ã€ŠThe Drake of Craumontã€‹


 Chapter 1: A Long-Delayed Return

    A cold, hard edge is at my throat a heartbeat faster than I can duck

    away. I can¡¯t look down to see it clearly, but I can feel how it

    catches and tugs at the collar of my blouse.

    ¡°Let¡¯s make this easy, pretty lady.¡±

    Tsk. They¡¯d snuck up from behind far too easily. I¡¯ll take the

    compliment, though.

    But I can¡¯t just get lost in my own head like this. Should¡¯ve

    listened to my gut and not taken this shortcut to begin with. Maybe I

    can blame it all on the soft pattering of rain, or how dark the alley

    is from the rain-slicked brick looming on either side. Gloomy and

    cramped, as old Imperial cities always are at night.

    Doesn''t matter, though. I''ve been expecting something like this! Not

    hoping for it, but preparation is part of my profession. I¡¯m a

    woman wrapped in a rather nice rain cloak, far from the flickering

    crystal streetlamps, and my tail isn¡¯t really visible when it¡¯s

    coiled around my leg to stay dry. I can¡¯t exactly afford to be

    oblivious to my surroundings, but here I am with a mugger behind me

    and a knife to my throat.

    ''Oops'' doesn¡¯t quite cover it, but, oops! My first night back home

    and I¡¯m ready to leave again. That¡¯ll show me for answering my

    cousin''s call for help, I suppose.

    I draw in a quiet breath, feeling my throat scrape the bare edge of

    the man¡¯s knife. My tail slowly uncurls, sliding into the same

    puddle my nice boots were slowly soaking up. Gods, it''s utterly

    infuriating when something slips through the cracks. Breathe, Ivy,

    and get your head in the game.

    So I put my thoughts together, and the path of action comes along

    naturally. Well, as natural as anything around being mugged could be,

    but I¡¯m hardly going to make a habit of it.

    ¡°Of course. I know how these play out,¡± I say softly, hiding my

    irritation and gently pitching my voice upward. ¡°I¡¯m going to

    need to reach for my coinpurse.¡±

    "No funny business," he grunts, and I feel a hand slide

    around my waist, digging at my hip. I hope he can''t hear my teeth

    grinding.

    ¡°I¡¯m in no rush to die.¡± I say in that same quiet tone,

    reaching for something that definitely isn¡¯t a coinpurse, or even a

    pocketbook. ¡°No funny business.¡± Only a spot of violence. Two or

    three, depending on the bruises.

    I flick my coinpurse on the way down my leg, letting it jingle

    loudly. His breathing changes, and a reflection from a well placed

    puddle shows his head moving. Perfect.

    Another deep breath, and my lowered hand brushes the handle of a

    partially-concealed knife. On one, then. Three...

    ¡°Good girl. Making this--¡±

    Oh, Gods no. One!

    I straighten, which is just enough to get him off balance. My tail

    lashes up in a spray of water, curling around his leg even as I slam

    my head backwards into his chin. An elbow slams into his side, once,

    twice, three times before something cracks and his grip loosens. He

    starts to stagger back, but I take a step forward and the leg held by

    my tail comes with me.

    He drops to the ground with a series of curses, a pained yelp, and a

    loud, satisfying splash.

    Then I draw my knife like planned, spin around, and pin him to the

    soaked ground with a knee. I feel a grin spread across my face,

    flashing a mouth with too many sharp teeth.

    I should say something here. Something clever, showy, intimidating--

    ¡°Let¡¯s make this easy, boy,¡± I bark through my grin, letting my

    voice drop to its usual roughness. I wince immediately, regretting

    everything. That sounded a lot less like a radio drama quip in my

    head.

    My punishment for hesitation is swift and almost entirely deserved:

    the grimy man bucks under me, snarling and snapping up an arm to

    slice across my side-- I¡¯d forgotten to take that knife away from

    him. I really am off my game today. I blame the awful sleep I¡¯d

    gotten on the train, and being back in Craumont. Can''t really decide

    which is worse for me.

    I can¡¯t get away in time, not from the position I''m in, but I¡¯m

    able to yank my knife-arm up to take the brunt of it with my forearm.

    It cuts straight through my rain cloak--

    And it skitters across the black-brown scales creeping up my wrist.

    The most I feel is a little nudge.

    I curl my lips to expose a bit more tooth, letting frustration bubble

    up and out as a rumbling snarl. It wasn¡¯t even a good rain cloak,

    but now it¡¯s <i>worse</i>.

    I won''t give him a chance to go for another hit, if he happens to be

    that foolish. Muggers are cowards, after all, not murderers.

    Lightning crackles across my fingers, flickering spurts of violet and

    white that sear the eyes and send strange shadows across the soaked

    alley. I make a show of it, letting arcs lash out at the puddles

    below.

    The man stumbles back a few steps as he drags himself up, hands out

    in front of him and knife splashing to the ground. He manages some

    swears and useless platitudes before sprinting away. My grin widens

    when I see him slip and splash into a puddle as he rounds the corner.

    I feel my thudding heartbeat, now, just as it starts to calm down.

    The sounds of rain rush back in, a gentle undercurrent to the distant

    sounds of horses and their carriages.

    I move my focus to my free hand-- crackling still with my Lightning.

    It sputters and fades when I cut off my magic, leaving my hand

    entirely unmarked by the experience.

    It takes much longer for my shiny, blackened claws to meld back into

    something more mundane, and the black-brown scales still haven''t

    retreated up my arm by the time I look away. Who knows¡ª some day,

    if I push too hard, I might have to use magic to hide the scales,

    rather than growing them.

    My tail lashes behind me, digging another trough in the water and

    getting my socks more soaked than they already are.

    The whistle of a train shrieks in the distance, muffled by the quiet

    pitter-patter of rainfall.

    "...ugh." I sigh to the empty alley, rolling my neck. "So

    much for shortcuts. Hope Benny keeps the food warm."

    My stomach rumbles mutinously, no doubt aware of what comes next. I

    groan in agreement, running a hand along my face.

    I should report this to the constables, shouldn''t I? They''re actually

    a decent sort in the Ayldom.

    Even if I scared off this mugger for good, I doubt they¡¯re the only

    one, and I can¡¯t just leave that idea to rot. I¡¯d gotten only a

    brief look at his face-- would that be enough?

    <hr>

    Constables aren''t that helpful for investigations, at least on their

    own, and a random failed mugging from an <i>incredibly</i> oblivious

    mugger doesn''t really have the weight to call in a detective anyways.

    But still, I slosh through the drizzle as turns to rain, knock on the

    big blue door, and deliver my testimony to a rather startled looking

    constable.

    I must be quite a sight, honestly. A tall, scaly woman with

    unnaturally white hair, too-bright brown eyes... a tail three times

    thicker than a clenched fist, long enough to drag against the ground.

    A very obvious Mageblood in a city that I doubt has gathered many

    Magebloods in the years I¡¯ve been gone.

    The only personal benefit from all this is a lovely little bakery I

    can now visit tomorrow. That almost makes it worth it.

    A beautiful manor of stone and brick stands alone in the distance,

    windows gleaming in the dim light. Once upon a time, the Manor was

    the pride of the Crawford family, a veritable fortress of

    enchantments over the finest Imperial architecture. I''d walked its

    halls the first nineteen years of my life, memorizing every step of

    the East and West wings my parents permitted-- and much more besides.

    The fact that this manor still stands is proof that the Goddess of

    Justice is deaf to my prayers. The fact that it''s so clean and

    well-kept almost seems like an insult.

    I¡¯m being far too dramatic about it, and maybe it sounds like I

    hate the place, but I don¡¯t. Not anymore, anyway.

    Once everything started falling apart, I¡¯d started sneaking out,

    weaving my way into town to visit the apothecary, the blacksmith, and

    that grumpy old brawler. Before I grew wise to it, I¡¯d pray to

    Adamantine that Mother would knock over a candle and burn the damned

    place down. That¡¯d be the just option: going out tragically, and

    taking the house with them.

    And if Adamantine was listening, back when I prayed, then I guess she

    just isn¡¯t a house-burning type.

    But for years and years now, the Manor¡¯s been mine, despite

    Father¡¯s best attempts to give it away. No crazy parents, creepy

    parties, or snooty Restoration members; just Benny and a bunch of

    enchantments. The Manor¡¯s magic embraces me now, settling warmth

    over my shoulders and brushing a stray leaf off my poncho. A tingle

    of magic rushes downwards, curling and hesitating over my tail before

    vanishing entirely.

    "I''m here, I suppose." I say to the heavy wooden door,

    stopping halfway up the steps. "Hello."

    The Manor answers with a pulse, coating me in a faint greenish gleam

    that casts odd shadows against the door. A moment later, the layer of

    mud on my hood is wicked away, deposited in a muddy puddle by the

    side of the path. I give a vague nod of thanks towards the front

    door.

    And, of course, my stomach rumbles to ruin the moment. "...Gods,

    I''m hungry. Benny, pull through!"

    I shake my head, checking the windows. With the gray sky oozing

    towards black, Benny may well be in bed; at least the

    brass-and-crystal firelamps are here to see by. My old room even has

    a light in it, shining faintly through the thick red curtains.

    ¡°Madam? Could I encourage you to step inside, so you might begin to

    dry off?¡±

    A voice: wizened, buttery smooth, and achingly familiar. My tail digs

    into the wet soil between stones, the cold shock just enough to drag

    me out of my wandering thoughts.

    I smile widely, and I take a long sniff at the warm breeze coming

    from the now-opened front door. It takes everything I have to not

    crash through the door with a bone-crushing hug.

    ¡°Depends. Is that actual wheat bread I¡¯m smelling, or just that

    trick you used to do with the potato bread?¡±

    Benny swings the door open a little wider and a gust of wind follows,

    pushing out the rain to keep the inside free of water and mud. As

    always, Benny looks impeccable in their charcoal black suit, gray

    eyes and grayer hair illuminated in the bright light pouring from

    inside. Their face looks just how I remember it, all narrow lines and

    warm smiles, even with the extra wrinkling around their mouth.

    I can¡¯t meet their piercing gaze, tail curling back under my

    poncho. What¡¯s their deal? Did someone draw on my face or

    something?

    Did they see the scales, peeking out of my sweater¡¯s collar, and

    know that I¡¯m a Mageblood?

    ¡°You there, Benny?¡± I ask quietly, making my way up the stairs.

    ¡°Hope the years aren''t getting to you.¡±

    ¡°I assure you I am as sharp as ever, Madam Ivy.¡± They say

    quickly, hurrying to push the door open wider. ¡°I did indeed

    prepare wheat bread for dinner, alongside a beef stew and--¡±

    ¡°Baked potatoes, seasoned to perfection,¡± I finish, copying their

    voice poorly. ¡°Let me guess, you want to know if I¡¯ve gone full

    meat-eater?¡±

    ¡°You would have complained about it in your yearly letter to the

    Estate, Madam.¡±

    Thank the Gods they can¡¯t see my face. I bark out a harsh, rumbling

    laugh, and raise a hand to wave it aside. "So is it ready to

    eat, or are you gonna have to heat it up? I know I¡¯m late, sorry.¡±

    I step to the side to let Benny past, stomping and scraping my boots

    out on the floor mat. They hand me a towel pulled from Gods know

    where, and I swing my tail around to start getting the mud and dirt

    off it.

    Benny flicks their eyes down, lingering on the black-scaled length of

    my tail, and then looks away without comment. A little frisson of

    relief and shame runs up my spine, blooming into heat on my cheeks.

    Of course they don''t bat an eye-- it''s Benny, after all.

    Suddenly, blessedly: silence, as the door thuds closed behind me.

    Without the drone of the rain that I''d been blocking out for hours,

    now-- even audible inside the constables'' station, faintly-- I''m left

    with the thudding of my own heart for company. Perfectly silent, just

    like my parents had liked it.

    A moment longer is all it takes for the silence to turn stifling. I

    shake my head and exhale loudly, letting a growl escape to fill the

    air.

    If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.

    "Your food will be ready in quarter-hour''s time, Madam. Most was

    kept warm, but I will need to begin a new batch of baked potatoes,"

    Benny tells me, striding past to bow to me again, "And there is

    a set of loungewear awaiting you in the baths. The cleaning

    enchantments have become quite adept at drying clothes, so you may

    leave them on the rack without worry."

    "Not bad," I smile through the pang in my chest, spreading

    my arms wide. "Hug? Or am I too damp?"

    Benny, to my great relief, takes a step forward, and that''s all it

    takes.

    I sweep my arms around them, dragging them up into a tight, warm hug.

    It doesn''t quite fill the sudden aching need for regular hugs, but

    it''ll do for now.

    "Madam? Could you let me down?"

    Oh. Right. I drop them back down and avert my eyes as they move away,

    rubbing the back of my head. "Thanks, Benny."

    "But of course." They incline their head and take a step

    towards the east wing, so I wave them off.

    And, when they hesitate, I flash them a toothy smile. "Don''t let

    me keep you. It''s been years since I''ve been to this place, I''ve got

    some catching up to do."

    ¡°Madam, please do not set fire to the estate again. It stresses the

    enchantments greatly.¡± Benny slips away to the sounds of my

    grumbled protest, no doubt with one of those tiny smirks on their

    smug face.

    After a few moments to grouse about rebellious servants, I clear my

    throat and turn to face the entirety of the ¡®entry room¡¯. There

    was a fancier name for it, but I¡¯d forgotten sometime between

    fighting shadow squids in the North, and getting knocked on the head

    by an ent.

    Plus, it doesn¡¯t need fancying up. Waist high wood paneling,

    plush-looking blue-and-gold wallpaper above, and a ceiling that had

    once upon a time been very fancily painted. A very comfy looking

    scattering of chairs and little tables is sat between the two

    stairways and below a balcony, which also has comfy looking chairs.

    It¡¯s all so pointlessly fancy and posh and I would never be able to

    afford the cleaners for it--

    Well.

    I give a nod vaguely towards the center of the Manor. ¡°Looking

    good,¡± I tell it, pouring a bit of magic into the spellwork. ¡°Sorry

    about last time. Mother had awful taste in decor.¡±

    I pause, and shrug. I''m apparently apologizing to the Manor now.

    Not exactly the best excuse for my earlier intentions, but the Manor

    responds with a flush of warmth over my shoulders. The bond

    strengthens, and with only a twist of will, I''m able to get

    directions to the baths.

    Forgetting isn¡¯t that worrisome, hopefully. The Manor doesn''t

    exactly have an intuitive layout.

    ... East wing, towards the back, just before the linens room. I

    follow the path, drifting through dimly lit hallways and slowly

    peeling off my soaked sweater. One sleeve is absolutely ruined, all

    torn seams and ripped fabric, with some of it even finding its way

    between the snakelike scales of my forearms. Plucking the threads out

    really makes the short trip fly by, I suppose.

    <i>Creak.</i>

    I take a moment to toss my sweater over the drying rack. Old houses

    do get creaky, and the East wing goes all the way back to Imperial

    times, as my parents loved to remind me. I, in turn, loved reminding

    them that we weren¡¯t Imperials, and that the Craumont estate was

    even older. Always got them riled up, always got me sent to my room.

    In short, a perfect excuse for escaping parties to have a night in

    town.

    Chuckling tiredly at the memory, I pull my tail around for a quick

    inspection. Gods, I really can¡¯t escape the past here, can I? I

    thought I¡¯d put it all to rest years ago.

    <i>Creak, creak.</i>

    I reach around, unbutton my pants in the back to free my tail, and

    hastily wiggle out of everything else. It¡¯s time to take a bath,

    relax, and not worry about some creaking in an old manor. I do pat

    the wall, though; the Manor itself isn¡¯t at fault.

    ¡°Mind turning it up a bit?¡± I murmur, hand still pressed against

    the cold stone of the wall. ¡°I¡¯ll need some steam to clean out

    these scales properly.¡±

    The Manor, of course, obliges, and I pour a bit more magic into it as

    thanks.

    <hr>

    I emerge a quarter-hour later feeling like a different person, and

    the mirror confirms I very nearly look like one, too.

    Silvery hair rather than dust grey, skin that looks tanned rather

    than muddy, and I''m standing tall rather than hunching over. My last

    job had left me sore, and I''d made the questionable choice of making

    the four day train ride to Craumont right after.

    The woman in the mirror looks back at me with bright brown eyes, and

    she''s nothing like the scrawny kid that walked out of the Manor five

    years ago. Dare I say it, I might even be pretty now, in a harsh,

    muscular way.

    The scales and tail feel so very right. Oh, and the teeth, without

    which biting through bone and soft metal would be a challenge.

    I smile, inspecting my pointed teeth for bits of gunk just to be

    safe... and since I¡¯m here, I might as well fix my hair, pull it

    back up into a low ponytail.

    <i>Creak.</i>

    This time, the creaking is accompanied by an odd swishing sound,

    right behind me--

    My eyes flick to the corner of the mirror, my heart settles, and I

    turn around with my hands on my hips.

    I squint at the floating broom and brush, dutifully picking up the

    bits of black thread I¡¯d spread around from my sweater earlier.

    "...huh." I say. "Aren''t you supposed to use Wind for

    this? A broom isn''t very, uh, efficient."

    The broom... nods? at me, wiggling forwards and then back. A tray

    drifts out from a nearby closet, scooping up the little pile of lint

    and sweater-scraps.

    Gods, enchantments are weird. I¡¯ll have to head down to the

    basement at some point and make sure the ¡®maid enchantment¡¯ is

    getting enough power. I can¡¯t tweak the wards, that would require

    hiring an actual mage, but I can at least see if I need to hire a

    mage.

    My stomach rumbles, moving from its promises of mutiny to a threat of

    political assassination. It¡¯s loud enough that the damn broom stops

    for a second, twisting in place. I wave it off, sniffing the air.

    Mm. Potatoes.

    <i>Creak, creak, creak...</i>

    The creaking grows louder and louder, then fades away-- all from

    above.

    I guess I¡¯m going to be even later for dinner, because someone is

    in my house. It¡¯s a thought that cools me off completely, heat and

    enthusiasm expelled in a single tired breath. I square my shoulders,

    roll my neck, and shove a bit of raw magic towards the Manor. <i>Second

    floor. Where are they?</i>

    I¡¯m already moving towards the main stairs when I get a response:

    unsurprisingly, the hall directly above me. Heading towards the back,

    which... okay, stairs and the servants quarters, so the back

    entrance. They¡¯re sneaking out, probably. Maybe with a book from

    the library, or a fancy bit of decoration I hadn¡¯t stowed in the

    basement.

    ¡°Madam?¡±

    I turn a bit at the top of the stairs, looking back down at Benny.

    ¡°Someone¡¯s in the Manor. I¡¯ll be a few minutes late, I think.¡±

    Benny frowns, and I start scanning the hallways. ¡°Visitors are

    somewhat infrequent. I assure you--¡±

    <i>Purple.</i>

    Purple robes in the corner of my eye, swishing around a corner.

    I¡¯m off in a dead sprint before Benny can even finish their

    sentence, Wind at my heels and a snarl bubbling up from my throat.

    Of course they¡¯d be here. Why wouldn¡¯t they? I¡¯d even seen

    their church¡¯s steeple in town as I arrived. Assuming they¡¯d

    calmed down in the past few years was a massive mistake.

    I slow down to take the corner, conscious of the nice end rug and the

    conveniently placed window I didn¡¯t care to hurl myself out of. My

    eyes snap up, scanning in front of me, and <i>there</i>! Purple

    robes, cinched at the waist and cut just above the floor. Deep

    purple, too, the same unpleasant shade as the berries out on the

    prairie.

    Mother had called it ¡°soothing¡±. I called it flammable.

    The robed person hasn¡¯t seen or even heard me yet. Time to go for

    the grab.

    I bolt forwards, Wind at my heels once more, practically gliding

    across the hallway--

    ...hm.

    Wouldn¡¯t the wards have told me if this person was an intruder?

    That thought would¡¯ve been nice to have earlier, when I wasn¡¯t

    lunging towards the rather short figure in the robe.

    I do my best to stall out my momentum against the carpet without

    damaging it, but all I end up doing is tripping over like a fool. I

    tumble through them in a mess of thumps, thuds, cursing (mostly

    mine), and grunts (mostly theirs). We end up in a tangle by the west

    wing door, my arm braced against it before I can fall over again.

    They¡¯re staring at me, now. A girl, maybe, if I judge by the round

    face, frizzy, shoulder-length brown hair, and the faint hint of

    mussed makeup. Flushed cheeks, ragged breathing, scrambling to pull

    herself out from under me, and a mess of half-finished words as the

    poor girl tries to compose herself. The fear in her eyes tugs at my

    heart.

    Gods, I¡¯m making a terrible first impression, aren¡¯t I?

    ¡°Um, could be worse,¡± the woman squeaks out. Oh, that¡¯d been

    out loud. Great.

    ¡°Could be,¡± I agree immediately, then pause, easing backwards and

    well out of her personal space. ¡°How about we try again? To

    introduce ourselves.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m... you¡¯re the Dame that Benny war-- told me about.

    Probably... right?¡± she sighs, shaking her head. The flush is still

    there, and she can¡¯t quite meet my eyes. I wonder if they¡¯ve

    turned to slits?

    Benny. So they¡¯d told her about me, which is definitely worth a

    conversation with the butler on my payroll, but it also means she¡¯s

    in the clear. So I back up further, carefully untangle my tail from

    her leg as she lifts it, and stick a hand out for her to grab.

    ¡°Yes,¡± I manage, feeling a smidge guilty. ¡°No need to call me

    Dame. Just Ivy is fine, okay?¡±

    ¡°Ivy, then.¡± The woman nods to herself, grabbing my hand and

    letting me pull her up. It morphs into an awkward handshake, and then

    her hand slips away. ¡°I am Helena Harkness.¡±

    She¡¯s incredibly light, goodness. Is there anything under Helena¡¯s

    purple robes? It practically drapes over her, even as she pats

    herself down carefully.

    Helena¡¯s bright green eyes flick up to meet mine, and she frowns. I

    cross my arms, frowning back. ¡°So. Benny let you in, probably. Why

    are you here?¡±

    Her eyes flicker away, downwards. ¡°Please don¡¯t kick me out. I--

    they won¡¯t--¡±

    <i>Intruders on the property,</i> murmurs the Manor, the words

    arriving as a shiver down my spine. <i>Purple robes</i>.

    I¡¯d just wanted to visit my old home for a bit, take on whatever

    nonsense my cousin is asking of me, and kill some monsters out in the

    wilderness. Gods, I can still wash my hands of whatever mess was

    unfolding in front of me, can¡¯t I?

    Frustration mounts, boiling over in a hiss and growl. My tail lashes

    through the air, I run my tongue over dry lips and sharp teeth...

    none of it helps. But Helena''s eyes stay on me, and for all that she

    quails, she doesn''t run away.

    "Please, Dame Crawford. Ivy," she pleads, straightening her

    back. "I need your library to prove that they''re--"

    Helena''s words stumble to a stop, cut off by a wave of my hand.

    "Feh," I say to the open air, turning but keeping her in

    the corner of my eye. "You ever stayed long enough for Benny to

    feed you dinner?¡±

    She shakes her head, and I¡¯m treated to the worry melting away into

    a blinding smile. ¡°No. Are you...¡±

    ¡°Obviously,¡± I snort, letting the sound rumble in my throat.

    ¡°Come on, I¡¯m sure they¡¯ve got enough food for two ready.¡±

    I''m probably going to regret this, but at least it won''t be boring.

    <hr>

    <i>Intruders. Purple robes, no magic.</i>

    The Manor whispers to me, insistent and warm. I feed it just a bit

    more magic.

    <i>Where?</i> I ask the Manor, fighting a grimace.

    ¡°You¡¯re, um, very kind, Dame Crawford,¡± Helena says from

    somewhere behind me, and I spare a moment to smile at her. No teeth,

    of course.

    <i>Gates. Cannot enter. Waiting,</i> the house whispers, louder this

    time.

    Great, just great.

    ¡°The Manor likes you,¡± I say in lieu of a direct answer, because

    I¡¯m letting my gut speak for me here. ¡°Purple robes or no, you¡¯re

    not a threat, and you asked for help.¡±

    I hear her exhale sharply. ¡°...thank you, then.¡±

    ¡°No problem. Now, come on, dinner¡¯s getting cold, and I want some

    of that stew.¡±

    Benny, bless them, picked out the smaller dining room for my dinner.

    Or maybe they¡¯d expected all this, but I could never tell what they

    were thinking, honestly.

    The ¡®lesser dining room¡¯ was only lesser in that it didn¡¯t have

    one of those ridiculously long tables, terrible for any kind of

    talking and perfect for spilling wine over your neighbors. Just

    hardwood paneling, a window facing out towards the forest, and a

    proper round table.

    Oh, and my dinner, steaming and deliciously fragrant. Actual wheat

    bread, a neat tray of baked potatoes... two table settings, and two

    bowls of stew.

    Not really <i>my</i> dinner anymore, and of course Benny already

    knew. The Manor is a tattletale as always. Our dinner, now. Me and a

    girl from the Restoration Church, eating in the building I worked

    hard to keep out of their grubby fingers. It bothers me, just a

    little, but something about her just didn¡¯t set me off like the

    rest seemed to. Worth a shot.

    Whatever the case, Benny only raises an eyebrow when I stride through

    the door with Helena in tow, sticking a thumb over my shoulder.

    ¡°Found a girl running around my manor, probably by your leave.

    Anything to say for yourself, Benny?¡±

    ¡°Um, excuse me!¡± Helena says from behind me. ¡°I, um, they

    didn¡¯t do anything wrong! I asked permission and everything, and I

    stayed in the rooms they told me to. Promise!¡±

    I snort, but Benny picks up from there. ¡°Of course, madam. Helena

    has been nothing but a perfect guest since she started entering

    through the front door.¡±

    Oh. She gets more interesting by the minute-- maybe this is why the

    Manor likes her.

    ¡°Really,¡± I roll the word. My tail lashes, and Helena moves up

    beside me, well out of range of the pointed tip. I think about it,

    mulling everything over, and turn to look at the woman. ¡°So you

    broke into the Crawford Estate to, what, read books? Hide from your

    church?¡±

    I pause, rubbing my mouth to hide my smile. This could get pretty

    interesting. Might even get to punch a priest!

    ¡°Yeah, of course I¡¯ll help,¡± I conclude, shrugging.

    She looks back at me with her chin tilted up, brushing wavy brown

    hair from her eyes. There... might be a few more reasons, but I keep

    them to myself.

    ¡°It¡¯s not the church,¡± she says firmly, holding my gaze while

    my smile crumbles. She looks away, taking a shuddering breath. ¡°Just

    some people I need to avoid for the night. I-I¡¯ll talk to Priest

    Dongbaek tomorrow, and that will be that.¡±

    And I¡¯ll bet those people are a few more rotten eggs in the

    Restoration¡¯s basket. I hold my tongue, though; she¡¯s definitely

    going to argue with me if I start making points. That, and arguing on

    an empty stomach just makes everyone lose. So I just shrug, gesturing

    towards the table. ¡°Still helping. You want dinner or not?¡±

    Helena¡¯s expression clears, just a bit, and she runs a hand through

    her hair. ¡°Y-yes, of course! Thank you. Sorry. It''s just so much

    food, for only two people?¡±

    ¡°Sorry for what?¡± I wave it off with an only partially faked

    smile. I turn and give a nod to Benny. ¡°Doesn¡¯t really matter. I

    eat a lot, and you¡¯re a guest, I think.¡±

    I stride over to my seat-- and it¡¯s definitely mine, given it¡¯s

    backless-- and gesture for Helena to sit in the other one.

    ¡°You think?¡± Helena repeats, carefully arranging her robes before

    sitting.

    I stare at her, fighting the urge to snort. ¡°Yeah?¡±

    She pales, only to rapidly turn a bright red. ¡°Um. Thank you, Dame

    Crawford, for this meal?¡±

    ¡°Stick to Ivy. Dame Crawford is for strangers. Call me Dame Ivy if

    you have to.¡± I shrug, tearing my gaze back to the delicious food

    in front of me. Benny hadn¡¯t bothered with courses, thank the Gods,

    and sometime between me nodding and us sitting down, Benny had

    returned with a tray of cured meats.

