Contents

Copyright

Map

ONE

TWO

THREE

FOUR

FIVE

SIX

SEVEN

EIGHT

NINE

TEN

ELEVEN

TWELVE

THIRTEEN

FOURTEEN

FIFTEEN

SIXTEEN

SEVENTEEN

EIGHTEEN

NINETEEN

TWENTY

TWENTY-ONE

TWENTY-TWO

TWENTY-THREE

TWENTY-FOUR

TWENTY-FIVE

TWENTY-SIX

TWENTY-SEVEN

TWENTY-EIGHT

TWENTY-NINE

THIRTY

THIRTY-ONE

THIRTY-TWO

THIRTY-THREE

THIRTY-FOUR

THIRTY-FIVE

THIRTY-SIX

THIRTY-SEVEN

THIRTY-EIGHT

THIRTY-NINE

FORTY

FORTY-ONE

FORTY-TWO

FORTY-THREE

FORTY-FOUR

FORTY-FIVE

FORTY-SIX

FORTY-SEVEN

FORTY-EIGHT

FORTY-NINE

FIFTY

FIFTY-ONE

FIFTY-TWO

FIFTY-THREE

FIFTY-FOUR

FIFTY-FIVE

FIFTY-SIX

FIFTY-SEVEN

FIFTY-EIGHT

FIFTY-NINE

SIXTY

SIXTY-ONE

SIXTY-TWO

SIXTY-THREE

SIXTY-FOUR

SIXTY-FIVE

SIXTY-SIX

SIXTY-SEVEN

SIXTY-EIGHT

SIXTY-NINE

SNEAK PEAK

Copyright

© 2017 by Christine Estopare

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

ONE

Muttering voices echoed round the mead hall like booming drumfire. The colliding multitude of yips and yells and squeals mixing with the sweat inducing fire blazing from the thrumming hearth at the center of the packed room. Of the three long tables that occupied the hall, all were brimming with villagers in full winter dress. Capes of white ermine, tossed velveteen gambesons, fur lined gauntlets and a host of other displaced winter wear littered the rough pine floor as men and women to the left and right of the hall clinked iron tankards and anxiously clawed into lamb meat juicy with grease.

The hall shivered with excitement as its people spoke of a coming voyage. Of this continent's pearly capital that lays mighty far from their little mountain town of Montbereau. Unable to stay in their seats, they speak of the Path and the dark forest that surrounds it on all sides. They speak of beasts that prowl the forests—that endanger anyone who dare treads the Path. But, most of all, they speak of witches and their all-consuming power. Of their ability to swallow an entire village whole. Miles from Montbereau lays a village in ruin, ripped asunder by the voice of a derelict witch. The ghosts of those who've passed rests on the tongues of all tonight, as Montbereau prepares to give it's strongest warriors to the Path.

“Even in celebration,” a young woman slouched. Shaking her head of tightly pulled back chestnut hair and slapping her hands to her woolen breeches. “they must speak of Remicourt.”

“Katty, Katty—plug your ears and drink your ale!” a mare eyed girl in a low cut dress nudged her with her shoulder. Arching her back, she puffed her chest out. “Oh, Eva! Take her tankard—put it to her lips!”

Sitting taller, Kat brought her forearms to the table and held her head in her hand. “I'll bring you both home early. Try me.”

Sighing, Eva pursed her sour lips as she brought her hands to Kat's right shoulder. “You're really no fun, Katty. You could go home. Horace will watch us, won't he Maddy?”

The mare faced girl blushed. Bringing her hands into her lap, she fluttered her eye lashes at a drunken young man across the room.

“Are you on the rag?” Eva hissed into Kat's ear, hiding her lips with her hand. “That's not good then, yeah? You'll cramp up on the Path—,”

Rolling her eyes, Kat swatted the younger girl's lips away with the sharp flick of her wrist. “Get on, all right? Get on, little girls. Go have fun and the like.”

From her right and left, Eva and Maddy stood. Both girls smoothed their dresses out, one of lavender and another one of yellow silk. Like twin puppets in a dance, they brought their hands to their hips as they hovered over Kat.

“Katell, will you listen?” Maddy whined, pressing her fingertips onto the waist of her lavender bodice. “We mean no harm, none of them do.”

“We respect you.” Eva said, grabbing a piece of yellow thread from her dress and snapping it.

“Really.” the girls intoned in unison. “We truly do.”

A warm grin graced Kat's sullen face as her eyes lit up. Turning in her seat, Kat's grin quickly melted into a half crescent smirk as she brought her eyes from Eva to Maddy. They were almost interchangeable, she mused. Twins, but different in one respect; where one chased after boys, the other chased after books. From time to time Kat would catch Eva with the Montbereau's favorite flower girl, the waif-like little Jocelyn, slithering her hand up the other woman's skirts when she believed the entire household was out. She enjoyed flower picking, that one. It was a secret Kat would gladly take to her grave, she didn't want Eva getting burned. Or worse.

Kat stood, freed her legs of the wide wooden bench and wrapped both girls into a tight hug. Eva nuzzled her neck fondly as Maddy wrapped her warm arms round Kat's thin waist. She felt Eva's fingertips prowl into the chest pocket of her gambeson and immediately pushed both girls away as they broke out into a fit of cheerful giggles.

“I'll miss both of you brats.” Kat laughed, mocking outrage as she brought her hands to her hips and sharpened her gaze upon the girls. A high pitched squeal carried itself across the room as a gaggle of whooping men broke out into deep voiced song. Kat shook her head and listened, brought her gaze to the floor and eyed the body strewn pathway to the sealskin tarp flapping upon the makeshift door. Laughter bubbled in her gut at that—the fact that people were already passing out.

“Yet, the night is still young!” Maddy squealed, bringing her hands up. Palms out. “Won't you stay awhile?”

“No, I think she should go.” Eva snapped, her brow twisting. “If Katty's ready, Katty should do as she pleases.”

Maddy's heart shaped face fell, her smile faltering as she clasped her hands before her lavender bodice. “Will you leave, Cousin?”

Kat's tankard moved suddenly, ale sloshing loudly in its wide mouth before spilling onto the table. A large hand wrapped round the dented mug's handle, pulling the mug back and forth across the rough wood of the table.

“Leavin' yet, Coz?” Slurred a cracked voice. “Ain't had a sip o' ale—nothin'. Lookie this—,”

Maddy slapped her hand to her mouth, the older girl giggling as Eva twisted her lips and rolled her eyes. “Horace, drunk already?” Eva spat.

“Keep yer eyes in yer head, little miss.” Horace snapped, pulling Kat's tankard across the table before bringing it to his chapped lips.

Kat crossed her arms and cocked her head as she watched the large man down the whole tankard in one savage gulp. “Would you look at that, Cousin? Ale's gone.” she teased.

Wandering brown eyes snapped to Kat. Tipping over the mug, Horace watched a single drop roll out. “Aye, right. Air's the way, then. I'll, uh—,”

Bringing her hand to Kat's shoulder, Eva sighed. “I'll watch these two, Coz. You, go. Clear your head.”

Kat nodded, knowing no words needed to be said. The two shared a connection, though Eva was the youngest of Kat's cousins she was the most levelheaded. The girl couldn't angle an ax over a log of wood to save her life, but she knew how to take care of people. Knew how to treat everything from red rash to heartbreak, so if Kat was going to put the drunken escapades of her cousins into anyone's hands—Eva's would definitely be her first choice. Clasping her own hand over Eva's, Kat thanked her with a nod and a squeeze of the younger girl's thin fingers.

The hall's sweltering heat seemed to swallow her. Kat clenched her sweat drenched fists as the surrounding storm of noise deafened her with a piercing ring to her ears. The sour notes of drunken bards brought her hearing back as eyes glared down on her from the head table. A voice in her head cut through the noise. Turn! Turn and pay your respects!, it shrieked. Bending her arm, she brought it behind her back before she gave her betters upon the raised dais a quick nod and swift bow. I should curtsy—should go back again. But she wore no skirt to curtsy with. Kat shook her head as she turned, made her way to the sealskin tarp acting as a door and began to shove her way out into the winter. It won't matter—they'll let it go. I leave on the morrow, she reminded herself.

But a booming voice stopped her. Cut through the raucous storm of songs and squeals “Shieldmaiden Maeva.”

Kat turned on her heel, brought her hand behind her back again and gazed at the head table as the diners continued to carouse. Of all the patrons littering the hall, Eva was the only one to lift her eyes and stare. With her tiny hands planted to Maddy's slender shoulders, Eva's eyes widened with shock.

Two patrons occupied the head table, where there should have been four. Only one gave his attention to Kat as she raised her chin, eyes staring into the elaborately woven banners hanging from the thick wooden rafters above their heads. She took all emotion from her face, willing herself to look calm.

“Leaving the celebration so early.” the man before her spoke, blinking his single eye as he swiftly stood upon the raised dais at the head of the room. From the raised back of his tall chair, he whipped off a coat of bearskin stamped with two brass chains at its center and swung it around his shoulders.

Kat closed her eyes. Stifled a sigh as she heard the boards creak beneath the weight of the man's ermine lined boots. Opening her eyes, she met Eva's worried gaze as a surly coat of sable bearskin swept past Kat and into the winter cold behind her. Kat shrugged, as he lifted the sealskin tarp at her back, letting in the cold.

Eva cocked her head, forced a crooked grin and pressed her hands to Maddy's shoulders as the other girl sat before a hollering melange of card playing gamblers.

Go, she mouthed, her lips barely parting. Go, see what he has to say.

Kat nodded, weaving her way beneath the flap as the man at her right held the tarp of shiny sealskin above her head.

Plunging into the winter, the cold hit hard as the heat of the mead hall tumbled and died in an oncoming drift of white snow.

Winter was so peaceful, so quiet. A light tint of hoarfrost crept up the rounded wooden dome of the mead hall, the sparkling white swallowed a long line of decorative round shields that proudly displayed the snow skimmed crests of Montbereau's warrior families. The two trudged past the long line of shields as they walked along the wide edge of the longhouse. Warmth seeped through cracks in the stacked wall of logs, along with voices and the chilly clashing of tankards. The celebration tolled on, even as its host disappeared.

Stopping at the far edge of the longhouse, the man before her turned around and faced her with a thoughtful hand to his chin.

Kat brought her right arm behind her, angled her fist towards her spine as she stood tall. Scanning his face, Kat let the silence pass between them as a clawing wind ripped at the skin of her ears. She could hear the party inside. Make out Horace's bawling laughter as coins clinked upon a table near the wall.

“Are you always this sullen?” he murmured, breaking the silence as he teased at a single hair in his burgundy mustache. “Is this a rule among the entirety of the duchy's guard, or is this just a rule for shieldmaidens?”

Kat hardened her face, pressing her lips together, as she cut her gaze away. “Never been far from Montbereau.” she lied. “I am—,”

“—having afterthoughts?” he finished for her, bringing his eye to the black sky. “Thought I should be upfront, Katell,” crossing large arms beneath his cloak, Kat watched as she bit her tongue—hard.

“Kaiden—sir,” she quipped, correcting herself as her bent arm tensed and the knuckles of the fist behind her pressed into her spine. “I've a mind to be polite, but...”

“I did not want you attached to this Chaperon.” he told her matter-of-factly, staring her down with that single brooding eye. “Baate Noir is no place for a greenling.”

Kat clamped down harder on her tongue, forcing herself to be silent as the fist at her back tightened. Nails broke skin as she brought her eyes to the dull leather jerkin covering Kaiden's wide chest. She couldn't speak—not now—not with this fire in her head. She knew what to say to naysayers—to people who assumed she was green, but she decided against arguing with her better. Even as words raced through her head—she knew her lips wouldn't be able to form them as quickly as she thought them. She'd stumble over them and resort to cursing. Resort to throwing fists.

That worked with the other men—but with him? He'd beat her to a bloody pulp.

“But Roux's high opinion of you weighs heavy with the duchy's guard. Seems my worries often fall upon deaf ears. Even approached your Gran—,”

“—you did what?” Kat bucked—widened her eyes and took a sharp breath to calm herself.

Sonant Kaiden's single eye narrowed. He was taller than her, broader too. Built like a golem—like a man of stone—missing an eye and half a head of hair. “She who taught you? Who trained you?”

Kat bit back a hiss as a platter crashed to the floor inside the longhouse. “She taught me everything—who else could've?”

“Shieldmaidens are a dying breed, Katell Maeva.” his voice dipped low, ebbing into a mottled growl of warning. “The Path will consume you if you're too green. The Black Forest will take you...”

“...if winter doesn't swallow us first.” Kat clipped, the fist at her back tightening as she forced herself to check her tone. “I have been warned, sir.”

Kat could almost feel the snow through her boots as she wiggled her toes. They barely had room to breathe in her fur stuffed shoes.

Sonant Kaiden nodded, his gaze moving towards the rolling snow drifts that tumbled down the expansive hilltop. He tapped his boot in the snow. “Baate Noir frightens you? Is this why you've trudged around the hall souring such a beautiful face?”

Kat closed her eyes—opened them and could almost see blood staining the snow. Shriveled intestines darkened to a dead purple as the they slithered through the snow, leaving behind an oily trail that speared through the white drift. The distressed torso of a woman ripped asunder attempting to pull itself through the swirling snow drift, her intestines following like mindless snakes as she slithered. As she pulls herself. The woman's face is blanched ashen—pale—as she reaches forward. The woman reaching for nothing but the air, as her ragged lips murmur a name that is sun softly softly and tears freeze upon ashen cheeks.

Blood—Katell took her gaze right, left—blood. She could almost see it now, surely see it.

Does he see it too? Does he not? Oh, gods—she blinked. Avoided rubbing her eyes and cast her gaze downwards.

“It is not Baate Noir that frightens me, sir.” she finally murmured, pressing the knuckles of her fist into her spine as she pressed her opposite hand to her thigh. “It is this celebration.” she whispered, as Sonant Kaiden moved to lean upon the wall beside him. “And it's vagarious nature.”

TWO

Sunlight fought its way through the heavy cotton clouds above as Kat scrubbed at Gran's round shield with a rough horsehair brush. She scrubbed with her knees tight to the shield's wide wooden sides, rubbing off dust and black debris as a handful of others grunted and stretched around her.

They all wore something similar, shadowy bags hanging low beneath their eyelids that proved they attended last night's send-off party. Some wore a mask of morning-after grime that made their eyes dreary, their movements shaky as others sat holding their heads, the festive hustle of Montbereau's townspeople making their heads spin. The send-off songs sung, the children weaving through the morning crowd, and the thick smell of horse dung curdling the air made a particular man to the right of Kat gurgle and moan.

He sat upon the lip of the town's massive stone well, his hands squarely upon the patched up knees of his woolen breeches as he planted his boots in the snow and lowered his head.

“When d'you...think Horace—,” he coughed. Spat, as Kat tensed with her back against the stone wall. “—will be back?” he sputtered, spitting his words out like fire.

Kat let Gran's shield rest between her legs as she straightened her back against the stone wall of the well. Around her, six others wearing the demesne's sigil of a patchwork shield sewn upon a thatch of black snow, worked upon their weapons or rested near the well as the people of Montbereau moved around them.

Kat's eyes peered through the gathering crowd of people to watch the growing line of horses and wagons combine to create the Chaperon's ragtag convoy. After last night's send-off celebration in the hall, the soldiers of the Montbereau Guard tasked with escorting the Chaperon woke at first light and gathered at Montbereau's well. Kat remembered waking Horace up as Gran and the girls slept in the warmth of their little log house. She remembered throwing on her gear and having to escort him to the Chaperon's makeshift preparation tent for some sort of briefing she couldn't be part of.

Kat eyed that tent now. Cast off to the farther side of the convoy, sat a thing of royal purple etched with slick sable. It was massive, the rounded dome upon its crown sported the duke's own sigil of a bursting sun dipped in gleaming gold. Only a handful of men had been admitted beneath its flaps, Horace included. Kat had been turned away just this morning, when the sun was clearing the horizon. It was now noon and the convoy was growing, but the men had yet to exit. A spark of buzzing impatience unsettled the air, affecting even the horses.

A saddled brown mare pawed at the snow beneath its black hooves, huffing steam through its large nostrils as its tail snapped. Clicking her tongue at the horse, Kat called it. Humming a matter-of-fact, “Dunno.” to the redhead near her as he rolled his shoulders and moved his head farther towards the right.

He heaved, vomiting up burgundy chunks as the brown mare approached Kat's outstretched fingers. Dipping its head, it sniffed at her palm, snorting at the absence of a treat.

“He should've been out hours ago.” Puffed a brawny man towards her left. Stomping his boots in the snow, he tightened a thick amber scarf round the lower half of his face and brought his hands to his hips. “They all should've been. We'll hit Baate Noir at night—,”

“Stop yer bitchin', Bertrand.” hiccuped the redhead as he dropped his forehead into his hands. “Press your lips together, kay? And quit it.”

Bertrand snapped a burning glare towards the redhead, opened his mouth and clamped it closed before shaking his head and crossing his arms. “You're green, Alan.” He spat, hocking a ball of phlegm into the snow. “All the way up to your damned neck.”

Alan's back rose and fell as he heaved a hissing sigh, “At least I'm not—,”

“Shush up.” Kat snapped, her gaze falling to two feminine figures as they approached the well. “My girls are coming, all right? Get on elsewhere, or shush up.”

Bertrand's face lit up, his anger melting away. “The Maeva twins?”

From her right, Alan let out a crippled moan as he dipped his head further towards the ground. “There will be no peace.” he whimpered. “None at all.”

Maddy stamped up, releasing Eva's hold on her forearm as the heart-faced girl presented an apple to Kat's brown mare. The horse turned, whinnied suddenly and snatched the red treat with its pink tongue. Maddy squealed, ripped her hand away as horse saliva dribbled from it and anxiously wiped it upon her threadbare cloak. Behind her, Eva shrugged thin shoulders beneath a stiff indigo capote. The girls took turns nodding at Bertrand before sitting on either side of Kat as Alan scooted away.

“Now, when are you set to leave?” Maddy whined, clasping her hands upon her lap as Eva nodded from Kat's left.

“Gran's still napping, you know. It's not right for a grandmother to see a granddaughter off. It bodes ill for the Chaperon...”

“Yet, perhaps...” Maddy brought a finger to her chin and tapped it. “...perhaps this is what they want, Coz? Bad juju?”

Kat stood from her place in the snow, tightened the leather belt attached to her round shield and slew the thing over her shoulder before she sat between her cousins on the lip of the well. “I believe it's—,”

“And, Sonant Kaiden—,” Maddy giggled, her voice lowering to a soft whisper. “—we saw him follow you out last night—,” the girl giggled once more as Kat's lips pressed into a grim line. “—will you tell us what happened, Coz? What did that brutal witch hunter do to you?”

Reaching across Kat, Eva cracked Maddy hard across the face. The sound ricocheted through the morning, quickly silencing the older girl's fretful giggles. “You are in public!” Eva snapped, pulling her arm away as Maddy brought a hand to her reddened cheek. “Watch yourself, lean-wit!”

“How dare you!” Maddy shrieked, holding her face as she brought puppy dog eyes to Kat. “Katell—you saw what she did, right?”

Kat smirked, snorting as she stifled a laugh. “Eva,” she warned, turning to the younger woman who stuck out her bottom lip. “no name calling.”

Bertrand threw back his head and let out a single burst of laughter before turning towards the girls with his hands on his hips. “Twins indeed!” he grinned as Alan moaned farther off, still holding his head. “You two wish to understand why the Chaperon hasn't left yet?”

“Don't feed them lies, Bertrand.” Kat growled, narrowing her eyes.

“No, no, no...he's long winded. The conversation will never stop.” Alan moaned. “Please spare me.”

Maddy rolled her eyes at that, clasped her hands together and grinned—the slap totally forgotten. “Is this a true story?”

“Or, a tall tale?” Eva quipped, rubbing her hands on her thighs.

Bertrand glowed beneath Maddy's admiration. Puffing out his chest, he brought his gaze to the crowded sky. “These are facts, girls. The very true horrors that lurk in Baate Noir.” Bertrand sucked in a long breath as Alan and Kat groaned in unison, the two exchanging pained glances before Alan dropped his head back into his hands.

“You two probably know it as the Black Forest, that spiked sea of black woods that cuts Montbereau and the whole of the south off from the capital and the northern colonies.”

“Witches are out there...” Maddy murmured, her clasped hands tightening.

“Not just witches, Maddy...” Eva gave Kat a sidelong glance, “...right, Kat?”

Kat nodded, her sharp eyes suddenly sleepy.

“Blood sucking hetaera, the blighted undead crawling from ill-packed graves—monstrous direwolves slavering for human blood—,” Bertrand caught himself as the girls paled and held tight to Kat's arms. He let out a single rumble of laughter as Maddy trembled on Kat's right. “—but you're safe here! Rest assured—the Sonant of Liberation patrols the south. Hell, even the outskirts are somewhat secured thanks to the Sonant of Liberation.”

“And the Rose's men? The Monarchy? Where are t-t-t-they?” Maddy shivered, still holding tight to Kat's right arm. “Are they not h-h-h-helping as well?”

“Well—of course!” Bertrand scratched his head of auburn hair with a hand on his hip. “Just in...well—with frugality in mind, I suppose.”

“You mean—the Rose doesn't give a damn.” Alan spat into the snow, planting his hands to his knees before he pushed his torso up. “'Out of sight, out of mind.' goes the saying. And we're too damn far for the Monarchy to give a shit about us—or any of the south.”

Blood stained snow gave Kat a start—blinking the color away she snapped her gaze towards Alan. “You're wrong.” she said, her voice abnormally low.

“Am I?” the redhead cackled, cocking his head to the side as he widened almond shaped eyes. “Tell me, Sis. You seen a Rose badge round here in the past—what? Six or seven years? Last month, when that sabertooth wandered into Montbereau—remind me, who killed it, Sis? Whose blood was spilt in protection of Montbereau?”

He had her there. And she shook her head. “Sonants lost five men against that beast.”

“Ah, so you remember?”

Kat narrowed her gaze upon Alan's freckled face. “Get on, Alan—moaning and groaning cause you can't hold your drink. I've seen the badge around.”

“What? When you were a babe?” Alan chuckled, slapping his knee before hunching over. “Right. Bertrand, you ever seen the badge round here?”

With his hands to his hips, Bertrand slowly shook his head from side to side. “Like I said, frugality. The Rose...with it's specially trained men...is quite—picky with where they place them. Doesn't mean the Monarchy doesn't care, girls. So shake that terribly bad thought from your minds. Pretty things like you should worry for naught! You'll crease your foreheads. Wrinkles everywhere.” Bertrand chirped, raising his hands before spreading his fingers. “Worry not, dear ladies. The Path is no longer as dangerous as it once was. The Baate Noir is dark—that is all.”

“I told you,” Kat hissed, crossing her legs as the girls hands went limp upon her forearms. “don't feed my girls lies.”

“Then why the escort of eighteen for the scholars' Chaperon? Why so many?” Maddy raised her hands, palms up. “If Baate Noir is simply dark, why not bring more flint instead? Why not let my cousin stay?” she whined, wrapping her hands around Kat's right arm.

“Oh, we look up to you for it. We truly do.” Eva added, clasping her hands upon her lap. “But we still wish you wouldn't go.”

“Gran passed the shield to me and I must fulfill the duties it brings. Just as one of you shall, once I pass it on.” Kat told them, eyeing both of the girls. “Understand, pretties?”

The girls murmured a monotone, “Yes.” before Alan spat upon the snow.

Rolling his shoulders, he stood up. “They're letting the tent down, men. Maeva, murmur a quick adieu.”

The several others lazing about the well shot to standing, as Kat offered a single hug to both Eva and Maddy, who whimpered. Who darkened Kat's fur-lined surcoat with her tears. Kat sent them off towards the murmuring crowd ahead. She watched them leave, the girls jogging off while throwing Kat quick furtive glances packed with worry. Eva's gaze gave her confidence, her eyes heavy with questions yet brimming with condolences. Those eyes gave Kat a chilly solace that melted away once she brought her eyes to Maddy's upturned face as the girl blew her a flighty kiss.

Past the convoy and the gathering crowd of well-wishers, Kat watched the briefing tent's flaps fall open as five men exited. The crowd's murmurs broke into cheerful roars as the duke presented himself, his cape of flowing ermine heavy with gold trimmed cloth. From so far away, the duke was the only man Kat could truly make out as the men piled through the snow towards the convoy.

“Hey, Bertrand?” Alan muttered, standing near Kat as she shifted beneath the weight of the shield at her back.

Bertrand turned, his scarf down. Bringing a hand to the ax sticking out of his thick leather belt, Bertrand nodded.

“About the blood suckers—the hetaera? They ain't...real, is they?”

Kat met Bertrand's eyes, the two exchanging a smirk before she nudged Alan in his ribs with her elbow. “Course they are, dolt-head. Everything and anything lives in Baate Noir—hell—,”

“Heard we'd be going through Remicourt.” Alan hissed out a breath beside her, stinking of ale and vomit. “That true too, Sis? Bertrand? Tell me it ain't.”

That froze her. Stopped her cold as her heart echoed hard in her ears.

“Afraid so.” Bertrand shrugged, his smirk gone. “Strange thing, yeah? The Path ain't as clean as it should be, heard Sonant Kaiden say. King's men have left us stranded out here, you see. Frugality, friend. Frugality. Remicourt's been cleared by a witch before—it's probably still clear now...”

“That ground is cursed.” Kat whimpered, staring at him wide eyed. “We can't...”

“It's clear and right safe. Safe as we're gonna get on the Path. Unfortunate thing, that.” Bertrand mused, bringing an inquisitive hand to his chin. “That the grounds are cursed.”

THREE

Horace threaded calloused fingers through his mangled mop of dull black hair as he lowered his head. Keeping a hand to his hip, he paced before the duchy's seven, as they stood at attention before the town's wide well.

“How can I say this?” he murmured, stopping at the end of the line before turning on his heel in the snow. “How can I, how can I? Bertrand,” Horace clipped, stopping before the larger man. “Roux shoulda put you in charge, not I.

“Hey—all of you!” Horace suddenly snapped. Katell tensed at Bertrand's side, bringing her eyes to the sky. “Quit it, right? We're brothers here—,” Katell smirked as she let the clasped hands behind her back go. “—and sisters.” Horace added, gaze sliding to Katell. “Ye, gods—you've picked a right time to show your mettle, eh Coz?”

“Time's always right to get a little blood on yer tongue, right lads?” a young man bearing a shield exposing the sigil of a curving dragon at his back clapped, the noise erupting from the front of the line.

Katell inched away as Bertrand crossed his thick arms. “Would you like him to shush?” he asked her.

“I'd like him to never speak again.” Katell quipped.

“Now, now—look,” Horace threw his hands before him, waving before he hooked his thumbs into his broad waist belt. “they've decided the Chaperon will go wide round the Methusa peaks. We trek through the ruins, move past the Brandies and Port Niva to get right to the Poudurac—,”

“—sir, that's a week of travel if the weather holds good! You realize it's winter?” dragon shield blurted, breaking the line to approach Horace. “Going through Baate Noir...it'll take fourteen days in this snow—worse if the clouds don't clear. Don't you realize—,”

Horace came nose to nose with dragon shield, the two men level as dragon shield crossed his arms before his chest. Rolling his shoulders back, Horace tilted up his chin. “Think I'm choosy, Jod? Think I—nah, we—think any of us get a choice of where we go? We're meat shields, Jod—arse shields more like.” Planting his hands to Jod's chest, Horace shoved him—threw him towards the snow frosted cobblestones of the ground. “You wanna cut cross me again, kid?”

Horace wasn't angry—no, Katell shook her head as she peered from Bertrand's left. No, his actions were almost automatic as he hovered over the kid, his pale face clear of all emotion as he struck out a hand in offering.

“No, sir. Sorry, sir. It's just—,” Jod took the hand, hefted himself up and straightened. Clasped his hands behind his back and brought his gaze to the ground. “—ah, food—rations. Fourteen days on the Path? Do they have any idea...”

“Course they do.” Horace spat, crossing his arms as he shook his head. “But the Chaperon is tasked with getting ten cityfolk back to the capital. We're trading them off at the Poudurac, then restocking at Labassette Chateau. Sad to say, but that's gonna have to be good enough.”

Behind Horace, Katell's brown mare whinnied. Smacking a black hoof to the ground, it tossed its head of midnight hair and turned its gaze towards the growing convoy.

“Last bit of word before we join the Chaperon, lads.” Horace straightened, turned towards the line as every one of them tensed. “We're lucky, alright? Winter's bad and all, but it means less monsters. At least—think about it, yeah? Ground's too harsh for the undead to rise, sun's never out so those wights won't be spooking the horses—only thing we really need to worry after are the wolves. That's it.” Rocking on his heels, Horace nodded with a wide grin. “As Montbereau's own, we're taking up the Chaperon's flank—that's it. Easy job, right? The Sonants have the laterals and front—so if anything happens to the Chaperon it's on their heads, not us. We good on this? Tracking?”

The seven nodded, murmuring their agreement before breaking off towards the growing line of horses and wooden wagons. Catching hold of her mare's reigns, Katell began to guide the nosy animal towards the din of gathered people as she fell in step with Horace who moved rather sluggishly towards the crowd.

“Got a case of cold feet, Coz?” Katell teased, tugging at the mare's reigns as they approached the crowd.

“You got the ruins part, right? You heard me—understood me?”

Katell pressed her lips together.

“Katty?”

She shot him a furtive glare. “Course I did—fuck, man. Remicourt? We absolutely must go through fucking Remicourt?”

The horde of bodies began to part as the three worked their way through the crowd surrounding the convoy. Murmuring voices, swept up by powerful songs and cries bubbling with joy threatened to drown their conversation out as Katell fought to keep her mare from barreling over unsuspecting carolers.

“Cyclops spoke—nah, more like railed me about bringing you along.” Horace hissed, combing a hand through his hair. “'No place for a greengill—specially not a woman...blah, blah...' sure you've heard it straight from the horse's arse time and time again.”

Kat took her time sighing, feeling veins pulse through her neck as the three meandered their way down the convoy line, finally breaking free of the crowd—free of the whispers and send-off songs. “Kaiden came to me,” she murmured. “last night.”

“At the send-off?” Horace spat, eyes bulging. “What a...”

Katell snorted. “Oh, you'll call him a cyclops—but naming him for what he truly is...oh, that's too much for you?” she cackled. “An ass, Horace. That's what he is—an ass—,”

“He fought against it, you know. Don't be so hasty.” Horace cut across her as a black ox snorted from his right, the beast pelted down by the wooden arms of a large square wagon.

“Fought against what?” she smirked.

“Against going through the ruins, Coz. Against going through Remicourt.”

“Good for him, should I congratulate the ass?”

“You should.” Horace snapped, his voice cold. “He got a railing for it—from the duke himself. Threatened to have the man burned.”

“Well...” she brought her gaze above the crowd at her left, looking for those telltale wooden pyres set up before mead hall's high hill. She found them, the pyres. Her gaze hooked onto spiraling wooden structures as they cast dark shadows against the snow. Spiked shadows crept towards the gathering, looming heavy over the crowd and the convoy like turbulent clouds promising hail. Her eyes searched for smoke, “the threat's obviously empty.”

“Then why'd they set up the pyres?”

Kat narrowed her eyes. “True...but,” she shook her head as they neared the end of the convoy. “you can't burn a Sonant—you just can't...”

“Yes,” Horace murmured, passing Alan's salt and pepper stallion before halting in the snow. “but you can burn their friends.”

Cutting through the line, Horace left her there to mount his own horse as her shoulders slouched and her eyes widened.

Would the duke truly do such a thing? Burn a man's friend because he spoke against him? Was going through Remicourt truly so important?

She wanted to tell herself no—that Horace's speculations were just the ravings of a lean-witted guardsman—but as she brought her gaze back to the lonesome wooden pyres calling for a crack of flint and a human head; she couldn't ignore the truth.

This wouldn't be the first time the duke's done such a thing.

Swallowing at the large lump in her throat, she moved towards her place in the formation—the very back. Situated beside a burgundy speckled mare whose rider was dwarf like and practically her height in the saddle. On land, she stood taller than the halfling. Had to look down to meet his mismatched eyes and give him a respectful nod.

“Aye—Sis!” called a broken voice before the halfling. Katell stopped in her tracks. Moved her gaze up as a black stallion clopped its way towards her. “You're before Manuel, here. Right next to loud-mouth.” a man in scant winter wear sporting a pockmarked face called down from his place in the saddle. “Take your place soon. Think we're about to head out.”

“Right.” she muttered, nodding before he moved past her.

She took her place before Manuel in the formation. Climbed her way into the saddle, and came eye to eye with Bertrand.

“Would you lookie there? My very first shieldsister.” he smirked, scratching at the triangular ear of his silver haired mare. “Think she can keep up, Marie?”

The horse snorted its response, cracked its snow-white tail and shook its head.

Katell's brown mare snapped its teeth together. “She doesn't like Marie.” Kat teased.

“Does she have a name?”

Kat smirked. “Horse.” she said, shrugging with a sly smirk. “Her name is horse—,”

A scream pierced the air—high-pitched and daunting as Kat hunched in her saddle and brought her eyes to the brown mare's neck. Kat snapped her gaze towards the crowd as the people went silent with blind terror at the noise. Blind terror that was somehow knowing—knowing that whatever terrorized the screamer wouldn't be coming for them. At least—not yet.

Kat scanned the crowd, wide eyes searching for her cousins—gaze gleaning over every face, every turned head and every bowed back. Her heart began to race, began to deafen her as the screamer began to plead. Began to beg and cry out to the townspeople—to her townspeople. To her friends and neighbors as the people gawked back—wide-eyed and frightened. Knowing, that if they opened their lips in action—in outright rebellion against her assailants—their families would be next. Their daughters and nieces would be next.

She found Maddy's turned head. Found Eva's worried eyes as she hugged Maddy from behind and forbade her from moving. From swimming through the crowd to help a family friend.

Kat recognized the screech. Recognized the voice.

“Stop—please! I haven't any power—please! Oh, Francine! Tell them I—,”

She brought her eyes to what they all gawked at. Brought her gaze to a tousled bed of strewn daises scattered upon the snow, their white heads plucked. Leathery petals graced the heavily trodden snow before pale pink slippers that slipped and danced as the woman's arms were stretched wide by two Sonant assailants. They covered the lower half of their faces with amber scarves, their bodies heavy with sharp scale mail armor that clinked as they wrestled the girl up. Bright blue eyes reddened as they filled with tears, as she lost her balance in the snow and the men relented to dragging her backwards. Towards the calling pyres, towards the twisted wooden hands of sharp spikes straightening towards the sky.

“I'm not—,” she cried, closing her eyes as she struggled. “I'm not—,”

For a moment, Kat wanted to look away as the girl scanned the crowd fretfully. Blue irises bobbing from face to face—searching for a friend. Searching for someone who would vouch for her innocence—for her soul. For her life.

The girl met such a face. Locked eyes with the sharp glare of a hawk.

Kat shook her head as they locked eyes, mouthed—no—to the young woman, but Jocelyn would never take no for an answer. Not when she went door to door selling flowers that were always strangely out of season. Not when she sold herbal remedies to those she knew needed them most. Jocelyn could never take no for answer—could never let anyone turn down her special sales. She didn't deal well with rejection—would happily lower her prices just to gain a copper.

She never took no for an answer. Never did.

And as she opened her mouth, Kat felt as if a sharp arrowhead had been lodged between the bones of her rib cage. She caught her breath and held it. Waited for the screaming of her name.

“Shieldmaiden Maeva, please!”

Kat would give her nothing. Nothing, as the girl struggled between her captors. Kat kept her eyes on the girl as a shiny stone glinted from the corner of her gaze. A knife appeared near Jocelyn's supple white neck. A knife of black obsidian.

“I beseech you, Shieldmaiden Maeva! Please—tell them I am just a simple herbalist—please...”

The knife hovered. One of the Sonants looked up. Met Kat's gaze.

Was Jocelyn's life truly in Kat's hands?

Kat gawked—pressed her lips into a tight line as her fingers curved and clenched round the horse's leather reigns.

If she vouched for her, Kat's entire house would come under suspicion. The Sonants left behind in Montbereau would question the entirety of her family—from Gran, to Maddy, to...

Eva.

Kat snapped her eyes shut. Opened them and took her gaze away from Jocelyn's. She bit her tongue. Closed her eyes again and felt her palms go slick with sweat.

If they found Eva guilty of...

The Sonants always found out—always had a way of getting people to spill the truth.

Jocelyn and Eva have a...had a...relationship.

If the Sonants got this information from Eva—they'd burn them all. Maddy...Gran...

They'd take them from me. For her.

Because of Jocelyn.

Kat felt Eva's eyes on her and knew that if she turned around to meet the younger woman's gaze, that she wouldn't be able to do what she needed to.

She needed to protect what family she had left—even at the expense of another.

She needed to do what was...right.

“I will not vouch,” she heard herself say—felt her voice boom from her throat. “for a witch.”

FOUR

This was right and normal, Kat told herself. Feeling the leather of her horse's reigns bite into the skin of her palms and fingers. A witch burning before a Chaperon sets off—this was right. This was right and normal.

But never before had a proposed “witch's” life been placed squarely into her hands. Never before had she held the decision of life or death in her scrawny palms that were slick with cold sweat. That were slick with guilt and foreboding. Never before had she held the right to send someone—a friend, a family friend—to the Sonants' pyres simply because they were a little different. Because she, Jocelyn—Eva's little waif girl, picked daffodils in winter and produced roses in a world where there were none.

