡±

    ¡°I suppose so. It¡¯s unlikely that you¡¯ll have to fight a faery, but what little I have read about them suggests they¡¯re biological entities, albeit with a higher saturation of magic keeping the more implausible structures running¡­¡± He fell silent. Then he said, ¡°do you remember what you did in the Higher Library?¡±

    She flinched.

    ¡°Um. Yes,¡± she said. She didn¡¯t see herself forgetting anytime soon.

    ¡°You could cast that,¡± he said quietly. ¡°Inflict it on someone else, if it were an emergency.¡±

    She blinked into the silence, shock warring with anxiety in her head. ¡°I¡­don¡¯t think I can,¡± she said slowly. ¡°It was a very¡­specific set of circumstances.¡±

    ¡°An emergency is also a very specific set of circumstances,¡± he said with grim cheer. ¡°It was your doing, right? Once you¡¯ve learned how to cast something¡ªand this is especially true of Healing¡ªyou generally don¡¯t unlearn or forget.¡± He stood up and wandered over to his desk and leaned against it as he picked up some paper or other to read.

    ¡°I know,¡± she said, and clenched her fists into her skirts. ¡°I know. I don¡¯t think I can do it, though¡ªphysically, I mean.¡± And psychologically speaking, there was probably something there too, she thought to herself with no small amount of dread. ¡°I¡¯ll keep it in mind, but, uh. I don¡¯t think it¡¯s something good, or um, to rely on. It only happened that one time, and it was¡­¡±

    ¡°I wasn¡¯t recommending it, now,¡± he said agreeably, not looking up from the paper. ¡°Best to stick with vasodilation and false-sleep. But you do have more dangerous tools at your disposal, if you so wish.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not sure I would call it a tool.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re a Healer. Closing a wound is a tool. Opening a wound is one, as well.¡±

    She startled at that. ¡°I¡¯m not a Healer.¡±

    ¡°Not officially, you¡¯re not,¡± he said, and this time he put the paper down to look at her. ¡°But you know the magic, and you can certainly use it. You¡¯re enough of one that you could start figuring stuff out on your own if you wanted to.¡±

    She shook her head. ¡°No, I¡­probably couldn¡¯t. Not without accidentally injuring myself, or¡ªor torturing other people for practice, or something.¡±

    ¡°That was the traditional method,¡± he said, then glanced over to the dying light at the window. ¡°I suppose we should stop here, if you¡¯d like to visit your friend for dinner.¡±

    The thought of Rana brought uneasy feelings to mind. She frowned down at the patterned rug beneath her shoes. If Zahir was right¡ªand he seemed disturbingly certain about supposed mountain faeries wreaking havoc, not to mention Lady Kionah¡¯s words¡ªthen this could be the last time she would ever see Rana¡ªand him, too, for a long, long time. Perhaps she would never see either of them again. That was a cold thought.

    ¡°Will you be okay?¡± she blurted out as she stood up from the armchair.

    She hadn¡¯t really thought to ask it until now, but now that she¡¯d asked, it all coalesced into an awful picture¡ªher question: is healing stuff even going to work on faeries and before that, he had said predicaments that scale with our respective abilities.

    Idiot, idiot Aliyah, she thought. Zahir was a Healer, and he was going to have to face a mystery magic species whose physiology might not respond in the same way as a human¡¯s against his defenses. She¡¯d been too wrapped up in her own anxieties, not seeing the pieces that were right in front of her¡ª

    ¡°I should think that I can fend for myself,¡± Zahir said dryly, cutting into her growing terror.

    He crossed his arms. The red silk of his robe crinkled; so flimsy and easily punctured by spell or sword or magical faery weapon. Then she remembered that he was a fully-fledged Healer, could fix damn near any flesh wound, could probably crush her lungs into paste from where he stood if he wanted to. And right now, that was oddly reassuring, because faeries probably also had lungs too.

    ¡°Not sure whether to be touched or offended by your concern,¡± he continued. ¡°Run along now, little apprentice.¡±

    She turned away. Walked to the door, steps heavy. Placed her hand on the handle and fought the urge to turn back around.

    ¡°You¡¯ve¡ª you¡¯ve done a lot for me,¡± she said. ¡°Far more than you ever needed to. It means¡ªa lot. So. Thank you.¡±

    ¡°And you¡¯re only about half as annoying as my other apprentices,¡± came his reply. He almost sounded like he was smiling. ¡°Oh, and I almost forgot¡ªdon¡¯t let anyone see you with the anti-haemolytic. Unofficially forbidden. The Magicians¡¯ll cut your hands off for it.¡±

    Her hand clenched around the handle and her eyes prickled hotly.

    ¡°Bastard,¡± she swore. ¡°You are such an ass.¡±

    That got a laugh out of him, at least.

    She cracked the door open and hesitated. ¡°I¡­um. I¡¯ll miss you.¡±

    ¡°Come visit in a few years if the city¡¯s still standing.¡±

    ¡°Planning on burning it down then, are you?¡± she sniffed.

    ¡°Hah. Get out of here,¡± he cheered. ¡°Take care of yourself. Cut someone in half if you have to. Do me proud.¡±

    She fled before he could point out that she was crying.

 1.5 - Your One True Friend

    Aliyah

    She made her way down the hall, balancing a tray in her hands. It held two meals; two gently steaming bowls of nettle soup and generous portions of fresh bread. Sturdy fare, plain but not overly cheap. There were honey twists on the side and, as was customary between them, a separate dish of green olives that only Rana was going to touch.

    Apprehension twisted in her stomach, mixed with an uneasy swirl of fear. Was she really going to do this? It was one thing to trust the word of one¡¯s mentor. It was another thing entirely to secretly drug one¡¯s only friend based on the word of said mentor, and the words and the wounds of a spymaster languishing in the dungeon below¡­

    She nudged at Rana¡¯s door with a tendril of her magic; the twist of spellwork within recognised her, unlocked, and swung open. Though the room wasn¡¯t far from her own, it was much larger, with an attached suite and windows that could be opened to let in the cooling evening air. They found themselves meeting there more often than not.

    Aliyah was also pretty sure that it cost a significant chunk of Rana¡¯s wages to lease. Still, what Rana chose to do with her own money wasn¡¯t any of her business; it was a nice room and the fact that it made her feel embarrassed of her own sparse quarters was¡ªor should be¡ªirrelevant. She chided herself reflexively; even here, even now, seeing what she had seen and hearing what she had heard, petty worries seeped through.

    Rana was, as per usual, at her desk and hunched over a heavy book. Sleepless circles lurked beneath her eyes. ¡°Aliyah,¡± she said, smiling as she sat up and stretched. She was clad in an old-fashioned nightgown, one that she¡¯d had for years; the puffy sleeves were rumpled and ink-flecked. ¡°Come to point out my poor posture again?¡±

    ¡°I brought you some small things from dinner,¡± Aliyah replied as she shuffled cautiously over to the desk. There was a richly-woven rug in her path that she dearly wished to avoid spilling soup onto. ¡°Let¡¯s eat. You work too hard.¡±

    She set the tray of food down onto the desk, pulled up a nearby chair. The windows were half-open; a clean, soft breeze caressed her cheek. There was not even a hint of harshness from the Killing Fields. A good weather day. Was it the work of the Magicians? She breathed in deep and steadied her nerves as best as she could.

    ¡°Ahh, thank you,¡± Rana said warmly. ¡° I don¡¯t know what I¡¯d do without you. But you know how it is, with work. A year or two and I might be promoted. I¡¯ll be able to relax more then.¡±

    Aliyah felt her stomach lurch at the unspoken suggestion behind those words. Promoted where, exactly? She wondered. Could it be to the Higher Library, stuffed full of awful memories and even further away from her? Surely not; Rana was skilled, but it could not be so soon. But then she caught herself: this was awful of her, to think this way. Rana should be able to go wherever best suited her, to any place that made her happy. Then she remembered with a jolt¡ªif Lady Sadrava was telling the truth, it wouldn¡¯t matter anymore. Nothing would matter anymore, other than surviving the Magicians.

    ¡°You have another late shift tonight, right?¡± she asked, even though she knew that she did.

    ¡°Unfortunately so.¡±

    ¡°Zahir gave me some of this fancy sweet tea and I saved some for you,¡± she said, taking the flask from her satchel. Her voice didn¡¯t shake, but her hand might have; only ever so slightly. ¡°It¡¯ll probably wake you up.¡±

    Rana brightened. ¡°Aw, you¡¯re too kind; thank you, I¡¯ve been sanding my eyes on this book since I woke.¡±

    She watched with a mixture of guilt and relief as Rana drained the flask. There. That was easier than she¡¯d expected. Her only real friend was safe. Or at least, as safe as she could be.

    ¡°That reminds me,¡± Rana continued, placing the empty bottle down onto her desk, ¡°I still need to feed Templeton and Inkblot. Want to give them a few treats afterwards?¡±

    ¡°Of course.¡±

    Rana chattered throughout their meal, talking about how a bookshelf had collapsed the other day and of how she had convinced her coworker to buy a pair of pet rats for himself. They were both fawn-coloured and very cute, she said, and he was searching through texts from bygone eras to find suitably majestic names for them. The whole team was pitching in with ideas; Rana herself had suggested ¡®Ninkilim¡¯ and ¡®Sir Fluffywhiskers¡±. She clasped her hands together as she said so, clearly delighted by her own joke.

    Aliyah had smiled and nodded along, barely tasting her food. Behind the fluttery fondness¡ªand that might be half a lie, but fondness was what she¡¯d resigned herself to years ago¡ªsomething ugly and envious twisted in the pit of her stomach. She knew it wasn¡¯t fair of her to feel this way. Of course Rana should be happy at work. Of course she would have other friends. It shouldn¡¯t matter if, over the years, she inevitably drifted away to be among her more educated peers. It would only make sense. But she was sitting here now, wasn¡¯t she? That had to count for something. The very existence of the anti-haemolytic skirted on the edges of her consciousness; she batted it away.

    ¡°So,¡± Rana said as she speared an olive with a toothpick, ¡°what have you been up to?¡±

    Aliyah swallowed her mouthful of bread; it stuck in her throat. She gulped hastily at her soup to wash it down before replying. ¡°Oh, not much. Work. Boring stuff, really.¡±

    ¡°Is everything alright? You seem sort of¡­down?¡±

    ¡°Um. I¡¯m fine. Just tired. You know how it is.¡±

    Rana squinted at her. ¡°Hey, come on,¡± she said, her voice taking a turn for the serious. ¡°You¡¯ve barely said a word since you got here. What¡¯s up?¡±

    ¡°I, uh,¡± she said as her brain scrambled for a plausible excuse. Her stomach churned with guilt; perhaps she should have eaten dinner at a later time, or even alone. But no¡ªshe needed this. She needed a nice, normal dinner with Rana after seeing the princess¡¯s head roll and the state of Lady Kionah, still somewhere far down below.

    ¡°You can always tell me if something¡¯s wrong,¡± Rana added, and oh hells, that made her feel even worse.

    ¡°I¡¯ve just been having a rough time recently,¡± she said, which wasn¡¯t untrue. ¡°I had to go to the execution, remember? It was¡­a lot. It was¡­I suppose it was confronting to see it. And I¡¯ve been having uh, pretty bad sleep. Nightmares. I don¡¯t really want to talk about it.¡±

    That last part wasn¡¯t entirely true, but to Rana of all people, it would seem true enough. Rana had spent hours witnessing her retroactive fears in the months after the Library incident. She¡¯d cleaned up after her. Once, she¡¯d held her hair out of her face as she¡¯d vomited all over her bedroom floor. More nightmares, more emotional turmoil¡ªit wouldn¡¯t sound like anything new. Rana was probably sick of it, as it was. She was always there with nice words, but Aliyah suspected, deep down, that she was thoroughly tired of it by now and that she had enough problems of her own to deal with.

    ¡°Oh,¡± Rana said, bringing a hand to her mouth. ¡°That¡¯s¡­yes, that¡¯s simply awful. Is there anything I can do?¡±

    Rana looked genuinely concerned, which didn¡¯t help the half-panic, half-guilt twisting within her.

    This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

    ¡°Not really,¡± she replied as the knot of guilt inside her chest tightened. ¡°Maybe¡­I¡¯d much rather distract myself. Can we feed your rats? They¡¯re always, uh, cheerful.¡±

    ¡°Of course,¡± Rana said, and patted her on the shoulder. ¡°Over here.¡±

    She hopped out of her chair and walked past her fashionably circular bed¡ªcrowned with a fresh abundance of velvety pillows, no less, which made Aliyah wonder just how much overtime Rana had been pushing in¡ªover to a large, intricate cage strung with platforms and ramps and hand-sewn hammocks in colourful fabrics. She pulled out a box of rat-pellets and a tin of tiny oat-cubes from a basket dedicated to them.

    ¡°Here, you can give them two treats each,¡± she said as she unlatched a portion of the cage and placed pellets into the food dishes within. ¡°Normally it¡¯d be more, but Basima came by yesterday with some spare sweet potatoes¡ªher sister¡¯s a Weathermancer, you know¡ªand, well, we couldn¡¯t resist feeding them some extra. They are such spoiled little darlings.¡±

    The rats did look well-cared for, with their bright eyes and glossy coats. But they weren¡¯t so different from the common castle rats that she had euthanised and cut open, not too long ago; limbs splayed open, skinned and pinned as she fixed little paper labels to each miniature organ. She found herself imagining each of the little creatures going into septic shock before she cut herself off, shivered inwardly, and dutifully fed them the oat cubes.

    Rana chattered on about little, light-hearted things; this intriguing book they found on the migration patterns of skyfish, that adorably pastoral piece of embroidery someone at work had finally finished last night, her latest attempts at terrariums that all dissolved into primordial sludge given enough time.

    And though her chatter was cheerful and blandly inoffensive, Aliyah¡¯s mind seized upon the bright topics and twisted them into uglier things, morbid thoughts that had no place in the conversation. If Zahir and Lady Kionah were correct, she wouldn¡¯t be here to see the next skyfish festival. She would never get to gift Rana the embroidery set she¡¯d been saving up for on said festival.

    At the mention of terrariums, she got stuck on some dubious, dusty textbook fact or other, dredged from the depths of her memory: that all the world was a closed system running down, and that physical-entropy-something-or-other would reduce even the stars down to sludge and nothingness given due time.

    At that, she frowned at herself. There was such thing as catastrophising too far. It was almost funny, how the smaller matters were bothering her more than the idea of dying. She shook herself out of her dread-soaked musings to focus on what Rana was saying.

    ¡°Oh, and Samara brought in some more fig cookies today,¡± Rana said. ¡°There are a few left in my satchel that we can share.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s very kind of you to offer, but I think I¡¯ll pass if she¡¯s put a wakefulness tisane into them again,¡± Aliyah said, an easy lie springing to mind. ¡°I need to sleep soon¡ªearly shift, you know how it is.¡±

    ¡°Oh, well then in that case, you should really leave the dinner tray with me; I can drop it off before I start my shift.¡± Rana tutted in sympathy. ¡°By the way, are you free tomorrow afternoon? We could go down to the market. Farid told me that his wife¡¯s family has a new sweet-cake stall running.¡±

    ¡°That would be lovely,¡± Aliyah choked around the lump in her throat. ¡°See you then. Take care.¡±

    ¡°You too!¡±

    So at least she had something to look forwards to if it turned out that Zahir was wrong and the Magicians weren¡¯t coming to kill them all.

    She walked to her own room a little faster than usual. The tears were easier to hold back this time; only a few squeezed out. She wiped her face roughly with the back of her sleeve, erasing them entirely.

    No point in changing into a nightgown. Instead, she hung her best cloak¡ªsensibly coloured, dark grey, charmed to be mostly waterproof¡ªon the hook at the back of her door and readied her sturdiest pair of shoes by her bed.

    Glancing around her sparse room, she did not see anything to miss. All her life boxed into this chamber; a set of potted purple shade-plants, an almost-empty tub of hand cream, a cheap comb, a stack of borrowed books. There was a half-finished embroidery piece on her tiny desk, a desert rose motif in pink and gold. She had been so pleased to have saved up for it, then to have started it a week ago. Did it even matter now?

    Focus, she told herself. Were there any meaningful, travel-sized mementos to take with her? Anything useful to aid her survival? Rana was not travel-sized, so no, not really. She would just have to hope that Glister libraries carried botanical guidebooks for perusal. The injustice of it all hit her then, and she sat down onto her bed with a thump. What did books matter? There would be no Rana in Glister City.

    A year or two, she promised herself, fighting back more tears. If she left, she would return as soon as she could. If Zahir was right and Shadowsong was already crumbling, then the rule of the Magicians was hardly absolute. Even if they stayed in power, they would forget about her, and she would return. She would find passage on a cheap skyship, a way to disguise herself. This couldn¡¯t last forever.

    She checked her skin-pouches over, a little fretful that they might turn necrotic at any second despite her knowledge to the contrary. Dungeon keys and spell-slips in one pocket. Pouch of spell-slips and pouch of coins¡ªgolden crowns, and exactly thirty-seven of them, she thought uneasily¡ªin the other. A small part of her was still hopeful, still holding out that she wouldn¡¯t need them after all.

    She pushed the memory of a bloodied Lady Kionah to the side.

    She very pointedly did not think about Rana.

    The keys burned cold against her thigh as she drew the covers over her head.

    ===

    She fell asleep, and sank into a dream.

    It was the sort of dream where one was vaguely aware of the falseness of the dream at the back of one¡¯s mind, but far too entrenched in its contents to fully realise it. Fighting the dream-reality felt like sinking into a mocking sea of syrup, with viscous, slug-like sugar-daemons crawling into her ears and nose and lungs, so she stopped.

    The princess Alhena sat upon a melting throne, feeding little green fish to her own severed head. The fish were still alive and they wriggled as they entered her mouth and fell out of her neck, flopping uselessly against the salted earth.

    Dancing hand-in-hand around Alhena were a dozen ladies wearing Magician-blue dresses. One of them resembled the Lady Kionah, torture wounds and all. She bled a dripping trail of blood as she whirled past, marking damp patterns into the ashen soil.

    Somewhere in the distance behind her, Zahir¡¯s voice was reciting lessons.

    The ladies slowed in their clockwork-carousel-dance and advanced upon the seated princess. They began carving her up with their bare hands, as if she were some elaborate dish at a banquet. There went an eye, a hand, an arm out of its socket.

    Aliyah fought to turn away, but her eyes remained fixed upon the ghastly scene. She could feel salt crystals burrowing into her bone marrow. It didn¡¯t hurt; the sensation was dulled and confusing, not quite right. Was she meant to be here, she wondered, grasping onto a thread of reason for half a heartbeat. Then it slipped away on the breeze, before she could haul herself back to lucidity.

    Alhena wailed aloud, a moment before they took her tongue.

    ¡°Listen,¡± said Zahir¡¯s disembodied voice, suddenly very close. ¡°I can tell you this because you are not a real apprentice and as such, you don¡¯t need to give a damn about protecting the royal family.¡±

    The Kionah-lady was starting to bleed a mixture of blue blood and frothy vanillin tea.

    ¡°There are people, wounded or whole, beggar or prince alike, there are people who will tell you that you need to heal them,¡± Zahir continued. ¡°They will tell you with their words and their eyes and their actions that you need to heal everyone, because you are a Healer and you have a gift, because you are kind and good and compassionate and self-sacrificing, as all Healers must be.¡± He paused and sighed deeply, just as he had when they had had this conversation the first time.

    The ladies were feasting now, their dresses dyed indigo with splotches of blood. Their jaws unhinged like snakes, bones straining against the unnaturally elastic skin of their faces. They gorged themselves, attacking the melting throne and tearing off pieces of the molten metal. They stuffed it into their mouths as if it were strings of sugar-candy, oblivious to the way it burnt their lips and tongues.

    ¡°It will probably be worse for you because you seem to be an unthreatening young woman. So know this: they will drain you dry if you let them. Know that they see you as a tool because in a way, you are. But know that you are a person firstmost. Know that you may have to make difficult choices between caring for yourself and saving others. You cannot save everyone. You cannot even save most of everyone, if you want to have a life worth living. But above all, know that you cannot save everyone.¡±

    The ladies, bloated and sated, wobbled to their feet and linked hands again. They formed a ring and began to dance once more, circling the stain that used to be Alhena.

    ¡°You cannot save everyone,¡± Zahir was saying on repeat. Her pulse was pounding in her ears. Something bloody and rotten was crawling up her esophagus, writhing against the back of her throat. ¡°You cannot save everyone. You cannot save everyone. You cannot save everyone. You cannot save everyone. Silly little Aliyah, you cannot save anyone.¡±

    Yes, she knew this feeling. She knew it too well. Her heart sped up reflexively. Her arms felt numb.

    The ladies danced ever-onwards. Aliyah coughed, and vomited up a glossy tide of little green fish.

    ¡°Wake up,¡± someone said. ¡°Wake up!¡±

 1.6 - You Cannot Save Everyone

    Aliyah

    ¡°Wake up,¡± someone was saying, faintly muffled.

    She heard the chime of a familiar bell. So very insistent¡­

    ¡°Hey, wake up!¡±

    Aliyah stirred and jerked back into the waking world, thrashing for a second against sheets that threatened to smother her. The little bell strung over her bed jangled louder, and something clanked at her door; it sounded like a master key. Never a good sign.

    ¡°Wha¡ªwho is it? Am I late?¡± she mumbled as she pushed at her sweat-soaked blankets. Then it all hit her in a bitter jolt of information, unwelcome synapses firing: faeries, Magicians, Lady Kionah. She flooded herself with magic and flushed the sleep-chemicals from her body as best as she could.

    A pale-haired lady had unlocked her door and was peeking through the gap. ¡°Matron Serine here.¡±

    Aliyah frowned and feigned disorientation. ¡°My first shift is uh, wait, is it dawn already?¡± She felt too tired for it to already be dawn, but she hoped, just this once, that her bodily senses were deceiving her. Some upset of the sleep cycle that left her a touch more tired than her usual dawn equilibrium. Perhaps the Matron was here on an innocent errand, some request demanded of any low-level maidservant. It was rare, but it had happened before.

    Matron Serine cracked the door further open; a pair of guards loomed behind her, armed and armoured. So it was happening, then, she thought numbly.

    ¡°Something¡¯s going on,¡± Matron Serine said. ¡°You all have to go down to the main hall.¡±

    ¡°What¡¯s happening? Why are the guards here? Is there a problem?¡± she blurted out the stream of questions, desperately fishing for clues. Maybe Zahir and Kionah were wrong. Maybe it wasn¡¯t faeries.

    ¡°Hell if I know,¡± Serine said bluntly. ¡°I just ring the bells. Quickly, now.¡±

    Aliyah stumbled out of her bed and slipped on her shoes, grabbing her cloak off the back of her door and wrapping it tightly around herself. The keys at her thigh felt as if they were burning a hole through her skin. One of the guards put a hand on her shoulder and she startled.

    ¡°That way, miss,¡± he said gruffly, pointing her towards the crowd of lowborns heading down the hall. He had a kind face; she wondered if he could guess at what the Magicians were planning.

    She joined the crowd. It was flanked by yet more guards, black-pauldroned and silver-speared; her heart sank. No easy way to slip away then, just as Zahir had suspected. Some lowborns, probably early-shifters like her, were dressed in rumpled robes and skirts. Others shivered in their thin nightgowns and chemises, hunched under shared cloaks with their friends. Murmurs of curiosity and complaint drifted around her in waves. She scanned around for Rana and did not find her, daring to hope that the late-night shift would shield her from what was to come as it had shielded her from the execution.

    Outside, there was a distant boom. Then several more.

    Shrill cries of confusion and alarm erupted among the crowd. The guards ushered them forwards. Some murmured awkward platitudes to the ones who were whimpering with terror. Aliyah felt sick.

    She glanced out of the windows they passed and spotted skyships heading towards the mountains. Zahir had likely already been called out to fight.

    They made it to the hall, which was milling with Magicians. That was the moment it became fully real to her. A waiting tide of blue cloaks and faceless bird-masks. Secret mountain faeries. No sweet-cakes with Rana tomorrow, or possibly ever again.

    ¡°This way please,¡± said one of the Magicians, herding Aliyah and six others away from the crowd with her outstretched staff.

    Wisps of ash-brown hair were escaping from beneath the Magician¡¯s hood and there was what looked like a tea stain on her sleeve. This lady, a human behind her mask, probably as tired as they were from being woken hours before dawn, was leading them to be killed? Her apprentice flanked them from behind, preventing any chance of escape.

    Kionah¡¯s words surfaced to the front of her mind¡ªthe Magicians move. Perhaps there was a person behind the mask, but for now, the Magician was taking the lead. All of them were. Groups of lowborns were being splintered off the main procession and they were no exception.

    Her body prickled with mounting terror as they were led outside, past overgrown rotundas and groundskeeper¡¯s sheds and into the dead part of the desert-rose gardens, blackened with blight. They stopped in front of an open colonnade. Hastily-scrawled runes spiraled up the pale columns. There were lines and circles drawn onto the tiling with blue chalk; an inverted echo of Princess Alhena¡¯s blood dribbling down, steam rising softly from red-soaked salt.

    The Magician spoke a word which made Aliyah¡¯s ears ring.

    Thin, whip-like coils of runed chains dropped from crevices in the ceiling and surged at them.

    One of the chains hooked around Aliyah¡¯s wrist and dragged her over to the nearest column, then lashed around to loop over her chest and stomach until she was tightly bound. She twisted and watched, horrified, as the free end of the chain dove into another section of the coils and fused to itself, hissing with magic all the while.

    A young boy, a column over from her, was shrieking with fear. One of the other lowborns¡ªa short, stocky girl in a kite-handler¡¯s uniform¡ªwas still struggling, digging her feet into the ground as she grappled with the chain hooked around her waist. She turned around to face the approaching Magician and lunged, landing a solid blow. The Magician snarled and shoved her; she lost her balance, tumbling into the column as the chain looped around her with vicious ease.

    ¡°What the fuck,¡± someone screamed.

    ¡°Please remain calm,¡± said the Magician. ¡°This is merely for your own safety.¡±

    She raised her staff and murmured a spell. The screaming boy¡¯s cries cut off as the soft, cloudy sensation of a silence-field settled over them.

    The Magician bowed. She patted her apprentice on the shoulder and made a motion indicating he keep watch before departing in a swirl of blue. The apprentice clasped his hands behind his back and stationed himself at the opening of the colonnade, facing the castle proper. Aliyah let out a slow, silenced breath. Neither Zahir nor Kionah had provided any useful advice for this part.

    Thanks ever so much, Zahir, she thought grimly. They¡¯ll put you in a room and lock the door, you¡¯ll definitely-maybe-presumably have full use of your hands, so it¡¯ll be completely fine. Okay, okay, enough kvetching. Focus. Check the magic on the damned chains.

    The chains flashed with runes, but thankfully not the aggressive, necrotic kind that Princess Alhena and Lady Kionah had been subjected to. What was more, her magic still flowed just fine, though she could see from the efforts of the other lowborns that spells, slicing or corroding or otherwise, merely bounced off the rune-wrought metal. If the Magician had stuck around, perhaps they could have done something, hit her with a spell¡­but no. There was no key-on-a-string here. The damned chains were probably designed to be taken off after the captive had been bled dry¡­

    She winced and squinted harder at the runes¡ªher knowledge was rusty, but she recognised the major signs for strong magic-resistance, animation, and responsiveness to the designated caster. There were a couple of unknown strings, but she guessed they were for relatively minor functions¡ªstructural integrity of the material, resistance to oxidation and suchlike.

    Please don¡¯t have any type of horrible adaptive constriction woven in too, she thought. Please, don¡¯t make my life harder than it is already.

    There were at least a couple hundred lowborns scattered throughout the castle and the Magicians, though powerful, only barely outnumbered them; she was betting on the fact that every extra function would be extra rune-strings to imbue a chain with, requiring far too many hours when preparing on such a scale. Only one way to find out.

    Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

    Her left arm was pinned against the column, and her right arm was pinned to her side. She wriggled her right arm experimentally, trying to reach into her pocket for the skin-structure in which the spell-slips were hidden; she couldn¡¯t move much, but the chain didn¡¯t mould itself around the deliberate movement and tighten. That was a relief. Still, it didn¡¯t change the fact that she couldn¡¯t reach into her pocket for the sole thing that could get her out of this mess.

    She stared hard at the chain, categorised its shape and form and thought it over. She still had access to her magic, but that wasn¡¯t the problem here; the problem was the chain itself. She couldn¡¯t do magic on the chain. She couldn¡¯t do magic on anyone else; the others were too far away. She could only do magic on herself.

    Well. She knew healing magic, didn¡¯t she? She could numb herself well enough, and she could reknit, so she could¡­there was probably a better solution than this, but she didn¡¯t have the time to find it.

    Aliyah gathered her magic, reached into her right arm, and broke it in three places.

    She actually blacked out for a second. Then she screamed and swore herself as blue as the damned Magicians. No sound came from her mouth. In a way, the silence-field was a mercy. She had to bend the breaks the wrong way, too, to give herself enough flexibility. Hellgods. Numbing spells only went so far; the physiological equilibrium of her body pushed back against her magic, screaming tinny chemical messages into her brain: pain, pain, pain and hurt, hurt hurt and dear stars make it stop. Her eyes were watering. Sweat beaded on her forehead.

    Had the Magician apprentice noticed? No; the silence-field had blotted up her screams. He still had his back to them, on guard for interference from outside.

    She waited until she was sure he had turned his head away before easing her limp, misshapen arm, painstakingly slowly, out of the chain-coil. She had numbed it as best as she could¡ªwhich was enough to make the sum of the three breaks feel like perhaps just one¡ªbut even so, black spots¡ªhaloed with dizzying, kaleidoscopic phosphenes, no less¡ªdanced in her vision. She gritted her teeth. Once her arm was out, she knit the bones back together¡ªclean breaks in easy places, thank the stars for that small measure of control. She reattached patches of blood supply, purged as many extraneous pain-signaling substances as she could. The arm remained sore, but at least it was far more manageable.

    She used her newly-freed arm to pry her way out of the chain-cocoon and stumbled free.

    The apprentice turned at the movement, spellfire sparking in his hand. She rushed him¡ªthere was a brief, silenced struggle involving burning and screaming¡ªstill silenced¡ª before she jabbed a vasodilation into his wrist. He slumped over, unconscious. She scrambled to her feet, hands blistered and scorched; she healed them hastily, already planning her route down to the dungeons¡ªand then she caught the eyes of her fellow captives.

    The six other lowborns were staring at her, their expressions ranging from terrified to astonished to beseeching. One of them was trying to mouth syllables into the silence-field. She froze and swore under her breath.

    She wasn¡¯t Zahir. She wasn¡¯t a real Healer. She wasn¡¯t even a real apprentice.

    She had just one spare breaker spell-slip and it wouldn¡¯t solve the problem of the six-not-one pairs of eyes staring at her. One-is-better-than-none was hard to believe when the other five were looking you in the face. If only Rana were here, they could have tried linking all six of the chain-runes into one big enchantment to use the spell-slip on, but as it was, she knew next to nothing about runework. The package for Kionah probably didn¡¯t contain similar enchantment-breaking spell-slips, else Zahir would have simply given them to her.

    She absolutely did not have the stamina to break and heal five or six arms. The chains were runed, thin and tough and flexible, more like metallic ropes than chains. They formed hard knots nestled close, not a weak link in sight. And from the looks of how the chains had caught some of the lowborns, they¡¯d probably need more than a broken arm to wriggle out. A leg or two, even. Too effort much to even think about.

    She still had to sneak back into the castle and down into the dungeon to fetch Lady Kionah.

    These six weren¡¯t special. There were so many other lowborns chained up anyway. Numerically, it wouldn¡¯t make much of a difference. They might not necessarily die if the Magicians didn¡¯t push too hard¡ªwhereas Lady Kionah definitely would. And so would she, if she were caught. She had many reasons to flee as quickly as possible.

    But they were looking at her as if she were some sort of saviour. And it wasn¡¯t an impossible problem¡ªthere had to be a way. If she left them here, just these six in particular, it would feel like her fault.

    Aliyah pinched the bridge of her nose. Think. Chains. No magic. Bolt cutters, she thought. But where?

    There were probably a few in the maintenance cupboards of cleaning cupboards and suchlike scattered throughout the castle. She retraced their steps in her mind, recalled no cupboards along the corridor when being led away from the main hall.

    She hurried out of the colonnade, ignoring the feeling of eyes boring into her back as she looked around for any hint of a helpful tool. There were only dead roses and ugly thorns, splintery hedges and grey gravel. She squinted at something in the distance, focused her eyes with her vision-trick until she saw the outlines of sheds. Bone-sand-slurry pounded at her temples.

    Okay. Not quite bolt cutters, then.

    She cast a silencing spell onto her shoes. She was terrible at them¡ªcould only dampen instead of silence¡ªbut it was better than nothing when it came to crunching over gravel. She dashed back the way they came, staying in the shadow of the outer wall, hand half-raised and the steps for inducing rapid vasodilation humming and ready in her head. She didn¡¯t know any illusion spells, didn¡¯t actually know how to fight. She fought to stem the flow of adrenaline flooding through her veins, slowed her pulse and breathing as best as she could until she was only slightly hyperventilating.

    The groundskeeper¡¯s sheds came into view; three of them, all in a row with locks and chains on the doors. How ironic, how paradoxical, she thought, scowling. But the chains weren¡¯t runed, so she hacked through the nearest one with her strongest metallic-cutting spell, all brute force and no finesse. Thank the stars that there had been a shortage of willing servants to chop ironwood a couple of months back.

    She hurried into the dusty interior and glanced around with rising anxiety¡ªthere, those things vaguely resembled bolt-cutters. She grabbed them, but glanced around for something stronger¡ªthis was a gardening shed and the chains were metal links, not wooden branches. A hacksaw, and that big axe, she decided. She stumbled back outside, staggering under the weight of the axe in particular. She doubted she would be able to swing it for more than a few strokes, but a couple of the other lowborns looked as if they were substantially stronger than her.

    Somewhere far away, something rumbled like thunder. Aliyah glanced up as she hurried back. The night sky was clear, with only the thinnest wisps of cloud overhead. She hoped that most of the guards and Magicians were being kept occupied by whatever the so-called faeries were doing. She hoped that Zahir and his apprentices were unhurt. She thought of the vanillin tea and hoped, anti-haemolytic aside, that Rana was not presently chained up by Magicians.

    She made it back to the colonnade unscathed, where the six other lowborns were still struggling with their bonds. Aliyah felt the silence-field close over her head as she hurried to the oldest and strongest-looking of them¡ªa tall young man in scribewear¡ªand tried to clip at the exposed part of the chain with the large scissor-tool. The cutting parts kept slipping and she hissed in frustration.

    She grabbed the hacksaw instead and started sawing furiously at a link; the chain was so thin, but it took perhaps a full minute before she broke through. She handed the axe to the newly-freed scribe and pointed to the rest of the prisoners before moving onto the next-oldest looking, the girl who had punched the Magician. Her arm felt as though it were burning. Lactic acid, was that right? Yes, the textbooks had gone on at length. Focus, she thought grimly.

    Once she was through with the second chain, she turned and saw that the scribe had moved around to the back of another imprisoned lowborn¡¯s column to swing at the restraints. Her right arm, hacksaw still in hand, trembled as she sent replenishments to it, drawing from the rest of her body. Her thoughts were sluggish, signaling an imminent spellcaster¡¯s headache. Someone touched her shoulder. She flinched and scrambled for the steps to vasodilation, but it was only the girl she¡¯d freed, the kite-handler-Magician-puncher.

    Magician-puncher guided her out of the silence-field, and away from the colonnade, into a hidden spot by a hedge.

    ¡°Are you alright? You¡¯re swaying a bit.¡± the girl asked quietly. Her voice sounded familiar¡ªa little hoarse, corrosion-damaged. ¡°Here, sit down.¡±

    ¡°Oh,¡± Aliyah murmured. The magic-use was catching up to her. She sank to the floor in a dizzy torpor, drew up her knees and placed her head between them. ¡°It¡¯s you. You were at the execution today¡­I mean, yesterday. Uh, can you use the saw? I have to go.¡±

    Magician-puncher cleared her throat. ¡°Hey now, are you sure? You don¡¯t look so good. Stay with us. Nadim can take us to a hiding place in the Higher Library.¡±

    ¡°No, no¡­I have to go¡­¡± She forced her liver into overdrive, pushed glycogenolysis as far as she could. ¡°If you see a scribe called Rana, though, tell her she can inherit all of my stuff.¡±

    ¡°Oookay,¡± Magician-puncher said as she gently removed the hacksaw from her still-trembling hand. ¡°And who do I say this message is from?¡±

    ¡°Aliyah. She¡¯ll know.¡±

    Magician-puncher took a small package from her pocket and pressed it into Aliyah¡¯s hand.

    ¡°Here, Aliyah. Eat. You look like you need it.¡±

    Aliyah looked up and unwrapped it to reveal a sweet-cake. It was apple-and-agave-flavoured and in that moment, also possibly the best thing she had ever tasted.

    Her head jerked up at an abrupt crunching sound; footsteps over gravel. The scribe was hurrying over to them.

    ¡°Farzaneh,¡± said the scribe¡ªNadim, Aliyah presumed.

    He glanced down at her. ¡°And uh¡­you. Thank you, by the way¡ªFarzaneh, I got Irfan free and he tried with the shears, but they broke, so he has the axe for now. Did you have the other¡ª¡±

    Farzaneh-Magician-puncher handed him the hacksaw and Nadim sprinted back to the colonnade.

    ¡°Are you sure that you don¡¯t want to come with us?¡± Farzaneh asked, turning back to her with her brow furrowed in concern. ¡°I mean, I¡¯m sure you¡¯re very capable, but you do look tired.¡±

    ¡°Thank you for offering,¡± Aliyah said after a pause. The cake, or perhaps the simple kindness of being given cake, had bolstered her spirits. Her blood glucose was as good as it was going to get. ¡°I really have to leave, though.¡±

    Farzaneh helped her to her feet. ¡°Take care, Aliyah. We¡¯ll keep an eye out for your friend.¡±

    In the distance, false-thunder roared. Aliyah¡¯s attention shifted to the dungeon keys. They tingled like blue fire against her skin.

    Lady Kionah, she thought anxiously. She still needed to find Lady Kionah.

 1.7 - Breaker Boy

    Felun

    Felun crashed face-first into a dune, his yelp cut short by a mouthful of cold sand. He spat, retching up a stringy glob of saliva and grit as he stumbled to his feet, seeing stars for a moment¡ªand not the ones twinkling overhead.

    ¡°Hmph,¡± said a disembodied voice in front of him. ¡°Heading straight down into the castle would have saved me a great deal of work but alas, Iolite comes along with far too high of a regard for your value and says that you wouldn¡¯t be able to handle it.¡±

    He forced a smile-grimace in the general direction of the voice.

    ¡°Yeah, she¡¯s right. I can¡¯t get through the sky-shields undetected. They''re way too¡ª¡±

    ¡°It is an indignity to drag you around,¡± Suria seethed, flickering into view as the spell-slip stuck to her chitin-paneled chest flaked off into ash. Her burnished wings fluttered with a papery sound as she hovered over him contemptuously. ¡°Get to work, breaker-boy.¡±

    ¡°Where specifically along this section?¡±

    She lashed her tail¡ªlong and unnervingly spiked, like a golden whip¡ªand pointed with a claw-tipped finger. A square of the brickwork started to glow softly.

    Warily, he placed his palms onto the stone and did his best to ignore the ominous glow, illusion though it was. The wall felt smooth and cool against his skin. He reached past the physical shell and into the steady flow of enchantments. They were braided loosely enough; he tugged at a frayed spot until it unwound. Unwound her little illusion too, for good measure. Taking a piece of chalk from his satchel, he drew a target on the spot he had unraveled.

    ¡°It¡¯s done.¡±

    ¡°Get out of the way, then.¡± Suria said, clicking her fingers. ¡°You have five seconds.¡± Her eyes were blazing, the pupils pin-point. She raised her hand, which crackled ominously and began to glow.

    Felun dived for cover and felt the shockwave resonate in his bones.

    He crawled out from behind the dune, ears ringing with the echo of the blast. Sand was making its way down his collar and into his boots. He seethed inwardly. She murmured a slippery-sounding word and waved a hand; he felt a thin layer of magic wash over him. Illusion.

    ¡°Keep to the shadows,¡± she said. As if he didn¡¯t already know that.

    The wall entrance-point led into an empty alleyway, heaped high with sagging bags of stinking trash. They snuck down side-streets, past slumbering clay-brick houses and empty market stalls, all the while cloaked in Suria¡¯s workings.

    He caught sight of his reflection in the window of a shopfront, a ghostly shape overlaid onto the display of soaps and flowers. He flinched, thinking it was another man. Suria¡¯s glamour was perhaps a little too well-crafted. That was a stranger in the glass; it wasn¡¯t just the newness of the wrinkles and close-cropped hairstyle that bothered him; it was also the little things, the crookedness of the nose and the pale, raised scar over the lips. Suria had shaped his face into something almost wholly unrecognizable; a man with a whole other life than his own. He wondered how a faery could sculpt such a distinctively human guise. Then he wondered if she¡¯d stolen it from somewhere. The jawline did resemble his father''s...he shuddered at the thought.

    Her magic¡ªthe illusory glamour, and spells for silence and sure-footedness¡ªbuzzed like a live wasp against the back of his neck. He could hear faint rumbling in the distance.

    There were few stirrings about: warm light in the window of a bakery, some insomniac¡¯s candle through the curtains of an apartment. They continued parallel to a main street until they came to the inner walls of the castle.

    The South castle gateway¡ªtwo great doors, flanked by walls of brown stone, and presently shut¡ªwas utterly devoid of guards; thankfully, Iolite¡¯s gambit was working. Felun stepped closer and placed his hand onto the wall, sweeping across the stone and onto the wood panels of the lofty doors. Old material, most likely. The enchantments of the gate wall and doors hummed at far too ancient of a frequency to unravel easily or speedily. Tangled lines and bulging layers squashed together under the weight of years. The ironwood beams which were used to bar them shut, however, were probably new enough.

    Felun ran a finger along the joins of the planks until he found a gap large enough to ease the end of a conduit-thread into. He held his end of the twine and concentrated; the free end quested about like a blind eel until it latched onto a beam.

    His head pounded and blood trickled from his nose as he unraveled the first ironwood-enchantment through the conduit line. He leaned his forehead against the cool surface of the door for a moment as it came undone.

    ¡°How much longer are you going to take?¡± Suria asked.

    ¡°Not long.¡±

    He wiped the blood off his face and threaded another conduit. The next enchantment came apart easier now that he knew the framework within. He sank into the whorl of spellwork, working against it as if it were the frayed end of a sun-bleached rope.

    ¡°Done,¡± he said.

    Suria took the ends of the twine in her glowing hand; from behind the door came a muffled hiss. The gates creaked open to an ugly garden, brimming with desiccated flowers. Between the sand, the heat, and the giant poisonous field on the horizon, he couldn¡¯t see why anyone would want to live here¡ªa kingdom so backwater that the very seaside had up and left two centuries ago.

    Suria took a tarnished compass from her belt as she rose a little higher into the air. The papery sounds of her flight were now silenced.

    ¡°The central structure,¡± she said. ¡°I can drop you onto a ledge if you think a window is more manageable.¡±

    He ducked into the shadow of a hedge as he rummaged in the depths of his bag and retrieved a spyglass.

    Suria eyed the shape of his spyglass, then glanced back at his satchel. He was familiar with this, the wrinkle of the forehead¡ªwhich, in Suria, was accompanied by a twitch of her face-spines¡ªand the mental back and forth comparison of shape-width-length and the moment of oh, I see.

    In his experience, the look of oh, I see was often followed by how easily is this young man parted from his magical bag and I wonder how much that would fetch in a pawnbroker¡¯s. Thankfully Suria didn¡¯t seem to care much about that part. After all, he thought bitterly, why take the tools of a tool that you already own?

    He searched for the tell-tale flash of runes on the frames; there were several. Good. He liked runes. They gave him nosebleeds on a far more occasional basis. There was little overlap between traditional enchantments and the faster-to-produce strings of modern visible rune-work, so he could only hope that further enchantments in the main building would be similarly accessible.

    ¡°Alright,¡± he said. ¡°How about we try that one¡ª¡±

    ¡°Shh,¡± Suria interrupted. She twitched the bony spurs which swept upwards from the sides of her forehead and cheekbones. ¡°Someone nearby. No moving. Stay.¡±

    Felun held himself still as she jetted off to his right, only slightly reassured by the irritating buzz of her magic against his skin that her shielding spell held true.

    He watched and waited. There was a decrepit rotunda off to the side. The ones back home were square, not round, and the rooftops were curved and pointed rather than domed. There had been one at his family¡¯s summer house, a quiet retreat blanketed in grape-scented wisteria. The last time he had visited, he¡¯d come across old Yao digging stray suckers from the ground.

    ¡°Hey, boy,¡± the old gardener had said. "Your mother said this all has to come out before next summer, but I can replant a piece into a pot for you if you¡¯d like.¡±

    Felun had professed his thanks, but it hardly mattered anymore. Summer-houses and court attendances and fresh welts forming on his palms; it all seemed like it had sprung from a nonsensical dream now.

    Well no, not the welts. That part still felt real enough.

    Suria returned with an expensive-looking blue cloak slung over her shoulder and some sort of bird-like headgear in her hand.

    ¡°One of those thaumaturges,¡± she said, holding the clothing out to him. ¡°I killed it. Put them on.¡±

    ¡°The mask doesn¡¯t have eye-holes,¡± he protested. It was pale and flattish, painted to look like an owl¡¯s face.

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    ¡°Oh? The thaumaturge seemed to see me just fine. Enchantment, I suppose. Use it.¡±

    He did as he was told. The embroidery on the cloak reminded him of the unpleasantly heavy ceremonial winter gear back home. Night air brushed against him through a tear in the cloak, at the small of his back. He shuddered. The mask felt a little cold against his face, but Suria was right; there was a spell woven into the back surface such that his vision was unobstructed. His breath didn¡¯t condense behind the mask, either. It hardly felt as if he was wearing a mask at all.

    She grabbed him without warning and rose through the air, alighting upon the narrow outer ledge of a window.

    ¡°Is this the one you wanted?¡±

    It was not.

    ¡°It will do,¡± he said.

    He saw now that the runes were visible as they darted over the frames, but turned transparent when skimming over the glass panes. He opened his satchel once more and removed a leather-bound journal, flipping it open to the latest blank page.

    Flexing his fingers, he placed them onto the glass, feeling for ripples, movement patterns, surface adhesion. Removing a rune felt like peeling off a sticker; some were more stubborn than others. The ends of several strings came off the glass and onto his hand. He coaxed the sticky ends off the window and poured the shining bundle onto the waiting blank page. They swarmed around the paper like confused insects, strings for anti-breakage and anti-corrosion.

    He edged to the side-most portion of the window ledge and shielded his face with the rune book.

    ¡°Okay, go ahead.¡±

    Suria clicked her fingers and pointed. The window blasted inwards in a shower of glass, frame and all. The debris crashed and shattered below.

    Felun grunted as she hauled him down by the collar and dragged him into the castle corridor.

    ¡°Come now,¡± she said, glancing down at her compass. ¡°We¡¯ve got a ways to go.¡±

    ===

    ¡°What fuckery is this?¡±

    The door to the Higher Library hadn¡¯t been a problem¡ªit hadn¡¯t even been locked. The foyer was similarly unstaffed: loose papers flung everywhere and not a scribe in sight. No, it was the archives themselves that looked like trouble.

    Shelves upon shelves of books and scrolls twisted and twined upside-down and in all directions, built using impossible geometries. Red ropes twisted through some of them, marking out convoluted pathways. It hurt his head to try to comprehend how it all fitted together. There was no horizon in sight. Objects in the distance seemed warped and not quite real, like someone had taken all of the visible light transmitting to his eyes and twisted it ever-so-slightly to the left.

    ¡°Iolite said nothing about such a mess,¡± Suria continued, frowning down at her compass, tilting it this way and that. ¡°Hmph. Worse than a Hive left to run riot.¡±

    She dipped her wings and cruised down to the mouth of a descending staircase, an open maw in the ground which looked as though it led into complete darkness.

    ¡°I won¡¯t be able to see you in the dark,¡± he said, hurrying after her as he dug a hand into his pocket for a rune-quill. ¡°Give me a moment.¡±

    Bioluminescent blue markings flared into life at her wingtips as she coasted into the shadow of the lower level. ¡°You can see that, can¡¯t you? Try to keep up, breaker-boy.¡± He could practically hear the sneer in her voice.

    He jogged after her flickering silhouette into the darkness, glancing at the shelves to his left and right. Each shelf soared upwards to a faraway ceiling, several metres over his head. Books and scrolls flashed by, though stranger items started appearing the deeper they went, wedged between paperbacks and sheets of loose-leaf parchment: a bottle of unknown liquid here, a jar of dried insects there. The air was dry and distinctly library-like, heavy with the scent of old books: burnt almond and slow-roasted sawdust. He found it almost comforting among all the other incongruities.

    He almost crashed into Suria as she came to an abrupt halt at what looked like a crossroads of sorts. The shelves stopped and split into four different paths. The clearing between them was dimly lit by a single blueish lamp, fashioned in the shape of an oversized dragonfly. The lights on Suria¡¯s wings dimmed as she whirled round and circled the small space, face-spikes twitching.

    ¡°Little blue birds,¡± she murmured, using an almost sing-song cadence. She checked her compass. ¡°Two in the way. Hmm.¡±

    She turned her gaze onto him. ¡°You look passable. I can take care of them while you get down there.¡± A glint appeared in her eyes and her tail lashed in what was probably excitement. ¡°All you have to do is follow the arrow.¡±

    ¡°I won¡¯t be able to find you.¡±

    Suria grabbed his hand and placed the compass in his palm, forcing his fingers closed around it. ¡°Oh, I¡¯ll find you once I¡¯m done.¡±

    Her fingertips glowed white and Felun gritted his teeth as a tracker-mark burned itself onto the back of his hand. Another of those magic symbols that hurt his brain to look at: a black linework cluster of cubes-beyond-cubes¡ªsix of them enmeshed in a ring that made his vision swim.

    ¡°Go fetch,¡± she crowed, and then she was gone in a flutter of illusion-smoke.

    Felun groaned. He pulled a rune-quill from his pocket, sketched a simple one for clear white light, and stuck it to the forehead of his mask. Then he started jogging, following the compass deeper into the library, trying to ignore the itch of the tracker-mark on his hand. He skimmed a hand along the material of the shelving as he went. Old birchwood, a few robust preservation runes flitting under his fingertips now and then, but no enchantments. It probably meant he was still far from the compass¡¯s destination.

    He kept going. The shelves mostly contained things that weren¡¯t books, now. Pieces of rusted armour. Taxidermy goats with far too many eyes. What looked to be parts of a giant lizard¡¯s skeleton.

    He turned a corner and caught an axe to the face.

    Felun yelled and stumbled backwards, head ringing. His hand darted up and he automatically felt for blood¡ªhis fingers landed on the smooth surface of the mask. He realised, heart pounding, that the enchantments on the bird-mask had fizzled into action and absorbed most of the blow.

    Then he realised that a man was charging at him with an axe.

    He cried out a shield-spell, the words rusty upon his tongue. A translucent sheet of golden shield-light flashed in front of him. It¡¯d buy him seconds, at best. The man¡ªtall, Songian-looking guy¡ªwas already swinging the axe down onto his pitiful barrier.

    Fuck, he was fast. Felun had to be faster.

    He spoke a word that made his lips crack and bleed on the way out. His rune book flew out of his satchel, floated in front of him. Waiting, ready. He shoved Suria¡¯s compass away and pulled out a dozen loose blades, the kind fitted into straight-razors.

    The book flipped itself open to runes for blood-seeking and flesh-slicing that he¡¯d lifted off some dungeon trap or other long ago. He tore them off the surface of the paper and bound them to the blades, launching them at the man just as his shield shattered.

    A jar of preserved snakes toppled off the shelf and smashed on the ground to his left, foul-smelling liquid and shards of glass scattering across the floor. A hand darted out from the gap and fired a spell at him. He dodged, but the next shot caught him on the side. The bolt of magic dissipated across the fabric of his purloined cloak like ripples on a still pond.

    Okay, he admitted to himself as several more spells pummeled against the absorptive cloak. So maybe it was a good idea for Suria to have looted that poor mage¡¯s body after all.

    Several cubes of amber and a bolt of leather clattered to the floor on his right.

    Three-against-one? He thought. Not fucking fair.

    A paper thing darted from the other side of the shelf at him¡ªsome sort of makeshift kite. It hit him on the elbow and exploded. The mage-cloak hissed and smoked as it caught the blast. One of Mystery-Hand¡¯s spells snuck in through the tear at the back of the cloak and stung him, a brief burst of pain so hot that it almost felt cold. That probably took some skin off.

    Fuck this, he thought. And then his mind churned through a garbled string of impressions along the lines of cloak-not-perfect-need-shields-quick.

    What was on the shelves? A stack of cracked hourglasses, a pile of blue sand, a bundle of dried lemongrass, some mirrors¡ªperfect. He grabbed three ornamental hand-mirrors off an adjacent shelf. He pasted adaptive shielding runes onto their surfaces; they fanned out to intercept Mystery-Hand¡¯s spells and the onslaught of paper kites. The last mirror-shield, he kept at his back, held over the tear in his cloak.

    The attacker with the axe had retrieved a rune-quill from somewhere and was halfway through with the darting razors. Felun was penned in from both the front and sides, needed room to fight or preferably, to run like hell. Shelves? Birchwood, he remembered in a flash. Not enchanted. He could blast his way through.

    His rune-book fanned open to a particular page, dominated by an enormous, singular snow-white rune. Ah. That old thing.

    He grimaced and flipped over to his heftiest shielding-runes first. He wasn¡¯t taking any chances, even with the protection of the dead mage¡¯s garb. He stuck sound-shielding runes into his ears, blanketed himself in physical-shielding ones, and threw a few spares at Axe-Rune-Man and Mystery-Hand for good measure. It wasn¡¯t like he wanted to actually, well, kill them or anything.

    The monumental rune crackled.

    He had to use both hands to lift it from the page. It kicked up clouds of dust around him as it moved from paper to air. The air pressure dropped. His ears popped. A small river of blood gushed from his nose, pouring over his lips and down his chin.

    Axe-Rune-Man cut apart the last razor blade with his quill, looked at him, looked at the rune under his hands and moved his mouth around words. The mystery hand darted back into its side of the shelf and the tide of kites to his right petered out.

    Felun gave them a moment to prepare shields before he shut his eyes and planted the rune into the floor.

    It dropped, connected, speared roots into the stone. The backs of his eyelids glowed red and the world rocked in what, to him, was a mercifully silent detonation.

    The light died down. His head was starting to hurt and there was a burning sensation behind his breastbone. A square of his back was still stinging, left wounded by the tear in the cloak. Felun dismissed the sound-shielding runes in his ears and cracked his eyelids open.

    He was at the center of a crater. The shelves to his sides had a vast chunk blown out of them. And the ones beyond them. And the next ones too¡ªthe blast radius spanned about six shelves, from what he could see. Thank the stars they were only birchwood. Mists of dust swirled around him, making him sneeze.

    The dust cleared.

    Axe-Rune-Man was hunched over in pain under a dome of shielding-runes, blood trickling from his nose and ears. To Felun¡¯s left, a young man¡ªthe spellcaster¡ªknelt under a golden shield that was evidently far stronger than Felun¡¯s own. To his right, a young woman¡ªthe source of the kites¡ªwas sitting on the ground and groaning. She was covered in patches of dust and one of her shoulders looked like it was out of its socket. He guessed that her shield had failed towards the tail end of the blast. A little ways off, about three shelves down, three younger adolescents strained to hold up a flickering shield-dome.

    They all looked vaguely Songian, but awfully young to be here. Library assistants? No way. Was that one wearing a nightgown?

    Mystery-Hand rose from under his shield and darted in front of Felun. ¡°You¡¯ll have to get past me first, foul Magician,¡± he cried, hands clenched onto trembling fists.

    ¡°Irfan, no,¡± the kite-girl croaked.

    ¡®Foul Magician¡¯, he¡¯d said?

    Magician, the word said with reverence behind the fear. He supposed it was the proper title of thaumaturgy in this little kingdom. He cursed Suria¡¯s selection of disguise and shut his rune book with a snap. The spellcaster boy flinched.

    Felun turned and sprinted leftwards¡ªaway from their motley defense, slipping into the labyrinth of shelves.

 1.8 - Knowledge Box

    Felun

    After several minutes passed without sounds of pursuit, he slowed and panted for breath, swearing between inhales. He was hardly in a state to unravel a vault. There was a stitch in his side and he had a dry ache at the base of his skull. His back felt both stinging and bruised. He lifted the mask and wiped the crust of dried blood off his face.

    The compass hand still pointed straight ahead. The items on the shelves¡ªmade of stone now, not mere birchwood¡ªwere protected by presumably-enchanted glass sheets, important-looking envelopes and peculiar sealed boxes under lock and key. He placed his hand onto the stone of the shelves once more. It was smooth and cool under the flat of his palm and this time, he could feel the definitive coils of enchantment within. Getting closer.

    Something clattered behind him and he whirled around, rune book at the ready. The tracker-mark on his hand blazed with pain and then the burning sensation and the mark itself fizzled into nonexistence.

    Her.

    ¡°Hello, breaker-boy,¡± Suria grinned. Clear faery-blood leaked from a cut on her cheek and she was missing the very tips of a couple of forehead-spines. ¡°I had a wonderful time without you. You look rather half-killed. What is taking so long?¡±

    He slid the Magician¡¯s mask back down over his blood-smudged face. ¡°I ran into some trouble.¡±

    She snatched the compass from his hand and peered at it, before making a whirring, clucking sort of faery-sound. ¡°You are not very efficient. Doubtless it had to come to this.¡±

    She opened her mouth¡ªhe glimpsed sharp teeth, a barbed tongue¡ªput the compass inside, and swallowed it whole.

    There was a sound¡ªa soft, cherry-coal-glowing sort of sound that crackled into being as her wings started to burn with lights. They looked as if they were laced with cinders. She hooked her arms under his and rose into the air, humming with power, shedding red-gold spell-light in sheets. And then she flew.

    Fucking hell, she flew.

    Suria, from what Felun had seen of her, could fly fairly fast¡ªat least as fast as he could sprint¡ªand she could keep it up for a fair while. But now she punched through the air on sizzling wings, hurtling them forwards faster than a mage-chariot.

    The sudden wind buffeted his body and made his eyes water. His pulse hammered. If she dropped him, he would splatter into a red smear on the labyrinth floor. But her grip was sure and she needed his unraveling. He, or rather, his family, had come to an understanding. So. Surely she wouldn¡¯t murder him in cold blood. He glanced up. The look on her face made it seem as if she might want to, though.

    They flew further into the depths of the library. Felun clenched his jaw and tried to orient himself as they streaked past dark silhouettes on shelves and vitrines alike. He spotted bolted chests and jars of eyes. There were alien-looking seed-pods the size of his head and things that writhed in their bindings. The library shelves stopped being proper shelves and started becoming chunky rolling units. The deeper they went, the more there were. Armoured, rolling shelves chugged along on league-long rails that stretched into a foggy distance.

    But why, he wondered, and couldn¡¯t come to a satisfactory answer. What was the point? The faery archives had a point, from what Iolite had told him. The Library did make sense, up to a certain threshold. But why would a kingdom need this place of hulking mechanical monstrosities, moving parts and crushing gears? Perhaps Shadowsong had quietly gone insane centuries ago, and no one had ever noticed or cared.

    Suria twisted and turned at a particular corner. Magic streamed off her in waves, the colour of polished weaponry and eye-burning flowers. She bore him down a grand staircase that hadn¡¯t existed a moment ago. The ceiling dipped, then opened up once more, so far over their heads that he had to squint to see that it was papered with texts and maps and squares of blank parchment besides.

    The realm of rolling stacks had disappeared and now they were surrounded by walls¡ªancient labyrinth walls dotted with doorways of all kinds. Some were set against the ground far below, but others were sunk into alcoves far above them, only accessible via flight or the occasional rolling ladder propped against the wall. Doors and doors and doors, embedded into the labyrinth walls. Wood and metal and stone and clay, some plain and others intricately-patterned, some awash with exquisite artworks and others coated in fuzzy mould, some smaller than his hand and others that extended up to the vaulted paper ceiling. Suria flew past them all with barely a glance.

    Felun felt the thrum of ancient enchantments in the very air itself like a mounting headache, a growing dryness in his mouth. His senses were being stretched by a seeming demand for attention, for observation, acknowledgment. Which was stupid and ridiculous, because magic by itself couldn¡¯t think. He felt the spiked carapace of Suria¡¯s arm brush against his cheek and the whisper of braided magic within. A fleeting thought, not an unfamiliar one, went through his head: he could unravel that. Followed quickly by¡ªyeah, sure, he could try, if he had a death wish.

    Something cold and clear dripped onto his shoulder. He glanced up. Suria¡¯s face was set in a snarl. She was bleeding; streams of her strange, clear blood spilled forth from her eyes like tears.

    They sped past an enormous set of double doors, painted with a golden mural of crowns and thrones. Oddly-shaped windows were starting to appear in the walls; circles and arches and octagons of frosted glass set into the stone of the labyrinth. Shadows moved behind the blurry glass, faceless, featureless silhouettes. Some humanlike, some not. One outstandingly horrible window-panel, stretching several metres along the wall and in direct view from where Suria dangled him, had the shapes of hands and faces pressing from the other side. Desperate, clawing hands and obscene, bleeding tongues slithering against the lumpy glass. He bit back an exclamation of disgust as it finally faded from view.

    The door-window-vault-labyrinth felt like a vast, inhuman palace. Something that had been twisted inside-out and wrung out to dry. The insanity of having a monstrous thing like this nestled in the heart of one¡¯s castle, with all those riches and curses laying in wait, behind thousands of unlockable doors. What was to stop someone from walking in and unleashing a full legion of ancient mage-crafted horrors?

    Once or twice, he was fairly sure that they flew over a desiccated corpse¡ªtangles of fabric around what might have been a flash of ribcage and a scattered femur bone, an unmoving shape hunched over in the shadow of a book as tall as a house.

    There are fail-safes, he reminded himself for his own sanity. There must be, for no one could have made it this far without knowing where to go, without Suria¡¯s faery powers and the help of a compass that was not truly a compass. And there weren¡¯t many other Breakers out there. The old generation were all surely half-insane by now, or at the very least, strictly retired. There were fail-safes. There must be.

    Suria¡¯s flight slowed. She dropped him none-too-gently in front of a nondescript door, about as big as the entrance to a kitchen cupboard. The surface was dull, dark, and metallic. Uneven-looking too, pitted and scarred. He sensed magic within, old and masked. No telling its true measure, though of course it would have heft, in a place like this. Just how much heft, now that worried him. There was no keyhole, not on the surface. He had expected that. It would have been more suspicious, otherwise.

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    ¡°This one,¡± she said. She stepped back to lean against the opposite wall, tail swaying to and fro like a pendulum.

    The part he dreaded. It was time to work, to really work. He dug into his bag for a snack and a stick of chalk. Using his free hand, he sketched a wide half-circle on the stone at the base of the iron door as he gulped at a can of sour prune juice. Keep it together, man. Father¡¯ll kill you if you don¡¯t.

    He felt like shit; head pounding, arm tremors settling in, a salty, metallic taste at the back of his throat that wasn¡¯t washed away by the tart, refreshing drink. Most sane dungeonrunners would refuse to work in such conditions. But most dungeonrunners didn¡¯t hail from families who sold their disgraced firstsons into the service of faeries.

    He rubbed healing ointment on his physical wounds before he retrieved an adjustable folding stool from his bag and set it down within the chalk, checking and changing it such that he would be able to reach the door comfortably while seated. He lifted runes from his book to stick into the ground, heavy signs for general shielding and reduction of force. He twined more around his fingers, past his wrists and up his elbows, a hundred and one lines of anti-cutting and anti-corrosion sinking into his skin like glowing lacework gauntlets. He hoped that it would be enough.

    ¡°Don¡¯t step past the chalk,¡± he told Suria. He fished around in his bag and pulled out a wooden cane, hooked at one end. ¡°If I collapse, use this to fish me out.¡±

    ¡°So try not to collapse,¡± was all she said, lip curling in displeasure. She took the cane nonetheless. She held her other hand to the corner of one eye, trying to stem the trickle of faery blood there. It almost looked like water, but her grimace said otherwise.

    ¡°Could you cast a silence? I¡¯ll need to concentrate.¡± And if it got to the point where he started screaming, it wasn¡¯t like she wouldn¡¯t be able to tell that something had gone horribly, horribly wrong in other ways.

    She clicked her fingers and a silence-field formed, settling in over his head like a rain-soaked cloud.

    Felun walked over past the chalk and sat down. His head was still pulsing, heavy blood glugging along inside his skull and hammering at his temples. He rolled up his sleeves and placed his hands onto the rough, unyielding surface. No reaction, but for a slight stirring in the enchantment within, like a snake uncoiling to taste the air with the very tip of its forked tongue.

    He took a deep breath. This place was old. Older than any dungeon he¡¯d ever worked by far. Ask him to break a hole in the wall? Not a chance. But the door was another thing entirely. It was certainly not new, still pushing the limit of his experience, but he felt that it was newer, a later addition to the primeval contours of the labyrinth. He tried not to think of whatever half-sane mage who had added it, of the how or the why. All that mattered now was that it was something that could be unlocked.

    The enchantment gleamed wetly just beneath the surface; he dived.

    The spell guarding the door wasn¡¯t so much a braid as a knot so thick that it was almost spherical in shape. It reminded him of the puzzle ball from his childhood; concentric spheres and hollowness, the enticing gleam of ivory that had started it all. He would never have looked at the damn thing, if he had known that this is where it would send him.

    He reached for the enchantment. Hundreds of lengths of twine rose to meet him, the outermost layer reminiscent of writhing cotton and fine grey silk. He picked delicately at the closest section and when the threads parted a little too easily, he moved to another spot. He pinched and pulled and evaded little snapping teeth; the silk-cotton shell sloughed off in one piece like a layer of dead skin. The next layer felt glutinous and sticky, bubbling glaucous greens and pearly greys interspersed with the smell of wet loam and plastics of a bygone era. He lost focus and bumped a trigger there, felt a dark fire ghost against his hand as the protective rune-gloves flared to life, some of the symbols sputtering out in sacrifice.

    The layer below started to show its true colours; handfuls of long, pale human hair that grew increasingly blood-soaked as he unraveled more of it. He tasted the dulled edge of a love song to the dead princess of a dead empire. Poor thing. Dense nodules of pus-filled, flyblown flesh started poking through; a few of them popped despite his best efforts. His head hurt too much to do this cleanly. He was vaguely aware of several spiked, toothy tendrils lunging out of the wall and towards his physical body. The floor-runes flashed and took care of them.

    A relatively straightforward mesh of thinly-woven bone next¡ªto lull him into a false sense of security, oldest trick in the book¡ªand then he was digging through a thick soup of soft, fatty brain matter that spat loose teeth and bloodied coins at him every step of the way. The runes around his prone body flared into a wall of white fire as the scarred metal door undulated, thrust out long, thin spikes that aimed for the hands and heart and throat and lungs. It became a war of attrition, one that he was used to. He, with his circle of runes, digging further into the meat of the enchantment. The enchantment, that un-alive thing with its layers upon layers of knotted jute cord and fresh viscera, a new tripwire at every turn.

    Blue bone marrow. The texture of dead fish scales. A memory of his old crew, a sound of jeering, of disgust.

    He breached the final layer, a tangle of golden vines that sprayed corrosive liquids at both his virtual and physical bodies. More protective runes sacrificed themselves. His virtual-hand closed on the handle of a cold, dark key, already wedged into the mouth of the lock.

    He turned, and the door clicked open as the enchantment fell apart like a desiccated fruit.

    The door opened to a rough-cut recess in the wall. It contained a vase-like object. Nothing special-looking: unglazed, plain brown in colour, and a little taller than his forearm in height. There was a small chip in the rim. Disappointing after all that trouble, not that anything could have really been worth it.

    It was done.

    Felun lurched back to full consciousness, palms fever-hot, raw and bleeding. Little blisters already lurked beneath the skin¡¯s surface, bubbles in a tapioca pudding. He wanted to scream, but settled for resting his aching head against the backs of his wrists as he tried not to vomit.

    They would all, of course, consider this a small price to pay. Bust open the vault to a deep artefact in exchange for weeks of cracked, bleeding hands that sprouted hundreds of itching, watery blisters which would torment him day and night and get worse if he touched them. Sure, when you put it like that, it sounded like a great deal. He didn¡¯t have to die in order to procure objects of esoteric and questionable power. He just had to live through the aftermath, which was, he thought, possibly worse.

    He craved rice noodle rolls and wisteria-filled days. Steamed pork and salted duck eggs. He was always hungry after a big unraveling; hunger came naturally when he felt so weak and hollow. Not sago soup, though. The mere thought made his fingers itch in protest.

    Suria dispelled the silence-field with a pop and hovered over to the perimeter of his circle.

    ¡°Are you quite finished?¡±

    ¡°Y-yeah, almost.¡± His throat felt dry. ¡°Pass me the cane. Please¡ª¡± He broke off, coughing. ¡°¡­thanks.¡±

    He winced and shifted the hooked part of the cane in his grip so that he avoided touching it against the ragged parts of his skin. He poked its tip into the crevice, tapping along the inner walls and around the amphora. When nothing went off, he scanned once more for residual enchantment, found none, and nodded hesitantly.

    ¡°Okay, you can take the vase out.¡±

    ¡°It is an amphora,¡± she sniffed.

    Vase, amphora, whatever. His hands stung, already bristling with phantom itches. He stumbled to his feet and dragged his chair out of the way as Suria pushed past him. He splashed blister salve onto his palms before wrapping them in bandages, not that it would help much. He got his book and returned the few surviving runes to the safety of their pages. The rest of his equipment was dumped back into the bag. He winced as he hefted it back onto his shoulder; the satchel was portable, yes, but only slightly less heavy than its contents and exhausted as he was, he was starting to feel it.

    Suria was turning the amphora round in her hands, admiring it.

    ¡°Excellent,¡± she hummed. ¡°Let¡¯s get out of here.¡±

    ¡°How are you going to carry me and that thing at the same time?¡±

    For a moment, he thought that she would say something like ¡®actually, you¡¯ve served your purpose so I¡¯m leaving you here to die¡¯.

    She scowled and made a twirling motion with her hand. ¡°This is how.¡±

    Glittering filaments sprung into existence and wrapped themselves around the amphora. She floated closer and pushed the vessel against his chest; the magical twine bound it to his front. Its ceramic surface was surprisingly lukewarm. It almost felt as if it were pulsing through the fabric of his shirt, and well, wasn¡¯t that fucking creepy. He was surprised that he was even surprised, considering where they were, where they¡¯d found it, what he¡¯d had to go through.

    ¡°You need to learn how to fly on your own with those little magic symbols of yours after this,¡± Suria snarled, seizing him in a painfully tight grip. The points of her fingers prickled uncomfortably through his shirt. ¡°The shape of this blasted labyrinth was taxing enough without lugging your weight around.¡±

    She took flight; the wind stung at his face. His fingers ached. The amphora pulsed against his chest like a withered clay heart.

    He was so damn tired.

 1.9 - Traitors to the Crown

    Aliyah

    A stolen sun-lamp flickered in one hand, red and dying. She¡¯d scooped it out of a box of spares in a cleaning cupboard¡ªeasy enough to coax it back to life with a little magic, but not to full strength, so as to limit the glow giving her away at the end of the hellish dungeon staircase. She clutched the nausea-inducing gate keys in her other hand as she made her way downwards.

    She suspected that Zahir hadn¡¯t been thinking all-too-clearly when he¡¯d colour-coded the keys; the lamp cast a distractingly red tint over everything, for one. The white light emanating from the keys themselves was better for checking the colours, but only if she avoided looking at their glinting source.

    The halls had been empty. She had made it down to the last gate and all she could focus on was the fact that she felt like dry-heaving. It had been so tempting to try her spare spell-slip on the key runes, but she¡¯d worried that it might affect their use. And besides, the maidservant-trained part of her kept arguing that it never hurt to save an extra of something in case it was ever needed in a tight pinch. Damn it, it might have been worth it after all to have asked Rana for tips on illegal rune-breaking. She thought of the Magicians, felt even sicker, moved thoughts of Rana out of her head.

    The guards had gone, but the warden was probably still around.

    She peeked through the final keyhole. There he was, sitting on an upturned crate and sipping at a steaming metal soup flask. She noted the sheathed shortsword at his hip, double-checked that she had the correct key, and set the lamp down onto the step behind her.

    Her heart was pounding even as she tried to take slow, deep breaths. She pinched the bridge of her nose, tried to focus.

    What had Zahir been thinking? That she was anywhere near capable? She practiced on rats, goats, and only rarely the occasional human¡ªmostly herself, rarely him, never anyone who meant to fight back.

    Focus, she scolded herself. This was no time for self-doubt. What advantages did she have that the warden didn¡¯t? The ability to induce vasodilation and to knock him out, yes, but she wasn¡¯t a master who could manipulate without near-skin contact¡ªwhich meant having to get within stabbable range. She could break one of his bones, but that would take even more effort, with the same risks. She wasn¡¯t especially fast or agile, nor did she have much stamina to speak of; burning through her magic at the colonnade had left her head pounding and her eyes gritty. She was already flirting with magical exhaustion.

    There was, as far as she could see, absolutely no cover in the dungeon. There was also next to no chance of convincing the warden that she was meant to be there in the early hours of the morning with keys that weren¡¯t hers, and no apprentice¡¯s badge or cloak. She had one spare spell-slip that she wasn¡¯t sure what to do with, since it seemed geared towards breaking an enchantment and the material it was bonded to; the warden was not an enchanted material. His sword, perhaps? She¡¯d get injured trying to grab it. How many deep cuts would she be able to heal in her current state? Not many. And then there was the problem of the warden himself even without the sword; a man his size could kill her with a hard punch to the jaw, no question about it. A physical fight simply wasn¡¯t going to work.

    She had a bunch of mystery spell-slips that she wasn¡¯t willing to gamble with, so she chose to ignore them in favour of getting them into Kionah¡¯s hands where they could be used best. She also had a set of keys which made people sick to look at, so perhaps they could serve as a distraction? Her stomach lurched reflexively. Or perhaps not, if it meant she had to look at them too. Still, she moved them to her left hand and grasped them with the teeth pointing out. Worst-case scenario, they could be used to poke him in the eye while he stabbed her to death.

    Interesting, that her anxieties kept circling back to knives and stabbing and violence. She knew she was too weak to deal with fighting and wounds. She considered it, and decided that she needed to seem unthreatening, civilian enough for him to instinctively move to restrain rather than maim. She shrugged off her cloak to reveal her plain grey uniform. There. Now she looked more like an unarmed maidservant, which tipped the scales a little more in her favour.

    Cause confusion, not aggression. Knock the warden out, get Kionah out, in and out, quick and easy. Easy¡ªhah. What a joke. She breathed in deeply and a little unsteadily, pulling vasodilation to the forefront of her mind as she glanced once more through the keyhole. He was still distracted by his post-midnight snack; now was as good a time as she was going to get.

    She rolled up her sleeves, unlocked the gate, and went for it.

    The warden¡¯s head jerked up mid-sip as she threw the door open.

    ¡°Oh help, please help, it¡¯s horrible up there,¡± she cried in her best fearful voice as she rushed towards him, free hand outstretched in what she hoped looked like an innocent and imploring motion. ¡°There¡¯s¡ªthere are people throwing spells around, and they say it¡¯s because of faeries, goodness gracious¡ª¡±

    She wasn¡¯t a master of charades like some of the sewing circle girls¡ªshe was probably overdoing it a bit.

    He rose to his feet, still holding his soup flask, and caught her by the wrist of her outstretched arm.

    ¡°Now then, young lady¡ª¡± he began, furrowing his brow.

    Working through her wrist was a little trickier than through her fingertips, but it was close enough. His blood pressure dropped, and so did he.

    She caught him by the shoulder and swore; hot soup splashed over her skirts as the open flask slipped from his limp hand, bounced, and rolled over the floor, trailing thick beige broth. She staggered as she lowered him to the ground¡ªhe was a full foot taller than her and about as dense as true iron. Thank the stars her helpless maiden act had worked. She kick-started the production of a few chemicals that would give him some semblance of a sleep-cycle. Her hands shook as she took his keys and sorted through them for the one to Lady Kionah¡¯s door. It took a few heart-pounding tries, but at last, one of them slid in and turned smoothly.

    Kionah was still chained to the table, uninjured. She had been practically staring a hole into the doorway. Her eyes looked bloodshot.

    ¡°Salutations, apprenticeling. You certainly took your time.¡±

    ¡°My name isn¡¯t ¡®apprenticeling¡¯,¡± she snapped, nerves raw and frayed as they were. Her hands were still shaking.

    Kionah pursed her lips. ¡°Right, Aliyah. My apologies. Could you please get me out of these?¡±

    Aliyah yanked one of Zahir¡¯s spell-slips from her skin-pocket. Five chains in total; one per shackle on each of Kionah¡¯s limbs and one more attached to the heavy collar around her throat. They were all pulled close to full tautness, seemingly anchored to the underside of the table.

    ¡°Do these all connect underneath?¡± She ducked under the table to look even as she asked.

    ¡°I don¡¯t know. Feels like it.¡±

    ¡°The chains all feed into this like, really big bolt under here. Do I use the slip on that part?¡±

    ¡°If it has runes on the surface, then give it a go. What could it hurt, hm?¡±

    Aliyah held the rectangle of spell-paper against the bolt, careful not to brush her skin against the dark symbols curling over the surface. She sounded out the phonetic notation written on the slip; her gums bled as the paper started to hiss. There was a flash of light that made her flinch and hurt her eyes. She squeezed them shut as metal cracked and shattered under her fingertips.

    Kionah hopped off the table, brushing crumbs of metal off her lap.

    ¡°You have my gratitude,¡± she said. Her voice abruptly dropped in pitch, losing some of its melodious quality. Aliyah froze at the change in tone. ¡°Now get the fuck out from under there. We have to leave.¡±

    ¡°Wh-where do we go now?¡±

    Kionah wasn¡¯t going to kill her, right? She could heal, and she was more useful alive than dead.

    ¡°Out past the walls, obviously.¡± Kionah glanced around the bare room as she followed Aliyah to the door. ¡°Got any weapons?¡±

    ¡°No¡ª¡± she opened the door, and there was a Magician on the other side.

    Several things happened in quick succession. Kionah threw up a golden dome-shield. The Magician sent forth a bolt of white lightning. The shield fractured, repaired, then fractured again in terrible tessellations all over its golden surface.

    Aliyah screamed. Kionah snarled, blood beading at the corners of her mouth.

    ¡°Shut the fuck up and help me! Hells-fucking-hells, apprenticeling¡ª¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not a spellcaster!¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re the apprentice, aren¡¯t you!? Stop his heart! Swell his throat shut! Something!¡±

    ¡°I can¡¯t¡ªthat¡¯s not how it works¡ª¡± Pure, animal fear crowded into the edges of her thoughts, brain afire, awash with the theory of metabolic equilibrium and stupid, blinding terror.

    ¡°Stand down, you traitors,¡± the Magician shouted, even as he sent forth a fresh wave of spell-light.

    The Magician withdrew a spell-slip from the depths of his cloak. Aliyah only had second to glimpse it¡¯s size and startling blueness before a wall of white fire roared towards them. This time, they both cried out reflexively.

    Kionah¡¯s shield exploded.

    They were flung backwards. Aliyah¡¯s shoulder thwacked against the edge of the torture-table and she fell to the floor. Her head was killing her. Kionah twisted in the air, rolled to her feet, and started casting.

    A spell hit Aliyah square in the chest. It¡ªit boiled. Her blood felt as though it was clotting and curdling, though it was all pain, no illness, that she could tell for sure. Her blood cells weren¡¯t actually bursting. It was all pain, just a disabling spell. Nothing scary, just pain. It was just pain.

    Aliyah groaned and clutched at her ribs. She tried to shunt numbing chemicals around. No response. Stabbing pains shot down her sternum and across her ribcage in waves. Panicked, she grasped for her magic. She didn¡¯t find it.

    What.

    She tried again. Found nothing but the barest of tendrils. The awareness of her body draining away but for the blood simmered in her veins. She fancied that she could trace the path of every capillary by how much it hurt, a fine meshwork¡ªagony. Anti-haemolytic. She should¡¯ve taken it. But Rana¡ª

    Kionah snapped a fresh dome-shield into place over them. The Magician was advancing, focusing his efforts on her.

    Kionah called forth new spell-light. Her first shots sank into his cloak, but she sent fresh bolts on a one-way course through her shield, gold-and-blue spells that twirled in the air and slipped up his sleeves. Something sizzled¡ªperhaps flesh. He swore loudly and fumbled his next shot.

    Aliyah sweated against the floor, her face inches from a drainage grate. Everything hurt. She felt like she was going to vomit.

    ¡°Get up and help me,¡± Kionah growled through a mouthful of blood. ¡°I can¡¯t keep this up forever!¡±

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    ¡°I can¡¯t¡­his spell¡ªnot enough magic,¡± she managed to grit out.

    Kionah swore. ¡°Give it a minute,¡± she snapped, sending a twisty silver at the Magician. ¡°No sigils or circles, yes? Then it¡¯ll wear off.¡±

    The Magician made an incoherent sound of rage.

    Aliyah grasped for her magic, searched her body and her mind for a whisper of it. Her fingertips tingled and she closed her hand into a fist.

    There.

    She tugged, and her magic welled back up. She numbed the pain as best as she could and lurched to her feet, her ribs buzzing, not fractured. No pain? Not quite¡ªbut less pain. That was good.

    She wracked her throbbing brain for something, anything, of use. She put her hand into her pocket, the skin-pocket with the dungeon keys inside. The breaker spell-slip. No, that was no good. The Magician wasn¡¯t an enchanted material. Her hand went to the other pocket, the one she¡¯d forgotten about until now.

    ¡°Could spell-slips help you?¡±

    ¡°What kind of spell-slips?¡±

    Aliyah yanked open the clear pouch and pulled out a fistful of papers. She scanned the tangled snarls of characters and runes, cursing her ineptitude with the symbols. Rana would be of far more use here, right now. The thought made her stomach twist.

    ¡°This one says, uh¡ªfire-something-cloud?¡±

    ¡°Give it here!¡± Kionah snatched it out of her hand and formed an arrow in her upturned palm, a glowing white arrow of pure spell-light. She wrapped the spell-slip for fire-something-cloud around the shaft and hurled it at the Magician.

    A silent explosion formed where it landed. Blooms of red-white fire roiled through the air. Aliyah drew a sharp breath, smelled burning flesh.

    Had Kionah just killed him?

    The Magician lunged out of the smoke, a thing of singed hands and blue cloth.

    ¡°Stand¡ªdown¡ªand¡ªyield!¡± he screamed hoarsely.

    His mask was cracked and his cloak was in tatters. Blue fire blazed in his bleeding, burnt fists as he sprinted forwards and started hammering at the other side of their shield. The golden surface buckled and started to crack.

    Aliyah yelped again, cursed her reaction, gritted her teeth. The shield was going to break. She flexed her free hand and thought, vasodilation. Kionah¡¯s panicked voice punctured her focus.

    ¡°Pass a slip, quickly¡ª¡±

    She did, obeying the order instinctively even as she tried to form the working for vasodilation in her mind; a mocking headache throbbed at her temples.

    ¡°No, no, not an illusion one!¡± Kionah snarled, and snatched another slip out of the many clutched in her hand.

    She thrust it through the fractured shield. The paper shrivelled and started to burn. Shivery green smoke rolled off its sizzling surface, worming its way under the Magician¡¯s mask. He hacked and coughed, putting a hand up to his face before crumpling to the ground. The smoke faded as his body went limp. He crumpled and fell onto his face, his mask cracking against the stone.

    ¡°Is¡­is he dead?¡±

    ¡°Not quite. Not that type of spell¡ªbut he¡¯ll wish he was when he wakes.¡±

    Kionah dissipated her shield and wiped the blood from her mouth. She stepped forward and delivered a vicious kick to the unconscious Magician¡¯s stomach with her bare foot.

    ¡°Ah, hey, that¡¯s kind of unnecessary,¡± Aliyah said. ¡°He¡¯s already out.¡±

    ¡°You think? They sliced me open for hours,¡± she spat. ¡°I should think that I am entitled to a few knocks. Now give me the bag of slips. We¡¯d best hurry and hope there aren¡¯t more on the way up.¡±

    Aliyah swallowed and handed the clear pouch over; she thought of bloodied skin and missing fingernails as Kionah¡¯s slender hand closed over it. ¡°I¡ªI¡¯m sorry.¡±

    Kionah didn¡¯t reply as she riffled through the little bag of papers and plucked one out. She tucked the pouch into her belt and grabbed her by the wrist. Then she stuck the spell-slip to herself and murmured the activation word. The paper crumbled into dust and Aliyah felt a cool shiver run down from her head to her toes, like a night breeze across the salt flats.

    ¡°Illusion,¡± Kionah said by way of explanation. She let go and took a step back for good measure. ¡°Your master didn¡¯t skimp out on these, thankfully.¡±

    They crept out into the main chamber of the dungeons. Kionah spotted the unconscious warden and darted over to pluck the sword out of his belt. Runes skittered across the surface of the blade as she unsheathed it. She made an appreciative noise, then tutted.

    ¡°Why didn¡¯t you take this when you killed him?¡±

    ¡°I didn¡¯t kill him,¡± Aliyah hissed, aghast. Did Kionah take her for some ruthless murderer? Was she hoping that she would be? ¡°He¡¯s sleeping, sort of. And I don¡¯t know how to use a sword!¡±

    Kionah wrinkled her nose. ¡°And I prefer daggers, but a blade in the hand is better than none. Be ready to fight in the future, won¡¯t you? I don¡¯t run well with dead weight.¡±

    ¡°I already told you, I can¡¯t fight.¡±

    ¡°What rubbish has Zahir been teaching you?¡± she scoffed. ¡°Will you die like a pacifist? Use your magic like a knife.¡±

    ¡°I can¡¯t do anything to anyone without touching them first, okay?¡±

    ¡°Well that¡¯s a bit useless, isn¡¯t it?¡± Kionah snorted, face caught in a half-sneer. ¡°Let me guess, you burned through a lot of magic even getting here.¡±

    ¡°I¡ªI¡¯m tired, but I can still cast.¡±

    She omitted the additional reasons for her exhaustion, suspected that Kionah would see helping Farzaneh and her friends as an additional black mark against her; just some idealistic Healer-imitator foolishness. Well, it would have been, if she¡¯d failed. But she hadn¡¯t failed. She had a brain with plenty of judgement inside and she could use it. It hadn¡¯t been a terribly difficult decision.

    She thought back to Zahir saying ¡®you cannot save everyone¡¯. He was right; there were still hordes of lowborns waiting to die and she couldn¡¯t, wouldn¡¯t, do anything about it. It wasn¡¯t her fault. She wasn¡¯t a martyr. But she¡¯d done what she could.

    Kionah stared at her coldly with those pale eyes of hers. ¡°You can heal though, correct? Zahir¡¯s not just covering for you?¡±

    ¡°Yes, I can heal.¡±

    ¡°Hmph.¡± Kionah strode over to the exit-gate and turned the handle. It didn¡¯t budge. ¡°It¡¯s locked.¡±

    Aliyah¡¯s heart stuttered in ice-cold terror for a moment before she realised that the Magician they¡¯d fought must have re-locked everything on the way down. She frowned. This skittishness had to stop. Kionah was already looking at her funny for all of the yelping and screaming.

    ¡°Oh, here,¡± she said, as she took Zahir¡¯s horrible nausea-keys from her pocket and held them out.

    Kionah blanched, gagged, and then glanced away as she reached for them. She yanked her fingertips back as soon as they brushed the metal and hissed. ¡°Nope. You open it. They¡¯ll melt my hands off.¡±

    She stepped forwards and unlocked the gate, careful to keep the keys in her peripheral vision. A brief thought flitted through her mind¡ªyou got Kionah free, she¡¯s not going to die now and it won¡¯t be your fault, so your job is done¡ªbefore she glanced back at the unconscious warden and remembered the not-dead Magician back in the torture room. Her hopes extinguished themselves like a flame plunged into dark water.

    There were still flocks of Magicians about, and still some incomprehensible faery battle to sneak past, raging beyond the walls of the city.

    ¡°Okay,¡± she said as the lock clicked open. ¡°Let¡¯s get out of here.¡±

    ===

    She felt like she was on the brink of a panic attack the whole way up¡ªin near-darkness, too. The Magician must have stomped on her lamp on his way down, because they had found it shattered over her discarded cloak, wholly extinguished. She had offered it to Kionah, who had been starting to shiver. They climbed. The light cast by the dungeon keys was hardly comforting.

    Once they got back into the castle proper, she realised with a jolt that, under the borrowed cloak, Kionah was still in her blood-stained underclothes. That little detail had kind of blended into the background, down in the dungeon and through the awful spell-light and spell-pain of the fight. But Kionah was still clearly trying not to shiver.

    ¡°We, we n-need to go that way,¡± she whispered through chattering teeth. ¡°Out the North gate f-first¡ª¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll get you something to wear,¡± Aliyah muttered back. ¡°Just¡ªstay here, I think that cupboard is a laundry drop-off.¡±

    She ducked into the drop-off and pulled out a clean-ish looking smock and a pair of battered garden-slippers, which were pretty much the only things within that would be suitable for walking around. Kionah put them on, then led the way out of the castle with the warden¡¯s sword in one hand and a set of readied spell-slips in the other. Her expression was grim, and the wind blew her hair back like a banner.

    Aliyah glanced back, just once, at the outer wall. She vowed, fear and uncertainty churning in her chest all the while, to return as soon as she could. Once this whole thing with the Magicians was over¡­a couple of years wasn¡¯t all that long, was it? She swallowed around the lump in her throat, pushed the thought aside, and hurried onwards.

    Wishes could wait. Survival hinged upon now.

    ===

    ¡°Where, exactly, are we going? I thought we were heading for the skyship port?¡±

    Aliyah shivered in the cold night air. They were trekking through empty, dilapidated zephyr-boat sheds at the outer castle wall and her maidservant¡¯s uniform was hardly woven for the weather. Though, it seemed a bit of an understatement to call the boat sheds mere ¡®sheds¡¯; each was almost as vast as a skyship hangar. Perhaps they would have been more impressive if they weren¡¯t falling apart. The hole-spotted roof loomed over her head and flakes of rust crunched beneath her shoes.

    ¡°Skyport? Wherever did you get that idea from?¡± Kionah strode ahead, probably shivering even more than she was. ¡°The skyport was only an option when Alhena was still alive. Not a good one, though. Too big, too bulky, too noticeable. Anyways, I don¡¯t know about you, but I certainly can¡¯t pilot one.¡±

    ¡°You said that you¡ªthat we¡ªwere going to Glister, right?¡± She swallowed. ¡°There¡¯s a¡­a great big Killing Field in the way. How else would you get there?¡±

    ¡°There are tunnels to the North-West,¡± Kionah said, as if stating something obvious. ¡°A great big secret warren of them, see.¡±

    ¡°¡­tunnels?¡± Her head spun at the very thought. ¡°You want us to walk through a bunch of secret uncharted tunnels, all the way to Glister?¡±

    ¡°They¡¯re a remnant from the Last Faery War, so no, they¡¯re not uncharted per se, just hazardous and unknown. I procured a map from a secure source.¡±

    ¡°But¡ªit must take days to walk there. Where¡¯s the survival kit, with all the medicine and food and water?¡±

    ¡°Alhena left a supply cache in the tunnels. But first, we need a zephyr-boat.¡±

    ¡°You can pilot a zephyr-boat?¡±

    Kionah snorted. ¡°Had a couple days of practice. I did steal a mage-chariot once; the steering can¡¯t be too different, eh?¡±

    ¡°You stole a¡ªwhat? I heard one got bogged down in the salt flats last month. Was that you?¡±

    ¡°Nah. It was a long time ago. Back in Glister.¡±

    ¡°You¡­used to live in Glister?¡± Kionah hadn¡¯t struck her as ethnically Songian, but she¡¯d assumed that she was just from one of the newer merchant families, for a given value of ¡®newer¡¯.

    ¡°Born there. You don¡¯t keep up with the court politics, do you?¡±

    ¡°Not really,¡± she said warily. ¡°I just hear whatever gossip-juice filters down into the sewing circles. I don¡¯t think I ever heard anything about you.¡±

    ¡°Probably not.¡± There seemed to be a note of self-satisfaction to those words. ¡°I always did succeed in being uninteresting.¡±

    ¡°So you left a zephyr-boat here.¡± Aliyah glanced around, seeing nothing. ¡°Illusioned? Or maybe someone stole it.¡±

    ¡°Alhena left a zephyr-boat here,¡± Kionah huffed, her breath steaming ever-so-slightly in the air. ¡°Allegedly under a very strong concealment. Sixth shed in, she¡¯d said. We¡¯ll see about that.¡±

    Kionah stuffed her spell-slips back into their pouch, laid the sword on the ground, and brought her arms over her head, hand clasped over fist. She furrowed her brow, breathed in as if she were concentrating deeply. Cool violet light poured from between her fingers as she murmured a spell under her breath. The light washed over the inside of the shed in concentric ripples and the ghostly outline of a boat shimmered into view at the far end of the building.

    ¡°Oh,¡± Aliyah said.

    ¡°Gotcha.¡±

    Kionah dropped her arms and walked-glided-hopped over to the boat-outline¡ªthere was a peculiar agility to her movements. A courtly grace with a savage undertone, halfway between dancing and ready to take off running. Sparks of spell-light sputtered from her fingertips as she touched the sharp sweep of the prow. The zephyr-boat shucked off its decaying illusion, as if it were a spectre sinking into the shape and colour of reality.

    It was rather small and it had been painted a dull, unflattering shade of sandy-beige, but its form was wickedly sleek. Aliyah knew next to nothing about zephyr-boats, but she could see, even with the sails tucked away, that this one looked sharper and more well-crafted than the creaky old hulks which shuttled them around for occasional desert errands and sacrifice-execution ceremonies out on the salt. This was a vessel that practically oozed royal money, a vessel that looked like it went fast.

    ¡°There we go,¡± Kionah said with a slight air of satisfaction. ¡°Only the very best for the princess. I never doubted her after all; hop in.¡±

    ===

    Kionah took the wheel and flew them North-West.

    Cool night air tussled with her hair and soothed her still-aching head as they skimmed over desert sands under a bruise-coloured sky. Heavy rumbles shook the air intermittently.

    The boat did not seem to need much piloting; bottled spell-winds blew them forth, with Kionah only moving to make occasional adjustments to their course.

    Aliyah sighed, and it felt like long-awaited relief. She wasn¡¯t being told to help with anything and besides, she wouldn¡¯t know what to do with all of this anyhow. Finally, a moment to rest. Exhaustion was sinking into her marrow, making her limbs heavy and nudging her eyelids downwards. They were out of the castle and skirting around stone outcrops now, entering the foothills. The noises of battle¡ªmore rumbling, metal clashing, shouts, the roar of battle-spells¡ªwere steadily increasing as Kionah stuck all of her remaining illusion-slips onto the deck.

    ¡°We¡¯ll be in view of the, ah, conflict, soon,¡± she said as Aliyah glanced over. ¡°Quite close to the outskirts, by the sounds of it.¡±

    ¡°Won¡¯t they hear us?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ve masked our sound.¡±

    ¡°But, the¡­faeries? I heard they had¡­strange hearing¡­? Woodland creatures, singing enchantments or something like that?¡± Aliyah rested her head against the mast. The words were dropping from her mouth like sailing stones, slow and heavy as they tumbled forth and carved rambling meanings into the air. She ached for a full night¡¯s sleep. ¡°One of the sewing girls¡­she said her grandmother had met one once. Big golden person with a flute¡­asked her true name, or something.¡±

    Kionah laughed, a short, sharp noise. ¡°You really believe all of that crap? Ever talked to one before?¡±

    ¡°No¡­? I¡­I¡¯ve never even seen one in real life. How should I know?¡±

    She found that she couldn¡¯t bring herself to care. Here she was, on the most finely engineered of vessels, wrapped in illusion-shields and heading for refuge. She was bone-tired and felt almost safe enough to fall asleep. The boat¡¯s fully-fueled engines purred with a smooth, predatory cadence. The sails were blown wide by spell-winds. She hadn¡¯t been killed. She was okay and everything was going to be okay. At least, that was what her exhausted brain cooed at her.

    ¡°I forget,¡± Kionah said, ¡°that you¡¯ve never been out of this dust-bowl of a kingdom. Keep looking, you¡¯ll see some soon enough.¡±

    Despite herself, the smallest speck of morbid curiosity sparked to life within her. She scrubbed at her eyes and fought to sit up straight. She peered over the rim of the boat, partly to satisfy the curiosity and more to oblige Kionah than anything else. Hellgods, she was tired.

    They crested a high dune, and the battle sprawled out before them like a bloody tapestry.

 1.10 - Abdication

    Aliyah

    Songian soldiers fought below, about a hundred feet down and barely a quarter-mile away. They were grouped into tight grids of shieldbearers and spellcasters. Around them, faeries sliced through the air.

    She inhaled sharply. The faeries¡­she had never seen anything like them before. Not unless she counted the clumsy wooden pantomime creature-costumes at festivals, which didn¡¯t truly compare. It turned out that real faeries were beautiful in shape and form, yet hideous in their violence. Sharp wings and spiked limbs and swirling tails of all colours flashed in her vision; they sliced through the air in sleek, showy movements.

    They were humanoid, yes, with two arms and two legs, but sharper and spindlier. Their legs tapered and ended in odd, sharp points, reminiscent of insectoid tarsi. Their hands looked spikier than human hands. They each had a head with two eyes, a nose, and a mouth, but no hair; instead, bony-looking outcrops swept from their faces and scalps. Not much in the way of clothing either; their shining skins were their only armour, though some wore shielding cloaks or belts equipped with sharp weapons. They lacked genitalia or obvious secondary sexual characteristics. The impression she got was metallic and beetle-like rather than ethereal, all barbed quickness and iridescent carapace.

    She tracked one¡ªlong feathery tail, a rich shade of blue-green¡ªas it¡ªhe? She? They were so androgynous, it was difficult to tell¡ªharried a unit of soldiers along with several others, darting in and out of range, flinging spells and arrows and glowing arrows that looked as if they were spells.

    ¡°Must we travel so close to all this?¡± she half-whispered over to Kionah. She could practically taste the fear welling up in her throat. The paper-illusions and sound-shields all suddenly seemed so fragile.

    ¡°I¡¯m not that good of a pilot.¡± Kionah gestured broadly to their side, where precarious-looking rock-spurs sprouted from the ground and penned them in. ¡°Just for a few minutes. You don¡¯t have to look if it upsets you.¡±

    ¡°What are they?¡± Aliyah asked.

    ¡°The faeries? Magical beings, I guess. Live in Hives, not usually this aggressive. The women have bigger wings¡ªor so Luxon claimed¡ªand the guys are the ones with horns. They count as people, over in Glister.¡±

    Aliyah swallowed and turned back to the battlefield, moving her eyes away from the soldiers closest to them. Further to the North, the battle raged harder, soldiers and faeries alike moving in thick droves.

    The barely-visible dots of army skyships looped and dove, crashed and burned. Plumes of dark smoke rose from the flaming wreckages and into the air like rescue beacons, or perhaps funeral pyres. About halfway to the horizon, silvery symbols criss-crossed the skies. She executed a weaker version of her vision-working trick and spared herself some, but not all, of the bone-slurry feeling that came with messing around with such small details.

    There were Magicians.

    Groups of Magicians sketched magic circles and fifty-foot sigils into the air. They were working on one in particular, a sprawling scrawl of overlapping spell circles with symbols stamped all over it; towering ellipses, rotating runes. One of the Magicians slotted the last symbol into place and the silvery ellipses began to glow a dark red.

    It detonated.

    Then it detonated again.

    Once, twice, thrice. Shockwaves tickled their sails, even this far out.

    She dropped her vision-working and narrowed her eyes against the red-hot glare. Her blood felt as if it had crystallized to ice in her veins. Dear stars, they were insane. Half of the Magicians and what looked like most of a spellcaster¡¯s platoon had been engulfed along with the faeries. The winds carried over a burnt-ash smell.

    But when the light faded and cleared, the Magicians and the platoon stood unharmed. Only faerie corpses littered the ground.

    ¡°What in the hells?¡± she muttered. Her hands felt shaky and she gripped the side of the boat to steady them.

    Kionah whistled softly. ¡°Now that¡¯s how they earn their keep. Motherfuckers.¡±

    Aliyah looked on in disbelief. Even she, poor spellcaster that she was, scrambled to reconcile the power of the explosion with the level of precision required to define an enemy under magical parameters, then to target only that enemy. Granted, the faeries being a separate species may have helped some. But the sheer scale of that blast¡ªwhere in the world did they get that kind of power?

    Another circle detonated, a smaller one. More red light.

    The thought itched at her exhausted brain: where was the power coming from?

    Faeries falling and fleeing now.

    Where¡ª

    Rana, drinking vanillin tea.

    Farzaneh, handing her a sweet-cake.

    Oh.

    Not Rana. Not Farzaneh. Not them; that was a cold comfort.

    Only hundreds of others just like them. Like her. So there was really no going back, now.

    Her hands clutched the rim of the boat as she sharpened her vision once more and scanned the field for any sign of other lowborns. She found none¡ªonly more circles in the sky and great glowing chunks of summoner¡¯s runestone planted all over the sands. Old-fashioned conduits. So that must be how they gathered the blood-power. Feeling sick, she turned her gaze away and to the skies.

    The retreating faeries were headed for the skyships. A barrage of spells were let fly from the decks, but the flocks of faeries ducked and weaved, homing in on several vessels.

    Was that one a Healer¡¯s ship? The red colour, that sigil, like an open hand¡ªyes.

    Rana was safe¡ªor as safe as she could be. Aliyah replayed the memory of her gulping down the vanillin tea. But what about Zahir?

    Zahir was out there, wasn¡¯t he? They would have summoned him and his real apprentices and they would have forced them onto the battlefield. The apprentices would have been deployed at the outskirts to patch up their ¡®abysmal standing army¡¯, as he liked to call it. He and many other full Healers would be dropped into the fray, to unravel old scar tissue, to stop healthy warrior¡¯s hearts that fought back with metabolic equilibrium. That was the official strategy, at least how he¡¯d explained it to her when they¡¯d been going over a lesson on cuts and burns, typical battle-wounds, what not to do if one ever found oneself in a fight.

    She could almost feel the sunlight of that not-so-long-gone afternoon on her face. She recalled, with chilling clarity, the way he¡¯d given a little laugh and said: ¡°and of course, the very best thing to do is to run away¡±.

    Well she was being an excellent student, then. She was running away. Rana didn¡¯t have that choice. She hadn¡¯t shared it with her. She couldn¡¯t have.

    The faeries moved as one, an iridescent oily tide. They attacked the open sailcloth until the canvas tore, striking with spells and claws alike. Emboldened by the growing clusters, yet more faeries swarmed to the ships, hanging on to the masts and decks and sides like flies on fresh meat. The skyships tipped to their sides and fell out of the air¡ªsomehow more slowly than they should. Magic struggled against gravity, and gravity won.

    Kionah yanked at the wheel of the zephyr-boat, sideways and down, turning them into the mouth of a narrow gorge. Aliyah looked back. Kept looking. She turned away after the third ship hit the ground in a burst of flame.

    If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.

    ¡°The faeries brought down some ships,¡± she choked out.

    ¡°Hm? I¡¯d have expected them to.¡±

    ¡°But¡ªbut one of them was a Healer¡¯s ship. Zahir could¡¯ve been on it.¡±

    ¡°Well, good for him.¡±

    ¡°Good for him¡ª!?¡± She shot an accusatory glare at the back of Kionah¡¯s head. ¡°Aren¡¯t you worried?¡±

    Kionah scoffed. ¡°Worried? About the bloody Healer? You¡¯re joking, right? I¡¯d be more worried about us if I were you. We¡¯re not out of the woods yet, no we aren¡¯t.¡±

    Aliyah tamped down on the sinking feeling in her stomach and fell silent.

    Down the deepening rocky corridor they flew, rocketing past walls of ragged stone, patches of desert grass; blurs of grey-green. A dead-end wall rose up before them, clawing at the sullen sky. There was a hole in the rock wall, a yawning and toothless mouth.

    Kionah pulled them to a skidding stop, spraying an arc of sand and pebbles across the dull rock wall. She killed the engines and took the spare breeze in her fist. The prow touched gently onto the sand.

    ¡°Here,¡± she said. ¡°There¡¯s a ledge inside, but it drops down into a cave. About a metre, I¡¯d say.¡±

    Aliyah eyed the shadowy opening. ¡°You first.¡±

    Kionah tossed her shortsword down into the hole first, clambered in, and disappeared. There was a light thud and a muttered, oof.

    ¡°Everything okay down there?¡±

    Soft white light flared to life in Kionah¡¯s palm; Aliyah could see her silhouette walking around in the underground clearing.

    ¡°All fine. Looking for the cache. Are you coming, or what?¡±

    She glanced around and hesitated as her gaze landed on the zephyr-boat. ¡°Are you just going to leave the boat here?¡± Despite herself, skepticism coloured her voice.

    ¡°No one comes down here and if they do, we¡¯ll be long gone. Look, I can¡¯t do big illusions and setting it on fire would draw far more attention. It¡¯s not like it can fit through the hole. Got any better ideas?¡±

    ¡°No. Point taken.¡±

    Aliyah edged her way over to the entrance, slid inside and onto a small rocky outcrop. She dropped down onto the cave¡¯s floor just as Kionah sighed and started casting her purple un-illusion spell. The watery spell-light illuminated the small clearing, though not the tunnel leading off into blackness on the far wall, which was where she assumed they had to go. She shivered, not simply due to the coolness of the air.

    ¡°Aha,¡± Kionah said, her voice tinged with triumph. The outline of a hefty chest shimmered into view, wedged into a chest-high gap in the rocky wall. Kionah went over and grabbed one end. ¡°Well? Come on over and help me with this.¡±

    Aliyah struggled far more with her end of the box. For all her pale eyes and finely-shaped face, Kionah was no delicate courtling; her movements were smooth and steady, her grip sure. This chest was far heavier than a sodden mop and a full bucket. Aliyah floundered, trying not to squash her own fingers as they set the weighty box down onto the sand with a thump. Kionah dismissed her un-illusioning spell and they were plunged into near-darkness.

    ¡°Why did you¡ª¡± Aliyah made out, before a tiny speck of white light winked into existence, floating over Kionah¡¯s outstretched palm.

    Kionah pulled at the glowing dot with her other hand, expanded and shaped it into a coruscating ball before hanging it overhead. Under the glow of the spell-light, she undid the lock¡ªa simple one, old-style, with a tumbler of numbers that clicked into place. She dug through the chest¡¯s contents as Aliyah watched on¡ªneatly folded squares of fabric, more clear packets of spell-slips, expensive-looking little vials¡ªuntil she found a long, slim black case a little longer than her hand.

    ¡°Fucking finally,¡± Kionah said.

    Then she reached into her eyes with the pads of her fingers and pulled out a circle of clear¡­something, from each. Contact-lenses? Only rich people used those. Then again, Kionah had been a courtesan-lady, and Alhena¡¯s closest.

    Aliyah stared. Was it the spell-caster¡¯s headache making her see things? No.

    Kionah¡¯s eyes were brown. Not pale blue. Brown, and the whites still a little bloodshot. Sort of a rich, velvety, expensive-and-imported-chocolate-brown, though there was nothing sweet-looking about them. They were even more unnerving than the former unnatural shade now that she knew they¡¯d been hiding under the coloured contacts all along.

    Kionah snapped open the case in her hands and plucked out a pair of spectacles, gold-rimmed, old-fashioned, slightly clunky-looking. She put them on. Blinked a few times and glanced around. The lenses flashed with runes for a moment, before clearing.

    ¡°What?¡± she asked, catching the astonished look on Aliyah¡¯s face. ¡°The eyes? Well I had to play into the whole ¡®exotic foreign acquisition¡¯ somehow, didn¡¯t I?¡±

    ¡°¡­e-excuse me?¡± Aliyah stammered. ¡°I don¡¯t quite follow.¡±

    ¡°Court politics, right.¡± Kionah hummed thoughtfully as she dug a hair tie out of the chest and began pulling her hair into a neat, tight bun. ¡°How to put this¡­for most courtesans, just being plainly pretty and of negotiable affection doesn¡¯t cut it. Shadowsong¡¯s gotten a few vaults poorer in recent years no doubt, but they still have the farce of high court to uphold. I¡¯m hardly classically-trained to sing or dance, can¡¯t play a harp to save my life, not clever enough to discuss art but can¡¯t afford to seem clever enough to know politics. Nothing too special about me, which is in itself too suspicious. Easy fix; the court believed that air-headed Alhena might scoop up a silly pretty-face with jewel-eyes. People let on more than they should when they¡¯re a little too drunk and think you¡¯re strangely alluring, but also sort of stupid.¡±

    She sounded almost savagely smug about that last part.

    Aliyah frowned. ¡°So you just pretended to have different-coloured eyes for¡­months? Years? To better spy on people? And no one caught you?¡±

    ¡°One year,¡± Kionah grumbled. ¡°I use contacts anyways. Easy to stock up in Glister and easier still to hide things with a wealthy benefactor. Though, the worst part was having them in for however long they kept me in those blasted dungeons. Ugh, you¡¯re a Healer, take a look. Any lasting damage?¡±

    ¡°Uh. I¡¯ll have to put my hand on your face to check.¡±

    ¡°Go on. Just don¡¯t stick a finger in my eye and we¡¯re good.¡±

    Aliyah¡¯s field of thought shrank, magic roving from her fingertips over skin to eyelids to thinning tear film, sliding wetly over glossy clear corneas.

    ¡°You¡¯re fine, I think. Just looks a little dry.¡±

    Kionah blinked and rubbed her eyes as Aliyah withdrew. ¡°Eesh, you¡¯ve a heavier touch than old Quillwort. Tingles something fierce.¡±

    Aliyah scowled. ¡°I¡¯m sure Healer Quillwort has had far more practice than I.¡±

    Kionah rolled her shoulders back in a loosening motion and cracked her knuckles. ¡°Stop whining, apprenticeling. We need to get dressed and to get walking.¡±

    Kionah handed her a bundle of clothing¡ªa long-sleeved linen shirt with matching pants and a belt, a plush woollen jacket, leather boots that went up to the mid-calf. All varying shades of dark beige and grey, soft and lightweight, finely made.

    ¡°Try them on,¡± Kionah said. ¡°Alhena was taller than you, but they should fit well enough.¡±

    Aliyah was suddenly aware of the desert dust coating her maidservant¡¯s uniform, the warden¡¯s soup-stain on her skirt, and the fear-sweat still sticking the fabric against her back. She edged her way behind a large outcrop of rock, feeling slightly foolish even as her sensibilities screamed at her to preserve her privacy. Her stomach lurched as she tugged on the dead princess¡¯s clothing. No, that was ridiculous, she scolded herself. It was not dead princess¡¯s attire. Alhena hadn¡¯t ever worn these, she¡¯d just bought them. So yes, she¡¯d intended on wearing them, but that wasn¡¯t the same.

    If Alhena were still alive¡­would Aliyah be dying now, her blood fueling the Magicians as Alhena and Kionah escaped? No, Zahir would have still given her the anti-haemolytic. Probably. So then Rana would be dying. Unless she¡¯d have given the anti-haemolytic to Rana regardless, in which case she¡¯d be the one getting drained to death. Would a half-dose have sufficed? Would she have tried to save Rana, if she didn¡¯t have another way out? She liked Rana, but the Magicians scared her to death and she wasn¡¯t that altruistic or pathetically self-sacrificing, was she?

    You cannot save everyone. Not even her only friend?

    There was no point agonising over a hypothetical that had never come to pass. She stopped thinking, rolled up the dangling sleeves and trouser cuffs. She unraveled the wilting sheets of skin melded to her thighs before fastening the trousers, which had buttoned pockets to deposit Zahir¡¯s keys and the lone spell-slip into. She cinched the belt tight and rolled up the trouser hems, just once. The boots were a little too large for comfort, so she stuck with her own.

    When she stepped out from behind the rock, Kionah had changed out of her borrowed cloak, nightgown, and presumably torture-bloodied underclothes. She wore similar garments, only with two pouches of spell-slips clipped to a shiny leather belt. The naked shortsword was tucked there too. There was a map in her hands.

    To call it a map would not have done it justice; it was clearly a working of high enchantment. Layers of pale purple spell-light hovered over the expanse of paper, tracing out an intricate maze of caves and tunnels, twists and turns. A path was outlined in red.

    ¡°Hold this for a minute,¡± said Kionah, furrowing her brow. She thrust the map unceremoniously into Aliyah¡¯s hands.

    Aliyah startled a little, the sturdy paper¡ªwas it paper? It certainly felt fibrous, but also oddly smooth and glossy, as if it had been magically treated¡ªwobbling in her grasp. She passed a finger hesitantly through a band of light, felt nothing as the lavender beam fluttered over her skin. It felt oddly wrong to hold. This magical map seemed like it had been spat out of the depths of the Higher Library, something that ordinarily only the highest of highborns could get their hands on. If Rana were here, her eyes would be as round as saucers.

    Stop thinking about Rana, she scolded herself.

    Kionah was fiddling with something on the inner side of the chest¡¯s lid, muttering under her breath. Then there was a click, a flash of spell-light, and then the chest rose slowly into the air as if on invisible wings.

    ¡°There,¡± Kionah said, taking the map and spurring its glow with a gesture. ¡°That¡¯ll follow us now. I¡¯ll light the way.¡±

    Aliyah eyed their floating luggage and considered the merits of walking for the next however many days it would take to get to Glister. ¡°I don¡¯t suppose we could sit on that.¡±

    ¡°Alhena told me to test it and no, it didn¡¯t work. Regrettable.¡±

    ¡°How long will it take to reach the city?¡±

    ¡°Five or six days, depending on how quickly we travel.¡±

    Five or six days, Aliyah thought gloomily. Too much time to run into trouble for her liking.

 Interlude: rupture

    Wood splintered; rigging snapped. The ship tilted beneath the weight of a hundred beating wings and began to fall.

    As expected, everything was going to shit. Even Najm had said the skyship might be a bad idea. Zahir brought up a shield as the walls buckled under the strain of faerie magic, and his colleagues followed suit. He sensed a surge of physiological bolstering, joints flexed and bones strengthened, compounds synthesized, ready and waiting. That was the worst part: the waiting.

    He braced himself against a beam as the floor tilted. Behind him, someone screamed.

    It was an unusually high-pitched scream. He whipped his head around as his colleagues turned to the source of the noise.

    ¡°What the fuck?¡± That was Harith, voice gone sharp with stress. ¡°Salai, isn¡¯t that one of yours?¡±

    A frightened face stared up at them from the back of the hold, half-hidden behind a stack of old medical kits. Zahir groaned internally.

    ¡°Jamal,¡± he said. He spoke as calmly as he could, which was not very. ¡°What the hells are you doing here?¡±

    The ship lurched before he got his answer, tipping fully sideways. Furnishings went flying. He fell along the floor and slammed into a wall, his shoulder fracturing in the process. Shouts erupted among his colleagues. From what he could see out the window beneath him, the ground was fast-approaching.

    He had just enough time to bolster his shield before everything exploded.

    The world crumpled inwards; shards of wood and glass flew through the air. Sand poured into the hold, and heat gusted across his back. His shield broke, deflecting the weight of a falling beam. From outside came the chittering of faerie-creatures, barely audible over the ringing in his ears.

    He shook his head, cleared the ringing, and staggered to his feet. Around him, red-robed forms did the same. His eyes streamed from the smoke as he fixed his shoulder. To his right, Harith pulled a splint of wood from his belly with a grunt.

    Where was Jamal? The little idiot probably thought he could come and help. Gods damn, he hated so-called prodigies. Trust one of them to fuck up like this.

    His colleagues sprang into motion, blasting holes through the wreckage and pouring outside. Chitinous buzzing arose to meet them. From above him came a crackling¡ªfire.

    ¡°Jamal?¡± he called, because no one else would. His apprentice, his responsibility. Hells damn it, they were all supposed to be out of the way.

    The boy gave a weak cry from behind a pile of debris, where the back of the hold used to be. For fuck¡¯s sake. Zahir clambered over the mess, praying the whole place wouldn¡¯t fall on top of them.

    ¡°Jamal,¡± he said again, picking out a shape in the dark. ¡°Are you injured?¡± His steps crunched over sand and glass both. The boy was stirring, at least; breathing roughly, but still breathing. He had not been crushed beneath a dozen different pieces of ceiling, either¡ªthank the stars for small mercies.

    ¡°My arm hurts,¡± Jamal whimpered. ¡°And my leg, and part of my back, and when I move, it¡ª¡±

    ¡°Stop moving,¡± Zahir said.

    He touched the boy¡¯s shoulder and knit the bones back together. The boy had a few superficial scratches and the beginnings of some bruising, too, but Zahir ignored those and hauled him to his feet. The air thickened with smoke; dragging an apprentice into the fray was unwise, but leaving him to suffocate was hardly an alternative. He shielded his lungs, purging what particles snuck through, and gave the boy a sharp nudge with his magic when he could not feel him doing the same.

    I taught you better than this, he almost said, before he realised: no, he had not. His formal apprentices followed the usual curriculum, and none had yet passed the usual trial¡ªhe¡¯d been thinking of what Aliyah knew.

    The boy hacked and coughed, each noise thick with mucous.

    How¡¯s that artificial scarcity working for you now, Algorab, he thought, as he fixed the boy¡¯s lungs for him. It was probably working very well, actually¡ªit wasn¡¯t like any of the first-ranks were down here with them.

    They scrambled outside; his boots sank into a drift of sand. He raised a shield, which was just as well, because the air crackled with stray spellfire. He made for cover behind a broken wedge of ship, hoping Jamal was smart enough to follow. He was not fast enough¡ªa blur of green faerie dived at him, flinging a spell. His shield took it without shattering. He used magic to bridge the six feet of air between them and broke the faerie¡¯s neck. Its body crumpled down. He caught hold of the boy and scrambled behind cover.

    The boy panicked and tried to yank away; Zahir didn¡¯t bother sparing magic to try immobilising him¡ªtwisting his arm did the trick. Not hard enough to inflict damage, but just enough to make him cry out. Zahir tightened his grip as resignation warred with impatience; truly, he was becoming more and more like his masters by the day.

    ¡°Where do you think you¡¯re going?¡± he snapped. ¡°I told you all to keep to the southern outskirts. Snuck aboard to play the hero?¡±

    ¡°No, I¡ª¡±

    A stray faery interrupted them. Jamal screamed. Zahir killed it.

    His magic still applied to bone formed of materials other than hydroxyapatites, and to flesh that was more spell than truth. Every day, you learned something new. He shook translucent blood off his hand and wiped it dry on his robes. ¡°Where¡¯s Hafiz? And Isra?¡±

    ¡°N-Not here.¡± The boy¡¯s voice shook as if on the verge of tears. Ugh¡ªprodigies. What was he, four and ten years at most? Zahir tried to feel sorry for him, and failed. At least the others had better sense to stay where they should be.

    ¡°Alright,¡± Zahir said, peering past the fragment of fallen ship. ¡°Here is what¡¯s going to happen: you keep your shield up and stick behind me until¡ª¡±

    ¡°No! I have to¡ª¡±

    Zahir grabbed his arm again before he could run off somewhere foolish. ¡°Listen here,¡± he said. ¡°Unless you want to get killed¡ª¡±

    ¡°Let go!¡± The boy tried to pull loose, voice gone frantic. ¡°My mother¡ªI have to help her!¡±

    Zahir blinked. ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°My mother,¡± the boy repeated, his eyes wide. His gaze looked straight past Zahir and onto the burning ship behind him. ¡°She¡¯s in the cabin!¡±

    Ah. The pilot.

    The boy lashed out with a surge of stinging; Zahir dissipated its effect without much effort.

    Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

    ¡°Let me go!¡±

    Should he? His job was to deal with the faeries, but¡ªwell. His colleagues would not have thought of the pilot. Neither had he, until now¡ªperhaps the boy wasn¡¯t quite as foolish as he thought.

    ¡°Fine,¡± he said.

    The boy darted away as soon as he released him¡ªit was pointless. If he were a sensible Healer, he would count the both of them off as given losses. What could an apprentice as young as this do to keep himself from burning alive, let alone someone else? ¡®Prodigy¡¯ was just a title.

    He sighed, and followed some paces behind.

    The cabin was set high up at the front of the ship. That was fine, because the ship was half-gone and fully sideways. Zahir clambered through the remains of a window and over the flying equipment. Inside, the boy was already keeling over from the smoke. It would really be easier to leave him to the open air¡ªbut then, there¡¯d be no one to keep an eye on him, and stars knew whether he could hold his own against even a singular faery.

    ¡°Copy this,¡± Zahir said, and sent the boy a surge of airway-clearing magic to emulate. He doubted that the boy, unawakened as he was, could put it to full use¡ªthough it would lower the chance of him needing to be resuscitated later. ¡°Stay by the window,¡± he added. ¡°If you faint in there, it will make things difficult.¡±

    He strained his eyes through the smoke. A figure lay motionless against the far wall, a woman with her hair flung over her face. Blood blotted the floor about her head. He hurried over and placed a hand onto the outstretched arm, angled wrong, and knew in the space of a heartbeat that it was too late. What cells still lived were useless¡ªthe brain was gone.

    Dry heat blasted over him a wave; he backed away. The cabin door was open, and flame licked its way up the hall. He made it three steps before a hand touched at his back¡ªhe almost attacked reflexively, before realising it was the boy.

    ¡°What are you doing,¡± came the shriek. ¡°Help her, you¡ª¡±

    ¡°Jamal,¡± he said. ¡°There is nothing more I can do.¡±

    ¡°No!¡± The boy screamed. He lurched forwards, already coughing, but Zahir had anticipated this.

    He used magic to make the boy¡¯s muscles go slack¡ªnot fully, and not paired with the indubitable mercy of unconsciousness, but enough that he could be dragged back to where fresher air blew in from the window. The air was good, but also bad in that it was feeding the flames. Zahir gave it about a minute before the cabin was engulfed.

    The boy screamed again, enough that his voice tore. ¡°Please! Healer Salai! We have to get her out!¡±

    He stared the boy down, feeling oddly hollow save for perhaps the faintest glimmer of pity and discomfiting recognition, of¡­understanding.

    He left the boy at the lip of the window and ventured back in, crouched low to avoid the worst of the smoke. His fingers snagged on the edges of the pilot¡¯s cloak; he pulled, and the body shifted with it. He grasped the arm and dragged heavy, dead flesh towards him, casting under his breath. The spells helped, but not much.

    An apprentice was an apprentice. A corpse was a corpse. Ordinarily, he would not have risked this. But it was hardly much safer outside. At least the smoke was trying to kill him in a predictable way. The fire flared, leaping into the cabin, and he yanked harder in retreat.

    He made it back to the boy, and the boy reached for the body. Zahir bit his tongue as the body¡¯s skin-wounds closed at the boy¡¯s touch; tissues still-living, but not where it counted. The boy tried again and pressed his fingers against the body¡¯s wrist, feeling for a pulse that was not there.

    ¡°Enough,¡± Zahir said, and pushed him away.

    ¡°No! You could¡¯ve done it wrong¡ªyou¡ªyou have to let me try¡ª¡±

    The boy scrabbled and fought, but he was a scrawny thing who had not yet grown into his height nor his muscles, and so it was not difficult to ignore his blows. Zahir bore the body out through the window as the fire advanced. The boy rushed to follow, as Zahir knew he would. He stepped onto sand, dragged the body around the prow, and froze.

    In the shadow of the skyship, not ten paces away, a faery gutted another faery. It looked up as its victim twitched and gurgled around the end of its blade.

    Zahir bolstered his shield. He sensed the boy behind him, doing the same.

    The faery met his eyes and dropped its fellow kin to the ground. It took a step back, then two, and then launched itself into the air, upwards and away.

    Well. Perhaps the creatures became savage in their bloodlust.

    Zahir scanned the skies and saw no others inbound; he glanced at the faerie corpse, then to the human one at his feet. The boy, Jamal, fell to his knees by its side. He was weeping, and trying to hide the fact. Zahir looked away, out of courtesy and discomfort both.

    Across the sands, the army seemed to be flagging. Small groups of wounded appeared as dots in the distance, carted out to outlying stations for shoddy apprentice healing. His colleagues seemed to be holding their own. Hafiz and Isra would be fine, so long as they stayed where he had told them to. As for Aliyah and the traitor Sadrava, they should be well away by now¡ªat least, he hoped so. Stars grant that they had not blundered as badly as Jamal had.

    Apprentices. He couldn¡¯t stand them. Always watching and talking and thinking they were untouchable by birthright, until they didn¡¯t. He almost understood, now, why his masters had been the way they were. Almost¡ªwhich was why he had to do better.

    He turned and knelt by Jamal. The boy¡¯s eyes had by now run dry, instead gone flat with shock. He held his mother¡¯s hand in his own. Blood dripped from his nose from the effort of forcing magic into flesh that could no longer receive it.

    ¡°Hey,¡± Zahir said. He put his hand onto the boy¡¯s shoulder. ¡°Jamal, you have done all that you can. I need to get you to safety now.¡±

    ¡°No,¡± the boy said, shrugging his hand away. ¡°Leave me alone. You didn¡¯t even try to help.¡±

    ¡°She died on impact,¡± Zahir said. ¡°I am sorry. It was likely¡ªpainless.¡±

    ¡°Shut up,¡± the boy hissed, his eyes welling afresh. ¡°No. Don¡¯t talk to me. Just¡­f-fuck off. If you didn¡¯t hold me back, I could¡¯ve¡ªI could¡¯ve¡­¡±

    Zahir hesitated, and forced his tone to remain gentle. ¡°I am sorry. But you must get to safety. Can you shield yourself, and follow me? We will walk to those soldiers over there and find someone to accompany you to the nearest station.¡±

    ¡°Go away,¡± the boy screamed. ¡°I don¡¯t care! I¡¯m not leaving her here for the crows!¡±

    Zahir exhaled, very carefully, and looked away before the urge to slap his apprentice grew too great. He would not become what he sought to avoid. He would not.

    A fresh wave of faeries were gathering in the distance. The Magicians were taking too long. It was not as though he wanted them to arrive with their blood-soaked ritual, but that swarm was a concerning size, and approaching fast. The closest clump of soldiers was a small one, perhaps twenty five men at most, but even so¡ªjoining up would be necessary. If a dozen or so faeries came for them here, exposed against the side of a burning skyship, they would be done for.

    ¡°Jamal,¡± he said, hardening his voice this time. ¡°We must leave. You can come back for her later.¡±

    ¡°No,¡± the boy snarled.

    Fine. Zahir would drag him, then.

    It was more difficult than dragging the body had been; the boy screamed curses, clawing at his arms and kicking at the ground as they went. The wind flowed bitter with strange magic, and carried the sounds of chittering over the sands. By the time they made it to the soldiers, the first of the faeries were upon them.

    Zahir grabbed the nearest soldier, hauling him out of the fray. A faery tried to interrupt; he reached into its throat and swelled it shut.

    ¡°Apprentice,¡± he told the soldier, shoving the boy forwards. ¡°Not meant to be here. Take him to an outpost. Make sure he stays.¡±

    The soldier shot him what might have been a grateful look and grabbed the boy by his collar. He made haste across the sands, away from his struggling comrades; the boy¡¯s efforts to escape gave him no trouble.

    Soldiers turned to glance at him between swings of their swords, their eyes heavy with expectation. He groaned inwardly. All they saw was a Healer, and to them, a Healer equaled safety. He was one man. One.

    Another faery flew at him, arm nocked back with spellfire. He killed that one, too. The soldiers rallied and fought. Shields were shattered and recast. For a while, there was nothing but the rhythm of reaching and culling, his magic grasping faery bone and forcing it to break. By the time they finished butchering the last of them, the joints of his fingers ached. His nose was starting to bleed.

    He looked to the horizon, where the swarm still hovered in a dark, glinting cloud; another group broke from the cluster and headed for them. Ah. So it was only a lull. He should have expected it, really. There was no real rest under kingdom skies; not now, and perhaps not ever. He readied his magic and glanced across the sands.

    The battlefield had shifted, and the stations with it; the Magicians were focusing their efforts to the east. Distant sigils boomed blood-red, not close enough to be helpful. Most of his colleagues had moved to the main fighting ground, probably while he¡¯d been busy dragging the body out of the wreckage. These soldiers were stragglers, he realised. He glanced to the skies once more; the faeries were coming too fast.

    The soldiers raised themselves into ready stances. Their leader sent up a beacon of distress even as he hefted his shield. Zahir doubted it would do them any good; the other portions of the army were focused on the Magicians, and anyhow, what platoon would risk themselves for the sake of twenty-odd men? They were as good as cornered. Easy pickings. Given losses. What other option was there, but to stand and fight?

    The faeries bore down like a stormfront. Arrows dived; he raised his hands to meet them.

    Around him, soldiers fell like rain.

 1.11 - Crown Gate

    Felun

    Iolite was waiting for them in the Library foyer.

    Felun didn¡¯t recognise her at first; it was a human that had stepped out from behind one of the columns¡ªtall and slim with long, white-blonde hair. She wore a dark witch¡¯s dress, cinched at the waist by a belt that held various vials, each of them half-full with coloured liquids. Silver gauntlets graced her hands¡ªnot decorative, those. Weapons. He tensed and reached for his runebook before she laughed. A familiar laugh, tinged with a mocking fondness.

    ¡°Felun, how cautious of you,¡± she said.

    He paused at her voice and glanced at Suria for affirmation. When she simply twitched her face-spurs in annoyance, he turned back to¡ªwell, Iolite, it was undoubtedly Iolite¡¯s voice coming from that human-seeming mouth¡ªand swallowed nervously as he gave the approximation of a polite nod.

    Her gaze moved to the amphora still strapped across his chest. ¡°You performed well?¡±

    ¡°He was satisfactory,¡± Suria cut in. ¡°You did not state your plan to be here? And you chose to wear a veilment?¡±

    ¡°It never hurts to obfuscate, in foreign territories. I do thank you for your veilments, Suria.¡± She strode towards them, heeled boots clicking against the tile. ¡°They are a work of art. Incredibly comfortable, this one. Oh, and I will borrow Felun for a little while.¡±

    ¡°Borrow,¡± Suria echoed, a questioning edge to the word. Out of the corner of his eye, Felun saw the tip of her tail twitch. He suspected that she would prefer Iolite to simply take him away and never return.

    ¡°I will return him to your supervision soon enough.¡±

    ¡°Then shall I bring the vessel to the outstation?¡±

    Iolite inclined her head and smiled, a brief flash of perfectly white teeth. ¡°Of course. Guard it with your life.¡±

    ¡°Yes.¡± Suria acquiesced, dipping her head. ¡°It will be easier without the boy.¡± She clicked her fingers and the spell-cord fell away from Felun¡¯s chest, rearranging itself to curl around the amphora in a crude net. She whisked it towards herself, catching it in both hands, wings curling almost protectively inwards. ¡°My thanks, Iolite. If you¡¯ll have no further need of me,¡± she said, hardly a question at all.

    ¡°Thank you, Suria,¡± Iolite said.

    Suria nodded once, then darted away on sparking wings.

    Iolite turned to him, a hint of a smile lingering on her lips. ¡°Felun, then. How was it? Is Suria treating you well? She can be stern, I know, but don¡¯t let it fool you. She is remarkably capable.¡±

    ¡°It went¡­well,¡± he said carefully, though the skin of his palms twinged in protest. ¡°Yes, she¡¯s very capable.¡±

    ¡°I am glad to hear it. Come, now. And put that awful mask away. Others await.¡±

    He stuffed the Magician¡¯s mask into his satchel and followed her through the huge double doors of the Higher Library, down wide, tiled corridors, and up a hidden spiral staircase.

    She flexed her gauntlet-clad right hand into a fist as they went, but they encountered no one on their way up. Eventually, they emerged from a small door set into an alcove, an indent polished smooth. Iolite stepped into the room with brazen certainty and when he followed, he saw why.

    The room was larger than he¡¯d first anticipated. He moved his eyes away from a series of scratches running down a section of painted wall only to see even more, further down the length of the room¡ªparallel lines, viciously scored down the middle of an enormous painting depicting a desert landscape with hawks wheeling overhead. The room¡¯s rich furnishings had been pushed aside, vases smashed and flowers strewn about. A claw-footed table had been flipped upside down and a large number of gilt-edged chairs lay in a circle of splintered disarray, forming a makeshift clearing in the center of the room.

    There, a dozen or so faeries crouched over several bodies. Several human bodies. The figures were strewn across the makeshift clearing in varying states of injury, most of them facedown and all of them unmoving. He felt ill at the sight of blood pooling around one of their heads; the room was large and the ceiling magnificently vaulted, but the air suddenly felt thick and stifling, heavy with the tang of iron.

    ¡°Are they¡ªdead?¡± he asked without thinking the words through.

    Every faery in the room¡ªsave for Iolite by his side¡ªturned to look at him, their jewel-bright wings stiffening and shining tails lashing like whips. He cringed as one of them started to hiss, a low sound just on the edge of his hearing that made the back of his neck prickle.

    ¡°This is Felun,¡± Iolite said bluntly. ¡°He is our Breaker. Or Unraveler, or whatever you¡¯d like to call it.¡±

    Was it just his imagination, or did they all shift minutely backwards?

    ¡°Ah, Sungrazer Zhao. He wears the garb of the enemy,¡± one of the other faeries said. He nodded at the blue cloak still draped over Felun¡¯s shoulders. Felun had almost forgotten about that. He frowned, casting back into his memory, and found that he recognised the faery from a brief meeting back at the Hive. Iolite had introduced him as Lieutenant Silverwater. There was a long knife in his hand¡ªno crossguard, and the blade was already stained red.

    ¡°Yes,¡± Iolite said. ¡°He has already shown a measure of success.¡±

    She picked her way past a Magician laying facedown on the tile. Felun clenched his jaw and followed, feeling faery eyes track his every movement. He tried not to look at the rest of the bodies. Most of them were Magicians, their blue cloaks singed but somehow intact. Though a few of the others wore courtier¡¯s clothing, too: torn tunics and blood-soaked dresses.

    He had seen dead bodies before, he reminded himself. Plenty of dead monsters in dungeons, and adventurers too. For heaven¡¯s sake, he¡¯d seen piles of severed limbs in a first-aid tent at a dungeon¡¯s mouth¡ªa bad one, back in Ironport¡ªand he¡¯d nearly vomited from the smell. But for some reason, that hadn¡¯t bothered him quite as much as this did. He couldn¡¯t put his finger on why¡ªmaybe it was because with the limbs, he¡¯d only witnessed the aftermath. Right now though, Iolite¡¯s band of fighters was still here, and he felt as if he were also interrupting something dangerous and attentive.

    Iolite stopped at a set of large, heavy doors at the end of the enormous room. Felun faltered and stilled two paces behind her. The doors towered, pristinely white and flourished with grand, golden curliques formed into triskelions: spiraling trios of perfect rotational symmetry. He sensed a cold warding magic emanating forth, a thinly-veiled power. It reminded him of the type of big glowing locks on enticing-looking doors, dungeon-traps that practically dared adventurers to try opening them. He hated those. Whenever he tried to unravel them, there were tripwires threaded into the very weave.

    Iolite raised her gauntleted fist and knocked. The sound rang out across the room, bouncing off the cold tile and sinking up into the honeycombed vaulting. ¡°I ask once again,¡± she said. Her voice was like a clear bell on a cold morning. ¡°Let us enter in peace.¡±

    From the other side of the doors, silence.

    Lieutenant Silverwater glided up past Felun, coming to a stop at Iolite¡¯s shoulder. He made a long, low sound at her¡ªhalf-chitter, half-song¡ªand flexed his face-spines in a pattern as he did so.

    The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

    Iolite started to hum back at him, then cut off and clicked her tongue in disgust. ¡°Hmph. Fleshly limitations¡ªmy apologies, Silverwater. Our esteemed Suria¡¯s veilments are beyond illusion and that is convenient at times and not at others. Yes, you are correct. I suppose they would have heard the commotion. No matter.¡± She turned her piercing gaze to Felun. ¡°Felun, break the door.¡±

    He tensed, looked from her to Silverwater to the bloodied knife still in Silverwater¡¯s hand. So this was why she¡¯d needed him. Another thought trickled through the forefront of his mind; someone was behind that door, someone who was probably human, and judging by what had happened to other the humans here¡­but no. It didn¡¯t matter what he assumed, did it? If he opened that door, whatever happened to the person or multiple persons inside would be his fault. At least partially.

    But then again, he was the indentured firstson, wasn¡¯t he.

    ¡°I¡­can try,¡± he said. There was a slight quiver in his voice, which he hated. His palms still burned from unlocking the piece of the labyrinth, and the ghost of a headache tingled at his temples even at mere the thought of trying. He would have to push through; he knew, from experience, that he would feel like shit afterwards, but it wasn¡¯t like he had a choice.

    Iolite stepped closer and peered at him. He fought the urge to take a step back.

    ¡°Are you tired, Felun?¡±

    He swallowed, felt sweat beading at his temples. ¡°I will try to open the door,¡± he said, which was true enough.

    She inclined her head to the side. ¡°Silverwater, fetch some human-food for him. Felun, you do appear to be tired. Sustenance is a partial solution. We are under time constraints, but is there anything else you would like?¡±

    He stared mutely for a moment as Silverwater left his side to rummage amongst the still-standing furniture. ¡°I uh, I¡¯m fine.¡±

    ¡°It runs against the efficiency of our operations to deny measures of strain,¡± Iolite said, her lips curving into a slight frown. ¡°You have unique talents. Do not endanger our plans by jeopardising yourself in order to maintain a guise of indomitable strength.¡±

    ¡°I¡­am a little tired, from the Library,¡± he said, feeling the gazes of the faeries boring into his back. ¡°But I¡¯ll probably be fine. I appreciate¡­your consideration. I¡¯ll try the door very soon¡ªthank you,¡± he said hastily to Silverwater, who had reappeared to press a plateful of biscuits into his hands. ¡°I¡¯ll just¡ªum. I¡¯ll have some of these real quick and then¡­I¡¯ll try the door."

    He wolfed down three of the biscuits¡ªtried to ignore the thought that he was stealing food from the mouths of corpses¡ªand fished another can of prune juice from his satchel, sipping at it as he scratched a line of basic protection runes across the front of the set of doors.

    It¡¯s not an ensorcelled Library labyrinth door, he reminded himself as his heart hammered in his chest. It¡¯s not even a dungeon door. It might be hard to crack, but it probably wouldn¡¯t actually attack him. Still, it never hurt to be careful.

    He lifted two strings of warding runes from his book and wrapped one over each of his knuckles and wrists, aware of the faeries craning their necks to watch him as he did so. Some of them whispered amongst themselves in that scratchy, humming language of theirs. He shoved the runequill back into his pockets and tossed the empty can back into his satchel where it would inevitably dribble leftover droplets over his spare sheets of paper¡ªbut Suria had said not to leave any traces, and he suspected Iolite would be the same way. He flexed his fingers, wincing at the sharp twinges under his bandaged palms.

    ¡°Are you starting?¡± Iolite asked as he stepped up to the doors. ¡°Then we will stand ready, and out of your way.¡±

    He nodded, not trusting himself to speak. He placed his palms onto the gilt surface, and dived.

    The warding enchantment felt like a triskelion at first touch, a planar thing that rippled beneath his incorporeal fingertips before puffing up into a membranous sac, inflating like a three-lobed lung.

    It made a roaring sound¡ªa sound like the colour of a heat wave¡ªas it did so. A sigil like spellfire crackled to life on its surface. It was far from decorative, he realised with dismay. It blazed into the shape of a crown and flung sharp, colourless crystals at him. They sizzled as they collided with his defensive runes. Distantly, he was aware of the line of runes on the door sputtering out.

    He flinched back out and panted for breath as he surfaced. A sheen of sweat was forming at his brow. His nose was starting to drip blood.

    ¡°Something wrong?¡± Iolite said, walking up to him.

    She frowned at the failed runes he had placed on the door. He realised that there were scorch marks burnt onto the wooden panels.

    ¡°It¡¯s¡­stronger than I thought,¡± he said. ¡°I¡¯ll need to add more defenses.¡±

    ¡°Well, yes. It is likely warded as befitting of royal chambers. If that helps your assessment.¡±

    ¡°Yes, it¡­thank you,¡± he said, as he thought, Royal? with a diamond-point spike of alarm. It would have been nicer to know in advance, but maybe Iolite had assumed he could know the type of enchantment just by looking. She wouldn¡¯t be the first to assume that.

    He drew more shimmering bundles of runework from the pages of his book, spread them in matching spirals over each unbudging door handle. He chalked a facsimile of the shielding circle he¡¯d used back in the Library labyrinth, though the runes he placed there were lighter ones¡ªboth because he¡¯d already used up most of the good stuff, and because he wasn¡¯t sure he¡¯d have the strength for it in face of what was to come.

    He dived once more and the enchantment rose to meet him. This time, he peeled back the crown crest before it had a chance to reload its crystalline ammunition, juggling a tripwire net in one hand and a drip-dropping, refilling-reservoir of poison with the other.

    A wave of flute and shadow and harp and song crashed down over him, muffling his senses, cutting him off from the real, physical world. He gathered up a scrap of the song-storm in his hands, bathed it in his own magic, and spun it out into a thin sheet. He cloaked himself in it, just in time, as he felt flickers of lightning sprouting around him. But now he was a piece of another piece, not distinguishable enough to be worth attacking. The storm howled around him, mighty but futile, as he burrowed into the next layer. Whoever had made this enchantment must not have encountered a true Breaker before.

    Crackly, dry reeds tried to tangle his blistering hands and gilded chalices poured caustic wine over his lines of runes. Some sputtered out, but others held strong. He was tired and overtaxed. He had no choice but to continue.

    This enchantment was almost as strong as the one in the labyrinth, but only a quarter as cunning, if that. And that was what mattered, the cunningness. Yes, it was that the way the spell¡­thought¡­that mattered most. Orhan would have been laughing if he were here. ¡®Spells don¡¯t think, you little fool,¡¯ he¡¯d say, grinning around the blisters crowding his face. But Felun had seen things since¡ªthings like the Labyrinth door¡ªthat made him believe otherwise.

    He wondered if it would do any good to fail, to be inefficient, to tip himself over the edge of burnout and say ¡®I did all I could¡¯. Would he be less guilty then? But there were promises made, debts sold, people who kept him safe and fed and alive¡ªuseless firstson. Too late; he gritted his teeth as he unraveled the final knots in a movement that was half-instinct, half-memory. Berry-coloured silken strands, studded with thorns and slippery with grease. It made his fingers bleed. The cuticles of his nails ached. Every tooth felt a touch too loose in its socket.

    The enchantment fell apart in his hands, fizzling down to nothing. His magic was fast ebbing away from him, waning. He was almost run dry. Almost. If only he had thought of a way to be blameless sooner. He surfaced fully and staggered away from the triskelion-door, almost falling flat on his back. Strong hands caught his shoulders; hands with pointed-claw fingertips.

    ¡°Sungrazer Zhao appears to be injured,¡± said Silverwater.

    He was. His hands were bleeding, soaking through the bandages there. His nose was bleeding properly now, a slow, steady trickle down over his lips and chin. His muscles ached and his mouth felt dry. ¡°It¡¯s done,¡± he croaked out. There was a bolt on the other side¡ªhe had sensed its impotent shadow behind the warding enchantment¡ªbut it was just material. He had seen what a hopped-up Suria could do to mere stone, ironwood, glass. It wasn¡¯t his problem now.

    Iolite walked up to him and frowned. ¡°Felun, drink this.¡± She took a vial from her belt and pressed it into his hand. ¡°It is human formulation,¡± she added, seeing the flash of trepidation across his face, ¡°It will not harm you. Let him onto the floor and be ready, Silverwater.¡±

    Silverwater shoved him sideways, towards the shelter of the wall, and rushed to join the group of faeries clustering into a group.

    Iolite backed away from him and centered herself in front of the doors. ¡°Ready yourselves.¡± Her gauntleted hands clenched into fists. They jostled into formation, making an arrowhead of chitin and wing and sharpened blade, with Iolite at the very tip.

    Felun sagged against the wall, every muscle trembling with exhaustion. He sniffed as blood dripped from his nose and splattered against the tile. Then he uncorked Iolite¡¯s mystery potion vial and drank it down. It tasted mostly of spearmint and faintly of caramel. A rush of cool sensation ran down his throat. Then it went through his limbs and down his torso. A dull tide of fatigue began to lap at the edges of his consciousness.

    Iolite faced the set of royal doors and drew a sheet of paper from the pocket of her dress. She unfolded it and said something, a word that seemed neither faerie nor human, an ear-blistering sound that roared through the air. The paper burnt itself up, flecks of ash speckling the floor. He heard the sound of the bolt breaking as the doors flung themselves open, outwards, bracketing him against the corner.

    The faeries charged in.

    Felun curled up against the wall, the room beyond blocked from view by white-gold triskelions. Lassitude slithered over him like heavy blankets.

    He heard screaming, moments before he lost consciousness.

 1.12 - Succession

    Parsec

    Venera was dead.

    Parsec watched as six of her former attendants spun a death-shroud into being, whisper-thin silk sliding from spinnerets. It looked something like the idea of a sea boiling under a sunless sky. Venera would have approved, she thought distantly. And then realised that Venera must have approved, for she would have had to encode the appearance of the shroud for herself.

    Already, the Hive would be springing into action; a singular successor egg fetched from its own hiding space¡ªwhether from a bed of luster-straw in the archival cr¨¨che or dredged up from a freshwater pool in the hidden depths of the hive, she didn¡¯t know. That was the business of the attendants, the half that had gone off to find Leader General Perihelion and to spit out copies of a message: coordinates. Six attendants, and six copies for redundancy, so that the late-Titania¡¯s wishes would not be lost. The egg would have been chosen and taken by now, and workers and movers and engineers would be bustling around to see it settled for its brief incubation.

    All this, while the dappled false-light touched Venera¡¯s body as it lay here¡ªstill, silent, scentless. Dead.

    The inner sanctum would be metamorphosed over soon enough, once Venera¡¯s body was archived. The rooms would be shaped and changed as the successor Titania saw fit. Venera¡¯s softly-curving tree boughs and flaky silvered lichens would be washed away. Shadows that twinkled with constellations. The scents of strawberry and pine and cool, dry earth.

    This did not feel right.

    Parsec stared down at the mortal shell of her dead queen and wondered where it had all gone wrong.

    She had done her very best. Skulking, stalking through the in-betweens, sliding her palms over each ley line; coronal, sagittal, lambdoid, squamosal. There had been no blockage, no fault. She had peered at every facet of the hive¡¯s inner membrane, looking for cracks¡ªand there too, she had found nothing. All of the other generals had agreed it to be a natural death; Venera had ruled for a full decade, after all.

    But her predecessor had ruled for two. Parsec had been there for the predecessor¡¯s end. She and Perihelion and Dysnomia. She had been the only one to not avert her eyes as it had happened. And she knew that Venera had spiraled faster. Venera had gone from being upright and speaking to comatose in a matter of days. She had declined quickly, not over the usual creeping turns of the moon. All her power leaving in a rush. Titanias did not live long, but they did not burn out that fast, either. Parsec felt sure of that, felt it in her very core.

    And also¡ª

    Something that had happened the day before Venera had slipped under forever, almost completely unresponsive. It had been just the two of them. Parsec had been sitting, holding watch by the nest-side. Venera lay there, curled up and fighting for breath, draped in healing-silk. Her fine, birdlike wings had been plastered with herbal poultices. She had clutched a heated stone pillow to her chest. An intravenous line in her arm¡ªnectar and saline. Not that it had seemed to do much good.

    ¡°Parallax,¡± Venera had said. Venera had looked her in the eye and she had taken her hand¡ªit had felt cold and damp. Queenly silver against mournful indigo and somber, stygian blue. ¡°Someone is doing this to me. I do not know who, or how. It feels like poison. Help me, please. Parallax¡ªParsec, I trust only you¡­please.¡± She had whispered it fiercely, eyes wide and spurs bowed. Then she had coughed and coughed and fought through the next crackling breaths. Parsec¡¯s chest ached in sympathy to hear it. She¡¯d squeezed her hand and Venera had squeezed back, with what little strength she had remaining.

    ¡°I will do all that I can,¡± she had replied, the only comfort she could offer. ¡°You are the finest Titania I have ever known. I would not lose you for the world.¡±

    Parsec had not spoken of that conversation to anyone, and not simply because Venera had said so, though that in itself could be reason enough. The other generals had already set their minds on the thought that Venera had fallen into delirium. Part of her understood why. It was true, Venera had been feverish and distraught, unable to synthesise nectar by that point. But there had been a clearness to her eyes then, brief lucidity, a cutting desperation behind those words. So who was to stop her, if she chose to take those words as her last standing order?

    It was a secret between Venera and herself. The last thing she would ever own or take from the most noble Titania to have graced the Hive. The one who she had, in the end, failed the most.

    Parsec had not been there for her passing. Not in a way that mattered. In the moment between her stepping out of the room and Dysnomia stepping in to cover her shift, Venera had died. Sharply, abruptly, in the moment between one heartbeat and the next. It had been quick¡ªtoo quick. Perhaps the worst part of it, second only to the prior days of her suffering, was that Venera had died alone.

    Could it have been a fault with the attendants? Could it have been them, feeding Venera the wrong nutrients, or a poison in small doses? But no. They were chitin-coated automata without soul, not real people in a sense, with capacity for neither malice nor stupidity. Venera had made them herself; each imbued with inherited instructions and absolute loyalty. They were perfect.

    Still, Parsec had examined them all. She sampled pieces of the magic that lurked within them for Orion to look at, and he had said that nothing was amiss. Last night, when she had taken them all to the Archives for his personal perusal, they had all obeyed her instructions without fault. They had stood still as they were examined; no misdirection or shielding or stalling. None were found to be pretenders.

    The attendants were closest to the Titania. A step below them were the generals. Now that was a disturbing thought.

    It did not matter if others said it was circumstance, that Venera must have been gestationally faulty after all, that these defects happened sometimes, that at least she had done a good job in the time that she had served. Parsec knew better. Something fierce and hot writhed over the armature of her mind, hissing and biting and bothering.

    Titania Venera was dead, and someone was to blame.

    ===

    The egg was huge and smooth and grey, save for parts of the shell that were crusted over with ice. Even from this distance, it smelled of cold mist and spoiled nectar and flint-flower sap. It hung like a gaudy ornament, suspended from the chamber roof and anchored to the walls and floor by a web of gossamer and tar. Parsec sensed no silver-birch stately strength here; it was nothing like Venera at all.

    Others watched in a crowd behind her; wings aflutter, chirping softly amongst themselves. Perihelion stood to her right, his wings tucked in and his chin raised high. He had told her that the egg had been fetched from the gullet of a frostbitten cave, deep in the unstable quadrant. She wondered why Venera would have chosen such a pale, insipid thing.

    The egg cracked.

    A floral, fruity scent filled the air, notes of lily and elderflower, peaches and cherimoya. Beneath that, Parsec breathed in a hint of something darker, reminiscent of raw meat, and soil after a hard rain. A frisson of excitement washed through the crowd as a finger, coral-pink and finely-segmented, emerged from the split in the shell.

    It glistened wetly in the false-moonlight, like a questing worm.

    Despite herself, Parsec felt the next frisson-wave of feeling reverberating in her core; it was equal parts wonder and burning curiosity. The feeling surged; out came the rest of the hand, the arm. Then a small, wiry body, and a pair of limp, diaphanous wings splayed proudly over the curve of a notch-patterned spine.

    The successor Titania was coated in a clear, slimy serum; she glistened, pale pink all over but for spare splashes of ice-blue and ultraviolet, as she broke the remaining pieces of shell and slithered out. The chamber swelled with the scent of rainwater and wet petals, soft chitters and bated breath.

    An incongruously thick tail, chitin-plated and blunt-tipped, curled protectively around the successor¡¯s torso. Parsec watched as the successor¡¯s tail twitched; she choked and coughed and hacked up a packet of clear slime, with twelve tiny spheres suspended within¡ªivory-coloured attendant eggs, which had incubated alongside¡ªwithin¡ªher.

    The spheres broke open and proto-attendants crawled out, each of them small enough to fit into Parsec¡¯s palm. They looked just like Venera¡¯s when hers had first emerged, with none of the characteristic flourishes or bio-modifications that had been added later on. One by one, they crawled over the successor¡¯s shivering body and began to cleanse her of the hatching-slime. In minutes, she was clean and dry. She raised her small, dainty head and blinked open nictitating eyelids to survey the silent masses before her. Her eyes were large and rounded, coal-black all the way through.

    ¡°I am Segin,¡± she said. Her voice was soft and youthful and slightly thick with the remnants of mucus clogging her throat.

    They all bowed at her words, in sync with the thrum of the Hive. When Parsec straightened up, it was as one with the crowd.

    Segin looked down upon them with a placid expression on her face, spurs at rest. She did not seem a true part of the Hive; not yet. There was only the faintest of threads tying them together. This was within ordinary parameters, she knew. It would improve with time. But Parsec sensed more than a greater distance¡ªthere was a subtler weakness in the link, too minute to place words to. Perhaps Venera¡¯s memory was clouding her mind. The line that had tied Venera to the Hive had been sea-fresh and sky-bright and it had strengthened twofold as the years went on. Even the predecessor¡¯s had been better than this.

    This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

    She would serve successor Segin, she vowed, according to her duty.

    No more, no less.

    ===

    Venera¡¯s body had been cleared away, death-shroud and attendants and all. And with her left the defining characteristics of the inner sanctum.

    The rooms had settled back into their dormant state; creamy white walls, curved corners and soft edges all melting into one another. Some liked to refer to its dormancy as reminiscent of the inside of an egg, but Parsec thought that fanciful. It had always reminded her of stagnant dough. She felt exposed¡ªan intruder, almost, a slash of inky indigo too starkly visible when superimposed over these pale surfaces. She much preferred Venera¡¯s realm of dappled light and the cool, starry shadows that she blended into so beautifully. When she had walked in those shadows, she herself could not tell where her fingertips ended and where the darkness began. But Venera was gone, she reminded herself. Venera was gone, and this successor was to be the Titania now.

    Segin lay tucked under her broad, armoured tail on her nascent throne¡ªa roundish, raised platform¡ªas her proto-attendants spiraled around her, growing and changing as they polished her skin and stroked her wings, folded tight against her back. Parsec¡¯s attention kept skipping back to that throne; perfectly smooth and anaemic, with a polish that looked as it it had been lifted from the inside of a deep-sea shell. She knelt even as a visceral revulsion unfurled at the base of her chest.

    ¡°General Parallax,¡± Segin said faintly, her voice feathery at the edges. She blinked her eyes open and roused, uncurling into a sitting position. ¡°Salutations and my thanks for your attention.¡±

    ¡°It is my honour. Are you well?¡± Parsec asked, because that was what Segin expected her to say. Truthfully, she only came here to sate her sense of scrutiny, to see if she could glean some meaning as to what kind of Titania Segin would try to become, to grasp at the trailing ends of Venera even as she knew, deep inside, that this newling would be nothing like her.

    ¡°I feel wonderful,¡± Segin replied. ¡°General Perihelion has left to distribute instruction for my alterations to the Hive. Please, continue as you were. The predecessor¡¯s systems are remarkable and I can only hope that I will improve them.¡±

    Parsec bit her tongue. The predecessor, Segin had called her. It was innocuous enough, the usual way to refer to the most recently dead Titania if one had not been close to her. And Segin could not have been close to her, because she had not been alive when Venera had yet lived. Segin¡¯s¡ªsensible, appropriate, meaningless¡ªchoice of title should not have stoked a flare of anger deep in her gut. She stilled the beginnings of a twitch creeping up her tail.

    ¡°Of course,¡± Parsec said outwardly. ¡°The Hive welcomes you.¡±

    ===

    After she had left Segin to her attendants, she had thought that an evening flight might clear her head. Instead, it was only sparking more questions. Parsec circled over the Hive and considered its defenses.

    It looked, from the outside, like a modest mound in the earth, a small hill at best, formed from a dark, dried-tar-looking substance. Impenetrable, or so she had hoped. Parsec had no builder tendencies of any sort, but she took occasional tours of their workshops, full of boiling hot and bubbling pits of shielding substances, to be painted over the entire hive at monthly intervals. Could it be, that someone had made a mistake?

    But she had checked the seams of the inner membrane for herself, and there had been no hint of tampering in the material, whether physical or in the fast-flowing river of enchantment that flowed deep inside. The Hive from the outside was just for show; this mound of material was a capstone at best; a mere marker for a doorway. The reason for Venera¡¯s death lay elsewhere.

    She considered the humans, the city around the corner with all of its shining rabble, then dismissed the idea. The Glister alliance held true. It was why they called themselves Glister Hive, after all, because names seemed to matter to the humans. The name was a diplomatic thing, to soothe bruised Magister egos when it came to the fact that no human was allowed within half a mile of this place.

    Instigators from other Hives, then? There were two other Hives within a few day¡¯s travel; both combined would hardly make up half the size of their own. So if it was somehow either or both of them, then they would have much to gain but far more to lose. Schismatists? Unheard of. She lashed her tail in annoyance. No. This was paranoia.

    Someone is doing this to me.

    The Hive was not a true hivemind, Parsec conceded. But one would think that any rebellious pockets of schismatists would be swiftly detected, a defect in the rhythm. So if this ¡®someone¡¯ that Venera had alluded to was part of their Hive, then they would likely be working alone, or with one or two others at most. And it was likely that the person in question was part of the Hive, for they had entertained no visitors for months. Though the wind surged cool and strong against her wings and across the flight-smooth lines of her body, she felt ill at ease.

    She thought of Orion, whether to visit and ask. Was anyone safe to talk to, to confide in¡ªeven him? Could he be the traitor? Likely not, but if she still felt it best to hold her tongue among her fellow generals, then it was likely wise to reveal as little as possible. But then, she had never claimed to have no weaknesses.

    She circled round and dove into an entrance, guarded by enchantment and autonomous weaponry alike. Further in, sentries stood to attention and greeted her; she gave them a nod and pressed further in, through several cavernous, bustling chambers strung with pale lights. Then she took a shortcut.

    The Hive was honeycombed with half-hidden pathways; passages opened up in the solid, engineered wire armature of the standard levels and districts, zones and blocks of home-cells. She fluttered her way upwards, through a one-way chute that blasted cold nitrogen at her back, emerged in a rarely-used intersection. The stone signposts were overgrown with black moss. She ignored both the signs and the pathways, pushing herself further upwards with a powerful beat of her wings; there was another chute here, and it led her straight to the lobby of the Archives.

    Though she flew up the chute, she found herself flying down as she emerged from a gate in the lobby ceiling. It was a quirk of such shortcuts; one that she had mastered navigating after the first few instances of crashing headfirst into the moss carpet. Today, she alighted on her feet. Gracefully.

    Orion sat front and center at his post, clearly mid-conversation with some young scout or other. He glanced up at her as she entered, the barest flicker of his eyes; three cuttlefish-pupils blazing blue, glimmering in the Archive light.

    ¡°¡­Personal talisman of sorts,¡± he was saying. ¡°Chalk and enamel, pewter chain. Very minor charm. If the city has a lost and found, you should pass it on to them.¡±

    ¡°Thank you,¡± the scout said. She turned her head, spotted Parsec, and gave a little start, her dipterous wings paling with embarrassment. ¡°Oh! General Parallax! My apologies for keeping you waiting.¡±

    ¡°Not at all,¡± Parsec said, and dipped her head in acknowledgment.

    ¡°I¡ªI shall be out of your way then!¡± the scout squeaked, and saluted before she scurried out of the lobby.

    Orion pushed a stack of parchments to the side of his desk. His third eye, set like a sideways jewel in his brow, narrowed as she approached, the colour within dimming to a calm, pearl-grey. ¡°Parsec. What can I do for you today?¡±

    The set of his spines was ever-so-slightly tense. There was no avoiding it.

    ¡°Has Venera been laid to rest?¡± she asked, though the answer was obvious.

    He gave her a gentle look as he understood her question for what it really was, the real question that she felt too uncomfortable to ask directly; is she here and can I see her?

    ¡°Of course,¡± he said. ¡°Just this way.¡±

    She followed him to the beginning of the stacks; one of his attendants rushed to fill his spot at the desk; it was a clear message to any new visitors; be back soon.

    She had asked him, once, if it was lonely being the sole archivist with nothing but forty identical attendants for company. He had said no, and she hadn¡¯t quite believed him. The benefits were dubious¡ªone acquired a certain mystery, when the role came with the prestige of personal attendants; far more than a Titania, even, not to mention the marked lack of a Titania¡¯s reduced lifespan¡ªbut the Archives were a sombre place, and the idea of being locked away, alone among an endless warren of books and corpses and historical relics, was more dour than idyllic. She tried to visit him, whenever she had the time.

    The traitor could be anyone, she reminded herself. It could be a fellow general, an esteemed architect, a lowly processor. All of them or none of them. There was also the faint possibility of it being Orion himself. Was he one of her few close¡ªperhaps even closest¡ªacquaintances, or was he a queenslayer, leading her on a mocking path to Venera¡¯s final resting place? She grappled with the idea, then stowed it aside. Later. She would confront her fears later. She would plan for the worst and deal with whatever ramifications revealed themselves.

    She clung to that small comfort as he led her down the stacks with his usual uncanny certainty, choosing between splitting pathways, weaving through wooden shelves and stone monoliths alike. They passed a spot¡ªa clearing with a flat-topped boulder among a sea of mottled white pebbles¡ªwhere he liked to share tea, and not for the first time, she wondered if she visited for reasons he could understand¡ªisolation, and the like. Being a General was not nearly as wonderful as people seemed to believe.

    She would have chosen to become a scout, in retrospect. It must be nice to fly free at one¡¯s leisure, even if it involved keeping an eye on the humans and all of their dreary comings and goings. But things being as they were, she was burdened with dreary responsibilities and the mystery of Venera¡¯s death. There was a traitor, somewhere in the Hive. It itched deep within her core; she would scrape at the soil with her bare hands to root them out. She would gut herself to remove that itch, if need be.

    She shook off her clinging worries as they reached the tomb; an enormous, dark egg-like structure. She paused for a moment to bask in its magnitude. Then she reached out to touch it; the surface felt cold and glossy-smooth, like glass, though it was fully opaque. The tomb had been set into an area thick with bookshelves, an area with a ceiling that wavered when it was looked at, such that it didn¡¯t resemble a finite barrier at all. The area smelled of dry paper and old, oxidising inks. Here was Venera¡¯s grave. Now was the time to mourn, to be grant respect and imbibe in memory. Afterwards, she could hunt the traitor down as she liked.

    Orion touched a notch on the tomb¡¯s surface and a section of it unfurled softly outwards like a petal, a rounded, elegant door. Through it, she glimpsed a section of green and caught a whiff of sharp resin.

    ¡°Would you prefer to see her alone?¡± he asked.

    ¡°I¡­yes.¡± She stepped inside, not fully knowing what to expect. She took a moment to drink it in, and then: ¡°¡­ah,¡± she said.

    It was a miniature recreation of Venera¡¯s inner sanctum. Sombre greenery blanketed the ground and elegant trees sprouted from the walls, through which delicate false-sunlight filtered. This, too, must have been encoded into her attendants, for them to build before they wore down without her power to guide them. She supposed that they must have laid themselves into the soil and deconstructed themselves into base parts. She imagined Venera weaving the instructions by candlelight, steady hands crafting the blueprint for her own tomb.

    Venera¡¯s body was cloaked over with her dark death-shroud. She lay on the ground on the far side, where the foliage grew thickest and the dappled light turned to twinkling, velvet shadow. Parsec flitted over to her, a touch unsteady.

    It is just her body, she reminded herself. It is just her body. Empty shell, never decaying. Gone was the soul. She was not sleeping and the shroud was not a quilt. Mausoleum, not bower. It did not matter how much she wanted Venera to stir, to sit up, to unfold her wings and say that there had been a terrible misunderstanding. This was Venera¡¯s body. She had seen it, just earlier today. Venera was dead. The Titania had died, but then the Titania lived again, leaving Venera in its wake. There was no use hoping.

    Three feet away, she dropped to alight upon the grass. Bowed her head and knelt. ¡°Titania,¡± she murmured. And then, said even more quietly: ¡°Venera, my Titania. Upon my life, I will avenge you.¡±

 1.13 - Worms-eye View

    Aliyah

    The tunnels curved deeper into the earth. Purple spell-light cast jagged rock ceilings into twisted relief. Sand and small pebbles crunched underfoot and they passed under the occasional hole bored into the ceiling from which fresh air wafted down. On the whole, it was reassuringly uninteresting. Kionah had warned her of potentially dangerous cave animals and the possibility of caustic flora the further out they went¡ªbut for now, the tunnels were just tunnels. Slightly claustrophobic in sections, but otherwise unremarkable. They turned a corner and Aliyah promptly cursed herself for thinking so.

    The tunnel roof sloped down to the floor, morphing from a walking-height corridor into a hole that looked barely large enough to crawl through.

    ¡°Through there?¡± Aliyah asked, mounting panic rising from the pit of her stomach.

    ¡°Unfortunately, yes. Why do you think no one¡¯s taken advantage of this place for geopolitical gain?¡± Kionah snorted, though it seemed to be more in frustration than mockery. ¡°No trade caravan or battalion¡¯s coming through here, that¡¯s for sure.¡±

    ¡°Do we really have no other option?¡±

    Kionah pressed her lips into a thin, hard line. ¡°I don¡¯t like it either. Believe me, I¡¯d love to set camp for a few weeks and sneak back into Shadowsong once the trouble¡¯s all over. Unfortunately, word would have gotten out that we¡¯re both treasonous traitors by now and as such, we¡¯d be slaughtered by what¡¯s left of the Magicians.¡±

    ¡°Can¡¯t you¡­blast a bigger hole, or something? Use one of the spell-slips?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s solid rock,¡± Kionah said patiently. ¡°I¡¯m no heavy-hitter. I could get perhaps a half-metre in before I start coughing my organs up.¡±

    ¡°So you¡¯re absolutely sure this map is trustworthy?¡±

    ¡°As sure as I can be.¡±

    ¡°Who did you get it from?¡±

    ¡°Luxon. An enchantress fae¡ª¡±

    ¡°A faery? You mean like the ones attacking the kingdom right now¡ª¡±

    ¡°I wasn¡¯t finished. I acquired the map from a highly-respected enchantress faery from Glister, one of few well-known independents from her Hive. Not affiliated with the ones chopping the army to bits back there. She procured the map from deep within the Glister Hive¡¯s equivalent of a Library; it had a high asking price. There was no haggling, no reason to suspect ill will. I paid in full.¡±

    Aliyah frowned. ¡°What was the price?¡±

    ¡°Sixteen thousand coppers and most of a mage-chariot¡¯s engine-parts.¡± Kionah looked at her a little oddly. ¡°You provincial folk and your stories. What did you think she asked for, a stolen infant and all of my teeth?¡±

    ¡°Something like that.¡± Aliyah glanced again at the tunnel ahead. ¡°Does the map say how long this goes on for?¡±

    Kionah scrolled through the interlocking layers of light, frowning and moving the spell-light under her fingers. ¡°It isn¡¯t written, though this piece is to scale. I would estimate¡­fifty metres.¡±

    Fifty metres. That didn¡¯t sound so bad. That was, what, a third of the laundry hall? Less?

    Kionah beckoned their floating luggage chest down and unlatched it. She withdrew a length of rope. ¡°Here. Tie this around your leg. If the map¡¯s wrong and you hit a dead end, I can help to pull you back out.¡±

    Aliyah scowled. ¡°You want me to go first?¡± Surely Kionah should go first, being the slightly shorter between them and the one who knew the map.

    ¡°You¡¯re the one who can heal herself if something goes wrong.¡±

    Kionah had a point, though not as good of a point as she seemed to think. It was true that if Aliyah were truly stuck, she could break a couple of bones to free herself, like she had back in the castle garden. It was an unpleasant prospect, though. She wasn¡¯t sure how much more she could do, as exhausted as she was. Fifty metres. Was that too far? What if the tunnel didn¡¯t have enough air? She could consciously conserve oxygen better than most, but she was no gilled fish, no agile lamprey. She might have suffocated to death by the time Kionah pulled her out.

    ¡°Does the map say anything about the breathability of the air?¡±

    Kionah adjusted her glasses and tapped at symbols on the paper once more. The projection shimmered, purple tunnels and red-lined pathway now blocked out in shades of green and blue and beige.

    ¡°We¡¯re fine. Look, our entire route is breathable.¡±

    ¡°Is that breathable by faery standards, or our own?¡± she asked sharply.

    ¡°Our own. You¡¯re right though; lucky bastards can go without for much longer than we can.¡±

    Aliyah exhaled slowly. It sounded safe enough. But she was tired. They had been walking for what felt like at least an hour and she was acutely aware of the poor sleep she had gotten, not to mention all of the magic she had drained.

    ¡°Can we stop here for tonight? Or morning, or whatever time it is? Deal with when we wake up? I¡¯m tired and hungry and I¡¯m guessing you are too.¡±

    She half-expected Kionah to say no, to turn up that courtly nose of hers and proclaim that no, they were still fleeing a deadly flock of Magicians and that conquering this awful, claustrophobic little tunnel as soon as possible was of crucial importance.

    Kionah blinked, tired eyes prominent behind the thick lenses of her glasses. ¡°You know, that¡¯s a good idea,¡± she said, and began pulling things out of the chest, a pair of bedrolls and two vials, each of them filled with a dark, chestnut-coloured liquid. She passed one to Aliyah, who stared at it quizzically.

    ¡°Portable nutrition potions,¡± Kionah said, sounding apologetic. ¡°All we could fit. Damned expensive, but Alhena said they tasted okay.¡±

    Kionah uncorked hers and drank it. She didn¡¯t start gagging or retching, which Aliyah took as a good sign. She drank her own share; it tasted bland and savoury, a bit like a cold meat broth. Not particularly pleasant, but far from the worst potion she¡¯d ever had. A magically-induced sense of satiety warmed her from within and blanketed her like the softest of feather quilts.

    Kionah spun a brief working of spell-light, a net that faded from shining silver to near-invisibility, and pinned it at the mouth of the narrow tunnel ahead.

    ¡°Alarm ward. In case something comes out,¡± she said. ¡°A precaution. I don¡¯t think it¡¯s likely.¡±

    Her words didn¡¯t reassure Aliyah in the slightest.

    Kionah spun more alarm wards, hung them further back up the tunnel and around their makeshift campsite. Aliyah, suddenly conscious that she was simply standing there, unbuckled the bedrolls and laid them out. Kionah handed her a toothbrush and another vial, this one labelled as a dentifrice solution, marked with some sort of Glister company insignia. They really had thought their escape plan through. Aliyah cleaned her teeth, crawled into her bedroll, and fell asleep, barely aware of Kionah doing the same.

    ===

    She dreamed.

    She dreamed of a labyrinth and a familiar voice saying¡ª

    Words.

    Just words. Dangerous words. On the very edge of her hearing¡­

    And now there was blood soaking into her collar and¡ª

    She awoke choking on air, one hand fisted into the rumpled bedroll and the other clawing at her chest.

    Another nightmare. Nothing new.

    She heaved a lungful of air, curled up onto her side once more, and let sleep retake her. If she dreamed any more, she did not remember it.

    ===

    Morning came all too soon. Aliyah snapped her eyes open to a faint chiming, like that of a bell. It was dark. Early shift, she thought. Hells, I¡¯m late. Her eyes adjusted in the gloom, traced out jagged rock and not the smoothness of a plain ceiling. It all came crashing back. Faeries. Magicians. Zahir. Rana. Kionah.

    Something chimed again.

    ¡°It¡¯s just me,¡± Kionah said from a little ways away. ¡°Damned things are annoying to take down.¡±

    Aliyah propped herself up on one elbow and rubbed at her eyes with her free hand. She winced as cramped muscles twinged in her back. Kionah was unraveling the wards. The spells made sharp sounds as they fell, mournful little musical notes which she had no ear for. They had a hasty, quiet breakfast¡ªmore nutrition potion, downed quickly and easily.

    The narrow mouth of the tunnel loomed. Kionah stuck a spell-slip for light onto Aliyah¡¯s forehead and tied one end of the rope around her ankle. She tugged at it to test its strength; the knot held.

    ¡°Call out if you need help,¡± she said. ¡°Try to stay calm.¡±

    Aliyah took a deep breath and walked further into the tunnel until the low ceiling forced her into an awkward crouch. She dropped to her hands and knees and crawled forwards. Her overtaxed muscles twinged in protest, microtears from what may have been yesterday. She urged the healing along, just a little, to save her strength. Had it really been so long ago, that she¡¯d held the hacksaw in her trembling hand? She entered the tunnel proper, the part where sitting up would crack her skull against the curved ceiling of the tiny passage. The first metre or so wasn¡¯t so bad. Then she realised that the tunnel wasn¡¯t going to move.

    Unyielding rock on all sides. No space to turn her head and look back. She bumped her shoulder and scraped her knee through the fabric of her trousers as she crawled. The shallow roof brushed against her head as she went. There was no flex, no give. It was pure hard stone and she was only human. The tunnel twisted to the right, ever-so-slightly. And then a sharp bend to the left. Bad enough that it was so long; worse still that it didn¡¯t have the decency to lead her straight on. A choking panic rose in her throat like bile.

    How deep underground were they? How many tonnes were above her head, borne by the roof of this little tunnel? The weight of the earth could collapse the path in front of her, leaving no way forwards. It could collapse on top of her, a makeshift executioner, crushing her flesh and bones; perhaps her meagre skill at healing could keep her alive for a few seconds longer, every nerve screaming in agony before she succumbed. Or perhaps the tunnel would collapse behind her, severing the rope and any way back. Perhaps she would crawl onwards, wander the labyrinth of faery tunnels, hallucinating as she died of dehydration.

    ¡°Kionah,¡± she called out. She hated her voice, how thin and uncertain it sounded as it bounced off the walls of the tunnel.

    This narrative has been purloined without the author''s approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

    ¡°What¡¯s wrong?¡±

    ¡°Nothing. Just wanted to check that you¡¯re still here.¡±

    She cursed her own foolishness. No doubt Kionah still thought her a stupid apprenticeling, afraid of killing people and of dying alone in tight spaces. If she died here, right now, would Kionah die, too? Would she find some other route, or would she haul Aliyah¡¯s corpse out of the way and continue alone? The rope felt rough against the skin of her ankle.

    ¡°I¡¯m here. Everything okay?¡±

    ¡°Yes. It¡¯s just¡­narrow in here,¡± was all she managed. She kept crawling.

    The light on her forehead merely illuminated more rocks, jagged veins of mineral deposits running through the surface. She felt like a blind worm, squirming through the calcified esophagus of a gargantuan creature disguised as a mountain, ready to suffocate and die, to rot there for all eternity. She put a hand forwards, scratched her palm on sharp stone that felt, for a second, like a sharpened incisor. She hissed, rubbed the grit off onto her knee and sealed the skin back shut. What if there were stinging insects further in? Or worse? She thought of a part-spider creature, lurking and hungry in the darkness at the end of the tunnel, ready to take a bite. Half-remembered things and pure nightmares skittered to the forefront of her mind; of blood in her mouth and impossible daemon-creatures and¡ª

    Fifty metres, Kionah had said. The tunnel was supposed to be fifty metres long. It felt like more. Was that meant as the crow flies? She should have asked. Or perhaps Kionah had misinterpreted the scale of the map. Perhaps it was five hundred metres, far longer than the length of the rope, her only tether to a world where things like daylight and fresh air and spaciousness existed.

    Perhaps it was a league. Or fifty.

    No. Stop being foolish. It had to end soon, right? Exit or dead end or monster ready to bite her head off, it had to end soon. This was an unbearable void, a limbo, a¡ª

    An opening. The spell-light illuminated an opening around the corner, a clear space beyond. Thank the stars. Thank whatever geological process or ancient fae had carved out this opening. She scrambled forwards, emerged from the hellish tunnel into a clearing, a vast cave-cavern with a ceiling blessedly far over her head. She took in deep lungfuls of air. Diffuse shafts of daylight streamed down from holes above, holes that looked like they had been cut there¡ªlong, thin chimneys up to the surface. The light gave the cave a semblance of cheer. Here she was, looking around a dusty cave as though it were a royal suite. A few minutes of uncertainty and a mountain¡¯s worth of rock pressing at the back of your neck would do that to you. Aliyah untied the rope from her leg.

    ¡°I made it,¡± she called down the tunnel to Kionah. ¡°There¡¯s a really big clearing on this side.¡±

    ¡°You best not just be saying that to encourage me,¡± came the faint response.

    The rope jerked slightly in Aliyah¡¯s hand. A few minutes¡ªan uncomfortably long while to be standing alone¡ªlater, Kionah clambered out of the tunnel, blinking frantically and brushing dust off her clothes.

    ¡°Thank the stars,¡± she muttered. ¡°That was horrendous.¡±

    Aliyah squinted back at the tunnel. Faint banging noises drifted from its depths. ¡°Is the luggage chest going to make it through?¡±

    Kionah swore, far more colourfully than Aliyah would have thought possible for a court lady.

    A very long while, a snapped rope, and several used spell-slips later, they were once again trudging through better tunnels, wide enough to walk side by side. A considerably more battered luggage chest bobbed along behind them.

    And so it went; walking with a little talking, followed by more walking. The muscles of her legs ached. She nudged the healing along. It didn¡¯t help much; the lingering aches faded, but the burn of lactic acid in her working muscles persisted with the constant motion of walking. They marched through bland grey cave after bland grey cave and crossed a tepid subterranean lake which echoed with the dull drip of lukewarm water. After Kionah had cut her hand open on a sharp stalactite, she¡¯d fixed it, flushed out the contaminants before sealing it shut.

    ¡°Pretty handy magic you have after all,¡± Kionah had said with the ghost of a smile.

    ¡°Convinced of my usefulness yet?¡± She couldn¡¯t help the tinge of bitterness that snuck into her words.

    ¡°Ah, pardon?¡±

    She clenched her jaw. No use backing down here. ¡°Am I going to be useful enough to accompany you? I mean, if I¡¯m not, you probably should have said so before we went through that horrible little tunnel. I could¡¯ve turned back, disguised myself and hidden somewhere in town, something that doesn¡¯t compromise your escape plan.¡±

    A pause, and then¡ª

    ¡°You really think I¡¯d run off with the luggage and the map?¡±

    ¡°I know you¡¯d much rather have a¡ªa real apprentice here.¡±

    ¡°Is that what you know, or what you think?¡± Kionah exhaled slowly, with all the pedantry and poise of a disappointed governess. ¡°I¡¯d rather no apprentice of any kind had to be here. The plan was for Alhena and her big fuck-off harp to have been here. But plans change. You got past the warden and the Magicians didn¡¯t kill us, which is all that I can ask for, given the circumstances.¡± She rubbed her eyes with her newly-healed hand. ¡°Look. You¡¯re free to dislike me¡ª traitor to the crown and all that. But I¡¯m not going to turn traitor here of all places, not when it¡¯d probably kill me just as much as it¡¯d kill you.¡±

    ¡°Right. Okay.¡± She shoved away her lingering anxiety, let it thrash around aimlessly in a small, locked box at the back of her mind.

    Things were a little less tense after that.

    Every now and again, Aliyah spotted artificial chimney-tunnels drilled into the roof, catching glimpses of daylight far above as she wondered about the ancient faeries who¡¯d made them. But mostly, they walked through darkness, lit only by the pale purple spell-light of the faery map.

    They avoided hissing plants and dark patches of slime mould as they began to pass beneath the Killing Fields; she recognised a few of the species from her botanical books¡ªcreeping widow¡¯s lichen, ruffles of deadly toad blossom, sticky, pullulating tangles of queen¡¯s claw that would open blisters upon one¡¯s skin if touched. She mentioned them to Kionah over the course of a sparse, slow, day-long conversation. There was little talking to be done as they clambered up piles of rock and wriggled through tight passages¡ªones that were thankfully not as hellish as that first tunnel had been, but dread-inducing all the same.

    Of the talking that did happen, though, Kionah gave little stories like peace-offerings; Princess Alhena¡¯s argumentative court sessions, days spent sailing on the salt, walking in on a petty lordling rifling through a desk and extorting him of coin for her silence.

    She seemed oddly unbothered when mentioning Alhena. Aliyah wondered if she¡¯d had any hand in revealing the so-called traitor-princess¡¯s plans to the Magicians. But no, she had said that Alhena was meant to be in Aliyah¡¯s place. And she had clearly been tortured, back in the dungeon; those wounds had not been a falsehood. There was a chance that Kionah had betrayed and miscalculated, but in any case, there was no use speculating on court politics, not when she had to trust Kionah¡¯s spellwork and her understanding of the map if she wanted to get out of these faery tunnels alive. Still, for a supposed right-hand courtesan-spy, Kionah didn¡¯t seem as if she were suffering much grief over Alhena¡¯s death.

    Kionah did not speak much of herself; Aliyah learned that she was a couple of years older¡ªjust past two and twenty years¡ªand that she preferred games of cards over dice. Mostly, Kionah seemed to prefer answering Aliyah¡¯s questions about Glister. She described the shimmering spires of the Magister¡¯s towers against the sordid underbelly of the city. Gold changing hands and silk-clad richlings killing each other in the course of grey-market trading. The Undercity, too, was regaled to her vivid detail; smoky teahouses and gambling dens crammed side-by-side beneath the surface, egg-like safehouses grown over with razor-wire and apartment blocks whose entrance-levels rested a quarter-mile under the surface. She revealed little detail regarding her life there, only that she had been one of six children, and the only one still alive.

    Aliyah had offered, hesitantly, that she had an unknown number of so-called siblings.

    ¡°Ah, a scion? A low-prince and his mistress, then? Or the other way around?¡± Kionah had asked, evidently familiar with the system¡ªthe system that, several years ago, Aliyah had begun to think of as a system solely dedicated to churning out unlovable bastards¡ªmeaningless permutations, a test, a machine. A heartless machine with several gears loose, spinning ever-onwards on the whims of the court.

    Kionah seemed more preoccupied with the twisting tracery of purple tunnels on her map than Aliyah¡¯s response that her progenitors¡ªa good-for-nothing Shahriyar and his concubine, not important¡ªwere dead and that she did not especially care. Still, she spoke of being brought to the court nurseries and undergoing standardised schooling. When the time came for magical and vocational testing, she had scored low and chose maidservant over kite-handler. She did not elaborate upon why and Kionah had not asked.

    Shahriyar, she found herself thinking. Aliyah Shahriyar. She¡¯d thought it many times before¡ªmostly when she was young, on dull days under the impassive eyes of lowborn carers¡ªand it had never sounded right. If she¡¯d been born a full-blooded daughter¡­but there was no use thinking about it.

    They¡¯d walked onwards, encountered a tunnel fringed with pale roots¡ªwithered tendrils that hung down from the ceiling like tassels. Aliyah had taken barely two steps under them before she felt the moisture being pulled from her body, epithelial skin cells turning hypertonic. She¡¯d stumbled back, dry-eyed, dry-mouthed, and the beginnings of a headache creeping along her temples.

    ¡°They worm their way down from the Killing Fields,¡± Kionah had said as she¡¯d rummaged for a jug of water in their luggage. ¡°What did you expect?¡±

    ¡°You knew that they¡¯d hurt me and you still let me walk under them?¡± she¡¯d countered.

    ¡°Well of course not. I gathered that after you jumped like you stepped onto live coals. But you¡¯re a Healer, aren¡¯t you?¡±

    ¡°Not like Zahir,¡± she snapped. ¡°I can die almost as easily as you can.¡±

    Kionah snorted and started pacing the length of the cavern they were in, head tilted back, eyes roaming over the ceiling and avoiding her gaze. ¡°I saw what you did to that warden. If those things had killed you instantly, I would be doomed regardless.¡±

    Aliyah bristled. ¡°That¡¯s not how it works. Being able to knock someone else out isn¡¯t the same as having the water drained out of you. If that were the case, then I wouldn¡¯t have been worried about the Magician¡¯s spell of mass-bloodletting, would I?¡± Then she winced and shied away from that thorny cluster of memories. ¡°How are we going to get through? There¡¯s an alternate route, right?¡±

    Kionah turned her gaze down from the ceiling and strode over to the enchanted floating chest.

    ¡°I have something that might help.¡±

    She pulled out a small, square box, about the size of her palm.

    ¡°What¡¯s that, a magical plant-destroying device?¡±

    Kionah grinned, a sharp and vicious curl of the mouth that made Aliyah¡¯s stomach flip in trepidation. ¡°In a manner of speaking. It¡¯s a matchbook. Summons fire, you know.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s a stupid idea,¡± she said, more bluntly than she meant to. ¡°We¡¯ll perish from smoke inhalation.¡±

    ¡°There are chimney-holes in the ceiling. I checked. See?¡±

    She¡¯d glanced up and frowned. ¡°Small chimney-holes, rather far up. Still looks risky to me.¡±

    ¡°Do you have a better idea?¡±

    ¡°No. But those things might not even burn.¡±

    ¡°They seem dry enough. We can¡¯t know until we try.¡±

    Kionah had lit the roots ablaze and hacked at the remaining tendrils with her shortsword as they walked through the hot, ash-stained ruins of the root tunnel. Afterwards, Aliyah soothed the smoke-wrought inflammation in both of their lungs, forced secretions of mucus to catch stray particulate matter, and purged them with hacking, phlegm-filled coughs.

    ¡°I told you there would be too much smoke,¡± she coughed.

    ¡°We didn¡¯t perish,¡± Kionah wheezed, wiping her mouth on her sleeve. ¡°That¡¯s what counts in the end, don¡¯t you think?¡±

    ===

    At the end of the fifth day, the tunnels opened up into a cavern, and the cavern contained a forest.

    Not a faery-tale forest of gnarled oaks and dappled sunlight, but a forest of fungi and fallen, petrified tree trunks¡ªthe smooth, bark-textured stone was pale, gleaming, and opalescent. Slender, coal-black mushrooms towered over lush, velvety mounds of moss and lichen. The stretch of bare ground leading to the edge of the fungus forest was dotted with small, murky puddles that reminded her of tar pits.

    Kionah stopped walking and frowned down at her map. ¡°This isn¡¯t supposed to be here,¡± she said slowly. ¡°The forest, that is. See here, the whole cavern is marked as barren territory.¡±

    ¡°The map¡¯s rather old, isn¡¯t it?¡±

    ¡°Still. There¡¯s a touch of fae about this place.¡±

    ¡°Why? The mushrooms?¡±

    ¡°Those pools.¡± Kionah pointed at the tar-like puddles, furrowing her brow. ¡°They resemble a particular material. Luxon¡ªthe one I bought the map from¡ªshe made cocoons out of the stuff. I could be wrong, of course, but it¡¯s¡­uncomfortably coincident.¡±

    ¡°You said the mountain fae came from the North.¡±

    ¡°Their Hive is in the North.¡± Kionah tapped a finger thoughtfully against the map. ¡°It could be an outpost, a very far-flung one indeed. Or, more hopefully, a Glisterian outpost. Could be a completely unaffiliated hive with a new queen. Could be anything.¡±

    Aliyah eyed the map, the red line that marked out their path to freedom. ¡°Do we have to find out?¡±

    ¡°Perhaps. Stay alert. Keep to the shadows.¡±

    ¡°No illusion slips left?¡±

    ¡°Alhena didn¡¯t pack any¡ªI suppose she thought her skill with the harp would do the trick¡ªand I used up what your master gave us on the boat. I can silence our footsteps, but that¡¯s about it.¡±

    ¡°I suppose we¡¯ll have to be careful, then.¡±

    ¡°Indeed.¡±

    Aliyah clenched a fist, packed vasodilation there like a coiled spring. Kionah rolled up the map and tucked it into her belt. They crept down the slope, past the field of tar-puddles, and into the forest of black mushrooms. Worms writhed under her shoes. The silhouettes of small creatures chirped and moved in the shadows further out; the air was cool and smelt of wet earth.

    They walked for some time, long enough for Aliyah to wonder at the size of the cavern which housed this forest, when Kionah held up a hand and drew to a stop. Ahead of them, whorled, organic-looking beams criss-crossed the trunks of the black mushrooms. They looked as if they had been sculpted from the tar-like substance Kionah had pointed out earlier. Some of them still dripped, fresh droplets oozing down in slow motion, thicker than any natural liquid ought to be.

    ¡°Faeries, right?¡± she whispered uneasily.

    ¡°Yes,¡± Kionah murmured. ¡°Look there. I doubt they¡¯re from the Glister Hive. Too small, too crude.¡±

    She followed Kionah¡¯s gaze. The whorled beams coalesced and formed a web higher up, meeting at a central point far above them, anchored onto the caps of the tallest mushrooms. The nest was disc-like, with small spiked towers at the periphery and little openings dotted around its curve.

    ¡°No one¡¯s here?¡±

    ¡°Mm, no, look. There.¡± Kionah frowned, squinted. ¡°That faery¡¯s holding something. It can¡¯t possibly be¡­does that look like a copy of our map to you?¡±

    A golden faery glinted in the distance, half-hidden behind one of the outer spikes. Aliyah sharpened her vision. The faery was holding and appeared to be reading from a large sheet of paper, yes. She could make out a tangle of purple spell-light, too.

    ¡°Maybe. Maybe it¡¯s something else?¡±

    ¡°The map changes things,¡± Kionah muttered. ¡°It¡¯s more likely that they¡¯re Glisterian, though it¡¯s possible another Hive might have a very similar artefact.¡±

    ¡°Are you going to talk to them?¡± Aliyah asked, scrutinising the faery up above.

    ¡°What? No, we don¡¯t know for sure. Best we sneak past.¡±

    Still perched upon the spike, the golden faery turned and looked directly at them.

    Aliyah froze.

    That was when the arrow punched through her gut.

 1.14 - Six of Tesseracts

    Aliyah

    There was a glowing arrow sunk into her abdomen. She¡¯d been shot from behind.

    The pain seared. It twisted and spiraled.

    She dropped to her knees, hands moving instinctively to put pressure against the wound as she poured healing magic into the puncture. Not in the descending aorta, thank the gods. Not in the arteries either¡ªspleen, liver, and kidneys were fine. Pancreas intact, not flooding her insides with spilled enzymes. If she¡¯d been standing just a little off to the side¡ªbut no. Focus. Gastrointestinal perforation. Jejunum and ileum¡ªnot the worst. Take care of the peritoneum. Survivable. Definitely survivable.

    There was blood on her fingers.

    Come on, she thought dizzily, you can deal with this. The arrow was still blazing, formed of purest spell-light, sharp and hot and solid. It had entered to the side of her spine, a handspan below her ribcage. The shining tip was poking out of her front. She felt sick.

    The spell-arrow flared once more, then sizzled out, leaving an empty tunnel through her body. Blood started leaking out faster, soaking into her shirt, dripping over her fingers as she frantically fixed the wound from the inside out. It hurt. It fucking hurt. There was an arrow, it had been right there, she¡¯d never actually been shot before¡ª

    She was vaguely aware of Kionah casting a shield and drawing her shortsword. The blade flashed in a bright arc. Nimble metal thudded into hard carapace.

    But her blood. There was too much blood. Not enough to kill her, but¡ªnot good. It was dripping hotly over her fingers, the slow flow stemming all-too-gradually as the tunnel in her abdomen knitted back together, flushing bacteria and other waste material out of her bloodstream. Prevent sepsis, she thought. Anesthetised castle rats with pins through their guts. Hah, if only Zahir could see her now. Nothing close to textbook-perfect. It was so hard to think, much less work with the standardised methodology when she¡¯d never closed a wound like this on herself before, when it hurt so much. Too much blood, she thought. Please stop. She felt light-headed.

    Light. White light, everywhere. Arrows, not aimed at her. Kionah screamed as her shield shattered.

    In the distance, hissing.

    Aliyah coughed, half-expecting to see specks of blood in her breath. A brittle chill of fear washed through her body, from head to toe. No. Not again. Almost there.

    A blurry shape dove at her from above; a faery face, curved horns and an outstretched arm.

    Vasodilation screeched at the forefront of her mind. Did faeries even have a cardiovascular system?

    The faery grabbed her. She vasodilated him, not the usual way¡ªyes, there were blood vessels within, though the shape and substance felt different under the questing touch of her magic; spikes where there should be curves, an unknown organ here and there, tessellating honeycomb-like texture in one spot. She reached around what might have been a heart and caught hold of a narrow organ-part connected to a branching network of vessels. It was some sort of ventricle analogue, surely. She forced it to flex open, shunted the chain-reaction across interconnected channels of vasculature. The faery fell. Thank the stars. She poured false-sleep into his brain and¡ª

    Something slammed into the back of her head.

    Her vision blacked out as she pivoted her magic to the point of impact, eyes scrunched tightly shut as she focused and checked frantically for any fractures. The sounds of spell-fight cut off into a fuzzy silence.

    She opened her eyes and screamed.

    She was stuck inside a rough-hewn stone tomb. It was like the tunnel she¡¯d crawled through shortly after they¡¯d arrived, only now there was no way forwards nor back. Solid rock, indisputably hard and cold beneath her hands. The ceiling forced her into a half-crouch; her arms were braced on the wall in front of her. The world swayed.

    She hammered at the stone, getting a burst of pain against her fist for her trouble. Her heart pounded hard; how had the faery dropped her into this rock hole? Did they carve out such hollows for this sole purpose? Were there dozens of other captives embedded in the rock around her, screaming prisoners or shrivelled, immured corpses? She screamed again, felt around for something, anything. There had to be a door, or an opening; surely no one could teleport her into a space without an exit.

    She was going to die. She had almost nothing to work with. She had Zahir¡¯s keys in her pocket and the breaker spell-slip, but¡ª

    An invisible hand gripped her shoulder. The fingers felt like stone.

    The spell-slip.

    She ripped it from her pocket and slammed it against the invisible stone-hand, spoke the word of power. Blood welled up in her mouth. Pointless to stop it. Too much effort, when she had to focus on not actually getting injured.

    The stone vanished. The crackle of spellfire and the clash of metal returned, muted behind a ringing in her ears. She was back in the fungus forest. There was a claw-tipped, chitin-plated hand on her shoulder. She twisted her head around. The hand belonged to a faery, two whole heads taller than her. Mottled purple all over, like a bruise. Angry. The faery locked eyes with her, face frozen in a snarl¡ªand crumpled to the ground as the spell-slip burnt itself up. Didn¡¯t make any sense.

    Kionah, she thought. Where¡¯s Kionah¡ªah. She was cutting and casting way over there, against another faery.

    ¡°¡ªillusions,¡± Kionah screamed. ¡°They¡¯re using illusions!¡±

    Her head pounded with the slow throb of overexertion. So the stone tomb was illusory, a distraction technique. Still didn¡¯t make sense, that the spell-slip had worked. Unless that faery had been an enchanted material. Maybe that¡¯s what they all were, strange internal anatomy aside. How would she know?

    Another faery was dashing through the air at her, shining like burnished brass. The golden one, the one that had been holding the map; the paper was rolled up and clipped to a belt around her waist. She drew up short as she glanced at the crumpled faeries at her feet. Aliyah tensed, readied vasodilation in her palms.

    ¡°What did you do to them, little kingdom gnat?¡± The faery hissed. Her voice sounded barbed and vaguely poisonous.

    ¡°I¡ªI¡­¡±

    The faery put her hand against her torso, grabbed and pulled. Aliyah watched, horrified, as the lustrous golden carapace stretched, twisted, formed into a long, golden stake in the faery¡¯s hand, and broke off. The stake had a sharp point.

    She turned and ran, making for where Kionah was. If she could just get under the shield¡ª

    The makeshift spear hit her in the back of the knee, embedding in the tendon there. Aliyah fell forwards and screamed.

    She drew a shield around her even as she doubted its strength. She poured buzzing numbness over the back of her knee, shivering. This was a solid thing, not a spell-arrow. She needed to get it out. She reached behind her, yanked it out and let it fall onto the damp, mossy ground, pressed her hand over the wound and tried to heal it. The tendon sealed back together, too slowly. Sweat beaded on her forehead as she pushed it, forced it to go faster. Blood trickled from her nose. She felt her shield puncture, fall to pieces.

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    A spear stabbed into the back of her other leg.

    She lost her tenuous focus and screamed again. Her fingers spasmed against the first wound, a wound that was still raw with frayed skin, barely healed. Her other hand sank into the moss-spotted soil, fingers curling into pained claws. She tore her focus away from the pain, concentrated on the sensation of moist loam sinking into the crevices under her fingernails, the sweat soaking into the back of her shirt. It didn¡¯t help. This wasn¡¯t the worst pain she¡¯d ever been in, but memory was an excellent analgesic. The worst pain was always whatever you were feeling right now.

    She used the other hand to tear the second spear out. The numbing had been assembled too hastily; it wasn¡¯t enough. She screamed again before forcing her magic into overdrive. She scrambled to her feet, favouring her better leg, still-gushing blood be damned.

    The faery clicked her fingers and pointed.

    An invisible force punched into her. Her nose crunched and broke. She flew backwards, crumpling to the ground once more. Her face was warm and wet with blood. Her head felt like it was stuffed with soaked featherdown, soft and heavy and sickening.

    Screw not being able to shield. She was a maidservant, for goodness sake, she wasn¡¯t meant to be here¡ª

    The faery was approaching, a fresh spear in hand.

    ¡°No,¡± she whimpered. ¡°Please.¡±

    No extra spell-slip now. Her pocket¡ª

    Her fingers closed around Zahir¡¯s nausea-keys. She pulled them out and thrust them clumsily in front of her like a warding sign. Laughable, almost. Would the faery even¡ª

    The faery doubled over and vomited up what looked like molten metal. Steam hissed out from the sides of her open jaws. She fell to her knees, braced her hands in front of herself. Her body shuddered as she vomited again.

    Aliyah perceived the nausea-runes as well. Caught off guard, she retched before she could turn her eyes away; barely anything came up¡ªwater and bile and not much else. One benefit of a nearly wholly-magical diet over the past few days.

    The faery rose up from all fours, mouth still dripping. She snarled and pounced, clawed hands outstretched.

    Aliyah stumbled backwards, eyes snapped reflexively shut, keys still held in front of her. She felt pointed fingers close over her own, heard a hiss of pain, then a scream that was hers and one that was not.

    She opened her eyes as the faery snatched her hands back. The carapace there was crinkled and burnt. Wisps of smoke drifted from the joints in her fingers. The faery locked eyes with her.

    ¡°Stinking Songian whelp,¡± the faery snarled, and lunged.

    Aliyah shut her eyes once more as she brandished the nausea-keys in the faery¡¯s face. She heard retching, a tortured, gurgling gasp, and then a heavy thump. She scrambled to her feet and half-sprinted, half-stumbled over to where Kionah was still hurling spells at two other faeries.

    One of them turned and threw a spell at her, a whirling disc of red light. She dodged, didn¡¯t bother trying to form another meagre shield; it hit her in the shoulder instead of head-on. Her entire arm sizzled and blistered. She healed each weeping blister as it came, still running, breath coming in ragged gasps now.

    Kionah gestured with her arm and their floating luggage chest charged out from behind a patch of thorned toadstools. It bludgeoned the faery across the torso and sent him flying.

    Just a few more steps¡ª

    She thrust the nausea-keys into the remaining faery¡¯s face. He reeled back, face contorting, before he coughed up a cloud of feathery-looking fragments. She vasodilated, clumsily; he slumped over, not fully unconscious, still reaching for her. A moment later, Kionah hit him with a coruscating flare of spell-light.

    Dark spots danced in her vision. Perhaps she should not have done that last vasodilation. She fell forwards onto her knees, pressed a shaking hand to her throbbing forehead, shut her eyes against the dizzying dance of fainting-phosphenes.

    Her broken nose ached and started to burn; she numbed it, reset it, and the pain faded to a heavy, leaden buzz. Her face would probably bruise. How much blood had she lost? How much magic did she have left in her? She felt feverish. Kionah grabbed her roughly, struggled to haul her up with both arms.

    ¡°Come on,¡± Kionah said, voice thick with pain. ¡°Stand up.¡±

    Aliyah cracked her eyes open, saw that Kionah¡¯s eyes were wide, her glasses askew. She closed them again as a wave of dizziness overtook her.

    So Kionah was injured, too. More work for her. She retched weakly. She could barely think, let alone heal any more.

    ¡°You have to stand up. There¡¯ll be reinforcements.¡±

    ¡°Can¡¯t¡­¡±

    ¡°Here, lean against this.¡±

    Something flat and smooth bumped up against her side. She winced, groped blindly at the surface. It felt like roughened wood, a slight curve higher up, a strip of cool metal there, a hinge. Ah, their luggage chest. She slung an arm over the top, hand still clutching the keys. Kionah grabbed her other arm, pulled her upright and forwards.

    She cracked her eyes open as they stumbled over mossy bumps in the ground, over a petrified log and the fallen, rotting trunk of a dark mushroom-tree that crumbled into little chunks beneath her boots. She felt Kionah twist, glance back, heard her swear as she brought up a mage-shield.

    The shield cracked and shattered under a roar of spell-light. A blur of golden carapace crashed into them. Kionah was wrenched away from her arm. Aliyah stumbled and scrunched her eyes shut as she let go of the floating chest, thrusting the keys out blindly. Pointed fingers latched onto her forearm and she cried out as her skin started to burn.

    A rustle of spell-paper; Kionah shouted something, a word of power. Then, as quickly as the faery hand had come, it was gone. Aliyah¡¯s skin itched in the echo of a handprint. She opened her watering eyes. The fungus forest rustled; in the mid-distance, the golden faery was fleeing in a blur of wing and lash of tail. She jumped as Kionah¡¯s hand landed on her shoulder.

    ¡°We need to go. Can you walk?¡±

    The luggage chest floated back and bumped against her side. She winced and grabbed at it. ¡°I think so.¡±

    They clambered out of the fungus forest and down a narrow, dark tunnel. Kionah fumbled with the map, towed her down a turn. Pure adrenaline kept Aliyah upright, though she kept leaning heavily on the floating chest, which dipped under her weight.

    Step by step by step. As time went on, she noticed that Kionah¡¯s breathing was uneven by her side. She seemed to be favouring her right leg. How badly had she been hurt? She dreaded the prospect of having to heal her too. Her arm itched. She stumbled upon a loose stone and fell. Kionah moved to catch her and missed. She threw out her arms, cushioned the impact, scraped her hands slightly. For a moment, she didn¡¯t move. It was only then that she realised there was a hole in her right sleeve, burnt clean through.

    ¡°Aliyah? Are you alright?¡±

    She dragged herself up into a semblance of a sitting position. There was a mark on her skin where the faery had touched her, a mess of black lines that vaguely reminded her of a botanical diagram. Only, the lines were all wrong. Unnaturally straight lines, interlocking cube-like forms that didn¡¯t look like real shapes. Not just a mark, then. A curse? She wanted it off. Maybe she could strip the skin away and heal it back up¡­but no, she couldn¡¯t. Not right now. Her head throbbed.

    She caught sight of the nausea-keys in that hand¡ªher hand, that was her hand, still smeared with her own dried blood and the ugly faery symbol seared just a little ways above it¡ªand shuddered. She shoved the keys back into her pocket. She turned her eyes away from the mark and clutched at her aching head, pressing the heels of her palms against her closed eyelids. It didn¡¯t help, much.

    Then, Kionah¡¯s hand on her shoulder, shaking gently.

    ¡°What¡¯s wrong?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not dying or anything, I don¡¯t think. Look. There¡¯s¡ªthere¡¯s a thing, the faery put it there¡­¡± She gestured, opened her eyes, and then shut them again, feeling faint.

    She felt cool, dry fingers brushing over the faery-mark.

    ¡°Tesseracts,¡± she heard her murmur. ¡°Six here, in an ellipse. How odd. Does it hurt?¡±

    ¡°Not¡­really. Itches.¡±

    ¡°Well. It doesn¡¯t seem to be doing any active spell-damage. Unless you¡¯re handling it?¡±

    ¡°No, I¡¯m not. Not doing anything right now. Almost out.¡±

    ¡°I see.¡± A wince.

    ¡°Are you hurt? Much? Because I don¡¯t think I can¡­¡±

    ¡°There¡¯s a medicine kit in the chest. I¡¯ll see if it can help either of us.¡±

    Ah, but of course they would have packed a medicine kit. A medicine kit that they hadn¡¯t needed to use once Aliyah had taken Alhena¡¯s place. She opened her eyes, feeling a fraction less dizzy despite the pounding in her head.

    ¡°What in the hells was that back there?¡±

    ¡°Not the Glister Hive¡¯s doing, that¡¯s what.¡±

    ¡°How can you be so sure?¡±

    ¡°Glister Hive relies on the city just as much as the city relies on them. They wouldn¡¯t simply attack unknown humans on sight.¡±

    ¡°You seem to have a high opinion of this ¡®Glister Hive¡¯.¡±

    ¡°Do I? Well, I suppose that¡¯s your opinion.¡±

    Kionah passed her a flask of water and popped open a box¡ªwhite, with a simple green circle printed onto the lid. Glisterian make, most likely. Funny, she¡¯d half-expected the Shadowsong sigil; silver-red, like an open hand. She sipped at the water, wishing away the steadily-worsening throb at her temples. Her arm itched.

    ¡°So what¡¯s the mark?¡± she asked as Kionah took out a bottle of tisane and a roll of bandages.

    ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± she said, shrugging. ¡°You¡¯d have to get a proper mage or a faery to look at it.¡±

    ¡°I thought you were a proper mage.¡±

    Kionah snorted as she peeled back a torn flap in her trouser-leg. The skin beneath was bloodied, a mess of miniature lacerations; all shallow, but they covered most of her calf. She applied liberal splashes of tisane, grimacing and humming absently under her breath. ¡°I picked up a few tricks, is all. Do you need any of this?¡±

    ¡°No. I¡¯m just¡­tired.¡±

    ¡°Tell you what,¡± Kionah continued as she wrapped layers of bandage around her leg, ¡°once we¡¯re out of here, I can take you to Luxon. She¡¯d be able to fix whatever¡¯s on your arm.¡±

    ¡°Alright¡­¡±

    She meant to say more, meant to ask a question or to express thanks, but her head felt as though it had been pickled in brine. She pulled at the threads of her magic, trying to soothe the heavy pulsing pain. That was a mistake. All of the magic fled her body in a prickly rush.

    She whimpered.

    ¡°Aliyah?¡±

    Everything went dark.

 1.15 - Daybreak

    Aliyah

    Blackness, and pain fast filtering through.

    Rising agony floated its way down to where she drifted along currents of semi-consciousness: like light rays through river-weed, piercing and insistent. Her entire abdomen was ensnared in a tangle of agony.

    Stomach pain. Back pain. Familiar pain. Pain that had carved trenches into her memory, a sensation that ebbed, flowed, lit unwelcome sparks in the crevices of her recollection. She hadn¡¯t had to feel this for¡­years, now. Had it really been years?

    The days do unspool like falling thread, she thought distantly. Especially when one isn¡¯t hunched over in agony for days or weeks at a time.

    She reached for her healing and didn¡¯t find it. There was a blank space in her core, a polished hollow completely devoid of magic. The loss felt like what the Magician had hit her with back in Shadowsong. This time though, she couldn¡¯t find a trailing thread. There was no tingling at her fingertips, no wisp of power to follow.

    She tried to move and almost screamed. It felt as though she had been hit with dozens of spell-arrows and spears. Only now that she¡¯d experienced both at the hands of the faeries, she thought that this was rather worse, because there was nothing she could do to make it stop.

    ¡°You awake?¡± That was Kionah.

    She grunted an affirmative. ¡°¡­Hurts,¡± she rasped, which encompassed the extent of her thoughts at the moment.

    The pain prevented any movement away from where she¡¯d collapsed on the tunnel floor. Purplish map-light cast jagged rock walls into relief. There was a folded-up cloak beneath her head and an unfolded one draped over her useless, unmoving body.

    ¡°¡­Kionah?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m right here.¡± Kionah pressed a flask of water to her lips. ¡°Looks like you burnt yourself out.¡±

    ¡°You don¡¯t have to¡­I can do that. Not that injured.¡±

    She took the flask in her own hand and drank somewhat self-consciously. Putting the flask down, her hand wandered over to scratch at the itching mark on her arm. She tried not to move too much lest the stabbing pains worsened.

    Then she rubbed her face and noticed the lack of dried blood on her hand and her clothing. Though, her shirt was still punctured on both sides where the spell-arrow had gone through. Kionah must have stuck a refreshening slip to her while she was out. A small comfort, when her right hip felt like it was being pried out of its socket with a rusty spoon.

    ¡°How long was I unconscious for?¡±

    ¡°Not long.¡± Kionah didn¡¯t sound panicked, but her voice had a fresh hardness to it. ¡°No one¡¯s come after us just yet. But we should go.¡±

    ¡°Go?¡± she asked, alarmed. ¡°What, right now? I don¡¯t think I can walk.¡±

    Not without screaming, she thought. Not without making enough noise to let the faeries know where they were.

    Kionah frowned down at her, half-lit by the glow of the map that lay sprawled open in her lap. ¡°Look, I didn¡¯t much like it either, the first time I used too much and it all just,¡± she made a flittering motion with her hand, ¡°flew away. I know it feels strange, but I¡¯m sure you can stand and walk, unless you are injured.¡±

    ¡°Not strange. Not injured. Just hurts.¡± She leaned back against the softness of her makeshift pillow and tried to ignore the stabbing aches undulating throughout her abdomen.

    ¡°It¡¯s not supposed to.¡± Kionah reached for the medicine kit. ¡°You must be injured, then. Where?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s not because of the burning out. Not¡ªreally.¡± She drew in a slow, hissing breath through her teeth. ¡°It¡¯s, well¡­I have a sort of¡­medical condition. I kept it dormant, in stasis, with healing ability. Now, there¡¯s no magic. Time for it to¡­recoil. Rebound.¡±

    ¡°Rebound?¡± Kionah asked. Her expression became a touch more pinched.

    ¡°The body¡ªthere¡¯s a, hm,¡± Aliyah said. She reached for scraps of memory, for words recited under tutelage. Thinking through the pain was like trying to march through river-sludge. ¡°Equilibrium, the books called it. Rebound is¡­the same reason you can¡¯t just stop a healthy heart. Or at least, I can¡¯t. Maybe Zahir could? With some trouble. Difficulty. When it¡¯s important, the body¡ªfights back. Rebound.¡±

    ¡°I see,¡± Kionah said. ¡°There are painkillers in the medicine kit. Would they help?¡±

    ¡°Please.¡±

    Kionah handed her a nutrition potion along with two small, white tablets. She downed them, feeling a fraction better as her hunger eased. Now to wait for the painkillers to kick in. Dimly, she recalled that they might not help, depending on the strength. But it was better than nothing when she was lying here completely bereft of magic.

    The back of her neck prickled and she turned her head; Kionah was looking thoughtfully down at her with cool, dark eyes. Her spectacles glinted in the purplish light.

    ¡°What is it?¡± Aliyah asked, a little harsher than she meant to.

    ¡°I was just wondering. If this ¡®rebound¡¯ effect of yours is so important, why does healing work at all?¡±

    She sighed. ¡°Because being cut open is away from equilibrium. Your body¡¯s going to try to heal anyways. Healers just help it go faster. ¡± And here, the explanation flowed easier, because Zahir had always said it like this, in the beginning. She was just repeating it mindlessly. She suspected that she¡¯d always, on some level, copied the motions without fully understanding. ¡°You can win against the equilibrium, anyways. Sometimes. If you work hard enough or work too hard. The resistance is not¡­infallible.¡±

    ¡°And making the guard faint? What about the rebound there?¡±

    She rubbed at the bridge of her nose as she grasped for the right words. ¡°Rebound resistance is less if the effect is less¡­¡¯dangerous¡¯, I suppose you would say,¡± she said. ¡°I could vasodilate the guard, I could vasodilate the faery. It wouldn¡¯t kill them. Unless¡­hitting their head on the way down or something. But without sustaining, they wake¡ªbody vasoconstricts back to equilibrium. They would wake anyway, if you knocked them out by punching or elsewise. So I make them sleep to keep them out longer. But that doesn¡¯t make them sleep as long as real sleep. Body wants to wake. But the magic works for long enough, so...¡±

    ¡°I see. And, your condition¡­?¡± Kionah asked delicately.

    She clenched her jaw and thought it over for several uncomfortable moments. ¡°The body¡¯s not always right,¡± she said. ¡°The body can be stupid. Equilibrium doesn¡¯t always mean health. Can¡¯t reset it for real, so I just manage.¡±

    ¡°Ah,¡± said Kionah. ¡°Well, I apologise. I don¡¯t mean to pry; really, you¡¯ve been such a help through all this. You needn¡¯t speak if it causes you undue grief.¡±

    She frowned. Kionah had sounded¡­not odd, exactly, but different. There was a distance to her words, a courtly cadence that hadn¡¯t been there before.

    ¡°Do you do that on purpose?¡±

    Kionah startled, just slightly. ¡°Pardon?¡±

    ¡°That,¡± she waved a hand aimlessly, ¡°thing. Where you sound like a normal person one moment and a court lady the next.¡±

    ¡°Hm. Well, it¡¯s not always intentional. I suspect it depends on what the situation calls for.¡±

    ¡°Ah. Royal spymaster. Right.¡±

    ¡°Spymaster,¡± Kionah said with a decidedly unladylike snort. ¡°Really, if only I were so elegant and conniving in truth. Look here, I don¡¯t mean to seem so distastefully two-faced. I really am sorry if I was prying. You needn¡¯t¡­you don¡¯t have to talk if you don¡¯t want to.¡±

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    ¡°It¡¯s fine. Talking is a distraction.¡±

    ¡°That bad, huh?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s been worse,¡± she mumbled. Which wasn¡¯t exactly a lie, but it did a lot to hide how close she was to curling up into a ball and bursting into tears.

    A pause. ¡°You¡¯re not¡­in danger?¡±

    ¡°No.¡± She cleared her throat. ¡°Not in danger. Never really was. It just causes a lot of unnecessary pain.¡±

    ¡°I see. Is there anything that would help other than the painkillers?¡±

    ¡°Do you have a hot compress?¡±

    Kionah arose and opened the chest, rifling through the contents. ¡°There were some heating pads in here somewhere¡­ah, there we are.¡± She withdrew with one in each hand and tossed them over.

    ¡°Thank you.¡±

    She caught them, snapped them to activate the crystal embedded within, and shoved one under her back. The other, she dropped onto her stomach, hissing with relief as she settled back down against her makeshift pillow.

    She noted Kionah watching with open interest and caught her eye.

    ¡°It¡¯s to do with the lunar blood,¡± she said abruptly. Best to get it out there and over with. ¡°Only it¡¯s¡­backwards. Tissue grows where it shouldn¡¯t, so it¡ªhurts, more than you¡¯d think. I hate it.¡±

    ¡°I see.¡± Kionah hesitated, seeming almost unsure of what to say. ¡°And you said this due to the effect of having no magic?¡±

    ¡°Yes. No magic, so the implants¡ªthe tissue¡ªit grows back very quickly, very unnaturally. Probably trying to restore itself all at once. Bodily equilibrium hurts. Not bleeding, but¡ªI¡¯m sorry, it might take a few hours before I regain enough magic to make it stop¡­¡± She trailed off and clenched her fists as a bolt of pain clawed its way up her side.

    ¡°What if,¡± Kionah began, clearly eyeing the hand that was curled into a white-knuckled grip around the heating pad. ¡°What if I transfer you some magic? Would you be able to walk then?¡±

    ¡°R-really?¡± She tensed in shock. ¡°You¡¯d do that? Are you sure?¡±

    Lending magic wasn¡¯t a common thing in Shadowsong, or at least, it wasn¡¯t among the lowborns. Rana was better at understanding that kind of stuff, she realised; something about how the tiered nature of vocations kept people separate. Rana had spoken of the levels of vocations within vocations, fighting for advancement and better qualities of life, kept direct collaboration at a minimum.

    She hadn¡¯t paid much attention to Rana¡¯s rants about how it was with the Library scribes at the time; it wasn¡¯t like maidservantry had a lot of potential upward mobility. So no one had ever lent her magic and she had never done it either. She almost didn¡¯t believe it, that Kionah¡ªor really anyone for that matter¡ªwould lend magic to her. Though, Kionah¡¯s continued safety did depend on her to an extent. But still.

    Kionah grimaced. ¡°We¡¯re not the best place for a rest right now. I have a few spell-slips left, but I wouldn¡¯t fancy trying them against the mess back there. So yes, if you could take it so we could carry on¡­?¡±

    ¡°Okay,¡± she said. Normally, she would put up some kind of stammering protest, but right now, everything hurt and she couldn¡¯t dredge up the energy for social faux-gestures. Even if she really did feel guilty about accepting. ¡°If you¡¯re sure¡ªthen I would be grateful.¡±

    Kionah placed her palm against the back of her hand. ¡°It might hurt, just a little. Ready?¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± she bit out. She doubted that any discomfort from the magic could drown out the level of pain she was already experiencing.

    Kionah¡¯s palm glowed golden, and then she pushed her magic through her skin.

    She shuddered. The magic was light and sweet like honey, bright like a freshly-picked spray of pepper blossom. It prickled a little, and then stung, but as expected, the discomfort was barely there¡ªnot when the rest of her body was already twisting in mild agony.

    The magic coursed through her like a current. She could feel herself leaning in towards it, craving it: dry hollows pooled with new strength, empty reserves topping up on spring-syrup substitute. She felt as if she were someone dying of dehydration, now gulping down precious mouthfuls of effervescent sugar cordial.

    ¡°Enough,¡± she managed.

    The flow of magic cut off.

    ¡°You okay?¡± Kionah asked, as the glow faded from her fingertips.

    Aliyah flexed her borrowed magic and felt it respond, though a little imprecisely, as if it knew that there was a mismatch. She took a portion of the magic and directed it to her usual background processes, stimulating endocrine production here, numbing the tissue there, halting and reversing the tissue growth.

    ¡°Yes,¡± she said, almost tearing up as the pain began to fade. ¡°Yes, I¡¯ll be fine. Thank you. Uh, are you? Are you alright, I mean? Thank you, again.¡±

    ¡°Yes. Fine. Will it last you long enough?¡± Kionah shot her a worried look.

    ¡°I think so. I don¡¯t think it¡¯s enough to fight again, but I can walk.¡±

    ¡°Alright,¡± Kionah said, shooting an anxious glance back at the way they came. ¡°Good. Let¡¯s walk. It¡¯s already quite late, so¡­I¡¯d like to keep going through the night, if we can.¡±

    ¡°Okay,¡± she said, even as her overtaxed muscles protested. She could guess at what Kionah really meant. She also wanted to get as far away as possible from that awful faery lair. Her stomach prickled, where she¡¯d been shot.

    They pressed onwards.

    ===

    They breached the surface by way of a gradually upward-sloping tunnel, floor and walls transitioning from pure stone to rocks cemented together by hard-packed earth and bits of tree root. Pale green grasses started criss-crossing their path, growing and thickening until they were knee-deep in it. They turned a gentle corner and a circle of light was ahead, plain as day. A brisk breeze brushed their faces. She¡¯d almost forgotten the taste of fresh air. They hurried forwards, almost tripping in the tangles of rough grass snatching at their ankles.

    She reached the mouth of the tunnel a couple of steps behind Kionah, leg muscles aching and weary to the bone. Her breath caught in her throat: they looked down the length of a wide, green valley freckled with dark boulders. But it was the bones that caught her eye.

    Huge, white bones, sunk into the valley floor and spotted with moss. Jagged vertebrae the size of small chariots blocking their way. She counted the shattered stumps of four sun-bleached ribs arching high over her head.

    ¡°What in the hells?¡± she muttered.

    ¡°Uh huh,¡± Kionah said as she edged over to the rocky slope that led down to the valley floor. ¡°Behemoth. A small one, apparently, though it came with a bunch of others¡ªbits and pieces like this everywhere. A team of mages took them down, oh, seven or eight years ago? Everyone was talking about it back then.¡±

    She picked her way down after Kionah, steadying herself against the floating chest that remained by her side. She glanced back up at the enormous remnants every now and then; it was hard not to. The unfamiliar, almost grotesquely gargantuan contours of bone practically begged for inspection. Not too far off was a cracked-open fragment: outer sheath peeled back, showing off insides that seemed to overflow with a honeycomb of crumbly-looking trabeculae.

    ¡°So these¡­Behemoth things,¡± she ventured. ¡°Are they¡­common, over here?¡±

    Kionah shrugged. ¡°More common than past the Killing Fields, I guess,¡± she said. ¡°I don¡¯t know, I¡¯m not a witch. I just read the papers. The city has the help of the faerie Hive, so it¡¯s not as scary as it seems.¡±

    ¡°I see,¡± Aliyah said.

    It did make sense, how it could be easier for the city to coexist with faeries if they could unite against a common enemy. Back in Shadowsong, it had felt like the kingdom against the world: the kingdom was safety, and the rest of the world was formed from faerie folk tales and the poison-mists beyond.

    They reached the grass-coated valley floor. Kionah swerved around a dark boulder and Aliyah stared as she realised that it was too perfectly round to be a piece of natural stone. She brushed its surface with a fingertip; it was hard, made of rock, but eerily smooth apart from the occasional thick splinter of white embedded into it. The white bits were bone, she realised. Fragments of the impossibly large skeleton rotting into the valley floor. Her skin crawled.

    ¡°What are these?¡± she asked. The bone-fragments indicated something unsettling; had they used as some sort of projectile? Judging by the state of some of the bones around them, it wasn¡¯t an unreasonable assumption.

    ¡°Huh? Oh, those things. Not sure. I think a witch made them.¡±

    She withdrew her hand and shuddered, stepped away. ¡°How close are we to the city?¡±

    ¡°Not that far. You¡¯ll be able to see it soon. Let¡¯s rest for a bit at the edge of the valley, I¡¯m dead tired.¡±

    ¡°Alright,¡± she said, secretly grateful for the prospect of reprieve.

    They picked their way around enormous vertebrae, skirted through trees and fallen ribs and part of a jawbone with a couple of carnivorous-looking teeth still attached. Little blue wildflowers had sprung up around the jawbone, their heads dropping with morning dew. The grass thinned out at the mouth of the valley; when she looked out to the horizon, she saw barren ground stretching all the way to spires in the distance. Dawn light pierced the sky, cool blue and pale bronze snuffing out the stars. Clouds the colour of buttermilk streaked overhead; the breeze ruffled her hair and felt good on her face. She breathed in deep; something like exhilaration and relief filled her lungs.

    The floating luggage chest left her side to settle onto a flat bit of grass. Kionah sat herself down onto its lid and groaned.

    ¡°Holy fuck,¡± she muttered. ¡°That fight took a lot out of me. Must be out of shape.¡±

    ¡°You did, ah, send a lot of your magic my way,¡± Aliyah said as she sank down by her side. She scratched absently at the faery mark on her forearm. ¡°You might be doing better than you assume. Thank you again, by the way.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s fine. Are you good? Your ah, medical disease thing¡­¡±

    ¡°Yes. I¡¯m used to it. I¡¯ve got it under control.¡±

    Kionah coughed awkwardly. ¡°Good, good. Perhaps you should try those potions that stop¡ªwell, no. I suppose they¡¯d be too expensive. And unnecessary, if you always had your magic with you before now. Then again¡ª¡± Kionah frowned. ¡°How did you manage before you had Healership? You said you picked maidservant over kite-handler, no mention of healing work following your testing.¡±

    Maidservant over kite-handler. She¡¯d mentioned that days ago, back before Kionah had set that awful, water-wicking tunnel of roots on fire.

    ¡°Oh. You were listening?¡±

    Kionah¡¯s smile was small but sharp. Spymaster in blood, if not in name. ¡°I¡¯m always listening.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s a long story. And not a very nice one.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t mind.¡± Kionah laced her fingers together and brought her arms out in a stretch. ¡°I need a break, anyhow.¡±

    That was true, Aliyah thought ruefully. She felt it herself, physical exhaustion mingling with the sensory high of being above-ground again. She felt fresh and alive and perhaps even a little giddy, but her body was exhausted from walking. ¡°If you promise you won¡¯t use the information against me,¡± she said, only half-jokingly.

    ¡°Hah. We are hardly still in court turmoil, are we? But very well.¡± Kionah put her hand mock-solemnly over her heart. ¡°I swear on my father¡¯s shallow grave.¡±

    Well, why not? She wanted to rest. And it would distract her from the itch on her forearm, the ominous faery ring of tesseracts. She cleared her throat, and began.

    ¡°So, uh, about two years ago¡­¡±

 ?.1 - severity

    Aliyah

    Two years ago

    A crooked curl of pain hooked through the flesh below her stomach and latched around the base of her spine.

    She shuddered and rested her sweating forehead against cool stone. Breathed slowly. Every inhale felt like an opening for the pain to strike, to squeeze the breath out of her such that she¡¯d never get it back. A groan slipped out from behind gritted teeth.

    The worst one yet¡ªor not. Perhaps the worst pain was simply any pain that she was currently experiencing. She thought by now that she¡¯d be used to it. White-hot pins slinking through her pelvis.

    Most days, she could barely fly a needle straight. The days where she woke up in a pool of blood, she couldn¡¯t think, could hardly move at all. Days like today. She couldn¡¯t afford this. She was barely earning her keep, as it was.

    There was a knock at her door.

    ¡°I¡¯m back,¡± Rana¡¯s voice sailed in from outside. ¡°And I brought the apothecary with me.¡±

    Aliyah opened her eyes.

    Rana. Sweet, enviable Rana with her talent at scribery and her complete lack of affliction. Aliyah had wanted to be a scribe too, when she was younger. Then came worsening pains, a useless body and friends who quietly drifted away¡ªall but Rana. At times like these, Aliyah almost resented her. She loathed herself more for daring to resent such a good friend, much less the only one she had left. None of the loathing stopped the pained chant in her head: how dare you flaunt your wellness.

    The door opened. The familiar cadence of Rana¡¯s footsteps, followed by a heavier tread. A disgruntled noise and the thump of something being placed onto the tile.

    Aliyah turned her head to the sound of her desk chair being dragged over. The apothecary¡ªan ample woman with her hair in a thick, greying braid¡ªplunked herself down.

    ¡°This is the Apothecary Yara,¡± Rana chattered as she set a tray down at Aliyah¡¯s sparse table. ¡°My second-cousin pointed me her way; you know, the one-eyed one, the Magician-to-be. I brought you some tea as well. And I shall put some honey into it too; was it two spoons, you liked?¡±

    ¡°Y-yes. Thank you.¡±

    The apothecary leaned in and peered at her. Aliyah tried not to cough; Yara reeked of old sweat and bitter herbs. Possibly there was also a whiff of alcohol on her breath.

    ¡°Well, girl?¡± Apothecary Yara¡¯s voice was gruff, but not unkind. She had wrinkles around her eyes, like prongs of a bird¡¯s tracks over sand. ¡°What¡¯s paining you? And what¡¯s this here, a basin?¡±

    ¡°She was feeling queasy earlier,¡± Rana said, her voice all sunshine sympathy.

    Queasy didn¡¯t begin to describe it. It had been the sort of nausea brought on by agony alone.

    ¡°Lower stomach,¡± Aliyah gritted out. Bile was rising in her throat with each successive lurch of pain. ¡°Spine, a little bit. It hurts. Gets worse in, ah, cycles¡ª¡±

    The nausea crested. She retched, mouth dry and stomach empty.

    Yara raised an eyebrow. ¡°You with child, girl?¡±

    ¡°No.¡±

    Yara shook her head and sighed. ¡°Nay, you can be truthful with me. Us medicine-folk have our ways and don¡¯t tell tales, besides. Really, Rana. You ought to have said so before I packed.¡±

    Rana shook her head. ¡°She¡¯s not.¡±

    ¡°You sure?¡±

    ¡°I am incredibly sure,¡± Aliyah hissed.

    ¡°Hurts enough to have you laying on the ground, hrm?¡± Yara turned to Rana, who was mixing the tea in the corner. ¡°Ach, Rana, girl. Dragging me all the way up here when naught but a Healer would do.¡±

    Aliyah wasn¡¯t sure whether she wanted to scream or laugh. A Healer? She couldn¡¯t buy a Healer for most of what she owned¡ªshe had already tried. Healer Najm had sent her away with a dose of deafness for her trouble. The spellwork had worn off within the hour; the memory had not. Najm''s visage flashed into her mind, unbidden; her pursed lips, her disdainful gaze, the gaudy pearls at her ears, that hard voice cut off into muffled, panicked silence. Her existing pain flared, flooding back to the forefront of her mind.

    Rana cleared her throat delicately. ¡°For the highborns only, remember?¡±

    ¡°A Mender, then. If you had wet-nurses, surely they give you a Mender now.¡±

    ¡°There is one,¡± Aliyah gritted out. ¡°I saw her many times. She kept saying that I should take more demulcent drops. Last week, she said, ¡®your antics do not fool me¡¯ and ¡®simple burdens shall be endured with grace¡¯ and some such along those lines. So. I don¡¯t see her anymore.¡±

    Yara shook her head. ¡°Aye, and fool she may be, she had the right to think you were craving for heavy medicines. There¡¯s an art in the asking.¡±

    Another spike of agony drove at her stomach and clawed its way up to the back of her throat.

    ¡°Do you think I¡¯m lying?¡± she spat. Her insides churned, incandescent. ¡°Do you think I would cry through my examinations and resign myself into maidservantry in¡ªin some sort of ploy?¡±

    ¡°Ach, girl. Hush.¡± Yara made a placating gesture with her hand. ¡°You are clearly pained. I suspect it is an uncommon condition of the inner organs. I do not like to say this, but there is little I can do. Perhaps bribe a Healer.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ve tried!¡± Her eyes watered. Healer Najm, she thought, and a burning, poorly-hidden loathing seeped in under her tongue. It was useless.

    ¡°Mayhaps you tried the wrong one. As I said, there¡¯s an art in the asking.¡± Yara narrowed her eyes. ¡°You¡¯re of age, yes? Perhaps¡­arrangements, could be made for special favours¡ªyou¡¯ve still got both kidneys, haven¡¯t you? There¡¯s always one or two willing.¡±

    ¡°Kidneys? What?¡± Awful comprehension dawned; she pictured Najm slicing into her. ¡°No.¡±

    Yara gave a pitying bark of laughter at the look on her face. ¡°That¡¯s just how it was back in my day.¡±

    All sense of self-preservation fled her body. ¡°Are you an apothecary, or not?¡± she snapped.

    Rana padded over, bearing a mug of tea. ¡°Shh. My apologies, apothecary. She¡¯s usually¡­she isn¡¯t her usual self at the moment. Aliyah¡ªhere.¡±

    Yara chuckled mirthlessly and muttered something about having seen far worse.

    Aliyah gritted her teeth. Rana drew her up, helped her lean against the foot of the bed as she pressed the warm mug into her shaking hands. ¡°It was Healer Najm that you asked, yes?¡±

    ¡°Yes¡ªthough she used magic to make me leave her be¡ª¡± She felt her throat close up. She shook her head and sipped at the tea. Rana had been there afterwards, with a quill and parchments at hand until the stuffy buzzing in her ears had worn off.

    Rana patted her awkwardly on the arm. ¡°You couldn¡¯t have known. I¡¯ll ask around, see if there¡¯s anyone willing to help. Cousin Karim may know of others.¡±

    ¡°Maybe. Th-thank you.¡±

    ¡°I did not say I could not try,¡± Yara interrupted. ¡°What are you taking?¡±

    Aliyah winced through another lance of pain. ¡°Taking?¡±

    ¡°Medicines. What medicines did your Mender give you?¡±

    ¡°Uh. Some sort of liniment. Some demulcent drops.¡±

    Yara sighed. ¡°Then I have some real remedies, if you want them and think yourself to be trusted with them.¡±

    Aliyah shut her eyes. Opened them again. Was there really any question to it?

    ¡°Please,¡± she said.

    Yara gave her a searching, almost pitying look. ¡°Nine crescents per hundred, that¡¯s as low as I go. I¡¯ll take coppers too, if you¡¯re out of crescents.¡±

    ¡°Rana, could you help me get my money pouch? In the desk.¡± She doubted standing was possible. She would rather lie down again, come to think of it.

    Rana, star¡¯s blessings be upon her, fetched the pouch and started counting out a mix of silver crescents and copper chimes. Yara reached down for her apothecary kit, a creaking leather carcass of a bag. She selected a bottle and pressed it into Aliyah¡¯s limp hand.

    ¡°Take three per day at most with four-hour intervals, or your liver will melt. If you need more, Rana knows my shop. All these stairs are no good on my knees.¡± She paused, eyes crinkling at the corners. ¡°Best of luck, girl. I¡¯ll ask the stars that you won¡¯t need to buy from me again.¡±

    Aliyah had asked the stars herself, many times. Eventually, she¡¯d stopped counting the times she¡¯d fainted from the pain¡ªand she¡¯d stopped asking.

    ===

    The painkillers worked.

    She rationed them carefully, for days that she signed up for heavier work. She wasn¡¯t stuck sewing in the laundry hall anymore. She could do washing and mopping for more money, could walk further from her quarters without worrying about collapsing. She drank iced tea with casual acquaintances of the sewing circle, ones polite enough to not mock the way she savoured every drop and chewed on the ice afterwards, for good measure. Rana took her to the market, where they bought little skewers of freshly-fried, syrup-soaked dough balls and ate them out in the sun.

    Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

    And yet, it wasn¡¯t enough.

    There were still days when three pills couldn¡¯t help, days that she had to call off her shifts, after which her fellow maidservants would give her dirty looks.

    Lazy lass, she heard them murmur amongst themselves. To them, she was a needless dead weight: bringing down the quotas, another one who claimed illness while she went down to market or frolicked with a lover. What was the point of correcting them? This wasn¡¯t something that was talked about. It would be less mortifying if she were walking around with a broken leg, or bleeding from a weeping gash in her throat. At least there was a sort of respectability in other kinds of suffering. Her ears burned with shame when one of the other maids asked¡ªand she had asked kindly, too, as far as she could tell¡ªwhy she always seemed so unwell.

    There were still days that she spent shaking in bed with a spell-warmed pillow while Rana and her scribe friends went out and walked around and breathed without fear of collapsing on the exhale.

    Rana said she was still sending out queries on Healers, spoken histories and hushed testimonies. She¡¯d had no luck so far. Many of them asked for samples of tissue, or marrow, or worse. Rana reluctantly passed along an old account of Healer Octans taking a whole eye, plucked out to be put into a jar of embalming fluid for stars-knows-what purpose; perhaps simply as a perverse pleasure. Healer Meleph had seemed promising, until a whispered confession from another scribe revealed that he had asked for a kidney in exchange for fixing a crooked spine. She was starting to think that coin meant nothing to them.

    There were others with similar troubles: a sickly girl at the fishmonger¡¯s stall, a blacksmith who could not work some days. Though whether it was some curse of being born an unfortunate bastard or her own selfishness, it seemed that of all these rare stories, hers was the worst.

    Or perhaps, a dark little voice whispered to her, perhaps your story seems the worst because anyone with a story worse than yours has already died of it.

    A month passed. Then a season. Verging on two.

    The longer she waited, the worse the pain got; invisible claws sinking into every bit of soft tissue they could find. A hateful disease, clotting and curdling and crushing her into dust. Wait a season, a year or two more, and who knew what would befall her? It gnawed at her now, the not-knowing: was it merely torment, or could it kill her, given enough time?

    There had been moments, fleeting moments, in the throes of the worst pain where she had wished for a quick death. She did not truly want to die, not after the trouble she had put herself through, all her hopes hinging upon the mercy of a fucking highborn. The pain, the indignity; it felt as if ants were crawling beneath her skin now that she could see the wisp of a way out.

    What was it that the arithmetic tutor had tried to teach them, so long ago? Logarithms and¡­exponentials? Yes, the slow start and then the hard, fast rise. An exponential malady. She was losing more blood these days. She caught glimpses of herself in other people¡¯s looking-glasses, greying at the edges, face gone gaunt. Strong tea helped with the constant exhaustion, but it was expensive. She sent for more painkillers, of course. Rana must have said something to Yara about her, because a packet of iron salts had come with her latest order. There had been a handwritten note enclosed, saying to sprinkle a pinch over each morning meal. She wondered how much time it would buy her.

    She took to walking the castle gardens on her days off, hoping that the fresh air would strengthen her constitution. She avoided the crop-growing portions; most of the apprentice Weathermancers were too pretty, too charming, and too far above her station. That was dangerous ground for a sickly maidservant to tread.

    Worse yet were the apprentice Healers; not for their friendliness, no¡ªbut for the way they clumped together in bundles of red-cloaked secrecy. They lounged in the gardens, perched about like well-groomed songbirds. They spoke amongst themselves and made notes on rolls of fresh parchment. She didn¡¯t dare to sit close enough to overhear; Healer Najm''s hearing hex had been warning enough.

    A slow, bitter resentment gripped her as she watched them take their luncheons from a safe distance¡ªas bitter and as dry as a pill on the tongue. Rana had looked into a few of the more promising higher-years. Apprentices weren¡¯t allowed to take bribes, both officially and unofficially.

    No doubt it still happened, Rana said, though only amongst their sort of circle.

    Highborns, the lot of them; non-bastard children with expensive tutors and whispered contacts to net them a place. Highborns who already had Healers at their beck and call, who surely didn¡¯t even need to know how to make things stop hurting.

    Well, she amended, there would have been a few who had tested in; Rana¡¯s cousin Karim had received the option of Healership right below his choice of Magicianship. But that opportunity was long gone for her. She hadn¡¯t had money for medicine before the scionborn examinations and she couldn¡¯t retake them now that she did.

    She glanced over at the little crowds of red as she picked at her lunch. Healer apprentices chattered over their saffron-spiced rice, giggling over some joke or other. Their meals were paired with cuts of meat; hers was plain and unadorned but for a few scraps of vegetables and a ladleful of sauce. She could afford more now that she could work more, she knew. But there was the bribe to think of, a soft, clinking tick at the back of her mind. She kept it there next to the memory of Healer Najm. More silver coins to be squirrelled away to exchange for golden crowns, of which she had so few. It wouldn¡¯t do to waste more than necessary on luxuries.

    Giggling and chattering floated over the flowerbeds, rasped at her ears like dull knives. Then again, she thought with extra bite, surely some of it couldn¡¯t be that difficult if apprentices could afford to laugh so idly. Numbing a pain didn¡¯t sound nearly as daunting as fixing a crooked spine or a failing organ; if she could learn just this one thing, then she could earn a measure of relief. She wasn¡¯t as disgustingly smart as Rana¡¯s cousin, but she wasn¡¯t stupid, either. What made them better than her, aside from being highborn?

    She set down her cutlery. She had a clearer head for reading now. Why waste it?

    ===

    The Lower Library was open to all who dwelled within the palace, for a fee. She paid two silver crescents to the sour-faced librarian at the front desk for a month¡¯s access. She was given a borrowing card and what was apparently a catalogue; surprisingly small and slim, enough that she hoped that there was a magnifying lens attached to the inner cover.

    She went while Rana was out with her scribe friends. She knew Rana; Rana would worry.

    Rana would tell her to wait, that she had a good feeling about this next lead. And Rana was a good friend, a wonderful friend that she doubted she even deserved. So it hurt all the more when she seethed at how little choice she had in the matter. Because Rana was the one with connections, was the one who knew who to talk to and how to talk to them. Yara¡¯s words flashed through her head, there¡¯s an art in the asking. Rana was the one who could do things. She¡¯d always been, ever since they were small children. Aliyah hadn¡¯t even started minding until the debilitating pains had started, leaving her with nothing at all¡ªnot even the ability to follow. It was like being dragged along like a dead weight, a corpse in the making.

    These days, Rana was always smarter, always luckier, always better. Known progenitor, a wanted child, a sponsored scribehood placed into her hands. Rana was doing it all for her, she knew, but that didn¡¯t make the glimpse of freedom any easier to bear. She wanted to be the one to close her fist around the answer. She wanted to be brave enough to say: fine, if the Healers won¡¯t help me, I¡¯ll do it myself.

    She had never been inside the Lower Library before, only heard things about it¡ªRana¡¯s constant comments on the vomit-coloured carpet held merit after all. There were a staggering nine levels to the place, which shouldn¡¯t have been possible, seeing as there was a stack of guest rooms on the level just above it. Aliyah, of all people, should know; she¡¯d been dusting them just the other week. Thus, the Lower Library was a true magical archive, even if it seemed otherwise unremarkable; the wallpaper was plain, the shelves stood in dull lines, and the air smelled harshly of fresh-cut papers.

    The main floor was filled with golden-cloaked Librarians bustling about; she hurried up the stairs to quieter levels. A few off-duty scribes here and there; some of them were actually asleep, face-down in their notebooks. She found herself an unoccupied reading room, full of oversized, almond-patterned armchairs and fashionable-looking but inconveniently low-set tables. When she sat herself down on one of the chairs, its plushness threatened to engulf her. Between the awkward furniture and the unsightly carpet, she felt ill-at-ease. The place felt odd, in a muddled, sleepy sort of way. Its very characteristics meant that it inched over the threshold of eccentricity and into the realm of continuous, passively noticeable discomfort. It felt tiring to simply exist in.

    Still, she wasn¡¯t here to enjoy herself. She flipped open her little catalogue, expecting pages of cramped, minuscule text. Instead, out sprouted a hand of blue light. The hand floated over the false-book, palm-up and holding a symbol, a single word: ask.

    ¡°I¡­ah, I wish to search for texts on healing?¡± she ventured, feeling foolish. She was speaking to a spell. What looked like a fairly sophisticated spell, yes, but a spell nonetheless.

    The hand turned and pointed. She tilted the book around, experimenting; the hand swayed and spun upon its axis to keep pointing in the same direction. She held the catalogue out, extricated herself from the armchair, and followed.

    She found nothing of use.

    There wasn¡¯t so much as a sliver of parchment on healing techniques. Oh, there were mentions of healing, alright; transcribed historical accounts of medical miracles, but never a word on how they were achieved. There were also plenty of chronicles that waxed on about the Songian secrets of true healing and true Healers; boasts about how no other kingdom or continent had come close, for there were hundreds, perhaps even thousands, of so-called magical secrets passed on from master to apprentice. One chronicler rambled on at length about mysterious, ancient ways which couldn¡¯t be found by merely reading books or cutting bodies open and looking around inside. At these passages, her heart sank; but it was no use giving up hope just yet.

    ¡®Many writers are either lying, wrong, or both,¡¯ as her old history tutor used to say. Chroniclers were only ordinary people, after all. And if she¡¯d learned anything from the talk at the sewing circles, it was that some ordinary people waded through their lives being confidently incorrect. Even if such Healer secrets were absolutely necessary, surely some of the lesser secrets were written down somewhere. The numbing of pains sounded so basic. She¡¯d been counting on that when she went looking in the Library.

    A dangerous thought slid into her head: maybe she was looking in the wrong Library.

    Oh.

    Oh no.

    Another Library? The other Library? That was a bad idea¡ªpossibly the worst.

    Everyone heard things about the Higher Library: that it held things other than books, that it was infinite in certain directions, that a tribe of crocodile-people lived in its depths. No one that she had ever heard speak of it had ever actually been inside. It also seemed that maidservants and even matrons were considered too lowborn to clean the interior; it was said that the first few years of a Higher Library scribe were spent with one¡¯s hand around a broom rather than upon a runequill.

    She knew where the Higher Library was. She¡¯d walked past the front doors once or twice on the way to help clean a highborn¡¯s quarters; they were great big polished slabs set into a grand archway, not unlike the entrance to a typical large hall. There was nothing to distinguish it but a large brass plaque at about eye-height that read ¡®Higher Library ¨C authorised entry only¡¯.

    Entry couldn¡¯t be bought. Everyone knew that. Though people had snuck in before. Interesting news traveled fast. The sewing circles ate it up.

    The place was unstable, people said. Easy to rip a backdoor in parts. Yes, they were patching it, but new faults opened up all the time. So-and-so¡¯s little brother took a jaunt there and back just last month, didn¡¯t you hear? He didn¡¯t get caught, not officially, but he did bring back a little glowing book as proof. They¡¯d seen it with their own eyes; full of unnatural symbols and obscene illustrations. His mother had forced him to burn it and sent him to live out of the castle for his safety. But there were ways. Always, there were ways; the circles indulged in hushed speculation. That boy was not the first, nor would he be the last.

    Why couldn¡¯t she do the same? Just a little look around.

    It was an absurd notion. Even if she could open a door, how could she possibly find what she was looking for? The place was huge. There were Librarians about. The wise thing to do would be to have patience and to hold out for the opportunity to bribe a real Healer.

    She let her head fall against the polished wooden surface of the reading desk, propped high with books that had nothing about healing methods in any of them. Nothing, even, about useful chemicals or potions or painkillers to treat her malady.

    A Healer¡¯s office would have better books, but breaking in would be a death wish. Those quarters were far smaller than the allegedly infinite Higher Library, and they¡¯d be crawling with wards with no secret exits to speak of. Most maidservants weren¡¯t even assigned to rooms that high-up; she¡¯d accompanied a matron to clean the bathroom of a mere Higher Scribe¡¯s quarters once, and he¡¯d kept a wary eye on them the entire time. No, a Healer would be even more diligent. Perhaps she could break into an apprentice¡¯s quarters and rifle through their notes? But that was a similar situation with lower quality resources.

    Nothing for it, then: what was in the Higher Library?

    The very idea was brazen and stupid. But stupider things had happened throughout history. She only wanted to learn one thing. This wasn¡¯t nearly as stupid as that one diplomatic incident of the pet peacock that had drowned in a duck pond and launched a year-long propaganda campaign against their Glisterian allies.

    She reopened the catalogue.

 ?.2 - secrecy

    Aliyah

    No fire. No blood. Stay quiet.

    Those were the old rules, stamped in triplicate across three different dusty tomes, each with a title that had nothing to do with the Higher Library. It was in these deceptively dry chronicles of early Songian history that she found what she had been looking for.

    Wedged between walls of text describing plans for castle architecture and proper maintenance of anti-corrosion runework were clues: little throwaway lines regarding the seeding of a proper Library and its dimension-warping nature, a stray remark about the placement of a recently-unearthed anatomical text into its safekeeping. Best of all, a thesis on the dying tradition of book-lending between masters and apprentices which relayed the limited levels of access to Higher Library books for apprentices of higher arts: Healers, Magicians, and the like.

    These were the morsels of information deemed unimportant enough to be placed into the relatively unguarded Lower Library. Not as good as a map, but good enough. The Higher Library was confirmed to contain the secrets that she wanted.

    Getting in, now that would be harder.

    She had known from the start that she wasn¡¯t going to waste bribe money on this. Rana was holding out hope for a suitable Healer and any Healer, no matter how amenable, was going to be expensive. Though she had to admit, she was starting to think no such Healer existed. Perhaps Rana was merely playing the part of the loyal friend, coaxing drops of optimism into her like metaphorical medicine. As if a human being could run off hopes and wishes alone.

    No more sitting around waiting for the right answer to present itself. Instead, she went through desks.

    By and large, castle maidservants weren¡¯t thieves. Pouches of coins and fine Glisterian fountain pens sat temptingly unguarded on desktops, but shifts were recorded and tracked. That had been made very clear to her throughout training. As far as she was concerned, theft was not an option either. But information could be memorized, papers and journals placed back into their resting places as if they had never been touched.

    She signed up to clean the rooms of whatever rumour-known jaunters she could, and encountered locked safes. Desks were filled with drawers which flashed with shining symbols when touched¡ªclear warnings, sensible wards. Misfortune again, she thought. If only she¡¯d learned her runes better, she might be able to undo them. She¡¯d even gone and checked through the old room of the young man who¡¯d been sent away by his mother, now officially vacant¡ªbut as she¡¯d expected, it had been stripped clean.

    The young man who¡¯d stolen into the Higher Library was long gone, but his mother had her own quarters in the Cook¡¯s wing. Perhaps she¡¯d kept some of his old belongings. It was one of the few leads she had left.

    Snagging herself a cleaning shift there wasn¡¯t difficult, especially not long before noon; just before the main rush for luncheon. Sweeping and a bathroom cleaning had been requested. That gave her a good hour or so to work with; better yet, most people preferred to avoid their rooms during deeper clean-ups; some of the grime-fighting solutions that they used stank of false-flowers for a couple of hours afterwards. Even so, she was betting on the cook being occupied with the lunch rush. She pulled on a face-mask, a hair-cap, and thick, waterproof gloves. Then she hooked a broom to her wicker cart, piled high with bottles of cleaning solution and buckets of soapy water.

    No one acknowledged her as she trundled down the halls and into the cook¡¯s quarters; that was one good thing about the grey uniform; people¡¯s eyes just slid right over you.

    The cook¡¯s rooms were plain but lovely; all oak-panelled walls and crisp, undarned sheets. Cream-coloured curtains graced a wide bay window overlooking the salt. There was a small shrine in the corner, filled with flowers and holding a framed painting of a sharp-faced man¡ªa deceased husband? Aliyah spotted an attached reading room, too. This woman must have worked as a cook for a long while.

    She ducked into each room, checking for movement or sleeping figures. Good. No one home.

    To work, then; bathroom first, to give the cleaning solution time to soak. The place wasn¡¯t filthy, but it was certainly lived in: dye stains in the bathtub, stray hairs and dust on the floor, the usual. Then a quick look around the reading room as she swept it; desk with a vase of fake flowers on top, warded bookcase full of trashy-looking imported novels, a high-backed, embroidered armchair. The desk drawers weren¡¯t warded. They were, in fact, empty. Odd, but ultimately unpromising.

    Back to the bathroom to wash out the cleaning solutions, more scrubbing, a peek under the sink which held nothing but pipes and empty jars. The medicine cabinet was empty but for a bottle of berry-flavoured dentifrice solution and an unopened packet of iron salts.

    By the time she finished with the bathroom, her arms and shoulders were sore from scrubbing. She had a handful of minutes left to sweep the sleeping area. The bed had a quilted headboard and was large enough for two people. Feeling foolish, she knelt and looked beneath it¡ªthere were only floorboards, coated with a thin layer of dust.

    Sighing, she hauled herself back to her feet. This was no use. Quite probably the disreputable Library-jaunting son had taken all of his notes with him. All she was doing was intruding on the privacy of an old widow. She packed up her supplies, pulled her cart out of the bathroom and past the shrine¡ª

    She paused.

    The shrine. That fragrance¡­

    A mixture of white orchids and twining, silvery vine-like sprigs exuded a subtle, fresh scent. She squinted at them. They were real, fresh-looking, spotted with dew. She flicked a petal with the tip of her finger, felt a tingle of magic across her skin. The dewdrop that glistened at its tip stayed firmly in place, even as she poked it again. She tugged gently at another petal; it resisted detaching. She furrowed her brow.

    She¡¯d gone browsing in the upper-markets with Rana once; they¡¯d ogled fashionable, flowing gowns and finely-wrought jewelry displays together, ignoring the suspicious stares of richer folk. She¡¯d stood impatiently outside of a bookstore as Rana debated which pot of ink to spend an audacious amount of money on¡ªthe bookstore had been next to a flower shop.

    That flower shop. That fragrance. Everlasting flowers. Though, not quite everlasting: the stasis lasted a few months at most.

    One supposes there¡¯s no continuous coin to be made if they really lasted forever, she¡¯d thought at the time, shivering slightly in the cool, scented breeze.

    The labels had said half a crown per bunch. There looked to be about four or five full bouquets here, spread around the painted portrait. Maybe she should consider applying to be a cook.

    She frowned. Something didn¡¯t feel quite right. The fragrance of the not-quite-everlasting flowers tickled at her nose, sending her back to that cool, soft afternoon in the upper-markets. Her thoughts tumbled as she turned in a slow circle. Oak paneling. No river view, but bay windows all the same. This was an awfully big room for a lone cook, wasn¡¯t it?

    Perhaps the dead husband had simply left her with a large sum of money. She turned back to the shrine and squinted at the honour-saying beneath his portrait; may his soul fly ever freer than his kites. A kite-handler? No, a cook would be richer than a kite-handler. Hells, a maidservant was usually richer than a kite-handler.

    She walked over to the bed, rubbed the linen between her fingers. The fabric was supple, the weave tight and heavy. Undarned, she thought, not ripped, not worn, undarned despite news of ongoing trouble with the shipments. Hmm. Over in the bathroom, a small jar of milk-and-honey bath melts that she¡¯d missed, half-empty¡ªimplying that the bath was actually filled on a regular basis. Rosewater bars in the soap dish. And the reading room, now that she was looking¡ªreally looking¡ªboasted decorative silk flowers in an intricately painted vase. The embroidery thread in that armchair also looked suspiciously silky.

    This whole place was a study in poorly-masked indulgence. Surely the widow-cook was hiding something. The desk had been empty.

    What kind of person kept their desk empty? She hurried back and crouched under the desk, searching for a mark scratched on the underside, a secret drawer, something. It was frustratingly free of mystery. She picked herself up and circled over to the bookcase, which took up half of a wall. There were panes of rune-glass over the books; it was more of a cabinet styled after a traditional bookcase. She tilted her head sideways and started reading the titles, expecting second-hand recipe collections, or perhaps even mass-market spellbooks. Instead, the case was full of titles like ¡®The Bride of the Forest King¡¯ and ¡®My Darling Paramour¡¯ and ¡®Steamy Conquests of a Handsome Prince¡¯.

    She jerked backwards, face flushing as her frown deepened.

    Why keep such tacky, salacious paperbacks in a warded bookcase? If it had been any other room she was cleaning, she¡¯d have pinned it on the eccentric tastes of a lonely old woman and moved on. But she was here for a reason; the widow-cook¡¯s son could have left his notes behind. It bothered her, this collection of cheap books amidst other, far more luxurious trappings. Could he have hidden them there?

    The desk had been empty, after all.

    She eyed the ward-signs which drifted over the surface of the bookcase; they moved slowly and surely, like sky-fish through a cloud bank. Signs for alarms and possibly ones for total immobilisation of the intruder. She hadn¡¯t the faintest idea on how to slip past them. She rubbed at her eyes and sighed. She could come back. Another long day spent crawling through the Lower Library awaited her.

    ¡°What the fuck,¡± someone spoke into the silence.

    Aliyah whirled round, heart racing. Behind her, framed in the entryway to the study, was a young man in a rumpled kite-handler¡¯s uniform. He was trim and lean, with that tousled, windblown look typical of kiters, and a conspicuously shiny gold piercing through one ear. He was also scowling fiercely.

    ¡°What are you doing here?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m¡ªI¡¯m the maid,¡± she stammered. Realisation flashed through her mind. ¡°The listed occupant for these rooms goes by the designation of a cook. What are you doing here?¡±

    His scowl deepened. ¡°Just collecting some stuff that I left with my ma.¡±

    Aliyah froze. Was he the son, then? The one who broke into the Higher Library? A real criminal? She took a risk.

    ¡°What kind of stuff?¡± She crossed her arms. ¡°For all I know, you could be a thief.¡±

    ¡°What is your problem, lady? Look here!¡± He stepped closer and waved a key in her face. ¡°Have you finished emptying the trash yet? You left your damn trolley in the middle of the bedroom.¡±

    She narrowed her eyes and flicked a glance over to the bookcase, then back at him. His shoulders stiffened visibly.

    ¡°¡­You haven¡¯t taken anything that you aren¡¯t meant to, have you?¡±

    She felt her heart leap in premature victory; there might be something strange about the bookcase after all.

    ¡°No. What makes you think that?¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re a maid wandering around my ma¡¯s rooms without so much as a duster in her hands,¡± he retorted. ¡°Looks like you¡¯ve finished cleaning. Can you leave?¡±

    ¡°No, I don¡¯t think I will. If something goes missing during my shift, I¡¯ll be the one they blame.¡±

    The kite-handler clenched his jaw. ¡°I¡¯m telling you, this room¡¯s my ma¡¯s. She knows I¡¯m here and she didn¡¯t say nothing about some maid coming in.¡±

    The conversation wasn¡¯t going to go anywhere except back and forth. She took another risk. ¡°Does she know you¡¯re here? I thought she kicked you out.¡±

    The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

    The kite-handler scowled even harder. ¡°Oh, you mean little Hakim? Where did you hear that from?¡±

    She didn¡¯t reply. The silence trickled into every gap in the room.

    ¡°Alright,¡± he finally said, crossing his arms. ¡°I don¡¯t know what you¡¯ve heard about Hakim, but I can tell you there¡¯s nothing worth stealing around here. Could you please just go?¡±

    Her pulse was pounding so heavily that it thudded against the bones of her chest. He was the criminal, she reminded herself. She shuddered at the idea of arguing with a¡ªdangerous? Magicians always warned traitors were dangerous¡ªoutlaw, but she wasn¡¯t the one with the most to lose here. ¡°What¡¯s in the bookcase, then?¡±

    He flinched. ¡°What are you talking about?¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t play dumb.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know what you¡¯re talking about. That¡¯s all ma¡¯s stuff. Leave off.¡±

    ¡°Really? Then you won¡¯t object if I take a look, right?¡± She uncrossed her arms and took a step closer. It was a bluff, of course. The runes would probably fry her alive, if the case contained what she was starting to suspect it did.

    ¡°Don¡¯t be stupid. It¡¯s warded.¡±

    ¡°Looks like a bunch of sensationalist potboilers to me. I wonder why anyone would bother.¡±

    ¡°Clearly to stop sticky-fingered maids.¡±

    Aliyah sighed, mostly to conceal her trembling nerves. ¡°I could report you to the Higher Library for harbouring stolen goods.¡±

    The kite-handler stilled. ¡°No. You couldn¡¯t.¡±

    ¡°They¡¯ll investigate,¡± she continued. ¡°They¡¯ll check, even if they think I¡¯m lying; if I¡¯ve heard about your little brother, I¡¯m sure they would have too. The only reason they haven¡¯t checked is because no one¡¯s bothered to report someone who doesn¡¯t even live here anymore. But you live here.¡±

    ¡°Not for much longer I don¡¯t.¡±

    ¡°Do you think you can outrun a Librarian? Or rather,¡± and here she paused, stomach sinking as she realised what she meant to say. She forged ahead. ¡°Do you think your mother could outrun a Librarian?¡±

    A moment of silence. The kite-handler paled visibly.

    ¡°Leave my mother out of this,¡± he snapped, clenching his fists. For a moment, she thought that he might take a swing at her. ¡°And leave Hakim out of it too, you hear? You want to report? Fine. Just leave them out of it. Bloody fucking maids, thinking you¡¯re so much better than us. I hope you choke on the payout.¡±

    ¡°I could always not report you,¡± she said. ¡°In exchange¡ª¡±

    He laughed sharply, cutting her off. ¡°You want a bribe? And let me guess, more bloody bribes in the future for keeping your mouth shut? Fuck. Fine. Give me a couple weeks. It¡¯s my last shipment, ever. Not easy stock to move.¡±

    A shiver of triumph rushed through her. She opened her mouth to say yes¡ªbut something made her falter. A nagging feeling, a feeling of nothing good ever came that easy. She squinted at him, thoughts ticking over. Her well-practiced sense of paranoia swept in to save her from possibly looking like a fool.

    ¡°¡­By which time you¡¯ll have burnt all the evidence,¡± she hazarded. ¡°I don¡¯t think so. Besides, it¡¯s information I¡¯m after.¡±

    ¡°Information,¡± he said slowly. ¡°What kind of information? Why should I tell you if you¡¯re going to rat me out either way?¡±

    ¡°First of all, who are you?¡±

    He hesitated, eyeing her with distaste. No doubt she could have found out herself, but she¡¯d been too focused on the rumours of his brother and mother than any other living relatives.

    ¡°My market byname is Jackal,¡± he conceded.

    It suited him well enough. He seemed the fleet-footed, wily type.

    ¡°Alright, ¡®Jackal¡¯. I want a way into the Higher Library.¡±

    That made him hesitate some more. ¡°A backdoor? Why¡¯d you want one of those? It¡¯s dangerous in there.¡±

    ¡°Yeah, a backdoor. I¡¯ll take Healer books too, if you have them.¡±

    He froze. ¡°Healer books? You¡¯re a spy, aren¡¯t you. Some foreigner who looks Songian enough to pass for a real one. Or is that just a glamour?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not a spy and I¡¯m not using an illusion.¡± She glanced back over at the bookcase. ¡°Are these books ¡®glamoured¡¯?¡±

    ¡°Not a spy? Then what do you need Healer books for, eh?¡±

    ¡°To heal myself. Why is that so hard to believe? Surely other people have tried!¡±

    ¡°Yeah, that¡¯s what a spy would say. You don¡¯t look awfully sick to me.¡±

    She pinched the bridge of her nose. ¡°You sell the stolen goods, right? In the local black-markets, I assume?¡±

    ¡°What about it?¡±

    ¡°Then shouldn¡¯t you be more worried about your other customers being spies? I¡¯m a maid for goodness'' sake, an actual maid. I¡¯m almost never out of the castle. Some weeks, I can¡¯t afford to eat meat. Do you think a spy would live like this?¡±

    He scoffed. ¡°Yeah, I do. I¡¯m not stupid, lady. No meat? So what. Have you forgotten who you¡¯re talking to? I think a spy would do anything to get at that sort of book.¡±

    ¡°Who¡¯s more likely to be a spy: me, or the blackmarket buyers? You already sell books¡ª¡±

    ¡°Not Healer books,¡± he hissed. ¡°I only lift what I can carry, y¡¯hear? And yeah, a lot of the clients are spies, or informants, or hungry foreign bastard merchant nobles¡ªI¡¯ve got good cause to worry. So I only take easy things, things that can¡¯t hurt anyone. And unless you¡¯ve ever been starving, ever watched your ma give the food off her plate to you and your shit-useless siblings, you¡¯ve no right to act high and mighty about it.¡±

    She huffed in frustration. ¡°So get me an easy Healing book if you don¡¯t trust me in there.¡±

    ¡°There¡¯s no such thing as an easy Healing book. Those suckers can¡¯t be taken out of the Library, they just can¡¯t. I had a friend who tried. Bad way to lose a hand.¡±

    She tried another tactic. ¡°How did you learn to make a backdoor? Can you backdoor into other places?¡±

    ¡°Nuh-uh miss spy. Trade secret. And no, I can¡¯t. No one can; it only works with Libraries, if they¡¯re big enough. So don¡¯t go getting any funny ideas. Or do, and get yourself killed. Chop yourself in half on a wall. It¡¯s no skin off my back.¡±

    She took a deep breath. ¡°I can¡¯t stop you from thinking I¡¯m a spy. But even if I was, you can¡¯t exactly report it without drawing attention to your own trespass, can you?¡± Her thoughts raced. ¡°If I leave right now, I can have a Librarian here in minutes. You bought all of this, didn¡¯t you? The flowers, the soap, the linen. All for your mother; do you think she¡¯d be happy to have it all taken away?¡±

    He swore under his breath. ¡°I said, don¡¯t drag my mother into this.¡±

    ¡°You dragged your own mother into this. You¡¯re using her bookcase, which she presumably knows about. The Librarians will get her just the same.¡±

    He clenched his jaw.

    ¡°How old is she,¡± she said softly. ¡°A couple of years from a comfortable retirement?¡±

    ¡°I can¡¯t get you Healer books,¡± he gritted out.

    There it was. The killing strike, the part where he caved. She¡¯d broken through. It unnerved her, how good that felt to realise, how easy it was to twist the knife.

    ¡°So get me a backdoor,¡± she said, cushioning her voice with her best coaxing tone. ¡°One that I can reuse. I¡¯m sure there¡¯s a way that can¡¯t be traced back to you. I¡¯ll leave you be and you¡¯ll have time to clear out your stolen goods; even if I reported, they can¡¯t do anything once you¡¯ve left, right?¡±

    He sighed, long and slow. ¡°And I¡¯ll bet you want it right now, eh?¡±

    She dropped the coaxing tone. ¡°I¡¯ll stand here until your mother gets back if I have to.¡±

    ¡°Oh come on, now¡ªdon¡¯t. I¡¯ll do what I can. But don¡¯t ever come back here. This is my last lot, I swear. Ma works hard, she doesn¡¯t need no spy-maid bothering her.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not a spy,¡± she said yet again. Jackal¡¯s loyalist sensibilities were starting to irk her. ¡°I didn¡¯t think that a blackmarket salesman such as yourself would be so devoted to the good of the kingdom.¡±

    ¡°Really, now. Of course you¡¯d say that, miss maid.¡±

    She bristled despite herself. ¡°What¡¯s that supposed to mean?¡±

    ¡°I mean, it¡¯s easy for you, prancing around inside the walls,¡± he said as he pushed past her and placed a hand against the doors of the bookcase. The runes brightened and swarmed over his hands before dissipating with a soft hiss. ¡°You don¡¯t need to think. But if I sell important information to a spy, the spy burns down the castle, the kingdom¡¯s eaten by bloody merchants, my family gets hurt, and I¡¯ve nowhere else to go. But I¡¯m quitting next month and I¡¯m taking my ma and sis with me, out of this shitty kingdom. So if you¡¯re planning on wreaking havoc, do me a favour and hold off for a little while yet.¡±

    He opened the glass panels and skimmed his fingertips across the rows of books before grabbing one, seemingly at random. It was as thick and as cheap as all the others, the cover boasting an illustration of a muscular torso superimposed over the silhouette of a wolf howling at the moon. When he flipped it open, she saw that a hollow cavity lay within the pages, dry, pulpy guts scooped out in a rough square. Within the hollow sat a small, tattered scroll. Truth be told, she was a little disappointed; a small, wishful part of her had been hoping that the bookcase would swing open like a door, revealing a vault of treasures. Still, she scanned the overabundance of easily-repurposeable books with fresh eyes.

    ¡°How many times have you gone into the Higher Library?¡±

    If Jackal had made enough selling blackmarket papers to afford this room for his mother¡ªwith plenty more to move out of the kingdom entirely¡ªthen surely he¡¯d gone more than once. She could see why he risked such expeditions.

    As if sensing her thoughts, he slammed the doors of the bookcase shut and snorted. ¡°Not enough to be that rich, believe me. Ma¡¯s rooms are paid for in advance but the rest of the money¡¯s long been moved to, let¡¯s say, safer havens. I¡¯ll buy your silence with knowledge¡ªno more, no less.¡±

    ¡°Alright,¡± she said, more boldly than she felt. ¡°So, give me the knowledge.¡±

    He undid the scroll, glanced at it, and frowned. ¡°Patience, miss. Adjustments take time.¡±

    He crossed over to the desk, fished a runequill out of his pocket, and began to write. She peered over his shoulder; the scroll was a scrawling mess of circles and esoteric symbols, none of which she recognised. It looked as if it were half-map, half-spell-slip.

    ¡°Can you not?¡± he asked without turning his head.

    She bit back an instinctive apology and moved back to stand by the bookcase. He worked at the paper for several minutes, muttering under his breath. His free hand clenched and unclenched as he went. Then he swore and crushed the paper to a crumpled ball before shoving it into his pocket.

    ¡°Oh for¡ªI can¡¯t do anything with the stuff in here. C¡¯mon.¡±

    She didn¡¯t move. ¡°Where are you going?¡±

    ¡°Can¡¯t spin anything from blackmarket crap. I keep the real shit in my own room. Would keep everything there and away from fucking spy-maids if I could, but no.¡± He gave a harsh bark of laughter. ¡°Greedy mongrel Jackal, they said. Stupid stockpiling. Should¡¯ve listened to the bastards.¡±

    ¡°No,¡± she said. ¡°I¡¯m staying here.¡±

    ¡°Suit yourself. Do some more dusting or something while you wait, eh? It¡¯s what they pay you for. Don¡¯t touch the bookcase, it¡¯ll set you on fire.¡± With that, he strode out of the quarters, locking the door behind him as he went.

    Her gaze flicked between the plain desk stool and the embroidered armchair. In the end, she chose neither; pacing back and forth at first, then looping through each room as she waited for him to return. Somewhere around her twentieth loop, she slowed by the bay window. There were big, fluffy clouds on the horizon, interspersed with wisps of murkiness, blots of poison. No sky-fish to be spotted tonight, and from the looks of those darker caustic spots, none for the next week or so.

    Someone cleared his throat from behind her. Jackal again¡ªshe recognised his tone just as she whipped around. Were all kite-handlers able to creep about, or was he just that good at silencing spells? She shivered inwardly. He could have easily knifed her in the back just then. But no, she was safe. She had leverage. Her very corpse could be leverage; that thought left her feeling cold and hollow. If he did kill her, it wasn¡¯t like she¡¯d be around to appreciate his ensuing predicament.

    ¡°Here. I found these. Should work okay.¡± He held out a rectangle of paper, about the size of his hand, every last inch smothered in blotchy symbols that made her eyes itch to look at.

