The Wandering Inn - Book 9: Chapter 53

Here was the question, as Wall Lord Ilvriss dodged a chamberpot. They were raining down from Invrisil’s houses, and people were taking pot-shots from the balconies.

“Go back to the south, Drakes!”

“Eat shit, Wall Lord!”

Their aim wasn’t the best in most cases, but there was always someone with a throwing Skill. Ilvriss was an ordinary dodger. He was a warrior and could strafe left and right, even leap left and duck with amazing quickness.

But he had no art. Nerul had art.

For such a huge Drake, he had a Saliss-quality dodge that came from having been hit with projectiles when representing Salazsar’s interests. He fielded a chamberpot from the left, pirouetted out of the way of a splashing pot of liquid in a twirl—

Osthia got splashed, and her shield did nothing. The Drakes were in full retreat, and the Rubirel Guard had just met with the real salt of the earth of Izril. And the nightsoil, and the yellow water…

Sentiment was against them, and it was all Erin Solstice’s fault. However, even the angry citizens who’d come to harass Ilvriss had to admire how well Nerul dodged.

“How are you doing that, Nerul?”

Ilvriss shouted as he retreated and nearly got a mouthful of something unforgettable.

“[Improved Evasion: Projectiles]. You think dodging arrows is nasty, Nephew? Arrows just make you bleed. I dodge sepsis.”

Ilvriss didn’t reply. He just ran for it. Behind him, the jeers grew louder.

“Drakes don’t run! Get back here!”

“No Drakes in the north!”

“No one wants your kind here! Get lost! Oh, hello, Miss Wyldbark. How are you doing?”

There was something slightly ironic about watching a bunch of Drakes running for the hills while waving at your half-Elf friends. Then again, some of the half-Elves were throwing shit too.

The north was making a stand. Against Salazsarian influence, against the Drakes coming into the north, and again, it was all Erin’s fault. She had posted the <Quest>, but she had also posed a question, whether she knew it or not.

It was more than just whether or not you liked Drakes. It was the question of this era, and it was the refrain behind every whistling stone hurled at Ilvriss and the sounds of the day.

 

——

 

The question was implicit, but Mihaela asked it directly to a screaming City Runner she was holding over the edge of The Adventurer’s Haven.

They were nearly at the edge of the known continent, in Manus’ domain, having headed southwest from Pallass. There had been a number of issues, but Larracel and her high-level guests had dealt with mostly diplomatic issues.

Soon, though, the Guildmistress of First Landing would have to stop here. She was no adventurer, and while Couriers would be needed in the new world, there were no places to run to, yet.

Runners were messengers, not explorers. So—the Haven would continue on, and Mihaela would say goodbye to Larracel once again, until the time came for them to meet again.

She wasn’t unhappy about it. In fact, Mihaela was so calm and adult about the situation that she had hold of a City Runner’s ankle and was dangling her about thirty feet off the ground. If she dropped the young woman, the snow would probably cushion her head.

Probably.

Mihaela wasn’t that strong, but the girl wasn’t that heavy. She was thin, and frankly, Mihaela wondered how she’d been a candidate for a Courier at all.

“No fighting abilities. [Double Step] is your only Skill. I’ve seen your record, Persua Mavva. You’re a coward, and your runs have your friends hanging about. And you also have a record of harassing other Runners.”

“Don’t drop me! Don’t drop me!”

She was, at least, fairly sharp. Most people might say ‘let go’, and Mihaela would do just that. Mihaela just shook Persua, and the screaming grew louder.

The guests and staff of the Haven watched, not having much else to do today. And amazingly, within a mere hour of Persua’s arrival, no one said to Mihaela that she was going too far. Persua’s personality had rubbed off on people like a yeast infection.

Mihaela had, accordingly, run Persua through a grinder. She had kicked Persua off the Haven eight times in her training test, and the City Runner’s eyes were flashing with wild fury.

She was more dangerous than she let on. Most City Runners would give up after being kicked around by Mihaela, but the Guildmistress understood Persua. A rabid weasel that’d come at your ankles and bite to the bone even if you ripped off a limb.

“Ryoka Griffin. What happened to her?”

“I didn’t do—”

Mihaela dropped Persua. The screaming City Runner flashed towards the ground, and Mihaela caught Persua’s leg with effort on a lower floor. She had run downstairs, intercepted Persua, and caught her within a split-second.

“What was that?”

“I—I’ve changed!”

“Sure you have. Because if you didn’t, I would throw you into a pit of Crelers. Got it? I have your file here…”

Mihaela had the paperwork spread out on one knee, and she wrote one-handed on it in huge words as Persua tried to get free. She could sit up and actually curl up into a ball, but Mihaela’s grip and arm were a steel bar she couldn’t pry free.

“Persua Mavva. Noted for serious misconduct by Mihaela, Guildmistress. Further infractions will result in permanent revocation of her City Runner status and exile from the Runner’s Guild for…two thousand years.”

“You can’t do that! I’ve been a good Runner for—”

Mihaela just shook Persua until the City Runner fell silent. Then she looked down. Persua was red-faced, bruised from the test, and yet…she still looked distraught at the idea of not being a Runner any longer.

“I don’t like you. Fair’s fair, I don’t like Ryoka. But I don’t like corruption in my Guild. Normally, I let the local Guilds deal with it, but you got away with it. Until you met me. If you break my rules again, I will find out. I am watching you. Congratulations. Your life is ruined. No one will run with you again and make life easier. I am writing that down, by the way. No one is allowed to deliver for Persua Mavva or credit her with a run.”

Persua was actually crying with fury. This was so unfair! It was an amazing talent. But she was white-faced now, listening. And Mihaela looked down on her and sighed.

“I must be getting old. Do you know why?”

“W-why?”

She had actually curled up to grab Mihaela’s arm. She was flexible, like a [Tumbler]. She clung like a barnacle to the Guildmistress’ arm, and Mihaela was getting tired. But she kept her arm raised, bracing on the balcony.

“Because I’m going to give you a second chance. Because I believe everyone deserves a chance to be a Runner. It makes worthless people into useful ones. You’ve had your second chance, and third and fourth, I bet. But because I’m soft with age, I’ll give you one more chance. In fact, you might even make Courier within the year. You’d like that, wouldn’t you? I can’t waste someone with a promising Skill, after all.”

Persua’s eyes widened with sudden hope. Maybe this trip had been worth it after all! If even Mihaela Godfrey saw her potential…

She mistook Mihaela’s smile for one of a grandmotherly figure who saw the good in people. If it was a grandmother’s smile, it was the one who pushed chicklings out of the nest to see if they could fly.

“W-what do I—I’ll do anything to prove myself, Guildmistress Godfrey. I’ve turned over a new leaf. I can change. I will change.”

Strange. Mihaela almost believed that Persua wanted to change. She seemed—desperate. Like a City Runner seeking something. Glory. They were all like that, but it was almost like Persua had a vision in mind. As if someone had shown her who she could be.

Mihaela’s grandmotherly smile widened. And she wrote on the file she was going to copy to every Runner’s Guild across Izril.

“This is going to be my note in your record, Persua. And every Guild is going to take this to heart. One. You are banned from working in the north unless you get a delivery that’s taken you there. You have too many friends in the north. No friends, no ‘help’.”

“H-huh? I have to run with Drakes?”

“You’d better get that tone out of your mouth. And I have faith you’ll make a name for yourself in the south. Courier within the year.”

“Really? You see it too?”

Persua panted, clinging to Mihaela’s arm with hope in her eyes. The Guildmistress nodded. She wrote with a flourish.

“That’s your ambition, right?”

“Yes! I can be a Courier! An amazing one!”

“Excellent! In that case, you are also prohibited from taking any delivery below Courier-rank. I’ll let you take bounties that are open to City Runners, but Courier-grade. That’s generally emergency runs to people in trouble or scouting Creler nests.”

Persua stopped talking. Her mouth opened, but she made a strangled, screaming sound. At this point, even the other Runners listening to Mihaela winced.

That was suicide. And harsh! Even experienced Couriers took easier missions. You could, in theory, make a living on only Courier-difficulty assignments, but—

“I’ll die! You can’t do this!”

“I just did. Copy this to everyone.”

Mihaela passed the sheet off to a [Receptionist] then smiled at Persua.

“You want to be a Courier? Once you make Courier, I’ll rescind the order and even clear your record. But until then, you’ll be a credit to the Runner’s Guild or die.”

“I won’t survive those kinds of runs!”

“Probably not. So level or die. Or quit.”

“You can’t—”

Persua tried to pull herself up, but Mihaela’s stare silenced her. The white-haired Courier spoke in piercing tones as she levered Persua up and stared her in the eye.

“This is my last chance for you, Persua Mavva. By rights, I should put you in chains, but proving some of the things alleged against you is impossible, and the Watch isn’t smart enough to link all the things you’ve done. So this is Runner’s Guild justice. If you want to clear your record, run hard. Run better than you ever have in your life. Now, get out of my sight.”

So saying, she tried to throw Persua into the snow. Hard. But the screaming young woman was clinging to her arm, and Mihaela tried twice, but Persua refused to let go. She was screaming, pleading, crying, and begging. At last, Mihaela used her other arm to lever Persua’s arms from hers. And Mihaela shouted the question outright.

The question of the day.

“Do you want to stay like this forever? Are you fine being worthless, you brat? Do you want to be a Courier or a worthless, scheming rat?”

Persua froze and stared at her. Were you fine with this? With how things were?

That was the real question. Whether it was your level, running, or just how the world was—Mihaela Godfrey saw it. She met Persua’s eyes—then lifted her overhead and threw her into the snow.

The screaming City Runner hit a snowdrift and made a satisfying whumph sound. Then Mihaela turned away for a hot drink. Below, as the Haven rolled away, Persua lay, stars spinning around her head, despairing, faced with impossible missions—and the question remained.

Were you going to change? Were you able to?

 

——

 

Change was hard. Everyone thought they could change, but change was never an open door marked ‘head here for a real, tangible improvement to your life’.

It was uncertain, and normalcy weighted the dice. The status quo hired bodyguards. The nobles of Izril, similarly, opposed Wall Lord Ilvriss’ entry to the north in no uncertain terms.

But they did it with more than words. They did it with public sentiment. Invrisil was already hostile towards Ilvriss. It might be that they could be seen as stupid, the ‘public’ or ‘commonfolk’. But it was hard to form a different opinion when all the information you got was…

Well, biased. For instance, in a tavern in the city of Wales, you could hear a dialogue that sounded something like this:

A friendly [Bard] would sit down at a table where a few people were having a convivial drink on the weekend. And he clearly had an axe to grind, but he also brought a snack bowl over and was given a grudging welcome. His opening question would be with a huge frown.

“Have you heard about that Wall Lord that’s trying to get into the north?”

The other diners would look up, and someone would take the bait.

“What Wall Lord? A Drake?”

“That’s right. From the Walled Cities, no less. One of ‘em is trying to get access to the north. And after what they did in the summer!”

A pause. Then, a working man in a [Journeyman Carpenter]’s outfit would lean over.

“What did they do in the summer?”

“Oh, the fires? The poisoning? Didn’t you hear about it? Their agents were setting those forest fires, poisoning people—tens of thousands of us died, and now they’re trying to come north. Wall Lord Ilvriss. He’s at that inn.”

“Really? And someone let him through?”

The other listeners, who would have only a passing knowledge of the south and could probably name most of the Walled Cities, would listen to the [Bard] repeating a litany of grievances. Everything from the old wars, the annual Bloodfields battles, to actual events like the saboteurs in the summer.

Forming a different opinion than the large consensus would require a working knowledge of Human-Drake relations, and there were very few voices who pointed out reasonable counters like the Meeting of Tribes incident or the fact that Ilvriss was trying to enter as a private individual, not as an army of arrogant Drakes.

To be fair, it was easy to repeat a lot of things Drakes had done, but it was also easy to tar ‘Drakes’ with the same brush. There was little nuance between Salazsar and Manus in most people’s minds. They were Walled Cities. They were Drakes.

 

——

 

There were a lot of good reasons to dislike Drakes. But it did tend to blend together. The part where they sabotaged their enemies and killed people in the north? Good critique. The issues with their relationship with Gnolls? A very real, historical event.

“There should be laws against them entering Invrisil or passing the border. Magnolia Reinhart is a fool—”

Lots of murmurs of agreement in the group furiously arguing about the very issue of Drakes in the north. They were a bunch of patriots to the north. Not to any kingdom, but general patriots.

They had no kingdoms, and so it was different from being a Terandrian that claimed Avel was the best kingdom. It was just the ‘north’ and thus humanity and the Five Families that needed defending.

Another City Runner adjusted his tombstone hat and his leather armor, crimson as snow melted on it, as he listened silently to the others debate. They weren’t his best friends, but Delanay d’Artien needed backup. Hearing their conversation about the Wall Lord issues was illuminating.

“I agree. They should also ban marriages with Drakes and Humans. It’s—well, it’s disgusting. Not just them. Gnolls—furry people? Drowned Folk, definitely Selphids…who else?”

The conversation paused a second, and someone else frowned as they adjusted their position in the saddle.

“Why marriages? I’m fine with a ban on Drakes.”

“Why not marriages? It’s unnatural. Are you going to sleep with a giant lizard? What kind of a Human does that? If they want to, let them go south. We don’t need them.”

“Fair point.”

Delanay rolled his eyes skyward. Then he broke into the conversation.

“What about half-Elves?”

The group paused, and several looked over at Delanay, annoyed.

“Half-Elves are fine.”

“Why? They’re the worst of the lot.”

“Delanay…don’t start with your quibbling. How are half-Elves worse than Drakes? They look mostly like us but for the pointy ears!”

A young [Knight] snapped back. He was from Clairei Fields and was the one who objected to the interspecies marriages. Delanay was riding, not running, in the company of nearly two dozen young men.

They were on a mission, and the village was close to them. A more patient [Lord] was riding ahead, sighing as he looked back at them. Delanay suspected Lord Pellmia was running out of patience fast with him and the group of young men. But his son, Lord Gilam, was right dab in the middle of his compatriots, and they were humoring Delanay, so he tried to be sociable.

However, the Emergency City Runner was somewhat famous in the north for his sharp tongue and sharper temper. And his smile was edged.

“Well, half-Elves always produce half-Elf babies. In that sense, their bloodlines are more corrosive than Drake and Human marriages, which are about fifty-fifty on whether a Human’s born.”

“With scales! Delanay, stop being a prat.”

One of the other young [Warriors], a retainer of House Quellae, snapped at Delanay, but carefully. Delanay was a [Lord] of House d’Artien, and even if they were a noble family, there was such a thing as decorum.

Delanay was unmoved, however. His eyes were pale yellow, and they glinted like watchlights as he touched the brim of his hat, a style from Noelictus and their Hunters.

“All I’m saying is that if you want to talk purity in blood…you’d best watch out for half-Elves. Bad as Goblins and Drowned Folk. Let’s ban marriages on all of ‘em. Isn’t that fair, Sir Royald?”

Royald refused to engage with Delanay’s premise. The Izrilian [Knight] just spat into the snow after lifting his visor.

“Delanay, you’re a loudmouth. Stop advocating on the side of the scalies. If this is all a waste of time, I’ll report to my Order that you’re insane.”

“Lord Pellmia is humoring me.”

“My father humors everyone.”

Gilam snapped back a bit too loudly. Because at that moment, Lord Pellmia rode back with his guard and cuffed Gilam on the shoulder.

“A feature of mine you should take to heart, Gilam. All right, that’s enough complaining. There’s a single Drake walking about Invrisil, and you all pretend the sky is falling. It’s cold, and we are about a task. Need I report to your families you can’t take a hunt seriously?”

Chastised, the young men sat up and rode smartly after Lord Pellmia. Delanay nodded at the [Lord of Love and Wine] and got a fairly reproving nod in return.

“That’s our village, Lord Quellae?”

Pellmia nodded.

“Correct. And before you speak, Delanay, we will do this my way. You may perform your ‘experiment’, but these are my people.”

“Absolutely, Lord Pellmia. And thank you for hearing me out.”

The [Lord] sighed.

“Someone must, if only so you stop shouting about it. What happened to the Byres family was unconscionable. Tragic. I suspect it’s the Circle of Thorns, but we shall give you your attempt again. The last five villages were all ‘clean’.”

His remarks were pointed, but Delanay just ducked his head.

“Lord Quellae, it’s not intrusive as you saw, and so long as you are touring your lands—”

“Yes, yes. Alright. Gilam, would you greet the village? Properly, with gifts and a lack of attitude?”

His scowling son was dismounting as the villagers appeared, wary of the armed group, then cheering when they saw it was Lord Pellmia Quellae.

The [Lord] of these lands had brought gifts, an armed escort, and was touring his settlements. Ostensibly to see how they had held up in the winter, but after Gilam had presented the gifts with a somewhat-adequate attitude, the [Lord] confided in the gathered group he had an ulterior motive.

“As you may be aware, House Byres suffered an extraordinary attack about a month ago. Their keep was burned, and mystery assailants nearly killed Lord Yitton and Lady Shallel. The flowers of Izril have taken this matter very seriously, and as part of House Quellae’s part, I am conducting a simple questioning of people to ascertain if anyone has information on the attack.”

The [Headman] looked confused and worried as the villagers of…Delanay consulted his map…Ranmeid murmured.

“Do you think anyone here would have knowledge of that, Lord Quellae? I assure you, we haven’t even had contact with House Byres traders. Not much call for silverwork here.”

Pellmia smiled at him.

“Of course not, but a simple truth stone test for any information will not take long. Especially given that each noble is doing the same.”

Well…some of them. Delanay knew for a fact that Pellmia was one of the more conscientious ones. And in truth, Pellmia wouldn’t have gone this far afield if it weren’t for Delanay. The [Lord] raised his voice as he glanced at the City Runner.

“We also have a second, minor test. Lord Delanay d’Artien has also requested his methods for sussing out the attackers. It will not take long, but may I call everyone present here? Even those working afield. It should only be three hours, tops, to clear the entire village.”

“Three damn hours.”

Gilam groused loudly, and when the villagers of Ranmeid realized they’d all have to pass the truth stone test and whatever Delanay was up to, they grew a bit unhappy.

Pellmia was a popular [Lord], especially with his new class and television presence, and plenty of people came up to him to ask what it was like and for advice. But others were understandably upset.

“Tests? Are we going to be asked if we’ve ever committed a crime? Can a [Lord] just walk into our village and interrogate us?”

A man in a huge traveller’s cloak wearing gloves and even carrying a black scarf made Delanay look twice. The village of Ranmeid was several hundred strong, but it was mostly a farming community.

Quiet. But this man had decidedly nicer clothing, and while it was cold and anyone could bundle up, he was trying to stay in the crowd.

“Shut up, Litigos.”

The headman was familiar with the rabble rouser, and Lord Gilam took offense to the question.

“We are the nobles who protect your lands. Maybe we should ask if you’ve committed any crimes. Sounds like a guilty conscience.”

He strode over, and Litigos backed up. But Gilam was a classic reverse helper. His attempt to solidify his father’s position put several of the villagers’ backs up. He was presumptuous, rude, and had made it clear that he considered Ranmeid a backwater village.

“Why are we being lined up and questioned? Headman Rossk, you can refuse him.”

The village’s [Hedge Mage] folded her arms as she glanced sharply at the truth stone that one of Lord Pellmia’s men was using to ask two questions of the villagers. Rossk raised his hands, but one of the [Farmers], a man who looked fondly at Pellmia, nudged her.

“Calm down, Eteste. It’s just a truth stone. You can hear them asking about the burning of House Byres. If we don’t know, we don’t know.”

He was lining up to get the job over with, and it took literal seconds to pass someone, whereupon they had a drink from some apple wine that Pellmia had brought. The [Headman] wiped at his brow despite the cold, and he nodded.

“Lord Pellmia isn’t doing anything unusual. Please, let’s—what is that?”

Everyone turned as Delanay produced something, and even Gilam rolled his eyes.

“That one isn’t my idea. Delanay, you idiot—”

“Just let me work, Gilam. Miss, one moment.”

Delanay turned to the first woman who’d passed Pellmia’s truth stone test. He held something out, and she backed away.

“What is that? Is it magic?”

“No, just metal. It’s silver. All I do is hold it to your arm. It’s part of the tests.”

It was a rod of pure silver on a single grip. Delanay had pulled it out of House d’Artien’s storage without his family noticing, and there would be trouble when they got wind of this. Pellmia gave him an exasperated look as the villagers suddenly got twice as wary.

“Wh-why near my skin? It’s cold.”

The woman was reluctant to let Delanay press it to her skin, but he barely looked at her skin before nodding.

“It’s just a test, Miss.”

“For his mysterious enemies. That’s Delanay d’Artien, Miss. One of the flowers of Izril’s most famous conspiracists. He’s been like that all his life and not hurt anyone—well, aside from several young [Ladies] he moved to tears. Remember the gathering of the Five Families ten years back?”

Delanay ignored that, though he flushed. Pellmia told some of the jesting young men to be silent, but he’d been there.

House d’Artien had several notable traditions, including the armor they had carried from Noelictus. They had once been noble Hunters of Noelictus, and their talents had resurfaced during a nasty period—the Reign of Blood—in Izril.

They had never forgotten their enemies, and silver and the crossbow that Delanay carried were hallmarks of their watchfulness. But their foe was dead, and but for House Byres and a few others and their traditions, no one watched for the night anymore.

Even Ylawes Byres treated his family’s old foes like interesting stories to be told around a fire. But a young boy growing up in his family’s halls and hearing their stories had believed.

Once, a young Delanay had embarrassed his entire family at a gathering of the Five Families by demanding, to the heads of the Five Families, that each one pass a test to ensure they weren’t bloodsucking fiends from antiquity.

He had made…other accusations later in life, which had never amounted to his quarry. Sometimes, to minor thefts or a [Lady] hiding a venereal disease—but not corruption of the blood.

There was a reason Delanay was an Emergency Runner, not a [Lord]. This latest incident might get him actually banished, but Pellmia had heard Delanay’s reasons, and because it was House Byres and suspicious…he’d let Delanay come with them to the last five villages.

Now, the complaints were becoming an actual debate as Delanay checked everyone after the guards. He’d have to do this hundreds of times, and despite his best will, he was embarrassed and uncomfortable from both his peers and the villagers’ nervous looks.

He didn’t really want to find out he was right. No, he was just making sure. He was doing this because he believed.

That was how Delanay thought of it. He didn’t want to be right, because if he was right, they were all in danger.

But that, of course, was also a kind of lie. Delanay had grown up in the shadows of House d’Artien’s legacy. If you could have put him under a truth spell, he might have admitted that it would be nice.

Nice…to be needed. Nice for his visions of the glories of the past to become a reality. Nice to be called. His ancestors had lived and died, bemoaning the loss of their finest hours. Forgetting why their own forefathers had rejoiced the day they were no longer needed.

“I will not be tested like some cattle for ringworm.”

Litigos, the stranger in his full-cover garb, Eteste, the [Hedge Mage], and Rossk, the [Headman], were in a full argument in the village square with people taking sides. Lord Pellmia was letting them sort it out, but Litigos was growing agitated, and Delanay was watching him out of the corner of his eyes.

In truth, he’d picked this village along with several others because they were out of the way, and a few old incidents had stood out to him. How would you track down the foe? Well, if this village had a large transient population despite being out of the way—mysterious ‘illnesses’ with cattle or people reporting burglars or other unsavories at night were all clues.