Gran would hate her for this—but Eva even more so.

Eva might never talk to her again.

The gathered crowd round the convoy roared—spat back the word Kat had uttered. Witch! Witch! Witch! They crowed it at the poor woman as her legs went limp beneath her. Kat watched, teeth grinding against each other as she felt Eva's eyes burn into her cheek. She couldn't look—couldn't risk turning her head to meet the younger woman's eyes because she knew what she'd see there. Kat knew what she'd see, and she couldn't bear staring it in the face.

She'd see her own cowardice. She'd see her own confusion about her choice of words reflected back at her. Eva's voice already reverberated in Kat's mind—a single question followed by a glare of mourning. Red eyes flat with tears.

Why, Katell? Why condemn my friend?

Why?

A flood of screeching voices crashed around Kat's ears. Bloodthirsty townspeople cheered as Jocelyn howled her last breath. A fresh line of crimson erupted upon her neck as the obsidian knife ripped across her sallow skin with a swift and single cut. Pearly hands trembled, moved to close the gash—to catch the waterfall of blood seeping upon her skin. Blood stained the velvety satin of her dress as crimson seeped towards the cobblestones, licking at the discarded petals of her scattered bouquet.

White petals faded crimson as Jocelyn was tugged, limp and ragged, towards the pyre at her back. A snap pierced through the agitated racket, silencing the crowd as the townspeople held their collective breaths. Kat watched a woman slide bony fingers over her son's eyes as she brought her opposite hand to her mouth. It brought back memories—Gran would always turn their heads away. She'd tell them that it wasn't right—whatever the Sonants believed about the origins of beasts, burning every whoreson's daughter for suspected witchcraft wouldn't right the world.

Blood does not cleanse, she'd whisper as the fire roared and burning flesh choked the air, it darkens into a relentless stain that'll never, never, wash out.

Flames crackled, burned, and kissed the silver sky as the convoy began to move. Kat righted herself, ignored the pungent smell of embers eating skin and held the leather reigns of her horse with her gaze planted forward. Her eyes stared at trees—stared at darkness—as the townspeople cheered the Chaperon on, blessing them on their journey. Blessing them on the Path through Baate Noir.

“Luck be with you, Katty! Horace! Gods bless you both, through and through!” Maddy cheered, the older woman squealing just a few feet away from her.

Kat heard the crowd gasp—the cheering cut short as a young woman barreled through the cheering bodies. Snapping her gaze towards the crowd, Kat watched a dark haired woman split the crowd with her fists. Watched her weave her way through the cluster of people, cutting a line for the pyres. Making her way towards the single one that burned.

Eva threw a sidelong gaze over her shoulder as she moved. Kat's jaw clenched.

“Madeline!” Kat howled, meeting the older woman's startled gaze. Maddy staggered backwards at the sudden scream as the convoy slowly moved onward. Kat pointed—arched her finger towards Eva as the young woman raced towards the burning pyre, dashing through the crowd like a woman on fire.

Kat could do nothing, she realized as the convoy forced her forward. She could do nothing but watch Maddy swim her way through the gathering of people as they screamed at Eva—who dashed, who ran at the crackling pyre. Kat bit her tongue as her eyes followed the moving pyre. The cheering resumed, came back with a screeching vengeance as Maddy caught hold of Eva's hair and pulled.

But the girl was no match for her twin. Kat's stomach dropped as the sharp pine trees of the forest slowly cut everything out—the screaming, her fighting cousins, the cheering and the smell of singed flesh curdling the wind.

And Kat was powerless to stop them, powerless to make Eva see reason as her vision was clipped—stolen by the surrounding forest. She could do absolutely nothing but hope—hope that Eva hadn't thrown Jocelyn's sacrifice away for waning love. Hope that her family would still be there when she returned, that the Sonants would leave the Maevas alone despite Eva's chaotic outburst. Hope that—once she got back from escorting this Chaperon to the Poudurac, that Eva would let her explain why she couldn't vouch for the girl—why she had to let her body go up in flames.

Above all, she hoped that Eva would forgive her as the dark forest of Baate Noir closed in around them. Darkness shut out the smoke, the noise—it cut off everything, blanketing the Chaperon in a dreary silence as snow cracked under wagon wheels and horse hooves.

Kat hoped. Crossed her fingers as the brown mare's slender back moved beneath her. Hoped Eva would be spared, hoped she'd still have a cousin to apologize to once she returned.

If she returned at all.

FIVE

It wasn't long before a fog rolled in, obscuring everything in a chilly blur as a harsh breath of unrelenting wind shook thick frost from twisted branches shaded with a stygian blackness. The group had begun to miss the evergreens peppered in snow some ways back. Though the webbed green of the evergreens tapered the path and forced the convoy to spread out into a long line of wary travelers, as the green of Baate Noir's outskirts quieted to a somber black; they had begun to miss the life, the color.

The farther they traveled into the bleak chill of Baate Noir, the less of the world they heard until the very air they breathed became silence. It was a cold chill that choked and tormented them, made them hear things in the brush that weren't truly there. Made them see red eyes peering through the fog—a gaggle of creatures collectively staring, prowling, wondering why humans have dared tread here.

Laughter broke the silence, the guffaw exploding from up front. From the Sonants' ranks. A ripple of murmurs followed, people conversing in the gloom in an attempt to calm themselves. In an attempt to ignore the crunching snow underfoot and biting wind as it began to snow.

Already, Kat's thighs were chaffing. Burning up as she kept her eyes straight and her lips firmly shut. She felt her tailbone knock against the hard saddle beneath her as the brown mare trotted, snorted out a puff of cold air and flicked its dark hair with a quick shake of its large head.

“Calm, beast. We've a ways yet.” she murmured, running her fingers through its snow frosted locks. “Can't wait to arrive at Remicourt.” she sneered, Eva's glare flashing through her vision like a sudden bolt of lightning. Kat blinked, snowfall blinding her as flurries collected upon her eyelashes. She bit her tongue. Cursed.

“Falling right hard, isn't it? Biggest flurries I've ever seen.” Bertrand called from her left.

Kat grunted her reply, still furiously blinking.

Bertrand closed the gap between them, hunched over to meet her height. “So, we gonna pretend like what we saw back there didn't happen?”

Kat's eyes burned as she closed them. Turning her head away, she clenched her jaw. “A girl burned—a witch,” she corrected herself, opening her eyes. “that's what we saw. That's all we saw.”

“Right. So you're pretending, then? That it?” Bertrand snorted, still entirely too close to her. “Well, I'll play like Jocelyn didn't save your Gran from the sleeping sickness last year. Pretend like she used magic—you know, hag's potions—,”

Kat rounded on him, eyes wide, face flaming. “—go! Go—leave me be! I did what I had to.”

“And I commend you for that, Sis.” he said, clapping her on the shoulder. “Do whatever—pretend if you need to, if that'll help you accept things. Just don't shut us out.”

“I don't want to pretend,” she told him, hand to her temples. “I just can't—”

A howl covered everything in silence, made a chill slither down Kat's back as Bertrand straightened near her. Leaning to the right in her saddle, she lowered her hand towards the cold head of an ax sticking from her leather saddle bag.

She watched Horace bring his gaze over his shoulder, eyes frantic as his gaze scanned down the line.

The convoy continued, slow and mournful, chilled by the sudden wolven echo.

Kat felt for the strap at her back, pulled at the belt and felt her shield shiver.

Another howl answered the first, crying from the far right as a dark snarl thundered from the treeline.

Hunching her back, Kat gripped the ax's handle and yanked it up. Cold fingers stretched down rough wood as she weighted the weapon in her hand, eyes scanning, ears alert.

Shadows in the snow flashed through the treeline. They came from the front, thundered through the treeline at the frantic peal of an ox as it emitted a frightful cry—as it froze. The frightened beast halted the convoy—the wagon at its back stalling as the cityfolk inside howled frantic screams. The razor sharp bark of a wolf sank into a hair raising growl as a zigzagging pack of four surrounded the ox and wagon on all sides.

Kat's mare whinnied, triangular ears taut and alert as Kat sat up straight. Arm and ax became one as she bent her arm at the elbow.

She felt the others tense around her as well, as her shieldbrothers armed themselves. Bristling with fire in their veins as they watched the large shadows move—spiked direwolves, a group of four—cut the convoy in two as the beasts converged on the wagon's black ox.

A sharp whistle broke through the fog. Followed by a scream and a whimper as a body slammed into the snow.

“Hold!” Horace roared from the front of their detail, stretching out his arm as if to stop them all. “Hold, I said!”

More whistles—arrows arching through the air leaving a thin trail of curving black. The stygian trees swayed, their gnarled branches reaching for the pack of direwolves as the beasts snarled—broke formation and zigzagged through the back of the convoy away from the thunder of horse hooves and foot soldiers.

An arrow whistled past Kat's left ear, and she turned her head. Watched it go as a handful of Sonants brandishing scale mail, broad swords, and bows cut two straggling direwolves down. Freeing the ox as its voice cracked and moaned.

Kat brought her shield over her head as another arrow went sailing past, arching barely an inch above her head. Two wolves remained, growling and snorting as they wove through the convoy and parted ways, vanishing into the treeline before reaching Horace and Alan. The Sonants halted their chase, one man waving a haughty salute towards Horace who returned the gesture with a sigh.

Horace turned, broke the formation to approach Manuel and the shieldbrother beside him.

“Break, men. Take the essentials.”

“Here,” Kat turned, offered a hand. “tie your beast to mine. We'll take care of her.”

Manuel nodded, mismatched eyes brooding as he slid off his mount and into the snow.

“Go ahead, Marie doesn't bite.” Bertrand teased, turning towards the man behind him. “Tie her up.”

Kat watched the two prepare, the men leaving everything tied to their mounts except for weapons and flint.

“Break off and track them. Gut 'em before they regroup and bring more of their ilk.” Shaking snow from his hair, Horace spat into the drift. “Course they'd rush us when the damned sun's close to setting. Look, men, I can't make it any clearer than this, aye?” Looking one man square in the eye before sliding his gaze to the other, Horace hissed: “Be. Quick.”

SIX

A colorless sunset swathed the Chaperon in a quiet gray that faded to black. That deepened to a pitch darkness which required the bright orange heads of torches and lanterns to guide their path.

Night swallowed the day as Kat kept a lookout for her two shieldbrothers tasked with gutting the last two direwolves. The hours spent waiting, spent turning her head and searching, could have been days to her—months, weeks. It felt as if time did not exist in Baate Noir as the forest darkened, somber shadows reaching from the gnarled black hands of twisting trees as the heavy clouds overhead thinned, the snow stopping. The wind screeching past her ears as she took another double take behind her, eyes somewhat blinded by the swinging lantern hanging from the high hand of a Sonant marching at the center of their detail.

As she brought her eyes back to the front, she caught Horace's worried gaze. Shaking the frost from his hair, he combed his fingers through crunchy chestnut ringlets as his eyes darted from the treeline to the snow strewn path behind them. He covered an eye against the orange glare of the lantern and stared. Brought both hands to his face and slowly slid his fingers down towards his chin.

“They'll be back.” Bertrand muttered, his voice a croak. “Someway or other, they'd better come back.”

~~~

The wind died with the night as the clouds overhead continued to thin. Curving the Chaperon into a clearing devoid of trees, the Sonants declared a bivouac upon the snow before guiding the convoy's long line into a defensible circle of wagons, oxen, and cityfolk. Hastily thrown together pyres of rotting wood were erected and placed along the outskirts of the makeshift bivouac. Setting them aflame, the burning pyres worked to keep in the heat while frightening away any night-stalking beast with an aching for human flesh.

Once the pyres were lit and the outskirts scouted for prowling beasts, the members of the Chaperon broke off into their own respective groups centered around raucous cookfires or dimly lit lanterns planted heavily into the snow.

Dropping its hindquarters into the snow, Kat's mare whinnied and snorted as it plopped the rest of its body to the ground in a cross huff. Her shieldbrothers were scattered amongst the large circle of campers, some ambled near cookfires while others rested beneath the dim light of dying lanterns on the circular edges of the bivouac. Kat found her own edge near a rock and a tree stump, but allowed her horse to chose which obstruction they'd make their personal shelter upon. Horse chose the stump.

Unrolling a fleece bedroll from the back of Horse's saddle, Kat collected a flaxen cloak from the tightly balled up roll before throwing the thick blanket over Horse's brown flank. Digging into Horse's saddle bags, Kat found her ax, placed it near her thigh and removed the shield from her back. Placing the wooden shield upon her legs, she reached back to wrap the cloak round her shoulders and pull the hood upon the crown of her head.

Relaxing onto Horse's side, Kat listened to the murmuring voices of those still awake. She used it as a method to calm herself, to whisk her off to a deep sleep she so desperately needed. Horse snored beneath her, the beast's whole body rumbling as it snorted in its sleep. Kat's eyelids lowered, her head tilted back, and the whole world shifted into darkness.

She was gone—drifting off to sleep.

But she wouldn't be out for long.

…

“Sis.”

A hand shook her shoulder, throttled it almost with clammy fingers.

“Sis, get up.”

Kat opened her eyes to find most of the bivouac dark, save for the burning pyres surrounding the campsite.

Alan stood over her, his face concealed by a hood that fell in a sharp widow's peak.

“What's it?” she whispered back. “Thought the Sonants had firewatch.”

“C'mon, Sis.” Bertrand hissed, offering her a half-gloved hand from her right. “In all seriousness...”

She took it, hefting herself up with his help. “What's the meaning...”

“Get your shit, Maeva. Whatever you can carry. The essentials.” Alan snapped.

Horse still snored, still wheezed white puffs of hot air into the freezing night. Kat stuck out her bottom lip, shook her head once and bent low to retrieve her shield and ax. She thought about digging into Horse's saddle bags to retrieve a bit of flint, but decided against waking the mare. It slept so peacefully, she smirked.

“C'mon, then. To the outskirts.” Alan mumbled, nodding before shoving past her towards the darkened treeline farther back. Kat and Bertrand followed, the two almost in step. Kat frowned, threw the tall man a questioning glance which he rolled his eyes at. Shrugged and pointed towards Alan's retreating form as the other man slowed to a stop in the brush.

Alan turned, arms crossed. “Twat won't hear us here.” he spat.

“Speak fast, Alan.” Kat growled, hand resting on the head of the ax sticking from her belt. “I haven't had a lick of sleep. So, every second is precious—don't waste my time with trifles.”

Beside her, Bertrand stifled a laugh as he pressed his hands to his hips.

“Horace ain't gonna say it, so I will.” Tapping his fingers against the padded arms of his surcoat, Alan huffed. “Manuel, Noel—they ain't coming back without help.

“Which is why,” opening his arms, Alan nodded to both Kat and Bertrand. “I've decided to skip the official shit, and muster—,” indicating Kat and Bertrand with his open palms, Alan mockingly bowed his head. “—the greenling and loud-mouth. You're to track our brothers.”

“But their tracks are probably cold by now—damn near impossible to track. Besides, I've got next to no experience...” here she was, doubting herself already. Kat cut her gaze from Alan's, stared into the brush beside her with her lips pressed into a hard line.

“Maeva 'snowskin', remember what mangle face would call you? Old Roux?” Alan countered, giving her more credit than she believed was due. “Don't go all humble on us now, Maeva.”

Kat spat into the brush, brought her eyes back to Alan's face. “I'm not humble—I'm realistic.”

“Realistically speaking, you'll keep a level head while I track them. You'll be more alert to an ambush, to night-stalkers and the like while I freeze my arse off picking through their trail.” Bertrand told her, nodding. “Winterskin is a valuable trait, Sis.”

Kat smiled at that, cut her eyes away again in embarrassment before crossing her arms. “So, your plan is...?”

“Fuck the wolves.” Alan spat. “Fuck the wolves and find our brothers. Horace is in the dark about all this—let's be straight about this, lads—er, and lass. This is insubordination, got it? But, only if you don't return by morning. No one will know a damn thing if you return—and as if by magic, Noel and Manuel pop out of the brush as well. Horace can stop racking his brains about those igits, and concentrate on holding the convoy's rear till we get to the Poudurac. You follow? Bert? Kat?”

The two nodded their reply in silence, gazes hard and calculating.

“And if we...say we don't return by sun up...” Bertrand asked, tilting his head. “...what then? What becomes of you, Alan? Us?”

Alan's ashen skin blanched a papery white as he broke eye contact. Clasping his hands behind his back, Alan hung his head and muttered to himself before bringing his gaze up to meet Bertrand's eyes. “'If a man owns a pigsty on a swampy foundation, at least he can thank the gods he has shelter.'”

“Meaning?” Kat quipped, a chill sweeping up her spine at Alan's vagarious words.

“They will die out there, Katell. If you two fail to find our brothers tonight, Baate Noir will swallow them come the morn.”

SEVEN

Gossamer clouds drifted apart, ripping aside like a curtain of moth-eaten lace, to reveal the bright eye of a full moon. It brought light to their venture, as Kat and Bertrand backtracked through the stygian forest of Baate Noir in search of the site where the pack of black direwolves first attacked the Chaperon. They were sure to find black corpses, the two wolves taken down by a hail of the Sonants' silver tipped arrows. Yet, the farther they backtracked south, their eyes frantically searching for the feathered ends of arrows planted into the snow, Kat and Bertrand's sureness of self waned with the hissing chill of the night and the absence of tracks. Of arrows and of wolf corpses.

The snow had swallowed it, swallowed all—Kat assumed. No—Kat, knew. If wandering out here proved to be fruitless, could they return to camp empty handed?

Throwing a sidelong gaze over her shoulder, Kat's eyes widened at the encroaching darkness. Wind raked it's icy claws against her cheek before she decided to turn her gaze back to the front, to the ongoing trail of nothingness blanketed in a sparkling white.

The bivouac was far—the darkness told her. She could have sworn the burning pyres were about two miles distance. Could have sworn that the twirling flame surrounding the bivouac's outskirts spat their embers somewhere near, but the darkness told her otherwise. Told her that they had traveled far, only to find nothing.

Beside her, Bertrand tensed. Hunching his back, Bertrand broke into a snow crunching sprint, leaving Kat behind. She jogged to catch up as he stopped some ways away, took a knee in the snow and placed his half-gloved fingers into a stained patch of white. Shifting beneath the weight of the shield upon her back, Kat came to a halt beside him. Shook her head and cursed.

“Undead dragged them off.” she murmured, eyes on the dark pool of burgundy that seeped through the snow. Tilting her chin up, her eyes scanned the Path. Kat's gaze fell upon a pool similar to this one farther up the snow strewn pathway, a dying crimson color staining the fresh snow. Also absent a corpse. “Fuck.”

“No.” Bertrand shook his head. Bringing his outstretched hand to his knee, he gazed towards the shadowy treeline. “I see no path, no trail of blood. It just pools here.”

“Raptors, then?” Kat asked, scratching her head as Bertrand stood with a grunt. “Haven't seen any but...” she turned her head towards him. “...is it possible? Just—out of nothing? No calls, no cries, nothing?”

Bringing a hand to his chin, Bertrand pressed his forefinger against his lips in thought. “You're right, Kat.” he said, pulling the hand away. “The Sonants would have spied something flying away with a direwolf corpse clutched between its talons. They'd have shot it down. Used it as food.”

“Besides, we would have heard something. Raptors aren't exactly quiet about their kills.”

Yet, the skies have been quiet. Eerily so. Snow had fallen and covered everything...

“It's nothing to worry about, Sis. Just makes my job a tad harder, but we'll manage. Night's moving fast, now. So take your mind from it.” the tall man huffed, bringing his hands to his hips before hanging his head with a sigh. “I remember the stragglers cutting off into this part of the wood, possibly moving west.” Bertrand said, pointing towards the treeline at her right. “There will be tell-tale signs of our brothers that the snow cannot conceal, and we'll follow those. We'll find Manuel and Noel, Sis, but we've got to hurry.” he murmured, bringing his eyes to the sky, “Time's running out.”

~~~

Crashing through the gnarled and twisting maze of half-dead trees, it wasn't long until they found another puddle of blood staining the snow. Another puddle without a trail of red leading to or from it. Another bloody stain without red tracks seeping westward, or coagulated droplets sprinkled throughout the snow. The red just pooled there in its spot near the thin trunk of a coal cast tree. Seeping into the snow as if something had been ripped to bits there and simply vanished. Vanished on into another plain of life.

Kat was beginning to have a weird feeling in her gut as they moved on, passing another stain in the snow that simply sat there. The red pool guiding their path westward. From time to time, Bertrand would find scraps of black cloth—pieces of a surcoat—littering the wood amidst scatterings of browned droplets.

“Human blood...” he'd murmur, not stopping to study it. “...spilt some time ago.”

Kat would grunt her reply, her eyes on the trees ahead as they thinned. Her mind on the bivouac, on the camp so far behind them now that if the sun burst forth from the horizon they wouldn't make it back in time to save Alan's ass. They surely wouldn't, she thought, shaking her head from side to side. What would Horace think if he woke to find his cousin and Bertrand gone—disappeared into the night like ghouls? What would he do to Alan? What would he do to them if they returned empty handed? Bertrand, a childhood friend? Katell, Horace's own cousin? Would he save them from the lash of the whip—or worse if it was decided the two had attempted to desert and failed? What would Horace allow? What would he punish them with?

Her first Chaperon and she had already botched things—perhaps, perhaps she just wasn't...

“Quit it.” Bertrand snapped. “Boohooing over there with your shoulders scrunched up to your ears. Everything's fine, pretty thing.” he teased, playfully cuffing her shoulder with a heavy hand. “We'll find them and return, just like Alan said, alright? It's all going to be worth it,” he grinned. “you'll see.”

That made her stomach twist. Made her lips split into a sneer.

Or, perhaps it was the fetid stench of stinking flesh creeping through the air. The tepid stink oozing from a slumped figure leaning upon a tree trunk about a stone's throw away. She watched a head force its way up, the crown trembling from what she assumed to be the cold. Kat gasped, tripped forward, and pressed her hands into the snow before sprinting towards the slumped form of a person. A person wearing a torn black surcoat stained darker than its black threads near the midsection.

Bertrand got to him first. Kneeled in the snow as he had done before and placed his hands upon Manuel's slim shoulders. “What's happened?” he breathed, air puffing from his lips as white mist. “Did the wolves get you? Where's Noel?”

Kat had nothing to offer, nothing to give. Dropping her shield to the ground, she shrugged off her cloak, undid her belt and slipped her surcoat over her shoulders. She should have shivered, her torso was covered in nothing but a sweat stained chemise that did nothing against the cold. But the chill didn't bother her, didn't make her teeth chatter inside her skull as it did poor Manuel. Ignoring the stench of his open wound, Kat knelt near him in the snow. Pulling the surcoat taut over her bent knee, she began ripping it into large strips with the help of her ax's sharp side. Tying two strips together, she motioned for Bertrand to move away before she came to Manuel's side and eyed the large gash that cut through the side of his waist. It still seeped blood and tissue. The wound gaped like the sour mouth of a diseased toad, crying blood and pink puss. She watched Manuel slither sticky fingers over the wound.

“It looks as if...something...” she swallowed, shoved his hands away to press the bindings to his side. Gently, she wrapped it around his midsection and tied them tight around the wound.

Manuel's mismatched eyes were wild, his face pallid and papery as he stared down at her. “You're both—in my path. I'm going—going back to the Chaperon.” he croaked, falling forward with a mind to crawl away only to be caught by Kat's wiry arms. “Move...girl—I need to—,” he wheezed, gasped suddenly before slapping a hand to his bound wound. “—need to report to—to Horace...”

“Steady there, brother.” Bertrand hushed him, picked him up from Kat's arms and pressed him towards the tree. Manuel slumped, his hand to his wound as Bertrand stared at the bound up gash. “Did something try to...eat you?”

The halfling snapped his gaze towards Bertrand, his chest rising and falling as he began to hyperventilate. Peeling his stare away from Bertrand, his gaze fluttered to the clearing behind him. Opening his mouth, he turned back towards the two as he began to tremble. Began to shake. “Noel,” he whispered. “Noel.”

“We need to help him.” Kat snapped, still kneeling in the snow. “We can't let him crawl back—if we leave him, he'll kill himself out here!”

Bertrand brought his gaze to Kat, his jaw firm. “He won't get far.”

Manuel shook, his head bobbling as he whimpered, his eyes transfixed. Bertrand snapped his fingers for the halfling's attention. Manuel let out a startled cry as he brought his gaze back to the bigger man. “H-help me up.” Manuel stammered.

“Tell us where Noel is, brother. We'll bring you both back to the Chaperon. You can tell Horace everything.”

“H-help me up.” Manuel repeated, eyes pleading.

“Bertrand.” Kat snapped, gaze going from Manuel to him.

“Manuel, you can't stand.” Bertrand explained, opening his palms. “Tell us where Noel is, and we'll be back to help you.”

Manuel sighed, hand to his wound. Blood stained the makeshift bandages as Kat felt the slightest hint of a chill waft from the clearing up ahead. “He's dead—there ain't no point—none. He's—he's dead—”

They heard a cry. A woman's voice calling out to the night with a high-pitched shriek.

“She's coming—she's coming—help me up! If we don't leave—you'll all be dead too! Help me—let's go! Let's—,”

Clapping his hands to Manuel's trembling shoulders, Bertrand forced the halfling down. “Not without Noel.” he growled, voice steely. “Not without my brother.”

Manuel froze, stilled. Turned his face towards the clearing up ahead and spat. “That way.” he murmured, turning his head around. “H-he's—that way.”

And Bertrand stood. Ripped his ax from his belt and unslung his shield from his back. Bertrand brought his gaze to Kat, who still kneeled in the snow. Reaching for her belt, she tied it round her waist once more and picked up her cloak and weapons. Shrugging on her cloak, she weighted her ax in her right hand, brought Gran's round shield to her left.

Kat brought her gaze to Manuel, her eyes hard. “Tell us what we should expect.”

Wide eyes met her's. Mismatched eyes that turned to milk in their sockets. That went as wide as the moon above. “Death.” he rattled. “Expect death.”

EIGHT

Heavy wheezing resounded behind them as Manuel struggled to move away. Snow crunched beneath him when he fell. A watery cough exploded from his lungs as he began to crawl away, sluggish and enfeebled. Bleeding. Bleeding from the sucking hole in his midsection.

Expect death, he told them. Expect death.

They moved towards the clearing, towards a clear drift of white snow absent trees. Absent dead winter foliage and twisting stygian branches. They caught a trail of blood, tiny droplets in the white that sparkled beneath the dim moonlight. With axes in hand, they pushed through the brush to meet a starless black sky and the bloodless eye of a tireless moon staring down upon two figures in the midst of something passionate.

Or deadly.

A white head of flawless crystalline hair reared up, ashen face dripping with crimson. A stark contrast against the white of her colorless skin. White irises bled droplets of crystal as she threw back her head and uttered a cry that pierced their ears. That forced them to hunch their shoulders and slap their forearms against their ears in defense.

In the clearing of snow and alabaster white lay Noel, head turned away from them. Belly open, from chest to naval. Ripped open, skin hanging from his sides like a ropy curtain of fetid flesh. Viscera spilled from his midsection, the lavender tails of slimy intestines springing forth from his belly like the scraggly limbs of a fleshy spider. He still wore his surcoat, his gauntlets. His weapons were strewn about him like harrowed talismans, his ax to his left, his shield to his right; as if they could protect him.

Bertrand was the first to roar—to charge at the woman with his shield planted firmly before him. “Get off—beast—fuck off!”

But the creature simply laughed. Pale skin sparkling beneath a gale of moonlight as she stood before her kill and opened her palms before the sky. White hair slithered down her shoulders, covering her breasts as she focused her palms before her with a twisted sneer upon her ashen face.

“Come no closer.” the creature sang as Kat tensed in her place—watching Bertrand charge towards the beast. Towards the woman.

Hetaera—vampire. The words crossed her mind, but she was sure they were simply myths. That they did not exist. Yet, here stood a monster feasting on her shieldbrother. A humanoid looking thing, its womanish body naked and stained from mouth to chin in blood.

Bertrand froze, shield forward. Slamming the head of his ax upon his shield, he screamed, “Get back!”

As the hetaera vanished in a cloak of white smoke, her laughter leagues behind her. Echoing in the wintry wasteland.

Kat took her place beside Bertrand, suddenly unafraid. Heart racing in her chest as blood warmed her body. “How do we kill it? How do we do away with it?”

“The heart. Get it square in the heart.” he muttered, eyes scanning the field. “Don't let it—,”

Before them, Noel moaned. Thrashed his head about the snow as he tried to roll up.

Kat rushed to his side, almost dropped her weapons but thought better of it. Kneeling near his forehead, she looked at the damage. Almost vomited at the putrid soup of blood and entrails slithering around him. It reminded her of something bad—something worse than this.

It reminded her of home.

Kat bit her tongue to keep the contents of her stomach down. She bit her tongue and used her shield hand to touch him.

“Noel?” she whimpered. “Noel—what has it done to you?”

Noel's eyes snapped open. His eyes were not on her face.

Kat felt a presence and braced herself. Spinning around on the balls of her feet, Kat kept low to the snow in a squat with her shield angled slightly above her head. A white hand curved around the round shield, talons springing from fingers sticky with red.

Kat angled the sharp edge of her ax towards the arm—bit her tongue and moved her ax backwards.

Aim to kill, Coz. Never to injure.

Horace's voice ricocheted within her mind, crowding out her thoughts, her worries.

Gaining momentum, she swung the ax towards the approaching hand, uttering a shrill warcry, only to miss. Only to hit vapor as another hand appeared beside her opposite shoulder and raked it's talons hard across her throat. The sheer force of the blow slammed Kat into the snow and air rushed from her lungs as her eyes cracked open. Crimson stained white.

Kat kept her shield above her, straightened her back against the white drift as her skin crawled.

As Bertrand roared from some feet away, plunged through the snow, charging at the hetaera as the beast let out a sharp cackle. Let out a measure of surgically sung words, “I cannot let you leave.” before vanishing into thin air.

Bertrand's ax slammed into the snow. The weapon stuck for a moment before he wrenched it out. Trudging over to Kat's side, he offered her the hand of his shield arm. She took it, hefted herself up and slapped a palm to her bleeding neck. It burned. Suddenly everything burned.

“You're alright.” Bertrand told her, shield arm up. “You're alright—keep your mind on the beast. If your vision goes all blurry just stick near me. We'll make it out of this, you and I.”

“Right.” Kat murmured, her head becoming light. It's not too much—it's not too much blood, she told herself, swallowing. We'll come out of this alive. We'll bring these two lean-wits to camp and all will be right once more.

The wind began to pick up, began to cast white mist all around them as their eyes scanned the clearing for the she-beast.

“Why do you fight?” her high-pitched voice sang, the melody soothing and wintry. “Bring down your weapons, humans, and I will make your endings painless. Swift...” she materialized between them, brought her lips to Kat's scarred side and splayed cold fingers over the girl's aching wound. “...beautiful.”

Both twisted, slammed their shields towards the voice at their backs—but she was gone. No longer there as her cackle twisted and writhed through the night, cutting through the wintry mist that began to shower them like snow.

“I cannot let you leave.” she repeated, her voice fluttering upon the wind. “For, you have seen too much.”

NINE

Back to back, Kat and Bertrand scanned the glittering field of white as the hetaera's cackles died in a whisper of swirling wind.

“We must work as one against it.” Kat hissed, gaze sliding to Noel's slumped body in the snow. “You've fought something like this before...yeah?”

Kat could hear him snort—could hear him bite back a laugh. “A fairy tale? Right, Sis. Fuck—old wives' tales and the like. Sure, sure—I've even fought dragons from fucking nursery rhymes.”

A wisp of smoky white tumbled through the mist as Kat braced herself, wincing at the tear in her neck. “Don't be an ass—,”

“Don't be daft!” he half roared, half hissed. “Vampires aren't real, girl. At least—they aren't supposed to fucking be!

“Dammit, we should've listened to Manuel—fuck.” Bertrand whispered, his back hunching as he heaved a heavy sigh. “Look—we trick it. Any wounds you get will exacerbate it—make it see red. When it thinks it's got you, get it down into the snow and I'll cleave it in two.”

Kat grunted her response as the hetaera materialized from a cloud of white smoke and spread her claws, the sharp talons lengthening. Stretching towards the snow at her naked feet.

Slamming her ax into her shield, Kat uttered a shrieking warcry as the creature's face twisted, white irises darkening as it's crimson stained mouth elongated, the bones of her jaw crackling. The unnerving cracks of bones reforming and reshaping mimicking stone being smashed upon stone as twisted incisors erupted from its pale gums like serrated tusks.

“Come! Come silly egiduls!” the hetaera sang, spreading her naked arms as she threw back her head and set free an ear piercing screech that made the snow at their feet shiver. The call was thunderous, intoxicating as it slammed into their eardrums and forced the two to protect their ears against the blunt booming force of her piercing cry.

The screech made Kat want to shut her eyes—and she blinked. Automatically regretting it as the screech cut away to a severe ringing in her ears and the hetaera vanished.

Only to reappear inches from Kat's face, grinning a disgusting smile. “You will go first.” she sang, rearing back her arm as she flashed long white talons.

Behind Kat, Bertrand roared. Came to Kat's shield side and swung his ax at the hetaera's naked breast. It sidestepped him, slammed itself into the path of Kat's ax as she swung it in an arching circle. Silver cut through muscle, bit bone and the creature spat forth a cry—another ear piercing screech with a gust of raw power behind it. The cry shoved them both back, brought Bertrand to his knee as Kat braced herself against the blow with her shield firmly planted before her face.

It was angry now, squawking and screaming as it enveloped itself in mist and prowled the field of snow. Backstepping to Bertrand's side, Kat offered him her shield hand and he took it. Thrusting himself up, Bertrand cracked his neck as he brought his round shield before him once more. Kat watched the smoky white wisp bubble and grow only to shrink, repeating the pattern over and over with each breath Kat hissed out and took in. The hetaera was watching them, deciding what to do next as she shifted upon the snow-white field.

It spoke in a language Kat did not know, whispering and murmuring to itself as it materialized before Noel's limp body.

“For the good of E'lunn, I cannot let you leave. I cannot let you live.”

“Can it be reasoned with?” Kat asked, staring squarely at the beast's naked form.

Beside her, Bertrand gawked. “It has Noel's blood on its lips, Kat. His lifeblood. Are you sure you wanna reason with a fucking monster?!”

“It's too quick—it's too cunning. It'll kill us both.”

She knew she had a point—she knew. Bertrand knew as well and understood—understood her fear of possibly dying.

“Why must you fight us?” Kat called out. “Why have you killed our brothers?”

It froze. Cocked its head in thought. “They...you...have come too close.” she mused with a melodic lisp. “Egidul...” she continued, bringing her hands before her chest. “...you have simply stumbled...” she began to walk, began to approach Kat. “...into the inevitable.”

Kat twisted her face as her right arm began to ache beneath the weight of her shield. “What do you mean, creature?”

“Enough talk.” it hissed, gnashing its long white talons together. “Your blood runs cold.”

And it sprinted towards her, zigzagged through the soft shower of flurry dust at a speed that caused Kat to see two of her. Holding her ground, she heard Bertrand snort as he tensed beside her—watching the hetaera's trick. Waiting for it to come closer before making a move, before attempting to injure it again.

Kat saw the whites of its eyes before she tumbled out of the way, Bertrand rolling opposite as the creature cackled. “Slow, slow, slow!” and disappeared, only to materialize behind Kat's back and rake at the taut muscle behind her knee. Her hamstring snapped with a thwack. Made he right knee slam into the snow drift as it went limp—a flash of searing pain shocked her. Made her go blind for a moment before her entire leg spasmed. Crying out, Kat fell backwards hoping to isolate the creature behind her. But as her back hit snow, she lost feeling in her right leg as ashen hands pressed her shoulders into the snow and shook her.

Black eyes burned her, delved into her soul and froze her. Kat could feel the cold now, slithering beneath the thin fabric of her bloodstained chemise, she could feel the icy cusp of winter.

As Bertrand hollered, charging through the snow with his ax angled over his head. A second passed as he hovered above the hetaera, face twisted into a sneer before he plunged the ax into the creature's bent back. Black eyes widened. The hetaera's flat nostrils flared as she whispered her way back into a smoky cloud of white—but froze mid-whisper, her legs covered in smoke. Her back dripping with oily black blood.

Kat rammed her left knee into the beast's chest before it screamed. Before it reared back its head, blanketed itself in mist and reappeared before Bertrand's frozen form brandishing its needle like claws. With a screech, it plunged five sharp points into both of his eyeballs.

A watery squelch followed as it rammed it's talon ends farther into the sockets of his eyes before vanishing again. Before screaming in a watery language Kat couldn't discern. Couldn't recognize.

As Bertrand fell to his knees—screaming, palms glued to his eye sockets as blood trailed down his face as red tears.

Kat couldn't stand—not with her right leg. The beast had crippled her—she realized with a grunt. Crippled her and made her feel winter. Made her feel fear.

“D'wonne asa! Egidul asa itha'ann!” it screamed—cursed as it materialized behind Bertrand and slammed its trembling hands upon his shoulders. Shoving him down into the snow, it hovered over him, black blood dripping from its back as it grinned. As it bit its bottom lip and breathed in the smell of his bloodstained fear.

“Fresh...fresh.” she sang, giggling as she bowed to hands and knees, Bertrand thrashing in the snow beneath her. “You will taste splendid, egidul. You will not die in vain...”

