《The [Blank] of [Blank] and [Blank]》


 Chapter One

    ¡°And in her eyes, you see nothing


    No sign of love behind the tears


    Cried for no one


    A love that should have lasted years¡±


    The corpse Nettle wept over was a Nobody. Even before opening her eyes, she knew this to be true, but his pale skin and inky black hair were dead giveaways. She examined his head and arms, searching for any scarring or sunburns that might disprove her theory.


    Really, though, Nettle was just wasting time. The most damning piece of evidence, of course, was:


    I have no clue who this is.


    He was older than her¡ªmaybe twenty years or so, given his scraggly beard and well-worn crow¡¯s feet.


    My dad? An uncle, perhaps?


    Standing on uncertain legs, Nettle took a moment to regain her composure. She felt spent. She swayed with the hot wind, letting it cool her sickly sweat. Her breath escaped in shudders as the remnants of quickly forgotten despair fought through her. She wiped her face and studied the resulting droplets. The tear clung to the tip of her finger, dirty gray muck swirling about before the weight pulled the last tears ever cried for this man to the clay below.


    With unclouded eyes, her mind picked up on all the little details that felt familial. His long, straight nose and heavy-lidded eyes gave his face a sleepy expression. Even still, she couldn¡¯t be certain.


    Most likely, Nettle was no more related to this man than the men who shot him.


    Men who shot him?


    Her mind skipped about rather than running. She could remember trekking through this wasteland, but that wasn¡¯t anything new.


    What else?


    She was being followed. Hunted? Nettle could remember running. She also remembered walking, a lot of walking.


    Her edges felt frayed, and the wind made her sides buzz.


    Nettle scanned her surroundings. No figures on the horizon. She held her stomach, hoping to calm the butterflies. The flat expanse of gray clay would make it hard for anyone to get the jump on her, but it would also make it impossible to hide from dedicated trackers.


    Nettle pinched at her stuffy nose, the smell of iron startling her. She held out her palm, blood glistening in the sun. She looked down, grimacing at the dark stain that she now adorned, mirroring the splotchy mess of the man¡¯s abdomen.


    Nettle knelt down and wiped her hand on his pant leg, taking the time to rifle through his pockets since she was in the area. He had a couple of rusty green coins. Feeling around his collar, Nettle found a brass necklace embossed with a stag beetle. She took both. It was merely practical.


    Next, Nettle followed the winding trail of blood he¡¯d splattered across the otherwise gray-scale scene where he had dropped his belongings about ten paces off. His bag and shovel lay haphazard on the clay near where her own shovel sat stuck upright.


    Nettle dumped his backpack out. A thick book with a deep blue cover of ornate design thunked to the ground. It looked important, so Nettle tucked it away near her bedroll and shook any holdouts from the man''s bag. Anything that looked valuable or edible found a new home with her. She had to reorganize to accommodate everything.


    Nettle unbuckled a leather parcel strapped to the lefthand side of his bag, mirroring the very same on her own. Looking inside, it was full of letters addressed to Leylen¡¯s, the town to which Nettle¡¯s own parcel was to be delivered. The sliver of lingering doubt within her dissipated. This man was her companion, at the very least.


    She strapped the parcel along her other side.


    Orientating herself using the line of blood he dripped, Nettle grabbed her shovel and started to walk.


    Nettle showed considerable restraint, only turning back once the man was a lump on the horizon. She gave a farewell salute and trudged onward, using her shovel as a walking stick.


    The Nettle who had cried, arms crossed over the man¡¯s chest, wasted time enough for the both of them. She needed to put space between herself and any potential pursuers.


    As was unfortunately always the case, the flat monotony of the wasteland prodded Nettle¡¯s mind into motion, hopping from worry to worry like a frog on a hot road.


    She¡¯d never seen a man die, even out here. And although she didn¡¯t remember any details, Nettle felt rightfully apprehensive.


    Out in the wastes, murdering a Nobody was technically as illegal as it would be in any city. Then again, even in the towns, Nettle would bet good money the city watch was in cahoots with that ¡®technically.¡¯ Even if someone did care, who would know out here?


    As was natural, following a murder, next she pondered death.


    Poets and the like often say, ¡°Every man has two deaths ¡ª when he is buried in the ground, and the last time someone says his name.¡± That being the case, Nettle would die once, just as that man had. Forgotten and lifeless in the same moment.


    And as was natural after she thought about death, Nettle felt an aching cold hold her heart.


    She thought about how she left his body. Was she supposed to feel grief or pity? She mostly felt guilty that she parted with his stuff.


    Her stomach turned at the notion his body would become food for the creatures that called this place their home.


    Not creatures, She rectified, things.


    That still wasn¡¯t right.


    No, not things. They¡¯re more like . . . Not Things.


    Nettle wished there could have been time for a proper burial. Whatever those things weren¡¯t, he didn¡¯t deserve that.


    Out here, there was nothing for days. No bird, tree, bug, shrub, man, or even grass call this their home. Just the Not Things. Kikizha.


    Kikizha were living pits and canyons that snaked through the badlands¡ªsnaking not just in the meander of their bodies but in how they crept forward aimlessly before striking with purpose. The living crevices had a world of their own.


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    Sometimes, you could go all day without seeing one, and other times; they would be so thick and tangled you¡¯d have to walk along pathways barely wider than your foot just to get by.


    This made the journey so much worse. There was always an edge of anxiety to the boredom. If you stop paying attention to the expanse of gray nothing, you just may find yourself buried in the same grave that ate you.


    It was several hours before Nettle even spotted any.


    She watched at a distance as small cracks desperately dashed about, fleeing as a massive ravine fed on their brethren.


    To the average somebody, this scene may have been cause for concern. The Kikizha were predators of the highest caliber, eating anything, everything, and, evidently, nothings. Nettle, however, wasn¡¯t worried. They couldn¡¯t see her.


    Nettle could walk right up to the edge of one of the creeping canyons, and it wouldn¡¯t so much as move. Even if she fell in, it wasn¡¯t a death sentence like it would be for other people. The Kikizha wouldn¡¯t react to her intrusion, and as long as she didn¡¯t injure herself in the fall, she could almost certainly climb out.


    She only had to worry about them moving with no provocation as, during the day, it was easy enough to differentiate their forms from the ground they parted, and at night, the Kikizha became lethargic, like snakes in winter.


    That being said, the dangers of the living pits were not null. Nettle always made sure never to walk along the concaves of their bodies on the off chance one lunged for food, and being inside a moving Kikizha was a good way to get crushed or buried.


    Still, it was one of the few blessings of being a Nobody, even if her dealings with man evened the odds.


    Nettle loped along, her body complaining more than it had any right. The gentle clay was soft beneath her feet but not enough to make her gait awkward, and the wind blessedly shifted, a damp breeze now following her eastward towards Leylen¡¯s.


    Nettle had to detour along a particularly large Kikizha, its deep shadow like an open wound across the land.


    The land was dizzyingly flat as far as the eye could see. Nettle pulled a compass and map from one of the many pockets on her knee-length, black overcoat. Thankfully, the large swath of blood that decorated her front missed the map by a few pockets. She was still heading southeast, but with no discernible landmarks other than the kind that moved, Nettle often worried about drifting off course.


    As the sun turned the evening sky into a painter''s lifeblood, Nettle searched for a place to sleep. With nowhere in the immediate area completely free of the Not Things, she decided she was tired enough to bed down despite the two medium-sized Kikizha not too far from her camp.


    Nettle rolled out her bedroll, then got to work digging a shallow perimeter around her sleeping area. She wasn¡¯t sure if such a thing actually kept the Kikizha at bay or if it was an old wives'' tale, but Nettle likely would never find out.


    Nettle sat down and let the fatigue hit her. She diligently chewed her dried travel rations.


    At some point during her labor, the pair of Kikizha snuck near enough for Nettle to observe as they competed in a strange ritual. One, a decently sized pit, swerved and battered the other, more serpentine, Kikizha. She watched as their forms slammed into each other silently in what she could only assume was some sort of play fighting. The dark crack in the ground writhed as the hole rammed into its side again and again. The ground split around them, stretching more than falling into their depths.


    By the time Nettle climbed into her blankets, the creatures had settled down. The air quickly turned a shade of chilly while the clay still undecidedly retained some of its earlier warmth.


    Nettle didn¡¯t fret over being found in her sleep. While Kikizha were lethargic at night, they still responded with the same alacrity when disturbed. Furthermore, they were near impossible to see without abundant light, meaning only the crazy or desperate risked trekking at night without lanterns. She¡¯d see them long before they saw her.


    Nettle lay there and let her mind relive the day.


    Of course, her thoughts returned to the man. The more she thought about him, the more she realized one thing: Nettle wanted to leave someone feeling like she had. She wanted somebody to feel nauseous over her corpse and not know why. In a strange way, Nettle wanted to matter.


    Her mind continued on to strange places until finally succumbing to the same exhaustion she felt in her limbs.


    Her body reacted before Nettle could reasonably be called awake. Men¡¯s voices and thumping feet disorientated her half-sleeping mind. Rolling onto her hands and knees, Nettle grasped wildly for her shovel with blurry sight. She lurched upright, waiting as her senses caught up to her instincts.


    Two men, one riding a horse and the other a few steps ahead, approached a mere forty paces from where she¡¯d been sleeping. Nettle could only make out their bodies by the black of their silhouette against the midnight blue of the sky. Until she jumped to her feet, neither seemed to notice her.


    Their conversion ended the same time Nettle¡¯s heart thought about doing the same thing.


    These men had the kind of reckless abandon that would have gotten Nettle killed by now. Not only had they hunted her throughout the night with no light source, but they also rode a horse this far into the wastes¡ªa goddamn horse.


    I¡¯m dead.


    Nettle turned and ran. She choked up on the haft of her trench shovel as she ran. Her bare feet pounded into the now cool clay as one of the men called out ¨Cas if shouting could get her to stop. Her heart bathumped to the staccato swing of the horse¡¯s hooves.


    Nettle closed the distance to the two Kikizha as the man on horseback did the same to her. The long crevice was curled around the pit, leaving the impression of a flower drawn by a child.


    His outstretched fingers brushed her inky hair, and Nettle lept.


    She slammed chest-first into the ledge and scrambled to pull herself over, using the shovel head like a climber¡¯s pick. Nettle kicked her legs wildly, her bare feet finding purchase in the soft material. Clearing the edge, Nettle saw the horse had lost traction while skidding to a stop. The horse was prone, legs splayed towards Nettle, while the animal¡¯s rider had been thrown unceremoniously towards the cliff-like drop of the Kikizha. He scrambled away from the edge in a crabwalk, face up and using the palm of his hands.