He’d run across Izril searching, but seldom had the chance to conduct this test in the open. He’d tried, but the reaction of the villagers showed why no one was keen to let someone wave a weird silver rod at them.

“I’m leaving. Call me a traitor if you want, but we don’t have to stand for this. This isn’t Terandria.”

The man snapped at last and tried to leave the village with a group of his friends. The [Headman] barred his way.

“Litigos! You’ve got nothing to hide—”

“What’s going on with him? I think he does have something to hide. Father!”

Gilam called out, and he and his friends, younger [Knights], [Retainers], and [Warriors], rode over. Litigos tensed, and Delanay noticed he was armed with a sword…

The villagers backed away as the man put his hand on his sword. Gilam drew his quickly, and Pellmia whirled.

“Gilam!”

“You’re not even a villager, are you? What are you hiding?”

The man didn’t unsheathe his sword, merely backed away as Rossk shouted for calm. He was retreating when Eteste raised a glimmering hand.

“Let Litigos go. He’s done nothing that concerns you, Lord.”

She aimed at one of his guards who was training a bow at Litigos’ feet. The air grew ugly, and Delanay tensed, a gloved hand inching towards his crossbow. He doubted Gilam was good with a sword; Delanay had practiced shooting, but this would be a disaster if…

“Enough! Gilam, put down your sword! And you—halt!”

Pellmia roared and thrust Gilam to the side, nearly knocking him off his horse. Litigos froze, and the [Lord of Love and Wine] and his guard surrounded him. Delanay hurried over, and Pellmia conducted a brief test himself.

“We are after the people who attacked House Byres. Nothing else, Mister Litigos. I do not care if you have…unsavory connections. A [Lord] understands that sometimes, someone might procure items without paying trade tariffs. Or perhaps you have another class. Making arrests is not in my interest. Do you know anything about House Byres’ attack?”

“No, Lord Quellae.”

The truth stone flashed white, and Pellmia stepped back. He nodded, and Delanay approached. Litigos flinched, but someone rolled up his sleeve, revealing a tattoo.

“He’s part of the gangs! Father, you’ve found a [Rogue]!”

Gilam crowed as he saw it, and Pellmia gave him a huge frown.

“And if he is, I saw nothing, Gilam. Anyone could have that tattoo. What makes it the gangs?”

“It’s—”

Gilam hesitated, and Delanay raised his eyebrows. He recognized the tattoo that told you the man was part of the Wharf, the underground blackmarket gang. Strange that he was here.

Rossk was sweating bullets, and maybe the Wharf had a storehouse here that the village benefited from. But Pellmia just glared at his son.

“We are ignoring it, Gilam. We came for one task, not to conduct an inspection of the village.”

But perhaps they’d check later if something was up. Litigos was definitely not going to be showing his face around here, if he was wise.

The villagers of Ranmeid were murmuring, but Delanay’s leaping heart sank as, after a moment, the only thing that happened was that the cold silver rod stuck to Litigos’ skin.

“There. Happy? Nothing comes of the nobility appearing.”

After some hot water unstuck the bar from his skin, Litigos retreated. Delanay hung his head as Pellmia sighed, sensing that this was not doing his reputation wonders.

“Gilam, why don’t you and your friends go hunting? Whatever you catch, bring it back to the village. We might have to stay overnight; another damn storm is coming. Those Winter Sprites…I wonder if Ryoka’s presence attracts them. Or maybe they don’t like us. I swear, I’ve seen them dumping snow on us the entire ride here.”

He groaned as he eyed the sky. Delanay raised his eyebrows, but he remembered Ryoka’s odd friends as well. He wished he could talk to her.

Maybe after this. I’ve made enough of an ass of myself, and Pellmia’s lost patience. After this…he was apologizing to Litigos, who stalked away from him and the nobles, cursing. Even Rossk looked sideways at Pellmia.

“Mayhap we could do the rest of this tonight, indoors, Lord Pellmia?”

“Fair enough. But we’ve gotten nearly half the people done in forty minutes. Here, let’s break out some of the gifts—Delanay, give your testing-rod to one of my men. You said anyone can administrate it, didn’t you? Tell everyone about the news from the south. That’s at least worth something.”

Pellmia looked around, and Delanay saw the villagers who were done were helping unpack the gifts from the bag of holding or getting back to work. He looked around, then called out.

“Here, you, sir.”

He handed one of Pellmia’s men the rod and went to tell more tales about The Wandering Inn or the latest gossip. It turned out this village did have a scrying orb, so Pellmia ended up being told about the latest scene of Ilvriss being pelted with chamberpots.

“A Wall Lord…I can’t imagine he’ll get far. What? Someone tried to knife him?”

Pellmia exclaimed as Delanay hurried over to the scrying orb. They were rewinding it, and he saw the Wall Lord dodging someone slashing at him with a knife—the Rubirel Guard pursuing someone as Ilvriss backed into The Wandering Inn’s door—

Now that was interesting. Delanay knew that the nobility of Izril were going to resist the Wall Lord as hard as they could thanks to that quest and their own hatred of the Drakes, but they were already going after his life.

“That’s not an [Assassin]. Looked like a hired thug.”

“Hired thug or not, that Wall Lord was lucky he had armor under his clothing. Poison gets you either way. What a mess. If he dies, it’s war or too close to it for my liking. Enough of the hotheads.”

Pellmia’s glance at his son, shouting at his company to get ready to bag a boar or Corusdeer, clearly referred to more than just nobles in general. It might have also been meant for Delanay, and the young man was about to tell Pellmia he was heading south and getting out of his hair when he heard an argument from the side.

“You there. You weren’t tested. One moment.”

A tired [Warrior at Arms] was calling out to a familiar figure. Delanay turned, and the farmer who’d tried to talk down Eteste was walking away.

“I have, sir. I passed the truth stone.”

“Not the stick. Just bare your arm, sir.”

“I passed that, too.”

The man protested. He was a blunt-nosed fellow with [Farmer]’s clothes, clearly one of the working hands. Rossk called out.

“Just humor him. I’ll trade you my cup of wine, Albren.”

The man just kept walking, shaking his head. The [Guard] trotted after him, annoyed now. Delanay half-turned, about to tell him not to make a fuss and make Delanay get in more trouble with House d’Artien.

There was nothing odd about Albren as opposed to Litigos. He had a wool cap, not a hat, to keep himself warm, his clothes were dirty, and he was bare-handed from working, perhaps to shore up a barn during the winter. But when the [Guard] reached him, he refused to bare his arm.

“I have to get to work.”

“It’ll just take one moment. Here—”

“Don’t.”

Then he tried to run. But his boots slipped on the ground, and the [Guard] caught him by one arm. The farmer struggled as Delanay’s neck began to prickle, and House Quellae’s guard raised the silver rod.

The exasperated man lowered the silver rod to just pass along Albren’s bare cheek. The casual farmer turned and grabbed the haft of the testing-stick. For a second, they wrestled, Albren trying to get away, and he was stronger than the [Guard] expected.

But then the silver touched his cheek, and the skin boiled and turned to ash. And the pain made Albren recoil in instinctual, blinding agony. Then he sighed.

It was a long sigh as he looked up at the sky. Then, Delanay noticed two things. He saw, for the first time, how unlike everyone else, who left trails of vapor when they spoke from the heat of their breath mixing with the cold air—this man had virtually none, even when he exhaled.

As if he were cold already despite his clothes.

The second was his eyes. They had been brown, plain and normal, not the variants of orange or red or even yellow that Delanay had been trained to notice. Innocuous as anyone’s. His skin was weathered, not pale, and he’d even had a bit of a limp.

But now those eyes brightened, and a crimson mote of light swam into the brown. A flicker of red—like uncontrollable rage and agony rising out of the darkness. It flashed over his face, amidst fear and pain, and twisted his face into what Delanay had been looking for.

Monster. It was just a single moment—before Albren pulled something from his belt.

Not a sword. Nor a dagger. It was…shears for a sheep’s wool. Two long prongs of sharp iron. They were sharp enough to cut wool.

Or go straight through a metal gorget, a ring supposed to protect the neck. The gorget was iron as well, a sensible guard of metal. The hand that pushed the shears through the metal was stronger than belief.

“—going south to see how Tyrion is getting on…what the…”

Lord Pellmia Quellae turned as one of his guards fell over in the snow. The bright bit of silver fell from his grip, and the blood ran out of the ruined shears embedded in his neck. The villagers of Ranmeid turned.

“Albren?”

Headman Rossk stared at the collapsing man. Then…

At the Vampire. He stood there, shaking, his cheek still smoldering, and the uncontrolled rage left him. His hand shook, and he stared at the shears, as if only realizing what he’d done for the first time. He gazed down at the dead man—then closed his eyes. When he looked up, it seemed like hope had left his eyes. And Delanay thought—

How dare he look so guilty.

Only for a moment did the Vampire hesitate and take in what he’d done. Then, without a word, Albren kicked the silver rod away, bent down, and yanked the man’s sword out of his sheath. Then he turned to run.

The whirling Vampire froze—and his stolen sword rose. He was no swordsman. He might never have held one before in his life and, somehow, he had passed the truth stone test about House Byres.

It was just a coincidence. But he was found. And clumsy or not—he slashed with the sword and cut the burning crossbow bolt in half.

Flames coating the wooden tip, a stake in miniature. The Vampire looked up, and Delanay d’Artien was reloading his crossbow, eyes fixed on him.

Albren just sighed. Like someone seeing the twilight of his life. A long, pained sigh that Delanay didn’t understand. The man called out once as Gilam and his friends whirled with a long cry of surprise and alarm.

“Did you have to look?”

Then he ran. He was fast, unnaturally fast, as fast as any City Runner even in the snow, and he had desperation and surprise on his side.

They caught him two hundred paces from the village. Gilam and his friends had horses. He was on foot. He dodged an arrow, and the [Knight] of Clairei Fields, Sir Royald, ran down on him with a spear raised.

He ignored Delanay’s warning cries, and his spear flickered.

“[Homing Quick Stab]. I’ve got him! I’ve—”

The spear rammed through Albren’s shoulder, knocking the Vampire down. The man went down—seized the spear as it pinned him to the ground and the other riders circled him—and heaved.

Royald was a trained warrior. He had been told to never let go of his weapon. He didn’t. His eyes bulged as he was lifted out of his saddle and hurled to the ground. He tried to get up and saw Albren was on his feet.

A charging fist struck his neck with a sound Delanay heard even two hundred paces away. The crunch of Royald’s neck cracking back was loud. He fell down, and no healing potion could have brought him back.

“Royald!”

The other younger [Warriors] charged the Vampire before he could escape. They boxed him in, some leaping down from their saddles, and Delanay charged after them.

“Don’t try to kill him without silver! Get back! Get—”

Delanay had no target, just shouts of fury, idiots throwing fists or trying to swing a sword at close-range. Then screams. When the press of bodies broke back, three more young men were dead.

Albren cleaved the third’s head from his shoulders with a sweep of his sword. Now, he looked like what he was.

An immortal of the night. Someone had laid his back open to the bone, and it was healing. Not as fast as Delanay had heard, but it was like a healing potion. Albren didn’t know how to parry a sword—he grabbed it, wrenched it aside, and struck one of Gilam’s friends through the neck so hard that the steel blade broke.

“You bastard!”

Gilam screamed as he slashed at the Vampire—then ducked back. Albren missed him as he struck out, fingers like claws, slashing twice. Gilam deflected one claw, and a kick nearly took his head before Gilam jerked back.

He was quick! The [Lord] was a better fighter than Delanay had thought. Albren nearly lunged—then twisted under another crossbow bolt. He turned—and one of Pellmia’s guards shot him through the eye.

He staggered back as an arrow shaft thunked into his head. Pellmia shouted.

“Gilam! Get back!”

The [Lord] was already backing up, eyes wide. Delanay reloaded as three more arrows hit the Vampire. Albren staggered back…but gravity didn’t take him down. Slowly…blood running from his eye socket, he pulled at the arrow. Then let go.

Albren stopped trying to run as the panicked guards trained more arrows on him. A bowstring snapped—and his right hand blurred.

He caught the next arrow, the impact snapping his hand back and making his body rock. Then he lifted the arrow. And he was staring at Delanay now.

“Gilam. Get back.”

Pellmia’s voice was a croak as he stared at a man who should be dead. That arrow tip was in his brain. But the Vampire just stared another moment, a bloody tear running down his cheeks. Then he came at them with a shrieking scream. Delanay dropped the crossbow and drew a silver blade. He shouted at them to get back.

“Get back. Silver! S—”

 

——

 

“Silver.”

Lord Pellmia Quellae stared at the broken silver blade twenty minutes later. He knelt and saw how it had bent, then been sheared in half. The hilt was jutting from Albren’s chest.

Silver was the only thing that left a wound on Vampires. All the other wounds closed—while he was alive. Fire healed slowest.

He was still smoking from Eteste’s flame spell. The smoldering corpse lay in the center of the village, a trail of bodies behind him.

Delanay d’Artien was lying a foot from the Vampire’s body, eyes wide, panting. He had chunks missing from his face. At the end, they had been locked together, and Albren had been biting him.

Eight of House Quellae’s guards were dead. Five of Gilam’s friends. Pellmia had seen war. He’d seen high-level fighters die hard.

He was trying to remember if he’d seen this. A [Berserker]? Maybe. But that…man had been so fast. Pellmia’s own enchanted blade had cut him, and he’d seen the cut slowly healing.

“What was he called again?”

“Vampire. If I start craving blood—if I grow fangs or can’t stand daylight—kill me.”

Pellmia paused as he handed Delanay a precious healing potion. The City Runner was pale-faced.

“That can happen?”

“If you’re bitten. We have cures and safeguards. I—I have to tell my family. You have to tell them. This isn’t a fluke. That was one of them. No one moves like that. You agree, don’t you?”

Amazingly, in this moment, he turned to Pellmia for reassurance. The [Lord] regarded his own trembling hand and stared at that trail of blood. People were still crying out in horror, but he felt ice-cold.

Had he ever heard Yitton telling horror stories when the drink was flowing well? He thought he recalled them. Now, Pellmia wished he’d heard everything from Yitton Byres. He was sweating, now, in the cold.

“Yes. Not even someone gone rabid does that. How—how many of them are there? How does it spread?”

“It can spread like a plague. But they’re intentional. I don’t know how many…the villagers. Don’t let any leave.”

Pellmia whirled. He began to give orders, and Delanay was trying to get up.

“Ylawes thought he ran into a family. They went after his house. I have to tell him. We have to—”

“Focus. I want this entire village questioned. We’re not safe. Once word of this spreads—Gilam. Gilam! Send a [Message] to the keep, now! I need hundreds of our guard on the road!”

They had barely three dozen men. If even one more came at them—Pellmia was sweating, now, and Gilam jerked as he looked over.

“Send a…”

“This is the last thing we need. The last.”

Pellmia muttered it quietly into the winter. But he didn’t miss Delanay’s look of shock, having nearly died, and triumph.

“We had to know. All secrets coming to light. We need as much silver as we can find. Garlic, silver…light. Stakes. Or we’ll drown in blood and fangs.”

The Lord of House Quellae stood there and wondered about what Albren had said.

‘Did you have to look?’

He had a sudden fear that this was an accident. A terrible one. But one look at Delanay, at the horrified Humans who’d seen one of their own people turn into an unstoppable killer—and he realized no one could return the Djinni to the bottle. So Pellmia turned heavily to Delanay and spoke.

“I fear you’re right.”

The City Runner heard him and missed what Pellmia meant completely.

 

[Conditions Met: Crossbow Speed Hunter → Vampire Hunter Class!]

[Vampire Hunter Level 27!]

[Skill – Natural Enemy: Vampires obtained!]

[Skill – Immunity: Vampirism obtained!]

[Skill – Weapon Art: Stake the Bloodsucker obtained!]

[Skill Change – Keen Shot → Silverstake Spreadshot!]

[Skill – Silverstake Spreadshot obtained!]

[Title – Rediscovery of the Bloody Foe obtained!]

[Title Skill – Charisma: Conviction of the Hunter granted!]

 

——

 

“What an Ancestors-damned mess.”

That was what Nerul said after they had bathed themselves and gotten clear of Invrisil. He tossed a towel down, and Ilvriss finished checking himself for nicks.

“Did they catch the assailant?”

“The Watch made an effort, but they’re Humans. There wasn’t much interest. It was definitely not an [Assassin]. Gang member. We’re reassessing tactics.”

The Rubirel Guard had worked well once they’d noticed the knife attacker. But with so many Humans, even the experienced Drakes would have trouble keeping Ilvriss safe.

Wonderful. Not even Thronebearers would want to try to keep Ilvriss safe in a hostile north. And worse—his biggest ally had caused this.

It was only going to get worse. Ilvriss had a feeling that he had just put his foot in a huge incident, and he would have dearly loved to shout at Erin like the good old days. But the problem was, she wasn’t even here to shout at.

“Wall Lord? Are you decent? I’ve been looking around for help, and I think I can at least introduce you to a number of the north’s nobles. But if Erin has a better idea—I think she’s meeting with Magnolia Reinhart. I could wait for her to get back. Do you need more towels?”

Lyonette du Marquin called out from outside the inn’s single bathing room. Not that Nerul and Ilvriss had been sharing it; they’d just been washing themselves. A visit to the bathhouses later was in order, but at least he didn’t stink.

Ilvriss called out he was acceptable, and she came in with more towels and, to his gratitude, some perfume to cover any remaining scents. As to her question—he growled.

“At this moment, Erin’s help is not something I need. Did you say you had introductions to other nobles? How?”

Lyonette smiled, looking slightly exasperated and worried herself.

“There are several visiting the inn regularly. There’s Lady Pryde, Bethal, Lord Tyrion, Lord Xitegen you know—”

“Dead gods, I’d love to talk to them, but not now! This requires a delicate touch, not an immediate meeting, Miss Lyonette!”

Nerul remembered her from Oteslia, but he seemed worried at the notion of, after recently being showered in piss, having to shake hands and talk the nobles out of their position.

Lyonette looked equally as appalled by the suggestion. She raised her hands as Ilvriss turned to her.

“Pawn’s heaven, no! I wouldn’t do anything as crass as that! I just inquired if they were staying in the area, and I suggested maybe you could appear at a luau. That’s an evening get together on the beach. I don’t actually think Erin knows what it means, exactly, but I could pull one together. Lots of people, and if you were in attendance…”

“Perfect.”

Nerul brightened at once, and Lyonette nodded.

“In fact, there’s a Lord Alman Sanito and his family and plenty of the lesser nobility one could ask. Not all have passes to Erin’s beach. I was thinking of inviting them…”

“And make introductions?”

Ilvriss brightened at this at once. Nerul and Lyonette both shouted at him.

“No!”

The [Diplomat] shook his head rapidly.

“The last thing you need to do is walk around shaking hands, Nephew. Far from it. You keep well away from them but be an engaging, non-objectionable presence. Play some of that volleyball. Speak on anything but politics. In fact, I’ll write up a notecard for you. If I, as your representative, so much as breathe a word about Salazsar, it will be after we have a damn good time drinking and talking with the people I meet! With that said, would you let Ilvriss invite them into the beach?”

“I could do…formal letters. Erin has some cards, but they’re not that fancy. If you give me a seal of Salazsar, I could stamp it on the corner. That’s so straightforward, but not all the nobles, like Lord Ranga, will even notice it. You have to get them together so the smart ones explain it to the less perspicacious ones.”

“Subtler, then, but so they know it’s from us. That’s a genuinely subtle move, Miss Marquin. Thank you, and can we do this?”

Lyonette smiled, but carefully as a Thronebearer bowed to Ilvriss. She had clearly been waiting to suggest this very thing, but now she grew hesitant and cast her eyes backwards.

“I’ll have to ask Erin…”

“With respect—hang Miss Solstice’s opinions. Not the woman herself. She’d probably put us all on the gallows. I am asking you! I could use a [Princess] as backup, frankly.”

“Oh, as backup?”

Lyonette looked a bit indignant at the phrasing, and Nerul instantly bowed to her.

“If you lead, I will gladly follow, Your Highness. I’ve seen you dance with Ilvriss, and come to think of it, it would be gormless of me to presume to do better than you. Especially with the north.”

She blushed and waved this off. Ilvriss paused as he recalled the dance in Oteslia’s courts. What desperate times, yet that had seemed like a higher moment than this. War with the Gnolls…

Dead gods, it didn’t get easier. Lyonette chewed her lip, then came to a decision.

“Miss Lyonette will do if we’re working together, or just my name, Diplomat Nerul. Are there any Salazsarian tricks you can employ, besides a name for everything?”

Nerul’s eyes twinkled.

“My dear, we invented the Winebreath Blaster. But since that’s crass, maybe the old Fissivilian Racer will do. Do you have anything to bet on? Drakes love their damn bets, and if the nobles don’t want to put money down on something, I’ll eat my dinner out of one of those chamberpots. Ah—but since there are lesser nobles, not with real coins. Can you manufacture some faux currency and a game or something to bet on?”

Now, this was the part where if he were speaking to Erin, the [Innkeeper] would throw up her hands and say, ‘faux currency? What am I, a casino? This is too much work! Let’s just go over there and shake hands and tell them not to be jerks!’

And that was because she didn’t always like putting in the work. Erin was a direct person at times, and while she could be subtle, she didn’t tend to be unless she had the inclination.

Lyonette? Lyonette was a [Princess]. She snapped her fingers.

“Seashells. We don’t have real ones, but you can make them out of wood and cover them with glitter. Visma made them, but they were getting the water dirty. You can pay for free entrées or drinks with them. Everyone gets…three. Most dishes cost at least four, so no one will be able to afford anything. Right away. Then we have games of volleyball with bets. Or something similar. Ser Sest? Go get Visma and make a team. I need four hundred seashells.”

“W…where am I getting all that carved wood, glitter, and paint, Your Highness?”

She tapped her lips.

“Tell Yelroan to find a [Carver] and get the job on rush. No, wait. Yelroan only needs to budget all this. Laken has a [Carver]. Find Xif and tell him we need whatever supplies can make them shine. Pay him in gold if you have to, or free drinks or access. Numbtongue also has gemstones.”

“High denomination currency?”

Nerul suggested slyly. Lyonette nodded.

“And things you can only buy with the seashells. Certain treats.”

They were going so fast that Ilvriss just stood there. He got what they were doing, but this was a level of scheming below even what a Wall Lord was used to.

“Can I, ah, help, Miss Lyonette?”

She turned and gave him a triumphant smile.

“Yes, you can!”

“Wonderful! What am I—”

“Go practice playing volleyball. Ser Dalimont can show you how. Oh, and if you have any Salazsarian books that are only accessible in the south, get them as long as they’re interesting. And brush up on the kingdoms that are coming from Terandria. The flowers of Izril have opinions on them. Everyone’s against Ailendamus, but be careful how you speak of the Sleeping Three.”

Ilvriss opened his mouth.

“…Which one do I do first?”

“And what do I, uh, do?”

Osthia waved a claw. Lyonette sighed in delight as Nerul looked around with a huge frown.

“And wait a second. Has anyone seen Xesci?”

 

——

 

Someone else who could dodge like a maniac was Erin Solstice. She dodged the first cube of sugar Magnolia lobbed at her, then the couch pillow. Ressa grabbed the tea saucer before Magnolia could hurl that.

“Hey. I came to you.”

“Ressa, go slap her.”

It was just a jest, a half-suggestion, but even so, it provoked a response. A figure shifted behind Erin, standing with hands folded behind her back at the door. In response, Ressa raised her brows.