    ¡°A spell slip?¡± she asked, turning it over in her hands. The other side was also marked with a dizzying level of intricacy. ¡°I asked for something reusable.¡±

    He made an annoyed sound as he reached into his pockets and handed over thick bundle of papers; on closer inspection, they looked to be exact copies of the first spell-slip. ¡°I was getting to that. They are reusable, if you want to get there and back again. That¡¯s the whole point of having two sides. There, this is all I can give you. You done?¡±

    ¡°No. Help me use it.¡±

    ¡°What? Well, you just hold it against a wall and say¡ª¡±

    The word he said didn¡¯t sound human. It was so flush with magic that it made her ears ring, much like how glancing at the sun left one seeing bright spots, hazy afterimages over the backs of closed eyelids.

    When she took a step towards the nearest wall, he made a sound of exasperation and threw an arm out to bar her way. ¡°Not here, alright?¡±

    ¡°I need to test it,¡± she snapped. ¡°And I¡¯m not going anywhere that would make it harder for them to figure out your motive if my dead body is dumped out in the Killing Fields.¡±

    Idiot Aliyah, she thought. Bribing people was difficult. Maneuvering around them was even worse. She didn¡¯t know how Rana did it. A nasty thought occurred to her; her stomach felt pitted with stone pellets.

    ¡°If you wrote this thing to kill me or to curse me, you¡¯d better say so right now. My shifts are tracked. They would know.¡±

    He held up his hands and made a disgusted sound. ¡°They¡¯re real, I swear. Hakim¡¯s spare copies. And I¡¯m not going to kill you, fucking hell. What do you take me for, huh?¡±

    Words were all well and good, but she had no way of knowing if the backdoor would drop her into a pit of spiders, or whether it would simply close once she was through the other side. ¡°I¡¯m going to test it and you¡¯re going to accompany me.¡±

    Jackal worked his jaw and fumed, as if he were chewing through a chunk of bitterroot. ¡°Fine. But open the gate in the bathroom, at least. Last thing I want is ma coming home early to you crawling back out of her wall.¡±

    She obliged. ¡°You¡¯re going to have to teach me how to say that word again,¡± she said as he threw the door to the latch shut.

    ¡°Really? Never used one before? Well it¡¯s simple.¡± He proceeded to sound out each portion of the uncommunicable word, pausing between each one. She followed along, stumbling and coughing at the end; the capstone syllable burned its way up her throat.

    ¡°What?¡± he asked, eyeing her with a sour look on his face, ¡°Never used a properly heavy spell before? Best get used to the taste of your own blood.¡±

    It took three more tries before he proclaimed her pronunciation ¡®not impressive, but good enough¡¯. She hawked up a lump of clotted blood into the sink, which made him grimace.

    ¡°Alright,¡± she said once she rinsed her mouth out. ¡°I¡¯m going to try it now.¡±

    She reached over and grabbed his wrist as she steadied her stance and braced an elbow against the edge of the sink.

    ¡°Y¡¯know, a backdoor¡¯s a door, not a portal in a fanciful book,¡± he snorted. ¡°It¡¯s not going to suck you through to the other side.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know that for sure.¡±

    ¡°Suit yourself. But yes, best to hold onto passengers, so at least you got that right. Make sure you have the other slips with you.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not stupid,¡± she snapped. Though she patted her pocket just to be sure; the other spell-papers crinkled reassuringly inside the fabric. She placed one of the slips against the cool, tiled wall and held it there with the flat of her hand.

    She said the word of power. Blood filled her mouth. She leaned over her shoulder and spat it into the sink. She turned back to the wall, where her hand was buzzing with magic. A splotch of blue-grey shadow was unfurling over the tile. The spell-paper glowed under her palm. Jackal tugged her back as the shadow elongated and spread, coalescing into the shape of an arched gateway. Aliyah spotted faint, fuzzy shapes beyond¡ªshelves? At least nothing seemed to be moving past the doorway.

    ¡°Is that it?¡±

    ¡°Yep. Not very impressive, I know. Step on through before it dissolves.¡±

    ¡°You first. I can¡¯t even tell what¡¯s on the other side.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s the point.¡± He looked down his nose at her as if she were a brainless worm. ¡°If you can just see the Library, the Library¡¯ll see you.¡± He shook his head, stepped through, and dragged her after him.

    Darkness closed over her head as the gate swallowed them whole.

 ?.3 - daemon

    Aliyah

    She stepped through the gate, and for a moment, it felt as though ten hundred thousand tonnes of water were bearing down upon her. The air was knocked out of her lungs. Then it eased a little and she could breathe, but only just¡ªeach inhale felt tight and shallow, and every exhale took just a little too much. It felt oddly familiar, like the shattered breaths she took while she fought with her pain.

    She wasn¡¯t in pain now, but she was disorientated. She could see the shadowy shape of Jackal in front of her and the shape of her own hand latched onto his wrist, but nothing else beyond. The air was just a little too thick and just a little too warm. The floor swirled and turned spongy beneath her feet. What if she got stuck in this horrible in-between space? She fought to breathe through heavy lungs, strained her eyes and ears against the crushing dark.

    Then, they emerged. She spluttered and blinked against the sudden light. Something warm and wet dribbled down over her lips; she swiped at it with her fingers. Blood.

    She stared down at her boots, at the now-solid ground. Library ground. No vomit-coloured carpet here; the floor was a field of flat, unbroken stone with no visible magic to it. Still, she could feel magic throughout the air if she shut her eyes and concentrated. It was thick and heavy, and it had a slow and watchful pulse to it.

    No fire, no blood, she recalled dimly. She glanced at the spell-slip still clutched in her hand as she raised her arm to wipe her face on the sleeve. One side of the paper was blank now, wiped clean of ink. She shoved it into her empty pocket, away from the bundle of unused ones.

    ¡°Clean that off,¡± Jackal hissed, his voice hushed but sharp. He was eyeing the blood dripping down her face. ¡°Don¡¯t let it fall onto the ground.¡±

    She made a mess of her sleeves in catching the rest of the nosebleed. ¡°What¡­what happens if it does?¡± she asked, echoing his quietness. It seemed the done thing, given their state of trespass.

    ¡°Nothing, hopefully. It takes a lot more than that for the alarms to set off, but best to be careful. It¡¯s less of an issue the further out you are, but we¡¯re not, so¡­¡± he trailed off and glanced around. ¡°Oh for fuck¡¯s sake.¡±

    For the first time, she looked up and around to properly evaluate their surroundings. A moment ago, she¡¯d been most concerned with the blood on her face, the blankness of the floor, the cool, bluish light pooling around them. Now, she saw that they were standing in a small patch of open ground at the edge of a circular intersection, a crossroads of sorts. Dozens of shelves radiated out and away from where they stood like the spokes of a giant wheel. Odd shapes sat behind panes of runed glass, illuminated by softly glowing runes. There wasn¡¯t a book in sight.

    Where the Lower Library had merely smothered her into sleepiness with its mismatched, stuffy environment, the Higher Library shocked her into a state of startling, unwanted wakefulness. Everything had an oddly dusky, indigo cast to it, but that wasn¡¯t the concerning thing, exactly. Instead, there was an invisible constant, prickling awareness of something not being quite right. She turned around to look for the backdoor, the gateway back to safety; there was nothing but the blank end of a shelf to greet her.

    ¡°That little idiot,¡± Jackal snarled. ¡°I¡¯m going to kick his sorry ass when I get back.¡±

    ¡°What¡¯s wrong?¡± She could think of many things that were wrong, and the anxiety brought on by the absence of the gateway sat at the top of that list. But her spell-paper still had a side left, didn¡¯t it? Jackal seemed angry at something else.

    ¡°We¡¯re on the periphery,¡± he said, as if that was supposed to make any sense at all to her.

    She paused and thought about it; sure, it made sense. The Higher Library probably had ¡®more inwards¡¯ and ¡®more outwards¡¯ directions. It had an entrance, after all. Maybe this one went sideways instead of up. The Lower Library¡¯s ground floor had been bustling, but the other levels got quieter the further up they stretched. It was pretty quiet here. She vaguely recalled him saying something about blood not being an issue further out. Wasn¡¯t that a good thing?

    ¡°So¡­the blood doesn¡¯t matter?¡±

    ¡°Sure, the blood doesn¡¯t matter. But we¡¯re fucking lost, that¡¯s what matters.¡±

    ¡°I have the spell-slip¡ª¡±

    ¡°The slip isn¡¯t going to work this far out, alright?¡± He indicated the looming shelves with a wave of his hand. ¡°Anything past the far seventh zone, it¡¯s a one-way trip with these kinds of tickets¡ªwhich are the best thing that folks like me can get, mind,¡± he added, glancing at the look on her face. ¡°We need to get back to where there are more books than not-books, if we want the bloody paper to get us out. How do you not know this? You¡¯re such a shitty spy. I¡¯m starting to think you really are just a dumb maid.¡±

    ¡°Excuse me?¡±

    ¡°Go on, try it if you don¡¯t believe me.¡±

    She glared at him and fished the paper from her pocket. She slapped it against the wall and said the word.

    Nothing happened.

    Her tongue tasted a little bloodier, but the paper remained intact.

    They were stuck.

    It hit her like a wet sack of rocks: they were well and truly stuck. Lifeline severed, stranded in a gloomy, extradimensional domain bursting to the seams with ominous silence and forbidden knowledge.

    ¡°Okay,¡± she said, starting to hyperventilate. ¡°So now what? Are you just going to stand here and whisper-yell at me? Didn¡¯t your brother tell you about an alternate route, or¡ª¡±

    ¡°Hakim,¡± he said, ¡°was a mistake.¡±

    She blinked at him, uncomprehending, as she tried to slow her breathing. Deep breaths, she reminded herself. You made it in, now you just have to get out. Another part of her inner monologue chortled hysterically in a back corner of her brain: a lot easier to say than to do, wasn¡¯t it? The sound of Jackal¡¯s voice, sharp and low, yanked her thoughts back into focus.

    ¡°Hakim wasn¡¯t ever meant to come here, okay?¡± He ran a distracted hand through his hair and began to rant. ¡°He wasn¡¯t in on it, all the blackmarket stuff. He must¡¯ve seen me with the wrong book or something and thought it¡¯d impress the girls to take a trip on over to one of the worst places in the whole fucking kingdom¡ª¡± He paused to take a breath as the torrent of words tripped over one another, ¡°¡ªand to my complete fucking shock, he did it. He actually did it. He and his little pea-brain wrangled a new way into the Library. So I kept his spares after ma shipped him over to the new place for his own good, gods hope he hasn¡¯t burned it down yet¡ªwhat I¡¯m wondering now is: how the hells did he ever find his way back out?¡±

    ¡°M-maybe¡­maybe he had a map. What do we do?¡±

    ¡°Here¡¯s a thought. If you have any secret spy knowledge, now would be a good time to drop the act and tell me. It¡¯s not like I¡¯ll be able to snitch on you if we both die out here.¡±

    ¡°I¡ªI¡¯m not a spy,¡± she blurted out. ¡°I¡¯m only here because I have a medical condition. I couldn¡¯t find a Healer who¡¯d help and I just wanted to fix it, that¡¯s all. I swear.¡±

    She broke into a cold sweat. Jackal was staring her down, not even scowling anymore. His expression had gone spine-chillingly blank.

    ¡°¡­maybe your brother left a mark on one of the shelves, to um, remind himself? Like an arrow, or something, saying ¡®go this way¡¯?¡±

    ¡°Hm. Maybe.¡±

    He stalked away from her and started peering at the next shelf along. She hesitated, then hurried after him. At least he was here, right? He knew things about the Library. If she¡¯d gone through by herself, she¡¯d be lost and stuck with no idea what to do. Then again, it was entirely possible that he could take the opportunity to kill her and thoroughly neutralize the threat of her breaking her silence. She swallowed; her throat felt tight.

    Well, blackmail really isn¡¯t that easy after all, she thought bitterly. He could just leave her corpse in the depths of the Library and find his own way home. She grit her teeth and ran through her short repertoire of spells: she knew nothing that could hope to seriously injure a fit, healthy kite-handler like him. She was so stupid. This was a horrible mistake. She should¡¯ve listened to Rana.

    She peered down the rows of shelves they passed to distract herself. Some held pots of bubbling mud and racks of what looked like human spines. She was glad that they were behind warded glass. There were less disturbing items, though, things which elicited pangs of wonder in her: finely-woven tapestries of dragons and unicorns, slices of lavender-coloured crystal as long as her arm. Most enchanting was a set of miniature trees rooted in shallow clay dishes. They had wizened, knotty branches that were heavy with golden figs.

    She wondered if any of these friendlier-looking periphery artefacts had medicinal uses. Then she shook her head at herself in disgust. No, she had to focus on finding books. There was a reason why these items were sitting in the depths of a highly-restricted dimensional wellspring that pretended to be mere storage for books; that glistening golden fruit would be more likely to melt her tongue and shred her throat to ribbons than it was to heal her.

    ¡°No mark,¡± Jackal said, startling her from her thoughts.

    ¡°Oh,¡± she said stupidly. They¡¯d circled round the whole clearing. Of course it wouldn¡¯t be that easy. Her blood ran ice-cold once more; she took a faltering step backwards.

    He stared at her. His brow furrowed quizzically.

    ¡°Oh, wipe that look off your face,¡± he finally said, lip curling as she flinched. ¡°I may be a thief and an idiot, but I¡¯m not a fucking murderer. No mark just means we¡¯ll have to do this the hard way. Probably not gonna die, just maybe get caught by a Librarian and wish that we maybe did.¡±

    She swallowed. ¡°What¡¯s the hard way?¡±

    ¡°Walk in a random direction. If it gets worse, go back and walk in the other direction.¡± He went over to a row of shelves and scratched marks at the foot of both shelves with his runequill.

    ¡°What do you mean, ¡®worse¡¯? Less like real bookshelves? Fire and blood and all that?¡± she asked, following as he walked down the corridor of not-books.

    ¡°Mhmm,¡± he said, and offered no further comment.

    She eyed the contents of the shelves as they walked and watched the reflection of her own miserable, still-bloodstained face in the runed glass. Oh hells, did she really look that exhausted?

    The glass-paneling disappeared and reappeared in chunks as they rounded a corner. Books were popping up, too, many of them splayed open on their faces or piled into untidy stacks. She spotted the skeletons of desiccated scrolls, and an encyclopedia that oozed pink foam from its embossed spine.

    ¡°Books,¡± Jackal muttered. ¡°Not sure if they¡¯re the right kind, but they¡¯re books, at least.¡±

    The shelf-corridor started kinking and curling around in knots. A sense of unreality washed over her. She felt as though she were a fish being tumbled down the big mountain river, funneling into a pocket of mesh, a thick glass bowl closing over her head. She blinked, and the world bulged. Not a straight line in sight¡ªthe squareness of the shelves warping, the shapes in the distance growing wavy.

    She blinked again, reflexively, and her vision cleared. Back to normal. A cold finger of unease traced over the back of her neck. She hadn¡¯t imagined that, right? It had only been for a fraction of a second, and yet¡­

    Jackal came to a dead stop. ¡°You feel that too?¡±

    ¡°Y¡ª¡± A fruity, sugary taste tingled on the tip of her tongue. She shut her mouth with a snap. She tried again. ¡°Yeah, I¡ª¡±

    Sticky, saccharine sweetness flooded into her open mouth. She coughed; it didn¡¯t help. It wasn¡¯t the air. There was no scent; parting her lips simply led to her choking on the taste. It reminded her a little of sugar candy¡ªbut far too sweet, far too much.

    ¡°What¡ª¡± Jackal started, then raised his hand to his mouth. ¡°Bait,¡± he gritted out through clenched teeth. ¡°Back, now.¡±

    He pushed at her shoulder as they raced back the way they came. A cold flush of fear roared through her. Her heart was pounding so hard it felt that it might burst through her chest. He moved like the kite-runner he was, all fluid grace and fierce motion. She didn¡¯t have a chance of keeping up. She sucked in breaths as she followed; lingering hints of sweetness remained and spurred her onwards.

    She made it back to the crossroads clearing, gasping for breath. Her muscles burned and her lungs felt like chewed-up sponges. Jackal had beaten her there by several lengths. She panted for mercifully-unflavoured air, staring back the way they came.

    Bait, he had said. What kind of monstrosity twisted at one¡¯s own senses? Environmental illusion-magic was one thing, but bait implied intelligence, intent. The overpowering sweetness was like a child¡¯s idea of what someone would wish to seek out. A fanciful, sugar-rich illusion, bait made with an inhuman understanding of human thoughts and wants. What nightmare of a creature lay at the end of that reality-warping corridor? She could feel herself trembling.

    Stolen novel; please report.

    ¡°What was that?¡± she asked.

    Jackal shrugged, more nonchalantly than she would have expected. ¡°The Librarians call them daemons. Part of the ¡®ecosystem¡¯ or something, but I don¡¯t know about that. Don¡¯t think they¡¯re properly alive, don¡¯t think they even need to eat, only that they like to.¡± He hesitated. ¡°Well, I don¡¯t know for sure, I just read it in a book. Not the worst thing you could find here¡ªcan¡¯t get up and follow, see. But then, most can¡¯t, even the really dangerous parts; it¡¯s the territory you really gotta look out for. Looks like mister daemon wasn¡¯t old enough to be smart about its lures too. Lucky us.¡± He walked back to the mouth of the bait-corridor and scribbled crosses over his initial marks. ¡°Let¡¯s go opposite.¡±

    They went; she had to jog every now and again to keep up with his swift stride. The corridor did not bend so sharply this time; she kept an eye out for books and saw only jars filled with mushrooms and sculptures of nude women posed suggestively with an array of fruits. The sculptor had a fine eye for detail, she decided as she traced the shape of one with a guilty eye. Then she blanched and looked away as she realised that nestled among the fruits were sculpted hearts and eyes and tongues¡ªwet-glazed, too-detailed, and textured with fine papillae.

    The artefacts didn¡¯t seem organised into any sort of recognisable system; one of the books she¡¯d read back in the Lower Library had said the depths of true Libraries held both wondrous and useless items, lost things that trickled through the cracks of reality and aggregated in clusters. Still, seeing them now, they looked as though there was something special about them.

    Jackal strode ahead of her, seemingly uninterested in examining the shelves.

    ¡°Do you know what all this stuff¡¯s for?¡± she asked timidly. ¡°I mean, that is, do they have any use?¡±

    Jackal shrugged and kept walking. ¡°No idea. They say that¡¯s the real job of the Librarians, figuring out how to sort the useful stuff from all this crap. Never seen any of them while I was this far out, though.¡±

    ¡°Have you been further out than this?¡± she asked. Despite herself, her mind was racing with wonder. The Library¡ªand its daemons¡ªwas clearly dangerous, but it was also the most thrilling place she¡¯d ever seen. Deep down, beneath the Library-induced shivery wakefulness that overlaid her consciousness, she ached to sink her teeth into the true measure of it, to understand. ¡°You said something about¡­layers, or something, earlier.¡±

    ¡°Layers?¡± He tilted his head in recall. ¡°Yeah, zones. Kinda rough mapping order that the staff uses, but the Library ain¡¯t a real shape, so it doesn¡¯t always make sense. First zone¡¯s the reception, second¡¯s the start of the books and card catalogue. All safe and tidy there, or so I¡¯ve been told. I¡¯ve never been on account of all the scribes and Librarians.¡± He snuck a glance back at her, frowning. ¡°Fishing for information, are we?¡±

    ¡°I need to come back later. You¡¯re helping me already.¡± She hesitated. ¡°Please?¡±

    He snorted and turned his attention back to the corridor. ¡°Stick to the fifth or sixth zone if you¡¯re looking for actual books,¡± he rattled off. ¡°Maybe fourth, if it¡¯s quiet enough. Fourth is as far as normal patrons¡¯ll go and they follow the safe paths, so you¡¯d best avoid those if you don¡¯t want to get caught¡ªmarked in red rope, you¡¯ll know it when you see it. Shallows of the sixth zone, the not-books start appearing. Anything out past the periphery, that¡¯s deep-eighth, shallow-ninth¡ªthink we almost hit tenth back there with mister sugar-daemon¡ªit¡¯s a wreck. Nothing natural out there.¡±

    ¡°I take it you¡¯ve seen one before?¡±

    ¡°Seen? No, if you ever seen a daemon¡ªthat¡¯s if it¡¯s even seeable at all¡ªyou¡¯re probably already done for. I tripped into the shallows of a few dens, is all. Smell of your favourite roast wafts up and you start feeling like you¡¯re starving, well. Best run like you stole it. Some of them do voices too, really good ones. Always copying people you care about, or telling you everything you wanna hear, treasure this way and all that.¡± As he said so, a shadow of rage bled into his tone. ¡°Real bastards, they are. Anyway. Early on, I was stupid and went way out to the edge of thirteenth. Big no-no for us simple jaunters. No good profit to be had out there. Past the thirteenth, the whole concept of zones break down¡­that far out, roof starts looking like a sky. Past that, it¡¯s like a¡­a patch quilt, you know, like with the different coloured squares. Surprised it didn¡¯t kill me. Got a couple of wicked scars, though.¡±

    ¡°From what?¡± she asked, then regretted it immediately. ¡°Wait, sorry. Sorry, you don¡¯t, uh, have to talk about it if you don¡¯t want to¡ª¡±

    He interrupted her with a sharp bark of laughter. ¡°From falling down a hill of knives, that¡¯s what. Thirteenth¡¯s a junkpile. Great big bloody hills of things taller than these shelves, swords and battleaxes mixed with thrones the size of houses. Plenty of room for someone to fall into the gaps and be buried whole. Idiot me, I climbed one of the tallest hills to see what was beyond and when I saw, I got dizzy and slipped. Like I said, lucky not to have brought the whole thing down on top of me. Oh, look¡ªI reckon we¡¯re almost at seventh.¡±

    They were passing through a section filled to the brim with paintings now; the shelf-heights had increased to accommodate big sheets of yellowed canvas stretched over cracking wooden frames. There was no runed glass anymore and yet, the contents of the shelves were unmarred by dust. She spotted a sketch of the mountain river next to an aquarelle rendition of a sand-ray migration. A little jar of clay marbles was propped up against a set of frayed brushes. Recognizably Songian things, worn and familiar. She turned her gaze back to Jackal.

    ¡°What did you see in the thirteenth?¡±

    ¡°Uh. Stuff. Give me a minute. I know I remember, I definitely did remember. But it comes slowly. Think I was out there for too long.¡±

    He was silent for a long while. They walked past broken glass and grease-stained maps, taxidermied lizards and piles of rusted coronets. Just as Aliyah thought he had given up on answering, he spoke.

    ¡°There was a bit that was just wasteland,¡± he said slowly. ¡°Real ugly, that wasteland. Another part was¡­it looked like a bunch of big sooty thorns smashed into the ground and around the thorns were little coloured shapes on the floor. It was far away, so I couldn¡¯t see them properly, but I knew¡ªI knew they were doors. Isn¡¯t that odd, the knowing? Don¡¯t like this place messing with my head. Us jaunters are already a bit fucked up to even try, but¡ªwell. Get out while you can, even if you are a foreign spy.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not.¡± She replied reflexively, then hesitated. ¡°That uh, it does sound disturbing. But the memory stuff, it could just be like a daemon, with the voices¡­?¡±

    ¡°¡®Just¡¯ like a daemon?¡± He snorted. ¡°You say that like a daemon¡¯s a small thing. Maybe. Anyway, it¡¯s all coming back now, like a trailing four-line¡ªno, wait, I guess you wouldn¡¯t understand that, eh? Maybe like a paper bunting then, the ones you maid-people string up for festivals. One part after another, all on the same string. There were other bits. A red field, tall grasses like the patches in the foothills, or maybe sharper looking, like river reeds, but the real thing I remember is that it was red.¡±

    He paused and shuddered visibly. When he continued, his voice took on a slower, dreamlike cadence.

    ¡°It was red. Richer than blood, and it moved like wine. There were other things moving inside it too, but I didn¡¯t bring a spyglass. I¡¯m glad of that now. And past the field was¡­I thought they were houses at first, but they didn¡¯t have windows or doors or chimneys or the slope-y thatch parts of roofs. Actually, I think they were just blocks of stone, a big grid of ugly stone blocks all the way to the horizon. And if I squinted and tilted my head just right, I saw other things. Different layers, places I¡¯d have had to go another route to get to. See, I don¡¯t like that I knew that. It wasn¡¯t something that I sat down and figured out; I just knew. It must¡¯ve made me know it. The other layers¡­shelves that moved on metal roads. Roads to nowhere. And a big maze, with even more doors in it than the thorn garden. See? Again. It made me call it a garden, even though it wasn¡¯t.¡±

    Aliyah swallowed. ¡°You¡­seem to remember it well.¡±

    ¡°Uh huh. Don¡¯t think I¡¯ll ever forget. Hey look, books. Think we¡¯re here; try the paper.¡±

    Sure enough, chunks of books had started appearing between all of the paintings and miscellaneous artefacts. A few metres forward, and now they were surrounded almost entirely by real books, solid and papery, none of them leaking unidentifiable substances.

    ¡°Wait,¡± Jackal said as she moved to place the paper against the wall. ¡°Hand me the others.¡±

    She froze and stared at him. ¡°Why?¡±

    ¡°You don¡¯t want to get dumped into the periphery the next time you use one, right?¡± He jerked his chin back at the way they¡¯d come. ¡°I can change the little idiot¡¯s spellwork so it¡¯ll drop you here instead.¡±

    She hesitated. It was a tempting offer; for one thing, it seemed vastly safer back here than out where the daemon lurked. It would cut down on her travel time; half-walking, half-hurrying all this way had taken a third of an hour, at the very least. On the other hand, he could write anything he wanted to on the paper. He could send her hurtling down the throat of the daemon, or change it so that the papers stranded her completely. Or¡ªwell okay, maybe not. He hadn¡¯t left her to the periphery and he¡¯d given her credible-sounding advice. Still, he could make it so that the new entrance point was in the middle of a Librarian¡¯s office. That could certainly neutralize the knowledge she held over him without leaving a lasting stain on his conscience.

    ¡°I don¡¯t trust you,¡± she said.

    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t either, if I were you. But I¡¯m just trying to help, is all.¡±

    She racked her brain for a possible solution. ¡°What if¡­what if you change it, and then go through another doorway with me? And show me you¡¯re doing the same thing to each paper, so I know it¡¯s not a trap?¡±

    He frowned, then let out a sharp sigh. ¡°Alright. Give ¡®em here.¡±

    She watched over his shoulder as he knelt and wrote; he didn¡¯t snap at her this time. He showed her each marking as he made it, copied over on every sheet. Part of her envied the artistry with which he wielded the runequill. He would have made an excellent scribe if he had been a fresh scion like her and not the child of a lowborn cook. Perhaps she could have been a scribe, if she¡¯d tried hard enough. She swallowed down a lump of guilt as he handed the fixed papers back to her.

    ¡°Thank you.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t thank me yet. Let¡¯s get back first. Put a hand over your nose, we¡¯re close enough to reception that it could matter.¡± He grabbed the crook of her elbow. ¡°Probably not. It¡¯d need more blood. But it could matter; you never know.¡±

    She held the original paper against the shelf and said the word of power, felt the paper crumbled to ashes under her fingers. Jackal pulled her through and the feeling of warm water closed in over her head.

    When they emerged back into the bathroom, she crumpled to her knees. She felt blood pool into the palm she had kept cupped over her nose. A headache was beginning to make itself known, throbbing at her temples¡ªthe sort of headache she only got when she tried to control a dozen needles at once.

    ¡°Yeah,¡± Jackal said as he leaned against the sink. He betrayed no obvious signs of discomfort, which itched at her on a petty, vindictive level. ¡°Always worse on the way out. Also worse the longer you stay in, but sometimes it can¡¯t be helped. You get used to it.¡±

    ¡°Again,¡± she said, staggering to her feet. She pulled a fresh slip out of her pocket.

    ¡°Woah, cool it. Just take a minute. You look like you need one.¡±

    She did. Her headache lightened, just a little, as she rested her forehead against the wall. She walked over to the sink. Jackal stepped aside as she splashed water over her bloodied face.

    ¡°Okay,¡± she said. ¡°Trying again now. Just quickly, to check. You first.¡±

    He held out an arm; she grabbed him by the wrist.

    ¡°Ready when you are,¡± he said.

    They went. It felt even worse than the first trip. She caught more blood with the end of her sleeve. Her legs shook. She toppled. Jackal caught her, and she steadied. They had arrived exactly where they¡¯d left off, near safe and normal-looking bookshelves. Her head hurt so much.

    ¡°Okay, cool. Cool. Back now,¡± she gasped out. She set the paper against the wall again.

    ¡°Wait,¡± said Jackal just as she said the word of power.

    A burst of pain lanced through her head; white-hot and blue-cold at the same time. Too soon, she thought through the haze of pain. Damn it¡ªshould have listened, should have waited for it to stop hurting. The pain wasn¡¯t drowned out by the heavy water-feeling, either. If anything, the pressure made it worse. Her vision blacked out and she stumbled blindly through the gate. It took a few seconds to recover once she was back in the bathroom. She crumpled, threw out a clumsy hand to catch herself, only partially succeeded at cushioning the fall as the joint of her elbow folded and her shoulder thwacked against the tile. She groaned and let herself lay there, cheek pressed against the cold tile. Her face was slippery with blood once more.

    Then she realised that Jackal wasn¡¯t with her.

    ¡°Oh,¡± she whimpered aloud. She hadn¡¯t been holding onto him. He¡¯d been about to say so.

    You idiot. She dreaded saying the word of power again, dreaded the visit back. Her throat felt raw and her bones felt squashed. The aching in her limbs highlighted the existence of several muscles of which she had been previously, blissfully unaware. It would be so much easier to lie here and let her eyes tear up as her bloody nose drained onto the tile.

    With a monumental effort, she hauled herself into a sitting position. She gave herself a moment to breathe in a deep lungful of cool, clean air. Then, an ugly thought wormed itself into her mind.

    Why not just leave him there?

    Everything ached so much. It would feel worse if she went to retrieve him. Give it a few days. Stuck in the Library with no backdoor papers in his possession, he¡¯d either turn himself in to the Librarians or trip over a daemon and die. His mother, his relatives, they wouldn¡¯t suspect anything but overambition if he was caught, or an accident if he got himself killed. And that would tie up a loose end very nicely for her, wouldn¡¯t it?

    She grimaced and clenched her hands into fists.

    No, it wouldn¡¯t. It wasn¡¯t a loose end: here she was, bloody-nosed and sitting on in a stranger¡¯s bathroom floor, telling fanciful, heartless lies to herself. Whether leaving him would be useful depended on whether or not any given Librarian would listen to an accusation from him, and whether or not he was able to survive in the depths of the Library, to scavenge food and a weapon and wait for her to come back.

    Her stomach lurched with anxiety and revulsion. She shouldn¡¯t be thinking like this in the first place. Jackal had been helpful and not unkind, despite her blackmailing him. Even so, she shouldn¡¯t¡ªwouldn¡¯t? She hoped that she wouldn¡¯t¡ªabandon anyone to the Higher Library. She gritted her teeth against the aching, full-body discomfort that gripped her. Jackal hadn¡¯t harmed her. He¡¯d probably thought about it though, given it consideration like she had just now. And he¡¯d decided not to. Now, it was her time to decide, her choice to make.

    It wasn¡¯t a terribly difficult choice. She took out another paper and opened another door.

    More pain. Bloody, bruising, pain¡ªshe only just remembered to clap a hand over her nose and mouth to catch the inevitable stream of blood as she stepped into the deep, dark shadow of the doorway.

    The water-feeling pressed down on her with a greater weight than ever before, forced her to hunch over as she slogged her way forwards over squishy, invisible ground. One foot in front of the other, walking slowly. So slowly. Her head felt as though it were being hulled like a walnut, her shoulders as though iron weights were pressing down upon them. She lurched forwards, step by step. She had dealt with worse. She didn¡¯t know why she was faltering now.

    The worst pain was whatever you were feeling at that very moment.

    She made it. Only just; rough hands dragged her the rest of the way out, moments before the doorway dissolved. Her vision shivered with colourful bursts of light, mocking starry pinpricks. Her legs collapsed out from under her.

    ¡°So it was an accident, huh?¡± Jackal asked as he saved her from breaking her nose upon stone.

    She groaned as she shook herself loose and lowered herself to the floor. How much of a nosebleed was too much? Her entire head throbbed in tune with her racing pulse. Her hand was slick with blood.

    ¡°Yes. Accident,¡± she mumbled as she mopped up more blood with her sleeves, a fresh red layer over the dried splotches already crusted there. Oh hells, she was going to need a lot of enzyme paste once she got back. ¡°Just stupid, not¡­not¡­¡±

    ¡°Uh huh. Easy there. I can say the spellword this time.¡±

    ¡°Thank you,¡± she managed.

    ¡°You know, I was so sure that you were a spy just a minute ago. Pulled the wool right over my eyes, you did.¡±

    ¡°¡­convinced not now?¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t know about that,¡± he said with the barest hint of a scoff. ¡°But I¡¯ll say it¡¯s less likely.¡±

    She sniffed and wobbled to her feet; he offered her a hand and she took it. She passed him the slip and made sure they were tethered, this time.

    He used the word and pulled her through; she shuffled and stumbled over lumpy, invisible ground and puddles of incorporeal slush, nothing more than a trailing passenger. The water-feeling engulfed her, but being towed along made it a little easier. Mostly. Her head still throbbed in time with her pulse. They emerged, Jackal looking only slightly worse for wear. She sank to the ground and supposed that it came with practice after all.

    ¡°I¡¯ll clean up,¡± he said, nodding at the blood she¡¯d left on the ground. ¡°Ma¡¯ll be back soon, yeah? We were gone too long.¡±

    ¡°S-sorry,¡± she said. Whether sorry for the blackmail or the blood on the floor or for forgetting him in the Library, she didn¡¯t know. But it only felt fair to say, regardless.

    He scowled. ¡°Got what you wanted, didn¡¯t you? Leave now.¡±

    ¡°Thank you,¡± she said, staggering to her feet. The bundle of spell-slips rustled in her pocket. She hoped they would be enough.

    He hesitated. ¡°You too. For fetching me. But don¡¯t come back.¡±

    ===

    She¡¯d ended up missing a shift in the laundry hall and needed half a jar of enzyme paste to scrub the dried blood out of her uniform. Goodbye to her day¡¯s wages and to her threadbare reputation. In exchange, she¡¯d gotten a fistful of papers and a Library to raid.

    It hadn¡¯t been a terrible deal, all things considered.

 ?.4 - delirium

    Aliyah

    Jackal had been right; the marked paths were crawling with apprentices.

    The first time she¡¯d returned, alone and trembling with nerves, she¡¯d headed into the fourth zone to seek out where the Healer apprentices got their books. Finding it had been easy enough; she¡¯d kept walking until the signage had started popping up; occasional panels etched with numbers to indicate zones, and little plaques to point the way: leftwards lies Healing subjects, rightwards for Thaumaturgy, that sort of thing. Skirting around the blocks of specially demarcated shelves, she saw strings of thick, red rope strung through the aisles. The stacks were thick with the scent of ageing paper.

    She¡¯d had to retreat upwards of a dozen times, eyes kept peeled for glimpses of red cloaks through the layers of books. Her heart felt as though it stopped in her chest whenever she heard the faint rustling of study-chatter through the shelves. Entering that section didn¡¯t feel worth the risk¡ªluckily, there were plenty of other Healing texts further out.

    A month after that very first visit with Jackal, she¡¯d found a note slipped under her door; a short list of sub-zones, penned in a neat hand. Navigating the signage according to the list had led her to isolated pockets of Healer books, untouched and unmarked by red rope. Later, she heard through her circle, that one of the old cooks had gone away with her remaining family, and that the lamb stew just wasn¡¯t the same anymore. They were only words in passing, words that she wouldn¡¯t have paid attention to had she not been listening for them. She¡¯d felt a guilty pang, at that. She hoped that Jackal was safe now, wherever he was.

    Armed with Jackal¡¯s list, she¡¯d stuck to exploring in the quiet of the sixth zone, where esoteric tomes on speculative biology and ancient print-making techniques leaned against huge jars of pickled pig¡¯s trotters. She¡¯d given herself a crick in her neck from tilting her head sideways to read the titles. It had taken two more visits and hours of skim-reading before she compiled a modest pile of promising volumes.

    She hadn¡¯t taken anything outside of the library, of course; Jackal¡¯s warning echoed in her head¡ªbad way to lose a hand. Instead, she¡¯d stashed her finds in a middling area of the fifth zone, through a maze of melted glass globes and under a pile of floral-patterned rugs. There was room in the center to shape a few of the stiffer carpets into a cosy, if very dark, tented reading nook. The problem of illumination ate at her as she went about her searching. An ordinary sun-lamp would never work¡ªtoo fiery, too bright.

    She¡¯d had to pop back into the Lower Library to teach herself how to draw light runes; without expensive spell-paper or proper teaching or even a runequill, her slips of illumination could only give off the weakest of glimmers when activated. She¡¯d made dozens of spell-slips with cheap paper and watered-down ink, copying symbols and pouring magic into them night after night until her head throbbed and her fingers cramped. It was worth it, though: by using a dozen of her clumsy, homespun spell-slips at once, she could huddle under her nook in the middle of the lumpy rug pile and read without fear of being caught.

    She was back in the Higher Library now, her sixteenth visit in three months¡ªalready most of another season without word from a suitably bribe-able Healer. Well, that was fine. She¡¯d taken to creeping in at midnight; the Library seemed quieter then. She kept herself wrapped up in a dark cloak¡ªnavy, not black¡ªto better blend into the bluish shadows.

    She had a satchel with her, too: along with the spell-slips sheltered in its depths, she¡¯d stashed medical gauze, a couple of sweetcakes, a flask of water, a timepiece, and a knife. The gauze always came in handy to stem her inevitable, gateway-induced nosebleeds; the knife, she doubted that would ever be of any real use. It¡¯d never work against a daemon, and a pointy scrap of metal was nothing against what Jackal had described at the edge of the thirteenth zone: the twisting logic and insidious knowledge of titles which it bestowed. But something about coming back into the Library without anything to defend herself made her prickle with anxiety.

    She headed off to her reading nook as quickly as possible. Her choice of material did not include the temptingly big, heavy books with gorgeously rendered gilt diagrams, but instead, those that were densely packed with information on pain relief. The sole concession she¡¯d made was the addition of a book of fugitive sheets to her miniature hoard; it was fully illustrated, with flaps that could be pulled back to reveal organs and musculature within the body. She¡¯d unfolded a woman¡¯s paper pelvis to squint at the shapes of the organ that plagued her. The bad days crashed over her like poison mist; she wished that she could rip it out of her body and be done with it.

    She crawled into her nest of carpets, almost tearing one of the light-slips in her haste to illuminate the nook. Twelve points of light flared to life¡ªbright enough to read by but weak enough to not show through the woven walls of her carpeted sanctuary. She grabbed one of the thicker books¡ª¡®Healing Magicks of the Reproductive Tract¡¯ by one ¡®Suhail Hadar¡¯, a Healer from decades past with a self-professed interest in the unordinary. She flipped open where she¡¯d left off, halfway through the chapter on pathology within what Hadar had termed a ¡®metra¡¯¡ªthe organ that nowadays, most called a womb. Recently, she had taken to thinking of it as nothing but a source of trouble.

    Rana, bless her sweet soul, had coaxed her into paying to see a different Mender. The insufferable man had suggested having children to cure her pains. Aliyah had promptly stood up and left, slamming the door on her way out. That had resulted in a message to one of her supervisors and her pay being docked for a week. It might have been worth it if she¡¯d had the resolve to throw in an insult, too.

    She tore her thoughts away from the miserable encounter and focused on reading. Her understanding of anatomy was rough at best; memorised facts overlaid over blurry ideas and imprecise doses of comprehension. As far as she could tell, her illness was a result of unnatural growth of tissue linings. But knowing the problem did not alleviate the continuous, half-predictable bouts of agony. Knowing that did not tell her how to twist her magic to fix it, either¡ªthe more she read, the more she despaired. It seemed that the mere reading of some books did not a real Healer make.

    A couple of the simpler numbing spells had worked when she¡¯d tried them¡ªsort of. The techniques described weren¡¯t terribly different from piloting needles in the laundry hall. It was the same pouring of magic into a shape, only now the shape was her body and the magic had to be intertwined with the structures there. It was doable, but the results had been disappointing: the spells were a constant drain on her magic and they hardly matched the effectiveness of Yara¡¯s painkillers. They didn¡¯t feel very good, either; the numbness wasn¡¯t complete. It was a buzzing kind of numb, like how her leg fell asleep if she perched strangely on her seat while sewing.

    Her eyes alighted upon a heading: to remove the problem at the root.

    Her pulse jumped in excitement. Here is an issue of unwanted tissue growth outside its intended organ, she read. The ideal method to date is much similar to the treatment of more serious conditions of cancerous growths. When encountering this condition, a Healer should remove the existing field of such growths and to trim them as they arise, much like a devoted gardener may prune an unruly sapling. Indeed, these protrusions do resemble sharp buds of flesh; by removing them, we ensure that they do not shed with each cycle. If performed with great regularity, this resolves complaints of great discomforts.

    She slid her gaze down to the methodology below. Hadar had included a hand-drawn diagram and several instructional paragraphs regarding targeting and removal. All this, he¡¯d written, may be accomplished without incisions into the body.

    She read for another hour, drinking in the words with hungry eyes. She traced a finger over the lines of the diagram, flipped through the book of fugitive sheets to find better cross-sectional views of what was being described. She went through another set of illuminating spell-slips and rifled through her stack of books for fundamental tomes to refresh her knowledge on the techniques to magically map out the body from within. She ate a sweet-cake and sipped her water. Finally, she could put it off no longer. The urge to try burned at her like a rising coalfire. She took a deep breath, gathered her magic, and delved into her own innards.

    It was surprising how easy it was. She grasped at blurry shape and half-seeable structure, twisted her new senses around form and texture and osmolarity. She skirted well away from delicate bundles of nerves and slid around coils of intestines to prod at the problem itself.

    The book was right; there were little protrusions dotted throughout her insides, and what might be patches of scarring here and there. The protrusions were so small and so few, for the shattering level of pain that plagued her at every turn. She had envisioned a field of bloody spears piercing through her gut like a cruel, spined urchin-flower, or clusters of fleshy needles sinking into her bones. In reality, they looked far smaller than the example illustrations printed into the book. Well, that was fine. That just meant they would be easier to remove.

    She cast her eyes over the final paragraph, summarizing how to define and grasp and excise. She nodded to herself as she held the steps in her mind. Yes, she could do this. She placed a hand against her stomach and reached inwards with her magic. She grasped the protrusions tight¡ªand excised.

    It was a mistake.

    A wall of agony hit her. She was too shocked to scream; instead, she sucked in a stuttering breath as her hand twitched and curled itself into a fist. Was¡ªwas it meant to hurt that much? The book hadn¡¯t said anything about pain, hadn¡¯t said anything about needing potions or numbing¡­

    The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

    Her vision blurred. Pain blossomed in her core, hard and fast. It felt just as grueling as any day of agony she¡¯d had. She gritted her teeth. She¡¯d followed the instructions correctly. It would pass. A fresh, rolling tide of agony crested again and bisected the first pain-blossom in two, made it look soft in comparison. She screamed a little, then. No, it was worse than normal. It was definitely worse. She pressed her free hand over her mouth. Still in the Higher Library, she reminded herself. Couldn¡¯t afford to scream. Fucking hells. She scraped her bitten-down nails over her stomach, panting in ragged gasps. Her thoughts moved too slowly, crowded in by the sheer hurt of it all.

    She¡¯d injured herself. How? She¡¯d done exactly what the book had told her to do.

    Writers can be lying or wrong or both, she thought. Or maybe it was just her. Maybe she¡¯d just fucked it up, like how she¡¯d done her examinations.

    Idiot, she thought. You idiot.

    She clenched her jaw so hard that a small, fleeting part of her brain feared that her teeth might break. The rest of her mind, the part afire with agony, quashed that thought and ground her teeth together in a futile effort to make the pain stop. It gorged a path through her guts with blunt teeth, carving an ice-fire sensation in its wake.

    It had been stupid to try this in the Library. She had to get out. To get to her room. Yes, that was it. Her room. She needed to lie down.

    A cascading chain of hurt was clawing up the ladder of her ribcage, bursts of shivery, unsteady agony puncturing from within. She forced herself to lift the hand clenched around her stomach. It wasn¡¯t really helping, anyway. It didn¡¯t matter that she instinctively thought it would. This was beyond the point of any smaller pain masking a larger one. She used the hand to push at one side of the carpet-tent and used her other hand to grab her satchel¡ªher tickets home.

    She crawled out of the cocoon of carpets, clenching her mouth shut and trying not to sob. Now if she could just get to a flat, vertical surface and¡­oh.

    There was a problem.

    The carpets were all lumps, and the stuff here was all¡­piles of fabric, rounded bauble-sculptures and spirals of blue glass. That was why she¡¯d chosen it as a hideaway, after all; there¡¯d be less chance of a Librarian coming to shelve a book in a place without books. It had made sense, at the time. But now, it meant there wasn¡¯t a tall stack of book spines to rest the paper against.

    The nearest proper shelf-end was¡­where was it, again? That way, she thought hazily. She blinked her tears away, but her vision was ghosting in on itself now, blurring and shrinking and rising and falling. Why hadn¡¯t she seen the danger of setting up here? Because it would only have taken her two or three minutes to walk to the nearest flat surface if she¡¯d been uninjured. Idiot. She forced herself upright and began to walk, step by painful step.

    The arrogance of assuming she would be okay. The hubris of assuming that it would work; of course it hadn¡¯t worked. Why had she ever thought that it would work? Miracles only happened in stories.

    She shuffled along the aisle of glass, one hand clutching at slippery edges, feeling her way forwards. Her vision felt askew, blurred and doubled no matter how hard she squinted. Her head was starting to throb with overexertion. She walked for what felt like longer than two or three minutes. There wasn¡¯t a flat surface in sight. She staggered onwards, thoughts overlapping: flat surface¡ªcan¡¯t get caught¡ªneed to stop hurting.

    What could she do once she collapsed back into her bedroom? Scream for help? Maybe. Plausible enough. She¡¯d have to hide the satchel, though. And she still had to say the word of power and make it through the in-between part of the doorway. She¡¯d adjusted with practice, but it still hurt. The mere prospect of the compounding pain made her want to cry. Blood leaked out of her nose and welled up in the back of her throat, as if in cruel sympathy.

    She kept walking and swallowed the blood as it bubbled up in her throat. Must not bleed on the floor, she thought. Must not set anything on fire. Must not scream. She tried to reach inside with magic again, clumsy and fumbling, to see if she could fix it. Patch it up, apply pressure. Basic things, to tide her over until she reached safety. She could do that, couldn¡¯t she? The magic swept over her insides, mapping out a confusing jumble of flesh. There was also¡­magic bouncing around, her own magic leaking loose and driving spikes into her core. She could barely orient herself. She pinched an internal wound shut only to have a fresh one split open next to it. The magic ricocheted and shoved her awareness out of her churning guts and back into her head.

    Where the hell was the shelf-end? Surely it¡¯d been around this corner. No. Further on, was that it?

    The blood was really welling out of her throat now; she fought back an iron-tinged mouthful of it, almost choking. There was a shelf end, just there. Her vision wavered. A hundred metres, at most. A quarter-mile. Half a league? It was in front of her, that was all she knew. Walkable distance. Had to be. She sniffed and felt a queasy lump of blood and mucus dislodge from the back of her nasal passages and slide down the back of her throat. Everything felt shivery and disgusting and painful. But she could make it. She would be okay. She would make it out of this awful Library and she would be safe safe safe safe¡ª

    Her mouth flooded with saliva. Her stomach lurched. She recognised it for what it was a moment before it happened: a flash of old memory, a matron chiding her¡ªnever tilt your head back with a nosebleed, Aliyah. You¡¯ll swallow your own blood. You¡¯ll vomit.

    She vomited.

    Bile and bloody froth pooled at her feet, fresh and body-warm and reeking of iron. Her body jerked and she doubled over without meaning to. She coughed up flecks of blood¡ªbright red blood. Too much. She crumpled to the ground and convulsed¡ªonce, twice, more. Something was terribly wrong. Trying the spell had been a mistake.

    Her unfocused eyes landed on the blurry rectangle of a shelf-end just down the corridor. So close, and too far. It beckoned her, a mocking salvation. She trembled and let out a small, keening sound as the muscles of her stomach spasmed under a fresh wave of agony. Useless. It was all so useless.

    Then, a soft, invisible hand fluttered over her cheek. It was gentle, caressing; a ghost-hand.

    Was this what it felt like to die?

    ¡°Aliyah,¡± she heard, right against her ear.

    She turned her head weakly. There was no one there. She was hallucinating. She¡¯d read about this, in one of the book: bursts of brain chemicals ejected like festival fireworks, a last wake-up call.

    ¡°Aliyah,¡± she heard again. ¡°You¡¯re not dead yet. You¡¯ve come so far. You¡¯re almost there.¡±

    It wasn¡¯t her own inner voice that she was hallucinating. Nor was it a voice belonging to anyone she knew. Neither masculine nor feminine, nor particularly accented. A ghost? A kindly spirit? An ancestor? Maybe that sort of thing existed after all. Or maybe she was just hallucinating. It didn¡¯t matter. She had been stupid, and now she was as good as dead.

    ¡°Stand up, Aliyah,¡± said the hallucination. ¡°You are not stupid. I believe in you.¡±

    A speck of warmth flared to life inside her, driving the ice-hot pain aside. It brought fresh tears to her eyes. Oh, it was such a small speck. A thin streak of blood still leaked from her nose. Grotesque bubbles of agony still pushed against the inside of her skin. It was hopeless.

    The speck flared once more, growing larger. It was the inverse of the pain. It felt soft and clever and cosy. She craved more. It didn¡¯t matter if that meant she was dying faster, going into shock. She just wanted everything to stop hurting.

    ¡°Aliyah,¡± the voice urged again.

    ¡°Help me,¡± she mumbled, or tried to. It came out as an unintelligible mash of sound, over a blood-coated tongue and through clumsy, numb lips. She could barely parse her own thoughts.

    ¡°I am helping,¡± it said. ¡°Help yourself, now. Prove them wrong.¡±

    Slowly, carefully, she picked herself up. The wonderful not-pain lapped at her ribcage, swallowing the agony and growing stronger with each passing moment. Yes, she would do it. She looked at the shelf-end now, clear as day. She would save herself or die trying.

    She made it two steps before she felt something snap inside her. Physical, or magical, or perhaps both. She collapsed against a mockingly concave shelf of glass, scattering little coils of coloured wool as she fell, dazed and limp and floating in a sea of unwelcome sensation.

    No, she thought desperately. The not-pain was still there, but her body was shaking and she could barely move. There was blood filling her mouth. No, she thought again. Nearly there¡ªjust a few steps more, nearly there¡ª

    She opened her mouth to scream, and blood gushed out. So dark and so red and¡­so much. Obscenely much¡ªfar too much.

    Vomiting blood didn¡¯t make anything hurt more than it already did, which was sort of yes and sort of no. The warm, not-pain sensation plateaued and wavered. She could feel her heart pumping faster and faster as she watched her own life flow out of her. Her body was sending her hurtling towards her death even as it tried to keep her alive. The blood kept coming. Crackles of magic chased after it, tiny, white-hot sparks that hissed and steamed as they collided with stray droplets. It was just too much blood. How did she even have any left? Was that two flagon-fulls, or more, pooled over the tile? Perhaps her body was just making more blood to bleed out. It seemed like the sort of stupid thing that it¡¯d do.

    The blood tasted iron-hot and salty-smooth against the inside of her throat. It gushed past her teeth in torrents. Her collar clung wetly to the side of her neck. Somewhere, an alarm was sounding. More blood leaked onto the floor. Little runes fizzled into existence on the floor where it puddled. The symbols shivered and swarmed around her, flooding the twisted aisle with stark white light. She squeezed her eyes shut against the glow of the¡ªbeacons? Why did she think they were beacons?

    ¡°Aliyah,¡± the voice urged, but it was fading, slipping away¡­

    ¡°Shit,¡± someone said. ¡°She¡¯s still alive. Where are the stasis-slips?¡±

    "I have them. You deal with the shielding."

    More hallucinations, she thought dimly.

    Then, a hand pressed something into her shoulder¡ªa solid hand, a real hand. She cracked her eyes open and saw faintly wrinkled skin, rings on the fingers. She didn¡¯t have the strength to turn her head to see who the hand was attached to. Something papery rustled against the bloodstained fabric of her uniform.

    ¡°Help,¡± she tried to say through a mouthful of blood; not gushing now, just trickling slowly. Lapping at her teeth. Congealing. Help didn¡¯t sound like a real word, coming out of her mouth.

    ¡°Still conscious?¡± It was a woman¡¯s voice, firm but not unkind. ¡°Stay calm, poppet. We¡¯re getting you out of here.¡±

    The woman spoke another thing, a not-sentence. It reminded her of the word of power that she had to use for the Library doorway, though more elongated, further charmed, very twisted into itself.

    The woman stopped speaking, and everything went numb¡ªactually, blessedly numb, not like the buzzing pins-and-needles numb that she¡¯d tried on herself. The blood coming out of her mouth eased and stilled. When she tried to move her mouth to thank the woman, she couldn¡¯t. She could blink and she could breathe, but the rest of her couldn¡¯t so much as twitch. A rising flutter of panic forced itself through the wreckage of her gut.

    ¡°Sorry about the half-stasis, dear. I know it¡¯s uncomfortable, but we have to do it to stop the bleeding. We¡¯re going to give you a little nap, alright? Just until we get you to a Healer. Stay calm, you¡¯re in good hands. Everything will be alright.¡±

    Dimly, part of her doubted that. But she was so tired and so deeply immersed in that floppy, lightheaded, boneless feeling that only surfaced with the abrupt comedown from acute pain that she couldn¡¯t bring herself to care. The woman placed her hand back onto her shoulder. She felt a pinprick, stark against the numbness in her arm, then the faintest tinge of a dull, swelling ache as something cold was injected there.

    ¡°I¡¯m going to count backwards from ten now. Try to breathe with the count¡ªnice and slow, okay? ¡°Ten¡­nine¡­eight¡­¡±

    Cold, merciful darkness took her in its embrace.

 ?.5 - adjudication

    Aliyah

    She came to with a jolt.

    She¡¯d been perhaps a quarter-awake for a while, nestled within that comfortable twilight edge of awareness as people bustled around her. Her eyes felt too heavy to open; that was fine; everything smelled clean and not like blood. The surface she laid upon was soft and she felt dreamy and mellow and she didn¡¯t want to move. She was pretty sure that she couldn¡¯t, anyways. For some reason, this didn¡¯t alarm her. Complex particulars like who and what and where and how didn¡¯t matter right now.

    They¡¯d wheeled her into a different room, smaller and windowless, where a man in a red robe had started casting spells and muttering to himself. Wedges of spell-light washed over her; she didn¡¯t feel any of that, either. Then he put a hand to her forehead, and she was forcibly yanked back to full consciousness.

    Realisation washed over her like hot poison: the Library, the spell, her failure. Her thoughts churned even as her body felt comfortable, if somewhat limp. Her magic pulsed discordantly against the inside of her skin, restless but muffled. Her cloak and satchel were nowhere to be seen, but she was still dressed in her own clothing. It was conspicuously clean for an outfit that had been subjected to what had felt like several litres of blood-vomit. She shuddered inwardly.

    ¡°Sober up, sunshine,¡± the Healer said. His tone was light, his expression neutral. Perhaps this was normal for him; just another day of dredging the life back into fools who tangled with the wrong spells.

    The narrow room jostled into focus: silver runelights on the ceiling, messy workbench squashed against the wall, a cart by her bedside laden with an array of coloured bottles. The Healer looked vaguely highborn, with sharp features and dark hair swept back in a courtly, if somewhat rumpled, wave. She tried to move her hand to her face, to bat his fingers away from where they still rested her forehead; her arm felt leaden. It rose a fraction of an inch before flopping back down onto the bed. Something clinked: a slender, metal chain. One end was fastened to a cuff around her arm¡ªthe other trailed over to the side of her bed.

    They¡¯d cuffed her to the bed? Ah. She¡¯d been caught intruding, after all. She squinted; the chain was swarming with runes¡ªvaguely recognisable ones for binding and holding. Her awareness of her own magic prickled once more, the flow of it stoppered up. Not that there was much in store at the moment; she wouldn¡¯t be able to pilot a single needle if she tried pouring every drop of herself into the thing.

    So she¡¯d been caught and now she was chained up. Though judging from how comfortable, if immobile, she felt, the Healer had fixed whatever damage she¡¯d done to herself with the excision spell. Now what? Would they interrogate her? Rob her of her coin and kick her out of the castle? Torture her? Her stomach lurched as she remembered the ungodly amount of blood that had poured out of her mouth. There had been no way to stem it, the choking iron-taste, the pain¡ª

    ¡°Looks like you had quite the ordeal,¡± the Healer said, snapping her out of the horrible memory. He moved his hand from her forehead to her cheek and a surge of magic unfurled from the point of contact, lapping over her skin like the ripples in a pond. ¡°Very lucky. No lingering damage, too. Not many people get rescued halfway down a daemon¡¯s gullet.¡±

    Daemon? She tried to speak, and her jaw refused to cooperate¡ªall that came out was an indistinct mumble.

    ¡°Whoops.¡± The Healer withdrew his hand and clicked his fingers; an unpleasantly effervescent sensation bubbled over her lips and jaw. ¡°Try now. What is the matter?¡±

    ¡°Who are you?¡± she asked thickly. Her tongue was swollen and her jaw felt wired stiff. ¡°Where am I?¡±

    ¡°Healer Saar-Salai,¡± he said with a trace of exasperation. ¡°Assigned to fix your injuries and not getting paid for it. This is a medical room in a guardhouse.¡±

    She opened her mouth and licked her cracked lips, tasting traces of blood. ¡°And¡­a daemon, you said? What daemon?¡±

    ¡°A daemon tried to consume you.¡± He shook his head, sounding unimpressed. ¡°Bad way to get caught. Incongruous smells or tastes, visual, auditory, or tactile hallucinations, anything compelling you forwards, usually a clear sign. Though I suppose you¡¯d lost a lot of blood by then. And they did say it was a dangerous one, older¡ªmore subtle. You¡¯re lucky you were still alive enough to patch up.¡±

    Her heart sank as she¡¯d remembered: that encouraging voice, that warming, cheerful sensation guarding against the horrid, biting pain. That had been a daemon.

    I believe in you, it had said. Prove them wrong, it had goaded. She¡¯d probably been stumbling in the wrong direction entirely. Jackal had even warned her; a daemon would tell her anything that she wanted to hear. A hard bubble of sorrow welled up in her throat. But of course it had been a daemon. What had she been thinking, that it could have been a friend? A fanciful, magical companion coming to her rescue, like in the storybooks? She blinked back tears and fought the urge to laugh in despair.

    ¡°It spoke to me,¡± she said. It had spoken using her name. It had reached into her head and pulled her name out, somehow.

    ¡°You hallucinated it speaking to you,¡± Healer Saar-Salai corrected as he took a dropper of something and mixed it into a glass of water with brisk, practiced movements. ¡°Relax. You¡¯re fine now¡ªmedically speaking. Just have to drink this before I hand you off to the guards.¡±

    ¡°Guards?¡± she asked, alarmed.

    ¡°Guards,¡± Saar-Salai agreed. ¡°Why else would we be in a guardhouse? Here, drink up.¡±

    ¡°What guards? Why?¡±

    He raised an eyebrow. ¡°You were found in the Higher Library without prior access.¡± He spoke in the exact tone of a world-weary supervisor explaining to fresh recruits that mixing different cleaning chemicals together would not, in fact, provide twice the cleaning power. ¡°From what I hear, they found your satchel with you, and illegal spell-papers inside. I¡¯m sure they¡¯ll tell you as such at trial. Anyhow¨Cdrink.¡±

    ¡°I can¡¯t move properly,¡± she mumbled. Her thoughts scrambled over the implications of trial.

    Saar-Salai frowned. ¡°Ah. Give it a minute. Librarian¡¯s dosage must¡¯ve been off.¡± He stepped a pace backwards and placed the full glass back down onto the workbench as his tone turned conversational. ¡°Usually it¡¯s some upstart young man, early-to-mid twenties, a couple of hands taller than you. Never a maidservant. The adjudicator¡¯ll be confused, I suspect.¡±

    ¡°What are they going to do to me?¡± she managed, the question tangled with a note of fear. Her heart thudded in her chest and a wave of vertigo passed over her; the ceiling seemed to spin.

    ¡°Take you to trial, I suppose.¡±

    ¡°After the trial?¡±

    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t know.¡±

    She realised with a jolt that he didn¡¯t look particularly old and entrenched with court just yet; he likely didn¡¯t know much more than she did. Her heart sank.

    ¡°What¡ªwhat do I do?¡± she asked, all the same.

    Her voice sounded small and frightened, a meek little sacrificial rabbit¡¯s voice, curled up and waiting to die. She winced as she shifted her head; her neck felt like a nest of rusted springs. She didn¡¯t know why she was asking this. It was practically an entreaty to someone who didn¡¯t even seem overly sympathetic¡ªbut he¡¯d stopped her from dying, even if it was his job to do so. She suspected, with a sinking feeling, that it was the closest to friendliness she¡¯d get for a while.

    He regarded her silently for several moments. Then he said, ¡°don¡¯t tell them that you did that to yourself.¡±

    She paused as it sank in. ¡°¡­what?¡±

    He crossed his arms and leaned back against his workbench. ¡°All that blood you lost¡ªfrom what I hear, the Librarians assume it¡¯s because you touched the wrong artefact. But what I saw, when I was busy patching up your insides, well, it looked like a spell backfiring. Also looked like you tried and failed to fix it. I¡¯m at a loss for words as to why you would attempt an unfamiliar spell lifted from the Library, but the penalty for deliberately implementing that type of information is heavy. They¡¯re already going to hit you with anything that can stick. So don¡¯t tell them anything that they don¡¯t already know.¡±

    She blinked, thoughts simultaneously alarmed and sluggish. She hadn¡¯t really expected actual, actionable advice¡ªthere had to be a catch.

    ¡°And¡­you¡¯re not going to say anything?¡± This sounded like the beginning of a subtly-worded blackmail if she¡¯d ever heard one.

    Saar Salai scowled faintly. ¡°It¡¯s none of my business. I¡¯m just the Healer¡ªI mind my own work.¡± He frowned down at her. ¡°Which I¡¯m hoping to finish up, by the way. Try sitting up. You need to drink this before I send you off.¡±

    ¡°What is it?¡±

    ¡°A mild magic suppressant.¡±

    She winced as she pushed herself upright; the chain clinked with the movement. Saar-Salai handed her the glass and she drank, because what else could she do? It tasted bitter. She had no doubt they could forcibly suppress her magic some other way if she didn¡¯t cooperate. He unfastened her from the medical bed¡ªa fleeting notion of escape skipped through her head and she squashed it: he was a fully-qualified Healer and that they were in the middle of a guardhouse. Even if she slipped out of the guardhouse, well, it wasn¡¯t like there was anywhere she could run to.

    Healer Saar-Salai handed her over to a pair of guards waiting outside¡ªa pair of tall, well-muscled women with thoroughly unsympathetic looks on their faces. From the looks of the half-finished card game on one of the waiting chairs, they¡¯d been there a while. They ignored her wavering questions as they dragged her through harshly-lit corridors, past an empty mess hall, through more unremarkable corridors, and into a drab office with attached holding cells. She was shoved unceremoniously into one; the door slammed behind her.

    A leaden weight settled into her stomach as the lock clicked; this was it, then. She was a criminal now. Would the sewing circle have already heard of it? What would Rana think? The picture was palpable: her colleagues sneering, and Rana¡¯s disappointment and disgust¡ªher eyebrows drawn together and the corners of her mouth held tight. You idiot, she imagined Rana saying, and her stomach twisted itself into a hard knot.

    She paced around the room; it had four solid brick walls and tiny viewing window set into the door, through which she saw nothing but the plain wall opposite. There was a bare cot in the corner, bolted to the floor.

    When she got tired of pacing, she sat on the cot and counted the bricks on each wall. If she squinted, she could see the barely-visible ward-signs that coated their surfaces. She lost count as her thoughts drifted into visions of blood and daemon-induced hallucinations and the process of bleeding out. Time crawled by like worms through thickened mud.

    The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

    Eventually, she slept. She dreamed in fractured snippets, of sky-fish and spring meadows and trials, judges and juries and a Magician waiting at the very end. He was polishing a blade, one that flashed silver-bright in the sun.

    ===

    Morning came, heralded by the flare of bleary grey runelight and a guard shaking her awake.

    For a moment, her heart jolted and she flinched away. What was this strange woman, with her close-cropped hair and weathered leather armour, doing in her room? Then she blinked the grit from her eyes and the solidity of the holding cell hit her like a bucket of used mop-water, drenching and ice-cold, cloudy with muck. Coming to her senses was starting to be an uncomfortably familiar experience; no more normal life now, she thought. You¡¯ve really gone and screwed it up this time.

    Another guard stood at the door, tapping his foot impatiently. They allowed her to drink from a half-filled waterskin before they bound her hands in front of her body with a fresh set of runed cuffs. The guards led her through yet more bleak, featureless corridors. Her head felt foggy and numb. The rest of her felt weak and shaky; hunger clutched at the backs of her ribs.

    When would she be able to eat? She¡¯d missed dinner and breakfast both. Whatever medicines Saar-Salai had given her hadn¡¯t numbed her appetite at all. At some point¡ªshe wasn¡¯t sure when, exactly, distracted by her longing for a pot of hot lentil soup with plenty of turmeric and cumin and parsley and hunks of fresh bread to go with it¡ªthey left the guardhouse by way of some restricted passage and entered what must be the court hall.

    It was about half the size of the laundry hall, though twice as opulent. Golden sun-lamps dangled from the high, vaulted ceiling. The ground was carpeted and a long row of chairs lined each side, with breaks where doors were set into the walls. None of the waiting-chairs were occupied. A lone doorway, tall and oak-dark, loomed on the far wall.

    They marched her up to the portentous doorway; her heart thudded, frantic with dread¡ªwhat were they going to do with her? Lock her up for years, to rot away in a lightless cell? Kill her? Surely not. Surely they would not go that far, not for anything short of murder or treason. She glanced fearfully at the stationed clerk as they drew nearer. He was middle-aged, plump and greying at the temples, perched comfortably like a sleepy pheasant behind a roll-top desk. He peered up at them over the rim of his glasses and a slight frown spread over his face.

    ¡°Name?¡± he asked, running a finger down the page of an open ledger that looked about as thick as the length of her hand.

    She swallowed around the lump in her throat. ¡°Uh. It¡¯s Aliy¡ª¡°

    ¡°Scionsong,¡± the female guard interrupted, her voice low and disgruntled. ¡°We¡¯re a little early.¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± the clerk said. ¡°Scionsong, that¡¯s right. In you go.¡± He pushed a crystalline button at his desk and the great doors swung slowly inwards, whispering against the carpet.

    One guard pulled her through as the other strode close at her heels; down a short, carpeted corridor and to another door, this one smaller and less ostentatious. The frontmost guard pushed her through without warning and let go of the trailing chain of her handcuffs. She stumbled, head bowed and almost tripping over her own feet. The floor was wooden here, pale and polished. She raised her gaze to meet five sets of eyes looking down at her.

    Her skin prickled. The five were seated at high desks, forming a half-circle. Behind the highest desk¡ªthe central one¡ªsat a stooped man with glasses and a long beard¡ªthe adjudicator, she guessed. Off to both sides were what looked to be Higher Librarians, dressed in gold and grey. The only exception was an unmasked Magician delegate leaning against the wall to her right, a man cloaked in lapis blue.

    ¡°Scionsong,¡± the adjudicator intoned, startling her attention back to him. ¡°Miss. Eight and ten years of age. Vocation: maidservant.¡±

    His voice was deep and sharp, at odds with his frail appearance. He looked like someone in need of convalescing in a quiet garden somewhere, not a man practiced in meting out justice. But she saw that his chin was held high despite his hunched back, and that his eyes were bright and alert behind his thick spectacles, darting from her face down to the cuffs still locked tight around her wrists. Her spine crawled. There would be no serendipitous mercy here, she realized. He was not like the clerk at the door; not a mere pheasant, no¡ªinstead, a hawk.

    ¡°As is the right of the Higher Library, interference with the collections is punishable by methods agreed upon by the offended party.¡± The adjudicator¡¯s lip curled into a frown. ¡°It is known that you have entered illegally by way of veiled gateway. To this, Librarian Errai will testify.¡±

    A spindly Librarian cleared his throat and held something up. Her heart sank as she recognised it immediately: her satchel.

    ¡°This pack and associated gateway parchments was found in your possession upon retrieval from the Library,¡± he said. ¡°My esteemed colleagues also noted the presence of a fixed steel blade measuring six inches in length, uncharmed. Both pieces of evidence have been verified by his honour.¡±

    Then came a barrage of questions from the adjudicator and from Librarian Errai, so thick and so fast that her head spun. The adjudicator penned notes onto the papers in front of him as she spoke. The thought of those papers itched in the far-shadows of her mind as she answered, conscious of each word that came out of her mouth: yes, she did own the knife. No, she didn¡¯t buy it within the castle. Here was the name of the shop she¡¯d bought it from, a couple of years ago. Why? For peeling potatoes on surprise kitchen duty. No, she didn¡¯t intend to harm anyone with it. No, she didn¡¯t have any friends or enemies within the Higher Library. Yes, she did own the spell-slips. Yes, she was just a maidservant. No, she didn¡¯t make the spells. No, she didn¡¯t know anything about the source of the spell-slips.

    That last answer sounded suspicious, even to herself. But something stopped her from revealing the real source¡ªshe thought of Jackal, with his disgruntled compliance, brow furrowed as the symbols came to life beneath his runequill. Part of her restraint was how repulsed he¡¯d sounded when she¡¯d insinuated, more than once, that he might kill her. The rest of it was because he¡¯d actually helped her. She didn¡¯t know how far the Librarians would go, even if he¡¯d left the city. Perhaps he¡¯d want to return one day, or perhaps not. Who was she to ruin the measure of safety he¡¯d worked so hard for? She could feel herself starting to sweat.

    Librarian Errai pursed his lips and frowned deeply at her. ¡°Are you quite sure about this?¡± he demanded. ¡°The Higher Library has cracked down on the distribution of such¡­¡± He grimaced. ¡°¡­paraphernalia, with a large degree of success. Your statements are both imprecise and difficult to believe.¡±

    She swallowed thickly. ¡°I bought the spell-slips off someone in a back-alley market, yes. I don¡¯t know who they were.¡±

    ¡°Where was this back-alley market?¡±

    ¡°Uh, somewhere East of market square. I got lost, I really don¡¯t remember the route.¡±

    ¡°Why were you in a back-alley market?¡± he demanded. ¡°What kind of goods were you seeking?¡±

    ¡°I got lost. They said they had interesting goods for sale and that I should take a look. I, uh, wasn¡¯t looking for them on purpose.¡±

    ¡°Yet you bought the gateway papers regardless. Why?¡±

    She wracked her brain desperately for answers. She couldn¡¯t feign naivety here, not when the forbidden nature of the library was written on it¡¯s front door. A visage of Jackal popped into her head, pacing and ranting about his younger brother out in the Library¡¯s periphery. ¡°I¡­wanted to impress a girl,¡± she blurted out, feeling her face flush.

    Errai paused, contempt rippling over his face. ¡°Who was the seller?¡±

    ¡°I told you, I don¡¯t know. They didn¡¯t tell me their name.¡±

    ¡°They?¡± Errai latched onto her words like a starved leech. ¡°Not ¡®he¡¯, or ¡®she¡¯? One wonders whether you hope to obfuscate the identity of this seller.¡±

    ¡°They were wearing a cloak with a hood, and the location was dark,¡± she said. ¡°I couldn¡¯t see any distinguishing features.¡±

    ¡°And the voice? What about that, hm?¡±

    ¡°They used a spell,¡± she hazarded. ¡°It wasn¡¯t their real voice. It made it hard to tell.¡± Her heart pounded. It was just speculation, but that was plausible. Illusions were a thing, right? She knew magic had its limits and she¡¯d never actually visited a back-alley market, but surely that wasn¡¯t unheard of.

    Errai grunted his acquiescence and leaned back. Her relief was cut short as the Librarian seated along rose to her feet, a tall woman with dark tattoos on the backs of both hands. She produced a clear sleeve containing a single spell slip¡ªit had been retrieved from the stash in her bag, Aliyah realised.

    ¡°Librarian Taif will now perform a simple test to determine if you produced this working,¡± the adjudicator said as Taif stepped towards her, heels clicking against the floorboards. ¡°Present your hands, palms-upward.¡±

    Aliyah obeyed clumsily, her wrists still stiff within the cuffs. She watched with her heart in her mouth as Taif removed the spell-slip and placed it onto her hands. The inked pictures on the backs of Taif¡¯s own hands displayed a motif of open roses, coiled snakes, and undoubtedly magical markings looping around the edges. Was this going to hurt?

    ¡°Do not move,¡± Taif said. ¡°There may be some mild discomfort.¡±

    Her stomach sank as Taif took a breath and spoke; the string of syllables that emerged was a slithering, sibilant, snake-like sonnet. A wretchedly cold feeling encased her hands and she almost yelped; it felt like her hands were trapped inside the mouth of a dead animal, gummy and defanged, overflowing with congealed mucus. Her stomach lurched. Then, her hands began to burn¡ªnot unbearably so, akin to being splashed with diluted cleaning solution¡ªbut it still burnt in a way that screamed ¡®take your hands away and wash them in a basin of clear water¡¯ to anyone with a shred of self-preservation.

    ¡°Do not move,¡± Taif repeated coolly, as if sensing her thoughts. ¡°The spell will conclude shortly.¡±

    Aliyah watched the spell-slip in her hands and tried not to jerk her hand away as it smouldered and began to leak pale smoke, the colour of old linen. From up on his desk, Librarian Errai let out an angry snort.

    ¡°She is not the maker,¡± Taif said.

    ¡°It can¡¯t be,¡± Errai insisted.

    ¡°It is,¡± Taif said, and then her tone hardened. ¡°Unless you are saying that I did not perform the spell correctly?¡±

    Errai scowled. ¡°Of course not, esteemed colleague Taif. I have great faith in your abilities, which you have proven. Proven to excess, one might say. But it is clear that the nature of these gateway papers is highly suspicious.¡±

    ¡°And yet,¡± Taif said as she plucked the paper from Aliyah¡¯s palms. The sensations ceased abruptly and she tried not to visibly sag with relief. ¡°She is not the maker.¡±

    ¡°Then we must test potential contacts of hers¡ª¡±

    ¡°I have already done so. Have you no consideration for¡ª¡±

    The adjudicator cleared his throat and interrupted. ¡°Thank you, Librarian Taif. Librarian Errai.¡±

    Taif dipped her head and returned to her seat. The adjudicator turned to address the two Librarians opposite.

    ¡°The accused was found in the fifth zone of the Higher Library, bordering the sixth. Her position was within the catchment area of a daemon of significant age and size. Her condition was described as conscious and semi-responsive. Is this correct, Librarian Osorin?¡±

    ¡°Yes, that¡¯s right.¡± The woman nodded. She was sinewy and middle-aged, skin wrinkled and scarred over one corner of her whiskery lip. Her voice seemed familiar, tickling at the edges of a memory. ¡°Though it was Librarian Shahriyar who arrived first.¡± She gestured at her companion, a burly man leaning back in his chair, arms crossed and looking as if he were on the verge of falling asleep.

    ¡°You were the first to provide medical treatment, Librarian Osorin?¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s right.¡± Librarian Osorin twisted her hands together, rubbing at the rings on her knobbly fingers. ¡°She¡¯d lost a lot of blood. I applied stasis and anaesthetic.¡±

    It washed over her, then; the grave realisation that this was the person who had saved her life, the kindly voice that had called her ¡®poppet¡¯ and had said ¡®it will be alright¡¯. The adjudicator¡¯s gaze swept back to Aliyah once more and she felt her stomach lurch as if she had swallowed something rancid.

    ¡°Scionsong, what caused the bleeding?¡±

    A chill swept over her as she recalled Saar-Salai leaning against the workbench, brow furrowed as he told her that he knew what she had done. ¡°I touched something,¡± she hedged. It wasn¡¯t even technically a lie. ¡°I¡¯m not sure what.¡±

    ¡°Why did you touch an artefact?¡± Librarian Errai jumped in, a hungry gleam entering his eyes.

    She grasped around for the least incriminating answer, her thoughts a blur. ¡°I didn¡¯t really know what I was doing. I was inside the daemon area at that point.¡±

    ¡°Describe the artefact,¡± Errai ordered.

    ¡°It was¡­blue,¡± she said, feeling like a beetle being pinned to archival cardstock, an insect squirming for any way out. ¡°Or maybe green? I don¡¯t know. It was getting hard to see at that point. I was seeing things that didn¡¯t exist.¡± There, let him make sense of that. At least the daemon-induced hallucinations proved a comforting mask for whatever lie they were trying to catch her in.

    ¡°No,¡± Errai snapped, ¡°You were after an artefact, so the daemon would have shown it to you in great detail. You are lying and this is the most rubbish I¡¯ve heard in years¡ª¡±

    ¡°That will be all, Librarian Errai,¡± the adjudicator said. ¡°Please refrain from using uncourtly language during trial. The credibility of the offender¡¯s claims should be evaluated at the discretion of those present while retrieving the offender. Librarians Shahriyar and Osorin?¡±

    Shahriyar blinked several times and uncrossed his arms before he spoke. ¡°Well, she was a right mess. The daemon sure was there too.¡±

    ¡°Did either of you see artefacts of note around the location?¡±

    ¡°There were some things that she knocked down,¡± Shahriyar said. ¡°Covered in blood. But no, I didn¡¯t find anything volatile enough to cause such injuries. Right, Zaina?¡± He paused and looked over to Librarian Osorin, continuing when she nodded. ¡°The daemon, though. Big enough. Could have shifted something in temporarily. Can never tell with those bas¡ªbuggers.¡± He coughed self-consciously. ¡°Apologies, your honour.¡±

    ¡°And Librarian Osorin?¡± asked the adjudicator.

    ¡°My colleague is correct,¡± Osorin said, still wringing her hands. ¡°There have been¡­incidents. It isn¡¯t unprecedented.¡±

    ¡°Understood,¡± the adjudicator said as he wrote something onto his papers. ¡°Your inputs have been noted and are appreciated, delegates.¡± He cleared his throat and drew himself up, straightening some of the stoop about his shoulders. ¡°Miss Scionsong, you are hereby found guilty of illegal patronage, unauthorised entry into the Higher Library, possession of unauthorised items within the Higher Library, and unauthorised interaction with Higher artefacts of the fifth zone. Do you maintain that you acted alone in your trespass?¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± she answered, mouth dry.

    ¡°You are sentenced to thirty lashes of the whip,¡± proclaimed the adjudicator.

 ?.6 - antipathy

    Aliyah

    Her head swum. It felt like being inside the sugar-daemon¡¯s lair again, a suffocating fishbowl clamped down over her head. The lukewarm air of the trial room couldn¡¯t quite seem to fill her lungs.

    ¡°Wh-what?¡± she stammered, voice cracking.

    She could feel the blood draining from her face. Trembling, too¡ªalmost hollow with hunger and exhaustion now, weak and crumbly on the inside like an over-baked butter cookie; hells, what she wouldn¡¯t do for a platter of biscuits right now. Whatever vestiges of inner strength she had left¡ªalready sapped by the back-and-forth dance of questioning¡ªwas scooped out of her guts by the adjudicator¡¯s statement. She wanted to keel over and fall asleep right there and then, to wake up in a nest of soft, warm sheets and to realise that it had all been a bad dream.

    ¡°Thirty lashes of the whip,¡± the adjudicator repeated evenly. ¡°To be carried out at the earliest convenience and under supervision by a qualified Healer.¡±

    Whipping.

    It wasn¡¯t the worst thing they could do, not by far. She¡¯d worried over the executioner, of course, but she hadn¡¯t truly feared it. Worrying was not the same as fearing; she¡¯d had years of experience grappling with the snares of her own anxieties. Beneath the suffocating blanket of what-ifs she had known, on a certain level, that they would not kill her for this.

    She had clung to the assumption that her plausible lies would shield her from excess harm, that Taif and Osorin and Shahriyar''s statements had worked in her favour, that they would merely force her to work unpleasant jobs unpaid for many months. The worst-case scenario, she¡¯d thought, was that they would bleed her dry of all her coin. She had not considered that the adjudicator would prescribe physical violence. Already, freshly-ignited fears crowded into her head: shredded flesh and rivulets of yet more blood. Was it better than being locked away as months or years of her useless youth slipped by?

    She was so entangled in her own whirlpool of fears that she didn¡¯t notice the Magician-delegate speaking until he stepped out in front of her to face the adjudicator. ¡°¡ªneglected to consider my statement as delegate,¡± he was saying.

    ¡°The Magicians sent you rather late into the proceedings,¡± the adjudicator said, peering down at them. ¡°It is most unusual.¡±

    The Magician bowed shallowly, one arm hooked behind his back. ¡°Regardless, I am here.¡±

    The adjudicator gave the Magician a long, hard look. ¡°Very well. Magician Cardainne, was it? Make your statement.¡±

    ¡°We the Magicians are ideologically opposed to corporal punishment,¡± Cardainne said, his shoulders straightening as he clasped his hands behind his back. ¡°As the designated delegate, I recommend an alternate correctional method.¡±

    ¡°The Librarians have requested that the offender be whipped,¡± the adjudicator replied. Aliyah¡¯s heart sank. ¡°An adjudicator complies with the wishes of the injured party.¡±

    ¡°I have funds earmarked for damages inflicted upon the Library.¡±

    Cardainne spoke as if it were an ordinary thing, but murmurs rippled through the four Librarians present. Aliyah¡¯s mind whirled. Funds? From where? And why? The jump from coaxing words to offers of hard coin was a sizeable one; she grappled with the rising bubble of hope forming inside her chest. The adjudicator held up a hand and the mutterings faded into silence.

    ¡°She is a common maidservant,¡± the adjudicator murmured.

    Aliyah bristled internally¡ªyes, that was right. A common maidservant. Not worth the bribery. Another part of her mind whispered: but the coin¡ªwhere from? And why?

    ¡°Indeed,¡± Cardainne said as he fished a folded parchment from the depths of his robes and passed it up to the adjudicator. The adjudicator adjusted his spectacles over and took it. Aliyah¡¯s breath caught in her chest as he unfolded the note.

    ¡°¡­It is not the usual sum,¡± the adjudicator said after a pause.

    ¡°We the Magicians do not sponsor the release of this particular offender. The sum is sourced from an independent body.¡±

    ¡°This is highly unusual. And altogether inadequate.¡±

    Aliyah¡¯s chest tightened. So this was it, then. Salvation dangling right in front of her before it was swiftly yanked away, all because the greed of one old adjudicator was not satisfied.

    ¡°As per my initial statement, the sum is for the Library,¡± Cardainne spoke up again. His voice had taken on an edge. ¡°If you would pass the document to the Librarians, perhaps they may be persuaded to ease their demands of the offender.¡±

    The adjudicator pursed his lips and held the note down to his side. Librarian Taif considered the paper for several moments before passing it over to Errai, who glanced at it, scowled, and passed it back.

    ¡°Do the Librarian delegates see value in this offering?¡± The adjudicator asked as the note made its way past him again, to Orosin and Shahriyar.

    Errai snorted. ¡°No. This is a most unseemly¡ª¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± said Taif, cutting him off. There was a note of self-satisfaction in her voice; Aliyah doubted the woman had any real sympathy for her so much as the wish to be contrary to Errai. Still, she would take it.

    ¡°Yes,¡± said Orosin after a pronounced pause.

    Shahriyar hesitated as his gaze flicked from his peers to the adjudicator and then to Aliyah herself.

    ¡°¡­yes,¡± he finally said.

    Was that pity she heard in the voices of the last two? Well, they had seen her bleeding out on their Library floor. Perhaps her suffering had been useful, for once.

    ¡°The majority agrees. Librarian Taif, if you could fetch a Chief Librarian,¡± the adjudicator said. Frost tinged the edges of his steady voice. ¡°Magician Cardainne, if you would escort the offender back into the waiting hall and supervise her until we reconvene.¡±

    Taif nodded sharply before stepping down from behind her desk to sweep past them; the door blew open of its own accord to let her through.

    Magician Cardainne turned and clicked his fingers. Aliyah flinched as a ball of blue light flared to life around the end of the trailing chain of her handcuffs. Cardainne motioned with his hand as he strode over to the open door; the chain lifted into the air and went taut, pulling her towards his retreating back. She stepped hastily after him to avoid being yanked off her feet, and the door slammed shut behind them with a gust of sky-blue sparks.

    Blinking up at the golden expanse of the empty waiting hall, she couldn¡¯t help but feel dizzy and drained as she stumbled over to where Cardainne had seated himself next to the clerk¡¯s desk. He produced a packet of foreign-looking cigarettes from the depths of his robes and lit one with a conjured flicker of white fire. Wisps of blue smoke started wafting from the glowing tip. The smoke was pungent and cloying¡ªalso probably horrible for the lungs. At least the unpleasantness took her mind away from how hungry she was.

    ¡°Must you?¡± the clerk grumbled, looking up from his papers.

    Cardainne inhaled, coughing a little before bringing the cigarette back to his lips and taking another puff. ¡°Soltani¡¯s got a nettle up his ass today,¡± he said conversationally as he leaned back and slung an arm around the back of his chair. ¡°Ah, warden duty. How far the mighty have fallen.¡±

    ¡°Again? Now, it couldn¡¯t possibly be because you enjoy acting the irritant.¡±

    ¡°I think he would have beaten me to death with an ink pot long ago if he had possessed the strength for it.¡± Cardainne exhaled, turning his attention to Aliyah. Her skin prickled with unease. ¡°Here, sit down, won¡¯t you? Don¡¯t try running off, now.¡±

    She shuffled over and sat two seats down from him. Smoke drifted into her face and she turned her head away to cough as discreetly as she could.

    Cardainne turned to address the clerk again. ¡°Long week, eh? Plenty of papers and miscreants on your end? Me, I can¡¯t believe the weather we¡¯ve been having lately.¡±

    The clerk sniffed, then turned and coughed into his elbow. ¡°Ilya, your bloody smoke is creating its own Killing Field.¡±

    ¡°You have weak lungs,¡± Cardainne retorted, and waved the cigarette around for good measure. ¡°We had to set up another god-awful training net this morning, let me tell you. The Weathermancers, they love to bitch and moan and never do their jobs properly. Two hours it took, herding apprentices through drizzle as thick as blood pudding. One of them lost a finger¡ª¡±

    ¡°Please finish your smoke away from me,¡± the clerk interrupted. ¡°I can¡¯t hear you through all of these clouds.¡±

    ¡°You are being dramatic.¡±

    The clerk snorted and didn¡¯t reply as Cardainne rose to his feet and beckoned to Aliyah. ¡°Come along, then.¡±

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    They walked away from the clerk¡¯s desk¡ªor rather, Cardainne walked and Aliyah stumbled. Her brain felt like a sponge wrung dry, and the smoke was starting to make her eyes itch.

    ¡°You know,¡± Cardainne announced as he sat down once more. ¡°You are a very lucky lady.¡±

    Aliyah slid stiffly into her own seat. ¡°P-pardon?¡±

    ¡°You young ones always think whipping is as far as it goes, eh?¡± He shook his head. ¡°A maid like you would not normally get off so easily after doing a crime like that. You are very lucky that you answer questions well and that your friend has some hold over my apprentice.¡±

    ¡°My friend?¡± Her thoughts raced. ¡°Rana?¡± she blurted out. It wasn¡¯t as if there were many possible candidates to puzzle over.

    ¡°That, I cannot say.¡± Cardainne exhaled a plume of blue smoke. ¡°What I do know is that Karim woke me too early in the morning and pleaded for me to apply as delegate at your trial. Something about his little cousin asking a favour. And I said yes, because he had done well on his last net-cast and because he looked as if he might shit bricks if I said no.¡±

    She swallowed. ¡°Uh. Right. Thank you. For coming here and¡­um. Is it going to work? Changing their minds, I mean.¡±

    Cardainne flicked ash off the tip of his cigarette and took another drag. ¡°Probably not. It was not an overly large sum. And Soltani, well. He was already paid for. You are new to the court ways, yes? There is a reason for Errai being most displeased.¡±

    An icy fist clenched around her stomach. ¡°Then¡­¡±

    ¡°You might get whipped less,¡± Cardainne offered. ¡°Five, ten strokes taken off. It makes a difference, I am told. Really, I doubt it was this particular sum that mattered most¡ªyou burglars should realise before you do such things, that the Library is as hungry as ever.¡±

    She couldn¡¯t help it; a wave of crushing dizziness overtook her. Away from the eyes of the adjudicator and the Librarians, she started to hyperventilate. She drew her arms around herself and clenched her teeth. Not now, she thought. Please, not right now. There was no need to have a mental breakdown in the middle of her own criminal sentencing. She could cry once they were done slashing her to ribbons and¡ª

    Cardainne frowned down at her. ¡°Cheer up,¡± he said. ¡°Thirty strokes isn¡¯t that bad. No nerve damage, yes?¡±

    The way he said it¡ªwith such nonchalance and guileless insensitivity¡ªforced a hysterical bubble of laughter up her throat. He was a highborn, no matter how he claimed he was here to help; of course he would be characteristically tone-deaf.

    ¡®Hey, hey,¡± Cardainne said, waving a hand in front of her face. ¡°Stop that. They will think you have gone mad, or are feigning mad, and they don¡¯t like that.¡±

    ¡°I can¡¯t¡ªI can¡¯t¡­¡±

    ¡°Perhaps you should have thought about that before you committed a crime. Or you could have waited until you had richer friends.¡±

    Tears threatened to blot out her vision. She clenched her teeth and buried her head in her hands just as the main doors to the waiting hall burst open¡ªshe flinched and looked up. A man strode through, golden robes billowing in his wake. Librarian Taif followed close at his heels. They marched past without sparing her a glance; the court door slammed shut behind them.

    ¡°Ah,¡± Cardainne exclaimed. ¡°Smart woman. She fetched Giltyrzar and he decides quickly, no hmms and maybes. Won¡¯t be long now. Do cheer up, eh? But not too much.¡±

    Aliyah stared at the carpet and tried to take reasonable breaths without sucking in too much of the blue smoke wreathing the air. Her stomach churned with equal parts hunger and anxiety. Really, she wished for it to be over. She wanted to eat a big bowl of rice with roasted fish and fresh vegetables and then lock herself in her room and sleep for seven years.

    ¡°Hoy,¡± someone called from the far end of the waiting hall. Aliyah¡¯s head snapped up; it was Librarian Taif, holding the door open. ¡°Ilya. We are waiting.¡±

    Cardainne sighed and stubbed out his cigarette on the sleeve of his robe, where it left a ring of ash but no burn-mark. ¡°Come along, maid.¡±

    He made a lazy movement with his hand and once more, she found herself being dragged by the tether on her handcuffs. She walked at an awkwardly fast pace behind him, shoes almost slipping on the carpet. Crossing the length of the hall still felt like it took an eternity. Worse yet was the nausea that bubbled up in her gut when they reached the end.

    Inside the trial room, Chief Librarian Giltyrzar loomed. It was not due to his height¡ªhe was perhaps only a couple of inches taller than Aliyah herself¡ªbut rather, his presence. He stood off to the side and yet, the crackling aura of his magic drew every eye in the room. He was showing off a bit, she realised distantly, by leaving the natural masking of his power askew, but that didn¡¯t change the fact that she could feel the heft of his magic thrumming while several feet away. She shivered. It felt like standing next to a spell about to go off.

    ¡°Ilya Cardainne,¡± Giltyrzar said, drawing the syllables out in a sour fashion. He fixed the Magician with a hard stare. ¡°I did not expect a delegate from your division. Nor do I appreciate being called from my office to resolve the most trivial of details. Has it not been decided?¡±

    Cardainne¡¯s face fixed itself into a rather prim expression. ¡°We the Magicians have a policy of standing against corporal punishment. It is salient to this offender¡¯s case.¡±

    ¡°You wish to avoid corporal punishment?¡± Giltyrzar asked, curling his lip. ¡°Should we just kill her, then?¡± He jerked his chin at Aliyah, half-hiding in Cardainne¡¯s shadow.

    Her chest seized tight. That was just a fucked-up joke, right? Perhaps Giltyrzar was just so far-removed from reality that this was an everyday sort of statement for him. Magician Cardainne knew how to avoid making things worse for her, right? Right?

    Cardainne crossed his arms and straightened his shoulders, standing a little taller. ¡°We the Magicians believe that capital punishment is only necessary in the most extreme of cases. This does not invalidate our stance on corporal punishment, which is never necessary and only serves to be needlessly degrading.¡±

    ¡°I do not see how the dignity of your charges remains uncompromised under other methods of your care. Torture, then?¡±

    Cardainne smiled a tight smile. ¡°Ah, now that is a different thing altogether. We the Magicians would like to remind the jurisdiction of the Higher Library that our presence is firmly centered around the safety of the kingdom, unlike¡ª¡±

    ¡°Enough,¡± said Adjudicator Soltani. ¡°We are here to reach a verdict. You may continue this discussion at a later time.¡±

    Giltyrzar gave a little shrug. ¡°We will take the sum listed. But she must still answer for her crime. It is no small thing, to breach our walls.¡±

    ¡°How many less?¡± Cardainne asked.

    ¡°Five.¡±

    ¡°She is a simple-minded maid with naive intentions. Fifteen.¡±

    ¡°Regardless of the supposed stupidity of the offender, breaches into the Higher Library pose a risk to the kingdom. Eight.¡±

    ¡°She has learned her lesson from the daemon. And I have seen the sum; it will cover damages and it is not unreasonable. Ten.¡±

    Giltyrzar tilted his head and appeared to think it over for a moment. ¡°Very well. It is decided. Now do not trouble me further.¡±

    Aliyah stood frozen as Giltyrzar left without so much as a spare glance at her. His presence faded as he strode away, then winked out like a dying sun-lamp.

    Had that really just happened? A Librarian and a Magician had all but bantered over the quantity of wounds to be inflicted onto her body like they were haggling for fruit at the market. She felt faintly ill.

    Adjudicator Soltani heaved a sigh from up on his desk. ¡°As authorised by Chief Librarian Giltyrzar, the offender Scionsong¡¯s sentence has been reduced to twenty lashes of the whip. Dismissed.¡±

    One by one, Cardainne and the Librarians slipped out of the room. The two guards returned, and took her away.

    ===

    The next part, she never did remember too well.

    There was a Healer¡ªnot one that she recognised¡ªwho checked her over to ensure that it wouldn¡¯t kill her. Her hands trembled and she clenched them into the fabric of her skirts to hide them.

    The sky was grey, and the air cool but still. A lone skyfish slid along the horizon. She had been taken to an area somewhere by the guardhouse with a thick post embedded into the ground. A pair of guards were present, along with the person with the whip, and a Librarian witness¡ªOsorin had volunteered for the part; it stung with irony, that the one to save her would watch her be injured again, all in the name of due process. There was no other audience and for that, she was oddly grateful. The guards attached rough rope to her shackles and bound her hands to a ring set into the lashing post above her head.

    She could not see the person holding the whip. There was only the sound to warn her¡ªa hissing whistle, a crack chased by a stinging pain. The back of her uniform tore. The pain worsened in the next few moments, burning deep.

    ¡°One,¡± someone said.

    She was used to this, she told herself. She had suffered much worse. It was nothing compared to what she had accidentally done to herself in the Higher Library. This would not kill her.

    The second lash melted her assurances away like candle wax under spellfire.

    She had not meant to scream.

    Another burst of pain, and yet another; shallow crescent lines opening in her flesh. She could hear someone counting in the mid-distance, slow and easy. How far beneath the skin did the bones of her spine lie? It felt as if the meat of her back was being stripped away, mingling with the blood-soaked fabric of her uniform, cross-hatched, turning to pulp.

    She tasted blood-tinged salt in her mouth and tried not to faint. She sagged against the lashing pole as the whip cracked once more, tearing deeper into raw, open wounds. Twenty had never seemed like such a large number until now.

    When it was over, they untied her and dragged her back into the warren of guardhouse corridors. Every step felt like a stumble. Someone turned to stare at her bloodied back as she went.

    Do not perceive me, she thought in a haze. She wanted to crawl into a cleaning cupboard and hide among cracked buckets, soft sponges, jars of disinfectant, for no light to touch the backs of her eyes¡ªlet the dust coat her in a powdery shield, let her be forgotten for years upon years.

    Within a windowless room, a Mender splashed a salve over her back. She screamed again at the sting. The Mender merely placed bandages upon her back and informed her to remove them in two days, and to see her division¡¯s own designated Mender if signs of infection arose.

    The guards gave her water to drink and a clean smock to wear, neatly folded and plain grey. She peeled off her ruined maidservant¡¯s uniform like an outgrown insect¡¯s casing, a camouflaging husk outlived of its usefulness. She stared at the blood-soaked ribbons of fabric striping up and down the back of the dress¡ªwhat a damned waste of cheap cotton that was¡ªand tried not to think too hard about what the matching pattern on her back looked like. They had not given her a mirror and most of her did not want to see. Welts, cuts, scars; what did it matter how ugly it was? She was still alive. It was enough. Thoughts of but what have they been saying and will I keep my place at the castle were for later.

    They removed her cuffs. One of the guards escorted her back to her room. It must be almost afternoon by now¡ªpast lunchtime, if the increasingly bitter gnawing of her stomach was anything to go by. With everyone back at their stations, at least there was almost no one to notice. She walked slowly and shrank away from the few curious glances she got.

    She shut the door in the guard¡¯s face, flipping the lock with shaking hands. Then she made four faltering paces before she collapsed half-onto the bed.

    She had never thought of this room as home.

    This room was four safe walls and a roof over her head and this was what she had earned from being a disappointment of a maid and this was her right as a failed-scion bastard-child. This was the place where she dressed and slept and cried alone in the dark, when her illnesses became too much. But it was never a true sanctuary. It was never really a home.

    Right now, though, it was all she had. If this was the pittance of refuge that she got after the nightmare, then she would take it. She would dig herself a foxhole in patched-up linens and the scent of the ruffled lilac in the corner and she would never come out.

    Let her rot here. Let her be free of blood gushing from her mouth in a bright, glassy tide. She did not want kind-voiced daemons stalking through her dreams. She did not need accusatory questions thrown in her face, or hawks with stern voices, or blue smoke making her eyes water. She gathered up the memory, the loose ends of the twenty-strokes flaying, and put it into a box and shut the lid and pushed the box deep down and far, far back into a dusty corner of her mind. She crawled the rest of the way onto her bed, every muscle twinging in protest. Then she slept, on her stomach and with her hands buried under the cool side of the pillow.

 ?.7 - affinity

    Aliyah

    When she awoke, it was from dreams of half-blurry sketches of blood and dark, dusty corners with something lurking beyond: something painful and hungry.

    Someone was pounding at her door. They were tugging the tassel hung by its side, too; the bell above her headboard jangled its discordant notes. She winced. Her arms felt numb, from where she¡¯d shoved them beneath her pillow. The bell jangled some more. It could not be a matron, surely. Her supervisors would have been sent a notice, at least for the rest of today. Wasn¡¯t that how things usually went? Unless she had slept through the night entirely?

    She blinked blearily at the rune-symbol set into her ceiling. It was bright enough for it to still be twilight, or perhaps early evening. And a matron would have unlocked the door and shaken her awake by now.

    ¡°Who is it?¡± she croaked.

    ¡°Aliyah,¡± Rana¡¯s voice sounded terse, even muffled as it was. ¡°It¡¯s me.¡±

    Aliyah shut her eyes for a moment. Ah. So this was the part where she would try and fail to explain herself. It had seemed like a good idea at the time? Or perhaps, I only wanted to become my own saviour?

    ¡°Coming,¡± she called through gritted teeth. Every movement felt as if it were tearing into what felt like an entire map of freshly-forming scabs across her back. She eased herself upright, then off the bed to lurch over to the door. She put her hand onto the handle and hesitated before she unlocked it and pulled inwards.

    Rana stood there in all her ink-flecked charm. Her brow furrowed as she frowned. Behind her loomed an unmasked Magician with twisted scar-lines carved into his face, a ridged mess of silvery tissue that trailed over half of his nose and across the hollow slit of one empty eye socket.

    Aliyah yelped and reeled backwards, almost tripping over as pain lanced down her back.

    Rana flicked her gaze to the conspicuously blue Magician peering over her shoulder, grimacing faintly. ¡°This is my good cousin Karim,¡± she said, walking into the room.

    ¡°Y-your cousin? Why did you bring your cousin?¡±

    Karim shut the door behind him with a click. ¡°We¡¯ve come to an additional understanding with the Librarians,¡± he said. His voice was soft and smooth, but it was not kind. ¡°Rana thought it best if I were the one to explain.¡±

    Aliyah swallowed, throat tight. ¡°Additional¡­understanding? I thought you already did. Uh. Magician Cardainne told me that you¡ªum. That is to say¡­thank you for speaking for me.¡± Twenty lashes had been no easy ordeal, but half again as much would surely have hurt worse.

    ¡°Thank Rana. I am but a messenger.¡± He shrugged and fixed Aliyah under his gaze. She was reminded of Giltyrzar, a little; there was a pressure behind that stare, invisible hands pushing down on her face and the back of her neck and her eyelids.

    ¡°What you did was very stupid,¡± Karim said softly and without preamble. ¡°Rana¡¯s coin saved you far more than ten lashes. What they do not speak of is more important than what they do; what you hear in a trial is never the whole truth. Understand, little maid?¡±

    She flinched. ¡°I¡ªyes, okay.¡±

    ¡°Librarians accosted me in the middle of the night and tested spell-slips onto me,¡± Rana said, shoulders trembling. ¡°One of them said you¡¯d be whipped within an inch of your life and branded with a traitor-sign and cast out into the dregs of the city to die. I had to find Karim to put in a word with Soltani¡¯s uncle, to send money to Soltani, and then to send Cardainne with more coin to be sure that it would stick.¡±

    Aliyah felt all the blood drain from her face, head spinning at the tide of information. Branding? Cast out of the castle?

    Rana took an unsteady breath. ¡°While they had you locked away, I had to run, actually run, down to Samara¡¯s office and ply her with coin to scour your catalogue history in time.¡±

    Even more bribery, and all of her searching had been recorded? What shocked her most of all, though, was sweet, cordial Rana almost yelling at her. She¡¯d never seen her this upset.

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± she said weakly. ¡°I¡ª¡±

    She¡¯d thought that she¡¯d only been putting herself in danger. If only she were more careful¡ªbut no. She wouldn¡¯t have learned anything. Sooner or later, she would have hurt herself and gotten caught. And now she was in even more pain than she would have been if she hadn¡¯t broken into the Library.

    ¡°No,¡± Rana said, not meeting her gaze. ¡°Don¡¯t apologise. Just please don¡¯t ever do anything like that ever again.¡±

    Karim cleared his throat. ¡°Well. As I have said, an additional understanding has been reached. The Librarians will deny your involvement in any infiltration of the Higher Library. The record will say that the twenty lashes were given for the attempted theft of some suitably expensive gemstones during your cleaning duties. It is best for your continued stay at the castle that you agree with this. There will be some difficulties with your superiors, of course. But it¡¯s the most discreet option. Those who know the truth¡ªAdjudicator Soltani, the Librarian delegates, Ilya Cardainne, Rana, and myself¡ªwill not speak of it.¡±

    ¡°Why?¡± Aliyah asked.

    Karim gave her a grim look. ¡°Largely due to my good cousin¡¯s graces. And because this is not a wholly uncommon occurrence. Though, I think that you understand the consequences better than the usual upstart youth.¡±

    ¡°Yes. I understand.¡± She clenched her jaw. Dizziness threatened to overtake her and she stumbled a half-step back, sat heavily down onto her bed.

    ¡°I cannot assume so, based on what Rana has told me,¡± Karim replied evenly. ¡°So don¡¯t waste the opportunity that has been created for you. It¡¯s not my concern if you do, to be sure. But that would hurt my cousin, and she has gone very far for you.¡±

    Karim turned away; Rana handed him an envelope as he did so. Paper-favours? More coin? Just how much had Rana spent to save her? Karim left, closing the door gently behind him. And then she was alone with Rana. Somehow, that felt even worse. The room felt both too large and far too small at the same time.

    ¡°Why?¡± Rana asked dully, looking at the floor. ¡°Just¡ªwhy?¡±

    ¡°It¡­was getting worse,¡± she said. ¡°It was hurting me. I thought there would be answers in the Library, so I¡­¡±

    ¡°I was helping you with everything I had,¡± Rana said, still not meeting her gaze. ¡°Was it not enough? I thought the apothecary¡¯s pills¡ª¡±

    She took a deep breath, bracing herself. ¡°It wasn¡¯t enough. It just¡ªwasn¡¯t. Did you want me to wait forever?¡±

    Rana looked up, mouth parting slightly. She swallowed, hunching her shoulders. ¡°Forever? No, of course not. I said I had leads, didn¡¯t I? I was hoping just a little longer. No more than a year, maybe two.¡±

    ¡°No,¡± Aliyah said, cringing inwardly. ¡°I don¡¯t know if I could have lasted another two years. You don¡¯t know what this is like.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know what it¡¯s like? Me? I¡¯ve gone to a dozen Menders, and talked to twice as many healers. I¡¯ve seen you wake up in a pool of your own blood more times than I can count. I¡¯ve covered your shift and put in word for you with Mender Shahriyar. I can see you¡¯re hurting. I know.¡±

    ¡°Yes, but¡ª¡± Aliyah faltered, thoughts foggy. Rana had been there, yes. But she hadn¡¯t lived it, felt it, had the pain swallow her whole. She knew what she wanted to say, though not how to say it. ¡°Fine. I don¡¯t deserve your help. You¡¯re a better friend than is my right.¡±

    ¡°No. Don¡¯t do that, either.¡±

    ¡°¡­What?¡±

    Rana shook her head. ¡°Don¡¯t play the victim. Don¡¯t make me feel like I¡¯ve come in here just to kick you in the teeth.¡±

    ¡°Karim said what I did was stupid, didn¡¯t he? And it¡¯s true?¡± Aliyah squeezed her eyes shut, blinked them back open. ¡°So fine. It was my fault. You did help me. I¡¯m grateful for that. I¡¯m sorry that I upset¡ªburdened you, put the attentions of the Magicians on you. I wanted to fix myself. That¡¯s all.¡±

    ¡°Okay,¡± Rana said. ¡°Okay. You know that you could have told me, Aliyah. I would have said not to do it, but I would tried something else. I would have helped some other way.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯ve always been the one to do the helping.¡±

    ¡°So you thought you¡¯d take it into your own hands to spare me further inconvenience?¡± Rana asked bitterly. ¡°Well done. Your noble ways have clearly turned out well for you.¡±

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    She hesitated. It would be easy to lie, yes. To echo the conclusion that Rana had come to on her own. Because the truth was a gnarled, prickly thing, dip-coated in poison: she hadn¡¯t done it because she wanted to fix herself while preventing Rana from worrying. She wasn¡¯t that gracious of a person. She¡¯d done it because she wanted to feel normal again. She¡¯d also done it because she was deeply, irrationally envious. She¡¯d wanted to be the hero. She¡¯d wanted to feel less¡­useless and pathetic. She¡¯d wanted to feel human again.

    Long gone were the days where they passed notes in class and painted inky pictures side-by-side. Part of her suspected that Rana only kept her around for the memory of it, for the old Aliyah who could clamber up tree branches with her and told fanciful stories through the view of a borrowed spyglass. The Aliyah of now was not the same. Sick. Maidservant. Failure. Cast-off scion-bastard. Hollow but for the bodily suffering, nothing left inside to spin stories and jokes with, the entertaining companion no more. If she were a friend worth having, she¡¯d tell the truth.

    She didn¡¯t say anything. She was so tired. So hungry. Staying silent was just avoiding digging deeper, avoiding widening the chasm between them. All the same, it meant that she went along with the lie. She hated herself for that. She hated the itching sting along the skin of her back even more. Most of all, she hated the memory of choking on wave after wave of iron-dark blood.

    Rana crossed her arms and worked a muscle in her jaw. ¡°Did they leave you any food? Water?¡±

    ¡°Uh¡­¡± That was not what she had expected her to say. Her mouth felt dry all of a sudden, and her stomach twinged in protest. ¡°No.¡±

    ¡°Okay. Then I¡¯ll bring you something.¡± Rana pushed away from where she had slumped against the wall. ¡°Listen. I can¡¯t stop you from doing what you want. But if you ever do anything like that again, I won¡¯t be there to save you. I mean it. All the Magicians in the world will not protect you if you try that a second time.¡±

    Aliyah swallowed. ¡°Yes. I understand. Thank you.¡±

    Rana left without replying.

    ===

    Aliyah hesitated, one clenched fist hovering over the door.

    It had been a week since the whole ordeal. The cuts on her back itched. A Mender had said they were healing as expected, which didn¡¯t feel fast enough. She still slept on her stomach, but at least she was feeling well enough to return to light work.

    And although whispers ran around the sewing circles and though her supervisors gave her dirty looks and despite how she was always paired up with others when cleaning rooms now, it felt¡­normal, was not the correct word, but perhaps mundane. Yes. Safe and mundane and far-removed from magical Libraries with invisible snares and books that lied to you. Everything wasn¡¯t normal, but it was normal enough. Everything, that is, aside from Rana.

    Rana was avoiding her.

    A week ago, Rana had returned to her room with a tray full of hot soup and mushroom-bread and a flask of water. She¡¯d left right after Aliyah had stammered out her thanks, which was probably a good thing; with an appetite sharpened by stress and time, she¡¯d devoured the meal none-too-politely before crashing into bed once more. She¡¯d slept for twelve hours straight, blessedly dreamless this time.

    The only other time she¡¯d seen her since was a couple of days after. Rana had turned up at her door and thrust a wrapped parcel into her hands. ¡°Yara sends her regards and hopes that you heal up soon,¡± she¡¯d said, and left.

    The parcel had contained a packet of iron salts and a jar of chunky green herbal paste that came with instructions to apply thickly over wounded skin. Aliyah had swallowed down a mouthful of guilt; possibly Yara was just being kind, but had Rana paid for these too?

    She roused herself from her thoughts and stared hard at the door in front of her, willing herself to knock.

    The door swung inwards, and then Rana was there. ¡°Aliyah? You¡¯ve been standing there for ages, haven¡¯t you,¡± she said. The dark circles under her eyes looked seemed pronounced than usual. ¡°What¡¯s wrong?¡±

    ¡°Nothing. I¡­I brought some cookies?¡± She brandished the little paper bag in her other hand, the movement shaky and perhaps slightly too frantic. ¡°Lemon-flavoured. I was helping in the upper kitchens and they had some left over and you like sour things, so, um.¡±

    That was a lie. The cookies weren¡¯t seconds or leftovers. She¡¯d gone up there and bought them off the cook. But dubious friend that she may be, she would not stoop to appearing as though she were trying to buy back Rana¡¯s favour.

    The very last part, though, the part about Rana liking sour things¡ªthat was not a lie. Rana had always loved sour things. As a child, she¡¯d cajoled Aliyah into scaling the boughs of a lemon tree with her to grab the highest-growing, most sun-yellowed of the fruits. And because one of the lower cooks had a sweet spot for them¡ªgoddess knows why, they could feign naive charm at will but were young menaces all the same¡ªthey would exchange the fresh lemons for candied citrus peels. They¡¯d eat little paper pouches of the stuff with their backs against the smooth, cool trunk of the big ironwood down in south quarter; the one with the best dappled shadows under it¡¯s canopy, the one that had been cut down two summers ago.

    Was retroactively realising that one was using a gift to invoke fond memories in someone worse than simply buying back their favour? She brushed the thought away.

    Rana stared at her for a moment, expression flickering between puzzlement and unease. ¡°Right. Okay. Come in.¡±

    Aliyah stepped into the familiar room¡ªmismatched furniture, messy corkboard hanging over the desk, bed in the corner piled high with patchwork pillows¡ªand set the little bag of cookies down at the upturned crate that had served many months as a makeshift table.

    Rana rustled around her cooler box for two bottles of rice milk; these, she placed onto the crate. She settled down onto the cushions piled around it.

    ¡°So, how have you been?¡± she asked as she reached over and nudged one of the bottles over.

    ¡°Uh. Fine. Not much happening,¡± she said as she watched Rana fiddling with the string on the bag of cookies. ¡°We found a cupboard full of pickled onions in someone¡¯s room the other day.¡±

    Rana looked up from opening the bag and leveled an vaguely unimpressed look at her. ¡°Actually, I was wondering about¡ª¡± and here she waved her hand loosely, perhaps even a little helplessly, ¡°¡ªall that other stuff. Did the ointment work well?¡±

    ¡°Oh,¡± Aliyah said, feeling her face grow warm. ¡°Um. Yes. Tell Apothecary Yara that I said thanks, if you see her.¡±

    ¡°I will. But are you alright?¡±

    ¡°Yes, yes, I¡¯m fine. Don¡¯t¡ªyou don¡¯t need to worry about me.¡±

    ¡°You make it difficult not to,¡± Rana said, and frowned. ¡°No offense meant, but you hardly have the strongest constitution. Especially after¡­¡±

    ¡°Yes, um. I really am sorry. About the Library, that is.¡±

    ¡°Right,¡± Rana said. ¡°Please stop apologising. Really. I¡¯m not going to¡ªI¡¯m sorry that I shouted at you, earlier.¡±

    ¡°Okay,¡± Aliyah said. They ate and drank in uncomfortable silence. When the cookies were finished, she said, ¡°I¡¯m going to visit Healer Saar-Salai.¡±

    Rana paused, milk bottle raised halfway to her lips. ¡°Who?¡±

    ¡°The Healer who fixed me up after the Library. Your cousin seemed to have forgotten about him, but I don¡¯t think he¡¯d say anything. He actually sort of¡­gave helpful advice, in a way.¡±

    ¡°And what was this ¡®helpful advice¡¯?¡± Rana asked, arching a single, perfectly-tapered eyebrow.

    Aliyah hesitated. No use telling Rana details that she didn¡¯t need to know. ¡°Basically, to not talk too much at the trial.¡±

    ¡°Hm. What are you planning?¡±

    ¡°Bribery? It doesn¡¯t really matter,¡± she said. ¡°I¡¯m not asking for help, by the way. I just thought I should let you know.¡±

    ¡°What, in case it all goes sideways?¡± Rana bit her lip, eyebrows pinching together. ¡°Aliyah, I don¡¯t think I can bail you out a second time, not even if it¡¯s a smaller thing¡ª¡±

    ¡°When I said ¡®I¡¯m not asking for help¡¯, I meant it,¡± she interrupted.

    ¡°Then why bother telling me?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t tell you things because I want to extort help from you,¡± she said, wounded.

    Or did she? Jumbled memories dashed through her mind; hey Rana, what¡¯s this rune, and Rana, can you show me how you wrote that and Rana, do you know any apothecaries.

    ¡°No,¡± Rana said, ¡°Why would you assume that¡¯s what I meant? Did you ask me on account of you wanting me to stop you? Because I don¡¯t know this Saar-Salai, but I can¡¯t let you get exsanguinated on my conscience.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m just¡­telling you,¡± she said carefully. ¡°Since you¡¯ve helped me so much and you should know what¡¯s going on and so you get a chance to tell me if it¡¯s a terrible idea. Actually, I suppose that counts as helping. But also, you don¡¯t have to keep helping me.¡±

    ¡°Excuse me?¡± Rana sounded hurt. ¡°Of course I want to know. I am going to help you, if I can.¡±

    ¡°You, uh, you don¡¯t have to, though. That¡¯s¡ªthe point.¡±

    ¡°In all our years of knowing one another, you have saved me from the ghastly presence of countless sand spiders,¡± Rana said, almost comically solemn. Then her voice lowered into more serious tone. ¡°Of course I¡¯m going to try and help you, Aliyah. Even if you do stupid things like breaking into the Higher Library and¡­¡± She trailed off. ¡°¡­And almost dying? Is that right? Karim said things. I don¡¯t know how true they were.¡±

    ¡°What things?¡± Aliyah asked. She managed to keep her voice from shaking.

    Rana shifted uncomfortably, her knuckles paling several shades as she clutched at the bottle in her hands. ¡°That they found you in a pool of blood. That you were vomiting the blood out and that they hadn¡¯t salvaged anyone in such bad shape for years. That there was a daemon involved¡­that sort of thing.¡±

    Ah. She had a choice here, didn¡¯t she? She could lie, she could reassure Rana and make her feel better about it. But she had done enough lying as of late. Or she could tell the truth, which she didn¡¯t especially want to. It would feel like a gratuitous sapping of Rana¡¯s sympathy, considering what had happened. ¡®Yes, I did vomit blood while my spell-soaked insides tore themselves apart¡¯ and ¡®yes, I did long for death in that moment¡¯. What kind of friend would say that? Misdirection it was, then.

    ¡°Kind of,¡± she said. ¡°Healer Saar-Salai patched me up, though. He seemed alright. So I think it¡¯s worth a try.¡±

    Rana was undeterred. Her stare sharpened, pinned her into place. ¡°What is ¡®kind of¡¯ supposed to mean?¡±

    ¡°It was, um. A bit like that, but I don¡¯t really remember it.¡±

    Rana stared at her for several moments, forehead furrowing in concentration. ¡°Are you¡­are you lying to me?¡± She shook her head. ¡°No, never mind¡ªyou are lying to me. I¡¯ve known you long enough.¡±

    ¡°Right. Okay.¡± She winced. ¡°Okay, I did remember, and it wasn¡¯t great. I¡¯d rather not talk about it. But the Librarians got me out in time and Saar-Salai did heal me.¡±

    Rana put her bottle down onto their makeshift table with a thump. ¡°Oh,¡± she said, and her voice was smaller than Aliyah had ever heard it; she wanted to reach out and grab her hand. She resisted the urge.

    Rana sighed. ¡°And there it is. You really could have died.¡±

    ¡°It was all my own fault,¡± she ventured. ¡°If that makes you feel any better. And I¡¯m fine now. No¡­lingering effects at all.¡± The crusted-over wounds on her back twinged on cue. Well, mostly no lingering effects, she thought. Give it another couple of weeks.

    ¡°Yes,¡± Rana said quietly. ¡°It was technically your own fault. And no, that doesn¡¯t make me feel any better.¡±

    ¡°Um. I¡¯m not going to do it again,¡± she said. ¡°Learned my lesson, no more trips down the mouths of dimensional horrors. Does that make you feel better?¡±

    ¡°Maybe,¡± Rana said, and sighed. ¡°Look. The opportunity with this Healer; normally, I¡¯d say to lie low for a few months. But in this case, it¡¯s probably best to speak to him before he forgets who you are. Give me a couple of days, though. I¡¯ll ask around. Make sure he isn¡¯t in the habit of stealing spare kidneys and the like.¡±

    ¡°Ah¡ªwell, thank you,¡± she said as guilt pooled low in her stomach. ¡°You really don¡¯t have to.¡±

    ¡°You are my friend,¡± Rana said. ¡°And truth be told, my only confidante among this crowd of¡­I hate to say it, but¡ªwishful court climbers. Don¡¯t get me wrong, I still think what you did was foolish.¡± She paused, looking pained. ¡°But Aliyah, I¡¯m sorry I didn¡¯t notice. I¡¯m sorry it got to that point, that I let myself think Apothecary Yara fixed everything. That despite it all, you still had¡­far too much to bear. I¡¯ll help, of course I will. I don¡¯t want to lose you.¡±

    ¡°Okay,¡± Aliyah said. ¡°Th-thank you. And I¡ªlikewise. I¡¯d hate to lose you too.¡±

 ?.8 - aegis

    Aliyah

    Healer Saar-Salai¡¯s office was located at the very top of a spiraling tower that, according to the various passageways throughout the corresponding region of the castle¡ªa suspiciously quiet and isolated area, too¡ªdidn¡¯t exist.

    The scrap of spellpaper in her hand felt warm to the touch. It was a perfectly ordinary piece of spellpaper, with an uneven hole cut through the center. Only the runes scrawled onto its surface lent it its slight aura of power. She held it up, channeled her magic, looked through, and saw a doorway.

    It had been a lot more difficult to get to this point than she¡¯d anticipated. She¡¯d first spent an afternoon walking around the castle in abject frustration before she thought to check the cleaning schedules. Then she¡¯d found the address easily enough¡ªall of the Healer offices were listed, albeit in deeply confusing notation¡ªbut it was looking as if actually getting there would be the hard part.

    Rana had told her it would be so; many Healer offices were enchanted or secluded or both, borderline unreachable for all but those with prior knowledge and prior permission. It worked to keep out the rabble; the ¡®rabble¡¯ being lowborns and castle workers desperate for help. People like her.

    Still, Saar-Salai hadn¡¯t seemed like the sort of person who would magically deafen her for turning up unannounced. The worst he might do would be to escort her to the door and shut it in her face. Right? Or did she think that because her impressions of him came from being ever-so-slightly loopy from anaesthetic at the time? He was known to work for the upper tiers of court and middling royalty, but in all else, he was a complete mystery.

    ¡°This one keeps his head down,¡± Rana had said, ¡°I haven¡¯t heard anything bad¡ªbut I haven¡¯t heard anything good either.¡±

    ¡°You haven¡¯t heard much good about any of them,¡± she¡¯d pointed out. ¡°I might as well try.¡±

    Her previous, rather unpleasant encounter with Healer Najm had occurred in a stairwell, not an office. Perhaps that was the problem, she thought with no small amount of regret: engaging with unknown variables in undesignated locations. Would it have gone better if she¡¯d booked an appointment? Was that even possible? She recalled Najm''s ice-cold glare and shivered. No, she doubted it. Not possible for the likes of her.

    But now here she was, armed with a minor spell-slip for seeing into corridors and up staircases kept tucked away by illusions. She had worried that it wouldn¡¯t be strong enough, that the hours spent forcing herself to practice casting the spell would not work, would be wasted effort like the first couple of attempts. Like so much of the rest of her life. But the muttered curses and throbbing temples didn¡¯t amount to nothing; it was enough, if only just¡ª and that sent a rush of triumph though her. That, and the beginnings of an immediate headache. All spells had costs; this one could go stuff itself.

    The spellpaper started to fray at the edges, falling away in desiccated flakes. She hurried forwards and stepped through the doorway before the whole paper crumbled to nothing.

    Stairs spiraled upwards. She started to climb.

    It looked like the inside of an ordinary tower well enough; all unremarkable grey stone and hellishly steep stairs faintly glowing with runelight. Every now and then, she would pass a window set into the outer wall and caught glimpses of the mountain river, the mists over the Killing Fields, the glow of the little city below all awash in moonlight. Before long, her legs started to ache. She was starting to wonder what dimensional trickery was going on when doors rose into view ahead. She reached them and stopped, wheezing for breath. The double doors were large, wooden and wide in a way that broke all plausible deniability of the space not being dimensionally-modified. There was an engraved brass handle set into each door, but no knocker. She hesitated, then reached up and knocked against the wood itself.

    Nothing happened. A swarm of runes brushed over the surface as she withdrew her hand, but the door did not budge. No one called out from within. That was fine; part of her had expected this. Healers were busy, weren¡¯t they? But surely any mage worth his salt would weave a personal alert into the enchantment of his front door. She was fine with waiting.

    Someone coughed softly behind her.

    She whirled around, one hand reflexively curling into a fist¡ªto what, exactly? Punch a visiting highborn?

    Healer Saar-Salai cleared his throat a second time. ¡°Could you kindly step off to the side?¡± he asked. His arms occupied by a stack of books, each tome thick enough to kill someone with. ¡°It¡¯s only that I have to open the door.¡±

    ¡°Oh,¡± she managed. ¡°Sorry. Sure.¡± She squashed herself against the wall as he swept past.

    He muttered something under his breath that made the doors flare to life with red runes. ¡°You¡¯re visiting?¡± he asked, pushing at a handle with his elbow; the door creaked inwards.

    ¡°Yes,¡± she said. ¡°We¡¯ve met before. A week ago, I¡ª¡±

    ¡°Come in then,¡± he said, and disappeared into the room, staggering slightly under the weight of the books.

    Was he really going to just let her in? She¡¯d been bracing herself for an argument, a sympathetic entreaty nestled ready at the back of her throat. She stepped forwards, past the door left ajar, not sure what to expect¡ªa gloomy lair, perhaps, with birdcages swinging from the ceiling and a cauldron bubbling away in the corner.

    The door slid shut behind her and half-spent sun-lamps flickered to life, casting a warm, burnt-orange glow over the room. And what a room¡ªSaar-Salai¡¯s office was impossibly, dimensionally large, brimming over with books. Richly-patterned rugs in shades of red and orange and apricot sprawled haphazardly across the floor. The parts of the walls not host to fashionably arched windows were lined with bookshelves bursting at the seams, overflowing; she spotted an antique chaise lounge and a worn-looking set of armchairs piled high with tomes. It was like walking into a friendly, miniature twin of the Higher Library; though she reminded herself that it wasn¡¯t friendly. It was a Healer¡¯s domain, no matter how harmless said Healer might seem on the surface.

    There was big wooden desk at the center, overflowing with papers; Saar-Salai dropped his armful of books down with a heavy thump, sending notes scattering.

    ¡°Take a seat,¡± he said, waving one finger absently in a swirling motion. A small mound of papers piled atop a visitor¡¯s chair slid off to land into a pile on the floor.

    Were all Healer¡¯s rooms host to such hideous messes, she wondered as she walked over warily. It would make sense, what with no ordinary maids being allowed to clean up here. Between the stacks of books and papers on his desk were glass jars full of mysterious pills and powders. Some were labeled in a lazy scrawl¡ªplantain leaf, ether capsules, inheritance powder¡ªbut most simply stood as they were, plainly showcasing their enigmatic contents. There was a rat¡¯s skeleton encased within a miniature vitrine, but thankfully, she saw no withered organs or detached eyeballs being displayed in brine.

    ¡°So,¡± said Saar-Salai as he took his own seat. ¡°What brings you here?¡±

    ¡°I need help.¡± She reached into her pocket and withdrew a heavy pouch of coin; most of what she could spare, converted into golden crowns. ¡°I don¡¯t know if you remember, but after I was taken from the Higher Library¡ª¡±

    ¡°Ahhh¡ª no,¡± he held up a finger and waggled it reproachfully. ¡°You have no idea how many unskilled little upstarts run around bothering me for so-called small favours. I¡¯ve worked incredibly hard for the easy life of magicking away royal skin blemishes every other day and what pittance you have to offer doesn¡¯t interest me.¡±

    She swallowed hard. He hadn¡¯t even looked into the pouch of money; did the court really pay him so much? What a stupid question. Now that she was in this room, this plush lair of silken cushions and leather-bound books, she could see that of course they did. A single book on his shelves probably cost more than what she earned in a year. She gritted her teeth, swallowing down the unfairness of it all as her thoughts flitted through possible strategies, what to say next¡­

    ¡°The incident with the Higher Library, though,¡± he continued, oblivious to her dismay, ¡°that¡¯s a little more interesting. It is intriguing, actually, how you managed to screw up in the worst way possible.¡±

    ¡°I¡ª¡± She bristled even as she choked on the words. ¡°I just tried to¡­fix something. Clearly, it didn¡¯t work. That¡¯s why I¡¯m here.¡±

    ¡°Hm? In any case, most Healers don¡¯t accept work from unofficial clientele.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s one thing, and I have¡ª¡±

    ¡°Just one thing?¡± He shook his head and sighed. ¡°Oldest trick in the book, to ask for one small thing before asking for more small things and then some very large things indeed.¡± He looked her up and down. ¡°Scionsong, was it? No ailing relatives still alive? Half-siblings? No running back to plead for my poor, compassionate heart to take pity upon you months or years later when you inevitably acquire some new and horrible disease?¡±

    ¡°No. Just this.¡± When she swallowed, her throat felt tight. She clenched her jaw, gathering her dwindling courage like fistfuls of falling sand. ¡°I will not bother you again, and you can ensure that yourself. Or are the ward-signs crawling over your doorway just for show?¡±

    ¡°Hah. Well my answer is still no; I will not heal you. Not just to be an ass, but because I can¡¯t. It¡¯s not doable.¡±

    ¡°What? But¡ªbut you¡¯re a Healer! Surely¡ª¡±

    He held up a hand. ¡°What I saw when I was fixing you, I would only be able fix temporarily. This could be done by removing the endometrial outgrowths¡ªthough it¡¯d be difficult and not worth it, it¡¯s not my specialty¡ªbut they¡¯d simply regrow back to equilibrium in the following months. A waste of coin, see?¡±

    Was he telling the truth? If he simply wanted to get rid of her, he could have sent his wards aflame and she¡¯d probably tumble headfirst down the tower staircase. It sounded plausible, but maybe he was just being polite. Then again, it hardly mattered now. He wasn¡¯t going to help. Couldn¡¯t or wouldn¡¯t, it was the same result. She felt numb.

    Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

    ¡°But I do have to ask,¡° he said, leaning forwards, chin rested on folded hands, ¡°which book was it, that you used for your attempt at excision?¡±

    ¡°Does it matter? I thought we were going to pretend that didn¡¯t happen.¡± She paused as a darker thought surfaced. ¡°Or is this blackmail?¡±

    ¡°Are you joking? What could I possibly blackmail you for that I couldn¡¯t get some other, more convenient way?¡± He sounded almost offended. ¡°I was merely curious as to if the spell was malicious. For interest¡¯s sake, and for practical reasons; much as my apprentices displease me, I would rather steer them away from whatever spectacularly unsafe instruction you followed than to spend an hour stitching them back together again.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know if the spell had a name. Why should I tell you, anyway? It¡¯s not going to help me.¡± She dropped her gaze and stared numbly at the piles of incomprehensible papers across his desk.

    ¡°It might help a few other poor souls from going through what you did.¡±

    She cringed inwardly at the invading memory. The blood, the choking. The pain, white-hot and all-consuming. The daemon, saying ¡®I believe in you¡¯ in its false-sugar voice. She never wanted to go through anything like that ever again. She didn¡¯t think she would survive it.

    ¡°It was in a book by¡­Suhail something,¡± she said. ¡°Something about the reproductive system. About, uh, this size,¡± she said, sketching an outline into the air with her hands. ¡°Blue-green cover.¡±

    ¡°Really?¡± he said. ¡°You¡¯re quite sure?¡±

    ¡°As sure as I can be,¡± she mumbled. True, her memories were eclipsed by the daemon and the agony. But the damned book had stuck itself to a back corner of her mind as well, the mocking vessel from which all of the blood and magic had poured forth. ¡°I left it and everything else that I read somewhere under a pile of rugs in the fifth zone, if you want to check.¡±

    ¡°How very interesting,¡± he murmured, leaning back. He tapped a finger against his chin. ¡°If it really was just one of old Hadar¡¯s spells, then there shouldn¡¯t have been anything wrong with it. Quite strange, that anything happened at all.¡±

    ¡°Well,¡± she said, ¡°it happened. As I¡¯m sure you know.¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± he said, ¡°I can¡¯t argue with that. Hm. You¡¯re not even a proper mage, are you?¡±

    She glared down at her grey maidservant¡¯s dress and smoothed her hands over her lap. She doubted that making little needles float and stitch counted for anything in his eyes. ¡°Not really.¡±

    ¡°Curious,¡± he said. ¡°Very curious¡­¡± His voice trailed off and a faraway look entered his eyes.

    ¡°Are¡ªare you going to tell me why?¡± she asked. Were all highborns this obtuse? Did they take pleasure in appearing more knowledgeable than those they spoke down to? She tamped down on the frustration clawing up her throat. ¡°I would like to know,¡± she added. ¡°Please.¡±

    ¡°Some spells backfire like that,¡± he said, ¡°but Healer magic, hardly ever. If it was a curse that you mistakenly used, then it would be another story. But a failed effort to change something from equilibrium just means that the equilibrium stays.¡±

    She didn¡¯t know where he was going with this theoretical train of thought. Her shoulders slumped. ¡°Look, that¡¯s¡ªthat¡¯s very interesting, but I don¡¯t see how that¡¯s going to help me.¡±

    Saar-Salai frowned. ¡°Don¡¯t you understand? You seem to have done the impossible. You tapped into the healing magics without true instruction. You¡¯ve helped yourself well enough¡ªtoo well, in fact. You didn¡¯t start hemorrhaging blood and magic because you failed the spell, it happened because you succeeded and went too far.¡±

    ¡°So?¡± she asked. ¡°That doesn¡¯t change anything. Do you want me to try again until I get it right?¡±

    ¡°Where ever did you get that idea?¡± He frowned. ¡°No, absolutely not. You appear to have a talent for ripping chunks out of your insides and catalysing life-threatening chain reactions within your own organs.¡±

    Was he making a joke of it? His tone was oddly sincere. ¡°That doesn¡¯t sound like a talent,¡± she said warily.

    ¡°No?¡± He snorted. ¡°If you were an apprentice, they¡¯d love you. Capacity for pushing things too far? Perfect for ripping open your enemies from the inside out.¡±

    ¡°What?¡± she asked, aghast. She didn¡¯t think she had a talent for injuring people. She¡¯d just been desperate to cure herself. That must be what had pushed too much magic out. Two parts fear to one part awful, awful luck.

    ¡°Oh, it¡¯s like this¡­¡± He hummed for several moments, seemingly lost in thought. ¡°Common misunderstanding. The word ¡®Healer¡¯ is just a polite title for ¡®people messing around with the sacks of meat that we call bodies¡¯. And when you do that, it can really go either way.¡±

    ¡°Okay. But what am I supposed to do about my actual problem?¡± Her voice had taken on a tinge of desperation, she realised with dismay. His waxing on about the theory of magic was starting to set her teeth on edge. She took a deep breath, reminded herself that she was in his territory, that she should really do her best to be polite. ¡°If you can¡¯t help me, then could you please at least advise me on what to do?¡±

    ¡°What makes you think that I¡¯ll give you advice?¡±

    ¡°I¡ªbecause you¡¯re not horrible like the rest of them, aren¡¯t you?¡± she blurted out.

    ¡°The rest of them?¡± he asked slowly, raising an eyebrow.

    ¡°People say things¡ªMeleph, Octans, the things that they ask for. And Healer Najm deafened me after I tried to talk to her.¡±

    Saar-Salai raised an eyebrow. ¡°No comment on the former. But Aida¡¯s just like that. And yet for all you know, I could do the same.¡±

    ¡°Why are you still talking to me, then? Can you help me, or not?¡± She regretted the words as soon as they left her mouth. Too hasty, too demanding. But she was so tired of it all. All she wanted was to place her pain onto the ground and walk away. Did it really have to be so hard, and so unfair? ¡°Please,¡± she added, trying soften her words, to appeal to his ego. ¡°You seem like the only person who can.¡±

    ¡°I am thinking, Miss Scionsong,¡± he said. ¡°Possibly there is a way that I can help. But it would be long and involved and there are drawbacks. Mostly on my part. I am wondering if it is worth it.¡±

    Was this the part where she was supposed to try to bribe him? Court nuances gave her a headache. She wished that she could consult Rana. ¡°There are thirty-seven crowns in that bag,¡± she said. ¡°I know it¡¯s not much to you, but¡ª¡±

    He interrupted her with a laugh. It was so startling that the words stuck in her throat.

    ¡°Here¡¯s some advice,¡± he said. ¡°Next time you try to bribe someone, don¡¯t downplay your own offer, especially if trying to elicit sympathy. My colleagues and I already have little regard for poor waifs down on their luck. Not because we are monsters¡ªand yes, that includes even Aida Najm¡ªbut simply because we are tired of it. I am sorry that you are trapped by the role of a mere maidservant. But to put it plainly: if you were a Healer, or a Magician, or anyone high up enough in court, people will try to worm their way into your circle. And since people like me are old enough to have influence but young enough to seem naive, many assume that I am stupid enough to offer my spine as a step-ladder up the court rankings. I cannot know that you are not the same.¡±

    ¡°How am I supposed to prove that?¡± she demanded, gripping the corners of her seat. ¡°How? Do you think I planned to bleed out in some goddess-forsaken corner of the fifth zone to get through to you?¡±

    ¡°No. And that¡¯s what got you this far.¡±

    Was that him throwing her a bone? What in the hells did he want from her?

    ¡°I¡¯m a maid,¡± she said. ¡°Thirty seven crowns is¡ªI¡¯m not short-changing you. That¡¯s all I have, unless you want the potted lilacs from my room? Or I could clean your office, if you like.¡±

    ¡°Really,¡± he replied dryly. ¡°This is as neat as I can get it. I suspect it would be a losing battle.¡±

    Was she supposed to offer a piece of herself, then? A jarful of blood and lymph to decorate his desk with? Five teeth with the roots attached and a slice of liver? She pictured biopsy needles puncturing deep, stealing core slices. Yara¡¯s bitter laughter echoed in her head. Her blood ran cold. No. Molten anger flared in her gut; raging but ineffectual anger, just another useless thing to nestle amongst the stupid, extraneous bloody tissue spearing into her body. But she wouldn¡¯t give him the satisfaction. The Library had taken enough, as it was.

    She raised her gaze from the clutter of his desk and looked him in the eye. ¡°I¡¯m not going to offer you pieces of my body,¡± she said¡ªand there was a quiver in her voice that she hated herself for, but she said it all the same.

    He blinked at her. ¡°I,¡± he said, almost spluttering. ¡°I, ah¡ªyou would think I¡¯m like, that? No.¡±

    ¡°So what do you want?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± he said, a trace of irritation at the edges of his words. ¡°Hellgods, I do loathe court habits. Don¡¯t try to make it into a game of knives and word-nuance. I was just thinking.¡±

    She pressed her lips together and dropped her gaze back onto the stew of books and papers and bottles of medication on his table. There was an hourglass there, cracked and empty. The seconds trickled by in silence.

    ¡°Alright,¡± he said at length. ¡°Here¡¯s the thing. I can¡¯t heal you, because your equilibrium would simply undo all of my work given time. I am also incredibly unwilling to continuously attend to your medical issues. What I can do though, is I can teach you to fix it yourself.¡±

    She blinked at him, took a moment to replay his words in her head. Her jaw dropped. ¡°¡­what? Really? I¡¯m not an apprentice.¡±

    ¡°True,¡± he agreed. ¡°Which is why difficulties present themselves. It is, officially speaking, forbidden for a non-Healer to learn such things. But I suspect that you didn¡¯t care much for that when you broke into the Higher Library and performed a spell with such single-minded desperation that you ended up succeeding and maiming yourself. The small part of your plan that wasn¡¯t stupid¡ªthe part where you tried to fix it¡ªI do admire that. I saw some good attempts, considering the circumstances.¡±

    ¡°Thank you,¡± she said cautiously. ¡°So you¡­you¡¯ll teach me?¡±

    ¡°There are difficulties,¡± he said. ¡°It will take time¡ªtime out of your regular duties and time out of your free hours. I cannot say how quickly you can learn it, either. Six months, a year, more. It will be hard work and whether you ever get there will depend on you. Also, you can¡¯t tell anyone.¡±

    ¡°Anyone?¡± she asked, thinking of Rana.

    He shrugged. ¡°Best not to. The Healers likely won¡¯t care unless you start trying to use it as court leverage or to help other people with the magic¡ªthat¡¯s our territory, after all¡ªbut the Magicians might, on principle. You can do what you want. Not my head they¡¯d be after, but I wouldn¡¯t risk it. There have been many¡­less fortunate apprenticelings, in the past. Not mine, but I am aware of the usual story.¡±

    ¡°Okay,¡± she said, pushing the pouch of coins over to his side of the desk. ¡°Okay. Thank you. I appreciate it, I really do.¡±

    ¡°Keep it,¡± he said.

    ¡°What?¡± she asked, stunned. ¡°No. No, I¡¯m not stupid. I know that teaching me any bit of healing is worth this, at the very least.¡±

    ¡°True. People have attempted murder in search of an apprenticeship,¡± he said, lips quirking up at the corners. ¡°I should know. But no, keep it. You need it more than I do.¡±

    ¡°Are you sure?¡± she demanded. Nothing good ever came this easy. ¡°You¡¯re sure that you¡¯re not going to ask me for a chunk of my liver later on?¡± Darker possibilities flitted through her mind, curdling her stomach into a tight knot. But saying ¡®a chunk of my liver¡¯ as if it were a nonchalant thing kept it at bay, made it feel less real.

    ¡°I¡¯m sure.¡±

    ¡°Then what do you get out of this?¡±

    That was what confused her, what nudged at the ever-present, scrabbling paranoia at the base of her skull. Saar-Salai had kept quiet about what she¡¯d done to herself in the Higher Library. He¡¯d let her into his office to speak to him. He hadn¡¯t asked her for blood or organs. He hadn¡¯t cast any hexes onto her, which was already a step above Healer Najm. But that still didn¡¯t mean she could trust him entirely.

    ¡°I suppose you wouldn¡¯t believe me if I said I wanted to be a decent person.¡±

    She hesitated, one foot on the brink of possibly offending a Healer who had just offered to teach her a piece of that very same locked art, a Healer who was offering a precious way out. But¡ªimplied debts, looming over her shoulder.

    ¡°Hm,¡± he said when she didn¡¯t reply quickly enough. ¡°Well then, let¡¯s just say that I dislike and disagree with the conventional methods of teaching Healer apprentices. I¡¯d rather try it my own way and feel less of a monster for it. But alas, can¡¯t do that with real apprentices. Call it a personal vendetta, if you like.¡± A slight smile touched his lips. ¡°And, it will be entertaining.¡±

    ¡°Okay,¡± she said. ¡°Well, um, thank you, but that sounds very¡ªquite intangible. Please just take the money.¡±

    He sighed. ¡°Vindictiveness is its own special currency. But perhaps you haven¡¯t spent enough time in courtly circles to fully appreciate that. Very well, if you insist.¡± He pushed the bag of coins back towards her. ¡°You should pay me after we go through some books on basic principles on what not to do. There is, after all, no benefit to being too trusting.¡±

    ¡°¡­Right.¡± She swallowed. ¡°Thank you, Healer Saar-Salai.¡±

    He grinned then, a quick flash of teeth, sharp and sly like a storybook leopard. ¡°No need for any of that court nonsense,¡± he said. ¡°Zahir is fine.¡±

 2.1 - All That Glisters

    Aliyah

    ¡°¡­And anyways, he just kept teaching me stuff,¡± Aliyah said.

    A smudge of dizziness swirled around her head as the stream of memory trickled to a close. Her voice was getting hoarse now and the sun had risen fully into the sky, but Kionah was still looking at her with attentive interest.

    ¡°After I learned how to manage my condition, he kept showing me new things, like closing wounds. There were other tricks¡ªrules, principles¡ªthat helped with the vasodilation stuff, and I got from his books. I asked him why, and he said, ¡®I don¡¯t know, it¡¯s entertaining. Do you want to stop?¡¯ and of course I wanted to know more. So here I am. That¡¯s how it happened.¡±

    It wasn¡¯t exactly what had happened. She¡¯d framed it a specific way, for Kionah. She¡¯d left a few things out and she¡¯d skimmed over the more traumatic parts. She¡¯d made herself out to be less stupid and impulsive than she¡¯d really been. But she¡¯d told her the key things. It almost irked her, how much she¡¯d revealed. Perhaps it was because she¡¯d never had a chance to just sit down and tell anyone about the whole of it. Not anyone; not even Rana.

    ¡°I see,¡± Kionah said. She drew her knees to her chest against the morning chill. Her hair fluttered in loose strands as they touched the passing breeze; she looked almost forlorn in the pale light. In a poised sort of way though, Aliyah noted distantly. The complete opposite of how she probably looked and felt; empty and drained, a touch lightheaded.

    ¡°Hmm,¡± Kionah continued. ¡°I knew Healership was coveted, but that¡¯s impressive.¡±

    ¡°Uh, no,¡± Aliyah winced. ¡°Not really. I did almost die. And afterwards, it was difficult. People talked. Thought I was untrustworthy, a thief, having some sort of¡­affair. A lowborn associating with a highborn doesn¡¯t really go unnoticed.¡±

    ¡°No,¡± Kionah agreed. ¡°And your friend, Rana? I assume you explained?¡±

    ¡°It took me a while,¡± she mumbled. ¡°She already knew, sort of, but she was really worried¡ªthat I was being blackmailed, or trading in parts of my organs, or avoiding her on purpose. I told her, eventually. And she never, ever told anyone else.¡± Her eyes stung with unspilled tears. ¡°She¡¯s always been so good at keeping promises, saying the right things, stuff like that. She helped, so much. And I just¡ªI still left, after all that. I gave her anti-haemolytic before I did, not that she knows. Zahir said she should be fine, but I¡ªI¡¯m a terrible friend.¡±

    ¡°No, I don¡¯t think so,¡± Kionah looked at her intently, brow furrowed. ¡°It sounds like you tried your best. I¡¯m sure she will be alright.¡± She glanced away and picked at a splinter at the edge of the luggage chest¡¯s lid. ¡°I know I would not have been so generous in your place.¡±

    ¡°You remind me of her,¡± Aliyah blurted out, then cringed inwardly. Was she really that easy, she thought, or was this just her type: pretty girls showing her the slightest shred of sympathy? ¡°Um. I meant, as in, you¡¯re both good with court stuff. Smart. Smooth-talking. You know.¡±

    ¡°Really?¡± Kionah glanced back up and sighed. ¡°Well, I¡¯m flattered. But I think what you see is just¡­chameleon strategy, see? People like her tend to survive. I simply¡­emulate. I¡¯m sure she¡¯ll be fine.¡±

    ¡°I hope so,¡± Aliyah said. ¡°I really hope so.¡± And then something broke inside of her, an invisible string pulled too tight. The waiting tears spilled out without her say-so. ¡°Hellgods,¡± she hiccuped. ¡°She could be dead and I wouldn¡¯t even know. She could be dead. Right now. Zahir could be dead, too. Half of the fucking sewing circle¡ªgone. I¡­sorry¡ªI¡¯m sorry, I don¡¯t know what¡¯s come over me.¡±

    She swiped at her face with her sleeve. It wasn¡¯t just the sharp-toothed uncertainty of whether Rana had died, was it? It was the line of Magicians on the battlefield, and what they might do to Rana if she lived. It was wondering about those other innocent lowborns, if Nadim and Farzaneh and their charges ever did make it into the shelter of the Library.

    Funny thing¡ªit hadn¡¯t sunk in then, not fully. Not when she¡¯d had to crawl through the dark. Not while trudging for hours and hours through the caverns beneath the Killing Fields. Certainly not while she¡¯d had an arrow through her stomach and a hissing faery at her back. But now that she was a city away¡ªGlister was right there¡ªnow that Shadowsong really was out of reach, now that was the breaking point.

    The burial ground of an unknowable Behemoth-creature seemed as good of a place to have a mental breakdown as any other.

    ¡°They could be dead,¡± she sniffed. ¡°But I¡¯m safe. Why?¡±

    Kionah reached over and patted her lightly on the shoulder. ¡°Easy now,¡± she said. ¡°You don¡¯t know if they¡¯re dead. That¡¯s the ah, worst possible scenario. Not the only one.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s the worst part¡ªnot knowing.¡± She gritted her teeth and scraped blunt nails down the reddening skin of her forearm, the sickening lines of the faery mark.

    ¡°Ah,¡± Kionah said. Then, in the indecisive, coaxing tone of someone talking to a small, injured animal, she said, ¡°come on. Let¡¯s walk, hey? Take your mind off things. We can walk slow and steady to Glister, and we can crash at a friend of mine¡¯s tonight, get a real meal into you. I can take you to Luxon¡¯s to get that mark looked at later.¡±

    ¡°Alright,¡± she said, because what else was there to say? Kionah hadn¡¯t lived her whole life under the shadow of the castle. She had not lived the shame of a failed scion, had not lived the life of a sickly maidservant where the faintest glimmers of kindness shone brighter than sun over salt plain. How could she possibly understand?

    Kionah stood up and stretched. She frowned at the luggage chest when it floated up sluggishly, gave it a little kick. It swayed and sank back down.

    ¡°Ah,¡± Kionah said. ¡°Poor Alhena, how her enchantments did outlive her.¡± She opened the chest and pulled out two travel-packs, filled them swiftly and efficiently with bundled clothing, medicine kits, a knife, pouches of coin. ¡°Let¡¯s carry and go, shall we? Best get moving before the heat sets in. Glister summers can be a real bitch, let me tell you.¡±

    Aliyah made a nondescript, agreeable noise. She shouldered her pack. They left the Behemoth¡¯s skeleton to slumber on in it¡¯s forever-sleep.

    ===

    Glister City did not have a wall encircling its citizens. Instead, roads trickled past lone shacks and loose clusters of cottages before they delved into the thick of the stacks and spires which dominated the landscape.

    Kionah paid a passing farmer a copper coin to let them hitch a ride on the back of his pumpkin cart. They hopped off at a large market corner and Aliyah¡¯s head spun at the onslaught on her senses. Already, the square was filling up with people of all sorts: women with roses garlanding their shoulders, children in coats of sequins that jingled as they walked, a man holding the leash to a pair of iridescent lizard-creatures as long as she was tall¡ªeven a few faeries, out and about. Some faeries walked among the crowd, while others flew overhead. She marveled at how no one seem to pay them any mind.

    Early-morning hawkers called out across the vast square. A busker plucked out a song from atop an upturned crate. From every direction came the clatter of footsteps, the wet sizzle of frying meat. The air was fragrant with spices, heavy and oily and sweet. Kionah grabbed her by the wrist and tugged her into the fray. The soft chill of the valley had dissipated entirely, leaving her smothered under the relentless morning sunshine. She staggered blindly through sweaty, noisy throngs of people buying and selling, hands exchanging coin and packets and bottles, trusting Kionah to lead the way. A whirl of shadows from something passing overhead¡ªshe craned her head back to see. A flock of witches dashed across the skies, all pointed hats and silk ribbons fluttering from the ends of their broomsticks.

    They ducked into a dank alleyway wallpapered with faded notices. She tried to catch her breath without choking on the stench of rotting fruit.

    ¡°Way¡¯s clearer through here,¡± Kionah said, letting go of her arm. ¡°We¡¯ll loop around the main street to a station. Shuttlebus is fastest.¡±

    Kionah led her through a maze of alleyways, through passageways where the sky was blocked out by washing strung overhead. Glister felt so tall; in Shadowsong, only the castle loomed above all else. But in Glister, every structure seemed to claw at the sky, fighting to tower over the rest. Aliyah had spotted the great spires in the distance, but navigating the spaces between so many buildings was something else entirely. People flitted through these alleys too; men carrying packs and parcels, women with watchful eyes perched on doorsteps, girls with knives at their waists. Kionah¡¯s stride was confident, loose and easy. Aliyah stuck close to her side, even so.

    A grubby-looking child careened headfirst into them, yelping as he bumped up against Kionah¡¯s side.

    ¡°Sorry miss,¡± he yelped, taking a scrambling step backwards. He face was smudged with soot and some sort of sticky candy detritus.

    Kionah came to a stop. Her hand shot out and latched around his wrist.

    ¡°Give it back,¡± she said with a voice like ice.

    ¡°Eh? ¡®Scuse me, miss,¡± he stammered. ¡°Could you please let me go? I didn¡¯t mean to knock into you. Honest!¡±

    Kionah¡¯s expression twisted into a scowl. ¡°Release my belt pouch, little varmint,¡± she said. There was a growl at the edge of her voice that Aliyah hadn¡¯t heard before. ¡°Else I¡¯ll black your eye out and send you to the cleavers, y¡¯hear?¡±

    ¡°Oh, crabs!¡± The boy fished Kionah¡¯s pouch from his pockets and waved it into her face. ¡°Here, here! Take it! You looked like moneybags marks, I swear!¡±

    She took her pouch back, hefted it in her hand, and released him. ¡°Get going,¡± she said, clicking her tongue in disgust.

    ¡°Was that¡­?¡± Aliyah asked as they watched the kid scamper off into some other alley. ¡°The pickpocketing, is it common around here?¡±

    ¡°Mm, depends,¡± Kionah said. ¡°I suppose we do make a pair of fine marks. Travel-tired and weighed down with packs and all. They look out for that. Keep your valuables close by. We¡¯ll be heading through a bit of market soon and the little cutters do love crowds.¡±

    ¡°Okay.¡±

    All she had were her nausea-keys and coin pouch. They were in her pockets, and those were securely buttoned. She untucked her shirt and let the low hem cover the openings anyhow, just to be sure. What kind of city was this, where children scampered around like crooks?

    Kionah led her through more alleyways, past trash cans piled high with food-wrappings and the occasional dead rat, through corridors so narrow they had to slip off their packs to edge through sideways. They emerged in a market square through a gap between two storefronts; Kionah grabbed her by the arm before she was swept away by the sheer tide of citygoers.

    Shimmering banners and colourful bunting fluttered overhead, and shopkeeper¡¯s cries warred for her attention. Here was a lady selling fried bready-looking things, and over there was a witch hawking magnificent plumed hats. The air smelled of caramelised syrup at one spot, then of spiced meats at another. Her mouth watered; days of swallowing down mouthfuls of vegetable-broth potion had done something to the part of her brain that craved real food: sugar and fat and salt. A handsome street performer had set up on a corner, juggling several melon-sized gemstones¡ªor at least, coloured glass cut to look like gemstones. All around her, people chattered and called, some in off-continent languages, some in the trade-language, others with hissing, clicking sounds that formed an odd sort of resonant song. When she searched for the sources of that melodious language, she realised that it emerged from the throats of faeries.

    She didn¡¯t know how Kionah did it, slipping through the crowds pressed shoulder-to-shoulder without so much as a glance towards the glittering marvels on show. Twice, Kionah turned her head to glare at a scrappy child walking a little too close. The pickpockets scowled and backed away as soon as they were seen, but Aliyah hadn¡¯t even spotted them until Kionah had moved.

    Kionah pulled her onto a low platform, just as busy as the encircling market. At the far end¡ªwhat looked to be the boarding side¡ªhuge pylons stood under a haze of protective enchantment. Chariot-like compartments, large enough to fit a dozen people in each¡ªshuttlebuses, Kionah had called them¡ªhung from cables as thick as her wrist. The cables sloped down into a huge hole cut out of the earth; half-light glimmered from its depths. People jostled for space at the waiting benches; Kionah steered her over to an empty corner seat half-blocked off by a rusting ticket machine.

    Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.

    ¡°Sit,¡± she said, pointing.

    Aliyah shimmied past the gap and perched on the edge of the seat, knees angled so as to not hit the side of the machine.

    ¡°Rest up for a minute while I unforget how to use these darned things,¡± Kionah said as she handed her a pastry out of nowhere. ¡°Eat. You look like you¡¯re gonna pass out.¡±

    She took the pastry without thinking, didn¡¯t realise anything strange about it until she¡¯d swallowed the first mouthful.

    ¡°Wait. Where did you get this?¡±

    Kionah turned around to punch at the keys of the clanking ticket machine.

    ¡°Just took it,¡± she said as she slotted coins into the collection device. The machine whirred and spat out two squares of shimmering green paper.

    ¡°What? You mean you didn¡¯t pay?¡± Aliyah asked without thinking. Wait¡ªbut of course she hadn¡¯t paid; they hadn¡¯t stopped once on their way here.

    Kionah paused, her fine features contorting rapidly through a series of expressions¡ªconfused, to thoughtful, to alarmed¡ªbefore it smoothed back into its usual detached, almost inscrutable state.

    ¡°Ah,¡± she said. ¡°Don¡¯t let it weigh on your conscience. The vendors in market squares inflate their prices to the stars. But if you don¡¯t want it, I¡¯ll eat it.¡±

    She blinked, tried to recall if she¡¯d seen Kionah swiping it on the way here. She couldn¡¯t, but then again, she¡¯d been busy gaping at processions of lordlings and acrobats and on the lookout for child-pickpockets. Her stomach rumbled; she sighed and bit into the pastry again. It was soft and flaky, flavoured with cream and cinnamon, a dessert that she wouldn¡¯t really be able to afford back in Shadowsong. Was it just her, or did Kionah¡¯s expression seem approving?

    Kionah handed her one of the green squares of paper.

    ¡°We¡¯re taking the Falsewater line,¡± she said. ¡°When you get in there will be an automaton of sorts inside, sitting by the door. Usually, they are fashioned after a creature with sharp teeth. You¡¯ll have to put this into its mouth.¡±

    She gulped down the last of the purloined pastry. ¡°Into its¡­mouth? But¡ª the automaton will have¡­sharp teeth, you said? Does¡ªdoes it have a functioning jaw?¡±

    ¡°Certainly. It cuts down on forgeries.¡± Kionah sounded amused.

    A series of scenarios flashed through her mind, most of them consisting of blood pooling on the floor and screaming fare-dodgers being dragged off the shuttle while the other passengers watched on in horror.

    ¡°You¡¯re joking. Right?¡±

    ¡°Well, maybe a little. It wouldn¡¯t actually bite your hand off. But it would leave a mark. Most people think they¡¯re quite cute, actually.¡±

    She stared at the ticket in her hand¡ªa genuine ticket, that she¡¯d seen Kionah buy from the machine, so there was nothing to worry about, really¡ªand closed her fingers around it. ¡°Right.¡±

    ¡°This way,¡± Kionah said with a quirk of her lip.

    Aliyah slung her pack back over her shoulder and followed her across the platform, over to where a fresh set of shuttlebuses were easing into their docking stations. They lined up to the one with ¡®Falsewater¡¯ stenciled on its side in flaking blue paint. The door dinged as it slid open.

    Kionah stepped on first, nodding to the white-bearded driver before turning to the ticket-automaton. Aliyah watched it from over her shoulder; it was a blunt-nosed, silver-scaled thing, twined around the nearest stanchion. It had chips of yellowed glass for eyes and a worn spot on its chin from years of hands brushing the surface to a smooth sheen. Its jaw ticked slowly open, gear by gear, and she saw that there were indeed teeth in its mouth¡ªslightly blunted at the tips, but teeth nonetheless. Kionah put her ticket inside. A moment after she withdrew her hand, the snake-like automaton swallowed it down. The metallic, muscled coils of its body flexed as it did, unnervingly life-like. The bar raised to let Kionah through. She walked up the aisle, heading for a seat by an open window.

    Aliyah fed her ticket to the automaton and hurried past seats upholstered in hideously clashing colours to where Kionah sat.

    ¡°You made that sound a lot more frightening than it was,¡± she muttered.

    Kionah arched one perfectly tapered eyebrow. ¡°Did I? I thought I said it was cute. Perhaps you filled in the fears for yourself.¡±

    She bit her tongue and slid her pack off to place at her feet. Perhaps so, but could Kionah really blame her for that? She didn¡¯t know Glister like Kionah did. Everything had the potential to be terrifying under the rule of this cobbled domain, its bone-coloured spires blocking out the sun¡ªnot to mention strange children brazenly lifting coins from your person and colourful crowds boiling over with lights and noise. She¡¯d spent most of her time in the castle, after all¡ªsometimes the halls were flush with maids, and sometimes the dining hall was a jumble at breakfast time, but the busiest hours that she¡¯d witnessed in Shadowsong hardly held a candle to this.

    The shuttlebus juddered off, light runes flaring to life throughout its interior as it slid into the dark. The gently-sloping tunnel was nothing but stone and shadow. She turned her gaze to the other passengers: a trio of girls dressed in the same mud-brown uniform, women carrying baskets of groceries, two people having an intense conversation about the price of silk these days. But then Kionah nudged her with her elbow and said, ¡°Look!¡±

    Out past the window, lights glimmered below. Very, very far below. She gripped the edge of her seat, hard enough that her knuckles paled. The shuttlebus was completely safe, right? The other passengers¡ªlocals, she was fairly sure¡ªdidn¡¯t seem concerned. She leaned in to peer past Kionah. They¡¯d descended into an enormous cavern, with walls that shimmered with faint whispers of runelight; vast pillars of rock stood here and there, but the far wall, the opposite boundary of this inhumanly large cavern, was disturbingly far away. Kionah had mentioned this in one of their conversations trekking through the tunnels under the Killing Fields, but she hadn¡¯t really considered the implications of underground apartment towers¡ªuntil now.

    As the shuttlebus rumbled past one of the pillars which cemented the floor and ceiling together, she realised there were homes carved out of them, nooks and crannies with steps and doorways, little circles of yellow light where windows had been hewn out of the stone. If each of those lights down below was a house, and if every single one of the pillars was like this, then that must mean¡ª

    ¡°No way,¡± she muttered. ¡°You could fit all of Shadowsong in here.¡±

    ¡°Probably,¡± Kionah said, ¡°though I don¡¯t think they¡¯d be very happy about it. Pretty cool, don¡¯t you think? This is the biggest pocket, but there are a few more around.¡±

    ¡°What? You¡¯re saying most of the city lives under here?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know about most, but certainly, very many.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t you have to go up and down all the time?¡±

    ¡°For me? I did when I lived here,¡± Kionah said, raising a hand to prop her chin upon. ¡°Not sure about anyone else. But it¡¯s not so difficult; there are more shuttle buses, plenty of stations¡ªor just stairs and ladders, if one has the time and masochism for it.¡±

    ¡°But how¡ªhow do you even know where to go? I¡¯d get lost all the time¡­this is¡­it¡¯s¡­¡±

    It was disgustingly vast, she wanted to say. Not like the Higher Library had been vast. The Library was her only real frame of reference for anything so labyrinthine. Yet it had made sense, that a dimensional horror would have twists and turns enough to hold millions of books, not to mention what Jackal had told her about hills of knives and seas of red grasses. But this place, a real city of brick and mortar, it didn¡¯t seem natural.

    Back in Shadowsong, she¡¯d always kept to the familiar halls of the kingdom castle¡ªmaybe take one well-worn path out to market now and again. But this cavern, this city¡ªit was one big stew of everything, easy to fall in and get lost and to never find your way out again. There were no safe landmarks. If Kionah left her here, she felt as if she would be crushed by the horde.

    The shuttlebus shivered its way downwards, heading for a blank white platform tucked into an alcove formed by a stack of dull, jagged boulders.

    ¡°It¡¯s home,¡± Kionah said with a loose shrug. ¡°Not a great one, but I¡¯ve known it all my life. Haven¡¯t been gone that long, and it¡¯s better than Shadowsong in some respects; I wasn¡¯t tortured here, for one.¡±

    ¡°Then why would you leave?¡± What was the point of risking anything with Alhena if she¡¯d had a good life back here? Aliyah didn¡¯t realise she¡¯d murmured that last part aloud until she caught the look on Kionah¡¯s face.

    It struck her then that she knew next to nothing about Kionah¡¯s past, about her reasons for allying with Alhena, how she¡¯d even won herself the dubious title of a princess¡¯s spymaster in the first place.

    ¡°I didn¡¯t,¡± Kionah said.

    The shuttlebus creaked to a slow stop and a bell dinged. ¡°Crow¡¯s Ear Station,¡± the driver called.

    ¡°Ah, and that¡¯s our stop,¡± Kionah said in the tone of someone firmly finished with a conversation. ¡°Out we go.¡±

    Aliyah reached for her pack and stumbled into the aisle of people filing out, Kionah at her back. They stepped onto the station platform and she was hit with the stench of sharp smoke and damp stone.

    ¡°This way,¡± Kionah said with a jerk of her head. ¡°Shouldn¡¯t be far now.¡±

    Aliyah followed her, almost tripping on rough cobblestones, down quiet streets lit with paper lanterns and bioluminescent blue moss growing in glass jars.

    ¡°Where are we going, exactly?¡± she asked.

    The streets looked as if they were caught in the eerie minutes between the dying blue of twilight and full dark. No colourful pop-up market stations to hawk their wares here¡ªevery now and again, menacing people skulked by: women wrapped in shawls of warding runesign, flint-faced boys perched on windowsills, groups of men with knives and corded muscle bulging from every limb. Kionah paid them no mind, but that didn¡¯t ease the slowly tightening knot in Aliyah¡¯s chest. A fleeting thought occurred to her: there was no guarantee that Kionah would keep her safe.

    ¡°Friend of mine¡¯s,¡± Kionah replied. ¡°A courier. We both need a meal and a hot shower at the very least, and he owes me a favour.¡±

    ¡°Right, right. Um. Is it¡­you know, safe? Down here?¡±

    Kionah gave her a side-eyed once-over. ¡°Sure. I know where I¡¯m going. I don¡¯t fuck with shortcuts. If it¡¯s the foray-men having you looking so nervy, cheer up. They won¡¯t pay the likes of us no mind.¡±

    Aliyah snuck a glance at the clusters of rough-looking men, chatting quietly among themselves in the shadows of alehouses. ¡°Foray-men?¡±

    ¡°Mercenaries. Of a sort. Good at putting holes in heads. Some of them are decent folk, if they¡¯re not after you.¡±

    ¡°Ah¡­are you sure that we should be going this way?¡±

    ¡°Relax,¡± Kionah said. ¡°The people here, they¡¯re here for a hot meal, a cheap bite, kill time and play dice before the next job¡ªthat sort of thing. If you can see them head-on, they¡¯re usually not interested in hurting you. This way, now.¡±

    They turned a corner, and another, cutting through crooked side-streets with words and pictures painted into the surrounding walls, most of which were vulgar in nature. Aliyah tried to avoid looking up; the rock ceiling of the cavern lay what seemed like leagues above, reminding her with dizzying clarity that she was stuck in a hollow bowl scooped out from solid stone¡ªor at least, she hoped it was all solid stone. The idea of it coming crashing down was far worse than the minor vertigo.

    She wondered faintly why she was getting anxious about it now¡ªshe¡¯d already crawled through a tunnel barely wide enough to move in, she¡¯d fought rogue faeries in a forested cavern a little like this, though much, much smaller. Perhaps it was because this hollow was so large¡ªthe dream of a drunken architect¡ªand therefore looked prone to collapsing under the weight of the city above. Or perhaps it was because she wasn¡¯t fighting for life and limb at the moment, that her mind latched onto the stupidest things.

    Kionah led the way through a busier segment of street; still roughly cobbled, but wider, with just enough room for two mage-chariots to pass each other by¡ªnot that there were any, at the moment. Instead, people walked or pushed carts piled high with scrap: dented pans and emptied glass bottles. There were shopfronts here, open shutters on the first floor of tall and narrow buildings with what were probably living quarters stacked on top of them. She saw a butcher¡¯s with a short line of people waiting in front of it, a dusty shoemaker¡¯s with the shutters down.

    Kionah made a beeline for one of the larger shopfronts. The sign overhead looked half-rusted and half-scorched. Aliyah had to squint at it for several moments before she could read it: Whistle House, it was called. A man stood to one side of sage-green double doors carved out in wood and glittering with warding sigils. The back of her neck prickled as she looked him over: muscled arms, dagger at the hip, leaning his back against the wall as he surveyed the people passing along the street. It was the leisurely pose of a man secure in the knowledge that he was able to inflict violence as necessary.

    The man roused as they approached, kicking off the wall and uncrossing his arms. Aliyah tensed as they began to approach striking distance, weary thoughts scrambling for vasodilation even as she wondered if her stash of borrowed magic could take it. But the man simply raised a hand in a lazy wave and grinned at them through a mouthful of crooked teeth.

    ¡°Hey,¡± he said, ¡°Look who¡¯s come crawling back! Old Sadrava¡¯s girl, and with a friend too? They said you pissed off to the other side of the continent.¡±

    ¡°I only wish I went that far,¡± Kionah growled. ¡°Is Shasta in?¡±

    The man shrugged and scratched at his ear; the cartilage was lumpy and deformed there. Aliyah had seen the same type of injury before, usually on older guardsmen. ¡°Think so. But it¡¯s a talking morning; pay up, if you want in. Them¡¯s the rules.¡±

    ¡°Oh, come on. Shasta knows me. I¡¯m visiting, not buying or selling. You know that.¡±

    The man sniffed. ¡°How should I know what you¡¯re planning now, after you ran off to who-knows-where? Sabine said City Watch got you, but most of us know better than to trust a word out of that girl¡¯s mouth. Me, I figure that you¡¯ve got some new loot in those bags of yours and it¡¯s a shame you don¡¯t want to share.¡±

    ¡°Loot? You¡¯re dreaming. The only loot I got was some warden¡¯s shitty shortsword, and he had to be half-dead for me to take it.¡±

    ¡°Well slit my throat and throw me in the river,¡± he whistled.

    ¡°Oh, I will,¡± Kionah said without missing a beat. ¡°With the very same sword, if you like. A spare change of clothes and enough bloody bottles of water to break my back, is all else I have.¡±

    ¡°You want me to believe that you¡¯ve run all that way and back with naught but a silver ingot to your name? Go on, what¡¯s in the bags?¡±

    ¡°Let us through, Ianis, or my friend here¡¯ll have you shitting through the teeth.¡±

    Aliyah cringed inwardly as a spike of alarm flashed through the pit of her stomach; Kionah was bluffing, surely. She¡¯d given her the transfusion of magic not three hours ago; surely she knew it wouldn¡¯t be enough for an actual fight? Her thoughts flitted to the nausea-keys in her pocket. Shitting through the teeth indeed; that was a possible strategy, if it came down to it. She really did hope that Kionah was putting up a front.

    ¡°Silly little waif like her? Not unless she¡¯s a better mage than you, she¡¯s not,¡± the man¡ªIanis¡ªsaid.

    ¡°Let us through and take it up with Shasta later,¡± Kionah huffed. ¡°Or call him down now. Or don¡¯t, and take your chances with my friend.¡±

    Aliyah hoped, fervently, that he would not take the third option.

    ¡°It¡¯s a hard life, being a doorkeeper,¡± he complained. ¡°Wrangling idiots around all day, people screaming and punching you and threatening to cut your balls off. Meanwhile, you get to go skipping off to some foreign country, probably drinking your weight in fruit-liquor, getting a nice tan and a packful of loot¡ªand you won¡¯t even share it with an honest man.¡±

    ¡°Ianis¡­¡± she said, as if she had heard this sort of thing countless times before.

    ¡°Fine, fine,¡± he huffed. ¡°But Shasta¡¯d better give me a look if you end up having dragon parts in there.¡± He pulled the door open and made a mock-bow, complete with a flourishing gesture from his free arm.

    Kionah huffed and rolled her eyes as she swept past.

    ¡°Th-thanks,¡± Aliyah said to the doorkeeper, and followed.

 2.2 - Birds of a Feather

    Aliyah

    The scent of old leather and hot, peppery tea hit her in the face, capped off with a fine mist of astringent smoke. Whispers, all around, the clinking of cups, a fleeting glance or two. Kionah forged her way through the low-lit room and Aliyah trailed in her wake. The curtains of Whistle House were heavy and velvet, emerald green and firmly shut; she spotted silvery runes darting over the fabric. They picked their way past low tea-tables, many of them occupied by groups of foray-men deep in hushed conversation.

    Figures reclined and smoked on cigar divans lining the walls. She wrinkled her nose, eyes watering slightly as they passed through a particularly thick cloud of bitter smoke. And though this smoke was grey and not blue, some shared aspect of its scent made the image of Magician Cardainne flash through her mind. It was chased by a ghost-impression of soft panic under golden lights. The memory of the vast waiting hall, nothing like this. Nothing like this at all.

    They were most of the way down the hall when someone¡ªa tall, red-haired young woman¡ªarose from her seat of cushions and strode over to them, lilac skirts swishing conspicuously.

    ¡°Kion! Is that you? I am so glad to see you; Sabine said you died!¡±

    Kionah turned her head just slightly before glancing away, cool and stiff. ¡°Yes. I am clearly dead. This is a knife-spirit piloting my corpse.¡± She started to walk faster.

    ¡°Oh, come off it,¡± the red-haired girl huffed, adjusting her stride. ¡°Where¡¯ve you been?¡±

    ¡°Away.¡±

    ¡°What is away supposed to mean? Coast, continent? A little clue would be nice.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m here to speak to Shasta. Not you.¡± Kionah reached the door at the back of the tea hall and rapped at it sharply. Runes surfaced on the weathered wood and bounced off her fingertips before sinking back into quiescence. She stepped back, crossed her arms, and waited.

    The girl scowled as her eyes flitted over to Aliyah. ¡°Oh, and who¡¯s this?¡±

    ¡°Travel companion.¡±

    ¡°Care to introduce us?¡±

    ¡°No.¡±

    ¡°What¡¯re in those packs of yours?¡±

    ¡°Go ask Ianis.¡±

    ¡°Oh come on, Kion, I just¡ª¡±

    Kionah twitched visibly. ¡°Stop calling me that.¡±

    The door swung open and outwards, almost hitting Aliyah in the shoulder. She took a stumbling step back and stared at the man who emerged.

    The top of his head brushed up against the door frame. He was handsome, in a rough-cut sort of way: old scars, silvered with age, criss-crossed the bronzed skin of his arms and shoulders. The little gold hoops hooked through his ears reminded her of Jackal¡ªand wasn¡¯t that an unfortunate paper chain of memories to dwell upon at the moment. She tore her thoughts away from her slow-rising distress as he spoke.

    ¡°What pair of cats have decided to argue on my doorstep today?¡±

    ¡°Hello,¡± Kionah said with no vocal inflection whatsoever.

    The man blinked. ¡°Kionah?¡± he asked, with an astonished lilt at the end.

    ¡°No, I am a figment of your imagination. You are hallucinating,¡± Kionah snapped. ¡°Of course it¡¯s me, dipshit. Let me through.¡±

    ¡°Good to see that no one has harmed your tongue,¡± he said. ¡°What happened? And who is this?¡± he asked, glancing at Aliyah.

    ¡°Aliyah, meet Shasta. Shasta¡ªAliyah. Tell you about the rest of it upstairs,¡± Kionah said. ¡°Could you ask Maia to kindly piss off?¡±

    The girl¡ªMaia¡ªflushed almost as red as her hair, crossing her arms under her chest. ¡°I don¡¯t know what¡¯s gotten into you, Kion. I just wanted a friendly chat, ask you how you¡¯ve been, and you treat me like this? Unbelievable!¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± Kionah said. ¡°That¡¯s right, it¡¯s despicably rude of me. Almost as rude as when I walked in on you and Rhoswen fucking on my couch.¡±

    ¡°Enough,¡± Shasta cut in. ¡°No fights under my roof. Kionah, Miss Wickteseret¡ªboth of you, take your business with each other elsewhere.¡±

    Maia glowered and gave a little toss of her head. ¡°Are you kicking me out? The Twilight Mermaid won¡¯t send another liaison.¡±

    ¡°Your paltry little sisterhood would hardly be a loss,¡± Aliyah heard Kionah mutter, just on the edge of hearing.

    ¡°No. I am not kicking you out.¡± Shasta paused and sighed, scratching the back of his head with one hand. ¡°But don¡¯t go making trouble. I will send you two the cleaning fee if you choose to stab one another within these walls. Run on up ahead, Kionah. And your companion¡ªAliyah, yes?¡ªyou too.¡±

    They clattered up the stairs as Shasta stayed back, leaning down to say something to Maia. Aliyah turned back to Kionah, who was scowling fiercely.

    ¡°We have a¡­history,¡± Kionah said, catching her questioning glance. ¡°She¡¯s an illusionist, though not a very creative one. Second in command to her silly little posse, much as it shocks me. Also my¡­well, let¡¯s say, she is a bygone companion.¡±

    ¡°I¡­see,¡± Aliyah said, and nothing more. It did not seem wise to add further comment to the situation.

    ¡°In here,¡± Kionah said, opening one of two doors at the landing.

    She wandered in after Kionah, down a short hallway. The sound of something four-legged pattering heavily up the hallway¡ªand then a blur of powder-blue fur and dark feather and bright scale was twining around their legs.

    Aliyah yelped. Whatever it was, it was about the height of a small goat and a few hands longer. The impression of a long, wagging tail brushed against her knee.

    Kionah reached down and patted the creature on its sleek, pointed head. ¡°Aww, you missed me,¡± she cooed, sounding as fond as Aliyah had ever heard her sound.

    ¡°What the¡ªwhat is that? Some kind of dog?¡±

    ¡°This is just Mutt. I do believe he is a chimera of some sort. Shasta found him as a puppy, going through the trash. He doesn¡¯t bite.¡±

    ¡®Mutt¡¯ certainly did look like a mutt. Parts of his ears and snout were vaguely rodent-like, but he also had soft front paws, like a cat¡¯s¡ªperhaps sheathed claws, too? Aliyah couldn¡¯t tell¡ªand a crest of feathers around his neck and the tip of his tail. Not to mention, scattered patches of iridescent scales and carnivorous-looking teeth visible in his mouth. The conglomeration of animal parts was offset by a pair of large, dewy eyes. His tongue lolled out as he panted in what was probably a cheerful manner. Aliyah edged away from him as he sniffed at the back of her knee.

    ¡°Uh¡­he¡¯s¡­he certainly looks unusual. But perfectly friendly, I¡¯m sure.¡±

    ¡°Not fond of animals? We can hole up in the kitchen, then¡ªhe¡¯s trained, won¡¯t follow us in there. And I¡¯m dying for a hot drink.¡±

    Kionah pushed on a nearby door. The kitchen was tiled entirely in glossy white and cool blue, each square slab painted with intricate patterns, motifs of flower and willow leaf. The sink was piled high with dirtied plates. A dining area had been set up in the middle of the room: four wooden chairs with saffron-coloured blankets draped over the backs, a matching rectangular table holding some half-full cups, a bowl of oranges, and a¡ª

    If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.

    A weapon.

    Time seemed to slow as Aliyah stared at the thing on the table. Dark and sleek and pointed in places, with sleek casing around the barrel and a holder for spellfire projectiles. It sat there, solid and gleaming and ugly, next to the cheery bowl of oranges and the cracked ceramic teacups. A basketful of long, pointed capsules sat next to it¡ªprojectiles to be loaded, each of them brass-plated and almost as long as her forearm, shining under the warm lamplight.

    This didn¡¯t feel real. This looked like a kitschy old grandmother¡¯s kitchen, like someone¡¯s cosy apartment. It was like seeing a corpse in a flower field. Her senses screeched danger.

    She wrapped the sequence for vasodilation tightly around her fist. ¡°Kionah,¡± she said. ¡°What is that¡ª¡±

    Shasta stepped into the kitchen, blocking the doorway. ¡°Kionah? Why¡¯re you in here?¡±

    Aliyah shrieked, and took a step back. Her arm jerked up, fingers splayed out in a half-warding gesture.

    Kionah¡¯s gaze snapped over, locked on to the movement. ¡°No, no, calm down,¡± she said. ¡°Aliyah, please, it¡¯s¡ª¡±

    ¡°What is that thing doing in here?¡± she demanded.

    She wasn¡¯t a fool. The weapon that lay on the kitchen table wasn¡¯t just an item of dueling or of self-defense. It was for puncturing shields, walls, bodies. A memory unspooled in her mind, a little fuzzy with age, but still lucid enough to picture: Zahir flipping through the pages of a dusty book and pointing out the line drawings of various weapons within.

    ¡°This one is a flintlock,¡± he¡¯d said. ¡°No need to worry about them unless you have a particularly old-fashioned assassin after you. Anyone with a half-decent shield can deflect bullets. But on the other end of the scale¡ª¡± And here, he flipped to a different portion of the book, marked by a tattered scrap of ribbon. ¡°People do invent the most ingenious things. Worse than curses, some of them. I think, and hope, that you will never encounter one of these. Not much you can do if the victim is hit head on. But here, these are the steps that we tend to try anyway¡­¡±

    At the time, she hadn¡¯t understood. She had thought it was just Zahir being Zahir, happy to pass on knowledge from another esoteric, if morbid, corner of his book collection. She had buried the silhouettes of those incomprehensible designs into the loam of bygone memory. They resurfaced now, shivery and twitching. Icy fingers of fear gripped her throat, lungs, stomach.

    ¡°Kionah,¡± Shasta said. There was a note of irritation in his voice, and the vaguely annoyed expression he¡¯d held earlier was back. ¡°I thought you¡¯d have the courtesy to not drag unsuspecting little greenhorns into my home.¡±

    ¡°I didn¡¯t think it¡¯d be a problem,¡± Kionah snapped, putting a hand to her forehead. ¡°I was just going to ask to crash for a night, borrow your shower and your stovetop. But of-fucking-course you had to leave the ridiculous shit lying around.¡±

    ¡°It was from a meeting,¡± he said, arching an eyebrow¡ªan eyebrow bisected by a thin, white scar. All of a sudden, the other scars over his skin swam into focus. Slashing scars, the type inflicted by swords and other sharp blades. Too many scars for a¡ªwhat had Kionah said earlier?

    ¡°You¡¯re not a courier, are you,¡± Aliyah said slowly, not really a question at all.

    He blinked, looking almost affronted. ¡°Of course I¡¯m a courier.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t¡ªdon¡¯t lie to me,¡± Aliyah said. She couldn¡¯t quite tame the quiver in her voice. She whipped her gaze over to Kionah. ¡°None of this is normal. What¡¯s really going on?¡±

    Kionah sighed. ¡°He¡¯s a friend. Who happens to be a¡­I suppose you would call it a ¡®gunrunner¡¯.¡±

    Shasta sniffed. ¡°Actually, my ship¡¯s busted at the moment. I¡¯ve since diversified.¡±

    ¡°Oh? Into what?¡± Kionah asked.

    ¡°I¡¯d rather not discuss that in front of present company.¡±

    ¡°No? Then why leave ten pounds of hollow-point bullshit in front of all the guests?¡± Kionah snapped.

    ¡°I didn¡¯t realise you¡¯d be visiting,¡± he said tetchily. ¡°Trust you to disappear off the face of the map and then show up without so much as a calling card. And that old thing¡ªwell, it¡¯s not mine. Like I said: a meeting. Just holding onto it for a friend. You know how it is.¡±

    Aliyah swallowed. They were so casual about it. The menacing figures on the streets, the muscled doorkeeper at the entrance¡ªit made much more sense now. She turned her gaze to Kionah. ¡°If he¡¯s a gunrunner, then what are you? Are you¡ª¡± Spymaster, survivor, her mind offered. A memory of Princess Alhena¡¯s body bleeding out into the salt. ¡°Are you an assassin?¡±

    ¡°No,¡± Kionah said flatly. ¡°Absolutely not.¡±

    Shasta smirked, then. ¡°You going tell her, or shall I?¡±

    Kionah shrugged, an artful little toss of the shoulder. ¡°I am not a murderer. I got rich ladies drunk and robbed them afterwards. Very ethical, very lucrative.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t sugar-coat it, sweetheart.¡± Shasta laughed, teeth flashing. ¡°You were a cut-purse and a whore.¡±

    Kionah scoffed without heat. ¡°Shut it, scum-brains. You have less dignity than your mother has teeth.¡±

    He frowned. ¡°You sleep with married women for money.¡±

    ¡°And you do it for free.¡±

    ¡°If you¡¯re quite finished trying to one-up me in front of your little friend here¡ª¡±

    ¡°You are being deliberately insufferable.¡±

    ¡°Me? Insufferable?¡± His frown deepened into a scowl. ¡°Have you any idea how much of a thorn in my side Miss Wickteseret has been for the last, oh, entire year or so, always asking after where you are? As if you would have had the decency to tell me your destination.¡±

    ¡°Decency?¡± Kionah bristled. ¡°As if I owe you knowledge of my whereabouts. Besides, I was leaving in a hurry.¡±

    ¡°That desperate to get away from her, eh? Can¡¯t say I blame you.¡±

    ¡°Oh, so you¡¯re going there, are you?¡± Kionah asked, narrowing her eyes.

    Aliyah felt that the conversation was quickly getting away from her, unspooling into a tangle of loose threads. ¡°Excuse me,¡± she broke in, voice faltering as they both turned to look at her. ¡°But what¡¯s really going on? This isn¡¯t a teahouse, is it?¡±

    ¡°Well,¡± Shasta began.

    ¡°Of course it¡¯s a teahouse,¡± Kionah said, crossing her arms. ¡°It serves tea. It¡¯s sometimes a meeting place, a drop-off point and suchlike. But you¡¯ve nothing to fear from us, I promise. Aren¡¯t you tired? I am. I want a soft bed and a hot meal, and this is the only free place we¡¯re going to get in the whole damn city.¡±

    Aliyah hesitated. She did want to rest. They had been walking all night, and the pack weighed heavily on her shoulders. ¡°¡­Okay,¡± she said. ¡°Okay. Please take that¡­thing¡­away, though.¡±

    ¡°You want me to let you stay here for free?¡± Shasta broke in indignantly. ¡°I need that room. Got a client coming tomorrow with casings and¡ª¡±

    ¡°Let us crash for one night. You owe me that, at least,¡± Kionah said. ¡°Or have you forgotten the time with the box of bone-knives and the¡ª¡±

    ¡°Alright, alright!¡± He said, raising his hands in a placating gesture. ¡°Take the damn guest room. Don¡¯t blame me if your squeamish friend can¡¯t sleep. Speaking of which, why is she here?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m¡ª¡± Aliyah began, not fully sure of what to say.

    ¡°Shower first,¡± Kionah interrupted. ¡°I¡¯m sick to death of refreshening spells.¡±

    ¡°Refreshenings? What king did you ransom to buy those?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll tell you the whole sordid tale, in exchange for¡­lunch? Is it lunch yet? I do believe we skipped breakfast.¡±

    ¡°You drive a hard bargain,¡± Shasta said, shaking his head. ¡°Alright. Run along, then.¡±

    Kionah nudged her out of the room and down the hall. Shasta¡¯s pet mutt-creature trotted into the guest room after them.

    ¡°Shoo,¡± Kionah said, waving her hand.

    Mutt flopped onto the carpet and whined.

    ¡°Oh, suit yourself, you insolent creature.¡± She peered through an adjacent door. ¡°Hmm. I¡¯ll use the shower first, but I won¡¯t be long. And I¡¯ll leave some hot water for you. Calm down and unpack. Give Mutt some attention or something.¡±

    ¡°Okay,¡± Aliyah said numbly. She sat on the edge of one of the beds and dropped her pack at her feet as Kionah shut the door and the shower began to hiss. Mutt trotted over, tail wagging. Hesitantly, she petted the top of his short-furred head.

    Life as a castle maid hadn¡¯t had much in the way of animal interaction. She thought of Rana¡¯s rats, of the caged songbirds at market, of the occasional necropsy. Distantly, she heard Kionah humming through the wall.

    Mutt butted his head against her stilled hand once more, and she obliged with a tentative scratch. There had been pets in the crowd on their way here, back up above, hadn¡¯t there? They¡¯d walked past a cart laden high with goldfish at some point. Glister unnerved her¡ªancient and new in equal parts, bursting to the seams with colour and yet, she still saw patches of normality here and there. Shasta¡¯s chimera-pet was a bit like that: odd in that it formed something alien from recognisable parts. At least he was friendly. She doubted the city would be so.

    She withdrew her hand to scratch at the faery-mark on her arm. Stark, even lines, like it had been painted on with a straight-tipped brush. Rana had shown her a new brush kit, once. She had let her try out all of the coloured inks and¡ª

    No. She did not want to remember that right now.

    The skin around the lines itched, but she dared not try to fix it. Still running on borrowed magic. She reached down to pet Mutt again.

    Kionah emerged from the bathroom, wrapped in two enormous white towels and a small cloud of citrus-scented steam. Her glasses perched at the end of her nose, lenses somehow not fogged-up. Mutt leapt to his feet and went to circle her legs.

    ¡°Yours now,¡± she said. ¡°I¡¯ll be in the kitchen by the time you¡¯re done.¡±

    Aliyah grabbed a fresh set of clothes, each item tightly rolled up¡ªhow had Kionah packed them so quickly and so well?¡ªand went into the bathroom. She locked the door behind her, tested the handle¡ªonce, twice. Satisfied, she twisted the hot tap and checked the water spray with the palm of her hand; it was already heated. Far too hot, actually; was Kionah partial to parboiling herself? She winced and nudged the cold tap with her finger before stripping off her spellfire-charred clothing.

    The ragged arrow-hole left in her shirt was not large¡ªonly as wide as the first joint of her thumb¡ªbut it made her shiver to look at. The hole burnt through her right sleeve, well¡­that one stirred up a fresh mixture of anger and fear. But slightly more anger than fear, on account of the constant, dull itching.

    She stepped into the cubicle and tried to half-heartedly scrub the mark off her arm with a dollop of lemon-scented soap. It didn¡¯t work, of course. But the hot spray did melt away some of the ache in her muscles. She lathered up her hair, relaxed into the soft glide of suds over her hands. Presently, the water started to run cold. She dried herself off with a towel far larger than any she had washed or mended back in Shadowsong and dressed herself in the fresh clothing, an exact copy of her traveling outfit. Coin pouch, nausea-keys¡ªaccounted for.

    She realised, with an unpleasant jolt, that they were the only real remnants of Shadowsong she had left.

 2.3 - Friend or Foe

    Aliyah

    True to her word, Kionah was waiting in the kitchen. Her hair was loose, still wet. She¡¯d changed into a rough-spun dress the colour of ripe apricots and her hands were cupped around a mug of softly-steaming tea.

    ¡­Pretty, Aliyah thought warily, but in a different way now. All that softness hiding knives.

    The table held only the bowl of oranges and a fresh teapot and cups now: the weapon had been cleared away. Shasta was frying eggs on the stovetop. Aliyah edged into the room and sat down, eyes roving over the cupboard and the coolbox and the lamp shining softly overhead. No immediate signs of danger. The kitchen looked so cosy for something that nestled over a den of¡ªsmugglers? Thieves? Assorted people, but criminals all the same.

    ¡°Kionah,¡± Shasta said, cracking a third egg into the pan. ¡°I recall you saying that Aliyah here is in fact, not your mysterious benefactor.¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± Kionah said, taking a slow sip of her tea. ¡°Mysterious benefactor was a princess. She¡¯s dead now.¡±

    ¡°I really cannot tell if you are being serious,¡± Shasta said without turning around. He flipped one of the eggs over. On the other side of the kitchen, a shining brass contraption dinged, and the starchy scent of freshly-cooked rice wafted over.

    ¡°I am completely serious. Alhena of Shadowsong took a liking to me on her last summer¡¯s leave and offered me a contract. Aliyah, would you like some tea?¡±

    ¡°Yes, thank you. Um, but¡ª¡± She hesitated. ¡°Wait, but what¡ªhow? With Alhena? I had always heard she served as a, what¡¯s the word, a diplomat? No offense meant, but¡­if you lived down here and¡­robbed people, then how did you even get to her?¡±

    Kionah shot her an arch look as she reached for the teapot and poured her a cupful. ¡°Oh, I got to her the usual way, with a backless dress and a false smile. Even diplomats frequent houses of grey repute.¡± She snickered into her own mug. ¡°I don¡¯t know what you¡¯ve heard about her as the beloved Penumbral Harpist, but¡ª¡±

    ¡°I thought you¡¯d left the Lily House?¡± Shasta broke in.

    ¡°Mm, I returned for a short while after certain circumstances made it so. Maia¡ªanyhow. There was a function of sorts. A smile and fluted drink in each hand,¡± Kionah said, snapping her fingers. ¡°That easy, or¡ªthat unlucky, in retrospect. Perhaps she was just looking for anyone with a half-pretty face and a working pair of ears. Though I like to think that my skill with the knife charmed her.¡±

    Skill with the knife indeed, Aliyah thought, remembering that flash of shortsword in the faery tunnels. If she pictured a knife in Kionah¡¯s hand, sleek blade twirling through quick fingers¡ªyeah, she could understand the appeal. Maybe the former princess had anticipated needing the help, or maybe she¡¯d had a thing for danger. Aliyah didn¡¯t exactly relate, but she did understand.

    ¡°Unlucky?¡± Shasta asked, bringing the eggs over to the table. ¡°For her, you mean? Why is this so-called princess dead?¡± He dipped away to fetch plates, cutlery, the pot of rice from the cooking contraption in the corner.

    ¡°Executed for treason.¡±

    Shasta frowned, his brow furrowing as he slid the plates in front of them. ¡°You¡¯ve lost me. Start from the beginning.¡±

    Kionah sighed and began speaking of how she had been asked to accompany Alhena back to Shadowsong in exchange for several handsome sums, of being told to ingratiate herself into the court and to keep an ear out for particular news about the Magicians.

    Aliyah¡¯s attention lapsed as Shasta served her a portion of rice, flecked with finely-chopped herbs and pieces of some other, unidentifiable grain. The egg was noticeably larger than those back in Shadowsong, cooked such that the yolk was still half-liquid. She devoured the meal, listening with half her attention on how Kionah described the Magicians and their politics between hasty bites of the food. Was this Glister cuisine, then? It wasn¡¯t half-bad.

    ¡°And the thing is,¡± Kionah said, ¡°the Magician prince was bad news. A new participant in court with a lot of power and frankly, quite awful ideas. Their battle strategy shifted to one of preemptive strike. Alhena did not wish to risk them draining half the castle dry to root out what they would consider invaders. Eventually, she found out about the gemstone mining and assumed¡ªneedless to say she was right¡ªthat the Hive would retaliate if disturbed.¡±

    ¡°Not like our Glister friends, I¡¯m guessing.¡±

    ¡°No, no alliance at all. Neither party knew the other existed.¡±

    He whistled softly under his breath. ¡°Didn¡¯t know the old kingdoms held with such crazy ideas. And Aliyah, was it? Where do you come in?¡±

    ¡°I, uh. My mentor¡ª¡± And at that, she choked up. Ships spiraling out of the sky, she thought as the words stuck in her throat¡ªships trailing tails of black smoke, and red sails burning. ¡°¡ªmy mentor. He, uh, arranged things so that I¡¯d go with Kionah.¡±

    Kionah shot her what was probably a pitying look. ¡°Yes. I would hardly have survived, otherwise.¡±

    Shasta drummed his fingers over the tabletop. ¡°So, Aliyah, what do you do? Not of our ilk, yet you came all this way. Curious.¡±

    ¡°It wasn¡¯t like she knew,¡± Kionah said before she could answer. ¡°And she¡¯s a Healer.¡±

    She froze, and denial sprang up onto her tongue mere heartbeats later. ¡°No, I¡¯m not. I¡¯m definitely not.¡±

    Shasta blinked, leaned back, sipped his tea. ¡°Well, which is it?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not one,¡± Aliyah said. ¡°Really. I wasn¡¯t even a real apprentice. I can¡¯t do anything impressive.¡±

    ¡°Healers aren¡¯t that impressive by nature,¡± Shasta said dryly.

    ¡°Shasta, you don¡¯t understand,¡± Kionah broke in, shaking her head. ¡°Shadowsong¡¯s Healers are different, not just jumped-up apothecaries. The stories are true¡ªmostly. They don¡¯t just do herbs and poultices and the occasional wake-up spell; they can heal things¡ªreally heal. They move flesh, make illnesses disappear in an instant. Though, they only cater to the royals and the highborns. I didn¡¯t believe it until I saw it myself.¡±

    ¡°Now that¡¯s a little more interesting,¡± Shasta said, raising a brow. ¡°Kionah, are you sure that didn¡¯t hit your head on the way in?¡±

    Kionah lifted her chin and bristled visibly. ¡°What about that is so unbelievable to you?¡±

    ¡°Oy, I might not be an Academy brat, but I still have common sense.¡± He tapped the side of his head. ¡°If these so-called Healers in your mysterious kingdom have learned these storytale abilities, then what¡¯s stopping any harebrained scholar from doing the same? We¡¯d have hordes of them running around by now, little brats slinging spells for blood clots and heart-stops. Goddess knows the territory would be a bigger beast than it is now.¡±

    ¡°Look, no one knows, okay? Shadowsong does have a Library, though¡ªa huge one, a proper one by all accounts. Or more likely, it¡¯s the Magicians; they certainly have a tight grip on the kingdom.¡±

    Aliyah felt sick. Library. Magicians. Neither of those words brought good memories to mind.

    ¡°Well, Aliyah?¡± Kionah continued. ¡°Did Saar-Salai ever use a spell on you to unlock your Healing powers? Ancient ancestral artefact, maybe?¡±

    ¡°No,¡± she said, and felt herself tremble ever-so-slightly. ¡°No, the only thing I did to learn was read books and practice and almost die in the Higher Library and¡ªI¡¯ve already told you this. I don¡¯t want to talk about it.¡±

    ¡°Ah,¡± Kionah said quietly. ¡°I apologise.¡±

    Aliyah reached for her lukewarm tea and gulped it down, barely tasting it. ¡°I¡¯m not a real Healer, and I don¡¯t know any more than you do.¡±

    ¡°What can you do?¡± Shasta asked.

    ¡°Nothing, right now, except keep myself together.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯ve been through a lot on our way here,¡± Kionah said. ¡°Got attacked by faeries. I had to lend her some extra magic.¡±

    ¡°You lent her magic,¡± Shasta said, shooting Kionah an incomprehensible look. ¡°Really?¡±

    Kionah scowled. ¡°It was an emergency.¡±

    ¡°Curious,¡± Shasta said. ¡°I am very interested to see what you can do once you¡¯ve recovered, Aliyah. So, Kionah. What did you get out of it in the end?¡±

    ¡°I got tortured,¡± she scowled. ¡°Oh, and I got away with the equivalent of ten thousand Glister coppers, but all in all, it wasn¡¯t worth it.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re looking remarkably well for someone who¡¯s been tortured,¡± Shasta mused.

    ¡°Healers,¡± Kionah said by way of explanation. She scraped up the remaining rice on her plate. ¡°Felt like I was going to die, swear on the old man¡¯s grave.¡±

    ¡°Well now I¡¯m really curious,¡± he mused. ¡°You said you lent Aliyah some magic?¡±

    Kionah looked up suspiciously, halfway through shoveling the last spoonful into her mouth. ¡°¡­Yes? And?¡±

    ¡°Could you lend her a little more? Just enough for the sake of a demonstration.¡±

    ¡°Hell no,¡± said Kionah. ¡°I¡¯m dead on my feet. I¡¯m planning to¡ªhm. Pass out first, wake at dawn, grab coffee, check up on my old haunts. Ugh, and I really need some new lenses. If you¡¯re so curious, you do it yourself.¡±

    ¡°Consider it if I offer to pay for the coffee?¡±

    ¡°No.¡±

    ¡°Hm,¡± he said, glancing back over. ¡°So, Aliyah. How much magic would you need to perform a little miracle?¡±

    ¡°You haven¡¯t even asked me if I¡¯d agree,¡± Aliyah said, clenching her jaw. ¡°I¡¯m not some wind-up toy.¡±

    Shasta winced and scratched at his chin. ¡°Sorry about that; the way Kionah¡¯s described it though, it does sound fascinating. Do understand, this is new magic to me. Some high claims indeed. So I¡¯m skeptical. I would compensate you a small sum for a demonstration, if that would suit you.¡±

    ¡°Just the loaned magic is fine,¡± Aliyah said as her attention drifted to the itch on her arm. ¡°¡­I¡¯ve been meaning to try something, anyway.¡±

    ¡°Of course,¡± Shasta said, holding out his hand. ¡°Say so when it¡¯s enough.¡±

    She reached out, laid her palm over his, and braced herself as the magic started to flow.

    Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.

    It felt odd. Not unpleasant, but odd. If Kionah¡¯s magic was floral light and honey-plain, then Shasta¡¯s was like a red-gold layer of cast-off leaves encasing a fluid core of salted water. It flowed sluggishly up her arm; there was no prickle, no discomfort. The magic felt less cultivated, less potent overall¡ªfar more dissonant. But enough.

    ¡°That¡¯s all I need,¡± she said, flexing her fingers as she pulled away. She raised her right arm and rolled the sleeve up so that the faery-mark was visible. ¡°Watch here.¡±

    She used the magic to outline a patch over her skin, bordering the mark with a small margin to spare. Applied numbing. Then, she stripped the skin down to the hypodermis. The extraneous cells burst and shriveled. They sloughed aside to almost nothing, revealing not-quite raw flesh beneath.

    Shasta jerked back as if stung; Kionah gave a little half-scream before leaning closer to look at the wound. Shasta stared for a moment, before following suit.

    It did look rather unpleasant, she admitted to herself. But at least she had determined that the faery-mark didn¡¯t go more than skin deep. She bit her lip in concentration and healed it; capillaries reconnected and fresh cells budded in seamlessly, so as to not leave a scar. Blood-bone-slurry headache nudged at her temples; this was detail work, at which she¡¯d never been highly proficient. But the area was small enough, and she pulled through. The skin healed over clean and smooth, as if it had not been touched at all¡ª

    But wait. What the¡ª

    The faery-mark was fading back into existence, grey lines darkening into black, settling back to exactly where it had been before. She scanned through the cells of her skin, sending a fine dragnet of magic through the area, hunting for any change in biochemical composition, any inky pigment that she could purge. But no¡ªit was just embedded magic, and most of it undetectable at that.

    Aliyah swore under her breath. Of course it wasn¡¯t going to be that easy.

    ¡°Ah,¡± Kionah said. ¡°Impressive. And unfortunate.¡±

    ¡°Interesting,¡± Shasta said, staring at her arm. ¡°Though it could be an illusion.¡±

    ¡°Oh knock it off,¡± Kionah said. ¡°I cut my hand open and she fixed it. It¡¯s real.¡±

    ¡°So you say. Aliyah, would you object if I nick my hand a little to experience this for myself?¡±

    Aliyah blinked down at the faery-mark, which was once again beginning to itch. She wondered if pouring more numbness towards it was wise, whether it would help at all.

    ¡°Sure,¡± she said, discreetly brushing small scatterings of dead skin onto the floor. ¡°Why not? Please make it a small one, though.¡±

    Shasta held up a finger and furrowed his brow in concentration; silver spell-fire licked up the side of one finger and hardened into the shape of a blade. The glow faded, and suddenly there was what looked like a real knife in his grasp. He drew the conjured blade over the back of his hand and opened a shallow cut without so much as a wince of discomfort.

    ¡°Here,¡± he said.

    She pressed her fingers to the side of the cut and sealed it shut. That burnt through the rest of the magic she¡¯d borrowed from him, and a little of Kionah¡¯s too. Oh, well. She was too busy feeling sullen about the faery-mark to care.

    Shasta took his hand back and ran a fingertip over where the scratch used to be, as if expecting the skin to reopen. Then he dug a circular cut-out of thickened glass from his pocket, about the size of his palm. The edge was etched with engravings¡ªrunes? Or runes in a different language?¡ªthat seemed to squirm and wriggle the harder she tried to focus on them. He held the makeshift lens up to his eye and peered at the spot on his palm. He frowned, then whistled, soft and slow.

    ¡°Told you so,¡± Kionah said, leaning back and crossing her arms.

    Shasta frowned, touched the back of his hand once more, and looked up. ¡°Aliyah,¡± he said slowly, ¡°I¡¯d like to offer you a job.¡±

    Aliyah simply stared as she turned his words over in her head. This¡­part-teahouse proprietor, part-gunrunner, he was asking her to help him? Join him?

    ¡°¡­Excuse me?¡± she asked, mouth going dry.

    ¡°A job,¡± Shasta repeated. ¡°I would buy your loyalty.¡±

    ¡°What?¡± she asked, letting her disbelief bleed into her tone. The hard-edged silhouette of the weapon on the kitchen table blazed to the forefront of her mind. ¡°No? You don¡¯t even know if I¡¯m capable of anything useful. I¡¯m not going to join your¡ªyour drug den, or smuggling ring, or whatever it is.¡±

    ¡°Not join. Assist.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s the same thing. Look, I¡ªI don¡¯t know who you are, I don¡¯t know what you do, what you¡¯re planning¡ª¡±

    ¡°Give it consideration, Aliyah. Do you have other ties in the city?¡± he asked, with a far-too-knowing look on his face. ¡°I didn¡¯t think so. We don¡¯t get much by way of Shadowsong.¡±

    ¡°Hold on just a second,¡± Kionah interrupted. ¡°You don¡¯t get first dibs the moment you change your mind.¡±

    ¡°Dear Kion, you¡¯ve known me for long enough. Why would you tell me the truth and not expect me to offer?¡±

    ¡°I was hoping that we could work together and¡ª¡±

    Work together? Aliyah noted with a spike of alarm.

    ¡°Hey now,¡± Shasta interrupted. ¡°If you were hoping to lay claim to your companion and use her as a proxy to bargain for aid, you¡¯re sorely mistaken. What do you have to offer her? You¡¯ve barely more than a hundred crests to your name; you said so yourself. Think that¡¯ll last you very long?¡± He sighed and shook his head, the very picture of mock-remorse. ¡°Aliyah, it seems to me that Kionah is working under the delusion that she owns you and your particular skill-set.¡±

    Kionah bared her teeth in the approximation of a smile. ¡°Shut it.¡± She turned to Aliyah. ¡°He¡¯s all talk. Money alone won¡¯t buy you safety.¡±

    ¡°Money and a few forayers might,¡± Shasta said. ¡°We have real protection at hand if we need it. Kionah, though¡­¡± He made a half-playful gesture, tilting his hand back and forth.

    Kionah snarled something uncomplimentary-sounding under her breath.

    Aliyah froze, heart pounding with alarm as she glanced between the two. They didn¡¯t sound aggressive, exactly, but there was something about this that she didn¡¯t like. She looked past the kindness shown, the food and magic given, the synchronous physical attractiveness acting as a social cushioning, of sorts.

    Shasta was a criminal, and a fairly prolific one from the looks of it. Kionah, for all of her help and the proffered honey-soft magic Aliyah had taken from her, was a criminal too. And there was something else, something that she couldn¡¯t quite put her finger on. Something akin to having her fate tossed back and forth like a tarnished copper off the street. Something like¡­banter over the churning uncertainty of her future.

    Ah, yes¡ªthe tone of bartering for fruit at the market. Cardainne and Giltyrzar and Soltani. People with more power than her making decisions that could ruin her life.

    It was the court all over again¡ªshe had to get away. It crashed into her with absolute certainty: the knowledge that she had to get out. She had to leave. Run. Hide. Now.

    Right now.

    ¡°No,¡± she said. Panic climbed up her ribcage like it was a ladder, squeezing her lungs tight with each breath. ¡°I¡¯m not just going sit here and let you intimidate me.¡±

    She stood up and shoved her chair back. The legs screeched against the tile.

    Shasta stood up and grabbed her by the arm. ¡°Whoa, easy there¡ª¡±

    Strong fingers tightened around her wrist. Her adrenaline spiked, and she vasodilated blindly. It was weak and sloppy magic, but it was enough. She jerked out of his loosening grip and bolted out of the kitchen.

    Kionah yelled something¡ªshe didn¡¯t bother to parse what.

    She stumbled out of Shasta¡¯s quarters and down the stairs, darted down into the main room of the teahouse, scrambling helter-skelter around groups of lounging figures¡ªsome turned to stare, though none moved to stop her¡ªand burst out into the street.

    Invisible hands squeezed around her throat. Her alveoli were crushing inwards. The beginnings of a headache thrummed at her temples.

    She took off in a random direction, wheezing at the rising stitch of subcostal pain in her side. She sent an aborted burst of magic to fix it, before realising that she didn¡¯t have much extra to spare. Running dry, like before. No Kionah to help her now. She ran up a set of back-alley stairs, around several corners, blundered through a dying patch of garden.

    There were no real thoughts now, no time to think; her head hurt and all she knew was that she had to get away¡ª

    She was vaguely aware of the fact that it had been a long while since she¡¯d had a panic attack this bad. If she could only pause for a moment, then maybe she could fix things, slow her breathing, flush her synapses free of fear-chemicals. But no¡ªit never worked out like that, beyond a certain point. She couldn¡¯t really think beyond a blurry awareness that bad things were happening, that all was not as it should be.

    By the time she came to her senses, she was completely and utterly lost. This was some kind of abandoned alleyway, no different to the rest of them. She waited, elbow propped against a wall, shivering and panting for breath. Her head felt heavy and sore; spellcaster¡¯s headache, and too much of it. Her skin was numb all over, as if she had retreated a layer deeper into her body, ancillary neurons holding on by a thread. Slowly, she tried to retrace her steps, still thinking mostly-wordless thoughts. Anything coherent was something along the lines of, I¡¯ve really gone and screwed it up this time.

    ¡°Heya,¡± someone said. ¡°You lost, miss?¡±

    She whipped her head around, heart rate jolting once more.

    A girl slouched comfortably against the alley wall behind her, dressed in a lumpy jacket and patchy trousers. She tipped her cap, eyes glinting like chips of flint from beneath the brim. Was this just some passer-by? Aliyah hadn¡¯t heard her arrive.

    ¡°You look awfully lost,¡± the girl said. ¡°Be needing some help?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m fine,¡± Aliyah said automatically.

    The girl kicked off the wall. ¡°You sure, miss? Cause those clothes of yours look awfully nice. Merchant-like, yeah? You ain¡¯t from around these parts, are you?¡±

    Something clicked in the back of her mind¡ªthe chime of an alarm¡ªseconds before the girl¡¯s mouth broke into a too-sharp grin.

    Aliyah turned and ran.

    Footsteps thumped close behind. Aliyah didn¡¯t dare turn her head to see how close¡ªwhich was just as well, because someone jumped out to block the way ahead.

    The alley was too narrow for her to dodge; the ambusher lunged and tackled her down. She screamed as she hit the ground, jarring her shoulder¡ªfingers closed around her wrists, wrenching them behind her back.

    ¡°Got ¡®er!¡± the ambusher crowed.

    Adrenaline coursed through her veins; more weight bore down on her arms as one of the ambusher¡¯s hands left her wrists to delve into her pocket¡ªfrom within came the sizzle of flesh. The ambusher screamed, whipping his hand back out¡ªhe¡¯d touched Zahir¡¯s warded keys. The weight on her back and arms faltered, and she twisted out from under the ambusher so hard she almost pulled a muscle.

    The ambusher swore and grabbed for her again as she scrambled to her feet. She screamed reflexively and kneed him in the groin¡ªand made it to her feet this time, to a litany of curses. Different hands snagged into the back of her shirt¡ªthe girl, caught up to her now. She managed a weak vasodilation, just barely. The hands slackened, and she closed her hand into a fist¡ªthumb on the outside, just like in the diagrams¡ªand struck blindly. Hand hit flesh; the girl screamed. She didn¡¯t pay it any mind¡ªshe was already running away.

    ===

    Eventually, she made it out of the alleys, bursting into a main thoroughfare host to a milling crowd. She panted for breath, barely registering she was safe for several moments. Then she followed the crowd, because where else would she go? Thankfully, she didn¡¯t spot any armoured criminal-mercenaries here; the people were just ordinary people, going about with their work-bags and grocery baskets. Peddlers shouted from corners, but with none of the pomp and gaudy pageantry of the market merchants back up on the surface. She wandered through the crowd, shaking all the while, sure that she must stick out like a day-old bruise¡ªbut few people so much as glanced at her. She made it halfway down the street before turning off into some sort of garden-park.

    Flickering paper lanterns hung from drooping branches. Lush, dark grass blanketed the grounds. A wooden bench sat off to the side of the path, empty and inviting. It was as good a sanctuary as she was going to get. She sat, put her head in her hands, tried to think and forget at the same time.

    Breathe in. Breathe out. Safe now. Mostly.

    What had come over her? She blinked back inexplicable tears. It wasn¡¯t even the encounter in the alley that gouged lines of trepidation into her insides: it was what had gotten her there in the first place.

    It had started because of Shasta¡¯s hand around her wrist, of course. But it was more than that: it was the feeling of drowning in new air, an irrational fear of the city and its heaving seas of strangers. It was the lingering stress of recounting her tale to Kionah and thus, remembering it fully. Shadowsong had never felt like home to her, but at least she could pretend, back then. It was not home, she reminded herself. She had precious little to miss. Perhaps that was part of why she¡¯d agreed to Zahir¡¯s plan at all. So thoughtless. She almost hated him, for being right about the Magicians.

    And now, she was adrift. Everything hurt, in a distant sort of way.

    Was it because she missed Rana? Perhaps that was the reason she felt like her heart was being crushed into pieces; sweet, clever Rana, who she had wasted too much of her life being jealous of¡ªwhether pining over her or simply her extensive list of admirable qualities, she still wasn¡¯t sure. Or was it simply the loss of what she knew? The safe and the familiar; castle walls, lessons in Zahir¡¯s tower, a chat at the end of the day?

    She shied away from that train of thought and shivered, suddenly aware of the cooling sheen of sweat over her skin, and how light her attire was. Where could she go, now? Certainly not back to the teahouse, even if she remembered the way back. Think, Aliyah. She still had the nausea-keys in one pocket and a pouch of money in the other. Though it was not the local currency, it was minted from decent metal; surely it could buy her a night of rest at an inn.

    Intent resolved, she picked herself up off the bench and wandered further through the park, passing wilted flowerbeds and dried-up fountains, until she came to another larger street once more. She needed to rest. Her head still pounded with the vestiges of overextension and her feet ached; hadn¡¯t they been walking since dawn? It was hard to tell what hour it was now, in the gloom of Glister-beneath.

    Weaving her way anxiously through crowds, she spotted a familiar-enough sign. It depicted a bed and fireplace, and the words ¡®Plum Dove Inn¡¯ had been etched into a corner like an afterthought.

    She stepped into the cramped vestibule and bought herself a room for the night. The sour-looking innkeeper raised an eyebrow at the Songian crown that she offered, but he bit it on the corner and took it anyway, without giving her any change. She had the distinct impression that she had overpaid severely¡ªa crown was not a small amount, or at least it hadn¡¯t been back in Shadowsong¡ªbut there was no point in arguing it now, was there? It wasn¡¯t like she knew where to find a money changer here. And she was tired. She was so very, very tired.

    The room was bland and safe. She locked the door behind her, climbed into the bed, and slept.

 2.4 - Threeâ€™s a Crowd

    Felun

    Once he¡¯d come to his senses, Silverwater and a couple of other faeries had borne him out of Shadowsong and back to the Hive. Iolite and the others had fucked off to do¡­more murder, probably. He felt ill if he thought about it properly, or for too long, so that was the way he¡¯d think about it for now; just another callous word without true weight. Gloss it over like the punchline to a joke¡ªmurder, how absurd.

    Technically speaking, he hadn¡¯t actually seen what they¡¯d done in that room. But that pile of Magician-corpses they¡¯d gathered while waiting for Iolite to show up¡ªhe wasn¡¯t stupid. And he¡¯d been the one to open the door. Instrumental, really.

    Instrumental. He was used to the concept.

    The faeries had left him in a hastily-constructed room: a ¡®human chamber¡¯, as he¡¯d heard ones of the synthesisers refer to it. It looked like a prison cell and might as well have been. He couldn¡¯t go out into the other parts of the Hive without select supervision. Normally, he¡¯d be talking to Zekore the Archivist, but things were¡­happening, he deduced. Political things, and violent things. It wasn¡¯t like he especially wanted to venture outside anyways, especially down to the Archives. It was weird and uncomfortable there, in a way that reminded him of the Higher Library¡ªsections plunged into pure darkness, tunnels that that made him feel like he was walking upside-down.

    Also, the faeries looked at him like he was an intruder, like he hadn¡¯t been practically forced to stay here. They¡¯d fed him on plain biscuits and brown rice at first, before Thorn had the sense to listen to his entreaties. Then someone had liaised with his family to send him a bunch of canned vegetables and enough bags of dried jujubes to drown in, so he had that going for him at least.

    So he¡¯d spent days cooped up in his designated room, tending to his blistered, weeping hands as best as he could. Sometimes, he woke up in the middle of the night from scratching at them through the bandages. He went through two bottles of tincture, which didn¡¯t seem to help.

    He tried to distract himself by reading the singular book he¡¯d brought with him: Fools Without Limits: A History of Doomed Expeditions into Shardlike Mountains. It was one in a very long series; the next book in the sequence was named Researchers Without Remorse: A Chronicle of Mishaps in the Deadly Desert Mists. He¡¯d picked it up from a shoddy Glisterian secondhand bookstore¡ªboth because the title had been amusing and because the seller had been pushy. He regretted it halfway into the first chapter.

    The book mentioned sentient crystals that hunted people, and the author used descriptions that dripped with a dark familiarity; ridges and veins in the rock, glassy reflections. It caught him off unawares, and he was thrust back into his time as a dungeonrunner¡ªtoo painful, raw like a fresh bite wound¡­

    A tunnel of crystals¡ª

    Pain crawling up his arm as his jaw tensed and he bit down hard¡ª

    His rune-wards shattering, shearing away in a wave. Green light searing into the backs of his eyelids¡ª

    And the afterimage.

    He¡¯d gotten away with singed fingertips and a bloody bottom lip. The others¡­

    There was nothing he could salvage after that; word traveled fast. From then on, they all saw him as a murderer by proxy. Worse than being the odd, foreign boy with an unnatural predilection for breaking and unraveling was being the odd, foreign boy who had allowed his helpful, accommodating crew to die.

    Don¡¯t go talking to that Breaker now, people would whisper. Tyirn¡¯s crew was softhearted enough to give him a chance, and look where that got them.

    It had been the beginning of the end.

    The door clanked open, startling him from his guilty thoughts. Thorn poked his head through, the light flashing dully off his whorled horns.

    ¡°Zhao of Sungrazers,¡± he chirped; his voice was somehow both scratchy and melodic, like cricket-song. Not that Felun would make that comparison to his face; the faeries didn¡¯t seem fond of being compared to insects, no matter how similar the chitin looked. ¡°Iolite wants to see you.¡±

    ¡°Okay. In, uh, in the¡­lab¡­place?¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± Thorn said, and gave a disgruntled, whistling sort of sigh.

    Felun picked himself up and stowed the book back into his trunk. Then he grabbed his runequill, sketched a few scent-blockers into the air, and stuck them to his nose. He¡¯d learned to do that pretty much immediately after they¡¯d dragged him through the Hive for the first time.

    Thorn lead him down a twisty set of tunnels. He swore that they changed in maddeningly subtle ways each time he went through them. Most of the faeries flew overhead, but the ones that they walked past¡ªoften tugging carts along, piled high with baskets of their synthesized, pitch-like building material¡ªstared at him.

    They stared as if he were a monstrosity, some sort of bleeding, wailing, dungeon-creature that had crawled out from the bowels of their mountains. At least Iolite and her helpers only snuck glances now and again, instead of pretty much constantly. He¡¯d gotten used to it. Mostly. Thorn ushered him into Iolite¡¯s rooms, and the relief at not having suspicious eyes on him washed over him for the briefest of moments. It was quickly replaced with trepidation.

    Iolite welcomed him with a bared-teeth-smile and a pat on the shoulder. Gone was the human-disguise; she glinted blue-violet like a bouquet of irises under the odd, watery light of the laboratory, and her wings shimmered like slices of opal.

    ¡°Felun,¡± she said. ¡°Very good to see you again.¡±

    ¡°Hello,¡± he said as his eyes darted around.

    Aside from Iolite, there was another faery sitting off to the side¡ªgrey-coloured like a stormcloud, with huge, wicked-looking spurs at her wrists and shoulders and elbows. She¡¯d been with Silverwater¡¯s crew back at the palace, he recalled distantly. Maybe they were siblings? They looked similar enough, but Felun had no idea if family resemblance was a thing among faeries.

    Sets of lamps rotated on a tangle of interlocking rings overhead. The laboratory had been altered since he¡¯d last come here: clean, sleek surfaces at odds with the row of tarnished silver cauldrons bubbling away on the far side of the room¡ªand a man in the corner, crumpled up in a pile of red robes.

    He was a human, as far as Felun could tell. Probably not dead? Hopefully just unconscious? He had brown skin and relatively short, dark hair. Combined with the loose robes, he was probably a desert-dweller¡ªfrom the Shadowsong kingdom? There was a thin film of spell-light surrounding his body, and if he squinted, he could make out the traceries of runework on its surface¡ªsigns for binding and stasis, and other ones that would give him a headache if he tried to untangle them at this distance.

    Iolite followed his gaze and grimaced. ¡°Oh, don¡¯t mind that. And do not worry, either. He has not come to harm. I know humans can be delicate about that sort of thing so please, be reassured.¡±

    Felun didn¡¯t feel reassured in the slightest.

    ¡°Uh,¡± he said. ¡°Of course. So, you wanted me for something?¡± He hoped that it didn¡¯t have anything to do with unraveling, or her mystery prisoner, or both.

    ¡°Yes, yes, of course.¡± She nodded, tapping at her chin with one claw-tipped finger. ¡°Felun, my plans have changed. We are no longer returning to the outstation. There have been¡­difficulties. Suria is relocating to a safehouse in Glister and I shall accompany you. Along with¡ª¡± She made a vague gesture with her hand. After a beat, he realised that she meant to indicate the unconscious man in the corner. ¡°We are taking a skyship.¡±

    ¡°A skyship?¡± he asked, then winced inwardly at how inane he sounded. But still. He¡¯d been in the Songian palace not days ago. And the battle, from what he¡¯d heard of it, had been a half-decent success. ¡°Uh. From the Songian port?¡±

    ¡°Where else, Felun?¡± Annoyance bubbled up to the top of her voice like oil on water.

    ¡°I just¡­well I just thought, with the whole¡­fighting thing that happened not long ago¡­¡± True, Iolite had her Suria-spun disguises, but he was shocked to hear that the port was even running, let alone open.

    ¡°Thaumaturgy never sleeps,¡± she said cryptically. And then: ¡°thankfully, the trade winds carry ever-onwards. I requisitioned some gold. The ship leaves at noon,¡± She turned to the faery off to the side. ¡°Saiphenora, please fetch Mister Zhao¡¯s belongings from his chamber. And Thorn, fetch me a carrier large enough for the other human.¡±

    ===

    The skyship rose steadily and gleamed beneath sunlight, winking with the patina of freshly-polished teak.

    Felun stood on the upper deck, the wind ruffling at his coat. Several people milled around them, mostly deck crew and small throngs of weary-looking merchants. He squinted up at the bright strings of runework that skimmed merrily over the sails. Well, he thought, that was¡­different. He hoped that they weren¡¯t the only enchantments dedicated to keeping the ship afloat. Possibly they were even just for show, to reassure the uninformed passenger that why yes, this ship is very safe and very magical. Yes, that must be it. This was probably safer than the sea-ship he¡¯d taken for Sihai, for all it looked the same.

    Iolite was comfortably settled in a human-disguise, one that she¡¯d grumbled fit less comfortably than her favoured one. She looked much shorter, with close-cropped hair and leafy tattoos that snaked their way down both arms¡ªshe¡¯d rolled up the sleeves of her shirt as if to show them off. Her black skirts were embroidered with alchemical symbols in flashing silver thread. Felun felt a prickle of unease standing by her side. They looked in no way related; quite possibly it would appear to passers-by that he had been kidnapped by a traveling sorceress. Which wasn¡¯t all that far from the truth.

    He avoided looking at her suitcase, which was very large, very warded, and probably heavier than it should be.

    ¡°What a wonderful takeoff,¡± Iolite said, sounding almost genuinely pleased. She peered down the staircase leading to the lower decks. ¡°It was good for your morale to see that, yes? Now come along.¡±

    Their room was plain and modest. Felun¡¯s attention skimmed over the plain beds and peeling wallpaper; not too different from the usual type of ship lodging. He made straight for the window, a circle of thick, warded glass that took up half of the outer wall.

    This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

    Miniature dunes rolled on far below, the shadow of the ship a wavering blot moving with them across the sands. He touched a hand to the glass and dipped into the enchantment, ever-so-shallowly¡ªnot touching, only looking. The flow of spellwork within was coiled and knotted, a singular section of a weave that was composed of thousands of parts. He could not break the ship by accident if he tried. Below the main weave, he glimpsed the contours of fail-safes, ensuring that the ship remained airborne, and below that, different fail-safes to allow for a slow, gliding descent if all else fell apart. He breathed a quiet sigh of relief as he withdrew.

    Something thumped, dull and heavy. He whipped his head round, tensing reflexively¡ªbut it was only Iolite dropping the suitcase by the locked door. She began to rummage through her leather travel bag as she perched on one of the beds. She withdrew something¡ªit looked like a wide bracelet, engraved with unrecognisable symbols and the colour of a polished tooth. She paused as she caught him staring.

    ¡°I am working,¡± she said. ¡°Preoccupy yourself with other tasks. That porthole should be of adequate interest; we will be passing over the forbidden grounds soon. That is interesting to you, yes?¡±

    He shrank away from her glare and retreated to the window, staring at the influx of heaving white fog below. It was like a false-sea. Just looking at it made him feel slightly colder. He shoved his blistered, itching hands into his pockets and shivered.

    It couldn¡¯t be all that far below them, he thought. The shadow of the sky-ship was larger now that they were drifting over the bulk of the fog instead of the sands over proper ground. He¡¯d heard things about it from his time in Glister, of course: that a breathful of the stuff would kill a man instantly and other such stories. He let his mind empty as he watched the roiling of the white below.

    Before long, they entered a cloud bank and the window fogged up all over. Felun backed away. The room suddenly seemed a little too small, yet not small enough¡ªhardly airtight. He imagined the poisonous fog rising up, masquerading as clouds, cupping the prow of the ship in its spidery hands. He turned back to the room, gaze skipping over the suitcase by the door. It made his skin crawl to think of the man inside¡ªfolded up and locked in a silent stasis. He was hidden, tucked away, but his non-presence was a weight in of itself.

    Iolite sat cross-legged on her bed, a soft, warm glow at her fingertips. She was working on the big bracelet¡ªfeeding magic into it, as far as he could tell. Just pouring a steady stream of the stuff deep into the material. He watched her for several moments before she looked up and pursed her lips at him.

    ¡°Felun, I do not appreciate being stared at.¡±

    ¡°Sorry,¡± he said quickly.

    ¡°Are you feeling dispirited?¡± She glanced over at the window, now a panel of pure white. ¡°I see. Well, come over and take a look at this. Investigation is enriching for your kind, yes?¡± She held out the thing she¡¯d been working on. ¡°You are a clever boy and I hate to belittle your capability for critical reasoning, but I must make this clear: do not try to wear it, in any way, shape, or form.¡±

    He walked over and hesitated. The item gleamed oddly under the room¡¯s cheap runelight. Was it just his imagination, or did the grooves and channels formed by the surface-carvings look almost¡­wet?

    ¡°Go on,¡± she said. ¡°I wouldn¡¯t let you hold it if it would harm you. It isn¡¯t even completed yet. Just don¡¯t put it on like a fool.¡±

    He took it gingerly and turned it over, half-expecting it to sear his skin on contact. But the material felt cool and solid in his hands; no note of unusual spellwork on the surface.

    ¡°Is it enchanted?¡± he asked.

    Iolite scoffed a little. ¡°Of course it¡¯s enchanted. Dormant, though. Do that Breaker thing of yours, take a look. It won¡¯t hurt you unless you put it on.¡± She reached into her bag and withdrew a matching bracelet. And a matching necklace¡ªno, not a necklace. A collar.

    A tendril of unease wormed its way up his spine. The bracelets were really more like cuffs, he thought. Gaol-cuffs, shackles without the chain. It was a set of restraints. For¡­what, exactly? Him? No, surely not. The man in the suitcase, probably. He reached softly into the material¡ªit was a little colder and heavier than he¡¯d expected, like a mixture of ceramic and white jade¡ªand examined the shape of the enchantments within.

    His mind touched against a false-surface of sunlight and quicksilver. Beneath that lay something darker: ropes of flesh and cutting bone, swarms of rot and things that hissed when they were observed. In the spaces between and further down still, slithered something old and fat and slow and scaled and starving¡­

    Felun flinched his way back out.

    ¡°Good?¡± Iolite asked, sounding pleased.

    ¡°This is¡­very strong,¡± he said.

    She smiled, a gleam of blunt, human-like teeth. ¡°Yes. Alas, I cannot claim credit. I am simply, how shall we say, waking it up.¡±

    She held out her hand and Felun placed it hastily back into her open palm.

    ¡°Would you like to look at these ones too? They¡¯re not done yet, but they are part of a set. Quite similar, but not the same.¡±

    ¡°No, thank you,¡± Felun said quickly. ¡°I¡¯ve got, uhh, some books to read. I¡¯ll get out of your way.¡±

    She was still feeding magic into the things when he went to bed, a softly glowing spot on the other side of the room. The suitcase cast a looming shadow against the door. He rolled over and pulled the covers to his chin.

    ===

    Felun stumbled down the gangplank and into the Glisterian dockyard, still bleary with sleep. The suitcase was heavy, even with the handle to drag it by and rollers offsetting the load. Iolite looked back at him and tapped her foot meaningfully against the cobblestones. Her arms were full of empty glass bottles¡ªhe had no idea where she¡¯d gotten them from¡ªand her bulging travel bag was slung in an artless lump over her shoulder. He tried not to think about the dormant restraints that lay within.

    ¡°Come on, Felun. We don¡¯t have all day. Do you need assistance?¡±

    The last thing he needed was for her to think he was a weakling.

    ¡°No, I¡¯m¡ª¡± He grunted and tugged harder at the handle. The suitcase yielded, and rollers clattered across uneven cobbles. ¡°I¡¯ve got it.¡±

    ¡°Then let¡¯s go.¡±

    She set off without deigning to clarify where. They weaved through small, grimy alleys flanked on all sides by high-rise blocks. It reminded him a little of home. There was the occasional person¡ªa man walking with armfuls of packages, an elderly lady peeling vegetables on her doorstep¡ªbut it was too early for anyone to really be out yet. A slice of pre-dawn sky mocked him from overhead. They dove deeper and deeper into the labyrinth of alleys, up tiny stairs and over rusting pipes. Felun flinched as a drop of cold water hit the back of his neck. He squinted up to see wet laundry drooping on a line overhead.

    Iolite stopped at a moss-choked brick shell of a building, small and squat, wedged between a set of crumbling wooden shacks. No windows. When she knocked, the door sounded surprisingly solid.

    The woman who opened the door was unfamiliar and startlingly human¡ªshe had her hair in two braids and a basket full of wheat stalks and root vegetables propped against her hip. For a moment, he was sure they¡¯d come to the wrong place before her gaze slid from Iolite to glare at him.

    ¡°Come in,¡± Suria said, stepping aside. Her disguise, illusory basket included, melted off as soon as she locked the door behind her. Spines, wings, and carapace unfolded from thin air¡ªher barbed tail glinted in the near-dark, a line of gold swishing back and forth in her wake.

    The room was small and plain, coated in dull carpet and ragged floral wallpaper. It was lit by what looked like an old-fashioned oil lamp overhead. A curtained doorway hinted at more similarly miserable-looking rooms, deeper in the building. Iolite dropped her armful of bottles onto a sagging, dust-covered couch in the corner.

    ¡°So. Suria, how have you been holding up?¡±

    ¡°Well enough.¡±

    Iolite sighed and waved her hand, dispelling her disguise. Suddenly, she was here¡ªactually here, Felun realised; not human-masked half-Iolite, but the storm-blue, sharp-edged, mildly-terrifying faery Iolite. She lashed her tail and hissed, a low, sibilant sound¡ªaimed at Suria, not him, but it made his ears ache all the same. He took a careful step backwards.

    ¡°Ezphorza is fine,¡± Suria said stiffly. ¡°She is recovering. There were some injuries. All taken care of.¡±

    ¡°I see you neglect to mention little Saiphenora in detail,¡± Iolite said, voice gone dangerously soft.

    Suria flattened her spines. ¡°Saiph is¡­adapting. Recovering. The first time is always the worst.¡±

    ¡°Communication is the backbone on which all great plans lie,¡± Iolite snapped, punctuating her words with a click of her teeth. ¡°You cannot belie the fact that two mages broke into the outstation and almost killed one of our own. You cannot belie the fact that you failed to contain them.¡± And then, softly again: ¡°Suria, you are free to tell me the truth¡ª no matter how disastrous the situation. Put aside your own petty little fears for your reputation, because that has nothing to do with it. It is unfortunate and now out of your control.¡±

    ¡°The lack of syrup was¡­¡± Suria trailed off and stared at the ground, lashing her tail all the while. ¡°¡­unprecedented. No one¡¯s fault, of course. The incident with the mages is a loose end. I will bring it to rights.¡±

    Iolite made a rough sound of acknowledgment and shut her eyes. When she opened them, her expression had settled into one of blankness. A good sign? Self-restraint, maybe. The set of her shoulders still looked as though she might like to punch something.

    ¡°Bring that here,¡± she said.

    Felun dragged the suitcase over. Iolite did something to the wards around it before she unzipped it.

    ¡°Help me with this.¡±

    Suria made a cut-off sound of surprise as they dragged the man¡¯s limp form out of his unfortunate carrier. The stasis tingled cold and sharp against Felun¡¯s still-blistered hands and he let go as quickly as he could.

    ¡°Who is that?¡±

    ¡°A boon from Shadowsong,¡± Iolite said, shrugging her travel bag off her shoulder. ¡°Another of those strange mages, from one of their ships. I doubt thaumaturgy¡ªnot blue and see here, the silver emblem. It is another class. Took down a dozen of the fodder, but they did get him in the end. I shall honour their sacrifice, indeed.¡±

    Suria narrowed her eyes. ¡°With all due respect, why did you bring him here? If he is Songian¡ªand one of their disgraceful fighters no less, with the foul intent on killing us on sight¡ªthen I doubt he will cooperate.¡±

    ¡°He will be made to,¡± Iolite said calmly. She took out the enchanted collar and cuffs and knelt back down to fasten them to the unconscious mage. ¡°I will need your help once the stasis wears off.¡± She closed the first cuff around his wrist.

    There was no coloured spark, no glowing or chiming sound, but Felun felt a certain frisson ripple through the air as the cuff restraint clicked shut. A definitive undercurrent of locking that made the joints of his hands ache. And the same for the other two, a feeling like pins driving home.

    Suria hissed softly. ¡°Is that from the Library, also?¡±

    ¡°From ours,¡± Iolite said. She offered a thin smile. ¡°What¡¯s left of it, anyway. Quite far down. The other Breaker collapsed much of the stable infrastructure getting to it. She succumbed, in the end. Poorly skilled, she was. Ah, Felun, perhaps we should¡¯ve used you instead.¡±

    Felun shivered inwardly and said nothing. He hadn¡¯t known the other Breaker. It made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up to hear, all the same. In some ways, her legacy stalked at his heels like a ghost¡ªIolite seemed to like reminding him she¡¯d gone mad.

    ¡°I see,¡± Suria replied. ¡°I hope that they are what you hoped for.¡±

    ¡°Yes. We will discover more in due time.¡± Iolite rose to her feet and turned to Suria. ¡°Tell me about the outstation mages. More information than the pittance that you sent with Saiph.¡±

    Suria glanced over at him, frowning. ¡°Does he need to be here?¡±

    ¡°I do not like to repeat myself, Suria. It was humans, correct? He might know something useful. It is good to speak in the human-tongue around Felun, and plentifully. It would not do to have him sip at the well of madness, like the other one.¡±

    Suria¡¯s wings gave an agitated flap. ¡°The intruders¡­they were certainly from the palace¡ªreeked of it.¡±

    ¡°And the tracker-mark?¡±

    ¡°Active. She is¡ª¡± Suria furrowed her brow, and a glint of spell-light flashed through her gaze. ¡°Still in the city. Hasn¡¯t been near the City Hive, but¡ªthey have their people around. I fear it is only a matter of time.¡±

    ¡°Fear less. A more detailed description, please.¡±

    ¡°The mage in question could, as far as I could tell, regenerate parts of herself when wounded,¡± Suria said. ¡°She had an artefact, some sort of key imbued with a spell that made me sick to my stomach. But what she did to Ezphorza was¡ªif I had not been convalescing, I would have partaken of the syrup and¡­¡± Her expression twisted darkly, and she clenched her fists until the joints clicked.

    ¡°Interesting,¡± Iolite said, turning to frown down at the man in stasis. ¡°And the second mage?¡±

    ¡°The other one was less dangerous. Could cast, shield, use a sword with low-to-moderate proficiency. Either of them alone, we would have captured them easily. But. I made a mistake. The one that I fought¡ªI should have killed her there and then.¡±

    ¡°Do not speak heedlessly,¡± Iolite said. ¡°Is that your plan? To immediately dispose of her?¡±

    ¡°I defer to you, of course.¡±

    ¡°You have the advantage of a tracker-mark, yes. But you cannot question the hand of the enemy if you have already cut it off. Why did you immediately choose offense?¡±

    ¡°Like I said, she stank of the palace,¡± Suria said, looking distinctly uncomfortable. ¡°It is not just the thaumaturges which we have to be wary of; it is all who are under their poisonous influence. I wished to take advantage of the element of surprise. Immediate threat assessment was low; I was mistaken.¡±

    ¡°Do you know whether she is an asset of the Kingdom? Her hierarchy, how she fits into their plans?¡±

    ¡°No, I¡­I do not know. It seems likely and yet, I am hesitant to send anyone after her. I doubt we have anyone with the suitable skillset¡­¡± She trailed off and looked over to Felun.

    Iolite suddenly looked very pleased with herself. Felun grimaced. A sinking feeling made itself known in his stomach.

    ¡°Ah,¡± Suria said. ¡°I see.¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± Iolite agreed with bared teeth. She turned to him as well. ¡°Felun, we wish to ensnare a target. Let us speak of strategy.¡±

 Interlude: strategy

    A knock came at the door; Ilya set down his stylograph and reached for a cigarette.

    ¡°Come in,¡± he called reluctantly.

    Several days out, and everything was still a mess¡ªdead royals produced a surprising amount of paperwork. Too many losses, lowborns screaming, morale down¡ªoh, and an apprentice found fainted in the dungeons with the traitor-whore gone. His table was awash with papers and it was only an hour past dawn. Now was not a good time to be a Magician.

    His apprentice stepped through, with a companion behind him: a young woman in a lower scribe¡¯s uniform, hair tied back and a determined set to her face. Ilya racked his brain for a connection¡ªthe cousin? Ah. This was going to be irritating, wasn¡¯t it.

    ¡°Master Cardainne,¡± Karim said with a bow. ¡°My esteemed cousin wished for an audience with you.¡±

    What secrets did she hold over him, Ilya wondered, that she could string him around like a puppet? It was not his business what trouble his apprentices stuck themselves into, but perhaps he would have to put a stop to it if the overuse of such leverage became¡­annoying. He recalled a similar situation, some years prior¡ªsome trouble with the Library.

    ¡°Do be quick,¡± he said, and lit his cigarette in vague hope of shortening their visit.

    Karim took a wise and discreet step backwards. The cousin strode closer, her heels clicking across his floorboards. Ilya eyed her shoes with distaste; not two weeks ago, he¡¯d paid for polishing. If she left so much as a scratch, he would see that Karim be the one to fix it.

    ¡°Magician Cardainne,¡± she said, with a practiced cool that made his eye want to twitch. ¡°I wish to inquire after certain matters.¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± he said, taking a much-needed drag. ¡°I can see that.¡±

    ¡°Of those missing following the faery attack,¡± she started.

    He shook his head. ¡°I cannot help you there.¡±

    She took a deep breath, set her shoulders back. ¡°Aliyah Scionsong,¡± she said instead. ¡°You remember her? Do you have any idea where she went?¡±

    He tried to concentrate on the pleasure of his smoke over the annoyance of being questioned, and by an impudent court climber no less. Alas, it was a futile effort.

    ¡°There are too many Scionsongs for me to know them all. Have you perhaps mistaken me for the census-man?¡±

    ¡°Two years ago, I asked you to¡ª¡±

    ¡°I recall nothing of the kind.¡±

    Her mouth tightened into a hard line. ¡°But you know the apprenticelings, don¡¯t you? Apprenticelings of all kinds. It is your duty to keep watch over incongruities in the kingdom, is it not?¡±

    He raised an eyebrow. ¡°Very much like a scribe, to think all Magicians do the same thing.¡±

    ¡°Okay. Perhaps you don¡¯t know. But you can find out.¡± She did not say it like a question.

    He schooled his expression into one of neutrality¡ªit would be very rude to reach for the mask and put it on. ¡°Now, miss¡ªwhy would I do that?¡±

    She pulled a pouch from her pocket and set it, very smoothly, onto his desk. It did not make a sound, never mind one so improper as a clink.

    ¡°Your colleagues are investigating the matter of the missing spymaster,¡± she said, her eyes boring into his own. ¡°That¡¯s most salient to the kingdom¡¯s interests, I¡¯m aware. But others speak of muddied waters regarding the whereabouts of a Healer Saar-Salai. I have¡­discovered¡­that his apprenticeling is gone.¡±

    Fishing for favours, was she? If Karim was anything to go by, it seemed she already had quite the collection. Ilya had no intention of having his own hand cut off in reaching for anything. ¡°I cannot promise you that my colleagues would care overmuch for this information¡ª¡±

    ¡°No,¡± she said. ¡°Understand me well: I do not come here to aid you and yours. This individual is important to me.¡±

    Ilya leaned back in his seat. Ah, so that was how it was. The apprentice in the dungeon had been dazed, but not overly injured. He had recounted the situation quite sufficiently.

    ¡°The Scionsong whom you refer to is, regrettably, not in our charge,¡± he said. He sensed an argument ready on her tongue, caution borne of treading the fringes of court. ¡°She never was, understand? And if this were not the case, please know that your bullying of my apprentice would do you no good. I think we are finished here.¡±

    The cousin¡¯s shoulders slumped fractionally in obvious relief. Ilya supposed he would be happy as well, in her stead.

    ¡°Thank you,¡± she said, and had the good grace to make her way out, click-clicking back across his freshly-polished floor.

    Karim, fool boy, opened the door for her. Ilya turned back to the forms before him and sighed. He had an inkling that it was going to be a long day.

    +++

    Silence washed over the foyer as Faizan emerged¡ªsilence, except for the yammering of one woman. She was a courtly one, dressed in the fashions of her own continent¡ªFaizan suspected coin was the only reason their kind got away with parading around in so much red and gold both. Like any true court nuisance, she was busy demanding the attention of a dozen of his staff, and then some.

    Bad enough the disrespect¡ªworse yet that she was pretending she did not know. Taif had assured him that the Sungrazer nobles had been made well aware of their standing in court. The problem with these types of heavy-pocketed outsiders was that it never did stick.

    The woman turned her head at his footsteps, her earrings jangling with the movement. The anxious-looking scribe she had been speaking to took several quick steps in retreat.

    ¡°Ah, you must be the overseer, I imagine¡ªGiltyrzar, was it? Well, I am glad you are here to fix the misunderstanding, very sure we can work something out¡ª¡±

    His staff eyed her with open hostility; Faizan hid his own frown. ¡°I oversee the Higher Library, yes. Pardon, miss. I must ask you to leave.¡±

    The woman had the gall to flutter her eyelashes at him. ¡°Oh please, call me Shirin. I have the missive right here, see?¡± She held it up in one long-fingered, lacquer-nailed hand.

    Ah, the so-called missive¡ªthe only reason she had not been soundly kicked out the door. Taif had seemed very apologetically certain that it was legitimate. Faizan took the proffered scrap of parchment and could not help the beginnings of a reflexive scowl when he saw the stamp and signature there, emblazoned with blue ink.

    It was from a Magician, of course. Cardainne¡ªof course.

    ¡°I will have to verify this with the provisioner,¡± he said.

    ¡°Why, certainly.¡±

    The Sungrazer woman beamed, as if that would do her any good. Even if the missive was legitimate, he could always re-route her this way and that. He would not have secret-hungry foreigners poking their noses into his Library.

    ¡°You must leave in the meantime,¡± he said. ¡°Nadira here will escort you.¡±

    The woman¡ªShirin, he noted, in case she became a larger problem¡ªbatted her eyelashes some more. Nadira hastened to lead her away.

    Faizan straightened up and cast his gaze over his staff, noting the speed at which they resumed their work as he did so. New foyer scribes, these¡ªhm. Gawking couldn¡¯t be helped, but he would need to delegate someone to keep a closer eye on them while Taif was off on errands. It simply wouldn¡¯t do, otherwise.

    Faizan crumpled the missive in his hand and swept outside. It was as good an opportunity as any to check if Cardainne¡¯s head was yet still firmly attached to his body.

    As he strode through the halls and passages that governed the solid-state armature of the castle, he could not help but feel a faint sense of unease. There were noticeably fewer lowborns about; a dearth of servants murmuring amongst themselves. What whispers there were¡ªa pair of maids scrubbing at the windows, a group of twilight kiters on their way out¡ªsounded dangerously solemn. He hoped the Magicians knew what they were doing. The last thing the kingdom needed was a couple hundred disgruntled bastards making nuisances of themselves.

    Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

    He entered a set of double doors in the Magician¡¯s wing, the seventh one along. He didn¡¯t bother knocking¡ªthe entrance runes did that for him, emitting a sound like birds taking flight.

    ¡°How can I help¡ªoh, it¡¯s you,¡± said Cardainne.

    The office was drenched in enough blue to make his eyes hurt. Cardainne sat at his ludicrously large desk, a drink in hand. Faizan was almost disgruntled at how neat it appeared¡ªeven the papers, many as they were, had been stacked into orderly piles. His own office was a wreck in comparison, made worse by the many scribes huddled within its depths throughout the faery attack. And of course, the demands of the Magicians following said attack meant he¡¯d hardly had the time to clean up.

    Faizan cast his gaze away from Cardainne and out to his floor-to-ceiling windows instead. He strolled over to better appreciate the shining ribbon of river in the distance.

    ¡°Disappointing weather we¡¯re having lately,¡± he observed.

    Cardainne snorted. From across the room, the scritch of stylograph over paper resumed.

    ¡°Take it up with the ¡®mancers. What do you want this time?¡±

    Faizan heard him taking a noisy gulp from his drink¡ªcoffee, most likely.

    ¡°Am I correct,¡± Faizan said carefully, ¡°in assuming you are having trysts with some foreign woman?¡±

    Cardainne choked and spluttered; there came the sound of droplets hitting the table. It was very gratifying. Faizan resisted the urge to turn around and stare; further gloating would be improper.

    ¡°What the hells are you on about?¡±

    Faizan held up the missive. ¡°It is the natural conclusion, is it not? I did not think you would be stupid enough to issue this of your own free volition. Clearly, this woman has sucked your brains out through your¡ª¡±

    ¡°Faizan,¡± Cardainne said in a warning tone.

    ¡°¡ªears,¡± Faizan finished.

    ¡°You have misunderstood the situation,¡± Cardainne said, sounding heavily unimpressed.

    ¡°Is that so?¡± Faizan asked. ¡°Then please, explain.¡±

    ¡°Come over and say what you want to say to my face,¡± Cardainne said. ¡°Perhaps you make a little habit of this in the Library, but you are in my office now.¡± The sound of the stylograph continued, unbroken.

    Faizan considered pushing his point¡ªMagicians were generally ranked higher than Librarians, it was true. Yet Faizan had been a Chief Librarian for five years now, and Cardainne was only middling second-rank, or thereabouts. He considered it very briefly, savouring the idea. But he was here for answers, and an uncooperative Cardainne was ram-headed as anything if he put his mind to it. He sighed, strode over, and pulled himself a chair.

    ¡°Shirin, she calls herself,¡± he prompted.

    ¡°Yes,¡± Cardainne said, half-focused on writing. ¡°I recall.¡±

    ¡°Would you pull your head from your inks for a span of some minutes?¡± he asked.

    ¡°I am near finished with this batch.¡±

    Faizan frowned and read the letters upside-down¡ªah, a requisitions sheet. He bore Cardainne no envy as he watched him sign off with a sour flourish.

    ¡°So,¡± Faizan said as Cardainne moved the finished paper off to the side. ¡°On what grounds did you write this?¡±

    ¡°Mm. It is a matter of court, you see.¡±

    Cardainne fished around his robes and lit up one of his loathsome smokes. Faizan wondered if the walls had once been white before this particular Magician had moved in.

    ¡°Elaborate,¡± he prompted as Cardainne exhaled. He cast a discreet working, one that fanned the smoke away from his person¡ªhe had become more practiced at it than he would have liked.

    ¡°The Sungrazer clan. She is one of them.¡±

    Faizan raised a brow. ¡°Surely they are not so wealthy as to buy out the integrity of the kingdom?¡±

    ¡°Have you quite read the missive?¡± Cardainne asked. ¡°I thought you Librarians were supposed to be good at that¡ªreading.¡±

    ¡°The missive which states that some Sungrazer is allowed to trample over my Library?¡±

    ¡°Restricted access,¡± Cardainne said. ¡°Shallow levels. A chaperone. I thought you could be reasonable. I guess I was wrong.¡±

    Faizan scowled. ¡°What, you assumed you could sneak it by Janan?¡±

    Cardainne gave a so-so sort of shrug, not even trying to feign innocence. ¡°Chief Librarian Sheratan is more reasonable than you.¡±

    Faizan held up the missive. ¡°I could burn this,¡± he said. ¡°Much like your kin should burn these thinly-veiled Sungrazer invaders at the stake.¡±

    Cardainne inhaled more smoke and tilted his chin thoughtfully. ¡°We behead them nowadays. More merciful, that way.¡±

    Faizan, who had been a Scionsong before he had become a Giltyrzar, had seen evidence that suggested otherwise. He refrained from commenting on the pitiful strength of their blades, the amount of sawing required.

    ¡°It¡¯s better nowadays,¡± Cardainne added, as if reading from his thoughts. ¡°Do not blame my elders for whatever twisted, mismanaged things you were obliged to see in your long-crusted youth.¡±

    Faizan set the missive on fire.

    Cardainne¡¯s pale bastard-eyes watched on as the paper turned to ashes in his palm.

    ¡°Well,¡± Cardainne said, finally lifting his smoke from his lips. ¡°That was unnecessary. Now I will have to write another.¡±

    ¡°It is kind of you to provide me with kindling,¡± Faizan said.

    ¡°Hm. Perhaps I will speak directly to Sheratan.¡±

    ¡°Perhaps you will explain yourself.¡±

    Cardainne sighed heavily and stubbed out his cigarette. ¡°Having seen the might of our kingdom throughout that accursed attack, the Sungrazers are suitably cowed yet intrigued. Or so I have been told.¡±

    No, Faizan thought. Opportunists weren¡¯t like that¡ªand the Sungrazer clan was nothing if not opportunistic, that they would come all this way. He would bet his teeth that they were not cowed¡ªmerely having had a chance to evaluate the kingdom¡¯s weaknesses.

    Aloud, he said, ¡°intrigue is not a good thing. I would have expected your colleagues to have resolved the issue sooner.¡±

    ¡°Just so. Unfortunately, we the Magicians are currently otherwise occupied.¡± He cast a meaningful glance over his desk.

    Faizan frowned. ¡°Do not speak to me in excuses.¡± The Magicians could bend the ear of a Healer just as easily as they could write a missive. A sudden onset of fever, a burst blood vessel¡ªit was far more elegant than droplets into a drink.

    ¡°Faizan,¡± Cardainne said rather abruptly. ¡°She is not going anywhere. Everything will be taken care of.¡±

    ¡°And this involves my Library, how?¡±

    He let a warning growl creep into the words, unpeeled the masking of his magic a fraction. It was a cheap tactic, he knew, but it worked. Cardainne leaned back fractionally and drummed his fingers atop his desk, as if deliberating.

    ¡°Need I begin with saying the sanctity of this information is dear to my heart?¡±

    Faizan inclined his head in agreement.

    ¡°I agree it has gotten out of hand,¡± Cardainne said. ¡°The Sungrazers have fed the kingdom, but they have pushed at our terms for years now. We should not have let them stray so deep. Now we know they are very many, and it is¡­not ideal. The fears of whispers drifting¡ªit is not easy a duty, to guard the kingdom well.¡± He paused. ¡°I can see you thinking that we are fools.¡±

    ¡°Do continue.¡±

    ¡°The whispers will fare well enough. I have spoken to several of their kind, and they are¡­well, it is as I said¡ªthey are many. A large clan, many allies, though none so deep as to entrust with true news of the kingdom. The safeguards are internal, merely off-continent¡­¡± Cardainne trailed off meaningfully.

    ¡°You cannot venture to Cathay,¡± Faizan said.

    ¡°We do not need to,¡± Cardainne said. ¡°They are coming here. Their patrician, this very month.¡±

    ¡°Again, I fail to see how this involves my Library.¡±

    ¡°Such plans are always conditional. The woman, Shirin, she is not so important. The Sungrazers have no educated spies¡ªit is not their way. Their way is the little cheeping bird in the mineshaft. They pay her well. Her family, too.¡±

    ¡°You are certain that this plan of yours will work?¡±

    ¡°I?¡± Cardainne said. ¡°It has nothing to do with I. We the Magicians act as one. You would do well to remember that, Faizan.¡±

    Faizan shook his head. ¡°They would leave other safeguards, I am sure.¡±

    ¡°No important ones. Not if they are bursting with their overconfidence.¡±

    ¡°You seem confident yourself.¡±

    ¡°How many Sungrazers are in the kingdom, at this very instant?¡± Cardainne asked.

    Faizan hesitated. ¡°That is your job to know, and not mine.¡±

    ¡°Very well. Here is something else to think of: how many Sungrazers would it take to overcome the kingdom?¡±

    ¡°You speak in jest, surely.¡±

    ¡°Surely,¡± Cardainne agreed. ¡°For there are not so very many now. None of them are overskilled, either. But soon¡ªlet us say there has been some correspondence, intercepted. Let us say that recent events have been connected. The king is dead, the queen insensate. Two princes slaughtered¡ªhow was it that the murderers knew which royal doors to batter down, one must ask. Do you understand?¡±

    ¡°Ilya, this is doubtful. An opportunistic assassination¡ªI trust your colleagues are following it through, though I fail to see how these aspiring Sungrazers have orchestrated a faery attack. In any case, it failed.¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± Cardainne said. ¡°It failed owing to our use of the rituals. Are you the Magician here, or I?¡± He paused and lowered his voice further. ¡°Correspondence unearthed reveals truth.¡±

    Faizan frowned. ¡°You are so certain of your faith in this correspondence?¡±

    ¡°Seventhborn Alhena was,¡± Cardainne said.

    Ah.

    Faizan had not attended an execution in years, his rank excepting him. For the most part, he forgot of their existence¡ªbut of this one, he had been made well aware. His staff had spoken of it at length¡ªJanan, especially, had expressed sorrow.

    ¡°Alas,¡± Cardainne continued. ¡°The Seventhborn, may she rest in peace, came to the wrong conclusions. We the Magicians have since acquired more pieces, unstitched the true nature of the problem. Hand after hand, you see? In a coup, the emperor cannot hide in Cathay. The emperor must be here. The generals, too.¡±

    ¡°But of the faeries?¡± Faizan asked. ¡°What of this Sungrazer usurper now that they have failed? Your ranks are not overly weakened, I would hope.¡± He narrowed his eyes, very deliberately. ¡°Excepting the overeager apprentices who fell by way of daemon.¡±

    The opportunism of foreign nobles was known. The merchants who had taken advantage of the chaos to try ransacking his Library had been well-dispatched, but next time they might not be so lucky. The waylaid apprentices had been an acceptable loss, but it was a sobering reminder all the same¡ªone that Cardainne needed if he was considering inviting an enemy into the fold, even for reasons such as this.

    For the first time, Cardainne looked faintly perturbed. ¡°Those particular double-dealing foreigners are not under my jurisdiction. Regardless,¡± he hesitated. ¡°The faeries have not failed yet. We believe there are more in wait.¡±

    Faizan frowned. ¡°I heard the skies were blackened.¡±

    ¡°Those creatures are not human. They are a plague¡ªmade to be used, I am sure.¡±

    ¡°You speak of a borrowed army. This is most unreliable conjecture.¡±

    ¡°Borrowed, bought.¡± Cardainne shrugged and took a slip of paper from one of his many stacks. ¡°Enough for it to have been shown that they obey the will of the Sungrazers. We were forced to reveal a portion of our rites, and the movements of the patrician do not lie.¡±

    Cardainne began to write; blue ink feathered out the tip of his imperfectly-held stylograph. Faizan stared down the words which spiraled out, and kept staring as they were stamped and signed for.

    ¡°Here.¡± Cardainne slid the missive across to him. It weighed heavier in his hand than it ought to.

    ¡°I hope you Magicians are right,¡± Faizan said.

    ¡°Relax,¡± Cardainne said. ¡°Your precious Library is in no danger. I had Octans jostle into her, earlier.¡±

    Faizan blinked.

    Healer Octans was first of the first-ranks, good at slow-onset illnesses¡ªvery good, and very, very slow; a bud planted into the heart, filaments spreading like roots and biding their time. Faizan had read the literature on equilibrium; Shirin was a dead woman walking.

    ¡°As I said.¡± Cardainne¡¯s lips twitched into the faintest of smiles. ¡°All taken care of.¡±

 2.5 - Playing Inquisitor

    Parsec

    Segin had settled in well.

    The bland, emerging throne had been sculpted into a thing of lavish swirls and lustrous whorls, tinted far bluer than it was before. Everything smelled of seawater and sugarmelon. The walls had been sharpened into jagged, boisterous outgrowths in pelagic colours: dull steel blues and the filmy white of foam-capped wavetops. Here and there, the roughness of the sanctum gave way to hints of uncanny softness: a curtain of sleek, chemiluminescent tendrils hanging from the ceiling, furniture that was vaguely reminiscent of cormorant wings. A simple layer of black sand lay underfoot.

    The grains of sand itched unsteadily against the joint of Parsec¡¯s knee as she knelt and recited her report of initiatives that were going as planned. Her thoughts kept drifting to Segin¡¯s choices in fabrication. She had not been so naive to think that her taste would take after Venera¡¯s. But she had assumed something along the lines of springtime meadows or a fanciful cloudscape, a little like Venera¡¯s predecessor. Perhaps even ice crystals, to mimic the characteristics of her egg. Not¡­whatever this was, complete with a floor like wasteland dust.

    ¡°Report received! Thank you,¡± Segin said, clasping her hands together. The trilling, milk-fed affect of her voice set Parsec¡¯s teeth on edge.

    ¡°Is there anything else you require of me?¡±

    ¡°Hmm,¡± Segin said as she smoothed her hands over her skirts. A dozen layers of freshly-grown, chiffon-like membrane had been shaped into something ruffled and flouncy, like the bell of an oversized jellyfish. Venera had never bothered with such frippery. ¡°No, I do think that is all. You¡¯ve been doing a lovely job, and you are free to go.¡±

    ¡°My thanks.¡± Parsec rose to her feet and shook her tail with discretion. Spare grains of sand clung stubbornly to the feathers at the end. A sour thought occurred to her: good thing for Segin that she was slippery all over, soft-bodied like a mollusc.

    She passed by Perihelion as she headed for the sanctum¡¯s membrane-gate. He nodded towards her and as she returned it, an icy knot formed in her core.

    How had someone pierced this sanctuary? she wondered. The membrane-gate was well-guarded and it did not open for just anyone. The Archives themselves wrapped strong, tight webbing around the boundary, flush with magic. Food was delivered by incorruptible attendants, formed from the Titania herself. Not for the first time, her thoughts ran down a web of possibilities, all branches terminating at dead ends¡ªall but for one thought: of those capable of wishing the Titania harm, only the Generals could enter and leave.

    She strode out through the membrane, feeling the Archive-current shimmer over her extremities. It bolstered the sanctum-shell and seemed impenetrable to the touch¡ªbut clearly not. Clearly not, when Venera¡¯s corpse now lay within the cradle of the Archive itself.

    She emerged on a platform, halfway up the main hall. Several sentries saluted her and she reciprocated before she stepped off the platform and glided downwards. The rhythm of the crowd shifted ever-so-slightly to let her in, another droplet merging into the current.

    It was now her allocated rest period and she was free to do as she wished with it, including sleep for its entirety. The idea wasn¡¯t unappealing: to wash away the tacky, saltwater-sweetness of the new inner sanctum by cocooning herself in her bower for the next twelve hours would be the sweetest of rejuvenations. But on the other hand, she had already stocked up on sleep over the past few days. Among the new work put forth by Segin¡ªan expansion of the weaving wing, really?¡ªit had felt like the suitable thing to do. And she had been right, because it left her to put her full focus towards real work now. At last, there was time to investigate. These investigations had been itching under her carapace all the while, questions salient to the late-Venera. Truly, the silver linings remained slim among the fumbling beginnings of successorship.

    Parsec flexed her scent glands, tail lashing with concentration as they responded and shut down. She flexed the array of proto-pores over her body for good measure; not-quite-stomata and psuedo-hydathodes sealed shut, cutting off the excretion of any lingering scent. A learned behaviour from reconnaissance, though she did precious little of that these days. She followed one of the smaller streams of traffic, made her way down the tunnel that was laced with melted amber and sandalwood.

    She winged her way leftwards and dipped her way down a twisting chute of damp vines and rough spikes of amber. Unwanted smells invaded her senses from branching exits in the tunnel: peppery milk, curdled sugar, powdered teeth. She shuttered physio-magiological filters into place, thinning out the scents until only the underlying note of amber-brine remained. She followed trailing thread down smaller and smaller passages, past dried-lavender chambers and up sour-lime spouts, until she reached Perihelion¡¯s quarters.

    His rooms were set within a glassy, orange-coloured thing, like amber but not. It had always reminded her of an enormous pile of hulled millet; a lumpy little hill erupting from the soil. She cracked open a round porthole on the far side using a word of power that meant suntide¡ªgratifying, how she¡¯d remembered that so easily. Gratifying, too, that she¡¯d been right in assuming he wouldn¡¯t have bothered changing it.

    Weak yellow light washed over a curving, swishing interior like molten slag suspended mid-flow. She hovered in the vestibule for a moment, drinking in the half-familiarity and almost regretting having come here.

    It would have made a little more sense to go after Dysnomia, seeing as she¡¯d been the one within the sanctum at the moment of Venera¡¯s passing. But she¡¯d clamped down on that feeling-urge, those irrational thoughts nibbling away at her cortex. If there was any killing blow, it would have been administered days ago, by anyone with access to the Titania: Cetus, or Eltanin, or Nephele, or any of the other thirteen Generals. She would be methodical about this¡ªshe had to be. Perihelion was simply the easiest to investigate. He was also her closest friend among the generals, and that made him the weakest point¡ªthat was all.

    She floated over to his office door, careful not to bump into pieces of furniture, glassy things molded out of the same material as the walls. Patches of sawdust powder dotted the floor; that was new. How tasteless. She fluttered past them and inhaled, detecting a light cloud of the wood-on-a-brazier scent that she¡¯d privately designated as simply Perihelion, possibly the most decent out of the lot. But there was also something else. Something dampened and half-masked, but there nonetheless. She frowned, chased that tiny thread. Peat and rain-soaked petals, like a crop of violets languishing in the shade. Vaguely familiar¡ª

    A noise, from behind the office door. She froze for the smallest of moments, then knifed upwards, slotting herself into a shallow nook high on the wall. The back of her head scraped against the ceiling. Privately, she thanked Perihelion¡¯s choice of artistic flair. She strained for the faintest of sounds, heard nothing for several minutes. Then, a bump, and someone muttering a curse under their breath.

    It was Dysnomia.

    She knew that voice anywhere; they weren¡¯t close, but when you spent half of your twelve-hour shifts in close proximity with another General, you picked up on the very cadence of their footsteps. And the scent matched, now that she thought about it. A little less dilute and with an underlying note of hibiscus; yes, that was certainly Dysnomia.

    What was Dysnomia doing in Perihelion¡¯s rooms? It was too much of a coincidence. Could she be the one to blame? Parsec didn¡¯t want to believe it. Anger sparked in her core before she reminded herself that she didn¡¯t know anything for sure¡ªthe other General could be here for entirely legitimate reasons¡­perhaps. Her fingers itched to close around a throat.

    The office door opened and Dysnomia stepped out below, a dark grey blot speckled with white. Violets-under-shade scent wafted upwards to tickle at her nose. Parsec locked herself in place, willing ice into her veins, wishing in that moment that she were born of a visible wavelength closer to the yellow-orange of Perihelion¡¯s walls.

    Dysnomia stepped out and stopped dead. ¡°Who¡¯s there?¡± she demanded, turning in a slow circle.

    Parsec clenched her jaw and stayed very, very still.

    ¡°I know you¡¯re there,¡± Dysnomia said, her voice going up higher at the end. Her tail lashed in agitation, swiping against the floor and kicking up a cloud of sawdust. ¡°I have put a pattern here and you have marred it. You¡¯re here. You can¡¯t hide. Show yourself.¡±

    Parsec cursed herself even as she rolled her eyes at Dysnomia¡¯s ever-so-slightly frantic demands; of course it was the damned sawdust. She should have known better. Perihelion would never leave loose materials just lying around for show. It wasn¡¯t his style.

    Find this and other great novels on the author''s preferred platform. Support original creators!

    She weighed her options as Dysnomia peered around the corner below, one hand on the hilt of her sword. She could wait here and hope that she was not found. Unlikely to work, unless Dysnomia¡¯s relative youth was paired with completely un-General-like idiocy. She could try to sneak out behind Dysnomia¡¯s back. Also unlikely to succeed. She could fight her, and win. Or¡­

    She sighed and slipped out of her nook, floating down to Dysnomia¡¯s level. ¡°Your awareness of your environment is lacking,¡± she said, pushing as much worldly weariness into her tone as she could.

    The weariness was half of the key; her seniority should serve as the other.

    Dysnomia jerked in the air, half-drawing her blade as she turned. Always skittish, that one.

    ¡°General Parallax,¡± she yelped. She slid the sword back into its sheath¡ªthough, Parsec noted with approval, not quite all the way. ¡°What are you doing here?¡±

    Parsec flicked her spines and tail questioningly, then dismissively. Her closeness with Perihelion was known and¡ªshe wasn¡¯t blind to the gossip¡ªspeculated upon. Let Dysnomia assume the answer for herself, that Parsec was legitimately meant to be here, whether clandestinely or not.

    ¡°I believe the more pertinent question is, what are you doing here, General Dysnomia? Has Perihelion made close acquaintance with you without my knowledge?¡±

    Dysnomia drew herself up straight and glanced around nervously. She swished her tail, and the sawdust about their feet rose up in a cloud before dissolving into the scent of bland air. The act was surprisingly skillful, for all her other faults.

    ¡°I¡­General Parallax, this is going to sound utterly delirious, but I was looking for evidence of misdoing.¡±

    ¡°What kind of misdoing?¡±

    Dysnomia took a breath, appearing to evaluate the risks of speaking to her. ¡°Like I said, it seems almost delirious, but¡­I spoke to General Eltanin and he said there was something¡­unnatural¡­about Predecessor Venera¡¯s death. And so, we decided it would be best to investigate.¡±

    A shiver ran down her spine and continued all the way to the tip of her tail, which twitched involuntarily.

    ¡°I see.¡± How coincidental, that others thought the same. A glimmer of hope? She knew Eltanin only in the vaguest of senses¡ªhe was a competent General, not the best, but not bad either¡ªtheir shifts did not often overlap. ¡°And instead of notifying us, you chose to investigate in Leader General Perihelion¡¯s quarters?¡± she asked, as if she were innocent of doing the very same thing.

    Dysnomia wilted visibly. ¡°I, ah. Well, anyone could be suspect. To tell you the truth, Eltanin told me to look through yours first. But I didn¡¯t. Too difficult to get in.¡±

    Parsec frowned even as she allowed herself to feel a droplet of self-satisfaction. She should really tell Perihelion to secure his quarters properly, if she could be sure that he didn¡¯t have anything to do with murdering Venera. ¡°Then what have you found? Report.¡±

    Dysnomia flinched, seemingly more in confusion than fear. ¡°Nothing salient. I was searching for correspondence, suspicious substances or requisitions, that sort of thing. But there¡¯s nothing. I have been quite thorough, and yet¡­¡±

    Correspondence? Requisitions? What was Dysnomia thinking? That there¡¯d be a convenient bottle of poison tucked away in the back cabinet? Parsec almost lashed her tail. Ridiculous¡ªas if it would be that easy. Anyone with half a mind to avoid getting caught would immediately dispose of such lingering proof. What were they teaching the younger Generals these days? Oftentimes, what wasn¡¯t there was more important than what was. There existed gaps which she questioned Dysnomia¡¯s ability to see.

    Parsec sighed. ¡°If you honestly believe what you tell me, then why tell me at all?¡±

    ¡°Because you caught me,¡± Dysnomia said gloomily. ¡°And because I¡¯m hoping that you could let me search your quarters to prove your innocence. It¡¯s not as if Eltanin would be able to crack it either. He knows I¡¯m here, by the way. You may check, if you like.¡±

    She supposed that the implied subtext there was that General Eltanin would have some inkling of her guilt if Dysnomia was demoted for unspecified reasons. That, or he would simply suspect Perihelion himself.

    ¡°I shall speak with Eltanin,¡± she said. ¡°Truth be told, I am not meant to be here, either. I only followed you.¡± It was a half-lie, and a passable one.

    ¡°Oh,¡± Dysnomia said, drooping visibly. ¡°I suppose I wasn¡¯t as subtle as I could have been.¡±

    ¡°We all have our improvements to make.¡± She shrugged, feigning more confidence than she felt. ¡°You may show me to General Eltanin after I take a look at Perihelion¡¯s desk for myself.¡±

    It never hurt to be thorough.

    ===

    It probably wasn¡¯t Perihelion. That was the thought that looped over in her mind: it probably wasn¡¯t him.

    She should have pushed down the sense of relief that swept through her after examination of his papers showed no discrepancies. She should not be so weak, but she was dearly grateful that no signs pointed to him of all people. He had, after all, been the one to welcome her into the fold of the Hive. Some repayment it would be, if she had to kill him for Venera¡¯s sake.