    The uncreature started to untangle itself as the man popped to his feet. The man delicately circled the mass of nothing, strafing sideways as to always face it. Nettle parroted, keeping on the opposite side of the man.


    The horse struggled to its feet, rocking back and forth to get its legs underneath its body. Once stable, The animal galloped towards her camp in fear, passing the second man in its terror.


    The Kikizha unfurled at last, its python body blasting after the horse. The poor animal got twenty paces until the ravine was upon it. Its front legs suddenly were treading air, flinging its body forward into the newly formed cliff face, causing the animal to crumple upon itself. Its limbs snapped with the force, and the stallion''s back half flipped into the air. The horse''s screech was disturbingly human.


    Nettle and the men stood dumbstruck as the Kikizha reorientated itself, dropping the horse into its pitch abyss. The ravine undulated and squirmed, opening and closing like a vile mouth. The third time the pit opened, all was silent, yet the horse''s echoing cry remained a reverberation shaking Nettle''s thoughts.


    After the three of them could move, the far man slunk the best he could from the crevice. He made a wide arch, attempting to round his position to Nettle. Simultaneously, Nettle and the man continued their cat-and-mouse around the hole. It was about ten paces across.


    With the loss of their horse and saddlebags, the man¡¯s body language was uncertain now, losing its air of dogged pursuit for a warier posture. He produced a large hunting knife from his belt, and Nettle wielded her shovel like a spear.


    ¡°If I die out here,¡± Nettle goaded, feeling a newfound bout of resolve, ¡°I¡¯ll be forgotten. But that¡¯s natural for me. Wha¨C¡±


    The man with the knife suddenly switched directions, causing Nettle to stumble as she tried to do the same. She regained her footing and continued to circle the hole. The man got tinglingly close to her back, and Nettle whipped around, lashing out with her shovel. She smacked his hand with the spade¡¯s flat, causing him to drop his weapon. Nettle swung again, missing as he backed away.


    During the scuffle, the second man had successfully flanked behind her. The hole was behind the first man, with Nettle situated between the two. Twirling in place, Nettle angeled herself to allow for the tracking of either man¡¯s movement out her peripherals.


    ¡°I¡¯ll be forgotten. What¡¯s your excuse?¡± Nettle spat, ¡°Mama didn¡¯t love you enough? People hated you for who you were, not what you were?¡±


    The man furthest from the hole crouched as if preparing to rush her and growled.


    ¡°You bitch.¡±


    As if his words had woken the pit, the Kikizha blitzed the man, albeit at a much more sedated pace than the serpent strike of the first. The man whose back was to the pit fell as it skimmed past him, leaving his body submerged in the gray clay from the shoulders down. Nettle barely reacted by raising her shovel, using her free hand to cover her mouth. Nettle¡¯s stomach rose as she went into freefall. Her momentum jolted to a stop as her body suddenly was enveloped up to her armpits in clay.


    The second man reacted in time to begin a desperate dash away. Nettle craned her head to watch as the man outran the hole for a time. She watched as his silhouette comically fell from sight. The screams that reached her seconds later quickly dispelled any notion of levity.


    Nettle looked to the man buried five steps away. A strange laugh filled the air before she realized it was coming from her lips. The man had a hollow expression as Nettle angled the shovel awkwardly away from her chest.


    Nettle began to dig.

 Chapter Two

    ¡°Sometimes I think it¡¯s a sin


    When I feel like I¡¯m winning, when I¡¯m losing again¡±


    Kadal fought hard not to smile at his wife¡¯s pouting face. Her crossed arms and narrowing eyes didn¡¯t help his plight.


    ¡°I told you not to get it,¡± she said.


    ¡°I know, I know. I took that into consideration, but this is important to me. I need something to remember you all.¡±


    ¡°So it¡¯s about death. Is that it? The only thing you can think about when we¡¯re apart is how everybody is going to die? It¡¯s been twenty years. You don¡¯t have to live like that anymore.¡±


    She just didn¡¯t get it.


    ¡°Sundown¨C¡±


    ¡°Oh, so I¡¯m Sundown now?¡± she pressed.


    Kadal felt he could say nothing right. So, he simply sat beside her, the bed creaking in retort. She didn¡¯t want to give in, but Kadal had always been good at taking ground.


    ¡°Do you know how they kiss in the north?¡± he asked.


    ¡°How?¡±


    Her eyes couldn¡¯t be less interested.


    ¡°Like this.¡± Kadal hugged her from the side and rubbed his beard back and forth on her cheek.


    ¡°Stop,¡± Sundown laughed, ¡°Stop it.¡±


    Kadal flopped back onto the cushions.


    ¡°Well, let¡¯s see it then,¡± she said.


    ¡°See it?¡±


    ¡°The tattoo.¡±


    Kadal unbuttoned his top until he could show her the little shaved patch above his left pectoral. A simple scene sat needled into his skin in thin, slightly shaky lines: A heron flew through the rain, the sun setting in the distance.


    ¡°It¡¯s nice.¡± Sundown ran her thumb over the still-red skin.


    ¡°But?¡± Kadal prodded.


    ¡°But, I still think you¡¯d be better off without it. It¡¯s easier not to worry.¡±


    ¡°And who said love would be easy?¡±


    ¡°Who taught you all this old-school romance?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s just something I¡¯ve picked up.¡±


    ¡°Oh?¡± she asked, ¡°Where? Up North?¡± She took his head in her hands and rubbed her chin back and forth across his fuzzy cheek. ¡°Go wake Heron and get us some water for the day. I¡¯ll have Rainfall help me with breakfast.¡±


    Kadal sat up and buttoned his shirt.


    The boys would sleep well into the day if they could. Kadal knocked gently on their door before entering. He shook Heron until the boy¡¯s eyes creaked open.


    ¡°Get dressed, we¡¯re getting water.¡±


    Heron just groaned.


    The boys looked so much like their mother. Coal dark hair and eyes that stood out starkly against their pale skin. It reminded Kadal of paper, though he knew Sundown would loathe the comparison. It reminded her too much of ¡®Paper Person.¡¯


    Sundown was particular when it came to her people. It was Ooahli or nothing at all. Paper Person, Nobody, Nameless, or any of the countless other terms Kadal often heard were not polite. She didn¡¯t care that some Ooahli referred to themselves in such a way; that just meant they had no self-respect.


    At this point, Kadal had heard every name under the sun, even more after the sun had gone down and good company was asleep. Of course, Kadal was more than happy to correct the tongue of any bad-mouthed individuals he met.


    Heron finally had enough wits about him to sit up.


    He might have his mother''s everything else, but his beard is coming in nicely.


    ¡°Meet me out front.¡±


    Kadal went out and sat on the porch while he waited. He liked to watch the sky as it grew lighter.


    ¡°Ready,¡± Heron said.


    Kadal used his knees to ache up onto his feet.


    ¡°You¡¯re getting old, you know that?¡±


    Kadal thought briefly about wrestling Heron to the floor.


    ¡°I¡¯ve been old for ten years now. You¡¯re the one who¡¯s getting old.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t feel old.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s because you don¡¯t act your age. I¡¯ve been doing a fine job of pretending till now myself.¡±


    As they walked, Kadal listened to Heron talk. Kadal found that the older he got, the more comfortable he became with his own silence.


    The forest air was young enough to be chilly, but Kadal knew it wouldn¡¯t last once the sun could touch him directly through the trees. The ¡®tetetetete¡¯ of a woodpecker echoed around them.


    ¡°Do you want to go to the city for Allsday?¡± Kadal asked, more to feel out the idea than to get Heron¡¯s thoughts.


    ¡°Sure, but it might be a hard sell for Mom.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll talk to her about it. Rainfall will probably want to go, too.¡±


    The two followed the worn path into a quiet brook. Kadal filled his pail with clear water and was ready to return, but Heron stood looking up at the canopy.


    ¡°Look,¡± Heron pointed, ¡°there he is.¡±Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation.


    Kadal followed his gaze and saw the woodpecker clutched to the bark of a tree near the water¡¯s edge. Its red crest was like a flame against the umber bark.


    ¡°Tetetetete,¡± it tete¡¯d.


    Kadal set his pail down so the two could watch the bird chip away at the bark.


    ¡°He sure is a lively one,¡± Kadal said, ¡°Let¡¯s get home while the food¡¯s still hot.¡±


    Heron filled his pail and followed Kadal back home.


    Once home, they sat down their loads and hurried to wipe their feet at the doorstep. The smell of cooked meat permeated the door, promising their aching arms would be worth it.


    ¡°We¡¯re back.¡±


    Rainfall was in the kitchen, eating buttery bread and sizzling strips of meat.


    ¡°Food¡¯s done,¡± he said before pondering and adding, ¡°By the way, Dad, a man came looking for you. He¡¯s out back with Mom.¡±


    ¡°Lead with that next time.¡±


    Kadal took a roll and marched his way out back. He found Sundown eating on the porch while she watched a man split wood. At Kadal¡¯s approach, the man set down his axe.


    ¡°Gene, is that you?¡± Kadal asked, ¡°It¡¯s been too long.¡±


    ¡°You sure took your sweet time,¡± the man said, pulling up his shirt to wipe the sweat from his face, all the while showing off his beer belly, ¡°Sundown¡¯s got me working like a dog out here.¡±


    Sundown piped up, ¡°Gene, you haven''t worked a day since marrying that Gloria. It¡¯s a miracle you could even walk all the way out here.¡±


    Gene looked exasperated.


    ¡°You have gone round on me,¡± Kadal told his friend.


    ¡°I¡¯ve been round,¡± Gene cried, then thought better of his words, ¡°That¡¯s not the point. Kadal, I¡¯ve heard from some higher-ups that their higher-ups heard from the Margrave that King Domini ordered your capture.¡±


    ¡°Capture? Why?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know, but we were coming back from a campaign and they figured we¡¯d stop by since if we had the time.¡±


    Sundown stood up by this point and was coughing down some bread.


    ¡°The Margrave is coming here?¡± she hacked.


    ¡°Yes, they had me scout ahead.¡±


    ¡°You.¡± Kadal deadpanned, ¡°Scout ahead.¡±


    ¡°I called in some favors. Don¡¯t worry about me, though. There is no way this can come back to me. I made sure of that. I have a kid to think about, you know?¡±


    ¡°And I have two,¡± Kadal countered, his temper rising.


    Sundown jostled her way between the two men.


    ¡°It¡¯s not a numbers game,¡± she said, ¡°How did the Margrave know where to find us?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not sure exactly, but too many people knew where you live, so I¡¯m sure you weren¡¯t too hard to find.¡±


    ¡°When are they going to be here?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m supposed to be the scout, so anytime after I report back. Unless, of course, I take too long. Then, they¡¯ll just proceed without me.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s not very much time,¡± Sundown said.