Kat's gaze flew to the ax in the snow. The bloodstained silver head glinted beneath the light of the retreating moon as she crawled towards it. Planting her elbows in the snow, she grunted as she pulled herself towards it, heart slamming into her ribs as her face twisted at the roaring pain in her right leg. It was useless now—cold and numb and dead. Useless.

Kat heard the creature scream, heard the hetaera call out to the night.

As Kat grabbed the silver head of Bertrand's discarded ax and brought her gaze to the beast.

“Get off.” Kat croaked, hand curling around the wooden shaft as she slowly dragged herself through the drift. “Get off, monster!”

The snow cut through her chemise, brushed against her chest in biting agony.

The creature cackled a sigh, laughed with blind gusto. “So, ambitious. So charming and full of life...” its voice became a growl, low and guttural. “...your blood will be sweet—”

“F-fuck off beast!”

Noel's voice—Noel's scream before the hetaera's cry split through the coming morning. The howl accompanied by a reverberating crack of white bone as Noel's bloodstained hands twisted the beast's ashen ankle.

Already, the sky was on fire as Kat tore through the snow on hands and her one good knee. The hetaera screeched as Bertrand wreathed beside it, hands still to his face. Eyes still weeping blood as the hetaera brought its right leg up to meet its chest.

The hetaera's ankle bled, white bone seared through her ashen skin as she shoved her heel towards Noel's wide eyed face. A thunderous crack made Kat's skin crawl as she gave up on pulling herself through the drift and forced her one good leg to move under her. Forced it to propel her towards the hetaera as it hissed out a heavy breath and turned its gaze back to Bertrand.

Sharp knives of pain ricocheted up Kat's bum leg as her free hand slammed into the snow near the hetaera's white haired head. With her other hand choking the wooden shaft of the ax, she brought it down blindly—screaming. Howling as her gaze bored into the hetaera's soulless black eyes.

Silver connected with bone, connected with the hetaera's clavicle as the creature screamed—voice erupting into a violent blast of power that threatened to blow Kat away. Digging her own nails into the hetaera's skin, she brought the ax back up as her ears began to ring—began to bleed as the creature kept screaming. Kept screeching at her until its eyes began to water with tears. Widening her eyes, Kat screamed back and slammed the heavy blade of the ax into the creature's torso. Breaking bone—splintering it—as black blood erupted in a geyser, coating her face. It was cool—icy as it painted her, as it tried to blind her as she shook the liquid away and kept ramming the blade into the creature's chest. Over and over, bone cracking, blood spurting as she aimed for its heart. For the black vessel beating beneath its skin and bone.

She found it. Crushed it with a squelch and a splatter of black blood erupting from the hetaera's heaving chest. Kat dropped the ax. Lost her will to move as she rolled off its body and into the snow. Face to the sky. Ears ringing. Everything hurting, her body broken and torn. Crippled.

The sun was rising, the night ending as the snow reflected peach and plum hues.

TEN

Kat trembled, fingertips going numb as she pulled herself through the snow towards Bertrand. Up above, gray clouds began to crowd a dawning sky of delicate amaranthine as the sun peaked upon the horizon.

Bertrand still had his hands to his eyes, but had ceased murmuring as his blood stained face twisted into a sour smirk. “You've gone and done it.” he croaked, somewhat stammering as his arms shook. Pulling herself up beside him, Kat dropped herself in the snow and brought her gaze back to the sky.

“Yeah...” she murmured, wincing at the stabbing pain shooting through her right leg. “...we did it.” she corrected him, smirking “We did it.”

She watched the sun rise, gasping quietly as she realized that he couldn't see it. “The morning's come.” Kat told him, the wound upon her neck still dripping. Still drooling blood. “I think we've lost.”

“Damn it all.” Bertrand cursed. Pulling his hands from his empty eye sockets, he reached for his temples. “Katell,” he whispered, right hand feeling its way through the snow. Tapping Kat's head with his fingertips, she instinctively pushed herself up as his fingers felt for her shoulder and grasped it. Pulling her towards his chest, Kat let her right arm embrace him. Let it slide over the wide expanse of his chest and hug his side. “let me die in peace.” he told her.

Placing her cheek upon his chest, she felt his heart wobble and beat. Heard the muscle hiccup. “They'll find us.” she yawned, turning her gaze back to the sky as she gave him her warmth—whatever little she had. “Besides,” she muttered peacefully, feeling the cold rush over her. “you can walk.”

“I can't feel my legs.” he told her matter-of-factly. “I can barely feel my arms.”

“Are you feeling sluggish? Sleepy?” she asked him, eyes following the sunrise. “Alan's fucked, Bertrand. Alan's fucked...Horace's fucked...Manuel probably died in the snow...”

“Just let it go.” he moaned back, voice booming in his chest. “I can feel warmth on my face,” he told her, squeezing her shoulder. “I wish I could see the sun...wish I could watch it ride across the sky once last time...”

“We aren't going to die!” she all but screamed, the fight leaving her as a gust of cold wind powered through her. “We aren't going to...”

She felt him sigh. Felt him force out a bit of laughter. “It's like the wind is...speaking to me.”

“Don't listen to it.” Kat quipped. “Whatever it tells you—do the opposite.”

“What was it like in Remicourt?”

That made her colder, made her skin turn to ice.

“Katell,” he murmured, squeezing her once more. “tell me what it was like. It's one thing I'd like to know...”

Bloodstained snow. A woman crawling...reaching for me...

She swallowed, bit her tongue as the pain in her leg began to fade away. As the wind continued to blow, the raw chill no longer phased her. No longer made her shiver and brace herself. She became still as she laid her head upon his broad chest. Deathly still.

“Katty?”

She blinked. “When I was very young...” Kat began, her hammering heart slowing to a gentle rhythm. Her fingertips cold as ice. “...my mum would tell me stories about Baate Noir. Good stories. Stories about gentle witches and helpful hetaera. Stories about the mystical and dark beauty of the forest—the forest that could never harm us. That surrounded and protected our home...” she felt him breathe easy. Felt warmth on her face as the sun rose and the air stilled around them. “...she'd go to market in the city nearby, in Remicourt, and before she left she always made me pray. Made me ask the forest for protection for us both. She told me that if you beseeched the forest, it would help you. If you paid Baate Noir respect, it would repay you with kindness...”

It was all coming back. Her mother's face, her gentle tone. Her soft spoken words and prayers.

It was all coming back. The blood staining the snow, her cabin aflame, her mother's gnarled hands that ended in bloodied talons.

It was all coming back.

Beseech the Night Lady.

Kat gasped, dug her fingers into Bertrand's side. She felt him tense beneath her. “Something coming? I can't see—whatever it is, describe it.”

“The Night Lady.” Kat whispered, choked on the phrase. “She told me to...beseech the Night Lady...whenever I was frightened. Whenever I needed help.” And I did—I did. I called her—called for help. For simple help. For protection—for a loving hand.

I needed help.

I need help.

Bertrand snorted, stifling a ragged laugh before gasping. Before falling silent. “Sorry.” he murmured. “But, is that a Remicourt tale? The 'Night Lady', is she a—,”

“She isn't real.” Kat snapped, vision blurring. “She isn't real, Bertrand.”

“Of course.” he murmured, yawning slightly. “Nothing's real...not anymore...nothing, nothing...”

The sun paled, pulling itself behind a curtain of waning silver as the sky darkened. Promising snow.

Kat felt herself shiver. Felt Bertrand pull her close.

Is this it? She thought, teeth chattering. Is this my fate? Is this my punishment?

A gust of wind answered her. As did a lone white flake. A flurry.

She felt the cold then, wrapped in her best friend's arms as the two shivered together in the frozen tundra. Secretly hoping for help to come. For their shieldbrothers and the Montbereau Sonants to come barreling through the treeline at any moment, brandishing blankets and thick cottony cloaks.

Flurries came, falling in a powdery white mist that covered the two slack corpses behind Kat. That began to embrace the two in a wintry frock of cold. Of snow and crystalline icing. Of chilled regret.

Kat didn't want to leave this world without seeing her cousins—without apologizing to Eva and hugging Maddy one last time. She wanted to see Gran's face—wanted to see those eyes that so closely resembled her mother's.

And Horace...poor Horace...

He'd lose his post in the Montbereau Guard. Roux would never again trust him to lead a detail—no matter how small. He'd lose the trust of the Duke, of the guards' commanding officers and even the Sonant.

They'd hang Alan. Hang him for insubordination and the deaths of two comrades. Absent rope, they'd burn him at the stake.

“Stop.” Bertrand whispered, cold breath pooling in her ears. “Pass on peacefully, Sis. Stop...stop your worrying, pretty thing...”

She closed her eyes, then. Allowed the snow to take them both.

She closed her eyes and beseeched the Night Lady with a breath.

ELEVEN

Curving cold crept over Kat's limbs at a slow slither.

“Ace thol cexeles alu?

“Asle. Asle—asa!”

Ginger. Sharp and pungent. Crawling through her nostrils like cold fingers.

Kat's eyes shot open. The sky spun. An ivory parade of slick clouds.

“Solace, egidul. Thol asle ulthaas, Na'anyel.”

Something rough touched her lips, something earthy that pressed hard against her bottom lip. Ginger flooded her nostrils as she opened her mouth and felt warm liquid bite her tongue. Felt the ginger brew startle her. Wake her up.

“Thol ulthaas.”

Itchy fabric blinded her. Brown thatch covered her eyes as the cup was snatched away. The liquid still burned her senses. It hurt going down, but her body shivered at the warmth. At the sudden feeling of life.

She felt dizzy. Felt the ground spin beneath her.

“Thol alu yulith. Alu oll!”

Voices sang a strange language. Melodic rhythms pounded at her ears before the presences fell silent, breathing. Hissing as another cup was brought to her lips.

This one smelled of jasmine.

When the cup tilted, she opened her mouth and drank. Hungrily gulped. Thirstily.

She felt her heart hammer, felt her face twist.

As her blood ran cold, became ice in her veins and she opened her mouth to scream. To screech for help.

But her throat constricted, her voice died.

As she was lifted, floating. Weightless. Carried off as her limbs went limp.

As she became a ragged doll—helpless—spirited away in the antithetic arms of her caretaker.

TWELVE

A floor of rugged jet stones gnashed against her skin. The stones rough and vicious beneath the raw scabs of her reddened knees as her palms plummeted towards the slimy stone floor.

She's heaving, her chest heavy—burning. Burning with a fiery pain that stabs through her breast. That stabs through the entirety of her naked torso and trembling body.

She opens her mouth, her stomach twisting and unraveling only to twist again. Curving into a painful ball of flesh that makes her vomit up the scorching brew creeping its way down her throat. She moans as the spittle climbs its way up her throat, fighting against the burning brew before it relents and dribbles from her lips as she lets her tongue loll from her mouth.

Shrill laughter erupts behind her. Piercing her eardrums as she shuts her eyes in silence, barely thinking. Her mind and thoughts frozen as she hangs her head and shivers violently at the thrumming pain biting beneath her skin. It claws through her. Spears through her chest with a serrated iron head.

“Lyhe shesha, Alitha. Lewarth shesha yil.”

Kat's hair is pulled—matted chestnut tangles yanked backwards. Her head can only follow as a ruthless hand jerks her head back, the harsh motion tilting her chin up as the force behind her head disappears with a quick clack of heels upon the stony floor. A palm graces her shoulder as fingers dig, latching themselves to her bone. A cup comes to her lips, pungent ginger flaring her nostrils, as the rough surface of the cup flattens her bottom lip to the teeth.

“Raan, egidul.” a soft voice whispers in her ear. “Solace, egidul. Raan.”

She does as she is told—not understanding the language. Not understanding anything as the brash liquid enters her mouth and slithers its way down her throat. Her reaction is almost automatic as she painfully heaves. As the woman backs away and another peal of shrill laughter erupts from the corner of the shadowy room.

Warmth enters her—the ginger brew—snakes through her belly. Claws through her veins. It weaves its way into her bones—the bones of her arms, her legs. And suddenly, a thunderous crack makes Kat freeze. An echoing crack makes Kat lose her grip of the floor beneath her and forces her to drop. To fall to her belly and curl up into a fetal ball of flesh as she opens her mouth in a silent scream.

They've been at this for hours, the two women locked with Kat in this chamber of shadows. They've been forcing her to drink—to come back. And with every drop of their tonic, Kat feels her bones split and splinter. She feels them twist beneath her skin, as her skin becomes ice and her mouth opens in a booming screech that rips her throat raw. That claws at the tender skin of her throat and makes it weep red at the trembling screech of her icy misery.

Because every bone—every bone in her body was breaking.

Only to be remolded. Reshaped.

But Kat could not think of this as she wreathed in pain, seizing upon the floor in a puddle of her own sweat and vomit. She could only think of the pain. Could only think of the stygian fear pulsing through her icy veins and the red hot pain. The red hot pain that scorched like lightning beneath her skin. That pulsated like spearheaded static stabbing at her—constantly stabbing at her.

Was this hell?

It was a single thought. A single phrase that flashed through her mind in an instant.

Until she thought of nothing. Until the cup came to her lips again and she drank. Screamed and wreathed at the pain of her bones resetting. Vomited up the brew. Felt her heart tremor and hiccup in her chest as a flash of spearheaded pain shot through her breastbone and made her see black. Made her see nothing but darkness until one of the women shook her awake. Cracked Kat hard across the face with a sneer upon their flawless, porcelain, features. Sparkling eyes like sapphires bore into Kat's, disgust sharpening them. Pity making them laugh.

Kat couldn't understand their tongue, couldn't even understand her own thoughts.

As the cup was pressed to her lips once more and emptied.

Her heart hiccuped—cried, pleaded.

As a lump formed in her throat—cutting off her supply of oxygen. Freezing the air.

And Kat clawed at her throat as a pair of heels clicked upon the slimy flagstones of the floor.

A door wheezed open. Slammed shut.

As the lights in Kat's eyes went out.

THIRTEEN

She is in an abbey, hand planted to a crumbling column of yellowed brick. She is wearing a dress of green velveteen doused in red. Crimson. A slick burgundy that stains the midsection of her child clothes.

It is dark. The moon is howling outside, the sound creeping through the mountain shaped doorway of the abbey.

It is dark. And she sits upon the dimpled stones, pulls her knees into her chest and trembles. Shrivels up into a little ball of green and red.

The blood upon her dress was still warm, sticky. She could almost taste the man's dying breath as he let go of her little hand and told her to run. Told her to hide herself from the monster.

But the monster was her mother—she tried to say. But it came out all wrong. If she had just stopped to explain—stopped to make the town see reason and understand that the monster...the monster was simply a scared human woman...then maybe his blood wouldn't have been on her midsection. Maybe the howling outside would have stopped. Maybe the snarling, the cries—maybe her mother...

She saw her rip a man in two. Cleave through him with a blade tipped staff.

That wasn't her mother. She told herself.

That was a monster.

It rained outside. Stormed. Little droplets snapped as they hit the cobblestones outside. A shower of humidity wet the young girl's round face.

“Katell...” called a high-pitched voice in song. “...Katty-kat...my little princess.” it hawked—snarling. “Come out, come out wherever you are.”

The voice became inhuman. Became a guttural growl.

“You're being a bad girl. Hiding from your mother.”

She never wanted the villagers to find her—to find their lonesome cottage on the outskirts of town. She never wanted them to take her away—to steal her from her mother in the night. Kat just wanted to play—just wanted another girl to talk to and play games with. She just wanted to get to know someone her age.

“Katty-kat...Katty-kat, where are you?”

She can feel the ground tremble. Could hear pebbles slam upon the stone face of the abbey's cracked floor. Something snorts outside, breathes heavily—quickly—snarling as it snorts and hungrily sucks in the cold night air as rain begins to pour harder. Begins to cleanse the air with its clear droplets.

Katty asked the forest for a friend. For a best friend. No—she wasn't tired of her mother's constant company, she just wanted something different. Something new—something fresh. Like all children, she wasn't satisfied with her mother's ceaseless love. With ceaseless gifts and toys—no. For, when her mother went to market, Katty was lonesome. Driven to the forest in search of animals, in search of a pet or a person.

She found an old man wrapped in heavy moth-eaten wool staring upon their little cottage some days past. He was afraid of her—jumped back whenever she tried to approach. He called her names—things she couldn't repeat back to herself because they brought her to tears in his presence. They brought her to tears now, but she smiles at how he apologized.

You're no witchling, darling. Just a hopeless urchin. Hopeless, hopeless.

And he came back after that. Again and again, asking after the cottage. Asking after who lived there. Asking if the Lady was her mother.

The Lady? She stupidly mumbled. What Lady?

He cut his gaze from her, mused a bit. Smacked his lips. The one we shall save you from.

They took her in the night. Brought her to the town inn owned by a voluptuous woman with a kind heart and a warm smile. She carried a silver stringed instrument attached to her ample bosom, a lute Katty remembered her calling it; and played honeyed music all night as the townspeople clamored around Kat. Frightful, engrossed, straining to see the little forest child.

Around midnight Kat heard a scream and threw herself from the new bed the innkeep had gifted her, a scream that pierced the silence of the night.

And then the bloodletting started.

Remicourt armed itself, did what it could against a single woman. But they were not prepared for the raw power of Kat's mother, a witch through and through. But something more. Something much more. Something the town, nor any mortal, could ever hope to prepare for.

And here Kat sat, hiding herself away in an abbey. Covering her face for fear that her mother's reddened eyes will spot her. That her pearly smile will burn through the all-encumbering darkness of the night, and pierce right through her. Kat watched her cut down many—too many. One had been enough for her—hot blood staining the snow as she lodged her blade tipped staff through a man's screaming jaw. Ten brought knee-knocking horror upon the girl, as Kat's mother used the land itself against Remicourt's guardsmen. As she called the piercing branches of the forest to jut through their bellies and jaws, suspending them in the air like human trophies.

Kat had seen too much—so much in one night.

And she was scared.

This creature was not her mother.

Yet it called her—knew her name.

And it snorted, hot breath puffing as white steam near the doorway of the crumbling abbey, as it waited for the scent of Kat's breath.

She held it.

“Come...let us be a family again.”

Silence. No response. The voice twisted—squealing as it became human again. As a shadow curved and reached upon the stones of the abbey's entrance. As a hunched body with twisted claws, devolved, twisting back into the body of a human woman.

“Katty...Katty my sweet.”

Something—something's not right.

Kat opened her eyes, scanning the abbey.

This isn't how it happened. Something told her.

Yet, here she was. Reliving the massacre of Remicourt. Reliving a disaster caused by her carelessness. Caused by her childlike selfishness.

“Ambitious thing—sweetling, come hither. We'll make a new—monster...wreathing creature. Not fit to—I'm sorry if I frightened you, sweetling. They—they took you—you brought this upon these people. Monster—ambitious thing—ambitious—,”

Is this what weighs upon your soul, egidul? Is this what makes your heart so heavy?

Kat blinked. The merging of her mother's soft voice and the guttural call of the beast's making her heart palpitate. Making her heart shiver violently in her chest.

Pity. A smooth voice echoed within her head—caused the rain to stop. Caused everything to freeze.

This isn't right. She told herself, emerging from her curved ball. Someone is toying with me—with my memories.

She shivered, despite the warmth. Despite the lack of feeling this place held.

Come back to the plains of the living. A voice boomed.

As the rain resumed. As her mother's shadow contorted and curved. Howled at a shattered moon and ducked it's wolfish head inside the abbey, eyes red. Eyes glowing.

“My girl.” it snarled, long yellowed teeth braced against scabby black gums. Tufts of matted fur fell in clumps from her contorted, wolfish, head—from its head—to reveal a pink scalp rotten with boils and bruises. “Come home, little Katty.” it belched before it rushed at her, hocked legs springing the creature forward. Towards the little girl in the blood smeared dress as she shook her head—unsure, unaware. Scared. Heart fluttering in her chest—blood pumping, silencing all as she turned. Her legs pumping slowly. Her scream soundless and barren. Void, as dark claws bit into her little shoulders and slammed her child self to the ground—

—she woke with a start. Prostrate upon a table of rotted wood. Delicate hands hovered on either side of her face as she gasped. As she choked and tried to sit up only to find that she couldn't move. Only to find that the person looming over her had paralyzed her with a spell woven from foreign words.

Kat's eyes glued themselves to a high ceiling of crumbling stone and dripping dew. She tried to move her fingers, tried to wiggle her toes. An icy chill crept over her skin.

“You will help me.” a low voice murmured, the words soft. “Because you are not like her,” he breathed. “because you are not a monster.”

FOURTEEN

Kat was blinded on that rotten wooden board. Blinded by a cloth of brown thatch. Taken from the room and forced through a corridor completely foreign to her. Forced through an echoing passageway she could not see, but could feel with her naked feet. Dust swept cobbles began to rise into a stairway, a stairway that spiraled round and round. Up and up.

A cold chill trembled through her as a pair of soft hands guided her, the hands squeezing her inner forearms as the stairway looped around a tower, moving up until the stairs leveled out into a landing. The hands halted her then, as a door moaned upon rusted hinges and a sour gust of stale air swept back Kat's matted locks. She was shoved, still blinded, still naked and covered in night sweat. Lurching towards the middle of the room with the thatch about her eyes, her palms slapped to a cool cobblestone floor as the door behind her slammed and locked with a tight click.

On hands and knees, Kat lowered herself to the floor and rolled over onto her side. Hugging her knees into her naked chest, she allowed the thatch to stay. Allowed it to continue to blind her. She hoped that—if she didn't remove the blindfold, if she continued seeing nothing but black and burlap brown, maybe this would all go away. The nightmare, the pain, the strange people cawing a foreign language that had begun to grate at her ears. That had begun to make her set her jaw and grind her teeth until silence came again. Until she could hear the air in her ears and the solid echoes of a stone enclosure.

She hoped it wasn't real. She hoped she was simply dreaming—simply stuck in a trance as her comrades patched her up in the real world. She figured this was punishment—punishment for what she had done as a child. Finally, finally I'll pay for what has been done.

But wasn't losing her mother punishment enough? Kat asked herself as she hugged her knees in tighter. Wasn't losing her home and family punishment enough?

Now she had lost everything—now she had lost...

Stop. Stop it.

Kat froze as Bertrand's voice rang in her ears.

Stop hurting yourself, Sis, over something so long gone.

“Am I dead?” her voice echoed—high and pitiful, like the whisper of a child. Like the whimper of a little girl on the verge of tears. “Tell me where your spirit lingers so that I may follow.”

Kat hugged her knees in closer, bloodied memories of fighting the hetaera flashing vividly in her mind's eye. She felt the beast rip at her hamstring, snapping it. Crippling her. She heard Bertrand scream, heard the sickly squelch of the monster piercing his eyes with its needle like claws.

“Bertrand?” she whimpered, calling out.

Her own voice replied, bouncing around the drafty room with a steely echo knocking upon stone.

“Bertrand!” she repeated, touching her forehead to her knees. “Please...” she pleaded, voice thick. “...don't leave me alone...”

But nothing came, nothing answered. A cool draft whispered by her ear and rolled over her head as her shoulders racked quietly. As the softest hint of a whimper escaped her lips and tears began to gradually fall. Dripping down her face like warm rain. She could remember being alone—a long time ago. When she lived with her mother in that little cabin in the forest. She could remember being alone when her mother disappeared nightly, leaving the cabin in a huff only to twist and transform outside into a wolfish creature Kat couldn't recognize. Into a creature that frightened her—into a creature that was not her mother.

Whoever had played with her head—had made her relive her last memory of Remicourt—had gotten the ending all wrong. Her mother had never attacked her—her mother had never—

The tears stopped as she snapped her eyes open. Placing her palms to the floor, she forced herself up. Forced herself to scan the surrounding room.

The chamber was spacious, but bare. Drafty due to the rows of long rectangular windows lining the walls and tiny slits of murder holes that acted as dividers. She was right about this whole place being stone. Was right about being high up in some tower.

This is no dream. She told herself, setting her jaw. Wherever I am...

Kat stood, legs wobbly. Knees unsteady beneath her weight as she spread out her arms to balance herself. To the right of her, stacked near a tall stone wall sat a single wooden chair and a tiny desk. A pair of slippers sat upon the chair. A bundle of brown clothing lay tossed upon the desk, and Kat approached the meager set of clothing. She found a long tunic and itchy cotton breeches, complete with a thick cotton belt made of a long yard of bulbous fabric. Throwing on the tunic and breeches, she wrapped the belt around her midsection once, twice. Three times. Stooped to smack the shoes from the chair and slipped them onto her feet.

She brought her eyes to the rectangular windows, then. Approached them at a slow shuffle, still getting used to the newfound power in her bum leg. Still getting used to her body which felt new. Refreshed. Anguished, yet at peace.

Flattening her palm against the wall, she brought her face to the slender window and looked out.

Snow melted upon a field of yellow. A bloated river of gray ice moved at a sluggish pace, curving around a courtyard of dead grass mixed with patches of snow slush.

Past the river, she saw trees. Trees with chalky white bark and slender, curving, branches. These were not the stygian trees of Baate Noir—the Black Forest she had so recently trudged through. Killed a damned vampire in. Lost her best friend to. No—for as far as she could see, the white bark trees covered everything. Damn near everything in a pure sullen whiteness that brought light to the silver sky above.

She was on the border then—had to be. Wherever these people had taken her—she was far from the Southern Reaches. Far from Montbereau and had finally cleared the Path.

Kat was on the Poudurac—or somewhere near. But where? Could she hope to find her kinsmen? To find Horace and Alan? Could she hope to spare the two from the punishment her mistake would bring? Would they ever forgive her for running off in search of Manuel and Noel? True, Alan had committed her to the task, but she could have turned him down. She could have gone back to the bivouac and warned Horace. Perhaps, he could have picked a better two man team to go track Manuel and Noel down. Kat—Kat was useless. Winterskin?

Kat shook her head. Spat upon the cobblestone floor.

What a useless trait. It was all in her head—the cold not bothering her. She wasn't special—she couldn't save Manuel or Noel. Bertrand—she shook her head—Bertrand too. They're all dead and it's her fault.

If she ever found her kinsmen, she'd take the punishment. Take the punishment for both Horace and Alan. It would be the right thing to do. The guard needed those two, but her?

Sonant Kaiden was right.

No, no...he was wrong. Wrong about one thing—that the Path would eat me up, no.

It ate those who tried to protect me. Me, who—without them—would have been destroyed regardless.

The Path took them from me, in exchange for my life.

And I should pay for what has happened.

Yet, here she is. Whole and well while her comrades have perished and moved on to the next world.

And yet, here she is.

Leaning her lower arm upon the stone wall, her open hand tightened into a hard fist as she scanned the courtyard below. Gaze sticking to the trees, searching.

If I am to live, she told herself, her chapped lips straightening into a line, then I will do all that I can to return to them. I will find Labassette Chateau and meet my kinsmen. I will save Alan's life and spare Horace's reputation. I will set things right.

With a start, she heard the door at her back wheeze open from the far side of the circular room. Flinching, Kat slid her gaze towards the wall near her window as soft soles whispered upon the flagstones.

“Solace, young egidul.” Whispered a throaty voice.

Kat turned, but not completely. Bringing her gaze over her shoulder, she came eye to eye with the shredded face of a tall willowy man who was almost sylphlike in a silken robe of flowing crimson. Long arms were hidden within the lanky mouths of scarlet shaded drop sleeves, the fabric crossing over his chest where the robe lay open. Revealing a sharp collar bone and a mess of tribal scarring carved into a dark circle.

Kat felt the heat rush from her face as her skin became pallid and cool. “Y-you—,” she stammered, eyes wide yet barely seeing him as her vision blurred. “—that voice was in my dream. You—you took me back to that place!”

She was too weak to fight—too weak to stand the fire in her head as her anger quickly devolved into a spiking headache. Slapping her palms to her forehead, she bowed her back and hung her head as the headache moved to the crown of her head. As it began to split her skull in two.

“What am I doing here?” she hissed through gritted teeth. “Where am I? Do you—,” she attempted to breathe the pain away, attempted to calm herself. “—do you speak the common tongue?”

She watched the scars of his mangled face twist as he dipped his head in a curt bow and moved towards her, clasping his hands behind his back.

“Then, tell me—,”

He ignored her, shoving past. Gliding towards the window near her shoulder. Lowering his chin, he squinted his eyes as he looked down upon the courtyard. Kat backed away, her hands free of her forehead as the headache slowly subsided. She watched him through narrowed eyes, her vision focused and clear.

“Solace, human.” he murmured, his soft voice echoing around the circular chamber. “My agents found you on the brink of death. They...brought you back. Reliving that massacre in your memories guided your soul back to your body. They held your hand, bringing you back from the Plains.”

The man flung a sprawling lock of long black hair behind his shoulder with a graceful toss of his head. The hair collected at his back, riding his spine to gather at the pointed ends of his shoulder blades. “The woman who invades your memories will always be a threat lingering on the edge of time, but would it benefit you to know that She still lives? That, while you may not be able to wash away the blood of those murdered in that enfeebled slum; perhaps you could still find forgiveness elsewhere. Perhaps, you could find forgiveness in Her? Your mother?”

Kat opened her mouth. Closed it. Felt her hands cover her mouth as her breath caught in her chest.

“You are not a capricious devil like she is, egidul. Will you grant me your aid?” he asked, sliding a sidelong gaze over his shoulder. “In return for Her location, will you help me?”

FIFTEEN

Kat's answer was—yes, of course—she'd give him anything. But...

“My mother is dead.” she deadpanned, hand sliding from her face. “Cut down by one of the Rose's Champions. I saw it,” she murmured, her gaze far away as her vision focused on the waning silver light creeping from the thick glass of the window. “saw it with my own eyes, sir.” I felt her blood splatter across my cheek.

The man chuckled at that—the honorific and the assumption. It was a glassy sound, a sharp snicker that bounced off the stony walls of the round chamber as he brought his face back to the view outside. “Yet, She survives.” he replied, his voice a subtle whisper. “As the Lady always has. As Baate Noir thrives in the south, so shall Her life and Her vision.”

Were they talking about the same woman? Kat wondered, blinked as she began to slowly shake her head. “A woman cleaved to bits...” doesn't survive such a blow. Doesn't get up and cry out your name—but her mother's corpse had as Kat turned away in the snow. Jolted to movement by the kind hand of a Champion of the Rose, a gentleman who believed he had saved her. The gentleman who had taken her to Montbereau in search of her family, in search of other Maevas who would take the little forest child in.

Gran hadn't wanted her. Told the Champion to take the little forest girl with him because she'd live a better life in the capital. But the Champion couldn't. The Champion could not be swayed.

Kat had had four cousins at the time. Four misplaced souls lacking parents. During her first winter in Montbereau, one of them perished due to an outbreak of small pox in the little mountain town.

She remembered having to burn the body. She remembered creeping out into Baate Noir to scatter his ashes, only to fall prey to a sinister presence that cloaked itself in a shadowy blackness. Darkness shaded its body like sticky ink that bubbled upon its oil-like skin. The presence wouldn't harm her—it couldn't though it had a mind to. She remembered it raising its tentacle like appendages only for its arms to freeze midair as its oily body began to reverberate, began to shiver with fear.

A voice whispered for her to make haste—back to the village, back to safety.

Beseech the Night Lady, it had told her as she ran. Beseech the Night Lady.

The same voice had came to her when she shivered in Bertrand's arms after that gruesome fight with the hetaera. Right when she believed she would die, it told her...

Beseech the Night Lady.

Realization made her widen her eyes before furrowing her brow. “My mother is the Night Lady.” she mused, mostly to herself. “The witch of the black forest.”

“Ah,” replied the sylphlike man with a sigh. “if only it were that simple.”

“Which means that I...” Kat squeaked, her heart suddenly racing. “...am I a witch?” Kat spat the word out, felt it roll upon her tongue as a spiked barb that dug against the skin. That soured everything in her mouth and made her taste cotton.

No. No—I can't be.

The corners of the man's lips dropped, darkening into a taut frown as he sighed sharply. “Your mother exists, egidul, in a form that clashes with that of your memories. But, she exists nonetheless. I offer you her whereabouts in exchange for information privy to you.”

Kat forced away her thoughts, tossing the word “witch” from her mind. “Information of what sort?” she attempted. “...sir.” Kat slowly added, straightening her hunched back as she bent her right arm and placed it behind her.

“Everything you know about this religious cult,” he told her, passing her a sidelong gaze before bringing his eyes back to the window. Sliding his gaze up, he caught a glimpse of pale sunlight and huffed. “referring to themselves as the Sonants of Liberation. The Monarchy thinks them laughable. The Rose believes that these Sonants are nothing more than a silly smattering of southern colonies burning harlequins from time to time. Barbaric.” he spat with a sharp shake of his head. “But I believe that they are more.” silky crimson fabric slid from his arm as he brought his hand to his chin. “Correct me if I am wrong.”

~~~

Kat didn't mind telling him everything she knew about the Sonants—which wasn't much. She didn't completely understand the Sonants' practices, much less believe in them. But she tolerated the witch hunts and burnings because she didn't like witches—this much she made clear to him. Kat hated them, in fact. Despised women endowed with magical abilities because magic had taken away her home and made her mother into a monster. Magic made people do terrible things, she believed. As a southerner, Kat strongly believed that magic caused the Cataclysm, bringing monsters and freaks into their world.

“The Cataclysm?” he asked, tilting his head of black air. An air of amusement tinkling in his voice.

From across the scant desk of thin oaken planks, Kat brought her palms to the table and scanned his eyes. They were cold. Hard. Popped into a clawed up face that, at one point in time, may have looked satisfactory. Maybe even handsome. But now, as his eyes narrowed and his eyebrows raised, Kat did all she could not to twist her lips into a disgusted grimace as his rippling scars widened. “'The belief that an overabundance of magic pulled every inhuman thing—from harpies to direwolves—into our world.'” she told him, her response almost automatic as she repeated Gran's words verbatim.

“Ah,” he replied, slowly nodding his head as he stared at her. “'Harpies to direwolves', you say. And dragons?” he asked her, shrugging with upturned palms. “Did this 'Cataclysm' not bring merpeople, and kitsune into your world as well?”

“Kit-sun-eh?” she stumbled over the foreign word, scrunching up her face. “What is that?”

She heard him chuckle. Watched him shake his head and close his eyes as his face brightened with callous laughter. “Leras, egidul. Shesha lyle otha.”

Kat had to press her lips together to keep from snapping at him. “What tongue is that, sir?” she hissed. “I've been hearing it everywhere.”

His eyes hardened then, as he brought his gaze up to meet her's. “None of your concern, human.” he snapped, his words curt and clipped. “But, understand that it is the language of your betters. The language of those who have walked this world centuries before humankind swept over these lands like vermin. Like roaches...”

Kat stared at him openly for a moment, trying to understand if she had heard him correctly. “Centuries before?” she whispered, looking down. Avoiding his serpentine gaze as her eyes found the flagstones of the floor. “But I've been told...”

“Do not worry yourself, egidul. Your kind certainly hasn't before.” he said, throwing her thoughts to the wayside. “Tell me more of the Sonants. Is it true that they burn and entrap non-humans?”

“No.” she snapped, snatching her mind away from her growing questions and the fog bubbling in her head. “Only witches.” she told him. “Only humans.”

~~~

Things would go on like this. Him, questioning her about the Sonants. Her, answering as best she could. Kat counted the days on her fingers. Whenever the light outside vanished, the night encroaching; darkness shading the sky in a darkening cobalt blue, she'd tally another day off upon her fingers. Repeating the number over and over to herself as she laid her head upon a bedroll of thick cotton and found traces of sleep in her lonesome chamber. The following morning, the man would come. Carrying a tray of food for her—porridge. Gray porridge. It was always a clay bowl filled to the brim with damned porridge, but she was grateful for it. If she were still on the Path, traveling with the Montbereau Sonants and the Guard's detail of eight, she'd be eating nothing but sun dried bread and salted meat fouled by sitting in her travel bags all day. The meal was tasteless, dry and forgettable. But after she understood that she'd only be getting one bowl a day, the meal began to weigh heavy on her mind whenever hunger pangs interrupted her sleep or forced her to wake early and fretfully wait for her interviewer.

Or, perhaps he was her jailer? She didn't even know his name—or where she was. Here she was, giving him all of this information on a cult she couldn't care less about and yet, she got next to nothing in return.

On her third day trapped in that drafty tower room, she decided to give him her name.

“Katell Maeva.” she nodded, reaching out a hand across the tiny desk. “You never asked my name.” she explained, waiting as he slid a wide eyed gaze towards her waiting hand. “And it is ungracious that I never asked yours.”

His chuckle was strangled, uncertain. “What are you...”

Kat wiggled her fingers, nodding curtly as the man's whispered words trailed off.

He took her hand. Clasped it and shook. “You may call me Elisedd.” he smirked, brushing her hand away. “You understand that you're my captive, correct?” he told her, still smirking. Still twisting up his scarred face. “We aren't friends, no matter how long I'm forced to speak with you. We are not friends, egidul. The powerful men and women commanding your race have already predetermined that.”

“Why have you locked me up here? Why did your people take me? Where am I?” Kat tried, crossing her arms as she leaned back into her wooden chair. “I believe I deserve to know that much.”

Elised brought an elbow to the table, the silky sleeve of his robe trailing downwards as he brought his fist to his chin. “Of course you're right, Katell Maeva.” Elisedd responded, the corners of his lips curving up. “You've proven yourself to be no threat, true. But your kind is tricky, ambitious.” he quickly added, shaking his head. “What would you do if you knew the name of this fortress? If I set you free, what would stop you from providing said information to the Monarchy? To the Sonants?” he smirked again, steepling his fingers upon the thin table top. “No, I think it is in my best interest to keep you blind to what surrounds you, Miss Maeva. I cannot trust you.” he stated matter-of-factly. “But, perhaps this will placate your worries? Once you pass on your knowledge of the Sonants of Liberation, I will release you and my people will take you to the Lady's hideout. Does this sound fair?”