    <i>Intruders. Still here.</i> The words creep their way down my spine

    once more, curling my tail around a chair leg.

    <i>Have they moved?</i> I push the thought back with a brush of

    magic.

    ¡°I¡¯d start with the wheat bread,¡± I say out loud, gesturing

    towards the rounded loaf in the center of the table. There¡¯s even a

    nice little bowl of butter next to it, because Benny is the best.

    ¡°You could also dip it in the stew, but I like to leave that for

    after I¡¯ve eaten all the stuff in the stew.¡±

    "Wheat bread?" Helena''s brow furrows in thought as she

    looks at the bread. It¡¯s the same expression I¡¯d seen mages use

    when they looked at a new spell. "That¡¯s a bit pricey for a

    dinner, isn¡¯t it?"

    Benny, just barely out of Helena''s sight, quirks an eyebrow. I match

    it with a roll of my eyes.

    <i>Still at the gates. Impatient.</i>

    Impatient, huh? Well, they can wait.

    I bring my thoughts back to the bread.

    "Right, it¡¯s more expensive around here,¡± I snap my fingers,

    nodding. ¡°It¡¯s cheaper down south, even with the civil war going

    on. But it¡¯s not that expensive, really, and it¡¯s worth it

    after... what, four, five years away?¡± I put butter, a sprinkle of

    salt, and a thin slice of beef on the bread in short order. I crunch

    down, and-- ooh.

    "Hey, Benny," I say around a mouthful, "''s this a sour

    loaf?"

    "Of course, madam."

    I swallow and grin, hiding my teeth when Helena winces. "Definitely

    worth it. Want some?"

    ¡°I-I don¡¯t know. Maybe I¡¯ll have some of the stew first? I¡¯m

    not that hungry.¡± Helena looks back at her food, then picks up a

    spoon and scoops up some stew.

    She takes a bite. A slurp? Whatever it is you do with stew, Helena

    does it, and her surprise is delicious. She practically hums in

    delight, gives Benny an enthusiastic nod, and digs into her food.

    ¡°Benny is the best,¡± I chuckle, finishing off my slice of bread.

    ¡°You should definitely try the bread. It won''t bite back, promise.¡±

    Helena giggles at that, stopping just long enough to swallow a

    mouthful of stew. "And the stew won''t either, will it?"

    I haven''t had the stew yet. "This is your fault," I

    pronounce, jabbing a fork in her direction. I bring it down to my

    stew, frown, and swap with the spoon.

    Rich, heady broth, tender vegetables, delectable beef, and the

    perfect amount of salt and pepper.

    "Benny," I pronounce between two bites, "Is the best."

    Helena nods sagely.

    <i>Keep them out,</i> I tell the Manor, exchanging glances with

    Benny. <i>They are not welcome.</i>

    I pause for a moment, passing the butter over so Helena can try it on

    the wheat bread and baked potatoes.

    <i>Prepare a guest room, too.</i>

 Chapter 2

    I wake to the <i>tocking</i> of a tall shadow in a pitch-dark corner,

    rhythmically breaking the murky silence. The old Elm Clock, dragged

    in from the hallway when I was no more than six years old.

    Thick curtains glow silver at the fringes, spilling white light

    across a faded carpet. It¡¯s the only light in the room, just enough

    to see the fuzzy edges of my old room. Enough to see the blankets

    tossed every which way, to see how my tail has scored holes through

    the silky sheets. Such a waste, as always.

    I should know better than this by now, but the moment I¡¯d seen

    Helena off to the guest room, I¡¯d stumbled to my own bed and fell

    straight into it. I couldn''t do that without making sure all my

    scales were covered, most places, but...

    Oh, my mother would hate me for it. Father, too. That might just be

    the best part.

    <hr>

    Crawford Manor is never silent, even in the bright, cold hours of the

    morning. The whisper of wind over curtains, the rhythmic brushing of

    enchanted brooms...

    And now, the clinking of teacups as I pour myself some tea. It''s a

    symphony of the senses I''d heard every day for years, descending down

    into the lobby to find out what nonsense my parents wanted from me.

    The memories are clear as crystal. She''d be here, ready to send me

    off to a tutor, or give me a disappointed frown for something I''d

    done the day before.

    Until they weren''t there anymore, and my chair replaced her old

    favorite. I burned hers after the reading of my parents'' wills, and

    finding out what they''d planned for me.

    I take a sip and close my eyes, sinking into the plush chair. "Gods,"

    I groan to the empty room. "She''d hate this tea. Too floral.

    Good."

    "Hmmm?"

    A sleepy voice drifts down from above, and I draw myself out of my

    thoughts.

    "Ah, you''re up," I smile lightly, jerking my chin in

    Helena''s direction. She¡¯s coming down the stairs to the lobby in a

    cozy-looking blouse and trousers, though I¡¯ve no idea where they

    came from. "Hope the house didn''t bother you in the night."

    "I am, and ah, I did sleep well." Helena says, nodding

    slowly. She gives me a lopsided smile, running a hand through her

    rather messy looking hair. "The... um, the Manor actually woke

    me up by opening the curtains, but I don''t mind."

    She yawns, stretching her arms out. ¡°N-not <i>much</i>, I mean."

    I gesture to the table in front of me, gently tapping a claw against

    the teapot. "I don''t really do breakfast, sorry, but we can pick

    it up in town. Tea?"

    She slumps into the chair across from me, reaching straight for the

    teapot. "Perfect. You''re too kind. No need to buy me breakfast,

    really!¡±

    Doing my best to ignore poor tea etiquette, I take a long sip of tea,

    lifting up my tail and bringing it around to my lap. Her eyes lazily

    flick down to my hands, to my blackened claws and the scales peeking

    out of my robe.

    "I crashed into you, <i>probably </i>bruised something, and you

    asked for help." I shrug, doing my best to remain casual. A tug

    of my magic makes my claws fade away, before I can damage something

    expensive. "Benny likes you, the Manor likes you..."

    I trail off when I see Helena''s blush, hidden poorly by the lip of

    her teacup.

    She coughs, shakes her head, and sets her tea down. She sticks her

    arms out and stretches, her whole body shivering with the strain. A

    few blinks and shoulder-rolls later, and she suddenly seems much more

    awake.

    "Mm. Th-thank you. And I can keep... using your library? Or is

    it your family''s?"

    I don¡¯t stare at her for all that.

    I <i>don¡¯t</i>. I am Dame Ivy Crawford, and for all that I¡¯m not

    popular, I still have the dignity of my title, probably. And surely,

    people know that I¡¯m the only Crawford left? Maybe she thinks I¡¯m

    the infamous Amelia Crawford¡¯s distant cousin?

    So, instead, I raise an eyebrow, leaning forward to set my teacup

    down with a clink. She¡¯s one of those scholarly sorts; I have just

    the thing for her. ¡°You did mention you¡¯d been here a few times,

    so, I kind of guessed you were using it. You don¡¯t seem like the

    type to explore Old Imperial dungeons, and ours is mostly renovated,

    anyways.¡±

    ¡°What?¡± Helena frowns, taking a longer sip of her tea. ¡°Oh,

    this is excellent, thank you.¡±

    ¡°Huh, you¡¯ve got taste, too. Mincadian Green, though I¡¯m pretty

    sure there¡¯s something floral in there with it. Blame Benny, they

    made it.¡± I offer a thin smile, then shake my head. ¡°So. You¡¯re

    here for my library, Helena. Why?¡±

    "I''m training to be a mage, and I can''t afford the

    apprenticeship fees," Helena begins, pausing to take a sip of

    tea. She wrinkles her nose, exhaling sharply. "And the Church

    won¡¯t¡ª ah, nevermind."

    She shakes her head, waving it off. Gods, now I just want to know,

    and here she is dangling it all just out of reach.

    If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

    I just shrug, though. No use in pressing her, and I''d rather stay out

    of the Restoration Church''s business. I''ve had more than enough of

    their nonsense over the years.

    "And your library, Ivy, has this incredible selection. I knew

    you had a few, but, I-I-"

    ¡°It¡¯s ridiculous.¡± Helena straightens, jerking her chin up,

    setting her tea down, and jabs a finger straight at me. Her green

    eyes gleam with an inner fire, and it''s enough to keep my jaw shut.

    "Ivy Crawford, I cannot believe your family left this whole

    collection to rot! You have the entire set of Classical Magecraft in

    pristine condition. Even the banned volumes! And don''t even get me

    started on your alchemical section, by the Restoration it''s..."

    She goes, and goes, and goes, and I just watch on with a cup of tea.

    Two cups, then three, and a tray floats over to take our cooling

    teaset. Helena even hands her teacup over without so much as pausing

    for breath; good Gods this woman has a lot of air in her.

    First, there''s library maintenance, then the importance of education.

    A little ramble about banned books being foolish, but she seems more

    resigned than anything towards that part.

    I feel something primal building in my gut, pressing against the

    sheer absurdity of the situation. This meek girl is talking down to

    me, as if a Restorer has any right to do so. It''s odd, certainly, but

    the rest of me can''t help but get caught up in her passion¡ª

    A snort plunges the room into sudden silence, and it takes a moment

    to realize that it''s coming from me. I huff, choking down a bubble of

    something, and then let it go in a fit of entirely unladylike

    giggles.

    Helena snaps her jaw shut with a click, cheeks flushing a bright red

    as she mumbles something I don''t quite catch¡ªtoo busy laughing. She

    coughs, shakes her head vigorously, and then speaks again.

    "You''re laughing at me, aren''t¡ª"

    "Gods, n-no," I wave a hand, copying the movement with my

    tail. The gall of a member of the Church telling me what to do with

    my property. She clearly didn''t know our history. "No, you''re

    fine. Just, here you are, yelling at me about not using my books.¡±

    I take a calming breath, finally, and spread my mouth in a broad,

    toothy smile. It''s more the smile of a beast than a human, and it''s a

    very powerful tool available to me.

    ...she flinches. Figures.

    I breathe in and out, collecting my thoughts. "People don''t

    usually have the guts for that, Helena. It''s just... refreshing, I

    don''t know. And a little funny to hear someone go all scholar on me."

    Helena smiles back unsteadily, shifting in her seat. She mumbles

    something, and I have to lean in a bit to listen.

    ¡°...can¡¯t just leave them all to rot, and I want to learn from

    them.¡±

    I glance over to the corner, where a pot of tea is busily making

    itself. A gentle probe confirms that it¡¯s the cleaning enchantments

    again. I add a little magic to them, just in case.

    ¡°I think they¡¯ll be fine, don¡¯t worry.¡± I smile at her again,

    then raise a finger to stall her incoming point. ¡°But. Yes, you can

    keep visiting and using my library, sure. I¡¯m not gonna let you

    walk those back to the Restorers, and you¡¯ll have to ask permission

    if you want to bring anyone in here. Once I leave again, ask Benny.

    Other than that, go ahead.¡±

    She¡¯s smiling broadly now, nodding along. ¡°I¡ªyes! Thank you.

    You don''t¡ªthis means a lot to me.¡±

    ¡°I gathered,¡± I let my grin fade, reaching out for a teacup as

    the whole tray returns. I¡¯m pretty impressed with it, honestly;

    cleaning enchantments aren¡¯t exactly designed to handle teamaking.

    It¡¯s light, sweet, and would go great with some bread.

    ¡°Hey,¡± I say aloud. ¡°There¡¯s a bakery in town I spotted last

    night, and while I don''t do breakfast, I could go for a snack. I need

    to go down anyway for the job, so would you like to come?¡±

    Helena gives me an odd look before agreeing. Not sure what that¡¯s

    about.

    <hr>

    "I''m not twelve anymore," I grumble, hefting the pack over

    one shoulder. "Benny doesn''t need to give me a day pack."

    I see Helena smiling out of the corner of my eye, the traitor.

    "At... at least the view is good?" Helena manages, audibly

    restraining a laugh. "You don''t get to see the city laid out

    like this often. Um."

    You don¡¯t, not really. Not unless you live on the cluster of hills

    north of the city, which are largely owned by rich folk like me.

    Helena is understating it, too.

    Craumont is one of those old, pre-Collapse cities: a mess of curves,

    parks, and plazas with only the canal and the main road providing

    semblances of organization. Despite everything, it works, as all

    things Imperial do. It''s even nice to walk through¡ªwell, except

    when you get almost-mugged like I did.

    And underneath, barely tangible even to my senses, is the pulsing of

    Craumont''s ancient Imperial wards. Now those are beautiful.

    "I guess," I say finally, strolling to a stop to take in

    the view. "It''s kind of a mess, and it''s definitely a bigger one

    than when I left."

    Helena purses her lips, reaching down to fidget with her slacks. I''m

    glad she chose to keep them; it''s a much better look on her than the

    purple curtain she called a robe.

    "It''s not that bad. And it has gotten bigger! Um, did you leave

    before or after the fire?"

    I suppress a snort. The fire. My cousin¡¯s mother had hired mages to

    ¡®upgrade¡¯ the ancient Imperial wards on the city, and the results

    were predictable. "More of an explosion, honestly, I don¡¯t

    know what those city mages were thinking, but sure. What about it?"

    "Well, they made a new district across the tracks and gave it a

    fire brigade after that! I got here a few weeks after.¡± Helena

    says, standing on the tips of her toes and pointing at the somehow

    even messier sprawl past the train station. I''d seen some on my way

    in, sure, but only the vague shapes that a rainy night offered.

    "Huh," I say, for lack of better words. A slight smile

    crosses my lips. "Thanks for the history lesson."

    Helena flushes a cherry red. "Um. I thought you''d like to hear¡ª"

    "I said thank you. I do want to hear it." I flash a broader

    grin at her, shaking my head. "At least someone cares about this

    damn city, right? I guess <i>someone </i>has to, since I sure don¡¯t.

    Well, other than Lord Craumont.¡±

    "I¡ª yes, I do." She sighs, kicking her boot against the

    cobbled path. Without another word, she starts walking away.

    I run a hand through my hair, pulling it over to one side, and start

    up after her. She seems like she could be interesting, and I¡¯ve

    gone and insulted her home. Bleh.

    "You, ah," I start, not quite finding the words. I cough

    and try again. "Helena? I''m paying for breakfast, if you still

    want to join me."

    It takes her a moment to respond, time enough for me to catch up and

    see her confused expression.

    "Of course?" Helena says slowly, "You offered, and I

    trust you."

    She pauses, her green eyes meeting mine. There''s an inquisitive spark

    in them, the same one she got earlier when she went off on a rant.

    "Why do you ask?"

    I huff, gesturing off vaguely instead of answering. My tail flicks

    from side to side, carving a divot in the ground. ¡°No reason.¡±

    She laughs at me¡ª laughs! "So you said it was a bakery. Is it

    the one on Sharrow Avenue? Because their flatbreads are <i>amazing</i>."

    "Not too far from the constables station, right? I''m not into

    plain flatbreads. Do they have any jams?"

    "Jams? On flatbread? Why?"

    "In case they don''t have jam doughnuts, of course."

    ¡°Jam doughnuts? Is that what¡¯s popular in the bigger cities?¡±

    Time can really fly when talking about food, as it turns out.

 Chapter 3

    Craumont, in my opinion, is much prettier under the sunlight. The

    nighttime view is just a chaotic scattering of light and smoke.

    But it really is <i>pretty</i>, during the day. The buildings lining

    the main streets are decorated <i>wonderfully</i>. Stone and brick

    isn''t terribly interesting to look at, but they make it up with

    bright paints, decorated shutters, broad windows displaying all sorts

    of finery... and lots of flowers. Countless flowers, real and fake.

    Spreads of wildflowers in their flowerboxes sit near the steps,

    collecting the drippings from last night¡¯s rain. Window boxes

    overflow with hanging vines, and in one case, a massive fern sits

    proudly at a blind corner. Some poor sod, nose buried in a book,

    walks straight into it and gets a mouthful of green for their

    trouble.

    And then of course, there¡¯s the painted walls. Where the real

    flowers end, their impressions begin, climbing vines and beautifully

    impossible flowers bloom on the walls. A tradition that trickled

    through the Collapse, and one Craumont has embraced utterly. I find

    it hard to tear my eyes off a particularly breathtaking smatter of

    painted wildflowers.

    A pretty entertaining to start the day, at least for me and Helena.

    It¡¯s pleasant enough for me to almost like Craumont. Just for a

    bit, though, and it makes my heart ache for the cities I¡¯d made my

    home in the past five years. Anywhere but here, anywhere less

    burdened by memory. I''d even take the Ard Judician capital, and I

    quite literally tripped over a bureaucrat at least twice in my

    two-day stay.

    We don¡¯t have much trouble finding Sharrow Avenue¡ª not that I can

    really get lost, I''ve memorized every street¡ª because I can smell

    the bakery well before it comes into view.

    That, and now that we can see it, it¡¯s got a bunch of cute little

    tables outside and this lanky man shouting at half the passersby with

    more cheer than seemed reasonable. His embroidered apron just <i>screams

    </i>bakery, really.

    "They do wheat bread, some mornings. No potato flour at all,

    just like what we had last night. It gets really expensive, though."

    Helena tells me, taking a long sniff at the air. "It¡¯s

    fantastic fresh out of the oven, and since I, um, fix Charlie and

    Marie¡¯s aprons, they give me some for free sometimes.¡±

    I smile at that, lips held over my teeth. Back on the noisy main

    streets of Craumont, I can''t just go around spooking the townsfolk.

    Er, cityfolk. There''s a joke about dragons and Drakes in there, but I

    don¡¯t plan to be a storybook villain raiding towns for gemstones

    and gold.

    "Huh. That''s nice of him. You said it''s not cheap around here,

    and I''ll admit," I put a hand out, palm down, and wobble it in a

    ''so-so'' motion. "I''m not so keen on wasting coin on wheat bread

    every day."

    ¡°Ah, I''m the same. I can''t afford the more expensive food here,

    really...¡± Helena says quietly, putting a hand to a pocket. ¡°Um,

    I feel like there was a but in your statement?¡±

    I snort, turning my outstretched hand into a thumbs-up before

    dropping it. "Yeah. Might pick up some extra for lunch and

    dinner while I''m here. I don''t think I''m going to be in Craumont for

    more than a week, really.¡±

    We step to the side as a carriage rolls by, coachman ringing the bell

    a bit too loudly for my taste. At least they''d done their job of

    clearing the road, I suppose. The problem is when there''s lots of

    them, bells ringing everywhere.

    "Did you come in by train, Ivy?" Helena asks suddenly,

    dragging me out of my internal whining. She has to crane her neck to

    meet my eyes, with how close we are, so I take a step to the side.

    I nod absently as we start walking again, taking care to step around

    what the horses had decided to deposit in their wake. I also pull my

    tail up, wrapping it loosely around my leg to keep it firmly off the

    street. At the same time, Helena''s nose wrinkles, but I bat the smell

    away with a wave of Wind from my hand.

    "Thanks. Um, sorry, was I too quiet?" Helena repeats. Her

    eyes are focused on my hand. Probably staring at the scales and claws

    like everyone else, though they''ll go away before long. Hopefully.

    I blink, shaking myself free of my thoughts once more. Focus, Ivy! "I

    guess you didn¡¯t see my nod. Yes, I came her by train, and it was

    pretty late when I arrived. Why?"

    Helena pauses, tracing out a bunch of squiggles and lines with one

    hand. "Ah. Sharrow Avenue Bakery isn''t... on the way between the

    Crawford Mansion and the station. How''d you see it, if you don''t mind

    me asking?"

    "It''s the Crawford Manor, not mansion," I correct,

    visualizing a map of the city. I need to figure out that trick with

    Lightning, leave little doodles in the air to draw out my path with.

    Okay, now to break this without getting a loud reaction from Helena.

    "Someone tried to mug me, actually. Had to head down to a

    station and report it, which was a bit out of the way." I say

    the last part quickly, talking over the beginnings of Helena''s

    alarmed exclamation.

    "Tried to mug you?!" Helena repeats loudly, and I wince as

    a few passerby turn our way. She lowers her voice and gives me a

    worried look before continuing. "And you''re alright?"

    I eye the rapidly approaching bakery and decide it''s a bit too far to

    use that to brush it off. "Of course I¡¯m alright. I think I

    ruined my old rain cloak, though.¡±

    ¡°Oh, thank the¡ª um, the Gods.¡± Helena gives me a wavering

    smile, awkwardly patting me on the forearm. ¡°That you¡¯re alright,

    I mean.¡±

    Do I brag here?

    I should brag here.

    ¡°He even tried to cut me up along the arm, right¡ª¡±

    ¡°Lena! There you are, sweetie! And with a lady on your arm, hmm?¡±

    That guy outside the bakery is looking our way now, fixing us with a

    beaming smile. More accurately, he¡¯s beaming at Helena (Lena, I

    guess?) and giving me a weird side-eye. If it was supposed to be an

    intimidating glare, the effect is ruined by his massive,

    flower-embroidered apron.

    ...I can''t really get mad that my bragging was interrupted, but I

    pout anyways. Inside my head, where nobody can see it, of course.

    ¡°Charlie!¡± Helena speeds up, rushing into a gangly hug from the

    man that is apparently the Charlie she¡¯d mentioned earlier.

    I just shuffle around, keeping a polite distance while moving myself

    towards the door of the bakery.

    ¡°Lena!¡± Charlie says again with a chuckle, just as loudly as

    before. His voice is slightly shrill to my ears, and his earlier

    side-eye is turning into a two-eyed glance. It starts with my face,

    moving downwards until I feel his eyes lock on to my tail.

    I flick my tail to the side, giving Charlie a polite nod. Maybe I

    should just go inside, pick up some food, let these two do whatever

    it is?

    ¡°Mind introducing me to your friend, Lena? I feel like I¡¯d

    remember a lady like this.¡± He clicks his tongue, gesturing broadly

    at me.

    Now I¡¯m just confused, and from the looks of it, Helena isn¡¯t.

    I¡¯ll need to get an explanation later.

    Helena¡ª Lena?¡ª shakes her head emphatically, stepping closer to

    me. ¡°Charlie, this is, um, Ivy. She helped me out last night, and

    she¡¯s very interested in your bakery¡¯s menu. Right?¡±

    ¡°Right,¡± I say, for lack of anything better to follow that up

    with. I stick out an arm in greeting, fingers splayed wide. ¡°Nice

    to meet you, Charlie.¡±

    Charlie looks at it, looks at my claws, and clasps my arm with his in

    greeting. He recovers his bravado almost instantly though, fixing me

    with a mock-stern look.

    ¡°And you¡¯ll treat Lena right, I¡¯m sure. A pleasure to meet you,

    Ivy!¡±

    "Charlie!" Helena hisses. "Cut it out! Ivy, come on,

    I''m getting hungry."

    As we separate, I raise an eyebrow at Charlie, drawing on every ounce

    of my otherwise useless etiquette and poise tutoring to loom. "I''m

    hardly going to court a woman I met last night, Charlie. And I agree

    with Helena here. Got any recommendations for breakfast?"

    Charlie takes a step back, chuckling and rubbing his forearm. Gods,

    did I bruise him? I didn''t even squeeze.

    He does a spin on the spot, swinging the front door to the bakery

    open and waving us in. "If it''s breakfast you''re here for,

    girls, Marie and Celine will treat you right."

    A wave of delicious, mouthwatering scent washes over us, pouring out

    of the door. Baked potato, potato bread, mixed bread, wheat bread...

    lots of bread, really, but there''s a sweet and buttery undertone to

    it.

    My tail is lashing, clicking against the ground, and Gods I''m making

    that weird rumbling noise. Focus.

    "Celine?" Helena echoes, now recovered from her earlier

    blush. "I didn''t know Marie had hired an assistant."

    Charlie gasps dramatically, putting a hand to his chest. It gets a

    little smile out of me, one I make sure keeps my teeth covered.

    ¡°Lena! Marie works for me, as you well know. I hired Celine, and

    you¡¯ll love her, sweetie.¡± He winks in my general direction.

    I give him an unimpressed frown as Helena giggles, and I take that

    moment to slip inside, batting the bell hanging on the doorframe as I

    go. Goodness, it¡¯s an impressive setup they¡¯ve got here, and one

    that instantly brings questions to mind.

    Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

    The polished stone floors are normal, and they¡¯re clearly well

    swept. That¡¯s fine. There¡¯s a few curious customers, some of

    which are holding confections I don¡¯t recognize. That¡¯s exciting,

    even if a few of them are giving me the expected sort of weird looks.

    A rather attractive young lady is standing behind a counter

    absolutely loaded with bread and confections, her bright expression

    and sharp features somehow fitting perfectly with the oversized apron

    and poofy hat that holds her hair. That¡¯s... well, that¡¯s

    pleasant. The baked potatoes sitting on a rack next to her are

    looking pretty tempting, too.

    What confuses me is that there is a phoenix with a chef hat manning¡ª

    birding¡ª the ovens. They¡¯re handling the big spatula-thing with

    surprising grace, using their talons and bursts of flight to move the

    thing around. I wouldn¡¯t be shocked if they were powering the ovens

    using their own feathers, given that¡¯s what the phoenixes running

    the trains did. So, yes, I have questions.

    Namely, how is this the first time I¡¯ve seen a phoenix as a baker?

    And more importantly to my curiosity, what are those big

    spatula-things called?

    ¡°Were you in business five years ago?¡± I say, keeping my

    questions inside my head. ¡°I feel like I¡¯d remember a place that

    looks and smells this good.¡±

    ¡°And this one feels like you would be remembered, scaly one,¡±

    trills the phoenix, cocking their head to look at me. ¡°We do not

    serve meat pies, if that is what you came for.¡±

    Helena¡¯s sidled up next to me now, her conversation with Charlie

    apparently over. ¡°Sorry, Ivy, she¡¯s a bit... rude. That¡¯s why

    Charlie does all the talking.¡±

    I snort. ¡°I¡¯m used to it.¡±

    ¡°Marie, please don¡¯t insult the customers,¡± says the girl at

    the counter with a bizarre amount of cheer, giving me a slight bow.

    ¡°Welcome to Sunrise Bakery! We¡¯ve got our full menu today, though

    I¡¯m afraid you¡¯ll have to wait for anything glazed. The sugar

    came in a bit late.¡±

    ¡°Everything is so, oh dear,¡± Helena sighs, eyes trailing over the

    display of bready deliciousness before turning back to me.

    After a moment, I realize she¡¯s beckoning me closer, so I hurry up

    to the counter and lean forward to inspect the bread.

    ¡°Ivy?¡± Helena says quietly.

    ¡°Yeah?¡± I hum, tail curling forward as someone shuffles past

    behind us.

    ¡°Would you mind if I¡ª um, if we¡ª got a fruit loaf,¡± Helena

    mumbles. ¡°Nevermind.¡±

    I sigh, straightening and pointing at a delicious looking jam-filled

    doughnut. ¡°I¡¯ll have two of those, please. And a fruit loaf.

    Actually¡ª Helena, do you want a doughnut too?¡±

    And, after a little bit of thought, I add, ¡°Helena, Lena, whatever,

    I¡¯m rich. I don¡¯t go around biting people¡¯s heads off, and I¡¯m

    hardly going to get mad about a <i>question</i>.¡±

    Helena mumbles a few words, straightens beside me, and beams. ¡°Thank

    you, Ivy. You¡¯re too kind.¡±

    "No, I''m not. Just an apology, and entertaining a guest," I

    wave it off, looking away. ¡°It¡¯s what a good host does, right?¡±

    Obviously, I buy the ¡°fruit loaf¡± as well, though Lena ends up

    picking a baked potato instead of doughnuts. Her indecision ends up

    being a huge help, too; her three minutes of fussing were enough time

    for me to figure out what pocket I''d left my money in.

    <hr>

    "It''s mostly instinct at this point," I say to Helena

    around a bite of jam doughnut. "Years and years of practice does

    that."

    I splay out a hand for her on the table, palm facing up, and push the

    tiniest bit of Wind through it. It''s a little awkward, since I have

    to sit sideways in the chair due to my tail, but I manage.

    "So, the logic of magic becomes an instinct, with time, when

    using your body as a focus. That''s fascinating. Do you think that

    applies to standard magecraft as well? Or to concepts you aren''t

    natively attuned to? I wonder..." Helena has her rant-expression

    on, eyes practically sparkling in the sunlight streaming through the

    bakery window. She puts a hand over mine and closes her eyes.