    A deep, brassy horn sent the birds flying from the trees.


    ¡°That¡¯s no time,¡± Kadal said, ¡°Take the boys and run.¡±


    ¡°We can hide in the attic.¡±


    ¡°No, if they want me to leave, they won¡¯t want me coming back. They may just burn the house down.¡±


    ¡°They were supposed to wait.¡± Gene pulled at his shirt as though it were suddenly constricting him. ¡°They told me¨C well, it¡¯s supposed to be¨C it¡¯s protocol.¡±


    ¡°Kadal.¡± Sundown swayed forward with the weight of all the things she wanted to say.


    ¡°I know.¡±


    Kadal pulled her into a hug and kissed her forehead.


    ¡°That¡¯s it?¡±


    ¡°This way, my return will be even sweeter.¡±


    Sundown¡¯s face went red like blood on the snow.


    ¡°Go be a knight, you big romantic idiot.¡±


    Another triumph of horn heralded.


    ¡°I¡¯ll try and stall them for as long as I can.¡± Gene rolled his shoulders. ¡°Where is all this confidence coming from? Last I checked, you got the wrong kind of magic for immortality.¡±


    ¡°It seems I have something in common with them. They need me alive.¡±


    Gene waved him off.


    ¡°Got it. I¡¯ll give you time.¡±


    Gene strutted around the house with confidence enough to impress a cat.


    Kadal bent over to pick up the hatchet Gene had dropped. He felt the rough woodgrain beneath his hand. Then, Kadal did something special.


    It felt like wiggling his ears, only behind his eyes, the sensation sliding down inside him like an icy anchor where it grew until a dry, frozen emptiness finally filled his belly. Kadal could see into the darkness in the same manner he could tell where his nose was, even at night.


    Inside himself, Kadal could see something everyone had but few ever got to know¨C His soul. It looked like a nice fishbowl. His was clear with ocean blue leaves worked into the glass and a sliver band wrapped around the top. Inside, two fish bumped into one another.


    One fish was a red so complete that roses had to blush just to compete, and the other an orange of the deepest sunset. Kadal inhaled and felt his stomach drop as the orange fish lept from his soul and into his heart. There, Kadal felt his blood boil as everything this fish was to him became laid bare.


    The fish represented a piece of Kadal he hadn¡¯t felt in a long time. The fish, held in his heart, was Kadal¡¯s anger, his passion, his fire.


    Kadal exhaled. The fish darted through his arm and into the hatchet, whose head promptly burst into flames. With its leave, however, Kadal felt a disorientating tautness and then a snap as that part of his soul was no longer within him.


    All his anger, which mere moments ago threatened to overcome him, vanished as though it had never been. It felt like ice ran through him. He was still beyond livid, but he felt it in a cold, disconnected way. He no longer would take pleasure in killing the intruders; it was simply a matter of course.


    ¡°Good to know you can¡¯t lose what you once got.¡±


    Kadal turned his mind inward again, this time focusing on the red fish. At his command, the red fish swam in a circle, producing a sound like a low gong that only Kadal could hear.


    The orange fish lept from the hatchet and splashed back into his soul. The fire went out as the fire within him reignited.


    Gene was probably praying by now.


    Kadal stretched his arms as he walked. He wished it wouldn¡¯t come to violence, but Kadal knew better than to wish. Neither side would be willing to compromise, which meant somebody was about to have some sense knocked into them.


    ¡°As I said, you can if you want, but nobody¡¯s home.¡± Gene turned at the sound of Kadal¡¯s approach. ¡°Gentlemen, I stand corrected. You know what they say: speak of the devil and all that.¡±


    In front of Gene, seven men wearing thick blue gambeson loitered exasperated, and an eighth wearing decorated plate armor stood impassive. The man was massive, easily a head taller than anyone else present. A helmet resembling a snapping turtle masked the man''s face; the long red plume that curled from the top almost made the turtle¡¯s beak into that of a stout bird.


    ¡°Margrave Krozha,¡± Kadal said.


    ¡°Are we back to formalities, Kadal?¡± the margrave said in a perfectly conversational tone.


    The two just watched each other for a time. Kadal knew he should talk. He knew every precious second he bought could mean the difference between life and death for his family. The margrave was only here for him, but Kadal knew how the man hated loose ends.


    Kadal unbuttoned the top button of his shirt. Then he worked on the next.


    ¡°And they said that fire of yours had been doused,¡± the margrave intoned.


    ¡°It was nice of you to come,¡± Kadal said, finding that, strangely, he meant it.


    Kadal tossed his shirt to Gene before bringing the hatchet to light.


    The margrave took one heavy step forward.


    ¡°It¡¯s been a while since we sparred.¡±

 Chapter Three

    ¡°Well, let me tell you ''bout the way she looked


    The way she''d act and the color of her hair


    Her voice was soft and cool; her eyes were clear and bright


    But she''s not there.¡±


    Toliana hate- hate- hated when the perspective switched just as things were getting interesting. She collapsed backward into the plush grass with a heartfelt sigh. She draped Passion Smolders across her face, using her nose as a bookmark. She let the book curtain her face as she kicked her legs into the air.


    You idiot! Tell him you love him!


    Toliana was sure Noelle would tell Prince Kerrek she loved him, they¡¯d kiss, and Noelle would find out she was royalty. Unfortunately, Toliana had to get through more of the prince¡¯s backstory before she got to the good stuff.


    She sighed once more before rolling onto her stomach. She propped her head up and flipped open Passion Smolders, reading:


    ¡°Prince Kerrek sat deep within the villainous Queen Loumoux¡¯s dungeon for two years, the public opinion of Kerrek growing in his absence. Tales of Kerrek¡¯s exploits, both as a cunning leader and an elusive adversary, were passed around like cheap wine until they were too large to ignore. Kerrek¡¯s name took on a new meaning. Kerrek became synonymous with the great escape, his flight from his father, and the succession wars was no less than a miracle.


    Soon, Kerrek found his soul filled with the true magic of the world¨C Not the magic of words but the magic of names. Wielding his name, Kerrek was able to slip free from his bonds and escape into the night as everyone was sure he could.¡±


    I can do this.


    ¡°Toliana.¡±


    Just one more chapter.


    ¡°Toliana!¡±


    And then? Her heart fluttered at the thought.


    A boy-shaped shadow overtook her sunlight. Toliana slapped her book closed and slid it under her belly. She peered up and found it wasn¡¯t a boy at all, but a Gabe. There was a distinction. He was younger than her by a year and, well, Gabe.


    ¡°Your mom¡¯s looking for you.¡± Gabe Gabed.


    ¡°How bad is it?¡± Toliana asked as she sat up, placing Passion Smolders on her lap.


    ¡°An eight at least.¡±


    ¡°Do I have time to finish this chapter?¡±


    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t risk it,¡± he said, scratching his head, ¡°Plus, I¡¯d get changed. Your mom was all dressed up, and the soldiers were, too.¡±


    Toliana jumped to her feet, and her heart dropped.


    ¡°Hold this for me, will you?¡± Toliana shoved her book into the pudgy boy''s arms. ¡°Thanks, Gabe. Bye.¡±


    She didn¡¯t hear if he replied in her haste. She jogged the best she could, the wild grasses pulling at the hem of her dress. Her house stood starkly visible from the hill she was stumbling down. House was an understatement. The villagers had houses. Gabe¡¯s family had a house. Toliana had a three-story mansion. Well, her parents owned it, as they were fond of reminding her.


    Toliana slowed as she approached the training grounds. She waved to some of her father¡¯s soldiers as they passed, and they waved in return. The smell of metal polish hung like an omen over the men.


    ¡°Toliana,¡± a curly-haired man called out, ¡°the margravine was looking for you.¡±


    ¡°Thanks, Tony,¡± Toliana called back with a strained but genuine smile, ¡°Gabe already found me.¡±


    "Gabe? Toli, that boy would tell you the sky is red if you''d listen."


    It is when the sun sets.


    "Well, I better get going," Toliana said with a hint of urgency.


    Toliana exhibited virtuous patience just long enough for the chattering men to round the corner before she broke into a sprint. The training grounds were behind her house, so she slipped through a small side door used by the kitchen staff.


    Once inside, she dodged people holding silver trays and their questions with equal measures of practiced ease.


    The foyer was empty, letting Toliana skulk up the stairs. At the top, she beelined for her room. A red carpet with garish blue and silver trim ran the length of the hallway and muted her steps. The coast was clear.You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.


    Toliana took extra care not to bump into any expensive bits and bobs on display in the hall, mentally thanking every quiet floorboard on the path to her room.


    Once there, Toliana cautiously pressed the silver door handle, and at the same time, she pulled up, alleviating pressure from the hinges and preventing an otherwise catastrophic squeak. Toliana released the breath she¡¯d been holding.


    ¡°Mother was asking for you.¡±


    Toliana¡¯s heart leapt from her chest and Toliana from her shoes. She spun, a hand clutching her chest.


    ¡°My Word, Toli, you¡¯d think I was a Massic assassin the way you jumped,¡± Aedena grinned, the hand over her mouth doing nothing to restrain her giggle.


    She even snickers proper.


    Aedena had her hair done up in an intricate braid tied into a bun at the nape of her neck. She wore an elegant white dress patterned with flowing red and black flowers. Two azaleas, one white and one red, sat pinned to the left of Aedena¡¯s head. Off-setting the flowers, a white jade bracelet hung from her right wrist.


    ¡°Wow, you look,¡± Toliana racked her brain for the best words to say, ¡°Wow.¡±


    Aedana smiled, and Toliana had to squint against its brilliance. Her sister twisted her head to show off the flowers and stuck a pose. Toliana¡¯s lips curled into a reactionary smile, and she held her arms out for a hug.


    Aedana¡¯s smile never dipped as she said, ¡°Go get cleaned up.¡±


    Toliana mirrored the expression and replied, ¡°You have lipstick on your teeth.¡±


    Toliana narrowly avoided an indignant swipe as she slipped into her room and pressed the door closed. She took a moment to collect herself before bursting into a flurry of flung linens and chucked cottons. Toliana scrubbed her face and blindly grabbed her comb. She plowed her hair straight, taking a few casualties in the process. Strands of the dearly departed swirled in the space a girl once occupied. Toliana hopped into a pair of nice shoes and out of the room.


    Toliana walked the ostentatious carpet as men walked to the gallows. Her guts felt cold with uncertainty. Toliana allowed gravity to do most of the work on the way downstairs. Her footfalls landed heavily on each step as she spiraled into the lavish foyer below.