Dame Jewel, or perhaps, Adventurer Jewel depending on who she was, now, eyed the [Head Maid] and knew she was outclassed. But the Knight of Solstice stood here, and the suggestion made her twitch.

She met the eyes of a Face, an older legend of assassins and blades, servant of Magnolia Reinhart, and this time she knew she was in over her head.

But she just tensed—and the [Innkeeper] looked over her shoulder and smiled. Then she turned to Magnolia and glared.

“Don’t bully me, Magnolia. Jewel’s trying to do her job. They said one of the Order of Solstice had to come with me. She doesn’t fight alone. If you play your Ressa, I’ll send all my [Knights].”

Erin smiled teasingly, and seriously, and Magnolia smiled back, but the difference between the two was that only one meant it. But Magnolia did acknowledge Jewel’s presence after a moment with a nod.

“How things change. Do you hear that, Ressa? I can no longer bully Erin because the Order of Solstice will check you in place. Oh my.”

Ressa folded her hands behind her back and bowed, then smiled politely at Erin. Her eyes flicked to Jewel.

“Hah. That might work.”

The [Innkeeper] frowned at the [Head Maid] as Jewel shifted again, and Magnolia Reinhart relaxed. She lifted a hand with a sigh, easing the tensions.

“If only life were a game of chess, Miss Solstice. Then, I think you would always be without fault. For such a perspicacious young woman who understands there are feelings behind the board and in each piece, you sometimes play like there’s no nuance in the world, just squares and lines. Do you know what you’ve done?”

“I’ve caused a fuss. Like always.”

Magnolia raised her brows.

“Like always. Erin, you have roused the north to action. This is not your small inn. You posted a <Quest>. You have engaged my peers, and I don’t think you understand how poorly it was done.”

They were in her sitting room, and the too-pink room in Magnolia’s mansion in Invrisil was familiar to Erin, but she was different. She sat down and sipped from the tea and gagged.

“It’s sweet. Anyways, I know what I did. Someone needed to push Ilvriss forwards. The quest matters.”

Magnolia slapped the table in front of her. She was more upset than Erin could remember. Not in voice, but in the rest.

“By pushing something in their faces? Erin, when has that ever worked in your world and mine? And yes, I have studied your world! You did the worst thing possible—nobles hate being told what to do.”

“I offered them—”

“You offered them something in half a year’s time. You cannot bribe them like that, Erin! They’ll convince themselves they don’t want your Skill even if it came from Zeladona herself, that they don’t need it, and that the most honorable, nay, only thing to do is murder Ilvriss! You were not clever.”

She was lecturing Erin, and it put the [Innkeeper]’s back up.

“Well, we don’t have time to slowly build bridges. Especially since they love to keep breaking them. What was Ilvriss supposed to do? They’d do this eventually.”

“Ressa. Please slap her.”

Magnolia massaged the bridge of her nose as Ressa gave her a sympathetic look. She leaned over the table and spoke slowly, enunciating each word.

“There was a better way. Wall Lord Ilvriss should have come to the north like a Drake. He should have come openly, greedily, bargaining, betraying his city and squeezing the north for every gold coin. That would have made my peers argue and bicker and fall over themselves to use him in their games. It would have been familiar to them. Instead of an argument of politics, it would have been one of greed and self-interest. You have turned it into north versus south.”

Erin paused as Magnolia laid out her vision for the scenario.

“Oh. That doesn’t sound as bad. But they still would have come after Ilvriss. And if you were so certain this was the best move, why didn’t you tell—whoa!”

She ducked the entire teacup and the contents. Magnolia snapped back.

“I was waiting for Diplomat Nerul to meet with me! I thought I had a day, not an hour before you hammered a <Quest> straight through Izril’s heart!”

Erin opened her mouth. She saw Ressa reloading Magnolia’s hand with another cup and drink and hesitated.

“Okay, maybe I could have waited, but we have no time. We can’t—”

She hesitated, and Magnolia calmed a bit. She studied Erin and spoke.

“I see. You think we don’t have any time. Whether you are correct or not, Erin, I suggest that you could have waited before moving like that. And now, you are in a position I do not envy. I won’t keep you long since I know you have little respect for my position and that you are a busier woman with more to do than I.”

She stood up and walked to the window to stare at her snowy mansion. Erin spluttered.

“I never said—”

“Let’s not be crass and pretend that isn’t what you thought, Erin. You need two things to allow Ilvriss to get across the north unmolested…well, it will be troublesome, but I am telling you what you need. Communicate it to him.”

Magnolia was brisk as she nibbled on some frosted cookies. The Earth-foods had not improved her diet. Erin hesitated as she walked over to stare out the windows.

“What’re my things? And is that…Teriarch doing pushups in your lawn?”

“I have no idea why, but he has some [Boxer] friend, and it’s apparently too cold for the two to do whatever they do. They still insist the cold ‘builds character’. Pay attention. He’s not important to you. This is your war—you need two things. A noble to back Ilvriss. A powerful or savvy one. I suggest Emperor Laken, but I don’t know if he has the reach or likes Drakes that much. The second thing you need is…a gang.”

“Huh? Wh—why those two?”

Erin was confused and suspicious. Magnolia turned, raising her brows at Erin.

“I know you know the answer. Two shields, Erin. Two groups who can also get everything he needs. High and low. Both must protect him from their counterparts, rival gangs and hostile nobles. They can also get what he needs, because both are placed with the authority Ilvriss requires. You may have both already, but I would double-check and get confirmation from both.”

She eyed Erin, and the [Innkeeper] frowned. This did seem like a good tip. But…

“Why don’t you help? Isn’t having Ilvriss in the north perfect for your plans?”

Magnolia’s slapping hand twitched.

“Erin, all my focus is in Oteslia and my wall project. Even if I had warning from a discerning [Innkeeper] who took me into account for her plans…”

She paused as Erin squirmed.

“…I would not want to back Ilvriss for peace. He may help, or he may be a hindrance, but I am not a woman who enjoys betting on someone else’s game. This is your struggle as you have demonstrated. Plus…”

Magnolia paused and took another bite from a cookie.

“I would hate to see what kind of trouble he can dig up.”

Dig up. It sounded innocuous, unless you knew Ilvriss’ plans. Erin gave Magnolia a deeply suspicious glance. There was no way she had spies in the inn! Ilvriss had only told her and a few others—

“Erin. Stop glaring a hole in my face. I can logic out why he’s sending [Miners] north and asking about them here. You are the one who just confirmed it.”

Erin turned red as Magnolia nodded at Ressa. The [Maid], glaring, dug something out of her pocket. She slapped a gold coin into Magnolia’s gloved hand, and the [Lady] pocketed it.

“If that’s all, Erin?”

Magnolia prompted the angry [Innkeeper]. Erin stared at her and Ressa.

“Well, I guess you have it all sorted. I’ll see myself out, then. Sorry that I’m such a mess.”

“Apologize to Ilvriss. I imagine he deserves it. Oh, and Erin?”

Magnolia halted Erin at the door. The [Innkeeper] turned, angry and upset because Magnolia was calling her out for the things she saw Erin doing…somewhat fairly. She saw the [Lady] watching her with glittering eyes, pink dress against the winter backdrop. Magnolia turned her head.

“There are armies descending on Liscor. I was never good at them, and I doubt more soldiers matters at this point. I trust the boys have the spear-rattling well in hand. I will be there with Teriarch and Taletevirion. Is there anything else we need?”

Erin Solstice stared at her, and her annoyed demeanor changed to a serious, somber one.

“Do you have anything better?”

At this, Knight Jewel, who was holding the door open, froze for Erin. She looked back, and it was still in her eyes.

We’re not ready. Neither she, nor Erin…nor the Order of Solstice. But they wanted to be called. Jewel looked at Erin longingly, but this battle?

Magnolia Reinhart pursed her lips.

“…I’ll check. Well now, I can see why you’re rushing. Ressa, if I have nightmares, I want sleeping drops. Erin, look behind you.”

The [Innkeeper] did, obligingly, and met Jewel’s eyes. Magnolia Reinhart was still angry, upset, but she lifted her cup of tea as she went to sit back down.

“I thought to give you more of my staff. Whether or not you end up finding more—and you need more—that woman was not there before. When I suggested sending Ressa to slap you, I, a Reinhart of the Five Families, and Ressa, who was once known as ‘Dagger of House Reinhart’ of the Assassin’s Guild—”

Erin swung back around as Jewel paled slightly. Ressa kicked her mistress, but Magnolia just laughed and raised her voice.

“Oh, yes. The Flowered Blade of the North. Weren’t they trying a bunch of names out at one point? The Bloom of Drath, the Maid-Assassin, Deadly Elegance herself. Reynold? Reynold, do you remember what they called Ressa? None of them ever stuck perfectly, but I recall a number. What about you?”

“Don’t you dare—”

But as if this were a point of pride for everyone but Ressa, a [Butler] poked his head in the room. He feared no death, because he bowed smoothly.

“I believe, The Invisible Edge? The Ninja of Izril?”

Ressa turned crimson, and suddenly a bunch of [Maids] were flooding into the hallway behind Magnolia, calling out names in delight.

“The Lioness of the Five Families!”

“The Edged Creler!”

“The Unstoppable Woman, after the time she was tossed off that mountain and climbed back up in the middle of a storm with a dagger in her teeth, and attacked the entire camp head on—”

“Back to work!”

Magnolia was laughing as Ressa thundered, and the servants fled. Erin gave Ressa a wide-eyed look.

“Those names are so cool.”

The [Head Maid] refused to even look at Magnolia or anyone else. After the [Lady] had finally caught her breath, she pointed at Jewel and, laughing, shook her head.

“Despite facing Ressa—your [Knight] didn’t run. Even if it was foolish. Find yourself more good people like that. But keep them alive. That’s the hard part.”

“I know. And they’re not…my people.”

Erin bowed her head. Magnolia just snorted at her lightly, but she measured Erin up and down. And at last, she ducked her head slightly.

“You are, in the end, doing it your way. I get so very angry at you for being a thoughtless, feckless brat who throws magicore into a fire. But that is Maviola El. And myself, one supposes.”

“You never did anything dramatic or stupid, milady.”

Ressa delivered that defense of her mistress straight-faced as she idly studied two crossed fingers she was holding up. Magnolia paused a longer moment as Jewel and Erin observed how the two worked. And perhaps—learned. The [Lady] of House Reinhart nodded.

“Absolutely, Ressa. Thank you for that. Erin, you never take my advice. But you do end up, after many twists and turns in your own style, right where I would tell you to go. You have your Order. You are taking sides. Whether they are the right ones…I can only offer you advice, and no longer unsolicited.”

She nodded again to Erin, and this time, the [Innkeeper] hesitated by the door. She jerked her head backwards a second, as if frowning at something over her shoulder.

“Whoa. Was something at the…w-well, if you had any advice, Magnolia, what would it be? I mean, I always listen. I don’t always do what you say, because I’m me, but if you had any good advice. What would it be?”

Magnolia Reinhart chuckled, and she put the teacup down. She was learning how to do this a bit better, with Erin. She didn’t bother pretending to think.

“Start stealing. You can train a legion, and you have and shall. But you should learn to steal. You have stolen two. At this point, take the baker’s dozen.”

“Who did I steal?”

“Yelroan. And Miss Tessa. But treat them kindly. Don’t be shy, either. Don’t think ‘I don’t need to rock the boat’. You are currently flipping the boat, and everyone grabs, oh my, but we do. It’s just that we don’t get much loyalty. You do. That is your power. Treasure it.”

Magnolia looked wistful as Ressa patted her on the shoulder. Then she smiled at Erin.

“My résumé will be at your inn shortly. My prices may be high, but—”

Magnolia began swatting at her [Maid]. And Erin wavered, because she suddenly was more willing to listen. Then—her eyes turned round with alarm.

“Wait. I have to go. Jewel, run to the inn. Something’s wrong with the door. Someone—”

She turned, and Jewel stopped smiling and whirled in alarm.

“I have to protect—”

“Go! No one notices but Liska! Run!”

The two bolted for it, and Magnolia and Ressa stopped play-fighting.

“Do I go after her, Magnolia?”

“Yes. But be careful. Oh my, this never changes.”

Magnolia rubbed at her brows as Erin ran, shouting an alarm. She sat there a second, then shouted after Ressa.

“If it’s another horrible monster, mythical quest, earth-shaking calamity, revelation, or incident, please try to involve Xitegen or Tyrion and make it their responsibility! I’m busy!”

She shook her head. Erin Solstice also took on too much trouble. You could refuse to put more on your plate.

She’d tell Erin next time.

 

——

 

Why was Pallass fortifying the area around Liscor? Why were forces from both north and south moving towards the city? 

Only a few people knew the answer, and to everyone else, they could see the pattern, but not the reason.

And it gave them stomach problems—or would if they were still alive.

When Regis Reinhart started this day, it was already bad. When he heard about Lord Pellmia’s encounter with a Vampire, he cursed House d’Artien for nearly ten minutes straight. He didn’t need to breathe, but this gave him pause.

Investigations always dug up more than you wanted. It was risky, dangerous, and doubly so because the Circle of Thorns was supposed to be invisible. It was Vampires who had burned House Byres, and it was Vampires being revealed that were putting a spotlight on his work.

Then his niece sent him a [Message], and he nearly had a ghostly heart-attack.

“She wants to take the Crown of Flowers out? She’s messing with me. That is…a joke, isn’t it? And the Banner of House Reinhart?”

“It’s not a joke this time. She says she’s being very serious.”

As proof, one of the [Maids] assigned to wait on him for eternity in the Vault of the Reinharts held up the scroll. Regis stared at the note, and it had none of Magnolia’s regular humor. He licked his lips.

Regis, the ghost of House Reinhart, one of the first generations of Reinharts on Izril. He had been sealed away to guard their treasury forever, had been preserved in the moment of his death by powerful magic. He could leave the treasury if need be, though no one knew it, and he was the architect behind many projects, including the Circle of Thorns.

He regarded himself as the true protector of the north and the only winner of the longest war between the Five Families and Walled Cities and Gnolls. He was playing a game across millenia, and it didn’t matter if you lost pieces so long as you took the board in the end.

Recent events were making him sweat, though.

“W-what’s coming at the Winter Solstice? Tell her no. Ask her for clarification and…argh.”

She was getting insistent, reminding him she’d put treasures into the Vault of Reinharts. That didn’t mean she got to access one of the three most powerful Relics in there, but he caved a bit.

“How about battle Golems? She can have four. Four, if it gets her off my back! That’s more than she got with Zel Shivertail! We can’t have her dying right now. Not with those damn New Lands the Gnolls raised.”

Gnolls making new lands. Vampires and their grudges. No one could just sit down and not stir his plans up. It was true that blood empowered the Circle of Thorns. Each noble of Izril who died empowered the ritual—but some had to be alive, or the north collapsed.

This hunt is going to turn into a bad one, quick. Regis mused to himself as he gave swift orders.

“Communicate this across all members of the Circle. Go to ground. Don’t gather, don’t stir. We’ll halt operations in the headquarters for a month.”

“They’ll still find the Circle if you do, Lord Reinhart.”

One of his maids pointed out the obvious as he licked his lips again. They weren’t on his side, the four maids of House Reinhart. They had to follow his orders, but they did so maliciously, like Djinni. His permanent life in death wasn’t perfect. The [Necromancer] had preserved his intelligence, a lot of his powers, and more as a ghost…but she had neglected to mention something really important.

Which was that Regis was preserved as he’d died. Which was to say that his lips weren’t chapped, but they were a bit dry.

So for millenia, he had been licking at his lips, and there was one quasi-crack and dry flap of skin that had annoyed him for an eternity. He gave up on licking his lips. Someday, he would resolve everything. He had failsafes, and plans could change.

No one was as cunning as him. Even Magnolia, that dear prodigy of her time, was getting old. If he needed to, he could replace her. Maybe it was time to unleash House Reinhart again, get them levelling. Even if you had a lot of bastard children running around, that just meant a crop he could prune and raise up rather than a spirited few.

For now—he bit his lip’s skin-flap and chewed. Then he had an idea.

“I know. This…this can work out. The Circle’s disappearance has some of those damn nosy ones still poking around. Tyrion, Etril, Magnolia…but how better to hide a conspiracy than in one? We go to ground. But—you, get me a map.”

He pointed, and a [Maid] handed him a map. Regis hurled it away.

“Not a map of Chandrar! Get me a map of the known Vampire covens in Izril! A modern one!”

With a sigh, she found the one he wanted. Regis held it up. He had information from everywhere, and even if it wasn’t perfect…

He wondered what all the fuss was about the things Magnolia was hoarding. She had moves on stockpiled sulfur, and he assumed it was related to the King of Destruction who wanted the stuff, but now the Sleeping Three and other nations wanted things Magnolia had bought up last year.

Something was up. Regis’ main issue was that he seldom had face-to-face informants, and without Magnolia’s help, he ran blind. And his attempts to get the otherworlders had been miserably foiled until now. There were so few of them, and the other factions had been fighting over them like starving Crelers. It was hard for Regis to move openly; Magnolia was supposed to support him, but she had never given him one of these…what did you even call them?

Endlessly frustrating for Regis. The ghost had no hands in the world, whereas his knowledge of underworlds was unmatched. He studied the map, crossed out about half the villages, and circled a bunch of areas at random.

“There. Give this to the hunters when they emerge. Let them hunt those dying bloodsuckers. It just means less competition for us. No, the Circle will unite around it. Purge Izril of the blood.”

He warmed to the idea instantly. Yes, that was it! And that was how the order went out.

Join the hunt with House d’Artien. Kill the Vampires.

The Circle had always risen against issues that plagued them. First, Magnolia’s stranglehold on the north. Now this. Nothing united the nobles of Izril like a common enemy.

Regis Reinhart sent a scourging fire at the Vampires. But they already knew it was coming. They had known for ages. At least, the older ones had. For the younger generation? They hadn’t seen it coming at all.

 

——

 

Fierre val Lischelle-Drakle was a happy Vampire. Or at least, she had been.

Every day, she had gone to work and put on the handsome, lilac uniform of House Imarris. She had admired the new rings, bag of holding, and other equipment her employer had paid for.

Her employer, in turn, had admired her from multiple angles. Which definitely violated some labor laws. It was a good thing they didn’t exist where Ieka Imarris was concerned.

The Lady of House Imarris had needed a competent helper.

Fierre was competent. She was, in fact, very good at her job, and she had, over the last month, gotten to grips with Ieka’s situation. Her position as an underworld informant had actually made her an ideal candidate for the job.

House Imarris didn’t have its hands clean. Few nobles with a lot of business dealings did, but Ieka hadn’t even pretended she was above it all.

She was entrenched in dealings below and aboveboard, and Fierre had encountered her first conflict of interest: balancing the information that came to her as a broker and as Ieka’s help.

She had persisted with her broker job, literally moonlighting as an Information Broker because Ieka encouraged and even endorsed Fierre’s position.

“Any information that helps House Imarris is welcome. So long as you don’t interfere with our interests or that of my aunt, go ahead and sell the information you receive. For a good price.”

Lady Ieka liked her image as the trendsetting enchantress-lady of Izril. The rogue visionary, the unappreciated mind pushing the cutting edge.

Whether or not this was true was harder for Fierre to tell. She was certainly intelligent, but the [Lady] sort of reminded Fierre of…Fierre. A lot of promise, but not always the convincing delivery, like Fierre’s fighting abilities.

For instance, she had tried to deliver that smooth remark about Fierre’s double-life to indicate that she was confident Fierre would be loyal. Also, that she didn’t need to take a cut of Fierre’s business and that she was keen on having someone who was connected and in-the-know.

And she had delivered it with a good smile, half splayed out on a recliner in her rooms in one of those low-cut bodice dresses with a webbing of fishnet that Fierre had a hard time not focusing on.

Ieka seemed to have realized that, for the first time, her secretary was staring back at her, and she and Fierre were having a virgin-off.

In that both were doing their best to impress the other without having any idea how it was done. They would look at the other fanning themselves or dressing up and go, ‘wow, what style’.

It didn’t always work. For instance, Lady Ieka’s low-cut bodice dress with its revealing style? Lovely. Provocative. Look at that skin.

Ieka spoiled it slightly by shivering nonstop because it was winter and she was cold. Even with a cold resistance spell, she was freezing, and she had no idea why Fierre was a lot tougher about the cold than she was.

Today, though, Fierre wasn’t in such a good mood. She’d been enjoying her work, she really had been, but she stomped past the guards in Ieka’s estates in Invrisil without a word.

“Damn Rivel. Damn the idiots and damn—”

She was mad. Furious, really, and she’d been in a fight. One of those verbal ones that had you flushed and hot and pacing around for hours afterwards.

Not in a sexy way, either, just in an upset way. Fierre had been shouting at her brother over the issue that had divided the family.

Namely, Vampires and secrecy. He wasn’t happy they’d moved to Liscor. He wasn’t happy they weren’t going after Ylawes. He wasn’t happy about the fact that Fierre was cured and he wasn’t. And he wasn’t happy that Colfa and Himilt were hanging out with the nobles of the north.

Now, some of these things Fierre agreed with. She would never forgive Ylawes Byres for what he and his family had done. Moving to Liscor was a huge burden on the family; they’d given up their home, and it hurt. She felt guilty about being the only one who’d been cured, even if Ryoka had only had one potion.

And even the association with Bethal and Pryde that one time was dangerous. Although Colfa and Himilt were very careful, and they’d found the nobles entirely by chance boxing fish and freezing in tents in the snow.

But her brother, Rivel, was mad about it all. So mad that he’d flown into a temper multiple times, and only old Bamer, the only Vampire not directly blood-related to the family, could talk him down and get him to apologize after he exploded.

That was understandable.

The part where Rivel went out with a bunch of other Vampires, burned House Byres’ keep to the ground, destroyed their silver mines, and put a huge target on all Vampires?

That was when you maybe thought Rivel had gone too far. Maybe Rivel wasn’t just mad about justifiable things as he had every right to be.

Maybe Rivel was just—mad at everything. And he wasn’t thinking.

Well, if Fierre had been furious at Rivel, it was nothing to Himilt’s fury at finding out what had gone down at House Byres. Fierre, Colfa, and Bamer had had to keep him from strangling Rivel in his first real show of fury in ages.

The problem was that even if Rivel had not been there, he’d definitely participated in the attack. He’d helped fund and arm the other Vampires. Apparently, some of Octavia’s creations had blown up the silver mines.

Now, Rivel refused to apologize, and he had snapped at Fierre this very morning that she didn’t get his fury because she’d gotten her ‘free pass’. Which was just…

“Fierre? Is everything alright?”

Lady Ieka had been in her rooms, but the sound of Fierre slapping papers on her desk so hard she nearly cracked the varnished wood had alerted her. Fierre flushed.

“I’m sorry, Lady Imarris. I just had a—difficult morning. With family.”

Their relationship was a bit stilted, still, as it would be between two people who didn’t know each other well. They thought they knew something about the other—but were terrified to confirm it. Ieka tried to chuckle knowingly.

“Oh, family, is it? Mine is…difficult. Honestly, my aunt is the only one of them I respect, and we’ve had issues before. Mostly in that she doesn’t talk to me and forgets everything.”

She sighed, then shook her head.

“What is your issue? If you don’t mind sharing.”

Fierre hesitated and twiddled her gloved fingers. She had grown nearly a head from when she had first met Ryoka, and she felt powerful, dextrous…

She had levels in [Assassin]. She was quicker and could conjure blades made of blood, or do backflips and twists like Ryoka. But somehow, she wasn’t like Ryoka, friend to Tyrion Veltras, the Wind Runner and Courier of Izril.