    I feel a tug in my gut, and after a moment of hesitation, I release

    my hold. Wind shivers up Helena''s hand, shimmering green as she wraps

    her own magic around it.

    Her eyes snap open, and the Wind dissipates. "Oh, that''s much

    easier than accumulating it in the air, but I don''t think I could

    cast a single proper spell with it. Are you limited to magic around

    your person, or, um."

    "I don''t really have much range, not without pouring on a lot of

    extra energy. It takes a bit out of me." I shrug. "Is this

    helping at all?"

    "It is," Helena whispers, a current of... something, under

    her tone. "Thank you. Structures are a little hard to visualize

    without a reference. A few more of these, and..."

    The bell on the doorframe jingles, and Helena trails off. Recognition

    sparks in her expression, and she carefully takes her hand off mine.

    "Oh, Restoration bless me! You''re alright," says a man from

    behind me. "I figured you''d be here, Eiches."

    Now that''s a name. Sounds just like the letter H, but pluralized. Not

    nearly as cool as being named after a plant, in my opinion.

    Helena bites her lip. "Of course I''m fine, Jordan. Um, thanks

    for your concern?"

    Oh, that''s quite a nickname she''s got. From her sour expression, it''s

    not her favorite.

    A few stamping steps later, there''s a bulky man in a purple robe

    standing over our table. He''s got short brown hair, brown eyes, and

    the tan of a farmer''s kid. The sunburn of one too, with a big splotch

    of red on his nose.

    He stares at me for a moment, eyes flicking to the scales on my

    wrist, then down to my tail. I drag it across the ground as he

    watches, curling the tip to point up towards him. His lips curl, ever

    so slightly, but he visibly tamps it down.

    Jordan looks away, and turns to look at Helena. "You''re not a

    full mage, Eiches, you''re a tailor. Priest Dongbaek is worried about

    you. There''s, ¡ª"

    Helena raises a hand, and sends an apologetic glance my way. "Helena.

    I''m Helena, you know I hate Eiches."

    I do my best to make a show of being relaxed, giving her a nod that

    is calmer than I feel.

    "Just teasing, Helena, relax." Jordan winks, shrugging.

    "But I¡¯m still worried. You didn''t see anyone at the Crawford

    Estate, did you? We couldn''t get in last night to warn you."

    Oh, this is one of the intruders. Glad I locked them all out,

    honestly; this man is too punchable, and my temper was shorter than

    usual last night.

    "Warn me about what, Jordan? Um, the Crawford Manor has more

    defensive enchantments than City Hall or our church. I should be safe

    there." Helena sighs, looking down and away. "...you''re

    making a scene. Please quiet down."

    Oh, so we are. Everyone''s listening, I can see it in how they sit, if

    they aren''t staring openly. Well, Marie isn''t, but she''s focused on

    baking.

    "That''s the problem, Helena," Jordan insists at the same

    volume, waving Helena off. "Look. I know you aren''t involved

    with the big stuff. But Amelia Crawford is back in town, and she''s

    been trouble for us before. It''s not safe to be up there."

    Amelia. I snort. "She''ll be fine, kid. The House likes her, and

    I can make sure she''s safe."

    Helena''s expression is, to put it lightly, odd.

    "She¡¯s been trouble?" Helena repeats, looking at Jordan.

    Jordan, however, is looking at me with a furrowed brow. "You¡¯d

    want to stay out of this, Drake, trust me. Getting mixed up with the

    Dame is dangerous, and you wouldn¡¯t understand just how dangerous."

    I incline my head, shoving down my instinct to stand up and snarl at

    the man. "That''s a fair point."

    "What do you mean by trouble?" Helena says, louder this

    time. ¡°Jordan.¡±

    "It''s... complicated," Jordan says thoughtfully, "Some

    court troubles, years back. Don¡¯t worry about it. They only really

    explained it to me last night. Just stay away from the Estate,

    alright? Now that she''s back, we might even make some progress on

    the... nevermind."

    Helena stares at Jordan, something glinting in her eyes. Acting on

    instinct, I shuffle a boot forward to touch hers¡ª I''m terrible at

    this reassurance stuff, but I can try.

    "Thank you, Jordan. Tell Priest Dongbaek I will be back before

    lunch. Um. Can I finish my breakfast now? You''re making a scene

    still..."

    "I¡ª" Jordan starts, frowning.

    I let a growl rumble out of my throat, just in time for Charlie to

    materialize behind Jordan.

    Charlie taps Jordan on the shoulder, and all that lanky height is

    suddenly being used to loom over the Restorer. "Sir. You''re

    distracting my customers and scaring some of them away. Please

    leave."

    And, fortunately, he does. He even mutters an apology, though it was

    directed at the room rather than Helena. We eat in silence for a

    minute. I know the question is coming, and Helena is probably just

    gathering herself to do so.

    I''ll do this on my own terms, I decide. Throw it all out there, see

    how long it takes her to run. Or, maybe I''ll get lucky, and she''ll

    ignore it like she does my scales and tail.

    "If you haven''t¡ª"

    "So who is¡ª"

    We talk over each other, starting and stopping in an awkward game of

    bad nonverbal communication that devolves into a spurt of strange

    laughter. I can feel the tension ease around us, only to snap into

    place once silence returns.

    "You go," I say, waving at Helena. "You must have a

    few questions by now, huh?"

    "No, no. You go. I need to hear your side of, ah." Helena

    pauses. "I think we''re talking about the same thing."

    ¡°Yes, we are.¡± I let out a long sigh, my tail drooping onto the

    floor. It''d be really nice to just bull through and not deal with

    this. But I¡¯d let myself get tangled up with a member of the

    Restoration Church like the fool I am. Better to say it now than lie

    and get hurt more later.

    "Amelia Ivy Crawford," I say, eventually, tracing a talon

    along the surface of the table. I can manage eye contact, but it¡¯s

    a bit hard to hold it. ¡°That¡¯s my full name.¡±

    A pause.

    "I... I prefer Ivy, and no, I wasn¡¯t trying to hide my

    identity."

    "Okay." Helena says simply. "And the¡ª the

    ¡®trouble¡¯?"

    There it is. I square my shoulders, drag my mood back from the brink,

    and nod. "Yeah. Back before I left, I caused a bit of trouble

    for...¡±

    I hesitate, even though I know damn well I¡¯m going to tell the

    truth regardless. We¡¯ve got enough eavesdroppers that it might even

    go in my favor. Or maybe the rumors will swing against me, like

    before.

    ¡°The Crawfords left a lot of things to your Church. Things that my¡ª

    that they didn¡¯t think much about,¡± I say evenly. Gods, a whole

    year and a half of my life down the gutter, fighting fang and claw

    for things the Church had no right to take. ¡°A lot of things that

    were mine legally, including my home. So I took them back, and I got

    in more than a few scraps because of it. Nothing more to it.¡±

    Not quite a lie, not quite the truth. But the details of my parents¡¯

    madness aren''t her business, nor would she believe me.

    "Okay. I thought you were, um, a cousin, or something.¡± Helena

    says, trying to smile in return. At least it isn¡¯t weighing too

    heavily on her, I think? "...What about now? They''re my family.

    I... I can¡¯t really stand for it if you hurt them."

    ¡°Are they going to try and steal my home again, now that I¡¯m

    here?¡± I say bluntly, arching an eyebrow. ¡°Are they going to wave

    that damned will around to get what they want? I can¡¯t make

    promises, Helena.¡±

    Helena sighs, looking away.

    Finally, she stands up, using one hand to tug her long brown hair

    over one shoulder. "Ivy. I... um, I understand. I really do. But

    I''ll need some time to think, if that''s okay?"

    Something aches in my chest, burning like Adamantine''s own flame.

    Come on, Ivy, she¡¯s not saying no. "Sure."

    "I''m sorry, Ivy. I just..."

    I laugh dryly, waving her off. "Don¡¯t apologize. Just take the

    fruit loaf and go, my treat. The Manor''s still open to you, and it¡¯s

    big enough we won¡¯t need to run into each other while you think. I

    get it, don''t worry about it."

    Something squishes in my other hand, oozing out and sticking to my

    skin.

    It''s half a jam doughnut, I reflect dully, watching the bright red

    goop spread across my hand. Distantly, I hear the rustle of fabric,

    and the door jingling.

    I don''t know why I''m surprised. Drake Magebloods like me are rare,

    rare enough to draw curious gazes... and the changes are enough that

    almost nobody recognizes me. Of course Helena wouldn''t recognize me

    as an enemy of her Church. Gods, it looks like I was old enough news

    that Helena didn¡¯t know of me, though there¡¯s probably something

    else to that. But being okay with scales, a tail, and claws didn¡¯t

    mean she¡¯d be okay with Amelia.

    My tail slaps the floor, once, twice, three times. I really should

    growl, let those feelings out, but I don''t want to bother the bakery

    more than I already have. So, deep breaths instead.

    "So you''re Amelia," I hear Charlie say delicately. He''s

    holding out a washcloth of some sort. "You had red hair before?

    White hair suits you so much better.¡±

    I stand up, taking the washcloth and using it to wipe off my

    jam-soaked hand. "Thanks, and it does. It was one of the first

    things to change when I started Delving¡ª and I''m Ivy now, not

    Amelia.¡±

    Charlie snorts, taking the towel back and holding it carefully by a

    clean corner. ¡°Sweetie, nobody would believe you¡¯re that willowy

    little thing from the courtroom cases, even if you did break that

    poor priest''s nose. Now, are you going to chase after your girl, or

    what?"

    I could, I realize. But she needs time if she¡¯s coming back at all,

    and... well, I am here for a job, aren¡¯t I? I¡¯d nearly forgotten,

    somehow.

    Shaking my head ruefully, I bend down to pick up my day-pack.

    Hopefully Benny packed something for sticky hands. "No. I''m here

    to do a job for Craumont, believe it or not, and I think it''s time I

    stop messing around."

    ¡°Ooh, now there''s a juicy detail!¡±

    I''m halfway out the door, bell jingling, when Charlie speaks again.

    "What were you hired for? I need some gossip!"

    That drags a proper laugh out of me, one strong enough for me to pull

    myself together and get on with it.

    "What do you think? They hired a Delver to look at a Delve.

    Holes in the World don''t fix themselves."

 Chapter 4

    Feathers, fangs, claws, and horns. Not a single Drake in sight, and

    certainly not a scaled person of any other variety to be found among

    the Magebloods here. Maybe I shouldn¡¯t be spending so much time

    looking as I pick my way through progressively grimier alleys and

    scraggly little parks. The one blessing is I don¡¯t see too many

    people living on the streets; maybe they live in that Wildflower

    District, maybe the local churches are helping, and hopefully my

    cousin is doing his part.

    Whatever the case, I may be the <i>only </i>Drake Mageblood in

    Craumont. Gods, I might be the most changed Mageblood of any sort in

    Craumont; closest I¡¯ve seen is a burly man with feline ears, slit

    pupils, and a long black tail.

    Not a very magic-heavy city, clearly, though I¡¯m sure having a

    Phoenix for a baker balances out that strange equation somehow.

    I know Drakes aren¡¯t common, but I guess the bigger cities have

    inflated the numbers in my head. So when I¡¯m walking through the

    streets with my scales showing, I know I¡¯m sticking out. Just a few

    stares from people that cross my path, a few curious glances at my

    tail as it flicks against the stone. None of them think I¡¯m that

    one Craumont with the bad reputation, though. Small mercies.

    I run a hand through my long, white hair, using a pulse of Wind to

    sort out any small tangles. It''s a poor substitute for a comb, but my

    travel one had broken a few days ago. The only reason I don''t look

    like a tangled mess is the brushes back at the Manor, because tricks

    with Wind could only go so far.

    Having so much hair is a bit of a handful, honestly.

    Heh.

    <i>Hand</i>ful. Hands. Wind magic for combing.

    I snort. Glad I kept that one inside, it¡¯s just terrible.

    The smell of flowers and a touch of genuine Wind drags me to a stop

    in a park. It''s not a big one, and it''s in one of the grimier parts

    of the city.

    Most of these have a scraggly tree or two, a bush, maybe some spotty

    moss cover under the shade to help hold water. They helped prevent

    flooding, apparently, though I¡¯d never really put much thought to

    how. Something about... infiltrated soil? That¡¯s a term I haven¡¯t

    thought about since my university days.

    This one, though, has flowers. Wildflowers, all stunning messes of

    white, yellow, and red, scattered about in the spotty shade of a

    youthful Maple tree. There''s even some of that black-purple berry on

    the bushes, the sort the Restorers use to dye their robes. And, by

    Adamantine, with that Wind swirling around the place like an old

    friend, the smell is <i>glorious</i>. There''s a genuine care put into

    it, the bushes are too nice and the soil too fresh for it to be an

    odd coincidence.

    Here, amidst a field of flowers, caught between the rises of stone

    and brick, I can''t help but smile. So I do, and I pour a bit of my

    own Wind into the place.

    "Hello," I whisper, placing a palm against the bark of a

    small tree. The tree, of course, has no answer.

    I blink, think about what I just did, and laugh.

    Taking a long draw of the pleasant, floral air, I wander onward to my

    destination.

    <hr>

    I feel the pull on my magic before I see the Delve portal. It¡¯s

    like standing at the top of a cliff, preparing to climb down: half

    anticipation, half the subtle pull of gravity as I peer over.

    Magecraft has a term for it, something I faintly remembered from

    Classical Magecraft, but I¡¯m more of an applied magic kind of girl.

    A question for Helena, I decide, with only a twinge of regret.

    I honestly might be able to find the portal with my eyes closed, at

    this point. To continue the cliff analogy, all I need to do is move

    with the pull¡ª

    Well, there''s a fair few buildings in the way of a straight line, and

    people aren''t so keen on me breaking their exteriors by clambering up

    them. Bit too destructive, if I use claws, and bit too illegal. I''m

    supposed to be working with the City here, not against it.

    I snort, dragging the tip of my tail along the ground. It''s all

    absurd, being back here, and it gets stranger the longer I think

    about it. So, I stop thinking about it and get going.

    And, after weaving through a busy street, dodging a vicious band of

    children playing pretend, and slipping down a grimy alley, I''m at my

    destination.

    It''s a chapel, of some sort, one I don''t remember from a life of

    snooping around the city. Peaked roof, colorful windows, an inviting

    yet somber atmosphere... the usual stuff, in short. It''s made of

    brick and wood, too, so it''s definitely not an old Imperial building.

    The mossy lawn and orderly bushes really make the place pop out of

    the surroundings, as much as one can in Crawford without painting the

    place painful colors.

    "Ah, madam?"

    My attention snaps to the front of the building, and to the two

    armored guards standing outside of it. Looks like they¡¯re not

    taking any chances¡ª steel breastplates and alchemical cloth, held

    together with what looks to be alchemical brass. A little out of

    date, sure, but it¡¯ll do for most things that can creep out of a

    new portal.

    The guard on the left was the one that spoke, and he holds my gaze

    unwaveringly.

    "Yeah?"

    "I apologize, but this is a dangerous place to be. If you''d like

    to pray to the Hero, you''ll have to go to the one downtown, or in the

    Wildflower District." He sounds genuinely apologetic, which

    takes me a bit off guard.

    My tail lashes behind me, and I see both guards flick their eyes to

    follow the movement.

    When they look back up, they see my full, toothy smile. The one on

    the right flinches, just a bit.

    "I''ll be fine."

    I pause.

    "Also, I''m here for the Delve portal. The city hired me for it."

    That gets them both to stiffen, and I slap my tail against the ground

    in satisfaction. A toothy grin wouldn''t go well here, I think.

    "You¡¯re not the Mage, she¡¯s shorter. Dame Crawford, then?

    Gods, you¡¯re nothing like the prints," The guard on the right

    gawps, snapping her jaw shut a little too late.

    "Dame Crawford," I agree, gesturing to myself. "In the

    flesh. And the scales."

    They eye me dubiously, though the one the right seems to be eyeing me

    with something else, too. I eye her back, drawing my tail up to brush

    off the dirt and moss.

    ¡°Riverson, Parks, I spoke to our apprentice Mage on the way over.

    It seems she''ll be delayed, but I''ll be sending the carriage back to

    wait for her. Can you¡ª"

    A familiar voice cuts through the awkward tension, sharp and loud.

    Familiar, yes, but who...?

    The question answers itself when a man hurries his way around the

    side of the chapel, brown eyes peering at me over a pair of

    rectangular, brass-wired glasses. Half-curled horns of a ram jut from

    a head of reddish-brown hair, and it works pretty damn well with that

    buttoned-down brown and black suit. I love those brass buttons¡ª

    next time I commission an outfit, I''ll have to get those.

    If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.

    "Amelia Crawford, as I live and wonder! Gods preserve, you¡¯ve

    grown in so many ways." He grins, closing the distance between

    us in quick, elegant strides. "At ease, guards. It appears l

    gave you an outdated description."

    "Winston Craumont," I reply stiffly, feeling an odd urge to

    stand up straighter, tilting my head down to get a good look at him.

    Weird to see the top of his head like this, horns and all. "Did

    you get shorter? I didn''t know that could happen to Horned

    Magebloods."

    Winston snorts, sticking his arm out for a greeting. "Not to me,

    at least, though you¡¯re walking evidence the opposite is possible.

    I simply aged out of those ridiculous platform shoes Mother made me

    wear."

    Oh, that takes me back, and not in a terrible way for once. I clasp

    Winston¡¯s arm, he clasps back, and we make eye contact long enough

    to nod. ¡°I remember calling them clogs. They¡¯re popular

    somewhere, I¡¯m sure.¡±

    Winston¡¯s lips twitch downward before proper noble propriety

    asserts itself, whatever dregs of it he has left. ¡°I cannot believe

    Olivia managed to get you in on that, too.¡±

    My heart twinges, and I look away. She always did manage to rope me

    in on her crazy ideas.

    "She rubbed off on me,¡± I say instead, shrugging. ¡°Haven¡¯t

    started a fistfight once, you know? She wouldn''t have believed it.¡±

    ¡°No scuffles at all? Amelia.¡±

    ¡°Ivy,¡± I say absently. ¡°I go by Ivy, now.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t dodge the question, Ivy.¡± Winston tilts his head, eyes

    gleaming oddly.

    I do my best theatrical sigh. Gods, here I am warming up. I blame

    nostalgia. ¡°I... may have gotten mugged. Well. They tried.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s the spirit! We''ve been having trouble with that, lately.¡±

    Winston sighs, turning back to the guards. ¡°In case there was any

    doubt¡ª and I must applaud you both for doing your jobs¡ª I can

    confirm this is Dame Amelia Ivy Crawford. She is a Drake Mageblood

    now, it seems.¡±

    ¡°It seems?¡± I huff, gesturing to my hair with one hand and

    pulling up my tail with the other. ¡°I don¡¯t even have the family

    hair color anymore. Come on, Winston. The Delve portal¡¯s inside the

    chapel, right? Let¡¯s get a move on.¡±

    "Ah." Winston clears his throat. "There may be a

    monster in there. Should you take the point position?"

    "Of course there is." I say absently. I inspect the guards

    critically, as if I didn''t already know the answer to the question.

    I turn towards the main door and go up to it, examining it carefully.

    Wood and alchemical brass, from the looks of things; about half again

    my height and pretty well reinforced. A gentle push has them swinging

    inwards, though, so nobody could actually bar the door effectively

    from the inside.

    "Winston..." I say slowly.

    He sighs, pulling out a loosely bound sheaf of parchment. "Gods.

    I''ll have to get those replaced. No, reversed. I knew I''d missed

    something when the Aldermen appointed the new building regulator. Do

    they at least only swing inward?"

    I lean forward and pull. The door, fortunately, stops a few degrees

    past flush with the stone around it. "Half bad, then, not

    terrible. Probably just need to reverse the hinges."

    "Perhaps I should hire you instead? I''m sure the Aldermen would

    throw a fit." Winston chuckles. "The pay is rather good,

    you know."

    Matching Winston''s laugh with my own, I take that moment to step

    inside.

    My first observation is that it''s a very traditionally laid out

    chapel, and it probably looks quite nice when all the prayer benches

    aren''t piles of scrap wood. There''s a tiny little front ''room'', where

    I am, with doors to my left and right that lead into small side

    rooms. Three steps ahead is the main area, a large, rectangular space

    lit by high-set windows. A colorful circular window in back probably

    casts some amazing colors over the place, at the right time of day.

    There''s a few shadowed eaves I can''t quite peer into, unfortunately,

    and they''re plenty big enough for a monster.

    I''m kind of hoping Winston is right, though. I could use a good

    brawl.

    Oh, and then there''s the gaping, bleeding wound in the World.

    It''s like looking through a cracked pane of glass, peering through

    the punched-out center but seeing nothing beyond it. Nothing but a

    shimmering golden fog, oozing through ever so slowly widening seams.

    "Well, there''s the portal. I''ll take a quick look." I say

    loudly, swinging the door closed behind me. The guards were good for

    keeping people out, sure, but they''d just get in the way if there was

    actually a danger lurking in here.

    I take a careful step forward past the entrance area, loosening my

    stance and keeping my head on a swivel. It pays to be a bit paranoid,

    in this profession.

    A second examination of the room tells me the nature of the chapel:

    it''s a Chapel of the Hero. One of the guards mentioned that in

    passing, I think, but I hadn''t thought much of it at the time.

    There¡¯s even a beautiful mural, high up on the back wall: the Hero

    in her tarnished armor, stabbing the Emperor while getting impaled in

    return. Guess this artist decided that Gods bleed gold, and also

    wasn¡¯t too worried about scaring little kids.

    Of course, that bleeding wound in the world would probably spook them

    off first. Or not, now that I think about it; I distinctly remember

    poking a stick through one when I was, what, ten?

    Stupid idea, of course. Monsters aren¡¯t common, but they really can

    slip out of Delve portals at any time¡ª at least this one was in a

    room that was convenient to lock up. I scratch my chin, scanning the

    room and squinting at darkened corners. Hopefully...

    Something moves in the corner of my vision. One of the piles of scrap

    wood shifts, sloughing parts, and I take a moment to brace myself.

    Let¡¯s see what this Delve has to offer.

    A mass of wood and rivets bursts from the scrap pile, ramming into my

    gut and forcing the air from my lungs. A heartbeat later I¡¯m

    against the door, fingers¡ª no, claws¡ª scrabbling for purchase on

    the jagged, bark-coated hide of a monster. It pushes, and strains,

    and gnashes against me, a wolfish maw of rusted iron held back by my

    claws on its haunches.

    Something cracks behind me. We fall to the ground in a pile of

    splinters and twisted brass reinforcement, the monster slides and

    stumbles as I slip away¡ª

    It blurs again, pouncing as I rise from the ground. I meet it halfway

    in a ramming punch to the snout, sending bark flying and dropping the

    monster to the mossy soil.

    Winston¡¯s saying something. I ignore it. I¡¯d bought myself time

    with that move, time enough to breathe and collect myself, but only

    barely. I really should have...

    The monster howls, a throaty, aching sound broken branches and

    tearing metal.

    An eager snarl rips its way out of me, answering the monster''s fury

    with my own. I pace to the side, tail swishing eagerly, and it

    matches me¡ª circling, waiting.

    One step. Two. Wind curls through my claws, shimmering across my

    body. The monster tenses, legs bent, metal teeth bared, bark creeping

    back across its snout.

    Now.

    I lunge forward with a toothy grin, moving into the monster¡¯s next

    step and meeting it with an angled forearm. It snaps its jaw shut,

    clamping and straining against my scales, its body tilted upward to

    score at my chest with its forepaws. The cold burn of metal blooms

    across my arm, and I can feel the barest hints of blood trickling

    beneath my clothes.

    I''ll need to end this quickly. I don¡¯t have the time to look for

    weak spots on this thing, though. They¡¯re not animals, not built

    like them on the inside¡ª

    Brute force it is, then.

    So, yanking up, grimacing as the fangs dig deeper, I ram a

    Wind-infused punch directly into its lower jaw. And then another, and

    another, opening and widening a crack where the neck meets the head.

    Its jaw loosens, wiggling and pulling back for another bite. It won¡¯t

    have a chance to finish that.

    I shove my arm further forward into its jaw, wrapping my hand around

    the side of its head. The other digs into the crack I¡¯d opened in

    its neck, and I¡ª

    <i>Pull.</i>

    It strains. It creaks, yowling and scratching against my chest, and

    breaks. The monster¡¯s head twists one way, and half of its neck

    goes the other.

    And then, beautiful quiet, as the thrill and joy of a good fight

    fades away. Just the song of my heart and breath to mark the passage

    of time, slowly fading as I calm myself down.

    Shoulders back. Chin up. In through the nose, out through the mouth.

    I run a hand through my messy hair, using a touch of Wind to bring it

    to a semblance of order.

    "Right!" I say as brightly as possible, tossing the wooden

    monster to the ground. I keep my teeth hidden, push my voice up a

    note, and do my best to be nonthreatening. "Portal."

    Winston steps forward, picking his way through the splinters. "Are

    you quite alright, Am¡ª Ivy? That was..."

    I look down at myself, at the torn blouse and the tiny cuts beneath.

    My arm is, on close inspection, fine, but that''s definitely going to

    bruise later. It''s not a great look, but I did dress for breakfast

    rather than fighting. My mistake.

    If only...

    Oh, Gods damn it all. Benny was right about the day pack. Looks like

    I tossed it to the side at some point, not that I remember.

    "I''m fine." I say, striding over to the pack and decidedly

    not looking at anyone. Oh, excellent, there''s a blouse. I''ll just

    turn around and switch those out. "Just a bit surprised. I''m

    going to need support from your guards if it happens again while I''m

    sealing the portal."

    Someone behind me is muttering, but I can''t quite pick up what

    they''re saying. Probably just something about impropriety, or

    whatever.

    I flick my tail in irritation, buttoning up my collar and turning

    around to face a mildly surprised looking Winston.

    "Winston, I know you''re a Mageblood of some sort, and I can¡¯t

    imagine you being a novice. I''ll want you supporting from afar, if

    you can. You''ve got, what. Wind, Water...¡±

    "Just the two for archetypes, and I am proficient with both."

    Winston confirms, giving a nod to Guard One and Guard Two. "Riverson,

    Park, you heard Dame Crawford. It is time to get to work, I believe."

    I grin as the guards flinch, and spread my hands. "Don''t worry.

    You''re in good hands."

 Chapter 5

    "I never did thank you, did I? For agreeing."

    I grunt, eyes still trained on the portal. One hand is curled through

    it, my skin melding to scales as the fingers dip around the

    impossible fringe of the World, and the other is trying to find where

    the tear ends and the World begins again. I''m not sticking my head

    into this thing, seeing what lies beyond that eye-bending golden

    shimmer, until I know how stable it is. Standard procedure. I even

    have to get re-trained on it every two years, actually.

    "Say that again?"

    "Thank you for coming back, Am- <i>Ivy</i>. Yes, Ivy."

    Winston says, eventually. He''s crept up on the portal now, hands

    flickering with the rhythmic motions of Water. "The Restorers

    might be a touch upset at your return, but Craumont certainly missed

    one of its best fighters. I''m sure you''re even better, now."

    "I doubt I could bend forged iron before, yeah," I chuckle,

    grinning as my fingers find purchase on something. "I can take a

    bigger bruising, too, and I just heal it off with a bit of magic."

    "You must have Delved quite far, then?"

    That <i>something </i>I felt earlier turned into proper resistance¡ª

    like finding where a frayed rope was still bound together. And, just

    beyond that, the point where the World fused again, pushing backs

    against the Delve.

    Right. Delve depth.

    "About two grand marches, I think," I say slowly, as if I

    didn''t know my exact Delve record. One thousand nine hundred and

    ninety eight point seven marches on the depth meter, but I counted it

    as two grand on account of being tall. My feet were deep enough,

    surely. Or my tail, if the depth was askew from gravity at the time.

    I¡¯d even notched it on my meter, though I hadn¡¯t brought that

    along for this. But I¡¯m not planning on Delving just yet¡ª I can

    manage it and most weaker monsters with just my fists, thus not

    bringing extra tools for the stabilization¡ª I''ll spend some time

    preparing my equipment and go in later today. Maybe tomorrow, even.