    Mother waited in the same place and pose she always did. She wore a dress similar to her sister¡¯s but with more layers and a silver bracelet. She was the lord of the waiting room, casually sipping tea with much the same confident, imperial air Aedana possessed. Only, it wasn¡¯t the confidence of oneself but the inferiority of others.


    The margravine looked up from her drink, her gaunt face¡¯s sharp features drilling into Toliana¡¯s soul.


    How could someone with hair pulled that tight still have wrinkles?


    Toliana curtsied.


    ¡°Mother.¡±


    An open-palmed gesture indicated for Toliana to sit at her mother¡¯s side. Toliana smoothed her ankle-length dress as she took her seat. The side-by-side seating would have felt intimate had it been anyone else. Her mother languidly placed her cup down and turned to face Toliana. Her voice was almost creaky as she spoke.


    ¡°You took your sweet time.¡±


    Toliana couldn¡¯t meet her eyes.


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve received notice¨C¡± the margravine glanced to an open letter on the table¨C ¡°that your brother has become an Etymancer.¡±


    ¡°Rory¡¯s a wizard?¡± Toliana¡¯s heart swelled, ¡°That¡¯s great news.¡±


    ¡°An Etymancer. ¡®Wizards,¡¯¡± the older woman waved her hand about as if to bat aside the very idea, ¡°are fairy tales for children. Of course, you would know that had you read anything I¡¯ve assigned. Those books you so love, if you can call them books at all, do nothing but confuse your already derelict mind.¡±


    She kept going, but Toliana wasn¡¯t there.


    A wizard! Toliana imagined her brother lifting her into the air with magic. This is going to be so much fun.


    ¡°Toliana Lavanine Krozha, are you listening to a word I¡¯m saying?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°Good, go get changed and take a couple of maids with you.¡±


    ¡°What? Why?¡±


    ¡°Toliana,¡± her mother grabbed Toliana¡¯s chin and forcibly made them lock eyes, ¡°Your father and brother will be here tonight. There will be a parade for the soldiers, and we will be having dinner together afterward. Do not mess this up for me. Understand?¡±


    Toliana nodded as well as she could with her head held in place.


    ¡°You know how your father¡¯s been since¨C¡±


    ¡°Since he became a monster?¡± Toliana regretted saying it immediately.


    The hand clutching Toliana¡¯s chin violently jerked around her mouth and squeezed. Toliana reached up and pushed against the thin arms, but her mother¡¯s dainty hand was a vice clasping Toliana¡¯s jaw. The aging woman stood and faced her offspring, shoving Toliana back. Toliana¡¯s head bashed into the wood backing of the couch. Fearful eyes met fury. A slim finger repeatedly jabbed into Toliana¡¯s chest, punctuating each word.


    ¡°You do not know what we¡¯ve sacrificed. The things we¡¯ve¨C he had to do to get us where we are? To buy you all the nice clothes and books you could ever want? I will not have you disrespecting your own father. Am I clear?¡±


    The margravine stood and adjusted her bodice. Toliana tried to speak, but her voice caught in her throat.


    ¡°Look what you made me do,¡± her mother said to herself.


    Eventually, Toliana sulled out a strained, ¡°Yes, ma¡¯am.¡±


    Her mother either didn¡¯t notice the reply or didn¡¯t care. She turned from her daughter and rang a small silver bell that had been sitting on the table. Toliana covered her eyes with a hand as the two servant women entered.


    ¡°Help Toliana get ready for tonight¡¯s festivities.¡±


    The women were silent as the margravine left. Toliana stood, continuing to shield her eyes as she briskly pushed past the maids and into the foyer.


    Toliana walked in front, hoping they couldn¡¯t see the tears.

 Chapter Four

    ¡°One is the loneliest number that you''ll ever do


    Two can be as bad as one


    It''s the loneliest number since the number one¡±


    Nettle stretched her back, the early morning sun breathing warmth into her clay-cooled bones. Her partial burial had dampened her clothes along with her fury. Her anger died like the horse, falling into the pit of her stomach and getting crushed by inner turmoil.


    The man watched her limber up, though watched might have been a strong term. He was still buried up to his neck and squinted blindly into the sun, giving him a pained expression.


    Nettle lowered into a crouch, keeping one leg extended to the side. She switched sides, rocking slightly until the joint popped.


    Of course, the man initially attempted his own excavation. He¡¯d thrashed like a fish and scraped his chin along the ground. At the time, Nettle was busy digging herself out, only spared a similar fate by quick reaction time and a lifelong fear. When Nettle made it halfway through her unburial, he pleaded. His voice choked through stumbled excuses before he changed tactics into tripping apologies.


    Now that she was free, he was quiet as a grave.


    She studied the man, his hollow cheeks accentuated by the corpse-like gray foundation he¡¯d unintentionally applied. He was young, probably younger than her, but his raggedness made him appear much older. He looked up at her, managing to look defiant despite his position. Nettle challenged him with the same listless, silent expression she¡¯d been weaponizing the entire time. He broke, head flopping down like a marionette.


    After stretching, Nettle rose, and the man perked back up. Nettle walked lazily towards him. Fear pulled piteously at his features. The man opened his eyes wide in the shade her approach created. Nettle lifted his chin with the outside of her foot until he met her gaze. Nettle hovered his face, ready to stomp down, then casually pivoted and strode past him.


    She made it ten steps before he started doing his fish impression again. He craned his neck left and right.


    ¡°Hey,¡± he rasped, ¡°Hey, where¡¯re you going?¡± His voice filled with worry, ¡°Don¡¯t leave me.¡± His head lolled back as he repeated to the sky, louder this time, dread creeping in as his plea became more of a demand, ¡°Don¡¯t leave me.¡±


    Unfettered, Nettle walked back to her campsite. The man called out a few more times, and she let him. If he wanted to get himself killed, it would save her the decision.


    She packed her belongings, doing a mental pat down to ensure everything was there. Since she didn¡¯t set up her tent, it was only a matter of strapping up her bedroll and putting on her shoes.


    Before she did, however, Nettle sat down and massaged some warmth back into her frozen calves and feet. Then, she got up and dusted the dried clay from her clothes. Finally, she donned her old wool overcoat and checked its many pockets. Her bag was a bit too heavy now, its pilfered contents weighing on her in both meanings.


    Out of curiosity, Nettle walked to the chasm-like kikizha and peered into its depths. Nothing within could have even constituted a horse. Her face contorted. There was a strip of something that Nettle decided was part of the saddlebag, for her sake. The tinny smell of the animal''s blood hung in the air, assaulting Nettle''s nose.


    As a girl, Nettle witnessed a tree at the edge of the waste slowly tip into one of the things. The way the wood groaned and snapped, she had expected to find the unfortunate tree¡¯s shattered husk in the pit, but the only thing it left to this world was a miasma of sawdust and the way Nettle would sometimes cringe at the creak of unbroken leather boots.


    She turned her attention back to the man, shielding her eyes from the waking sun. He was still thrashing about like a rebellious sunflower.


    When she was digging herself out, Nettle was confident she¡¯d kill him. After her morning stretches, Nettle tossed around the idea of simply abandoning him to wallow in his grave.


    She sighed.


    Unfortunately, Nettle didn¡¯t have the same luxury that protected these men while hunting Nobodies. Nettle would remember every sleepless night, the way she bashed his skull in with her shovel. No, it wasn¡¯t possible, not without the heat of the moment.


    Nettle approached the man, the grunts of his struggle masking her advance. She rounded the man and poised herself between him and the sun, stance wide, hands on hips. He cracked open wrinkled-shut eyes. Confusion and comprehension battled over the man¡¯s face until understanding won. He hung his head in despair.


    ¡°Get on with it,¡± he said.


    Nettle crouched into his personal bubble, causing the man to meet her eyes, jaw slack. She spoke condescendingly, stressing each syllable as one might do to a child.


    ¡°My name is Nettle. What is yours?¡±


    His axels needed greasing because the wheels took a long time to turn.


    ¡°Um, Harrod.¡±


    Nettle scooped a chunk of clay away at the man¡¯s left shoulder. This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.


    ¡°Good!¡± Nettle patronized, ¡°See how this works?¡±


    Maybe it was muddy, and a wheel was treading air. Harrod continued to gape like a fish, so Nettle continued, the condescension leaving her voice.


    ¡°Did you come here to kill me?¡±


    ¡°What? No, we were just trying to get some easy cash.¡±


    ¡°Does it look like I¡¯m loaded?¡±


    ¡°No, no, no, I was; I mean, we were . . .¡±


    Harrod floundered, testing Nettle¡¯s patience. Nettle smacked his face before she could stop herself. Harrod looked up like a kicked dog.


    ¡°Sorry, that was harder than I intended.¡±


    Harrod searched her face, then turned away, murmuring, ¡°There were these flyers in town. Sixty moss per Paper Person, fifteen if they were dead. We had one in our saddlebag but you saw what happened to Little Innocence there.¡±


    Nettle freed his shoulder for the answer.


    ¡°And so you decided to try catching Nobodies in the place most likely to kill you for the courtesy?¡±


    ¡°Well, we thought since you¡¯d be so easy to follow out here, we¡¯d just have to be careful, and it would be easy money.¡±


    ¡°Mhm.¡± Nettle thought for a moment. ¡°And who put out these fliers?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not sure who put them out, but a man in Koelmus was supposed to pay us and take the people to a different location. I think his name was Leroy.¡±


    Nettle shoveled a bit more. Koelmus was only a five-day walk south of Leylen¡¯s, perhaps she¡¯d pay there a visit next.


    Harrod gained momentum, adding, ¡°The posters looked like they were made in Augaminy, or somewhere else in Seebsil. The lines were super straight, you know the type, so I bet it was from their king. I¡¯ve heard he does all kinds of shady stuff.¡± Harrod seemed to realize the irony of that because, after a second, he rationalized, ¡°So, really, it''s his fault.¡±


    Nettle hit him again. This time exactly as hard as she intended.


    ¡°There was another person with me. Why didn¡¯t you take his body?¡±


    ¡°A corpse? We didn¡¯t find anybody else till we caught up to you.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m pretty sure you killed him.¡±


    ¡°Oh,¡± was all Harrod could say to that. ¡°It¡¯s pretty hard to breathe in here.¡±


    ¡°I know.¡± Nettle looked up and took a deep breath.


    Nettle scooped out just enough of Harrod¡¯s arm for him to pull it free from the clay with a splop. Nettle felt like hitting him again now that he could at least block, but chose to get a start on the trek to Leylen¡¯s


    She made it ten steps before he called to her.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, you know?¡±


    Nettle looked back at Harrod, who was slowly clawing out of his clay prison, and deadpanned, ¡°Harrod, if we meet again, be a stranger.¡±


    She didn¡¯t look back as he softly affirmed, ¡°I really am sorry.¡±


    Nettle couldn¡¯t tell if he was trying to convince her or himself.