    She frowned as they flew through the glimmering back-ways to Eltanin¡¯s quarters. Dysnomia kept glancing back at her intermittently, like she was afraid that Parsec would put a knife into her back.

    ¡°Is everything alright?¡± Parsec asked.

    Dysmonia¡¯s wings gave an anxious little twitch. ¡°Yes,¡± she said, whisking her head back straight ahead. ¡°Of course. It¡¯s merely¡­we don¡¯t wish to be followed.¡±

    ¡°I would be aware of any shadow,¡± Parsec said.

    Dysnomia¡¯s wings twitched once more. ¡°Yes. Of course, of course. It is from an abundance of my own caution. I did not mean to imply¡ª¡±

    ¡°Of course.¡±

    Skittish, Parsec thought. Jittery and hungry-eyed¡ªpoor girl wouldn¡¯t last long if she stayed this way.

    They descended through a spiraling section of milk-soaked grottoes and corridors of jagged, blood-pale karst. The air smelled crisp and knife-edged, like a whisper of snow to come.

    Dysnomia finally alighted on an outcrop of rock on a cavern-side, covered in notches and dusted in grit. She raised her hand and knocked thrice; the rock face swung open. She straightened her back marched in. Parsec followed a few paces behind, her steps slower.

    The passage was narrow and oddly silken underfoot. This was an old place, carved out not by hands and tools, but by old Hive currents, wind and water and loose magic. The scent was of green pine and powder-snow, of new shoots withering in frost-sharp soil. Eltanin had curious tastes, but she did appreciate the clean snow. There had been precious little of it to go around when she was younger.

    Dysnomia led her into a large chamber: windowless, low-lit, and fringed with inky vines. General Eltanin was sprawled artlessly across a bench, surrounded by a mound of papers. He had a tattered page in one hand and a bitter drink in the other.

    ¡°General Parallax,¡± he said, looking up. His wings flickered with hints of wary-white and curiousity-silver.

    ¡°Eltanin,¡± she replied. ¡°What is the meaning of this?¡±

    ¡°She has, ah, come to hear of our activities,¡± Dysnomia said, edging further into the room.

    ¡°I see.¡± He leveled a hard stare at her and put down his drink before turning to Dysnomia. ¡°This new involvement of Parallax,¡± Eltanin said, as if she were not there. ¡°You were caught?¡±

    ¡°Not in her chambers,¡± Dysnomia said, sneaking a sideways glance at her. ¡°She has, ah, quite complicated spellworks guarding her gates. I was instead preoccupied with¡­General Perihelion¡¯s offices.¡±

    Eltanin made a weary noise. ¡°How goes the situation with the Generals Nephele and Perihelion?¡±

    ¡°There was nothing amiss.¡±

    ¡°Hrmm.¡± Eltanin retrieved his beverage and took a long, slow sip. He swished it around his mouth before swallowing. ¡°Parallax, then. If you truly know of the strange situation with the predecessor, then let us check your chambers.¡±

    Predecessor. Was that all Venera was to them now? After ten years service to the Hive?

    ¡°No,¡± said Parsec.

    ¡°We cannot exclude you from wrongdoing without.¡±

    ¡°I could say the same to you.¡±

    Eltanin drained his glass. Weary shadows tinged his fingertips, colours like bruised fruit-skin. ¡°Hah. You would propose a trade, then.¡±

    Parsec considered it. ¡°Perhaps. Your two, for my own?¡±

    ¡°Mutual security,¡± Eltanin said. ¡°Yes, that is wise. Give us a provisional key, and you may search my home to your heart¡¯s content. As for Dysnomia¡ª¡° he turned to her again, crooking his spines. ¡°What say you?¡±

    ¡°I have nothing to hide,¡± Dysnomia said, lifting her chin. She pressed fingers to her throat and withdrew a shining spell-key, coloured blue-white and smelling of night-violets. She held her hand out to Parsec, palm-up. The key floated there, twinkling in the gloom. ¡°Here. Take it.¡±

    Eltanin made a loose, easy gesture with his tail. ¡°You are also already here, Parallax, are you not? Look as you may, so long as you provide a key of your own.¡±

    ¡°Certainly.¡±

    Parsec closed her hand into a fist and concentrated; magic bubbled up under her skin, budding under her fingertips. When she opened her hand, a spell-key was there¡ªindigo-black and shifting with iridescence. Somewhere under its almost insubstantial surface, glowing eyes winked like stars.

    They made the exchange. Dysnomia flinched at the feel of Parsec¡¯s key and passed it off to Eltanin. His wings flickered with the blueness of annoyance as he took it.

    Parsec felt a pang of pity, despite herself; she too was like Dysnomia, once¡ªflinching and feeble beneath the armour, a creature too small for its shell.

    ¡°Will you be joining us, Parallax?¡± Dysnomia asked her, eyes wide.

    Most of her pity evaporated like dew-drops under high summer.

    ¡°She will not,¡± sighed Eltanin. ¡°Beyond this test of mutual innocence, it is hardly viable.¡±

    ¡°¡­Because of the Hive? But surely there are ways.¡±

    ¡°And yet,¡± Eltanin said, irate. ¡°Irregular rhythms are detected. So much poking around, clustered in three, and all of us Generals? No.¡±

    ¡°But we need help,¡± Dysnomia insisted, so bright and naive. ¡°General Parallax is¡ª¡±

    ¡°Eltanin is correct,¡± Parsec interrupted to save Dysnomia the embarrassment. ¡°I will not join you. But so long as you do not interfere with the workings of the Hive, I shall not interfere with you, either. We all, of course, serve the Titania.¡±

    ¡°Of course,¡± Dysnomia echoed.

    ===

    Parsec searched thoroughly, and found nothing. Eltanin¡¯s rooms were nearly empty, his coffers gilded with nothing more than lost paper and old snow. His records were in standard order; the most interesting thing about him was his marked eye for detail and a burgeoning taste for fever-syrups. Parsec did not exactly approve, but she did understand; a drop of the stuff was needed after a certain type of day, the new Successor notwithstanding.

    Dysnomia¡¯s modest gardens were of even less interest, no mysteries tucked beneath the shadow-tree or within the chipped marble fountain. Her files were plainly written, openly scented, and obscured nothing. There was a handsomely-made chrysalis strung from the tree, and a nearby loom. The poor girl clearly liked to weave in her spare time, but that was the only really new thing that Parsec found. Useless, all of it.

    She was forced to concede, for now. She marched onwards, no closer than she had been before. She chose to leave at a loss and to serve Successor Segin, even as troubled thoughts spun over in her mind throughout the days.

    The nights were worse, of course. Venera¡¯s spectre haunted her dreams.

 2.6 - Honey and Vinegar

    Aliyah

    Someone was knocking on the door.

    She roused herself and sat up. How many hours had passed? Enough for her magic to have returned¡ªfinally. It welled up in her core, safe and warm and familiar. She had not realised how dearly she had missed it until now. The magic that Kionah had given her¡ªhoney-fresh and lemon-sweet¡ªhad dwindled to near nothing, but it hardly mattered now that she had her own magic back.

    She swept a wave of healing over herself, a working she¡¯d come up with after one too many pre-dawn shifts. A wave of refreshment eased the dryness of her mouth and smoothed away the crick in her neck that had settled from sleeping in the wrong position. The magic brought her to an alertness that she hadn¡¯t known she¡¯d missed.

    The knocking persisted. She rolled out of bed, tip-toed over, and hesitated with her hand over the handle. Flexing her magic up around her ears for a moment, she felt her hearing sharpen into a brittle point; there was only one set of breaths on the other side of the door, a steady rise and fall of the lungs¡ªclear, calm, healthy. Some sort of matron-maid-equivalent, then? She opened the door.

    ¡°Hi,¡± Kionah said.

    Aliyah flinched, taking an involuntary step back. ¡°How did you find me?¡±

    Kionah shrugged, hands in pockets. She was back in the shirt and trousers that she had worn on their journey, though they looked freshly laundered and thoroughly un-ironed. Her shirt was wrinkled and untucked and her hair was back in its bun, a few strands hanging loose. She didn¡¯t have her shortsword or spell-slips with her. She seemed unthreatening enough, but she was blocking the exit. Aliyah wondered, if the worst came to pass, whether she would fare well jumping out of the window to escape. The precursors for vasodilation tingled in her palms, just in case.

    ¡°You do still have my magic,¡± Kionah said, and made a show of glancing around the room. Her gaze skipped over the scratched-up floorboards and water-stained wallpaper before alighting back onto Aliyah. ¡°Also, Shasta technically owns this place¡ªCrow Ear turf, see? It was fairly obvious, then, that you¡¯d be one of the few to pay in Songian crowns,¡± she continued as Aliyah edged further backwards. ¡°Please relax,¡± she added. ¡°I¡¯m not here to hurt you.¡±

    ¡°What do you want? I¡¯m not going to help you, even if you¡¯re making a show of the fact that you can track me down. You¡¯re criminals.¡±

    ¡°Does that scare you?¡± Kionah asked, tilting her head to one side. ¡°I¡¯m confused by your aversion to us on that basis. I¡¯m not going to harm you. Nor is Shasta, for all his idiocy.¡±

    ¡°So you say. The fact remains¡ªyou¡¯re a criminal. I don¡¯t know why you think that I would trust you.¡±

    ¡°There¡¯s honour among thieves,¡± Kionah sighed. ¡°Depending on where one does the thieving. But I don¡¯t suppose that would convince you, no. You keep saying we¡¯re criminals¡ªaren¡¯t you, too?¡±

    ¡°Wh-what?¡±

    ¡°From what you told me of your time in Shadowsong,¡± Kionah said. ¡°Aren¡¯t you a criminal? Wasn¡¯t that boy you got help from¡ªJackal something or other¡ªwasn¡¯t he a criminal, also? And yet you spoke of him in positive terms. What is it about us that worries you more?¡±

    ¡°I¡­that¡¯s different. You guys had ammunition on your kitchen table. You kill people.¡±

    ¡°Hm, I don¡¯t know about that. ¡®You guys¡¯, you say?¡± Kionah shook her head slowly. ¡°That was all Shasta. I don¡¯t spend my time carting illicit packages around. So I am not a murderer, not even indirectly. Which is why I came here, to ask you to join me. Not Shasta; just me. If you refuse the both of us, then that¡¯s your prerogative. But personally, I thought we worked quite well together on our way out of Shadowsong.¡±

    ¡°Really,¡± Aliyah said flatly. ¡°And what makes you think I¡¯d be willing to join you, after all I¡¯ve said?¡±

    ¡°I have the means to pay you,¡± Kionah said with a knowing tilt of her head. ¡°And I¡¯m far more understanding than Shasta is. What else are you going to do? All alone, in a city that feeds on naivety. I suppose, with your skills, you could join a mercenary band or dungeoning crew. Dangerous work, though, with people who would expect much out of a mage from a near-mythological discipline. Or perhaps you could find yourself a wealthier patron, up in one of the spires. I¡¯m sure they¡¯d only be too happy to eat you alive. Perhaps an insane richling would like to capture you or to harm you, in search of the source of your power. Do you know how to avoid that? I don¡¯t think so.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re trying to scare me,¡± she said with more certainty than she felt.

    ¡°I¡¯m telling you what I know of the situation. Like it or not, you haven¡¯t got anything much but healing magic to get you by once your coin runs dry. And sad to say, you¡¯ll be a coveted commodity because of it. Not in a way that¡¯s to your advantage.¡±

    A shiver ran down her spine. ¡°You don¡¯t know that. Stop that, I¡ªI don¡¯t have to use my magic that way. I can clean, I can sew, I can work as a maid again. I don¡¯t need you. I can get away from all of you easily¡ª¡±

    ¡°No, you can¡¯t,¡± Kionah said, a fresh edge to her voice. ¡°You think I never tried? You think hundreds of girls¡ªgirls just like you¡ªaren¡¯t out there vying for the privilege of scrubbing floors until their fingers bleed? Casting spells until they cough blood? There are scores of women out there with broken backs to show for it, and hands that can¡¯t fully open no more. My own cousin came crying to me after¡ª¡± She swallowed. ¡°Look, I can tell you for a fact that Glister is not as kind to maids as Shadowsong. You think I chose to lift purses and work in pleasure houses because it was particularly enjoyable? Because I was blind to easier alternatives? I¡¯ve lived here my whole life, Aliyah. I¡¯ve walked the paths you think lead to freedom and I can tell you now they¡¯re wrong.¡±

    Kionah¡¯s words rung with certainty. Aliyah shook her head even as anger and anxiety swirled together inside her, forming a sickly brew¡ªthe memory of the flint-eyed girl and her ambushing companion loomed. Was Glister really so opportunistic at every corner? She thought, with a sinking feeling, that maybe it was. A place as huge as this could hold anything and everything.

    ¡°You can say whatever you want,¡± she managed. ¡°But you don¡¯t get to tell me what to do.¡±

    ¡°No, I don¡¯t,¡± Kionah said, lifting her chin. ¡°But I¡¯m warning you that others will certainly try. But enough about them, and enough about me. What do you want, Aliyah?¡±

    She swallowed the lump in her throat, because that was a stressful question, now, wasn¡¯t it? What did she want? She didn¡¯t want Shadowsong, not with all of its secrets and baggage and bloodthirsty Magicians prowling around¡ªbut she did want to spend her free afternoons buried in books once more. She wanted to peel a freshly-picked clementine and to eat it segment by segment under the shade of the old ironwood tree, four years long gone, every branch long-burnt by now, smoke particles scattered to the winds. She wanted to see Rana again. She wanted to be happy but above all, she wanted to be safe.

    ¡°I¡ªI want to go home,¡± she said, which wasn¡¯t enough to convey what she meant.

    Kionah gave her a small, tight smile. ¡°Can¡¯t do that, I¡¯m afraid. But you do want to survive, don¡¯t you? You wanted to survive every step of the way through those blasted tunnels, I could see it. We helped each other, didn¡¯t we?¡±

    Aliyah paused. Gone was the courtly cadence in Kionah¡¯s tone. Now, there was something else threaded through her words, something that stretched past the title of spymaster and into the territory of¡ªwell, she¡¯d said it herself, hadn¡¯t she? Back when they¡¯d talked among the bones of the vanquished Behemoth: chameleon strategy, emulation.

    Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation.

    Kionah was a type of trickster, she thought. Someone who flowed like water¡ªwater that could change its shape to fit the necessary receptacle, be it bowl, cup, city, castle. What Kionah had been in Shadowsong wasn¡¯t necessarily what she was now. She¡¯d been the flawless, competent royal spymaster right until she¡¯d descended back into Glister. All that cool finesse had flowed seamlessly into threatening crosstalk, thieves'' cant, bared teeth. Practiced viciousness. Perhaps it was good to not forget how quickly she¡¯d switched out one mask for another. Or if she¡¯d removed the mask entirely.

    ¡°I don¡¯t necessarily need you for that,¡± Aliyah said slowly. ¡°Look, I¡¯m sure you¡¯re right, I¡¯m sure Glister is scary. But I know what you¡¯re trying to do. You can¡¯t trick me into going with you just because you¡¯re the only person I sort-of know here. Because I clearly don¡¯t know you at all.¡±

    Kionah merely blinked at her for several heartbeats, then sighed, shoulders sagging. ¡°Fine. I¡¯m sorry,¡± she said, and she sounded sincere, but it wasn¡¯t like Aliyah could tell for sure. ¡°I can¡¯t force you to help me, and I won¡¯t. But I meant it, when I said I could help you. I¡¯ll show you to Luxon¡¯s to get that faery-mark looked at, no strings attached.¡±

    ¡°No strings at all?¡± She found that hard to believe. She¡¯d never been one for the nuances of Songian court, but even she knew that soft favours and mutual obligations could hold more weight than they seemed to, on the surface.

    ¡°I¡¯d be lying if I said I¡¯m not hoping you¡¯d reconsider. Think on it, if you like. The criminal association may bother you, I understand. But this is the least I can do, I promise you that. I dragged you into this mess and I¡¯ll see if I can¡¯t drag you a little out of it.¡±

    ¡°What use would you even have of me?¡± she asked warily.

    ¡°I like being alive,¡± Kionah said with a bluntness that unnerved her. ¡°Someone with your healing ability will be useful in my particular circumstances, to say the least.¡±

    ¡°¡­Your particular circumstances? I thought that you had all the help you needed, with Shasta and all.¡±

    Kionah snorted. ¡°Shasta? We go way back, but he¡¯s got his own affairs to mind and I mine.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not signing up to be shot at by¡ªother criminals. Whatever enemies you¡¯ve managed to make. You know I can¡¯t fight, not really. And I¡¯m not a real Healer either.¡±

    Kionah raised her chin. ¡°Yes, I know. You¡¯ve said so multiple times by now. I would merely like you around for¡­insurance, now I¡¯m back. Glister can be an unpleasant place and I¡¯ve lost allies by being away.¡± She hesitated. ¡°Anyhow. Think it over, won¡¯t you? And let me bring you to Luxon, at least. Then we¡¯ll be even.¡±

    Aliyah narrowed her eyes. ¡°Is this some kind of trap?¡±

    ¡°If I wanted to trap you, I could have brought a bunch of Shasta¡¯s boys down here with me. Or more likely, I would have snagged the master keys from the keeper, no pretense needed. As it was, I convinced Shasta that it would be far more beneficial to him if I came alone, helped you, and didn¡¯t spook you off into the clutches of other interested parties.¡±

    ¡°And I¡¯m supposed to¡­be grateful for that?¡± she asked bitterly.

    ¡°I¡¯m just being level with you, Aliyah.¡± Kionah hesitated. ¡°If not for your cooperation, I¡¯d be dead by now. And you were the one who used up all your power against the faeries, back down in those hells-damned tunnels. I don¡¯t like that sense of obligation any more than you would. So I would appreciate it if you¡¯d let me wipe clean the slate, so to speak.¡±

    Aliyah frowned as the itch on her forearm crept back into the forefront of her consciousness. She sent a wave of numbness to wash over it; it didn¡¯t do anything. Ah, but of course; there was no histamine coursing under her skin, no grounded source of the itch¡ªthere was only itching in a magical sense¡ªan illusion. It was something that, paradoxically, felt more real because of its so-called unreality. She gritted her teeth, tried again nonetheless. Nothing changed.

    ¡°And why should I trust you, after what you were in Shadowsong and what you do now?¡±

    ¡°I suppose you can¡¯t. But neither can you trust the rest of the city.¡± Kionah laughed bitterly. ¡°I¡¯d hate to be in your position, I really would.¡±

    ¡°Okay,¡± Aliyah said, lifting her chin. ¡°Let¡¯s go see your faery friend, then.¡±

    ===

    It was raining on the surface, a limp summery drizzle that barely cut through the mid-morning heat. Kionah had led her back to Crow Ear station and they¡¯d taken the shuttlebus back up. Now, they walked under the eaves of shops to avoid the rain. It was some sort of main street, Aliyah gathered. Sellers hawked their wares from the sides, but they did so with a world-weary placidness. Golden mage-chariots rumbled by on the street proper, and she even saw someone trotting by on horseback.

    ¡°City Watch,¡± Kionah noted, following her gaze. ¡°You see them a lot more up here.¡±

    ¡°If there¡¯s a City Watch, why don¡¯t you go ask them for help, instead of me?¡± Aliyah asked, and then regretted it immediately as Kionah¡¯s shoulders tensed.

    ¡°My associates tend to stand in opposition,¡± she muttered. ¡°Like I said, you see them more up here. Look, you don¡¯t get it, do you? Things work like they do back in your castle, but also not. City Watch isn¡¯t much help to the likes of me. Anyhow. Want breakfast? On me.¡±

    ¡°Uh,¡± she said. ¡°Is this more bribery?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s not bribery.¡± Kionah flicked a limp strand of hair away from her face. ¡°It¡¯s shit weather, and I bet you haven¡¯t eaten since you ran out on Shasta and I. Yes?¡±

    ¡°You¡­wouldn¡¯t try to poison me, would you?¡±

    Kionah stared at her flatly. ¡°You¡¯re a Healer, and I¡¯m not that stupid. Are you hungry, or not?¡±

    ¡°I¡­I suppose.¡±

    Kionah bought breakfast¡ªactually bought it this time. Aliyah waited on a nearby bench and watched her buy it, with copper coins, from a hole-in-the-wall shop run by an old man with a braided beard. Kionah returned with a crinkly, clear cup in each hand, full of what looked like pale orange soup. There was a flimsy wooden spoon stuck into each serving. Kionah handed her one and started eating as they walked.

    ¡°What is this?¡± Aliyah asked, poking at the surface with the tip of her spoon. The soup was cold and viscous, like porridge without the lumps.

    Kionah was drinking her mystery breakfast without abandon. ¡°People just call it ¡®brine¡¯, but don¡¯t let that put you off. It¡¯s like¡­cold pudding, I suppose. Sweet, refreshing. Good for the summer.¡±

    Aliyah took a tentative sip. It was nice, all things considered.

    They rounded onto a high street of sorts, one that reminded her of the upper-markets back in the kingdom. The displays in these shop windows were a mixture of expensive-looking hats, charms, and perfumes. People swished and strutted down the sidewalks, holding painted parasols against the drizzle. Mage-chariots clicked on by, all shimmering filigree and shapely, studded wheels. Someone in a brightly-coloured capelet gave them a wide berth.

    Kionah tossed her empty cup into the slot of a sleek, metallic waste-disposal contraption as they turned a corner. Aliyah gulped down the last of the brine and copied her.

    ¡°So this faery,¡± Aliyah said. ¡°What¡¯s she like?¡±

    ¡°Luxon?¡± Kionah frowned, just slightly. ¡°She¡¯s nice enough, if a little air-headed. Has a taste for human luxuries. You¡¯ll see soon enough¡ªthere.¡±

    She led the way to a shopfront stacked high with spell-bottles and what looked like antique brass kitchenware. A painted sign declared the name in bright purple letters: Fructuous Charms Emporium. The door jingled as she pushed it open.

    ¡°Hellooooo,¡± a voice trilled out. ¡°I¡¯ll be out in just a second!¡±

    The inside of the emporium was all white and gold and grey, strung with butter-yellow lights and bundles of dried flowers. A high counter sat at the far end of the room and behind it, a curtained doorway set into the wall. The shelves displayed an assortment of bottles and scrolls, all of them shimmering with a thin film of enchantment. Dribbles of dark tar dripped from the crown molding, but Aliyah saw no sign of the faery, let alone any other shoppers.

    Kionah went up to the counter and propped her elbow there, sighing. ¡°Luxon, it¡¯s me,¡± she called out. ¡°Kionah.¡±

    Creaking and clattering sounds rang out from the doorway behind the counter, as if someone were rushing down a long flight of rather steep steps.

    ¡°Kionah?¡± the faery asked, bursting out from behind the curtained doorway. ¡°My, it¡¯s been so long.¡± She swept over to her side of the counter in a flurry of lace and brocade.

    Aliyah stared. The faery¡ªLuxon¡ªdid sort of resemble the ones that she¡¯d seen on the battlefield, and the ones they¡¯d fled from in the underground cavern. Her skin was a colour halfway between ice-blue and violet, and she had huge, beautiful moth-like wings in the same shade that draped down her back like a cloak. Spikes of chitin-bone curved outwards and upwards, rooted in her cheekbones and temples and a tiny, stubby bump at her forehead like a vestigial unicorn¡¯s horn. She was dressed from neck to wrists to ankles in a lacy grey gown.

    ¡°Oh, and greetings to you too,¡± she exclaimed, turning to Aliyah. Her lips curved up into an uncannily human-looking smile. The rest of her face didn¡¯t move so much, but the spikes flexed and tilted upwards.

    It was a little startling to see such inhuman parts up close and in motion¡ªbarely-visible seams in the chitin where joints lay¡ªfluid and working and alive. Her eyes, too, were unusual and unnerving: large, lime-green, and multifaceted like cut gemstones, with no visible pupils or sclera whatsoever. This was no wooden, monstrous puppet-automaton paraded around at all the Songian festivals, slain by thespians dressed as Magicians. This was real, undeniably quasi-biological material. Sentient, sophont. It made Aliyah¡¯s heard whirl. She tried to keep from staring.

    ¡°How may I help you today?¡± the faery continued. Her wings fluttered into motion and she flutter-hopped over the counter, landing lightly in front of them. Aliyah noticed that she had a tail; it moved expressively and faded to green along its length. The tip vaguely resembled a closed artichoke bud.

    ¡°My companion here has a problem,¡± Kionah said. ¡°Some sort of enchantment cast upon her. Faery-like, in fact.¡±

    Luxon gave an unusually graceful sort of frown. ¡°But surely my compatriots in the Hive¡ª¡±

    ¡°I¡­I don¡¯t think they were from your Hive,¡± Aliyah ventured. ¡°It happened outside of the city.¡± She glanced over to Kionah, hesitating.

    Kionah sighed. ¡°I made use of your map. We¡¯re not sure who they are. Just show her, Aliyah.¡±

    Aliyah pulled up her sleeve, and Luxon¡¯s gemstone-eyes widened.

    ¡°Oh,¡± she breathed. ¡°Oh dear, oh dear. That¡¯s not good at all¡ªit¡¯s a tracker-mark.¡±

 2.7 - In Harmâ€™s Way

    Aliyah

    ¡°A tracker mark?¡± she asked.

    A bolt of ice ran down her spine and the mark on her arm seemed to itch even more. The golden faerie had placed it onto her arm; did that mean it knew where she was, right now? Was it following her, lurking on the street outside? A shiver ran down her spine.

    ¡°Can you get rid of it?¡±

    ¡°Can I?¡± Luxon asked as she placed a delicate hand to the mark on her arm. ¡°Hmm.¡±

    Her chitinous fingerpads felt cold and smooth, halfway between metal and glass. Aliyah tried not to flinch.

    ¡°It seems some variant of a silly old Hive enchantment. Of course I can! But, ah. Not immediately, I¡¯m afraid. This is a highly unusual order. I will have to brew a custom ointment, order in some reagents, that kind of thing. And,¡± she said, as she moved her finger to tap on her chin, ¡°there is a price.¡±

    ¡°What kind of price?¡± Aliyah asked warily, half-expecting her to say something like ¡®your left kidney¡¯.

    ¡°Seven crests and a crown,¡± Luxon said with a flourish.

    Aliyah blinked at her. Crests? What were crests? Ah, but of course they had different currency here. Was a Glisterian crest more than a Songian crown? Trepidation crept up on her. Whatever it was, it sounded expensive.

    ¡°That¡¯s about eight of your crowns altogether,¡± Kionah said, nudging lightly her with her elbow. ¡°Perhaps a bit more, depending on which money changer you go to. Gold crowns versus silver crowns; confusing, I know.¡±

    ¡°Oh,¡± she said.

    Her mind whirled. How many weeks of work was equivalent to eight crowns? Thirty six minus eight was twenty eight. Was there a cheaper enchantress around? Was she being scalped of her coin? Was this a racket that Kionah and Luxon were in on together? But if it really was a tracker-mark, she wanted the thing off her arm as soon as possible. She felt a coil of dread settle in her stomach at the prospect of seeing that golden faerie again, the memory of an arrow through the stomach, and spears sunk into the backs of her knees.

    ¡°How long would it take you?¡± she asked reluctantly.

    ¡°Two days,¡± Luxon said. ¡°Oh dear, don¡¯t look so nervous! Kionah, you haven¡¯t tangled this poor girl up in anything nasty, have you? But what am I saying, it¡¯s a tracker-mark¡ªfrom a Hive-unaffiliated individual, no less. Of course something fishy is going on. How intriguing.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re Hive-unaffiliated,¡± Kionah pointed out.

    Luxon frowned. ¡°Now that¡¯s just not the same. I still have ties to the Hive, however tenuous. Don¡¯t lump me in with those schismatists. Eugh.¡± She turned to Aliyah. ¡°Have you made up your mind yet, dearest?¡±

    Kionah sighed. ¡°I¡¯ll pay.¡±

    Aliyah froze as she scrambled for the meaning of her offer. ¡°What? Oh, um. No, you don¡¯t have to.¡±

    ¡°I owe you that at least,¡± she said wearily. ¡°You¡¯re hardly flush with coin at the moment, aren¡¯t you? One good turn deserves another, or so Shasta keeps telling me.¡±

    ¡°Songian?¡± Luxon asked, wrinkling her nose. ¡°Ahh, the fabled desert kingdom. You¡¯re from there?¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± Aliyah said. A pang of longing echoed in her chest, which was ridiculous, really. She¡¯d never felt like it was a real home. True, Zahir¡¯s office had been a haven and Rana¡¯s room had always been comforting, but¡ª

    ¡°I have it on good authority that they kill our kind on sight,¡± Luxon said coolly. ¡°And that they prance around in evil costumes. What¡¯s that like, living in a place that¡¯s just humans?¡±

    ¡°Um,¡± Aliyah said.

    ¡°Aliyah¡¯s not like that,¡± Kionah broke in. ¡°And keep this information discreet, if you would. We¡¯ve both got people after us.¡±

    Aliyah didn¡¯t like the sound of that. It added credence to the feeling of being hunted.

    Luxon¡¯s half-scowl faded into a wince. ¡°Oh. Oh dear, that sounds¡­aggravating. In need of protective potions, by any chance?¡±

    Kionah grunted. ¡°Some other time, perhaps. You in need of another chariot or some semi-precious gems, you let me know.¡±

    ¡°Of course, dearest. Now, you can pay half now and half at pick-up, or all upfront. Dispelling ointment should be done in two days. Come back at noon, or later. But I close by sundown.¡±

    Kionah fished out a handful of golden coins from her own purse¡ªeach of them a little larger than Songian crowns, but thinner, with an intricate crest stamped on both sides¡ªand a silver coin that vaguely resembled a Songian crescent. At least gold and silver were sort of the same here, a minor constant in this kaleidoscope city.

    ¡°Excellent,¡± Luxon said, gathering them up from where Kionah had placed them onto the counter. ¡°All the best, now. I¡¯ll have it ready as soon as possible.¡±

    The door jingled merrily on their way out. The summer drizzle had dried up and now the street baked under rays of unrelenting summer sunshine.

    ¡°Now what?¡± Aliyah asked. The tracker-mark itched away at her skin, on the cusp of burning. She wanted to scratch it off, to scrub it raw.

    ¡°Now you do whatever you want to do,¡± Kionah said, shrugging. ¡°For two days, at least. Then you come back here and pick up your ointment.¡±

    ¡°What? How? I¡¯d get lost.¡± She had no idea how to get back to the Plum Dove Inn, wasn¡¯t even sure she wanted to go back, considering how Kionah had implied it was pretty much owned by Shasta and his gunrunner gang. The city still felt like a hedge-cut labyrinth tipped on its side, senseless and claustrophobic.

    ¡°Well I¡¯m going to go and catch up with a couple of people. You can accompany me, if you like.¡±

    ¡°Accompany you to¡ªwas this your plan all along?¡±

    Kionah scowled, looking almost offended. ¡°I¡¯m not putting my personal plans aside just to escort you all over the city,¡± she said. ¡°You¡¯re free to go. There are some decent guides in the market square back there, Crowfire Whispers or something. They¡¯ll get you back safe and sound.¡±

    ¡°Shasta¡¯s people?¡± she asked, frowning.

    ¡°No relation.¡±

    Aliyah hesitated. Try as she might, she couldn¡¯t quite distance herself from the fact that Kionah was the most familiar face she¡¯d see in the whole city. She¡¯d had a tracker-mark put on her by a faery who¡¯d tried to kill her¡­wouldn¡¯t it be wise to stick by an actual mage in the meantime? Someone who¡ªunlike her¡ªcould cast a decent shield? There were faeries everywhere in Glister, just walking or flying around in public. Which meant that the attackers from the tunnels could be anywhere, hiding in plain sight.

    ¡°Who are you going to see?¡± she asked.

    ¡°Mister money changer¡ªforger, I guess you¡¯d call him, too, but he doesn¡¯t forge currency. The coin exchange part by itself is legitimate, if you¡¯re worried about that. And then my old fence¡ª¡±

    ¡°Fence?¡± she interrupted, thinking of the sort that went around a vegetable plot.

    ¡°He resells stolen goods.¡± Kionah said. ¡°Anyways. Then I¡¯ll maybe shop for new contacts, if I have the time.¡± She gestured to her glasses and snorted. ¡°These anti-smudging enchantments only last so long.¡±

    Aliyah thought it over for a moment. ¡°So¡­I could get my Songian coins swapped to Glisterian ones by the money changer if I come with you? Is he¡ªare either of them dangerous?¡±

    Kionah snorted. ¡°Hardly. At most, it might be dangerously boring for you.¡±

    Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.

    She weighed her choice in her head one more time, more of a private formality than anything else. She was nervous of the criminal crowd that Kionah ran with, but unlike the golden faery, they hadn¡¯t actually tried to harm her¡ªyet.

    ¡°Alright,¡± she said. ¡°Alright, I¡¯ll come along.¡±

    Kionah smiled ever-so-slightly, a twitch of her lips that was there and then gone again. ¡°Keep up now,¡± she said, and started down the street.

    Kionah led her through another suffocating crush of city-goers, people dressed up in flowing silks and tattered rags alike. Merchants yelled with hoarse voices and buskers sang discordant tunes at every corner. The air smelled of sesame oil one moment, then of cloying incense the next.

    Her attention whirled to and fro; she felt that maybe she was getting a little more used to the chaos, but she wasn¡¯t quite there yet. Every now and again, something made her jump out of her skin: the unexpected clang of a gong, a shout too close to her ear, the yelps and whimpers of chimera-things in cages. Kionah fended off a couple of pickpocket-children who she didn¡¯t notice until they were almost brushing up against her, and for that she was grateful.

    Eventually, they got through to a quieter alley that led into a maze of grotty, water-stained high-rise apartments¡ªor at least, Kionah had said they were apartments. It seemed too quiet to be a residential district, and Aliyah wondered if people only lived here out of necessity. The air smelled damp and musty, like brackish water from the bottom of an unchanged vase: sullen sprigs of greenery rotting from the cut-stem upwards. The paths between the apartment blocks consisted mostly of stone steps, one set after the other, up and down, a jerky route. Mossy arrows and the occasional wooden marker pointed the way, but the names inscribed upon them flitted through her thoughts without sticking.

    ¡°Kionah,¡± Aliyah said, wheezing a little as she followed her up yet another a set of steps. ¡°How do you remember all of this?¡±

    ¡°Memory? Landmarks?¡± Kionah asked, flashing a frown over her shoulder. ¡°A map, if I¡¯m going somewhere new. I was born here, so it¡¯s not that difficult if I stick to the places I know. How did you navigate Shadowsong?¡±

    ¡°I, ah, I didn¡¯t. I just went into the market sometimes.¡± She cringed inwardly. True, she had been otherwise preoccupied over the years and true, the castle had plenty of gardens and such, but it felt uncomfortable admitting that¡­disconnect. It was the only place she¡¯d ever been. It still hadn¡¯t ever really felt like home.

    ¡°Hm. I suppose that makes two of us. I never explored Shadowsong much either.¡±

    ¡°I thought you got to race a chariot across the salt pan,¡± Aliyah pointed out as they rounded a corner, all crumbling brick and dots of broken glass crunching beneath her shoes.

    ¡°It was a zephyr boat. And well, yes, I suppose. Alhena bloody insisted¡ª¡± She came to an abrupt stop. ¡°This wasn¡¯t here before.¡±

    A plain grey brick wall barred the way. Kionah walked up to it and put her palm against the surface.

    ¡°Hmm,¡± she said, sounding displeased. She started shoving at it, leaning her full weight against the surface. ¡°Say, does anything about this look funny to you?¡±

    The wall started to crinkle at the edges, wavering where Kionah walked forwards, the whole thing simultaneously shuffling back with her steps and yet staying in place. Aliyah blinked in recognition; here was a type of magic that had no compunctions about making your eyes hurt.

    ¡°¡­Yes?¡± Aliyah stared, brow furrowed. ¡°It might be enchanted¡ªwhat are you doing?¡±

    ¡°Testing something,¡± Kionah grunted. She gave the wall a little kick, then a harder one. It wavered some more, but didn¡¯t budge.

    ¡°Testing what? Is¡­is it working? What are you testing for?¡±

    Kionah gave her ankle a shake and proceeded to ignore her questions. ¡°Come and give me a boost.¡±

    ¡°What?¡± She stepped forwards anyways, uncertainly. ¡°How?¡±

    ¡°Get on one knee, cup your hands together¡ªno, lace the fingers. No, you have to brace your hand over your knee, it can¡¯t just be floating, I¡¯m going to use it as a step.¡± She blew out an exasperated breath. ¡°Yeah, like that. Ready? And¡­hup¡ª!¡±

    Kionah stepped onto the flat of her linked hands with one foot and pushed off the ground with the other. Aliyah yelped and tried not to stagger as Kionah¡¯s full weight pressed down on her palms for a moment. Then Kionah was scrabbling for the top of the wall and hoisting herself up to perch there.

    Her fingers closed around nothing; the wall melted.

    Aliyah gave a shout of surprise as it came down like a wave in too-slow-motion, bricks warping and turning to mush. Where it sank into the floor, it simply disappeared, as if it never existed in the first place. Kionah tipped forwards against the former, now non-existent, top of the wall. She rolled, shoulder over hip, as she hit the ground. A golden spell-shield burst into existence around her as she scrambled to her feet.

    ¡°A-ha!¡± she crowed, shifting into a fighting stance and glancing around. Her hands started to glow with spell-light. ¡°I knew it! Come on out! You¡¯re such a shitty illusionist.¡±

    Aliyah glanced around wildly, seeing only grimy brick walls¡ªpresumably real ones, those¡ªflanking her left and right. A ways further down, a couple of trees peeked over said walls. She followed Kionah¡¯s gaze to the upper branches of the leafy canopies.

    A slice of leaf-patterned shadow moved above, then peeled itself away from the boughs. Aliyah flinched and pulled the precursor steps for vasodilation to her palms in a startled rush. The piece of shadow was a silhouette: humanoid, slight build, suggestion of long hair and skirts but otherwise fuzzy at the edges. It moved away from the shadows and she saw that it was covered in a dark green, tessellating leaves and mottled half-light¡ªnot perfect, but it blended in with the foliage well enough. If the silhouette hadn¡¯t moved, she wouldn¡¯t have noticed. An icy shiver ran down her back.

    The illusionist-silhouette hopped off its branch, slowing its descent with a burst of greenish magic at the last moment to land in a light crouch, only a short distance away from them. Aliyah edged behind Kionah as the silhouette moved, rising up into a straight-backed, close-footed stance. It made a sharp, chopping motion with its hand and then the illusion was dispelled.

    In front of them stood the red-haired girl from the teahouse. ¡°Oh, Kion,¡± she drawled. ¡°Fancy seeing you here.¡±

    ¡°Hello, Maia,¡± Kionah said. She sounded false-sweet and saccharine-vicious in a way that Aliyah hadn¡¯t heard before. ¡°If you want a fight, I¡¯ll be more than happy to oblige. But now is really not the time. Don¡¯t you have better things to do than follow me around? It¡¯s quite off-putting, you know.¡±

    ¡°Believe it or not, my life doesn¡¯t revolve around you,¡± Maia sniffed, tossing her hair back with one hand. ¡°I¡¯m here all day, for work.¡±

    ¡°Your job is to block the route to Koriannon¡¯s shop now?¡± Kionah asked. She shifted out of her ready stance and crossed her arms, though Aliyah noted that her shield remained firmly in place.

    Aliyah glanced between the two, uncertainty tensed in every muscle. The fear of the mystery illusionist had passed; Kionah seemed pretty confident that Maia wasn¡¯t going to hurt them. But that left her with the prickling, acute discomfort of being the unwanted bystander to what was starting to sound like the beginning of a deeply personal argument. It wasn¡¯t like she could say anything, could she? She settled for just standing there instead, resisting the urge to scratch at her itching faery-mark. Eyes on Maia and vasodilation at the ready, just in case.

    ¡°Yes! As a matter of fact, it is.¡± Maia raised her chin and smiled a small, self-satisfied smile. ¡°Koriannon and his people have been having issues with the rabble. Obviously, they asked after help. Twilight Mermaid sent me.¡±

    ¡°What, because you¡¯re the cheapest of the bunch?¡± Kionah asked, and snorted. ¡°Let us through.¡±

    Maia wrinkled her nose. ¡°No. Be nice.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t think so.¡±

    ¡°Go on. It¡¯s not me who has to see Koriannon.¡±

    ¡°I will burn your pretty little eyebrows off with spellfire if you don¡¯t get out of my way,¡± Kionah said.

    ¡°Tsk, tsk. You were always so aggressive, Kion.¡± Maia smirked and then laughed, bringing her hand up to cover her mouth as she did so. ¡°I guess I liked that. But not today I don¡¯t. I¡¯m on the job, so unless you want Twilight Mermaid onto you, you need to ask. Nicely.¡±

    ¡°Please let us through,¡± Kionah said through gritted teeth.

    ¡°Did your mother dearest never teach you your manners?¡± Maia mocked. ¡°I suppose it¡¯s only expected from the future beggar-queen herself. Try again.¡±

    Kionah¡¯s shoulders tensed, and the slightest flare of spellfire glowed at her fingertips. Then she curled her fists, quenching it. ¡°Enough,¡± she said. ¡°I¡¯ll go and find someone else.¡± She turned away. ¡°Come on, Aliyah.¡±

    Maia laughed again, from behind the flat of her hand. ¡°You¡¯ll have to. He¡¯s closed.¡±

    Kionah stopped. Turned around. ¡°Pardon?¡±

    ¡°Like I said, he¡¯s closed for the week. So are a bunch of the other ¡®feiters, by the way. All of the good ones, at least. You¡¯re welcome.¡±

    ¡°Closed? Then why are you here?¡±

    Maia sighed and crossed her arms. ¡°Because they wanted me to be, even so.¡±

    ¡°Ah,¡± Kionah said, quieter and with more trepidation than Aliyah had anticipated. ¡°So that¡¯s how it is.¡±

    ¡°Bad things going around,¡± Maia said with too-bright cheer. ¡°It¡¯s always like that, you know?¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± Kionah said. ¡°Are you going to tell me what¡¯s going on, or are you going to keep trying to bait me into begging for details?¡±

    ¡°There¡¯s some strange stuff happening, alright?¡± Maia huffed. ¡°New people to the territory. Foreign ladies, going around asking things of the ¡®feiters. Big work. Too big. Taken and not paid for by other¡­interested parties, apparently. Everyone¡¯s on edge and I¡¯m taking over for Octavia because someone got the drop on her a couple of days ago.¡± She hesitated, then lowered her voice. ¡°I¡¯m really freaking out, okay? Come on Kion, you gotta help me out here.¡±

    ¡°What,¡± Kionah said, and then laughed. ¡°So that little display at Shasta¡¯s was supposed to endear me to your sisterhood¡¯s predicament?¡±

    Maia pressed her mouth into a tight, hard line. ¡°Ugh. I missed you, Kion. I really did. But this is serious, and I¡¯m getting the creeps from waiting here all day.¡±

    ¡°Then leave. Koriannon can afford to hire someone else, I¡¯m sure.¡±

    ¡°You know that¡¯s not how it works. Nora¡¯s doing her best, she really is, but we¡¯re running ourselves to the ground over here¡ª¡±

    ¡°Can¡¯t keep your ill-gotten territory? Poor Nivale, should¡¯ve seen it coming. Little pissing groups like yours fall to pieces all the time. I don¡¯t know why you¡¯re even surprised.¡±

    ¡°Twilight Mermaid isn¡¯t a ¡®little pissing group¡¯, much as you¡¯d like to believe it,¡± Maia said, bristling visibly. ¡°We¡¯re on our way up and you¡¯d do well if you gave us a chance. I know you can help. You haven¡¯t signed on with Shasta or anything, have you? Everyone else is shoring up for trouble and us honest folks are being left in the dust. Octavia needs more healing potions and some of the girls have families; we need you and I think you need us.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s really just too bad,¡± Kionah snapped. ¡°Perhaps you should have thought about that before you tripped and fell headfirst onto Rhoswen¡¯s¡ª¡±

    ¡°Kion,¡± Maia pleaded. ¡°People are saying there are faeries involved.¡±

    Aliyah¡¯s ears pricked at that, a shiver of ice washing down her spine. Was it just her imagination, or was the faery-mark on her hand itching harder? Then it blazed, hot and fierce and burning¡ª

    ¡°Stuff that,¡± Kionah said, and then a wall of fire-bright arrows rained down upon them.

 2.8 - Enemy of My Enemy

    Aliyah

    She saw the flash of spell-light and braced herself for the impact: arms up to protect her face, dulling pain receptors, readying precursors for fresh cellular synthesis¡ª

    Maia yelled. Kionah bolstered her shield a fraction of a second too late.

    The shower of arrows hissed against her skin, but didn¡¯t punch through. They fizzled out and burning pinpricks erupted all over her arms: reddened marks, no blood, a light wash of pain. She concentrated on the itching ache of the faery-mark to drown out the rest of it as she searched for the source of the arrows¡ªthere, a glint of silver carapace, readying another volley.

    ¡°Run!¡± Kionah shouted, grabbing her roughly by the arm.

    She felt herself being pushed down the alley and obeyed unthinkingly, started running.

    ¡°Faeries!¡± Maia shrieked. ¡°Hells-fucking-hells¡ª¡±

    Another volley of arrows burst around them, some stinging, others missing. Superficial wounds. She focused on pouring magic into her muscles and joints, forcing herself to sprint faster to keep up with Kionah.

    They careened down the suddenly claustrophobic alley, turned several corners and dashed down sets of steps. More arrows flanked them, bursting from the mouths of side-streets. She dodged a sphere of crackling spell-light that erupted from behind a tree. Her heart thundered in her chest. Her breath came in ragged, panicked gasps.

    She glanced over her shoulder for a split second and saw flashing silver, the impression of a faery with shining, spiked pauldrons and pointy wings, possibly the shapes of even more faeries behind her. A bolt of fresh spellfire grazed her shoulder¡ªblue this time, not white, and she didn¡¯t know if it mattered because it still hurt just the same. She turned back ahead and healed the incision, legs pumping faster. She forced herself to shield, weak golden light flickering to life over her skin.

    More arrows whistled past. Her shield was, of course, broken immediately.

    A piercing point of spellfire lodged into her back, pain throbbing against her shoulderblade. She gave a cut-off scream, tamped down on the blood trickling out, ragged ends of flesh half-cauterized by the heat of the arrowhead itself. She stumbled, gathered up her magic and shoved it at the wound, purging it of contaminants and sealing it shut.

    Arrows spat out of an alley to their right, moments before Maia could turn into it. Maia shrieked and cast something purple at the faery that emerged there.

    ¡°Stop! Stop it you bloody fae¡ªGlister Hive¡¯ll be onto this,¡± Maia yelled, and kept sprinting.

    Next to her, Kionah was looking more and more visibly distressed.

    ¡°Not this way,¡± she gritted out, catching Aliyah¡¯s eye. ¡°Have to go left or it¡¯s a dead end, I think¡ª¡± She yelped as arrows crashed into her shields, a continuous stream of them. The spellwork shattered.

    Aliyah caught one in the side and another in the calf¡ªoh hells, it burnt. She hissed at the way the gouged-open wounds flexed as she ran, healed them, tried to cast another pathetic shield. Kionah¡¯s shield flared back to life, larger this time, enough to cover both their backs. She gathered spellfire in her hands, lobbing it back over her shoulder to the archer-faeries in pursuit.

    The path leftwards glowed, sharp and bright. Another faery appeared out of nowhere, blocking the way¡ªdull-green and whorl-horned, brandishing a staff glowing so bright that it hurt to look at. He scythed through the air in a short burst of speed and cracked Kionah over the head with it.

    Kionah¡¯s shield shattered and she dropped; Maia shrieked. The faery turned to face Maia. She shrieked again, and pulled out a knife.

    Kionah lay, unmoving, on the cobblestones.

    Oh stars, Aliyah thought frantically. That was a concussion, at the very least. Oh hells, hellgods¡ªshe couldn¡¯t fix brain injury stuff. Too complicated, too delicate. Chemicals and metabolites. Come on Zahir, where was this part of the lesson plan? Oh hells, oh hells, can¡¯t just do nothing and let her die¡ª

    She dropped to her knees and placed a hand onto Kionah¡¯s shoulder. Kionah was breathing and not dead, which was good. Her eyes were half-open but a little glazed over, her glasses slightly cracked in both lenses.

    Then she moved her hand to Kionah¡¯s forehead. Going near the brain always made her feel queasy, but now wasn¡¯t the time to dwell on that. She took a breath, and reached in, skimming over the skull with the senses supplied by her magic. Just assessing, checking for fractures. She was deeply, uncomfortably aware of the lump of fat and neurons that formed all of Kionah¡¯s personhood lurking just beneath; how potentially fragile it was despite the bodily equilibirum, how the wrong touch might spell disaster.

    Somewhere behind her, Maia yelled. Then came the whistling of more arrows. She forced a shielding spell to life around herself, tuned out the sound, and did another quick sweep of Kionah¡¯s skull¡ªundamaged, as far as she could tell. The beginnings of swelling in the flesh, but otherwise probably-mostly fine, thanks to her shield absorbing most of the blow.

    ¡°Aliyah?¡± Kionah asked, her voice slurred. She squinted, and then yelled: ¡°behind you!¡±

    Her shield shattered in warning. She whirled around just in time to catch a spell to the face. It opened up cuts in her skin, shallow¡ªbut there were so many, bursting open over her cheeks and chin. One missed her left eyeball by a hair.

    She healed the cuts, smoothed out the skin on her face, and rounded on the faery¡ªthe silver one, standing a good six feet away.

    ¡°What the hells!?¡± she screamed, surprised by the loudness of her own voice. ¡°Why are you¡ªwhat do you want? I haven¡¯t done anything to you!¡±

    The silver faery didn¡¯t answer. She didn¡¯t even move; her face was unreadable. She had solid compound eyes, like Luxon¡¯s, but they were a dull, dead-looking blue. She held a bow in one hand and a shining, white spell-arrow ready in the other. Aliyah¡¯s focus locked onto the arrow. Had this been the one that had shot her, back down in the tunnels?

    She forced a wave of numbness through her body, centered on the most susceptible targets¡ªher trunk and extremities.

    The faery started moving, slowly, deliberately. Nocked her bow and aimed.

    Aliyah brought up her arms to protect her face and cast a panicked shield, knowing it would be useless. The arrow sheared right through and sank into her outstretched arm. She pulled it out, healing it as it went. Then she lunged, and Silver Faery flew upwards and away, dodging her outstretched hand.

    Behind her, Maia screamed.

    ¡°A little help, if you would!?¡±

    She whirled around. The green faery had gotten the upper hand. He was flinging darts of red spell-light at her from a distance, out of reach of her knife and splashes of green spellfire.

    Aliyah ran towards her. Kionah stumbled to her feet, fingertips glowing with a ready spell, and got there first.

    Green Faery brought up a shield, dissipating Kionah¡¯s spell. Kionah leaped in front of Maia and brought up a shield of her own.

    Green Faery raised his staff and shot a red hoop of spell-light¡ªto the side. Not at Kionah; at her.

    Aliyah dodged clumsily and it bit into her shoulder. A wave of blisters broke open on her skin, stinging through the lingering numbness she¡¯d cast. It felt¡ªbad. And familiar. Tunnels, she thought distantly. Then she remembered the nausea-keys in her pocket and fished them out as the faery raised his staff again¡ª

    Maia sprang to her feet, sprinted forwards, and tackled him.

    Aliyah applied more numbing and healed her blisters. The shadow of a headache pressed at her temples and the faery-mark was still itching on her forearm. She couldn¡¯t numb those.

    Something hit her from behind; more glowing white spell-arrows, piercing shots that lodged in her flesh. The pain was too distracting. She numbed those wounds too, pushed a wave of un-sensation through most of her body for good measure, leaving just enough to be able to move and react. Her heart hammered hard in her chest, beating against the back of her sternum; she could feel her pulse in her throat.

    She turned around and saw Silver Faery hovering in the air once more, flanked by two others¡ªone blue, one beige.

    She thrust the nausea-keys out at them and saw them twitch, heard the blue one grunt with pain. But none of them doubled over in the air to vomit. Instead, Silver looked away to load her bow once more, and the others copied her. She saw a flash of spell-light glinting over their eyes, runes for shielding and nullification. Either they¡¯d had help, or they¡¯d learned fast.

    She gave up, shoved the keys back into her pocket, and ran even as they peppered her back with arrows. She reached Kionah¡¯s shield with a manageable number of injuries; the golden shield wavered at her touch, letting her through.

    ¡°Now what?¡± she asked, voice cracking with panic.

    ¡°I don¡¯t know. Shield isn¡¯t the greatest. And I think¡ªdown there¡¯s a dead end.¡± Kionah looked as if she were swaying on her feet. ¡°Stand our ground. Have to. Bet my fucking teeth there¡¯s a trap waiting down that way.¡± She took a half-step forward and almost toppled over.

    Oh, Aliyah thought as she moved to hold her up by the arm. Concussion. Of course.

    Green Faery flung Maia back with a blast of red spell-light. She arced through the air in too-slow motion, aided by an invisible spell, and landed softly on her feet beside them. Kionah made a sound of frustration and widened her dome-shield to cover her.

    ¡°Kion, what the hells?¡± Maia asked. Blood was starting to trickle out of her nose. She clicked her fingers and bright green spellfire sprouted in her palms. She sent it forth in short plumes; the faery arrows fizzled out as they came into contact with it. ¡°Get it together! What now?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± Kionah said faintly through what looked like a mouthful of blood. She spat onto the ground, where it glistened wetly over the cobblestones. ¡°Should¡¯ve run to Koriannon¡¯s house instead, but someone was blocking the way.¡±

    ¡°Is¡ªisn¡¯t there anyone else around?¡± Aliyah asked desperately.

    Maia gave her a disgusted look, even as she battled with the onslaught of arrows. ¡°In these parts? They¡¯ll be huddling in their fucking basements. Any help from you?¡± she asked, with a mocking twist of her mouth. Then, not waiting for an answer, she turned back to the flurry of arrows, taking a step forwards to press right up against the inner surface of the shield.

    Aliyah opened her mouth to say something, to offer to fix the strings of blisters visible on her forearms¡ªbut then Kionah grabbed her by the wrist and squeezed, hard.

    ¡®Don¡¯t,¡¯ she mouthed, a warning in her dazed eyes.

    A shiver ran down Aliyah¡¯s spine as she remembered her words¡ªnot to your advantage. Then she glanced back up, through the shield and the smoke. Was it just her imagination, or were the arrows getting closer now, larger and brighter? Kionah was panting for breath, blood beading up at the corners of her mouth. Blood dripped down Maia¡¯s chin. The cascade of arrows wasn¡¯t stopping.

    ¡°What, then?¡± she whispered back frantically.

    Kionah let go of her wrist. She reached into her waistband and pulled out a pistol. The faeries faltered in their advance.

    ¡°What?¡± Aliyah hissed, then flinched as Kionah made to hand it to her. Her thoughts flashed back to how it had felt under the tunnels, the arrow in her guts, spellfire blazing.

    This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

    ¡°I can¡¯t do it,¡± Kionah spluttered through the blood dripping over her lips. ¡°Not from this fucking distance. C-can¡¯t see properly. Also. Busy shielding.¡±

    She stared down at the pistol in horror, unsure of whether to take it or push it away. ¡°What? No, I can¡¯t¡ªI don¡¯t even know how¡ª¡±

    ¡°Flick off safety. Aim. Pull this part¡ªthere¡¯s a kick. Reloads by itself¡ªmodification here.¡± She was referring to a cluster of crystalline-looking plates that looked as they had been cobbled onto the handle-part and bits of the barrel.

    Maia looked over her shoulder and made a sharp noise of annoyance. ¡°Give it to me, then,¡± she snapped.

    ¡°Break it, and I¡¯ll wring your neck,¡± Kionah said hoarsely.

    The air thickened around them. Aliyah¡¯s ears popped.

    A figure dropped down onto the cobblestones, with his back to them. He sank into a low crouch before rising to his feet, smooth as river water.

    Aliyah screamed. Maia did, too, and her puffs of green spellfire faltered, clearing the view. Kionah made an indistinct noise of surprise.

    The Magician didn¡¯t so much as twitch.

    Like a corpse in a flower field, Aliyah thought dizzily. How? Why here? They¡¯ve found us? They¡¯ve followed us, all the way from Shadowsong?

    The Magician took a spell-slip from the depths of his cloak. Her heartbeat threatened to drown out all other sound¡ªbut he held the slip out, aiming it away from them, towards the faeries.

    Streams of white fire arced upwards.

    Silver Faery and her companions dodged and started firing immediately, a dozen arrows at once. They pattered harmlessly off the Magician¡¯s thick cloak as he advanced, not bothering to weave out of the way. Blue and Beige darted off to the side to aim for the exposed back of his head, but their arrows bounced off too¡ªAliyah sharpened her eyesight and squinted. She could make out the barest shimmer surrounding his head and hands, some sort of Magician-specific protection from the mask, perhaps.

    He took out another spell-slip¡ªa large one this time, a strip of paper the length of his forearm. The faeries stopped firing and froze.

    Green Faery turned on his heel and launched himself into the sky, up and away. And just like that, the three others followed suit and darted off into the distance. The Magician stowed his spell-slip away and watched them go. Then he turned to face them.

    Next to her, Kionah inhaled sharply. Throughout the entire fight, she¡¯d only seen the back of the Magician¡¯s head: short, dark hair, peeking up over the blue swath of his cloak. Now, she shivered at the blankness of the mask¡ªa crudely stylised desert owl.

    Ah, she thought dully. Now¡¯s the part where he tries to kill us. She gathered vasodilation in her hands, even as she wondered if she¡¯d even be able to get close enough to touch him, whether her magic would be able to pierce his cloak¡­whether something more aggressive might be needed.

    She saw movement out of the corner of her eye, turned to look, and then backed up a step. Kionah had raised the pistol and was aiming it unsteadily, both hands white-knuckled around the handle.

    ¡°Stay back,¡± Kionah called. The golden dome-shield around them wavered, but held, for now.

    ¡°Who the hells is that?¡± Maia asked. ¡°Kion, give that here¡ªyou can hardly hold it straight.¡±

    ¡°Fuck off, Maia. I¡¯ve had worse.¡±

    ¡°You were going to give it to me a second ago!¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ve changed my mind.¡±

    The Magician raised both of his hands in a placating gesture. ¡°I¡¯m not here to hurt you,¡± he said. He sounded shockingly young¡ªaround their age, and with a touch of some indefinite accent about his words.

    ¡°So you say,¡± Kionah called out. Her arms shook visibly.

    ¡°I¡¯m here to assist in furtherance against the faeries,¡± he said. ¡°I¡¯ve been looking since you went missing from the battle. They took you away, correct?¡±

    ¡°What?¡± Aliyah said, furrowing her brow. ¡°That¡¯s not¡ª¡±

    Kionah glanced at her and shook her head meaningfully, a call for silence. ¡°Who are you?¡± she called.

    ¡°That is not for you to know,¡± he said. ¡°I¡¯m not here in, I suppose you¡¯d say, an official capacity. But I am here to provide help.¡±

    Kionah glanced over at her suspiciously. ¡°Do you know this guy?¡±

    Aliyah sharpened her eyesight a little more and scanned him, up and down. He was dressed like any other Magician, with the cloak and the mask. The dark hair showing at the back of his mask was in an unremarkable style. His hands were wrapped in strips of cloth, but parts of his fingers were visible, as were the tips of his ears. The skin there was an unusual, golden-tan colour¡ªa fair few shades lighter than most ethnic Songians. That would narrow the possibilities on who he could be, to someone who knew a bunch of Magicians. But that was the trouble¡ªshe hardly knew any Magicians by name. He wasn¡¯t Cardainne and he wasn¡¯t Karim, and that was all she could say for sure.

    ¡°No,¡± she said. ¡°I don¡¯t know him.¡±

    ¡°What have you gotten yourself into this time, Kion?¡± Maia muttered.

    Kionah shot her a murderous look. Aliyah wanted to back away from the two of them, but that would mean stepping out of the dome-shield.

    The Magician shook his head. ¡°I assumed that you wouldn¡¯t,¡± he said. ¡°I was sent by¡­a friend.¡±

    She froze, and her thoughts raced. Rana? She thought wildly, hope alighting in her chest. Was Rana okay? She must be okay, surely¡ªbut why would she send a Magician, when it had been the Magicians who had posed the most risk? She remembered the pulses of blood-red light over the raging battlefield, and felt sick.

    ¡°Really,¡± Kionah said, and looked at her again, frowning. ¡°Is that plausible, do you think?¡± And then, louder, so the Magician could hear her clearly: ¡°Or is he leading us to an ambush?¡±

    ¡°If I wished to ambush you, I would''ve waited until the faeries broke through your shields and besieged you then,¡± he said, sounding cross. He folded his arms. ¡°Or I would have brought my¡­colleagues, with me in the first place. This location is¡­secluded enough. There is no point to hiding in wait.¡±

    Aliyah pinched the bridge of her nose and took a deep breath. There were two clear possibilities here: one, the Magician was playing some kind of elaborate ruse. To what end? To extract a confession of guilt, perhaps? But why would he need that, when the Songian courts were already so flush with bribery, and so deeply predetermined? She frowned. That took her to a second possibility: that Rana had really sent him and that he really was here to help.

    ¡°Who sent you?¡± she called.

    ¡°Uh,¡± he said. ¡°I¡­don¡¯t know.¡±

    ¡°What do you mean, ¡®you don¡¯t know¡¯?¡± A spike of suspicion lodged itself in her chest. Surely Rana would have sent some clue, some assurance that she was safe.

    Beside her, Kionah readjusted her grip on the pistol.

    ¡°Well, you know how it is,¡± he said, shrugging helplessly.

    She didn¡¯t, in fact, know how it was. She opened her mouth to ask for specifics, but Kionah beat her to it.

    ¡°Oh?¡± Kionah challenged. ¡°How is it? Do explain.¡±

    ¡°I didn¡¯t get the message directly. A colleague called in a favour. I suppose someone else had¡­connections.¡±

    ¡°Who¡¯s your colleague?¡± Aliyah asked. If it was Karim, then¡ª

    ¡°I, uh, I can¡¯t tell you that,¡± the Magician said. ¡°Safety reasons. I was given very little information about you as well, you know. The message consisted of, um. Foundationally, I was told to find you and make sure you were alright, because there were faeries after you.¡±

    ¡°Uh huh,¡± Kionah said. ¡°Real convincing.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not going to harm any of you,¡± he said quickly. ¡°You have the advantage here; three against one and you¡¯re pointing a gun at me. I just want to talk, enough to return and convince your original, err, benefactor, that you¡¯re secure. Alright?¡±

    ¡°What do you think?¡± Kionah whispered out of the corner of her mouth. ¡°Is it because of your friend¡¯s Magician cousin?¡±

    She blinked, startled at Kionah¡¯s memory, that she¡¯d managed to connect those points together. ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± she murmured. ¡°I guess, maybe.¡±

    ¡°What¡¯s going on?¡± Maia broke in. ¡°Kion, explain.¡±

    ¡°Is he wearing an illusion?¡± Kionah whispered.

    ¡°Kion¡ª¡±

    ¡°Well? Is he?¡±

    Maia scowled and squinted at the Magician. A brief, pale pink shimmer flashed across her eyes.

    ¡°Not that I can tell.¡±

    ¡°Please,¡± said the Magician. ¡°How about we¡­perambulate elsewhere. A¡­park, perhaps? I think it¡¯d benefit all of us; the faeries might return with reinforcements, after all.¡±

    Aliyah felt the itch of the tracker-mark against her arm and bit her lip. Would they still risk attacking her in public?

    ¡°A park?¡± Kionah asked sourly. ¡°No, no. Too secluded. How about a coffeehouse? That way I can still shoot you under the table.¡±

    ¡°You couldn¡¯t,¡± Maia said, sounding appalled.

    ¡°I will, if he tries anything funny.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯ll bring the whole Watch down on us, waving that thing around in broad daylight.¡±

    ¡°Us?¡± Kionah asked sharply. ¡°Who said you were coming?¡±

    Maia sniffed imperiously. ¡°Kion, you look burnt through, and your little companion was as useful as a dead fish back there. But oh, here I was, thinking that you could possibly need my help.¡±

    Aliyah bit back a reply. Maia doesn¡¯t need to know anything, she reminded herself. Maia can think whatever she wants to. Don¡¯t get distracted from the real problem here, the thing you have deal with right now: the Magician.

    ¡°¡­Perhaps I¡¯ll let you, if you illusion my pistol away,¡± Kionah said. ¡°Come and spy on us, report back to Twilight Mermaid and tell them how you abandoned your post. What do I care so long as you¡¯re helpful? Know any coffee shops nearby?¡±

    Maia frowned. ¡°There¡¯s a decent one on Cloven Corner. Ten minutes walk? Back the way we came and then¡ª¡±

    ¡°Pistol,¡± Kionah said.

    Maia rolled her eyes and waved her hand; the pistol in Kionah¡¯s grip wavered and warped, turning into a bunch of bell-shaped flowers, violet-white and trussed up with a shiny black ribbon.

    The Magician made a small noise of surprise as Aliyah bit back an exclamation of her own. She considered the illusion itself, the mechanism of action; the pistol was surely still a pistol¡ªonly the appearance had changed. Was Maia¡¯s magic rooting around in her brain at this very moment? It was an unsettling thought¡ªmaybe that was why it was an unpopular art.

    ¡°There,¡± Maia said with a prim little smile. ¡°To anyone but you or I, you are carrying a bouquet of thorn-apple blossoms. They mean ¡®disguise¡¯ in the flower language, you know.¡±

    ¡°People make drugs from those,¡± Kionah said flatly. ¡°I¡¯m not carrying that around. You might think it¡¯s poetic, but it¡¯ll draw unnecessary attention. Change it.¡±

    A niggling thought crept into Aliyah¡¯s mind: a similar floral diagram, in one of Zahir¡¯s old herbiaries, and words about the blocking of neurotransmitters from binding.

    ¡°Aren¡¯t those poisonous, as well?¡± she added quietly.

    ¡°The poison makes the dose,¡± Maia said, shooting her a dirty look.

    ¡°Change it,¡± Kionah insisted.

    Maia waved her hand once more. ¡°Fine,¡± she said as the illusion rippled, altering itself into an image of crinkled yellow blossoms. ¡°Carnations, if you want to be boring. And yellow, since¡­it¡¯s your favourite colour.¡±

    ¡°Your attempts at winning back my favour are both transparent and pathetic,¡± Kionah muttered.

    ¡°Sorry, what was that?¡± Maia asked sharply. ¡°I swear I could have heard a ¡®thank you¡¯ in there somewhere, but perhaps I was mistaken.¡±

    ¡°I said thank you,¡± Kionah spat, as if the words were rotting in her mouth. ¡°Magician, you start on ahead. We¡¯ll tell you where to go.¡±

    ¡°Of course,¡± the Magician said. He turned and started walking with more confidence than Aliyah had expected from a man turning his back on a loaded pistol.

    Kionah dropped her shield-dome with a shudder. They started following him at what felt like a half-safe distance.

    ¡°Maia,¡± Kionah murmured, ¡°Check him again?¡±

    Maia scowled. ¡°I told you, he¡¯s not illusioned. Not that it matters; he¡¯s covered in that cloak. What do you want me to look for, wings and a tail?¡±

    ¡°His hands would have shown up if he were a faery, correct?¡±

    ¡°Yes, they bloody well would have,¡± she hissed, and a glimmer of spell-light flashed across her irises once more. ¡°Fine. There you go. I can tell you now that his hands really are human, and probably the rest of him as well. Happy now?¡±

    ¡°Nothing else out of the ordinary?¡±

    ¡°No¡ª¡± Maia said, and then frowned. ¡°Well, there¡¯s something at the back of his cloak, but I can¡¯t be sure what it is.¡±

    Kionah tensed. ¡°Could it be a weapon?¡±

    ¡°I can¡¯t tell,¡± Maia whispered. ¡°There¡¯s a lot of power holding it together. Suspicious, yes, but it doesn¡¯t look like it¡¯s hiding a holster or anything of that sort. Give me a minute.¡±

    ¡°Magicians don¡¯t carry around pistols,¡± Aliyah broke in.

    ¡°You¡¯re not a Magician. How would you know?¡± Kionah muttered, and then, calling out to the Magician: ¡°turn right at the next corner!¡±

    ¡°Why were you carrying one, anyway?¡± Aliyah ventured, glancing at the bouquet of not-carnations in Kionah¡¯s hand. If she¡¯d had it all this time¡ªwell, she¡¯d started the morning knocking on the door to Aliyah¡¯s room at the inn. That meant it would have been a conscious decision to take it with her, right? She shivered inwardly.

    ¡°To shoot you with,¡± Kionah answered flatly, and the corner of her lip twitched upwards as Aliyah flinched. ¡°What? Isn¡¯t that the reply you were expecting to hear?¡±

    She swallowed. ¡°I¡¯m, uh, asking for a serious answer here.¡±

    ¡°Well, you¡¯re partially right in your suspicion,¡± Kionah said. ¡°I like to be prepared. On the off-chance you wanted to hurt me, I could¡¯ve shot you. But the more boring answer is that Shasta was holding it for me while I was gone, and now I¡¯m not gone anymore.¡±

    ¡°You¡­you always carry that thing with you?¡±

    ¡°What else would I do, put it in a display cabinet?¡± Kionah snorted. ¡°The damned thing cost enough that I think it¡¯d qualify. It¡¯d be nice to not need it, but parts of Glister aren¡¯t¡­safe, in general. I like to be sure of where I stand.¡±

    Aliyah wondered how many people Kionah had shot. And then, fast-trailing on the tails of that thought, she wondered how many she¡¯d killed. Zero? One? More than one? She¡¯d said she wasn¡¯t a murderer, hadn¡¯t she? But words were just words.

    ¡°Right,¡± she said, swallowing. ¡°And¡­it¡¯ll work on the Magician, right? As in, it can pierce his cloak?¡±

    Kionah frowned. ¡°He seemed concerned enough I¡¯d chance it. It¡¯s a good pistol. Reliable, expensive.¡±

    ¡°You and that bloody pistol,¡± Maia muttered. ¡°Shut up, you two. I need to concentrate.¡± She frowned, brow furrowing as her eyes flashed pink, then red. Then she shook her head, curling her lip with disgust. ¡°Ugh, it¡¯s not a weapon. It¡¯s just something cosmetically incorrect with his cloak.¡±

    Aliyah frowned. ¡°Cosmetically incorrect?¡± she asked. ¡°What¡¯s wrong with it, specifically?¡±

    Maia scowled, squinting as she dove deeper into her spell-working. ¡°It just looks like a rip, or a tear, a hole or something. Sewn up, but whoever tried did a terrible job. Enough, I¡¯m getting a headache.¡±

    ¡°A hole?¡± Kionah murmured. ¡°Hmm¡­weak point. Careless of him.¡±

    Aliyah had to agree. Not that the sewing circles ever got their hands on highborn garments, so what would she know, really, but she felt that there was something inherently weird about a Magician walking around with a torn cloak. It was almost¡­against Magician principles?

    Highborns were always so fussy, people said. And from what she¡¯d seen, it was true. Even Zahir, who couldn¡¯t seem to find it within himself to care for courtly rules at the best of times, had kept spare Healer robes hanging on his coat hook, or slung over the back of his chair. It wasn¡¯t even like he had to wear them every day, like the Magicians did with their uniforms. Judging by encounters back in Shadowsong, and how those faerie arrows had bounced off this Magician¡¯s cloak, there was a good reason for that: the fabric doubled as armour.

    So what did that imply about this mysterious Magician? She frowned, feeling her brow furrow. A Magician who would patch up his protective cloak with shoddy sewing and a disproportionately powerful bit of illusion rather than fixing it properly would be the sort of Magician who¡­what, exactly? He was someone with a cavalier attitude, perhaps. Maybe it came with how young he sounded. She wasn¡¯t sure if that was reassuring or not. He seemed friendlier than the only other Magicians she¡¯d spoken directly with¡ªCardainne and Karim¡ªbut then again, that had been years ago and a very different situation altogether.

    While she was pondering that, they turned into a main street. A few people filtered by: people with gaudy clothing and an abundance of tall heels, click-clacking their way to more important places. She was oddly relieved to see such flashy outfits; the Magician didn¡¯t stand out nearly as much as someone in a hat made of antlers, or someone else in a gown of a dozen different fabrics.

    She did notice that Kionah was squinting and shielding her face with her spare hand, though. She thought it over, the light sensitivity and probable headache¡ªbut Kionah was still lucid and talking, right? She really should take a few days rest at least, but they couldn¡¯t just leave, not right now.

    What other choice did she have? The Magician was¡ªor he could be, if he wasn¡¯t lying¡ªa tempting glimpse of Rana, and when it came to Rana, she simply had to know.

 2.9 - Meeting with a Magician

    Aliyah

    Maia hailed them an outdoor table at her chosen coffeehouse: a surprisingly dainty-looking place with potted succulents on the counter and cheerful green vines dripping from the eaves. The street looked a little quieter than Aliyah would have liked, but at least there were a few people passing through now and again. It certainly looked better than getting shot at in a dead-end back alley.

    ¡°I need a fucking coffee,¡± Kionah said as she sank into her seat. ¡°Maybe a sandwich, too.¡± She glanced over at Aliyah. ¡°We both need one, I think.¡±

    ¡°I think I¡¯m fine,¡± Aliyah said. The fight had left her too queasy to eat.

    Hesitantly, she sat down next to Kionah¡ªdirectly opposite the Magician. The table was round and not very large; sure, it could sit the four of them, but the Magician could also easily lunge over if he wanted to. She noted how Kionah was holding the not-carnations under the table and gathered proto-vasodilation into her own hands. It never hurt to be careful.

    ¡°I¡¯ll spot you the coffee, at least,¡± Kionah said. ¡°It¡¯s been one hell of a morning.¡±

    ¡°Oh?¡± Maia broke in. She hadn¡¯t taken her seat, and she brushed her hair back with one hand in an aggrieved sort of way before crossing her arms. ¡°You want coffee? With whose money?¡±

    ¡°With mine,¡± Kionah said, and pulled a pouch out of her pocket. She took out a single silver coin and handed it over to Maia. ¡°Two standard coffees and one sandwich. Egg and watercress, if they have it. This should be plenty. Don¡¯t stiff me on the change; I¡¯ll know.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not your waiter,¡± Maia replied, looking a little put-out.

    ¡°No,¡± Kionah agreed. ¡°You¡¯re not being paid.¡±

    ¡°Be nice, Kion, or I¡¯ll pour your coffee over your head,¡± Maia said sharply. She turned to the Magician. ¡°And what about you, Mister Mask?¡±

    ¡°I, uh, no,¡± said the Magician. ¡°I¡¯m fine. Thank you.¡±

    Maia rolled her eyes and walked off.

    ¡°So,¡± Kionah said, turning to the Magician. She squinted. ¡°Any chance you¡¯d be willing to show your face?¡±

    ¡°No,¡± he said, frowning audibly. ¡°Could I be advised of your names? I guess you¡¯re ¡®Kion¡¯.¡±

    ¡°Not ¡®Kion¡¯,¡± Kionah said, and didn¡¯t elaborate. ¡°Why do you need our names? Why don¡¯t you know them in the first place?¡±

    ¡°The colleague who I spoke to gave me, ah, mere descriptions. No names. It¡¯s a way to¡­verify, you see? That you really are safe and that you really are the right people.¡± He sounded so sincere that it seemed unquestionably forced. ¡°So, what¡¯s your name, if it¡¯s not ¡®Kion¡¯?

    ¡°You can call me Carnation,¡± she said, gesturing unsubtly with the bouquet in her hand.

    ¡°Very well. ¡®Carnation¡¯. And you, err, young miss?¡± he asked, though he hardly sounded older than them.

    She realised that he had turned his face to look at her, with something of an expectant air. The painted-on eyes of his mask seemed to bore into her very soul, and an uneasy feeling crept into the pit of her stomach. Perhaps it was due to the fact that he was so clearly representing the concept of Magicianhood. And Magicians, she felt, couldn¡¯t be trusted on the whole.

    Perhaps if she were in this situation years ago, back when Karim and Cardainne had spoken on her behalf¡­but the memory of Kionah, tied down and bleeding, flashed through her mind with disturbing clarity. Now, she could hardly listen to this Magician. Not after what she had seen on the battlefield¡ªthe sigils in the air, how they had turned the skies as red as the blood they took.

    She hesitated. ¡°Scionsong,¡± she said, and waited for a reaction. It should be a safe bet; there were dozens upon dozens of unclaimed or orphaned Scionsongs among the lowborns, some relatively high-ranking and others not. The name alone didn¡¯t give much away.

    ¡°A pleasure to meet you,¡± he replied. ¡°And your esteemed illusionist?¡±

    ¡°She¡¯s got nothing to do with us,¡± Kionah broke in. ¡°It¡¯s unfortunate that she¡¯s here at all.¡±

    The Magician leaned back and crossed his arms as Maia returned with a tray of food and drink.

    ¡°Illusionist?¡± he asked. ¡°To which name may I call you?¡±

    ¡°Huh?¡± Maia scowled, passing some copper coins and a pair of covered paper cups over to Kionah. ¡°Depends on who¡¯s asking.¡± She dumped a paper bag onto the table before she sat and took the remaining food on the tray for herself: a bowlful of yogurt and a tall glass of what looked like pale tea, overflowing with ice, and with a wedge of lemon shoved in for good measure.

    The Magician tilted his head slightly. With his mask, it resembled the movement of a real owl¡ªbut not quite natural, and not quite right.

    Aliyah stared at him as Kionah bit into her sandwich and passed her one of the cups. Having a Magician at one¡¯s table was simply¡­not normal. Not reasonable. Not reassuring. There was just something uncomfortably¡­off, about it. Morning tea with a Magician. That string of words sounded almost surreal. She tried to wash away her unease with a mouthful of coffee. It was stronger than she expected, and she almost choked. It certainly smelled better than it tasted. This stuff had been stupidly expensive back in Shadowsong; she wondered why people bothered.

    ¡°It¡¯s out of interest, that¡¯s all,¡± the Magician replied after an uncomfortably long pause.

    Maia jabbed a paper straw through the ice-cube maze of her drink. ¡°Rosalie,¡± she said with a frown.

    ¡°You made that up just then,¡± Kionah said, snorting. ¡°Don¡¯t tell me¡ªdid you choose it because roses are sweet and virtuous and so very unlike you?¡±

    ¡°It is, in fact, my actual second name,¡± Maia said, and then sucked a noisy sip through her straw. ¡°My grandmother chose it for me. You know, I¡¯ve heard that if you¡¯ve nothing nice to say, then you shouldn¡¯t say it at all.¡±

    ¡°Thank you, Rosalie,¡± the Magician said a little uncertainly. ¡°And back to the topic at hand¡ª¡±

    ¡°Wait a minute,¡± Aliyah broke in, and winced inwardly at how her voice wavered. ¡°I think we¡¯d like to know more about the person who sent you.¡± She clenched a fist under the table and wondered why Rana would choose such an obtuse messenger¡ªif she¡¯d chosen this one in the first place.

    ¡°I agree,¡± Kionah said. ¡°I think you should tell us more about your mysterious benefactor.¡± She took a sip of her coffee. ¡°Maia, this is disgusting. How many sugars did you ask for?¡±

    Maia paused and smirked, spoonful of yogurt halfway to her lips. ¡°Oh just the usual, Kion. What I don¡¯t get is why you seem to loathe Mister Mask here. He practically saved us from the faeries you wouldn¡¯t let me shoot.¡±

    ¡°Not important,¡± Kionah said. She scowled as she gulped at her coffee. ¡°I¡¯m asking him if¡ª¡±

    ¡°No, I want to know what¡¯s going on,¡± Maia interrupted. ¡°What the hells is happening with you, Kion? You know this random guy from¡­wherever it was that you disappeared off to? I can¡¯t believe that you won¡¯t even give me a half-sensible explanation.¡±

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    ¡°Are you all from one¡­convocation?¡± The Magician asked. ¡°Your illusionist doesn¡¯t appear affiliated, but, uh¡ª¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not ¡®their¡¯ anything,¡± Maia snapped. ¡°Who are you?¡±

    ¡°Like I said, uh, I may not tell you. I¡¯m not meant to be here, and if my superiors were to find out¡­¡±

    ¡°So you¡¯re going against your so-called superiors to chase after us and ask confusing questions,¡± Kionah said through hasty bites of her sandwich. ¡°I didn¡¯t realise we were of such consequence, in contrast to the enormity of the faery attack. Did your benefactor finance your entire trip?¡±

    ¡°Well,¡± he fumbled, ¡°you¡¯re uh, important, to the kingdom.¡±

    Kionah raised an eyebrow. ¡°Yes. I suppose we are. Al¡ªScionsong, I need a moment to speak with you. Privately.¡± She tossed back the last dregs of her coffee.

    ¡°What?¡± Aliyah said, startled. ¡°Right now?¡±

    ¡°Yes, now.¡±

    ¡°Am I not included?¡± Maia asked, arching a brow as she stirred at the ice in her drink.

    ¡°You finish your tea,¡± Kionah said. She scrunched up the remains of her sandwich bag and smiled with false-brightness. ¡°We¡¯ll be right back.¡±

    ¡°Well don¡¯t go too far,¡± Maia said, scowling. ¡°Stay in view, won¡¯t you? Once you¡¯re out of range, I won¡¯t be able to keep your pretty little carnations looking that way.¡±

    ¡°Uh huh,¡± Kionah said, and ushered Aliyah away from the coffee house. She threw the balled-up bag into a trash disposal station and frowned as she almost missed. They stopped beneath the shade of a tree on the nearest street corner.

    ¡°What is it?¡± Aliyah asked. ¡°Is it something you don¡¯t want Maia to hear, or is it the Magician? I¡¯m guessing it¡¯s the Magician?¡±

    ¡°Hey, so I could be wrong,¡± Kionah said. ¡°But I don¡¯t think that guy¡¯s really a Magician.¡±

    ¡°What?¡± she asked, glancing back over at the table. The Magician gave a little wave, and a shiver ran down her spine. She turned back to Kionah as the meaning of her words sank in. ¡°Why? Because of the illusioned hole in his cloak? I thought that was strange, too.¡±

    ¡°Well yes, there¡¯s that,¡± Kionah said, and paused, sucking on her teeth. ¡°But he also¡ªhe just doesn¡¯t¡­sound like one. Not that they all sound the same, but there is something dissimilar about the way he speaks, the words he uses. Alhena spoke to them far more often, but I did spend some time in their company.¡±

    She hesitated, brow furrowing in concentration. ¡°From what I see, he doesn¡¯t seem to know what he¡¯s doing, what to say. He gives very few details, none of them verifiable. He uses extravagant words mixed in with daily vernacular, trying too hard. Too many pauses and interjections, hesitation markers that an actual Magician would do their level best to avoid. He won¡¯t even tell us his name. And I¡¯ve never met a Magician who¡¯d pass on the chance to say ¡®we the Magicians¡¯ at every blasted opportunity. He hasn¡¯t said it once.¡±

    ¡°Okay,¡± Aliyah said, trying to focus, to not panic at the implications of this so-called Magician not having been sent by Rana. ¡°That sounds¡­yes, okay, so I see where you¡¯re coming from. But it¡¯s just speech, right? Maybe he¡¯s nervous. And according to him, he¡¯s not¡­supposed to be here?¡±

    ¡°True. But he also doesn¡¯t seem to realise that I¡¯m the accursed spymaster, despite the fact that I¡¯ve only changed my eyes and hairstyle. ¡®You¡¯re important to the kingdom¡¯, he says,¡± she parroted, more than a tinge mockingly. ¡°Really? If he¡¯d said it some other way, I might have thought he was trying to imply a threat, or even an alliance, depending on the tone. But no, he really has no idea.¡±

    ¡°Do they, um. Do all of the Magicians know who you are?¡±

    Kionah waved a hand dismissively, which only drew Aliyah¡¯s attention to the bundle of not-carnations clutched in her other hand. ¡°Certainly not all, but enough. It¡¯s their job to prowl the court, root out dissenters. But back to my point¡ªthis ¡®Rana¡¯ friend you told me about, a fellow lowborn, yes? What was her job?¡±

    ¡°She was¡ªshe is a scribe.¡± She¡¯d stumbled over the words there. Her stomach suddenly felt sick and leaden, swirling with an astringent bitterness that had nothing to do with the coffee.

    ¡°Lower or Higher library?¡±

    ¡°Lower. But her cousin¡ª¡±

    ¡°Is a Magician,¡± Kionah finished for her. ¡°Yes. But even so, do you really think, as a mere scribe in the Lower Library, she¡¯d have the pulling power to accomplish something as drastic as this? You described her as very driven and resourceful¡ªand I believe you, Aliyah, I certainly do¡ªbut skyship tickets are expensive. Especially as a passenger from Shadowsong. It¡¯s one thing if this man happened to drop by while already on a Magician-sanctioned trip¡ªof which there are already precious few¡ªbut he¡¯s saying that he specifically came all the way here to ensure our ¡®safety¡¯. And not once does he bring up the fact that I was tied up in their dungeons and injured two of their own on our way out. Doesn¡¯t that strike you as a little odd?¡±

    ¡°Well¡­¡± She scrambled for an answer, and found none: only fresh questions churning in her gut, mixing with new-found anxiety.

    ¡°I¡¯m sure your friend Rana is fine,¡± Kionah said, her tone gentle enough for it to hurt. ¡°But I don¡¯t think this is the sign you were hoping for.¡±

    ¡°But if he¡¯s not a Magician, then what is he?¡± Aliyah asked frantically. ¡°How can he be dressed like one, if he¡¯s not? Maia said it wasn¡¯t an illusion, and¡­he couldn¡¯t have picked up the robes from the laundry bin. I worked in the sewing circles¡ªit¡¯s not that simple, it doesn¡¯t work like that, with highborn clothes. They¡¯re all catalogued, or something.¡±

    Kionah frowned. ¡°Perhaps a real Magician lent it to him. That makes sense¡ªan old set, what with the hole in the back. He must be court-affiliated. But he¡¯s not a real Magician, I¡¯m fairly sure. I should have spotted it sooner, but my head still feels as if it¡¯s being used as a bloody set of drums.¡±

    Aliyah clenched her fists, not daring to glance back at the coffee house table. ¡°Okay, fine, I agree. He¡¯s a fake Magician, even if he did save us from the faeries. What do we do now?¡±

    ¡°We run, I suppose. This pretender-Magician is either being maneuvered by a real Magician at the court, with their own independent, unfathomable agenda, or he is being used as a tool of the Magicians as a whole, which is worse, because that means they¡¯re trying to lure me¡ªor you, or both of us¡ªback. Perhaps that is why he showed up when he did. Hmm.¡±

    ¡°What? But¡ªso we go, and just leave him there with Maia?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s not Maia he¡¯s after.¡± Kionah snorted. ¡°I¡¯m sure she can take care of herself.¡±

    ¡°They can both see us,¡± Aliyah pointed out. ¡°They¡¯re right over there. If we run, I think they¡¯ll notice quite quickly.¡±

    ¡°Then I suppose we¡¯ll have to run fast.¡±

    She eyed Kionah¡¯s slouching stance, the squinting of her eyes against the light. ¡°How are you feeling? I think you¡¯re concussed.¡±

    ¡°Feeling pretty bad,¡± Kionah admitted. ¡°But I¡¯ve had worse. I think it¡¯s more dangerous to stay.¡±

    Aliyah fought the urge to turn around and look. ¡°So you want to run, but where to?¡±

    ¡°Hmm. Normally, I would say Shasta¡¯s, but¡­¡±

    ¡°But¡­?¡± Aliyah asked warily.

    ¡°But that¡¯s a long way to run and I have a feeling you won¡¯t like that. Also, if you refuse the hospitality of more¡­unlawful, persons, then that limits our options. Ideally, we¡¯d be near people who can defend us, and I don¡¯t know any amenable, clean-cut citizens who possess such skill-sets. You still have the tracker-mark on you, which also makes the faeries a problem. At least, until Luxon finishes your order.¡±

    ¡°I¡­¡± she said, trailing off. She thought of the false Magician and felt a familiar twist of anxiety in her stomach. ¡°I can deal with staying at Shasta¡¯s if he keeps his magic weaponry away. And if he doesn¡¯t try to employ me.¡±

    Kionah eyed her warily. ¡°I do have another contact who could be suitable¡ªand he¡¯s nearer. You can conceal your abilities. Better yet, he probably won¡¯t care about swaying you to his side so long as I pay him for our stay. The only issue is that you might like him even less than Shasta.¡±

    ¡°He¡¯s not a murderer or anything like that, right?¡± she asked hastily.

    ¡°No. He does sell enchanted weapons on the side¡ªmostly legally. Or, we could go to my old fence like I was planning to, though a chop shop has much less by way of protection. Choose quickly. I hate to push, but we¡¯ve been talking for far too long.¡±

    She hesitated, thinking it over. Safety, she thought. Those faeries just tried to kill you, and that false Magician fought them off like it was nothing. If he were to try hurting us¡­

    ¡°The weapons merchant,¡± she said.

    ¡°Right on,¡± Kionah said, tucking her illusioned pistol back into her waistband. ¡°The Magician¡¯ll most probably try to chase after us, so get your spells ready. Maybe those enchanted keys, too. We¡¯re going to try and lose him in the alleys. When I start, follow me and make sure you keep up. Ready?¡±

    Aliyah took the keys and poured magic throughout her body, raising her heart rate and priming her muscles. She took a deep breath and nodded, pulse hammering up her throat.

    ¡°Then let¡¯s go,¡± Kionah said, and took off running.

    Aliyah dashed close behind. It was perhaps five or ten seconds before she heard a yell and footsteps in pursuit.

    Then, a sense of something wrong: a faint coldness in the air, like being on the edge of a spell-field. A shadow whisked overhead, and the not-Magician dropped out of the sky in front of them in a billow of blue cloak.

    ¡°Where are you two going?¡± he asked.

    His stance was ever-so-slightly bent, ready to spring¡ªnot wholly threatening, but certainly on the edge of it. Aliyah tensed, readying herself to leap past Kionah if she needed to. She had vasodilation clutched firmly in her free hand. They were in the middle of the street in broad daylight. Granted, the street was pretty empty, but he wouldn¡¯t do anything¡ªright?

    ¡°We¡¯ve got places to be,¡± Kionah said steadily.

    The Magician brought his hands up in front of himself, bandaged palms facing them. ¡°Please, just come with me and we¡¯ll talk.¡±

    ¡°No,¡± Aliyah said, willing her voice not to waver. ¡°We¡¯ve chosen to leave.¡±

    ¡°I can¡¯t allow that,¡± he said.

    There it was¡ªthe confirmation, the point of no return: he wasn¡¯t here to help them.

    She lunged and swung the nausea-keys up to his face.

    The Magician moved to intercept. He closed his hand around the keys, but there was no sudden sizzle, no scent of burnt flesh¡ªthe skin of his hand glowed white with swarming runes, a spell-slip seemed to flicker into existence, and then the keys¡ª

    The keys broke.

 2.10 - Cat Among Pigeons

    Felun

    The keys broke, scattering fragments of metal everywhere.

    His hand came back with a few snapped runesigns and a scorch-mark on the bandages. He had only meant to unravel the wards. But the spell-slip stuck to his palm had eaten away at the keys until they had physically ruptured. Iolite understating things as usual, he thought. But no time to ponder that right now.

    Behind him came screams. A couple of Glisterian citizens stared and shrieked, casting shields as they sprinted off in the opposite direction.

    Scionsong looked at him with wide eyes, still clutching the ring the keys had broken away from. The other mage¡ªwho had called herself Carnation, though he doubted that was her actual name¡ªshe darted forwards, hands glowing blue-white with spell-light.

    He jumped, pivoting away. The cloak moved with him but he stumbled, unused to the extra bit of weight, the slight drag. Her spell caught him in the arm, but it sank harmlessly into the enchanted fabric.

    ¡°You have less than ten minutes before the city rabble gets here,¡± Suria¡¯s voice said into his ear. ¡°Saiph and Thorn are running interference. Winterbird and Curlew should arriving any moment now.¡±

    He grunted assent, even though the speaking spell had switched to one-way. Suria could speak to one source and listen from one source at any given time. There was nothing saying that it had to be the same source; he wasn¡¯t surprised she blocked him out as soon as the trouble started.

    Kion-carnation¡¯s next set of spells tried to slip up his sleeves¡ªsneaky of her¡ªbut his runes took care of it. He charged up his magic and watched their eyes widen as glowing runesigns flared to life across the entire surface of the cloak. It had taken him hours to prepare, stenciling them on with lemon juice¡ªturned out to be a good thing too, given their illusionist ally. Scionsong gasped; Kion yanked at her arm as she skipped backwards and away.

    He flexed his sore, blistered fingers, adjusting to the lighter mental load. Then he attacked, throwing waves of signs for sticking and binding, pre-prepared runes loaded onto the skin of his arms.

    Kion had her shield up, was trying to get Scionsong under it. It was a good shield¡ªor at least, far better than his. Her strategy was probably to hide and then make a run for it. Suria had said to watch out for Scionsong but Kion seemed more of the leader, more versatile and less skittish. He hadn¡¯t seen Scionsong throw a single cast yet, nor back at the mock-fight with Saiph and her crew. Perhaps she was simply saving her strength. The thought churned listlessly in his gut; he tried to ignore it. Fight now, think later, as certain people used to say.

    He sent more runes after them, keeping his distance. The runes made cracks in the shield, quickly sealed back up. It didn¡¯t matter though, because he was just the distraction.

    Winterbird and Curlew swooped in from above, aiming bolts of piercing spellfire at the two mages. The shield shattered, and Winterbird sent her coil of enchanted ironwood out, latched it around Scionsong¡¯s arm, and yanked her away from Kion with an audible crack¡ªprobably the sound of bones breaking.

    Felun winced. They really could be scary, when they were actually trying. He darted in to deal with Kion and her fresh shield, to take up her attention and soak up spare blows while Curlew wore her down from above. She sent forth glowing darts and sizzling spell arrows; his cloak took it all, swallowed the energy and used it to shore up its own weave.

    Kion whipped out her pistol and loosed shots at him, despite the fact that Curlew was the one detonating explosive arrows over her head. It was, Felun thought, complete bullshit.

    The first two bullets cracked out, blazing purple and too bright to look at directly. They went wide as he backed up and zig-zagged off to the side.

    Her third bullet caught him square in the chest.

    The cloak didn¡¯t do too well with that. He shouted, more from surprise than pain, as the shot knocked him a good three feet backwards. He hit the cobblestones, hard. The cushioning runes plastered over his cloak took some of the blow, but he still had all of his breath knocked out of him in a sickening rush. For a moment, he lay there gasping. When he staggered to his feet, he could feel a bruise forming over his chest. He swore under his breath and dashed backwards up the street.

    The gun was the problem. If Kion hadn¡¯t pulled it out, they would¡¯ve been neatly funneled down the dead end by now, no need for Felun to act the distraction. Oh, and now he¡¯d gone and failed at acting the distraction. Great, just great. He was in over his head and it was all going sideways. What else was new.

    ¡°Go deal with the other one,¡± said Suria¡¯s disembodied voice. ¡°Curlew can handle himself. And yes,¡± she added, as if she¡¯d heard the question forming in his head, ¡°I am watching closely.¡±

    He glanced around as he ran, scanning the rooftops, but there was no tell-tale gleam of gold to indicate her presence.

    Winterbird fluttered through the air, both hands tugging at her end of the rope. It looked like she was trying to reel Scionsong in like a fish. He swooped in with a disabling rune just as Scionsong used a spell to cut the tightened snare from her ankle. She hissed with pain for a half-second, then lunged at him with an outstretched hand. Dodge. Strike with rune. Dodge again. He heard two sharp cracks¡ªmore bullets¡ªand flinched, but they were further away, not aimed at him.

    Even with the protection of the Magician-cloak, he wasn¡¯t comfortable with combat. He¡¯d never been. Back when he¡¯d been a dungeonrunner, he¡¯d had teammates to take care of that, and in turn¡ªwell, he would sit down and unravel locks for them. That kind of work experience wasn¡¯t proving to be a lot of help right now. He couldn¡¯t anticipate her movements, the occasional feint that he should have seen coming and only missed by a hair.

    Scionsong wasn¡¯t as fast as Kion, but Suria had said be careful and don¡¯t let her touch you with an awful lot of emphasis. Worse yet, she didn¡¯t seem to be using any visible casts that he could unravel; whatever it was, it seemed limited to the surface of her skin, passed on by direct contact. The cloak was good, but his shielding runes were specialised for the sort of thing that locking wards threw at him. These mages were¡­not that.

    ¡°Who are you?¡± Scionsong yelled as she tried to claw at his face. ¡°What the hells do you want?¡±

    A fair question. He didn¡¯t really know, himself. He fired off more runes.

    Winterbird dove and lashed out with her rope. There was a fresh noose tied on the falling end and this time, it latched onto Scionsong¡¯s outstretched arm. Felun took the opportunity to dash backwards, put more distance between them. She cast something that cut Winterbird¡¯s rope once more. Then¡ªwith a sudden rush of energy, as if she¡¯d been saving her strength for this one moment¡ªshe dashed off down the street, towards the struggling Kion.

    Winterbird abandoned her rope and took up her bow, circling around and firing off a wall of arrows that kept Scionsong from getting closer to her companion. Which worked, but¡ªthere was a problem here, Felun realised. Winterbird was allegedly good with immobilisation spells, but she¡¯d groused about how it took her a while to charge up. She couldn¡¯t do that if she was spending all of her energy on a barrage of lower-tier casts to keep Scionsong in place. So, they had to slow her down enough for Winterbird to charge up and to get a clean shot.

    His pre-loaded runes were running low. He pulled out his runequill and drew out a string of symbols that made his hands and temples ache. For fuck¡¯s sake, he¡¯d spent most of last night forming runes and scribing spell-slips. That he hadn¡¯t covered all bases, that he needed to write even more was just rubbing salt in the wound. He scribbled a hasty stabilisation-ring to hold the runes, before he plucked it out of the air.

    ¡°Winterbird!¡± he called, and lobbed the rune-bomb up into the air, where it arced towards her.

    She caught it, then flung the shining projectile into Scionsong, hard. It made a popping sound as it sliced into Scionsong¡¯s arm, opening a deep bloody gash. The fabric of her sleeve fell away. Scionsong screamed, but then she turned and ran¡ªthe wound knitted itself up before his eyes as she went.

    Well, that was unnerving. He didn¡¯t want to kill her or to maim her or anything, but Suria had said to be aggressive, and under the circumstances, he supposed she was right. The back of his neck prickled. She was probably glaring daggers at his lack of fighting ability right now.

    Scionsong couldn¡¯t shield well, he thought. Scionsong could, however, withstand an awful lot of shots. Winterbird was trying and failing to pen her in with arrows. If only Saiph were here. Saiph¡¯s arrows could punch clean through a human body¡ªnot that Saiph didn¡¯t make him nervous and yeah, the idea of putting an arrow through someone¡¯s stomach made him queasy, but that might actually be what they needed to slow Scionsong down. But Saiph was busy¡ªthe City Watch, Suria had insisted. He had to move faster.

    The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

    He started drawing more runes, enough of them to start tasting blood in his mouth. He bound them together into a great shining ball and stabilised them just enough so they wouldn¡¯t blow up in Winterbird¡¯s face.

    ¡°Catch,¡± he called again, and she did.

    He didn¡¯t bother watching her drop it onto Scionsong¡¯s head¡ªjust started on writing the next set of runes.

    ¡°City Watch estimated to arrive in about five minutes,¡± Suria said into his ear. ¡°You¡¯ll have to try harder than that.¡±

    ¡°You could come and do it yourself,¡± he muttered under his breath, and threw the next two rune-bombs up in quick succession. The blisters on his hands were starting to bleed, little dots of blood and clear, weeping lymph-fluid seeping through the bandages.

    The rune-bombs arced up and away on magical trajectories, using vaguely impossible physics to fall directly into Winterbird¡¯s hands. Scionsong was barely shielding and some of the disorientation spells and slowing signs must have made it through, because she was stumbling around as if knee-deep in a snowdrift. In moments, she came to a sluggish stop.

    He glimpsed a flash of light above¡ªWinterbird. She drew her bow back slowly, as if struggling against a great weight. The arrow nocked there glowed and crackled blue-white, like the scorching heart of a star. She dove down in an inverse arc and let fly at the vertex of her parabola; the arrow slammed into the struggling Scionsong. False-frost bloomed over her skin like a mat of feathery white mold. She froze in place, arm outstretched. Her mouth twitched as if to scream, but no sound came out.

    He heard a different scream behind him. He turned; Kion had uprooted herself from her place behind the shield. Curlew cast something that enveloped her in a cloud of dark smoke. She screamed again, muffled through the dark cloud. Then the miasma of spell-damage was driven back as she snapped a fresh shield around herself and strode out of the wispy darkness. She pulled out her pistol. Her other hand started glowing. For a split second, Felun¡¯s mind froze in panic. Then he started running, gliding upwards by burning up his last paper flight-field, hoping to get behind Winterbird, to let her shield since he was¡ªwell, he was terrible at it.

    Moments later, fire exploded across his back. He screamed as it knocked him out of the air. He threw out his hands to break his fall; the impact knocked some of the breath out of him anyway. Black spots pulsed in his vision. Something had hit him through the poorly-patched tear at the back of his cloak. It was hard to tell what, exactly, because it hurt so much. He wasn¡¯t bleeding, was he? It must have been the spell and not the bullet. Lucky him. He felt that the warding signs against his skin had cushioned the hit and sputtered out, but mostly, he just felt pain. He got up and kept running.

    Fuck. He was supposed to have been shielding that. Must have let it slip back at the coffee shop, too busy trying to keep his warding runes invisible, too busy sweating through the conversation, too busy trying to sound like a real thaumaturge¡ª

    Another burst of pain burrowed in through the tear in the cloak and he cried out, falling to his knees. He unraveled the last of it, limiting the damage¡ªbut too late, it was already hurting him. He forced himself to roll over onto his back even as it pressed his agony-soaked spine into the cobblestones. He needed to re-shield that crack in his armour, needed to back up Winterbird and Curlew. They had both rounded on Kion and were shooting her shield full of arrows as she sprinted closer to him. He tried to scramble to his feet, but his legs refused to obey him.

    As Kion came closer, Curlew dived. She shot at him; the bullet went wide, but he swerved and crashed into the ground with a screech. She didn¡¯t dodge Winterbird¡¯s tackle, though¡ªthe shield shattered. For a moment, Felun thought that Winterbird had her for good. But then she twisted, eel-like, and without a moment¡¯s hesitation, jabbed her thumb into Winterbird¡¯s eye.

    Winterbird screamed and jerked backwards. Kion tore out of her grip and kept running. Felun twisted round, tried to get up and run himself; his legs gave out from under him. She came to a stop not three paces from him and pointed the gun at his head.

    He stopped trying to move. Each heartbeat slammed against his chest and echoed in his skull. He felt both hot and cold at the same time.

    The street had long cleared out by now, shop-fronts firmly shuttered and completely empty but for the four of them, plus a frozen Scionsong. Winterbird and Curlew staggered to their feet. Winterbird¡¯s wings were paler than usual and she was trembling all over. Felun realised with a sickening lurch that she was holding her hand over her eye.

    ¡°Don¡¯t move,¡± Kion croaked. She coughed to clear her throat, and her next words were much louder. ¡°Let us go, or I¡¯ll shoot your Magician.¡±

    She was bleeding all over, scuffed and disheveled, one lens completely missing from the round spectacles that perched off-kilter across her nose. Then the mouth of the gun seemed to yawn wider and darker, until it eclipsed his vision and all he could see was the leaden death at its maw.

    Panicked thoughts bounced around in his head: the Magician mask offered a bubble of protection around his head, invisible and strongly-woven. But the bullet from before had sent him flying, even at a distance, even through the cloak. He could probably unravel most of the purple spell-components he¡¯d seen in the previous shots, but as for the bullet itself, the physical impact of it alone¡­he looked at how close she was standing and felt his heart skip a beat. Her arm was shaking, little good that would do him from point-blank range.

    ¡°Fool boy,¡± he heard in his ear.

    Something huge and invisible slammed into Kion, sending her sprawling. She crumpled to the ground, every limb going limp.

    Felun stared, mouth slightly open in shock, as the air shimmered in front of him and Suria flickered into view. She blazed gold in the sunshine, like a freshly-polished weapon. She had her back to him; the patterns on her wings cycled, fractal-patterns and bursts of colours that looked like a warning. Winterbird and Curlew both paled, probably at the look on her face.

    ¡°Scionsong is escaping,¡± Suria said curtly. ¡°Secure her with the rope.¡±

    Felun glanced over to the other end of the street; Scionsong had an arm free and was peeling ragged scraps of false-frost off her body, piece by tiny piece.

    ¡°She can cut my rope,¡± Winterbird hissed. There was clear fluid leaking out from behind the hand pressed against her face, drip-dripping off the heel of her palm. Felun fought against a crest of rising nausea and tried not to picture the damage to her eye. ¡°She did it with a spell. Specialised for ironwood. Titania knows why she knows this.¡±

    ¡°She is a mage,¡± Suria said simply. She turned to him and he saw that she was scowling. ¡°We cannot touch her. Not directly. And we are running out of time. Felun, give me the cloak.¡±

    He staggered to his feet, undid the clasps, and handed it to her. His back still ached, almost enough to distract him from the blisters that had popped open over his hands.

    Suria tossed the cloak over to Curlew. ¡°Encase her in that. Do not touch her directly.¡±

    He chirruped what was probably a nervous affirmation and scuttled off with Winterbird stumbling at his heels.

    Suria stalked over to Kion¡¯s unconscious¡ªFelun hoped it was just unconscious¡ªbody and used her tail to prod her in the side. The mage didn¡¯t stir. Suria knelt down and plucked the gun out of her limp hand. Felun held his breath and tensed at that, but¡ªno reaction.

    ¡°A dangerous device, this,¡± Suria said.

    From further up the street, Curlew screamed.

    Suria turned her head. Kion sprang off the floor and launched herself at them.

    Suria whipped back round, pointed the gun, and pulled the trigger. The mechanism clicked. Kion crashed into her, sending her stumbling.

    Felun leapt, more out of alarmed instinct rather than anything else, and caught an elbow to the stomach before he caught Kion by the wrists. He twisted her arms behind her back, hauling her away from a snarling Suria. Kion stumbled back with scratches raked over her face and shoulder. She laughed raggedly, eyes wide, looking almost feral with terror and elation and something else he couldn¡¯t quite place.

    ¡°Six rounds, bitch,¡± she panted, and laughed again, a sharp, ugly sound. ¡°No good to you now.¡±

    Suria curled her lip. The spines of her head drew back as she tossed the empty gun over her shoulder, where it clattered harmlessly against the cobblestones. ¡°Hold her,¡± she ordered, and darted up the street.

    Further up the street, Winterbird was laying on the ground, unmoving. Curlew hovered in the air, out of Scionsong¡¯s reach, shooting spells down at her. She had gotten rid of most of the false-frost and was attempting to shield and dodge.

    Kion took his moment of distraction to try to shoot a spell into him. He unraveled it as it came, a surprisingly weak disabling cast. Normally, he sucked at breaking stuff that refused to sit still. She was slumping over¡ªmust be running low. Even so, he was wary now that the Magician cloak was gone. He brought up a shield between them, as substandard as it was.

    He looked back over to the fight up the other end of the street. Scionsong was cowering on the ground and it looked like Suria and Curlew had won, though they were standing around hesitantly. Curlew held the Magician cloak but didn¡¯t move to do anything with it. Felun frowned. Hang on. There was a glint of something moving around the corner, something fast and airborne. Was that¡ª

    It was Saiph, a streak of silver loosing arrows behind her as she flew. Thorn, too, a darker shape that winged along closer to the ground. A wall of blue smoke roared around the corner after them, an enormous crashing wavefront that sent an inexplicable kick of fear through his chest.

    ¡°Hive is here,¡± Thorn called out, his voice trilling with panic.

    And then faeries darted out from the depths of the approaching smoke-wave, led by an opalescent one whose eyes glowed like beacons. Suria pulled a spear out of her thigh and knifed upwards on shimmering wings.

    ¡°Felun, you must leave.¡± Suria¡¯s voice shouted into his ear, far too loud. ¡°I am sending Thorn¡ª¡± and then the spell cut out.

    Felun heard something behind him; just a slight sound, a shuffle. He whipped around and the red-headed illusionist girl was there¡ªMaia, or Rosalie, or something. She fired something at his shield, which broke it. He unraveled the next spell she sent his way, which earned him a worsening of his headache.

    Something else hit him, right in the hands.

    It was a weak spell. Normally, he would have shrugged it off, but it was on his hands¡ªit sizzled against his blisters and agony bloomed up his arms. Kion had taken advantage of his distraction. He shouted, grip weakening reflexively for a moment. She wrenched out of his grasp and darted away on trembling legs; he tried to turn, but Rosalie was still casting at him and he didn¡¯t have the cloak now, which meant he had to shield and unravel on the fly. Blood started to drip from his nose.

    He swore and coughed as the wave of smoke reached them. It was just as thick as it had looked from the outside, and in moments, he could barely see an arm¡¯s length in front of him. At least he could stumble away from where he assumed the Rosalie girl was. Muffled sounds of fighting filtered through to him in what seemed like every direction.

    ¡°Felun!¡± someone called.

    A cold, pointy-fingered hand closed over his arm and he shouted reflexively until he realised that it was Thorn.

    ¡°Papers?¡± Thorn asked, as he grabbed his other arm.

    ¡°You¡¯ll have to be fast,¡± Felun warned as he fished out his emergency spell-slips and stuck one to each of them.

    The slips were kind of terrible¡ªhe¡¯d cobbled them together from scavenged runes; they¡¯d probably both get a monster of a headache once the spells wore off. But, he admitted, grudgingly, Suria had been right to insist. A coolness swept over him as the spell-papers did their work, cloaking them in a field of inattention.

    Thorn jolted upwards and then they were flying out of the blue smoke, heading up and away.

 2.11 - Aftertaste

    Aliyah

    Her head throbbed and her eyes watered. Blood coursed thinly through her veins, and her skin seemed to sting with phantom wounds and phantom spellfrost: ghosts of frozen muscles and fractured bone. She¡¯d suffered a headache and a heavy nosebleed trying to fix everything. Her mouth still tasted of blood.

    She coughed as the air cleared. The blue-smoke-scent was fading and smelled all wrong anyway, but the memory of a certain Magician blazed in her mind¡¯s eye¡ªand close on its heels, the impression of a golden vaulted ceiling, framed with exhaustion and fear and blood and pain. She pressed a hand to her head and winced. There was no point in slipping into dreaded memories¡ªshe had different problems now. Worse ones? It was hard to tell.

    She staggered to her feet, ignoring the swimming feeling in her head. Her magic numbed patches of lingering pain and forced a fresh wave of wakefulness through her body. Shapes solidified in the lingering smoke, faerie forms and human silhouettes alike.

    One of the faerie forms strode towards her, scraps of mist shedding off its wings in waves. She tensed¡ªfor a moment, she thought that it was the very same one who had attacked her. But no, the faery that emerged from the blue fog was not gold¡ªshe was a pearly, iridescent cream colour, and dressed in a loose cloth tunic with an official-looking crest embroidered over the front.

    ¡°At ease, human,¡± the faerie said. ¡°I am Lieutenant Qilin of Glister Hive and I mean you no harm.¡±

    ¡°Have you seen Kionah?¡± she blurted out.

    Lieutenant Qilin frowned, and the spurs around her face twitched. ¡°Kionah¡­? I''m not sure¡­a companion of yours? A human?¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± Aliyah said, scanning around. ¡°She¡­oh¡ªover there!¡±

    Kionah sat on the cobblestones, head in her hands. Aliyah hurried over, even as her ears rang and her head protested. Lieutenant Qilin floated some inches off the ground and glided along by her side.

    ¡°Excuse me, miss,¡± Qilin said, ¡°but I will need to ask you a question or two. Required protocol, that sort of thing.¡±

    ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°Those criminals,¡± Qilin said. She gave a mid-air shrug that started from her spines and ended at her tail-tip. ¡°Were you acquainted?¡±

    ¡°No,¡± she said as they came to a stop in front of Kionah. ¡°Absolutely not.¡±

    Kionah raised her head. Her glasses were missing a lens; the remaining one was cracked. Several bloody scratches ran up over her cheek, shallow but numerous.

    ¡°Hello,¡± she said, gaze fixing on the Lieutenant. There was a roughness to her voice that had not been there before. ¡°Glister Hive, I take it?¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± said Qilin. ¡°I assure you, the ones who attacked you were not our own. Are you aware of their identities?¡±

    ¡°Not aware, no,¡± Kionah said, and cleared her throat. ¡°We have no idea who they are. There were¡­four? No, five.¡± She counted them off the fingers of one hand as she listed them. ¡°One silver, one gold¡ªthat one was really tall¡ªone sort of brownish guy, one blue¡­and a green one, too. Bastard knocked me over the head.¡±

    ¡°The silver one used arrows,¡± Aliyah added. That particular searing pain stuck firmly in her mind¡¯s eye; a phantom twinge flickered through her gut.

    Qilin grimaced, a movement that also involved a twitch of wings and a swish of the tail. ¡°Right, right. And you were attacked without provocation?¡±

    ¡°Sort of,¡± Kionah said. ¡°The tracker-mark?¡±

    Aliyah¡¯s hand snapped up to the itching spot on her arm. ¡°Oh. Yes, um. We were attacked¡­earlier. The gold one put this¡­tracking enchantment thing on me.¡± She rolled up her sleeve.

    Lieutenant Qilin glanced down at the mark with little interest. ¡°I see. Yes, that does look like some sort of spell.¡± She shrugged, with more nonchalance than Aliyah had expected. ¡°I¡¯m afraid I cannot assist you in that regard.¡±

    ¡°Mm,¡± Kionah said. She touched the cuts on her face; when her hand came away, it was smeared with blood. ¡°Is City Watch involved? We free to go?¡±

    ¡°No,¡± Qilin said, already turning away. ¡°You can leave. Do take care, now.¡±

    Kionah winced and rose to her feet, dusting off her hands. ¡°What a fucking mess.¡±

    ¡°Y-yeah,¡± Aliyah said. The ghostly, freezing touch of faerie spellfrost still lurked beneath her skin. She hurried her circulation along to dispel the lingering chill. ¡°Now what?¡±

    ¡°Now we leave for real,¡± Kionah said bitterly.

    ¡°Really?¡± a familiar voice cut in. ¡°So soon?¡±

    Aliyah whirled around, just as Maia strode right past her in a swish of red hair and a flurry of skirts. She stopped just short of Kionah, a couple hand¡¯s breadths too close for politeness.

    ¡°Where do you think you¡¯re going Kion? You¡¯ve got some explaining to do. What the hells was all that? What happened to your face?¡±

    ¡°None of your concern,¡± Kionah snapped.

    ¡°I saved your hide back there,¡± Maia said. ¡°I think you owe me a rundown on what troubles you¡¯ve sunk yourself into this time.¡±

    ¡°Look,¡± Kionah said. ¡°I don¡¯t especially care if you end up floating down the river in a bag of rocks, but perhaps your boss does. Leonora did save my hide once, so for her sake more than yours, I¡¯ll tell you to stay out of it. This is bad business, you hear? Worse than whatever you¡¯re already tangled up in.¡±

    Maia made a disgusted sound. ¡°So you¡¯ve dragged some trouble over from the old kingdoms.¡± Her gaze flicked, very briefly, over to Aliyah. ¡°That doesn¡¯t mean I don¡¯t deserve to know what.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t talk to me about what you supposedly deserve.¡±

    ¡°Fine. Be that way. Also, you dropped this.¡± She held out the bunch of carnations, stems-first.

    Kionah froze and glared at her before snatching the illusory bouquet in one swift motion. ¡°Much appreciated,¡± she bit out, and shoved the empty pistol back into her waistband. ¡°Come on, Aliyah, we¡¯re leaving.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s been lovely to see you too,¡± Maia called out, voice dripping with sarcasm. ¡°Don¡¯t be a stranger, Kion.¡±

    Kionah snorted and walked away, chin held high. Aliyah followed close at her heels, wincing inwardly at Maia¡¯s passing glare. The street lay in disarray; faeries fluttered around in scattered formations, seemingly combing the area for clues under the Lieutenant¡¯s direction. No one paid them any heed as they departed.

    She glanced down at her arm. The itch had died down, but the faery-mark was still inked there, solid and mocking. Then she glanced up at Kionah, who was staring straight ahead, fully ignoring the droplets of blood welling up from her cuts. She seemed oblivious to the curious and mildly horrified glances of passers-by.

    ¡°Kionah,¡± Aliyah said. ¡°Is your face alright?¡±

    Kionah pursed her lips. ¡°I¡¯ll live.¡±

    ¡°I could, um. I could fix it, if you wanted? The cuts don¡¯t look too bad.¡±

    Kionah blinked slowly, as if in realisation. ¡°Oh¡­right. Might want to get out of the main street first¡ªhere, this way.¡±

    Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.

    They ducked into an alley. Kionah grimaced and brushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear. The cuts ran over both of her cheeks and part of her nose, thin and shallow, most of them in parallel sets of five. There were a few more on her shoulder, where the fabric of her shirt had torn.

    ¡°So, um. I¡¯ll just, put my hand on your shoulder if that¡¯s fine.¡±

    Kionah jerked her chin. ¡°Go ahead.¡±

    Aliyah reached out and concentrated on forcing the wounds to fuse shut, even as it made the world swim around her. Fresh skin replacing the lacerations, woven in evenly so there would be no scar¡­

    ¡°Done,¡± she gasped out. Her mouth felt dry; her nose dripped red. She braced herself against the wall, just for a moment, to regain her bearings. When she glanced up, Kionah was reaching to touch her own freshly-healed face. Her fine features creased in consternation. Aliyah wondered, fleetingly, how she¡¯d made it this far without so much as the slightest visible scar.

    ¡°Thank you,¡± Kionah said, tone gone courtly-cordial. ¡°Don¡¯t overextend yourself on my behalf.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s fine,¡± Aliyah said. She wiped her face with her sleeve; it was dirtied already, dusty and spell-scorched from the faerie fight; a little blood wouldn¡¯t make a difference. ¡°You uh, helped a lot, back there. I don¡¯t think I would¡¯ve been fine if I was alone. Also¡­¡± She hesitated. ¡°¡­There¡¯s the problem of the tracker mark. The faeries came because of it. So¡­what now?¡±

    ¡°I was still going to seek lodgings and protection under the weapons enchanter.¡±

    Aliyah started to shake her head, then stopped when it only served to make her headache worse. ¡°What I meant was¡ªare you still going to keep me around?¡±

    Kionah just blinked and stared at her for a moment. ¡°¡­What?¡±

    ¡°The faery mark is a problem,¡± she pointed out, and forced her voice to keep from shaking. ¡°They might come back. So, knowing that¡ªam I coming with you, or not?¡±

    Kionah gave a sharp, startled bark of laughter. ¡°Of course you are. Unless you don¡¯t want to? If they¡¯re going to know where you are anyways, well¡­it¡¯s still a decent place to stay. Warded.¡±

    ¡°Even if it¡­¡± she paused. ¡°Even if it puts you in danger?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ve had worse,¡± Kionah said dismissively. ¡°Besides, you can¡¯t possibly expect me to leave you to the streets¡ªtrust me, you¡¯d be cutpurse¡¯d before sunset. Luxon¡¯ll get the potion-thing done before you know it, and then¡­well, then you can choose to do whatever you want. But I hope you¡¯ll consider my prior offer.¡± She passed a hand over her face and sighed. ¡°Must be nice, always being able to heal yourself. Anyways¡ªlet¡¯s go.¡±

    She strode forth with purpose. Aliyah followed and tried to ignore the throbbing headache soaking into her skull. She gritted her teeth and distracted herself with the walking; there was a lot of walking, actually. A lot of ducking through alleys and going up steps and across bridges, weaving through crowds all the while. The city roiled around them, the throngs of merchants and shoppers waxing and waning to the rhythm of invisible, unchartable tides.

    At some point, Kionah handed her a buttered roll and a can of something labeled ¡®effervescent honey soda¡¯. She accepted the items wordlessly, barely even pausing to consider which shopfront Kionah had snagged them from. Perhaps the criminal association was beginning to rub off on her. Perhaps she was just too exhausted to care. She ate the roll and drank the drink; they helped stave off the weakness in her muscles and the parchedness of her throat, but didn¡¯t seem to help her headache much. They kept walking. She wondered how Kionah could have expected them to run all this way, with the Magician in pursuit.

    She took the time to worry about the Magician. He¡¯d cast some sort of rune magic at her, slowing her down enough for one of the faeries to get her with the frost spell. What kind of Magician worked with faeries? A false one for sure.

    ===

    Kionah finally came to a stop by a shopfront; the sign was sun-bleached and weathered beyond legibility, but the window display showed a great very many books. A hand-written placard hung behind the glass, proclaiming the store open in looping calligraphy letters.

    ¡°Were we not going to see the weapons merchant?¡± Aliyah asked. She pressed a hand to her temple and valiantly tried and failed to ignore the fuzzy-headedness that came with spellcaster¡¯s headache.

    ¡°He lives here,¡± Kionah said. ¡°Though the bindery is his partner¡¯s.¡±

    Aliyah squinted. The books certainly looked like books. ¡°Is it a front for the weapon-selling?¡±

    ¡°Far from it.¡± Kionah rolled her eyes and placed her hand to the door. ¡°All on the side and legal¡­ish, remember? Don¡¯t look so worried; there aren¡¯t going to be piles of charm-grenades stashed inside. Silas would never allow it.¡±

    A bell tinkled as Kionah pushed at the door and strode through with a confidence in her step that Aliyah wasn¡¯t sure she ought to believe. The room was indeed devoid of charm-grenades, or any other weaponry for that matter. It was warmly lit and lined with shelves and glass cases, all of them encasing richly-bound books. The air was laced with the inoffensive scents of leather and paper and beeswax.

    A doorway sat behind the counter, through which she glimpsed part of what looked like a workshop: stacks of cut paper, the edge of a bench laden with pots and brushes, devices fashioned out of cast iron. A man stepped out, clean-shaven and completely bald. A pair of expensive-looking spectacles perched upon his nose, framing dark, hooded eyes. He had a testy look about him, one that suggested he lived in a perpetual state of mild irritation. Aliyah braced herself¡ªshe¡¯d had run-ins with his sort. There was no shortage of vexed individuals who liked to look down on maidservants among the kingdom staff and castle residents both.

    ¡°How can I help you?¡± he asked. And then, after a beat: ¡°oh¡ªMiss Sadrava.¡±

    ¡°Hello, Silas,¡± Kionah said, inclining her head.

    He pursed his lips. ¡°I assume you¡¯re here to speak with Laurent?¡±

    ¡°Yes.¡±

    ¡°Be back in a minute. Don¡¯t nick anything, the books are charmed.¡±

    Kionah sighed and muttered something that sounded vaguely insulting under her breath.

    Silas headed back into the workshop. The sound of footsteps on a staircase echoed back out to them, then muffled speech, followed by the sound of steps descending¡ªthis time two pairs, slightly out of sync. A different man strode out of the doorway. Silas peered out at them for a moment, scowling faintly, before disappearing back into the depths of his workshop.

    ¡°Kionah,¡± the other man¡ªLaurent, Aliyah presumed¡ªexclaimed.

    He didn¡¯t look anything like she assumed a weapons enchanter would. She¡¯d pictured someone a little like Silas, only more sinister; someone along the lines of a storybook sorcerer¡ªtall and spindly, peering over the rims of thick spectacles, perhaps caressing a glowing dagger in his hands. Instead, Laurent looked as if he could be somebody¡¯s jolly middle-aged uncle; he was barrel-chested and bushy-browed, greying at the temples and grinning widely.

    ¡°Well, well, well,¡± he said, voice jovial and booming. He leaned across the counter to peer at her. ¡°I haven¡¯t seen hide nor hair of you for ages! Is my little brother overworking you? How is he, by the way? He seems to drop by even less than you do.¡±

    Kionah rolled her eyes and sighed. ¡°No, nothing like that. I was just¡­busy. For unrelated reasons. And Shasta¡¯s being his usual self.¡±

    Shasta? Little brother? Was this some sort of Crow Ear outpost? Aliyah furrowed her brow, looked Laurent over more closely and tried to match up the man¡¯s pale complexion to Shasta¡¯s tanned one, his middle age to Shasta¡¯s relative youth. Perhaps brothers in arms, then, or half-siblings.

    ¡°Hah,¡± Laurent said. ¡°That is good to hear. I don¡¯t suppose you¡¯re here to purchase anything? But I see you¡¯ve brought a friend.¡±

    ¡°This is Aliyah,¡± Kionah said, giving her an expectant little nudge. Aliyah managed to stammer out a jumbled greeting. ¡°We were hoping you had your spare room out for lease.¡±

    His expression grew sober. ¡°Ah. Run into some trouble?¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± Kionah said. ¡°Faeries. How much?¡±

    Laurent frowned. ¡°And you didn¡¯t take it up with the Hive?¡±

    ¡°The Hive knows¡ªand I doubt they have the faintest clue.¡± She made a disgusted sound. ¡°From how the Lieutenant spoke, I don¡¯t think they especially care. Wouldn¡¯t be the first time a gang of pissed-off schismatists tried to beat up random citygoers. But, uh. Let¡¯s just say that this is some personal trouble. Complicated; not Crow-Ear stuff. Also, they know where we are.¡±

    Laurent¡¯s frown deepened and he glanced over their heads¡ªtoward the window display and out into the street. ¡°You didn¡¯t give them the drop?¡± He sighed. ¡°Don¡¯t tell me there¡¯s rabble waiting outside. Bad for business. Silas¡¯ll never let me hear the end of it.¡±

    Kionah sighed. ¡°No, no, it¡¯s¡­Aliyah, show him the tracker-mark.¡±

    Aliyah winced, then rolled up her sleeve. The tesseracts gleamed oddly under the warm store lights.

    ¡°Hmph,¡± Laurent said. ¡°That¡¯s a spell, alright.¡± He scratched the back of his head. ¡°But I¡¯m just an enchanter; can¡¯t help you there. Have you tried going to a cursebreaker? Or a potioneer?¡±

    ¡°Luxon,¡± Kionah said. ¡°You know, the faery one.¡±

    ¡°Ah.¡± Laurent gave a knowing nod. ¡°That¡¯ll do it. How long do you need the room for?¡±

    ¡°At least two days, perhaps more. How much?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll have to get out the special chalks. Hundred-fifty a night. More if I need to refresh it in a week. And if there¡¯ll be any, you know, fighting or property damage involved¡­¡±

    Kionah nodded tersely. ¡°Alright. I¡¯ll fetch my things from Shasta¡¯s, be back soon. Watch over my companion for me, won¡¯t you?¡±

    Aliyah startled. ¡°Wait, what?¡± For all that Kionah was involved in disconcerting Crow Ear business, she was still the only familiar thing in Glister.

    Kionah sighed. ¡°You look half-dead, Aliyah. The Magician went after you the most and I¡¯d rather you not burn through all your magic again trying to keep up.¡±

    Even more than the dreaded prospect of waiting it out with two complete strangers, Aliyah¡¯s thoughts flashed back to the scratches over Kionah¡¯s face. ¡°But the faeries¡ª¡±

    Kionah sighed again, louder this time. ¡°I can move faster if I don¡¯t have to look out for you.¡±

    Aliyah bit the inside of her cheek. It was true, she supposed. But Kionah hardly looked as if she were in better shape herself.

    ¡°You have a concussion,¡± she said. And if not a concussion, then at least a headache to show for having been hit with a stick.

    Kionah set her jaw. ¡°I¡¯m fine.¡±

    ¡°Hey now, you two. Wait just a moment.¡± Laurent reached round his neck and pulled a loop of braided cord over his head. From it, a wooden pendant swung. ¡°Have to keep safe, yes? I can lend you this, if you do your best to return it in one piece. It¡¯ll keep shielded, faeries or otherwise.¡±

    ¡°Thank you,¡± Kionah said.

    She took the pendant and draped it around her neck before Aliyah could think of anything more to say. The door chimed merrily on her way out.

    Laurent sighed and turned to face Aliyah. ¡°Well, well. It sounds like you¡¯ve had a rough time of it, eh? Come in¡ªwant some tea?¡±

 2.12 - Scarcely a Sanctuary

    Aliyah

    The tea, it turned out, was strong and spiced and surprisingly good. Laurent had left the pot with her, telling her to refill her cup as she wished. She sipped at it while perched awkwardly on a bench in the corner of Silas¡¯s workshop, watching him stitch papers together. He was not a talkative man, and he paid her no heed as he worked, which suited her just fine. Laurent had gone upstairs a while ago, presumably to work on adding warding enchantments to the rental room¡ªhe¡¯d been muttering something about chalk and runes and spiral-sigils.

    Late-afternoon sun spilled through the windows, blazing orange-red through warped glass. It traced the contours of the hulking, cast iron device in the corner and tinged the feathery tips of Silas¡¯s brushes as if they were candles aflame. It was only just getting dark, and Aliyah already felt tired. The tea was helping, but not much.

    The shopfront bell tinkled, startling her. Tea threatened to spill over the rim of her cup. Silas swept over to the workshop doorway and peered out like a bird-of-prey.

    ¡°Your friend has returned,¡± he announced, before returning to his sewing frame.

    Aliyah set her cup down carefully¡ªwell away from any of Silas¡¯s tools as he¡¯d warned her¡ªone of very few things he¡¯d said since Kionah had left¡ªand hopped off the bench just as Kionah came in, dragging two packs lashed to a large case on wheels.

    ¡°Argh,¡± Kionah said, unhooking the protection pendant from her neck. She looked slightly worse for wear; traces of exhaustion lined her face. ¡°Finally made it. Bloody shuttlebuses pieces-of-crap. Silas¡ªgive this back to Laurent, won¡¯t you? I swear it¡¯s giving me a headache.¡±

    There it is, Aliyah thought with a guilty sting of self-righteousness. Probably still concussed.

    ¡°It worked, didn¡¯t it?¡± Silas remarked, not looking up from his sewing. ¡°Return it to him yourself; he¡¯s probably finishing up by now. Third room on the left.¡±

    ¡°Ugh. Fine.¡±

    Kionah dragged the luggage forwards, teeth gritted all the while, and clattered upstairs. Aliyah followed, more hesitantly¡ªperhaps out of due caution after what had happened at Shasta¡¯s place. She hoped that there wasn¡¯t another Mutt up there, let alone more weapons laying around.

    What awaited them at the top of the stairs was nothing more than the inside of a largely unremarkable apartment. It reminded her of some of the rooms she used to clean, though with more books. There were books displayed on low shelves and little vitrines¡ªbeautiful, leather-bound ones clearly wrought from Silas¡¯s craftsmanship¡ªbut no evidence of Laurent¡¯s profession, no sleek death-machine sitting in wait on a tabletop.

    Laurent popped his head out from a room down the corridor. ¡°Ah, there you are,¡± he said. ¡°Just in time.¡± He ducked back into the room and re-emerged with a toolbox in one hand, dusting coloured chalk off the other. ¡°Adjustments are up, wards are running. Make yourself at home.¡±

    ¡°Here,¡± Kionah said, holding out the wooden pendant. ¡°Thanks.¡±

    ¡°Not a problem,¡± he said. ¡°Bathroom¡¯s at the end of the corridor. I¡¯ll be down at the Academy tomorrow, but let Silas know if you need anything.¡±

    Kionah nodded at him as he went before dragging the luggage into the room. The room looked like an ordinary room¡ªa bed against each wall, two small dressers and a chair at the window¡ªsave for the lines of purple chalk scribbled onto the ceiling. Symbols swirled overhead, interwoven with twisted glyphs, magic circles the colour of twilight. It was an artwork, almost; something about it reminded Aliyah of a field of desert-violets in full bloom. Little runes skittered there on tracks outlined by the chalk, half-translucent and almost invisible in the low light.

    Kionah only gave it a cursory glance before dumping one of the packs over to the bed on the left.

    ¡°Dibs on this one,¡± she said. She plucked a paper bag, seemingly out of nowhere, and tossed it over onto the other bed. ¡°Your dinner, too. I¡¯m going to sleep. Don¡¯t be loud.¡±

    ¡°Uh,¡± Aliyah said. ¡°Okay. Thanks¡­?¡±

    Kionah left her luggage at the foot of her bed and burrowed under the covers. Aliyah retreated to her side of the room. The paper bag contained a savoury meat pie, still warm. It was ambiguous as to whether Kionah had paid for it, but Aliyah was too tired to care. A bunch of faeries had just tried to kill her, and a false Magician, too. Following strict moral guidelines set by the Magicians themselves was a little laughable after what she¡¯d seen back in Shadowsong, even if she did agree with the overall principles. Perhaps she was sliding into criminal villainy by accepting Kionah¡¯s gift¡ªbut she was already the worst kind of traitor in the kingdom¡¯s eyes, so what did it matter?

    She ate, looked through the items in her pack, and tentatively padded out to the bathroom to brush her teeth while glancing around the apartment. The quantity of books and display cases aside, there was nothing unusual about it. She returned to the bedroom and sat by the window to think. There wasn¡¯t much of a view; the wavy glass looked out onto a fast-emptying street and the side of another shopfront, dull and water-stained and otherwise featureless in the dimming afternoon light. The barest sliver of horizon peeked over the jumble of rooftops crowding the skies.

    Two days, Luxon had said. What could happen in two days? It was a small miracle she wasn¡¯t dead yet.

    She tried to think of happier things; laughing with Rana, eating street food together at the market, that one meltwater festival where neither of them had to work and they¡¯d watched the dancers together. A pot plant as a gift, sunshine and a clear horizon, peach iced tea. New linens, free lunch for the sewing circle. Sticky-fingered baking on a quieter day, licking the sweetness off her fingers as the cute kitchenhand passed her a slice of syrup-cake. One brief tryst, innocent and bittersweet. A dainty, flower-shaped little bowl, gifted and cherished and broken by accident; she¡¯d sipped soup from one of the petals. Rainy afternoons spent reading by the window, ripe berries smuggled in from hydroponics, skyfish-watching on the walls¡ªsafety, sanctuary.

    The memories turned to ashes in her mouth. There wasn¡¯t anything pleasant to distract herself with, because she¡¯d left it all behind.

    She missed Rana. She missed her so much that it was starting to actually hurt; the guilt formed a low ache deep in her chest. Excising Rana from her heart would be like trying to wrench taproots out of dry earth. She knew, because they¡¯d done that together, once, weeding under the direction of a Weathermancer as punishment for climbing a tree and breaking a branch; it had been summer, and the dirt had been hard-packed. She could practically feel the sweat drenching her scalp at the touch of that memory.

    Some of the roots just wouldn¡¯t yield, no matter how hard she¡¯d tugged; they¡¯d chosen to snap rather than release their hold on the earth, leaving the very deepest pieces of themselves buried. The Weathermancer had clucked at her when she¡¯d seen her fail.

    ¡°Be sure to get it all,¡± the Weathermancer had said disapprovingly. ¡°Else they¡¯ll simply grow again with the spring rains.¡±

    It wasn¡¯t like she hadn¡¯t been trying. She¡¯d pulled at the weeds with all of her flimsy child¡¯s strength, determined to get them out, blazing with defiance. It just hadn¡¯t been enough.

    That was what it felt like now, sort of. There was just no way to stop agonising over leaving her one and only friend behind. It had seemed the right thing to do at the time, so she¡¯d lopped off the leafy tops of her reservations and she¡¯d done it to save Kionah and to save herself. But now she was far away and the rains were pouring down, soaking the soil where her darker thoughts grew. Fears and memories and self-loathing sprouted again, clawing skywards from hidden roots.

    Both of their hands had been dusty and sore by the time the Weathermancer pronounced their efforts adequate. They¡¯d taken turns massaging each other¡¯s fingers afterwards, bickering and complaining and chattering on about whatever hare-brained adventure they were planning at the time. She felt weary remembering such things. She was alone now, and not a child anymore, and Rana was a kingdom and a Killing Field away from her. Possibly dead¡ªno, don¡¯t think about that. The anti-haemolytic would¡¯ve worked. It must have.

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    She closed her eyes and pinched at the bridge of her nose. When she opened them again, it was to stare at the chalked wards on the ceiling. Runes drifted serenely, like dry leaves atop a pond.

    Aliyah crawled into bed and went to sleep.

    ===

    Aliyah woke, surging away from a tangle of familiar nightmares; red books, ragged skin, blood over salt and the taste of iron at the back of her throat. She wrenched herself upright, pushing what felt like a sea of sheets away from her neck and chest. The room was dark now, but for the whisper of runes above. A sliver of lamplight spilled in from a gap in the curtains, sure and still. The house was silent, but her heart pounded in anticipation all the same: faery-mark itching, every muscle tensed. She used her magic to sweep some of the tension away, forcing a sense of physiological calm to descend over herself.

    She should have expected this, really.

    She swung her legs over the side of the bed, wondering if it would be alright to drink from the bathroom tap, whether running her itching forearm under a stream of cool water would do it any good. From the other side of the room, movement. She froze, before realising that it was only Kionah, stirring in her sleep.

    ¡°Everything alright?¡± came the murmur. Not asleep, then. ¡°You were sort of¡­screaming, earlier.¡± Kionah shifted, then rolled over onto her side and propped her chin onto the heel of her hand in one sleek movement.

    ¡°I¡¯m fine,¡± Aliyah said. ¡°Just a bit worried after all that¡ªwell you know, everything. The mark was bothering me.¡±

    ¡°Relax.¡± Kionah gave a muffled, lazy yawn; Aliyah wondered if her nightmare-throes had woken her, and a stab of guilt and unease burrowed into her stomach.

    ¡°Laurent used to contract for spire-builders,¡± Kionah continued. ¡°It¡¯s hardly the best, but this place has as many wards as I can afford. And if worst comes to worst, Silas was a dungeonrunner before he settled down. I¡¯m sure we¡¯ll be fine¡ªI¡¯ve thought this through somewhat, I promise.¡±

    ¡°Right, right.¡± She hesitated. ¡°It¡¯s just, the Magician¡ªI just don¡¯t understand.¡±

    ¡°False-Magician,¡± Kionah corrected. ¡°He used Breaker magic. Very confusing, I agree.¡±

    ¡°But you worked with Alhena,¡± Aliyah said slowly. ¡°Surely you know more than I did. Even if you didn¡¯t seem um, fond of her.¡±

    ¡°Alhena? I doubt she had anything to do with this. Besides,¡± Kionah narrowed her eyes, sclera glinting wetly in the window light. ¡°What does my level of fondness have to do with it?¡±

    ¡°Nothing,¡± Aliyah said, even as unease ate at the base of her skull. ¡°It¡¯s nothing. I just thought, since you did court stuff¡ª¡±

    ¡°Hah,¡± Kionah said. ¡°Is this about the whole¡­¡± She made a loose, chopping motion with her hand. ¡°About my relation to your harpist princess? They tell me she was well-liked.¡±

    ¡°I¡ªI just had a bad dream about the execution,¡± Aliyah said evasively.

    ¡°Hm. Well, I wouldn¡¯t say that Alhena and I were close.¡± Kionah spoke slowly, expression unreadable in the low light. ¡°She was my employer, and employers die; I grew up with mercenaries, see. Not very good ones. Most of them ran out of business on account of all their clients dying, and so drank themselves to early, penniless graves. It¡¯s the nature of the business, not caring. Normal here. I am not exceptionally cracked in the head. Does that assuage your concerns?¡±

    Aliyah flinched. ¡°I didn¡¯t say¡ª¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s fine. You were thinking it. How unsettling, that a princess might die and that a so-called consort would not shed a tear.¡± She gave a bitter little laugh. ¡°If I were in your place, I¡¯d be wary too. What kind of times are these, where a common street rat might walk the court and spin a new life as spymaster? It was on Alhena¡¯s good graces, of course. Long may she rest.¡±

    ¡°¡­Okay,¡± Aliyah said carefully. An edge had crept into Kionah¡¯s voice; it would probably be a good idea to steer the topic away from such matters. ¡°And the kingdom? What about them? Because if that¡­Magician¡­person¡­isn¡¯t involved, then I have no idea why the faeries would want to kill us.¡±

    ¡°Mm,¡± Kionah said. ¡°We did stumble into the foundations of their encampment. Possibly they were rivals of Glister Hive, schismatist-dissidents planning something. Perhaps you¡¯re a threat now. Who knows?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not a threat,¡± Aliyah said, scratching at her arm. ¡°This is ridiculous. Why even go to all this effort to kill me?¡±

    Kionah laughed again, softly this time. ¡°You¡¯re a Healer. Of course you¡¯re a threat. Some might say that your abilities border on godlike¡ªthat is, if they believed in them.¡±

    ¡°Godlike? What? No, that¡¯s ridiculous.¡± She shook her head. ¡°I¡¯m not even¡ªmaybe a real Healer can live a perfect life, or do some dangerous stuff with their magic, but I¡¯m not like that. I still get sick and stuff.¡±

    ¡°Yeah? But you can recover in an instant.¡±

    Aliyah¡¯s thoughts faltered for a moment, tripping over themselves in frustration. No matter Shasta¡¯s reaction back down in Whistle House, the magic was hardly a cure-all.

    ¡°But that still isn¡¯t,¡± she started, shaking her head. ¡°Healing sickness is harder than wounds, for me. I still get sick. I¡¯m still like, mortal. I still get, um, sunburnt and stuff. Maybe not here, but summer in Shadowsong, definitely. I mean, I could stop the effects of getting sunburnt, but it probably wouldn¡¯t be a good idea.¡±

    Kionah turned her gaze away and shook her head. ¡°Luck was with you when you were made apprenticeling. I would have asked you to teach me, if I thought it could have ever worked. Shasta was about to.¡±

    ¡°Oh,¡± Aliyah said. ¡°Right. Well, you¡¯re right, I don¡¯t think I could.¡±

    A trickle of ice crept down her back as she spoke. Much as she¡¯d have liked to believe that it was all just diligent study and Zahir¡¯s books that had got her all this way, the memory of the Higher Library lingered on the edges of her mind like wisps of a Killing Field. Deep down, she suspected that it had something to do with that. Unlocking, with blood and pain and hunger-yearning. It was an old concept, and probably not a wholly false fable.

    ¡°It keeps you safe, doesn¡¯t it?¡± Kionah asked. ¡°So long as you keep quiet about it around, ah, ¡®persons of significance¡¯ in general. Gratitude for your blessings, and all that. Such rare gifts are in short supply.¡±

    Aliyah frowned. She wasn¡¯t sure she¡¯d call it a gift, exactly. It had not been handed to her on a silver platter. In the first lessons, the ones about reaching out with the magic to sense breath-heartbeat-metabolite, she¡¯d crashed headfirst into full, proper awareness¡ªall of it, everywhere and all at once.

    Each twitch and stretch of her muscles, the production of blood inside her bones, the texture of living marrow, digestion glugging along, peristalsis, pancreas and glands secreting a myriad of substances, cellular metabolism, diffusion across membranes, transport and lysis, enzymes chewing. She hadn¡¯t even known the words for it at the time. And there had been a thousand other things as well, moving too quickly or too subtly for her to grasp their meaning. With the awareness shoving itself to the forefront of her mind, she realised that she could map out the consequences if the chemical composition of her blood shifted even slightly, if oxygen saturation were to fall even a little, then this would topple, and so would that, and then the perfect loops would stop and it would cascade¡­

    Her magic was the point-tipped weapon but her thoughts were the clumsy hand that guided it. Why, oh why did Healers choose this? The esteemed power to blend one¡¯s own brain into soup, if one thought the wrong kind of thoughts?

    It was like opening her eyes and realising that there existed entirely new colours that she had not been able to see before¡ªand that monsters lurked in the shades of these new colours, creatures of which she had been blissfully unaware until now. They been lurking there all along, drooling over her shoulder, close enough to touch. The human body was a squishy and disgusting thing. Her lungs inflated wetly. Her tongue didn¡¯t feel as if it fit into her mouth. Heavy tendons, flowing blood, hinge joints, breakable cantilevers. Warm and raw and glistening; red meat, everywhere, drowning out the world.

    She¡¯d had a panic attack right there and then from the sensory shock, and the pure knowledge given therein. Bodies were so fragile¡ªso many perfect systems working together, dizzyingly delicate and so impossibly intricate that she wondered dizzily how anything worked right at all. This was what she was expected to live in? This web of nerves bootstrapped into a perpetually shedding-growing-dying meat-vessel?

    Zahir had calmed her down with his easy assurances, eased her out of the horrible all-awareness with blithe quips and dark humour. He¡¯d said it was like that for many new apprentices. It was only later, as she was gulping down a mug of tea to ease the headache throbbing throughout what felt like her entire brain and skull, that she¡¯d remembered the justification for those intricacies of cell-organ-system-body, the whole reason she was here: not for her, perfection. Not perfect, at all.

    But the exercise had been necessary to ensure she wouldn¡¯t near kill herself a second time. From it, she¡¯d learned to direct her focus, to narrow it enough to be able to parse the constant onslaught of magical-sensory information.

    In the early days, though¡­she¡¯d lain awake, hyper-aware of each heartbeat. Systole, diastole, and repeat. And just what was keeping it going that way, she¡¯d wondered. Electrochemical magics? It didn¡¯t seem¡ªsafe. She¡¯d reached inwards with magic to trace the flaps of the valves in her heart, trembling and barely-touching, so fearful that the slightest wrong move would have her vomiting blood all over again.

    Each piece had felt like a ticking clockwork bomb, a mechanism that could betray her at any moment, something that could run down or bend or snap when she desperately needed it not to. At least now, she had the tools for repair. She shuddered to think what would have become of her if the faery attacks had been sprung on her helpless past self.

    Kionah was right, in part. The magic kept her safe. That was what she liked most about it: that it gave her some level of control. With it, she felt less as though she were flailing through the dark for an anchor. It was far more selfish than wanting to help others. It wasn¡¯t like she minded helping others¡ªshe had been relieved to heal Kionah, after the fight¡ªbut she¡¯d gone for so long without a means of relieving her own pain that it was more than welcome, after so many years of agony. Nowadays, she wondered how she ever lived without it.

    ¡°Yes,¡± she said eventually. ¡°I am grateful.¡± There was really not much else to say.

    Kionah yawned softly. ¡°Go to sleep, Aliyah. We¡¯re as safe as we can be, and you much more than me.¡±

 Interlude: offering

    It was a warm night. The air was still, and it tasted clearer than usual. Rana leaned against the castle parapet. Exhaustion welled up at the base of her skull as she waited, though she ignored it as best as she could; there was no real point in trying to sleep¡ªshe understood now, what it meant to have nightmares.

    From across the walls came footsteps.

    ¡°Hey,¡± said Farzaneh.

    ¡°Any news?¡± Rana asked. The words felt weak, coming from her throat.

    ¡°The other kiters found a boat,¡± Farzaneh rasped. She drew alongside and rested her arms upon a crenellation, frowning at the horizon. ¡°A good one, left in a gorge to the north¡ªmust¡¯ve been commissioned on the side. I asked Nadim to see if he could check some records, but it¡¯s probably made its way to Magician ears by now.¡±

    ¡°Okay,¡± Rana said.

    ¡°Something about a tunnel, too,¡± Farzaneh added. ¡°Uncharted, but you could ask the Weathermancers when they get around to it.¡±

    ¡°Okay. Thank you.¡±

    It was near-useless news; she pressed a hand to her temple. Both the strength and trouble with her influence lay in its nature; it was safe, on the softer side¡ªshe didn¡¯t like to go digging. The meeting with Cardainne was as far as she could allow; two years ago, Aliyah had gone digging, and she¡¯d¡­it hadn¡¯t led her anywhere good.

    She stared turned her gaze north, over the sands and to the distant foothills. The pieces were all there, she was sure. She just couldn¡¯t reach them.

    ¡°Really?¡± Farzaneh asked. ¡°You sure you¡¯re okay?¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± Rana lied.

    It was increasingly difficult to maintain a calm countenance at work, to act like her oldest friend had not likely been whisked away by a traitor¡ªhad become a traitor. Perhaps, even, was always a traitor, if the rumours about Saar-Salai were to be believed.

    Rana turned to leave, sweeping her one last glance over the battlements. She froze. Some instinct made her reach out and pull Farzaneh down into a crouch.

    ¡°What¡ª¡± Farzaneh began, and Rana shushed her.

    What was a Sungrazer doing on the walls at this time of night?

    The man strode hurriedly past, not fifty feet away. Rana held her breath¡ªhad they been seen? The man continued on his way without so much as a misstep. She exhaled softly.

    ¡°An outsider?¡± Farzaneh whispered. ¡°They¡¯re not allowed up here.¡±

    What reason did the Sungrazer have to brazenly break such a rule? Rana wondered. The battlements were for sightseeing, really¡ªoccasional guards were posted, but the sky-shields rendered them wholly ceremonial. Forbidding outsiders from this particular place was one abitrary rule in a long set of them, restrictions and demarcations intended on keeping their kingdom pure and separate. There was no strategic reason, unless¡­

    The man turned left, along a different branch of castle wall. There was a staircase at the end, and he seemed to be heading for it.

    Guard¡¯s ways. Was this Sungrazer sneaking out? Down the tower, and then¡­through a gate into the city proper, without having passed the eyes in the main hall? But everything they wanted was inside the castle¡ªrumours and favours and the Library¡ªor so she had gathered from court talk.

    Should she find a Magician? Should she follow? She bit her lip as the Sungrazer descended into the guard¡¯s tower.

    ¡°So is this any of your business, or¡­?¡± Farzaneh whispered.

    Rana almost answered no. She seldom dug, for fear of what she might unearth. But Sungrazers were on the wrong side of the court, and there would be few Magicians up at this hour¡ªthough how any of them slept doing what they had done, she didn¡¯t know. She had been the only one of seven to lift her head when it was all over, and she had been the only one because¡­because of Aliyah. Or so she assumed¡ªthe pieces were all there, in retrospect. She swallowed; the phantom taste of too-sweet tea nestled at the base of her tongue. Perhaps it would be wise to gain some extra easy favours in times like these.

    ¡°I will have to see,¡± she replied.

    She rose from her crouch and wrapped her cloak tighter around her shoulders.

    ¡°Oh,¡± Farzaneh said, already backing away. ¡°Good luck, then.¡±

    Rana nodded her farewell, and began tailing the Sungrazer.

    She pulled her runequill from her pocket and sketched a string of signs for silencing and concealment¡ªnot invisibility, she wasn¡¯t nearly as good as that, but it would help some. She had to lag behind, but the Sungrazer was not overly difficult to follow; he was careless, and walked as if he knew exactly where he was going.

    Through quieter streets, avoiding the market squares¡ªeventually, they ended up at a dilapidated dock in the city outskirts. She peered out from behind a stack of crates as the man climbed onto a sand-skimmer and sailed out into the desert, where she could not follow.

    She watched him go, shrinking into the distance. One piece of information blazed to the forefront of her mind: he was heading north.

    +++

    The sun-lamps burned low and red; it was so late that it had become early. Ilya drained the last dregs of his coffee and frowned as someone knocked at his door.

    ¡°Come in,¡± he said. And then, ¡°you again?¡±

    It was the cousin, huddled in a dark cloak and looking as if she had been up to no good. She strode in, and her heels did not click noisily this time. He raised a tired brow. Truly, he had thought she was the whispering court type¡ªhardly one capable of sneaking about like a thief.

    ¡°Magician Cardainne,¡± she said with a conciliatory bow of her head. ¡°I apologise for disturbing you at this hour.¡±

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    That was a bare-faced lie; he had been assigned night duty for the next week, and his office would have been the first along with light coming through the gaps of the doors. He wondered, with some amusement, whether she had been dismayed to find it so. But then, she could have easily walked further down to Mahin¡¯s¡ªperhaps she saw his overseeing of Karim as a perpetually exploitable connection.

    Hmm. That could be a problem, if so.

    ¡°What do you want?¡± he asked.

    She took a deep breath. ¡°I witnessed a Sungrazer making unauthorised travels. He passed along the battlements and took a sand-skimmer to the foothills.¡±

    ¡°I see,¡± Ilya said, and felt the beginnings of a frown alighting upon his face. ¡°I will make a note of it.¡±

    The cousin hesitated visibly, and his annoyance spiked.

    ¡°What is it?¡± he asked.

    No doubt she expected some pitiable act of charity on his behalf, as if prowling about in the dark deserved a handful of coin and a pat on the head¡ªnever mind how this was not even new information.

    ¡­Not that he need tell her that, of course.

    ¡°He¡¯s still out there,¡± she said. ¡°As in, right now. I came quickly, in case you wanted to check.¡±

    Hm. He did not particularly wish to check, no. There was a tacit understanding among his fellows to allow the Sungrazers fraternise with those dirty creatures as they wished¡ªwhile Saleh himself kept an eye upon the correspondence making its way to Cathay.

    He flashed through various scenarios in his head: to apprehend the Sungrazer, or not; to fully mislead the cousin, or not. He glanced down at his work¡ªlargely cleared now but waiting to receive more of the same. He had been sitting since supper, and his legs could do with a stretch.

    ¡°Very well,¡± he said as pulled his cloak from the back of his chair. ¡°Let us take a little stroll, shall we?¡±

    The cousin hesitated once more, looking slightly alarmed. She had clearly not anticipated her own involvement; perhaps this would teach her not to disturb him at her leisure.

    Ilya swept past her and out into the night-grey hall. He did not bother taking a sun-lamp; what moonlight washed over the flagstones was more than enough to see by. The cousin followed, her steps almost inaudible across the stone. Very good casting, for an employee of the Lower Library.

    The skeleton of the castle lay empty at this hour. No doubt there were countless scribes of the cousin¡¯s ilk burning their midnight oils, but the corridors through which Ilya strode were wholly silent. He could sense the cousin growing tense; if he were a kinder man, he would have spoken something to put her mind at ease. But he was not, and he had other considerations besides, and so he held his tongue.

    Instead, he considered the cousin¡¯s standing as he led the way up to the battlements. A taken-in Khan was a small fish, a small name. But one that chose to question¡­that was a different story. His very own apprentice had gotten farther than would have been expected of him, and the two shared blood ancestry. He cast his mind back to the faerie onslaught, to the rites. It was likely, too, that she harboured some grudge. A friend turned traitor, an unpleasant experience, a hunger for answers, the beginnings of a safely-made net of influence in one so young¡ªthis formed a certain picture, did it not?

    Ilya had been trained in many methods of assessment, and he could say with certainty that Rana Khan was not a threat¡ªat least, not presently. But the trouble with little sprouts such as these was the way they grew and grew, until one had the roots of an ironwood squeezing round one¡¯s throat.

    ¡­Seventhborn Alhena had played her part, in that regard.

    He emerged at the mouth of the staircase and stepped along the walls, heading northward. Behind him, Miss Khan followed.

    What to do, he mused. What to do, indeed? It was certainly easier to squash sprouting things while they were still small and young. That was the simple answer, for they were already at the battlements. He cast a perfunctory glance over the edge.

    It was a very long way down.

    Ilya leaned himself against a north-facing crenellation. Above, the sky was ink-dark and pinpricked with stars, only faintly warped by the near-invisible shimmer of the sky-shields. He turned his gaze back to the cousin and made a gesture, very casual, to indicate she should rest alongside. She hesitated fractionally before obeying. Sensible girl.

    ¡°Tell me about this Sungrazer man,¡± he prompted.

    She frowned. ¡°What do you wish to know, Magician Cardainne? I followed at some distance; he wore a cloak to conceal himself.¡±

    ¡°You are certain he was a Sungrazer?¡± Ilya asked. ¡°Not, perhaps, a Glister emissary happening to be of Cathayan descent? Or for that matter, a scion of a legacy family? It is difficult to discern facial features at a distance, and the paler skin with the darker hair is not unheard of, to be sure.¡±

    At his mention of legacy families, he felt her gaze locking onto his own features. It irked him, though it should not; he knew he merely seemed an unusually pale Songian at first glance, same as her. It was only the eyes which gave him away¡­and one such as her had no cause to be looking him in the eye.

    ¡°I did recognise his face,¡± she said. ¡°I don¡¯t know his name, but I recall he was among the ones wearing red and gold.¡±

    ¡°You must be a busy lady,¡± he remarked. ¡°Between your scribery and walking the court.¡±

    She ducked her chin modestly. ¡°I don¡¯t go so far as to walk, Magician. I only listen.¡±

    Ilya sighed inwardly. He had been correct in his thinking. Very correct. Ilya liked being correct. It was a shame, then, that in being correct there would be unpleasantness to follow.

    Judging by her muffled footsteps, it was likely that Miss Khan was in current possession of a runequill. Not difficult, but not ideal, either¡ªthere was a reason he had worn his cloak. He leaned more heavily against the wall, raising one foot flat against it; it would look cursory to her eye, he knew. A spell for silencing formed in his palm.

    ¡°Ilya,¡± she said before he could cast.

    The surprise, more than anything else, stilled his hand. Had he heard correctly? Such plain disrespect¡ª

    ¡°Aren¡¯t you going to ask me what I was doing when I saw the Sungrazer?¡±

    Ah. Ilya hesitated.

    It could be a bluff. It could have been a mere lover¡¯s meeting beneath moonlight, or whatever young people did these days. But on the half-chance that she had been liaising with someone important, someone acting the safeguard¡­well, the implication was enough: if something happens to me, then you will not be the only one to know why.

    She knew. How she had guessed, he could only assume¡ªhis cloak was heavy, and it was a warm night, after all.

    ¡°No,¡± he replied, a beat too late. He set his foot down from where it braced against the wall, the leverage no longer necessary. ¡°I have no interest in your affairs.¡±

    She averted her gaze. ¡°Then my pardon, Magician Cardainne, but I must ready myself before dawn shift.¡±

    ¡°I have a different question,¡± he said.

    ¡°Yes?¡± she asked. There was perhaps the shadow of a tremor in the word, the first real fracture he had seen in her facade.

    Ilya allowed himself a faint smile. ¡°Miss Khan, how would you feel about becoming an apprenticeling?¡±

    Confusion flickered across her face, then alarm.

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry?¡± she asked, the tremor more evident now.

    He gave a calm, easy shrug. ¡°The apprentices have thinned out, following recent events. You are a promising young woman, are you not? Karim has spoken highly of you.¡±

    All of these things were true, in a sense: Karim, though, had spoken as if someone were holding a knife to his throat. At the time, Ilya had found it amusing. Now, he found that detail of much more interest.

    ¡°I¡­I will have to think about it,¡± she stammered. ¡°It is¡­an honour that you would say as such, esteemed Magician.¡±

    She sounded a touch more apprehensive than he would have liked. Ah, well. She was a sensible girl, and people like her understood what it meant to refuse such generous offers. Given a guiding hand, she would learn to serve the kingdom well.

    One could tread a little sprout back into the earth from whence it came, it was true. But many more might bloom in its place, to fill the spaces it had once occupied¡ªand then they, too, would require dealing with. But if a certain sapling found itself possessing admirable, useful qualities¡­then perhaps it could be worked with. It was a known practice, for such saplings to be fed the right things and pruned just so, the roots tamed to serve better purposes.

    ¡°I anticipate your timely correspondence,¡± he said. ¡°Goodnight, Miss Khan.¡±

    ¡°Goodnight,¡± she replied, and there was the hint of a conscious effort to still the tremor to her voice this time. It boded well for her prospects; apprenticelings needed to be adaptable, after all.

    Ilya watched her go, then turned his gaze north. From the foothills there came a breeze and with it, a swift-approaching speck. A sand-skimmer, one might say. He considered it for a moment, then looked away.

    He was not a kind man, he thought with no small amount of regret. But he could be very merciful, when it suited him.

 2.13 - Stray Mages

    Felun

    ¡°So that was a disaster,¡± Suria said.

    Felun cracked his eyelids open a fraction. His head ached faintly at the effort. Suria glowered down at him through the gloom.

    ¡°Thorn has assured me that your work has side-effects,¡± she continued. Her wings flickered with the shadows of warning, dangerous colours.

    ¡°Oh,¡± he said stupidly. ¡°Hello. You¡¯re back.¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± she scowled. ¡°I have been here for many hours. And without Iolite¡¯s quarry. It is disgraceful.¡± She punctuated that last sentence with a whip-crack slash of her tail. Felun hid his flinch in a cough.

    ¡°So, Iolite¡­does she want rune help again or something¡­?¡±

    ¡°I suspect that she will be needing you shortly, though I cannot imagine why. Wake up and get yourself in order. Do not whimper at walking around, else she will be upset. Hive knows we don¡¯t want that.¡±

    With that, she disappeared into the depths of the safehouse.

    He struggled to sit up on the creaking cot, wincing as a heavy sensation throbbed at his temples. His fingers were itching again. He resisted the urge to scratch, just barely; sometimes, the memories of raw, weeping skin weren¡¯t enough to convey the futility of it all. Sometimes, he woke up from clawing at half-healed blisters in his sleep.

    Weak lamplight illuminated the windowless room: the bare cot, scratched floorboards, the bag that he¡¯d dropped at the foot of his bed. It really wasn¡¯t a pleasant place to stay at the best of times. He tugged on his boots and ventured out and down the corridor.

    The safehouse reminded him of the Hive, but worse in some ways. The limited exploration he¡¯d gotten in had revealed far too many rooms able to fit inside a rundown building, and twisty corridors leading into uglier, lower levels. In some places, coarse fur sprouted from gashes in the wallpaper. Iolite had implied that the house had been¡­grown¡­that way: brooding dimensional hallways spiraling out to who-knows-where. Most of it was dark and grimy, too. There were no windows: he knew that for a fact, because he¡¯d gone looking. Maybe the faeries didn¡¯t mind, but it gave him the creeps.

    He made his way to the kitchen, perhaps the most normal room in the whole place. It was decently lit with a cheerful brass chandelier and it had a kettle-contraption for boiling water, as well as a cupboard stocked with tea and tinned fruit.

    The room was already occupied. Winterbird was perched at the center table, speaking to one of Iolite¡¯s helpers. The purplish one, newly come from the Hive¡ªEzphorza, he recalled. Both of them sported bandages encrusted with herbal residue. They looked up as he approached.

    ¡°Sungrazer Zhao,¡± Ezphorza said falteringly. She spoke with an overly-exaggerated enunciation, and had a tinge of what he¡¯d come to think of as a faery accent around the edges of her words. ¡°It is¡­good to see you, awake. Thorn has said it is¡­not fortunate? For the human to languish so.¡±

    ¡°Thanks¡± he said, scratching awkwardly at the back of his head. ¡°How long was I asleep? And where¡¯s Thorn?¡±

    ¡°Some number of hours,¡± Winterbird said curtly. She had a patch over her eye, where Kion had wounded it. ¡°Thorn is recuperating from the effects of your spellwork.¡±

    He winced. ¡°Right. Uh, okay. I hope he¡¯s alright? And you too, of course. I¡¯ll just, uh.¡± He edged over to the kettle.

    ¡°Make two cups of the lichen-brew for us, if you would,¡± Winterbird said. ¡°The green jar, with the baubles inside.¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± said Ezphorza, brightening visibly. ¡°It is very restorative.¡±

    ¡°Not for the human,¡± Winterbird said, and gave a dark little laugh. ¡°Don¡¯t mix it into your own brew, little Zhao, lest you become quite ill.¡±

    He nodded awkwardly as he fetched the jars from the cupboard. Iolite had already pointed out to him the kitchen supplies of which he was to avoid, with small snippets of lurid detail to accompany her advice¡ª he¡¯d felt particularly queasy at her description of some poor, naive merchant sneaking a sip of her wares and proceeding to projectile-vomit masses of grey worms all over the cobblestones. She¡¯d laughed as she¡¯d recounted it, too, a scratchy little trill that almost made his ears hurt.

    Winterbird and Ezphorza returned to their susurrous faerie-chatter as the water boiled. Felun fetched three mugs and dropped spheres of lichen into the first two; they floated to the surface when he poured the water in, fraying green buoys in a slowly simmering sea. The scented steam given off made him feel slightly lightheaded. He stuck with willow bark for his own cup, grimacing as a muscle twinged in his back.

    Sometimes, he wondered if that whole mess with the dungeon hadn¡¯t happened¡­

    He shook his head in a vain effort to clear it and carried the tea over to the table. It was a solid, beaten-up thing, that table; the bases of the mugs rumbled as he slid them over the scarred wood. He tried not to think too hard about where Iolite had gotten all the furniture from, and how.

    ¡°Much thanks,¡± Ezphorza murmured, sipping eagerly at her tea.

    Winterbird simply nodded at him and warmed her hands around the mug.

    ¡°So uh,¡± Felun said. ¡°Are you guys doing¡­okay?¡±

    Winterbird scowled faintly. ¡°As much as can be expected, little Zhao. Iolite is¡­helping, in her own way.¡±

    ¡°That false-sustenance is little comfort,¡± Ezphorza sighed. ¡°Alas, were it but the Hive troubles¡­¡±

    ¡°Hush,¡± said Winterbird. She flicked the tip of her tail against Ezphorza¡¯s arm. ¡°She does not like that, you know. Take heed, Zhao. Do not call unfalse things false.¡±

    ¡°Right,¡± he said slowly, and sipped at his tea to avoid saying more. It tasted bitter, of course. But a shadow of a headache still hummed at his temples and it was a small price to pay¡ª he¡¯d tasted worse herbal soups, back home.

    Ezphorza made a sullen sort of faerie-sound before falling silent.

    Winterbird looked at her, sighed, then leaned over the table and spoke softly. ¡°Ay, but you are able to walk the streets freely, are you not, Zhao?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not sure,¡± Felun said cautiously.

    Winterbird smoothed a hand over Ezphorza¡¯s slumped shoulder. ¡°Perhaps, if Suria is amenable and you are willing, perhaps you may seek out an independent faerie willing to part with a few drops of Hive honey? When you have the time, of course. It would be¡­more helpful, I believe. Would aid the healing process.¡±

    He hesitated. ¡°Uh. But doesn¡¯t Iolite already make that kind of stuff for you¡­?¡±

    Winterbird gave him an inscrutable look. Her spines flicked ever-so-slightly. ¡°Iolite works hard to keep us happy. Best this request not reach her hearing, yes?¡±

    ¡°Ah,¡± he said slowly. ¡°Yeah, okay.¡±

    He noticed Winterbird sliding her untouched tea over when Ezphorza finished her own share. Ezphorza gave her a look, with a rippling movement of spines to match. Winterbird nudged her until she took it and drank. Ezphorza took two mouthfuls and passed the mug back to Winterbird. She sat up a little straighter, tipping her head fractionally.

    ¡°Someone is coming,¡± she said. ¡°¡­Curlew?¡±

    ¡°Curlew,¡± Winterbird agreed as Curlew walked in.

    His horns were draped in various bandages, and he looked a touch less shiny than usual.

    ¡°Breaker Zhao,¡± he said with a polite little nod. ¡°Iolite has sent for you.¡±

    Felun winced inwardly. ¡°In the lab?¡±

    Curlew made a tired, chuffing sound. ¡°Where else?¡± he asked, then shot him a look that probably counted as a sympathetic glance. ¡°Cheer up, Zhao. I¡¯ve got work too.¡±

    ¡°So soon?¡± Winterbird asked sharply.

    ¡°Orders,¡± he said simply. His spines twitched in an interested sort of way. ¡°Is that lichen tea you¡¯re having?¡±

    The faeries began to lapse into their own language as their focus drifted away from him, words displaced with song-like hissing. Felun put his empty cup in the sink and headed for the door.

    ¡°¡­You¡¯ll have to¡ªsssssttt¡ªboil a new pot,¡± he heard Winterbird grumbling as he left.

    ===

    The safehouse laboratory was far more cramped than the one back at the Hive. Bundles of softly-glowing stones hung from the ceiling like windchimes and moss dripped from the walls. Iolite hovered over a row of little cauldrons, all of them bubbling away in a dim corner. Suria was there too, and she didn¡¯t look happy about it.

    ¡°It is the boy Zhao,¡± Suria said, sounding disgruntled. ¡°Fortuitous, finally.¡± She said something fluting in the faerie-language, probably not very complimentary.

    Iolite said something back, slower and kinder.

    Suria frowned and picked up a vial from the benchtop¡ªfreshly-synthesized faerie honey, Felun gathered. She glared at it, sighed, and downed its shimmering golden contents in one go.

    ¡°Just a moment, Felun,¡± Iolite murmured. She dropped a handful of pink powder into one of the cauldrons and stirred it with a silver rod. Plucking an empty bottle from the bench, she ladled a measure of dark red liquid into it.

    ¡°Hm,¡± she said as she held it up to the light. ¡°It will do, for now.¡± She made a low, sweeping gesture with her tail and the cauldron-fires dimmed. ¡°Thank you for your patience. Suria, if you would chart our course.¡±

    Suria nodded, a single, sharp jerk of her head. She strode past, leading him down the way of the corridor leading deeper into the labyrinth of the safehouse. Iolite¡¯s presence floated close behind, like the flicker of a dark candle at his back.

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    As they walked, the corridors began to shed all pretense of normalcy, morphing into tunnels of fossil-pale plaster; Felun saw faerie-glyphs scratched into the walls by the golden lights of Suria¡¯s wings. Somewhere in the distance, there came the sound of water dripping onto stone. Squat grey clumps of mushrooms sprouted from cracks in the floorboards; they reminded him a little of the outpost, back down in the tunnels beneath the poison salt deserts.

    His skin crawled; some vestige of dungeonrunner instinct was telling him to retreat, up sticks and make a run for it. ¡®Raise sail¡¯, as Tyirn used to say, on account of a colourful childhood on the docks. ¡®Shut up, pretender,¡¯ as Vilette used to shoot back. ¡®You haven¡¯t so much as stepped on a boat, let alone sailed a day in your life.¡¯

    The memory made him feel ill. He stopped thinking about it, concentrating instead on the way the wood beneath his boots faded into a patchwork of silver stone and hard-packed earth. He almost ran into Suria when she came to a stop before a doorway formed of iron bars.

    The place did resemble a dungeon, in a sense; not his old dives, but the old use of the word, the one that meant imprisonment. The lock glowed and hissed at Suria¡¯s touch; a scent of dried flowers and sour wine filled the air as the door swung open.

    ¡°Perhaps avoid closing any doors if you come down here alone,¡± Iolite murmured at his back, closer than he would have liked. He almost jumped. ¡°It would be a terrible shame if you got yourself locked in one of the littler chambers. Not that we doubt your fine abilities, of course. But we would like to keep such doors intact, and I did such fine work on them, too.¡±

    The room beyond was near full dark; only the glow from Suria¡¯s wings cast weak illumination over a slumped-over form against the far wall.

    ¡°Oh,¡± Felun said. He¡¯d almost forgotten about the Songian hostage, what with all the playing at being a thaumaturge.

    Iolite made a clicking, chittering sound behind him, and the half-shimmer of stasis spells around the unconscious Songian flickered out.

    ¡°Just in time, too,¡± Iolite said softly, sounding pleased. ¡°Take heed, Felun; even a great working such as mine may rot a captive¡¯s bones if left too long.¡±

    Felun was glad that she¡ªprobably¡ªcouldn¡¯t make out his grimace in the dark. He saw Suria tense out of the corner of his eye and realised the red-robed mage was starting to stir.

    ¡°At ease,¡± Iolite said. ¡°He is restrained quite well.¡±

    Felun squinted through the gloom and noted the cuffs at the mage¡¯s wrists, the pale band about his throat. A mixture of relief and vague discomfort settled over him, like oil over water.

    The mage coughed and raised his head, squinting at them.

    ¡°¡­Hello?¡± he rasped. ¡°What is¡­where are my colleagues?¡±

    Iolite stepped smoothly forwards, stopping alongside Suria. ¡°I wouldn¡¯t know,¡± Iolite said. ¡°What matters now is your situation, I would think. My name is Iolite. What is yours?¡±

    ¡°Are you going to ransom me?¡± the mage asked. He coughed again, and spat onto the dust-floor.

    ¡°We have questions,¡± Iolite said. ¡°The first of which is: who are you, and in what relation to the crown? Not a thaumaturge, that I can see.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m no one of importance,¡± the mage said raggedly.

    ¡°We would appreciate truthful answers,¡± Iolite said, tone verging onto dangerously pleasant territory. She held up the bottle she¡¯d brought, half-full with red liquid. ¡°I would not like to be made to make you cooperate, yes?¡±

    The mage shifted and sighed. ¡°I suppose you will not let me go once you are done asking your questions.¡±

    ¡°A shame you think like that,¡± Iolite said. ¡°Is it a human thing, to kill captives once they are finished with them? Or is it a quaint fashion of your kingdom alone?¡±

    ¡°Hm,¡± the mage said, and lunged.

    He moved so quickly that Felun only realised after he¡¯d finished flinching; all he registered was a blur of red movement, Iolite snapping a shield into place, and¡ª

    Suria¡¯s arm shot out and brought the mage to a crashing halt.

    ¡°Don¡¯t try that again,¡± Iolite said.

    Suria¡¯s hand locked around the mage¡¯s throat, squeezing tight enough for him to be prying at her fingers with both hands. She made a gesture with her free hand; a soft, twirling motion that summoned glowing lines of spell-made string into being.

    ¡°Suria,¡± Iolite admonished. ¡°I don¡¯t think that will be necessary.¡±

    ¡°I respect your spellwork always,¡± Suria said. ¡°But while the boy is here, the mage is not safe to move. Perhaps we should send him away?¡±

    Felun realised that she was referring to him. Well, shit. It wasn¡¯t like he wanted to be here, but the way she¡¯d said it made him bristle inwardly.

    ¡°Ah,¡± Iolite said. ¡°No, Felun stays. Felun must know that he is helpful, yes? He will be of help interpreting the subtler nuances of human body language. Thank you for considering his weaknesses, Suria. How thoughtful of you. Carry on.¡±

    Suria let the mage fall. The spell-twine followed him down and bound his arms to his sides as he hit the ground.

    The mage coughed, sounding like he was trying not to gasp for air.

    ¡°You see,¡± Iolite said, turning to address the mage. ¡°It would be much easier for you to answer our questions.¡±

    ¡°I see you¡¯ve done something to my magic,¡± the mage said. He sounded more insolent and curious than afraid, though Felun had heard the same tone used among fresh adventurers facing their first sets of falling trapdoors; very likely it was an act.

    ¡°You are not very good at fishing for information and I am running out of patience,¡± Iolite said. ¡°What is your name?¡±

    ¡°Is that a faerie thing? Asking names?¡±

    ¡°That misconception is wholly myth,¡± she said with grim amusement. ¡°I can do nothing with your name in the way of spellwork. It is simply helpful to know who we have under our care. It is the easiest question, really.¡±

    The mage tilted his head and remained silent.

    ¡°Hurt him,¡± Iolite suggested.

    Suria kicked him in the stomach, hard. Felun flinched inwardly.

    The mage coughed and made a cut-off sound of pain.

    ¡°And now?¡± Iolite asked.

    ¡°You¡¯ll kill me either way,¡± the mage snarled, chin held high with defiance.

    ¡°No,¡± Iolite said. ¡°We are not senseless murderers. But we will cause you a sufficient amount of pain if necessary. Perhaps, Suria¡ª¡±

    Suria said something to her in the faery tongue, all incomprehensible, piping song.

    Iolite frowned, said something back, gesturing with the bottle in her hand.

    Suria shook her head. Iolite sighed and nodded.

    ¡°Felun,¡± Suria finally said, turning to him. ¡°Follow me.¡±

    He did, feeling unsettled as she led him out of the holding cell and a fair ways back up the plaster corridor. She came to an abrupt halt and turned to face him, scowling.

    ¡°Listen clear, yes?¡± Suria said. ¡°I will be trying a questioning method. It involves illusion. It will be quite tiring for me. Understand now? So do not appear surprised in front of the mage.¡±

    ¡°Okay,¡± he said, bewildered.

    Her wings flared with a pulse of light and he realised that her pupils were shrinking-small, her face set in concentration. He felt his ears pop as she cast a spell, something illusion-related. Next to him, a form flickered into existence.

    ¡°What¡­¡± he said.

    It was a life-size copy of the mage girl Scionsong, right down to the fearful look on her face.

    ¡°Does that look correct to you?¡± Suria asked. ¡°Sometimes, I have difficulty with the facial proportions.¡±

    ¡°It looks very realistic,¡± he said uneasily.

    ¡°Good,¡± she said sharply. ¡°That is the point. The texture of the cloth is good to your eye?¡± she added. ¡°We do not observe fine detail in the same way and this is a damnably rushed working.¡±

    ¡°It looks real as far as I can tell,¡± he hedged. ¡°Good¡­job¡­?¡±

    He knew it was an illusion, of course¡ªSuria had just made it. But it looked so real that he felt uneasy looking at it; even more so when Suria pressed a hand against her own torso and pulled out a handful of carapace in the shape of a knife.

    ¡°Why make the illusion?¡± he asked, though some inkling had already formed in his mind. He did not like the answer he came up with.

    ¡°They are of the same sort,¡± Suria murmured. ¡°The same type of mage that is dangerous to the touch¡ªmoreso than usual, yes? The kingdom is a small one. Perhaps he knows her role. Perhaps they are colleagues, like an echelon of Generals. This is a leverage. We will see.¡± Saying so, she looped illusion-cuffs and illusion-twine around Scionsong until she matched the red mage. A bundle of cloth faded into existence, looped around the lower half of the illusion¡¯s face like a makeshift gag.

    ¡°Are you going to, uh¡­?¡± Felun asked, looking at the knife in her hand.

    A faint grin touched her features. ¡°Perhaps. But it is only an illusion.¡±

    ¡°Right,¡± he said, as his mind drifted uneasily¡ªdon¡¯t think of what could be done with that knife. Don¡¯t think of dungeons or medic¡¯s tents or piles of severed arms¡ªugh. Too late.

    She shot him an almost pitying look as she looped an arm around the illusion-Scionsong¡¯s throat. ¡°Don¡¯t look, if it displeases you. Look at the mage instead. Iolite seems to believe you are better versed in noticing clues of human expression. Do not let her down.¡±

    He followed, silent at her heels as she brought their false-captive back to the holding cell. Watching her move the illusion like a puppet was disconcerting. Illusion-Scionsong walked with the natural gait of a real human, shrank away from the knife clasped in Suria¡¯s hand as if she were truly afraid. He tried not to think about Suria cutting the illusion open, focused instead on Iolite and the red mage as they reentered the room.

    ¡°I have brought a friend for you,¡± Suria announced. ¡°A little palace rat, poking her nose where it did not belong.¡±

    The mage looked up from where he¡¯d been propped back up against the wall, presumably by Iolite and, if the faint scratch-marks across the ground were any indication, against his volition. His eyes widened almost imperceptibly, before his expression fell flat.

    ¡°I have no idea who that is,¡± he said blandly.

    ¡°Scionsong does not sound familiar to you?¡±

    ¡°There are many Scionsongs,¡± the mage said, his gaze darting from Scionsong to Iolite. ¡°You don¡¯t know of our legions of unclaimed lowborns? Scion of Shadowsong¡ªchild of the kingdom¡ªpoor bastards. How should I know this one? And who is that other human?¡± He jerked his head in Felun¡¯s direction. ¡°I had thought it was just you and your own kind.¡±

    ¡°We are asking the questions here,¡± Iolite said, gesturing meaningfully with the bottle in her hand. ¡°I am still willing to test this on you, understand?¡±

    The mage sighed. ¡°I am a rather unimportant individual in service of the Songian crown.¡±

    ¡°You seem to forget we were there when we captured you,¡± Iolite said lightly. Her tail swished.

    As if on cue, Suria raised her knife to Scionsong¡¯s shoulder and cut. Scionsong jerked in her grasp with the movement of a real human and made a muffled, too-real-sounding cry of pain. Felun looked back to the red mage, who had gone very still.

    ¡°We found her in the tunnels,¡± Suria said. ¡°She has not been cooperative. She injured one of my fighters and turned a vile enchantment of keys upon us. It would not pain me to slit her throat open.¡±

    ¡°I see,¡± the mage said slowly, sounding faintly troubled.

    ¡°I would like to ask you again,¡± Iolite said. ¡°Who are you?¡±

    ¡°A Healer,¡± he said, not moving his gaze from the knife in Suria¡¯s hand. ¡°I¡¯m of little use to you, and that wayward civilian even less so.¡±

    ¡°I will make my own judgements as to your use,¡± Iolite said, satisfaction creeping into the set of her spines. ¡°Fleshcrafters. I suspected as much.¡±

    ¡°Fleshcrafter¡ªhah, what a name.¡± Suria scowled. ¡°Filth like the thaumaturges. Your kind would best go the way of necromancy and die a quiet death. The same kind as the girl?¡±

    She gave the illusion a prod; Felun felt his skin crawl when it flinched and cowered.

    ¡°He is more dangerous,¡± Iolite said. ¡°But this one is not insignificant neither, no? An underling, perhaps?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know who she is,¡± the Healer said. The line of his shoulders was tense.

    ¡°Claiming no relation will not spare her,¡± Iolite said smoothly. ¡°Suria, let her speak. Perhaps she will have some betrayal to express.¡±

    Suria frowned and yanked the cloth from illusion-Scionsong¡¯s mouth. Scionsong coughed and spluttered convincingly.

    ¡°Well?¡± Suria asked.

    ¡°Help,¡± the illusion said with Scionsong¡¯s voice. It sounded weak and terrified. ¡°I¡¯m so tired. My eyes hurt and they won¡¯t let me close them. Please help me, Sir Healer¡ªI can¡¯t¡­I tried to fight, I really tried¡­¡±

    The Healer froze. For a moment, he was as still as if he had been painted upon canvas. Then he barked out a laugh.

    ¡°I don¡¯t think so,¡± he said, shaking his head. His voice had a fresh edge to it now. ¡°This is a spell, isn¡¯t it? Some sort of drug or mirage¡ªyou people still use illusions, I suppose? And ¡®Sir Healer¡¯, really? The real Aliyah would never say that.¡±

    Iolite sighed. ¡°She is severely sleep-deprived. That tends to have an effect on humans.¡±

    The Healer narrowed his eyes. ¡°Not like that, it doesn¡¯t.¡±

    Illusion-Scionsong swayed in Suria¡¯s grasp and let out a whimper. ¡°It¡¯s me,¡± it mumbled. ¡°Hey, it¡¯s me. I¡­please help me. They put me in a room like an eggshell¡­for a long time. I don¡¯t know how long. It was so dark and small. I couldn¡¯t move¡­¡± The illusion trailed off and gave a hollow, wretched-sounding sob. ¡°I don¡¯t want to go back. Please just tell them the stupid answers, I don¡¯t want to go back¡ª¡±

    ¡°Is that so,¡± the Healer said with a bored affect. ¡°And I suppose you¡¯re going to bring in a whole fleet of apprentices next? A long-lost colleague? Perhaps old Algorab, moaning about how you got the best of him? The king himself?¡±

    ¡°You are not afraid of the possibility that you could be wrong?¡± Iolite asked keenly. ¡°We have kept her in most uncomfortable lodgings, with poor fare. Are you so quick to dismiss a lack of recognition as a falsehood rather than genuine distress? Are you not afraid of the consequences staining your conscience?¡±

    ¡°Not particularly,¡± the Healer said with grim, false cheer.

    ¡°Very well,¡± Iolite said, nodding to Suria.

    Suria shrugged and rammed her knife into Scionsong¡¯s stomach in one smooth movement. The mage flinched. The illusion screamed. Felun looked away, several moments too late.

    ¡°No,¡± the illusion screamed, through a horrible gurgling sound. ¡°No, no, please, please help me¡ª¡±

    The smell of blood filled the air. It really was a good illusion, Felun thought as his stomach turned.

    ¡°Take her away, Suria,¡± Iolite said.

    ¡°If you insist on keeping up this farce,¡± the Healer said, though Felun noticed his eyes tracking Suria¡¯s movements as she dragged the limp illusion-form away.

    Iolite ignored him and stroked the neck of the potion bottle in her hands. Under the shallow gloom, the contents almost resembled blood.

    ¡°Felun,¡± she said with a voice like poison dripping into an open wound. ¡°If you would keep me company? We are not quite finished, yet.¡±

 2.14 - False Dawn

    Felun

    Felun watched with growing dread as Iolite held the Healer down and forced the potion down his throat. When she was done, the Healer sat up, jerked his head to the side, and retched. Nothing came up.

    ¡°That was the worst wine I have ever tasted,¡± he said, between coughs.

    ¡°It is a truth potion,¡± Iolite said. Her wings flickered, just a fraction; Felun couldn¡¯t tell whether it was amusement or irritation that caused it.

    ¡°There is no such thing.¡±

    ¡°No? Perhaps not in your wreck of a kingdom. It took many many, many days to brew. Ingredients and skill beyond your comprehension, human. You will feel it working soon.¡±

    The Healer tipped his head to one side, the motion more insolent than thoughtful. ¡°Regardless, it would only compel me to speak what I believe to be the truth. Elsewise, you would solve any number of worldly mysteries that way. Have you considered brewing something for that purpose instead? I am sure it would be more profitable.¡±

    ¡°Your own truths will suffice.¡±

    ¡°Perhaps I¡¯m a court lunatic,¡± he offered with a mocking half-smile. ¡°I may seem quite sane, but it is entirely possible that I have a strange, disturbed view of reality. You risk filling your own head with plausible lies.¡±

    ¡°We will see,¡± Iolite said calmly.

    The Healer sighed. He caught Felun¡¯s eye; there was a sort of brittle, dark amusement to his expression. ¡°And who is that?¡± he asked. ¡°One of yours? Some sort of mercenary brute? He looks a little young to be a half-decent mage.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t concern yourself with Felun here,¡± Iolite said. ¡°What I want is for you to tell me about the Library.¡±

    The Healer set his jaw and didn¡¯t speak for several, long moments. Then a muscle spasmed in his cheek; he coughed and made a strangled sound through clenched teeth.

    ¡°There we are now,¡± Iolite said lightly. ¡°It is not very nice, is it, not being in control of your own faculties? I imagine you harbor even less sympathy for those of mine you maimed and killed. Now, who are you, exactly?¡±

    ¡°Zahir Saar-Salai.¡± The Healer spoke wearily, each word careful and measured. ¡°Last of my blood and name. Stars grant they forget me once I¡¯m dead.¡±

    Iolite flicked her wings. ¡°Now tell me about the Library, and its depths.¡±

    The Healer tried to resist: furrowed brow, gritted teeth. Silence, and then¡ª

    ¡°I used to¡­used it to study during my apprenticehood,¡± he said in a sudden, tangled rush. ¡°It had many books on anatomy and spellwork and suchlike. Quite dull, really¡ªthe marked paths were safe. I never strayed. I do not know of its depths. They say it is not a static vault of knowledge¡ªan interloper I patched up following his capture described it as a wellspring of sorts, thought to tap into pure magic itself. I stopped paying attention when he started raving about carnivorous winged rabbits roaming the stacks. You really should have kidnapped a Librarian.¡±

    ¡°Is there a map?¡± Iolite asked.

    ¡°Likely not.¡±

    ¡°Are there guides to the depths?¡±

    ¡°A select few Higher Librarians.¡±

    ¡°Librarians?¡±

    ¡°I do not spend much time in their company.¡±

    ¡°I want names,¡± Iolite said. She tapped her chin, chitin clicking. ¡°You are resisting admirably, I must say. But I will ask again: who of those you know have been to the depths of the Library?¡±

    The Healer clenched his jaw and looked faintly nauseous. Perhaps a minute passed in silence as Iolite swished her tail through the air in a slow, steady beat: softly, patiently, marking out the moments slipping by.

    ¡°Chief Librarian Giltyrzar,¡± the Healer bit out, and then the words left him in a torrent. ¡°Probably the others too, Sheratan and the like. Zaina Osorin. Head Healer Algorab. Whatshisname Shahriyar. Aliyah Scions¡ª¡± He cut himself off with a hiss.

    Iolite¡¯s wings gleamed with interest, little phosphorescent sparks skittering across their surfaces. ¡°The Scionsong mageling, you say? Now that is very interesting, indeed.¡±

    ¡°No,¡± he gritted out. ¡°That is not¡­what I meant. She is of no¡ªshe doesn¡¯t¡ªshe entered the Library without authorisation and I am almost completely certain that she knows nothing of the routes that you seek.¡±

    ¡°You know nothing of what we seek,¡± Iolite said with barely-veiled scorn. ¡°And what is your connection to Aliyah Scionsong?¡±

    ¡°She was my apprentice,¡± he said. ¡°She is not¡ªI do not think she is a threat to you.¡±

    ¡°I do not care to hear what you think,¡± Iolite said coldly.

    ¡°Was she an illusion?¡± the Healer asked. ¡°The scent of blood faded as soon as your companion left the room.¡±

    ¡°If you have to ask, then you cannot be sure,¡± Iolite said with an idle twirl of her tail. ¡°Notice how your spell-bonds remain though Suria has left? You are grasping at falling leaves hoping for flight. It is interesting, that you do not seem overly troubled otherwise. Are you humans in habit of such cruelty?¡±

    His expression went curiously slack. ¡°Oh you know how it is with the kingdom,¡± he said. ¡°It¡¯s all, kill your elders, eat your young.¡±

    ¡°Much as I expected,¡± Iolite said.

    He slumped against the wall and laughed bitterly. ¡°If only you knew. What did you do to the rest of my apprentices?¡±

    ¡°I have not the faintest clue,¡± she said sweetly. ¡°I was not on the battlefield murdering innocents, you see.¡±

    ¡°So-called innocents who besieged our kingdom,¡± the Healer said with a faint shrug. ¡°I did not wish to be there, either.¡±

    ¡°Your kingdom¡¯s machines intruded upon our territory, did they not? One must kill the source at the root.¡±

    ¡°The Magicians seem to think so, too.¡±

    Iolite¡¯s tail lashed¡ªonce¡ªbefore she relaxed. ¡°Goading me will do you no good, I¡¯m afraid. If you wish to place blame on someone for besieging your kingdom, you would do better to look at Felun here.¡± She nudged her tail in his direction. ¡°His human kin, they see us as mere fool-allies. I will not dissuade them of the notion, but that pitiful attack on your kingdom was no more than an orchestrated human squabble¡ªwhat do you people call it? A territorial destabilisation. If cooperating with their fanciful plans allowed me to weed out a select few loyalists of my own, then¡ªwell. Our Hive works better ways than the violent zealotry of your thaumaturges. You understand?¡±

    The Healer raised his chin, though not high enough to expose his neck. ¡°Are you planning to ransom me, or to kill me?¡±

    ¡°I have not yet decided your use,¡± Iolite said. ¡°Certainly, I cannot allow you to attempt to ¡®heal¡¯ any of my people. Tell me, how does one learn your arts? Is there a certain book for it?¡±

    ¡°Not¡ªas such,¡± he gritted out.

    ¡°I would like more detail.¡±

    ¡°It will not help you.¡±

    ¡°Tell me more detail,¡± Iolite ordered.

    ¡°Reading books from within¡­the Higher Library is not¡­sufficient,¡± he said slowly, each word wrenched from his throat through force of magic alone. ¡°One has to be taught by a Healer, or the methodology does not¡­unlock, somehow. They never told me why. Also, I will not teach you.¡±

    ¡°Perhaps not willingly,¡± Iolite mused. ¡°Hm. A potential course of action, though not for myself.¡± A smile crept into her voice. ¡°My formulations are most effective, are they not? I have worked very hard on them. It is a most splendid form of satisfaction, to see all that effort pay off.¡±

    ¡°If I had my magic, I would rupture every organ in your body,¡± the Healer said. He spoke the words as if he were reciting them off a parchment. But he spoke them without hesitation, so Felun figured they must be true. He eyed the spell-cords keeping the Healer in place and was suddenly glad for Iolite¡¯s presence.

    Iolite laughed, a whispery, susurrous sound. ¡°I am glad to see the persistence of my work¡¯s effectiveness for myself. So I will let it pass, just this once. But in future, know that it is unwise to bite the hand that feeds you.¡±

    The Healer shut his eyes and rested his head against the wall.

    ¡°Felun,¡± Iolite said, turning to him. She did not bother to lower her voice. ¡°What do you think? Is the Scionsong worth keeping alive?¡±

    Felun froze as his mind ran through several permutations of what she might want him to say. ¡°I guess,¡± he hedged, ¡°if the Healer¡­cooperates?¡± He felt faintly ill, saying that¡ªthis was like a sick game of theatre and charades, wasn¡¯t it? Just smokescreens made from spells and illusions. But what else could he say? It wasn¡¯t like he had much of a choice.

    ¡°You would not be able to,¡± the Healer said tiredly. He kept his eyes closed. ¡°Keep her alive, that is. Do you think you can you fix peritonitis with herbs and bandages alone? Your endless pretense is dull and irritating.¡±

    ¡°So you cannot be certain you did not just kill her,¡± Iolite said.

    ¡°Now that you say that,¡± the Healer said, and snorted. ¡°I think it is very unlikely she was ever here.¡±

    ¡°But you are not certain.¡±

    ¡°No,¡± the Healer said tiredly. ¡°I cannot be certain of anything. Perhaps I am hallucinating from sleep deprivation, comatose upon my office floor. Not the first time it¡¯s happened. When are you going to untie me?¡±

    ¡°Why should I do that?¡± Iolite asked, sounding genuinely curious.

    ¡°I will be of very little use to you at all if my skeletal muscles atrophy away.¡±

    ¡°Ah. All in due time. Felun here does not wish to be injured, I¡¯m sure. I will send someone down shortly.¡±

    The Healer opened his eyes and frowned down at the cuffs on each wrist, squinting as if looking for the ghosts of runework. ¡°And what are these supposed to be?¡± he asked sourly. ¡°I suppose they are to blame for binding my magic?¡±

    ¡°They were crafted by our opposition in the old wars,¡± Iolite said. ¡°For use on us, you see. It is fascinating, how the world turns. I do believe I am gaining an inkling of how to deal with you.¡±

    The Healer sighed heavily and shut his eyes once more.

    ¡°This has been a fruitful conversation,¡± Iolite said, turning round. ¡°Come along now, Felun.¡±

    They left the Healer to his imprisonment and navigated the twisting plaster tunnels back, Iolite leading the way. Her wings cast a soft, shimmering beacon through the dark. The light washed over creeping patches of rusty fungus and lumpy, fleshy outgrowths of plaster that seemed to pulse if Felun looked at them for too long. It felt as if it were taking twice as long to return the way they came.

    Iolite was the first to break the silence.

    ¡°Felun,¡± she said. ¡°I would appreciate it if you shared any human insights you had into the Healer-mage¡¯s behaviour.¡±

    ¡°Uh,¡± he said, racking his brain for anything useful and coming up short. This was like an exam¡¯s essay question, only worse. ¡°He seemed like he was pretending his apprentice wasn¡¯t useful leverage? But you probably know that. And uh, he seemed like he wanted you to call a ransom on him? Because that¡¯d probably keep him alive and, I don¡¯t know, turn out badly for you if the kingdom sends people to retrieve him. That¡¯s all I¡¯ve got.¡±

    ¡°It is useful to corroborate information,¡± Iolite said. ¡°I do not expect you to work miracles, Felun. You are not a sleuthhound, but you are certainly another set of eyes, and two is better than one is better than none. Speaking of which¡ªyou know we are all very busy, yes? Well, I have a special task for you.¡±

    Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.

    ¡°¡­Okay,¡± he said, really not liking where this was going. ¡°Does it have to do with the Healer?¡±

    ¡°How very observant of you,¡± Iolite said without so much as a hint of irony. ¡°Yes, Felun. It has to do with him. You may also have noticed that he asked after you in particular. It is a quirk of humans to trust their own kind despite your total lack of basis for it, is it not? At least, he will trust you more than he trusts us. I am thinking that we can perhaps exploit his little bias towards your shared species-hood.¡±

    ¡°Right,¡± Felun said. He cast his mind back to how Iolite had cheerfully blamed the ravaging of the Songian kingdom on the plans of his family alone. ¡°Uh, I really don¡¯t think he¡¯s going to tell me anything useful, though.¡±

    Iolite shook her head. ¡°It is not what he tells you, Felun. We all have many priorities, and it would not do to leave a human prisoner unaccompanied for long periods of time. You are social creatures, are you not? He will not be much use if he goes mad from the solitude¡ªI now know about these kinds of considerations. There were unfortunate outcomes with the previous Breaker. If you happen to glean any morsels of information in the meantime, well, so much the better.¡±

    ¡°Okay. But isn¡¯t he¡­you know, dangerous?¡± Felun asked, cringing at the note of worry that had crept into his voice. True, the Healer¡¯s magic was locked away¡ªbut the way he¡¯d sprung at them, earlier¡­

    ¡°Aren¡¯t you dangerous?¡± Iolite asked calmly.

    ¡°Not like that,¡± Felun said slowly. ¡°Aren¡¯t you worried that I could like, break open his locks?¡±

    Iolite¡¯s wings suffused with an amused gradient, a cascade of iridescence that fell in whimsical little swirls. ¡°Do you not harbour love for your family, Felun?¡±

    ¡°¡­Sure,¡± he said cautiously.

    ¡°Then I am certain you will do all you can to avoid reneging their agreement,¡± she said pleasantly. ¡°Besides, I am not sure that even you could break these locks, hm? Alas, our old Breaker gave up her life in sacrifice for them. It would be a shameful stain on that noble legacy to try such a thing.¡±

    ¡°Right,¡± he said.

    ¡°Silly Felun,¡± she said with a shake of her head. ¡°I intend for you to stay firmly on our side of the iron doors.¡±

    That probably counted as a threat too, right? It was sometimes hard to tell, with Iolite.

    ¡°Besides,¡± she continued, ¡°there will be others in the safehouse; if anything concerning occurs, you need only send a beacon into the walls. Someone will feel it. You are never alone with us, Felun. Never alone.¡±

    ¡°Th-thanks,¡± he said.

    ¡°Then you are to visit our unfortunate captive at least once a day for, oh, perhaps several minutes? Whatever minimum you think will keep his sanity. Thorn is to bring his meals and amenities, though I will tell him that you can do the same duty in event of him being otherwise preoccupied, yes?¡±

    ¡°Okay,¡± Felun said. She phrased it like a suggestion, with the questioning yes at the end, though it was anything but. He was reminded, uncomfortably, of similar habits in certain blood relatives.

    ¡°Wonderful,¡± Iolite said brightly. ¡°I have so very many things to handle¡ªpotions and amphoras alike, they all require attention. I will be sure to include you in them soon. Your efforts are very much appreciated in the meantime, Felun.¡±

    He¡¯d long suspected that, in some ways, she viewed him as some kind of simpleton. This just about confirmed it. Well, whatever. He was used to putting up with shit like this.

    ===

    He went back down to the dungeons in the morning.

    The Healer sat slumped with his back against the wall and refused to respond as Felun tried to speak of harmless topics¡ªof which there were precious few. Even the weather was awkward to bring up, on account of the Healer being stuck in a room with no windows. It wasn¡¯t like he was much better off, but hey¡ªhe could walk around, and there were lights in some of the other rooms. That was something, right?

    He ended up offering a recount of what Iolite had asked of him to a reception of stony silence, and a partial summary of the shitty mystery novel he was reading, set in the ruins of Fawnfell. He rambled self-consciously about how he¡¯d been to Fawnfell himself, and how it was nothing like in the book; just people picking over the scraps, the ruins mostly gutted after centuries of hosting naive, upstart dungeonrunners¡ªexactly who he¡¯d been, at the time. The Healer had seemed to perk up at that portion of his one-sided conversation, but he still hadn¡¯t said anything in return.

    It was only as he made to leave that the Healer lifted his chin and asked, ¡°Was she real, then?¡± There was a flask of water next to him, put there by Thorn, but his voice sounded cracked and dry all the same.

    Felun startled, and stepped back to peer through the close-set iron bars. ¡°Sorry?¡±

    ¡°Scionsong,¡± the Healer said, turning to stare a hole into the wall. ¡°Was I right? Or is she rotting in a shallow grave as we speak?¡±

    Felun swallowed.

    ¡°Your pleochroic companion seemed intrigued,¡± the Healer continued. ¡°Perhaps she would try to keep her alive for kingdom-killing purposes? I can only assume that is why I am still here.¡±

    ¡°Why would you assume that?¡± Felun asked.

    The Healer turned his head to look at him, expression taut with a knife-sharp intensity. Felun almost flinched. He was reminded, then, of how Iolite had claimed the man had fought multiple souped-up faeries, and won. It didn¡¯t seem so outrageous a claim, all of a sudden. Then the Healer¡¯s expression relaxed, and whatever strange, lightning frisson of fear he¡¯d felt vanished like dust on the wind.

    ¡°It does not take a cognoscente to realise the implications of her questioning regarding the Higher Library,¡± the Healer said dryly. ¡°Now if you have the slightest shred of mercy left in your heart, you would tell me whether my apprentice is still alive.¡±

    ¡°The mage girl?¡± he asked warily. ¡°I¡­think so.¡±

    He did not want to give anything away; it was supposed to be the other way around, him extracting information from the Healer, but saying she was probably alive did little harm, didn¡¯t it? It was what they wanted him to believe. A dead Scionsong wasn¡¯t much in the way of good leverage.

    ¡°Hm. Interesting. You don¡¯t actually know, do you? Still, the thing with the keys¡ªnow that was real, wasn¡¯t it?¡± he murmured. ¡°Clever of her. You broke them, didn¡¯t you?¡±

    ¡°Wh-what?¡± A trickle of unease ran down his spine. How could he possibly know that?

    ¡°I felt it,¡± the Healer said. ¡°It was my spellwork, and threaded with such contingencies, so I felt it. Or at least¡ªI believe I did, within the stasis-fugue. I could also feel every single one of my cells slowly dying, while I was in there. Did you know, that the seconds pass in real time?¡±

    Felun shuddered. ¡°Sorry¡­?¡± he offered. ¡°It wasn¡¯t like, my idea to put you in there or anything.¡±

    The Healer shrugged, loose and easy. ¡°It was an interesting process,¡± he said, rising to his feet and stretching. ¡°Thank the stars for the natural resilience of bodily equilibriums.¡± He began to pace. ¡°A true Breaker, then. What do you know of these restraints?¡±

    ¡°I know I can¡¯t break them,¡± Felun said warily.

    ¡°No?¡± the Healer asked. He sighed, a rattle of weary breath. ¡°Not even if I bribe you with riches beyond compare?¡±

    ¡°You don¡¯t have riches beyond compare,¡± Felun pointed out.

    ¡°I had a decent amount of coin back in the kingdom. And spellbooks. Could throw in a few bags of blood too, if you like.¡±

    ¡°You don¡¯t have coin now. And I don¡¯t want it, anyways.¡± Felun shuddered at the thought of the blood, congealing. ¡°Also¡ªbullshit, that¡¯d go off so fast. Stop fucking with me.¡±

    ¡°No?¡± the Healer asked, drifting closer to the door. ¡°What of healing? I¡¯ve never seen it for myself, but I¡¯ve read that the side-effects of Breaker magic can be quite unpleasant.¡± He jerked his chin pointedly at Felun¡¯s bandages.

    Unpleasant was a mild word for it. Felun thought of Orhan sequestered away in his shack, a bulging, crumbling wreck of sundered flesh. The blisters on his hands itched in sympathy.

    ¡°You can¡¯t heal anyone right now,¡± Felun said warily. ¡°And if you think you can get me to try getting those cuffs off you so that you can try, you must think I¡¯m far more of an idiot than I am. I¡¯ve seen what Scionsong can do with her magic. You¡¯re supposed to be worse, aren¡¯t you?¡±

    A ghost of a smile drifted over the Healer¡¯s face. ¡°Much worse,¡± he said agreeably.

    ¡°So, obviously no,¡± Felun said.

    ¡°How is your skin doing, in any case?¡± the Healer asked with pointed interest. He was close to the other side of the iron bars, now.

    ¡°It¡¯s fine,¡± Felun lied, taking a careful step back.

    ¡°Oh come on, now,¡± the Healer scoffed. ¡°It¡¯s as you say, I can¡¯t do any magic. Can¡¯t I indulge in a bit of old-fashioned nosiness? How did breaking my keys affect you? They were quite a working, you know. Took me four whole days to prove I was worthy of a set. You have no idea how deathly boring it is, sitting here for hours. My brain is practically withering from a lack of puzzling around.¡±

    Felun frowned down at his bandages. ¡°Trust me, you don¡¯t want to see it.¡±

    The Healer snorted. ¡°Really? Healers¡ªwe¡¯re a morbid sort, we put up with a lot. I have colleagues who flock to illness like dread-moths to blood. Are you not charged with keeping me sane?¡±

    ¡°Yeah, but that doesn¡¯t include getting within punching distance, thanks.¡±

    ¡°Punching? Mm. How uncouth. Wouldn¡¯t dream of it. You¡¯ve already said you were a dungeonrunner for some time.¡±

    Felun scowled. ¡°Not that kind of dungeonrunner.¡±

    The Healer shrugged and made a placating, palms-up gesture with his hands. ¡°Ah, but regardless. You¡¯ve got me at quite the disadvantage. I¡¯d have thought you¡¯d like some advice before those blisters break into lesions.¡±

    Felun glanced down at his bandaged hands and scowled harder.

    In that moment of distraction, the Healer moved.

    Blur of motion, a stripe of something red whipping through the air¡ªit caught him round the back of his neck as he jerked away. There was a brief, confusing struggle. The back of his head whacked against iron bars; pain blossomed across his skull.

    Something tightened across his throat. He couldn¡¯t breathe; his hands scrabbled at the thing pressing on his throat like a garrote and found no purchase¡ªfabric? Slippery. Garrote. Why did he remember what a garrote was, when he was busy being choked to death? Blasted dungeon trivia¡­panic crashed over him in a drowning deluge, bringing useless detritus with it. Black spots pulsed at the edges of his vision, spreading like wet ink blotches over paper.

    Then, just as he thought that he was going to pass out, the pressure lifted. Not enough to escape, or even enough to breathe properly¡ªbut enough that he didn¡¯t feel like he was being murdered anymore.

    ¡°Did you kill her?¡± the Healer asked from over his shoulder. He didn¡¯t sound conversational any more.

    ¡°What,¡± he said, or tried to. It came out as more of a strangled gasp.

    ¡°You broke my keys,¡± the Healer snarled, a throaty rasp against the shell of his ear. ¡°Aliyah had my keys. Did you kill my apprentice, you little son of a bitch?¡±

    ¡°No,¡± he choked out. ¡°No, I¡ªshe¡¯s¡ªshe got away.¡±

    ¡°I suppose I¡¯ll find out if that¡¯s true. Now break these restraints, if you would.¡±

    ¡°C-can¡¯t¡­¡±

    ¡°Try. Do you require more convincing?¡±

    The cloth tightened. His fingers scratched uselessly. His head swam as the black spots pulsed to life once more. His limbs were leaden and he could feel his whole body going limp, worsening the pressure at his throat. His thoughts jittered with panic, yet seemed to move at the speed of honey falling off a spoon. One useful idea made it through, before he blacked out entirely: call for help, you idiot.

    He shot a spell into the wall.

    Nothing useful, or impressive¡ªhe wasn¡¯t even entirely sure of what it was. Probably a weak, mangled, mashed-together thing of cutting and shielding that wouldn¡¯t actually have worked. But he didn¡¯t need it to work¡ªhe just needed it to alert someone. He hoped that Iolite hadn¡¯t been lying, when she¡¯d said he wasn¡¯t alone.

    The band around his throat tightened further, and for several long moments, he thought: this is how it ends. What a stupid way to die.

    Winterbird dropped from the ceiling in a flurry of blue-white flakes.

    She hardly finished hitting the ground before leaping forwards in a shivery flutter of icy wingbeats, hand outstretched. Her fingers latched round the cloth at his throat, point-tipped carapace-claws tearing and wedging into the seam between fabric and skin. She pulled, then swung with the other arm, unleashing a spell from her palm.

    It sailed past him, through a gap in the iron bars¡ªthe Healer shouted, and the cloth at Felun¡¯s throat came loose. Air, merciful air, rushed into his lungs. He fell to his knees and half-stumbled, half-crawled away from the iron-barred door. His breaths came in wheezing gasps.

    Winterbird staggered back. One of her knees crumpled and she fell into a half-crouch, arm shooting out to catch herself. She said something sharp and trilling in the faerie language. It was one of the few words he recognised: an expletive.

    Felun brought his hand to his neck and winced as he massaged it. Blood beaded up from a shallow scratch, where Winterbird¡¯s fingers had snagged on the skin in getting him free.

    He rose to his feet and glanced down at the makeshift garotte, flung aside into the dust: a ragged strip of red cloth, heavily knotted at each end. Torn from the Healer¡¯s own robes, he realised, and hidden up a sleeve. He kicked it off to the side and glanced up, at where Winterbird had emerged¡ªhad that hole in the ceiling been there before? Then he looked over to the Healer. The Healer knelt clutching at his own arm, forehead furrowed in pain.

    ¡°Lucky little Zhao,¡± Winterbird grunted, straightening up. She seemed to be favouring one leg over the other. She winced, and her spines flattened themselves against her forehead. ¡°I think I may have overexerted myself, a little.¡±

    ¡°Sorry,¡± Felun managed. ¡°I didn¡¯t think he could¡ª¡±

    ¡°You must be more careful, Zhao. I think Iolite would have one of us fed to the Archives if you had come to harm.¡±

    ¡°Right. Uh, sorry. Really sorry. Thank you.¡±

    Winterbird rolled her shoulders back, wings sparking with indecipherable signs. She glanced over at the Healer, crouched statue-still within his cell. Her un-patched eye gleamed coldly.

    ¡°This is unacceptable. You hear that, human?¡±

    The Healer¡¯s eyes moved. The rest of him didn¡¯t.

    Winterbird hissed, a rustling trill on the edge of hearing. Magic whorled through the air, sinking into the walls. Felun blinked his Breaker sense open, the urge reflexive. He tracked the way the magic dissipated, weak but far-wandering. The room seemed to quiver. Winterbird spat blood and looked him square in the eye.

    ¡°How badly do you want him hurt, Breaker Zhao?¡±

    He swallowed against the shadow of a bruise. ¡°¡­I thought you needed him for something?¡±

    ¡°We do,¡± said a voice behind him.

    He whirled around, but it was only Curlew. Somewhere out in the darkness, writhing through the tunnels, came wingbeats. He glanced back at Winterbird and thought her magic over. Had she called for everyone?

    ¡°But Iolite said he was a fleshcrafter, didn¡¯t she?¡± Curlew continued idly. ¡°They can come back from anything.¡±

    ¡°Not anything,¡± the Healer whispered.

    A new hiss echoed in the distance, the sound tinged gold. Suria crashed through the hole in the ceiling and launched upright to curl her hand around Winterbird¡¯s shoulder. ¡°What is it now?¡±

    Winterbird explained in the faery tongue. Felun watched the Healer as the two conversed, saw the way his eyes darted like minnows. The conversation trickled into silence. Other faces peering in through the corridor: Thorn and Ezphorza, but no sign of Iolite.

    ¡°You don¡¯t wish to dissuade the fleshcrafter personally?¡± Suria asked, addressing him.

    A vein throbbed in his neck, one he hadn¡¯t ever noticed before. ¡°I¡­I don¡¯t know. No. Can¡¯t you keep him somewhere else?¡±

    ¡°How sensitive,¡± she said, sounding as if she were on the edge of sneering. She pulled liquid chitin from her arm, forming a dagger. Magic crackled on her tongue; the air grew as thick as glue. ¡°I see all the work falls to me. Stay still, fleshcrafter. You may fix yourself and you may scream, but no more.¡±

    She unlocked the door. Felun backed away, right into Winterbird¡¯s outstretched hand.

    ¡°Stay, Breaker Zhao.¡±

    ¡°Safe now,¡± Curlew added. ¡°The fleshcrafter is locked still.¡±

    And so he was. He didn¡¯t move, not even when Suria started to slice. He did scream. Pressure pulsed through the air like a pale noose tightening.

    Felun sensed flesh and veins looped round wrists and neck, their ghosts spearing into nerve and muscle. He let his eyes glaze over and sank deeper into the Breaker-sense, flooding his focus with more important things. Suria was sun-fire, syrup in her veins, a coil wound too tight. Winterbird resembled oak bark rotting under a shield of frost. Curlew rattled like a chariot falling to pieces. He heard garbled syllables, sounds that might¡¯ve been words.

    He didn¡¯t want to hear them, much less understand, so he sank into a place where sounds had less meaning. Staring into the pure, painful flow of magic was preferable to whatever was happening back in the realm of knife and noise. Iolite¡¯s labyrinth fanned out before him. It moved like eels writhing in too-shallow water. If he preoccupied himself tracing their spines to a horizon that looped back round, then perhaps he wouldn¡¯t notice the magic spurting like a torn artery not six feet away. Maybe he wouldn¡¯t think too much about the blood-flecked words, the gasping choke with each surge of stoppered magic, the screaming that stopped and started but followed no rhythm.

    Silence had fallen by the time he started drifting back into his body. Suria was pushing chitin back into her arm, spitting watery blood. The faeries trickled past him and out the corridor. The air was dry. His throat ached sullenly.

    ¡°Please,¡± a voice wheezed.

    Felun stared down the tangle of red knitting itself together and turned away.

 2.15 - Sitting Target

    Aliyah

    ¡°A faery came into the shop just now,¡± Silas said, peering from around the doorway. ¡°The ones from the Hive don¡¯t tend to want for books, and this one looked around without buying anything. Prowled around out back a bit too, by the look of the ward-book. Coincidence, you think?¡±

    Aliyah glanced up from her book¡ªa volume on basic runework that he¡¯d allowed her to borrow.

    Kionah stirred, then groaned and pulled the covers back over her head.

    Definitely a concussion, Aliyah thought gloomily before Silas¡¯s words registered¡ªfaery. She tensed.

    ¡°Just now, you said?¡±

    ¡°Thought I should let you know,¡± he said peevishly. ¡°Seeing as you came on account of problems with them.¡±

    ¡°What did the faery look like?¡± she asked, glancing down at the tracker-mark. The itching had disappeared overnight, but the mark remained, all stark lines and mocking clarity. ¡°Gold, by any chance?¡±

    He wrinkled his nose. ¡°Silver. Pointy. A lady, I believe.¡±

    A cold, leaden feeling settled into the base of her stomach; a point twinged in her torso, around the spot where she¡¯d been shot. She poked anxiously at it with her magic, but there were no residual wounds, no nothing. Fear and paranoia getting the better of her.

    ¡°Okay,¡± she said slowly. ¡°¡­And she can¡¯t get in here, right?¡±

    Silas glanced up at the violet whorl of runework on the ceiling. ¡°I should hope not. I¡¯m guessing neither of you are inclined to walking around right now? My mother dropped by with some baked goods; I left them on the kitchen counter. Help yourself.¡±

    With that, he disappeared back downstairs.

    ¡°¡­Kionah?¡± she asked. ¡°Uh, what do you think?¡±

    ¡°Later,¡± Kionah mumbled from beneath her pillow, voice bleary with sleep. ¡°Close the curtains, won¡¯t you? S¡¯ too bloody bright.¡±

    Aliyah sighed and closed the book without bothering to mark her place. Most of the concepts had been going over her head, anyway. She strode over to the window and grabbed the curtains, pausing to look out.

    Past the wall of shopfront obscuring her view, a flash caught her eye¡ªa glint of silver a couple of rooftops away. She froze, then scrambled to adjust her vision; bone-blood-slurry pumped through her head as she squinted and focused, honing in on the silhouette.

    It was a faery, perched on a gable in broad daylight, gaze trained on the bindery. Silas¡¯s descriptor certainly fit; very sharp and pointy-looking, especially around the face and shoulders. Bare but for what looked like a belt and a quiver strapped to her back. A shiver ran down Aliyah¡¯s spine as she recognised the bow propped over the faery¡¯s knee. That was the one who¡¯d shot her.

    She drew the curtains shut.

    So. Faeries definitely stalking her, now. Stalking, haunting, hunting. What had she done to deserve this?

    She cast her mind back to the false-Magician, the keys broken, her last tenuous link to Zahir and to the kingdom shattered to pieces. Why this? Why her? She felt, at once, indescribably homesick. But there was no use in thinking that¡ªno use at all. What she needed to do, was to do something useful. Anything useful.

    She left Kionah to her much-needed rest and snagged a slice of spiced bread from the countertop for lunch, furiously considering her next move.

    Luxon had promised her a cure for the tracker-mark burnt into her arm. And after that¡­what then? Flee, again? To where? Kionah was her main source of shielding and Glister-coin right now, and Aliyah doubted that she was going anywhere. Solution: she needed to rely less on Kionah.

    She frowned as she chewed on the bread; she could see why Silas had told her to help herself. It wasn¡¯t quite as tough as the salt-buns back in Shadowsong, but it was a close thing.

    First, she considered the city: a jumble of urchins and alleyways, festering with pickpockets and criminals. She couldn¡¯t exactly compensate for a lifetime stuck in a castle, but she could make herself safer in other ways: starting with learning to shield properly, and maybe working on her silencing casts. It was almost embarrassing, how weak she was in those simple aspects of spellwork. In her defense, it wasn¡¯t as if maidservants tended to get into regular physical altercations.

    She walked over to the little bookcase Silas had indicated she could browse from: a low-set stack of shelves overflowing with volumes on bookbinding arts and advanced magic theory, most of them too dense for her to parse. She crouched down, tipped her head to the side and scanned carefully, searching for more approachable-sounding titles. But Silas was clearly above needing introductory texts¡ªit seemed that the volume she¡¯d had earlier was as basic as it was going to get.

    Sighing, she straightened back up. Perhaps Kionah could help her, but Kionah was busy recuperating right now. Nothing for it, then: she¡¯d have to go bother Silas.

    She crept downstairs into the workshop, hesitating at the threshold. Silas was busy cutting blocks of paper at a bench with a long, inbuilt cleaver sort of device. He looked up and frowned.

    ¡°Problem?¡± he asked.

    ¡°Do you have any books on shielding?¡± she asked self-consciously. ¡°An easier text, maybe? I looked through the shelf you pointed out and, uh¡­¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m afraid not,¡± he said. ¡°Though you¡¯re free to bother Laurent for pointers once he gets home from work.¡±

    She was no well-versed courtling, but even she could see he wanted to be left alone.

    ¡°Though,¡± he added as she made to go back upstairs, ¡°if this is related to the faery trouble, here¡¯s some free advice, courtesy of ten years spent nearly getting myself killed on the regular: you win every fight that you avoid.¡±

    ¡°Th-thanks,¡± she said.

    She did want to avoid fighting. It was a shame that the faeries weren¡¯t letting her.

    Dead ends on all sides; she was disappointed, but not surprised. She clattered back upstairs, fetched herself a glass of water, another slice of too-chewy bread, and an overly-sweet fruit pastry for good measure. Then she practiced casting a shield until her head started to hurt.

    These were things she¡¯d learned years ago: talent wasn¡¯t fair. Hard work got you far, but smart work got you further. The amount of time she¡¯d spent grinding out light runes and learning how to see past doorway-illusions hadn¡¯t been used effectively. Stubborn, brute-force learning couldn¡¯t hold up to proper guidance, careful tuition by someone already versed in the coveted art. But if stubbornness and repetition was all she had, then it was far better than nothing.

    She cast her shielding in the usual way, then tried it with surges of power at different times, seeing if she could get it to snap into place faster using different permutations. She thought of the gold faery, slamming chitin-spears into the backs of her knees. She pictured the silver faery, loosing an arrow. She practiced holding the shield in place as she paced up and down the hallway, trying to read a book at the same time; it wasn¡¯t like she could test her shield against projectiles here, but she guessed the exercise could do something for her stamina.

    She stopped just before she got a nosebleed; it wouldn¡¯t do to be a mess of a guest, dripping blood over the floorboards. She retreated back to the guest room and checked the window once more. Scanning over the rooftops, and¡ªhuh. The faery no longer occupied the gable. Was that a good sign, or a bad one?

    On a second pass, she realised that the glint of silver had merely relocated to the boughs of a tree on the street corner¡ªthe faerie perched much closer, now, lounging idly against a gnarled branch. Her stomach sank. She slid the curtains shut. Tension simmered at the base of her skull like the ghost of a headache.

    This didn¡¯t feel like safety. This felt like waiting. Waiting and anticipating, an ambush so clearly augured for her as soon as she stepped outside¡ªand there was nothing she could do. Frustration mingled in with the fear, threading through every dip and fold of her thoughts.

    From across the room, Kionah stirred.

    ¡°What time is it?¡± she mumbled blearily.

    The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

    Aliyah twitched the curtains aside and frowned at the darkening sky. Heavy clouds on the horizon. Glint of silver, gone. Her heartrate kicked up a notch. Had the faery had seen her looking? Reacted so fast? She flexed her hand reflexively.

    ¡°Past afternoon,¡± she answered. She must have spent longer practicing than she¡¯d thought. ¡°Are you feeling any better?¡±

    ¡°Huh?¡± Kionah said, then sat up, grumbling as she pushed her sheets away. ¡°Ugh. Can¡¯t believe I slept that long. Anything happen when I was out?¡±

    ¡°There was a faery outside,¡± Aliyah said. ¡°Until¡­just now, I think. The one that shot me.¡±

    Kionah blinked rapidly, rubbed at her eyes, blinked again. ¡°That sounds¡­not ideal.¡± She cast a glance up at the ceiling. ¡°Still, we¡¯re warded. It is not an immediate concern.¡±

    ¡°Aren¡¯t we going to do anything about it?¡± Aliyah asked uneasily. ¡°I mean, I have to go fetch the nullifying spell from Luxon tomorrow, don¡¯t I?¡±

    She guessed that Kionah had things to do, too¡ªprocure new glasses, for one. The much-abused frames lay atop her backpack, thoroughly mangled from their fight. And besides, even if Kionah had enough coin to pay Laurent indefinitely, it wasn¡¯t like they could stay cooped up in this warded, book-filled fortress forever.

    ¡°¡­Do anything? You want to fight her?¡± Kionah asked, peering at her with faint disbelief.

    ¡°No,¡± Aliyah said. ¡°No, definitely not. I was actually practicing how to shield, earlier. But I thought you might know how to navigate without being followed?¡±

    ¡°Hm,¡± Kionah said. ¡°Normally I¡¯d say yes, but we¡¯ll see about that. Lot harder when your tail has a bird¡¯s eye view. Think we¡¯ll cross that bridge if we get to it.¡± Her stomach growled audibly. ¡°Ugh, I do hope Silas can spare some food. I¡¯m starving.¡±

    ¡°He left some pastries in the kitchen.¡± Her mind was on the faery, imagining her hopping from rooftop to rooftop, branch to branch¡­could she be directly overhead, right now?

    ¡°Hah. Don¡¯t tell me¡ªit¡¯s old mother Blacklock¡¯s famous lavender-loaves.¡± Kionah clambered out of bed, stretched, and tipped her head to one side. ¡°Much notoriety, those. No thanks. Bet Laurent¡¯s back soon. Think I can bribe him to fetch dinner?¡±

    Aliyah shrugged, thoughts still distant. ¡°Probably? He seems to like you more than Silas does.¡±

    ¡°Silas only hates me cause he¡¯s a sore loser at cards,¡± Kionah scoffed. ¡°He¡¯s a decent fellow otherwise. Come on, follow me and try your best to look like an innocent, hungry guest. Stars know I can¡¯t pull it off.¡±

    Aliyah hesitated, unsure of whether to push the point¡ªthe silver faery was right here¡ªbut Kionah seemed relaxed enough, and maybe it would be easier to think after a proper meal.

    ¡°Okay,¡± she said.

    Kionah¡¯s sense of timing was impeccable; Laurent was just coming up the stairs as they left the room. He had a heavy leather coat and what looked like strings of runed rope slung over his shoulder.

    ¡°Kionah,¡± he beamed. ¡°Good to see you up and walking again.¡±

    ¡°Uh huh. Did you see a faery on your way in?¡±

    He raised his eyebrows. ¡°Trouble, eh? Had one hell of a day already; you wouldn¡¯t believe the sort of shoddy work they get away with up there. Half of it¡¯s held together with wishes and duct tape. Now, s¡¯cuse me, but I have to¡ª¡±

    ¡°Oh but one more thing,¡± Kionah said innocently. ¡°Could you perhaps, out of the goodness of your heart, treat us to dinner if I trounce you at cards?¡±

    ¡°Hmm,¡± Laurent said, head cocked and squinting suspiciously. ¡°Are you asking me because Silas is a trickier opponent?¡±

    ¡°Perhaps,¡± Kionah said. ¡°But also, if either of us try going outside to fetch dinner, we¡¯re going to get sprung.¡±

    Laurent sighed. ¡°Hm. Tell you what, I¡¯m not in a losing mood. I¡¯ll fetch your dinner free and we can have a friendlier game afterward, how about that.¡±

    ¡°Thank you,¡± Kionah said, and flashed a probably-practiced, completely winsome smile. ¡°Really much appreciated.¡±

    It was at that moment that Silas peered over the banister and said, ¡°Laurent, the book¡¯s showing something messing with the wards.¡±

    Laurent frowned and clicked his fingers. Pale spell-light sparked to life around his face and shoulders, forming translucent wreaths of spiraling symbols.

    ¡°Just out back,¡± he said slowly. ¡°The faery, you said? Why now?¡±

    Aliyah glanced out the window and realised, with an unpleasant jolt, that the faery might have been waiting for full dark. A knot of unease formed at the pit of her stomach; she reached out for her magic, dredged it up to rest humming and ready beneath her skin.

    ¡°Nighttime,¡± Silas spoke up, an uncanny echo of her thoughts. ¡°Cover. Had enough time to scout it out by now. If I were in their place¡ªmight as well, yes?¡±

    Laurent dropped his spell with a disgruntled sigh. ¡°Kionah, do you go out of your way to attract trouble? The intruder¡¯s using slips to tunnel into my wards. First faeries, and now you¡¯ve got a Breaker in the mix? Even Shasta doesn¡¯t have this dedicated of a rival after him.¡±

    ¡°Just give it time,¡± Kionah muttered. ¡°He¡¯ll get there.¡±

    ¡°Right,¡± Laurent said. He set his coat down over the back of the nearest divan and gathered up the rope, cracking his knuckles like he¡¯d had practice at it¡ªAliyah hid an instinctive flinch. ¡°Guess I¡¯ll have to take care of it, then?¡±

    Kionah sagged. ¡°Yeah, alright. Probably best¡ªyeah, I¡¯ll pay you.¡±

    He reached out and ruffled her hair, a surprisingly affectionate gesture. ¡°Don¡¯t look so gloomy. Got to keep bread on the table somehow, eh? But I¡¯ll give you half-off, on account of being friends of Shasta¡¯s.¡±

    ¡°Once a merc, always a merc,¡± Kionah grumbled as he ambled past Silas and down the stairs, rune-ropes in hand.

    ¡°True enough,¡± Silas said. He hadn¡¯t moved from his spot behind the banister, perched there like a watchful house-cat. ¡°But do you think there¡¯ll be more?¡±

    ¡°More?¡± Aliyah asked. A spike of alarm pierced her chest, sharpened and twisted deeper. Faeries didn¡¯t move alone, did they? The way they¡¯d fought, back in Shadowsong, piling onto skyships in coordinated clusters of chitin¡­

    ¡°Laurent¡¯s mellowed out some,¡± Silas said, almost conversationally. ¡°That¡¯s a good thing, mind. But I keep an eye out for the both of us, and this is the oldest diversionary tactic in the book. It¡¯s basic dungeon principles. Catches your attention, see. Makes you focus on something tangible. You saw one. Think you were meant to see just the one?¡±

    ¡°¡­Just one,¡± Aliyah echoed, feeling cold. She cast her mind back to that awful skirmish, in the faerie tunnels. Thought of the chase in the alleys, flanked by blue and green and beige. ¡°You¡¯re right, it probably won¡¯t just be one¡ª¡±

    ¡°Excuse me,¡± Kionah broke in indignantly. ¡°So you just let Laurent go out there? Fat lot of help you are.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ve seen him fight,¡± Silas said calmly. ¡°He can take care of himself¡ªespecially if only against a diversion. They¡¯re here for you, not him. Not me, either.¡±

    ¡°Enough talk,¡± Kionah said, golden spell-light bursting to life in her palm. ¡°If we¡¯ve got another faery inbound, are you gonna help or not?¡±

    ¡°Of course,¡± he said with thinly-veiled scorn. ¡°Why else would I stay here, cooling my heels?¡± He stiffened abruptly. ¡°And there goes the wards.¡±

    Something banged downstairs.

    ¡°Get back in your room, you two,¡± Silas ordered, and clattered out of sight.

    ¡°Not a fucking chance,¡± Kionah hissed. She sped after him.

    Aliyah froze, hesitated¡ªand followed, heart pounding in her chest.

    Down in the workshop, a beige faery was wedged up in the far corner, where two walls met ceiling. Aliyah flinched, recognising him at once: the one who¡¯d tried to smother her beneath the Magician¡¯s cloak.

    Kionah had planted herself almost directly below Beige Faery, shouting¡ªa golden dome-shield protected her from the shining darts he threw at her, but it was fast-splintering under the onslaught.

    The faery turned his head, locked his gaze directly onto Aliyah. He sprung out of the corner in a blur of shining wing, darting off to the side. She flinched, clenched a fist spring-loaded with vasodilation.

    ¡°Oh no you don¡¯t,¡± Silas snapped, and lunged. Spell-light flared to life, formed a silhouette, solidified¡ªand then there was a scythe in his hand and he was slashing and parrying, driving the faery into a retreat. ¡°Get out of the way, Sadrava!¡±

    Kionah sprang aside and dashed back to Aliyah¡¯s side with a wince. Silas¡¯s duel moved from the workshop to the shop proper and from the sounds of it, out onto the street.

    ¡°¡­We should go back inside?¡± Aliyah asked. Her voice came out embarrassingly high-pitched, and she cleared the squeak from her throat with a cough. ¡°I mean, he did say¡ª¡±

    ¡°You can,¡± Kionah said over the sound of things being knocked off shelves. ¡°I want to find out what in the hells is going on.¡±

    ¡°I tried to ask, yesterday. I didn¡¯t get an answer.¡±

    ¡°Maybe you didn¡¯t ask the right way,¡± Kionah said grimly. ¡°If I can get a knife to one of their throats¡­hells-fucking hells, I left the pistol upstairs¡ªugh, not like I can get a clear shot. Ran out of bullets, too¡ªfuck. What a bloody mess.¡±

    From outside, an explosion. Glass shattering. Heavy footsteps over cobblestone, followed by shouts¡ª ones that sounded like Laurent¡¯s.

    Aliyah¡¯s heart sank.

    Arrows punched through the air, whistling through the doorway. Wood splintered in successive cracks. Kionah yelled and snapped a shield into place, shoving at her to get behind the bulk of Silas¡¯s worktable.

    A whoosh of wings, and then a different faery¡ªthe silver faery¡ªwas upon them, Silas close behind¡ªbut not close enough. Silver Faery twisted mid-air and knifed down at Aliyah, fist wound back and glowing white-hot with magic.

    Aliyah panicked, lost her hold on vasodilation, and threw up a shield.

    It didn¡¯t occur to her why she did it. Likely it was the lingering muscle-memory of having just practiced that spell a dozen times over.

    Silver Faery crashed into her shield at full tilt¡ª

    And it held.

    Her shield held as the spell surged and exploded into an eye-burning coruscation of red light. It held, just barely, and gave enough time for Kionah to pounce.

    Kionah went for a spell-fisted punch that knocked Silver Faery a good three feet backwards¡ªtowards Silas¡¯s scythe. Loose papers went flying. If the faery hadn¡¯t been made of chitin, she might¡¯ve cut herself open. Instead, she twisted mid-air and zipped upwards with a single heavy wingbeat, unleashing a shower of arrows from her bow.

    Aliyah squinted against the brightness. The arrows cut¡ªit was the last little bit needed to shatter her hold on the shield entirely. They were the weaker arrows, slicing shallow cuts, but they stung all the same.

    Silas closed in on the faery. A twirl of the scythe, a well-placed whack with the handle, and the faery dropped to the ground. She was back up in seconds, fast enough to force him back with a blast of arrows. Pivoting, she grabbed something from her belt¡ªa potion-vial?¡ªpopped the cork, and knocked it back.

    Silver Faery straightened, up flared her wings, and roared. The arrows in her quiver lit up with white flame, fanned out, and flew everywhere.

    The workshop burst into a crescendo of brightness; the air was thick with arrows and the smell of something burning.

    It lasted for perhaps four or five heartbeats.

    When the light cleared, charred paper smoked from the tops of benches. Ink pooled in the seams of the floorboards. Pens and brushes lay scattered.

    Kionah had fallen to her knees. Her shield flickered weakly, penned in on all sides by a fleet of floating arrows. Silas had fared only slightly better, shield intact but nose bleeding. He leaned on his scythe, shaking his head as if to clear it. Arrows surrounded him too, a waiting circle of spell-damage. Painful, Aliyah guessed cautiously, but probably not fatal. Not fatal. She could work with that.

    The silver faery stood alone at the center of a penumbra, the eye of a storm, a circle of destruction laid out on all sides¡ªall sides, that is, except for Aliyah¡¯s.

    It hadn¡¯t been a miracle that her shield had held; somehow, the faery had avoided aiming at her. Stars knew why.

    ¡°Little mage,¡± the faery spoke. Her voice was low and fluting, calmer than Aliyah would¡¯ve thought possible. ¡°Interloper.¡±

 2.16 - Silver Huntress

    Aliyah

    Interloper, the faery had said, disgust dripping off her tongue.

    Her intrusion had explained the tracker-mark, somewhat. The accident of stumbling into the lair beneath the Killing Fields didn¡¯t seem so offensive to her, but perhaps faeries thought differently. She didn¡¯t know what else the faery could possibly care about.

    ¡°Look,¡± Aliyah said as cold sweat broke out over her skin, ¡°I don¡¯t know who you are. I didn¡¯t mean to enter your home. Please leave me alone.¡± As she spoke, she gathered magic into her clenched fists.

    The faery continued as if she had not spoken. ¡°Songian spy. We have questions for you and your masters.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not a spy,¡± Aliyah said, and something itched faintly in the depths of her memory¡ªJackal¡¯s bygone accusations, an eerie parallel, memories mocking her from across the reaches of time. Treason must reach its feather-thin roots far and wide, if faeries were also concerned about such things. Focus, she told herself. The magic lay in her hands, ready and waiting. But the faery could move so fast¡­so, not yet. She forced herself to appear calm. She¡¯d get one chance, probably, before getting shot a second time.

    ¡°We¡¯ve got nothing to do with the kingdom,¡± Kionah wheezed. She turned her head to look at the faery, and the cage of arrows followed the movement. Not quite touching her, but close enough that a stray spark might sting. ¡°No interest in schismatist affairs, neither. Leave us be.¡±

    ¡°My superior has requested a meeting,¡± the faery said, not even moving to glance at her.

    Aliyah bit her tongue. Not yet, she told herself. Not yet.

    ¡°What a load of hot piss,¡± Kionah hissed from behind her circle of arrows. ¡°You want a chat? Over cream tea and biscuits? I¡¯ve never heard such bullshit in my life.¡±

    ¡°Come with me,¡± the faery said, eyes boring into Aliyah¡¯s. ¡°My superior has many questions.¡±

    ¡°You can¡¯t be serious,¡± Aliyah said, thinking frantically. She needed a distraction, any distraction. ¡°You shot me. Who even are you?¡±

    ¡°You humans and your obsessions with names,¡± the faery said with a hint of a sneer. She cocked her head to one side. ¡°¡­Saiph. That is my name in your pitiable tongue. Saiphenora of Shallownest.¡± She snickered, faceted eyes flashing with inner light. ¡°Does that reassure you? If you come willingly, it will be easier.¡±

    ¡°Easier for you?¡± Aliyah asked through gritted teeth. She could hurt this ¡®Saiphenora¡¯ more than she could hurt her, she reminded herself. She could bend, break, vasodilate¡ªwhatever plans the faery had of carrying her off for interrogation, she would fight her way out of. What else was there to do, when backed into such a corner? In fact, it¡¯d probably help if the faery lunged first¡ªbut Saiphenora remained still.

    ¡°They have ways of¡ª¡± Saiphenora said, before she was interrupted by a cough.

    Behind her, Silas straightened up and swept the point of his scythe forwards, a soft scrape of metal over hardwood. ¡°Get out of my house,¡± he croaked.

    The faery flicked her spines; the cages of arrows crackled in warning.

    ¡°Get out of my house,¡± Silas repeated. ¡°I spared your ally. Leave, before I kick you to the street myself.¡±

    ¡°Bold words,¡± Saiphenora said flatly. ¡°I am stronger than Curlew.¡±

    Silas sniffed, touched a hand to his nose, and glanced at his fingers with sour scorn as they came away bloody. ¡°I¡¯ve worked with worse. Fought worse than you. Interesting little deterrent you have here. Not very well-made.¡±

    That got her attention. She turned, spines flattening close to her skull.

    The arrows crackled, as if puffing up in bravado. Aliyah hesitated for a fraction of a second. Probably not fatal. If Silas and Kionah got shot, she could heal them afterwards. Saiphenora had overlooked pointing any at her for now, in vain pursuit of conversation, so¡­now.

    Aliyah charged.

    She almost didn¡¯t make it. If Saiphenora hadn¡¯t angled her body at Silas, she would¡¯ve reacted in time. As it was, Aliyah¡¯s hand barely skidded against her side, injecting a pulse of vasodilation through shining silver chitin. She found analogous vein-structures within and forced them to flare wide. Bodily perfusion dropped. Saiphenora staggered, and didn¡¯t fall.

    She did scream.

    She screamed a shrill, ear-splitting scream, paired with her circles of arrows plunging towards their captives. Spell sizzled against shield, burnt out or burnt through. Silas yelled something. Kionah shouted. Aliyah struck again, blindly. Her hand caught on one of Saiphenora¡¯s spikes; she felt faery equilibrium pushing back against the wave of distributive shock, equilibrium boosted by something else¡ªa potion? The thing that she¡¯d drunk? She pushed harder, to no avail.

    If vasodilation wasn¡¯t working, she¡¯d try something else: she broke Saiphenora¡¯s arm. Her magic burrowed through chitin and tore into faery flesh. It plunged into the analogous bone armature that held Saiphenora¡¯s body together and forced it to yield with a dry snap. Saiphenora screamed again and jerked out of her grasp with a sharp flap of her wings, loosing spell-arrows from her still-working hand.

    A chair flew through the air and collided with her wings, sending her down in a tangle of splintered wood and thrashing limb. Her tail lashed out, heftier than it looked, practically a whipcord of chitin-plated muscle. Aliyah caught it across the ribs and felt something fracture.

    Silas flung another chair, then pounced with the clean grace of one used to fighting in quarters far more cramped than this. His scythe flickered and glowed white-hot, losing its silhouette as it morphed into a flotilla of flying knives; arrows flashed and countered, Aliyah stumbled back, feeding magic into her creaking rib as Kionah leapt into the fray, trailing blood from a dozen arrow-cuts.

    Saiphenora twirled upwards, plucked another potion vial from her belt, and swallowed it down.

    Shield, Aliyah thought dimly, and brought one up moments before another storm of arrows filled the workshop.

    When the air cleared, Silas was readier than Aliyah could have guessed¡ªhe dropped his shield and crashed daggers-first into the panting Saiphenora. She retaliated with summoned strings of spell-light, fine filaments that looked as if they¡¯d been plucked straight from the web of a Behemoth-spider.

    Kionah vaulted over a bench and ducked in as Silas sliced at the encroaching web¡ªshe struck at Saiphenora, dodging the lashing length of spiked tail with mere inches to spare.

    Aliyah dropped her fractured shield and healed her own ribs, even as her head ached harder with each passing moment. Across the room, Saiphenora whirled into a dance of violence, one arm still hanging limp by her side. As Aliyah watched, though, the broken arm twitched and began to move again. At first jerkily, mirroring whatever her working arm was doing, then with a flex and shake, back to normal¡ªas if it had never been wounded in the first place. Saiphenora used her formerly-broken arm to land a blow on Kionah, sending her sprawling.

    Aliyah swallowed as unease settled into the pit of her stomach. Saiphenora was not human, and not a Healer¡ªbut to have shrugged off both vasodilation and a broken arm? Aliyah ran through half-formed plans, possible ways of breaking faery physiology without outright killing Saiphenora, and came up with: break more of her limbs, in multiple places, until she stopped moving.

    She couldn¡¯t possibly fix every break by drinking more potion, could she? All Aliyah had to do was touch her first. Easier than it sounded, even as Saiphenora fought Silas and made to lunge at her, an arrow nocked and ready.

    Aliyah threw up a shield and readied herself.

    ¡°Fucking move,¡± Kionah shouted from across the workshop.

    Aliyah gritted her teeth and dug her heels in. Saiphenora wanted to drag her to her leader? She could come and get her herself.

    Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

    The faery surged forth in a spray of white sparks; an arrow slammed into her shield. The spell-barrier shattered; Aliyah reached out with fingers outstretched and touched upon nothing. Her heart stuttered at the miscalculation, feeling as though it skipped a beat. The moment stretched by like pulled dough, strands breaking in slow motion: miscalculation.

    Of course Saiphenora was faster than her, more dexterous, wouldn¡¯t just charge blindly.

    She felt a whisper of air ghost across her cheek, the wake of a perfectly planned movement. And then weight and motion followed through, action executed.

    Saiphenora grabbed a fistful of her hair and slammed her against the wall.

    Air heaved out of her lungs in a sickly rush. Bones fractured. Her scalp stung all over, went taut with pain. She would have screamed, if she had the breath for it. In the precious few seconds it took for her to try reaching up at where Saiphenora¡¯s fist was bunched in her hair, Saiphenora slammed her into the wall, sideways this time.

    More hairline fractures. Pain blossomed bright. Aliyah gasped for air, choked on the fast-rising agony, and tried to numb and fix everything in one desperate scramble. The faery tossed her into the wall and summoned more strings formed of pure spell-light, silken-thin and shimmering-bright, string that flew at her wrists and tangled and bound them. She hit the ground, dislocated her shoulder on impact, and¡ªfinally¡ªmanaged to scream.

    ¡°Stay back,¡± Saiphenora called. Aliyah saw Silas and Kionah freeze out of the corner of her eye. ¡°I¡¯ve your friend leashed well down.¡±

    Her eyes watered as she popped her shoulder back in place with magic alone. Not efficient use of her energy, but the pain was too distracting, and it¡¯d get worse if she left it. She tried her ironwood-cutting spell next, which slid off the filament like rainwater off skyfish-scales. More string sparked into existence and blanketed her hands, winding around her shoulders and ankles like packing salt into a wound. Arrows sprouted from thin air and circled her in a mocking spiral.

    ¡°You want to abduct me?¡± she asked, all-too-aware of the glowing twine digging into her skin, the glow of arrow-points at the edge of her vision. ¡°Let me go, that¡¯s not going to work. If you touch me, you¡¯ll faint.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯ll not have me that easily,¡± Saiphenora said, turning her empty eyes to look down at her. Her faery limbs looked far more delicate than a human¡¯s, but the spread of her wings more than made up for her build; from this distance, she loomed. ¡°You felt the resistance, hm? Your tricks are not insurmountable.¡± Her hand moved to her belt, then faltered, halfway through the motion of grabbing something that wasn¡¯t there.

    ¡°Looking for something?¡± Kionah called from across the room.

    Saiphenora went very still.

    ¡°Mageling,¡± the faery hissed as she whirled around.

    Kionah held something up between thumb and forefinger¡ªglinting glass, a little vial that provoked a hiss of rage.

    Saiphenora fully turned her back on Aliyah, shifting into a low stance. Faery wings lit up with shadows of colours, pulsing patterns in the membrane, silvery eyespots blooming into existence. Wings flared wide, and tail lashed with a whip-crack¡ªa full threat display. Ten dozen spell-arrows sprouted from nothing, formed a floating blockade, and swiveled to point at Kionah.

    From across the room came a sour cough.

    ¡°Now that is just useless,¡± Silas said, stepping in front of Kionah. He held his daggers ready, a dozen more floating at his back. ¡°Cut your losses, faery. Leave my home in peace.¡±

    Saiphenora hissed, long and low. The spikes along her spine quivered, scraping lightly against one another¡ªanother hiss emanated from them, a scratchier, chirruping sound. It reminded Aliyah of locusts. The layered hissing brought to mind a whole swarm of them, all crammed into this one room. The light of the arrows blazed brighter, forcing her to squint.

    ¡°I have been instructed otherwise,¡± Saiphenora snarled.

    ¡°If you insist,¡± said Silas. ¡°Sadrava, stay out of my way.¡±

    That was all the warning he gave. Knives flashed through the air, triggering Saiphenora¡¯s waiting circle of arrows. Aliyah curled up and screamed, tried to shield as the spell-arrows crashed into her, searing cuts and punctures from all directions. She rushed to heal them, frantically patching the sizzling wounds.

    Several of the arrows hadn¡¯t gone for her. Instead, they¡¯d melded to the binding spell-filaments and wedged themselves into the gaps in the floorboards, pinning her to the ground. A crude imprisonment, dreamed up last minute by an unhinged faery mind. Aliyah twisted her head, craning her neck to look at where Saiphenora had flown.

    Silas seemed to be holding his own. She¡¯d heard stories of dungeonrunners before, from traveling merchants. From what she was seeing, the stories seemed almost true.

    It was a matched duel, fought with speed and motion, darting jabs and feints that flowed like water. Shields flared to life and broke again, spellfire silhouettes clashing against one another.

    Kionah was trapped against the corner of the workshop, holding a shield in place. Several times, Saiphenora leapt towards her and several times, Silas cut her off, diverted her focus by flinging spell-knives and objects alike¡ªblocks of paper to the face, handfuls of brushes and the contents of ink-pots. Splashes of ink slid from Saiphenora¡¯s eyes without staining, but gave her pause nonetheless. The air seemed to flow cold from that side of the room; Aliyah could make out a faint shimmer if she squinted. ¡­A suppression-field?

    No matter. She shook her head to clear it, heaved against the tide of spell-filament tying her down. She wondered if breaking an arm would get her out of this bind¡ªprobably not. Her head hurt. Her nose was on the verge of bleeding; she could taste it at the back of her throat, and the sensation made her feel queasy. In other circumstances, breaking an arm might be worth a try. But the twine was tighter than chain, and if Saiphenora was going to prevail and grab her, she needed to be ready¡ª

    A door banged open, cutting off her line of thought. Footsteps, shouts, and Laurent bursting in, silhouetted against the doorway. Lengths of rune-rope shot in to join the flying knives and it all formed an arrowhead of its own. A flurry of faery arrows rushed in to counter it, to block Silas from striking closer.

    Saiphenora dodged away on a single wingbeat of retreat, flinging herself clear across the room to skid against the floorboards. She cleared the suppression-field and came to a stop mere inches from Aliyah. Then came her shout, an ear-piercing word-that-was-not-a-word, a sound dredged up from the abyss of magic itself.

    A wall of white-hot arrows bisected the room, blotting Silas and Kionah and Laurent from view. Hundreds of them¡ªso bright that the workshop looked as if it were bathed in daylight.

    Faery head swiveled around, turning dead-gemstone eyes to look down at her.

    ¡°You can¡¯t hold me without your potion, can you?¡± Aliyah said. Sweat beaded at her forehead. She sounded braver than she felt. ¡°Why did you even bother asking, if you were just going to attack?¡±

    Saiphenora hissed. Clear fluid dripped from the parting of her mouth and splashed onto the floorboards. Drool? Vomit? Aliyah tried not to shudder.

    The faery reached down and grabbed her by the hair¡ªdead cells, unliving tissue that she couldn¡¯t cast through. A loop of spell-twine began spooling into existence between them. Aliyah realised what it was for, moments before Saiphenora moved it against her throat.

    ¡°No,¡± she gasped out as it looped round. ¡°That¡¯ll kill me!¡± The spell-twine froze in place, and Aliyah spoke faster, seized on that pause, a glimmer of desperate hope. ¡°You want me alive, right? I have to be alive if you want to ask questions. If you use that¡ªI won¡¯t just faint, I¡¯ll wake up brain-damaged, or I¡¯ll die.¡±

    The spell-noose froze in place. Saiphenora considered her with those cold, faceted eyes. For several, heart-stopping moments, there was silence.

    ¡°Humans,¡± Saiphenora said, ¡°are notorious liars.¡±

    ¡°Please,¡± Aliyah said. Cold sweat chilled her all over. ¡°Please, you¡¯ve already shot me, what more do you want? I would¡¯ve died if I were a normal mage¡ª¡±

    ¡°You wouldn¡¯t.¡± Saiphenora paused. ¡°If I¡¯d wanted to kill you, I would have aimed for your head.¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± Aliyah said. ¡°Which is why I¡¯ll die if you try this. I¡¯m not lying, I promise. You don¡¯t have to do this, you don¡¯t have to¡­you could¡¯ve just asked.¡±

    ¡°I gave you the opportunity,¡± Saiphenora said flatly. Water dripped from her eyes and nose and mouth and trickled down the seams of her joints. ¡°Perhaps this is another opportunity? Your thaumaturge-touched alliances bar the way. Your maligned mind will resist us, naturally. Or so I have been told. Are you saying yes?¡±

    Aliyah traced out the line of not-water trickling from Saiphenora¡¯s mouth as she spoke. Realisation dawned. ¡°No. You can¡¯t make me go, can you? Not unless you kill me. Not like this.¡±

    ¡°I could cocoon you in twine. Carry you by your tresses. Would you risk harming me, in the air?¡±

    ¡°You can¡¯t,¡± Aliyah said. ¡°Or you would¡¯ve done it already. Wouldn¡¯t have wasted your magic going after Kionah. You need that potion-thing to keep yourself going, don¡¯t you?¡± She risked a glance away from Saiphenora, to the blazing wall of arrows behind her. ¡°The longer you keep those there, the more magic you¡¯re burning.¡±

    ¡°What would a little mageling like you know?¡±

    Aliyah swallowed and looked the faery in her empty eyes. ¡°I know that you win every fight that you avoid.¡±

    A pause. ¡°Yes,¡± Saiphenora said, letting go of her hair. She straightened up. ¡°That¡¯s why I like to shoot from afar. Keep an eye when you shelter away from a roof and four walls, mageling. My superiors are¡­insistent.¡±

    Saiphenora turned and walked away, towards the wall of arrows. For a moment, she was fully bathed in the eye-searing arrow-light¡ªglowed with it, her body charted out in lines of frost. The wall of arrows rippled, and Aliyah realised with slow-dawning horror that each arrow was pivoting on its axis, turning to face out¡ªto where her only allies were standing.

    Saiphenora sent the wall of a-hundred-and-more arrows crashing out into the dark. Most sputtered out. Others sparked and twirled, causing chaos, kicking up clouds of loose paper. A diversion, a rudimentary smokescreen for a flash of wing, darting almost flush against the ceiling before dipping out of the doorway.

    The papers settled. The spell-twine melted away. Just like that, the faery was gone. Aliyah coughed and picked herself up, aching all over.

    Across the room, Kionah dropped her shield. Silas groaned and dispelled his fleet of knives. Laurent hurried to his side.

    ¡°Everything alright?¡± he asked.

    ¡°Don¡¯t hover,¡± Silas snapped, though he allowed himself to be lowered onto a righted step-stool. ¡°Think I pulled something,¡± he grumbled, rubbing at his shoulder. ¡°I¡¯m retired for a goddamn reason.¡±

    ¡°Where were you?¡± Kionah asked Laurent. ¡°You missed all the excitement.¡±

    ¡°Led on a merry chase down the temple district. Two of ¡®em, lost their tails and came back to see the place lit up like a beacon.¡± He glanced around the smoking, spell-scorched workshop and scratched the back of his head. ¡°Kionah, this is¡­¡±

    Kionah winced.

    Aliyah felt the skin on her arm prickle in the shape of the tracker-mark and almost winced with her.

    ¡°Yeah,¡± Kionah said. ¡°I, ah, I didn¡¯t foresee this. Swear it on the old man¡¯s grave.¡±

    Outside, it started to rain.

 2.17 - Ways of Persuasion

    Felun

    ¡°Zhao of Sungrazers,¡± a familiar voice chirped at the doorway. ¡°There has been a problem.¡±

    Felun looked up from the scraps of half-drawn spell-paper scattered across the floor. Thorn awaited, face wary and wings downcast, an even duller shade of green than usual.

    ¡°¡­Yes?¡± Felun asked, bracing himself for the prospect of more unpleasant work. He¡¯d already spent the last couple of hours laying the foundations for new breaker-slips, and he was starting to feel it. ¡°An unraveling problem?¡±

    ¡°A human problem,¡± Thorn said meaningfully.

    Felun winced and rubbed a hand against his throat. ¡°¡­Really?¡± he asked. ¡°Couldn¡¯t you, I don¡¯t know, bring it up with Iolite first?¡±

    Thorn¡¯s spines twitched in an agitated sort of way. ¡°No, no¡ªIolite is in her work-chamber, said she was not to be disturbed save for an emergency.¡±

    ¡°Huh,¡± Felun said, wishing he were lower down on the list of people Thorn thought held authority on dealing with unpredictable prisoners. ¡°¡­What about Suria?¡±

    ¡°Lieutenant Suria is already present. The symptoms began not long ago. She is certain that she did not kick him too hard. She is now trying to ascertain that the Healer-mage has not attempted to, ah, intentionally injure himself. She believes guidance from a fellow human would be beneficial. Though to be truthful, he simply seems¡­quite ill.¡±

    Felun blinked. ¡°Look,¡± he said, trying for levity. ¡°I¡¯m a dungeonrunner, not an apothecary. If you¡¯ve ever spoken to my father at all, I¡¯m sure he¡¯s made that quite clear.¡±

    ¡°Suria requests you take a look regardless,¡± Thorn said with a grimace. ¡°We don¡¯t know what¡¯s wrong with him.¡±

    ¡°He¡¯s a Healer,¡± Felun pointed out. ¡°Have you tried, I don¡¯t know, asking him?¡±

    Thorn made an exasperated sound, a close approximation of a human snort. ¡°He refuses to speak in Suria¡¯s presence. I tried speaking to him alone¡ªhe claimed he was ¡®perfectly fine¡¯. We have¡­different definitions of the phrase.¡±

    ¡°Fine,¡± Felun said. It would be a distraction from the frustrations of making spell-slips from scratch, at least. ¡°I¡¯ll take a look. Don¡¯t think I¡¯ll be much help, though.¡±

    Thorn nodded with evident relief. Felun slipped his runequill into his pocket on the way out; he was not going to almost get murdered a second time, thank you very much.

    ===

    ¡°Hello,¡± the Healer said from behind the iron bars. ¡°You again.¡± He reached for the basin Thorn had provided and vomited into it, quite neatly.

    Felun winced. Was this really necessary? He was no stranger to seeing other people chuck their guts up¡ªthe dubious perks of dungeonrunning experience saw to that¡ªbut that didn¡¯t mean he cared to be in the room when it happened.

    Thorn hovered at his shoulder, casting a dubious eye over the situation. ¡°Do you see what I mean?¡± he asked. ¡°I¡¯ve brought him plenty of water, but it doesn¡¯t seem to be working. I thought it would help. Are you humans not more watery than us, inside?¡±

    ¡°Um,¡± Felun said.

    Suria had stalked out of the room shortly after his arrival, with little more than a snide remark to prevent any ¡®incidents¡¯ from recurring.

    ¡°I don¡¯t think I can help you,¡± he said.

    The Healer was sort of greying at the edges, twitchy and agitated. His hair was damp with sweat and he had also been, according to Thorn, vomiting up the occasional mouthful of bile at irregular intervals.

    ¡°Is there any possibility that he could be, ah, dying?¡± Thorn asked him. ¡°I am certain that the food I brought him was palatable and uncontaminated, but Suria believes he may have smuggled something in with him¡­¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m perfectly alright,¡± the Healer rasped as he set the basin back down. ¡°If I were to attempt poisoning myself, I would be far more efficient.¡±

    ¡°Look, Thorn, I have no idea. Wouldn¡¯t Iolite know? She does the potions, doesn¡¯t she?¡±

    ¡°That one,¡± the Healer said with a sigh. He leaned his head back against the wall. ¡°There¡¯s little point asking. She will force me to drink more wine-flavoured potion and you¡¯ll all realise that I¡¯m telling the truth: I¡¯m fine, not dying, nothing to be concerned about.¡±

    ¡°Why do you look like you¡¯re already half-dead, then?¡± Felun snapped, twitchy with unease. ¡°Great acting, if that¡¯s what you¡¯re going for. I¡¯ve seen liches in better shape than this.¡± It was a low blow. But his neck still twinged with phantom pressure, and he wasn¡¯t feeling very charitable.

    ¡°That was a good stasis, wasn¡¯t it?¡± the Healer replied cryptically.

    Thorn groaned. ¡°And here is the part where he stops talking,¡± he said. ¡°I don¡¯t know what he has against us faeries¡ª¡±

    ¡°I take issue with people who whisk me from my home and imprison me in singularly depressing locations,¡± the Healer said, his voice somehow kept dry and otherwise toneless. ¡°Would it kill you to install a sun-lamp or two?¡±

    ¡°¡ªbut he won¡¯t explain anything to any of us,¡± Thorn continued. ¡°Will you be alright if I step outside for a moment? Perhaps you can talk some sense into him.¡±

    He made a vague sound of assent. He might be getting dragged around by Iolite¡¯s crew, but Thorn was one of the more decent ones, and it was tricky to get along with the faeries as it was. Maybe, just maybe, he could try to come across as less of an idiot for once.

    ¡°I¡¯m right here, you know,¡± the Healer said. ¡°I can still hear you.¡±

    ¡°Give a shout if he tries anything funny,¡± Thorn said, and left. So much for the hope of moral support.

    Felun turned back to stare at the Healer, sitting feebly in his cell. He made sure to keep himself a few fair paces away from the bars, this time. The Healer watched him through the gaps. His expression was tinged with amusement, even through the sweating-sickliness. It made Felun¡¯s skin crawl.

    ¡°So uh,¡± Felun said, crossing his arms. ¡°Are you going to talk, or what? Because if you don¡¯t, I¡¯m pretty sure they¡¯re going to fetch Iolite.¡±

    ¡°Sometimes, certain lessons in life come with experience,¡± the Healer said. He raised a hand and brought it to his face, rubbing at his sweating temple; there was a tremor to the movement. ¡°Here¡¯s the thing, little Breaker: they¡¯re going to fetch her no matter what I do.¡±

    Felun bristled. ¡°My name¡¯s Felun.¡±

    ¡°I didn¡¯t know that was a Cathayan name,¡± the Healer said with interest.

    ¡°It¡¯s not,¡± Felun said. ¡°I have a different¡ªno one can pronounce it properly over here.¡±

    ¡°¡­So you people haven¡¯t actually dragged me off-continent,¡± the Healer observed. ¡°That is good to know.¡±

    Felun snapped his mouth shut and shifted uncomfortably. He had the distinct impression that he¡¯d been played. It wasn¡¯t going to do wonders for Suria¡¯s estimation of him, but hey, at least it wasn¡¯t like he¡¯d let slip major information. Maybe the Healer had only been a bit unsure because Felun was the only other human he¡¯d seen around.

    The Healer interrupted his train of thought by vomiting again, loudly. His hand shook as he set the basin back down, almost spilling its dubious contents.

    ¡°Okay,¡± Felun said, eyeing the Healer¡¯s still-worsening tremor. ¡°Seriously, what¡¯s up with that? You¡¯re like, having a mini seizure or something. I don¡¯t know, I¡¯m not the medicine mage here.¡± He hesitated. ¡°Look, I don¡¯t like you and I know you hate my guts too, but you might as well tell me. They¡¯re going to get an answer out of you anyways.¡±

    ¡°Only if I can keep the truth potion down,¡± the Healer said with a disgustingly inappropriate amount of cheer. ¡°And here I thought it should be quite obvious. Go on, guess.¡±

    Felun frowned. ¡°Since when is your puking all over the place a riddle game?¡±

    ¡°Since now. You¡¯re meant to keep me sane, aren¡¯t you? Go on, it¡¯ll be entertaining.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not an apothecary,¡± Felun said. Slow-rising irritation itched at his temples, not made any better by the shadow of a spellcaster¡¯s headache. ¡°I don¡¯t know, a fever or something? Food poisoning? Did Thorn give you one of the lichen teas?¡± He paused as the Healer¡¯s shoulders shook; he realised, with a testy start, that the Healer was laughing into his sleeve. ¡°I have no idea how any of this is funny to you.¡±

    ¡°Surely you can see the humour in a captor being overworried over a hostage?¡± The Healer snickered bitterly. ¡°First, your compatriot inflicts repeated bodily harm upon my person. Now, when I present with ill effects unrelated to her actions, she has the presence of mind to bring in a consulting expert. The sheer hypocrisy. If this happened back home, the courts would be having a field day.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t want to be here either,¡± Felun said. ¡°Can you stop with the jokes, already?¡±

    The Healer shrugged through his restless shivering. ¡°As I¡¯ve said, I¡¯m perfectly alright. Now, I am going to wish that I were dead in a few hours¡ªbut unless I perish of dehydration, which I doubt, given all¡­¡± He waved a hand dismissively at the small flotilla of water jugs Thorn had left him. ¡°¡­All this. A handful of electrolytes would be nice, but I shan¡¯t come to actual harm. It is a mere rebound effect.¡±

    Rebound, Felun thought, and blinked as half-remembered puzzle pieces clicked into place. Comprehension dawned: a vague recollection of his black-sheep of an older cousin downing pain potions, getting the shakes if he went without for too long. Orhan, too, with his stash of moonshine.

    ¡°You¡¯re hooked on potions?¡± he hazarded. ¡°Or something like that? That can¡¯t be good. Let me guess, you want to tell Iolite to brew¡ª¡±

    ¡°Not quite,¡± the Healer said wearily. He picked up the closest flagon and took a careful sip. ¡°I won¡¯t be needing your people¡¯s assistance. There were better alternatives, in the kingdom. Not nearly so risky, helped with work, most of us had¡ªanyway. Never had to worry until I was abducted, of all things. Stasis held it off some, but it can¡¯t be helped. I certainly can¡¯t say that anyone could have accounted for this. What about you? What poor twist of fate brought you here?¡±

    Felun frowned. The Healer¡¯s almost affable tone at the end stirred up worms of unease within him¡ªa squirming wariness in his thoughts. The skin on the back of his neck prickled; something seemed¡­off, about the way this conversation was going. He hadn¡¯t been involved with court stuff back in Shenzhou, but he¡¯d picked up some things¡ªkind of hard not to.

    He thought about it, carefully. Kept his silence and let the Healer stew in it as he considered the angle: the Healer had just finished opening up about his own personal matters, before framing his next question about Felun¡¯s own past. The implication of a trade of sorts, an equivalent exchange of information, the push-pull thing happening here¡ªit seemed¡­fishy.

    Hadn¡¯t this Healer guy just tricked him into giving him a clue as to their whereabouts, earlier? Hadn¡¯t he, just yesterday, seen some passing shadow of violence on the Healer¡¯s face right before he¡¯d taken a makeshift garrote to the throat? It should¡¯ve clued him in. Today, he¡¯d brought the runequill. But perhaps it wasn¡¯t just a physical maneuver he had to watch out for. He loathed these sorts of games, plausible here-and-yet-not cues, chess played with living people-pieces. He also had no intention of making the same mistakes twice.

    ¡°Are you going to keep pretending that you didn¡¯t try to kill me?¡± he asked.

    ¡°Kill you?¡± The Healer asked, and started jogging a leg restlessly.

    The mannerism reminded Felun of Vilette, bouncing her knee and fidgeting as she¡¯d glared down at her hand of cards. He grimaced and pushed the memory aside. He was remembering a lot of things lately. Too much time to think.

    ¡°Killing you, now that¡¯s quite the accusation,¡± the Healer continued, ¡°If I intended on killing you, I would have simply crushed your trachea. That wouldn¡¯t have helped me, however.¡± He gestured vaguely at his restraints, and around the cell.

    ¡°Right,¡± Felun said. ¡°Great. Fantastic. Just what I wanted to hear. If you try that again, I¡¯ll¡ª¡± He wracked his brain for plausible threats. ¡°I¡¯ll break your nose.¡± He wondered if Suria had beat him to it.

    ¡°Can you really blame me?¡± the Healer asked lightly. ¡°You¡¯d be just as opportunistic, in my place. And your faery friend inflicted far more bodily harm than I did to you, so aren¡¯t we even? Or does it not count if I was forced to undo it upwards of a dozen times? It was definitely more than a dozen, but I lost track. Don¡¯t enjoy seeing the consequences of your actions, hmm? And have you considered that you¡¯re not doing a particularly admirable job of keeping me sane?¡±

    This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

    Felun flinched as the hazy memory crystallised, an echo sharpening¡ª ¡°I think you¡¯re just kind of fucked in the head. Living next to that Library would send anyone loopy.¡±

    The Healer shrugged. ¡°You¡¯re the one who threatened to break my nose just now.¡±

    Felun scowled and fell silent at the sound of approaching footsteps; Iolite¡¯s voice floated up the corridor.

    ¡°¡­Prior exhaustion combined with a form of stasis-sickness,¡± she was saying. ¡°Though I requested silence, you did interrupt me at a fortuitous time this time. I require more knowledge of the Songian court structures¡­¡±

    ¡°Ah,¡± the Healer said, shooting Felun a grim look. ¡°I was right, wasn¡¯t I? Here we go again.¡±

    ===

    Felun repositioned the parchment on his lap and shook the cramps out of his writing-hand. Iolite had shoved him into a corner and dropped a blank book and a quill into his lap. Not for the first time, he wondered if slogging through the spell-slips would be preferable to serving as a glorified note-taker.

    ¡°And how many Healers in your kingdom?¡± Iolite was asking.

    ¡°I can¡¯t say for certain,¡± the Healer replied, his words slurring at the edges.

    ¡°An approximation, if you will.¡±

    ¡°Mm. Depends on what you count as a Healer,¡± the Healer said. ¡°¡­The ones leashed to the king¡¯s side, are they Healers? Learn just enough to siphon your own life away. Doesn¡¯t seem so bad when you¡¯re an apprentice, when they tell you how¡­ah. Two, three hundred, perhaps? Of the lucky ones.¡±

    Two to three hundred Healers, Felun wrote diligently. He ignored the rest of it; the Healer had started making extraneous comments early on, diversionary anecdotes that Iolite tutted at, but listened to nonetheless with a level of patience that eluded Felun. The longer they kept this up, the more meandering the replies seemed to get. Was it late, yet? Hard to tell in a place with no windows. His eyelids drooped.

    Iolite twitched her spines. ¡°How many apprentices are there at any given time?¡±

    ¡°Hmm. Not sure. I had three¡ªfour.¡± The Healer paused. ¡°You want to hear about apprentices? I¡¯ll tell you about apprentices. The smart ones leave and become Menders or apothecaries. If you keep going¡ªthey do tell you what they¡¯ll do to you. They don¡¯t lie. Choosing-day is¡­past now? Lost time in stasis. I was going to tell them all to get out, scare them off¡ª¡± He gave a bitter laugh. ¡°But, what am I saying, of course some continue. Wasn¡¯t wholly sane at the point. If you¡¯re good enough, lucky enough¡­you¡¯ll be longer-lived than a siphoner, freer than a courtling, richer than a Magician. All you have to do is make it out alive. It used to be worse, you know? We still lose a few each year. If you¡¯ve killed any of mine, I¡¯ll kill you.¡±

    Suria hissed, stepped forwards from Iolite¡¯s side, and kicked a clod of earth at the Healer¡¯s head. He ducked. She snarled, wings flaring wide.

    ¡°At ease, Suria,¡± Iolite cut in. ¡°You forget your place.¡±

    Suria stiffened and took a clipped step back, dipping her head. Felun caught a glimpse of her expression before she schooled it, and winced at what he saw there.

    ¡°My apologies,¡± Suria said.

    ¡°Noted, Suria,¡± Iolite said, tipping her head to one side. ¡°Heed that¡ªsomeone is returned. And from what I can hear, it is without our¡­requested companion. Alas. I do expect they have information to report. It will not be pleasant, will it?¡±

    Suria¡¯s spines flattened. ¡°¡­The second time is less unpleasant,¡± she said, glancing carefully at the floor. ¡°Usually. Though I expect with the quantity you have provided her, and the assumption of a failure regardless¡­¡±

    Iolite tutted. ¡°Felun, fetch my equipment in from the corridor. Hurry.¡±

    Felun set the parchment down and obliged. Iolite had left her bag¡ªor at least, she called it a bag¡ªa little ways outside of the room: an orange, jelly-like lump that was cold and unpleasantly slippery to the touch. He grabbed it gingerly, cringing as it gurgled and pulsated in his hands. He wasn¡¯t completely sure that this thing wasn¡¯t somehow alive; it reminded him of the natural wildlife in shallower, calmer dungeons¡ªharmless, amorphous shapes slurping their way along the walls and ceiling. He wondered if the thing he held felt any pain.

    Shuddering, he hurry-walked back into the room. Iolite awaited, her attention turned away from the Healer prisoner. Suria more than made up in her stead; her gaze was trained on him, every line of her body poised and wary.

    The Healer¡¯s gaze flitted over to the thing sloshing around in Felun¡¯s grip.