    The protections should last far longer than that.

    "That''s impressive, is it not? Twice the required depth to

    become a registered Delver," Winston queries, "The contract

    mage we had before was quite proud of his five hundred marches. Good

    enough to find the Heart, he said."

    With one hand on the fringe of the World, I bring my other hand to a

    thin, shimmering tear, letting the World flow from one end to the

    other. A few pinches and a touch of my own mana is enough to fix

    that¡ª one less point for the tearing to resume.

    "For a non-Delver, five hundred isn''t bad," I admit, a

    little impressed. "Not getting any particularly pure magic

    crystals at that depth, though. He was just on to seal Delves, right?

    Not harvest them."

    "Sealing and patch work on the one we keep open, mostly. As you

    may recall, Craumont doesn''t have many Mages¡ª"

    The portal ripples, golden fog parting and warping. The depth of the

    world around us plunges, magic building and compressing. I can see

    the guards staggering in my peripheral vision, and Winston takes a

    moment to steady himself.

    I push back with my magic, snarling as the seams strain against my

    touch. A few marches of depth is nothing to me, be it underwater or

    in a Delve. I vent my irritation on the floor, jabbing my tail into

    the cracks repeatedly.

    ¡°Something¡¯s trying to push through.¡± I say quickly, rolling my

    shoulders. ¡°Guard O¡ª Guards. Spears up. If something comes

    through, I¡¯ll pin it, you <i>stab </i>it. Go for weak points,

    generally joints. Winston?¡±

    ¡°Yes?¡± Winston says, raising his hands. The flicker of Water

    turns to a torrent, streaming into spheres on his palms. I can see

    Guard Two pushing herself up from kneeling out of the corner of my

    eye, and Guard One isn¡¯t far behind. I wonder which is Riverson and

    which one is Park?

    ¡°Do, uh.¡± I pause. When was the last time I worked alongside a

    pure Mage, no weapons? ¡°Mage stuff. And keep talking if you can,

    it¡¯s good background noise.¡±

    Winston lets out a strangled noise, somewhere between a laugh and a

    huff. ¡°Not a dreg of propriety in you these days, is there?¡±

    ¡°I still do wine tastings, actually.¡±

    ¡°Correctly?¡±

    ¡°Takes a full barrel of whiskey to get me drunk, and I don¡¯t stay

    that way. No need to spit out good wine.¡± I say with a tiny shrug.

    I¡¯m letting years of practice take the reins with my work, moving

    from seam to seam with the precision of a good train schedule.

    ¡°A half-dreg of proper noble bearing, then. Perhaps I should invite

    you to the next wine tasting at the Craumont estate?¡±

    I chuckle, pinching closed the last seam on the portal. ¡°Oh,

    everyone would hate that. Especially me.¡±

    The world... eases, is the best way to describe it. Like emerging

    from deep water, or walking out of thick fog. The guards breathe twin

    sighs of relief, and I can see Winston¡¯s shoulders sagging as I

    straighten and turn around. I take extra care to curl my tail so it

    doesn¡¯t slip into the portal.

    ¡°There¡¯s your portal.¡± I say, pushing back a burst of pride in

    my chest. I gesture at the shimmering oval. ¡°We had a little scare

    there, sure, but it¡¯s now stable and ready for Delvers to stick

    their heads in. More or less.¡±

    Something crunches underfoot. Wood, from the sounds of it, and it

    prompts me to take a proper second look at my surroundings. At the

    chapel, with wrecked prayer seats and a few unpleasant looking cracks

    in the windows. Oh, and the broken door, and the remains of the

    monster outside, and so on. The mural is entirely intact though,

    ready to traumatize little kids!

    ¡°Pity it¡¯s in a chapel, though." I shrug, doing my best to

    sound conciliatory. Is that the right word? ¡°I¡¯ll be back in

    later, maybe tomorrow, to cut off the Delve Heart and seal this up.

    You want this sealed completely, right?"

    Winston runs a hand over his horns, which appear to have grown longer

    from a mix of depth and magic use, though they¡¯re shrinking back

    down to a more manageable size as I watch. A quick look down confirms

    my hands still have dark, sharp nails, but the scales are fading

    quickly now.

    ¡°Hmm. Yes, unfortunately. I''m tempted to keep it open, and hire

    someone to comb it for crystallized magic. I can''t spare the guards

    to ensure nothing gets out into the city." Winston says. ¡°Right.

    You¡¯re not prepared to enter now? I suppose I should keep the

    guards posted here, shouldn¡¯t I. Tripled detail, even, now that the

    door is broken. And the apprentice mage is coming around soon... hm.¡±

    He taps his chin, waving at the guards with the other hand. ¡°I¡¯ll

    have six sent when I leave. I¡¯ll have to notify City Works about

    the door, allocate some gold from the disaster funding...¡±

    As Winston trails off into mutters and lordly stuff, I go back to the

    portal and inspect it.

    And by inspect it, I mean stick my hand in it. Gives me a good idea

    of how deep it is inside, and consequently how safe it¡¯d be to just

    hop on in for a bit. I stick my tail through it, too, but that''s just

    to entertain myself. It feels cold, and just a touch slimy, which has

    both my hand and tail exiting immediately.

    Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.

    ¡°So what¡¯s this about an apprentice mage?¡± I ask loudly. ¡°I

    heard you and one of the guards mention it earlier, and I¡¯m

    assuming you didn¡¯t hire me to spite local mages.¡±

    My cousin grimaces, clasping his hands behind his back and beginning

    to pace. ¡°There are no local mages. None in the profession, at

    least. They¡¯re from Farrier or Kestrel, and I¡¯m afraid I¡¯ve no

    talent for teaching or apprenticing my own.¡±

    ¡°So how is this an apprentice?¡± I raise an eyebrow, pulling my

    arm out of the portal. ¡°Should be safe for them, at any rate. And

    why would you be bringing them here?¡±

    ¡°To learn, of course, and not from a book for once.¡± Winston says

    drily, cracking a grin that would look more at home on me than a

    proper noble. ¡°Those ¡®big city¡¯ mages despise being out here,

    away from civilization. I¡¯d rather not put more gold in their

    hands.¡±

    I match it with my own toothy grin, flexing my fingers and letting

    out a little laugh. ¡°And, let me guess, everyone hates them? Still

    doing that fake Ard Judician accent?¡±

    I let the trilling, rolling accent of central Ard Judicia bleed in,

    jerking my chin up and cocking my head like a bird.

    That gets a snort out of one of the guards, and a sigh from the

    other. Winston matches that sigh with his own, rolling his eyes.

    ¡°I¡ª¡±

    ¡°My lord! I¡¯m¡ª um. I¡¯m so sorry for being late, I had to drop

    off something at the church, and, and¡ª¡±

    Helena Harkness, apprentice mage, stumbles around the corner, nearly

    tripping on a lump of twisted brass. Well, she does trip, but she¡¯s

    able to find her balance quite quickly.

    Because of <i>course </i>it¡¯s her. My tail lashes again, but I stop

    it before it makes any noise.

    Winston perks up, and then perks up more when he sees the dread on my

    face. Gods, family suck. ¡°Miss Harkness! It¡¯s no trouble, truly.

    The Delver arrived early, you see, and did her job much faster than

    any we¡¯ve hired before. As for the sealing of the portal, well.¡±

    Turning his head slightly, he gestures my way. ¡°This is Ivy

    Crawford. Ivy, when do you plan on returning for the sealing?¡±

    ¡°Ivy?¡± Helena squeaks, her voice pitched upward. She shuffles to

    the side to look at me. Or rather, her eyes are trained somewhere

    above my head. ¡°Oh.¡±

    Oh, she says. It¡¯s quiet, disappointed, and... ugh. I just give her

    a nod. ¡°We¡¯ve met, Winston, no need for introductions. We¡¯re...

    hm.¡±

    ¡°Acquaintances?¡± Helena offers with a wavering smile. ¡°I¡¯m

    sure I can work around her schedule.¡±

    Something aches in my stomach. ¡°Sure.¡±

    ¡°Excellent!¡± Winston claps his hands. ¡°Guards, with me. Ivy,

    Miss Harkness, I¡¯ll leave the details to you two. Ivy, I''ll be back

    in a bit, but if I don''t see you when you emerge, I''ll see you at

    dinner tonight. Which, by the way, you are now invited to.¡±

    He pauses only to level a silent glare my way: no funny business, it

    says, don¡¯t traumatize my mage. Or, who knows, maybe he¡¯s still

    mad about the clogs comment.

    And like that, we¡¯re left alone. Helena¡¯s still hovering at the

    doorframe, and I¡¯m still a few paces from the portal. No real way

    out except through her, not that would be a physical challenge.

    ¡°So,¡± I say, breaking the sudden silence. ¡°Uh. Hi, Helena?¡±

    ¡°Hi, Ivy.¡± Helena replies. She runs a hand down her front,

    drawing my eyes down to the plain, practical clothes she¡¯s changed

    into. She¡¯s got a bag slung over one shoulder now with a few books

    peeking out, completing the look of a mage doing field work.

    ¡°I¡¯ve, um, thought about what you said, earlier.¡± Helena says

    quietly, looking at her feet. There¡¯s more, but it¡¯s mumbled and

    I can¡¯t really understand it.

    ¡°And you can¡¯t trust me, right?¡± I roll my eyes, smirking.

    ¡°That¡¯s fine. I get it. Bet they told you some nasty stories,

    back at your church.¡±

    The silence is telling. Deafening, even. Lovely.

    ¡°What?¡± Helena stares at me, her voice suddenly quite loud.

    ¡°Restoration. I¡¯m, I¡¯m.¡±

    I stride up to her, tail dragging on a few stray pieces of wood to

    put some damned sound in this place. ¡°You¡¯re what?¡±

    She takes a deep breath, says something quiet to herself, and then

    locks my gaze with hers.

    "I won''t stand for you threatening my friends and family, even

    if I know why." She sucks a deep breath in, jerking her chin and

    squaring her shoulders. "I¡ª I¡¯ve heard some stories, yes.

    I¡¯m not sure I believe them, but..."

    There''s a sinking feeling in my chest. I push past it. This was,

    after all, inevitable; I may as well just rip off the metaphorical

    bandage. "I''m not apologizing for any of that, if that''s what

    you''re hoping for."

    "I''m saying, Ivy," Helena stresses, jerking her chin up and

    taking a single step towards me. I take a half step back. "What

    I''m trying to say is that right now, I don''t want to deal with that.

    Can we just get on with the job?"

    I had responses prepared. Several, actually. None of them would work

    here. So I scramble, tossing words together and tossing more than a

    few out, and give Helena a confused shrug.

    "What''s so important about this? There''ll be more portals."

    Helena''s gaze sharpens, her tongue running across her lips.

    ¡°Do you know how hard it was to get out here? Portals are

    dangerous, and they weren¡¯t having the little tailor girl <i>Eiches

    </i>wander out to help some dangerous out-of-city Delver while Dame

    Amelia Crawford is in the city. Dame Amelia Crawford, who I''ve never

    heard of before today, but everyone at the Church is worried about

    her. Ridiculous. At least Lord Craumont is understanding."

    Helena storms past me, fists clenched. My jaw had slid open at some

    point, and I take this moment to slide it shut. ¡°Well.¡±

    ¡°I can take care of myself, thank you, and I don¡¯t plan on being

    a tailor and clothesmaker my entire life. Gods, that would be

    miserable. So don¡¯t tell me that you¡¯re going to reschedule doing

    the actual Delve!¡± She jabs a finger at me, her eyes sparking with

    an inner fire.

    A tiny, conditional hope swirls in my chest. Sure, I''d be paying for

    my old mistakes for a while, but for now? ¡°Well, it¡¯s¡ª¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re a Drake, and I can reinforce your clothes to resist most

    slashing and piercing. So, are we doing this, or not, Ivy?¡±

    ¡°Excuse me?¡± I bite back a snarl, tamping it down with

    incredulity.

    Helena closes her eyes, taking a deep, shuddering breath. ¡°Oh,

    Restoration. There¡¯s all these rumors, but you¡¯ve been nothing

    but kind to me. I¡¯m sorry.¡±

    ¡°No, you aren¡¯t,¡± I correct with a grunt, looking away. My tail

    whips across the ground with a <i>clack</i>, sending wooden scraps

    skittering away.

    By her own words, we''ll probably just go our own ways when this is

    done. But I''d rather we don''t walk away, just yet. Helena is far too

    interesting for that... and trying to escape her own life, like I did

    once.

    A plan forms in my head. It''s a rough one, but it''ll do; this is a

    low risk Delve and I''ve seen much worse.

    ¡°I suppose not, um.¡± Helena''s blush fades slightly. "I

    really do need to think about it."

    "Obviously." I gesture to the portal, picking my way

    through the splintered seats to stand over by Helena. "You''ll be

    rid of me after this Delve, not before."

    ¡°Oh, thank you, Ivy, really." Helena says politely, reaching

    into her pack and pulling out a thick tome. ¡°Yes, of course. I¡¯ve

    even practiced a few hard-edged structures that I can use with Wind

    to damage the more solid ones, and...¡±

    "I believe you." I cut in, raising an eyebrow. "You''ve

    got skill with that stuff, I saw that this morning."

    I try to crack an easy grin. It mostly works, and Helena doesn''t

    flinch at all.

    ¡°It shouldn''t be too dangerous. Shallow, fresh Delve, and it''ll be

    pretty quick.¡± I mull it over out loud, tapping my chin. ¡°Fine.¡±

    ¡°I need to enchant your clothes, first.¡± Helena points out,

    smiling as she gestures to my clothes. ¡°They¡¯re, um, too nice to

    get destroyed?¡±

    ¡°Enchanting first,¡± I concede easily. ¡°Then we Delve.¡±

    ¡°And I¡¯ll need to review all my structures, too. We have to go

    into this prepared!¡±

    I tilt my head to one side, fixing her with a single eye. ¡°Weren¡¯t

    you the one saying ¡®Are we doing this or not¡¯, Helena?¡±

    She turns a fascinating shade of tomato red, her words dissolving

    into incoherent mumbles. I can''t help but smirk at it.

    <hr>

    Judging by the sundial outside, it ends up taking us a full hour to

    finish preparations. Helena''s got her enchantments and spell stuff,

    and going over a few basic strategies takes a bit of time on its own.

    Without my equipment, I have to focus on using my magic to heal¡ª an

    expensive task, and running magic through my body now is a good

    warm-up.

    I''d like to say something interesting happened, but it really was

    just prep work. At least we''d moved to a bench outside the chapel for

    most of it¡ª no matter who you are, standing on hard flooring for an

    hour is just unpleasant on the feet.

    Oh, but now my clothes are a whole lot tougher, thanks to Helena. She

    does pretty good work, especially for someone without formal

    training.

    Right as we''re moving back inside, though, a sudden thought occurs to

    me. An entertaining one, on top of being important.

    "Hey, Helena," I say, kicking aside a lump of wood. "Do

    you still have any of that fruit loaf, or did you give it all to your

    friends?"

    Helena smiles slightly, then pulls about a quarter of a fruit loaf

    out of her bag. "Friends and the rest of the church, of course,

    but I saved a little for a snack. Priest Dongbaek really liked it.

    Why, are you hungry?"

    "Thanks," I say, a bit surprised. It''s actually pretty

    tempting, but she''ll definitely need it more than I do. "But no.

    You''ll want to eat all of that."

    She blinks, but takes a delicate bite without hesitation, wiping

    crumbs off her hand. "Okay. But, um, why?"

    "You do <i>not </i>want to get hungry inside a Delve, Helena."

    I say, moving to stand right next to the portal. A slight grin

    crosses my lips. "An empty stomach gives people cramps in a

    Delve. Bad ones."

    She frowns. "Really? How bad?"

    "Worse than the monthly cramps some women get, even if they¡¯re

    around the stomach instead," I gesture at myself, tapping my

    stomach and then my midsection. "I''ve even had a man give me his

    <i>condolences</i>, after his first experience."

    Helena pales, going white as a sheet, and crams the rest of the loaf

    into her mouth.

    I do my best to not laugh at her, but my best isn''t particularly

    good.

 Chapter 6

    The abyssal shock of a Delve washes over me in a roiling golden fog.

    It digs at my skin, my scales, my <i>soul</i>, scraping away the

    World like bits of dried mud. For a heartbeat, I am laid bare before

    the fog, raw like healing skin and fragile like fresh scales.

    My foot finds purchase on solid ground, my head breaches the fog, and

    my soul curls back in on itself contentedly. A subtle pressure

    remains, like I''m at the bottom of a pond, but it''s something I got

    used to years ago. My stomach twinges slightly, but it''s an easy

    feeling to push down.

    Helena, though? Those feelings won''t be subtle or slight. The

    pressure of a Delve changes people, over time¡ª the same way magic

    changes Mages. It¡¯s what made me a Drake, melding scales with flesh

    to armor my soul. She doesn¡¯t have any of that, but I¡¯ll take

    solace in her at least avoiding the cramps.

    "Never gets old," I say to myself, taking a deep breath of

    Delve air. My voice echoes back at me a moment later, accompanied by

    the sound of waves against a sandy shore.

    Oh, this is an interesting one. An ocean stretches on endlessly

    behind the portal, meeting an equally infinite beach that runs up

    against a massive, weathered cliff face. Blocky, plaster-white

    buildings jut stubbornly from the cliff, as if a city was turned on

    its side and fused to the stone, roads and all. Flower-laden vines

    crawl from open windows, curling up towards the sunless sky.

    I look further up, and my eyebrows rise a bit higher. On top of the

    cliff is a perfect copy of the chapel the Delve portal is in, only

    with an intact door.

    Well, that''s our destination, no doubt. The wheels in my mind churn,

    planning a route for climbing the cliff. Flying monsters? Probably.

    Mobile, hostile vines? Most likely.

    With that on my mind, I turn back towards the portal¡ª still

    shimmering an innocent gold, as if it hadn''t tried to spit out some

    unknown horror at me an hour ago. Whatever it was, it''d wandered off

    or was lying in wait.

    No matter how shallow the depth is, there¡¯s always a risk of

    something dangerous bubbling up from below. Things I can¡¯t just rip

    apart or kill.

    Learning how to spot them is an essential skill for a Delver, paired

    with the navigational practice to escape a Delve quickly.

    The portal ripples. The pressure in the air lessens, and my soul

    uncoils eagerly as the World dips down to connect to the Delve. I

    take a half-step forward¡ª wait, should I catch her? Should I give

    her space? What if she comes flying through and knocks us both over,

    or catching her startles her? Gods. This is why I don¡¯t work with

    new Delvers, except when a Guildmaster makes it worth my while.

    Always a mess.

    Shaking my head, I step back and to the side, checking the ground for

    any sharp rocks. When I find the singular offender, I kick it into

    the ocean with a satisfying <i>sploosh</i>.

    Not a moment too soon, as it turns out. Helena comes tumbling out of

    the portal headfirst, red-faced and gasping, barely managing to stand

    on wobbly legs.

    The World recedes, and Helena''s knees buckle under the pressure of

    the Delve. She slumps to the ground, hands digging into the sand.

    That¡¯s... not bad, actually. I remember falling face-first into the

    dirt on my first try, not that I¡¯d ever tell anyone that.

    ¡°Ahh, Restoration protect me,¡± Helena pants out, hands running

    through mussed hair. ¡°I¡ª¡±

    She stops, shaking her head, and exhales sharply.

    Feeling a twinge of sympathy, I drop into a crouch next to her,

    bringing our eyes level. ¡°So, how do you feel?¡±

    Helena raises her gaze, meets my eyes, and stares. Her eyes have

    taken on a prismatic, turquoise hue under the pressure of a Delve,

    with pupils ever so slightly elongated at the top and bottom.

    ¡°Your eyes,¡± she says quietly, looking away. Her breathing is

    calming down, now, but she puts a hand to her chest anyways. ¡°I

    read that eyes, um, change, but I didn¡¯t really know how much¡ª

    um. Sorry for staring.¡±

    I can¡¯t help but grin in return, biting back a small laugh.

    ¡°Yellow-orange and slit like a lizard¡¯s, right? I don¡¯t mind

    being stared at.¡±

    Helena¡¯s cheeks flush a bright, bright red. ¡°Um. So.¡±

    Gods, I really do need to think before I speak. Clearing my throat, I

    gesture to myself, and then to her. ¡°Yeah. They¡¯re mountain drake

    eyes. Better for low light and long distance vision, and so on. But,

    right, how are you feeling? Delve pressure takes time to get used

    to.¡±

    Helena takes a long, shuddering breath, and nods. ¡°I... thank you.

    I¡¯m alright, I think. I knew what to expect, I even exercised a

    bit, but it wasn''t enough. And the intensity only increases as we go

    deeper?¡±

    My tail rakes along the ground, tossing a puff of sand into the air.

    ¡°Yeah. Don''t worry about growing horns or something on your first

    Delve, that takes a lot longer. You¡¯re more likely to see changes

    from regular magic use, unless you make a habit of it."

    She runs a hand through her hair, fiddling with strands nervously.

    ¡°Oh, that''s, I''m not worried. I already knew that would happen to

    me as a Mage. And, ah, I think I can stand up on my own now.¡±

    Taking that cue for what it is, I stand up and back away.

    Grunting, Helena arranges her legs in front of her, braces a hand on

    the ground, and pushes herself up. After a few moments of inspecting

    herself, twisting to check her backside and brushing sand off

    everywhere, she plucks a single grain of sand out of her hair and

    squints.

    I clear my throat. ¡°Helena?¡±

    ¡°What...¡± She shakes her head, still staring at the sand. ¡°No,

    that¡¯s not right. I¡ª sand isn¡¯t. Um.¡±

    I close the distance, leaning a bit to look at the grain of sand

    balanced on the tip of her finger. Perfectly round, and a nice tan

    color. "Sand <i>is</i>, definitely. Looks too perfect, though."

    Helena nods sharply, eagerly, cheeks reddening. "Exactly!

    Individual grains of sand aren¡¯t sand colored, usually, it¡¯s the

    result of all the different colors of eroded stones combining.¡±

    I start raking my brain for the answer to her question while I speak.

    ¡°The sand is sand colored. I''m no scholar, but it''s Delve trickery,

    so I have a hunch."

    Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.

    Well, technically, I am a scholar. I went to a university in Caliburn

    before the rebellion turned into a civil war, even. But it isn¡¯t

    time for that, nor would any of my classes help with this.

    Helena picks up what I¡¯m saying, though, and nods. ¡°Delves are,

    um, abstract, right?¡±

    I raise an eyebrow, gesturing to the buildings jutting out of the

    cliffside. Now that I¡¯m looking closer, there¡¯s even a fountain

    in the middle of the town, with the water flowing towards the cliff

    rather than with the direction of gravity.

    Helena gapes a little, eyes wide and glittering, then nods. ¡°I¡ª I

    was... I need to be more aware of my surroundings, don¡¯t I. Even if

    you¡¯re here to protect me.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not invincible, just extremely durable,¡± I shrug, dragging

    another line through the sand with my tail. ¡°So, the sand? It isn¡¯t

    actually <i>sand</i>. It¡¯s the¡ª¡±

    ¡°¡ªThe idea of sand!¡± Helena finishes for me, eyes still shining

    brightly. She offers a warm smile my way, looking quite satisfied

    with herself. ¡°So each grain has to look like how all the sand

    looks. Fascinating!¡±

    She takes a notebook out of her bag, selects a wrapped stick of

    charcoal, and hurriedly writes something down. Her lips move along

    with the words, and I steer my attention away from her and towards

    our surroundings. Here to protect her, huh? Might as well go along

    with that. Maybe she can even help me seal the Delve!

    Following that train of thought, I cross my arms and drum my fingers

    against my forearm. "So, do you know how to seal a Delve?"

    Helena brightens, if such a thing is even possible. "Oh! I''ve

    been reading about that! I can at least follow along."

    I jerk my chin towards her. "Go on. What do you already know?"

    "I know we need to go deep enough to find a Delve Heart. Is

    ''Delve Heart'' the right term?" She glances up at me for

    confirmation, holding my gaze for a few seconds. When I nod, she

    continues, "And then we bring it up and use it to close the

    portal. But those only appear starting one to two layers down... so,

    we need to find the deepest point on this layer to get to the next

    one, at least."

    I mull it over, digesting her words. "I''d rather use marches

    than layers as a reference, but that''s good enough for now. Inside a

    Delve isn''t the best time for that discussion."

    And, I add silently, hopefully Helena won''t run off once we get out.

    "Oh, of course." Helena shakes her head quickly, as if to

    send thoughts flying off her. She glances up at my eyes again,

    wavers, and looks away. "Um. So would the deepest point be in

    the ocean behind us? I¡¯m not a very good swimmer, but I do have

    some limited water-breathing spells I can use. Or..."

    There¡¯s audible concern in her voice. I offer an apologetic smile

    before turning and pointing at the chapel on the cliff. "Hoping

    we don''t have to climb? I hate to break it to you, but..."

    "... it''s at the top of the cliff. Depth isn''t literal, of

    course." Helena exhales sharply, rolling her shoulders and

    flipping through another book. "Right! I, um, did prepare for

    this! I have gloves and an air cushion spell, this shouldn''t be much

    of a problem."

    And, sure enough, she pulls out a pair of fingerless gloves, sliding

    them on. Despite her obvious nerves, she¡¯s still flickering between

    smiles and studious frowns as she reads pages from her books.

    ¡°That should do, yeah. We¡¯ll use the cobbled road¡ª¡± I point

    at a road that nearly touches the beach, ¡°Like a sort of climbing

    wall. If there¡¯s monsters, we¡¯ll shuffle into one of the

    buildings to get more free space. Then we can stick to the plans we

    talked about.¡±

    ¡°Stay behind you, call out if I try something big, and shout if

    something goes after me directly. But, we should also test the vines

    to see if they can bear weight, or,¡± she nods to herself, chewing

    on her lip. ¡°Do you think these vines will try to grab us? I¡¯ve

    read a lot of books about monsters being plant-shaped. Wait, what if

    the cobblestones just fall out when we touch them?¡±

    In the face of her questions, I just shrug, striding on over to the

    cliff face and attached road. Helena has to jog to keep pace, so I

    slow down slightly. ¡°I can¡¯t know until I check either of those

    things. Delves aren¡¯t exactly consistent with each other. I¡¯ll

    take a look when we get closer, toss a rock at them to see what

    happens.¡±

    Once we¡¯re close enough, I look for some good handholds on the

    cobbled road¡ª and isn¡¯t that a strange thing to say¡ª before

    hopping up and grabbing for them. Part of me hopes this will be a

    nice Delve, changing the direction of gravity so we could actually

    walk on the road.

    My hands find purchase, and gravity remains in the correct direction.

    Ah well. "Do you think you can pull your own weight?"

    I sigh, swinging my feet up and planting them high enough that I''d

    get leverage. "Literally, I mean. This takes effort, and even if

    Delves take the edge off of strain, it doesn''t make people that much

    stronger."

    "I''ll follow your path up. If it can hold you, it can hold me.

    Adhesive spells, adhesive spells... no, maybe a friction structure I

    can improvise off of? Hm." Helena trails off into muttering

    behind me.

    I straighten my legs and reach upward, fitting my hand into a new

    handhold. Once I''ve brought one foot up, I swing my body slightly to

    look back at Helena.

    She''s messing with spells, apparently.

    "Helena." I say loudly, letting a slight growl amplify my

    voice. "Did you hear that?"

    Helena glances up at me, flicks her eyes across the wall, and nods.

    "Yes, I did. I''ll be fine, I just need to put together a plan

    for my spell. It''s half finished, it won''t take too long."

    ¡°Doesn¡¯t answer the question, does it,¡± I mutter. Well, if

    she¡¯s going to be distracted, I may as well be productive.

    The blocky houses start only a few marches up the road... cliff...

    cliffroad from us, and there don¡¯t appear to be any vines peeking

    out of the windows. Given the disturbing lack of monsters anywhere, I

    really should check it out, so I start clambering up the cobbled

    cliffroad in a steady rhythm. One leg up, one hand up, push, use the

    other leg, repeat.