    Leylen¡¯s was about a day southeast still, and Nettle wanted to sleep in a bed tonight. That is if anyone would receive her.


    She walked lost in thoughts of the morning''s events, which miraculously eclipsed that of the day before. Bounties were common enough, and despite their small population, Nobodies often found their way onto such posters. That being said, Nettle had never heard of this kind of manhunt. Surely someone would take offense at the prospect, other than Nobodies, that is. With such a high price on her head, living or dead, Nettle would have to stay on her toes, more than usual that is. Under normal circumstances, people left her alone, assuming she¡¯d be more trouble than she¡¯s worth. With coins tipping one side of the scale, there was no telling.


    Maybe I could turn myself in.


    Nettle¡¯s legs thankfully wandered as much as her mind, as the horizon¡¯s tasteful nudity had changed into a spattering of trees without her notice.


    Not too long now. Then I¡¯m back on normal ground, with normal plants and normal animals.


    The people were unaccounted for.


    As Nettle reached the threshold between the clay of the waste and the rocky soil of the forest, she wondered, as she often did, what kept the Kikizha from simply leaving the confines of their world. Perhaps their bodies are too weak to push through the deeper stone, or maybe there¡¯s something specific about the clay that contains their essence.


    As a girl, a fisherman told her how large sea animals occasionally found their way to the beach, stranding themselves upon the land, unable to move outside the water. The wrinkly man continued in a toothless grin, vividly recounting how their stomaches would bloat, filling with air until popping. Nettle imagined a large ovular Kikizha, caught partially in the soil, warbling as it expanded, blasting apart, its remnants swirling in a chaotic dance.


    Maybe that¡¯s how they reproduce.


    Nettle¡¯s shoes scraped stone, leaving those thoughts in the valley. She walked in place to remember the feeling. This ground felt solid, reliable even, despite its rough demeanor. This was ground with personality. Although Nettle supposed being empty was a personality.


    Nettle followed the trees south until coming to a dirt road that divided the forest in half. The forest loomed claustrophobic compared to the vast nothing of the waste. The chatter of critters and the swaying rustle of plants enveloped her like a soothing blanket. Finally, there was something.


    Nettle let her mind empty itself only to thoughts of the forest. It was pleasant. She strolled, feeling the icy hand that clutched her heart since yesterday ease its grip.


    Eventually, Nettle reached a part of the forest where she thought she recognized the faces of the trees. Though, maybe they just had one of those faces. Nope. Nettle knew where she was. She sniffed at her armpit. In this state, Nettle was more likely to be hunted because of her resemblance to a wild animal than any bounty.


    She clambered by a family of distinctly gnarled trees and hopped over a couple of burnt logs until the gurgle of a stream made its presence known. Nettle knelt at the brook¡¯s edge and slung off her pack. A fat toad lazed by the water¡¯s edge. Its eyes seemed to follow as she spun off her overcoat and held it at arm''s length; Nettle grimaced with disdain at the gray and red smatterings.


    The clear water iced Nettle¡¯s hands as she attempted to return the well-loved wool to its usual unassuming black. She wasn¡¯t going for a pristine clean so much as a not-a-murderer clean. She draped the waterlogged cloth over a nearby branch before removing her socks and shoes. She rinsed her legs and the outside of her shoes of the clay that clung desperately for life but kept her socks dry.


    The toad sitting opposite the stream blinked one eye, languidly followed by the other. Now on all fours, Nettle held the thing¡¯s gaze a second before dunking her head into the frigid water.


    The chill water rushed past her ears, shocking her mind awake. Nettle basked in the feeling before opening her mouth underwater and allowing the current to fill her cheeks. She threw herself out, flinging water in a long arc. She kept her mouth full chipmunk style, breathing through her nose. Her neck-length mop framed her sodden face in clinging curls. She caught the toad¡¯s eyes. Nettle smiled the best she could, cheeks bulging.


    ¡°The hell was that?¡± The toad spoke in a voice that smoked a pack a day.

 Chapter Five

    ¡°I''d rather be a forest than a street


    Yes, I would


    If I could


    I surely would¡±


    Nettle inhaled painfully. She was, as it turns out, not a fish, so her lungs didn¡¯t much appreciate the water. She clenched her hands blindly into the mud, letting the prick of pine needles take her mind off the chest-burning hacking. Tears mingled with the water dripping from her hair and nose. Her coughing progressed into that body-rocking honk that people with really bad colds used to keep others up at night.


    Something gave her a firm whack on the back. Then, a lingering presence situated itself, cold and wet, on the small of her back before leaping again and again. One smack: hack. Two smack: splutter. Three smack: clear.


    ¡°Thanks,¡± she said, the water running from her nose providing a congested quality to her voice.


    ¡°It was the least I could do,¡± the toad said in a charmingly smooth gravel.


    Nettle stabilized herself onto one arm and wiped her face into the crook of her elbow. The cold weight bounded off her once more, landing half a pace from her face. The fat toad watched, its face equal parts calculating and slow-blinking amphibian. Nettle sat up and pinched clear her nose.


    ¡°A talking frog? Sure, why not?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s it? Just like that?¡±


    ¡°Why? Is there normally more?¡±


    The toad rubbed the back of its head in a very un-toadlike manner.


    ¡°Well, usually, we have this back and forth where it''s all, ¡®Ahh! A talking frog¡¯ and ¡®Who are you, and how¡¯d you become a frog?¡¯ ¡±


    ¡°Okay?¡±


    ¡°Then I¡¯d tell you how I was a down-on-my-luck prince from a foreign land who met their unfortunate fate at witch¡¯s hands, only freeable by true love¡¯s kiss.¡±


    ¡°And all that¡¯s true?¡±


    ¡°No, of course not. I only say that so they¡¯ll . . .¡± The toad suggestively wiggled what passed for its eyebrows. ¡°You know.¡±


    ¡°And these women? They¨C¡± Nettle gestured up and down the toad with both arms. ¡°No offense.¡±


    ¡°None taken. But yeah, sometimes.¡±


    ¡°Kiss you, that is.¡±


    ¡°Obviously. Take it from me: true love¡¯s one-night stand is a tough sell.¡±


    Nettle must have made a face because the toad rolled its eyes and sort of sagged into itself.


    ¡°Puh-lease. Don¡¯t flatter yourself, not in public anyway. Any dignity you were preserving spoiled when I watched you stumble from the forest and nearly drown yourself. For a second, I thought I might have to give you a ¡®true clear-this-broad¡¯s-airway kiss.¡¯ ¡±


    Nettle stood, grabbed her coat from the branch where it was drying, and put it on, still damp.


    ¡°Okay, well, I better leave now if I want to make Leylen¡¯s tonight.¡± She grabbed her shovel and reached for her bag, only to find the toad sitting atop it like a wart.


    It sat up on its haunches, waving its stubby arms and shaking its head, ¡°Wai-w-w-w-wait.¡±


    Nettle waited, and the thing seemed surprised by this because it took a couple of seconds before asking in a quick and quiet voice, ¡°Could I get a ride?¡±


    Nettle guffawed and huffed before responding, ¡°They really kiss you?¡±


    ¡°You''re still stuck on that? I was kidding. Mostly. Not at all.¡±


    ¡°How old are these girls, anyhow?¡±


    ¡°Listen, I got a deal for you. If you take me to Leylen¡¯s with you, I know a guy who can house you for the night for free, your whole stay, in fact.¡±


    Nettle slid her shovel under the toad, ignoring his protests, and hoisted him to eye level. He smirked and smugly folded his arms.


    ¡°Got your attention, did it?¡±


    Nettle balanced the shovel on her shoulder and turned to the stream.


    ¡°You wouldn¡¯t dare.¡±


    She did. The toad catapulted through the air in a beautiful arc.


    ....ooooo................


    ¡°Y...........ouu..........


    .....................uu.....


    .........................Biii¨C¡± Ploop.


    The toad clambered out of the stream, looking none too pleased. He wiped himself in the way a person might dust their clothes. He raised a fist and opened his mouth before realizing Nettle was already walking away. Nettle nearly stepped on him as he intercepted her.


    ¡°Ma¡¯am, if you¡¯ll forgive my behavior, I believe we got off on the wrong foot.¡± He wrung his hands like a food vendor after selling moldy bread. ¡°My name is Toad. What, if I may be so bold to ask, is the lady¡¯s?¡±


    ¡°Your name is Toad. And you are a toad.¡±


    ¡°That is the case.¡± He smiled a smile which met his eyes through sheer force of will.


    A thin breeze rustled through the leaves.


    ¡°Nettle.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s fine if you don¡¯t want to tell me your real name.¡±


    ¡°That is my real name. Mostly.¡±


    Toad puffed up and then slowly released his breath like an old guy who just sat down at the bar. ¡°Nettle?¡±


    Nettle mocked his disbelief, ¡°Toad?¡±


    ¡°Yes, of course, forgive me,¡± he said, ¡°It¡¯s very fitting.¡±


    She didn¡¯t like the way his smile turned genuine.


    ¡°I just need to take you to Leylen¡¯s?¡±


    Toad nodded eagerly.


    Nettle allowed him to shuffle in place as she mulled it over.


    She scooped him up, his warty skin wriggling beneath her grasp. ¡°You can get me a place to sleep?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s as I said.¡±


    ¡°This guy you know. He owes you a favor, right?¡± Toad nodded. ¡°Get me dinner, too, and you have yourself a deal.¡±


    Toad silently deliberated. Nettle squeezed.


    ¡°Deal.¡±


    Nettle dropped him into her compass pocket, where he squirmed blindly before popping his head out the top. She made her way back to the road and started walking.


    ¡°My guy in Leylen¡¯s runs a tight ship. I can guarantee no one will bother you while you stay. Unless, of course, you do something unbelievably stupid. Although you¡¯ve brought your own shovel, so it won¡¯t be too bad if you do.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s that supposed to mean?¡± Nettle asked reflexively, but she didn¡¯t hear his response as she had a sudden, melancholy, empty thought: This is familiar¡ªthe back-and-forth, the outrage both real and played up. She tuned back in.


    ¡°--Murdery types. And I don¡¯t say that because of your condition, just because of how you dress.¡±


    It was familiar. How could she miss something she never even had?


    <hr>


    The sun had long since dipped behind the trees by the time Nettle found herself in Leylen¡¯s. The illuminated sky was just dusky enough for lanterns to flicker through the streets. Nettle stopped tuning out the passenger in her pocket.Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.


    ¡°I told him, ¡®Well, a pig that special, you don¡¯t eat all at once!¡¯ ¡± Toad did his strange barking inhale of a laugh.