    ¡°Oh,¡± he said blearily. ¡°What accursed torture does that entail?¡±

    ¡°Silence,¡± Iolite said, striding over to pluck her so-called bag out of Felun¡¯s hands. ¡°Be out of my way, now. Suria¡ª¡±

    ¡°Gladly,¡± Suria said, and Felun felt the edge of a silence-field flare to life on the other side of the room.

    Iolite held the bag up, plunged her hand into its center, and rooted around, heedless of the way it twisted in her grasp. She withdrew her hand with a sticky squelch, grasping a handful of dried herbs, potion vials, and a cauldron the size of a teapot. She cast the bag aside. It hit the ground with a faint mewling sound. Felun tried not to feel sorry for it.

    From the tunnel leading out into the safehouse came the sound of shallow wingbeats. Iolite murmured words in the faerie language as she crumbled herbs into her cauldron. Spell-light glowed at her fingertips as she melded the concoction together.

    Felun turned back to the doorway just as a pair of bodies blundered in. For a moment, he wasn¡¯t sure what he was looking at: rain-spotted wings, a tangle of limbs collapsing. Then he blinked, and Curlew staggered upwards and away, leaving a silvery mess crumpled on the ground.

    It was Saiph, he realised, damp and shivering all over, save for where wisps of smoke leaked from her joints.

    Iolite¡¯s cauldron hissed with spell-wrought steam, powder-motes puffing in a cloud as she combined the ingredients, tipped in the vials of potion, swirled the contents around. She shouldered Curlew aside, ignored whatever he was saying with hissing faery-words, and pried Saiph¡¯s jaw open. In went the makeshift cauldron-mixture, bubbling bright blue.

    Saiph jerked upright, spluttering and coughing. Iolite held her jaw shut and braced an arm against her back, keeping her from choking. Her wings shivered and her tail spasmed from base to tip before going still. She cried out something in the faerie language, sharp sounds between jittery coughs.

    ¡°It will settle,¡± Iolite said, placing a hand to her brow. ¡°Curlew, it was you who carried her home?¡±

    Curlew said some more things that Felun couldn¡¯t understand. Whatever it was, it made Iolite shake her head and sigh.

    ¡°She will recover in time,¡± Iolite said. ¡°And Silverwater?¡±

    She paused as Curlew explained.

    ¡°Yes,¡± she said when he was done. ¡°I am aware. He has his instructions. As for Saiphenora¡­she could not achieve the objective? I will speak with you all at a later time. Recover first. I thank you for your assistance and I am sure that Saiphenora does, too. After she rests.¡± The last part, she said with a pointed, almost hostile glance. ¡°There is lichen tea aplenty. Do make use of it this time; it would be a shame if I were to have restocked for naught.¡±

    Saiphenora tried to speak. Curlew hushed her with a flicker of spines, a soft swish of his tail, a select few words in the faery language. He edged in and helped her upright; Suria took a half-step forwards herself, before Iolite shook her head and jerked her tail towards where the Healer sat, bound and silenced but still conscious, his gaze flicking from faery to faery.

    ¡°Now,¡± Iolite said as Curlew and Saiph left the room. ¡°What to do with the human?¡±

    She turned and walked up to the edge of Suria¡¯s silence-field, wings flared blank and wide; not an outright threatening gesture, but enough that she looked almost twice as large. The Healer watched them from his side of the spell, face still set in that fearless expression that Felun didn¡¯t quite believe.

    ¡°It will be a little while before I can make full use of certain spellworks,¡± Iolite said, and began to pace. ¡°Items to attend to in the meantime, items to wait upon. The information, that is of modest use, but there is only so much juice one can squeeze from a fruit grown in drought. Am I correct, Felun?¡±

    He almost startled at his name. ¡°¡­Yes?¡± he ventured.

    ¡°The Scionsong-mage has truer knowledge,¡± Iolite said with a gleam of teeth. ¡°The fact that Saiphenora could not play the part of retrieval speaks volumes. What say you?¡±

    His skin prickled at her speaking to him. He had the distinct impression that he really didn¡¯t know anything useful. Was this a test? Did she just like listening to herself talk? He was already their Breaker. What the hell else did she want from him?

    ¡°Saiph is¡­already really strong, I guess?¡± he asked, hoping that would be the end of that.

    ¡°The mageling is located within wards,¡± Suria cut in, ¡°of sorts. Saiphenora is not¡­to blame, as such.¡±

    ¡°Blame?¡± Iolite said with a too-bright tone. ¡°Who is to speak of blame, or wards for that matter? No, the wards were clearly less of a danger than the mage-magic itself. I am certain that Saiphenora did her very best, against a harsh adversary. This Healer-mage here, he took many to subdue; it is understandable that Saiphenora could not succeed alone against a similar individual. Very understandable.¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± Suria said. An almost-frown tugged at her mouth. ¡°We are stretched quite thin.¡±

    ¡°Oh?¡± Iolite asked, her tone turning. ¡°Thin, you say. Are you presuming I do not know? That I do not feel it in every step, every breath, every nudge of wing and weave?¡± She paused, and a flicker of blue-black rippled over the tips of her wings. ¡°Do you have splendid ideas to share, Suria? Do you suggest I send the majority of our living resources in pursuit of a secondary goal? Do you understand the limits by which I work, so far from the Hive? So far from our Titania¡¯s entirely voluntary aid?¡±

    ¡°Your Titania,¡± Suria said sullenly. The words dropped into the silence like stones into a murky pond.

    Iolite tilted her head a fraction. ¡°Yes,¡± she said softly. ¡°My mistake. My Titania.¡±

    Suria twitched her spines and kept silent.

    ¡°Suria,¡± Iolite said, swishing the word in her mouth like water. ¡°What is it that we do to overcome such obstacles? How is it that the hunters of old feasted on the armour-scaled laminilva? How did they pry the sweet flesh of cochleamossa from its shell?¡±

    ¡°They pried it open,¡± Suria replied, glancing over at Felun. ¡°Fully shattered it, if they could. Though I do not suggest you send the boy.¡±

    ¡°One attempt was plenty, Suria,¡± Iolite said. A hiss danced on the edge of her voice. ¡°I do not burn my syrup to acquire the soot that remains.¡±

    For a moment, Felun tensed, sure that she would do something¡ªloom over Suria, maybe, or start to shout. Then all the tension dropped out of her and her wings drifted down to drape across her back.

    ¡°No,¡± she said with a shake of her head. ¡°What some hunters did, was they coaxed the creature out of its planispiral as the others rallied for more. It did not always work, I have read. This may not work now. But an exhausted prey is easier to claim at a later date. We cannot let the matter consume us, but we cannot let it rest in the meantime, either.¡±

    ¡°You are speaking of bait,¡± Suria said.

    ¡°Yes.¡± Iolite beamed and her wings glowed with her, throwing ephemeral pinpricks of light onto the walls. ¡°Precisely. You are getting into stride, aren¡¯t you?¡±

    ¡°I am glad you think so. That is to say, I am glad to be of use.¡±

    ¡°Cut his fingers off,¡± Iolite agreed.

    Suria paused visibly, every little motion gone still. For a moment, she didn¡¯t even blink.

    Felun froze, too. Had he heard that correctly? He glanced across the room to the Healer, sitting tied with spell-twine and still looking faintly nauseous. Silence-fields worked both ways, didn¡¯t they? Suria¡¯s must work that way, because he hadn¡¯t moved, save for to meet Felun¡¯s eyes when he looked over.

    ¡°Well, Suria?¡± Iolite asked, sounding faintly puzzled. ¡°It shouldn¡¯t be difficult.¡±

    ¡°No,¡± Suria said slowly. ¡°Not difficult.¡±

    She placed her hand on her forearm, readying the pull of chitin, and Felun felt every muscle of his body tense. Felt his mouth go dry. Pictured flowing gold sharpened into a blade, sawing through bone. Remembered that one pile of severed arms outside the Ironport dungeon¡ªaccidents, or curse-touched. Amputated quickly and out of necessity, and yet¡­

    ¡°W-wait,¡± he stammered out.

    Iolite turned her head and stared him down. He¡¯d expected it. His pulse jumped anyway.

    ¡°Yes, Felun? You are free to leave the room.¡± She nodded thoughtfully at her own words. ¡°You are an obligate diurnal, of course. And you may not want to observe, I understand. By all means, have an early night. I have heard that Winterbird has cooked¡­soup. You may wish to partake.¡±

    She started to turn away, dismissal evident, and he hesitated.

    It would be easy to run along, he thought. Her attention dropping off him was like the relief of sinking into shadows on a sweltering day, like unexpected shelter from the heavy beat of high summer sun. The Healer had pretty much tried to kill him. It wouldn¡¯t be any worse than having opened that castle door.

    Doors, he thought. Doors and locks. Dungeon¡ªdungeon doors. Dungeonrunners missing fingers and arms and lips and chin and half their fucking skulls and the guilt, the sick familiarity of it all weighing on his chest¡ª

    ¡°Wait,¡± he said again. He had to force it out, his throat almost closing around the word. ¡°Maybe¡­maybe there¡¯s a better way?¡±

    Suria¡¯s head snapped round at his voice. Iolite turned to face him again, too. This time, it was colder and slower. Whole body angled, wings shifting ever-so-slightly.

    ¡°Pardon, Felun?¡± Iolite asked, all frost-point politeness.

    ¡°It¡¯s just,¡± he said over his pounding heart. ¡°Maybe cutting his fingers off might make it more difficult for him to um, do what you want him to do.¡±

    ¡°What is the problem here, Felun?¡± Iolite asked, a note of irritation creeping into her voice. ¡°I am very patient. I understand that you can be squeamish about these sorts of things, so I gave you the opportunity to leave. The mage can regenerate himself. He will be fine.¡±

    ¡°Maybe you should ask him first?¡± Felun tried. ¡°There are limits, sometimes. He might not be like Suria and her¡­¡± he waved a nervous hand, indicating the half-a-knife she¡¯d pulled from her skin.

    ¡°Hm,¡± Iolite said. ¡°Then perhaps just one or two may suffice, for bait. I do not think human casting is reliant on possessing all ten fingers, is it?¡±

    ¡°Uh,¡± Felun said, scrambling for better words, more convincing reasons. ¡°You know¡ªif this is bait, it might not be very good bait. Cause, you know, Scionsong¡¯s going to think it¡¯s a threat. She¡¯s not going to know the fingers came from another Healer. Our noses don¡¯t work like yours; a bunch of fingers could be from anyone.¡±

    ¡°Then you can write me a note to go with them,¡± Iolite said. There was a look in her eye that made his stomach turn. ¡°Stop with this childish nonsense, Felun. We must give her something compelling to follow. I heard about your little incident, by the way. Don¡¯t tell me that you harbour such touching quantities of sympathy for a fellow human who attempted to asphyxiate you.¡±

    He blinked, remembered the makeshift garrote tightening across his throat, the feeling of suffocating¡­

    ¡°What about the fabric?¡± he blurted out.

    ¡°¡­Fabric,¡± Iolite said flatly.

    ¡°Yeah,¡± he said, latching onto the idea. ¡°He¡¯s got like, a uniform, right?¡± He gestured at the Healer, using the motion to distract from the way his hand trembled. ¡°All that red, on that type of fabric, it¡¯s like the thaumaturge¡¯s cloak. You could take some, and that badge. She¡¯ll recognise those way more easily and it won¡¯t spook her as much. I know he can live without some fingers, but she can¡¯t know that without seeing the rest of him. If she thinks you killed someone like her, she¡¯ll just, like, run. So, um. Yeah.¡±

    Iolite stared him down. He could feel himself start to sweat under her gaze.

    ¡°The boy may be right,¡± Suria said quietly. ¡°It is an unusual weave.¡±

    She still had the beginnings of a knife coming out of her forearm. She hadn¡¯t moved to draw it further out.

    ¡°Is that so, Suria,¡± Iolite said slowly, tilting her spines back. ¡°I see. Felun¡¯s idea does have some merit. In which case, perhaps you should manage this as you see fit.¡± She turned on her heel and strode past him, into the flaking plaster tunnel. Her voice echoed as it grew fainter. ¡°I tire of thankless, unending work. Lay your bait. Learn your lesson when she does not bite.¡±

    An unsettling quiet settled in her wake, still air and low-light. Felun felt both relieved and completely frozen in place. The Healer still sat in his bindings, cut off from the world.

    Suria let the knife-point coming out of her arm sink back down. She dispelled her silence-field with a gesture. The Healer lifted his head. He winced as she stalked over, knelt, and tore off a fair slice of his cloak.

    ¡°Why¡ª¡± the Healer said, and twitched when she moved to take his badge.

    ¡°Keep quite still, mage,¡± she said, the warning hissing up from the back of her throat. ¡°Or I shall kick you again.¡±

    ¡°What¡¯s the point?¡± the Healer asked. ¡°That silver¡¯s not worth much once melted down, you know.¡±

    ¡°Iolite wanted to cut off your fingers,¡± Felun said. ¡°I asked her not to. You¡¯re welcome.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re not serious.¡± The Healer baulked. ¡°I¡¯m a Healer, not a¡ªan amphibian. It doesn¡¯t work like that. My colleagues wouldn¡¯t occupy themselves hunting for organs, elsewise.¡±

    ¡°Your kingdom is but a stew of slow-rotting filth,¡± Suria remarked. She walked away, features scrunching up as she glanced at the fabric and badge in her grasp. ¡°Hmph. Come along, breaker-boy.¡±

    The dungeon door clanged shut behind them. Felun sensed the pulse of locking magic that followed¡ªlike pins digging into his fingertips¡ªand shivered.

    ¡°¡­Um, hey,¡± he said when they were a fair ways out into the tunnel. ¡°Thanks.¡±

    ¡°Whatever for?¡± Suria asked, without so much as a sideways glance.

    ¡°You know. With Iolite.¡±

    ¡°Here is a suggestion,¡± Suria said. ¡°You may find it beneficial to remain in her good graces.¡±

    ¡°Yeah.¡± He swallowed. The corridor felt airless all of a sudden¡ªthe air heavy with the weight of earth bearing down upon his head. Like a dungeon-tunnel, almost. ¡°I, uh, I know that. Thanks anyway.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t thank me just yet,¡± Suria said, finally deigning to glance down at him. She held up the red cloth. ¡°I need you to write a little note.¡±

 2.18 - Locus Coeruleus

    Parsec

    White pebbles spread out around her like a sea of chalk. Here, there was silence. The rock upon which she sat had the illusion of being sun-warmed; an almost-breeze tickled her spines. She shut her eyes for a moment, imagining herself surface-side. The Archives were good at pretending.

    ¡°Thank you,¡± she told Orion as she set down her cup. The tick of the Hive thrummed beneath her fingertips, more urgently now. ¡°I regret I cannot stay longer.¡±

    It probably wasn¡¯t him, she thought tiredly. The Archivist¡¯s role was too much of a keystone, too deeply entrenched within the Hive rhythm for a betrayal to come from his quarter. It likely wasn¡¯t any of the four other Generals she¡¯d investigated, either, or any of the processors directly involved with the Titania¡¯s meals.

    He dipped his head, and his third eye brightened in understanding. ¡°Work well,¡± he said. ¡°I will have an attendant see you away.¡±

    She nodded. If she were in his place, she would take every spare scrap of tranquillity that she could get. An attendant scuttled past her on a dozen delicate legs. She followed.

    The Archives unfurled like a flower on her way out. Little passages opened at the edges of her vision, book-lined corridors that tempted and beckoned with shining trinkets: spheres of glass, runes etched over horn, small things that caught her eye. They were appearing with greater frequency as of late; it was as if the magic of the Archives knew her troubles, was baiting her with promises of knowledge. It was a pity that all these promises would merely lead her to Venera¡¯s resting place.

    The attendant skipped over a mound of unsorted parchments as it guided her onwards. She inhaled the dry paper-scent: aged cellulose and decaying glue, benzaldehydes frozen in stasis. It was oddly comforting, a reminder that the Archives, strange though they might be, were helpful and unfailing. If the inner sanctum was the heart of the Hive, then the Archives carried the blood and lymph, distributing magic on fine capillaries to keep each piece afloat. Alas, the only thing that could help her here was perhaps Venera¡¯s corpse. She had already checked for poison. Venera¡¯s attendants had, too. The other generals had concluded it was a natural failing of her body. So if it had been a poison, it was not of the usual kind. And she was no closer to finding the General who had smuggled it in.

    Orion¡¯s attendant stopped in the Archive lobby, which bustled with several more of its kind. Stray scouts consulted with them, bringing items for perusal. Most were turned away, spines drooping with disappointment. Others, upon the acceptance of their offerings, beamed with pride. Parsec hid her flicker of amusement behind an attentive tail-twitch. It was almost endearing, how enthusiastic they were¡ªhow young and content.

    All these years later, and the contentment was still a novel concept.

    She winged along her usual route to the inner sanctum. The rhythm of the Hive pulsed along as usual: sparks of magic, material carted around, the smell of wet loam. The warmth of belonging coursed through her body, to the very ends of each wingtip.

    She no longer had Venera, she reminded herself, but she still had this.

    ===

    Parsec stood at the doorway, politely ceremonial. She kept perhaps a quarter of her attention on the hall at her back; a lost, lone seeker might fly to the outermost sanctum undetected if their intentions were not strong enough, but Hive rhythms existed for a reason. And this was the armoured heart of the inner sanctum, sheathed in Archival protection, the place only a Titania could go. To let her guard slip here would be unforgiveable.

    Several paces away inside the collection chamber, Segin leaned over and brought up another mouthful of honey. Airborne sweetness filled the room as the glands at her throat pulsed with light.

    This place, of all places, had not changed. As far as Parsec knew, it never did. It was the only part of the inner sanctum to remain as what it was with Venera, and Venera¡¯s predecessor, and¡ªaccording to Perihelion and others¡ªthose before her. The walls were smooth and curved, like a clay bowl. The floor scooped in towards the way-pipe at the very center. It was almost fully dark; only flickers of attendant-light illuminated the place.

    The last few drops of honey dripped from Segin¡¯s jaw into the way-pipe. Stone moved like muscle, closed over the golden deposit and sent it away. Parsec wondered, not for the first time, whether it hurt to produce. Venera had never trembled or sighed as Segin did now. Perhaps she had been better at hiding it.

    She offered her arm as Segin staggered over to the doorway. The successor¡¯s touch was a notch cooler than it should be, clammy and leaden.

    ¡°Will you be requiring the recovery chamber?¡± Parsec asked, more out of formality than anything else.

    ¡°Yes.¡± Segin sent her attendants scurrying past them in a wave.

    Parsec allowed herself to be used as a crutch down the dark hall; once out, Segin¡¯s salvation lay in the first room on the right. The attendants were already there¡ªscurrying to and fro, passing weaves and morsels, bowls and cups. Parsec walked her over to the waiting nest of moss and linen and resumed post by the wall when she was not immediately dismissed.

    An attendant passed Segin a bowl of fortified nutrient broth. She took a sip, twitched her spines weakly, and gave an approximation of a smile.

    ¡°This does not quite take the taste away,¡± she said. ¡°Perhaps some more shellfish would help.¡±

    Parsec stilled the twitch in her spines before it could give her thoughts away. The Titania¡¯s daily meals stemmed from a workload of approximately one general, a dozen hunters, four processing teams arranged in a line, and a minimum of two of her own attendants. Parsec knew this, because Venera had made optimisation changes¡ªand Parsec had been the one to carry them out. The numbers themselves accounted for Segin¡¯s meals, but in truth, the Titania¡¯s life was carried upon the back of the entire Hive. And yet, Segin wanted more? She supposed it was not unreasonable. But it was certainly unusual.

    ¡°I can send a missive to General Nephele if you wish,¡± Parsec said.

    Diving for shellfish was inefficient. Sorting and processing, even more so. The queen could only be fed on the purest sustenance by design. The shellfish, as far as Parsec recalled, were only provided to supplement the Titania¡¯s tastes; there were better sources of zinc and fatty acids. But what the Titania wanted, the Titania usually got.

    Happiness and healthfulness, Nephele had once told her, were key to maintaining adequate saturation of magic in the Hive honey. If that meant allowing for more solid food than usual, then so be it. Privately, Parsec thought that Venera had never been so finicky.

    ¡°If it¡¯s no trouble,¡± Segin said, gulping down the rest of her broth.

    ¡°Of course,¡± Parsec said.

    Midsummer was fast approaching. She wondered if this year¡¯s drop of honey would taste any different.

    ¡°Have you been feeling quite welcome enough?¡± Segin asked inanely.

    Parsec blinked. ¡°My pardon, successor?¡±

    ¡°It is¡ªsimply, well,¡± Segin tilted her wings bashfully. ¡°I have heard that you came all the way from the shattered lands.¡±

    ¡°I arrived twelve years ago,¡± Parsec said, suppressing yet another twitch. ¡°I assure you that I am well-integrated into the Hive.¡±

    ¡°Oh,¡± Segin said. ¡°Well, um. Yes! I am sure that you provide singularly excellent guidance for our newcomers.¡±

    She, in fact, did no such thing on account of rarely having a cause to meet any. If Segin were a fast learner, she would have already known that it was Dysnomia who tended to work with such arrivals.

    ¡°I do my best,¡± she said, as she thought: newcomers?

    She had fallen behind on her lesser parchments, spending extra hours in her bower catching up on lost sleep. She¡¯d only felt slightly guilty; there weren¡¯t usually enough of them to make note of and again, they were largely Dysnomia¡¯s problem. Perhaps she was looking in the wrong place. Perhaps the roots of betrayal had not stretched quite so high up to the level of her fellow generals. It was a charmingly optimistic hope, but a thread to follow all the same.

    ¡°The ah, your wings, for instance,¡± Segin said. ¡°They look beautifully synthesised. Are they of a shattered-lands tradition?¡±

    ¡°Somewhat,¡± Parsec replied. ¡°Is there anything else you require of me?¡±

    She had mirrored Venera¡¯s feather-like wings in a gesture of loyalty. It had been a long process, to metamorphose. Segin would not understand.

    Segin swallowed and looked away. ¡°No,¡± she said. ¡°Thank you, General Parallax. You are dismissed.¡±

    Parsec left Segin to her attendants and winged out the door, her attention wandering loose. She almost clipped against Nephele going full tilt on her way out, saved only by her own reflexes and a moment¡¯s warning of smoke-scent.

    ¡°Shiver in the rhythm,¡± Nephele half-shouted into her face, smelling of fresh rain and forest char. Her eyes were dark, the pupils blown wide. ¡°Don¡¯t you feel it? Hurry!¡±

    Then she zipped past her, straight to the Titania. Parsec laid her spines back and followed; she was faster than Nephele, could¡¯ve easily gotten to Segin first. But she did the polite thing and held back such that they landed at the same time.

    Nephele hurtled into the room, almost falling onto Segin as she shook her awake.

    ¡°What,¡± Segin managed to get out, before Nephele grasped her in her arms and hauled her from the hollow of her nest.

    ¡°Out,¡± Nephele commanded. ¡°Titania, you must get out¡ªnow!¡±

    Parsec stepped aside as Nephele half-dragged a bewildered Segin out of the recovery chamber.

    ¡°What is the problem?¡± Parsec asked sharply.

    She tensed as her senses expanded, sifting through the currents of scent about the hallway. There had been no one here in the last few hours save for Segin, Nephele, and herself. Of that, she was certain.

    ¡°Not the scent-rhythm,¡± Nephele said. ¡°The magic¡ªdo you feel it? Surely, now?¡±

    Parsec shut her eyes, blocked her nose, and concentrated.

    The Hive thrummed around her as it always did. Lines of magic, branching like veins, carrying a tide of information: pathways getting clogged up in the second-level north quarter, groups re-routing through the smaller passages, synthesisers making progress on the weaving wing. Interspersed throughout was the steady surge of the Archives, backed up with the weight of years upon years, with the drift and pull of books and broken treasures alike.

    ¡°Where?¡± Parsec asked, a moment before she found it: a well-hidden creature clinging to the pipeline of Archive-magic with parasitic suckers, a hundred little scrabbling legs and hungry pincers cloaked over with a mask of parchment-scent and forgotten sunbeams. And in the mask, the slightest tear, a fraying at the seams¡ªthe tear through which she burrowed in and saw the true measure of the thing.

    ¡°Right in front of you!¡± Nephele shrieked.

    ¡°I see it,¡± said Parsec, eyes snapping back open.

    From the ceiling of the recovery chamber emerged a mottled grey tendril. About the width of her tail and lengthening rapidly, the fleshy tip peeled back to expose a delicate, glittering point. It quested about the air like a soldier scenting out blood.

    Instinct took over. Parsec vaulted over the both of them, placing herself between the thing and Nephele, who was busy clutching a slack-jawed Segin. Magic welled up at her jaw, in her fingertips, and crackled down the length of her tail. She slammed a shield down across the doorway, thick as a handspan and still translucent around to see through. Just in time¡ªthe tendril lunged and hit the other side with a meaty, wet thwack.

    ¡°What in Hive¡¯s name?¡± Segin asked, diaphanous wings gone deathly pale.

    ¡°It was meant for you, Titania,¡± Nephele said, pulling her away from the doorway. ¡°Someone sent it here, poisoned the Archival flow.¡±

    ¡°No,¡± Parsec whispered. A coldness blanketed her, like first-winter¡¯s frost. ¡°No, it cannot be. Orion has no cause to¡­¡±

    She felt the rhythm of the sanctum stir, a jumble of fellow generals fast arriving. They burst in moments later, crowding the hallway, some almost scorching the air with the speed at which they decelerated. The corridor exploded into a flurry of noise and scent.

    The tendril reared back and struck again, whip-crack cutting through the air. Parsec felt her shield shudder.

    ¡°Oh, oh dear,¡± Segin whimpered. ¡°General Nephele, I¡­my greatest thanks¡­¡±

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    ¡°Out,¡± Nephele commanded. ¡°Back out, all of you. Here is the Titania, all safe. Secure the sanctum, you can have your gawking later. Atlas, Cetus, have the Archivist apprehended. Keep ahold of that shield, Parallax.¡±

    Parsec shouldered her budding resentment aside and made a sound of acknowledgment. From behind her shield, the tendril drew back to lunge once more.

    ===

    Nephele had organised a secure zone. Segin sat at the very center, sipping at a bowl of nutrient broth. In all the commotion, Parsec had waited several long minutes before Perihelion had finally noticed the imminent strain on her magic and ordered the immediate requisition of blockading spell-stones from the Archives. That had taken another half-hour, on account of the Archivist being forcibly indisposed. By the time they¡¯d gotten the spell-stones activated and the recovery room quarantined, Parsec felt in sore need of some nutrient broth herself.

    The main chamber was still filled with generals milling about. Parsec gave her limbs a much-needed stretch and watched from off to the side. She tried to withhold judgment on the matter of Orion. Archivist Orion, who would never¡ª

    It wasn¡¯t necessarily Orion, she thought. The Archival flow could be accessed from areas other than its deepest source. Perhaps it would be easier for the Archivist to manipulate it, yes. Perhaps the Archivist was the obvious answer, the easy target for Nephele to latch upon in her panic. But all those others passing through, the scouts in the lobby, perhaps they could have been the unwitting carrier of such a weapon, a delayed, self-perpetuating construct formed by schismatists¡­

    This was all speculation, of course. She did not think herself a fool; the simplest answer was often right for good reason. But she knew Orion, knew him better than most. He was no leering gravekeeper. He did not have a mind addled by parchments, as others thought. Something about all this sat uncomfortably in her chest, tucked away like a bead of poison.

    ¡­Had it truly been a poison?

    Venera had said it had felt as such. But what was venom but a poison by another route? Grim certainty lodged itself into her core: this was how Venera had died. Dozing off in the recovery room, undisturbed; the Archival armature of safety corrupted into a hidden vector, a slender needle-point slipped into the gap between a joint. No evidence in the food, nothing but a slight ache that could be easily brushed off as an aftereffect of synthesising so much honey, no ill effects until much, much later.

    No fault in its cloaking, either. Not until now, with Segin. It was really an injustice, she thought. An injustice that Nephele¡¯s keen senses had saved Segin and not Venera.

    ¡°Are you alright?¡± Perihelion¡¯s voice cut in from over her shoulder, rousing her from her thoughts.

    She gave her arm one last stretch. ¡°Well enough.¡±

    ¡°Good. Fast work you did, back there.¡±

    She did not need to hear it, but it felt gratifying all the same. Across the room, Nephele fussed over Segin, draping thick weaves over her shoulders to wide-eyed adoration.

    ¡°Thank you,¡± she said. He offered her a cup of restorative potion and she took it gratefully. It tasted of dust and wintergreen. She wondered if Orion had been the one to brew it. ¡°How goes the situation with the Archivist?¡±

    ¡°He came willingly. Still in questioning, I¡¯m heading there now. Want to come with?¡±

    Parsec eyed Nephele, still preening under Segin¡¯s attention.

    ¡°Yes,¡± she said. ¡°Of course.¡±

    ===

    ¡°It was not my doing,¡± Orion said.

    Seven layers of salt-dusted spell-circle lay between them, each one chalked down with the lightest of touches, fine enough to rival Archival script itself. Perihelion had murmured that they had been formed with Dysnomia¡¯s help. Perhaps the girl had something to her after all.

    Parsec stared at the circles from behind iron bars. On the far side of the dungeon-hall lay his forty attendants, squashed into cages of their own. These layers of protection¡ªalmost laughable. The Orion she knew could not fight his way out of a wet parchment if he tried. Or perhaps not laughable. Had he been something else, all along?

    ¡°Then whose?¡± she asked.

    ¡°He claims he doesn¡¯t know,¡± Cetus said wearily. ¡°We have been speaking in spirals.¡±

    ¡°Archivist Orion,¡± she said. ¡°Give us cause to believe you.¡±

    ¡°If he has no evidence to the contrary¡ª¡± Atlas broke in.

    ¡°I do not know,¡± Orion said, a trace of desperation threaded into his voice. ¡°The Archivist is not the master of the Archives. The Archivist is in service to it¡ªI read. I brew. I archive. I do not control the flow in the way you seem to think.¡±

    ¡°But you can influence it,¡± Atlas pressed. ¡°Enough to send a working through.¡±

    Perihelion looked disturbed. ¡°Does the brewing of this working fall under the expertise of an Archivist?¡±

    Orion hunched his shoulders, wings drooping. ¡°Please. The construct is not mine. I sensed it at the very moment you did.¡±

    Atlas opened his mouth, but Parsec lashed her tail, commanding silence.

    ¡°Will you be able to prove it, if we bring you a piece?¡± she asked.

    ¡°Yes,¡± Orion said. ¡°If you will believe me.¡±

    ¡°General Eltanin is on his way with a sample,¡± Perihelion said.

    She exhaled slowly, forcing herself to relax. Perhaps it wasn¡¯t to be Orion. Perhaps it was to be¡ª

    ¡°Halt!¡± Eltanin cried out, his voice floating across the hall. ¡°My fellow Generals, you must bear witness.¡± He glided across the hall and alighted in front of them, holding something out in his hand. ¡°There has been a change to the proceedings.¡±

    The item he held was a simple vial, marked by neither paper nor scent-label. Parsec frowned. The liquid inside was clear; water, or perhaps blood at first glance. But as she gazed upon it, it began to twist in quality, growing foggier and grainier, then clear again, stepping between refractive indices as if in a dance.

    ¡°That does not appear to be a piece of the construct,¡± Perihelion said, his spines twitching with annoyance. ¡°I requested¡ª¡±

    ¡°The assassination-construct is neutralised,¡± said Eltanin, speaking over him. ¡°This vial was matched to the poison within it.¡±

    ¡°Falsehoods,¡± Orion said. ¡°I do not keep poisons within my Archives. You would have had to dive into the far-sea to find that.¡±

    ¡°I did not have to search so far,¡± said Eltanin. ¡°This was hidden in your quarters, Parallax.¡±

    Silence fell upon the hall like a pebble into a still lake. For a moment, Parsec¡¯s mind felt disjointed from her form, flung out of phase.

    ¡°My pardon?¡± she asked. Her nerves felt numb, raw with disbelief.

    ¡°Do not take us for fools,¡± he spat, brandishing the vial. ¡°You are in partnership with the Archivist.¡±

    ¡°What?¡± asked Orion. ¡°No¡ªneither of us¡ª¡±

    ¡°See how he moves to support her claims? Is it not known that they are unusually close? Seize her!¡± Eltanin¡¯s cry echoed through the hall.

    Her fellow Generals glanced among themselves and hesitated to move.

    Several thoughts hit her at once: Eltanin was a liar. She had given him a key. Foolish, foolish General. Idiotic and naive.

    ¡°You were able to enter my quarters,¡± she said, and fought to remain calm. ¡°I gave you a key, and you placed it there.¡±

    ¡°You leverage words of espionage at me?¡± he asked. ¡°I have not entered your quarters before today. It was not even I who found the evidence.¡±

    She opened her mouth to argue that he had clearly entered her quarters, then stopped short.

    She had no documentation, on account of the key being an informal exchange. She had not thought of it, at the time. Foolishness, missteps one after the other. She had assumed serendipity¡ªthe same obvious conclusion drawn, the same goals. Why, then, had they not spoken up when Venera had died, when she¡¯d first proposed a formal investigation to Nephele? She cast her mind back: some, like Cetus and Nephele, had opposed without malice. Eltanin and Dysnomia had not spoken, had remained neutral. Neutral. What a well-masked lie.

    Eltanin continued speaking into the space of her stunned silence. ¡°We all had our quarters searched, Parallax. Titania Segin opened the ways.¡± He paused, then turned outwards to address the other three. ¡°Hrmm. Speaking of our Titania Segin, have none of you noticed the unfondness she harbours for our new successor? And was she not the last one to see the predecessor alive?¡±

    The word predecessor flicked a switch within her, shocking her back awake.

    ¡°You dare accuse me of killing Venera?¡± she asked. Coiled fury boiled in her core. ¡°You claim I do not serve Segin, that I betray my duty as General. You dare lie to my face, that you did not take my key and hide that vial.¡±

    ¡°And how would I fully hide my scent, upon hiding this vial?¡± Eltanin asked keenly. ¡°If I were to have crept into your chambers, you would have noted a trace.¡±

    ¡°I did not speak,¡± she hissed, ¡°because I gave you provisional permission and a key.¡±

    And because she had not noticed. There had been no scent amiss: had he learned to close his hydathodes, as she had?

    ¡°You infiltrated Leader General Perihelion¡¯s chambers,¡± Eltanin said. ¡°General Dysnomia was there to drop off reports. She told me you claimed provisional permission yourself. I wager that was a lie, wasn¡¯t it?¡±

    ¡°No. Dysnomia said she was there to¡ª¡± she said, before realising what she had done.

    Eltanin lifted his chin triumphantly. ¡°Aha. So you admit it.¡±

    Beside her, she felt Perihelion stiffen. ¡°¡­Parsec?¡± he asked. ¡°Did you¡ª¡±

    ¡°Dysnomia was going through his documents,¡± Parsec said, looking Eltanin in the eye. Her wingtips buzzed with bloodflow, with sizzling readiness. ¡°She claimed she was investigating him, investigating all of us, and so were you. You said it to my face.¡±

    ¡°I told her to deliver copies to my office,¡± Perihelion said slowly, his features creasing with disquietude. ¡°She was meant to be there, I gave her a provisional key. Parsec, what¡ª¡±

    ¡°General Parallax is a traitor,¡± Eltanin said.

    ¡°I was searching for Venera¡¯s killer,¡± she snarled. ¡°You, who¡ª¡±

    ¡°Killer?¡± Eltanin asked. ¡°What killer? We have all concurred that the predecessor passed of natural causes. Have you gone quite mad?¡±

    ¡°¡­Parallax,¡± Perihelion said slowly. ¡°Is it true?¡±

    ¡°She uses feigned loyalty as a shield,¡± Eltanin hissed. He turned to Perihelion, eyes blazing. ¡°She is from the shattered lands. She is not truly Hive-born¡ªshe is the one who knows outsider secrets. She can already hide her scent; who here can say whether she is able to fully detach herself from Hive rhythms? She must be detained.¡±

    Perihelion hesitated, reluctance flitting over his face. And then it was gone, washed over by a mask of grim determination that she knew all too well. He moved. The others of course, followed his lead.

    Time seemed to slow to a crawl; her thoughts raced like lightning over desert plain.

    Eltanin dared implicate her? He dared to say she was the traitor, having murdered Venera in cold blood? He had turned Perihelion to his side, the Leader General, the breaking point. She should have realised that sooner.

    Now, they would drag her to a cage of her own. He would lie and obfuscate to keep her locked there and out of the way as he played the other Generals. Some might argue her case; either way, she would be contained for who-knew-how-long. With the false credence lent by saving the Titania from her, Eltanin would be free to enact whatever plans he wished.

    She¡¯d gone looking for a traitor. Well, she had her answer now.

    Perihelion¡¯s hand landed upon her shoulder. A defensive surge of magic crested within her chest.

    She did not like Segin, but she served her because she served the Hive. She could not do that if she were locked in a cage and Eltanin was running free. To surrender would be to lose. To resist would be seen as proof of guilt. There was no easy path here.

    She punched Perihelion in the face, full-strength and all-magic. Blue-black spellfire blasted him into the side of Orion¡¯s cage. He slid to the ground, dazed.

    He hadn¡¯t been expecting resistance; none of them had. She¡¯d cultivated a carefully nonviolent demeanour in the years following her integration; she¡¯d had to, after flying in from the Old World, what they now called shattered lands. They¡¯d had certain fears. She¡¯d done her best to subvert them; that bought her a precious few seconds.

    Eltanin lunged, too slow.

    Was this her recompense, she wondered bitterly as she knifed upwards.

    General Cetus had built himself for endurance, not speed. He used a sword, relied on it a little too much, and wasted time unsheathing it. Dodging Eltanin¡¯s lunge put her near him, so she broke his leg in passing. Spellfire sizzled off her fingertips as Cetus screamed and fumbled his strike; the blade clipped off the tips of two spines and opened a shallow cut along her side. She hardly felt it as she flew away; magic pulsed in her brainstem, glowed beneath her skin like a molten star.

    Atlas next. Harder to deal with, because he could keep up with her. And Perihelion, recovering now¡ªhis gaze locked onto her as he took to the air.

    She wanted nothing more than to kill Eltanin, for Venera¡¯s sake. She wanted it with an itch that chewed at her core, an urge that pulsed through as strongly as her battle magic did. But what she wanted was not the same as what she needed, and what she needed was to not lose to him. One regretful glance over her shoulder before she blazed her way out of the hall of cages, shooting past Dysnomia standing guard a ways further down the hall. Atlas followed, close on her tail¡ªshe sensed Dysnomia springing into motion, Perihelion flanking from further behind.

    Faster now, into spiraling back-ways to avoid encountering guards and passers-by, down semilunar passages tight enough for her wingtips to graze the sides. Scents flashed by in half-second flickers: moss, oranges, salt, rain, blood.

    Atlas was in her wake, close enough that her own slipstream made it easier for him. She pushed herself harder, wings straining; to stop now was to forfeit. Atlas alone, she could fight. Perihelion and Dysnomia also, she could not. Nor could she hope to prevail against the rest of the Generals, no doubt all alerted by now¡ªthe rhythm of the Hive buzzed frantically in her wake, sending signals of a defect, of something amiss. She felt the outer exits slam shut synchronously, gateways barred by earth and tar, guards buzzing to their stations.

    That was fine. Fleeing by that route would do her no good.

    Passageways started closing on her left and right, up and down, behind her and ahead. She winged left, into a tunnel of smooth stone; stone was harder to mould than clay or loam. And then up a pipe of marble, and down an offshoot of clear quartz and crushed glass. Three Generals and then some, further behind and out of sight now, but still following.

    The Hive was locking down, reshaping itself so quickly, almost too fast for her to keep up. She clenched her jaw and mapped out new routes, creating and discarding them as precious seconds ticked by. Flying fast was one of the few good things she was made for, the thing that had spared her the fate of the rest of her birth-Hive. It could not fail her now; magic roared beneath her skin. Terror and exhilaration spurred her forth.

    She was the enemy now, she realised. And at that thought, something broke inside her for a second time, snapped like a once-healed rib along the same fault line.

    Her Hive was gone, again.

    She shut down her scent glands a moment before she ripped through the membrane of scented string demarcating a locked zone, and burst into the Archive lobby.

    There was no time to hesitate; she flew into the stacks, parchments rustling in her wake. She reached out a hand and shot spellfire along the shelves, creating a cloud of loose paper and falling books in her wake. A shout echoed behind her, followed by the sound of a body hitting several tomes at full speed.

    Apologies, Orion, she thought, and a fresh ache bloomed in her chest at the damage she was causing. So very sorry, for it to have come to this. In the hours they¡¯d spent together, his love of the Archives permeated into every moment of spare quiet, every peaceful glance he cast over his domain. And now he was caged and she was destroying what he had awaiting him after his imprisonment¡ªthat was to say, if he had anything left to wait for, depending on what Eltanin said, depending on how her fellow Generals reacted. She hoped they would not kill him; perhaps she could spare him that by acting the fleeing scapegoat.

    She tore down another section of leather-bound tomes. Flying against Atlas, every second counted. He was out of sight now, but perhaps not for long. They were closely matched; she could feel herself starting to flag, and she needed every advantage she could take.

    She wove through the shelves, stayed low against the ground in the hope of being harder to see. The world blurred, only recognisable in flashes; past a mound of unsorted parchments, past the sea of white pebbles where they took their tea. The dark shape of Venera¡¯s tomb loomed before her; she barely paused to wrench the doorway open before she flew inside.

    Lichens on bent boughs. Strawberry and pine. She scooped up Venera¡¯s body, death-shroud and all, before she blew a hole into the far side of the tomb and kept flying. Venera¡¯s body was an empty shell. It was not heavy. Not heavy at all.

    Burnt sugar, rotting wine. The Archives unfolded before her like a flower. Beckoning petals, hidden passages overflowing with green smells and thorny vines, dripping with tree sap and creosote. She picked one at random and flew further in. Past the tombs of other predecessors, swaths of sombre land filled with graves of ordinary folk, further in than she¡¯d ever been.

    Her mind felt frantic, poisoned; no words for the thoughts coursing through her head, not anymore. It was a river of pure purpose, sole intent: get out, flee safe, can¡¯t protect the Hive if locked away. The clusters of vine-speckled parchment were thinning now, giving way to fossilised roots and jagged monoliths, vaulted ceiling melting into greyness like the belly of a stormcloud.

    Down another passageway, lined with sand and dead moss. A dead end¡ªa chamber, perfectly round in shape. Her wingbeats stalled as she swerved to keep from crashing into the far wall¡ªsmooth and blank, looking as if it had been cast from marble. Venera¡¯s body almost slipped from her grasp. She glanced around frantically. Her gaze alighted upon a pool of water on the floor.

    A puddle at first glance, nothing else. Then, a heartbeat after she laid eyes upon it, the surface rippled like a membrane-gate, a doorway into twisted space. The ripple revealed shadows that gleamed, pinpricks of blue bioluminescence. The air suddenly smelled, overwhelmingly, of salt.

    The far-sea, she thought in a daze of lightheaded half-panic. Orion had spoken of it like a frontier, the knife-edge of his maps. Had she really flown all this way, so quickly? She had expected waves stretching to the horizon. But then, perhaps, like so many places within the Hive, the far-sea was reachable from more than one route.

    Parsec drew a breath, and dived.

 2.19 - As Above, So Below

    Parsec

    Water closed over her head, folding her into its glacial embrace. The chill soaked into her wings like nitrogen frost. Rage and desperation kept her warm; she cradled Venera¡¯s empty shell to her chest and fought to stay oriented.

    Fingers of coral scratched at her legs and tail. Saltwater stung her half-forgotten wounds. Further down, triplefins filtered through the cracks of sunken monoliths. Infrasound tickled at the edge of her hearing, snatches of subsonic song. She pictured the shapes of colossal creatures forming shoals, their calls reaching her from leagues further out.

    The last of the bubbles shimmied their way upwards. She tipped her head back; the narrow mouth of the puddle was gone. Light melted against water and rippled horizon-to-horizon. It was the keel of the far-sea now, painted with cusp-singularities and the curves of a mutable membrane.

    She kicked her way towards the surface, using her wings as makeshift flippers. The feather-filaments fanned wide in the current, and the trailing ends of Venera¡¯s death-shroud billowed in her wake. She had to thrash against the pull of the water before she breached the surface like a half-formed hatchling.

    The world shifted.

    There was no glow of magic; she surfaced, and the world simply shifted like a prism rotating a quarter-turn upon its point: the far-sea shuddered for less than a heartbeat, out of phase. A wave surged and swept her ashore in a tangle of limbs and death-shroud. The water dragged her in with the swash and left her spluttering on a stretch of damp, white sand.

    For a moment, she lay stunned and shivering. Her arms were still locked tight around Venera¡¯s body. Granules of sand clung to her spines.

    Segin, she thought blearily. Sing-song successor Segin in her false-safe sanctum. The Hive missing its Archivist, missing a General, lashed to the whims of a freshly-hatched Titania. Eltanin would also wish to place a puppet in Orion¡¯s stead, no doubt. So weakened, and for what purpose? She had missed something, or made poor assumptions along the way.

    Failure-General.

    She staggered upright and shook off her wings. Spat out a mouthful of saltwater. Stared down at Venera¡¯s empty shell in its death-shroud cocoon before looking away.

    The sky was a false thing, a flat greyness host to a dozen copies of what might be the exact same cloud, seen from different angles. No birds wheeled overhead, and no other creature moved on land. White sand stretched to the horizon. In the distance loomed a structure, a shape gleaming beneath false-sunlight. An arch? Some sort of gate.

    She turned around. The far-sea lapped at the tip of her trailing tail and extended to the perfect line of the opposite horizon. In the absence of the slightest breeze, water glided ashore in perfectly synchronous waves.

    Her wings were heavy with exhaustion. Even with the saltwater wrung out of them, they needed resting. She glanced back at the horizon-gate. It looked real enough.

    She slung the body over her shoulder and started walking.

    ===

    The white sand plain was formed of nothing more than dry air and salt. Absent were the scents of living brine-flesh and subtle decay; there were no filter feeders working in the slush of shore-side sand, and not so much as a single tuft of scraggly grass. It smelled like a dead place.

    The shattered lands had not smelled like this, on account of it being in the process of still-dying when she had left. Perhaps it would take another hundred years to wind down, unravel to its true end.

    She had only heard tales of the before-times, half-songs and weathered scent-weavings. Elder Pluteum had spoken of rivers flush with sturgeon, forests sparkling with birdsong, branches creaking under the weight of their own fruit. Fog banks had spilled over mountains in great, slow waves. Coywolves had raced down snow-dusted slopes under the vault of an endless sky, bluer than anything else in the world.

    To remember, he¡¯d said. To believe.

    It was foolishness to ever have even tried. The shattered lands had not been worth saving, even before it had burned her Hive alive.

    Parsec walked onwards.

    ===

    As she approached the horizon-gate, it dawned upon her that it was larger and further away than she had assumed. She re-evaluated her estimates: fifty feet, a hundred, two hundred, three, four, five. When at last she entered its shadow, she had stopped counting.

    A thin arch of plain stone as white as the surrounding sands: it towered over her such that she could not see the top by tipping her head back. It would take only a few steps to walk through. Beyond lay more sand, an endless plain dissolving into the greying distance. If this gate was exactly as it seemed, then she doubted there was another way out. Perhaps she would have to dive back into the far-sea. Perhaps this time, she would drown.

    She turned back on impulse to see if the far-sea was still there; a part of her still felt adrift, reality rattled loose. Yes¡ªthe line of water still coated the horizon. As she watched, a lump rose through the flatness: something swelling beneath the waves. A low, spine-rattling hum reached her from across the salt. Her teeth creaked in their sockets.

    Something was wrong. Very wrong. She did not wish to be near that thing when it emerged.

    She stepped through the gate.

    The world clicked like a pair of copper cogs, twitching one tooth over. The texture of the air changed, gone cool and slippery.

    When she opened her eyes, she stood in old, broken terrain: shattered shale, half-healed over with lichens and small grasses. In the distance sat the slumped-over ruins of a city.

    She took a step, and the world clicked forwards again.

    This time, she stood atop one of countless rolling hills coated with dead wildflowers. The sky was sulphur-yellow, the winds tinged with bitter dust.

    From somewhere behind her came a fast-familiar hum of infrasound. Through the soil, this time. A creature, she thought. A hungering beast. Then came a memory thick with the smell of blood and wet ash; she trembled despite herself.

    Another step, another place: knee-deep in marsh mud. The hunting-call still echoed behind her.

    Parsec started to run.

    Mountain. Forest. Hinterland. Landscapes peeled past like sheets of parchment, realms blooming outwards and away. Her shoulder ached where a cluster of Venera¡¯s spines dug against the joint. She did not know where she was going. It did not seem to matter, so long as she found the way out.

    Run, little prey, the call seemed to say. Run and run and run, else you will be eaten, swallowed whole.

    Fifty, sixty steps, perhaps more, before the Archives spat her out into a woodland clearing, ripe with the scent of pine and glittering shadows. An ink-black pond lay ahead. In its centre was a half-submerged throne, formed of rusted ironwork curlicues.

    She almost laughed in despair. This place was trying to tell her something.

    Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.

    She could not place her original intent in absconding with Venera¡¯s body. A tug of instinct, perhaps, or fevered delusion pretending to be instinct. Failure-General. Truly gone mad now.

    Necromancy was a dead art. Venera was gone.

    ¡°Please,¡± she said to an audience of none. ¡°If I cannot bring my Titania back from her death, let me leave her somewhere safe.¡±

    The Archives did not move as she approached the little lake. No shift came, no clicking of cogwheels.

    ¡°Is this a test?¡± she asked. ¡°The thing hunting me cannot be your doing. If these places wanted me dead, I would have long finished rotting by now.¡±

    The lake rippled, slower than the motion of ordinary water. It grew and grew, and woodland toppled to make way for it. Liquid inched over short grasses, swallowing ground with its hungry lapping. The half-throne sank and slipped beneath its surface.

    ¡°Very well,¡± Parsec said.

    She adjusted her grip on Venera¡¯s empty corpse and stepped into the lake. Dark water, slick as leeches, closed over her head.

    ===

    Water dripping. Poison-pricked veins. Iron brine.

    Liquid swirled around her, thick with other meanings. Flat-bodied planarians danced down her spine. Mucous membranes drifted freely, devoid of beating cilia. The touch of the Archives was surprisingly gentle, as smooth as shell.

    ~

    Cold. Polyps. Mesoglea.

    She¡¯d known a necromancer, once. Possibly among the last of them, a human from one of the fallen cities; sallow-faced and blister-mouthed, eyes crusted with rheum. He¡¯d come begging her old Hive for aid. They¡¯d had to turn him away: supplies were scarce and the dead he could raise were mindless things, little better than attendants.

    She¡¯d been young then, and still full of hope. She¡¯d slipped him one of her carry-baskets: good and strong, woven from dried reeds. The others had turned a blind eye; it was not as if they had enough food to fill baskets with.

    ¡°To spare the weight on your back,¡± she¡¯d said. ¡°It may serve well as a fish-trap, besides.¡±

    ¡°My thanks, kindly one,¡± he¡¯d replied.

    In retrospect, they had both known there were no fish left in the rivers.

    He had nodded with courtesy and defeat before carrying on his way, tattered cloak flapping in the wind. His creations shuffled behind him, a mindless rearguard.

    A scouting party found him the next day, barely two miles out. He¡¯d slit his own throat, ash-bitten fingers still curled over the knife.

    ~

    Tourmaline. Mirrors. Isoform.

    Necromancy was a dead art, but it was not possible to revive Venera even if the methods yet still lived. Magic did not triumph over mortality; it would have still been an empty shell, Venera in name only. Why had she clung to this last remnant? Was it solely because it was all she had left?

    ~

    Leaves crackling like parchment. Honeyed almonds. Hollowed skull.

    Dark water cupped her jaw like a hundred heavy hands. Meaning washed across her brainstem, thrumming down every nerve.

    The Archives did not use words or song or scent. It did not think like a sophont might think. Knowledge entered her body as if she were inhaling mist: the Archive held more things in stasis than one might assume. Pieces packed close, stowed in a thousand-thousand fragments in the gaps between parchments. If she wished to wick up the last droplets of Venera¡¯s remains, then she need only let go.

    She clutched reflexively at the corpse of her Titania, the joints of her fingers locking tight. If Venera were still alive, she would know what to do. If she were alive, Parsec would not have to be here at all. A hunting call scraped at the edge of her hearing.

    Choose, the Archives seemed to say. Choose, soon.

    Black water pushed at her chest, scratching greedily at the compartments of her lungs. Crestfallen laughter skittered across her cheek.

    ~

    Empty shell. Long gone, Parallax.

    Parsec let go.

    ===

    She came to within a circle of ten trees, winter-bare branches set at unnatural angles. Venera¡¯s body was gone. Her body was bone-dry; not a trace of the dark water remained.

    Flutter-pulse. Broken rind.

    She flinched. Had those been words, ghosting over her left shoulder? Whatever it was, it did not speak in the usual way: something about it reminded her of the Hives and Archives, half-dipped in pure meaning. The speaker had some quality of voice, if a voice were simultaneously aphonic and folded over itself a half-dozen times.

    She looked around. Past the circle of trees was tundra, spotted with sedge and lichen and edging into bloom. Further still lay a line of shining, pointed trees that scraped at the heavens. No one here but her, and a low sound on the horizon.

    ¡°Hello?¡± she said, and shivered without meaning to. The not-voice balanced on the knife-point edge of familiar and unknown. She hesitated. ¡°¡­Venera?¡±

    Wingbeat. Trapped sunlight. Hydroxyphenanthrene.

    The not-voice had whispered over her right shoulder, this time.

    ¡°Venera,¡± she said more firmly, turning her head and seeing nothing but air. ¡°Can you¡­do you know where we are?¡±

    Beyond periphery.

    That sounded a fraction more coherent. ¡°Do you remember anything? Do you remember me?¡±

    Venule. Frost-touch. Inviolate.

    Parsec pressed her hand to her brow. Frustration simmered up in her throat, a bolus of broken silica. Empty shell. Only fragments left¡ªof course. But if this was what remained of Venera, she would keep it. It was more than a body wrapped in a shroud, she told herself. Far more than that.

    ¡°Follow me,¡± she said to the ghost of her dead queen. ¡°Please, don¡¯t leave. Follow. Understand?¡±

    Sine die. Kingdom come.

    The hunting call echoed, closer now. Parsec flexed her wings, and took flight.

    ===

    Beneath her, snow-spotted soil melted into a blur. She reached the edge of the tundra plain and ducked through the timberline, more nimble now without Venera¡¯s body in her arms. Still, the call of the Archive creature rang closer by the minute. Dread pooled in the hollows of her bones.

    She spoke to Venera to reassure herself that she was still there and received strings of non-sequiturs in response: phosphorus, silver smog, crucible steel.

    Parsec flew onwards through the needle forest on fast-tiring wings. She considered the merits of ascending over cloud cover, the speed gained from the lack of obstruction versus the effects of increasing altitude, of becoming a more visible piece of prey. The pulses of sound passed over her at faster intervals now; it set her teeth on edge, reverberated through her skull like a crashing wavefront.

    Gargantuan creature, she thought. Hungering. Or perhaps a shoal.

    ¡°Venera,¡± she said once more. ¡°What must I do?¡±

    Pursuit predation¡­serpents. Morsel.

    ¡°If the creature catches me¡ª¡±

    Pressure gradient, came the answering whisper. Flee the way of all flesh. Was that a wisp of anxiety, in the tone?

    ¡°You are a Titania,¡± Parsec said desperately. ¡°Surely you know of something that can help.¡±

    Armature.

    An image unfurled in her mind, unbidden: traceries and structure, the bones of chemicals and biosynthesis, delicate pathways that lead the way to¡­she wasn¡¯t sure what.

    She struggled to wrap her thoughts around its sheer vastness; this was no mere spell, taught with guiding gesture and intent. It was a three-dimensional diagram, processed through the lens of a Titania. Magic flowing down sagittal planes, lattices of nanostructures, pieces that fitted together when rotated along the perfect axis. She was a General, and before she had been a General, she had been a similar sort of instrument. She had no tutelage of these concepts, no higher knowledge borne from the egg.

    It was difficult to think while darting between metallic tree trunks. The hunting call rumbled in her wake, nipping at her bones.

    ¡°Venera,¡± she said as she winged through the gaps of branches. ¡°I am not a Titania. I cannot do anything with this.¡±

    For several moments, there came no reply. Parsec wondered, alarmed, whether Venera had been left behind, come unstuck from her shoulder somehow.

    Then: ¡­Ingress¡­?

    ¡°What?¡± Parsec asked.

    Covenant.

    ¡°I do not understand.¡± She jerked herself diagonal to make it through a gap. The branches were thickening, silvery points crowding her in from all sides. Through the heart of the forest, now.

    Sovereign self. Impression of high tide; riverbanks blanketed in snow.

    ¡°You are the Titania here,¡± Parsec said. ¡°You are free to instruct me how you wish.¡±

    ¡­Are the Titania here. Titania¡­

    ¡°What?¡±

    The forest began to thin once more, dovetailing into dry grassland. She burst out of the tree line as fast as she¡¯d ever gone, but the creature-call yet still blurred through earth and air. Her joints ached at the sound. She flattened her flight path along the tops of the grasses in hope of avoiding the worst of it.

    ¡°Venera,¡± she hissed. She was beginning to tire once more, the tips of her spines going numb.

    Titania nourishes. Loop upon loop returning to earth, roots foaming into mud-slush. Bleeding fingers gripping a portcullis. Anamnesis; must accept role. Without, loss of adaptation. Become blind starvelings. Old worlds, all broken away.

    ¡°I don¡¯t¡ª¡± Parsec broke off to gasp for air. A fresh wavefront of hunting call coursed through her body; this close, it physically hurt to experience. Her joints throbbed in warning. Her throat felt as though it had been scraped raw. ¡°I am sorry, I don¡¯t understand. Venera¡ªplease help me.¡±

    Only nourishes. Knowledge¡­pieces. Nothing whole.

    Feather-light fingertips whispered across her eyelids, a sensation that stung with magic. Her flesh shivered, chitin melting malleable. Ghost-hands burrowed into her core and tugged.

    Pain exploded across her body. She screamed.

    Thick plates of chitin glided into existence, encapsulating her head and arms and chest like a mantle of living armour. Her fingers burst at the tips to accommodate true claws. Venom sacs carved their place into spare hollows of her throat as a stinger sprouted at the tip of her tail. The pain ebbed away just as quickly as it had come. Venera tugged at the nerves of her arm and urged her to pull a blade out of her own body.

    ¡°By the stars,¡± she whispered, trembling at the pieces of her new form. ¡°You wish for me to fight?¡±

    Venera made a noise like the buzzing of a hundred cicadas, anxious. Catalysis. Choices lay dying.

    The air humidified. The hunting call boomed ever-closer¡ªthough now, the freshly-formed chitin clasped about her skull cushioned the effect, gave her some reprieve. Something rippled at the smudge of tree line in the distance, a line of disturbance in the grass.

    Parsec winged high into the air as silence fell, blanketing the Archival landscape. No crickets or birdsong; only the rising whisper of grass as the ripple approached in an unswerving streak. That, and the sound of her own staggered breaths.

    There was no wind to sway the terrain; the ripple raced across a waiting, still expanse. It covered ground fast, and reached her in seconds.

 2.20 - Full Fathom Five

    Parsec

    Something lunged up at her like a bolt of red lightning. As far above the grasses as she was, it tore through the air in a burst of magic and two-faced physiology. She caught an impression of redness, a wall of pebbled scales and needle-teeth, before she dodged diagonal.

    Two tons of scarlet sea-flesh roared past, missing her by mere inches; her claws whipped round to slide uselessly across a flank of sawtooth skin; her readied lance of spellfire sizzled out against its hide.

    The creature reared round, a hundred-foot long amalgamation of oarfish and bristlemouth, heavy-ribbed and bony-spined. Fronds of red-gold filaments framed its head in a sleek garland. Vestigial eyes twitched in their sockets.

    It lunged, serpent-like; she dodged and sank her proto-fangs into a trailing fin. Her teeth pierced true and the venom flowed, but the serpent-creature only gave the slightest twitch before flinging her loose. She let the momentum carry her, adjusting her arc with the slightest tilt of wings; there was nothing to hit over grassland air. And she needed the distance to reorient herself, besides.

    She saw what Venera meant now, by ¡®nothing whole¡¯. The additions to her body felt cobbled together from spare parts; claws for wounding softer flesh, venom built for smaller bodies, the stinger like a desperate afterthought. The armour, though, that could help.

    The hunger-serpent opened its mouth and roared, a cresting wave of subsonic sound. Pain thrummed through her head; not as unbearable as it would be without Venera¡¯s aid, but grievous enough. She gripped her own arm and pulled. Chitin slithered loose and molded itself like molten glass, solidifying into a blade that matched the rest of her. The weapon felt good in her hand, but it seemed desperately small against the serpent¡¯s inbound bulk.

    She categorised its weaknesses in the seconds she had: fins and filaments¡ªperhaps the eyes, too. If she were aiding a hunting party, she would have directed the heavier-hitters to those targets, would have acted as the fast-flying bait herself. Today, she did not have the support of a hunting party. She only had herself¡ªand Venera, or fragments that she had decided to call Venera.

    Apical layers, Venera said, and Parsec sensed the blade¡¯s edge sharpening beyond mere chitin or claw.

    The serpent reached her, teeth outstretched. She beamed spellfire down its throat and whirled out of reach as the rows of teeth clamped shut with a hiss. Then came several more lunges; she kept dodging with mere whispers of space to spare. Sensory filaments quivered about the serpent¡¯s head and throat, tracking her.

    The serpent reared back for a lunge. She sensed an opening and took it; the serpent twisted away, whip-fast. She only struck a glancing blow with her blade. Better than her feeble scratches: the edge came away dripping red. It was better, but hardly enough. Her breath was starting to come in shallow bursts.

    Nourish, Venera said.

    She dodged another lunge, braced herself against another grit-grinding roar.

    ¡°Yes,¡± she said. ¡°I am tiring fast, I know. Help me, Titania, else¡ª¡±

    Nourish, Venera said, the impression harsher-edged this time. Erythropoietin.

    Parsec trawled her mind for any hint of recognition, feinted and sliced another shallow cut in the serpent¡¯s side. She didn¡¯t quite make the dodge: needle-teeth scored lines into the armoured arm she threw out like a shield. Dodging now, again. Slicing away, streaking across the grasses, strands ruffling in her wake.

    Drink one¡¯s fill of the incarnadine liquors; red-rimed seas capped with fire before frost. Titania-tongue soaked and quenched, offerings devoured whole. Synthesis¡ªnourishment¡ªcatalysis¡ª

    Parsec¡¯s eye caught on the blood sluicing off her blade.

    ¡°Blood?¡± she gasped, and drew the flat across her tongue in one quick motion.

    It tasted of salt and fire, smoked sea-flesh and capsaicin over charcoal. It burned so fiercely that for a moment, she wondered if her arm had failed her, whether she had mis-cut and sliced open her own mouth. Then the magic kicked in, a millisecond rush so heady she forgot the pain altogether.

    The serpent drew closer, snapping at her tail. This time, she poured fresh magic into her self-forged blade and pivoted, flipping her body upwards. The serpent altered its momentum a moment too late; the blade scored open one already-blind eye. It howled, but the resonance was not low enough to hurt. She snapped her wings up and away, drinking the blood off her blade.

    Culicidae, Venera implied approvingly, and something changed once more. It hurt less, this time.

    Proto-fangs lengthened as if gliding along the wings of adaptation. Her jaw restructured itself to contain them. Biosynthesis purred inside the lumen of her throat, blood-droplets sampled and shuffled, twisted into new, fine-tuned venom. Subsurface glands swelled beneath her rapidly-sharpening clawtips, beaded up along her tail in a chain that terminated at the now-glowing stinger.

    The serpent charged. Parsec lunged, twisted mid-cut, and rammed fangs-first into one of its dorsal fins. She raked at the frills of its sensory membrane with fresh claws, sank the stinger of her tail into the wound her blade had wrought. It was a desperate flail, all disconnected movements and blind hope. If she had been alone, she was certain that she would have died trying¡ªbut Venera¡¯s ghost had done well.

    Augmented venom fused into flesh, forged paths through serpent blood, and caused it to curdle.

    The hunger-serpent twitched, then shuddered along its length as it coiled in on itself to snatch at her. Its motion fell sluggish; pointed teeth missed their mark. Parsec darted away and watched as the serpent began to writhe.

    It shuddered through the air and half-roared, half-whined in frequencies which made her spines flatten against her body. She retreated further yet when it erupted into blisters along its length, enormous pustules pushing pulsatile even beneath its red-scaled hide. It dipped and wove, fast losing altitude in its struggle.

    ¡°How, in all the worlds that are and ceased to be, how did that¡­?¡± she murmured, half to herself and half to Venera. There came no reply.

    The serpent gave one last, squealing cry before it plunged from the sky and hit the ground in a cloud of flaking scales and all the gravity given by two tonnes of fish-flesh. Grasses puffed outwards in the silhouette of its body before gently settling back into place, obscuring it altogether.

    Silence settled over the grassland. Parsec wiped the blood off her chin and froze as another call sounded in the distance, twin to the subsonic hunting cries of this creature. And then another. And several more.

    A fast-familiar chill tingled at the tips of her spines as she scanned the horizon. Nothing visible, yet. But other things were coming. She did not want to be here when they arrived.

    Kindred, Venera spoke into her ear. Outnumbered. Outpace. Other yearlings. ¡­Perhaps not.

    ¡°How?¡± Parsec asked. A spark of hope lit within her even as hunger and exhaustion flared in her core: Venera was answering her questions, the impressions of her communication growing clearer and more lucid than it had been at the circle of trees. Did she dare hope they could yet prevail? Her magic was still intact, but spellfire alone could not hope to down more of these hunger-serpents, and the venom had drained her of almost all physical strength. Then she looked down again, before Venera could answer. ¡°¡­Ah.¡±

    Feast¡­feast-haste.

    She descended, and did so. She could not consume even a fraction of the fallen serpent¡ªcarved up and processed, it could have fed a not-insignificant portion of the Hive¡ªbut she used her borrowed fangs to drain much of its fast-cooling blood. Her spines twitched at the burning taste, but her core thanked her for it as her strength returned. Her claws and fangs retracted, returned to normal. Her stinger reverted into a feathered tail-tip as the chitin-armour and chitin blade melted out of existence. It was both a relief and a worry to return to baseline. The hunting call echoed.

    ¡°And now?¡± she asked as she took off. ¡°Am I to fly and hope for the best?¡±

    Territories draw near.

    Ghost-fingers traced a line across her shoulder before plunging in.

    This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

    Parsec hissed reflexively, almost dipping out of her flight path. Her newly-gained energy reserves faltered as a pair of buds sprouted from her flesh, just below her existing wings. The protrusions elongated and anchored their roots into new muscle. They sharpened themselves into a second pair of knife-like wings.

    Coacervate, Venera urged. Colloidal.

    Parsec gave a broken, unsteady flap that hooked her skywards. She hadn¡¯t survived the shattered lands for nothing: this adjustment, uncanny though it might be, was manageable.

    Ghostly hands nudged at her back; twitches of borrowed memory spurred her into smoother motion. The knife-wings clicked in their sockets and Parsec punched through the air. She sensed her energy draining, the air parting, grasses flattening in her wake.

    For a split second, it felt as if Venera were alive again: they had flown together, once¡ªjust once.

    ¡°A single instance,¡± the newly-hatched Venera had entreated. ¡°I will serve the Hive. Though for my life I ask you: allow me to feel the true winds through my own wings before I descend into the sanctum for the remainder of my days.¡±

    There had been a glimmer to that, a glint of sincerity which Parsec had never seen in the shattered lands nor away from it. Something to respect.

    It had been night, over a calm sea. They had coasted together on thermal updrafts, flanked by other Generals¡ªthere had been nothing to worry, nothing to suspect, all loyal to the bone. The thought of dangers from within had not even crossed her mind. Had Eltanin been there, on that queen¡¯s flight?

    Parsec swallowed a cry of rage.

    The grasslands melted into the distance behind her and landscapes flicked past once more¡ªsand, salt, and snow¡ªcopper cogs clicking like they had with the first gate. Perhaps the Archives were trying to help as much as they could. The hunting cries grew more distant. Steppe, shale, and savanna blew past in half-blurred impressions before she plunged into cold salt-touched fog¡ªso thick that she slowed her flight in fear of slamming into the shadows of ruins looming in its midst.

    Ghost hands stroked her shoulder; the knife-wings melted back into her spine and stoppered the steady trickle from her faltering energy reserves. She wobbled mid-air, startled by their loss.

    ¡°Venera?¡± she asked. The sea-fog smothered her voice, flattened and dulled it into such an eerie quietness that she almost couldn¡¯t recognise herself.

    Plunge-drop, Venera suggested. The fog did not touch her un-voice, but she sounded subdued all the same.

    ¡°Water?¡± Parsec asked. There was a trickle of it on the edge of her hearing, yet some ways off.

    Incomprehensible symbols tickled at the edges of her thoughts, all angular lines and chains of inverted triangles. She brushed them away and winged her way onwards through the fog. Monoliths loomed on all sides, their crooked spines resembling the lost quills of some Behemoth-being. The air turned, hinting at algae and rotting things. Shortly thereafter, the fog began to thin; beneath her, sand and stone bled into streams of white water that shone like the inside of a shell.

    Brightness pierced down, lines of white light scattered across the false-sky and false-horizon like the columns of a vast colonnade. The air shivered with the mimicry of a breeze, clearing the last dregs of fog. The ground cleaved away beneath her and became a straight, sheer cliff of sharp stone and smooth, salted water which descended into a dizzying void.

    For a moment, she did not understand what she was seeing. The cliff¡¯s edge and gone-away ground, that she could comprehend. But there were¡­things, occupying the empty air. Tendrils stirred in the air above the void, half of a shimmering web stretched half a mile out before it went skywards and disappeared into the light. Thousands of loose ends floated mid-air, forming a scattered wall of inorganic cilia.

    Several words flashed through her mind, not all of them her own: alien, being, entity. And then:

    Archive unalive, Venera implied firmly, as if reminding them both would make it more true. Diffuse. Pressure gradient. Grey-green; fish scales; drainage.

    Was this the end that Orion had spoken of? Doorways to other places? In truth, she struggled to recall much of their talks.

    Fleeing had felt necessary. Absconding with Venera¡¯s body had been instinct-driven. Completion of her half-formed idea of a task was far more difficult.

    ¡°I am not an Archivist,¡± she said despairingly. ¡°Venera, if you know of anything akin to that armour, or those wings¡ª¡±

    Titania, Venera said firmly. The tone was laced with something like regret, commiseration.

    ¡°Well. I see.¡± Parsec straightened her shoulders. ¡°Neither of us are Archivists. Then¡­am I to climb this weaving to its apex?¡±

    She squinted into too-bright light that seemed to extend infinitely upwards. White upon white, shapes concealed in the pale, and a suggestion of infinitesimally slow motion.

    ¡°One wonders if the¡ªthe entity, that c-created it¡ª¡± She brought her hand to her mouth and coughed. ¡°The¡ªthe¡­why does it hurt to speak of?¡±

    Stabilimentum, Venera said. Neither-nor. Nucleus and matriarch? Predecessor. Administrator. Little-know-naught.

    ¡°I do not understand, either.¡±

    ¡­Half-alive? Archive.

    ¡°I take it that the solution lies elsewhere,¡± Parsec murmured. She reached out and brushed a finger across the nearest trailing filament.

    Pain spiked between her eyes. She cried out as a vision slithered into her head: thick, choking mist over flat sands. Poisonous plants with withered roots, dark particles burrowing into her lungs. And then it went, as quickly as it had come: she was back in the glowing-web-place of the Archives, spines laid flat with shock.

    ¡°Did you see that, too?¡± she asked.

    What little to witness? Drops of mud; grooves smoothed by water.

    ¡°Shall I assume you meant ¡®no¡¯?¡±

    Fractals. Sensory¡­drainage.

    ¡°You didn¡¯t see,¡± she guessed. ¡°But perhaps¡­drainage, you said? I believe so. Each of these are pathways, of some kind?¡±

    If she held back her disbelief, it was not altogether too different from some of the backways of the Hive proper: had she not taken frequent routes by which flying up led her falling down?

    Sanctum, Venera implied. Waste, slush, surplus.

    Parsec hesitated, and reached out to touch another. The same burst of pain¡ªshe was prepared for it, this time¡ªright where her Archival eye would be, if she had one. She caught a glimpse of salt-crusted desert and long-gone shores; not another being in sight.

    She blinked back into her body and shivered.

    ¡°I see,¡± she said.

    The wall of bobbing tendrils formed a fractured map. Distributaries gleamed on gossamer strings and trailing line, marking one-way paths up into the broken light.

    She tried others. Most were barren slices of desert, though a few held darkness and writhing motion and a quality to the atmosphere which was suggestive of no air at all. Several, she suspected were the insides of spells elsewhere in the Archive; not-places which would crush her physical body down to a point, killing her instantly.

    She drew back from the cluster of tendrils she had cleared, a sliver of a whole. The cliff¡¯s edge stretched into a misted distance, and the wall of filaments with it.

    ¡°I see few safe ways onwards,¡± she said. ¡°Will they find me here, do you think?¡±

    Whom?

    ¡°Anyone. The kin of the serpents. Eltanin. Perihelion. Anyone at all.¡±

    Flicker of hesitation. Sensation of ice upon the tongue. Nectar sinking into dry earth.

    ¡°It is alright,¡± Parsec said, ¡°that you do not know.¡±

    Fingertips scratching lines into the rust. Mouthful of river-silt. Frustration; predecessor adrift; sensation of being so lost that it could die.

    ¡°Venera¡ª¡±

    Neither-nor, anymore. The tone splintered, turned a touch frantic. Of what use, now.

    ¡°Venera.¡±

    Venera, and Venera, and Successor, and Predecessor¡­the predecessor thought with lobes of a brain which exists no longer. It forgot the needs of this one. Wholeness and¡­the taste of air, and the warnings of pain. And other things. Pathways out-but-not-safe, fool was the predecessor. Must nourish; keep this one safe. But distributaries not for mortal flesh.

    Parsec grimaced. ¡°Some do not look so bad. Places beyond civilisation, perhaps, but¡­initially survivable, if I am able to forage sustenance.¡±

    Bitter laughter. Loose pieces of continents. This one cannot fly two-hundred miles. Not even with colloidal wings. Wish to swallow risk? Sink teeth; taste blood? Predecessor thinks not.

    ¡°No,¡± Parsec agreed. ¡°But if you are able to ascertain the nature of the places?¡±

    Already gave you all that was left in this brain, necromancer.

    Parsec flinched. ¡°No¡ªnot necromancer. I am¡­I was a General. My name is Parallax. Or Parsec, to¡­friends. You called me Parsec.¡±

    Not necromancer? Yet, predecessor is deceased. Is this one certain?

    She thought of footprints across shattered lands, creatures falling to pieces alongside their masters. Bone-hand clasped in flesh-hand until both turned to bone.

    ¡°I am certain,¡± she said. ¡°Listen: you are more than an idea of ¡®predecessor¡¯. Your name was the Titania Venera. I was General Parallax. Surely, you remember.¡±

    This one says Parallax¡­sound rings fair-hollow. Venera, now, the cadence brings a flicker. The predecessor remembers Titania. The predecessor assumes it used to be the creature called Titania Venera. This-one-Parallax may name the predecessor Titania Venera if it brings Parallax comfort.

    Parsec shut her eyes, opened them again. Reminded herself that Venera¡¯s ghost was not really Venera anymore, and that no one was to blame except for perhaps Eltanin and the very nature of death itself.

    ¡°Do you remember Perihelion?¡± she tried. ¡°Or Orion, or Nephele, or Atlas?¡± She hesitated. ¡°¡­Eltanin?¡±

    Warmth of the sun and glister-gold. That is all.

    ¡°And of the Hive? The sanctum?¡±

    Star-filled shadows. Mouthfuls of nectar. Ghost-hands tapped thoughtfully at her shoulder. ¡­Perhaps the successor-predecessor flew alongside something like the shape of this-one-Parallax. Very little more. Lost now. What now? Venera cannot aid the Parallax here.

    ¡°Then I will have to try all that I can,¡± Parsec said, turning her gaze upon the wall of pathways. ¡°Before they find us, or before I starve. Unless you wish to leave?¡± She swallowed her mounting regret. ¡°If you do not remember me, then¡­it would only be fair, that you have a choice.¡±

    Choice? Always have choice. Choice of leaving¡­would scatter into pieces given time. Air dispersed into air. Not good. Not bad, neither. What says this one, not-necromancer Parallax?

    ¡°It would bring me solace that you stay,¡± Parsec said. ¡°Even if you are no longer the Venera I knew. I would not have survived the serpent without your aid.¡±

    Solace. This predecessor likes the idea of solace. But assure you, Parallax requires predecessor no longer. Parallax can find own blade, own armour now given. Not easy, but not hard. Titania was never crafted as weapon.

    ¡°Even so¡ª¡±

    Is this remnant a burden?

    ¡°Certainly not. I would not have¡­tried, if not. The Archive, I am sure it told me somehow, that you could not be the same. I understand.¡±

    The predecessor senses that Parallax wishes it were Venera. This predecessor likewise wishes it were Venera still. But predecessor has already forgotten the feeling of sleep. What more has it lost that it does not know?

    Parsec stared at the wall of tendril-pathways until they began to blur. ¡°If you wish to carry on your way, then I cannot stop you.¡±

    Silence. The wall of tendrils flowed like a wave.

    ¡°Still here?¡± she asked, and the words trembled as they left her mouth.

    Ghostly fingertips traced over her shoulder in the shape of a lemniscate.

    Sine die, Venera said. Kingdom come.

 Interlude: apprenticeling, part I

    Cardainne had sent a letter, sealed with a blue sigil. Rana¡¯s heart had near stopped in her chest when she saw it, slipped past the crack beneath her door.

    The contents had been inscribed with expensive ink and worded like a request¡ªit was most definitely not a request. Rana had realised two sentences in; her time listening in on the trivialities of court warfare turned out to be good for something after all.

    Apprenticeling, he¡¯d said, last they¡¯d spoken; it was going to be a simple talk¡ªprobably. Her thoughts flicked back to the battlements¡ªheart pounding in anticipatory terror, eyes fixed on the placement of his hands as she¡¯d run analysis on every word out of his mouth. It had been terrible and exhausting; following the ordeal, she¡¯d returned to her room and collapsed onto her bed, shaking all over. She had the vaguest inkling of just how close she¡¯d been to taking an unfortunate fall over the edge¡ªthinking too hard about it made her stomach twist with nausea.

    To make matters worse, his proposition made no sense, even when taken at face value.

    ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± Karim had said, when she¡¯d asked him as to what his master meant by their conversation. ¡°Cousin Rana, I am not the one to consult on these things. He is a fairly private man¡ªI couldn¡¯t possibly guess the contents of his head.¡±

    It was pity she couldn¡¯t, either. Now, she stood in front of Cardainne¡¯s looming office doors, shoulders set back in a facade of confidence.

    She took a deep breath, and knocked.

    Runes of warding and recognition flared at her touch, before dissipating in moments. The doors swung inwards, to the sound of soft-edged wingbeats.

    ¡°Ah, Miss Khan.¡± Cardainne¡¯s voice floated from across the room; he sat at his desk, head bowed in work. ¡°You are very punctual. Come, sit.¡±

    She counted her steps as she drew closer, heart thudding almost painfully out of her chest. Her dress whisked about her ankles as she went¡ªmostly white, trimmed with scribe-yellow. A full hour, she¡¯d spent, measuring the items of her wardrobe against each other¡ªwhich of these seemed most neutral, what was formal enough, but not too formal, how to convey her distance while appearing put-together and polite¡ªit had been a tortuous mockery of getting ready for a dinner, or a festival, or some other event not brimming with barely-hidden malice. She¡¯d allowed herself a shawl as well, wrapped protectively around her shoulders. Aliyah had embroidered little flowers on the edges for her, many years ago. It was¡­a reminder. She had to hold fast to her goals, had to remember what answers she was here for.

    Arriving seemed to take both an instant and an eternity. She drew out a chair and sat, kept her face fixed in a mask of polite, impartial deference.

    ¡°Thank you for the invitation, Magician Cardainne.¡±

    She considered adding that she did not wish to take up his time, then dismissed the idea. It could come across as a weakness, and court types scented blood all too willingly. Cardainne was not a courtling, but he was one of those who watched over courtlings¡ªwhich made him worse.

    Cardainne finished penning a last few words before finally glancing up. He set down his stylograph and reached for an item off to the side: a teapot made of translucent glass, dyed with colours like a sunset. He slid matching cups across his desk too¡ªwhat an odd, formal place to have tea. She¡¯d passed some seats and a table on her way across the vastness of his office¡ªperhaps he had them as decorations only, or perhaps he meant to unnerve her by having the tea here. Well, it wasn¡¯t working; she¡¯d be more concerned if he tried a friendly act.

    ¡°Do drink,¡± he said. ¡°It is a good blend. And see here, the clarity of this device? You can be assured it is not a poisoner¡¯s teapot.¡±

    He smiled at his own words, a small and disconcerting smile; she supposed people such as him could find such things funny. Then he drank an exaggerated mouthful from his own cup, as if providing proof of the tea¡¯s harmlessness.

    ¡°Thank you,¡± she said, and took a cautious sip. If he wanted to kill her, well¡­surely there were easier ways.

    The tea coated her tongue in a film of floral fragrance, the taste more expensive than she could comfortably afford.

    ¡°You recall the faery attack?¡± Cardainne said, apropos of nothing.

    Rana forced her hand to remain steady as she set her cup back down.

    ¡°Yes,¡± she said. ¡°I am sure it has been¡­a difficult time for all.¡±

    Inwardly she thought: corpses. She¡¯d missed the Seventhborn¡¯s execution, and thought herself lucky to have never seen a corpse¡ªuntil the body of the girl next to her had gone limp in its chains, the skin blooming with unnatural bruises.

    Cardainne¡¯s gaze flicked, very briefly, to the papers blanketing his desk.

    ¡°Quite true, Miss Khan.¡±

    Bile rose up into the back of her throat. Why? she wanted to scream at him. Why are you asking me this?

    She flicked through several possibilities in her her head: to unsettle, most likely. To upset. Perhaps, overall, to provoke her into a misstep, some justifiable excuse¡ª

    ¡°You must be very distraught,¡± he continued. ¡°You were not only a witness, is that correct?¡±

    Ice formed in her veins. He damn well knew she¡¯d been¡ª

    ¡°That is correct,¡± she said, over the roar of her racing heart.

    ¡°I am sorry to hear it,¡± he murmured, and tapped at the rim of his teacup, as if lost in thought.

    It was an act, of course¡ªshe sensed it in the shift in his tone, knew it by virtue of who he was¡ªbut it was a remarkably good one. She could have almost forgiven herself for guessing this was a lapse in concentration, a sliver of sympathy slipping through from behind the mask of Magicianhood.

    Cardainne blinked, visibly collecting himself. His hand left the teacup and went to rest flat on the table-top, a false-gesture of harmlessness. He cleared his throat.

    ¡°Well, Miss Khan; to the topic at hand. I quite hope that the time I have given you was spent well. Have you considered my offer?¡±

    She had. There didn¡¯t seem to be any good way out of it, without causing offense¡ªand an offended Magician was a dangerous one.

    ¡°I am honoured by your invitation, Magician Cardainne.¡± She made sure to hesitate between a couple of the words, so that they might seem less rehearsed. ¡°I sincerely hope that I could be worthy of such an opportunity, though¡­I am only a Lower scribe. I would not wish to dishonour the covenant of Magicianhood with my novice skills.¡±

    He shook his head. ¡°You do not need to concern yourself with that. I will be the judge of enough-ness, I think.¡±

    She swallowed. ¡°Of course, Magician Cardainne. Your judgement is unquestionably¡ª¡±

    ¡°I think that is enough,¡± Cardainne said, and the bemusement threaded into his tone made her freeze, jaw clenching halfway through a syllable.

    ¡°Here,¡± he said, shaking his head. ¡°I will be a little more honest with you, and in return I hope you will do that same politeness. Yes?¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± she said, and curled her fists tight enough that her nails dug into her palms. It was all she could do to keep from stammering.

    ¡°Relax, Miss Khan,¡± he said. ¡°I am a Magician, it is true. But I am not going to cut out your tongue for speaking the truth.¡±

    She supposed she had no option but to pretend to take his words at face value.

    Cardainne leaned back in his chair and gestured at the expanse of window occupying a good third of his office wall. Rana wondered how much it had cost¡ªlikely a month¡¯s worth of her salary, if not more.

    ¡°Look down there. What do you see?¡±

    This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

    Desert, mostly. A bit of city, and a section of river in the distance.

    ¡°The north-eastern wall?¡± Rana tried.

    ¡°Hah. You will have to think more broadly than that.¡± Cardainne rested his elbows upon his desk, lacing his fingers together. ¡°What is down there, are the people. And what are these people to us, do you think? Why are they important?¡±

    She blinked, caught off guard. ¡°They are citizens of the kingdom,¡± she tried. ¡°We are taught the importance of tax and tithe¡ª¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± he said. ¡°But also no. What these people are, down there, are the majority.¡±

    She swallowed, thoughts whirling with uncomprehension.

    ¡°How many lowborns are in this castle?¡± he asked.

    How many then, or how many now? she thought, and fought to not to let it show on her face.

    ¡°I¡¯m not sure,¡± she said. ¡°Two¡­three hundred?¡±

    ¡°And how many citizens?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t¡ª¡± her thoughts flash-forwarded to the point he wanted to make. ¡°Far more than the lowborns.¡±

    He nodded. ¡°Exactly. You understand, now?¡±

    She did, sort of.

    ¡°Should we the Magicians need to act in the protection of our kingdom once more, it would be remiss to sacrifice one of our own.¡±

    ¡°I am not one of you,¡± Rana said carefully.

    He lifted his teacup to his mouth and drank another mouthful, draining it entirely. When he set it down, he did not bother pouring more. Instead, he laced his fingers again, as if readying his hands to throttle thin air.

    ¡°And I am not without influence,¡± Cardainne finally replied. ¡°You are not one of us¡­yet.¡±

    She swallowed, mouth gone dry. Phantom pain shuddered through her veins, crackling exsanguination on all sides, draining magic from screaming, silenced mouths¡ª

    It hadn¡¯t even hurt her, not really. Oh, it¡¯d stung alright¡ªit¡¯d stung so precisely that she could have traced out every branch of capillary at her fingertips if she¡¯d had the presence of mind for it¡ªbut no magic had been leeched from her pores, and no blood had burst from beneath her eyelids.

    She¡¯d survived. Maybe he even knew why.

    ¡°Up here, there is opportunity,¡± Cardainne continued. ¡°Those little minds down there, they do not care about kiters and scribes. They do not care how many rich friends you have if you are not a rich friend yourself. They do not care whether you live or die, and there is nothing you can do to change it until you become something different. Something more than money¡ªsomething that will keep you truly safe.¡±

    ¡°I see,¡± she said, and the pieces clicked together in her head.

    Magicians, weaving their nets. The Killing Fields, rolling in. Sky-shields, to keep out flying Behemoth-spawn. Nine tenths of the kingdom saw safety, protection, the bounty brought on by harvest sacrifices¡ªnot too difficult to manipulate, perhaps, if one had a flock of Weathermancers at one¡¯s disposal. She could picture it now: lowborn dissenters replaced with fresh blood from the houses down below¡­

    Magicianhood was a coveted thing. She still didn¡¯t want to associate with Cardainne¡ªthe way he¡¯d acted up on the battlements, the way his face had flickered still and blank as he¡¯d leaned himself against the wall¡­a chill ran down her spine at the very thought.

    ¡°So, Miss Khan,¡± Cardainne said to her in the present. ¡°I think you would like to take my offer, now.¡±

    She blinked out of her reverie, caught off guard¡ªugh. If she wanted to get out of this unscathed, she was going to have to get ahold of her fears. She unclenched her fists and let the memory flow away, sinking further into the troubling realities of now.

    ¡°Yes,¡± she said, having run out of good choices.

    ¡°Excellent,¡± Cardainne said. He reached for something on his side of the desk and drawer glided out smoothly, soundlessly¡ªinside was a flash of blue. He handed her a cloak¡ªan apprenticeling¡¯s cloak¡ªand a piece of paper. ¡°You will be needing these.¡±

    The fabric of the cloak felt cold and expensive in her hands, its lining slippery like melted butter. She glanced at the paper, furrowing her brow at the list of titles there.

    ¡°You wish for me to read these texts,¡± she hazarded, her heart sinking. There were at least a dozen items listed, all of them dense-sounding.

    ¡°All in due time,¡± he said. ¡°Start with ¡®Principles of Colloidal Weaving¡¯, by Sadal Suud.¡±

    She hesitated, skimming across her knowledge of the Lower Library archives. ¡°Magician Cardainne, I don¡¯t believe I have access to this book.¡±

    He shrugged. ¡°Karim will attest to its excellence as an introductory text. Though on second thought, if he has lost his copy¡­¡± He trailed off, drumming his fingers across the tabletop. ¡°Well, you will need access to the Higher Library for the rest of it.¡± He reached for a different drawer and withdrew a form, his other hand already scooping up a nearby stylograph. ¡°I will write you a permissive.¡±

    He had it penned in the space of half a minute, signing off with a flourish.

    ¡°Study well, Miss Khan. We will be doing some work as soon as the weather clears.¡±

    +++

    The vault of the Higher Library loomed like open jaws, like falling teeth in stasis¡ªupon entering the foyer, a dozen pairs of eyes swiveled her way. No doubt they were evaluating her Lower scribe¡¯s uniform with distaste, but she hadn¡¯t been able to bring herself to wear the apprenticeling cloak. Rana showed the missive instead, and then it was as if a string of tension had been cut¡ªthe clerk gestured her along, and the eyes flickered away as if they had not been interested in the first place.

    Venturing deeper, she wasn¡¯t sure what to expect; snakes slithering off the shelves, maybe? Tales of the place practically dripped off every castle eave, had trickled their way down into the Lower Library on the tongues of gossips.

    There were, in fact, no snakes. Instead, she was greeted by an area comprising of many long reading desks, some with partitions to aid study. Beyond the desks lay a wooden wall of card catalogues and open stacks stretching beyond, organised and austere. There were different floors to the place, much like the Lower Library¡ªthough they went far further up, a dozen levels at least. The vastness of the interior surprised her a little, as did the sprawl of imperial staircases off to the sides. Gold-framed paintings graced the walls, depicting star charts and figures from old myths. An enormous, wonderfully-detailed armillary sphere graced the vault of the ceiling, each ring turning gently on its axis.

    Scribes strode past her on all sides, each of them looking as if they knew exactly where they were going¡ªshe¡¯d mastered the skill herself in her own workplace, but it was hardly possible to do here. She frowned down at Cardainne¡¯s list, feeling utterly lost. The Lower Library had informational catalogues, but how exactly did that work here, where the archives were rumoured to be infinite?

    ¡°Hey,¡± a voice said into her ear.

    She almost jumped¡ªinstead, she whipped her head around, stifling a sound of surprise.

    ¡°Sorry,¡± Nadim said, raising his hands in a show of apology. He gave her a strange, wincing smile, as if trying to hide discomfort. ¡°Didn¡¯t mean to startle you. Just, uh¡ªwhat are you doing here?¡±

    She held up her missive, then her list. ¡°Looking for some books.¡±

    ¡°Oh,¡± he said, eyes fixing onto the blue Magician¡¯s seal. ¡°I thought¡ªwell, yes. I guess I can help you there. Come this way.¡±

    He led the way down between the stacks.

    ¡°¡­You thought what?¡± she asked, once they were away from the entryways and out of earshot.

    ¡°Oh, you know.¡± He stopped walking and made a vague gesture with his hand, glancing back the way they¡¯d come. ¡°I thought Farzaneh might¡¯ve pointed you this way.¡± He lowered his voice. ¡°You didn¡¯t have that forged, did you?¡±

    ¡°The missive?¡± She grimaced, unsure how to explain. ¡°No, of course not.¡±

    ¡°Right, right.¡± He swallowed, throat bobbing nervously. ¡°It¡¯s just, uh. We don¡¯t see many lower scribes up here¡ªcould¡¯ve been some trouble if someone like Errai caught sight of you.¡±

    Rana glanced down at her uniform. ¡°I¡¯ll be sure to wear something different next time, then. So, these books?¡±

    He took the list, frown deepening the further down he read. ¡°This is Magician stuff. I don¡¯t know if they¡¯ll let you take them out of the Library.¡±

    ¡°I have an apprentice¡¯s cloak. Would it be better if I came back in wearing that? It¡¯s legitimate. Not stolen.¡±

    Nadim¡¯s expression switched into one of alarm. ¡°What are you¡­¡± He shook his head. ¡°Never mind. Don¡¯t tell me what I don¡¯t need to know.¡±

    ¡°Alright,¡± she said, as agreeably as she could. ¡°Though since I¡¯m here, do you have any news on the missing Healer?¡±

    Nadim hesitated. ¡°Mostly rumours. Nothing helpful.¡±

    ¡°What rumours?¡± Sometimes, speculative clues could be better than none.

    ¡°You know the sort¡ªjust stories cropping up now that he¡¯s gone. Usual Healer stuff.¡±

    ¡°Usual Healer stuff?¡± she prompted.

    Nadim shrugged. ¡°That he hated the administration, that he killed someone some years ago, things like that. They could¡¯ve had him disappeared for it, I suppose. But that makes less sense, and a couple of the army boys say he was out on the battle proper, fighting with the fallen cadre. That¡¯s all I¡¯ve got, I¡¯m afraid; difficult to sift through all the noise about¡­other things.¡±

    ¡°The rites,¡± she said flatly, filling in what he seemed reluctant to.

    ¡°Yeah,¡± he said with a bitter twitch of his lips. ¡°The rites. Tell your friend Scionsong thank you, if you see her again.¡±

    Given that Aliyah had disappeared with a traitor, she could be halfway across the continent by now. Or dead¡ªCardainne had all but said she wasn¡¯t by way of the Magicians, but there hundreds of other ways to die. Picked off by wild animals, or dehydration across the sands¡­if what Nadim had heard was true and Saar-Salai hadn¡¯t been with them in fleeing, the probability of Aliyah being dead rose significantly. Rana shut her eyes briefly, fought the surge of frustration in her chest.

    ¡°And the traitor?¡± she asked, opening her eyes.

    ¡°Still nothing¡ªshe was, you know, foreign. Seventhborn brought her back from a journey in Glister, so no one knew much about her.¡±

    Rana frowned, thinking. ¡°What about the Seventhborn, then?¡±

    Nadim blinked. ¡°Not much to say on that front, either; you¡¯ve probably heard all there is to hear, same as I and the rest of the castle. She¡¯s already¡ª¡±

    ¡°I know she¡¯s dead. But who knew her best?¡±

    ¡°Uh,¡± Nadim shifted on the balls of his feet, betraying further discomfort. ¡°¡­Sheratan, I suppose.¡±

    Rana skimmed through her inner lists until the name sparked recognition. ¡°The Chief Librarian?¡±

    ¡°One of them.¡± Nadim¡¯s frown deepened. ¡°Look, it¡¯s probably not a good idea for you to go bother her. She¡¯s the nicest of the lot, but since you¡¯re a lower scribe and all¡­¡±

    ¡°You aren¡¯t,¡± she pointed out.

    Nadim paled around the edges. ¡°I only got promoted up here a couple of months ago.¡±

    ¡°Aliyah helped you,¡± Rana said. ¡°And I¡¯m trying to help Aliyah. Couldn¡¯t you¡ª¡±

    He shook his head. ¡°Sorry, no. I can¡¯t. And I¡¯d suggest you don¡¯t try, either.¡±

    ¡°What if I wore the apprenticeling¡¯s cloak?¡±

    He winced. ¡°I suppose that¡¯s your call. But also,¡± he added. ¡°I almost forgot¡ªthat Healer from before? He had other apprentices, proper ones. You could try talking to them.¡±

    Rana schooled her expression; the information was a long shot. She supposed it was him trying to throw her a bone, to dissuade her from going after Sheratan. But Nadim didn¡¯t know her very well if he thought that was going to help¡ªshe didn¡¯t dig, but she did diversify her sources.

    ¡­And maybe she could dig, for this. Just a little. She¡¯d already fallen under ominous attention, and it had passed her by without too much harm.

    ¡°Thank you,¡± she said, then gestured with her list. ¡°I¡¯ll think it over. In the meantime, could you show me where to find these books?¡±

    Nadim sighed. ¡°Yes, I can do that.¡± He cast her a glance over his shoulder as started walking. ¡°Be careful, Rana.¡±

    ¡°Of course,¡± she said, not really meaning it.

 Interlude: apprenticeling, part II

    Obtaining an audience with Chief Librarian Sheratan was a frustratingly unsimple matter, fraught with small talk and dead ends, sideways glances and broken webbing. Eventually, she landed upon a workable portion of her network¡ªa friend of a colleague-owing-favours who had some family connection to leverage.

    ¡°Well,¡± the friend-of-a-colleague said, eyeing her scribe¡¯s garb. Rana memorised the shape of her face and the cut of her Higher Library uniform in turn, in case it would come in use later. ¡°Aspiring academic, are you? Doubt you¡¯ll get a place this way, even if Janan¡¯s a dear.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯d be grateful for a little of her time,¡± Rana said, as nondescriptly as possible. It was perhaps for the best that she assumed simpler intentions.

    ¡°Sure,¡± the Higher scribe said, in the manner of one indulging a precocious underling. ¡°I¡¯ll put in a word. No promises, though.¡±

    Rana fished a pouch from her satchel and held it out, open-palmed.

    The Higher scribe tilted her chin knowingly. ¡°Courtling ways, eh?¡± she said with an affable grin. ¡°Any friend of Basima¡¯s a friend of mine. But since you¡¯re offering¡­¡± She plucked the coins from Rana¡¯s palm and winked. ¡°Keep an eye for a letter.¡±

    Rana shelved her words away, into a corner marked ¡®near useless¡¯. The thing about liars was that you never knew they were liars until they¡¯d finished inconveniencing you.

    +++

    When the letter did come, Rana checked it over for the slightest hint of blue sigil before she allowed herself to open it.

    Tonight, the Higher scribe had written. Official offices, eleventh hour. And with the letter, a spell-slip with runes for unlocking and access, all signed for in a looping hand.

    No agonising over her outfit, this time: the plainest of dresses would do¡ªit was the tell-tale blaze of apprenticeling-blue that mattered. The rest of her might as well not exist; when she wore the cloak, maidservants averted their eyes at her passing.

    A group of late-shifters edged against the wall on her way to the Higher Library. She couldn¡¯t help but search their faces in return; it was an increasingly distressing habit these days. Her gaze kept catching on profile lines, on swoops of hair, on hands wrapped around mops and the scroll of a sleeve pushed up to the elbow.

    Living ghosts, she thought tiredly. Living ghosts, their skins stitched around still-moving flesh. Aliyah was alive; she was sure of it. Had to be. Healer Salai might be lost to the kingdom, rotting beneath a hundred layers of sand¡ªbut that didn¡¯t mean his apprentice had to suffer the same fate. Farzaneh had relayed kiter reports: no bodies in the deserted boat, and no corpses in the gorge-tunnel, either. A scouting expedition had been sent in, though they¡¯d stopped once the tunnel got too small to continue.

    ¡°I suppose someone could¡¯ve kept going,¡± Farzaneh had said, tone wary. ¡°I wasn¡¯t there, so I don¡¯t know¡ªbut the measurements looked plausible. Just not, ah¡­safe.¡±

    ¡°And no one tried to go further at all?¡± Rana asked archly. ¡°Not even at Magician insistence?¡± She had a vague idea of how these things worked; the blue-bloods would have been itching to get their hands on the traitor.

    Farzaneh shook her head. ¡°Tariq¡¯s a good leader. Argued back, wouldn¡¯t risk his team. The Magicians agreed, thank the stars, and didn¡¯t try to send one of us. There are all kinds of hazards out there, you know? Rock collapse, bad air¡­¡± Her voice scraped like gravel-over-gravel as she trailed off.

    ¡°I see,¡± Rana had replied, biting down on her frustration.

    Part of her wanted to drag Farzaneh down to that damned gorge right there and then, to demand better answers. Why this traitor, and why now? The¡­timing¡­of the faery attack sat uneasily in the back of her mind, puddling there like bitter sludge: wasn¡¯t it convenient that most of the Magicians had been busy and away while the greatest corrupting influence of the decade slipped free? What secrets had Aliyah been hiding from her, all these years?

    The Library door loomed. Rana clenched her teeth as she pushed it open. Eyes turned, saw the blue adorning her shoulders, and slipped furtively back down to their books and papers and whatever else.

    Nadim had been right; the Higher foyer greeted her with less hostility than when she¡¯d indicated her place of employment. Silken blue lining rustled down her back, leaned in to brush against her chin like a friend whispering a secret: you¡¯re better when you have me.

    She presented her missive to the clerk on duty, who sat up straighter at her approach.

    ¡°Certainly looks in order,¡± the clerk said, dipping her chin. ¡°I haven¡¯t seen you around¡ªnew student are you? Please, enjoy your stay.¡±

    An unfamiliar sensation uncurled in her chest¡ªnot satisfaction, exactly, and she wouldn¡¯t go so far as to call it power, but¡­something not unlike it.

    ¡°Thank you,¡± she said, as pleasantly as she could manage.

    The Library, it seemed, did not shift its appearance as some rumours stated. It looked the same as it had last appeared, only much quieter¡ªalmost eerily so. Only a handful of figures dotted the tables, poring over yellowed parchments. Did Higher scribes get better hours, and fewer late-shifts? She marched up the closest curl of imperial staircase, up and up, all the way to the thirteenth floor. Bookshelves spiraled away on all sides on each level she passed, fading to an indigo haze in the distance; she tried not to look in those directions. Nadim had mentioned getting headaches from that sort of thing. She concentrated on the stairs instead: stairs and stairs and yet more stairs.

    Finally, she paused at the thirteenth balustrade to catch her breath, and to cast begrudging admiration over the turn of the armillary sphere above. Stars spun over interlocking rings, glints of bronze and brass and gold waltzing in perfect harmony. It was a pity, she thought bitterly, that earthly things could not hope to be so straightforward.

    The way to the Higher offices was through a deep corridor, a wedge of darkness cut into the far side of this level¡ªthere was a far side to this one, at least. A strange vertigo swooped over her as she stepped past that threshold¡ªa blinking hiccup of nausea, there and gone again. She blinked her eyes clear as sparks of spell-light flickered to life, false-fire within glass globes. Flagstones merged into plush carpeting beneath her feet, so thick it silenced her footsteps.

    Different paintings graced the walls now: portraits of Librarians long gone. Their eyes seemed to follow her as she walked, and her fingers tightened reflexively around her signed spell-paper. What would happen if she didn¡¯t have it with her, she wondered. She spied no visible runes dancing over the walls, but that didn¡¯t mean the enchantment wasn¡¯t there¡ªher senses twitched at the touch of invisible thresholds, secret lines demarcating bounds of permission between one footstep and the next. The half-seconds of dizziness could have been her imagination, but with magic involved, it was rarely as simple as that.

    Offices graced the walls at various intervals, bearing nameplates that weren¡¯t Sheratan¡¯s. She supposed they went up in importance the further in she walked; it was only near the end of the corridor that she reached the doors she¡¯d been looking for.

    She squared her shoulders, took a deep breath, and knocked.

    ¡°Come in,¡± called a voice, threaded with power.

    The doors parted in much the same manner as Magician Cardainne¡¯s had, though with much less fanfare. Once opened, they framed a well-lit room¡ªlarge enough, but almost modest in comparison to Cardainne¡¯s¡ªlined with full bookshelves. Many globes of false-fire hung from the ceiling in even rows. Chief Librarian Sheratan sat at her desk, stylograph in hand. A miniature armillary sphere turned beside her nameplate as she tipped her head expectantly.

    Rana bowed hastily before making her way to the visitor¡¯s chair. Sheratan was a plump woman, with angular spectacles and hair piled into a high bun. Golden embroidery cloaked her shoulders and traced down her arms, terminating in ink-flecked sleeve-cuffs. She stayed silent, expression calm and watchful as Rana produced the letter and spell-slip.

    ¡°Many thanks for your time,¡± Rana started. She¡¯d had no experience with speaking to someone this highly-ranked, but politeness seemed as good a start as any.

    ¡°Thanks noted,¡± Sheratan replied dryly. ¡°What is it you wanted to speak of¡ªMiss Rana, was it?¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± she said, swallowing tightly. ¡°Forgive me for my forwardness, but¡ª¡±

    ¡°Ah,¡± Sheratan said knowingly. ¡°No need for all that. My niece has assured me you¡¯re of a solid character, but if it¡¯s a particular position you¡¯re after, there is already an excellent system in place. One that I am not inclined to interfere with.¡±

    Rana blinked. ¡°Oh¡ªof course. Though, I¡¯m afraid that isn¡¯t why I¡¯m here.¡±

    Sheratan sighed. ¡°Is it about that, then?¡± She gestured at the apprenticeling cloak.

    ¡°Sort of.¡± Rana cleared her throat. ¡°I wanted to ask you about¡­your kin-daughter. Seventhborn Alhena.¡±

    Sheratan didn¡¯t stiffen, or react visibly in any way, but her voice did take a harsher turn. ¡°What about her?¡±

    ¡°About her traitor-associate, actually,¡± Rana said.

    Sheratan looked her up and down. ¡°I didn¡¯t realise the Magicians sent their apprentices on such duties.¡±

    ¡°They don¡¯t. This is a personal matter.¡±

    Sheratan frowned and set down her stylograph. ¡°Then I would advise you let sleeping daemons lie. There¡¯s nothing worth investigating here that your masters don¡¯t already know.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s not really about the traitor either,¡± Rana said. ¡°Or at least, not that traitor.¡±

    ¡°Oh? Which, then?¡± Sheratan asked.

    ¡°The consort had an accomplice. When she escaped.¡±

    ¡°Yes?¡±

    Her hands were in her lap, hidden from Sheratan¡¯s view. She allowed herself to squeeze them into fists. ¡°That accomplice was my friend.¡±

    ¡°Ah,¡± Sheratan said pityingly. ¡°I see. Well, you seem like a bright young lady: you already know there isn¡¯t anything you can do.¡±

    Her mouth went dry. ¡°I want to find out why¡ª¡±

    Sheratan shook her head and pressed a hand lightly to her throat: a modest, sorrowful gesture. ¡°There¡¯s no use, Miss Rana. I told myself the same thing when they found out about dear Alhena. I knew her many years. She was such a sweet child, so happy with the harp¡ªand yet, sometimes things turn out like this, and there is nothing us good folk can do.¡±

    If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.

    ¡°I can do something,¡± Rana pressed. ¡°I can find out why she¡­left.¡±

    Sheratan shot her another pitying look from over the top of her spectacles. ¡°And if you do discover why your friend became accomplice¡ªwhat then? What good is that to you? As Librarians, we must learn to sort the important information from the unimportant. Powerful texts from useless ones. Good realia from bad. Surely you, even in the Lower Library, understand this.¡±

    ¡°I want an answer,¡± she replied helplessly. ¡°Some simple closure, any at all. Surely you heard Alhena speak of¡­anything that would make sense as to why¡ª¡±

    ¡°No,¡± Sheratan said, the faintest hint of hoarseness bleeding into her voice. ¡°I did not. If that were the case, I would have steered her away from her dangerous notions. But as I said: sometimes, we discover the people we hold dear are not who they seem to be. And there is nothing you can do about that, Miss Rana¡ªnothing you did wrong, that your friend hid her true self from you. It is not your duty to seek which dark star burned her mind from within, to dig into the wretched territories of her bygone soul. It is simply best, in my experience, to move on.¡± She offered a faint, tight smile. ¡°For this too, shall pass.¡±

    Would it? Aliyah was not Alhena, and Rana was not Sheratan.

    ¡°Your advice is wise,¡± she said carefully. ¡°But I am not asking for counsel. I am only asking for information.¡±

    ¡°It will do you no good, Miss Rana. But if it is information you want, then your masters would be better to ask than I. What evidence there is to seek, I assume they have already sought.¡±

    They are not my masters, she wanted to scream.

    ¡°Well,¡± she said instead. ¡°It is a personal matter.¡±

    Sheratan frowned. ¡°If you are so determined to see this to its unsatisfying conclusion¡­well, I will not stop you, and the young do learn from their mistakes. Or so they say. I¡¯m afraid I still can¡¯t help you in that regard¡ªMagician worries are not my concern, and if it is physical evidence you are looking for¡­again, your masters have investigated extensively, I am sure.¡±

    ¡°When you say physical evidence,¡± Rana began cautiously.

    ¡°Alhena¡¯s possessions were bequeathed to the sixthborn, and not to I.¡±

    Rana blinked. ¡°To the princess Achernar?¡± For the first time since this awful meeting had started, she felt a flutter of hope in her chest. Or perhaps it was only a manic excitement, that she had not run out of cards to play. Well, not run out of all but the highest card.

    ¡°Just so,¡± said Sheratan, in a tone implying I doubt you can stretch your connections so far, little lowborn.

    Rana managed to keep herself from laughing¡ªbut only just.

    +++

    ¡°No,¡± Karim said. He worked his jaw and paced in front of her, arms crossed. ¡°Rana, I¡¯ve done everything you¡¯ve asked for.¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± she said. ¡°You have.¡±

    ¡°Would you really?¡± he demanded. ¡°After all that?¡±

    Morning light spilled through his windows, washing over the neat stacks of notes upon his desk. She eyed the vase by his books: a plain carafe with pale roses frothing over its top.

    ¡°I would not like to,¡± she said.

    The point wasn¡¯t whether she would¡ªit was the fact that she could. Perhaps not now, but if one day she ascended enough that such an outrageous reveal would benefit her¡­well, if he were a wise man, he¡¯d stop at once. She knew he wouldn¡¯t; he was so far gone that it was almost pitiful.

    He must¡¯ve sensed her line of thought, because he stopped stock still.

    ¡°Rana,¡± he said. ¡°I have asked one thing, and that is you stay away from her.¡±

    She shrugged. ¡°It has nothing to do with her. It¡¯s about access. That¡¯s all.¡±

    ¡°And on whose neck does that fall on, if those above deem it inappropriate?¡±

    ¡°Mine, of course.¡±

    He shot her a sour look. ¡°Yes. And hers.¡±

    She almost opened her mouth to say: no, it wouldn¡¯t. But she recalled the seventhborn, the whole reason she was here in the first place. Alhena¡¯s own Magician-siblings had contributed, one way or another, to her demise. There was no telling how far the courts might go¡ªnot anymore.

    ¡°They¡¯re her rooms now,¡± she argued instead. ¡°What would others have to say about how she chooses to use them? The Magicians would¡¯ve already looked them over, right? There¡¯s nothing dangerous in there. Only¡­clues.¡±

    ¡°Rana,¡± he said disgustedly. ¡°All this, for that Library-thief? Don¡¯t think I haven¡¯t forgotten¡ª¡±

    ¡°Even more,¡± she shot back, ¡°for Achernar?¡±

    He shook his head. ¡°You don¡¯t understand.¡±

    ¡°I understand,¡± she said. ¡°You¡¯re in love. It makes you a fool.¡±

    A muscle twitched in his jaw. Those roses were still fresh; part of her was astonished they¡¯d made it this long. She wondered what despair he¡¯d fall into, when the time inevitably came for the sixthborn to be married off. It was tragic, really, like a storytale. If she were more of a romantic, she¡¯d find it unbearably sad. As it was, it served for excellent leverage.

    ¡°Do you, now,¡± he replied. ¡°Understand, that is.¡±

    She narrowed her eyes. ¡°Not like that.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re acting quite the fool yourself, good cousin. Need I remind you of how you mangled your in with Cardainne?¡± His tone darkened. ¡°I¡¯ll wager he¡¯s going to have the both of us coughing blood because of your overstepping.¡±

    Rana ignored him. ¡°I just want a quick look. It shouldn¡¯t be difficult for you to arrange. You needn¡¯t even mention my name, if it upsets you that much.¡±

    ¡°Very funny,¡± he said. ¡°You don¡¯t think she¡¯s going to ask what I need it for? It¡¯s suspicious as all hells, Rana, I can¡¯t¡ª¡±

    ¡°So tell her,¡± she said. ¡°Tell her about how much of an evil courtling I am, how I need to be bought off with this one favour.¡±

    ¡°Achernar¡¯s not an idiot,¡± he ground out. ¡°And neither am I. You¡¯re going to keep asking this of me, aren¡¯t you? First it was ¡®oh, search about town for a decent apothecary¡¯, and now¡ª¡±

    ¡°Please,¡± she said. ¡°You know me. I wouldn¡¯t for something so trivial.¡±

    ¡°If you think that Scionsong girl untrivial¡ª¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s not for her,¡± Rana snapped. ¡°It¡¯s for me. She¡¯s already gone. Obviously. But I deserve to know, and she damn well isn¡¯t here to tell me, so I¡¯m going to find out myself.¡±

    He blinked at her, in much the same way Sheratan had. ¡°What? That¡¯s¡ª¡±

    ¡°Useless? Maybe to you.¡±

    Aliyah had been her oldest friend, but it was not only that. It was not a matter of time; it was a condition of presence. Aliyah had indulged in all of her stupid, childhood ideas. Taught her how to fold paper scraps into many-winged birds. Sat with her beneath the shade of that old ironwood and spoken of pleasant, dreamlike things. They¡¯d planned to become scribes together¡ªnone of it had worked out, of course.

    Watching her deteriorate had been a wretched time, helplessness clawing at the inside of her chest. Fighting to seek a solution had been her one solace throughout the trials of early scribehood, of scrambling to learn, to adapt, to fit in¡ªwhen it all became too much, she¡¯d thrown herself into this one thing, this purpose. When she¡¯d succeeded, it had been exulting. It had been you did something good with what little power you have. For some time, the world had finally felt just and right.

    And now, it had all gone to hell. Why? She had to know why. It couldn¡¯t all have been for nothing.

    Karim¡¯s gaze fixed on her face, looking perturbed. She schooled her expression back toward neutral.

    ¡°Fine,¡± he said heavily. ¡°I¡¯ll ask. She might say no.¡±

    ¡°Thank you. And I doubt she¡¯ll refuse.¡±

    He narrowed his eye at that. ¡°What do you know¡ª¡±

    ¡°She won¡¯t refuse,¡± Rana said calmly. ¡°After all, she loves you. Right?¡±

    He was silent for several moments.

    ¡°Get out,¡± he said.

    She did.

    +++

    The late Seventhborn¡¯s rooms looked as if they hadn¡¯t been touched since her last use of them.

    The bed was huge and extensively canopied, but the sheets were unmade. Clothing lay bunched up on the backs of settees in haphazard piles. Were it not for the dust sheening the dark surfaces of the desk and dresser, Rana would have suspected Alhena had just left for the day. Achernar had, according to Karim, no reason to touch the place for now. One could draw easy conclusions as to why.

    Lines of sunlight blazed around the edges of heavy curtains, drawn shut. Rana whispered words for spell-light rather than open them and cupped the glow in her hand as she ventured through this shadowed ghost-place.

    Alhena¡¯s quarters boasted wall shelves full of books¡ªupon closer inspection, they were not spell tomes or study texts, but rather literary novels, and a selection of illuminated stories. She flipped through them for hidden hollows or messages tucked between the pages, but found none. The rest of the rooms were predictable in their magnificence; the gilt-edged mirror concealed no compartments, and table drawers held nothing more than loose papers, broken cosmetics and the occasional shiny trinket.

    All in all, it was very disappointing: the place painted a portrait of a rather pampered individual, one who liked to take baths using¡ªRana had frowned down at the label¡ªgold-flecked soaps. Perhaps Alhena¡¯s softness had been her undoing, in the end. For what was there to find? There were no vials of poison, no journals detailing murder plots. She supposed the Magicians might have removed any overt pieces of evidence, but she¡¯d hoped that they would¡¯ve missed something: traitorship was, after all, often gleaned by word of mouth.

    Rana sighed, and did another sweep of the room. Of the traitor-consort, there were few signs. A pair of shoes in a slightly different size, a box of eye-contacts shoved into the back of the wardrobe, two plain throwing knives tucked behind a stack of papers¡ªthat was about as interesting as it got.

    She frowned down at a pair of settees, facing one another. In truth, she couldn¡¯t picture Aliyah here, speaking in confidence with a princess and her spymaster¡ªbut then, she hadn¡¯t pictured quiet, meek Aliyah breaking into the Higher Library before it had happened. Sighing, she straightened up and chewed at the inside of her cheek.

    ¡°Find anything?¡± someone said at her back. A smooth voice. Elegant intonation. For a moment, her mind alighted on the thought of a royal ghost, head cradled in see-through hands.

    Rana whirled round, a clumsy shield cresting at her fingertips.

    ¡°No need,¡± said the sixthborn Achernar. ¡°It is only I.¡±

    Level eyes stared her down. Her first impression was of a furrowed brow and frowning lips and a beaded shawl cascading over narrow shoulders. A ribbon laced the shawl closed at the throat, bleached mourning-white.

    ¡°You¡¯re Karim¡¯s cousin,¡± Achernar said. ¡°Aren¡¯t you.¡±

    It wasn¡¯t a question. ¡°Yes,¡± Rana replied anyway.

    She looked the princess up and down. Achernar wore relatively simple clothing, for a royal, and her hands were held loose by her sides, free of any instruments or weapons. Of course, that meant nothing: if Achernar wanted to kill her, she could probably do it without much struggle. Rana didn¡¯t tense just yet; there was none of that ice-spined chill that had been there when Cardainne had spoken to her on the battlements.

    ¡°Why are you here?¡± Rana asked.

    ¡°These rooms belong to me now,¡± Achernar said with a wry shrug. ¡°And you are in them. I thought it wise that I supervise.¡±

    ¡°Right,¡± Rana said. ¡°Well, I¡¯m done looking. Would you like me to turn out my pockets?¡±

    Achernar¡¯s lips twitched into a faint smile. ¡°No need. If you were to rob a dead woman, then I think that is punishment on you enough.¡±

    Rana shrugged. ¡°There¡¯s nothing to steal. Nothing to find.¡±

    ¡°No?¡± Achernar asked. ¡°One would think the Magicians overlooked something.¡±

    Rana blinked, startled. ¡°I¡¯m sorry?¡±

    ¡°I suspect you thought the same,¡± Achernar said, stepping closer. ¡°Why else would you be here?¡± She cleared her throat and traced a hand absently over the back of the settee. ¡°I was present when they dragged Alhena out and threw me the keys. Was it not an unreasonable assumption, that they did not have the time to scour for true evidence? Coward was I, I did not look for myself. So I ask you, cousin Khan¡ªare you certain you found nothing?¡±

    ¡°Quite certain,¡± Rana said, and hesitated. ¡°Did you ever see the seventhborn with others?¡±

    ¡°You mean with her foreign companion?¡± Achernar wrinkled her nose delicately. ¡°The¡­spymaster¡­slept in there, yes. I suppose it was part of their farce.¡±

    ¡°I meant others,¡± Rana said falteringly. ¡°Like, any meetings with a lowborn, or¡ª¡±

    ¡°No,¡± Achernar said. ¡°No, I did not. You should know how unusual it is for a lowborn to cavort with royals. Certainly not in here, past guards if the liaison were to occur under cover of night.¡±

    ¡°I see,¡± Rana said.

    They¡¯d been on some terrace when she¡¯d stumbled across them¡ªshe could still picture the two of them gazing into each other¡¯s eyes, the closeness of their faces indefensible. It was, she thought wincingly, so tragic that it was insufferable.

    ¡°If I tell you all I know,¡± Achernar said, breaking into her gloomy musings. ¡°Will you leave us alone?¡±

    She blinked. ¡°I already wish to leave you be.¡± Let them have what bitter scraps of happiness they could, for the time being. Who was she to interfere, leverage aside?

    Achernar shrugged. ¡°Well, I can assure you¡ªyour friend has no connection to my former sister.¡±

    ¡°Oh,¡± Rana said. And then: ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°Karim informed me of your concerns,¡± Achernar stated matter-of-factly. ¡°I have a little insight from the Magician investigation: the foreign traitor acted alone, and on Alhena¡¯s request no less. She was recruited¡­specifically for such a purpose, I believe. A rare diplomatic visit, unaffiliated eyes and ears¡ªnone of us could have foreseen this. Your friend is an anomaly, a last-minute addition, I suspect. Are you hoping to find a version of events which absolves her of all guilt?¡±

    That last sentence was spoken with the same casualness as the rest of her words, but Rana froze.

    ¡°I was just looking for an answer.¡±

    Achernar gave her a knowing look. ¡°An answer that you would make you happy? She fought a Magician¡¯s apprentice of her own accord. I suggest you come to terms with it.¡±

    ¡°But, why¡ª¡±

    ¡°Perhaps she simply wanted to leave,¡± Achernar said with a shrug. ¡°Traitorous minds whisper it is not so good here, not for the likes of her. She could have been offered money, or power, or perhaps most invitingly of all, a new life. Karim tells me she was an apprenticeling. Well, it is much the same sort of reasoning, is it not? To step into the shelter of a Healer or traitor or both, depending on if they ever unearth that Salai fellow.¡± She paused. ¡°Perhaps your friend weighed sentiment against reason, and chose reason. It is a difficult choice, or so I have heard.¡±

    Rana swallowed. She thought of blood draining from bodies, of red blooming across the skies, of adulterated tea and too-sweet vanillin.

    ¡°It is not a difficult concept to understand,¡± said Achernar. ¡°It is more a matter of willingness to.¡±

    The silence stretched for much too long.

    ¡°Yes,¡± Rana choked out. Her tongue tripped over phantom sweetness, at vanillin that wasn¡¯t there. ¡°Yes. I think I understand, now.¡±

    Achernar laid a pitying hand onto her shoulder, and Rana couldn¡¯t bring herself to shrug it off.

 3.1 - Red Letter Day

    Aliyah

    ¡°I doubt we can stay here long,¡± Kionah said.

    Morning light crept across their warded room. Aliyah¡¯s body felt heavy with exhaustion, even with the aid of her magic. The last several hours had hardly been conducive to restful sleep.

    Laurent had drawn up wards over the wreckage of the workshop and Kionah had helped, spinning spellwork nets to drape over doorways. Silas had insisted on taking watch; Laurent had argued against it. No one had wanted to venture out, so dinner had been leftover lavender bread, dipped in milk to soften it. Kionah had complained that it tasted of soap.

    Now, Kionah sat in bed scribbling figures onto a scrap of paper.

    ¡°Laurent¡¯s only indulging us because I¡¯m a friend of Shasta¡¯s,¡± she continued, frowning down at the page of arithmetic as she weighed a coin pouch in one hand. ¡°I doubted anything would happen in a more residential area upside, but¡­well. They didn¡¯t sign up for this. Are you amenable to crashing at Shasta¡¯s, or will I have to seek other options?¡±

    ¡°Does it matter what I think?¡± Aliyah asked. ¡°They¡¯re trying to abduct me. Why aren¡¯t they going after you?¡± she added, trying not to sound overly fretful. ¡°You were there too.¡±

    ¡°You possess a magic that I don¡¯t,¡± Kionah said, tapping the end of her stylograph against her chin. ¡°And you¡¯re Songian-born, besides. If these faeries are the very same who attacked your kingdom, I assume they have a vested interest in people like you. Speaking of which, the next time someone tells you to move out of the way¡ªat least try.¡±

    ¡°I miscalculated.¡± She ran a hand through her hair and frowned. ¡°Maybe I should cut my hair.¡±

    Kionah looked up from her sheet of numbers and raised an eyebrow. ¡°Pardon? I think it suits you as it is.¡±

    ¡°I can¡¯t cast through dead cells,¡± she said reluctantly. She winced at the memory of Saiphenora swinging her into the wall. ¡°I suppose there¡¯s no point in giving opponents a free handhold.¡±

    Kionah looked her up and down. ¡°Or you could just shield hard enough such that they can¡¯t reach you. Else we¡¯d all go about looking like Silas.¡±

    ¡°Right. I can¡¯t shield that well, though.¡±

    ¡°Shields work better if you¡¯re standing still.¡±

    Aliyah scowled. ¡°I was standing still when the faery broke it.¡±

    ¡°So practice,¡± Kionah said, setting her paper aside. She scooped a handful of coins from her pouch and headed for the door. ¡°Be back in a minute. Have to convince Laurent to send a pigeon to Luxon¡¯s.¡±

    Aliyah watched her go and sighed into the empty room.

    Voices drifted in from the hallway in an indistinct blur. She wondered if Saiphenora was still out there, with arrows in wait. Hopefully not, if that hemolymphatic hemorrhage had been anything to go by.

    She stood and stretched her arms. There was nothing physically amiss. Even her magic had replenished itself overnight. But a certain tiredness lingered about her skull, drove furrows below her eyes and a phantom tension into her sinuses. It was a weariness that came with being on too-high-alert. She¡¯d played the fight over and over before drifting off to sleep, put it through a dozen permutations of maybe this could have happened if you¡¯d reacted sooner.

    She raised her hands, planted her feet into the floorboards, and summoned a shield.

    The familiar golden dome snapped into existence around her, awash with a faint, oily film. The barrier wasn¡¯t as clear as Kionah¡¯s, she noted, nor as smooth. There were inconsistencies in the shape, sections which dipped and thinned away. She wondered why Kionah had cause to be so good at shielding, came to several discomfiting conclusions, and carefully put them out of her mind for the time being.

    She¡¯d probably been better at this as a child, when it had been first taught to her. There was something bitter about that notion, the sense that her skill had been slowly siphoned out of her by maidwork drudgery. The kingdom had forged her into someone who was good at flying needles and sweeping floors and getting bloodstains out of clothes and really not much else.

    Learning to fix cuts and sprains had felt like clambering out of a mile-deep pit of helplessness. Pity then, that the helplessness was still there: her foundations were cracked and unsteady, evident in every dimple over the surface of her shield.

    Kionah stepped back into the room, the coins gone from her hand.

    ¡°I¡¯ve sent for a decent lunch as well,¡± she said as she dropped back onto her bed. ¡°Hey, that doesn¡¯t look too terrible. It¡¯ll save you getting punched by the average pissed-off citizen.¡±

    Aliyah frowned uneasily. ¡°Are Glisterian people quick to anger?¡±

    ¡°Only if you get caught.¡±

    ¡°Caught?¡± She thought of nimble fingers plucking food from shopfronts, sleight of hand put to use with the faery¡¯s potion vial. ¡°Oh. I see.¡± She dropped the shield. ¡°I think the faeries are stronger than usual folk, though.¡±

    ¡°The ones they let out of the Hive are,¡± Kionah said. ¡°These random schismatists hunting you down, I think you¡¯ll be fine once that¡¯s gone.¡± She jerked her chin towards her arm, where the tracker-mark lay hidden beneath her sleeve. ¡°Glister¡¯s a big city. Worst comes to worst, you could dip underground for a few months.¡±

    ¡°Right. Still, the silver faery¡ªSaiphenora something, she was strong.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re a little biased,¡± Kionah said, ¡°on account of having been shot.¡±

    Aliyah winced. ¡°Very funny.¡±

    ¡°No, I¡¯m serious.¡± Kionah took something from her pocket and held it out: the potion vial from last night, sloshing with golden liquid. ¡°She wouldn¡¯t¡¯ve been such a problem if it weren¡¯t for this. And neither would the rest of them, I suspect.¡±

    ¡°A potion?¡± she asked doubtfully. Most of the formulary she¡¯d seen at market hadn¡¯t been anything special, never mind giving one the ability to shoot walls of arrows.

    ¡°Something like that. Word on the street is they usually get this stuff in the Hive, boosts them up a bit. But schismatists have to make do with their own brew¡ªwhich makes them¡­worse.¡±

    ¡°Right. Well, even if it¡¯s not intrinsic to their physiology I can¡¯t take it away from them. Unless¡­¡± She frowned. ¡°How quickly is it absorbed? I doubt I could force it out of their bloodstream, or make them metabolise it faster. Potions are mostly magic, right? There¡¯s no naturally-occurring antagonist substance, I don¡¯t think¡­ugh.¡± She scratched reflexively at the tracker-mark on her arm. ¡°Maybe if the pretender-Magician hadn¡¯t broken those keys¡­¡±

    ¡°I have no idea,¡± Kionah said, pocketing the vial with a shrug. ¡°But getting a bit better at shielding can¡¯t hurt. I¡¯m out of practice myself.¡±

    ¡°You held off the faeries back with the pretender-Magician,¡± Aliyah pointed out. And that had been with a concussion too, hadn¡¯t it? She wondered how badly she lagged in comparison to normal mages her age. But then again, she reminded herself, Kionah was a hardened criminal¡ªeven if she didn¡¯t look like one.

    Kionah sighed and inspected her nails. ¡°I could have done more than hold them back if I hadn¡¯t spent the last year lounging around. Eating sugared dates and listening for secrets is all very well and good, but it was hardly optimal for keeping in shape. Say, try that shield again.¡±

    ¡°Why?¡±

    ¡°You want help, don¡¯t you?¡±

    Aliyah summoned the shield. Kionah stepped forwards and peered at it, so close that her nose almost grazed its surface.

    ¡°Who taught you this? Not Saar-Salai, I assume.¡±

    ¡°I learned most of my spellwork from a tutor. In the lowborn school.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re not pulling the magic evenly,¡± Kionah said with a click of her tongue. She leaned back and summoned a shield of her own. ¡°Best steady when you¡¯re standing still, see? Maybe try it slow first.¡±

    Privately, Aliyah thought the advice rather unhelpful. Shielding had a different shape to it than targeted impulses like breakage and vasodilation, a sense of stasis rather than change.

    ¡°Is there no secret beyond practice?¡±

    Kionah snorted and dropped her example of a far superior shield. ¡°Is there ever?¡±

    Aliyah thought of books crammed full of text, diagrams of arteries and veins, afternoons spent hunched over tomes. ¡°No,¡± she said. ¡°Not really.¡±

    Some of her dismay must have shown, because Kionah shot her a sympathetic look. ¡°Hey, now. We¡¯ve got a spare couple of hours before Luxon pays you a visit. Why don¡¯t I throw some knives at you?¡±

    ¡°What?¡± Aliyah asked, alarmed. Her shield flickered with the lapse in focus.

    ¡°See, that there you do not want,¡± Kionah said with a shake of her head. ¡°You have to train yourself to reflexively boost instead of drop, eh? At least, that was what I did.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± Aliyah said, ¡°but knives?¡±

    ¡°Daggers,¡± Kionah clarified. She bent over her luggage and retrieved a pair of long, slender, and most saliently, Aliyah thought, sharp blades. ¡°And not ¡®throw¡¯, so much as slice. See what your shield can handle.¡±

    ¡°Those will cut me if the shield doesn¡¯t hold.¡±

    ¡°So?¡± Kionah asked. She twirled one of the knives in an appraising manner. ¡°You¡¯re a Healer, aren¡¯t you?¡±

    ¡°I uh, I still feel pain, you know.¡±

    Kionah blinked. ¡°Can¡¯t you block it out if you know it¡¯s coming?¡±

    ¡°Pain isn¡¯t the only problem,¡± she said, cringing at the thought of a dagger-point gouging into her eyeball. ¡°And no, it doesn¡¯t work like you think. Targeting takes time, focus¡ªif it¡¯s a fight, I can¡¯t just put a total block on nerve signals, because¡ª¡±

    Kionah sighed. ¡°Damn. I was hoping I could play with these.¡±

    You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

    People underestimated knives, Aliyah thought gloomily. Sure, there were tales of old lords surviving assassinations wrought with dozens of stabs, but more often than not, a person with a knife was going to do enough damage for healing it to be complicated, or if not complicated, then at least irritating.

    ¡°Why do you have those, anyway?¡± she asked.

    Kionah shrugged and placed the daggers back into her luggage. ¡°I like them. Good for tricks. Good in a pinch. Haven¡¯t used them for real fighting; Shasta assures me it¡¯s no fun.¡±

    Aliyah thought of Shasta¡¯s scars, a not-insignificant amount even with the presumable ability to shield. ¡°I can¡¯t imagine it would be,¡± she said. ¡°Do you tend to get in a lot of fights?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t tend to start them,¡± Kionah said, which both was and wasn¡¯t an answer.

    ¡°Okay,¡± she said carefully. ¡°Okay, so. Is there anything you can test against the shield that won¡¯t seriously injure me?¡±

    ¡°Hm,¡± Kionah said, and threw something at her.

    A dark shape blurred through the air. Aliyah yelped and bolstered her shield; the thing thwacked against it and tumbled off the side.

    ¡°¡­Really?¡± she asked, when her gaze refocused. ¡°Your jacket?¡±

    ¡°You¡¯ve got to start somewhere, don¡¯t you?¡± Kionah asked. She grabbed the pillow off her bed and hefted it in her hand with a self-satisfied grin. ¡°Let¡¯s go.¡±

    Pillow, jacket, duvet, water-flask, they all came at her in quick, blinding succession. She bolstered her shield and it held, until Kionah herself lunged, knuckles glowing with spell-light. She struck, and the shield crumbled. Aliyah yelped and veered sideways, not fast enough. Kionah¡¯s fist clipped a glancing blow across her cheek.

    ¡°Ow,¡± she said.

    ¡°Sorry!¡± Kionah raised her hands, palms-out in a conciliatory manner. ¡°My apologies, I ah, I assumed your shield could take it. You held up against the faery, after all.¡±

    Aliyah passed her hand over her cheek and healed what little damage there was, soothed it away as if it had never been. She could do that, at least. She rubbed at her temples and sighed. ¡°I saw the faery coming.¡±

    Kionah shrugged, almost apologetically. ¡°Lucky you did.¡±

    ¡°Fine,¡± she said. ¡°Again.¡±

    Kionah hit her shield, harder this time. Aliyah dug her heels in and grit her teeth; it held. Kionah flexed her fingers and stepped around her, became a looming presence at her back. When she turned her head instinctively, Kionah took another step to keep out of her line of sight.

    ¡°This is hardly going to work if you can anticipate everything,¡± Kionah said.

    Aliyah poured more magic into her shield. ¡°Uh, just so you know, head injuries are really quite dangerous.¡±

    ¡°Sure, sure. I¡¯ll just aim at your back¡ª¡±

    Kionah cast mid-sentence. The jolt of magic crashed into her shield, a spell with a tunneling, piercing form¡ªand two more, seemingly specialised for breaking barriers, that almost made it through.

    ¡°Better,¡± Kionah said, and struck again. And again. And again.

    The attacking spells varied in shape, testing the bounds of her shield. Kionah would feint every now and again, letting a trail of magic whisper over one side of the shield-dome before hitting the other. She poured liquid magic over the shield¡¯s surface, burrowed into the gap between shield and floor, fired lances of hissing light that looped round to strike from the front. It was almost infuriating. And yet, if this was how she had to prepare herself for survival in this sideways-city, then she would do all that she could¡ªto a reasonable extent. They stopped when she was on the cusp of a bleeding nose.

    ¡°I¡¯ve been meaning to ask,¡± Kionah said when she announced as such. ¡°Why does that even happen to you? You¡¯re a Healer; surely you can make it stop.¡±

    ¡°Not worth it,¡± she replied, shaking her head. She could still feel the imprint of a shield-holding on her hands, like a muscle tensed for too long. ¡°I could heal and vasoconstrict for a while, yeah, but I¡¯d have to focus. And it¡¯d just come back, as soon as I stop focusing.¡±

    ¡°But the worse effects?¡± Kionah asked skeptically. ¡°Wouldn¡¯t it be worth preventing those?¡±

    ¡°Worse?¡± She frowned. ¡°You mean, fainting? If it gets to that point, I won¡¯t have enough magic to prevent it.¡±

    ¡°Oh,¡± said Kionah. ¡°You don¡¯t often overextend yourself? Short history of total drainage? Hm. Well, I suppose you were a maidservant. I see.¡±

    Aliyah frowned. ¡°I don¡¯t. You mean, there are worse effects that come with habit?¡±

    ¡°Yes.¡± Kionah sighed. ¡°It¡¯s why I¡¯m careful not to, nowadays. And why you should do the same.¡±

    ¡°Wait, wait. What sort of worse effects do you mean?¡±

    Her words were met with a grimace. ¡°Oh, it¡¯s not pretty. Go too hard too many times and, ah, all your old wounds start to unravel, that sort of thing. Muscles go squishy. Teeth coming loose.¡±

    ¡°That happened to you?¡± Aliyah asked, alarmed. Kionah certainly looked well but then again, she¡¯d been in the company of a princess and her Healers until rather recently.

    Kionah raised her hand and tilted it back and forth, a vague gesture. ¡°A little. Not the worst.¡± She hesitated, and her voice took on a more distant tone. ¡°I saw the nastier bits happen to others. Some of the witches, the old generation¡­it¡¯s like they start to unravel. Start losing control. Can¡¯t come back from it.¡±

    ¡°That sounds awful.¡± She swallowed at the memory of old pain, clawing tissue, broken flesh¡ªthat had been bad enough in itself. She resolved to keep a hold of her strength; best not to court further consequences.

    ¡°It is.¡± Kionah shook her head, strode over to her bed, and started rummaging through her luggage. ¡°In any case, you¡¯d better rest. Little time before Luxon gets here.¡±

    Her voice had taken a turn, forced into faux-cheeriness. Aliyah sensed a buried current there, something best not to touch. She picked up her half-finished book and watched Kionah out of the corner of her eye; the former spymaster twirled a dagger almost wistfully in her hands.

    Here was another thing to think about: what a violent history might Kionah have, that she was not even through with half her second decade but had burnt her magic down to ashes enough times to fear losing it entirely? Aliyah supposed that her own youth had been if not pleasant, then at least sheltered in comparison.

    Lunch came quickly: warm soup, bread for dipping, and a cupful each of that orange brine-pudding. Kionah gave Silas a curt, grateful nod and a pair of coins exchanged hands.

    ¡°Market food,¡± Kionah had explained over the rim of her bowl. Her lips twisted into a wry smile. ¡°I told him it would be cheaper if he stole it, but he didn¡¯t seem to agree.¡±

    ===

    ¡°My goodness! What happened here? It¡¯s positively ghastly.¡±

    Luxon swept through the tattered workshop in a swish of brocade dress and beaded coat. Her wings were folded down, hiding their shimmer¡ªbut the rest of her outfit more than made up for it. Ribbons trailed from her bejeweled sleeves, and a lovers eye brooch winked up at them from her collar. Aliyah eyed the carpet bag she carried and scratched absently at her forearm.

    ¡°Rogue faeries,¡± Silas replied, crossing his arms. ¡°Laurent tried sending a missive to the Hive before he set off this morning. No reply yet.¡± He scowled faintly, before turning his attention to the book splayed open in his lap. ¡°Wards got cracked and yet, no news. Wonder why¡ªthey¡¯re usually good about this sort of thing, or so I hear.¡±

    Luxon tilted her head and gave a nervous little titter. A pair of cut-emerald pendants swung from where they hooked into her face-spines, perfectly matched to her faceted eyes. They had the unfortunate effect of making her seem as if she had an  additional eyeball floating on either side of her face.

    ¡°Good about¡­? Oh, yes. They are! I¡¯m sure they¡¯ll send someone to help, once a few things are sorted out. Very¡­busy, at the moment, or so I¡¯ve been told.¡±

    ¡°Busy?¡± Kionah asked, frowning. She snapped her fingers. ¡°Right! I bet you¡¯ve got a new queen, yeah? Titania, or successor, or something along those lines? Just now?¡±

    ¡°Something like that,¡± Luxon said. Her tail swished in what Aliyah thought might be an agitated manner. ¡°I¡¯m really not the best person to speak with regarding Hive matters. Anyhow. I came with your cure!¡± She stepped closer and brandished the carpet bag. ¡°Hold out your arm for me, if you would?¡±

    Aliyah did. The tesseracts gleamed mockingly up at her. Perhaps it was the light, but they seemed especially sinister-looking today; the lines shone faintly, as if they had been brushed on with fresh ink. Luxon pulled a small potion bottle from the depths of her bag, filled with a dull blue liquid. It fizzled and wisped off into strings of smoke as Luxon popped the cork and poured it over the mark; the smoke sank into her skin and tingled something fierce. The tesseracts shimmered¡ªand stayed.

    ¡°Um,¡± Aliyah said. ¡°How long does it take to work?¡±

    Luxon was frowning. ¡°It is¡­usually instant. The only thing that could¡­well, I imbued it to counteract any additional syrup-effects from all the known variants, I am certain¡­¡±

    ¡°Syrup?¡± Kionah broke in. She fished Saiphenora¡¯s vial out of her pocket. ¡°You mean, like this?¡±

    Luxon turned her head. Her spines pricked upwards and her gemstone-eyes flashed in the light. ¡°That looks¡­yes, that does look very schismatist. If you would provide me the sample, I could rework the antidote. Perhaps there¡¯s a fresh brewer about, new methods¡­ugh, what a bother. I do apologise.¡±

    Aliyah watched as the vial exchanged hands and frowned. The tracker-mark stuck firmly¡ªand perhaps, she fancied, even mockingly¡ªon her skin. ¡°Luxon, do you know any faeries called Saiphenora?¡±

    Luxon tilted her head and tutted. ¡°I¡¯m afraid not. Perhaps someone from the Hive proper would know¡ª¡±

    The faint sound of breaking glass interrupted her.

    ¡°The wards,¡± Silas said grimly, his gaze trained on a shimmer across the pages of his book. He placed it carefully atop a bench before he stood, sparks of spellfire wound around his knuckles and the faintest surge of shielding at his sides.

    ¡°What¡ª¡± Kionah started, but he was already striding into the shopfront.

    Aliyah hesitated. Saiphenora¡¯s words flared in her mind: keep an eye when you shelter away from a roof and four walls, mageling. She was almost glad when Luxon took the lead and swished through to the shopfront; Kionah followed a fraction of a moment after, and Aliyah hurried half a step behind.

    The shopfront was in a slightly better state than the workshop, but there was a distinct scorchmark on the countertop and several display cases sported cracks. The sign at the door had been flipped around such that the outward-facing side stated the shop was closed. An arrow had punched through its very center, marring the words; the glass panel on the door lay shattered at their feet.

    ¡°Ooh,¡± Luxon said with a shudder. ¡°How terribly¡­uncouth. More schismatists all hopped up on syrup, I gather.¡±

    Silas leaned over the shards and plucked the arrow free; it was an ordinary arrow, formed of wood and not spellfire. From its tail trailed a substantial length of red fabric¡ªso much that Aliyah wondered how the arrow had flown true.

    ¡°Back inside, all of you,¡± Silas said. ¡°Whoever shot this is probably still around.¡±

    They filtered back into the workshop, and Aliyah¡¯s skin prickled at the suggestion of being watched. She tensed and readied castings of shielding and vasodilation, but the tracker-mark lay calm and dormant¡ªthe suggestion of an itch was so faint that it could have well been her imagination alone. She felt her face twist into a frown as the fabric rustled in Silas¡¯s grasp. It looked¡ªcould it be a coincidence¡­?

    ¡°There is a note attached,¡± Silas said with a frown. He fished a small scroll from out behind the folds of fabric. ¡°Are your enemies in habit of leaving such correspondence, Sadrava? Crowear poking their nose into schismatist business recently?¡±

    Kionah shook her head as Silas passed the scroll to her. ¡°I¡¯m a friend of Shasta¡¯s, not an employee¡ª¡±

    ¡°Whatever you say.¡±

    ¡°Excuse me,¡± Aliyah said as an unpleasant sense of certainty bloomed in the pit of her stomach. ¡°Silas, could you pass me that that fabric?¡±

    Silas unknotted the end from the arrow and tossed it her way. Her mouth went dry the moment it landed in her hands.

    How had faeries gotten their hands on Healer weave?

    Beside her, Kionah had unrolled the scroll; Luxon was peering interestedly, not even hiding the fact that she was reading over Kionah¡¯s shoulder.

    ¡°Hey, uh,¡± Kionah said. ¡°Aliyah. I think this is for you.¡±

    Aliyah took a breath and steadied her hands, trying not to clutch too panickedly at the weave in her grasp. ¡°What does it say?¡±

    Kionah cleared her throat. ¡°It says,¡± she said, and hesitated before forging ahead. ¡°That the writers are ¡®in possession of an individual known as Zahir Saar-Salai¡¯ and that they ¡®wish to meet down by Saltstone Wharf at sunset to further discuss this.¡¯¡±

    ¡°Saltstone?¡± Luxon murmured. ¡°Those ghastly abandoned dockyards?¡±

    ¡°A¡­ransom?¡± Aliyah asked. She gripped the Healer cloth tighter. Something sharp bit into her palm through the folds. She yanked her fingers back and reached around to uncrease the fabric¡ªand her blood ran cold as the item toppled out from where it had been tucked.

    ¡°Sounds like bullshit to me,¡± Kionah said. ¡°Looks like someone¡¯s got friends in the kingdom¡ªfirst a Magician, and now this.¡±

    Aliyah stared down at the badge pinned into the fabric, silver and shaped to resemble an open hand. Her pulse was coming too fast, singing the beginnings of a panicked song.

    ¡°How¡ª¡± she started, and shook her head. ¡°Wait, this is his, isn¡¯t it? The cloak, maybe, but¡ªthere are¡­there are no spare badges¡­we¡­we have to¡­¡±

    ¡°No,¡± Kionah said sharply, frowning down at the badge. ¡°Aliyah, think. This has the look of bait all about it. It¡¯s not necessarily Saar-Salai, is it? That could be from any Healer¡¯s cloak. Besides, those docks are abandoned and a veritable graveyard of rust-bucket death-traps. I¡¯ll bet they want to ¡®talk¡¯ aboard one of the moored hulks, eh? And what if they don¡¯t have a Healer as prisoner? What if they have one as an ally?¡±

    But then, Aliyah thought, how would they know his name? If that name had been chosen specifically to goad her into seeking it out, then wouldn¡¯t the Magician have known who she was? Information floated adrift, not quite adding up¡­

    Silas muttered something vaguely uncomplimentary under his breath before clearing his throat. ¡°Sadrava, what more trouble have you dragged here?¡±

    ¡°Nothing to concern yourself with,¡± Kionah replied with an unhappy twist of her mouth. ¡°We¡¯ll be moving along shortly. Perhaps I can arrange something with Shasta¡­¡±

    ¡°Speak of the prodigal son,¡± Silas said.

    Half a heartbeat later, knocking came at the door.

    ¡°Goodness,¡± Luxon said with a chirrupy, faerie snicker. ¡°You really set up a ward-signal for one pers¡ª¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± Silas said flatly, though he stepped into the other room nonetheless. Aliyah heard the bottom edge of the door crunching across broken glass; the shop bell tinkled discordantly a moment later.

    ¡°Mind the mess,¡± Silas said from the other room.

    ¡°Not at all,¡± came Shasta¡¯s voice, polite and dry.

    Shasta ducked through the doorway, eyes skimming over patches of spilled ink and spell-fire scorchmarks. He held a pair of arrows in one hand, and both were fletched with red.

    Aliyah hadn¡¯t known that it was possible for her stomach to drop even lower.

 3.2 - There Hangs The Knife

    Aliyah

    ¡°So,¡± Kionah said. ¡°It was the Plum Dove that you rested at, yes?¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± Aliyah answered. ¡°I¡­understand. A warning.¡±

    She shivered and moved her hand to grip at the tracker-mark, little good that would do. She¡¯d known the faeries could pinpoint her location¡ªlast night had made that clear enough. But something about them having tracked her on a map was worse: an arrow each into Whistle House and the Plum Dove. No way to turn back, the redness seemed to sneer. No safehouse safe enough, and nowhere to run.

    ¡°I don¡¯t quite follow,¡± Shasta said. ¡°Ah. Don¡¯t tell me you¡¯ve dragged something over with you, Kionah.¡± His gaze fixed upon Aliyah instead. ¡°Dead princess not the last of it?¡±

    If only it had ended with the seventhborn, Aliyah thought. She clenched her fist tight around the fabric; Healer red and Healer weave. If Saiphenora¡¯s allies had fought Zahir and won, then what hope did she have against them?

    She looked from Shasta to Kionah to Luxon, and to Silas hovering a careful two paces away. Two criminals, a potioneer, and a retired dungeonrunner: none of whom had any reason to help her. She looked closely at Kionah again, now launching into a smooth, hastily-spun explanation of last night¡¯s attack that gave away very little actual information.

    Maybe, just maybe, she could spin this her way too.

    The ¡®ransom¡¯ note had been written in a neat, neutral hand with black ink on an unremarkable slip of paper. It sat in front of her now, curling at the edges where it had been rolled up. Kionah had placed it onto the kitchen table along with the three arrows, the silver badge, and the lengths of Healer cloth. Silas, playing the part of the begrudging host, had made tea. Aliyah warmed her fingers on her cup and tried not to think about how the edges of the Healer cloth were frayed as if they had been torn. The cloth was clean¡ªbut Healer weave was specifically made to keep from soaking up blood.

    She¡¯d sensitised her sense of smell as best she could, but any lingering blood-scent was drowned out beneath the white-hot, metal-sharp tang of lingering magic.

    Zahir had his moments, but he¡¯d been kind, overall. A week into her false-apprenticeship, he¡¯d ordered a platter of cooked red meats from the higher kitchens and placed it unceremoniously in front of her at luncheon.

    ¡°What¡¯s this for?¡± she¡¯d asked, bewildered.

    ¡°Eat,¡± he¡¯d answered. ¡°You¡¯re severely anaemic. It¡¯s getting on my nerves.¡± And then he¡¯d gone right back to titrating stars-knew-what at the back of his office.

    She might¡¯ve found the memory more touching were it not for the times he¡¯d taught her to block noxious stimuli with peppers also sourced from the higher kitchens; she liked spice as much as any other maid with little money to spare, but the memory of that one ghostfire-pepper still made her eyes water reflexively.

    Still, he¡¯d been as kind as could be expected of a highborn. And if the note could be believed, he was now in the clutches of murderous faeries. They¡¯d delivered the note to her, hadn¡¯t they? There was a lingering duty here, a duty that could not be drowned out by the fear beating within her lungs like a dozen restless wings.

    ¡°Also,¡± Shasta was saying, ¡°that scuffle up on Hallow Street? Was that you?¡±

    ¡°I hardly started it,¡± Kionah said. ¡°We were set up¡ª¡±

    Aliyah cleared her throat to interrupt them. ¡°That doesn¡¯t matter. My mentor¡¯s being held hostage.¡±

    Kionah frowned as her gaze flicked over. ¡°Like I said earlier, we don¡¯t know that for certain. If they have a Healer ally¡ª¡±

    Shasta¡¯s gaze sharpened at the mention of a Healer. ¡°An ally? Come on, Kionah. This looks like a setup, but not fully all the way. If this ¡®Saar-Salai¡¯ fellow is at risk, perhaps his prot¨¦g¨¦ would know best, eh?¡±

    ¡°Oh that¡¯s bull and you know it.¡± Kionah snorted. ¡°Hoping to get another one of her out of this? That¡¯s very funny, Shasta, very short-sighted and opportunistic of you.¡±

    ¡°Says the one fleeing the enemies of her dead employer.¡±

    ¡°Shasta, be serious now.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m serious,¡± he said. ¡°I¡¯m also bored as hell. Caius¡¯ll have me locked in a princess¡¯s tower, the way he¡¯s going on. Maybe I could send a couple of the boys out to have a look, go with¡ª¡±

    ¡°Saltstone is a death-trap and you know it. That¡¯s what it¡¯s for. Remember the business with Bruzik and Sunders four summers back? Half a dozen¡ª¡±

    ¡°Excuse me,¡± Aliyah broke in, voice faltering.

    ¡°Let her talk,¡± Silas broke in from his corner. His tone was even, but Kionah stopped mid-sentence all the same.

    ¡°Right,¡± Aliyah said into the silence and swallowed nervously. ¡°So, my mentor¡¯s been captured. I guess I have to do something about it, but I can¡¯t do it alone.¡±

    ¡°Oh I see,¡± Silas said with a shake of his head. ¡°No. Count me out. I¡¯ve worked too hard to get where I am, and I will not risk my neck over your sort of feud.¡± He rose to his feet, leveling a hard stare at Shasta in particular. ¡°And don¡¯t even think about dragging Laurent into this. He might be softhearted to agree, but gods help me, I¡¯ll lock him in the bathroom if I have to.¡± He shook his head, turning away. ¡°You kids these days, playing wargames and thinking you¡¯re invincible. I tell you, you win every fight that you avoid. But do you people listen? Hah. The spires should sooner fall.¡± With that, he ambled out of the kitchen.

    ¡°See?¡± Kionah said. ¡°It¡¯s a trap. It¡¯s an ambush.¡±

    Aliyah sighed. ¡°I know.¡±

    Kionah blinked. ¡°My pardon?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not stupid,¡± Aliyah said. ¡°It¡¯s obviously a trap. That faery, Saiphenora, she wanted to drag me off to her¡­employers? Having the meeting place be at an abandoned dockyard at sunset is just the¡­what¡¯s the saying? It¡¯s just the ribbon on top.¡±

    ¡°Well then,¡± Kionah said, ¡°don¡¯t go.¡±

    ¡°It might be a trap, but¡­the cloth, the badge¡­I think they do have Zahir as a hostage.¡± She hesitated. ¡°And you¡¯ve got him to thank for being here, haven¡¯t you?¡±

    Kionah narrowed her eyes. ¡°I don¡¯t know what kind of mage you think I am, Aliyah, but I can¡¯t stand my ground against a dozen waiting faeries. If you wish to be so suicidal, then good luck to you.¡±

    ¡°Hey now,¡± Shasta said with a flash of teeth. ¡°I¡¯m much better help if it¡¯s fighting you need.¡±

    ¡°Oh don¡¯t you even,¡± Kionah warned. ¡°Shasta, no. This is a terrible idea. Wouldn¡¯t be worth it for a dozen Healers in exchange¡ªand trust me, Saar-Salai¡¯s not the grateful type. None of them are.¡±

    Aliyah wondered if that last part was directed at her too. Shasta snorted and made to reply before Luxon gave a delicate cough from her corner.

    ¡°Kionah dear,¡± Luxon said. Her gemstone-eyes fixed upon the contents of the table. ¡°If schismatists have made off with a citizen, you must inform the Hive.¡±

    ¡°Didn¡¯t you say your Hive was busy?¡± Aliyah ventured.

    ¡°Regardless,¡± Luxon said, straightening in her seat. ¡°I must assure you the Hive is very honourable and upon this honour the treaty is built. We cannot allow the sullying of our name by other parties.¡±

    ¡°How long would it take?¡± Aliyah asked. ¡°For your Hive to help, I mean. They weren¡¯t, um, too helpful when we got attacked on the street.¡±

    Luxon gave an uncomfortable little laugh. ¡°I¡¯m¡­not sure, I¡¯m afraid. Not part of the Hive proper anymore, as it were¡ªI¡¯m sure they¡¯re doing their best, and for this they¡¯d send a Lieutenant, at the very least.¡±

    Sending a Lieutenant wouldn¡¯t help her much if they couldn¡¯t do it by sunset.

    ¡°Right,¡± she said. ¡°Okay. Thank you Luxon.¡± She unwound her fingers from her fast-cooling mug and flexed them; the bones of her hands suddenly seemed too-fragile. Breakage and vasodilation would not be enough¡ªSaiphenora alone had almost been enough to capture her. ¡°Is there any way you could help?¡± she asked the faery. Fire against fire, or so the saying went.

    ¡°Absolutely not,¡± Luxon said in a rush. ¡°I don¡¯t fight.¡±

    ¡°I do,¡± Shasta said, very casually. ¡°I¡¯m right here, you know.¡±

    Aliyah pressed a hand to her temple. ¡°Right,¡± she said. ¡°I have thirty six Songian crowns, however much that is in Glisterian money. Luxon, Shasta, what can I buy for that?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t especially want coin,¡± Shasta said. ¡°Your healing, however¡ª¡±

    ¡°Not going to work,¡± Kionah snapped. ¡°You¡¯ll bring the weight of the spires down on us, that way. Do you wonder why Aliyah¡¯s sort¡ªyou know, those blue-bird fuckers¡ªdo you ever wonder why they¡¯ve never brought a Healer over? A princess, sure¡ªbut not a Healer?¡±

    Shasta crossed his arms. ¡°Kionah. You¡¯ve got it all wrong. I got a couple guys turning yellow and whatnot. They¡¯re decent fellows, did good work back in the day¡ªis it so bad I¡¯d not want to leave them to hang? I¡¯m not going to tie your friend down with a ball and chain. Would just appreciate a little help, you know.¡± He flashed another smile, half-grimace, half-teeth. ¡°Between friends.¡±

    ¡°Oh,¡± Aliyah said. ¡°I don¡¯t think I can fix liver failure. Not permanently. Sorry.¡±

    ¡°Ah,¡± Shasta said, uncrossing his arms and leaning forward a fraction. ¡°But you can do other things? I can work with that¡ª¡±

    ¡°They took a Healer,¡± Kionah broke in flatly. ¡°Maybe twenty, thirty years ago. Set back the Songian visits by a decade. Alhena told me.¡±

    ¡°They?¡± Aliyah asked. ¡°Your¡­city¡¯s court? The king and queen?¡±

    Kionah shook her head grimly. ¡°Spire people. Noble-house, old money types. The Healer killed a lot of them. Almost made it out, too.¡±

    ¡°Right,¡± Aliyah said faintly, thoughts turning as fast as they could. ¡°And these spire people, if they find out about me¡­?¡±

    From across the table, Luxon shuddered. ¡°If I¡¯m correct in guessing what a Healer is, then best they not. I¡¯ve had my run-ins with the Chelicera¡¯s folk, and they aren¡¯t the friendliest at the best of times.¡±

    ¡°Hey now,¡± Shasta said, and made an appeasing gesture with his hands. ¡°I¡¯m not going to sell your friend out to the spires either, Kionah. I thought you knew me better than this.¡±

    ¡°I do,¡± Kionah said coolly. ¡°I know you may not wave your tongue about, but what of the people you want her to miracle back into health? What about them, eh?¡±

    ¡°But you think it¡¯ll work if you haul her around as your personal guard,¡± Shasta observed. ¡°How interesting. I¡¯m sure those spire bastards¡¯d think that, too.¡±

    ¡°Enough,¡± Aliyah said. The words froze in her throat when they all turned to look at her. ¡°Look, I don¡¯t want to be hunted down any more than I am already. I¡¯m offering coin. Only coin. Answer the question, please: what can I get?¡±

    ¡°I haven¡¯t the faintest clue,¡± Shasta said. ¡°Songian coin isn¡¯t exactly common, here.¡±

    ¡°Crowns are gold,¡± Aliyah said. ¡°Like your crests. I want¡­help. Spell-slips, potions, needles, that kind of thing. You¡¯ve got, um, ¡®foray-men¡¯, haven¡¯t you? What¡¯s the going rate for a day?¡±

    Kionah groaned. ¡°Aliyah, you¡¯re going to get yourself killed. It¡¯s bait¡ªthey probably won¡¯t even have your master with them.¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± Aliyah said. ¡°Exactly. Which is why I want to pay one of you to find out where he really is.¡±

    Kionah blinked, thrown silent for only a second. ¡°And how are you going to do that? It¡¯s not like he¡¯s got a bloody homing collar on him.¡±

    Aliyah gestured at the pile of arrows and cloth in front of them. ¡°You have bloodhounds in this city, don¡¯t you?¡±

    ¡°Well shit,¡± Kionah said. ¡°I don¡¯t know how to tell you this, Aliyah, but faeries fly.¡±

    ¡°Oh,¡± she said, feeling her face grow warm. ¡°Yes¡ªum. But surely there¡¯s a spell or something, or¡ªLuxon, you know potionwork, and uh¡­faerie stuff. Is there anything¡ª¡±

    Luxon shook her head. ¡°Nothing for your purposes that I know of, I¡¯m afraid. There are tracker-marks unique to my kind,¡± she said, inclining her head at Aliyah¡¯s arm, ¡°but they require specialised learning and placement beforehand. Perhaps an experienced General could track scent through open air, but¡­¡± she trailed off, almost embarrassedly. ¡°Well, I am not a General and I gather the Hive cannot spare one presently.¡±

    ¡°Okay,¡± Aliyah said, racking her head for ideas. ¡°If not bloodhounds, then¡­is there such thing as those scenting birds hereabouts? I know some Healers had them as pets¡ª¡±

    The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

    Kionah snorted. ¡°Poisoner¡¯s pigeons? They can¡¯t be trained to track anything; I tried when I was younger.¡± She elbowed Shasta. ¡°We used to sling them down by the dozen for supper, didn¡¯t we? Bet they¡¯ve all been eaten by now.¡±

    ¡°Hey,¡± Shasta broke in. ¡°I think Mutt¡¯s got a bit of pigeon in him.¡±

    ¡°Mutt?¡± Aliyah asked, thoughts skipping back. ¡°Oh, your¡­feather dog?¡± The chimerical creature that had greeted her in Shasta¡¯s apartment certainly looked as if it had a bit of everything in it.

    ¡°Shasta,¡± Kionah said. ¡°Don¡¯t give false hope. You¡¯re practically scalping the poor girl.¡±

    Shasta shrugged. ¡°Just a suggestion. Unless you¡¯ve got something different in mind?¡±

    ¡°I have a few scent-enhancing potions in stock,¡± Luxon piped up. ¡°How about a discount on those?¡±

    ¡°Not you, too,¡± Kionah muttered.

    ¡°Great,¡± Aliyah said, seizing onto Luxon¡¯s words. Potions were actionable magic, and Kionah had at least implied that Luxon was an excellent brewer¡ªright now, it sounded as strategic of an idea as any. ¡°That sounds good. But about that dockyard¡ª¡±

    ¡°I am not jesting when I say this,¡± Kionah broke in, leaning her elbows onto the table. She met Aliyah¡¯s eyes, her gaze sharpening. ¡°There¡¯s a very good chance that you¡¯re getting hurt if you go. Hurt badly. You know what the inside of a dead ship is like? Darkness and corners and tripwires and cutting-cords. One of the gone-away leaders, Brizek, he and a dozen of his best forayers went into a moored wreck chasing after a defector holed up there. None of them made it out¡ªnot fucking one.¡±

    Aliyah shook her head. ¡°I never said I was going in. But I¡¯ll have to be there, won¡¯t I?¡± She held up her arm, where the tracker-mark still gleamed. ¡°They can check where I am right now. If I don¡¯t go there before sunset, they might not even show up.¡±

    ¡°Aliyah, you don¡¯t want them to show.¡±

    ¡°No,¡± she agreed. ¡°But I need them to. If this group of faeries have Zahir and you¡¯re tracking him down with Mutt, it¡¯ll be easier if they¡¯re spread thin.¡±

    Kionah put a hand to her forehead. ¡°This is a terrible plan.¡±

    ¡°Okay¡ªwhy?¡±

    Kionah scowled. ¡°First off, Shasta¡¯s mutt isn¡¯t a real tracking dog. He¡¯s not even a bloody dog. Even if you do, by some miracle, succeed at tracking down Saar-Salai or whatever Healer has fallen afoul of their plans, how do you hope to free him? They must have proper bindings if they hope to hold a Healer. What are you going to do, search out some Breaker magic? They¡¯re the ones with the false-Magician on their side.¡±

    Aliyah glanced across the table, the beginnings of an idea forming. ¡°Maybe Luxon can¡ª¡±

    ¡°Ah,¡± Luxon broke in, her smile gone very tight. ¡°I do not¡ªthat is to say, we whom you call faeries do not¡ªengage in such¡­loathsome arts. I wish to make that quite clear.¡±

    Aliyah blinked. ¡°I¡¯m sorry?¡±

    Next to her, Kionah stiffened fractionally. Shasta¡¯s gaze skipped between Aliyah and Luxon, the faintest hint of wry amusement gliding over his face.

    Luxon¡¯s spines tilted back, almost flat against the sides of her face. ¡°To break is to slaughter,¡± she said. Her expression looked as if it were trying to fight back against a scowl. ¡°The very suggestion that any of our kind would take up such teachings is absurd. That is all I wish to say on the matter.¡±

    Aliyah winced. The sensation of stumbling over a hidden indelicacy was familiar, even if this particular one was not. ¡°Uh, sorry,¡± she said. ¡°I didn¡¯t¡­realise? I meant no, um, offense.¡±

    ¡°You weren¡¯t to know,¡± Luxon said a touch too brightly. ¡°I cannot expect too much from one who hails from a land of such esteemed ignorance and story-scented cruelties.¡±

    ¡°Hey,¡± Kionah said. ¡°Easy, Luxon. No Breaker stuff on our end, I can promise you that.¡±

    Luxon nodded stiffly. ¡°Of¡­course. I¡¯m¡­certainly amenable to aiding you if that¡¯s the case. Do carry on.¡±

    ¡°Um,¡± Aliyah said. ¡°Right. So, Kionah. Those spell-slips that Zahir gave me, the ones that got you free¡ªsurely you have something similar here?¡±

    ¡°Doubt it,¡± Kionah said with a shake of her head. ¡°Bet he bought them off a Higher Librarian. Counted as Breaker magic, too.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯ve got key-charms for unlocking,¡± Shasta broke in lazily. ¡°For quite reasonable prices.¡±

    ¡°Shoddy charms, last I recalled,¡± Kionah said.

    Shasta shrugged. ¡°¡¯S what you use if the lock lacks a keyhole.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll take it,¡± Aliyah said. ¡°How much, for everything?¡±

    At that, both criminal and faery leaned in with interest.

    ===

    Afternoon came faster than she could have thought; Shasta led the way down cobbled streets that seemed to get emptier and more derelict each time they took a turn. Houses turned to shops, shops merged with sheds, and sheds became rusted-open warehouses.

    ¡°Bet you there¡¯ll be fog, eh?¡± Shasta said. He strode easily, sounding more cheerful than he had any right to be. It reminded her of Zahir, which was not a good thing; worry would not help her here¡ªonly focus. ¡°Not good fighting ground, but Tomas here¡¯s got tricks for that.¡±

    The burly foray-man by his side inclined his head in response. Aliyah eyed the coils of spell-slips strung at his belt and wondered, very briefly, if she could trust either of them. It wasn¡¯t as though she had many options: Kionah and Luxon were coaxing Shasta¡¯s mutt into scenting the Healer cloth, and Silas had already made his position quite clear. Though, he had left her with one unsettling scrap of advice.

    ¡°Check the ceilings,¡± he¡¯d said. Something had flickered over his face as he¡¯d said it, an expression she couldn¡¯t quite place and didn¡¯t especially want to. ¡°Never forget to look up. Things like to¡­wait there. Things that don¡¯t move like we do.¡±

    She wasn¡¯t going to enter anywhere with ceilings if she could help it. If Kionah was anywhere close to correct about the corners of those ships, she¡¯d rather chance it with faery arrows. And Kionah herself¡­well, she¡¯d given Aliyah a knife.

    ¡°Just in case,¡± she¡¯d said with a too-bright grin. ¡°You know how this works, don¡¯t you? Cut and stab, and never let go once you¡¯ve drawn it. Bastards¡¯ll turn it on you given half the chance.¡±

    The knife hung at her belt now, sheathed and heavy against her hip. She could only hope that she wouldn¡¯t need it.

    Saltstone was, as predicted, host to a fog rolling in. As they approached, it rose up to surround them in a shifting film. Everything took on a muffled quality; the faint sound of lapping water stirred gooseflesh at the nape of her neck.

    Aliyah breathed in, then out. Slowly, now, an easy rhythm. With each breath came the scents of salt, brine, and an oddly metallic tang that was probably the smell of ship-parts rotting and rusting. The planks felt solid beneath her boots at least, an anchor against the mist. A thicker layer of fog drifted about her knees, and the tops of broken bollards appeared intermittently, like miniature islands. The silhouettes of snapped masts loomed off to the side. She scanned the skies for flashes of faerie wing and found none, then stopped as Shasta and Tomas drew to a standstill.

    ¡°We¡¯re here,¡± Shasta said. ¡°Slap bang in the middle and I can¡¯t see no sign of ¡®em on the quay proper. What now? We¡¯re not tangling with the wrecks, no we aren¡¯t.¡±

    Aliyah frowned at the tracker-mark on her arm, faintly itching but not more than that.

    ¡°We stay here,¡± she said, more decisively than she felt. ¡°Keep an eye out.¡± And stall for time, she didn¡¯t add. Kionah and Luxon needed time¡ªtime in which the faeries were split up and confused, time in which she had to act the distraction.

    Shasta exchanged a glance with Tomas. The foray-man muttered what might have been the words ¡®sitting ducks¡¯ under his breath.

    The two men cast shields in unison, and Aliyah hastily followed suit. Shasta and Tomas lapsed into seemingly well-practiced restfulness that she couldn¡¯t hope to emulate. She kept glancing up, heart kicking in her chest, at the thought of Saiphenora lurking above. The glow of her shield was weak, but it cut through a good couple inches of fog at the very least. Would that make a difference? Better to be hit with a shield ready than not, she supposed.

    The wharf lay quiet. Aliyah had read about the ocean, but there was very little to see of it here. The sound of the water was gentle and the wrecks did not list, sitting squat with their sails long-stripped. Sea-ships were larger than she¡¯d assumed they might be. Each was at least the size of the royal skyship back in Shadowsong, wide and double-decked¡ªbut any spellwork woven into their hulls had long-since sputtered out.

    She increased the sensitivity of her ears a notch and listened. For two, three minutes, there was nothing. And then¡ªwhat might have been a word, drifting in beneath the sound of slow water.

    ¡°¡­Help,¡± she heard. Or thought she heard. It was hard to tell, with the dampening of the mists, but she definitely heard something.

    Shasta heard it with her, his head whipping round to pinpoint the source of the noise. One hand moved to the hilt of his blade in the time it took her to blink. His other hand had landed on the holster of his pistol.

    Something banged some ways off, a hard and unmistakable thump. Metal-edged, heavy.

    ¡°Well now,¡± Shasta murmured.

    Aliyah took a deep breath. ¡°I¡¯ll¡­I¡¯ll go look. You, uh, don¡¯t have to.¡±

    She set off without waiting for an answer. After several heartbeats, a set of light footfalls followed, barely audible over the sound of another thud. Blunter, that one. Heavy enough to be a body?

    She quickened her pace without meaning to. The thudding seemed to come from the depths of a particular metal-plated wreck¡ªdouble levels, shattered windows above, broken railing lining the upper deck. She eyed the part of the ship that was flush with the wharf. She could step right onto it if she were so inclined. Straight ahead was a door flung wide, revealing a stretch of empty, decaying corridor fading to darkness. She almost took a step back, before a flash of colour caught her eye¡ªa scrap of fabric tied to the handle, redder than blood.

    ¡°Don¡¯t like the look of that,¡± Shasta said quietly. From behind him came Tomas¡¯s grunt of assent.

    Another thud. Half a word. And then a scream, male in pitch.

    Her blood ran cold. Was that Zahir? She had never heard him scream¡ªcouldn¡¯t tell for certain. Another Healer, then? Someone, all the same.

    One more thud, and then quiet. The darkness seemed to beckon. The redness seemed to demand.

    Will you wait? it seemed to gloat. Will you leave him to die, like you left Rana? Her pulse pounded in her ears. The world seemed at once very far away.

    Something glinted gold in that rectangle of darkness. A snarl floated over, and another cry of pain. Redness flashed through the darkness: vivid, blood-red, crushing her breath from her lungs like a wall of stone. She wanted to sprint in and stab them until they gave answers. She wasn¡¯t strong enough to.

    ¡°Hey,¡± she shouted through the thinning fog. ¡°Hey, you bastards! I thought you wanted barter?¡±

    A roof and four walls, Saiphenora had said. But she didn¡¯t appear. Instead, her golden overseer melted out of the darkness. She hovered just within the threshold of the doorway, wings flared tense and low, sparking with gold. There was a knife in her hand, and it shone as bright as the rest of her.

    ¡°Kingdom-scion,¡± the faery hissed. ¡°Mind your tongue. Your master is well¡ª¡±

    Air. Movement. Something falling toward her, made visible at the last second. She took her gaze off the faery and sprang sideways with a panicked jolt of magic to her muscles. The magic propelled her just shy of six feet across and even then, she barely made it.

    Crackling ropes clawed at her ankles, the edges of a net weighted with runestones. The air chilled with magic as she rolled over the boards, kicking the tangle away when her cutting spell slithered uselessly across its surface. It hadn¡¯t been ironwood this time.

    A faery swooped down with another net as she scrambled to her feet. A spell hit him square int he chest. She bolted as he fell.

    The air exploded with spellfire, and her shield took a good three hits before it burst. Shasta and Tomas were backing away in tandem, shooting as they went. The dock was too clear, no cover. A lance of light grazed her shoulder, dermis shearing loose. She re-cast her shield and healed the abrasion as she followed. Tomas pushed her into a circle of spell-paper and roared a nameless word. The air rippled as the shield-dome exploded into existence, two dozen wisps of paper incinerating at once.

    She caught her breath and backed up against the far side of the shield. Dozens of faeries wheeled overhead; she recognised the blue and brown. How had they arrived so quickly and silently? She spotted the green one flickering into view as he launched off the ruins of a crow¡¯s nest above. They¡¯d triangulated right over her. Ceilings, ceilings. The sky was a kind of ceiling. No matter now.

    ¡°Illusionists?¡± she gasped out.

    ¡°The talking one,¡± Tomas grunted.

    ¡°Bet my boots on it,¡± Shasta added. ¡°Disappeared as soon as the other ones let loose. How long will this hold?¡± he asked between potshots. The shield let his bullets through, but it was rippling under the hail of spellfire from outside.

    ¡°Couple more minutes. If you wanna run¡­¡±

    ¡°No,¡± Aliyah blurted out. ¡°We¡¯re the distraction, remember? If that was all illusion¡ª¡±

    ¡°You think Kionah¡¯s on the right track just because your Healer guy isn¡¯t really here?¡± Shasta snorted. ¡°Alright. Not implausible.¡±

    ¡°Shield¡¯s busting,¡± Tomas warned, sifting through spell-slips. ¡°Get centered. Now.¡±

    He laid another circle as they did, smaller in perimeter. The new layer of shield sprang up as the first started to buckle. It felt like being in one of those horror tales of being trapped in a shrinking room, one with no exit.

    Beyond the veil of the one-and-a-half layers of shield, the golden faery approached with arms outstretched. She made a clicking gesture with both hands, pointing the fingers like pistols¡ªa wave of pressure squashed against the failing first shield, vaporising it entirely. More faeries approached from above, hovering boldly on all sides.

    ¡°How many of those are real, do you think?¡± Shasta reloaded. ¡°Some of ¡®em fell alright, but then are the corpses real?¡±

    ¡°There are less than we think, at least,¡± Aliyah pointed out, but her voice shook despite herself.

    ¡°Bloody illusions,¡± Tomas growled. ¡°Stay close.¡±

    ¡°One imagination worse than two?¡± Shasta sounded flippant, but a vein throbbed at his temple.

    He whipped around and pointed the pistol at Aliyah, moving so fast he left an afterimage. Vasodilation flared at her fingertips, and she stopped herself just in time. Shasta advanced, flickered, fell apart. His real shape reappeared, facing away from her and shooting at the swarm. A cold sweat washed over her scalp and shuddered down her spine.

    ¡°Did you see that?¡± she asked Tomas, who was pointing a knife at her. She took a jerky step back in alarm, hands clenching into fists.

    ¡°Close your eyes,¡± Tomas shouted. ¡°Sight¡¯s easier than sound¡ª¡± A concussive roar shook the air, drowning out the rest of his words.

    She did. The roar went on, and on, and on. She dimmed her hearing until the sound was bearable, but she still couldn¡¯t make out any words. It was a disturbingly effective strategy. Shasta and Tomas probably wouldn¡¯t turn on each other, but being effectively blinded and deafened left her adrift, having to trust the shield. A touch grazed her shoulder and she flinched, forcing herself to keep from lashing out pre-emptively. Had that been fake, too? How much could one illusionist focus on at once? It was minutes before the roar died down and she restored her hearing to baseline.

    ¡°Tell me something that can¡¯t be an illusion,¡± she demanded, cracking her eyes open.

    Shasta scowled. ¡°Kionah dumped a bowl of water over my head to wake me up after that little trick you pulled.¡±

    Their shield shuddered. Tomas had his hands against its surface, feeding magic into the struggling barrier. ¡°Is the shield situation an illusion, too?¡±

    ¡°No,¡± Tomas grunted. Sweat sheened his brow. ¡°We should run.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not just leaving¡ª¡±

    ¡°Should¡¯ve brought a couple more fellows,¡± Shasta said, sounding more disappointed than alarmed. ¡°Tomas, you¡¯ve got some ¡®splosives, haven¡¯t you?¡±

    ¡°Mm. Illusionist, though.¡±

    ¡°How fast can you run?¡± he asked her. ¡°Ah, never mind. You¡¯d hardly know the way back well enough. Shame, we¡¯ll all have to leave. Tomas, get ready¡ª¡±

    ¡°Wait, what do you mean?¡± She eyed a faery lurking on one of the masts, grasping a net that wasn¡¯t even illusioned now. ¡°If I¡¯m in your way, go ahead. I can shield.¡±

    ¡°Not for long, you can¡¯t.¡± He turned to face her and lunged, hand contorted into a claw. She squeezed her eyes shut as she flinched. Nothing touched her.

    ¡°Illusionist,¡± she said, and kept her eyes closed.

    ¡°Yes.¡± He sounded wary; she wondered if he¡¯d seen anything too. ¡°Luxon got offended by your suggestion of a Breaker this morning. The illusionist¡¯s a problem. I saw your shield¡ªit won¡¯t last. You don¡¯t know our passphrases or our strategies and we¡¯re all in a tangle. We¡¯re leaving before we get a client¡ªthat¡¯s you¡ªabducted. Bad for business.¡±

    ¡°Is it the nets that are the problem? If I get out of the way¡ª¡±

    ¡°Too many dead-end alleys. One of ¡®em¡¯ll follow you. Can¡¯t hide from open sky, not out here.¡±

    She risked a squint to scan the expanse of wharf and saw nothing but foggy openness hemmed in by shipwrecks. An awful idea occurred to her. A roof and four walls.

    ¡°If I hide in a ship, could you stop them from following? Distract them for a while? Listen¡ªthat ship there, the bigger one.¡± Its door looked ajar. ¡°I¡¯ll barricade myself in, you two can go ahead without worrying.¡±

    ¡°They¡¯ve had enough time to set traps in every wreck,¡± he warned. ¡°And your target isn¡¯t actually here.¡±

    ¡°I need them incapacitated,¡± she said as calmly as she could. ¡°If we stand here, or if we run, they¡¯ll fly back home no worse off. They¡¯re still following me, getting in my way. Say Kionah and Luxon don¡¯t find their hideout¡ªthe more we untopple them now, the easier it¡¯ll be for me to find him later. They started this fight. We should finish it.¡±

    ¡°Tomas, a spell-slip¡ªthanks. Here, give me your knife.¡±

    She passed it warily, handle-first. He pressed the paper to the blade and murmured a word; the edge shimmered as the charm went up in smoke. ¡°There. Best we can do if you find any more nets, so try not to.¡±

    ¡°Hurry up,¡± Tomas growled. ¡°Shiny one¡¯s coming back.¡±

    Shasta leaned in, his voice barely audible over the noise. ¡°We¡¯ll find you once we¡¯re done. Passphrase is ¡®chimera¡¯. Got it?¡±

    ¡°Yes.¡± The deck listed, some sixty feet away. Her shield wasn¡¯t good, but an iron hull would be better.

    ¡°I¡¯ll keep the illusionist busy,¡± Shasta said, readying a flare of spell-fire. ¡°Tomas, volley?¡±

    ¡°Knife spirits,¡± he grunted.

    ¡°Aye. Shield up and go, on three¡ªtwo¡ªone¡ª¡±

    She went. The shield rippled to let her through and then she was running straight for the wreck door, wrenching it open. Spells exploded behind her as she flushed her eyes with scotopic magic and plunged into the darkness.

 3.3 - Ghost Ship

    Aliyah

    She slammed the door shut in a squeal of flaking metal and fumbled for a deadbolt. Shouts echoed outside, mingling with the distant crackle of spellfire. She locked the door with its pair of rusted bars and hoped it would hold. Then she cut her gaze through the innards of the ship, forcing herself to focus¡ªoutside was not her problem now. Now, there was only darkness and corners, and ceilings.

    She unsheathed her knife. Nothing but exposed pipes and peeling paint. A narrow corridor, empty. Had she been lucky after all?

    She sharpened her hearing, directing it away from whatever was happening outside, and found footsteps. Multiple sets, approaching from the end of the hall, light and careful. Positioned just so. Unless they had another illusionist, this was real. It¡¯d be nice if this were only another illusionist. They would¡¯ve heard the door. She was trapped at the end of the corridor, a makeshift chokepoint. She had perhaps ten, twenty seconds to decide what to do. A strange, jittery calm descended over her like salt fog.

    Better the element of surprise than not, she thought. Shield up. Go, now.

    She drew her knife and charged, hitting the first attacker head-on; her shield turned a blade aside. The man grunted and lurched sideways; her free hand skittered across what felt like leather armour as it pushed magic through. Vasodilation found its mark; the man dropped.

    More bodies crowded in¡ªhuman ones, far too many. She dodged a thrusting staffpoint, only to be hit with spellfire¡ªher shield burst as she ducked under a cudgel. The next strike slammed onto her shoulder as she flailed for its owner. She grazed the side of a hand and her cast overshot. There came a scream as fingers shattered from the inside-out.

    Vasodilation next, even as someone else made a swing at her. Her hand shot up to protect her face, and the sheathed¡ªsheathed? she wondered¡ªblade slammed full-force into her arm, fracturing something. She screamed even as her mind retreated from the pain, awareness warped as if it were detaching from her body. Everything was moving too fast, a desperate scramble of silhouettes. Someone tried to cram her head into a sack; vasodilation again. And again. One at a time. She shored up her injuries and forced the last human to unconsciousness; his head hit the floor with a sickening crack.

    Six of them, she realised as she stood panting over the pile of bodies. Her veins fizzled with adrenaline. She tasted blood; her nose was already bleeding. Her hand clutched tight at her borrowed knife. Was it her blood on the blade, or someone else¡¯s? It was hard to tell, in the dark.

    A sheathed sword lay where it had fallen, and she deliberated on whether to pick it up. Probably not, she decided. These were close quarters, and she might well end up dropping the point of it onto her own foot. She eyed the sheath warily; it was likely they didn¡¯t mean to kill her. But it didn¡¯t mean they wouldn¡¯t. People always underestimated how easy it was to hit someone¡¯s head too hard and¡­

    Dread coiled in her gut as she stepped shakily over the fallen men¡ªmercenaries? Foray-men? All well-muscled and rough-looking, clad in mismatched armour. Some had goggles strapped around their heads, presumably to help them better see in the dark. She hoped none were dead; there hadn¡¯t been anything to cushion their heads upon landing. Then she shook her head. This wasn¡¯t her concern¡ªnot here, not now. She needed to find shelter. Perhaps there was a better room upstairs, some sort of storage closet or captain¡¯s cabin.

    Tuning her hearing for hints of more footfalls, she crept out of the corridor and emerged into a larger room. It seemed it had once been a modest parlour-hall of sorts. She edged around holes in the floorboards; they were evenly-spaced, as if smashed open with purpose and intent. Snarls of spiked wire peeked through from beneath, and she glimpsed coils of long-dead ship¡¯s machinery. Whoever had anticipated her making it this far¡ªand it was disturbingly thorough of them, to prepare even this wreck¡ªhad not accounted for her bolstered night-vision.

    The corridor beyond was wider, gave her a little room to breathe. She expanded her senses fruitlessly; there didn¡¯t seem to be anyone left. The fight had made some commotion, hadn¡¯t it? Anyone listening would have fair warning to retreat, or to lay in wait.

    She spotted a ladder, set into the wall; a crewman¡¯s exit? She sheathed her knife and grasped the rails, wincing as rust flaked off onto her palms. The ladder brought her up to a half-open hatch. She hesitated, straining her ears. Was that soft breathing she heard beyond, perhaps spell-muffled? If it was, then poking her head out would be a sure way of getting it chopped off.

    Never forget to look up.

    She reached for her magic¡ªnot her Healer magic¡ªand slid half a dozen needles from where they¡¯d been sheathed in her sleeve.

    Tiny flickers of extra-sensory awareness sparked to life at the head of each needle and melded themselves to her sphere of perception. Maids had to know where their needles were if they wanted to sew with them; she wasn¡¯t as proficient as some, but she could manage a simple formation of six at once.

    A shield would stop a needle easily, but she saw no tell-tale glow beyond the hatch. She hadn¡¯t recast her own shield for that very reason; sinking further into night vision was easier and probably safer, for now. She sent the needles scouting, up and past the lip of metal.

    It was difficult to fly needles without seeing. She couldn¡¯t gather detailed information about their surrounds; only a vague sense of direction in relation to herself and a certain frisson of knowledge if they happened to touch something solid. She fanned them out and slid them across the ground rather than let them fly blindly through the air. Details of grit and texture were muffled, but eventually, the leading needle hit¡­something. She furrowed her brow and concentrated: leather texture. A¡­boot?

    Aliyah doubted the boot belonged to the only mercenary in wait. Perhaps she should stay here, wait out the fight. Then someone murmured from above, and the sound of shuffling movement sent her stepping hastily back down the ladder, as quietly as she could. She released her hold on her needles rather than try to withdraw them; the movement might rouse attention. She had another six stowed into her other sleeve and another dozen in her pockets; Silas had been generous in that regard.

    She hurried back down the corridor and crouched off to the side at its mouth. If they wanted to come get her, they would have to pass through a reverse-chokepoint of their own. She barely managed to settle herself before the hatch clanked fully open. Something thudded against the floor¡ªshe pictured the mercenary landing in a crouch, rising to his feet and¡ª

    A man darted out, sword-first. Her hand darted out to jab into his side, but his head snapped round at the movement and he twisted away. Rough fingers tightened around her wrist, and the blade whipped round, the tip resting against her stomach. She tried to cast vasodilation into his hand, and¡­nothing. He wore some sort of reinforced glove¡ªsizzling symbols lit up in its weave as she tried again, soaking up her magic like a sponge. Her dark-adjusted eyes watered under the sudden flare of runelight.

    ¡°Don¡¯t even try it,¡± the man growled. He nudged her with the sword, still poised to run her through, and turned to speak over his shoulder. ¡°Bindings up front, now.¡±

    Bindings? Two others emerged from the corridor, each carrying shackles in one hand and heavy cudgels in the other. Panic crawled up her throat¡ªshe needed to get out. She needed to get away, right now.

    She numbed her abdomen as best she could and gritted her teeth tight. Then she whisked the remaining needles from her sleeve and threw them at his head. Two slid off the lenses of his night-goggles. The others found their way up his nostrils and into his eardrums¡ªhe bellowed, fingers tightening to almost crush the bones of her wrist. The sword jabbed forward, didn¡¯t quite run her through. She screamed anyway, and kicked blindly. Her foot caught on his leg and the fragmented breakage she cast must¡¯ve done something, because he swore and let go, slumping to his knees.

    You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

    She scrambled to retreat, healing herself as she went. A different hand fisted into her hair, yanking her up short. Her scalp pulled tight with pain. Sudden, acute regret flashed through her; should¡¯ve chanced it with the shield. Gloved hands made to grab at her body; she panicked and pulled away. The movement yanked at her hair, hard enough to make her eyes water.

    Saiphenora had done the exact same thing. Aliyah had turned the moment over as she¡¯d drifted off into an uneasy sleep; how she could have avoided it, what she could have done. She felt each hair pulled tight, could map them out on her scalp. She couldn¡¯t cast through hair¡ªhair wasn¡¯t living tissue. But the roots were.

    She tore her hair out at the roots and lunged away. The man shouted as she hit the ground and rolled clumsily to her feet, well into the open area of the hall. Healing her head, she looked up just in time to see him drop a handful of hair and raise his cudgel. His companion readied his, too.

    She grabbed her borrowed knife, reached for her needles. Behind her came sounds of stirring that chilled her to the bone¡ªthe forayers from earlier. Her casts for false-sleep didn¡¯t act indefinitely.

    Both mercenaries lunged in unison. She jumped sideways, over a yawning hole in the floorboards¡ªone stumbled into empty air and shouted as he crashed through. The other slammed his cudgel into her gut, knocking the breath from her lungs. She drew on her magic and recovered, fast enough to slash blindly with knife and needles¡ªher knife grazed across his shoulder, but the needles she lost, flung too hastily. He darted back, and she stumbled away. Her nosebleed had trickled to a halt; instead, her head thrummed with pain. Her eyes watered, feeling as though they might roll out of their sockets.

    The man dropped his cudgel and unsheathed the sword at his hip. Aliyah fired all six of her remaining needles into his sword-hand. He shouted and switched the weapon to his other hand, before lunging.

    Darting diagonally, now¡ªshe had to get around him. Otherwise, she was trapped¡ªthere were no exits here, and the first batch of mercenaries she¡¯d vasodilated were going to come round any minute now.

    She gritted her teeth, prepared for pain. Better to suffer this than to risk being surrounded by six more.

    She charged, slashing with her knife¡ªhis sword found her arm and bit in deep. She roared and kept running, wrenching herself loose. Blood poured out¡ªmessy cut, must¡¯ve hit an artery. Another slice into her back as she sprinted away. She fought to patch the wounds through her blazing headache, almost tripping over the fallen mercenary at the mouth of the corridor. He stirred and groaned, but didn¡¯t rise to his feet.

    Down the corridor, she thought hysterically. Down, down, go now. She made it halfway up the ladder before the sword-wielding mercenary caught up and locked a gloved hand round her ankle. She kicked at his head and he let go, stepping back¡ªfor a moment, she thought herself free¡ªthen he flung a spell-slip at her. Paper burst into spellfire on contact with skin. Agony seared through her body. She screamed and lost grip on the railings, hitting the floor hard enough to be winded. The spellfire burnt out, and the mercenary leaned over and grabbed her by what hair hadn¡¯t been detached at the root. There was a brief, terrifying struggle before her hand found the skin of his throat and vasodilated him.

    She staggered to her feet and scrambled up the ladder. Finally, she breached the hatch and crawled onto the dust-coated floor, already reaching for the needles she¡¯d abandoned there. Someone grabbed her arm. She screamed and lashed out; her fist and needles stopped short against a shield.

    ¡°Chimera,¡± said Shasta. ¡°It¡¯s just us.¡±

    She blinked the grit out of her eyes, still panting for breath. Shasta leaned over her, brow furrowed and shortsword angled away. Tomas stood behind him, wiping his knife on his sleeve.

    ¡®Y-you got in?¡± she croaked. ¡°How?¡±

    Shasta jerked his thumb behind him. ¡°Faeries fucked off faster than we thought, so Tomas got us up and over. Cleared the stragglers, but uh. Let¡¯s get out, hey? Mercs aren¡¯t so loyal with the bosses gone, but we don¡¯t want to be hanging around.¡±

    She sheathed her needles, shivering as the adrenaline began to drain from her body. ¡°Th-thanks.¡±

    ¡°No worries,¡± Shasta said, pulling her to her feet. ¡°¡¯S what you¡¯re paying us for.¡±

    ===

    She re-grew the clumps of hair she¡¯d lost before they made it back outside. Her nose seeped blood, and her eyes watered as they passed the glow of street-lamps. Shasta filled her in on the commotion as they hastened their way back to Silas¡¯s shop. Tomas trailed behind them, silent but for the occasional grunt of agreement.

    ¡°Tomas¡¯s slips took care of at least a handful, and after that they took off sharpish,¡± Shasta was explaning. ¡°Great stuff, eh? His wife¡¯s a runescribe, you know.¡±

    ¡°She is very skilled,¡± Tomas rumbled with a note of pride. ¡°The best in the district.¡±

    ¡°So then,¡± Shasta continued, ¡°We got a boost onto the top deck and cleaned house. Wasn¡¯t too much trouble; a couple of mages in the crew, but they didn¡¯t have anything deadly on ¡®em. Might¡¯ve been worse if you went where they were leading you.¡±

    ¡°Okay,¡± Aliyah said, and desperately tried to gather her thoughts through her wool-stuffed headache. ¡°Wait, where would a faery get so many mercenaries?¡±

    Shasta shrugged. ¡°Not from me, or I¡¯d¡¯ve known. Was a little too busy knocking heads to ask questions¡ªhey, Tomas, could you find Belia and get her to ask around?¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± Tomas grunted, and peeled away into a side-street.

    Aliyah pressed a hand to her temple. ¡°Hang on. If there weren¡¯t so many faeries here¡ªif the illusions accounted for at least half¡ªthen Kionah and Luxon¡­I have to go after them.¡±

    Shasta frowned. ¡°What? No, you don¡¯t. How would you even find them?¡±

    ¡°You know where your dog is,¡± she shot back. She¡¯d overheard him arguing with Luxon earlier, telling her to make sure she put the homing collar onto his pet. She¡¯d also heard a series of colourful threats about what would happen if Mutt should come to harm.

    ¡°Nope,¡± Shasta said. He clapped a hand onto her shoulder, as if to stop her from running off. ¡°You got what you wanted, didn¡¯t you? Their fighting force is hobbled for now. We stick to the plan¡ªback to Silas¡¯s. Who knows? Luxon and Kionah might already be there.¡±

    She ground her teeth together and shrugged off his hand. ¡°You know where they are,¡± she said. ¡°You know if they¡¯re there or not. The way you¡¯re saying it, it doesn¡¯t sound like they are.¡±

    He shrugged. ¡°We¡¯re not finding out until we get there, are we?¡±

    She stopped walking and crossed her arms. ¡°Tell me where they are.¡±

    He stopped himself, and scowled. ¡°Kionah¡¯ll stab me if I get you killed.¡±

    ¡°What? No she won¡¯t. The faeries weren¡¯t split up enough, if they were relying on mercenaries. You realise this means she and Luxon are in danger¡ªI¡¯ll be useful if they get into a fight.¡±

    He snorted. ¡°No you won¡¯t. You look like shit. You¡¯re a couple casts from burning out.¡±

    She scowled through her headache. ¡°I¡¯m fine.¡±

    ¡°There¡¯s blood all over your shirt.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s not mine,¡± she lied.

    He raised an eyebrow, and she realised that the sword-cut in her back hadn¡¯t quite closed. She set her jaw against the inevitable spike of headache as she sealed the wound shut. She thought of Zahir as she did it, and her stomach lurched; the second-kindest thing he¡¯d done, after taking her on as apprenticeling, was to teach her to fix her whipping scars.

    The scars weren¡¯t fully gone¡ªby the time she¡¯d learned how, they¡¯d already healed the natural way. She would have had to remove the flesh and regrow it if she wanted an unmarked back, and she hadn¡¯t fancied on stomaching the trauma a second time. But she¡¯d faded and fixed them so they weren¡¯t as stiff and didn¡¯t twinge as she worked. Though sometimes, if she reached for something the wrong way, she felt a tug at her back¡ªthe skin stretched a touch too tight. And there was a ghost-ache there, on cold nights, a tedious reminder of how unsafe she was¡ªhow unsafe she¡¯d been. Tedious, but perhaps necessary.

    Frustration boiled up in her stomach. She wasn¡¯t unsafe now¡ªnot in the way she had been. She was free of the kingdom, and well-placed to rescue Zahir. And some upstart smuggler lord wasn¡¯t letting her.

    ¡°Listen,¡± Shasta said, possibly in response to the look on her face. ¡°Kionah can handle herself, and I reckon Luxon¡¯s more than a potioneer, in a pinch. Silas gave them both some protective charms, too. You, on the other hand, look like you¡¯re going to faint any minute now.¡±

    ¡°So help me,¡± she said. ¡°Lend me some of your magic.¡±

    He blinked. ¡°I don¡¯t think¡­¡±

    She drove the point deeper. ¡°You care about Kionah, don¡¯t you? You seem like old friends. I¡¯m the only one who can do anything if she gets hurt.¡±

    He scowled and fished a folded pamphlet out of his pocket, frowning in concentration¡ªa map, she realised. Twin pinpricks of spell-light flared in his eyes, and a matching gleam sparked upon the map¡¯s surface¡ªtracking the homing collar, she realised. Another moment passed before the lights sputtered out and he shook his head as if to clear it.

    Shasta sighed, stuffing the map back into his pocket. ¡°Underground, as far as I can tell. By the time we get there, they might be headed back.¡±

    ¡°They might be,¡± Aliyah argued. ¡°If they¡¯re not, then I¡¯ll need to be there to make sure they¡¯re okay.¡±

    To make sure Zahir¡¯s okay, she didn¡¯t add. Anything capable of holding him would have to be damaging on some level or other; she recalled the memory of the princess Alhena walking to her death and shivered¡ªoily runesigns, blackened fingertips, cells gone necrotic.

    ¡°Well?¡± she pushed. ¡°Aren¡¯t you worried about Kionah? You only need to lead the way.¡±

    ¡°Fine,¡± he said tersely, turning away. ¡°Keep up, now.¡±

    She pushed the darker thoughts out of her head¡ªtime enough to mull it all over later¡ªand followed.

 Interlude: endeavour

    ¡°You sure this spell-potion¡¯s working?¡± Kionah asked.

    Mutt tugged on his lead, paws pit-pattering over the cobbles. His nose hadn¡¯t stopped twitching over the ground since she¡¯d held the fabric to it, and now his tongue lolled happily as he scampered on ahead.

    ¡°Of course,¡± Luxon replied indignantly. ¡°I brewed it myself.¡±

    ¡°Yeah, well,¡± Kionah said, glancing around. ¡°I¡¯m not so sure these schismatists would choose to hide in the temple district.¡±

    ¡°Patience,¡± Luxon chittered. ¡°Tracing the path of the scent may not necessarily be efficient.¡±

    Kionah sighed and shielded her eyes from the gleam of white marble, all aglow with the sunset. Around them came the smoky-sweet scent of incense, the soft murmuring of prayer and fountain-water. Hooded acolytes turned to stare as they passed, looking up from their rites. Kionah couldn¡¯t blame them; a girl and a faerie being dragged after a chimera must be a change from the usual sombre traffic. They passed temple after temple, down the main thoroughfare until Mutt took a sharp left, through an alley and down to¡­

    ¡°Huh,¡± Kionah said. ¡°Damn. Couldn¡¯t we have taken a shuttlebus?¡±

    An access port yawned, hewn out of the ground. Rough-cut stairs led down into a dull green gloom; the passage was barely lit by bioluminiscent mosses. Green, mostly, and blanketing the walls. Parts of it had been molded into lines of scripture by whichever priests tended to this gate.

    ¡°Oh my,¡± Luxon remarked. ¡°How quaint.¡±

    Kionah resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Luxon seemed to be treating this like some sort of adventure. Mutt yelped in excitement and tugged at his leash; Kionah groaned and stepped onto the top step. Trust a faerie to take a convoluted route. Luxon fluttered alongside, the tunnel just barely wide enough to fit them both.

    The air dipped cooler as they descended, and the stairs spiraled round and round like the inside of a tower. Kionah worried about a faery crawling round the corner the whole way down. The greenish light brightened as the moss grew lush and vibrant, spiraling out of its set scripture-pattern from a lack of tending. By the time they reached the base of the stairs, the moss had grown to swallow the entire opening.

    ¡°Oh my,¡± Luxon said as the tunnel emptied out into an Undercity street. ¡°I had no idea you humans were so¡­industrious.¡±

    Kionah glanced around, scowling. Crowds streamed past like schools of fish; this looked like a good spot to get cutpurse¡¯d. Had it really been necessary for Luxon to stay dressed in all of her shiny brocade crap?

    ¡°Keep an eye on your belt,¡± she warned. ¡°Watch out for the little ones.¡±

    Mutt tugged on his leash and she followed, glaring pointedly at a couple of dirty-faced urchins sauntering past. If she¡¯d been alone, she would¡¯ve taken some other route¡ªbut as it was, she didn¡¯t even know where she was going. This was such a shitty plan. Were it not for Aliyah looking so damn distraught at the prospect of her mentor being dead¡ªand maybe, just maybe, Saar-Salai having had the decency to not leave her to die¡ªshe would¡¯ve up and left by now.

    Ugh. That was the trouble with being near anyone for too long, the trouble with taking favours and scrounging help¡ªyou started to care, whether you liked it or not.

    Her eyes roved the crowd as her hand reached up to twist the shielding charm Silas had pressed upon her before they¡¯d left: a twist of wood carved with miniature runes.

    ¡°Stronger than the usual fare,¡± he¡¯d said. ¡°Probably equivalent to a usual shield. It¡¯ll leave you free to do whatever it is you are so determined to do.¡±

    He¡¯d spoken that last part with a certain acidity, leaving little room as to his opinion on whatever it was that she did. She scowled at the memory. Just because he was a retired old fart didn¡¯t mean he got to look down his nose at her when she asked if Laurent had left any spare bullets lying around.

    He¡¯d handed his spare protective charm to Luxon. Luxon had tried to hand it to Aliyah. Aliyah had refused, her voice tense with worry. Apparently, she thought they¡¯d be in more danger than she would. So far, the only dangers that presented themselves were snivelling runts perched in the alley shadows.

    Thankfully, Mutt led them away from the crowds and down a sloping street, heading away from the main blocks of populace. Kionah had expected this; unscrupulous schismatists weren¡¯t likely to keep their lairs in town, nestled between a butcher shop and a bakery. It was part-relief, part-worry that Mutt seemed to know where he was going.

    Down more winding paths, more staircases, a different pocket of cavern, abandoned by the looks of it¡ªugh, this was getting deep, even for the Undercity. There were nooks and crannies scattered about, of course, but from the look of things, they were headed for places that would count as wilderness if they were upside.

    The cobbled paths became bare stone, the houses increasingly run-down and overgrown with weeds and fungi. Sputtering streetlamps gave way to glowing larvae in jars, gave way to scrappy patches of the same bioluminescent moss that had grown on the stairs they¡¯d taken down. Before too long, Kionah found it difficult to see more than five feet in front of herself. It didn¡¯t seem to bother Mutt in the slightest; he pulled ahead with unfailing enthusiasm.

    ¡°Hey,¡± she said. ¡°Luxon, a little light please?¡±

    ¡°Oh! Of course. I forget you cannot scent.¡±

    Luxon pulled a thick stump of plant fibre from her belt and cracked it down the middle; the makeshift sap-beacon flared to life, illuminating their path with sickly yellow-green light.

    They carried on down the path. Before long, a sign loomed ahead, chiseled from a thick sheet of pale stone.

    ¡°Moss-spine Reaches,¡± Luxon read aloud. ¡°What a dour name. No wonder no one wishes to live here.¡±

    Kionah glanced around, scouting for clues. The sign heralded a wide passage, lined with gravel¡ªa couple of locked carts sat off to the side, indicating some amount of regular traffic.

    ¡°Probably a farm or something,¡± she said apprehensively. Words had been etched into the stone next to the passage. She frowned as they walked closer: private property¡ªtrespassers beware.

    ¡°I think we¡¯re lost,¡± Kionah said, shaking her head. They had to be; schismatists wouldn¡¯t build their hideout on some random farm. The tunnel to this so-called ¡®Moss-spine¡¯ wasn¡¯t even warded. If they were keeping Saar-Salai here, it didn¡¯t look very secure. ¡°That, or your potionwork was off.¡±

    Luxon drew herself up to her full height and twitched her spines in an offended sort of way. ¡°No, no. Let¡¯s go through here at least¡ªlike I said, trailing a scent isn¡¯t through the most efficient process. It is through the route the original scent must have taken.¡±

    ¡°Luxon,¡± Kionah said. ¡°I am not risking my neck trampling over someone¡¯s farm. You know what these sorts of deep-city geezers like to keep around? Enchanted shotguns. Double-ironed.¡± She reached up and gripped the pendant swinging from her neck; she had a decent amount of faith in Laurent¡¯s charm-work, but not that much.

    ¡°My potion was correctly brewed and within the expiry date,¡± Luxon insisted. ¡°Here, let¡¯s give him another taste of the scent.¡± She stowed her sap-beacon away before pulling a length of red cloth from one of her implausibly cavernous pockets and pushing it under Mutt¡¯s nose. ¡°Here, little chimera. What make you of this?¡±

    Mutt wagged his tail and lifted his nose from the sampled cloth. Then he spun in a slow circle before turning towards the entrance to Moss-spine.

    ¡°See?¡± Luxon said.

    Mutt tugged insistently at the leash; Kionah dug her heels in and scowled. But Luxon was already fluttering stubbornly onwards¡ªthe ego of that faerie. She hid it well under that bubble-headed, cheery persona, but Kionah saw right through it.

    The tunnel lead to a rune-lit cavern, gated and fenced; snarls of barbed wire surrounded a vast, looming field of hydroponic arrays. They resembled the ones back in Shadowsong, Kionah realised, though they were perhaps a touch more sophisticated-looking. Greenery sprouted from hundreds of trays, stacked one atop the other, fifty-feet high. Tubing ran up the racks; she supposed they pumped the water from some subterranean river or other. None of this particularly indicated the presence of a secret faerie hideout.

    ¡°It¡¯s a dead end,¡± Kionah said. ¡°Not even an out-of-the-way district or a homestead or anything¡ªthis is literally just a random hydroponics field.¡± And if it wasn¡¯t, then it felt as though they were being lead into a corner. Kionah didn¡¯t like corners.

    Luxon sniffed the air carefully, spines tipped back in concentration. ¡°No, no¡­is that¡­an un-Hival scent?¡±

    ¡°Luxon,¡± she warned.

    ¡°Let¡¯s just take a little peek,¡± Luxon said.

    Kionah tightened her grip on Mutt¡¯s leash. ¡°This isn¡¯t a little sightseeing adventure, Luxon. We¡¯re trespassing.¡±

    ¡°I didn¡¯t realise that was a concern for you.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not a burglar or anything like that, you know. The thing with the chariot was a one-time affair. If we get cast upon, or shot¡ª¡±

    ¡°Yes, yes.¡± Luxon waved her hand dismissively and took another deep inhale. Her mouth dipped into a frown. ¡°Look behind that bush, won¡¯t you? You¡¯ll find that ¡®deep-city geezer¡¯ you were so worried about behind it.¡±

    This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

    Kionah froze.

    ¡°Go on,¡± Luxon said. ¡°The pacing of his breaths indicate that he is quite unconscious.¡±

    She peered behind the bush. A farmer-looking fellow lay slumped over in the dirt, head pillowed in the crook of his arm. He was snoring gently, with an emptied bottle in hand. No sign of protective weaponry.

    ¡°What the¡­¡±

    ¡°See? There¡¯s a scent of somnolent oils upon him.¡± Luxon gave a self-satisfied nod. ¡°Our quarry took care of it for us¡ªno trouble. Here, I can carry you over the fence.¡±

    Kionah scowled. That was the trouble with richling types, even¡ªmaybe especially¡ªfaerie ones; they never understood the risks. If their target could subdue the person meant to be guarding this place, that didn¡¯t bode well for them. Skirmishes weren¡¯t something to seek out; they were here to look for Saar-Salai, get him, and then leave. In and out, real quick-like. If she was more reticent than she usually was¡­well, this place was setting her teeth on edge. Something about the too-stark lighting, the way the hydroponic arrays towered, the many rows like Library stacks¡­it was a bad place to get ambushed.

    ¡°Luxon,¡± she warned. ¡°If a faerie drops down on us¡ª¡±

    ¡°You¡¯ve forgotten that I¡¯m a so-called faerie, too,¡± Luxon argued, rising a foot into the air. ¡°You can stay here if you wish, but I do believe our little chimera has led us to the correct place. I myself scented something, and the air tastes good here. It is a location that others of my ilk would enjoy¡ªshall I fly over and see for myself?¡±

    ¡°Fine,¡± Kionah said. ¡°Carry us over.¡±

    If there was anything she knew about venturing into new and potentially dangerous places, it was to never split up when doing so.

    Luxon¡¯s wings made quick work of getting them over the fencing, even as Mutt squirmed and whined at being carried. Mutt pulled at his leash as soon as he was on solid ground, nose pointed down a row of arrays. Kionah flexed her free hand and called magic forth.

    ¡°You look from up there,¡± she told Luxon. ¡°Not all the way up, in case they¡¯re here. But stay in my view, alright?¡±

    ¡°Right,¡± Luxon said, and took off into the air.

    Kionah continued down the corridor formed by the arrays. Penned in by foliage metal struts on both sides, the air fresh but ever-so-slightly damp, unwavering white runelight from above¡ªwith it came a certain unease crawling up her spine. She kept an eye for movement among the rows, anything that was not Luxon¡¯s fluttering.

    Something caught her eye just as Luxon froze mid-air and swooped back down¡ªa glint of silver above, perched on the very top of an array. Kionah pulled Mutt to a stop and stepped in front of him.

    ¡°Sit,¡± she murmured. ¡°Stay.¡± Shasta would kill her if Mutt got so much as a scratch on him, let alone pincushioned with arrows. Not that chimera-fur wasn¡¯t practically armour¡ªbut still.

    ¡°You see her?¡± Luxon whispered as she landed.

    ¡°Uh huh.¡± The faery¡ªthe arrow one, she was pretty sure, though it was a little difficult to tell at this distance¡ªwas just sitting there, planted right in the middle of a hydroponics tray. ¡°No¡­Hive stuff?¡±

    ¡°No,¡± Luxon confirmed. ¡°No others, no building materials, no entrance. Perhaps this is a stopover.¡±

    The silver faery turned her head.

    ¡°I thought you might turn up,¡± Saiphenora said. ¡°Go away.¡±

    Kionah cast a shield reflexively, protective pendant be damned¡ªSaiphenora didn¡¯t look as if she had her bow with her, but that didn¡¯t mean spellfire alone wouldn¡¯t hurt.

    ¡°Leave me be,¡± Saiphenora continued. She stood and turned to face them, walking several steps closer along the top of the array. Kionah took an involuntary step back. ¡°Get going, get lost. You humans and your¡ª¡± She paused. ¡°Hm. You bought a friend.¡±

    ¡°Greetings, schismatist,¡± Luxon said. Her tail lashed agitatedly.

    ¡°Hiveling,¡± Saiphenora replied with obvious disgust, and tossed something down.

    Kionah bolstered her shield before she registered the item had not been aimed at either of them¡ªit bounced off the ground and rolled at her feet: a puffy white mushroom, with a bite taken out of the cap. Was it a distraction? Kionah glanced around discreetly for anyone sneaking up above or behind¡ªbut no, Saiphenora seemed truly alone.

    Saiphenora sat herself down again and ripped a piece of ruffled lettuce from the tray alongside, cramming it into her mouth. She chewed, noisily. Kionah blinked. The situation was growing more bizarre by the moment.

    ¡°I see.¡± Luxon spoke up, crossing her arms. ¡°Sulking, are you?¡±

    ¡°Leave me be,¡± Saiphenora said around her mouthful of leaf. ¡°You won¡¯t find what you¡¯re looking for here.¡±

    Luxon continued calling out as if she had not spoken. ¡°Running around making trouble¡ªhave your elders put you up to this?¡±

    ¡°Luxon,¡± Kionah hissed, but Saiphenora only snorted and flopped onto her back, the very picture of an insolent street-runner.

    ¡°You are lucky I am presently unaccounted for,¡± Saiphenora said. ¡°Else I would have put an arrow through your tongue.¡±

    ¡°Come now,¡± Luxon said. ¡°Let us converse in a respectable manner.¡±

    ¡°No,¡± Saiphenora said. She sat up once more, and this time there was a crackle of spellfire in her hand. To Kionah¡¯s dismay, Luxon pressed on.

    ¡°You seem wounded¡ªinevitable aftermath of the syrup, I gather. Have you considered speaking to the Hive? Your handlers, whoever they may be, cannot hurt you under their protection.¡±

    Saiphenora tossed the flicker of spellfire up and then caught it again, the movement almost playful. ¡°My position suits me well enough.¡±

    ¡°I am a potioneer,¡± Luxon said, her tone taking a surprisingly gentle turn. ¡°It is clear to me they value you for your response to their creation. The schismatist syrup will rob you of your health, and you should not have to suffer so.¡±

    Saiphenora tipped her head back and laughed, a chittering, whispery sound. ¡°Better hurting for some days than under the yoke of your Titania, Hiveling.¡± She flared her wings. ¡°So long, then.¡±

    ¡°Not yet,¡± Luxon said, and took flight.

    +++

    Luxon cleared the distance in moments¡ªthe schismatist saw her coming, of course. She wheeled out of the way in a wide, easy arc. Slim, tapered wings, a scout-like build¡ªeven without a shock of syrup to the system, there was no way Luxon could outfly her.

    She didn¡¯t plan to¡ªshe only needed to get close enough.

    Below, Kionah was shouting¡ªLuxon ignored her. The schismatist was making a beeline for the exit tunnel, and she¡¯d get one shot at this. Dipping her wings, the schismatist flew low, skimming over the tops of the greenery. Luxon flapped her way higher, even as it widened the gap between them.

    When she was far enough, she unclasped a bottle from her belt and flung it. Glass shattered across silver wings and silver spine; liquid frothed into foam moments after exposure to air. In moments, the schismatist was flailing to land, her wings engulfed in sticky bubbles.

    ¡°Cursed Hiveling,¡± she screeched, and flung a dart of spellfire as she hit the ground.

    Luxon didn¡¯t dodge fast enough¡ªthe spell caught her full bore. The protective charm around her neck barely flared before the runes woven into her gown did, soaking up the damage like water into spring moss. The fabric smoked and flaked at the edges, scorch-marks creeping up the hems. Luxon felt her wings droop; what a waste of perfectly good embroidery.

    She drifted her way down and landed very gently, a safe distance away. The schismatist had gorged herself on fresh plant material, from the looks of it. The syrup had clearly run its course, but she still posed a threat.

    The schismatist fired three more darts at her, but Luxon cast her shield before they hit¡ªthe damage to her gown wasn¡¯t too bad. Perhaps it could yet be salvaged.

    ¡°Good aim,¡± she said.

    The schismatist hissed and staggered upright, trying to shake the foam off her wings¡ªher efforts were in vain; good potioneers only used the best of setting agents.

    ¡°Now,¡± Luxon continued. ¡°Shall we have a nice, polite discussion about the whereabouts of your handlers?¡±

    ¡°Get away from me, Hiveling,¡± the schismatist snarled, and Luxon almost shook her head at how young she sounded.

    The shining huntress Kionah had described to her bore little resemblance to this gangly, overconfident youngling. The syrup made a big difference, of course, and Luxon could hardly expect a clump of humans to realise the schismatist¡¯s underlying fledgling-scent¡ªbut still. Pity flared in her chest at the thought of one as naive as this pledged into malicious hands.

    She sighed. ¡°Listen. If it is the Hive you loathe so much, I am not even a part of it. I¡¯m here to help.¡±

    ¡°Is that so,¡± the schismatist said flatly. Her wings twitched, betraying her intent. When flying didn¡¯t work, she turned and ran.

    Luxon sighed again. She winged up and over, landing to block her path.

    ¡°Please,¡± she said as the schismatist backed away. ¡°Lend me a moment¡ªI do not intend to harm you. Which branch of the Hive did you come from, before all of this?¡±

    The schismatist bared her teeth. ¡°How very Hival of you, to think everyone must sprout from that festering boil.¡±

    ¡°Which Hive, then?¡±

    ¡°No Hive.¡±

    Luxon frowned. Taken alone, it was an adolescent boast¡ªbravado to shore up fast-crumbling confidence. But the way the schismatist had said it, there was a heaviness to the words. No daring, no pride.

    ¡°What do you mean,¡± she started.

    ¡°No,¡± said the schismatist. A circle of arrows blazed to life, crackling like constellations. ¡°I am loyal. Leave me be.¡± She fired.

    Luxon leapt, boosting her arc with a wingflap. She almost made it¡ªthe arrows circled round to crash into her, flinging her diagonally into the corridor-wall of plants. Nutrient-water and hydroponic substrate spilled down. She flicked her wings up to shield herself from the splash and groaned at the state of her dress. A good six inches of brocade had gone up in smoke, peeling back against the petticoats.

    The schismatist turned and fled¡ªright at Kionah skidding around the far corner, spellfire blazing in hand. Shasta¡¯s mutt bounded along, overtaking her. The schismatist summoned more spell-arrows, a white-hot wave that scorched at Kionah¡¯s shield-charm and shoved her aside. She rounded the corner, shedding a trail of foam as she disappeared from sight.

    ¡°C¡¯mon,¡± Kionah yelled, already jumping to her feet.

    Luxon staggered upright and followed, almost grinding her teeth together in annoyance. Hives curse-it. The mutt yapped happily and scampered after her, its animal brain oblivious to the conundrums of burnt gowns and troubled youths.

    By the time they looped round to the exit, there was no sign of the schismatist save for a last few globules of fallen foam.

    Luxon scented the air, and sensed nothing. She frowned, spines twitching with agitation; she was no General, and it had been some time since she¡¯d used her abilities thus, but surely she was not so out of sorts? The schismatist had passed here minutes, maybe even seconds ago. But the initial trace of scent that had indicated her presence, that hint of grass shoots and frigid air, had dissipated as if it had never been. Unless she was still hiding among the plants, waiting them out?

    ¡°Stay here,¡± she told Kionah, and winged back into the Moss-spine cavern to search from above.

    Nothing. She did a sweep-over twice, scenting all the while. Again, nothing; her stomach did a little twirl of unease. The presence of nutrient-water and damp substrates wouldn¡¯t be enough to disguise the schismatist¡¯s presence. The stacks of plant-growing trays were not wide enough that burrowing into the foliage would have done her any good.

    Luxon mulled it over. No Hive, the schismatist had said. No Hive. Could it be¡­?

    +++

    Luxon landed empty-handed, and Kionah swore under her breath before she could open her mouth to speak.

    ¡°You lost her?¡±

    Luxon gave her an unimpressed glare. Funny that, how obvious a glare could be, even with special-order faery eyes.

    ¡°She is quite gone,¡± Luxon said stiffly. ¡°Really, Kionah, if you hadn¡¯t interrupted so abruptly¡­¡±

    ¡°My apologies,¡± Kionah replied, equally as stiffly. If Luxon wanted to make this into a contest of who could act the most uncomfortable, then she was game. ¡°Not that it¡¯s of consequence. There was nothing here but her. We¡¯d better leave, before the farmer comes to and shoots us both.¡±

    ¡°Very well. Hand me that creature.¡±

    Luxon lifted the now-placid Mutt over the fence. Kionah grabbed Mutt¡¯s leash once she was over, not that it was needed¡ªhe stood in place and craned his neck to blink at her, no longer after a scent.

    ¡°Potion worn off?¡± she asked as they made their way back into the darkness of the tunnel.

    Luxon sighed and pulled her sap-beacon out of her pocket. ¡°No, it shouldn¡¯t have. I believe the schismatist has sealed off her scent for the time being.¡±

    Kionah raised an eyebrow. ¡°You guys can do that? Well why didn¡¯t you just say so and save us the trouble?¡±

    Luxon shook her head. ¡°We can¡¯t. Not usually. She didn¡¯t, until after your friend¡¯s chimera-mutt found her¡ªthat is something, at least.¡±

    ¡°Is it?¡± Kionah asked doubtfully. ¡°I mean, the Healer¡¯s still¡ª¡±

    She cut off at a sound in the distance, footsteps tapping over solid stone. She stiffened and readied her shield, until¡ª

    ¡°See?¡± Shasta said, rounding the corner. ¡°I told you they¡¯d be fine.¡±

    Aliyah hurried out from behind him, her eyes wide and searching¡ªthen crinkling with dismay. ¡°You didn¡¯t find them?¡±

    ¡°No,¡± Kionah said, as kindly as she could. ¡°We didn¡¯t.¡±

 3.4 - Whip Stitch

    Aliyah

    A fresh change of clothes and a mug of hot tea did wonders for the constitution. She cradled the proffered cup and took intermittent sips until she felt human again. Borrowed magic coursed through her veins, cushioning the adrenaline crash.

    ¡°Keep it,¡± Shasta had said, when she¡¯d offered to return his magic. ¡°Really,¡± he¡¯d added when she¡¯d opened her mouth to protest. ¡°It¡¯d be like taking a fish from a chimera.¡± There was a note of grim cheer to his voice.

    She¡¯d shrugged and hadn¡¯t pressed the point. It had taken a while to fully replenish her blood and even now, she felt tired in the mental way: thoughts slowing to a crawl. Her scalp still ached from where she¡¯d regrown the fistful of hair.

    ¡°Are you alright?¡± Kionah asked, and Aliyah realised she¡¯d been staring off into space.

    ¡°Yes,¡± she said automatically.

    Kionah pushed the pile of red fabric towards her. ¡°Here,¡± she said. ¡°I¡­sorry that we couldn¡¯t find him.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s alright.¡± Aliyah took a sip of her tea and swallowed a lump of frustration with the mouthful. ¡°You did warn me it wasn¡¯t a good plan.¡±

    ¡°Well¡­¡± Kionah hesitated, then gave a wan, pained smile. ¡°It was a reasonable attempt, given your circumstances.¡±

    An attempt that had cost her all but ten of her crowns. Aliyah winced inwardly, wondering if they¡¯d be kicked out of their loaned lodgings by dawn. Maybe not¡ªShasta was still here, chatting animatedly with Laurent by the fireplace. Luxon, too, had borrowed a needle and thread from Silas to patch up the bedraggled remains of her dress. Every now and again, she gave Mutt an absentminded pat as he nosed at her swishing tail.

    ¡°We¡¯re quite safe here,¡± Kionah continued. ¡°The Hive sent someone to place fresh wards.¡±

    She blinked, eyelids heavy. ¡°Oh. That¡¯s¡­good.¡±

    ¡°You ah, might want to get some sleep?¡± Kionah said. ¡°No offense meant, but you don¡¯t seem all here. And Shasta filled me in on what happened on the ship, you know?¡±

    Aliyah tipped back the last of her tea and frowned. ¡°Oh. Right. I didn¡¯t think there¡¯d be so many. That was stupid, I know.¡±

    ¡°Go to sleep,¡± Kionah said more firmly, polite side-stepping at play. She took the empty cup from the table. ¡°You look like you need it. Here, I¡¯ll take this to the sink.¡±

    ¡°Thanks,¡± Aliyah said. She stood. After a moment¡¯s hesitation, she scooped up the lengths of Healer weave and took them with her.

    The curtains were shut, the room dark save for the faint stirrings of ceiling-ward. The smart thing to do would¡¯ve been to lie down and let her body rest. She didn¡¯t lie down. Instead, she unpinned the Healer badge from the fabric and turned it over in her hands, thinking.

    What now?

    The tracker-mark still sat cold and mocking on her arm; she couldn¡¯t see it, but the knowledge alone was like a leaden weight stitched beneath her skin. She also itched to be rid of it, but¡­no. If she needed to track down the schismatists, if she wanted them to find her, she needed this link.

    Kionah had given her a perfunctory summary of the Saiphenora encounter: potions being thrown amongst rows upon rows of impassive, uncaring greenery. Luxon had offered to send a missive to her Hive, though doubt laced her voice all the while. Whatever the Hive was busy with, Aliyah suspected they wouldn¡¯t take interest in an abduction regardless¡ªnot in a city this large.

    Worse things happened every day, she told herself, steeling her resolve. If this was her problem to solve, then she would do all she could¡­even if she wasn¡¯t a Healer. She closed a fist over the badge, gripped it tight as the tips of the silver hand dug into her skin.

    The memory of the ship-fight echoed in her head: darkness and rust, vessels flared open to the sound of snapping bone. Had she killed one of them, back there? A few of the men in the first wave¡ªtheir heads had hit the ground very hard. The crack echoed in her thoughts. What bitter repayment was that, to hired hands whose jobs had been to capture and not kill? How many of them were maimed or dead because of her?

    She could ask Shasta, she supposed. He had connections, and if there was any semblance of a forayer network, then the news would surely come back to him. She could ask, later. Would it make a difference? Did she even want to know? Part of her went numb when she considered it, hardened and uncaring.

    You cannot save everyone.

    Her actions down in the bowels of the ship had felt disturbingly easy. It was almost sickening, how simple it had felt in the face of feeling something owed. She¡¯d expected shivering, or panic once the shock wore off¡ªhad it yet worn off? But no¡ªhere was a worse realisation: if she had to fight her way through the schismatists, then she would. If she had to injure people, then she would. She wouldn¡¯t enjoy it. But if it was necessary¡ª

    She screwed her eyes shut and brought a hand up to pinch at the bridge of her nose, the action not her own. It was a gesture mirrored, almost unconsciously. By the time she had noticed, it had formed part of her habits, along with the healing and all.

    If she could do anything to repay the months of patient tutelage and those blasted thirty-seven crowns¡­she shoved the Healer badge into her pocket and flopped onto her back, staring at the runes drifting over the ceiling.

    She wasn¡¯t a real Healer¡ªbut she was an apprentice. Apprentices could learn.

    Magic bubbled up in her fingertips. She traced the shapes of spells over her hands, murmured their names in her head like a festival chant: breaking and making and vasodilation. Twist and stretch and scour and excise.

    The sound of head hitting floor echoed through her skull. Nausea bubbled up in her gut, and she tamped it down with magic. She could do it, she told herself. There were the beginnings of a better plan here. She had the capacity to hurt people if necessary. And now she had the resolve, too¡ªafter all, she was fairly sure she¡¯d already done worse.

    ===

    The curtains had been parted. Golden summer light spilled across the floor and up onto the mattress to touch at her pillow. It was brighter than she¡¯d have thought. Outside, shoppers were already bustling down the street. Mid-morning already, she guessed as she stumbled upright. She glanced over to the other side of the room. The other bed looked slept in, but it seemed Kionah had long-awoken.

    A cluster of miniature aches sparked through her muscles as she stretched, wincing. Tiny tears and strains from all that running; she hurried their healing along until the twinges of sensation dissolved. She heard voices from the kitchen as she crept down the hall, avid conversation in progress¡ªconversation that cut off as she emerged.

    Two pairs of eyes glanced her way¡ªShasta and Kionah.

    ¡°Um,¡± she said self-consciously. ¡°Good morning.¡±

    ¡°Morning,¡± Kionah said, gesturing to the spare seat at her side. ¡°Shasta brought breakfast. Do join.¡±

    She sat, and Kionah pushed a plateful of buns in front of her, each studded with different dried fruits. Shasta helped himself to what looked like a second serving from the basket in the center of the table.

    ¡°Thank you,¡± she said. ¡°What¡¯s going on?¡±

    Kionah shrugged. ¡°We were discussing¡­current arrangements.¡±

    Shasta mumbled something through a mouthful of fruit bun. He swallowed hastily and shook his head.

    ¡°Nope,¡± he said. ¡°I¡¯ve got guests tonight. You want lodgings from Crow Ear, you pay for it.¡±

    ¡°Oh, come on now.¡± Kionah¡¯s voice grew a coaxing edge. ¡°I¡¯m having a bit of trouble with coin, alright? Need a little time to get back on my feet.¡±

    ¡°You looking for work? I¡¯ve got a couple of courier jobs.¡±

    Kionah hesitated, her eyes flicking over to Aliyah. ¡°Perhaps not.¡±

    ¡°No? Then you¡¯re out of luck. I can¡¯t be coming across all soft now. You forget we got rivals, sweetheart? Watchmen on our tails?¡± He drummed his fingers across the tabletop. ¡°We¡¯re busy¡ªyou¡¯d have to help out. It wouldn¡¯t be the best look, otherwise.¡±

    ¡°Busy?¡± Kionah echoed doubtfully. ¡°I thought your job was to wander around and make trouble at leisure. Where¡¯s Evdokia?¡±

    ¡°Mother left for the isles.¡±

    Kionah¡¯s jaw dropped. ¡°What? Really? How are you still functioning?¡±

    Shasta scoffed. ¡°A good coffee in the morning does wonders¡­and Caius hovering over my shoulder, too.¡± His voice sobered. ¡°She didn¡¯t really leave the whole business in my hands, much as it looks that way. Still got eyes and ears that aren¡¯t my own. Wish I could, but¡ªsorry, Kionah.¡±

    Kionah scowled. ¡°Silas wants us out by the end of the today.¡±

    ¡°Can¡¯t blame him.¡± Shasta shrugged, rising to his feet. ¡°You¡¯ve got a veritable platter of choices, Kionah. See you around. You know where to find me. Bring your friend, too.¡± He glanced at Aliyah on his way out.

    Her skin prickled uncomfortably at the shrewd knowledge lurking behind those eyes, the opportunism there. Kionah, too, had shifted fractionally at that parting remark. It would do her good to remember there were things they wanted of her.

    Perhaps they were kind enough to ask rather than take. But hadn¡¯t Kionah said they should ¡®work together¡¯? How, exactly? The words turned in her head, curdling like spoiled milk. So they¡¯d been nice enough to help her out earlier, given some coin to ease the way. That didn¡¯t mean they didn¡¯t have other hopes and plans in the works, schemes to use her healing to benefit their criminal standing.

    Zahir¡¯s words drifted to the forefront of her mind: they will drain you dry if you let them.

    She finished her breakfast and rose to her feet.

    ¡°Could we go back to Luxon¡¯s?¡± she asked. ¡°I was promised a fix, wasn¡¯t I?¡± She gestured with her tracker-marked arm.

    ¡°I¡¯m not sure she¡¯d have it ready yet.¡±

    Aliyah paused. ¡°¡­So you have other things to do? I guess I could go find one of those Crowfire guides you were talking about.¡±

    Kionah¡¯s expression didn¡¯t change, but her eyes did flick up to meet Aliyah¡¯s. ¡°Hm? Oh, no¡ªI¡¯m not busy. Did you want to go now?¡±

    ¡°Sure,¡± Aliyah said. ¡°Now would be good. Right now.¡±

    ===

    Fructuous Charms Emporium was in much the same condition she¡¯d seen it a couple of days ago, all cheery strings of lights and dried flowers hanging from the ceiling. The only real difference was the other faery leaning on the counter, speaking to Luxon.

    Her back was to them, and her wings glimmered with flecks of hidden colours that revealed themselves with each slight shift in angle. The colours looked oddly familiar, and so did her tunic¡ªAliyah recognised her as that one Lieutenant who¡¯d spoken to them after the skirmish with the false Magician.

    ¡°¡­And the ridiculous problems arising from that,¡± she was saying. ¡°Honestly, Luxon, the Hive¡ª¡±

    ¡°Qilin, there are¡­¡± Luxon cleared her throat pointedly, shooting them a look. ¡°Customers.¡±

    Lieutenant Qilin glanced over her shoulder, then back to Luxon. ¡°Well, before I go, I should tell you¡­¡± She made a sound like a wince. ¡°The real message is: you don¡¯t really have a choice. Sorry¡ªorders from above.¡±

    Luxon stiffened visibly. ¡°What? But the Hive isn¡¯t¡ªsurely not.¡±

    ¡°Full severance was mentioned,¡± Qilin said apologetically, backing away. ¡°What with, you know, a certain individual rendered incapable¡ª¡±

    ¡°It will be difficult,¡± Luxon said, her spines drooping. ¡°But¡­very well. I can try. Simply tell them not to expect wonders.¡±

    ¡°Of course,¡± Qilin said dryly. ¡°I¡¯ll drop by with the samples after sunset.¡±

    The Lieutenant strode past, barely glancing at them on her way out. Luxon cleared her throat before making a buzzing, distinctly self-conscious sound.

    If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.

    ¡°Kionah!¡± she said. ¡°Back so soon?¡±

    ¡°It isn¡¯t me who wanted to come here,¡± Kionah said. She gave Aliyah a nudge with her elbow.

    Aliyah¡¯s skin prickled under Luxon¡¯s gemstone-gaze. ¡°Right,¡± she said. ¡°Um, I know you¡¯re probably not done with the potion of this thing¡ª¡± She gestured with her forearm, where the tracker-mark lay. ¡°¡ªbut I wanted to ask about something else, actually.¡±

    Luxon sat up straighter. ¡°Another brewing?¡± she asked. ¡°I¡¯m afraid I¡¯m going to be a little busy for the time being.¡±

    ¡°Not brewing,¡± Aliyah said. ¡°I was going to ask you if you had any rooms to let, actually.¡± Beside her, she sensed Kionah turning her head sharply.

    ¡°What? Aliyah, I can¡¯t afford¡ª¡±

    ¡°Ah, no,¡± Luxon broke in. ¡°That is to say, my quarters aren¡¯t highly suitable for human habitation at the moment. And I will be very busy in the coming days.¡±

    ¡°Busy with¡­whatever favour it was that the Lieutenant asked of you?¡± Aliyah hedged.

    ¡°That,¡± Luxon said with a frown, ¡°is Hive business.¡±

    ¡°Right. Okay.¡± She paused, ignoring Kionah¡¯s sideways glance. ¡°Are you absolutely sure you can¡¯t oblige us a day or two? We¡¯re having a lot of trouble finding lodgings.¡±

    ¡°Aren¡¯t you staying with that cantankerous bookbinder fellow?¡± Luxon asked.

    ¡°He¡¯s kicking us out,¡± Kionah broke in. ¡°On account of not wanting more collateral damage from the schismatists.¡±

    ¡°Oh,¡± Luxon said. ¡°And you believe me to be more adept at subduing schismatists, is that it?¡± She gave a wry smile. ¡°I am sorry to say that is not the case.¡±

    ¡°But you aren¡¯t afraid of them, are you? And you¡­don¡¯t like them enough that it¡¯d please you to not let them get their way?¡± She took a deep breath. ¡°Look, I understand I¡¯d be imposing. But I only ask because I¡¯m stuck with this tracker-mark until you can get rid of it. If I try to stay at an inn and get attacked before then¡­¡± She let the words trail off deliberately, plunging the room into discomforting silence.

    This was a trick that Rana had used a couple of times when they were young. Her heart squeezed at the thought now, of Rana¡¯s help and influence, a kindly hand reaching through time and distance both¡­she bolstered her resolve and struggled to keep her face impassive. Perhaps the mask slipped a bit, but that could work in her favour; if she could get Luxon to take on tacit responsibility and feel sorry for her, it might buy her some time.

    And if Kionah didn¡¯t like it, this was her chance to leave.

    ¡°That sounds devastatingly unfortunate,¡± Luxon said, pressing a hand to her chest. ¡°I am sorry for your predicament, I truly am. But I will be very busy in the coming days. I suppose I could sell you some protection charms¡­¡± She trailed off, but it didn¡¯t sound deliberate. It sounded like nervousness, or perhaps even guilt.

    ¡°You¡¯ll be busy?¡± Aliyah asked. ¡°So would you say you¡¯d appreciate a pair of helping hands around here?¡±

    Luxon hesitated visibly. ¡°Well, I¡­I¡¯m not sure. My laboratory¡­the glassware I use is very delicate, you understand.¡±

    ¡°I can¡­cook?¡± Aliyah said, wracking her head for answers. ¡°And clean. And sew. I just need lodgings in the meantime.¡±

    ¡°You can sew?¡± Luxon said, her spines perking up. ¡°There are a few items that need darning. As for my busy-ness¡­I suppose I could accommodate two, if they earned their keep.¡± She tilted her spines in what was probably a meaningful manner. ¡°Kionah, dear¡­?¡±

    Kionah sighed. ¡°Yes, yes. I can run errands in exchange. Carting stuff from the ingredient markets, I¡¯m guessing?¡±

    Chitinous fingers clicked as Luxon clasped her hands together. ¡°Something like that.¡±

    ¡°Great,¡± Kionah said, glancing at Aliyah. ¡°So I¡¯ll act the pack mule and go fetch our stuff, shall I?¡±

    Aliyah blinked. ¡°Um. I can come help, if you¡ª¡±

    Kionah blew out a breath. ¡°Better not. You¡¯re the one with the tracker troubles, eh? I¡¯m sure you¡¯re dying to chat with Luxon about it.¡±

    ¡°Yes, but if you wanted, I could¡ª¡±

    ¡°Be back soon,¡± Kionah said abruptly, and strolled out of the shop, leaving silence in her wake.

    Had that been that anger, or annoyance lurking under her tone? Aliyah couldn¡¯t quite tell. But she¡¯d gotten what they both wanted, hadn¡¯t she? Even if it meant sidling further away from Shasta and his crew, and even if the plan hadn¡¯t involved Kionah as a confidant beforehand. Was this ordinary annoyance, or the reaction of a headstrong spymaster losing grip on her quarry?

    Luxon cleared her throat and pushed off the counter, heading for the curtained doorway behind. ¡°Come, I¡¯ll show you the lodgings¡ªkeep in mind it¡¯s a touch different to the bowers of you humans.¡±

    Aliyah followed, ducking into a dark corridor. The way ahead was lit only by a faint sliver of luminescence at Luxon¡¯s wingtips. Was that just her imagination, or did the walls look like weathered stone?

    Not her imagination, she decided as they passed thickening patches of bioluminescent lichens. Had Luxon simply done something cosmetic to the inside of her shop building, or was this a twist of dimensionality? She was about to ask, when Luxon spoke.

    ¡°Don¡¯t be alarmed; this might look strange to you, but it¡¯s perfectly safe. I simply borrowed a few lessons from the Hive Archives.¡±

    ¡°Archives?¡± she asked uneasily. That sounded awfully similar to Library.

    ¡°It¡¯s a Hive thing,¡± Luxon answered evasively. ¡°Over there,¡± she said, gesturing to a darkened offshoot. ¡°That is my laboratory. Please do not enter without supervision. There are delicate projects being simmered¡ªincluding your own tincture. Oh, and not that way either; that one¡¯s my wardrobe.¡±

    A whole room for a wardrobe? Kionah had mentioned that Luxon had a taste for human luxuries.

    They reached a door at the end of the corridor, a charming, round-topped oaken thing straight out of an illustrated storybook. Glowing spots of lichen wreathed the rock around it, and it creaked as Luxon swung it open.

    ¡°See,¡± Luxon said, sounding apologetic. ¡°It does need a lot of remodelling.¡±

    Aliyah blinked as she peered through. ¡°You sleep in here?¡± she asked.

    For a moment, she wasn¡¯t sure what she was seeing: the room would have loomed with its vastness were it not for the clusters of foliage and spiraling branches filling the space. Pale roots snaked across the ceiling, sunk into crumbling plaster. The ground was coated in a thick carpet of moss and patches of that dark, tar-like substance she¡¯d seen in the schismatist outpost and dripping from Luxon¡¯s own ceilings. Strangely enough, the walls were wallpapered in pale floral print. The room was room-shaped too, square cornered and straight-angled. Aliyah might not have given it a second glance were it not for its size and for the presence of the enormous, upside-down tree.

    ¡°Sometimes,¡± Luxon said. ¡°Though I have a corner in my laboratory that I use more often than not. My apologies; it¡¯s run a little wild without tending.¡±

    ¡°Run wild,¡± Aliyah said, eyeing the tree. ¡°Right. I guess you¡¯d know if it was going to fall down¡­?¡± It was bigger than most ironwoods she¡¯d seen, perhaps only dwarfed by the one that¡¯d been cut down in the castle¡¯s south quarter some four or five years ago.

    ¡°It¡¯s perfectly safe,¡± Luxon hurried to assure her. ¡°I don¡¯t know if I¡¯ll have time to prune anything, though, and I would so hate to get rid of it entirely¡ªdo you suppose you would be alright if I found a couple of hammocks for you two?¡±

    ¡°Sure,¡± Aliyah said. It looked secure enough, at least. No windows for rogue schismatists to burst through. She cleared her throat. ¡°Luxon, I have a question.¡±

    ¡°About your tracker-mark?¡± Luxon said. ¡°I am already trying my utmost. The brew will be ready when it is ready. You¡¯re free to earn your keep indoors for the time being.¡±

    She shook her head. ¡°I¡¯d like to keep the mark for a while longer, actually. I need to find the schimatists. Is there a way for you to¡­find a way back to whoever cast it?¡±

    Luxon¡¯s wings gave an anxious-looking flutter. ¡°Oh, no. You think too highly of me.¡±

    ¡°But is it possible?¡± she pressed. It sounded possible. But then again, she hadn¡¯t learned much of pure magic theory under Zahir¡¯s tutelage.

    Luxon shook her head, and her heart sank. ¡°Theoretically, perhaps. But I am not sure there is any mage alive who could accomplish such a thing. Tracker-marks take a lot to cast. My Hive¡¯s Archivist always said the only thing to do was to break them, and he had the Archive-powers behind him. The schismatist who did this would have had to imbibe an obscene amount of syrup. Ugh, it doesn¡¯t bear thinking about.¡±

    Aliyah sighed. ¡°Right. Another thing, then: Kionah told me you managed to stop Saiphenora from flying off?¡±

    ¡°Of course. I can certainly sell you such a potion, if that¡¯s what you¡¯re asking.¡±

    ¡°Sure. But you aimed well, from the sounds of it. Better than me.¡±

    Luxon narrowed her glinting eyes. ¡°Ah, I see. Is that your plan? I can do my best to apprehend anyone that attacks us, the same as I would if I were alone. But I cannot and will not initiate an attack on your behalf, even if they are schismatists.¡±

    Aliyah nodded and exulted in secretive relief. If one of the faeries could be stopped from flying off, then that was all she needed¡ªso long as she were fast enough. ¡°Thank you.¡±

    ¡°Well,¡± Luxon said abruptly, clearing her throat. ¡°In the meantime¡ªI have a selection of aprons that need repair. You are good with needles, correct?¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± Aliyah answered.

    ===

    The aprons were, as Luxon said, flame-resistant, not flame-proof. Aliyah had barely finished patching the last scorch-mark when Kionah returned, appearing at the doorway with bags of luggage in hand.

    ¡°Woah,¡± she said, glancing around tree-room with evident interest. ¡°Faery magic, huh? Here¡¯s your stuff.¡± She dropped one of the bags onto the ground and grinned, all traces of sourness gone¡ªor well-disguised. ¡°Luxon left some hammocks at the front, told me to string them up¡ªhah. What¡¯s that you¡¯re doing?¡±

    ¡°Fixing her aprons.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m surprised she can¡¯t afford Behemoth-skin.¡± Kionah released her own bag and put her hands on her hips, glancing the tree up and down with an odd look in her eye. ¡°Hmm. She didn¡¯t say we had to keep the hammocks on the lower branches. Do you think it¡¯d hurt much if I fell from, say, there?¡± She pointed.

    ¡°Yes,¡± Aliyah said.

    ¡°Hm,¡± she said, stretching her arms. ¡°Shame.¡± Then, with a series of fluid movements, she heaved herself onto a branch and started climbing.

    Aliyah put her needle down. ¡°Hey, wait¡ª¡±

    Kionah peered over her shoulder, already several feet up. ¡°Relax, I¡¯m just going to take a look. You coming?¡±

    ¡°No.¡± The last time she¡¯d risked climbing a tree had been five years ago, and it had been at Rana¡¯s cajoling insistence.

    ¡°Suit yourself.¡± Kionah kept scaling upwards, becoming half-hidden by leaves and branches. For an instant, Aliyah glimpsed Rana¡¯s silhouette, her easy scramble skywards¡ªand then it was gone, and Kionah looked like herself again.

    The mossy ground looked soft, but even so, she worried her healing wouldn¡¯t be much help if Kionah fell and landed wrong¡ªheadfirst, for instance. Was she only taking this risk because Aliyah was here, assuming all would be fine if worst came to worst? The idea itched at her much like the tracker-mark had. Not that she wouldn¡¯t want to help, of course, but there came the sense of being a convenient tool, of being used.

    Then again, Kionah was a criminal. Maybe she was used to climbing trees to break into people¡¯s houses, or something.

    Kionah reached the top and touched a hand to the roots in the ceiling, letting out a whoop. To Aliyah¡¯s relief, she started clambering down at once.

    ¡°Surely you don¡¯t mean to hang your hammock so high?¡± she asked as Kionah touched on safe ground. ¡°I can¡¯t fix every injury, you know.¡±

    ¡°I know,¡± Kionah said with an easy roll of her shoulders. There was a gleam in her eye that hadn¡¯t been there before¡ªan adrenaline-seeker? Aliyah hadn¡¯t taken her for the type, but anything could hide behind that bland, courtly smile. ¡°But I¡¯ve done this before. And I¡¯m out of shape, besides. Spymasters weren¡¯t allowed to climb trees back in the kingdom.¡±

    To her relief, Kionah didn¡¯t end up hanging her hammock high at all; both provided sleeping-slings were strung on the lower boughs, hanging a mere foot off the ground. Kionah had swiftly unpacked her in search of the blanket portion of her bedroll, leaving clothing and toiletries strewn all over the moss. When Aliyah went to unpack her own bag, she froze.

    There, stowed carefully atop everything else, were the three segments of Healer weave. Her stomach lurched as she wondered where Zahir was now. Was he locked in some hideous vault? Cut open like Kionah had been? Faeries weren¡¯t necessarily like Magicians, she told herself. She took the fragments out and unfolded them. The fabric felt well-woven in her hands, thick and taut¡ªhow much strength had it taken to rip it apart? Even the frayed edge held strong, barely unraveling further when she touched it.

    She would return these pieces to him, she vowed. But until then¡­

    Hefting the spill of flame-resistant fabric into her arms, she ventured out of the room and out to the shopfront. Luxon bustled around in a harried manner, straightening the displays. Her tail swished out, flipping the door-sign from ¡®open¡¯ to ¡®closed¡¯ in passing.

    Aliyah cleared her throat.

    ¡°Oh,¡± Luxon said, drawing to a stop. She cradled a parcel in one arm, sheathed in faery-tar. ¡°You¡¯re finished?¡±

    She nodded. ¡°Here,¡± she said, holding out the stack of aprons. ¡°Do you mind if I keep the needle? And, um. Do you have any more?¡±

    ===

    Aliyah could feel the weight of a gaze upon her as she sat in the hammock, sewing the pieces together. She kept silent; if Kionah wanted to ask, then she could ask. But Kionah merely turned away to arrange her own hammock as she saw fit. She had provided some sort of bread roll for dinner¡ªbought or stolen, it hardly mattered right now.

    It was only later, laying in the dark, that Kionah spoke.

    ¡°You¡¯re intent on tangling with these faeries, are you?¡±

    Aliyah blinked her eyes open, saw nothing but the faint shapes of branches nestled around them. ¡°If I have to.¡±

    Kionah sighed. ¡°And you didn¡¯t think to ask me before running over here?¡± There came the sound of shifting in the dark, then another sigh. ¡°I am trying to help you, Aliyah. We¡ªI thought you knew that. And my point is, you don¡¯t have to.¡±

    Well. She didn¡¯t have to use her magic for Kionah¡¯s ends, either. Or Shasta¡¯s, by the sound of things.

    ¡°Luxon wouldn¡¯t have been my first pick,¡± Kionah continued quietly. ¡°If you refrained from discussing the matter with me because you thought I¡¯d discourage you from this plan of yours¡­well, you¡¯d be right to think I don¡¯t like it. But I¡¯m not going to lock you in a cupboard to keep you from killing yourself, if that¡¯s what you¡¯re worried about.¡±

    ¡°Are you going to help me?¡± Aliyah asked. The branches were lines of black-on-black, still as stone.

    Kionah snorted softly. ¡°I¡¯ll do what I can. You know we¡¯ll have to earn our keeps, right? Sounds like a pretty bargain, I know, but I¡¯ve dealt with Luxon; she¡¯ll have us running all day long.¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± Aliyah said. She hesitated. ¡°But if she¡¯s going to have us walking around outside and I¡¯ve still got this thing on my arm, then I¡¯m sure one of them will try to find me. The golden one seemed to hate the kingdom enough for that.¡± She reached a hand into her pocket and closed it around the silver badge there. It might take a day or two before they struck, but Zahir could hang on an extra day or two, couldn¡¯t he? He was a Healer. He had to.

    ¡°Ah,¡± Kionah said. She paused delicately. ¡°I see. And you plan is to¡­fight them? Copy their tactic, take a hostage, and demand your mentor back that way? The fighting didn¡¯t turn out too well last time, if I recall correctly. Or the time before that.¡±

    The plan, she thought a little detachedly, was to fight, yes. Hostage and ransom¡ªshe wasn¡¯t sure about that. She¡¯d been thinking darker thoughts, bordering on Magicianhood: capture and violence and demands, and more violence if the answers didn¡¯t come quickly enough. She¡¯d told herself the idea was borne of desperation, which wasn¡¯t entirely a lie.

    Still, perhaps it wouldn¡¯t have to come to that. There was also the possibility of agreeing to go with Saiphenora if she showed up again, and bringing some sort of spell with her to break the both of them out¡ªcould her remaining ten crowns buy something of use? She wasn¡¯t sure, but that idea sounded far more¡­merciful.

    ¡°You don¡¯t have to help me,¡± Aliyah said carefully. ¡°But do you happen to still have those unlocking charms from Shasta?¡±

    Kionah blew out a soft, whistling breath. Then came the sound of rustling in the dark. ¡°Fine¡ªhere, take it.¡±

    Something sailed through the air towards her; she almost fumbled the catch. The string of little wooden discs clattered together as her hands closed around them.

    ¡°I was serious, you know,¡± Kionah continued. ¡°About you getting killed. Schismatists are just annoying most of the time, but the worse ones don¡¯t fuck around when humans stick their noses where they don¡¯t belong. You¡¯re probably going to get hurt worse than you have already. Yeah, yeah, I know you think you can just heal it and keep going, but that doesn¡¯t make it¡­safe.¡±

    ¡°Maybe,¡± she answered. A hollow feeling opened up in her stomach. Maybe. She¡¯d been shot, yes, but she¡¯d already been closer to death in other ways. It had been terrifying. Maybe it was easy to say this now, and maybe she¡¯d regret it later¡ªmoments before the blade came falling down¡ªbut she had to try. She ran her thumb over the flat of one of the unlocking charms and took meagre comfort in the intricate whorls of runesign carved over the surface.

    Thoroughly uprooted, torn from the clutches of the kingdom castle¡ªwhat else was she supposed to do now, but this?  Well¡ªshe could run. That was an option. Fill her ears with sand, leverage Kionah¡¯s interest in her abilities to flee to safer havens.

    She could do that.

    ¡­But unless I¡¯ve been very wrong about you, I don¡¯t think you will.

    ¡°It seems I can¡¯t dissuade you,¡± Kionah said flatly, wrenching her from her thoughts. ¡°So be it, then.¡±

    ¡°I have to try. I know I¡¯m not a real Healer¡ªbut I have to try, don¡¯t I? No one else is going to.¡± Perhaps the question was a sliver of weakness, a fragment of doubt. She gritted her teeth together and kept herself from repeating that last part, the awful truth: no one else is going to.

    For several heartbeats, there was silence.

    ¡°I see,¡± Kionah said. There came another light huff of breath. ¡°Well, others have died for less noble goals. I¡¯m here if you change your mind.¡±

    ¡°Okay,¡± she answered. ¡°Goodnight.¡±

    There was no further reply. Her eyelids drooped. Before long, the branches bled into blackness, and the blackness into nothing at all.

 3.5 - Ouroboros

    Felun

    Felun hadn¡¯t seen the Healer since he¡¯d done him the favour of stopping Iolite from cutting his fingers off. This time, the Healer was unconscious: crumpled facedown in his cell, submerged in a thin film of stasis once more. Felun wasn¡¯t sure whether to be relieved or stressed out. Though, he guessed it saved Thorn the trouble of keeping the Healer sane.

    Iolite was preparing to do something to the enchanted restraints, work involving several sheets of magical notation and a dozen different jars of powders and potions. She¡¯d told him to draw circles of protection around the unconscious Healer and to stand off to the side in case something went wrong. Not that anything would go wrong, she¡¯d said¡ªit was just a precaution. That hadn¡¯t sounded terribly convincing. He spun his runequill in his fingers and waited, fidgeting uselessly.

    He felt the moment she opened the enchantment, a flat wave of magic thinning the air around him. Then came the taste of something unnatural, isothermal; it bled through his closed lips, stung at his eyes and made them water. The taste grated against the edges of his teeth, scratched at the insides of his cheek until his mouth flooded with unwanted saliva.

    Whatever it was, it felt hungry.

    The glimpse he¡¯d taken of one of the cuff enchantments sprang to mind: something slithering through the deepest layers. Lazy, pulsing coils of hard scales and red muscle, an amalgam of false-flesh without a mouth to feed with.

    There was a word for it in the tongue of this continent, wasn¡¯t there? Devil¡ªno, daemon. Such things made their homes in strange places. Well, why not within an enchantment?

    Iolite touched the collar and each cuff in turn, and the engravings upon their surfaces glowed like phosphorous lamps. The enchantment pushed at the air; his ears popped, equalising¡ªonce, twice. She murmured song-like words under her breath for a good minute, and then stopped.

    ¡°Felun,¡± she said, voice suddenly unsteady. ¡°I¡­require some assistance. The sense of it is not quite correct.¡± She took one hand off a cuff to grab a potion bottle, upending its contents over the circle¡¯s perimeter. The magic-field quietened for the briefest of moments before flaring bright once more.

    His ears popped again. Huh. He knew this feeling. It wasn¡¯t the feeling of everything going sideways¡ªnot yet, it wasn¡¯t¡­but they were getting there, slowly tipping. He thought of the daemon-thing bursting out of its containment, given shape and form and weight, and shivered inwardly. Did it make sense to a send a Breaker after something like that?

    ¡°Fine,¡± he said anyway, because he had to.

    ¡°I will stabilise it as best I can,¡± Iolite said.

    He sketched the barest of shielding circles around his feet before he reached for the closest cuff, and dived.

    Past the quicksilver surface and into honey-sludge marsh, he kicked his way down and wove his way deeper. This enchantment-ocean was bluer than the truest sky, brighter than the sharpest waters. He could see, in his mind¡¯s eye, the shape of the trisected creature beneath: twenty leagues of metaphorical scales, a capsule housing an invisible thing. As soon as he thought it, the landscape of the enchantment shifted in response; the daemon lurched up to meet him.

    A coil of scarred scales looped upwards in slow motion, rising like bloated flesh from black waters. He saw what the problem was, now: Iolite was trying to use her magic to slot it together, but this section had floated loose.

    The creature¡ªif it could be called a creature¡ªwas ten, twenty, a hundred times his size. How he meant to return this coil to its nest, he wasn¡¯t yet sure. He reached out a hand to touch it, to comprehend the vastness. For a fraction of second, two minds intersected¡ªhe peeled himself away as fast as he could, reeling from the sensory input.

    It didn¡¯t intend on harming him, he realised. Honestly, he wasn¡¯t sure it could use intent; there was no human intelligence to the thing, nothing he could translate into mere words. There was something that could be interpreted as hunger, though it stabbed into his brain by way of shining un-colours, gritty wavelengths that coalesced into signals of growth and absorption¡ªbut no hunting instinct, nor prey drive.

    If this daemon harmed him, it would be by incident only; a behemoth turning in its sleep, uncomprehending of the ants it crushed beneath.

    Very distantly, he was aware of his physical body coughing blood.

    Okay. That was normal, relatively speaking. Not good, but still normal: no wounds bursting on the backs of his hands yet. Not too different from the deeper runs he¡¯d done back in Ironport¡ªbut he had to work fast. He gathered strings of the environment around him, twisted them into ropes of heavy air and ocean crust and looped them around the loose segment of daemon. Then he swam downwards, towards where the rest of its body lay anchored. The lost loop of scales came with him, easy as anything; it didn¡¯t have real weight, not here. This slumbering thing wasn¡¯t even a fighting creature. It hadn¡¯t wriggled free in hope of escape. Through his touch, he sensed that it had merely let itself drift towards his blood-warm aura in unconscious sampling. If he were one such leviathan, he supposed he would also question a fleck of warmth in a world where there was none.

    Already, his head was starting to hurt. Coming closer to the vastness had its costs; he tasted more blood, like an afterthought.

    The core of the thing resembled a puzzle as it came into view, shielded no longer by layers of enchantment-meshwork. Felun sucked in a breath. The hissing, skittering filter-feeders above held no candle to this. He¡¯d meant to set his segment of daemon-body as hastily as possible¡ªbut of course it wouldn¡¯t be that easy.

    It was a knot of scaled tubing, like miles-wide loops of intestine. The shape of it formed an almost-sphere. How was he meant to stick this loose loop back in? The enchantment shuddered briefly around him; Iolite¡¯s magic fizzed at the edges of his thoughts, holding the world together.

    He drifted closer still, right up to the surface: close enough that whispering scales blotted out all sense of a horizon, close enough to touch. The tails of the loop seemed to emerge some ways around the curve of the sphere. He swam his way round until he found the source: a vast tunnel plunging into the nest of scaled coils. He nudged the loop of vastness forwards, and hoped it knew how to settle without him. The loop drifted and didn¡¯t move of its own volition.

    The walls of the tunnel pulsed, as if with a heartbeat. He was fairly sure he wasn¡¯t meant to go in there; he¡¯d probably die if it closed while he was halfway through. He gave the loop a hopeful little push into the darkness¡ªbut no. It seemed reluctant to merge back into the rest of its body.

    Felun swore under his breath and surfaced.

    Crashing back into his physical body was always a jarring sensation. He staggered, spitting blood.

    ¡°What is wrong?¡± Iolite asked sharply. ¡°You were almost there.¡±

    ¡°There was a,¡± he started, then shook his head. ¡°Can¡¯t you see it?¡±

    ¡°Not as a Breaker would,¡± she said. ¡°Describe it to me.¡±

    He did, fumbling over his words. Whether the visual metaphor made any sense to her, he couldn¡¯t tell; all he knew was that his runequill shook in his hand as he refreshed his shielding circle.

    ¡°I see,¡± she said after a pause. ¡°Well, that is simple enough. I will paralyse the daemon for the time being.¡±

    She reached for one of her potion bottles and mixed in a pinch of powder. Felun tried to ignore the way the enchantment shifted as she took her hand off it. It reshaped itself as if trying to subtly buck off her grip¡ªnot the daemon itself, but the rest of it, the ocean. Hostile territories.

    ¡°I will form a safety-line, too,¡± she added begrudgingly, and tipped back the potion. ¡°Find it. Hold on tight. Draw the loop as deep as you can. If I do not retrieve you immediately once you are finished, send a signal. You are familiar with the process?¡±

    He nodded jerkily, only half-aware of the blood slipping from his nose, and dived once more.

    A line waited for him, as promised: gossamer-thin and sharp to the touch, tinged with Iolite-blue. He wrapped it around his wrist, even though it¡¯d leave him with blisters for days. Small price to pay for not dying, huh? Despite himself, he could feel his expression settling into a scowl.

    This time, the enchantment was easier to navigate. He got to the tunnel in moments, the segment still drifting idly. He eyed the endless tracts of scales, wary of the sudden stillness¡ªbut Iolite¡¯s magic didn¡¯t feel strained, and the line seemed strong enough. He reformed his own tethers and leashed the loop down, grasping it in his other hand as he swam into the tunnel.

    Darkness shawled in on all sides, thick blankets of shadow. Quiet, too. Eerily quiet and uncomfortably warm. The warmth wasn¡¯t like the glow of sunshine, or the crackle of a campfire. Dungeonrunners got a distinct feel for these kinds of things, and for Breakers he supposed it was even more so. This was the warmth of something slumbering, hibernatory.

    The tunnel was vast enough that he didn¡¯t have to touch the sides as he swam, though the loop of daemon he dragged bumped against the ceiling at points. The passing sound of scales sliding along scales made him break out in a cold sweat.

    If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.

    Not in a dungeon, he reminded himself. Not in a dungeon, just arguably somewhere worse.

    For a while, there was nothing but stillness save for the occasional bubble from tiny, shrimp-like filter-feeders and not-water draining from clusters of natural ostia. Felun kept glancing back at the loop of scales dragging behind him. Would it be fine if he just left it here? Or here? Probably not. He sighed and carried on, drawn deeper by invisible currents.

    The safety-line stung at his hand, an anxious reminder. Eventually, he sensed the tunnel opening up into a wider space, a central chamber. He kept swimming until he bumped into a wall of scales, almost cutting to the touch. He jerked backwards and let go of the loop.

    As far as you can, Iolite had said. He was pretty sure this was it; he heard no drainage outflow here, and no further tunnels to take. Backing away, he prepared a signal to chase up Iolite¡¯s safety-line¡ªand stopped dead.

    Something was breathing.

    Breathing. In here. Right here.

    Shallow exhalations, made clearer by the stillness all around. His blood ran cold. He stilled his own breathing to check he wasn¡¯t going mad from an echo before he realised he was in a false-body, inside an enchantment, and he hadn¡¯t really been breathing in the first place.

    The damn thing was paralysed, right? Overt casting shouldn¡¯t interfere. Curiosity got the better of him, and he summoned a shielding spell.

    Golden light flooded the chamber, throwing scalloped scale-edges into relief. Within that, though¡ªhe felt his throat close up at the sight: a web of tangled flesh and bone, anchored to the far side of the room with roots of cartilage. The coppery reek of blood forced its way into his nostrils, as if it had been waiting to be perceived.

    He bit his tongue as his stomach lurched. He¡¯d seen worse things, down in dungeons¡ªfar worse. Piles of arms, he reminded himself. Medic¡¯s tents overflowing with bodies, Ishaan¡¯s screaming, dull-eyed hope¡ª

    He looked the fleshy thing up and down and realised there was a person inside.

    A face lolled out of the mess, and the side of a throat¡ªwith it, a scrap of collar as red as blood. The eyes were shut, the expression slack and drifting as if in sleep. The rest of the figure was encased by the expanse of blood and bone, glistening oily-gold under his shield-light. So that was where the breathing had come from.

    Well it made sense, he thought, feeling faintly ill. He was inside an instrument of imprisonment, wasn¡¯t he? It made a lot of sense. Small comfort, that the prisoner wouldn¡¯t be perceiving it like this. Then again, he¡¯d said something about feeling his cells dying, hadn¡¯t he?

    He took a step back, fingers squeezing onto Iolite¡¯s tether.

    The Healer¡¯s eyes flicked open. Part of his face melted and dripped away, exposing bare-white bone.

    They locked gazes for one, terrifying moment¡ªthough was it really seeing in the Healer¡¯s case?¡ªand then the safety-line near yanked his arm out of its socket as it dragged him out, rushing backwards through the dark corridor of scales.

    He crashed back into his body the instant he hit open water. Pain blazed along every suture of his skull, symmetrical ley-lines of agony. He really should¡¯ve drawn a better shielding circle, he thought dimly. A familiar blackness invaded the edges of his vision. He toppled, and Iolite¡¯s tail whipped out to break his fall.

    He was out before he hit the ground.

    ===

    When he came to, he was laying on a cold, hard surface. Smooth, though, and not covered in flakes of plaster. His room? No, that couldn¡¯t be right. This felt more like the laboratory, the air thick with potion-scents. From somewhere behind him came the soft murmur of conversation. He opened his eyes and winced at the spike of pain that followed¡ªthen at the matching prickle of itching in his hands: blisters burst, again. He could tell without having to look.

    Faery footsteps clicked closer.

    ¡°Hello, Felun,¡± Iolite said. ¡°That was most excellent work you did, back there. The issue is resolved most satisfactorily.¡± She stepped around him, and he heard liquid being shaken in a bottle.

    His stomach turned. The sloshing sound reminded him of blood-wet flesh and of other wounds he¡¯d rather not recall. He thought of the Healer¡¯s face melting, skin sloughing off in sheets of colour, sliding past the contours of teeth and jawbone. He reminded himself that the enchantment wasn¡¯t a literal thing. Still, the image of that fleshy core burrowed into his brain, chewing deep. Ishaan flitted inexplicably through his thoughts¡ªit had been a while since he¡¯d consciously remembered. He winced and shoved the thought away, not fast enough¡ªimages crowded in: Tyirn¡¯s eyes with the light gone out of them and Vilette¡¯s crumpled jawbone, lips parted and teeth blown loose.

    ¡°Drink this,¡± Iolite said, seemingly oblivious to his discomfort. She pushed a potion into his hand as he sat up, every muscle aching in protest. ¡°Silverwater, show him the papers. Tell Suria the General¡¯s foolery has forced our hand; harvest begins now.¡±

    Felun brought the potion to his lips, almost choking on the sugary-sweetness as Silverwater pulled him firmly to his feet. The infusion of magic did make him feel better, though, and he set the emptied bottle carefully onto a bench as Silverwater gestured to the doorway.

    ¡°Come, Sungrazer Zhao,¡± he said with a slight bow of his head. ¡°Let us not disturb this workspace further.¡±

    Iolite had already turned her attention away; she muttered to herself in the faery language, tossing an egg-shaped gemstone to and fro between her hands. In the corner, a cauldron bubbled, close to foaming over.

    Silverwater led him into the kitchen, which had been converted into a makeshift war room. Felun blinked at the maps tacked to the walls, the charts blanketing the table, the counter cleared for brushes and inkpots. Thorn and Curlew pored over a piece of paper together, chittering amongst themselves. Saiph perched sullenly in the corner, leafing through a tattered book.

    ¡°Uh, Lieutenant,¡± Felun said. ¡°You need my help for this how, exactly?¡±

    Silverwater picked up a set of scrolls from the table and pushed them into his arms. ¡°There is to be a new venture. Iolite wants you to study these. Ensure you know the sort and how to break them.¡±

    Ah. Familiar territory.

    ¡°You have plans here?¡± he asked. ¡°When?¡±

    Silverwater tipped his head in agreement. ¡°Yes, here. Very Glister plans. And soon, I expect. Though I hear Archivist Zekore has been requesting your aid, so¡­expect changes abound, if you would.¡±

    An image of the crumbling Archives flashed through his head. His hands started to itch, as if on cue. He tightened his fingers around the scrolls. More of the same, he told himself. It was only more of the same. He could deal with it.

    ¡°Additionally,¡± Silverwater began, and hesitated. ¡°Winterbird and I have finished sorting the old cargo. There are some¡­items for you that Iolite thought you might find useful.¡±

    ¡°Items?¡± he asked warily. ¡°What items, exactly?¡±

    Silverwater gave him an inscrutable look. ¡°From the old Breaker,¡± he said.

    Oh. Shit. Well, then.

    ¡°Do you want them?¡± Silverwater asked, his spines tilted in courtesy. It was hardly a question. If Iolite said he would have them, then he¡¯d have to deal with the old Breaker¡¯s ghost whether he liked it or not.

    ¡°I suppose I¡¯ll take a look,¡± he said reluctantly.

    ¡°They are in the basement levels.¡± Silverwater headed out into the corridor without so much as a backward glance.

    Felun tucked the scrolls under his arm and followed him through the crawl of plaster-dusted tunnels. They walked deeper into the safehouse warren, only stopping outside Suria¡¯s door for Silverwater to poke his head in and mutter something about an amphora. That old vase he¡¯d dug out of the Songian Library, he realised. He was glad it was in Suria¡¯s hands and not his; he shuddered at the memory of its faintly pulsing surface.

    Silverwater led the way down yet more tunnels, less plaster-like now. Glowing bundles of moss hung from the ceiling. Roots pierced the walls, and the ground squished wetly underfoot. Water¡ªFelun hoped it was just ordinary water¡ªstarted seeping into his boots. Silverwater, wing-blessed as he was, flew forth a couple inches off the ground.

    Eventually, the marshy bit of tunnel dried up to pure stone, smoother than sea-tumbled glass. They arrived at a rather plain set of doors, not unlike the sort set into castle gates. Silverwater gave it a shove with his shoulder, grunting under his breath as it screeched open. Felun sneezed as a cloud of dust puffed up around them.

    The chamber was large but mostly empty, poorly-lit by patches of glowing lichens. Half-emptied crates were piled against the far wall. Some leaked puddles of gooey faery building material all over the floor.

    ¡°Over there,¡± Silverwater said, gesturing to a lone chest with a swing of his tail. ¡°Those were her belongings. You will need a little time to look through them and assess their suitability, correct? I will finish unpacking. Speak if you need assistance.¡±

    He fluttered off to the side and began lifting what looked like bundles of shriveled tentacles from one of the crates.

    Felun sighed inwardly and crouched down by the old Breaker¡¯s chest. It looked innocuous enough: plain and wooden, dome-topped with metal clasps and handles for carrying. He steeled himself as he undid the clasps and flipped the lid open, not sure what to expect¡ªremnants of madness, maybe, bloodstained knives or scorched spell-slips still reeking of spent magic.

    Instead, there were quills and ink and a couple of stylographs, bundled up alongside rolled-up sheets of blank spellpaper. There were a couple of books, too, and what looked like a journal. He flipped one of the books open¡ªan adventure novel of some sort. Something was inscribed faintly on the inner cover. He held it up to the light and squinted. For my darling niece, he read, and felt as though he had bumbled in on some private gathering. He shut the book and opened the journal instead. It was a little like his own at first glance: leather-bound and formed from sheets of spellpaper, good for storing runes in. The contents, though, differed greatly.

    Inked words sprawled over the sheets in a crabbed hand, only occasionally interspersed with a shining cluster of runes. Several passages referenced concepts he had only a vague grasp on, though others made some sense: a description of the intangible landscapes within enchantments, the process of stripping the armature and filleting them open like fish. Pieces of the old Breaker¡¯s mind unspooled before him like a map unfurling, showed themselves in messily-sketched diagrams and underlined passages using complicated words that tested the limits of his fluency. The runes, too, were all fairly high quality. Whoever this Breaker had been, she¡¯d been good at her work¡ªa step above him, even. That was an uncomfortable thought; if she¡¯d succumbed to the Hive Archives, then where did that leave him? He shoved the thought away and skimmed forwards.