She was humbler despite it all, and Fierre partly resented that while at the same time being afraid of the spotlight. The spotlight so often was dangerous and burned her skin…but she couldn’t hide like her father and mother. She was between Rivel’s position and her parents’.

“I, ah…my brother made a big mistake. He refuses to admit he’s done anything wrong, and frankly, my father might disown him or kick him out of our farm.”

“That’s serious.”

Ieka stopped sitting on the edge of Fierre’s desk and took an actual seat. She was bundled up today, for the winter, but Fierre just had a light uniform on, as always. She knew Ieka’s staff, and they thought she was a tough girl from Reizmelt and appreciated that she was actually doing her job. Well, Fierre had discovered they’d all missed some bonus pay that Ieka had promised last year, and there was nothing like delivering coins to the staff to win them over.

“It’s a huge issue. My father’s not kidding, either. He hasn’t spoken to Rivel—my brother—for three weeks. And Rivel doesn’t do much. He just goes out to ‘think’, which is mostly him hanging around Liscor and complaining while getting drunk.”

“Is he a farm worker?”

Fierre found it was a relief to confide in Ieka, even if she omitted the dangerous details. The [Lady] was always genuinely curious about Fierre. True, that wasn’t entirely based on her fascination with Fierre’s life…

“Yeah, he’s not bad. But he’s no [Farmer]. He’s—talented. Sort of. He could probably become a Silver-rank adventurer if my family let him. But they don’t want him to stand—to take risks.”

“Ah, so he’s repressed?”

Fierre shrugged.

“We all are. He’s just not good at finding a balance. And he did something so incredibly stupid that—I just don’t know how I can forgive him. I want to, but he doesn’t make it easy.”

To her huge embarrassment, she sniffed. She was a proper Vampire, and she was not going to get misty-eyed in front of Ieka. The [Lady] averted her gaze, murmuring.

“I know what it’s like to make a terrible mistake I feel will haunt me. Then again, I felt the guilt. If I can offer some unsolicited advice—family never vanishes. Even if they exasperate you, it’s better not to burn a bridge. Walk away from it, but don’t burn.”

She gave Fierre a tentative smile, and Fierre stared at her blue lipstick today. She leaned forwards.

“That’s…good advice. Thank you, Lady Imarris.”

She knew for a fact the [Lady] of House Imarris had good taste. She was almost certain it was a fact. Ieka stared at Fierre, and the two had a similar, virginal thought.

Whoa, is this happening? It could happen if I just…

Ieka swayed forwards so their heads were a bit too close for comfort if they were just talking. She stared at Fierre’s own bloodless lips.

“I, ah, appreciate your appreciation. You seem to have a similar mindset to mine. It’s refreshing. I never was on the same page with my other secretaries, but you’ve taken charge better than all the others in a month. It took the others years to get to your level.”

“Oh, I don’t know about levels. But I appreciate the—company? View?”

Fierre was licking her lips, and she was thinking—was this it? It could be. She was picking up what Ieka was throwing down with loud bells attached. Or was she? Was she in her head and making this up?

 

——

 

Ieka was terrified she was making a mistake and Fierre would flee. Posturing was one thing. But this was personal, and she’d been burned so many times that if love was magic, she would be a [Pyromancer]. But she couldn’t help it.

“I, um—I’ve been meaning to ask you a question all month. Now seems like a fine time.”

“Yeah?”

“Do you…you know, I have standing invitations with every restaurant. And if you cleared my schedule, I’d love to investigate your, uh—teeth—”

Fierre’s eyes widened in paranoia. But then, Ieka had noticed Fierre’s rather pronounced canines. The [Lady] blushed.

“I meant—!”

 

——

 

Investigate your teeth was the most amazing come-on Fierre had ever heard. This was…was this [Advanced Flirting]? Because dead gods, it was working on her.

This was it. Wait, had she brushed her teeth? Did she smell like blood? Was the door open? Fierre licked her lips again.

Wow, she was thirsty. But there were multiple levels of thirst, and she began to smile as Ieka leaned forwards—

—Then a ring on Ieka’s finger lit up and made a soft sound, and the [Lady] jerked, looked at it, and cursed.

“Now of all times? Dead gods!”

She nearly yanked it off her finger and hurled it to the side. But then Ieka froze—stared at the ring, and Fierre noticed the ring was transforming.

What she had taken to be an ordinary, cut oval gemstone, red and plain, was changing. The edges were turning black, and it looked like something was tracing around the edge of the ring.

It looked like…

Thorns…

Her eyes widened. Ieka looked down, glanced at Fierre, then covered the ring and backed away from the desk.

“I have to—this is very—”

“I understand. Later.”

Fierre sat there, heart pounding, trying to figure out what had happened as Ieka hurried into her office. When the [Lady] emerged, fifteen minutes later, her face was very pale.

“That was—Fierre? Can we, ah, put whatever else is the matter on hold? Your brother and—and anything else?”

Fierre jumped. Wait, so that had been something? Her heart leapt, and she wondered what the hell could get in the way of her and…one look at Ieka’s face made her pause.

“What is it, Lady Ieka?”

The [Lady] took a deep breath.

“I am going to trust you with something, Fierre. I feel I must, because you are so…trustworthy.”

What was she basing this on? Well, perhaps a more accurate thing to say was that Ieka’s judgment in the realms of Fierre might be suspect. But she also seemed nervous, and Fierre suspected that Ieka needed to talk to someone.

“G-go on, Lady Imarris?”

The [Lady] brushed at her magnificent blue hair distractedly.

“You know I have always been attempting to push House Imarris forwards. In fact, all my current business is—hamstrung by my lack of contacts.”

It was true, sometimes Ieka wanted something that she had to either bid on the open market for or use black markets for. She wanted to be in with the Unseen Coach. She wanted to be a mover and shaker in the underworld…but she had an odd weakness.

She had no criminal contacts. Or rather, Ieka was known and knew the underworld, but she had no liaison, no supporters. It was an odd void.

In the same way, Ieka showed Fierre the ring she wore.

“I forgot I had it on. It’s not supposed to activate…I had an, ah, tattoo. But it vanished. Do you know what this is, Fierre?”

“That looks like a secret ring to contact you. But it also looked—like thorns. Like another group I know.”

Fierre tried to sound innocent, and Ieka bit her lip.

“Yes. Well, I have taken every advantage I could. And I shall say this! I was not on board with a lot of what they did, but you know how one is close to gangs and turns the other cheek. The reason why I have no underworld contacts was because I was, ah, um, affiliated. With the Circle of Thorns.”

Oh shit. Fierre went still at the revelation. And suddenly she wondered if she’d chosen the wrong bed to proverbially hop into. Because this was dangerous.

“The Circle? Are you still…?”

“No, no! And I am neither hunted nor part of it.”

“That can’t be. Bullshit.”

Even to her employer’s face, Fierre reacted with indignation at being lied to. No one just ‘left’ a gang or organization as nasty as the Circle of Thorns. In fact, the hunters that would kill Ieka for her involvement or try her were just as much a threat.

But Ieka was serious.

“I feared both, Fierre! But I met with…with one of Ryoka Griffin’s friends. And I was given a gift on the Summer Solstice. Absolution from my guilt. I do not know if I deserved it, but I was forgotten. By both sides.”

What. Fierre would have called bullshit twice, but she knew Ivolethe’s story and had met Shaestrel. It…made sense.

“So that ring?”

“My tattoo is gone. But this ring just gave me a coded update—I should have turned it to covert mode, but I graduated from it a long time ago. I was just told that the Circle is going to ground. We’re to pretend to support House d’Artien in an emerging scandal. Not even a scandal, really. A…disaster. Have—have you heard of ‘Vampires’?”

Fierre froze in place. Ieka noticed the young woman stutter.

“V-Vampires?”

“Yes…”

Ieka was too-casual as she pulled something she had just been copied by [Message] spell. Apparently, she was on all the lists of contacts and agents, but they just…forgot she existed. It was an excellent position to be in. She casually showed Fierre something.

“Apparently, one was discovered. They were involved with the burning of House Byres, and there will soon be a commotion the likes of which Izril hasn’t seen in centuries. Whether or not it’s public, we were told to help one Delanay d’Artien…”

“That—help how, Lady Ieka?”

For answer, Ieka showed Fierre what she had been sent. A map. A map that made the already-pale Vampire go dead white.

She recognized a lot of the places on the map! Her mother and father had told her about safe havens, places to go if they were ever hurt or killed. Some of the locations were wrong, and it was incomplete, but—

“Th-that’s going to all the Circle members?”

“I think they have a copy. Fierre…I just received a missive on what a ‘Vampire’ looks like. Bloodsucking immortals with sharp teeth who spread their abilities? Inhumanly strong, quick, and able to regenerate from everything but silver? Afraid of sunlight?”

She stared at Fierre, who covered up despite the weak winter. Fierre was panting as she avoided Ieka’s gaze, tense—and the [Mage Lady] realized she might be in danger. So she quickly unfolded something.

“Fierre, I trust you with the knowledge about the Circle. It would ruin me. It is a valuable piece of information you hold over me. I hope you trust me.”

Fierre looked up, and her wild look refocused. Then she saw Ieka showing her something gravely.

“Fierre. Look at this. This is why I brought it up. Do you…do you think your brother might be in jeopardy? How good is he at lying? Does your family, perchance, need House Imarris’ help? Because this…”

The map was very detailed. It came from a traitor’s understanding of Izril. It had to be. And someone without a care for Vampire-kind was sharing it around. Even if Delanay didn’t get a copy or hints, he’d be running down clues. And the family that Ylawes had met would be top of the list.

That was already bad enough. But when Fierre saw the circled city of ‘Reizmelt’ that included Lischelle-Drakle’s family lands, she just sighed.

“I…I’m one of them. They’re coming after us, then.”

She stared at the circled dot and wondered if they could run. How far could you run to get away from the hunters? Across the sea? Ieka just put a hand down on the map.

“Not if I tell them to omit the name.”

Fierre blinked.

“You can do that?”

“Perhaps. I haven’t—tried to play with the gift. But maybe it will fade if I do that. Maybe not. I was a fairly low-ranking member, but I can contribute information. I am willing to try. But even if I fail—House Imarris can certainly shelter one family from scrutiny. Changing a name or one’s appearance with magic is possible. I need you to help me consolidate my power in the underworld, though. I need agents beyond my staff. I know this is a lot to ask in the name of trust, Fierre, but—”

Ieka Imarris got no further. The world was changing like a storm. Whether or not you wanted it that way—or whether or not you looked change in the face and begged for things to remain?

You got to choose how you went. And Fierre threw her arms around Ieka’s frame and squeezed so tight that Ieka squeaked. She instantly lost all the breath in her lungs at the Vampire girl’s insane strength.

I would definitely be dead if I threatened her.

She inhaled, and then Fierre kissed her. It was impulsive and took both of them by surprise. Ieka Imarris’ eyes went wide, and the top of her head vanished. The only thought that drifted up to the ceiling was…

She tastes like blood. Eugh.

But don’t stop kissing. The sounds of a chair toppling over made one of the [Bodyguards] open the door.

“Lady Im—”

She paused, stared inside, and shut the door. Another [Guard] leaned over as the all-female armored fighting force stood to attention.

“What’s wrong? Is she throwing things at the new girl? I thought she was a good secretary.”

“She’s throwing something alright. Half her clothes.”

“Five Families. Are you serious? She’s never had the gonads to do it before!”

“Dead serious. Wait. What the hell are gonads?”

“I don’t know. I was working out at The Wandering Inn, and some Drake kept shouting I had them. Good for Lady Imarris. Maybe she’ll stop staring at us while we change.”

 

——

 

What a great day today was.

Aside from the fact that they were all going to be hunted and possibly staked and burned alive.

But what a great day.

The other part of Ieka’s confession was like…well, Fierre would remember and dissect it later. But it was like a buoying, shielding force to the part of her that was terrified and afraid and knew what was coming.

It let her go back to her family and deliver the news and feel like an impartial observer. Cling to the part about Ieka and her.

It made it so she didn’t have to feel her mother’s soft cry or the way Himilt crumpled his hat in his hands, then smoothed it out as they sat in the farmhouse. Or how they all looked at Rivel and he shrank and his cocky defiance turned to terror.

“They’re…”

Fierre’s voice was brisk as she laid it out. Again, it felt like a dream. Like a nightmare coming true.

“They’re coming for us. They’re investigating who sent the alchemical explosives to the Byres family. They found glass shards and even insignias on some. Rivel. Does Octavia stamp her alchemy flasks?”

He made not a sound. He just sat there, inhaling and exhaling. Himilt just twitched.

“But they know our house.”

“‘Reizmelt’ is circled. Lady Ieka is trying to hide us—”

“Fierre, you told her?”

Colfa was horrified. But Fierre just shot back, poised thanks to her state of mind.

“I had to. She knew, Mother. A description of Vampires has been circulated. They know everything, from our teeth to our weaknesses. We are hunted. We are…hunted. They killed a Vampire in House Quellae’s lands. Delanay d’Artien had a rod of silver.”

“That poor bastard.”

Bamer closed his eyes. He hunched down, his body frail, bones light. Each Vampire had qualities of their old strength—and the sickness from being exposed to silver over generations. Bamer was almost bat-like and might have been able to fly if…

Well, Fierre could turn into mist, and her father had never told her the full heritage that only he knew of their bloodline. Now, he stood. His oddly lumpy neck, which he hid with a scarf, was due to a thyroid imbalance, according to Ryoka’s guesses. Colfa had rashes, and Fierre had been perennially sick. All thanks to silver.

Rivel had ironically been the healthiest, even if he sometimes got dizzy and he’d had breathing problems as a boy. All things that took away from their strength as Vampires. They didn’t live as long as even regular Humans, but they were still creatures of the night.

However, even their great ancestors at their full strength had been hunted down. The current Vampires had hid successfully. Himilt stood, his dusty farmer’s coat hanging around him.

“We have to run. If we make it to a port, maybe we can buy passage to…Baleros. It’ll have to be Baleros. If they start intercepting ships, we’ll never make it. But the Drakes and Gnolls hunted us down. The Silverfangs…can we sell the farm in the winter, or do we have enough coin to do without?”

Bamer was trying to figure out a plan. But Himilt just stood there distantly.

“So it’s come to this. It’s happened before. Close calls, and we have been found out. But never by a d’Artien. Never by a Byres. Perhaps that Vampire panicked. Or maybe he just saw there was no escape. Did he kill the Humans?”

“Over a dozen.”

Fierre whispered. Colfa was looking at Himilt, and her father nodded. He stood there and gazed out the window at the snow, then at the fire where some of the farm animals were warming themselves.

“What do you mean, it’s happened before?”

Fierre had never heard that. Even Bamer seemed surprised. But Himilt answered calmly.

“It has happened. I never told you because I feared it would encourage you, but do you think anyone can keep a secret for thousands of years? Vampires have been found. We killed those who found us, sometimes. Often—we trusted people. Like Ryoka Griffin. Like Ieka Imarris. It is Fierre’s decision, and she is the greatest of us all. Don’t judge her, Colfa. If blood was shed, there may be no chance. But I hope there might be one last one.”

“How? How?”

Himilt’s only reply was to look around, but he had no sword hanging over the mantle. Just a farmer’s scythe and other implements. Tools he knew so well.

Yet when he lifted the scythe he used to cut grass and wheat, it did seem dangerous in his hands. He stared at it for a long time.

“Why, we worked for them. Vampires, fighting in agreement for secrecy. I would not be surprised if some of the Five Families or other groups remembered we were alive. It did not have to come to this. My grandfather fought the Drakes. He walked south, when Zelkyr and Az’kerash and the Drakes were strong, and held them back. Then he came north, debts fulfilled, and died a year after, burned with magic, fists broken on Golems. You see. We have been the scourge of Izril. We have also given blood for it. Why now?”

He was looking at the scythe and shook his head. Then he turned tired and uncertain, and Fierre experienced the fear that all children had when they realized their parents didn’t have the answers.

“Fierre. Can Lady Imarris hide our family? I would risk that.”

“You want to trust her?”

Bamer cried out, afraid, and Rivel was still silent, frozen with terror. Himilt turned to the oldest Vampire.

“I don’t know about Rivel. If Octavia remembers selling the potions to him…but I am tired. I have uprooted us once to go to Liscor. Is Baleros safer? I would rather…trust. Ask Ryoka Griffin for help if she has it to give. Prepare, Bamer. But do you think there’s a chance? Fierre?”

She stared at him and nodded.

“I think so. I’ll do everything I can, Father.”

“Then so shall we. It’s not we who should be afraid, anyways. We’re far from the north, and the door doesn’t let that many through. Sound the alarm. Colfa, where’s the private [Message] scrolls? They don’t know…sound the alarm. Tell them to run.”

“Not all the villages are on the map.”

Fierre pointed out, heart beginning to pound. Himilt just stared at the scythe’s edge.

“It doesn’t matter. They’ll question the survivors. If it was another d’Artien and the Byres family hadn’t been attacked, I might hope they could be reasoned with. But Delanay is a seeker like the old kind, and blood’s been shed. They’ll remember how to hunt soon. Tell them to run. Or take up arms. I can’t choose for us. If you have a chance, keep yourself hidden, Fierre. No one suspects a [Lady]’s secretary.”

The Vampire girl’s eyes burned. Before she lost her ability to detach herself from the moment, she fled. Then ran back in to hug her parents.

Now, she had a mission to accomplish. House Imarris needed to forge things. To hide in plain sight. And for that, they needed contacts.

 

——

 

The gangs of Izril were still part of Izril. Just like Vampires. And that meant you got a people, not just a single group of people.

Some were patriots. The equivalent of Symphony and Linvios. Others couldn’t give two tosses about the nobility, or actively used or plotted against them like the Bloodfeast Raiders.

It was not fair to call them any one thing, except perhaps to say that the gangs had standards.

Whether or not they were good, any major gang was still a culture. They recruited like-minded people or influenced their recruits, and while they changed depending on leaders and each sub-group might be different, a gang was a unifier.

A historian had once called the gangs of Izril’s underworld the only kingdoms of the continent. Well, them and the Walled Cities.

And the gangs, today, were fairly unhappy with Ilvriss as well. A number of them just saw him as bad for business. Others took the understandable tone of having family who’d suffered during the struggle between north and south.

But the underworld bounty on Ilvriss wasn’t that high. Magnolia Reinhart was right. If he had a public, noble backer and an underworld gang sheltering him, Ilvriss might be able to walk through the north without going through a chamberpot gauntlet.

Public sentiment aside, you might not heave something at Ilvriss’ head if you knew there was someone with a club ready to hit you if you did.

So Erin Solstice was looking for a gang. You needed one. Even though nothing had actually happened after she rushed back from her meeting with Magnolia, it had proven that bad things could happen. Ilvriss needed a gang. And Erin thought she had one. But rather like Lyonette would discover, there weren’t any nobles or gangs immediately willing to jump on board.

Even the Brothers of Serendipitous Meeting said no.

Erin wasn’t sure what to expect. Alcaz had arranged for a meeting with her. She had thought he could do the talking, but apparently there was a protocol. And the very smartly dressed, very polite [Enforcer] quite enjoyed her inn’s hospitality.

However…he refused to go to the beach, and she sat rather stiffly in the private room as he drank a cup of coffee.

For some reason, Erin was more formal with him than Magnolia. Perhaps because Magnolia might be on her side no matter what and the Brothers weren’t as certain. There was some irony there, but Erin also owed them a lot.

And what the [Enforcer] said was this:

“It’s a lovely inn, Miss Solstice. I’ve been here before, you know. On business. No offense to you, but we have targeted your inn before we knew you were a woman to tip our hats to.”

“You did? Wait, what was this?”

“Oh, just a simple job of stealing the door. That Hobgoblin fellow with the guitar saw us off in style, and fair do—we called it even. But there’s been a lot of it. Calling it even. My name is Fogrom.”

She almost smiled at the name, but he just smiled politely at her and tipped his worn Homburg hat at her. Then he grew more serious.

“My bosses told me to talk with you seriously and hear you out, Miss Erin Solstice. If I may, would you let me lay out their reasoning?”

“S-sure. Bosses? There are more than one?”

“Each headquarters has a fellow up top. The Gentlemen Callers are authorities, but not bosses, if that makes sense. Then again, I heard they’re starting up a stir down south. Which brings me to the issue of manpower…we have a relationship with your inn, and we thank you for letting us through with the door. My count is that a lot of hats have gone to Pallass.”

They have? Erin swallowed, and Fogrom nodded at her. The Brotherhood of Serendipitous Meetings were going to war in Oteslia. She began to suspect his answer, but he went on, and she listened.

“You know why. Nasty business. Needed business, but that’s a huge drain on us. Invrisil’s chapter was also mostly gone.”

“I’m…I’m sorry…”

He tipped his hat to her.

“Not at all. It was the fellows’ decisions, and you can’t lecture another city on what to do. But it’s a consideration. We don’t do the ‘favor means you give us one’ system. Sometimes you give a bit and don’t ask for it back, other times you ask for a bit more than you gave. That’s practicality. Not all gangs do it that way, but…sometimes there’s a pattern. The lads can count. It was for great and glorious causes. But a lot of hats lie here. A lot of hats…and they cannot justify more.”

Erin sat there as he gave her a bright, non-accusatory smile. She hesitated.

“This is for a good cause.”

“I’m sure it is, Miss Solstice. And if we gave the Brothers a chance. One in a hundred. No, one in a thousand that they’d end up polished and bright as Ser Normen, whom I wish to shake the hand of, they’d do it. But there’s another consideration. Manpower aside. Realism over what we’ll enter into aside…you’re not asking us to fight for you. If you was, excuse me, were, as it were, we’d think twice. But not a Wall Lord.”

“Why? Because he’s a Drake?”

The [Enforcer] nodded.

“That’s one consideration, Miss. But the other is that the Brotherhood of Serendipitous Meetings has two kinds of clients. One’s rich and pays well, like the Tallman of which you know.”

“The…oh, hah-hah. I’m sure he loves that.”

Fogrom’s eyes twinkled.

“Yes, well, he pays well, and despite that, the Gentlemen Callers are very hesitant at working with him again. They took a job outside their expertise, and we don’t like that kind of thing. We don’t like failing. But if it’s a big job, a long one, like this…we work with honorable men. Or women. But they must be honorable.”

He stressed the word, and Erin stared at him. She got what he was hinting at.

“Ilvriss is an honorable man. I know you don’t know him, but he’s definitely a good guy.”

Fogrom hesitated pointedly.

“I’m sure he is to you, Miss. But he’s a Wall Lord.”

“He’s honorable!”

“He’s a soldier.”

The Brother held up a hand before Erin could protest.

“What I mean is, he leads armies. A [Lord] or an [Infantryman] doesn’t matter. He’s a soldier.”

“That’s not honorable? He can’t be honorable because he’s a soldier?”

The [Enforcer]’s look was direct.

“To the Brothers, it’s not really a question, Miss Solstice. You can be an honorable man. Or you can be a good soldier. There ain’t room for both. For three reasons we turn you down, and I hope you understand our reasoning. And that there are no hard feelings.”

He stood up, and Erin tried to protest. But she couldn’t, not really.

What the heck are we gonna do, then? She took Fogrom’s hand and smiled weakly. Then she had a thought.