    ¡°Where do I go?¡±


    Toad looked up, a self-satisfied smile lingering on his face. ¡°Hmm? Oh, right. Head towards The Garden.¡±


    Can¡¯t say I¡¯m particularly surprised.


    Nettle walked the roughly cobbled streets, her fatigue growing in the calm of the residential area. It was like her body knew it could rest soon and decided to get a headstart without her.


    The streets were empty, people either at home or in The Garden. Nettle took in the quiet through a deep, swelling breath but didn¡¯t dare stop walking lest the day fully catch up to her. The air was full, not of the tense quiet of the forest but the tired silence of a city at rest. Nettle hoped to join that soon.


    Her stride slowed to a stroll, and she took the time to study the curved, bell-shaped wooden homes. The decorations that littered the street momentarily baffled her before she remembered it was Allsday tomorrow.


    As she approached the city''s dark heart, the small residential buildings grew into storefronts. Nettle ran her hand across the orange and yellow zinnia flowers draped from windowsills¡ªthe colors of celebration.


    More people milled about here, browsing stores and arguing with street vendors. One man, in particular, took up the entire walkway animatedly grousing in front of a weathered building whose rusty sign proudly declared it a ¡®Word Loan¡¯ in red lettering. The one-armed wordlender, whom he shouted at, leaned out the doorway with a predatory smile.


    The disposed man shook his fist, ¡°Eight moss and ten percent is robbery, and you know it. You- you half-glazed ham!¡±


    The one-armed man laughed unfazed, ¡°Not on Allsday, you gizzard. With my talent, you could make twice that playing guitar on the street.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, with my hard work and your generous talent.¡±


    ¡°Talent you otherwise would lack.¡±


    The fuming man turned to Nettle with an expression that pleaded for backup.


    ¡°Sounds good to me,¡± Nettle said, trying to step past.


    The man spun in place, searching for anyone who might join his cause, before folding his arms smugly, ¡°So why don¡¯t you buy it?¡±


    ¡°Etymancy isn¡¯t really for me,¡± Nettle said, again, trying to get around him.


    The man studied her pale face and looked disgusted. ¡°Am I supposed to be surprised that a Paper Person is opposed to honest work? The Garden is that way if you have some gambling den or cathouse waiting for you.¡±


    Nettle shared a look with the wordlender, then shoved past the man, their bickering following in echoes even after she rounded the corner.


    ¡°Do people often say those kinds of things?¡± Toad asked as Nettle broke onto Main Street.


    Nettle let a bit of the tension out of her chest. Main Street was mostly empty as its municipality buildings attracted few around dusk.


    ¡°It¡¯s almost worse when they don¡¯t say anything but you can tell they¡¯re thinking it.¡±


    At the end of the street, Leylen''s pudgy visage lounged immortalized upon a pedestal in white marble. A metal placard told his inane history or some other such thing.


    ¡°You know what¡¯s funny?¡± Toad asked, his eyes on the statue but his gaze a thousand years away, ¡°Leylen came out here to escape the city and its people.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s usually the kind of thing that attracts people¡¯s attention.¡±


    Nettle looked down to see Toad fidgeting absent-mindedly with the cord of beads she used to keep track of her distance while traveling.


    ¡°Give me that.¡± Nettle swiped the cord and stuffed it into a random pocket.


    An alternating pattern of white and gray stone demarcated the entrance to The Garden. Beyond, the cobbled streets became well-trodden grass paths. Buildings cramped together, fighting over real estate with trees and vines. The buildings were mostly winning. Toad rustled in her pocket before bringing out the compass, which he held aloft like a map.


    ¡°Southeast.¡±


    Nettle pivoted mechanically.


    ¡°South.¡±


    She turned down an alley that was more jungle than city. Nettle stopped just before stepping back onto the street.


    ¡°South.¡± Toad jerked in his pocket like a rider would spur a horse; when Nettle didn¡¯t start walking, he followed her gaze to the wall. ¡°Oh.¡±


    ¡°Notice. Fifty moss will be awarded upon the bringing of any living Paper Person to Leroy Gottle in Koelmus,¡± Nettle read slowly aloud.


    Toad scanned the poster, ¡°No address. Or picture, for that matter.¡±


    Nettle leaned in to read the small text in the border, ¡°Twenty if dead.¡±


    Nettle tried to peel the poster off the wall but couldn¡¯t get her nails under the paper. The sound of footsteps wound her nerves. She turned, ready to bolt only to unwind as two old drunkards stumbled down the street, mumbling more than talking ¨C one with a head like a pumpkin and the other like a butternut squash. They stopped and squinted at Nettle.


    She pointed at the poster, ¡°What do you know of this?¡±


    Pumpkin opened his eyes as if seeing her for the first time and grinned, ¡°Hey, baby.¡±


    He opened his arms for a hug and stepped forward. The smell of piss hit Nettle¡¯s nose like a shovel. She shoved the man. Pumpkin hit the floor, and Butternut hacked out a coughing laugh that transitioned into more of a squelch. Butternut doubled over, leaning on the wall for support.


    Pumpkin tried rolling to his front like a turtle before laughing as well, ¡°Help me up, you old bastard.¡±


    Nettle stepped over the scene and away from the squashes.


    ¡°How is that allowed?¡±


    Toad looked up, concerned, ¡°They allow way worse stuff here. Being sloshed that bad is the least morally bankrupt thing I imagine people are doing here.¡±


    ¡°Not that, the poster.¡±


    ¡°Hmm? Oh, I wouldn¡¯t worry about that. They can¡¯t do anything in Leylen¡¯s, just imply it.¡± Toad pointed to an alley clogged on one end by a knotted willow. ¡°We¡¯re here by the way.¡±


    ¡®Here,¡¯ it seemed, was a two-story building built sideways from the back of another building like a parasitic growth. A tree sprouted from inside and out an upstairs window, contrasting the stone brickwork. One of the double doors was missing, and a beaded curtain hung in its stead.


    ¡°The Swallow¡¯s Tail?¡± Nettle asked skeptically.


    ¡°Ain¡¯t she purdy?¡±


    ¡°It''s a whore house.¡±


    ¡°And they¡¯re purdy too. It''s a twofer.¡±


    Nettle clattered through the beads and felt the heat of salty air envelop her. Men sat in booths and displayed their yellowed teeth to the young women who served their drinks. A slow piano tune filled the space between people¡¯s voices. Nettle approached the bar and the tan woman who was running it.


    Toad spoke just above the music, ¡°Tell her to get Queenie.¡±


    ¡°Hi, I¡¯m looking for Queenie.¡±


    The woman gave Nettle a once over and raised an eyebrow, ¡°Who¡¯s asking.¡±


    ¡°Tell her Mr. Luciatti,¡± Toad whisper-shouted.


    Nettle did her most charming smile, ¡°One moment, please.¡±


    The bartender motioned with an open palm, ¡°By all means.¡±


    Nettle turned her back to the woman and slouched over, ¡°Who the hell is Mr. Luciatti?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m Mr. Luciatti. Trust me, Queenie loves me.¡±


    ¡°Then why are you hiding in my pocket?¡± Nettle hissed through her teeth.


    ¡°You see that blonde by the stage?¡±


    Nettle turned, ¡°There¡¯s a couple.¡±


    ¡°Not the eight, the ten.¡± Toad discreetly pointed her out.


    ¡°I suppose.¡±


    ¡°Let¡¯s just say we don¡¯t get along.¡±


    ¡°I can¡¯t imagine why.¡±


    Nettle turned back to the barkeep, ¡°Mr. Luciatti is asking.¡±


    The barkeep rolled her eyes and stepped through a back room.


    ¡°Toad Luciatti.¡± Nettle test the feel of it. ¡°Is that Feliflese?¡±


    ¡°Yeah. From my great-grandpa, but I¡¯ve never been.¡±


    ¡°Me neither, but I know an old Feliflese woman who houses me whenever I visit Aushoo.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s nice.¡±


    Nettle set her bag on a stool and pulled up another for herself. She put her head down and closed her eyes. She must have passed out because she woke up to the barkeep shaking her awake.


    ¡°Mr. Luciatti? Queenie is able to see you now.¡±


    Nettle blinked stupidly at the woman for a while before she could understand what any of those words meant.


    ¡°Of course. Thank you.¡±


    The woman motioned to the door she previously disappeared behind. Nettle grabbed her pack and shambled away from the noise of the showroom. The following hallway was so thin her shovel dinged off the wall every couple of steps from its place strapped to her pack. A single door sat halfway through the hall, which ended unadorned and abruptly. It was as though the builder forgot hallways were meant to go places. Nettle knocked and heard a muffled ¡®Come in.¡¯ She swung the door open, and Toad hopped out of her pocket.


    ¡°Let me talk to Queenie. He can be a bit rough around the edges,¡± Toad scruffed his chin, ¡°Actually, you just wait out here.¡±


    Nettle didn¡¯t have time to argue before he was able to slip through the crack and slam the door closed. Nettle stood listless for a bit before slumping to the floor. She listened to the muted piano and occasional cheer from the tap room. Nettle faded in and out, lulling her head like a pendulum.


    Something hit Nettle¡¯s forehead and fell into her lap. She opened her eyes and examined the brass key and the amphibian that had thrown it.


    ¡°Ask the barmaid for Queenie Soup. You¡¯re room six.¡±


    Toad squeezed back through the door, followed by muffled laughter. Nettle lurched to her feet and almost walked into Toad¡¯s blonde ten as she exited the hallway.


    Nettle miraculously kept eye contact with the woman as she spat out an, ¡°I¡¯m sorry, miss. Excuse me.¡±


    The woman gave a gasping smile and cooed, ¡°Were you just talking to the bossman? How exciting! A paper girl!¡± The woman ran a thumb over Nettle¡¯s cheek before tucking a loose lock behind her ear. ¡°You¡¯re so exotic.¡±


    ¡°Yes, that¡¯s very nice of you.¡± Nettle edged her way around the woman. ¡°You have a very large, uh, heart.¡±


    Nettle took a seat at the bar, and the woman followed suit. Nettle caught the bartender¡¯s attention and requested some ¡®Queenie Soup.¡¯ The blonde woman rested her chin in her hands as she studied Nettle.


    ¡°You¡¯d be surprised what some of the men here go for, so I wouldn¡¯t worry.¡±


    The bartender came back and slid a bowl across the counter. Nettle instantly dug in, scooping half a quail egg up with her spoon. Nettle looked back to Ten as she choked down her food, unsure what the woman was going on about.


    That reminds me.


    ¡°Barkeep, what are the cup sizes here?¡±


    The bartender fumbled behind the counter before producing a pint glass.


    ¡°Could I get a drink?¡± Nettle set a single green coin on the counter. ¡°Anything¡¯s fine.¡±


    Foamy liquid gold flowed from the tap.