    Several times, the Breaker had notes referencing her troubles with skin-blistering. A formula for blister ointment had been jotted into one of the margins; Felun made a mental note of it for later, to bring up if he caught Iolite in an agreeable mood. As he flipped further into the journal, the writing became sparser, scratchier. More runes swarmed over the pages, signs for crackling and splitting and corroding¡ªand where had she lifted those, he wondered. From the Archives themselves? The severity of those runes were rarely encountered outside of dungeons. As far as he knew, she hadn¡¯t been a runner like him. Eventually, the filled pages came to a close¡ªthe last third of the book was blank.

    Threads of unease stirred in his chest. He studied the most recent notes, searching for signs of the madness that Iolite so frequently referenced. What had she been like, he wondered. Someone desperate enough to work with Iolite¡ªan outcast scraping by, or someone like him? Someone with debts to pay?

    Ishaan¡¯s voice darted through his thoughts, startling and unwelcome¡ªcome on, guys¡­I think we should sit this one out. And though it had been Tyirn who had pushed for them to go ahead, and though Vilette had been the one to choose the leftmost passage, he¡¯d been the one to break open the door.

    He¡¯d opened the door. And really, that was all that mattered in the end.

    Empty eyes. Broken jaw. Crystals like canine teeth, gleaming bright. Other images that his thoughts still flinched from, like fingertips grazing a hot stove. Their bodies had shielded him; it was the least he could do to beg pension for the last one remaining.

    ¡°Sungrazer Zhao,¡± Silverwater said, breaking into his thoughts. ¡°I am finished now. Will you be taking those?¡±

    Felun startled and looked up, shutting the journal with a thump. ¡°Yeah,¡± he managed. ¡°Sure.¡±

    Silverwater tipped his head to one side, spines flexing. ¡°Is everything in order, Sungrazer Zhao? Forgive me if mentioning this is a human taboo, but you seemed, ah, perturbed.¡±

    He tucked the journal back into the chest and clicked the lid down. ¡°I¡¯m fine.¡±

    And it was the truth. He was fine. He was the only one who had been.

 Interlude: scavenger

    Water dripped. Something scuffled. Jackal gripped the end of his line and peered around the corner.

    The creature had its back to him, nosing at the lure. It was about the size of a jackrabbit, and sort of resembled one too¡ªsave for the mouthful of carnivorous teeth, and the claws glinting at its feet.

    A moment passed. And another. The creature shuffled forwards, burying its maw into the bait.

    He yanked his line and his net crashed down: cheap, unruned rope that wouldn¡¯t hold for long. The creature screeched loud enough to make his ears hurt and unsheathed its claws. He sprang from his nook, blade at the ready.

    Claws shot out and shredded through netting, but the net had bought him time¡ªthe point of his shortsword pierced the creature¡¯s throat and dug deep. Its milky eyes bulged as it thrashed and snapped and screeched; Jackal bore down on the shortsword, pinning it to the floor until it stopped struggling and died.

    He pulled the sword out with a sick squelch and panted for breath, every muscle gone tense. Blood oozed out of the wound, redder than it ought to be. The colour stabbed at a tender part of his broken brain, a rasping fissure buried deep.

    Richer than blood, and it moved like wine.

    He turned his gaze away and exhaled carefully as the thought disappeared, staring down the grime coating the dungeon floor. Stars, he hated it here. He unfastened a coil of rope from his belt and began to truss up his kill. Coarse, oily pelt, glassy eyes¡ªugly little bastards they were. But they learned quick, and this spot was already running dry. He suspected he¡¯d be lucky to get one, maybe two more out of restringing his nets here before he had to move on, find deeper sites to harvest. Or maybe that new branch that had opened up, once the others cleared the worst of it out.

    His stomach twisted in revulsion and underlying that, in hunger. If his mouth watered, it wasn¡¯t willingly.

    He kept an eye out on his way back, for anything skittering in the darkness, or runes glinting across stone. The traps in this section had supposedly all been cordoned off and marked with splashes of bioluminescent paint, but the runners were always quick to warn that the tunnels changed. The place was chock-full of nasty surprises, even in the relative shallows.

    Jackal paused as something caught his eye in the ceiling ahead: a series of bumps that hadn¡¯t been there earlier. They matched the colour of the tunnel stone and would have resembled budding stalactites were it not for the texture being all¡­wrong. Too smooth. He reached for the rope dart at his belt and hefted it. The dart-tip struck true, and the sound it made was far wetter than metal-on-stone.

    The bumps burst in a gush of grey membrane and dumped reeking acid all over the floor. Jackal gave them another couple of jabs with his dart and waited until the whole thing stopped dripping before he drew closer and ducked past. Whether it had been flora or fauna, he couldn¡¯t tell¡ªit wasn¡¯t meat, so it didn¡¯t matter.

    A layer of clinging drizzle greeted him surface-side. He pushed up his night-goggles and blinked uncomfortably even in the overcast light. A few curious eyes looked him over as he trudged past, then flicked away when they saw his dismal haul. People huddled in their tents, and muffled chatter floated through the base camp: grumbles about card games, the state of the dungeon, the shitty weather.

    He passed the medic tent and winced at the pained groans which emanated from within. Thank the stars he wasn¡¯t stupid enough to risk his neck in the deep levels, pushing frontiers marked in blood. Sure, some of the runners came out hauling enough gold to never work again¡ªbut one only had to notice the number of hopefuls who ventured deep and never returned to turn away and say, ¡®no thanks¡¯. Or at least, it seemed obvious enough to him. New venturers showed up every day, a slow trickle to replace the poor bastards bleeding out in the medic tent. Maybe jaunting the Library had taught him one useful thing after all: knowing when to be afraid.

    The rest of it, he wished he could carve out and burn alive¡ªgristle from meat, marrow from bone. There were the thoughts¡ªred, again. Iron and meat and hunger. He gritted his teeth. The not-jackrabbit hung heavy from his hand.

    Once at his tent, he fetched his skinning knife and began to strip the thing for parts. Eyes, teeth, pelt, meat: a passable quantity of meat. He swallowed the rush of saliva surging into his mouth and resisted the unnatural urge to sink his teeth into raw muscle. The first and only time he¡¯d tried that, he¡¯d discovered the Library hadn¡¯t thought to give him a stomach to match the urges.

    He clenched his jaw against eager appetite, against scrabbling impatience that was not his, not really: a hundred broken fingers scratched at the backs of his eyes, begging and insistent.

    Two years ago, he¡¯d fled the kingdom and thought himself free. He¡¯d been a fool: some months later, he¡¯d woken gnawing at the flesh of his own arm. The Library had followed him.

    He wondered if ma and Laila were doing okay, in the little cottage he¡¯d bought them. After da had passed on, Jackal had stepped up to be the man of the family. Now that he¡¯d run away¡ªfor their safety, he reminded himself, for their safety and not because he was a bloody coward¡ªHakim would have to be. Hakim was an idiot sometimes, but he could still write runes. Jackal had left them as much coin as he could, besides. He¡¯d done his duty, and he could take comfort in the fact that none of them were hunched over in the spitting rain, hacking dungeon-meat to pieces.

    He¡¯d left a note, too, saying he¡¯d be fine. And he had been: there was always work around for young, able-bodied men, especially ones who could tie a mean one-handed bowline. It had been fine. Everything had been fine, until normal meat had stopped being enough.

    He scooped the chunks of dungeon-flesh into a waiting bowl and carried it down to the communal grill, smoking sulkily beneath a canvas tarp. His stomach gurgled as the meat cooked. The Library-feeling coiled up at the base of his skull, itching and gleeful. He bit down on his tongue and glanced around as he rinsed out the bowl¡ªwas anyone watching? No, there was no one. The drizzle saw to that. He relaxed, but only slightly; sometimes, he worried someone would see. Everyone who camped here had gone into the dungeon, some further than others. They all knew what monstrousness looked like.

    The meat finished cooking. Jackal took a piece straight off the grill and wolfed it down, heedless of the way it burned his tongue. Magic shivered down his throat as he swallowed, soothing the scratch of Library-grasp. He scraped the rest of the meat into his bowl and hurried back, sneaking bites along the way.

    He barely touched the flap of his tent when a shiver ran through the camp. Jackal felt it on the back of his neck, like a bristle of dry lightning¡ªlike the wavefront of a killing fog.

    This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

    A surge.

    Around him, figures burst out of their tents, equipment at the ready. Shouts rose into the air, buoyant with hope. Jackal chewed on his meat and watched. Caught flat-footed, it was probably not a good idea to try beating the initial horde; already, a man¡¯s cries rang out as he was trampled.

    All manner of dungeonrunners thumped past, eager for easy gold¡ªsurges came once every couple of months, maybe, and this one felt big. Possibly the worst danger for now would be fighting other looters for the pieces: new chests popping up in the shallows, jewels spat out of the earth. He finished the last of the meat and checked his weapons over.

    He didn¡¯t especially like surges. Something about the way the things appeared, all polished and new-like, didn¡¯t sit well with him. But he was never one to bite the hand that fed him. He brought his largest sack and walked, unhurriedly, down to the dungeon entrance.

    With any luck, the horde of runners had scared more meat out into the open. Other runners were oft more concerned with gold than carcasses. Little prey like the not-jackrabbit was slaughtered and cast aside in the chase for glittering jewels. He¡¯d found much of his meals this way.

    He picked up two discarded lizards as he entered the shallower levels, their heads crushed beneath some runner¡¯s boot. They were small, but they shimmered with blue-black scales suggestive of magic-soaked flesh. Into the sack they went. Jackal crept deeper, head tilted for sounds of arguing or blades clashing.

    Voices drifted in from the distance, echoing against the stone¡ªthey seemed far enough. He ventured onwards, scooping up his prizes: another unfortunate lizard, a beheaded snake, a not-rabbit that had been cleaved in two. The snake, he wasn¡¯t sure whether it was native to the dungeon, but meat was meat. He had to keep himself from starving the usual way, even if it didn¡¯t scratch that hungry Library itch crawling up his throat.

    He hesitated as the corridor opened out into a hall; this was a little deeper than he usually went, though he recalled the place¡ªa nest of spiderlings had sprouted here the last surge, or so he heard. The way was open, and it seemed cleared; he peered in.

    The room was large and spherical in shape, and the floor dipped down like a bowl. It was empty but for the downed body in the center: a beast the size of a horse, though rounder and spiral-horned. Scorch-marks ringed the carcass, as did a growing pool of blood; it had been stabbed, several times. Some runner¡¯s snapped blade lay wedged in the cooling flesh.

    Hmm. He could hardly hope to haul this back, even with the rope at his belt¡ªbut he did have a knife with him. He¡¯d carve off a bit of haunch, maybe. Slit open the belly and grab the organs that called to him the most: the heart, usually, and the liver. Maybe the tongue. Yes, he thought. Iron and offal and iron and offal and feasting¡ª

    He jerked himself from the ghost-grip of the Library with a hiss.

    ¡°Shut up,¡± he snarled. ¡°Just shut up.¡±

    Then he shook his head. Talking to himself, again? He really was going mad. Bloody voices. Was it even a voice? It spoke more in images than words. He hopped down onto the concave bowl of the floor anyway, because a good meal was going to be the only thing that quietened it.

    He took the haunch without trouble, hefting it into the sack, and gritted his teeth as he gouged the belly open. Blood splashed out, as expected, and coils of intestines spilled forth like glossy sausage links. He turned away to retch, even as shame flushed through his body. He¡¯d been a goddamn kiter, he reminded himself. Not butchering stuff in the kitchens. If ma were here, she¡¯d scold his work and make a more elegant cut. Hells, Laila would¡¯ve been better at this.

    Coward, he thought. Coward-fucking-coward, should¡¯ve stayed with them. Should¡¯ve stayed and provided and fattened them up and eaten them, all tender flesh and crackling skin¡ª

    He retched again.

    The Library-thoughts drove white-hot spokes into his mind, brazen and painless. Hadn¡¯t he just eaten? Maybe the not-jackrabbit had been a young one, not yet marinated enough in the dungeon magic. Fine. He¡¯d cook the lizards once he got back.

    His hands shook as he reached for the gash in the thing¡¯s belly, still oozing blood. His eyes skittered over the red and¡ª

    Richer than blood, blood, blood, wine, blood and wine and blood and wine and redness spilling forth, coating fingers and tongue, dribbled into the gaps between teeth and onto the flesh behind the eyelids¡ª

    Pain exploded over his scalp. Invisible fingers reached for his brain. He screamed, and the world turned white. He lurched backwards and toppled¡ªand in that moment, he remembered falling.

    +++

    Falling down a crashing pile of metal, his heart hammering out of his chest, the world a blur of glistening knife-points. One of them dug into his arm and he screamed; more scored lines along his back and limbs as he rolled down the hill, some shallow and others deep.

    He¡¯d come to a slow and bloody stop at the base of a throne the size of a house, shivering at the shock of still being alive. The shivering had lasted a couple minutes until he¡¯d pulled himself together and scrambled to his feet, trying to forget what he¡¯d seen.

    The wine-field-sea flowed into tributaries. The thorn garden bled into dust. And in the shimmer of the horizon, a vast and hungry mouth had opened, lined with crescents of teeth upon teeth upon teeth.

    +++

    The flash of white lasted for what was both a second and an eternity. Pressure built in his skull, every hollow turned thick with ripening magic. His ears felt as though they might burst. A smell like the edge of a Killing Field threaded into his nose and mouth and down his throat. For a moment, he saw ten thousand filaments beating in time to a silent song.

    A faery burst out of his head. It hit the ground with a clack of chitin.

    Jackal screamed again, scrambling blindly backwards. His boot slipped on blood, and he promptly landed on his ass. The jolt of pain up his tailbone jerked him back to reality. He swore.

    Not dead? He thought, and then: what the fuck?

    The faery had, as far as he could tell, launched itself out of his head. Or had it? His head didn¡¯t hurt anymore, and the flash of light had been disorientating, but¡ª

    He retrod the memory. It came to him with disturbing ease: the faery had definitely come out of his head. Wait¡ªwhat? How did he know that? This felt like the thing with the field and the¡ªhuh. It was a Library thing, wasn¡¯t it? Somehow, a faery had come out of his head. Not out of his nose or his ear or anything, the memory insisted. Out of his head. And it had done it without smashing his skull open in the process. Okay. Fine. Unless his skull had been smashed open, and he was hallucinating as he died.

    He raised a tentative hand to feel his scalp, until he remembered his fingers were covered in blood. He stood up instead, wincing as he went. Hobbling over to the faery, he crouched by its head and turned it over without too much difficulty. It was a female, he realised, her face narrow and pointed, her head lacking horns. She was blueish-coloured, or perhaps purple¡ªit was difficult to tell through the lenses of his night-goggles¡ªand she was clad in some sort of backless tunic which left room for her wings. It looked a lot sparser than what Volans or any of the other faery dungeonrunners wore; come to think of it, she didn¡¯t even have a weapon on her.

    Was she¡­dead? Her skin felt cold, probably on account of it resembling a bug¡¯s shell, and he could hardly try feeling for a pulse through it. He put his hand in front of her face instead. There was definitely some exhaling going on, though the breath that brushed against his hand was slower and colder than he¡¯d¡¯ve thought.

    Well, shit. Mystery faery on his hands, probably courtesy of the Library. He scrubbed his hand across his face, stopping when he remembered the blood.

    He was utterly unqualified to deal with this. He wasn¡¯t a faery medic¡­were there even faery medics around? This dungeon was sort of waning, and the few faerie runners who¡¯d stopped by had left a couple of weeks ago. He frowned. Suppose he¡¯d better get her surface-side first, right? Faeries weren¡¯t quite as heavy as humans, but he had his sackful of carcasses to carry, too. He eyed the rope hanging at his belt. Maybe, if he harnessed the sack to himself to leave his arms free¡­?

    Yeah, that could work.

 3.6 - Lost and Found

    Parsec

    This-one-Parallax?

    Parsec cracked her eyes open to a world of pain¡ªand not only that. For a terrible instant, her body spasmed like a borrowed husk. A ghost-hand laid itself onto her shoulder, and blunt wakefulness wormed up into her head and neck, chipping its way to the very tips of her spines.

    Tap tap. Augment. Invigorate. Wake, now. That-one-Realm-touched fears this one is dying.

    The pain faded, but she did not especially want to move.

    Supine, Venera said, and sent an impression of blood-spattered whiteness, crinkling at the edges. Awake. Ensconce. Archive ways unkind to those of solid flesh.

    Parsec finally shifted and opened her eyes fully. Her gaze landed upon a woven ceiling, not unlike coarse Hive sheeting.

    ¡°Venera,¡± she rasped. Her throat was dry. Her tongue had veiled itself in the ghost-tastes of ashes and salted earth. Somewhere in the back of her mind, a memory replayed itself: embers falling in slow motion.

    ¡°You awake?¡± someone asked. The voice was certainly not Venera¡¯s. ¡°For real this time?¡±

    Parsec sat up and was promptly rewarded with a burst of pain behind the eyes. She hissed, scrunching them back shut as she reached out with her scenting instead: blood, rain, human.

    ¡°Oh, good,¡± the human-scented voice said. ¡°Can you talk? You were hissing a lot, before. Wasn¡¯t sure if your sort get feverish and the medics didn¡¯t, either.¡±

    She sensed the person drawing nearer. With great effort, she forced her eyes open once more, setting her jaw against the pain.

    The speaker looked as human as they came: its hair was tied back and deeply pigmented, darker and duller than her own carapace. Its skin, too, was pigmented for warmer skies. It wore simple-looking clothing, though there were a great many implements attached to its belts. When it leaned closer to study her, she glimpsed a glint of gold tucked into an earlobe.

    Was it a man, or a woman? she wondered. And did it have a secondary subtype, or was that not a human thing? Probably not. Orion had once told her their species had a peculiar ratio, close to half-and-half. Should she guess? It had been a long while since she had encountered any humans directly, and she scrambled for the usual guidelines: hair and voice and build, though a Lieutenant had once informed her that hair length, especially, had regional variations. A different Lieutenant had spoken something about germinal reproduction, but it had been a bewildered and not altogether helpful remark.

    That-one-Realm-touched is a man, Venera supplied helpfully. Leastwise, other-human indicated as much. Moreover, most strangeness of inner textures; grey birds, pale shadows, long-gone daemons. All that predecessor can tell, am afraid. The name; know not. Other-human did not speak it.

    Other-human? She surmised Venera had witnessed the goings-on while she¡¯d slept. A flurry of blurry images poured into her thoughts: the shape of her unconscious body seen from above, the burbling of two humans talking in the background, a different viewing angle showing an unfamiliar human gesturing with a roll of bandages in its hand. Then the images faded away, fast as water soaking into dry soil.

    Realm-touched, Venera repeated, insistent.

    What in Hive¡¯s name did that mean? There was a tinge of something ancient in the cadence of Venera¡¯s not-words, an edge of confusion and reverie.

    ¡°Hello?¡± the human said, waving a hand in front of her face.

    She shook off the musings for now and focused instead on the human in front of her.

    ¡°Who are you?¡± Parsec asked in the human-tongue. The words felt rusted-over, coming out; it was only the Hive honey that lent her comprehension and coherency, and very little of her own skill.

    ¡°Who are you?¡± the man countered. ¡°I think I deserve to know, on account of you bursting out of my head and all. How¡¯d that happen, huh? I carried you out from the dungeon, by the way¡ªyou were out cold. Hardly kitted out to be there, either.¡±

    His head? And a dungeon? Parsec tipped her spines back and drew her wings closer in consternation. She¡¯d grasped the best-looking landing site she¡¯d come across, with Venera¡¯s agreement. The image had blazed bright. She¡¯d twisted the Archival tendril in her hand and sent her magic along its length, up into the broken light. Then there had been much pain¡ªand nothing more until now.

    ¡°Out¡­your head?¡± she asked. ¡°I did not¡­it was¡­magic.¡±

    ¡°Yeah,¡± the human said, and made a huffing snort through his nose. ¡°I figured.¡±

    ¡°That is the truth of the matter,¡± Parsec said.

    ¡°Well, okay. That doesn¡¯t answer my other question though, does it?¡± The lack of spines made his expression difficult to read.

    Neither-nor, Venera supplied. Doors draining to rivers and granulations. Hive affiliations? A warning.

    ¡°Other question?¡± she asked, feeling as though she had lost his thread of speech; ordinarily, she would be sharper than this. Her head still ached faintly at the edges.

    The human scoffed faintly. ¡°How did you, y¡¯know, appear out of nowhere?¡±

    ¡°I¡­do not fully know how I arrived here, myself,¡± she said carefully. Venera was right: if this human did know someone from a proper Hive, Glister or otherwise, then it would not bode well for her if he reported her as an escapee. ¡°I was in a strange place, for a long while.¡± Drawing inspiration from Venera¡¯s ghost-touch, she added, ¡°I do not remember much of my life. It comes back in¡­pieces. Where are we?¡±

    ¡°A dungeon camp,¡± he said, frowning. ¡°About a day¡¯s hike from Kraedia.¡±

    Kraedia? She had heard of the name before, but she struggled to trace out the contours of the continent in her head. As if sensing her frustration, a many-layered ghost-image formed in her mind¡¯s eye, sketched out in Venera¡¯s cold touch: imperfect, perhaps, but it gave her a fair idea. Her chosen Archival tendril had sent her very far away¡ªfar enough that inter-Hive communication was unlikely to be an immediate issue.

    ¡°I guess we can get you dropped off at the Hive there, see if someone won¡¯t know your home. You remember your name?¡±

    Parsec hesitated. True, they were far from Glister Hive and the traitor Eltanin¡¯s poisonous reach. But Parallax was an uncommon name, tinged of the shattered lands, and Parsec had not become a General without an abundance of caution to show for it.

    This-one-necromancer, Venera suggested.

    ¡°Pavao,¡± Parsec lied. It was a common name, yet close enough to her own to answer to if the pretense needed to be maintained for long. If the human across from her thought it strange, he didn¡¯t make any obvious indication as to the case.

    ¡°Alright, Pavao. You can call me Jackal.¡±

    Wasn¡¯t that some sort of foreign wildlife? She hid her tail-flick of confusion behind her back. ¡°I see. Thank you for bringing me to your shelter, Jackal.¡±

    Jackal glanced around the inside of the tent and huffed out what might have been a laugh. ¡°No problem,¡± he said. ¡°Yeah, uh. It¡¯s fine. Medic¡¯s tent was full and they didn¡¯t know what to do with you. You can wait out the rain in here until¡­wait, I guess you don¡¯t remember the way, do you?¡±

    ¡°I do not think I have been to Kraedia before,¡± she said cautiously. ¡°It will perhaps be¡­not necessary for you to bring me to the Hive,¡± she added. ¡°I¡­lived alone before this.¡±

    Were there independents and schismatists in Kraedia? She hoped her lie was not terribly unconvincing.

    His brow crinkled into many lines. ¡°Right, well. You didn¡¯t live in some stars-forsaken dungeon camp either, did you? I can show you the way to the city tomorrow. There¡¯s probably people who can help you better there. Sorry, I don¡¯t¡­¡± He made a gesture with his hand. ¡°I mean, I¡¯ve run with you guys before, but I don¡¯t know much about medical stuff or none of that.¡±

    ¡°I am uninjured,¡± Parsec said. It wasn¡¯t a lie, exactly; a heavy, fog-like exhaustion had seeped into her core, but her body showed no wounds for all her trouble.

    This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

    ¡°Alright,¡± he said. ¡°That¡¯s great. So, you can eat meat, right? Cause it¡¯s almost dinner. Figure you might be hungry after appearing from uh¡­nowhere.¡± He scratched the back of his head. ¡°If you can¡¯t, I guess I can buy some vegetables off a camp merchant.¡±

    That reminded her: she was hungry. She¡¯d burned through a lot of magic on her way out of the Hive, and she hadn¡¯t had anything to eat in¡­she wasn¡¯t sure how long.

    ¡°Whatever you have is appreciated.¡±

    ¡°Right,¡± he said. ¡°Hope you don¡¯t mind snake, then.¡± He grabbed a bundle out of a chest in the corner and lifted the flap of the tent. ¡°Stay here. Be back soon.¡±

    Parsec waited until he was gone before standing up, legs oddly shaky with each movement. She¡¯d been placed onto a pile of fabrics, adjacent to a rickety little table and a chest coated with icy runes¡ªcoolboxes, the humans called them? Some lieutenants had bargained for a few at a Glister market and brought them to the Hive. Parsec had thought them interesting at the time, but not altogether useful. The heaviness in the air¡ªa murky discomfort akin to being submerged in half-warm water that was almost never present in the Hive¡ªmade her reconsider her assessment now.

    She cast her eyes over the rest of the tent. Whatever this Jackal did for a living¡ªsomething with dungeons, had she heard that right?¡ªwas likely not very highly-ranked among humans. He did not appear to have many possessions, as the humans liked to rank themselves by, but he seemed well-intentioned enough. There were not many humans in Glister who would offer food to a faery unprompted, or so she had heard from various scouts and Lieutenants.

    She stretched her limbs and tail to pass the time, then peered out the tent. Rain pattered steadily down, turning the ground to mud. Several other tents lay about, some well put-together and others not. She glimpsed a few humans hurrying about, coats thrown over their heads against the wet. The air smelled saturated, and the sky was very grey; she did not think the rain would stop for many hours yet. She stepped back into the tent and began to pace despite the shakiness of her legs. It would not do to let her muscles weaken of their own accord.

    ¡°Venera?¡± she asked aloud. ¡°What now? Do you think we should leave?¡±

    Feast-flesh and river-rain. Best to wait. This-one is a-weakening.

    ¡°Very well. Yes, food sounds good.¡± A thought occurred to her. ¡°Do you require food?¡±

    Predecessor is deceased. The deceased do not require food.

    Her legs threatened to crumple out from beneath her, so she sat back down. She drew her wings around herself, hunching her shoulders. ¡°I see. Do you remember¡­?¡±

    Remember the eating? A little. Honey, burning up the throat. Something¡­broth, forced down. Over and over and over, the Titania laid her life in service. You know of these things?

    There was no anger in the tone¡ªonly blank curiousity.

    Parsec frowned uneasily. ¡°I am deeply sorry, that it was that way.¡±

    Ah. Isoforms. Not needing sorry, no. Predecessor suffers no longer.

    Sometimes, the ghost sounded like Venera. Other times, not at all. Parsec made to reply, but the doorway of the tent flapped open before she could form the words.

    ¡°Here you go,¡± the human¡ªJackal¡ªsaid. He passed her a bowl, full of much-heated pieces of meat, before ducking fully into the tent. ¡°Grilled snake,¡± he added, and shook raindrops from his hair. ¡°Sorry, it got a bit burnt on one side, but I scraped most of the black bits off.¡±

    ¡°It is not a problem,¡± Parsec said hastily. ¡°Many thanks for the food.¡±

    Her stomach hungered, but she waited for him to begin biting into his own portion before copying his movements; humans oft had many customs, and it would not do to offend him by accident¡ªnot when he was providing shelter and sustenance.

    The first bite was wonderful. Warmth suffused through her tongue as she sampled a variety of proteins and amino acids, tasting dusty echoes of insects the creature had itself eaten in life. She crunched through the bones, too, before realising that the human had not¡ªin fact, he was eating different meat than her own. He seemed too preoccupied with wolfing down his own food to comment on her chewing, and she was hungry¡­she swallowed in what she hoped was a polite manner and ate the rest of the bones as discreetly as she could.

    ¡°Huh,¡± he said, when he was done with his own bowl. ¡°The bones don¡¯t scratch up your throat?¡±

    ¡°No,¡± Parsec said.

    Glister Hive had processed hunted bone into arrowheads and needles and other such implements, seeing as they were large enough to afford the luxury. But in the shattered lands, they had eaten what they could get.

    ¡°Thank you,¡± she added again. ¡°It was very good.¡± It had been fairly stringy, actually, and the burnt parts had been a touch too bitter, but she had only noticed on account of her time in Glister Hive. Back on the other continent, though¡­well, she had eaten many worse things.

    Jackal glanced at the leftover bones in his own bowl. ¡°Well, you can have these too, if you want. I¡¯ll give them a rinse first.¡±

    ¡°If it¡¯s no trouble.¡±

    ¡°Erm, no. It¡¯s alright. Good that it¡¯s not going to waste.¡± He poured some water into the bowl from a human-crafted canister and swilled it around before leaning past the flap of the tent to drain it. ¡°Here.¡±

    ¡°Thank you,¡± Parsec offered again, and ate them. It was not bad fare. Lizard, she guessed, and maybe part of a rabbit¡¯s leg.

    Jackal cleared his throat once she was done. ¡°Could you stand up? Since you¡¯re waiting out the rain and all, I can move the blanket of the bedroll to make something to sleep on. Sort of.¡±

    Most gracious of that one, Venera observed. Archival is politeness writ.

    Parsec shuffled off the fabric to sit upon the floor. ¡°It is no trouble. I do not wish to deprive you of¡ªthat is to say, I do not require such trappings.¡±

    Jackal blinked at her. ¡°Are you sure? Er, just cause, all the faery runners I knew had bedrolls, too.¡±

    She supposed it was plausible, that a bedroll would do well in lieu of a bower. Her own bower back in Glister had been lined with many soft leaves and the occasional sachet of feathers, when they were available. She wondered if it had been swallowed up yet, reabsorbed into the bulk of the Hive now that she was fled, gone, severed whole. Probably, she concluded. Traitor Generals did not require bowers, and the Hive would know of it.

    Severed, said Venera, a melancholy echo. This-one-Parallax sorrows like deadened wingbeats. This-one-Parallax should drink what kindness this-one can.

    ¡°It is not necessary,¡± she said aloud. She had slept on bare earth along with the rest of the dawn patrol back in the shattered lands; it would not be difficult to do it again, now. ¡°I am not so fragile as a human regarding temperature fluctuations,¡± she added.

    He frowned. ¡°Are you sure?¡± he said. ¡°Cause uh, I had a runner buddy a while back, Volans, and he sure did like to complain about the cold a lot.¡±

    Ah, Parsec thought. This might be a little difficult to explain; whoever Jackal¡¯s friend-colleague was, he was likely not a General like her. Generals acquired additional strengths depending on how they earned their way to the title, but she could hardly explain that to Jackal without seeming notable or suspicious, could she?

    ¡°I am acclimatised to it,¡± she said instead. It was not untrue.

    His frown deepened. ¡°I¡¯ll make you a bedroll,¡± he said. ¡°Really, it¡¯s fine. I can use a coat as a blanket and you can have the spare oilskin to cover you.¡± He was looking at her with a strange expression on his face; it took her a moment to place it¡ªpity?

    For a moment, she thought of protesting. She needed not impinge upon him; though she had not spoken to many humans, she knew well enough that theirs was a harsher existence without the blanket of a Hive to provide nourishment.

    Full moon. Fish scales. Many-braided cords tying together.

    The nonsensical impressions floated into her head; she was not sure what Venera was trying to tell her.

    Clasped hands. Demure-tide.

    Perhaps it was a human custom to provide aid, and she would be offending him by refusing further. Perhaps, having dredged her from the depths of this dungeon he kept talking about, he thought her needing care like a hatchling would.

    ¡°¡­Very well,¡± she said at last. ¡°Thank you,¡± she added, for what must be the dozenth time since she¡¯d woken. She was grateful for the food and shelter, she truly was¡ªthe words felt like a poor offering. If she¡¯d had any of those metal tokens that humans found valuable, she would have given them instead. Her time in Glister Hive had lacked the need for such things.

    Jackal folded his blanket lengthwise to create a makeshift bedroll across the floor of the tent, rolling it up slightly at one end to act as a headrest. He draped a coat over it, saying she could use it to preserve warmth. Truly, there was no need for such an amenity, but she held her tongue. It would be slightly more comfortable, after all, and it wasn¡¯t as if she were borrowing his items permanently.

    It grew dark outside, and the same darkness seeped in with inexorable swiftness. Parsec¡¯s eyes adjusted, but Jackal searched around his belongings before emerging with matches. He struck one and used it to light a human-crafted lamp hanging from the ceiling, one that encased a stub of wick and wax instead of mosses or mushrooms.

    ¡°Sorry,¡± he said as he shook out the match. Smoke wisped from its blackened head. ¡°I usually go to sleep in an hour or so. Not much to do here; it¡¯s a real shithole¡ªuh, pardon.¡±

    ¡°Boredom does not trouble me,¡± Parsec said, searching her thoughts for polite things to say. ¡°Might I ask, what is your purpose for staying here?¡±

    He gave her an odd look. ¡°It¡¯s a dungeon camp,¡± he said, as if that were explanation in of itself. ¡°Wait¡ªI guess you have that amnesia thing to deal with¡­you do know what dungeons are?¡±

    ¡°I have heard the word before.¡± It was an occasional topic of conversation among the scouts and she had a vague sense of ¡®dungeons¡¯ meaning magical tunnels in the ground, but Glister ecology was stable aside from the Behemoth-creatures. Such things had not drifted into her circles of concern when she¡¯d been a General.

    ¡°Right,¡± he said. ¡°Well, we¡ªus runners¡ªwe go down into the dungeons and hunt monster parts, and sometimes there¡¯s treasure if we¡¯re lucky.¡±

    ¡°Is it not hazardous?¡± she asked. ¡°I smelled an unusual quantity of human-blood, outside.¡±

    ¡°Well, yeah,¡± he said, scratching at his jaw. ¡°We do it for the coin. I guess you can just go around hunting whatever you want¡­¡±

    ¡°Oh,¡± she said, floundering. She had broken some human custom, hadn¡¯t she? ¡°I am sorry. It sounds¡­difficult.¡±

    He shrugged. ¡°I¡¯ve done worse. Jaunting was¡ªeh, never mind. It¡¯s not too bad; I don¡¯t do anything crazy. Just here for the easy food, really.¡±

    ¡°I see,¡± she said. ¡°So after your working, you retreat here and¡­sleep early such that you might arise early? I do not wish to disrupt your routine, if so.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s fine, Pavao,¡± he said, and she reminded herself that she would have to react to that name as if it were hers now. He cleared his throat. ¡°Normally, I take a couple hours to wind down. I was going to finish reading this book I got for cheap off a merchant, but it¡¯s actually awful. Say, you know how to play dice?¡±

    ¡°No,¡± Parsec said suspiciously. ¡°But I amenable to trying.¡±

    She played and lost at four and a half rounds of dice before Jackal announced it was time to sleep; likely out of pity, she suspected. Venera¡¯s comments over her shoulder had been a comforting companionship, but also of little help; her suggestions came by the way of pale diagrams which Parsec supposed could be read as gravitational tracings if one possessed the understanding for it. Seeing as she was no Titania, they merely gave her a headache¡ªso she was in truth, rather relieved when Jackal put an end to the game.

    ¡°Goodnight, then,¡± he said as he extinguished the lamp.

    ¡°Goodnight,¡± she echoed.

    Sleep came easy, in the wake of the exhaustion wrought by Archival travels.

 3.7 - Look Away Now

    Parsec

    She woke unexpectedly.

    It happened fast. She blinked her eyes open to darkness, every muscle tensed and ready. Instinctual knowledge simmered at the base of her skull: a full sleep cycle had not yet elapsed, and yet, she was awake.

    The tent was dark and quiet and still, as was the air outside. The rain had stopped. She sat up and scented for suspicious signs: not the slightest hint of magic nearby, and no blood, either. So why was she awake?

    Something must be wrong, or if not wrong, then at least out of sorts. What had awoken her? It could not be anything imminently dangerous, surely. If so, she would be knifing up and away, hissing and clawing reflexively before her mind could catch up¡ªshe knew this was so, because it had happened before. Multiple times, all back in the shattered lands. But she was not in the shattered lands; she was on the floor of a tent on the outskirts of a Kraedian dungeon.

    Roused by that one, said Venera. You are safe, for now.

    Two feet off to the side, Jackal rolled over in his sleep. He murmured something in the human tongue. She relaxed fractionally¡ªhumans had dreams and sleep-disturbances too, didn¡¯t they? Then she frowned. Was she really so attuned, or was it lingering fear that had jolted her awake? The stress of Hive-severance could be affecting her more than she would have liked.

    ¡°Venera?¡± she whispered.

    See it? Gnarls and whorls, scored into stone. The realm calls him.

    ¡°I do not understand.¡±

    May show you.

    Parsec hesitated and eyed the human¡¯s sleeping form. ¡°Show? He is safe in his own head. Orion spoke of lost arts, but you never told me in life¡ª¡±

    Archived art. Sleepless. Exhausting. Irritate any wound. Not ordinarily useful, but¡­

    Was it just her imagination, or were Venera¡¯s not-words tinged with melancholy amusement?

    She hesitated. ¡°Will it hurt?¡±

    Not you.

    ¡°I do not particularly wish to injure him,¡± Parsec said with some reproach.

    Will not. Is already¡­hurting, gash-drip. Knives and verglas.

    She glanced down at Jackal. He was shivering now. The kind thing to do would be to wake him. But Venera¡¯s offer intrigued her and besides, she sensed there was something to unravel here. She suspected the thing that had awakened her had something to do with his head, or brain, or thoughts¡ªfor was that not how she had escaped her cast-off Hive, skipping the space of more than a hundred miles? If she were to have any chance of gaining strength and returning for a reckoning, then she needed to learn all that she could.

    ¡°Very well,¡± she said, bracing herself. ¡°Show me.¡±

    Ghost-hands settled onto her temples, and she plunged into Jackal¡¯s nightmare.

    A landscape coalesced, shockingly clear. Hills of metal rose up around her, tumbling piles of swords pointing skyward. She blinked at the dusty, parchmented look of the sky¡ªwas it a sky, or a ceiling? She couldn¡¯t quite tell. This place felt¡­Archival, but also not. It seemed worse, somehow. More dangerous, for one. Rusted implements littered the ground, a carpet of millennia-slow decay.

    Yes. Many weapons go there to die. And crowns, and thrones. Predecessor knows. Predecessor¡¯s so-called throne went the usual way. You see it, now? Realm-part.

    There was that word again: realm. Something tickled on the edges of her memory with the singing cadence of an elder¡¯s tale¡ªwhatever it was, it eluded her grasp. She was sure she¡¯d heard the word before. But she had been too young to remember a great many stories, back in the shattered lands. They had been put to work before becoming mere fledglings. It had been necessary.

    She cast her gaze around, searching for Jackal; surely he must be somewhere in his own dream? Before she could speak that thought aloud, the world shifted in the blink of an eye. Now she was in a room of some kind, built from stone. Sunlight streamed through a nearby window, and a green patterned weave lay upon the floor, circular in shape. An oddly sharp-angled platform lay in the corner, piled high with pale fabrics. It was a human-bower, she realised, sparsely-furnished but sufficiently comfortable-looking. Her field of view moved of its own accord and she startled, trying to turn her head back¡ªthen realised she could not. Her view skipped momentarily downwards, and she realised with a jolt of horror that her hands were soft, fleshy human ones.

    Not yours, said Venera.

    ¡®Ah,¡¯ she spoke, or tried to; her dream-mouth was not under her control. She was seeing from behind Jackal¡¯s eyes¡ªan interloper nestled in the hollows of his skull.

    Jackal stepped deeper into the room, toward the bed. Parsec watched and felt as his hand reached out to shake the bundle of coverlets. From the shape of them, she guessed that a human slumbered beneath.

    ¡°Hakim,¡± came his voice. ¡°It¡¯s past morning. Wake the fuck up.¡±

    The hand reached out and grasped a corner of the sheet, drawing it back. The field of view jerked as Jackal scrambled away from what he had revealed.

    It was a human¡ªa thoroughly dead one. Not dead in a normal way, either; it was covered in bright red human-blood, wounded deeply on the face and shoulder and along the length of one limp arm. Chunks had been torn from the flesh, holes resembling frenzied bite-marks.

    Jackal shouted and raised his hands back into view. Though they had been spotless not moments ago, they were now wet with human-blood.

    Hmm. Did he think himself a dangerous thing? She pondered this as he turned and ran, down into the corridor of the human-dwelling. Human-blood started seeping from the walls in slow, thick dribbles, coursing in through cracks between the stone blocks. Cracked teeth clacked down from the ceiling, sealing the hall ahead. Jackal shouted, his tone rough with terror. The scene shifted once more, back to the hills of metal.

    Hungering filaments, came Venera¡¯s voice. Aponeurosis.

    The field of view placed her on one of the hills now. Jackal¡¯s limbs scrambled beneath him as he clambered higher and higher, grasping sword-handles as handholds. Occasionally, he would glance down to search for better footing, and Parsec saw fragments of the metal landscape sprawled far, far below, pockmarked with craters scorched soot-dark. Streams of smoke flowed between the piles of hills, following strange currents to the horizon. Soon, Jackal reached the apex of the hill and stood.

    The air smelled of shattered ash. Silvery laughter echoed on the winds, so faint it could have been imaginary. Remarkable, that the dream was so clear. A line of red scored the horizon and dark spikes drove out of the earth¡ªbut Jackal turned his head away from those. Parsec watched as the field of view focused further out, to the vanishing point beyond. There, the skies rippled as if sickened; a glint of darkness opened there like a crack.

    The chip of darkness widened, and widened, and widened¡ªParsec glimpsed carnivorous teeth before everything turned as white as new snow.

    She awoke back into her body with a jolt and glanced down to her hands at once. A flush of relief flooded through her to be in possession of familiar fingers again; she patted herself down and flexed her wings and tail, just to be sure. Then she glanced over at Jackal¡¯s sleeping form¡ªstirring now, lapsing awake.

    Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

    Had that Archival-place been real? She suspected so. It had appeared too detailed and coherent to not be, and the strangeness of the landscape aligned with some of the dangers that Orion had spoken of. Though then came the question: had the torn-open human been real, too? Possibly not, she thought cautiously, given the discrepancies in continuity. Nightmares oft contained false fears, and the blending of them with real memories muddied the waters.

    ¡°Pavao?¡± Jackal croaked, sitting up. ¡°Did I, uh, wake you?¡±

    Dreams are only dreams, Venera said, then paused. Leastwise, one must assume. T¡¯would be a shame if you must kill him.

    ¡°No,¡± she said aloud. ¡°I thought I heard something; it was only the wind.¡±

    I do not plan to kill him, Parsec thought as hard as she could. She didn¡¯t think Venera could read her thoughts fully, but she must gain some sense of Parsec¡¯s mood, because the ghost-presence shifted to an apologetic tone.

    Predecessor knows not all dangers. Do like that one. Resonant-well. A precaution-habit. Predecessor was Titania for all-life¡ªmuch time; too long.

    ¡°Right, right.¡± Jackal cleared his throat and reached for his canister of water, taking a long swallow. He placed it back down once he was done and to her surprise, rose to his feet instead of laying back on his bedroll.

    ¡°I¡¯ll just go and¡­make myself a snack,¡± he said, fumbling for the coolbox. He hesitated. ¡°You uh, you want any?¡±

    ¡°No, thank you.¡± Was it a habit of humans to feel hungry after having nightmares? How strange. Then again, the wounds upon that sleeping dream-human had been imprinted with tooth-marks¡­

    Jackal stepped outside. She raised a corner of the tent flap and watched him go, on higher alert now. Tracking his movements, she realised something: he moved swiftly, and with the deftness of a scout. It could well be an ordinary trait for people in his line of work, she supposed. But it was something to keep in mind, given what she had seen in his head.

    Venera¡¯s not-voice flowed over her shoulder.

    Are still hungry. Should have partaken of food.

    Parsec blinked. ¡°No, it is no trouble. He does not have much by the scent of it, and it is best to remain in a host¡¯s good graces.¡±

    This one is a-weakening, Venera said.

    Several images flashed into her head, accompanied by clashing sound¡ªlines, dots, molecular charts scrawled in thunder and mercury, all of it incomprehensible. A quick spasm of pain followed, from thought processes under strain. Parsec hissed reflexively.

    Apologies, Venera said. Predecessor forgets how¡­paraphrasis for flesh-brain. For not-Titania.

    ¡°It is alright. I will be well with further rest,¡± Parsec shifted her leg to test the movement. ¡°See?¡± The tremoring had largely abated.

    Not so. Nourish. Nectar. Severed now¡ªsolstice, past now. While this-one was within Archive.

    ¡°Solstice?¡± she echoed. ¡°Ah.¡±

    The Generals received their drops of Hive honey every midsummer or thereabouts, refreshing their magic and sharpening their minds with Titania-wrought adaptations. It was, Parsec thought gloomily, increasingly necessary in navigating this fast-becoming human-dominated world.

    Losing access to honey wouldn¡¯t kill her. Schismatists could not exist, otherwise. She recalled running close to dry before, fleeing her way from the shattered lands, and she¡¯d felt no pain from it¡ªonly slower and weaker before she¡¯d found Glister Hive. Still, it would be irritating if she lost the ability to speak with humans. She might need to converse with one for directions in Kraedia, Jackal¡¯s company notwithstanding. And there was also the strength she¡¯d learned since, on her way to becoming a General. How much of that was made from the borrowed magic of a Titania?

    ¡°That is a problem, yes. It is true; I am¡­unsure as to how I may fix this.¡±

    Sorrow-stress. Thorns a-withering to grey. Know not. Thinking, now.

    ¡°It will be alright,¡± Parsec said slowly. ¡°Unless, say, you think it best for me to join another Hive. Perhaps not Kraedia, if still too closely linked to Glister.¡±

    Patience. Difficult to think in flesh-ways without brain.

    Parsec frowned and thought it over herself. She¡¯d received an allotment of honey for most of her life¡ªeven back in the shattered lands. Titania Ephemeris had spent every last particle of her body in pursuit of keeping her Hive safe and fed; the honey had been thin and sometimes edged with rot, but it had still been honey. If there was one thing she respected more than Venera¡¯s steady guidance, it had been Ephemeris¡¯s sheer, unparalleled resolve.

    But Ephemeris of Almucantar was long gone. Titania to the very last, burned alive with her Hive. Venera, though, was still here in a sense. Parsec clung to that hope, that shard of sanity in the sea of malice that had turned her, of all people, into a traitor. Venera might not be able to produce honey any longer, but surely she had a solution. The problem loomed and it was good to have awareness of such things, but it was not an imminent issue¡­for now.

    She shifted, restless, and stood up to test her strength. Everything felt as though it was recovering in good order. She stepped outside the tent and breathed in cool air, tasting traces of geosmin rising from the mud-loam beneath her feet.

    Darkness still dimpled the sky, though a suggestion of dawn hung at the horizon. The camp surrounds lay still, and what few lit lamps hung from poles were few and far between. She tested her wings, too, hovering briefly off the ground. She estimated perhaps a day or so before she was recovered to full capacity, but she would be able to fly for medium distances if strictly necessary. Perhaps even all the way to Kraedia, if needed. From there¡­

    From there, then what? Her blood flared hot with rage at the thought of Eltanin and Dysnomia, but she could hardly swoop back to Glister and break their necks with the entire Hive at their backs¡ªa traitor in name only was treated the same as a true traitor.

    Was there no possible way of proving her word? If she could get to Orion¡­ah, but he was imprisoned deep within the Hive and likely would be for a long, long time. Depending on if he found a way to prove his innocence and perhaps Parsec¡¯s by association¡­but no, there was no use depending on such thinly-threaded possibilities. And as for Venera, she had said that she did not even remember Eltanin. Parsec frowned. Venera could also only appear to her, as far as she could tell¡ªJackal had given no indication of hearing the ghostly not-words filtering through her head. Would it be the same for others of her own kind?

    ¡°Venera,¡± she said without much hope. ¡°Do you remember how you died? Do you remember¡­anyone in the vicinity?¡±

    There came a humming frequency, wavelengths untranslatable. And then:

    Have told this one¡ªpredecessor not remembering much¡­cored open, perhaps. No¡ªsomething else. Poison. Cold air flowing. Failing lungs. Everything became¡­quite small, quite far away. That is all.

    ¡°I see,¡± Parsec said. ¡°It was the Archive¡¯s doing, or so I believe¡ªthough Orion is not to blame. For it was General Eltanin, and his ally the General Dysnomia.¡±

    Venera was silent for several, long moments.

    These names mean naught to the predecessor. Though much clarion-clear that this-one-Parallax closes jaws upon significance. Seem¡­sure to be sure.

    ¡°Yes,¡± she said, even as a pang of injustice clawed into the folds of her heart. ¡°I still wonder, why they chose it.¡± She breathed in a calming breath. ¡°I will ask, before I complete my vow.¡±

    ¡­Spider-spun confusion. Vow?

    ¡°I vowed to avenge your death,¡± Parsec said, though her own inner voice whispered that the skill of dreamwalking had sprung from a piece of Archive. Was this really Venera, anymore? Even mostly Venera, anymore?

    Perhaps not, she concluded, but what did it matter? Parsec curled her hands into fists. Titania Venera might not be here any longer, but she had still existed. She had meant much to a desperate youngling fleeing the ruins of her Hive and continent. She meant much to Parsec now. She had existed, and she should still be alive were it not for Eltanin¡ªanother ten years, at least.

    Spurs of frost. Icicle-hearts. Tongues of flame; knowledge seeping in through a shell, though predecessor finds nothing with which to answer. Offer only the light of pale candle by which you might see.

    ¡°I am glad for your presence,¡± Parsec said. ¡°And I promise I will see this through.¡±

    Promises admirable. Though vengeance is for the living.

    Parsec swallowed her sorrow. ¡°Yes. That as yet may be, Titania, but between the two of us, I am still alive.¡±

    Venera made a strange sound, half sea-swell and half mimicry of a sigh. The predecessor wishes this-one-Parallax all help and hope. Hark! That one returns now, sliver-sated.

    Parsec scanned around and spotted Jackal in moments, making his way back from between a row of distant tents. When he arrived, he seemed startled to see her standing and outside.

    ¡°Pavao?¡± he asked. ¡°Hey, uh¡ªwere you looking for me? Didn¡¯t mean to be gone so long.¡± He gave a grimacing-grin; Parsec noted a fleck of flesh at the corner of his mouth before he wiped it away on his sleeve. ¡°Sun was going to rise soon, so I cooked some extra¡ªmight as well have early breakfast.¡±

    He passed her a bowl heaped with grilled meats. It was topped with freshly-rinsed segments of bone, stripped clean of even the cartilage¡ªthe remnants of his own meal, she guessed. There was a great quantity of bone in comparison to the meat; he appeared to have slaked quite the appetite.

    ¡°Thank you,¡± she said, even as tales from the shattered lands seeped into her mind: stories to frighten hatchlings, mostly¡ªclean your portion, else the ravenous ones will do it for you and other such nonsense.

    It was a tale, she reminded herself. Just a tale.

    Jackal crouched into the tent and began pulling his items out as she ate¡ªhis bedroll, his clothing, a rucksack, the coolbox. Then he began unpinning the tent itself from the ground, bundling the stakes beneath his arm.

    ¡°You are packing away so soon?¡± she asked, puzzled.

    He glanced up from his work. ¡°Yeah? You need some real Hive help, don¡¯t you? Thought we might as well set off before the day gets hot. You good to travel?¡±

    ¡°Certainly,¡± Parsec said, ignoring the almost imperceptible tremor that shook its way down her spine. ¡°I am well-rested. Is it to Kraedia, then?¡±

    ¡°Yeah,¡± he agreed. ¡°To Kraedia.¡±

 3.8 - Kraedia Troubles

    Parsec

    Dawn gleamed through wisps of cloud; from the taste of the air, rain was unlikely to return. Before long, summer sun beat down and baked the mud beneath their feet to dry clay. She¡¯d offered to carry a portion of Jackal¡¯s belongings, but he had refused. Perhaps it was a guest-custom thing, or perhaps he worried she might damage them through carelessness¡ªwhichever it was, Parsec found herself not especially minding. It left her free to examine the surrounding terrain, beautiful in its sprawl: rock-spotted grassland with little insects flitting between the stalks.

    Sublime in firmament, Venera said, and the frequencies emanating from her ghost took on a lighter resonance, humming like song. Many years since the predecessor felt open sky.

    Parsec eyed what few insects came near, darting by on flickering wings. It took her a few tries to snatch a particularly juicy one out of the air. She offered it to Jackal.

    ¡°Would you like one?¡±

    He blinked. ¡°No thanks.¡±

    Ah. Perhaps this was another human thing, much like an inability to digest bones¡ªbut insects were nutritious, were they not? Would it be impolite to ask the reason for refusal? Parsec settled on eating it herself. Eventually, the grasses grew sparser, the ground sandier on all sides. She startled as a distant plume of mineral-steam speared skywards.

    ¡°By Hives,¡± she said as another erupted, a little closer this time. ¡°How marvelous.¡±

    Thermophilic prokaryote, Venera suggested. Would a Titania deign to taste?

    ¡°Careful,¡± Jackal warned. ¡°Stay on the path¡ªplace is crumbly, see. Kraedia springs are all well and good to look at, but the water¡¯ll burn even you.¡±

    Unfortune, Venera said, sounding a touch morose.

    As the day wore on, Jackal walked with what seemed like unerring patience¡ªor perhaps she was simply not good enough at reading the subtleties of human expression to notice traces of boredom. They made their way along a half-formed track, a poorly-defined line through the steam-spouting landscape.

    ¡°Weird approach, this,¡± Jackal had explained. ¡°They made it just for us dungeonrunners. It¡¯ll be gone by the end of the season.¡±

    Occasionally, they spoke of the weather and what to expect at Kraedia and other trivialities. Parsec, remembering her part of Pavao and feigning memory loss, found it difficult to carry the conversation for long. When she questioned him on his own past, he answered evasively¡ªsomething about sailing and deserts before changing the subject.

    Jackal¡¯s estimate of a day¡¯s hike must have been on the cautious side, because the gates loomed in sight by midday. When a proper meal came¡ªarbitrarily at noon¡ªJackal provided pieces of hard, dry bread and strips of dried meat. They stopped to eat beneath the shade of a roadside tree; Parsec gazed upon the great gate and wondered if it would truly help her any.

    Solace, Venera spoke. Bitter-bough birdsong, enzyme catalysis roiling among deeper crypts¡­

    Jackal hailed down a passing horse-and-cart and offered a small coin token in exchange for being driven to the mouth of the gate. The man in the cart refused the token, gesturing for them to climb aboard.

    ¡°Hop on, kid,¡± he said, though he eyed Parsec with what was likely suspicion. ¡°Just tell your friend to not eat none of my turnips.¡±

    Taproots, Venera offered. Glucosinolates. Unappetising if raw.

    ¡°Worry not,¡± Parsec said. ¡°I will refrain.¡±

    The man raised his brow and muttered something under his breath, though he allowed them on all the same. The landscape rolled by for a short time before the cart fell in line with several dozen others at an emerging crossroads and drew up at the outer wall.

    Entering Kraedia through its main gate was an onslaught upon the senses¡ªParsec, trained as she was in navigating the worst kinds of Hive blockages, found it difficult to adjust. The air shimmered with a haze of unsorted scents: cloying oils, human sweat, orange peel and horse dung and a great many more.

    Humans moved on all sides. Most traveled on foot, though others sat atop animal-drawn carts like the man who had transported them here. She spotted some of her own kind, too¡ªshe would have liked to fly overhead like them, through clearer air. Though given what Venera had said about a-weakening¡­it was likely best to save her strength. It could also be useful to keep Jackal by her side¡ªshe did not have any coin-tokens, and it seemed they were useful for navigating human affairs.

    They got off the cart once it made to turn into a market concourse. Jackal gave the turnip-seller a wave as they departed. Parsec frowned as they walked into the crush of bodies, flaring her wings wide to create room for herself. A few of the nearby humans gave her derisive looks as they stepped over the end of her tail. Ridiculously impolite of them; it wasn¡¯t her problem if they thought her space was for the taking.

    ¡°Watch out,¡± Jackal said, his hand tugging at her elbow. A lopsided contraption whirled by, the human on top pedalling furiously. People cast hasty spell-shields at its passing. ¡°Try to keep to the sides, or you¡¯ll be run over by a high-wheeler. Every man for himself out here.¡±

    Several more of the ¡®high-wheelers¡¯ arrived, no slower than the first. The riders whooped and hollered some head-and-shoulders above the crowd, ringing bells to clear the way.

    ¡°This way, I s¡¯pose,¡± Jackal called over the noise, gesturing to a gap in the moving crowd. ¡°Like I said, there¡¯s that faery office we can go to.¡±

    Parsec stepped to follow, then came to a halt. Someone had trod onto her tail. She hissed in annoyance, spines tipping back as she turned: the clumsy human was a very large man, thick-jowled and muscled about the shoulders. He had a wheat-dusted apron draped over his front, and a glass bottle clutched in one hand. Parsec waited for him to move. A mere human boot couldn¡¯t hurt her through General-strength chitin plating, but wrenching her tail from beneath his weight might.

    She waited. The man didn¡¯t move. Instead, he looked her up and down with a twisted expression on his reddened face.

    ¡°Bloody faery,¡± he said, jerking his thumb over his shoulder. His words came out thick and slurred; she eyed the bottle in his other hand with speculation. ¡°Get up out of our way, or get out.¡±

    Blood-surge, Venera warned.

    An interesting thing happened, then: the crowd around them thinned out, very quickly. Parsec glanced at the passers-by¡ªwere those expressions of interest, or nervousness? Both, Parsec decided. It looked to be a mixture of both. Either these humans were particularly bloodthirsty, or they were especially eager to see a ¡®faery¡¯ put into its place. There was little question as to which of the two options was more likely.

    ¡°Well?¡± the man challenged. ¡°Whatd¡¯ya gonna do?¡±

    His boot was still stamped over the end of her tail, where the chitin merged into feathers. It kept her pinned in place. Surely he knew this.

    ¡°Remove your foot from my person,¡± she suggested.

    Perhaps her disgust showed; the man¡¯s face rearranged itself from a scowl into a sneer. Or at least, she interpreted it that way. His complete lack of spines made it difficult to tell for certain. He opened his mouth to speak.

    ¡°Hey¡ªPavao!¡± Jackal¡¯s voice piped up from the direction she had meant to go. She heard his footsteps, scented him scrambling back this way. ¡°Oh, uh¡­¡±

    That would be his realisation that the man was keeping her there. She resigned herself inwardly, readying herself to administer force¡ªit would be a little difficult with her current weakness, but the human was just a human.

    Careful, this-one, Venera said. Slow-constant a-weakening, and¡ª

    ¡°Hey, hey,¡± Jackal said, stepping in front of her. He raised his hands in an open gesture. ¡°We don¡¯t want no trouble, alright? I¡¯ll have my friend here move along now.¡±

    The man paused at Jackal¡¯s appearance, looking him up and down. Parsec frowned as she measured up the difference between them: Jackal was not short compared to the other humans in the crowd, but he stood at least a head below the large man.

    ¡°Your friend?¡± the man sneered. ¡°Dirty fucking bugs crowding up our city and you call this one your friend? Get outta my way.¡±

    ¡°Whoa,¡± Jackal said. ¡°Easy, big guy¡ª¡±

    The man stepped forwards and swung, bottle gripped like a bludgeon. Jackal ducked, jumping nimbly back¡ªright into Parsec¡¯s shoulder. She stumbled at the impact, thoughts already clouding with frustration. Were her reflexes already suffering so much, in the absence of the honey? A sudden feeling sank into her chest, one she hadn¡¯t touched for some time now: a bead of fear. Small, but persistent.

    ¡°Fuck!¡± Jackal said, regaining his footing. ¡°Shit! Pavao¡ªc¡¯mon!¡±

    Poor waters. Go now.

    She didn¡¯t need to be told twice. With the man¡¯s boot off her tail, she whisked it off the ground, tucking it close to her back as she pelted away. Every step felt slightly off, the motion not covering enough ground. She sensed heavier footsteps close behind, and the scent of fermented fruit wafting after with each slurred shout. This was not good: she had assumed the human would give up as soon as she left. Was human rage really so efficient at overriding selective predation instincts?

    The fear thrummed, all along her armature. New and strange and wrong. She thought about it in order to push it away. Why here? Why now? Why was she afraid of a mere human?

    Jackal sprinted down the street with surprising speed for how laden-down he was. Parsec struggled to follow through the crowd and took to the air instead. Her wings fluttered weakly, unused since her fleeing the Hive via Archival ocean. Still, they sufficed¡ªshe ascended some several feet, keeping an eye on Jackal below. It was not difficult: he moved quickly, carving a visible path through the many heads.

    Left now, Venera said, rather urgently.

    Parsec dodged as something flew through the air¡ªtheir pursuer¡¯s emptied bottle. It arced past where she¡¯d been flying not moments prior; footgoers scattered below as it smashed against the tiles of the street.

    She forced herself to fly faster until the shouts dimmed, wings almost quivering with exhaustion. Risking a glance backwards, she spotted the human standing in the middle of the street, shaking his fist and screaming what were likely obscenities¡ªmore words about bugs and filth and ugliness. Casting her gaze back ahead, she spotted Jackal as ran rightwards, his pace slower now. She caught up, cruising lower to call out.

    ¡°Jackal! He is gone.¡±

    Jackal skidded to a halt, backing up against the side of the street. He brushed his hair back from his forehead, huffing out several breaths. ¡°We lost him? Great. Let¡¯s just, uh,¡± he leaned over, bracing one hand on his leg as he made a vague gesture with the other. ¡°Let''s get out of the big street, maybe? It¡¯s alright, the faery office is kinda this way anyway, I think.¡±

    The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

    ¡°Very well.¡± She was more than happy to agree. As she alighted, her wings gave an alarming pang of overuse. She couldn¡¯t recall such a pronounced sensation beyond her escape into the Archival sea, and that had required far more exertion than this. What was happening to her health? Her stamina?

    She swallowed her unease as they stepped into a quieter street, one with far less human crowding. It was lined with shopfronts, though these smelled less colourful than the ones on the main avenue. Some were shuttered, their signage peeling. A few women sat on doorsteps, quietly chatting amongst themselves as they peeled vegetables and shucked oysters into woven baskets.

    ¡°That human,¡± Parsec began after some minutes of uncomfortable silence. ¡°He seemed¡­¡±

    Vastly intoxicated, Venera supplied.

    ¡°Did I breach some human custom of yours?¡± Parsec asked instead. She was not unfamiliar with the concept of personal churlishness; indeed, it was not as if those of her own people never acted in such a disrespectful manner. But it was perhaps best to be sure, until she regained her bearings in places beyond her former Hive.

    Jackal scratched the back of his head. ¡°No, he was just¡­a real rude guy. Sorry.¡± A strange little frown flickered over his face. ¡°We¡¯re not all like that, I promise.¡±

    ¡°Hm,¡± she said. A thought occurred to her. ¡°Before, you said you were of some¡­desert place, correct?¡±

    ¡°Oh,¡± he said, looking in a manner she guessed was uncomfortable. ¡°Uh, yeah, I suppose. Haven¡¯t been back for years now, though. Suggest you don¡¯t go there, either.¡±

    ¡°I am correct in my guessing, then?¡± she asked, half out of curiousity and half out of a desire to make morbid conversation. ¡°You hail from that desert place?¡± The place of many deaths, it was told, was very far and wreathed by poison mists for a reason.

    ¡°You mean you¡¯ve heard of the Magicians? Their thing about faeries? I guess. It¡¯s not just faeries, though. More like¡­anything different. The wrong kinds of magic. Stuff like that.¡±

    Had it been those unpleasant-sounding Magicians who had filled his head with dreams of blood and meat?

    ¡°Then what are you doing here?¡± she asked suspiciously. ¡°You have the right sort of magic, do you not? The human kind?¡±

    He glanced away evasively. ¡°Oh, you know. Wanted to start afresh. Hey, look¡ªround there¡¯s the faery office.¡±

    She glanced up ahead as they approached a busier intersection. The ¡®faery office¡¯ looked like any other building along the street: wide and squat, with rounded doors and a fluted roof. The only indication it had any Hive connection was the strong scent of citrus and seaweed emanating from its direction, a guideline indicating helpfulness and assistance.

    Did she really wish to enter that place? She resigned herself to it: she needed the honey. Her abysmal display against the human was proof enough. There was almost certainly a process for independents to beg drops of the substance. She supposed that her status as a non-entity to Kraedia Hive, would make things difficult. Still, she reasoned, Kraedia was far enough away from Glister. She might as well try.

    She followed Jackal as he led the way up to the office.

    ¡°Here you go,¡± he said, scratching the back of his head. He made to step away. ¡°So uh, good luck, Pavao. It was nice to meet you.¡±

    She supposed that was a human equivalent of a farewell.

    ¡°Thank you,¡± she said, as graciously as she could.

    Good partings, Venera said. He gave them a nod before disappearing into the crowd.

    Parsec pushed at the office doors and entered. The scent of kelp and oranges hit her square in the face: a strong wavefront at first, before changing subtly, filtering into something tinged with smooth-edged, honey-sweetness.

    The room was as wide and squat as she had assumed it to be on the outside; the entrance had been cordoned off into a foyer area, and the rest of the space was filled with two rows of human-desks. A Hiver was seated at each station, each bent over what looked to be stacks of lost belongings and written requests.

    Fresh sunlight washed in through large, circular windows. The place looked very plain otherwise, though efforts had been made to sculpt the far wall into a feature. Whatever builder assigned to the task had made a valiant effort with the available stone and minerals, but the base material was clearly inadequate. Nothing like Glister Hive had been. More than anything, it reminded her of an empty creek bed.

    Several others milled around the foyer area, likely Kraedian independents. A few of them had instruments lashed to their limbs and tails, coils of rope resembling the one Jackal had worn. ¡®Dungeonrunning¡¯ must be a relatively popular pastime, she deduced. She stepped forwards to join the end of the two-person line forming at the entry-desk, listening to the conversation ahead of her as she did so.

    ¡°¡­Fast messages, you see,¡± someone said. ¡°Very urgent. Can you believe it! Sampling, too, as far as can be. All the way to Ironport. That Titania called in many favours.¡±

    A companion broke in. ¡°They say they¡¯re hunting for her in their Archive.¡± He shook his head, making a vaguely disapproving sound. ¡°See, it was strange of Glister to allow their Archive to run so big. Got far out of hand, and now we see why. I have a friend there; the last time I saw her, she said¡­¡±

    Hunting for her in their Archive.

    All the muscles in Parsec¡¯s body had locked tight without her realising it. No. This was too much of a coincidence.

    Out of hand, Venera murmured. Breaking-fall-away. The weight of a cold sea and then some.

    Had Segin, with the power of Titania, been influenced to¡ªno. No time to waste pondering now. She forced herself to turn as languidly as she could before striding to the door.

    She caught the eye of a swirl-spined individual as she went, laced with the scent of sour roses. It was an easy mistake, a terrible one: she sensed, as if in slow motion, the moment the swirl-spine took in her scent¡ªeyes widened, nostrils flared.

    Venera flooded her mind with an alarmed expression in that same instant. The thought resembled words even less than usual.

    Recogbadnition. Fleego. Now.

    Swirl-spine parted her mouth to speak. Parsec was out the door before the slightest sound exited her mouth.

    Hurryhurryhurry. Too much for colloidal, a-weakening¡ªtry best, this-one-Parallax. Hide-route.

    She took to the air¡ªhad perhaps a minute before they would follow. A shout echoed behind her, followed by overlapping trills of alarm.

    ¡°Where?¡± she asked aloud, frantically charting routes. She could feel the weakness acutely now, her quickness failing when she needed it most¡ªshe struggled to close her pseudo-hydathodes, and was stunned when she could not manage fully. Cruel it was, that limitations became so clear when she had cause to use them. Had it really taken so much honeyed assistance, before?

    The corridors of Kraedia were far less long and labyrinthine than those of Glister. She doubted she would lose them so easily here¡ªnever mind that this was their home territory.

    Jackal, Venera supplied.

    Ah. Jackal. Humans would have no stake in Hival trouble, it was true. He could not have gone far¡ªand he was the closest thing to an ally she had.

    General-sense, Venera said. Attempt it, this-one-necromancer. Smell is often the last to go.

    Parsec ground her teeth together and scented the air in desperation. Venera was right: Parsec, for all her weakness and for that she had abandoned the title, was still something like a General in ability. She doubled back as she caught the fading thread of Jackal¡¯s scent-trail, tracking it through open air. The effort made her spines splinter with pain, unaccustomed as she was to the task. She gathered every last scrap of effort¡ªdown the alley here, and a turn into a square.

    She skimmed as low as she dared over the crowds of humans¡ªa few looked up at the passing breezes in her wake, but she wasn¡¯t concerned. No, it was the Hive-affiliated who would tie her in chains and drag her back to Glister if Eltanin¡¯s influence had anything to say about it.

    Jackal had stopped at a vendor¡¯s. She briefly lost the trail as it became buried beneath a blanket of fried meat-on-skewer-scent and had to circle twice around to pick it up again, wasting precious seconds.

    The awareness of her own weakness grew wider¡ªhad a Titania¡¯s borrowed magic made so much difference? Evidently so. It had been years since she had run low. She must have forgotten the changes, if there had been many. She had been younger and frailer then. Now, she had further to fall.

    Jackal¡¯s scent led her down another ragged alley; there was no one to see as pigeons scattered at her passing. No one to see¡ªyet. Her scent trailed behind her, weakened but still there. She tore through the air, taking sharp corners as best she could despite the fragility threaded through her wingtips.

    The trail grew clearer, sharpening into focus. Coming into sight¡ªthere. He walked with his back to her, recognisable at once from the heavy pack slung over his shoulders. She tipped her wings back, slowing as she swooped out of the air to land alongside¡ªand miscalculated. The strength of her flight was wrong and she stumbled, toppling. She rolled twice over before scurrying upright.

    ¡°Jackal,¡± she coughed, glancing back the way she had come. ¡°I need help.¡±

    He frowned at her, hand still clutching a pair of half-eaten skewers. ¡°Pavao? What¡¯s wrong?¡±

    ¡°They are¡ª¡± All the way to Ironport. How to explain, when she had no time? The human-words stuck in her throat. ¡°Help me to hide.¡± She held out her hand. ¡°I need some magic. To borrow. Please.¡±

    He frowned, not moving to take it. Instead, he glanced her up and down as a look¡ªlikely one of suspicion¡ªflashed across his face.

    ¡°Look, if there¡¯s another guy hoping to beat you up, you need to go back to¡ª¡±

    ¡°No,¡± she broke in quickly. ¡°They are¡­it is the other¡ªthe faeries. Embassy. Messages. Please, I must.¡±

    He looked at her, puzzled.

    She snarled, shaking her head. It was useless: what could a human understand of such things?

    Hurry, Venera said. Twisting scales, summered spears, enzymatic corruption. There came a hesitation. Or allow predecessor to¡­? May be damage, but¡­

    ¡°What more have I to lose?¡± she said aloud¡ªnot at Jackal, who was growing more confused and suspicious-looking by the moment.

    Piecemeal, Venera said.

    Ghost-fingers wrapped around her throat, pointed tips plunging through. Warmth suffused the area, a mild glow swiftly turning harsh¡ªburning, painful, white-hot imprints in the shapes of ghost-glands. Her throat spasmed. Once, twice, almost choking her in its futile attempts to vomit a mouthful of Hive honey.

    Jackal took a step back, looking alarmed.

    Parsec doubled over, legs buckling as she hissed into her clenched fist. Every joint in her body throbbed, pleated with agony. Something trickled onto the back of her hand: blood, and a single drop of pale green honey. Thin and unripe, but honey nonetheless¡ªfrom false Titania-glands. How? No time to ponder. She pressed the bead to her mouth and drank it down.

    The granule rolled back down her throat, blazing a line of pain as it went¡ªunfledged, uncured. There would be exhaustion to come, but the problem did not concern her overmuch right now. The pain diffused as it settled in her stomach, the sensation growing feathery and misted. Magic surged afresh through her body like freshwater currents.

    All¡­the predecessor can give. Hive-parts, truly, but¡­a¡­a-weakening still.

    Venera¡¯s not-words were faint. The impression of her ghost-touch drifted sluggishly down Parsec¡¯s face, before coming to grip lightly onto her arm. A questing tendril of questioning brushed against the edges of her consciousness.

    The predecessor must¡­not sleep now, but a rest for a time¡­translucence recuperate¡­suffice it¡­?

    ¡°It will suffice,¡± she said, and straightened herself with great effort. It would suffice, because it had to.

    Finally, she sealed her pseudo-hydathodes shut. Good¡ªher scent trail would dissipate, so long as she could hold on to the act. It was doable now, but difficult, like keeping a muscle tensed. Now she simply needed to¡ª

    ¡°The fuck?¡± Jackal asked.

    ¡°A place to hide,¡± she demanded, wiping her mouth against the back of her hand. Lingering spikes of pain pierced her joints; she ground her fingers into fists in an effort to ignore them. ¡°Do you know a place to hide?¡±

    He was looking at her as though she¡¯d gone mad. Perhaps he thought himself reasonable to think that way, but a human could hardly appreciate the significance of a Titania made manifest.

    She cast her gaze about the alley instead, leaving him standing there as she dashed further down, every step an effort. There was a selection of debris scattered by a selection of wall, giving off a strong scent of decay. Good¡ªit would disguise her more in case of hydathode leakage. She ignored Jackal following several feet behind, instead following the trail of debris around a corner to its source: a large container sitting flush against the back door of a building. Paint flaked off beneath her fingers as she hauled herself over the lip.

    ¡°Pavao, what¡ª¡±

    ¡°Leave,¡± she said. ¡°Pretend I am not here.¡±

    She reached up and pulled the lid down¡ªit was heavier than she¡¯d anticipated, shutting with a clang. Crouching lower, her eyes adjusted to the darkness. She traced out the shapes of debris in the box with her: broken pottery, splintered barrel-parts, small hills of molded bread and rotting vegetable matter. The base of the box was damp with something foul-smelling. She concentrated on keeping her pores closed, expanding her senses to evaluate the environs beyond.

    ¡°Pavao,¡± Jackal started.

    She shushed him. Perhaps the sound meant a different thing among humans, because he made to speak again.

    ¡°Pavao, are you¡ª¡±

    ¡°Hush,¡± she murmured as loudly as she dared. ¡°Go, if you will not help. I am not here. I do not exist.¡±

    He hesitated. Drew breath. The sound of wingbeats fluttered at the edge of her hearing: feathered, not diaphanous. Bodies made for combat.

    Out of time. She shut her eyes and did not move.

    They arrived moments later¡ªnot so close she could hear clearly, but not far enough for comfort. At the mouth of the alley, she guessed. She tensed as someone called out to Jackal, his voice muffled as it carried through the wall of the box.

    ¡°¡­Gone past, human?¡± the Kraedian Hiver spoke. ¡°Purple, ah, indigo-ing colour. Ultraviolets. Shining?¡±

    Parsec clenched her fists in the moment of silence thereafter, clutching at her hydathodes.

    ¡°Nope,¡± Jackal said, sounding as though he were speaking through a mouthful of food. ¡°Don¡¯t think anyone came this way. Sorry.¡±

    The lid of the debris-box cracked open, letting in a line of light. Parsec¡¯s heart near stopped in her chest. Something clattered into the box, almost striking her shoulder before the lid closed again. She eyed the items as they rolled to a stop before her: the pair of wooden sticks he¡¯d been eating from. She kept herself very, very still as she heard him step away from the debris-box.

    The Hiver called out a word of thanks. Parsec strained to listen as the wingbeats departed. Jackal¡¯s footsteps, too, grew fainter.

    Perhaps two minutes passed in silence. She waited, controlling her breathing and calming the twist of fear lurking in her chest. Her attention pricked again at the sound of approaching footsteps, tail lashing reflexively. She curled her hands into tighter fists, preparing a spell in case¡ªbut it was a familiar human¡¯s scent that approached.

    The lid cracked open once more. Jackal peered down at her, frowning.

    ¡°So,¡± he said and cleared his throat. ¡°They¡¯re gone now. Care to explain yourself?¡±

 3.9 - Clipped Wings

    Parsec

    ¡°Okay,¡± Jackal said, shutting the door. He let his pack fall and topple at his feet. ¡°So you¡¯ve been framed for a crime, you¡¯re on the run, and all the other faeries hate you. What else?¡±

    She¡¯d hissed a summary at him in the paltry shelter of the alleyway before demanding to be taken to a more hidden place.

    The inn-room had been paid for with a heaping handful of copper tokens. It looked very bare, she noted. Probably unpleasantly so, to human sensibilities: two cots and a small side-table with nothing but a cupful of wilting flowers atop it. The curtains, though, smelled pleasantly of mildew. Now that she had her shelter, his questions proved troubling to her ear. How much should she explain? Venera had not yet roused from her floating half-slumber, and Parsec could not risk calling to her for advice. To speak at seemingly nothing would be to seem mad, and would lose her Jackal¡¯s trust. Not the issue of Venera, then¡ªat least, not in her current state.

    She decided to start with the simplest issue. ¡°My name is not Pavao, actually.¡±

    ¡°Oh,¡± he said, frowning. ¡°Great. So the memory loss, was that also a lie?¡±

    ¡°You may call me¡­Parsec,¡± she said, by way of answer. She had meant to say Parallax, but the word tangled in translation on its way out. Parallax had been a General¡¯s name, and she was that General no longer.

    ¡°Parsec?¡± he said, bringing a hand to his forehead. ¡°Okay. So, where are you from? What¡¯s your crime, Parsec?¡±

    The name was more familiar than she would have liked, coming out of a human¡¯s mouth, but it would do. She had been fully Parsec in the shattered lands, and now she would reconcile herself with being the un-General Parsec again.

    ¡°From a southern Hive,¡± she said. ¡°You know Glister?¡± At his nod, she continued. ¡°I was severed away for the false-crime of¡­¡± Queenslaying? Regicide? There was no good way to soften the meaning of it, but it would be troublesome to lie if he caught wind of anything the Kraedian Hivers would say. ¡°¡­Killing an important person. Our matriarch, you could say. A different General laid the blame upon me.¡±

    He frowned, looking troubled. ¡°A different General? Shit, you¡¯re a General? Not that I know much about you lot, but Volans told me that Generals¡ª¡±

    ¡°No longer a General,¡± she said, and bore the sting that came with saying so. ¡°But the one who cast me out still holds the title. It is my deepest wish to kill him and thus divest him of it.¡±

    Jackal¡¯s face flickered through a series of expressions. ¡°That¡¯s, um¡­alright, thanks for telling me,¡± he said, and drew out a pause. ¡°Look, uh, Pav¡ªParsec, you seem like a decent lady, but how do I know you won¡¯t off me in my sleep?¡±

    She scoffed. ¡°You did not lie and say I killed when I did not, so you have nothing to worry about. Besides, if I were a real killer, I would not have told you this. If you wish for me to leave, I will oblige¡ªafter all, how should I know that you mean me no harm? You are an awfully hungry creature.¡±

    He tensed visibly.

    She nodded with satisfaction. ¡°Yes, I see what lives in your head.¡±

    He did not react for several moments, before his shoulders began to tremor. For a moment, she was worried she had pushed too far and caused him to fly into a rage¡ªbut he only walked over to one side of the room to sit with a thump onto the edge of one of the cots.

    ¡°You see it?¡± he said hoarsely. He raised a hand and pushed it through his hair. ¡°Really? You can see it?¡±

    Not right now, she couldn¡¯t, but his voice was one of hope and disbelief. ¡°Yes,¡± she said.

    He shook his head and brushed fingers through his hair once more, an anxious movement. ¡°No one¡¯s been able to see it. I went and asked¡ªmust¡¯ve been dozens¡ªmenders, apothecaries, even people calling themselves seers¡­you sure it¡¯s there?¡±

    ¡°Quite certain,¡± she said. ¡°It had very large teeth. I saw the knives, too: many hills full of them, in the Realm way of things. Will that be all? You have made for a kind acquaintance though it is a pity you cannot help me more.¡±

    ¡°Wait,¡± he said as she made to move. ¡°Don¡¯t, uh, don¡¯t go just yet.¡±

    She hid her relief, stilling her spines and tail to keep from giving her away. ¡°You welcome me to fugitive a little longer?¡±

    ¡°Um, yeah,¡± he said. ¡°Sure, sure¡ªjust, can you¡­you know, do anything about it? The¡­whatever it is.¡± He had a hand clawed over his cheek, as if desperate to uproot the thing, to reach in and tear it out of his very skull. ¡°I got it after I saw something in the Library. Back when¡­in the shadow kingdom.¡±

    She hesitated. Truthfully, it was Venera allowing this, and she did not know what Venera could or could not do. False promises would not endear her to him.

    ¡°I may try,¡± she said carefully. ¡°Though it is an uncertain thing. This¡­entity, this parasite that has sunk its feelers into your head, it is very old, correct? I saw it reach back into an Archival space.¡± Venera¡¯s un-words made more sense now. ¡°You are Realm-touched, Archive-plagued¡ªyou call it a ¡®library¡¯? If it is a repository of knowledge, then I am sure it is similar enough. How long has it had to grow accustomed to your environment?¡±

    ¡°Oh,¡± he said, burying his head into his upturned palms. ¡°Must¡¯ve been¡­I don¡¯t know, three years now? Maybe four? Is that bad? Shit.¡±

    ¡°I will try to help,¡± she said. ¡°But not now,¡± she added when he looked up sharply. ¡°I must rest first.¡± Venera likely needed it too, after the minor miracle she had pulled into existence. ¡°And if you wish for my aid, I will require¡­I believe you call it ¡®faery honey¡¯. It has been a long way from my former Hive, you see.¡±

    Jackal sat up a little straighter, blinking rapidly. ¡°Faery honey? I don¡¯t think I can get you that. Volans always got his from the office, but uh¡­well, the guys chasing you looked pretty ticked off.¡±

    ¡°You are correct,¡± she said, rubbing a hand over her forehead. ¡°I do not think they would dispense to a human. Your friend, Volans, is he amenable to acquiring extra?¡±

    He shook his head. ¡°We split after the last dungeon ran dry. He¡¯s off who-knows-where.¡±

    ¡°Hm,¡± she said. ¡°And you have¡­no allies here? What of back in your campsite?¡±

    He shrugged, the movement stilted and self-conscious. ¡°No.¡±

    ¡°Hmmm. I see.¡±

    He must have sensed some disquiet in her tone, because he began to frown. ¡°You need this, right? Pretty badly? The faeries I ran with, they always went back city-side for their dose.¡±

    She hesitated, reluctant to reveal any weakness. ¡°It is¡­yes, it is necessary.¡±

    With Jackal unable to obtain honey in her stead, she had trouble upon her hands. She could not risk approaching the main Hive, or the office, but perhaps a stray shipment¡­

    No, no. It was far too risky. Her abilities had already declined, and they would decline further with sustained combat. Venera might aid in unlocking temporary abilities, but those would, she suspected, hardly be a match for a real General, or even a full-strength higher Lieutenant.

    Jackal laced his fingers together and propped his chin upon his hands. ¡°You could ask the ones that aren¡¯t part of the Hive,¡± he said. ¡°Volans called them ¡®schismatists¡¯?¡±

    ¡°Schismatists,¡± she repeated, holding back a whistle of disgust. So it had come to this? ¡°Yes, I know what they are.¡±

    ¡°There are a bunch of ¡®em living in the old shuttle-lines, or so people say. I probably shouldn¡¯t go poking round those parts, but you might be able to.¡±

    ¡°Shuttle-lines?¡± she asked, frowning. ¡°That word is¡­¡± Unknowable Titania magics darted through her brain, gleaning meaning from his use of the human-word, tone and context and piercing filaments into the weave of the world. ¡°¡­Ah. Like tunnels?¡±

    ¡°Yeah. For shuttlebuses. You¡¯ve never been on one?¡± He seemed to catch himself. ¡°Oh, right. Wings.¡±

    Parsec sighed and paced over to the window. When she peered through the gap in the curtains, the view was of the street. She saw many others of her own kind passing by¡ªtroubling, when it could be assumed they would all soon know her scent. The office Hivers, having been alerted, would spread warning along the Hive rhythms. She was lucky that they had not yet all known already; Segin¡¯s outreach must have been recent and dedicated. Perhaps the messengers who had arrived to deliver the warnings and samplings were yet still here¡­

    Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.

    ¡°I must evade the interest of all Hivers,¡± she said aloud. ¡°It will be difficult. You will need to assist me.¡±

    She could feel Jackal looking her over, likely frowning. ¡°You seemed to manage, earlier,¡± he said cautiously. ¡°I mean, I guess I could find you a big hat and a shawl, if you really need them.¡±

    She shook her head, running a fingertip across the fine bloom of mildew gracing the curtains. ¡°It is not an issue of appearance¡ªI cannot walk amongst my own people with a hidden scent. It is simply not done.¡±

    When she turned to look at him, he seemed confused. ¡°Scent? They know you?¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± she said. ¡°Soon, they will. Some have already been alerted. Now, it is¡ªit will be¡­knowledge propagation. You must help me avoid this.¡±

    ¡°Right,¡± Jackal said, looking faintly overwhelmed.

    Cogitated, Venera spoke. She sounded as tired as a ghost might sound.

    Parsec blinked. Recovered? She thought as hard as she could. Something must have gone through, because a ghost-hand patted her shoulder.

    Murmur-frost. Sage and pomegranate. This-one-Parallax is sequestered?

    She stilled her tongue before she answered aloud.

    ¡°I guess you could take back streets,¡± Jackal said cautiously. ¡°And if it¡¯s a problem of smell, well, fancy oils are expensive, but some of the deeper ¡®runners used deer scent.¡±

    Parsec felt her tail twitch involuntarily. ¡°You have ¡®deer¡¯ here?¡± The only deer she¡¯d heard of were from elder¡¯s stories in the shattered lands: great, antlered creatures of dun and dappled gold, barely real, entrenched in the telling. ¡°It is a unique suggestion, but I doubt it will work.¡±

    Would not work so well, Venera agreed wearily. Complex diagrams crammed their way into her head, twirling diagrams of link and joint, detailing what she guessed were scent-profiles.

    He shrugged. ¡°Not wild ones, I don¡¯t think. Most of the oldwood¡¯s cleared by the looks of it, but Magisters keep their own plots. There¡¯s, you know, hunts and things. Also where they farm the stuff, I assume.¡±

    She shook her head. Mere mimicry would not be sufficient. The intricacies of one¡¯s unique, identifiable scent went far further than that. The compounds were given off without thought, and any changes were subtle¡ªon account of stress, or level of health. To twist them entirely would be¡­difficult. But Venera, or half-Venera-and-half-Archive-ghost, had been helpful in forging adaptations. The honey-production, painful as it had been, was proof enough.

    Oxidants, Venera warned. Intrinsic. Is not so simple here. Not build from¡­nothing.

    She supposed she could base the scent-profile off a pre-existing one, on someone she knew¡­perhaps layering the actual substances would do the work for her, so long as she did not linger too near any given Hiver. The trouble with this, though, was the fact that many such scents were not so readily available. She ground her teeth together, thinking of Perihelion¡¯s: wood upon a brazier, slowly churning to char. Could she try with charcoal? No, that wouldn¡¯t do¡ªcharcoal alone would be too dead, too flat. Her gaze caught on the bundle of flowers on the side-table, their heads wilted and drooping, as if bent in shame. A better disguise would be a floral one, with simpler pieces making up the whole, a scent containing elements of soil and rain¡­

    She paced over to her side of the room, feeling Jackal¡¯s gaze trained upon her.

    ¡°Are there violets growing in these parts?¡± she asked, focusing on the movement of her legs, the instinctual steadying motions of her tail. ¡°Or hibiscus?¡±

    ¡°Violets wouldn¡¯t be blooming now,¡± Jackal said with a frown. ¡°I suppose you could check with a flower-seller, but those things are blasted-expensive for what you get. And I don¡¯t even know about that other thing you said.¡±

    Proxy, Venera said.

    ¡°Surely there is summer-blooming woodland blossom?¡± she coaxed. ¡°Any will do. And moss¡ªsurely there is some moss. Ah, and some of that mineralised water from the city outskirts, once it has cooled down.¡±

    ¡°Sure,¡± he said warily. ¡°And you want me to find all that for you?¡±

    ¡°I wish to help you,¡± she said in her best General voice. ¡°I wish to assist you away from the Archivalness as best as I may. In order to accomplish this, I require either Hive honey or schismatist syrups. I may¡­deteriorate¡­lose functions, otherwise.¡± Already, it was taking conscious effort to speak so articulately.

    A-weakening, said Venera. That-one, too. Archival siphon. We know of the pale demise.

    Parsec hid her shiver.

    Jackal¡¯s hand drifted to his forehead, an unconscious reach for softer solace. ¡°Okay,¡± he said. His eyes flickered up to meet her own. ¡°Sure, I can do that. But I¡¯ll need some time. Couple hours, at least. You¡­you¡¯ll wait here, right?¡±

    ¡°Of course.¡±

    Propagation was exponential: one node to two, and two to four, and so on and so forth, until it was simply everyone. If Kraedian Hivers were anything like Glister, the process would be efficient. They would have many nodes, forming a grid of patrols: she should know.

    ¡°Okay.¡± Jackal stood, glancing over the room. ¡°You need anything while I¡¯m gone? Food?¡±

    She needed the honey far more than she needed food. ¡°A little morsel would be appreciated, depending.¡±

    He rummaged through his pack and withdrew a small flask, along with a strip of dried meat wrapped in paper. ¡°Here,¡± he said. ¡°Have these. I¡¯ll be back.¡±

    She took the items with a gracious nod.

    Realm-hungers, Venera said. This-one makes clingful promises. Pale demises, are more than one. Empty-flesh-pale. Marbled-pale.

    Jackal¡¯s shadow spasmed as he departed. It could well have been a trick of the light¡ªpity she knew better. She could not fully stifle her shiver, this time.

    ¡°Have you no way of seeing the entanglement through?¡± she asked, when he was gone.

    Neither-nor.

    ¡°But you may¡­find one?¡±

    Hm. Predecessor is predecessor. Parts filled with stillness. Adaptation remain mere stagnant mimicry. What say you, this-one-Parallax?

    ¡°I cannot do it,¡± she said. ¡°I am but a former General. I doubt I have the capacity to fight the corruption in his head.¡±

    Fight? Perhaps not fight. Felt only an anchor. A siphon.

    ¡°Sever it, then? Though I do not believe there exists a knife for such a purpose.¡±

    Why attempt, then? Was it just her imagination, or did Venera¡¯s not-words seem a touch melancholy? What where may we go?

    ¡°It is a pitiful situation,¡± Parsec said, and twitched her spines restlessly. She bit into her strip of meat, chewed, and swallowed. ¡°Convincing the human is convenient. If you are referring to the issue of Eltanin¡­he will still be there when I return. And I will require honey, false or otherwise, to face him.¡± In truth, she would need much more planning than that.

    Was not speaking of Eltanin, Venera said. Troubles solace, Parallax. Vengeance reasons for self or no¡ª

    ¡°I hunger,¡± she replied, even as she felt the strength draining from her limbs. ¡°Is that enough reason for you?¡±

    It was not the same hunger she had seen in Jackal¡¯s Archival-dream. Nor was it the same hunger scratching at her core and armature both, a nagging need for Hive honey. This hunger was slower, quieter, and perhaps worse than all the rest. Finishing the meat, she tore the paper wrapper into pieces and ate that too. Then she took to the cot opposite to the one Jackal had claimed and lay there, head pillowed into worn linens.

    Quiet settled for several, long moments. Shadows flickered beyond the sunlight through the curtains, and the room felt very still. When Venera spoke, her tone was as calm as the mildewed air.

    Where this one goes, the predecessor will follow.

    Parsec exhaled. That was answer enough.

    ===

    By the time Jackal returned with her requested items, the sun was starting to fall from the sky.

    ¡°Sorry,¡± he said, elbowing the door closed behind him. ¡°Took longer than I thought.¡±

    She frowned, finding herself having to actively concentrate to parse the meaning of each word. No natural skill with the human-language to fall back on¡ªTitania¡¯s gift had carried her this far. She could only hope it would aid her a little longer.

    Rising from the bed, she peered at the ingredients as he set them onto the side-table: a flask-full of mineral-rich geyser-water, a bowl filled with clumps of moss¡ªrust-tinged, scraped off the side of some leaking drainpipe, by the scent of it. And most importantly, several bunches of wildflowers bound together, petals bruised but rife with colour. Beside his offerings sat a little pile of mildew she¡¯d managed to scrape off the curtains, and a clump of dust-choked spiderweb. Her fingertips shook as she reached for the flowers.

    Work fast, now, Venera said.

    ¡°Equipment?¡± she muttered aloud.

    No need. A day¡¯s passing¡ªbegin now. Tell the human¡ªnot disturb.

    ¡°I will need some space,¡± she said to Jackal. ¡°And some time¡ªperhaps much time. Several hours. There may be, ah, magic. Or strangeness. Please, no interrupting.¡±

    ¡°Okay,¡± he said warily. ¡°So the ingredients¡ªyou need to do some sort of¡­ritual? What¡¯s happening, exactly?¡±

    Synthesis.

    Parsec did not know how to answer, herself. She merely shrugged and followed Venera¡¯s wordless instructions, allowing neural prompting to move her limbs. She caught ahold of the side of her cot and hissed with exertion as she dragged it away from the spot where two walls met.

    ¡°Woah there,¡± Jackal said. ¡°Calm down, Pav¡ªParsec. The innkeeper¡¯ll¡ª¡±

    Venera¡¯s ghost-touch sprouted glands at her throat, purring with cold catalysis.

    ¡°I will return it to its proper place afterwards,¡± Parsec said. Her voice sounded scratchy, all of a sudden.

    She backed into the far corner and crouched over the floor¡ªthin wood panel, smooth and cleanable¡ªand spat a deluge of indigo into her open palm. Jackal made a vague sound of indignation as she smeared the makeshift ink into pair of rough circles, scribbling clumsy shapes over the inner ring.

    ¡°Are those runes?¡± he asked.

    She clicked with mild annoyance, despite herself. ¡°No. Not your human-signs, I don¡¯t believe. Please, no interrupting.¡±

    He fell silent, though his presence hovered before her. She ignored it, scooping the ingredients from the table and into her circle.

    Braid together, first.

    Understanding threaded into her motions, slow and sure, an old song of scent and sound. The flowers in her hands shuddered at the edges and spell-light sparked at her fingertips. Stems fractured and split, forming branches that twined upward. The moss crawled from its bowl, ate up ground like spilled ink. The geyser-water began to simmer in its bowl. Everything smelled of slow decay. Blood filled her mouth, and she added that too.

    The armature emerged quickly enough. It surrounded her in a mesh of hard filaments. She noted Jackal backing away through the film of fast-forming membrane.

    ¡°Don¡¯t wake me,¡± she said, and blood-ink poured from her mouth when she said it. She coughed wetly. ¡°I will sleep. And wake. Soon.¡±

    Soon.

    It was Venera¡¯s knowledge that filled her head. It was Venera¡¯s Titania-sense guiding her hand as she spun the coating, the capsule, the cocoon. Spell-silk closed over her head and dull vapours began to fill the space. The air warmed, coating her with disguisement. Her eyes grew heavy and began to close.

    Soon, she thought. Soon, she would find her way home. And once she was there, there would be a way for Eltanin to be dragged before the might of an unblinded Hive. And if not that, then¡­

    She dozed off before she could finish forming the thought.

 3.10 - Blind Spot

    Aliyah

    She¡¯d sewn the fabric together as best she could. Now, she wore it like a shawl¡ªwore it like flag saying come get me, a target painted in Healer red.

    Around her, crowds milled. Some were faeries, but most were humans. Searching the skies yielded nothing of use; her heart spiked at every glimpse of silver carapace, but the trouble with faeries was that they came in all kinds of colours. Saiphenora wasn¡¯t the only silver faery in existence. She¡¯d exhausted her paranoia after the first hour of following Luxon around. If Saiphenora wanted to greet her with an arrow-shot, then she¡¯d know regardless. And somehow, she doubted it was likely to happen here.

    The crowds thickened as they descended deeper into the market: men dressed as statues, governesses ushering children, ragpickers dragging trundling carts. Luxon¡¯s spiked limbs and flared wings kept most passers-by at bay and for that, Aliyah was grateful. She¡¯d left her own coin pouch back in Luxon¡¯s bower, though¡ªwithout Kionah here, she couldn¡¯t trust herself to be vigilant enough to spot pickpockets.

    The sun beat down. Hot winds gusted as a sheaf of scriveners scurried past, shedding paper scraps in their wake. She adjusted her grip on her basket, drawing the Healer-cloth tighter about her shoulders.

    ¡°Be careful,¡± Kionah had told her before leaving to fetch Luxon¡¯s lists of reagents. ¡°You don¡¯t actually want to go where they want to take you.¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± she¡¯d said. ¡°I know.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m serious. Even if it means you find out where he is¡ªthey could¡­¡± she¡¯d hesitated visibly. Careful, courtly cadence bled into her voice. ¡°If they are injuring him, it would hardly be beneficial for you to go and get yourself injured, too.¡±

    ¡°You mean, tortured.¡±

    Kionah¡¯s mouth had tightened into a grim line. ¡°It is something to consider.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ve considered it,¡± Aliyah had said.

    It was a realistic possibility, however unpleasant. It was possible¡ªand here she steeled herself¡ªit was possible that he was already dead. Not likely, given the ransom note and his Healer magic, but possible.

    Kionah had given her a piercing look. ¡°Well trust me, nothing¡¯s worth being tortured for.¡±

    Aliyah had swallowed uncomfortably, suddenly conscious of that first meeting, down in the dungeons¡ªpast locked gates and spiraling darkness.

    ¡°Yes,¡± she¡¯d said. ¡°I¡¯ll be careful¡ªthough it¡¯s not your concern.¡±

    That had probably been the wrong thing to say, because Kionah¡¯s face had gone even blanker.

    ¡°I appreciate all your help so far,¡± she¡¯d added hastily. ¡°Thank you.¡±

    Kionah shook her head. ¡°You¡¯re welcome,¡± she¡¯d said, and left without so much as a backwards glance.

    Now, Aliyah wove through clusters of shoppers, following in Luxon¡¯s wake. Luxon herself was a sight to behold¡ªshe¡¯d swapped her brocade gown for robes of blue-violet and grey-green, shimmering like skyfish scales. Several potion-vials swung reassuringly from her belt. A woven basket dangled from her arm, a much smaller duplicate of the one Aliyah hefted with both hands.

    Playing the part of Luxon¡¯s personal courier was harder than she¡¯d assumed it would be; she¡¯d had to strengthen her own musculature to keep from dropping her cargo. And still, Luxon wasn¡¯t done. Aliyah took several hurried steps so as to not become separated in the crowd¡ªthe faery walked fast; good thing she¡¯d made herself easy to spot.

    Mid-morning sun continued to blaze upon their backs, the occasional stuffy breeze her only respite. Her jacket felt too thick, and she found herself envying Luxon¡¯s choice of hat¡ªenormously brimmed and decorated with fabric flowers all over¡ªas they made their way down the thoroughfare. After that came the navigation of several sweating plazas, spilling over with gaudy stalls and rainbows of bunting. Feral-looking pigeons swarmed beneath benches, fighting over crumbs. The city twisted and churned, its streets like overfilled arteries.

    Luxon led the way to a shuttlebus station, switching her basket from hand to tail-tip as she pushed at the buttons of a ticket machine.

    ¡°Here,¡± she said, handing her the ticket. ¡°A direct route; isn¡¯t that nice?¡± She tilted her spines and nodded at the basket in Aliyah¡¯s hands. ¡°Holding up well, I see. Wonderful! I might be able to get everything in one trip after all.¡±

    One trip? Aliyah had assumed it¡¯d just be one trip; already, her basket held an assortment of liquids in large, heavy bottles. They clinked dully with each step.

    Their awaited shuttlebus was sun-worn, its signage peeling with age. Aliyah fed her ticket to the automaton without incident and seated herself carefully, trying to keep from poking herself on Luxon¡¯s spines. She succeeded. Mostly.

    Her view from the window was of cables stretching skywards; their shuttlebus rose into the air. Strangely enough, it was one of the few which did. Dozens of others crawled along the ground of Glister proper, but this one juddered its way upwards¡ªnot absurdly high up, but enough to clear most of the ordinary rooftops. The cables upon which it ran spanned from the trunks of one city spire to another, and she leaned to peer out the window as they coasted over segments of Glisterian district.

    Tiles sprawled by below, and the occasional rooftop garden¡ªsprays of blue and green, the plants too far away to discern. Next to her, Luxon fiddled with the contents of her own basket, seemingly uninterested in the view. Well, it made sense; why bother looking, if you could fly anywhere you wanted? This shuttlebus route was likely more for her benefit than anything else. Aliyah glanced out the window again, eyeing the faeries which flitted past; some had packages in their arms, looking almost like any other ordinary citizen, heading home after a day of shopping¡ªnot at all like the swarms of snarling creatures who¡¯d thrown themselves against the sides of Songian skyships.

    ¡°Luxon,¡± she said. ¡°Are there a lot of faeries who live outside of um, that ¡®Hive¡¯ you were talking about?¡±

    Luxon looked up from rearranging several bundles of dried herbs. ¡°Hm? Oh, independents? Certainly, there are many¡ªeach to a greater or lesser degree than others.¡± She made a delicate coughing sound. ¡°Not schismatists, you understand.¡±

    Aliyah hesitated. ¡°What¡¯s the difference?¡± she asked. ¡°The schismatists seem violent, of course,¡± she added hastily. ¡°Not like you. Are they criminals?¡±

    Luxon¡¯s wings gave a little twitch. ¡°No. That would be exiles. Schismatists simply¡­reject the Hive in all forms. They make their own honey, if you could even call it that, and they spout disrespectful rubbish about the ways of the Hive¡ªdon¡¯t worry too much about them.¡±

    The shuttlebus clicked to a halt, dinging as the door opened.

    ¡°Aha,¡± Luxon said, scooping up her basket. ¡°Out we go! You¡¯ll like this, I think.¡±

    Aliyah hefted her own, much larger basket with a sigh. Whatever this place was, she wasn¡¯t going to like it if it involved adding more to what she had to carry. Her muscles strained, having sprung back to equilibrium-strength¡ªshe gritted her teeth and fed them a fresh jolt of magic as she stepped off the shuttlebus.

    They emerged onto a raised station overlooking a grand forum, laid out in glazed tiles. People crowded around merchant¡¯s stalls, arms and backs laden high with packages. Aliyah squinted as they took the steps from the platform down to the forum proper¡ªwas that a loop of vertebrae on that podium?

    ¡°The spawn market,¡± Luxon declared. ¡°Isn¡¯t it simply marvelous? I know even you humans can appreciate the variety of ingredients here.¡±

    ¡®Marvelous¡¯ was a strange word to describe it. Everywhere she looked, she saw creature parts: bones, sheets of dried fascia, organs floating in brine. There were even cages crammed full of smaller live spawn¡ªuntil now, she had only read of these monsters in miniature, their strange forms born from the cores of passing Behemoths.

    The crowds parted as a group of witches unloaded a wagon, dragging something out: a sawfish-spawn, chained and leashed, trailing amber tentacles from each fin. Cuts marred its gleaming scales, oozing silvery-blue jelly. One of the witches ducked under the creature as it went, catching its blood in a pail.

    The sawfish thrashed in the air, hissing through several rows of teeth. Colours swirled in each of its dozen eyes, all of them twitching in their sockets as it tried to lunge down. Its teeth snagged in the sleeve of the witch with the pail¡ªthere was a brief, bloody commotion as the spawn was wrested back under control. Then the procession carried along its way, heading for an area with a great many plinths and knives in wait, butchers lining the terrace with signs advertising their prices.

    ¡°Perhaps that one,¡± Luxon murmured next to her, and set off in the wake of the sawfish.

    This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

    Aliyah hurried to follow; by the time they caught up, the first cut had been made. Silver-blue gushed from a gash in the fish¡¯s throat, and the witch with the pail was hurriedly fetching a new one to fill. Oddly enough, it didn¡¯t smell like blood¡ªnot much of the spawn market did, she realised. The air was thick with a slight tang of stray magic more than anything else.

    The butcher turned the knife in his hand and made practiced cuts along the fins and belly; she recognised some matching the type used in necropsies. An assistant stepped in to slice tendrils away, passing them to another who packaged them with quick, practised movements. A different assistant moved around to the head, shucking teeth from their sockets with a pair of pliers. The whole thing had an eerily efficient air about it. They said that witches protected the continent from stray monsters¡ªbut was this what they did to make coin in the meantime? She hadn¡¯t given it any consideration, back in Behemoth-free Shadowsong.

    ¡°Greetings,¡± Luxon announced.

    Several pairs of witch¡¯s eyes flickered up to glance at them as one. Aliyah hadn¡¯t seen many back in the kingdom, but she¡¯d heard plenty about the few that passed through. These ones looked exactly how she imagined witches to: black-cloaked and pointy-hatted. One even had a little bird perched on her shoulder, cheeping intermittently.

    The witch with the bird on her shoulder stepped forward¡ªtheir leader, presumably¡ªand looked Luxon up and down. She was tall and well-muscled. Was that a glint of armour beneath the cloak?

    ¡°Greetings,¡± she echoed gruffly, tipping the brim of her hat. ¡°You¡¯re that faery potioneer, aren¡¯t you? Suppose you¡¯re here for some core¡¯s essence?¡±

    Luxon nodded enthusiastically. ¡°Certainly. Your coven has brought down an admirable specimen, it seems¡ªI certainly hope we could work out a little deal.¡±

    ¡°Of course,¡± the witch said. ¡°Going rate¡¯s twelve crowns a bottle, but I can give you three for thirty five if you¡¯re wanting more.¡±

    ¡°I should like to purchase just one, for now.¡± Luxon dug around in her pockets and retrieved a handful of coins. ¡°Your coven is¡­?¡± Before the witch could form a reply, she swung her gaze over to their wagon and kept speaking. ¡°Ah, I see¡ªFernwood! What a delightful name. I shall keep it in mind.¡±

    ¡°Our thanks,¡± the witch said dryly.

    An exchange was made; Aliyah sighed with relief as Luxon placed the bottle of silver-blue jelly into her own basket. Then she wondered at the price. Twelve Glisterian crowns amounted to a lot for such a modest quantity. Was Luxon so rich she didn¡¯t have to worry about that? Her outfits had been on the more intricate-looking side, but Aliyah had thought that a more ordinary thing over here, where half the citizens sashayed around in satin and sequins.

    ¡°This way now,¡± Luxon called to her, already walking off. ¡°I wish to take a look at the aqueous for sale¡­¡±

    They passed by a variety of stalls, each vendor hawking their wares. Some of the stranger items¡ªgreen blood, spiked skulls, squishy lengths of ripple-textured intestine¡ªmade Aliyah¡¯s stomach turn with unease. Still, this was normal here, wasn¡¯t it? She supposed it was sort of like the butcher¡¯s section of a Songian market square, only more exotic¡­and less edible. At least, she hoped it was less edible. Some of the cuts of meat looked ordinary enough, but others looked actively harmful, bubbling over with glowing clots of acid.

    Luxon paused to coo over displays of wool and hair and silk every now and again, exclaiming wistfully about ways of weaving them. But she always moved along shortly, only buying pieces that could presumably be used in potion-making¡ªand placing the items into Aliyah¡¯s basket this time. Aliyah trailed in her wake, arms straining with each successive addition to her haul.

    ¡°I think that should be all,¡± Luxon exclaimed after what felt like an hour of trekking from stall to stall. ¡°Alright, this way now¡ªI suppose we¡¯d better take a shuttlebus back.¡±

    Aliyah followed obediently. They were ascending the stairs to the station when a pair of witches stepped in, quite deliberately, to block their way.

    ¡°Well if isn¡¯t the malformed archivist,¡± one of them said. The venom dripping from his voice made her jolt to attention.

    He was a tall, fair-skinned man, clad in pale robes that reminded her of execution-wear. His hair drooped long and blond beneath his pale, pointed hat. When he swept his gaze over them, she realised that his eyes were unnaturally-coloured, bone-white, irises blending into sclera. Were those vanity contacts, like Kionah had worn, or had he dabbled in strange magics to make them that way?

    ¡°Cribellum Gaheris,¡± Luxon said, dipping her head. The motion was meeker than Aliyah had ever seen of her, but if the continual twitches of her spines and tail were anything to go by, anger simmered beneath.

    ¡°Show some respect,¡± Gaheris¡¯s companion broke in. ¡°That would be ¡®Cribellum Tertius¡¯, to you.¡± She was younger-looking, with long hair arranged in a series of thick braids¡ªall of them dyed a highly unnatural shade of lavender. The colour matched her hat and poncho, both edged with embroidered vines. She gripped a broom in one hand, too: a flying broom, with runes inscribed along the handle.

    Luxon parted her lips as if to argue, then shut them again. ¡°My apologies, Cribellum¡­Vipsania,¡± she gritted out. ¡°And Cribellum Tertius. I won¡¯t keep you waiting.¡±

    She made to step off to the side, but Vipsania shifted to block her way, her broom sliding horizontal in her grasp.

    Aliyah tensed, half-hidden behind Luxon as she was. Whoever these people were, whatever the motive for this strange, public power-trip, she didn¡¯t want to be anywhere near it. They reminded her too much of the more vicious highborns, kicking over her buckets as she scrubbed the hallways¡ªjust because they could.

    Cribellum Tertius reached out and plucked the bottle of sawfish-essence from Luxon¡¯s basket. He turned it over in his hand. Then he held it up and made a greater show of examining it, tilting it around in the light.

    ¡°Doing some shopping, I see,¡± he remarked. ¡°Your Hive supplies the coin for this?¡±

    ¡°I finance my own business expenses,¡± Luxon said, head still tilted down.

    ¡°Hm,¡± Tertius said, sounding displeased. ¡°Business must be prolific. You¡¯ve had the means to hire an assistant?¡± His eerily-pale eyes flicked over Luxon¡¯s shoulder; the lack of obvious iris made the movement difficult to discern. ¡°Who might you be, miss? Is your employment to your liking?¡±

    Vipsania¡¯s gaze moved to her too, her eyes narrowing as she looked her up and down; Aliyah¡¯s skin prickled at the scrutiny.

    ¡°Yes,¡± she managed. Her mouth felt inexplicably dry. ¡°It¡¯s quite to my liking. Sir.¡±

    ¡°That is mightily good to hear,¡± Tertius said, and gave a thin-lipped smile. ¡°We shan¡¯t keep you waiting, then.¡±

    He walked around them and away, bottle still in hand. Vipsania shouldered her broom and followed, bringing up a hand to cup over her mouth. It was an odd gesture. Aliyah turned her head at it, catching the edge of a sentence as she went, murmured into her now-glowing palm.

    ¡°¡­Best to check,¡± Vipsania was saying. The words were so faint they would have been inaudible under the market bustle had Aliyah not sharpened her hearing. ¡°Send Artesia to¡­¡±

    She pushed her hearing as far as she could, tuning out the background bustle, and caught a few more words: ¡°¡­Emporium and tell her to¡­¡± but Vipsania hurried further down, well out of range. Aliyah took a half-conscious step down, head humming with the urge to follow as suspicion and alarm collided in her chest¡ªbut pointed fingers latched onto her shoulder.

    ¡°Where are you going?¡± Luxon asked. ¡°Come on, we need to be getting back. I¡¯ve got samples under stasis, and as excellent as my spellwork is, it doesn¡¯t last forever.¡±

    ¡°He just took your shopping,¡± Aliyah blurted out. It was the key thing that came to mind¡ªthat sawfish essence had cost twelve crowns, hadn¡¯t it?

    Luxon¡¯s expression scrunched up, her spines tilting back to lay almost flat against her scalp.

    ¡°Leave it,¡± she said. ¡°I still have some to spare at home.¡±

    ¡°But¡­¡± Aliyah started, mind still on what Vipsanius had said. Best to check¡­check what? Or who?

    Luxon shook her head and tugged at her shoulder¡ªher grip was surprisingly strong. ¡°We¡¯re going back home.¡±

    ¡°¡­If you say so,¡± Aliyah said reluctantly. It was Luxon¡¯s coin, after all, and Luxon would know better than her whether it was worth asking for it back. She hesitated as they drew onto the station platform. ¡°Were those two¡­are they important people? Because they seemed¡­¡± She struggled to find a polite way of phrasing her thoughts.

    Luxon hunched her shoulders, wings drawing close. ¡°Something like that. They serve the Chelicera, so¡­¡± She made a vague gesture with the hand not gripping her basket. ¡°¡­They aren¡¯t fond of the likes of us. Keep saying Glister should be a human city, a witch¡¯s city. Hah. If there was no Hive, this whole place would¡¯ve been flattened by spawn and their Behemoths long ago, and yet¡­¡± She cleared her throat in a chittering manner. ¡°Never you mind. It¡¯s a troublesome subject. Best not to dwell upon it.¡±

    She turned to the ticket machine and swiftly procured two tickets. ¡°Here,¡± she said.

    ¡°But the Chelicera?¡± Aliyah asked, even as she took the ticket. The title sparked some recollection, but she wasn¡¯t sure from where. ¡°Haven¡¯t you¡­mentioned that before? What is that?¡±

    Luxon¡¯s gemstone eyes narrowed. ¡°The Chelicera is not a very pleasant man, I am told¡ªand I will take my Hive¡¯s word for it.¡±

    ¡°Oh,¡± Aliyah said. She supposed he must be like a very high highborn¡ªperhaps the equivalent of a head Magician, or a Chief Librarian, or even a prince.

    Luxon sighed a whistling, very faery-sounding sigh as she peered down the line, no doubt searching for a glimpse of incoming shuttlebus. Aliyah took the chance to set down her overflowing basket for the time being¡ªher arms needed the break.

    ¡°So those two witches,¡± Aliyah started. ¡°They¡¯re with the Chelicera?¡±

    Luxon stopped staring down the line and turned to look at her instead. ¡°Yes indeed. They¡¯re all, shall we say, of the spire crowd. Silken Circle folk.¡±

    Aliyah blinked. ¡°Right,¡± she said, even as a sinking feeling seeped ever deeper into the very tissues of her stomach.

    Cribellum Vipsania¡¯s words echoed in her head: best to check and send Artesia. Would it be needless paranoia to assume she¡¯d have to deal with witches spying on her, too? Surely she didn¡¯t come across as anyone special¡ªmaybe Vipsania was referring to someone else in the crowd below¡­

    Aliyah retraced her thoughts, frowning. But hadn¡¯t Vipsania also said ¡®emporium¡¯? There were many emporiums, surely, but she¡¯d just been talking to Luxon¡­no, it was too much of a coincidence.

    ¡°This Silken Circle,¡± she ventured. ¡°Do they happen to¡­dislike outsiders, a lot?¡±

    ¡°Faeries, mostly,¡± Luxon said curtly. ¡°I still wouldn¡¯t go seeking them out if I were you. Spire people are no good¡ªand if what Kionah said about you is correct, with the¡­¡± she swished her tail and fluttered her fingers in an obscure gesture. ¡°Yes, it would best if you evaded their interest.¡±

    ¡°Oh,¡± Aliyah said as a spike of alarm drove into her gut. ¡°Actually, I think I¡­I heard them talking about me, when they were walking away. Or at least, the purple one was talking. She mentioned an emporium. Pretty sure she meant yours? She mentioned sending someone.¡±

    Luxon frowned. ¡°Are you quite sure? They¡¯ve only harassed me when I¡¯m out and about¡­it will be quite costly if they decide to throw stones at my windows, too.¡±

    Aliyah frowned, twisting her hands into the hem of her shirt. Her fingers snagged onto a tail of her makeshift shawl. Something clicked in her head, pieces aligning.

    ¡°Oh,¡± she said.

    She looked typically Songian enough, and the Healer weave was very bright. Perhaps her target had attracted the wrong interest entirely. Coldness seeped into her stomach. She was at once acutely aware of her rising magic, of where she¡¯d stowed her begged needles: six of them, plunged into the lining of her jacket.

    ¡°What?¡± Luxon asked.

    ¡°I think they¡¯re going to try and¡ª¡± she started, before her words were drowned out by the shuttlebus clanking into the station. She shut her mouth as it came to a squealing stop.

    ¡°And bother you?¡± Luxon glanced her up and down. ¡°Because of the whole Songian, ¡®Healer¡¯ thing¡­?¡± She shook her head grimly, then flicked her tail at the shuttlebus door. ¡°I suppose Sadrava can be correct, for once¡ªthis is not good at all. Come on. We¡¯ve got a little time to make contingencies, yet.¡±

 3.11 - Eyes of Spires

    Aliyah

    The shuttlebus trundled along, inching ever-closer to their destination¡­and to a waiting ambush, if Aliyah had heard correctly. She crossed her legs upon the seat, trying not to frown at Luxon sitting opposite. The carriage was mercifully empty but for the two of them, and mechanical ticking filled every moment of silence.

    ¡°If they plan to send people, I doubt it will be many,¡± Luxon said. She sounded as if she were trying to be reassuring, which only made everything feel worse. At least she was taking her worries seriously; Aliyah suspected this was one of the less unpleasant encounters Luxon had dealt with when it came to Cribellum witches.

    The image of Tertius¡¯s cold eyes sent a shiver down her spine. He¡¯d taken Luxon¡¯s shopping like it was nothing. Twelve whole silvers, too, her maidservant¡¯s sensibilities supplied, aghast. People like that were whispered about in the sewing circles¡ªthose who kicked over buckets and screamed in servant¡¯s faces were bad enough, but worse were the ones who moved like Tertius did, who prevented people from leaving like Vipsania had. That sort of person was raised so rich and noble they assumed they could get away with anything¡ªand they often did.

    They took a Healer, Kionah had said. She hadn¡¯t been paying enough attention at the time. With the way Kionah had acted about healing magic, she had no doubt they¡¯d try to take her, too.

    She frowned, swallowing against the tightness of her throat. ¡°If they think I¡¯m a Healer¡­I think they¡¯ll send more than one ¡®Artesia¡¯, whoever she is.¡±

    ¡°Artesia?¡± Luxon sat up straighter at the name. ¡°I don¡¯t believe that¡¯s any of the Calamistrum¡¯s names and I haven¡¯t encountered her specifically¡­it could just be someone taking a look. Like when the Hive sends scouts.¡±

    ¡°I can¡¯t afford to let them spy on me.¡± Aliyah turned to stare resolutely out the shuttlebus window. Her hand came to rest on her forearm. The tracker mark hadn¡¯t itched in quite some time. ¡°My mentor¡¯s still¡­I need to¡­¡±

    Was it better for Zahir, that he was in the hands of schismatists rather than spire witches? She really didn¡¯t know, even with Luxon having given her a summary on the Silken circle: their leader was someone called a Chelicera, with counselors below him, titled Calamistrums. And below those were the Cribellums: coven members like Tertius and Vipsania. No mention of how cruel they might be, but what she¡¯d seen had been more informative than not.

    She gritted her teeth, touching a hand to the Healer weave. ¡°I guess I shouldn¡¯t have worn this.¡±

    ¡°Perhaps not,¡± Luxon agreed. ¡°Though that is wonderfully stain-resistant, yes? I sense an affinity in the fibres. Add some shielding capability to it, and it could serve you well.¡±

    Little use that would do her now. Luxon trying to be nice felt both comforting and uncanny; she¡¯d known, very quickly after that initial meeting, that faeries could think and feel much like humans. But having some measure of empathy extended to her tugged at strings of guilt and confusion beneath the anxiety fast welling up: was this anything like the Magicians had shown, with crudely-masked thespians tearing each other apart?

    She shook her head and steered her feelings¡ªand the conversation¡ªback on track. Much as she appreciated the attempt at reassurance, there were plans to make and an ambush to evade.

    ¡°If they think I¡¯m a Healer, they¡¯re going to want to capture me or something,¡± she said. ¡°Study me? I don¡¯t know. I don¡¯t want to be anywhere near that.¡±

    ¡°Perhaps,¡± Luxon said. ¡°But they don¡¯t actually know you¡¯re a Healer.¡±

    ¡°I made it pretty obvious, didn¡¯t I?¡± she said bitterly, tugging at the loose ends of her Healer-shawl. ¡°I thought if I wore this, I could¡­have that silver Shallownest faery find me, or something¡ªsorry,¡± she added hastily. ¡°Not to put you in danger or anything, I just thought¡­ugh. I guess I¡¯d better stay away from any red at all.¡±

    ¡°Shallownest?¡± Luxon broke in, spines pricking with interest. ¡°Did she call herself by such a name?¡±

    ¡°Saiphenora of Shallownest,¡± Aliyah muttered distractedly, then shook her head. ¡°But she¡¯s not here, and those two Cribellum saw instead¡­do you want me to go somewhere else?¡±

    Luxon hesitated visibly. ¡°Well I don¡¯t suppose you could work it out with Kionah?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know. Where did you send her?¡±

    ¡°Nowhere specific. I did tell her to return by sunfall¡­¡±

    Aliyah glanced out of the window again and frowned at the stripes of bright sky peeking between the towers and spires. ¡°That¡¯s hours away.¡±

    The shuttlebus juddered onwards. Could she stay here and take the line to its end? She dreaded getting lost. They were turning eyes to the Emporium by the sound of it, and she didn¡¯t want to be there when they arrived. Still, she¡¯d likely have to return eventually. All of her belongings were there. Would it be easier to do under cover of darkness? Even now, she spotted distant specks of airborne broomstick out the window.

    ¡°Yes indeed,¡± Luxon said, her spines drooping. Then she straightened in her seat, snapping her fingers. ¡°But Kionah does have a friend in that questionable young man, doesn¡¯t she? Shasta something-Krell? You could stay at his establishment for a little while, while I wait at the emporium for her return. It will give me time to tinker with the ingredients, too. If they throw rocks at my shop in lieu of trying to catch you¡­¡± She sighed. ¡°Well, City Watch will likely turn a blind eye. But at least you would be hidden, correct?¡±

    Aliyah hesitated, recalling the image of Whistle House in her mind: guarded door, warded curtains.  Shasta wanted things from her too, but at least he wouldn¡¯t try to capture her for it¡­right? On the other hand, would he take this as a favour owed? Still, she preferred her chances there if it came down to Shasta and the spire people.

    ¡°I don¡¯t suppose you could come along?¡±

    Luxon frowned, her gaze skipping to the baskets jammed into their seats. ¡°Carrying all this? I¡¯d need to hire a cart.¡± She tutted. ¡°Not many coins left, after all that. And someone has to wait for Kionah.¡±

    Aliyah sighed. ¡°Right, right. The spire people are all up in those spires, right? They don¡¯t have much of a¡­a presence down in the Undercity?¡±

    ¡°I am hardly the person to ask about these kinds of things,¡± Luxon said with a shake of her head. ¡°Though yes, I suppose it would be safer overall. You could get off at Majesty Square¡ªthat¡¯s the stop coming up¡ªand take one of the staircase-tunnels down.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know the way,¡± she started, frowning. ¡°I think Kionah said something about guides, but¡­¡±

    ¡°Oh, yes!¡± Luxon¡¯s spines pricked up and she began digging through her pockets. ¡°Certainly, you could hire one for the time being; they¡¯ll certainly get you there faster than on foot. Terribly overpriced for what they are, but¡ªhere. Look for the coloured flags.¡±

    Luxon pressed a golden crest into her hand as the shuttlebus creaked to a halt, doors juddering open.

    ¡°Buy a guide and lay low at Kionah¡¯s friend¡¯s house,¡± she said. ¡°I¡¯ll send Kionah for you once she¡¯s back.¡±

    ¡°Wait,¡± Aliyah said. Panic flitted through her chest as she glanced out onto the bustling station. ¡°What about the schismatists? If they find me and you¡¯re not here¡ª¡±

    Luxon unhooked a set of vials from her belt and placed them into her other hand. ¡°Push the caps down until they click, then throw. It isn¡¯t difficult¡ªgood luck. Be careful.¡±

    Outside awaited. Nothing for it, then: she stepped through.

    The station overflowed with waiting passengers. She¡¯d barely finished setting foot onto the platform before the shuttlebus doors clanked shut. The carriage departed, just fast enough for her to miss a last glimpse of Luxon.

    Alone now, she thought, even if only temporarily. The idea was more daunting than she¡¯d have liked.

    She took a deep breath and backed up against a pillar as people hurried past, tightening her fingers around the coin. She shoved Luxon¡¯s vials¡ªthree of them, sloshing with pale green liquid¡ªinto her pocket, where they bumped up against Kionah¡¯s unlocking charm. After a moment¡¯s thought, she untied the Healer shawl from her shoulders; the red was too bright. She hesitated, glancing across the platform. There was a waste-disposal contraption set into the end. The wise thing to do would be to rid herself of the fabric now. And yet¡­something stopped her. The false-Magician had shattered Zahir¡¯s keys at a touch; what else of Shadowsong did she have but for this? Stress and guilt and superstition stopped her from throwing it away.

    She tried folding the cloth up instead, as small as she could¡ªbut even compressed, it wouldn¡¯t fit fully into a pocket. Instead, she settled for looping it into a sash around her waist, then hiding the colour beneath her closed jacket. There¡ªcamouflage. And now, to find her way to Whistle House.

    Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

    Stepping down from the station platform, she glanced left and right¡ªand up¡ªbefore she merged further into the chattering crowd, searching for flags advertising guide services. She squinted, trying to peer over the bobbing sea of heads. Was that a guide station, on the other side? The square was a flood of barely-organised chaos, sellers hawking trinkets with every step. She tried to steer clear of any pointed hats she saw, but the crowd buffeted her along in a stream, and she soon found herself stumbling against the side of a merchant¡¯s stall.

    ¡°Hey,¡± the merchant snapped, moving a bolt of cloth out of the way. ¡°Watch your step.¡±

    ¡°Sorry,¡± she started to say. A hand caught her on the shoulder and she startled, almost dropping her coin.

    It was a woman, Aliyah registered. Tall and rangy, perhaps a handful of years older than Aliyah herself. Dark hair, matching hat, and gloves that went up to the elbow¡ªdid this look like what she imagined an ¡®Artesia¡¯ to?

    ¡°Sorry about that, sir,¡± the witch was saying. ¡°We¡¯ll be out of your awning in just a moment.¡± The witch¡¯s grip slid down her arm, tightening into a cuff of tendon and bone. ¡°Come along. This way.¡±

    Aliyah¡¯s heart rate spiked. She could snap those tendons, break those bones, mangle the muscle and run¡ªbut that would be too obvious, wouldn¡¯t it? Even if this witch wasn¡¯t a spire witch, they must have colleagues in common. It was that thought alone which stopped her from pulling breakage and vasodilation into her fingertips.

    Her thoughts raced as the witch started to pull her through the crowd. On the other hand, it might not be a good idea to cooperate if this maybe-Artesia witch was taking her to her companions. One witch, she could maybe deal with¡ªbut two or three or more?

    Maybe-Artesia shouldered her way between a tightly-packed section of stalls. Her grip was too tight. Enchanted, Aliyah realised. The gloves looked more than expensive enough to enable such a working. She had no choice but to follow.

    And there was another problem, she realised: the crowd. Even if she dropped the witch right here, right now, could she hope to make it far? The sheer amount of people to weave through aside, all these shoppers and shopkeepers were going to see some strange, foreign-looking girl attacking a perhaps well-known witch. The reasonable reaction would be to subdue her and drag her to the authorities.

    She¡¯d have to wait, for now. If she had an opening later¡ªand there would be an opening later, whether she had to make it herself or not¡ªshe couldn¡¯t waste it. Confirming suspicions was dangerous, but going along with whatever this witch was planning didn¡¯t seem like a good idea, either. She slipped her coin into her pocket and flexed the fingers of her free hand, eyeing the implements at the witch¡¯s belt: a dozen arrows, little vials, strange metal cylinders, a string of faceted gemstones, and a sheathed knife. All glinted with skittering runes¡ªwarded.

    A set of arrows, without a bow? That was a clue. Perhaps she could use them like Saiphenora did. The vials were probably potions, their contents liquid and varying in colour. There were half a dozen of the strange cylinders, each the size of a finger. She couldn¡¯t discern their purpose, nor the enchantments no doubt lurking within the gemstones. The knife spoke for itself.

    The witch steered swiftly through the crowd, making for an alley entrance. Aliyah tensed, scanning for a way out: a pile of trash cans off to the side, another alley blocked by a wine stall¡ªstill too crowded, no good options. Okay, then: a vasodilation inside, out of sight and far in enough that any cries wouldn¡¯t be heard. Then she¡¯d come back out and find a guide. She could do that.

    Maybe-Artesia dragged her into the alley, her grip like iron under those fancy gloves.

    ¡°Excuse me,¡± Aliyah said, digging her heels in. She threw her weight into her back too, for good measure; the witch was surprisingly strong despite her deceptively lean build.

    The witch turned her head absently, stopping at the resistance. ¡°Hm?¡±

    ¡°Who are you?¡± Aliyah demanded, trying to sound like a confused citizen. Perhaps trying the guileless route could work here. ¡°I don¡¯t know you. I think you¡¯ve mistaken me for someone else.¡±

    The witch reached up a hand and tapped at a crest pinned to her lapel, bordered with what looked like a motif of spiked spider¡¯s legs. Aliyah blinked; she hadn¡¯t noticed its presence until now¡ªthe crest was palm-sized, far bigger than a Healer¡¯s badge, painted black and blending into the darkness of the witch¡¯s cloak. Now that it¡¯d been pointed out, she could barely peel her eyes away; the thing shimmered with a faint oily iridescence, as if bespelled to look threatening.

    ¡°Who am I?¡± the witch said with a thin smile. ¡°You should recognise this face, no? You and everyone along the next half-mile. So. Not a local, are you?¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re part of the Silken Circle?¡± Aliyah blurted out, thoughts racing. Half a second later, she winced inwardly¡ªshould have kept quiet. All that had done was make her look even more naive than she meant to.

    ¡°So you¡¯ve heard of us.¡± The witch gave a self-satisfied nod. ¡°Though not of me.¡±

    ¡°Who are you?¡± Aliyah asked, stalling for time as she ran through possible escape routes¡ªwas this alley a dead end, or did it simply lead to a stronghold of more witches? She needed to incapacitate this witch and blend back into the crowd, find a guide in time, get down into the Undercity and find¡­not allies, exactly, but better companions than this.

    ¡°You may call me Calamistrum Sebile,¡± the witch said.

    Not Artesia after all. And Calamistrum, not Cribellum. That was the second-ranked of the tiers, if her panic-soaked brain was remembering correctly. Higher than Tertius and Vipsania¡ªthis was bad. Very bad.

    ¡°Now, I must know¡ªwhat¡¯s your name?¡± Calamistrum Sebile tapped on her crest again, as if in reminder. Were Silken Circle witches equivalent in importance to Magicians around these parts, especially Calamistrums? They certainly seemed to act as such¡ªor perhaps Sebile was only posturing, knowing Aliyah wasn¡¯t a local and would thus have no way of knowing.

    ¡°Scionsong,¡± Aliyah blurted out. ¡°R-Rana Scionsong.¡±

    Sebile arched an eyebrow. ¡°Very well, Miss ¡®Scionsong¡¯. Come along, now.¡±

    She started walking again, grip still firm around Aliyah¡¯s arm. Aliyah resisted reflexively for a moment, then unbalanced. Sebile¡ªhowever important she may or may not be¡ªpossessed a disturbingly disproportionate level of physical strength compared to her sinewy appearance. Probably more enchantment.

    ¡°Wait,¡± she said frantically. ¡°Why¡ª¡±

    ¡°All of your questions will be answered in due time,¡± Sebile said smoothly.

    ¡°But¡ª¡±

    ¡°Hush.¡±

    Aliyah bit back a cry of frustration.

    What now? Think, she told herself furiously. Calamistrum Sebile might suspect she was a criminal or a Healer, but she didn¡¯t know for certain, did she?  So why had she picked her out of the crowd in the first place, if the Healer cloth was hidden? Her foreign-ness, perhaps, or simply looking¡­lost, as that one alley robber had implied, not all too long ago. Or maybe even matching most of a physical description?

    Thinking about it logically, Cribellum Vipsania could send more than one message through that spell of hers. There was only one main line out of the spawn market station, and Vipsania knew where Luxon lived¡ªshe¡¯d know the direction they¡¯d go. From there, it¡¯d be a simple matter of notifying spire allies along their territory¡­but only if they were that intent on finding her, that was. If her guess was right and they were that determined¡­it didn¡¯t bode well for her immediate future.

    The Calamistrum dragged her onwards. Where were they going now? The alley down which she was being pulled was flanked on both sides by high stone walls and the stained backs of houses. They encountered no pedestrians, passed no crossroads. There was only the occasional rusted pipe or lump of rotting fruit to mark their progress.

    Spire-person Sebile might be, Aliyah doubted she was being taken up there, the way things were looking. Did Sebile intend on taking her to some hidden outpost? It was her best guess, given the grime and general unkemptness of their surroundings.

    They¡¯d gone far enough. She vasodilated.

    It didn¡¯t work.

    Sebile¡¯s glove flared with runes, darting from fingertip to elbow. Aliyah froze as she came to a sudden stop. Her head whipped round, and her mouth split open into an approximation of a grin¡ªteeth bared, eyes blazing.

    ¡°Fleshcrafter,¡± she said. ¡°I knew it.¡±

    Not just enchanted for gripping, after all.

    Aliyah yanked away, but Sebile¡¯s fingers cinched tight. Casting a breakage did nothing; more of those spiraling runes sparked up the glove, and the magic didn¡¯t make it through. Recognition sparked¡ªthese were similar to the runes worn by the second wave of forayers in the shipwreck. Precautions. Probably not against Healers specifically, but mages in general¡ªif she couldn¡¯t get her casts past the barrier, then¡­

    ¡°Don¡¯t even try it,¡± Sebile warned. ¡°I¡¯m not here to hurt you. Come politely, and we¡¯ll talk in a civilised manner.¡±

    That was hardly an option. She disarticulated the bones of her own hand instead, using the split second of unnatural fluidity to twist out of Sebile¡¯s grip. Phalanges glided and ground past one another. It hurt¡ªa lot. Possibly more than breaking her arm had. She screamed reflexively and ran back down the alley, molding her hand back into place as she went.

    Sebile tackled her down from behind, knocking the air from her lungs. Gloved fingers scraped over her wrists. Aliyah poured strength into her own muscles and twisted in hope of keeping Sebile from wrenching her arms behind her back.

    ¡°You little bitch,¡± Sebile panted, managing it anyway. Her shoulder dislocated at the impact, a split-second of pain that she shoved away with numbing.

    Sebile tried to force her fully onto her stomach. Aliyah used more magic on herself, pushing her muscles to maximum efficiency. The less leverage the Calamistrum had, the more easily she could do something about those damned gloves.

    ¡®Easily¡¯ being a relative term, of course. Sebile was straddling her legs, making it impossible to kick. She could try pulling the gloves down, but her hands were too trapped. She thought of using her teeth, instead.

    She sent a fresh jolt of magic to her muscles and lunged up at an improbable angle: a painful headbutt that allowed her to sink teeth into the fabric of the glove¡ªand some of Sebile¡¯s arm, too. Flesh and fabric scrunched in her mouth as she tugged, wrenching her head sideways at the effort.

    Sebile screeched as the glove tore along the seam, stitches popping in unison. Indented tooth-marks started to bleed as she yanked her hand back. Aliyah took advantage of the disorientation and headbutted her again. It was¡ªbarely¡ªenough for Sebile to tip backwards. She sent a surge of strength to her muscles again, shoving at Sebile with her freed arm. Her hand met the front of Sebile¡¯s coat, and her magic pushed through¡ªmore difficult than usual, like walking against a windstorm, but it did go through. Sebile fainted and fell into false-sleep.

    Aliyah scrambled upright, gritting her teeth as she popped her shoulder back into its socket. Her nose felt close to bleeding. No headache yet, but it¡¯d probably start on the next cast. Was getting into all these awful fights helping her stamina? No good practice like hands-on practice, as Zahir used to declare.

    Zahir. That note. That ship. The schismatists.

    Frustration welled afresh. She had no time for spire people hunting her down. The adrenaline had her blood pumping with anger more than anything else; a bunch of faeries trying to abduct her was more than enough. And now they hadn¡¯t had the courtesy to come when she wanted them to.

    She cast a last glance at Sebile¡¯s unconscious form and froze.

    Something glowed at Sebile¡¯s lapel: a dot of spell-light where the crest was pinned. It flared brighter, and Sebile started to stir¡ªwhat? That couldn¡¯t be right. False-sleep wasn¡¯t meant to wear off that quickly. Sebile gave a weak, bleary groan. Spell-light flickered sluggishly in her palms before rousing into a brighter glow. Before Aliyah could take so much as a step closer, a shield crackled to life over her crumpled body.

    A minute of warning was better than none. Aliyah turned and ran.

 3.12 - Limb From Limb

    Aliyah

    Plunging back into the crowd, she made straight for the nearest set of flags: green-coloured, painted with a clumsy bird¡¯s silhouette. People scowled as she pushed at them to get past, disrupting the flow of foot traffic¡ªbut there was no time to worry about bruising or rudeness. Sebile would be up in a few minutes; maybe even less.

    Several uniformed people milled about the base of the bird flag, chatting amongst themselves. They had vehicles by their sides, resembling chunky, magically-powered velocipedes: each sported a transparent tank filled with bright pink liquid, and two seats¡ªthe first for the driver, the other for a passenger.

    ¡°Guides?¡± she gasped out.

    A man turned to face her, tipping his helmet up from his face¡ªhe had the same bird silhouette stitched onto his tunic, and bright blue wings painted onto his vehicle.

    ¡°That¡¯s us,¡± he said, flashing her a grin¡ªthe corners of his eyes crinkled in easy lines. ¡°Crowfire Whispers, at your service!¡±

    Aliyah dug the coin from her pocket and thrust it out. ¡°I need to get to the Undercity. Uh¡ªyou know Whistle House?¡±

    One of his companions frowned. ¡°The Crow Ear base?¡± she asked. ¡°We don¡¯t get involved with that kind of thing. It¡¯s a coincidence of naming, you understand. The boss just likes birdwatching.¡±

    ¡°Drop me off nearby, then,¡± she said, fighting the urge to glance over her shoulder. ¡°Within a street or two is fine. Please.¡±

    The man eyed the golden coin in her hand. ¡°Hmph. I suppose I could.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s your neck, Emil,¡± his companion called as he pocketed the coin. ¡°Watch out. Falsewater approach is probably safer.¡±

    ¡°Yes, yes. I know it.¡± Emil made an easy, dismissive gesture to her as he maneuvered his vehicle into place and turned to address her. ¡°Hop on, miss. Keep your feet tucked in, and grab onto the bars. And put on this helmet¡ªno arguments, please.¡±

    She certainly wasn¡¯t going to disagree on that account. She strapped the provided helmet onto her head and scrambled awkwardly onto the passenger¡¯s chair. Gripping the metal bars welded into the back of his own seat, a thought occurred to her: helmet aside, this didn¡¯t seem terribly safe. But what other options did she have? Simply running would be too slow. Emil mounted and cranked the engine; a gritty roar shook the vehicle as it hummed to life. To her surprise, foot traffic split on all sides at the sound.

    Emil¡¯s vehicle started rolling and the crowds parted several dozen feet ahead, as if people were used to this sort of thing. Footgoers threw up spell-shields in passing. She risked a backwards glance as the wheels began clicking like clockwork, just in time to glimpse Sebile stumbling out of the alleyway. Spell-light crackled in the Calamistrum¡¯s hands, lancing like lightning. In an instant, something sped around the corner and through the air to land in front of Sebile, homing in on the pale glow: a witch¡¯s broom.

    She ducked her head, hoping desperately that she hadn¡¯t been seen. Unlikely, given the way the crowd was slow in closing the gaps behind. They careened out of the square and down the street but they were leaving an open wake, clear as day.

    ¡°Emil?¡± She leaned forwards, speaking against the wind. ¡°Can you go faster?¡±

    She looked over her shoulder again, then up¡ªher heart sank as she spotted Sebile again, a point-topped shape streaking skywards.

    ¡°I certainly can, miss,¡± he called. ¡°After the stairs.¡±

    ¡°Stairs?¡± she asked.

    ¡°Stairs!¡± he agreed with sun-bright exuberance. ¡°Hold on tight!¡±

    The vehicle made a sharp turn, into a pit set into the floor¡ªonly noticeable at the last second. She gave an involuntary shriek as they bounced down a sloping set of stairs, carved out from a tunnel of stone. The thickness of the wheels smoothed out the jaggedness of the ride, but she still felt every bump in miniature, jolting up her legs and tailbone. Her teeth rattled together even as she clenched her jaw shut. The pink fuel sloshed madly in its tank, but Emil didn¡¯t seem bothered; he leaned over the handles and guided his vehicle as it raced onwards. Was that a grin she spotted at the corner of his mouth?

    Cool air whistled around them as they whooshed their way down, blowing her hair back from her face. Her fingers tightened on the handholds as she spotted glowing moss flashing past in blurry clumps. Her heart pounded as she pictured slamming into the curve of the tunnel at this speed, helmet or no: pulped brains, shattered spine, internal bleeding. Would she be able to heal that? Probably not.

    A pair of pedestrians came into view, walking down with their backs to them. Aliyah yelled reflexively, but Emil merely twitched the vehicle to the right, chuckling over the wind.

    ¡°Relax, miss! Crowfire Whispers is the best at what we do!¡± He merged back to their side of the staircase, narrowly dodging another group of pedestrians making their way up.

    She desperately wanted to believe they were. The stairs came to an end, merging into an Undercity thoroughfare. Citizens shouted and scattered as they roared out of the tunnel, wheels clicking and squealing against the cobbles.

    ¡°Faster, yes?¡± Emil asked, and wrenched at a lever below the handlebars. The vehicle jolted, tearing down the street.

    Aliyah bit back a scream as they took another turn, hands locked tight onto the grips. The weight of the helmet on her head was a small comfort as Emil leaned the vehicle to make the corner. They bolted past storefronts of all kinds, then down a street that seemed slightly more suited to vehicular traffic. They outpaced two mage-chariots in quick succession, zipping around another corner. Aliyah recognised the Falsewater station as it blurred past, then little else as they tore down another street.

    The faintest shard of relief had grown in her chest before the air thickened like syrup and her ears popped. The moment lingered, the air turning thick and slow like honey. Resin flowing to amber, slow and seamless. Somewhere not far behind came a flash of spell-light.

    How? she thought, before a hand latched onto her shoulder.

    The Calamistrum¡¯s voice echoed in the silence: every sound wrong, her syllables like knives. The light took on a strange quality, tinted as if through a thousand fragments of differently-stained glass. When she turned her head to look over her shoulder, there was a resistance¡ªa backwards tugging at her neck and jaw.

    It was Sebile on her broom, gloved hand gripping her shoulder and the other clutched around a gemstone the size of an egg. Arrows feathered her shoulders like a mantle. The glow of the gem drew her eye, shimmering with sigils and cracking down the center. One more moment, before the gem split fully and time seemed to move again.

    Sebile yanked them improbably sideways. Space twisted around them as the stone burst into hundreds of tiny shards. Colours whorled, melting her peripheral vision. By the time the swirls withdrew, they were bouncing across unfamiliar cobbles. The vehicle tilted. Emil yelled. The hand moved from her shoulder to clamp around her arm, tight as a vice.

    ¡°Found you,¡± Calamistrum Sebile¡¯s voice cut crisply through the whistling air, burrowing into her ears. ¡°Fleshcrafter.¡±

    Arrows peeled from Sebile¡¯s shoulders and flocked to the air. Dark spikes punctured her flesh. She numbed the pain as the hand tugged her upwards. Another hand unclasped the helmet from her head, the fingers curling into hair. She heard a distance crunch of metal as the vehicle hit the ground, and Emil¡¯s shout some ways off.

    Sebile dragged her through the air, some sort of suspensory magic at play. She banked her broom sideways, slowing for a landing.

    She had to think, and quickly. Aliyah detached the gathered clump of hair at the roots and yanked away as soon as her feet found solid ground, to no avail. The fingers around her arm dug in, hard. She lunged for Sebile¡¯s ungloved arm instead. Half a handful of vasodilation poured through before a shield sprang up, pushing her away. Sebile did slump¡ªalmost falling as her broom dipped the last few inches¡ªbut her spider¡¯s crest flared with oily light and she blinked her eyes open in the space of seconds.

    Adaptive magics? Aliyah wondered hysterically.

    ¡°None of that,¡± Sebile said, sliding off her broom. Her gloved hand still wrapped around Aliyah¡¯s arm. ¡°You¡¯re coming with me. I don¡¯t know what you¡¯ve heard about us, but I assure you that you won¡¯t come to harm.¡±

    Come to harm or not, going with Sebile was probably going to keep her from finding the schismatists, keep her from finding Zahir. He was out there, somewhere. Kionah¡¯s words flashed through her head once more: they took a Healer. What would happen if they found out about him¡ªa real Healer?

    ¡°Will you cooperate?¡± Sebile continued. ¡°Or will I have to take additional measures?¡± She was already reaching for the vials at her belt.

    Vials.

    Aliyah turned her head away as Sebile stepped closer. She heard the pop of a cork and smelled the beginnings of cloying fumes.

    Think. Fast.

    She blocked her lungs off, just for a moment. Her free hand found her pocket, the brace of her own vials stowed inside. She pressed the caps down, all three of them. Ducking around the fumes shoved into her face, she drew her arm back and threw her handful of potion into Sebile¡¯s face.

    Glass cracked. Foam puffed outwards, smothering the smoke. Sebile gave a cry before disappearing into its pale depths. Aliyah yanked her arm out of Sebile¡¯s loosening grip and scrambled away, bubbly tufts clinging to her sleeve.

    Lungs back to normal. Breathe, now. She turned and ran, tugging arrows from her arms and back, heedless of the bleeding. Behind her came a roar of spellfire, a sound like a hundred logs popping in unison.

    Something whistled as it flew over her head: a strange, metallic cylinder. It landed three feet in front of her and emitted a wave of spell-light as it cracked open¡ªtouching it forced her back, an invisible repellent, like the wrong side of a lodestone. More cylinders clinked down ahead, each spouting walls of runes¡ªsigns for silence, muffling, inattention, others she couldn¡¯t recognise. She tried pushing harder, and it pushed back. Emil must be somewhere behind those runes, but what use was that? A guide couldn¡¯t help her here.

    Behind her, there came movement.

    This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

    Sebile¡¯s broom slashed through the air, whacking her hard across the ankles. She tripped. When she tried to stand, it beat her down, hard enough to bruise¡ªno difficult feat, since the whole damned thing looked as if it were cast from iron. She heard footsteps approaching as she struggled to stand. The broom handle struck against her shoulders and along the protective cage of her arms around her head, thudding against bone.

    She screamed.

    It hurt less than being whipped had. The thought didn¡¯t help her endure it.

    ¡°I¡¯ve brought down Behemoths, fleshcrafter,¡± Sebile spoke. She sounded closer, but not close enough to touch. ¡°Stop resisting¡ªI know all your tricks.¡±

    Above her, the broom rippled. Metal opened along invisible seams and slotted itself into a new configuration: bristles merged to form an ugly spearhead.

    Aliyah lunged out from under the broom-turned-spear, brought up short as it pivoted, blunt end slamming into her stomach to drive her back. Her conjured shield shattered against the impact. Whatever this was, it was stronger than even Saiphenora¡¯s efforts. She thought frantically as she dodged another strike, then another¡ªjabbing with the pointed end, this time. Her magical numbing and muscle efficiency were helping her upright, but the whole thing was cast from metal¡ªshe couldn¡¯t keep this up forever. She had to think of a real strategy, and fast. If Sebile could cast spells strong enough to hurt Behemoths, then why wasn¡¯t she doing it now? The spear bounced off her new shield but pierced it on the second try. The point scraped her shoulder open, knocking her to the ground.

    ¡°Stop screaming,¡± was all Sebile said. She stood some six feet away, arms crossed and free of foam. Smoke wisped off her shoulders.

    Aliyah rolled to her feet, casting a glance back at the alley mouth as she dodged another strike. Her eyes watered reflexively at the sight: too-bright runes pulsing with power. Whatever Sebile had cast, it¡¯d mask her cries for help at minimum. The spear winded her and drove her back, towards that wall of runes. Forcing her into a corner. Easier to subdue that way. Still, if Sebile was immune to vasodilation, maybe something else¡ª

    Her strategising was cut short by another strike of the spear.

    The tip sank into her arm, raised to block the blow. She unsheathed the needles from her jacket and sent them flying. Two burrowed into Sebile¡¯s ears. Two up her nostrils. One found her eyelid, the other her temple¡ªslightly off-course.

    Sebile shouted. The spear withdrew from her arm¡ªblood poured out¡ªand swung again. She didn¡¯t manage to dodge it this time. Skin tore. Bone fractured. She staggered and fell. Hells, it hurt, even through the numbing. But she had a dubious advantage here: Sebile wanted her alive, just as the schismatists had.

    ¡°Lie down and put your hands behind your back,¡± Sebile snarled. Her voice shook as she plucked needles from her face. ¡°Stop fighting, and this will end.¡±

    ¡°What do you want?¡± Aliyah screamed, half-crouched on the filthy alley floor. She tried to regain control of the needles, but Sebile had them pinched firmly between her fingers.

    Sebile opened her mouth to reply, and Aliyah sprang. She dashed forward, extended her senses like a lance; the spear rushed to beat her back, but she bridged that last foot of air with her magic, shunting a flood of pain signals into Sebile¡¯s body.

    ¡­She hadn¡¯t known she could do that. There was a cost, of course. But what was a little more pain, in the face of this? Fresh blood burst from her nose and she coughed, iron seeping across her tongue.

    Sebile had hissed, but her crest was flashing again. She didn¡¯t start convulsing with agony.

    Why not? Aliyah thought, alarmed. That should have been an overload, for anyone of any size. She focused on backing away, knitting up her wounds, replenishing the lost blood. She discarded her efforts at shielding. Too inefficient. She¡¯d burn out if she kept that up, without getting a scratch on Sebile in the process. Maybe if she¡¯d had more than a few hours of revision, back at Silas¡¯s¡ªbut no.

    The spear struck once, twice, but she¡¯d had plenty of practice thinking through pain by now. The crest was clearly absorbing the magic, drawing it out from her body. The vasodilation had worked the first time round. She didn¡¯t have much practice with inducing pain, but she¡¯d thought that something different might take.

    The spear jabbed bluntly into her diaphragm again, forcing a pained wheeze and a step backwards. She tried sending a breakage instead, aimed at Sebile¡¯s ungloved arm. Her eyes watered. Her vision blurred. But her change in tactic had been worth something; Sebile¡¯s arm crunched. She swore and made a gesture with her good arm.

    The spear moved. Its metal shaft smashed down onto Aliyah¡¯s wrist, and she screamed as bone fractured¡ªagain. Fixing them was quick, but not easy.

    ¡°That¡¯s enough,¡± Sebile said, backing away. She drew a tinderbox from the depths of her coat and dropped the needles in before snapping it shut. ¡°I¡¯ve given you the civilised option.¡± Her voice was rough with pain, but her control the spear hadn¡¯t slipped; Aliyah brought her arms up to block the next strike, sacrificed more bone in the process.

    ¡°Let¡¯s see how much damage you can take, fleshcrafter,¡± Sebile said, shifting her stance.

    The spear swung again, far harder¡ªangled away from her head but otherwise not holding back. Her arm broke fully against the blow just as she was almost done healing the first fractures. Sebile made a gesture with her hand, and the spear¡¯s movements changed, raining down a flurry of smaller blows, inflicting bursts of pain across her arms and shoulders and back. When she tried to run, it followed. The pulsing barrier hurt her eyes, blocked her way.

    She forced the pain away and lunged at Sebile again. She didn¡¯t make it as far as last time: there came the jabbing maneuvre again, right into the stomach¡ªand another, square in the solar plexus.

    Aliyah heard a strangled, choking noise, realised it came from her own mouth, and crumpled as the air was knocked from her lungs. The spear descended, its strikes harder to avoid as she tried to stand¡ªthe thing forced her down the moment she got a knee out from under herself. Like a whip with no give to it.

    ¡°There now,¡± Sebile said. ¡°Stop moving, and I¡¯ll call it off.¡± The Calamistrum moved her injured arm and grimaced with less emphasis than Aliyah would¡¯ve thought for a broken bone¡ªthen she touched it with her other hand, looping fingers around to massage the flesh, and Aliyah realised it couldn¡¯t be broken anymore. The crest, again. How could a lump of enchantment heal so effectively? Sebile might as well have been part-Healer herself.

    ¡°Where are you taking me?¡± she gasped out.

    ¡°To a safehouse. You won¡¯t be harmed if you comply. Given current developments, I will have to restrain you for your own good.¡± A loop of spell-twine began forming in the air next to her. It would take about as much time to tie as ordinary rope. She¡¯d have twenty, maybe thirty seconds. She couldn¡¯t let it be put to use¡ªbut she¡¯d burn through her magic before those runes ran down. Soon enough, she¡¯d be slow enough to drag away. New strategy needed, right now.

    The spear swung once more. Aliyah slumped down into a crouch and whimpered, throwing her hands over her head.

    ¡°Okay!¡± she cried out. ¡°Okay, I¡¯ll go with you¡ªjust stop!¡±

    The spear paused its onslaught and hovered overhead.

    ¡°Move, and I¡¯ll be forced to injure you beyond repair,¡± Sebile said. ¡°Got it, fleshcrafter? I know all your tricks.¡±

    The spell-twine floated closer. Going for Sebile¡¯s arm hadn¡¯t been enough, and vasodilation wasn¡¯t working¡ªshe had one shot at this. What would hurt the most? What would be the most incapacitating? Broken femur? Or maybe something that affected concentration, to get this awful spear away from her¡ªinner ear, dizziness and nausea? Yes that sounded fine¡ªand it would make it easier for her to go for a breakage to follow it up if she had to.

    She lunged as Sebile levitated the spell-twine closer. The spear sank into her stomach as her magic surged, forking through the air to plunge into Sebile¡¯s ears. Tissues flared with inflammation, vestibular nerve interference pushed as far as she dared¡ªSebile screeched, crest flashing. The spear was a dead weight as it impaled her. She made the last step; her palm slammed into Sebile¡¯s ungloved arm and pushed breakage through. Magic ricocheted up the arm and down the sagittal lines of her body, snapping both femurs clean in two.

    Sebile screamed again, toppling forwards¡ªher hands clawed at Aliyah¡¯s sleeves, dragging her down as she fell. The spear slipped out from under her ribs, leaving a pouring wound. Had it nicked an artery? Sebile was still moving¡ªno time to heal, no time to think. She tried for another breakage, meeting resistance as the Calamistrum¡¯s crest flared with dark light, and could only manage a radial fracture.

    The air thickened. Her ears popped. Distantly, she was aware of her nose gushing blood.

    Sebile¡¯s hands slammed down onto her wrists, forcing them against the cobblestones. A wave of magic bore down, crushing her body against the floor. Her jaw slammed shut, teeth sinking into tongue. Spell-twine looped over her arms, pinning them together. The puncture in her stomach was still bleeding. There was no air left to scream with.

    Something¡ªthe spear¡ªslammed into the back of her calf, snapping bone. The weight of the magic eased, just enough for her to wheeze for breath. Sebile¡¯s knee dug into the small of her back as her field of influence slammed down again, with a feeling like pins digging into flesh.

    Sebile, moving. How? Two huge breaks¡ªhealed already? The crest wasn¡¯t¡ªwhy¡ªvasodilation had worked. She¡¯d tried¡ªeven with adaptiveness, it wasn¡¯t¡ªwasn¡¯t supposed to be like¡ª

    Point-tipped pain spasmed across her entire body. Blood and drool leaked from a corner of her mouth; the pain coated her in a cocoon, blazing bright as she struggled to stop the bleeding and heal her broken tibia. The wounds knit slow¡ªtoo slow. The weight of Sebile¡¯s magic was too much. Moving was impossible.

    This wasn¡¯t the worst pain she¡¯d ever felt, she told herself. It wasn¡¯t the worst pain. She could deal with it, she could focus and trick her way out. This was only a bit worse than Saiphenora¡¯s arrow. It wasn¡¯t as bad as the Library had been, wasn¡¯t as bad as weeks of shivering at the foot of her own bed, forehead pressed into the coolness of the tile¡ª

    There came a rasp of metal against leather. Something cold and sharp touched at the shell of her ear, tracing down to the side of her throat.

    ¡°I¡¯m a Calamistrum,¡± Sebile snarled somewhere behind her head, panting roughly. Her voice was a scratch of nails across rusted metal. ¡°You know what that means, you jumped-up fleshcrafter? It means you¡¯ll show some respect. I should have you flayed.¡±

    The long edge of the blade dug into her skin. Aliyah pictured its position relative to the carotid arteries. She brought preemptive repair materials to clump about the site of the knife. Her pulse pounded weakly, beating a headache-rhythm against the still metal. How much blood had she lost? Maybe a sideways-slice would be easier to get out of than if Sebile intended to ram the knife point-first¡ª

    She gathered her strength and twisted against the web of spell-twine over her arms. Magic slammed down over her shoulders, cutting the motion short.

    ¡°Stupid bitch,¡± Sebile hissed into her ear. Something dripped onto the cobbles¡ªblood. Not just her own. ¡°You¡¯ve had your chances.¡±

    Fingers tightened in her hair, scraping against her scalp. Sebile yanked up. The angle hurt her neck, made it harder to breathe. Her head throbbed horribly, and blood dripped from her chin. She¡¯d bitten a hole through her tongue. Terror scratched at every corner of her skull. Was this it? Back alley, slit throat? She¡¯d already used the hardest casts she knew¡ª

    Had she?

    The knife scraped round to the front of her throat as her hands scrabbled uselessly in their ties. Panic flooded her brain. Adrenaline spiked of its own accord. Her senses overexpanded, crowding sensory inputs with too much information: blood pulsing, oxygenation, Sebile¡¯s suppressive field pressing down like a liminal ocean¡ª

    No fire. No blood.

    For the first time since the Library, she excised.

    Terror did not make it easy. Moving her magic was a struggle and pushing it beyond its correct limits was worse. She forced it through with gritted teeth, nose bleeding and muscles cramping as she hooked the cast into Sebile¡¯s body. She felt her ribs catch as it pierced the enchantment on Sebile¡¯s coat, felt it strike true. For a moment, she wasn¡¯t sure if it had been enough.

    The knife pressed momentarily harder against her throat¡ªthen clattered to the ground. A trickle of hot liquid splashed against the back of her neck. She sensed its components through the touch of her own skin, healing senses running over-reactive: redness, plasma, platelets.

    The magic field flickered out, leaving only Sebile¡¯s knee pinning her down. Aliyah coughed, pushing fruitlessly with her shoulder and bound arms. There came a choked, retching sound behind her as she heaved with the last dregs of her magic, on the cusp of burning out. Sebile crumpled, and the spell-twine dissolved along with her consciousness. Aliyah shoved off the ground and rolled out from under her, just as the blood began to pour.

    Red gushed from Sebile¡¯s mouth as she fell onto her knees. A pale hand came up to clutch at her throat, then to cover her mouth. Her eyes grew wide and glazed as blood spurted from between the gaps of her fingers, sizzling with spell-sparks and puddling onto the grimy cobbles. Aliyah backed away as the Calamistrum¡¯s crest sparked with dull light, crackling with magic. But the tide didn¡¯t falter: if anything, it got worse. Nausea crept up her own throat at the sight. Her body shook, feeling weak all over yet rooted in place.

    The crest flared, cracking into two. Sebile¡¯s throat bulged and burst open from the inside, spilling clots. Her head lolled forwards, hat slipping askew. Then her whole body slumped, muscles gone slack, and she hit the ground in staggered steps: torso, shoulders, skull. The crest fell against the cobbles, broken fragments tipping over with a clink. Then: silence. Aliyah bit back a scream, stomach turning. The air reeked of cooling blood.

    Her pulse thundered through her veins¡ªtoo much, too loud. Everything else felt very, very still. This was worse than seeing Alhena beheaded. Far, far worse.

    Oh, gods, she thought, forcing herself to step closer. She crouched dizzily, as if in a trance, and reached out to lift the obscuring brim of Sebile¡¯s hat.

    Dark hair plastered wetly against the back of a ruined neck. Pieces of vertebrae and brainstem discernible amongst the mulched flesh. Blood still oozed slowly now, fast-coagulating.

    Aliyah moved her trembling hand to the shoulder, squeezing her eyes shut. Looked and saw with her magic.

    Not that she needed to¡ªthe quantity of blood was telling enough.

    The Calamistrum was dead.

 3.13 - Evisceration

    Aliyah

    Oh gods. Oh, hells. This was nothing like a necropsy.

    Her first instinct was to dry-heave into her hands. She endured a few seconds of choking on her own breath before leashing the reflex away with what few remnants of magic she had left. The reflexive hyperventilation, though, she couldn¡¯t quite tamp that down. Her breath came in shallow gasps. She stumbled away without thinking, until her shoulder hit the side of the alleyway. Her hand clutched at the wall to steady herself in face of memory¡ªthe feeling of blood rising in her own throat.

    Her skin felt cold and pinched and buzzing all over. Her scalp burned with the ghost of a Calamistrum¡¯s grip. She was consciousness floating in a fleshy shell, a grain of sand in a bottle. Everything had taken on a slightly dreamlike haze around the edges, but there was no mistaking this for another nightmare.

    She fought to steady her churning gut, to slow her breathing as she scrambled for strategy. Focus. What now? She couldn¡¯t turn herself in. She couldn¡¯t act blindly. What would Zahir do?

    Zahir simply wouldn¡¯t have found himself in a situation like this in the first place. Hells¡ªthat was no use at all.

    She brought a hand up to clutch at her head, stopping midway when she glimpsed the bloodstains.

    Murderer.

    Back in the kingdom, murderers were executed. Was it the same here? The fearful, animal portion of her brain was shrieking, scrambled thoughts bouncing off the insides of her skull.

    Think, think. Calm down.

    The Calamistrum¡¯s runes were still active, forming glassy walls of silencing and inattention. That was good. The devices from which they plumed ran on without Sebile¡¯s input, but they would run down eventually. If someone came from the other way, approached from Sebile¡¯s end and saw¡ª

    She knelt by the body¡¯s side, suppressing the urge to retch. There were no cylinders left on Sebile¡¯s belt. Then she remembered the tinderbox and steeled herself to rummage through the inner pockets of her coat.

    Tinderbox. Keys. A tube of lip salve. A leather pouch, bulging with coins. The remnants of a cracked gemstone. And a spare set of metal cylinders, bound together with string.

    She took the cylinders and the needles back from the tinderbox and left everything else. She eyed the opposite wall of runes and took a deep breath before looking down to the cylinders. There had to be a simple mechanism, for them to have been deployed so quickly. She found it just as she¡¯d found the clicking caps of the foam vials: a button on each end. From there, it was a simple matter of laying them out in a line and activating them one by one.

    Runes flared. She could see them, clear as day, which was no reassurance. But, she reminded herself, she already knew they existed.

    The inattention-field was a boon, but she needed to act, and quickly. Glancing around, she saw only dingy brick walls¡ªthe backs of¡­shops? Apartments? No people here to see. Being a murderer was a reprehensible thing, but¡ª

    A memory of a golden room, of a blade flashing down. She wanted to live. She had to live.

    If a Calamistrum was as important as a Magician, someone would kill her for killing Sebile. Someone would find the body and recognise the face¡ªshe was sure of it. Once the other Calamistrums saw, what then? Would they cast their nets, start a hunt? If they put out a reward for information¡­

    She mustn¡¯t let anyone find out. She couldn¡¯t afford to sneak through the city, evading an army of witches. She couldn¡¯t get caught¡ªnot for her own sake, and not for Zahir¡¯s either. Selfish reasoning or not, panicked rationale or otherwise, no one else was going to un-ransom Zahir from the schismatists¡ªno one but her.

    If he was even still alive.

    She shook her head, grinding teeth together. Think about that later. One crisis at a time.

    Where was Emil?

    She started walking, shrugging her jacket off as she went. She wiped her bloodied hands on the lining, where the stains wouldn¡¯t be seen. There was already blood along the shoulders, but there was no need to add to it. The Healer weave, next. It had been saved from the whole mess by being under the jacket. She used it to wipe her face. She thought of disposing of the jacket¡ªbut there were no bins nearby, so she tied it around her waist, over the conspicuously red Healer weave. Her shirt had rips where the spear had pierced through, but it would look fine from a distance.

    ¡­Probably best to burn it all. Later. All at once. For now, the outfit rearrangement would have to do. Best to avoid crowds. She likely reeked of blood and magic.

    Would anyone be able to trace her back to this? Sebile had clawed at her skin in the struggle; shallow scratches stung where she hadn¡¯t bothered healing them¡ªnot efficient use of her dwindling magic, not enough power to parcel out. It was likely that traces her blood lay beneath a dead woman¡¯s nails. She wracked her brain for recall, half-whispered rumours: were there such things as real blood seers, or was that just an old tale?

    Blood seer or no, the excised throat was telling. An injury like that was clearly a Healer¡¯s¡ªor fleshcrafter¡¯s¡ªfault. Could she have healed the evidence away? Sebile¡¯s brain might be gone, but the outer tissues took longer to die¡­could she pour magic into technically-dead flesh? The thought made her stomach turn, but it wasn¡¯t a terrible idea. She forced herself to keep walking until she found a corner.

    Down the alley now, to the nearest right turn. The path spat her out on the other side, beyond the other wall of the inattention runes. She saw a clump of her own hair on the ground, where she¡¯d detached it. She picked it up.

    Not far off, the Crowfire vehicle lay tipped on its side. The fuel tank had cracked, and liquid pooled pink across the cobbles, like a lurid spill of juice. No blood, though, and no sign of Emil.

    The spire people, the Silken Circle, the Calamistrums¡ªwhatever they chose to call themselves, they would eventually notice Sebile was missing. When they examined the evidence, they¡¯d try to find the perpetrator. Would Emil, presumably alive and long-fled, count as a witness? How much coin would persuade him to come forward and talk?

    A traitorous thought slithered forth: it would all be so much easier if he were dead, too.

    Her hands shook as she backed away. She sharpened her hearing as best as she could, catching the trailing end of street bustle some ways off.

    She was so tired. She didn¡¯t have the head for fine detail, not now of all times. A thought occurred to her: deconstructing would be easier than fixing. Her mind skimmed over the spilled fuel, the broken vehicle, her own hair in her hands. This wasn¡¯t a terrible idea either, but¡ªbut she¡¯d have to be quick about this.

    Would it buy her enough time to save Zahir? Maybe not. But she needed to try. She bit the inside of her cheek until it hurt enough to be distracting. She could meld flesh, but she couldn¡¯t make it disappear. Not an entire body¡¯s worth of it, anyway.

    The pieces clicked uncomfortably, like glass fracturing in reverse.

    She didn¡¯t have the means. But there was a house of criminals that would¡ªprobably only a few streets away.

    ===

    The sound of the main street was like a chattering river she could navigate by, so long as she stayed out of sight. Finding the House didn¡¯t take as long as she had worried it might.

    ¡°Pay up,¡± the doorkeeper said.

    ¡°I can¡¯t,¡± she said. She had the wooden unlocking charm in her pocket, but she doubted it would suffice. Besides, she needed it for her own use.

    If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.

    The doorkeeper¡ªwhat was his name again? Innis? Yennis? No, Ianis¡ªIanis simply shrugged. ¡°No? Can¡¯t let you in, then. Simple as that.¡±

    ¡°Is Kionah here?¡± she tried instead, trying to soften her voice, to sound less guilty than she felt. ¡°I¡¯m not here to buy things, I only¡ªplease, I just need to find Kionah.¡±

    The walk here had steadied her panic, but her skin still tingled, feeling too-loose, prickling with awful knowledge. Had she really calmed down, or was she still in shock? The image of Sebile sprang to mind once more. Alright, then¡ªnot calmed down after all. She fought back tears and watched his expression shift from one of impassiveness to exasperation.

    ¡°How should I know? I open the door. You got folks waltzing in, thinking they can ask for a list of who¡¯s coming and going¡ªbloody idiot bastards. I don¡¯t keep count. That¡¯s not my job.¡±

    ¡°Please,¡± she tried. ¡°I need help. You¡¯re, um, well-acquainted, right? Surely you¡¯d remember if she came by?¡±

    Ianis snorted, shaking his head. ¡°Fine,¡± he said. ¡°I¡¯ll give you this: you just about missed her.¡±

    A thread of hope. She seized upon it. ¡°Where did she go?¡±

    He shrugged. ¡°How should I know? Walked off with the Wickteseret girl. Could be anywhere by now.¡±

    ¡°Which way¡ª¡±

    ¡°Bloody hell, I don¡¯t know.¡± He made a gesture as if to wave her off. ¡°You paying, or not?¡±

    She took a deep breath. ¡°Is Shasta in?¡±

    Ianis eyed her harder, scowling faintly. ¡°Shasta doesn¡¯t want to be bothered.¡±

    ¡°He knows me. It¡¯s important.¡±

    He laughed¡ªa short, dry chuckle. ¡°Right, right. Pull the other one, little miss. Everyone knows him. Everyone and their mother thinks their freshest cart of pigshit is important. I¡¯ve heard it all before, alright? Whine, whine, whine, all day long.¡±

    ¡°But I¡ª¡±

    ¡°Go,¡± he said, and his tone shifted to one that brooked no argument. ¡°I know Kionah knows you, and I know Kionah. That¡¯s the only reason I haven¡¯t sent you packing, got it? I¡¯ll tell you this once more and only once more¡ªShasta¡¯s busy.¡±

    Ianis shifted, his posture suddenly alert. His hand came to rest lightly atop the dagger at his belt. She backed away. Desperation coursed through her veins at the memory of Sebile laying back in that alley, blood seeping into the brim of her hat. Could she risk trying to get past? Her magic ran so low¡­could barely stem the eager nosebleed from overuse¡­

    She shrugged off her jacket and showed him the blood-soaked lining.

    ¡°It¡¯s important,¡± she said again. ¡°I¡¯m here to¡­warn him. It¡¯ll be his business, whether he likes it or not.¡±

    Ianis¡¯s eyes narrowed. He took a step closer, hand still on the dagger, and she forced herself to stand still.

    ¡°That¡¯s fresh.¡± Not a question.

    ¡°Yeah.¡±

    ¡°Put that back on,¡± he said slowly. ¡°If you¡¯re bringing trouble here¡ª¡±

    ¡°I need to talk to Shasta,¡± she gritted out. ¡°Please. That, or tell me where Kionah¡¯s gone.¡±

    He seemed to consider it, looking her up and down. She put the jacket back on and held her hands out, palms-up and empty. ¡°Look,¡± she said raggedly. ¡°No weapons. Nothing. I¡¯ll faint if I try casting another spell.¡±

    He unsheathed the dagger and beckoned with it, shouldering one half of the door open. ¡°You follow and keep quiet, now.¡±

    Whistle House was as just as dark and smoky as it had been the last time she¡¯d visited, every curtain drawn firmly shut. Ianis led her to the back of the main room, gesturing as he went. A forayer-looking woman noted the gesture and strode out to take his place at the door. He opened the door to at the far wall and motioned for her to ascend the stairs. When they reached the landing, though, he stopped her from choosing the door she knew led to Shasta¡¯s quarters.

    ¡°Not in there,¡± he said reproachfully.

    The other door led to a squat, shadowy corridor, lined with rooms along one side. He opened the first door along and flicked on the light.

    ¡°Wait here.¡±

    The room was bare, unremarkable. Three chairs and a table. Empty crates were stacked in one corner. When Ianis closed the door, it clicked shut. She wasn¡¯t sure whether that meant it was locked now¡ªdidn¡¯t want to check and confirm if that were the case. She¡¯d done all she could, and Ianis would surely be back soon, because the House wasn¡¯t that big. Help was at hand. Keeping her prisoner would be more trouble than it was worth. They would, at least, send someone to ask about the blood.

    Her thoughts flashed unwillingly back to Sebile, and her gut churned as she wondered if she¡¯d been too slow, if the inattention fields had run down, if someone had already stumbled across the scene¡­

    She pictured a group of witches standing over it¡ªpoint-hatted heads bowed together in conference¡ªand shivered.

    Footsteps echoed outside. She tensed, then exhaled in relief as a familiar voice rang out.

    ¡°Aliyah, was it?¡±

    The door flung open all the way. Something clicked, soft and metallic; her blood ran cold as she registered the sound.

    ¡°Huh,¡± Shasta said, lowering his pistol. ¡°It really is you.¡± His other hand was holding a circle of glass up to his eye, and he gave her another glance-over before he stowed it back into his pocket. ¡°What¡¯s your business? Ianis assured me it was important.¡± He said that last word meaningfully. ¡°Got coin enough to pay for my ear, or is my offer up for bargain?¡±

    She swallowed hard. ¡°Not your offer exactly, but I thought we could exchange favours.¡±

    He frowned, bracketing an arm against the doorframe. ¡°What kind of favour?¡±

    Aliyah eyed the corridor behind him, the suggestion of silhouettes beyond. ¡°I need to discuss this privately. Some streets away, in fact. There¡¯s something you should see.¡±

    A voice piped up from the shadows. ¡°Should we inform Caius, boss?¡±

    Shasta turned his head and scoffed. ¡°No.¡±

    The gruff voice made a throat-clearing sound. ¡°Caius says you¡¯re not to go out alone.¡±

    ¡°Caius can say whatever he likes.¡± He made a disgusted sound. ¡°I¡¯m just popping out for a chat, alright? I¡¯m not a bloody child.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re a target,¡± came a different voice¡ªolder, chiding, not one she recognised. ¡°With all due respect, boss¡ª¡±

    ¡°Fine,¡± Shasta said, shaking his head. ¡°Get Tomas.¡±

    From the darkness came a sound of acquiescence. Shasta turned to face her again, tipping his head casually. ¡°You about to lure me into an ambush, Miss Scionsong?¡±

    She was fairly sure he was only joking, but perhaps paranoia was aptly-seeded throughout criminal minds.

    ¡°No,¡± she said. The image of a dead Sebile loomed again, making her feel sick. ¡°It¡¯s a¡­precarious? A precarious situation. Time-sensitive. I¡¯ll have to¡ªexplain on the way.¡±

    ¡°Mysterious,¡± he remarked. ¡°I like that. Good lure, if it is one. You know, about those forayers back in Saltstone¡ª¡±

    He cut himself off as Tomas appeared in the corridor, scowling meaningfully. Shasta sighed and shouldered him aside, gesturing for her to follow. Eyes traced their route as they left the House.

    ¡°Alright,¡± Shasta said cheerfully. ¡°Where to?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s not far.¡± Aliyah swallowed her nausea as she turned and led the way. First turn on the right, and then¡­the alleys wound perilously, coated with sooty grime and not the scrawls of bored citizens. She¡¯d scratched a line into the muck at each corner, just in case¡ªwise in retrospect, because walking back felt worse, harder than finding her way here.

    They were two and half streets away when Shasta spoke up. ¡°Well, what is it? No ears here, I assure you.¡±

    She could bring herself to speak. ¡°I need help.¡± She hesitated, setting her resolve. ¡°There¡¯s, um. There was an accident, and¡ªand there¡¯s a body.¡±

    Silence, and then¡ª

    ¡°What?¡± Shasta asked. He jogged forward two strides to walk alongside, squinting at her with a disconcerting amount of scrutiny. ¡°You¡¯re serious? Did Kionah put you up to this?¡±

    Her chest tightened. ¡°No?¡± she said, risking a glance back at him. ¡°It¡¯s¡­I¡¯m not joking, I need help. Didn¡¯t Ianis tell you about the blood?¡±

    ¡°What? I thought one of those alley kids got the drop on you, not¡ª¡± He shook his head. ¡°Did Kionah¡ª¡±

    ¡°I couldn¡¯t find her.¡±

    More silence, as he appeared to digest this. ¡°So. This dead body. Anyone I know? What am I supposed to do about it?¡±

    She blinked, lost for words. A bead of anxiety crawled up the back of her throat and sat there, twitching like an insect. ¡°Y-you know. Hide it?¡±

    ¡°What?¡± he asked, barking out a laugh. ¡°What the fuck? How would I do that?¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re a criminal!¡± she blurted out. ¡°You have a sword, a pistol. Surely you know¡ª¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m a courier,¡± he said, shaking his head. She wasn¡¯t sure if he were on the verge of laughter or exasperation. ¡°Emphasis on courier. All this?¡± He gestured at his holster. ¡°It¡¯s a deterrent, self-defense. I¡¯m sure there are assassins for hire somewhere round these parts, but it sure as hell isn¡¯t me.¡±

    ¡°But¡ª¡± The words stuck in her throat. ¡°You¡¯re¡­you have that whole false-teahouse¡­¡±

    ¡°Okay,¡± he said. ¡°Okay, fine. Maybe I could find a guy¡ªbut shit, I¡¯m not one for clean-up crew. And, you know, maybe hiding the body isn¡¯t the best idea. Accidents happen. And if it doesn¡¯t look accidental, well¡ªmaybe hiding the body¡¯s how you people did it back in your weird little kingdom, but Glister¡¯s big enough that¡ª¡±

    They rounded the corner. Shasta stared and frowned, brow furrowing as he came to a stop.

    ¡°That?¡± he asked.

    The walls of inattention runes had been a street away and they were gone now, regardless. She¡¯d packed them away once she was done moving the body, done with her work. She nodded, pulse pounding in her throat as he peered through his illusion-breaking lens.

    ¡°Give me a look, boss.¡±

    ¡°Shit,¡± Shasta said, passing it over. ¡°It¡¯s real. How¡¯d that happen?¡±

    Tomas stepped around them. Her pulse hammered harder as he nudged a fragment of bone with the toe of his boot.

    ¡°Magic,¡± he grunted.

    ¡°Explain,¡± Shasta said, striding closer. White spell-light flickered to life in his hand, and he held it out before him to better view the scene. It seared away the kindness of the shadows. ¡°Who¡ªdid you do this?¡±

    The body wasn¡¯t really a body anymore. Before them lay incomprehensible puddles of skin and fat and muscle spread over the alley floor, churned up as if by an explosion. The hat and cloak and all of Sebile¡¯s hair was a pile of ashes a few streets away; the tinderbox, and the rest of her things, weighed heavily in Aliyah¡¯s pockets.

    Aliyah stood rooted in place, her senses screaming at her to run. Tomas and Shasta stood silhouetted in front of the body, limned in pale light. The illumination had stripped the alley of all ambiguity. Flight response surged, telling her it wasn¡¯t her problem now, that they¡¯d take care of it, that she could flee. All lies, of course.

    She swallowed. Cold washed over her, as if she¡¯d been cut open and left to freeze¡ªas if every organ had been scooped out of her body, along with other, less tangible things. Morals, for one. Conscience. Integrity.

    ¡°That was the driver,¡± she lied, forcing her voice to steady. She gestured to the vehicle ahead. ¡°He had a seizure. I tried¡­I tried to help¡ª¡± Her gaze skipped over to Tomas. ¡°¡ªwith an artefact in my possession,¡± she added hastily, ¡°And¡­that happened.¡±

    ¡°Really?¡± Shasta asked, looking disturbed. ¡°You killed him on accident?¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± she said, biting back a flinch. ¡°I¡ªI told you there was an accident, didn¡¯t I? I¡¯m sorry, I¡­I didn¡¯t mean to.¡±

    ¡°Not me you should be apologising to,¡± Shasta said.

    The Calamistrum no longer had eyes with which to stare her down.

    ¡°I know,¡± she said. Her voice cracked. ¡°I¡¯m sorry. I know.¡±

 3.14 - Elimination

    Aliyah

    To his credit, Shasta recovered much more quickly than she ever could.

    ¡°You killed an innocent guide with some artefact, and you want me to clean up after you?¡± he asked. She didn¡¯t like the emphasis he was putting on the word artefact. ¡°I suppose you¡¯ll be wanting me to hide that, too?¡± He gestured at the downed vehicle. ¡°You think that solves anything? His company¡¯ll know he¡¯s gone, his family too, and as for this supposed¡ª¡±

    ¡°A favour,¡± she broke in sharply, before he could say more in front of Tomas. ¡°Please, I¡ªremember that offer we talked about, earlier?¡±

    Shasta paused, narrowing his eyes. ¡°Go ask after Lea,¡± he said, turning to Tomas. ¡°Should still be in the second room along. See if she¡¯s still in touch with Flores.¡±

    Tomas cast a lingering glance over what was left of Sebile¡¯s body and cleared his throat. ¡°I¡¯d suggest Harker for this, myself.¡±

    Shasta frowned and nodded. ¡°Yeah, good idea¡ªif you can find her.¡±

    ¡°Know a fellow who can,¡± Tomas said. He cast a wary glance up the mouth of the alley and unclipped his cloak from about his shoulders, handing it to Shasta. ¡°Here. Be back soon.¡±

    Tomas strode away, soft-footed into the gloom. Shasta sighed and draped the ragged cloak over most of the gore.

    ¡°Alright,¡± he said, once Tomas was gone. His gaze was still fixed on the drape of the cloak. ¡°What happened? You want to talk favours?¡±

    ¡°I can¡¯t heal everyone you want me to,¡± she started, forcing her tangled thoughts to align. ¡°But I can¡ªI think I can, if it¡¯s mostly bones or flesh-wounds¡ªI can heal you and a few others. You can choose who. Keep you safe from, assassins, or suchlike. Nothing chronic, nothing terminal, no brains and maybe not spines¡ªbut I¡¯ll see what I can do.¡±

    Surely he had an injured friend or relative, surely there was something, however small, that would tempt him¡­

    There¡¯s always something.

    Zahir¡¯s voice echoed in her head¡ªit had been, what four or five months ago? He¡¯d strode into his office, flinging the cloak off his shoulder to land haphazardly over the back of his chair. A line of fresh blood was smudged over his forehead.

    ¡°Long day,¡± he¡¯d said at her curious glance.

    ¡°Court people asking favours?¡± she guessed. She¡¯d spent enough time listening to his mutterings to glean a general pattern.

    ¡°Yes,¡± he¡¯d said. ¡°It never ends. This includes those you wouldn¡¯t expect, mind¡ªthere¡¯s always something.¡±

    She¡¯d thought it a shame at the time, an intrinsic burden. Now, it was the best leverage she had.

    ¡°Do you think I¡¯m stupid?¡± Shasta said, yanking her back to the present.

    ¡°I¡ª¡±

    He crossed his arms. ¡°There is no ¡®artefact¡¯, is there? Best version of events is: you tried to help the guy with your magic and you fucked it up so bad that the very stars are flinching away. No, thank you. Keeping you around would be a poor deal regardless, if your faerie problem persists. Makes me wonder what you were up to, back in that kingdom of yours.¡±

    She realised, with a jolt, that he had positioned himself about five feet away¡ªclose enough to talk, far enough to see an attack coming.

    ¡°You know,¡± he continued. ¡°I¡¯d like to keep you around for help, I really would, if I could trust your casts and if you didn¡¯t drag trouble to my doorstep. Was it really on accident? If yes¡ªwhy drag me in? Just leave it be.¡±

    ¡°It was,¡± she snapped, with a confidence she didn¡¯t have. She took a deep breath, trying to ignore the smell of cooling blood in the air. ¡°I know how things work, okay? This guide¡¯s friends, his allies¡ªthey were there. They know who he left with. I¡¯ve heard rumours, I¡¯ve heard the word ¡®fleshcrafter¡¯. There aren¡¯t terribly many Songian girls in this city. If they discover this, then sooner or later, I¡¯ll step out into the street and catch a bullet to the back of my head.¡±

    Shasta regarded her dubiously. ¡°Sad as it is, he was only a guide. I think you overestimate the consequences.¡±

    She shook her head. ¡°It¡¯s easy to hire forayers here, isn¡¯t it? If you found your¡ªbrother, was it? If you found Laurent¡¯s remains looking like this, and you knew I did it, even by accident? What would you do?¡±

    ¡°¡­Hm,¡± Shasta said. The pause before he said it told her all she needed to know. ¡°Given this incident, I¡¯m not sure why you¡¯re even still here.¡±

    ¡°I haven¡¯t found my mentor yet.¡±

    He shrugged. ¡°That¡¯s not my problem. Doesn¡¯t have to be yours, if you really think about it. I hear Kraedia is nice this time of year.¡±

    It wasn¡¯t an inconceivable plan, but she¡¯d already gone over this in the darkness of her own head. A random citizen in schismatist clutches¡ªsure, she could leave it up to the Hive, or the guards, or whatever they had here, and hope it turned out for the best. That wouldn¡¯t be a betrayal. They¡¯d have other people to help them. But someone like Zahir, perhaps second only to Rana? She swallowed her outrage and tried to channel assertiveness instead¡ªnegotiation, a mimicry of what Rana might say.

    ¡°If you won¡¯t help me, the spire-people might find out. This doesn¡¯t look natural, does it? If you won¡¯t help, I¡¯ll have to ask Kionah¡ª¡±

    Shasta laughed softly, cutting her off. ¡°Kionah? Kionah lies, steals, cuts pockets and cries on my shoulder about all the crap she gets herself into. Whines about couriering, doesn¡¯t take the chances I give, disappears for a year without so much as a say-so and comes crawling back with you in tow. She¡¯s not the worst person to have on your side, I¡¯ll give you that. But you think Kionah can help you here? No. You screwed up pretty bad¡ªmaybe the worst I¡¯ve ever seen, and I¡¯ve seen a lot. Take my advice and make a run for it.¡±

    His words stood true, the advice cutting through layers of deception he couldn¡¯t see. What must he think of her, presuming she¡¯d acted in stupidity and not stupidity alongside self-defense? She stared down at the scattered body cooling before her, the accusatory shape beneath that cloak¡ªnausea crested in her throat once more. She fought to tamp it down. It was difficult without a handful of magic to back it up, but she managed.

    This wasn¡¯t necessarily the first time, she told herself. She could¡¯ve already done the same thing, right? Back in that shipwreck, letting the heads of forayers fall and crack. So this wasn¡¯t that much worse. It really wasn¡¯t. Sebile had been¡ªmaybe bluffing, maybe not¡ªholding a knife to her throat. She¡¯d simply done all that she could, in response.

    ¡°The forayers,¡± she said, changing tack. She needed to gather her thoughts. ¡°What were you about to tell me about the forayers?¡±

    His expression creased into a frown. ¡°Pardon?¡±

    ¡°You said, ¡®about those forayers back in Saltstone¡¯. Before we left.¡±

    ¡°Oh,¡± he said. ¡°Those forayers. Belia came back with news. We really did a number on them. Funny thing, too¡ªthey weren¡¯t a proper band. Guessed as much when I fought them. No synergy. They all turned out to be fairly desperate folks. Hired in gold¡ªall turned to ash. Enchanted, like. That¡¯s the sort of wretched opposition you¡¯re throwing yourself against, without Spire fellows to worry about.¡±

    ¡°But, the forayers¡ªwere they alright? Not¡­dead, or anything?¡±

    He shrugged. ¡°No idea. Belia didn¡¯t say.¡±

    She shut her eyes before they could start to sting. ¡°Okay, then. Are you going to help me? Or was that instruction to Tomas a lie?¡±

    ¡°Wasn¡¯t a lie. But I¡¯m thinking I might save myself the coin, now you¡¯ve mentioned the spires. If it¡¯ll be obvious to them that a Healer did it, then Crow-ear won¡¯t have rumours of murdered guides in its territory.¡±

    She cursed herself inwardly and opened her eyes. ¡°And if they think you¡¯re harbouring a Healer?¡±

    He met her gaze. ¡°I won¡¯t be.¡±

    ¡°And you¡¯ll tell them who I am, to get them off your back.¡±

    ¡°I didn¡¯t say that.¡±

    ¡°No,¡± she snapped. ¡°You only implied it.¡±

    He didn¡¯t reply. She looked away and looked back at the sound of shifting movement. He hadn¡¯t moved from his spot by the alley wall, but his hand had slid atop his holster.

    ¡°If you kill me,¡± she said, ¡°you¡¯ll have to explain yourself to Kionah.¡±

    A muscle twitched under his eye. ¡°Wasn¡¯t going to do anything of the sort. Just a precaution, you understand, in the face of someone who¡¯s managed to burst a man like a boil by complete accident.¡±

    Something simmered through the restless fear and guilt roaming her chest¡ªfrustration, coalesced into a molten ball. Spellcaster¡¯s headache throbbed at her temples, at the base of her skull, across the skin of her eyelids. If only he knew the truth¡ªbut no. There¡¯d be investigators soon enough, even down here, and likely Spire people promising rewards. Him telling them she was a Healer would be marginally less worse than telling them she¡¯d actually killed a Calamistrum.

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    Maybe he¡¯d connect the dots, but it¡¯d probably be after Emil, the Crowfire guide, did so. So long as she could convince him to get rid of the body first.

    ¡°How much will it cost to take care of this?¡± she asked.

    ¡°However much Harker asks for. Not my wheelhouse, remember?¡±

    ¡°You really haven¡¯t done this before?¡± she asked, feeling off-balance, oddly aghast. This man had blackmarket weapons hidden in his house, no doubt busy with shuttling them along secret routes¡ªonly shuttling? She found that difficult to believe.

    ¡°No,¡± he said, sounding vaguely insulted. ¡°But I¡¯ve been taught to prepare contingencies. Things were wilder, back in mother¡¯s prime. Still. It¡¯s more than you can pay. Unless you¡¯ve dug up a treasure chest since I last saw you?¡±

    She pinched at the bridge of her nose. There¡¯s always something. If not with Shasta, then maybe¡ª

    ¡°Why does Kionah need my help?¡± she asked.

    Shasta frowned. ¡°What kind of question is that?¡±

    ¡°She¡¯s been so helpful,¡± Aliyah said. ¡°I¡¯m not a courtling, I don¡¯t know the nuances¡ªbut she¡¯s been helping me all this time. I don¡¯t think she¡¯d be doing that if she didn¡¯t know I could heal people. At first, I thought she was like you¡ªliking the idea of having someone convenient around.¡± She observed him for any hint of acknowledgement, for betrayal in his body language, and discerned nothing. ¡°But it¡¯s not just that, is it? It¡¯s something else. Something more specific. You¡¯ve known Kionah a long time. You must have some idea.¡±

    Shasta shrugged. ¡°I don¡¯t think that kind of question is for me to answer. Ask her yourself, why don¡¯t you?¡±

    ¡°I will. But I can only help her if you help me with this.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯ll stay well away from her, if this is what your help amounts to.¡±

    Aliyah scowled. ¡°It¡¯s not. And I¡¯m her only hope, aren¡¯t I? No normal person would stick around after the whole thing with the faeries. You saw Silas¡¯s workshop, afterwards.¡±

    ¡°No,¡± Shasta said sharply. ¡°Don¡¯t¡ªshe deserves to know how dangerous your magic is, if she¡¯s seeking it. If you won¡¯t tell her, then I will.¡±

    ¡°And if she still wants my help, even knowing?¡±

    ¡°She won¡¯t.¡±

    Aliyah hesitated, thinking. ¡°I wouldn¡¯t be so sure. I¡¯ve fixed her wounds for her. She¡¯s seen me fix my own. There were no problems then. This was an¡ªa unique circumstance. If I were to help her, or the person or people she cares about, I won¡¯t be on top of two wheels, going faster than a mage-chariot. I won¡¯t touch anything I¡¯m not sure of, and I was very unsure when this happened. I was terrified. If I can promise to help in a controlled environment, I don¡¯t think she¡¯d say no.¡±

    Shasta exhaled. ¡°What are you getting at here?¡±

    ¡°I know you don¡¯t care whether I live or die, but could you get rid of the evidence? For Kionah¡¯s sake?¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t presume to know Kionah better than I do.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not. But you have an idea of what help she wants, right?¡± She pressed the point, looking him in the eye. ¡°Do you think she¡¯ll be happy if I get killed by some Crowfire person before I can help? Or abducted by the spires, so they can study me?¡±

    ¡°Okay,¡± he said. ¡°So I¡¯ll pay for cleanup. And in exchange, you¡ªwhat, you¡¯ll promise to help Kionah?¡±

    ¡°If she¡¯ll tell me what she wants.¡±

    ¡°Alright,¡± he said levelly. ¡°And if you decide it¡¯s all too much trouble and make a run for it? What then?¡±

    She took a deep breath. ¡°If Kionah comes to you saying so, then you¡¯re free to send a forayer after me.¡±

    He shook his head. ¡°And get one of my people killed? No. Too much trouble. And what¡¯s stopping you from doing this to Kionah, come to think of it?¡±

    ¡°I think it¡¯s been established that I can¡¯t hide bodies very well,¡± she said coldly¡ªso coldly she shook on the inside, pulse wracked with shivers. Her lungs felt tight and frozen, filled with snow. ¡°I promise you, it¡¯ll be far easier to help Kionah as best as I can than kill anyone else. I was¡ªI was done, after this. I couldn¡¯t cast. I could barely walk. Send two forayers. Send ten. Send as many as you like. I¡ªI didn¡¯t want this.¡± She swallowed a sob, almost choking.

    ¡°I don¡¯t like taking people for their word at the best of times.¡±

    ¡°You don¡¯t have to like it,¡± she hiccupped. ¡°You just have to see how difficult it is for me to clean things up, and how it wouldn¡¯t be worth it in the slightest. Besides, there¡¯s a difference between messing up really badly and being a murderer.¡± She pressed a hand to her lips and didn¡¯t have to feign the quiver in her voice. ¡°I didn¡¯t want this to happen. I¡¯m not a murderer, I swear.¡±

    ¡°You could be an opportunist,¡± he said consideringly. ¡°An actress. I know the sort.¡±

    ¡°Look, I can¡¯t murder people discreetly,¡± she lied. She was fairly sure she couldn¡¯t anyway. She¡¯d never tried. ¡°If I kill anyone, Spire people will notice, and they¡¯ll try to find me. You might do something yourself, knowing what you do now. That¡¯ll interfere with finding my mentor. You saw the ransom note. You were there when I risked my neck at Saltstone. I¡¯m not going to do anything to get in my own way, even if I didn¡¯t want to help Kionah. So, please¡ª¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re even more alike than I thought,¡± Shasta said. ¡°Fine.¡±

    ¡°¡­Fine¡­?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll clean up your little problem, just this once.¡± He held up a finger. ¡°If you have a good go at anything Kionah asks of you before the summer¡¯s out.¡±

    ¡°I will,¡± she said, and meant it. ¡°One other thing, though¡ª

    ¡°What?¡± he snapped. ¡°Let me guess, you¡¯re going to have another go of begging for help with the faeries? No.¡±

    She shook her head. ¡°Lend me some magic. Please. I need to¡­fix this up, before your cleaner arrives.¡±

    He blinked. ¡°What? He¡¯s dead. You can¡¯t fix much of anything.¡±

    Her eyes unfocused. Beyond the drape of Tomas¡¯s cloak lay lumps of flesh, melted bone. ¡°Some of those cells are still living. Give me some magic. I don¡¯t think she needs to see this.¡±

    He made a dismissive sound. ¡°Oh, don¡¯t you worry your head about it. She¡¯s undoubtedly seen worse.¡±

    ¡°No,¡± she said. ¡°I mean¡ªshe doesn¡¯t need to know the¡­particular condition of the body, alright? It¡¯s too suspicious. Please. I¡¯m almost out of magic. But if you lend me some, I could¡­¡± She swallowed her nausea. It couldn¡¯t be worse than what she¡¯d done to deconstruct it. Sebile was dead. Her body could no longer feel pain. She kept reminding herself of these facts. ¡°I could stick it back together, mostly. Enough to roll into the cloak. I know Tomas saw, before, but you don¡¯t have to lie¡ªjust say that I¡­packed it up. Delegate the dirty work, for your cleaner¡¯s sake.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re asking rather a lot of me, you understand.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not going to attack you with it,¡± she tried. ¡°I couldn¡¯t, even if I wanted to. You¡¯ve got a blade, a pistol. Shoot me if I lunge. You calling your helper isn¡¯t going to buy me enough time unless¡ªI just need the magic. I know it¡¯s valuable, but you can¡¯t stick h¡ªhim back together. Please.¡±

    ¡°You seem mightily scared of the Spire folk for someone who¡¯s never met ¡®em,¡± he said, and they were verging much too close to the truth for her liking.

    ¡°I remembered the¡­history. The Healer they disappeared. I take Kionah¡¯s warnings seriously.¡±

    ¡°When it suits you to, it seems.¡± His hand moved from his holster, slipping into his pocket. When it emerged, it was with a hunk of crystalline rock¡ªglinting green, shaped into a rough cube. ¡°Look sharp.¡±

    It was a short throw, but she fumbled the catch, almost dropping the stone as it hummed against her palms¡ªnot so much a sound as a nearly intangible resonance formed of multiform layers. A sense of potential crawled up her arms as she held it, a sense of what she could do with the power stored within.

    ¡°What is this?¡± she asked automatically. She hadn¡¯t ever seen one in person, but she had her suspicions.

    ¡°Tributes,¡± he said with a shrug. ¡°Tithes. Magic.¡±

    ¡°From your ¡®people¡¯?¡±

    ¡°Who else?¡± He jerked his chin in her direction, nodding up. ¡°Go on, there should be plenty.¡±

    She hesitated, then drew on the stone¡ªit was almost as easy as drawing upon her own magic, but¡­different. A little fractured, curdled and disjointed and noisy¡ªbut that would make sense, considering its source. How many had paid a portion of their magic into this item, she wondered dizzily. Ten? Twenty? More? Power coursed into her veins, siphoning into her core. She stopped when she was sure she had enough¡ªthere was still some left within the stone. Perhaps a quarter?

    ¡°Thank you,¡± she said, and held it back out without thinking.

    He paused for a moment before stepping forward, plucking it out of her hand so deftly that their skins didn¡¯t touch.

    She turned her attention to what remained of the body. Loose flesh lay scattered, most of the skin peeling or melted. The main portion, the largest lump, comprised approximately two-thirds of Sebile¡¯s body mass with most of the organs smothered in its midst. There was nothing left of the face. She¡¯d made sure of that. Skull fractured into fragments, teeth crumbled into powder. The left eye had gushed out of its socket of its own accord. The other, she¡¯d melted into slurry. No colours, no clues.

    She knelt and hovered her hands over the mess, congealing it together. There were patches of still-living tissue among the dead and dying. She used them like anchors, like crude stitchwork, like a mockery of desmosomes. The other pieces, the spare clumps and the wilting puddles, she had to pick up or scoop with her hands. Dead cells stuck to her skin.

    When she was done, it looked like a roughly human-sized lump of flesh. Cylindrical. No limbs or anything. No features, either. Shasta didn¡¯t say anything at the sight, which, quite possibly, made things feel even worse.

    She wasn¡¯t sure how heavy it was, but Sebile had been tall. The body likely weighed more than she did. Bundling it into the cloak was a struggle, and Shasta didn¡¯t volunteer his help. She didn¡¯t blame him. By the time she was done, there was blood caked beneath her nails.

    ===

    ¡°What a right mess,¡± Harker said.

    And that was with the body already wrapped.

    Harker had turned out to be a middle-aged woman with a lumpy scar running from ear to forehead, and a nose that looked as if it had been broken a dozen times over. She was otherwise ordinary-looking, dressed well¡ªclean-cut, even. The sort of person Aliyah wouldn¡¯t have given a second glance were she to have passed her on the street¡ªwhich was an uncomfortable thought. She¡¯d ignored Aliyah herself, after a passing once-over.

    ¡°We¡¯ll have to take the boat,¡± she continued, hooking her thumbs into her pockets. ¡°Three-hundred-fifty, to deal with this.¡±

    She probably meant crowns. Or, no¡ªcrests. It was crests that were gold, here. That was more than she made in a year, back in Shadowsong.

    ¡°Done,¡± Shasta said, and Harker beckoned to her helpers¡ªtwo muscle-bound men in aprons and dark clothing.

    One fetched a container of fizzing fluid from the cart they¡¯d arrived in and doused the bundle in it. The other mopped the blood off the cobbles with raggedy towels, before splashing more of that same fizzling liquid over the whole area. They rolled the bundle up several sheets they¡¯d brought themselves. Harker helped as they hauled it onto the cart. A sheet of wood slid over the top, hiding the body from view.

    ¡°You¡¯re coming to see this along?¡± Harker asked.

    ¡°Yes,¡± Shasta said. ¡°Off-shore?¡±

    ¡°What else?¡± She gestured to the vehicle. ¡°That, too?¡±

    ¡°Yes.¡±

    ¡°Alright,¡± Harker said. She hummed something tuneless under her breath. ¡°I¡¯ll have a friend around shortly.¡±

    ¡°Much appreciated. I¡¯ll send another fifty.¡±

    ¡°Right on. Round the corner, boys, and wait up.¡± She gestured back the way they¡¯d come. ¡°You coming?¡± she asked Shasta.

    ¡°Of course.¡±

    Harker patted him on the shoulder. ¡°Atta boy. Here we go, then.¡±

    Shasta cleared his throat. ¡°My friend here will be coming, too.¡±

    Harker paused, and Aliyah tried not to flinch under her sudden scrutiny.

    ¡°Not Tomas?¡±

    ¡°Is there space on the boat?¡±

    ¡°Room for five,¡± she said dryly. ¡°Six, if counting our guest in the cart. No more.¡±

    ¡°My friend will come along,¡± Shasta said.

    Aliyah¡¯s stomach lurched. She kept quiet¡ªit seemed the wisest thing to do, given all options.

    ¡°Not a problem,¡± Harker said, already turning away. If she suspected her role in all this, she didn¡¯t show it.

    Shasta turned to Tomas as they left, murmuring instructions to cover for his absence. Aliyah trailed on his heels until he paused his stride, gesturing for her to go ahead¡ªnot wanting her at his back, she realised. Another shiver wracked her body at the thought. She did her best to hide a fresh shudder as she stepped past, following Harker and her hidden cargo.

    What was done could not be undone. The deception was going as well as it could go. The best thing to do would be to move onwards.

    Kill your elders, as Zahir used to say. Would he be proud of her now? Pieces of broken mantle dripped down her shoulders, shawling her in Healer red. What had he expected, uprooting her from the only home she¡¯d ever known, and then getting himself ransomed? Her hands were more than tied¡ªmaybe if she had no clue, but the tracker mark lay cold upon her skin. Was she expected to just¡ªwalk away?

    Harker said something indistinct, up ahead.

    Shasta replied with easy words of thanks, drenched in criminal camaderie. She registered none of them. It struck her, then, that she was probably more mired in wrongness than he was.

    She couldn¡¯t walk away, not now¡ªbut she could learn from this mistake. If that meant dodging witches in due time, then so be it. Just until she found the schismatists, she told herself. Just until she got Zahir out of there alive. She¡¯d think about that now, because no one else was going to. And afterwards¡­

    She could think it over when it was over.

 Interlude: extortion

    Kionah descended back down into the Undercity proper, a basket clutched in one hand and a crumpled list in the other.

    Saltpetre was one of the items on her list. Luxon had listed her usual supplier, but there were closer sources. Having spent a good hour combing the streets for other ingredients¡ªpickled frog¡¯s tongues being the most curious of the lot¡ªKionah stepped off the Falsewater station and headed straight for Whistle House. Bottles weighed her basket down, knocking against rolls of paper and dried herbs.

    The green doors loomed¡ªand today, so did Ianis.

    ¡°Talking day,¡± he grunted, beckoning expectantly. ¡°No special exceptions this time. Pay up.¡±

    Kionah shoved the list into her pocket, fishing out a copper coin. She tossed it his way, hardly bothering to aim, and he snatched it out of the air with his usual, deceptively lazy ease.

    ¡°Is Shasta in?¡± she asked.

    ¡°Only if it¡¯s important. He doesn¡¯t want to be, y¡¯know, bothered.¡±

    ¡°I see.¡±

    ¡°Any spoils come your way?¡± he asked hopefully as he shouldered the door open. She sensed him gawping at her basket.

    ¡°Quite the opposite,¡± Kionah said, and didn¡¯t linger for further conversation. If Ianis was in a greedy mood, he¡¯d try cajoling her for one of the bottles of fermented grain stashed at the bottom of the basket. And if he was bored enough, he¡¯d drag her into an hour-long conversation grousing about his least favourite patrons.

    She entered the House, shoulders thrown back and attention fixed frontwards¡ªor seemingly so. As she scanned the room, heads flicked up at her passing, dozens of eyes glinting amongst the heavier shadows. The break in conversation was barely long enough to be noticeable; she guessed that was a good thing, that Shasta¡¯s associates both remembered her face and also didn¡¯t much care for it.

    One thing caught her eye through the light haze of cigar smoke¡ªa flicker of red hair. Her heart sank, though she kept walking. Damn. She¡¯d thought maybe she¡¯d be at Koriannon¡¯s. Still, perhaps Maia would be too busy conducting negotiations on behalf of her pissing little group to notice¡­

    No such luck. The flicker of red turned, and a sharp gaze swept over her. Maia rose from her seat and began picking her way between the tables.

    ¡°Kion,¡± she called, voice ringing out across the surrounding murmur. Her words were no less tolerable as she drew up to flank her. ¡°How fortunate that you came; I was meaning to find you. Let¡¯s talk?¡±

    Kionah gritted her teeth. Sometimes, navigating the simplest parts of this stupid, stars-forsaken world felt like marching to her doom. Familiar armour slid into place, iron-plated-intangible.

    ¡°No thank you,¡± she said.

    It came out rougher than she would have liked, but the dismissal served well enough. Maia had always been just this side of too needy; the less attention Kionah gave her, the more likely she¡¯d fuck off and pester someone else.

    ¡°Come on, Kion. I gave you some time to cool off. So, spill it. What was all that with the faeries and your little Songian friend?¡±

    ¡­Unfortunately, the virtue of returning from the clutches of a shadowed kingdom made her a little too interesting for her own taste.

    ¡°Nothing that¡¯ll bring you money.¡±

    ¡°Come on, Kion. I may be a fool, but I¡¯m not an idiot.¡± Maia reached out a hand and brushed it over her cheek.

    She wrenched away. ¡°Don¡¯t touch me.¡±

    Maia clasped her hands together and smirked, her longer stride more than making up for Kionah¡¯s pace. ¡°Well, I was only checking. I¡¯ve been meaning to ask¡ªhow¡¯d you do away with the glamours?¡±

    Oh, for fuck¡¯s sake¡ªsometimes, it was easy to forget Maia was decent at illusion, of all things. She kept her face as blank as she could. ¡°Your seeing skills must be slipping.¡±

    ¡°Ah-ah, I don¡¯t think so. Whatever happened to that collection of ghastly scratches?¡± Maia leaned in and grabbed her bare hand. Kionah shook her off.

    They reached the waiting line to the so-called quartermaster. Now, she was forced to stop and stay if she wanted a decent deal on some saltpetre, of all things. Was lodging at Luxon¡¯s worth all this trouble? Probably not. Still, she resisted the urge to up and leave¡ªnot wanting to look like a coward aside, she had Aliyah¡¯s favour to keep if she was going to make plans based on that particular help¡­

    ¡°Ointments,¡± she said decisively. ¡°Ever heard of ¡¯em?¡±

    ¡°What kind of ointment changes the shape of your face?¡± Maia tutted, and Kionah squashed the thought of swinging a fist into her perfectly breakable nose. Her own nose used to have a bump in it, courtesy of a poorly-chosen mark some six and a half years ago. Just the one; experience was a good teacher.

    Maia tilted her head and frowned. ¡°Come to think of it, your teeth are looking a little whiter, too¡­¡±

    ¡°What I look like is none of your business.¡±

    She hadn¡¯t anticipated Healer Quillwort¡¯s help to compound into an inconvenience, now. The procedures had been small enough and the healing itself had gone smoothly, in the space of seconds; at the time, she¡¯d simply been thinking of reducing her upkeep on the glamours.

    Maia gave her a strange look, tapping a finger to her chin. ¡°I thought you looked fine under it all.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t care what you think.¡± The line shuffled forwards, too slow for her liking.

    ¡°Yes, you do. You care what everyone thinks.¡±

    The words were said breezily enough, but they sunk barbs, digging in where they no right to. Kionah suppressed a twitch.

    ¡°Oh, shut up. You don¡¯t know shit about me, Maia.¡±

    ¡°Really?¡± Maia clicked her tongue. ¡°Then tell me, why else would you learn one bit of illusion and nothing else? Why bother, unless for the vanity of it all? Because you were never about staying safe, were you? You never put in the effort, never worked out harder casts like me, because all you ever wanted was¡ª¡±

    ¡°Shut your mouth,¡± Kionah said, as quietly as she could.

    ¡°I will, in a minute. But like I said, Kion. I¡¯m not stupid.¡± She leaned in even closer, her words barely audible. ¡°By the way, does the word ¡®fleshcrafter¡¯ mean nothing to you?¡±

    So that was what it was. Needle her up and down, rile her, get her off balance enough to push. It wasn¡¯t a halfway-terrible strategy. Kionah froze, and thought very, very quickly. ¡°So I had some stuff done when I was away. What¡¯s it to you?¡±

    Maia shook her head. ¡°Should I raise my voice and mention your very Songian friend by name?¡±

    Her blood chilled cold; she cast a discreet glance about the House and spotted a mix of outsiders and Crow Ear forayers both. ¡°No,¡± she murmured. ¡°Shut up, and I¡¯ll talk to you later.¡±

    It was an acquiescence, and not a very advantageous one. It was the best choice she had, here and now. Maia, thankfully, had sensed the lines of some of her thoughts: the number of listeners around, the House host to sharper folks who honed in on even the quietest of intriguing conversations.

    ¡°Alright then,¡± Maia said. ¡°I¡¯ll just wait here until you¡¯re done.¡±

    Damn. Kionah resisted the urge to chart an optimistic path out of this one. Shasta wasn¡¯t in a talking mood, which meant no dropping upstairs for a chat and giving Maia the slip. The windows of Whistle House were triple-layered and warded to boot, even in the back rooms¡­if she tried leaving through that route, right in front of Crow Ear members, she¡¯d probably get the shit kicked out of her. No amount of friendship with the heir-to-be would protect her from the consequences of property damage.

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    Besides, none of that would stop Maia from talking. Delay, maybe, but stop? People didn¡¯t pull friendly bluffs round these parts. If Aliyah¡¯s name got out to the spires¡­

    The exchange for saltpetre went smoothly¡ªa small comfort, when she had Maia staring daggers into the back of her head. She placed the package carefully into her basket, fiddling with the lid. Hah. As if prolonging the moment would help.

    Maia followed at her heels as she exited the House. Kionah considered running, and decided against it. The stint in Shadowsong meant she¡¯d fallen out of shape, and Maia was almost always faster because of her stupidly tall legs.

    Plus¡ªthe accusation, the name. Someone¡¯s status as a new arrival would work against them. Even a strong rumour could be too much. Kionah hadn¡¯t outlived her siblings by plugging her ears until the problems went away.

    Maia drew ahead in two easy strides as they passed the first street corner. She clicked her fingers and beckoned, heading into the alley mouth.

    ¡°Really?¡± Kionah said, not moving. ¡°You want to talk here? Now?¡±

    Maia raised an eyebrow.

    ¡°Fine,¡± Kionah said, stepping into the shadow of the alley.

    Maia shawled them in illusion: layers of silencing and concealment, shadowed textures overlaid onto their skins. The sensation of a fresh breeze twirled about her head and shoulders, irritatingly refreshing in its coolness. Kionah got the impression that Maia was showing off.

    ¡°What do you want?¡± she said impatiently. ¡°Get to the point.¡±

    ¡°Break into the Academy gala with me,¡± Maia replied, not missing a beat. She paused for effect¡ªshe¡¯d had that line loaded and ready, hadn¡¯t she? Kionah suppressed a sigh. ¡°Or I¡¯ll spill about your little fleshcrafter friend.¡±

    The problem with keeping secrets as a form of extortion was that there was really no end to it. It wasn¡¯t like a physical proof¡ªshe couldn¡¯t remove the knowledge from Maia¡¯s brain once she was done paying the favour. At least, she couldn¡¯t do it in an acceptable way¡ªthe curve of her pistol pressed cold against her hip, a heavy reminder.

    Kionah drew in a slow breath and exhaled quietly through her teeth. Several thoughts flashed through her head, not all of them appropriate for the situation¡ªMaia was annoying, yes, but that didn¡¯t warrant shooting her.

    Not a good idea, she told herself firmly¡ªnot even as a threat. No point in escalating the situation. She¡¯d grown up near mercenaries, and she should know better. Violence was messy. Maiming or killing would be worse. And unnecessary here, no matter the circumstances. She tried not to think of the half-dreamed plans, of mother slowly rotting away and the whole damn house with her.

    So she couldn¡¯t remove the knowledge from Maia¡¯s brain. She could perhaps move Aliyah. A person was a lot harder to hide than, say, a boxful of blackmarket powders. Not impossible, she noted, but a whole lot harder. Would take more time. Could she stall for more time?

    ¡°Don¡¯t go spouting that sort of rubbish around,¡± Kionah said. ¡°Stories are just stories.¡±

    ¡°Oh, but the spire folks don¡¯t seem to think so.¡± Maia laughed, softly. ¡°Not over the last couple of years, Kion. Twilight Mermaid¡¯s got eyes around the spires¡ªthey¡¯ve been ramping it up while you¡¯ve been gone.¡±

    ¡°And your guild thought that a good avenue to keep your eye on,¡± Kionah said. ¡°Crazy rich folk? This isn¡¯t your usual hunting ground. Won¡¯t end well.¡±

    ¡°Other avenues were running dry,¡± Maia said, her voice hardening. Maybe that little dig about her group had some truth to it after all¡ªMaia had always been good at posturing when it mattered. ¡°Nora suggested it. Good thing she did, right? You forget I saw you fight that blue-bird man. Saw your friend doing some very interesting spellwork, while she was at it.¡±

    Damn. Sometimes, it was easy to forget that Maia wasn¡¯t a complete fool.

    ¡°Yeah, well.¡± She made a show of sniffing. ¡°Back at the ol¡¯ catnip again? Could¡¯ve been anything.¡±

    ¡°You think so?¡± Maia gave a lazy smile. ¡°If it really was anything, there wouldn¡¯t be any problem with me telling stories, would there? You wouldn¡¯t¡¯ve told me to shut up back there, would you? Don¡¯t play with me, Kion.¡±

    Was it worth the risk? Kionah hesitated. How much had changed since she¡¯d been gone? Probably not all that much, from the looks of things. Bloody Cribellums likely still had nothing better to do with their time but to poke their noses into other people¡¯s lives. She swallowed, mouth going dry.

    There¡¯d been an apothecary, once. He was a passing friend to their old merc den¡ªsort of a quack, really¡ªand an overseer he¡¯d owed money to. A rumour was spread. It went on for a month before the ears in the walls connected to the ones in the spires. Or maybe there¡¯d been a favour there, a connection she didn¡¯t know¡ªbut she had known the apothecary as a kid. All the cutters had. He would stick leeches to twisted ankles for a handful of coppers and exchanged ginger candies for a clean copy of the daily paper. The spire people had taken him for questions; he hadn¡¯t been a fleshcrafter, of course. When he came back, he wasn¡¯t quite the same. Packed up and disappeared out the way of Haverlem harbour not long after. It¡¯d been the talk of the neighbourhood.

    A month, she thought. A month. If Maia spilled¡ªand maybe she¡¯d hold out with cooperation, maybe not¡ªshe might have about a month before people came knocking. And¡ªmother. That gave her an idea: burrow amongst the city filth. Let Aliyah in on the threat, angle it around and suggest hopping from hideout to hideout. Wasn¡¯t that what they were doing already? She could work with that.

    ¡°You hardly need me to rob this bunch of richlings,¡± she tried. ¡°I¡¯m a little busy at the moment.¡±

    ¡°Yes, yes,¡± Maia said. ¡°Busy getting your little friend out of sight. I know, I know.¡± She sighed. ¡°Where¡¯ll you disappear off to next? Kraedia? Ironport? Princil?¡± Her tone dropped low. ¡°You may not be as fond of me now, Kion, but we both know it¡¯s stupid to pass up on opportunities down here. Me, I¡¯ve got tastes closer to home. I¡¯ll take what I can get.¡±

    Kionah frowned.

    ¡°Come on,¡± Maia added when she didn¡¯t get an immediate reply. ¡°You don¡¯t want news of your fleshcrafter friend to get out. And you owe us, besides.¡±

    Kionah stiffened reflexively. ¡°I¡¯ll have you know that I don¡¯t owe you anything.¡±

    Maia smiled, flashing teeth. ¡°You owe the lovely Leonora, though. And we both know she¡¯s too proud to cash in on that debt, so I may as well do it for her. Carrot, stick.¡±

    ¡°That isn¡¯t how it works.¡±

    ¡°No? Well Nora¡¯s a good woman. Still kept giving us our cuts even with things drying up. She¡¯s living off beans and gruel, Kion. Beans and gruel. And too damn virtuous to admit it, too¡ªbut I found out. C¡¯mon, this job¡¯s a real clincher. Right up your alley.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not a burglar.¡±

    ¡°Burglar, pickpocket, that part doesn¡¯t matter so much. You¡¯ll have Hortensia there for the locks. It¡¯s just, you know,¡± Maia waved a hand. ¡°Koriannon paid us in tickets, so that¡¯s our way in. Octavia was going to go, but she got her face broken. You were pretty enough for the likes of Lily House; I¡¯m sure you¡¯ll do fine with this.¡±

    Kionah resisted the urge to drop her baskets and punch something. The moment passed, and she gave herself a private pat on the back for her own, entirely admirable, restraint.

    ¡°This gala job,¡± she grunted. ¡°When is it?¡±

    ¡°Tonight,¡± Maia said.

    Questions flashed through her mind, even as she mulled it over. The key question being: what business did she have, going along with this for the sake of an apprenticeling she barely knew? Well yes, Aliyah had technically saved her life and yes, she¡¯d helped plenty on the escape out from beneath the Killing Fields, and it would be very useful to keep her alive and friendly even if she wasn¡¯t sure she could fully help with the¡ªugh. Maia was looking at her expectantly; she¡¯d let the silence drag on too long.

    ¡°You trust me to run in with no proper briefing?¡± she asked, shaking her head. Maybe that was why Twilight Mermaid was doing so poorly since it¡¯d started: not one fucking ounce of planning. ¡°You even got a target in mind, or¡­?¡±

    ¡°There¡¯s a scroll shipment,¡± Maia said, her tone suddenly all business. ¡°Camouflage, though, for deepwater pearls. Forty strings. You understand, now?¡±

    Forty strings, Kionah thought gloomily. Easy to hide, easy to fence¡ªdepending on the number of crew, Twilight Mermaid could be flush for the next few years if they pulled this off. Trouble was, such opportunities were rare for a reason.

    ¡°What¡¯s the catch?¡± Kionah asked.

    ¡°No catch.¡±

    ¡°There¡¯s always one.¡± She gave in to the impulse to scowl, snapping her fingers as the pieces slotted into place. ¡°This is the Academy¡ªit¡¯s some Library bullshit, isn¡¯t it?¡±

    Maia shrugged, not even having the grace to look sheepish. ¡°Not very far in, I¡¯m told. Only temporary, you know? Just storing for a week¡ªthe gala¡¯s good for a distraction.¡±

    The Academy Library was, if possible, just as shrouded in secrecy as Shadowsong¡¯s. Kionah hadn¡¯t been further than the foyer herself, but she¡¯d heard stories.

    ¡°You¡¯ve cased this?¡± Kionah asked. ¡°Decently, I mean?¡±

    ¡°Yep,¡± Maia said. ¡°You know it.¡±

    ¡°Any other catches?¡± Kionah asked.

    Maia hesitated. ¡°No.¡±

    ¡°Liar.¡± Kionah shook her head and injected the appropriate amount of disgust into her voice. ¡°I¡¯m going to have to run this job, right? You¡¯d better give me the fucking truth.¡±

    ¡°Fine,¡± Maia said. ¡°There may be¡­a little competition. Those, ah, jobs that went missing from Koriannon¡¯s shop? Probably out and sold to opportunists by now.¡±

    ¡°Great,¡± Kionah said flatly. ¡°Fantastic.¡± A nagging feeling stuttered at the base of her skull, but when she tried to grasp it, it slipped away¡ªuseless, translucent, imparting no meaning.

    ¡°Yes, well¡ªwe¡¯ve had more time to plan. Hortensia¡¯s procured the perfect tools.¡± Maia leaned in. ¡°And we know each other, you and I. You help me with this job, I leave your friend be, you get to skip city like you did a year ago and move on with the rest of your life.¡± Her lips twisted into a bitter smile. ¡°High ambitions, right? You got right up there with Lily House. Sabine said you ran off with some noblewomen, even. So yes, I get it, you¡¯re busy with bigger things¡ªI don¡¯t care what you do with your fleshcrafter friend so long as you help me this once.¡± Her voice cracked in a false show of vulnerability. ¡°These girls haven¡¯t hurt you, Kion. They¡¯re like my family, okay?¡±

    Kionah watched her for several long moments, wondering if she was going to start tearing up, too. When that didn¡¯t happen, she gestured to her basket. ¡°I need to deliver my errands first.¡±

    ¡°Oh no,¡± Maia said. There came a fresh gleam in her eye. ¡°That can wait for later¡ªyou¡¯ve got your friend to think about and a favour to owe, remember? We need to get you into a gala dress. And like you said¡ªyou need a proper briefing.¡±

    ¡°Fine,¡± Kionah said. ¡°Get on with it. You¡¯ll need to acquire some contacts, by the way. I lost mine.¡±

    Maia frowned. ¡°The¡­enchanted things you put in your eyes? Aren¡¯t those expensive?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m an expensive colleague to keep,¡± Kionah deadpanned. ¡°You want me to be able to see on this special venture of yours, don¡¯t you?¡±

    Maia rolled her eyes. ¡°You haven¡¯t changed one bit. Fine, let¡¯s go¡ªwe¡¯re burning daylight.¡±

 3.15 - The Second Library

    Felun

    Felun coughed uncomfortably. His collar itched. His hands did, too. Beside him, Iolite beamed behind her veilment. She looked the very picture of a society witch, minus the hat¡ªthe pale hair of her human-disguise had been scraped back into an elaborate bun, glittering with jewelled pins.

    ¡°Just the four of us,¡± she told the steward. Iolites¡ªfalse-gemstone iolites¡ªflashed at her wrist as she handed him their tickets, each embellished with runes and gold leaf.

    Saiphenora and Silverwater were at his side, each wrapped in their own veilments. Suria had woven the image of a sharp-jawed young man for Silverwater and a sullen-looking youth for Saiph¡ªor perhaps that was the effect of her own expression. The two of them were as fancied up as he was, in spiraling embroidery and velvet ruffles.

    Felun held his breath as the steward inspected their tickets. They were completely forged¡ªSuria had growled over the churlishness of the forger, and the¡­resistance he¡¯d put up when she¡¯d broken into his workshop to retrieve them. Personally, Felun hadn¡¯t found the anecdote reassuring in the slightest.

    The steward straightened up and punched holes into the corner of each ticket with a clockwork device clipped to his finger.

    ¡°Have a nice evening, ladies,¡± he said, giving Iolite a nod. ¡°Gentlemen.¡±

    Golden light spilled from the flung-open doors of Glister Academy, setting the marble steps aglow. Iolite led the way and inclined her head at other high society types. He just kept his head down and tried to look uninteresting. An almost imperceptible film of enchantment washed over him between the space of one step and the next, and he tried not to shiver¡ªit was a hint of the Academy¡¯s protective dome. It might be best to remember that this place, decorated as it was, had no shortage of mages at its disposal.

    More stewards smiled and waved as they finished walking up the steps, half a dozen on each side. Felun found it uncomfortable¡ªthere¡¯d been events like this back in Shenzhou, but nothing that commanded lines of servants grinning so falsely at the guests.

    The lines of grinning servants disappeared as they passed through the main hall and up the double stairs, replaced by a sprawling line of carpet over the flagstones. The path was lined with red ropes passed between stanchions, and the insides of the Academy were all cream and gold, fashioned in a way that Felun wrote off as simply fancy¡ªtall rooms with pointed windows and looming doors, built to look grand and forbidding. No doubt Yuying might point out every architectural term she knew if she were here. He wondered, a little guiltily, if mother had allowed her to apply for an academy after he¡¯d left. Then he yanked his thoughts back to the surrounds as they passed beneath a massive arched entrance, warded against damage and decay.

    Runes flashed over each window and door: not visible out of necessity, but as a subtle warning. They reminded him, just a little, of parts of the Shadowsong castle¡ªthough perhaps less overtly hostile. The signs here were more suited to helping the place withstand the crush of time than to repel intruders. He stowed that mental note away before it could blot out his train of thought with memories of crowns and blood and breakage.

    Felun glanced up and saw glowing sigils laced the vaulted ceilings, temporary signs for cooling. Chilled air wafted down the back of his jacket as he passed beneath a swarm of them. His Breaker-sense stirred at a loosening in the wards; looking down, he realised the carpet had ended as flagstones merged into floorboards. Faint music trickled out to them as they approached the ballroom, riding upon undercurrents of clinking glasses and tinkling laughter.

    ¡°Ah,¡± Iolite said, clasping her hands together. ¡°Now doesn¡¯t this look like a feast?¡±

    The ballroom sprawled out below them like a basin of polished hardwood, small scores of couples waltzing through the emptier center. Crowds fringed the sides, clustered in corridors of conversation. An outrageous array of cloaks and gowns and hats leaped out at him as the guests milled about like a sea of coloured glass. Recliners had been set out along the walls, alongside long tables piled high with food. There were even chandeliers overhead, each one like a snarl of winter-bare branches dipped in gold¡ªif Yuying were here, she¡¯d be yelling with sheer excitement.

    ¡°Saiphenora, Silverwater¡ªyou two spread about,¡± Iolite instructed in a low murmur. ¡°There is a little time before things become suitably busy¡ªwe move to reconvene at¡­half past ninth hour. Felun, you stay next to me.¡±

    Normally, he¡¯d be insulted at being treated like a child, but on this instance, it wasn¡¯t too bad. Parties weren¡¯t his thing. Also, from what Silverwater had told him¡ªand from the spells he¡¯d studied on short notice, each of them humming through his head¡ªhe was going to want this to go as straight-forward as possible.

    Silverwater disappeared into a throng of ludicrously-ornamented socialites. Saiph made straight for the nearest refreshment table, bowing under the weight of cakes and pies. Iolite steered him into the thick of the crowd.

    Important-looking people caged him in on all sides, chattering and tittering at each other with feigned politeness. Servants stepped through the crowd, dressed in crisp white uniforms.

    ¡°Some sparkling wine, sir?¡± one of them asked him, indicating with his trayful of fizzling flute-glasses.

    ¡°Thanks,¡± Felun said, gingerly. He took a sip. It tasted awful.

    The servant gave a shallow bow and whisked away, leaving him holding a mostly-full glass and feeling inexplicably foolish. Iolite nudged him with her shoulder, and they walked deeper into the crowd.

    What were they supposed to do now? he wondered. Actually talk to people? A young woman caught his eye in passing and smiled at him. He smiled back, hoping he didn¡¯t look like an idiot. Suria had also laid illusions over him at Iolite¡¯s request¡ªshe¡¯d done his last, after the three full veilments. By then, she¡¯d looked dead on her feet. Still, the results looked convincing in the mirror. Felun thought, not-at-all-bitterly, that she¡¯d made his face resemble Yichen¡¯s.

    He shook his head, stowing away thoughts of Yichen and Yuying and¡­everyone else.

    To his relief, they only navigated through the stream of gala-goers to make their way to an outer balcony. The area was quiet and empty, for which he was thankful¡ªthough his outfit felt too warm away from the cooling runes, almost stifling paired with the summer night air. His hands still itched, sweating under illusioned-away bandages. He set down his glass onto the balustrade and shifted uncomfortably, picking at the cuffs of his shirt. At least Glister had dry summers. Silver linings.

    ¡°Is everything alright, Felun?¡± Iolite asked. She¡¯d settled herself against the balustrade to look out over the gardens, chin propped in palm. His bottomless bag dangled from her shoulder, illusioned to look like a woman¡¯s purse. ¡°Do feel free to speak up if there is an issue. You are, after all, a valued member of our team.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m fine,¡± he said quickly. ¡°Thank you.¡±

    ¡°That is excellent to hear,¡± she said with a self-satisfied smile. ¡°Please raise issues if they arise. Synergy operates upon communication¡ªand it would be unfortunate if anything were to go amiss tonight.¡±

    ¡°Right,¡± he said. ¡°Sure, sure¡ªof course.¡± He wondered, not for the first time, how much of her so-called concern was for her own benefit. How she would react if he started talking about empty eyes and broken faces, the corners in his nightmares and severed arms rotting from the fingertips upwards.

    ¡°I would advise you do not imbibe too much of that ethyl,¡± she added reprovingly, nodding as his abandoned glass. ¡°It impairs the concentration, I am told.¡±

    ¡°Yeah. It doesn¡¯t taste great, either.¡± He tipped the contents over the edge, where they spattered onto the leaves of the ornamental bushes below.

    They waited in near silence for what felt close to an hour. A few people filtered out to the balcony now and again¡ªsome with a cigar in hand, others with a lover on the arm¡ªheaded down the adjacent stairs leading down to the garden. Felun lapsed into a drowsy waiting state honed over years of literary recitals and character dictation, scribing words until his fingers hurt.

    This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

    The night air sat like an overstuffed blanket, thick and stifling. Spires loomed beyond the walls of manicured hedges, and nightingales chirped in the distance. Eventually, the clock struck nine. Time continued to pass in a crawl; whoops of celebration emanated from back in the ballroom. The music gradually changed tempo, turning jauntier, a little more drunken in rhythm. Felun pictured the guests loosening their cravats, sipping more heavily from their cups of wine. Some would sprawl in the provided settees, drawing out the slacks of their belts by a couple of notches and guffawing amongst themselves, glutted on good food and two-faced conversation. There¡¯d be less trouble evading attention the longer the evening wore on¡ªthat was how these things usually went.

    ¡°Come, now,¡± Iolite finally said, pushing off the balustrade. He nodded quickly and followed.

    She led him right back into the crowd, slipping through gaps like an oiled fish. It was a good¡ªif unpleasant¡ªthing she¡¯d grabbed onto his wrist. He might¡¯ve lost her in seconds otherwise.

    The emerged into a shadowy, curtained corner, half-hidden by the side of the double staircase. Iolite brushed the curtain aside to reveal a corridor, cordoned off by rope and stanchion. Surprisingly, the rope was just rope. Felun didn¡¯t need to break anything¡ªthey just ducked across and walked down the corridor. He kept an eye out for stray enchantments, but here it was just the usual armour: wards for preservation, helping historical bricks stand up to the test of time.

    They slipped into the first room along¡ªused for storage, by the looks of things. Saiph was already there, perched on a crate with a half-eaten slice of pie in hand.

    ¡°Hello,¡± she said, scowling. ¡°Silver seems to be taking his time.¡±

    ¡°With all due caution, I am sure. Saiphenora, really¡ªhave you been consuming sugar all evening?¡±

    Saiph shrugged, speaking around a mouthful of blackberry filling. ¡°Can I take off this veilment yet? It itches.¡±

    Iolite made a displeased sound as she shrugged the illusioned satchel off her shoulder and passed it to him. Then she withdrew an egg-sized gemstone from some hidden pocket in her gown, and a vial of bright blue potion from another.

    ¡°Take three steps backward,¡± she suggested, and Felun obeyed hastily.

    She yanked the cork out with her teeth and poured the potion over the gemstone. A hissing sound erupted from the back of her throat, and the gem began to glow with pale spell-light. Spokes of rune-string emerged from its surface before lancing through the air to form a translucent dome, spanning six feet on all sides.

    Iolite spat the cork into her palm and hefted the gem in her other hand, frowning. ¡°Sufficient,¡± she said. ¡°Not that we should use it as a crutch¡ª¡±

    The door cracked open, and Silverwater slipped in. Felun froze in place, eyeing the expanse of inattention field. Silverwater¡¯s eyes slid over them at first, then snapped back, locking with focus.

    ¡°Ah,¡± he said. ¡°An excellent working.¡±

    Iolite didn¡¯t preen, but she did smile grimly. ¡°Thank you, Silverwater. Now, as aptly demonstrated: I must remind you to exercise caution and silence. This inattention field, like all inattention fields, will prove far less effective if one is given reason to suspect it exists.¡±

    Saiph straightened up, swallowing the last of her pie. ¡°Can we remove these accursed costumes already?¡±

    Iolite nodded. ¡°Place them into Felun¡¯s satchel.¡±

    ¡°Uh,¡± Felun said. ¡°That¡¯s a great idea, but I don¡¯t know if I can carry the weight.¡±

    Already, the bag hung heavy in his grip. Adding Silverwater¡¯s outfit, he could manage¡ªbut he wasn¡¯t sure about Saiph¡¯s and Iolites; those looked like they¡¯d been sewn from about a thousand yards of fabric apiece.

    ¡°I can carry it,¡± Silverwater said.

    Felun whirled around to see Silverwater had already shrugged off gala outfit and veilment both¡ªnow he stood in his true form, knives strapped to every limb and down the length of his tail. He was tall for a faery, Felun supposed, but he was still more carapace than muscle.

    ¡°You can? Thanks. If you¡¯re sure.¡±

    ¡°What of your fighting ability?¡± Saiph scoffed, gesturing at his knives.

    Silverwater blinked calmly. ¡°If they come close enough, I will use the satchel as a distraction. The added weight will serve as an effective bludgeoning tool.¡±

    ¡°So long as you do not lose it,¡± Iolite broke in smoothly. She reached for a hidden clasp and peeled her gown off in one fell swoop, some of the ruffles tearing in two¡ªher veilment went with it, shucked off like an outgrown exoskeleton. She stepped out of the outfit to reveal her orange slime-creature of a knapsack, wrapped around one shoulder like a quivering pauldron.

    Saiph shrugged and followed suit. No questionable bag on her end¡ªonly a bow and full quiver.

    Felun stripped off the outer layers of his own outfit¡ªcoat, cravat, cufflinks¡ªleaving just the shirt and trousers. The material was a little more dressy than he¡¯d like, going into a job, but it would be his runes doing the real job of protecting him, anyway. He fished his book and runequill from his satchel before passing it to Silverwater.

    Silverwater took three vials from the frontmost pouch, downing one himself before passing one each to Saiph and Iolite. Then he got to work stuffing the gala clothing into the satchel. Once he was done, he hefted the filled bag onto his shoulder with apparent ease. Felun brushed aside a reflexive stab of envy; all three were, after all, drenched to the gills with lab-grown honey.

    They made their way down the rest of the corridor, filed in a close-tucked line: Silverwater first, followed by Iolite holding the inattention-field. Then Felun, with his book floating close by his side and Saiph at his back. Walking like this, careful to keep within the inattention-field, was slow-going. Up several flights of steps, down another, grander-looking, corridor, through a grand, empty hall lined with vases¡­

    Silverwater stopped and held his hand up at a junction between their corridor and another, intersecting at a perpendicular angle.

    ¡°Approaching foyer,¡± he murmured, barely audible. ¡°Guards to the right.¡±

    Saiph said something back in the faery language. Felun¡¯s neck prickled as there came a scraping sound behind him, arrows rustling in their quiver.

    ¡°No,¡± said Iolite. ¡°You will have ample opportunity for that later.¡± Her palm began to glow with spell-light, and her spines tilted in concentration. ¡°Diversion,¡± she spoke into her hand. ¡°Upper East Wing. Now.¡±

    The glow died. In moments, a distant booming rattled the walls, far-off and vaguely alchemical in sound. Felun spotted no tell-tale plume of light through the windows, but the source was obvious enough: Thorn and Curlew, busy at their postings. Maybe Winterbird, too, if her eye had healed up.

    ¡°Keep still,¡± Iolite murmured.

    Nervous chuckles echoed from around the corner, followed by murmurs of argument. Felun frowned, estimating four or five guards by the sound of things. Iolite, Saiph, and Silverwater could probably take them¡ªthe only issue was raising a ruckus in the process. He supposed Suria could¡¯ve cast a silence field if she were here, but fields didn¡¯t stretch forever. And she¡¯d been nearly keeling over from exhaustion, the last he¡¯d seen her. He¡¯d almost felt pitying.

    An authoritative voice cut through the chatter, and the guard¡¯s talk broke into whispers which fell into silence. Quiet reasserted itself, as did a semblance of calm.

    Silverwater turned to face them, mouthing a word Felun couldn¡¯t decipher. Iolite¡¯s spines bristled with frustration, and she raised her hand to her face once more. Then she paused, cocking her head to one side. Her wings flashed in muted colours and her tail flicked in confusion, brushing against Felun¡¯s ankles.

    Words rang up from the left side of the junction¡ªhuman words, slurred and drunken. Two well-dressed, if rumpled-looking, young women staggered down the corridor, leaning on each other and dragging their footsteps. Felun froze as they passed right in front of them, but the inattention-field held strong.

    ¡°Who goes there?¡± a guard¡¯s voice rang out. Felun¡¯s ears pricked at the sound of a blade drawn half out of its sheath, then slowly slid back in. The guard cleared his throat. ¡°Pardon, misses. Guests are not permitted beyond the bounds of the Gala.¡±

    One of the women giggled. ¡°Ooooops,¡± she said with exaggerated enunciation. ¡°Must¡¯ve got turned around.¡±

    Her companion groaned. ¡°Shouldn¡¯t¡¯ve had that absinthe¡­¡± She made a graceless sound, half-whimpering and half-dry-heaving.

    The first woman squawked indignantly. ¡°Oh, stop it! You¡¯re making a scene!¡±

    A different guard¡¯s voice butted in. ¡°Calm down, ladies. Here now, let¡¯s get you back to where you should be.¡±

    ¡°Oooh, thank you.¡± One of the women made a giggling, swooning sound¡ª

    And the hall exploded into a cloud of green smoke. Felun managed to get halfway through a flinch, before Iolite stilled him with a backwards glare. From the midst of the smoke came no sound; he concentrated and sensed the outer perimeter of a silence-field¡ªno, two of them. One from each of those women, probably, overlapping to cover larger ground.

    Two more figures rushed up the corridor through the haze, ducked low and treading near-silently. Felun watched, shoulders tensed, as spellfire glowed at their fists. If there were screams when they pounced, Felun didn¡¯t hear them.

    The smoke took a few minutes to clear but when it did, it dissipated to nothing. He guessed it was similar to a dungeoner¡¯s tool he¡¯d seen back in Ironport¡ªthe particles obscured an enemy¡¯s visibility and conducted magic, enhancing the strength of spells cast in its cloud. The cannisters were expensive, though, and a one-time use. The group must¡¯ve been confident in their ability to take on the guards to risk stronger magic sent back their way.

    ¡°Nearly clear,¡± Silverwater murmured from his frontmost position in the line.

    Iolite gave a low whistle. ¡°It appears we have competition. Well, no matter¡ªlet the rabble pave the way.¡±

    They crowded up to the corner, peering round to see one of the group members¡ªa red-headed boy¡ªstanding over four guards, two of them drifting close to unconscious and all of them thoroughly gagged. He bent to tighten a rope around one of their wrists. Of his companions, there was no sign; a deliberate straggler, Felun guessed. Makeshift rearguard like in some dungeon teams, role being to do the cleanup and then get the hell out¡ªsmaller pay cut, but less risk.

    He eyed Iolite as she tilted her head to one side. He hesitated, then tapped her on the shoulder.

    ¡°What is it, Felun?¡± she murmured.

    ¡°The kid¡¯s rearguard,¡± he whispered. ¡°Uh, I think. If you leave him alone, he¡¯ll run off once he¡¯s done tying the guards.¡±

    She shot him a baleful look. ¡°Is that so? Well, I suppose it is understandable to your delicate sensibilities that you do not wish to watch a human child be injured.¡±

    ¡°You wanted me to shoot him?¡± Saiph muttered from behind him.

    Iolite scowled faintly, spines twitching as she settled upon an answer. ¡°No need. I believe Felun is correct in this instance. What amusing developments¡ªlet us see if these thieves are of any use.¡±

    The four of them watched in a tense bundle as the boy finished tying the guards and scarpered off, glittery coat-tails trailing in his wake. In the distance, a clock chimed ten.

 3.16 - To Seek The Sea

    Felun

    This Library gate was completely different from Shadowsong¡¯s. Felun supposed the empty foyer had been a stroke of luck back then, the result of constantly having staff and guards on call¡ªand then suddenly, not. Here, though, the Academy had taken additional measures.

    A wall of brassy clockwork rose up before them, gleaming under the overhead runelight like it¡¯d been hand-polished not hours ago. In a place like this, Felun wouldn¡¯t be too surprised if that was actually the case. The suggestion of a door was anchored throughout the mess of pipes and gears, so tangled it almost hurt his head to look at. A small slot was set into the whole mess, at about eye-level.

    Felun cleared his throat and readied his runequill. ¡°Should I¡ª¡±

    ¡°Of course not,¡± Iolite said. ¡°Save your strength for what might be to come. This is, after all, why we hired that forger.¡±

    Iolite reached into the body of the jelly-creature stuck to her shoulder and rifled around before withdrawing a small card. Felun glimpsed intricate traceries of ink and the outline of a glowing insignia before she pressed it into the wall-slot. The slot hissed, incinerating the card, and clockwork ticked to life, segments of wall whirling upon their axes. Violet light flickered to life above the door-outline as it hissed and swung open. The wall began to tick with a different rhythm, signaling a countdown to even the most inexperienced ear.

    They hurried in, no prompting needed. The door clanked shut moments after Saiph whisked her tail through.

    The Library foyer was cream and gold and detailed in an overwrought fashion like the rest of the Academy. It was much smaller than the one they¡¯d encountered in Shadowsong, though; fewer desks, and a clear lack of staff¡ªthough Felun spotted a pair of librarians off to the side, tied to their chairs. They had cloths over their mouths and eyes, and were busy trying¡ªand failing¡ªto shimmy out of their bindings. Iolite gestured for silence as they passed them, venturing deeper into the Library.

    ¡°Keep your attention pricked for those Gala ladies,¡± Iolite murmured when they were out of earshot. She still held the stone generating an inattention-field, but it was starting to flicker, powering down. ¡°But caution is not overneeded. Let¡¯s make swift work of this. Silverwater, you carry Felun. Saiphenora will need her hands free.¡±

    Felun bit back a protest as Silverwater adjusted the satchel on his shoulder and grabbed him by the wrists, hoisting him aloft. A fuzzy field of magic encircled him as they rose higher yet, cushioning his weight. The effect seemed to be an inherent property of being carried by faeries¡ªin Silverwater¡¯s case, it seemed more pronounced, for which he was grateful. Silverwater also seemed less likely to fling him around like Suria did, which was a plus.

    Iolite stowed the dying spell-stone into her bag and pulled out a pair of silver gauntlets, donning them swiftly. Then she led the way, flying low over the stacks. Felun eyed the end of the room, which twisted off to the right¡ªso far, this place looked normal. When they turned the corner though, a different corner loomed up ahead; the Academy Library zig-zagged like a poorly-charted dungeon route, only with more books. It was a poorly-disguised infinity, one that felt tamer than the brain-hurting visuals back in Shadowsong.

    He spotted nothing strange among the corridors of shelves. No dead bodies and no entrances into looming labyrinths. When the landscape did change, it was relatively subtle; tiled floor merged into hard-packed dirt. The ivory shelves started looking more beat-up, scratched and grimy with age. Cabinets began interrupting the shelves, and disjointed boxes were planted about, looking for all the world like mundane strongboxes. Ahead, a new wall loomed: golden lines, like the bars of a birdcage. It brought the Healer to mind, huddled on the floor of his cell and allegedly still busy throwing up and shivering half to death.

    Iolite swooped down to where the shape of a door sat, already opened. Saiph alighted next, before Silverwater set him down none-too-gently¡ªbut hardly on par with being flung face-first into a sand dune.

    ¡°Curious,¡± Iolite murmured as she landed by the door. To his surprise, she didn¡¯t immediately walk through. ¡°This sort of gate is not overly complex for an Archival area, but it is obstacle enough. What calibre of a thief-band are we following, do you think?¡±

    Saiph replied in faery words, a grumbling remark.

    ¡°In the human tongue, please,¡± Iolite chided. ¡°We want Felun to feel included, don¡¯t we?¡±

    ¡°I include the human,¡± Saiph said, voice verging on petulance. ¡°I had instructed him to use my familiar-name. And I have offered him lichen tea in the past, though it was not my fault he refused. Is that not enough for you?¡±

    Felun winced inwardly, avoiding Saiph¡¯s sour-faced stare. His eye caught on something glinting on the dirt floor, a few feet away. He bent down to inspect it: a rudimentary lockpick, snapped in half and scorched at one end.

    ¡°They must¡¯ve just got through,¡± he said aloud. ¡°Warded lock. Could¡¯ve been installed by staff.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t like their scent,¡± Saiph grumbled. ¡°There is something familiar about one of them. Perhaps even two.¡±

    Iolite frowned, sniffing at the air. ¡°Not the Scion-mage? You are a better tracker than I, Saiphenora¡ªbut I would have recognised it, I assure you.¡±

    ¡°No,¡± said Saiph. ¡°Her¡­companion, perhaps. Likely perhaps. But they have drenched themselves in scented oils. It is difficult to tell.¡±

    Silverwater nodded sagely. ¡°Such is the tradition at human gatherings.¡±

    ¡°Is that complaint I hear?¡± Iolite said, wings flashing with indecipherable patterns. ¡°This human-gala has cleared out the staff. You should be grateful.¡±

    ¡°It wasn¡¯t complaint,¡± Silverwater replied.

    ¡°Onwards, then,¡± Iolite said, with an irate flicker of wing. ¡°Injure the humans if you feel like it, so long as you do not become injured yourself. It would not do to impede our progress.¡±

    Saiph drew an arrow from her quiver, a gleam in her eye. Silverwater nodded, readjusting his hold on Felun¡¯s satchel. Stepping through the birdcage-wall was accompanied by a stranger sensation; the air gained a thicker quality, like a soup formed from enchantment. Felun glanced up and winced at the way the ceiling wavered overhead, bowing inwards like a thousand hulls seen from underwater, like a ghost-fleet. He turned his gaze away when it started to hurt his head; the dirt floor was now speckled with dying grass strands. They continued on foot as the stacks became disjointed in shape; narrow shelves rose on all sides like trees.

    They spotted the trio of women at the first clearing they came across, huddled around a lone pillar. Silverwater came to stop in the shadow of a shelf, signaling them to stay behind him.

    Felun squinted. The pillar looked like an ordinary decorative pillar, but for the abundance of keyholes studded across its surface. He¡¯d need to get closer to tell, but so far it didn¡¯t give off the resonance of an outwardly dangerous construct¡ªjudging by the size of the thing, the enchantment was likely an indirect one, linked to the sets of rolling stacks further in. Two of the women were arguing in low voices as the third knelt at the base of the pillar, fiddling with a lock.

    Beside him, Saiph inched to the side and nocked her bow.

    ¡°Yes?¡± she whispered. ¡°Or no?¡± There was a bitter eagerness behind the words¡ªa fervor he¡¯d seen in more than a few dungeonrunners: the ones with an unhealthy hunger for near-death experiences.

    Iolite¡¯s tongue flickered out to wet her lips. Spell-light sparked in her eyes. ¡°Controller-station,¡± she murmured. ¡°Well, why not? If we get them out the way, Felun can break the tamper-guards and I may be able to map¡ª¡±

    Saiph let fly. Felun was already pulling shielding runes from his book, sticking them to his body.

    The arrow sheared through the arm of the woman working at the lock; she gave a cry of pain, then sprung a shield around herself.

    The two other women scattered, diving for cover¡ªone behind the pillar, the other dashing towards the shelves. Her body shimmered with spell-light, before it duplicated itself. One copy ran in one direction, the other in the opposite. Felun¡¯s brain skipped to a halt as he processed it. Illusion? Had to be.

    Saiph lifted off, making for the closest copy of the illusionist. The woman behind the pillar peered out, raising something in her hand¡ª

    A familiar sound cracked through the air, loud and sharp.

    ¡°Pistol,¡± Silverwater said, pulling a dagger from his hip. ¡°Iolite, this¡ª¡±

    ¡°Yes, yes,¡± Iolite said, almost impatiently. ¡°You stay with Felun, then. Retreat if you must. Saiph and I can handle it.¡±

    ¡°What?¡± Felun hissed as Silverwater hauled him further back through the shelves. ¡°Why the hell are you picking a fight? I thought you guys couldn¡¯t¡ª¡±

    ¡°We don¡¯t respond well to getting filled with iron, no,¡± Silverwater said. ¡°Stay low.¡±

    ¡°But Saiph and Iolite¡ª¡±

    Silverwater looked him in the eye, pupils pinpoint. ¡°The syrup will take care of things.¡±

    Felun shook his head, fighting the urge to peer out from behind the shelf. Stress seeped into his temples, an uncomfortably familiar weight. ¡°Pretty sure it¡¯s the same lady from the alley. Suria made me play the Magician for nothing?¡±

    ¡°No,¡± Silverwater said, sounding irate. ¡°We are not all the same. Contrary to what you might think, Suria and Iolite do harbour concern for the likes of Winterbird and Curlew and myself.¡±

    Felun blinked. ¡°What? So you¡¯re¡­¡±

    ¡°Weaker? I suppose you could say that.¡±

    ¡°I didn¡¯t say¡ª¡±

    ¡°You didn¡¯t,¡± Silverwater said. ¡°But you thought it.¡±

    More shots cracked in rapid succession. Felun counted them as they came: two, three, four, five, six. The shots stopped. Spellfire sizzled to fill the silence. Another shot¡ªwait, what? His stomach clenched at the memory of staring down that barrel. How many bullets had she brought to reload with?

    Felun tensed as he heard footsteps coming their way. Silverwater¡¯s spines pricked up. He pivoted, swinging Felun¡¯s satchel into the fleeing woman¡ªred-haired, the Rosalie illusionist?¡ªas she made to pass them. The satchel connected with a muffled thud, and she shrieked.

    Silverwater fell into a crouch, flipped the knife in his hand, and stabbed down¡ªright through the tendon of her ankle. Felun flinched at the motion, though he braced himself well enough for the ensuing scream.

    Saiph landed seconds later, skidding to a halt.

    ¡°I had her,¡± she complained, bow in hand.

    This novel''s true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.

    ¡°You certainly did,¡± Silverwater said, driving the knife deeper. ¡°Go assist Iolite.¡±

    Rosalie screamed hoarsely and cast a spell, an explosion of eye-searing green. Silverwater flutter-hopped out of range, and Felun took a few steps back himself.

    Saiph scoffed. ¡°Have fun with that.¡±

    She departed in a flurry of white sparks. Felun eyed the writhing Rosalie on the floor and tried not to let his unease show. Silverwater must¡¯ve seen something on his face, though, because he made a chuffing faery-sound¡ªthe equivalent of a sigh.

    ¡°Don¡¯t look so surprised, Sungrazer Zhao. I do have my talents.¡±

    Felun hadn¡¯t been surprised, so much as faintly nauseous. He kept his mouth shut as Silverwater retrieved the satchel and pulled a net from its depths, woven from ironwood. He flung it over the struggling Rosalie, weakening her movements.

    From the clearing came a shout¡ªSaiph¡¯s, he realised. Moments later, there came a thud of body against nearby shelf¡ªbooks spilled onto the ground at the impact, pages puddling.

    ¡°Of course,¡± Silverwater said, seemingly more to himself than to anyone else. He shook his head, kicking the satchel over to Felun. ¡°You stay here.¡±

    Silverwater ducked out of sight and reappeared moments later, dragging a groaning Saiph by the arms. She¡¯d been wounded¡ªshot?¡ªin the stomach. A puncture spilled clear faery blood. One of her wings looked scorched, crisped at the edge and withering inwards. Felun grabbed for his rune-book, alarm churning in his gut¡ªhe was no apothecary, but that looked bad. The best he could do was stasis. The book flipped its pages at his thought, seeking a best match. It didn¡¯t have to go far; he¡¯d stocked up, after Ishaan.

    ¡°At ease, Zhao,¡± Silverwater said. ¡°Your help is appreciated, but not necessary here.¡±

    Silverwater rifled through the satchel again, withdrawing another vial of faery honey. Saiph groaned as she gulped it down¡ªthe flow of blood from her wound slowed to a lazy trickle, and her wing began to uncrinkle itself.

    ¡°Overconfidence does not suit you,¡± Silverwater said as he pushed her into a sitting position.

    Saiph spat. ¡°Better me than Iolite.¡±

    ¡°Are you alright?¡± Felun blurted out, hand still frozen over his book. ¡°Do you need anything?¡±

    ¡°Thoughtful of you to think so,¡± Silverwater said, ¡°but in this instance, a stasis would impede the healing.¡±

    ¡°Fetch me another,¡± Saiph complained, poking at the hole in her stomach. Felun cringed inwardly at the sight. At least she didn¡¯t seem to be in much pain. ¡°It is taking too long.¡±

    ¡°No,¡± Silverwater said. ¡°You¡¯ll already be feeling it tomorrow.¡±

    ¡°Iolite is against two,¡± Saiph argued. ¡°She needs¡ª¡±

    ¡°She needs you to remain stable,¡± Silverwater said. ¡°You¡¯re a General now: act like it.¡± He paused and tilted his head to the side. Felun strained his ears and caught the edge of whispery chatter. ¡°Ah. You are called for, Breaker Zhao.¡±

    ¡°What?¡± Felun said. Spellfire was still crackling in the not-too-far-off distance. ¡°Now?¡±

    ¡°Iolite says there is a persistent shield that needs unraveling.¡±

    Felun refrained from asking her to tell him herself. Instead, he bolstered his protective runes and reluctantly cast a shield-dome of his own. He made his way to the clearing by flitting from shelf to shelf, ducking behind cover like he¡¯d been taught to, back in Ironport¡ªnot that he had a very helpful team on his side, this time.

    The pillar came into view, and Iolite with it. She circled overhead, shooting beams of spell-light from her gauntleted hands¡ªthe two other women were huddled beneath a dome-shield. One of them¡ªKion?¡ªseemed intent on holding it up while the other shot back with spells of her own. Had the pistol run out of ammunition? He damn well hoped so.

    Still, the other mage was going to aim at him as soon as he let himself in sight. He peeled an inattention-rune from his book and stuck it to his forehead. Then he loaded signs for spell-piercing and shield-breakage onto his arm, and charged.

    The inattention-rune brought him a few extra seconds. He made it halfway across the clearing before the mage noticed, shooting a spell meant to knock him off his feet. His protective runes took the hit as he drew his arm back, flinging the readied bundle of breakage.

    It connected, dead-center. The shield shattered, clean as anything. Kion¡¯s hands glowed with the beginnings of another shield, but Iolite¡¯s spells beamed down and slammed her companion into the pillar. Kion hesitated, then took off into the shelves.

    ¡°Get her.¡± He winced as Iolite¡¯s voice boomed unexpectedly into his ear. ¡°She has run out of bullets. I will tell Silverwater to circle round, intercept. Go.¡±

    He went, reluctantly. Kion sprinted further into the Library; he lost sight of her once, twice, but the stacks were honeycombed here, corridors full of holes¡ªnot so easy to hide, a double-edged sword. Hopefully Silverwater would catch up and cover for him, fast.

    No such luck. Kion came to a stop and turned to face him, posture tensed into a fighting stance. A fresh shield flared to life around her¡ªhe could probably break it, but his book was running dry on that front. He¡¯d need time, and Kion would run the second he started writing.

    It was definitely her. The different hairstyle had thrown him off, as had the frilly, floral spill of off-the-shoulder dress. But the face was the same¡ªhe could match it to the cold-eyed snarl back on some nameless Glister street: glasses cracked, cheek scored with Suria¡¯s scratches. Her shoes, though glittering, were flat-soled. There was a knife in her hand. Where had that come from?

    Her eyes met his own, narrowing in confusion¡ªthen her gaze slipped down to his hands, the bandages there, and he saw the moment recognition sparked.

    ¡°You,¡± she said. ¡°I knew you weren¡¯t a bloody Magician.¡±

    Silverwater was coming, he reminded himself. He thought to stall for time¡ªbetter yet, to get her away from him. ¡°Look,¡± he said. ¡°Just, go, okay? I don¡¯t want to fight.¡±

    ¡°Yeah?¡± she said. Her weight shifted further onto the balls of her feet. ¡°Is it true you¡¯ve got a Healer for ransom?¡±

    He winced. ¡°I¡¯m not¡ª¡±

    She fired a spell. His book jerked through the air and blocked it with open pages. She fired again. The book saved him, again.

    ¡°Really,¡± he said. ¡°You should go. They¡¯ll kill you.¡±

    She hesitated visibly, hand hovering at her hip, reaching for the pistol holstered there.

    ¡°I¡¯ll try to make sure they don¡¯t hurt your teammates,¡± he added.

    Her eyes narrowed. When she turned and ran, he made a token attempt at pursuit, until a burst of smoke flooded the stacks. He slowed and coughed, eyes stinging, until a flash of silver streaked overhead and Iolite¡¯s voice crackled against his ear once more.

    ¡°Return to the controller-station,¡± she said. She meant the pillar, he guessed.

    By the time he got back to the clearing, Iolite was standing on top of the pillar, directing Saiph to drag Kion¡¯s companion out of the way. Her blob of an orange bag was folded over the unconscious¡ªhe hoped it was just unconscious¡ªmage¡¯s face like a lurid helmet, built for suffocation.

    ¡°Felun,¡± she said amiably, hopping down from her perch. ¡°Would you be so kind as to remove the tamper-seal? Saiph! Bring the¡­ah, yes.¡±

    He shrugged his acquiescence as Saiph dumped his satchel at his feet. Dragging it to the base of the pillar, he drew his usual protective circles before planting his hands onto its surface. Enchantment hummed beneath his touch, sunk so deep it was barely-palpable. Skillfully made¡ªnew, though. Far newer than what he¡¯d gone up against, back in the Songian labyrinth.

    ¡°Stand back,¡± he said, just in case. ¡°If I faint, or start puking, drag me out with the stick in the satchel. Not with your hands.¡±

    ¡°Understood,¡± Iolite said, her voice the very definition of serenity. Probably easy to sound like that, he thought bitterly, when she wasn¡¯t the one risking her skin.

    When he dived, the tamper-seal billowed up to meet him with sweet falseness, webbings of entrapment stapled out in shards of lullaby-sensation, drizzled syrup and warm dough. He sensed adaptation-workings as it twisted itself around the folds of his brain, coaxing and crooning, trying to drown him in a wall of summer-warm feather-down. From the coils of the enchantment came the scent of sunshine and wisteria, cramming itself down the back of his throat. Was that what it thought he wanted? Whoever had woven this had tried to be elegant and failed.

    He breached the false-layer and came face-to-face with turgid snow and midnight suns, blinding in their radiance. The pillar undulated as he picked at the strands of light holding it together, sending sparking arrows at his physical body. The circle of runes soaked them up without trouble, though it did slightly worse with its shrieking death-rattle as he finished unraveling the layer. Creative. He hadn¡¯t prepared so well for that; his ears were bleeding, now.

    The final portion of the tamper-seal took a hard left into the realm of sterile and spiking; it almost resembled Iolite¡¯s Hive lab in its starkness, filled with crushing jaws and marbled teeth. When it finally fell apart beneath his fingers, the taste of iron was dripping down the back of his throat. The spasm back into his body was as disorienting as always, a split-second of dizziness that never went away with practice. He stumbled backwards, dispelling his protective runes.

    ¡°Done,¡± he said, swallowing traces of his own blood. His hands, barely-healed over, were starting to itch again. ¡°Go ahead.¡±

    ¡°Thank you, Felun,¡± Iolite said, flexing the joints of her hands. ¡°Saiph, fetch him some refreshment from his bag. Both of you, keep clear.¡±

    Saiph tossed him a can of prune juice. He gulped it down as Iolite strode up to the pillar. The structure was ever-so-slightly bowed now, its surface riven with cracks. She circled round opposite and put her hands to the surface, a mirror of what he had done. Imprints of light swelled where she touched, rippling bluer than any ocean.

    She spoke a word, so bloated with power that it sounded grotesque.

    Winds whipped from nowhere, racing along the ground and scratching up a film of dust. His ears spiked with pain, popping with twin gushes of blood as the air squashed flat with magic. The spell-light at Iolite¡¯s hands blotted and thinned in separate measures and took on a liquid quality, wet-on-wet like Yuying¡¯s watercolours. Her magic skulled through the air, jagged as a dying pulse. The threads of it snarled under his skin like fishhooks, pulling.

    Iolite pushed, and the pillar splintered further; its keyholes fractured as one. Light spiderwebbed across the cracks in burnished constellations. She threw her head back, arching her wings, eyes afire. A fissure split open at her forehead, the cleft spilling light. When she snarled, the sound of her hiss echoed back upon itself, multiplying like a swarm. The juice can slipped from his fingers, spilling a puddle across the dirt.

    The pillar split in two. It was inaudible beneath the deluge of that hiss, burrowing into his ears like biting insects. Beside him, Saiph had fallen to her knees, gripping her head in both hands.

    A hundred doorways pierced the air, outlined in spell-light, stretching from floor to undulating ceiling. Iolite forced them open with keys of light, scalloping off her shoulders like a sea swell¡ªlike wavecaps, like white horses.

    Objects spilled from the lips of each doorway, landing with muffled impacts: parchments and packets, painted scrolls and strings of stone. Iolite snapped them shut, disappearing each in turn, working her way across the grid of doors¡ªsome poured light, others a blur of scent or noise. When she came to a door that gushed fish and freshwater, she allowed it to flow for several seconds, the river ploughing into parched earth, before slamming it shut.

    Doors glowed and winked out in turn, dropping their rubbish or regalia in turn. Several times, Iolite waited on the ones that shed rivers, but shut them after moments of consideration. A dozen doors opened and winked out in turn, then a dozen more. By the time the last doorway winked out in a wisp of dying light, the dirt had turned to slush beneath their feet.

    Iolite let go of the pillar, every last keyhole leaking smoke. She staggered back, losing her footing¡ªonly a last-second sweep of her tail prevented her from toppling entirely. As it was, she dropped to one knee, panting for breath. Felun winced at the ringing overlaying the air, every sound muffled¡ªor perhaps that was just him and his bleeding ears.

    Saiph sprang to the air, gliding the distance over. Felun hurried uncertainly after her; by the time she reached Iolite, she was speaking rapid-fire faery words, each of them laced with a tone of concern.

    ¡°It is alright,¡± said the Archivist Iolite. Her third eye slid open the slightest fraction, a blue-white line in the middle of her forehead. ¡°This place simply does not possess a fraction of what we seek. I have my answers now.¡±

    She put a glowing hand to her mouth and said, ¡°Silverwater. We reconvene.¡± Then she coughed, shoulders slumping.

    ¡°Will you need honey?¡± Saiph asked, worry touching the edges of her voice. ¡°I will bring¡ª¡±

    ¡°No need,¡± Iolite said, patting Saiph¡¯s shoulder. ¡°A potion will do. The fennel one, if you would. And the burdock tincture, for Felun here.¡±

    Saiph hurried back to the edge of the clearing. Iolite turned to face him, third eye blinking as if to clear itself.

    ¡°How was that for breakage, Felun?¡± she asked. He had to read her lips to follow along; if he didn¡¯t know better, he could have sworn she seemed genuinely cheerful.

    ¡°Impressive,¡± he said warily. His ears were, he noted, still trickling blood.

    She made a chittering sound, as soft as silken wingbeats. ¡°Fortunate as it is, that I have not lost my touch.¡± She straightened up, coughing some more. ¡°This is as good of a first foray as any.¡±

    Saiph returned with the potions and Felun¡¯s satchel slung over her shoulder.

    ¡°Thank you, Saiph,¡± Iolite said. She handed him one of the two vials, the contents lichen-green in colour. ¡°Drop this into your ears, Felun. You look quite ill.¡±

    He did so as she drank her own vial, and felt immediate relief as the ringing ceased. The potion beat back the muffledness, and sound wavered back into a semblance of clarify. He rubbed at his eyes with itching hands, scanning the damp ground for some clue of what they¡¯d come here for. Not an amphora, he knew, but what? Iolite hadn¡¯t actually bothered to tell him; she seemed happy about his work on the pillar, at least.

    Silverwater swooped down shortly thereafter, cradling a bleeding gash on his arm and with no Kion in sight. He was also, Felun noted, missing one of his knives.

    ¡°The mage found a doorway,¡± he said by way of explanation.

    Iolite merely sighed and bandaged him up, pouring potion across his cuts. ¡°A doorway leading nowhere particularly useful, I assure you. Let the guards come for them; the gala should be winding down about now.¡± She circled round to his back, splashing potion over scrapes on his wings. ¡°My, you¡¯ve got yourself into some trouble.¡±

    ¡°Overconfidence,¡± Saiph snickered under her breath.

    Silverwater ignored her, addressing Iolite instead. ¡°You are not concerned with exploiting a link to the Scion-mage?¡±

    A faint smile graced her features. ¡°I already have a link to the Scion-mage. Besides, she is not yet a priority. Not until the kingdom needs to fall.¡±

    Silverwater¡¯s gaze roved over the clearing, alighting upon the hundreds of books half-sunken into the slush. He twisted his neck to look at Iolite. ¡°Your surveyance went well?¡±

    ¡°No sea here,¡± she said, recorking the bottle. ¡°But it was as good as result as could be expected, otherwise. Confirmed no outliers. Harvest proceeds, we take our ins with the Glister Hive, and now¡­¡± Her third eye flashed, weeping sparks of light. ¡°¡­Now this is only the beginning of the end.¡±

 Interlude: effluvia

    The apprentice¡¯s cloak was so blue it outshone the sky, a Magician¡¯s robe in miniature. Rana¡¯s skin prickled at its touch, even as it shielded her from the sun and the nipping of the salted winds. It draped sullenly across her shoulders, as if it knew she didn¡¯t want it there.

    Work, Cardainne had said with ominous certainty. She hadn¡¯t realised that would include¡­this.

    A miniature net gleamed before her, wispy fibres wrapped around swirls of killing mist. She tried to ignore the way the gases roiled in their silver cage, like a desert fox thrashing in the jaws of a trap.

    ¡°See here,¡± Cardainne said. ¡°It is rendered in lines.¡± He conjured up more filament with a twist of his fingers. ¡°Not like a shield, you understand? That would not be the correct texture. You must draw from the central reserves. Now Karim, you demonstrate.¡±

    Her cousin dipped his head in the shallowest of bows, expression hidden behind a painted owl-face. He rolled his shoulders and spooled strings of silver from his hands. They arced through the air before weaving themselves into a loose lattice. Between the gaps of the lattice, spell-light sprung up of its own accord. How did it manage to do that? Rana racked her head for connections and found only runic principles, completely useless here. Karim¡¯s scrap of net looked well-made, she could tell. As good as Cardainne¡¯s even.

    ¡°Now you try conjuring one,¡± Cardainne told her. ¡°Refer to the fourteenth chapter in Suud¡¯s Principles.¡±

    She¡¯d been too busy with work to have read that far. It wasn¡¯t as if she wanted to be a Magician, even with the coaxing suggestion of safety he had offered her¡ªbut she felt her face heat self-consciously, even so. Perhaps this was an exercise in embarrassing her? Well, it wouldn¡¯t work. If failing this task rid her of the cloak¡¯s weight, then she would hardly miss it.

    She cast her magic, because outright refusal might be interpreted¡­poorly. A ragged streak of grey burst from the tips of her fingers and curled pathetically through the air. She didn¡¯t know how to weave spells; Aliyah would do far better in her stead, having actually known how to sew¡ª

    She flicked the thought away, back to the recesses of her panicked musings. Aliyah was gone. She had new problems now.

    ¡°Not very good,¡± Cardainne said. ¡°Try again.¡±

    She did. The effect was much the same as before.

    ¡°Again,¡± Cardainne said.

    It took three more tries before he said, ¡°Apprenticeling.¡±

    The word was uttered very neutrally. An alarm chimed in her head; time listening to the court conversations of others had attuned her to this particular tone of neutral. She stilled her efforts under his gaze¡ªand no doubt Karim¡¯s too, if the unimpressed hunch of his shoulders was anything to go by.

    ¡°It is good to apply yourself to your full capacity,¡± Cardainne said. ¡°I think, maybe, you need some help.¡±

    He made a cutting motion with his hand and his own net thinned¡ªall of it, until the cage was barely visible. The Killing Field mist within pulsed as it drifted closer, flickering like a thundercloud. She took a step back and Cardainne¡¯s magic flared blue, leashing her legs to where she stood on the salt.

    ¡°We the Magicians do not flee in the face of adversity,¡± he said. ¡°Isn¡¯t that right, Karim?¡±

    Karim made an awkward, almost pained sound of acknowledgment.

    Rana eyed the approaching mist, straining reflexively to move, to run away. Any sane person would; did that mean Magicians weren¡¯t sane, or did it mean they weren¡¯t people? Her thoughts scattered as her breath drew tight. The dark air inched closer and still, he wasn¡¯t letting her run.

    She cast the tendrils of net, pouring more effort into it this time. Grey turned to silver and frayed ends thickened; it looked better, but it wasn¡¯t a proper net. Her magic strained against the front of the barely-meshed killing mist before fizzling out: quashed and burnt, spent and useless.

    Cardainne looked her over with empty owl¡¯s eyes and kept her trapped atop the accursed salt as the mist came slowly, inexorably closer.

    He was likely going to let it reach her, she realised. Even if it was a ruse¡ªand was it a ruse, really?¡ªshe couldn¡¯t afford to test it. There would be no use in trying to enlist help from Karim, either. That was another thing with Magicians: there was a very clear hierarchy.