“Mister Fogrom. Before you go…did you know the Brothers in Invrisil’s chapter?”

He paused a moment, and his grip tightened slightly.

“I—may have. They were good fellows, and I’m glad they went well. You have to, in our line of work.”

Erin stared at him and ducked her head with more humility than she had ever given to all of House Reinhart.

“Would you like to pay your respects? Before you meet Normen?”

He hesitated, and she opened a door for him. The [Enforcer], who had swung a club into more heads and felt more lives leave than he was proud to admit, went weak at the knees as he saw that hill of mists. And in that sense—Erin was afraid to ask for more gangs. Afraid to add to her list of sins and statues.

 

——

 

But not everyone was afraid. Fierre ducked into Invrisil to look for Ieka’s needed allies. She made inquiries, but as it turned out, she was barking up the wrong tree.

There were gangs all over Invrisil, but the City of Adventurers was an interesting case. Magnolia Reinhart was the woman of the streets who held the most sway; any gang could operate here, like the Brothers, but if they clashed with her, a bunch of [Maids] and [Butlers] would square up—and they won.

The Brothers were more like symbiotes who were tolerated, and the gang that Fierre wanted didn’t have a headquarters here.

“You want that lot? I hear they’re actually around Celum. Or at least, a chapter of ‘em is. Try Wales. You can probably get there’n back if you have a good horse in a day.”

Fierre took the name and decided she could run to Wales faster. But maybe one of the on-demand carriages via the Driver’s Guild?

She had to bounce to Celum when she found she was in luck. The chapter was in Wales, but there were members of the gang in the city itself! They were scoping it out because Xitegen was interested and because the door allowed easy access to all kinds of areas.

Mind you, this wasn’t a gang that had easy-access or friendship with The Wandering Inn like the Brothers. They were so adversarial that Magnolia had kicked them out of Invrisil except in a few pockets, and Ieka had told Fierre to go humbly.

Well, she was going to go humbly. Fierre walked right up to the secret door with a bunch of gifts from House Imarris—wands, samples of potions—and she had gold to seal any deal and contract paper.

The problem was…she was used to being an Information Broker, not someone who made deals. And thusly, Fierre was a bit too presumptuous.

“You want to talk to the boss? Without arranging a meeting? Come back in a week!”

The person behind the door laughed at Fierre. The Vampire grew angry.

“It’s urgent, and I have an introduction. My client’s known.”

“Ooh, her client’s known! Hear that, girls? She’s got a client. Fancier’n us.”

“I have gifts!”

The woman behind the slot in the steel door—not even enchanted—paused a second.

“Well, hand them through the slot and we’ll see.”

“Let me in first. I’m not an idiot.”

“Hmm…piss off.”

She should have done it more officially. Fierre knew it was a delicate game requiring negotiation and time, every bit as difficult as Nerul speaking for a Walled City. But she was anxious, impatient—and she realized something.

“Hey, your door lock is broken.”

There was a pause from the other end.

“We had a raid yesterday. Get lost.”

There was just a wedge of wood blocking Fierre from entering. It wasn’t magic…she began to push.

“I…represent…a very important client your boss wants to meet. This is bigger than your chapter.”

Someone on the other end of the door began to panic.

“Hey, she’s coming in. Get the others. Stop! Stop or I’ll—”

Fierre noticed the blowpipe and ducked a second before something whistled past her head. She grinned—

Then the door slammed open as the guard hit her in the face with the steel door. Wait, it opened outwards and inwards? Gang-trick. Fierre recoiled, and a boot kicked her in the face.

“Hah! Gotcha, bitch! Get lost unless you want more!”

The street put the Vampire flat on her back. Fierre lay there for a second, then got mad. She got up, and someone put the wedge back under the door.

They expected her to call for the Watch if she was stupid, shout and cause a fuss—in which case they’d kick her ass—beg and plead, or try to push the door open.

What they didn’t expect was for Fierre to take three steps back, run at the door, and kick it so hard that everyone behind it was launched by the door coming off the hinges. Fierre strode into the headquarters, and someone swore.

Fierre caught the first dagger going for her ribs and grinned. Her hands moved so fast the [Knifer]’s stabs couldn’t keep up—then she punched the woman off her feet.

[Lesser Dexterity] and Garia’s training were paying off. The gang hesitated, and they realized this was a serious visitor coming calling. So one of them whispered.

“Oh shit. Get the boss. But kick her ass first.”

They did try.

 

——

 

Strength and doors. It was an important job. You were only as strong as the door you hid behind, but deciding who to go through was an important job.

In the Brothers, their [Doorguard] was literally a high-level individual who might have to fight off a Face. Now, a lesser chapter had fewer precautions and might suffer a Watch raid, so maybe the door was expendable.

But maybe it mattered.

Like snowy Celum. Xitegen was often going through there, so it got more traffic than you thought, even for a poorer, smaller city than Invrisil or Pallass.

These days, the door’s prices reflected distance. You wanted to hop from Liscor or to Esthelm? One copper coin for Liscor, two for Esthelm. That was because the mana cost was virtually nonexistent, and Yelroan had calculated this would make lots of money.

Especially if he sold a ‘ticket’ which you could use all week that saved you money. He had accordingly priced Celum higher, and Pallass and Invrisil even higher.

This was the power of math…or someone who at least understood distance equaled money in this regard. But guess who had to deal with all of this?

The Wandering Inn’s hardest worker, the unsung heroine, the Gnoll who had a stable relationship with her girlfriend—shut up Ishkr, everything is fine—Liska.

She was sad because her girlfriend was getting on her back about working. And she got on Liska’s back when she didn’t have a job and, therefore, money.

But apparently Liska had ‘no time for them’ and was ‘looking too much’, especially at the beach-goers. As if she were blind! Liska worked so hard.

“Liska, wake up.”

Ishkr kicked her, and she got up from her nap and hurried to check the door and all the settings. People glared at her as she cycled them through.

“I have a tough life! No one tips enough! It was just a nap! I need someone to replace me!”

“You do have someone who replaces you. Alcaz takes over, and so do our Drake employees.

“Right. But I meant…shut up, Ishkr.”

Liska sulked into her chair. She had stopped levelling again, and no one complimented her on being Level 24.

She had levelled so fast! But whenever she tried to brag, they just said ‘[Doorgnoll]? Is that even a class? Is that even useful?’

She was so useful. She could automatically collect fees, conjure free stools, lock the door and open it remotely, make people line up, replenish the magic of the door—

And she had just gained the ability to create fake illusions of doors and hide the ones she had. And make walls of force.

Her door powers were amazing. It was just that her brother could skate across the world, teleport, conjure food and drink, utter [Thought-Provoking Statements], and throw people out of the inn with a touch.

Ishkr always did this to make her look bad. Anyways, Liska let through the Vampire girl who’d been waiting, then another Drake to visit stupid Celum.

“Sorry. Oh wait, you’re on Erin’s good lists? Go on through.”

Both thanked her. See? A thank you was all Liska needed.

And a tip.

And a snack. She was going to wave down the next employee who came through, like Silvermop, and ask for one. There were some perks of the job, and Liska wasn’t going to get fat. Even if she sat here all day.

…Maybe she should work out in the weights room. Liska was prodding her stomach and scratching her side, waiting for the next ‘cycle’ of the door. Every ten minutes she checked it, which was so boring. She had forgotten to cycle the hourglass and did so now, guiltily. Well, it didn’t have to be every ten minutes.

A word on Liska’s class.

[Doorgnoll] was indeed her class. It was an upgrade from [Laborer], one of the most basic classes she’d had for ages. Unlike her brother, she had bounced from job to job, and so she had basic Skills.

Like [Dangersense] to avoid stepping on nails, [Basic Efficient Action], which took some of the mundanity out of turning mortar mixes while laying bricks to keep it from solidifying, and so on.

[Doorgnoll] was where her class had taken off. Fighting with Tyrion? She had a bunch of, again…oddly door-related Skills.

For instance, after Tyrion had kept trying to get in, the first few times he’d literally strong-armed his way through. Until she had gained [Enhanced Strength: Doors]. Which meant she had amazing strength…but only when opening or closing a door.

It seemed like Liska got wildly powerful Skills, but the handicap was they were all door related. Her brother had asked her, to her face, whether she was doing this on purpose. Liska was a bit mad about her levels, but they had some cool features.

Like she could hold a door closed on someone, and it was really hard to kick her out by shutting the door in her face.

She was just about to go trot into the common room and place an order herself when Liska paused. The door was still set to Celum, and she got a weird feeling. So she opened the door a moment.

“Hello? Is anyone…”

Liska trailed off. There was no one at the door waiting in the snowy street to go through. At first. Then she saw someone walking around in a…spiral…just beyond.

The door was set into a plaza, and someone was walking in a slowly evolving spiral, being watched by a few cats and dogs that were hiding around the edges of alleyways. Liska stared. Then looked over her shoulder.

“Who…Ryoka?”

The figure turned, and Liska bit her lip. No, wait. That wasn’t Ryoka. She had looked like it at first, with black hair and—

But no, it was a guy. Black-haired with completely different features.

“Whoops! Sorry!”

He had looked just like her. The figure turned at Liska’s call. Then he tilted his head left and right. Then tilted it too far right. Liska froze.

Necks could go right or left with surprising flexibility. But too far and they’d literally crack as the bones within twisted out of shape. This neck bent at a right angle, and then the figure spoke.

“Hi. Hello. It’s me. I’m looking for a job.”

…That was not a normal thing to say. It was all normal, if you separated it out, and it was the kind of thing you’d hear all the time in a bigger city. But not all like that. Not with the weird inflection that suggested the speaker had no idea what they were saying.

And not to Liska, sitting in the door and calling to them across the snowy plaza.

“Uh…sorry? Wrong person. Are you waiting in line?”

Liska was grinning desperately. Just close the door. But the figure began walking towards her, and she cursed. She couldn’t just…

Well, maybe she could shut the door. Wait a second, but that was so rude—who would do something like that?

Liska closed the door and dusted her paws.

“Another awkward encounter saved. Good job, Liska.”

Then she got up and got a toasted sandwich. The Gnoll thought no more of that moment, and no one else noticed. Not Erin. Not the Watch. Not even Tessa or anyone else, not at first. But Liska did wonder whether Lyonette’s luau had started. If so…

Those were some loud damn bells coming from the beach. Maybe Kevin had begun playing some music? She had to head there after a second. But her stomach hurt and was all tense. A sandwich would do her some good.

 

——

 

Ten minutes later, Liska was checking the doors. She filed people through.

“Liscor’s done, Invrisil—thank you! Come again! Jerk.”

She got a glare as someone passed through to Invrisil, and all the people waiting were done. Absent-mindedly, because she had to, Liska checked Celum. She opened the door a cr—

“Hello. I’m looking for a job, please.”

The instant the door opened a crack, a hand shot through. Liska froze and reversed the door instantly.

“Hey! No cutting in line! Back off!”

She tried to hold the door closed, but she shut it on the hand. It flailed around.

“Hello. Let me in, please.”

“Back up. It’s four silver to enter!”

“I’d like a job.”

That weirdo was on the other end. Liska snapped back.

“No coins, no entry!”

The hand paused, and she hoped that was the end of it. But something was tolling in her mind, now, and it was growing louder each second. She realized what it was with a sudden jolt.

[Dangersense].

She had only heard it ringing this loud when Skinner attacked, when the dungeon and Face-Eater Moths were there.

Whoever was on the other end had paused, not even noticing the door squeezing their hand.

“I have money. Please, let me in.”

“N—no. I changed my mind. Go away. Get your hand out of the door.”

Liska listened to the voice in her head. She pushed—and then felt someone pushing back. Suddenly—the door began to open.

She’d been controlling the door with her Skill remotely this entire time. Now, Liska leapt up, surged over, and grabbed the portal-door’s knob. She heaved against it, and the door reversed.

“Get lost!”

She ground it against the hand, no longer caring if she hurt whomever it was. Then something horrible happened. The pressure on the door increased—and began pushing her back.

Even Tyrion Veltras could barely do that. Liska’s feet skidded on the ground, and her eyes went round.

“Wh—stop.”

“Let me in. Please? Let me in. Letmein.”

The voice grew more desperate, louder and louder and more—foreign. A dog howled on the other end of the door and began to bark. Then it whimpered and turned into a shriek, the clatter of paws.

“Is anyone there? Some creep’s on the end of this door! Hey!”

Liska called out, but Celum didn’t have a door-guard. And no one was in her portal-room in the inn. She spoke—

“[Hold Door]! [Lesser Forcewall]!”

The door halted. Panting, Liska smiled in relief—then the voice on the other end turned nasty. And it said something in tones she should know.

“City Runner! Open up, Teriarch! You there?”

R-Ryoka? It was her voice! The door began opening, and the red light of the [Lesser Forcewall]—cracked. Liska’s voice went high and terrified.

“Ishkr! Someone! Help! The door!”

She began screaming too late. Like every idiot in her horror books, she should have called for help. Tessa should have been there, but she’d been vanishing of late.

“Help!”

“I’m Ryoka Griffin, and I’ve got a delivery for you! Open up or I’ll shove this so far up your ass—”

The voice was Ryoka’s—then grew high and shrill, then deepened as if someone was experimenting with it. That hand—it was huge, fleshy like leather, and Liska was screaming for help as the door opened—

Until she heard an exasperated, sharp voice.

“Stop that!”

 

——

 

The pushing figure halted. All the dogs and cats had fled. No wonder. Liska was screaming ten kinds of panic on the other end of the door.

But Xesci only had eyes for it. The figure let go of the door as the Drake halted. She had just been on her way to do the only thing she could for Ilvriss.

“Hello?”

It turned on her, and a familiar young woman stood there. It was…Ryoka Griffin. A good image. But it had flaws. The door slammed shut behind the figure, and it turned back—then began hammering on the portal door.

The stone the door was set into cracked, but Xesci just raised her voice.

“I said, stop that. What are you doing, stealing her face? If you’re going to do that—”

She got no further, because the other ‘Ryoka’ went for her. She whirled with a cry of rage twisting her features—then leapt.

So fast. She took Xesci off her feet and slammed her into the ground. Two hands reached for the Drake’s throat—then a puzzled look crossed not-Ryoka’s face.

Then she went flying as Xesci flipped her off. The Drake got up, feeling at her back—then someone grabbed her.

A Gold-ranker, huge and brawny, one of the many adventurers who’d gone hunting Wyverns, nose mashed flat from a previous injury. He was strong, grabbed Xesci—

And then his wild charge slowed as he looked into a copy of his face. Two identical men struggled in the plaza as a few pedestrians slowed and stared. The first stared.

“Uh?”

The second leg-swept him with a practiced movement that sent him down. The other squirmed on the ground as the second spoke.

“I said, stop. What are you doing? Don’t you have any manners?”

“Arghachwhat’reyoustop—”

They came up so fast and with so many flailing limbs that two civilians just fainted and the last ran screaming, shrieking with all the volume in their lungs. Xesci herself blinked—then caught the limbs. Her own arms changed, elongating, fingernails turning to claws for a grip, deflecting the grabbing hands—

At some point, it was no longer clear which was which. Who was who. They fought, a tangled mess of limbs, not even striking at each other, just grabbing, trying to get a mental purchase, a grip on…

It was impossible. One of the two changers felt like it was ‘slipping’, unable to grasp anything solid. It was trying to reach out for something to latch onto, to use. But it was like it was facing—

—A mirror—

“I said, stop.”

Then the other one spoke, and the wild cacophony of limbs and alterations started to become a game. One would change into something they knew, and the other followed suit. And both were fascinated. They tried to copy each other…and one was better than the other.

Xesci was. Changechangechangechange—her face shifted a dozen times, and the other being halted, panting. The two were now Liska and looked at each other with wide eyes.

And she was superior.

Two Liskas stood in the plaza, but of different quality. One had her appearance from afar, but the fur was tough and rubbery, like skin. It had missing details, like a nick on one ear, and forgot to breathe right, not knowing what the insides looked like perfectly. It had checked, but it wasn’t quite good enough.

The other was beautiful. Even her inflections sounded like Liska. Even her personality.

“Hey, dumbass. Let go of me. What the hell are you doing?”

Liska1 let go of Liska2.

“What? What?”

The second Liska frowned, then noticed the commotion and heard shouting coming from the door. She could have let the other one stay—but she impulsively grabbed its paw.

“Come with me.”

She dragged the other one away, and it followed, no longer resisting, but curious. A minute later, Tessa bailed out the door to The Wandering Inn, blades drawn, drunk and cursing. She looked around, saw nothing to kill, and lay down on the ground.

 

——

 

“You’re doing it all wrong. Pick one and stick. That’s right. What’s your name?”

“Dunnononono.”

“That’s alright. That’s alright. But listen, you can’t do that.”

“Why?”

“Because…it causes trouble. You need to be respectful if you take their image. Understand? Don’t make them look bad. That’s because it’s theirs. There you are. That’s so much better.”

It was the second time in her entire life she’d done this, but Xesci finally got the other one to calm down and taught them how to do the copying more effectively. They were a fast study, but all—confused.

The second one—she was taking the image of the innocuous Drake she liked, and it was taking the image of the Gold-ranker, squatting there. It had stopped trying to copy everything, and his voice was properly deep, and he looked very good.

“Yes, that’s right. Just watch and copy how they do it. But don’t cause trouble. You can; you can do anything, but that’s not how I live. I try to be respectful. You, though, you’re strong even if you don’t copy it. Where do you come from?”

“Th-there.”

The man pointed towards the High Passes. That meant nothing to Xesci, so she nodded.

“Why did you come here?”

“Looking for someone.”

These were not good answers to most people, but Xesci accepted them. She checked the sky and cursed.

“Dead gods, I’ve been here too long. I need to get back to work. I don’t think that Gnoll likes you. So stay away from the door, understand?”

It didn’t like this. The ‘man’ was staring at Xesci as she lectured him, and he nodded slowly. Then frowned.

“You…not scared? Why helping?”

She supposed she should be. But the same Drake who had scared Ryoka Griffin spitless just smiled and patted it on the hand.

“I felt bad. You reminded me of myself back when I reached Level 50, oh, ages ago. I understand. You do what you must. Try to find yourself.”

“Don’tgottaself.”

“Well then, find something you want to be. But be a bit more respectful, alright?”

“…‘kay.”

“Say, ‘thank you’. Most people do.”

“Thank you. Goodbye. See you again?”

“Maybe.”

Then she went on her way, and after a moment, the man squatted down. Then became a cat, who meowed very convincingly this time. Xesci, walking down the street, had an eye in the back of her head. Literally. Gazers were such funny people.

Whomever that was—they were more talented than she was. Very talented. She couldn’t do non-people, and her height could only vary one foot.

Only then did Xesci seriously consider running back to the inn and sounding all alarms. She kept walking, acting normal, but her heart was racing.

I just met death. If it hadn’t been so fascinated, she would have been dead in a heartbeat. Parts of her screamed to get help and come back the moment she was out of sight. But other parts of Xesci refused to do that.

For two reasons. One was that she doubted anyone could catch it once it fled. If it could turn into a cat…it could squeeze between the cracks of a wall. And no one had sensed it, aside from the people who had physically seen it.

This was Xitegen’s territory. He should have been running through the streets with arrows raining down. Erin should have sensed the thing—it was a void in the world. Just like her, really. You couldn’t sense a mirror. Even an [Emperor], who could view his entire lands, would have trouble with her or it. All the magical sight in the world just bounced off a perfect reflection.

I could try. But she couldn’t. It was her weakness. Xesci wanted to…but it was like her. That was one reason. The other? The other was…she saw into the hearts of so many things.

Animals. People. And even, perhaps, monsters. Or were they monsters if she knew them? She could read the hearts of Goblins, Antinium, and this changer.

What Xesci sensed was…not hostility. She sensed, rather, a loneliness so deep and profound it made her unable to go back with wrath and ruin. The [Courtesan] was handicapped by her insight.

“I can’t do it. I should…but I can’t.”

Xesci looked back, and the little cat slinking around screamed at her. A voice, untrained, having only learned language recently. But screaming so loud.

Lonely. I’m so lonely and sad.

Alone.

It was loud, overwhelming, and Xesci’s claws trembled as she walked away. Perhaps it was her own madness that left her unable to condemn.

“Right or wrong, I can’t judge. I only know how you feel. Be nicer.”

That was her advice. Then she left it alone and continued on her way. In the end…it wasn’t her responsibility. She was no hero, and hers had too much on his plate to die in some back alley. You left Faces alone despite what they did. Faces would leave this one alone.

 

——

 

Who was she? If you knew her…you had an inkling, but so few did. Virtually no one in Salazsar, not even Ilvriss himself.

Someone did know Xesci and stopped in the middle of bawling out one of their underlings. A huge woman with a scar on her cheek, a former [Bruiser] turned local gang boss, spread her arms.

Her underlings stared as an exact copy of Boss Yeire appeared, waving and smiling in a disconcertingly timid manner. The entire gang was in the street outside their safehouse, and Yeire was furious.

But the instant she saw Xesci, she beamed.

“Shit tits, Xesci! Is that you? I haven’t seen you since I was a sprout in the gangs! Hey, put down that crossbow!”

“Yeire. I knew it was you. Hello, hello. Can I have a moment? Is something wrong?”

“Boss. Who the fuck is that?”

One of the underlings was unnerved, but Yeire just shoved the speaker aside.

“Shut the hell up. Be respectful. You’re speaking to a Face in all but name, especially among us! She’s a living legend—but we thought you went south!”

“I did. I’m back.”

The odd way of talking caught even Yeire off-guard, but she was still beaming. Beaming…until a crash made her wince from inside.

“Are you here for a job? There’s a bit of a situation. I was going to handle it, but the bitch inside is tough. You probably want someone higher up though, right? As soon as we handle this—”

One of the other women was aiming a crossbow inside, but ducked back as a cup shattered on the doorway. She called out.

“Can she help, boss? We can back you two up.”

Yeire snapped back.

“Xesci’s not a fighter. She can deal with unruly customers, but she’s a [Courtesan], you idiot. The highest-leveled one you’ll ever meet! She can suck a testicle out a dick!”

“Whoa.”

“Shit tits, boss. Does it work like that?”

The all-female gang susurrated, but Yeire ignored them.

“Come to think of it, can you help, Xesci? The one inside is barehanded. No blades. It’d be better than me having to knife ‘em. Someone stuck them three times, and they’re mad as shit, though I think they’ve got healing potions. You do that—and I promise, the Sisters of Chell will hear anything you need.”

The Sisters of Chell. The notorious counterparts to the Brothers, the all-female gang who had a hand in brothels, extortion, and made most of their living in red-light districts. Xesci sighed.

“I’m not good at fighting. If they pull a knife, save me.”

“You got it.”

Yeire gave her a thumbs-up, and Xesci walked into the doorway.

“Who’s there? Which one of you wants it next? Bring out your boss!”

A very angry Vampire was shouting in the middle of the gang’s base. She had been stabbed three times, and she’d knocked out a dozen people. The instant she saw Xesci, she froze.

“Huh?”

Two Fierres stared at each other. One had walked into the bar, the other was panting—but both had identical cuts on their cheek, sweat rolling down their faces…

Exactly alike. They paused, looked uncertain, hostile, then one went for the other. The first leapt at the second, standing in the doorway, and the other tried to duck—and then both collided, crashing, throwing each other aside, getting up, grabbing at the other—

They were not equal.

One was more dextrous than the other. She was nimbler, empowered by Skills, and if she’d had more, the other would be in trouble. But they were both fast.