    Nettle scarfed down her soup and washed it down with the pint.


    ¡°Sorry to cut things short, Ten, but I should be sleeping about now, so if you¡¯ll excuse me.¡±


    ¡°Who¡¯s the lucky client?¡± She looked around.


    Nettle also looked around, her foggy mind unsure who they were searching for.


    Ten sighed, ¡°I should get back to work too.¡± She waved with her fingers. ¡°Good luck, new girl.¡± With that, she swayed away.


    Nettle dangled her key, and the bartender pointed to the stairs. She ambled her way upstairs and found the door with ¡®six¡¯ stamped on its brass plate. Her key matched the lock. Once inside, Nettle locked the door, slumped off her pack, hung her outerwear on the tree that consumed the center of the room, and finally fell face-first into the mattress.


    Nettle desperately wanted to sleep, but her worries played billiards with her insecurities.


    Too much had happened in too little time. Two days. Just two days. The dead man, fighting for her life, getting buried, negotiating with her would-be captor, talking frogs, the poster, Queenie Soup.


    She probably used up her whole life¡¯s excitement in two days. Even still, she felt empty. Emotionless. She¡¯d been feeling empty for a while now. Sure, she was scared and angry while running and fighting, but afterward? She should have been furious. She should have been poison and venom.


    When she was weeping over the dead man. That had to have been the last real feeling, right? She tried to replicate the despair she felt at that moment but couldn¡¯t well it up. Before that? Nettle wasn¡¯t sure the last time she felt so entirely.


    She was a leaf in a river.


    Nettle drifted to sleep, feeling guilty she couldn¡¯t cry as she had done before.

 Chapter Six

    ¡°It''s a God-awful small affair


    To the girl with the mousy hair


    But her mummy is yelling, ¡®No,¡¯


    And her daddy has told her to go¡±


    Toliana wore a cute dress, and her makeup (probably) wasn¡¯t smeared ¡ªpositives and all that. She felt ill, as though her heart was clawing its way up her throat. Toliana risked a glance down the stone bench, past Aedana, and to the ice sculpture that was her mother. The margravine¡¯s head tilted precariously back, allowing her to look down on others while still seeing straight.


    It seemed to Toliana that the tilt of her mother¡¯s head displayed all three of her moods.


    If she was looking down on you, disappointment. If she was looking up at you, anger. Finally, if the margravine met your eyes head-on, you were dead.


    Toliana knew she was being dramatic. All the best bad moods were. She looked away with a huff.


    The townspeople bustled about with last-minute preparations. People strung blue and red streamers from their windowsills and lit torches as the sun dropped from view. Soldiers stood shoulder to shoulder down the street¡¯s length. The men casually spoke to the people around them. Children wove through the crowd with reckless abandon, their mothers trying their darndest to wrangle the chaos.


    ¡°Sit up,¡± Aedana whispered, elbowing Toliana¡¯s side.


    Vitriol bubbled up through Toliana¡¯s stomach and almost left her tongue before she remembered herself. She reluctantly straightened her posture but scrunched up her face.


    Sit up, Toli, sit up. You need to sit up.


    Toliana had too much pent-up energy. She wanted to run off, scream, maybe beat someone up. She looked to the nearest soldier and imagined how she would do it. First, she would use her small stature and speed to slide between his legs. Now that she was behind him, she would take his sword and kick him onto his stomach. This is when she would get serious; she would go on the offensive, slashing at the man while he scrambled on the floor.


    ¡°Don¡¯t make that face either.¡±


    Toli, you know I only want the best for you. Your best just so happens to be becoming me.


    Toliana released the breath she¡¯d been holding, ¡°Sorry.¡±


    Aedana smiled unfairly before turning her attention back to the crowd. The man she¡¯d been mentally assaulting turned from the conversation he was having and met her eyes. He smiled and waved, and she returned the gesture.


    Sorry, Yusef.


    A hush rippled over the people, and the soldiers fell into parade rest. Distantly, a horn da-da-da-dunned, and the townsfolk twisted in unison, trying to see the source. Cheering rolled like thunder, and Toliana lost herself to the atmosphere as anticipation washed over her. The noise grew as the procession progressed. Toliana stood, ignoring the gentle tug of Adeana at her sleeve.


    The parade rounded the corner and stepped onto the main street. Soldiers in her father¡¯s red and whites and the king¡¯s blue and blacks stepped in sync. At the forefront, her brother Rory led the men. He held the banner of House Krozha, a red and white checkered flag bearing a silhouette of a long-necked turtle in the middle. The banner glowed with an outline of unnaturally clear and white light. It felt like seeing the sun without the filter of the sky, almost as though the light were naked. Toliana had never seen anything like it.


    She flailed both arms wildly, hoping to get Rory¡¯s attention. Rory twisted the banner in a figure eight. Aedana pulled more forcefully, and Toliana relented, plopping herself onto the bench.


    ¡°That¡¯s his magic. It has to be.¡± Toliana put a hand to her forehead.


    The three Krozha women looked at each other before coming to different conclusions, but they spoke as one.


    ¡°He makes things glow!¡±


    ¡°He makes things glow?¡±


    ¡°He makes things glow.¡±


    Toliana turned to Aedana, a stupid grin growing on her face.


    ¡°That¡¯s amazing.¡±


    Aedana searched Toliana¡¯s face before confirming, ¡°It is?¡±


    ¡°Think of everything you could do with that¡ªno more lanterns or candles. You¡¯d probably still need fireplaces, of course. But you¡¯d never be lost in the dark.¡±


    She would have kept going, but the banner¡¯s light suddenly went out. Then, Rory waved his hand in a wide arc, leaving a trail of glowing air in its wake. Like a weightless fog, the glow drifted into the air, lighting the courtyard with its light. ¡®Oohs¡¯ and ¡®aahs¡¯ bounced around the crowd. Toliana jumped to her feet before Aedana pulled her back down half-heartedly.


    ¡°Did you see that?¡±


    It was Aedana¡¯s turn to be stupefied. ¡°Yeah . . . I did.¡±


    The formless light swirled and caught eddies in the breeze. Toliana looked away long enough to see the ever-so-slight widening of her mother¡¯s eyes.


    The parade resumed its procession, lit as though by the full moon, until Rory stood a mere ten paces from the women. He signaled to the drummer, who in turn counted off a halt. The men stood motionless momentarily before Rory allowed them into parade rest.


    Rory stood as stiff as his uniform before the margravine, then swept into an extravagant bow. Next, he raised his head, looked at his sisters with a stupid grin, and waggled his eyebrows. A fraction of a second later, Rory straightened into the disciplined military leader he was and turned to his men.


    The light in the air dissipated, and the banner split the night once more.


    ¡°Men,¡± Rory¡¯s voice demanded attention, ¡°this past couple of months, you have served your nation and protected your families with diligence and dedication. Every painful step, every biting wound you bled, you suffered for them.¡± Rory gestured to the crowd with his banner. ¡°Go! Go now, and be with those who made this all worth it. Dismissed.¡±


    The men cheered almost fervently, followed by a more general cry of admiration from the gathered families. The cheering slowly died, and the river of soldiers bled into the crowd.


    Rory dismissed the banner¡¯s light as he proudly strutted over. He knelt before the margravine and took her hand.


    ¡°Mother.¡± he gently kissed the back of her hand.


    ¡°Where is your father?¡±


    ¡°He wanted the celebration to be for me and the men.¡± Rory stood and turned to Aedana.


    Aedana daintily proffered a hand, which Rory promptly grabbed and pulled. Aedana stumbled to her feet, and Rory pulled her into a hug.


    Rory released the indignant Aedana and continued, ¡°There was something he had to take care of anyway. He¡¯ll be there for dinner.¡±


    The margravine sat impassive, ¡°I see.¡±


    Toliana bowled into Rory¡¯s side with a hug of her own. Rory deftly controlled his footing and squeezed back. Toliana¡¯s feet left the floor for a second as he constricted her. He smelled like smoke and sweat.


    ¡°Make me glow,¡± she managed to wheeze out.


    Rory pushed Toliana apart and held her shoulders at arm¡¯s length.


    ¡°Sorry, Toli, but it doesn¡¯t work like that.¡±


    Toliana challenged his gaze before Rory held his arms up in surrender.


    ¡°I¡¯m not lying; I really can¡¯t make people glow.¡±


    ¡°Toliana, let the boy breathe; he¡¯s hardly a moment to rest,¡± the margravine said, standing.


    Aedana whispered placatingly, ¡°You¡¯ll have plenty of time to pester him after dinner.¡±


    The walk to their mansion was short, but the margravine had a carriage prepared anyway.


    The siblings sat on one side of the bumpy ride, their placid mother on the other. Toliana checked to see the margravine was looking out the window before poking her brother in the side.


    She motioned for him to lean in before whispering, ¡°So if you can¡¯t make me shine, what can you do?¡±


    Rory placed his hand on her head, and Toliana¡¯s mind seemed to still. Her thoughts weren¡¯t racing or frantic, and ideas connected simply and without a fuss. Her ideas, which usually ended like frayed rope, tied together neatly. She felt detached from her own mind.


    Toliana gasped, ¡°Prince Kerrek¡¯s father knows who Noel¡¯s parents are.¡±


    ¡°Wha- Who?¡± Rory looked concerned.


    ¡°In the book I¡¯ve been reading.¡± Toliana folded upon herself and rested her head on her knees.


    ¡°Oh.¡±


    Rory let Toliana ruminate on that before she swiveled her head to face him, cheek squished against leg.This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    ¡°So you make people more astute?¡±


    Rory tried to keep a grin off his face as he muttered, ¡°¡®Astute.¡¯¡±


    Toliana sat upright as she recalled one of her many boring lessons, ¡°Wait, you feel like this all the time?¡±


    Rory had the grace to look abashed, ¡°Well, not right now, obviously, but for the most part, yeah.¡±


    ¡°What else can you do?¡±


    Without warning, Toliana felt a profound sense of disorientation. A part of herself she had always been proud of seemed to dart around within her and then swam away. No, it wasn¡¯t that; Toliana simply returned to how she always had been. In what could have only taken a moment, she felt normal again.


    ¡°This one¡¯s a bit more,¡± He thought for a moment, ¡°specific.¡±


    Rory dramatically raised his index finger and poked her square on the forehead.


    This time, Toliana¡¯s thoughts didn¡¯t connect insomuch as the overlaying structure reorganized itself. Her brain saw the world like a tree. It seemed like she could predict how changes to the trunk would affect the branches. It was as if any plan or decision she made was achievable through action on her part. That was a scary thought. Furthermore, Toliana felt she could guess how others were also trying to affect the tree.