    She cast another net, as strong as she could. The lattice faltered, imperfectly mapped. She cast another, and another, and another, more frantic with each attempt. Leaning back did no good; the weight of Cardainne¡¯s magic at her back stopped her from toppling away. She would have dragged herself across the salt by her fingernails if it would get her away from this¡ªthis accursed test.

    ¡°Magician Cardainne,¡± she blurted out, panicked and pleading.

    ¡°That would be Master Cardainne to you,¡± he scoffed, voice more offended than smug, and then the cloud reached her.

    Her eyes started burning first, until she squeezed them tighter shut. Her skin blistered next, and she recited runes in her head to keep from screaming.

    A throbbing pulse echoed in her ears. Was this really happening? She cast dispelling spells at her legs, which did nothing to counteract the leadenness¡ªwas Cardainne trying to kill her? Why here, and why now? Why not back at the castle wall? Had he changed his mind on having an apprenticeling? Perhaps she was the example, a warning for his real apprentice. She didn¡¯t know any proper combat spells, let alone anything that could hope to hurt a Magician. The pain washed over her skin in an unending wave, until¡ª

    The cloud drifted away just as her lungs threatened to suck in a desperate breath. Relief flooded in as involuntary tears dripped out. Salted water tried and failed to flush away the creeping, lingering mist-wrought irritants coating her eyes. Her nose streamed, and her face and hands stung all over where they¡¯d touched the edges of the mist. Her insides felt fine, for now¡ªshe¡¯d gulped in a last lungful of breath and held it well enough. A wretched little wheeze slipped from her mouth.

    ¡°You see?¡± Cardainne said. ¡°That was insufficient. If you were out doing full duties, you would be quite dead. Now try again.¡±

    The cloud swept forward once more, faster this time. She cried out, fumbling her cast. Droplets of mist sank down her throat and lungs before she clamped her mouth shut. The pain blazed lightning-bright; her skin burned. When Cardainne withdrew the mist, she tried to gasp for air and couldn¡¯t without hacking and coughing, first. Blood tinged the back of her throat. She glimpsed the skin on the backs of her hands¡ªreddened and cracked and bubbling, textured all wrong¡ªand choked back a cry of horror.

    ¡°I can¡¯t do it,¡± she rasped. ¡°I can¡¯t. Mag¡ªMaster Cardainne, I¡­I will only become, in-incapacitated, if¡ª¡±

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    ¡°Relax,¡± he said. ¡°You aren¡¯t going to die. The worst thing that may happen will be a little scarring. Isn¡¯t that right, Karim?¡±

    Karim nodded mutely, hunching his shoulders further.

    Cardainne continued without so much as glancing at him. ¡°A dozen more cycles of this, and I''ll take you to a Healer. Yes?¡±

    ¡°A dozen,¡± she repeated dully. Her throat was raw-edged and dry. She couldn¡¯t move. Suddenly, she was deeply and uncomfortably aware of the fact that she was alone with a Magician and his loyal-by-necessity apprentice, all the way out on the salt. If he¡¯d changed his mind about killing her, he had the perfect excuse¡ªit would be easy. Karim might not help, but he wouldn¡¯t need to¡ªhe need only not intervene as his master murdered her under pretense of a test. He might even be relieved when she was gone.

    Cardainne nodded. ¡°Only a dozen. But you must apply yourself. You have a good brain in that head, yes? So think carefully when you try. If you do not try as you should, then I will add another cycle.¡±

    Only? Only? And another? Her thoughts fractaled.

    ¡°Again,¡± he said, and the pain began anew.

    +++

    When it was over, Magician Cardainne brought her to a different Cardainne¡ªa Healer one who¡¯d scowled as soon as she¡¯d laid eyes upon them. Pale-haired, fair-skinned, a legacy-bred half-sister so cold and pristine that she might as well have been carved from ivory. She¡¯d muttered under her breath as she¡¯d placed her hands onto Rana¡¯s shoulders and pushed a blissful wave of healing magic through.

    ¡°Ilya,¡± the Healer was saying now. ¡°This little emergency of yours is not second-rank work. Do not disrespect my time like this further.¡±

    Rana listened with half an ear, still slumped on the Healer¡¯s divan. Her eyelids threatened to flutter shut; her mind drifted, floating. The potion the Healer had given her was helping a lot more than she¡¯d thought it would. Her lungs still felt a little tender¡ªcorrosive burns weren¡¯t her specialty, the Healer had argued when Magician Cardainne had first dragged her in¡ªbut it didn¡¯t matter so much when her brain felt as though it had been wrapped in layer after layer of silken-soft blankets.

    ¡°Valeryia,¡± Cardainne replied. ¡°Do recall your oaths in service to the kingdom.¡±

    ¡°This is not in service to the kingdom,¡± the Healer hissed. ¡°This is you lording your Magicianhood around. You think your bastardry gives you special privilege, heh? Well I¡¯ll have you know that father¡ª¡±

    ¡°That father would not approve of your choice of friends?¡± he said. ¡°Yes, yes, do continue.¡±

    The Healer fell quiet for several moments.

    ¡°Leave me be,¡± she said slowly. Then came the clinking of bottles, a rustle of bandages being unrolled. ¡°I must prepare for my official duties.¡±

    ¡°Sedenia again?¡± Cardainne asked knowingly. ¡°Are you in close correspondence with her, too?¡±

    ¡°Magician Kurhah is an esteemed patron of mine,¡± the Healer replied coldly.

    ¡°I am sure she supplies you with plenty of work.¡±

    ¡°And you do not?¡± She heard a harsher sound, the clank of a cauldron set down a touch too hard.

    Rana wondered if Karim had ever been hurt badly, just as the door slammed open. A different Magician strode in. She had her mask off, and she didn¡¯t so much as glance at Rana as she swept past. Two apprentices plodded in her wake, both of them bleeding from the eyes and nose. Their skin¡ªor at least, what she could see of it¡ªwas blistered all over. Worse than hers had been; the girl¡¯s eyelids were so swollen that she couldn¡¯t possibly see from out behind them. Rana shifted her position on the divan to better watch them, trying to focus through the potion-haze.

    ¡°Cardainne,¡± the Magician barked, reaching for one of her apprentices.

    She grabbed a fistful of his cloak and yanked. He stumbled, almost falling as he coughed. A blot of blood splashed over the flagstones. The Magician let go and backhanded him¡ªvery casually, and very hard¡ªacross the face. The slap echoed with a crunch of cartilage. He cried out and coughed again, scrambling to catch the blood in the sleeves of his robe.

    Rana suppressed her flinch.

    ¡°Hello, Sedenia,¡± Cardainne said pleasantly.

    Magician Kurhah made a displeased, clicking sound with her tongue. ¡°I was not talking to you.¡±

    ¡°Killing Field contact?¡± Healer Cardainne asked, already placing her hand to the apprentice¡¯s forehead.

    Kurhah grabbed her other apprentice by her shoulder, gripping furrows into the fabric of her cloak. The apprentice swayed on her feet, letting out a rasping whimper that made Rana¡¯s stomach clench tight.

    ¡°Yes,¡± Kurhah said, sounding both deeply bored and venomously impatient. ¡°What else?¡±

    ¡°Perhaps you employed them as your food-tasters,¡± Cardainne murmured.

    Kurhah snorted. ¡°Very funny, Ilya. What are you doing here? This is my appointment.¡±

    ¡°I was paying my sister a visit.¡±

    ¡°That so? Quite unlike you to make social calls.¡±

    Kurhah¡¯s eyes roved across the room, finally settling on Rana. A chill ran down her spine; she averted her gaze and tried to look as small and unimportant and potion-hazed as she could.

    ¡°Ilya, it is most impolite of you to infringe upon my arrangements.¡±

    Cardainne gave a mock little bow, one hand clasped behind his back. ¡°Many apologies, both to you and to Valeryia. I won¡¯t infringe any longer.¡±

    He strode past the divan and motioned meaningfully to Rana as he went. She scrambled to her feet and hurried to follow, feeling Kurhah¡¯s eyes boring into her back as she departed.

    ¡°That looked unpleasant,¡± Cardainne remarked, once they were out into the corridor.

    Rana kept silent, only startling when Cardainne clapped a hand onto her shoulder, drawing the both of them to a stop.

    The corridor was empty, she categorised through the potion-haze. Empty. No¡­what was the word? Witnesses. No witnesses. Shafts of noon sunlight spilled in through columnar windows, striping the way forward, demarcations of light and dark like the bars of a dungeon-cell. She tensed, thoughts lurching. His hand was like a leaden weight. Surely he wouldn¡¯t kill her now, not after he¡¯d gone to the trouble of¡­teaching her, and paying for a Healer. But Kurhah had grabbed her apprentice like this before she¡¯d hit him hard enough to break his nose. Was Cardainne going to¡ª

    ¡°You would be wise to stay away from Kurhah,¡± he said mildly. ¡°Among several others. There are those who relish in pushing their apprentices too hard, and too far.¡± He paused, gaze sharp and searching. ¡°Perhaps you are distressed at the moment. Lower scribes do not encounter much in the way of physical hurt, correct? So it is very understandable.¡±

    Rana ducked her head, unsure of what to say. ¡°I¡¯m¡­alright.¡± There. That sounded unoffensive enough.

    Cardainne shook his head. ¡°Karim was much the same,¡± he said. ¡°It is an adjustment. You may resent my methods now, but the learning is necessary. If you think my spellwork harsh, then you have never truly feared the storms. You have never stood alone before a coming wall of Killing Field, with nothing but your wits and your skill and your duty to save you¡ªI have many stories, and the others do too. Should you take on Magician work in the future, then you must be prepared¡ªsuffer a little now, so that you not die screaming in the future.¡±

    I never asked for Magician work, she thought, and bit her tongue. She felt a muscle twitch in her cheek and hastened to school her expression into one of neutrality. The potion-haze must be getting to her, because he raised an eyebrow at what he saw.

    ¡°You are upset,¡± he continued, ¡°because you would not have chosen to be apprenticeling if you had known this.¡±

    ¡°I am not ungrateful for the opportunity.¡± The words felt like sand in her mouth. It was a pathetic attempt at deescalation, and he probably knew it.

    ¡°But you are quite upset,¡± he said. ¡°Perhaps you wished to live the rest of your life as a scribe, in smallness and obscurity?¡± He shook his head. ¡°Miss Khan, you seem like a sensible girl. These are trying times. The faery onslaught¡­might set a precedent.¡±

    She startled despite herself. A memory surfaced: blood boiling in her veins, metal chains, blue chalk scuffing beneath her feet and people dying, all around her. She breathed in slowly, felt the way her lungs responded almost good as new¡ªmuch better now, after the Healer had set her wounds. If this was the price to pay to never feel the claws of that blood-rite again¡­she shuddered. Maybe he had a point. Not a very good one, but something she could cling to, to get her through the rest of the day.

    He patted her on the shoulder. ¡°You must know, I have been through the same thing. I am considerate; I do not hurt anyone more than I must. People like Kurhah, on the other hand...¡±

    ¡°Thank you for the advice,¡± she said through gritted teeth. ¡°Master Cardainne.¡±

    Cardainne removed his hand from her shoulder. ¡°You¡¯re quite welcome.¡±

    He started walking again. She followed along past the windows, stepping through bands of light and shadow, light and shadow. She kept a careful distance. Sunlight coated his form in patches, sliding its bright touch over the burning blue of his cloak. They passed a cluster of maidservants, hurrying along with mops and buckets¡ªall ducked their heads and shuffled off to the side, as if buffeted by an invisible wake.

    Maids looked and saw a Magician. Rana¡¯s stride almost faltered. They were only ordinary folk, after all. They talked among themselves. Perhaps they even knew how unsafe they really were. The cloak on her shoulders was a buoyant weight. It made it easy to keep from lingering. One step after another, she passed them by and left them behind.

 4.1 - Who Goes There

    Aliyah

    This far out, sea air chilled her to the bone. Night had long since fallen; the coast was a line of light in the distance, a world away.

    Harker lashed the wrapped body onto a slab of wood. Her helpers donned gloves before dousing it with a dark, pungent liquid¡ªso thick it almost resembled resin. They floated the makeshift raft alongside the boat, allowing it to drift some ways away. Aliyah started to wonder why, before Harker lit a match.

    The flame burned white, save for where it tinged green at the edges. Harker murmured a spell under her breath, a cast that sent the match floating over the waves. Fire touched onto fabric and crackled into an all-engulfing blaze. Behind her, one of the helpers popped open a bottle and took a swig.

    The bundle burned fast and bright, crumbling along with its makeshift raft. Perhaps ten minutes passed before the fire sputtered out, leaving an oily, chunky film atop the waves. Her stomach turned at what she guessed were bits of charred flesh and bone. They were gone before long, slipping beneath the waves.

    ¡°Good tides,¡± Harker remarked as she retook her place at the wheel. ¡°Good site¡ªreliable. Used to go round the old cove in your mother¡¯s day, but this here¡¯s better. Just don¡¯t come calling too often, my boy¡ªthe fish can only eat so quickly.¡± She chuckled, as if this were a joke she¡¯d told many times before.

    Aliyah tuned out Shasta¡¯s jovial reply and wrapped the Healer-shawl tightly around herself. Checking to see no one was looking, she emptied her pockets out into the water¡ªeverything except the unlocking charm Kionah had gifted her. Spell-cylinders, tinderbox, broken crest¡ªevery piece was heavy enough to sink without a trace. They hadn¡¯t burned when she¡¯d tried. She hoped drowning would be enough.

    The boat continued in its journey. Absently, she raised her metabolic rate to compensate for the sea chill. Far from relief at the body being taken care of, she felt only trepidation. The city would probably be swarming with spire witches within the day, searching for Sebile. It was better than them swarming to seek out suspect fleshcrafters, but she still needed a place to hide. Luxon¡¯s home would be a site of interest, and Silas had pretty much kicked them out after the destruction of his workshop. Shasta had all but yelled from the rooftops that he didn¡¯t want her around.

    So where to go? She supposed she could ask Kionah, though another issue loomed: how to explain what had happened. Should she? She supposed so¡ªat least, a measure of the truth. Shasta was likely to tell her eventually.

    By the time Harker nudged her boat back into its hidden dock, Aliyah was still unsure of what to say.

    Shasta exchanged more words with Harker and her helpers¡ªsons, as she¡¯d learned on the awful walk back to her shack, the body in tow¡ªas they stepped off the boat. Backs were patted, hands were shaken.

    ¡°Come again,¡± Harker said. She gave a wry, rasping chuckle. ¡°But best if you don¡¯t.¡±

    ¡°Be going now,¡± Shasta said. ¡°I¡¯ll send a man along before dawn.¡±

    ¡°Can always count on you, my boy.¡± Harker waved them off. ¡°Say hello to Evdokia for me.¡±

    Shasta murmured a sound of assent and walked away. She followed him, because what other option was there for now? He didn¡¯t immediately brush her off, but he did slow so that she walked alongside, rather than behind. They strode in silence for several long, minutes, up the trail that led down to Harker¡¯s shack, fringed on all sides by forgotten alleys and industrial decay.

    ¡°So,¡± he said, breaking the silence. ¡°I gather you¡¯ll be wanting to get back to your lodgings?¡±

    She shrugged. ¡°I¡¯m not sure how. Is there any way for you to call Kionah?¡±

    He snorted. ¡°You¡¯re joking, right? Kionah goes wherever she pleases and notifies who she pleases, which is often no one.¡± Was that a hint of bitterness she heard in his voice? ¡°Where are you staying?¡±

    ¡°Luxon¡¯s. I¡¯m not sure if¡­¡± She fumbled for the knot of her shawl, undoing it hastily. ¡°I¡¯m not sure if she¡¯ll want me around for much longer.¡± Was that hint enough? He didn¡¯t bite.

    ¡°No coin for guides?¡± he asked instead.

    ¡°No.¡±

    ¡°I s¡¯pose I could escort you back,¡± he said begrudgingly. ¡°These parts are hardly safe for a lady at night.¡±

    Hardly safe? She almost laughed¡ªit was a strange impulse; the lingering shock, probably. Perhaps Glister wasn¡¯t safe at night for an ordinary girl, but she was a fleshcrafter now, wasn¡¯t she? Was he worried she might kill someone else on her way back?

    ¡°Okay,¡± she said. ¡°Thank you.¡±

    She juggled her jacket in one hand and her shawl in the other, looping the Healer weave back around her waist in a sash. She tried not to think too hard about the blood on the jacket lining as she shrugged it back on, hiding the sash from view.

    The rest of the return passed by in silence. When they arrived at Fructuous Charms Emporium, the shopfront was dark, like every other one along the street. The dim little light above the doorway illuminated a crack in the window that hadn¡¯t been there before¡ªsitting about chest-height, circular in shape, radiating out like a drunken cobweb. It looked as though it had been caused by the impact of a stone. Or a fist.

    Shasta rapped on the door as she finished that thought. A minute passed without response.

    Aliyah eyed the crack in the window. A finger of ice crept its way up her back.

    ¡°You sure she¡¯s home?¡± Shasta asked.

    ¡°She said she¡¯d wait here for Kionah.¡±

    ¡°Hm,¡± Shasta said. He knocked again. No response, once again.

    Aliyah swallowed. ¡°You don¡¯t think¡­¡± she trailed off, shaking her head.

    ¡°Don¡¯t think what?¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t think anyone could¡¯ve taken her? There were a couple of witches¡ªCribellums¡ªwho were bothering her, earlier.¡±

    ¡°No,¡± Shasta said. ¡°She¡¯s a part of that Hive up there?¡± He jerked a hand vaguely over his shoulder, not so much indicating a direction as a concept. ¡°Not a chance.¡±

    Anxiety bubbled in the pit of her stomach. ¡°They dislike faeries, don¡¯t they?¡± Just like Magicians did.

    He snorted. ¡°Yeah, but they¡¯re not suicidal. Don¡¯t know how it is where you¡¯re from, but the weight of the Hive counts for something round these parts.¡±

    ¡°Then why isn¡¯t she answering? She should be expecting me.¡± A thought occurred to her. ¡°Kionah should be back by now, too. She went somewhere else to pick up ingredients for Luxon, but she was supposed to come back before sunset¡­¡±

    ¡°Like I said, Kionah keeps her own schedule. Wouldn¡¯t be surprised if she ditched the errands and took off for some party somewhere. As for Luxon¡ªcould be not hearing us. Could be asleep. Not a problem.¡± He fished around in his vest pocket and withdrew a slim leather case, vaguely resembling a pocketbook in shape.

    ¡°What¡¯s that?¡± she asked warily.

    He shot her a look. ¡°Lockpicks. Won¡¯t work so well if the wards are good¡ªwhich, hell, they probably are¡ªbut pinging the wards¡¯ll get her to pay attention.¡±

    Shasta knelt and fed a slender stick of metal into the keyhole, and then a slightly different metal stick, even thinner and more ridged. Runelight skittered over the door, and he let go of the picks a moment before they sparked with spellfire. They flared with false-flame for several moments, before clattering to the floor; the lock had expelled them with some internal mechanism.

    ¡°Right,¡± he said, scooping them off the ground. ¡°That should do it.¡±

    They waited. Nothing happened; there came no sound of footsteps clattering from within.

    ¡°I don¡¯t know if she¡¯s home,¡± Aliyah said uneasily.

    ¡°Hm,¡± Shasta said, glancing over the shopfront. ¡°Let¡¯s circle round, then. See if the lights are on.¡±

    ¡°Okay,¡± she said. ¡°Though I don¡¯t know how helpful that¡¯ll be. Her house is strange on the inside. Dimensional.¡±

    ¡°Won¡¯t hurt to take a look.¡±

    She followed as he led the way into the alley hugging the back wall of Luxon¡¯s building; there was one small window set close to the eaves behind, and no light emanating from within.

    ¡°Well,¡± he said, crossing his arms. ¡°Looks a bit of squeeze. That¡¯s unfortunate.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯re not breaking into her house, are we?¡± she asked, alarmed. ¡°Because I don¡¯t know what wards she keeps, but¡ª¡±

    ¡°No,¡± Shasta said. ¡°Relax. I¡¯ll knock again, give it a few more minutes. Wouldn¡¯t want to run the way of City Watch up here.¡±

    They circled back to the front of the house. Aliyah frowned, glancing up and down the nearly empty street. She froze as a figure limped round the corner: a bedraggled-looking young woman in a black and white uniform. She had a basket hooked around one arm. It took a moment for the recognition to set in.

    ¡°Kionah?¡± she called out.

    Shasta¡¯s head whipped round at the name. Kionah raised her hand in silent greeting and picked up her pace.

    ¡°Hello,¡± she said on approach, her voice weary. Aliyah squinted. Was her hair meant to look like that? It was practically shedding pins as she walked. ¡°You would not believe the day I had.¡±

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    Shasta snorted, very quietly. ¡°I¡¯ll bet.¡±

    ¡°What are you doing here?¡± Kionah asked, frowning.

    Aliyah cleared her throat. ¡°Luxon¡¯s not answering the door. We¡¯re not sure she¡¯s home. We ran into some Cribellums at the market¡­¡± the words dried up in her throat.

    Kionah¡¯s frown deepened, her gaze flicking from between her and Shasta. ¡°Weren¡¯t you meant to be with her the whole time?¡± she asked. ¡°Why¡¯s Shasta here? Surely you didn¡¯t get lost? Luxon dresses brighter than a bloody beacon.¡±

    Aliyah eyed the empty street, pushing her night vision into the shadows of the alleys. No visible lurkers, but¡­

    ¡°We should talk about this somewhere else.¡±

    ¡°Oh, alright,¡± Kionah said. Her eyes narrowed as they fell onto the crack across the window; perhaps she came to similar conclusions. ¡°I see. Where, then?¡± Her gaze moved to Shasta. ¡°I don¡¯t suppose you¡¯d care to act the part of a gracious host?¡±

    He muttered what sounded like a few choice words under his breath and cast a lingering glance over the silent shopfront. ¡°Yes, alright, fine. We can¡­have a chat in one of the spare House rooms.¡±

    They followed as he turned his back on them. Kionah grumbled as she readjusted her hold on her basket, piled high with paper-wrapped packages.

    ¡°Do you need, um, help?¡± Aliyah asked. If her own basket had been anything to go by, it was no easy weight. She supposed she could strengthen her own muscles better than Kionah could persist in dragging the basket around.

    ¡°I¡¯ve got it,¡± Kionah said, blowing a strand of hair from her face.

    ¡°Where were you?¡± Aliyah blurted out.

    ¡°Long story,¡± Kionah said, sounding sullen. ¡°Maia, uh, roped me into a job. All very short notice. She got stabbed for her trouble and almost arrested, so I suppose it all evens out. Oh, and I saw your schismatists, I think. Academy Library.¡±

    ¡°What?¡± Aliyah blinked. Kionah had said that all in a very plain-faced tone, with not the slightest hint of jesting. Still, her thoughts latched onto one word: ¡®schismatists¡¯. ¡°Do you know where they went? And¡ªare you alright?¡±

    ¡°No idea, sorry. Too busy running away. They seemed busy. Though I expect they¡¯ll, you know,¡± she gestured to Aliyah¡¯s arm. ¡°You¡¯ll find them. They had that false-Magician there. And I¡¯m fine, thank you. Just tired. This close to burning out. Bloody well hope they have soup or something at Whistle House.¡±

    ¡°We do not cook at this time of night,¡± Shasta said from up ahead.

    Kionah swore under her breath. A weary silence descended: Kionah, sulking in all her exhaustion, and Shasta, no doubt gloomy at the prospect of bringing trouble to his home. Aliyah huddled in the silt-sludge of her own thoughts, shying away when she drifted too close to anything resembling dark alleys or still waters or Calamistrums.

    They made their way down clambered onto a shuttlebus station, nearly empty at this time of night. A couple of late-night goers stood at the end of the platform, clutching shopping and smoking cigarettes. Shasta punched out three tickets, handing them out wordlessly.

    They waited.

    The shuttlebus ride down into the Undercity was uneasy and otherwise uneventful. Aliyah took the window seat, staring out at the lights, thoughts hazy and adrift. Kionah sat beside her, basket balanced awkwardly on her knees. Shasta had chosen a seat opposite; she sensed his gaze passing over the both of them now and again.

    They exited at a station¡ªnot Falsewater. Relief sparked in her chest at the realisation that she wouldn¡¯t have to pass the place where she¡¯d¡ªwhere the Calamistrum had died.

    Shasta led them through the larger streets when he could, well-lit. It was more walking than the route from Falsewater had been, and they had to duck through a couple of smaller alleys now and then, but it wasn¡¯t so bad. The forayers they passed paid them no mind, and there wasn¡¯t a witch in sight.

    Ianis wasn¡¯t at Whistle House when they arrived; another man had taken his posting. Shasta nodded wordlessly to him as they drew close, and he opened the doorway without flair.

    The House was, to her surprise, still at work. Forayers huddled around their tea tables, cracking low jokes amongst themselves. There were less of them¡ªabout a third of the usual number, she estimated, but the place was far from empty.

    Shasta headed down to the far side of the main room. Instead of heading upstairs to his quarters, he twitched a curtain aside¡ªone she hadn¡¯t noticed before, assuming them to be part of the warded drapes decorating the place.

    ¡°After you,¡± he said dryly. ¡°The left room should be empty.¡±

    The corridor beyond was so short that it could barely be called one. Dingy runelight illuminated the wood paneling, casting harsh shadows. A door was set into the wall on both sides. When she pushed at the handle on the left, ward-runes flickered beneath its surface.

    The room was windowless. Muted wallpaper coated the walls, scrawled with a pale floral motif. Cheap-looking runelight highlighted the starkness of the furniture: a tea-cart in the corner, a wooden table, and plain chairs to match. A large woven mat sat on the table, presumably to prevent a hot plate or teapot from scalding its surface.

    Aliyah took the nearest seat¡ªthe one closest to the door. It would probably be a harmless discussion, she told herself. Kionah was here, and Shasta wasn¡¯t likely inclined to bribe or hurt her, not after what she¡¯d revealed. Still, there was an opportunity here, wasn¡¯t there? It was parley enough. The trouble was, she didn¡¯t feel intelligent enough to take best advantage of it. Borrowed magic swirled in her veins, weighing like a favour owed. If only she were more adept at court things, more like Rana¡­

    She brushed the thought away. Rana was safe, she told herself. Rana had been cocooned in anti-haemolytic. Rana was not being held captive by faeries. And truthfully, her thoughts couldn¡¯t take the extra weight right now, couldn¡¯t care about worries that were a Killing Field away¡ªcouldn¡¯t afford to.

    Kionah sat next to Aliyah and dumped her basket onto the next chair along. Shasta entered last, flicking the lock as he shut the door behind him. Aliyah jerked her head round at the click.

    ¡°Easy there,¡± he said, voice tinged with wariness. Was he recalling the last time he¡¯d backed her into a corner? ¡°It¡¯s only for privacy.¡±

    She eyed the mechanism: a simple lever, finger-sized. No key required. Openable from this side.

    ¡°Alright,¡± she said, clearing her throat.

    Shasta strode around the table and lifted a pitcher from the cart. ¡°Water?¡± he asked.

    ¡°Please,¡± Kionah said.

    He poured three glasses. When he sat, he was the first to take a sip.

    ¡°So,¡± he said. ¡°You want to tell her, or shall I?¡±

    Aliyah realised, with a jolt, that he was addressing her. Blood-fresh anxiety purled at the back of her throat. She reached for her magic and stilled the physiological rush. Her thoughts ran counter to her workings; agitation thrashed fear-chemicals to life, told her to run, run, hide¡ªperhaps if she did not see it, it would not see her.

    She forced her jaw to move. Lips, larynx, vocal folds. Teeth, tongue, thoughts split open¡ªshe curled her hands into fists. She shouldn¡¯t need this nudging. She already knew the words.

    ¡°Luxon and I were at the market. Some spire-witches noticed us. Cribellums.¡± She looked at Kionah. ¡°You told me it¡¯d be a good idea to avoid those sorts of people, right?¡± At her nod, she continued. ¡°So Luxon said I should come down here, because they know where she lives.¡± She paused, swallowing. Short sentences would be best. ¡°I hired a guide from Crowfire to get here. We were almost¡­we almost made it. He started having a seizure. I tried¡ªI tried to help, but brains are¡­difficult. Everything else, too¡ªthe muscle spasms, moving at that speed¡ªhe died. It was¡­messy.¡±

    Kionah frowned, eyes sharp with appraisal. She gripped her glass, silent for what felt like several moments too long. Then she turned to Shasta, voice accusatory.

    ¡°Is this true?¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t look at me like that,¡± he said. ¡°I had nothing to do with it, until she came knocking.¡±

    ¡°When?¡± Kionah demanded, still glaring at him. ¡°Where?¡±

    Shasta scowled. ¡°Some hours ago. Four streets away, back alley. I had Harker take care of it. Are we even, yet?¡±

    Kionah set down her glass with a sharp clack¡ªalmost, but not quite¡ªspilling her water. Aliyah¡¯s stomach curdled at her gaze.

    ¡°I thought you couldn¡¯t,¡± Kionah started, and shook her head. ¡°How? Explain.¡±

    Aliyah placed her hands into her lap, forcing the fingers to unclench. She took a deep breath. ¡°Remember what I told you about what happened in the Higher Library? The¡­excision, and the blood? It doesn¡¯t look natural. Those Cribellums know what I look like. If they could connect the dots¡­¡±

    A glimmer of understanding dawned over Kionah¡¯s features. ¡°So you had Shasta call in favours.¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± Aliyah said. She dropped the Healer weave onto the table and forced herself to think, to see how she could angle her words. ¡°Zahir¡¯s a real Healer. If these witches are going to be everywhere looking for people like us¡ª¡±

    ¡°You still want to find him?¡± Kionah sipped carefully at the last dregs of her water and exhaled.

    Aliyah nodded jerkily. ¡°Yes¡ªI have to. Find him, break whatever binding they have, and get out.¡±

    ¡°It isn¡¯t so simple,¡± Kionah said, and tried to run a hand through her hair. Her fingers stopped short against the unfamiliar styling. Pins dislodged at the motion, and Aliyah tracked them absently as they fell.

    ¡°I know. But neither is this.¡± She pulled up her sleeve, baring the tracker-mark to the light.

    ¡°You¡¯re making excuses,¡± Kionah snapped. ¡°Luxon can take care of that.¡±

    ¡°Luxon isn¡¯t here. Who knows if the spire witches have got her, or if the schismatists also¡ª¡±

    ¡°Who knows?¡± Kionah cut her off, her words hard-edged. ¡°No one knows. Certainly not you. She¡¯s likely just out on Hive business¡ªshe complains the Lieutenants keep her busy enough. Don¡¯t run full-tilt into trouble fancying yourself some sort of hero, Aliyah.¡± Her voice rose. ¡°You were lucky to get out of Saltstone with all your limbs attached, and now you¡¯ve gone an offed some poor guide¡ª¡±

    It occurred to her that she ought to seem more distraught about having killed someone who wasn¡¯t Calamistrum Sebile. She forced tears to well and run over. ¡°I¡ªI know. It¡¯s¡ªyeah, I¡¯m an idiot, a coward, I know.¡±

    They were both looking at her as though she¡¯d grown thorns. Perhaps an edge of madness had slipped into her words, just then. Perhaps the shock was finally wearing off. The tears kept flowing; they felt more real now she¡¯d started. She sniffed and wiped them away.

    ¡°Did anyone else see?¡± Kionah asked sharply.

    ¡°Wh-what?¡±

    ¡°The body. The unnatural-ness of the wounds, or whatever.¡± She waved a hand. ¡°Anyone else see, aside from Shasta?¡±

    ¡°Tomas,¡± Shasta offered.

    Kionah swore under her breath. ¡°He doesn¡¯t talk much, does he? Can¡¯t have Spire folks noticing. Aliyah¡¯ll have to¡ª¡±

    ¡°No,¡± she broke in. ¡°I¡¯m not running away to Kraedia, or whatever it is you¡¯re about to say. You don¡¯t want me near you in case faeries or witches come¡ªfine.¡± She braced her hands on the table and stood up, pulse pounding in her ears. ¡°I can go. But I¡¯m not leaving this city until I find those schismatists. And I will. The silver one, Saiphenora, you heard what she said about her¡­employers. They¡¯ll find me within the week, I bet. Do you want my help in the meantime, or not?¡±

    ¡°A clever speech,¡± Shasta remarked. ¡°But not a fair exchange. You killed that guide with the best of intentions, I¡¯m sure.¡±

    She steeled herself. ¡°So send me after an enemy.¡± The words came out flat and all wrong. She wasn¡¯t sure she intended on following through, but it was a start.

    He sneered faintly. ¡°Still not a fair exchange. Besides, you don¡¯t want to drag Crow Ear into this. We¡¯re couriers, mostly¡ªyou understand? And before you ask: no, my spare forayers can¡¯t help you here. I won¡¯t allow it.¡±

    ¡°What kind of help were you talking about, before?¡± Kionah broke in. ¡°Not the part about killing people. I doubt you¡¯d make a good assassin. But what else can you do?¡±

    Aliyah swallowed. ¡°Healing. No brains, maybe not spines. I¡¯ll see what I can do¡ªfor you now, and for anyone you care about before I go. I have limits, but¡­if Zahir flees the schismatists, he could do a lot better.¡±

    Shasta spoke before Kionah could. ¡°Tempting,¡± he said. ¡°But not useful to me. You told me yourself¡ªyou can¡¯t fix serious conditions, or health for the long run. The best either of us gets out of this is being patched up following whatever faery fight you lead us into¡ªand that¡¯s without the possibility of spires crawling up our arses.¡±

    At least neither of them seemed to suspect the body was anything other than what she¡¯d said it was.

    ¡°Then there¡¯s nothing else I can bribe you with,¡± she said, even as relief flowered down her back in a cold, dark wave. ¡°Fine. Are there Magicians in the city? I know they send diplomats. If I have to, I can¡ª¡±

    ¡°No Magicians,¡± Kionah said quickly. ¡°Not unless you¡¯re counting that false one. Even if there were, you wouldn¡¯t want to go to them.¡±

    Remember Alhena? Her eyes seemed to say. Remember me?

    Aliyah placed a hand over the tracker-mark and thought of practical matters: food, rest, hammocks fastened to an upside-down tree. Maybe even asking the Hive¡­Shasta had said they protected Luxon from spire witches, hadn¡¯t he? It might be a stretch, but she was running out of places to go.

    ¡°Then I suppose there¡¯s nothing I can do but wait. Perhaps I¡¯ll try to find Luxon in the meantime¡ªher Hive might want to help, if she hates schismatists so much. Is there a shuttlebus leading there?¡±

    ¡°No,¡± Shasta said. ¡°There¡¯s not much in way of faery outreach here. They¡¯re too established to need it. But you¡¯ll find a Lieutenant on most main streets.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll help with Luxon,¡± Kionah broke in. ¡°Help talk with the faeries, at least.¡±

    Aliyah blinked. ¡°Okay¡ªthank you.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t thank me,¡± Kionah said with a scowl. ¡°All of our luggage is still locked in her house.¡±

    It was a strange reason to help. Kionah held a tension in her shoulders, creases at her brow¡ªwas that worry? Aliyah opened her mouth, then shut it again. Kionah wanted something from her, she reminded herself. This was a good sign. Kionah seemed to have known Luxon a while, too. If she could leverage a history of friendship to her own cause¡­

    ¡­Well, it wouldn¡¯t be the first time.

 4.2 - Decontamination

    Aliyah

    The Hive, it seemed, took no visitors.

    ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± Kionah said when Aliyah asked how the whole thing worked. ¡°I suppose they¡¯ve got Lieutenants talking to magisters in their own spires. Stuff like that isn¡¯t for the likes of us to know.¡± Was that bitterness threaded into her voice? It was gone as quickly as it had come. ¡°So long as they patrol the streets, help with the witches¡ªeh, we¡¯ll find one eventually.¡±

    Her tone was flippant enough, but that same tension crinkled her brow. Aliyah wondered how many years they¡¯d known one another.

    They turned into the main street, lit with lanterns and sizzling with smoked meats. Dry heat soaked into every last inch of night air. Shasta had swiftly escorted them out of Whistle House¡ªeven supplying Kionah with an extra basket and giving them coins for shuttle-fare. Perhaps it was only her imagination, but he might¡¯ve been eyeing the tracker-mark on her arm.

    The vendors were quieter at this hour, at least, and the crowds a little thinner. Aliyah shifted uncomfortably as they made their way into the closest square. Kionah hadn¡¯t had any spare clothing on her, or in any of her packages¡ªwhere she¡¯d gotten her uniform from, Aliyah shelved away as a complete mystery¡ªso neither of them had had the opportunity to change. She was aware, on a distant level, that her jacket was still lined with bloodstains.

    City-goers streamed past her without so much as a second glance, intent on other, brighter things. A line of merchants to her left sold all manner of foods¡ªboiled chestnuts, fried dough fritters, even dishes which looked as if they had been pried off the carcass of Behemoth-spawn. Night sky clouded overhead, broken only by the occasional flock of birds.

    She scanned the square for any sign of a Lieutenant and wondered, rather wearily, what schedule a schismatist might keep. She almost wished they would hurry up in their hunting. After the horror of fighting Sebile, facing a few angry faeries almost seemed suspiciously manageable in comparison.

    ¡°Here,¡± Kionah said through a mouthful of bread.

    She pressed a package into her hand. Aliyah peeled the paper back to reveal some sort of vegetable roll, still warm beneath its wrapping. She glanced at Kionah¡¯s hands: both of them clutching a basket. How¡­?

    ¡°Thanks,¡± she said, and bit into it without further comment.

    Looking for a faery Lieutenant was more difficult than she might¡¯ve thought; there were what seemed to be ordinary faeries around, a few flitting overhead, but none bearing the same crest-covered tunic that Lieutenant Qilin had worn. She could enhance her vision and colour perception at will, adjusting for light conditions¡ªthe soft glow of lanternlight was swept aside by harsher shadows and alchemical lamps the further in they went¡ªbut that did very little for processing and pattern recognition, sorting silhouettes from the crowds.

    Were there many Cribellums about at this time of night? Calamistrums, too? The mere thought made her feel a little sick. She focused on finding a Lieutenant instead.

    They made it through to the other side of the square before Kionah caught hold of her wrist and tugged her leftwards. She jerked her gaze sideways, scanning over the jumble of heads and limbs and faces.

    A faery Lieutenant perched atop the awning of a ramshackle soup stall, a fair ways out of the milling of the crowds. His carapace glimmed blue in the light, and he wore the same tunic as Lieutenant Qilin had¡ªthe crest flashed gold against the glow of the market lamps. He had a bowl in his hand, and he raised it to his mouth for a sip.

    ¡°Pardon,¡± Kionah called as they drew near. ¡°Sir Lieutenant!¡±

    The faery¡¯s eyes met their gazes. He set his bowl down before vaulting off the awning, landing without so much as a break in his stride.

    ¡°Lieutenant Hua at your service,¡± he said crisply. ¡°What seems to be the trouble?¡±

    ¡°We are searching for a particular individual. A member of your Hive?¡±

    The Lieutenant made a buzzing, clicking sound in the depths of his throat. ¡°And who might this be?¡±

    ¡°Luxon,¡± Kionah said. ¡°She¡¯s independent, I guess you¡¯d say. Works as a potion-maker.¡±

    ¡°Ah,¡± the Lieutenant said. His spines gave an inscrutable twitch. ¡°The potioneer¡­yes, I believe I know of the individual you seek. Why is it so?¡±

    Kionah cleared her throat. ¡°We¡¯re staying at her lodgings. We returned from¡­errands, to find her missing. There was a crack in her window, and she¡¯s spoken of Cribellums harassing her previously, so¡­¡± She trailed off meaningfully.

    ¡°I see. How unusual, that she would seek humans for employ.¡± Hua¡¯s mouth twisted into a grimace. ¡°Well, it is good to see independents do not leech off the comforts of their Hive. But the Cribellums are unnecessarily bold at times. You are in your rights to seek us out.¡±

    He raised a hand to his mouth and placed two fingers between his teeth; Aliyah felt a jolt of alarm at the sight of them, unexpectedly sharp in that chitinous mouth. Hua inhaled, and then made as if to whistle hard¡ªthough only a faint, rustling sound emerged. The air shivered with a low buzz of magic, rippling outwards in concentric circles. Aliyah felt her ears pop; several metres away, heads turned in the crowd, faces flashing in annoyance.

    Hua removed his fingers from his mouth and wheezed a cough into the back of his hand.

    ¡°My apologies,¡± he said. ¡°A coworker will arrive shortly.¡±

    ¡°Huh,¡± Kionah said. ¡°Pretty cool. Didn¡¯t know you guys could do that.¡±

    He gave them a level stare. ¡°That is just as well. Often, it is used as a matter of cohering in order to land criminal quarry.¡±

    Kionah made an interested, noncommittal noise. Aliyah swallowed the last of her purloined vegetable roll and crammed the leftover paper into her pocket.

    A different faery flitted over the crowd, the colour of a cloudy sky. She landed a few feet away and dipped her head into a shallow bow as she approached. A chittering noise emerged from her mouth; it took Aliyah a moment to recognise the sounds as faery-words.

    Hua replied with a few, short sentences of faery-language of his own. The other faery bowed her head and took two short, bounding steps away before launching into the air.

    ¡°The question of your associate¡¯s whereabouts will be presented to the Hive,¡± Hua said. ¡°You may wait here for the answer¡¯s reply.¡±

    ¡°How long might that be?¡± Kionah asked.

    ¡°I cannot say. It is dependent on the rhythms, and other such things¡ªPreon is fairly adept at flying crosswinds. So perhaps, estimating, half the turn of an hour both ways. Might I suggest you partake of some soup to pass the time? It is quite good.¡± With that, he fluttered back to his perch on the awning.

    ¡°How far is the Hive?¡± Aliyah asked tentatively.

    Kionah gave a mildly disgruntled sigh. ¡°At least half an hour¡¯s flight. It¡¯s¡­you can see it well enough, up over the northern plains. Just can¡¯t go there, unless you want to get killed.¡±

    ¡°Oh. Well, it might be because I haven¡¯t grown up here, but I don¡¯t understand¡ª¡±

    ¡°Neither do I,¡± Kionah said with a shrug. ¡°Like I said, it¡¯s all spire business, keeping the city running. Magister talks. The faeries you meet are friendly enough¡ªyou reckon he¡¯s got good taste in soup?¡±

    She stalked over to the soup-seller¡¯s counter before Aliyah could form a reply. Aliyah frowned and turned away, gaze going unfocused as she stared over the passing kaleidoscope of crowd. There were few ways that Kionah¡¯s opinion of her might sink even lower, at the moment. If only she¡¯d stayed with Luxon, instead of running off that shuttlebus¡­

    Maybe nothing bad would¡¯ve happened. Or maybe she would¡¯ve killed two Cribellums instead of one Calamistrum. Nausea wormed its way into her gut, swirled in along with fretfulness coiled over in on itself, sheathing her nerves like myelin. She suspected that when the time came for actionable plans, she wouldn¡¯t enjoy that either.

    There was no real catharsis, she thought grimly. There was only the thought of a singular goal, boiled down to sharp points: rescue Zahir, hide from spire witches, flee the city¡­to where? Kraedia? Or a more tempting prospect¡­back to the kingdom, desperate to see if Rana was safe and alive. And yet, the memory of those Magicians, with their masks and runes and the feeling of her magic slipped loose, blood boiling to vapour¡ªno, no. Too difficult to consider, right now. That was skipping too far ahead.

    This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

    Find schismatists. Rescue Zahir. Hide from witches in the meantime. There, that sounded simpler¡ªthe trouble was, ¡®simpler¡¯ was an illusion. Thinking about it this way wouldn¡¯t actually make anything any easier. But wasn¡¯t it at least a little comforting to pretend?

    ¡°Here¡¯s our absurdly late dinner,¡± Kionah called, breaking her out of her thoughts. ¡°Or early breakfast.¡±

    She¡¯d seated herself down at one of the low stools off to the side of the soup stall, baskets piled at her feet. A series of mismatched seats clustered around a large, upturned crate¡ªAliyah swallowed an inexplicable lump in her throat at the memory of Rana¡¯s old room, late night talks around a flickering stub of candle. Then she banished it. She was getting better at that.

    Two bowls sat in a tray atop the crate. Kionah pushed one across to her as she seated herself opposite.

    ¡°Thank you,¡± she said, in lieu of anything else to say. ¡°You didn¡¯t have to, um¡ª¡±

    ¡°My treat,¡± Kionah said curtly. ¡°We both need a decent supper, it seems.¡±

    Aliyah nodded in what she hoped was a meek and inoffensive manner. Kionah¡¯s gaze skimmed tiredly over her before she dipped her spoon into her soup. Aliyah copied the motion, too anxious to fully taste it. Her awareness was mostly limited to how the sustenance warmed her stomach and her nudging along of digestive equilibrium to coax dim flickers of energy back into her body.

    Across from her, Kionah picked the bones out of her bowl and chewed off the flesh, sucked at the marrow. Lantern-light nipped at the parts of her features not drenched in shadow; for a moment, the line of her jaw reminded Aliyah of a wolf, or perhaps a jackal.

    ===

    In the time it took for Lieutenant Hua¡¯s scout to return, she counted twenty two different faeries passing by, and¡ªmore unsettlingly¡ªthree witches walking shoulder-to-shoulder, all looking somber beneath the brims of their hats. Vendor-carts trundled on by and little birds hopped in their wake, seeking out crumbs. Kionah hadn¡¯t spoken another word except to say ¡®wake me when she returns,¡¯ before leaning over onto the makeshift table and starting to doze, head pillowed in her arms.

    Aliyah finished the last of her soup and tried not to stare at how some of Kionah¡¯s hair had come undone from its pinnings. Discomfort welled in her stomach at the implicit trust there¡ªor was it trust? Lieutenant Hua was still at his perch, no doubt keeping an eye on them. Would Kionah react like Shasta given some time to fully realise what she¡¯d supposedly done? Careful to walk without her back exposed, careful not to rest in her presence in case she set off another fatal accident?

    She supposed Kionah was already that sort of person¡ªjust maybe not to her. In retrospect, all that time traveling through faery caverns had helped foster allyship. But Calamistrum Sebile was dead now, sunken in many pieces, and Crowfire guide Emil would serve as a convenient mask. Still, it would only be a matter of time¡ªdays, weeks?¡ªbefore he heard of the disappearance, noticed the potential for reward, connected the dots¡ªSebile, last seen attacking a Songian? It was too obvious. Her story would unravel. And while Kionah didn¡¯t seem a friend of the spires, she was still subject to whatever authority they held over the city. Her discomfort grew the longer her thoughts lingered on such things; she was glad to shake Kionah awake when the scout returned.

    ¡°What?¡± Kionah murmured. If her tone of tiredness was a pretense, it was a very good one. ¡°Already?¡±

    ¡°Yes. It¡¯s just her, though. No Luxon.¡±

    Hua had hopped down from his perch and was chirping faery-words at the scout. After a moment, he beckoned them over.

    ¡°A message,¡± he said. ¡°Your employer Luxon is in no danger. She has simply been called back for the time being¡ªBehemoth sighting, you see. But no need to worry or scream to your friends; it is only a middling-sized spawn, not full. A Lieutenant has assured us that she will return after sunrise.¡±

    ¡°She could¡¯ve left a bloody note,¡± Kionah muttered, though Aliyah noted her shoulders sagging in relief. ¡°Do you know when she means by ¡®after sunrise¡¯? Seeing as we¡¯ve got no beds to sleep in¡ª¡±

    ¡°My apologies on the Hive¡¯s behalf,¡± Hua said with an easy, wing-crinkling shrug. ¡°But there¡¯s nothing more I can do. It is simply as Preon conveyed: Luxon will return tomorrow. Pleasure to be of assistance.¡±

    With that, he strode back to his perch. The scout, Preon, shot them a sympathetic glance before taking to the air.

    ¡°Well shit,¡± Kionah muttered, and shook her head. ¡°Guess we could try finding a coffee house to shore up til dawn.¡±

    ¡°Alright,¡± Aliyah said, glancing the crowd over.

    People streamed past in a current of colours. No witches, though something else caught her eyes¡ªand ears. Some distance away, little metal automatons clattered over the ground. Shaped like birds, eyes glinting like jewels. They hopped between stepping feet, blending in with their living kin. A whole flock of them pecking at the ground. Why would automatons need to peck? It wasn¡¯t as if they needed crumbs like real birds. She turned the thought over in her mind as she stared. The sheen of their feathers struck a chord of unease within her, a twinge of recognition¡ªoily, iridescent. Spider-like?

    ¡°Aliyah?¡± she heard. Kionah tugged at her arm, startling her out of her thoughts. ¡°What is it?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t think,¡± she started uneasily. ¡°I could be wrong, but those birds seem like they¡¯re looking for something. Earlier, I¡ªI was, uh. Healing my arms? From carrying all the stuff for Luxon. Maybe they can sense magic?¡±

    Her tongue tripped over the lie. It was far more likely that they could smell blood.

    Kionah¡¯s eyes narrowed. More strands of hair whipped loose as she jerked her head round to stare at the birds. ¡°Maybe. Spire-work. Let¡¯s go¡ªquietly, now.¡±

    She looped both baskets into the crook of one elbow and turned away, dragging Aliyah by the arm. Aliyah stumbled, almost tripping over her own feet before Kionah let go. She let the instinctive rhythm of speed-walking guide her movements as she followed¡ªit stopped her from overthinking, even as her heart beat frantically against the back of her sternum.

    Yet more metal birds perched on a nearby eave.

    Kionah led the way into a series of winding alleys, glancing over her shoulder every now and again. They weren¡¯t running, exactly. Not yet. But close to it. Aliyah glanced back herself¡ªa handful of gleaming beaks pointed her way, peeking out from behind corners and silhouetted on rooftops. If she hadn¡¯t been looking, she might not have seen.

    ¡°They¡¯re following,¡± she said between faster breaths. Did she know any spells against true metal? The birds didn¡¯t look as if they were formed from ironwood.

    ¡°They aren¡¯t attacking,¡± Kionah said tersely. ¡°Which means they aren¡¯t sure. They¡¯re only automatons, alright? Keep walking. Don¡¯t scream and don¡¯t run.¡±

    ¡°Can they fly?¡± Aliyah asked uneasily. Surely those wings weren¡¯t just for decoration.

    ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± Kionah said. ¡°They¡¯re fashioned after¡­looks like poisoner¡¯s pinions. So I assume so. But that isn¡¯t what you should be worrying about. You used a lot of¡­your type of magic, is that right?¡±

    At least the excuse had worked. Her jacket was suddenly stifling. ¡°Yes.¡±

    ¡°Weird. Okay,¡± Kionah said, and took a sharp left. They emerged onto street bisected by a canal. The water gleamed beneath grimy lantern-light. Shuttered shopfronts lined the ways opposite; upon their rooftops perched the shapes of even more birds, shadowed against the sky. Were those flesh, or metal? Her blood ran cold in her veins.

    ¡°Okay,¡± Kionah said again, hand latching onto her arm. ¡°You can hold your breath, right?¡±

    ¡°What?¡± Aliyah asked, gaze still fixed on the rooftops.

    ¡°You can hold your breath, right?¡± Kionah repeated with a strange urgency.

    ¡°Yeah,¡± Aliyah said, straining her ears. Metal clacked on the edge of her hearing. It could be rubbish blown about by the wind¡ªbut the breeze barely stirred, befitting of a summer night. The metal was probably the sound of talons. Night air choked her lungs, too-warm. ¡°Why¡ª¡±

    ¡°So hold it,¡± Kionah instructed as she dragged her across the street.

    ¡°What?¡± she said stupidly, thoughts still caught on the birds. Hands shoved into her side. She was falling by the time her brain caught up.

    There was a split second to clamp her eyes and mouth shut, before water closed over her head. The shock of it almost made her inhale¡ªbut she reached for her magic, partitioning off her lungs. Slowed her metabolism in hopes of lowering oxygen demand. Bubbles frothed in her vision, clouded with debris. Silt water weighed her down, soaking into her clothes. Her thoughts whirled in desperate jumps to catch up with what was happening.

    It was several degrees colder than the air had been, colder than she¡¯d thought. Did it make a difference? It had only been a few seconds, at most. This wasn¡¯t Kionah trying to drown her. She had perfectly adequate lung volume; her lungs were full of air. She¡¯d float if she kicked her way upwards, if she followed where the bubbles were going. Surely Kionah didn¡¯t mean for her to stay under for long? She must know Aliyah didn¡¯t know how to swim. Shadowsong was in a desert, for star¡¯s sake. And the water was filthy¡ªoh. That was probably the point.

    She surfaced almost without meaning to, hands scrabbling for the walls of the canal, scratching her palms open on the stone. Kionah peered down at her from the lip of the canal as she sucked in a breath, blinking silt from her eyes.

    Aliyah coughed. ¡°Are they gone?¡± The words came out a desperate rasp.

    Kionah glanced over her shoulder, then up and around. ¡°They¡¯re going,¡± she said cautiously. ¡°Stay here a little longer, alright? They¡¯re just automatons, but¡­¡±

    ¡°Okay,¡± Aliyah said through chattering teeth, and sneezed. Her hair was a heavy lump plastered to her scalp. Water leaked from her ears, and she was sure there was a not-insignificant amount of mud lodged up her nose.

    ¡°Sorry,¡± Kionah added.

    ¡°It¡¯s fine,¡± she managed. ¡°As long as they¡¯re leaving.¡±

    The metal pigeons had to be attuned to Sebile¡¯s blood. But they couldn¡¯t be sure¡ªnot if they hadn¡¯t outright attacked. The blood would have been mixed with and masked under her own blood¡ªsweat, too, and maybe sea-spray from her time out on Harker¡¯s boat. The canal water smelled of mud and rot; hopefully it¡¯d be enough to mess with whatever aspect of scent had attracted the bird¡¯s interest. They were, as Kionah had said, only automatons. Likely configured in quick order, used as a crude netting, good for covering large areas if they could fly¡­

    The spires had noticed. The hunt was on. And all this thinking wasn¡¯t distracting her from how cold it was.

    ¡°We should go,¡± she said through chattering teeth. ¡°Can automatons signal their owners?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± Kionah said, frowning worriedly. ¡°Here. Grab my hand, I¡¯ll pull. Then grab the edge with your other hand, and swing a leg over. Mind the water in your clothes, there¡¯ll be more drag than you expect. Ready?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll try,¡± she answered doubtfully.

    ¡°Easier than it sounds,¡± Kionah said. ¡°Come on. One¡ªtwo¡ªthree¡ª¡±

    She slithered over the ledge like a dead fish, wincing all the while. Kionah tugged her to her feet.

    ¡°Now what?¡± she asked, shivering against the night breeze¡ªso unnoticeable before, but uncomfortably evident now. Her clothes dripped over the cobbles, and water sloshed in her boots. She had half a mind to try wringing the water out, but that might reduce some of its scent-masking ability.

    Kionah looked her up and down, frowning. ¡°We¡¯ll have to get you clean clothes,¡± she said. ¡°Getting early. Hmm. I think I know a guy. Think we¡¯ll have to take back alleys on the way there. Wish I had a spare cloak, but¡­¡± She shook her head and grimaced faintly. ¡°Try not to get sick?¡±

    ¡°Okay,¡± Aliyah said. She raised her metabolism some. Sent a fresh wave of immune cells to any open skin too, for good measure.

    ¡°Come on,¡± Kionah said, shooting her an almost pitying look. ¡°This way.¡±

    Aliyah shivered as they went, feeling both fever-hot and water-cold. Nausea churned in her gut at the thought of Calamistrum Sebile, submerged beneath enough water to fill a hundred canals over. She glanced skywards, to no sign of sunrise. How long until Luxon returned? Perhaps it was just the effect of the canal-water and the shivering, but she felt wretched to her core.

    There were, at least, no birds in sight.

 4.3 - Gathering Gloom

    Felun

    ¡°Take him out for a test run,¡± Iolite said.

    Felun tensed, until he realised she was referring to the Healer¡ªunconscious again, slumped over against the wall of the laboratory.

    ¡°You truly wish it?¡± Suria said. Her tail swished unhappily, dragging against the floor. ¡°I have already harvested¡­some.¡±

    ¡°I dislike repeating myself, Suria,¡± Iolite said from behind her bench. She was tinkering with her inattention-gemstone and seemed to only have half an eye on the conversation. ¡°I have analysed the contents. You have gathered barely a dozen in number, and most are weak in potency, at that.¡±

    Among other items upon the bench¡ªdried roots, copper cups, a bottle of foam¡ªwas the amphora. It practically pulsed with hidden magics. Felun looked it over uneasily; was it just his imagination, or had it deepened in colour since he¡¯d retrieved it from its labyrinth-prison? He¡¯d been so busy with other crappy tasks that he¡¯d nearly forgotten of its existence.

    ¡°It is difficult to select risk-free targets,¡± Suria said sullenly. ¡°First, I had to venture into the dregs of the city¡ª¡±

    ¡°Yes, yes,¡± Iolite said. ¡°I understand. Which is why I am handing you the reigns, for a little while. The binding is solid, and the healing abilities versatile; see what he can be commanded to do.¡±

    Felun suppressed a shiver as the sleeping daemon emerged in his mind¡¯s eye; coils upon coils, smothering a scrap of consciousness which had said I could feel every single one of my cells slowly dying, and, did you know, that the seconds pass in real time?

    He shook the morbid thoughts away; it wasn¡¯t as if he could do anything about the situation, other than be glad he was on this side of the enchantment.

    Suria replied in hissing syllables, slipping back into the faery-language. Iolite, for once, didn¡¯t interrupt with some preening spiel about switching back to include him. Instead, she cast a brief glance their way before setting down the inattention-stone.

    ¡°Let us step aside and speak for a moment,¡± she said.

    Suria headed for the door, wings drawn close and tight. Iolite brushed past him without acknowledgement and closed the door.

    Well, shit. Was he just supposed to stand here until they finished arguing? He glanced uneasily over to the Healer, allegedly still bound in a hundred loops of daemon.

    The seconds pass in real time.

    Was it really true, or had he just been fucking with him? It shouldn¡¯t matter, either way¡ªthe guy was a murderer. Maybe Iolite had been right, about humans and sympathy for others of the same species.

    The Healer stirred.

    Alarm spiked through his brain like a physical sensation, and he dashed for the door.

    ¡°Iolite,¡± he said, flinging it open.

    Iolite pivoted round from a sullen-looking Suria, every spine pricking up with agitation.

    ¡°What is it, Felun?¡± Her mouth curled into a scowl. ¡°I thought it was well-implied you should not disrupt¡ª¡±

    ¡°The Healer¡¯s waking up,¡± he blurted out.

    ¡°Is that all?¡± Iolite blinked, her spines settling. ¡°Ah, I suppose I did not inform you of that aspect.¡± She stepped forward to push him back into the lab, chitin-cold fingers planted over his chest. ¡°The bindings will prevent him from inflicting any harm. Keep an eye on him.¡±

    Felun made an indistinct sound of protest as she shut the door in his face. Half a second later, his nape prickled with the sensation of being watched¡ªdungeonrunner instinct good for something after all. He whirled round to find the Healer standing up¡ªor trying to. One arm was braced shakily against the wall, and he sort of looked like he was going to vomit.

    ¡°Hey now,¡± Felun said, reaching for his runequill. ¡°Stay right there.¡±

    ¡°No thank you,¡± the Healer said queasily, and lunged.

    Felun had a shield up in seconds, was already tracing out the beginnings of a concussive sigil¡ªbut the Healer stopped short, frozen mid-step, the muscles of his arms trembling as if he were pushing against an invisible barrier. Felun pried open his breaker-sense and saw not the slightest glint of enchantment indicating one.

    ¡°What the fuck,¡± Felun said aloud, before Iolite¡¯s words came back to him: bindings. His half-written rune sizzled out, forgotten.

    The Healer¡¯s eyes locked with his as the pupils constricted, glinting red all over. When he coughed, smoke wisped out. He spasmed, crumpling to the ground. An unsteady wheeze tore out of his throat, the sound scraped raw on every edge.

    Well, Felun thought. They must be very good bindings.

    The Healer stumbled to his feet, catching his shoulder against the wall for support.

    Felun tensed, but the Healer didn¡¯t lunge again. Instead, he found his footing and stilled, one hand braced against the wall.

    ¡°Ah,¡± the Healer said. ¡°That is very clever. Though not, I think, particularly useful.¡±

    He took an unsteady step, away from Felun. For a moment, Felun wasn¡¯t sure what walking away had to do with anything¡ªuntil the Healer reached for one of the cauldrons, its contents violet and volatile.

    Felun strengthened his shield and found that he didn¡¯t need to. The Healer¡¯s hand stopped well short, hitting another invisible wall¡ªbut it wasn¡¯t an invisible wall, was it? The binding was all internal. A better way of looking at it would be to say the Healer¡¯s muscles had cinched to a stop, blocking his intent from being carried out. But the sheer complexity that would require¡­his Breaker-sense expanded, curious and unbidden, and touched the edges of the magical field cast by those pale cuffs, that throttling collar.

    The daemon slumbered still. Strands of enchantment pierced through its shape like siphoning tendrils, sunk into clusters of nerves, provoking reflex¡­those same filaments wound down, and further down still, past hundreds of scales and into the simmering dark. They pierced the Healer like knives: twined into every last millimetre of brain, notched down each segment of spinal cord. Realisation dawned. The bindings didn¡¯t need to employ the cooperation of a daemon. It only needed to feed off the sleeping leviathan, binding itself in turn: a self-sustaining loop of pure magic and molten-hot intent, tearing through Healer to coils to Healer again.

    It was an awful construct¡ªa machine, almost, an automaton that would never wind down¡ªformed of ancient, masterful craftsmanship. Iolite had reconnected the pieces, slotted pins home. There was no ghost of the old Breaker wreathing its surface: only his fears, only his imagination. He yanked himself back to full awareness as the Healer recovered, taking cautious steps away from the bench.

    ¡°Interesting,¡± the Healer said, sounding shaken. ¡°Have they done this to you, too?¡± His eyes narrowed as he looked Felun up and down. ¡°No, I think not. So. Why play the poisoner¡¯s pigeon? You aren¡¯t stupid enough to not see your own cage.¡±

    He was saved from having to reply by the door clicking open behind him. The Healer tensed, twitched fractionally, then remained where he stood.

    Iolite¡¯s words rang out over Felun¡¯s shoulder, crisp and clear. ¡°All ready, I see. Be ready, fleshcrafter.¡±

    For a moment, the Healer didn¡¯t move but to twitch with outrage. Eyes narrowed, jaw clenched¡ªand then, inevitably, an unnatural blankness misted over his expression. For a moment, his very edges seemed to ripple, as if he weren¡¯t quite all here.

    Felun sensed the ouroboros, turning in its sleep.

    ===

    Glister streets did not glister. Or at least, not all of them. Suria¡¯s route snarled through twisted Undercity alleyways so narrow that they had to tilt their shoulders diagonal in parts to make it through. The Healer went first, his steps like clockwork. Felun walked next, glad to only see the back of his head; every time Suria voiced a command, the Healer would grind his teeth against the red haze clouding his eyes. Suria herself strode behind them both, her presence as sharp as a gilt-edged blade¡ªwhich was becoming familiar, actually. He was starting to feel more sick of it than anything else.

    ¡°Left now,¡± she said. ¡°And down. There will be some stairs. And then we will see a gate, breaker-boy.¡±

    The steps were narrow and steep, slick with drainwater and crumbling at the edges. Felun took shallow breaths; with every step ventured deeper came the scent of damp, rotting things. They passed faint letters carved into the walls¡ªdead runes and what he guessed to be scriptures smoothed over by time. The gate, when they reached it, was half-unravelled already. It was a matter of moments for him to disassemble the wards.

    An echo of prayer whispered past his cheek as he blinked his eyes back open. Whoever had crafted this once-splendid temple had imbued it with belief. Still, time had gnawed away at those remains¡­who would even want to live here? Felun hid his uneasy frown as he shook the stiffness out of his fingers.

    Suria¡¯s words floated over his shoulder like the rasp of a blade over nails. ¡°The map says there will be a crossroads. Take the left turn. Walk until you encounter weakened humans and immobilise them.¡±

    The Healer followed Suria¡¯s instructions to their very meaning, spell-smoke leaking from his eyelids like fumes from an automaton. Felun had clutched his runequill at first, eyes trained on every errant twitch of the Healer¡¯s fingers, every spasm in his step. But that had subsided quickly¡ªnow, they were some five hundred feet underground and still descending. He didn¡¯t think the smoothening-out was an act; he¡¯d seen the binding for himself, after all. Still, Suria had put him before her, and that likely didn¡¯t mean anything good.

    The light dimmed as they passed beneath the bones of ruined walkways, stacks upon stacks of levelled houses and empty street that were beginning to remind him of a labyrinth more than a lost temple-city. The air wasn¡¯t heavy, but he expanded his Breaker-sense anyways¡ªjust enough to get a feel for the resonance of the place.

    What he felt wasn¡¯t exactly reassuring.

    Gone was the usual, low hum of ambient magic. No enchantments sat in these walls¡ªnot even the weakest of wards. It wasn¡¯t uncommon to encounter dead spaces, he reminded himself. A lack of magic didn¡¯t mean sinister things lay in wait¡ªoften, it was quite the opposite. Nothing could hurt you if there was nothing there in the first place, as Orhan used to say. Or was it the other way around¡­? Felun shoved his uneasy reminiscing away as he withdrew from the Breaker-sense.

    The crossroads-path opened up into a dripping hollow, much rougher-looking than any Undercity cavern he¡¯d seen before. Shining stalactites dribbled from the roofs, but the ground was unpaved and uneven, formed of crushed rock. Ragged tents perched amongst jagged boulders, crafted from scrap wood and grimy canvas¡ªhe counted perhaps a dozen, clustered in a rough corridor like a makeshift village. Everything was tinted with a dim, sickly green light cast by patches of glowing moss.

    Something moved among the tents. Felun readied his runequill.

    The Healer was already striding forwards, arm outstretched. A man¡¯s face peered out from the nearest tent¡ªgaunt-eyed and hollow-cheeked¡ªthen went slack, toppling over in perfect silence. The Healer caught his head before he hit the ground.

    ¡°Leave that one,¡± Suria murmured from behind. ¡°Find them all.¡±

    Her voice was barely audible to Felun himself. He wondered how the Healer could possibly hear her, before he saw her hand clasped over her mouth. Spell-light spiked out from between the gaps of her fingers.

    The Healer faltered momentarily. Felun tensed, but the movement smoothed. The Healer laid the man onto the ground. He rose from his crouch and began to hunt.

    You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

    Smoke trailed from his slack eyes and parted mouth, marking out a wake as he strode along the haphazard scatterings of tents. Pebbles crunched with every step. A few figures stepped from their tents to greet the intrusion and fell to their knees as they neared. Others turned to run at the sight¡ªand Felun supposed the Healer¡¯s creepy coalfire-eyes would be a sight¡ªand crumpled too.

    They all fell, first to their knees and then face-down. All soft and quiet, with only the faint shuffling of gravel to cushion their falls. His Breaker-sense showed him the flow of magic, invisible currents reaching into bodies and shutting them down. He realised, with a stir of dread, that he didn¡¯t need his runequill at all. Not unless the Healer¡¯s bindings broke. Straining his Breaker-sense, he saw consciousnesses doused like flickering candles. The Healer reached the far side of the cavern and began to drag bodies back towards them.

    Suria growled as she drew alongside, still muttering commands into her own palm. There was a sack slung over her shoulder: roughly woven, dungeon-esque, scavenger-style. The only real reassuring thing about it was that it already looked full, the swell of some not-flesh shape beneath the fabric. She finished her stream of instruction and deigned to glance at him.

    ¡°Breaker boy,¡± she said absently, turning her gaze back onto the Healer. ¡°Do you know how long it is that you humans are unconscious for?¡±

    He shook his head.

    ¡°Then let us be quick.¡± There was a tight wariness in her voice; he could understand, somewhat. Being near the automaton-Healer felt like standing next to a ticking bomb.

    She picked her way through the rocks to the first man who¡¯d fallen, laying upon his side. Felun followed, eyeing the unconscious man with unease.

    He looked even unhealthier up close: grey-skinned and undeniably haggard despite the several layers of robes plastered over his body. One of his hands clutched a cracked bowl; there was a wooden ring wound around one finger. Felun spotted a glint of copper a foot away and knelt to pick it up. It was a coin¡ªhad it rolled out onto the ground when he¡¯d fallen? He frowned as he looked down at the fallen man again, at the empty bowl¡ªhe glanced over the cavern once more and wary recognition sparked. His stomach sank. Dead air¡ªof course. These people had nothing; not even wards.

    This was a slum-camp filled with lost acolytes, the cast-out and destitute. They¡¯d kept this sort of thing hidden from him, back in Shenzhou, but he hadn¡¯t needed to travel far out before such scenes made themselves apparent. The coin felt cold in his hand; why had they come here? He thought of broken fingers, severed arms¡ªhis stomach started to turn.

    Iolite had told him, right before they¡¯d left, that there would be no violence involved. But faeries were well capable of telling lies.

    He placed the coin back into the man¡¯s bowl and watched as Suria knelt by him. She unshouldered her sack. Relief flooded through him when she didn¡¯t draw out a knife¡ªfollowed by confusion, then dread.

    Because¡ªwhat the hell?

    What was she doing with the amphora?

    He recognised it, of course: his very own labyrinth of itching blisters had cemented its image into his memory. It looked as unremarkable as it had when he¡¯d withdrawn it from its labyrinth door: a vase shaped from plain clay. So why did his heartbeat quicken at the sight of the thing? It didn¡¯t look any different¡­or did it? It must be this place, the lighting.

    He sent out feelers of Breaker-sense against his better judgement, tapping false fingers across the amphora¡¯s surface as Suria placed it by the unconscious man¡¯s head. Nothing. The clay was dead material, not dripping with rune-bright malevolence. So why was his pulse suddenly going a mile a minute?

    Suria tilted the amphora¡¯s mouth toward the man and murmured a word of power.

    The air thickened. Felun froze still as his ears popped. It felt as though all the air had rushed from his lungs. There was no glow, no spellfire, no nothing. He caught sight of the amphora¡¯s mouth over the curve of its rim, just a shadow-slice, bowed like a half-moon and¡ª

    And a weight like centuries crashed into him, overloading his Breaker-sense. The feel of the Songian Library bore down on his shoulders like a dozen different hands grasping, creaking joints and scratching bone, rolling hinges and grinning teeth. A feeling like blunt fingernails jabbed into his eye sockets, pressure without pain. Lights flashed in his peripheral vision, skittering sparks painted in un-colours. The curve of clay seemed to bulge to fill his vision, seemed to pulse before him¡ªbut that wasn¡¯t the point. That wasn¡¯t the point.

    The amphora was just a decoy. It was real-but-not-real, like a¡ªlike skin stretched around a mouth that didn¡¯t¡ªdidn¡¯t even dare to¡ª

    Exist¡ª

    Until it was open.

    Until it reached for the unconscious man with many-branched limbs, all-devouring. He saw, in the space between one heartbeat and the next, fingers tugging, ripping, intangible pieces shearing away.

    Magic. Swallowed whole. As simple as water filling a vessel.

    White-hot knowledge seared tracts into his head. His senses withdrew like a hand upon contact with a burning coal. He whipped back into his body mid-fall, coming to with a jolt as he whacked his palms against stony ground. He drew a wheezing breath as grey specks throbbed before his eyes. A feathery veil descended over half of his vision. Breaker-sense went brainsick, sending information that simply didn¡¯t make sense. Magic trembled in his veins like a cornered animal, baring teeth as it shied away. The backs of his eyes bubbled without sensation.

    Nothing hurt. Nothing at all. His hands didn¡¯t itch. His nose wasn¡¯t even bleeding. The amphora cored him open anyway. It peeled his eyes like fruits for the crime of looking too closely.

    He closed his eyes, seconds too late. Distantly, he was aware of Suria shouting something. Even more distantly, he was aware that he¡¯d folded down onto himself. Laid supine, like a mimicry of the man the Healer had attacked. Chitinous fingers pried his eyes open and he saw Suria¡¯s snarling jaw, blurry behind a film of black spots and jagged lightning-spots zipping along his peripheral vision.

    Carafe, he thought dazedly. Artefact.

    Suria yelled some more. He couldn¡¯t parse meaning from her words, even though he knew they weren¡¯t in the faery-language. It was as if the amphora¡ªor maybe the thing inside, the wet, writhing object with clay for a shell¡ªhad taken hold of his thoughts, forcing him to focus only upon it. Each time he tried to pry himself away, remind himself of dungeonrunning principles for dealing with rare hazards such as this, it would claw at his ears and nose and chin and force him to think of nothing but its physical properties. He couldn¡¯t even see it anymore, not with his crumbling eyesight. He could tell, just barely, that Suria had wrenched his head away. But he could practically feel every pore in the clay beneath his fingertips, could almost calculate the geometry of its volume and curves to mathematical perfection.

    Break, the rational part of his brain told him, echoing Orhan¡¯s shitty old lessons. Break away now, before you break yourself.

    Yeah, okay¡ªit was one thing to know it. Another entirely, to accomplish.

    His thoughts tangled, artificially steered away from the important thing, the objective. Why was he here, anyway? Why? Because Iolite¡­? She couldn¡¯t have meant this to happen. He was as useful a tool as the Healer was¡ªah, and there was the Healer, crouching by his side with eyes glowing red, the whites fully gone. His Breaker-sense lashed out and skittered over the outermost edge of binding daemon-coil, turning in its torpor. The sensation of shifting scales was a second-long respite before the amphora took him back into its fold. Breaker-sense sank back into the feeling of fired clay, dry hollows, hunger-magic.

    Through the haze of amphora-thought, he heard Suria speak some sort of instruction. The Healer placed a hand onto his forehead and the flashing lights disappeared, along with the drifting shapes. The veil over his vision pulled away, and everything looked normal again. His thoughts, on the other hand¡­

    The pressure was still there. Reason floated to the forefront of his mind as Suria started to drag him away from the amphora: physical distance helped, some. But not nearly enough. If he didn¡¯t cut away the invading amphora influence, he¡¯d lose his magic, or go mad. Or both.

    He knew this for a fact. The amphora¡¯s influence worked against itself in that aspect. Perhaps centuries spent soaking in ambient Songian knowledge was good for something after all. Or not¡ªthere was no time to be distracted now, revelling in the history crowding into his brain. Awareness relayed a morsel of information: his shoulder bumping against stone as Suria propped him up against the wall of the cavern.

    He ignored it, instead seizing the tenterhooks embedding into his false-self, the self he used for diving into enchantments. Dry dust filled his mouth, packed into his cheeks and beneath his tongue, choking every last bubble of air from his body. He reminded himself that this wasn¡¯t real, that he didn¡¯t actually need to breathe here. On to the actual problem: clay quills pierced the head of his not-exactly-a-body, the skull like an archery target. It had happened without him even noticing until now. How? How had it been painless? Was it because¡ªno, questions were a distraction. Never mind. Plucking each quill out sent a spike of pain through his actual head, and real blood dripped from his real nose this time. Deep cuts opened across his hands, then closed like an afterthought¡ªgood thing Suria had left the Healer next to him, or something.

    He wasn¡¯t too sure what was happening outside the grit-grinding task of pulling each clay-shard out of his own head. His magic neutralised each one, but they were all bound up with invisible strings, the more visible bits only acting as anchors. He had to snip each loose, fighting against filaments corded like muscle. The last quills blistered his hands as he tugged them free. Infinitesimal veins spiralled upwards like a spider¡¯s net. If he looked up¡ªhe didn¡¯t, he¡¯d learned his lesson now, thank you very much¡ªhe¡¯d probably see the thing, or the biology, or the machine, or perhaps another word that didn¡¯t yet exist¡ªthat had spun them.

    Reaching out, he cut the last one away. His stomach turned on itself as he fell free of its influence, noise curdling to words in his ears as he floated back into his own body. His eyes refocused. He blinked, gaze now crystal-clear.

    ¡°¡­Wake up,¡± Suria was saying firmly, not-quite-shouting. She filled his view with crisp-edged gold, shaking him roughly by the shoulders. ¡°Felun, it is imperative that you¡ª¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m here,¡± he croaked. He could feel blood drying on his face, but his mouth was, weirdly, disgustingly dry. His tongue tasted powdery; physical grit scraped against his teeth. The clay dust hadn¡¯t been real. Had it? Perhaps, with things as old as these, enchantment straddled the line of real and not-real.

    Suria let go of his shoulders. She dusted off her hands as she stood, muttering curses beneath her breath. He waited as she passed a hand over her face, spines twitching with agitation. The Healer stood off to the side like a human-sized automaton, still breathing smoke.

    ¡°What was that?¡± Suria finally demanded. ¡°What, in all Hive¡¯s name, happened there? What did you do?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± he started, then shook his aching head. He did know, sort of. It had made itself clear, in a roundabout way. ¡°It didn¡¯t like being looked at. Changed shape when observed. It was¡­I think it was a Breaker thing.¡±

    Suria shot him a withering look. ¡°This was meant to be uncomplicated,¡± she said.

    ¡°Was it?¡± he asked, suddenly angry. His head hurt like hell, he¡¯d just finished saving himself from getting possessed by a vase, of all things, and now she was blaming him for the mess Iolite had put them into? The outrage simmered; he pushed it back momentarily, but he could feel the days¡ªthe weeks, the months¡ªweighing on his shoulders like lead. ¡°Maybe you could¡¯ve explained that in the first place. A little heads-up would¡¯ve been nice. ¡®Oh hey Felun, we¡¯re going to steal magic from random people; just stay out of the way and try not to look at the vase.¡¯¡±

    ¡°Iolite should have. You aren¡¯t truly meant to be here.¡±

    ¡°Then why am I?¡± he snapped. ¡°Because Iolite can¡¯t bother buying enchantments, and I¡¯m your walking key? This isn¡¯t another labyrinth. What the fuck¡ª¡± he gestured at the campsite, ¡°are we doing? Did these people wrong you? Did they attack your Hive? The stuff with the shadow kingdom and the mages¡ªyeah, okay. But why take it this far?¡±

    ¡°We¡¯re acquiring resources,¡± Suria said coldly. ¡°According to Iolite¡¯s specifications.¡±

    ¡°For what? Is she¡ª¡± He wracked his brain for reasons to want so much ill-gotten power. ¡°Is she trying to rebuild your Hive, or is she trying for the kingdom? Because father¡¯s already¡­¡± He trailed off.

    She stared him down. ¡°Iolite wouldn¡¯t endeavour to place your kin in danger, boy. That would violate the terms of our agreement. But beyond that, I cannot say. The minds of Archivists are mysteries to one such as I.¡±

    ¡°So you¡¯re not just being mysterious because you don¡¯t trust me? You¡¯re blindly obeying her?¡± he asked, too far gone to care for politeness.

    ¡°She follows the will of Titania Fauna, and I trust the will of a Titania. It is not a thing for humans to understand.¡±

    ¡°How do you know that¡¯s¡ªwhat if the Titania¡¯s wrong? Or what if Iolite¡¯s lying?¡±

    ¡°That is a dangerous accusation to make,¡± Suria said. ¡°Keep your human mouth shut when our words do not concern you, breaker-boy. If you mean to start a mutiny, then it will not begin with me.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s not what I¡ª¡± he snapped, then gave up. What did it matter what a tool meant to do? She was right. He wasn¡¯t meant to be here at all. If things had gone fine, he¡¯d be wandering around Kraedia without a care in the world. He put his head in his hands. Everything felt disjointed in the aftermath of wrenching himself free, like teeth pulled loose and put back into the wrong sockets. Like splinters of bone; like Ishaan, still alive and unconscious in the aftermath and depending on him to drag the both of them back alive.

    ¡°How many?¡± he asked heavily.

    ¡°How many of what?¡±

    ¡°How much magic are you harvesting with that thing? How many people?¡±

    ¡°Seven hundred and seventy seven,¡± Suria said, tilting her head. He hadn¡¯t expected such a precise answer. ¡°Actually, it is less. It was partway filled when we retrieved it. Still. Does that number outweigh your loyalty to your crippled friend?¡±

    His mouth felt dry.

    She barked out a bitter laugh. ¡°Calm yourself. It doesn¡¯t hurt them. Even if it did, they will get it all back.¡±

    ¡°What? That doesn¡¯t make sense.¡±

    She tapped her own forehead, right between the eyes. ¡°You only got hurt because you were looking. They weren¡¯t looking.¡±

    ¡°You took their magic,¡± he said, and felt a bit sick at the thought of losing his own. ¡°How can they get it back?¡±

    ¡°If there is a spring which fills very slowly and I drink all of the water out of its pool, will it not refill itself if I leave it alone forever after?¡±

    ¡°You can¡¯t be sure it works like that.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t you humans already do this?¡± she asked disgustedly ¡°You call them ¡®tithes¡¯? Or perhaps it¡¯s only popular on this accursed continent. In any case, your predecessor was quite convinced.¡±

    ¡°The dead one?¡± he spat. ¡°She never even saw this thing.¡±

    ¡°Iolite knows the value of research,¡± Suria said impatiently. ¡°She set your predecessor to the task, before the madness came on. Read her notes, if you don¡¯t believe me¡ªthe ones at the back of her book. She thought she was so clever with the disappearing inks, but we could all smell the lye she kept at the bottom of the chest. Now, are you done feeling sorry for humans who would rob you of your own magic given half the chance?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ve had enough,¡± he said. ¡°I have to help you, right? That¡¯s how it goes? Or help Iolite, at any rate. I¡¯ll deal with other labyrinth stuff if that¡¯s what you want. But this¡ªno. Enough. I won¡¯t help you with this. You don¡¯t even need me.¡±

    There was a long pause.

    ¡°That would be wise,¡± Suria eventually said. ¡°I will speak with Iolite. It¡¯s likely she¡¯ll grant you your wish; that one is, after all, far more useful.¡± She lashed her tail, indicating the Healer. ¡°Stay here, now. Don¡¯t use your magic. Certainly do not observe, as you did previously.¡±

    She picked her way back through the cavern, the Healer at her heels. Felun¡¯s gaze¡ªstripped of its Breaker-sense¡ªskimmed over the shape of the amphora and he tensed reflexively, but nothing reached for him. No scratching fingers or pointed teeth, no turning of enchantment or bone-dry clay. His pulse rolled in his veins, slowing to a normal rhythm.

    He watched as Suria picked up the amphora and worked her way across the camp. When some of the people stirred, the Healer put them back to sleep. Magic detached from blood and bone and bodies like keys clicking out of locks. Like runes floating off paper. Like a gauze peeling away from the backs of his eyes. There was no screaming, no glowing, no sprays of blood. Only a faint disturbance in the air, rippling across the cavern to touch gently at his brow.

    Felun looked away and let himself drift.

 4.4 - Broken Dusk

    Parsec

    It was not so much like sleeping as drifting upon a sea of hungry shadows. The cocoon speared threads of spell-silk into her body, twisting her scent like malleable chitin beneath deft hands.

    Near done now, Venera spoke.

    Vapours could not unweave tell-tale starlight and brittle knife-edge. But they could blanket her body in a wreath of misdirection. They could sprout the scent of wildflowers, allow illusion to root over her face and wings and fingertips, allow her the lie of a still-living Hive.

    When she opened her eyes once more, the shapes past the veil of the cocoon were wreathed in darkness. When she strained her ears, she could barely piece together the sound of breathing beyond. She frowned, guessing the strain of disguise-making had exhausted her, further blunted her strength and focus.

    The human dreams, Venera observed.

    Parsec grunted in acknowledgment and flexed her limbs, tearing through the skeins of webbing anchoring her upright. The outer wall of the cocoon was more difficult to pierce; there was a fresh quiver to her movements that hadn¡¯t been there before, and she ended up having to use her teeth.

    When she crawled through the gash and out into the room, she was greeted by near-pure darkness. A faint square of light shone through the shut curtains, but she could not discern the slightest thing about the rest of the room. She squinted, scowling when her eyesight didn¡¯t adjust of its own accord, and not even when she urged it to.

    A thrum of unease filtered through to the forefront of her mind, far sharper than the initial acceptance she¡¯d mustered upon the realisation that she¡¯d get no honey this solstice. Weakened strength was one thing, and slowed flight was not a pleasant prospect. But night navigation had always been her favoured domain. Without it, she felt blind.

    Tatterdemalion woes, Venera said.

    Parsec swallowed the sourness arising in her throat: so the disguise-making had additional costs? Well, it was to be expected. It simply meant she had to find that honey substitute, and soon.

    She stumbled another couple of steps further into the room, mumbling a spell beneath her breath. A faint speck of spell-light sparked in her palm and she saw in the glow of it that the human, Jackal, had curled up to sleep upon the remaining cot. In the space between one blink and the next, the slope of his shadow seemed to undulate, like a saltwater wave.

    Venera¡¯s ghost-sigh sifted along her cheek. Clear waters clouding over. Our blame, foresee it?

    ¡°Well,¡± Parsec murmured. ¡°I doubt the¡­travel¡­through his Archive-link did him any good. But it is not my fault. I did not know the route when I chose it.¡±

    Disapproval washed over her like a coat of thick snow. Precipitated, this-one. Predecessor was not the spark, key, catalyst. No body left to hurt with.

    ¡°I said I would help him, did I not?¡±

    Said, or promised?

    ¡°I do not make promises to humans.¡±

    There came a sense of more faint disapproval. Try nourish now.

    Parsec ground her teeth together and gave her wings a tired shake. Part of her wished to argue, to simply sleep until morning. But the lack of true Hive honey scratched at her insides, a new and shaken hunger that refused to fade. The air tasted stifling upon her tongue. The cocoon tasted of nothing.

    See it? Predecessor and Archive lend a ravenousness. Stoke a hunger. The severance is more to blame, with this-one, but does this-one see it? Is as such for the human.

    ¡°Hm,¡± Parsec said, and continued her meal.

    The night bore on as she knelt beside the carcass of her creation and disassembled it, mouthful by mouthful. The spell-forged material flaked open like desiccating parchments in her hands and melted beneath her teeth. Her fingers twitched minutely every so often, without her say-so. What leftover nutrients remained were crucial if she hoped to use her strength effectively¡ªwith ghostly aid or otherwise.

    This-one engulfed knowledge, Venera said. Need not the predecessor.

    Could Venera see or feel the set of her wings? Parsec wondered, or was it some other unfathomable ghost-sense at play? If their thoughts were becoming intertwined, she did not feel it.

    ¡°I have said so before,¡± Parsec hissed around a mouthful of crumbling cocoon. ¡°That you are¡ª¡±

    Yes. The predecessor understands. The predecessor only asks this-one-Parsec to implement for itself. Fire in the hand. Predecessor bequeaths, and it will burn-crackle. This-one creates, and it will¡­will hurt less.

    Parsec sighed. ¡°I am not a Titania.¡±

    No, Venera said dryly¡ªif a ghost could speak dryly. This-one was born to accomplish more than that.

    She finished the last of the cocoon and stood again, stumbling over to the curtained window. Twitching the fabric aside revealed the street gone quiet, blued by lanterns. At least she could still see that.

    She reached for the pack slumped at the end of the bed, examining its pockets for what she sought. In the third one along, she found something suitable: a vial of pepper kernels, half-full. She found two spare cups and emptied the pepper into one of them.

    She took the remaining cup into her hands and drew a deep breath. Venera touched her shoulder in silent understanding: this was going to hurt.

    ¡°Now?¡± she asked.

    Fly with own wings, if this-one would. Would be¡­easier. Less movement, less pain.

    Reluctantly, she summoned the recollection of shapes, the knowledge of where those ghost glands had rooted themselves. She gathered her magic and poured it into her neck and tongue, thinking, shaping, remembering¡­

    A little push from Venera, in the form of a finger brushing her throat, and it happened.

    Searing, burning, spikes at her throat, followed by a twisting ache in every joint. At least she was prepared for it this time. She gasped out a precious few drops of unripe honey, the cup raised to catch them. It was so little. Wouldn¡¯t last her a day. But syrup, schismatist-brewed syrup¡­

    She distracted herself with the promise of that syrup as she squeezed more honey from the ghost-glands, just enough to fill perhaps a fifth of the cup.

    Enough, Venera said, at the exact moment she resolved to stop.

    She released her hold on the glands, letting them dissipate. The soreness lingered in her joints as she poured the honey into the vial, careful to not spill a drop. She capped the vial and set it aside, licking the cup for any spare trace.

    There. She had done all she could. Now it was a matter of hoping a brewer would want such a thing, and to find the brewer in the first place.

    Behind her, Jackal turned over in his sleep. He murmured words in the human tongue, tinged with distress. She frowned when she did not glean their meaning and strode closer. Another spark of spell-light in the palm, to light the way.

    Jackal shifted again, half-shouting as he rolled onto his side. His pillow did not obscure his syllables when he spoke them, but they sounded odd nonetheless¡ªshe could not understand.

    She reached out and shook him roughly by the shoulder. ¡°Wake up,¡± she said against the unease uncoiling in her chest.

    His eyes snapped open, strangely wet-looking in the low light. He yelled, hands flying out to shove against her arm before faltering halfway.

    He spoke something. She didn¡¯t know what. At least he sounded calmer.

    ¡°Jackal?¡± she tested. ¡°Can you understand me?¡±

    Human faces were more difficult to read with their lack of spines, but his confusion seemed clear enough. He said a different thing, equally as meaningless. The sounds coming out of his mouth were all too round. Warbling, like birds. She turned her attention away.

    ¡°Venera?¡± she asked.

    Predecessor cannot breach.

    Parsec gathered herself, stepping back from the cot as Jackal sat up, rubbing at his face. So the cocoon had taken half her sight and half her comprehension. She had a disguise to show for it in return, but what good would it do her if Jackal could not lead her to his alleged nest of schismatists? Scent alone would not save her from trying to trick the Hival office¡ªit was only two-thirds of a measure. It would, she thought with some irritation, be best to avoid Hival sight altogether.

    Least it is night, Venera offered.

    ¡°Yes, and they are able to see,¡± Parsec said sourly. ¡°Unlike I.¡±

    Not so, Venera said. Unless all are Generals?

    ¡°Lieutenants, too. The higher patrols.¡±

    This one has scented too much of the inner sanctum. Think of proportion. Most can see same as this-one. Will carry¡ªconcept of moon-fire-sun-chained-in-glass¡ªlight abreast. Warning enough.

    If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.

    ¡°Mm,¡± Parsec said, and lashed her tail in agitation. ¡°Only the human knows where the schismatists lay.¡±

    She turned back to Jackal, who stood quite still at her back, watching her talk to herself with wide eyes. Perhaps she was mistaken, but he looked stricken. Ill at ease. How to convince him of the meaning?

    If not sound, then? Venera prompted. Scent?

    ¡°No,¡± Parsec said. ¡°Not scent.¡±

    She sent her speck of spell-light skittering overhead and pressed a hand to her throat. The cocoon-markings had faded off the floor, but she could still summon that memory, that sensation like a hundred tiny thorns raking the underside of her tongue¡­

    Indigo splashed into her palm. Jackal yelped and backed away. Ignoring his babbling, she dipped her free hand into the ink and stalked over to the closest wall. She was no anointed artisan. The shape formed clumsily beneath her fingers¡ªhead, torso, limbs. Then another, with a tail and a pair of wings stuck to its shoulders. After a moment¡¯s thought, she added spines crowning its head.

    ¡°See?¡± she said aloud, hoping the guidance conveyed something. She glanced over her shoulder¡ªhe¡¯d stopped backing away, at least. ¡°This is you, and that is I.¡±

    Turning back to the wall, she hastily inked another drawing an armspan off to the right: several figure-shapes, all with wings and tails and spines.

    ¡°And this is the nest of schismatists.¡±

    She dipped her finger into the last of the ink and scratched a crude line across the wall, joining the two.

    ¡°You will take me to them. I require it.¡±

    She turned back round and watched as he stepped hesitantly closer. More words burbled from his mouth, but she gripped his shoulder and shook her head from side to side¡ªa gesture adopted by long-ago Lieutenants, she recalled, a habit filtered through to the rest of the Hive. Surely it was sufficiently rooted in human behaviour? She tried to recall whether she had encountered a human who had done this¡ªbut then, she had not been on proper patrol in a long time. They were such fast-moving creatures, teeming and prolific, their cities choking clusters with no proper rhythm to them.

    ¡°Do you understand?¡± she asked with a trace of desperation. She gestured at the window, then on second thought, to the door.

    Jackal began to speak. She almost hissed with frustration, until he halted of his own accord. He looked the wall up and down once more. His gaze dawned in something that could be recognition. And he nodded.

    ===

    Kraedia City was almost peaceful by night, the smaller streets quiet save for the occasional passer-by. A faint mist of rain had fallen during her time in the cocoon, and Parsec counted herself fortunate that her borrowed cloak did not look so suspicious given the weather. She tucked her wings closer to her back and walked in lockstep at Jackal¡¯s back.

    Seawater and saffron-paste, Venera hummed into her ear. Predecessor senses hollows on approach.

    Parsec eyed the surrounds warily. Sooty bricks loomed on all sides, their silhouettes melting into the dark sky. If she squinted, she could make out a few details¡ªwindows, doors. But the signs swinging from forlorn shopfronts remained incomprehensible. Jackal led her down another back street, avoiding the glow of lanterns that accompanied trickles of midnight pedestrians.

    Her costly disguise seemed to be working, at least. Several times she tensed as they passed beneath the shadow of a Hiver patrol, and several times they walked on unscathed. Eventually, they reached a portion of the city curiously empty of any Hivers at all.

    The human-built structures grew simpler as they progressed, starker in shape, some of them in ruins, even. Wire fencing emerged around some of the buildings, half-rusted over. Parsec smelled soil and stone and old mortar and¡ªjust barely, in the distance¡ªa hint of ocean.

    Jackal spoke something in a low tone, turning round to look at her. His face was nearly impossible to make out, half-obscured behind a pair of oversized goggles. He gestured at the fence before them, formed of tall wooden planks. Parsec flew up, peering over.

    Beyond lay a large, square tunnel that bored into the side of a low, human-made hill of crumbling brick¡ªas good of an entrance to a schismatist¡¯s nest as any. She hesitated, scenting no tell-tale presence. They must be some ways down.

    See beneath, Venera agreed.

    She lowered herself from the air, back to Jackal¡¯s side, and hesitated before offering her free hand, palm-upwards.

    ¡°Will you be accompanying us?¡± she asked, though she knew it to be useless.

    He spoke several words in quick succession, sounding a touch frantic. She waited, arm outstretched. Several seconds passed before he took it.

    Perhaps it was cruel of her, she mused as she flew the both of them over. It was, after all, in his best interest that she return from the venture unscathed enough to assist in his hunger-dreaming predicaments. But was it truly bribery if he¡¯d had the foresight to bring a knife?

    It was a very large knife. She suspected it had seen a variety in the way of flesh. He had the rest of his equipment too, and this tunnel seemed something like a dungeon. She would take whatever advantage she could get.

    Mean not to parley?

    ¡°I will attempt to be courteous,¡± Parsec said as she set Jackal onto the ground. The one good thing about having lost her ability to communicate with him was the ability to speak to Venera without worrying about slipping into the wrong language. ¡°But these are schismatists we are speaking of.¡±

    Predecessor advises avoidance of conflict. A diagram spiraled into her head, curling lines and scent-impressions mingling together in a prickly blur. Hiver-not, they will take measures.

    ¡°Measures to protect their own honey with utmost caution?¡± Parsec asked sourly as they approached the tunnel. ¡°Yes, I do see why.¡±

    Not mere storage; also source. Would be a brewer, perhaps. Potential of several, for redundancy. Archive-stolen skill, passed along¡­like a Titania? The principle is¡­the same?

    ¡°Schismatists are nothing like a Hive,¡± Parsec said carefully. ¡°I apologise if I have implied a disrespect¡ª¡±

    It is true. They are somewhat alike, this-one-Parallax.

    ¡°Still,¡± Parsec said. ¡°It was not my intention.¡±

    Say then, what does a Titania care of it, much less the predecessor? Far from umbrageous. Not self¡¯s duty to uphold it so. Only catalysis. Only to nourish.

    ¡°Hm,¡± Parsec said, and peered into the thick darkness of the opening.

    The night mocked her with its impenetrable shadows. She felt a scowl forming, then turned at a sound: Jackal, tugging his goggles to his forehead and fumbling with a small contraption strapped to his chest. Something clicked true, and a beam of light speared down the tunnel, sparing her the need for a spell. She considered the downward slope, the beginning of what looked like steps at the furthest reaches of the illumination.

    ¡°Well,¡± she said to Jackal. ¡°I suppose I should lead.¡±

    She stepped into the dryness of the tunnel, scenting nothing out of the ordinary. Steps sloped down some several feet in, as did the ceiling to match. The overall effect was one of being penned in from all sides. Surely the schismatists had chosen this location as a last resort? The air was quite stale; for a moment, she wondered whether Jackal would be safe continuing with his human-lungs.

    Venera provided a somewhat painful, unhelpful mix of scents, followed by the impression of an apology. Several stuttered not-words echoed in the depths of her ears, values and percentages, until ghostly fingers patted reassuringly at her shoulder.

    Suffice, Venera said. Parsec took it to mean her one ally in this tiresome place would not suffer overmuch in accompanying her.

    Still, it was clear that such unpleasantness resulted from willingly turning one¡¯s back on a proper Hive. Worse yet came the realisation she would be perceived lower than even that. No sane schismatists harboured exiles; it was only on a Hive¡¯s mercy they continued to exist as they did. She would need to hold fast to her plausible story.

    The steps, when they levelled out, merged with an eroding platform overlooking yet more tunnel¡ªperpendicular, this time. Twin lines of steel sunk into the earth, disappearing past the distant curves of tunnel on either side. Jackal drew alongside and looked both ways, murmuring human-words beneath his breath. The crunch of their steps atop the platform seemed to echo. When she sniffed the air for tell-tale traces of schismatist, there was a hint of vernal bloom¡ªa greenness, like algae and diamond willow.

    Predecessor senses enchantment, Venera murmured. Clumpingness. Cannot discern.

    Parsec lowered herself to sit on the edge of the platform. She waited, vial of honey held firmly in hand. Jackal spoke something in the human tongue and made a loose, confused gesture with his arm.

    ¡°We shall stay here until called for,¡± Parsec said. It was comforting to speak aloud, otherwise pointless as it was. ¡°They are aware of us now, I am sure. Seeing as this is their¡­equivalent¡­of a Hive, it is only polite to await at the threshold.¡±

    Sole offering, Venera agreed.

    Jackal spoke back, his words as unintelligible as ever. After some moments, he began to pace.

    The air remained still, making it difficult to discern an approach via scent alone. Parsec listened for wingbeats, though she was sure the lack of honey had since blunted that sense too. Venera spoke to her in fragments, a slow and fractured song of scents and impressions.

    It was not long before the scent of greenness grew, thickening off to the right. Parsec rose to her feet. Jackal, head whipping round at her movement, tensed all over. She strode to the end of the platform, peering into where light met darkness.

    ¡°Greetings,¡± she called out, hoping fervently that her cocoon-wrought disguise held true. ¡°Is this the un-Hival place?¡±

    The darkness spoke. ¡°That depends on who is asking.¡±

    ¡°I have left my Hive.¡± Parsec squinted, little good that did her. ¡°And I have come a long way. Might I ask you to step closer? I am afraid I cannot see.¡±

    Predecessor sees, Venera whispered. Not as this-one does, but suffice enough. Winding structure, syrup-fed¡ªschismatist, certainly.

    ¡°Why have you brought a human?¡± the voice asked.

    ¡°I cannot see,¡± Parsec repeated. She allowed her spines to droop. ¡°I am newly-arrived to the city. I met an independent¡ªpassing through¡ªand he led me to this human as a guide.¡±

    ¡°Newly-arrived?¡± The voice asked with interest. ¡°Usually, the fresh ones join at the Hival office. From where do you hail?¡±

    Fawnfell? Venera suggested. Ironport?

    Parsec froze, but the voice gave no indication of hearing the ghost-word¡ªit seemed the illusory effect of Venera¡¯s presence was not confined to humans, after all. There would be time enough to ponder the merits and downfalls of such a fact later.

    ¡°A place near Ironport,¡± she answered hastily. ¡°Though it has been¡­many seasons, living alone. A long time, and the winters are growing difficult. As for the choice of office¡­I have my differences with Hive matters, you understand.¡±

    ¡°I see,¡± the voice mused. ¡°Well, we are a place for those who cannot merge with Hives. So long as you¡¯re willing to prove your worth, then you¡¯re welcome here.¡±

    ¡°Thank you,¡± Parsec lied. She hesitated, turning back to Jackal. ¡°I am afraid the longtime loss of honey has made communication difficult. Might you inform my guide that I will be¡­my thanks, and that I will visit, soon?¡±

    ¡°Certainly.¡± To her surprise, she understood the next words. ¡°Human-guide, your companion says her thanks and that she will visit you shortly.¡±

    Beside her, Jackal frowned and nodded.

    ¡°How,¡± Parsec began. ¡°Oh, I see. You use the honey, to metamorphose?¡±

    ¡°Syrup.¡± The voice was tinged with amusement. ¡°We call it syrup, here. And don¡¯t we all? I have one friend who learned the human tongue proper, but he is as strange as they come. Let us be off, then.¡±

    She hovered off the platform, pausing when Jackal spoke a selection of words.

    ¡°What is he saying?¡± Parsec asked.

    ¡°He asks how you will find him,¡± the schismatist voice answered. ¡°A fair question.¡±

    ¡°I remember the way.¡±

    She did, though it was a relief when Venera said, predecessor recalls the corridors, too. Perhaps she would need the guidance, should this schismatist syrup not prove sufficiently timely or effective.

    ¡°She says she remembers the way.¡± A pause, as Jackal spoke again. ¡°He says ¡®alright, I¡¯ll stay there,¡¯ and ¡®don¡¯t be gone too long, Pavao.¡¯¡±

    Parsec paused. Pavao. Perhaps he was cleverer than she had given him credit for. She raised her hand in a farewell gesture and he nodded, departing hesitantly. His light went with him, and Parsec muttered a speck of spell-light to life in her hand.

    ¡°Apologies,¡± the voice said. ¡°It¡¯s easy to forget, with newcomers.¡± From the darkness came movement, and the owner of the voice emerged, cupping a conjured glow in his own hand. ¡°There, is this less worrying?¡±

    He was as green as she¡¯d expected him to be in the pale gleam of his light, and specklings of gold dusted his spines like lichen. His horns were of the hooked sort, and to her surprise there were all manner of stones and shells and feathers strung between them with twine.

    Tessellations, Venera remarked thoughtfully. Would have been a Lieutenant, once.

    ¡°You may call me Linden,¡± the schismatist said. ¡°It is not the name my Hive gave me, but it is a truer one.¡± His spines tilted in a considering way, and she caught him glancing at the vial in her hand. ¡°Shall I call you Pavao, as your guide did?¡±

    ¡°Certainly,¡± Parsec said, all-too-aware of the lie. ¡°And now, are you to bring me to your¡­¡±

    ¡°Un-Hive?¡± Linden supplied with a dry chuckle. ¡°Indeed. This way, Pavao.¡±

    She shrugged off her borrowed cloak and slung it over her arm¡ªif he made to attack her, perhaps she could fling it and run.

    He ventured deeper into the tunnel, giving no sign of even turning his head. She followed his flight into the pressing dark, careful to keep her spell-spark alight. Venera soared alongside, a soothing presence at her shoulder. Around them, the air soaked in the scent of greenness and forest and wildflowers, and not the slightest hint of starlight.

 4.5 - Make Haste Slowly

    Parsec

    According to Venera, they were following the tunnel westwards. The depth had not changed much, though parts of the twin metal lines set into the floor fractured in places. They passed a great many broken stones and piles of earth. It was quite unlike the few glimpses she¡¯d gotten of Glister¡¯s layered depths; disappointing, really.

    ¡°You have quite the friendships among humans?¡± Linden asked.

    ¡°Not especially,¡± Parsec answered. He was likely trying to establish conversation rather than catch her in a lie, but Venera¡¯s murmurings left her all-too-aware of her disguise. ¡°The guide there was one of the friendlier sorts. There are different encounters to worry of, I have found.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t we know it,¡± Linden said moodily. ¡°Well, we are always glad to help our newcomers recuperate. Should be reaching the main portion soon¡ªcan you scent it alright?¡±

    Parsec concentrated. ¡°I believe so.¡±

    A faint mixture of scents drifted about them, subtle change from stillness and stone. Sour apricots, Venera categorised. True fruits. Brindled bark and bird¡¯s eye maple.

    ¡°How many occupants do you have, in this, as you say, un-Hive down here?¡± Parsec continued. It seemed the question to ask, to convey polite interest. It was also useful information.

    ¡°Such things are in forever-flux,¡± Linden said, tilting his head. The ornaments dangling from his horns chimed together as he did so. ¡°But sixty or so permanent residents. Some leave and return. Many are independent schismatist groups, stopping by in a nomadic manner.¡±

    Sixty was enough to be considered a proper swarm.

    ¡°I see.¡± She hesitated. ¡°Are you their leader?¡±

    ¡°A swarmlord, you mean?¡± Amusement winked in his tone. ¡°I wouldn¡¯t say so myself. Not like the Hival tales. But what about you? What are your intentions?¡±

    They rounded a corner. Scent bloomed, proximity-fresh. The side of the human-made tunnel had been cleaved open, and another offshoot excavated. This new tunnel was reinforced with wooden planks and slabs of biosynthesised composite; not fine work, she judged, but sturdy enough. In truth, it did not look like the entrance to a place she would want to live, the problem of Eltanin notwithstanding.

    Intentions? Venera said. Hunger ones; perhaps best know not.

    Parsec hesitated. Was trickery an option here? ¡°I would like to regain some of my strength away from Hive¡¯s influence,¡± she answered, which seemed ambiguous enough.

    Linden gave a knowing twitch of spine before stepping into the offshoot. ¡°It is quite alright, Pavao. Many come here to seek syrup only. And who are we to blame them? The Hival embrace is a crushing one.¡±

    Parsec blinked at his answer, and at the ghost sighs brushing her spines. It was unsettling, that there existed people who believed such things beyond all else. She turned her attention back to the offshoot. It was at least as large as the human-made tunnel and it widened further some metres in. Linden ventured ahead, pushing aside a curtain of leaves to reveal a vast cavern at the very end.

    ¡°Watch your steps coming out,¡± he warned, edging off to the side. ¡°There is a ledge, but it isn¡¯t very large.¡±

    Parsec blinked at the warning and peered over the precipice. The tunnel¡¯s mouth overlooked a sprawling cavern blanketed in blue-grey moss, illuminated by huge, bulging lamps webbed to the walls. They cast a calm, yellow glow that reminded her of the artificial suns installed in larger Hival hollows. The light refracted and diffused through an abundance of mineral cylinders spearing down from the ceiling. Flowering vines waterfalled down flowstone walls, filling the air with the scent of foliage and springtime, pollen and karst. Figures moved around a large cluster of what looked like repurposed human-crafted structures, placed squarely in the center of it all.

    ¡°Beautiful, isn¡¯t it?¡± Linden said, practically beaming. ¡°It¡¯s taken some time to cultivate, but it was worth it in the end.¡±

    She cast about for a suitable compliment. ¡°It smells good. Light and fresh.¡±

    ¡°Yes, I¡¯ve been told as much.¡± He chuckled softly. ¡°But feast your eyes, if you would. People forget to, until they¡¯re reminded.¡±

    Parsec edged gingerly out onto the ledge. The view was just as good as the smell, she thought begrudgingly, though a shade overwhelming for her taste. It reminded her a little of Segin¡¯s decorative follies.

    Did the predecessor have follies? Venera mused. Predecessor remembers little, but sensation of stone changing beneath the hand is clear enough. Her tone seemed oddly musing, perhaps even wistful. Recalls the scent. Berries and pine. Sensed the echo. Lord Linden did much with what a scentless could. Do not begrudge his joy.

    Parsec dragged her gaze from the cavern back to him. ¡°Ah. You¡¯re an anosmic?¡±

    He dipped his spines, but not in a self-conscious manner. ¡°Many of us are. Some Hives are better about this sort of thing nowadays. I don¡¯t know about your old one, but the one up there thinks us little better than fodder bodies. Not three generations ago, they classed it as an inoperable defect. Drowned in the recycling vats alongside the unformed¡­I¡¯ll admit a selfishness: I made the view for myself. A word of advice?¡± He leaned in fractionally. ¡°I¡¯m alright with questions, but there¡¯s no need to ask others unless they bring it up themselves. Some of us¡ªthe older ones, especially¡ªhave bad memories about this sort of thing.¡±

    ¡°I see.¡± She hadn¡¯t expected a reply like that. Come to think of it, had she met many anosmics in her time at the Hive?

    Predecessor usually set them to solitary synthesis routines, Venera spoke. Minimal collective crafting for psychological enrichment, depending on extent of anosmia. Predecessor remembers it failed to create a subroutine once. Two-point-five per one thousand individuals. Zero point zero-zero-two-five percent. Three quarters voluntarily severed from Hive, half within two cycles after fledging. Complaints collected and testimonies gathered but small dataset, low priority. Detailed information not parsed beyond Lieutenant-level. Could not optimise for aggregate assembly line duties nor integration with pre-existing hunting collectives nor gathering routine tree nor patrols due to city interaction¡­

    The list went on and on. Parsec wondered what it¡¯d be like working in synthesis for her whole life. Alone. Void of scent. In the dark. She swallowed her thoughts as Linden stepped into the air and beckoned for descent.

    The structures, it turned out, were old shuttle-shells, half engulfed in blueish moss. A selection of schismatists looked up at their approach, and a few tilted their spines in greeting. Parsec almost forgot to return the gesture, before Venera whispered an impression of reciprocity.

    Most looked ordinary enough. Scout¡¯s wings. Processor¡¯s jaws. Here and there, a hooked tail and a few eyes like jewels¡ªspecial vanities. Unimportant. Everything was arranged like a human village, the gaps in between the shuttles forming surprisingly even, if meandering, corridors. Linden led her through a clearing like a town square, featuring a bubbling spring. Schismatists glanced up at her passing, some murmuring softly amongst themselves. To her irritation, she could not make out the words¡ªperhaps they knew this.

    Solace, this-one-Parallax. Taste the air.

    Parsec bit her teeth together to keep from speaking.

    ¡°I¡¯m guessing you¡¯ll be wanting to see our dear Brewer, then?¡± Linden continued, and beckoned her to follow without waiting for an answer.

    Brewer, she noted, and not Archivist. She would not speak of it, as long as the result was the same.

    Threading through the cluster of half-buried shuttle-shells, they approached a mossy hump of earth¡ªso large it probably counted as a hillside. Did these schismatists hope to become un-Hival by copying the architecture of the Hive? Parsec suppressed a curl of her tail. There was another tunnel entrance set into this hill, small enough that one would have to crouch. It looked dark, too. Parsec¡¯s fingers twitched at the thought. Linden might have seen it, because he summoned a fresh handful of spell-light and entered first.

    The passage was unremarkable, save for a few boulders studded here and there. It smelled dry and crumbly, shored up with planks and roots and magic. The air pulsed, then stilled. The motion was so brief that she might have suspected her own imagination¡ªbut no, she knew the ways of the inner Hive. She had felt the steel-filament-gauze of the Archives for herself enough to know: this unassuming tunnel was warded, and warded well.

    A strong net, Venera said, with what might have been a hint of cheer. Shed antlers. Spoiled plums. Far from Archival. No fear; the air paths branch out and away.

    Parsec did not reply, focusing instead on the bobbing light ahead, the soft clink of dangling stone against swaying shell. The fanciful ideals of the schismatists meant nothing to her, she reminded herself. It was only her weakness, her dulled senses combined their frivolous proximity, that set a grating itch at the base of her spines.

    Ahead, the air thickened with herbal scents: boiled bark and sourwood. She could make out a sound now, too¡ªliquids, simmering. Fresh light poured into the widening tunnel, the milky green of carefully cultivated glow-mosses.

    ¡°Sylvan,¡± Linden spoke, no longer addressing her. ¡°I bring a guest.¡±

    Shining mosses furred the hollow. Pale stalactites gleamed like polished teeth. Benches had been assembled from spare shuttle parts, bearing glasswork and cauldrons, a tangle of human-like instruments that made her tail flick with unease.

    It shivers for want of recognition, Venera murmured. Far from Archival. Far from predecessor, and home, and¡­you scent it, this-one-Parallax?

    No, she almost replied. No, she did not. This place did not resemble a queen¡¯s collection chamber by either measure of scent or sight. It was disgusting. Unnatural. And loath as it was, she did not need help any less for having known it: this tainted source, this poisoned spring.

    In the middle of it all stood a schismatist, broad-winged and sleepy-eyed. The cauldron before him bubbled violently as he stirred, heated by the flames of a human contraption. His tail whisked restlessly across the ground, combing over the moss as he muttered something about berries and orpiment beneath his breath.

    ¡°Sylvan,¡± Linden said again, a trace of impatience to his tone.

    ¡°Yes, yes,¡± the brewer said distractedly. He flicked his tail and effused a vague cloud of thistle-tinted irritation. ¡°Just one moment.¡±

    The mannerism was telling. She reassessed her estimation of his age. He seemed to know what he was doing with the cauldron, yes, and he was sturdily-built, but he was most certainly younger than she had first assumed. Further unease stirred within her at that, but what choice did she have? An inexperienced brewer had to be better than none at all.

    The brewer¡ªSylvan¡ªgave the cauldron another stir, before upending a vial into its contents. The liquid frothed bright blue. Fat bubbles formed atop the foam, sparking with spellfire before they burst. It all smelled highly unusual, smoky and bittersweet. Was this even a precursor for honey¡­?

    Venera made a vaguely appreciative impression over her shoulder. Catalytic solution, she said. Curling ligands. Enzyme hundred-four.

    ¡°She¡¯s just here for the syrup, then?¡± Sylvan said, setting his stirring stick aside. The flames dimmed as he fiddled with a set of levers at the base of the heating contraption. He headed for the back of the hollow without waiting for an answer.

    ¡°She is here for our help,¡± Linden said. His voice carried calmly across the space. ¡°Aren¡¯t you, Pavao?¡±

    ¡°For your brewer¡¯s help, largely.¡± She held out the vial. ¡°I come to barter.¡±

    Sylvan¡¯s spines rippled as he drew closer. ¡°Is that what I think it is?¡±

    ¡°Hival honey,¡± she confirmed, and watched as his eyes took on a covetous gleam. ¡°You need base material to refine your craft, correct?¡±

    He gave her a sharp look. ¡°Close to one who knew brewing, were you? That¡¯s not ripe, though. Where did you get that?¡±

    ¡°Not important. Can I exchange this for some of your syrup, or not?¡±

    Sylvan exchanged a look with Linden, still at her side. ¡°Show me the scent,¡± he said. ¡°It has to be genuine.¡±

    She uncorked the vial. A scent of green-gold flooded the space, pure and sweet.

    Sylvan took a deep breath. He held it for several long moments, as if luxuriating in a taste of long-lost pleasure. These schismatists could say all they liked, but she doubted they could avoid missing their Hives. Sylvan exhaled quietly before meeting her eyes again. He nodded and strode for the back of the hollow.

    Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.

    Upon some squinting, she realised there were hundreds of vials nestled into the moss there, only discernible by glints of reflected light. He selected three vials out of their moss-choked hollows. ¡°Take these, then.¡±

    ¡°Only three?¡± she challenged.

    ¡°Any more, and it¡¯ll spoil.¡± She couldn¡¯t be sure he was being truthful, and Venera had nothing to add on the matter.

    The liquid within shimmered gold as he held them out to her. It did look like proper honey, as far as she could tell.

    ¡°It¡¯s not as potent as the Hive stuff,¡± he continued. ¡°You need to dose over time. See the mechanism there, in the cork? Squeeze the tab for a drop. One or two drops a day, understand? An extra drop if you¡¯re tired. Don¡¯t drink the whole thing at once, unless you want to have a bad time.¡±

    Venera murmured something about half-lives over her shoulder.

    ¡°Thank you,¡± she said warily. She handed the honey over and for the syrup, cradling the vials in her hands. ¡°And you require no additional payment? No¡­special work to do on your behalf?¡±

    Linden shook his head next to her. ¡°No, no. Well, I won¡¯t lie: a helping hand would be nice. But nothing is demanded of you, Pavao. I don¡¯t know what you¡¯ve heard about us, but we simply want our fellow lone-flyers to survive away from Hival influence above all else.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯re not the weird sort of schismatist,¡± Sylvan grumbled, with a flick of spines.

    Linden nodded sagely. ¡°We do not wish violence upon Hives. We do not call for death of Titanias. Some individuals give us a bad name¡ªexiles, especially. Be careful out there.¡±

    Exiles, Venera echoed with what might have been bitter amusement.

    ¡°Must be desperate if you came here worried about that,¡± Sylvan scowled. ¡°Go on, have a drop.¡±

    She hesitated. If the syrup had an ill effect and it struck her here, in their home territory¡­

    ¡°If we wanted to steal your barter, we could¡¯ve done it already,¡± Sylvan added. ¡°But if you would like to have a surprise reaction in the safety of your own home, feel free to. It¡¯ll be quite the trip for an antidote.¡±

    She ground her teeth together at the bluntedness of her senses, the weakness so obvious throughout.

    That-one-Sylvan not so fast, Venera broke in. Nor leader-Lord Linden. Weakened Parallax¡­if biting, could help. Predecessor is here. If poison¡­will give all that predecessor can. Leap. A picture of a trajectory blazed in her mind, coils of motion ghosting through air. Reclaim honey. Drink-flee.

    Venera¡¯s proposal was better than nothing. It would be a most unpleasant course of action, it was true, but Parsec doubted it would be easy for her to die here. Wounded, yes, but not killed. It was an acceptable risk, given the alternatives. She raised a vial and squeezed a drop onto her tongue.

    Sweetness stung at the back of her teeth. The power followed momentarily, and the world clicked like a turning gear as magic soaked into her veins. Edges aligned. Scents sharpened. The shadows receded, revealing caches and contours tucked into the moss. Every colour seemed to twitch in unison before settling into a fractionally more vivid version of itself.

    Dawn now, Venera said approvingly. Memories of scents floated through her mind in a wave, several of them unfamiliar. Dehiscence. Decorticating.

    ¡°Good, right?¡± Sylvan asked. He sounded as smug as Orion sometimes did after a clear success.

    ¡°Thank you,¡± Parsec said begrudgingly.

    Linden flicked his wings with approval. ¡°Ah, no problems at all. You¡¯re looking rejuvenated already.¡±

    ¡°Have a proper loading dose,¡± Sylvan said, turning back to his cauldron. ¡°Another three drops should do it. Come back with more payment when you run out¡ªno, actually, a little before. I don¡¯t suppose you¡¯ve got more of that honey, but other service will do just fine.¡±

    She had no intention of aiding their cause. Still, she nodded jerkily and partook of another few drops. There came the same sensation as before: shivers of distilled power.

    ¡°I trust you can find your own way out from here?¡± Linden asked.

    ¡°Yes,¡± she answered. Already, the shadows were peeling away like old bark.

    He tilted his head serenely. ¡°Good. Do return whenever you¡¯d like, Pavao. Lone-flyers are always welcome here.¡±

    She twitched her spines courteously, and sensed Venera doing the same via some sort of tactile afterimage. Three vials of syrup in the hand: that had been suspiciously easy. She evaluated the functionality of her senses, scenting for any sign of a pursuer the whole way back.

    There was none. She exited the tunnel unharmed, made her way back to the main streets and listened to scraps of human chatter as Kraedians passed her by. The words fragmented in reverse with each passing moment, making more and more sense: children chattering excitedly, street hawkers selling soup. Glyphs wavered into letters like fungi pushing through soil, like buds bursting in springtime. The crowds thickened with the fast-rising sun. Humans milled on all sides, but the path she wove was her own.

    Hers¡ªand Venera¡¯s.

    ===

    The ramshackle inn was quiet when she returned. A sullen barmaid polished glasses behind the counter and a few other humans shared a pot of something in the corner¡ªan over-salted stew with poor-quality grains, by the smell of it. None of them paid her any mind. She ascended the stairs and down to the end of the lodgings corridor to find the door locked.

    Stir in the wind, Venera said anxiously. Moss crawling over ledges. Split sputum. Mucus. Halcurin. Hunger-tide.

    The scent of blood hit her. Her syrup-sensitised senses latched onto it and drew information out with almost startling efficiency, like incisors winnowing flesh from bone. Her scenting told her the blood was human blood, red and sharp and a few hours fresh at most. An unusual quantity, but not more than a mouthful or two. No metal, no smoke, no char of wood nor straw.

    ¡°Jackal?¡± she called. He was in there¡ªshe could scent his presence, partial exhales indicating recency. ¡°Jackal, it is I. Parsec. I have returned.¡±

    There came no verbal response. Only faint sounds of shifting fabric¡ªand something else. A light clicking, spaced in irregular intervals. Worry and suspicion curdled in her core.

    Terror-dreaming? Venera suggested.

    Parsec peered through the keyhole. She could see the wall opposite, a sliver of curtained window, and his rucksack¡ªbut the cots were flush against the wall and not visible through such a small aperture.

    She lashed her tail and twisted at the handle, meeting resistance once more. The door creaked more than she assumed it would. It was not an overly strong door. She could destroy it if she tried. Had her strength felt like this before? How quickly she had forgotten. How easily she must have adapted to a state of lesser self. It almost disgusted her.

    Loading dose, Venera said in what might have been a warning tone. A selection of numerical concepts unfurled in her head, but she brushed them aside: getting the door open was the more urgent matter. She shifted her stance, angling her shoulder before readying wings and tail.

    Far too reverberant of a solution, Venera broke in. Humans down below. This-one-Parallax is standing upon their heads.

    She hissed with frustration. ¡°What must I¡ªthe window, then?¡±

    How is one to slip through the glass?

    Parsec lashed her tail again, then calmed herself. ¡°If he has the key¡­¡± She glared down at the vials in her hands, hoping for an answer to present itself.

    Her hands¡­

    ¡°Are you able to induce the malleable ways, Venera?¡±

    The words had barely left her mouth before a familiar spike of pain came. Her fingers shuddered all over. Carefully shifting the vials to her non-malleable hand, she pressed the other to the keyhole and fed melting chitin inside. The usual tactile sensation was dulled like this, but she could order it where she wanted with some concentration: in moments, she had the keyhole filled.

    Reversion, Venera said approvingly.

    The chitin hardened into place. She twisted, and the lock clicked open. The magic allowed her hand to melt again, freeing her finger. She shoved the door open.

    ¡°Jackal,¡± she said sharply, whirling to face the source of the blood-scent.

    Harbinger, Venera said, hushed.

    Her first impression of Jackal was that he was alive and awake and very, very unwell.

    He sat on the cot with his back wedged into the corner, eyes wide and glazed and elsewhere. He was also bundled in his oilskin, still hands clutching an empty bowl. Bone fragments littered the mattress. There was a shallow wound on his arm, and his mouth bled bright red. There came that delicate clicking sound again: his teeth chattering together in an uneven rhythm.

    Parsec shut the door behind her, for lack of any other useful thing to do.

    ¡°Jackal,¡± she said again, more quietly this time. ¡°Are you here? Can you hear me?¡±

    No response.

    ¡°How did this happen?¡± she asked, though she had the sinking suspicions of an idea.

    Is¡­must be¡­Archival-like.

    Parsec edged closer, waving her free hand warily in front of his eyes. There came no further response. ¡°Undoubtedly. But why?¡±

    Hunger.

    ¡°If he is hungry, I can bring him meat. Perhaps the humans have some sort of market¡­¡± She trailed off, looking more closely at the emptiness in his eyes. ¡°But surely that cannot be all.¡±

    Hypothesis: filaments. Disturbance. This-one travelled two-hundred miles and ruptured something within. Slow onset, peak concentration. Now it soothes, stills, replicates.

    She stiffened with alarm, looking his head over for any sign of blood. ¡°But the Archival magic¡ªhe was unharmed, Venera. He would have shown signs earlier if I truly¡­I have seen head injuries in the shattered lands. Surely the humans are not so different.¡±

    Archival magic being the problem. Influx. Feed. The creature and its aponeurosis. It being the muscle, he the bone. The placement. The lever. When fed with influx¡­

    ¡°We truly caused this?¡±

    Venera hesitated. Perhaps. Was already worsening. Only a catalysis.

    A strange shiver passed over her wings and shoulders¡ªthen a sense of Venera¡¯s presence peeling away, floating momentarily closer to the unresponsive Jackal. Several moments passed as thrumming, wordless impressions clouded her thoughts. Eventually, a ghost-hand rested upon her shoulder and Venera spoke once more.

    Sensate. Incubate. Parallax, the predecessor worries.

    Parsec gave a restless flick of the tail. ¡°That we cannot fix him?¡± She fell silent as a thought occurred to her.

    She could simply leave, now that she had a source of honey-substitute. An Archive-troubled dungeon-scout was unlikely to be of significant help in delivering justice to Eltanin. She considered it for a moment, before dismissing the idea. There were many reasons to help. Venera was watching, for one.

    ¡­Parallax aught not worry not for now, Venera said hesitantly. All begs more thought. Unflesh ways of thought and seeking. Parallax may hunt, yes? Syrup sufficient? Predecessor must think-hunt. Half-urgently. Many¡­hours? Yes. Hours of unspeaking.

    ¡°Why?¡±

    It is¡­Parallax passed through Jackal-mind. Jackal-mind being Realm-touched¡ªcould be¡­vector?

    Parsec frowned. ¡°The syrup worked. I don¡¯t feel strange in the slightest. If it were to affect me, surely I would know by now?¡±

    Halseny, Venera said, sounding unconvinced. Predecessor thinks it best to check.

    ¡°I gather this means you will be away for¡­how many hours?¡±

    More than one handful. Streams and rivulets. Shores eroding faster. Could call predecessor to aid if must¡­use blood and brain, but¡ªfar optimal. Interruption. Delay. Predecessor extrapolates attempt would injure Parallax. Much blood. Splintered armature. Squama. Matchwood. Pellicle. Not predecessor¡¯s pain. No other flesh to¡­balance cost. The fulcrum must turn. One-way distributions. Understand?

    ¡°Then it is not a problem. Besides, the syrup will suffice. I am hardly defenseless without you, Venera.¡±

    Predecessor extrapolates aftermath would hurt Parallax. Much.

    ¡°It is alright,¡± Parsec said. She wondered how one might try to sound reassuring to a dead Titania. ¡°So long as it would not harm you.¡±

    By no means. Only unflesh cannot further die.

    ¡°It would be a last resort,¡± she promised. ¡°Not to mention severely unlikely. When is it that you will you be¡­thinking? Retreating?¡±

    Soon. First the human.

    She cast another glance at Jackal, sitting still but for slight twitches of eyes and jaw. ¡°I suppose that wound needs bandaging. I have no poultice¡­¡±

    Burdock and heartwood?

    She trailed off and knelt by the pack at the foot of the cot. Rummaging through, she retrieved a roll of bandages and a selection of vaguely medicinal-scented bottles. One of them had a handwritten label declaring itself a salve, used for cuts and burns. She laid her vials of syrup onto the nearby table to take the salve in hand.

    ¡°Jackal,¡± she spoke as she approached. ¡°Easy, now.¡±

    His eyes did not focus. There was no reaction as she pried the bowl from his hands and set it aside. There was no flinch when she poured the salve onto his wound nor when she looped strips of bandage around his arm.

    Far gone, Venera murmured, the whisper as cold as frost. Must think. Perhaps follow, see¡­if he had sustained on the dungeon flesh¡­ambient osmosis¡­

    She gathered some of the meaning there. ¡°As magical as that meat may be, I do not think we have time to fly to the dungeon and dig it through.¡±

    Quantity, then.

    Quantity, she could do. She even had the beginnings of an idea in mind. But with larger quantities came more weight, and she did not have a team of helpers and scouts as she was accustomed to. How many days had Jackal paid for this room? She couldn¡¯t recall.

    ¡°Perhaps it will be better to carry him with me,¡± Parsec muttered. ¡°Suppose he resists?¡±

    Strength suffice it. Rope in the pack? Though¡­

    A ghostly finger touched her forehead. Icy ripples spread from the point of contact.

    Archive left you a gift, necromancer.

    ¡°No.¡± Parsec frowned. ¡°It brought you to me, but it gave no indication of¡­¡±

    It is there. May not help human¡¯s brain, but¡­transport¡­

    ¡°He is not dead,¡± Parsec said quickly.

    Not alive, neither.

    ¡°Are you offering to¡­¡± She wracked her head for the correct word. ¡°¡­Unlock it? This supposed necromancy?¡±

    Is already here. A tinge of austere amusement. Have not discerned? Speaking to predecessor, Parallax.

    Her spines flattened instinctively with discomfort. ¡°Hearing you speak is not the same as necromancy.¡±

    Nourish. Polyps. Not the usual kind. River murmurs secrets. Endeavour it.

    ¡°How?¡±

    Fly with own wings, Venera said.

    Parsec scowled. She understood the necessity of not relying on a ghost for this sort of thing, but she saw no connection here. Jackal was simply a scared-looking human huddled into a corner. There was no Archival interface, no intuitive strings to manipulate. Flying and scouting was far easier than delving into the vein of the strange images Venera voiced, and the shattered lands had not built her towards fine control.

    Rainfire, Venera mumbled. Reach into¡­?

    She set down the bandages and ointment and gripped Jackal by the shoulder, alert for any change in posture, any hint of recognition. He stared right through her.

    Forcing her magic to the surface of her fingertips was not difficult; doing anything useful with it was. She knew the waiting potential like she knew the joints of her own hand: spell light, spellfire, shielding. None of that would be worth much right now.

    She concentrated, searching for the slightest twitch, perhaps some slow-writhing anomaly, a dark seed of power¡­

    Blindness not darkness. Simply nothing at all.

    She hesitated, still searching, and struggled to sweep her magic like a hunting formation. One pass. Two. Jackal breathed into the silence. Venera did not breathe at all.

    Her magic struck the absence of something, a notch of void. It snuffed out the waiting potential like sand poured over dying coals. Her first instinct was to pull away, rid her arm of the icy sensation creeping up its length like a hundred-toothed worm.

    But Venera said, hold.

    The iciness abated, lapsed neutral. Her fingers twitched, and her awareness expanded. It felt as if she had grown a hundred gossamer tails from her very core, every one fully prehensile. Several anchored themselves into Jackal¡¯s shoulder where her hand touched.

    Anemone, Venera observed. Colours filled her head, as did a myriad of hazy sensations¡ªthe strongest of which was soft, blunt-tipped tubules tickling her fingertips.

    It was not easy magic. She felt just as off-balance as she had upon sprouting capacity for faster flight. Still, movement was easier than molecular interpretation. And she knew something of what was expected, understood how to command. Not that she¡¯d ever had opportunity to command fodder bodies, but they¡¯d discussed the theory plenty, behind closed walls. This wasn¡¯t that different.

    ¡°Rise,¡± she rasped, and he did.

    She jerked her hand back, startled by the very movement she¡¯d initiated. A dull pressure touched her mind; intuition, maybe. Water might erode its receptacle given enough time, and dead things had no need of time.

    Walk. She tried thinking it this time. She threaded the command with facets, pressure and directionality.

    The action was shaky and staggered, far more shambling than the constructs she¡¯d seen back in the shattered lands. There was a resistance there, a pervasive sluggishness stronger than her thickest shield. That was encouraging: it meant he was not actually dead.

    Venera posed her a wordless question. Are you ready? it seemed to imply.

    ¡°Yes,¡± Parsec said, moving Jackal to stand by the door. ¡°And you? Is there anything else I must know?¡±

    Good hunting, Venera said, and left for a place Parsec could not follow.

 4.6 - Deerflesh

    Parsec

    She¡¯d obscured his vacant face with the drape of a hood. From there, things weren¡¯t too difficult. Carrying him through the air might have drawn too much attention, so she made him lurch beside her. He was capable of carrying his own pack, though it had taken her assistance to strap it on. Directing fine coordination was beyond her skill. Possibly it was also due to him not being truly dead. Either way, it made her work difficult.

    Parsec marched through the streets and for the first time in her life, tried not to pay too much attention to her surrounds.

    Paying attention filled her head with flashes of unwanted particulars: phantom footsteps and the peculiarities of human-gait, not to mention strange and unpleasant jolts whenever Jackal brushed up against strands of stray magic in the streets. Humans liked to wear more charms than she¡¯d assumed. Every other shopfront-ward set her teeth on edge if they passed within an arm¡¯s length. Active threads of necromantic magic weren¡¯t pleased with working alongside any other kind. She disliked it immensely; it felt as if the magic were set on hoarding its practitioner to itself.

    Directing Jackal¡¯s every motion swiftly became tiring, enough that she took another drop of syrup. She¡¯d strapped the vials themselves to her waist¡ªthey nestled in a padded pouch borrowed from his belongings, once she¡¯d emptied the metal tokens within into the bottom of his pack.

    Her headache grew as time bore on. She was not used to sustained magical efforts. Eventually, she twisted several of her necromancer¡¯s ties together to form a makeshift leash. It plunged into his sternum and instructed his body to copy whatever motion she performed, two steps away and just out of phase enough to look natural. A clumsy solution, requiring many precious minutes of trial and error in the shadow of a back alley, but it sufficed. She was almost pleased when it worked as well as it did.

    Kraedia streets were not winding. She found her way out of the city soon enough. Plunging into the surrounding territory was more difficult. There was a signposted road leading to the oldwoods, but she doubted they would let her through the gate¡ªso she¡¯d decided to trace a stepwise route instead.

    With Jackal silent and no Venera to warn her, she only realised the creeping danger as she approached. Mineral geysers spouted hot steam across the sandy fields. An inviting line of oldwood lay past this area, but she could hardly sprint across and hope for the best, could she? Flying alone might work, but carrying Jackal would provide a suspicious silhouette, even from afar. If Kraedian Hivers were anywhere as good as Glister¡¯s, patrols would still be able to see them this far out.

    He stumbled over an easily-avoidable piece of rock. She tugged at the leash and it twinged as if in sympathy.

    She stopped as an idea occurred to her: perhaps she did not have to carry him.

    ¡°Stay,¡± she told him, and flew upward.

    The necromantic leash had give to it, but she hadn¡¯t tested its limits until now. She made it about thirty feet before the line stretched taut and gave a warning tug. When she tried going further, she found she couldn¡¯t control his movements anymore. The sense was still there, but trying to move him was blunted, slippery, ineffectual. Her gaze roved over the lay of the land: little hills and hollows, clusters of rock hiding spouts. It wasn¡¯t the best view she could have gotten, but it would do.

    She descended until she was within range again. Slowly, carefully, she guided Jackal over the geyser field. Occasionally, one would spout, its steam dispersed by the wind before it reached her. The scent reminded her of heated metal and crushed stone and old things buried in ash. They reached the beginnings of forest in a reasonable, if not slightly aggravating, timeframe. It was here that she descended into the cover of the treeline, feeling the necromantic leash relax with every foot drawn closer.

    Stray clumps of woodland understory escaped the confines of its fencing. The fence itself was filament-like, its physical components high enough to fly over but threaded with warning flashes of runesign. Additional human signage had been posted along it in intervals: little yellow squares displaying stark black glyphs. Mimicry of bees. Perhaps humans understood aposematism more than she assumed. Parsec paused a foot before the fence and scented carefully.

    The air tasted faintly of high enchantment, and she doubted the wards ended where the fencetop did. This was the domain of the most highly-ranked humans, but surely there was not enough of a power source to cloak this entire segment of woodland from above. Still, any decent defense would have a multitude of tripwires threaded overhead. This, she had learned from shoring up the outer Hival defenses. If she touched a tripwire upon descent and it sensed her magic, it would send a signal to trigger an alarm. She had no way of blocking that signal or silencing that alarm, but perhaps¡­she remembered the jolting against other magics, the shivering sting across her teeth.

    She couldn¡¯t use Jackal to nudge at the wards, but perhaps she could use something else. She sniffed the shrubbery for signs of dead things. Eventually, her scenting led her to a withered bird¡¯s body, crawling with maggots.

    Kneeling over the broken corpse, she picked the worms out one by one. Binding the bird was surprisingly easy. She had more than a few necromantic filaments to string it with, despite the many used on keeping Jackal upright. She only hoped this would work: the bird still had her magic in it, even if it was a weak echo. Would it be too much and still snag upon the tripwire? Briefly, she considered calling for Venera¡ªbut no. She was determined to not disrupt Venera, and she would not injure herself more than she needed to.

    She took the dead bird in hand and made it fly.

    Maneuvering differently-configured wings through thought and magic alone took focus, but it didn¡¯t hurt her in the same way growing additional wings had. The necromantic magic flowed like water, settling comfortably into the vessel she¡¯d given it: the bird¡¯s bones were shattered in places and the flesh had been well picked-over, but it hardly mattered. The revenant-bird swooped upward at her will, an extension of wing and arm and tail all at once. Admittedly, her senses were blunted, and the proximity to the fencing had her battling discomfort until the bird reached open air, but it was a start.

    The hidden wards seemed to end about thirty feet up. She swept the bird around in scouting patterns, tilting it away whenever she felt that tell-tale jolt in her spines. On finding a patch of air that didn¡¯t elicit a twinge of recognition, she made the bird hover in place to mark the position. Carrying Jackal was half an ordeal; at least she could command him to not squirm about, as live passengers often tended to.

    She brought the bird with her as she landed amongst the trees, perching it onto her shoulder. Its weight bothered her momentarily, something amiss with the situation. She floundered as she scanned the surrounds, before realising the bird occupied the space where Venera ought to be. She dislodged it and made it sit atop Jackal¡¯s head for the time being.

    Scanning again, scenting carefully¡ªthere was a trace of unfamiliar human, lingering some ways off. It made unfortunate sense: if the claimants of this oldwood were truly powerful, they¡¯d surely have a worker to spare for its inner reaches.

    Parsec navigated her way through the shrubbery. Whiffs of wood-rot led her towards a hollowed tree trunk, by some miracle still standing. She made Jackal crawl inside; the colours of his clothing were more easily seen against the shrubbery. She dug through the lengths of rope in his pack and emerged with two of the most magic-soaked ones, the ends etched with runes. Then she half-flew, half-clambered up into the canopy, thick and green with summer growth.

    Now for the problem of finding the human and locating deer: she sent her dead bird scouting ahead for stray enchantments. Concentrating on directing the bird left her waiting still and silent, safe in her makeshift nest, navigating with a sense of the bird¡¯s position relative to her own. She prepared to move if needed, but found she could send it far further than she could move from Jackal before the leash began to strain¡ªhalf a mile, perhaps. A line of sight would have made things easier, but she managed to avoid outright crashing its corpse into tree trunks. Several times, it got caught in branches while circling, but some quality of its body being far more dead than Jackal¡¯s allowed her to twist it this way and that until it extricated itself.

    It took about three progressively larger sweeps before her jaw thrummed with muted discomfort, indicating some other source of magic nearby. Another two passes in alternate directions, and she could pinpoint the location of the source. She landed her bird onto a branch above it and wished she could see through its eyes. She made do with the distance-sense instead¡ªabout a third of a mile to the east¡ªkeeping the bird where it was as a marker.

    She dropped back down to the forest floor, hesitating at the idea of bringing Jackal with her. His movements were uncoordinated no matter how much she tried to refine them. His tread might be too heavy; if a guard cast at them, would she be able to shield them both, or make him dive aside in time? In the end, she left him hidden inside the hollow tree, dragging a rotting log in front of the opening to obscure him from sight. She severed the necromantic leash and observed him for a few minutes, but he remained in the torpor-state she had originally found him in, making no effort to move or push the log aside. Satisfied that he would remain hidden, she circled round to flank the position of what was likely a Magister¡¯s guard.

    The guard, when she came into view, was at the edge of a clearing. She leaned in dappled shadow with her back against a tree trunk, flanked by half a dozen grazing deer. Parsec assessed the scene from a branch overhead: the singular human, with her hair twisted into a circular coil upon her head. She wore leather armour atop a thick padded vest and breeches, all well-fitted, with no loose straps or bunching of material: no easy handholds. The sword at her hip smelled of clove oils and enchantment; the armour, too, seemed to have runes stitched across its surface.

    The deer were not what she had expected, either. They had dusky coats with a blueish sheen to them, not at all golden like the elder¡¯s tales. Some had glinting eyes or glow-tipped antlers, and others possessed frilled blue outgrowths along their backs and shoulders, like fungi on fallen wood. Still, they looked large enough. The guard was not a small human, but her head only reached the height of the deers¡¯ necks. Just one should be enough to fill Jackal¡¯s stomach with plenty to spare.

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    One human, one deer. That was the objective. Syrup flowed through her veins; she could handle a straightforward fight on either without problem. The true issue lay in drawing attention from other guards if she went for the deer first. Likewise, she might send the deer scattering if she tried to subdue the human. And after she killed the deer, she would need time to bring Jackal here and leave time for him to eat¡­

    Well, she had necromancy at her disposal, and the duties befitting of a General had taught her patience. She sent her bird flying, on the lookout for more twinges of enchantment. The forest was very large. In time, the circling bird reported three others nearby, all out of voice¡¯s reach. Still, she twitched her spines in agitation, hesitant to drop down from the canopy. She recalled some of the bolder Lieutenants experimenting with long-distance spells, speaking into their hands and hearing a reply from a mile away. There was a chance the guard was fast enough to send out a shout, and then she would have a much more difficult task ahead of her.

    If Venera were here, she might know an Archival teaching for silencing. But no, that was a slim chance. Venera was busy and summoning her back would leave Parsec in great pain.

    Fly with own wings, she recalled, those half-words tinged with gentle admonishment. Much as she would have liked the comfort of her Titania at her shoulder, she would have to complete this task alone.

    A distraction, she thought. If these guards were not just for show, they would be familiar with the signs of poachers. She turned her scenting away, seeking more dead things. Moist soil, more deer, crumbling logs¡­and a hint of rotting flesh, some ways off. She slithered down the tree and followed it, crawling low across the undergrowth. It took several minutes, but the scent-trail led her to a fresh fox¡¯s corpse, crawling with insects. It fur was dull, matted with mud; the body looked old and thin and spent, even without the flesh nibbled away. The insects scattered as she took ahold with her magic. She made the fox lope round to the edge of the clearing as she traveled overhead, fluttering from canopy to canopy, guided by the invisible beacon of her dead bird.

    Positioning the fox on the opposite side of the clearing strained her control of it. How strange; moving the bird there would have been easy. Did it have to do with the size, or the amount of decay? She pondered this as she positioned herself slowly, creeping ever-closer until she was directly above the Magister¡¯s guard.

    She set her bird circling for surveillance, and waited. The deer grazed, moving languidly about. Most lingered strangely close to the guard; perhaps they were trained to do so. But a pair of bolder, deer¡ªvisibly plumper ones, craving fresh grasses¡ªventured past the center of the clearing and over to the opposing side. It took the better part of an hour for them to nibble their way across, but Parsec was nothing if not patient when it came to the hunt. Overeagerness left one landing short, and landing short back in the shattered lands had meant long nights of hunger and near-starvation, punctuated by the whimpers of weakened fledglings.

    Parsec waited, coiling borrowed rope over her fingers. Her fox waited too, crouched deathly-still in a patch of longer grasses.

    Finally, one of the deer nudged up against the border of the clearing.

    Now, she mouthed to herself.

    The fox lunged and bit. Dead jaws clamped shut around living fetlock. The fox was not so old that it had lost all of its teeth. The deer screamed, sharp and shrill, and Parsec felt a shiver of sensation¡ªghostly canines overlaid over her own mouth¡ªas she forced the fox to bite deeper.

    The guard cried out in alarm and drew her sword as she sprang toward the screaming deer. Parsec dropped onto her shoulders from above. Flailing limbs. Another cry¡ªof surprise. Legs crumpling beneath her weight.

    Parsec wound a length of rope round one wrist, which was beginning to glow with spell-light. She jabbed her knee into the back of the guard¡¯s head and muffled her garbled shout into the soil. The sword-arm flailed¡ªParsec grabbed it and forced it down as a spell burst from the tip. The spell¡ªbright red and glowing fiercely¡ªslammed into a tree-trunk, leaving a scorch-mark. It was only the forced angle of the guard¡¯s arm that had sent it there instead of upwards.

    Deer snorted and scattered as she attempted to wrest the sword out of the guard¡¯s grasp. The guard thrashed, trying to buck her off; she peeled her hand away from the hilt, possibly breaking a finger in the process. The struggle was too prolonged for her liking, and irritating enough that she couldn¡¯t bring herself to care about the harm inflicted.

    She hadn¡¯t expected the sword to work as a wand or a flare. It had been a close call; she should have accounted for it, and the fact that she had not further irritated her. Eventually, she succeeded at removing the sword and binding the guard¡¯s arms and legs. No wings or tail to worry about, but she tore a strip off the edge of her tunic to gag the human¡¯s mouth with, just in case. She held the sword and considered it warily, before throwing it to lodge into a high branch overhead.

    At last, she turned her attention to the limping deer. She¡¯d commanded the fox to bite and hold, and it had done so. The deer bled and limped and tried to kick¡ªit didn¡¯t matter. The fox was already dead. Parsec grasped the deer by the antlers, dragging it to the ground. She hadn¡¯t hunted a creature of this size for a long time, but she knew the fundamental steps. Fell the prey. Go for the throat.

    The dark hide of its neck was furred and tough, impeded by bluish fungal growths. It was a struggle for her to latch her teeth upon. The fox hung off its back leg, not helping in the slightest. She broke the deer¡¯s front leg when it tried to stand and struggled to bite deeply. She paused, cursing herself for not bringing a knife from Jackal¡¯s pack. She thought of workarounds instead, of Lieutenants pulling blades from their own chitin. The thought hit her right between the eyes: not as painful as when Venera had first initiated it, but bad enough.

    She lost her grip on the deer as it tossed its head and screamed again. It stank of blood and sweat and fear. The screaming was a problem. She needed it dead, fast. Shaping a knife from her arm was like clawing sap from a tree, harder than with Venera¡¯s help. She ended up with a meager fragment, barely longer than her hand¡ªit would do. She stabbed the shard into its neck. When she withdrew, bluish blood flowed out. She stabbed again, deeper, until she hit some vessel that spurted far more forcefully.

    Something slammed into her back, human-sized and human-weighted. Her shoulder hit soil. Somehow, the guard had shuffled herself upright despite her bindings. Parsec lashed out with her shard of chitin, but it was already melting back into her hand. The guard dropped a glint of metal at her feet.

    She tried to cast a shield at the same time as the guard did¡ªa mistake. The necromantic magic rejected the attempt, blazing lines of pain up every tooth, down every spine. The metallic thing burst into spell-light as the guard rolled herself away, still bound but too mobile. More pain followed fast; the spell-light burned where it touched. Parsec hissed and tried to stand¡ªand couldn¡¯t. The metal thing, whatever it was, had deployed tangling vines around her arms and legs and tail.

    She detached her fox from the fallen deer. The guard had rolled her way over to a tree stump and was attempting to fray her bindings against a splintered outcrop of branch. Parsec stared her down as she made her fox gnaw at the vines. A few well-placed bites, and her arm was free to aid in pulling the rest of it away. She launched across the clearing and hauled the guard away from the stump. Spell-light fluttered at the guard¡¯s fingertips, making slashing motions across the rope to no avail. Good of Jackal, to have picked such high-quality tools.

    Parsec dropped her at the center of the clearing and looked at the dead deer. Hissing faintly, she severed her connection to the fox and leashed the deer instead, embedding filaments into its cooling body and ruined leg. It lurched upright, still leaking blood. She walked the deer over and laid it sideways on top of the guard; its weight would pin her down and if not, it would provide information on her position if she moved or tried to escape.

    Her circling bird told her the other glimmers of guard-magic hadn¡¯t moved from their positions, so she flew back to Jackal with little regard for stealth. He was bleeding when she dragged him from the tree hollow. She looked him over in alarm, noting fresh wounds; he¡¯d chewed his own lip open. The bandage she¡¯d wrapped around his arm had come partially undone, and his other arm made ineffective motions, clawing at the linen with blunt fingers.

    Leashing him to the necromantic magic was a struggle, like claws slipping against stone, and she could sense, just barely, the guard halfway wriggling her way out from beneath the dead deer. She snarled in frustration and carried him without regard, binding his sluggish struggles with great difficulty as she went. Did the difficulty mean he was more alive than he was before? If that meant the incubation was ending, it might not be a good thing.

    She dropped him onto the grass, drew another blade of chitin from her hand, and sliced the deer open along the ribs and belly. The guard cringed away and made a sound as blood dripped from the gash and onto her cheek. Parsec ignored her and worked a section of the hide away, exposing flesh.

    ¡°Here,¡± she told Jackal. She loosened her leash on his not-yet-dead body. ¡°Eat.¡±

    He moved slowly, as if unsure, but he seemed to know what to do. He plunged his hands into the belly and withdrew handfuls of pale organs, cramming them into his mouth. The guard made another muffled sound of distress, and Jackal paused in his eating. His head turned without Parsec¡¯s input. He looked at the guard with glassy eyes. Parsec stepped forward and dragged her out from beneath the deer before anything unsavoury could happen.

    Jackal turned his attention back to the deer and took bites out of its exposed side. Parsec busied herself with restraining the guard¡ªwho gave muffled shouts of protest at irregular intervals¡ªand watched him carefully. A few minutes passed; she could feel her necromantic magic slowly slipping. She hoped that was a good thing. She¡¯d done all she could.

    At last, the necromancy could no longer grasp him. She watched and waited as he slowed in his eating and came to a halt. His body stilled as it had before and he swayed on his knees, blinking several times. He put a hand to his face and blinked some more at the blood there.

    ¡°Hhhnnuuuuh,¡± he said, and toppled sideways onto the grass. His pack cushioned his fall.

    Parsec lurched the deer upright. She dragged the guard along and shoved her beneath the weight of the creature once more, before walking over to Jackal.

    ¡°Are you here?¡± she asked. She knelt by his head and waved a hand in front of his face. ¡°Can you hear me now?¡±

    ¡°P-Parsec,¡± he mumbled. ¡°What¡¯s¡­where are¡­¡± He sounded queasy.

    She pulled him upright, into a sitting position. He didn¡¯t seem to like that; instead of speaking more, he put his head between his knees and groaned.

    ¡°What¡­shit, what happened? Where are we?¡±

    ¡°You were unresponsive. Hungering, biting at yourself. It is likely because of the thing in your head.¡± She wondered how to explain the concept of incubation to him and settled with, ¡°Eating flesh brought you back. Luckily it was not your own.¡±

    He raised his head and looked around, gaze fixing onto the deer and the guard beneath it.

    ¡°Oh fuck,¡± he said. ¡°Is that¡ª¡±

    ¡°The human is alive. And it was I who killed the deer.¡±

    ¡°Oh, gods.¡± He clutched at his head, then looked up at the canopy. ¡°We¡¯re in the oldwoods? And I¡ªI ate that?¡± He stopped touching his head and looked at the bluish fluids coating his fingers.

    ¡°Yes,¡± she answered.

    ¡°Think I¡¯m gonna be sick.¡±

    ¡°Try to refrain from doing so. I went to considerable effort to get you here.¡±

    ¡°Here? Oh, for fuck¡¯s¡ª¡± he scrambled to his feet, sounding panicked. ¡°We gotta get out. Right now. What the fuck, how did you even¡ªdidn¡¯t you see the signs? That guard¡¯s not the only one. We gotta run. We¡¯re gonna be arrested, they¡¯ll chop your fingers off. Or our heads. Let¡¯s go!¡±

    Her circling bird hadn¡¯t picked up on any changes in guard positioning, but he seemed distressed. Shrugging, she grabbed him by the arms and rose into the air. Her bird abandoned its surveillance-course and started sweeping again at her command, seeking an opening free of warding tripwires. Parsec used its position as a guidepost and burst skywards. She breached the level of the wards and skimmed as low as she dared over the treetops to avoid communicating their silhouette across the skies. Her bird served her well in that regard, skimming lower still to mark out the bounds of the tripwires.

    She cleared the forest and began to descend. The dead bird followed in her wake, and for a moment she considered keeping it. But Jackal was shivering faintly in her grip, and it was perhaps not the best time to explain. In time, there would be other dead things to use.

    She severed her hold on the bird and felt it die for good. Its body plunged into the treetops and she descended, far more gently, toward clear ground.

 4.7 - Floccinaucinihilipilification

    Aliyah

    By the time they arrived, dawn was nearly breaking. Kionah had insisted on taking smaller streets, and at one point the journey required scrambling over several brick walls. Being drenched in canal-water was hardly suitable on a shuttlebus, but by the time Kionah rang the bell to the door of her alleged ¡®fence¡¯, she was two thirds of the way dry.

    Aliyah sighed. Much as she didn¡¯t want to, she understood Kionah¡¯s reasoning. From time to time she spotted the silhouettes of what might have been witches overhead. The spires, too, were ever-presently visible up here: spokes of darkness piercing the sky.

    The door didn¡¯t open. It was arched and decorated with leafy engravings, set into the front of a narrow, vine-cloaked, three-storey brick house. Kionah tugged at the string again, harder this time. The chime echoed from within, and before long there came thumping footsteps and several sharp coughs.

    ¡°Who is it?¡± a voice called out, hoarse and low.

    ¡°Your second-favourite niece,¡± Kionah said acidly.

    Niece? Aliyah thought. Kionah hadn¡¯t mentioned much about her family, aside from the fact she had an awful lot of dead siblings. Aliyah had thought she was an orphan through and through. Or perhaps that had been her own thoughts filling the blanks, reaching for a thread of familiarity.

    The door creaked open. A heavyset man peered out, one hand curled around a candlestick. There was a hint of a family resemblance: Aliyah could see it in the keen eyes and the dark hair. He wore a velvet sleeping robe and matching slippers upon his feet.

    ¡°Kionah,¡± he exclaimed, sounding faintly astonished. ¡°Come in, come in. Where have you been?¡±

    Kionah sighed and stepped into the doorway, gesturing for Aliyah to follow. ¡°Long story. Got some stuff to drop off.¡±

    ¡°Back at the sticky business again? Why, I thought you were off helping poor Elena.¡±

    ¡°Mm,¡± Kionah grunted. ¡°More than you have.¡±

    Kionah¡¯s uncle¡ªand supposed ¡®fence¡¯¡ªgrimaced, but didn¡¯t seem perturbed. He looked Aliyah over. ¡°And you¡¯ve brought a friend. Hello, hello. Cornelius is the name. Pleasure to make your acquaintance.¡± He reached out to shake her hand and paused halfway, wrinkling his nose faintly. ¡°Can I get you a towel?¡±

    Aliyah was at once aware of still being one-third soaked through and¡ªcovertly¡ªsmeared with blood. She glanced down reflexively; she¡¯d dripped silt-spotted water onto the tile.

    ¡°That would be appreciated,¡± she said, barely able to keep from stammering.

    ¡°Just wait here for a moment; I¡¯ll fetch it at once.¡± He beamed with a familiar, practiced-looking sincerity and took the flickering candlestick with him as he disappeared further into the hall. Kionah sighed into the darkness.

    ¡°So,¡± Aliyah said, after a moment of uncomfortable silence. ¡°Your uncle, huh?¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± Kionah said, sounding gloomy. ¡°But don¡¯t get any ideas now. Just cause he¡¯s got a nice house doesn¡¯t mean I¡¯ve got coin to spare. No favours from him, either.¡±

    Aliyah enhanced her night vision and peered into the darkness. The house didn¡¯t look particularly special, but maybe they had different standards over here.

    ¡°He got out real good,¡± Kionah muttered, scraping her boot across the welcome mat. ¡°Got a wife, kids. Antique shop in Teok Heights and everything. Anyway.¡± She shrugged, setting down her baskets. ¡°We¡¯ll get a decent deal.¡±

    ¡°A deal? On what?¡± Aliyah frowned at the packages. ¡°Isn¡¯t that stuff for Luxon?¡±

    ¡°Most of it.¡± Kionah reached into one of the baskets and withdrew a handful of¡ªAliyah peered closer as she held them out¡ªgemstones? She couldn¡¯t tell what colour they were through the dark, but they were faceted like gemstones, and each one the size of a thumbnail.

    ¡°Where did you get those?¡± More importantly, she thought, what kind of person went around with handfuls of loose jewels jangling around in their pockets?

    ¡°Long story. Maia had this whole¡­plan. We ran into some schismatists and some Cathayan-looking guy¡ªthat false Magician. They left a lot of stuff lying around, in a manner of speaking. We scooped it up and scrammed before City Watch burst in. Didn¡¯t get the pearls we were after, but it was something.¡±

    ¡°Any sign of Zahir?¡± she asked doubtfully. ¡°Or another Healer?¡±

    ¡°Unfortunately not.¡± Kionah cast a glance down the hall, at the flicker of returning candlelight. ¡°We need to discuss the Maia thing. Spire stuff, too. Talk to you about it later.¡±

    That sounded ominous. She shoved the thought of Sebile to the back of her mind.

    Cornelius returned and handed Aliyah a towel, which she used to dab her clothing dry. He¡¯d changed into a patterned shirt and corded trousers, though he¡¯d kept the slippers on. Holding out the candlestick like a paltry beacon, he led them through his foyer and into a darkened parlour. It was only when he activated the lights¡ªgolden runes coating the ceiling¡ªthat the absurdity of the room settled into focus.

    Crates and boxes were stacked high against every available surface, marked with notes and strips of signed paper. Potted purple ivy rambled over stacks of books, glossy with health but in sore need of a trim. Huge scrolls of paper leaned against the furniture, leashed together with coloured cords. One wall was taken up entirely with cabinets, feathers and fabrics piling out from half-opened drawers. It was like stepping into the domain of a poorly-organised bowerbird.

    Cornelius nudged boxes aside to clear the way to a pair of velvet settees flanking a low table. He claimed one for himself and gestured to the other, waiting for them to settle themselves before he spoke. Aliyah made sure to layer the towel down before she sat, rather gingerly, upon its edge.

    ¡°Well, now. What have you brought for me today, Kionah?¡± He unfolded a pair of spectacles from his breast-pocket and perched them onto his nose, bobbing his head eagerly.

    Kionah dropped her handful of gemstones onto an empty portion of table. Seen under the light, they glinted in shades of purple and gold¡ªthough many looked to be flecked with dried mud, and others coated entirely.

    ¡°Hmm,¡± Cornelius said, picking one up. He brushed at the dirt with a fingertip. ¡°I see. Is that all?¡±

    Kionah bristled faintly and reached back into her basket, emerging with another handful of gems. She added those to the pile, too. ¡°What do you mean, is that all? How much for the lot?¡±

    Cornelius tutted, setting the gemstone back down with the others. ¡°Patience, Kionah. If this is all you¡¯ve got, well, I¡¯m afraid it¡¯s a bit of a sorry affair. Citrines and amethysts, a few shadestones¡ªwhichever lapidarist cut these didn¡¯t do such a good job, either. I can¡¯t offer you terribly much if you intend on extracting clean outfits from my backend supply.¡± He cast a meaningful look at Aliyah¡¯s canal-soaked attire.

    ¡°How much?¡± Kionah repeated flatly.

    Cornelius tapped his chin. ¡°Three crowns and two changes of outfit.¡±

    ¡°Twenty crowns, at least,¡± Kionah said, crossing her arms. ¡°Not including the outfits. They¡¯re from the Academy.¡±

    ¡°You should know better, dear. You can¡¯t expect to pilfer through their leavings and get easy coin that way.¡± He shook his head. ¡°Twenty? No, even ten would be absurd. If they were all shadestones, then perhaps¡ªbut no. I¡¯m giving you a respectable offer. Ask any merchandiser on the block. Unless you¡¯ve got some other treats in those baskets? Yes? No?¡±

    Kionah made to speak, but seemed to change her mind at the last moment. She uncrossed her arms and clasped her hands together on her lap, tilting her chin consideringly. ¡°Ten,¡± she said, after a moment of uncomfortable silence. ¡°I see a dozen good shadestones in that pile, and your noble friends like that sort of thing, don¡¯t they?¡±

    Cornelius pursed his lips. ¡°Very well,¡± he said, and made to sweep the scattered gems into a pile. Kionah¡¯s hand shot out, closing over his wrist.

    ¡°Ten,¡± she said fiercely, ¡°and we get our pick of your stock. What happened to fair deals with family, eh?¡±

    He frowned. ¡°You know very well I can¡¯t let you loose on the¡ª¡±

    ¡°Our pick of your rag room,¡± she retorted. ¡°Spires forbid we rob you of your silks and fine wool.¡±

    ¡°There¡¯s no need to be quarrelsome now,¡± he said, with a wounded air. ¡°You know where to go?¡±

    At her nod, he rummaged in one of his pockets and withdrew a ring of keys. Selecting one, he threaded it off the ring and dropped it into Kionah¡¯s waiting palm. Aliyah squinted. Though not nausea-inducing in the slightest, they did shimmer with hints of runesign.

    ¡°I¡¯ll be counting these,¡± he said, nodding to the pile of gems on the table. ¡°Don¡¯t be noisy. It¡¯s a school night.¡±

    ¡°Of course not.¡±

    Aliyah saw a muscle twitch in her jaw as she turned away. Kionah picked up her baskets with one hand and beckoned with the other, twirling the key around a finger. Aliyah grabbed her borrowed towel and followed.

    The rest of Cornelius¡¯s house wasn¡¯t nearly as grand as his parlour. The dark hall was lined with pictures in frames, some of them oil portraits and others looking as though they¡¯d been painted with bare fingers, colours splotched in the shapes of small palms¡ªKionah had mentioned children, hadn¡¯t she? She supposed the man must be well-off to lend pigments to them. Kionah ignored the doorways to her left and the staircase to her right, heading straight for the back of the house. There, she slotted in the key to a tarnished door. Aliyah watched quietly as runes washed over its surface.

    The rag room was musty and windowless, crammed full of unmarked crates and barrels. A forlorn folding screen perched in the corner. Kionah immediately marched over to the nearest crate and began digging through the pile of fabrics inside.

    ¡°Go on,¡± she said. ¡°Choose something good, and be quick about it. He¡¯ll complain if we¡¯re here too long.¡±

    Aliyah wiped her hands on the towel and bundled it about her shoulders before venturing into the room and searching through a different crate. There were all manner of shirts and skirts and trousers within¡ªmost were patched or ripped or frayed in some way.

    ¡°Search through the lower layers,¡± Kionah said. ¡°They hide the better stuff at the bottom. Boots in the barrels. Make sure they aren¡¯t mismatched.¡±

    Aliyah nodded and dug through the layers of shawls and breeches, emerging with a halfway-decent shirt and trousers. She wove her way between yet more crates to fetch a battered, but dry pair of boots. Everything looked plain enough, not likely to attract attention. None of them were red.

    She ducked behind the folding screen and changed hastily, wishing she had the luxury of a bath to rid the last traces of blood and canal-water. When she stepped out, Kionah had already dressed herself in two shirts and a moth-eaten overcoat. She held a hair-cord between her teeth as she threaded a belt through the loops of her newly-begotten trousers. The black and white uniform lay in a crumpled heap at her feet.

    ¡°Won¡¯t that be too warm, outside?¡± Aliyah asked, looking at the coat.

    ¡°Might as well get my coin¡¯s worth,¡± Kionah spoke around the cord. ¡°Suggest you do the same.¡± She sounded strangely agitated.

    Aliyah picked a coat of her own from one of the crates and thought her next words over carefully. ¡°Your uncle. He doesn¡¯t seem helpful as he could be. He¡­is your uncle, by blood?¡±

    Kionah dislodged the pins from her hair. ¡°Yeah, you could say that. Still¡ªfamily rates. Most of the time.¡± She paused, looking away as she scraped her hair back with the cord and struggled to fasten it. ¡°You¡¯re one of the Scion. You know how it is. Folks like him, who make it out? Can¡¯t begrudge them that. Can begrudge them when they¡¯re all too happy to build coin off my work with what better connections they have, but won¡¯t give so much as a nod when they see me in the street. Years ago, he¡ª¡±

    She faltered, cinching the cord tight. For a moment, Aliyah thought she might not say more.

    ¡°I told you about my brothers? Sisters? There was a bad winter. He looked down his nose at us like we were vermin. The rats in his basement ate better than I did. Could¡¯ve fed the lot of us for a couple silvers, but hey¡ªguess he didn¡¯t want dirty urchins hanging round his doorstep, even if they were family. But sure, now we can sit in his fancy fucking parlour and talk shop. Happy to have an audience, soon as I grew up to be useful.¡±

    This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± Aliyah said, though she didn¡¯t really ¡®know how it was¡¯. Sure, everyone heard of Scionsongs who went on to earn real names: Scionsongs who got good postings in the Library or among the Weathermancers or what-have-you. But she¡¯d never actually known any. The closest thing, she supposed, would be the sting of Rana¡¯s ascension to the Lower Library without her. Or maybe¡ªmaybe it had been her, in the end. She¡¯d been moderately fortunate enough, until¡­now.

    Kionah shrugged, looking as though she suddenly regretted speaking. ¡°Bring your old clothes. We should burn yours¡ªcanal water takes a lot of washing out.¡± She grabbed her discarded uniform herself, stuffing it onto one of the baskets.

    The walk back to the parlour felt marginally longer than the walk there. Kionah paused fractionally along the corridor, features flickering as she glanced at one of the mounted portraits. Aliyah looked at it in passing: a family, painted with delicate brushwork. Both of the children were girls, their hair long and brown and braided with blue ribbons.

    ¡°We¡¯re done,¡± Kionah announced, setting down her baskets.

    Cornelius looked up at their arrival. He¡¯d been examining the gemstones with a jeweler¡¯s glass and polishing the dirt away with a handkerchief.

    ¡°Pleasure doing business,¡± he said, reaching for a chest upon the table.

    Opening it, he selected ten silvers. Kionah returned the key before shoving the handful of coins into the pocket of her overcoat.

    ¡°I¡¯ll see you around,¡± she said, and headed for the door. ¡°Give my regards to the girls, if they remember me.¡±

    Aliyah followed and kept her mouth shut.

    ===

    It was a long, trudging route to the temple district, where Kionah showed her the open furnace dedicated to a god of flame and sunlight. Aliyah bundled up her old outfit¡ªwas it really hers? It had, after all, been fitted for the princess Alhena in what seemed to be a lifetime ago¡ªand threw it into the roaring fire.

    She watched as the fabric burned, and all the blood with it.

    She hadn¡¯t thrown in the Healer-cloth. It sat in a damp bundle in the pocket of her coat, slowly soaking through the fabric there. Red as it was, she wouldn¡¯t wear it. But something stopped her from discarding it once more, some fierce and unnameable superstition crawling up her spine, nudging up against her brainstem. She needed to return it. Piece things together, force them whole again.

    Kionah had disposed of the uniform, when she thought she wasn¡¯t looking. Aliyah didn¡¯t mind. Simple theft had helped her along this far, and with Kionah by her side it would help her along yet.

    The day was early yet, but the sun blazed overhead. There wasn¡¯t a single cloud in sight. The sky seemed exultant, so blue it almost hurt her eyes. They passed an open-air refectory as they walked, overflowing with chatter and the clink of cups and spoons. Several, grubby-looking children had clustered at one table, squabbling amongst themselves. One of them plucked a chunk of meat from another¡¯s bowl, and a fight broke out. None of the acolytes serving food seemed to pay it any mind.

    ¡°Are they going to be alright?¡± Aliyah asked.

    ¡°Normal cutter stuff,¡± Kionah said with a careless flap of her hand. ¡°Free soup at the end of the week. The temples spare what leftovers they can. In spring and summer, at least. Come on, we¡¯ll find a coffeehouse. Maybe near the outskirts. Spawn incoming¡ªmight get a good view. Maybe ask again for Luxon while we¡¯re at it.¡±

    ¡°A view?¡±

    Kionah flashed a brief grin. ¡°Oh, it¡¯s a real showy affair. We¡¯ll get a look at it. Hopefully.¡±

    They took a long, articulated shuttlebus to the northern city outskirts, where colourful crowds gathered. The abundance of mage-chariots seemed thicker here, a long procession of gleaming metal clanking its way through the middle of the street.

    The buildings began to thin out, leaving only an empty square. She recognised a corner of the spawn market, some distance to the west. Ahead of them, a long, armoured building loomed, rising some forty feet into the air. It was formed from dark, glassy plates and shaped like a shallow crescent, outwardly bowed toward the horizon. The way it overlooked the northern surrounds reminded her of a section of Shadowsong¡¯s outer wall. Glisterian citizens swarmed at the upper levels, and an abundance of faeries hovered in the skies above. There were, a little disconcertingly, plenty of witches too. Small crowds of spectators had formed alongside the base of the building, and a mixture of faeries and witches seemed to be in the business of herding them away.

    Kionah ignored the looming building, instead swerving around the perimeter of the open area. They walked down another few streets¡ªAliyah used her magic to soothe her aching muscles¡ªbefore coming across a coffeehouse painted in orange and lime-green, some three stories tall. The crowds had thinned here, but they still had to shoulder past a steady stream of citygoers to get inside.

    ¡°Rooftop¡¯s full,¡± the proprietor said, arching an eyebrow at the silver crown Kionah slid over the counter. He had a purple chimera-creature draped around his neck like a scarf. It opened one sleepy golden eye at their arrival, then closed it again.

    ¡°Third floor, then. Table with a view and two cold teas?¡± She added a handful of coppers at the proprietor¡¯s faint frown. ¡°I¡¯ll have an eojube slice, too.¡±

    He leaned over to hand her a little plinth with a number on it. The chimera snuffled in protest, adjusting its coils around his shoulder. ¡°Here. Table six. Eat your meal, have your gander and get out, unless you¡¯re wanting to buy more.¡±

    ¡°Could you grab that for me?¡± Kionah asked, and made to pick up her baskets from the floor.

    Aliyah obliged. The proprietor sighed at them, before busying himself with a kettle.

    They clattered up a battered wooden staircase and emerged onto an open area built from sun-bleached boards and large, glassless windows, all unshuttered. There was a creaking contraption bolted to the high ceiling, engraved with runes and shaped like a wheel laid on its side. It spun the air in lazy circles, alleviating a fraction of the rising heat. Customers lounged all along the north wall, some holding spyglasses. Discordant conversation floated down from the rooftop above. Kionah found table six, squashed into a corner. Aliyah set down the plinth declaring them the temporary patrons. They shrugged off their stifling coats and Aliyah looked to the horizon.

    Beyond the chunk of armoured building blocking the view was a sweep of subtly rising plain, dry earth and scraggy grasses swaying in the wind. The distance shimmered with mirage-water.

    ¡°No farmland?¡± she asked aloud.

    Kionah rested her elbows on the table and propped her chin in her hands. ¡°No. The Hive¡¯s up that way, because most of the spawn comes from up there. They usually catch them before they even come in sight. But this one¡¯ll be big enough to see.¡±

    Aliyah squinted. The plain was sloped, the horizon bumpy with its crest. If the Hive was out there, it must be on the other side of that mile-wide hill.

    ¡°We don¡¯t have the greatest view from here,¡± Kionah said, nodding to the armoured building. ¡°That¡¯s saved for the properly paying folk. But look there, we might catch some of the action yet.¡±

    A clump of airborne faeries hovered to the north-east, the colours of their chitin forming specks. The gathering specks formed a shimmering cloud. When Aliyah sharpened her vision, she saw witches too¡ªmaybe spire ones, maybe not. Probably not.

    A harried-looking serving boy arrived with their drinks and Kionah¡¯s dessert, there and gone in an instant. Kionah nudged one of the glasses over to Aliyah.

    ¡°So,¡± she said, glancing around. There weren¡¯t many other patrons nearby¡ªmost had snuck upstairs or gathered at the northmost window¡ªbut she lowered her voice nonetheless. ¡°About the spire people.¡±

    Aliyah took a sip of her tea to calm herself. ¡°What about them?¡±

    ¡°Maia knows that you¡¯re a Healer. Too obvious with the false-Magician, I suppose. That job I did for her was a favour to keep quiet. Don¡¯t know when she¡¯ll say anything about it, but it¡¯s best if we get a move-on.¡±

    Aliyah took another long drink. ¡°Okay. I¡¯ve got a question for you.¡±

    Kionah¡¯s gaze sharpened. She dug her fork into her dessert without so much as glancing at it. ¡°Yes?¡±

    ¡°Who is it? Who do you need me to heal so badly, that you¡¯re still helping me?¡±

    Kionah had brought her forkful of eojube slice to her mouth, lips parted to close around it. She frowned, setting the fork back down. ¡°I¡¯m not sure what¡ª¡±

    ¡°You¡¯ve helped me all this time,¡± Aliyah pointed out. ¡°You¡¯ve brought me food, you¡¯ve paid for Luxon¡¯s help, you¡¯ve guided me around this labyrinth of a city, and you¡¯re still here even though I¡¯ve admitted to killing someone on accident. You must want something very badly. This isn¡¯t kingdom court¡ªit¡¯ll be easier for the both of us if you just tell me. I¡¯ll help, okay? If you help me.¡±

    She wasn¡¯t sure how to reassure Kionah of the efficacy of her help without unraveling her cover story, but the fact that she was sitting here, with this drink in her hand, seemed to count for a lot.

    ¡°It isn¡¯t court,¡± she repeated, when Kionah didn¡¯t reply. ¡°Really. You can ask, even if you think it¡¯s too much.¡±

    ¡°Alright,¡± Kionah said. She took a deep breath, looking a shade more rattled than Aliyah would¡¯ve guessed. ¡°It¡¯s my mother. Sort of.¡±

    Family relation. Made sense. There was always something, always someone.

    ¡°Is it complicated?¡± She suspected it was. ¡°You know I can¡¯t fix kidney failure or anything like that.¡±

    ¡°I know. You remember when I asked you about draining your magic dry too many times?¡±

    ¡°Oh. Something about teeth rotting, scar tissue coming loose?¡± She frowned. ¡°I can fix the wounds themselves, but if it¡¯s done something to her bodily equilibrium¡­I don¡¯t think I have enough magic to shift the whole equilibrium back. Unless you can get your hands on enough magic¡­¡± A thought occurred to her. ¡°You know Shasta can collect magic from other people, right? From, um. Donations? Have you tried replenishing her with enough of that?¡±

    ¡°He¡¯s tried. Didn¡¯t work.¡± There was a sharpness about her tone that didn¡¯t invite further discussion. Aliyah inferred that it had gone badly.

    She hesitated, then met Kionah¡¯s gaze square on. ¡°Okay. Then I¡¯ll¡­¡®be level with you¡¯, as you say. I was only an apprenticeling back in the kingdom. I haven¡¯t seen anything like this before. I can¡¯t promise I can fix her equilibrium, but I¡¯ll do what I can for the physical side of things. Just know that it could revert and if it does, there won¡¯t be much more I can do.¡±

    Unless she stayed by Kionah¡¯s mother¡¯s side every hour of every day, but she¡¯d heard whispered tales of siphoners and she wasn¡¯t going to present that as an idea, let alone an option.

    ¡°Reversion¡¯s fine. It¡¯s what some of it¡¯d do without your help anyway¡ªjust doesn¡¯t get a chance to. You should know that there¡¯s¡­more.¡± Kionah trailed off, gaze going unfocused as she turned her head to face the window. ¡°Oh, look. Spawn. Hah. Topical.¡±

    There was movement on the horizon. A cluster of faeries peeled through the air, clumped like an arrow. Aliyah stared and sharpened her vision, pushing away blood-slurry headache.

    The Behemoth spawn was a huge, faceless thing. It wasn¡¯t quite as big as the skeleton-oasis they¡¯d emerged from, but it was far larger than anything she¡¯d seen at the market¡ªperhaps taller than a dozen men. Skittering legs with too many joints, a translucent membrane stretched around blackened bones, shadows of organs nestled within. It was large enough that she could make out those details with her bettered sight, could discern the swollen feelers and swordlike quills that hovered above it in a glittering ring. The creature clicked its way in from the horizon with remarkable swiftness, and faeries dove with arrows and spears and spellfire at the ready. The witches didn¡¯t move, much. They hovered in formations some distance off, sending out the occasional spell.

    It was an interesting sight, but spellcaster¡¯s headache threatened to encroach upon her temples. She let go of her magic and lapsed back to normal sight. The horizon-fight was still visible, but not as clear¡ªblurry silhouettes interspersed with sparks of spell-light.

    ¡°We were talking about your mother?¡± Aliyah asked, confused. She rubbed at her forehead.

    ¡°The spawn are key,¡± Kionah said slowly. ¡°Or rather, the magic that comes out of them. People use it to make¡ªI don¡¯t know, they call it a lot of names, depending on the refinement and¡­ugh, we don¡¯t need to get into that. Spawnblood, basically. It¡¯s a drug, I suppose you could say. My mother took it. Takes it. She says it helps with the having lost too much magic, but there are other side-effects. It¡¯s been years.¡±

    ¡°What are the side effects, specifically? I can¡¯t fix brains. She wouldn¡¯t, um. I wouldn¡¯t kill her, but brain damage can be unpredictable so I don¡¯t think you¡¯d want that.¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± Kionah said uncomfortably. ¡°Look, it¡¯s fine. Even fixing the superficial stuff¡­I went to see her when I fetched our luggage. It¡¯s¡­skin, bruises, that sort of thing. Her teeth, maybe, but I think that¡¯s mostly from the magic-loss thing. She doesn¡¯t eat or sleep much, says her joints hurt. Sometimes she sees things that aren¡¯t there. It¡¯s been years, so she¡¯s been¡­it¡¯s been getting worse, but slowly. I don¡¯t expect you to save her, but the side-effects don¡¯t help and the kids need her functioning until I can¡ªuntil someone figures something out. I just thought, if you could improve her health a bit, give her another few years¡­¡±

    ¡°Okay. If it¡¯s just sores or infections from the drug, I can do that. It¡¯s nothing to do with autoimmunity, right?¡± At Kionah¡¯s hesitant nod, her thoughts leaped ahead. Theoretically, she knew how to manage withdrawal, even if she wasn¡¯t going to try forcibly purging the brain of tolerance and dependence and risk mangling the basal ganglia. Then she reigned herself in, remembering all your old wounds start to unravel. ¡°But if this drug¡¯s keeping her healthier than she might otherwise be, I can¡¯t promise I¡¯ll be able to get her off it. Fixing equilibrium might be too risky. It¡¯d just be¡­maintenance.¡±

    Kionah shook her head. ¡°Like I said, it¡¯s fine. It¡¯s not even really about her. I mean, it¡¯d be nice. But it¡¯s been years. We¡¯re not close. It¡¯s just¡­¡± She shifted in her seat. ¡°It¡¯s also¡ªsorry, I know this is a lot of ¡®alsos¡¯. But she¡¯s got all these kids working for her. Purse cutters, you know? Urchins. They¡¯re all in this great big fucked-up rookery together and I¡­¡± She trailed off, biting her lip. She wouldn¡¯t meet Aliyah¡¯s gaze, either. ¡°I can¡¯t stop them, but not everyone¡¯s a lost cause. I know you can¡¯t heal too many and have people find out, but if I blindfold¡­no, if I knock ¡®em out and bring them in one by one¡­? Could you, maybe, get through a couple dozen or so?¡±

    ¡°I can try. It¡¯ll depend on how bad it is.¡± She wondered how bad it had been, for Kionah and for the six siblings who hadn¡¯t made it. ¡°But about that ¡®knocking out¡¯. Blows to the head are¡ª¡±

    ¡°I know. Figure of speech. I¡¯ll buy some light sedatives off Luxon¡ªyou can make sure they¡¯re properly asleep, right?¡± She pushed at her dessert with her fork, cutting it into pieces and moving it around the plate. ¡°In exchange¡­well, I don¡¯t know if or when Maia¡¯ll squeal. She owes me for getting her and Hortensia out of there, but that¡¯s nothing solid and we can¡¯t be too careful. Mother probably still has a few hideouts on the underside. I¡¯ll ask.¡±

    ¡°Thank you for the offer. But like you said, I don¡¯t want those spire people realising there¡¯s a fleshcrafter around. How are you going to explain a bunch of kids all magically healed?¡±

    ¡°A ritual,¡± Kionah said, sounding entirely serious. ¡°The result of something miraculous. Trust me, I grew up with kids like these. A few props to see when they wake and they¡¯ll spin tales, believe anything¡ªit¡¯s not like you leave evidence, right?¡±

    ¡°Really?¡± She felt doubtful. People could be superstitious without being as stupid or as gullible as one might assume.

    ¡°Really. It¡¯s what they believe in once they¡¯ve got nothing else. Whispers and omens. For every kid who dies trying to ride a spire-line, there¡¯s ten more who think it¡¯ll give them wings.¡±

    ¡°Well, if you¡¯re sure. Thank you, again.¡±

    ¡°Mm. Though I must add, it depends on where we¡¯re doing this. If those faeries of yours show up, I don¡¯t want them near the kids.¡±

    Aliyah blinked. ¡°If they come, I¡¯ll¡ªI mean, I¡¯ll lead them away. As part of the plan.¡±

    ¡°Your plan, huh? It sounded a bit better when you had Luxon next to you. Not much, mind, but a bit.¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± she conceded. ¡°But it¡¯s me they want, not your mother or her orphans. Look, I¡¯m not going to ask you to fight that Saiphenora mage for me again or anything. But you helped, with the shielding. I could be better at that¡ªa lot better. You¡¯re good at noticing illusions, too.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not much of a teacher. And the illusion thing is what happens when you spend too much time dealing with Maia. I could tell you about the sort of¡­the skeins and the layers and all that crap, but that¡¯s my way of sensing without thinking. I¡¯m not sure it¡¯d work for you, without so much practice.¡±

    ¡°You think it¡¯s like learning Healer stuff? Like you need something¡­extra, to start seeing it?¡±

    ¡°Maybe. Something like that.¡±

    ¡°We could trade,¡± Aliyah said doubtfully. ¡°I could¡­try to teach you sewing? Needles? I¡¯d try to show you healing, but it didn¡¯t work with Rana, so¡­¡±

    ¡°Hmm. It¡¯s alright. Not all of us are so lucky, Aliyah. I¡¯d rather trust you to do it yourself.¡± She fell silent and dug into her dessert.

    Lucky? She thought she¡¯d explained this already: the Library, the pain, the almost-branding and banishment. Not that she¡¯d trade it for what she knew of Kionah¡¯s youth, but still¡­Aliyah hid her frown and glanced out the window. Far on the horizon, the Behemoth spawn flagged and stumbled, legs crumpling under its own weight. Distant spears of spell-light intensified, growing thicker with each passing second, until the horizon seemed to flash with hundreds of meteors. The volleys flared with every colour under the sun before equalising to ice-blues and green-golds. It backlit hundreds of tiny silhouettes¡ªwitches and faeries and spears flying into the thing¡¯s body.

    A barrage of faint booms traveled in across the plain. Several silhouettes sent up a shower of green flares. Whoops erupted overhead, shouts and cheers blanketing the rooftop. Aliyah watched as the creature swayed and toppled, falling to its final end beneath the sweating summer sky.

 4.8 - City Pageantry

    Aliyah

    Afterwards, they made straight for the armoured building. Faeries and witches swarmed over the fallen, distant carcass, forming loose chains back to Hive and city alike. Most of them carried packages of some sort, though a few clusters of witches hauled bundles of metres-long quills between them.

    Kionah marched into the midst of resting faeries¡ªthree of them, leaning against a stack of crates and bundles. A canopy of cloth had been propped on stilts to cover the whole thing, a little like the shade sails used by Weathermancers back in Shadowsong. It swayed in the soft, hot breeze. The faeries in question wore no armour or clothing save for a few bandages. One of them had a poultice strapped to her head. To Aliyah¡¯s surprise, Kionah didn¡¯t ask for Luxon at all. Instead, she mentioned Lieutenants by name: Hua and Qilin.

    ¡°Got favours from Cathay, have you?¡± one of the group drawled, rubbing at the poultice on her head.

    Her iridescent companion gave her a sharp prod with his tail. ¡°Be courteous, now. To our friends and esteemed wanderers both.¡±

    The first faery made a rippling movement with her wings, almost the equivalent of a shrug. ¡°I saw Lieutenant Qilin up there a little while back.¡± She indicated the building with a flick of her feathered tail.

    Kionah looked in the direction of its doorways. People streamed in and out in a colourful tide. ¡°Spectacle¡¯s not over yet?¡±

    ¡°Not yet,¡± the third faery agreed, throwing back a gulp of potion as orange as he was. ¡°It was¡­five of your silver tokens to enter, if I recall correctly.¡±

    Aliyah frowned. Was it just her, or did that sound like a request for bribery? Perhaps faeries were even more similar to humans than she¡¯d thought.

    Kionah seemed unfazed. ¡°I¡¯ll give you three now, if one of you can fetch her for me. Tell her we¡¯re friends of Luxon¡¯s.¡±

    ¡°Three for me to fetch a Lieutenant when it costs five to even search yourself?¡± the feathery faery asked. ¡°Do I look like a courier to you?¡±

    ¡°You used to be one,¡± the orange one broke in. ¡°And what¡¯s this about a ¡®Luxon¡¯? The name seems familiar¡ª¡±

    Feathery Faery cut him off with a chirring sound of protest. ¡°Bah. We don¡¯t need their tokens. I¡¯m hungry.¡±

    ¡°Would you prefer a handful of meat buns outright?¡± Kionah asked. Aliyah had little doubt as to how she would obtain them.

    ¡°No,¡± the feathery one said, tossing her head. ¡°They never use fresh meat. Think I tasted old rat in one, once.¡±

    ¡°No indeed.¡± The iridescent one made a show of sniffing the air. ¡°But it¡¯s been a turn of the watchglass.¡± He nodded to the watchglass in question, atop a crate by Feathery¡¯s side. ¡°I have a feeling the pastry-cart¡¯s on his way back. Silver tokens, you said? I do believe it is one silver token for one peach pie¡­¡±

    ¡°You¡¯ll want a coin right quick to get a pie,¡± Kionah said, fishing three from her pocket. ¡°They sell out fast.¡±

    The faeries looked among themselves consideringly. A flurry of clicking speech broke out, spines twitched and tails lashed in fast-flowing gestures. The orange one¡¯s wings even changed colour. It went on for a minute, then halted as abruptly as it had started.

    ¡°Alright,¡± the iridescent faery spoke up, striding forwards. ¡°Vega and I will search. Sargas will stay to guard. But we request you, ah, what is the word¡ªmeanwhile, you must obtain the pies from the pastry-cart for us. Before they are all gone.¡±

    ¡°I can do that,¡± Kionah said quickly.

    ¡°Two peach pies and one apple pie,¡± the iridescent faery continued. ¡°The apple pie is mine. Don¡¯t allow Sargas to nibble on more than his share while we are gone.¡±

    Sargas, the orange faery, made an indignant clicking sound. ¡°You¡¯re far more of a pest than I am, Caelum. Need I remind you of the time with the jellied fishes?¡± He turned to Kionah. ¡°They set the pastry-cart on the eastern end of the building, next to the doors. There will be a line. Buy from the one with red berries painted on its sign, not the one with red blossoms.¡±

    ¡°Berries, not blossoms. Got it.¡±

    The two faeries took to the air, winging up to the top of the armoured building. Sargas stayed where he was, slumping back against a stack of crates.

    ¡°I¡¯ll be off,¡± Kionah said, setting her baskets at Aliyah¡¯s feet. ¡°Watch these for me?¡±

    ¡°Alright.¡±

    Sargas gave a whistling snort as they watched her depart. ¡°Why, now our companions have abandoned us to the joys of waiting. How magnificent.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t mind,¡± Aliyah said cautiously. ¡°Um. You¡¯re from the Hive up there, right?¡± She tilted her chin the way of the horizon, where figures busied themselves with taking the spawn apart.

    ¡°Yes,¡± Sargas said, flicking his tail. ¡°I¡¯m a scout. I daresay I would¡¯ve been the one to sight that thing, if only they¡¯d assigned me on south patrol.¡± His voice whirred with faery resonance, but the put-out tone was recognisable; she¡¯d heard it plenty during her time as a maidservant.

    ¡°Sorry to hear it,¡± she ventured. ¡°So, about your Hive¡ªI¡¯ve seen Lieutenants about. Do they investigate¡­wrongdoings?¡±

    ¡°Pah. Officially? Not human ones. But since your friend ¡®Luxon¡¯¡ªah. I remember now.¡± He clicked his teeth together. ¡°Lavender-verbena. One of the well-to-do independents. If you and your friend have connections, then perhaps someone could be persuaded to help if it¡¯s a little matter. Or a very big one.¡±

    ¡°So, if some schismatists have abducted a human?¡±

    He turned his gaze onto her, tilting his head to one side. ¡°Really? That sounds bad. Seems like a better matter for the City Watch, though. Ask Qilin if they find her, but that¡¯s my guess.¡±

    Luxon had guessed as much, too. But wouldn¡¯t City Watch be busy enough, with all the pickpockets and gunrunners and criminal hideouts bustling beneath their very feet? Aliyah sighed and sat down by Kionah¡¯s baskets to wait for her return.

    Caelum and Vega made it back first, with Lieutenant Qilin in tow. Behind them was an unfamiliar faery, shorter than Qilin and coloured pale green. She wore a matching Lieutenants¡¯ tunic, though with a smaller crest.

    ¡°Hello,¡± Qilin said, eyes alighting on Aliyah. She extended her hand, and Aliyah shook it awkwardly. ¡°I remember you¡ªthe one with the unfortunate enchantment-mark. What might I call you?¡±

    Sargas had retreated to sit atop a barrel. Vega and Caelum had their heads bent in conversation some distance away, leaving her with Qilin and the green faery.

    ¡°Aliyah,¡± she said. ¡°Aliyah Scionsong. Kionah¡ªthat¡¯s my friend, she was there when we met you¡ªshe was here, but she¡¯ll be back soon. We came to ask about Luxon and some other things.¡±

    ¡°Luxon is quite busy in her role, but she performed admirably. She¡¯ll return to her abode soon enough. I wouldn¡¯t be surprised if she¡¯s heading there now.¡± Qilin¡¯s gaze drifted to the horizon. Great chunks had been carved out of the spawn-creature, leaving enormous ribs jutting skywards.

    ¡°You sent her to fight?¡± Somehow, the mental pictures of Luxon and fighting didn¡¯t seem to meld. The best she could picture was a sequence of dancelike kick-twirls, accented with ridiculous hats and rainbows of brocade.

    ¡°She is aiding in a different capacity,¡± Qilin said dryly. ¡°What was the other question?¡±

    ¡°Schismatists have abducted someone,¡± she stated, far more confidently than she felt. ¡°A human, that is. Luxon told us we should report to your Hive.¡±

    ¡°Oh?¡± Qilin¡¯s green companion broke in. ¡°I say! That¡¯s something. We haven¡¯t heard of that before.¡±

    ¡°Right, well¡ªthey sent a ransom note, sort of. I have it in my luggage¡­¡± She trailed off. ¡°It¡¯s locked in Luxon¡¯s house. I can show you, it said¡ª¡±

    Qilin nodded. ¡°I believe you. Some schismastists being what they are, there¡¯s a first for everything. Still, are you sure you were attacked without provocation?¡±

    The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

    She thought back to their first encounter, stomach sinking. ¡°I didn¡¯t¡­it¡¯s complicated. I¡¯m not from Glister. There was some sort of schismatist camp, on my way here, and I think they didn¡¯t want to be found? But I saw them, so that¡¯s why I have this.¡± She showed them her tracker-mark, and Qilin tilted her head in recognition.

    ¡°Have you tried searching for your abducted friend at their camp?¡± the green faery piped up.

    ¡°That was miles away¡­¡± Aliyah trailed off. She¡¯d thought they were keeping him in Glister. Just how fast could faeries fly? Surely not at a rate that would allow for easy travel between here and there¡­?

    ¡°So? Just go back and¡ª¡± the green faery started.

    ¡°Hush, Cygnus,¡± Qilin said gently. ¡°I suppose you¡¯re up against numbers?¡± At Aliyah¡¯s nod, she continued. ¡°Unfortunately, our Hive¡¯s busy at the moment. There¡¯s been trouble with¡­certain matters. It¡¯s why we needed Luxon¡¯s help in the first place. We can¡¯t afford to pour so many resources into tracking down some schismatists, even if you are concerned for your associate. Understandably so.¡±

    Cygnus made a chirping sound of agreement. ¡°We deal more with spawn, like that one over there.¡± She pointed over her shoulder, her tail mirroring the movement. ¡°Big Behemoths, every¡­handful of years? Cleanup. There¡¯s certainly a need to keep the worse schismatists from causing trouble, but I¡¯m not sure we could help you much.¡±

    ¡°We will do what we can,¡± Qilin countered calmly. ¡°Schismatists are not exiles, but it¡¯s concerning to see them grow so bold. I¡¯ll see if I can spare a patrol. Whereabouts was this camp you found?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not sure. Underground, in tunnels. There was a map. Kionah has it. It¡¯s, um, also inside Luxon¡¯s house.¡±

    Qilin blinked. ¡°Tunnels? Why, are you from the desert? That is technically outside of our territory.¡±

    ¡°The place of many deaths,¡± Cygnus broke in. ¡°That could change things.¡±

    ¡°The veiled kingdom,¡± Qilin corrected. ¡°I believe the human name is ¡®shadow-songed¡¯? If this kingdom is close to the campsite in question, I don¡¯t think my superiors would authorise a patrol.¡±

    ¡°Shadowsong isn¡¯t inside the tunnels,¡± Aliyah said, bewildered. She remembered the narrow passage they¡¯d crawled through, metres and metres of claustrophobic stone. ¡°I promise there aren¡¯t any Magicians in there. We were escaping. Days away, at that point.¡±

    The faeries had been at the academy a handful of hours ago. Surely this meant they were based in Glister. In turn, that meant a higher likelihood of Zahir being imprisoned nearby. But it wasn¡¯t costing her much to ask, and to rule out the possibility.

    ¡°We¡¯ll take that into consideration,¡± Qilin said. ¡°I¡¯ll drop by Luxon¡¯s for a look at the map once you¡¯re all back together. The note, too. I¡¯m not a General, but scent could yield a clue.¡± She sounded doubtful about the last part, but it was something.

    ¡°One more thing,¡± Aliyah said. She thought of Vipsania and her whispered commands, the mention of an Emporium. She didn¡¯t linger on thoughts of Sebile, much. ¡°You know the spire people? A Silken Circle? They¡¯re giving Luxon some trouble. Can¡¯t you make them stay away?¡±

    ¡°The city¡¯s a big place,¡± Cygnus broke in. ¡°If you don¡¯t mind me saying so, Lieutenant.¡±

    Qilin sighed. ¡°Quite. They haven¡¯t harmed her, have they?¡±

    ¡°Not in an attacking kind of way. But one of the witches took her stuff.¡±

    ¡°Still no guards to spare for that sort of thing,¡± Qilin said with a shrug of spines. ¡°Not at the moment. Luxon can take care of herself. I trust she¡¯ll notify me if anyone gets violent.¡±

    ¡°There was a crack in her window,¡± Aliyah tried. ¡°Like someone had hit it, on purpose?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll be frank: the Silken Circle are a known nuisance and that¡¯s not reason enough. We¡¯re stretched thin as it is.¡±

    ¡°Luxon can always stay at the Hive with us,¡± Cygnus said. ¡°If she feels threatened. She might have to, if the Archivist¡ª¡±

    Qilin gave her a look which made her stop talking.

    ¡°As I said, I will drop by. For now, I must assist with the spawn-cleaning.¡±

    ¡°Thank you,¡± Aliyah said, thoughts racing. If the Hive couldn¡¯t stop the Silken Circle from coming near, she might have to take up Kionah¡¯s offer after all.

    Qilin tilted her head abruptly, sniffing at the air. ¡°Say, is that¡­pastry?¡±

    ¡°Fruit pastry, by the smell of it,¡± Cygnus confirmed, angling her head to peer past a stack of crates. ¡°Mmm. Fresh.¡±

    Aliyah turned and looked with her. Some ways off, Kionah was returning with a stack of pies held in both hands. Judging by the size, Aliyah doubted she¡¯d possessed the sleight of hand to fully steal them. The trio of scouts sprang to the air, almost bumping into one another in their rush to meet her.

    ¡°Peach and apple,¡± Qilin said wistfully. ¡°The humans like to set up carts during these things, don¡¯t they?¡±

    ¡°They cost tokens,¡± Cynus said, patting the pouch at her belt. ¡°The berry tart is particularly good. Shall we get one, Lieutenant? You have hardly eaten all day.¡±

    Qilin rubbed at her forehead. ¡°Perhaps¡­I suppose a little break wouldn¡¯t hurt¡­¡±

    Kionah jogged up to meet them, arms now emptied. Behind her, the scouts bit into their food with evident relish.

    ¡°Hello,¡± she said, inclining her head. ¡°Lieutenant Qilin.¡±

    Qilin looked up. ¡°Kionah, correct? Your friend has informed me of your search for Luxon. The Behemoth is dealt with and she¡¯ll be relieved of her duties soon. I¡¯ll bring your other predicament up with the Hive, but I don¡¯t have the authority to make promises of assistance.¡±

    ¡°Right,¡± Kionah said, nodding sharply.

    ¡°Glad to be of help. Now, Cygnus, shall we¡ª¡±

    She was interrupted by a muffled crash. A blue faery stumbled off a nearby crate. She had a long, segmented object in her hands, the thickness of a leg and as black as ink. Aliyah matched the sight to what she¡¯d seen of the Behemoth spawn and realised it was a bone. Orange jelly dripped from one end, gluey and viscous.

    ¡°Lieutenant,¡± the arrival panted, adjusting her grip on the enormous shard of bone. ¡°Phonon is stuck along the fourteenth and fifteenth vertebrae.¡±

    ¡°How did he manage that?¡± Cygnus asked with interest.

    The arrival shook her head helplessly. ¡°We¡¯ve tried oiling the sides already. Sawing is too risky for his liking, but he¡¯s getting in the way of extraction.¡±

    Qilin flattened her spines, looking aggrieved. She muttered something unintelligible under her breath, before drawing her wings primly together.

    ¡°Did no one think to bring whetted silk? No? It¡¯s supposed to be in the provisions kit¡­hmph, fine.¡± She clicked her fingers together and gave a rattling tail-swish. ¡°I¡¯ll take a look. Cygnus, get yourself a meal and ensure our human¡¯s-friend Luxon is on her way off duty.¡±

    ¡°Yes, Lieutenant. I¡¯ll endeavour to buy the team pastries if we¡¯ve the time, Lieutenant!¡± Cygnus swished her spines in a salute and took to the air.

    Qilin sighed and motioned to the blue faery. ¡°Lead the way.¡±

    And with that, they were gone.

    Well, Aliyah thought. She¡¯d done her best. She was slightly better off than before. On some level, it felt like the city didn¡¯t care, and the Hive only marginally so, and only for the sake of reputation. But that was the way of things, wasn¡¯t it?

    These sprawling structures, these twisted streets¡ªthey were just too big, and her problems too small. It towered like spires towered, like castles loomed. Cities were like Killing Field fog, she decided. Kingdoms, too. They didn¡¯t deliberate on hurting you. They sheared their way forward, indifferent, and if you wandered in their way you¡¯d be crushed, same as anything else. They didn¡¯t care. They just were.

    Silken witches and schismatists, on the other hand¡­

    ¡°So now what?¡± Kionah asked. ¡°You good to take a visit to mother, or¡­?¡±

    Aliyah rubbed at her eyes. How long had it been since she¡¯d last slept? She was drip-feeding adrenaline and cortisol into her bloodstream out of half-formed habit, stilling her pineal gland to stay awake. ¡°Alright.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s okay,¡± Kionah said quickly. ¡°I need a rest too. Look, I¡¯ll just¡ªwe¡¯ll pop by for a visit, you can look her over, maybe don¡¯t even have to do anything yet. I¡¯ll ask about a hideaway. Won¡¯t be pretty, but it¡¯ll be something.¡±

    Aliyah reached for her magic and brought the familiar well of healing up to her fingertips. It was comforting, in a way. She swept it over herself, washing away what tiredness she could. She could trust herself, with this. Excision felt very, very far away. Years ago, even.

    Their stroll took them along more heaving streets; by the sound of things, a good portion of the crowd had witnessed the Behemoth being taken down in some form or another. Chatter swelled, words flowing into one another. The growing heat of the day was ample distraction, and Aliyah hardly noticed the crowds thickening until Kionah grabbed her by the elbow and steered her to the edge of the square. Her grip felt unusually tight.

    ¡°What¡¯s that?¡± she asked, over the growing excitement of the crowd. There was a commotion up ahead.

    ¡°We don¡¯t want to go there,¡± Kionah said firmly.

    ¡°Why?¡± Aliyah glanced around worriedly. They were in broad daylight. There were no witches about, or even any forayer-looking types.

    ¡°Hey, good misses! You care for a copy? Only a copper each!¡±

    A child jostled into them, dressed too crisp and clean to be an urchin. He held a stack of leaflets in his hands, which he proceeded to wave in their faces.

    ¡°Confessional broadsides, hand-penned by a master scrivener! Only a copper each!¡±

    ¡°No, thank you,¡± Kionah said, tugging Aliyah away. She glanced back over her shoulder and Aliyah glanced with her: plenty of people seemed to be streaming in from the streets feeding into the square. Kionah leaned in and lowered her voice, just loud enough to be heard over the growing commotion. ¡°We can¡­we¡¯ll just go around.¡±

    They skirted the edge of a jostling crowd, people waving hats and others sitting on shoulders. Agitation hummed in the air. She spotted a fallen leaflet, dirtied and trampled underfoot, and scooped it up in passing. It was some sort of poem or ballad; the few words she could make out seemed to be lamenting something in smudged, curling script.

    ¡°Don¡¯t,¡± Kionah said, nudging her arm. ¡°It¡¯s garbage, really.¡±

    She gave up on reading the smudged paper and dropped it, where it was promptly trampled by a shrieking trio of beribboned ladies.

    ¡°What are they all looking at?¡± she asked, craning her head. A large, wooden plinth presided over the crowd, but it was empty save for a man pacing back and forth, dressed in black. Some people were whooping and hollering, and others waved flowers overhead. ¡°Some sort of play?¡±

    ¡°No,¡± Kionah said tersely. ¡°Don¡¯t look, it¡¯s not¡ªthey¡¯re going to set up and start killing people, alright?¡±

    Her thoughts froze momentarily, even as her legs carried her onwards. She looked at Kionah again. ¡°They behead people here too?¡±

    ¡°Hanging,¡± Kionah said.

    ¡°Oh.¡±

    ¡°Criminals,¡± Kionah continued grimly. ¡°Murderers and unfortunates. For show.¡±

    ¡°I see.¡±

    She¡¯d been right in thinking it wasn¡¯t limited to Magicians. Still, the idea of carrying out executions among all this colour and noise¡ªit wasn¡¯t seemly. Not one person was wearing white. Was it more¡­common, here? Did Glisterians find a human dangling on a rope just as entertaining as a Behemoth being bespelled to death? She spotted children being carried by their parents, and shivered.

    Murderers. She was going to need more practice not thinking about that alleyway, the excision, the throat peeling away from trachea.

    Kionah must¡¯ve seen some change on her face, because she shot her a sympathetic look for all the wrong reasons. ¡°Come on,¡± she said, increasing her pace. ¡°We don¡¯t want to stick around for them to present the prisoners. People swarm the stage sometimes¡ªreal messy.¡±

    Aliyah swallowed. ¡°Right.¡±

    A tide of raucous cheers rolled through the air as they left the square. She resisted the urge to look back. Her pulse steadied by the time they reached the station Kionah was after. Exhaustion bleated at her brainstem, and she let the equilibrium seep past her barriers if only to think of anything else.

 4.9 - Do No Harm

    Aliyah

    Aliyah lapsed into a light doze. The cavern lights looked soft and soothing from this far up, almost hypnotic to her tired eyes. She startled back to full awareness as Kionah tapped her shoulder.

    ¡°Not far off,¡± Kionah said. ¡°Stick close, yeah?¡±

    This section of the Undercity was even gloomier-looking than Crow Ear territory, with only faint patches of glowing moss to mark the way. Ramshackle stacks loomed and grew denser the further they walked; Aliyah had the sense that they were delving deeper into whatever oily district this entailed, approaching the core. Urchins scuttled on swaying rope bridges overhead. Shapes moved in the shadows of alleys. Lamps were few and far between; the residents seemed used to living in near-darkness.

    Kionah walked with her chin up and shoulders straight, like she had nothing to fear. There were, Aliyah supposed, no witches or forayers here. But glinting eyes followed their progress. Whispers fluttered and echoed, masked by the drip of water and the distant clanking of metal, threads of sound emanating from what seemed like everywhere and nowhere. Aliyah prepared a shield at the forefront of her thoughts despite her exhaustion.

    It was almost predictable, that they were stopped. A stone hit the ground at their feet, clacking as it bounced over the chipped cobbles. Kionah looked up unerringly and Aliyah followed her gaze.

    A trio of children perched on a rooftop, half-hidden by a crumbling chimney. One of them held a sling in hand, already replacing the stone she¡¯d sent at them.

    ¡°You¡¯re not meant to be here,¡± the one to the left of the slinger said. He sounded equal parts bored and disdainful.

    ¡°I¡¯m here to see Elena,¡± Kionah said. ¡°And if you¡¯re too green to know me, then Kalen¡¯ll vouch.¡±

    There was a pause as the three urchins bent their heads together, speaking in hushed whispers. Aliyah strained her hearing, but the strings of words they used made little sense: stinger and ken and jukrum. Some sort of cant or code.

    At last, one of them called out. ¡°Kalen was gotten way back in the spring, missus. City Watch hauled him off and if you knew him you¡¯d know it!¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ve been away for a long while,¡± Kionah shot back, frowning, and listed off a handful of other names. ¡°Go on, fetch someone. I¡¯ll wait.¡±

    The urchins held another swift conference amongst themselves, before one peeled away and bounded over the rooftops. Kionah sighed, setting her baskets down to stretch her arms. Aliyah glanced at the nearby alley mouth, piercing the shadows with flashes of modified sight, and spotted no obvious ambush¡ªjust figures passing in the shadows, laden with parcels and packages.

    She leaned in close enough to whisper. ¡°These are your mother¡¯s¡­employees?¡±

    ¡°You could say so.¡± Kionah gave a grim, fleeting smile and didn¡¯t lower her own voice. ¡°You can feed a kid on what¡¯d starve a grown man. Once the kid¡¯s old enough to need more than you can give, it¡¯ll either leave or die, and there¡¯s no shortage of more to take its place. You hear that, girl? Make friends and plans. There¡¯s always less time than you think.¡±

    The girl with the sling didn¡¯t reply, but her companion made a rude gesture down at them. They settled in to wait under the pair of watchful eyes. It wasn¡¯t long before the departed urchin was back, with a cloaked companion in tow.

    ¡°Kelliver,¡± Kionah said by way of greeting. There wasn¡¯t anything unfriendly about her tone, but she didn¡¯t sound particularly enthused either.

    ¡°Name the place we swapped a lady¡¯s purse for wharf rope and hardtack,¡± he replied from under the hood of his cloak.

    ¡°Pearl tavern. And it was wheat flour, not hardtack.¡±

    He threw back his cloak, revealing a pale, pinched face and a nose that looked to have been broken at least twice. ¡°Sadrava. Where were you?¡± At the word ¡®Sadrava¡¯, the urchin accompanying him gave a start. The trio nudged elbows, whispered amongst themselves, and scampered back onto their rooftop postings.

    Kionah snorted, scooping up her baskets. ¡°Let me guess, people running their mouths saying I died? Lead on, I¡¯m here to see mother.¡±

    ¡°She¡¯s occupied. Weaving.¡±

    ¡°Borrow us a room until morning, then.¡±

    He sighed. ¡°Best I can do is one of the lodge roofs.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯ll take it.¡±

    ¡°Won¡¯t be comfortable.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll be out of your hair in no time,¡± she replied.

    Kelliver eyed her baskets suspiciously, but made no further remarks. Gathering his cloak about his shoulders, he motioned for them to follow.

    ===

    Aliyah rubbed her shoulder surreptitiously.

    The attic Kelliver had shown them had been bare and dusty, without so much as a spare blanket to layer over the wooden floor. Magic could purge the soreness from her muscles, but it did less for the irritation pulsing in her thoughts. She brushed a lingering patch of dust off her sleeve and quickened her pace to keep up with the other two.

    The route to Kionah¡¯s mother wound past crowds of spying eyes. This was, as far as Aliyah could tell, the territory of those without many ways to make a living. Sallow residents peered out of windows and hurried past in droves; Kionah walked the same as Kelliver, but her appearance was at odds with this cramped, hidden corner of the city. Aliyah couldn¡¯t put a finger to it at first¡ªKionah¡¯s outfit was just as fraying as the hordes of greying urchins¡ªbefore realising it was her health. The tanned skin and glossy hair couldn¡¯t be bought, unless it was with illusion.

    Urchins stared with hungry eyes. One raised a hand in a gesture of recognition, which Kionah returned. Was Kionah the Cornelius to their Kionah? Aliyah mused. She held her shielding cast in mind, but the crowds were thin and everyone¡ªeven other adults¡ªseemed to walk skittishly, keeping careful distance.

    They clattered up stone steps and past layers of concentric stone walls, all of which were crumbling, before arriving at some sort of compound. It was half-fortress, half-hovel. It looked as if a dozen different buildings had been cobbled together. Rope bridges gave way to overgrowths of moss, in turn melting into makeshift ledges linking the jumble together; square windows opened above round ones, and a brick tower peeked out from wooden foundations.

    The inside was worse. The smell of mould and damp tinged the air, and what lamps hung from the creaking ceiling were few and far between. Every so often, they¡¯d pass through a courtyard or corridor where an urchin¡ªthey were all urchins in here, tight-mouthed and underfed¡ªwould glance them over and let them pass. It seemed an age before they came to a stop before a battered door. Kelliver gestured at the handle and turned away. There were no guards posted.

    Kionah nudged the door open a crack and hesitated. ¡°She may be in a mood, you understand.¡±

    Aliyah eyed the musty darkness beyond. ¡°That¡¯s alright.¡±

    She¡¯d spent enough years being shouted at by fussy highborns and gossiped about by sly peers for simple words to trouble her. A different worry lurked in her thoughts: the severity of the injuries, any microvascular complications, anything that required drastic action¡­she didn¡¯t think she had it in her to amputate anything with Kionah right there, trusting her to be a Healer and yet horrified by her inevitable limits.

    Kionah nodded unconvincingly. Aliyah followed before she could change her mind about it.

    You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

    What light spilled in from the doorway wasn¡¯t enough to see by. She squinted, straining her vision through the dark. The room was empty save for a large mound of cloth heaped against the far wall. She blinked, scanning the rest of the room and even the ceiling before the nest of blankets moved.

    From its depths came a quiet, reedy whisper. ¡°Shut the door. Shut it. You¡¯re letting out the dark.¡±

    Kionah cast a glance at her, inclining her head meaningfully. Aliyah closed the door and fed another dribble of magic into her night vision.

    The voice snuffled. ¡°Do I hear a-jingling? I told that boy to not bother us with trinkets.¡±

    ¡°Hello, mother,¡± Kionah said. She held up a bottle she¡¯d brought along. The liquid sloshed, faintly phosphorescent against the backdrop of black. ¡°I¡¯ve brought you some dandelion milk. The fermented one that you like.¡±

    The blankets shifted once more, and a pale, pockmarked hand lifted itself from the folds. Aliyah craned her neck, but she couldn¡¯t make out anything else. Face, limbs, features¡ªall seemed to be hidden under the cloth. The voice was muffled by it, even. ¡°Now, now. Do my ears deceive me? Come, come. Come closer.¡±

    Kionah approached the heap. ¡°It¡¯s me, mother. It¡¯s Kionah. I¡¯m back. I visited earlier. Do you remember?¡±

    The blankets coughed. The hand reached out. ¡°Kio¡­nah¡­? Which Kionah?¡±

    Kionah shuddered, the movement almost imperceptible in the dark. ¡°The first one.¡±

    ¡°Kionah¡­¡± the voice rasped. The hand shrank back into a crevice of blanket, fingers toying restlessly with a loose thread. ¡°¡­Still around, after all. Still here. What have you brought me? When did you last come, hm? They¡¯re all out to kill us, girl. The Kelliver boy can¡¯t keep them all in line. The little worms are squirming! Running off! Running away. Just like you!¡±

    Kionah held out the bottle. ¡°Please, ma. I only want you to be well. Have you been well?¡±

    ¡°Ah, well. Well! How polite of you to ask after me.¡± The hand whisked the bottle out of the air, disappearing back into the blankets. ¡°What a loyal daughter. The boy brings the thread and I weave¡ªI weave the lace, for days and days. Days! You hear me?¡± The voice tightened into a warbling screech. ¡°Ungrateful whelps. I give them wheat bread and new cheese and good, strong names and they would still gnaw the skin off my bones and use the bones for soup. Like worms, they¡ª¡±

    ¡°I thought Kirrick was checking on you,¡± Kionah interrupted. ¡°Has an apothecary been by lately?¡±

    ¡°That old quack?¡± There came a pause and the distinct sound of the bottle being uncorked. ¡°Drunk and drowned in a canal. We¡¯ll find another.¡±

    ¡°Is anything new hurting?¡±

    Kionah¡¯s mother gulped several mouthfuls and smacked her lips, the sound hissing with pained satisfaction. ¡°Ahh. The shoulder, a little. From all the weaving. The little motions. You¡¯ll understand, if you reach this age. Hah! Kionah, Kionah, my dear old daughter! Should you be so fortunate!¡± She laughed, and the sound dissolved into coughing.

    ¡°Let me see.¡±

    Kionah pulled a segment of blanket back and hastily put it back down. Aliyah couldn¡¯t see anything in the darkness and from her angle, but Kionah followed it up with a wince. If she concentrated, she could detect a trace of purulence that had seeped into the air.

    ¡°Have you been taking your¡­medicine as usual?¡±

    ¡°Yes, yes.¡± The sound of sucking teeth. ¡°All the same. Have you got more?¡±

    ¡°Not at the moment, mother.¡±

    ¡°Ahhh. What do you think this little gift will buy you, then?¡±

    ¡°A gift¡¯s a gift. But I came to ask for a spare room. Shan¡¯t cost you.¡±

    ¡°Spare room? Just you? No. I heard footsteps. There¡¯s someone else here, isn¡¯t there? Sneaking, sneaking about.¡± Teeth clicked together, half-tutting and half-gnashing. ¡°But you don¡¯t get past me, oh no. These ears are sharp yet. Who is it? Not one of mine, to be sure. Say hello, stranger.¡±

    Aliyah hesitated. ¡°Hello, mistress Sadrava. Sorry, for any¡­rudeness. I¡¯m just a friend. Passing by.¡±

    A shrill, whispery laugh floated from the depths of the blankets. ¡°Come to steal my secrets, have you? Nay, nay. The weave and the lace and the fine lasses who could not untangle it. Think you¡¯re clever, eh? Mistress Sadrava¡­Mistress? Pah! Flattery! Think you can charm my patterns out from my belly? You¡¯re just another worm in a different skin. Parchments and words and tongues you think so silver, why you¡¯ve got the same stink about you as dear old Corneel, true bastard he was¡ª¡±

    ¡°She¡¯s one of mine,¡± Kionah interjected hastily. ¡°And I¡¯ve got no ambitions in this quarter. You know that, mother.¡±

    ¡°Ye¡ªesss,¡± she enunciated with exaggerated care. ¡°No usurping¡­I remember. So hungry to be a daughter of Crow Ear, without the good sense to reel in their son. But you always come crawling back to your true blood. Still hungry, still wanting. And you¡¯ll eat my forgiveness like the rest of them.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± Kionah said. ¡°Truly, I¡¯m in trouble this time. I didn¡¯t want to bother you.¡± She sounded like she¡¯d had practice at sounding like she meant it.

    ¡°No usurping. Always so hungry, so fast-fingered, but so predictable. Ah, Kionah, my Kionah-by-blood, my very first Kionah. Spirits take you if you¡¯ve changed.¡±

    There was a pause, and a long, slow, scrabbling sound, like nails tapping delicately over stone. The hand emerged with a key clutched between the fingers.

    ¡°The yellow shack. You were there, once. Perhaps.¡±

    ¡°Yes. I remember.¡±

    ¡°Can hardly be certain if I trust Crow Ear more than you, all these years. Not an usurper like some. You say you remember? Yes, I think you remember. You stand here because I say so, sweet daughter. You¡¯ll drown in blood if you¡¯ve come back to eat us.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s alright, mother.¡± Kionah sounded weary. ¡°There¡¯s nothing here I¡¯d take.¡±

    ¡°Liar! Lies! All these days you keep begging. Vying for a place? I¡¯ll not die for a year yet.¡± Her laugh slurred at the edges. ¡°And you¡¯ll follow me, won¡¯t you? Sweet Kionah, we all rot in the end. It¡¯s what you said when you were only little: ¡®mother, I want to be just like you!¡¯ You promised, didn¡¯t you? Or are you a dirty liar like the rest of them?¡±

    ¡°No, no,¡± Kionah said soothingly. ¡°Of course not. I¡¯m here to help. I¡¯ll ask Kirrick about your medicine.¡±

    ¡°Hmm. Mmm, very well. Bring me the materials when they arrive, Kionah. Or get the boy to do it¡­it makes no difference to me. I feel a vision coming on. Close the door when you leave¡­Kionah. Remember, you must close it¡­¡±

    ¡°Yes. I will.¡± Kionah lapsed into silence, just standing there in the dark.

    Aliyah waited anxiously, wondering if the dandelion milk had been soporific enough. Was her mother going to kick them out? She started counting in her head. A minute passed, then two. The air trembled with a faint snore.

    Kionah knelt and beckoned, peeling back a section of blanket. ¡°Careful. Here.¡±

    Aliyah crept over the creaking floorboards and touched a finger to the clammy wrist emerging from the gap. She pushed the body into false-sleep and sent her magic scouting, tracing over skin and veins and slowly-mottling organs. The mouth was ringed with sores and the eyes were infected, membranes leaking mucous. There were scabs over the arms and legs¡ªhundreds of them. They formed where too much exogenous magic bruised through to the surface. Most of it circulated wildly through blood and lymph, turning every cell into an artificial reservoir.

    Beyond that, she wasn¡¯t sure how to unlink it from the body¡ªwasn¡¯t sure it was a good idea, either. It was as she¡¯d suspected: Kionah¡¯s mother was caught in a delicate balancing act of her unnatural wounds against an equilibrium that thought it should come undone. Finding what could be fixed without upsetting the balance wasn¡¯t difficult, but she could tell it¡¯d be time-consuming. She told Kionah so.

    ¡°That¡¯s fine. We¡¯ve got until afternoon before anyone¡¯ll visit, if not more. Do what you can. I don¡¯t expect you to, you know, make her perfect like the kingdom Healers.¡±

    ¡°Did they really?¡± she asked, delving tentatively into the first of the skin lesions. ¡°Fix everything, I mean.¡±

    ¡°For Alhena? Most things, as far as I could tell. I¡¯m sure she wasn¡¯t born with that face.¡±

    A long silence followed as she healed the lesion shut and waited to see if her work would unravel. The exogenous magic¡ªthe so-called spawnblood¡ªaccepted the changes without trouble, but she suspected it¡¯d continue in its damage as soon as she left, rewriting the lesions over months, if not weeks. She healed the skin and moved on to assessing the infections, the scarred liver, the atrophied muscles. It didn¡¯t take long for her to become immersed in her workflow, to create a list of priorities and assign them a risk level, to start on a task and cordon off the rest to wait. She was about halfway done when Kionah spoke up.

    ¡°How are you coming along?¡± Her tone was polite, restrained, faintly uneasy¡ªAliyah blinked into the darkness. It was a strange realisation, that Kionah couldn¡¯t see what was happening the way she could.

    ¡°It¡¯s working,¡± she said cautiously. ¡°I¡¯ve fixed up the skin. You can take a look, if you want.¡±

    Kionah lifted a corner of the blanket and exhaled gently before setting it gently back down. ¡°Thank you. That¡¯s¡­well, I shouldn¡¯t be surprised.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s alright,¡± Aliyah said awkwardly, blinking back the start of a headache.

    She set back to work as a silence descended once more, vaguely aware of Kionah taking a step closer to observe. The darkness crowded in on all sides, but it mattered less now. It was helpful, even. She felt anchored, elbow-deep in magic, and the darkness meant she wasn¡¯t sure how many hours had passed by the time she was finished.

    ¡°It¡¯s done,¡± she said, rising unsteadily to her feet. ¡°I couldn¡¯t fix the muscles properly, but she¡¯s got enough to do whatever you said¡ªweaving? Her hands were in better condition than the rest of her. More fruit and meat in her diet would be good. Less alcohol. I used magic to help, but the real nutrients would be better. And maybe, um¡­if she can, she should get out from under those blankets more often. It¡¯s not good for her skin.¡±

    ¡°How much time?¡± Kionah murmured.

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry?¡±

    ¡°How much time do you think she has left?¡±

    She thought over her next words carefully. ¡°If she continues like this? My fixes will hold for at least a few weeks, but because of the spawnblood combined with her environment¡­I really can¡¯t say for certain. You said she¡¯s been stable for a long time, but it¡¯s not a healthy way to live. If she gets an infection, it¡¯ll be much harder to fight off. She should be careful around other sick people and even more careful in winter.¡±

    ¡°I see,¡± Kionah said quietly, but Aliyah wasn¡¯t sure she did.

    She ushered Aliyah through the door and for a few moments, they stood silent and blinking at the suddenness of such meagre light. Kionah was first to break this new silence.

    ¡°Alright,¡± she said, shielding her eyes with a hand. ¡°I¡¯ll get in touch with Luxon, fetch us some supplies¡ªfor the urchins, and for you if you¡¯re still set on rescuing your master. We¡¯ll figure something out. Now, do you want some food? They say hunger is the best sauce, but I happen to think the four-spice special at Zenith¡¯s is better.¡±

    Aliyah gave a weak laugh. ¡°Right. Um, I noticed the food bribery thing, you don¡¯t have to¡ª¡±

    ¡°Cheer up, I¡¯m offering. You look like you¡¯re going to pass out.¡±

    She touched a hand to her temple. ¡°I won¡¯t. I know I won¡¯t.¡±

    ¡°Still. Let¡¯s get out of here.¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± Aliyah agreed.

 4.10 - False Colours

    Felun

    Iolite had summoned him to her laboratory for more than a chat; there was an expectant air to her voice. Behind her, a row of cauldrons bubbled away; the steam condensed into an intricate tangle of glass pipework and dribbled out into a dozen different bottles.

    ¡°Why do you think you¡¯re here today?¡± she asked. The question was as good of a trap as any; it rankled him, that he was being treated like a misbehaving student. No, worse than a student¡ªlike a child.

    He shrugged as carelessly as he could. ¡°The amphora thing didn¡¯t work out.¡±

    Her wings fidgeted as she sorted through the fresh clutter on her bench. ¡°I understand your difficulties. I have also decided it¡¯s in your best interest to receive an intermission in your primary duties.¡±

    Had she decided with the help of Suria¡¯s recommendation? It was likely. He grimaced despite himself, remembering the darkness, the pervasive buzzing, the ¡®human chamber¡¯ to pace around in.

    ¡°Back to the Hive? You need help again?¡± Despite himself, he hoped she did. It¡¯d be less boring than being locked out of the way.

    ¡°Archivist Zekore requires your assistance, but it is not an overly urgent matter. You may aid him at the end of your little break. How about that?¡±

    ¡°Break?¡±

    ¡°I believe you people call it a holiday.¡±

    She expected him to stay at the Songian Hive? He couldn¡¯t think of a worse place to while away time.

    ¡°Furthermore,¡± she added, ¡°I imagine you will be most pleased to see your family again.¡±

    His mind went momentarily blank. ¡°Pardon?¡±

    ¡°Your family unit, Felun. They¡¯ll be passing through the skydocks a few turns of the hourglass from now; you should pack with haste. Silverwater shall escort you and will be traveling in the hold for convenience. I will ask a favour of you and request you ensure your family unit does not harass him for the duration of the journey.¡±

    ¡°Wait. Passing through? Heading for the kingdom? I thought¡ª¡± He caught himself and shut his mouth before he said anything he wasn¡¯t technically supposed to know.

    ¡°You thought they had better plans?¡± Iolite scoffed. She tapped a point-tipped finger against her chin, Archival eye opening the thinnest sliver. ¡°Overconfidence, if you were to ask me¡ªwhich they did not. For what does a human lord care for the opinions of so-called faeries like us, hm?¡± She made a clicking noise. ¡°Ah, well. It¡¯s done with. As for the kingdom, you¡¯ll be staying there for the duration of your break. It will do you some good to be in the company of your own kind, yes? Then a little visit to Zekore before you resume assisting us here. Does that sound good?¡±

    She turned her attention back to the tangle atop her bench, hands trailing through a pile of gemstones and past a jumble of potions to delve into a trayful of spell-slips¡ªclearly, they were more interesting to her than this conversation. He wondered if he had Suria¡¯s recommendation to thank, or whether Iolite just really, really wanted to be rid of him for the time being.

    ¡°Will it be safe?¡± he asked. He remembered the swarming in the distance, swaths of chitin blotting the sky.

    She gave him an inscrutable look, Archival eye widening to a thick crescent. ¡°For you? Yes, I should think so. Stay away from those filthy thaumaturges and you¡¯ll do just fine.¡± She paused. ¡°I hesitate to make further requests of you, but perhaps listen around for news of their¡­¡¯Library¡¯, yes?¡±

    ¡°Okay,¡± he said, backing away before she could give more requests¡ªorders, really. ¡°Sure. I¡¯ll go pack.¡±

    ===

    The northern skydocks swelled with crowds. People sweated profusely under the high summer sun, waiting in lines chock full of luggage trunks.

    Felun stuck a cooling rune to his forehead and groaned inwardly as a heavily-illusioned Silverwater told him to stay put, disappearing to search for a Sungrazer vessel in the queue. At least he¡¯d be traveling by ship this time. Usually, they spun a cocoon-thing to transport him on longer trips; it wasn¡¯t a particularly pleasant experience. Swaying, unseeing, unnerving and uncomfortable at the idea of being dropped¡­he didn¡¯t think Thorn and the others liked carrying him so much, either.

    He looked over the platform and saw a sea of chimneys below: puffs of smoke, birds perched on rooftops. They were up high¡ªso grand was Glister that there were proper levels to the place¡ªbut some of the grand temples back home had been far taller. He knew he wouldn¡¯t get dizzy as long as he didn¡¯t look straight down. To the south, strands of shuttle-line stretched into the distance, terminating beside yawning, open-mouthed pits with staircase-steps like outstretched tongues. Northways, something was happening with a behemoth¡ªflashy sparks of light resembling fireworks, the creature too far away to make out with the naked eye. He fetched a spyglass from his satchel as he waited, peering through, and¡ªoh, that looked like a lot of legs. He was glad there were so few of the things back home.

    ¡°Good sight?¡± Silverwater said, sidling up again.

    Felun lowered his spyglass. ¡°Are they here?¡±

    ¡°Soon enough. A couple ships after this one.¡± He nodded at the wooden barge ahead of them and pulled a booklet from the pockets of his borrowed cloak.

    Felun peered over as he flipped it open, stub of charcoal in hand. ¡°Did you draw that?¡±

    Silverwater looked up, scowling with his human visage. He snapped the booklet shut, but not before Felun had glimpsed a sketch of a faery¡ªEzphorza? It was hard to tell without colours, but the shapes and shading were very realistic.

    ¡°It¡¯s good,¡± Felun said hastily, and at Silverwater¡¯s skeptical expression he added, ¡°really, I mean it. I¡¯ve uh, seen some of the court painters use that style.¡±

    It wasn¡¯t exactly flattery, and there was no harm in getting on Silverwater¡¯s good side. On a scale ranging from Thorn to Iolite, Silverwater placed solidly above Saiph. He was surprised a faery could draw like that, though; Zekore had shown him a bunch of faery artworks before, dredged from the sinking Archives. Those pieces had been weird textiles and assortments of aromas stored in bottles, for smelling or touching more than looking at.

    Silverwater made a clicking noise, but he didn¡¯t sound totally displeased. He opened the booklet and began sketching, though he kept it tilted away from Felun¡¯s line of sight this time.

    ¡°Where¡¯d you learn that?¡± Felun asked after a long silence, interspersed with the barking of crowds at his back. There was no one else to talk to, and waiting was making him antsy.

    ¡°With my eyes. It¡¯s all a matter of the right mixtures of light and shadow.¡± He paused. ¡°Well, Curlew brought home a newspaper with a human¡¯s portrait on it once and I thought it couldn¡¯t be that hard.¡±

    ¡°Oh. Cool hobby. You get a lot of downtime, working for Iolite?¡±

    ¡°Less than you.¡±

    The Sungrazer ship pulled up at the dock, gleaming with gold trim and sparing him the embarrassment of figuring out an answer. He cleared his throat and picked up his luggage, casting a glance back to make sure Silverwater was following before walking into its shadow. A guard hollered into the onboarding doors as he approached, and out clambered a familiar face.

    ¡°Haoyu,¡± Yichen called, waving him past the guard.

    ¡°Hi,¡± he said, switching languages. ¡°How¡¯ve you been? Eaten yet?¡± He pointed at Silverwater, who was being glared at by the guard. ¡°Let him on, too.¡±

    Silverwater was still disguised as a human. He was only mildly suspicious-looking because of the oversized cloak in this heat¡ªit was to hide any inconsistencies with the wing area, Suria had explained, dragging a hand over her exhausted face. She¡¯d started weaving the veilment minutes after they got back from the amphora incident. Well, he¡¯d assumed she had. She¡¯d shoved the Healer to Thorn as she waved everyone off and stalked away, snarling that she¡¯d punch anyone who disrupted her.

    Yichen scrunched up his face. ¡°Is that¡­you know¡­¡±

    ¡°Yeah. You don¡¯t have to whisper. He can¡¯t understand us.¡±

    ¡°The ones back home can.¡±

    ¡°Yeah, but he¡¯s not from back home, is he?¡±

    ¡°Are you sure their weird societal magic thing won¡¯t¡ª¡±

    ¡°Whatever,¡± Felun said. ¡°Just be polite. Don¡¯t bother him.¡±

    Yichen spoke to the guard. Silverwater asked for the direction of the cargo hold and promptly disappeared into it. The skyship barely shuddered as it disembarked, sails billowing with magicked winds. Unlike the last skyship he¡¯d taken, there were no runes visible on any surface¡ªa craft like this didn¡¯t need to reassure its passengers with shining symbols.

    ¡°Your room¡¯s the usual one,¡± Yichen said, motioning down the corridor.

    ¡°Great.¡± He hesitated, trying to recall which side it¡¯d been on. ¡°Have you heard anything about how Ishaan¡¯s doing?¡±

    Yichen gave him a funny look. ¡°The dungeonrunner? You can ask him yourself.¡±

    His heart just about dropped out the bottom of his stomach, even as his thoughts whirled. Really? Here? Now? And then a flurry of impressions, almost too rapid to categorise: fear, worry, opportunity¡ª ¡°He¡¯s here?¡±

    ¡°Father thought it¡¯d be a good idea to bring him. You know, cause of¡­¡± He trailed off meaningfully.

    ¡°Really?¡± Felun snapped. ¡°Oh, come on. I¡¯ve been doing everything they¡¯ve asked. Have the faeries sent complaints? Where¡¯ve you put him? Not in the hold, surely?¡±

    ¡°Nah. In Yuying¡¯s.¡±

    ¡°Where¡¯s she?¡±

    Yichen gave him another look. ¡°Oh, I thought they told you. She¡¯s run off to be a witch. Gave herself a fishy name like you, too.¡± He raised his hands in finger quotes. ¡°Likes to be called ¡®Remora¡¯ now. They¡¯re not happy about that.¡±

    Felun gaped at him. ¡°You¡¯re serious. She¡¯s, what¡ªrunning around in Shenzhou¡ª¡±

    Yichen grimaced. ¡°Flying around, more like. Wants to get over here too, and you know what? It¡¯s not a bad idea, if her goal¡¯s to convince mother that a stint at an academy is better in comparison.¡±

    ¡°Right,¡± Felun said faintly. ¡°Okay, I get it. That¡¯s why¡ªI¡¯m the corrupting influence, now? Oh god, she¡¯s way too young to be out in the city by herself.¡±

    ¡°You were about the same age,¡± Yichen said pointedly.

    ¡°Yeah, well you all treated me like shit.¡±

    Yichen rolled his eyes. ¡°Get over yourself, Haoyu. No one¡¯s special unless he¡¯s Guofan.¡±

    ¡°Is he here?¡±

    ¡°Nah. They left him to learn things in father¡¯s absence, you know? Estate stuff.¡±

    Felun winced. Yichen snickered.

    ¡°I know, right? Bet you he¡¯ll burn something down before we¡¯re back. Hopefully your quarters and not mine. Anyway. Mother told me to tell you that you¡¯re expected at dinner.¡± He clapped a hand over his shoulder as he ambled back up on deck, no doubt to make swashbuckling smalltalk with the sailors and get in everyone¡¯s way.

    Felun found his old room, dragged his luggage in, and slammed the door shut. He unlocked his trunk and took a drink of water. There was a frayed quality to the air all of a sudden, a restlessness that came with knowing¡ªif Yichen was to be believed¡ªthat Ishaan was here and alive, just three doors away.

    Would he even want to talk? He hadn¡¯t, the last time Felun had seen him. He tried to picture his appearance, some months prior: tired. Haggard. Better than when Felun had dragged him out of the dungeon, still pouring blood, but worse than he¡¯d¡¯ve assumed given all the stuff the family apothecaries were plying him with. Father had said they were doing a lot in exchange, but he didn¡¯t know anything about physic or medicines so he¡¯d had to take their word for it.

    Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

    Ishaan hadn¡¯t been lucid for most of it. He¡¯d been properly awake in that last meeting, but he¡¯d avoided Felun¡¯s gaze, shrugging and mumbling his responses as mother oversaw the whole conversation like a four-eyed hawk. Felun had stumbled through apologies and left when he was called for. Was there really anything left to say? But he needed Ishaan¡¯s cooperation, so he¡¯d have to think of something. It was an opportunity on a silver plate. Even if Ishaan hated him, even if he¡¯d been well-provided for¡­

    Seven hundred and seventy seven. Iolite and her dangerously veiled plans. Less selfishly: the mercurial nature of his family¡¯s care. This couldn¡¯t continue forever.

    He knew the doors could be locked from the inside, and he could always leave if he was shouted at. He was good at doing that.

    ===

    He knocked twice, then once more for luck.

    ¡°Hey, uh. It¡¯s me. Felun. I don¡¯t know if you were expecting me. Thought I¡¯d swing by in case.¡±

    He heard shuffling, like boxes being moved aside, followed by footsteps. The door swung open.

    ¡°They call you ¡®Hao yu¡¯ here,¡± Ishaan said, getting the tones wrong.

    ¡°Hi,¡± he said weakly. ¡°Yeah, that¡¯s my¡ªmy Cathayan name. Uh. How¡¯ve you been?¡±

    Ishaan was standing¡ªthat was the first thing he registered: Ishaan, standing upright. He looked healthy. There was a bit of colour to his face, and a steady alertness in his eyes. Felun¡¯s gaze skimmed over those details and slipped, as if magnetised, to the metalwork emerging from his trouser-legs and the sleeve of one arm.

    The prosthetics were shaped like the limbs they replaced, more or less. The hand had uncanny ball-joints, like one of Yuying¡¯s childhood dolls. They were made of silvery metal, though various other materials had been set into the armature. Felun recognised a few of the symbols darting over the surface of a runestone. Then he registered the quality and finish of the runestone, and clenched his jaw.

    This was the reason why they¡¯d brought Ishaan along: to say, look here, we¡¯re holding up our end of the deal so well; time for you to prove yours. Like his friend¡ªformer friend¡ªwas nothing more than a fancy bargaining chip.

    ¡°I¡¯m alright,¡± Ishaan spoke, gesturing with the artificial hand. ¡°It¡¯s fine, you can stare. Everyone else has been.¡±

    Felun blinked, ashamed, and fought his eyes upwards again.

    Ishaan cleared his throat. ¡°Would you like some tea?¡± He gestured aimlessly into his room; Felun spied a clockwork kettle in the corner, along with a small mountain of boxes and bottles and packets of what was almost certainly all different kinds of dried fruit; he recognised the packaging for candied persimmons on sight. ¡°They gave me heaps, all kinds. I mean, if you have time. I¡¯ve got¡­questions.¡±

    Felun¡¯s stomach sank. Still, there was no way of avoiding it, if he wanted to be on speaking, planning, colluding terms¡ªunless he could put it off by checking in on Silverwater? He dismissed the thought as soon as it came; it was a flimsy excuse, and Ishaan wasn¡¯t yelling at him yet. There was no reason to not answer some¡­questions.

    ¡°Okay,¡± he said, steeling himself. ¡°Ask away.¡±

    It must have shown, because Ishaan gave a nervous, wincing smile. ¡°There¡¯s no hurry. Sit down, be comfortable. Didn¡¯t want to interrogate you.¡± He laced his fingers together, skin against silver. ¡°I¡¯ll make tea. It¡¯ll be easier if we both have something to drink.¡±

    Felun reflected on whether it would be appropriate to inform Ishaan he knew where they kept the sorghum wine, and decided that probably wasn¡¯t a good idea.

    He sat himself down by the cramped corner table as Ishaan busied himself with tea-making, favouring the use of his flesh-arm. It was an oddly familiar sight. Back in Ironport, Ishaan had been the best cook out of the lot of them. His hovering over a cauldron had come to be their evening custom, same as Tyirn mumbling around his evening pipe and Vilette flicking through a deck of cards.

    ¡°¡­So many,¡± Ishaan was saying. ¡°I don¡¯t know where they get them from. Thought the bird spit was a bit weird. They gave me all this sugared fruit and stuff, too. I couldn¡¯t possibly finish it all myself. Do you want some?¡±

    ¡°No,¡± Felun replied numbly. ¡°I¡¯m fine, thanks. I ate, earlier.¡±

    Ishaan walked over to the table. He had a limp now, Felun observed. At least he could walk. At least he was alive. All that blood¡ª

    ¡°The hand¡¯s cool,¡± Ishaan said, even as he used his flesh-hand to pour the tea. ¡°I can grab stuff, open doors. I¡¯m practicing writing with it, now. I asked for a sword to practice with, but they wouldn¡¯t give me one. They¡¯re not¡ªI don¡¯t mean to complain. I know they spent a lot of money on all this. I told them they didn¡¯t have to, but they brought in a silversmith and someone to teach me how to walk again and everything¡ª¡± He was talking fast, the way he always did when he was nervous.

    Felun watched helplessly as he stumbled to a halt. Was the surprise at seeing his face again wearing off? Surely he¡¯d get around to yelling something. Any second now.

    But Ishaan just gave a shaky laugh. ¡°Why¡¯re they doing this, Felun? I kept asking myself that, the whole time, and when I asked to see you, you were gone?¡± He set the teapot down and laughed again, even more nervously than before. ¡°Seriously, I¡¯m not supposed to be here. I can¡¯t¡ªthere¡¯s no way I could repay all this.¡±

    Ah. So he was worried about debt that wasn¡¯t his.

    ¡°It¡¯s fine,¡± Felun offered. He took a too-quick sip of tea and burned his tongue. ¡°They¡¯re not going to ask you to pay them back. They wouldn¡¯t¡ªerm, I mean, they¡¯re my family, and I talked to them, so I¡¯m sure.¡±

    Ishaan was silent for several, long moments. ¡°Alright. Where¡¯ve you been, then? Felun? Or is it Haoyu?¡± He did the tones better this time. Felun wondered how many times he¡¯d heard the name being spoken¡ªor whispered, or sneered, or snarled¡ªby someone else in his absence. Wondered what else he¡¯d heard.

    ¡°Felun is fine. I¡¯ve been busy, with work. Had to be away. Sorry, I mean. For not visiting.¡±

    Ishaan blinked. ¡°So you¡¯ve been¡­all this time¡ªwell¡ªshit, okay. I guess it makes sense now.¡±

    ¡°What makes sense?¡±

    Ishaan cleared his throat uneasily. ¡°Just, your infinity bag and stuff. How you could runewrite so well. Why you knew so much about ancient politics. Why you can speak so many languages. Are you a secret Cathayan prince or something?¡±

    Felun frowned. ¡°No. Definitely not. And those were dialects, not languages. I only speak three languages. Two and a half. The third one isn¡¯t fluent.¡±

    Ishaan scoffed faintly. ¡°But you¡¯re important,¡± he pressed. ¡°Right? You sailed around on this ship before you set out on an adventure?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not important,¡± he said defensively. This conversation wasn¡¯t going how he¡¯d thought it would go. ¡°I¡¯m only the firstson. That¡¯s, uh. It¡¯s not so good when there are other sons, where we¡¯re from.¡±

    ¡°That other guy¡¯s more important than you because he¡¯s younger?¡± Ishaan asked with what sounded like disbelief.

    ¡°You¡¯ve met Yichen? I mean, yeah. Sort of.¡± Neither of them took held a candle to the venerated Guofan, though.

    ¡°Fine, so your family¡¯s important,¡± Ishaan said, waving his artificial hand to indicate the room. It wasn¡¯t a particularly good room; it had, after all, belonged to Yuying.

    ¡°You mean the ship?¡± He supposed it did look impressive. Father had big stakes in some shipyards though, so it wasn¡¯t like they¡¯d paid full price. It was nice enough to travel in, but it was entirely the family¡¯s¡ªmaybe even the kin-group¡¯s? It wasn¡¯t like Felun could up and take it for a joyride. Guofan had tried once, and emerged from the ordeal entirely unpunished.

    ¡°I mean everything,¡± Ishaan said. He leaned in, eyes wide. ¡°What the fuck is going on, Felun? People like this don¡¯t take in nobodies like me and give them new limbs. They gave me a whole wing to myself, but wouldn¡¯t even let me walk around without an escort. Or go outside. I¡¯m bloody glad you showed up. Some of ¡®em are so¡­they talk in circles, all the damn time. I ask where you are or why I¡¯m here and they¡¯ll nod and smile and say something really reassuring and two hours later I realise they never answered the damn question in the first place.¡±

    Felun digested the outburst. ¡°They aren¡¯t going to harm you,¡± he said carefully.

    ¡°Oh c¡¯mon,¡± Ishaan hissed. ¡°But why am I stuck here? I asked if they were taking me back to Ironport and from what I gathered, the answer¡¯s ¡®no¡¯. The guards stop me from going up on deck. No shit they haven¡¯t hurt me, but what the fuck is happening? I¡¯m not important, but I¡¯m practically a prisoner¡ªwhy? Tell me I¡¯m not going crazy.¡±

    Felun took a deep breath. ¡°You¡¯re not going crazy.¡±

    ¡°But why? Why me?¡±

    ¡°I¡­¡± Guilt strangled him into silence.

    ¡°Come on, spill it. You¡¯ve gotta know, right? Unless you¡¯re with them?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t want to keep you here,¡± he said quickly. ¡°In fact¡ª¡±

    ¡°But you can¡¯t get me out?¡±

    ¡°I can,¡± he said. ¡°But I¡¯ll need some time to plan.¡±

    ¡°How much time?¡±

    ¡°I can¡¯t say for sure. Your, um. You can¡¯t walk without those legs and they probably have an override spell, so¡­¡± He trailed off into an embarrassed silence. His words sounded pathetic, nebulous. He wasn¡¯t a tinkerer or an inventor. Maybe he could buy help when they landed in Shadowsong. But for all his truthfulness, his words sounded vague, like they weren¡¯t answering the question in the first place.

    Ishaan was quiet for several, long moments. Then he said, ¡°look, Felun. We got along in Ironport, but I¡¯m getting out of here¡ªwith or without your help.¡±

    Felun looked at him, then at the doorway.

    ¡°Not right now,¡± Ishaan added. ¡°But I¡¯ve got plans, and if you¡¯re any friend of mine you won¡¯t interfere when the time comes.¡±

    A faint chill seeped into his bones. Plans was an uneasy word by now, layered in vagueness, lies, and intrigue. Iolite had practically redefined its meaning.

    ¡°Be careful,¡± was all he could say. Even so, his mind darted around for the slightest semblance of a plan. With Ishaan free, that would be one less tether obligating him to his faery service¡ªto his family¡¯s command. And if he couldn¡¯t convince his family out of this, then at least he would¡¯ve accomplished something.

    ¡°What about the others?¡± Ishaan asked abruptly. ¡°I couldn¡¯t¡ªI don¡¯t remember much, but they¡¯re not here. Aren¡¯t they? Did they¡ªthey¡¯re fine, right? Mostly? Tyirn got a peg leg to match his stories, or was it just me who paid an arm and two legs?¡± Behind the humour, there was an edge of desperation.

    A wave of unease crashed over him. He felt sick. It had been months. No one had told Ishaan about the aftermath since? He supposed he¡¯d been unconscious and far from clear-headed at the time, but afterwards¡­well. He¡¯d thought it was obvious.

    He wasn¡¯t very good at lying with his face¡ªat least, not when it came to this. Ishaan flinched, the hope going out of his eyes.

    ¡°No,¡± Ishaan said, but it sounded reflexive. ¡°No, but they¡ªTyirn¡¯s shielding charm. And Vilette had so many tonics, we paid gold for those¡ª¡±

    The reasons sounded practiced, Felun registered dimly. Practiced in the privacy of one¡¯s thoughts, shaped with hope, spoken to sound convincing.

    ¡°It¡¯s just us,¡± Felun spoke over him without meaning to. He looked down at his own bandaged, unbroken hands. ¡°The medics said it was¡ªthat they wouldn¡¯t have suffered.¡± That was a lie, mostly. But the medics hadn¡¯t needed to say anything. Felun had seen it with his own eyes, with his Breaker-sense, with paltry first-degree burns on his fingertips, long-healed now. The details were a lie, but the meaning was true. Anyone could¡¯ve seen that it was true. He clung to one fact: it had happened too fast for them to feel pain.

    Ishaan was silent, shoulders hunched, mouth pressed into a hard line.

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± Felun offered. His voice sounded wrong. False. Dead. He got to his feet. ¡°I¡­I thought you knew. You need space? I¡¯ll just¡ªI¡¯ll go.¡±

    Ishaan opened his mouth, but Felun fled before he could speak. He headed up on deck, where he knew Ishaan couldn¡¯t follow.

    ===

    Some hours of staring at the horizon allowed him to gather his thoughts, as did watching Yichen dart around and almost break his neck slipping on the rigging. His worries steeped like tea. Sunset came sooner than he liked¡ªand with it, dinner. Felun made cordial talk over steamed fish and bean curd.

    His parents said they were pleased to see him again, and he replied that he was pleased to see them too. There was no mention of faeries or Shadowsong or Ishaan. Yichen made a remark about the traveler in the hold. Felun shot him a dark look and said he¡¯d check on him later. The conversation moved to news from the shipyards, trade deals with grain and jade and silks, the bountiful orchards this season, developments with farms and city legislature throughout father¡¯s province. It was excruciating. He fled for the cargo hold when it was over, Ishaan¡¯s presence weighing on his mind like a sackful of stolen ingots.

    Silverwater had shed his human-disguise. He sat perched on a large crate, sketching in his booklet and looking completely at peace. Silverwater¡¯s safety assured, Felun was about to leave when he glanced up.

    ¡°Hi,¡± Felun said, feeling pinned in place. ¡°Nobody¡¯s been bothering you?¡±

    ¡°Not particularly,¡± Silverwater said, tapping his stick of charcoal against his chin. ¡°What do you think of this, Sungrazer Zhao? Or should I say, Sungrazer Felun? There seem to be a great many Zhaos here.¡± He tilted his chin at his booklet.

    Felun came reluctantly closer, peering at the page. There was a fresh sketch there: a graceful building with an inwardly-swooping rooftop, covered in carvings. It reminded him of Yuying¡¯s drawings; she¡¯d told him the term once. What was it called, again? Something very regional, and to do with birds. A swallowtail roof?

    ¡°You¡¯ve been to Cathay?¡± he asked, surprised.

    ¡°Never once in my life.¡±

    ¡°You were talking to a sailor?¡± he asked, even more surprised. The attitude towards faeries wasn¡¯t hostile among most Cathayans, but they weren¡¯t nearly as amiable as they seemed in Glister.

    ¡°Not quite. I think you should come out now,¡± Silverwater said. He grinned, and the motion of his spines grinned with him. It was highly unsettling. His gaze drifted over to a stack of crates in the corner.

    ¡°What?¡± Felun said, alarmed.

    He reached for his magic, a shield brimming to life at his fingertips. Stowaways meant trouble. Did this one know whose ship they¡¯d snuck onto? If an assassin¡ª

    ¡°Come out,¡± Silverwater said. ¡°Your brother is getting worried.¡±

    ¡°Aughhh,¡± came a joltingly familiar voice. A face peeked over the edge of the crate. ¡°Calm down, it¡¯s just me. Promise you won¡¯t tell anyone?¡±

    ¡°Yuying,¡± he blurted out, dropping the shield.

    Yuying sighed and clambered onto the crate in a puff of skirts. She¡¯d cut her hair, Felun realised, short enough to swish above her shoulders. Mother had probably thrown a fit.

    ¡°Aren¡¯t you meant to be home?¡± he demanded. ¡°Yichen said¡ªanyway, why were you talking to him?¡± He gestured agitatedly at Silverwater.

    ¡°I wasn¡¯t going to. He sniffed me out. He¡¯s a faery, after all.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯re not faeries,¡± Silverwater cut in. ¡°Not like in your stories. You call us faeries.¡±

    Yuying wrinkled her nose. ¡°What do you call yourselves, then?¡±

    He twirled his fingers aimlessly. ¡°¡­People? The meaning is much the same.¡±

    ¡°You didn¡¯t think to tell me she was here?¡± Felun asked, turning to Silverwater.

    ¡°I did,¡± Silverwater said, looking insulted. ¡°Just then. She¡¯s not a threat and I wasn¡¯t going to walk around upstairs, was I? Not looking like this. So I waited.¡±

    Felun groaned, turning back to Yuying. ¡°Have you been chatting about architecture for the last six hours?¡±

    ¡°Sir Silver told me about Hives,¡± Yuying said cheerfully. ¡°Wouldn¡¯t tell me what you¡¯ve been up to, though. Where were you? Glister City, right? I thought I could hop off and explore when we stopped, but they brought guards this time. Why¡¯s that? Cause of the faer¡ªcause of him?¡± She nodded at Silverwater.

    ¡°Yuying,¡± Felun said heavily. ¡°You should go talk to mother. Bring Yichen with you¡ªshe won¡¯t yell if he¡¯s there.¡±

    ¡°No. I¡¯m not going back. Father wants to marry me off to some courtier.¡±

    ¡°Promise mother you¡¯ll stop with the witch stuff if she¡¯ll let you go to an academy,¡± Felun tried. ¡°Yichen told me,¡± he added at her surprised expression. ¡°He¡¯ll back you up. Just act sorry about it.¡±

    ¡°Nope,¡± Yuying said, shaking her head. ¡°I know what¡¯ll happen, now. They¡¯ll let me attend a semester and drag me back right afterwards. Happened to cousin Jing last month, poor girl. If you and Yichen get to explore the world and go on adventures, why can¡¯t I?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s not an adventure. It¡¯s¡­politics. Trust me, it¡¯s boring. Exceptionally boring. I have no words to properly describe the boredom.¡± He didn¡¯t mention dangerous and violent, too; that would only intrigue her. He¡¯d thought he could handle it easily, when he¡¯d first set out.

    ¡°I wanted to see Auntie Shirin,¡± Yuying said stubbornly.

    ¡°She¡¯s probably busy. And they¡¯ll send you back once we land. You know they will, on one of the other ships.¡±

    ¡°So there¡¯s no point in turning myself in, is there?¡±

    He groaned. ¡°What are you planning to do, hide here forever?¡±

    ¡°You could help me hide,¡± she pleaded. ¡°You¡¯re so good at runes¡ªyou could do it, definitely! I can¡¯t go back, I can¡¯t stay there. And you¡¯re not going to say anything, right?¡± she asked, looking at Silverwater.

    Silverwater shrugged, turning back to his sketchbook. ¡°Sungrazer business has nothing to do with me.¡±

    Felun brought a hand to his forehead. He thought of disappointed frowns and scornful words and blisters stinging across his palms. He wondered how much worse it could¡¯ve been with father trying to marry him off to some random courtier on top of it all.

    ¡°Alright,¡± he said slowly. ¡°But you¡¯ve got to listen carefully, okay? And stay out of the way while we¡¯re here.¡± It might be good to get her to Glister, afterwards. Or one of the smaller outlying towns. Whatever the faeries and his kin-family were planning, he didn¡¯t want her to be near when it happened.

    Her eyes widened. ¡°Really? I mean¡ªthank you! You¡¯re the best. Waaay cooler than Yichen.¡±

    He laughed, and realised with a start that he couldn¡¯t pinpoint the last time he¡¯d done so.

 Interlude: shadow magic

    Achernar woke late. The other side of the bed was cold, and she knew it was empty without looking. She rolled over anyway, cradling her cheek in the crook of her arm. He¡¯d left a sprig of jasmine on the pillow. She held it to her nose and inhaled its perfume.

    There was a knock at her door, and Alcor¡¯s familiar drawl oozed in from the other side.

    ¡°Sixthborn. Are you awake? A Magician will have my head if you are tardy.¡±

    Achernar frowned faintly. The sun was high through the window. ¡°I have plenty of time.¡±

    ¡°Whatever you say, esteemed Achernar. I¡¯ll wait right here.¡±

    She felt her eyelid twitch at his thorny tone. He was lucky he was so useful. She sighed and wormed out of bed, setting the flower at her dresser table. Alcor began trilling an aimless, artful tune, the lyrics sweet and ridiculous and the sound forged from too much tuition. She wished the court could settle for entertainment from him and his ilk instead. They would, on other occasions. But not today.

    She ignored him as she bathed and dressed. Skirts, shawl, bracelets, hairpins¡ªall of it. Her qanun was already in its case and she picked that up too.

    Today was a day of significance. A playing day, and for a collection of scheming Sungrazers no less. Ordinarily, it would be her younger sister basking in the lanternlight, pulling liquid melody from her famed harp. But her younger sister was gone, and her surviving siblings had far more important duties to attend to. Achernar would have to sweat before a crowd in Alhena¡¯s stead. This had meant additional hours practicing over many days, less time for more fulfilling activities. But such was the way of things.

    Alcor came to the end of his song when she opened the door. He lifted a long-fingered hand to the nape of her neck, where her hair was still damp.

    ¡°Hurry up with it,¡± she snapped.

    He cast a spell she knew to be too involved and overly specific for most attendants to learn, let alone courtesans. In moments, she was dry. A faint scent of rosewater dusted the air. So useful, she reminded herself, that he made up for being tiring to be around two-thirds of the time. She shrugged away his proffered hand as she made her way out of the royal wing. The guards nodded to her as she passed, but all they would see was a princess in a hurry.

    It was a different matter when they reached the royal hall. She slowed her pace and allowed him to link his arm around her own before entering.

    Sunlight lanced across the stage, its flaxen boards already abuzz with activity. Singers murmured amongst themselves. A pair of Magicians fussed with the lights. Achernar made for the seat waiting for her front and center, and Alcor called out melodious commands on her behalf: water, refreshments, requests for the ancillary performers to ready themselves and get out of the way.

    ¡°Have a restful evening,¡± she murmured into his ear. ¡°But bring back some interesting stories for me.¡±

    ¡°Of course.¡± He winked his acknowledgment and began to ingratiate himself amongst various arrivals with great and enviable enthusiasm.

    Achernar laid her qanun on her lap and slid on her finger-picks. A harassed-looking Healer breezed by and touched a hand to her brow, and a wave of refreshment and wellbeing swept over her. She felt the last of her fledgling nerves fleeing. Whorls of shadow drifted through the air as she plucked at the strings, practicing her opening notes. She ignored the eyes turning to watch her every movement as she plucked her way through the entire first piece. It was a tricksome composition, the most intricate of the five¡ªa lofty opener, to impart a certain image. Mother had selected them from the archives of the Higher Library, before the faery incursion. Before she¡¯d gone into mourning.

    Achernar had seen her precisely once since, sitting stiff-backed and silent in her favourite armchair. Siphoners had swirled about under the direction of her Healer, administering potions said to soothe the mind in addition to their usual magics. Mother had blinked through damp eyes and paid them no mind.

    ¡°I have burned three offerings at the star-shrine,¡± Achernar had said, head bowed and eyes dutifully downcast. ¡°If¡­if I may speak out of turn, mother, I would say that father would wish you every kindness, if he were here.¡±

    Her mother had not replied. Achernar shivered, leaving the room. She couldn¡¯t fathom it¡ªsuch violent loss of one¡¯s beloved after the better part of a century together. Her shadows trembled mournfully as she moved into the second piece, and she paused to heave them into obedience before continuing. So deep into her preparations she was, that it took an unhushed commotion to rouse her from her work.

    The whole of the west wall was a bank of windows, the hall raised high enough over adjacent pieces of palace that they could see all the way to the horizon. Through them, she could glimpse the Sungrazer fleet in the distance, huge even from afar. The skyships gleamed even through the clouds, like stars over the Killing Field. There were so many. She¡¯d known that Cathay was a large place, with a great many people and cities of industry, but this one fleet looked as if it numbered almost half of the whole kingdom¡¯s.

    The Sungrazers were a very wealthy and unusual faction, she reminded herself, but she scowled inwardly nonetheless. Thurayya had spoken cryptically of encroachers upon the kingdom and of their eldest brother¡¯s dark moods, but it had been one thing to hear it and another to see it coming.

    Authority stated they were allowed to be here, poking their noses into castle magics and the Higher Library. Achernar was welcoming them, instructed to do so by mother herself¡ªthe command had not since been rescinded by the Magicians, either. She¡¯d strained her skills and her magic over the last moon for¡­this. She couldn¡¯t fathom why. It wasn¡¯t her place to wonder why. It hadn¡¯t been Alhena¡¯s.

    She plucked a melancholy note, similar to the one they¡¯d asked of her at the execution. A whisper of darkness seeped out, pointed like a little knife. She watched as it twisted aimlessly with no intent to guide it, before dissipating. Then she returned to her practice. Shadows poured from her fingertips and swirled around her skirts like smoke.

    +++

    Achernar stood stiffly in the wings, hidden behind drapes of patterned canvas. She took a deep breath as the last of her assistants scurried off the stage. Minutes passed in half-darkness. She could hear footsteps in the waiting corridor, shuffling shoes and swishing fabrics. Tonight, every seat would be occupied.

    ¡°Sixthborn,¡± a Magician cautioned her, pulling her a step backward, further out of sight and unable to peer outwards. She frowned faintly, wishing she could see through the curtains. She knew what a full hall looked like, but it would be¡­different, with Sungrazers.

    ¡°You¡¯ll do excellently,¡± Alcor said in his glittering purr. His hand brushed over her shoulder and then he, too, was gone.

    She waited, gripping her qanun as the hall filled. Voices rippled through the air, and amongst them were many Cathayan accents. It all rustled together. She couldn¡¯t pick out individual words. By the time they settled, it had dipped fully dark outside.

    The Magician gave her a nod before he strode on stage, arms flung wide. His cloak billowed like a slice of spilled sky.

    ¡°Welcome,¡± he called, voice crackling faintly with amplification spells. A hush fell. ¡°Welcome, our esteemed Sungrazer guests. We the Magicians find it an honour to host those with such a loving and respectful interest in our humble realm. Thus, we the kingdom are pleased to present our finest royal musician tonight: the Sixthborn Achernar.¡±

    She strode on-stage as the Magician retreated, turning her gaze over the crowd. A few Sungrazer faces were recognisable from their presence about the palace, but most were new. In pride of place were a family adorned in red and gold: a husband and wife with two sons, their gazes curious and cutting.

    She fixed her gaze on the far wall to keep from losing herself in the hundreds of eyes below. It boasted a mosaic of tessellated triskelions, radiating out from a jeweled eye. She liked to fix her gaze on it when she played here, imagining herself in the shade of camphor trees instead. How she longed to hide in a tranquil corner of her private gardens, hand-in-hand with far sweeter company. But that was not in accordance with tonight¡¯s duties.

    The singers arranged themselves behind her, all courtlings and courtesans with gifted voices. None of them were Alcor¡ªhe¡¯d somehow extracted himself from performing. How¡­fortunate for him. She arranged her qanun to expectant silence and took a calming breath. Then she launched into the opening piece.

    The song poured shadows. Behind her, voices harmonised. Darkness cloaked the stage and spilled over like a low mist. She pursed her lips in concentration as the notes swelled and shapes blossomed from the dark smoke: a spiral of scaled skyfish and undulating sand-rays to match the liquid sound. She whisked the shoal over their heads before diving it down towards the audience. The crowd gasped as one, but she barely heard it, so busy she was with ensuring the shadows maintained their shapes. The fish faded as soon as she relinquished control over them. She glimpsed wondrous eyes and a hand reaching out to touch a dissipating fin before she resumed staring into the mosaic eye.

    Utmost concentration, she told herself. This portion was always the most difficult.

    Now she conjured human figures: mages with cloaks and swords leaping around the stage, hunting barbed monsters. A battle raged in shimmering silhouettes, forms wisping fluidly from one shape to the next. The air grew thick and cold. The world narrowed to her view of the mosaic eye as she lost herself into the flow of the song. The singers were nothing more than a wall of rising sound. The crowd may as well not be there.

    Something glinted on the far wall, in the darkness of the mosaic eye.

    Achernar registered motion, a sharp crack through the air, an object incoming in the center of her vision. Her fingers scraped over her qanun in alarm. Harsh notes split the air, sharp and sudden. Her shadows coalesced at her command, encasing her in a dark shell. The world became blackness, soft and tarry, and for a moment her only thought was: I ruined the song?

    Then pain blossomed across her chest, and people started screaming.

    She brought her hand to the wound: enough blood to coat her fingers. There had been a tunneling, a resistance, but whatever hit her had shorn right through her shadow-shield.

    The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

    A Healer. She needed a Healer.

    She slid bonelessly from her seat, qanun toppling against the boards. More cracks erupted; there was a disturbance in the air above her. The air pulsed thick with magic as she forced herself up onto hands and knees, crawling toward the wings. Her chest burned. It was becoming difficult to keep the shadows manifested without her qanun.

    ¡°Sixthborn,¡± someone shouted. She recognised it to be the Magician¡¯s voice. Hands bumped against the outside of her shadow-shield, still bunched protectively around her body.

    ¡°Wound¡­¡± she wheezed. Her sternum was a cage of pain. People were still screaming. He likely couldn¡¯t hear her.

    She dropped the shadow-shield, close to fainting, and many pairs of hands pulled her deeper into the wings. Shouts and orders echoed around her; someone was casting a shield, the spell-light yellow-gold like dead aphids.

    Someone propped her up against the wall, pressing a wad of cloth to the wound. With the pressure came more pain, but she lifted her arm weakly, trying to help. Iskandar had told her about the importance of staunching blood, once¡ªof pressing on the bandage and not lifting it to peek.

    There¡¯d been a time, as children, when she¡¯d fallen off a garden wall and split the skin on her head. Head wounds bled out of proportion to the injury. Were chest wounds the same? She didn¡¯t think so. Her skull felt stuffed with pale clouds. Her chest was too tight. She tried and failed to conceptualise a way of breathing without hurting. Slow and shallow movements, like this? Or this? No¡­

    Her helper¡ªAlcor, she registered dimly¡ªmurmured anxious words to her, something about a Healer being on the way. A trio of singers hovered anxiously in her peripheral vision. She sat slumped in the wings for some time, listening to the commotion beyond the stage.

    The Magician returned with a pale Healer in tow, panting with exertion. What was this half-familiar Healer¡¯s name? Achernar wondered dazedly. One of the legacy-born¡ªCradine? Cardainne? Her vision seemed to be going dark at the edges, but that couldn¡¯t be right. She¡¯d already dismissed all of her shadows.

    ¡°Out of the way,¡± the Magician said, shoving Alcor aside.

    The Healer, whatever her name was, dropped to her knees and pressed her hands to the wound. Sharp, burning pain faded to a dull ache as the bloodflow stemmed. Her breathing eased.

    ¡°Hold still,¡± the Healer said, and set her face grimly.

    She reached into the wound, fingers catching on¡ªwhat was it? Achernar wondered. It felt very strange, to feel the thing being pulled out with none of the expected agony. The Healer dropped the item to the ground with a clatter, and the Magician bent down to wrap it in cloth.

    Now the Healer had her hands on her shoulders, murmuring under her breath. The wound stitched shut; Achernar could feel crumpled bone crackling back into place, skin warping and stitching shut of its own accord. The dazedness withdrew bit by bit, and she could think more complex thoughts again, such as: who had planned to harm her, and how had the causative agent appeared from nothing? But there was no time to linger, because the Magician was pulling her to her feet and ushering her out of the wings, back past the dressing rooms and down the tiny back staircase leading out of the royal hall.

    ¡°What was that?¡± she asked, hand at her chest. Her fingers snagged where the cloth of her dress had torn; she could scarcely believe she could breathe freely again. ¡°An arrow?¡±

    He frowned, steady hand at her back urging her along. ¡°Some sort of iron dart, Sixthborn. That is as far as I can gather. I will pass the item along to Sa¡ª¡± He caught himself. ¡°To Magician Firstborn. I am sure he will be amenable to explain to you later. For now, we must get you to safety.¡±

    ¡°But how was it ever there?¡± she murmured uneasily.

    He shook his head. ¡°An illusion unpeeled. Hurry, now.¡±

    +++

    The Magician had been wrong about Saleh. There were no hourglasses in the safe-room, but the guarding Magicians had informed her that at least two had passed, and still he had not come to inform her. She supposed he might yet be busy herding Sungrazers. She rubbed her sternum with the heel of her hand, marveling at a lack of the slightest twinge.

    Whatever had been shot at her, it had been set in advance and hidden with illusion. The kingdom was weak to illusion, she realised. Anyone with the knowledge¡ªentertainers, harmless artists who traveled in ones and twos and were usually overseen by Magicians anyhow¡ªlikely came from Glister. Even there, it was a dying skill.

    The Magicians had swiftly coordinated with Higher Librarians to fetch tools from the archives: spell-stones and spell-slips, strange cuts of glass. She gripped one such shard in her hand now, a triangle with symbols etched onto its edge. The Magician had said that peering through it would reveal illusions; she hadn¡¯t managed to spot any. By the sound of things, neither had they. There was only an alleged handful of iron darts and their clockwork cradle: a box nailed to the mosaic eye, melted once it had expended its ammunition.

    She touched her qanun with a sigh. The Magicians had fetched it for her as soon as the royal hall had been cleared. It was undamaged, but it would need tuning. A lot of tuning.

    There was a sound at the door. She sat up straighter, tensing. Out of tune the qanun may be, but it would work so long as it could make a sound; she struck a long note. Shadow-armour swirled around her shoulders, belting over her chest and ribs.

    ¡°A visitor, Sixthborn,¡± a Magician called. The door opened. He was holding his own illusion-glass up to his eye, looking her brother up and down.

    ¡°Achernar!¡± said Iskandar. He wore his Healer¡¯s uniform with an apothecary¡¯s bag clutched in hand. His cloak swirled about his ankles as he jogged in, boots clacking across the tiles. ¡°Sit, sit. I would¡¯ve come earlier, but they wanted to put me in a room too. They said a second-rank attended to you?¡±

    She sank back into her chair and allowed the shadows dissolve, still gripping her qanun. ¡°Yes. I¡¯m in no pain.¡±

    ¡°Would you humour me? If she missed any internal bleeding¡­well, with a projectile¡­¡± He gave an uneasy grimace. ¡°It sounded bad.¡±

    ¡°If you insist.¡±

    She held out her wrist. He took it, furrowing his brow. A line of coolness rippled over her from head to toe before Iskandar let go, shoulders sagging in relief.

    ¡°You¡¯re clear. She did a good job.¡±

    ¡°Well, yes. Thank you for checking.¡±

    He reached for his bag. ¡°Are you feeling shaken? I have a potion, if¡ª¡±

    ¡°No need. They already provided me with one. Was anybody else injured?¡±

    He cleared his throat, before drawing up another chair. ¡°A few of the singers, a couple of Sungrazers. They were all seen to. No fatalities.¡±

    ¡°Ah. That¡¯s fortunate.¡± She frowned. ¡°You don¡¯t think it¡¯s an awful coincidence, that it happened tonight?¡±

    ¡°You suspect the Sungrazers?¡± He gave a wry smile. ¡°I¡¯m sure Saleh and Thurayya have thought of that. The Magicians are sweeping the castle as we speak. Think they¡¯re going to try and search their ships, too. I think that talk about a scouting party to the mountains might be given precedence as well.¡±

    ¡°I see. But why me?¡± she asked, troubled. ¡°After Alhena and the faery incursion¡ªwe¡¯ve been cut down to four. If this is due to wretched creature schemes, then why me? Shahzad and Thamir were Magicians. I am barely a musician.¡±

    ¡°It was only luck that we weren¡¯t in the East Hall with them,¡± he pointed out, steepling his fingers under his chin. ¡°Our minders are anxious about us being in the same room right now. I doubt they¡¯d allow it if I weren¡¯t a Healer. This was deliberate, so it must be a matter of opportunity. Whatever¡¯s behind this¡ªand there is something, no matter what vague words Thurayya tells me¡ªthey want all of us dead. They want to cripple the kingdom.¡±

    ¡°They¡¯re going to increase our guard after this, aren¡¯t they?¡± she murmured.