Which one was which? Yeire shouted the other Sisters back, because already it was totally unclear. The nervous gang watched, but Yeire could tell who was who. Not by their features—but by their competencies. The first one was fast, throwing agile punches, dodging and weaving—

But the second grabbed a fist and threw the first in a familiar way. Few people could throw someone like that.

“Whoa!”

One of the Fierres caught herself, went for a low-kick, and the second Fierre leapt on her.

The two rolled around, and somehow, one of the Fierres ended up pinned. She tried to get out of it, and ended up in a chokehold she only got out of by kicking both off the ground and into the air. And even when she got free, the other Fierre was coming at her, throwing her, putting her into joint-locks.

It was impossible! They were just as strong, and she was more flexible!

But the other one knew leverage and how to grapple. In short order, Fierre was kicking at the ground in another choke-hold and the Sisters leapt forwards as Yeire cried out in triumph.

“Got her! You can let go now, Xesci!”

Xesci? Fierre relaxed and saw arrows and wands aimed down at her—and then saw her doppelganger change. A Drake stood there, dusting off her clothes and nodding at Fierre, and the Vampire’s eyes went round.

“Sorry. Wait, do I know you?”

“We’re from the same inn! Stop, stop! I give! I just wanted to talk to your boss, and I got blowdarted!”

“You didn’t have a meeting arranged! She kicked our door down, boss, and started throwing hands!”

Boss Yeire was not impressed. She was glaring at Fierre, who reached for her bag of holding in a hurry and tensed as they shouted at her, but then Yeire looked around.

“Which one of you idiots stabbed her?”

The idiot dumb enough to raise a hand got a backhand, and Yeire went tearing around.

“If she had an introduction, just let her in! As for you—you’d better have a good reason for trashing my base, or the Sisters will have a score to settle. And if you think throwing down with a bunch of fools here makes you tough—”

“I’ll buy you a new door and lock! And all the damages! Here! This is what I was going to give you at the start!”

Gold spilled out of Fierre’s pouch as she guessed the damages and added a hefty handful. Boss Yeire paused, and the sight of the gold made her hold up a hand.

“Hold on. Xesci, give me one second.”

“Sure. Can I tour your brothel?”

“It’s connected. Someone give her a tour and be respectful. Now, who are you, and what do you want?”

 

——

 

Fierre laid out Ieka’s offer of a lucrative partnership and in doing so, made the mistake every secretary but Salii tended to make. Even Yelroan had made it before.

And that was assuming the numbers on paper worked in real life on a 1-to-1 basis. They did not.

“So some fancy [Lady] wants us to be her lapdogs? We get a cut of her interests, and in return, we do all the dirty work while she keeps her nose clean?”

Boss Yeire summed the entire offer up. Fierre hesitated and raised a finger.

“That’s the most uncharitable way of putting it.”

“‘Swhat it sounds like to me. Shit tits. You’re oiling us well enough, and I’ll tell the Haple what’s going on, but no promises.”

Haple. Fierre remembered that from her notes. That was the Sisters’ version of superiors to the local gangs under their control. If they had superiors above that, they weren’t known.

“I can promise Ieka’s aboveboard, and you can tell all her offers are good. It’s largely protection work, blackmarket ties—we’ll even go through you instead of the Wharf.”

That would be a juicy cut on the Sisters’ side, but Yeire was unconvinced, and Fierre had to get her onboard, or the Haple might not even hear of this or they’d get Yeire’s opinion, which was unlikely to help.

“Yeah, that’s good money, but there’s all kinds of money. You’re not giving us good energy. Ieka Imarris…I dunno, she’s too fancy for us.”

“She has a record in the underworld—”

“Then why haven’t I heard of her? Also, don’t call it that. Underworld. Psh.”

Yeire was unconvinced by Fierre, and the reason wasn’t that Fierre didn’t have her own way of making an impact or good arguments. She did. They were sitting on one of the sofas, a semi-circle, and Yeire wasn’t managing to intimidate Fierre. Slight though Fierre might be, compared to some of the heavyweight Sisters, she had been kicking people around just a few minutes ago.

The problem was that she had…it wasn’t even charisma. It was what Kevin could call ‘bad vibes’. Or unsatisfactory vibes. Possibly you could call it a lack of Archmage-ness in Oteslian cant.

However, someone did have her own style, and it was Xesci. At first, she was rather meek and humble, and she’d toured the Sisters’ business, their red-light district. They were bouncers to the women who worked there, and they had a reputation.

If you crossed a Sister or the people who worked through them, like a ‘lady of the night’, then a [Nightlady] would come and cut something off. The first Sisters had been former prostitutes and escorts who’d learned to defend themselves because no one else would.

Xesci, as a high-level [Courtesan], had a lot of weight with Yeire. But the rest of the Sisters were dubious around her, and that was fair.

Xesci had forgotten to be charming. She was still rattled from meeting the other shapechanger, and to be fair—Erin Solstice herself. But the Sisters were reminding her how it worked.

When Fierre got up, frustrated, the plain Drake started, then hurried over to Fierre.

“Fierre. Are you trying to get a contract with the Sisters?”

“Yes! But they’re not biting. Why not?”

The fight had knocked out several of the [Light] spells, so they passed into some shadows as Fierre went to the bar and Yeire gave her gang orders to clean up. Xesci was changing, and Fierre could see her in the shadows of the bar-safehouse altering her appearance. The [Courtesan]’s voice deepened a bit. And she looked…taller as she and Fierre reached the bar.

“They don’t trust you. Why don’t you let me take charge? I’m negotiating as well, and it occurs to me that Ilvriss could use this [Lady]’s help. If I take over for the two of us and get a deal, will you communicate that to this Lady Ieka?”

“I need to strike the deal. No offense, but Lady Ieka has a lot to offer, and your Wall Lord’s temporary. Combining interests sounds like we both lose.”

Especially given the politics. But here Fierre underestimated Xesci. As they reached the bar, the Drake put a hand on Fierre’s shoulder.

“Why don’t you…let me take charge.”

“I said—whuh.”

Fierre hesitated, because the normal-looking Drake had changed. But it wasn’t a clone of Fierre that appeared, but a tall—tall as Xesci could get—generously bosomed woman.

She was a half-Elf, had bright violet eyes, tanned skin, and she looked beautiful. The [Bartender] poured a drink straight over the glass as Xesci leaned over.

“I can do it. But I need to make sure I know what I’m pushing Yeire on.”

“I don’t, uh—”

“Come on. If I succeed, what’s the harm? You’re not going to win on your own. Trust me.”

The taller Xesci grabbed Fierre and squeezed her close. The Vampire was red-faced and tried to object, but after six minutes and a quick drink, Xesci walked back over to Yeire.

“Yeire, I’m representing Wall Lord Ilvriss and Lady Ieka. The Sisters need to give us a hand. Tell the Haple I’m asking.”

Yeire groaned as she massaged her face.

“Xesci, two of you? I heard that Wall Lord was causing a shitstorm.”

Fierre was red-faced, avoiding the [Bartender]’s stare at the bar as she watched Xesci begin her negotiations. She felt like an idiot, but she’d been swept off her feet. But then she realized she might not need to feel that guilty—Xesci had gone over to Yeire, and she’d changed again.

“He’s dodging it, but don’t be like that. Come on, I knew you when you were a girl.”

A full head shorter now, Xesci put her hands on her hips. Yeire eyed the compact woman, who looked like she was in her mid-fifties, but tough. Motherly?

Was she flirting? Fierre knew that Xesci had gotten her, but the odds that Yeire was a Turnscale seemed low. And yet, Xesci knew her target.

“Xesci, that’s business—”

“You brat! You know me. Do I have to put you over one knee in front of your gang?”

“You wouldn’t—hey! Don’t flip me!”

The laughing woman was trying to put Yeire in a headlock! She shoved the huge [Boss] as Yeire grew embarrassed, and Fierre peeked over, wide-eyed. So did members of the local gang.

“Boss, is this, uh—uh, woman really from the old days?”

“From the old days? She’s higher-level than I remember. I…what did you look like back then, Xesci? I was just some snot-nosed [Bruiser], and you had the entire run of the city. Invrisil, boys and girls. A lifetime ago. Before Reinhart chased us out.”

Xesci hesitated as Yeire reminisced. But she rallied in a moment and chuckled, and her voice grew even deeper.

“I forgot. But I was always different each time you saw me, wasn’t I? These days, I can even change into a Gnoll. See?”

A tall Gnoll woman sat down, nudging Yeire.

“Show me those new scars on your face. I used to sew you up. What happened?”

“Bottle shards in a fight with a bastard. I had to jump this [Guard] who was doing our girls wrong, and he turned out to have a weapon after all. Argh. She did use to do that, even to us grunts. Hey, about the deal—”

“Talk us up. You’re going to do it. Come on, get some drinks, bring over our sulking guest, and we’ll tell you why the Sisters want to work with us. There’s a digging job. Plenty of bodyguard work—and Ilvriss is rich. He’s a good client.”

“He. Haple hates working for people like that.”

Xesci rolled her eyes and began to shove Yeire on the shoulder with a Gnollish paw.

“So. Tell. Them. It’s. Me. Now, have you found someone special after all? A likely lad who appreciates big girls or what? And what about you all? Or is it just Sisters who’re too tough to tell anyone when they’re having a bad day?”

Yeire was beet red, and as Fierre walked over with a mug, the boss’ objections crumpled away. The gang looked a bit alarmed at how fast Xesci was overrunning the boss, and when she noticed that…

She didn’t change openly. Rather, over the next thirty minutes, Fierre realized that the Gnollish woman’s brown fur had turned faintly gold at the edges, like a lion’s mane. In fact…she looked a bit like Torishi Weatherfur, an impressive Gnoll speaking of the south, and the gang began running to get her refills and asked—humbly—about the past and members of Haple.

What an amazing class. Within forty minutes, Yeire was sweating over a [Message] to Haple and glancing at Fierre.

“I just don’t know how to word it. We’ll get a speaking stone if they’re serious. If they’re real serious, Haple’ll come themselves. They might be about anywhere. How do I say it? We’re still workin’ for a [Lady] and a Wall Lord. Shit tits, Xesci, but we have to be proud. Your job’s one thing, but if they bark orders—some gangs will literally riot before they accept it.”

“Tell them you’re not taking orders, you’re partnering.”

A tall Drake leaned over Yeire, looking faintly tired, bags under her eyes, but very, very beautiful. Her scales were pearlescent, and she had the faintest pink tinge to them. It looked like she had makeup on, and she was so familiar to Yeire that the boss looked like a girl gazing at Xesci with eyes full of memory. The [Boss] glanced at Xesci, and the [Courtesan] prompted her.

“Partners. You want to give orders? Give orders. But ask Haple this: do they want to be a gang that falls behind the Brothers in Oteslia? Lady Ieka has mostly a female staff. Does that sound like a noblewoman outside of the Sisters’ interests? Or does that sound like another lost Sister who needs a gang? As for Ilvriss—you don’t even have to look twice at him. There’s a lady called Asrira Shieldscale, and she’s tough as any Human you want. You’ll work with her. Tell Haple they’ve got armor and magic gems. What else does Haple want?”

“That’s good shit. And yeah—this Ieka definitely has a tough secretary.”

Yeire nodded, and Fierre’s heart leapt. Then she wondered what she was getting into.

“I can’t promise Ieka will join Ilvriss’ side. But she’ll be very, very friendly. She has to decide how much she wants to do, though.”

Fierre obviously had a voice in Ieka’s ear, but that was something she had to leave to the [Lady]. Xesci seemed happy with this, though.

“That’s fine. Nerul handles classy negotiations. I’m just doing a little bit. Ah, Yeire? Tell Haple I want fifteen Sisters tamping down fires in Invrisil about Ilvriss. No bounty.”

“Aw, Xesci—”

“They owe me. Tell them.”

 

——

 

“Dead gods. You did what?”

By the time Xesci and Fierre got back, there was a commotion by the door. Liska had seen nothing, but her report had disturbed Erin, and Alcaz and Peggy were working out a better door.

“We got lax. It’s my fault, Miss Solstice. I had the hallway, but the door’s where the action is.”

“I just don’t know what the heck that was. I’m sorry I missed it. What’s going on here?”

Erin turned from Nerul, and the [Diplomat] looked up from Xesci’s report with a mystified look.

“I think we found our gang.”

“…Hah?”

The second time Erin and Xesci had a close encounter of the verbal kind was when Erin learned that Xesci had single-handedly engaged a gang’s services. But Erin was slightly disturbed.

“Whoa, whoa. Wait. Aren’t the Sisters pieces of work? Wilovan and Ratici told me something about the gangs, and they kill people for looking at them wrong, and they’re mean and nasty.”

“They’re not that bad, Miss Erin. And there are a lot of them—they’re the only gang I know. There will always be Sisters of Chell about, even if the Brothers are a bit more dangerous. But Brothers aren’t everywhere. You can always get a handful of low-level Sisters with a knife. It might get costly if we fight with another gang, but if Ilvriss can keep paying the bills and providing a reason Haple likes, the Sisters will be on our side. I wish that Lady Ieka would help, but it sounds like she might be busy.”

Erin squirmed as she sat down in the private room she’d chosen to talk to Xesci in. She was aware there was more going on at her inn; Lyonette was rushing around, but Xesci and Erin traded looks. This time, Xesci was shorter than Erin and looked like she was around Erin’s age…even younger.

“Why do you look like that?”

“Do I bother you?”

“No…it makes me wanna talk to you more than if you were older. Stop it.”

Erin narrowed her eyes, and Xesci turned back to the bland Drake. She sighed.

“This woman lived every day of her life without changing her routine. She was a good Drake citizen. It makes me boring when I’m her. I think she was miserable when she passed away.”

“How do you know?”

Xesci shrugged.

“I felt it. She went to a brothel the last year before she died. I think that was why she passed. So full of regrets for being…”

She gestured to the bland nature of the Drake who had thought it was a virtue. Erin’s heart sank, but Xesci was so matter-of-fact.

“You said a bunch of low-level Sisters might get killed. That feels—wrong to me.”

“Does it? Why?”

Xesci seemed genuinely curious, and Erin waited a beat for the answer to come naturally to the woman. When it didn’t, the [Innkeeper] cleared her throat and looked at the [Courtesan].

“Well, with respect to Ilvriss’ plans and how much they matter, this isn’t their war. They won’t get a big reward, and if you treat them well and they’re happy, that’s okay. But if they’re just…going to get hurt and die because you signed a deal, is that right?”

“Hm. I don’t know. But they’ve got nothing better to do.”

Erin got mad, and Xesci saw it. She paused a moment, then clarified.

“I’m sorry, you didn’t like that. Can I clarify?”

“Please.”

The Drake thought, then spoke slowly and carefully.

“I meant they have nothing else. Not that they’re simply bored or…Ilvriss can pay well. For them, these women, they might earn five gold coins. That’s enough to die over. And they’d jump at a chance to earn that each week or take on a dangerous mission.”

“Wh—no, it’s not. Are you crazy? That’s insane.”

Xesci gave Erin a flat look as she began to get annoyed.

“That’s poverty. The only other way for them to earn that money is by taking on my profession—or stealing or murder. Ilvriss is honest, or I wouldn’t work with him. There is nothing wrong, to me, about engaging the Sisters under that logic.”

Erin struggled as she got up to pace. She’d tweaked her back a bit, running to see what had happened to Liska, and she rubbed at it.

“But that’s so terrible.”

She turned, and again, Xesci shrugged with that bland look of her current personality.

“I know. I can’t fix that. But I do know how to give work. If it was for a good cause, you’d be alright with that, wouldn’t you?”

“No—”

“‘…I don’t want them to die either way.’ But you’d see why it matters. Things have to matter to you, don’t they? That’s interesting. I like that.”

Erin froze, and Xesci smiled. She’d just figured out a bit of how Erin ticked. In reply, Erin grew uneasy.

“How can someone live without feeling that way? Without things mattering?”

For answer, the [Courtesan] brushed at her neck-spines, looking mildly amused.

“Well, I suppose if you see enough things that don’t seem to have a reason or matter, you start wondering if there was a point. Maybe things just—are. Good things can happen for good reasons. Bad things, with bad intent and people. Or sometimes it’s just chance. Chaos.”

She steepled her claws, and Erin shook her head. But they were getting to know each other. Xesci rose after a moment.

“Will you excuse me? I want to see if we have a noble on our side. I do appreciate your help, Miss Erin. If I can help you, let me know.”

“Thanks. I will.”

Erin mumbled as she shook her head unconsciously. But she had more to do…when she emerged into the common room, someone was waiting for her.

Ryoka Griffin, an unhappy, pained look in her eyes, stood there. And so did Himilt. The moment Erin looked at them, she knew something else had changed in this world.

 

——

 

Despite everything, the nobles of Izril refused to put themselves directly on Ilvriss’ side. Many, a gratifying many, opted for neutrality or a willingness to listen.

But no one would step up and be counted by their peers.

This was not a fault of the luau. It went very well, and Lyonette and Nerul were cunning. They did not bring up Ilvriss’ negotiations but ran the ‘Fissivilian Racer’, where you got everyone interested in betting and united them with the faux-currency.

However, the smart nobles already knew Lyonette’s game. And Bethal, Pryde, and even Lady Rie Valerund instantly refused.

“I like you, Lyonette, and I have been thinking a great deal on current matters.”

Bethal glanced at some of the Hobgoblins putting food out on the tables as volleyball was played in the background, a championship match with Seborn and Joseph captaining opposite teams. Seborn had handpicked Wailant, and the former [Pirate] spiked the balls to cheers and groans around the betting table.

“…I just can’t do it, though. A Wall Lord is the step too far. I’ll hear him out, and I am on Magnolia’s side, but endorsing him without seeing what he does?”

“He can’t do anything without a friend.”

Bethal sucked noisily through a wooden straw on the nearly-empty cup.

“I can be friendly. But not a friend. Thomast! I need a drink. And for Colfa!”

The stressed-looking farmer jumped, and Bethal made Thomast get them both refills. It was strange, but Colfa and Lyonette were now friends with Bethal and Pryde. If anything, it was weirder for Lyonette, as the youngest by far.

But then, Pryde and Bethal were both fairly cosmopolitan women who were interacting with Drake culture via Magnolia. Yet neither one wanted to take the plunge.

“I’m not doing it either. Sorry, but he’s doing something, and I don’t want to back it. There’s a reason we’ve been at war.”

“Really? That’s your reason?”

Pryde colored as Lyonette all but pointed at Grimalkin, but she dropped her voice and whispered back.

“I know how hard it is. I know…don’t you think I worry about it? I don’t know what this will result in, and you want me to stick my hand into an ant hive? I don’t know this Drake.”

That made Lyonette hesitate. It was true, Ilvriss just wasn’t a friend of these [Ladies].

“…But he needs someone. Lady Rie, what about you?”

Desperately, Lyonette turned to Lady Rie, and the [Lady] who had been touring the beach all day smiled vivaciously at Lyonette. She had her own charm and looked like she was matching Bethal and Pryde step for step, which clearly caught the other two [Ladies] off-guard. She’d pulled her team through two victories before losing her round, and she’d had Mrsha on her team.

Rie paused for a moment before replying.

“Emperor Godart sent me to investigate and take a break, but I think I can speak for him when I say that Drakes are not his most favorite species right now, Lyonette. We had our own run-in with their agents, and it is a matter of trust. He’d be willing to hear Wall Lord Ilvriss out and participate…”

“But not be an ally. That’s precisely why Ilvriss needs someone to advocate for him! To turn more people willing to listen into allies! I know him—I’ve danced with him in Oteslia! If Magnolia Reinhart won’t do it, surely there is one noble between here and First Landing willing to help! Dead gods, Valeterisa grew up in a Walled City! There is some cultural exchange!”

Lyonette stomped her foot, and the [Ladies] looked at each other. Pryde grunted, and Rie covered a smile.

“Why—Miss Marquin. It sounds like you just gave us our answer.”

“Who…me?”

Lyonette recoiled, and Pryde nodded.

“Who else? A [Princess] can pull as much weight as any [Lady], even if you are a foreigner. You’ve got tact, poise, and we can help you make introductions.”

“But I—I’m just a [Barmaid]. I just help Erin. This is a huge responsibility, and I don’t have the time. I have to help clean th—the inn needs manage—my daughter is—”

Lyonette looked around, and Mrsha du Marquin was having a very ‘loud’ argument with Ekirra whether they should all try the crabs or lobsters that Calescent was making for dinner. Ekirra didn’t want a crab because he was on the Little Crabs’ team; Mrsha’s argument was that he should know what he tasted like.

Mrsha was older. The inn now had a staff, and it was managing itself. Lyonette’s arguments for why she should be a shadow behind Erin lost water. Then she stood there, looking hesitant and afraid. As if she couldn’t remember feeling woebegone and wanting more constantly.

“Do…do you think I could do it?”

“You’ve got [Knights]. You’ve got Calanferian tact. What was that about dancing with a Drake? If you can dance, we’ll drag you to a bunch of balls. Bethal loves dancing. I don’t.”

“What a splendid idea. Lyonette, among her peers! And they would love to meet you. She’s got the right stuff; they won’t knock her over. Oh, they’ll try, but you just have to slap them down a few times. And she can advocate for her Drake friend! I love it. Rie, you are a genius!”

Bethal laughed in delight, and like that, Lyonette hesitated—then smoothed her beach apparel.

“Well, I need dresses for high society. And it’s been so long that I’d have to brush up on my manners—Erin would have to give me a budget for clothing.”

She developed an evil smile, but it was then that Ser Sest the ever loyal, waiting in the wings with a hot towel for when Lyonette wanted to dab her face, chimed in.

“Actually, Your Highness, with respect to your attempts to squeeze water out of a stone, I imagine a Wall Lord of Salazsar would happily foot the bill if it meant gaining an influential ally. Ladies, can I steal anything from the kitchens before the rush?”

He beamed, and Lady Pryde raised her brows at him before turning to Lyonette.

“They are good at everything but fighting. Give me a crab and get me one for Grimalkin.”

Lyonette began smiling despite herself as Wall Lord Ilvriss turned. He saw her wave at him and thought she’d done the impossible. Then blinked when she pointed to herself. Nerul just laughed.

“I thought so. Well, Nephew, we’ve got a gang and a noble contact. Well, royal one. Time to start recruiting, eh? Anything else that needs doing?”

Ilvriss paused, and his eyes strayed back towards the common room of the inn as Bethal and Colfa discussed Colfa’s own experience with high courts and how she had to definitely come with Bethal and see the north.

“Just one more thing, I think.”

 

——

 

“It’s over. This…is not my fault, but I feel guilty. Don’t hit me, Shaestrel. It’s not my fault, and I shouldn’t take credit for it, but it’s terrible.”

Ryoka Griffin sat there, staring at nothing as Himilt and Erin traded looks. The Vampire was tired and dignified and impressive, just as he had been when he first met her.

Erin? She was looking at him without much surprise, but they were sizing each other up. Erin had known Himilt was a Vampire, and he seemed resigned such that Erin knowing who he was wasn’t a blow.

They were known. Whether or not they became public knowledge…Ryoka doubted it would be that, at first.

It would be a hunt, a purging of Izril before it became a wildfire of hysterical searching and staking. It depended on what the Vampires did.

The first groups were already fleeing, abandoning their homes ahead of the furious response. Apparently, the Order of the Clairei Fields was already investigating some of the villages on the map to avenge their lost [Knight], and Vampires were fleeing.