    Hopefully, I think absently, there are no sideways horses to sideways

    step on me. Cliff-horses? Maybe just goats? Monsters can be strange,

    after all, so it wouldn¡¯t shock me too much.

    I snort, shaking my head free of my wandering thoughts. Focus, Ivy,

    we¡¯ve got to poke around and see what pokes back. I pick out a

    small house not far from the base of the cliff, just about the size

    I¡¯d expect a townhouse to be in Craumont.

    Pulling myself up over the side of the entryway with a grunt, I spare

    a moment to glance back down at Helena. She looks to be doing fine,

    sticking her hands to cobblestones and poking around at the cliffroad

    for footholds.

    I shrug, brushing myself off and rising to a hunch to peer through

    the open doorway. Houses in Delves don¡¯t always have insides, so

    the fact that this place has them is kind of a surprise. Not ideal,

    since it means more places for monsters to hide, but it also means

    there¡¯s places we can hole up in if it gets too dangerous.

    The inside all looks very house-y. Plaster-white walls, chairs on a

    nice rug, plants hanging from the ceiling, the works. Only, all of

    these things are <i>also </i>made of white plaster. The inside of the

    house is entirely made up of house, just like the sand was all

    ¡®sand¡¯, with the only splash of color being from the plants

    hanging off the ceiling.

    Distantly, I hear the squawking of birds, just loud enough to cut

    through the dull roar of the ocean.

    ¡°We, um, should prepare for those!¡± Helena shouts unhelpfully,

    and a moment later, she¡¯s scrabbling her way up onto the entryway

    with me. A flick of her wrists dismisses a swirling greenish light

    around her hands, and she stops for a moment to catch her breath.

    There''s a soft flush to her cheeks, but for a Mage who obviously

    doesn¡¯t do much physical work, she''s doing pretty well.

    ¡°Anything can be a monster in a Delve, but I¡¯ve read that things

    shaped like animals tend to be...¡± Helena trails off. ¡°There¡¯s

    some spells for small flying monsters that should do the trick.¡±

    My lips twitch, and I make a show of trailing my tail along the white

    plaster. ¡°Shouldn¡¯t I be the one handing out marching orders?¡±

    Helena¡¯s blush reddens a bit more. ¡°Sorry. I¡¯ve been preparing

    for ages.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t worry,¡± I say, still smiling faintly. ¡°You¡¯ll have

    plenty of time to use... What''re you staring at?"

    About halfway through my reply, Helena''s gaze flickers to something

    behind me. Right after, she turns, leaning out of the entryway

    slightly to stare at the sky. I can see her squinting and shading her

    lips.

    "Birds?" She says hesitantly, chewing her lip. "I... I

    think those are birds."

    Coming up alongside her, I brace a hand against the entryway and lean

    out, peering up into the sky.

    I squint, too. I stick my tail out for extra balance, and lean

    further forward. Sure enough, there''s birds. Gulls, from the shape¡ª

    and a lot of them.

    "Huh," I say, grimacing. I check my surroundings again,

    review all the information I have available, and set about a vague

    plan. "Those''d be the monsters. Come on, let''s get on the

    roof... wall... whatever. Stick to rooftops where we can, ease up on

    your spells if they ever start focusing on you. That''ll give you time

    to cast, and space for us to dodge."

    Time to punch birds, I suppose.

 Chapter 7

    A muddled blur of white, pink, and grey screams down from the flock

    overhead, its gleaming beak making it more javelin than bird. The

    flock follows in ones and twos, unspooling like a chain following its

    anchor into the sea.

    ¡°They¡¯re diving!¡± Helena calls out from somewhere behind me.

    Her voice has a shrill edge to it, but she keeps her tone even.

    ¡°I can see that, Helena!¡± I shout back, pushing Wind into my arms

    and pulling a hand back for a punch. Something catches the corner of

    my eye, though, and I risk a moment to look. Oh, great, those

    driftwood rats are back. We¡¯d spotted them scurrying along, I¡¯d

    kicked a few off some buildings, and that was that.

    But now there were a lot of them, climbing up to us on a cluster of

    flowering vines. ¡°You get the rats!¡±

    ¡°But I can¡ª¡±

    ¡°<i>Get the rats</i>, Helena!¡± I snarl, looking back at the

    birds. The Wind is churning now, swirling like a storm around a

    clenched fist. My other hand reaches forwards, acting like the sights

    on a crossbow.

    The screaming of the birds turns to an overwhelming roar of sound,

    drowning out everything else¡ª but I hold. They¡¯re almost level

    with us, now.

    Helena says something I can¡¯t hear, and a blast of greenish Wind

    ripples out beside me. Rat-shaped lumps of driftwood go sailing

    through the air, shattering against other buildings or falling out of

    sight. The birds draw ever closer, close enough for me to make out

    the individual seashells that form their bodies.

    I jab forward, and the Wind follows eagerly.

    It moves out as an almost-invisible ripple of turbulence, scything

    through the flock and tearing at their bodies. Some slam together,

    scattering as shattered shells; others falter and are dragged away by

    the swirling Wind.

    The flock parts before me, almost hesitating¡ª

    Like a wolf¡¯s jaw, they snap shut around me instead, screaming and

    cawing.

    My free arm pulls back to guard my face, and I grunt as several

    <i>somethings </i>slam into it. Gods, those will make for some

    strange bruises. They tear by me like knives, nipping at my exposed

    skin and scales, shrieking loud enough that I¡¯m worried my ears

    might bleed.

    The jaw opens, and the flock rises into the sky, curling and

    tangling. I let out a low snarl, venting irritation and scraping my

    tail along the white plaster as hard as I can. My hit had done

    nothing at all¡ª worse, actually, since I wasted magic for it.

    ¡°Don¡¯t make me wait,¡± I bite out, flexing my fingers. Violet

    light flickers between them as I pour in the Lightning, tugging at my

    reserves of magic. ¡°If that one didn¡¯t work, I¡¯ll just hit

    harder."

    It''d be an even bigger drain, a bigger risk, but I can''t see Helena

    managing  this. Plus, I''ve seen worse.

    ¡°Bless me, Restoration.¡± Helena mutters, and I spare a second to

    glance at her again. A flick of her hand sends another clump of rats

    flying, a motion with her fingers disassembles some of the shoddier

    looking ones. Her brow is furrowed, her feet planted firmly, and her

    eyes spare only a heartbeat to meet my own.

    ¡°Running low, Helena?¡± I ask, sparing the birds a glance. They¡¯re

    unspooling in the sky again, untangling as another dive begins. I

    feed the Lightning on my hands again, inhaling the sharp scent of

    storms. ¡°Don¡¯t overdo it.¡±

    ¡°I know. Um. Sorry, concentrating.¡± She replies shortly, tilting

    her head. The greenish glow swirls outwards from her hands, and

    suddenly the piles of disassembled rats launch forward, crashing into

    yet more driftwood rats. ¡°Too many rats.¡±

    Maybe I¡¯d put a little too much trust in her, with how many

    monsters she had to deal with. But here Helena is, holding her own,

    and I recognize the spell structure as the one she¡¯d been studying

    this morning. I¡¯ve seen apprentices to Archmages crumble under even

    this light pressure, so I suppose I¡¯m actually impressed.

    ¡°Keep it up, then,¡± I say dryly, rather than give her a big head.

    The shrill whistle of the birds drags my attention back where it

    belongs. The flock has fully unwound, now, diving down for another

    pass. Well, at least they aren¡¯t clever enough to learn anything, I

    suppose.

    I twist my body to the side, planting my feet and sticking one hand

    out to aim. Wind joins Lightning, and the air turns electric. I can

    feel tiny hairs standing up all over my body, and I reel my other

    hand back until it¡¯s in line with my side.

    Wind hadn¡¯t done it. Lightning on its own would just melt the

    seashells or burn out Helena¡¯s eyes.

    Together, though? It¡¯ll be fun.

    The birds come closer, flying more like a swarm of arrows than a

    flock of monsters. They¡¯re more spread out, this time; if I let

    them get in range, they¡¯ll already be on Helena and she can¡¯t

    defend against cuts like I can.

    Three, two¡ª

    <i>One</i>. My fist snaps forward, my body follows. Hip and shoulder

    twist to let the motion carry just a little bit further. A sound like

    a cannon shot follows the howling Wind, rushing through the monsters

    as flickers of violet Lightning draw searing branches in the air.

    For a heartbeat, silence.

    Then the Lightning connects, a violent web of knotted branches that

    sets the monsters aglow. Sound roars back in as the flock crumbles,

    cracking into glassy fragments.

    Seashells scatter through the sky, the ringing of my strike barely

    registering over my thumping heartbeat. My arm aches, just a bit, and

    I can feel the dent I¡¯d just made in my own magic. I close my eyes,

    exhaling sharply.

    "Gods," I groan, shaking my now completely scaled hand to

    get rid of the tingling sensation, "I love that trick. Helena,

    are you alright?"

    I turn around and open my eyes, inspecting the driftwood carnage

    littering the wall we were standing on. Helena looks a little scuffed

    up, but her eyes are gleaming all the same. Wind curls around her

    gently, flirting with the pages of the tome clutched in her hands.

    She looks back at me and swallows, nodding.

    "That was, um, loud," she manages, and the Wind around her

    fades. "I don''t know if my spell would''ve been any better,

    though. I was hoping to displace the air below them, and..."

    "Yeah, you''re just fine," I crack a grin, waving my

    not-tingling hand at her casually.

    Resting my hands on my hips, I tilt my head back and look at what''s

    left to climb. The houses are getting closer together now, but we can

    still weave through alleys and use the sides of them as platforms to

    fight¡ª as we''d just done.

    "Restoration bless me," Helena sighs, rubbing her arms and

    sidling up next to me. "How many more of those, do you think?

    The rats are, ah..." She shudders. "Surely there''s a

    limit?"

    I reach out to pat her shoulder, but hesitate and pull it back

    completely.  "Not really, no, but I don''t think we''ll see many

    more. If this Delve was deeper and older¡ª"

    "¡ªwell, um, I''ve read¡ª"

    A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

    Lashing my tail against the ground, I raise my voice to speak over

    Helena. "If this Delve was deeper, there''d be more monsters and

    they''d form faster. But this is shallow and new, so we''re probably

    alright until the next layer. Maybe a few more, but nothing I can¡¯t

    handle."

    Helena snaps her jaw shut with a <i>click</i>. She nods, takes a

    breath, and continues, "Can''t you deepen Delves using Delve

    Hearts? For a young and deep Delve¡ª"

    I shake my head, scattering a sudden burst of frustration to the

    winds. "That one has a long answer, Helena, and I''d like to

    close this Delve with enough time to prepare for a formal dinner."

    "Ah." Helena pouts in the corner of my eye. Gods, that''s a

    dangerous expression on her.

    I do my best to ignore it, and point at the cliffroad in front of us,

    tracing a path around the building above that avoids all the vines.

    They''re a lot more dense up here¡ª practically clogging the windows

    in their quest for sunlight.

    Well, skylight, on account of there being no Sun in here. Celestial

    objects don¡¯t always seem to play well with fake skies.

    I draw a few paths with my outstretched hand, some coming up from our

    position and some coming down from the chapel. After ten or twenty of

    them, I bring my hand back in to stroke my chin. ¡°The vines haven¡¯t

    done anything yet, but.¡±

    ¡°Yet,¡± Helena repeats, humming thoughtfully. ¡°They do carry the

    rats, and I haven¡¯t seen them bend under the weight. Maybe we could

    climb them, or, or... hm.¡±

    ¡°I could probably climb them.¡± I concede, dismissing the idea in

    my head. Not a chance Helena actually has the strength for that. I¡¯d

    have to carry her on my back, no doubt, and... no thanks.

    ¡°But we don¡¯t know if the vines would react, and I don¡¯t want

    to find out. So let¡¯s take a path around here,¡± I say, sticking

    my hand out again to draw the path. ¡°Up around that big house, then

    curving around the houses with vines until we hit the top. We can

    just walk across the top of the cliff, probably, and get to the

    chapel.¡±

    ¡°Unless the top of the cliff has a different direction of gravity,

    or something else equally impossible?¡± Helena guesses, spreading

    her hands out and muttering under her breath. ¡°I¡¯ll need to

    prepare my climbing spell again. Um, one moment.¡±

    ¡°You catch on quickly,¡± I nod approvingly, striding over to the

    cliffroad and scanning for good hand-holds. The claws¡¯ll make it

    easier, and I decide that I¡¯ll circulate a bit of magic through my

    hands to make sure they stay as claws.

    ¡°Um, thank you?¡± Helena says distractedly, eyes fixed on the

    greenish glow slowly wrapping around her hands. ¡°I¡¯ve read a lot

    about this. I¡¯ve prepared for everything!¡±

    I hold my tongue on that one. Overconfidence has been the death of

    countless Delvers, but it¡¯s a lesson not easily learned by most.

    <hr>

    I¡¯m able to pull myself over the top of the cliffside without

    further incident, fortunately. A few stray birds and some rats, sure,

    but hardly anything notable. No need to punch hard enough to make my

    arm sore... yet. Maybe I¡¯ll get something fun on the next layer,

    but I really shouldn¡¯t hope for danger.

    The top of the cliff is an endless expanse of weathered stone and

    scrappy vegetation, forming a strange mirror of the infinite sea

    stretching across the opposite horizon. And, just like that ocean,

    it¡¯s completely empty of <i>anything</i> interesting. Beyond, of

    course, the weathered chapel in the distance.

    Meanwhile, Helena seems to be having a bit of a tough time.

    She¡¯s a puddle, specifically.

    A puddle I have to pull over the ledge, both her hands clinging to

    one of my own hard enough to bruise someone with less scales. A

    boneless, if adorable, apprentice mage that flops onto the ground

    with a groan, her hair fanned out around her.

    ¡°You alright?¡± I crouch down and reach for the flask Helena had

    in her bag, tugging it out to offer back to her.

    She makes a sound that is best written as ¡°mrgl¡±, snatching the

    flask from my hand and hastily uncapping it.

    ¡°Try not to drink it all. Drinking too much after working hard

    can¡ª¡±

    ¡°Cause retching and stomach pains.¡± Helena gasps out, capping the

    flask and propping herself up. ¡°I. Um, yes, I know. Just thirsty.

    How aren¡¯t you thirsty?¡±

    I grin wide enough to show off all my sharp teeth, hooking a finger

    under my collar and tugging it down slightly to expose the scales

    under my collarbone. ¡°I¡¯m a Mageblood. Well, a Drake Mageblood,

    if you want to be specific. We just feed off the magic of the Delve,

    at least in the short term, and over enough Delves we change to

    resist the pressure. That¡¯s in your books, right?¡±

    She stares for a moment before shaking her head and looking away.

    After a few heavy breaths, she pulls herself back up to standing. ¡°It

    is. I was just, um, grousing. I¡¯m guessing the entryway to the next

    layer will be in the chapel? There¡¯s...¡±

    Helena gestures at our surroundings, her hand eventually pointing

    toward the chapel.

    ¡°Is that a common thing, for the entry point to be repeated? I know

    it can happen, I¡¯ve read it and talked to some Delvers hired by

    Lord Winston, but I don¡¯t know how well that matches with reality.¡±

    ¡°Good question.¡± I nod along. Once it looks like Helena¡¯s ready

    to start walking, we head out, and I pick up the conversation there.

    ¡°Repeating entry points mostly happen on shallow layers of Delves.

    Statistics aren¡¯t my thing, but if I were to go through every

    report I¡¯ve made to the Delvers¡¯ Guild I¡¯d guess...¡±

    One Delve every two weeks, let¡¯s say, since I became a proper

    Mageblood. Looping entry points happen, what, five times a year? Six?

    Five over twenty six. Nineteen percent and some change left over.

    I tap my chin. ¡°Just about one in five, maybe.¡±

    ¡°Why?¡± Helena says, fortunately mostly to herself. I can hear her

    scribbling in a notebook, muttering things under her breath. ¡°I¡¯ll

    have to... do you have any books on Delving in your library?¡±

    Yes, and I know them all by name. I didn¡¯t just fall into this line

    of work, I fell in love with it. The thrill of battle, of planning

    out an exploration, of finding something impossible. The dream of

    becoming a Mageblood, on top of it all.

    ¡°A few,¡± I say instead, looking away.

    Conversation dies down, replaced with the soft sound of waves on the

    cliff below. I let it wash over me, count it out as Helena turns

    pages in her book and murmurs about magic. It¡¯s a comfortable

    variation on what¡¯s normal, in my work; Delving is often very

    quiet, but Helena¡¯s presence is making it a different sort of

    quiet.

    Maybe I¡¯ll see about joining a group of Delvers, once I leave

    Craumont? It could be fun.

    ¡­ professional Delvers, preferably.

    <hr>

    Once Helena¡¯s recovered enough from her puddle form to get going,

    we head straight for, and into, the chapel. Through the inadvisable

    inward-swinging doors, smashed open like the ones outside the Delve,

    and weathering all sorts of curious questions and rambling

    throughout.

    Well, it¡¯s mostly me weathering those. I like to think my answers

    are succinct, most of the time.

    The inside of this chapel is somehow even more of a mess than the

    real one, even if it¡¯s more well-lit. Shattered glass and kindling

    litter the claw-gouged floor, with piles of scrap and brass shoved up

    against the corners. Just trying to walk would shred most people¡¯s

    feet, and while my scales are tough, I¡¯d rather not test them here.

    As a precaution, I pull my tail up, letting it wrap upwards around my

    hip and waist.

    Helena seems to have the same thought. A gentle pulse of Wind rolls

    across the floor¡ª too gentle, barely nudging the wood and glass.

    Another stronger pulse shoves past, drawing a clear path from one end

    of the chapel to the other.

    ¡°That mural,¡± she starts, stepping around me, eyes focused firmly

    on the mural in back. ¡°Huh.¡±

    ¡°Huh?¡± I repeat quietly, flicking my eyes across everything

    before I even try to follow. Wind flows in front of me, helping push

    away the debris as I pace around the perimeter.

    ¡°Is this sort of change normal? Does this... mean anything? Um.¡±

    The entry point for the next layer has to be somewhere, obviously. If

    I concentrate, I can feel the tug on my soul, a slight change in

    Delve pressure that indicates it¡¯s close by. In the chapel, almost

    certainly. But where?

    I check back through the door. Looks to be the same, so we¡¯re not

    dealing with that kind of World-bending.

    ¡°Ivy?¡±

    ¡°Found the entry point?¡± I call back, crouched down to prod at a

    few loose stones in the floor. Could be a basement situation.

    ¡°This mural, Ivy. Um, could you take a look?¡±

    Catching the confusion in her tone, I stand up and look in her

    direction. She¡¯s staring at the mural with a scrunched-up

    expression, like she¡¯s trying to untangle a knot or unstick two

    pages in a book. And, now that I¡¯m actually looking at the contents

    of the mural, I can¡¯t say I blame her.

    The Hero, bleeding freely, reaching down to offer the Emperor a hand.

    The Emperor¡¯s talons are outstretched, possibly in response, and

    their weapons lay beside them. Mortal enemies helping one another, in

    defiance of every legend.

    ¡°Oh, yeah.¡± I shrug. ¡°That happens in Delves. Art gets weird.¡±

    Helena turns to look at me. She opens her mouth, closes it, throws

    her arms up in exasperation. ¡°That¡¯s not <i>weird</i>, Ivy. It¡¯s,

    it¡¯s. Impossible! Heretical! Implying the Hero would work with the

    cruelest tyrant in history!¡±

    A laugh bubbles out of my throat in response, and I flash her a

    toothy grin. ¡°We just climbed up a sideways town while fighting

    wood rats and seagulls made of seashells. Nothing is normal in

    Delves, Helena, that¡¯s half the fun.¡±

    I get a stiff giggle out of Helena for that one. ¡°This is fun for

    you?¡±

    I think about it, then shrug. ¡°Not looking for the entry point, no.

    But no two Delves are exactly the same, and that can be pretty fun.¡±

    I pace back across the floor, uncurling my tail but keeping it well

    above the ground. Glass everywhere, after all, and I don¡¯t want my

    tail to sweep any shards back towards me.

    ¡°Oh! Well, you can get to the fun things soon, Ivy!¡± Helena says

    with a bit of cheer, and I turn back around to look at her. She¡¯s

    pointing to a window, now, fidgeting with her hair with her free

    hand. ¡°Um, I think I found the entry point!¡±

    I look, I pause, and then I look again. There¡¯s definitely no

    rolling hills outside the chapel, and I think I would¡¯ve noticed a

    forest that close to the walls. But here they are, through the

    window. Through all the windows, actually.

    Oh, that makes sense, I guess. At least I don¡¯t have to break any

    walls this time, just hop through a broken window.

 Chapter 8

    Stone, brass, and broken glass give way to bark, soil, and spotted

    shadows. The window exits between two tall pines at the edge of a

    grassy glade, and I reach back into the chapel to pull Helena

    through.

    Her fingers latch onto my arm, hands curling around like I''m a

    particularly thick piece of rope. She''s light enough that I can just

    pull her straight up to standing, but I do have to step back so she

    doesn''t plant her boots on mine. My tail lifts, too, so it doesn''t

    become a tripping hazard.

    Against all odds, she manages to plant her boots right on mine

    anyways, and needs to use my arm as a brace. I suppose it''s a little

    late to ask her not to step on any toes... heh.

    I stifle a chuckle, shaking my head. Focus, Ivy!

    Helena''s hands slide off me, and she backs away to massage her arms.

    "More, um, pressure,¡± she explains, wincing. "It feels

    like I''m being squeezed by, by a thick blanket..."

    I nod, doing my best to look sympathetic; I can¡¯t really tell the

    difference between one hundred and two hundred without concentrating.

    Still, I lean in a bit to take a look at her. Tails make for great

    counterweights.

    "Do you feel any different? Soreness on parts of the body, pain

    in places that don''t exist, and so on? I don''t see anything." I

    say, meeting her eyes. The irises are closer to turquoise, now,

    shimmering slightly in the light filtering between the trees.

    "Your eyes have changed a bit more, though." I add, looking

    away.

    Helena''s lips curl. She pats herself down, muttering, and then shakes

    her head. "No, nothing. That, um. I don''t think I''m ready to

    re-tailor my own clothes, so that''s a good thing. H-ha. Oh! Right.

    Crystal formation starts on the second layer, doesn''t it?"

    She glances about, eyes flitting around the grove.

    "Technically, it starts at two hundred marches of depth," I

    say, though she doesn''t really react. Prodding at my magic a bit, I

    shrug. "The second layer usually is deep enough, though, so-"

    And just like that, she''s off. She flits over to the trees, poking at

    the bark and running her hands along the branches. I follow along at

    a more leisurely pace, taking in the sights and sounds.

    They''re ordinary, for a leafy forest. Birds chirp in the distance,

    leaves play in a gentle wind, the soft soil rustles with each

    footstep. Despite the lack of the Sun, the shadows are long and dark

    like those of a summer afternoon.

    My Delver''s instincts come to the fore, next. Those birds could be

    monsters, if they aren''t sourceless noise. Wind has to come from

    somewhere, it could be important. The soil has too many distinct

    leaves in it for summer, and not enough for autumn.

    And those shadows...

    I''m vindicated when Helena strides right into one, vanishing as if

    she''d stepped through pitch-black ink.

    Before I can really worry, though, she steps back through the shadows

    holding a crystalline leaf, glittering dully in the dappled light.

    She¡¯s holding it delicately, carefully; probably wise, with a thin

    Wind crystal like that.

    ¡°Fascinating!¡± Helena beams, running her fingers across the

    crystal. A weak Wind swirls around her hand, glowing a faint green.

    ¡°I saw it growing on a low-hanging branch. Low quality, but even

    those cost way too much for me, usually!¡±

    ¡°By all means, take ¡®em.¡± I shrug, smiling as her enthusiasm

    starts to infect me, too. ¡°Stick close, got it? Those shadows get

    unnaturally dark between the trees, so if you get lost... there¡¯s

    no telling what could happen.¡±

    Helena hums, turning the leaf over in her hands. She isn¡¯t paying

    the slightest bit of attention to her surroundings¡ª this is why I

    don¡¯t like working with rookies and novices. ¡°This should work

    perfectly! I can¡ª¡±

    ¡°Helena.¡± I growl, stepping close enough to hear her breathing

    hitch. My tail strikes against the ground, drawing a furrow in the

    soft soil. ¡°Stick close,<i> got it</i>?¡±

    She slips the crystal leaf into a pouch, looking up at me with wide

    eyes. ¡°Um. Sorry, sorry. Yes, I¡¯ll stick close.¡±

    I sigh, moving away and doing my best not to grimace. Running a hand

    through my hair, I say, ¡°You¡¯re excited; that¡¯s fine. More than

    fine, actually. Just be sensible.¡±

    Helena fidgets with her hands, flushing. ¡°Ah. Thanks. Ah, Priest

    Dongbaek and my church family think this is too dangerous. I¡¯m just

    excited to actually be in a Delve, and, and, it¡¯ll help me become a

    mage!¡±

    There it is again. She¡¯s called the Restoration Church her family

    before. Family isn¡¯t really something I think about all that often.

    ¡°Dangerous is right,¡± I agree, nodding towards the trees, ¡°I¡¯d

    put a few gold on this being where the wooden wolves came from. Tough

    for second-layer monsters, but I can handle them.¡±

    ¡°But not too dangerous! How else am I going to learn, if I can¡¯t

    afford an apprenticeship?¡± Helena says, a bit indignant. ¡°And,

    um, how do you know which way is the right way to go?¡±

    ¡°Expert Delvers can sense the minor changes in depth and use that

    for orientation. I can sort of do that, but it depends on if this is

    actually a traversable forest, or a bunch of groves connected the

    same way the chapel window linked to the trees. Speaking of...¡±

    Striding back towards our entrance, I push magic into my hands to

    call up my claws. I cut a quick X on both trees, imbuing the motion

    with the faintest hint of Lightning to darken the mark. ¡°There,

    just in case. I¡¯ll do that as we go, too.¡±

    ¡°Oh! Good idea. And... um, are you saying we should triangulate the

    location? Fascinating! How would you keep a heading, then?¡±

    An early skill for Delvers is orienteering. And, shortly after, Delve

    orienteering, because sometimes a layer entrance isn¡¯t obvious.

    They don''t like giving out hints, either.

    ¡°Generally, an actual compass, and I don¡¯t think we¡¯ll need to

    triangulate. We aren¡¯t deep enough for it to be too complicated.¡±

    I say, patting myself down. Chest pocket, no, I would¡¯ve felt that

    when I changed. Check anyways. Pant pockets, no, these are regular

    pants and I am not free from the curse of pocketless womens'' pants.

    Tailors are a menace. ¡°Where did I¡ª¡±

    Helena giggles a bit. Ah, so I¡¯ve done something foolish or funny.

    At least it gets a good reaction?

    She reaches into her bag and tosses the compass at me underhand. ¡°You

    put it in there when we were preparing, Ivy.¡±

    I snatch it out of the air with a sigh, offering an embarrassed smile

    in return. I guess rushing to Delve is making me a bit scattered.

    ¡°Apparently not! Anyways, navigation. This is mostly in case we

    need to get around an object, and don¡¯t have time for me to orient

    myself by sensing Depth. That takes a bit. So, watch me while I do

    this? I need to focus.¡±

    ¡°Um, of course!¡±

    I can manage it on my own, and do so safely. I frequently do. But

    here¡¯s Helena, an apprentice mage with excellent control, so I can

    risk closing my eyes and pushing away my senses for a minute. Plus, I

    doubt anything native to the second layer can actually hurt me.

    With my eyes closed, I take a long, steadying breath. ¡°I just need

    to sense where downhill is, Delvewise. There¡¯s a term for them¡ª¡±

    ¡°Abstract depth gradients?¡±

    ¡°¡ªbut that sounds dumb, so I call it Delve down,¡± I finish with

    a huff. I nod in Helena¡¯s direction without opening my eyes. Is my

    soul getting tugged more in, uh, no, not that direction. A little bit

    more to the left? ¡°Whatever you call it, it¡¯s not easy. It¡¯s

    like trying to find a... I don¡¯t have a good comparison here.¡±

    I¡¯m hardly a poet or a writer, despite the best attempts of my

    father. Pretty words, eh.