    ¡°Saleh and Thurayya were already on double-guard¡­their coworkers, too. But yes, I expect so.¡±

    An increased guard would mean precious little time alone, or alone with Karim. Everything would be so much harder to choreograph, if not impossible. She bit her lip.

    ¡°We¡¯re quite safe,¡± Iskandar said, misinterpreting her consternation. ¡°Though it can¡¯t hurt to have your qanun with you.¡± He made a good point; though the iron had pierced deep into her flesh, it would no doubt have punched out the other side without her shielding. She didn¡¯t bother to suggest he keep his flute at hand.

    ¡°I wasn¡¯t worried.¡± How could she be now, when she would be shadowed by guards and Healers and Magicians at every turn?

    He cleared his throat, giving her a smile. It was the indulgent smile of a brother who thought his little sister was putting on a brave face. ¡°I thought we might be stuck here awhile, so I brought along a board for goats and jackals. Want to play? I might have missed a couple of pieces rushing to pack, but I¡¯m sure we can substitute with¡­¡± He rummaged around in his bag. ¡°¡­Bandage rolls? Or, no¡ªthese spare corks would be more suitable.¡±

    She sighed inwardly. ¡°Of course. It will pass the time.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t think I¡¯ll go easy on you just because you nearly died,¡± he said. He sounded cheerful enough, but Achernar had been raised on court foundations; there was a sliver of fear under there, too.

    ¡°You will be the one to be near death once we are through with this game,¡± she retorted. She knew this other game, too: humour and bravado to stave off the worry. Thamir had oft joined in, when he¡¯d been alive.

    +++

    Minutes after they were finished playing, the Magicians announced the castle safe. Iskandar swept up the pieces with a sigh. The game had come to a draw.

    ¡°Stay safe, sister.¡±

    ¡°Yes. You be careful, too.¡±

    She picked up her qanan. The trio of Magicians who arrived to escort her were only distantly recognisable: fully-fledged, and none of them Karim. They passed a west-facing hall on their way to her chambers and she frowned at the wall of rolling mist in the distance. The sky was thick and starless.

    ¡°Will there be a storm?¡±

    The Magicians exchanged glances behind their masks. ¡°It seems so, Sixthborn.¡±

    ¡°It looks to be a severe one.¡±

    ¡°A precise assessment, Sixthborn.¡±

    She suppressed a sigh. Karim never spoke like that. But then, the Magicians were tense tonight. They were likely leaning on rehearsed politeness. There¡¯d been very few times when the mists had blown over the kingdom itself, but tonight¡¯s storm might bring them close. The evening¡¯s events had delayed the Magicians; she saw no skyships at the ready, no nets that should have been spun hours ago.

    ¡°May the kindest stars shine upon your colleagues,¡± she offered.

    ¡°And upon you, Sixthborn.¡±

    The sky was spitting down by the time she made it to chambers, droplets flecking softly against the window. She pressed a finger to the glass and traced a star in the condensate as she watched the droplets trickle down. Clean water, for now. It might soon be blackened with dust. Far to the west, figures speckled the sands: Magicians and Weathermancer fodder zephyring out towards the salt. Maybe fewer than a handful of Healers. She chewed at her lip as she wondered if Karim was among them tonight.

    Light flooded the sky¡ªa lick of silver fire across the soft skins of the stormclouds¡ªand then came the sound.

    Achernar stilled at the crackling boom, sooner than she¡¯d thought, so close it seemed to rattle the very foundations of the castle. The glass shook in her windowpanes. She glanced to her door, where she knew the three Magicians stood guard, and told herself it would be foolish to ask for their company. Perhaps she could send for Alcor¡­? But useful he may be as a misdirection technique, he always made for tiresome conversation. And none of her court friends would know of what had happened yet, much less come up at this hour.

    Instead, she set about setting her belongings to rights. Every drawer had been yanked open, and most of the cushions had been knocked to the ground by the Magician¡¯s rough searching. Once she was done, she turned her shard of illusion-glass to what few nooks she thought they might have missed. Nothing of note. She stiffened again at the next unexpected rumble of sound, low and furious like the howl of a dying star.

    ¡°It isn¡¯t the thunder that¡¯ll hurt you,¡± Saleh had told her once. She¡¯d been young then, barely seven summers past, with only the vaguest knowledge of what his Magician¡¯s cloak signified, of his importance and what it all meant. The circumstances, too, were hazy in her memory; mother had ordered him to mind them for some reason or another. And yet she could recall his expression as clearly as the notes of her first qanun: his brow crinkled in dry amusement at her cowering and trying to hide it.

    She¡¯d gulped. ¡°I¡¯m not afraid.¡±

    He chuckled at that. ¡°And neither is brave brother Fifthborn, cowering beneath his blanket?¡±

    She glanced over at Iskandar, whose unfocused eyes narrowed. He relaxed his grip on the quilt in a very deliberate manner.

    ¡°I¡¯m only cold,¡± he said, scowling. ¡°Why don¡¯t you have warming runes in your workshop?¡±

    Saleh shrugged carelessly. ¡°It interferes. Can¡¯t you endure a little chill? You¡¯ll never be a Magician that way.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t want to be a Magician.¡±

    ¡°Really?¡± Saleh chuckled again. Outside, gales gusted. Skyfire-light touched his profile, sharpening the lines of his face. ¡°What a waste. Are you worth the siphoners they send you?¡±

    Achernar had clenched her fists. If she¡¯d known what she knew now, she would have never found the nerve. ¡°That¡¯s not very nice. Didn¡¯t mother tell you to be the responsible one?¡±

    You¡¯re being unfair, she wanted to add, but she suspected he¡¯d find that turn of phrase childish.

    Thunder boomed, closer than it had last come. Iskandar flinched again. Firstborn brother Saleh sat as still as a statue.

    ¡°I¡¯m only speaking the truth, Little Achernar, which is as responsible as Sanaz says. Spending half your days blind is no excuse for cowardice. Your jumping at whispers might be amusing if it weren¡¯t so pathetic. Listen to my words: it isn¡¯t the thunder that will hurt you.¡±

    Alhena hadn¡¯t been there. Perhaps that¡¯s why she¡¯d never learned.

    Lightning flashed. Thunder rolled. Achernar blinked and pared herself from memory, realising at once how cold she was. She prepared for bed in rote motion, unpinning her hair from its coiffed cage and shaking the curls loose. Her chest did not hurt, and each breath came easily. When she crawled beneath the quilts, she found herself wishing Karim were here¡ªsafe and warm in her arms, with nothing to fear.

    The rain slashed down. She watched the lightning through a gap in the curtains and let the thunder sink into her bones.

 5.1 - After Your Blood

    Felun

    Rain lashed against the windows. Felun sat in pained silence, holding a cold pack to his ribs. Guards milled round the ship on high alert. Sungrazers he hadn¡¯t seen for years had bundled aboard, all eager to speak with his father.

    No one had gone down into the hold yet¡ªhe was keeping an eye on it. Silverwater could fend for himself, but he hoped for Yuying¡¯s sake that everyone was too busy to poke about. His inattention runes would only go so far. Still, he thought guiltily, would it be such a bad thing for her to be sent swiftly away from this kingdom of shadows and assassinations? Other than the fact that she¡¯d never forgive him for it, that was.

    ¡°What a night,¡± someone said. ¡°One of the blue-robes elbowed you, too?¡±

    Felun looked up, blinking. ¡°Uncle Jiahao¡ªhello. I¡¯m alright. I only hit the door on the way out. Here, there are plenty of spare stools.¡±

    Jiahao nodded, cradling his side as he sat. ¡°That¡¯s too bad. Your brother¡¯s alright?¡±

    ¡°He¡¯s fine. The healing mages helped him.¡± Yichen, in his stupid and heroic attempt to shield mother with his body, had been grazed by a projectile. Felun had spotted him being ushered into the upstairs office with an uneasy look on his face; Father would probably be interrogating him on the particulars of what being healed had felt like.

    ¡°Ah, that¡¯s good, that¡¯s good.¡± Jiahao cleared his throat. ¡°You¡¯re looking well; is it possible you¡¯ve grown taller since I last saw you? What about Guofan, and little Yuying, eh? How have they been? I remember when you were all this small!¡± He held his free hand about a foot off the ground and waggled it while chuckling in that croaky way of his.

    ¡°Uh, I don¡¯t know. I haven¡¯t seen them in a while.¡± He changed the subject. ¡°How¡¯ve you and Auntie Shirin been? Is it strange here? Too hot, lots of sand?¡±

    ¡°Hmm, not as much as you might think. They have all kinds of clever runes to keep the weather out¡ªa special type of mage, even¡ªbut asking them about it is like playing the guqin to a cow. Your Auntie learned some recipes, though. Did you know they have fish in the river here? So fresh and succulent!¡±

    ¡°What¡¯s this about fish?¡± came a voice over his shoulder. ¡°Hello, Haoyu. It¡¯s been so long!¡±

    Felun turned his head, but Auntie Shirin was already striding around and drawing up a seat next to Jiahao. Together, they looked nothing alike¡ªbut Jiahao had lowered his standing to marry a foreigner, so their love must mean something.

    Shirin passed him a cold pack. ¡°Here,¡± she said. ¡°For your side.¡± She turned to Felun. ¡°I heard one of the Healers looked at your brother?¡±

    ¡°Yeah. Yichen¡¯s fine.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s very fortunate.¡± She sighed, brow furrowing. ¡°To think, we missed out on the dinner!¡±

    ¡°Such a shame,¡± Jiahao agreed. ¡°Ah, who knows? They might bring us some leftovers.¡±

    ¡°Leftovers,¡± Shirin said scornfully. ¡°It wouldn¡¯t be much different from how they already treat us. As if we¡¯re so much unworthier than those legacy families of theirs.¡±

    Felun blinked. ¡°Yeah, uh. That¡¯s a shame. Though we weren¡¯t going to stay for that part.¡± Too easy to poison, he¡¯d heard mother say. ¡°What¡¯s ¡®legacy¡¯?¡±

    Shirin frowned, crossing her arms. ¡°Some hundreds of years ago, there were groups of travellers who stayed. Now, the kingdom is starting to open again, but we¡¯re all less accepted than the legacy outsiders.¡± Catching his curious look, she said, ¡°even me. I¡¯m no different. Ancestry means nothing to these people if you haven¡¯t lived here.¡±

    ¡°Oh,¡± he said. ¡°Father said something about silk dealings. Are the legacy people any help?¡±

    She shook her head. ¡°They¡¯re as secretive as the rest of them. I tried speaking to one of the Cardainnes¡ªa Librarian¡ªand it was useless.¡± She pursed her lips. Sweat sheened her brow. ¡°That an attempt on the Sixthborn¡¯s life happened on the night of our arrival¡­it¡¯ll be such trouble to smooth things over, much less proceed with the negotiations¡­¡±

    Jiahao placed a comforting hand over her own. ¡°Don¡¯t fret, dearest. I¡¯m sure you can relax now that Haoyu¡¯s family is here.¡± He cast a warm, faintly anxious glance at Felun. ¡°And that music show was quite something, right? Strange-looking type of guzheng they have here. A shame it was cut short, but praise the heavens that no one was badly hurt.¡±

    ¡°Mm,¡± Shirin said agreeably. She pressed a hand to chest, rubbing at her sternum. One of her lacquer nails had snapped off at the end, leaving a jagged edge. ¡°I would have liked to see the whole thing¡­darling, could you fetch me a glass of water? That commotion was just¡­too much.¡±

    ¡°Of course, of course.¡± Jiahao got up at once.

    ¡°First time you saw a Songian play like that?¡± Felun asked curiously.

    Shirin smiled faintly. ¡°Yes. They don¡¯t share such interesting things with us. Has your father spoken of the negotiations regarding that Library of theirs?¡±

    Felun thought back to the labyrinth, with Suria scowling over his shoulder. His hands itched under their bandages and he resisted the urge to scratch. ¡°No, but I¡¯ve heard of it. Did they give you a tour?¡±

    ¡°A very unfriendly one. I was very lucky to get a look. Usually, they¡ªah, excuse me.¡± She frowned, face paling. The hand at her chest curled tight. ¡°Is there an apothecary on-board? It¡¯s only¡­I feel a little unwell.¡± Her breath was coming a touch sharper, Felun noted with alarm.

    ¡°I¡¯ll ask mother,¡± he said hastily. She was on the other side of the cabin; he didn¡¯t run, but he did speed-walk.

    ¡°What is it, Haoyu?¡± she asked, turning to him. There was annoyance written over her features. ¡°I¡¯m speaking to your Auntie Ming at the moment¡ª¡±

    ¡°Shirin¡¯s feeling unwell,¡± he broke in. She raised an eyebrow at the interruption. ¡°Is there an apothecary?¡±

    ¡°Yawen is on the next ship over. Busy with twisted ankles.¡±

    ¡°She should really come over and see¡ª¡± Felun started, but from across the cabin came a wheezing gasp.

    He whirled around just in time to see Shirin crumple. The stool teetered and fell as she slipped off, the impact ringing out through the cabin.

    Voices erupted into noise. Mother¡¯s voice cut through, commanding a guard to bring her to Yawen. Felun sprinted across the cabin, only to find others had got there first. Cousin Lin had shaken her by shoulders before grabbing her wrist. She frowned in concentration, before flipping Shirin onto her back. Half-familiar spell-lights sparked frantically at her fingertips. Uncle Jiahao rushed to her side, dropping the glass he¡¯d gone to fetch. Glass shards littered the floor, and water pooled at his feet.

    Felun tossed his cold pack aside and pushed his way through the fast-gathering crowd. ¡°Stasis?¡± he blurted out. ¡°I can help.¡± Dungeonrunning hadn¡¯t taught him many skills applicable to other areas of life, but he could at least be useful in this.

    ¡°Yes,¡± Lin grunted. ¡°No pulse¡ªanyone who can, until Yawen gets here¡­¡± Blood trickled from her nose. ¡°Damn! I¡¯m low. Can you take over?¡±

    ¡°Okay.¡± Felun rolled up his sleeves and knelt by Shirin¡¯s side. His blood pounded in a rushing roar through his ears. It¡¯d be far less taxing with his book at hand, but that was stashed away upstairs. He wished he could do more than this¡ªthat Scionsong mage flashed through his thoughts, melting her injuries away with a wave of her hand. If only he¡¯d stayed in Cathay long enough to have at least attempted that semester of apothecary physic mother had spoken of so much¡­

    ¡°Anyone?¡± Lin asked the murmuring crowd. Jiahao was already kneeling to pour magic into his wife¡¯s arm, heedless of the broken glass, but the crowd was all hesitant murmurs. ¡°Anyone else? No? Then step back, give us some space. Make a path for Yawen, ready for when she gets here.¡±

    Shirin lay limp and unresponsive. It looked as if all the blood had drained from her face. Was it pooling in the crevices of a stopped heart? Cousin Lin had been right to start a stasis right away, but how slim was the chance of succeeding? It was stopping her from getting worse, but staying like this long enough couldn¡¯t be good. He could hold a stasis better than most, but he was just a Breaker, not a¡ª

    His Breaker-sense tingled, so softly he might not have noticed if he weren¡¯t agonizing over the fact.

    He blinked. What was that? It tingled again, despite him not having consciously activated it. Strange. His gut churned uneasily as he forced himself to focus on keeping the spell steady. Was there a dangerous spell nearby? Surely not; the ship was thoroughly warded. Unless¡­

    Unless it wasn¡¯t inside the ship.

    ¡°Lin,¡± he said. ¡°I¡¯m going to step away a second. Fill in for me.¡±

    ¡°What? Are you sure¡ª¡±

    ¡°Now,¡± he said urgently. ¡°Please.¡±

    Lin knelt and flooded Shirin¡¯s unconscious form with more stasis and strands of pure magic, jaw clenched tight.

    ¡°I need a runequill,¡± he said to the crowd, holding out his hand. ¡°Please¡ªone of you has to have one.¡± He cursed himself for leaving his own in his room for the performance; father had warned against bringing anything that could be considered a weapon.

    The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

    Uneasy mutterings broke out, but hands rummaged through pockets; someone tossed a quill and he snatched it out of the air. The nib was blunted and the grip smaller than he was used to, but he sketched a hasty circle around himself anyway, radiating spikes like a jagged sun. It was far better than using ink or blood or spit, so it would do.

    Then he delved into his Breaker-sense.

    The world blurred, every colour running like thawed ice. His eyes snagged on a brightness before him, pale strands cobwebbing the shadow of a heart. He reached out, hand bumping up against what he knew to be Shirin¡¯s arm. Lin¡¯s hands were in the way, still infusing stasis. He sensed a thread from Jiahao too, the flow of pure magic keeping her blood from stagnating. In the gaps between each surge, the coil of brightness flared. It fanned itself into a flame before his eyes; before long, the stopgap would be fruitless.

    He slid his senses over the outline and found there was no depth in which to dive. His stomach lurched. It was recent enough, faster to deal with without delving¡ªbut powerful, if it had laid dormant for this long. Its roots were gnarled like claws.

    ¡°Haoyu,¡± Lin snapped, her voice scratchy with stress. ¡°Running low. You¡¯d better know what you¡¯re doing.¡±

    He reached for the spell. It slithered and flexed beneath his Breaker-grip, bending with excruciating resistance. His head pounded. He wished he had his proper tools. But right now there were only his hands, cracked and blistered, and that pale spell before him, choking the blood from Shirin¡¯s heart.

    Felun gritted his teeth and pushed far past what was safe and painless. Everything, he thought. He gave everything. The working fought him, twisting and biting and howling a song that made his ears buzz with agony before it snapped beneath his hands. His protective circle went up in a barrage of sparks. Blood gushed from his nose. His fingers wept blisters beneath their bandages.

    Peripherally, he sensed commotion. Someone stepped in to catch him as he fell. He squeezed his eyes shut against the growing spots of blackness in his vision. He couldn¡¯t faint now¡ªhe had to check¡ªhad to check he¡¯d done it properly, that it was all gone, that no one else was bleeding, had to see this through¡ª

    But overexhaustion won.

    ===

    When he opened his eyes, the ceiling took a long time to come into focus. He heard voices, noise.

    He sat up. The world whirled. He was reminded, absurdly, of a time Yichen had spun a globe so hard he¡¯d broken it.

    ¡°Whoa,¡± said Lin. There was a wad of cotton jammed up each of her nostrils. She steadied him with a hand at his shoulder. ¡°Careful.¡±

    Across the room, Shirin sat upright, looking dazed but very much alive. Apothecary Yawen knelt by her side. Jiahao stood a little ways off, fending off the excited babbling of nosy relatives. His mother presided over the scene, straight-backed and imposing.

    ¡°How long was I out?¡± he croaked. There was half-dried blood on his face.

    ¡°A few minutes. Yawen said you overexerted yourself, drained totally dry. Heavens, your eyes are red. Auntie Shirin¡¯s looking alright, by the way. What did you do just then?¡±

    ¡°What do you think?¡± he asked testily, still looking at Shirin and the crowd of relatives. Bad enough that there was a magical cause¡ªwhere had it come from? He had a few guesses, and he liked none of them.

    Lin gripped his shoulder when he made to stand. ¡°Yawen said you¡¯re not to get up and start running around. What you mean, what do I think? What was that, the rune circle and the dripping blood everywhere?¡±

    ¡°I haven¡¯t been missing for the last few years for no reason,¡± he said, rubbing at his blistered fingers. ¡°They didn¡¯t tell you?¡±

    ¡°Tell us what? Your father said you¡¯d run off to marry some girl.¡±

    Huh. His parents had thought that spinning a story of elopement would be less shameful than the truth? He was surprised, but only a little. ¡°He was lying. I ran off to be a dungeonrunner.¡±

    ¡°That was dungeonrunning, just then?¡± Lin looked doubtful.

    ¡°I learned some tricks. Can I get up yet?¡±

    ¡°No,¡± Lin snapped. ¡°Sit down. Give it a minute. Your mother¡¯ll have my tongue cut off if you faint again.¡±

    ¡°Trust me, mother doesn¡¯t care.¡±

    She fished a palm-sized looking glass from her pocket and shoved in his face. ¡°I¡¯m sure she does. See? This can¡¯t be normal.¡±

    He blinked at his own red-eyed reflection. ¡°It¡¯s happened before.¡±

    He was more concerned with the weeping blisters on his hands, paranoid that the defect had not only worsened, but marched a sliver of the way up his arms. The few other Breakers he¡¯d met had told him that they¡¯d heal slowly with enough rest¡ªbut only if he stopped while the problem was small. It had been too late for Orhan, he recalled. Far too late. And he wasn¡¯t getting an awful lot of opportunities to rest these days.

    ¡°I need to talk to mother,¡± he said. ¡°Or¡ª¡±

    There was a clatter from the staircase. Felun looked over his shoulder and scowled.

    ¡°What did I miss?¡± Yichen announced.

    ¡°Nothing but everything,¡± Felun said scathingly. He didn¡¯t know if Yichen knew how to administer stasis, but he¡¯d at least taken studies in physic. It would¡¯ve been helpful if he¡¯d been there.

    ¡°You look like a drowned cat,¡± Yichen replied cheerfully.

    He grunted an acknowledgment and slipped away as Cousin Lin filled Yichen in on the details.

    ¡°Haoyu,¡± Jiahao exclaimed as he drew near, but mother stepped in to intercept.

    ¡°Haoyu needs to ensure his guests are undisturbed,¡± she said. ¡°Both of them.¡±

    He froze, for a moment wondering if she knew about Yuying. Then he realised she meant Ishaan and Silverwater. He hesitated, but there was no use arguing. ¡°I need to speak with you later, or with father.¡±

    ¡°Of course. Once all this excitement is dealt with.¡±

    He gave Jiahao what he hoped was an encouraging smile over his shoulder before heading for the hold. He needed a little time before he could face Ishaan. And he wasn¡¯t sure mother cared if he checked so long as he knew what it meant, that Ishaan was here at all.

    Silverwater was right where he¡¯d left him, more or less. He lounged on a crate, cleaning one of his knives with a scrap of cloth.

    ¡°Did you cut that from one of our bolts?¡± Felun asked suspiciously.

    Silverwater paused. ¡°Your sister was kind enough to lend me her handkerchief.¡±

    There was a strange shadow in the corner, which might or might not have been Yuying. Felun rubbed his eyes, concentrating.

    ¡°Hi,¡± said Yuying, seemingly flickering into existence. His runes still sparkled fresh on her forehead. She squinted at his face, and belatedly he remembered the dried blood. ¡°You did magic? What happened? I heard an awful lot of shoes knocking around upstairs. And a ton of yelling.¡±

    ¡°I had to fix some runework,¡± Felun lied. ¡°Kind of urgent, you know how mother is. The others are all here to talk about trade. They uh, probably won¡¯t come down here, but you should be careful. Stay out of the way.¡±

    ¡°I know. When can we get off-board? Ooh, are you going to hide me with Auntie Shirin? I heard they have their own quarters, so maybe¡ª¡±

    He held up a hand. ¡°I don¡¯t know yet. I need to plan. We need to plan,¡± he amended. ¡°But we¡¯ve got to do it carefully, alright?¡±

    Yuying deflated. ¡°Yeah, okay. Let me see Auntie Shirin, though? I¡¯d like to speak with her before we have to leave.¡±

    ¡°She, uh¡ªshe isn¡¯t a witch, you know.¡±

    ¡°I know,¡± Yuying said sharply. ¡°But she was nice to me.¡±

    ¡°She is very nice,¡± he said, as a peace offering. ¡°I think she¡¯s busy, but I¡¯ll see.¡± A thought occurred to him. ¡°I need to speak to Silverwater for now.¡±

    Silverwater looked up, spines twitching lazily. ¡°You do?¡±

    ¡°Yeah. I need to show you some papers. Left them with my luggage, though.¡± He didn¡¯t, but it would get them out of Yuying¡¯s earshot.

    Silverwater pulled on his human-disguise. To Felun¡¯s faint surprise, it looked none the worse for wear. Which was just as well; he suspected Suria had worked herself to near-burnout on the thing. They ducked out of the hold. From the main cabin came murmurs and exclamations, interspersed by snatches of mother¡¯s voice. Felun glanced at the empty stairs and ushered Silverwater up¡ªonly when he¡¯d sequestered them safely in his room did he breathe a sigh of relief.

    ¡°Well?¡± Silverwater asked, removing his veilment and folding it carefully over his arm. No longer draped over his form, it looked like a sheet spun from versicoloured thistledown. ¡°What is it that you did not want your sister hearing, Sungrazer Felun?¡±

    ¡°There was some trouble,¡± he said grimly. ¡°Iolite didn¡¯t plan this, did she?¡±

    Silverwater¡¯s spines bristled with interest. ¡°Trouble? That¡¯s the first I¡¯ve heard of it. What trouble? Be specific.¡±

    ¡°Well first, we were shot at in the castle. Second, my aunt had a spell put on her. Hidden, you know? I¡¯m pretty sure that was by one of the Songian mages, but the first part¡ª¡±

    ¡°I knew nothing of this. Elaborate on how you were attacked.¡±

    ¡°There¡¯s not much to explain. We were watching a performance up in the castle and we were shot at, with¡­I don¡¯t know, it didn¡¯t feel like a hundred percent spell-like. Yichen said it was some kind of metal spike. Some sort of machine involved, too? I think the princess was hurt¡ªwe were watching her play music when it just¡­happened.¡±

    ¡°You think we did that?¡± Silverwater asked skeptically.

    ¡°Wouldn¡¯t be that far-fetched, would it?¡± he asked. ¡°Is there going to be more trouble? Because I need to get Yuying out of here before that happens. If you can provide an estimate.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t have an estimate,¡± Silverwater enunciated carefully. ¡°Because there¡¯s no such thing. Iolite doesn¡¯t speak to us as much as you¡¯d think. Besides, my duties are at the Hive. I shouldn¡¯t have been in Glister in the first place. I don¡¯t like being here either, having to relay messages to your kin who claim to have no time for me and yet insist I linger around as their schedule dictates within the same breath. But for your consideration, Sungrazer Felun, perhaps consider looking closer to home.¡±

    ¡°Father wouldn¡¯t,¡± he started. ¡°How? It makes no sense.¡±

    ¡°Think carefully. I¡¯m sure your people have many special mages and enough coin to hire them. You said a machine¡ªwell, that¡¯s simple enough. A skilled tinkerer, an illusionist or two. I¡¯m almost certain this wasn¡¯t us. Too much trouble to infiltrate. But with a skin like yours? Easier.¡±

    ¡°Wrecking diplomatic relations is the last thing they want,¡± Felun pointed out. He exhaled, glancing at the knife in Silverwater¡¯s hand. ¡°Still, you killed those princes¡ªyeah that¡¯s right, I heard Saiph talking about it. I remember; I was there. You made me open the door.¡±

    ¡°Does Iolite want the royals killed off, or does your family?¡± Silverwater shot back. ¡°I wasn¡¯t at the negotiations, so I cannot say for certain. Iolite¡¯s goals and your Sungrazer goals are similar, but they are not the same. They desire different pieces of the same kill. That is how an alliance works, Sungrazer Felun. But you may be interested to know that Iolite told me to stay far away from the castle.¡±

    ¡°Really?¡± He let his doubt bleed into the word.

    ¡°They who call themselves Magicians don¡¯t cooperate with our kind,¡± Silverwater said, passing Yuying¡¯s handkerchief over his knife. He examined his own scowl in its polished reflection. ¡°They¡¯ll sacrifice every outsider in the palace if one of us gets caught sneaking around. They¡¯re itching for an excuse, little firstson.¡±

    ¡°So, just to check¡ªnone of your Hive are going to swarm the castle again while we¡¯re here?¡±

    ¡°No,¡± Silverwater said, voice suddenly hissing with frustration. He sheathed the knife. ¡°Not a chance. You think it was easy? We made them, Sungrazer. She set us to crafting shells. Fodder bodies, like in the tales of wartime. The Hive was a mess for months. Membranes, sacs, growth nectar, bodies everywhere. Reserves run dry. All for your kin and one little amphora. I don¡¯t even know if it¡¯s gotten cleaned since we left, not with so many of the original Generals killed.¡±

    ¡°But Iolite wanted them gone, didn¡¯t she? The whole attack¡ªcorrect me if I¡¯ve got this all wrong, but it was three things at once.¡± He listed them off his fingers for emphasis. ¡°First, destabilisation for father¡¯s end of the deal, so he gets a better handhold on this place. Then a distraction, for us to enter the Library. And finally, a way to send the disloyal to their deaths.¡±

    Silverwater glared at him.

    ¡°I don¡¯t get it. If you hated doing that so much, then why help her?¡± He continued despite Silverwater¡¯s growing scowl; for once, Iolite¡¯s shadow wasn¡¯t looming here. ¡°I¡¯ve got eyes, you know? You¡¯re all getting injured and stuff, like all the time. Suria¡¯s juggling everything, Ezphorza¡¯s in pain, and Saiph¡¯s going to get hurt even more because of the syrup. But Iolite¡¯s not. You can leave if you want, can¡¯t you?¡± Surely not all of them had an Ishaan to be held hostage.

    ¡°Why would we want to leave?¡± Silverwater asked, eyes flashing. ¡°It would be worse if we did.¡±

    ¡°Would it? Or do you just not know any better?¡±

    ¡°I knew worse,¡± Silverwater hissed. His wings flared and his tail lashed; suddenly, he seemed to be taking up an awful lot of space. ¡°That¡¯s enough. Stop trying your human tricks on me, Sungrazer Felun. You don¡¯t understand, and you¡¯re fortunate enough that you never will.¡±

    ¡°Fine.¡± He raised his hands in a placating gesture. ¡°Fine, I¡¯ve got it; nothing planned on your end.¡±

    ¡°Stay alive,¡± Silverwater said, turning away. ¡°We¡¯ll be needing you.¡±

 5.2 - Alter Ego

    Aliyah

    Luxon dropped an overfilled crate onto the tabletop. A piece of leather slid off the top, toppling onto the floor. Aliyah picked it up and wiped off flecks of dust. She held it out with an assessing eye: it was armour, vest-like, paneled to curve around the ribs.

    ¡°Isn¡¯t this a bit large?¡± she asked.

    ¡°You¡¯re supposed to wear this under it, too.¡± Kionah passed her a thick mass of quilted fabric.

    ¡°It¡¯s superbly reinforced,¡± Luxon clarified. She beamed beneath a fur-lined hat, one she claimed was enchanted to make her inconspicuous and difficult to follow. ¡°See the padding? So lightweight, but I¡¯m assured it resists both blunt and sharpened strikes. What an ingenious invention.¡±

    Aliyah turned it over, noting a discoloured splotch on the sleeve. ¡°That looks like a bloodstain to me.¡±

    ¡°Better on the outside than in the lining,¡± Luxon pointed out.

    ¡°I lifted it from an academy laundry chute,¡± Kionah said. ¡°Hardly spoiled for choice. I suppose you could give it another wash If you¡¯re concerned.¡±

    Aliyah sighed. ¡°No, it¡¯s alright.¡± The only washtub was occupied. Her makeshift shawl was still soaking.

    ¡°Here¡¯s the helmet.¡± Kionah nudged it over the table before reaching further into the crate and emerging with two small boxes in hand. ¡°And the needles.¡±

    The first box was filled with ordinary sewing needles, at least fifty of them. The second held fewer, but far larger ones: wickedly sharp and as long as fingers.

    ¡°Sailsmaker¡¯s tools,¡± Kionah clarified. ¡°Pearl Tavern had a surplus.¡±

    ¡°Thank you. And your¡­orphans?¡±

    Kionah glanced up sharply. She picked out a potion bottle and set it onto the table. ¡°They can wait. I wouldn¡¯t leave a bunch of kids passed out in a warehouse. And they¡¯re not mine. They aren¡¯t anyone¡¯s.¡±

    ¡°The sooner we can¡ª¡± Aliyah started.

    ¡°I know. But we should have contingencies in case some schismatist breaks down the door while you¡¯re working. Starting with that.¡± She nodded at the armour. ¡°Not the most comfortable in this heat, but it should stop you from getting skewered by an arrow again.¡±

    Aliyah shuddered as she touched the string of unlocking charms in her pocket. She¡¯d kept them close since Kionah had offered them, but they¡¯d be useless if she wasn¡¯t in any state to activate the spells.

    ¡°Yes, thank you. The weather won¡¯t be too bad.¡± She could compensate, with her magic. ¡°But what about you?¡±

    ¡°I can shield properly. You need to practice pouring your shield onto that armour, if you can¡¯t sustain it the normal way.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m going to need your help with that. Understanding illusions, too,¡± she added.

    ¡°I¡¯d like to unpack my stuff first. And set some basic wards, maybe.¡±

    ¡°Go ahead.¡± That suited her just fine. ¡°What did the Lieutenant say about the note and map?¡± she asked Luxon, once Kionah had disappeared down the peeling hallway.

    ¡°Which Lieutenant?¡± Luxon glanced up from her perusal of another crate, the one stuffed full of powdered fungus soup and rock-hard mushroom bread¡ªcheap provisions, Kionah had explained, to ply the orphans with. ¡°Oh, from Qilin? Nothing about the note, unfortunately. She said she¡¯d send a scouting patrol of two or three.¡±

    ¡°How was the Behemoth fight? We saw it, from a distance.¡±

    ¡°Oh, it was splendid!¡± Luxon¡¯s wings gave a flutter. ¡°But dear me, I was only brewing. Not flying up close! They look very impressive, don¡¯t they? Though General Cetus told me it was a weaker one this time, dealt with very efficiently.¡±

    Aliyah fiddled with the box of sailmaker¡¯s needles. She attempted levitating one. It was heavier and required a touch more magic, but the motions weren¡¯t unfamiliar. She put it down and floated six of the ordinary ones instead, gauging the difference.

    ¡°I saw you sewing up your dress, before,¡± she ventured. ¡°Any advice?¡±

    Luxon¡¯s eyes shifted subtly in their sockets, following the needles. ¡°I¡¯m afraid I prefer to use my hands, but I¡¯ve made the acquaintance of some dressmakers who do as you do. You fly six at once?¡±

    ¡°Not for anything complicated.¡±

    Luxon gave a knowing nod. ¡°It¡¯s useful, though. I once spoke with a schismastist¡ªno, not that kind¡ªby the name of Vetiver. Totally anosmic, poor fellow, but he had such a careful touch with hatmaking. A more¡­troubled type of schismatist tried to rob him a few years back, and it was a good thing he had his sewing kit at hand.¡±

    Aliyah tested the point of one on her fingertip, wincing when it drew blood. ¡°I¡¯m not sure how easily these will pierce a shield. Or a schismatist¡¯s¡­skin? Carapace?¡±

    ¡°If you get people moving, perhaps they won¡¯t be shielding so well.¡±

    Aliyah healed her finger and gave the needles an experimental spin, swirling them around her shoulders. ¡°Um, Luxon, you¡¯re also an academic, right?¡±

    Luxon gave a faery-grimace, spines reacting along with her face. ¡°Whatever gave you that impression?¡±

    ¡°Those witch-people we ran into called you some sort of Archivist. And you sold that tunnel map to Kionah, which is no small artefact.¡± It had reminded her of the Library, too.

    ¡°Oh, you¡¯ve gotten the wrong impression. I¡¯m not a¡­¡± Luxon wrung her hands and her tail twitched, the end curling around one ankle like an anxious vine. ¡°I¡¯m nothing like a real Archivist. Those Cribellums weren¡¯t being complimentary. You mustn¡¯t mistake me for anything quite so illustrious. I¡¯m just a Hival independent, a collector on the side¡­if you¡¯re serious about seeking mage¡¯s texts or some such, I¡¯m not the one to ask. And if you were inquiring about the map, Qilin said she might need it for a while. I don¡¯t have anything similar for sale at the moment.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t want to buy papers. But Archivist or not, you must know more about magic theory than I do. Can you tell me anything about¡­¡± She searched for the proper term. ¡°¡­Burning out? Running dry? More specifically, the severity of repeated cases? Kionah told me a bit, but I thought you¡¯d know a bit more. You have lots of customers, right? Surely someone¡¯s asked you for a magic-replenishing potion before.¡±

    ¡°I can¡¯t brew those without donated magic, and they expire rather quickly if not used. You could store it better in a rune-crystal, but those are¡­¡± She glanced over the packages of mushroom bread. ¡°¡­Perhaps a little far out of your and Kionah¡¯s budgets?¡± Aliyah suspected she was phrasing it delicately. Then she wondered how rich Shasta had to be, from smuggling weapons around.

    ¡°Now if it was Hival honey or schismatist syrup you were thinking of,¡± Luxon continued, ¡°it¡¯s totally inert in your kind. Doesn¡¯t stop some of the sillier ones trying it for themselves, but that¡¯s foolishness for you. If you had someone who trusted you very much or owed you many favours, you could ask them to stay nearby and infuse you with magic when needed¡­but that¡¯s hardly ideal for violent situations. The best thing to do, as far as I know, is to be careful and to keep from running out in the first place.¡±

    ¡°Yes, well. I wouldn¡¯t want to faint in the middle of a fight, which is why¡­¡± She trailed off. ¡°Suppose I make a spell which¡­sleeps? A type of spell that can be waiting and ready for parameters to be met. Signals of sudden vasodilation, in my case. If it were pre-infused with magic, just waiting¡­that could stop me from fainting even if the rest of my magic is gone, right? As a failsafe.¡±

    It was an ambitious idea, but Zahir had made jokes¡ªhad they been false jokes? A part of her doubted so¡ªabout assassinating people that way. What if she could twist those plausible-sounding principles into something helpful?

    ¡°Theoretically, yes.¡± Luxon paused darkly, clicking her teeth together. ¡°Some of you humans planted spell-bombs this way, in the bygone wars. But I don¡¯t see how your body¡ªaha, the healing. Well, I don¡¯t see why not. Tuck one into your ribcage for a helpful hour, but be careful about relying on it.¡±

    Aliyah frowned, casting her thoughts back to the escape from Glister, the reemergence of pain. Could she spin enough spellpower into suppressing the rebound symptoms of her disease along with stopping the fainting? It sounded so complicated already, and the fainting was far more temporary¡ªjust a quick crash. But the disease was the resting state of her body, no matter how much she liked living without it. She would¡¯ve been hurting for hours if Kionah hadn¡¯t given her some magic out of pity back down in the tunnels. If the worst happened and she ran out again¡ªshe¡¯d come dangerously close, after Sebile¡ªshe couldn¡¯t rely on Kionah a second time.

    She turned the needles in the air, thinking.

    ¡°Most people¡­um, I mean humans¡ªhumans will only faint, right? At least, at first?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m far from an expert on humans,¡± Luxon cautioned. ¡°You¡¯d best ask Kionah.¡±

    ¡°I did. She said different symptoms appear if you do it too much, and it gets worse. Is it similar for you? It¡¯s only happened to me¡­¡± Did the Library count, with the daemon and the pooling blood? No, that had felt different. ¡°It¡¯s only happened once.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ve overextended myself before, yes. Back when I lived in the Hive.¡± Luxon sighed, sounding melancholy. ¡°Not too many times. Orion¡¯s attendants always caught me when I fainted. I started losing the ends of a few spines with repetition, but they always regrew. I don¡¯t push myself now, of course. No need, and no one around to make sure I fall softly.¡±

    At least Luxon had a healthy respect for head injuries, Aliyah thought. Even with the carapace¡­which reminded her she couldn¡¯t base her plans off the biology of another species. But it gave her an inkling that burning out was far worse for her than others. It was a weakness. If one of the faeries wore her down enough, they¡¯d capture her easily. She¡¯d have to be careful¡ªor better yet, eliminate that weakness. She thought of excision, and shivered. Not with magic, But maybe¡­

    She turned a needle over in her hand. A hinge squeaked somewhere behind her.

    ¡°Getting comfortable?¡± Kionah asked, her voice nearer than Aliyah had anticipated.

    She suppressed a flinch. ¡°Yes.¡±

    Kionah circled round and flicked one of the floating needles with her fingertips, It swayed, before returning to its intended position. ¡°Have you tried shielding the helmet and armour?¡±

    ¡°You should!¡± Luxon piped up. ¡°The leather¡¯s been treated to better hold magic.¡±

    Kionah shook her head. ¡°Psh, we got oversold. Those treatments don¡¯t even last that long. It¡¯s more about having the framework that matters. Of course, it won¡¯t be as good as a dome-shield, but it¡¯s better than a weaving that shatters like glass.¡±

    ¡°Maybe later.¡± Aliyah hesitated, glancing around the room. It was hardly clean here, but¡­ ¡°This might be a lot to ask of you two, but I need to do some, um. Some healing. Could you stand by with magic? Just for a few minutes? Not that anything¡¯s likely to go wrong, but I¡¯ve got a few coins left. I can repay you.¡±

    Kionah frowned faintly. ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°If you think your self-contained spell is too dangerous, perhaps you shouldn¡¯t try,¡± Luxon said.

    ¡°I¡¯m not worried about the spell. I want to¡­¡± She gave a nervous laugh. ¡°It¡¯s a bit like surgery, I suppose. It¡¯s only since I didn¡¯t take too well to having an arrow through my torso¡ªbut that was a lot of spellfire and I¡¯m sure the schismatist had syrup to enhance it too. So it won¡¯t be nearly as risky as that.¡±

    ¡°I can¡¯t donate,¡± Luxon said. ¡°Human-magic and our magic have a different¡­how do you say it, osmolarity? Too much effort. Not suitable for aiding ¡®surgery¡¯¡­¡± Luxon rolled the word in her mouth, as if tasting it. ¡°Surgery. That¡¯s a new one. I think I¡¯m understanding the meaning correctly. I suppose you poor things can¡¯t use cocoons or metamorphosis.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s quite advanced, isn¡¯t it?¡± Kionah asked. ¡°I thought only second-ranked and higher were supposed to use it.¡±

    ¡°That was just a hierarchical rule. Demarcation of service, or payment, or something.¡± She hadn¡¯t been paying attention when Zahir had explained. ¡°But they aren¡¯t here stopping me, are they?¡±

    Kionah gave her a doubtful glance. Luxon raised her spines a notch.

    ¡°Look, it¡¯s really safe for me. Mostly. It¡¯ll be easier to show you. Um¡ªthis might look a bit bloody, but it won¡¯t hurt.¡±

    Quickly, before either of them could argue, she numbed her hand before peeling it open. She¡¯d been lying; it did hurt a little, but no worse than bumping an elbow. The skin of her fingers splayed like petals. It looked like a highly dramatic version of what she¡¯d shown Shasta to prove she was, in fact, a Healer¡ªligaments shifted, muscle gleamed, and finger bones shone like city spires.

    Her bloodflow wasn¡¯t too hard to control. The numbing wasn¡¯t perfect, but she suspected all of the forced practice from schismatists and Sebile meant she¡¯d gotten better at it. As long as she kept her wits and awareness about her and didn¡¯t hit an artery, she¡¯d be fine. But if she did start bleeding out and didn¡¯t have enough magic to heal herself, she wanted someone nearby to make sure she¡¯d receive enough raw power to fix things. It¡¯d be ideal to have another Healer, but she was the only one here¡ªand really, that was the problem.

    ¡°That looks horrible,¡± Luxon said fascinatedly, and leaned in for a closer look.

    ¡°How well can you fix that wound?¡± Kionah asked.

    ¡°It¡¯s not a wound. I¡¯m controlling it.¡± Aliyah concentrated, melding the skin back together and flushing the pain away. She released the numbing and flexed all of her fingers, opening and closing the healed hand. ¡°See? It¡¯s fine.¡±

    ¡°Why do you need to do surgery?¡± Kionah sounded suspicious. She was likely already guessing the reason.

    ¡°As a precaution, for if I run out of magic again. You saw how bad it was, escaping those tunnels¡ªtreating the disease doesn¡¯t mean I don¡¯t still have it. Magical excision would be a bad idea, but physically? It would be easy. I just remove the entire organ by hand and fix the incision like I did just then.¡±

    Kionah blinked. ¡°That sounds just as dangerous as I was expecting it to. Besides, wouldn¡¯t it¡­cause other difficulties?¡±

    She pondered the question. ¡°I don¡¯t want children, if that¡¯s what you mean. Even if I did, I could probably just grow them with ectogenesis. You know, like in a canister.¡±

    ¡°Ah, synthesis vats?¡± Luxon wriggled her spines interestedly. ¡°I didn¡¯t know you humans could make fodder bodies.¡±

    ¡°Fodder¡­what? No, I don¡¯t think we can. The canister¡¯s organic, just flesh outside of a body¡ª¡±

    ¡°Flesh-canisters,¡± Kionah repeated with a severely raised eyebrow.

    Aliyah paused, thoughts momentarily weighed down with confusion. ¡°You didn¡¯t hear the rumours, back in the kingdom?¡± Then again, Kionah had never been privy to the chatter of a sewing circle. ¡°They say the younger princes and princesses were grown in bottles and stuff. You know, because the king and queen were already quite old by that point, and gestation is pretty dangerous and unpleasant even with Healers around, so¡­I mean, I¡¯ve seen a canister work on rats, so it¡¯s not just crazy gossip.¡±

    A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

    Kionah grimaced. ¡°I forget, sometimes, that the meaning of fleshcrafter goes far and beyond¡­¡± She furrowed her brow and murmured a number, seemingly doing arithmetic in her head. ¡°Still, I¡¯d rather you not risk a so-called surgery. I think¡­yes, I have enough money for medical potions. If they suspend the outgrowth of your disease, it¡¯d free up whatever magic you¡¯re using on suppressing the symptoms¡ªright?¡±

    ¡°That could also work,¡± she supposed. She turned to Luxon. ¡°What did you mean by ¡®fodder bodies?¡¯¡±

    ¡°We don¡¯t use them nowadays,¡± Luxon said hastily. ¡°It was a wartime thing. We, ah¡­we made empty bodies that Generals could control. I believe the Titania wanted to keep using them, against Behemoths and such, but your city-rulers didn¡¯t like that idea very much.¡±

    ¡°Yeah,¡± Kionah snorted. ¡°People get real twitchy at the idea of a soulless swarm blotting out the sky.¡±

    ¡°How did your Generals control them?¡± Aliyah asked, recalling that particular sky.

    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t know. I¡¯m not a General.¡±

    ¡°Surely they¡¯d have to use magic to keep them working?¡± Aliyah guessed.

    Luxon scowled. ¡°Perhaps. It¡¯s possible. Quite likely. I don¡¯t think I should say more.¡±

    ¡°But wouldn¡¯t that be too much to distribute? If it¡¯s as Kionah says and there are hundreds¡­or there could be something in those synthesis vats you mentioned, to imbue¡ª¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m afraid I can¡¯t help you with that. You humans can figure out whatever you like, but if my touch is found on any work resembling Hival secrets¡­¡± She shuddered. ¡°It¡¯d be ghastly mess. Try not to create any horrible fleshy human versions of fodder-bodies, alright? And if you do, and anyone asks where you got the idea, you found it in a history book rather than hearing it from me.¡±

    ¡°¡­Okay.¡± She felt her frown deepen as she pondered the concept of synthesis vats and substances strange enough to sustain magic.

    ¡°I¡¯ve got my work and my shop to get back to now, but if you find anything worth my time, you know where I am.¡±

    ¡°Careful on your way out,¡± Kionah said.

    ¡°Don¡¯t trust my charmwork, do you?¡± Luxon scoffed as she pulled the enchanted hat low over her forehead, its fabric catching momentarily on her spines. ¡°Thank you for your assistance with my ingredients, you two. Stay as safe as springtime rains, and preferably safer.¡±

    Kionah heaved a sigh as she left. ¡°Don¡¯t tell me you¡¯re going to try what I think you¡¯re going to try.¡±

    ¡°No, I suppose your idea¡¯s less risky.¡± Aliyah squinted at a spiderweb in the corner, the floorboards littered with beetle husks. ¡°I don¡¯t think this place would be clean of contaminants even if I mopped every surface.¡±

    ¡°I was referring to the synthesis vats. You can¡¯t create flesh out of nothing, can you?¡±

    She shook her head, remembering the skin-pockets she¡¯d made to hide keys and spell-slips. That had been slow work¡ªbut then again, it wasn¡¯t like she¡¯d had practice back then. If she worked at it, with an eye for strategy¡­

    ¡°Not exactly. I¡¯d have to bud it off my fingers or my arm or something. And there¡¯s a limit to how much my magic will fuel synthesis, but I haven¡¯t tested it yet. If I got a bunch of food or potions and ate them to make growing the flesh more efficient, I could stretch the boundaries. But I still think I¡¯d need something magical to suspend it in¡­yes, to soak it in enough magic so it stays alive enough to control. I¡¯m not a necromancer.¡±

    ¡°You are not making a brainless flesh puppet to use in a fight,¡± Kionah said severely. ¡°That¡¯s far too visible, not to mention¡ª¡±

    ¡°Too disturbing?¡± She nodded. ¡°Yes, I can see why. But who said it had to be person-shaped? It¡¯s just flesh. These needles are good, but something stronger could be helpful.¡±

    ¡°Why not just control living flesh while you¡¯re at it?¡± Kionah asked, narrowing her eyes. ¡°Cats? Dogs? Humans?¡±

    ¡°That wouldn¡¯t even work for very long,¡± she said uncomfortably. ¡°Especially for a human. It¡¯s an equilibrium thing. Part of it is the self-determination of the consciousness too, I read. Maybe I could use something small, like a mouse, for a few hours if I knocked it unconscious first and manipulated the muscle alone, but¡ª¡±

    Kionah exhaled softly. ¡°I¡¯m going out to fetch some orphans in an hour and I¡¯d prefer you save your strength.¡±

    ¡°I wasn¡¯t actually going to try,¡± she said. ¡°What do you need me to do? I¡¯m not healing them here, am I?¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re coming with me. The healing can be on-site. Bring your needles. Wear the armour. This over the armour.¡± She paused to fish a greyish tangle of shawl from a crate. ¡°Can you disguise yourself further? You can shape flesh. Make yourself look different. Older, for example. Or you could pretend to be a man. Something that wouldn¡¯t get you recognised by any spire folk on the prowl, because we¡¯re going up-side for this.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t think it¡¯s be a good idea to actually age my skin,¡± Aliyah started. ¡°Maybe the collagen, purely cosmetically¡­as long as I can put it back exactly. I haven¡¯t tried with anything that¡¯s not a fresh wound. Or maybe I could¡­¡± She grappled with various ideas, discarding the more magic-intensive ones. ¡°I could build a separate piece. A mask with different features? You¡¯re right, wrinkles should be easiest. And gloves, for my hands. They¡¯ll rot, though. I¡¯ll have to replace¡ª¡±

    Kionah¡¯s face had taken on a look of confusion and polite disinterest. ¡°I¡¯ll get you food. Just take your so-called gloves off when you¡¯re working on them. Could you change your hair colour?¡±

    ¡°I could¡­maybe like this?¡± She concentrated, sending magic tingling along her scalp. Her existing hair grew out a good ten inches. The new growth came out imperfectly grey, leached of pigment. ¡°Did you buy any scissors?¡±

    Kionah quirked her lip. ¡°No. Use this.¡± She passed her a knife.

    ===

    Despite the fact she¡¯d crafted the mask from her own skin, Aliyah felt uneasy. There was nothing wrong with it, exactly. It was perfectly molded to her face. But it felt like drinking from a cup she¡¯d spat into. The wrinkles layering her hands were less bothersome; she¡¯d cured the insides enough for them to feel like normal gloves, more or less. Still, they didn¡¯t help with the heat. She perspired as they walked, trying to find the best equilibrium for keeping cool beneath the false-flesh.

    ¡°Don¡¯t walk so upright,¡± Kionah hissed, nudging her with an elbow. ¡°You¡¯re an eighty-year old woman, remember?¡±

    She hunched over, adjusting her gait, and contorted her vocal folds. ¡°Does this sound okay?¡±

    ¡°Passable,¡± Kionah said.

    They ducked into an apothecary on the way to their destination. Aliyah lingered near the entrance, eyes glazing over at the rainbows of vials on display as she waited. Twilight was falling swiftly. Foot traffic jostled down the street. Some pedestrians chattered, and others hummed tunes. A pot-bellied man strolled past, trailing a trio of leashed chimeras. Kionah bought a potion and handed it to her as they exited the shop.

    ¡°The lady said it starts working within a day, lasts for a couple of months. See if it makes a difference freeing up your capacity.¡±

    ¡°Thank you.¡± It tasted¡ªunconvincingly¡ªof honey and lemon.

    She watched through the lens of her magic as the ingredients permeated into her bloodstream and hurried them along. Her insides shifted and settled. She¡¯d practised the usual suppression of her illness so consistently that it was like breathing now, or blinking; she didn¡¯t notice she was doing it unless she thought to pay attention. Satisfied that the potion was working, she dismantled her construct of suppressive magic and allowed it to resettle where it willed.

    It freed up more than she¡¯d assumed it might. She rolled her magic over in her hands, relishing that little bit extra, before Kionah tugged her down another street and passed her a bread roll baked in the shape of a dragon. The baker had added lopsided raisins for eyes.

    ¡°You said food would help your magic. Any particular kind?¡±

    ¡°The bread¡¯s fine,¡± she mumbled, taking a bite. Chewing was awkward with the mask stuck to her face. ¡°Tastes like there¡¯s fruit in this? Fruit¡¯s good too. As long as I can break it down easily.¡±

    They passed another intersection of streets, this one particularly rowdy with performers. Kionah acquired a lantern; Aliyah saw her do it, scooping from a preoccupied seller¡¯s pile and swinging it merrily as though she¡¯d been holding onto it all along. They swerved away, following the wake of family outings and young merrymakers. A splash of gold at the edge of her vision caught her attention. When she turned to look, she realised it came from a procession of enormous, shining moths, chasing the end of a dancer¡¯s ribbon.

    Kionah followed her gaze. ¡°How charming. But see? You can tell he¡¯s an illusionist, right?¡±

    ¡°I can?¡±

    ¡°The butterflies. They¡¯re not real.¡±

    ¡°Yes, but¡­¡± She frowned, lowering her voice. ¡°Only because they¡¯re so decorative. They¡¯re still made of light, aren¡¯t they? The illusion is light and the light¡¯s real enough, because we¡¯re all seeing it. I saw you cast plenty of light spells, and you¡¯re not an illusionist.¡±

    ¡°Look closely. Do they illuminate the surroundings like a torch would? Or are they just bright to catch the eye?¡±

    Kionah was right. Shadows pooled on the ground beneath their fluttering path.

    ¡°He¡¯s not very good, is he?¡± Kionah added. ¡°Nor are the little purse-cutters using him as a distraction. Come on, we¡¯d better go this way.¡± They slotted behind a procession of tattooed acolytes carrying blocks of pale, unworked stone.

    ¡°But if the performer adds the actual illumination, what makes it any different?¡±

    She snorted. ¡°Not that much. It¡¯s a big debate, up in the uppity academies. Or so my uncle has said. But a real difference is that people who have¡­you saw Shasta¡¯s truth-lens? Well, you wouldn¡¯t see the butterflies if you looked through it, no matter how realistic the caster paints the light. But you would see the light from a light spell.¡±

    ¡°But how does that help me? Do you have one of those lenses?¡±

    ¡°Hah! No. Not nearly rich enough.¡±

    ¡°How do you notice, then?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s like I said: practice. Illusion¡¯s shaped by the caster¡¯s thoughts, so if you can guess what they¡¯re thinking, then patterns show up. Someone wants to hide something, and there¡¯s an inconsistency in the room. Someone¡¯s fighting you, and suddenly something happens which makes you want to stop. It¡¯s just senses, layered to seem real.¡±

    They were passed by a courier on wheels, and Aliyah swallowed an unexpected clot of nausea. The vehicle disappeared around a corner, but not before she got another look at the slosh of bright pink fuel in its fuel case.

    ¡°Once you¡¯re aware, it¡¯s easier to ignore,¡± Kionah was saying. ¡°If you try to twist it or fight it or hit it, like I did with the wall, it¡¯ll trip up the caster. Maia never liked it when I messed with hers. Said it gave her a headache. Illusions are just meant to be felt and believed, and anything more strains the magic. Takes more concentration, ¡®specially the big or complicated ones, and it¡¯ll fall apart eventually. There¡¯s a reason the art¡¯s going the way of necromancy, but it¡¯s not the same one. Sight¡¯s the easiest to trick, and the easiest to unmask.¡±

    ¡°Could an illusionist trick someone into feeling pain?¡± she asked distractedly. How would that work, if it happened to her? Would she be able to track signaling particles which weren¡¯t actually there?

    Kionah gave a thin smile. ¡°It¡¯s what the old masters did, or so the stories go. But I don¡¯t think anyone could do that today¡ªlots got killed in the old wars, the last of them in the faery one. But don¡¯t go saying such morbid things so loudly, now.¡± She pointed. ¡°Station¡¯s over there.¡±

    Their shuttlebus took them on a gently curving route down to the coast, right by the sea itself. It was more impressive when not viewed from Harker¡¯s hidden dock, she noted. It looked like the salt flats, only larger and bluer and far louder¡ªcome to think of it, it even smelled a bit similar. They walked a gravel path down to the empty shore, and Kionah¡¯s purloined lantern lit a rocky beach ahead.

    ¡°A little bird sang to me of a party in these particular caves,¡± Kionah said as they walked, shoes crunching over shells and pebbles. ¡°Got a good haul and burned it all on moss wine, I expect. Not that I can fully blame them, but¡­¡± She sighed as they approached an opening in the cliffside; orange light flickered inside, spilling out around a jagged corner. ¡°Best if you stay here. I¡¯ll ply ¡®em with the food and fetch you once they¡¯re asleep.¡±

    ¡°Alright.¡±

    Kionah handed her the smaller of the two sacks, marked with black ink. ¡°Hold onto this for me, won¡¯t you? Don¡¯t let it get wet.¡±

    Aliyah waited, listening to waves meeting the shore. She thought of salted waves and osmolarity and how a hypotonic solution might force cells to swell with water. How she might swap that out with magic¡­

    She thought it over for a long while. Kionah emerged soft-footed from the cave, and gestured for her to enter.

    The passage was tinged with the smell of saltwater and alcohol, and the winey haze grew stronger the further in they went. By the time the tunnel terminated in a craggy chamber, it was almost overpowering. Lanterns lit the scene: bags of sackcloth were piled against the far wall, and someone had spread a large, stained rug over the stony ground. Crumbs dusted it, accompanied by half-filled jars claiming to contain ¡®nutrient paste¡¯. Bottles sat half-drunk atop a makeshift table cobbled together from crates and driftwood, their contents drifting with spots of mossy bioluminescence. Two youths were slumped snoring against the table, and four others dozed in various places across the floor.

    ¡°Here,¡± Kionah whispered. ¡°Start with this one. Broke his leg couple of years ago and didn¡¯t get to an apothecary. It set wrong.¡±

    ¡°How sedated are they?¡± It was said that some of the highest Healers could tame equilibrium, but she¡¯d probably have to rebreak the bone before she could set it right.

    ¡°Oh, plenty sufficiently.¡±

    Aliyah removed her flesh-gloves, but kept the mask on. ¡°I can¡¯t erase their memories. If they fight the false-sleep enough to wake up¡­¡±

    ¡°They¡¯ve drunk way too much, plus the sedative. You won¡¯t have to. You¡¯d better check they haven¡¯t poisoned themselves, now that I think of it.¡± She frowned, glancing back towards the entrance. ¡°I¡¯ll keep an eye out for faeries. Call out if you need anything.¡±

    Aliyah bit back a comment about safe dosages and stepped hastily around the cavern, checking that they were all still breathing before moving back to the youth with the crooked leg.

    Kionah, for all her imprecision, was right. The urchins barely stirred as she prodded at their injuries with her magic and fixed what she could: the leg reshaped with minimal pain, followed by cuts and scrapes and a rotting tooth that had to be extracted. Her magic flowed clear and strong, and she slipped into a rhythm of concentration even as the night wore on. Only one thing gave her pause.

    ¡°How strange,¡± she said aloud.

    ¡°Who¡¯s strange?¡± Kionah left her guardpost to peer over her shoulder.

    Aliyah gestured to the last of the six, a bruised girl wrapped in a green shawl. ¡°Her.¡±

    ¡°This one? Ah, Mihaelo¡¯s little sister¡­Safira, I think her name is. What¡¯s wrong?¡±

    ¡°Normally, there¡¯s endogenous magic in most cells¡ªin the blood,¡± she added at Kionah¡¯s faintly puzzled frown. ¡°Just a sense. I don¡¯t mess with it, but I can feel it. Your mother¡¯s was different, replaced with the spawnblood.¡±

    Kionah whistled softly under her breath and prodded one of the fallen bottles with the toe of her boot. ¡°Didn¡¯t know the rascals could afford that. Thought there¡¯d be enough cautionary stories to go round, but maybe not.¡±

    ¡°No, that¡¯s not it.¡± She shook her head uneasily and examined the girl¡¯s organs again. ¡°Hers isn¡¯t replaced. It feels like she¡¯s got nothing at all.¡±

    ¡°Burnt out?¡± Kionah suggested dubiously.

    ¡°It¡¯s been an hour. Even if it happened right before, it¡¯d start coming back by now¡­right?¡± She checked a third time, and there was no doubt about it: the body, half-healthy as it was, wasn¡¯t circulating so much as a drop of magic.

    ¡°She¡¯s not shackled, is she? Some of the City Watch equipment is dampening, but¡­¡± Kionah trailed off and shook her head.

    Aliyah glanced at the girl¡¯s wrists and ankles, adorned with nothing but scrapes and bruises.

    ¡°There¡¯s really nothing. Was she born without magic?¡± She¡¯d never heard or read of such a thing in Shadowsong, but perhaps it was different in Glister.

    ¡°You know that¡¯s just an old sailor¡¯s tale, right?¡±

    ¡°Then how?¡± she asked.

    ¡°Safira, Safira¡­¡± Kionah recited in the wavering tones of recollection. ¡°She was staying with a bunch of acolytes, last I heard. Temple exiles. They aren¡¯t the most fortunate bunch, but they take care of their own. Mihaelo always said it was politics, sectarianism troubles, no blood-rite rituals or other nastiness in their sect as far as I know. Just do your best. Shouldn¡¯t be anything wrong with her.¡±

    Aliyah chewed her lip as she worked on the superficial wounds. A worm of discomfort itched at her occipital bone. Safira¡¯s insides felt like the workings of any common animal, like the chickens and rats she¡¯d first been given to practice on. There was something deeply wrong about that feeling. Too vast. All the wrong shape. She looked at the girl more closely. A scratch on her forehead, bruised skin, greasy hair¡ªnothing otherwise remarkable. Her face looked peaceful in sleep.

    ¡°I¡¯ve never seen this before,¡± she confessed uneasily. ¡°Not in a human. Could you check her belongings for anything strange? Potions, medicines, anything like that? Spawnblood, even?¡±

    ¡°I doubt it, but alright.¡±

    Kionah stepped away as Aliyah fixed the last of the bruises. Her gloves had started to deteriorate by the time she slipped them back on, but she poured fresh magic into the cells to stave off rot. When she stood up, she had to blink away spots and hastily circulate some blood¡ªbut there was no headache, no nosebleed. The extra magic was helping, she marveled.

    ¡°Don¡¯t take this the wrong way,¡± Kionah started, and hesitated. ¡°Wait, first¡ªpass me that bag I gave you.¡±

    She rooted out a selection of crudely-crafted ornaments: strings and stone and braided twigs. Stepping carefully around the sleeping bodies, she placed them around the cavern before rearranging the existing detritus into strange, deliberate patterns: triangles and circles and squares, the rug folded up to form a diamond. Then she prised the corks from a trio of clay jugs and walked the perimeter of the cavern, pouring a trail of fine grey ashes.

    Lastly, she withdrew a pot of ink from the bag and daubed it across one of the urchin¡¯s fingers before splashing the rest of it across the far wall. Blackness stained the rock in a great arc; if Aliyah looked at it a certain way, she supposed it could resemble a deliberate attempt at forming a shape, or an attempt at covering something already written. Kionah left the empty vessel by the urchin¡¯s softly-snoring head and beckoned for Aliyah to leave, sweeping her gaze around to ensure they¡¯d left no unintentional traces behind.

    ¡°What was all that for?¡± Aliyah asked as they departed. The salt winds were whipping up. Seafoam flecked the shore, and the ocean sounded louder and colder than it had earlier. Briefly, she pictured a witch-corpse bobbing across the wavetops.

    Kionah grinned, a flicker-dart of teeth in the dark. ¡°No idea. Doesn¡¯t matter. Maybe a miracle¡¯ll scare them right.¡±

    ¡°You were going to say something to me, earlier.¡±

    Her expression sobered. ¡°Yeah. It could be nothing¡ªoh, hells. It probably isn¡¯t, when it comes to you and yours. I found this in Safira¡¯s travel-pack.¡±

    She held out a tiny scrap of fabric, pinched between thumb and forefinger. Hardly woven together enough to even be called a scrap; it was more like a collection of loose threads, frayed off some larger whole. It was also red. Familiar, mocking red.

    ¡°Are you sure,¡± Aliyah started. She patted herself down, even though her makeshift shawl was soaking in soap, left at the yellow safehouse. ¡°I could¡¯ve brought it in with me and shed it. You¡¯re sure it was in her bag?¡±

    ¡°Stuck to a bunch of bandages. I¡¯m sorry. I should¡¯ve shown you then, but I didn¡¯t want to¡­distract you.¡± There was a careful hesitance to those last words, as if Kionah suspected she really could accidentally kill someone with an errant twitch of hand and thought.

    Her stomach lurched. ¡°That girl had no magic left. None at all.¡±

    ¡°If that¡¯s how you saw it, I believe you.¡±

    ¡°Could you ask her? When she wakes? Even if she saw a different Healer, or a schismatist, any schismatist¡ª¡±

    Kionah met her desperate gaze head-on. ¡°Might be risky.¡±

    There was a balance to be maintained here, scale plates and fulcrums glinting golden in her mind¡¯s eye. ¡°How many more did you need me to heal?¡±

    ¡°No rush,¡± Kionah said with an edge of warning. ¡°Your tracker mark¡¯s still there, isn¡¯t it?¡±

    ¡°You could¡¯ve not told me this,¡± Aliyah pointed out. Night cloaked the shore, lapping at their island of lamplight. Kionah could have simply opened her hand to the wind, and Aliyah would¡¯ve walked on none the wiser. ¡°But you trust me to help, don¡¯t you? And you don¡¯t want to deal with the faeries coming after me, so it¡¯ll suit you if I fix the people you care about and get out of your way as fast as I can. Name your price in patients.¡±

    Kionah tilted her head fractionally. A cool composure flickered over her face, that shadowy court echo. ¡°Yes. You do need help. But I didn¡¯t tell you this to string you along. What would be the point of that? Seven already, at my request. I¡¯ll see if I can find others you can heal, but¡ªalright, I¡¯ll ask. And I won¡¯t hold you to a number.¡±

    Was that graciousness, or simply a way of leaving the upper limit undefined? ¡°Thank you,¡± she said anyway.

    ¡°You¡¯re going to want to practice shielding with that armour,¡± Kionah said, and knocked an elbow lightly against her ribs. ¡°If this kid¡¯s had a brush with a Healer, and if the schismatists really do have your master, and if that peculiarity you described had anything to do with it all, then all this peace and quiet makes more sense. It¡¯s possible they could¡¯ve just forgotten about you for now.¡±

    She met Kionah¡¯s gaze, brimming with bitter optimism, before looking away. ¡°That could be good. But I don¡¯t think I¡¯ll have to try very hard to make them remember.¡±

 5.3 - Silver-spelled Cicatrix

    Felun

    ¡°Morning,¡± Ishaan said, though it was nearing noon. ¡°Were you planning to avoid me forever?¡±

    Felun looked up from his belated breakfast. A glob of rice porridge dripped gracelessly from his spoon.

    ¡°Good morning,¡± he lied evenly. ¡°I was busy yesterday.¡±

    After Shirin, his parents had made him check Yichen for hidden curses. Then he¡¯d had to evaluate every other halfway-important kin-member that came to mind. After that, they¡¯d questioned him over and over on the meaning of the spell wound around Shirin¡¯s heart; never before had father shown such interest in Breaker terms, he thought bitterly. By the time they¡¯d dismissed him to sleep, the night storm had long since cleared. He¡¯d slipped into an unsteady stupor, choking on more of the same nightmares plus a sprinkle of cocoon-casings thrown in for good measure.

    ¡°I heard a lot of commotion,¡± Ishaan observed. He stepped closer, prosthetic feet clicking over the wooden boards, and drew up a seat on the other side of the table. ¡°One of the guards wouldn¡¯t let me leave my room.¡±

    ¡°There was an emergency.¡±

    He looked startled. ¡°Shit. Are you alright?¡±

    ¡°Yep. Everyone¡¯s fine.¡±

    ¡°What happened?¡±

    Felun shoved another spoonful of porridge into his mouth. Mmm, pork floss. It was an appetising distraction. Not effective, but appetising.

    Ishaan exhaled explosively. ¡°Oh, come on. First the guards, and now you¡¯re not even¡ª¡±

    ¡°It was all shit. I don¡¯t want to talk about it.¡±

    ¡°Oh.¡± Ishaan was quiet as Felun scraped up the last spoonfuls of porridge. Then he said, ¡°what do you want to talk about? Let me guess: not Ironport?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯d rather not.¡± There wasn¡¯t anything meaningful left to say.

    ¡°What about your family?¡± Ishaan asked flatly. ¡°Or mine, come to think of it? Because if it¡¯s all the same to you, I¡¯d like to visit them, if yours allow me keep these.¡± He waved his silver hand. ¡°But listen, I¡¯ve done some thinking. I¡¯ve had plenty of time to think. It¡¯s starting to make sense, Felun. They¡¯ll take these away and leave me to crawl. This whole time, I was wondering why. But it¡¯s because of you, isn¡¯t it? All those potions and poultices and this hundred-thousand-coins-arm¡ªthey¡¯re turning in the expense of it all for, what, your specialty?¡±

    Felun swallowed past the sudden dryness of his mouth. ¡°What makes you think that?¡±

    ¡°You didn¡¯t stick around. You were gone doing who-knows-what. Now you¡¯re back. You¡¯ve got a whole lot of new bandages stuck to you. You look miserable. I¡¯ve got experience with this sort of thing and none of that felt free. Am I right? Or is it something else?¡±

    Felun stared into the bottom of his empty bowl, trying to make sense of the words. Ishaan had always been cheerful and easygoing in a way he could never hope to mimic. But right now, he seemed curious and frustrated. He was pacing around the perimeter of an invisible cage, which was a feeling Felun knew all too well. Yet he didn¡¯t sound angry. Even yesterday¡­was he putting on a brave face? He didn¡¯t think Ishaan secretly hated him after all¡ªhe didn¡¯t want him to, for collusion¡¯s sake¡ªbut this didn¡¯t feel right, either. It felt too¡­easy.

    Shouldn¡¯t he be hit with pain and bitterness and consequences? This reunion wasn¡¯t going the way he¡¯d thought at all. There¡¯d always been consequences when he was younger, even for things that hardly mattered. But now he¡¯d gone and fucked up so badly that two people were dead and Ishaan¡¯s life was ruined and Ishaan didn¡¯t seem to want to punch him, even a little? It was bizarre.

    Felun stood to return his bowl to the galley. Ishaan followed insistently.

    ¡°What are you working so hard unraveling? Is it to do with all this?¡± Felun knew without looking that he was gesturing wildly with both hands, punctuating the kingdom swallowing the ship from outside in. ¡°Were you here this whole time?¡±

    ¡°I wasn¡¯t staying here,¡± he said, which wasn¡¯t a lie.

    ¡°What are you doing here, now?¡± Ishaan persisted. ¡°Politics? Fighting? Assassinations? That medical emergency you were talking about, was that¡ª¡±

    Felun shouldered past him, heading down the hall to his room. ¡°I¡¯m having a holiday.¡±

    ¡°Really,¡± Ishaan said skeptically, striding to keep pace.

    ¡°Yes,¡± he said, turning into his room. ¡°But I¡¯ve still got work to do, so¡ª¡±

    ¡°You don¡¯t have to stay,¡± Ishaan interrupted, wedging his silver hand against the door to keep Felun from shutting it. ¡°You shouldn¡¯t. Not for my sake.¡±

    Felun relented, letting the door part as he turned away. ¡°It isn¡¯t so simple. You said it yourself.¡± He strode into his room, threw open the nearest luggage trunk and began rummaging among the papers. ¡°They won¡¯t be so crude as to take your legs away, but those runestones¡ªthey didn¡¯t attune you to them, did they? And they need maintenance what, two or three times a week?¡±

    ¡°Your point?¡± Ishaan asked coldly. ¡°There are other false-hands and legs out there, Felun. I don¡¯t need this specific set of limbs.¡±

    ¡°They¡¯re the best set you¡¯ll find outside of Shenzhou,¡± he bit out. ¡°You think I¡¯m going to be responsible for making you walk around on sticks and crutches instead? It¡¯s fine¡ªit¡¯s just work. No different to what I was doing in Ironport. It¡¯s only¡­later, if you can stand waiting a little, I could find a good craftworker in Glister¡ª¡±

    ¡°No,¡± Ishaan said quietly. ¡°I don¡¯t care if I have to make do with less. I¡¯m sick of this. I¡¯ve already¡ªactually, never mind. Just know that as fancy as it looks, the hand¡¯s just not the same. Nothing¡¯s the same, and I think I¡¯ve made my peace with that. But I can¡¯t just sit here and keep accepting all this help, all these gifts, while you have to¡ª¡± He faltered. ¡°You made some jokes about your folks back home, while we were in Ironport. It¡¯s messed-up if they were true.¡±

    ¡°What?¡± Felun frowned. ¡°I don¡¯t remember. It¡¯s not important. There¡¯s no¡­there was never¡ª¡± He found his bottomless satchel and runebook, plus the dead Breaker¡¯s notes, and set them aside before moving on to the next trunk. A scrap of Magician-blue peeked out and he shoved it back inside. His tongue tripped over every other word. ¡°It¡¯ll be fine, alright? You¡¯ve been through hell, you don¡¯t need to deal with the extra rubbish that¡¯ll come with getting you out of here right now¡ª¡±

    ¡°But you need to?¡± Ishaan asked keenly. ¡°You need to stay here, burning through your magic in this¡­creepy fabled desert place? For what? Can¡¯t you stop being so damn cryptic?¡±

    ¡°It was my fault,¡± he said, and found he could say it because digging through a mass of traveling cloaks meant he wasn¡¯t looking Ishaan in the eye. His fingers found the latch for the false bottom, and he yanked it open with a rough click. He was pleased with how steady his voice sounded. Maybe all that agonising had been good practice after all. ¡°I was buying you coin and aid, because it was my fault. I opened the door, and then I stepped aside to let you all through. I should¡¯ve¡ª¡±

    ¡°I should have demanded we turn back,¡± Ishaan snapped. ¡°I should¡¯ve listened to my instincts and dragged you all back down that corridor. Tyirn could¡¯ve called an early night. Vilette could¡¯ve chosen a different passage. Is it their faults, too?¡± At that, his voice broke. ¡°You tried your best. You saved my life. Won¡¯t you look up and fucking believe me when I say I don¡¯t want to stay here? Not for your sake, and not for mine.¡±

    Felun flipped the hidden panel up and found what he was looking for. ¡°Alright.¡±

    ¡°Okay, and?¡± Ishaan asked. ¡°And now wh¡ªyou¡¯re kidding. Where¡¯d you get those?¡±

    Felun hefted half a dozen silver ingots in his hand. ¡°I stole about thirty of these. Before I left for Sihai, to get to Fawnfell. It didn¡¯t endear me to anyone.¡± He scooped out the remaining half-dozen and deposited them in a pile at his feet.

    ¡°What are you going to use them for?¡±

    ¡°A couple of things.¡± He re-latched the hidden compartment and covered it with clothing once more. ¡°Bribery, maybe. After that, I¡¯ll look around and see if there are some replacement legs for you. Maybe this kingdom¡¯s got some useful secrets.¡± He shrugged, summoning his runebook to hand. ¡°If I¡¯m going to help you escape, we might have to wait until some of the other ships head back to Glister. That¡¯s the best timeline I can give. But I¡¯ll help you, and that¡¯s a promise.¡±

    Ishaan had a strange expression on his face. ¡°Really? Are you coming with?¡±

    This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

    ¡°Maybe,¡± he hedged. ¡°I¡¯ve got to take care of some things first.¡±

    ¡°The bribery,¡± Ishaan said, his gaze flicking to the ingots. ¡°What for?¡±

    Felun smiled bitterly. ¡°You aren¡¯t the only person who¡¯s safer far away.¡±

    ===

    Shadowsong¡¯s skydocks were far smaller than Glister¡¯s, flat and single-terraced, but they were nothing to scoff at. New planks shone beneath his boots, evidence of recent construction to accommodate his kin¡¯s fleet. Magicians swarmed over the place, their cloaks a glaring azure beneath the desert sun. Felun averted his gaze as he passed one. Sweat beaded even beneath his tunic¡¯s loose collar. Was it always so damn hot here? He was tempted to scribble a cooling rune, but he dreaded any of the Magicians paying attention to him.

    Thankfully, it was a short walk to Shirin and Jiahao¡¯s ship: an old-fashioned craft, far smaller and more modest than his parent¡¯s. There was a guard stationed outside, but it was Jiaohao who welcomed him aboard.

    ¡°Haoyu, my boy!¡± He ushered him through the entrance, into blessedly cooled air. ¡°Your mother said you were busy last night, but¡ªah, come through this way, I must offer you some tea.¡±

    No need, he almost said, but years of stumbling around Shenzhou¡¯s courts had taught him it was more polite to accept. ¡°Thank you.¡±

    ¡°Sit, sit! I¡¯ll be just a minute. What were those sweets you liked again¡ªthe honeyed persimmons? I¡¯m not sure we have any, but I¡¯ll bring some nice snacks. And please, help yourself!¡± He gestured to the heaping bowl of dragon¡¯s eye fruits on the tea table before bustling away.

    Felun sat, feeling distinctly out of place. Uncle Jiahao had always been kind enough, but it felt almost unbearably awkward to have someone his senior look at him with such gratitude. He¡¯d honestly prefer if Cousin Lin had been the one to revive Shirin. Things¡¯d be less complicated that way¡ªbetter, for it to have needed no unraveling.

    ¡°Apologies,¡± Jiahao announced, rushing in from the galley. ¡°No persimmons, but these will go well with the tea. Shirin will be wanting to see you, too! Another minute¡ªplease, eat.¡±

    He set down a trayful of childhood memories. There was candied winter melon, with its crunchy sugar shell and softer, juicy insides. Soft, steamed, fortune cake: easy on his grandparents¡¯ false teeth. Delicately-layered biscuit rolls which would shatter with every bite. Candied ginger, rationed from a secret stash and gnawed on to stave off the hunger of a meal withheld. Dried salted plums, sour enough to make the mouth pucker.

    Felun picked at the platter until Jiahao returned. Shirin came with him, bundled in a shawl scrawled with patterns of her family¡¯s making. She looked paler than usual, but her smile brightened as she caught sight of him.

    ¡°Haoyu! How fortuitous! Lin dropped by earlier, but we still have to thank you for yesterday.¡±

    He listened helplessly to Jiahao¡¯s agreeable remarks, compliments sprinkled in like court spices. An orange cat padded in from the hallway, twining around his legs. He patted it cautiously. He¡¯d liked the cats at court, but Yichen had denounced the creatures after his songbird was found dead in a pile of bloodied feathers. Guofan kicked one once, taunting it with words only a spoiled thirdson was allowed to use. Felun had tackled him to the ground for it, and he¡¯d been beaten for his trouble.

    ¡°I see Youtiao likes you,¡± Shirin said, upon noticing. ¡°We picked him up from court. Can you believe they were going to throw him out? He¡¯s so sweet-tempered, too.¡±

    They made small talk as the tea brewed. Youtiao bounded up onto the couch and settled into a purring, feline-shaped lump of warmth on his lap. The silver ingots seemed to snicker in his satchel, but what use was shying away now? If he wasn¡¯t going to be safe, then at least Yuying should be. His parents were well aware of the risks they were taking. Yichen could take care of himself, the same way he¡¯d done back when Felun had been the one catching a cane to the backs of his knees and not¡ª

    Anyway, Yuying didn¡¯t know what she was getting herself into, the same as he hadn¡¯t when he¡¯d left.

    ¡°¡­Curses might not channel well through letters, but I wish they¡¯d be more careful,¡± Shirin was saying. ¡°Answers aren¡¯t worth it, let alone mere trade negotiations. But they¡¯ll have you with them, correct? None of us have been able to assess the true extent of their Healer¡¯s abilities. It¡¯s not so far out of the question.¡±

    ¡°Yeah,¡± he said, petting the cat distractedly. ¡°We¡¯ve got to be careful.¡± He hesitated. ¡°You should be careful, especially.¡±

    Shirin drew her shawl tighter about her shoulders, and Jiahao leaned over to take her hand in his own. ¡°In my opinion, we shouldn¡¯t be here.¡±

    She nodded. ¡°I don¡¯t know if your parents would listen to your counsel any more than they do to ours, but¡­tell them, if you could. Truly, I didn¡¯t glean anything useful. If they go investigating¡­¡±

    Felun set down his cup. ¡°Aren¡¯t you leaving soon?¡±

    Shirin blinked, surprised. ¡°We¡­yes, your father thought it best if we reconvene in the nearest city.¡±

    ¡°Yeah, he mentioned that.¡± He took a deep breath. ¡°Glister, right? If, supposing I need a favour¡ª¡±

    Shirin and Jiaohao shared a glance before he could finish his sentence. Shirin spoke first. ¡°We¡¯re very grateful for what you did yesterday, Haoyu. But it¡¯s as you said, we¡¯re trying to avoid as much risk as possible.¡±

    ¡°And if it¡¯s true you¡¯ve been dealing with greymarkets recently,¡± Jiahao started.

    ¡°What? No. It¡¯s not like that. I don¡¯t know what my parents have been saying, but it¡¯s not that. In fact, it¡¯s nothing harmful. But I need¡­um. Discretion.¡±

    They shared another one of those glances. Felun sighed at the justifiable suspicion. There would be no good way to determine their stance without tipping his hand.

    ¡°You remember Yuying, right?¡±

    ¡°Of course I remember my own niece,¡± Jiahao said, looking vaguely insulted. ¡°Next you¡¯ll be asking me if I¡¯ve forgotten your name.¡±

    ¡°Your little sister?¡± Shirin broke in. ¡°Why, yes. She showed me all her drawings, back in Shenzhou. But what does she have to do with your favours?¡±

    Felun sighed and took out three silver ingots. Youtiao stirred and stepped off his lap, meowing at the disturbance. ¡°Hypothetically, if she needed help against our parent¡¯s wishes¡­¡±

    Shirin frowned, her brow feathering with concentration. ¡°I don¡¯t see how we could¡­¡± He saw the moment realisation dawned. ¡°She¡¯s here?¡±

    ¡°She doesn¡¯t have a lot of good choices in Shenzhou,¡± Felun said, placing the ingots onto the table. They looked garish next to the painted teacups. ¡°But she shouldn¡¯t be here, even before what happened yesterday. You¡¯re the best people I could entrust her with.¡±

    ¡°If your parents found out¡­¡± Jiahao started.

    Felun shrugged. ¡°There wouldn¡¯t be many repercussions if you were unaware. Who would think to check such a small ship for stowaways?¡±

    ¡°But the consequences for Yuying¡ª¡± Shirin started.

    ¡°The alternatives are worse. Well, maybe it¡¯s safer being sent back to Shenzhou, but between getting caught on your ship and getting caught on someone else¡¯s, there won¡¯t be such a difference.¡±

    ¡°And you¡¯re sure this is best for Yuying?¡± Jiahao asked.

    Shirin pursed her lips. ¡°I don¡¯t think Haoyu would be here if that wasn¡¯t the case, dear. Yes, Yuying does seem like the sort of girl who¡¯d like to explore against her better judgement.¡± She pushed the ingots back toward him with a soft sigh. ¡°No need, Haoyu. Best not to leave evidence. In fact¡­Jiahao, could you pass me my purse? Thank you.¡± She tipped out a handful of gold coins and pushed the little pile along with the ingots. ¡°Take these, for what little thanks they¡¯re worth. We¡¯re leaving in three days, at noon. Your sister is welcome to stowaway if you can convince her to.¡±

    Felun frowned. ¡°How do you know I haven¡¯t?¡±

    She offered a demure smile, showing the slightest sliver of teeth. ¡°Oh, that¡¯s easy. Because I was once the same.¡±

    ===

    ¡°Where were you?¡± his father demanded upon his return. He lounged on couch within view of the vestible, as if he¡¯d been laying in wait. A paper booklet dangled loosely from his hands, its cover adorned in imperial script. There was a cup of tea on the table, looking as if it had gone cold.

    Felun kept his sentences short. ¡°Visiting Auntie Shirin. I¡¯m glad she¡¯s well.¡±

    ¡°Your mother will be needing you this evening.¡±

    He blinked, caught off-guard. ¡°I thought you were going to be away on a meeting?¡±

    Father furrowed his brow, looking deeply affronted. ¡°Has it not got into your piggish head the importance of what happened yesterday? Our plans have changed.¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± he said blandly. ¡°You¡¯re right. The Healers could be dangerous.¡±

    ¡°And you would have your own mother walking unprotected into that danger, would you?¡± His father¡¯s grip tightened on the booklet, crushing the pages and creasing its spine. ¡°Those thaumaturges insisted the incident was natural. They refused to even consider the gentle and diplomatic suggestion that some artefact of their Library has caused harm, needing investigation. This should tell you all you need to know.¡±

    ¡°Your messengers haven¡¯t been hurt, have they?¡±

    Go home, he wanted to add. Go back to Cathay, lord over your province, leave me out of this. But they¡¯d invested too much into this venture to back off on the word of a useless firstson, even if said firstson had seen the depths of the Library firsthand. Not that he¡¯d told them of that particular little escapade. There¡¯d been enough questioning already. But still, he¡¯d tried to tell them. The kingdom was dangerous.

    His father sneered. ¡°Not a single one, just as I expected. This is why you¡¯ve never been able to see the wider picture, Haoyu. Our negotiations are necessary. They can say they¡¯ll only send thaumaturges and diplomats all they like, but we don¡¯t have a list of every blasted mage in the palace. All it would take is someone clad in the wrong colours. We haven¡¯t mapped their limits. Knowing all this, do you really expect your mother to go alone?¡±

    ¡°Do they know I¡¯m a Breaker?¡±

    ¡°They aren¡¯t stupid. They¡¯ll know you¡¯re some sort of safeguard.¡±

    Doesn¡¯t this also paint a target on my back? he wanted to ask, but he knew what the response would be: selfish, idiot boy. ¡°Okay,¡± he said numbly. ¡°Fine. When do we¡ª¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t look so sour. It¡¯s only temporary. Do you have any Breaker associates in Glister? No? Then we¡¯ll make do. I¡¯ll have it sorted within the next few days.¡±

    Ah. Because while he was useful enough to be needed, it wouldn¡¯t do to rely on him. In all fairness, if he were his father then he wouldn¡¯t trust him either.

    Mother was in the office, just as he¡¯d said, perched at the desk and turning a runequill over in her hands. She wore one of her more severe-looking, high-throated robes, and her hairpin gleamed with the turquoise-blue of kingfisher feathers.

    ¡°Here you are,¡± she said, glancing up at their arrival. ¡°Help me fasten this, darling.¡±

    She held out a necklace Felun had never seen before, though his Breaker-sense tingled at its proximity. The pendant was crafted from the same kingfisher feathers as her hairpin, cast in the shape of a cicada, its colour richer than any enamel. There was no visible runework. The enchantment thrummed, louder to his senses than even the curse put on Shirin. Some sort of shielding capability, he guessed. Very tangled and very old.

    His father stepped in to loop the necklace around her neck, expression softening momentarily. ¡°You be careful now. Keep Haoyu close by.¡±

    ¡°Of course.¡± Her hand lingered over his before she straightened her shoulders, brushing imaginary dust off her robes.

    When they spoke to each other, they sounded almost¡ªkind. Caring. Tender. It was disturbing.

    Mother¡¯s sleeves betrayed a papery crinkle as she turned to address him. ¡°Gather your tools, Haoyu. Wear some gloves over those unsightly bandages. And find an outfit a little more dignified and befitting of your position.¡±

    ¡°Your spell-slips are rustling,¡± he said. ¡°Silencing cast not strong enough?¡±

    It was obvious she simply hadn¡¯t cast it yet, but he allowed himself the bitter quip. She was good at sustaining them¡ªbetter than Suria, even. Or at least, she had been when he was young.

    Her fingers twitched, as if in memory of the cane it so loved. ¡°Hurry up and get ready, Haoyu.¡±

    Many years ago, he¡¯d been like Yichen¡ªnot above begging for favour, for attention, for anything he could get. Now, it was a pity to be needed at all.

 5.4 - Adversaria

    Felun

    The meeting went well, all things considered.

    They¡¯d made their way up to the palace with a retinue of armed guards, before being ushered into a richly-decorated and noticeably windowless room. Three thaumaturges presented themselves by the title of ¡®Magician¡¯. The leader introduced herself as a princess, the third of seven royal offspring. He wondered if being third out of seven was better than being first out of three.

    Felun had turned on his Breaker-sense and watched with growing boredom as mother spoke in that roundabout way of hers, probing and inquisitive. The Magicians spared him nervous glances every now and then, but no one tried anything. They¡¯d only demanded to search every Cathayan ship for ¡®the safety of all visitors, of course¡¯. Mother spoke and stalled, then expressed her condolences. There¡¯d been mention of ¡®creatures¡¯ and ¡®assistance¡¯ and the implication of deeper knowledge and shared concern. At this, she¡¯d employed the mask of a confidante; it was the one she used trying to catch people out on a lie, but tailored to the guise of an overworked diplomat¡¯s wife. The Magicians seemed receptive to it, enough that the demands for a full search were postponed. She hadn¡¯t needed to make use of her pendant or spell-slips. He hadn¡¯t had to end the evening in another dead faint, and he supposed he ought to be grateful for that.

    Mother headed back for the ship right afterwards, the guards crowding around her like living armour.

    ¡°Is it alright if I visit the market?¡± he asked.

    She looked him up and down with a wintry smile. ¡°You¡¯re a man now, Haoyu. You can fend for yourself. You can go wherever you like.¡±

    ¡°Alright, then.¡± He didn¡¯t stick around for that crescent of bitterness in her voice to wax any larger.

    Shadowsong was a miniature city in its own right. The palace loomed over the place like the spires loomed over Glister. And just like Glister¡ªand Shenzhou, and Sihai, and pretty much every city he¡¯d been to¡ªcitizens bustled around heedless of the hidden intrigues above.

    The streets seemed busier now the sky was dark and the air cooling. Shopkeepers lit lanterns in the colours of sunset; the sight reminded him of late summer nights back in Shenzhou, strolling the gardens with cooling runes stuck to his shoulders. A layer of sand sifted over the streets, thin and velvety, but the place looked otherwise clean and well-kept. To his surprise, mage-chariots clattered through the wider thoroughfares. Did they import the parts from Glister, or were the blacksmiths skilled enough to make them here? The first market square he wandered into smelled of rich spices and burnt chicken. He bought meat skewers and a piece of fried flatbread as he wandered; the meeting had run right through dinner, but even he¡¯d known it would be foolish to eat or drink anything the Magicians offered them.

    He asked for directions to the artisan district, which was strung with even more lights than the ordinary markets below. Stairs jutted out between painted clay buildings, leading to forges and potter¡¯s dens and surprisingly niche varieties of artisan crafts. Asking around some more¡ªearning him a few funny looks, but a pleasant lack of derision¡ªled him to the entrance of a woodwright¡¯s shop. The door was shut, but there was a light within. He knocked optimistically.

    ¡°We¡¯re closed,¡± said the man answering the door. He was bearded and middle-aged, dressed in a loose tunic and trousers that fell short enough to reveal part of a wooden leg and foot. He paused pointedly at Felun¡¯s appearance. ¡°Who might you be?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m from Cathay,¡± Felun said, which was the simplest answer. ¡°I was told you make false-legs?¡±

    ¡°Yes, on occasion. What were you after?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s for a friend.¡±

    ¡°Daaaaa,¡± someone called from the depths of the house. ¡°The warming runes are going to wear off.¡±

    The woodwright glanced over his shoulder, back into the house. ¡°Just a moment. I¡¯m speaking to a customer.¡±

    There came a sound of marching footsteps. ¡°Is it that old fool Kamal again?¡± A young woman came into view, waving a spoon. ¡°We¡¯re closed! Can¡¯t you read the sign?¡±

    ¡°Yasmeen,¡± the woodwright scolded. ¡°It will be just a moment.¡± Turning back to Felun, he said, ¡°You¡¯ll have to come in tomorrow. Bring your friend, though. How am I to supposed to fit it, otherwise?¡±

    ¡°Right,¡± Felun said, turning away.

    Exasperation welled up in his gut, trod in a circle, and lay down like a cat. How was he going to get Ishaan out of the ship, with guards breathing down his neck? Inattention runes had a slim chance of working if the guards saw someone walking with him and thought to suspect who it was. If his parents did have an illusionist hidden somewhere, he didn¡¯t see a high likelihood of recruiting them to his cause, never mind finding them in the first place. He was pretty sure there was an illusionist. The Magicians had brought out the melted remains of the projectile-firing box as an intimidation tactic during their meeting, and it hadn¡¯t looked like anything the faeries might make.

    He blinked. Faeries. He couldn¡¯t make the journey to the Hive, but he did have a faery right where he needed him.

    ===

    ¡°What?¡± Yuying said. ¡°That¡¯s great, but I¡ª¡±

    ¡°You want to be a witch, don¡¯t you?¡± Felun coaxed. ¡°Glister¡¯s full of witches.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t even get to take a peek at the palace?¡± she complained.

    ¡°There are all kinds of spires and things in Glister,¡± Felun said. Not that he¡¯d been able to see much of it, having been confined to the plaster tunnels of Iolite¡¯s hideout, but whatever. ¡°And you can always ask Auntie Shirin about what it was like here.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s not the same,¡± she grumbled quietly. ¡°But fine. How are we getting off the ship? Because I¡¯m pretty sure all of father¡¯s guards would recognise me. You really think your runes are strong enough?¡±

    ¡°Know any court illusionists here?¡± he asked out of morbid interest.

    ¡°Ugh, I don¡¯t know. Fuyue, maybe? I saw him around when we were about to set off, but I don¡¯t know if he came with.¡±

    ¡°Right,¡± he said slowly. ¡°Okay. Silverwater, do you think we could¡­borrow your veilment?¡±

    ¡°Really?¡± Silverwater said. He looked up from his sketchbook, glancing between him and Yuying. ¡°Oh, I see. Certainly. I was going to leave for the Hive in a few hours and I won¡¯t need it after that. But in exchange, could I take Sungrazer Yuying¡¯s inattention runes?¡±

    ¡°Why¡¯s that?¡± Yuying asked.

    ¡°I would rather not be shot out of the air by patrolling thaumaturges. The unlikely possibilities are unfortunately, still possibilities.¡±

    ¡°That sounds horrible,¡± Yuying exclaimed. ¡°Sure, okay, yeah¡ªtake them!¡±

    ¡°Hold still,¡± Felun said as he peeled the runes off Yuying¡¯s forehead. It was the work of a few moments to stick the runes to Silverwater¡¯s carapace. He hesitated when he saw a few of them flickering, professional pride¡ªif it could still be called pride¡ªwarring with simmering resentment. ¡°Give me a moment,¡± he added begrudgingly. ¡°I can scribe out some fresh ones on top.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t trouble yourself.¡±

    He managed a laugh as he grabbed for his runequill. ¡°Iolite¡¯ll kill me if a Magician gets you.¡±

    ¡°Who¡¯s Iolite?¡± Yuying chimed in.

    ¡°Just an acquaintance,¡± Felun said, quickly moving on to safer topics. ¡°I would¡¯ve refreshed these for you tonight anyway, Yuying.¡±

    Silverwater¡¯s spines twitched with amusement. ¡°In that case, I won¡¯t refuse. But no need to worry over Iolite¡¯s wrath. Saiph is the better-favoured heir.¡±

    Felun paused in his scribing. ¡°Sorry, come again? Iolite¡¯s your mother?¡± The thought, when he considered it, seemed disturbingly plausible.

    Silverwater tapped his tail against the side of a crate. ¡°Hardly in the same way humans mean ¡®mother¡¯. A better word would be¡­hmm. Custodian, I believe. Or caretaker. We¡¯re made, after all. Not born. And in our case, we were found.¡±

    ¡°You mean you don¡¯t have a family?¡± Yuying asked.

    ¡°I have a Hive now,¡± Silverwater said simply. ¡°That¡¯s much the same thing, isn¡¯t it? Though I would say my Hive treats me a great deal better than this so-hallowed ¡®family¡¯ of yours.¡±

    Felun refrained from pointing out that Iolite had previously dragged them all into perilous close-quarters combat and cast a wary glance at Yuying instead. ¡°I hope you haven¡¯t been bothering Lieutenant Silverwater.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t worry,¡± Yuying said coolly. ¡°I haven¡¯t told him anything about you.¡±

    Felun finished his runewriting and took a step back. He looked it over with a critical eye; not his best work, but good enough.

    ¡°Are we going now?¡± Yuying asked as Silverwater handed him the veilment.

    ¡°No,¡± Felun said quickly. ¡°It¡¯s too late right now. Auntie and Uncle are probably sleeping. We¡¯ll wait until tomorrow evening. Mother and father will be busy reading after dinner.¡± Or talking, or plotting, or waging war in all but name¡ªwhatever the hell it was they¡¯d come here to do.

    ¡°I won¡¯t have anyone to talk to once Silver leaves,¡± Yuying grumbled. ¡°You want me to sit around and sketch for twelve hours?¡±

    Silverwater gave a very dry, very faerie-sounding chuckle. ¡°Perhaps you should have thought of that before stowing away, Sungrazer Yuying. Adventure is never as splendid as the elder¡¯s tales make it out to be.¡± He stood, stretching his arms and flaring his wings. ¡°I should fly now, while the runes are fresh. Could you show me to the deck, Sungrazer Felun?¡±

    ¡°We¡¯ve got to be careful,¡± he warned, stowing the veilment into his satchel. ¡°If someone sees you leaving and sees your human-disguise walking around tomorrow¡ª¡±

    ¡°Ah, of course.¡± Silverwater nodded thoughtfully and Felun was struck by how amicable he was being about this, after how their last conversation had gone. Was it possible that the power of friendliness forged over architectural drawings transcended species? What had Yuying told him?

    ¡°You could ask Yichen to make a distraction,¡± Yuying suggested. ¡°He could wait until you¡¯re ready, then yell out he saw something suspicious. One of those Magicians poking around the bow, or the stern, or whichever¡¯s opposite to where you need to go.¡±

    Yichen wouldn¡¯t do that unquestioningly, Felun almost pointed out. Not for me, anyway. But he nodded. ¡°Alright. I¡¯ll talk to him. But let me write some new inattention runes on you first. You can wear the veilment later¡ªit wears out the longer you use it, right?¡± he turned to Silverwater for a confirming nod.

    ¡°A combination of duration and each use, yes. There¡¯s about a day or five changes left in it.¡±

    ¡°Aren¡¯t you tired?¡± Yuying asked. ¡°You don¡¯t have to use so much magic for me if¡ª¡±

    ¡°It¡¯d be a real mess if they found you now,¡± Felun interrupted, and for once she didn¡¯t disagree.

    He wasn¡¯t close to bloody-nosed by the time he was finished, but a familiar headache was making itself known. He headed for Ishaan¡¯s room and knocked, hoping he was still awake.

    Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.

    ¡°Hello?¡± Ishaan said, blinking blearily as he cracked the door open. ¡°Oh. Felun. How¡¯d it go?¡±

    He kept his voice low. ¡°I need you to go and tell one of the guards that you just saw a blue-robed guy messing around near the base of the ship. The front part¡ªthere¡¯s a good view from the main cabin. Say you went to get some fruit from the table or something.¡±

    ¡°Huh? Why can¡¯t you¡ªoh, I see. Can I ask why?¡±

    ¡°I need to do something that¡¯ll help you sneak out to a woodwright¡¯s tomorrow. Say he wore a mask¡ªthey wear bird masks¡ªif they ask what he looked like. Make something up about magic. The weirder-sounding, the better.¡±

    ¡°Alright. I¡¯ll give you a minute?¡±

    ¡°Make it two.¡±

    Ishaan nodded and retreated into his room. Felun heard him start humming a ballad to keep time, just like back in Ironport. He swallowed the lump in his throat.

    The unlit interior of the ship was putting him in a strange mood, evoking memories of eerie stone chambers and cobwebbed corridors. He rushed back down to the hold and lingered by the outer door, ear pressed to the wood for the first hint of a guard¡¯s footsteps.

    Silverwater walked up to join him. ¡°You¡¯ve arranged it?¡±

    Felun nodded distractedly, pressing a finger to his lips.

    ¡°Good. One last thing¡ª¡±

    ¡°Shhh.¡±

    Silverwater glared at him, as best as a faery could glare. There was a lot of spine-twitching involved.

    ¡°Listen,¡± Silverwater whispered, leaning close. ¡°Your sister made me promise not to tell you. She said your mother and father broke these on her right hand while you were away.¡± He held up a hand with the last two fingers extended. ¡°Had the apothecary set it, but she couldn¡¯t draw for two moons. This was among other incidents.¡±

    Felun stared at the jointed carapace of Silverwater¡¯s hand before flicking his gaze up to meet his gaze. He opened his mouth, then closed it again, swallowing the rage that threatened to bubble out. ¡°Supposing I believe you,¡± he said, even as he knew with a sinking feeling that it was undoubtedly, unquestionably true, those bloody cowards¡ª ¡°Why tell me?¡±

    ¡°We¡¯re more alike than I¡¯d thought,¡± Silverwater said. ¡°And if it were me, then I would like to know.¡±

    ¡°Oh,¡± he said, remembering Saiph with smoke seeping from every joint.

    A clatter of footsteps startled him, and he strained his ears to make out barked orders.

    Silverwater sniffed the air. ¡°Six of them,¡± he said.

    ¡°There are eight on night patrol.¡± Meant to be auspicious, or something. Right now, it was just annoying.

    ¡°Give it another moment.¡± Silverwater sniffed the air once more. ¡°I am largely certain that the last two are halfway-indoors. Not far, but not near either. Would they be guarding the onboarding entrance, the one bridged against the dock?¡±

    ¡°Yeah. Makes sense. You saw the stairs on your way in? Just keep going up.¡±

    They slipped out of the hold and crept upstairs, emerging at the stern of the ship. The moon was full and the sky bloated with stars, like salt spilled over a dark cloth. A low, hot wind blew in from the south, stirring grains of sand across the deck.

    ¡°I¡¯ll be returning to fetch you soon,¡± Silverwater warned. ¡°Very soon. No doubt Zekore is struggling. Take care of your sister.¡±

    ¡°Thanks,¡± Felun muttered. ¡°For letting me know. And I am. I mean¡ªI will. I try.¡±

    Silverwater blinked, lingering at the railing. His fingers curled over its top. ¡°You know, there were three of us once. I used to be in the middle, before Sojourner¡­¡± He trailed off. ¡°Be safe yourself, Sungrazer Haoyu. We do what we can.¡±

    Then he vaulted over the railing and swooped skywards. Felun watched him go. In moments, he was nothing more than another glinting speck overhead.

    ===

    Felun almost tripped over Ishaan on his way back to his room.

    ¡°What are you lurking here for?¡± he hissed, stilling the reflexive rush of magic to his fist. ¡°I almost punched you.¡±

    ¡°Did it work?¡± Ishaan whispered. ¡°I sold it pretty good, if I say so myself.¡±

    He sighed. ¡°Yeah, they got out of the way and I¡¯ve got a disguise for you. We should leave after breakfast.¡±

    ¡°And after that?¡±

    Felun hesitated. ¡°Like I said, we might have to wait until my parents sail back. Or get you onto some other ship, somehow. Glister¡¯s the closest big city and you¡¯ll be able to buy passage to a lot of places from there.¡±

    ¡°Shouldn¡¯t you be sleeping?¡± Ishaan asked, eyeing the runebook in his hand.

    ¡°Slept in late already. And I need to practice, don¡¯t I? If we¡¯re getting you out of here, you¡¯ll need to move unseen. I don¡¯t know if the disguise¡¯ll last.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t overdo it.¡±

    Felun thought back to Ironport. ¡°I won¡¯t.¡± He shut the door behind him and lit a lantern. Then he reached for the dead Breaker¡¯s book.

    Flipping through to her notes on inattention and illusion-adjacent scripts yielded some results. She¡¯d written suggestions in flowing shorthand: experimental improvements to the standardised symbols, accompanied by marginal notes exclaiming their effectiveness and sometimes, lack thereof. He set about transcribing the promising designs, and it took several tries before the script shone with workable magic. Getting the stroke order and proportions correct was a dull, steady grind of testing and repetition¡ªone that he was used to by now.

    It wasn¡¯t pleasant or glamorous, like he¡¯d thought Breaking or dungeonrunning would be. It made his head hurt. He thought, fleetingly, of running away. Maybe this time he could do the dungeonrunner thing for one or two years, tops¡ªscrimping and saving enough to live out the rest of his days in a village somewhere up north. It was a wistful, stupid dream. He could never survive it. He bent his head back over his work.

    The hours passed in a haze. He wasn¡¯t sure how late it was by the time he was satisfied with his improvements, but he hesitated before going to bed. The pages of the dead Breaker¡¯s journal rustled enticingly beneath his hands, filled with scavenged knowledge. Hadn¡¯t Suria said something about invisible ink?

    There¡¯d been a handful of unlabelled vials in the hidden compartment of the dead Breaker¡¯s chest, and he hadn¡¯t felt willing to risk pouring mystery liquids onto the pages at the time. Now, he was better-positioned than he was back in Glister. Now, he had an exit in sight. If he wanted it, he was going to have to get better at what he did, no matter how morbid it might feel to rifle through the notes of his predecessor. And mother had been a high-ranking scholar back in the day; if there were any potions for revealing hidden inks aboard, they would be kept in the study.

    The door was locked, but the light was on¡ªjust as he¡¯d known it would be. He knocked.

    ¡°Mother?¡± he asked.

    She opened the door in lieu of a greeting. There was a stylograph in her hand, dripping with ink. ¡°What are you doing up at this hour?¡±

    ¡°I need something to reveal hidden text,¡± he said. ¡°It¡¯s for the faeries,¡± he added at her cold stare.

    ¡°Have you got the sample?¡±

    He passed her the book.

    ¡°Alright. Come in. Close the door quietly, and don¡¯t touch anything important.¡±

    The desk was bathed in a modest puddle of light cast by a single rune-lamp, and the room seemed smaller in the half-dark. Mother¡¯s silhouette merged with the shadows as she rummaged through a warded drawer against the far wall. He glanced around idly, gaze settling on a familiar object in a display cabinet by the door. Its outer hulls were obviously in pieces, though he knew the fissures ran deep¡ªmaybe even right through the core.

    Why had they brought it along? Mother and father only liked perfect things, and the other pieces of art in the cabinet were undamaged as far as he could tell. Was it something to barter away?

    The puzzle ball wasn¡¯t a child¡¯s toy, though the look of it had been what interested him as a kid. Big enough to hold with both hands, it had sat in its own locked case back in Shenzhou. It had been expensive, hand-carved by a master, one of the prizes of his father¡¯s collection. Sinuous, wingless dragons romped over its outermost surface, boasting bulging eyes, whorled whiskers, and expressive, lolling tongues. Twenty-four layers of creamy openwork ivory nested within, each engulfing the next, all exquisitely patterned and unbearably delicate.

    Over the years, he¡¯d been struck by the urge to create it more than to own it: to craft something beautiful and so much worthier than he was. Devil¡¯s work, they called it, because they were idiots who suspected it was impossible for something so exquisite to have sprung from clean, mortal hands.

    He decided that in order to make a puzzle, one needed to know its pieces, how to untangle and invert. He¡¯d started on locks; first with pins in tumblers¡ªhe¡¯d borrowed Yuying¡¯s hairpins for that¡ªand next with spellwork, creating and dismantling simple wards. He¡¯d found the dismantling easier, though not safer¡ªbut then, he¡¯d been a child. What did children care about safety? All that mattered was that there was no pain. At least, not initially. In time, he learned the differences between invisible enchantments and modern runework, shining symbols for show. His studies inched closer to the fabled art of Breaking, a pursuit that incurred father¡¯s disapproval.

    ¡°What kind of silly rubbish is this?¡± father had asked one day. ¡°What are you? A respectable member of court¡ªor a cheap crook?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s not for that,¡± he¡¯d tried to say.

    ¡°Watch your tongue, Haoyu. It doesn¡¯t matter what you intend. People will talk if you go waving that kind of disreputable magic around. What will they think about me, eh? And about your poor mother? They¡¯ll think we haven¡¯t raised you properly, haven¡¯t taught you the most basic of morals. You will stop this nonsense at once.¡±

    There¡¯d been no use arguing. So he¡¯d bolstered their view of him with more respectable analysis of ancient runework while he tinkered away in his spare time. And every now and again, he¡¯d slip into the office to stare at the puzzle ball, and to wonder at the accolades its creator must have received.

    Look, but don¡¯t touch. It didn¡¯t need to be said. Felun hadn¡¯t been the one to break it. He¡¯d loved it too much for that. But who would believe sneaky, lock-picking Haoyu over auspicious Thirdson Guofan? Really, it hadn¡¯t been huge in the grand scheme of things. But it had been the last of many instances, stacked high over years and years. It had been enough.

    Despite himself, his jaw clenched at the memory.

    If they wanted to believe all he was good at was breaking things, then let them. He¡¯d studied diligently in the aftermath, seething with resentment. The shouting matches built up, the words duty and responsibility flung like knives. He¡¯d done his research, his preparation. He¡¯d lied and stolen, packed a bottomless satchel and left. They would always see it as an admission of guilt, of hedonism and cowardice. Perhaps they hadn¡¯t been completely wrong.

    ¡°This should work,¡± mother said, yanking him from his thoughts. She held out a vial of greenish liquid, shining like oil in the low light. ¡°One drop to every cup of water, and brush it over the page. Lightly will do. Be sparing. Let it start to dry before moving on to the overleaf, unless you want to rip the paper.¡±

    ¡°Thank you,¡± he said meekly. He recognised the solution; it was one of the expensive ones.

    He stopped by the galley for a pitcher of water on the way to his room. There were brushes tucked away in his bottomless bag, and he ended up having to upend a whole book¡¯s worth of spell-paper to get to them.

    He¡¯d meant to start with the blank pages first: the ones near the end of the book. But upon opening the cover, the solution dripped from his brush and a drop bloomed over the first page. He frowned as silvery letters shimmered into existence over the growing blot, forming a word tucked into the space between one line and the next.

    stop, it read.

    He¡¯d intended on painting the back pages, going to sleep, and reading them in the morning. He resisted the urge for a moment¡ªhe wasn¡¯t a perfectionist like Yichen was¡ªbut the word shimmered enticingly. Stop what? Sighing, he let his curiousity get the better of him. Page by page, he painted by rune-light until morning came. They were journal entries, mostly¡ªhe read as he waited for each one to dry.

    If you¡¯re reading this, stop now, said the first entry. And if you¡¯re a faery reading this, I hope you drop dead. It¡¯s so noisy here, all the time. I wish you fuckers would soundproof the room. I¡¯m thinking about sunlight again. I miss my family.

    The following entries rambled on about the tasks she did in service of Iolite, otherwise referred to as the pretentious one. They detailed aspects of the former Breaker¡¯s daily life: the food, the isolation, the difficulty of sleep, with various tirades interspersed throughout. On one page, she¡¯d scrawled I HATE THIS I HATE THIS I HATE THIS over and over until the phrase silvered the entire page. Somewhere in the middle was an entry that said: have to wear gloves all the time now, not just when sleeping. Blister ointment feels less effective. Wounds up to the shoulders. So itchy. Yesterday¡¯s door had me coughing blood.

    And later, another line: the blisters have moved, I swear it; I dream they¡¯re making a line straight for my heart.

    And, it¡¯s so dull here. Waiting all the time. Last night I dreamed of little bubbles coating my lungs, the weals leaching down to my bones. The only person who¡¯ll talk to me is the pretentious one and Themis, and Themis is busy all of the time. She¡¯s been more snappish and almost unpredictable lately. I think she¡¯s in pain as well. All this hissing is hurting my ears. Do they talk about me? Do they talk about what I do? Some of them act like they¡¯re scared of me. Good. Let them know what it¡¯s like.

    And, if you¡¯re not me and you¡¯ve read this far, then I¡¯m probably dead. Or you picked a page at random and got lucky, and I¡¯ll be back soon to kick your ass. Or¡ªlet¡¯s be optimistic here¡ªI¡¯ve donated this book to a museum to be preserved as a historical artefact after being venerated for my deeds?

    And, they say we go mad because of what we see. Maybe it¡¯s true? Or maybe I¡¯m not seeing <u>enough</u>?

    And, my skin hasn¡¯t been mine for a long time. I want to peel it off.

    Eventually, he came to the last third of the book: the completely blank pages. When he brushed the seeing-solution over them, he revealed spells. Spells and symbols being developed, starting from the back cover. Her incomplete attempts at stronger breakages, interspersed with comments about digging through splitting channels and the route straight there and aiming for the core¡ªtime¡¯s of essence.

    When he came to the pages bridging the visible and the invisible, they detailed a set of steps¡ªa ritual¡ªusing powdered iron and cold moonlight.

    Train Breaker-sight for real, she¡¯d written. And below it, inked hard and underlined twice: <u>how to kill faeries</u>. And in smaller print: bonus ability to spy on ¡®invisible¡¯ magics ¡ª> illusionists! + those creepy Songian Healers???

    On the final page, she¡¯d written: partially worked, but only because I didn¡¯t have enough damn light. Have to go shopping again. Or ask the faeries. Scour their Hival Library? Maybe not. It¡¯s starting to fall apart, and they all think it¡¯s my job to fix it. Poor Themis.

    The very last lines were scrawled feverishly: I see it now. I see it all. It¡¯s like seeing every keystone. Worked so hard on this stupid thing the blisters are crawling up my face. Blinking hurts. Have to get out before it has me scratching my eyelids off. I¡¯m scared, actually. Fucking terrified. There are so many of them. But I have to try.

    It can¡¯t end like this.

    Felun rubbed his eyes, blinking wearily as the sunrise touched his desk. His jaw clicked as he stifled a yawn. He¡¯d missed the refreshment potions Iolite handed out like candy, but suddenly the idea nauseated him. Magic brewed by the hands of a murderer. He shook his head to clear it. What was he thinking? He¡¯d known she was one. Or at least, he¡¯d been fairly sure. He just hadn¡¯t thought about it, beyond the knowledge that people like Saiphenora and Silverwater cleared the way, on occasion. They removed obstacles.

    No one had told him how the former Breaker had died. Likely because they didn¡¯t want him getting ideas. This was a selfish fear, he knew; he felt that twinge in his chest because she was more like him than some random desert kingdom courtiers. He read over the last page again, stomach clenching into a dry knot.

    They¡¯d wanted her to fix the Archive? He knew now that she¡¯d been pushed to limits, been doomed to fail. Iolite had made that very clear, without even meaning to.

    And now he was the replacement, sent to salvage what was left.

 5.5 - No Rest for the Wicked

    Felun

    ¡°Here,¡± he said, holding out the veilment. ¡°Put it on and leave any talking to me.¡±

    ¡°What the hell is this?¡± Ishaan asked. He draped the illusion-working over his shoulders, forming a cape of shimmering threads. It billowed as if tethered to its own miniature breeze. ¡°Is it supposed to make me invisible? I don¡¯t feel very invisible.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯ve got to pull it over your face too. And no, it makes you look like a different person.¡± Felun hesitated awkwardly. ¡°It¡¯s only a visual trick. You should probably wear some shoes to muffle your steps.¡±

    ¡°Okay.¡± Ishaan slipped on a pair of sandals before pulling the rippling weave over his head. The shimmer winked out as he morphed into someone else entirely. ¡°Whoa,¡± he said, taking an unsteady step. ¡°Feels strange.¡±

    ¡°Yeah, probably.¡± Felun tried not to feel too disturbed by his association of the new face with ¡®human-Silverwater¡¯. ¡°He¡¯s taller than you, so it¡¯ll take some time to adjust. Mind how you swing your arms.¡±

    ¡°Oh, I meant¡­¡± Ishaan held up his seemingly unharmed hand and trailed off as he turned to close the door. ¡°Never mind. Who¡¯s ¡®he¡¯?¡±

    Felun shook his head and knelt by the keyhole. ¡°Just an associate. Do you have anything I could use as a pick?¡±

    Ishaan blinked. ¡°I thought you could¡ªyou know, with your magic?¡±

    ¡°Yes, but I don¡¯t know how closely the pilots are monitoring the ship. Or father, for that matter.¡± He was pretty sure he could weave his way through the delicate triggers and failsafes, but he felt a lurch of unease at the thought of being caught now. Better to be as traceless as possible, go the old-fashioned way. ¡°Check the drawers?¡±

    It was fortunate his parents had been too preoccupied to have fully cleaned out Yuying¡¯s room before shoving Ishaan inside. There were plenty of hairpins of different shapes and sizes left in the dresser table. Concentrating, he fed a pair of the finer ones into the keyhole. It¡¯d been a long time since he¡¯d had to physically pick a lock, much less unpick one. His mind had forgotten, but his hands hadn¡¯t. It took a little longer than it used to, but the tumblers clicked shut.

    ¡°Come on,¡± he said decisively. ¡°Let¡¯s go. We¡¯ll try to be back by noon.¡±

    Ishaan-wearing-human-Silverwater¡¯s-face nodded enthusiastically. ¡°That sounds good¡ªbut really, get that worried look off your face. They only check on me after dinner and even then it¡¯s not every day. They don¡¯t give a damn as long as I¡¯m not climbing out the windows. Which I can¡¯t, by the way; they don¡¯t open. I checked.¡±

    ¡°Good thing you¡¯re only walking out the front door then,¡± Felun said unthinkingly¡ªa stupid joke, just like the Ironport days. For a moment, he thought Ishaan might scowl disbelievingly, might be disgusted he could act like nothing had changed, like the very legs he walked on weren¡¯t being used to keep him hostage.

    But Ishaan, sporting illusory-flesh-legs for the time being, only chuckled. ¡°Lead the way.¡±

    He did. The guards at the door only cast a brief glance at Ishaan¡¯s disguise before one of them turned to address Felun.

    ¡°Would you like an escort, Firstson Zhao? The last shift spotted some thaumaturges lurking places they shouldn¡¯t be.¡±

    He shook his head, trying to channel father¡¯s self-assured authority. ¡°No, no need.¡±

    ¡°Alright. Take care out there.¡±

    And that was that. He was faintly stunned that it was so easy. They took the path leading straight to the artisan¡¯s district, bypassing most of the busier markets. Ishaan turned and stared openly at the clay-brick houses and streetside stalls, layered with patterned ribbons.

    ¡°Hey Felun,¡± he said as they rounded the corner to the woodwright¡¯s shop. ¡°What should I be saying? Should we agree on some story¡ªyou know, about how this happened?¡±

    Felun cleared his throat uncomfortably. ¡°Well, I thought the truth would be¡­common enough. If he asks.¡±

    ¡°Yeah, I guess you¡¯re right. Too much scarring to pretend I was born like this.¡± He brightened. ¡°Hey, I get to pick a fake name, right? How about ¡®Harsha¡¯? Do I look like a Harsha? I¡¯ve got a cousin on each side named Harsha, so family resemblance can¡¯t be wrong, right?¡±

    ¡°That sounds fine.¡±

    ¡°Anything else?¡±

    Felun hesitated. ¡°Haven¡¯t thought this far ahead, sorry. You¡¯ll have to pretend we¡¯re friends, though.¡±

    Ishaan gave him a funny look. ¡°We are friends.¡±

    ¡°Right,¡± Felun said, after a pause too long. He steered Ishaan into an alley between two shopfronts, not wholly trusting his inattention runes to stave off the notice of so many passers-by. ¡°You should probably take off the veilment now. Don¡¯t want to explain how I got it. Think I¡¯ve got enough silver to buy his silence for everything else, at least. Just don¡¯t say you¡¯re being kept prisoner or anything. Try to be as uninteresting as possible.¡±

    ¡°Yeah, obviously.¡± Ishaan pulled the veilment off and handed it to him. ¡°I¡¯ll copy Cousin One¡¯s preoccupation with the weather, and Cousin Two¡¯s shaking the hand of everyone he meets. Anything else I should know?¡± His silver hand gleamed in the sunlight, almost blinding to the eye. ¡°I should probably take these off too, right? Very suspicious, going for a downgrade. You¡¯ll have to help prop me up or something, but they gotta have chairs inside.¡±

    Felun winced inwardly. They really had considered everything, hadn¡¯t they? Even if Ishaan had figured out how to calibrate and recharge the runestones himself, the flashy silver coating would point him out to every scumbag thief or bandit on the road looking for an easy target. He hoped against hope that this slapdash solution of his would work¡ªthe possibility was at least a hell of a lot better than he¡¯d hoped for.

    ¡°If you¡¯re fine with that. I can put them in my bag until we¡¯re done.¡±

    ¡°Yeah. Do you have a towel in that thing?¡± Ishaan grimaced. ¡°Need to dry off.¡±

    ¡°I think so.¡± After some digging, he found that he did. ¡°Here. You want any juice?¡±

    ¡°That sour stuff you like so much? No thank you.¡±

    Ishaan unfastened his hand and dropped it into his satchel before sitting down to undo each leg. Felun looked away, chest heavy with guilt. He was here to fix things, he reminded himself. Here to help Ishaan and here to help himself by extension. Once he was no longer beholden to his family, he¡¯d be free of the faeries, and then¡­

    He didn¡¯t know what, after that. But it would be undoubtedly better than what he was doing now.

    Ishaan was right; there was noticeable scarring. Felun avoided looking too closely as he tried to help him to the shopfront. ¡°Sorry, I don¡¯t¡­I¡¯ve got gliding runes, but I think you have to jump for them to work properly.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s fine,¡± Ishaan said, waving him off. ¡°I can use my arms.¡±

    It looked uncomfortable, and he wished he had one those clockwork chairs at hand, like he¡¯d seen some people use back in Ironport. How was he going to explain getting Ishaan all the way here from the skydocks? Should he say that he carried him with a float rune? Or would that be insulting?

    ¡°You¡¯ll have to pretend you¡¯ve learned some kind of levitating spell,¡± Ishaan joked, leaning against the doorframe. ¡°Let¡¯s hope they don¡¯t ask for a demonstration.¡±

    He couldn¡¯t think of a good reply and knocked on the door instead.

    The woodwright answered swiftly this time, his gaze darting from Felun down to Ishaan and then back again. ¡°Hello,¡± he said. ¡°Wait just a second. I¡¯ll bring a chair.¡±

    Unlike Felun, he did have a wheeled seat on hand, with padded armrests worn smooth. Ishaan introduced himself and shook the woodwright¡¯s hand with great enthusiasm.

    ¡°Good to meet you,¡± the woodwright replied cordially, extricating his hand from Ishaan¡¯s grasp. ¡°The name¡¯s Mahir, at your service. You were wanting some new legs, correct?¡± He lifted a bundle of cloth bandages onto the counter, where they sat alongside many lengths of wood and the half-finished shapes of furniture and various instruments. Yet more wood was piled up against the walls save for one, which had a handrail installed. ¡°I¡¯ll need to fit a socket. You don¡¯t have experience with prosthetics?¡± He phrased that last part delicately, but Felun could sense him glancing between them and wondering how they¡¯d made it up the hill.

    ¡°Used to, but they broke,¡± Ishaan said easily. ¡°Sir Zhao here helped me make the journey. What kind of legs do you make? We¡¯ve got erm¡­a budget, don¡¯t we?¡±

    Find this and other great novels on the author''s preferred platform. Support original creators!

    Mahir¡¯s brow furrowed as Felun took out eleven ingots and stacked them onto his countertop. ¡°I see.¡± The woodwright took one in his hand and hefted its weight. Then he plucked a jeweler¡¯s glass from beneath the countertop and examined each ingot through its runed lens. ¡°Yes, this should be more than sufficient. I notice you might be wanting a hand, too?¡±

    ¡°No,¡± Ishaan said. ¡°I just need to able to walk.¡±

    Felun cleared his throat as he slid the last ingot over the counter. ¡°This is a discretionary purchase, by the way. No need to go around speaking the Sungrazer name or anything like that. In the unlikely event any of my kin come to this shop, I¡¯d prefer it to be said that we were never here. These can be melted down quite easily and recast, you understand?¡±

    Mahir nodded sombrely. ¡°I see. But I can¡¯t control what my fellow merchants might say, if they saw you about the place. Market wanderers, either.¡±

    Felun shook his head. ¡°It¡¯s for what you see, inside your walls.¡±

    Mahir unslung the measuring tape from around his shoulders. ¡°You can consider my lips sealed. Now, shall we?¡±

    Felun watched on as Mahir wrapped Ishaan¡¯s legs in cloths and tubes of soft, flexible material made from what he claimed was the sap of enormous, thorned desert dandelions out in the Killing Fields. Then he mixed up a plaster-like solution, chatting amiably with the air of one practised at it. Ishaan answered and chuckled at all the appropriate places and, true to his word, made constant remarks about the weather as the casts dried.

    ¡°You¡¯ve truly come to the right place,¡± Mahir said as he fetched two large blocks of wood from his countertop. ¡°Some other woodcrafters, they cheap out on materials or mix together all kinds of scraps, soft with hard to save cost. Then they paint over the surface to hide it. But look¡ªnot me. This is five-year-dried salt oak, in whole pieces.¡± He rapped his knuckles against its surface, the corners of his eyes creasing as he smiled. ¡°Whatever I shape, it won¡¯t split in a few weeks of use. Here, watch.¡±

    He took one of the blocks hummed under his breath. It began to pull under his hands, hollowing into a thin, draped sheet around the plaster mould. A soft, mahogany light emanated from his fingertips as he sculpted, murmuring about grain direction and fit and comfort. When he was done with the socket, he sculpted the leg and foot and encouraged Ishaan to try it on while he excused himself to fetch a glass of chilled tea. Then followed the next socket and leg; this one needed to be longer than the other, with an oiled wooden hinge incorporated to replace the knee. After that came a series of finer adjustments where he paused to dab a handkerchief to his nose at various intervals. The cloth came away spotted with blood.

    ¡°Apologies, gentlemen,¡± he said. ¡°I usually work on single limbs.¡±

    ¡°Take your time,¡± Ishaan said easily. ¡°Shaping¡¯s tough on everyone.¡±

    ¡°Nonsense,¡± Mahir said, though he took a generous sip of tea. ¡°It¡¯s a pleasure to be of help. My mother lost her feet to a disease when I was young, you know. And later, I had an accident of my own.¡± He gestured to his wooden leg. ¡°There are so few places willing to fashion proper prostheses, especially when the palace folk have their special mages. So this has become my little specialty. I¡¯ll be alright in a minute. Just another modification to better distribute the pressure, and we can have you try standing up along the railing.¡±

    ¡°Special mages?¡± Felun asked casually. ¡°The city folk do carry on about fleshcrafters.¡±

    Mahir gave him a mild, amiable smile. ¡°Ah, pardon. I can¡¯t be sure.¡±

    ¡°I see. Magician¡¯s rules?¡±

    Mahir cleared his throat, kneeling back down to prod at his woodwork. ¡°Much as you request discretion from me, Sir Zhao, I must request discretion from you. It¡¯s nothing personal, you understand. I have my family to think of.¡±

    ¡°Right. Apologies.¡± He backed off and watched as Mahir tucked more cloth liners into the leg sockets and moulded the wood to accommodate them. Then he used a tin of clear gloss and sparks of magic to complete the work, polishing each surface smooth.

    Soon, Ishaan was standing on his new legs and cautiously wobbling across the workshop in them. ¡°Phew, these are nice.¡±

    ¡°You broke your old prostheses rather recently, correct?¡± Mahir remarked. ¡°Then the muscle adaptation won¡¯t be so bad. But be careful not to push too far in the first few weeks. Here¡¯s some oil for the hinge, and replacement liners for when this one wears out. Come back at once if there are pressure problems or if the fit changes.¡±

    ¡°Thanks,¡± Ishaan said, flashing a grin. ¡°Love ¡®em. They¡¯re leagues better than¡ªerm, well, I just can¡¯t wait to show off to the folks back home.¡±

    They exchanged parting words and last handshakes; Felun contributed, though he was sure his practised response rang far more hollow than Ishaan¡¯s.

    ¡°What do you want for lunch?¡± he asked, once they were back outside with Ishaan¡¯s veilment safely donned. He¡¯d swapped the wooden legs back for the silver ones, too, which lightened the load on Felun¡¯s shoulder.

    ¡°Lunch?¡± Ishaan glanced at the position of the sun. ¡°Ah, damn¡ªdid we miss it? I didn¡¯t realise he¡¯d make the legs all in one go.¡±

    ¡°Me neither.¡± He¡¯d assumed Mahir would take some measurements, name a price, and tell him to come pick them up at a later date. ¡°But you must be hungry.¡±

    ¡°We can eat back at the ship.¡±

    ¡°Do you want to be stuck back in the ship so soon? I don¡¯t know how many more uses this disguise will last.¡± He considered mentioning Yuying¡¯s predicament, then kept his mouth shut. Better not to complicate things.

    Ishaan hesitated. ¡°Didn¡¯t want to get you in trouble. Won¡¯t they notice you¡¯re missing?¡±

    ¡°Mother doesn¡¯t have any more meetings until this evening, at least. They don¡¯t care what I do otherwise.¡±

    ¡°Okay.¡± He nodded. ¡°Lunch would be good.¡±

    ¡°You go ahead and choose.¡± He hoped it didn¡¯t sound too much like pity.

    They bought platefuls of rice and spiced lamb at an establishment overlooking the distant mountain river, with cupfuls of a strange, perfumed milk pudding for dessert. A fully-grown ironwood provided shade from the summer sun. It was the most relaxing mealtime he¡¯d had in a while.

    ¡°So¡­you think you¡¯ll be able to walk on them?¡± Felun asked once they were finished eating.

    Ishaan leaned back from his cleared plate, clasping his arms behind his head. A warm breeze rustled the dappled shadows over his shoulders. ¡°Walk, yeah. But no running.¡±

    ¡°No running? That¡¯ll make things harder. Not even jogging? I could¡­¡± He hesitated. ¡°I should probably leave the wooden legs with you to practice with, then. If you¡¯re sure you can keep them hidden.¡±

    ¡°It doesn¡¯t work like that. Not even this fancy Cathayan silver¡¯ll mimic proper ankles.¡± There were leftover ice cubes in their drinks; Ishaan picked up his glass and tipped them out onto his palm. They melted together, forming the shape of a cat.

    Felun digested that piece of information, faintly troubled. Nothing¡¯s the same, Ishaan had said. He hadn¡¯t paused to think how. ¡°Is there¡¯s nothing else that we could¡ª¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t think so,¡± he said, placing the miniature cat onto his empty plate. It sat down and began licking its paw in lifelike approximation. ¡°Nice of you to help out. But none of your folk know I¡¯m a mage. I¡¯ve got a back-up plan.¡±

    Is it a good back-up plan? Felun wanted to ask, thinking of the dead Breaker¡¯s journal. He refrained from voicing that specific thought.

    ¡°How mobile is it?¡± he asked instead. He could think of a few ways Ishaan¡¯s specialty could be twisted to help him that way, but they all seemed impractical at best. Difficult to hide, too.

    Ishaan gave an uncertain smile. ¡°Decently. But the less you know, the better. You catch my meaning?¡±

    He gave a jerky nod. The less he knew, the less opportunity there would be for betrayal and sabotage. Not that it was in his interest to do so, but decent dungeonrunners didn¡¯t take unnecessary risks. And if this had turned out to be a worthy detour in the end, they wouldn¡¯t need a back-up plan. The little ice cat lay down and began to melt as Ishaan loosed his hold on the magic.

    ¡°I¡¯m going to get some extra supplies,¡± Felun said as they left the restaurant. ¡°Do you need anything else for that back-up of yours?¡±

    Ishaan hesitated. ¡°Couldn¡¯t hurt. But are you sure you¡¯ve got enough money?¡±

    Felun fished around inside his satchel and withdrew a full pouch. ¡°Here. That should equal forty silvers, give or take. My aunt said most of them take Glisterian coin, so just ask first. Should we meet back at that square down there?¡± He nodded down at it, with its skyfish statue and colourful bunting.

    Ishaan looked dumbfounded as he took the purse. ¡°You trust me to come back?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ve already taken you all the way out here, haven¡¯t I? It wouldn¡¯t be a great idea to run off in such a small kingdom¡ªthat disguise¡¯ll wear off and I¡¯d really like it back before it does, by the way¡ªbut you always did plan for the most likely exit strategy. Also,¡± he added, ¡°The less I know, the better. Right?¡±

    ¡°Alright. See you back here. I¡¯ll try not to take too long.¡±

    ¡°See you,¡± Felun acknowledged. He¡¯d passed a promising shop on the way up, and he¡¯d kept it in mind.

    The proprietor was an elderly woman with a shorn head and workworn hands. She chattered without pause about her brave, strong sky-trawling daughters as she showed him the mooncatch nets, patting the strings down to demonstrate their durability.

    ¡°And if you¡¯re looking to harvest larger quantities, I can give you a deal for this one here.¡± She beamed. ¡°My eldest can attest to its effectiveness.¡±

    ¡°The small size will be plenty. And the distilling kit, please.¡±

    ¡°Wonderful! I¡¯ll pack them in bags for you now. Would you like to peruse the ordinary nets?¡± She waggled a bushy eyebrow. ¡°Don¡¯t go chasing our skyfish without a writ if you fancy keeping your hands, but these will work on water-fish just as well.¡±

    ¡°Just the mooncatch ones, thank you.¡±

    He stowed the items in his satchel and picked up a tin each of iron powder and fabric dye on his way back to the market square. Ishaan returned some minutes later, carrying two unmarked sacks.

    ¡°It¡¯s nice to¡¯ve been outside,¡± Ishaan said as they made their way back down to the skydocks. ¡°The air, you know?¡±

    ¡°Yeah,¡± Felun said, thinking of the labyrinthine safehouse and the buzzing Hive. ¡°The sunlight, too.¡±

    Ishaan gave him a suspicious, sidelong glance. ¡°You¡¯ve been doing dungeon dives? No, that can¡¯t be right. This place is as barren as anything. What is it, really?¡±

    He shrugged. ¡°It¡¯s complicated. You don¡¯t need to know the details.¡±

    ¡°Uh huh. So why¡¯s there a whole fleet of Cathayan ships here? Why are you here, right now?¡±

    ¡°Because my family is. Like I said, I¡¯m on a holiday.¡±

    ¡°Doesn¡¯t look like much of a holiday to me. You Sungrazers have different ideas of fun or something? You seem¡­¡± He waved a hand helplessly. ¡°¡­Squirrelly. More than usual, I mean.¡±

    Felun frowned, glancing skywards. ¡°Well, it¡¯s not all holiday. I¡¯ve got personal projects to be working on.¡±

    ¡°Am I in any actual danger if you tell me the truth?¡± Ishaan asked. ¡°Or are you just avoiding it because you think it¡¯ll worry me? Because if that¡¯s the case, I¡¯m a hell of a lot more worried not knowing. Half-lit is worse than full dark, remember? Mind tricks up shapes in the corners.¡±

    Felun stalled as the skydocks came into view. ¡°It¡¯s¡­complicated.¡± This was true. He didn¡¯t know the full picture. He knew he¡¯d done enough to help kill people somewhere in the castle looming at their backs. But telling Ishaan would only sour his view of him unnecessarily. ¡°My parents are doing their usual thing,¡± he continued. ¡°They¡¯re after trade deals and resources and other stupid bullshit. So they¡¯re working with the people here, plus a bunch of other people, and I¡¯m just here to provide the building blocks. Or break them, more like. I¡¯ll probably leave after you.¡±

    ¡°Yeah? Where to?¡±

    He hesitated, thinking. He¡¯d thought that things would be¡­better, away from Cathay. ¡®Better in Fawnfell¡¯ had changed into ¡®better in Ironport¡¯ once he¡¯d been proven wrong. That second hope had held true for a while¡ªbut now he knew. There were no places that were ever truly safe. And there was no running away from himself.

    It was the same problem he¡¯d crashed headlong into, after leaving the first time: the childish hope that everything would be easier elsewhere. That the world would be kinder. Gentler. Had all that pain been good for anything? Had he changed at all?

    He shrugged. ¡°The world¡¯s a big place, isn¡¯t it? Somewhere far away.¡±

 5.6 - Mirror Places

    Parsec

    Venera wasn¡¯t here.

    Evening was falling. Foam crashed upon the shore. It had been three days. Parsec flew in loops over the place where the waves flattened and calmed, wondering for the dozenth time whether she should forcibly call Venera back. The thing stopping her was not the prospect of pain. It was the fact that Venera had insisted it be a last resort¡ªand this was no last resort. The danger had long passed. No hunters had come calling, or the guards which Jackal so feared. She would have to trust her Titania was safe and as whole as could be, and that she would return.

    ¡°Parsec?¡± Jackal called. ¡°Food¡¯s done.¡±

    She descended to where they¡¯d set camp behind the dunes, far from the closest road and well above the tide line. He¡¯d made a fire over which he¡¯d placed a pot of foraged shellfish. The first attempt at cooking them had been a mixed success. After that, she¡¯d shown him how to soak them in clean seawater first, to let them expel the sand.

    ¡°Are you sure you don¡¯t want any of this?¡± he asked, gesturing with a spoon. ¡°They¡¯re not magic, so it doesn¡¯t really matter.¡±

    ¡°No need. You have more precise nutritional requirements.¡±

    Parsec thought it best to let him have all the meat, after the way he¡¯d torn into that deer. He¡¯d said the deerflesh would last him a while, but what little dungeon catch he¡¯d brought with him had been dried or consumed before it could spoil.

    ¡°Alright, then. Here¡¯s your dish.¡±

    She¡¯d gathered a bowlful of sea lace and samphire earlier and set it to steam in the shallows of the fire. They began to eat in companionable silence.

    Her body felt at ease, and her senses bloomed; she could sense trace amounts of iodine perfusing into her body as the vessels in her gut churned to extract every spare nutrient they could. She suspected this awareness was due to the lingering effects of the Archives, now bolstered with schismatist syrup. It was more interesting than distracting, and she could ignore it if needed¡ªbut what did this mean about her strength now? She hadn¡¯t been able to notice this before, even as a General.

    Her spines twitched in agitation as she swallowed the last of her meal. There was plenty of syrup left¡ªenough to make it down to Glister and beyond, so long as she did not go seeking out fights¡ªbut Venera¡¯s absence stung like a cut left out to air.

    ¡°Will you go back to a dungeon, soon?¡± she asked. This campsite was surely temporary, even if its distance from the city seemed to comfort him.

    ¡°Can¡¯t,¡± Jackal said between mouthfuls of broth. ¡°Not near Kraedia, at least. I told you; we¡¯ve got to go somewhere else. I don¡¯t care where, as long as I can find food and we won¡¯t be recognised. And you¡¯re going to help me, right? Can we at least take a look at the map? You said you¡¯d¡ª¡±

    ¡°Patience, Jackal. I must wait a little longer.¡±

    ¡°For what?¡± he asked, not for the first time. ¡°I thought the syrup fixed your¡­everything? How much longer before you¡¯re rested up? I don¡¯t know if we can afford to wait until all of your faery rituals are working.¡±

    She didn¡¯t know how to tell him about Venera without sounding ridiculous. Part of her worried that straying too far from Kraedia would sever the tie between them, that she would leave and never find her Titania again. She was far less concerned about humans hunting them down. Jackal could fret they would behead him all he liked, but Parsec was sure she could face a dozen guards in combat by now. She¡¯d been practising.

    Practising the raising of dead things, to be precise.

    Only out of sight, of course, during her hours of ¡®meditative ritual¡¯. She didn¡¯t want to startle him, the way he was now. Most of her subjects were dead seabirds, their skeletons roused from the dunes. She¡¯d also tried it on fish, which didn¡¯t move well on land. The experimentation was soothing; if she thought about it, it wasn¡¯t as frightening of a power as it seemed. She¡¯d never had the chance to command fodder constructs, but necromancy was surely similar and less resource-intensive.

    If she concentrated, she could manage a whole flock of birds at once. This, combined with her physical ability, allowed her to fight over a large area. The only drawback was the way that necromancy hated all other forms of magic. It meant she had to forgo shielding if she wanted to attack most effectively.

    But shields were for protecting her fellow people. Now, she only needed to keep herself alive, which meant flying away was much easier than shielding. She could carry Jackal with minimal difficulty, if it came down to it. And Venera, if¡ªwhen¡ªshe returned, would need no physical defense.

    Venera. She¡¯d been trying to avoid his questions for the past three days, but the thought of Venera gave her inspiration.

    ¡°I can only explain it properly in our language,¡± she said. ¡°Which you will not understand. Here, listen.¡± Taking care to speak in the thickest of Hival murmurs, she said, ¡°I am waiting for my Titania. It is worrisome that she has gone hunting and not returned. I cannot discern whether she is in your head or in the dredged realms or both at once. Hival murmurs and crooning songs. Archive. Shellfish. Tree sap. There, that should be enough words to sound very detailed and plausible.¡±

    ¡°Can¡¯t you translate that?¡±

    ¡°No,¡± she lied. ¡°I cannot replace important meanings with words that do not exist in your tongue.¡±

    Jackal sighed. ¡°Fine. Dessert?¡±

    He held out a stalactite fruit, harvested from the coastal caves two days prior. They were better fresh, but the tough casing preserved the insides well enough that there was still moisture within.

    She hummed noncommittally. ¡°Isn¡¯t that the last one? Break it in half.¡±

    ¡°No, you have it. I don¡¯t really like sweet things.¡±

    She shook her head. ¡°We will share. You must maintain a more balanced diet. It is known to us that humans are omnivorous creatures. So, it is not good for you to eat only meat.¡±

    ¡°Fine,¡± he grumbled. He cut the stalactite fruit in two and took the smaller portion for himself. ¡°But do you know how long we¡¯ve got to stay here? Can we plan a good route before tomorrow? If we get jumped¡ª¡±

    ¡°We will not ¡®get jumped¡¯,¡± she said severely, flaring her wings wide. ¡°It isn¡¯t possible. I won¡¯t allow it.¡±

    A pair of skeletal birds scouted a wide perimeter around their camp: it served as endurance training. Unless someone had the strange desire to trek all the way out to this lonely shore without the slightest stitch of enchantment upon them, she was certain there was no one else here.

    ¡°We need to plan,¡± Jackal argued. ¡°Unless you want me to pick out a route myself?¡±

    Parsec relented. ¡°Very well. We will plan a route to Glister City after you consume your carbohydrates.¡±

    Jackal sighed and began peeling his stalactite with a knife. Parsec bit straight into her own, spitting the stony rind aside to get to the succulent pulp. Jackal was wrong: it was far from too sweet. But perhaps only she could taste the rich, underlying flavours known only to certain tongues. There¡¯d been similar fruits along the Glister coastline, and the bats always left them alone. Only ants picked at the fallen pieces, and some of the rarer birds. Perhaps humans were like bats? Both had soft, membranous coverings.

    She hummed with bitter nostalgia. Glister¡¯s climate made the fruits far smaller and sparser than here, too cumbersome to harvest. The desirable tastes did not outweigh the labour cost. Perihelion had given her a basketful upon her entry into the Hive. It had been the very first gift she had ever received.

    ¡°Are we going straight back to Glister?¡± Jackal asked, unrolling the map. ¡°You sure there¡¯s someone who can help me there? Thought we could rabbit-hop along to this old dungeon to the east, but¡­¡±

    ¡°Your problem is Realmlike. Tunneling into your head. So, you will need an Archivist. Or someone trained by one. I know of an unusual, independent Hiver who fits the latter category. And if she is too Hival-tied to be persuaded, we can explore further options.¡±

    Jackal traced a finger down the coastline. ¡°Right. But there are too many cliffs further down. You want to avoid the main roads, yeah?¡±

    ¡°Yes. Until I find a way to alter my appearance.¡± Her scent may be disguised, but a Glister patrol might recognise her on sight. A Kraedian patrol, too, or any other Hive for that matter. She was sure a physical description must be circulating alongside the scent-markers by now.

    ¡°Then unless you know how to sail a sea-ship, going through the Nightbloom forests would be better. Folks say it¡¯s dense as all hells, though. I¡¯ve gone into a bit of the edge before, but not through the middle.¡±

    She tipped her spines disapprovingly, recalling knowledge of the terrain and its inconveniences. ¡°If that is truly the fastest, then it will be sufficient. I embarked on an expedition there, some years ago. Much of the wildlife is¡­shy. Fewer yet would harm you.¡±

    He gave her a skeptical look but continued in his perusal of the map. ¡°Hey, there are a couple of hanging townships we could stop at for resupply. Unless that¡¯s too risky, you think?¡±

    Parsec whisked her tail close, scrawling a crooked line across the sand. ¡°You may enter what settlements you wish alone. We would be conspicuous, traveling as an alliance.¡±

    ¡°Yeah, I know. Traveled with Volans for a bit, remember?¡± Jackal grabbed a shiny implement from his bag and sketched a pale line along the map. ¡°I stayed at a couple of these villages on my way up to Kraedia, and they¡¯re quiet. No faeries. Don¡¯t think there¡¯ll be any of your folk searching there, even if you were important back home¡ªor, erm. Everywhere, now.¡±

    ¡°Then I hope I am not as important as I think,¡± Parsec remarked, finishing the last of her fruit.

    They played dice by the embers of the dying fire. She hadn¡¯t gotten any better at it since she first encountered the game. Once they were done, Jackal retreated to the tent and she bundled her borrowed blankets beneath the warm and open sky. She lay awake for a long while, breathing in the clean salt air and puppeting her skeletal birds. They skirted the very edge of her necromantic range with sun-bleached bones, dead for years and easy to control. She poured her newfound magic into all of the hollow spaces, crafting ghostly joints. This game of precision did not distract her from her worry.

    Unease slithered along her spines, crawling in waves across her shell. Yet another day had passed. Why hadn¡¯t Venera returned? She glanced in the direction of the tent, tail tensing in suspicion.

    Venera had said, ¡®Jackal-mind being Realm-touched¡ªcould be¡­vector?¡¯

    Parsec felt unharmed and well. She only wished Venera would return. Foolish as it was to fret over the safety of a ghost¡­unless¡ª?

    A suspicion tickled at the edges of her mind, not for the first time. If the Realm was not flesh, then could it affect unflesh? Perhaps it could injure or maim, far worse than its control of Jackal¡¯s appetite.

    She rolled over and whistled, soft and melancholy, as she tested the limits of her range with new maneuvers. It was only a distraction. A pitiful distraction. How could she lie here and wait helplessly, if her Titania were being torn apart at this very moment? She imagined Venera fighting, fleeing, growing armour, ducking behind chunks of misted monolith as the hungry creature prowled¡­

    Enough. This was enough. She¡¯d been plentifully patient. It had been three¡ªthree¡ªdays. She would summon Venera now, emergency or no.

    Use blood and brain, Venera had said. Scraps of knowledge swirled in her skull: other things besides how to alter her form or synthesise precursor. She had not yet reached its limits, but she was drawing close. And the closer she came to understanding the sum of what the Archive had given her¡ªvery specific skills, synthesis, necromancy¡ªthe more difficult it became. She concentrated for many minutes, until a thought bloomed softly at the memory: an Archival inkling as to the specifics of how.

    She concentrated some more, and when she was done the moon was high overhead. The how solidifed, congealing¡­

    Parsec almost baulked. Really? she thought. Did it really mean to tell her¡ªshe rechecked, and yes it did. The Archive spoke without words and there was no misinterpreting this meaning. She supposed they would regrow since the damage was restricted to above the first joint¡­

    Well, Venera had said it would be painful.

    Parsec growled and grew fangs, spines already spasming as a headache made itself known. She readied herself. Then, one by one, she bit off the fingertips of one hand. They cracked before they crunched. Blood wet her palm, pooling there before it dripped down her outstretched arm.

    She thought, Venera¡ªmaybe spoke it, too.

    Invisible strings spun themselves into existence beneath her skin, drifting gently along every nerve. They slept and they dreamed. It was soft, numbing, and the sensation lasted a handful of moments before they moved. Threads hardened like attendant-silk left out to cure. The outer layers clicked into place. The innermost strands bored into her chest, clumping like a burl of unflesh. Emptiness became pain became agony. And the agony was agony was agony¡ª

    Parsec crumpled into the sand. She fought to keep from heaving up a molten slurry of sea lace and samphire and stalactite fruit. The pain fled slowly. When at last she could think again, she saw a connection, rooted deeply in that snarled binding. She felt a tug on the line, sensed her spines swaying in response. The link did not feel like a link between a General and her Titania. It did not feel like a message or a leash. No¡ªthis was like two dead birds, orbiting.

    The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

    The line drew taut and there was a syrupy weight on the other end. Too much. Intuition told her Venera should come trailing along, like iron to a lodestone.

    But there was no Venera. There was only tugging, darkness, exhaustion. There was only sleep, like teeth closing gently over her fingertips.

    ===

    Parsec opened her eyes to no darkness and no light. Recognition kept her from panicking; this was only the null of necromantic magic. Still, how could this be when she hadn¡¯t used it?

    Her body was confinement. The muscles were overlaid wrong. Every joint, too. Where were her spines? Her carapace flexed fleshily, organs rumbling with the motions of sleep. No. It was not her carapace. Not her body.

    This, again?

    ¡®Jackal,¡¯ she tried to say, but his mouth would not form the shape of his own name. Not here, in this realm of dreams.

    Was it a dream? How could he be sleeping in his own dream? And where was Venera?

    She had no claws with which to scratch against the inside of his skull. There was only the full use of her consciousness as a battering ram. How had it felt when she¡¯d left the Archival depths? If only she¡¯d been conscious for that part¡ªif only she knew more than the memory of pain. She screamed without noise. He didn¡¯t wake.

    She waited and the null-ness beckoned. What did it mean? Could she use magic, here? Necromancy, against that not-darkness?

    She tried. Her grip on him was weaker than it¡¯d been than back in the forest. Weak, but enough. She prodded, and Jackal¡¯s eyes flew open. He was looking at the sky.

    It wasn¡¯t like any sky she had ever seen: a dead spill of murky brown clouds, shot through with veins and puddles of glimmering green like algal blooms. And puncturing her field of view, goring their way skywards, were shapes, if one could call them that. Each started as pillars lower down, resembling Archival monoliths, or perhaps tree trunks, but they bent and curled and oscillated gently in more and more unnatural shapes as they stretched skywards, like kelp reaching for the sun. Their pale surfaces rippled with no rhythm or pattern, and the texture was smooth in places and grainy in others. Sand. They were made of sand.

    Jackal sat up. She felt more sand¡ªsilty and dry, like the dunes on the beach¡ªbeneath his palms and smelled a blunted, brackish smell through his nose. It was not the clean scent of the Kraedian coast. The sand on the ground rose upwards in places, forming those pillars. Why was it sand? Did it have to do with their location, back in the real¡ªin the solid world? Because this was real. It smelled real. Not like memory. There was even a whiff of rotting samphire on the breeze. She¡¯d used magic deliberately, but was the veil-between coincidentally thin where they¡¯d slept?

    Her vision flickered, for just a moment. Sand cycled through mud, stone, flesh, song, before it became sand again. An illusion, and yet not. A mirror fusing with reality, so far gone that two had become one.

    Jackal, she thought frantically. Let me out. She tried to use necromancy, but there was nowhere to latch onto him now that he was no longer sleeping-not-alive; her magic slithered against a vessel that was now awake, aware, staring at the forest of sculpted sand around them. There was nothing the necromancy would fasten to, except herself.

    She remembered the pain. Was she dead? She didn¡¯t think so, but she tried it anyways. The hold was as weak as it had been on Jackal. Promising. She sent herself a command to speak, to walk, but nothing happened. She tried, instead, to fling herself outwards¡ªout of his head, through the unbroken window his gaze provided.

    Jarring sensation flooded in: cold air against her spines¡ªthat rotting briny scent was much stronger now¡ªand wind, whistling. She flared her wings wide and tucked her tail close, tumbling to land in a crouch. Sand puffed around her feet. Her fingers throbbed, the ends still missing.

    ¡°Parsec?¡± Jackal said slowly, hand to his head. ¡°This isn¡¯t a dream, is it?¡±

    He caught on quickly. Everything must be lucid from his end, the same as it was for her. No blurred scents, no shadows of pain. All here, now.

    ¡°No, it is not.¡± She searched for Venera again. Thinking of the seeking command hurt less here and the tie between them drew taut, tugging her past a space between two sand columns. There were more pillars in that direction. Deeper into a forest-that-was-not.

    ¡°Where are you going?¡± Jackal demanded, catching up to her in easy strides. ¡°What have you done? You¡¯ve dumped us out in the Library somewhere, haven¡¯t you?¡± His voice held a hint of panic.

    ¡°No. This must be a¡ªa slice. Of what you call a Library seems to be¡­another¡­slice. Far away. Not like our¡ªlike the Hive¡¯s. I doubt we are there. It would feel different. This is only an o-over¡ªan inter¡ª¡± Fathomless powers gripped her voice, stifling it. A headache flared, half-familiar. Half-alive?

    She glanced upwards, where bridges of sand formed and shifted and broke away again, sending a light shower of grains upon their heads. She shielded her eyes and mouth with her arms. There was no beating brain, but she was certain now that there was something analogous. Or if not the slow and mountain-eating heart of the Archives, then¡­she looked at Jackal, to her side. Him and his Archival problem¡­Venera had left them to think. To investigate.

    ¡°Your brain,¡± she settled with. She began walking quickly away from the falling trickles of sand. ¡°Perhaps mine too, now that I am here. A crossroads. Venera called it an aponeurosis. I suspect it must be both.¡±

    ¡°Who¡¯s Venera?¡± He glanced about, as if expecting to unearth a skulking figure.

    ¡°We¡¯ll find her. We should move quickly.¡± The line tugged. She started to run, sure that Jackal could keep up. She felt exposed, despite the growing tangle overhead. Its shapes cast the wrong shadows.

    Jackal swore. ¡°Look,¡± he said, pointing behind them.

    The sand had changed. Where before there were bending pillars and blocky shapes, organic forms emerged. Hands and limbs. The occasional curling wing, feathered like her own. Nothing whole. Was it learning? She¡¯d thought the Archives held the sum of all knowledge, but¡ª

    She scooped Jackal up by the arms and flew.

    ¡°Who¡¯s Venera?¡± he shouted against the wind.

    She was too busy dodging sand to answer. The pillars pooled along their lengths, forming hollow mouths. Some were sculpted like hers and others mimicked human lips and teeth. She was glad the mirror only reflected sand. Her link to Venera spurred her on as the smell of salt and rot thickened to almost choking. They were nearing a shore. Venera was already dead. What could be worse than that? Was she wounded? Beneath the water? What kept her?

    ¡°Go left!¡± Jackal shouted, and the fear in his voice was so sharp that she obeyed unthinkingly. A tower of limbs slammed through the air where she¡¯d been moments prior, passing with barely a sound. It rumbled as it hit another pillar up ahead, both collapsing. But the crumbled hillock was already reshaping itself as they sped past, fingers bending the wrong way, crawling over their own wrists.

    It wanted to¡ªhow could it want? It wanted to bury them alive. This whole world wanted to weigh down and mirror and muffle and it wanted her to dry-drown into the softest of sleeps and now she was drawing nearer and nearer and she should give in, give in now and slip into its starving bower, let it peel her open and peck at her ribs and gnaw for spare flesh and gulp the hemolymph from her shell¡ª

    ¡°Hey!¡± Jackal was shouting. A hand slapped at her shoulder, which was as far up as he could reach. ¡°Parsec! Stop thinking! Don¡¯t think! Just go!¡±

    She realised she was slowing, wobbling mid-air.

    ¡°Fly!¡± Jackal howled, and she did, barely glancing back to see a tide of limbs fast on her trail.

    This was not the Archive, she thought panickedly. Hunger throbbed in her gut. This was Archival, but not the Archive. Not benevolent, not even neutral, and not gently bowed to the service of a Hive. This was a land of air and darkness, slithering behind the mirrors, hungry to devour¡ª

    ¡°Parsec! Ignore it!¡±

    Venera, she thought instead, drawing on her Archive-tinged magic. Venera. She could not allow little difficulties to stop her now. Silver wings cupped her spine and burst to the surface at her command, slinging her forwards as they unfurled. The hands fell behind, and the air nipped at her extremities as she flew like a falling star. Soon, they reached the shore.

    The sea was simmering-wet and as green as boiling chlorophyll. Mist whiskered the horizon. The water seemed more endless the longer she looked at it, so she looked away. Venera. The goal was to find Venera. She flew along the shore, the line between them growing shorter and shorter. A monster lurched into view.

    ¡°What in the hells,¡± Jackal hissed as she slowed to assess it.

    A being of bubbling red flesh lumbered along the coast, where sand soared into cliffs. It was at least fifty feet tall and twice again as wide, studded with drooling mouths and dark tendrils. The main body oozed green fluid and strings of meat¡ªlike a slug marking its path¡ªand the trail curved out from the sea.

    She caught a flash of silver in the distance. Whiplike tendrils crashed skywards, and the silver glint arced to avoid it.

    ¡°Venera,¡± she murmured.

    She swooped down and made to drop Jackal upon the shore, but stopped short. He¡¯d latched both hands around her arms.

    ¡°Wait, wait¡ªwhat do you think you¡¯re doing? You can¡¯t just charge in to fight that.¡±

    Venera was here. She could. She would. She needed to test if that thing was not alive.

    ¡°You¡¯re going to fetch your friend,¡± Jackal said. ¡°I get it. But you need an exit ready.¡±

    Parsec considered telling him the specifics. ¡°I already know how to wake us up. You may wish to stay near, but not too near. Let go.¡±

    ¡°Huh?¡± He blanched. ¡°You mean we could¡¯ve just left, this whole time? Let me out!¡±

    ¡°No. I only have one set of fingers remaining.¡± She tore free, heedless of his yell.

    Her quicksilver wings took her to the being in seconds. A coil of tendrils sprung to greet her¡ªhow had they lengthened from her estimate of them?¡ªand she dodged crookedly, making for Venera on the other side. Another whorl of tendrils whipped round, trailing hissing droplets. Several whipcracked in its wake, and experience forewarned her of a cage, closing. She shot straight upwards. The tendrils followed, and her flight path didn¡¯t leave them behind. A brief glance downward told her it was drawing upon its main body to accomplish this, suctioning biomass into the filaments to elongate them.

    She pulled chitin from her arm and formed a blade. Ducking and slicing, rolling through the air¡ªshe cut a good twenty feet of tendril into pieces. The ends wept green before fusing closed. More tendrils surged from the main body and slashed at her, forcing her to dive.

    Where was Venera? She¡¯d spotted the silver flash but a moment ago, but the creature had heaved its form around to block her view.

    Infuriated, she drew on her necromancy. Then she remembered that her wings were still active, her blade halfway merging back into her body. But there was very little pain, compared to how shielding had been. Still, her concentration lapsed¡ªand the tendrils coiled around the end of her tail, climbing upward. They were tough and ropy, sharp enough to score burning lines into her chitin. She sought a hold with her necromancy, found weak ones, and pried them away.

    As she¡¯d expected, it wasn¡¯t properly alive nor dead. She couldn¡¯t anchor her control into the main part of its body, like she had with Jackal. But she forced the tendrils to twitch away as they reached for her again. She flew, seeking Venera.

    Venera found her first.

    ¡°Parallax,¡± she shouted, and Parsec was so surprised at seeing her, at hearing her voice and smelling her blood, that she almost didn¡¯t dodge a tendril in time.

    Venera swooped in with six shining wings and caught her by the arm, dragging her out over the sea. ¡°It will be slower following us here,¡± she called over the rush of the wind. Ghostly blood poured from a dozen heavy gashes across her chest.

    ¡°You¡¯re¡ª¡± Parsec choked out, and stopped herself, because despite looking very much like her old body, Venera was not alive. Her grip was solid, but her form was half see-through, like imperfect mesoglea. ¡°You¡¯re here.¡±

    ¡°I heard your call.¡± Venera swiveled her gaze round and shot spellfire from a hand with most of the fingers missing. The tendrils shrank back when burned, but rebuilt themselves in moments. ¡°We should go.¡±

    ¡°The human,¡± Parsec managed. I left him on the shore.¡±

    Venera changed course and they carved steeply through the sour air. ¡°Catch him. I will take us away. There will be pain, but I will spare you further harm. Ready?¡±

    In moments, the shore came back into view. A wall of tendrils speared close, but Parsec forced them to a grinding halt with necromancy, earning herself a brief burst of agony along every spine. She snarled and focused her gaze on Jackal¡¯s form, growing closer and closer, until he was so close she could make out the fearful expression on his face. She flung out her arm and tail, caught his raised arm in her good hand, and lashed her bleeding tail around one of his ankles for good measure. He yelled as they ascended.

    ¡°Now,¡± Venera said, and gave a wordless cry.

    The air blazed bright with magic. Her missing fingertips burned, until they were buried under the torment sinking into every layer of her body. It was a kind of sick, helpless pain¡ªlike suffocation, like starvation, like the ache of an infected bite, like vomiting rotten grain back in her old Hive. She felt her wings stall, the quicksilver bleeding away. Spongy fractals blossomed behind her eyelids. The world fell away.

    Parallax, said a familiar not-voice.

    And Parsec woke up.

    The first thing she heard was Jackal speaking swiftly¡ªeven with syrup to buoy her understanding, it was difficult to keep up. Her reserves must be low, because she didn¡¯t understand every one in three words. But it was enough to tell that he was very angry, and somewhat afraid.

    Not-Library. Not-Archive. Only realm-remnant rambling along forgotten edges. Silver-soft. Mineral bubbles.

    She sat up, rubbing her head. Her tail burned where the tendril-thing had grabbed her. She didn¡¯t open her eyes yet; she could smell morning on the breeze, and the light would be bright enough to strain her eyes.

    ¡°I did not willingly drag you into danger,¡± she spoke, cutting off his burbled tirade. ¡°Wait one moment. I must¡­¡± She allowed herself to crack open her eyes the slightest sliver and tip a droplet of syrup onto her tongue. Magic suffused down the length of every spine, warm and bright, but her injuries still ached.

    ¡°There. Can you understand me now?¡± She shielded her face with a wing and squinted.

    He was scowling. There was sand dusted up to his knees; he must have sprinted all the way here from the tent. ¡°I could understand you before. Anyway¡ªwhat was that? Explain.¡±

    ¡°I was looking for Venera,¡± she supplied. ¡°As I¡¯ve said, I was wrongly accused of murdering my queen¡ªthe Titania Venera. It was with her aid that I found my way out through your realm-touched skull. She left, for a while, to¡­investigate. To see if I was affected. To help you. I sought her, and the results were unexpected. So, I had to extricate her from the realm-space.¡±

    ¡°Oh you did, did you? Where¡¯d she go, huh?¡±

    Here.

    ¡°She is right here, but we cannot see her. You cannot hear her.¡±

    Doubt clouded his face. He crossed his arms combatively. ¡°If you say so. But dragging me in was just an accident, huh?¡±

    Parsec held out her injured hand. ¡°The initial¡ªyes. I had to spend this in order to enter. There was only one exit. No more entrance or exit until it regrows.¡±

    ¡°Still, you could¡¯ve given me some warning. You heard it too, right? That Library thing was bloody loud in there.¡±

    She dipped her head in acknowledgment. ¡°I am¡­sorry, for the unforeseen circumstances.¡±

    ¡°Sure,¡± he said skeptically.

    Were kinder ways of accomplishing, Venera admonished. Predecessor was not in true danger, though predecessor could not set to rights. The fleshghostthoughtbeing was¡­one part of many obstructions. Vector transmission. Dormant buds, must strangle-choke. Intertwined, Parallax.

    Parsec felt a spike of alarm. But she didn¡¯t feel ill, or even a little peckish. Venera had said the influence was dormant, and Venera was a Titania. She would think of something to fix the both of them, and if not¡ªwell, they were going to seek that half-formed Archivist anyhow.

    Must not allow the human to die. Aponeurosis roots in his skull first, but¡ªthere came a head-throbbing diagram, with too many spinning layers to it, a hundred thousand moving parts¡ªaponeurosis will chew through him and reach you. Safe for now, but should he succumb or perish¡­

    Jackal was still scowling at her. Parsec shook her head to clear it. ¡°I am¡­truly sorry for endangering you, Jackal. And I thank you for having the presence of mind to direct me away from your¡­¡®Library thing¡¯. But I could not leave Venera. It was also for your sake, you see. Her knowledge is necessary to help you¡ªyou saw that flesh-being. You don¡¯t want such a creature inside your head, correct?¡±

    ¡°Yeah. But don¡¯t do that again.¡± He frowned, brow furrowing as a thought seemed to occur to him. ¡°And you said something about seeing my dreams, back in Kraedia? Stop doing that, too. In fact, if you can read my mind¡ª¡±

    ¡°That is far beyond me.¡± She rustled her spines in agitation, still concerned with what Venera had revealed. ¡°I haven¡¯t dreamwalked since. Nor has Venera. We have no wish to subject ourselves to your nightmares.¡±

    ¡°¡­Right.¡±

    ¡°I see you will not believe me without proof. That is understandable, and the solution obvious.¡± She stood, noting the lines of blood beading around the end of her tail. Ah, the miracle of syrup¡ªalmost fully healed. Already, she was thinking of what dead things lay near. ¡°Come, Venera. We must find you a new body.¡±

    ¡°What do you mean, ¡®a new body¡¯?¡± He sounded suspicious, now.

    ¡°It might be easier to show you.¡± She began walking back to the tent. ¡°Shall we have breakfast first?¡±

    His stomach grumbled audibly. ¡°Yeah.¡±

    ¡°Are you worryingly hungry?¡±

    ¡°I have some dried meat left,¡± he said warily. ¡°It¡¯s fine.¡±

    His shadow flickered across the sand. Parsec took a moment to be glad she was not a fleshy human.

    Wherewithal, Venera broke in. Wandering star. Necromantic form. Truly, Parallax?

    ¡°We must, if we are to convince the Hive. And to convince the Hive, you must convince Segin. Surely there are things known only to Titanias? You might use those to prove your legitimacy.¡± Jackal glanced at her curiously, but he had seen Venera for himself and would again soon. There was little need to think thoughts very hard now.

    Perhaps. Requires consideration. Though, predecessor thought¡­the traitor, his name Eltanin¡­?

    ¡°Oh yes,¡± Parsec said. She spared a glance at Jackal and switched to the Hival tongue. ¡°Yes. I am still going to kill him.¡±

 5.7 - Dead Vessel

    Parsec

    Curdled flesh. Cristae. Mud and snow. Venera¡¯s ghost-touch shimmered over her truncated fingertips. Parallax should not have done that.

    ¡°You were gone for far longer than before,¡± Parsec asserted. ¡°I was right to come when you were being attacked by that¡­creature.¡±

    Predecessor was holding place. Six-wing. Feather-grip.

    ¡°What¡¯s she saying?¡± Jackal asked warily.

    ¡°That I took an unnecessary risk.¡± Parsec tipped back the last of her samphire soup and called her two skeletal birds to her. ¡°I will try to allow Venera to enter a body now. They are coming, and they may look unusual, but they are only bones articulated with magic. Do not be alarmed.¡±

    Necromancer.

    She sighed. ¡°To be clear: it is necromancy.¡±

    ¡°Necromancy¡¯s dead,¡± Jackal snorted.

    ¡°Perhaps not all the way. Don¡¯t be afraid; it isn¡¯t too different from commanding a fodder body.¡±

    ¡°A what?¡± he said, as the birds landed at her feet in a clatter of bone.

    They had been a large and migratory species. The beaks and bodies resembled the usual shape, but they shouldn¡¯t have been able to fly on the stalks which remained of their wings. Yet they did so with ease, shadowing what was true in life. One tilted its head and parted its beak in a mimicry of soul.

    Jackal rubbed his eyes and reached out to touch the nearest. ¡°Hells. How do I know you¡¯re not just a really good illusionist?¡±

    ¡°You may believe that, if it comforts you.¡± She brought one of the birds¡ªthe one he wasn¡¯t occupied with poking gingerly¡ªto perch on her outstretched hand. ¡°Here, Venera. Try, though I can¡¯t be sure it will work at all.¡±

    Phlogiston, Venera agreed, and Parsec sensed her pouring herself into the hollow bones. The skeleton was suffused with light. The body twitched of its own accord, beak parting, before it slipped from her grasp and¡­

    ¡­Crumbled into ash. One instant it was pale and whole¡ªthe next, it disintegrated into powder.

    ¡°Venera?¡± she asked, suddenly fearful. She¡¯d expected inertia at worst, not the ash that clumped in her palm, drifting in flakes to settle over the sand.

    ¡°Shit,¡± Jackal said in the same moment. ¡°Was that meant to happen?¡±

    All safe, Venera said from over Parsec¡¯s shoulder, and she jumped. Body too small. Burning consciousness, built a pyre.

    ¡°No. Thankfully, Venera is unharmed.¡± She shook the ash from her hand. ¡°The bird was insufficient. Perhaps I will find something in the forest, something bigger¡ªa deer, or we could combine pieces for a different sort of construct¡­¡± She pondered the bodies of archived Titanias, but those were far beyond her for now.

    ¡°So you¡¯re seemingly a necromancer,¡± Jackal said, stepping over the remaining bird to get to his pack. ¡°Brought magic back from the dead? Great. Just great. Try not to do that in front of other people, or they¡¯ll really freak out. Are you done with your faery meditation stuff yet? Because if it¡¯s all the same to you, it¡¯d be nice to get going.¡±

    ¡°Quite done. Do you insist on travelling by foot?¡±

    He began collapsing the tent with practised movements. ¡°You¡¯re the one who said you wanted to hide from your people.¡±

    ¡°I was referring to later, over the forest.¡±

    ¡°If you¡¯re sure you won¡¯t drop me.¡±

    ¡°I will not,¡± she said, and paused. Would it be alarming to tell him their wellbeings were so unfortunately intertwined? Perhaps she could use less specificity. ¡°Due to the nature of your problem, it is likely that I may be harmed if you are¡­injured.¡±

    ¡°I told you, I¡¯ve still got some dried meat. And the forest¡¯ll have something.¡± He seemed to cheer considerably. ¡°We could forage some herbs, even. Make a real meal of it.¡±

    She assisted him in rolling up the tent cloth and packing away what few implements he had lying around. She commanded the skeleton-bird to gather up spoons with its beak. He took them from it with exaggerated caution but made no attempt to shoo it off. He didn¡¯t protest when she perched it on her shoulder, either. In minutes, they were making their way down the coast. They set upon finding a gentle slope to the clifftops; when there was none to be found, Parsec flew the both of them upward.

    As they traversed the cliffs¡ªParsec ensured Jackal kept a healthy distance from the edge¡ªthey discussed how to best keep a supply of meat available and the merits of stopping to smoke or dry anything they hunted. He claimed it would take two weeks by foot, but she was sure she could manage it faster. Eventually, Venera wished to speak and she found herself obliged to translate.

    ¡°Venera wishes for you to know your problem is an incubation,¡± she started. ¡°That the¡­eating and your hunger is not the intention of the aponeurosis so much as your body¡¯s attempt to stave it away with enough food, enough flesh, and enough magic. So we will do what we can, but the Archivist-frond¡­ah.¡± She became distracted. ¡°She¡¯s a frond? Is that the correct word? Was Orion the ortet?¡±

    No. Thought that his predecessor touched the eggshell, or¡­ambient leakage. Unintentional. There were others. Venera knows not if those survived.

    ¡°You¡¯ve lost me,¡± said Jackal.

    ¡°Apologies. What Venera means to say, is: do not fear the hunger so much. If it were not there, you would be worse off.¡±

    He gave her a flat look. ¡°Don¡¯t see how that helps me, but thanks.¡±

    They moved on to less tense topics of conversation and reached the forest by afternoon. The trees cast deep puddles of shadow, and grew thicker and taller the further out they went. The dark flowers which gave it its human-name were beginning to bloom in abundance, speckling the land and twining up the branches of every sapling. She knew this went on for some hundred-hundred miles or more.

    ¡°We should fly,¡± she said impatiently.

    Jackal must be used to walking many hours a day, but he didn¡¯t complain. They drifted over the treetops, her bird swooping maneuvers below. Jackal asked questions about the necromancy, which she found difficult to answer. She made the bird do flips and rolls instead. It kept the both of them somewhat entertained.

    But she couldn¡¯t fly forever, and she wasn¡¯t used to carrying such weights for so long, especially with half her fingertips still missing. By the time the sun dipped below the horizon, she was very tired. But descend she must¡ªthey needed to eat and sleep, after all. She did so with great and begrudging reluctance. They found a small clearing among the brambles and bracken, and Parsec cleared it further with testy sweeps of her chitin-blades. Her spines bristled at the sight of the ever-present night-blooming flowers, their petals sprawling like a taunt.

    Pentachlorophenols, Venera said knowingly.

    ¡°Something wrong?¡± Jackal asked.

    ¡°No, nothing. A campfire will suffice, but those flowers don¡¯t burn well. I will¡­find a lookout.¡±

    She fluttered into the leafiness of the canopy before her carapace could start to prickle and began weeding out nearby flowers. Watching through her bird¡¯s senses was easy; she got an impression of heat and light as Jackal started a small fire. A light breeze sprung up, and it began wafting all of the pollen to her face. She sneezed. When he called out that the food was done¡ªbunches of samphire and biscuits so dry they had to be soaked in hot water to chew¡ªshe sent her bird to fetch it.

    ¡°Place some in its mouth,¡± she called, opening the bird¡¯s beak obligingly.

    ¡°Can¡¯t you get it yourself?¡± he asked, but he did it anyway.

    She chewed on wilted samphire while looking at the moon, pausing every now and again to scratch at an imaginary prickle on her carapace. For all its abundance, there was a reason the Nightbloom forests hadn¡¯t been colonised by her kind. Despite herself, she fell asleep, and the reason presented itself the next morning.

    ¡°What the¡­?¡± Jackal asked as she dropped from her tree.

    The cursed creatures had found her, despite her choice of perch. They fastened themselves to her spines and wingtips, small in body but many in number. They had bodies like leeches, or perhaps maggots, only wreathed in distinctive papery husks. This, at least, made them easy to grip. She plucked them off by the handful, tossing them aside as she rose from her landing crouch. She would have enlisted the bird¡¯s help, but its beak was too large and clumsy to help peck them away.

    ¡°Parasites,¡± she answered curtly, clawing at another weeping cluster. ¡°They feed in the flowers. Short-lived. Active at night. We call them¡­frillteeth? Yes, the meaning is similar. Don¡¯t worry, they don¡¯t like humans. Unless you have a lot of chitin in your body? No? Then you are safe.¡±

    ¡°And you¡¯re just walking that off?¡± he asked, eyeing the writhing bodies in the grass.

    Parsec squashed a particularly engorged frilltooth underfoot. ¡°I am in discomfort, not danger. But they¡¯ll tear through a Hive in weeks and harm fledglings, especially in the earlier instars¡­¡± She trailed off, shaking her head to dislodge the last few. The sheen of her carapace was left pockmarked where clusters had fed. The wounds would heal by tonight, only to be made afresh. ¡°It isn¡¯t good. A Hive would do well here if they were eradicated, but they love the entire forest and aren¡¯t edible. Even if they were, these flowers¡­¡± She sneezed. ¡°¡­They are unpleasant.¡±

    ¡°At least you won¡¯t run into your people here,¡± he offered.

    ¡°At least not,¡± she growled, summoning her bird to her arm. ¡°Let¡¯s make haste. The scent of their feeding draws many more, even in the daylight hours.¡±

    Jackal shouldered his pack and stepped around the puddles of parasites. ¡°Weren¡¯t you looking for bones and things for your uh¡­friend? Venera?¡±

    Venera hummed in agreement.

    ¡°We can do that while walking away from this beacon of rot.¡±

    ¡°How do you mean to find them, anyway?¡± he asked, jogging to keep up. ¡°Do you sniff out the bones, or dead bodies too? Because as nice as it¡¯s been knowing you, I¡¯m not helping you deflesh a carcass.¡±

    ¡°That won¡¯t be necessary. My magic would hold the body together. Let¡¯s search.¡±

    She flew them further south until the scent of frillteeth dissipated. Then she set Jackal down and began to hunt for dead things.

    A forest was a many-layered creature in its own right. There was scent everywhere, hundreds of details vying for her attention. The soft rot of leaf litter was distinct from the tart decay of curling fungus, but neither was what she needed.

    ¡°Can you use dead wood?¡± Jackal had asked. ¡°Or does it have to be bones?¡±

    ¡°I haven¡¯t tried.¡± She curled her magic around a stick underfoot and felt it respond far too weakly. ¡°¡­No, I think it has to be from an animal. Bones are much stronger than twigs. But only if they are not in pieces.¡±

    There was an optimal amount of decay for her to use such things. She scavenged from deer remains: ribs and femurs and columns of vertebrae. Only larger bones would do. Too many points of articulation would make control difficult. She needed birds too, for their wing pieces, but the ones she found were frustratingly small.

    ¡°Can I see the map again?¡± she asked Jackal when they settled for their midday meal.

    ¡°Sure, if you help cook. I¡¯m going foraging.¡±

    ¡°Very well. Don¡¯t get lost.¡±

    If you come across this story on Amazon, it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.

    She perched herself by the bubbling pot and stirred idly as he strode into the undergrowth. Her bundle of bones sat nearby, trussed up with borrowed cord. Would it be enough¡­?

    Would like wings, Venera murmured. Shadow of memory. Old body, bygone.

    ¡°I agree. Similarity in form may prevent the reaction we saw with the bird. Could we mimic wings with rib pieces?¡± She used her tail to drag the bundle closer and began picking up various pieces, weighing them in her free hand. By the time Jackal returned with a selection of herbs and berries, she¡¯d sorted out some of the most promising.

    Common and camphorous, Venera said as they rested and ate. Parsec could sense her prodding at the pile of bones. This deer¡¯s head¡­?

    ¡°The next closest would be a human skull. I couldn¡¯t find one.¡±

    Jackal gave her a sideways glance, looking vaguely alarmed¡ªit was brief enough that he probably didn¡¯t notice her noticing.

    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t use a human skull,¡± Parsec clarified, unsure of whether or not she was lying for his benefit.

    Venera produced a muffled reverberation of amusement, before her tone sombered. Would you use a shell?

    She hesitated. Bygone shells were just bygone shells, far lesser than they once were. But that didn¡¯t mean they didn¡¯t hold significance. There was a reason they weren¡¯t thrown away, instead Archived to be kept or changed or melted as the Archives saw fit. She was certain that chitin of old thrummed through the Hive¡¯s walls, shielding everyone within from the mammalian strangeness of the outside world.

    ¡°If it were Archived¡­I think I would need Orion¡¯s permission. Or whoever they¡¯ve replaced him with.¡±

    Dredged one? Force your friend Archivist to teach? Or taken from the shallows and into the deeps?

    ¡°I suppose we¡¯ll see,¡± Parsec answered darkly. ¡°In the meantime, let¡¯s try¡­¡±

    She sensed both Jackal and Venera looking on with piercing interest as she assembled a chimerical skeleton. Her necromantic magic allowed her to bind pieces together and assign pivots and joints, but it was a crutch at best. The construct couldn¡¯t stand if it wasn¡¯t inherently well-balanced. She gave it two arms and two legs, an approximation of wings, and an articulated column of vertebrae for the tail. Finally, she crowned it with the deer¡¯s skull. Half an antler was missing. It stared at her with hollow sockets.

    ¡°Does it look alright?¡± she asked dubiously.

    Calvaria-eyes. May well try.

    ¡°I don¡¯t know what I expected,¡± Jackal said, sounding wary. ¡°Wouldn¡¯t want to run into that at the back end of a crypt. Or anywhere, really.¡±

    ¡°Aesthetics was not my primary concern. Try it, Venera.¡±

    Air seemed to whisk past her cheek as Venera drifted forward. That same pale light sparked around the bones as she climbed in. The construct slipped from her grasp and straightened, wing-bones flexing. It didn¡¯t crumble to dust¡ªbut Parsec¡¯s gaze caught on a flaking joint. The bone was slowly but surely being eaten away, as if by invisible frillteeth.

    ¡°Empty body,¡± Venera-the-construct rasped. ¡°Burning soul.¡±

    The voice was rough and grating, bone-on-bone, nothing like it had been in life. Parsec squashed down her ingratitude and supposed she was lucky to hear a voice at all.

    Jackal was staring. ¡°That¡¯s one hells of an illusion, if it is one.¡±

    The skull swivelled on invisible joints. ¡°I am the predecessor. The name Venera. Would you like to speak¡­Jackal? Difficult to¡ªanswer better¡­sufficient words, in this way, no adaptation.¡±

    ¡°You can help me, right?¡± he demanded, lifting his chin. ¡°I don¡¯t care what you are, as long as you can help.¡±

    The deer-skull bobbed jerkily. ¡°Admirable intent. We will see this through. Come, Parallax¡ªwe should create¡­something flying, to keep us out of this¡­what is¡ªhunger.¡± She gestured at the dark flowers.

    Parsec nodded her spines and gathered the remaining bones in her arms. ¡°I can only fly so far, but perhaps I could maintain a construct for longer. We¡¯ll need to gather more bones¡ªwing-parts especially, if we wish to stay above the canopies.¡±

    ¡°Gather?¡± Venera sighed. ¡°Gather¡­would be¡­not optimal. Takes many hours. Common birdlife native to this system¡­too small. Why the little bones? Why not from one corpse?¡±

    ¡°Which corpse?¡± Parsec retorted. ¡°It is as you say, Venera. They are all too small.¡±

    Jackal sighed. ¡°Assuming you¡¯re really a necromancer¡ªyou want us to fly on dead creature¡¯s backs?¡±

    Venera answered for her. ¡°No. We only require the one being.¡±

    ¡°One big enough for all of us?¡± He made a vague sound. ¡°You two go ahead.¡±

    Venera tilted her skull. ¡°Yes. Require old scouting maps in the Archives. If you could help, Parsec?¡±

    ¡°I will help however I can, but we¡¯re a long way from¡ªah. You mean the Archives we¡­brought with us.¡±

    ¡°Brought with you,¡± Venera answered with strained emphasis. ¡°The predecessor was already dead. I am not alive. So, there is no real magic, inside of me. But I know the path¡­the many paths. If you would lend me some, I could take the burden of sludge-remnants from your wings and store it, and use it to be of aid.¡±

    Parsec held out her hand. Venera grasped it and knelt before her. She bent her head, chipped antlers and all. Parsec almost stepped away. This didn¡¯t feel right¡ªVenera was the Titania, not some construct under her rule.

    But a strange sensation between her eyes halted her mid-thought. It wasn¡¯t painful. It just felt slow, like the trickle of a dying river. She sent Venera a portion of her magic like she would were she doing this with a fellow General. The feeling rose to nestle beneath her skin. It felt like dead fish bloating, their bodies buoyed to the surface. Handfuls of rotting scales spun away in the current. A weight drained from her skull, leaving her lightheaded.

    ¡°There,¡± Venera rasped, breaking contact. She rose to her feet and touched a hand to her empty sockets. ¡°Yes. As I thought. Old wyvern nest to the east. A ripe valley. Let¡¯s go scavenging while we can. Not too much¡­time¡­left in this body, and once it is gone we will need to find another.¡± Her jawbone was already starting to crumble.

    ===

    Flying alongside a companion wasn¡¯t unusual, but reminding herself it was Venera made her head spin. The situation was almost surreal in its mundanity. They alighted on a shrubby outcrop overlooking the wyvern nest¡ªa huge hump of earth and shale, not unlike a crude imitation of a Hive¡ªand crouched among the brittle leaves. Through the lingering haze of Nightbloom, she could smell stone and carcass, running water and living bodies.

    ¡°They still live here,¡± Parsec said, troubled. Wyverns did not live nearly as long as Behemoths, but this site must be good enough to host generations.

    ¡°Then perhaps we should hunt one.¡±

    ¡°By ourselves?¡± Parsec asked worriedly. Venera¡¯s skeleton was flaking softly all over.

    ¡°They exile the old and dying,¡± Venera murmured. ¡°Such creatures don¡¯t know better. A straggler must be somewhere. Any season is the season for it. I will be the bait; this body will not last regardless. You have the skills I helped you find. Less painful to initiate yourself.¡±

    ¡°The form I used against the Archival wyrm? Perhaps, but¡­¡±

    She trailed off as a breeze swept the air, information from upwind. Venera touched a hand to her wingtip and they crouched lower amongst the shrubbery.

    A minute passed, then two. The air pricked at the leaves and she could hear a rhythmic buffeting, coming closer and closer. The birdsong cut out and a heartbeat later, twin shadows sleeked overhead.

    ¡°Juveniles,¡± Venera said once they were gone. ¡°Not those.¡±

    ¡°No,¡± Parsec agreed.

    They slithered further along the valley¡¯s wall, anchoring themselves to branches and stone. She spotted a trio of even younger juveniles curled against the shade of the nest, but nothing more.

    ¡°No scent of rot. If any have crawled off to die, they have not died yet.¡± She flicked her spines in dismay.

    ¡°Peace. There¡¯s always one or two, each season.¡±

    ¡°Quieter places,¡± Parsec suggested doubtfully.

    ¡°Yes. You lead the way.¡±

    Scouting patterns were far less efficient with only Venera and herself to implement them, but they combed the forest from just beneath the treetops; every now and again, she glimpsed Venera¡¯s bones weaving through the tree trunks. The sun climbed hot and high as noon approached, and it had reached its summit when Parsec glimpsed the clearing.

    She perched in a tree and whistled, soft and high, sending her magic reverberating through the branches. Venera glided to her side in minutes.

    ¡°There,¡± she said, shifting her position on the branch to make room. She didn¡¯t need to point.

    A dozen feet ahead and far below, a wyvern slumped in the leaf litter as it lapped at a sluggish spring. Its bulk showed a suggestion of ribs, the hide dulled with age, pitted and scarred. She could picture the cavity within, the organs excavated, room enough to manipulate the bones.

    ¡°Weak enough,¡± Venera said. ¡°You say when.¡±

    Parsec hesitated. ¡°Shouldn¡¯t you?¡±

    ¡°What use would I be, leading a charge? Even if these memories were clear, never has a predecessor fought. But I am intimately familiar with sacrifice.¡±

    Her spines chilled, twitching faintly. ¡°You mean to destroy this body?¡±

    ¡°I do not think I can die more than I have already. Perhaps there will be a dormancy. Yes, I think so. It should not concern you, Parsec. It is only like how I had to¡­sleep without sleeping. No rest. No dream. Recuperation, if you could call it so. Just like after I forced the honey synthesis. It is hardly as if this form will last more than another day, at best.¡±

    Parsec glanced back down at the wyvern. There was a vulnerable spot at the base of its skull, she knew, a plateau beneath a ridge of bone. She had hunted a few during her time at Glister, before becoming a General. Strong as the honey had made her, it would be far safer to rely on a distraction.

    ¡°If you¡¯re certain.¡±

    ¡°Yes. Now show me.¡±

    Parsec grimaced, recalling pain. But she had the idea of it now, the knowledge that such a thing was possible at all. She ignored the necromancy pooling in her core and reached, instead, for the shining tangle of quicksilver strength.

    The fangs sprouted fast, along with venom glands and armour to insulate her from her mortality. With it came pain, but brief and gone¡ªonly physical pain and a spark of grief swiftly extinguished. She placed a hand onto her shoulder and felt the chitin respond, gathering material as she trailed her fist down her arm and tail. No little whittling knife this time; she shaped herself a hunting spear with all its weight held in the head and filled it with magic.

    ¡°On your word,¡± Venera said softly.

    Parsec allowed herself a moment to gaze into her hollow eyes before turning her attention down to the wyvern, laying still but for the soft rise and fall of its side. The creature was far past its prime. It would only take the work of moments¡ªif she sprang at the correct angle, if the spear was braced just so, if Venera was effective, and if she herself had ever been strong enough.

    ¡°Now,¡± she spoke.

    Venera took off, arcing up and over. The wyvern surged to its feet, wings raised like a war warning. Its jaws parted with a muted roar as it lunged. Parsec didn¡¯t wait for it to complete the movement before pushing off the branch.

    Air whistled past, sweet and clean. Her spearhead cleared the distance a fraction of a second before she did, plunging through hide and into flesh and muscle. Jaws snapped shut. Something cracked, the sound muffled through her armour, and the air grew ripe with the smell of powdered bone. Venera gave a faint cry and flickered out. The wyvern ground its teeth, stumbling. Parsec gripped the spear, driving it deeper as the creature rocked forward and roared. Bones dropped from its parted jaws, splintered ribs clicking against shattered skull.

    Parsec pulled another slice of chitin from her skin and stabbed again, deeper. Blood spurted, thin and blueish and almost scentless, darkening as it mingled with the air. She sensed its joints crumpling a moment before it fell, and the impact jarred her along every joint. Leaf litter fluttered up in a soft, rotting cloud.

    The poor creature was roaring and whining, every sound creaking low with pain, almost near its end now. Her two spears of chitin were right next to each other, blocking the flow of blood. She pulled them out, the suction yielding with a wet sound. Blood gushed warm over her hands. She slid off its side and retreated a safe distance away as it thrashed and twitched, half-paralysed on the ground. The chitin melded back into her body.

    ¡°Venera?¡± she whispered, and there was a whisker-thin touch against her brow, melted away in moments. I am only sleeping without sleeping, it seemed to say, and she could not do more than trust this was true.

    The wyvern¡¯s movements faded as she watched, growing weaker but not still. She had struck hard, but it clearly not hard enough. Well, it usually took a whole team to make a clean kill. She gathered her resolve as it whined again, a bleak and rattling sound, and flew over to grant it some poor measure of mercy.

    ===

    ¡°Take your fill,¡± she told Jackal, gesturing loosely.

    ¡°You killed that?¡± He crept up to where its head lay and stared down the pile of bones, sun-dappled and loosely strewn. ¡°And your Titania lady¡­?¡±

    ¡°Yes. It was very old.¡± She paused. ¡°Venera will be fine.¡±

    ¡°I remember saying something about not helping you deflesh anything. Especially not anything as big as that.¡±

    ¡°Then I will ¡®deflesh¡¯ it myself, as you say.¡± She gave him a pointed look and drew a thick cleaver from her shoulder. ¡°But you will be wanting what flesh you can harvest, first. It would be wasteful it you did not.¡± She flipped the implement around and offered it to him handle-first.

    He hesitated, before taking it carefully.

    ¡°I can move it to your convenience if you wish,¡± she prompted. ¡°Are there any particular pieces you prefer? Perhaps meat from the back will not be as tough, this one being too old to fly often.¡±

    ¡°The heart,¡± he said uneasily. ¡°Lungs, too. Kidneys. I think¡ª¡± He halted, clutching at his head. ¡°The Library¡­the daemon wants the organs, mostly.¡±

    ¡°Good. Do not eat the brain or liver. They will poison you, cursed aponeurosis or no. Unless you humans digest differently?¡±

    ¡°I wasn¡¯t going to¡ª¡± His brow furrowed uneasily. ¡°I haven¡¯t. Unless, that oldwoods deer¡ª¡±

    ¡°Deer liver shouldn¡¯t harm you. And you didn¡¯t seek to imbibe any brain.¡±

    ¡°Right,¡± he said shakily, looking at the cleaver. ¡°I¡¯ll go ahead now, yeah?¡±

    Parsec reached into the wyvern with her cords of necromancy and heaved it onto its side so its belly faced them. ¡°Yes. This will make it easier to cut.¡±

    Jackal blinked, expression dawning with something inscrutable. ¡°You can move the whole thing¡­¡± he stated.

    ¡°How else would we travel in it?¡± She shook her head at the sight of shadows lengthening, dark buds peering from behind every leaf. ¡°I will make a sleeping place now, to evade the frillteeth. Try to avoid breaking any of its bones; we will need them later, for the best structural integrity. Call me if you want help.¡±

    She flew into the canopy, thoughts already turning. She would eat what she could herself, and as for the rest¡­she could only manipulate movements and not the flesh itself, so she would have to gouge and tunnel. What a waste. Except, she didn¡¯t have a Hive to provide for anymore. There would be enough scavengers to clean up her work. She would keep the hide and bones intact, she decided. What flesh she couldn¡¯t strip would be kept relatively clean by the insect-repelling effects of the magic.

    It was efficient enough, she noted with no small amount of satisfaction. There would be enough room to huddle inside the ribcage, especially if Venera was not kept corporeal. Any distant Hiver patrols would only see a lone old wyvern that was not worth hunting down.

    Blood filled the air as the hours passed; occasionally, she heard Jackal cursing as he fought with the carcass. She slipped down to help carve away the tougher connective tissue and drank a cup of proffered soup as sunset blanketed the horizon. They played a listless round of dice before she returned to her perch and gazed restlessly at the sky. The flowers bloomed fully and the wind picked up, carrying sounds and scents to her. She sneezed at an errant spray of pollen. In the distance, a juvenile brayed.

    More hours passed. Birdsong flickered on the breeze. No Venera. She dropped from the canopy and crept past Jackal¡¯s tent, stopping before the wyvern corpse.

    ¡°You must have been a great creature once,¡± she whispered.

    Many scars had ridged its chest and wings and back, testament to years of survival. How harsh the wilderness was, without a Hive. It was a flaw of nature, that such magnificent beings were forced to cull their elders. She swallowed against the tightness in her gut as she lifted a little flap of hide at its breastbone and peered into the chest cavity. Jackal had done an admirable job hollowing out the first few feet, deep enough to pluck out the heart. Tiring work, it must have been. Well, she could hardly sleep now. The sooner she started, the sooner it would be done.

    And she had to distract herself until Venera was back, proof that what she had done was worth doing. That this endeavour to take back her place and her Hive was not draped in insanity. What better way to purge her anxious, fermenting rage than claws into carcass? Hands and teeth and chitin¡ªshe had tools. She had a purpose, for the time being.

    Parsec sharpened her claws and began carving the wyvern¡¯s corpse into a carriage fit for a Titania.

 Interlude: sleeping giants

    Voices spoke of her as if she weren¡¯t there. Someone dripped cold liquid over her face. She hissed as it stung her eyes, but that wasn¡¯t what they wanted. They shook their heads and called her too formed and yet unformed, worse than being born empty.

    Somewhere in the roots of the Hive, there lay dozens of deep pits carved out of the bedrock. Water sloshed within; she could see the swell before the faint lights of a figure¡¯s wings. There was a hand over her mouth. Someone tore her struggling wings, still weak and damp with mucus. Ragged edges, bleeding magic. Teeth too weak to bite.

    They pushed her in, of course. It always happened that way.

    The pool was deep and viscous, not-quite-simmering. It burned and burrowed into her ruined wings. She screamed as she thrashed to stay afloat. The water whorled and sucked her in with its tide of loose spines and bubbling flesh. There were limbs floating around her now¡ªcrooked legs, fingerless hands, and bobbing within arm¡¯s reach, the oily globe of an eye.

    The figures left, taking their light with them. Everything was melting. She clawed at the slick walls, failed to fly, clung to what might have been half a torso and called feebly for help until she realised she was wasting her strength. She was the only living thing left here. She could feel her body delaminating, joining them. No Archivist to save her this time. The sludge closed over her head. All sound fell away.

    Ezphorza woke gasping.

    She fumbled for the moss-jar at her side, gripped it with both hands, and gazed into the green glow until she felt herself calm. Then she sat up. She felt too unrested for it to be any later than the soggy hours before dawn. Her head throbbed faintly into the silence. Her fingers twinged with phantom aches. She didn¡¯t want to even look at the weaving rack lurking in the corner of her bower.

    Lieutenant Suria had ordered her to assist as best as she could, crafting scraps of base material as she recovered from the effects of being hit by that breaker spell-slip. It was taking so long to feel normal again. She wished she could¡¯ve gone with Silverwater, back to Titania Fauna¡¯s Hive. Iolite didn¡¯t even need any more veilments for now. But duties were duties.

    Ezphorza shoved the gentle glow of the moss-jar away, wishing she could steal another half-cycle of sleep¡ªbut that wouldn¡¯t be a good idea. Everyone knew nightmares came in shoals. So she crawled free of her nest, shivering, and felt her way to the kitchen. She saw light as she drew near. Maybe Curlew was in there, or Thorn, or maybe that Breaker boy had managed to find her some Hival honey like Winterbird had asked. She hoped it was Winterbird in the kitchen. They¡¯d been so busy, there was no time to talk like before¡­

    She stumbled through the doorway, and it was only Suria. The Lieutenant looked less frightening than usual with her wings folded close to her body. Her hands cupped a bowlful of lichen tea. The amphora sat on the table. Suria¡¯s spines twitched, indicating she smelled her presence. She¡¯d probably known by the time Ezphorza had made it halfway up the hall. Likely it was only a courtesy gesture. Ezphorza cursed herself. It was far too late to leave now.

    ¡°Hello, Lieutenant,¡± she said hesitantly.

    Suria didn¡¯t even need to look up. ¡°I thought Iolite set you on a diurnal shift.¡±

    Ah, so her time-estimate hadn¡¯t been wrong. ¡°I woke and thought it was day,¡± she lied.

    ¡°Hmm.¡± Suria took a sip of her tea. ¡°If you¡¯re already here, there¡¯s no point going back to sleep, is there? Have some waking-food now and try to rest with an early night. Mind the human.¡±

    Ezphorza glanced over as Suria gestured to the corner, startled. What she¡¯d taken for a pile of ragged blankets had a human under them¡ªthe fleshcrafter, she realised with a jolt. Somehow, he unnerved her more than the Breaker did.

    ¡°Stop worrying,¡± Suria added, patting the amphora with dry affection. ¡°He¡¯s asleep.¡±

    Ezphorza moved her spines in acknowledgment and hastened to prepare a meal of pickled gorse and dandelion greens.

    ¡°You forgot the syrup,¡± Suria said as she closed the cupboard.

    She hesitated. ¡°I thought it¡¯d be best to save it for Saiphenora and the others. Since I¡¯m not helping, outside.¡±

    ¡°Iolite works hard to provide us with an excess.¡±

    Ezphorza¡¯s spines wilted. ¡°Well¡­yes. But I¡¯ve found that it¡­doesn¡¯t work with my healing.¡±

    The syrup was too frantic, she thought. Too alchemical, too much. Nothing like what she¡¯d sampled of Hive honey, warm and restorative. She wished she could be sent back to Fauna¡¯s Hive. The fact that she hadn¡¯t meant she was useless there.

    ¡°Hmm,¡± Suria said. She tilted her head and sniffed the air. ¡°Check the powdered grain. At the back of the second cupboard.¡±

    Nobody used flour here, not even the Breaker for whom it had been bought. Ezphorza twitched in puzzlement as she withdrew an empty box¡ªalmost empty. A vial rolled against her fingertips as she reached in, the sound muffled¡­when she plucked it out, she realised it was bound in layers of fabric, for cushioning. Carefully, she unwrapped it. The remaining droplets within were golden and viscous, syrup but not. Even she could tell, just by looking.

    ¡°But how did you¡­if it¡¯s Hival¡­¡± she stammered.

    ¡°You can have the rest,¡± Suria grunted. ¡°It¡¯s good for slow healing. But use it sparingly.¡±

    ¡°But,¡± she started, swishing her tail in agitation. ¡°You said Iolite¡­? How did this get here?¡±

    ¡°I dressed in a spare veilment, doused myself in floral oils, and entreated a Hival independent under the guise of a human researcher. The result was successful, though not satisfactory. The City Watch is now searching for that alias. Glister Hive would be too, if they weren¡¯t so otherwise occupied.¡±

    ¡°Oh.¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± Suria echoed. ¡°I¡¯d hoped to acquire more than this pittance. Six cycles of wasted work. Partake of my efforts, Ezphorza.¡± She gestured at the unconscious human. ¡°Take the human back to its holding chamber once you are done¡ªrelax, Iolite¡¯s work is always very fine. Don¡¯t disturb me; I must rest. Weave what you can. We have much work ahead of us.¡±

    Ezphorza lowered her gaze. ¡°My thanks, Lieutenant.¡±

    Suria left, taking the amphora with her.

    You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

    Ezphorza stared uneasily down at the human as she ate. Once she was finished, she knocked her hand against the table. When that didn¡¯t wake him, she tapped his shoulder with a spoon.

    His eyes snapped open. ¡°Who are you?¡±

    ¡°Follow me,¡± she said.

    He gripped the table¡¯s edge and stood, swaying faintly. For a moment, she feared he might curl his hand into a fist and strike¡ªbut no, the enchanted bands still cuffed his wrists. Suria¡¯s trust in Iolite was sound, Ezphorza reminded herself. Iolite was very powerful and very clever. Without her, Ezphorza would have nothing. Be nothing. Sludge recycled into Hival veins, a broken shell put back where it came from, remixed for another go around.

    ¡°Don¡¯t you have a name?¡± the fleshcrafter asked as she led him down the corridor. ¡°Is it true then, that names matter to you people after all?¡±

    What information he was trying to pry from her skull, she didn¡¯t know. ¡°There¡¯s no point asking me questions.¡±

    The honey soothed her mind and tongue and made speaking the human words easier. It wasn¡¯t the same with syrup, she mused sullenly. If only she reacted well to the syrup like Saiphenora did, or even the others, even Suria or Curlew or some of the wingless-but-still-useful back at Fauna¡¯s Hive¡­

    ¡°Really? Then why did they switch you with the one from before? The green one, he had a name. Thorn?¡±

    ¡°Be quiet,¡± she commanded. The fleshcrafter¡¯s mouth snapped shut.

    She took the long, winding route down, avoiding the rooms which she knew contained growing piles of fodder bodies. She was half-tempted to carve out a separate tunnel for herself, but she could already picture Iolite¡¯s bewilderment and scolding. It¡¯d only be a waste of her dwindling strength. So she kept to the out-of-the-way route, trying to find relief in only seeing the stacked barrels of nutrient solution along the way.

    Then they rounded a corner and almost ran smack bang into General Saiphenora.

    Saiphenora walked with a fodder body behind her. Ezphorza cringed inwardly as she stepped aside to let them pass. Saiph turned to tilt her spines at her. The fodder creature didn¡¯t. It stared straight ahead, every limb and spine held rigid, not so much as a finger out of place.

    Saiphenora must have seen her gaze lingering, or smelled some hint of emotion, because she stopped walking.

    ¡°I¡¯m just practising,¡± she said. ¡°It¡¯s harmless.¡±

    ¡°I¡ªI know. Good luck.¡±

    Ezphorza hurried further along the tunnel, curling her wings close. There were so many of the wretched things around. She¡¯d known they were there, of course¡ªshe¡¯d helped craft them, back at Fauna¡¯s Hive. She just hadn¡¯t realised how many there were until yesterday, when Iolite had declared it time to remove them from storage. Did they even need this much? Saiphenora couldn¡¯t possibly control all of them at once. Could she?

    Empty shells, Ezphorza thought. Just empty shells. And the Titania of Almucantar had deemed her less worthy of life than them.

    +++

    By the time the faery locked him up again, Zahir was starting to shiver. The leader¡ªIolite¡ªhad given him potions to soften the effects of withdrawal, but it was a small solace. His nausea had eased, but it was still cold. He was so damnably cold. It had never been this cold back in the kingdom.

    He leaned against a bit of flaking white wall, facing the far side of the cell. The kingdom, he mused. How useless it all seemed now. Pointless feuds with Dalim and Mahasim, snide remarks against Najm and the like, reading texts and smoothing skin blemishes and fixing crooked teeth, day in, day out¡­

    Was that all seven-odd years of study¡ªcould it really be called something so mundane as study?¡ªhad earned him? It had been safe, at least. And now, this. He thought of the dungeons and laughed. What irony.

    He¡¯d thought, maybe, that there would be an end to it. He¡¯d had this idea¡ªstupid idea, really¡ªto make use of a loophole before it could be closed. If he could expedite the training of a successor, he could retire. Have some peace and quiet for once, be the envy of his colleagues for the correct reasons. The regular apprentices were bound to a flimsy curriculum, and they had other teachers that weren¡¯t him. They wouldn¡¯t have wanted to take on that tradition, that trial by fire, that rumour which was only ever whispered of, no matter what encouraging words he offered or however many chests of coin.

    But an apprenticeling¡­

    A desperate apprenticeling might see it as a fair deal. Sanaz had pulled the scheme off with hers, so why couldn¡¯t he? And if he were offering someone a comparatively better life in the meantime, well, there was no harm in that. That kindness, he¡¯d reasoned, would negate the hidden cruelty of it all. But what did it matter now?

    He wondered how they were all doing, to whom Hafiz and Isra had been assigned in his absence, whether Jamal would cease study in his grief or persevere like a fool¡­

    ¡­Whether Aliyah had been killed yet.

    Iolite said very deliberate things about the Library in front of him, and on the latest of these occasions, the violent one¡ªSuria¡ªhad posed a suggestion about finding a replacement for Aliyah. Something about the tracking being too much of a strain. And then an argument had spilled over, words switching from trade tongue to faerie and back again, convenience and loose ends and something about stasis being insufficient, and he hadn¡¯t understood the rest of it.

    They wanted something from the Library. Maybe they wanted the entire Library. He¡¯d told them Aliyah would be of no use, and they still refused to believe him. Perhaps the fact that she¡¯d ventured deeper than he had¡­if only he hadn¡¯t known any details about the zones. He wished she¡¯d never mentioned it to him and wished he hadn¡¯t remembered. But then, the first implication that she¡¯d gone beyond the periphery had been enough for Iolite. Perhaps it would¡¯ve made no difference in the end.

    An uncomfortable hypothesis tickled at the edges of his thoughts: magic and meaning and knowledge, old rituals, pound of flesh and a handful of brain, passages opened with blood¡­

    It was too cold. His teeth chattered. A craving surged like spellfire along every vein, icy coals crackling at the base of his skull. Neurons jittered. Little shocks, like lightning on the horizon. But it wasn¡¯t just that. The magic they had him under had cut off his usual processes, the steady reservoir of carefully balanced, endogenous neurochemicals drip-feeding into his brain. It was skewing the equilibrium keeping him otherwise functional. Exhaustion swallowed his thoughts. Were it not for the other withdrawals, he would¡¯ve lain down and slept for as long as they let him.

    His eyes itched and his mouth was sand-dry. He scratched at his throat, then forced himself to stop. His hands shook the more he tried to steady them. He thought of the people in their cavern. He wasn¡¯t sure how many it¡¯d been, earlier. Less than the time before, probably. And they weren¡¯t dead, or even harmed, really, but¡­

    It wasn¡¯t right.

    And they¡¯d make him do it again. How long ago had it been? An hour or two? There were no timepieces here, no hourglasses. No light save for the feeble glow of a mossy lantern, past the bars and well out of reach. The one called Thorn had placed it there, quite prudently, after Zahir had smashed the first one.

    Zahir forced himself to get up and walk closer to the light. He examined the bindings on his wrists. The sections he¡¯d scratched at with a piece of glass from the first lantern had long smoothed back out. Every attempt at using magic got stuck behind those damned cuffs. The one around his throat was more for intent, he guessed. Proximity to the brain. They operated in tandem. Those coils, those veins¡ªwhat glimpses he could catch¡ªhooked into his nervous system.

    Could a spell break this? He wasn¡¯t sure. Suspected not. It¡¯d have to be complicated, or something a Breaker would know. It was a shame then, that the only Breaker available had wishes in direct opposition to his. He hadn¡¯t seen him for a while, come to think of it. Nowadays, it was mostly the one called Thorn stopping by to keep him sane with a flurry of unhelpful chatter. And now even Thorn was gone, leaving him with a new and rather sour-sounding warden.

    He sat down and sharpened his hearing. The enchantment allowed that. It was within the bounds of operational efficiency. No footsteps or wingbeats, for now. He pushed up his sleeve and unwound the strip of cloth from his forearm. A glass shard tumbled out, selected for its cleanest looking edge. It wasn¡¯t as nice as a knife, much less a scalpel, but it meant he hadn¡¯t resorted to using scavenged rocks, or his fingernails, or his teeth.

    There was a limit to how much injury the enchantment would allow, he¡¯d discovered. Too many wounds loosened him from its hold, so it would force him to heal sooner or later. He also couldn¡¯t deliberately exhaust his inner reserves; the magic seemed to refill as quickly as it was spent. From where, he didn¡¯t know and didn¡¯t especially want to guess. But there was no restriction on inflicting injury, so long as it wasn¡¯t aimed at any of his captors. It made the task difficult, but not impossible.

    He drove the point of the shard into his fingertip with a grimace. Funny things, spell-slips. They didn¡¯t have to be written on rune paper. You didn¡¯t need a runequill. They helped a lot, but skin and blood would do.

 5.8 - A Fluctuation of Light

    Aliyah

    The door clicked open. Aliyah looked up from the bowlful of nutrient fluid and flooded her armour with a startled rush of magic.

    ¡°It¡¯s only me,¡± Kionah said, nodding at the shimmer of shielding as it faded away. ¡°Not bad.¡± She raised an eyebrow as she drew closer. ¡°What are you doing?¡±

    Aliyah offered a nervous smile. ¡°Only some experimentation. It¡¯s not working. Did you manage to find her?¡±

    ¡°Yes. You might be pleased to know your healing arts have done some good. Safira feels wonderful, physically-speaking, which I suspect is softening the whole magic-loss situation.¡± Kionah paused. ¡°Speaking of healing, I¡¯m guessing this is yours?¡± She was referring to the nutrient fluid. Aliyah supposed it did look like blood at first glance. ¡°What¡¯s it for? Please don¡¯t say you¡¯re trying to craft some sort of flesh puppet.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not trying to make a homunculus,¡± Aliyah said crossly. ¡°¡­I thought soaking synthesized flesh in more nutrients would help it last longer, or help me control it¡ªanyway. What did she tell you?¡±

    Kionah heaved a sigh and pulled out a chair. ¡°Yeah, it was faeries. They had a Healer with them by the sound of things, and he did enough to rule out an illusion. Happened at an exile¡¯s camp a few days ago.¡±

    ¡°He?¡± she echoed, half-dreading the answer.

    ¡°In all likelihood, it was probably Salai. But he wasn¡¯t really¡ªI mean, the poor girl was there with her grandfather but neither of them saw much. They passed out fairly early on. Interestingly, it sounded like he was under some sort of curse, or a thrall. There was a faery with him. The whole place was done for. Forty nine with their magic gone, or so they say.¡±

    ¡°Forty nine,¡± Aliyah said blankly, blinking at the cold, bland horror of it all. She shivered and drew her own magic around her shoulders like a blanket. ¡°And she hasn¡¯t recovered?¡±

    ¡°No, nothing.¡± Kionah sounded grim. ¡°None of them have. They sent a request to the Hive, seeing as schismatists seem involved.¡±

    ¡°And will the Hive be much help?¡±

    ¡°Maybe. Better hope so, cause City Watch won¡¯t. I don¡¯t really know how it was in Shadowsong, but forty-odd¡¯s practically nothing in a place like this and they didn¡¯t even die. No one wants to get involved in temple politics either. Even old exiles count when it comes to that. Unless those faeries go thieving from some important people¡­¡± Her jaw twitched, and she fluttered her fingers in a heavy gesture of doubt.

    Aliyah looked back down into the cooling bowl of nutrient fluid. A dark red skin had formed across the surface. ¡°There must be other people from that camp. Does the story match? I don¡¯t think Healers can steal magic. Only Magicians, and it seems¡ªit felt like a slow process to me. And not so¡­permanent.¡±

    ¡°Haven¡¯t checked.¡± Kionah hesitated. ¡°We could go see. Safira didn¡¯t say anything about mages in blue, but I don¡¯t suppose it¡¯s impossible.¡±

    ¡°But surely there¡¯d be ritual stuff left over, if it was a Magician?¡± A different thought occurred to her. ¡°And have you found more people you¡¯d like me to heal?¡±

    ¡°Too much talk flying about for now,¡± Kionah said, almost airily. ¡°After Safira and the rest woke up cured with mystery symbology around ¡®em, the rumours have been spreading like crazy. Give it time to simmer down, and you can do more when some deserving folk try to replicate this miracle ritual for themselves. We should go while we can.¡±

    ¡°Alright. But you know, if that faery¡¯s checking where I am¡ª¡± She indicated with the arm bearing the tracker-mark ¡°¡ªthen this might get their attention. Are you sure it¡¯s alright for me to come along?¡±

    Her hope must¡¯ve bled through in her voice; a curious change came over Kionah¡¯s expression. It was a neutrality that struggled to assert itself. ¡°Would you heal me if I got shot?¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± she said instantly. ¡°Of course. You think I wouldn¡¯t?¡±

    Kionah flashed a smile. ¡°Alright, then. Bring your armour. Your needles. Your knife.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t have a knife.¡±

    ¡°The one I lent you earlier,¡± Kionah said, indicating where it sat atop one of the unpacked trunks. ¡°Keep it. It suits you.¡±

    ===

    Mosslight painted the cavern a cool, oily green. Grim-faced people huddled in clusters around timeworn tents and smoky cooking fires. Several held makeshift weapons close to their bodies: shoddy spears and knives which looked better suited to paring fruit than fending off attackers. Wary eyes stared them down, and secretive murmurs quietened as they approached.

    Aliyah couldn¡¯t blame them, knowing what she knew. A heavy silence seeped into the spaces between every word. She suspected they wouldn¡¯t have been let in so easily if Kionah hadn¡¯t drawn one of the gatekeepers aside and rattled off a list of names and places like a code. That, and for the fact that the Hive had gotten here already.

    ¡°Hey,¡± she whispered to Kionah. ¡°Haven¡¯t we seen him before? That orange one.¡±

    ¡°Back with the other scouts? Could be. Should go talk to the Lieutenant in charge, though.¡±

    ¡°Which one¡¯s the Lieutenant?¡± she asked. ¡°Those ones, in the tunics?¡± Most of the other faeries wore sashes around their waists, or scarves draped carelessly over their shoulders. She suspected the clothing was for identification rather than utility.

    ¡°Yeah, probably. We¡¯ll have to wait in line.¡±

    Aliyah glanced around surreptitiously as they joined a short queue. Knowing that everyone in this cavern had their magic taken painted the grim scene in an even worse light. She tried to picture a way of doing it, of draining the magic from each cell like blood from organ tissue. It seemed impossible. The Magicianling who¡¯d managed to still her magic had only sustained the effect for a couple of minutes. The Magicians had also needed extra things, lots of set-up, intricate glyphs and blood rites powered by dozens of casters. This cavern was almost as bare as a salt plain. There were no signs of runestone or mage-marks.

    ¡°¡­Our thanks for coming here,¡± someone ahead of them was saying. ¡°We don¡¯t have much, but please, here is some moon-bread. And if you wish it, we could burn a paper offering in your name.¡±

    ¡°Ah, no need,¡± one of the Lieutenants said, nudging away the proffered parcel. ¡°Rather, it is our scouts who have brought replenishments for you. Just one last question, however. You¡¯re certain that this ¡®faery¡¯ accompanying the human mage had no horns, like my companion does? It can be easy to confuse the spines and horns for some, so¡ª¡±

    ¡°Yes, the spines were certainly more like yours.¡±

    ¡°Well, thank you. We will do our best to see this individual found.¡±

    The Lieutenant beckoned the next person in line. Aliyah listened to the next sets of testimonies with mounting dread. The same details stood out each time: a red mage, a golden faery, a Cathayan-looking young man straggling along with them. Each recollection was similar, except for the respondents who had become incapacitated too early on to tell. And peeking through was a curious detail: a clay receptacle which oozed an air of dread.

    ¡°You¡¯d best smash it to pieces,¡± a woman ahead of them growled. ¡°A thing like that, it¡¯s not right. I can¡¯t feel the magic coming back, not one speck of it. Got an answer for us, eh? Or just here to gawp at the misery? Four damn days before you bother showing your faces¡ªtook you long enough.¡±

    ¡°M¡ªMa,¡± stammered a girl by her side, gingerly tugging at her arm. ¡°Let¡¯s¡ªlet¡¯s go, they¡¯re just here to help. Let¡¯s go make an offering at the shrine.¡±

    ¡°Kill ¡®em and give our magic back,¡± the woman continued. She backed away, cradling the girl close with a tense and shaking hand. ¡°We mightn¡¯t have much down here, but it¡¯s through power we¡¯re made safe. What¡¯re we supposed to do now, if some sick bastards get it in their heads to stone us for sport? Food¡¯s all well and good, but you¡¯d best be doing something useful. That¡¯s if you scarcely care!¡±

    ¡°Next, please,¡± the Lieutenant said evenly.

    The woman gave a derisive snort as her daughter led her away, and the Lieutenant sighed as Kionah stepped forward. Her spines shifted as she assessed them.

    ¡°You two don¡¯t live here, do you?¡±

    ¡°No,¡± Kionah agreed. ¡°But we¡¯ve encountered these schismatists before. My friend here would word it best.¡± She nudged Aliyah forward.

    ¡°That golden schismatist you described,¡± Aliyah said, and tried to roll up her sleeve. The padded armour made it awkward, but she managed to bare most of the tracker-mark. ¡°She placed this on me. Later, more schismatists attacked me¡ªus¡ªbecause of what we saw. We found a secret camp of theirs while we were travelling here. Later, they claimed to have captured a¡­colleague of mine. I have reason to believe the mage described in this attack was the same person they captured.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯ve already relayed most of this to a certain Lieutenant Qilin,¡± Kionah added. ¡°Except for that last part about the mage. She did say she¡¯d investigate the camp coordinates. I know it hasn¡¯t been awfully long, but any news on that?¡±

    ¡°Not that I know of. You are¡­?¡±

    Aliyah hesitated as Kionah spoke her name with a flourish and offered a hand to shake.

    ¡°And you, mage?¡±

    Glister was a big city and anyone who wanted her already knew her face. She wondered if there would be any use in lying. ¡°Mage Scionsong,¡± she said, with more confidence than she felt.

    ¡°Lieutenants Drosera and Hespero,¡± the Lieutenant replied, first gesturing to herself, then to her companion. ¡°Neither of us are closely linked with Qilin, but one of her assistants is near and may be of help.¡±

    Lieutenant Hespero placed his fingers over his teeth and tipped his head back in a soundless whistle. Several faerie heads turned at the gesture, but only one form swooped across the cavern.

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    ¡°Aha!¡± Cygnus exclaimed, saluting with her tail. She landed with a light puff of dust, nodding to each of them. ¡°I remember you.¡±

    ¡°Any news from Qilin?¡±

    Cygnus shook her head. ¡°None. She¡¯s been busy. I would¡¯ve thought you would get your news through Luxon if there were developments.¡±

    Aliyah shrugged. ¡°Yes. But does this change things?¡±

    Cygnus frowned at them. ¡°Change what?¡±

    ¡°Qilin said it¡¯d be difficult to spend time and effort on stray schismatists. It¡¯s not so random or harmless anymore, is it? Forty nine¡¯s a lot more than¡ªthan just one. Are you going to track them down?¡±

    ¡°We certainly are,¡± Drosera spoke loudly, her voice clear and chiming. Aliyah suspected the volume was for the benefit of the nearby acolytes. ¡°This is extremely unprecedented, and it should go without saying that such a deplorable act by a¡­¡¯faery¡¯ cannot go unpunished even if they are not, strictly speaking, part of our Hive.¡± There was a note of disgruntlement to that last part.

    ¡°We have suspected identities for some already,¡± Hespero added. ¡°When it comes to those formerly of our Hive.¡±

    ¡°Though many others remain unaccounted for, of course,¡± Cygnus added. ¡°Who are these suspected ones? Anosmics? Exiles? Both?¡±

    Hespero¡¯s wings shifted hues. ¡°We cannot say so unless we confirm.¡±

    ¡°Of course,¡± Cygnus said. She made to say more, then froze.

    Every other faerie froze right along with her, their spines stretched taut. The cavern seemed to still as a cool breeze swept through it¡ªno, not a breeze, Aliyah realised. It was a tide of unfamiliar magic that made her skin jitter with cold. She looked, instinctively, to the source: the other end of the cavern, where stone stairs tunnelled upwards. A lone faery flew in, skidded across the gravel, and staggered to a stop. The faery hissed several words in succession, the sound amplified by a spell.

    Another faery hissed back. She wasn¡¯t sure which. All that mattered was one starting, and the rest following. The ones at the far end of the chamber leaped to the air, and suddenly the cavern was aloft with winged bodies.

    ¡°General¡¯s call,¡± Drosera breathed.

    The pair of Lieutenants flared their wings; they spoke in tangled unison, voices sharp. ¡°Contact the Hive later. We are called.¡±

    A gust of air, and they were gone. The encampment swirled with human voices as the faeries began streaming out: cries of confusion, demands for answers, even a few angry curses.

    ¡°Again?¡± Cygnus said¡ªstill here, one of the last to start moving. She hovered half a foot off the ground and her spines were laid almost flat, quivering slightly. ¡°Another? So soon?¡±

    Aliyah reached out, fingers closing around spiked chitin as Cygnus made to ascend.

    Faerie eyes widened. ¡°Excuse me¡ªlet go, please.¡±

    ¡°What¡¯s again?¡± Aliyah demanded. She jerked her head in the direction of the tents. ¡°This, again? Magic theft? Happening now?¡±

    Cygnus¡¯ wings beat an anxious whirr. ¡°I¡ªI shouldn¡¯t say, but¡ªthere was another attack, just this morning. A smaller one. General Grus stationed Lieutenants at some sites, but I didn¡¯t know Perihelion would be¡ª¡± She shook her arm. ¡°Please, let go! I must help!¡±

    ¡°Take us with you,¡± Aliyah said urgently. ¡°That mage¡ªI know him, I can stop him.¡± She wasn¡¯t sure she really could. But she¡¯d kept the string of unlocking charms Kionah had given her by her side, and Hive soldiers at her back was too good of an opportunity to waste.

    Cygnus glanced between her and Kionah. ¡°I can¡¯t carry you both.¡±

    ¡°Just me, then.¡±

    ¡°Wait,¡± Kionah said sharply. ¡°How will I find you? Tell me where.¡±

    Cygnus growled. ¡°I follow the call. There is no name¡­somewhere toward East-Middle-Drowning-Hollow. Eight minute¡¯s flight, maybe less. A place similar to this one. Vulnerable. That¡¯s all I know.¡± She held out her other arm. ¡°Coming, or not?¡±

    ¡°Okay.¡± She glanced at Kionah, whose brow was furrowed in calculation. ¡°See you there?¡±

    Kionah lifted her chin. ¡°I¡¯ll be as fast as I can.¡±

    Aliyah grabbed onto Cygnus¡¯ arm and was borne swiftly into the air.

    Being carried by a faerie was a disorientating experience. Cygnus swooped and dived with abandon, her wings shimmering like beacons. The faint buzz of magic keeping Aliyah suspended made the air pliant beneath her feet, as though it were a surface that tilted on a whim. She blinked away tears as wind stung at her face.

    Cygnus sailed over an arch of stalagmites and banked steeply at a corner. They wove through a labyrinth of tunnels. The air grew damp; Aliyah heard a rushing roar and soon they were whipping along the length of an underground river. Solitary fires flickered along the far bank. She noted tents and shacks that looked even worse for wear than the acolytes¡¯ encampment as they drew near, almost skimming over the water. Further in, clusters of faeries swarmed the air, throwing distant shouts and sparks of spellfire.

    ¡°Here,¡± Cygnus gasped, and then a dark shape slammed into them.

    Cygnus screamed, toppling sideways, then swiftly down as her wings failed. Spiked limbs thrashed as another faery clung to her back, clawing at her spines. Aliyah twisted free of the falling tangle and filled her armour with shielding a moment before she hit the ground. She tucked her head into her arms and rolled, coming to a stop by the river bank. Something shattered. Alchemical smoke filled the air, rendering visibility almost useless. Heavy, barbed ropes hit her over the head as she made to stand. The spikes scraped against her shielding, threatening to bite through skin. Another net. Too bad they¡¯d given her plenty of practice already.

    She scrambled into a crouch as someone pulled the ends taught, trying to force her back down. One hand braced against the net, barbs be damned, and the other reached for her knife. She hacked a hole open and tore it further with her hands, just enough to crawl free. Her palms ran with blood and she healed it like an afterthought.

    ¡°Cygnus?¡± she called, but it only drew an icy arrow her way. The point glanced off her armoured shoulder, far weaker than Saiphenora¡¯s had been. She scanned around and upwards, spotting a vaguely familiar flicker of blue.

    Aliyah expanded the shielding from her armour, pouring a thicker coating over her head and face and fingertips. Whoever had been down here to secure the net was still around. The smoke didn¡¯t look like it¡¯d thin any time soon. She sharpened her hearing. There was a crackle¡ªthat direction. She dropped the effort and pivoted, knife whipping up in one hand and vasodilation in the other.

    Two faeries sprung simultaneously. One had a huge, glowing staff swung back, readied to arc down. She reached with the vasodilation. Didn¡¯t have to touch them, anymore. The Calamistrum had seen to that.

    They crumpled just as another two arrows hit her shield and one made it through, grazing the sleeve of her padded coat. She ignored it as she stepped forwards, dowsing the two fallen with false-sleep. They crumpled with a clatter. She wasn¡¯t sure if they¡¯d hit their heads badly, but perhaps it was better if they had.

    ¡°Cygnus!¡± she called again, but heard no reply. Probably injured, unconscious. Should she try to find her? No, the other schismatists were more important. If Zahir was here under a thrall, being wielded like a weapon, then she was the only one able to fix it.

    Aliyah sharpened her hearing again. The river was at her back and the fight ahead. She sprinted through the mist, ignoring the faery archer as she was peppered with arrows; a few more made it through her shield, but the armour took the scratches in her stead. Yard after yard of river grit and damp gravel, the smoke fading and tents coming into view. Weaving through the tents now, past slumped-over bodies. At some point, she lost the archer. She ducked behind a jagged boulder to catch her breath.

    Spellfire bathed the far side of the cavern, where dozens of tents had been felled, crushed, and lit ablaze. Long shadows writhed across the stone, an echo of fighting figures stretched to grotesque proportions. Faeries darted close to the stone-spiked roof, fighting in broken packs. One against one or a dozen against a dozen¡ªthe opposing sides seemed equally matched, until she realised some of the fighters were slicing through illusions, shapes wisping into shadow at the touch of a blade. The golden one was probably here then, likely cloaked in illusion herself. Aliyah sharpened her eyesight, scanned the air, and recognised a flash of silver.

    Saiphenora of Shallownest was alight with magic, glowing white-hot with a ring of protectors surrounding her. She loosed arrows, one after another, concentrated on a specific faery: orange-red, the colour of flame, a wheel of swords spinning at his back like the spokes of a painted sun. A General, Aliyah thought. What was the name Cygnus had said¡ªPerihelion? She glimpsed Drosera and Hespero striking at three other faeries, decapitating one.

    Zahir wasn¡¯t with any of the faeries, though¡ªand why would he be, unless they were already leaving? She hurried forward, ducking behind tents and stepping over bodies. Didn¡¯t have much time. Every previous encounter with the schismatists had demonstrated an exit strategy, and they wouldn¡¯t have planned for an encounter with Lieutenants, much less a General. Hurry, she thought. They¡¯d be leaving soon.

    She forced her eyesight into peak clarity, searching for a tell-tale red cloak or a flash of dark hair. A few groups of humans battled it out on the ground, most of them huddled under shielding domes.

    He must be here, she thought fiercely. All those unconscious¡ªshe was fairly sure they were only unconscious¡ªbodies back there, that had to be his work.

    Screams filled the air: high, thin trills as a bright arrow punctured Lieutenant Drosera¡¯s body. Then another, and another, moving almost too swift to believe. Hespero swooped to catch her and was hit too. They fell as one, right onto the biggest cluster of people shielding on the ground. The shield shattered, and Aliyah traced the trajectory right back to Saiphenora. Disturbingly well-planned. She scanned the ground again, pulse hammering in frustration. Where was he?

    There¡ªa ripple of air by the collapsed shield. She wouldn¡¯t have noticed if she hadn¡¯t strained her eyes this far. The figures crawling out from under their fallen teammates staggered and collapsed face-down, barely a few steps out. The ripple of air wavered, like mirage-water over salt horizon, and she was suddenly sure she¡¯d found the illusionist.

    A deafening crackle overhead; more screams. Nearby, General Perihelion crashed into the ground like a flaming meteor. Faery whistles filled the air, barely audible but so thick with magic they touched her skin like an echo of river current.

    Aliyah stepped out from behind the tent just as a hiss rippled through the cavern. Overhead, the schismatist formations were breaking and scattering. Several faeries pitched bottles and sachets at the ground. Glass shattered, powder plumed. The air filled with smoke and an overpowering, alchemical smell: sharp and stinging, like a bucketful of scouring solution. Escape plan? Had to be.

    She fortified her shield and ignored what was above her, sprinting straight into the clearing of trampled tents. Smoke swirled everywhere; she could hardly see three feet ahead. Loosening her needles from her clothing, she sent them scouting in a broad fan formation. She slowed and veered hard when she felt them pinging off chitin.

    Through the smoke, the edge of a wing loomed.

    She¡¯d expected the illusionist to be invisible; the gleam of gold almost took her by surprise. There was just enough time to clutch vasodilation and knife both, and bring them point-first into the illusionist¡¯s back. The knife pierced an inch and the spell burrowed deeper. In through surface chitin, reaching for strange vessels¡ªbut no, there was a resistance. A familiar piece of magic, pushing back against her efforts.

    The illusionist slumped fractionally and straightened again, eyes blazing. She twisted, lashing out with a spear of chitin. Aliyah staggered, knife ripping loose, the spear strike jarring her bones even as it bounced off her armour. A phantom sting bloomed across her forearm. She drew six needles from her sleeve and loosed them straight forward. Felt them stick before the chitin reshaped itself, expelling them.

    ¡°Kingdom rat,¡± the illusionist hissed, the spear quivering in her grasp.

    ¡°You!¡± Aliyah screamed, scrambling to her feet, a breakage at the ready. ¡°You wanted me? Here I am! Now where is he?¡±

    The illusionist¡¯s spear melted back into her body. One hand clutched at a weeping wound in her chest; the other cradled a clay vessel. The wound was closing, but it was a deep one. She was more injured than she¡¯d assumed, Aliyah realised. She could end it now. The thought crystallised along with her magic, weaving mere breakage into bloody excision¡ª

    The illusionist hefted the vessel, aimed its mouth. Aliyah¡¯s gaze hooked toward that dark circle, hungry and calling. For a moment, it felt as if all of her blood had reversed direction. She took a jerky step backwards and threw the excision with all her strength. The illusionist snarled, diving aside. The vessel¡¯s mouth pointed away, and the hunger faded from the air.

    Aliyah¡¯s excision had missed, but she formed another and threw it just as viciously. The illusionist ceased her light tricks. Invisibility ripped away like too-thin gauze and then Zahir was there, countering her excision, shielding the illusionist from view, his eyes glowing retina-red. The air snapped flat and cold. Agony screeched along every nerve. Her sinuses seemed to compress. By the time she reeled further back, letting go of her readied breakage to shield herself and purge her pain receptors, the illusionist was airborne and heading toward the distant, flaming glow to their right.

    ¡°You wanted your colleague?¡± the illusionist called. Hemolymph poured from her mouth. ¡°Go¡ªgo fetch.¡± And she disappeared.

    Zahir whirled round and ran, whorled in wisps of smoke. Aliyah grabbed at his trailing cloak and only managed to tear off a thread in her hand.

    ¡°The mage,¡± she shouted, almost tearing her vocal cords. The smoke was just starting to clear. She couldn¡¯t see many Hive faeries, other than a few clustered back by the fallen Lieutenants. She called out anyway. ¡°I found their mage! I need help!¡±

    She sheathed her knife as she ran, gathering a sea of excisions in her hands instead. She had armour, she reasoned. He had years¡¯ worth of experience. She had the unlocking charms in her pocket, too. Blood feathered her nostrils. Her tongue felt like a bruise in her mouth. She had a chance.

    But only a chance.

 5.9 â€“ Fight Like a Healer

    Aliyah

    Wingbeats echoed at her back, though she didn¡¯t bother turning to see who they belonged to. The fact they hadn¡¯t shot her yet was good enough. Footsteps followed, too. She flicked her gaze sideways as a pair of figures drew closer, wreathed in the tell-tale glow of shielding. One was a grey-haired woman, clutching a sword in bloodied hands. The other was a youth, gripping a spear. Both wore unfamiliar robes in the same style. Exiled acolytes, she guessed. The youth edged nearer.

    ¡°Are you a battle mage?¡± he gasped.

    ¡°No,¡± she gritted out.

    ¡°I am,¡± the woman spoke. She had the solid build of a mercenary, but a patch of blood bloomed across her shoulder. ¡°Or used to be. Norbu still has his magic, but he¡¯s untrained. We¡¯ll stay behind the faeries. Tell us if we are in your way.¡± She fell back, murmuring what might¡¯ve been a prayer. The youth followed suit.

    Aliyah spotted two faeries in Hival sashes out the corner of her eye and focused on optimising her circulation and stride. A dead end loomed ahead, the tunnel choked with rubble. She spotted a narrower passage to the side and hesitated for half a second at the threshold, but plunged onward. She was sure Zahir had been real. That spike of pain had been physiological and a piece of red thread still clung to her sleeve. But were the acolytes an illusion? The faeries? Having an illusionist in the equation stoked paranoia, made her head hurt. But they weren¡¯t attacking her, and if they did, she would handle it. So it didn¡¯t matter for now.

    ¡°This leads up to the surface,¡± Norbu called out.

    ¡°We know,¡± one of the faeries snapped. ¡°Mind your step!¡±

    Aliyah drew more needles from her sleeves, sending them scouting. The tunnel widened, then narrowed even further, steep as a funnel. Only wide enough for one at a time, she estimated. The needles pattered against something smooth and hard, many shapes, possibly limbs: a fort of chitin.

    She lanced her breakages ahead. Something crunched. Several pops echoed, but no screams. Only a long, low hiss¡ªmany as one, overlapping.

    ¡°Unhive,¡± one of the Hival faeries cried out, and they lunged in unison.

    A wall of bodies spilled out. The first faery speared two straight through their chests. The other faery¡ªorange, vaguely familiar, a sullen scout, Sargas?¡ªslammed the butt of his spear down, crushing the skull of a third. But the darkness glinted with dark spines and folded wings, more and more crawling forth with each passing second.

    There had to be at least thirty or forty faeries, Aliyah realised, all scratching and biting and not pausing for pain, some crawling across the floor with mangled limbs where her breakages had hit. Sargas slammed the end of his tail into the onslaught. The female acolyte gave a war cry and charged. Norbu came to a trembling halt next to her, readying his spear. Aliyah gritted her teeth. She didn¡¯t have time for this.

    Shield up, breakages ready¡ªshe filled her eyes with dark-vision and dove into the fray, wresting past the crush of chitin, stepping on heads and backs and shoulders, scraping her palms on spiked spines. She filled whatever she touched with spasms and splintering, the minimum necessary to smooth her way, saving her strength.

    A spidery hand latched around her boot; she reached without looking and snapped fingers off at their base. A feathered wing hit her across the chest and she bent it away, hearing ligaments snap. She made it over the crest of insectoid anatomy and half-slid, half-fell down the other side, bumping over a tangle of twitching limbs. Screams echoed at her back. Then she took off running. Zahir had gained more than a minute¡¯s head start on them all; she strained her hearing to almost painful sensitivity as she went, not looking back to see whether anyone had followed.

    Wingbeats emerged a moment later, heralded by a soft orange glow. Sargas kept pace with her, looking much worse for wear. Hemolymph dripped down his brow, and he swiped it out of his eyes. ¡°Are¡ªyou sure,¡± he panted.

    ¡°Yes.¡± Her breath came as a hiss; she hardly had breath to spare.

    ¡°That was¡ªback there, it was all fodder bodies.¡± He glanced worriedly over his shoulder. ¡°Tunnel¡¯s plugged. Us two made it over the wave, but the acolytes got stuck behind. Meissa stayed because some false-General came bursting out the wall¡ª¡± he shuddered, voice shaking. ¡°The General was already injured, I think. She¡¯ll¡ªthey¡¯ll be alright.¡± He didn¡¯t sound convinced.

    ¡°Alright,¡± Aliyah said, banishing Saiphenora¡¯s arrows to the back of her mind. ¡°How do you fight a General?¡±

    She wasn¡¯t sure, but she could guess. It couldn¡¯t be worse than a cornered Healer.

    ¡°You don¡¯t.¡± He placed his fingers to his mouth in a grim, soundless whistle. Faint magic rippled the air in waves. ¡°I¡¯ve Hive-called again, little good it¡¯ll do. Best to not fight. Track to their den and mark the coordinates.¡±

    Sargas was a scout. His reasoning rang true. But she wasn¡¯t a scout, and the place Zahir was leading them probably wasn¡¯t a schismatist¡¯s hideout.

    ¡°This place reeks of a snare,¡± he was saying.

    ¡°Maybe not. The illusionist was trying to lead me away. But I have to get close enough to break the thrall.¡±

    ¡°What thrall?¡±

    ¡°The mage. I know him. Look for it, if you don¡¯t believe me. The eyes and the spellfire¡ªhe¡¯s not doing this because he wants to.¡±

    It¡¯s my task, she didn¡¯t add. You don¡¯t have to follow. But Sargas kept flying alongside, though his spines were drawn flat and tense. There were perhaps a hundred metres before the tunnel split into two; she skidded to a desperate stop, wondering if she was imagining the sound of footsteps echoing from the right.

    Sargas sniffed the air. ¡°Rightwards,¡± he confirmed. ¡°Catching up.¡±

    He still clung to his spear, she noted. ¡°You going to help?¡± she asked with wary hope.

    ¡°That illusionist made a carnage back there,¡± he spat. ¡°I¡¯ll do what I can.¡±

    ¡°It won¡¯t be that easy,¡± she warned. ¡°Keep your distance. Stay flying. This mage¡ªyou can¡¯t rely on an ordinary shield. Stay away¡­six feet, at least. No, better twelve.¡± She wasn¡¯t actually sure. ¡°As far away as you can hit him from.¡±

    They plunged into a deeper darkness. Her muscles burned, but the going was a little easier now, flat instead of an incline. Physiological regulation helped¡ªcirculating blood, nudging lungs and bloodflow beyond their usual efficiency¡ªbut she tried to conserve her magic. Go fetch, the schismatist had said. She ground her teeth together. Half-taunt, half-lure. She had no real choice but to follow.

    The tunnel widened into a proper cavern. Here, she thought, as too-angular shapes loomed out of the darkness. They meant to capture or kill her here, for the crime of being at the wrong place at the wrong time. For being Songian, or a Healer, or of enough potential use: a tool used to subdue or kill. To aid their thievery. It should have been so clear from the beginning.

    ¡°Dead dwellings,¡± Sargas murmured, spines pricked. He hefted his spear with both hands. ¡°I smell many enclosed spaces here. Scattered grottoes, all filled with water.¡±

    She slowed as they entered the main thoroughfare. Rocks crunched wetly beneath her boots. She didn¡¯t need enhanced olfactory nerves to note the smell of damp and rot about the place. The ruins of what might once have been houses slumped silently on all sides. Somewhere far off to the right, she could hear the lapping of a lakeshore.

    ¡°Can you sense any of your people?¡± she asked quietly. Not that there was much point¡ªif she could stretch her hearing to human limits, then surely Zahir could do better. ¡°Schismatists, I mean.¡±

    ¡°Only that human mage.¡± He sniffed the air again. ¡°Strange. The trail has dispersed. I cannot pinpoint¡­¡±

    Scent was a biological quality. It could probably be manipulated as easily as skin and bone, if only one thought out the particulars. Would Zahir double back if she stopped following? she wondered despairingly. The faeries weren¡¯t only in the business of hunting her. If they allowed her the opportunity to get close enough to attack, they could lose him and the help he gave them in stealing magic¡ªso, no. Too unlikely to risk trying.

    ¡°Fly overhead. If you see him, shout.¡±

    ¡°Easier to signal, like this.¡± He flashed a golden pattern across his wings, pulsing with lances of light. Then he soared upward, becoming a speck amongst the stalactites.

    Aliyah followed, fishing the unlocking charms from her pocket. She considered, then dismissed the remaining needles in her sleeves and prepared an excision instead. Zahir had neutralised the ones she¡¯d aimed at the illusionist; she crammed more power into this attempt, enough for her veins to crackle with the strain. She felt ill at the idea of killing him like the Calamistrum¡ªbulging flesh, throat caved in and blood gushing out¡ªbut it probably wouldn¡¯t even hurt, much less slow him down. When she recalled how his spell had struck her sinuses instead of tunneling into her brain, she felt a dim spark of conviction. There was hope yet, some loophole in the thrall. Either a sliver of consciousness she could reach out to¡­or more likely, the schismatists still needed her alive.

    After seeing what they¡¯d done to him, she was sure they needed her alive.

    Sargas¡¯s wings flared gold. She fixed her sights on his position and ran faster.

    The charms felt so very small in her hand. If they failed, she¡¯d have to flee and hope that was enough. Sargas didn¡¯t seem in any condition to carry her like Cygnus had. Distantly, she hoped Cygnus wasn¡¯t badly hurt or worse. Sargas¡¯ partner was still back in the tunnel, the acolytes too¡­and surely the leftover Hive fighters could help if she made it back to the cavern? But though her estimation of Zahir¡¯s strength was hazed with dread and uncertainty, she was sure he¡¯d earned that second-rank. It fell to her to protect everyone else.

    If only there were another Healer to help. If only she were stronger. If only¡ª

    But there was no time left. Sargas¡¯ signal flashed overhead. Her legs carried her through the twisting, half-collapsed grid of dead houses. Wet, moldy air flooded into each heave of her lungs. Sargas¡¯ light grew nearer and nearer until she was almost beneath him, and then Zahir was here again, cloaked in blood with his back to her.

    Here, now. She drew her arm back. He turned.

    She sensed a flicker, moments before the air flooded with blinding spell-light, and then her magic flowed with more intuition than knowledge. She wrenched her body into tightly-guarded equilibrium, guarding blood and brain. Black spots peppered her vision; she cycled through photopigments viciously, sharpening her sight as the wave of vasodilation crashed down. She lunged through, the magic parting around her like falling water. Zahir faltered, almost hesitating, before he stumbled out of reach and darted off to the right.

    She hissed with frustration. The charms¡ªshe had to make contact. Gripping one end of the string gave her about a foot of extra reach. It wasn¡¯t going to be enough if he kept running.

    Sargas moved overhead. She rounded the corner just in time to hear the whistle of air, to see the last second of spear streaking down.

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    Zahir didn¡¯t shield. The spear sank into his torso in spray of blood and spellfire. He wrenched it out without regard, barbed end and all. She called out again, and this time he slowed. He cocked his head to one side, almost turning. Then a circle of red pinpricks sparked around him, here and gone again. He dropped the spear with a clatter and disappeared around another corner.

    Aliyah scooped up the fallen spear as she passed it. Still running, she raised it aloft.

    ¡°Sargas!¡±

    He peeled away from tracking Zahir and darted down just low enough to grab it before floating back up overhead.

    ¡°I¡¯ve only got one more of those left in me,¡± he called, voice rasping with strain. ¡°From the other side? If I can aim while he¡¯s not turning, and you¡¯re near enough¡ª¡±

    ¡°Yes. That¡¯ll¡ªyes, do it.¡±

    She called up her shielding again, stronger than before, feeding magic into circulation, lung capacity, that eager excision ready and waiting. The spell thrummed all along the length of her arm. Her nose was bleeding a river; she hardly noticed it. She focused on running, on pushing all her effort into catching up with Sargas.

    Sargas sent out his beacon again. Zahir drew into view. She saw a flicker of movement above, what might¡¯ve been Sargas¡¯ arm drawing back, and ignored it. There was still an uninjured Healer to deal with, whirling around, one hand clawing up to cast.

    The spear hit Zahir from behind. She fired the excision into his leg and felt it shatter bone. He fell then, strangely noiseless as he crumpled.

    Three more paces and she slung the unlocking charms, filling them with magic as they struck his shoulder. They discharged in a pulse of sickly green light. The air thickened and soured, singeing her throat and nostrils with the smell of cinders. Then, dispersion. Her ears popped. A miniature shockwave buffeted the air as her spell-discs flaked away, becoming dust.

    ¡°Zahir?¡± she rasped urgently. ¡°Can you hear me?¡±

    He looked up, eyes wide and overflowing with a light like dying coals. He reached up with a shaking hand. There was a pale band around his wrist, writhing with subsurface iridescence. By its faint glow, she saw a hairline fracture.

    Three thoughts occurred to her. First, that the charms had failed. Second, that he was still reaching for her. Third: a chill and a stillness, like the very air was holding its breath.

    Molten pinpricks sparked in the darkness. She bolstered her shields a split second before he cast. Breakages gouged into her defenses, most of them diverted but fragments slipping through. Her ribs fractured. Nausea boiled in her gut. A screech tore its way out of her throat, more dismay than pain. Her hand went to her belt, closing around the knife.

    She screamed wordlessly, blood wetting her teeth, and stabbed him. There was more resistance than she¡¯d expected.

    ¡°Wake up,¡± she said, twisting the knife into his mostly-healed leg. She sensed muscle rethreading around bone, but she tore at it with magic and flooded every pain receptor she could reach. ¡°Zahir¡ªcan¡¯t you¡ªyou idiot bastard, what have they done¡ªcan¡¯t you hear me?¡±

    He looked at her, but there was no recognition on his face. He tried to stand, but she kicked at his knee, felt it crack. Drew the knife out and stabbed again: the shoulder, this time. She followed through with a downward ripping motion, metal gouging flesh. He cast a faltering breakage; she blocked it and backed away. Her mouth filled with pain and blood. She panted for breath, hacking up salt and iron. Her armour wrapped tight and solid over her chest, but it seemed too thin to face this.

    She pointed her hand at his stomach and cast, excise.

    Blood soaked through his robes, and finally he screamed. Scarlet lights seethed around his head, more frantic than a nest of drowning ants. He plunged one hand into his own stomach and raised the other straight upwards. Sargas dropped sharply, hitting the ground with a dull thud. Aliyah bit back a scream.

    Zahir reached into his sleeve as she poured more of her steadily draining magic into her armour. She gripped her knife, expecting him to draw one of his own. She didn¡¯t have enough left in her for another excision. A good, hard, breakage. Maybe two. She¡¯d aim them at his neck or his skull, whichever was least defended. Then she¡¯d have to run. If only she could use a tracker mark¡ª

    He drew a flat object out of his sleeve. Not a knife. Light flared, and then it was burning in his hand: a papery sheet, so thin it wavered in the nearly still air. A symbol flared on its surface, glowing feverishly.

    He blinked, posture slumping, and the strange light faded from his eyes.

    ¡°Hello, Aliyah,¡± he said unsteadily. His voice wasn¡¯t the same as she¡¯d remembered. Blood leaked sluggishly from the gaping wound in his torso, so thick it glistened red-black. He coughed, spitting bile. ¡°Good to see you. Listen, there isn¡¯t much time.¡±

    A dozen questions flooded her thoughts; she pushed them away and chose the most important one. ¡°You can¡¯t sustain whatever you¡¯re doing? I can lend you magic.¡± What little she could give, that was.

    ¡°Wouldn¡¯t work.¡± He coughed hoarsely, shoulders hunching with the strain. ¡°Not the problem, here.¡±

    ¡°Follow me,¡± she said urgently. ¡°The Hive can try and¡ª¡±

    ¡°No,¡± he said, straightening with visible effort. He glanced at the burning sheet. There were, she realised, dozens of runes scrawled around the big symbol, copied painstakingly into interlocking circles. ¡°Whatever spell they¡¯re using to keep me like this is too powerful. Learns better than any damn prodigy I¡¯ve ever met. Each set of runes only works once and I¡¯m going to run out very soon. You don¡¯t want to be around when that happens.

    ¡°Listen carefully, alright? The faery leader, Iolite, is fixated on the kingdom Library. She¡¯s some sort of alchemist. She seems to think your past misadventures make you a suitable¡­something. Sacrifice, probably. I think they¡¯ll kill you to open passage. You know, like how the Magicians use blood. You have to warn someone.¡±

    ¡°What¡ªI can¡¯t warn Magicians,¡± she protested, aghast. ¡°I¡¯d be executed. And I can¡¯t leave you here; I came to free you. What do I care about the kingdom¡ª?¡± Rana came to mind in a startled flash. ¡°Fine. I¡¯ll have to free you. You could go back and warn them.¡±

    He grimaced. The light from the burning paper cast his face into flickering relief. ¡°You aren¡¯t a Breaker.¡± He gestured at the bright bands around his wrists and throat. ¡°These things go off faery commands. Intention. It¡¯s like being half-awake. This spell-slip is keeping me lucid because I could activate it in the first place¡­there was only enough room to negotiate because¡ªbecause the pain broke through. You inflicted enough injury. Once they find out I didn¡¯t capture you, maybe why as well¡ªthe alchemist has truth potions¡ªthey¡¯ll stop up the gaps and tighten their hold. No more clever tricks. I won¡¯t be able to do this anymore. I can¡¯t throw the fight next time, either.¡±

    ¡°Throw the fight?¡± she asked, with half-justified suspicion. None of the breakages had gone for her neck.

    He gave her a weary look. ¡°They wanted you alive. Suria didn¡¯t expect you. She only wanted me to lead you away from that big fallen faery, be a distraction. So the intention must¡¯ve defaulted to Iolite¡¯s standing orders. But I think¡­¡± He trailed off, free hand digging harder into his bleeding torso. Maintaining enough pain to act freely, she realised with a dull, sick shock. ¡°There could be a sacrificial element, but you could also be the back-up. If they manage to break into the kingdom castle, there are Librarians who¡¯ve been out far beyond the periphery. Not many, but enough. They can still kill you and take your blood and your brain to save for later.¡±

    Her thoughts raced, catching on and then dismissing thoughts of having her sagittal suture pried open, her skull cracking like an egg. ¡°Where are you? I¡ªI know some people. I¡¯ll find a Breaker.¡±

    His expression twisted. ¡°I don¡¯t know. They cover my eyes when we leave, for the first¡­ten, fifteen minutes? There are different exits, too. Different slopes, stairs sometimes. Too many tunnels. Dimensional, if I had to guess. It¡¯s underground. That¡¯s half the damn city.¡±

    She rolled up her sleeve, showing the tracker-mark. ¡°You know how to place these?¡±

    ¡°No. I suppose you could cut my hands off and slide the cuffs away before reattaching everything.¡± He said this very casually, as if he¡¯d spent a long time considering it. ¡°But the one around my neck is the most important, and to tell you the truth I¡¯m not even sure I could manage the¡ªnecessary procedure.¡±

    Aliyah ground her teeth together, torn between outrage and revulsion. A split-second memory: that bone-sharp crunch, blood soaking into salt. ¡°No. I can¡¯t.¡±

    ¡°Precisely.¡± He glanced at his near burnt-through spell-slip and pulled out another, setting it alight. ¡°Last one, Aliyah. Any other ideas? Talk fast.¡±

    ¡°I could¡ª¡± A thought occurred to her. I can lend you magic. Kionah had tracked her down earlier, hadn¡¯t she? She¡¯d said something like, ¡®you still have my magic¡¯, back after Whistle House and the Plum Dove Inn. Granted, she¡¯d probably had the advantage of asking around too, but maybe¡­ ¡°I could give you some of my magic to hold. That¡¯d work, wouldn¡¯t it?¡±

    He hesitated. ¡°Only short-range. I haven¡¯t tried it, but the theory says a quarter-mile or so. It¡¯ll last a while but not forever, even if I don¡¯t use any of it.¡±

    ¡°The city Hive are after your faeries. I¡¯ll find help. I¡¯ll hire a chariot and have them drive it all over the city, if I have to.¡±

    He laughed faintly¡ªperhaps somewhat disbelievingly¡ªand extended a bloodied hand. ¡°Or it¡¯ll be¡­better warning than not. I wish I knew when and where they¡¯ll move, but¡­¡±

    She transferred the magic, as much as she dared. The pale cuff nudged against her hand as she withdrew, colder than iron, and suddenly she wasn¡¯t sure it could help him at all. She stepped back. If she concentrated, she could sense Zahir¡¯s presence like the flicker of a distant star. It was a strange sort of proprioception. Not so useful as a tracker-mark must be, but it would tell her whether he was close by and still alive.

    Zahir sighed. The second sheet was half-burned through. ¡°Be careful, Aliyah.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m trying to be,¡± she said heavily.

    ¡°Go,¡± he said. ¡°Your faery over there¡ª¡±

    ¡°Was it vasodilation?¡± she asked as she hurried over to Sargas¡¯ fallen form. ¡°He¡¯s fine, right?¡± The glow of his wings had dimmed, and she wasn¡¯t sure whether it was dimming further.

    ¡°Yes. I thought¡ªthe ones on my end, she seems to have her eyes and ears. The leader calls herself ¡®Iolite¡¯, the illusionist is ¡®Suria¡¯, there are some others named Saiphenora, Silverwater, Thorn, Curlew¡­¡± He listed them off, voice wavering, thready with pain. ¡°The names might be useful if you¡¯ll be asking faery authorities. They could also be aliases. Be careful. Their leader alludes to having spies in the local population.¡±

    ¡°Right.¡± She curled her hands into fists. ¡°You have to leave now, don¡¯t you?

    ¡°Yes. Goodbye, then,¡± he said, holding out the burning sheet. Ashes flaked over his hand. ¡°Go back the way you came. Avoid the amphora. When you find me, bring backup. Do your best.¡± He hesitated. ¡°It¡¯s alright if you fail. You can¡¯t save everyone.¡±

    He departed, moving quickly. She watched the darkness swallow his silhouette and sensed the scrap of her magic fade about a minute later. The spellcaster¡¯s headache, half-suppressed by a flood of adrenaline, seeped in and settled like a quilt of crushed glass. Her throat soured. It was only a bit of carefully-applied magic that kept her from vomiting. She knelt and roused Sargas from his slumber.

    Sargas groaned. ¡°Ksssssrrr¡­where¡­?¡±

    ¡°Wake up. The mage ran off, but we have to leave.¡±

    Sargas made a dazed, affirmative sound and struggled to stand. His wings brightened a faction, but he coughed out a spurt of hemolymph. She grabbed him by the elbow and hauled him upright. He was surprisingly heavy despite his spindly faerie frame.

    As they half-staggered, half-jogged back the way they came, a memory pierced her thoughts. It had seemed innocuous at the time. They¡¯d been talking in the armchairs facing the windows. It had been sunset. Long slices of golden light had broken through the shadows on the other side of the room, piercing the blueish gloom to illuminate the far wall.

    Zahir had said, apropos of nothing: ¡°if it ever comes to a choice of life and death, you should kill rather than die.¡±

    She could still picture him steadily not looking at her. He¡¯d turned towards the dying light at the window and picked at the fraying cloth cover of a book.

    ¡°You cannot save everyone, but you can save yourself. That is always what I have taught you. It doesn¡¯t matter who they are.¡±

    The turn in the conversation had started stressing her out. She¡¯d latched onto what she¡¯d thought of as the most uncomfortable part of it, back then: ¡°you think I should kill people?¡±

    ¡°Only if you must. Wound or kill, whatever is enough. Do what¡¯s necessary.¡±

    ¡°Come on Zahir,¡± she¡¯d said, shifting in her seat. ¡°Where¡¯s this coming from? It¡¯s not so dark talk for a Healer, but I doubt I¡¯ll need to kill anyone in the course of my maidservant¡¯s duties. The castle¡¯s incredibly safe. Unless someone tries to steal my good mop again¡ªmaybe then I¡¯ll reconsider.¡± She¡¯d forced a laugh.

    ¡°I¡¯m speaking hypothetically.¡± He was still picking at the wilting book. ¡°This is all hypothetical unless you¡ªlet¡¯s hope you don¡¯t¡ªfind yourself needing to make use of the advice.¡± His voice had sounded distant. She¡¯d wondered what sort of sordid courtly trouble it would take for it to come to that. Short of stealing into the Library again, that was.

    ¡°That sounds extreme,¡± she¡¯d scoffed. ¡°And hypocritical. If I ever felt the need to stop you because you concocted a plan to bring down the kingdom, like in a story or something¡ªyou still think everyone should always kill, even if it were you?¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± he said. His mouth curved into a slight smile; soft as an open wound. ¡°Even me.¡± And then he¡¯d said something else in his usual manner, a light and easy exit onto less morbid topics.

    She realised, now, the other layer behind the lesson: he might kill her to save himself, and unhesitatingly.

    Well, she thought grimly. That excision had certainly got him. If she could learn to wield her magic better, it wouldn¡¯t have to come to that.

    Ahead, a glint of light pierced the darkness. She tensed, readying her shield. A trio of faeries appeared at the mouth of the tunnel, backlit by softly glowing wings.

    ¡°Meissa,¡± Sargas mumbled, eyes fluttering shut.

    ¡°Sargas,¡± the faery from earlier cried out, hurrying closer. ¡°Are you alright?¡±

    Sargas hissed as she took his weight, forcing him to lean on her shoulder.

    ¡°The mage slipped away,¡± he said heavily. He gestured at Aliyah. ¡°This mage, Ah¡­something-song¡­she was able to resist the quelling sleep.¡±

    A different faery looked at her keenly. ¡°Mage Scionsong. You got a good view of the mess back there?¡± Her voice was sharp and steady, as clear as a bell. ¡°Meissa tells me you tried to bring down the illusionist. You should come to the meeting.¡±

    Aliyah frowned. ¡°Meeting? What meeting?¡± And how did this faery know her name? ¡°Who are you? Have we met?¡±

    ¡°Your friend spoke to me,¡± the faery said. ¡°A certain ¡®Miss Sadrava¡¯? She was quite intent on finding you. My apologies for not introducing myself. I am General Nephele, and there¡¯ll be a meeting about this terrible situation tomorrow morning; we don¡¯t have an embassy here, so Luxon offered to host. I believe you¡¯re acquainted with her too?¡±

    A General? That was as high-ranked as a Magician, wasn¡¯t it? Aliyah ducked her head and gave an uncertain half-bow, muscles still stiff and reeling from the fight.

    ¡°Of course. Yes, I¡¯ll¡­I¡¯ll be there. If there¡¯s anything I can do to help¡­¡± And anything you can do to save Zahir in return¡­

    ¡°We¡¯d be pleased if you attended,¡± General Nephele said gravely. ¡°These are perilous times for us all.¡±

 5.10 - Hival Council

    Aliyah

    ¡°Nothing,¡± Lieutenant Qilin said, stabbing a pointed finger onto the map. ¡°The scouts found remnants, but their outpost was empty.¡±

    Aliyah kept quiet, eyes darting across the gathered faeries. Qilin hadn¡¯t mentioned her as the source of this information and they were all gazing at her curiously, likely wondering why she was here. At least Kionah looked assured of her own place, standing confidently beside Luxon.

    ¡°So they must all be in the city,¡± Cygnus added. She had several bandages wound around her chest and across both wings, but she was up and walking, practically buzzing with nervous energy.

    ¡°It¡¯s clear they originate from the desert mountains,¡± Lieutenant Hespero spoke. He looked far more weathered than Cygnus; he had an iridescent sachet strapped to his shoulder, feeding what Aliyah guessed was hemolymph into a port in his chest.

    From forlorn whispers gleaned between Luxon and the dozens of faeries here, Lieutenant Drosera hadn¡¯t been the only one to have succumbed to her injuries. Aliyah had caught an uneasy mention of General Perihelion¡¯s critical condition, too.

    Seeing the number of faeries perched in the branches of the upside-down tree had given her hope, however. It was a little unnerving to have them above her and at her back, but Luxon had set up a long table at the base for the benefit of all humans attending. Half a dozen acolytes were here, all from exiled factions and eyeing one another with distrust. There were about an equal number of representatives from other camps identified as being at risk.

    ¡°The cruel and the luckless; the ones no guild wants,¡± Kionah had started explaining in a low voice, but then General Nephele had called the meeting to order.

    ¡°We should establish communication with this suspected Hive of origin,¡± Lieutenant Hespero was saying. His spines were laid all the way back.

    ¡°There¡¯s little information regarding this Hive,¡± Qilin replied. ¡°No known communications recorded. Any intermediaries would be put at risk.¡±

    Hespero flicked his wings, which were rapidly dulling in colour. ¡°Use the fodder body method.¡±

    ¡°That would tell us very little if the Hive in question is both hostile and patient,¡± General Nephele said. ¡°In other circumstances, I would try. Unfortunately, we cannot spare myself or any of my fellow Generals for such a venture at this time.¡±

    She flared her wings gently as Hespero made to speak again. ¡°Ordinarily, ten remaining would not be a problem. But two of us have already been compromised in an exceedingly short period of time. It¡¯s a troubling pattern. Since this is not a necessary function of defending our Hive, any intermediaries must be volunteers.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll go,¡± a voice spoke up. Sargas stepped forward.

    A different faery hauled him back. ¡°No. You¡¯re too injured. I will.¡±

    Another voice: ¡°How stupid. You¡¯re not even a scout.¡±

    An argument broke out amongst the faeries, all whispers and hisses, rippling outwards from the table and up the branches of the tree.

    ¡°We¡¯ll discuss this further at the Hive,¡± General Nephele interrupted. ¡°For now, our primary objective is to preserve the safety and wellbeing of all city citizens at risk.¡±

    That seemed to catch the attention of the human representatives.

    ¡°Lieutenant Qilin, if you would.¡±

    Qilin unslung a scroll-holder from her shoulder and unfurled a different map. Jagged topographic lines sprawled over the expanse of parchment, and several points had been marked out in bright blue paint.

    ¡°The schismatists have been targeting large, isolated populations for their obvious utility as high-yield magical reservoirs. Our scouts have charted out multiple sites, starting near what is colloquially referred to as North-Shallow-Skymoss-Hollow. We advise citizens in affected and at-risk communities to form smaller groups and disperse themselves among these sites.¡±

    ¡°You mean you¡¯re giving up on sending people to protect us?¡± one of the exiles said.

    ¡°A number of Hivers will be delegated to those who have been struck by the magic-draining phenomenon,¡± Nephele said evenly. ¡°We offer to shield them from coming to further harm. We do not have the capacity for more at present, but we are working swiftly to create a larger taskforce. Until then, this is our solution. As yesterday¡¯s events have shown, assembling in large numbers is unwise.¡±

    ¡°So we¡¯re to fend for ourselves,¡± another acolyte spoke, his voice tight with anger.

    ¡°Don¡¯t you hear her, fools?¡± a woman broke in¡ªthe one who¡¯d followed Aliyah¡¯s call for help. Her sword was sheathed now, hanging from a cord at her hip. ¡°The way to be safe is to hide far and wide.¡±

    ¡°Easy for you to say, Kunzang,¡± the acolyte said harshly. ¡°You¡¯ll get their help.¡±

    ¡°You think it¡¯s an unfair trade?¡± She touched her hand to the hilt of her sword and several of the nearest faeries tensed, fingers sparking spellfire. ¡°How about you give me your magic, so they can send their helpers your way. No? I thought not.¡±

    Another argument broke out. Nephele tapped a finger onto the table and a silence-field smothered the air. She released it once everyone¡¯s mouths had stopped moving.

    ¡°Dispersing will allow us to track down and put an end to the ones threatening your wellbeing,¡± she said firmly.

    Kunzang leaned in to peer closely at the map. ¡°I agree with your plan, faery. But these sites you¡¯ve chosen are unsustainable. Where will we get our food and water?¡±

    ¡°These sites are situated in the shallows of the Undercity for a reason. You won¡¯t be more than a few minute¡¯s travel from human suppliers and more importantly, from their aid in event of future attacks.¡±

    A rumble of discontented murmurs spread amongst the camp representatives. Aliyah caught Kionah¡¯s eye and recalled her mention of temple politics.

    ¡°We can¡¯t afford to buy from shopkeeps,¡± one of the representatives said grimly. His face was haggard and his clothing worn, carefully patched up but fraying at the seams.

    ¡°You, at least, are welcome in the temple district,¡± an acolyte sneered. ¡°Perhaps your children can suffer to beg for their charitable gruel.¡±

    ¡°They won¡¯t leap to defend us, same as you cultist folk,¡± the representative shot back.

    Nephele quelled the arguments with a flash of wing and another wave of silencing. ¡°Then the Hive will arrange supplies in the meantime. This will only be a short-term measure. Once we resolve the issue, you are free to return to your home encampments. Now, shall we discuss the subdivisions?¡±

    Representatives surged forward. Aliyah scowled as they jostled into her, vying for room at the table. She retreated to the crown of the upside-down tree, and Kionah followed. Luxon remained by the table, trying to establish a semblance of order. The sorting and allocation sounded as though it would take a while.

    Aliyah shifted restlessly, gaze flicking from faerie to faerie. Who was safe to confide in? Could even Luxon be a loose ear, aligned with the schismatists? Every Hiver in attendance seemed to ooze disdain for the schismatists, but declarations of allegiance were so easy to fake. They were only words, after all.

    The tracker-mark lay dormant on her arm. She furrowed her brow, instinctively searching for any hint of Zahir¡¯s presence. Nothing.

    Kionah nudged her with an elbow. ¡°You¡¯ve been doing that for the past three hours. He¡¯s not going to take a stroll and happen across you. Don¡¯t tire yourself out.¡±

    He wouldn¡¯t break into a conference of faeries to kill her, either. At least, she hoped this so-called Iolite wouldn¡¯t order him to.

    ¡°I wish we were doing something more useful,¡± she confessed quietly.

    ¡°Were you listening to me, earlier?¡±

    Aliyah had explained what happened in the aftermath, more or less¡ªonce Kionah had stopped firing a dozen questions a minute.

    ¡°You can¡¯t map the city,¡± Kionah had said, shaking her head. ¡°Too much breadth and width, let alone depth. These streets twist far more than the ones in your kingdom. Even if Salai stood perfectly still in his hiding place, you¡¯re just one person. I only found you because I had information, and because you didn¡¯t make it very far. Probably ran in a big circle, come to think of it.¡±

    ¡°Then I need a way to increase the, um¡­radius. When he left, I think I could only sense him for, I don¡¯t know, a few hundred meters?¡±

    Kionah shook her head. ¡°That¡¯s normal. Maybe even better than average. Sorry, but there¡¯s nothing I can teach you about sensing your own magic.¡±

    ¡°Fine,¡± she said slowly. ¡°If the Hive will help us find the schismatists, he¡¯ll be with them. One of the Generals¡ªyou spoke to her?¡ªinvited us to a meeting at Luxon¡¯s house. If we can entreat their scouting abilities and hire a Breaker¡ª¡±

    Kionah looked alarmed. ¡°No. Don¡¯t even mention Breakers or Breaking to the faeries.¡±

    Aliyah recalled her first meeting with Luxon, the air of offense when she¡¯d brought it up. ¡°It¡¯s a taboo of theirs? Why?¡±

    ¡°They¡¯re made of magic, Aliyah. More than we are, anyway. Breaking would be like torture, or murder, if used on them. It¡¯s like¡­¡± She paused. ¡°I suppose it¡¯d be like if a mage went around with the power of fleshcrafting, but was only able to use it to take people apart.¡±

    Kionah hadn¡¯t pointed out that there were only a few trivial choices separating her from such a hypothetically reviled mage. If Kionah knew about the Calamistrum, would she make no distinction at all?

    Her eyes had met Aliyah¡¯s then, warm and honest. ¡°The meeting¡¯s starting soon,¡± she¡¯d said, too kindly. ¡°Just listen, alright? I¡¯m sure they can do something to help you. And if nothing else, I can ask around some more. I owe you that much.¡±

    And so here they were. Aliyah watched as General Nephele sorted the representatives with surprising swiftness and sent them on their way. A dozen faeries peeled from the branches overhead to serve as guards. At length, the room quietened. They made their way over to the table as the remaining Lieutenants drew closer.

    General Nephele launched into a summary of the schismatists and the attack: an illusionist, an amphora, a rogue General, and the Healer at the heart of the operation.

    ¡°We have lost four of our own, with a dozen more injured,¡± she concluded. ¡°Additionally, General Perihelion is¡ª¡±

    The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

    Qilin interrupted her with a strained hiss.

    ¡°Yes, Lieutenant?¡± Nephele tilted her spines questioningly as Qilin gestured unsubtly at them.

    ¡°We are not in the presence of a fully Hival audience.¡±

    ¡°Luxon has given me her assurance that these humans are not affiliated with the Silken Circle or otherwise intend us harm. Indeed, they may be able to provide unique assistance.¡±

    ¡°How can they restore Perihelion when even Luxon cannot?¡± Hespero snarled bitterly.