South. Towards Liscor or the land of Drakes. It was that or the coast, and they couldn’t just jump on a ship and sail away.

Their first instinct was to run. What was Delanay thinking? No—he saw Vampires, and he knew all the worst stories of them. Ryoka was just…sad.

Shaestrel coughed as she hovered hesitantly in the air.

 

“I, ah, I didn’t want to say it, but this time might actually be yer fault, Ryoka. For all the right reasons! But, um. If ye hadn’t been friends with Fierre or given her the cure or lured that [Knight] there, they’d be safe. That cunty City Runner is the one ye knew.”

 

Ryoka’s head sank, and Shaestrel tried to sound cheerful as Nerry glared at her. The Sariant Lamb was, unusually, patting Ryoka on the shoulder with a hoof. Perhaps she knew something about persecution that made her disposed to sympathize with the Vampires.

 

“Listen! They’d never know about the poison in their wells. So they’d die anyways. Think of it like that. Hope for the future while they’re being burnt and staked. Eh?”

 

She gave Ryoka a thumbs-up, and the Courier began crying a bit. Erin hurried to interrupt Shaestrel.

“If you know so much, Shaestrel, what the heck attacked the inn? I didn’t sense it until it was at the door, and apparently no one in Celum could find it. Or Tessa. What is it and what’s coming after my inn this time?”

The Faerie hunched her shoulders, then turned and flipped Erin off.

 

“Eat shite and die. How’s that for an answer? I told you two, I can’t answer everything. Whatever it was, it’s very, very good at hiding. Even yer precious Dr—old man can’t find it if it’s hiding.”

 

She changed what she was going to say because Himilt was there and she was speaking for the benefit of all. Ryoka didn’t know what it was, but to be fair, she was distracted with the Vampires.

Erin gave up on Shaestrel and turned to Himilt and Ryoka.

“So all this was caused by…Rivel? Or at least, he made a mess of it. Now people are tracking him down? How’s he, uh, taking it?”

“He’s afraid for his life. I told him to prepare to run. If I could protect him…I think he’s sitting in his rooms. My son was always angry for good reasons, but he never understood what the cost of vengeance was. Miss Solstice. Can you help him? I know we have not known each other long, but I must ask. I am…we are a tired people. And we cannot walk in the sun or these harsh days. If you help us, I will repay you.”

Himilt bowed long and low, and he was so dignified as he bowed that Ryoka’s heart hurt. He looked like nobility. True, old nobility. It didn’t matter that he wore the dust-black farmer’s garb. His cloak looked like a cape, and he seemed like an image of old, European nobility to her.

The very start of it back in wild days. A shadow, now, bowing to the [Innkeeper].

And she? She looked him up and down, and dipped her head back too, awkwardly. Erin chose her words carefully.

“I…Himilt, I know stories of Vampires. Even before Ryoka told me about you—and I sort of guessed about Fierre, so it’s not her fault for telling me—I have known stories of Vampires from the dead. They did terrible things. Fetohep of Khelt, a reasonable ruler, would want you put to death if you were standing in front of him.”

Himilt’s head bowed further as his dark hair fell from his hat that he took from his head.

“I cannot argue with that.”

“But.”

Erin let the word linger.

“…I also met Vampires. And they told me their stories, good and bad. To me, they sounded like Goblins. Good. Evil? A people. And I don’t take sides against people. If Fetohep and I quarrel, well, fine. We will. I just wish I could do more for…hundreds. All I can do is do as I’ve done.”

She looked sad.

“Send them south. That’s all I can do. Give them a running chance. The others will have to hide or make their choices. I can’t protect more than your family, Himilt. Ieka’s ready to call off the hunters on you, and she can forge identities, but I can’t do more than your family. And Rivel…he might still be in trouble.”

Ryoka and Himilt turned. The Vampire straightened, and Ryoka hesitated.

“You mean your door? Erin—”

The [Innkeeper] gave Ryoka a weary smile, and she was glancing at Himilt. At his hands, which he had practically disintegrated to fool Ylawes Byres once.

It was so easy to suss out a Vampire. Perhaps there were counters, but when the eye of suspicion was on them…Erin stroked her chin with her fingers.

“I’m thinking of a plan. I’ve got a basic one, but the door…can you tell them to run to Riverfarm?”

“Erin, you’ll put a target on your back.”

She turned to Ryoka and didn’t wave the warning off, but rather, smiled.

“I already have one of those. Besides, the part where I help isn’t up to just me, Ryoka, Himilt.”

The two looked at Erin, and she quietly lifted something up and stared at it.

“That’s the entire point of recent events. Give me a second to figure out how to help the Lischelle-Drakles. I have a stupid idea, but the rest is up to someone else.”

 

——

 

The Order of Clairei Fields pursued shadows that night. The first village they had come to had been empty, but they had found their quarry on the road.

Nearly two hundred [Knights] had ridden down on a foe who fought like lions. Over thirty armed men and women had died, and the remaining [Knights] were running down the ones who’d fled.

Silver. They should have had silver. The warning of Delanay was now etched in their battered armor, but even without silver…you could kill a Vampire. The panicked, furious [Knights] saw a horrifying foe under their noses.

They hadn’t realized they’d been fighting villagers. Villagers who unhorsed armored [Knights] with levels and training. So there was a reason to fear them.

But did they even see the fleeing shadows as more than red-eyed, fanged monsters? Or was it too dark to hear the children crying and the attempts to talk them down before the lances struck?

Maybe not enough had tried. Maybe it was too late. This group was close enough to have a hope of reaching safety.

Riverfarm. A door was standing out, far from the Unseen Empire. That was an [Emperor]’s bargain with an [Innkeeper]. He would look the other way, just once. To prevent himself from making the same mistake as last time.

But they had to reach it, and the [Knights] were the fastest Order in all of Izril. Clairei Fields was charging towards the Vampires.

It would be a bloody battle even if they found their foe, because they would fight tooth-and-nail at their end. And they were fighting in darkness, even with [Light] spells. But if they reached that damn door.

The [Innkeeper] was mad. A traitor? Did she not understand? They had to reconsider their vow to join the Winter Solstice muster as Tyrion Veltras had requested.

Consequences. The [Knights] thought they were the only ones who got to pass judgement. And perhaps, this night—they were the only arbiters.

The [Innkeeper] was one woman, and her apron didn’t stop the green lances covered in red gore. The fleeing Vampires slowed as they reached the door. They halted in fear of many things for a moment, but the armored pursuer drove them on.

Vampires feared so many things.

Silver. Wood stakes. Fire. Sunlight. Garlic. Not really moving water, but drowning, certainly. Light magic. Losing a child. Dying alone. Crelers. Being discovered and murdered. The dark.

In this case, their specific fear was a figure standing by the doors, but the man who stood there was one of them. He was garbed from head to toe in black, and he held a curious weapon. A farmer’s scythe.

Himilt val Lischelle-Drakle feared this would put his family at risk. But there were two men, one who could ignore his kin fleeing, and the other who stood there.

One didn’t exist; if he did not come to stand here, he was not himself and did not deserve to be. One was not Himilt val Drakle. He would always be here.

The Vampire was striding forwards when he realized that the fleeing Vampires weren’t hesitating just because they’d seen him. An arm stretched out, and someone who had stood unmoving in the darkness finally decided to speak.

“Sir. I think you’re in the wrong spot. Why don’t you head back into the inn?”

Himilt almost raised the scythe—but he hesitated as his eyes and his blood-sense picked up on the figures. He had been so fixated on the [Knights]…

He hesitated and almost refused. But then he looked at the group and understood their position.

“If it comes to battle—”

“It won’t. Your time isn’t now, sir. The rest of you, this is a fine moment. Spread out. Squire! Torch!”

He barked to the side with a less-friendly voice as he tipped his hat—or rather, raised his visor—towards the Vampire. Slowly, Himilt backed away and bowed once. Then he saw the group getting ready.

Erin Solstice wasn’t there. In some ways, she was an [Innkeeper]. She might be good at battle, but it wasn’t her duty or class. In another way, who was she going to send to die? Her family? Her staff?

If only there was a group she could ask. Ask, because they had to make up their mind. If only there was some kind of group that could…pass judgement.

Or light a match.

Someone struck one in the darkness, and the rushing Vampires saw a pale flame burning. Then growing brighter and brighter. It was not the cherry-red of flame or the bright orange glow of fire they knew.

Rather, it was a different kind, and it burned from the figures standing in the field ahead of the door. One struck a match, and it glowed from a lantern he held.

Vess lifted the lantern up as the flame grew, but he only carried it a second. Then he handed it to the woman in front of him as if it were a heavy weight. Her arm shook as she took it. The young woman slowly inspected the burning light in the center of the lantern, and the fire was grey.

Grey, harsh, illuminating the night for thousands of feet with the painful glow. She didn’t know if it fit her, but it was hers to bear tonight.

She had protested it was Vess’, but he had said it ‘needed’ her. And she felt it. The flame of Mercy grew from the spark in his hands. It was drawing from something in her, like a living ember. The [Knight-Artisan of Bones] looked up—and she saw fleeing Vampires. For a second, she rubbed her eyes—and they were [Necromancers] running for their lives.

She thought she saw a girl with chalk-white makeup running with a bone-white cat in her arms, and mercy shone in her eyes running with tears. Her shaking arms felt like they were trying to hold up a mountain. But she raised that lantern higher. To see.

And the first flame glowed through the night as another was lit. An armored figure, wearing plain iron, hurried over as their leader snapped at him. He brought another match over, and a second figure raised a lantern.

His was pink. And his fire was even brighter than Ama’s, but Embraim’s was also simpler, a pure, beautiful flame. Her grey flame was mercy. His was glory.

Glory befit him. The Antinium was wearing his [Crusader]’s armor, which was painted with his new crest. He held the lantern up in one arm as the final [Knight] simply raised a gauntlet and the fire caught.

He glowed green, and the Grandmaster of the group that Erin Solstice had beseeched stared into the night at the hesitating figures. They had heard as the [Knights] shouted in triumph…then confusion.

The Order of Solstice held their ground, and not a single one raised a blade. They were ready, but Jewel, standing behind Normen, just stared at the Vampires…then at the three figures at the front.

Ama, Embraim, and Normen. Behind them was Halrac, Jewel, Durene, Vess, Dalimont, and Antherr.

Ylawes and Lehra had already left the inn, and so the entire Order of Solstice save for Rabbiteater was present. Oh—and they had two more members.

Squires, one armored head-to-toe in metal. But the [Knights], a fraction of the strength of the Vampires and Clairei Fields, were looking to the three in front.

Ama’s arm was shaking with the weight of the lantern, but Embraim and Normen stood easy. They had seen who could hold the fire best, and she was doing her best. Sillias prowled next to her, and the Vampires slowed…then raced left and right around the [Knights]. For the open door.

Their desperate faces were reflected in the harsh grey flame that Ama held up. Like a polished mirror of steel. A blade, harsh—but not without give.

Did they deserve it? Did they have any in their veins? She froze as she looked into their eyes, and the flame of mercy burned.

“Pass. I see a reason to let them pass.”

The [Necromancer] called out, and the next to lift his lantern was Embraim. This was not a tradition of the Order of Solstice. To have a tradition, they had to do it first. And so the Antinium looked carefully and spoke.

“I don’t see glory on all. But I do not care. Glory is meaningless at times. I do not see it on the [Knights]. Pass.”

He lowered his sword, and the final [Knight], the burned Ser Normen, lifted honor’s flame and studied the fleeing figures.

“I see it bright and thin. I see sparks. But I see it on all. Pass.”

The Order of Solstice didn’t move as the figures streamed towards the door, passing through as a Gnoll shouted and three flames reflected their faces. Then—Ama looked ahead at the furious, charging figures trying to reach the scrum. And her features hardened with familiarity. She lifted the lantern higher and called out to her peers.

“I…don’t see anything in them. I say no.”

Embraim shook his head as well.

“I see little glory with my eyes. They think they have it. I disagree. Grandmaster?”

Normen closed his eyes a moment, then studied the line of [Knights].

“No. Knights of Solstice…behind me.”

He lowered the lantern, thrusting it at his squire to hold. Then—Normen lifted his mace.

“[The Bonfire Rages].”

Green flames burst from the sky, and a pillar of flames descended. The [Knight] didn’t call honor’s fire down to burn his allies, though. Rather—he swung his mace and drew a line across the field.

A flaming wall of green fire rose between the last Vampire and the Order of Clairei Fields. They slowed, a second behind the Vampires, and could have still lanced the majority. But their horses balked at the sight of the flames. As they tried to maneuver around, shouting in outrage and confusion, a voice assailed them.

“Halt! In the name of the Order of Solstice!”

The line of [Knights] was impeding the charge. The Grandmaster roared, but his reply was a wordless shout of voices thirsty for blood. So the [Knight] raised his visor and howled back, as if he were a brother. He held his helmet in his hand and threw it down like thunder, and horses reared.

“We are sworn to defend those who need it. There is no honor, mercy, or glory in this slaughter. Halt or we do battle. Halt or die.”

His voice reached them at last. The green flames made the Order of Clairei Fields balk, and they flinched from the thunder of the helmet’s wrath.

By now, the Order of Clairei Fields knew who the mysterious [Knights] were. The fire had already confirmed their identities. They began to spur their chargers onwards—but the other [Knights] were standing behind that wall of flames, weapons raised.

A Drake had a glowing wand trained on the [Knights], and they were bunched up, walls of bone guarding their flanks. They had armor. They were outnumbered nearly fifteen-to-one. But they were fellow [Knights].

And that warning—the Knights of Clairei Fields hesitated. From anyone else, they might disregard that warning. But one of the [Knights] was holding a jar of glowing green acid, and they had seen Gold-ranks die just this month.

The Grandmaster of the Order of Solstice stood there, mace and armor burning. The [Knights] screamed at him, and he refused to give. In those seconds while they hesitated—their quarry vanished.

The second time the Order of Solstice took a stand, not a single drop of blood was spilled. But it mattered. Flames burned around the [Knights] as they retreated towards the door.

“This isn’t over! We will pursue them to the ends of Izril and remember this!”

The [Knight Captain] of the Clairei Fields screamed at Ser Normen. The other [Knight] just touched two fingers to his helmet in a salute.

“So will we, Ser.”

He was turning towards the door when the leader of the Clairei Knights barked at his back.

“You will regret this. You are on the wrong side!”

The Grandmaster paused, and his helmet swung back towards the bloody [Knights]. His voice was carrying and sharp as the snows blew down, and his fire made them flinch.

“Perhaps. But if we stood here on the wrong side, we stood for the right reasons. Begone.”

Then the door slammed shut, on honor, glory, and mercy, leaving the Order of Clairei Fields in the darkness.

 

——

 

The Wandering Inn was, once more, at the center of great events. Not without controversy. Not without censure.

Erin Solstice was making enemies. The [Knights] who took her namesake looked proud, but it had to weigh on her.

In fact, she had a conversation with Lyonette in her inn in private. Well, in the common room of her inn. Erin buried her head in her hands, speaking quietly as the [Princess]—everyone knew she was a [Princess]—stood there.

“Did I do the right thing, Lyonette? Vampires. Do you think they’re all Vampires? Do you…do you think they’re really all evil?”

“I don’t know, Erin. Calanfer has some old legends, but there were children. Families.”

“Yeah. Do you—do you think they’re really hiding among us? Silver. Silver finds them out. What if there are a bunch of them under our noses? I have to keep people safe. Do you have any silver?”

“I think so. Ylawes always had…hold on.”

Lyonette came back with a literal silver spoon, and Erin held it. She played with it.

“You know, if there are some, I might need to tell them to…leave. Or if they killed people? It’s like Goblins. The one that murdered those people…I have to know. Lyonette. I have to know. C-can you call the ones we think are Vampires over? I don’t want to do this. But Liscor has to be safe.”

She buried her face in her hands, and Lyonette gave her a wretched look.

“Are you sure, Erin?”

Erin nodded. She turned, miserable and uncertain. Her conviction that had sent the Order of Solstice forth was not the same as in private.

“I have to. Please…ask Himilt, Colfa, and his family to get over here. Rivel’s run for it. But the others? They’ve got all the signs.”

Curious. Erin sat in the common room, waiting, as Lyonette vanished into the beach, looking upset. A [Knight] brought Erin a drink of tea, but she refused it.

She should have really confessed her worries to Lyonette in her [Garden of Sanctuary]. But Erin was unguarded, and the [Innkeeper] often let things slip. She sat there in her inn, and there was a really good view of her if you had an enchanted spyglass and you were staring at her through a window.

If you had a listening Skill, you could hear most of what was going on, or read her lips. And who would be out in this freezing cold?

Well, miserable spies. Erin fed them, now and then, and she even gave some blankets or a hot drink if she caught them skulking around. Rather like raccoons in her trash.

It was a bad habit of hers. It had never occurred to the raccoons, though, that sometimes Erin cultivated them for a reason. When the [Innkeeper] finally stood, she didn’t beat around the bush.

“Listen. I know this is uncomfortable, and I won’t ask about Rivel. He’s gone. But I have to know. Ylawes is my friend, and…I have this silver spoon. Will you let me test you?”

Colfa, Himilt, Bamer, and Fierre hesitated. Erin looked at them seriously.

“You can do it in secret, and I won’t tell anyone. I promise. But I have to know. Your look, even your names…? It’s suspicious, right? Is there a good reason?”

“I—I—Erin, it’s complicated. Maybe we weren’t honest with Ylawes. But that’s because we were afraid of this. It’s not in our blood, but we were proud. And—”

Fierre was terrified. She stuttered as Erin looked at her blankly.

“What’s wrong? Either you are or you aren’t.”

“It’s not that simple. I shall show you. No, Himilt, don’t stop me.”

Colfa burst out at last. The imperious woman, royalty from the Lischelle herding family, snatched the spoon. To Erin’s amazement—she ran the spoon down her arm!

And her skin changed. A dozen quills froze mid-scratch, and one of the [Spies] took a mage-picture. Of…wait a second.

A huge, red rash was rising down Colfa’s arm. Erin Solstice stared at the rash, following the path the silver spoon had taken. She paused…then her mouth opened.

“Wait a second. What the heck is that? You’re not—are you allergic to silver?”

“You can see why it causes trouble.”

Himilt murmured. Colfa scratched at her arm, cursing.

“Oh, drat. And there have been—bad incidents. I cannot speak to real…”

She caught herself a moment, like someone on the edge of distress. A worried woman, a mother wearing all the trappings of dark nobility. A farmer’s shawl and cloak at times, or currently, beachwear with, yes, fishnets and red and black impracticality and hanging cloth that got in the way if you swam.

—The difference was, she pulled it off where Ieka Imarris did not. Colfa val Lischelle-Drakle had been born to real nobility, shepherd-kings, and her reply to Erin sounded flustered for a second. Then she remembered who she was, and her crimson eyes rose, and she spoke honestly. Not with fake ‘ves’ and ‘zhes’, but a delicacy of language.

“I have always embraced the guise and attire, Erin Solstice. I have always seen clearer at night, and never have I ever acknowledged a superiority of bright sunlight and shining steel. The moon glitters over shepherds and herders, and it is a soothing balm compared to the sun. There is nothing wrong with loving a look or embracing the image of the night. I refused to change what I loved just because I feared judgment. If I hid the truth, it was because I knew it would come. Do you understand?”

She gave Erin a pleading look, but the grand not-Vampire stood there, and Himilt smiled slowly. She turned, and perhaps, in that moment, you could see how the two had first met. A quiet farmer and a nocturnal [Shepherd]. They took each other’s hands like they were courting, and the [Innkeeper] turned red. Erin backed away from the two like she was allergic to the sight and raised her hands, embarrassed and ashamed.

“I am so sorry, guys. I—maybe the others were like this? This is wrong. I’ll try to talk to Laken and everyone else. Thank you for telling me. I…do you want a drink or a resort? On the house! I am so…”

 

——

 

When they all hurried back into the beach, out of ‘sight’ of the common room, Erin paused a second. Then she took the silver spoon back from Colfa and flicked it at Lyonette.

“Silver spoons? Really? Why do we have one?”

“For poison, Erin. It’s classy!”

Lyonette scowled. Fierre just backed away from the spoon.

“Keep it away from me! I’m getting a rash even from here!”

She had dropped the relieved demeanor, although that had been replaced by real relief in this moment. Fierre shuddered as Bamer and Himilt both edged back from the spoon as well. Lyonette tucked it away, and Colfa val Lischelle-Drakle, who had handled the spoon without incident, raised her bare arm and eyed the rash.

“This does actually itch. Can someone take your picture so I can change?”

“I have it mostly correct. It should fade after a day, anyways. I’ll walk around with this, then.”

A second Colfa held out her arm where a fairly good rash made of itching cream that Octavia had made up was already spreading. The Vampire, the real Colfa, was grimacing.

Colfa val Lischelle stared at her copy as Xesci sighed—then the Drake brushed at her arm, and the fake rash vanished. She smiled proudly, and Erin exhaled. She gave everyone a thumbs-up.

“Okay. Now, do you think they bought it?”

Even Lyonette was giving Erin a fairly admiring look, but it was Fierre who was fussing around with her contacts. She pulled up a [Message] scroll and smiled.

“The first report is already going out like a shot. Thirty gold for an urgent report about the [Innkeeper] and the ‘bloodsucker situation’? That’s so flattering.”

She grimaced, but Bamer was beaming in relief and wiping at his brow.

“And it fooled the [Spies]?”

“I hope so. Xesci’s supposed to be one of the best people for this, and it makes sense. I bet silver allergies are real, and if not? Then we’ll handle it. Frankly, most people are going to be angry at me about the door. I’ll handle it. You guys just lay low. Rivel’s gone, anyways.”

Erin turned, and Himilt bowed once more.

“We are in your debt, Miss Erin, Miss Lyonette. We will repay it. I promise. We have long memories. Ryoka Griffin and you…”

He trailed off without anything else to say. Erin just jerked her head with a smile.

“Why don’t you compliment the Order of Solstice? They just came back in.”

She stood there as Lyonette rushed out to make sure everyone was alright. Erin just had to sense that they were, though she’d confirm with her own eyes. She’d been afraid, but it seemed like they were all okay.

The only person not having a good time was one of the two [Squires]. Normen was lecturing him on conduct, and the normally genial [Knight] was haranguing the newest member of the Order.

Well, it was a high honor. And unlike the regular [Knights], the new ones would have a long journey to live up to the standards of the others.

Especially the one wearing armor from head to toe. A [Knight] was a knight. A [Squire] was a squire. It didn’t matter who was behind the helmet.

The squires, or ‘embers’ of the Order of Solstice as Vess had suggested calling them, were on probation. Knights-in-training. You could be anyone under that armor.

Actually, armor was funny. It kept out the sun. It was a fairly contained environment, and Erin wondered, privately, if metal armor also negated most of the dangers of silver. If you got stabbed through the armor, sure, you were in trouble, but so was anyone else.

“…Have we just made a super-Vampire? Or were they always that smart?”

She wondered about that, but she decided Normen had the right idea. Rivel wasn’t giving him much sass, and he looked shaken up, and Erin had taken pity on him. Having to run after Normen might do him some good.

 

——

 

That night, the Order of Solstice put it out on the line for Vampires. That day, Vampires were rediscovered.

In addition, the Sisters of Chell formally entered into a contract with Wall Lord Ilvriss on a provisional basis and more openly embraced Lady Ieka Imarris.

This was a matter of some celebration and consternation, because the Sisters had also agreed to send their membership to Ieka to join up with her and receive the benefits of her staff—but training the unruly Sisters would be tricky.