“I have more questions.” Kat said, clapping the feet of her chair to the floor.

“As do I.” Elisedd grinned, the ruinous scars of his face gaping and twisting.

~~~

The days oozed by, night sneaking upon the sun silently until darkness overtook all, and stars glittered like dust upon the horizon. Three days became four. Five, as Kat paced from one end of the large chamber to the other. Hand to her chin, eyes to the windows, thoughts to her shieldbrothers and the Montbereau Sonants. If they neared the Poudurac, would she be able to see them from high up? Would Elisedd free her before they restocked at Labassette and backtracked through the forest to Montbereau?

Would she drop everything to meet her mother? To hold her in her arms one last time?

Did Kat even want to see her? If it was true—that her mother wasn't dead. That somehow after being cut down by that Champion, she survived—why hadn't her mother come to her? Saved her from the grueling life of a wood cutter and brought her home? If her mother truly was still alive—hadn't she abandoned Kat, then? Left her to live with her grandmother and cousins who could barely provide for themselves, let alone welcome another mouth to feed.

Bark soup.

Her skin shivered at the thought as she paced. At the tasteless meal Gran often made during the winter months when wood wasn't selling because everyone owned axes and no one possessed the coin to pay for Gran's logs. Kat shivered again, stopped in the middle of the room and approached the far window. Bringing her eyes to the darkening sky above, she counted six off. Tallying another day gone within her mind as her gaze caught sight of something odd.

Smoke. Dark gray curling from the center of the white wood, reaching up to kiss the sky and wane.

Smoke on the horizon, crowding a sky full of darkening clouds as the gray-white haze climbed the cool air outside her window.

Smoke.

Kat grinned as she planted her palm upon the cold glass.

That had to be a good thing.

SIXTEEN

On the morning of the seventh day, Kat awoke to a stale whisper of air wafting from the back of her tower room. She turned upon her bedroll, stiff as a board, grunting as she brought her gaze towards the back of the room.

The door to her cell—it lay open. Hanging upon rusted hinges, silently beckoning her to freedom.

It's a trap. It must be.

Kat blinked, furiously. Attempting to clear her eyesight of this trickery as her stomach clenched and rolled with her jerky movement. Shoving herself up to standing from the bedroll, Kat crossed her arms and continued trying to clear her vision of this trick.

But as she lowered and lifted her lids one last time, the door remained opened. Beckoning.

She approached it slowly, pressing an open palm out as if to shield herself from whatever may come next.

From the corner of the room, something yellowed caught her eye. A roll of stained parchment lay curled upon the tiny wooden desk to her left. Slowing her approach towards the door, she turned and slowly crept towards the desk.

A flowery hand had mottled the parchment in flowing black script. Placing her palms upon the desk, she bent over in an attempt to trace the curving script with her gaze. Kat had never read cursive before, never seen words drawn so eloquently. She strained to make them out, silently moving her lips as she tried to make sense of the words. Murmuring quietly to herself as the scribbled phrase finally dawned on her. Finally made sense.

“Katell Maeva,” it read, the cursive curved and abrupt, “I have been mislead,” her eyes narrowed as she murmured the words to herself. An echoing crash thundered from somewhere below her. The sound dimmed by thick stone and wood. “we all have been.” a large blank space took her eyes downwards, to a signature enveloped in swirling black ink. “Elisedd.” she read, wanting to chew on her bottom lip. “Do what you will with your precious freedom, human.”

Kat wanted to ball it up. Rip it to bits and spit on it. Stomp it into dust and burn it to ash. Elisedd have given her nothing—she still had questions. Did his agents have Bertrand? Or did they simply leave him in the snow to freeze and die? Why take her? Of all people—why take Kat? She wasn't special—sure, perhaps her mother was the Night Lady, but this only made Kat a witch. Or worse. Whatever her mother was now, prowling Baate Noir as a jaded Queen of Monsters, this didn't make Kat special. Never in her life has she had to outrun the shadow of her mother—a woman Kat had thought to be human, and dead, for months. Years. For her entire adult life, up until now. Elisedd had opened her eyes by making her relive the massacre of Remicourt. He had promised her information, had promised to not only give her the whereabouts of her long lost mother, but to take her there. To help Kat meet the woman one last time, so that she may look upon the woman's face and realize that...

That we are one and the same. Witches. I am a witch.

A monster.

But if her mother truly controlled Baate Noir, why had the hetaera attacked her and Bertrand? Why hadn't the Night Lady stopped it as she had done to that inky creature so long ago? Why had the Night Lady allowed the hetaera to outright maim her and practically kill her?

But I was brought back.

Rebirthed and reformed. Renewed—I was brought back.

Why?

Kat snatched up the parchment and ripped it. Shredded it into skinny yellow pieces as another dimmed crash echoed from down below, the din crawling upon the draft from the corridor outside.

She was free. Free to do what she wanted.

Yet, Kat wanted her questions answered. She wanted to find her jailer, make him answer to her. She had given so much—all of her knowledge on the Sonants of Liberation in exchange for the whereabouts of her mother—and had gotten next to nothing in return. All she knew was that her mother was alive...somewhere. And perhaps, perhaps she was a traitor for happily extending information on the Sonants over to a man who wasn't exactly human. Who couldn't be—he had the eyes of a snake.

Kat had never met a non-human before. Though she knew of their existence, they were as mythical as dragons and vampires to her and to a vast majority of the south. Liches and changelings only existed in tall tales mothers would tell naughty children before bedtime to warn them against sneaking away into the woods with their knuckle-headed friends. The scope of her knowledge was lacking—extremely.

What creature possesses the eyes of a snake and the body of a human? What creatures walked Myrine well before humans? What creature speaks a foreign tongue that's fluid? Like song?

She couldn't put her finger on it. She knew nothing of non-humans, nothing at all.

But a Champion might. She told herself, nodding. The Rose's monster hunters—they ought to be knowledgeable.

But how would she get to the continent's capital from here? Alone and weaponless? Would a Champion even acknowledge her? A bedraggled wood cutter from the Southern Reaches? Besides, didn't she owe it to Horace and Alan to make it to Labassette Chateau so that she might clear their names? They'll hang Alan for insubordination and the death of two comrades—absent rope, they'd burn him. Set him aflame upon a stake drowned in tar and star powder. But what has stopped the remaining guardsmen from doing this already? From murdering Alan for sending Bertrand and Kat to their deaths without Horace's consent? What has stopped them from taking his life already?

And then there was Horace, four of his detail of eight—dead. Roux wouldn't learn of this until Horace returned to Montbereau, but that doesn't stop the last men of his detail from usurping him and supplanting themselves as captain because he has proven himself to be a questionable leader. Learning of Bertrand's demise might throw him into a dark depression. Coupling that with Kat's death—it would surely break him. So much death—Manuel's and Noel's, Kat's and Bertrand's—it would surely break her poor cousin.

She had two choices: enlist the help of a Champion to track down the serpent eyed Elisedd and find her mother, or follow the gray river below to Labassette and save her cousin's reputation—not to mention, Alan's life.

Two choices. One path.

Kat slumped her shoulders. Bringing her gaze over her left shoulder, she turned her body towards the long rectangular window upon the far wall and approached it at a sluggish pace. Shuffling her feet as if they were heavy boulders. Moving her body as if her bones had suddenly become dry wood. She stopped at the window from a distance, about an arm's length. A swarm of angry cotton clouds crowded out the sun, swallowing the blue of the sky in an ostentatious white. From this distance, only the sky could greet her. The sky and a dim projection of her face. Her body.

Kat had no time for mirrors or preening, not like Eva and Maddy had. So many years ago, when the coin from Grand's logging venture became scarce, the family business churning up no more than a few coppers every five days or so; Kat and Horace joined the Montbereau Guard. They were young at the time, Horace no more than fifteen. Kat, around fourteen. Young and bright eyed, they both endured the hardship of a brutal boot-camp. They joined together, yet graduated years apart due to an ankle injury Kat obtained during the earlier phases of training. A hike made her strain it, a hike around the outskirts with fifty pounds of gear weighing down her back. Grappling had sundered it, her opponent taking note of how she babied the ankle during her other tussles and chose to take the low road, slamming her hard in her bum ankle with a bloodied knuckle. So hard—it made her slump to the grass, blacking out as the world around her erupted into a chaotic din of shouted commands and broken phrases.

It took her two years to heal properly. And even then, when she was fit to finish her training and become a full fledged guardswoman, the Guard was reluctant to let her back in. The men in charge of taming recruits dragged their feet about processing her. They made her start all over again—declaring her prior six months of training obsolete because she was forced to back out in the first phase.

Of all the people to come to her aid—the Duke's own son, the man who broke her ankle in the first place, declared that ruling absolute nonsense and pushed for the Guard to fast-track her training with his father's help. The Guard didn't like that—even the Sonants complained that she would be poorly trained. And being a woman, Kat remembered some of the higher ranking guardsmen murmur, she needs all the training she can get.

Robin Bereau-Vanja helped her. Fought for her.

Kat smirked at her reflection, gaze flowing over the sharp arches of her cheekbones. Those high peaks all the Maeva's had. Her full lips.

She still hated him. Robin, the man who made her drop out of training in the first place. But she had been eternally grateful for his help, even if the Guard would stamp her with a weak link stigma for the rest of her enlistment. She was still grateful for the coin the job brought. Grateful that Eva and Maddy wouldn't have to live the harsh life she and Horace had endured at their age. She was grateful—grateful that things had finally started looking up.

And then Roux decided to test her mettle by attaching her to the Chaperon. Finally, he had begun to believe in her—finally. But during Montbereau's couple months of preparation, hundreds of voices vowed to stop her. The most powerful of those voices being Sonant Kaiden, a senior witch hunter among Montbereau's Sonants who possessed the ear and friendship of the demesne's Duke. Of all the people who wanted her spot on the duchy's detail replaced, Sonant Kaiden was the most genuine in his arguments. He wouldn't completely blame her womanhood or supposed weakness; he'd bring up the fact that Baate Noir was too dangerous for someone who has never fought against a real threat before. He'd tell her that she was not ready—not yet. But that someday, she would be. Of all the naysayers, he was the only one she didn't want to beat into a bloody pulp during those long grueling months of preparation. Dare she say it—Kat somewhat admired the man. Hell, he was one of the few Sonants to actually see a griffon. Even lost an eye to it.

Kat watched her smile grow wider in the reflection. Felt the floor beneath her shake with a raucous clash of metal upon wood as something monstrous shattered into splinters beneath her.

It was now or never, she realized. Whoever was barging into this, now derelict, fortress—they might try to detain her too. They might stop her from reaching Labassette...or help her. Maybe give her directions?

She took a chance—stalling. Eyes gazing at her widow's peak, and the gnarled tresses of knotted hair that somehow reached past her shoulders. They were brown, the color of life giving soil after a soft storm of drizzle. Her skin was somewhat pale and pallid, her cheeks sunken from her lack of nourishment. Sharp eyes were lazy in the light, deep purple bags hung low beneath them. And she ignored the hanging skin, moving her gaze over the rest of her face as the corners of her lips dipped into a frown. She wore the clothing of a vagrant, baggy brown cotton that hung from her bony frame like ragged thatch and stuck beneath the thick fabric of her wide belt. Its ends somehow still trailing upon the ground, even though she wrapped it round three times to avoid dirtying the already dust strewn cloth. Kat looked foreign in her own eyes. Like a beggar. A foreign northwoman.

Kat heard a multitude of triumphant screams—wild as they sang. As a thousand mismatched voices rang together joyously.

It's now or never. She reminded herself, stiffening at the noise. Choosing her path as she spun upon her heel and headed for the door.

Only to freeze. Muscles going rigid.

Gaze staring into mordant eyes as green as untamed verdant.

SEVENTEEN

The woman pounced on Kat, pockmarked hands rigid beneath thick iron gauntlets as they gripped her shoulders and slammed her to the floor of the drafty tower room. Kat felt her teeth chatter in her mouth as her cheek hit the floor. Her eyes boggled, widened as the woman heaved above her. Breathing heavily as she caught her breath.

“Damn you—damn you!” the woman hissed between exploding breaths as she wheeled around Kat's flattened body and stabbed an armored knee into her lower back. “Having the guile to come back!” she spat as Kat's right cheek flattened to the cold stones of the floor. “Having a mind to stay—to straggle!” calloused fingers gripped both of her wrists, choking them as the woman yanked Kat to her feet. “You're lucky I have a higher to report to, dammit. Lucky I don't slice you open right here!”

Kat panicked, tensed as her tongue became cotton in her mouth. “I've been held prisoner—”

“I won't hear it.” the woman behind her scoffed, shoving Kat forward. Towards the door. Towards freedom. “You'll get the noose for what you've done here,” her voice became low and thick, a mottled growl as Kat lurched into a knock-kneed walk. “and that day will come for all of your kind.” she hawked, spat upon the stones of the ground as Kat trudged forward. Eyebrows fixed, face twisted with burning confusion. “For all of you demented Scyllah.”

~~~

Kat could see everything now. Everything that Elisedd's people had attempted to hide away from her. The stony walls of the fortress seemed to crumble around her, falling to decrepit debris as Kat was led from the tower room, spiraled down a melange of creaking wooden stairs, and yanked into a narrow hallway of chalky stone that seemed to stretch on forever. Bright light crept from the hallway's end, brandishing the long expanse of stone and wood in a trickle of afternoon light as Kat was led down the narrow passageway. At some points in her journey, black smeared the walls. An oily black that reminded her of the torso calling for her in the snow, its lavender intestines trailing as it reached for her. Called out her name and cried for her.

Kat had abandoned her—her mother. Abandoned her for the blood tinged arm of the Champion who cut the beastly woman down.

A shiver ricocheted up her spine at the sudden flash of dingy memory. At the flash of her mother's tormented face twisting into a gnarled snarl as Kat turned her back to the crawling ghoul and set her eyes elsewhere. With a thought of remembrance, she brought her gaze over her shoulder in the hopes of catching her mother's beautiful face one last time.

What she saw was horrid.

Oily black exploded upon the mismatched stones of the wall as the woman's pace slowed. A line of doors were embossed into the wall at Kat's right, the rounded slabs of brown wood acting as an ongoing line of quiet observers as Kat trudged towards the unknown. Towards this woman's “higher”, which Kat assumed would be her doom. Or something like it. Whatever this woman believed about Kat—it was bad enough to mention the noose. Which meant—which meant this woman believed Kat had murdered someone. Someone important to her.

Of the other doors of the corridor that were shut, barred, or locked; the one the woman stalled at fluttered open. This one had been cracked open and left to hang there as stale air whispered from the inside. The woman behind Kat stopped. Cursing under her breath, she shoved Kat forward and slammed a leather encased boot into the brown face of the rickety door with a splintering boom that fizzled out as the door wheezed. That died.

The woman stuck her head in and hissed heavily before pulling her head out. Wild green eyes bore a hole into Kat's cheek as Kat refused to return her glare. “Turn your head, cur.” the woman snarled as the single hand curved around Kat's bony wrists tightened and clenched. Kat felt a bone pop, the sound splitting the silence as she winced. “I said,” her fingers clamped harder, began displacing Kat's fingers from their knuckles as Kat bucked her head. “turn your head.”

Kat turned, having no choice. She turned as the woman sidestepped her. Shoving Kat towards the wide open door, Kat blanched. Raised her chin as if that would stop the fetid stench of death and decay.

“My brother.” the woman whispered behind her, tightening her grasp upon Kat's wrists as she breathed. “Your people did this...”

The room was barren. Tiny. Thick wooden beams held its ceiling of dripping stone up, as a single square window let in an aura of white light. The light widened, acting like a beam as it bowed its gossamer veil upon a figure slumped against a wide leather-bound chest. He sat as if something should be jutting out of him—a sword, a spear—something. But no weapon marred the gold-tinged surcoat upon his lanky chest. No arrows or knife cuts blackened his bare throat or sliced the skin of his disheveled hands. Though his skin was ashen and bloodless as if he had been drained dry by mortal wounds, nothing assailed his corpse. Nothing opened a hole upon him.

The woman swallowed. Finished her sentence with a thick voice, “...to my brother.”

From his eyes crept trails of hollow black. From his nose sprang a stygian blackness that slid down the expanse of his long and narrow features. Black dribbled from every pore, from every orifice. It dribbled down his chin, staining his cracked lips. Face assailed by none other than the sun itself, draping a veil upon his mottled corpse.

Kat fought the urge to retch as the stench haunted her, flooding her nostrils with a mixture of spoiled egg and fly spattered manure. It was a stench she couldn't completely describe, not with her stomach doing cartwheels and her whole body trembling as if knee deep and naked in a howling blizzard. She wanted to vomit, but found the contents of her stomach wanting as she heaved and spat up biting bile over the soiled cloth of her slippers.

Still heaving, the woman yanked her out of the room and gently pulled the door to. The fingers that curved around Kat's wrist softened as the woman shoved her forward, pressuring her to walk briskly as they neared the end of the bright hallway.

“There are hundreds littering the fortress that look just like him.” the woman hissed behind Kat, every word a stab to the chest. Every word ending in a sharp blade. “You look at him and vomit—yet there are hundreds, hundreds slumped upon the grounds of Labassette that look just like him—if not worse!”

“Labassette?” Kat croaked.

“Silence, cur.” the woman spat, clenching her fingers into a choke hold upon Kat's wrists as a large bronze door came into view some ways away. Spire tipped windows stood on either sides of the walls ending at the door, letting in a flood of white light that curled up the hallway. “Are you a straggler? A cowed elf that bent beneath the guilt of harming so many innocents in the most brutal way possible?”

Kat's lips thinned as the doors came ever closer. This was it. Behind those doors lie her fate, she assumed. Praying that there would be someone behind those heavy gilded doors with mind enough to listen to her before they strung a noose around her neck, Kat's pace slowed as she closed her eyes and listened to her final footsteps.

Her mouth still tasted of stomach churning bile that soured her tongue and twisted her face into a disgusted grimace. Ignoring the taste and the stench—attempting to push the flash of that man's oil strewn face and hollow black holes that displaced his eyes—she listened to the cloth of her slippers shuffle along the square stones of the corridor, slowing. Halting as they came to a complete stop before the wide bronze door.

Kat opened her eyes to see a dull copper cast slate of bronze engraved with swirling curves of golden steel that glittered in the bright midday light shining from tall, elaborate, windows on either sides of her. “Answer me, dog, before my mistress cuts out your tongue and sees your pathetic body to the bottom of the river. Answer me.”

Kat pressed her lips together, thoughts buzzing inside her head like angry hornets ready to strike. Fire roared between her ears, giving her a headache she chose to ignore. A headache that stemmed from her hot anger. “Think what you will,” she hissed, head hanging. “but I know what I am.”

“Speak then.”

Kat cast her gaze backwards, meeting the wild green eyes of a weathered face set in smooth stone. “I am a shieldmaiden sworn to the Montbereau Guard,” she replied, eyes glazed, “and a traitor to all of humankind.”

EIGHTEEN

It was a room like none other.

Oil swept paintings mounted upon wide smooth walls stole Kat's attention as she was shoved into an extravagant study. Paintings of sweeping divine tragedies that divided thick gold gilded walls into a contrasting medley of saintly paintings; men and women sailing upon clouds of flowing alabaster wrapped in vibrant silks of gold or cobalt. The everblue sky of the painting's background split at its lowest point, divulging into a thick wall of diminished gold painted metal that wound round the room, blending with the slick wood of a floor made rotten by a high domed roof which wept sour water from its gaudy walls. The water vandalizing the oil paintings with its slick trails of watery gray grime.

The room had a sour stench to it, a watery stench of a creature drowned and swept from its resting place. Only for the waterlogged corpse to bake in the sun. Eventually decomposing beneath its heated rays.

The stench was godawful. Terrifying, even. Yet, the woman behind Kat made no move to gag at the smell as she shoved Kat forward upon the waterlogged wood-rot of the floor.

Kat gawked. At one point in time, this must have been a room meant for receiving noble guests, a room meant for intelligent study and prolonged thought. This was not a room meant for women like Kat, a disheveled urchin thrown into soiled rags with a mind to keep her privates warm, decorum be damned.

Kat brought her gaze to a heavyset desk before her, the wood bright and keen. The desk made from bright brown lumber indigenous to forests well beyond Montbereau's reach. Behind it, sat a woman as lithe as a sapling. One milky eye gazed well past Kat, the other eye—blue as the low hanging lights of a daytime sky—fixed itself upon the bedraggled urchin girl. Drinking her up. Searching her eyes for some sort of leverage, for some sort of explanation as to why she has broken the silence of this water soured study and disrupted her chain of thought.

Kat winced. Felt the sharp talons of a ghostly hand scuttle like a spider across the expanse of her head—of her mind. She shuddered, arms braced behind her as the woman seated behind the large desk brought her elbows to its bright brown face and steepled her fingers before her.

“Vanguard Dechamps...” she nodded towards the woman, making no move to complete her whispered sentence.

Kat felt the vise-grip around her wrists relax. “Madam?” Dechamps responded, her voice piqued with confusion. “This woman has confessed to being a traitor to her own kind.” Dechamps recanted. “Are you quite sure that...”

The woman nodded, fingers still steepled before her face as another spider-like scuttle of fingers crept their way across Kat's head.

Letting go of Kat's wrists, Dechamps approached the woman's desk with her hands clasped tightly behind her back. The gauntlets of her forearm guards brushed against the leather buckles of her breastplate's back as she puffed up her chest. “Very well, madam. Allow me to report—,”

The madam held up a swift hand, dark as stygian tree bark. “Katell Maeva. Shieldmaiden—proposedly. Trekked through the black forest with the Montbereau Chaperon, and your knowledge of all things notable ends there. Peculiar, that.”

Dechamps brought wide verdant eyes to Kat's sneering face. “Answer the Archmage, cur.” she snapped.

The fingers in her head disappeared, shivering down her spine until they darted out of existence. Kat felt as though spiders had infested her body, specifically the space between her ears as she shivered the feeling away. “That much is true, lady.” Kat replied, hands clenching and unfurling at her sides. “I was with the Montbereau Chaperon for a time.”

“And why did you leave?” her fingertips danced in their steeple, tapping against each other. “Better yet, why are you here?”

“She mentioned she was a prisoner, madam.” Dechamps reported, gaze shifting towards the archmage. “And a traitor to the race. Perhaps the Scyllah...”

The madam made a move to smile, lips twitching, but settled for narrowing her eyes and tightening her dark face. “A greenwitch, perhaps? Non. Half-elf, hm? Non—,” the madam shook her head of sharp black hair, the tendrils escaping the loose chignon coiffed at the back of her head. “your thoughts slip through my fingers like warm water. I can cup it, look and see my reflection splayed back at me—but once I delve deeper...once I...”

Kat felt the spider legs again, gingerly creeping across the expanse of her mind—her brain.

“...delve deeper...”

The spider legs pressed, boring down upon her brain like an ax driving pressure upon a thick log of wood. It slices slowly, placing all of its weight upon the log until the wood begins to splinter, begins to crack.

Kat held her head, felt the spider sink its fangs into her brain.

“...do not drive me out.”

The fangs sank deeper, their sharp points twisting round the tissue of her brain like a needle twisting silk around its sharp tip. Kat let out a groan—a high-pitched shriek—as the fangs dove deeper, forcing her to relive her journey here. Forcing her to relive the brutal memory of her bones reshaping, of her body resetting and reviving itself as the callous laughter of foreign-born women assailed Kat's chamber of shadows as showers of skin slicing hail.

The madam threw back her head and howled a clipped scream, her spiders fleeing from Kat's mind as Kat placed her palm upon her thighs and heaved.

A sword whispered within its sheath, metal screeching upon metal as Dechamps slid her sharp gaze towards Kat. Her large hand choked the leather grip of the wide blade shoved into the sheath at her hip.

But she froze when the madam fixed an open palm towards the heavily armored woman, “She does not do it of her own accord, Vanguard.” hissed the madam as she brought her head down. “I sense a presence...something sinister.”

“Are you saying that the Scyllah...planted her with something?”

“The Scyllah have nothing to do with this.” the madam snapped, steepling her fingers once more. She kept her fingers rigid and fixed, boring her one-eyed gaze into Kat's temple. “Do you know what black blood is, child? Ater sanguis?”

Kat shook her head, thoughts flying to the man Dechamps showed her. The hollow black pooling within his eye sockets.

“Speak.” the madam commanded.

“No,” Kat murmured, gaze focusing on the madam. “I've never heard of the Scyllah or this black blood. I come from the Southern Reaches.”

Dechamp's thin lips twitched into a smirk at that, as she brought a knowing gaze to the archmage.

“A presence within your mind murmurs the contrary. Perhaps you are the source?”

Kat gawked. “I've been held prisoner here by a man named Elisedd! I know nothing of what has happened to your people!—”

“—watch your tongue, cur—” Dechamps' eyes widened before narrowing, before twisting up the skin of her long forehead and sliding her gaze back to the archmage. “Elisedd?”

The archmage stood, exploding from her chair, “Fetch my tools, Dechamps. Go on, en vitesse, Dechamps!

“Child.” the archmage barked as Dechamps spun on her heel and sprinted from the room. “Come, do not falter. You may not know who this man is, but know that what I am about to do will protect you,”

Kat stalled. Crossed halfway across the room and froze. “What are you going to do to me?”

“...the Montbereau Chaperon, child, marches it's way here to trade with the capital for necessities, and to give over folk who can no longer brave the harsh winters of the Reaches. But it also exists for a more vital purpose, come.”

Kat took a step, searching the older woman's frantic eye as she heard Dechamps' heavy footsteps echo down the hallway outside. “What purpose?”

“It whisks away girls blessed with magical talents, those born to die by the Sonants' purging flame. The Montbereau Chaperon also plays peacekeeper for the south, reinforcing the Monarchy's ties to the Southern Reaches, which is steadily dimming. Steadily dying out. Child, come—,”

Kat set her jaw. “Tell me why you fear him—Elisedd. Tell me why his name brings panic.”

The archmage blinked, her hand outstretched. Beckoning for the demanding urchin who stood her ground at the center of the room. Amidst paintings of cloud swathed gods and goddesses, Kat's stance became stone as she stood her ground and waited.

“Envoys come from the capital to sit with Montbereau's intermediary, do you not know this? Not comprehend this?” the woman hissed, her outstretched hand turning to become a splayed palm. Fingers dancing. “Now, come.”

The fingers clenched—stiff and immobile—as a soul sucking air howled from the archmage's side of the room and ripped Kat's body towards the desk. The gale scratched at her clothing, ripping at her tunic and belt as her pelvis slammed into the wide indent of the thick desk's face. Kat braced herself, the wind still howling as it began to somber. As the archmage slapped two bony hands to Kat's shoulders and pulled her across the desk. Made her lay prostrate.

“The right hand of the Monarchy comes to stake the Rose's claim for the Southern Reaches.” the woman breathed, hovering over Kat as the study's door softly wheezed open, “Think of this; a handful of notable people caught up in one space, the Chateau, all milling about. Politicking until the sun gasps in red death upon the horizon.

“Think of this; rats in a wine cellar led into a single hole. A single space.” the archmage's single-eyed gaze lingered before she rose her head and brought her eyes towards the sound of a soft clink of metal. “Killing a swarm of rats this way is vastly easier.” she muttered. Leaving Kat's side as Kat brought her gaze to Dechamp's form, her bowed back to the prostrate girl. “Humans, even more so.”

NINETEEN

Kat felt her limbs grow heavy and weighted, as if her arms and legs had suddenly become stone.

“What are you going to do to me?” she barked, throwing her voice across the room. “Lift your cursed magic from me, witch—,”

The archmage turned on her heel, spun around so fast that Kat had to blink to track her movement. “Sorceress.” the madam sneered, her dark face twisting. “Witch is not in our vocabulary.”

“What are you going to—,”

With an agile flick of her thin wrist, the madam silenced Kat. Enlarging Kat's tongue, the spell also seemed to place sticky sap between her lips. “Bring the claven here, Dechamps. Set it near her breast at a forty-five.”

Kat blanched as the heavily armored woman turned, a large silver implement shaped like a warped pantograph sitting upon a thick stand of silverite balanced between Dechamps' large hands.

The device had two thin arms, both intertwining like a decompressed pantograph. But, where a pantograph's arms ended in blunt silver lines, one arm of this instrument bent at an inverted ninety-degree angle and ended in a sharp silver needle that glistened in the light of the room's hanging chandelier.

Kat watched, her eyes buggy, as the instrument was slapped to the desk. The pointed end of the claven's bent arm weaving towards her chest, bobbing up and down like the sinister prod of an accusatory finger. Words lingered on the tip of her tongue as the archmage came to stand near Dechamps, pressing her finger upon the bent edge of the instrument's wobbling needle-arm.

“A claven. My own invention.” the archmage spoke matter-of-factly, her voice a dull drip of information. “The presence pervading your thoughts may offer us a cure for the curse dear Elisedd has placed upon the men formerly occupying the chateau.”

“Is that possible?” Dechamps whispered, mouth agape. “A cure for the black blood? Will it bring the dead back?”

The archmage set her jaw, “How frightening, Dechamps. Do you believe me to be a black mage? Dabbling in necromancy, calling myself a god?”

Dechamps bristled. Taking a step back, the woman lowered her head. “Of course not, madam. Never would I...”

“Ah?” the archmage laughed, crossing her arms. “All of the Sybil's Vanguard believes me to be some sort of magebane, reviving the lifeless and ignoring the crux of the Power as I drain it from the land. In order for this to work, mistress Caroline...” the archmage watched Dechamps bristle once more, the larger woman's arms stiffening as the archmage let the name roll off her tongue, “...you must trust me. You must believe in my abilities, and follow my instructions precisely. Do you understand?”

Dechamps spat. “You aren't going to steal my soul, are you?”

It was the archmage's turn to bristle, and as her shoulders stiffened Kat felt a notable change in the air. As if it had suddenly gotten harder to breathe.

“I'll have you know—,”

A bellowing screech cut the air in two. The sound like metal screeching against metal, but strangely animalistic in its screech. The drawn out call bestial and savage as it blazed across the horizon, shaking the chateau. Making the stones of the fortress shiver and shake with the ear piercing shriek as it clawed open the heavens with its cry.

Kat felt the magic lift from her limbs as the women anxiously peered towards the single window at the back of the room, cut into a wall absent paintings and a gilded gold finish. The archmage and Dechamps dropped everything. Their eyes white with terror as they sprinted across the room and fought to peer out the single, square, window.

Kat found herself moving as well, approaching the window as fast as her groggy limbs allowed her. Falling to the floor, she heard the women gasp as the cry soared across the sky once more. The floor shivered, the fortress shaking as Kat regained her balance and limped over.

The archmage and Dechamps were shoulder to shoulder, staring up at a silver toned sky as a monstrous shadow lengthened, casting its colossal shade across the yellow field below with a thrumming clap of wing-beats booming across the horizon. Kat forced her body forward, pushing herself between the two dazed women as she brought her gaze to the sky as well. Heard a triumphant cry like a horn being blown to tarnished bits as the screech careened across a sky as silver as the icy stream below.

A dragon.

Stretching it's long scaled neck as it opened its bearded mouth and screeched again, the wyrm surfed the wind with wide wings colossal in span as it soared high towards the bubbling wisps of silver clouds above.

A dragon.

Kat opened her mouth, let her jaw hang as she watched the magnificent beast command the very air itself, pulling its gargantuan frame higher and higher as it parted the clouds with a breath. With a flaming red screech that painted the sky a blazing crimson that danced. That breathed and lingered with a belch of black smoke and curling silver air.

A dragon.

If only Bertrand were here—they're real. They're real!

If only Bertrand were...

The archmage snapped her gaze to Kat, her single eye wide. Crazed.

“Table, child.” the archmage pointed, her finger trembling. Her whole body shaking. “We have no time for trifles. None at all. Go! Get back on that damned table!”

TWENTY

The bent arm of the claven glared down at her, the silver point of its needle fixed to fall upon the center of Kat's chest as she lay there, prone. Palms flat to the desk's sleek surface. Nails digging into the smooth wood of the desk face beneath her.

“Ah, gentle acceptance.” the archmage breathed, hovering over Kat's prostrate body with a single blue eye focused upon the needle-arm of the claven. “Dechamps,” the archmage turned her gaze over her shoulder, “are you ready?”

The soft clink of armor made Kat bite her lip as Dechamps shifted her weight to one leg before sliding it along to the other as she clasped her hands behind her back. Dechamps' posture became ramrod straight as she stood like a woman petrified in iron. “Yes, mademoiselle,” she replied, voice a shivering whisper. “I am ready to proceed.”

The archmage nodded, the movement of her head slow and fluid as a coil of black tendrils slid over the golden shoulder of her creamy blouse. Bringing her blue eye back to the claven, the archmage brought a hand from the desk and hovered it over the claven's opposite arm. Kat locked eyes with her then, her breath quickening in her lungs as her chest rose and fell. Rose and fell. The movement quick and curt—as thunderous as a heartbeat.

“You will be saving a vast multitude of lives, shieldmaiden Maeva. The Fates have certainly smiled upon us by delivering you right to us. The black blood is a terrible curse that curiously only affects humans...”

A dragon's screech silenced the archmage. Forced throbbing tension into the room as the earth itself seemed to tremble.

“We must work quickly.” the archmage hissed as the sound died away. “If the presence blocking your memories speaks the truth, then we can use its knowledge to cure the chateau's men of this curse.”

“You're simply going to speak to it?” Kat squeaked, not knowing what was inside of her. But having a clue. “Ask it questions? What if it doesn't willingly answer? What if it lies?”

With a flick of her wrist, the archmage silenced the girl again. “I am an adept sorceress, child. You must think me naive.”

“And the cure will bring them back?” Dechamps whispered, coming forward. “All of them? It will bring them back?”

The archmage grinned. Bringing a hand to the opposite arm of the claven, she began applying pressure with her palm. The needle-arm began moving, edging closer and closer to Kat's chest. “This cure will bring us an army to fight that scaled monstrosity flapping around outside.”

“Where did it come from?”

The archmage closed her eyes. “The Scyllah.” she breathed. “The elves have called it.”

All at once, the archmage slammed the opposite arm of the claven with her wiry muscles clenched. The needle-arm surged forward, clawing through the air at a hammering speed that pierced Kat's chest with a harrowing exhale and a breath.

Kat sucked in air, eyes open wide, as the needle drove into her. Blunt spasms erupted from her body as pain shot like a thunderbolt from her chest. Clawing its way up her neck and arms. Eyes budging from her skull, she opened her mouth and hungrily slurped in air. It wove its way down her throat, curving to expand her lungs as she continued sucking. As her eyes continued budging and her hands clenched into sweat drenched fists.

Air escaped her chest with a harsh hiss that spiraled out of the thrumming hole between her breasts. Kat found she couldn't breathe as she choked, her throat constricting suddenly as air wheezed free from the tiny hole in her chest. With the needle driving its point through her torso, slithering past bone and cutting through muscle, she found she couldn't breathe.

“Temporary.” the archmage moaned, bringing both hands to the opposite arm of the claven. “It is temporary. Worry not.”

Kat's eyes flinched, gaze locked with the high dome of the ceiling as the intertwining arms of the chandelier above shook. The decoration shivering upon a tail of interlocking chains that fixed themselves to the ceiling. Kat felt her chest rise as the woman attached to the other end of the claven cried out, whipping back her head as the hairs upon her arms rose. Standing firm. Standing straight.

“Heed my call creature...” she moaned, hands slack around the blunt arm of the claven. “...heed me...do not...cast me out.”

A stygian blackness wove its way around Kat's vision, then. Flowing tentacles of wreathing black opening like a carnation of nightfall. The moon flower blooming beneath her, before the petals danced to unfurl, swimming towards the corners of her vision as they engulfed the desk she lay prostrate upon. The curling blackness stretching towards the ceiling. The petals swallowing all, acting as an inverted waterfall made of a starless midnight.

“Do not cast me out!”

That scream transformed things, made Kat's world pause as her breathing slowed to a mere rumble in her pierced chest.

And everything faded. The room, its lavish paintings. The archmage and her vanguard. The tension thickening the air, sweeping over Kat's pallid face. Everything. Everything faded.

As stygian petals unfurled before her, revealing a mouth. A face.

Kat felt as if she were floating.

“Don't move.” whispered ruby-red lips. “The witch's implement is still wedged inside of you. I can only pause time for a moment...”

Kat looked into eyes that mimicked her own, shaped like almonds. Yet, these had deep creases at the corners. “Who...are you?” she felt stupid asking it—a question she already knew the answer to before it even exited her mouth.

But she needed the Lady to say it. She needed her to confess with her own lips.

The Lady parted lips of ruby-red, sharp incisors brushing over the skin as she paused. Hesitated.

Kat looked the woman in the eye, scanning her. Searching for her mother's stark resemblance. In life, her mother's skin had had an earthy olive-tint to it. It reminded her of new trees, new life. In death, her skin had become pallid. The color of ice brightened by the chilled rays of a winter sun. In death, her mother's warm gaze had become cold. Carnal. Bestial like the hetaera Kat had encountered so long ago. Hungry.