    I wave it off, frowning as I force my focus further inward. There¡¯s

    the ripple of Helena¡¯s Wind magic as she toys with some leaves,

    there¡¯s the tug of the World, and <i>there </i>is Delve down. It¡¯s

    far off, if the gentle slope is anything to go by.

    Something brushes my natural senses. An odd noise, barely audible;

    the faintest hints of a strange scent. Maybe it¡¯s nothing, sure,

    but you don¡¯t stay in this job long if you¡¯re not a little

    paranoid.

    My eyes snap open, tail lashing behind me. I adjust the dial on the

    compass, carefully twisting the point to line up with Delve down, and

    twist the second dial to mark where North was when I set the

    direction.

    ¡°So, Helena,¡± I say finally, checking the compass heading before

    looking up to make eye contact with her. ¡°Looks like we¡¯re

    heading sixty... four, degrees off North, pretty close to

    East-North-East of whatever North is here. Let¡¯s get going.¡±

    She pushes a few stray waves of hair out of her face and nods,

    banishing her Wind magic with the other hand. ¡°It¡¯s no, um, I¡¯m

    glad to watch out for you. I¡¯m sure we¡¯d be safe, between your

    strength, my spells, and the enchanted clothes, but it¡¯s important

    to be careful!¡±

    I arch an eyebrow, striding past her and to the edge of the glade,

    letting my tail drag through the low grass. ¡°There is no <i>safe </i>in

    Delves, Helena. If we can go down, monsters can come up, got it?¡±

    Helena mutters something about it being statistically unlikely. I

    remember that book too; it¡¯s practically required reading for

    Delvers.

    Correcting her, I decide, isn¡¯t worth it. She¡¯ll learn, and

    ideally, she¡¯ll stick around a bit longer.

    Without comment, I check to see she¡¯s following, then pass through

    the trees¡ª into the strange shadows, and into the forest itself.

    Despite it all, I¡¯m feeling the thrum of excitement edging in.

    There¡¯s something waiting for us, and I¡¯d love to hit something

    substantial.

    Though, that¡¯s inviting calamity, isn¡¯t it? Feh. Nevermind.

    <hr>

    The shadows, as it turns out, are another strange but harmless

    abstraction. Dark, sometimes impenetrable, but not hiding any strange

    portals or bending space in impossible ways. No risk of getting

    horribly lost by way of implausible geometries.

    It¡¯s kind of disappointing. Safer for the both of us, though, and

    quite useful.

    I''m peering out from one of those impossible shadows, arm stuck out

    in front of Helena in a silent gesture to hold. Wind swirls around

    her hands, sharp and gleaming; the feel of it is so faint, so tightly

    held that I can barely sense it.

    I know that if I glance over at her, I''ll see her eyes glittering

    with anticipation and steely focus. She¡¯s fallen into the rhythm of

    hunting with surprising ease: slinging spells at wooden wolves,

    slinking from shadow to shadow, and hanging back while I finish the

    job. We¡¯ve hunted three so far, all of them wandering alone, and

    this one will make our fourth.

    Our target stalks through a small clearing, silent save for the faint

    creaking of wooden joints. It swings its head from side to side,

    scanning its surroundings and sniffing at the air. Its head turns

    towards us, tilting, and I hold my breath.

    Helena twitches, her shoulder brushing my side. I flex my hand again

    to remind her: hold.

    Wooden eyes stare sightlessly into the shadows. I stare back,

    answering some urge bubbling up from deep within.

    So we wait.

    If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

    And wait.

    The monster turns away.

    I exhale softly, wincing as Helena¡¯s own attempt stutters and

    rasps. It looks like the monster didn¡¯t hear, fortunately. I allow

    myself to smile, just a bit, and clench my hand. <i>Ready</i>.

    Helena brings her hands together, clapping loudly, and the greenish

    light of Wind turns silver. My legs tense, and I step forward, claws

    at the ready. Her palms slide against each other.

    For a heartbeat, the air bends, curving the world around it like

    thick glass. Our eyes meet, and she nods imperceptibly. The bent air

    slices forwards, a half-crescent of Wind followed by the ear-stinging

    noise of a whip crack.

    I lunge after it, pushing a bit of my own Wind into my legs to try

    and keep up. It¡¯s not a one-two punch unless the hits come quickly,

    after all.

    Punch one happens when the ¡®blade¡¯ of air crashes into the

    monster, carving a hunk of wood from a rear leg and scattering

    splinters everywhere. The monster snarls, stumbling and twisting to

    face this new threat...

    And, now that it¡¯s off balance, I come in with punch two. One of my

    claws digs into the monster¡¯s neck as it loses its footing, yanking

    upwards in a Wind-boosted grab that lets me lift and slam it into a

    tree. Bark joins the splinters on the forest floor, and I wrap my

    other hand around the monster¡¯s snout before it can bite at me. My

    palm cups its chin, and my fingers sting under the strain of holding

    the damned thing in place.

    Its claws scrabble in the air uselessly, flailing and barely managing

    to scrape at my clothes. Helena¡¯s enchantments are holding up

    pretty well, it seems.

    This little trick took a few tries, but I think I have it down now.

    My shoulder will ache tomorrow though, more than the rest of me will.

    I use my underhand grip to pull the monster¡¯s head to one side,

    turning it bit by bit, pushing once its head has turned far enough¡ª

    Its neck creaks like a thick branch in a storm, and then snaps like

    one, too.

    And that¡¯s punch three.

    Dropping the wolf to the ground, I check my hands for splinters, and

    use the splinter-free one to rub my chin. Wouldn¡¯t it be a

    one-two-three punch, then? I mean, none of them are actually punches,

    but most one-two punches in fighting aren¡¯t actually punches, even

    for me.

    ¡°Ah, Ivy?¡±

    I blink, changing tracks. ¡°No three. One-two punch sounds better.

    Yeah?¡±

    Helena gives me a strange, baffled look, then visibly shakes it off.

    ¡°Um. What? I, are you okay? It looked like it got a few swipes at

    you, I was worried your clothes might be damaged.¡±

    Oh, whoops. I said that out loud. Looking down to hide the heat on my

    cheeks, I do a full pat-down to make sure everything¡¯s where it

    should be. ¡°I¡¯m fine, thanks. The enchantments have been working

    just fine, and I appreciate not having to waste magic healing

    bruises... or money, replacing my nice clothes. Trousers with

    tail-holes don''t come cheap.¡±

    I pause, running a bit of raw magic through my claw-tips and tugging

    at my blouse¡¯s collar. The enchantment hums in response, softly and

    a bit chaotically. ¡°But, you might need to redo them. Enchantments

    without a base substance don¡¯t stick around for too long, do they?¡±

    Helena murmurs something in response, too quiet for me to catch. I

    see her boots pace back and forth, but I only look up again once I¡¯m

    sure the blush is gone. Our eyes meet for a second before she walks

    up beside me, dropping into a crouch.

    ¡°They should hold for another two hours. Three, maybe. Is, um, is

    that enough time? I could refresh them, but I don¡¯t...¡± She

    gestures at her chest, using her other hand to very carefully prod at

    the chunks of wood that were formerly a monster. ¡°I don¡¯t have

    enough mana for that. The Delve is refreshing me faster, but not fast

    enough. Hm.¡±

    I mentally tally up everything she¡¯s done, doing some quick mental

    calculations. Unless you¡¯re talking Alchemy or Runes, magic isn¡¯t

    done in discrete enough units for anything more than scrap-paper

    mathematics¡ª but those are more than enough for me to make some

    estimates. And, quite honestly, I don¡¯t like them very much.

    Setting that math aside, I run some estimates on our travel. An hour

    so far, and the slant of the Delve is increasing

    With Adamantine as my witness, I thought the Restoration Church would

    actually be smarter than to leave a potential Mage <i>completely</i>

    undeveloped. I know Gods-damned well they have books on the subject,

    given they took most of them from my family¡¯s section of the

    archives. It¡¯s one thing to encourage someone to not be a Mage, and

    another to let them bumble about and risk burning up their soul

    trying to light a candle.

    I wonder what they did with the books, then?

    Whatever the case, I keep my thoughts to myself. I cross my arms,

    leaning my shoulder against a nearby tree while I watch Helena. The

    woman in question is delicately turning the head over with a stick

    she¡¯s found, peering over the stumps.

    ¡°I know it¡¯s rare, but these monsters do seem tough enough that,

    um, they might have a crystal we can use? The ones inside monsters

    are amazing for setting physical enchantments.¡±

    ¡°You''re very well read, huh,¡± I say the obvious, snorting. My

    tail curls, swinging in the air before it latches onto the tree next

    to me. ¡°These things? Tough, but nothing special. Shallow-water

    predators, I guess. There''s far worse monsters out there, and they''re

    the kind you''d expect to find crystals in.¡±

    ¡°Aw,¡± Helena says quietly. I don''t think I was supposed to hear

    that. She stands up from her squat, wincing and groaning as she does.

    ¡°That''s unfortunate. We''ll just have to finish before the

    enchantments run out, right?¡±

    She flashes me a hesitant smile, and I reply with a shrug. Rushing

    isn''t particularly safe, but the enchantments...

    Huh. I guess Helena''s put us on a time limit, intentionally or not. I

    don''t like that at all, but I did let her talk me into this.

    Not a productive path of thought, it''s not like I could back out now.

    I switch paths, gesturing forward and onward. ¡°Let''s get going

    then. Keep your ears and eyes trained on our surroundings, got it?¡±

    Helena nods dutifully, dusting herself off. ¡°Of course. Onward!¡±

    <hr>

    Onward ends up being quite boring. We kill one or two more wolves,

    one of which Helena manages to almost decapitate with her initial

    hit. Brief bursts of happening breaking up long, awkward silences.

    Helena seems to be feeling it too: muttering to herself, meddling

    with small spell structures, and occasionally dragging up dead leaves

    with her Wind.

    Curiosity sparks. An un-apprenticed mage, entirely untrained but

    still well-read. Ambitious and fiery, too. Her control of the leaves

    is pretty impressive, and those spells she''s been tossing out are

    made well. I don¡¯t really know the whole story, though. Maybe it¡¯s

    time to ask, if only to fill the silence.

    And, Gods, I''m going to get bored if I don''t say something.

    I clear my throat, and it rumbles out like a growl. ¡°Helena.¡±

    ¡°Yes?¡± Helena''s reply is instant. Her eyes glance up to mine,

    even as her hand toys with Wind. A leaf escapes her magic''s grip,

    fluttering in the air.

    ¡°You''re part of the Restoration Church,¡± I prompt, surprising

    myself a bit. I morph that feeling into a lopsided grin. ¡°I don''t

    actually know how it all works there. What do you get up to? How do

    you, uh, worship?¡±

    ¡°Oh! Yes! I¡¯d love to. Um.¡± Helena smiles, nodding vigorously.

    The rest of her leaves flutter and droop, some drifting close enough

    that I try to jab them with my tail. ¡°And you''re... a lot of

    Delvers follow the Wanderer, right? Mireise? They don''t have a formal

    church, so... I bet it''s quite different! Oh, where do I start?¡±

    She hums, toying with a lock of hair.

    Oh, that pronunciation brings back memories. I chuckle a bit, shaking

    my head.  ¡°Mir as in Mirror, followed by ice, not Me-rice. My Delve

    masters were emphatic about that. And no, I don''t follow the

    Wanderer. I follow Adamantine, though, so I have about the same

    experience with formal worship.¡±

    My parents would attend Restoration events constantly. Olivia and I

    never went along¡ª maybe we would''ve been clued in to my parents''

    plans earlier if we did, but I can''t exactly change the past.

    Helena curls some hair around her finger, brow furrowed. ¡°The Sun

    Regent? Hm,¡± she murmurs, ¡°Where do I start...¡±

    I could wait. It wouldn¡¯t be that bad. But why not have a proper

    conversation?

    ¡°I can go while you think. Mind your head,¡± I warn, ducking under

    a particularly low-hanging branch. The fringes of the leaves¡ª which

    are a close but weirdly smudged match for maple leaves,

    interestingly¡ª are curled in, shifting from green to vivid reds and

    oranges.

    Bit weird for leaves to be this low, and the colors are definitely

    worth noting. Oh, right, I was saying something.

    "It''s not very interesting, though," I admit, rubbing the

    back of my head with one hand. Adamantine has my faith, but she isn''t

    a very demanding goddess. "I wanted a distraction between wolf

    kills, but this might be too boring.¡±

    I turn and meet Helena''s wide eyes, gleaming with excitement. Her

    smile seems to be spreading onto my face, too.

    "No, no." She says, brown hair flying as she shakes her

    head. "The Church of Adamantine? I know nothing about it! So,

    yes, please tell me?"

    I¡¯m taken aback by her enthusiasm, and it takes me a second to

    shake free of it. The fervor of born scholars is ridiculous.

    Where to start... oh, Gods, now I¡¯m doing it too. I¡¯ll go for the

    semantics first.

    ¡°Adamantine doesn¡¯t have an, uh, organized church, you know? It¡¯s

    all independent, linked up and supervised by paladins, but not much

    more than that. So how we worship changes from place to place,¡± I

    say, pausing for breath. It¡¯s weird to talk about this stuff, for

    some reason, and it¡¯s making me feel awkward.

    Moreso when I realize this is entirely my fault, since I started it.

    Oops.

    ¡°I¡¯m not a paladin, and I¡¯m not a member of any specific

    church. I don¡¯t really worship, either, so much as...¡± I wave a

    hand through the air, trying to hide the awkward vulnerability that

    I''m suddenly feeling. ¡°Justice is important, and injustice can''t be

    left around to rot. I like Delving, and it keeps people safe from

    monsters, so that''s my place in things.¡±

    ¡°So that¡¯s why you hate the Restoration, then? Because you think

    we¡¯re unjust?¡±

    I turn my head, freezing her with a one-eyed stare before I can catch

    myself. It¡¯s a visceral thing, a gut reaction that has my tail

    whipping across the ground. Practically instinctual, and I feel only

    a dreg of guilt.

    Helena looks away, eyes trained on the ground.

    ¡°I don¡¯t think you¡¯re wrong to ask.¡± I shrug with more ease

    than I feel. ¡°But I¡¯d rather not talk about it.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s not like you¡¯re going to, um, hurt me. You only really

    got mad when you thought I was invading your home, right?¡± Helena¡¯s

    reply is equally blunt, equally honest.

    I huff in response. ¡°Home invasion is unjust, usually. Water under

    the bridge. Tell me about the Restoration Church, if you¡¯ve worked

    out what you want to say?¡±

    She says something, but I don¡¯t hear it. My instincts spin like a

    compass near a lodestone, swirling and sharpening around a handful of

    cues.

    The ground shakes. The Delve deepens, just a hair. The wind shifts,

    the light dims, and a low sound scratches at my ears.

    And then... nothing. I keep my eyes scanning the surroundings, but I

    open myself up enough to catch what Helena is saying. It¡¯d be rude

    to ignore her.

    ¡°...helping them, um, raise funds and distribute food. It¡¯s an

    important part of the Restoration¡¯s goals to, ah,¡± she hesitates,

    and I pick up immediately.

    ¡°Charity work, then. So what¡¯s your part in that?¡± I nod along.

    ¡°Everywhere I¡¯ve seen the Restoration, you¡¯re running

    way-stations or growing gardens.¡±

    Never really understood the purple robes. They seem terrible for all

    the very literally dirty work members seem to get up to.

    ¡°I. Ah. I sew. For my family. Priest Dongbaek assigned me as a

    clothier and tailor, because that¡¯s the skill that most benefits

    the whole family.¡± The word <i>sew </i>is bitten out, hissing and

    crisp. Her hands clench, and a flash of anger crosses her features

    before vanishing entirely. ¡°It¡¯s what I¡¯m best at, after all.

    And, um, when we all work together, we can make Craumont a better

    place, right? A safer one, too.¡±

    They¡¯d wanted my land. My parents had willed it to them, and

    everything else. No doubt to build a shelter for the ill and the

    homeless, or feed those who weren¡¯t paid enough by businesses that

    should know better. That¡¯s what I¡¯d stopped, hadn¡¯t I?

    Looks like they weren¡¯t so kind to their own, either. At least, the

    ones that don¡¯t fit in. Or maybe I¡¯m overthinking it, and Helena

    is as rebellious with them as she is with me. That¡¯d probably get

    on their nerves after a while, when ¡®ambition¡¯ starts to sound

    more like madcap schemes.

    ¡°To fill the gaps in the community, huh?¡± I can¡¯t help but

    chuckle, even knowing it¡¯s rude. ¡°That¡¯s a bit pretentious.¡±

    Helena huffs. ¡°You¡¯re right, but I don¡¯t, ah. That¡¯s not a

    very nice way to say it.¡±

    So much for a nice conversation. I¡¯d gone and ruined it. My tail

    digs itself into the ground, scraping along and digging a satisfying

    furrow. ¡°Yeah, sorry.¡±

    A pause.

    ¡°We did pass the time, though.¡± Helena says awkwardly, ¡°Even

    if, um, it wasn''t a great topic. But I learned something!¡±

    ¡°It was a bad topic, wasn''t it? Gods, what was I thinking? Maybe

    after a few glasses of wine, sure, but in a Delve, on high alert...¡±

    I run a hand through my hair, and Helena hums in agreement. I''m not

    sure if that''s rude or just plain honest.

    We walk in silence for a few minutes. I¡¯m not sure of what to say,

    and Helena clearly doesn¡¯t know what to say either. I absently wish

    for a distraction, and then regret that instantly. No, Ivy! Don¡¯t

    ask for that in a Delve, it always¡ª

    The world tenses around us, and I act on instinct. My arm shoots out,

    wrapping itself around Helena¡¯s waist, my tail curls around her

    defensively, and I drag us deep into the darkest shadow I can find.

    Her squeak is drowned out when the breeze raises to a howl, drowning

    out all noise and thought. Sticks and leaves dash through the air,

    clattering against us. I pull Helena closer to my chest. She¡¯s far

    too squishy, after all.

    The light dims. The sunless sky shifts towards the afternoon, and the

    air smells of ochre and fresh-dead leaves. Helena says something, and

    I only know it because I feel the vibrations of her voice against my

    chest. Sound is meaningless, caught and stolen away in the roaring

    gale.

    And, thank the Gods, it ends as suddenly as it began. All-consuming

    wind is replaced with a dead silence I can hear my own heartbeat in.

    I let out a sigh of relief, breaking the silence, and Helena¡¯s own

    sigh comes not long after. That would¡¯ve been awful to try and push

    through, I¡¯m certain. We would arrive at the layer transition

    battered and bruised, to say nothing of the challenge fighting in the

    wind would bring. At least the monsters would have trouble too...

    hopefully.

    Oh, and Helena¡¯s still pinned to my chest. She¡¯s squirming, too,

    and¡ª well, it feels weird. Kinda tickles. I let her go with a

    mumbled apology, and she replies with equally quiet acceptance.

    Her face is nearly as red as the leaves, actually.

    Wait, what?

    ¡°The leaves! Oh, this is fascinating!¡± Helena exclaims, mirroring

    my own thoughts. Her eyes are gleaming with that inner fire again,

    and she¡¯s craning her neck to look at the tree canopy.

    A tree canopy of brilliant reds, searing oranges, and muted browns,

    all glowing in the afternoon light. Each tree is like a slow-moving

    flame, rippling gently in a woody, earthy breeze.

    ¡°Delves are weird,¡± I pronounce, snatching a red leaf from the

    air as it flutters down. I turn it over, inspecting it carefully.

    Seems normal, no teeth, doesn¡¯t seem to be made of metal or coated

    in acid... it¡¯s always important to be careful with Delves.

    It¡¯s also beautiful to look at.

    ¡°Gods, it¡¯s pretty, isn¡¯t it?¡± I admit, chuckling. The bubbly

    sensation fills my chest before I tamp it down, and I spread my arms,

    curling my tail around one leg. ¡°Much better scenery to travel to.

    But if the forest can turn from summer to autumn, I¡¯d hazard that

    it¡¯ll be winter eventually. And I do not want to be here for that.¡±

    Scales do not handle the cold very well. I can keep myself warm by

    circulating magic throughout my body, but that leaves me hungry,

    cranky, and stiff. No thank you, I¡¯m already going to be cranky

    from healing all the scratches I keep getting.

    Helena winces, inspecting her own gear. ¡°We¡¯re not dressed for it

    at all. Yes, um, let¡¯s get going!¡±

    ¡°Yes, let¡¯s.¡± I pause, then groan as she starts to run.

    ¡°Helena! Slow down! You don¡¯t even know where we¡¯re going!¡±

    Her blush is rather amusing, though.

 Chapter 9

    I think I like autumn here better, but that doesn¡¯t come as a

    surprise. The brisk wind, the brilliant leaves, the odd scent that

    comes with it; it¡¯s all perfect. Watching the world prepare itself

    for winter, preparing for inevitable rebirth and change in a way

    countless poems try to capture... it captivates me.

    Distracting, too. I push myself off the ground, dusting myself off

    and making sure I don¡¯t pick up any splinters from our latest kill.

    ¡°Do these count as kills, do you think, or underbrush clearing?¡±

    I say aloud, wincing the moment it leaves my mouth. Gods, that was

    terrible.

    ¡°Um, what?¡± Helena replies, turning to look at me. She¡¯s

    reaching up at a crystal dangling from a branch, and unfortunately

    she¡¯s too short to manage. It¡¯s kind of adorable. ¡°Sorry, I¡¯m

    a little distracted with this...¡±

    ¡°And you switched back to exploring pretty quickly,¡± I nod,

    crossing my arms. My tail slaps the ground behind me, kicking up a

    puff of leaves. ¡°You¡¯re getting used to this. Good.¡±

    I stride on over, boots crunching through the ever-growing layer of

    falling leaves. It¡¯s so satisfying, and I can¡¯t help but kick my

    feet a bit to send puffs of leaves up into the air.

    ¡°Stand still for a second, will you?¡± Placing a hand on her

    shoulder, I push up onto the tips of my toes, reaching up to the

    crystalline leaf and hooking two fingers around the stem. A little

    twist and pull is all it takes to take it down, and I present it to

    Helena. ¡°Here.¡±

    She looks at it, lip caught between her teeth. Her expression clears,

    and she takes the crystal out of my hand. ¡°Ah. Thank you!¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re welcome,¡± I shrug, taking my hand off her shoulder and

    stepping away. ¡°Let¡¯s get a move on, then?¡±

    ¡°O-of course! But, what did you mean about underbrush clearing?

    Does that make the monsters a form of scrub tree?¡±

    Oh, Gods, she remembers. Of course she did. Fighting the heat in my

    cheeks, I look firmly away and start walking. ¡°It was a stray

    thought. Don¡¯t worry about it.¡±

    Helena giggles. ¡°Ah, okay then.¡±

    There¡¯s a comfortable quiet that follows, giving me time to

    recover... and to hear a strange snuffling sound, coming from the

    woods. That¡¯s not how the wolf monsters have sounded; this sound is

    heavier, deeper. Something bigger.

    ¡°We need to move, Helena,¡± I say, voice clear and crisp. I glance

    around the clearing, taking note of where the sound seems to be

    coming from, and pick out a cluster of trees with high branches.

    ¡°Hope you¡¯re ready to climb. If not, you¡¯ll need to get on my

    back.¡±

    Helena¡¯s expression sharpens, and she tilts her head. A moment

    later, realization dawns, and her eyes widen. She nods curtly, her

    hands glow green, and we hurry out of the clearing.

    And not a moment too soon, it seems. I¡¯ve barely finished helping

    Helena hoist herself up onto a higher branch when <i>something </i>enters

    the clearing: a shivering mass of thorny briars, wrapped tight around

    the shape of a massive wooden bear. Its eyes gleam orange, and a

    black tar oozes out from between splintery, wicked-looking teeth.

    Each step is a <i>thump </i>that shakes the ground, enough for my

    sharpened senses to feel even up here. Its snuffling sounds more like

    the wheezing of wind through branches, now that I can hear it more

    clearly. The monster strides across the clearing, head on a swivel,

    but its path leads it directly to the corpse of the wooden wolf

    monster.

    Looks like we have a food chain in here, huh? I wonder what the

    wolves eat.

    The branch creaks, and all good humor escapes me in a heartbeat. Its

    head snaps up to us, eyes no doubt straining against the impossible

    shadows of this forest. I can see Helena¡¯s chest still as she

    presses herself further into the tree. Her expression is more curious

    than scared, though; it¡¯s a good attitude to have. Nerves are

    important, but keeping calm in a Delve is even more critical.

    Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.

    The bear sniffs the air. Once, twice, three times.

    It turns away, and sinks its teeth into the wooden corpse. The sound

    of squealing, crunching wood fills the clearing.

    Helena exhales slowly, her breath rasping against my ears, and I do

    the same¡ª though I flood my breath with Wind. I take that movement

    and amplify it, swirling it into a sphere that should seal off our

    scent and sound from the world. It¡¯s a bit taxing, and I can feel

    the drain on my already dwindling reserves, but it¡¯s worth it.

    Then, I let out a normal sigh, and let myself move to the second step

    of appraising this new threat. It¡¯s bigger, it¡¯s tougher, and

    it¡¯s got a glint of magic in its eyes.

    The movement of its joints looks more natural, less like a monstrous

    wooden toy and more like a seamless living being. I''d need to break

    its joints, which I can certainly do, but without my knife, I''ll need

    to rely on Wind magic.

    That thing isn''t from this layer at all, I realize. It''s from much

    deeper¡ª a few hundred marches deeper. Enough that it could be a

    decent threat to me without armor and a weapon.

    ¡°That... looks like it¡¯ll be hard to kill,¡± Helena whispers,

    echoing my own thoughts. ¡°Thank you for the sound sphere, Ivy. I

    haven¡¯t worked that one out.¡±

    I glance up at her and raise an eyebrow. I understand her eagerness,

    but it¡¯s best to put a damper on it quickly. ¡°I¡¯ve had a lot of

    practice, and no, we¡¯re <i>not </i>fighting it. It''s way tougher

    than anything else here, and it¡¯d be easier to sneak past it than

    to kill it. If I had all my gear, it¡¯d be easy, but I don¡¯t.¡±

    To my surprise, Helena simply nods. ¡°Oh, okay.¡±

    And that¡¯s that.

    We do still have to sit in that tree for a while, though. The bear

    takes forever to finish eating that monster corpse, and spends time

    circling the clearing, probably trying to track our scent.

    <hr>

    Helena presses her hands against her back and stretches, groaning.

    ¡°Oh, Gods. My back aches. Is there anything for that? A warming

    spell, maybe, or, um... ow.¡±

    ¡°Sitting in a tree will do that to you. You get used to muscle

    soreness, eventually,¡± I lie, then think better of it. ¡°Well,

    it¡¯s more like you learn to put up with it, or it gets harder to

    get sore. Both, I guess.¡±

    ¡°Jordan already bothers me about posture in chairs,¡± Helena

    mumbles. ¡°Is there a bath at the Manor I could borrow? Something

    really hot? I¡¯m going to need it.¡±

    ¡°Right after I get my shot, unless you want to share it,¡± I roll

    my shoulders. My foot jams into a rock, and I grunt. ¡°Mind the

    ground, I guess.¡±

    ¡°At least we¡¯re close. We are close, right? Um, we should have

    another hour or two, but...¡± She pauses. ¡°That¡¯s enough time to

    get back out too, right?¡±

    I run it over in my head. ¡°With a Delve Heart, I can probably force

    our way out to the first layer once we¡¯re about halfway back. My

    own stabilization of the portal stops me from doing the same to the

    first layer, but we can skip the whole thing by jumping down the

    cliff. I can carry you, if you¡¯re worried about your Wind-cushion

    spell failing.¡±

    ¡°Plenty of time, then?¡± Helena affirms, nodding along.

    ¡°Plenty of time,¡± I agree. The trees are thinning out now, and

    there¡¯s more leaves on the ground than ever. ¡°We¡¯ll want to try

    and get moving before winter hits, assuming this Delve doesn¡¯t

    alternate between two seasons. And, hm. Trying to figure out how

    close we are.¡±

    I open my senses to the Delve, feeding a bit of magic into my mind to

    speed up the process. The slope of depth is increasing at a steady

    rate as we head towards ¡®Delve down¡¯, and I can just barely make

    out something thrumming beneath it.