Then again, Ieka’s bodyguard did have armor and magical items, and they no longer had to worry about their mistress’ fits of sulking and/or passion that got them into trouble or awkwardness at work. Her new secretary and she were very hard at work doing work things in their workplace. They might have to work all night. And tomorrow.

Happy things. Sad things. Sexy things. Celum was easing back into normalcy—they had had a spat of odd incidents in the city, and the [Mayor] had been about to bring it up to Lord Xitegen, but it seemed like the incidents had stopped.

Oh, and there was a City Runner who had just applied for Courier-class jobs in Manus and been asked whether or not she had the time to scout the Hivelands. It was a Courier-level mission, but High Command needed someone to run as far as eight miles over the border.

Survival was not guaranteed, but the pay was very good. If not that, there were requests to confirm Creler nests, and if they were extant, their size. Finally, if she needed harder and more lucrative work, she could carry this item that the gangs really wanted to Pallass. It was her or an armored coach with a heavy escort…she was quite lucky, there was a lot of work on her level.

What a brave girl.

The last event that took place late that night was that Wall Lord Ilvriss went to see Erin Solstice. This trip had been all about him, hadn’t it? Definitely.

But that was the thing. Ilvriss’ story was largely about him and the people he brought. The things the Wall Lord did were never him alone. He was no Tidebreaker. He was a company.

He had brought company, and Osthia was busy asserting dominance over some testy Sisters of Chell who didn’t like Drakes, Ilvriss, or being given orders. Nerul was scheming with Lyonette, but they all came to check on Ilvriss.

“Did she say she had time? It’s a quarter to midnight.”

“It’s been a long day. I won’t take up her time, but I’m glad to speak to her. I’m fine. Don’t fuss. Asrira—I mean, Osthia. Are you my bodyguard or a nanny?”

Ilvriss had a rather rumpled suit that she was trying to smooth. The Drake laughed.

“It’s a force of habit by now. I’m trying to help.”

“Help with what?”

Ilvriss looked insulted, and Nerul sprayed some breath freshener into Ilvriss’ mouth.

“Nothing at all, Nephew. Call it good impressions.”

“I am not flirting with her. I did not propose to her.”

“But she does matter?”

Nerul raised his brows as Xesci looked Ilvriss up and down. The Wall Lord hesitated.

“Yes, but not in—”

“Then dressing won’t hurt. Xesci, do you have anything to add?”

They turned as Xesci sat up. She was still happy about contributing to Ilvriss’ goals, and the [Courtesan] looked at Ilvriss and smiled broadly.

“I don’t quite have a perfect image of Erin. She’s difficult, hard to read, and good at hiding what she feels. But I can tell you I’m fairly sure Ilvriss doesn’t have a single shot in a thousand. Sorry.”

Osthia and Nerul stopped fussing around Ilvriss and backed away from him as if trying to see how badly he was now bleeding. Nerul hissed at Xesci.

“Xesci, my dear, please!”

Ilvriss seemed the most distressed by this revelation, and he tugged at a tie.

“Yes, you don’t say that to me or—or in general about anyone, Xesci. Please! Leave Erin alone and respect her privacy. Don’t read her. This—what is this blasted thing?”

“A tie, Wall Lord. It’s from that new clothing boutique.”

“It’s ridiculous. What is this, a noose? Xesci, from now on, please respect Erin’s privacy. She values it greatly.”

The Drake [Courtesan] raised her brows. Then she laughed lightly.

“Hah. Is that what you’re supposed to say? Thank you for saying it, Wall Lord. I’ll ignore that.”

The Drake hesitated and opened his mouth, but then the others hurried him out of his rooms. He stumbled downstairs and saw the door to the beach waiting on the far wall.

But it was not the beach, still filled with nighttime guests, that Ilvriss headed towards. He paused…and a second door opened for him, as if the owner knew he was there.

The [Garden of Sanctuary], Erin’s garden, was new to Ilvriss. He walked into it and into a cloud of mist and water that got him wet instantly. It was covering a little garden with growing plants, even a cocoa tree and blue fruit trees sprouting from the ground.

Higher, on the hill, Ilvriss looked up and saw a field of golden flowers. They bloomed next to bright red, glowing Sage’s Grass, looking like a sea of red and gold. Around the hill was an arid biome to the left, then a jungle, lush and thick. To the right was a rock garden and loamy area with faerie rings of mushrooms.

A bunch of Frost Faeries were snoozing in the center of them, actually. Ilvriss stared at the blue sprites, then at the pond—and past that, the garden froze and turned to another miniature version of winter before it reached the hill.

The hill…where mists drifted from, on the far end of the garden from where he stood. The hill with flowers leading up to it, and Ilvriss gazed up at that hill, wondering whether it was his imagination or did he see statues up there.

There was so much he hadn’t seen yet. Erin had changed so much.

This inn had.

Mrsha was older, Lyonette seemed more sure of herself, more like the [Princess] he had met in Oteslia. There were more Goblins and Antinium, and he…

He himself was different.

Ilvriss wished, now, that he had come to this inn better. He thought he had. But the Drake realized he had just brought a new mess to Erin, and it had already gotten out of hand. He regretted not taking the opportunity he had been given.

“I should have done it right.”

He hung his head. Ashamed. What would Zel have said, after all Ilvriss had witnessed, only for the Drake not to be worthy of standing in the General of Izril’s shadow? He felt unready, unprepared, and so very unsure.

As if the owner of this place knew how he felt, he heard a voice drifting from above.

“Ilvriss.”

Someone called his name. The Wall Lord glanced up the hill…and there she was. Even now, she made his heart skip a beat.

There was a lot of the time where you forgot who she was and what she had done. What she was capable of, and the precipice upon which she stood.

These days, after dying, there was more to see. It was like death had stripped away some of the games and the falsities. Xesci still thought Erin was wrapped up in layers, and maybe she was.

But here…he saw clouds of mist parting overhead and stared as they swirled through the air. They looked like…hands? There was also the stink of something in the air, acrid, like brimstone or ozone.

Had someone been throwing lightning around? Erin was panting, and as he crested the hill of flowers, he saw her finish dancing.

She had been dancing, and he caught the end of it as she flopped into the grass, sweat covering her face. Even without Ulvama, Erin had begun practicing.

She looked like she enjoyed it, but she was also tired. Erin called out to Ilvriss.

“Don’t come any closer! I’m stinky.”

He had halted, but he walked over when he heard that. She kicked at one leg.

“Wait, are you wearing a suit and tie? That’s—”

She began giggling, and Ilvriss rolled his eyes.

“I bought it because I heard it was a dress you were used to. Hilarity was one outcome I predicted. How does it look?”

Erin caught her breath.

“It suits you! Literally, since it’s a suit. You were born to be a CEO at some company.”

He adjusted the tie, grimacing.

“Really? I hate this thing. But I’ll take it as a compliment. I hope I’m not disturbing you. What was that with the clouds?”

He looked up, but the moving mist was gone. Erin hesitated.

“It’s a trick. Don’t tell anyone you saw it. It works better in other gardens, but I’ve been…practicing. There’s more to these gardens than I realized, and it’s stupid not to practice.”

“Very true. I’ve been training with the sword, you know. I was trying to pick up this sword school. To fight undead.”

It was odd for Ilvriss to be so candid about his deeds. And he felt odd, standing over Erin. After a second, he sat down cross-legged in the grass, and she sat up.

“Sorry I called you out so late, Ilvriss. But I wanted to talk, and today was a heck of a day, wasn’t it?”

He chuckled, or tried to. It came out harder than he’d have liked.

“It always is, around you. I’m sorry. That’s generalizing you like some…force of nature. I just meant that today was familiar in all the best and worst ways.”

She smiled tiredly at him and yawned.

“Good. That means I haven’t changed too much. I’m glad we could chat. You know, we never did much talking one-on-one before you left.”

Ilvriss fiddled with a Faerie Flower, uprooting the tiny thing and admiring it before he recalled what each one was worth. He looked guiltily at her, but Erin didn’t care. Ilvriss cleared his throat.

“No. But for a great deal of time I didn’t respect your opinion. Then, I think, I was busy and ashamed of how I treated you. It took me a long time to…”

“You were mourning Periss. I get it now. And you did change. A lot. I don’t know many people who’ve changed more than you, Ilvriss. I think it’s a good thing. You’re one of the people I trust. So I’m glad you came north and we could talk.”

“I do too. Thank you.”

Ilvriss sat there. He felt awkward, and Erin was still breathing hard. Sweat was running down her face, and she looked—stressed.

Stressed, happy to see him, but stressed, like some great weight was on her at all times. He realized it was a familiar look because that was how he had been. It was why he had collapsed once.

“Are you doing well? You’re on your feet. I didn’t see you in the wheelchair all day.”

Erin smiled painfully.

“I keep it around just in case, but I’m mostly on my feet. I sit if I need to. Ulvama really helped with that. Do you know her?”

“Is she the lazy Goblin in the rec room?”

“That’s Ulvama. She’s great, but tries not to let you know. You should speak to her. She’s wise.”

Because Erin said it, he believed her. Ilvriss smiled absently.

“I was concerned that maybe you’d be in there for a year. I—I’m glad to see you recovered. I collapsed as well, you know. Not that it was anything like you! I was just overworked and ended up fainting…I’m glad you’re alive.”

That was how he said it. It was so hard he had to force himself to get the words out after a long pause. For some reason, it was painful and scary to say, as if he couldn’t believe it. Erin gazed at Ilvriss, and after a long second—reached out and placed a hand on his knee.

“I’m back.”

That was all she said. Ilvriss felt her touch, and she squeezed. She would have let go, but he put a hand on hers. Gently, to make sure he wasn’t mistaken. Erin paused—and her hazel eyes met his.

After a while, he began speaking. Ilvriss related the story of his collapse and how he met Xesci, and Tessa, and Erin began talking about how she came back from the dead.

These were stories both knew parts of, but it was good to get them out and establish the facts. When they moved to Ilvriss’ recent events, he broke in.

“About—my father. And what he forced me to—”

“Oh, forget it. I totally—that was rough. I’ve yelled at my mom, once, and I was so ashamed afterwards. Never at my dad—like that. But every family’s different. I—don’t worry about it.”

That was when she took her hand off his knee. For a long time, neither had noticed, but Erin sat back. As Xesci would have observed, Erin withdrew, but Ilvriss pursued. He raised his claws.

“I wanted to address it. About the love—”

“Ilvriss, it’s fine. Please. I don’t—I’ve talked to Altestiel and Niers, and even Garry confessed once, though I’m not sure about him. Or Dawil. I—”

“I’m not in love with you, Erin. I don’t think so, at any rate.”

The [Innkeeper]’s hurried voice grew confused. She finally began listening again.

“Wait, you’re not? But the truth stone…”

Ilvriss spread his claws, looking exasperated.

“The truth is, Erin…my father sprang it on me, and truth stones are notoriously fickle. When Zail asked me that, it was so open-ended that even a hint would have set it off. So yes, it went off, but I still love Periss. It’s not been more than a year, and…”

He paused. Then Ilvriss turned red. He pulled at the tie, then yanked it until it was loose and sat back on his hands, staring at the stars visible through the dome in the garden.

Snow fell through it, but somehow, this place was nice, only mildly cool. Erin had a t-shirt and pants on, and she waited as he found the words.

“…I was thinking on it. I’ve thought of it a lot, actually. Ever since I gave you that ring and everyone asked me if we were married. The truth is, at one point, I did think I was harboring romantic feelings towards you. Clearly, if the truth stone worked. But I don’t think I ever was seriously intending to date you.”

“I mean—that’s totally fine. We feel how we feel—”

“Erin. Please, let me just explain.”

She fell silent, and Ilvriss went on after a long moment.

“I think—and this may be just me, or perhaps men, people like me—I don’t think I understand my feelings, Erin. My mind may not make a distinction sometimes, when it comes to affection. You see, I don’t think it can tell the difference between romantic or physical attraction for someone of the opposite gender with…well, general affection. Does that make sense?”

“Wait, so you think you’re not actually in love with…that it’s a mistake? How does that work?”

Ilvriss had thought about it and shrugged.

“I think, perhaps, I just don’t have a way to explain my relationship with you, Erin. So my subconscious interprets it as love. But I don’t think it’s like that. You, to me, are someone who’s given me hope in dark times, wonder, helped find my purpose again, and changed my mind immensely on so many things. That is more than just friendship; it’s profound and deep and…”

He was getting embarrassed now, and Ilvriss cleared his throat.

“…But it’s not the same as just thinking, ‘I want to marry or date this person’. Do you understand? Sometimes the…the magicore circuits get crossed, but I don’t think my father did me any favors. I wanted to tell you that.”

He looked at her, without a word for what Erin was, and she sat there looking more…flattered and embarrassed than he could remember. But she didn’t run away.

“I, um…ahem. That’s…thank you, Ilvriss. That makes me feel better, actually. It’s super-embarrassing, but I get it, actually. I like a lot of people like that.”

“You do?”

Erin gave him a huge smile, and Ilvriss’ heart leapt despite himself, and he nearly punched himself. But she just laughed.

“Of course. Isn’t everyone mostly like that? Liking people for all the things they are without needing to make it love?”

Oh, you sweet summer child. If Xesci could have heard, she would have laughed herself sick along with Ryoka, Tyrion, and probably everyone else in the inn.

But it explained a lot, and Ilvriss was relieved they understood that. He hoped it wasn’t a lie. Or at least, true enough. After a second, it occurred to him…

“Is that how you view the world? Erin? I find—I have found that the quintessential element that kept me unhappy my entire life was my status. My father…no. My own perception of my rank. Periss was what I thought was a mistake, for the longest time. But when it happened, it came like a storm, and it was a relief because I forgot to be…me. Wall Lord Ilvriss.”

Her eyes looked so painful as she turned her head to him and saw how he sat there, staring backwards in time. And then Erin murmured.

“You mean, me?”

“Yes. If you don’t wish to talk about it, consider the matter dropped entirely. But how do you see it? Because at first, I just felt like that towards Periss. Of course, it developed into something else entirely, but the boundaries between respect for someone who was willing to challenge me and talk to me…”

How did she view anyone in this world? Erin smiled, shook her head, and turned away, but only for a second.

“That’s funny, Ilvriss. Because the second part…the first, I get entirely. The part I always like, if everything lines up? If someone walks into my inn, and I realize there’s a part of them I want to see—it’s that moment I get. I want…”

She tried to capture how to say it.

“I want to see the color of their soul. It’s always unique. When that happens, of course they matter. I don’t get to know everyone like that. Few people at all, really. I don’t like everyone that much, and it’s too personal. But that next part…”

She took her hat off, and it burned in her hands. Shyly.

“…I just don’t know when it’s supposed to come. It could be a raging bonfire of affection, but no spark of that next bit. I’ve searched for it, and maybe…maybe it’s there. But I’m afraid to look.”

Ilvriss saw it then. And he leaned back, as if staring up at his own image. As if he could see that wild affection like a flame, rising high. But only the tips of it.

The rest was behind a wall. A grand wall, built of great deeds and sorrows and trauma.

“What a magnificent Walled City.”

“Hm? What’s that?”

“Oh, I’m just imagining the Walled City of Erin Solstice. An impregnable fortress that Manus would envy.”

Erin grew unhappy with him, and she glared, but Ilvriss just put his claws behind his back.

“It’s fine. I am not Xesci, Erin. I say, let the Walled City stand an eternity if it’s happy.”

“You don’t think it’s silly?”

She plucked at the grass, shyly, as some of the Winter Fae pretended to still be asleep and not listening like mad. Ilvriss smiled up at the vision, like a Faerie Flower dream. Maybe they were addling his head.

“I think, Erin, I was ever unhappy in my station, alone. When I realized that, my own bastion was cracked, and Periss was the woman I looked for, but the crack was there. If you’re happy, let it be. If not, don’t waste time on that nonsense. Because if that second spark emerges…”

It would burn those walls down. Fiercer than any flame he’d seen before. And Erin grew happy at the notion.

“Yeah! I don’t have to keep searching. I’ve got time!”

“Precisely my thoughts. Now is too close.”

“Especially if we’re dead in a week.”

“Ah. Um. Yes?”

Erin just laughed. Then looked upwards.

“If I get lonely and feel old, then maybe I’ll be too late and sad. But I don’t like rushing. Thanks, Ilvriss.”

“I’m not the best person to talk to about this.”

“Who else was I gonna talk to? Numbtongue? Lyonette? Mrsha? They’re in different places, Ilvriss. You…get it.”

That was the most flattering thing she could have said to him. So Ilvriss just blushed a second. Glad the night covered it. Erin tilted her head back, and she murmured.

“It’s not always like fire. Sometimes, it’s like my garden. And I show everyone the one I have, but it’s not my true garden. Not yet. I have walked through the ones other people made, and some are very close to their heart. But I think there’s a place deeper. I’d like to see it. Mine, other people’s, But it’s so personal, you have to go in respectfully. It would change you forever. That’s the true [Garden of Sanctuary].”

“Terrifying.”

Like her flowers. Like the drink and everything else she did. Erin gave Ilvriss a strange look.

“Isn’t that what love is? It’s that garden.”

Oh.

His mouth opened, and after a second, Ilvriss spoke.

“That’s what you may end up with. But Erin, a thousand mining expeditions make up romance, and few ever get…that’s perhaps where you want to get to. But it’s not where you start. You build towards it. You dig and shore up and…it’s quite a lot of work. A venture. A risk.”

“But if you don’t ever get there, what was the point? And if you don’t know you’ll get there—why try?”

She blew a spark into the air, and he understood something else about how she viewed relationships and, perhaps, what she thought she wanted. But Ilvriss had nothing left to say. The words he had to give…didn’t matter quite that much. He was just glad to talk.

And they just sat there, and that was fine, for a while. Then Erin switched topics and looked skywards again, at the falling snow. Her smile this time was distant.

“I’m so glad you came. Time is running out, Ilvriss. There’s a good bit left…the days are stretching on. But soon, very soon, the Solstice will come.”

“Yes. War and Death. Are you ready? Can I do anything? I’ve brought soldiers, and I know more are getting ready.”

They were everywhere. All her allies and friends were making friends, and Erin was getting ready. But in this moment, she just sat there looking…not at peace.

Serene, that was it. She stared up at the stars and shook her head.

“I think we’ll be as ready as we can be. Maybe this is all overblown, and I’ll look stupid. I’d like that, Ilvriss. But if it’s not…can you promise me something?”

“I can…hear you out.”

He said cautiously, like Nerul had taught him, and Erin sighed. She sat there, face covered by her bangs, then turned to him with a soft smile. Her eyes burned with the flame of her hat, and he suddenly felt engulfed in her presence. Surrounded by The Wandering Inn. It didn’t bear down on him, but it was suddenly there. And Erin spoke simply, and he felt like it echoed in his soul.

“Close enough. I want you to promise me that if I die—you won’t try to avenge me.”

He opened his mouth, and it was her turn to speak over him.

“Not right away. Just…keep going after Az’kerash, Ilvriss. Don’t do anything. If you have to, capitulate. Pretend you’re beaten, that you don’t know how to fight back. Wait. I know you can. Wait, just like you’ve been doing. If anyone can, it’s you.”

His throat worked as he tried to speak.

“You—want me to do that? How likely—”

“I don’t want to die.”

She replied instantly. Erin took a breath.

“I don’t want to, but I’m not going to think I’m immortal. I’m not going to, anymore. I never thought I was, but I guess I never…I know, now, what’s waiting for me, and there isn’t a third chance. There’s no second chance if there ever was. Ilvriss. I’m scared, and I don’t know what’s coming. I’m rushing you and everyone just in case I don’t make it. I’m preparing, and…and that’s all. Okay? Just promise me. And promise me you’ll take care of everyone here. Someone has to.”

She held his gaze. Because she looked so afraid, vulnerable, and was asking him, he promised. He lied—and whether or not she knew, she smiled. Then Erin lay on her back.

“Good. Now, let’s stop talking about that. Maybe the sky will fall. But hey…maybe we’ll win. Or, probably, the world will keep on turning, and we’ll have more to do.”

“I hope not. I have too much already.”

He groused, but then stopped.

“Erin. Am I being a fool for going after Az’kerash while all this is going on? That monster…I cannot forgive him or turn away. But you have hinted at what we are against, and should I be trying for something more? Some of what I am doing, most of it, can be used against other foes…but is this alright?”

She shrugged, lying there.

“We have to do what matters. No one asked us to save the world, Ilvriss. If we wanna try, we’ll do it our way.”

Ilvriss had to chuckle drily at the way she put it.

“Save the world. I never looked at it like that. For me, it was safeguarding my city, avenging Periss…defeating an immortal monster, but not saving the world.”

Without even turning her head, Erin started giggling until he almost got mad at her, thinking she was making fun of his ambitions. But then she turned her head, and her eyes were alight.

“Ilvriss, you dummy. That is your world. Everything else is just complaining about the scope and the extra side-quests.”

He stopped, thought about that, and shrugged.

“Well, I suppose if you look at it that way…”

The two of them ended up lying on their backs, staring at the stars out of a bed of flowers. Ilvriss thought that it did look like romance if you had another angle. But he just lay there until he felt himself falling asleep.

And his Human friend, that crazy [Innkeeper] filled with her own insecurities and problems, was still awake for a little bit before they dozed off.

“Ilvriss?”

“Yes, Erin?”

“How’s it been going since last we hung out?”

“Not the best, Erin. My friend died. But it’s been going better since I came back, despite all the problems.”

“That’s nice. Good to hear. I’ll try not to die twice.”

“Thank you.”

“…Ilvriss?”

“Yes, Erin?”

“I missed you.”

“Thank you. I’ve missed you as well.”

“I still don’t love you, though. Don’t get mixed up or anything.”

He didn’t dignify that last part with a response.

 

 

 

 

Author’s Note: I forgot I had taken Sunday off. So I wrote the chapter, thinking I had two days, not one. It was also a big chapter because this is the one to wrap up Ilvriss’ arc before the chem chapter and I go on break and try to finish writing Gravesong 2.

I’ll tell you more about that later, maybe even a separate post. Instead of delaying this chapter like a Persua, I ended up writing.

I worked twelve hours today, seven hours on stream, then I believe, five more. I will edit and post if you see this Tuesday. That’s what went down and you know what?

I pushed hard. Sometimes I burn out, but sometimes you push, and this is the result. Is it worthy? I, as I finish this with pain and tiredness, think so. But we’ll see. The secret to good writing is that you push. The secret to a lot of good, creative things is sometimes you push.

Sometimes you don’t. You should be healthy and not do this for someone else, especially not a company. And all the talk about health and rest is justified because the toxic attitudes about grinding or wearing yourself out and all that stuff are the dumb version of this truth.

Sometimes. You push. But you can only put out that energy and survive if you also rest, and take breaks, and know when it’s not worth it. This is a nuanced thing I am saying. Not one thing or the other. Rather like a lot of things I write. Sometimes it’s a green flame, easy to understand and simple. Other times, it’s complex. That’s writing. This time I pushed. Make up for yourself what you think the right way to do it is based on other chapters and how I talk about the process.

For now…I’ll see you on Saturday with the edited chem chapter. If it’s late, it was because I got tired and needed time to edit it right. That’s how it works, and I am least consistent that I want quality. I can see daylight. No one had better mow the lawn as I sleep or ring my door. I’ll rest up after Saturday on a break, btw. That’s why I pushed today. Thanks, and have a good night.

—pirateaba