“Command me, and I will take their lives with a breath.” the Lady told Kat, pale arms freeing themselves of shadow as she opened them. “Do you understand what this witch seeks to do, Katell? Do you understand what this instrument—the implement piercing your chest—was created to do?”

Kat opened her mouth, air freezing in her throat as she coughed up a breath. “It's obvious to me...” she coughed, croaking. “...that it was either this...” she shrugged, gaze sliding towards her chest as she caught her breath, “...or the noose.”

The woman hovering above her narrowed icy eyes,“Have you lost faith in me, child? When have I ever left you to face the world alone?”

“When I faced the hetaera.” Kat grunted, her lips twisting. “When my best friend died. When a monster crippled me.” she felt her throat constricting as her voice grew thick. “You left me alone in Montbereau to a woman who didn't even want me. You killed all of my friends—you massacred Remicourt simply because they spirited me away! You could have held your ground! You could have spoke to the townspeople—,”

“You are a fool if you believe they would have reacted rationally. You are a fool and a naive little girl.” the Lady spat, teeth bared. “You have witnessed how humans treat the strange. The unusual and the exotic. They burn their own for 'possessing' magical power, while slaughtering anything that is not bipedal or doesn't aptly adhere to their customs.”

The Lady sighed a heavy breath, closing her eyes as her coiling body of wispy shadows edged closer, trailing through the black. “Tell me, child.” she murmured, opening her eyes. “Tell me you've considered why other races of humanoids do not frequent the south. Tell me why creatures marked as fiends and beasts detain themselves to Baate Noir, and only prowl the black forest? Tell me why they are openly volatile to anything on two legs—to anything describing itself as human?” she moved closer, glaring into Kat's glassy eyes. “Tell me why they hate your kind? Tell me how humanity has managed to conquer every strip of land, every bit of space within our world...” red. Crimson. Scarlet. The furious mix of colors occupied her eyes in a maddening swirl of scintillating anger. “Tell me why the land is doused in the blood of non-humans, child. Tell me why.”

Kat pressed her lips into a hard line, her eyes locked in a volatile embrace with the Lady's.

Silence followed as Kat wrestled with her thoughts. She had learned a mountain of knowledge since starting out on the Path. Losing track of her comrades, fighting a hetaera—a lesser vampire, had taught her much. Losing her friend, being kidnapped by Elisedd's people and learning of an entirely new language; the language of those Elisedd swore walked Myrine centuries before humanity surged over it, taking all and everything under its all-consuming rule.

She met a man with the eyes of a snake. She remembered glaring into the eyes of a woman with eyes as bright as sapphires.

Were they...an elder race? Elder people?

Kat didn't know what to call them...but she remembered the archmage mentioning elves.

Did they truly exist?

Hell, she saw a dragon, came face to face with a hetaera and was now eye to eye with the Night Lady. Anything—anything was possible.

“What are they doing to me?” she murmured, breaking the shared silence. “What is a claven meant to do?”

The Lady closed her eyes, her torso arching backwards as the shadowy tendrils moved her towards the great stygian sky above.

She opened her arms, “It is meant to stave off impurities,” the Lady whispered, “impurities of the heart.”

TWENTY-ONE

It is meant to exorcise.

To restrain and chase out demons.

~~~

Archmage Ledora felt the edge of the thick desk bite into the muscle near the thin bone of her pelvis as her body slumped towards the desk top, both palms firmly attached to the shivering end of the claven.

The archmage hissed at a gentle clink of armor as Dechamps bucked forward behind her, “Madam—,”

Ledora eased out a controlled hiss, the air escaping through the slender gaps between her clenched teeth. “Allow us time, Dechamps.” she commanded, closing her good eye as she bent her head. Straightening her trembling body, she edged her forehead towards the blunt edge of the claven as Katell whimpered upon the desk beneath her. “This may take hours...” she hissed, eyes shut tight. “...days. Dechamps,” the archmage suddenly barked, her heart thrashing itself against the cage of her ribs. “the Power flows through me like a river...” a river of ice, she thought, her jaw clenching tightly, “...I have siphoned enough of the Crux from you. Leave, now. Ready your auxiliary for the arrival of the Chaperon and the Rose's envoys...”

Dechamps stiffened behind Ledora, arms by her sides. Fists clenched. “And this will bring back my brother?” she breathed, her voice a cutting whisper. “This will bring back the dead?”

Slapping her hands to the stout lip of the desk beneath her, Archmage Ledora dug her nails into the wood as the bones of her jaw tightened. “Leave me.”

“A dragon stakes its turf outside—a dragon. A creature indigenous to the far north—thought to be extinct—stakes its turf as we speak! As you tell me that this—this could take an entire day! A week even.”

“Leave.” Ledora growled, shoulders rising. “Prepare them.”

“And you intend to speak with a spirit about these matters—the dragon, the black blood, the Scyllah. You intend to bow to a creature—a sinister presence, as you called it. You intend to bow to this presence planted within this traitor by the damned Scyllah!” Dechamps threw her hands to the sky. “Do you not see how this could work to their advantage, Archmage? Do you not see how we could be playing to Elisedd's tune? Taking his bait—believing this urchin—wasting valuable time...”

Ledora did not open her eyes, she merely breathed. Straightening her spine, she clasped her hands behind her back as she fought to control her breathing. As she fought to appear calm. “Dechamps?” she began, opening her good eye as she brought her gaze over her shoulder. “Reiterate...why is your title, 'Vanguard'? Why is your position within the Sybil's auxiliary, and not within said organization itself?” Ledora paused, waited. Knew Dechamp's face would be steadily growing red, the muscular woman's porcelain skin deepening to a poached crimson.

“I-,”

Ledora wouldn't let her finish. “Ah, is it possible that you, dear Vanguard, could be awarded the title of Archmage?” she cocked her head, “Non? Ah, well then, is it possible that you could join the Sybil as a simple initiate and grow your way to such a feat? Hm?” Ledora's hand began to choke her wrist as she brought her gaze back to the table, her eyes closing. “With dirt running like blood through your lowborn veins—could you amount to anything without a sword in hand?” Again, she paused. Waited. Heard Dechamps hiss her anger away, the sound like steam screaming through the bigger woman's nostrils. “You—who cannot call upon the Power's crux. You, who cannot utter a spell—or even read a tome brimming with magical obscenities. You—,” snapping her good eye open, Ledora cast a sidelong glance over her shoulder, the single blue eye cutting like a sapphire tipped spear through Dechamp's glaciated gaze. “who lives a life dictated by the point of her blade. You...” Ledora closed her eyes. Ducking her head, she let her words slip away as her heart hammered hard in her chest. Her palms had gone icy as Dechamps silently listened, allowing the archmage to chastise her with a double-edged tongue.

Ledora bristled, the hands clasped behind her back slipping towards her tailbone as her shoulders fell.

Upon the table, the girl wheezed.

“Your ignorance,” Ledora began, shaking her head. “annoys me greatly.”

“I only worry for my people.” Dechamps replied, her voice low. “The auxiliary cannot fend off a dragon, Archmage. Not alone.”

“Non.” she snapped, bowing her head once more. “And it will not have to. Offer me time, Vanguard. Trust me.”

Ledora heard Dechamps shift, her heavy boots thumping upon the wood-rotten boards of the study as a distant cry surged through the air. The call of a myth—a creature that should not exist.

A dragon.

“Councilor Vidonia appointed you as archmage and commander in this venture.” Dechamps murmured, lowering her head as she crossed her armor lined arms. “I will place my trust in her. As for you, I trust in your abilities, Archmage. Your skill and talent. But even the auxiliary knows of your past, Jacinthe Ledora. Even we know to be wary of sorceresses who have dabbled in death.”

TWENTY-TWO

Ledora let her leave in silence, musk mingling with the sour air of her study as the Vanguard slammed the heavy bronze door behind her. Dechamp's last words seemed to linger upon the paintings of the study like colorless poltergeists, taunting the archmage. Making her see red.

She had lost her eye for these people. She had given so much.

And they still saw her as magebane. Even the auxiliary had a waning opinion of her—despite all that she has sacrificed to attain power for the Sybil as a whole. Even the auxiliary looked to Councilor Vidonia for guidance and leadership. Even the auxiliary.

Councilor Vidonia—the name made her bristle. Councilor Vidonia.

Ledora helped create the Sybil. She brought the guild of sorceresses together in the hopes of stopping the Sonants from taking so many innocent lives. She sought to change the world's opinion of women endowed with magical abilities. Ledora had made mistakes in her youth, just like any other young woman venturing blindly into adulthood, but her mistakes had led to a safe heaven for young female mages. She coined the term Sorceress. She—Ledora. She forced the Monarchy to see the Sybil as more than just a gaggle of restless women, but as an intellectual organization. As a guild of professionals and artists. Yet, they still refused to let the past die.

Councilor Vidonia—Ledora braced her open palms against the desk, staring into the wheezing woman's emotionless face—that upstart.

If only she could just forget.

Shaking her head, Ledora lifted her hands from the desk and brought them to the blunted arm of the claven as Dechamp's commanding howls erupted through the tense quiet outside the study's tiny window.

But most say that it is good to remember, bringing her forehead towards the blunted arm of the claven, Ledora let her eyelids fall as the instrument touched her. Kissed her with a cold brush of steel,

so that the past might not repeat itself.

~~~

Ledora opened her eyes to a world swathed in hissing shadows, the stygian blackness unfurling on the edge of her vision like the wreathing tentacles of an abysmal creature colossal in stature, its stygian body swallowing her. Tentacles curling, reaching only to curl up once more. The creature fluttering about at the edge of her eye.

“This is your daughter.” Ledora called out. “Yes? The child whom you occupy, Katell Maeva?” The darkness did not phase Ledora as she blinked, the vision in her one good eye blurring. “Yet, in the past I remember your surname being, 'Marchand'. You married once you left the guild?” Once I banished you—Ledora blinked, bringing her gaze over each shoulder as darkness danced above.

The darkness bubbled, light flashing above Ledora's head as if a lantern had been lit and lowered.

Ledora did not dare to look up. “Seraphina...do you think me a dunce? Do you think I would not know your face? Your offspring?” She felt something slither down the expanse of her right shoulder. Something slimy. Something alive.

“Seraphina...Night Lady...you call yourself this now, yes? What are you doing outside of the south, Sera? What are you doing out of the woods?”

Ledora expected silence as she opened her mouth to question the presence once more, but as another creature slithered down her shoulder, she spun on her heel hoping to spot the source.

Only for the light above her head to fizzle out, the flame fading away with a harsh whisper.

Get out of Katell's mind, magebane. Taste her blood and your problems shall become bigger than dragons.

“Half of the Sybil avoids the very air I breathe because of what I did to you. Because of what I had to do to you.” she felt it again, the slithering. Fat little snakes racing up her back only to fly off her shoulder.

One stuck. Its slimy body fixing itself to her skin as she lifted her arm in the darkness.

Leave this place, magebane. The voice responded, its tone a gentle rhythm of reverberating beats that echoed throughout the darkness. I have no desire to speak to you.

“I banished you to Baate Noir—how have you returned? How has Elisedd gotten hold of the curse? The Scyllah—I always believed them to be a ragtag band of scavengers. They've never held reign of a dragon, Sera! The black blood was never supposed to be left behind in their wake! Not after what happened! The black blood...” blood buzzed through her right arm, ice ripping through her veins as she brought her left hand to her forehead. “...it was never to leave the black forest, Sera. All those years ago...it was never to leave our laboratory...but you...!”

The snake attached to her arm grew five appendages that acted as fingers. They dug into her skin, metallic nails biting down to the muscle as blood pooled around them. Liquid wept from the sudden incision in her forearm, blood creeping down her arm and falling. Raining upon the black floor below.

The past haunts you as a dark stain upon your memory, the whisper sounded closer now as a physical presence pressed down upon Ledora's bowed back, I haunt you, do I not? I haunt you.

Hot breath trickled up the nape of her neck as the nails dug deeper, blood spilling like unending tears. Black blood.

We did this to ourselves, Jacinthe. You only have to accept what you are. Embrace it, and you will no longer be magebane.

Ledora set her jaw. “Get out of this child's mind. Go back to Baate Noir, creature!”

Katell clings to me as a daughter should. I give her strength, and in return—

Whirling around, Ledora clasped shoulders draped in dancing shadow as she met the single red eye of Seraphina. The Night Lady. Her creation.

In that eye she saw herself—what she could become if she succumbed to her addiction. To her tendencies towards flesh. Towards blood.

“Get out of this child! I cast you out!”

The eye narrowed, If I return to that place, I shall take you with me.

Snatching her bleeding forearm from Seraphina's grasp, Ledora brought her palm to the black sky above. Opening her hand, she let the dribbling blood pelt her face. The action slow and deliberate as black droplets created oily trails of blood upon her cheeks.

“I bind you with my lifeblood, demon.” she commanded, glowering at Seraphina's single eye as the shadowy presence seemed to freeze. Seemed to pause as the wreathing tentacles surrounding Ledora halted.

This world is falling to pieces, the Night Lady hissed, her voice a raking rasp as it clawed through the darkness. This is but the beginning, old friend. The pieces I have scattered, the damage I have done—these are but springs. Sources others will draw from. A dawning of a new age is upon us, Ledora. An age in which humanity shall be left behind as it has left so many others.

Cast me out and I shall find another way. Katell shall be my guiding light back to this world as the Age of Men comes to a brutal and bloody close—

“I entered Katell to see you with my own eyes, Seraphina.” Ledora snapped, nostrils flaring. “Banishing you to the black forest so many years ago destroyed my career, but you were an outlier that needed to be silenced. Say what you will, creature, but humanity will always prevail. It is unfortunate that you could not learn this lesson the first time.” she sighed, shaking her head. “I had to be sure that it was you lurking like a cornered rat in there. I had to be sure.” Closing her hand, Ledora snapped her good eye shut. “Now, begone.”

TWENTY-THREE

I grant you my power.

Air surged through Katell's lungs, the prolonged breath swift and sweet as it chilled her. Cooling oxygen filling up her lungs like a life-giving river of melting slush as it powered through her. Waking her up. Bringing her back.

Daughter, the voice above died upon the breath of a whisper. The Night Lady murmuring words only Kat could hear and understand.

Daughter, she repeated, the black above dissipating as a storm of bubbling smoke, I grant you my power.

Above, the stygian shadows receded as she stared. Eyes transfixed. Had she truly spoken to her mother? The Night Lady? Kat brought her hands to her chest, the claven's needle-arm bobbing relentlessly overhead as the instrument pulled back from the miniature hole in her chest. Though the brown fabric of her tunic had been punctured, the skin that the claven had broken through only moments ago had knitted itself back together. Only a scar remained, a tiny hole of black that resembled a misshapen birthmark.

Kat brought her eyes to the claven, its needle-arm slowing to an abrupt stillness as the Night Lady's words lingered in her head. Something about the claven meant to cure impurities of the heart. Something about Kat not trusting her—When have I ever left you to face the world alone?

The Night Lady had spoken of non-humans. Had planted questions in Kat's mind as to why non-humans do not frequent the south. She remembered the Lady's words of Baate Noir—her questions. Tell me why creatures marked as fiends and beasts detain themselves to Baate Noir, and only prowl the black forest? Tell me why they are openly volatile to anything on two legs—to anything describing itself as human?

Tell me why they hate your kind?

Outside, a metallic screech razed through the air as a biting chill rippled up Kat's spine, creeping its way towards the crown of her head. She felt the desk beneath her shiver. Watched the needle-arm of the claven shake.

Tell me why the land is doused in the blood of non-humans, child.

Crimson bloodied the sky, glowering scarlet erupting upon the study's tiny window as the needle-arm of the claven bobbed towards her. Pinning her palms to either sides of the desk, her muscles stiffened at the sound of screeching flames. The embers erupting from on high, following the bestial belch of a soaring dragon.

Tell me why.

Kat heard the ground moan, the floor quaking beneath her as a colossal presence slammed to the yellowed field outside. Amidst a roaring cacophony of war cries and squawking commands spearing through the air outside, the thunderous peal of a dragon's guttural growl tore through all. The sound making her see silver as her body trembled. Cold sweat beading upon the nape of her neck as she turned her gaze towards the tiny window at the edge of the gaudy room with eyes that bulged from their sockets.

A dragon.

How long had she been out?

Turning her head towards the room's exit, she forced herself to sit up as her head spun. As blood and bone shifted within her body from the abrupt movement, her legs became numb with cold as she swung them over the side of the desk. A grunt wove through the air as the toes of her slippers slammed into something solid. Something alive.

Kat peered down, the ground trembling as the wyrm outside screeched with harrowing intensity. Narrowing her eyes, her glare caught a head of disheveled hair. A black chignon sprung from its lacy webbing at the back of the archmage's head as she lay upon the wood-rotten boards of the floor. One arm sprawled forward as if reaching, the other pulled back. Crooked fingers square upon the nape of her shiny neck as her body lay prostrate.

Planting her feet upon the floor, Kat shoved the claven from the desk hoping the sudden crash of silverite upon wood would bring the unconscious woman to. As the warped instrument clapped to the floor, its intertwining arms springing up before toppling to its side and rolling towards the study's bronze exit, Kat paced. Sharp eyes watching for some sort of recognition—for a breath. For the subtle rise and fall of the woman's back as she breathed.

Kat caught nothing. The woman was still. Frozen.

Kneeling at the archmage's prone side, Kat bristled at the sound of a bestial screech as gargantuan wings beat against the air outside, crimson burning upon the horizon outside of the study's window. Screams pelting the air.

“Lady.” she hissed, bringing a hand to the creamy shoulder of the archmage's plush blouse. “Lady.”

She heard a grunt—a groan. Yanking her hand away from the puffed fabric of the archmage's shoulder, she watched the woman press her palms into the floorboards. Heard them creak as the archmage pressed herself up with a curse and a volatile shake of her stormy locks.

“She's done this purposefully—that wretch. She's kept me out—,” the archmage snapped her gaze to Kat as the girl continued to kneel. Listening. “Gratitude.” the woman mumbled, shoving herself to standing. “Gratitude, Katell Maeva, for not leaving me to perish.”

Katell nodded, “What have you...” and let the question die upon her lips as the archmage approached the bronze door to her study, brought her hand to the door's silver handle, pulled and cursed.

Kat stood as the archmage brought both hands to the handle, yanking and pulling as throbbing veins rose beneath the dark skin of her neck. Somewhere overhead, the thunderous crack of wing-beats was edging closer as a cry ricocheted through the air. The sound chilling her down to her toes as the archmage pressed both feet to the door's bronze face and yanked at the exit's handle with all of her might.

“Merde, get over here, girl! It's stuck!” the archmage screeched, “Katell!”

And the stones of the fortress wobbled. The walls quaking. Shifting as the foundation of the chateau groaned. The entire structure threatened to keel to its left as a colossal force perched upon its top. The wyrm crying out to the heavens as the men and women soldered to the land below hollered back.

Sprinting for the door, Kat slapped her hands to it's silver handle and yanked with the archmage. Hunching her back as she grunted, Kat was reminded of her days spent with Gran. Hefting large logs around only to split them in two at the end of the day. This is proof of your endurance, Kat remembered the older woman muttering as she watched her. Evaluated her with the sharp eyes of a graying eagle, this is proof of your strength. One day you'll thank me for these lessons. Instead, Kat would curse her. Curse her for the sore feeling and stiffness of her muscles when she woke the next morning only to do the entire exercise all over again. It was preparation—preparation for acceptance into the Montbereau Guard, Kat reminded herself as she shut her eyes tight. Her lips twisted into a sneer as she saw Gran's wrinkled face in her mind's eye. Groaning lightly, her muscles strained against whatever was blocking the door as she saw Gran's weary face smile. Saw little crinkles grow into pronged crows feet at the sharp edges of the older woman's eyes.

She wondered if she'd ever see that smile again. In person. She wondered if she'd live to tell Gran what she's seen. What she's had to run away from.

The door moaned beneath their combined strength as Kat pulled with the archmage, the woman's face tightening as her features twisted. Her single blue eye bulging as tiny red veins threaded through the white.

“Three days...three days!” the archmage grumbled, hissing through her teeth. “She has stolen time. Valuable, precious, time...!” sighing heavily, the archmage let her fingers slip from the handle as Kat continued to pull. Continued to grunt with concentration as she felt the door jolt. Kat closed her eyes. Bit her tongue at the roaring cry of the dragon overhead. Sharp teeth drew blood as she smelt the acrid scent of smoke.

She wondered if she'd get to tell Gran about dragons and elves. Vampires and direwolves.

The Night Lady—Kat's mother.

She wondered if Gran knew. She wondered...

A hand pressed to her shoulder, nails digging through the brown fabric. “No use.” the archmage snapped. “We take the window.”

Kat gawked. “We go outside?!”

“Would you rather stay here and be crushed by falling stone?” reaching for Kat's forearm, the archmage clasped it. Her single eye shone with determined intensity as she stared into Kat's gaze. “You cannot die here,” she told her amidst the peels of the roaring wyrm above. “to do so would bring Her back, and I cannot allow that. Not after all that I have suffered. I cannot.” the archmage sighed, shaking her head. “Your life is the key to confining Her, do you understand? You must survive.” Tightening her grasp upon the girl's forearm, the archmage turned on her heel, “Now, come.”

Above, the ceiling groaned. The stones wailing as the dragon perched atop the fortress careened forward. Wing-beats crashed through the stones of the fortress with a blast of chaotic and uncontrolled booms as a thundering twang rippled through the air at the call of a cacophonous outcry of human voices.

Both women froze as the heavily decorated walls of the study shook, the paintings edging apart as gray stone poked through the motley collection of water soured shades and colors. Vibrant blues mimicked the sky as the color spread along the watery walls of the study, the faux sky ripped asunder by large square stones as they shoved themselves through the paintings.

Overhead, the ceiling wept thick gray dust as the chandelier teetering above the desk shook, waving side to side as if caught between the howling winds of a tumultuous hurricane. Dancing flame flickering upon the chandelier's wicks fluttered out with a breath of warm air as another twang speared through the air outside. The dragon screeching as something caught beneath its scales with a sickly squelch, the creature careening overhead as it rolled towards their tower. Taking down half of the chateau with it.

The archmage pressed her hands to Kat's shoulders. “Go.” she commanded, freeing a hand to set her palm towards the collapsing ceiling above. “Before I change my mind, child. Go!”

Kat's lungs emptied as the archmage shoved her back. Pressing both palms towards the crumbling ceiling above, a bubble of orange tinted air wheezed into existence around them. The rounded surface of the archmage's bubble stretching towards the very top of the ceiling as a large wooden rafter detached from its place above, crashing to the face of the archmage's orange tinted bubble with a splintered thwack.

Kat froze, staring. “Why do this?” she murmured, eyes on the archmage as oily black trails trickled from the woman's flared nostrils. “All of this—why?”

The archmage sneered, her lips twisting into a disgusted grimace as she brought her gaze to the ceiling. Kat flinched, gaze snapping to the claven as the beast above cried. Pain peppering its voice as the stones of the chateau began to collapse. The fortress falling beneath the weight of the injured beast.

Picking up the claven, Kat approached the study's tiny window and flung the instrument at the glass. The instrument shattering the window with a harsh crash of glass upon silverite. The claven springing into a million silver pieces as it continued to fly, its heavy stand spiraling through the air.

Kat locked eyes with the archmage, crossing her arms.

“Go.” the woman sneered, her face pale. Her features papery as blood continued to trickle from her nostrils. Black blood.

Overhead, the ceiling moaned as stones began to cave around the archmage's orange tinted bubble. The woman buckling under the weight of the chateau as smoke seeped through the growing hole in the ceiling. An orange glow hovering around it. Fire licking stone.

It's now or never.

Kat was fast for the archmage—too fast—and the woman cursed as the girl caught hold of her wrist and shoved her towards the ground with a heavy toss of her hip. With the archmage down, Kat dragged her towards the window as the bubble holding up the ceiling began to dissipate. The magic fading away as Kat forced the woman through the tiny window, ignoring the archmage's harsh curses as the woman was forced to climb. As the ceiling above began to rain down monstrous chunks of stone and wood.

From the window, the archmage threw out a hand for Kat to clasp. Wiggling her fingers as Kat caught the woman's forearm, a bestial screech ripped through the blackened sky above. Swinging her body out of the collapsing study with the help of the archmage's wiry strength, Kat caught sight of a large force on the horizon. A horde of well armored bodies standing upon a yellowed hill towards the north. With them, sat a gargantuan machine of wood holding a monstrous weapon tipped in sharp steel raised atop the thick wooden skeleton of the machine's square body.

She heard a call—a cry.

And a thunderous twang as the steel tipped weapon was set free. The monstrous ammunition speared through the sky, its tip angled at them as the wall they clung to began to crumble. Began to tremble and collapse.

The archmage shoved Kat. Caught her shoulder and steadied her. “Trust me.” she whispered as Kat gasped—her blood bubbling beneath her skin as she felt her life being siphoned from her. Her breath caught in her throat as she choked. As her lifeblood ebbed away. Her power stolen. Her vision blurring.

As she lost her grip upon the wall and careened backwards.

Weightless.

Flying through the air on a glimpse of mist.

TWENTY-FOUR

Heavy footfalls paraded through bowed grass—a battalion of bodies marching. Dead grass breaking. Stale wind whispering overhead, rolling over the dry tip of her upturned nose.

A croak of laughter crumbled to silence near her head. The chortle short-lived and soft spoken before the voice wheezed in a racking breath of sour air and began giggling. Began laughing all over again.

The sky rumbled overhead, the sound soft and delicate, as thin drops of drizzle fell to her forehead. The water dripping into the stiff blades of dead grass biting at the tips of her numb fingers.

Kat opened her eyes.

A black sky wept, rain fell like tears. The water sliding over a multitude of armored men and women as a thick line of soldiers broke ranks to avoid the bodies sprawled out in the field of yellow. Rain cleansed bloated corpses, a trio of three women lay lifeless about a stone's throw away from Kat. Their bodies stained scarlet, their shiny limbs burnt black. As Kat turned her head, her stiff neck aching with a burning soreness, her ears caught the laughter again. Amidst the churning clamor of boots crashing through dead grass and sucking fields of damp soil, she heard the laughter again.

“Solace, egidul.”

Kat pressed her lips into a hard line, her gaze moving upwards. Near the crown of her head lay a naked body. The naked body of a man.

“You survived.” he chuckled, his body immobile as he heaved a dry laugh. “Anger will consume her.”

“Elisedd?” she all but cursed as she tried to move her arms. “You—you lied to me.” Kat croaked.

Laughter devolved into choking coughs as Elisedd rolled in the yellowed grass, his scarred torso stained with crimson as Kat caught the acrid scent of smoke. “As I have been lied to.” he responded, rolling to his back in the grass with a prolonged groan. “And a multitude of others before and beyond us. The Confrerie's mistress believed my unit to be a tool. Believed me to be a self-seeking fool of a highscale,” thunder peeled overhead as his voice became low and thick. Guttural, “but my mind is my own and they failed to realize this to their own detriment. This,” his arm trembled as he reached, as he brought a palm to the sky and pointed towards the crumbling towers of Labassette with soot stained fingertips, “is my doing. Mine alone.”

“Highscale?” Kat whispered, eyes to the clouds. Confrerie? Her mind was floating, her thoughts barren and useless as Elisedd chuckled once more. His laughter drawn out and airy like the dying breath of a flute. The sound whispering through his open mouth as he chuckled.

“But this is nonsense to you.” he coughed, dropping his hand to the yellowed grass as the thick lines of marching solders began to thin and fan out. The stone-faced men and women moving towards the thawed river of slush snaking around the decrepit chateau as the two lay there. Their faces pelted by rain and grime.

“The Confrerie. The Scyllah. Organizations—races beyond the yoke of humanity's harness—if it is not designated—,” another choked cough burst from his lungs, the sound followed by a belch of black smoke that left his lips as thick black mist, “—designated monstrous, then your kind turns a blind eye until we are branded as terrorists for standing up to injustice. Until we are—,” he rolled again, coughing. Spitting scarlet tinted phlegm from his ripped lips as he heaved with a shuddering breath. “Grouped into ghettos in your towns—violently cast out from others. Barred from the capital—from a life of honest work and living; your kind has hunted us since the dawn of time. Since humans attained the knowledge that dragons—highscales were not gods and, despite our immortality, we could be taken down. For sport, for pleasure. We could be captured and forced to plead for mercy at the sharp end of a spear...” Elisedd's breath slowed as his black hair shimmied down his shoulders as dark silk, hiding his nakedness. His bruises and smeared blood. Hiding two slits of weathered skin that throbbed with reddened intensity as if his back were burning. As if fire erupted from the incisions.

From the corner of her eye, Kat caught a flash of fluttering skirts. Crimson taffeta blazing like hungry embers as scarlet slippers pranced through the rain soiled field of yellow. Gold-laced embroidery twinkled upon the crimson skirts in the gloom, the sprawling patterns intricate as gold threads intertwined.

“Close your eyes.” Elisedd murmured, rolling onto his back once more.

Kat hesitated, her limbs heavy as she fluttered her fingers. The girl fighting to gain control of her body. “Why should I listen,” she breathed, “to you?”

Elisedd chuckled, “This is my last request, egidul.” he muttered as the crimson skirts ventured closer, the woman assailed by another skirt of scarlet taffeta, it's designs mimicking the gold-laced embroidery of the first. “From obedience comes knowledge.

“Close your eyes,” he repeated, rain showering the yellowed field in a drought of cold mist. The drops icy, like hail. “and She shall spin you a tale.”

TWENTY-FIVE

Kat did as instructed, curious. Her breath hitching in her throat as smooth fabric grazed her outstretched hand, her eyes tightly closed. Her face relaxed, though her pulse steadily quickened. Her heart propelling itself into her throat as a cry of thunderous lightening careened across the blackened sky above.

Concentrating on her eyelids, she listened to Elisedd's bubbling laughter as slippered feet shifted in the dead grass below. Kat felt herself bristle, felt the atmosphere thicken with tension as the air became thin. Slowly, she let her jaw relax, her mouth falling open as if she were sleeping. Or dead.

“Elisedd,” a husky voice whispered from above, “they say when death comes, we see visions of our past and of our loved ones. Tell me,” the woman's voice was piercing, grating upon the ears like the serrated edge of a sharp toothed comb, “do you see your daughter?”

Kat heard Elisedd's breath stop. Heard his laughter pause, only to ebb into a sharp hiss. The sharp hiss of an animal cornered, of an animal sure of its death but willing to brandish its bloodied claws and make its last stand. “Where is she?” Elisedd rasped, his voice a harsh whisper, “What have you done to her? Scarlet witch—,” his words ended in explosive coughs, his entire body racking as he shivered in the grass. “What have you—,”

“I told you who holds her as chattel, Highscale. Must I repeat old plans and dusty conspiracies?” she sighed, her tone condescending. “Unfortunately, time eludes those yoked by responsibility, Elisedd. You were a dear friend to me. I trusted you and the abilities of your unit. I gave you the tools—what your men and women needed to swiftly take the chateau and meddle with the southerners—but look—,” Kat heard fabric rustle as if the woman were throwing up her hands, “—the bodies of the Sybil's auxiliary litters these death strewn fields. My men and women. My army. My people!” her voice lowered as a pair of heavy boots stomped through the fields. The determined marching echoing as the soldiers moved towards the river. “What you have done here is deplorable!”

“The Scyllah is not yours to command—I am nobody's puppet!” Elisedd heaved, the laughter coming back. Slowly, steadily, his laughter bubbled back. “You attempted. Tried to attach me to your strings, but the Fates smiled upon me weeks before.” coughing, his laughter died as the woman hovering above him hissed out a heavy sigh. “The Sonant of Liberation does not hold my daughter,” he growled. “you do.”

“Mhm!” the woman above murmured, her voice high-pitched and strained. “A child could have arrived at such a conclusion within a day, Highscale. The tomes lie, your kind is far from the mystic intelligence so many humans grant you. Your life may be prolonged, but your wisdom is not. You possess the mind of an infant—innocent yet willful. Willing to believe any tidbit of information gathered on your loved ones—no matter how far-fetched it may sound to any sane being.” she barked out a laugh, a thunderous guffaw that she quickly clipped. “A troll could have arrived to such a conclusion within a week—but you, you took an entire month. And even then, you could not backtrack. The ater sanguis has killed too many—you could not run away! And so you decide to turn on your master and burn my envoys with dragon-breath. But,” her voice tinkled with laughter as she spoke. As she began to pace through the grass, her slippers falling quite close to Kat's head. “did you expect the ballista, dear Elisedd? For all of your wisdom, did you think I wouldn't have something to fall back on? I will find another way, Highscale. My battle does not end here—,”

“You are a tool!” Elisedd spat, cutting her off. Fire rising in his voice as he fought to speak through the racking coughs thrashing his body. “The Confrerie owns you—don't you see? We were tools—playthings! Through you, they used me! And they've used the Scyllah thrice over in their plans—throwing their own kind to the wayside when plans fall through. Don't you see, Vidonia? Don't you see?”

Vidonia paused, rain calming to a slight drizzle, as her skirts grazed Kat's knuckles once more. The fabric untouched by the storm. Dry. “Anais,” she snapped. Another pair of slippers shuffled near Kat's thigh at the name. “Move the girl away,” Vidonia hissed as Kat felt fingers wrap around her ankles, “she has heard enough.”

And Kat was pulled, her eyes springing open as a heart-faced girl yanked her towards the opposite side of the field. Away from Elisedd and Vidonia as the scarlet draped woman approached Elisedd from the side of his upturned head. Clasping her hands tightly behind the heavy black capote upon her back, she bent over slightly from the hips.

“You have failed.” Kat heard Vidonia hiss as she was pulled through the grass. The woman raised a hand, a scarlet colored drop-sleeve fell towards the black fabric of her upper arm as Vidonia's lifted palm opened. Warped air gathered. Pulsating air that mimicked a liquid mirror as it thrummed within the palm of her open hand.

“This, the Confrerie will not tolerate.”

A watery thwack of bone smashing, muscle erupting into itself, and fleshy eyeballs exploding resounded through the air as Kat's ankles were dropped into the grass.

And Kat saw blood.

Scarlet everywhere.

TWENTY-SIX

Pressing her palms into the yellowed grass, Kat shoved herself up to standing. Soiled dirt caked her skin. As did rain and blood as she felt her stomach suddenly lurch and roll over. Heaving, she bent over abruptly and retched. Vomiting up the scant contents of her stomach with a belch and a moan.

She felt a soft palm rub her shoulder as she hiccuped, her throat raw and throbbing as she lifted up her gaze, only to catch a glimpse of Elisedd's smashed face. Her eyes fluttered over an amalgam of crimson studded bone sprouting where his skull should be. Blood pooled in the deep bowl of his shattered features as his assailant hovered over him. Her right hand balled into a tightly clenched fist stained scarlet, the drop-sleeve of the woman's gown peeling back as she held her fist there. Frozen. Her features hidden behind a copse of crimson colored hair brushing down the back of the thick black capote draped around her slender shoulders.

The woman held up her fist, opening her hand. The fingers splaying slowly, her hand opening like a rosebud. Like a fresh flower bloodied by war.