    There it is. The rippling of a Delve Heart, like waves on the ocean.

    ¡°There¡¯s the Delve Heart, then. Not that it¡¯s any surprise,

    there¡¯s always one past the first layer. So, yes, we¡¯re close.¡±

    Helena smiles. I match it, and do a little cheer inside my head. I

    have a dinner to get ready for, and as much as I¡¯m dreading it, the

    bath I get beforehand will be amazing.

    ¡°I¡¯m ready to be done. Um, no offense. I¡¯m loving Delving, but

    I definitely want that bath, too.¡±

    I grunt, nodding. ¡°Don¡¯t let it distract you. We¡¯re not out of

    the woods yet.¡±

    I pause. Helena snorts, and I press my hands into my face to groan.

    And then we are out of the woods, barely two minutes later, looking

    at yet another copy of the chapel. More accurately, we¡¯re right at

    the edge, and the trees are so sparse near the chapel that it¡¯s

    more a plain than a woodland.

    Chapel is a strong word for it, too. It¡¯s a ruin vaguely resembling

    a chapel, if it was picked up and then dropped from ten marches in

    the air. Sturdy construction, and the doors are still intact, but

    it¡¯s more holes than walls.

    And from those holes, a faint golden light leaks out, a perfect match

    for the light of Delve magic.

    ¡°There¡¯s our Delve Heart,¡± I say, letting my shoulders sag with

    relief. ¡°This is the halfway point, and we¡¯re just retracing our

    steps from here. But that¡¯s no excuse to let our guard down.¡±

    I hear the crunching of leaves, and I watch with complete and utter

    bafflement as Helena jogs out of the woods and towards the chapel.

    ¡°Let¡¯s get on with it, then!¡± She calls back over her shoulder,

    far too loud.

    Each crunch of her boots on the leaves makes me wince. She¡¯s out in

    the open, far from every shadow, and <i>Gods, what is she thinking?</i>

    ¡°Helena!¡± I bark, my voice cracking. I take a step forward, then

    start jogging to catch up. She¡¯s almost to the door now, and I¡¯m

    suddenly reminded of how I was slammed through the doors of the real

    chapel only a few hours before.

    Then comes the familiar snuffling, and the <i>thump thump</i> of

    heavy paws.

 Chapter 10

    Maybe it''s more obvious to me than it is to someone without the

    senses of a Mageblood. Helena''s got magic, sure, so she counts as one

    by technicality, but it hasn''t changed her yet. She can''t move the

    way I do, or control magic with the same ease as breathing.

    But, Gods, if I''m not screaming at her to <i>pay attention</i>, as I

    sprint towards her. She''s turned in response to my shout. Don''t look

    at me, idiot, look at the monster charging towards you! At this

    speed, the best I can do is point and shout some more, praying she''ll

    catch on and move.

    Too slow. Here, in a moment stretched by urgency and instinct, with

    each of my steps lengthened by the force of Wind, even the alarm in

    her eyes sparks sluggishly.

    She''s an idiot, I remind myself, a fool who hasn''t been listening

    when I thought she was. But I don''t plan on bringing back a corpse.

    She deserves a talking to, not a burial.

    I''m furious, obviously. But I''m also resigned, and utterly

    unsurprised. She''s a novice, and one who only really seems to care

    about what I can give her, in retrospect. A novice I''d humored too

    far¡ª and now I''m down here without my gear, fighting something

    where both would''ve been very appreciated. I could''ve gone for

    knocking the bear off track instead, even, used my armor to protect

    myself from the thorns.

    And there''s a tinge of relief as my arms wrap around her, dragging

    her out of the way. Relief followed a sharp, stinging pain, because

    I''m not fast enough to get completely out of the way when it''s trying

    to steer towards us. The monster''s side scrapes across my arm, thorns

    scoring bloody valleys through flesh and clattering across scales. I

    grit my teeth and force that last step out of the way, wincing even

    as magic starts trying to stitch my flesh back together.

    Time, stretched thin, snaps back together. My heartbeat rumbles in my

    ears, warm blood drips over rapidly-forming scales, and I can''t help

    but curse my own idiocy.

    ¡°I didn''t see it,¡± Helena murmurs through rapid, shallow breaths,

    hands curling around my forearms. ¡°I didn''t see it, I didn''t <i>see

    </i>it. Oh, Restoration. I could''ve¡ª you¡ª¡±

    ¡°Regret later. Focus, Helena.¡± I peel my arms away from her,

    wincing as each torn muscle flexes and strains. Can I take this thing

    down, starting off with an injury? Definitely. Can I do it easily

    without killing a rather fragile human in the collateral, without,

    unarmed? No.

    I instinctively reach for my belt, for a bandage I can use or even a

    healing salve. When I grasp at air, I''m once again reminded that I

    went into this without any of my usual tools.

    Helena stumbles as I step back, knees buckling. I steady her with my

    uninjured hand, but turn my focus to my wounds in the seconds we have

    before the monster turns back around.

    Let''s see. I roll my shoulder back, clench my hand into a fist, and

    Gods, ow, that stings still. Easily manageable, but straining myself

    while healing would just be another risk. It''s my dominant arm, too,

    but I wouldn''t have gotten far as a Delver if I could only fight

    uninjured.

    Of course, I''ve survived this long in part due to preparation. Armor,

    knives, alchemical solutions, spiked knuckles on occasion, all the

    sorts of things that''d help fight giant monsters¡ª I kick those

    thoughts to the side. Complaining helps nothing.

    I slide back into analysis, and get a good look at the monster. It''s

    another bramble-bound bear, a carving wrapped in knotted thorns and

    drooling tar from a jagged maw. Could even be the same one, if it

    picked up our scent. I should''ve been more careful.

    Tough. Very tough, but not impossibly so, I''m sure; I''d faced scarier

    foes plenty of times. Best comparison I can draw up is a brawl with

    an Ent. I''ll need big hits to crack the wood, and it''s heavy enough

    that I can use its own weight against it¡ª but I''ll need something

    to cut the briars. Given my knife is still at the estate, I guess

    it''ll be Wind for that. Alternatively, a flask of fire from an

    alchemist would have worked excellently. Burn the briars away, maybe

    scorch the wood enough to weaken it.

    Drawing everything together? If I''d brought my equipment, I could

    kill it with relative ease. But I didn''t, so I''ll have to improvise.

    Plans form, plans are discarded, and as the bear monster finally

    skids to a stop, I have an <i>idea</i>.

    Helena takes a shuddering breath, hugging herself and visibly

    shaking. ¡°Can we. Gods, can we fight that? Are you okay?¡±

    ¡°No choice.¡± I reply curtly. The monster is lumbering towards us

    now, loping steps eating up the distance. ¡°Helena, get behind

    something and hit it at the joint of its left hind limb, cut up the

    brambles. Can you do precision?¡±

    She nods rapidly, dropping her hands down to her thankfully-intact

    bag. ¡°I, um, yes. I spend a lot of time¡ª¡±

    ¡°Good.¡± I nod, loosening my stance and dripping Lightning into my

    legs. It wouldn''t have the raw force of Wind, but short-range

    Lightning can cause explosive damage. Perfect for breaking joints,

    even if the noise can draw a lot of attention. I put more magic into

    my good arm, drawing out the scales and turning my nails into sharp

    claws. ¡°Then do it. Hammer its joints with Wind whenever I call for

    it, and stay away, understand?¡±

    Helena''s voice drops, her words wavering. ¡°I understand.¡±

    I hum in response, but it comes out as more of a growl. Tail lashing,

    I bring up my good arm and start circling to one side, away from

    Helena. Looks like she''s getting out of the way, good, and the bear

    is looking at me more than her. Even better.

    The bear turns just enough, picking up speed. Each step shakes the

    ground, tossing branches and leaves in every direction. Come on, come

    on.

    A sound like tearing branches is ripped from its throat, and a gleam

    of greenish light forms on its fangs. Instinct demands I bare my own

    fangs, and I snarl in answer to the monster''s call. My heart pounds

    in my chest, stirring with the strange excitement of battle.

    The bear draws closer, and closer, and closer. Gods, it''s huge, isn''t

    it, tall enough to look straight into my eyes¡ª

    The soil trembles beneath me, as if threatening to give way¡ª

    Come on, Helena¡ª

    Its fangs are a handsbreadth from my chest when I leap to the side,

    half-lunging, half-spinning. I push Wind through my tail as it whips

    around, carving gouges through the bramble and tearing splinters of

    wood from its knee.

    Lightning pulses, setting every hair on end, and I stomp down on the

    now exposed and wounded knee joint.

    A sound like thunder rolls over me. Splinters fly, the air crackles,

    and the bear tumbles as a small hole appears where my boot connected.

    Its own momentum drags it forward and downward into the dirt, a mess

    of flying limbs and snarling fury.

    I snarl back, swiping a Wind-enhanced claw across its flank. Brambles

    fly through the air, tumbling in the sudden breeze, and I follow it

    by leaning back and stomping down again with my foot.

    Another deafening crack. Another roar of thunder. Another scattering

    of shrapnel and splinters. Leaves flutter through the air, blasted

    outward by the force of the blow.

    In one moment, the monster is stumbling, seeking its footing. My

    heart is roaring in my ears.

    In the next, the thing is turning, its wooden claws close enough to

    my face that I feel a breeze. Instinct alone allows me to duck under,

    and I refuse to lose any ground. I brace myself instead, ducking

    lower when the second paw hooks around. My legs tense. Lightning

    crackles in my left hand, and I curl my scaled fingers into a loose

    fist.

    ¡°The head, Helena!¡± I roar. ¡°Aim up!¡±

    The monster''s turn completes... and my fist connects with its chin,

    which is now directly above me.

    Lightning flashes, wood blackens, and the monster''s head snaps back,

    groaning and creaking like a dead tree. Its forepaws, still uneven on

    their new footing, rise off the ground completely.

    A moment later, shimmering Wind slams into its neck, pushing it

    further upwards onto its hind legs.

    ¡°Again!¡±

    Helena''s Wind slices its way through the brambles, leaving a chunk of

    its midsection exposed. I drop into a fighting stance and deliver a

    punch to its midsection, then a lighter, Wind-enhanced one with my

    wounded arm. It stings, tugging at ripped muscle, but I¡¯m careful

    not to strain it further. A third punch sinks into the monster''s

    wooden hide, finally denting it¡ª finally making a weak point. I

    pivot a Lighting kick directly into that dent, burning briars

    and splitting the wood loudly enough to hurt my ears.

    This seems to just piss it off. It roars, drowning out all other

    noise, and swings its arms down as if to crush my head.

    Dodging would let it recover, make it a tougher fight. Blocking lets

    me stay in close, but the risk... no.

    The risk isn¡¯t acceptable, I realize, and I leap backwards. None of

    the usual risks are acceptable here. Any hit these things land is

    going to hurt, and I don''t have any of the tools to manage that risk.

    Tools that Helena pushed us to go in without. I''m an idiot.

    So I¡¯m probably not killing this thing without help from a Delve

    Heart, and if getting to it is dangerous, we might need to escape

    with the Heart. I''ll need to disable the monster and buy time,

    somehow. Low risk. Distract it, maybe. How?

    As the monster drops back down, I spin on one foot and drive the

    other straight into its snout. Something gives underneath, cracking

    but not breaking entirely. My tail follows the pivot, slapping

    against its side and scattering the briars. Just as my tail connects,

    I take a quick jab at its chin, wincing when the wood fails to give.

    It roars, snapping at my hand, swinging with one paw as if to bat me

    away. I step back again, taking a few quick punches and kicks where I

    can find the openings.

    This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

    No distractions here. The monster isn''t even close to dying, either.

    Maybe some Delve trick, or just blasting a hole in the ground and

    hoping that delays it?

    Or maybe Helena could...

    I glance back.

    No Helena. Gods <i>damn</i> it all.

    ¡°Helena!¡± I shout, irritation nearly turning it into a roar.

    She''s running off on her own again! It better be worth it.

    The monster swings at me again, getting up on its hind legs. I duck

    and weave, slamming a Lighting-infused punch into the crack on the

    monster''s belly.

    A moment later, the Delve stirs. The rippling feeling of the Delve Heart rises over the background, prodding at my magic. Something, or someone, is moving the Heart. Not that there''s any doubt who did it¡ª she''s either very stupid, very brave, or both.

    It''s a complicated thought to be having when I''m trying to tear apart

    this monster. I leap away from another lethal paw-swipe, dripping

    Wind into my claws. I scan its hind legs, and after another swipe

    that gets far too close to my head, I drag sharpened Wind across its

    knee. With the brambles cleared¡ª

    It spins, and a briar-wrapped backhand forces me to dodge. Damn.

    ¡°Whatever scheme you''ve got, Helena, hurry up!¡± I shout, ducking

    in for another string of punches. The cracks in the monster''s belly

    are smaller than before, I realize, and I bite out a curse. Of course

    it can heal. Every dodge I make gives it more time to recover, and

    with my wounded arm I''m barely outpacing it.

    ¡°I- Ivy! C¡ª oh, Restoration sustain me¡ª catch!¡± Her voice

    cuts through the noise with impeccable timing, audibly strained and

    wavering.

    Oh Gods she''s going to throw a Delve Heart.

    And when I turn, she''s hefting the Delve Heart¡ª a fist sized lump

    of yellowish crystal, pulsing in time with the waves of the Delve.

    Her arms are shaking, her eyes are glowing brighter than ever before,

    but with Wind swirling around her hands, she manages to lob it in my

    direction.

    Helena drops to the ground like a puppet on cut strings, her arms

    collapsing when she tries to stop herself. She''ll be fine. Probably.

    I don¡¯t see any visible wounds or warping, which is good.

    My eyes snap to the Heart, watching as it arcs through the air.

    Moving even further from the monster, I brace myself, and snatch it

    out of the air.

    Delve Hearts are incredible things. Little chunks of raw, solidified

    Delve magic, useable like any other form of stored magic.

    Incredible and overwhelming to the unprepared, as Helena just

    demonstrated. They don¡¯t give you a choice.

    Delve magic oozes out like a cold and viscous tar, creeping up my

    body and biting at my bones. Scales spread up my arm in response, and

    the world brightens and sharpens to impossible clarity. Each

    splinter, each crack in the stone¡ª each ragged breath from Helena.

    My tail lengthens, curling to the side so it stays out of my way.

    Minutes before, I was looking for a distraction. A delaying tactic,

    so Helena and I could run and grab the Delve Heart for this exact

    plan. I¡¯ll give her credit for that, even if it was phenomenally

    stupid of her.

    Now, with Helena weakened, I¡¯ll have to think a bit creatively to

    deal with this monster, but at least I¡¯m not on the back foot.

    Delve magic swirls sluggishly around me, and as the monster lowers

    itself for another charge, I close my eyes and reach inward. Into the

    Delve itself, grasping at its impossible abstractions near-blindly. I

    search for familiarity, for a feeling I''ve experienced once before.

    Sharpened senses let me step out of the monster''s charge, even with

    my eyes closed. It''s not even aimed at Helena, so I don''t have to

    worry about that. Where is it, where is it... it has to be here,

    somewhere in this. It''s like feeling around in a dark room, searching

    for a needle and hoping it doesn''t prick me. It''s part of this Delve

    layer, though, so my metaphorical needle can''t be far.

    My wounded arm starts to ache, stronger than before. Tarlike Delve

    magic pools into the cuts and bruises, coating them with scales and

    yanking everything back together.

    The monster turns and snaps, the groaning of its joints more than

    enough warning for me to lean away.

    I reach deeper. Deeper, into the dark¡ª

    There. A roaring, a shift without movement, bound up in an idea and

    framed like a loose gear. It''s cold and bitter, speaking of frozen

    sleep and brutal repose.

    The Delve had already gone from Summer to Autumn¡ª why not make it

    Winter next?

    Pouring Delve magic through myself, I grab the cog and slot it into

    place. My mind catches on the pinching gears, and I can¡¯t help but

    wince.

    The ground shakes. My bones ache. The breeze turns frigid. Flecks of

    ice and snow blink into existence, melting on my skin and glittering

    on my scales when I open my eyes. My tail curls inward towards my

    leg, seeking warmth as frost bites deep into it.

    When the monster stops to sniff, I sprint towards Helena, ducking

    down to scoop her up. She''s quite light, maybe too light, actually.

    ¡°Snow?¡± She murmurs groggily, shaking her head. Her voice is

    barely audible over the rising wind. Snowflakes cling to her hair and

    eyelashes as she blinks herself back to full consciousness. ¡°Is

    that... mm.¡±

    Never mind. She''s still recovering. The question is valid though; how

    is a little snow going to stop a wooden bear?

    Well, that''s easy. It''s not going to be a little bit of snow. It''ll be a whole winter''s worth, all at once, if the last seasonal shift was

    anything to go by.

    The wind rises to a roar, and I drag a bubble of Wind around us. A

    touch of Delve magic can nudge the worst of it away, but it''ll still¡ª

    Winter arrives with a sound I''ll describe as <i>wumph</i>. A march-tall

    blanket of snow arrives with no particular warning or obvious origin,

    bringing with it raw air and dead silence.

    There''s even snow under my boots, somehow. There''s barely

    two-hundredths of a march worth around us, thanks to Wind and Delve

    magic, which I''m quite thankful for. I dismiss the bubble with a

    flick of my tail, and lumps of snow collapse inward on the now-empty

    space.

    Crowning this winter landscape is the giant, motionless lump of snow

    where the monstrous bear was. If we''re lucky, these things hibernate

    in winter like real bears and react appropriately to the changing of

    the layer¡¯s season. If we''re unlucky and it¡¯s still awake, it''s

    still buried in a massive pile of snow. Win-win.

    Helena groans, hands flopping up to rub her cheeks. ¡°R-Restoration,

    bless me with strength. Thank you. But, um, could you let me down

    now?¡±

    I raise an eyebrow, and debate dumping her into the snow. She kind of

    deserves it. I give the snow a slap with my tail instead, sending a

    shower of the stuff over our surroundings. ¡°You¡¯re welcome. It

    took a lot of work to get us out of that alive, and we''re not out of

    the woods yet.¡±

    I wince at my own pun, crouching down to let Helena find her footing.

    I don''t move until she is firmly upright, which I admit I didn''t

    expect her to be capable of.

    ¡°And,¡± I add, sticking a claw up, stalling her words, ¡°You

    picked up a Delve Heart. Good plan, stupid decision.¡±

    She flushes red under my glare. ¡°At least, um, it worked out?¡±

    At least it worked out, she says. As if she hadn¡¯t caused the damn

    problem herself. Heat stirs in my gut.

    ¡°At least it worked out,¡± I hiss back, teeth clenched. There¡¯s

    a growl underpinning my words, and I don¡¯t care to stop it. Burning

    heat floods my body, pumped on by my still-thumping heart and

    drowning out everything else. ¡°And why did we have to work it out,

    Helena?¡±

    My eyes lock with Helena''s, and she shudders. Her jaw works. ¡°Um,

    because of the monster. But I couldn''t have known¡ª¡±

    She stops abruptly. My blood boils, and my tail is lashing from side

    to side, digging vicious furrows in the snow.

    ¡°Oh, you couldn''t have known, Helena?¡± I hiss, stepping closer.

    How dare she try for an excuse. It''s infuriating. I reach for

    wounding words, and they come easily. ¡°Did you try listening when I

    spoke? Or were you too busy trying to prove your farce of a Church

    wrong?¡±

    Her cheeks turn bright red, and she locks her eyes with mine. ¡°Don''t

    you dare call them that. I wasn''t sure what to do! I thought we were

    safe!¡±

    ¡°Obviously, we weren''t!¡± I bite, fuming. I jab a claw at her, and

    she steps back. ¡°Which you would have known if you had paid

    attention! And you didn''t! You weren''t even listening to what I just

    said, were you?¡±

    The heat is nearly unbearable. Tension builds in my chest, coiled

    ever tighter, waiting and begging for release. I want to bite, or

    claw, or punch, or scream. To roar at the sky, with this Delve¡¯s

    magic setting my blood ablaze.

    She jerks her chin up, crossing her arms. ¡°You took me on this

    Delve! You let me do this, so I thought you could handle anything we

    ran into. I overestimated, I misunderstood.¡±

    ¡°You''re still not listening!¡± I fire back at her, swinging my

    arms wide for emphasis. Wind follows the motion, blasting a wall of

    snow into the air behind me. ¡°I was telling you, right then and

    there, that we needed to be careful. But you ran ahead!¡±

    She bites her lip, clenching and unclenching her fists. ¡°I made a

    mistake, then, fine! I learned from it. I know now.¡±

    ¡°A mistake. One. Sssure.¡± I snarl, rolling my eyes. The hiss that

    comes with being fully transformed is leaking out, and it¡¯s enough

    to make me exercise just a bit of control. I turn and pace, boots

    digging satisfyingly into the ground. In that moment, realization

    dawns, swirling into dread. I voice my thoughts as they come. ¡°No.

    You were trying to use me, Helena. It was my mistake trusting you.¡±

    Helena blinks. ¡°What? No, I¡ª¡±

    ¡°I let you stay in my home. You, a member of the Restoration. I fed

    you, I hosted you, and I let you talk me into guiding you through a

    Delve. And I let it happen! Without any of my equipment! Am I an

    idiot, suddenly?¡± I rattle everything off, counting finger by

    finger. ¡°And then you ask a thousand questions. You question my

    orders, you run ahead, and I bet you were trusting your books more

    than an experienced Delver. All so you can prove a point

    to your Church.¡±

    Silence, punctuated by a heavy exhale from my throat. My words are

    shaky, my eyes watery. ¡°That''s all your Gods-damned Church does.

    You take and take until I have nothing left to give.¡±

    ¡°Oh,¡± Helena says. And, a moment later, ¡°I didn''t realize. You

    didn''t say anything.¡±

    ¡°Of course you didn''t notice. If you had been trying to trick me, I

    would have noticed,¡± I shrug, pacing my breaths. ¡°I''m not

    stupid.¡±

    Not in that way, at least. I''m going to be feeling the wound to my

    pride for a long time.

    With a wave of my hand, Wind crushes down a short path towards our

    destination. The tar-like feeling is still awful, but now that I''ve

    adjusted I can lean on the Heart''s strength for a few extra tricks

    like carving paths.

    ¡°Let''s go. Follow me.¡±

    Helena follows quietly, wobbling every few steps. I match her pace

    but walk in front, pausing whenever she stumbles. Guess she isn''t

    fully recovered yet. All the while, I''m eyeing the lump in the snow,

    waiting for the monster to burst out of it.

    I only stop looking once we''re out of the clearing, surrounded by the

    bare branches of countless trees.

    Then, among the gently swaying trees, my heart finally begins to

    settle. The rage drains, leaving only shivers and cold behind. Gods,

    I''m exhausted.

    Finally, or perhaps inevitably, Helena starts to speak again. My tail

    comes up, curling a bit uncomfortably around my waist so I don''t try

    and drive it into the snow.

    ¡°Um,¡± she starts, working her jaw. ¡°Are Delve Hearts always

    like that? Was this bigger than normal? Smaller?¡±

    Oh, so we''re not going to talk about her idiotic decision that caused

    this whole problem. Of course not. She probably wants to move past

    it.

    ¡°Smaller,¡± I grunt anyways, hefting the Heart. I squint at it, a

    bit of scholarly surprise and curiosity pushing past my irritation

    with Helena. Much smaller than usual. Only Depth impacts how they

    affect people touching them, though. I don''t say that aloud, though;

    I¡¯m still a bit heated for conversation and I¡¯m not really keen

    on sharing it with Helena in particular.

    It''s unusually small, actually. Half the size I''d expect, but still

    plenty big enough to seal up the portal. Size is irrelevant for that;

    no matter how big or small, a Heart is always destroyed in the

    process.

    Not my academic area. Moving my thoughts onward for now, I resolve to

    look it up after, ugh, that fancy dinner tonight. I run a hand along

    my tail, curled around me as it is, taking a bit of pleasure from the

    click click click of claws on scales.

    ¡°It could''ve killed you,¡± I say pointedly, a growl rumbling in my

    throat. ¡°Crushed your soul like a grape. And if you''d missed the

    throw, I''d have to expose myself to get it.¡±

    ¡°But it didn''t, and it worked, right? Um.¡± She pauses awkwardly,

    pulling her arms tight around herself and shivering. ¡°Will I start

    turning into a full Mageblood?¡±

    I feel her eyes raking across my scales. ¡°Scared, then?¡±

    ¡°No,¡± she replies softly. ¡°Just curious how much I''ll change,

    is all. If I change.¡±

    I can hear how her heart thuds in her chest, how her body trembles at

    the words. I remember feeling like that, years and years ago. Scared

    of the future, too weak for the present.

    Part of me wants to reach out and comfort her. The other remembers

    that I can''t trust her, that she''ll break that trust thoughtlessly if

    given another chance.

    ¡°I was scared too,¡± I admit quietly, my words suffocated by the

    snow.

    We walk on in silence. The whisper of Wind as I carve our path is

    agonizingly loud by comparison.

 Chapter 11

    The Delve pressure eases gradually as we move, like we''re rising through water. It''ll continue to lighten as we go, and it won''t take more than ten minutes before we''re out of here completely.

    Which is great, because I am very ready to get out of here. If Winston asks for me to guide her again, I''ll just say no and recommend someone with a bit more patience.

    The Delve Heart tugs at me, practically humming in my hand. Looks like my estimate was off, then; five minutes till we''re out of here.

    ¡°Well, here we are,¡± I say, coming to a stop. It''s no different from anywhere else, at first glance. Bare trees, deep snow, and thankfully we''ve yet to see even a single monster.

    Helena rubs her hands together as she stops, breathing into them. ¡°O-oh?¡±

    ¡°Shallow enough to make a portal,¡± I say in way of an explanation, passing the Delve Heart to my injured hand and channeling its magic into my good one.

    ¡°Portalcraft!¡± She nods along, a smile flickering along her lips. ¡°Delve Hearts can open and close portals, um, within the Delve they were formed in? I think?¡±

    I arch an eyebrow. ¡°Surely there''s a book for that?¡±

    Her crestfallen expression tugs at my heartstrings. I don''t like being mean, and I don''t even like the words I just said. I still don''t plan on taking them back. I made just as many mistakes as she did, didn¡¯t I?

    Sighing, I concentrate the magic into a finger, close my eyes, and plunge into the abstraction once more.

    I''m not looking for a needle or even a cog this time. No, I''m looking for the wall to this metaphorical dark room. Harder than you''d think, and more habit or art than science, to my irritation. And sure enough, after a bit of blind prodding, there it is, pressing back on me but bending under my touch.

    I hook my claw down, shuddering as it slides through <i>something </i>on the other side. With the skein of the Delve clinging to me, I walk forward until I find another one¡ª Gods, why is the gap between layers so slimy here? Ah, whatever, there¡¯s the next layer. The taste of saltwater clings to my tongue, like the layer I''m touching is leaking a bit.

    I push harder, puncturing the wall of the next layer, hooking down once more so the layers touch. Delve magic drips through, bound tightly to my will and widening the puncture I''d made. From there, I just push the edges bit by bit, pausing whenever the magic tries to slip away, until I finally have a portal I think I can fit through.

    ¡°Fascinating,¡± Helena murmurs.

    I open my eyes, sighing with relief as I survey my work. An oval portal, glowing gold at the fringes. Through it, a view of the back of the chapel on the first layer.

    ¡°It is,¡± I agree. I shake my hand, wincing at the tingling feeling. Absently, I run a finger along my neck, checking to see if the scales have started creeping up to my face.

    Fortunately, they haven''t. My arms are completely covered, and a look down confirms they''ve spread and connected to the scales near my collarbone. As much as I like my scales, I like having normal skin, too.

    ¡°You have a fall protection spell, right?¡± I confirm, stepping through the portal. ¡°It''ll be faster to jump down.¡±

    Words catch in her throat as she hurries to follow me. ¡°Um, maybe? I don''t know if I have enough left to cast¡ª¡±

    Of course not. Probably because her magic is busy patching up her body after being exposed to a Delve Heart. I hope she doesn¡¯t get anything out it that she isn¡¯t ready for.