    ¡°While it is imperative that Perihelion¡¯s magic be returned to him, that isn¡¯t the key to bringing down these schismatists.¡± Nephele met Aliyah¡¯s gaze. ¡°Mage Scionsong. You were able to resist the red mage¡¯s attack, correct? What magics aided you? I am willing to devote a substantial portion of Hival resources toward acquiring any reward you seek in exchange for this information.¡±

    Aliyah swallowed uneasily and cleared her throat. ¡°I use a type of magic from Shadowsong. The desert kingdom, by the salt plains. It¡¯s what some people call fleshcrafting, but I can¡¯t teach it to you. It wouldn¡¯t be possible.¡±

    Faint hisses emerged among the watching faeries.

    ¡°The place of crooked thaumaturges,¡± one murmured.

    ¡°I¡¯m not a Magician¡ªnot what you call a thaumaturge. I only know the magic I was taught, the same magic used by who you call the red mage. Zahir was my mentor. I know him. He¡¯s under a thrall.¡±

    ¡°Really?¡± Cygnus said. ¡°Humans can¡¯t be controlled like fodder bodies¡ª¡±

    ¡°And magic can¡¯t be stolen, or so everyone used to say,¡± Hespero interrupted.

    ¡°How can you be certain that¡¯s true?¡± Cygnus argued. ¡°Regardless, the effect is the same. The mage is a threat! Why can¡¯t we learn the technique of opposing his sleep-curse?¡±

    More murmurs in the gathered faeries, and she heard another whisper of poor Perihelion¡­

    ¡°Perihelion was brought down by some rogue upstart.¡± Cygnus leaned forward, her voice strained. ¡°It¡¯s a valuable secret to be sure, but do you not understand the significance? Did you not hear General Nephele pledge her aid? If you truly want your mentor saved, you must teach us!¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s not that simple,¡± she said, tension threading through her temples. ¡°I can¡¯t show you, and I can¡¯t force you to¡ª¡±

    ¡°The incantation, then. Or the initiation. You must know something!¡±

    Aliyah took a deep breath and planted her hands onto the tabletop. ¡°Look inward. That¡¯s all it was, for me. Feel¡­each branching vessel, every synapsing nerve¡­the spaces between your organs and the way it all surrounds your soul and keeps you alive. Feel it, know it, reach in and change it. That¡¯s all it is, and if only if it were that easy.¡±

    Cygnus sagged, wings and spines both. ¡°Those are pointless words, Mage Scionsong. We can imagine things as easily as you. You may as well tell us to set the Hive alight and keep from burning through sheer force of will alone.¡±

    ¡°Enough, Cygnus,¡± Qilin said gently.

    Aliyah shook her head. ¡°It isn¡¯t like a rune or a spell-slip. There¡¯s no word of power, or even a ritual as far as I know. The Healers pass it on somehow, but I found out by accident. I was very badly injured. The most pain I can remember, in¡­more than one way. Maybe that had something to do with it, or maybe it was just the place I was in. I don¡¯t think I could, or should, replicate the situation for anyone else.¡±

    ¡°You said the mage was one of your people,¡± Nephele said. She drew herself tall and still, the colours of her wings paling to a solemn grey. ¡°We will be even more glad to offer you a place in our schismatist hunt. We understand vengeance very well.¡±

    Out the corner of her eye, Aliyah saw Kionah raise an eyebrow. She hadn¡¯t been the only one to notice.

    ¡°Sadrava?¡± General Nephele asked.

    ¡°Not that I¡¯m any use to you,¡± Kionah said. ¡°But I think I should ask. Are you going to be paying her for this?¡±

    ¡°We¡¯ll provide resources. A way to remove the tracker-mark, protection in the meantime.¡± Nephele gestured at Luxon. ¡°And of course, some degree of compensation for services rendered. The Hive only carries minimal quantities of human currency, but I suspect you¡¯ll be satisfied with much of what I can requisition. All I ask is for your effort and cooperation. We¡¯re in this mess together.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯ll send her into the next fight you come across,¡± Kionah observed archly. ¡°Like a fodder body to intervene, never mind how she was bleeding from eyes and nose and mouth when she returned¡ª¡±

    ¡°They have to,¡± Aliyah broke in, startled. ¡°I mean¡­it makes sense¡­¡± The strangeness of Kionah coming to her supposed defense threw her off-balance, enough for Kionah to interrupt again.

    ¡°It¡¯s clear you¡¯d pay them to be included if given the chance,¡± she said and turned back to Nephele. ¡°With all due respect, General, it seems to me that the Hive is taking advantage of Miss Scionsong¡¯s sentiment. If you don¡¯t have money banked away, then find some. Five hundred gold crests ought to do it. I also suggest you requisition some better armour for her, among other tools.¡±

    Nephele didn¡¯t bristle, but Luxon did.

    ¡°Kionah! The Hive has extended a generous offer¡ª¡±

    ¡°No need for more arguments,¡± Nephele interrupted, gesturing with her spines. She looked suddenly weary. ¡°I¡¯ll see it done. Mage Scionsong is to be protected. Any scouts catching scent of a suspected schismatist must remove themselves from the area and send a warning signal. Direct engagement is strongly advised against until we have adequate countermeasures in place. Luxon, I want the best information you can find about that artefact they used.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ve heard of magic-eaters,¡± Luxon said slowly. ¡°They come in many forms, most weaker than this one. Used very rarely in the first wars. If the schismatist¡¯s tool is what I suspect, then it must be centuries old. Fortunately, I believe there are ways to construct a defense. I will need to enter the Archives¡ª¡±

    ¡°Of course,¡± Nephele said immediately. ¡°Titania Segin has also extended your authority to synthesis stations for the forseeable future. I trust you¡¯ll be up to the task of guiding Mage Scionsong?¡±

    Luxon gave a hurried flutter of her wings. ¡°I¡¯ll do my best, General.¡±

    The meeting trickled to a close. Most of the faeries followed Nephele out the door, but a dozen stayed behind. Luxon ordered half to guard the Emporium entrance, and the other half to scout the streets outside.

    ¡°Come here,¡± she said to Aliyah, pointing down the corridor. ¡°You too, Sadrava.¡±

    ¡°You never let anyone in here,¡± Kionah said.

    Luxon pushed open the door to her laboratory and sighed. ¡°As General Nephele keeps saying, we¡¯re in a perilous situation.¡±

    The laboratory looked like the inside of a hollowed eggshell. Brewing equipment gleamed across the walls and atop gently curving benches: brass pots, titration glassware, ticking gears which looked as though they¡¯d been scooped from the guts of a mage-chariot. Shelves overflowed with tattered scrolls and jewel-encrusted loupes, their gems soaking up the runelight.

    Luxon gestured vaguely at the room. ¡°As you can see, I¡¯ve been very busy. Thanks to your help with sourcing ingredients, I managed to complete a task Qilin set me. Now, I trust you won¡¯t go yattering on about what I tell you?¡±

    ¡°No,¡± Aliyah said warily.

    ¡°Then you should know the situation is worse than it seems. Not long after you were attacked at the bookbinder¡¯s, an attempt was made on our Titania¡¯s life. A General was compromised and fled into the Archives. Orion¡ªthe Archivist¡ªwas also implicated. Collusion is likely, though he denies it. Pity he¡¯s the Archivist, because what use would inflicting his own stockpile on him be? My truth potions won¡¯t be ready for a damn long while.¡± She ground her teeth together. ¡°The Hive has been unable to locate the missing General, even with my attempts at taming the Archival paths. My other task was to identify the method used. Aliyah, are you familiar with the poisons of the desert?¡±

    ¡°The Killing Field mists?¡± she hazarded.

    ¡°Precisely. I separated some ghastly organic neurotoxins from the brew, and they all matched records of caustic flora linked to that place.¡±

    ¡°Magicians deal with the salt,¡± Kionah said. ¡°And a few come to Glister every now and again. But they loathe the idea of faeries. It¡¯s practically a requirement for being one. They¡¯d never cooperate with schismatists.¡±

    ¡°It must be the schismatists themselves,¡± Aliyah said. ¡°That night we left, there were hundreds of faeries, and the Magicians were definitely killing them. Even if they were fodder, isn¡¯t that a huge waste?¡±

    ¡°Then these aren¡¯t the usual sorts of schismatists,¡± Kionah said, frowning. ¡°Not even a faery lord could coordinate like that, right Luxon? You¡¯d need a proper Hive for so many. So a whole Hive¡¯s corrupted, then? Nephele sure was nervy about sending anyone.¡±

    ¡°After recent events, we¡¯re almost certain this could be the case. The venom was brewed, you understand.¡±

    Aliyah frowned at the strange choice of emphasis. ¡°I don¡¯t understand.¡±

    ¡°Brewed by a highly skilled hand. If not the work of mages from your homeland, this implies the existence of a rogue Archivist. We can¡¯t discount other traitors lurking in the rhythms of our own Hive, either. A group as large as three or four could be hiding¡­¡± Luxon trailed off. ¡°What night were you referring to, Aliyah?¡±

    Aliyah recounted the sudden swarm, the ships falling out of the sky. ¡°Zahir told me it happened because the kingdom encroached on the mountains. But if the outpost was evacuated and the schismatists here now¡­it¡¯s too big of a coincidence, right?¡±

    Luxon tapped her tail against the benchtop, an agitated beat. ¡°You should have mentioned this at the meeting.¡±

    ¡°Traitors everywhere, though,¡± Kionah prompted. ¡°Who do you trust?¡±

    Luxon¡¯s spines drooped. ¡°I can¡¯t be sure, anymore. Thankfully, you two aren¡¯t Hival in the slightest. Nephele also holds to her promises, so I can be reasonably sure you can¡¯t be out-bribed.¡±

    ¡°She¡¯s made no promises of paying me,¡± Kionah mused.

    ¡°You¡¯re a friend,¡± Luxon said quietly, and grimaced. ¡°Even if you have a propensity for monetary greed. The schismatists know your face. You deserve to understand the danger.¡±

    ¡°I won¡¯t say no to spare potions if you have any.¡±

    Luxon strode over to a shelf and withdrew a bandolier of filled green vials. ¡°Restorative potions. The best I have. I know you have that fandangled pistol of yours, and I advise you refill the ammunition. Try not to get into any fights. As you for you, Aliyah, we should get rid of your tracker-mark.¡±

    Aliyah hesitated. ¡°You¡¯re sure there¡¯s nothing the Hive can do to trace its source?¡±

    ¡°Certain. That type of spell¡¯s a one-way trick. Even if Orion were innocent and amenable¡­¡± She shook her head. ¡°The potion¡¯s done and it should work this time. I know you said you wanted the link in place, but the Hive is actively searching for the schismatists now. You¡¯ve endeared yourself to General Nephele, and that¡¯s better than your idea of luring the illusionist to you.¡±

    Aliyah thought of the tenuous thread of magic she¡¯d given Zahir and wondered how long it would last. ¡°If you get rid of it, the faery who placed it will know.¡±

    ¡°Ultimately, you¡¯d prefer the element of surprise, correct? I was hoping to take you into the Hive as soon as possible. I can¡¯t do that if they know where you are. It would neutralise the advantage Nephele has given you.¡±

    Aliyah frowned. ¡°I thought humans weren¡¯t allowed in Hives.¡±

    ¡°It is the safest place you can be until they need you,¡± Luxon answered. ¡°Keeping you anywhere else would be a tactical disaster, especially with the tracker-mark on.¡±

    She hesitated again. An unrelated thought arose, unbidden: any spire witches searching for lost-looking Songian girls wouldn¡¯t be able to find her if she were in the Hive. It would be a safe place to rest and practice, to hone her attempts at vasodilation and excision into something worth fighting with in what little time she had left, before¡­

    Before she needed to face Zahir again.

    ¡°Would I have guards, in the Hive? You did say there could be traitors.¡±

    ¡°Certainly, and I will ensure they are assigned at random. But you have to understand, the Hive has a rhythm. You are a human and distinct enough to be aware of at all times. We would know at once if even one person were to attempt attacking you.¡±

    ¡°Alright,¡± she said, pushing up her sleeve. ¡°Do it.¡±

    Luxon plucked a different bottle from the shelf, filled with deep blue liquid. It splashed over the tracker-mark in a wave of cool smoke. The dark lines wavered. Magic seeped through Aliyah¡¯s skin, trickled through muscle and soaked into bone. She blinked as the tesseracts flaked away. Perhaps it was just her imagination, but her arm felt lighter for it.

    ¡°Thank you,¡± she said. ¡°I¡¯d like to talk to Kionah in private, before we leave.¡±

    ¡°Certainly.¡± Luxon recapped the empty bottle and surveyed the room. ¡°I¡¯ll wait in the front; find me when you¡¯re done. Don¡¯t touch anything.¡±

    ¡°So,¡± Kionah said once Luxon was gone. ¡°You¡¯ve got yourself a good deal, then.¡±

    Aliyah looked at her helplessly. ¡°I¡¯ll help you heal more urchins once this is over,¡± she said.

    ¡°That wasn¡¯t that I was worried about.¡± Kionah punctuated the statement with a grimace. ¡°You¡¯re dealing with worse than schismatists or spire folks come knocking or what-have-you. Even if you¡¯re not worried about getting injured or dying, there¡¯s a very real chance you could get your magic stolen. I didn¡¯t extract Nephele¡¯s promise of coin for nothing.¡±

    Aliyah furrowed her brow. ¡°Do you¡­want the coin? You didn¡¯t have to ask so aggressively. I think Luxon¡¯s still offended.¡±

    Kionah smiled briskly. ¡°You grew up in a castle, Aliyah. Believe me, when it comes to something as risky as this? You want every last scrap you can get, and more.¡±

    Aliyah sighed, rubbing at a spot of tension building between her eyes. ¡°Look¡ªI need a favour. Can you find me a Breaker? I know they¡¯re rare, but you¡¯re the only person I can ask. You can dress up as a court lady and commission a noble or something, I don¡¯t know. I¡¯ll give you half of whatever money they give me.¡±

    ¡°Half?¡± Kionah drawled. ¡°I want two thirds. You¡¯d best send some along soon. At least fifty crests. I can¡¯t hire anyone with what I have on me, and most of their payments are half up-front.¡±

    ¡°Alright. Where do I ask them to send it?¡±

    Kionah gave her a strange look. ¡°I thought you¡¯d be bartering.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t care, and I don¡¯t have time.¡±

    ¡°Aren¡¯t you worried I¡¯ll run off with the money?¡±

    Aliyah shrugged. ¡°Not while I¡¯m capable of sending you more.¡±

    ¡°Just half is fine then,¡± Kionah groused. ¡°More if I¡¯m shot or stabbed. Ask the faeries to deliver to Shasta at Whistle House so long as my name is marked; I trust him to hold and pass it along.¡±

    ¡°Alright. Don¡¯t forget your restorative potions.¡±

    ¡°Mhm.¡± She slung the bandolier across her chest. ¡°Skies be with you. Don¡¯t let Luxon talk your ear off.¡±

    ¡°I think I could reattach it,¡± Aliyah answered mildly.

    Kionah laughed. ¡°Good luck, then. I¡¯ll¡­send news. In codespeak.¡±

    Aliyah¡¯s thoughts flicked to the problem of faeries and Breakers. ¡°Right. Thank you.¡±

    They headed back out the front. The shop bell chimed as Kionah slipped out with half a glance over her shoulder. Outside, the sky was as bright as a blade. Aliyah watched as she disappeared among the crowd in lithe strides.

    And then it was just her and her festering dread, and Luxon hovering anxiously over by the counter. Aliyah thought of Zahir lunging again, no recognition in his eyes. She¡¯d always been skittish around Healers, even more after she learned the extent of what they could do. But as his apprentice, she¡¯d never been afraid of him. He¡¯d been funny and kind, for a heedless highborn. It wasn¡¯t fair, she thought numbly. Couldn¡¯t it have been anyone else?

    ¡°I¡¯m here,¡± she said, turning to Luxon. ¡°I¡¯m ready.¡±

 5.11 - Into the Archives

    Aliyah

    The Hive was a large, dark hillock which stuck out like a boil amongst gently rolling plains. Aliyah stepped out of the faeries¡¯ woven cocoon-chariot and took a few slow steps, catching her bearings. The journey here had been a disorientating one, the flight jerkier and more undulating than she¡¯d expected.

    ¡°As you can see, this is our home,¡± Luxon said. She¡¯d shed her ostentatious gown for roughly-woven robes and a long tunic, both as pale as salt.

    There wasn¡¯t a path to the Hive; just more dirt and clumps of long grass, baked half-dry by the sun. The hillock was huge, but it had no visible openings. Sunset seemed to slide off its soft, shell-like surface. As they drew closer, the exterior started to ripple like a membrane.

    Faerie magics, Aliyah thought warily. Of course. It looked strange, but no stranger than the outer Library had been.

    A small circle of darkness breached the Hival shell. It widened like oil pooling across water. By the time they reached it, it had grown large enough to fit three people walking abreast.

    ¡°In we go,¡± Luxon said. Her wings flickered. ¡°Friends, provide some light.¡±

    The guards accompanying them flared their wings to life; a patchwork of colours splashed across featureless walls, made of a familiar-looking, tarry material. Aliyah didn¡¯t reach out to touch it despite a flicker of morbid curiousity; it looked half-wet in a way that would cling.

    The tunnel opened out into a chamber far larger than it had any right to be. Glister¡¯s caverns had prepared her for the architecture, but not for the sheer number of faeries.

    Chitinous bodies walked, crawled, and flew in front of and above her. Hisses filled the air, which was thick with a medley of unidentifiable scents. Tunnel holes studded the walls as densely as honeycomb, oozing open and closed at random. Some of the offshoots spat out a steady stream of Hivers, while others lay empty for several moments before a lone traveller exited and made for a different tunnel, or a chute in the ceiling. There was a flow to the queue of bodies, she realised. Brief swirls in the air and synchronous lines on the ground, only visible for a few seconds before they moved along and the pattern changed.

    Several dozen pairs of eyes flicked to look at her, some glossy blank and others flashing with jewel-facets like Luxon¡¯s.

    ¡°Is it like this all the time?¡± Aliyah murmured, trying not to breathe too deeply. The air didn¡¯t smell bad, but it was a puzzle on the senses. She caught a hint of spiced mint one moment and a whiff of fresh mud the next. It made for a swift and interesting headache, until she decided to shut off her olfactory receptors.

    ¡°It¡¯s much busier at the moment,¡± Luxon said, gesturing to a tunnel ahead. She hissed loudly. ¡°Just warning people to move along. Forgive the attention; not everyone is a scout or a Lieutenant. Many of us haven¡¯t ever seen a human in the flesh.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t other humans come here?¡± she asked as they dodged someone dragging a cart loaded with glowing moss.

    ¡°Rarely,¡± one of the guards answered. ¡°Mostly city representatives, and they don¡¯t like to stay long. You must be closely supervised, you understand. Please, keep close and stay away from any drop shafts.¡±

    ¡°How far down do they go?¡± she asked warily, scanning the ground for openings.

    ¡°Quite far,¡± the guard replied. ¡°But not always down. Here, this way has no such hazards.¡±

    The new tunnel was quieter, lit by patches of glowing blue stone. Eventually, the stone gave way to cracked tiles marbled with streaks of thick, cushiony moss.

    ¡°Welcome,¡± Luxon announced with a grand sweep of her tail, ¡°to the Archives.¡±

    Spears of midnight-blue crystal hung from the ceiling, filled with drifting specks of light. Ahead of them, an empty wooden counter loomed, piled high with scrolls and bottles. Behind that was a carved stone wall with a high archway. Through it, she could see the beginnings of shelves.

    ¡°Does it go far?¡± Aliyah asked. ¡°Like a Library?¡±

    ¡°It extends infinitely, as far as I know.¡± Luxon sighed, spines suddenly drooping. ¡°Come on.¡±

    So it was a Library, if masquerading under a different name. She felt a twinge of unease. ¡°Where are we going?¡±

    ¡°I must find a controller-station. Orion could do without, but¡­¡± Luxon¡¯s spines drooped further. ¡°He can¡¯t walk here to help me now.¡±

    She trudged forward, and Aliyah hurried after her. The guards followed them in loose formation.

    Patches of foliage budded between stone cairns and carved benches. A gnarled tree sprouted from the side of a shelf, drooping with dark fruits. It was an eerie mix of nature and order, clean lines intersecting rambling vines. Corridors of shelves formed tunnels fading into a misty distance. There was a perfectly ordinary ceiling overhead, but she suspected that piece of familiarity wouldn¡¯t last for long.

    Cautiously, she unblocked her olfactory receptors to discover the air was steadier here, scented with dry paper and old glue. Luxon led the way through one of the shelf-corridors. There were more scrolls than books here, some sealed with wax and others rolled up loose, their edges curling free. What text she could see was scrawled in incomprehensible strokes. Every now and again, she spotted other things propped up against the piles of scrolls: cracked inkwells, jarfuls of feathers, rolls of woven wool. She kept her arms by her sides, careful not to brush against anything. Watchful guards aside, the occasional warning flash of runesign reminded her too much of her own short-lived delves, hunting for books beyond the safe zones.

    Luxon seemed to know where they were going, even though the turns they took seemed random and at times even circular. They trekked through the corridors of shelves, passing clearings of grass and pale stone. Some were dotted with menhirs and obelisks, while others looked bare but for a lone armchair or stagnant pond, host to gently circling damselflies. At times, loose paper piled up to form hills, some as high as her shoulders. Aliyah avoided stepping on anything, but Luxon and the others didn¡¯t seem to care. Half of the sheaves looked like they were actively decaying into the soil. Now and again, movement rustled amongst the shelves. She yelped as an insect as large as her hand crawled past, many-legged and nimble.

    ¡°Don¡¯t mind the ink-striders,¡± Luxon called from up ahead. ¡°They don¡¯t bite.¡±

    Two more scuttled past. Aliyah noticed they left a trail of marks in their wake. She paused, crouching, when she realised they formed words.

    ¡°Dark corners inching together sixteen celestial carnassials in luceferin,¡± she read. ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°It says something about water and energy,¡± one of the guards said, having stopped with her. ¡°What is a ¡®cyclase¡¯?¡±

    ¡°No worth deciphering that,¡± Luxon added, glancing back at them. ¡°It¡¯s a nonsense trick. You¡¯re both reading the same line, aren¡¯t you? Their magic fools you into thinking the markings are words.¡±

    ¡°Creepy,¡± the guard murmured.

    Aliyah straightened up, only vaguely disturbed. It made sense, in a roundabout way. A confused hunter stopping to read the trail would allow the creature more time to make an escape. She kept walking to the tune of Luxon¡¯s sudden bright chatter, detailing how the insects laid their eggs in inkpots. Luxon was finishing up an anecdote of having a dozen of the things unexpectedly falling onto her when they approached a clearing containing a squat, hip-high cylinder of stone.

    ¡°Aha,¡± she exclaimed, clasping her hands together. ¡°There we go. You might all want to stand back a little.¡±

    Aliyah stopped several paces away, which was a couple of paces closer than the rest of the guards. The stone cylinder was carved with fine swirls reminiscent of river currents, and a greenish tinge glowed in the valley of each depression. Luxon ran a hand over the edge, murmuring to herself as she circled around to the other side. A thread of pale light sparked from her fingertips, feeding into the channels. The air temperature dropped, suddenly lush and cool, ripe with the smell of rain.

    Luxon shut her eyes. When she opened them again, a third did too: it emerged from chitin peeling open across her forehead, looking less like a gemstone but blazing the same bright green as the others. She spoke something in the faery language. The stone split along invisible seams, splaying open like a flower.

    Water streamed out between the petals, soaking into the surrounding soil. Aliyah frowned as the guard beside her recoiled, and two others gasped. Not water, she realised. Hemolymph. There was even more of it pooled in the center of the controller-station, clear and still. Luxon plunged her hands in up to the elbows.

    ¡°Bring me words of the magic-eaters,¡± she hissed, cupping the hemolymph and bringing it to her mouth.

    One of the guards made a gagging sound as she drank. Aliyah winced when she pictured Luxon swapped out for a Librarian, and the hemolymph for warm blood.

    Luxon tipped the last of the hemolymph back. The action seemed to pain her, every spine flattening in response. A sudden wind rifted the air, cold as desert night. It brought scraps of paper with it, whirling and tattered. More poured out of the shelves, some ragged and others not. Aliyah kept expecting the currents to slow with each passing second, but they kept coming. Parchment filled the air until the clearing looked as if it were storming. The guards flanking her dropped into crouches and Aliyah followed their example, narrowly avoiding a scroll to the face.

    ¡°Is this normal?¡± she called out to one, struggling to be heard over the sound of the wind. Luxon was barely visible now, shrouded in flying debris.

    ¡°You think we know?¡± the one closest retorted, shifting closer to speak. ¡°I don¡¯t come in here if I can help it!¡±

    It took a full minute before the wind began to die down, papers thinning out. Luxon stood with wings flared, a scroll held triumphantly in her outstretched hand. Her robes billowed behind her for a moment longer, as if thrown aloft by invisible hands. They draped back down with the last scraps, fluttering to a forlorn rest. There was less left over than Aliyah had assumed; the Archival current had carried back most of what it had brought with it. The controller-station folded back together, sealing shut, neat and dry.

    ¡°It matches the description,¡± Luxon said, scanning the scroll. ¡°Just as I thought. A weapon of legends and song was supposedly lost in the old wars. Aliyah, you mentioned a name to me a while ago. Shallownest, if I recall correctly? It has the sound of a name from the shattered lands. That fledgling General could be a connection.¡±

    ¡°I hardly know anything about the shattered lands,¡± Aliyah admitted. ¡°Our history tutor only said the wars were enough to destroy the continent. I think some of the legacy families originated from there, but they came into the kingdom hundreds of years ago. Before the, um, ¡®invasion skirmishes¡¯ and Killing Mists, things like that.¡±

    ¡°Former General Parallax came from the shattered lands,¡± Luxon said, swishing her tail agitatedly. ¡°But she served the Hive for many years before the sightings of this ¡®Shallownest¡¯ schismatist, who is quite young besides. She can¡¯t be the damned mastermind. It has to be the one we¡¯re not seeing. The Archivist.¡±

    ¡°Parallax was from Almucantar, not Shallownest,¡± one of the guards said.

    ¡°It hardly matters now, does it? Oh, what a mess.¡± Luxon raised the scroll again, unwinding it further. ¡°This particular amphora was named the Thaumaphage. There was no known counter, but perhaps if we blended anti-magic-eater measures to create some kind of tracking and shattering weapon¡­¡±

    ¡°I can¡¯t help with that,¡± Aliyah said warily.

    ¡°Few can,¡± Luxon said. She sighed, third eye glowing dull green. ¡°They¡¯ve cut Orion from the rhythms, so I need to sort it out. General Nephele seems to think the schismatists are aiming to kill us, kill the Hive. Perhaps killing humans too, but the damage to the Hival structure is telling.¡±

    ¡°How likely is that?¡± Aliyah asked. ¡°I mean, can¡¯t you use those fodder bodies you were talking about to fend them off?¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s why they¡¯re going for the Generals first,¡± one of the guards said quietly, her voice tinged with fear.

    Aliyah hesitated. ¡°I don¡¯t mean this in offense, but can¡¯t you make more Generals?¡±

    ¡°A General is earned, not made. There is¡­strength level, and other criteria.¡± Luxon tapped the scroll. ¡°These things take time. Our Titania is doing all she can, searching for the best candidates and expending resources to improve them, but the Thaumaphage is a problem.¡±

    This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

    ¡°But that entrance hall we saw must¡¯ve had a hundred faeries moving through each minute,¡± Aliyah said. ¡°I¡¯ve only seen about half a dozen schismatists and their fodder bodies, and they were weaker than Meissa plus a couple of acolytes.¡±

    Luxon looked at her gravely. ¡°We counted forty five fodder bodies in the aftermath. Meissa demonstrated exceptional bravery, but she would not have prevailed had General Nephele not swiftly arrived with reinforcements.¡± She paused pointedly. ¡°I heard a good portion of them were subjected to unusual signs of traumatic bodily injury, as well.¡±

    Oh. Aliyah recalled climbing over the surging hill of limbs, breakages fired into exoskeletons.

    ¡°You overestimate our resources if you think every Hiver you saw earlier is capable of combat,¡± Luxon added. ¡°We have children and elderly too, and many perform purely internal roles. A large percentage of us are builders, weavers, processors and the like, even if you only see scouts and Lieutenants in the city.¡±

    ¡°Sorry,¡± Aliyah said. ¡°That¡­makes sense. But you still have more fighters, unless you¡¯re worried they¡¯re going to bring an entire Hive over here?¡± She shivered, remembering the sheer numbers of faeries swarming over Shadowsong. ¡°They attacked the kingdom, though. Surely they suffered losses, and¡­I thought you were a big Hive?¡±

    ¡°We¡¯re as large as we need to be,¡± Luxon said simply. ¡°The city sends us resources in exchange for help with Behemoth sightings. The witches help out, too. We don¡¯t maintain the same fighting force we would if we were dependent on the whims of the wilderness and its seasons.¡±

    ¡°So hypothetically, if the schismatists manage to use their Thaumaphage thing on every General, would your Hive collapse?¡±

    ¡°No,¡± Luxon said grimly. ¡°It could whittle us down and make things exceptionally painful, but it wouldn¡¯t kill us. So I must be missing something. That damned Archivist¡­¡± She cast a glance over the guards and pointed back the way they¡¯d come. ¡°All of you, go stand over there. In view, but I need to discuss something privately with Mage Scionsong here.¡±

    The guards gave hesitant salutes as they retreated.

    ¡°A traitor?¡± Aliyah asked quietly.

    ¡°Can never be too careful. Someone slipped a blood-poisoner into the Archives, and it might not have been Parallax. I¡¯ve checked everything, tried to trace the source, but it was too faded, too tangled. Whoever set it knew tricks of channels and outflow. Please let it not be Orion, but the alternative¡­someone is brewing the syrup for the schismatists, and I¡ª¡± Luxon leaned against the controller station, wings drooping. She let out a strangled hiss, bringing a hand up to cover her third eye. When she spoke again, her voice was anguished. ¡°I¡¯m not smart enough to out-think an Archivist.¡±

    Aliyah hesitated. ¡°You have to start from somewhere. What would happen if they kill you? Or your Titania?¡±

    ¡°That wouldn¡¯t work either. That¡¯s the beauty of a Hive. It doesn¡¯t have a singular weak point. If the Titania dies, her attendants remain to indicate an egg she delegates as successor. Even if they don¡¯t, well, the Hive will find or produce another egg. Of course, this isn¡¯t ideal. But we wouldn¡¯t¡­even if we had no Titania, it couldn¡¯t end us immediately. As for the Archivist¡­¡± Her wings drooped further as she turned to pace. ¡°If Orion dies, his attendants will also indicate a successor. It¡¯s a similar situation. I was an anomaly. If they kill me, nothing happens.¡±

    ¡°Look,¡± Aliyah said. ¡°You would know way more than I do. Hives have failed before, right?¡±

    ¡°As far as I know? Only in the wars and shattered lands. And even then, it was because your kind had thousands of mages.¡±

    ¡°Let¡¯s, um, think this through. Besides killing mostly everyone, what else works?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± Luxon said, sounding wretched. She set the scroll on top of the controller-station, burying her head in her hands. ¡°I¡¯ve spent too long thinking about this already, but I can¡¯t let it rest. They could¡¯ve poisoned the Titania, but they can¡¯t poison everyone.

    ¡°We eat in shifts, we know the rhythms. A hundred rogue processors wouldn¡¯t go unnoticed. They can¡¯t inflict what happened in the shattered lands either, not without outnumbering us ten times over. And it would have to be quick. The city won¡¯t interfere right now, not with the Chelicera¡¯s disinterest, but Glister¡¯ll get around to helping if it gets worse gradually enough. They have a means. I¡¯m not seeing it, but it¡¯s there. The Thaumaphage¡­they must need all that magic for something.¡±

    ¡°They seemed ready to capture a Healer,¡± Aliyah said slowly. She thought back to the battlefield, the Magicians loosing spells that targeted only faeries. But the schismatists were faeries just like the Hivers were¡ªwouldn¡¯t that be too dangerous? ¡°Are you sure there isn¡¯t, I don¡¯t know, a way to make every one of you unable to reproduce?¡±

    ¡°What?¡± Luxon asked. ¡°No. What a strange idea. We¡¯re made, not born.¡±

    Aliyah shrugged. ¡°It¡¯s how I would do it. And Zahir¡¯s a Healer too, so¡­¡±

    ¡°Your associate can¡¯t kill hundreds of people at a time, can he?¡± Luxon tapped her chest, chitin clicking on chitin. ¡°That¡¯s still too slow for what they must be planning. If I hadn¡¯t come out of a faulty Archivist¡¯s egg, a collective would have assembled my body and the body would¡¯ve incubated in a vat for a day or two before it awoke. We¡¯re back to the ¡®killing everyone¡¯ and ¡®physically destroying the entire Hive¡¯ hypotheses¡­¡± she trailed off. ¡°The eggs, however¡­¡±

    ¡°What is it?¡± Aliyah asked uneasily.

    Luxon was staring at the controller-station with every spine raised and tense. ¡°Every egg, Titania or Archivist, is produced by the Archive. The Hive draws upon the Archive for a significant amount of power and adaptability. There are always spares and caches, but perhaps with enough traitors¡­¡±

    It took a moment for her to slot the pieces together. A broken Archive would mean a dead Titania, dead Archivist, and no more replacements.

    ¡°No,¡± Luxon whispered frantically. ¡°That can¡¯t be the answer. It shouldn¡¯t be possible. And still¡ªthe method would be too slow? But the poison. Maybe the poison was a test. If this secret Archivist is even more skilled than I thought, maybe¡ªif they fight us and we¡¯re missing keystones¡­but I don¡¯t even understand the Archive enough to be sure¡­¡± She leaned against the controller station and sank to the ground, hands fisted in the trailing ends of her own robe. ¡°Try as I might, I¡¯m not an Archivist. I shouldn¡¯t be here.¡±

    Aliyah hesitated, a strange pang of alarm tugging at her chest. If they couldn¡¯t get a new Archivist unless the previous one died, then Luxon didn¡¯t have a real choice. Not if she¡¯d known the traitor Archivist. It plucked a strangely familiar chord¡ªRana and Kionah and Zahir, she thought.

    ¡°You¡¯re doing great,¡± she offered gamely. She tried to think back to how Zahir phrased encouragement, defused frustration. ¡°It¡¯s a good thing that you¡¯re aware of what you don¡¯t know. The circumference of a circle increases with its area. Your boundary against the unknown is larger than anyone else¡¯s here. I¡¯m sure your Titania, um, Serin, wouldn¡¯t have asked for your help if you couldn¡¯t give it.¡±

    ¡°Her name is Segin,¡± Luxon corrected gloomily. ¡°And no, I¡¯m almost certain that a freshly-hatched Archivist would know more.¡±

    Aliyah kept quiet, mulling over the implications again. ¡°Couldn¡¯t you ask the former Archivist? Orion?¡±

    ¡°He¡¯s practically severed,¡± Luxon said quietly. ¡°A traitor.¡±

    She was a traitor, too. The spymaster Lady Sadrava had been one as well, apparently. ¡°How can you be sure?¡±

    Luxon gave her a sharp look. ¡°Trust me, I would like to believe he isn¡¯t. I would¡¯ve never thought¡­¡±

    ¡°Traitors still have information.¡±

    ¡°Perhaps,¡± Luxon bit out. ¡°But the rhythms are so against him now. I shouldn¡¯t¡­if he tricks me into tipping the balance, what then?¡±

    ¡°You think you wouldn¡¯t be able to see a trick like that in advance?¡± Aliyah asked doubtfully. ¡°It¡¯d have to be a big change, wouldn¡¯t it? You were just saying earlier, how the Hive wasn¡¯t so fragile. You should¡­have some more self-assurance. Believe in yourself, that kind of thing. You don¡¯t have to use any of his suggestions if you¡¯re that worried. Have you spoken to him since¡­well, the poisoning?¡±

    ¡°No,¡± Luxon said, rising to her feet and brushing the dust off her robes. ¡°Titania Segin suggested it after she called for me, and I¡­delayed. But I suppose there¡¯s no putting it off anymore.¡±

    ===

    The Archivist was a small, forlorn speck, wings wrapped tight around his body like a tattered shawl. He sat caged in a nucleus of pale glyphs and shining runes, the markings hooked and unfamiliar, cut like arrowheads.

    Columns of runestone ringed the chamber, humming at a barely audible frequency. Luxon approached first; Aliyah was glad to be half-hidden by her wings. Pools of light erupted beneath their feet with each step, rippling threateningly across the stone.

    The guards lingered outside the boundary, exactly where Luxon had ordered them to remain. By the time they drew into the Archivist¡¯s speaking distance, Aliyah could no longer make out their anxious buzzing.

    ¡°Orion,¡± Luxon said. ¡°I am here to speak with you.¡± There was no quaver to her voice now, no bubbly lilt. For all her earlier trepidation, Aliyah only saw the mask of an Archivist worn as comfortably as a bejeweled gown.

    ¡°Luxon,¡± he answered slowly. ¡°It¡¯s two moons too soon for you to have finished brewing. Trade tongue? They whispered of a human in the walls. I see. Why?¡±

    His voice creaked with the timbre of stress, and perhaps dehydration. Aliyah wasn¡¯t sure whether she was imagining it, but there was a dazedness to his face. His third eye blinked sluggishly, as if concussed.

    ¡°Circumstances beyond you shape the Hive¡¯s will. For now, we have many questions.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know who the poisoner is,¡± he said. ¡°I won¡¯t know, no matter how many times I am asked the same questions. Parsec was a good friend, but it¡¯s she they should be looking for.¡±

    ¡°I have new questions,¡± Luxon retorted sharply. ¡°Magic-eaters. Countermeasures. If you want to live, then you will tell me everything you know.¡±

    Orion seemed to shrink into himself, wings dulling to an even greyer shade. ¡°I am nearly fully severed, fading by the day. I¡¯m afraid you don¡¯t have authority over whether I live or die.¡±

    ¡°I will¡ª¡± Luxon began imperiously, and then stopped. She took a deep breath. ¡°Orion, please. I¡¯m not an Archivist, but the Archive will listen enough for this: I won¡¯t let them sever you, much less kill you, until I finish the truth potions to determine things once and for all. Help us. That¡¯s the best I can do.¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± he mumbled. ¡°I would help you. No need for threats or bribery. But Nephele and Eltanin and all the rest of them won¡¯t see reason. The evidence they found is falsified. I never even used those hidden compartments. No one wants to be a Titania. Why would I? An Archivist is nothing without an Archive.¡±

    ¡°We know the Archivist is not a matter of mere title,¡± Luxon said. She shot Aliyah a sideways glance. ¡°Us Hival creations are made, not born. But the Archivist and the Titania are hatched and not created.¡± She turned back to Orion. ¡°And no amount of wishing on my behalf will change that. So tell me: can an Archive be killed?¡±

    Orion blinked into a long silence.

    ¡°Anything can be done with enough power or time,¡± he said at last. ¡°You mentioned magic-eaters. They can¡¯t devour ambient power, or spells already placed. Certainly not whole Archives.¡± His gaze cut to Aliyah¡¯s, and a tendril of unease formed in her chest at the unsteady blankness of his eyes. ¡°It won¡¯t work so directly. Luxon, is it a good idea to have a human here?¡±

    ¡°Did you mean to have asked her in words I can understand?¡± Aliyah muttered.

    ¡°Why are you here, strange mage?¡± he challenged. ¡°I haven¡¯t seen one of you in close to six seasons, and now you¡¯re as close to the heart of our home as a human has ever been.¡±

    ¡°She doesn¡¯t have to answer your questions,¡± Luxon said sharply.

    ¡°It seems your Hive needs me,¡± Aliyah said. She noted the slightest lifting of his spines, like hackles raised. ¡°What¡¯s wrong with me being here? Are you scared? What could I do to the Archive that a Thaumaphage can¡¯t?¡±

    His third eye snapped shut. ¡°Nothing. Nothing at all. There would need to be several hundred of you, if not more. But the Thaumaphage? There¡¯s your answer, Luxon. Right there.¡±

    ¡°What do you mean?¡± Luxon demanded, almost brandishing the scroll. ¡°What answer, so simple as that? The texts don¡¯t have one.¡±

    ¡°It isn¡¯t only the texts,¡± Orion said quietly. ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡±

    There was a tense, icy silence that Aliyah didn¡¯t know what to do with.

    ¡°Yes,¡± Luxon finally said. ¡°I know. I can see the path. I see it so clearly, but I¡¯ll never know its tread. So you¡¯ll have to explain in clear and simple terms for me and for my mage friend here.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s already simple,¡± Orion said with a heavy sigh. ¡°Water will move from an area of low solute to high solute. Oil will rise to the surface of the water. Natural principles govern the world, and magic tests these principles, but magic itself has habits of its own. The veil enclosing the Archive¡ª¡±

    Equilibrium and osmolarity, Aliyah thought. She had a fair idea of where this was going.

    ¡°¡ªis permeable by design, Luxon. You may have learned how transfer of magic is only well-tolerated within one¡¯s own species. It pains you how Archival magic does not cohere, except to an Archivist. What do you think could happen if a vast quantity of dis-cohesive magic¡ªespecially human magic¡ªwere taken deep enough into the Archive and released?¡±

    ¡°It will find its way out,¡± Luxon said, gripping the scroll tight enough for it to crumple. ¡°Violently enough to tear the veil? But I thought¡­you always talked about the sea, the drainage to other places¡­¡±

    Orion shrugged. ¡°The outflow works for normal comings and goings. Our Archive is a magnificent specimen of its kind, but if the legendary Thaumaphage is filled and emptied, all at once? Too much, too targeted. It¡¯s an easy vessel, and easily carried. A body will bleed dry when the wound is too large to repair.¡±

    ¡°You speak like it¡¯s proven¡ªlike it¡¯s happened before,¡± Aliyah said, hardly a question.

    ¡°Just the once, if you believe in the songs of shattered lands.¡± He paused, then trilled a high, clear note. ¡°You know the one, Luxon?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ve never heard of it.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s an uncommon tale. Perhaps I would not have known it either, if Parsec never spoke to me of her origins. But the song is an old, fearful one. Are you certain this isn¡¯t a lesser replica?¡±

    ¡°We¡¯ve seen it at work,¡± Luxon said grimly. ¡°Its description matches the reference compiled. Even if it isn¡¯t, we treat it like it is. How do we shatter this ghastly thing?¡±

    ¡°How do you think?¡± Orion asked wearily. ¡°Find weapons, or make them. Ask the Archives for components. Dredge up things strong enough to break the Thaumaphage. If a straightforward pull doesn¡¯t work for you, search the Archivist tombs. Arm only those you trust and send them hunting. If the weapons are strong enough, then Generals would do well fighting proxy with fodder bodies. Put the Hive on high alert and lock down the Archive. But you know there are costs to these things. You¡¯ll need honey to nourish such formations, and it will be a strain on the Titania. If I¡¯m a traitor, you shouldn¡¯t trust my judgment.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t want to think you are,¡± Luxon snapped. ¡°What else can I do?¡±

    ¡°Keep the Hive safe for as long as it takes to finish those truth potions, and I¡¯ll prove my innocence.¡± He hesitated. ¡°But you may not have that long. Is the Thaumaphage in the city? Find it quickly. You don¡¯t want it breaking in here.¡±

    ¡°One more question,¡± Luxon said. ¡°Could an Archivist hurt the Archive without needing any of that? Say, one as strong as you?¡±

    Orion swept a glance over his cage. ¡°I¡¯m not going anywhere.¡±

    ¡°I wasn¡¯t talking about you.¡±

    He narrowed his eyes. ¡°A rogue? No, it doesn¡¯t work like that. But cohesion makes a difference. If it¡¯s an Archivist against you, bypassing your locks would be easier. Navigation as well. You¡¯ll have to restructure. Arrange a forbidden zone around the Archive. Seal off every tunnel leading in, but don¡¯t count on that stopping another Archivist. Set traps. Barricade the routes to the far-sea as a precaution, if you¡¯re able to. Brew a fortress-shell, even. Hopefully it won¡¯t come to that.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ve never even been to the shore,¡± Luxon hissed. ¡°Alright. Alright, I¡¯ll try. Come on, Aliyah. Let¡¯s go.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s it?¡± Aliyah asked as they walked back up the corridor. ¡°Your Archivist can¡¯t help against Zahir? Zahir, who¡¯s being used to collect the magic in the first place?¡±

    Luxon shuddered. ¡°Fleshcrafting isn¡¯t an Archivist¡¯s domain. I¡¯ll put in some requisition requests. We have spells to slow and pause and bind. You can drag him off to a cursed Breaker afterwards, if you must.¡±

    Afterwards? she thought grimly. Afterwards might not be enough. She wasn¡¯t going to count on anything short of an aneurysm stopping a Healer in his tracks, and maybe not even that.

    ¡°Have you got coin and armour ready?¡± Aliyah demanded. ¡°I might need one of those weapons the Archivist was talking about, if your people want me to fight up close.¡±

    Luxon touched a hand to the wall and cocked her head to the side. ¡°Armour and weapons are being crafted as we speak. They¡¯ve prepared a bower for you, not too far from my workstation¡­there¡¯s cloth and gold moving too. Practice targets and lesser potions. Ask for anything else you need.¡±

    Aliyah exhaled deliberately. ¡°Have you got anyone who teaches how to fight?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll see if a Lieutenant can be spared.¡± Luxon dropped her hand away from the wall. ¡°But I thought you were impervious to the quelling sleep and most other fleshcrafter tricks.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not,¡± Aliyah said, her mind already conjuring dark pictures. Vasodilation was the very least of it. ¡°And even if I were, it still wouldn¡¯t be enough.¡±

 5.12 - In Living Memory

    Parsec

    Parsec ended up using seventeen cords of necromantic magic to bind the wyvern: ten alone were dedicated to the delicate movements of its wings. Jackal declined to accompany her on its test flight, so she crawled into the freshly-dug cavity alone. Venera was a weak whisper of encouragement at her shoulder.

    The necromancy ran smooth through her hands, like white stones tumbled through cool water. Countless pounds of dead flesh cocooned her, but she felt exceptionally clean and free. Seating herself in the congealing belly, she gathered the invisible cords in her hands and teeth. The wyvern staggered to its feet in a slow, careful lurching motion.

    When she sent strings of death-sense up its throat and into its eyes and nose, she found the lay of the forest fairly distinct. She would do no scouting from here, but she could interpret enough to avoid crashing into obstacles¡ªtheoretically, that was. This was knowledge unpractised; as she made to flap the great pair of wings, she miscalculated and knocked the edge of one into a tree trunk. Scowling to herself, she maneuvered the body to the side and tried again.

    This time, the wyvern launched headfirst into the air¡ªclumsy, but aloft.

    Windborne! Venera whispered.

    The walls of the wyvern¡¯s body flexed with each wingbeat. They were still going nearly straight up. Hissing to herself, Parsec banked it into a gentler trajectory. The necromancy purred through her wings and down the end of every spine as she circled the wyvern downwards. She marveled at how less strenuous it seemed, compared to flying herself. Although it couldn¡¯t hope to match her speed, it would do well to carry them to Glister.

    When she landed¡ªa wobbly landing, she admitted, but without any damage to the carcass nor to herself¡ªand poked her head out of the chest-flap, she saw that Jackal had packed his belongings and was waiting at a careful distance.

    ¡°That was all you?¡± he asked. She still didn¡¯t trust her assessment of human expression, but he looked suspicious and perhaps a touch impressed.

    ¡°Yes,¡± she said. ¡°Climb in.¡±

    ¡°If you¡¯re sure you won¡¯t drop us¡­¡± He seemed to have accepted that the necromancy was not a very elaborate trick of illusion.

    ¡°When have I ever dropped you?¡± she asked crossly.

    ¡°There¡¯s always a first time for everything.¡± Grimacing, he edged over the lip of the wyvern¡¯s ribs and shuffled into the belly. He seemed to dislike the texture of the walls and floor, even though Parsec had allowed them to dry out over the course of her excavation.

    ¡°Are you ready?¡± she asked.

    He gave her a skeptical look and clutched at his pack, seeing as there was nothing else to hold that wasn¡¯t a jutting piece of bone.

    The liftoff was much smoother this time, though Jackal looked very tense despite it. Humming with delight, she sent the wyvern flying south. For a time, there was nothing to do but rest and peer out of the chest-hole as they flew.

    ¡°Look!¡± she exclaimed as the wyvern flew right through a flock of small blue birds. They chirped and wheeled about like little pieces cut from the sky. It was so delightful that she almost felt freshly-fledged again. ¡°Jackal, come see¡ªI believe you will find it pleasing.¡±

    He moved cautiously up to the opening and stuck his head out beside her. ¡°Oh. Very pretty.¡± He grinned brightly, which was a rare enough sight. Then he leaned out a little further and craned his head around, laughing. ¡°Look, they¡¯re using bits of the wyvern as a perch. It¡¯s like what happens on boats, sometimes.¡±

    ¡°Boats? Which kind?¡± She¡¯d only seen human skyships from a distance and glimpsed one seaship from even further away.

    ¡°The ones I saw were from when I worked on a sea boat. Huge flock of starlings came out of nowhere. I think a storm blew ¡®em out to sea. Anyway, they found our boat and landed everywhere¡ªand I mean everywhere, on the lines and the mast and all over the deck, couldn¡¯t walk around without worrying about stepping on them. Must¡¯ve been tired little buggers. I picked one up in my hand and it just sat there, panting for its feathery little life. Captain said it was good luck to let ¡®em stay, so we put out some dishes of sweetwater and bits of old bait¡­didn¡¯t much like cleaning up their mess afterwards, though.¡±

    The rhythm of his words was very beautiful, and she could imagine them precisely. She wondered whether he could have been a weaver of histories if he were born to a Hive instead of to humans. His hair blew in the breeze; he had sounded more wistful and relaxed than she could ever recall.

    ¡°Did you enjoy riding on these sea boats?¡± she asked.

    ¡°Well, I wouldn¡¯t say enjoy.¡± The easy edge left his voice, and his expression became a little fixed. ¡°It had its moments.¡±

    She had misread something, she was sure. Still, it had been very significant of him to offer such a vivid story so freely. Or did humans treat speaking in such ways as a lighter and more frivolous matter, like play-fighting? Regardless, she felt she should tell one in exchange.

    ¡°Perihelion showed me a scout¡¯s game when I first came to the Hive,¡± Parsec said. ¡°We would fly out to the foothills and chase the birds of prey, trying to follow them in their dives. I was the first scout to have caught one in many, many years. I let it go, of course¡ªthey don¡¯t make for good eating, and I was so surprised at catching up to one that I dropped it as soon as I caught hold.¡±

    Jackal smiled at her words, but remembering Perihelion and the Hive had brought a sullen ache in chest to life. She fought to keep her spines from drooping.

    ¡°I would like to see if sitting on the wyvern¡¯s back is comfortable,¡± she said, rising from her crouch. ¡°Don¡¯t worry¡ªI will come back soon, and I won¡¯t let it fall.¡± She flew out hastily.

    ¡°Are you sure? Be careful,¡± Jackal called after her.

    Parsec looped up to land on the ridge of the wyvern¡¯s spine. This startled a dozen of the little blue birds, which departed in a great fuss, chirruping shrilly. There, she let her spines sink into a dejected posture as the wyvern flew onwards. Below them, the treetops met the horizon in a vast expanse of green.

    Unflightful of you, Venera chided, after some time. Too lost in self. And you are hungry, now?

    ¡°I was only remembering,¡± Parsec said crossly. ¡°Only a little. Alright, then.¡±

    She dropped off the wyvern¡¯s back and flew back into its chest. Jackal was tearing into a strip of dried meat with his teeth. There was nothing inherently worrying about that, she thought, keeping watch on his shadow. He offered her a piece from the packet. She accepted it with a nod and curled up against the flexing wall of ribcage.

    Syrup, Venera reminded her, and she took a drop. She was most of the way through her second vial by now, and she would have to arrange tedious matters for more once they reached Glister¡­

    ¡°Are you alright?¡± Jackal asked abruptly.

    ¡°Yes,¡± she said.

    ¡°You sure?¡± He hesitated. ¡°Because you seemed¡­are you homesick?¡±

    She sat up with a jolt. ¡°I don¡¯t have a home anymore.¡±

    Neither I.

    ¡°You can miss something that¡¯s gone,¡± he said. ¡°I didn¡¯t even like my birthplace all too much, but I understand.¡±

    Parsec said nothing. It was not silent. The wyvern creaked faintly as it flew, and breezes whistled through the little gaps in its body.

    ¡°This wind¡¯s got me thinking about sea days again,¡± Jackal said suddenly. ¡°I remember one time, really beautiful¡ªthe sea was all shimmery green and a bit choppy, and it was full of flying cod. Not the sort of thing our nets were after, but it was a good sight.¡±

    ¡°Are the flying cod different from skyfish?¡± Parsec asked. It was gratifying that he was being friendly enough to offer another piece of story, but now she felt a stab of guilt for being so silent, and for departing so abruptly earlier.

    ¡°They¡¯re much smaller and they swim in water, but they¡¯ve got like, fin-wings on the sides. Looking at one in a bucket, you¡¯d think that they¡¯re only called that because of folklore, but the wind actually takes them gliding. And speaking of skyfish, I did see a lot of those in my birthplace. Some of them are as big as this wyvern, and they¡¯ve got patterns like a painter went over the scales. There¡¯s other stuff out there too. One time, Laila¡ªmy sister¡ªhassled me about skimming out west for the sand-ray migration, so I took a day off and we saw hundreds of them flapping over the dunes. I¡¯m glad we went. I miss stuff like that, even if I don¡¯t miss everything.¡±

    Exceptional moments were not always easy to come by, and there were only so many you would receive in a lifetime. Jackal had just handed her three in as many minutes; for a moment, Parsec simply pictured the foreign scenes with admiration. It was understood that one¡¯s stories were to be done with what one wished, but generally a few were shared as acts of generosity. Be it between close connections or through the nodes of an entire Hive, they distributed feelings of peace and wonder, or even fear and knowledge. That unspoken ritual of peering out from behind another¡¯s eyes¡­it was an odd sensation to be communicating like this with a human.

    Human or Hiver, it is all qualia.

    Parsec drew her wings close to her body. ¡°Do you know of the shattered lands?¡± she asked slowly.

    ¡°A little.¡± He frowned, brow furrowing. ¡°Whole different continent, right? Died a long time ago, because of¡­magic, or wars, or something? Couldn¡¯t pay much attention to those lessons.¡±

    ¡°It is still dying,¡± she said, and found herself telling him about Almucantar Hive. ¡°We must have been one of the last, I am sure. There were sometimes travelers from many miles away, come to join us because their Titanias had died. We lasted quite long, longer than the humans, but we burned in the end. And then I came here, and I stayed with Glister for a long time. I gave them all my service and now they think me a traitor, a Titania-killer, and I have nothing.¡±

    Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

    Not nothing, said Venera.

    ¡°I have no more belonging,¡± Parsec corrected. ¡°Why General Eltanin betrayed us, I do not know and cannot prove in the first place¡­I will try to convince them with Venera, since the rhythms have turned too far on me. He intends the Hive harm, I know it.¡± Her spines twitched with unwanted emotion. ¡°You might call me foolish for returning, but they are all I have, even if they will not have me. It is still my responsibility to warn them, even if I should not dare to hope they will welcome me back.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t think it¡¯s foolish,¡± he said. ¡°It sounds pretty noble of you, actually.¡±

    ¡°Hmph,¡± she muttered. ¡°Not ¡®noble¡¯. Only duty.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯re all just out here trying to survive,¡± he said. ¡°There¡¯s nothing forcing you to go back except yourself, right? You found Venera on your own? I don¡¯t know about you faeries, but to most humans, that kind of loyalty is noble.¡±

    And so I am not wholly gone.

    Parsec flattened her spines and changed the topic to a tale of the star-falling season, nights sleeked full of lights as she flew north, following a lonely chain of islands over icy seas before she reached what she now knew to be a small city far north of Ironport. The memories were easier to dwell on when they featured her alone.

    She described blue-green and ultraviolet rays fanning across the night instead of her slowing thoughts and faltering wings. She did not mention almost falling into the sea before finding her next half-barren island and hunting scrawny seabirds for sustenance, sucking scraps of meat off the feathers. All that had mattered at the time was the momentum of fleeing. She had needed to get as far away as possible. It had felt like instinct. Survival, not betrayal, for there was nothing she could have done. She succeeded, too: she had found the other side of the world, where green things grew and only dead things rotted. The original rhythms which she had been attuned to could no longer touch her. They¡¯d died alongside everything else. If she sometimes thought Almucantar Hive haunted her like Venera did, only beyond the edge of hearing, then it was only a trick of her mind.

    Jackal, perhaps sensing her disquiet, told her beautiful-sounding stories as they landed and made camp: crystal-clear water and still nights coasting through a blackness like void, encountering blooms of glowing jellyfish as they entered a harbour. He too, seemed to be avoiding vast tracts of context.

    Parsec felt a pang of sympathy and worse yet, recognition. These were moments like beads of amber, picked from the skins of burnt and fallen trees. He must have his own sizeable field of blackened logs, the way he hesitated at times, carefully threading through his history. She listened to the words gratefully, holding the impressions in her mind and committing them to memory.

    ===

    Jackal asked to stop at a floating township. Parsec almost mistook its distant speck as the top of a hillock, until they drew close enough to see it was an island that hovered well above the treetops. A warren of browned buildings sprawled over its surface, and thin streams of smoke arose from what must be chimneys.

    ¡°Is this truly necessary?¡± she asked, though she landed the wyvern some distance away at his request.

    ¡°You¡¯re going to have people chasing you in Glister, right?¡± he countered. ¡°You should sort out your disguise situation before you get there.¡±

    ¡°Will you find anything useful in such a remote settlement?¡± she asked dubiously.

    ¡°Maybe, maybe not. But I¡¯d like to trade for some fresh food anyway.¡±

    ¡°What¡¯s wrong with rabbit meat?¡± Parsec asked, feeling a little stung. She¡¯d caught several of the animals and dried their meat by slicing it thinly, then salting and skewering the pieces to the wyvern¡¯s back as they flew. Many of the strips had been nibbled at by passing birds before she chose to sit guard, but overall, she felt it was a rewarding effort that would keep Jackal from growing too magic-hungry and gnawing at his own hands.

    ¡°Nothing,¡± he said. ¡°Just gets tiring after a while. Don¡¯t you faeries ever get sick of eating the same thing over and over again?¡±

    Often, Venera said.

    ¡°I am less picky than you,¡± Parsec said stiffly. ¡°Very well. Go and buy your meats, and seek an illusion if you can.¡±

    He returned at dusk with an armful of paper-wrapped parcels. One contained half a dozen sausages, which they charred over the campfire.

    ¡°You need to eat meat more than I do,¡± she protested, when Jackal offered her half.

    ¡°Yeah, but I¡¯d rather share,¡± he said. ¡°Go on, have some. You can¡¯t enjoy just eating rabbit and random bits of shrubs for days.¡±

    Parsec accepted the plate warily. He seemed ever-eager to offer her food, even expecting her to take cupfuls of soup from his campfire pot without asking first. She was unsure whether going to such lengths of generosity was a human trait, or merely a Jackal one. She still hunted for herself, despite this behaviour. It was never a politeness to lay claim to someone else¡¯s catch.

    She sat across the fire and bit into her portion, discerning a mix of pork and finely-ground poultry scraps, chased with hints of sage and fennel and other human-grown spices she didn¡¯t know the names for. It was a nice change from all the rabbit, she admitted begrudgingly. Well, this wouldn¡¯t do¡ªshe was no synthesiser, so she must make better use of her scouting skills if she wanted to compete with human cookery. It was important she demonstrate her usefulness if she wished to keep Jackal as a friend and ally. They spoke very amicably now but he still seemed to find the dead wyvern a little distasteful, asking questions about when it was going to start rotting despite her assurances of her power prevent it.

    Jackal unwrapped one of the largest parcels after their dinner. It held several curious objects she had never seen before. They were large discs of unpainted wood, carved in crude approximation of a human face.

    ¡°They¡¯re masks,¡± he explained. ¡°Bought them off the dodgiest looking fellow you can imagine. Anyway, you tie them over your face. They¡¯ve only got weak charms on ¡®em though, so one of these¡¯ll only last for a couple of days or thereabouts. They also won¡¯t disguise the rest of your body, so I bought these too.¡± He passed her a long, thick cloak, a pair of woollen gloves, and two mismatched boots.

    She recalled a point of human custom. ¡°Will it not seem strange for me to wear such items under a blue and sun-filled sky?¡±

    ¡°There¡¯s all kinds that go to Glister. I don¡¯t think anyone¡¯ll care.¡± He looked thoughtful for a moment. ¡°Actually, we should get you a hairpiece the next time we pass another township. Maybe something like a witch¡¯s hat, too. Witches wear whatever they like, and often discourage being stared at.¡±

    They journeyed on, making swift progress. Parsec¡¯s initial assessment had been correct: keeping the wyvern aloft was only half as tiring as carrying Jackal with her own two wings. Venera¡¯s voice grew stronger as the days passed, recovering from her efforts in that mirrored, in-between place.

    Jackal would not speak about his affliction without prompting. Parsec had been content to leave him be, until Venera began placing insistent questions into her head in the form of folding diagrams, marbled with incomprehensible numbers. Parsec began hinting at her curiousity during their evening dice games.

    ¡°I went some places I shouldn¡¯t have gone,¡± he said at last. He stared into the light of their fire, scarcely blinking. ¡°I¡¯ll tell you, if you¡¯ll try to believe me.¡±

    She thought of Venera, of traitors and necromancy. ¡°I find myself believing a great many things these days.¡±

    Jackal took a deep breath and began. He spoke of an unstable realm cradled within the stones of a castle that was a wonder in of itself. The shelves of his so-called Library held an odd resemblance to Orion¡¯s Archival stacks. He lingered on a garden of thorns and a fetid labyrinth seen from afar. He was hesitant to conclude what had specifically invited the source of his affliction, but Parsec was more intrigued by the places he described in a general sense.

    Realm-like, Venera murmured confidently.

    ¡°It sounds to me like a half-tamed Archive,¡± Parsec said. ¡°I wasn¡¯t aware humans had such things.¡±

    ¡°Not many do. I think the kingdom¡¯s the only one with anything close to the Higher Library¡­and they only let the highborn types in.¡± He paused and met her gaze defiantly. ¡°I didn¡¯t go jaunting just for laughs, you know. But I¡ªif I had to do it all over again, I would.¡±

    Theft was a rare and bewildering activity in a Hive, but Parsec was accustomed to the concept. Her Lieutenants had often muttered about the human affinity for it when describing their duties in the city. Her fellow Hivers mediated many a dispute over mere metal tokens¡ªshe was growing more accustomed to understanding their value, though. She¡¯d watched Jackal count his remaining tokens after their township visit. Something about his attentiveness had struck her in its similarity to Elder Pluteum counting parcels of grain as Almucantar had weakened, then later burned.

    ¡°Why would you ever wish to endure such a thing?¡± she asked. ¡°Do you think hardship makes you stronger?¡± She still believed in the idea herself, though not as strongly as she once did.

    ¡°No, it¡¯s nothing like that.¡± He looked back at the fire. When he spoke, his voice was fierce. ¡°The kingdom wasn¡¯t kind to people like us. After da passed, I could see my ma going the same way. My sister was working so hard and my brother was¡­going a bad way. Doing stupid things just for the rush of it. Losing his self-preservation. So I lifted a few things here and there, nothing that¡¯d be missed. Sold it for enough coin to bribe us permission to leave, and passage on a skyship. Better they be safe and comfortable in a cottage with a garden and good neighbours, even if it¡¯s without me.¡±

    Humans lived in miniature units of their own, she knew. Was that not like having a Hive, in a way? Very inefficient and very many of them, but as she listened carefully to the tone of Jackal¡¯s words, she assumed the rhythms and connectedness must be similar. Perhaps they had even more in common than she¡¯d thought.

    ¡°We will uproot the aponeurosis from your head,¡± she vowed. ¡°You will return to them.¡±

    He smiled a guarded smile, but it wasn¡¯t without hope. ¡°Thank you, Parsec. And Venera.¡±

    Venera piped a pleased and pure tone. Parsec was glad, even if Jackal could not hear it.

    ¡°She says you are welcome,¡± Parsec said. ¡°She is¡­singing, a little. It is a shame I cannot imitate it for our ears. But I will try an old battle verse, if you would like to stoke your courage. I learned it long ago, when I helped hunt the Hival centipede.¡±

    ¡°Go for your life,¡± Jackal said. ¡°I haven¡¯t heard a song in a long time.¡±

    ¡°May we both succeed in our wishes and return to that which we most long for,¡± Parsec said. She tipped her head to the stars and sang.

    ¡°In the shadow of the rains, we begin¡­¡±

    She beat a rhythm out with her tail and Venera crooned the lower notes over her shoulder. Behind them, the body of the wyvern lay as still as stone.

    Jackal leaned forward from across the fire, his gaze attentive. When she finished, he laced his hands together and brought them under his chin.

    ¡°That¡¯s a good song. Sweeter than I expected¡ªnot weak-sounding, I mean, but for a battle song the tune seemed very¡­auspicious. Maybe I¡¯m just used to gloomier sounds.¡±

    Parsec rustled her spines, pleased. ¡°Yes! You understand it even without knowing our words. It is meant to be encouraging. Do you sing too? You have mentioned that your old home has a great tradition of songs and musics.¡±

    ¡°No,¡± he said hastily, looking flustered. ¡°Got no skill for it at all. I wasn¡¯t¡­well, the scribing and weather magic never did stick with me and I couldn¡¯t carry a good tune to save my life, so that¡¯s how I ended up a salt-kiter.¡±

    ¡°You say that word sometimes¡ªkiter¡ªbut you have not explained it to me,¡± Parsec said curiously. ¡°Apologies if this is a common knowledge. The Titania¡¯s honey weaves a language-magic for us, but I am living off the schismatist Sylvan¡¯s syrup and perhaps his brew is not as good.¡±

    ¡°Not common, sorry,¡± Jackal said. ¡°Not outside Shadowsong, anyway. A kiter¡¯s a kite-flyer, a person who takes little sand-boats out to the mists. Mostly, we carried spell-packets up into the clouds and loosed them where the Weathermancers and Magicians wanted. Sometimes, we recorded the wind, the lifts and drags¡ªoh you¡¯d know what that¡¯s all about, wouldn¡¯t you? The court folks always wanted to know the changing currents for omens and fortunes, but they¡¯re too scared to risk themselves and no one¡¯s sending Magicians on such little errands. And we did skyfish-fishing when it was the season for it. That¡¯s where the money was, but it¡¯s dangerous stuff.¡±

    ¡°So you are a type of scout,¡± Parsec said. ¡°I had guessed so. You run so quickly.¡±

    ¡°Have to be able to, in that trade.¡± He grimaced. ¡°Lots of people fall off fast boats, breathe in the bad mists, latch onto the wrong skyfish. Da died when one of the tether lines twisted ¡®round and¡ªerm, that¡¯s what they told me at least.¡± He looked down at the leaf litter by his feet.

    ¡°I am sorry,¡± Parsec said. It was difficult for her to imagine exuding such discomfort over the death of her makers, whoever they were, but then she tried imagining Perihelion or even Nephele dying and felt a jolt of sympathetic hurt. ¡°It is never easy to lose a close¡­relation. It is good, then, that you left your needlessly dangerous position and your unjust kingdom. Your own courage has ensured you are safe and alive to return to the rest of your Hive¡ªI mean, your familial unit.¡±

    ¡°Yes¡­¡± he said. His voice sounded as if it caught on something halfway out his throat. ¡°That¡¯s nice of you to say.¡±

    ¡°It is merely the truth,¡± she said, noticing as he blinked a glimmer of water from his eyes.

    Venera leaned in, showing her a pattern of furled wings and trembling spines to compare it to. She felt her tail twitch uneasily in response; she would not like Perihelion or any of the other Generals noticing or making remarks if she were in such a state. And indeed, she had borne the discomfort of being visibly upset for several days after Venera¡¯s death.

    ¡°I remember another song,¡± she continued. ¡°Would you like to hear it?¡±

    Jackal nodded silently. Parsec gazed into the fire and sang the kindest song she knew.

 5.13 - Whistle to the Wind

    Parsec

    A day out from Glister, she was forced to leave the wyvern behind. She¡¯d known it would be too noticeable, but it still rankled at her to land in the last copse of woodland large enough to hide it.

    ¡°You have not been unaccustomed to walking, I hope?¡± Parsec asked, pulling on her disguise.

    ¡°We won¡¯t have to for long,¡± Jackal said. ¡°And Sleech Rock is a bigger stopover. Bet you it¡¯ll have an old boat yard.¡±

    She adjusted the ties of the mask around her spines and curled her tail behind her wings. ¡°How human do I look?¡± Jackal had bought her a hairpiece and a pointed hat in a cluster of floating village markets they¡¯d long-passed. She hoped they were worth the additional discomfort.

    ¡°You look like a very eccentric witch,¡± he said. ¡°As long as you don¡¯t talk. I don¡¯t know if you realise, but your voice is a bit¡­pointier than a regular human¡¯s.¡±

    Like water and falling pebbles, Venera said approvingly.

    ¡°I take it that playing at a witch of silence is better than appearing to be a necromancer?¡±

    ¡°Of course,¡± he said, cocking his head and squinting. ¡°But are the bones really necessary?¡±

    Parsec had gathered and sharpened half a dozen stakes of bone over the course of their journey. They made good arrows to ward off night scavengers, and more importantly, she could command them into simple puppets if the need so arose. A string of bird¡¯s skulls slung across her chest was accessory to this benefit; the necromantic constructs didn¡¯t seem to work nearly half as well without heads.

    ¡°I will keep them hidden under the cloak,¡± she said, tying the last bundle around her tail. ¡°I have told you, it is difficult to use ordinary magic at the same time as the necromancy.¡±

    ¡°But you won¡¯t need to use necromancy, right?¡± he asked. ¡°Not where people can see. You¡¯d get hauled off in front of a Magister if they realise.¡±

    ¡°I am aware. But I did not survive this long by neglecting the tools at my disposal.¡±

    He gave her a strange¡ªalmost pitying?¡ªlook, but didn¡¯t further argue the point.

    They followed the path of a winding river to Sleech Rock, which hung in the air like a fat grey cloud. Long rope ladders trailed from its top, and many market stalls had been set up beneath its bulk and within its shadow. Parsec eyed the flimsy structures with some disquiet.

    ¡°I thought you humans relied on farmland to sustain such large populations,¡± Parsec observed.

    ¡°There¡¯s probably some at the top of the rock,¡± Jackal said. ¡°I think they¡¯re having some kind of festival.¡±

    Humans cried out their wares as they passed through the ruckus of market stalls.

    ¡°Fish for sale,¡± a man hollered. ¡°Fresh fish from upriver, only ten coppers apiece!¡±

    Parsec flicked her spines beneath her cloak at the claim. The fish smelled two days old, at least.

    ¡°Nausea potions from Glister,¡± someone else sang. ¡°Buy two, get one half-price!¡±

    ¡°You there,¡± called a blue-eyed woman, leaning close as they walked by her stall. ¡°Young man and your witch¡ªyou¡¯ll be wanting a trusty blade down in the dungeon. Come, take a look at my work! The sharpest daggers in all of Sleech.¡± She picked up an apple and cut herself a slice to demonstrate.

    ¡°A dungeon?¡± Jackal asked sharply.

    ¡°Aye,¡± the woman said, popping the bit of apple into her mouth and chewing with relish. ¡°My bad, I took you for Glister folks. A dungeon¡¯s opened up a mile west. I daresay you¡¯d be one of the last people in this place to know.¡±

    Jackal gave her a nod and looked at the gathered stalls with new understanding.

    ¡°Will you go to the dungeon?¡± Parsec whispered, once they were out of earshot.

    ¡°I think I¡¯d better.¡± He frowned. ¡°Not that the quail you¡¯ve scared up aren¡¯t tasty, but¡­¡±

    Simple flesh won¡¯t suffice.

    ¡°I understand,¡± Parsec said. ¡°Their bodies do not contain enough magic.¡±

    ¡°Let¡¯s take a look up top first,¡± Jackal said decisively. ¡°We¡¯ve still got to get back to Glister and I don¡¯t want to be walking all that way. Someone ought to have a boat for sale.¡±

    The rope ladders she had seen from afar looked less makeshift up close; indeed, the ropes were so thick they felt as though they could withstand generations of use. Unfortunately, this did not make them much easier to climb. Parsec struggled, too used to bypassing vertical surfaces with her wings. The gloves and boots she wore to hide her inhumanness hindered what natural mobility she possessed. To add insult to injury, Jackal swarmed nimbly past her, carrying his pack and all.

    Shaking off her faintly bruised pride, she followed him up onto the rock and through a quaint maze of buildings, squashed as close as any city. The air tingled with hints of the old magic keeping this miracle aloft. Using deft words and friendly gestures, Jackal acquired directions to a shack perched near the edge of the island. It had a large, grassy yard fenced with wire, and within that yard slumped a great many little skyships.

    A stout man strode out to greet them, puffing industriously at a pipe. ¡°Good day, your witchness, and to you too, sir. What brings you here?¡±

    ¡°I heard you were the person to see when it comes to boats,¡± Jackal said.

    ¡°You¡¯re in the right place.¡± He beckoned them past the gate and waved a hand at the yard. ¡°Take a look and see what catches your fancy. The two-seater skimmers are up that way, past the shed. I¡¯ll be mucking out the henhouse, but give a shout if you¡¯d like a word, eh?¡±

    They walked among bewildering groups of ships, some battle-battered and others gleaming like new. Jackal inspected each one they passed, running his hands across the planks.

    ¡°How about this one?¡± Parsec asked, stopping in front of a finer looking specimen. It was painted with red stripes and pointed like a scout¡¯s wing, giving a suggestion of swift flight.

    Jackal barely gave it a glance before shaking his head. ¡°That¡¯ll be too expensive.¡± He sighed grimly. ¡°If we¡¯re unlucky, we might have to come back after I take a long dip in the dungeon.¡±

    They continued through the yard. After a few minutes of her questioning, Jackal pointed out various features to look out for so Parsec could do more than peer over his shoulder. She headed off in the opposite direction, noting the wear and tear across several of the ships and trying to picture how well they might last them to Glister and for Jackal, possibly beyond. A strange shiver of unease gripped her when she contemplated the thought of him sailing into the wind, alone. When all of this was over¡­

    Consider how, this being over¡­?

    ¡°I don¡¯t know how,¡± Parsec said quietly. ¡°At least, Jackal has a certainty waiting for him at the end.¡±

    Venera hummed in response. And you Parallax, back to the predecessor¡¯s Hive?

    ¡°If I could prove my innocence,¡± She said cautiously, hardly wishing to give name to that hope.

    Her thoughts turned as she approached the edge of the shipyard, replaying those last hours inside the Hive for the hundredth time. Eltanin had planned his vile actions. But he had unseated her so easily because of her origin. She had belonged, until¡­hadn¡¯t she?

    ¡°Venera,¡± she started. ¡°Was I a Hiver, truly?¡±

    Too small to track you only, Parallax. But yes, I say. Many outsiders became¡­the patterns do not distinguish¡­million-lined-throughways, your bower and your ripples blend¡­

    ¡°Ah,¡± Parsec said as the images splintered into unrelenting complexity, ¡°that¡¯s enough.¡±

    This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

    Apologies. Still too far from the flesh ways. I¡ªpredecessor¡ªVenera¡ªI do not wish to hurt you, Parallax.

    Parsec swished her tail soothingly. ¡°No, no. It is not your fault. You are what you are now.¡±

    A hesitation. And if what I am, harms you?

    ¡°This was my choice. You do not.¡±

    Parallax. In the time we have flown I have been looking¡­I see shape of consequence beyond pain, if kept for the span of years. You must let me disperse one day, else the limit of your own life begins to shrink.

    ¡°If that is what you want,¡± Parsec said, feeling her spines twitch of their own accord. ¡°But we¡¯ll speak of that when we need to.¡±

    Should we not prepare now?

    ¡°Please,¡± Parsec said, alarmed. ¡°Think about it for a while longer.¡±

    By the time they¡¯d circled back, Parsec found Jackal crouched before a flaking green prow.

    ¡°I¡¯ll ask about this one,¡± he said, rapping the hull with his knuckles. Chips of paint fluttered off at the contact, exposing bare wood. ¡°The flight crystal¡¯s sound, and I¡¯ve got some scraps in my pack to patch that sail with¡­¡±

    It was a small, sparse craft that had obviously seen better days. It boasted no cover in event of the weather turning, nor any compartments to store supplies. Parsec regretted that she could not build them a finer boat out of wyvern bones as Jackal walked off to haggle with the ship-seller.

    He came back carrying a bundle of papers in one hand and a container which sloshed with an unfamiliar-smelling liquid in the other. He gestured for her to move aside so he could climb aboard. ¡°We can launch right off the side,¡± he said. ¡°Hop on, won¡¯t you?¡±

    She did, with some difficulty, and clung to the railing as he poured the liquid into a hidden chute near the rear and fiddled with the sails. She noted several ragged holes once they were unfurled, but he assured her it would be inconsequential for the short trip down. Privately, she readied her wings just in case. Jackal seemed to have great trust in this human creation, but it would not do for them to plummet sixty feet off the side of the island.

    The ship gave a brief, resonant hum as it lifted off the ground. Jackal steered them over the tops of the other boats and, reaching the edge, hurtled them over the side of the island. The wind cut upward like a claw. Parsec cried out despite herself, wings rising under her cloak.

    ¡°It¡¯s alright,¡± Jackal yelled over the wind. The only thing stopping her from scooping him up and flying them off the boat was his grin and easy posture. He finished doing something to the levers which canted the skimmer to the side, righting their steep dive. Parsec¡¯s wings settled back down. ¡°Phew, this one¡¯s touchier than kingdom craft. Got a good turn to her, though.¡± He patted the wheel with strange affection and flicked a few more levers, gliding them away from the island. ¡°Let¡¯s drop by the dungeon¡ªI¡¯ve emptied my pockets for this thing and I need some fresh meat, anyway.¡±

    ¡°I will accompany you,¡± she declared. ¡°From what you have told me, such places are perilous for humans.¡±

    ¡°They¡¯re dangerous for you too,¡± he said, sounding irked.

    Parsec hesitated, sensing she¡¯d caused offense. ¡°Yes, that is true. I only meant¡­it will be less dangerous for the both of us if we work together, as scouts do.¡±

    The tension in his shoulders eased as he flew them toward a cluster of tents in the distance. ¡°Okay. There¡¯s the base camp. Looks pretty new.¡±

    Outflow, Venera murmured.

    Jackal set them down in an area that had been cleared for other ships and spoke to a pair of guards at the perimeter. Tokens exchanged hands, and Parsec frowned.

    ¡°Why did you pay them?¡±

    ¡°Someone¡¯s got to keep an eye on the boat,¡± he said.

    ¡°I could have asked Venera to linger¡­¡±

    Little good when you are so far beneath, Venera said, and Parsec had to concede she had a point.

    ¡°¡­Ah,¡± she said. ¡°No, you are correct. Those humans would better deter other humans. We will simply have to acquire a little more from the dungeon to replenish what you have spent.¡±

    ¡°Could you keep your voice down?¡± Jackal asked. ¡°Or at least, try not to say the word ¡®humans¡¯.¡±

    Parsec clicked her teeth together and nodded vigorously.

    Jackal looked a little bemused, but he led the way without further comment. The camp was full of more people trying to sell things, and other, often armour-clad, people buying them. Many of the ones she guessed to be dungeonrunners were seated on crates around makeshift tables, eating ravenously and speaking among themselves. It was a motley mix; she was surprised to see some that were short of stature, wider-eyed and rounder of face, barely out of fledgling-hood by human standards.

    The dungeon itself was a tunnel some hundred feet away from the main camp. Were it not for the steady trickle of dungeonrunners emerging from its mouth with strange objects in their arms, she would have thought it nothing more than an old hole crumbled out of a hillside. As they walked closer, however, she smelled a tinge of magic in the air. Jackal rubbed at his nose and sneezed as they approached.

    ¡°You can smell it too?¡± she whispered, first glancing around to check no one was within hearing range.

    ¡°Yeah, it¡¯s always like this when they¡¯re new¡ª¡± He broke off and stared at a pair of figures striding from the dungeon mouth. ¡°Is that¡ªKalyan? Reshmi?¡± he called, jogging ahead.

    Parsec followed curiously. The two humans were covered in scratched-up leather armour, and had short swords belted to their hips. They carried a rusted metal chest between them. At Jackal¡¯s exclamation, they set down the chest and made noises of surprise.

    ¡°Jackal!¡± the one on the right said. She cocked her head in apparent amazement. ¡°It¡¯s been so long! We had no idea where you¡¯d disappeared to!¡±

    ¡°You¡¯ve been travelling, I see,¡± the other human said. ¡°Did you pass through Bitter Valley a few months back? Cyrilla said she thought she saw you, the last time we talked, but she couldn¡¯t be sure.¡±

    Jackal shook his head. ¡°No, that must¡¯ve been someone else. How have you been?¡±

    ¡°Oh, you know how it goes. Ups and downs.¡± The human shrugged ruefully and kicked lightly at the chest. ¡°We¡¯re hoping this¡¯s got something good inside, though we¡¯ve got to crack the lock first. Reshmi insisted we grab it, though it feels like twenty pounds of scrap iron to me.¡±

    Reshmi swatted at his arm. ¡°It was your idea to go down the webbed tunnel, so we might as well get something out of that rotten fight.¡± She paused, looking at Parsec who had drawn alongside. ¡°Uh, who¡¯s this?¡±

    ¡°Travelling companion,¡± Jackal said brightly. ¡°Pavao¡¯s a nice lady, though one of few words.¡±

    Parsec inclined her head at the both of them, attempting a smile. She couldn¡¯t be sure how it translated onto the illusion-mask, but neither of the humans recoiled, so she guessed it was successful enough.

    ¡°Glad you haven¡¯t been traipsing around the wilderness all alone,¡± Kalyan said. ¡°Were you just heading down? We¡¯ve got a pot of stew back at the tent if you aren¡¯t in a hurry.¡±

    And so they found themselves sitting around a cheerfully crackling fire, though Parsec had to hold up a hand in what she hoped was polite refusal when Kalyan began ladling out generous bowlfuls of food; she didn¡¯t think the mask would accommodate eating.

    After the meal, they set at the chest with a variety of spells and hammers. Each attempt did little to damage it, and the lid remained firmly closed even as Reshmi poked cunningly-shaped pieces of wire into the lock and twisted them around. In fact, the wires got stuck and broke off when Kalyan tried yanking them back out. The humans mumbled a chorus of groans. Parsec, who had been watching the proceedings with growing interest, drew Jackal aside.

    ¡°Venera says I could try blasting it open,¡± she whispered.

    His face cycled through many expressions, before he nodded and returned to pose the suggestion to the two dungeonrunners. Reshmi jumped eagerly to her feet, but Kalyan interjected.

    ¡°Suppose we try this somewhere away from the camp?¡±

    Parsec watched as the humans hauled the chest into the woods until they found a nice, clean rock-face to place it in front of. They all scrambled out of her way, casting expectant looks over her, and she wondered how much of that expectation had to do with her witch¡¯s hat.

    We shall give them a star-falling-show, Venera said.

    Parsec raised her arm and poured magic into her hand, until it felt as though she were holding a hundred tamed bees. Molten violet light gathered in a pulsing sphere around her fingertips, its surface fizzling like a mineral spring. She imbued the spell-light with thought, nudged along with Venera¡¯s input. Here, to cleave through rust. And here, to limit the force along the outer shell. When she was finished refining the power, she raised her other arm in warning and flung it.

    It hit the chest with a great, metallic crump. Little fragments burst from the point of impact, flinging themselves away and burying themselves into the dirt. The spell-light dissipated quickly, and Parsec gestured it was safe to approach the cracked-open chest.

    Kalyan and Reshmi darted forward. She felt cool air against her hand and looked down to see the glove had all but disintegrated as she¡¯d cast the spell. Fortunately, the two dungeonrunners were busy exclaiming over the contents of the chest¡ªan abundance of silver coins, as far as Parsec could see. She tapped Jackal on the shoulder before he could join them.

    ¡°I have a small problem,¡± she whispered, showing him the remains of the glove.

    ¡°Oh, crap,¡± he whispered back. ¡°It¡¯s fine, you can borrow one of mine.¡±

    She tucked her hand within her cloak while Jackal fetched a spare glove from his pack. Mismatched gloves and boots it was now, she thought, faintly amused. Perhaps it even looked like a deliberate choice.

    ¡°Please,¡± Kalyan was saying to Jackal. ¡°Let us pay you a share. Good old Greygrass would¡¯ve taken half this to help get it open.¡±

    ¡°I won¡¯t refuse,¡± Jackal said. ¡°But thank Pavao, not me.¡±

    And then she was being showered with praise by the two humans. Reshmi even tried to embrace her, though she backed away hastily. Not that she wished to slight human customs, but she suspected her body, with all of its spines, would not feel similar to a human¡¯s even under the weight of her cloak. Not to mention, the problem of all of those bones she¡¯d strapped to herself¡­

    ¡°Sorry,¡± Reshmi said, looking flustered. ¡°I didn¡¯t think¡ªdidn¡¯t mean to offend, erm¡ª¡±

    Parsec patted her shoulder in what she hoped was a conciliatory gesture.

    ¡°Right, right,¡± said Reshmi. ¡°¡­Handshake okay?¡±

    Her woollen glove was thick enough to disguise any differences, Parsec concluded, and took the proffered hand. Kalyan stepped forward to shake her hand, too. It was altogether an odd, but not unpleasant, experience.

    After they stamped their way back to the campsite, Reshmi bought a crate of ale with a handful of the silver. Parsec discreetly handed her bottle to Jackal when the others weren¡¯t looking. They spoke of events Parsec had not been present for, and eventually the chatter dissolved into tipsy laughter and snatches of off-key song.

    Watching them, it occurred to her that Jackal would be happier here than dragged along on her desperate revenge-quest. A sour emptiness filled her chest at the thought.

    He would be happier, said Venera, until the aponeurosis coaxes him to bite into his fellow humans.

    ¡°We¡¯d make a great team,¡± Reshmi said, grinning. ¡°Are you and Pavao staying for long? Cause if you aren¡¯t travelling anywhere in particular, you¡¯re welcome to join up with us.¡±

    Jackal hesitated. ¡°That¡¯s nice of you to offer. We¡¯ll stay awhile, but we need to be moving along soon.¡±

    ¡°Ah, yes.¡± Kalyan nodded in vague understanding. ¡°We¡¯re staying here until the dungeon dries up, but if you ever find yourselves in the same camp¡ªdrop by anytime, alright?¡± He raised his bottle in a toast.

    They all gave a cheer and continued talking well into the night. If their voices were a little more melancholy than before, no one paid it much mind.

 5.14 - Glimpse of The Sky

    Felun

    There was just enough life left in the veilment for its last task. Suria¡¯s work rippled like silk in the wind and ribboned to nothing as Yuying stepped into the safety of Jiahao¡¯s hold. Stamped crates were stacked wall to wall, arranged to fill nine tenths of the space. The air smelled oddly familiar: a mixture of sawdust, dried herbs, and medicinal teas bitter enough to make his tongue curl.

    ¡°Over here,¡± Shirin said. She knelt by the far wall and murmured a spell. Felun sensed an illusion unraveling, and an enchantment clicking open beneath the boards as the outline of a trapdoor shimmered into view. ¡°It¡¯s unlikely the Magicians will be allowed to search us, but you¡¯d better sit in this compartment until we¡¯re airborne.¡±

    Felun eyed the trapdoor warily. ¡°That locks, doesn¡¯t it?¡±

    ¡°It can be unlocked from the inside in an emergency.¡±

    ¡°Air circulation?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s well-tested. More than adequate.¡± The words were terse but confident.

    Father¡¯s secret illusionist? he wondered. They could have arrived on this very ship, or any of the other dozen just like it: small, quick-sailing craft scattered throughout the fleet.

    ¡°Don¡¯t worry. I¡¯ll be fine.¡± Yuying grinned as she crouched into the darkness, and Felun tried to convince himself that her optimism was truth. He heard a muffled thunk. ¡°Ouch.¡±

    ¡°Yes, it¡¯s not very spacious in there.¡± Shirin gave a faintly apologetic smile. ¡°There should be a few alchemical lanterns toward the back. The compartment is shielded from light, but best make sure it isn¡¯t on if you hear people walking overhead.¡±

    ¡°Okay. Found them, I think.¡± A pause. ¡°Ooh, very green. I feel like I¡¯m inside a lily pond.¡±

    ¡°There are one-way enchantments suppressing noise from your side,¡± Shirin added. ¡°They¡¯ll activate when I close the door, but we¡¯ll be back for you in a few hours. Can you see the emergency latch?¡±

    ¡°Yes, it¡¯s right next to the lanterns. I¡¯ve got it.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯ll see you soon,¡± Shirin promised.

    Felun cleared his throat. ¡°Take care of her.¡±

    ¡°Take care yourself,¡± Yuying piped up.

    Shirin lowered the trapdoor. Its outline melted into the surrounding boards as soon as she let go.

    They¡¯d stay until morning and be gone by noon, Felun realised. He quashed down a twinge of nameless regret as he departed, other thoughts already whirling into his head: ideas, guesses, plans, strategy.

    Above all, strategy. Being around Iolite had demonstrated the finer points of what not to do.

    The first thing was to retrieve the Magician¡¯s cloak from his trunk and squash it into the biggest bucket he was able to find. A barrel would¡¯ve been better, but this was the best he could do on short notice. The dye he¡¯d bought came in a powder, and he tipped all of it in, plus as much water as he could fit. The mixture swirled inky black.

    He checked the window and saw the night was a clear one. Well, why not? The faster he moved, the faster he¡¯d be done with it.

    He set up the mooncatch nets on a spare corner of deck to the bemused glances of nearby sailors, promising he¡¯d only need the space until dawn. They gleamed like dew-dipped cobwebs, funneling down into half a dozen glass jars.

    Ishaan¡¯s new wooden legs were locked safely in his trunk. He set another two layers of wards for good measure. A few new runes from the dead Breaker¡¯s journal had ticked away at the back of his thoughts since he first saw them, and on experimentation they worked as she¡¯d written they would. By the time he was through with it all, the moon had passed its apex.

    Sleep came tentatively, more of a doze than any real rest. He roused himself to a grey sky and retrieved the mooncatch nets before the first dregs of sunlight could contaminate his harvest. A quick stasis cast before he could seal the jars without the silvery wisps leaking out, and he was satisfied. He drew the curtains and tied them shut.

    Busy, he wrote on a spare scrap of paper. Do not knock unless ship is on fire. He wrote it again in the trade language, just in case Ishaan came looking for him. He stuck the note onto his door and locked it twice¡ªonce with the normal lock and then again with a spell of his own.

    Distilling the six jars of moonlight into one took about an hour. It wasn¡¯t hard work¡ªjust keeping an eye on the distilling kit, watching silvery globules condense and drain through a twist of glass tubing¡ªso he reread the ritual instructions as he waited.

    Once that was done, he cleared a space in the middle of his room, hefting the trunks onto the bed. The diagram was intricately detailed and exquisitely painful to copy in the right proportions. It took three sticks of chalk and a grueling amount of stasis spells before he was done.

    His head hurt, and his fingers shook. This was hardly a state to be doing more spellwork in, so he crawled under the covers and slept for some time. When he woke, he peered outside and guessed it was almost noon. Yuying would be departing or maybe even well away by now, but there was no point worrying over something he couldn¡¯t control. He only needed to worry about the spell circle.

    The circle was what the dead Breaker had called it, which was like calling the imperial palace a building. Almost six feet across and layered like a three-headed onion, blocky tessellations mixed with strings of runes in visual illusions which tested his patience. It was like a particularly vicious trick picture, with just enough space in the center for a person to stand in. Might explode if I get a line wrong, the dead Breaker had written, and he was only mostly sure she¡¯d been joking.

    He gathered up his ingredients and walked carefully into the empty space, kneeling as he went to close the design behind him. The air cooled as he sketched the last stroke, frosted with waiting magic. He poured the moonlight onto the channel he¡¯d drawn; it was thicker now that it¡¯d been distilled, bright enough to light up the room. By the time the last of it fed into the chalk circle, it was shimmering with hard-edged radiance. The iron powder was last, mixed with water and brushed carefully over the innermost boundary.

    He painted it twice, careful to not leave any gaps. At last, he couldn¡¯t put it off any longer. He slipped into the current of his Breaker-sense and looked at the circle.

    The sections aligned differently now, interlocking like well-engineered teeth. He turned slowly, drinking the light in, observing each quadrant and looking for disparities. There were none. He¡¯d done a thorough job on the one thing he excelled at. The thought made him more weary than triumphant. He reached down, a thread of magic in hand, and linked himself to the circle.

    The light folded over him like lotus petals closing. There was no pain, just a faint sense of vertigo as the room melted away in whorls of light.

    Salt air flooded his nostrils. Felun squinted his eyes open against a sudden breeze and heard pebbles crunching as he shifted his stance. A vista sprawled before him: dozens of rivers cut through pale sands, running into the sea. The sea had no horizon.

    When he looked up, he saw the sky, and then the world. It was the world, if the world were refracted through strange prisms. Walled castle and Glister spires and Cathayan countryside, gleaming steel jumbled into green hillocks, ugly and monstrous and dazzling all at once. A golden pavilion bisected city streets at right angles, where tiny dots marched like ants. People, he realised. The tops of their heads, each smaller than the point of a runequill. His balance tipped. Vertigo assaulted him, the screaming insistence that he was upside down, balanced on a ceiling and about to fall. He flicked his gaze away.

    Looking at the rivers was almost worse. Where the water rippled and let through patched of clarity, he saw bulging creatures beneath the calm skin of surface tension. Flaking skin. A huge, rolling eye. He fixed his gaze away and ahead, at the lack-of-a-horizon. That, at least, only confused him. There was some trick to it, where the water blended into sky, and he couldn¡¯t solve it with his brain or his eyes.

    View the source, she¡¯d written. Only the source matters. But first find the tower.

    Felun turned in a slow circle, careful not to fall. Every movement he made felt minutely wrong, as if it were all out of step with his body. There was a tower behind him, some distance away. A mile away. Maybe two. He blinked. Three? Her notes had alluded to some problems of a dimensional nature, but they hadn¡¯t described the specifics. He squinted harder. A dark spike like a lone thorn. The more he looked at it, the further away it seemed to get. So he stopped looking, just fixed his eyes to the smallest grains of sand at his feet and started walking with a hand outstretched in front of him.

    Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

    He walked long enough for the swaying unfamiliarity of his steps to make him fully nauseous before his palm hit a wall of black stone. The blood trembled in his veins at the contact. He snatched his hand away, moments before a doorway dribbled into existence before him. Steps spiraled upward into a blueish gloom.

    Felun entered the tower and began to climb. The inside was featureless, too smooth, not built by human hands and probably not by faery ones either. There was a sick precision to every step, a presence which jabbed at his Breaker-sense and seemed to boast that it could not have been hewn or carved or moulded. Going in circles didn¡¯t help his vertigo, but he kept his hand off the wall. It didn¡¯t want to be touched.

    Trying to count the steps seemed to make time thicken around him, glossing over his skin like an ash glaze. He felt like a shard of clay being hardened in fire. The ascent was just this side of bearable. Perhaps a moment before it crossed over into merely tortuous, another exit flowed open. The breeze flew in like the exhalation of a mountain god, as cold as morning mist. He steadied himself a few steps before the threshold; there was no terrace, no railing, nothing beyond but a very long drop. He suspected the only reason he wasn¡¯t touching low clouds was because there weren¡¯t any in this place.

    When he looked down, he expected to see the rivers and was momentarily shaken when they weren¡¯t there. Instead, the awful jumble of architectural reflections loomed below him. Teeming cities. Human Hives. And now the rivers were above him, their bellies full of daemons and oceans. He looked at the horizon again, peering and squinting, trying to resolve the limit.

    Only the source matters, she¡¯d written, and underlined it too.

    ¡°If the other sides are useless here¡­¡± he murmured to himself.

    His Breaker-sense was already with him, but he needed to do more than see. He needed to understand the demarcation. The sea and sky were not the same thing. How they braided together was some structure, some clue, and if only he could resolve the measure of it then he might understand a fragment of a principle of the rules governing magic.

    Pushing the Breaker-sense as far as it¡¯d go only gave him a headache. A prickling itch sifted across his eyes, as if he¡¯d exposed them to sand, or smoke. The walls around him felt like they were moving when he wasn¡¯t looking at them, sounded as if they were on the verge of whispering a warning into his ear. He shut his eyes, and opened them¡ª

    And then it happened without him needing to think about it, like flexing a muscle he hadn¡¯t realised had existed until now. He opened his eyes, then opened them again, and again, and again. Phantom eyelids peeled apart, the scene crystallising, raw information flooding into his mind.

    The half-existent horizon moved like a breathing lung, shifting and expanding in subtle shades of green and blue and largely in¡­waves¡­that he shouldn¡¯t be able to see. Seabirds drifted beneath water, and sharks swarmed the sky. His eyes watered, perceiving the shapes holding the world together. They were like gentle talons, anchoring this in-between place to everything else. They clasped the world of solid things below¡ªor perhaps above¡ªhim, and touched the realm of pure, violent magic above¡ªor perhaps below¡ªhim.

    He knew, then, where Libraries and Archives sprouted from. Similar things given different names. The labyrinth he¡¯d traversed had been more like a living lattice than anything human-built, though you could already suspect by looking at it. Here was the naked horizon, the pulsating aquifer beneath his reality. Shapes twitched and slithered, sharp and beautiful. One moment, they resembled translucent gears; the next, they were the ghosts of carnivorous vine forests, their tendrils coated with sugary dew. He wasn¡¯t sure how long he stood and watched. The air grew thick. Blood beaded in his tear ducts, overflowing his eyes and leaking out through his nose.

    Time seemed to beckon. Stay a moment longer, it crooned. Unlock a secret. Perhaps even half a secret will do.

    He could drown here, he thought. It might be simpler to. No need to return to that dizzying chaos below-above-below him. He could stay here and learn. He could wait. He could go back when he was strong enough to fear nothing.

    A strange, fierce want assailed him. Stay here. Look at it¡ªthe way the light catches the water; the shoals darting between the mechanisms, lovely short-lived creatures they are; the shadows like spinning gears; how beautiful. You can still leave, whenever you like.

    Felun stood there a moment longer, savouring the sight. When he wiped the blood from his eyes, his whole palm smeared red. There was no pain. His body might dissolve, but he probably wouldn¡¯t die. Not in a way that mattered. Felun-Haoyu-Felun could rebuild himself again, if he worked hard enough at learning how. He could do it properly, this time. Or perhaps he could join the creatures in the flock and the flying shoal. Join his mind to the currents. The slow tick of infinity knocked against his temples, steady and calming.

    Anything you¡¯d ever want to know. Just pick one and begin. Hurry, before your flesh turns to mud.

    He almost reached for the horizon. A luminous cloud promised shields that would never break; another beckoned with a thousand arms to do a mage¡¯s bidding; and over there was a tangle of moonlight suggesting he could learn a spell to resurrect the dead, if only he grasped with his faltering hand.

    But beneath it all, the memory of his predecessor flickered like a dying candle: her book, her notes, the instructions so meticulously detailed. He¡¯d already gotten what he came for, hadn¡¯t he? He¡¯d opened his eyes. Where before his Breaker-sense had been like a chalk circle, flat and unmoving, it now moved in writhing worms of light.

    But¡ªweakness, he thought with a shudder of disgust. He was still so weak. And the thought of that dead Breaker ate at him. Hadn¡¯t she died because this hadn¡¯t been enough?

    It can¡¯t end like this, someone said. The voice¡ªor the idea of a voice¡ªchimed behind him. He turned, startled, but there was no one.

    ¡°Hello?¡± he said. His voice echoed down the tower. ¡°Who is it?¡±

    No reply.

    ¡°Were you her? A Breaker too?¡±

    Only the wind, the shapes fringing the boundary. Only the threshold. The fall. He shook his head. He was imagining things.

    Like this, the voice murmured without inflection.

    He startled again. ¡°You¡¯re not real.¡±

    Can¡¯t it, said the fragment.

    ¡°Are you a ghost?¡± he demanded. ¡°Or just an echo?¡± Perhaps this place was pulling thoughts out of his head, constructing an illusion. Or maybe it was real. Maybe this place took pieces of its visitors, kept mouthfuls of their voices to drift through the in-between. Would he leave an echo of his own, once he was gone? Would he feel the missing fragment, be able to tongue over the loss like a fleshy socket emptied of its tooth? Perhaps it would be better to not leave at all.

    Can¡¯t it end, the echo said. End this.

    He blinked, turning away.

    Can¡¯t end, the echo said. End it. End this. End.

    The horizon bloomed rich with information: visual ciphers, fragments like the sliver-spaces between inwardly-spiraling rose petals. It could be a garden run wild, anchored with roots of marbled flesh. It would take years of diligence to coax just one of its buds to fruit.

    End.

    After that, he would need to rake the leaves and prune the branches to harvest more. By the time he learned anything of use, Ishaan and Yuying and all the rest of them would be gone, dust on the wind.

    End.

    ¡°I could try to unravel you,¡± he said slowly. ¡°Is that what you¡¯re asking?¡±

    End¡­

    There was nothing to see; no errant wave indicating her presence. He reached out a hand, grasping nothing.

    ¡°Maybe not, then.¡±

    Can¡¯t end. Can¡¯t. This. Is the end.

    Blood ran down his chin. He¡¯d been here long enough. Shivering, he closed his eyes and knelt, feeling for the ring of powdered iron. Spell-soaked wood. Fingernails scraping. Contact. The dimension fooled him with the glassy recoil of tower stone, but he pushed past until he found wooden planks, iron dust.

    He hesitated. ¡°Thank you,¡± he said. ¡°Whoever you were, I¡¯m sorry. I couldn¡¯t find your name. Thank you. I have to go now.¡±

    End like this, the echo said, almost sighing.

    He broke the circle with the swipe of a finger. All the magic he¡¯d stored in it bled back into him like water falling in reverse. Light seared the air, burning white and cold even through closed eyelids.

    Then it was over. He opened his eyes for what felt like the hundredth time, blinking through the afterimages. The world had changed. Every wall thrummed with spellwork, clear as plain runelight before him. The chalk diagram was practically gone: every line warped and smudged, iron powder scattered like ashes.

    ===

    ¡°Sungrazer Felun,¡± Silverwater said from behind a new illusion.

    His new spell-sight made the illusion almost laughably translucent. It encased Silverwater in a pitiful, see-through shell of a human form. There were two other faeries behind him, similarly cloaked. Felun squinted. If he really tried, he could push the spell-sight to fade the illusions out entirely. But from the unbothered reactions of the guards and sailors who¡¯d let them onto the ship, their veilments were plenty passable.

    ¡°Are we going to the Hive already?¡± he asked, not really caring about the answer.

    There was more to it than illusions not working on him anymore. Each of the faeries were lit up like a column of fire, the lines bisecting the insides of their bodies. There was a sort of cord twisted around that pyre-like glow, and he knew intuitively that breaking or unwinding that cord would kill them. They¡¯d drop dead, just like that.

    A hidden shortcut, his mind supplied. A keystone. He could do it in less than a second, if he put all of his strength into it. They¡¯d always been skittish around his magic, but he could actually accomplish what they were afraid of now. Fast enough they couldn¡¯t fight back. It was a strange feeling. Was this what being a fleshcrafter felt like?

    ¡°We¡¯ve prepared a vessel,¡± Silverwater answered, gesturing. It was another of the usual cocoons they carried him around in, wrapped in the illusion of a giant skyfish. ¡°You may collect your required belongings. Note we do not have an abundance of space.¡±

    His satchel was already here, full of the usual stuff: chalk, book, runequill. Taking the cloak was tempting, but it was still soaking in dye and he didn¡¯t know a fabric-drying spell. He knew Ishaan did, but he was probably asleep at this time of night. The note he¡¯d left explained the situation, in coded language and as best as he could. More or less. He¡¯d referred to Silverwater and the schismatists as ¡®contractors¡¯, but it was hardly inaccurate.

    Please don¡¯t try to escape, he¡¯d added. That much, he could say plainly. He hoped that Ishaan could infer the yet from the next sentence: I¡¯ll be back soon¡ªwithin a week.

    ¡°I¡¯m ready,¡± he said, averting his eyes from the trio of breakable cords.

    Killing faeries wasn¡¯t the aim here. That would make trouble, when he only needed to be strong enough to escape and to fend for himself. Orhan¡¯s drunken teachings hadn¡¯t been enough, and this was probably also not enough. He¡¯d gotten too complacent, adventuring. Then he¡¯d bowed his head in obedience to his family and to the schismatists, fed and served them with his mediocrity.

    He wasn¡¯t going to murder them in cold blood, but he wouldn¡¯t make that same mistake again.

    The cocoon had been crafted with more magic than physical material. His awakened eyes allowed him peer through the many gaps in its weave. The sky was clear as they dragged him up onto the deck. He watched with interest as the faeries shucked off their human-illusions and dragged new veilments on: skyfish, to match the cocoon. Crescent-shaped scales glittered in the moonlight. If the spell-sight hadn¡¯t brushed the details away, he might¡¯ve thought it beautiful.

 5.15 - Operant Conditioning

    Felun

    The air was always stifling at the base of an Archival ravine. Warm, pulsing stone loomed on all sides, shot through with mineral veins. Dim light filtered down, striped blue-black through layers of rustling, papery sedge. The air smelled like burnt meat and incense. And yet, working with Archivist Zekore was a surprising respite.

    ¡°You don¡¯t need to use the title,¡± Zekore always said. ¡°I¡¯m fresh-hatched, hardly feel like one. They all miss Themis; I know they must.¡±

    But his wings would flicker with the blue-greens of self-satisfaction when he said so, and Felun was court-trained enough to know when a subtle stream of flattery was useful. Unlike Iolite, Zekore gave him a lot of breaks. It also helped that the Archive was already beyond saving.

    ¡°It¡¯s reaching a steady state,¡± Zekore said, dangling his legs and some of his tail into what looked like an open mineshaft. ¡°Just that one down there once you¡¯re done eating, and that will be enough for now.¡±

    This particular Archival borehole was thirty feet wide and ribbed like the inside of a windpipe. The door that Zekore pointed out was large and square, several meters down and pale violet in the low light.

    Felun washed down his meal with a swig of water. The work wasn¡¯t difficult, but there was a lot of it; enough to make him ravenous every few hours. He squinted at Zekore again, gaze settling on the pulse of magic within his shell and the thread which could unravel it. It was brighter than all of the others he¡¯d seen. Stronger. He guessed it would take about twenty seconds to navigate and fatally unravel, instead of less than five. He wondered, with a twinge of unease, what Iolite¡¯s looked like.

    ¡°Okay, carry me down to the rightmost ledge.¡±

    ¡°That other platform is wider,¡± Zekore pointed out.

    He shook his head. ¡°Yes, but it looks older to me. The anchor spells are probably eroding.¡± It was so much easier now, being able to see the dying flicker as plain as bad calligraphy. Snares and trapdoors couldn¡¯t hide from him; he¡¯d evaded two already, just by looking at the walls and floor. If he¡¯d known this back in Ironport¡­

    He brushed the thought away, burying old despair with fresh annoyance.

    ¡°Alright,¡± Zekore said, blissfully oblivious. ¡°Grab my arm.¡±

    Felun studiously ignored the proximity of Zekore¡¯s life-on-a-thread as he was lifted down into the fissure. Zekore hovered carefully within reach as Felun knelt on the ledge, holding out his open runebook for more light. It was just as well; if he cast a glance over the edge, there was no end in sight. Just spell-gauzed gloom, sparks of enchantment muffled by thick and increasingly impenetrable darkness.

    He turned his attention back to the door. It had a handle carved to look like a serpent¡¯s head, reared back to strike. The surface was wrinkled and lumpy, as shiny as scar tissue. Twin keyholes glared coldly at him; when he peeled them apart with spell-sight, he noted that they led to nothing but enchanted teeth, intriguing enough to divert an amateur Breaker¡¯s attention from the spell holding it closed.

    ¡°What¡¯s in this one?¡± he asked.

    He could make out a dampened scatter of magic beyond the half-foot thickness of the door, but all it told him was that whatever lay beyond was dormant. So far, Zekore had asked him to retrieve numerous jars of glowing goo and silk-wrapped crystals, an inch-thick metal lockbox and pieces of planispiral shell. Fodder bodies, Silverwater had said, and it seemed to him as if the Hive was set on making even more.

    ¡°I think¡­a weapon,¡± Zekore said cautiously. ¡°Special order from Iolite. So be careful.¡±

    Felun frowned and ordered his spellbook to float alongside as he painted a circle across the door and gloved his arms with shielding runes. The glow of the enchantment promised it¡¯d be hard to chew through. Pale, golden wisps floated around the main core: ephemeral diversions, he guessed. Flashes of gore and the worst memories polished to a shine, trying to deflect his breaking, make him flinch, open him up for a lance of flame or lightning. This sort of thing hadn¡¯t worked on him since his earliest days, but he still had a faded burn splashed across his ankle to show for it.

    When he dived, it was exactly as he expected. Images crowded into his brain, one part Breaker-sense and two parts vivid visual hallucination: boiling metal, flesh multiplied, hands reaching with their skin seared away to the bone. Fear sloshed in his stomach, cold and instinctive. The illusions taunted him. He saw himself standing over his own lifeless body and felt blood on his hands, sticky and half-dried, but it wasn¡¯t real. Then the cold, wet pain of a knife in his back and an upward ripping motion, but that wasn¡¯t real either.

    He blinked and saw the lattice of spellwork, weak points shining, nodes announcing their presence. Cracking them was not so hard¡ªlike eggs into a battered campfire pan, the flick of the wrist, a gentle tap like an old memory¡ªand the mists faded. After that, the actual locking enchantment was as standard as they came¡ªlike feeding swords to screaming mouths, hurtling down a twisted and ancient tunnel¡ªand its last defenses extinguished themselves on his protective circle in a burst of shrieking red lights.

    ¡°Are you alright?¡± Zekore asked as he came back into his body. He¡¯d hovered safely out of reach. ¡°A lot of fire in that one.¡±

    ¡°Fine,¡± Felun said. His eyes watered. No nosebleed though, and his fingers didn¡¯t ache. He¡¯d gotten better at this, he mused. The spell-sight had helped with the first part, but unraveling the meat of the enchantment had felt painless for once. He crept backward along the ledge, back pressed firmly against the corrugated stone. ¡°Can you get the handle? I think it opens outward.¡±

    The door swung soundlessly, revealing a lightless, low-ceilinged pocket of melted wax. He could make out a chest of drawers taking up most of the far wall. Several spots of magic blazed within its depths: a gleam of dormancy, half of a what might be a float rune.

    ¡°Is it safe?¡± Zekore asked.

    ¡°I don¡¯t know. But I¡¯ll go first, of course.¡± The spell-sight couldn¡¯t tell him whether an enchantment was harmless; he needed to be able to recognise it for himself. And though Orhan had been a good teacher for a drunkard, some of the signs and weavings before him were totally unfamiliar. ¡°Wait¡ªthis weapon¡ªshouldn¡¯t you know that?¡±

    ¡°Not in these parts,¡± Zekore said quietly. ¡°This is all ambient creation. New growth. The places I was born into have all collapsed, now.¡±

    ¡°Oh.¡± He coughed awkwardly. ¡°¡­Sorry to hear it.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s alright. Archivist Themis was a good caretaker. It was not her fault. And then Iolite did what had to be done.¡±

    Felun¡¯s interest pricked at that, but he said nothing.

    ¡°Are you ready?¡± Zekore prompted.

    Felun shielded and stepped forward. His spellbook flipped open to a double-page spread boasting twin beacons. Light flooded the waxen room, soaking the walls into pale translucence. It felt like being in the belly of a candle.

    The chest of drawers was made of ordinary wood, its back half-engulfed by the wax wall. Every drawer looked unwarded, and some were devoid of any enchantment at all. He chose to open one of those first. A tangle of small objects greeted him: broken quills, strings of rusted keys, chipped buttons, dried seeds, candle stubs, stray coins, tiny lumps of hardened tree sap, playing cards bundled together with twine, a jar of moldy tallow, a crumbly-looking matchbox with a grinning cat on the cover.

    ¡°This isn¡¯t faery stuff,¡± he observed.

    He heard Zekore shrugging with a subtle click of spines and exoskeleton. ¡°I said it was new growth, didn¡¯t I?¡±

    ¡°If it¡¯s new, where does it come from?¡± Another drawer held nothing but a cup full of unidentifiable teeth. ¡°Is this place alive? Stealing pieces from other places? Someone had to have made that door.¡± Unless, his mind supplied, everything here had grown like the Songian labyrinth, shaped by the ghosts of lost echoes. He was disturbed to find that part of him didn¡¯t think it impossible.

    ¡°It is similar to a branching tendril, if I had to guess. A feeler reaching out and begging. Acquiring what resources it can, rearranging and melding old with new.¡± Zekore patted the wall, and his wings drooped. ¡°Poor Archive. It¡¯s doing its best.¡±

    ¡°Are we still in your Hive?¡± Felun asked sharply.

    Zekore hesitated. ¡°We¡¯re in the Archive.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ve seen places like this before. How can you Archivists be sure they aren¡¯t connected? All the one same place?¡±

    ¡°No. The first Titanias might¡¯ve forged spaces from the Realm, but they¡¯ve had plenty of time to grow into Archives. Nothing more, nothing less.¡± Zekore paused, shutting his third eye. ¡°I may not be as strong as Themis once was, but I can at least sense the boundaries. I can feel where it¡¯s died and rotting, and where it ends. Leading to infinity isn¡¯t the same as being infinite.¡±

    Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

    ¡°I have to say that doesn¡¯t completely make sense to me.¡± His puzzling caught on a strange detail. ¡°The first Titanias? The ones who lived in the shattered lands?¡±

    ¡°Not quite,¡± Zekore said with a flick of spines. ¡°They came from the Realm. Spearheading. Spillover. Searched for a kinder world and found it. Shattered lands first, then more. Hungry for open spaces, empty territories. You told me you saw Hives on your home continent? Then we¡¯ve truly carved out enough for survival here. They were like Lords more than Titanias, until the necessity. The wars with your kind. Vicious. Enough to destroy a continent. A long, long time ago.¡±

    ¡°How many Titanias down is Titania Fauna?¡± he asked curiously.

    ¡°Hundreds, at least. No exact number. The earliest ones died fast. Replaced fast. Weren¡¯t able to be Archived. Anything good in there?¡±

    ¡°No.¡± Felun shut the last of the mundane drawers¡ªa round blue tin filled with thread and needles¡ªand moved on to the first of the glimmering ones. ¡°I feel like this one has something, though.¡±

    The drawer slid open with several clicks of smooth stone.

    ¡°Oh,¡± Felun said. ¡°Is this what Iolite was looking for?¡±

    ¡°Hm?¡± Zekore picked up a preservation tablet, before putting it back down again. ¡°Float runes? No.¡±

    There were a dozen small, stone tablets in the drawer. The runes sunk into each were large and multi-layered, of jaw-dropping craftsmanship. It would¡¯ve taken several hours to weave one, he guessed, and heavens knew how old they were. There were shielding signs, float symbols, even half a dozen single-use concussives like the one he¡¯d spent back in the kingdom Library.

    ¡°Can I have them?¡± he blurted out, before he could lose his nerve.

    Zekore blinked. ¡°I don¡¯t see why not.¡±

    They were just like the puzzle balls of his youth. He wanted to pick them apart and memorise their structure, just so he might have a chance of replicating even half of what they were. There was no time for that right now, though; he lifted them carefully off the runestone and safely into his spellbook instead.

    ¡°Thank you,¡± he said hastily, unsure if Zekore knew the significance of the runes. Surely he must¡ªhe was an Archivist, after all. But Zekore only gave a flicker of wing, polite acknowledgment before he asked about the rest of the drawers.

    Three other compartments had the glow of magic within them, and Zekore dismissed the first two: embroidered handkerchiefs and an ominous witch bottle filled with bent pins and splintered bone. Felun squinted at the last drawer, resisting the urge to shield his eyes from its glow. No further safeguards, he confirmed. But there was a fierceness to the sleeping enchantment that gave him pause. He scribbled an extra shielding rune across his hand before tugging the drawer open with a creak.

    ¡°That¡¯s what she wants?¡± he asked.

    It was vaguely knife-shaped, but one lump of a thing. All cast from the same dull, dark material. It reminded him of the shipyards in Ironport, or maybe just the bleakness of it all: fogged-up air, industry chomping at the bit, a sunrise the colour of dishwater.

    ¡°Yes.¡± Zekore paused. ¡°Can you carry it? I don¡¯t think it would be healthy for an Archivist to hold.¡±

    Felun bolstered his shield and picked it up reluctantly. Then he almost dropped it as the end seemed to melt. It twisted with a spray of gauzy ghost-light. Translucent, six-fingered hands sprouted from its surface. They grasped the dark material and began to mold it. The handle melted swiftly into its blade and elongated, growing heavier as it stretched into a slender pole. One end sharpened into a symmetrical point, like an old-fashioned spear. Felun glanced over at Zekore, whose gaze was fixed squarely on the end of the weapon and not on any of the dissipating hands.

    ¡°Oh,¡± Felun said carefully and casually, with what he hoped was the correct amount of innocence. ¡°It¡¯s adaptable, like Suria¡¯s chitin skill?¡±

    ¡°Considerably more dangerous,¡± Zekore muttered. He leaned in, then away. ¡°It smells like the old wars¡­yes, I think this is the very Hand of the Archives. Don¡¯t nick anyone with it. Especially not me.¡±

    ¡°That sharp?¡± He peered at the cutting edge and shivered as the spell shifted at his observation. The hands didn¡¯t reappear, but the magic rearranged like a courtier making himself presentable. No, he thought. It was less human than that. Like flowers turning to face the sun. ¡°It reaches into the body?¡± That was as much as he could interpret of the restless power bubbling at the surface.

    ¡°Don¡¯t hope that any wound it inflicts can be bound shut in the ordinary way,¡± Zekore agreed.

    ¡°Do you mean to keep it in that lockbox you had me find earlier?¡±

    ¡°Yes, quite exactly. Can you encourage it back into a smaller shape?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not sure,¡± he admitted.

    He peered into its magic again, the threads woven so densely they seared bright spots into his vision. The enchantments flexed like muscles. Fingers beaded to the surface and the spear twisted, shrinking under the grip of ghostly hands. Shadowy substance folded and compressed, going blocky and rectangular before solidifying again. In moments, he held the silhouette of a book.

    Zekore hissed, soft and slow. ¡°Don¡¯t open that.¡±

    ¡°Wasn¡¯t going to,¡± he replied with more ease than he felt. The back of his neck prickled.

    Something rumbled across the ground and up the walls, a gurgle of shifting stone. Clumps of dried wax pattered down from the ceiling.

    Felun froze. ¡°What¡¯s that?¡±

    ¡°Ordinary destabilisation. We¡¯ve removed several items from their cradles, and this one was clearly quite weighty.¡± Zekore tilted his spines at the shadow-book in his hand. ¡°It is like¡­what is an expression you would use? Like lifting an anchor away. Don¡¯t worry. An Archivist is also a sort of anchor. Nothing will break while I¡¯m in here.¡±

    Felun swallowed, pulse quickening. ¡°Let¡¯s get this thing into the lockbox.¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± Zekore agreed, and flew them back up into the light.

    Behind them, the borehole crumpled and closed like a throat swelling shut. Its reverberation ground Felun¡¯s teeth together. Distantly, he could hear the creaking of failing beams and falling parchments.

    ===

    Felun was halfway back across the desert when the barrage of alarms hit him.

    It was like being bludgeoned with a hundred little pebbles at once. He startled awake, choked on his own spit, and thrashed upright in the cocoon. It barely jostled. His faerie bearers flew on, unaware.

    He hadn¡¯t thought they¡¯d be back in range so soon. In truth, he hadn¡¯t thought the wards would be broken at all. Tampered with, sure¡ªhis father was always nosy, ever-intrusive¡ªbut not broken. He¡¯d set three layers of full-strength safeguards. Three. His thoughts whirled in a sickening pinwheel. He hunched over in the belly of the false-skyfish, blinking against the delayed onslaught.

    No one in his family could undo his work without losing a finger or two on the first layer, much less the sections he¡¯d reinforced with the dead Breaker¡¯s sigils. But his alarms didn¡¯t lie. Their ringing signals echoed against his consciousness, bruising his thoughts, as real as the blisters on his hands. Someone had broken his wards. Worse yet, they¡¯d broken them quickly enough for the alarms to be spaced together, never mind the distance they¡¯d travelled to reach him.

    A strange, sickly calm descended. He watched the dunes pass beneath, warped and wrinkled through the translucent layers of spell-cocoon and skyfish illusion.

    A Breaker must¡¯ve undone his wards. Not a very good one, judging by the way they¡¯d bludgeoned straight through the alarms, but a Breaker nonetheless. And if a Breaker had undone his wards, it meant that mother had already sent for one. She must¡¯ve anticipated needing one around long before the attack on that princess. Long before the Magicians insisted on close liaisons. It made sense; Breakers were useful in lots of little ways, but it wouldn¡¯t do to rely on him.

    They were waiting when he landed. Father had a staff in his hand, had cinched his robes using the belt with a bird¡¯s bill buckle. Felun still remembered the sting of it across his hand. Mother glided up a moment later, her robes trailing black and gold like some rare and poisonous moth. A trio of guards waited at their backs; even if his parents weren¡¯t in the habit of greeting him on return, three was one more than formality dictated. Yichen was here too, leaning against the railing.

    They landed with the moonrise. His cocoon unfolded, evaporating from the top down. The faeries turned and flew back the way they¡¯d come, illusions still intact. Possibly the guards thought they were actual, trained skyfish.

    Felun was left standing alone, unarmoured, a runequill drooping in his grasp.

    ¡°Well,¡± said father, breaking the silence. ¡°What do you have to say for yourself?¡±

    When it came down to moments like this, experience had taught him there was nothing he could do. Nothing but a sinking resignation clotting in the back of his throat, stopping up any excuse he could have spun.

    Father waited one moment, two. Then he stepped aside and made a gesture; the guards behind him parted to reveal a pair of strangers flanking a familiar pile of luggage. One had spell-slips on his belt and one arm in a sling. The other wore a bright green runequill perched behind her ear. Both sported fresh bandages up to the elbows. Felun felt a savage pang of vindication despite himself. At least he had cost them something.

    Father strolled over to his trunk and kicked it open. It had been emptied of everything but the wooden legs.

    ¡°Did you think you were being clever?¡± he asked.

    Felun fought the urge to scream something foolish, something like I was trying to undo the bullshit you¡¯ve done! The questions always meant nothing. They were only giving him rope to hang himself with. It was futile, but his head ached with rage anyway. He stared them all down, Yichen included. Had he told them? Or had father decided to of his own accord? What did it matter now?

    ¡°We really expected better from you,¡± mother interjected. She met father¡¯s gaze and gave the briefest of nods.

    Father raised his hand and clicked his fingers. The air seemed to scorch; a split second later, his luggage was ablaze with crimson spellfire, burning as hot as the real thing. The wooden prostheses crackled and split, blackening under the onslaught. Felun felt his jaw clench. He thought of Ishaan, and then of Mahir, the woodwright. All that kindness gone to waste.

    ¡°You will be expected to remediate your actions,¡± father added imperiously. ¡°As for your friend¡ª¡±

    There was a tearing sensation inside his skull, thoughts sinewing open like a muscle stretched too far.

    ¡°He didn¡¯t do anything wrong,¡± Felun said, voice rising despite himself. ¡°You don¡¯t have the right to imprison him. Let him go back to his family, for sky¡¯s sake.¡±

    Father sneered. ¡°You have always been singularly thoughtless. Have you forgotten your gratitude so quickly? We own his life as much as we own yours, Haoyu.¡±

    Felun laughed before he could stop himself: a single, choked sound of disbelief. He¡¯d thought there was nothing left to break. No more foolishness, no more rage left to give. He¡¯d been aware of what father was saying. He¡¯d known all along, but it was another thing entirely, to hear it out loud. In that smug fucking tone.

    His spellsight picked out the guards¡¯ bespelled armour, the standard-issue charms on their blades and scabbards. They were a good several feet away but he reached out without thinking, his mind like a grasping claw, and wrenched the protections apart with one good pull. He shifted his stance. The strap of his satchel dug into his shoulder. A bead of blood trickled from one nostril and drew a thin, warm line down his face.

    The self-satisfied contempt on father¡¯s face shifted into the beginnings of a frown.

    Don¡¯t, he saw Yichen mouthing, but there was no stopping it now. No more running away. The rage coursed through his veins like molten fuel, hateful and glorious. A burst of Breaker magic surged on its heels. He was brighter and more alive than he¡¯d ever been.

    ¡°No,¡± he said forcefully. Then he raised his voice, louder than he¡¯d ever dared before, fully shouting now. ¡°No! Go to hell¡ªI¡¯ve had enough.¡±

    He lunged before father could open his mouth to reply.

 5.16 - Clarion Call

    Felun

    Magic spasmed down his arm. Felun moved without having to think, and father blocked his blow head-on. The air split like a whipcrack. Half a heartbeat of silence, before everyone else started moving, shouting, hollering warnings and distractions.

    One of the Breakers darted forward clumsily, broken arm tucked close to his chest. Felun ducked his spellbolt and slid across the deck. He ended up in the vicinity of his father¡¯s kneecaps and yanked up the strongest shield he could as father cast a roaring helix of scarlet spellfire. His barrier gave a warning fizzle before it gave way, exploding like a powder bomb. He reached into his satchel, found a handful of Iolite¡¯s potion vials, and broke them on the deck. Liquids hissed and fizzled; some sputtered sparks and others foamed into bubbling clouds. Most filled the air with thick, cloying smoke. Half a dozen spells clashed in the confusion, negating each other in sprays of light and sound.

    Father had drawn up his own shield now, but Felun still had his runequill in hand. He scrawled a new shield as a spell grazed him in passing and unraveled the next blast before it could slam into his chest. Then he fell back as the guards rushed out of the smoke. They were still worryingly competent without their armour enchantments, but his runebook had whirled out of his satchel and now it circled round to shield him. The book fanned out, blocking their spell-lances. That was enough of an opening for him to grab a heavy handful of pebbles from his bag and sling them into the face of the second Breaker. He heard the crack of breaking teeth. Her spell misfired as she fell just short of grabbing him.

    Blinding blue enchantments arced high over him, falling like arrows out of the smoke. They converged around him like a cage. He unraveled a hole through the gathering wall and dashed out the other side, stumbling over a fallen guard in the fray. The air hissed with blindly-flung spells, even as he heard his father chant out a summons for winds to clear the smoke.

    More of that blinding, kingfisher-blue spell-light chased him across the deck. He dodged behind the broken-armed Breaker, kicking him down in passing, and unraveled more as they came. The air began to stir. He realised that father had finished his chant, and mother was starting a new one. He ran in the opposite direction of her voice.

    ¡°No, don¡¯t¡ª!¡± someone said¡ªYichen?

    And then a cold, stinging gust of wind swept over the deck, catching at the edges of the closed sails and sending the ropes flapping. The smoke cleared, borne off into the distance. Felun registered, a split second after it did, that the guards and Breakers were on the ground or out of the way, nursing injuries behind shields. But Mother stood thirty feet to his left, hands outstretched and crackling with magic. Her spell-lights were blindingly bright, humming at her back in an array of signs for tearing and binding, for gouging a body open from throat to hip. Interlocking circles. A spell that could kill. Yichen was frozen at her side, one hand gripping her elbow to little effect. And father¡ª

    Father was in punching distance. Felun leapt, but his fist didn¡¯t connect this time either.

    An armful of magic battered down on his shield, knocking him back. Behind him, Yichen yelled something and mother¡¯s spell went wide, grazing his shield like a passing avalanche. He had a moment to feel a stab of cold shock¡ªshe used it, she really used it?¡ªbefore he fell and father pressed the opening, aiming a contemptuous kick at his jaw. It didn¡¯t touch him, just glanced off his protections while father readied real power in his hands, but the gesture was plain enough. Felun rolled to his feet, frustration welling fresh, fierce enough to stoke hatred through the despair.

    Spell after spell met counter after counter. They fought in dagger-distance, each strike seconds apart. Felun breathed bloody breaths. A sound poured from his throat: an incoherent, animal howl. His runebook flapped frantically, intercepting every second spell. There was no time for him to Break with any kind of precision or skill. Father was getting on in his years, but he had a province under his heel for a reason. Felun was only still standing because he was fighting like he had nothing to lose, like all that mattered was hurting and maiming and finally, finally, getting even.

    Yichen and mother were shouting at each other some distance away. He heard Yichen cry out in pain. Moments laster, the deck creaked and fissured with sickly green light. His shield shattered without warning. A dozen ghostly vines sprang from the gaps, snared his ankles, and whipped his feet out from under him. He fell roughly, cracking his chin on the landing. More vines¡ªthorned, now¡ªburst out to catch him by the shoulders, sticking him to the planks like an insect on a glue trap.

    Father aimed a series of cold, precise spells that he couldn¡¯t keep up with unraveling. His magic had dwindled down to the barest trickle. He shielded, lasted another minute before his shield broke for the last time. A pointed boot caught him in the ribs, knocking the air from his lungs.

    No, he thought, sick with despair, and then: how was it was over so fast?

    ¡°Stop,¡± he heard Yichen yelling. ¡°Stop¡ªmercy¡ªhe¡¯s fully down, mother, it¡¯s enough.¡±

    ¡°Know your place, secondson,¡± came the cold reply. He heard footsteps approaching, her voice growing louder. ¡°Do you even realise the damage your brother has caused? And these useless Breakers, look at them! I should¡¯ve known the recommendation was a poor one. We¡¯ll need replacements at once.¡±

    ¡°You didn¡¯t¡­¡± Felun said. He coughed as some spell of hers stung him. ¡°Replace the Breakers¡­what was her name?¡±

    ¡°What rubbish are you mumbling?¡± mother asked.

    ¡°The Breaker you sent first,¡± he rasped, blinking water out of his eyes. He was probably digging himself a deeper hole, but he couldn¡¯t stop now. ¡°You knew they killed her, didn¡¯t you? And you sent me anyway.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t speak such foolish nonsense.¡±

    ¡°I was wondering¡­where the faeries would get a Breaker from¡­funny, you had two others waiting so easily. So many contacts.¡± He swallowed, mouth bloody. ¡°But about a year ago, once she was dead and I made my mistakes, you thought you could teach me a lesson¡ª¡±

    ¡°Those creatures likely picked up the first blister-infected little fool they could find,¡± she said.

    ¡°She wrote in imperial script,¡± he said. The spell-vines curled tighter, their thorns pricking. ¡°Political enemy? You sent her to die. Me, as well. You wouldn¡¯t have cared if the faeries killed me.¡±

    ¡°Of all the ungrateful lies you¡¯ve told,¡± mother hissed. Her boots came into view as she knelt down and bared her teeth at him. Blood trickled from her nose and mouth, and both eyes were bloodshot; he¡¯d never seen her so disheveled. ¡°Again and again you have refused to be obedient. You lie and steal and abandon your own kin. We have already given you so very many chances.¡±

    ¡°Alright now,¡± father rumbled. The heavy rhythm of his tread was all too familiar as he approached. ¡°Yichen, take this blasted book away and into the stasis safe.¡± He paused. ¡°Unless it has some safeguard, hm? Best raise your shield. Haoyu has already demonstrated his willingness to endanger his own family. As for you¡ªwe need to talk to you. You have no right to interfere with your mother¡¯s spellwork.¡±

    ¡°But it would¡¯ve¡ª¡± Yichen started, and then shut his mouth, shoulders hunching. ¡°What¡¯s going to happen to him?¡±

    ¡°Haoyu will learn his lesson this time, we hope.¡±

    Felun was too drained to resist as Father dragged him into the ship and through a door. He sprawled down a slope of steps, jarring his shoulder, then his elbow, then his nose, against the stone. The door slammed shut and the hold lights went out. He heard bolts sliding shut, clicking home. The outline of the door glowed green with a sealing enchantment.

    The lights flickered out. His spell-sight and traced out the veiled enchantments in the walls, the door, the lock. A metallic taste seeped continuously from his gums. The pounding in his head eclipsed his thoughts. For a while, the darkness was a mercy.

    ===

    When he came to, it was still dark save for the faint gleam of magic around the door. His magic was more than three-quarters of the way refilled, but his injuries felt worse, if anything.

    Felun eased onto his back and stared at nothing. An ugly familiarity crackled in the space between his lungs. Darkness smothered him on all sides. What now? Likely they wanted him to wait meekly and beg for forgiveness once they deigned to let him out.

    He sat up, gripping his bruised shoulder, wincing as his ribs twinged ruthlessly. Enough, he thought. Enough hiding. Enough of following their rules. Dungeonrunning hadn¡¯t all been breaking locks. He might not have been as strong as Tyirn or as fast as Villette, but he hadn¡¯t been harmless. He picked himself up and crept the steps.

    Snide words and missed dinners; a cane cracking over his knuckles and mother yanking him by the ear; hands cramping from scribing his shortcomings and father handing him over like a spare key, and Suria sneering, and Iolite¡¯s plain condescension, and¡ª

    And the dry snap and burnt char; the woodwright¡¯s work so wasted and Ishaan left to crawl.

    Were they stupid? Did they think he was still nine? He was a Breaker. When had a lock ever stopped him?

    He pressed his face up against the door and strained his spell-sight beyond the initial layers of locks and wards. It took some trying; father was a thorough man, paid attention to details. But even without a clear view of the tell-tale glimmer of guard¡¯s enchantment, he heard them conversing quietly.

    ¡°¡­Holding the line on jumped-up nobles,¡± One of them was saying.

    ¡°Their fault for being out of practice,¡± another grunted. ¡°I tell you, signing on with so many cushy assignments is a nice idea only in theory. It¡¯s guarding a tree-stump to wait for rabbits. Much comfort until a wolf comes along¡ªthey always do, the state of the world being as it is¡ªand all you have is your rusty little boning knife.¡±

    ¡°They were still better-practiced than most in Sixth Garrison.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t talk to me about court trash, nephew. Liu¡¯s maggot-eating jester of a cousin still owes me a new sword¡­¡±

    This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

    One of the others snorted a laugh.

    There were only four of them, for now. Felun eased away from the door and squinted into the darkness. His runequill had been lost somewhere up on the deck. The runebook and satchel, too, were gone. But he still had himself, mostly whole and functional. And he was grateful for the spell-sight. Moving as quietly as he could, he felt around the darkness of the hold for anything he could use.

    From the shape of the walls and objects around him, he guessed he was in one of two small aft compartments. If he was where he thought he was, then he must be surrounded by sealed crates of books and linens and other cheap trade goods. Perhaps it was too optimistic to hope for a forgotten crowbar or hammer or some other makeshift weapon to brandish. When his search predictably turned up nothing of the sort, he found one of the larger crates and began working at a corner to dislodge a nail. It took a long time, and his own nails were ragged and bleeding by the end of it. But that was no great loss, he thought bitterly. The Breaker work wrecked his hands all the same.

    Now he had a somewhat bent nail, smooth and cold and sharp enough. He sat on the steps to think and wait. Father wasn¡¯t stupid enough to lock him in a room with more than one exit, even supposedly humbled and deprived of his tools. He could try whittling away at one of the walls to sneak out, but the hull proper stood between him and the ship¡¯s exterior. The thick walls of enchantment were almost blinding when viewed directly with his spell-sight, and they would undoubtedly drain his limited magical reservoir without a runequill and other pre-prepared runes at hand. Breaking through the adjoining wall would do him little good either, leaving him stranded in a room just like this one that opened into the same hall the guards were standing in. So he would have to do this the inconvenient way.

    The guards had quietened down save for the occasional mutter and grumble of gossip. He heard a shift change as it happened, both groups exchanging pleasantries as they did so. There was no way to tell whether this new group was more or less formidable than the last, but one made a remark about the quality of the supper they were given, so he supposed it must be well into the evening. He could only hope they were lazy and sated enough to blunt their vigilance. Better yet, mother and father would likely be out negotiating with the Magicians. That didn¡¯t mean the rest of the ship would be empty, though. And the Sungrazer faction was a tightly-woven one.

    He waited another five minutes, counting in his head. By now, his magic had replenished almost completely, and his injuries bothering him as little as they would without medicine that he didn¡¯t have and days of rest he couldn¡¯t afford. Knowing father, he¡¯d likely come down and give him another beating to guarantee he didn¡¯t get too sure of himself.

    The anger was still there, simmering. He wasn¡¯t a helpless child anymore. He was a firstson, yes, but he didn¡¯t belong to them anymore.

    Felun used the nail to gouge lines of runes across the doorframe and onto the handle. It was slow work. He was stingy with his magic, which meant adding a few dozen strings of amplification and reinforcement he wouldn¡¯t have otherwise bothered with. He had to be quiet about it, too. When it was done, he took a few steps back and shielded himself. Plugged his ears for good measure.

    The door blasted off its hinges.

    Dust, wood, splinters¡ªhe burst out running. The guards turned, shields already flaring around their bodies. He didn¡¯t beeline for a target this time. Instead, he reached into the walls, ripped through the physics-bending enchantments keeping his family¡¯s fucking joke of a luxury skyship together, and brought a good chunk of the roof down on them.

    Wooden beams crashed in a burst of splinters, one missing him by inches. One guard crawled out of the crush and leapt for him. He fired a readied spell into her chest, barely stopping to register her fall. Then he was off, sprinting up another flight of stairs and past startled-looking family members he only vaguely recognised. By the time they¡¯d put down their teacups and risen to their feet in a jumble of shouts, he was hurtling down the main corridor, slamming doors behind him and forcing the enchantments into locking alignment. He threw two quick shields and a thick handful of slowing runes onto the floor for good measure. It¡¯d buy him a few more minutes. He broke into mother¡¯s office, spending a precious handful of magic to burst the stasis-safe open. His runebook was inside, and so was his satchel. No runequill, but he grabbed one from mother¡¯s desk and ran for his room.

    The Magician¡¯s cloak was soaking wet and leaking inky dye, but he flung its sodden weight around his shoulders anyway. Grey water trickled down his arms, feathering through his bandages. He dashed back into the hallway to find that Ishaan had crawled out at the commotion. The runestones in his legs had locked up, gone dull, and he was wincing as he dragged the weight of the metal.

    ¡°Felun?¡± Ishaan asked, startling. ¡°Sorry, my legs, they stopped working? What the hell is all the noise? And where were you? It¡¯s been more then a week. I was getting worried.¡±

    Fury welled in Felun¡¯s throat and he swallowed it before he could scream.

    ¡°I hope you have that back-up plan of yours ready,¡± he said. ¡°We¡¯re getting out of here.¡±

    ¡°What happened to sneaking out?¡± Ishaan detached the silver hand and legs, pulling himself back into his room with a hiss of complaint. He yanked the quilt off his bed and struggled with the mattress. ¡°I have a construct. It¡¯s in parts. Won¡¯t take long.¡±

    Felun stepped in to help. Twists of metal were wedged between the mattress and frame, interspersed with bronze gears and tarnished metal fittings. Some of it looked oddly familiar. Felun¡¯s brain wrangled with the similarity for a split second, before he recognised a twist of Shenzhou-style garden trellis.

    ¡°I see,¡± he said as Ishaan unfolded it in two deft movements. It looked like an emaciated crab, scavenged from lost parts and barely large enough to sit on. No real artificing to it, either; Felun couldn¡¯t see any winches or engines to power the damn thing. ¡°Now what?¡±

    Back in Ironport, Ishaan¡¯s strengths lay in setting off clockwork explosions and flash-freezing opponents to the ground. He took point when the tunnels opened up into subterranean lakes; more than once, he¡¯d bridged a river with nothing more than magic and willpower and a whole lot of coughing up blood. Felun trusted his abilities enough to let him cover his back, but the little detonating spiders he cobbled together were nowhere near the size of this mangled steed. Felun frowned and considered the Archival float runes in his book, which he didn¡¯t fully know how to use.

    Ishaan grabbed haphazardly at his ridiculous pile of tea boxes and fruit packets, emptying from their contents with a clatter. Not tea or fruit at all, Felun realised.

    ¡°Not done yet,¡± Ishaan said grimly. ¡°Water¡¯s ready in the bathroom¡ªsink cupboard.¡±

    Realisation dawned: a memory of Ishaan making little ice tigers to amuse them with around the campfire. The movements had been almost lifelike. They¡¯d been just as small as the detonating spiders, but maybe when combined with imitation clockwork¡­

    He dashed into the bathroom, expecting hidden buckets, but there was more¡ªjars and bottles and swollen waterskins filled every square inch of the space. He stared. The preparation this must have taken. And Ishaan hadn¡¯t known he¡¯d have help, back then. The magnitude of it loomed before him again: the lack of answers, the invisible cage. Near-total solitude. Of course he must¡¯ve been desperate.

    Felun made three hasty trips and placed them down where Ishaan pointed. As Ishaan worked, he busied himself sticking half a dozen runes to the largest window and its frame, each sigil the size of his hand. Even combined, they weren¡¯t as powerful as that one he¡¯d used up in the Library, he thought regrettably. Ishaan fitted more pieces to his construct, freezing handfuls of water into ice and using it like glue.

    ¡°I tied a parcel to the back of the bedframe,¡± Ishaan said hurriedly. ¡°Can you get it? Bit tricky, with¡­¡±

    Felun stepped onto the bare slats and pulled out a lump of cloth from the far corner. Ishaan was done with his clockwork crab. The abundance of water had added to its bulk and now it stood three feet tall, its metal skeleton coated thickly in clouded ice. There was a saddle strapped to its back, along with a sturdy brass handlebar along the front. Had Ishaan bought them from the market? he wondered momentarily, but there were more urgent questions to ask.

    ¡°Are you sure you have enough magic to power that?¡± The sounds of yelling and hammering were getting closer. Distantly, he sensed one of his shields being breached; the other wouldn¡¯t hold for long. ¡°If it melts, and you don¡¯t¡ª¡±

    ¡°I will,¡± Ishaan said, tearing through the parcel.

    A handful of green crystals fell out: sharp-edged, cut by an explosion. Too familiar. Time seemed to stop. Felun saw spears of the stuff sunk through Tyirn¡¯s chest, lodged into Vilette¡¯s skull. Fragments crunching like glass beneath his boots. The crunching. Why was it coming back to him now? That sick crackle with every step, his burnt hands tearing a strip off his tunic, his sorry excuse for a tourniquet soaked through in seconds, hands shaking as he tried again¡ª

    ¡°Is that¡­¡± he croaked, before shaking his head. Of course it was. ¡°How did you¡ª¡±

    ¡°Apparently they, uh, embedded into my body,¡± Ishaan said with a grim shrug. ¡°The medicine-lady let me keep them.¡±

    Ishaan jammed them into the bulk of the ice, where they started to glow. Green dust powdered his palms; he brushed it off and hauled himself onto the thing¡¯s back. Felun¡¯s spell-sight traced out translucent veins spreading through the construct, ice and metal mingling. His second shield cracked and shattered. Footsteps in the hallway, a muffled shout.

    All his brain wanted to think about was those damned crystals, but there was no time.

    ¡°Get back,¡± he said.

    He detonated his spells, and the windows shattered outward. Most of the surrounding walls went, too. They were two storeys up, but the sand was soft. Felun clung to the edge and dropped the remaining distance, rolling to cushion his landing as best as he could. Ishaan¡¯s steed gave a jerky leap, spring-loaded legs bouncing with the impact, torso rocking with an audible creak.

    ¡°Where to?¡± Ishaan asked, flattening himself over the steed¡¯s back. There was a commotion somewhere above them on the dock proper, and someone was yelling and gesturing from the remains of Ishaan¡¯s window. Felun ignored it, staggering to his feet, and started running.

    ¡°We¡¯ll steal a ship,¡± he called. He wiped the blood from his nose and spat out sand. ¡°The fleet is¡ªthey keep the smaller ones that way. It¡¯s close. You worry about your¡­invention¡­thing¡­I¡¯ll deal with the guards.¡±

    ¡°How are you going to get back up there?¡± Ishaan asked.

    Though the hulls of the skyships rested well into the sand, the decks of the smaller ships were still several feet above their heads.

    ¡°This might make the jump,¡± Ishaan said through gritted teeth. His hand gripped the handlebar for dear life. ¡°Well, the front limbs are hooked enough to grip, if not. Do I go first and try to lower a rope, or¡ª?¡±

    His steed kept well up with Felun¡¯s stumbling sprint. It was a pity he hadn¡¯t been able to make two, Felun thought as he kicked up sand and tried to ignore the complaints of his bruised ribs.

    ¡°I¡¯m fine,¡± he grunted. ¡°Just follow.¡± His book riffled. He pulled out an Archival float rune and stuck it to himself.

    The magic latched on as he threw himself forward, the momentum sending him soaring much faster than expected; he felt like a cat being yanked up by the scruff. He ripped the rune off just in time to crash into the guard running at him. The impact sent them rolling; fear reared dimly at a flash of bespelled metal, but the guard¡¯s sword was knocked away, sent skittering across the deck as they grappled with fists and stinging spells. Felun made the runebook swoop down and clobber the guard across the face. He got in a lucky blow as it did and wrenched loose back up on his feet.

    The book whipped through the air, flashing open to intercept a bolt of spell-light. He shielded and ducked, mother¡¯s fancy runequill springing to hand, slashing symbols of his own through the air. Several found their mark, and the guard gave a pained shout, folding over onto hands and knees. The cabin door slammed open and two more guards poured out, followed by apothecary Yawen.

    ¡°Haoyu?¡± she called out bewilderedly. ¡°What¡¯s going on?¡±

    The first guard groaned on the deck, looking barely conscious. ¡°Traitor¡­¡±

    His colleagues raised their weapons.

    Felun scored a line in the air with his stolen runequill. ¡°Get off the boat.¡±

    Yawen frowned. ¡°You can¡¯t possibly be¡­they¡¯ll shoot you down, you realise?¡±

    It wasn¡¯t nearly so late that everyone was asleep. The commotion was spreading down the length of the dock. He¡¯d collapsed enough of his family¡¯s ship to make extrication difficult, but sure enough, there were distant figures pointing his way. Azure-blue Magician cloaks puddled in the distance. Perhaps his parents were among them.

    ¡°Call them off,¡± he snapped. ¡°It¡¯s no skin off your back.¡±

    ¡°Thirdson Haoyu,¡± one of the guards started, and that was when Ishaan hauled himself up onto the deck, clockwork crab and all. Its legs thudded against the deck, leaving deep scratches across the wood.

    ¡°Listen to him,¡± Ishaan croaked, ¡°or deal with me.¡± He brought his steed to its full height; it cast a much larger shadow than Felun did on his own. The crystals crowning the construct flared with venomous green light, sizzling like a bonfire.

    Yawen¡¯s gaze flicked between him and Ishaan and the bizarre, clicking mass of ice and metal he sat astride.

    ¡°Alright,¡± Yawen said, backing away. She put her hands up placatingly. ¡°You two, go help Liu. I¡¯ll splint that leg soon. There are supplies on the other ships.¡± She eyed Felun. ¡°Unless you¡¯ll permit me to fetch from the cabin¡ªno? Alright, then. We¡¯re going.¡±

    Felun kept his runequill up, hand thrumming with a waiting spell. Ishaan¡¯s steed swivelled behind him. ¡°There¡¯ll be more coming,¡± Ishaan warned as Yawen helped her guards drag their fallen colleague away from the ship. ¡°Is that your brother?¡±

    Felun whipped his gaze along the dock. Sure enough, that was Yichen running full pelt at them.

 5.17 - Actus Reus

    Felun

    Yichen was going to get here in thirty seconds or so.

    Felun knelt and pressed a hand to deck, dived into ghostly traceries of flight spells and poured in a handful of magic. They flickered with one short spasm and died. There was no way he could power an entire skyship with his bodily reservoir alone. He yanked an Archival float rune from his book and stuck it to the deck, which raised the boat up a shaky few meters and no further. A well-placed concussive rune shattered the strained boarding plank linking them to the dock, but the gap was nothing a sufficiently determined mage couldn¡¯t leap. He curled his hand into a fist.

    ¡°Go inside,¡± he told Ishaan. ¡°There¡¯s a pilot¡¯s room at the front. You¡¯ll have to get the flight magic running. There¡¯s runestones¡ªa wheel¡ª¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know how to fly a ship,¡± Ishaan said urgently.

    ¡°You probably know more than me,¡± Felun said. ¡°It¡¯s something like a mage-chariot.¡± Which likely wasn¡¯t the most reassuring thing to say, but he had a better chance of stalling for time against Yichen than Ishaan did.

    Ishaan gave a quick, sharp nod and crouched his steed down to skitter through the doorway. Felun readied his book, flipping it open to a spread of heavy concussives as Yichen drew closer. Nothing lethal. Maybe enough to give him ringing ears for a few weeks, which would serve him right.

    ¡°Haoyu,¡± Yichen said, stopping just out of range. ¡°What the hell? I warned you.¡±

    ¡°Run along back,¡± Felun suggested. ¡°Tell them all to let me go. Unless you sold out on me in the first place?¡±

    Yichen gave a ragged laugh. ¡°Don¡¯t joke,¡± he said, almost beseechingly. ¡°You know I wouldn¡¯t¡ªI¡¯m not Guofan. I stopped mother from killing you, for heaven¡¯s sake. Come quietly. It¡¯ll be easier that way.¡±

    More anger crested, familiar flicker of irritation fanned to a full flame. ¡°Should I copy what you do, then?¡± he snapped. ¡°What Guofan does? Bow down and lick the ground they walk on, like dogs?¡±

    There was a long pause as Yichen exhaled.

    ¡°Have you ever considered,¡± Yichen said quietly, ¡°that we¡¯re like this because we grew up seeing what happened to you? Don¡¯t put your failures on us, big brother. You learned to keep your head down too. It just took longer.¡±

    ¡°Please just shut up,¡± Felun snapped.

    Yichen¡¯s gaze sharpened. ¡°Where are you even going, Haoyu? What can you possibly achieve? They¡¯re preparing the chase right now.¡±

    Felun ground his teeth together as the deck thrummed to life beneath him. ¡°Then let¡¯s hope we¡¯re faster.¡±

    ¡°For god¡¯s sake,¡± Yichen burst out, taking a step closer. Shockingly, there seemed to be genuine concern in his voice. ¡°Aren¡¯t you meant to be the smart one? You don¡¯t know how to fly the damn thing! Neither does your friend in there! If they don¡¯t board you or shoot you down, then the best you can hope for is to crash and die, you idiot!¡±

    Clockwork ticked and groaned across the deck; the sails unfurled in sharp slaps of canvas. Felun looked his brother over and ran through some rapid calculations. ¡°Are you going to throw useless insults, or are you going to help?¡±

    Yichen blinked. ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°I said, are you going to help?¡±

    ¡°What the hell, Haoyu?¡± Yichen snapped, but he wasn¡¯t backing away just yet. Felun considered this a promising sign.

    ¡°You didn¡¯t crash and die when you took mother¡¯s clipper for a joyride. Five years ago, or something. The autumn festival. I even took some of the blame for you, remember? You clearly think you¡¯re better at this than me. So hurry up and decide.¡±

    ¡°What¡ª¡± Yichen spluttered. ¡°What makes you think that I¡ª¡±

    ¡°Haven¡¯t you had enough?¡± he said, and he hardly recognised his own voice as he spoke. The words rasped like fire up his throat; he felt as though he were spitting poison. ¡°Haven¡¯t you had enough of this shit? Don¡¯t lie, you¡¯re as sick of it as Yuying and I are. Stay in this hellhole if you want, but don¡¯t blame me when father brings the bloody Magicians down on you all. Last chance, little brother.¡±

    Yichen¡¯s posture stiffened, hands clenching into fists. He threw a glance back up the dock, where the crowd was growing, then back at Felun.

    ¡°How do you know I won¡¯t turn the damn thing back around?¡± he asked.

    ¡°Because you¡¯ve been waiting to get away for longer than I have,¡± Felun said. ¡°Also, I can stop you.¡±

    The spell-sight showed flight signs braided beneath every surface; he could heave them like muscles if he so chose, force the rudder so long as they had the altitude. The ship-spells rippled at his observation of them. For a split-second, he felt indomitable. The feeling disappeared as the ship jerked roughly into motion.

    ¡°Felun?¡± Ishaan¡¯s voice called out, barely audible through the flapping cabin door. ¡°Help with the¡ªwheel!¡± The ship drew unsteadily away from the dock, bow skewed to the right. Then it creaked left, swaying alarmingly as the turn overcompensated.

    Yichen gave another backward glance, before squaring his shoulders. He leapt, magic sparking in his hands, and barely cleared the growing gap. ¡°I hope you fools have enough fuel.¡±

    Felun followed as he bounded through the interior and into the pilot¡¯s cabin.

    ¡°He¡¯s with us,¡± Felun called out. ¡°We need to go west.¡±

    ¡°What the¡ªshit, okay,¡± Ishaan said, wrestling with the wheel. The clockwork crab scuttled unsteadily as the ship rocked from side to side.

    ¡°North-west if you¡¯re aiming for Glister,¡± Yichen corrected, striding to the runestone array. He flicked a succession of levers, and the boat buoyed rapidly higher. ¡°Think fast, Haoyu. They¡¯ll be after us any second now. You, Ironport-guy, get out of my way.¡±

    ¡°Keep flying,¡± Felun said. The ship settled into cruising motion. Moonlit desert flew past through the windows, but an apothecary¡¯s travel-craft was unlikely to outpace a fleet of cloudclippers without extra help. ¡°I¡¯m going to shield us. Ishaan, stop him if he tries anything¡ª¡±

    An explosion rocked the ship. The pilot¡¯s array began to flash with amber lights.

    ¡°Great, that¡¯s a hole through the aft,¡± Yichen snapped. ¡°Do something, Haoyu.¡±

    Felun swore and dashed back out on deck. Father¡¯s cloudclippers were on their tail; sleek black vessels trailing pale jets of spell-vapour. There were eight of them, carrying mages and guards with crossbows. A quick glance behind him showed that a dozen arrows had punctured their sails, some wisping spellfire. Protective runes swarmed over the canvas, but a thread must¡¯ve caught alight anyway because now a section was smoking in the wind.

    A glowing slingstone bounced off his cloak, hard enough to bruise. He shielded belatedly, barely fast enough to deflect the next one.

    Felun reached for his runebook and wound strings of runes into ropes. Shielding sigils and fireproofing signs, symbols to cushion and others to barricade. Enchantments scraped from dungeon walls, painstakingly lifted off thousand-year old brickwork. Hours upon hours of eye-watering, hand-blistering, tooth-aching work. He pulled them forth in a whip of shining fire and sent the lead edge looping, enough to circle the ship twice over. The smoking sailcloth extinguished itself.

    The mages had coordinated throughout the clippers; a field of crackling white light flew straight towards them. Felun gripped his runequill and shielded himself, pulse thundering. Would it hold¡ª? The clump of spells hit ring of runes with a sizzle and deflected upward, sheeting overhead like an unfalling wave.

    His instincts were screaming at him to run, to hide back inside the boat. But he couldn¡¯t run. He was their Breaker, the only one who could do this. He exhaled and started scratching runes into the deck. The clippers were still gaining on them. His hands bled over the most advanced signs for swiftness and amplification he knew. They¡¯d be enough, he hoped. A crack echoed against the deck, followed by several more.

    He snapped his gaze up to find grappling hooks sliding off his rune-shields. The clippers were close enough that he could make out the grim faces of their pilots. Did he have enough left in him to shoot them down? Probably not. His spellsight told him they had too much shielding of their own. He reached out and unraveled a tightly-packed bolt of spellfire homing in on the deck, and a bolt infused with red lightning. But if he and his runes could hold them off for long enough¡­he risked a backward glance, to where the mists loomed. The clippers were uncovered vessels. If they could make it inside¡­

    A clump of movement caught his eye. More clippers, no doubt boosted with bottled winds and vapor-powder. Blue sails, he realised. Kingdom sails. They drew even with father¡¯s vessels, creeping ever-closer.

    One of the leading Magicians was surrounded by three others, each pouring magic with their hands on her shoulders. She held a pointed and faceted projectile in both hands. There was blood dripping from beneath their masks. Strong spells were one thing, but dread pooled in his gut at the sight of such a monstrously large spear of crystal¡­if that thing hit their ship, they were done for. Four Magicians¡¯ worth of magic, he thought a little hysterically, and sent his runebook soaring beyond the barrier as she fired it.

    The missile hit his open pages square-on, and the energy buffeted against his ship-shields. He darted forward to patch any holes the overflow might¡¯ve caused. There were none, to his immense relief. Better yet, the four Magicians had slumped down and out of formation. His book had been flung down onto the deck, charred along every edge. It made no move to float into his outstretched hand as he summoned it, so the runequill it was. His first instinct was to scratch lines for swiftness and acceleration, but he¡¯d never been particularly good at those. He stuck to what he knew, instead: warding, protection, even layered stasis to coat the surface of the aft and the pillar of the mast, which would take the brunt of any more oncoming spells.

    Across the kingdom clippers, voices were rising in harmony. No other crystals in sight, but they were doing a group casting. A dozen of them, at least. He eked out a few more wards as the crafts began to shimmer, lingering as long as he dared. The working glowed an eye-watering silver. He¡¯d done all he could. He dived inside, slamming the door a moment before the spells hit.

    The ship rocked. He sensed his rope of runes thinning in places. Whatever the Magicians were using, it was far stronger than it had any right to be. He stumbled into the pilot¡¯s cabin, wiping blood from his suddenly itching hands as another barrage hit them. His enchantments bowed under the strain.

    ¡°Faster,¡± he wheezed. ¡°Get us into the fog.¡±

    ¡°Can¡¯t do that,¡± Yichen snarled, working the wheel furiously. The ship lurched sideways and Felun¡¯s stomach did too. ¡°This ship¡¯s got no air-filters, no gas-repellent spells, and no bloody self-contained atmosphere! We¡¯ll suffocate. We have to go over.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯re too slow!¡±

    ¡°No shit, Haoyu.¡±

    Felun glanced around the cabin. ¡°Where¡¯s Ishaan?¡±

    ¡°Patching up the fucking holes in our stern! Which is not gonna help if I can¡¯t make the speed, let alone altitude.¡±

    ¡°How much fuel¡ª¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m burning as much as I can afford. Can¡¯t you fiddle with the engines, use a spell or¡ªwhere are you going, asshole?¡±

    Yichen spat out a string of aimless curses as Felun rushed back into the hall and ducked his head into each of the rooms. Apothecary Yawen must keep restorative potions onboard, he thought desperately. Surely. He threw open three different luggage chests before he found a crateful and downed as many as he could stomach.

    Tossing the empty vials aside, he stumbled back into the hall, head pounding with the rush of it, guts whirling with nausea. He followed the veins of flight-spells back to the pilot¡¯s cabin. It was the closest he could get to its heaving, glowing heart.

    A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

    ¡°Don¡¯t you dare faint on me,¡± he heard Yichen snap as he fell to his hands and knees. ¡°God, I should never have listened to you. Your friend¡¯s going to blame me when you keel over and die.¡±

    Felun ignored him and placed his palms flat against the weathered wood, piercing through surface-level shunts and into the enchantments proper: countless coils and contours like hands clasped and dancing in tandem, the miracle of wood and metal shouldered aloft by magic and a thousand minds¡¯ worth of blood, work, and ingenuity.

    He reached into the enchantments, grabbed hold, and slung them forward and up. It was as simple as it sounded and much, much harder. The engines churned enough power to move the craft. The raw energy was all there, but shaping its momentum was almost too much for a single human body. It didn¡¯t hurt, exactly. There was only a sort of pressure, unyielding and unmerciless pressure squeezing at his skull, his spine, his own fragile vessel of flesh and blood and very little more. He made a noise that was half-croak, half-wheeze. His lungs couldn¡¯t pull enough air to really scream.

    Their ship shot upward, over the killing mists.

    For a while, there was nothing but movement and noise, a ringing in his ears as he forgot himself in favour of pushing the ship onward, patching overlooked leakages, shaping the enchantment to purest efficiency. He could feel the creak of wood and flap of swollen sailcloth more easily than his own fingertips.

    And then someone was shaking his shoulder.

    ¡°Haoyu,¡± the someone burbled, as if his voice were coming from behind a great layer of water. ¡°Haoyu, we made it over the mist. You gotta let go.¡±

    Another shake, harder this time.

    ¡°Hello?¡± Fingers clicked in front of his face, and he blinked. ¡°Whatever you¡¯re doing, you can stop now.¡±

    Felun pulled himself out of the flow of enchantment and pieced his consciousness back together. His ears popped. He was dimly surprised that he hadn¡¯t fainted from the strain.

    ¡°Yichen?¡± he said, or tried to say. What felt like a cupful of blood poured from his mouth instead.

    ¡°Oh, gross,¡± Yichen said. ¡°You¡¯re not actually dying, are you?¡±

    Felun managed to shake his head no. He was pretty sure he wasn¡¯t, anyway. Yichen thumped him on the back as he coughed and spluttered. That strange, awful, all-over pressure of squeezing himself into the ship¡¯s enchantments was gone, but now his head was killing him. It was the worst headache he¡¯d had in a very, very long time. Every blink seemed to make him dizzier and dizzier.

    ¡°Where¡¯s Ishaan?¡± he managed.

    ¡°Here,¡± Ishaan said from somewhere behind him. ¡°Are you alright?¡±

    He groaned. A band of nausea squeezed his stomach, right on cue. ¡°Think I¡¯m going to be sick.¡±

    Yichen scrambled out of the way and came back with a bucket. Felun heaved up the contents of his stomach. They were a very interesting shade of purple.

    ¡°What potions did you take?¡± Yichen asked sharply, narrowing his eyes at the mess.

    ¡°Replenishing ones.¡± He spat bile into the bucket. ¡°Speaking of. I think I need one.¡±

    ¡°You should probably have some water first,¡± Ishaan said sympathetically. ¡°Rinse out your mouth, rehydrate, that sort of thing.¡±

    Yichen frowned as he felt his forehead and took his pulse. Right, Felun recalled. He¡¯d studied something of physic and medicines. Useful stuff, that. Mother had held hopes of making him into a court apothecary, which was basically a fancy name for a part-time poisoner. Felun¡¯s thoughts flickered to the matter of fleshcrafters, then swiftly back away.

    ¡°I don¡¯t think that¡¯s a good idea,¡± Yichen said. ¡°Are you sure they were just replenishing potions? And not cut with other substances?¡±

    ¡°Sure. Had to be pure, right? Found them in Yawen¡¯s room,¡± he said, gesturing weakly.

    Yichen gave him a dubious look and marched off to see for himself. A minute later, he came back brandishing an empty vial.

    ¡°You drank the concentrate, Haoyu.¡± His expression, Felun noted, seemed to contain a mixture of horror, awe, and disgust. ¡°Do you even know how many cups one of these little things dilutes into?¡±

    ¡°Does he need an apothecary?¡± Ishaan asked, sounding alarmed.

    ¡°He needs to not do magic for a couple of days,¡± Yichen snapped. ¡°God, Felun, have a bit of sense next time?¡±

    He gave a hacking laugh. ¡°I helped, didn¡¯t I?¡±

    ¡°You caused the problem in the first place,¡± Yichen muttered. ¡°Don¡¯t move. I¡¯ll get you some water.¡±

    Felun shut his eyes and lay his head against the floor. The ship seemed to whisper around him, its motion soothing and smooth as they glided their way toward Glister.

    ===

    It took a very long sleep before he felt up to properly standing up again. Yichen and Ishaan had half-dragged, half-carried him into Yawen¡¯s room to collapse into unconsciousness. The room had a bathroom suite attached¡ªhe guessed apothecaries were paid well¡ªso he took the time to splash his face with water and scrub off. Dye runoff from the Magician cloak¡¯s had soaked through his shirt and mottled his skin like strange grey bruises, and he grimaced to discover that he was covered in blood and sweat from the fight. His head still ached, and the muscles of his neck and shoulders were intent on twinging at random intervals.

    He wound fresh bandages over his blistered hands and emerged from Yawen¡¯s room to discover that Yichen had compiled a small hill of rations and weapons in the pilot¡¯s cabin.

    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t have taken Yawen for an archer,¡± Felun said, nudging a crossbow with no small amount of surprise. ¡°She doesn¡¯t have, what, two dozen guards either?¡±

    ¡°They were in the hidden compartment,¡± Yichen said with a shrug. ¡°My guess is father¡¯s instructions.¡±

    ¡°But this is way more than an ordinary stash,¡± he said aloud, thinking of the attack on the kingdom princess. ¡°If they brought these kinds of thing along in every boat¡­¡± There was nothing so obvious as pieces of dart-launcher among the crossbows and their bolts, but he was now more than ever inclined to believe Silverwater¡¯s accusation over his own suspicions about Iolite.

    ¡°You really think your father has it in him to conquer a kingdom?¡± Ishaan asked, looking up from his work. He was sitting on the floor, tinkering with the armature of his oversized crab. A nest of sopping wet towels surrounded him; the ice had long since melted and run everywhere.

    Felun hesitated. ¡°Something like that.¡± He turned to Yichen. ¡°It¡¯s a mess back home, isn¡¯t it?¡±

    Yichen shrugged. ¡°They don¡¯t talk to me about those kind of things. But I think mother was losing some of her footholds. They¡¯re still doing well, by the looks of trade. Just not in court.¡±

    ¡°Hmm.¡±

    He picked one of the crossbows up. They reminded him of Saiphenora, and Winterbird a little. But where their bows had been crafted from organic faery composite, simple and lithe, these crossbows were stockier and undoubtedly heavier. They had locking mechanisms, though. He might not be able to hold a draw force like Saiphenora could, but Cathayan engineering could do it for him.

    ¡°Put that thing down and stop being paranoid,¡± Yichen said sharply. ¡°We¡¯re almost over the mists and no one¡¯s been following us.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not being paranoid.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯ve got that look on your face again,¡± Yichen retorted.

    Felun raised his eyebrows. ¡°What look?¡±

    ¡°The look you get when you¡¯re planning something,¡± Ishaan said. He finished twisting a strand of wire around a piece of his construct.

    ¡°See?¡± Yichen snickered. ¡°Tell him he¡¯s wrong.¡±

    ¡°What are you doing when we get to Glister?¡± he asked instead.

    Yichen¡¯s expression sobered. ¡°I don¡¯t know. What are you going to do? Run off to be an adventurer again?¡±

    He glanced down at his hands. ¡°Uncle Jiahao and Aunt Shirin might still be there with Yuying. They might go right back to Shenzhou after a while, but I can¡¯t¡ªI mean, I won¡¯t follow. You could leave with them.¡±

    ¡°After that stunt?¡± Yichen barked out a laugh. ¡°The court¡¯ll have my skin for sure¡ªwait, wait, you said Yuying?¡±

    Felun sighed and pulled up a chair as he explained. Yichen looked almost impressed by the end of it.

    ¡°Is that what you were disappearing off to do?¡± Ishaan asked keenly. ¡°Or is there other stuff, like with your¡­colleague?¡±

    Felun hesitated. ¡°That¡¯s a longer story.¡±

    ¡°We have plenty of time,¡± Yichen pointed out.

    Reluctantly, he detailed the facts of his contract with Iolite.

    Ishaan whistled. ¡°If these faeries are in Glister, then shouldn¡¯t we get as far away from it as possible?¡±

    ¡°We only have enough fuel to make it there,¡± Yichen pointed out.

    ¡°We could buy more fuel and sail somewhere else,¡± Felun suggested dubiously.

    He wasn¡¯t sure how they¡¯d survive once they got there, wherever there was¡ªselling the ship might keep them fed for a while, but what could they do after that? Wherever they went, they would run into the same essential problems.

    His gut twisted grimly at the thought of more dungeonrunning, more Breaker work making his hands burst open in unhealing blisters. No skilled craftsfolk took random apprentices, and he knew from bitter experience that even the hardest, most backbreaking jobs cleaning ships and unloading docks were fought over despite their pitiful wages. Yichen was used to a comfortable life and would struggle to adjust even more than he had at the beginning. Ishaan was a little better off now that he had his crab construct, but his options were limited. And what would he do once the crystals powering that thing ran out?

    ¡°Where, exactly?¡± Yichen asked. His tone suggested that he was considering similar problems.

    ¡°Not Ironport,¡± Ishaan said.

    ¡°No,¡± Felun agreed tiredly.

    The dark gold light of sunset struck the far wall. He glanced out the pilot¡¯s window and pushed those uneasy musings from his head for the time being. ¡°Have we left the mists behind already?¡± he asked, surprised.

    ¡°No thanks to you,¡± Yichen said. He paused. ¡°Don¡¯t mess with the ship any more, Haoyu. I can tell you¡¯re thinking about it. We¡¯re flying along fine, we¡¯ll get to Glister when we get there.¡±

    ¡°I wasn¡¯t,¡± he scowled. ¡°I¡¯m going to take a look up on deck.¡±

    ¡°Wait¡ª¡±

    Yichen followed him hastily. Felun shook his hand from his shoulder. ¡°Let off. I¡¯m not going to fall over the side.¡±

    ¡°You need someone to keep an eye on you,¡± Yichen said.

    The words jabbed at an unexpectedly tender spot. ¡°You¡¯re not my nursemaid,¡± he sneered.

    ¡°No,¡± Yichen said. ¡°But I am your brother. Whether you like it or not.¡±

    Felun opened his mouth to snap another insult, then shut it again with a pang of guilt. There was nothing he could say that wouldn¡¯t sound hideously ungrateful, so he settled for walking quickly ahead.

    He emerged to the dying edge of summer. The clouds were lit up in red and gold, and a hot wind ruffled his shirt. When he circled the perimeter, the damage wasn¡¯t as bad as he¡¯d feared. His runes had taken a battering, but some were still salvageable. Then he remembered he¡¯d have no place to store them for later; one flip through his runebook had showed him its workings were well and truly dormant, if not dead. Perhaps he could salvage that with an enchanter¡¯s help, but it was a problem for the future. For now, he settled himself at the base of the mast to watch the landscape roll on by. It was a barren and sandy view, the only signs of life being the occasional stunted bush or tree.

    Yichen watched him sharply, but seemed satisfied he wouldn¡¯t do anything foolish and disappeared back below deck. Felun shut his eyes and slipped into an almost-doze, his entire body drenched in weariness. He was surprised when a clatter of footsteps signaled Yichen¡¯s return.

    ¡°What?¡± he said irritably.

    Yichen sat nearby and held out a cupful of tea as he set down a plateful of steamed buns. ¡°Eat up. You¡¯ll soon be skin and bones if you don¡¯t.¡±

    ¡°You sound like Uncle Jiahao,¡± Felun said, but he took the tea and a bun anyway.

    Yichen gave him an offended look. ¡°If I do, it¡¯s only because I was the one taking care of Yuying and¡ª¡± Here, his mouth twisted into a grimace. ¡°And believe it or not, Guofan too, while you danced off to Ironport.¡±

    Felun looked up. The dough seemed to stick in his throat. ¡°I wasn¡¯t having as much of a fun and merry time as you think.¡±

    Yichen exhaled explosively, not meeting his eyes. ¡°Well¡ªyes, alright, fine. Sorry. I know you¡­I spoke to your friend while you were out. But Haoyu, you still shouldn¡¯t have just disappeared like that. You act like we¡¯ve all wronged you, and yet¡ª¡±

    ¡°Remember all the times father locked me in a room and whipped the shit out of me?¡± Felun snapped. ¡°How often did that happen to you, Secondson?¡± He spoke the last word with a particular bite. ¡°You don¡¯t know what it was like. You would¡¯ve run away too, if you were me.¡±

    ¡°I wasn¡¯t the one punishing you,¡± Yichen shot back, expression furrowing into a glower. ¡°Stop acting like I am. Did you expect me to, what, leap between you and the belt? I recall you never did for me, or for Guofan, or even for Yuying.¡±

    ¡°They never did anything like that to Thirdson Guofan.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re not very observant, are you?¡± Yichen said. ¡°This is what I mean. You always only think about yourself.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t even pretend you had it as bad as I did,¡± Felun said, drinking the last of the tea.

    ¡°I never said that. But you don¡¯t understand, do you? You don¡¯t even want to try. You think because they hurt you most, that you never brought some of it onto yourself? That by not helping you, we¡¯re all specifically against you?¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re saying I deserved it?¡± He laughed humourlessly. ¡°Piss off, Yichen.¡±

    ¡°No. I¡¯m just saying you acted¡­wrong, on purpose, sometimes. And it was never my job to protect you from the consequences of your own actions, so don¡¯t blame me for keeping my head down.¡±

    Yichen¡¯s voice seemed to crack at the end, and somehow that was enough to make him feel even lousier. Felun snorted and shrugged, glancing expansively over the deck. ¡°I suppose I can¡¯t, seeing as we¡¯re in the same boat now.¡±

    Yichen threw a steamed bun at his head. Felun snickered as he caught and ate it.

    ¡°That¡¯s not funny. Stop avoiding the subject.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not,¡± Felun said, slightly muffled through a mouthful of bun. ¡°I mean, I think you¡¯re wrong about me, but I don¡¯t hate you. Thanks for not letting mother gut me, by the way.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re welcome,¡± Yichen said flatly. ¡°But seriously, where are you going? They aren¡¯t going to forgive you this time.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s the magic of it,¡± Felun said. ¡°I don¡¯t have to forgive them, either.¡±

    ¡°Haoyu¡ª¡±

    ¡°Dungeon work, I suppose. I need to scrounge up something for Ishaan¡¯s situation, see him off home or something like that. I owe him that much. After that, I really don¡¯t know. And you? You can still go back to Shenzhou, you know. Say I abducted you at arrowpoint or something, and you had no choice. They¡¯ll believe it. And Yuying will be happy to see you.¡±

    Yichen frowned. ¡°It isn¡¯t safe for you to travel around working as some kind of magical mercenary.¡±

    Felun suppressed the urge to roll his eyes. ¡°Really? I would never have guessed.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m serious. You shouldn¡¯t stay on this bloody old continent. It¡¯s got too many colossal monstrous things walking around and magic mazes sprouting beneath your feet. Does any of that seem natural to you? Come back to Cathay, even if not Shenzhou.¡±

    ¡°Father¡¯s got too many connections in Cathay,¡± Felun said dismissively. ¡°Sooner or later, I¡¯d run into someone loyal. And then, well, you know. It¡¯s not worth it.¡±

    ¡°Go further south, then,¡± Yichen pressed. ¡°Do you even know what you¡¯re saying, Haoyu? You¡¯re going to just leave forever and never see any of us again? And I don¡¯t mean mother and father, I mean Yuying and Jiahao and the rest. And me¡ªI can¡¯t be that bad if you can still stand talking to me.¡±

    Felun shrugged uncomfortably. ¡°Yuying will be fine if she has you looking out for her.¡±

    ¡°No she won¡¯t,¡± Yichen said, voice hardening. ¡°Come on, you can¡¯t do that to her. Father told a little story about you eloping with some girl, but we¡¯re not stupid. I was really wondering for a bit whether you¡¯d killed yourself and they were just too ashamed to tell us the truth. Yuying was crying over it for months. Did you ever stop to think about that? You could¡¯ve at least left a note.¡±

    ¡°I would¡¯ve, if I thought I could¡¯ve gotten away with it,¡± he said defensively. ¡°I needed all the head start I could get.¡±

    ¡°Well, I suppose an extra couple of hours¡¯ uninterrupted fleeing was worth breaking your baby sister¡¯s heart for,¡± Yichen said.

    The sarcasm was so thick it could be spread like butter. Felun stuffed another steamed bun into his mouth to avoid replying.

    ¡°Think about it a little more before you go haring off again,¡± Yichen said, rising to his feet. ¡°I can see for myself that the work you do isn¡¯t safe. Who are the oldest dungeonrunners you¡¯ve met, by the way? Or oldest Breakers, for that matter? Are they retired, or all just dead?¡±

    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t do it for long,¡± Felun said stiffly. ¡°But it¡¯s how I make money and I owe Ishaan.¡±

    ¡°Alright, sure. But do you think so little of me that you assume I would be happy to go and live the rest of my life not knowing whether you were still alive, or blinded and begging on the street, or bleeding out in a ditch somewhere?¡± Yichen¡¯s voice shook. ¡°Even if you don¡¯t care what a Secondson thinks, at least spare a thought for Yuying.¡±

    He walked off before Felun could form a response.

 5.18 - Quenchless

    Felun

    Their approach to Glister was uninterrupted by wayward Behemoths or skyspawn, though Yichen swore up and down that he spotted the shape of a wyvern in the distance. Felun was far too busy recovering from his ordeal to pay much attention to his overanxious commentary. The spellcaster¡¯s headache had leveled off, but was infuriatingly slow to ease entirely. He took to draping a wet cloth over his forehead as he sat uselessly on deck for the sake of the breeze. Occasionally, he brought the Magician cloak with him and struggled to sew the rip in it closed. It was slow going.

    ¡°So this is where you¡¯ve been disappearing to?¡± a familiar voice asked.

    Felun cracked an eye open. Ishaan hadn¡¯t fully reassembled his scrap contraption, presumably saving his magic for when they had real journeying to do. He had, however, repurposed the wheeled base of Yawen¡¯s medicine cart to better make his way around the ship. Felun still felt a stab of guilt at his prosthetics having gone up in flames.

    ¡°Hello,¡± he said uneasily. ¡°I¡ªyes, did you need help with something?¡± He made to rise, but Ishaan waved him down.

    ¡°No, no. I wanted to ask how you were holding up.¡±

    ¡°Oh, you know.¡± He gestured miserably. ¡°Not any worse than the morning after a big delve.¡±

    ¡°Hmm.¡± Ishaan reached over and poked the damp hand towel laid across his head. Felun startled at the buzz of magic that washed across the water and froze it cold and solid. ¡°There, that should help. I¡¯d tell you to drink a restorative potion, but¡ªhah.¡±

    ¡°Thanks,¡± he said gratefully. He¡¯d tried to scribe a cooling rune for himself earlier, and Yichen had glared murderously at him. ¡°Still can¡¯t do any spellwork. Physician¡¯s orders.¡±

    Ishaan chuckled at his impatience. ¡°It¡¯s annoying, I know. You¡¯re always so careful with your magic. I don¡¯t think I ever saw you run out. Or maybe I¡¯m just irresponsible.¡±

    ¡°You scared the hell out of Tyirn when you built us that river-bridge,¡± Felun said, and immediately regretted saying it.

    But Ishaan only grinned mildly. ¡°Oh yes, my greatest achievement. A bunch of different crews tried to poach me for themselves afterward. All offering coin this and bonus that, but you three were all¡ª¡± His smile faded. ¡°You were all decent to me. I can¡¯t regret staying, despite¡­¡±

    Felun looked away. ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡±

    Ishaan was silent for a long while. Then he said, ¡°were they buried the usual way, or¡­?¡±

    In Ironport, the bodies of dead dungeonrunners were plentiful enough to be put on pyres. Their ashes were mixed into communal pits. Felun had never visited any, but he knew it was common for various crews to get roaring drunk over one in remembrance.

    He swallowed the sudden lump in his throat. ¡°I paid for a small plot and markers. Vilette never told me her family name, though, so it just has that written on it¡­they¡¯re in the Kin Gardens, if you¡¯re ever up that way again.¡±

    ¡°That was kind of you.¡± Ishaan¡¯s voice was quiet, but Felun could hardly stand the sincerity in it.

    ¡°I¡ªIt was the least I could do. I¡¯m sorry. I didn¡¯t know them as well as you did.¡±

    ¡°Does it matter? They liked you. We were a good team.¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± he said heavily. ¡°We were.¡±

    They watched the sands below for a little while. Felun fidgeted with his needle and cloak, almost stabbing himself in the finger trying to get another stitch through the heavy fabric. Ishaan eyed his attempts with trepidation, and maybe a bit of pity for good measure. When he broke the silence, Felun suspected it was half an attempt to divert him away from his sorry repairwork.

    ¡°I haven¡¯t thanked you for all this,¡± Ishaan started falteringly. ¡°I wish¡­I mean, I can hope to find a job chilling the drinks of some rich lord, but I¡¯m sorry I don¡¯t have anything to repay you with. Well, I can take a look at anything clockwork you need fixed, but you already knew that.¡±

    Felun startled, then shook his head. ¡°You don¡¯t owe me anything. I¡¯ll buy you some new legs in Glister.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s alright. I think I prefer my trusty steed down there,¡± Ishaan grinned. ¡°Not to sound like an ungrateful shit, but the ones your family made for me weren¡¯t always the most comfortable. At least with the spider, it doesn¡¯t feel like pretending to copy the rest of you with something that can¡¯t keep up the same way.¡±

    ¡°Oh,¡± he said, digesting the words. ¡°Well, I¡¯m glad. Erm. But¡ªa spider? I thought it was meant to be a crab.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m a shaper, not an artist,¡± Ishaan replied.

    ¡°Still,¡± Felun said. ¡°I¡¯ll get you some energy crystals or something, for when yours runs out.¡±

    Ishaan hesitated. ¡°You¡¯ve already helped me a lot. I¡­should be able to fend for myself.¡±

    Felun scrubbed a hand through his hair and rearranged the icy towel. ¡°I want to help. Are you going back to your family, now?¡±

    Ishaan sighed. ¡°Suppose so. It was tough getting steady work back home, but I¡¯ve learned a lot being away¡­maybe one of the tinkerer shops can take me on as an assistant.¡± He sounded uneasy though, and he was glancing at his missing hand as he spoke. ¡°What about you? Thought it about it some more?¡±

    Yichen¡¯s words lingered in his head.

    ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± Felun said. It felt like tired phrase in his mouth, and he was growing more and more used to thinking and saying it. Dungeonrunning had seemed like such a certain future once¡ªhe had been so painfully sure of himself back when he was making plans to run away. Now he¡¯d sprinted to freedom for the second time, and he was more lost than he¡¯d ever been.

    He turned back to the Magician cloak, wedging the needle through once more and wresting the thread taut. The rip closed by another half-centimeter.

    ===

    Yichen grew more and more agitated the closer they got to the city. He was outright pacing by the time the spires became visible on the horizon.

    ¡°What¡¯s wrong?¡± Felun asked at last. ¡°You¡¯re wearing a line into the floor.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ve been wondering where I¡¯m supposed to land the ship.¡± Yichen fiddled with the levers, though for what purpose Felun couldn¡¯t guess at. He¡¯d already slowed the ship¡¯s pace down to a crawl the day before, as if to prolong their inevitable arrival. ¡°You realise I was never formally taught to pilot, right? There are codes and signals for anchoring this sort of thing. It¡¯ll be worse in a big place like Glister. We should ditch down soon and walk the rest of the way.¡±

    ¡°Well yes,¡± Felun said, feeling put out. ¡°I didn¡¯t expect you to steer us into the docks.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯d probably get impounded for trying,¡± Ishaan added. ¡°Did I tell you about the time the leader of my first ever crew got done for pirating a ship? They do check papers¡­¡± He leaned across the pilot¡¯s deck to peer out the window, then turned to address Yichen. ¡°Are you aiming for that little cluster of oases?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll set us down a little way behind,¡± Yichen said fretfully. ¡°We won¡¯t want to land on top, not if they¡¯re what I think they are.¡±

    Yichen banked the ship around, circling over the spot in two low passes before setting them down with a hard bump. Felun¡¯s teeth clacked together at the impact, but he didn¡¯t sense any of the ship¡¯s enchantments breaking.

    ¡°Not too bad, huh?¡± Yichen said brightly.

    Felun noted his white-knuckle grip on the steering levers and just nodded.

    They gave their packs on last check-over as Ishaan assembled the shell of his construct once more. Felun braced himself for a disapproving remark from Yichen¡¯s vicinity as he hefted the crossbow he¡¯d picked out along with its accompanying sling of bolts, but Yichen was silent on the matter. Yichen also allowed him to cast inattention runes over the ship before they exited, locking the doors and warding them. Given what he¡¯d heard and seen in the city proper, Felun wouldn¡¯t be terribly surprised if the ship were robbed or stolen in a day or two, but he didn¡¯t argue against trying. Finally, Ishaan finished shaping two barrelfuls¡¯ worth of water to his liking and clambered atop his icy armature with pack and sword.

    They stepped out and came face to face with the shattered skeleton of some long-dead Behemoth, a multitude of sun-whitened splinters sinking slowly into the sands. The bones cast long, ominous shadows. A fringe of greenery had sprung up about the place: pointed fronds and unfamiliar tendrils that swayed in the low breeze. Picking their way past the Behemoth¡¯s resting place, they marched across a long expanse of beige nothing until they found the beginnings of a hard-packed dirt road.

    They walked. The spires came closer with agonising slowness. Felun was reminded, unhappily, of the dimensional tower. The sun rose steadily overhead, until they were all sweating through their clothes.

    Yichen¡¯s expression had gone closed-off and quiet. It was eerily reminiscent of the look on fresh runner¡¯s faces after their first proper dives. Felun had run that gauntlet and watched plenty of others follow, back in Ironport. There was always that same pang of dismay which came with realisation: the way forward would likely not be as simple or easy as one would¡¯ve liked to believe. Ishaan seemed to be holding up well, though. He took advantage of his steed¡¯s height and wielded Felun¡¯s spyglass with evident satisfaction, pausing in his scanning to report far-off skyships, crowds gathered at Glister¡¯s gates, and the occasional humorously-shaped cloud.

    They passed another two smaller Behemoth carcasses¡ªtwo of surprisingly many, pockmarking the scenery like landmarks. Felun eyed the huge slabs of bone and wished he could stick a float rune to one and use it like a miniature cloudclipper. He might¡¯ve even tried, were it not for the fact that his runebook was burnt to a depressing degree, every page gone still and dormant. He¡¯d checked it over once again when they stopped in the shade of the second skeleton for a light meal and a long drink, and felt a strange stab of vulnerability at not having his collection of sigils at hand.

    Eventually, the vague road beneath their feet became more defined and marked with stone columns at intervals, before it merged into a much wider thoroughfare. A crowd began to form: people in caravans, on top of goat-drawn carts, and even riding the occasional oversized lizard or many-legged chimera. A few people stared and pointed at Ishaan¡¯s spider-crab steed, but it mustn¡¯t have been too unusual a sight, because they returned their attentions to the road soon enough.

    As they passed through a pair of Glister gates and spilled into one of many market squares, Yichen led them to a prominent set of flagpoles. Both Felun and Yichen had wracked their memories for any hint of where passing Sungrazers might stay, and had narrowed the possibilities down to a handful of inns and districts.

    ¡°You¡¯re going with him now, I guess?¡± Ishaan asked, as Yichen negotiated with the guides.

    ¡°I suppose. You¡¯re welcome to come along too, you know?¡±

    Ishaan grimaced. ¡°I believe you when you say your aunt and uncle are decent people, but, uh¡­¡±

    ¡°¡­They¡¯re still Sungrazers,¡± Felun finished for him. ¡°No, I get it. We could wait at an inn while Yichen goes looking. Just because¡ªwell, your steed looks fancy. It might make you a target. Not that I don¡¯t think you can deal with a pickpocket yourself. It¡¯s just, I don¡¯t want to leave you stranded until you find passage heading to your country.¡±

    ¡°Well, if you¡¯re sure you don¡¯t mind.¡±

    Stolen novel; please report.

    Yichen was happy to leave them both in the care of a reasonably-priced inn, especially when the guide had told him it¡¯d be double the cost to bring Felun along, and two times again if she needed to accommodate Ishaan¡¯s spider-crab.

    ¡°Are you going out to get your book fixed?¡± Ishaan asked curiously. He¡¯d crouched his steed down to make use of the dining bench. The innkeeper must see all sorts at his establishment, because he hadn¡¯t so much as batted an eye.

    Felun hesitated. ¡°Shouldn¡¯t we get some crystals for you first?¡±

    They¡¯d raided Yawen¡¯s cabinets for coins and jade and whatever portable objects they guessed held value enough to be worth carrying. Felun¡¯s share amounted to a respectable portion, but in his experience, the services of enchanters didn¡¯t come cheap.

    ¡°They won¡¯t run out like you think,¡± Ishaan said. ¡°It¡¯s more that I have to channel my own magic to use the damn thing, and there¡¯s not much you can do about that. Besides, you always used your book a lot. That¡¯s more important. I¡¯ll make sure no one breaks into our rooms while you¡¯re out looking, yeah? And I wouldn¡¯t mind having more of these potatoes.¡± He hummed appreciatively.

    Felun¡¯s hand crept to the mouth of his satchel as he considered the runebook¡¯s sorry state. True, it¡¯d be easier acquiring money with the full use of his skills. If even half of what was left in there was salvageable, he¡¯d be satisfied. The float runes alone were worth much, and it was a special kind of dismay to see them sleeping on the pages, charred and unreachable.

    ¡°Alright,¡± he said. ¡°I should be finished by evening, but let Yichen know if he gets back before me.¡±

    He hired the cheapest guide he could find, who led him all through Teok Heights and its unsatisfactory selection of unspecialised enchanters before depositing him at the doorstep of a bookbinder. Blacklock Bindery, said the establishment¡¯s elaborate sign, though its calligraphic flourishes were undercut by singe-marks around the door.

    ¡°Excuse me,¡± he muttered, shouldering past a sullen young man loitering at the entrance. A bell jingled as he opened the door.

    He might not have bothered going in were it not for the growing sense of defeat from a slew of enchanters pursing their lips at the book and waving him away on sight. A frisson of Breaker awareness made him pause past the threshold. When he took a moment to take a glimpse with his spell-sight, the place was absolutely bristling with wards. The sheer quantity of them struck him as suspicious, even alarming¡ªuntil he reflected that they were in Glister, not Shenzhou, and it was a sign of a talented mage as any.

    The shopfront displayed many books in glass-covered cases, without the glittering adornments common to all the enchanter¡¯s shops he¡¯d seen; for a moment, Felun fell back on his doubt at the use of coming here. But a large, bearded man behind the counter was waving him over and booming a greeting. He cringed inwardly. Having been spotted, it would be too awkward to change his mind.

    ¡°Hello. Do you do repairs?¡± he asked, bringing the book out of his satchel.

    The man peered down at it, nodding. ¡°Certainly, we do¡ªyou¡¯ll want to wait and speak with Mage Blacklock, though.¡± He nodded to the side of the shop, where a bald man was conversing with a pointy-hatted witch. ¡°He¡¯s the expert. I patch up air ducts, mainly.¡±

    ¡°Quite honestly, I have no idea,¡± Blacklock was saying. He inclined a hand at the nearest display case. ¡°But I notice you were admiring the poisoner¡¯s apocrypha? It¡¯s an antique binding, with silk ribbon and sewn headbands. The price is fifty crowns.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not interested in antiques,¡± the witch said.

    ¡°If you have more modern tastes, I do custom work on a per-basis fee.¡±

    The witch gave a feeble smile, followed by a noncommittal sound. ¡°Perhaps another time. If you recall any pertinent information about the incident¡ª¡±

    ¡°We can handle the occasional hooligan ourselves, thank you,¡± Blacklock said coolly. ¡°If that will be all, I must attend to my other customers.¡±

    ¡°You know where to find us,¡± the witch said, tipping the brim of her hat before striding out the door.

    Blacklock cleared his throat and brushed off his hands as he made his way behind the counter. ¡°Now what have we got here?¡± He adjusted his spectacles, frowning at the runebook. ¡°Stars above, what have you dragged in from the wars? May I examine it?¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± Felun said warily.

    Blacklock wiped his hands on a handkerchief before picking the book up and leafing through the pages. ¡°Mage¡¯s work¡­a compendium of rare runes? It doesn¡¯t seem to be an old volume, however¡­where did you come across such an object, if you don¡¯t mind my asking?¡±

    ¡°I made it,¡± Felun said reluctantly.

    ¡°You¡¯re a fellow craftsman, then?¡± Blacklock said as he inspected the inner covers. ¡°Or an academic?¡±

    ¡°Erm, neither. Used to work as a Breaker, for dungeonrunning¡­¡± He shrugged, hoping this line of questioning would be brushed over and soon done with.

    The bookbinder¡¯s gaze suddenly sharpened, but he put the book back down gently. ¡°An impressive work, then. If you¡¯d like the book restored to full functionality, it will take a few days. And we will have to discuss pricing¡­¡±

    Mage Blacklock¡¯s pricing seemed reasonable for the amount of work involved, even if there was an uneasy attentiveness to his manner since Felun had mentioned being a Breaker. He was pretty sure there weren¡¯t extensive taboos about Breaking among any human cultures as there was among faeries, but maybe Blacklock was among those who found the resultant blisters of Breaker work frightening or repulsive. Still, he had the grace to not make remarks or stare at Felun¡¯s bandages. Felun paid readily and listed the runes he¡¯d like reanimated in order of priority, before leaving the shop feeling like a surprising amount of weight had been taken off his shoulders. With the book restored, he¡¯d probably able to pick up some work in Glister, even if the demand was few and far between. It was a relief to not feel as helpless as when he¡¯d first stumbled off a boat and into the perils of Sihai.

    As he made his way down the street, the nape of his neck prickled with a strange unease. It was odd in such a crowded and boisterous place, not even shadowed by evening, but he hadn¡¯t acquired working instincts for nothing. The dungeons had taught him that his brain could get more information from a glimpse out the corner of his eye than most assumed.

    He paused with his back against the side of a shopfront and glanced over the approaching crowd. His gaze honed in on a greyish cloak. The young man loitering earlier, his memory supplied. Perhaps it was coincidence¡­but he¡¯d turned two corners since leaving the bindery, and he was aware that his looks were distinctive enough in this part of the world.

    Perhaps it was one of his father¡¯s people, his paranoia suggested, but it was the unlikeliest possibility. The news wouldn¡¯t have outflown them, and the man wasn¡¯t Cathayan besides. Iolite, then? No, she wouldn¡¯t be so subtle, and he hadn¡¯t recognised any schismatists among the faeries flitting around. He suspected they were all preoccupied with potion brewing and magic-stealing right now. If Iolite realised he was here and wanted him back, she¡¯d only need to ask Saiph to deliver her message, probably with an arrow nocked at him. Which wasn¡¯t a problem anymore, really¡ªnot when he could kill any faery at will.

    The man was most likely an opportunistic thief, he concluded. Shenzhou wasn¡¯t without its criminals, but in Glister they seemed to be everywhere. It was a harsher existence, on this continent. Yichen¡¯s suggestion to stay in Cathay nagged at him as he waited for his follower to pass him and veer off into the crowd. He took a circuitous route back to the inn, just in case.

    ===

    Yichen returned later that evening, looking vaguely murderous.

    ¡°Yuying¡¯s run off,¡± he said without preamble. ¡°No thanks to you.¡±

    Felun started, looking up from his dinner. ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°She disappeared a day after their boat landed. Left a note, at least.¡± Here, he paused meaningfully. ¡°Shirin and Jiahao are getting in a state about it. Why did you think sending her off to a city full of witches would be a good idea? Do you not remember how idiotic we were at that age?¡±

    Felun put down his spoon. ¡°I didn¡¯t¡ªlook, did she mention which coven she was planning on joining? I think a witch guild exists; we could find it and ask.¡±

    ¡°No, she didn¡¯t specify much of anything. I expect she left without any real plan.¡± Behind the acid in his voice, there was real worry.

    The sky was dark through the window. Felun was aware that cities were markedly more dangerous at night, even with a hired guide¡ªwhich meant it¡¯d be even worse for an inexperienced mage like Yuying. He pushed away his half-eaten meal, slung his satchel over his shoulder, headed out the door¡ªand came face to face with the woman who¡¯d called herself Carnation.

    ¡°Hello,¡± Carnation-more-likely-known-as-Kion said, locking eyes with him. ¡°I¡¯ve heard you¡ª¡±

    Felun shielded and leapt backward, straight into Yichen. They both fell over with a crash and several curses; several patrons turned to stare at the commotion. Felun rolled free and was back up on his feet, knees bent to spring and runequill springing to hand.

    ¡°Whoa, easy,¡± Kion said, taking a step back herself. Her hands were folded in front of her, but his spell-sight told him she had several spell-slips, twin daggers, and a pistol concealed under her coat. ¡°I don¡¯t want any trouble. In fact, I think we could be a great help to each other.¡±

    Yichen had found his footing and was now staring at her too. The innkeeper had walked out from behind the counter, one meaty hand very casually grasping a rolling pin.

    ¡°Now listen here,¡± the innkeeper said. Felun glimpsed wards roiling to life in the walls. ¡°I don¡¯t care to involve myself in anyone¡¯s personal matters. But there¡¯s to be no fighting in my establishment, understand?¡± He seemed to be largely addressing Felun and Yichen over Kion.

    Kion didn¡¯t seem perturbed by the attention. If anything, her tone grew even more prim and self-assured. ¡°Perfectly understood, good sir. Gentlemen, I only wanted to have an honest conversation.¡±

    Felun looked over to Yichen, who was casting him a look of puzzlement and alarm. Kion stood where she was, blocking their exit. Felun quickly thought his options over. Kion knew where they were staying. It would be a bad idea to run off now, leaving her opportunity to find out which rooms they¡¯d bought and sneak in. Worse, the innkeeper might tell her that Ishaan had come with them, and he might soon find himself the target of her questions. But Felun wasn¡¯t going to agree to follow her out into the night, either¡ªthat seemed like it¡¯d be a quick way to get stabbed.

    ¡°Come join us, then,¡± he challenged, stepping aside. ¡°We were just having dinner.¡±

    ¡°I was hoping to ask my questions in a more private venue,¡± she said, glancing around the room. ¡°I would extend an invitation¡ª¡±

    ¡°No thank you,¡± Felun said.

    ¡°Well, if you insist.¡±

    The look that Yichen shot him was even more startled than before, but he kept quiet as Kion followed them to their dining bench. He seemed to infer that being among a handful of patrons and under the eye of the innkeeper was safer than not.

    ¡°I see you¡¯ve lost your schismatist friends,¡± Kion began.

    ¡°Yes,¡± Felun replied curtly. ¡°I don¡¯t want any trouble and I don¡¯t see how that has anything to do with you, Kion¡ªif that¡¯s even your real name.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s Kionah,¡± she said wryly. ¡°Or ¡®Miss Sadrava¡¯, if you don¡¯t wish to be so familiar. Pleased to meet you, though I¡¯ll point out that you were the one who jumped out of thin air to attack me and companion. Disguised as a Magician, no less.¡±

    ¡°What is she talking about?¡± Yichen murmured to him in Cathayan.

    Felun ignored him for the time being. Yichen was now aware of his contracts and obligations, but not of the specifics. ¡°That wasn¡¯t my decision, and I¡¯d rather not do it again.¡±

    Her look turned contemplative. ¡°Yes, I did guess as much. You could¡¯ve done an awful lot worse when we met in the Academy, for one thing.¡±

    ¡°Why are you here?¡± he asked impatiently.

    ¡°I have a proposal for you,¡± Kionah said. ¡°Seeing as you¡¯re a real Breaker. There¡¯s good money in it for you, if you agree.¡±

    ¡°Agree to what?¡± he asked suspiciously. ¡°Does it have something to do with my former¡ªthe schismatists?¡±

    ¡°Ah, former,¡± Kionah said, tracing a finger over a whorl on the table. ¡°I am glad to hear that. It would be awkward to find out you were genuinely hell bent on wreaking havoc on the city like the rest of them. As a matter of fact, yes. Is that an insurmountable problem for you?¡±

    He said nothing, hoping his silence would draw out more details. She seemed to sense a different tack was needed.

    ¡°Look, I have much more reason to worry about you than you of me. I won¡¯t pry into your reasons for leaving your former employers if you wouldn¡¯t like that, but if acting in opposition to them requires a hazard payment, I am more than happy to pay it.¡± She leaned in closer and lowered her voice. ¡°Fifty crowns a week won¡¯t tempt you? And I¡¯ve got a hundred set aside as a sign-on bonus, so to speak.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t need your money,¡± he lied. A nice lump sum wouldn¡¯t be worth much if he got killed in the getting of it.

    ¡°Everyone needs money,¡± Kionah said. ¡°I¡¯ll even pay you for mere information about your former employers, though the going rate for that is much less, you understand, due to its unverifiable nature. Not something I usually offer, but¡ªwell, forgive me for speaking honestly, but you look like someone who might have a grudge.¡± She paused, grinning, and her tone deepened viciously into an almost-growl. ¡°Don¡¯t you want to fuck ¡®em over? Here¡¯s your chance.¡±

    Felun scowled. It was certainly tempting to spout a few guesses, pocket some coins, and make a run for it. But Ishaan would need time in the city to seek passage and the idea of indirectly dragging him into this mess was intolerable¡ªnot to mention the problem of locating the suddenly disappeared Yuying. Kionah seemed like the sort of person to have other friends at her back, and he was stuck here for a while yet.

    ¡°I really can¡¯t overstate how much I¡¯d like your help,¡± Kionah continued. ¡°You¡¯re looking at me like I¡¯m going to shoot you and reclaim my coin right afterward, but you¡¯ve got a nice big influential Cathayan family, right? Do feel free to hand over your wages to them for safekeeping out of the city or some such plan; I don¡¯t mind. We¡¯re quite the ragtag operation, nowhere in your clan¡¯s weight class. You¡¯ve got nothing to fear from me, I can promise you that.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t trust this girl,¡± Yichen said, in Cathayan.

    Felun ignored him, still thinking of Yuying and Ishaan. A hundred Glisterian crowns wasn¡¯t an immediately life-changing amount of coin, but it could be very, very useful for smoothing the way. He¡¯d be lucky to make that amount in two month¡¯s worth of dedicated dungeonrunning, back in Ironport. And Iolite hadn¡¯t paid him at all.

    ¡°Explain it to me,¡± he said, folding his arms.

    ¡°Haoyu,¡± Yichen interrupted. ¡°You¡¯re not seriously considering this.¡±

    He held up a hand. ¡°This will help us find Yuying,¡± he replied in Cathayan. ¡°It¡¯ll help you both, once you return to Cathay. How much do you have to your name back home?¡±

    ¡°Plenty enough,¡± Yichen said.

    Felun scowled. ¡°No, how much do you really have? It¡¯s all stored in proxy vaults, isn¡¯t it? You saw the spell mother tried to use on me. Do you really believe you¡¯re immune? That with me gone, they won¡¯t turn their attentions onto you or Yuying¡ªor, yes, I suppose even Guofan¡ªand that you won¡¯t need to fend for yourselves?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t¡ª¡± Yichen said.

    ¡°Yes, yes,¡± Felun said, shaking his head. ¡°I know. You keep your head down and you¡¯re not stupid like me, only because you¡¯ve never had to run against their desires. What happens when father forces Yuying to marry some courtier she hates? You can hope you¡¯ll never need some emergency stash they don¡¯t know about, but better to have it than not. You know what it¡¯s like at court.¡±

    Yichen set his jaw. ¡°This is hardly worth risking yourself for.¡±

    ¡°Really? I recall you saying something about how I didn¡¯t care for you all,¡± he couldn¡¯t help sniping.

    ¡°I will not exchange my own brother for vague promises of betterment,¡± Yichen said sharply.

    ¡°If¡¯s a good thing you¡¯re not the one doing the exchanging then,¡± Felun said sourly, and a strange, tired resolve settled into his bones. ¡°It¡¯s my choice to make, and I¡¯m making it. It might be good for me to do something useful, for once.¡±

    Yichen regarded him with something like fear on his face. ¡°Don¡¯t blindly agree. I can¡¯t stop you, but don¡¯t throw yourself into the fire out of this sudden sense of duty you¡¯ve conjured for yourself.¡±

    ¡°Duty? Maybe a little bit. Mostly practicality. Maybe even a little revenge. How exciting.¡± He smiled tightly to himself and turned back to Kionah. ¡°Sorry, that was rude of us. Tell me what you¡¯d like broken.¡±

 Interlude: object lessons, part I

    The Magicians had taken over the sparring yard.

    Rana waited by the benches, twisting a miniature spell net in her hands. Karim tapped a foot anxiously next to her, arms crossed and shoulders hunched. She had a good idea of what was troubling him and zero desire to broach the topic. A fresh commotion sprouted on the sparring square, flung gestures and grumbles over who had won the round.

    Rana took apart her spell net, then wove it again from scratch. She¡¯d been practicing every spare chance she got, after that disastrous lesson on the salt. Magician Cardainne had taken them out once more since, and she¡¯d fared better. His Healer sister had still needed to fix up her face and hands, but it was nothing like the first time.

    Improvement was improvement, she told herself, but she felt a phantom crackle in her lungs as she sighed. Perhaps it was her imagination, but it seemed like the breaths she took now were a sliver less full than they used to be.

    ¡°The Healer wouldn¡¯t have let you leave with lung damage,¡± Karim had said when she brought it up, but she knew for a fact that he¡¯d never failed at weaving a spell net five times in a row.

    Cardainne was on next. He¡¯d donned sparring gear instead of his usual robes, similar to the stuff worn by guards. His opponent was another Magician with her hair wrapped beneath a dark blue scarf. They both hefted practice swords: carved from wood and finely-shaped, but heavy enough to hurt. Karim had muttered this little detail on the way here, and she¡¯d worried they would have to participate. The official apprentices had sparring classes after all, ones she was reluctant to attend for a multitude of reasons. So far, she was in luck. This event seemed more like a social activity for the fully-fledged than anything that could be construed as a lesson.

    Cardainne bowed to his opponent. She bowed back, with enough of a flourish to be deemed just shy of mocking. They readied themselves on opposite sides of the square. Cardainne raised his sword into a guard position. His opponent¡ªsomewhat arrogantly, Rana thought¡ªangled her sword loosely at her side.

    ¡°Begin!¡± shouted the overseer.

    Cardainne charged, surprisingly fast. His opponent dove out of the way, dodging both his feint and his actual swing. She brought her own sword up in a swift thrust, which he parried at the last second. Then the two locked themselves into a darting, back-and-forth dance of blades which Rana had trouble following. She could only conclude that it would be far more stressful to watch if there were actual sharp objects involved. The gathered Magicians gave out wordless whoops and shouts, with no one seeming to root for any actual side.

    That was Magicians for you, Rana thought as she picked at her net. Always hedging their bets. Personally, she was hoping this was an opportunity for Cardainne to sustain a small injury. Only a small one, mind. Just enough to distract him from asking her about her progress on his assigned readings.

    ¡°Our master¡¯s not doing so well today,¡± Karim remarked quietly.

    It was a good thing she had plenty of practice keeping a blank face in front of gossips, she reflected. ¡°Really? That¡¯s unfortunate.¡±

    She glanced back up at the fight: a blur of movement, more ducking and slashing, dust kicked up all over the sparring square. Cardainne twisted like a snake, bringing the point of his sword against his opponent¡¯s chest. In the very same moment, she swept her blade up and smacked it into his stomach.

    Cardainne let out a surprised grunt. His opponent barked out a laugh.

    ¡°A draw,¡± the overseer declared, and the gathered crowd erupted into whistles and cheers. Rana put down her spell-net to offer a few half-hearted claps for the show of the thing.

    There followed a round of good-natured handshakes and claps on the back. Cardainne handed his mock-blade off to a colleague and walked towards them. With sweat and dust marring his brow, he almost looked like a normal person. His opponent was tailing him, Rana noted, and not even in a way that suggested she was about to club him over the back of the head. To her further surprise, Cardainne stepped aside and waved her closer.

    ¡°Mahin, my apprentices. I¡¯m sure you¡¯ve seen Karim about before, but the other one is new.¡± His gaze landed on her. ¡°Miss Khan, this is Magician Barzegar, an esteemed colleague of mine.¡±

    Magician Barzegar favoured them both with a warm smile. ¡°Pleased to meet you. I see you¡¯re hard at work on your spell net forms! Always a pleasure to see apprentices showing dedication.¡± She turned to Cardainne. ¡°So, what does your itinerary look like? Zubaida offered to look after my lot for the afternoon. You might be able to coax someone else into minding yours, if you¡¯re quick.¡±

    Cardainne grimaced. ¡°Not today. I must take them out to the skyship graves while the air is clear¡ªKarim needs practice, with the examinations soon. And it can¡¯t hurt to get an apprenticeling started on trying proper spellwork a little earlier.¡±

    ¡°How uncharacterically responsible of you,¡± Barzegar drawled, her eyes twinkling with amusement. ¡°I¡¯ll join your little expedition, if you¡¯ve got a spare smoke on your person¡­?¡±

    ¡°I see you have nothing better to do than to leech off my kindheartedness,¡± Cardainne said.

    ¡°On the contrary. I consider it an administrative duty to keep you from dying of boredom on such a lovely day.¡±

    ¡°For selfish purposes, to be sure. Who else would fend off Faizan¡¯s wrath for you if I met my end?¡± he sniped back, gathering his belongings. Straightening up, he looked in Rana¡¯s direction with all of the humour gone from his tone. ¡°You two, go have lunch and meet me in my office in half of the hour.¡±

    ¡°Yes, Master Cardainne,¡± Karim said, bowing.

    Rana copied him and hurried off before Cardainne remembered about the readings.

    +++

    Their so-called expedition had grown by another four by the time lunch was over.

    ¡°Weathermancer Mehr will be joining us,¡± Cardainne said a touch sourly. ¡°As well as Magician Shahriyar and his apprentice Tsimur, who I have been told is a third cousin of mine.¡± His tone brooked not the slightest hint of familial favour. ¡°We will all be taking the same zephyr boat.¡±

    ¡°The dead ship flats are a good place for practice,¡± Barzegar remarked as they made their way down to the zephyr yards. It took Rana a moment to realise Barzegar was addressing her. ¡°I take it you haven¡¯t been there before?¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s correct, Magician Barzegar,¡± Rana said carefully.

    ¡°Well, don¡¯t try to explore the insides. They¡¯re decommissioned for a reason; there¡¯s a good chance you¡¯ll fall right through the floor like the last apprentice who tried.¡±

    ¡°Of course,¡± Rana said. She paused, feeling a spike of morbid curiousity. ¡°What happened to the apprentice in question?¡±

    Barzegar laughed. ¡°I¡¯m supposed to say ¡®alas, he suffered painful injuries and died of them¡¯ to scare you from doing the same. In truth, he only suffered painful injuries and the scolding of his life. We got him to a Healer in time.¡±

    A Weathermancer and her apprentice awaited them by their zephyr-boat. They both looked to be vaguely highborn sorts, dressed in shapeless robes and decorated with the green tassels of their trade.

    ¡°Where is Shahriyar?¡± Magician Barzegar said irritably, glancing around the yard. A few workers and salt-kiters hurried through, but no Magicians that Rana could see. ¡°Always late, that man.¡±

    ¡°We should leave without him one of these days,¡± Cardainne suggested, swinging up into their boat. ¡°Perhaps it will teach him a lesson.¡±

    ¡°Ah, but we¡¯d never hear the end of it,¡± Barzegar muttered, striding towards the boat. ¡°What are you all standing around for? Get in.¡±

    Rana hastened to follow Karim aboard the boat.

    ¡°Watch out,¡± a voice piped up, and she stopped just short of tripping over a coil of rope on the deck. ¡°That¡¯s the emergency anchor line.¡±

    She glanced up self-consciously. It was the Weathermancer apprentice who¡¯d spoken, and Rana was surprised at the hint of lower-kingdom accent in her words.

    ¡°Thank you,¡± she said, stepping carefully over the ropes. It was her first time on a proper zephyr-boat. ¡°I assume you know more about this than me; where should I sit?¡±

    ¡°Just on the side-benches, but near the back. Your masters will want to sit close to the prow, I expect,¡± the apprentice said, jerking her head at where Cardainne, Barzegar, and Mehr stood speaking amongst themselves. ¡°I don¡¯t know if they¡¯ll fight over who gets to steer. Probably not? You Magicians are different.¡±

    Rana was suddenly struck with a twisting need to disassociate herself from you Magicians. ¡°I¡¯m not a¡­¡± she started. ¡°That is, I¡¯m not really¡ª¡±

    Karim elbowed her in the side. She stifled a shriek; he¡¯d glided up without her noticing. ¡°This is my cousin,¡± he said with a dip of his head. ¡°Rana Khan.¡±

    ¡°Oh! I thought I hadn¡¯t seen you around before, but I¡¯m not so good with faces.¡± The apprentice smiled ruefully. ¡°Nice to meet you. I¡¯m Yasmeen; Yasmeen Scionsong.¡±

    Rana inhaled, chest seizing tight. It wasn¡¯t residual damage from the mist, she told herself as the world swayed a little.

    She¡¯d been aware of a few Scionsongs scattered throughout the Libraries, but they were distant, older, lacking¡­similarities. It was just a little discomposure, she told herself as the air returned to her lungs. Distress from the unexpectedness of it all¡ªthough really, she should have foreseen this.

    There was a fair number of unclaimed progeny about, with the way bloodlines and claimants worked. Even if Scionsongs were rare in the upper echelons compared to Shahriyars and Cardainnes, even if that meant many lowborn Scionsongs would have been¡­drained¡­on that awful night, she should have expected to have to speak to one sooner or later.

    Karim, the gods bless him, elbowed her again. She gave Yasmeen a practiced smile and was saved from having to answer by Magician Shahriyar¡¯s arrival.

    ¡°There you are,¡± Cardainne said pleasantly. ¡°What kept you?¡±

    ¡°The usual rubbish,¡± Magician Shahriyar said, hoisting himself elegantly aboard. His apprentice scrabbled after him, half-tripping over the same pile of rope Rana had narrowly avoided. ¡°I heard you two were prancing in the sword yard earlier. Put on quite the show?¡±

    Cardainne cast an almost inscrutable glance at Shahriyar. ¡°Some of us like to keep with the traditions.¡±

    Shahriyar chuckled. ¡°You¡¯re both high up in the line of succession for that damn thing, aren¡¯t you? Most of us don¡¯t have to bother. Now, who¡¯s sailing this blasted craft? The Weathermancer?¡±

    Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

    Weathermancer Mehr bristled visibly but kept wisely silent.

    ¡°I will,¡± Barzegar said. ¡°Sit down, before you fall over.¡±

    The boat lifted smoothly off the sand, sweeping eastwards. The air was brisk and clear, but salt-white mists cloaked the southern horizon. Their route consisted largely of dunes, with little more than the occasional clump of desert grass to catch the eye. At length, shapes began to emerge from the shallowing dunes. At least thirty large skyships listed in the sands, their shells riddled with dry rot and spell-damage. Some of them looked much newer, scorched with more than spellfire. Rana¡¯s mind conjured up dark claws ripping into sailcloth, winged bodies swarming over decks, blood-magic arcing like arrows.

    ¡°I suppose we¡¯re all off to target practice now,¡± Shahriyar said lazily, vaulting over the side as the boat came to a stop. He let out a huff as he landed heavily, then called up at them. ¡°When will you be back, Weathermancer?¡±

    ¡°Before sunset,¡± Weathermancer Mehr said, taking the wheel from Barzegar. She lowered the zephyr until its prow nudged against the sand. ¡°There¡¯ll be two boatfuls of kiters and guards coming this way before then, if you wish to return early.¡±

    All of the Magicians disembarked. Rana followed and snuck a parting glance at Yasmeen as the Weathermancers sailed off, heading further south. It was a foolish impulse; Scionsongs were as likely to look different from one another as the same, connected by name more often than blood. If she¡¯d been hoping for a true echo of Aliyah, she didn¡¯t see it in Yasmeen. She wasn¡¯t sure whether that felt like a blessing or a curse.

    Shahriyar and his apprentice wandered off, heading for the side of the ruins covered by shade. Cardainne led them in the opposite direction. They threaded through a scattered field of debris until they faced the side of a once-magnificent ship with holes blown out of its side.

    ¡°Go through your exercises,¡± Cardainne instructed Karim. He turned his attention toward Rana, and she steeled herself against the usual shudder of dread that came with it. ¡°You, on the other hand¡ªis it too much to hope that you know a combat spell?¡±

    ¡°Where did you poach her from?¡± Barzegar asked, before she could speak. ¡°The Library? She¡¯ll know something.¡±

    ¡°Only the Lower Library,¡± Cardainne said with a shrug. ¡°So I doubt it. Well? Am I correct?¡±

    Rana gathered her thoughts, thinking each sentence through before speaking them. It was a habit she was accustomed to using around court gossips and people who were probably spying for others in some capacity or other, and it was serving her well now. ¡°I know two runic arrays that would fall into combat magic. They¡¯re offshoots of warding, however.¡±

    Not too far off, she heard the sizzle of spellfire and splintering wood as Karim warmed up his casting.

    ¡°You make them with a runequill?¡± Barzegar asked. ¡°Funny toys, those.¡±

    ¡°Kindly stop interrupting my lesson,¡± Cardainne said, tone mild with warning. He turned back to Rana. ¡°We the Magicians do not like to rely on runequills. They have their uses, but not in a fight. The nets I have taught you are for protecting yourself from mists, but a Magician cannot only be able to defend against her environment. It should be clear to you now that other forms of threat arise against the kingdom, and a Magician must know how to fight against things which know ways to fight back.

    ¡°Now, try to copy this. You must learn to harm unliving objects before learning the spellforms against living flesh. Not only is the initial casting easier, but it will accustom you to the correct instincts.¡± Glowing blue flames sprouted from his upraised hand. ¡°I expect you know the base form of spell-light, and that is as good as any of a place to start. Take that and force it to become a fire. Use the concepts of heat and cleansing. Naturally, a fire will be inclined to consume wood as fuel. With practice, you will make it burn through brick, mortar, bone.¡±

    To her relief, she knew not only the base form of spell-light, but a few stronger variants as well¡ªtoo many nights spent burning through candle wicks not to. Casting her fiercest light, she tried twisting it into what she knew fire to be: bright heat and crackling air, eager to chew through wood and paper.

    It took a lot of magic to learn the shapes of new spells, even with a clear demonstration like Cardainne¡¯s. This spell was poised to be a violent one, quite far from her usual orbits. She was verging on dizzy by the time the light in her hand began to visibly change. Cardainne watched on with his usual bored, vaguely impatient air; Barzegar stared for a bit, then wandered off to supervise Karim. Rana coughed, pushing the spell further. Sweat stung her eyes and blood bubbled up at the back of her throat.

    Slowly¡ªpainfully slowly¡ªher light became fire.

    There was a wrongful quality to the transformation; she took an unsteady step backward, threads of magic pulsing feverishly beneath her skin. The spell sputtered blue in her hand, waiting like a captive comet. Her heart gave a sick pulse. It felt like knowledge she shouldn¡¯t have been allowed to learn.

    But Cardainne walked closer, peering at her creation. Was that a hint of a smile on his face? ¡°You are a much quicker study at this than the nets. But don¡¯t just hold it. Try aiming and throwing.¡± He pointed at a ragged section of the ship¡¯s siding.

    Rana glanced over to where Karim was hurling spell-bolts and shifted her stance to copy his form. The spell wasn¡¯t as heavy as she¡¯d expected; the real weight of the spell lay in the growing pressure behind her ribs and a headache sparking to life. She swing her arm. The spellfire burst eagerly from her hand and flew as straight as a falling falcon. The siding folded open with a crash, her magic flaying a new path through the ship¡¯s guts. Rana dropped her arm, panting.

    ¡°Good work,¡± Cardainne said. ¡°Now, again.¡±

    +++

    The shadows had well and truly shifted by the time Cardainne called for them to stop. Karim wasn¡¯t doing much better than her by now, bracing hands on knees to catch his breath. They walked to stand¡ªand in Karim¡¯s case, sit¡ªunder the new shadows. Magician Shahriyar was already there, lounging with his nose in a book. His apprentice was out of sight, but the faint cracks of spell-drills rang out from somewhere in the middle-distance.

    ¡°Aren¡¯t you going to call Tsimur back?¡± Barzegar asked.

    ¡°Our boat should be passing in half an hour.¡± Shahriyar licked his finger and turned a page idly. ¡°He can keep practicing until then.¡±

    ¡°We are not helping you carry him back if he suffers a heat collapse again,¡± Cardainne said, retrieving a cigarette from the depths of his robe.

    Shahriyar sighed, marking his place with a scrap of parchment. ¡°Fine. I¡¯ll fetch him.¡±

    Barzegar turned to Cardainne expectantly as Shahriyar strode off. Cardainne produced another cigarette and lit both with a spark of conjured flame. Rana sat down a little distance up from Karim and tried to take deep, even breaths. She wiped her mouth over the back of her hand, expecting more blood. Nothing but pinkish drool this time, but her chest still felt as if it had a dozen inkpots weighing it down. She massaged her sternum with the heel of her hand, wincing as it did little to relieve the pressure.

    Valeryia Cardainne had said she¡¯d healed her properly, Rana thought, but she wasn¡¯t compelled to be truthful. There was no court scrutiny of her claims. Perhaps she would feel it was her right to spite her bastard half-brother by hampering his apprenticeling¡­

    ¡°Are you alright?¡± Barzegar asked.

    Rana stiffened, glancing up.

    Barzegar regarded her calmly, exhaling a plume of blueish smoke. ¡°Didn¡¯t burn out, did you?¡±

    ¡°No,¡± Rana said. Not quite.

    ¡°Injured?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m¡­not sure.¡±

    Barzegar looked over her shoulder at Cardainne and called to him. ¡°Ilya, what wars have you been putting your apprenticeling through?¡±

    Cardainne strolled closer. ¡°Not awfully much. She¡¯s holding her nets on the salt now, and Valeryia does not need to be involved.¡±

    ¡°Hmm. Just flux-susceptible, then?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t think so,¡± he said, frowning. ¡°Karim is not, and they are related by blood¡­¡±

    Barzegar tutted. ¡°I would say she has it, if Valeryia found nothing else. Look at that posture! You, of all people, should know better. Have you felt troubled by your breathing for a while now, Apprenticeling Khan?¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± Rana admitted, and hesitated, searching Cardainne¡¯s expression for any hint of warning. Finding none, she elaborated. ¡°Since close to the beginning of my studies.¡±

    Barzegar nodded. ¡°That would be it, then. You should have mentioned it earlier. Ilya, another if you would?¡±

    Sighing, he passed her another cigarette. Barzegar lit it with a small white fire dancing on a fingertip and passed it to Rana, who took it with a mixture of alarm and confusion.

    ¡°Breathe it in,¡± Barzegar said, returning to her own smoke. ¡°It will help.¡±

    ¡°Isn¡¯t this¡­?¡± She hesitated. ¡°I¡¯ve heard it¡¯s not particularly good for the lungs.¡±

    Cardainne made an impatient gesture with his free hand. ¡°Yes, yes. It is bad in other ways. But we have Healers for that.¡±

    ¡°Have some,¡± Barzegar urged. ¡°Or give it to me if you¡¯re going to waste it. There are potions which do the same thing, but they don¡¯t work nearly as well. They taste so bad, too.¡±

    Rana eyed the plume of blue smoke distrustfully; it was moreso Barzegar¡¯s claims of healthfulness that worried her more than the item itself. Many of her older colleagues smoked¡ªwhen off-duty and far away from the scrolls, that was¡ªbut they didn¡¯t walk around proclaiming how refreshing of an activity it was. Still, she thought, as her lungs caught on the exhale, it wasn¡¯t like it could make her feel much worse than she felt already¡­

    She inhaled. Her lungs still ached, but the sensation seemed to dull. Was it her imagination? She blinked a little dizzily. She inhaled again, coughing a little. Her breathing seemed to come easier once it subsided.

    ¡°What¡¯s this made of?¡±

    Barzegar was looking at her closely. ¡°The dried roots of a grey and golden plant which grows far out in the mists. Do harvest some if you ever see it. Its burnt fumes soak up excess.¡±

    ¡°Excess¡­?¡± Rana asked. She returned to the smoke. The pain in her lungs faded with every breath. She¡¯d never felt so filled with light. ¡°Of what?¡±

    ¡°Magic, of course.¡± Barzegar frowned, as if puzzled she were unaware of something so obvious. ¡°Your shields keep out poison, but not ambient Field magic. If you¡¯re susceptible, the wild particles¡­it burrows into your lungs and bloodstream. Accumulates over time. Quite uncomfortable after a while. I¡¯m still surprised you didn¡¯t notice her difficulty with it, Ilya.¡±

    Cardainne shrugged. ¡°They usually complain before it gets so bad. My mistake.¡±

    Barzegar patted her on the shoulder and Rana jumped, almost dropping the cigarette.

    ¡°There now,¡± Barzegar said, smiling. ¡°That was very stoical of you, but please mention if there are other problems. We the Magicians take care of our own.¡±

    +++

    The days passed in a patchwork of Lower Library duties and Magician study. Rana whittled down Cardainne¡¯s list of books in between shift changes, while eating her meals, and during any spare moment she could steal. Juggling her scribe livelihood and apprenticeling work wasn¡¯t easy and only rarely entertaining. One night, she found herself slipping into a drowse and using her copy of Ninth Era Divinatory Writings as a pillow, only roused when Templeton scampered off her shoulder and began chewing on the pages.

    But in some ways, life was easier. Her apprenticeling cloak gave her free passage into the Higher Library, saw her greeted politely by other Magicians on her way to Cardainne¡¯s office, and served as a remarkable barrier against sudden rains out on the salt flats. It was, she thought, not as terrible a position as she¡¯d thought it had been. She was learning steadily and if she was especially tired at the end of a scribery shift, she still had her comfortable quarters and the fluffy affection of her pets to return to. She still had the luxury of many friends and acquaintances, most of them too polite to question her about rumours of Magicianhood.

    ¡°I was called upon to assist the kingdom,¡± she said gravely to the few that hinted around their questions, and if anything this furthered her small but growing reputation. Even Farzaneh looked at her with a hint of marvel when they met to talk.

    Omar was the only one who spoke his words plainly. ¡°Did you ask your cousin for a place?¡± he asked as they were stocking the shelves together.

    It was with complete honesty that she replied, ¡°No. I didn¡¯t ask for anything.¡±

    When she finished Cardainne¡¯s reading list, he immediately handed her another. She fought back a groan, but traversed the Higher Library with growing confidence. She grew to know the Librarian¡¯s faces and the Higher Scribe¡¯s names. On one occasion, she even glimpsed the Seventhborn Achernar reading poetry on the third floor lounge, surrounded by guards and a Magician escort. The Seventhborn had a very ugly triangular pendant around her neck, she noted, probably a courter¡¯s token made of crystal or something expensive. Poor, foolish Karim and his doomed infatuation, she thought, not for the first time.

    It was on another Library visit that she had the misfortune to run into Magician Kurhah. She rounded a stack in search of Advanced Thaumatic Principles and came to face to face with the woman.

    ¡°Ilya¡¯s new apprenticeling, is it?¡± Kurhah said before she had a chance to make her apologies and back away. ¡°What are you, some kind of court pet?¡±

    Kurhah reached forward and tipped her chin back up with sharp fingers, gaze cold and searching.

    Rana flinched, twisting her face away. Thankfully, Kurhah let go.

    ¡°Not the first time I¡¯ve seen the likes of you,¡± Kurhah continued conversationally. ¡°Playing favourites with Barzegar too, I heard? I don¡¯t know what lies his lot are feeding you, but don¡¯t get any ideas above your station.¡±

    Kurhah swept off, trailing blue. Rana swiped angrily at her chin, striding off in search of Cardainne¡¯s godsdamned book.

    +++

    ¡°It¡¯s high time you had one of these,¡± Cardainne said one day, apropos of nothing.

    She glanced up from the last chapter of Advanced Thaumatic Principles and saw him holding out a wooden box.

    As she opened it, she was half expecting it to contain another accursed book. Instead, she found herself staring into the painted eyes of a pale bird¡¯s mask.

    ¡°The material is enchanted specifically for you,¡± he said. ¡°Try it on.¡±

    She lifted the mask out of the box and brought it to her face. The material felt cool and smooth; come to think of it, she¡¯d never asked what the masks were made of. The likes of Kurhah wouldn¡¯t be able to dig their fingers into her chin through it, anyhow. As the edges touched her face, she felt them shifting subtly to better fit the curve of her cheeks and jaw. The cord which held it on could be adjusted with a metal clasp. It was light and comfortable. It probably made her look like a real Magician. A ¡®thaumaturge¡¯ feared by all.

    She¡¯d known they were bespelled, but her vision wasn¡¯t impeded by the margins of eyeholes as she would¡¯ve expected.

    ¡°There¡¯s a field-of-view enchantment on this?¡± she said, surprised.

    ¡°Of course,¡± Cardainne said. ¡°We the Magicians cannot make ourselves see as far around as an owl, but the eyes of the kingdom shall never obstruct its view for the sake of armour or simple decoration. It is a very practical item, is it not?¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± she said. ¡°Thank you, Master Cardainne.¡±

    It was a good mask, she thought, and felt oddly reluctant to take it back off. It was so well-crafted, in fact, that she hardly felt like she was wearing one at all.

 Interlude: object lessons, part II

    ¡°It is common superstition to not believe a Healer¡¯s dead until we see the body,¡± Cardainne said from behind his desk. ¡°Since I cannot supervise you during Karim¡¯s examinations, this minor task should occupy you in the meantime.¡±

    Surely he didn¡¯t expect her to trawl the desert for Healer Zahir¡¯s corpse? Rana thought.

    As if reading her mind, he continued in a jaded sort of drawl. ¡°Of course, there are all sorts of silly suppositions that Sungrazers might be harbouring a traitorous Healer. Rumours that they used the commotion of a battle to whisk him away. Personally, I think some people possess far too much creativity. But if you were to go through Healer Salai¡¯s documents and note any incongruous correspondence, that would be a small task off my desk. We the Magicians do believe in delegating where appropriate, and you were scribe-trained. I trust you can carry out such a simple task.¡±

    Rana cleared her throat. ¡°Master Cardainne, will I need your seal to enter a Healer¡¯s rooms?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ve prepared one here.¡± He pointed at a square of parchment at the corner of his desk. ¡°Show it to any Healer you like and they will escort you.¡±

    She took the parchment, glaring at the swirls of blue ink and wax seal which accompanied Cardainne¡¯s instructions. Searching for an off-duty Healer had her running in circles, until one of the cooks took pity on her and pointed her the way of the Healer¡¯s lounges.

    A sole pair Healers occupied the red-draped room, sipping tea over dense-looking books.

    ¡°Hey!¡± One of them said sharply. ¡°Second-ranks and up only, did you read the sign?¡±

    ¡°She¡¯s got Magician colours, fool,¡± the other said, rising from her chair. ¡°What errand have you got for us this time?¡±

    Rana set her jaw and presented Cardainne¡¯s note.

    ¡°Hmph,¡± the woman said, crossing her arms. ¡°That misplaced bastard, Saar-Salai? About time they dug into his dealings, though they should have sent more than an apprentice. I¡¯ll accompany you.¡±

    ¡°Have fun, Aida,¡± the other Healer said, bending back over his pages. ¡°Don¡¯t forget, one of the Shahriyars has a dinner on tonight.¡±

    Rana narrowed her eyes at his words. Aida¡­Aida what-was-it-again? Aida Najm, that was it. It was a familiar name. When she cast about for context and recognition¡ªAliyah with her head clutched in her hands, Aliyah struggling to form words, Aliyah crying into her shoulder¡ªshe had to push the memory away.

    ¡°I¡¯ll be there,¡± Healer Najm called over her shoulder. ¡°Well, apprentice? We haven¡¯t got all day.¡±

    The way to Healer Zahir¡¯s offices was a winding, dimensional one. Najm cursed softly under her breath as they navigated a set of stairs, her trailing hand rousing hidden runes along the wall. Rana recognised pathing signs for triangulation and identification, a technique she¡¯d seen the oldest Librarians use. Was the entire castle latticed with secret information? How was it fair, that a select few danced their way across the web, while everyone else stumbled blindly? The runes winked out almost as quickly as they lit up, giving little glow to light the way. Najm¡¯s tread echoed ominously across the stone. At last, they arrived at a set of double doors, no doubt rippling with invisible wards. Najm simply touched a finger to her Healer¡¯s badge and flung them open with a muttered spell.

    The inside was as expansive as Cardainne¡¯s. Much more colourful, though. There was a large desk in pride of place, with lounges and tables scattered elsewhere. Rana walked up to the desk and stifled a groan. It was completely covered in books and papers. Apothecary bottles were mixed throughout the mess. A storm glass perched sullenly at the base of a small sun lamp, proclaiming rain like a crystallised tear drop. Dried lizards served as paperweights. Really, it looked as bad as Samara¡¯s shelves.

    ¡°Stars,¡± Healer Najm sneered behind her. Rana turned to see she was glancing around with crossed arms. ¡°I¡¯d¡¯ve liked an office as nice as this. Talk about first-rank amenities.¡±

    Rana raised an eyebrow. Hadn¡¯t they been the same rank?

    Najm caught her eye and her sneer slipped into a scowl. ¡°He was a lucky bastard, to be sure. Put his master in the ground and inherited it all afterwards. Go on, do your investigating.¡± She wandered over to a lounge and flopped down luxuriantly.

    Rana seated herself at the desk and began sorting through the papers. The handwriting was atrocious, but not the worst she¡¯d seen. There was no sign of Sungrazers in any of his correspondence. It was all boring work stuff and files peppered with several words she didn¡¯t understand.

    She brought one of the more suspect documents to Healer Najm, who was browsing a shelf of books lining the far wall with a covetous look in her eyes. ¡°What does ¡®intussusception¡¯ mean?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s an intestinal problem. Why?¡±

    ¡°These are Healer terms, then?¡± she asked, pointing out more words she hadn¡¯t heard of before. ¡°And not some sort of code?¡±

    Healer Najm squinted at the document. ¡°Looks like a normal report to me.¡±

    Rana returned to the desk and rattled around for the typical secret compartments built into desks. She only found one, which contained pill bottles rather than incriminating letters from Sungrazer sorts. Cardainne couldn¡¯t reasonably get angry at her for truthfully reporting she¡¯d found nothing, could he? He did seem more reasonable than Kurhah and a few others she¡¯d had the misfortune to witness berating their apprentices. Still, it didn¡¯t hurt to be thorough.

    Rana moved on to searching the cupboards: nothing but bizarre collections of medical tools. Had he ever actually needed to use these? she wondered, or was it all some kind of hoarder¡¯s personal museum? She rummaged through every cupboard, barging into the attached sleeping quarters and going so far as to pry at suspicious-looking floorboards. She even went through the bookshelves for hidden envelopes, systematically fanning the tomes open.

    Three hours later, there was still nothing of note: no proof of traitorship and no signs of Aliyah either. Rana swallowed her disappointment; she¡¯d been hoping, on some level, that if not in Alhena¡¯s rooms, there¡¯d at least be some hint here. But Healer Zahir¡¯s office was a wasteland. There was nothing useful for Cardainne, just as there was nothing useful for her.

    The thought of finding answers, let alone Aliyah herself, felt increasingly hollow. It was like watching an entire human life folding away, its complexities flattened like parchment, forcibly packaged into memories no one else cared to keep.

    Rana rubbed her eyes. She¡¯d really felt like they¡¯d be lifelong acquaintances, at the very least.

    ¡°I don¡¯t ever want to get married,¡± she¡¯d confessed over their shared supper one night.

    ¡°You don¡¯t?¡± Aliyah had sounded surprised, but not derisive.

    Rana stabbed an olive and kept her voice neutral. ¡°We were talking about love affairs over lunch. Who liked who, that sort of thing. One of the fourth-years said I was either heartless or lying. And that I¡¯d die a recluse.¡±

    Aliyah hesitated. ¡°It¡¯s kind of early to be thinking about marriage, isn¡¯t it? There¡¯s lots of people to choose from, lots of time to decide. We¡¯re not stuck in the olden days anymore.¡±

    ¡°That won¡¯t help.¡± She scowled. ¡°It doesn¡¯t matter who. I¡¯ve tried. It¡¯s all¡­irreconcilable. All of it: infatuations, courtship, heirs and families. It¡¯s not for me. It never will be. I thought I made my peace with that.¡±

    ¡°Huh,¡± Aliyah said. ¡°Okay, well¡­you¡¯re still the Rana I know. You won¡¯t have trouble keeping friends.¡±

    ¡°Things¡¯ll change when we¡¯re older.¡± Rana met her eyes. ¡°It¡¯s true what they say, about handfastings and husbands taking precedence. It gets even worse once people have children to care for. Hells, it¡¯s already happening. Basima and Omar are spending so much time together now. I should be happy for them. I should be happy for you.¡±

    ¡°What?¡± Aliyah leaned in closer, as if worried she¡¯d misheard. ¡°Me?¡±

    ¡°You and that kitchenhand.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s¡ª¡± Aliyah shrank back, looking embarrassed. ¡°That ended last week, actually.¡±

    ¡°But there¡¯ll be someone else in the future.¡±

    Aliyah fiddled with her napkin. ¡°Was I ignoring you? I¡¯m sorry¡ª¡±

    ¡°No,¡± Rana said with a stab of guilt. ¡°It¡¯s perfectly normal for you to want to spend less time with me. I can¡¯t expect otherwise. Actually, you¡¯ve still spent the most time with me out of everyone except the rest of the night shift.¡± She sighed. ¡°Look, don¡¯t mind me. I¡¯m being unreasonable.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t think you¡¯re being unreasonable,¡± Aliyah said slowly. ¡°But I don¡¯t think you¡¯re going to die a recluse, either.¡±

    ¡°Won¡¯t I?¡± Rana gestured helplessly at her room: flickering lamplight, transcripts on the table, a dozen neatly-stacked books. ¡°It feels like everyone will move on, and I¡¯ll be left right here. Alone with my work. It might be inevitable, because that kind of love is irreconcilable with my nature. Because I can¡¯t¡ªwon¡¯t¡ªpretend to feel things I don¡¯t, even if it means I¡¯m forgotten.¡±

    Aliyah had looked at her for a long moment, looking almost¡ªsad? Pitying? Rana swallowed a lump in her throat. Then Aliyah smiled.

    ¡°I won¡¯t forget you. We can stay friends until we die, if that¡¯s what you want.¡±

    Rana laughed, a little bemused and secretly delighted. ¡°I would like that. Listen, when you become a Healer, do you think you could make it so we both live to a hundred and fifty?¡±

    Friends until we die¡­

    It had sounded so reassuring, at the time.

    Rana felt a flare of misery as she remembered Librarian Sheratan¡¯s words: it is simply best, in my experience, to move on. She¡¯d been determined to investigate at the time¡­she was still investigating now, but Farzaneh and her other contacts had little left to report. There¡¯d been no new leads for weeks. Where had that fire in her veins disappeared to?

    Perhaps she hadn¡¯t been doing anything useful to start with, Rana thought. Perhaps closure was impossible here. She¡¯d always been a meticulous person, stubborn at times when it didn¡¯t suit her. It was possible that this was all merely a very complicated way of grieving.

    +++

    ¡°That was to be expected,¡± Cardainne said, when she presented him a summary of her findings. ¡°You say ¡®Healer Najm¡¯ accompanied you; was it the nice one, or the unpleasant one?¡±

    Rana blinked. ¡°Her given name was Aida.¡±

    ¡°That would be the unpleasant one,¡± Cardainne said, rising to his feet and shrugging on his armoured outer robe. ¡°Here is a little piece of advice: Aida Najm is the sort of person who keeps fish in salad bowls and wonders why they die so often.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll keep that in mind, Master Cardainne.¡±

    ¡°Which way were the windows facing, Apprenticeling Khan?¡±

    Rana blinked. Did he mean in the Healer¡¯s office? She scrambled to reconstruct the scene in her mind¡¯s eye. ¡°West. Towards the salt.¡±

    This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

    ¡°Very good. There is some hope for your observational skills yet. Now, Shahriyar is rostered onto sky shield duty in three weeks. He¡¯ll no doubt ask me to mind his apprentice for at least a couple of hours on that day.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s unfortunate,¡± Rana said politely. She was getting better at predicting Cardainne¡¯s moods and alliances.

    ¡°It occurred to me,¡± Cardainne continued, ¡°that both Tsimur and yourself are sadly ignorant in the skill of traditional swordwork. It would be educational to take you both through some basic forms while Shahriyar is otherwise occupied.¡±

    Rana glanced at his retreating back and followed him out of the office. ¡°Where are we going, Master Cardainne?¡± She had a sinking suspicion what the answer would be.

    ¡°It has also occurred to me that the sparring yards will be quiet at this time of day.¡±

    Rana narrowed her eyes and fought back a grimace. ¡°I have three weeks to practice, don¡¯t I?¡±

    Cardainne turned his pale gaze on her, eyebrows lifting in mock astonishment. ¡°What an interesting idea. I don¡¯t know how it could have come to you. But it would certainly not hurt your standing if you were to, very incidentally, beat Tsimur Cardainne into the dust in three weeks.¡±

    ¡°Are you¡­incidentally available to teach me?¡± Rana asked cautiously.

    ¡°I am available for the next three hours. I will also be available for an hour after sundown, every other evening.¡±

    Rana hesitated. ¡°I have most of my Library shifts after sundown¡­¡±

    ¡°Perhaps you should forgo them. You¡¯ll need to practice what I teach you for an additional hour each day, at least. Repetition is a simple, but effective tool in a Magician¡¯s arsenal.¡±

    ¡°But I¡­¡± Rana said, the words dying in her throat. She swallowed uneasily. ¡°I will be very busy, Master Cardainne.¡±

    ¡°Well,¡± Cardainne said, unsmiling. ¡°You are my apprentice, aren¡¯t you?¡±

    +++

    Rana scowled as she dragged herself down to the sparring yards. She did her best to ignore the ongoing ache of muscles she hadn¡¯t even known she¡¯d had.

    It was just as well she had today off, though it wasn¡¯t of her own will. Assistant Lower Librarian Samara was¡­displeased¡­with the quality of her recent work. It couldn¡¯t really be helped, though. She¡¯d been balancing the apprenticeling study as best as she could, but Cardainne¡¯s swordfighting instruction on top of everything else was too much to keep up with. After hour-long sessions on feints and footwork and even more practice after that, she fell asleep as soon as her head touched the pillow. There was no strength left in her to keep up with transcribing new Library spellforms. And when she did find time at her desk, Cardainne¡¯s reading list took precedence¡­the consequences of ignoring him promised to be more excruciating, anyway.

    A short while later, Magician Barzegar found her sweating through a drill. Rana paused, surprised. Perhaps she was here with a message from Cardainne, though Rana couldn¡¯t guess what it could be; he would¡¯ve accompanied Karim to a Magician examination an hour ago.

    ¡°Apprenticeling Rana, there you are.¡± Barzegar inclined her head. ¡°They¡¯ve stirred up a section of mist for the first set of practical exams. It¡¯s something you should see before going through it yourself. My apprentices have their final examinations next year, so I¡¯m taking them out past the testing field¡ªwould you like to come along? Its good to be prepared, even if yours is further off.¡±

    Rana lowered her practice sword and frowned at the thought of going through proper Magician examinations. Was that even in the cards, given her status as an apprenticeling? Barzegar¡¯s brazen implication that she¡¯d ever become a full-fledged Magician was a confusing and troubling one.

    ¡°Is that safe?¡± she asked cautiously.

    Barzegar laughed heartily. ¡°Is anything we do out on the mists ever truly safe? But it¡¯ll be as safe as I can make it, I can promise you that.¡±

    They took a zephyr-boat out, wreathed in a beautiful spell-net of Barzegar¡¯s making. Her apprentices¡ªboth boisterous young men and probably siblings by the looks of it¡ªjostled and chattered good-naturedly, speculating on what sorts of obstacles they would have set up this year. The mists were a low line on the horizon, except for one portion bulging far closer: a roughly rectangular wedge contained by huge swaths of silvery spell-nets.

    A line of blue-robed figures was clustered along its length, and as Barzegar arced the zephyr-boat around, Rana saw more blue robes gathered on the other side. As they flew nearer, she realised several figures were stumbling out of the mist.

    ¡°They have to go through?¡± she asked, torn between awe and horror. The block of mist loomed as they approached, half a mile wide at least.

    ¡°Yes, and there are hazards inside too,¡± one of the apprentices said. ¡°Last time, it was a water crossing and pitfalls. I bet they put spellfire-traps in this year.¡±

    ¡°Do you think they¡¯ll ever try live creatures?¡± Barzegar¡¯s other apprentice asked.

    ¡°Don¡¯t give them any ideas,¡± the first apprentice grunted.

    ¡°Relax,¡± Barzegar said from the stern. ¡°I¡¯m not in the design council and have no intention of being part of that mess. You can ask your cousin all about it, Rana. Look¡ªthat¡¯s him there, isn¡¯t it?¡±

    She banked the zephyr-boat at the edge of the Magician¡¯s clearing and waved Karim over. He staggered towards them, followed closely by Cardainne. Or at least, Rana was pretty sure it was Cardainne. He had a mask on, but if she squinted she could discern a certain Cardainne-ness to his stride.

    Karim reached them and half-climbed, half-fell on board.

    ¡°I take it you passed?¡± Rana asked, eyeing the singed edges of his robes.

    ¡°It was a close thing,¡± he mumbled, taking off his mask and swiping a sleeve across his watering eye. There were blisters on his fingers, but nothing that looked in immediate need of a Healer.

    ¡°Not as close as you think,¡± Cardainne said, sounding oddly cheerful as he climbed aboard. ¡°Recall that you are measured against everybody else. I saw some very poor showings before your try. The Healers are going to be grumbling about this one for a while.¡±

    ¡°Do you need to head back?¡± Barzegar asked. ¡°Or will you join us for cleanup duty?¡±

    ¡°You brought Rana with you? Very well. You two¡ª¡± He indicated Barzegar¡¯s apprentices. ¡°Stop gawking at Karim. Make yourselves useful and fetch him some water.¡±

    ¡°What¡¯s cleanup duty?¡± Rana whispered to Karim as they headed out towards the south-western horizon.

    Before Karim could reply, Barzegar spoke up.

    ¡°I suppose Ilya has been too busy with Karim to show you,¡± she mused. Rana jumped; she hadn¡¯t realised she had such sharp hearing, even through the owl-mask she¡¯d donned. ¡°But sometimes, things come crawling from the Killing Mists. They¡¯re blown out or caught by its tides and aren¡¯t lucky enough to die. We make spell-parcels to stifle the chances, but the kiters can only drop so many and nothing¡¯s perfect. The creatures form, they trip our threads, and then we go out to put them down.¡±

    Sand whistled past, dunes shallowing out as they approached the salt flats. The apprentices pulled spyglasses from their satchels. Barzegar fished one off her belt and handed it to Rana.

    ¡°What are we looking for, exactly?¡± she asked, feeling faintly embarrassed at seeming so unprepared.

    ¡°Mist-touched beings, of course,¡± said the closest apprentice, a little snidely.

    ¡°I gathered that,¡± she said. ¡°But what do they look like?¡±

    ¡°Twisted little animals,¡± Cardainne supplied with a shrug. ¡°Bad light in their eyes, sometimes foaming from the mouth. You won¡¯t have to look long, I think. They have violent minds and attack people on sight, particularly far-venturing Weathermancers. They also harass the outlying farms, which does little to put kingdom minds at ease. Culling them is a neverending chore.¡±

    ¡°Sometime birds¡¯ll get mist-touched too,¡± the other apprentice added, tilting his spyglass skywards. ¡°Usually lone flyers, but one of the Shahriyars exterminated a whole flock some years ago.¡±

    Rana frowned, but used her borrowed spyglass to scan the mists all the same. She spotted a flicker of movement behind a swell of sand leading down to the salt. ¡°I see something¡ªfar south, the tallest dune.¡±

    ¡°Looks like a jackal,¡± one of the apprentices commented, turning to peer in the same direction. ¡°A pretty far gone one, at that.¡±

    ¡°Prepare your spells,¡± Barzegar said, turning the boat.

    ¡°We should have brought our swords,¡± Cardainne said a little wistfully.

    ¡°You can¡¯t steal all of the fun for yourself,¡± Barzegar shot back. ¡°Give the young ones a chance.¡±

    ¡°You should be the one to do it,¡± Cardainne said suddenly, and Rana realised with a jolt that he was addressing her. ¡°Since you spotted it first¡ªtradition, see?¡±

    ¡°What do I do, exactly?¡± she asked.

    ¡°Put the thing out of its misery,¡± the snide apprentice said.

    She bristled without showing it, merely adjusting the fall of her apprenticeling cloak across her shoulders. ¡°Yes, but how?¡±

    ¡°Use what you¡¯ve been practicing at the shipyard,¡± Cardainne said calmly. ¡°You¡¯ve gotten better at adjusting your spell to be effective against organic matter.¡±

    Rana squared her shoulders uncertainly. Organic matter¡­surely killing a mist-touched jackal was harder than obliterating sun-bleached goat skeletons?

    ¡°Further improvement is needed of course,¡± Cardainne added, ¡°but note that our magics have intrinsic cleansing properties. They are very efficient when used on mist-creatures.¡±

    ¡°First time¡¯s the trickiest,¡± Barzegar said. ¡°But we have faith in your prowess.¡±

    Rana took a deep breath. Barzegar slowed the boat and skidded it to a clean stop. They all clambered out of the boat; Barzegar¡¯s spell-net followed and enclosed them in a shining bubble. The mists were much closer now, but it was a calm day and only a faint film of particles brushed up against the surface of their spell-net. Rana eyed the mist-touched jackal as they approached.

    It stumbled slowly toward them, yipping past bared teeth. Rana tensed, spellfire sparking in her hand. The jackal made it another few steps, then fell and lay twitching on its side. Half of its fur was gone, muzzle seared down to raw skin. Its flanks heaved, pockmarked with weeping sores. Salt-white froth drooled from its mouth.

    ¡°Luckless creature,¡± Cardainne said, sighing. ¡°Almost too far gone to be a danger, but don¡¯t get close. Go ahead. Use your lessons.¡±

    Rana breathed in, then out, lungs as clear as she ever remembered them. Cardainne wasn¡¯t always pleasant, but he wasn¡¯t unreasonable. He wouldn¡¯t set her a task if he thought there was no chance of her succeeding. Beyond the bubble of Barzegar¡¯s spell-net, the jackal whined and looked at her with blinded, wet eyes.

    She curled her fist around her spellfire and drew it back. Her aim was as true as it had been at the skyships¡ªonly this time, it wasn¡¯t wood splintering. A roar of blue-white fire drowned out the animal¡¯s yowl, engulfing its flesh in seconds. White, misty smoke poured off the writhing blaze. They watched silently for several long minutes, before the flames began to die down. The jackal¡¯s body was still now. Only its tattered fur stirred in the rising breeze; a few lingering sparks were carried away on the wind.

    Rana panted, suddenly aware she was covered in a cold sweat. Her hand didn¡¯t tremble as she returned it to her side. She glanced over at Cardainne.

    He gave an approving nod, and for a moment the skull-white gleam of his mask seemed almost alive. ¡°Good work, Rana. There, you see. That¡¯s what it is to be a Magician.¡±

    +++

    Tsimur Cardainne looked nervous as Magician Shahriyar left him at Cardainne¡¯s door. He was about her age or maybe a year younger, with combed-back curls and a meticulously groomed beard. The collar of his robe was askew, Rana thought critically.

    ¡°Hello,¡± he said, brightening as he saw her. ¡°I¡¯m Tsimur Cardainne. Is this the right place? You¡¯re Rana, right?¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± she said. ¡°Magician Cardainne will be along shortly.¡±

    ¡°Oh, that¡¯s funny, isn¡¯t it? That we¡¯re both Cardainnes?¡± Tsimur gave a small, superior-sounding chuckle. His tone dipped, turned furtive and inviting. ¡°Though he isn¡¯t really one, you know. You can tell he¡¯s only half-legacy just by looking at him.¡±

    ¡°Is it funny?¡± Rana said coolly. ¡°You¡¯re both Cardainnes. But, well, you¡¯re not a Magician yet.¡±

    Tsimur frowned. ¡°Neither are you.¡±

    ¡°Correct,¡± she said. ¡°I¡¯m just a lowborn.¡±

    A silence fell; it could be interpreted as an awkward one, Rana supposed, but she chose not to. She hadn¡¯t said anything wrong, after all. They waited. Tsimur shuffled his feet and looked everywhere except at her.

    Cardainne swept through the hall like a bird of prey, beckoning for them to follow. Tsimur looked distinctly nervous as they emerged into the sparring yard. Somewhat to Rana¡¯s surprise, it was crowded with blue robes.

    ¡°I thought this would be a good opportunity to show you two a very traditional and healthy past time,¡± Cardainne said, shading his eyes against the sun. ¡°We the Magicians enjoy harmless play when time permits. Books are good for the mind, but swordwork strengthens the body.¡±

    ¡°Who¡¯s fighting?¡± Tsimur asked, craning his neck to look at the fighting square.

    ¡°They¡¯ve just finished,¡± Rana observed. The crowd was a smattering of little whoops and well-wishes, and somewhere in the thick of the bodies were two people shaking hands.

    Cardainne shouldered his way through the gathered Magicians. Rana and Tsimur walked in the empty corridor left by his wake, tailing him like ribbons on a kite.

    ¡°Clear out,¡± Cardainne called through cupped hands. ¡°I¡¯ve got a nice pair of apprentices here who want a go.¡±

    Tsimur shot her a panicked glance. Rana just shrugged at him.

    The Magicians broke out into chuckles and words of encouragement; a pair of hands pushed a wooden blade into her arms and the crowd jostled her into the square. She walked over to the far side and took position with the sun at her back.

    Tsimur squinted at her, looking dazed. ¡°Wait,¡± he said over her shoulder. ¡°I don¡¯t¡ª¡±

    ¡°Oh go on,¡± someone hollered from the crowd. ¡°Not going to chicken out of facing an apprenticeling, are you?¡±

    ¡°Ha ha.¡± He gave a flat, oily smile. ¡°No, but it¡¯s hardly fair for her, is it? It wouldn¡¯t be the Magicianly thing to do.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s alright,¡± Rana said, sliding into her favourite guard position. ¡°I don¡¯t mind.¡±

    Tsimur shot her a furious glance and mirrored her pose.

    ¡°Begin!¡± someone shouted.

    Tsimur darted at her and, to his credit, attempted a feint. Rana twisted out of the way, sweeping her sword low. She grazed him across the knees, and he stumbled with a grunt. Whipping her blade free before he could bat it away, she thrust at his throat. His blade came up and blocked hers at the last second.

    Skipping back as he launched to his feet, she fell into a defensive position. Tsimur¡¯s blows were predictable and slightly clumsy in a way Cardainne¡¯s never were, but he wasn¡¯t slow. He moved determinedly and in quick bursts, agile in the ways every Magician¡¯s apprentice had to be.

    Around them, people cheered. The crowd was a wordless wall of noise. The Magicians didn¡¯t yell names. They weren¡¯t so crude as to take a side. But they were cheering for someone, she realised with a chill of clarity. They were cheering for whoever was going to win.

    Hence, they were cheering for her.

    There would be an opening soon, she was sure of it¡ªthere. She ducked Tsimur¡¯s next overeager blow and lunged, slipping under the length of his blade. The tip of her sword darted around, past his crossguard, and smashed into the fragile bones of his hand. He gritted out a yell, dropped his sword, and reflexively clutched at the injury. She leapt, planted her boot across his fallen blade, and whipped her swordpoint square into his chest.

    Time seemed to still. He stared at the swordpoint for a moment, features crumpling into realisation, then outrage as applause began to break out amongst the onlookers.

    ¡°You lucky bitch,¡± he spat, taking a step back.

    Cardainne was somewhere in the wedge of crowd past Tsimur¡¯s shoulder. Rana flicked her gaze across the sea of faces and met his eyes for a split second.

    She lowered her sword and smiled. ¡°It¡¯s not luck. I just had a good teacher.¡±

    The Magicians crowded in close, shoving Tsimur out of her sight as they offered their congratulations. Sprightly handshakes, shoulder-claps bursting with sparkling vigour, radiant grins everywhere she looked. She felt a little dazed. This was as far from the suffocating silence of the Lower Library as she¡¯d ever come. It didn¡¯t feel fully real.

    Rana cupped the moment in both hands and held it close like a pearl.

 Interlude: forged like a queenslayer

    Saiph¡¯s spines prickled as she wriggled the fodder body through thick layers of papery plaster. It was a tight squeeze. She didn¡¯t have exceptional shaping skills like Iolite or Ezphorza. No, she was only good with arrows and fighting. But she did have just enough shaping knowledge to worm this spare ear into a crawlspace above Iolite¡¯s laboratory. Shifting it onto its side, she strained its senses through the ceiling.

    ¡°It helped, didn¡¯t it?¡± Suria was saying against a backdrop of bubbling liquids. ¡°We¡¯re getting close.¡±

    ¡°You remain overeager in your duties,¡± Iolite replied coolly. ¡°I don¡¯t mean this as chastisement, but a necessary reminder.¡±

    ¡°Hmph,¡± Suria said, sounding unconvinced. ¡°Don¡¯t tell me we would have made such progress without a General¡¯s magic added to the pot.¡±

    ¡°It might help you now, but not in the end where it matters most,¡± Iolite said with a sigh. Then, the sound of water being poured into a pot. ¡°We¡¯ve been forced to cast our net wider due to your actions. And before you complain, it is also your own actions which require you to weave more veilments.¡±

    Saiph recalled the way the human illusions felt layered over her spines and shuddered. The way the magic draped over her bow and pretended it into some sort of¡­human projectile weapon was disappointing, too. It threw off her aim.

    But it was important she use the veilment, Iolite had insisted. Pretending to be a different gold-obsessed human each time made it harder for the Hive to follow their trail. She was only allowed to go as herself when they wanted the Hive to respond, which was not as often as Saiph would¡¯ve liked.

    Scouts tried to corner her or follow her home while Suria and the fleshcrafter crept out to harvest magic on the other side of the city. They never tracked her all the way back, of course. She would shoot them before snuffing out her scent trail and taking long diversions to be sure they didn¡¯t. Afterwards, Iolite would feed her seed cakes and grouse egg soup to rouse her from the syrup-crash, stroking her brow and humming soft songs until she fell asleep.

    ¡°We could have reused the first batch,¡± Suria grumbled quietly. ¡°It is a¡­strain, to make fresh ones so often. I will have to reuse some of the facial features, soon. Won¡¯t you consider bringing help over? Saranthe would be useful. Even Haedus would suffice, for once.¡±

    ¡°I regret that still isn¡¯t possible. I need them there, to hide the Hive. A Sungrazer contact has assured me that the Thaumaturges are actively sending search parties into our territory.¡±

    ¡°Can¡¯t Titania Fauna deal with it?¡± Suria said with a tinge of scorn. ¡°Or Zekore, for that matter?¡±

    ¡°You know they can¡¯t.¡±

    ¡°How long are you planning on keeping their Hive alive for them?¡±

    Iolite didn¡¯t speak for a moment. Saiph heard her stirring something. ¡°You may not have any attachments to that Hive, but you know full well that there are many who do. I will protect it until it doesn¡¯t need to exist anymore.¡±

    ¡°I am working with three severed Hivers and an anosmic,¡± Suria growled.

    ¡°You have Saiph and Silver, too.¡±

    ¡°Neither of them can weave a swatch to save their tails.¡±

    ¡°Well, you know there isn¡¯t anyone as good as you,¡± Iolite said matter-of-factly. Saiph scowled from the comfort of her bower.

    ¡°Are you certain those Sungrazer idiots don¡¯t have anyone to spare?¡±

    ¡°After such a mess with not one, but two Breakers? What reason do we have to trust their aid? No, they serve as useful interference but nothing more.¡±

    Iolite sounded unperturbed by the loss now, but Saiph had been with her when Silver brought back the news of Breaker Zhao¡¯s disappearance. She winced at the memory of glass smashing against the wall, poisons pooling like spilled blood.

    ¡°I¡¯m so sorry for the outburst, Saiph,¡± Iolite had said a moment later. ¡°And Silverwater.¡± She¡¯d smiled, settling herself serenely. Her Archivist¡¯s eye blazed white hot, so bright it hurt to look at. ¡°Could you please fetch me some ink and a parchment?¡±

    In the present, Suria growled once again. ¡°Humans. They have agreed to repay us, yes?¡±

    ¡°Rest assured, they will. It could have been far worse, I suppose. A Breaker is no longer our greatest asset, nor is it the best tool to deal with our emerging concerns. At the very least, we got better use out of the Sungrazer boy¡ªhe had the good grace to bequeath us a parting gift.¡±

    ¡°And to whom¡ª¡±

    ¡°Not you or I,¡± said Iolite.

    ¡°I was going to suggest Saiphenora,¡± Suria said.

    Saiph¡¯s spines pricked with interest, then confusion. Iolite had already given her syrup and spells and a hunting bow beyond measure; what else could she possibly need?

    ¡°Not her, either,¡± Iolite said.

    Saiph felt a stab of loss, despite not knowing what it was, precisely, that she was being denied.

    ¡°I believe the fleshcrafter would wield the Hand best, given its nature,¡± Iolite continued. ¡°And on this, I don¡¯t think you¡¯ll disagree with me. If the Hive has acquired his colleague as you suspect, they won¡¯t hesitate to use her magic to nullify what advantages he gives us.¡±

    Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

    ¡°I told you we should have killed her,¡± Suria said. They were talking about the other fleshcrafter, Saiph guessed. The one she hadn¡¯t been able to fetch. Hadn¡¯t wanted to. Had secretly resented the task from the outset. The sensation of her arm breaking had been new and unpleasant. Injuries so swiftly and easily inflicted had been strange enough to kindle fear in her belly. If the other fleshcrafter wasn¡¯t so docile, she¡¯d be as equally afraid of him.

    ¡°They lock their Librarians up tight,¡± Iolite replied cryptically. ¡°But if she¡¯s with the Hive, as you keep saying¡ª¡±

    ¡°She must be,¡± Suria interrupted firmly. ¡°My sense of her wouldn¡¯t have disappeared so suddenly if all she did was get her arm chopped off. She hasn¡¯t been up at the skydocks, either.¡±

    ¡°If you can confirm this is the case, then by all means deprive them of their advantage.¡±

    Suria gave a placated buzz.

    ¡°Keep the brain, if possible,¡± Iolite added. ¡°It¡¯d be a waste to simply drain her.¡±

    ¡°The General wasn¡¯t a waste,¡± Suria countered.

    ¡°I tell you, it was.¡± Iolite¡¯s voice spiked with annoyance. ¡°And I doubt Perihelion ever journeyed into an Archive, much less a wild Library. You never know when to let a point go, do you?¡± The words were taunting, but soon lapsed into weary amusement. ¡°Go to your bower and rest, Suria. You¡¯ve done well, but you need to put yourself back together.¡±

    Saiph withdrew her consciousness from the fodder body, turning over in her nest of moss. Her own sleep evaded her; lingering drops of syrup buzzed through her limbs, making her restless. She gazed at the weavings on the walls and the wooden etching of birds in flight above her table, where a dozen arrows lay unfletched. She toyed with the idea of working on them, and even drew herself upright to attempt it.

    Suddenly, the fodder body she¡¯d stationed outside alerted her to a presence. She dipped a finger into its sensory current and smelled Iolite.

    ¡°Saiph,¡± Iolite said, letting herself in.

    Saiph tucked herself back among the moss, as though she had only just roused. It made Iolite worry, to know she woke at odd hours.

    ¡°Have you not been sleeping well?¡± Iolite asked with a frown. She perched at the edge of the nest, trailing a hand over Saiph¡¯s brow and spines. ¡°Bad dreams, hm?¡±

    ¡°No,¡± Saiph said. ¡°I slept lightly, that was all.¡±

    ¡°Hmm. Come to the laboratory, since you¡¯ve already awoken. I could use some helping hands.¡±

    ¡°Of course,¡± Saiph said, springing at the opportunity. Iolite often waved her away despite her curiousity and offers of assistance, saying it would better serve her time to practice her weaponry. No matter how often she¡¯d exclaimed over the magic, Iolite would refuse¡ªgently, but refusal nonetheless¡ªto teach her properly.

    ¡°It¡¯s a thankless skill, this,¡± she would say, and her spines would flicker in melancholy. ¡°I wouldn¡¯t inflict such a burden on you. Be glad you have been born beyond it.¡±

    Now, Iolite ruffled the spines on her shoulder and strode over to stir the largest of the cauldrons. ¡°Measure me a cupful of those fluffy purple herbs, won¡¯t you? Don¡¯t worry about packing them too loose or tight. This recipe isn¡¯t as precise as some.¡±

    ¡°They¡¯re milk thistle heads, aren¡¯t they?¡± Saiph said, keen to display her attentiveness.

    Iolite sighed. ¡°Yes. But you don¡¯t need to remember these kinds of details, Saiph. You can leave that to me.¡±

    ¡°What are you brewing?¡± Saiph asked, moving to gather the thistle heads.

    Was it more syrup? she wondered. Iolite was always honing the formulation, but the smell wafting over from the cauldrons was more oily than sweet; it reminded her of the rich, fatty layer tucked beneath fish skin. Overlaid on top of it were hints of cream and charcoal and other surprisingly tasty scents.

    ¡°Delicious poison,¡± Iolite said with a rare hint of playfulness. ¡°Would you like a taste?¡±

    ¡°Only if the antidote is equally appetising,¡± Saiph said seriously.

    Iolite clicked her teeth as she emptied the thistles into the cauldron. ¡°Perhaps not, then.¡±

    Saiph hovered over Iolite¡¯s shoulder and watched carefully as she stirred some more, infusing the brew with a sprinkle of magic here and there. Soon, she murmured to herself, snuffing out the flame and covering the cauldron.

    ¡°Now, Saiph,¡± she said, turning away from her work. ¡°While I am glad to have your help, I did call you here to discuss another matter.¡±

    ¡°Yes?¡± Saiph asked eagerly.

    Instead of speaking, Iolite raised her tail and brought it down with a crack of acidic magic. The ceiling ripped open as if along a seam, and Saiph¡¯s fodder body fell to the floor along a great clatter of plaster.

    ¡°Would you care to explain this?¡± Iolite asked.

    Saiph stood frozen, feeling her spines go stiff. She made to speak, but all thought seemed to have fled her mind. ¡°I¡­I was only practicing¡­¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not angry with you,¡± Iolite said, but her third eye flickered, cold enough to cut stone. ¡°Sit down. I¡¯ll put this away.¡±

    Saiph obeyed numbly as Iolite dragged the body out into the hall and resealed the ceiling with a flick of her tail. Still, chunks of plaster remained scattered over the floor. Iolite fluttered over them without noticing or caring. Saiph suddenly felt very small as Iolite hovered before her. Worse, she felt foolish and younger than her years. She should have known better. Iolite had built this place, after all, and her skill at shaping was far superior to Saiph¡¯s. Of course she would have sensed something amiss.

    ¡°I don¡¯t want this happening again,¡± Iolite said. ¡°If you have a question that needs asking, you must ask me instead of spying. I didn¡¯t give you these bodies to use for your own entertainment.¡±

    ¡°I understand,¡± Saiph mumbled, wings drooping in embarrassment. ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡±

    Iolite stroked her brow and trailed fingertips over the spines of her face, the touch soothing. ¡°You¡¯ll promise me that you won¡¯t do it again?¡±

    ¡°Yes, alright. I promise. I¡¯m sorry.¡±

    ¡°Thank you. Now, you should fetch some rest before the next trip out. Would you like me to watch over you for a little while?¡±

    ¡°Alright,¡± Saiph said, suddenly exhausted.

    Iolite steered her back to her bower and fluffed up the mosses in her nest as Saiph curled inside, wrapping her wings around her body.

    ¡°How many more trips will there be?¡± Saiph asked. ¡°Are we close?¡±

    ¡°We are closer than we have ever been,¡± Iolite said. ¡°And soon, we won¡¯t need Hives anymore.¡± The words were familiar. Iolite spoke them like a sleep song. Saiph watched as she swished her spines gently, like a breeze over grassland, from head to tail-tip. ¡°Imagine how wonderful it would be if the whole world was a Hive.¡±

    ¡°No more Archivists,¡± Saiph recited drowsily. ¡°No more Titania.¡±

    ¡°Yes.¡± Iolite¡¯s voice was calm and strong. ¡°All will be free in our rightful Realm. We are drawing so very close now.¡±

    Saiph shut her eyes. Iolite¡¯s crooning washed over her like a memory.

    ¡°Tell me about the creatures,¡± she used to beg, though she knew all the answers already: rusty herds of laminilva over river plains, fat and juicy cochleamossa as big as behemoths, coral moonwings glittering in the dusk, each as swift as an arrow. ¡°Tell us about the flying migrations.¡±

    Silver would hum in agreement as Iolite churred indulgently¡ªa rarer sound, nowadays. ¡°The sunbirds and the moonwings? I¡¯ve told you a thousand times. You¡¯ll know them when you see them.¡±

    ¡°I want to be ready,¡± she remembered insisting, only half-fledged and barely able to draw a bow. ¡°I¡¯ll hunt a whole flock of each. Enough to last the winter.¡±

    And she¡¯d meant it with the whole of her being, because the meaning of winter had been fresh then: as fresh and cold as new snow, and the hunger as sharp as bare branches scratching her stomach.

    ¡°Ah,¡± Iolite sighed. ¡°When we pierce the veil and flood the world, you won¡¯t need to scrabble after birds and trifles. Winter will be a memory. You, little gem, will go on to hunt dragons.¡±