“Anais,” Vidonia intoned, face still hidden by a waterfall of rubicund tresses. “take her to the tower.”

~~~

Of the chateau's original four towers, the ancient fortress steadily falling to pieces well before the Scyllah's dragon decided to demolish a large part of it, only two towers remained. The cylindrical towers situated farther towards the back of the crumbling chateau, standing as silent sentinels amidst a rolling sea of crumbled stone and charred wood. The large force that took down the dragon, a nameless armament of soldiers possessing the haughty accents of the north, picked through the gray and brown debris. The colossal cavalry quickly setting up a bustling city of large round tents atop the debris, the flaxen fabric of their makeshift enclosures treated for rain and other watery weather.

Kat was maneuvered through this tent city, her jaw agape as Anais pressed a lithe palm into her back. The girl amazed at how fast these northerners worked, her concentration torn as she worried for her own safety. Her thoughts turning to the archmage as well—Archmage Ledora. Was it truly that simple? That easy? The archmage's disappearance resembled a miracle—a flash of cold light that blinded Kat as the archmage's magic guided her towards the ground. It was her magic that saved Kat. If the archmage hadn't magicked her to safety, that wall would have flattened her—she would have become crippled again.

But Archmage Ledora saved her—saved her because she needed to survive.

Your life is the key to confining Her.

Her.

The Night Lady—her mother?

What had the claven done to her?

When did I become so damned important?

As the woman at Kat's back stopped her, stilled her with a soft hand clasped around her left shoulder, Kat wished that she was back on the Path. Back where thing's made sense and people didn't tote her around. Strangers blaming her for this and that. People amplifying how important she was based upon her lineage. Based upon her thin connection to Baate Noir's Night Lady.

Kat heard voices, the tent city coming to life as rain drizzled down from the skies. She heard Anais murmuring behind her. Heard the sharp reply of Vidonia some ways away and shut her eyes. Willing everything to fade away. To dissipate to black nothingness.

She wished she had never learned that her mother was still alive—wished she had never learned what the woman had become. She wished...

Rain pelted her, chilling her to the bone and she shivered as Anais and Vidonia's voices became coupled with others. The high-pitched voices of the women mixing with the deep grumblings of stark replies and shrill answers. Kat's hair stuck to her face, her neck. Her clothes were ragged, torn by the fall and the claven. The brown fabric assailed by dirt and Elisedd's blood. Shutting her eyes tighter, twisting her face as she sneered, she willed the voices to die away as her thoughts became a howling hurricane roaring within her head. Deafening her as she listened. As she wished.

I will not beseech you, mother, she told herself in warning, I must be my own woman now.

I give you my power, her mother's retreating form had murmured.

Shaking the voice away, Kat wished the world would leave her alone. That it would let her go back. She wanted to be with her cousins again. She wanted to go home.

If she even had one to return to, Kat reminded herself. Biting her lip as she pushed the flash of anger in Eva's eyes away. As she ignored the acrid stench of Jocelyn's burning flesh and Maddy's cry as Eva attacked her. The younger woman pushing past her as she fought to get to the stake. As she fought to save a life already derelict. A life already given to the Fates.

The Night Lady was right. About humans. About us.

She needed to go home.

And I'll get the chance, Kat told herself as Anais pushed her forward once more. The woman at Kat's back marching her towards the southern tower. The same tower Elisedd had detained her in almost two weeks ago. When Montbereau's Chaperon finally arrives, she set her jaw, stomping through the mud and dead grass as Anais moved her forward. Kat slowly coming closer to her fate, I'll get the chance.

…

The women brought Kat to a familiar room, the space circular and wide. The tower room drafty and damp from the recent downpour of rain. Sitting her before the thin desk Elisedd had so recently sat across from, the scar-faced man interrogating her and poking fun at her belief in the Cataclysm as he questioned her from across the thin wooden planks of the ragtag desk about the Sonant of Liberation; Kat turned her head and swore she spied a ghost. Swore she saw Elisedd's marred face twisting into a disgusted sneer across from her before she blinked the vision away. Wiping her eyes with the back of her forearm, she placed her opposite hand atop her thigh and breathed.

“Oh my,” came an airy voice. Soft and sweet. “dear me. Councilwoman, I believe she's crying.”

Kat blinked. Sliding her eyes from her forearm, she came face to face with Anais as the heart-faced woman placed her hands upon knees enshrouded beneath crimson colored taffeta. Lowering her tiny torso, Anais let the tops of her breasts spill from the V-shaped dip of her lace embroidered bodice. Her bulbous bosoms spewing forth from the contents of her tightly laced garments as she leaned over.

“My dear, are you alright?” the callow-faced woman asked, wide brown eyes reminding Kat of a doe. “You survived quite a fall, perhaps you've hit your head rather hard?”

“I'm fine.” Kat responded. Her voice a croak as she tasted acidic bile. “I'd like to know when I may leave.” she snapped.

Anais stood, breasts springing back into place, as she clasped her hands behind her lower back and backstepped away. Allowing a clear path for the other woman standing at the center of the circular chamber. Slippers whispered across stone as Vidonia approached Kat with her arms firmly crossed.

“How did you spirit away my archmage?” the taller woman demanded, her bloodied hand hidden within the thick fabric of her drop-sleeves. “My envoys reported two women clutching to the edge of a tower, now ruined by Elisedd and his ilk. One description matches my archmage perfectly, the other...” piercing olive eyes marked in smoky kohl narrowed to kohl painted slits as Vidonia looked Kat over. A single eyebrow raising as she noted Kat's disheveled clothing and dirt streaked face. “...pertains to you.”

Kat bristled in her seat, attempted to stand, but thought better of it as Vidonia slowly shook her head at the movement.

“I'll petrify you.” she warned, lazily lifting a hand from its resting place atop her crossed arm. “I'd like to play gently, your face is trustworthy. Court-worthy, even. But cross me,” she murmured, cocking her head slightly, “and I will not hesitate.” Vidonia's voice was level as she showed her bloodied hand. Balling it into a fist, a familiar energy resembling a liquefied mirror began to thrum around her skin. The pulsating aura beating, growing and lengthening, like a quickening heart thrashing within a heaving chest.

Kat nodded, bringing her hands to either sides of her chair as she forced herself to relax into the rugged wood of the seat. Her heart slamming itself against her rib cage in time to the growing magic around Vidonia's bloodied fist.

The pulsating energy died. The thrumming aura vanishing with a curt snap of Vidonia's long fingers. “Good,” Vidonia sighed, loosely crossing her arms across her chest as she rolled her neck. “now, how did you spirit her away?” the woman repeated, rubicund locks curving over the thin fabric of her shoulders. “Did you use teleportation, little one?” Vidonia asked, raising her chin before audibly sniffing the air. The woman breathed in deep, hissing as she let the air escape through the creased corners of her mouth. “The Power's crux alludes this one.”

“But the archmage disappeared!” Anais hissed from her corner, lowering her gaze to the floor. “If this one possesses no magical ability, how could Ledora have gotten away in a blink?”

“Ah!” Vidonia snapped, locking her gaze with Kat's as she lowered her head. “You!” she grinned, the smile taut and strained. “You distorted Elisedd's beliefs, turning him against me and mine at the last moment. Ah!” her smile grew, her lips stretching across the expanse of her face. The grin did not meet her eyes as Vidonia glowered at Kat. “Yet, you sit here befuddled and clueless. Oh—I love outliers. Players in games they have no knowledge of—ah! Tell me your name, little one. You have the curious eyes of a southerner.”

Kat wet her lips. “Katell Maeva,” she murmured, suddenly shy. Suddenly unsure of herself. “of Montbereau.” she quickly added.

Vidonia's smile capsized, sinking into a sharp frown. “Ah, Montbereau, the troublesome 'Voice of the South'. Tell me, Katell Maeva, do you also call for independence from the Monarchy? The Rose?” closing the gap between herself and Kat, Vidonia slammed her palms to Kat's shoulders and holstered her up. Forced Kat to stand and face her. “Who spirited away my wicked witch, Katell Maeva? I may not taste the Power, but I do taste Blood.” Katell felt herself shake, felt ice stretch from Vidonia's hands and rip into her shoulders. The chill forcing its way into her blood and bones. “Blood working is forbidden, little one. Forbidden and extremely difficult to master, much less control. So, I shall ask again—where is Ledora?”

Kat cut away her gaze, clenching her fists before letting her fingers fall to her sides. “Gone.” Kat whispered, shrugging away the icy feeling the woman's veined hands left upon her shoulders. “Taken to Baate Noir by the Night Lady.” Meeting Vidonia's smoky eyes, Kat caught a hint of fear. Caught a racing hint of shocked recognition. “Saw it with my own eyes.” she murmured, still staring. Unable to break Vidonia's harsh gaze as she bit the inside of her cheek.

“Gone.” Kat repeated, as Vidonia let go of her shoulders. The woman backing away. A sneer firmly planted upon her pale face, harshly twisting her features. “In a blink and a blaze of light.”

TWENTY-SEVEN

Vidonia's brows drew together, the slender arches lowering as her smoky eyes narrowed. Crossing her arms once more, she straightened her back. “Night Lady?” she repeated Kat's words, pursing her ruby-red lips.

“She speaks of Seraphina Merchand, Councilwoman.” Anais breathed, her right hand pressing upon her chest. “You're her daughter, correct? Oh, it's like looking into a mirror...”

“Seraphina Merchand is anathema,” Vidonia spat, raising her chin as her narrowed eyes locked with Kat's. “not a creature of myth. Why do southerners call her, 'Night Lady'? To what end?”

Kat opened her mouth to speak, but thought better of it as she clamped her lips closed. Shaking her head, she dropped back into the chair behind her. Suddenly drained. Her spirit spent and exhausted as the chair creaked beneath her weight.

Outside, the rain continued to pour. Icy droplets pelting the stony roof of the tower.

“She haunts Baate Noir like a specter...” Kat began, head falling backwards upon the stout back of the chair as she sighed her exhaustion away. “...for a time, I believed she was a myth as well...” Kat shut her eyes, “...until I found out that she was my mother.” Until she saved me—stopped me from freezing to death in the cold.

Bertrand...

Kat shook the thought away—her best friend, gone...her cousin at fault, Alan is probably dead...

Shutting her eyes, Kat shook the thoughts away.

Anais clapped her hands, crimson drop-sleeves dancing. “Aha! I knew it—,”

“Yet, your surname is not Merchand...” Vidonia murmured, raising an eyebrow. “...did you know that your mother was infected? Cursed herself with a plague that the Sybil controlled...once.” she spat the word as if it were acid swirling upon the tip of her tongue, her face sour as her lips twisted into the ghost of a sneer. “Do southerners know of the ater sanguis? I've heard that the curse often reaches the Poudurac, but never ventures farther than the Black Forest—Baate Noir, as you know it to be. Did you know that your mother was infected with this...black blood?”

Opening her eyes, Kat brought her head forward and leveled her gaze with Vidonia's before dropping her head into her hands. “She raised me—she massacred an entire village. I know her as mother. I also know her as Night Lady—what more is there? People throw terms at me—yet they ignore the fact that I do not understand. I need explanations!”

“If I were to choose one thing southerners are known for,” Anais scoffed, clasping her hands behind her back as she rolled large brown eyes, “it would be their ignorance of any matters beyond the Black Forest. As if nothing exists beyond the Southern Reaches.”

Vidonia shot Anais a scathing look, olive eyes turning to ice as her gaze caused the shorter woman's face to burn brightly, “Ater sanguis,” Vidonia began, turning on her heel as she began to pace towards the far wall. “known by the north as, 'the curse of the black blood'...often titled wrongly as a 'plague',” whirling around in a flash of scarlet skirts and twinkling embroidery, Vidonia paced towards the opposite side of the room with her hand upon her chin. Her kohl marked gaze cast to the ceiling as if she were watching her story unfold from above. Her tale of the black blood blossoming forth from the heavens. “years ago, when our guild—the Sybil—was newly formed, we held absolute reign over the Blood. Expert hands adept in blood work and blood magic could use the Blood to bring the dead back to life—whole and immensely powerful. The 'undead' no longer human, in some respects, after being brought back from the brink of death by the Blood.

“Ater sanguis made our guild of sorceresses important in the eyes of the Monarchy. No longer were women blessed with magical abilities born to die at the hands of witch hunters—at the hands of the Sonant of Liberation and the Hope for Extinction. No longer were witches, forced by ignorant superstition, made to leave their homes and families. Venturing out into the wilds only to be taken away by the harsh hands of nature and the Fates. No longer—the ater sanguis saved many. Witches became Sorceresses. Sorceresses became advisers, councilwomen, commanders...the Sybil became an entity to be respected...an entity to be feared...” Rounding on her heel once more, Vidonia halted before Kat. Olive eyes burning in their sockets as she glowered at the sitting girl. “...and then, the Blood was taken from us. Stolen in the night by one of the Sybil's many founders. Swiped by a non-human sympathizer. A woman with a heart as soft as she was pathetic and charitable. Greedy.

“Anathema. Seraphina Merchand gave our combined invention to a handful of night-stalking elves who cried injustice whenever the city demanded they pay their taxes. These knife-eared churls set the Blood against us—the boors completely ignorant of how ater sanguis worked. Therefore, they decided to unleash it on the populace as poison, contaminating the entirety of the capital's water supply with a few poorly measured drops and a wish. A hope that humans could feel what non-humans felt; the lesser species housed in ghettos before the incident. Now...now that non-humans have proven themselves to be a menace, they are barred from the Capital of the White Rose—but that does not mean they cannot attack it. Stirring hate and fear, yet never leaving behind a physical presence.” Vidonia caught her breath, closing her eyes as she raised her head slightly.

“Your mother,” she began again, giving Kat her back as she floated towards the middle of the chamber, “helped non-humans form the Scyllah, a non-human terrorist organization that plagues the entirety of the north like a mosquito to the ear, or a rapist to an unsuspecting young woman. Your mother helped the Scyllah brand itself as an organization chocked with terrorists—” her voice steadily rose. Steadily began to grate on Kat's ears as her tone devolved into a shrill screech, “—Your mother not only allowed the Sybil's invention to fall into the wrong hands—but orchestrated the guild's demise. Orchestrated the Sybil's own fall as the Monarchy blamed us for the sudden plague of death that swept through the capital in the expanse of a week. Mass graves piled to the skies—stinking bodies festering upon cobblestone streets—we worked like mad women to cure it. And I can only honestly say that the entire city did not die, not because of our cure or our handiwork, but because the Fates allowed the Blood to fester some place else. Now the black blood shifts city to city as if by sheer will—as if it possesses a divine consciousness that allows it to pick and choose where it strikes next. Because of this glaring stain upon the Sybil's reputation—because of your mother—the south turned its back on us and now thousands of witches die...burning upon stakes...starvation...exposure—now thousands of women die because the south refuses to hand them over to us.

“And your mother,” Vidonia growled, body trembling as she hissed a shaking breath, “is anathema to the guild. To the entire world.”

Lowering her head, Vidonia raised her hands to the ceiling before bringing her open palms down. Breath hissing through her nostrils as she repeated the movement, slowly. Moving with fluidity, the woman's strange movement a river of flowing motion. “Now,” she breathed, “do you understand, Katell Maeva?”

“Though your surname should be Merchand.” Anais quipped, her voice soft as she cast a sidelong gaze at Kat.

Kat's mouth had gone slack, her eyes unfocused. “My mother...” ...the Night Lady...

Vidonia brought her palms before her, rubicund tresses trailing down the expanse of her black capote in shivering scarlet waves. “While the Blood has its uses, when pumped through a patient's veins it robs them of the one thing that is vital to this life. More vital to most, perhaps, while others believing mourning its loss is a result of pure vanity. Or, pure ignorance.” Vidonia turned, hands clasped. Head of red hair cocked. “Simply put, Katell, your mother was barren when she left the guild. When she was banished to the Black Forest, your mother was barren. Before she became anathema, before she knowingly gifted the Blood to terrorists, she tested the Blood upon herself to prove that ater sanguis could be helpful to humans. This robbed her of her ability to have children. Her, and another.”

Kat gawked, hands squarely on her knees as she felt her legs turning to slush. “What do you mean? I know who my mother is, witch!—,”

“I do not question your lineage.” Vidonia snapped, gaze hardening once more as Anais's doe eyes bulged from her head in shock. “I only question who spirited my archmage away—who truly teleported her to the Black Forest. Yes, your mother may have been barren, but she was powerful. Seraphina was a High Sorceress when she was banished by my archmage—my Ledora, whom I have decided is a traitor for allowing the Scyllah to destroy Labassette. Once again, Katell, I ask you to tell me the truth—who spirited my archmage away?”

“I possess no magic—you said so yourself! Both of you!” Kat squirmed under the sorceresses combined gazes, their faces expectant as Kat fidgeted. As Kat felt herself become light-headed once more, as if floating on a cloud. On a glimpse of mist. “I've never been able to siphon the Power—I've never once touched it's crux! I am a shieldmaiden—bound to the ax and blade! I am a—,”

She felt it then—power leaving her as if it were being stolen. Her head floating—her blood bubbling beneath her skin as a chill spiraled through her chest and ebbed through her arms as a spear. As a spear of winter cold and wind. She felt it then—felt like she was flying as she shut her eyes tight.

Wind. A gale howled, ripping past her ears. Snatching her hair from her face, black tendrils coiling around her head, as the wind tossed her around. Beating her—lifting her from her seat as the whole chamber shook, her garments catching on the force. Her slippers drifting from her feet as she was pulled from her seat, blood racing from her body. Making her head light, her skin pallid.

I grant you my power.

A voice, a whisper, a song soaring on a gust of wind.

It was her mother's voice—the voice of the Night Lady—moments before she pulled back her stygian shadows and brought her to. The woman healing her chest after the claven had broken it. The woman promising Kat to leave her body and...find another way.

Ledora told her she had to live.

Because my life—my life is key.

Kat's breath hitched in her throat as the air became thin, her throat constricting as she fought to breathe.

I grant you my power.

“E'lunne shesha mar daurthe.”

It was a command. A booming phrase laced with heart sputtering power that paused the wind as it left Vidonia's ruby-red lips. The tall sorceress's limber arms extended towards Kat as she called the phrase, her voice unwavering. Calm.

Deadly.

Kat felt her heart stop. Snapped her eyes open to gaze at the far away ground and the two small presences below.

Had she flown? Levitated herself up here?

Did she call upon the Power?

“Come down.” Vidonia intoned, arms outstretched.

Kat lost her position in the air as blood powered through her, the roaring rush deafening as it suddenly blinded her. Lifeblood warming her as her limbs tingled, her life-force returning as she plummeted towards the ground. Eyes wide open only to close them. Eyes snapped shut as the flagstones of the chamber rushed at her—the sorceress's strange words yanking her towards the stones. Towards Vidonia.

Lithe arms caught her. A soft oof whispered through shocked lips.

Anais whimpered as she gently placed Kat upon the ground, “Another magebane, Councilwoman—what are we to do with her? If she can control the Blood...”

Kat's head spun as Vidonia approached her, the statuesque woman assailed by a stream of crimson locks that slid forth from her shoulders. Red ringlets hanging in the air as she studied Kat, her face unreadable. Kohl marked eyes dull. Glaciated.

“We will bring her to the Sybil—so that the world will be safe,” Vidonia murmured, eyes scanning Kat's as Vidonia became two within Kat's vision. The girl dizzy and sick. “first, we await the Montbereau Chaperon. But, until their arrival, we study. We scan. We learn.”

TWENTY-EIGHT

The Councilwoman governed her charges like an unyielding taskmaster as she fought to hammer Labassette Chateau into a habitable space despite the immutable debris and ruin the Scyllah's dragon wrought upon half of the ancient fortress.

Ignoring the lack of her party's architectural skill, Councilwoman Vidonia commanded her force to brush away the debris before Labassette and recreate their tent city upon the patch of crushed grass beneath. Those she considered high upon the chain of her auxiliary's command were welcomed to make space for themselves within Labassette's two standing towers. Those deemed the Councilwoman's officials were instructed to clear away rubble and rubbish within the old chateau's crumbling walls as others slaved outside. The Councilwoman's auxiliary toiling from dawn till dusk over the expanse of four days as they worked to bring Labassette up to the Councilwoman's standards.

Soon, despite Labassette missing a large section from its original layout, the chateau began to resemble a fortress again. The chateau seemingly formidable because of the large well-armored party camped before its twin towers, firelight blazing from large rectangular windows carved into the tall towers as Labassette was carefully resurrected. Life glowing all-around it.

Of the four days Councilwoman Vidonia spent commanding her auxiliary, it took Kat three to realize that the councilwoman and her assistant harbored no ill will towards her. The two women abruptly ignoring Kat as they instructed the slogging men and women of the councilwoman's auxiliary where to bring this grand wooden chest, or that mattress stuffed with goosedown. For the entirety of the four days, Kat swore the councilwoman did not sleep. The woman preferring to stay up with the moon and the sun as she passed on instructions for her party's nightwatchmen or abruptly voiced her concerns about a failing structure within the chateau to soldiers who woke with the sun. The shrill peal of her increasingly irritating voice rising, the intensity of her screams directly correlating with Vidonia's scant amount of hours spent in a bedroll.

When everything was finished, the halved chateau living up to Vidonia's strict standards by the skin of its old stones, it seemed as if all audibly relaxed. From Vidonia's auxiliary, to the chateau itself—it seemed as if everything had been holding its breath as Vidonia stomped around for four days straight. The nocturnal woman demanding this and ailing for that.

Finally, everything was over.

Even Kat breathed a sigh of relief, despite her nonexistent part in the chateau's resurrection, even she breathed a sigh of relief.

Because this—this would mean that the Chaperon was arriving soon. Definitely. This would mean she'd see Horace again and hopefully Alan. This would mean she'd be able to do what she swore to herself she world—spare Horace's reputation and save Alan's life. This would mean she'd get to go home again.

If the councilwoman didn't force her to go to the Sybil, of course.

Magebane, am I?

Kat was still having trouble believing she could control any sort of Power, much less Blood.

Had her mother truly granted her the ability to touch the crux of the Power—to strip her own blood of the Power? Had she—had she teleported Archmage Ledora away?

And what of Dechamps? Where was she?

“Dead, most like.” Anais murmured after Kat asked her question. The two women waiting outside of the councilwoman's chamber, Katell summoned almost an hour ago. After being left alone for four days straight, she had almost believed that the sorceresses had forgotten all about her.

Almost.

“You were in the field when we arrived, yes? So many dead. Elisedd—,” the heart-faced woman slapped a porcelain palm to her mouth as she gasped, “—Dear me. Do you even know what a highscale is, little one? A changeling? Ah, I keep forgetting you're a southerner!”

The woman wore an intricate gown of royal blue, the square cut of its bodice studded with pearls. Beneath the gown, a hooped farthingale extended the width of her slim hips. Shaping them wider than they ought to be.

Kat fought not to appear jealous of the fact that everyone—absolutely everyone living within these drafty towers, possessed a change of clothes. Everyone except her. Standing next to the pearl studded Anais made Kat feel dirty and unworthy. As if the length of a gown's train, or the cut of her clothes' fabric brought worth to her being. Brought confidence.

In Montbereau, she wouldn't have given a damn. But here...

She felt out of touch. Like a street urchin pushed into some lord's hovel, or a dog in a cat's den. She felt out of sorts.

Was this how northern women dressed? Women from the Capital of the White Rose? Women who profess allegiances to guilds and universities? Was this how the well-endowed northerners distinguished themselves from those of the south? Already, Kat's intelligence had been questioned by Anais. Apparently southerners ignore everything past the Black Forest and their lack of knowledge, their lack of understanding and their wealth of superstitions, made them intolerably unintelligent. According to Anais, at least.

The north—the north possessed a grand spring of knowledge. While the south was absolutely devoid of it.

“Your strong southern ties explains why you know naught of highscales and changelings. Of elves and other lesser beings. Ah, they refuse to frequent the south because your witch-hunting Sonants would purposefully burn them, would they not? Then there is the Hope for Extinction that just murders every strange thing within its undulating path. Both groups are erratic and zealous. Both groups also originate from Southern Reaches, having gathered a bulk of their constituents there...” Anais turned her gaze from the thick oaken door and planted her doe-eyes upon Kat's dirt streaked face, “...does this help you understand why a highscale, a changeling able to shift into a dragon at will, would avoid such a place?”

“Elisedd was the dragon?” Kat murmured.

Anais bowed her head, nodding slowly, “A highscale.” she murmured, “Correct.

“And knowing southerners, magebane,” the shorter woman sighed as she clasped her hands before her wide blue skirts. Her knuckles grazing the deep V end-piece of her bodice, “they would burn you as well if you went back. Knowing what you do now—they wouldn't accept you. My apologies, Katell, however...you might want to avoid going home,” Anais told her, “forever.”

That struck Kat—hard. Like a sharp slap to the face. She was a shieldmaiden—sworn to the Montbereau Guard. Happily working under her cousin—happily escorting her first ever Chaperon so that she might become a full-fledged guard like Horace.

Now, here she was. So far off the Path that she wasn't even sure if she was in Myrine anymore. For a split-second, everything that had happened—everything that had drew her off the Path and brought her here—all of the knowledge she had attained...her mother, monsters, vampires, elves and dragons—everything hit her. Like a harsh blow to the gut—everything hit her. And as the door before them wheezed open, she set her gaze upon Anais. Hawk-eyes narrowed, “You speak as if I have a choice.”

“You're right,” Anais replied, lowering her large eyes with a half-crescent smirk planted upon her pink lips, “I do.”

Shoving her way into the councilwoman's chambers, Kat froze as the corridor behind her fell away. It was an understatement to label Vidonia's chambers as simply crowded. The large stone room was cluttered. Stuffed from its high stone ceiling to the wooden boards of the floor with books or items related to books.

To Kat's right, reached two towering bookshelves that must have had to be deconstructed before shoving them through the room's slender entrance. Squashed between these two bookshelves sat a thick bed of oak, a high canopy of purple lace reaching from its scaffolding to the floor.

Anais pushed past Kat as the shieldmaiden gawked, the shorter woman's hands gentle as they pushed Kat towards the side of the room. Making space for herself as she waltzed in, and approached the desk on the left side of the cluttered chamber.

Before Kat sat a vanity, a tall case of clothing with latticed glass embedded within the wooden doors. Peering through the panes as she froze, she saw a plethora of gowns—their fabrics dyed scarlet. Some gowns threaded in silver, others threaded in sparkling gold.

Kat wondered how many fortunes Councilwoman Vidonia had spent on that.

She had never seen so many well procured garments in her life. The people of Montbereau, her Gran, her cousins—no one really cared for fashionable clothing. They saw it as a waste, as useless court wear that would impede their work and livelihood. Perhaps women from the capital saw things differently. Perhaps their lives depended on how well they dressed.

From Kat's left, Vidonia cleared her throat.

Whirling towards the noise, Kat caught sight of Vidonia sitting behind a simple desk of deep brown oak. The legs beneath the thin desk curved like smoke, the wooden appendages curling towards the floor only to flatten. The wood floor creaked slightly as Anais moved to stand at Vidonia's right, positioning herself before the paper-strewn table as she clasped her hands before her abdomen.

Leaning back into her checker patterned chair, the seat resembling a throne in Kat's mind, Vidonia steepled her fingers before her chest and tipped her fingers towards her lips in silence.

Kat found it odd that both women tended to wear the same garments. Yet, as Anais stood near Vidonia, the intricacies of the shorter woman's gown seemed to fade. Where Anais' gown was speckled with pearls, Vidonia's gown sported a turtle shaped broach at the very heart of the bodice's square lip atop her breasts. Where the puffed sleeves of Anais' upper arms boasted a singular color, Vidonia's blue sleeves were slashed to reveal a pearly white that shined silver in the dim light of the cluttered chamber. While Anais' bodice showed a multitude of intricate interlacing, blue mixing with thick black embroidery; the interlacing upon Vidonia's gown was flecked with gold. The bodice shining as her chest slowly moved up and down with each calm breath.

Kat stood in awe. She didn't belong here.

Kat brought her right hand behind her back, balling the palm up into a fist.

“At the very least, she'll have to know how to dress.” Vidonia murmured, eyes scanning Kat's body from her head to her toes. “The girl looks like we fished her out of the ocean. How is the Sybil to accept a new magebane they can't stand within five feet of? Her stench alone will ward them off.”

“Yes, councilwoman.” Anais intoned, clasping her hands behind her back as she nodded. Doe-eyes on Kat.

“Shall we test how well you know the Blood?” Vidonia smirked behind the steeple of her fingers, eyes flashing as her gaze snapped to Anais.

Kat bristled. “I've only just come into this...” she swallowed at a growing lump within her throat as Anais dipped two fingers between her breasts and retrieved a thin stiletto, “...Power.” she finished. Her throat threatening to close as her tongue became cotton.

Taking her fingertips from her lips, Vidonia placed her forearm across the desk as Anais slowly turned. “Come.” she commanded, long fingers curling. Beckoning Kat like a tantalizing aroma.

Kat approached, eyes on Anais' silver stiletto as she held it between her ring and index finger.

“Anais,” Vidonia murmured, “begin the Rite.”

Anais was quick—like lightening—as she leveled the stiletto with Kat's right eye and angled the tip down. Towards the floor. Kat breathed in an aching breath as the air thinned and Vidonia vanished. Her throne suddenly empty as two hands clamped around Kat's wrists and forced her arms behind her back.

Kat stared into Anais' glassy eyes. “You'll be all right, sweet one.” she murmured.

Before the tip of the stiletto ripped across Kat's neck. Blood spurting. Scarlet everywhere.

Kat fought to breathe. Blood collecting into her windpipe as she felt her chest become heavy. As her lungs burned, her throat wet and swollen from the sudden incision. From the sudden slit cut across the length of her throat.

“Calm. Calm yourself,” Vidonia's voice scuttled up Kat's wet neck as sweat began to bead upon her skin. As everything began to grow fuzzy and dark. Kat heard her own breath in her ears, then. Heard herself heave and force in a wet breath, only for blood to come surging up her throat as her heart rammed itself against the aching cage of her racking ribs, “to live,” Kat heard Vidonia murmur. The sorceress's voice an echo bouncing around her mind. The voice far as she wheezed, “you must work the Blood.”

TWENTY-NINE

If I return to that place, I shall take you with me.

The phrase was a threat. Accursed words uttered so long ago.

Cast me out and I shall find another way.

A whisper...a siege...a battle which assaulted only her ears.

A phrase trailing upon a gust of cold wind. Snow. Ice.

But it doesn't snow past the Poudurac.

Ledora braced herself, hands splayed upon a terrain of snow-white ice surrounding her face as she opened her one good eye.

It doesn't snow past the Poudurac, she reminded herself. Her breath escaping her lips as steaming white mist. I've failed, then...the words sounded strange in her mind. Ledora's magic never failed—she was an archmage. A High Sorceress. Ledora's magic never failed.

Yet, here she was. Caught in the cusp of a southern wind as she lay face down in the snow.

Yet, here she was.

With veined hands numb as death, Ledora shoved herself to standing in the white drift. She wasn't dressed for this kind of weather—the biting cold, a shower of snow falling all-around her like a sweeping veil of sparkling white.

Beneath the plush satin of her tunic, she possessed no animal fur. She possessed no cotton or thick linen to keep her warm as a chill, cold as morning hoarfrost, swept through the snow sprinkled atmosphere of the dimly lit forest. Ledora shivered as the gust swept past her, the wind charging through the lavish fabric of her tunic and trousers as if her garments were made of thin parchment. Wrapping her trembling arms around herself, Ledora's teeth chattered as her one good eye searched her new environs. Stygian trees reached for her, their sharp black appendages swallowed by a blurring fog that crept from the frozen breath of the silver clouds above. The sun did not show its golden head here. It merely settled behind the clouds, rolling beneath the churning silver above as a bulbous ball of cold shadow.

Warmth. It did not exist here.

Did the Fates mean to bring her here?

Ledora could remember saving Katell—or at least attempting. She meant to siphon Power from the girl. She meant to siphon Power, touch its crux, and use what little Power Katell's body possessed to send the girl farther north. Away from the encroaching northern envoys and, most of all, away from that upstart. Away from Councilwoman Vidonia.

Her mother had been magebane, it was only a matter of time until Katell...

Ledora shook her head, pressing her lips into a grim line as she shivered. The world doesn't need another magebane.

But the fact that Ledora was here—farther south than she had ever ventured before—and the child was not, proved that she had not only failed—but something caused her magic to disrupt. Something caused the Power to spill from her fingers as she muttered incantations—as she willed Katell be transported elsewhere. To the only place a magebane, and thus the entire world, would be safe.

Something siphoned her Power.

Had it been the girl? Katell? Had Katell finally come into her Power?

Ledora sorely hoped not. But nothing else could explain the disruption of her teleportation spell. Nothing else could explain how she ended up here—well past the Poudurac. In the south, she assumed, the Black Forest.

Seraphina's domain.

Ledora cast a flickering gaze over her shoulder as snow softly crackled and crunched behind her. Stygian trees wafted in an unknown breeze as the air seemed to shift. The atmosphere buzzing with thick static as Ledora felt the warm touch of the Power dripping from her icy fingertips like liquid fire.

Seraphina. She'd come for her soon.

If I return to that place, I shall take you with me.

Had Seraphina's threat finally been actualized? Had she gone through Katell—used her own daughter's blood—to bring Ledora to Baate Noir?

“You are selfish.” Ledora sneered, body trembling from the cold as she forced her jaw to still. “Willfully pressuring your own kin into her Power simply to spite me. Forcing the world to see her as magebane—in the past, working the Blood would have meant absolute power to those who possessed the will to control it. But times have changed, Sera. Malefactors stand as counsel to monarchs! Demons tend to the capital, the beasts draped in shadow as they possess the minds of kings...”

Silence as snow-frosted air swirled in a thin funnel of white.

Ledora closed her one good eye, the bone-chilled woman let out a single breath. A single puff of white air that crept from her flared nostrils, the breath riding air made stagnant. Air heavy with the Power.

“...being distinguished as magebane...as one who can control the Blood and the blood of others...means being watched carefully, Sera. It means entering into another sorceresses service as a servant—as a dangerous being worthy of a collar and chain...” Ledora brought her hand to her neck, rubbing it as her skin suddenly burned against the cold, “...I was the last.” she murmured. “Even with a vast knowledge of magic, our own are extremely wary of those who can control the Blood, Sera. Do you know what happened...” she breathed, “...to the rest of us?”

Ledora did not expect an answer. She expected more snow, more sailing winds. But Baate Noir answered her words with a blast of silent yellow light that glared like an unblinking eye through the curtain of fog and stygian trees before her.

Warmth crept from that light, golden tendrils curving through the air like silken ribbons caught in a curtsying gale. Ledora braced herself against the light, her face twisted into a mask of cold confusion as she spotted a figure standing within the gold. A black silhouette that did not resemble the lithe body of Seraphina stood silent, the bright light blazing at its back masking its features. The silhouette mimicking the herculean body of a man, not a woman.

Not the Night Lady.

The surrounding fog lifted like a curse cast off, a white curtain rising only to reveal death darkened trees and twisted branches.

“What...” Ledora began, ignoring the urge to approach the figure. Her body compelled to move as she planted her chilled feet in the snow.

The figure simply stood, the churning golden ribbons wreathing from the light dangling as they crept towards the snow covered ground. Gold sizzled upon white as the ribbons piled upon the ground, melting snow, burning land, as they piled. Detaching themselves from the light as they grew into a mound of ink mixed light and lengthened into the disheveled body of a human. A human woman bound in light, the tangled tendrils of her hair dark as a starless sky cloaked in midnight.

A pale hand reached towards Ledora, crept like a dying snake as her fingers splayed upon the melting snow. With a groan, the woman lifted her pallid face as she reached for the frozen archmage. Her eyes red, sunken into a skeletal face caked in hoarfrost.

Where the ribbons of light touched her, the woman's gray skin burned. Blackened. Charred to a steaming crisp as the ribbons tightened around her bleak frame. Only her right arm freed itself from the burning turmoil. Fingers splayed. Reaching for her. Red eyes pleading.

“Ledora...” Seraphina called, her voice a broken croak. “...Jay...my Ledora...”

Ledora looked on, eyes fixated. Staring at the woman whose territory Ledora had only recently pervaded—when the woman sat as a queen within the soul of her own daughter. Seraphina had been a poison, a demon infecting Katell's soul with a stygian blackness that warped her. That cut her off from the crux of the Power, and allowed the Night Lady to directly siphon it from her. Her own kin. Seraphina had been a leech upon the girl, and now that Ledora had severed Seraphina's tie to Katell—the woman was empty. Broken. Powerless.

“I believed you could hold your own.” Ledora heard herself speak, felt her feet slog through the snow as if she were wading through a swampy bog with thick green water up to her hips. “I thought you could survive off of the Power from the surrounding forest. From the monsters and the demons you enthralled. I thought you were...”

“She was my beacon.” Seraphina gasped, talons erupting from the blackened beds of her nails as she swiped a glistening hand through the air. “And you've blinded me—cut me from my guiding light—”

“I have not killed her.” Ledora hissed, recognition stabbing through her mind like a knife to the back. “I merely cut you off—you weren't supposed to end up like this. You weren't supposed to...”

“Then why does my heart no longer beat? Why do I feel as if a piece of me has been stolen?”

Ledora swallowed, backing away from Seraphina's bound body as she slowly shook her head from side to side. Murmuring, “You were to siphon the Power from Baate Noir. You were to entrap monsters and beasts on the border—keeping them from the capital. You didn't need Katell's power to survive! You simply craved it—power from a human in lieu of a disenchanted forest. You wanted her blood, but found that even you—with your insatiable lust for power, for blood—couldn't siphon the lifeblood of your own kin. Your own daughter—,” Ledora's eyes narrowed as she continued to shake her head, “Now, you claim that I have murdered her—now you claim that she has—,”

Ledora's eyes bulged as she gasped—as she took in a sharp breath with widened eyes.

Vidonia...

She felt her mouth open as her jaw went slack. “No. Vidonia would never—,”

“But she has!” Seraphina wailed, the figure's bonds of light tightening as her wail became a shrill roar. The peal shaking snow from the trees as she planted her forehead in the snow. “She has bound my girl to her. Katell has entered into her service—cutting me off. Enfeebling me...

“And this...” throwing her free hand behind her, she wheezed a shuddering breath as the golden ribbons sizzled upon her skin, “is what lied in wait.”

“Vidonia would never...” Ledora murmured again, gaze falling from the woman to the man backed by a bright presence that mimicked the sun.

Vidonia would never...

That upstart—that zealous monster.

Ledora shook her head, realization dawning.

Of course. Of course she'd force the girl into a Rite.

Vidonia craved power—like all the others, she craved absolute power. Like Seraphina...like myself and so many others...the other magebanes who gleefully infected themselves with the Blood...

She craves power. And because of my failure, Baate Noir will suffer. The entire world may suffer.

Narrowing her eyes, Ledora glared at the presence. Her one good eye ignoring the burning star that engulfed the figure before it. That attempted to blind her with its blazing glory.

The monsters will be free. Baate Noir will perish.

Her words came out low. As a guttural growl that frightened even her,“What have you done?”

THIRTY

One Day Later...

Kat sat upon a wing-back chair, pupils dilated. Vision blurred. A dark line ripped across the expanse of her neck, the scar closed. The dark line a testament to her ability. Her ability to work blood.

She heard a door slam shut. Heard swift heels click across the floorboards of Vidonia's chamber as Anais approached Vidonia. The tall sorceress seated in a similar chair to the right of Kat, elbows planted firmly upon her knees as she watched the girl work to replace the blood lost from her body during an earlier incident.

Kat fought to twist up her face at the thought—not an earlier incident—she corrected herself, the light-headed feeling ebbing in her foggy mind slowly slithering away—an earlier test.

“Anais,” Vidonia intoned, interlacing her fingers as her gaze moved from Kat's form, “I see you forgot to knock.”

Anais heaved a sigh, her blue gown from yesterday replaced with one of purple taffeta. “I have news from the Montbereau intermediary,” she breathed, chest rapidly rising and falling as if she'd sprinted to the councilwoman's chambers. “would you prefer I report now, Councilwoman?”

Unlike Elisedd, Vidonia had been an informative jailer. The shrewd councilwoman strict in the amount of knowledge she doled out to Katell, but giving nonetheless. Kat already understood the underlying purpose of the Montbereau Chaperon—Archmage Ledora had told her. The Chaperon's purpose was to bring a southern intermediary to meet with the Monarchy's right hand. Vidonia explained that, basically, it was to keep the peace. To make sure the Southern Reaches still sided with the Monarchy of the Rose and didn't plan on becoming an independent nation any time soon. Despite the fact that the Monarchy barely held a presence in the south, it depended upon the powerful hand of the Montbereau demesne to keep the south under the yoke of the Monarchy.

But the demesne has been steadily gaining a defiant attitude against the Monarchy and its northern colonies, as was the rest of the Southern Reaches. The southerners recklessly becoming bold and wild—out of control of the Monarchy—as they began calling for independence. For a state they could call their own, separate from a Monarchy many were convinced no longer existed past the Poudurac.

“And if this happens,” Vidonia explained a day earlier, the woman's tone condescending as if she were speaking to a child, “imagine what the northern colonies would do upon hearing that the south has suddenly attained freedom. Imagine what the Free Cities and those living upon the Landbridge would do. The Monarchy would appear weak and ripe for plundering—it would appear unprepared for a long and drawn out war that, honestly, the Rose could never hope to win...” Vidonia grinned wide, her smile like that of a cat as she flashed sharp white teeth, “...not without the help of the Sybil.”

Kat had made it clear that the Rose did absolutely nothing for the Southern Reaches. It only made sense that her countrymen wanted independence—and would it truly hurt the Monarchy to let go of the south? The Monarchy of the Rose held reign of the Champions, warriors famed for their prowess in monster hunting. And yet, despite employing this fabled guild of monster hunters, the Black Forest still sat untamed and untouched. Was it truly so bad that the south wanted nothing more to do with an authoritative presence that failed to hold its own?

“The southerners of the Reaches sit like geese in a field of fox dens, the people frightened but unable to flee because their homes are set there. In the midst of a sea of predators.” Kat remarked some hours ago, sweaty palms firmly pressed onto the sleek arms of her chair.

Kat remembered Vidonia shrugging, a blank look etched upon her porcelain features as she ripped the sharp edge of a stiletto across her own forearm. Dark blood sputtering out like a waterfall. “It is the way of our world.” Vidonia had told Kat as she raised her bleeding arm above a goblet of brazen silver, “If the Monarchy kindly dispatched a Champion every time a southerner breathed, 'witch', they'd leave the capital open and defenseless.

“And,” the woman smirked, ruby-red lips curling, “as you have seen for yourself, there are things infinitely more terrifying than witches.” Vidonia hissed, blood streaming into the goblet beneath her injured forearm, “Infinitely more.”

Vidonia's explanations ended there. When Kat brought up anything else of note, the Monarchy's opinion on the Sonant of Liberation or the Scyllah, Kat was met with harsh silence as the woman ignored her. Vidonia deciding that the interlacing of her gown, or the spread of her skirts were more important than answering Kat's questions. Vidonia told her that she knew enough, and that if she had anymore questions on, “Matters of ill-repute,” she could ask a highscale or any elf.

“Unfortunately, they avoid humans like the pox. So, luck to you.” the woman chirped.

Remembering Elisedd and Vidonia's confrontation, Kat brought up the Confrerie. Questions sparked in her mind as to the highscale and the councilwoman's earlier fight. It had seemed...strange. The councilwoman's choice of words were peculiar and confusing. Had Vidonia wanted Labassette destroyed? And what about the south? Was she trying to make Elisedd dispatch the Scyllah towards the Southern Reaches? Kat decided upon asking one question at a time, and a slick mention as to what the Confrerie was slipped her lips.

“You and Elisedd spoke about a 'Confrerie'...” Kat remembered herself murmuring before she was met with a jarring stare as one of Vidonia's eyebrows rose. The woman's look inquisitive as she took in the breadth of Kat's face.

“You'd do well to never mention that again.” Vidonia whispered faintly, her smirk carnal as her lips twisted. The cluttered room falling into a still silence as Vidonia fixed her glare upon Kat. Her olive eyes staring, challenging the girl until Kat dropped her gaze. Moving her eyes away, a chill fluttered down her spine as she bit her tongue.

Had she hit a nerve?

She resolved to ask Anais about the matter—but the shorter woman was constantly in and out of the chamber. Rushing to this place and that only to come back with arms weighed down with gowns. Beautiful things crafted with silk or patterned cotton, their cuts mystic and modern. Fashionable enough to make Kat's cousins equally jealous.

Maddy...Eva...

Kat wondered if she'd ever see the twins again.

If they even wanted to see her...after watching Jocelyn burn on a stake at her command.

Kat could still remember the stark smell of skin burning, the girl's flesh melting beneath the acrid lick of red flame. It made her shiver as her blood came rushing back, the sound a jarring roar that deafened her. That made her cling to the sleek arms of her chair as Vidonia drummed her fingers against her crossed knee.

“What is it?” Vidonia snapped, throwing a frustrated hand to the air. “I—,” pressing a hand to her forehead, she gasped lightly as her brow twisted sharply. “Katell.” the woman barked.

From the doorway, Anais yelped slightly before she clapped a hand over her gawking mouth and scuttled towards the women on the opposite side of the room. Stepping before the councilwoman, Anais turned and pressed her hands onto Kat's shoulders.

Doe-eyes were wide, her gaze resembling that of a frightened mouse. “You need to leave.” the shorter woman commanded, the tops of her breasts spilling from her tight bodice as she lifted Kat from her place in the chair and forced her to stand.

“But the Chaperon—I need to know—,”

Anais pressed a soft finger to Kat's lips. “I promise to tell you everything, dear. You won't miss a thing—but you need to leave. Just walk down the corridor outside, your room isn't far.”

Kat stood, frozen. Behind her, the councilwoman wheezed. Vidonia's bated breaths streaming out as pained hisses as the woman held her head of rubicund tresses in her hands.

“Leave—”

“Where am I going?” Kat snapped. “What's—what's wrong with—,”

“Third door on your left.” Anais' words came out in a stream, her tone quick and clipped as she ushered Kat towards the corridor and abruptly slammed the door in her face.

Stale wind slapped Kat across the face, the air mixing with Vidonia's deep moan. The grim groan long and low as Anais' heels clicked across the floorboards, her movements quick as Kat heard the shorter woman murmur with a warm and honeyed voice.

What was going on?

Kat felt the urge to stay. Felt the urge to defy Anais' wishes and listen—she was tired of being kept in the dark. But, while she was shamelessly curious, Kat realized that whatever was going on behind that closed door was—to some effect—none of her business. Whatever was going on with Vidonia was personal—the woman could have some sort of condition she'd like to keep secret from the world. Perhaps, she didn't want to be seen as weak? Kat lowered her head and shook it. Who was she to demand knowledge on every petty little thing? Who was she to stick her nose into the business of others?

Who was she?

Third door on your left, Anais had said.

Kat turned at the sound of another moan, this one melodious and prolonged as it slithered beneath the oaken door of Vidonia's chamber and sailed down the stony corridor. Pulling at the ruffled sleeves of her new gown, Kat found it annoying to slog through a mess of skirts and surcoat tails as she made her way down the corridor. The tiny hairs upon her neck rising at the sounds echoing from Vidonia's chambers. The moans sounded like a mixture between pain and pleasure—pain echoing down the corridor as a moan quickly ebbed into a scream.

Kat threw a sidelong gaze towards the door—what was going on?

But she ignored her gnawing curiosity as she found the room Anais had mentioned and brought her hand to the door's handle.

It opened easily, with a nudge and a push. The room was small. Less gaudy than Vidonia's chambers, but still worthy of awe according to Kat's standards. It was nothing like the little cabin she called home back in Montbereau. Though the room was tiny, it was still spacious with a single bed pushed against a wall of circular stones, a slim bookshelf sitting diagonally in a corner, and a brown vanity etched with otherworldly roses.

Still, Kat could not concentrate on the beauty of her new space as the moans died down outside. Though the corridor eventually gave itself to a wind sweeping silence, Kat could not put her curiosity to rest. Despite chastising herself for her shameless curiosity—she had to know if Vidonia was well. At the very least—she had to know if the woman had survived whatever had been ailing her.

That's commendable...right?

She couldn't shake the feeling that slaking her curiosity was wrong—but she was tired of constantly being in the dark.

Outside, a door slammed. Vidonia's, Kat assumed, as heels sprinted up the length of the corridor. Kat heard the heels stop—heard the sound hiccup as a heel clumsily missed the floor and clicked against the wall outside.

Throwing open her door, Kat found Anais leaning against the wall opposite. About a stone's throw away from Kat's new room.

The girl's skin resembled scrubbed parchment—white and leathery. Silver like a crowded sky.

Kat opened her mouth, ready to murmur Anais' name until the girl slid along the length of the wall before slumping towards the floor. Her thin body limp as a smear of red appeared upon the wall. Swallowing a cold breath, Kat bolted towards the shorter woman as she fell. Catching her by her back, Kat slid her arms towards the woman's limp legs and lifted her from the floor.

“Anais?” Kat whispered as she cradled her. “Anais, are you...?”

Blood rushed to the woman's face as her eyes remained closed. Scarlet bubbled from her throat in a thick gush of red, the blood sticking to Kat's cold hands as she held Anais. Blood dribbled to the floor, the trails of red washing Kat's hands as her eyes widened. Her heart lodging itself into her throat as she tried to swallow. As she tried to push the metallic smell of fresh blood away from her nostrils.

A whisper of warm air brushed her forehead, her cheeks. It coated her trembling fingers in sweat as a pair of heels clicked towards her.

Kat froze as hands slid beneath her own and stole Anais from her. Vidonia cradled the girl now. The woman who had been sick—whose wailing voice overtook the corridor and made Kat's hair stand on end.

Vidonia's color had returned, her features lithe and rich once more as pallid lips smiled. Their ruby color gone. “Gratitude for helping Anais, Katell.” she murmured, “You have my gratitude.” her grin did not meet her eyes as her gaze became soft. The wavering emotion in her eyes contrasting with the flash of her cat-like pupils. “Begone, now.” the woman commanded, her whisper an imposing force that compelled Kat to move. That compelled Kat to return to her own room. “Sleep, Katell. Sleep, and forget this nonsense.”

Kat's pupils widened as her lips moved to murmur Vidonia's whisper; to repeat Vidonia's command as her entire body stiffened. Her body reacting as her mind flooded with the whispered incantation. With the whispered spell.

Sleep and forget.

THIRTY-ONE

Ice spiked through Kat's veins as she struggled to open her eyes. A presence loomed over her, the specter swathed in shadow as it draped a film of pure cold over her.

A chill crept up her bare arms like slime, slithering up her limbs as hot beads of sweat broke over her forehead. Twisting her lips, her arms trembled as Kat tried to move them. As Kat tried to press her palms towards whatever was leaning over her—the presence touching her with it's licking tendrils of slime. Bathing her in ice-cold as it slithered up and down her skin.

She felt like she might vomit as the contents of her stomach lurched and rolled in her belly.

Sleep and forget.

Vidonia's voice fluttered in her mind as the presence continued to watch her and feel her. A soft palm swiped sweat from her forehead and Kat's eyes snapped open.

Anais.

A rush of cold pins kneaded beneath Kat's skin as she tried to move her lips in an attempt to open her mouth and speak the woman's name. But as Kat struggled, her body going numb—her limbs no longer her own, Anais smiled sweetly in the dim darkness. Red crept from an incision upon the right side of her slender neck as she lowered her face to meet Kat's eyes.

Kat's gaze locked with the incision. She saw tiny holes—injection marks.

Blood dribbled from the side of the woman's neck, scarlet trails running alongside the skin of Anais' throat until red fell. Dripping upon Kat's chemise. White stained by red.

Sleep and forget.

Kat's eyes trembled as they scanned, as they dove into the earth tinted brown of Anais' wide eyes and searched for answers. For a clue as to what was going on.

Why was Vidonia in her head?

What had she done?

Kat's eyes landed upon the injection marks once more, as Anais' brow furrowed.

“You saw.” she murmured, nodding to herself. “You saw.” the woman repeated, scanning Kat's eyes as she leaned ever closer. “I did not mean to...” she let her voice die as she peeled her gaze away, eyes falling to the red stain upon Kat's chemise, “...I shouldn't have...”

Please, Kat thought to Anais, eyes pleading, please—just let me go.

Anais fixed her gaze upon Kat's eyes, her face hard. Her pink lips pressed into a grim line. Anais' stopped leaning forward as her face hovered above Kat's. The woman breathed silently, the tip of her pointed nose almost brushing Kat's face as the woman stood transfixed. “You know what she is...” Anais nodded once more, eyes wavering as her voice ebbed into a low whisper, “...correct?”