    Putting that aside for a minute, I stride up to the side of the cliff and peer over. No birds, no rats, the vines don''t seem to be doing anything still. Beyond them, rippling white foam draws an ever-shifting line between sand and sea, each and every detail clear to my Delve Heart-enhanced eyes. We''re clear to go down, it seems.

    I draw in the salty air of the first layer through my nose, exhale through my mouth, and lose myself in the distant rhythm of the waves. The gamble with the Delve Heart had stopped us from getting into even deeper trouble. I hold that thought, and let my anger go. My tail shudders, tensing and untensing.

    ¡°Come over here. I''ll carry you.¡± I gesture in front of me. ¡°Unless you''re scared I''ll drop you?¡±

    Helena gives me a long, searching look, and holds it as she walks up to me. ¡°Thank you, Ivy. And no, I know you wouldn¡¯t drop me.¡±

    She''s right, obviously. I wouldn''t. I''m upset, tired, and frustrated, nothing more. Stuffing the Delve Heart in my pocket, I carefully scoop her up, wincing as my arm starts to sting again. ¡°Good. Now, don''t move, got it?¡±

    Helena nods, shuffling in my grip. Her cheeks are flush as she looks up at me, chewing her lip. ¡°Of course. Um, sorry. This just feels, ah, weird.¡±

    I just shrug, and with a few bounds, we''re leaping over the side of the cliff. I think Helena screams a little, but it''s hard to hear over the wind.

    Soaring past the white plaster buildings, I use gentle curls of Wind to prevent us from overshooting the beach.

    Then, as gravity starts to drag us down, I call up a stronger pulse of Wind. I snatch the swirling air as it roars past, channeling it into my legs. My knees bend, and as the ground rushes to meet us, I mold that Wind into a broad, cushioning shape similar to a filled waterskin. It''s a somewhat taxing trick, made worse by the press of sludgy Delve magic in my body, but it''s the safest way to take a long fall that I know.

    We land with a <i>whump</i>, blasting a half-march deep divot in the sand. The Wind structure scatters into soft green light, hanging strange stars in the suspended sand.

    Then it all drops down, and Helena wiggles herself out of my arms. If she had been screaming earlier, she had thankfully stopped before we landed. Dropping to the uneven ground with a wobble, she shakes her head and pats herself down.

    ¡°Oh, wow,¡± she says. Must be her favorite word. ¡°I''d love to see that... oh, sorry. Nevermind.¡±

    I just shrug. ¡°I''m sure it''s in a book somewhere. Ask your Church where they took the remainder Crawford collection.¡±

    Helena winces. ¡°Oh.¡±

    Something twinges in my chest. ¡°I... Winston might have a few, too. I¡¯ll make suggestions.¡±

    Stolen story; please report.

    She nods, firmly looking away from me. ¡°Okay. Thank you.¡±

    Walking up the side of the hole I''d made, I scan around for the portal¡ª it''s hard to sense where Delve up is when I''m near the surface. And hey, there it is. Foggy golden portal, just a quick walk away.

    Once I''ve confirmed Helena is out of the hole, I jog over to the portal. With Helena still catching up, I run my hand along the fringe, feeling the pressure of the World beyond. No changes. No tears, no evidence of Delve creatures trying to push through.

    Then what, I wonder, tried to push through while I was sealing it? Another wolf? No... hm. Something big. Maybe it even bubbled up from somewhere even deeper, somewhere I''d have to dig to with a Delve Heart.

    If it wasn''t in the middle of the city, I''d have half a mind to plumb the depths of this Delve, see what secrets it holds. With Adamantine as my witness, I''d do it for <i>free</i>. Not that I''d tell Winston that¡ª nor do I really want to stay in Craumont.

    I push those thoughts aside, turning back to watch Helena. She''s definitely tiring out by now, rubbing her eyes and stretching as she walks. ¡°After you,¡± I jerk my chin towards the portal, crossing my arms.

    Helena opens her mouth, works her jaw, and then closes it. Lips pursed, she nods. ¡°Okay. Is this... ah, no.¡±

    Well, nothing really to pick apart there, and I don''t really see a point in trying to be even meaner. I just shrug. ¡°It''s safe, if that''s the concern.¡±

    ¡°No, no. I, ah, it was a question. I changed my mind,¡± Helena explains quietly. ¡°Thank you for today, Ivy.¡±

    She steps through, and I follow her.

    Exiting a Delve is like rising out of a lake. Pressure forces me up and out through the golden mist, each step easier than the last. Breaching the surface into the World comes with a breath of relief, with magic I''d hardly noticed the absence of flooding my body. It eases the aching of my bones, soothing the burden of sludgy Delve magic.

    I inhale again, exhale, and step back into the World fully. My boots clack on the flagstones, and before I''ve even taken in my surroundings, the Delve Heart is back in my injured hand.

    Time to seal this up. Moving to the side to let Helena past, I spin around, taking special care not to slap anyone or anything with my lengthened tail. My good hand presses against the seams of the portal, claws hooking into the golden mist. Delve magic flows though me, a sludgy river from Heart to hand, and the glow of the Heart begins to fade.

    ¡°There¡¯s the woman of the hour! I can''t believe you went through with it, Eiches. And with Dame Crawford, of all people?¡± A cheerful voice cuts through my thoughts. ¡°Didn''t Jordan tell you about her? I mean, you got in the Delve like you wanted, Priest Dongbaek is going to be furious, but the <i>Dame</i>? You''re mad.¡±

    ¡°C-Conrad!¡± Helena says, her voice at once cheerful and reprimanding. ¡°Yes, thank you. But she wasn''t like everyone said. I''m fine.¡±

    ¡°Really? You know what she¡ª¡±

    ¡°Conrad.¡± Winston''s voice rises over everything, commanding silence. ¡°I let you stay here to <i>greet </i>our Mage and Delver. Not disturb the Delver while she works, or insult her. Give Ivy time to seal up the portal, at least. Am I clear?¡±

    The man, Conrad presumably, sighs. ¡°I- yes, Lord Craumont.¡±

    Running my hand up the side of the portal, I draw Delve Magic into thread and start tying a basic knot. Stitching a portal closed isn''t the most up-to-date and efficient method, but it''s the one I''m most practiced with. There''s people talking behind me, and I can hear Helena bickering with Conrad in the background.

    ¡°You''re injured,¡± Winston''s voice says, much closer now. He''s walked up to my wounded arm, and I wince when he puts a hand on it. ¡°Gods, what did that?¡±

    ¡°Bear monster. Big one,¡± I grunt. The knot of magic is tied, excellent. I draw the string down in a cross, as if I was suturing a wound. Each tug pulls the portal''s edges closer together, and the Heart starts to crack and crumble in my hand. ¡°Helena almost got us both killed, by the way. More accurately, I let her lead me into it.¡±

    ¡°Ah.¡± Winston says flatly, his voice laced with disappointment. ¡°My condolences. I had high hopes for her. I still do, but perhaps I got ahead of myself.¡±

    ¡°You and me both,¡± I sigh. ¡°But that''s the Restoration Church for you.¡±

    ¡°They''re not bad people, Ivy. I¡¯ve seen the work they do,¡± Winston replies, and I''m hit with a pang of nostalgia. He''d said this a thousand times to me over the years between my parents'' deaths and my departure. ¡°I doubt it was intentional on her part.¡±

    ¡°I know.¡± I echo my younger self, hopefully a lot less shrill this time around. Then, breaking with tradition, I add a little more. ¡°Doesn''t that make it worse?¡±

    Winston hums. ¡°Perhaps some wine and a good meal would make up for it?¡±

    I can''t help but snort, tapping my tail against the side of his boot. Banter is a welcome relief from the tension I''d just experienced. ¡°Maybe. I know you''re going to subject me to more local politics, but as long as I get to wear a suit instead of a dress, I''m game. Now, this next part is a little tricky. Give me a moment?¡±

    ¡°Of course, to both. I¡¯ll send a carriage to pick you up this evening.¡± Winston steps back, and I start the process of gently tugging the¡ª somewhat metaphorical¡ª slack out of the thread. Any deviation into the portal would get snipped away when it shut, sliced by the impossibly thin edges of a portal. And yes, people have lost limbs and lives to that, so ensuring proper closure is essential. I crouch down to get a closer look at what I¡¯m doing, grimacing as my sore muscles complain.

    The bickering in the background rises, and I hear Helena''s voice getting a bit shrill. She''s cut off, though.

    ¡°But, seriously, why did you invite her back, my Lord?¡± Conrad''s words hang in the air. ¡°You know what she''s like. She could''ve hurt Eiches!¡±

    Adamantine, grant me strength and resilience both. Strength, so I might resist the urge to shout at this man. Resilience, so I can talk to him after this without losing it. It''s only a small boon.

    I don''t pay attention to Winston''s response, though I can tell from his tone that he''s unimpressed by it all. Helena complains about being called Eiches, barely audible even to my Delve Heart-enhanced senses.

    Whatever the case, the threads are taut, and the stitch is ready to be pulled tight. The Delve Heart is nearly spent, with only a faint light glowing within the tarnished crystal. And, thankfully, the unpleasant weight of its magic is waning too.

    Some people carry these on their person and use them constantly, at least until they crumble away under the pressure of the World. I''m not sure if I''m impressed with those people or alarmed by them; as much as the rush of power is satisfying, I¡¯d rather achieve it without feeling awful.

    So I stand, groaning as my back creaks and my knees complain. I yank my stitching-hand straight up, pouring all my remaining Delve magic through it and into the thread. The scales on my arm practically melt away, and I can see my claws rapidly shifting back to normal fingernails.

    The golden portal shuts with a whisper of air and the shuddering of the World, a pulse as the depth of it returns to normal. No more joining of this world to whatever madness the Delves bled from. More importantly for Craumont, no more risk of monsters or adventurous types seeking to be the next ten grand march Delver, or looking for a shortcut to being a Mage.

    Maybe a bit hypocritical, given that''s how I got started...

    ¡°That should hold,¡± I gesture at the now-empty space, my voice echoing in the chapel. I do one last check at the stitching, shaking my increasingly sore wounded arm to stave off tingling feelings. ¡°I¡¯d keep a guard or two around to make sure nobody tries to cut their way in, at least until it starts healing over naturally. Three or four days, maybe?¡±

    I turn, glancing past Helena and briefly fixing on the blond man next to her. He''s a bit shorter than me, which I take a little bit of joy in, and he shivers when his eyes lock with mine. No doubt my pupils are still slit, and my irises could even be that nice glowing shade of orange. I add a drip of magic to my eyes, sharpening my sight further.

    ¡°You,¡± I say to him, gradually approaching. ¡°You¡¯re a brave one, insulting me to my face. Or an idiot.¡±

    ¡°I¡ª¡±

    ¡°Quiet,¡± I growl, baring my teeth. He practically turns to jelly under my gaze. I can see his knees shaking, I can <i>hear</i> his heart beating. ¡°You could¡¯ve distracted me from my work. That could¡¯ve gotten <i>Helena</i> killed. And your lord, and you, and if you were lucky, <i>me</i>, if something came through. Understand?¡±

    I look away, jerking my chin at Winston and softening my snarl to a smile. I don¡¯t exactly care to see the other man¡¯s reaction, so I turn away from him entirely. ¡°See you at the dinner tonight.¡±

    He smiles in return, and I make to stride out the chapel in complete, perfect silence. The splintered wooden seats have been pushed to the sides, even, so I''m free to sweep my tail across the flagstones. It''s nice.

    ¡°Wait! Um.¡± Helena''s voice stops me short of the exit, and I turn my head to look at her with one eye.

    I don''t say a word, though. All I see right now is someone who I can''t trust, and it''s exhausting to think about.

    ¡°For what it''s worth, Ivy, I''m sorry.¡±

    Her words hang in the air. Her eyes can''t meet mine, cast at the floor as they are. Her hands are clenched, bunching up her pants and fidgeting constantly.

    I think about what she''s said. I really do.

    ¡°I am too.¡±

    I walk out of the chapel, and my guilt shadows my steps.

 Chapter 12

    I¡¯ll take the long way back to the Manor.

    I wander those back alleys, eyes scraping on the stark shadows left by the afternoon light. I breathe in the calm air of those tiny parks that dot the city.

    Gods, I get myself a bit lost, as lost as I can get in a city that was once home.

    It gives me time to turn over the thousand whys in my head, spinning them like an inscrutable puzzle. I''d risked my life following along with an ambitious, inexperienced Mage, but why? Did she remind me of myself, trying to escape the insanity of nobility?

    Maybe it¡¯s the hope in her eyes. I, heh, hope she keeps that.

    And then I¡¯m back on the pair of main streets, drinking in the sights and sounds. Brightly painted buildings gleam in the afternoon sun, their reflections rippling in the canal that splits the city in half. People bicker and chatter and barter. There¡¯s a few Magebloods here and there, with feathers or horns or furred ears¡ª some, I even see doing little spells with Wind. Sending toys into the air, balancing unwieldy towers of produce, and one man bravely using a sustained application to hold a ladder in place while he touches up the paint on a building.

    My tail twitches, heart twinging with nostalgia. Weaving through the crowds is easy when they part around me, but I still end up slapping away a particularly brave pickpocket with my tail. Do they recognize me, I wonder, or do they just see a Drake Mageblood? It''s not like I blend in, here, nor will I try.

    More importantly, there¡¯s a woman with a cart selling delicious-smelling, steaming-hot baked potatoes. It''s a local tradition that brings a smile to my face; bigger cities tend to do things with pastry or wheat bread. It''s a sweeter treat, and nowhere near as filling.

    Anyways, it''s a good baked potato. Lots of local herbs and butter, crispy and well-seasoned skin.

    I tell her as much, tossing a few more coppers on the cart¡¯s counter. ¡°I think I missed these,¡± I admit, half of my focus on keeping my tail still. ¡°Delicious as always.¡±

    The woman¡¯s tanned skin flushes red at the cheeks, and she inclines her head. ¡°I¡ª I am glad you think so, m-my lady. Dame. Thank you for y-your patronage!¡±

    Taking a huge bite out of the potato, I shrug. ¡°S¡¯ a good potato,¡± I say around a mouthful of the stuff, pausing to swallow and let out a puff of steam. ¡°I¡¯m sure a bunch of people think that.¡±

    She just stares at the bitten potato, the machinery of thought almost audibly whirring in her head.

    Oh, right. ¡°Mageblood,¡± I pull my tail up, gesturing to it with my potato. ¡°Resistant to heat.¡±

    With that explained, I¡¯m on my way again, wandering back towards the Manor. Good food puts me in a good mood, rhyme unintended, and it helps push away the knot of frustration today¡¯s events had tied in my gut. I¡¯ll need that good mood for the fancy dinner tonight, no doubt, because snapping at whatever friends Winston invites wouldn¡¯t look good at all.

    I''ll be pleased if I can make it the whole way through without losing my temper, really. Noble politics are a pain, and I prefer the bluntness of fellow Delvers.

    ¡°Oh, come on, Ivy,¡± I say to myself, stepping around a few oblivious gossipers, ¡°It won¡¯t be that bad. You might even enjoy it!¡±

    I take a deep breath and smile, properly. Just a hint of teeth, none of that ferocity. Yeah. I get to see Winston. I heard he married that man he was courting years ago, much to the irritation of neighboring provinces. What was his name? Henrik? Harriet? Harold?

    No kids, either. I like taking care of kids at times, but... wait. Gods damn it. That means I''m still second in line for Craumont, and I ought to care about politics until those two adopt or whatever.

    Damn. There goes my smile. Adamantine, protect me from the injustice that is noble scheming, and carry me swiftly from this city once my job is done.

    <hr>

    ¡°Welcome back, Madam Ivy,¡± Benny bows, a faint smile quirking their lips. ¡°The Manor informed me of your arrival. I trust everything went well with the... ah.¡±

    The doors to the Manor swing closed behind me and locks, sealing me in with Benny¡¯s disappointment. They¡¯re glaring directly at the reddish lines across my right arm, lips pulled into a thin line.

    ¡°I sealed the Delve, at least?¡± I say weakly, walking past Benny and towards the cozy chairs of the sitting area. There¡¯s even a pot of tea sitting out on the table.

    ¡°Without the padded leathers, equipment, and enchanted knife you had delivered ahead of your arrival in the city,¡± Benny replies drily, following right after me. ¡°Madam, you must keep your own health in consideration.¡±

    I look down at the comfortable chair longingly, then reach out to the enchantments in the Manor, prodding them with a request to open the gate if a carriage comes through. I¡¯ll need to wash up, make sure my formal wear is ready, brush up on my local politics, write out a report to send to the Delvers¡¯ Guild...

    A bubble of tension expands in my chest, and my tail lashes from side to side, slapping the legs of the chair. I take some deep, shuddering breaths, but the tension is still there. Do I want to punch something? Scream? Roar? Go for a long run? I can¡¯t tell, and it all comes out in a low, coarse noise halfway between a growl and a sigh.

    If I slump into that chair, I¡¯ll be stuck there until Winston¡¯s carriage arrives. The poetry of it doesn''t escape me: Ivy Crawford will arrive a complete mess, the same way Amelia Crawford had left Craumont.

    ¡°Can we talk about it after I¡¯ve washed up, Benny? I...¡± I gesture towards my chest, jaw clenching and unclenching. My tail goes slack, dropping onto the carpet. ¡°Not right now.¡±

    Benny holds my gaze, their gray eyes boring into my own. ¡°Of course, madam. Are we expecting any guests?¡±

    ¡°No.¡± I look past them, watching as a dustpan and broom dutifully sweep up the dirt I¡¯d tracked on the floor. A tea saucer is pressed into my hands, and I take a sip of something pleasantly warm and soothing. Just barely sweetened, better even than the tea from this morning. ¡°We¡¯ll talk after I bathe, yes. Because, with the Gods as my witness, I need to get these words out.¡±

    Benny bows. ¡°As always, leave your clothes on the hanger. I will see to it that they are cleaned, and sent to a tailor if my own skill proves insufficient.¡±

    Having a butler is fantastic. And a magic house, of course. I pour a bit of raw magic into the enchantments, and receive a burst of warmth in return.

    ¡°Thanks. Good tea, too,¡± I raise the teacup towards him, then turn to leave. ¡°I¡¯ll drink it on my way over to the bath.¡±

    Maybe I can multitask, too. Parchment won¡¯t survive the steam, no, but I can mull over my report and my thousand mistakes from the comfort of a massive pool of hot water. I need to write up a remedial training plan too, for dealing with opponents that have thorns or other protections that might injure bare fists. There''s probably a few efficient cutting spells in the library somewhere¡ª all of them worse than a knife, but what if I didn''t have a knife, like today? Now that I know the risks, I¡¯d better do something to mitigate them.

    If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

    ¡°And... Madam?¡± Benny calls after me, ¡°I¡¯m terribly sorry that your time in Craumont has already been soured.¡±

    A strangled laugh rips its way out of me, and my tail sweeps along the carpet. ¡°You know what? Let¡¯s get it over with. Walk with me, Benny?¡±

    ¡°Ah, of course.¡±

    Benny follows a pace behind me, and the broom is a pace behind that. We¡¯re all moving slowly, since the baths aren¡¯t too far away... even if I¡¯m tempted to run and leave these feelings behind.

    I clear my throat. My tail comes up, and I inspect it for bits of lint and dirt. Then I check my nails, visible scales, and finally I hand my tea off to Benny so I can pull my blouse off. As it turns out, the lingering enchantments made the fabric a little less stretchy. It was bad enough that I have to sort of wiggle out of my shirt, wincing as it compresses my breasts.

    Well, Helena''s enchantments are lasting far longer than she predicted. I''ll give her that, I suppose.

    No more procrastinating, Ivy. Come on.

    ¡°I¡ª Helena and I went into the Delve together. She¡¯s an unapprenticed Mage. Winston wants her trained up enough that he doesn¡¯t need to hire any more Mages or Delvers. They¡¯re charging a premium for their work if they have to come out here.¡± The words pour out of me like water from a pierced waterskin, and only Benny handing back the tea is enough to stop me.

    I take a calming breath, an equally calming sip of tea, and then chuckle. ¡°But you probably knew some of that.¡±

    ¡°Correct, Madam. I assumed it wouldn¡¯t be a concern, but it clearly was.¡± Benny clicks their tongue.

    ¡°She...¡±

    She was too ambitious. She asked good questions but didn¡¯t follow my orders without question, putting us at risk. More than at risk, at the bottom of the Delve. She broke my trust, because I¡¯d been too hasty in giving it to her. Why had I done any of that? What came over me?

    ¡°I was a fool. I went in without enough preparation, and Helena didn¡¯t know what she was doing. She nearly died.¡± I sigh, the tension easing from my frame. There¡¯s still frustration bound up inside me, but the knot has loosened. ¡°I should¡¯ve reined her in or called it off.¡±

    We come to a stop at the door to the baths. They¡¯ve got a hundred questions about Helena, no doubt, when I just want to push the whole thing out of mind.

    ¡°Will you learn from it, madam?¡±

    Their words catch me off guard. I blink, then nod. ¡°Of course. Delvers don¡¯t live long if they don¡¯t learn.¡±

    ¡°Good. Then you are not a fool.¡± Benny puts a hand on my bare shoulder, squeezes¡ª well, tries to squeeze, it¡¯s mostly just hard muscle right there¡ª then steps away, taking some of my stress with them. ¡°Please, enjoy your bath.¡±

    ¡°Oh, I will. If there¡¯s anything I actually missed about this place, it¡¯s the bathhouse.¡± I put on a grin. ¡°And you, of course.¡±

    Benny arches an eyebrow, making a shooing motion with their free hand. Chuckling, I head inside, already slipping out of my remaining clothing. A wash of steam flows over me, and I send a silent thanks to the Manor¡¯s enchantments for warming it up. It must¡¯ve started when I entered the grounds.

    Then, I slide into the water, and¡ª

    Ivy becomes a pile of mush.

    There is no me, only steam and soothed muscles, floating across the surface of the Manor¡¯s absolutely ridiculously sized ¡®bath¡¯. My tail is actually able to rest, no longer needing to support its own weight, and I¡¯m starting to uncramp around the tailbone in places I didn¡¯t think actually had muscles. My scales are clean, my hair is utterly soaked, and the water is doing its best to draw out a rough day¡¯s cramps and sores.

    As I said. Nothing but mush. Maybe a sack of potatoes, but that doesn¡¯t convey the dampness.

    No worries.

    No formalized reports yet.

    I let out a huff of Wind through my mouth, watching my breeze cut its way through the steam, and then do it a few more times. Good practice, at least; breathing Wind isn¡¯t something I bother with that often.

    Might as well practice now, while I¡¯m entirely incapable of moving. Too warm.

    Efficiency is key, and the crux of efficiency is practice, after all. The less energy I use, the more I can spend on important things.

    Wind leaks through my teeth, skittering across the surface of the water in ripples. A thought draws it back in, steam and all; a flimsy structure of Wind cleans the air before I inhale a too-big mouthful of water and choke. I know there¡¯s a way to pull what my body needs from water, but the theory of it escapes me.

    Lightning breath is tempting, as always.

    But I¡¯m in a bath, completely soaked, and the air may as well be water with how humid it is. So, no Lightning breath, no Lightning hands, no Lightning anything. Maybe I should practice in the hallway, see how many bits of lint I could pick off the ground. Or, no. The cleaning enchantments have gone a bit weird, but they¡¯re definitely doing their job. The only rooms with lint would be ones I sealed off, or those I¡¯d never figured out how to unlock in the first place after Mother and Father passed away.

    I shake my head, trying to banish that path of thought before it gets too dark. Maybe I can focus on the report, instead? That''ll be much easier. I''ve written tons of those.

    They''re going to ask why I didn''t bring my equipment. I''m done beating myself up for that mistake, so that shouldn''t be too unpleasant a response. What if I just include my thoughts in the report? That''ll work, I think. Should lessen the reprimand.

    ...oh, right, the dinner. I''ll have to get dressed properly, and actually write the report on parchment rather than just thinking about it.

    A growl and a groan mix in my throat, escaping as an incoherent, embarrassingly high-pitched mess of sound. ¡°I¡¯ve done enough today,¡± I tell the vent on the ceiling, ¡°Why did I agree to Winston¡¯s dinner?¡±

    Because I like my cousin, I suppose. He¡¯s got a scheme cooking up, if he¡¯s inviting me, and it¡¯s probably part of why hired me to begin with. Unless, of course, his scheme was training up a Mage, but... no.

    I groan again. Fine. Best get out of here before I think better of it, then. I drag myself out of the bath, grabbing a towel and dripping a bit of magic into the enchantments. I¡¯m done, thank you.

    The enchantments hum in response, as they often do. The air shivers, and with a whump, the steam vanishes into the vent.

    Enchanted buildings are the best.

    <hr>

    Six sheets of parchment and four different suits later, I lean out of the carriage and into the gloom of dusk. The Craumont Manor rises up ahead of me, bright and welcoming even as the Sun casts it in stark shadows. Warm light spills from every window, and even from here I can hear the murmur of conversation that wafts out through the open front door.

    If only the trip had been as pleasant. Gods, even my tail is sore. Long day, long carriage ride to spend sitting on the floor in dining finery. Most chairs aren''t made for people with tails, and I doubt there¡¯s a single carriage in Craumont built to accommodate us. There¡¯s not enough of us in a small city for a carpenter to bother, usually. I¡¯m going to need something sweet after that, and I¡¯ll need it as soon as possible.

    Rubbing my neck, I bring my eyes back down to the ground¡ª to the slight, well-dressed man, running a hand through short brown hair and nodding to himself. He takes a deep breath.

    ¡°Good evening, my lady.¡± The man says, bowing at the waist. Ah, a servant. When he comes back up, he extends a hand to help me down the stairs. ¡°Lord Craumont extends a warm welcome. I am here to show you up to the Manor, if it pleases you.¡±

    I squint at his face, ignoring his hand. ¡°You''re new, aren''t you?¡±

    ¡°Ah¡ª¡±

    ¡°Well, if you count anything in the last five years as new.¡± I add with a shrug, adjusting the cuffs on my white blouse. I step down the stairs, buttoning up my dark green waistcoat and smoothing it down. I''d rather not look rumpled for this dinner party, after all. ¡°Well, I¡¯ll just go grab one myself, since you don¡¯t know.¡±

    Turning, I walk towards the stables, and the servant hurries after me. He clears his throat audibly. ¡°Ah, Dame Crawford! My Lord eagerly awaits your arrival.¡±

    I bring my tail up for inspection, checking for any smudges or bits of carriage-rug stuck in the scales. ¡°Yes, I know, but I¡¯m guessing he sent you because he¡¯s busy with guests. How many people does he have tonight?¡±

    ¡°Ah, my Lord is entertaining some twenty guests tonight¡ª that cabinet has supplies for the horses, my lady, please¡ª¡± Oh, he¡¯s very new. Or, more realistically, he¡¯s not used to nobility rifling around in storage cabinets, and I¡¯ve been gone long enough that the servants here have forgotten.

    My chest aches a little at the thought, but I push the feeling away. I¡¯ve got a goal here, and it¡¯s not in the bindings box, no, there¡¯s the saddle repair...

    ¡°Aha!¡± There it is! I pull down a brown box from a high shelf, flip it open, and take out two round, white-gold tree-sap candies. ¡°He¡¯s got too much of a sweet tooth to stop. Don¡¯t mind if I do.¡±

    I pop one in my mouth, savoring the earthy sweetness as it melts away on my tongue. Gods, now this is something I¡¯ve missed. I take a few more, pocket all but one, and put the box away.

    ¡°Alright, then. Lead on.¡± I give him a nod, sticking a hand out with the one candy on my palm. ¡°Want one?¡±

    After a brief pause, the man blinks, takes a breath, and nods. ¡°T-that won¡¯t be necessary, Dame Crawford. Right this way, my lady.¡±

    I follow along, sliding the candy in my hand into my pocket with the rest. Winston¡¯s going to want a few, after all, to deal with all the... guests. How many had the servant said there were?

    Twenty, right. I bite back a groan, and put another candy in my mouth. It doesn¡¯t make me feel better, but it does taste good.