    Toliana sat up lest she attract the margravine¡¯s ire.


    Rory studied her face, but the carriage slowed to a stop before he could question her.


    The coachman opened the door, and no assassins waited outside. Rory climbed out first, then stood as a handrail for the women. The women exited from oldest to youngest, like ducks following their mother.


    Servants opened too-tall doors in time for the margravine to casually strut through and close just as Toliana scampered in. Once inside, the dining hall was the first door past the foyer. Delicate glass and crystal ornamentation hung from wherever it could find room. A table long enough to be a dance floor made the massive space feel claustrophobic, and its dark red tablecloth could clothe a village for years.


    The margravine took her seat, and her children filtered to their self-assigned spots.


    After a lapse of awkward silence, Rory cleared his throat, ¡°Father said we could start without him.¡±


    The margravine motioned while blankly staring ahead. Servants in suits wheeled out trays topped with a veritable menagerie of food. Every bird, boar, and bovine Toliana could imagine was present. The buttery aroma of bread twirled with the meat¡¯s savory spices in a tantalizing tango. Tension filled the air as the margravine sliced a piece of some exotic creature and gave it a once over. All three children waited on baited breath until, finally, she took a bite. The races were off. Rory practically leaped from his seat.


    Thunk.


    Thump.


    Toliana spread butter on already dripping bread.


    Thunk


    Thump.


    Rory pulled at a turkey leg.


    Thunk.


    Thump.


    Aedana swirled her wine.


    The hall¡¯s back door fwooshed open, and a massive metallic silhouette ducked inside with a limping ¡®thunk thump.¡¯ In the chandelier light, the silver-gray steel shone proud, ornamented by red tassels and topped by a red upshoot of feathers. Only, that¡¯s how it should have been. Scratches skittered along its arms, and marring its body was ash and soot. Something had cleaved most of the tassels, and the feathers on its helm still burned like a candle¡¯s wick.


    Rory¡¯s chair clattered to the ground as he shot to his feet.


    Aedana covered her mouth, then pointed to his head, ¡°Father, y-you¡¯re on fire.¡±


    The armored bulk reached up and popped off its helmet, revealing the nothingness that sat beneath.


    It held out its own head and spoke in a voice that held no inflection, ¡°So I am.¡±


    The margrave held his head aloft like an actor in an old play. Then, with a genteel grace, reached up and pinched out the candle-like flame. A crooked limp offset his gait as he scuffed to the head of the table, where, rather than the typical armchair, a stout, stool-like marble column sat like a log around a campfire. Streaks of red and white ran throughout the stone. The margrave fluffed the pillow atop the column and creakily eased himself onto it with a whump.


    The margrave leaned forward and gently sat his helm upon the table, giving Toliana a peek into the inner workings. It wasn¡¯t hollow like she expected, but solid steel. His movements displayed a grace and flexibility that hinted at some underlying construction, but his heft was undeniable. With every subtle shift in his seat, the marble groaned in protest.


    There was something deeply unsettling about seeing the invincible margrave wounded so. He wasn¡¯t supposed to get hurt. Everybody knew that. Even before, when he was still her father, he¡¯d never got so much as a paper cut. The man was less a storybook hero or villain and more like the rain. He was something you simply weathered or hid from, not something you could stop.


    The margravine cleared her throat.


    Following her sister''s example, Toliana averted her gaze and daintily dug back into her meal. More precisely, she slowly shuffled the contents of her plate around.


    ¡°Fritz, bring the artisan and my smiths,¡± The margrave sat eerily still as his voice permeated the room, ¡°Tell them I¡¯m in need of repair.¡±


    His voice didn¡¯t echo metallically from his head or growl up from within his body, instead sounding as if he were a step or two in front of you at all times. Aside from the regular rises and falls of casual conversation, it rarely had any inflection. When he spoke, he spoke with a demanding calm. Always calm.


    The attendant saluted and then scurried off.


    The margrave reached down and twisted his damaged leg unnaturally upwards. His thick fingers worked at the straps and screws. When he finally freed the offending leg, he set it alongside his head like cutlery alongside a plate.


    Rory shut his slack jaw and asked what no one else could, ¡°What happened?¡±


    ¡°Some of the men were having a bit of trouble with the cargo. So I went to settle some things.¡±


    As if that explains it.


    Toliana shared a look of concern with Aedana. Silverware clinked empty against porcelain.


    ¡°So,¡± the margrave said, ¡°Rory¡¯s been out there, earning his Words. What have you made of yourselves here?¡±


    The margravine placatingly smiled and gestured to the eldest, ¡°Aedana has been working on those ledgers you requested. Her new organization system is really quite remarkable.¡±


    Aedana added, ¡°I¡¯m almost finished, too.¡± She faced Rory. ¡°You should see my embroidery; I¡¯ve just learned a new stitch.¡±


    A knock heralded Fritz¡¯s return, sparing Rory the need for a reply. Four men flanked the attendant through the massive dining doors: Three carrying tools, rags, and oils, and the fourth, a hunching old man whose frizzing hair poofed anywhere it still clung. They moved with the confidence of men who knew their worth.


    The three smiths immediately began fussing about buffering and working where they could. The artisan pulled at the skin of his cheek with a look of consternation.


    The artisan approached the table and asked, ¡°May I?¡±


    ¡°Please,¡± the margrave gestured.


    The old man hefted the leg in both hands, examining it from all angles. At one point, he produced a looking glass akin to a jeweler''s.


    He nodded to himself.


    ¡°I¡¯ll have the headpiece for you tomorrow before sunrise. Your leg is an intricate thing. It¡¯ll take me three days, four if it gives me trouble. In the meantime, I¡¯ll bring you a crude replacement ¨Csomething to keep you moving."


    The man looked to the margrave for a response, only finding a dismissive wave of acknowledgment. The artisan wrapped the pieces in cloth for ease of transport and left, soon followed by the smiths.


    The margrave looked remarkably healthier. He no longer bore the scorching lines that skittered across his frame, leaving only thin scratches in their place. New fabrics and leathers replaced the old. Aside from the nothing atop his neck, Toliana wouldn¡¯t have noticed a thing.


    Toliana nearly jumped from her skin as the margrave spoke, his voice seemingly originating from the turkey, ¡°And what of Toliana? What has she been working on?¡±


    Her mother mechanically met Toliana with a death glare and turned to the margrave sweetly.


    ¡°Toliana has been working on her studies.¡±


    The margrave thrummed his gauntlet fingers, ¡°And her progress?¡±


    Toliana shrunk back into her chair, knowing how this would go. Her insides felt cold. She knew what mother would say. ¡®Toliana will do better,¡¯ she¡¯d promise the margrave. Then the tutors would come. ¡®Toliana will do better,¡¯ they¡¯d promise her mother. Better usually involved lots of yelling.


    The little piece of Rory¡¯s magic inside Toliana knew all this, too. Only, it also knew how to get what she wanted. It could see the branches: when to agree, where to lie, what to say.


    But, for every stupid reason she was Toliana, she couldn¡¯t bear to tell those lies. The chilly slush in her gut churned as she stood, cutting her mother off before she could start. She didn¡¯t need people digging holes for her.


    ¡°I¡¯ve been having trouble focusing on my studies recently. More often than not, I think they¡¯re a waste of time.¡± Toliana wrung her napkin in her hands. ¡°I want magic. I want to meet people and do things.¡±


    The margrave leaned dangerously forward.


    Her mother whipped her head around, her shrill voice nearly a shriek.


    ¡°And what magic do you hope to get? What Words do you think to find out there? Running around the barracks and talking to waifs? ¡®Useless pest,¡¯ perhaps? ¡®Airheaded floozy?¡¯¡±


    Toliana knew all the wrong words to say, and, unfortunately, they were exactly what she wanted.


    ¡°At least then I¡¯d be happy then. At least then, I wouldn¡¯t be. . .¡± Toliana looked the margravine up and down, letting the last word go unspoken. You.


    Aedana couldn¡¯t meet her eyes, slowly chewing her food. Toliana stormed towards the door.


    ¡°My God, Toliana, sit down,¡± the margravine shouted in indignation.


    As Toliana pulled her weight against the massive doors, the margrave¡¯s voice sounded impossibly from the door, ¡°Toliana, If you close that door, don¨C¡±


    His voice cut off as the door whammed closed.


    Despite the foreboding dread that followed the silence, a strange giddiness spurred Toliana into action. If she was going to be locked in her room for all eternity, she might as well have a good last night of her life.


    She flipped off her shoes and pounded up the stairs. Once inside her room, Toliana slipped from her constricting formal wear and into a more practical shirt, skirt, and shoes. She peeked her head out the door. All was clear on the right side. Toliana quietly pressed her door closed and was about to make a break for it when someone placed a hand on her shoulder.


    ¡°Margrave Krozha has ordered your return.¡±


    Toliana just about lept from her skin. Twirling around, she pleaded, ¡°Then it''s a shame you couldn¡¯t find me.¡± The man looked torn, and his sorrowful expression softened. ¡°It¡¯s a real shame. She wasn¡¯t in her room. She must have slipped right out the back. Right, Fritz?¡±


    His stern expression broke as they met eyes. Fritz swallowed, his Adam¡¯s apple bobbing back into place.


    ¡°A real shame,¡± He agreed, head dropping.


    It was all she needed. Toliana nearly tripped down every step as she bolted down the stairs. She rounded the corner to the servant¡¯s hall with enough speed that her shoulder bashed painfully into the wall. She hardly noticed. Her feet barely touched the floor as she burst from the mansion, clothes rippling in the cool night air.


    Toliana tried to calm her heaving chest. The blood pounding in her ears sounded disturbingly similar to the margrave¡¯s bounding run. Nervous energy welled from her in the form of laughter. She walked with what she hoped was nonchalance.


    The mansion''s backlight was enough to see where she stepped, but not much more. She walked mostly by memory.


    The deep violet clouds of a moonless night swirled around the stars, and Toliana wondered what they¡¯d say if they could see her. Would the stars even notice the white-hot tears she dropped like breadcrumbs? A star streaked through the night.


    I guess even the sky cries sometimes.


    As Toliana neared the training grounds, she could barely make out someone¡¯s silhouette as they approached. A sliver of ice hit her heart. How did the news travel so fast? The silhouette waved frantically. That didn¡¯t seem right. Toliana squinted through the darkness.


    Pudgy, short, and Gabeish.


    ¡°Toliana?¡± the boy called out.


    ¡°Gabe?¡±


    He jogged forward.


    ¡°Thank God it¡¯s you,¡± he wheezed, ¡°I need your help.¡±


    She was about to turn him away until he got close enough to see the tears running down his face.


    ¡°Please, Toliana. They have my Dad.¡±