If Kat could have shook her head and screamed—she would have emphasized no until she had a headache. But her body was not her own as she nervously stared into Anais' wavering gaze, the woman's brown eyes darkening as Kat responded with silence. Nervous, heart pounding, silence.

“It is good what she has done for you, yes. It is good.” Anais replied, swiping another palm across Kat's sweaty forehead as she pulled her own face back. “You can protect yourself well with blood work. But against her...because of the Rite...” Anais shook her head, moving away from Kat's bed as she paced with a hand to her chin. “...she attempted to replace me tonight. She thought she could drink every ounce of me, but—”

Anais shook her head once more as she spun upon her heel, gown whirling. “—I ran. Like a coward—I ran...I never—!” Anais paused, standing near the edge of Kat's bed as she hovered. Kat looked on, terror etching her face as cold pins raced up and down her arms. The chill bringing up pimply gooseflesh. “—I never intended you to...I intended to warn you, Katell. I intended to—,” slapping her hands upon the bed, Anais glowered at Kat. Harsh brown eyes narrowing into slits as she glared. “She plans to use you as she has used me.” her whisper was harsh, clipped. “She plans to replace me. Do you understand, magebane? Drinking you will grant her a tenth of your power—if you replace me, she will be able to control the Blood—do you understand?”

Of course, she didn't. Vidonia could drink people?

Kat did not understand. Visions of the hetaera came to mind, but those creatures only drank blood from what she knew.

From what she knew. Which wasn't much—her knowledge about humanoid beasts. For all she knew, her information could be wrong. Old. Dated.

She knew next to nothing.

Was Vidonia a hetaera?

As if reading Kat's mind, Anais slammed her hands into her hair and hissed hot air through her clenched teeth. “Damn your lack of knowledge! Your lack of comprehension! Damn your southern ties—how have you survived in the reaches for so long knowing you could work blood?!”

Anais didn't wait for an answer as Kat's eyes widened at the woman's sudden burst of red-hot rage. “I will not allow her to replace me.” Anais spat out, a pale hand rolling through her hair as she set her eyes upon Kat once more. “This is all you need to know.”

Bringing a cold hand to Kat's sweaty forehead, Anais closed her eyes. Pink lips moved, murmuring in a language Kat could not understand as Kat's eyelids dropped. Her eyes suddenly heavy as Anais' lyrical language spilled over her like a glacial tide. Chilling her to the bone. Freezing her in a silent gust of snow and winter. Kat's worries drifted away in a whisper, as did her fear for what Anais was doing to her and why.

Why was Anais doing this?

The question brought Kat back in an instant—in a surge of fear and fright.

“This is for your own protection,” the woman told her, doe-eyes closed as a circle of electric blue mist welled up around her planted hand. Surrounding it. “I will tell her you have left, but for your own protection...”

A crash of darkness blinded Kat, Anais' chill remaining as it surged around her.

I am sorry, sweet one.

THIRTY-TWO

A hard wall of wood slapped her cheek as the side of her head thwacked into a harsh wooden surface. She splayed her hands to either sides of her, elbows bending as her palms flattened against rough wood. Kat woke, eyelids fluttering an enchanted sleep away, as she kneeled within the tight confines of a rocking crate.

The chill was gone—as was Anais' presence. Both were replaced with an atmosphere of bleak cold as if she were treading through a blinding blizzard by starlight.

Beneath her—outside and around her—a river raged as her breath streamed out of her flaring nostrils as harsh white mist.

Why had Anais done this?

Of the two sorceresses—Kat liked Vidonia least. The councilwoman had seemed the most apt to force Kat to do her bidding, be it against Kat's will or not. Anais had been the most compliant, the one welcoming presence that had been somewhat kind to her. That led her to believe she'd do no harm and that she'd even be Kat's bulwark when Vidonia pressured her too much or pressed her too hard.

But it was Anais—Anais who betrayed her. Who knocked her out and plucked her into a box.

Was she rushing down a river?

The watery roar outside screamed yes, rollicking waters slamming themselves into the sides of her crate as the planks beneath her feet wobbled and wove through the thrashing current.

The box dipped beneath the cold waves as the white water rushing by its sides pushed and pulled at it. Kat's ears popped as she held her breath. Water surged between the crate's wet planks as she pressed her palms upon the planks above her. Heart throbbing within her chest as icy water began to bite at her toes and fingers, she gasped as the river lifted the crate towards its surface. The box violently heaving through the water, resurfacing before bobbing up and down as the river continued to surge, continued to push her forward.

Kat felt her stomach lurch as she righted herself with two hands pressed onto either sides of the crate. Felt her hands lose their grip upon either sides of the surrounding planks as water crept through the soaked wood of the crate's rugged bottom. Ice water brushed against her bare feet, biting at her toes, as it dampened the edges of her chemise.

Squatting as the box careened upon its side, Kat fought to find a foot hold—to find her balance and find a way out this thing—as water continued to creep. Continued to glaze her in an icy chill as she scrambled to find her footing once again.

If things continued like this, she'd end up rolling into the sea. She'd either drown or die of starvation before she went too far out.

Unless a night-stalker fished her out and dined on her instead.

At that thought, she shivered as she pressed upon either sides of the crate. As the river surged beneath her, she fell to her side with a thump. Placing all of her weight upon the right side of the box, she felt the thing lurch and groan as it rolled to its right. Effectively forcing her to lose her foothold once more as her foothold became a wall and the wall to her right tumbled down. Kat tumbling with it, grunting as she forced herself to close her eyes. Balling her body up, she hugged her knees into her chest as the box righted itself upon the churning waves. Her breath came in pulsating streams. She could feel her body trembling as more water spurted from the cracks between the rotted wood boards.

She needed to get out of here.

But how?

Why had Anais done this?

For the second time in her adult life—she wanted to cry. She wanted to break down and let the tears come. She wanted to give up.

But she had lives to save and reputations to fix. She couldn't let her life go to the river before she saved Alan from taking the fall for her mistake—she couldn't let Horace's reputation fall to ruin because of her insubordination.

She couldn't die without apologizing to Eva—or hugging Maddy. No—she had too many things to set right. She couldn't die here.

She needed to get out.

Now was not the time for tears.

Rearing back her fist, she threw a punch at the crate's thin wall and cursed.

A circle lit up upon the water soured planks, electric blue lines spinning as foreign lettering came to life around her fist.

Kat couldn't read it, but knew a spell when she saw one.

She cursed as she brought her fist back, her knuckles raw and throbbing, as she braced it against her chest. She'd need to use magic—the Power. She'd need to strip her blood of its crux to get out of this damned thing. But she wasn't sure how to work blood against the spinning circle. Vidonia had only taught her how to fix her own body with blood work, or the bodies of others. She hadn't taught her how to use it to break spells or wards. She hadn't taught her how to fight with it.

Pressing her fingers to her throat, she felt for the scar Anais' stiletto had left as raging waters stormed outside. Kat remembered blood flowing, scarlet staining her skin as her heart pumped and blood raced up through her throat as vomit. She remembered Vidonia's curt guidance, remembered Vidonia telling her to focus on the smell...the sound of her blood. She told her to focus on the color.

And in a moment of intense clarity, the wound healed up.

But when she supposedly teleported the archmage away—she hadn't injured herself doing that. When she levitated—when fear screamed through her ears and rushing blood made her light-headed—she hadn't injured herself doing that either.

Did she have to cut herself to activate the Power? Did she have to feel intense fear?

The crate careened with the push of an angry tide, throwing her head towards its back wall as it tumbled over in the tumult. The crate groaned as Kat's head connected with its planks with a thump. She felt her neck pop with a jaw smacking snap as her vision blurred, bright lights exploding above her as all she saw were stars

She shook the vision away, ignoring the angry throbbing of her head as she brought her gaze towards the top of the crate. Pressing both palms to the wooden surface above her, Kat focused on the rush of blood in her ears. She saw red—focused on its curling tendrils—and thought to consult the Night Lady. Thought to call out to her mother before the river swallowed her whole, but remembered her words.

I give you my power.

Biting her cheek—she focused, concentrated. Felt her head throb and ache as she pressed her palms into the surface of the box harder—her heart racing as water swirled and died beneath her. Icy slush bit at her back, water dribbling through the cracks of the crate's planks. Icy slush submerging her up to her waist as she squatted. Brow knotting up as she focused on the surge of blood through her ears.

I give you my power.

She bit her cheek—gasped at the impact of a rock slamming into the bottom of the crate. Arching her back, she felt a jolt of warm Power electrify her arm as it shot through her. The Power splaying through her palm only to ricochet off of the box's wooden surface. The circle recanting, coming to life again in a surge of electric blue mist.

“Fuck.”

Kat would need to do something more—she'd need to do something drastic.

She'd need to draw her own blood.

Kat bit her cheek—hard—as the entire box wobbled in the jolting push and pull of a raging tide. The resulting force knocked her head from side to side as she struggled to keep her foothold, but she continued concentrating on her hands. Biting her cheek harder and harder until she winced at a sudden spurt of blood. The liquid metallic in her mouth. Warm.

With a heave, she spat it upon her hands. Watched the circle light up once more only for the mist to fade away and a blazing heat to explode from the palms of her flattened hands. Kat shrieked as the surface of the box melted away—splintering into a million tiny pinpricks of wood as the night sky burst forth. Sparkling stars winking as she stood and jumped into the raging river before her.

THIRTY-THREE

Kat threw herself upon the riverbank. Her chemise soaked through, the cottony fabric sticking to her skin as her limbs trembled and convulsed. Overhead, a sultry wind blew a chilling combination of metallic scents fused with the spoiled stench of rotten meat. The cold air above laced with the water dripping upon her skin, making her shiver. Making her feel the midnight chill as she rested her cheek upon the dense soil of the riverbank and sighed.

Swimming certainly hadn't been her best idea—but she had been determined to get out of that damned crate. So determined, that she completely ignored the fact that it was winter. And, even though it didn't snow past the black forest, the winter winds still raged. Ravaging all, no matter their place upon the border. Winter and wet clothes did not mix. Chilled gusts of wind would rip through her soaked chemise as if she were wearing a gown of ice. It would be better to wander naked, she told herself as she shivered.

Already, her mind was becoming bogged down with an impenetrable fog that made clear thought a jaw clenching chore. Shivering violently upon the riverbank, something told her to drop her wet clothes and sleep. Something told her to curl up upon the riverbank and wait for the sun. For its warmth.

Her breath came in slow shudders, white steam wheezing through her open mouth, as she turned her thoughts towards survival. Towards braving this wintry tundra—or, at the very least, this night.

A thin collection of chalk-white trees surrounded her, their threadlike trunks peppering the frozen soil of the black riverbank like spindly locks upon a sage's wizened head. Past the trees, muttered a bulwark of impenetrable shadow that spread out for miles—at least, as far as she could see without moving her aching neck.

Somewhere in that darkness, a pair of bare feet pattered upon the soil. Dashing. Zigzagging through the darkness as a whirlwind of whispers trailed after it. Soft voices going wild as the wind picked up, the air carrying that stomach turning stench again. The stench of meat gone bad—a carcass.

Something was feeding out there.

Kat groaned, slapping her forehead into the frozen soil beneath her.

She had fucked up.

Pressing her palms into the dirt, Kat grunted as she forced her frozen fingers to move. Pins and needles pulsing through her veins as a thousand tiny pinpricks stabbed beneath the skin of her hands and arms. Shutting her eyes, she brought herself to her knees as the sound of bare feet came whooshing by again. The sound originating from the shadows some ways away from her, but close enough to make her flesh prickle up with tiny bumps. Shoving herself to standing, Kat wobbled towards her right. Her legs moving under her as if she were still being pushed by that river, her balance returning only to disappear once more as she fell to the ground and caught herself with a cold hand.

From the shadows, a voice whispered. The sound like metal screeching upon stone.

She needed to build a fire, she decided as the voice petered out. The whisper dying on a cold breath of wind.

She needed to build a fire and climb a tree if she wanted to survive this night.

Afterwards, she wasn't sure what she'd do. Anais had wanted her gone—not dead. Perhaps Kat would backtrack for home, searching for the Chaperon all the while.

Perhaps she'd find her mother. Perhaps she'd see Bertrand and the others on the way.

They're dead—remember? Gone. Frozen in the snow. Kat blinked before shoving herself to standing once more, her eyes on the chalk-white trees and their low hanging branches.

Trudging upon the frozen soil, she approached a thin tree and yanked a handful of branches from its pale face. Throwing the white wood to the ground, she picked up a stick and arranged her pile into a pyramid of dead wood. The stick in her hand sat as king, at the very top of the pyramid, before she began rubbing the wood between her hands. Sparks flew. Smoke sputtered. But no fire came.

And as if things couldn't get any worse, it began to rain.

Kat cursed, snarling as her eyelids became heavy and the shivering of her body paused. She no longer felt the cold as her skin became clammy and pallid. Wind whipped by her ears as a gentle midnight rain roared overhead. The slight drizzle growing into a downpour, as whispers protruded from the darkness. Followed by guttural growls that made her think of Vidonia as Kat rubbed her hands together harder—her skin burning as rain began to soak the wood beneath her.

She'd have to give up on that fire.

Throwing the sticks to the ground, she turned towards the noise at her back.

“Come, then.” she told the voices, arms splayed. Fingers wide. “There's no point in hiding.”

Whispers. Arguments. Hisses and high-pitched voices wreathed and danced through the shadowy wood before her as up above, the dark sky bled scarlet.

“Come!” she called—almost screaming as voices danced.

Wraiths cloaked in translucent shadow fled from the darkness. Two, Kat counted, the translucent beings approaching her from either side as they raised gangly hands beneath the ethereal fabric of their blackened cloaks. They spirited themselves towards her like stygian ghosts, pitted eye sockets glowing a ghoulish white as the creatures operated in sync. Raising gangly hands as their black nail beds sprouted yellowed talons. The weapons reaching towards the frozen soil only to stop inches from the dirt.

The creatures froze, coming within arms distance only to stop.

Kat felt her heart slow. Felt her pulse die beneath her skin.

They were afraid.

Kat still had blood on her hands—her own.

She felt compelled. Wanted to fall to her knees and let the beasts have at her, but her face twisted as they watched her with those eerie glowing sockets. Their hands frozen, their translucent cloaks breathing as a trail of swirling shadow waved beneath their floating bodies.

Do something, she thought at them. Brow knotted. Do something.

“She can help. She can help us.” one murmured, its voice a miasma of whispers. Thousands of voices merging into one.

“You can help. You can help us.” the other replied, moving forward. Stretching out its hand as it reached to touch her.

“Our homes burn. Our kin. Our brothers.”

“Bright lights lurk in darkness. Where they ought not.”

“You can help. You can help us.”

THIRTY-FOUR

It faded to a sea of flickering auburn overnight. The forest, the leaves, everything.

Baate Noir was sparkling—brilliantly so.

The black forest was bright—brighter than Montbereau had ever seen.

And Maddy was the first to step towards the forest as a silent crowd beckoned her forward with wide wavering gazes. Her grandmother had disappeared, her twin sister had given up her mortal coil and both of her older cousins were presumed dead—what did she have to lose? Stepping into this forest—into this glittering sea of red washed gold—what more did she have to lose?

Maddy was alone in this world now. Stuck within a dilapidated cabin on the edge of Montbereau for months ever since the disappearance of her last tie to this realm. Her Gran—oh, their Gran—had simply disappeared upon hearing the retched news about Horace and Katell. Maddy remembered how hungrily she awaited news upon the Chaperon after the death of Eva. The safe passage of Katell and Horace past the Poudurac was all she lived for after the ordeal with Jocelyn and Eva. And Gran—Gran had quickly become a lifeless shell constantly cursing herself for not coming out to see Katell off. She could have stopped Eva—she could have stopped the girl from throwing herself to the flame.

Could have.

Maddy shook the thoughts away for happier memories. She always reminded the older woman that Katell and Horace would be back with food and furs. They'd be back and their home wouldn't feel so empty anymore.

But Maddy was wrong. Katell was the first to be reported missing, presumed dead. Horace had been the second.

And the old woman wept quiet tears of silver. The next day, her pallet would be empty and the cabin would be cold.

Maddy had nothing to lose. The world had taken everything—and given her this. Hope.

Watching Baate Noir change, watching the black forest blanch gold overnight had filled her with hope. Had filled the waning hole within her chest that her absent family of patchwork cousins and single sibling had left upon their deaths and disappearances.

Though the Southern Reaches were moored within the doldrums of winter, a nightingale had chirped to life by the dusty wooden lip of her shaded window. Though snow had fallen the night before and froze the dirt beneath it, a blazing sun tore through the wreathing curtains of midnight and washed everything in a golden warmth that forced her to shrug off her deceased sibling's capote and venture out of her lonely cabin on Montbereau's woody fringe.

A miracle had happened. A hiccup of nature. This was not right—the sun pouring through the night, the black forest fading gold—this was not right. And even though her gut told her to stay inside and cower, even though her head told her she was a lean-witted numskull for venturing out into this strange occurrence—she had to follow her heart. She had to hope.

Maddy had to smile again.

And beneath the warmth of the midnight sun, she had. Finally, she had.

Her curse is broken. The Night Lady stalks no more, something told her.

Could it be true? Were the Southern Reaches finally free from that creature's curse of eternal winter? Would the black forest's horde of monsters finally die off? Would the Poudurac finally be safe?

Could Katell be out there? Horace?

And Gran—what of her? Maddy refused—refused—to believe that the old woman was dead.

Could she be the cause of this?

The denizens of Montbereau followed Maddy's lead slowly, the people tiptoeing from their sunlit homes in nothing but night-tails and chemises. It was warm enough, the air welcoming enough for the people to finally shed their winter wear and dress as the northerners do. Winter was over, and the dark frock that the Night Lady had cast over the whole of their forest had finally been lifted.

But by whom?

It frightened Maddy to find out, to venture into this unknown territory of gold and auburn in search of whatever presence had finally freed them. But she had to look—she had to leave—to go elsewhere. As what was left of her family wasted away, her ties to Montbereau outright ceasing—corroding as if years of wear had eaten at them—Maddy had to leave. To save her own life, she had to go elsewhere and start anew.

Perhaps the presence that cleansed the forest of its curse could help her. Could strengthen her and cure her of her sadness.

Perhaps it could help her forget.

Maddy stepped forward as wayward eyes prodded at her back. With her gaze to the gold washed leaves above, auburn foliage crunched beneath her tentative steps. Moth eaten slippers provided no protection against the prickling of fallen leaves and stygian branches that littered the ground, black foliage peppering the fallen leaves as if the forest had simply shrugged off its cloak of cursed blackness for a new coat. One of gold washed auburn laced with a bold blaze of flame.

Where the stunted branches of dead stygian trees once arched, their crooked branches reaching towards the pine trees of Montbereau like the sharp talons of a wicked hetaera, stood impressive oak trunks as brown as well watered earth. Amidst a shower of auburn tinted leaves, popped the green heads of new foliage. Of new life.

Green.

Maddy stopped. Frozen. Mouth agape.

Green.

As a child she had seen it—green grass poking up through the snow. Green petals upon one of Jocelyn's red painted roses. Gowns drowned in vats of dye, only to resurface from the murky waters with threads dyed light green.

Green.

Maddy turned her head, moving her body a quarter of the way towards the gathering crowd standing silent at her back. Her mouth was a sliver as it hung slightly open, her palms raising as her shoulders rose in a half-hearted shrug. Hundreds of faces mirrored her own, their eyes locked with the sprouting heads of green hanging from this branch, or another. A child whooped a shout. A babe cried.

Had their eternal winter truly ended?

What defeated her? What defeated the Night Lady?

Maddy's jaw tensed as she turned her gaze back towards the forest. Steeling herself, Maddy began to creep farther. Determination knotted her brow as she willed herself to be like her cousin, to be strong and fearless like Katell.

What defeated the Night Lady?

A presence infinitely more powerful—more deadly.

Maddy would have to see it for herself—she'd be the first to beseech it. To fall to her knees and beg for its mercy. Beg that it wouldn't become like Her—the Night Lady.

She'd beg that the forest's power wouldn't consume and corrupt it as her Gran had done before her, to the Night Lady when the presence was in its infancy. But, Baate Noir's power was absolute and intoxicating—deafeningly so. And absolute power corrupts absolutely, this the entire village of Montbereau knew.

But, nonetheless, Maddy plunged into the newly minted sea of auburn. She plunged, pushing back branches that smacked her face and scratched at her skin beneath the thin fabric of her white chemise. She plunged, hoping to beseech this new presence.

And Baate Noir came to life around her. The lingering presence of heavy fog that once littered the forest had dissipated, the blood thirsty monsters which thrived beneath that white mist gone. Hope willed Maddy to press on, her wide eyes flicking towards the gentlest twitches of movement in the newly greened brush.

She saw fluffy gray tails instead of the stark tails of direwolves. She saw birds—blue and yellow, hopping. Perching upon one branch only to flit to another as squirrels danced through the brush below, scampering over her feet as Maddy crept on towards Baate Noir's heart. It felt as if the forest had suddenly shrunk in its newfound splendor. As if the absence of black eyed wolves and leather skinned night-stalkers had suddenly caused the forest to roll itself up into a ball of trees and wildlife.

The farther she went, the hotter Baate Noir became. From the heat alone, Maddy began to sweat. Began to wonder about stripping off her chemise because of the sweltering heat.

Casting a glance around the auburn wood once again as she stalked towards its center, she began to wonder if this was all a dream. What if this was all just a night terror waiting to happen? What if the presence was simply something darker—something more evil than the accursed Night Lady? What if it was lying in wait—or pressuring her, and her alone, to come towards its center so it could take her life?

With a frown, Maddy felt her heart ache. For some reason, she welcomed death. Or life. Or anything, really. Without her family—without Eva and Gran...Horace and Katell—she had nothing to live for, nothing to tie her to this realm. Maddy was ready for a change, however painful it might be, she was ready.

Before her, a tendril of light grew from the center of the forest. The bright arm acting as a shadow as it stretched upon the auburn washed foliage beneath her slippers. The wood brightened. Everything seemed to be glowing as if it were planted beneath a flickering torchlight.

And in the brightness of the wood, amidst the crystalline notes of chirping nightingales and the rustling of green brush as strange animals scuttled to and fro, something alarmed her greatly. Caused her heart to slam into the cage of her ribs and her body to shrink as she tried to hide herself. Tried to make herself small.

An orb sat within Baate Noir's heart, bright and burning. Lit like the sun itself.

An orb fostering a blackened silhouette, a single body.

Maddy thought to turn around—to do as the tiny animals were doing and run. But before she could blink—could wheeze out a shattered gasp at the presence as it stood, blackened arms rising towards the crowded sky above, a hand slithered over her mouth. Another over her eyes, blinding her with its leathery skin before forcing her to the ground with all of its might.

When her back hit the foliage peppered ground, a feminine voice told her to shush. Told her to be calm.

Before she felt her blood boil, felt her energy leaving her as a hand pressed firmly upon her abdomen.

And all at once, life left Maddy with a flutter of twitching eyelids and a gasp.

THIRTY-FIVE

The sun rose quicker than it ought, shoving away the bloody amalgam of first light to set the sky ablaze.

Katell froze as the wraiths cowered, palms smacked together above their shadowy heads as the sudden sunlight bore at them, burning them away like shadows lacking a solid, human, form.

They hissed at her, their gangly arms flattened against the crowns of their heads as the sun's sudden rays continued to bore, continued to rip the creatures to shreds with its golden gaze.

Smacking her hands to her eyes, Katell dropped to her knees as the wraiths screeched in unison. Their voices like tiny silver needles assaulting the outermost skin of her ears. Sunlight raked at her skin as well, burning away the chill of the slush bloated river while creating a dull ache in her head that grew intermittently; the aching feeling booming like carefully slammed drums in her head. It followed the piercing pulse of her heart as the wraiths before her began to sizzle and spit, the sun cooking them—burning their shadowy forms out of existence as she forced the heels of her palms into her eye sockets.

Kat no longer shivered, her body convulsing out of fear instead of the cold. Heat pervaded her, making her sweat as she clenched her jaw and felt her tongue connect with the cottony roof of her mouth.

And within minutes, they were gone. The wraiths, their shadowy presences—gone. As easily as a breath of passing wind.

Kat felt her heart hammer. Felt her pulse slow as the sun continued to hover overhead.

Hadn't it been night? She wondered to herself as she brought her hands away from her eyes and placed one above her forehead. Using her fingers and palm as a visor, she pressed her opposite hand to the dirt. It crunched beneath her, the once frozen land now felt dry and papery. As if the earth beneath her had been zapped of its water, the dirt slowly becoming a sea of sand as the sun continued to bore over it.

This isn't right.

The sudden sunlight—the wraiths dissipating...they wouldn't have risked their lives to approach me...they would have carefully calculated when the sun would rise so they could avoid it...

None of this—none of this makes sense.

Blackened bursts of dark earth lay where the wraiths once hovered, their bodies gone. Their miasmic voices derelict. Kat stood, eyeing the white stretch of trees on the river's edge.

What had they wanted?

“Bright lights lurk in darkness. Where they ought not.”

Is this what the wraiths meant? The sudden coming of the sun during daybreak? Where had they meant to take me?

How could I have helped?

Turning her gaze from the blackened spots, she brought her eyes over her shoulder. Past the raging river behind her, stood the faraway figure of Labassette etched against a bleeding sky upon a yellowed field of dead grass. The crate Anais had boxed her in hours before was long gone now, the box anxiously splintered by Katell's bloodwork.

I can touch the Power's crux. Kat reminded herself, turning her gaze away to bring her free hand to her face. Opening her hand, she crooked her fingers inwards. Moving them as if seeing and feeling them for the first time. I can touch the Power's crux!

Witch.

I am a—

Dropping her hand, she spat upon the burnt dirt and forced herself to begin walking the length of the river.

They'll burn you—you can't go back. Your only hope is the—

Kat shook her head, willing her mind to heart throbbing silence. She knew what she was—magebane—since being forced to work her own blood with Vidonia. Kat knew what she was—but hadn't come to terms with it. Not yet. Had her mother truly been one and the same? The archmage as well? Now that the archmage had disappeared and her mother was more monster than human—was she the last of those who could pull Power from blood? Was she the last of the magebanes?

What had Vidonia planned to do to her?

Anais had mentioned that Vidonia planned to replace her with Kat—had mentioned that Vidonia could...drink people.

And all Kat could think of were hetaera—but could Vidonia be something else? Something that could not only siphon the Power from others, but siphon their life-force as well?

Anais had blood trailing down her neck...

Kat had to go back—had to get to Labassette before the Chaperon did. Anais had had news on the Chaperon and its emissary—could they finally be close? Could she save Alan's life and Horace's reputation?

But that woman had sent you barreling down the river in a box. She shook the thought away.

What if it was already too late?

That thought stopped her cold. Made her heart lodge itself within her rapidly drying throat.

What if it was already too late?

Kat felt the sun bore on her, felt heated rays burn her skin.

She could have demanded the true whereabouts of her mother—she could have avoided all of this if she simply hadn't followed Elisedd's last request. If she had gotten up and walked away—she could have gotten to the Capital of the White Rose by herself. She could have hailed a Champion and tracked the woman—she would have found a way. As a shieldmaiden—as a woman of the Montbereau Guard—she could have found a way, but she allowed people to pull her this way and that because she didn't know the terrain. Because she'd never been this far north and she felt unsure of herself. Unsure and uncertain. She felt fearful. More fearful than she had ever been.

Politicking—using her head instead of her shield and ax—made her tongue turn to cotton in her mouth. Learning she possessed magical abilities—that she could not only work the Power, but could work blood as well—made her veins turn to ice.

I have been afraid of myself. Kat realized, her eyes glassy and wide as she hung her head.

And I am a coward—the worst kind of coward.

And so she followed Vidonia and Anais. She allowed them to take charge of her and decide where her life would lead in the hopes that she could control this curse—this magic.

But no longer.

The Montbereau Chaperon was somewhere out here—close to the Poudurac. Close to the crumbling chateau beyond the river at her side. Clenching her jaw, she ignored the beating rays of the daybreak sun overhead and forced herself to continue along the treeline.

She'd rejoin her brothers, and warn them of Vidonia and her powers. She'd warn them of dragons and elves and strange occurrences in the sky. She'd give herself up as a witch—cursed with the talent of bloodwork, magebane.

Perhaps they'd give her to the wood when this was all over. Perhaps they'd allow her to prowl Baate Noir for the rest of her days.

Perhaps.

Or, as punishment, they'd burn her and no one would speak up in her aid because she had abandoned her brothers on a whim. In the hopes of saving another only to watch all of her brothers die.

In the distance, upon the dry dirt of the riverbank, she saw a feminine silhouette accompanied by a glimmer of silver.

A sword.

THIRTY-SIX

“I saved you from the presence in the orb, and this is what you do?!” snapped Ledora as she swatted at a leathery hand pressed against the abdomen of a heart-faced young woman. “Why her? Why this one? Why siphon the force of a child?!”

Ledora crouched in the brush gone green overnight as she patronized the papery white cadaver laying prostrate before her. With her head of platinum hair cocked, she slid her gaze sideways as she felt her bad eye droop. It was a feeling she hadn't felt for almost ten years now—her bad eye moving. Looking this way and that as tiny animals flew overhead or scuttled beneath the brush of the newly autumnal forest.

“Answer, Sera—go on. I'm letting you.” Though no presence crouched beside her, Ledora's gaze continued staring sidelong. It seemed as if she spoke to a specter.

“She is kin.” A similar voice responded, Ledora's lips moving as if she were a puppet operated by a cruel puppetmaster. “We are powerless if I continue to act upon you as a parasite, Ledora. I must siphon blood from somewhere.”

Ledora's good eye blinked, the iris cloudy as a single eyebrow arched sharply downwards. “And you take the life-force of a child, hm? Kin or no—you said an older woman lived here, yes? Could you not wait for her to come snooping by?”

It was always strange when an apparition took hold of its host, no matter how many times Ledora allowed the Night Lady into her body as a foreign soul, Ledora could never get used to the feeling of the spirit taking over. Ice graced her skin, followed by the slimy touch of humid breath upon her face and neck. Ledora shivered as she felt the Night Lady's thoughts, the spirit's murmured words like coagulated blood dribbling through her earlobes as the Lady took hold. The spirit forcing Ledora to become a passenger in her own body as the Night Lady took the reigns.

The spirit's presence was pure ire, her soul black as night as it attempted to merge with Ledora's own. Twice Ledora tried opening her body as a vessel that could carry the both of them, and twice the Night Lady had attempted to kick Ledora out of her own form. As the Lady lingered, her soul gradually dissipating into something less terrifying and less powerful, her soul had become nothing more than a leech upon Ledora's own body. Siphoning the archmage's Power and blood as the Lady fought to become one with Ledora.

It would be strange being a dual-soul, but it had been done before—plenty of times, Ledora reminded herself. The Lady—Sera—would just need to have patience and cease trying to take complete control.

But Ledora knew her old friend knew better than that. Like all sorceresses of the Sybil, she craved power. Hungered for it in all of its forms. Ledora would need to be careful if she planned to share her body with the soul of Seraphina. The late High Sorceress hadn't been dubbed the “Night Lady” by the southerners for nothing.

Ledora felt her hands move against her will as Sera pressed Ledora's fingertips against the young lady's eyes. Forcing the young woman's eyelids down, Ledora felt herself sigh and hang her head. “You are weak.” Ledora heard herself spit. “Your guilt tastes like bile. Why do you feel in such a way? We are all born to die—why feel so guilty for this child?”

In her soul, Ledora felt anger as Seraphina chastised her. Taking hold of her own body once more, Ledora snatched her hands away from the cadaver and gritted her teeth as acidic bile rushed up her throat like a geyser. “Perhaps it is not I who feels guilt, Sera. Perhaps it is you—stealing the life-force of your kin. Perhaps it is you who is weak, no?”

Ledora felt Seraphina's soul slam into her own—like steel shields clashing, ramming up against each other with a crack of steel upon steel. She felt the slam ricochet up her spine with a twang. The slam hard enough to make her dizzy, her vision splitting into two as her bad eye moved and her right hand forced itself into the foliage beneath her. The mindful limb pushing her up from the cadaver, from the young woman laying prostrate upon a bed of gold.

The presence enveloped in the burning orb still stood in the clearing, watching. Waiting.

What does it plan to do?

As if reading Ledora's mind, Seraphina slipped her way inside the woman's mortal form once more. Taking hold of her body as she forced Ledora to become a passenger. “My domain has come to ruin—don't you see, Ledora? Baate Noir no longer describes my wood, my forest. It taunts me—having dethroned me only to do away with winter. Only to do away with the only season that kept the beasts and monsters at bay. Don't you see, Ledora? It seeks to rule this world by ending it!”

And? Ledora murmured within herself, a passenger still as she felt her body lurch forward towards the presence. Towards the man engulfed in sun. It almost took you away once. What do you plan to do? We are both weakened, Sera. We are nothing more than mortals against it—and you, you are no longer a god.

Ledora felt herself smile, felt her lips twist crookedly. “There is another. Past the Poudurac—there is another. And I shall contact the Confrerie to get to her.”

THIRTY-SEVEN

Flattening herself against the dry dirt, Katell's eyes watered as a horde of surging bodies broke free from the thin forest of chalky-white trees. Stampeding steps kicked up dust and debris into a brown cloud of noxious fog as the ground itself seemed to shiver and quake beneath the multitude of charging footsteps. Raking her nails through the dirt, Katell forced her palms into the earth in an effort to push herself up—only for her body to be flattened back into the dirt by the weight of another as an iron chest plate rammed into the arch of Katell's spine.

Opening her mouth to cry out, a hand encased in blackened leather moved to silence her as the figure's opposite hand moved to slam her face into the dirt beneath her as the surging of bodies continued. The stampeding of an army, Kat guessed as her heart hiccuped. A scourge of people advancing at a breakneck pace like the streaming of blood from a newly opened vein.

Kat fought the urge to spit.

“What're you doing out here?” The figure straddled Kat as the surging of heavy boots upon crackling dirt erupted into whooping war cries that woke the other side of the river. “I saw you leave—with her! You both...disappeared!”

Kat gasped beneath the figure's weight as the chest plate moved from her spine, the woman rolling over as the charging force from Kat's left became a trickle of rushing footsteps accompanied by hollered cries. As the brown fog cleared, Kat caught a glimpse of smoke tinted scale mail and amber scarves. High above a thick fume of dust rose a steel pole bearing the telltale symbol of Montbereau's duke, followed by the demesne's Sonant of Liberation sigil; a sun burst accompanied by a dove clutching the thorny stem of a headless rose. Kat fought the urge to hold her head in her hands as dirt scuffed her elbows raw. Her eyes locked with the sun burst, her mouth agape.

“Is this what the Chaperon has come to?” she heard herself speak, her voice bubbling forth without her approval.

The sun burst affirmed it—the sigil of Montbereau as a whole, not just their leader. As did the sigil of the Sonants of the Southern Reaches.

Turning her gaze from the stragglers, her eyes locked with the surmountable force that had already crossed the river. A storm cloud of people wielding a plethora of weapons, from pike headed spears to towering shields of dinged metal thick with layers of dried grime.

In the darkening cloud of well armored Sonants, she caught no sign of her brothers or their sigil—a shield upon a thatch of white snow. Montbereau's guardsmen were no where to be found within that crowd, but Katell simply ascribed that to how slow moving Horace and the others would have to be with four riderless horses.

A harsh hand grasped her shoulder as strong fingers dug into the cords of her muscle. Kat snapped her gaze from the flow of soldiers and into the verdant eyes of Dechamps as the Vanguard hovered over her. The woman's sour mouth twisted with frustration and scorn. “How are you here?” the woman hissed.

Jerking her shoulder away, Katell scrambled to stand tall. Brushing dirt and dust from the mangled fabric of her thin chemise, Kat snapped an equally scornful gaze upon the taller woman. “I could ask the same of you, northerner.” she spat, crossing her arms upon her chest.

Kat felt a fire breathe to life within her chest as she stared Dechamps down, the taller woman's thin face twisting as color escaped beneath the pallid texture of her rough skin. Behind the scowling woman, the gathered men and women of the Sonant of Liberation continued to advance. The large force charging towards Labassette with enough war charged cries to wake the gods themselves.

Kat fought the urge to hang her head and turn away—is this what the Chaperon has come to?

Were her brothers involved in this? The Montbereau Guard? Blinking as dust pervaded her eyes—she didn't remember the Montbereau Chaperon being so large and well-armored. She remembered a bulk of city-folk taking up the Chaperon's bloated midsection, while a handful of Sonants kept charge of the Chaperon's front. She didn't remember so many...

Perhaps this was why the demesne's duke had been so adamant on the Chaperon taking the long way around to Labassette? Passing through Remicourt and the Brandys—perhaps this was why...

Breaking Kat's reverie, Dechamps slammed a gloved fist into Kat's chest. Balling fabric between the gaps of her fingers, the armored woman dragged Kat towards herself before hoisting the shorter woman inches into the air.

Kat's feet dangled as she struggled, her hands gathering around the meaty fist as it brought her higher.

“Did you call the sun?” Dechamps hissed, verdant eyes ablaze. “Hours of planning—ruined by this sudden surge of daylight. Tell me, wretch,” tightening her grip upon Kat's chemise, Dechamps narrowed her eyes as her brow furrowed sharply, “did you call the sun?”

“Planning?” Kat choked as the collar of her chemise cut against the back of her neck, the soft fabric slicing through skin beading with sweat. “Is this—,”

“Answer me before I drown you.” Dechamps snarled, the river churning with a shallow roar behind her.

Kat shook her head, eyes locked with Dechamps' own. “I haven't—I—I thought it was simply morning—,”

Dechamps spat as she let her fingers go, Katell slamming into the dirt knees first before her palms smacked dry ground. The impact bringing up a cloud of brown fumes as her fingers connected with the ground. “What is going on?” Kat coughed out, raising her head as she swiped at her nose. “Is this the Montbereau Chaperon? Why are you—,”

With a grunt, Dechamps turned. The armored woman giving Kat her back as she moved towards the river.

“Dechamps!” Kat called, forcing herself to stand. “Why are you with the Chaperon?”

Pulling her sword from the scabbard at her hip, the weapon's shrill cry raked at Kat's ears as Dechamps advanced forward. The Vanguard ignoring Kat's question as she moved to rejoin the advancing Sonants as Labassette released an arching hail of black arrows from its crumbling battlements.

The chateau would not stand a chance against a crowd of this might—of this force—Kat knew. Despite the Councilwoman pressuring her charges into fortifying the chateau, into rebuilding and replenishing its defenses; against a force of such magnitude Labassette would either be taken or destroyed.

But Vidonia—without her auxiliary—was powerful. As a sorceress she was a complete wild card. She was an entity able to call a graveyard of the dead to life, or coax fireballs to fall from the heavens. Alone, Vidonia could hold her own. But, as fortified as she was now—with her auxiliary and her assistant—she was practically unstoppable.

Practically.

But before she could be taken down—so many would die. So many.

Balling her hands into fists, she felt her fingernails break skin as Dechamps ran the length of her blade against her gloved hand. Kat watched scarlet escape from the sudden incision and thought to channel it. Thought to touch the Power's crux through her own blood as she felt a liquid warmth emerge from her left palm. Thought to somehow touch Dechamp's injury—take hold of her blood.

It was possible—wasn't it?

Besides, Kat needed answers that Dechamps wouldn't willingly give.

Perhaps she could make her.

Perhaps.

But as Kat concentrated on the color of the woman's blood, her own head becoming light—a headache brewing, hooves slopped through the dry earth as a familiar whinny stole her mind. The sound breaking her concentration as she turned—eyes wide as Dechamps dove into the river.

There was Horse, her old brown mare, limping through the treeline. Riderless, just as the beast ought. Something heavy hung from the animal's hindquarters. The obstruction forced the beast to slow and amble forward, sliding its burden through the sand-like dirt as a faceless Sonant prodded the beast forward with a careful hand.

And Kat locked eyes with a specter as Horse prodded forward, a body attached to the beast's hindquarters. Leather bindings snaked around the lower half of the corpse's body, as two identical silver pikes drove through a naked chest which heaved. Skin rising and falling as black blood spilled from puncture wounds. Enraged flesh puckered, red skin sucking, staining the silver pikes a stygian black.

A sharp breath shuddered through Katell's lungs as she ignored the clash of steel on steel erupting from across the river at her back. A gurgling cry undulated through the air as she moved to block the horse's path, her left hand bloody and throbbing as her eyes glared at the dark silver visor of the Sonant guiding her former steed.

Bringing the bloodied hand up, palm forward, she closed her hand with a crack of bone and a spurt of scarlet as her eyes bored into the Sonant's visor. The man before her stilled, his body stiffening beneath smoky scale mail as the horse at his side huffed.

Kat felt the Sonant's blood boil, felt his veins turn to ice as her own head began to ache at a lone thought—a singular motive.

Die, a voice whispered within her mind, whoever you are—die.

THIRTY-EIGHT

The Sonant dropped without much of a fight, his body listless as the armored man's legs buckled before his chest hit the grainy dirt at his feet with a harsh thud. Kat kept her hand clenched, watched scarlet escape from the bottom of her palm and dribble into the dirt as she stared at the Sonant's disheveled form. The armored man dead—life no longer causing his back to rise and fall as his last breath ventured forth and away. The air never to return as the Sonant lie there—dead.

Kat dove towards the corpse bound to Horse's hindquarters. Her fingers trembled, shaking as they glistened with sweat, the woman anxiously undoing the dark binds which attached the doubly injured man to her old mount.

Behind her, Horse whinnied and snorted. Unfazed and unabashed as the large mare dipped its snout towards the grainy dirt beneath it. Kat's heart rammed itself against the cage of her ribs as she undid the final bindings, her hands slipping upon the blackened binds which wove around the corpse's lower half like a cocoon. Like the cruel black webbing of a monstrous spider.

Dark eyes were closed. His broad face, wrinkled with deep lines of laughter and thin scrapes of month old injuries, mangled like shredded parchment. Kat felt her stomach lurch forward as a battle brewed some leagues behind her, the sound of steel clashing against steel—metal ripping through muscle like sopping wet parchment—fell away as Kat's eyes watered.

Her free hand went to his hair, auburn locks matted with browning gore and wet earth. The hair no longer oily, but dry. Dry and dead and lifeless. Just like him.

What have they done to you, old friend?

She blinked, forcing away tears. Biting back curses.

You lived—but...how?

“Bertrand...” she murmured, combing her hand through crinkly ringlets of auburn, “...why did they do this to you?”

It was a question she knew would go unanswered. Kat had assumed—assured herself—that when Elisedd's people stole her from Bertrand's side, that he had simply frozen to death in the cold. She never thought—never knew—that the Chaperon would turn around in search of them. Or that they'd even find him.

Had they found the others as well? And the hetaera? Did they see our handiwork?

Kat took in a harsh breath—a breath that forced her trembling body to still.

A man unburied, touched by Baate Noir, becomes one with the wood itself. It was an old phrase—an incantation that the whole of the Southern Reaches knew. If a human was left unburied, given to the wood as a lifeless cadaver, they'd become the very thing everyone south of the Poudurac feared; a monster.

Kat moved as if stabbed—as if the corpse had opened its eyes and breathed. Snatching her hands away, she cupped her hands before her face as her eyes snapped to the silver pikes protruding through Bertrand's mottled chest.

Had he become...a hetaera?

Was it possible?

Kat shook her head—of course. Anything is possible—I know so little!

She wanted to slap herself for not burying him. For not demanding that her captors double back and at least burn the body. She hadn't been coherent herself—she'd been too weak. She was barely able to speak when Elisedd's people whisked her away—her captors careless. Leaving the bodies of her brothers to...to change.

The pikes stood as testament to what Bertrand had become—all those weeks ago.

Kat wanted to move from the body—to leave him be. She wanted to get away—to forget she had ever forsaken her friend to a cursed afterlife. But as she moved, something struck her—pallid fingers circled round her wrist. The strong grip held her there. The hand unable to let her go. Unwilling.

THIRTY-NINE

The barbarians of the Southern Reaches would take Labassette, Anais knew. Yet, Lady Councilor Vidonia refused to leave. Refused to use the Power to strengthen the ragtag army of men and women who fought for them—who fought to keep this fortress.

Why was the Montbereau Chaperon attacking them? Wasn't the Chaperon meant to facilitate peace between the north and south? Wasn't the Chaperon meant to restore and reignite the Monarchy's ties to the Montbereau demesne and thus, the rest of the south?

Anais shook the questions from her mind with an adamant twist of her throbbing neck before rapping her knuckles against the thick oaken door of Councilor Vidonia's study.

Inside, she heard murmuring. Vidonia droned on to herself behind the oaken door, thin slippers whispering against the floor as the older sorceress paced before spitting a slew of harshly worded curses. Anais flinched as she felt Vidonia's temper rise, heat welling up behind the younger sorceress's eyes as she clenched her fists at either sides of her dull gray bodice.

“Who brought the sun?!” Anais heard the Lady Councilor spit. “Who brought the sun? You treat me as if I am a novice cur—who brought the sun? Do you mean to accuse me with such questions, Archon? Do you mean to victimize me—painting me as one inebriated? Slavering for blood like the others of my kind? How dare you!”

Something crashed—glass splintering into a thousand little pieces as Anais threw open the door to Vidonia's study without an invitation.

“Lady Councilor?” she peeped, right hand glued to the door as her breast heaved. “They've come—,”

Vidonia spun on her heel, her midnight taffeta gown sailing round her ankles like a pool of dark water. “Leave.” the woman growled, her twisted features a brewing storm as the air became thick with static. “Collect the magebane.”

Anais swallowed, her throat suddenly dry and cottony as she slapped her hand to the throbbing puncture wounds upon her neck. The younger sorceress avoided the Lady Councilor's brooding glare, “I meant to tell you...”

The Lady Councilor's armoire lay overturned, its latticed face laying upon the ground in a sparkling pool of glass. Near the overturned armoire, stood a translucent figure steeped in white fog. It stood taller than the Lady Councilor, a full three feet, as it hovered over her. A cloak of fog hid the figure's features as it bowed its hooded head towards Anais, its hands joined together beneath trailing sleeves of white mist.

“Lady Thoroux.” it intoned, inclining its head.

Anais fell to the floorboards, kissing her forehead to the wood at her feet. “Your Holiness.” she murmured, sweaty palms flat against the ground.

“Rosetta Vidonia speaks of an awakened magebane currently in your care—”

“She's gone.” Anais blurted, unable to control the trembling of her arms and legs as she heard Vidonia gasp. “Her kin of the Montbereau Chaperon have spirited her away—” raising her face, she actively avoided Vidonia's sharp glare as she stared at the Archon's ghostly hood and lied. “—she's gone.”

Outside, pained voices screeched as steel and metal crashed. Silence pervaded the air as both figures before Anais stilled, the Lady Councilor paler than Anais had ever seen.

“Get. Out.” Vidonia hissed through gritted teeth.

“I-I can help! I can stop them! I've gathered enough of the Power—I can—,”

Vidonia's spear-tipped glare froze Anais, halting the spill of Anais' words with a single look. “Get out of the Archon's sight, girl!”

“I can call them off—I've developed a powerful spell—!”

The movement was quick and graceful, the sliding aside of the Archon's trailing sleeve as he raised his right hand palm first. Anais froze—her body pausing as her heart stilled. The pumping muscle falling to silence as her body skidded across the floorboards and was propelled out of the room with a single flick of the Archon's bony wrist.

You have failed.

Anais yelped as the door to Vidonia's study slammed, sour air rushing by her face as the whole of the chateau seemed to shiver at Anais' abrupt exit.

She had failed.

With a hand to her heart, Anais stood as anxious breaths forced her chest to rise and fall rapidly. She heaved as she turned, her brown eyes wide and fearful as her heart began to race within her heaving breast.

I have failed.

She shook the thought away as her brow furrowed—she simply wanted to show her power. She simply wanted to show how controlled she had become—to show that she could be more powerful than any woman in control of the blood. It was Anais—not Ledora—who should have been promoted to archmage. If Anais had been in charge of the initial operation—of securing Labassette before the Lady Councilor and the northern envoy's eventual arrival—Labassette wouldn't have been in such a state when the Lady Councilor and her envoys set foot upon the chateau. They wouldn't have had to fight a highscale or contact the Archon and his Confrerie for help in the matter—Anais could have hailed fire from the sky and simply burned the creature to death before it even attempted to bring down the chateau. But Archmage Ledora had been too tentative to do such a thing—besides, she was magebane and completely focused on finding others of her kind. Too focused. Focused enough to let a dragon destroy half a fortress. Focused enough to let the magebane spirit her away.

Anais huffed, lowering her head as she walked the chateau's cold corridor. A battle raged outside, right on the tower's doorstep, but she set her mind to other things. Ignoring the screams and cries of death as she stopped before a tiny square window and leaned upon the cool gray stone beside it.

The Lady Councilor had always been looking for a way to replace Anais. Ever since Anais stumbled upon the Lady Councilor's well kept secret—Vidonia had wanted her gone...or worse.

And when the Lady Councilor got hold of a magebane—Vidonia tried, she tried to take Anais' life...just days before.

Anais shivered, the puncture wounds upon her neck throbbing as she felt the hairs upon her skin rise to attention. Never before in her life had she felt so close to death—blood escaping through her neck as if she were a pig being bled to death.

Vidonia tried to take her life.

Why did she feel as if she still had to prove to the Lady Councilor that her life was worth leaving it be? Why did she feel a need to belong?

Why did the Confrerie accept her as if she were one of them when she was obviously human—painstakingly so? Why didn't the Confrerie's Archon simply kill her? He certainly possessed the ability to do so.

When will I ever change? Anais thought to herself, forehead pressed against the latticed glass of the corridor's chilly window. Will I ever prove to Lady Vidonia that I matter? That—despite being human—I am worth keeping around?...alive?

From further down the corridor, Anais heard something heavy fly to the floor with an audible slam. Vidonia's temper had gone awry. Whatever the Archon was telling her—she did not like. Vidonia possessed a high seat upon the Archon's Confrerie and potentially sought help in the wake of such events—of a miniature war being staged outside her window. The Lady Councilor hadn't planned for an all out attack. The Montbereau Chaperon was only to bring twenty armed Sonants as an escort—not an insurmountable army. The Lady Councilor was at a loss—Anais knew—and sought help from her colleagues in the Confrerie. But the Confrerie's leader, the godlike Archon, wasn't especially giving; Vidonia knew that. Especially when plans went awry.

In times such as these, the Confrerie liked to cut ties and forget old plans. In times such as these, the Confrerie would turn its back and pretend colleagues in trouble were simply a figment of the guild's astute imagination.

But Vidonia wouldn't allow them to forget.

I can help—I can do something. I can prove to her that I matter—that I matter more than that damned magebane. All of our years together—do they mean nothing to her? Nothing at all?

Anais' eyes watered at the thought—that Vidonia could simply do away with her so easily. She felt her fingers tremble as they raced toward her heart.

Do I mean nothing to her?

Anais felt her rage build as her fingers convulsed against her chest. Biting her lip, she forced her hands to clap together, intertwining her fingers as she turned her body towards the window at her side. Down below, she saw an arrow strewn battlefield. Bodies lay limp, weapons sticking from silver carapaces like swamp reeds. She saw women push and shove against a man that towered above them, the herculean warrior teetering as he slapped a meaty hand to his reddening abdomen and swung a long reaching sword with the other.

She closed her eyes as she listened to the screams. As she allowed the cold clenching feeling of the Power surge over her. She felt the hairs upon her neck rise.

Anais would show Vidonia her worth. She'd show the Confrerie and its Archon. She'd show the entire north how powerful she was—a sorceress who demanded more. Who was worth more. Who was worthy of the title of Archmage and so much more.

She'd show the world she was more powerful than any magebane. Than any High Hetaera even.

But most of all, she'd show Vidonia the strength of her blood.

~~~

Silver pervaded a panoramic sky as it arched above a blood strewn battlefield. Wisping clouds churned above the crumbling chateau below as a storm of warring armies continued their bloodshed without pause.

Anais lifted up her hands.

FORTY

Katell watched his hand move, the fingers kissing the top of her shoulder as Bertrand's pierced torso moved.

He's—he's breathing?

Kat let out a single breath—a pained gasp that hissed through her nose as a gasp.

“Bertrand...?”

She would have killed that hetaera all over again just to see his smile. The corners of his lips moved, rising into the ghost of a half-crescent.

He smirked, but did not open his eyes. “How's it, Katty?”

Kat fought the urge to hug him, and settled for placing her hand over his own as it rested upon her shoulder. Kneeling near his side, she ran her opposite hand through his hair. “What...happened to you?”

His grin fell away, evaporating like morning mist upon a lake. “I died.” he said matter-of-factly.

Kat stared at the pikes that pierced through his chest as thunder boomed overhead. The sky was becoming an ominous shade of rust as lightening threaded through the pulsating clouds like ribbons intertwining. “And you...?”

“Came round again, if that's what you're asking—yes.” he snapped, his fingers suddenly digging into the cords of her muscle. “You know the saying—chalk it down as true, Katty. I wasn't the only one to rise again.”

Her eyes widened as she brought both hands to the hand resting upon her shoulder. “And so you mean...” Manuel...Noel...

“Suffered the same fate.” he sighed before grunting as he propped himself up with his opposite hand. “The Sonants couldn't burn me, and so they tried other methods. Would you mind...”

He didn't need to ask. And as he sat up, Kat grasped one pike and yanked at it. The sudden movement earning a hoarse howl from Bertrand as he shivered at the implement sliding through him. Black blood spurted from the sucking hole as Kat continued pulling, sliding the implement from Bertrand's sucking chest as the half-dead man shivered.

Bertrand yanked out the other pike himself.

A shattering boom echoed across the sky as a dying battle continued on the other side of the river. Behind Kat, Horse whinnied nervously as it tapped at the dry dirt beneath its hooves. Snorting, its ears perked as a roaring crack of lightning lit up the churning sky above, the clouds darkening with rust tinted black.

It was as if the night was coming back, the Fates realizing that day had bloomed too early.

Tension built like static in Kat's ears as the air became increasingly humid. Her chemise stuck to her as she helped Bertrand rise, the man much skinnier than she remembered him being all those weeks ago.

“Take me to the water.” Bertrand commanded Kat.

Hissing beneath his weight, Kat ambled towards the glistening river before them. The river bank sucked at their combined footsteps as they moved. Sitting Bertrand down by the river proved an easier task than lifting him, and as she grunted at the exertion, she felt static play against her skin. The sensation playing with her—tickling her until the hairs of her arms stood on end.

Bertrand waded in easily, the water soaking his torn trousers as it rushed up to his hips. Turning, he reached for Kat's legs as she brought her gaze to the sky. The big man forcing her into the calm waters of the river. He caught her as she slipped, shimmying his hands towards her waist as she splashed in legs first. Planting her hands against his broad chest, Kat's fingers stuck against the black blood painting his shoulders as he held her there. The man unwilling to let her go as the sky screamed.

Before everything went dark, Katell unable to breathe as she opened her eyes. Water gushed through her ears.

Forcing her under the surface of the water, Bertrand held her there—his brute strength overcoming Kat as she opened her mouth and screeched. Calling his name as bubbles surged from her mouth and popped upon the water's surface.

She panicked—her heart hammering within her chest as her arms and legs thrashed. Water churned to white foam as she kicked and punched—Bertrand's arms turning to stone as he held her there. His face to the sky, his blackened chest heaving...

As fire rained from the heavens, incinerating all.

FORTY-ONE

Vidonia paced, trailing sleeves of midnight tafetta flying across the polished floor. “It twas only a matter of time, your Holiness!” she all but screamed as the mist cloaked Archon towered above her from his perch atop her emerald amulet embedded into the floor. “I possess a plan—a sureness of mind—but I need the Confrerie's resources to implement it!”

Outside, the world quaked as heaven hailed massive balls of lava pumped fire towards the ground below. Both sides of the warring forces shrieked with each impact, the screams gradually becoming farther and fewer as fire fell like rain from the rusted clouds above.

The Confrerie's Archon shook his head, the low hanging hood concealing his ghoulish features moving like a sheet of water as he disagreed. “We agreed, Councilwoman, if circumstances became dire—,”

“This!” she screeched, throwing up her hands, “This is not dire—see what the Fates are calling upon the field, Archon? You can feel it—can you not? The ground shakes with the impact of heaven's fury! Surely you understand that this is a result of me—that circumstances such as these do not simply present themselves. But are caused by direct intervention. Anais calls the flame.”

“You implicate yourself.” the Archon snapped, his voice growing sharper. “By your own description, you explain how events such as these do not come as circumstance. Therefore, someone called the sun.”he hissed, lowering his head to Vidonia's height as the woman clenched and unclenched her fists. “Who, Councilwoman? Who called the sun?”

Did it matter?

“This only matters to you because the Confrerie had not foreseen this. This only matters to you because it came as a surprise. And, if you aren't pulling the strings, you're shaking in your boots—your Holiness.” Vidonia spat, her words spilling forth from her lips like shards of living glass. She saw the Archon flinch, his head twitching towards the right. The Archon's mist painted hood following his jerky movement. “None the less,” Vidonia continued, running a hand through her red locks, “it would be nonsensical for a creature such as myself to call the sun.”

The Archon stilled, the barren slits of his eyes searching Vidonia's face beneath the trailing fabric of his hood.

Vidonia did not flinch as the Archon leveled his hooded face with her own. She simply glared, her eyes piercing through that ghostly hood of mist.

“The black forest is no longer dark. The leaves change. The sun rises before dawn takes its rightful place—and Baate Noir has lost its name.” the Archon recanted, his voice a blunt whisper. “If this is not your doing, Councilwoman, then who toys with our world? Who pulls strings even the Confrerie cannot reach? Who plays the part of God?”

Vidonia narrowed her eyes. “Will the Confrerie grant me its assistance?”

Outside, the world burned, but there was no telling who would emerge victorious in this flame fueled conflict. Vidonia's auxiliary...the Southern Sonants of Liberation...whoever emerged, Vidonia would ultimately lose all. She had lost the magebane, and she wouldn't be getting any sort of memento or token from the Montbereau Chaperon proving that the south wished to continue its peace with the north.

Vidonia would lose her post. Her title of councilor would be ripped away. She'd be forced to return to being a non-important Sybil Sorceress. She'd be forced to become a teacher—a glorified nanny—to young women who possessed no desire to control or strengthen their magic. Vidonia would lose her purpose—she'd lose her seat upon the non-human secret society, the Confrerie. She'd be nothing—all over again, she'd be nothing. Vidonia had already spent a decade being that. Her extended lifespan nothing more than a curse as she watched the world around her change without her consent. Gaining power—gaining the ear of the Monarchy and being named as Councilor, stealing the attention of the Confrerie and obtaining a seat amongst its most powerful members; standing eye-to-eye with the Confrerie's Archon—it would all be for naught if she survived this confrontation and fled to the capital with nothing but the clothes upon her back and a ragtag escort. It would all be for naught.

Vidonia awaited the answer of the Confrerie's Archon with her sharp brows drawn. He'd help her—he had to. She was the Confrerie's only tie to the Monarchy. Through her, the Confrerie could decide the fate of human kings and princes. Through her, the Confrerie could control the world.

They couldn't cut her loose now—not with so much to lose. If what the Archon said was true—that the leaves of Baate Noir have changed...that the black forest is no longer dark—then the Confrerie would need her more than ever. The monsters once yoked to Baate Noir will be loose. Humans will revert back to blaming non-humans for their woes as monsters ravage their homes once more. Stealing children. Raping women. Humankind will hunt our kind into extinction if the Confrerie forfeits its only tie to the Monarchy. The Archon would be mad to leave me stranded—the Archon would be...

Silence as Labassette's stones shifted beneath Vidonia's slippered feet. Fire roared from the sky outside, pummeling the ground into blackened dirt.

“We will not help you.” the Archon snapped. His form evaporating slowly, the mist sailing away. “Boil in Anais' flame.”

FORTY-TWO

Kat broke the surface of the water with a gasp. Raking her fingers through the air, she splashed and forced herself to swim despite the heavy fear threatening to pull her beneath the waves once more. Pulling herself to the riverbank once again, she breathed in the acidic smell of soot. It clawed at her nostrils, the smell climbing its way down her throat and windpipe. Clutching blackened dirt with her wet hands, she brought her gaze behind her. Her eyes searching for Bertrand. The man who disappeared as quickly as the raining fire had. The man who disappeared in a spark of brilliance and a smoky white light.

She sighed as she pulled herself up, murmuring to herself that seeing him hadn't been a dream. Bertrand was real—he had been there. She still felt the heavy pressure of his hands as he forced her underneath the surface of the river. She still felt the quaking boom of fireballs slamming themselves into the surface of the river and the land. She remembered closing her eyes as one sailed towards Bertrand, only to open them and still see him standing there. His large hand forcing her under the surface of the water as heaven threw fire from its rust colored clouds.

He disappeared when the fire stopped. Then Kat popped up, unable to breathe even though she sucked in air like a hungry babe suckling at a teat.

The once yellow colored field of dead grass before Labassette had been scorched black. Burnt bodies lay strewn in the coal colored waste. Their hands reaching towards the skies, their arms shielding themselves. Scale mail armor melded with the mottled skin of a Sonant's blackened corpse as a batch of red tipped arrows sprung from the head of a foreign soldier. A man or woman confessing loyalty to Vidonia and the north, Kat assumed.

She could still smell the scent of burning flesh, the smell like sulfur yet nauseatingly sweet. Kat felt her stomach roll and tumble, her belly lurching as her throat became thick with acid. Forcing herself to stare at the untouched stones of Labassette's two gray towers, Kat's vision became a narrow tunnel as she stalked towards it. Her right hand gripping her left arm. Her lower lip trembling as the smell of human skin overwhelmed her.

Overhead, the rolling clouds of rust darkened. Their color a somber black as it began to rain.

~~~

Walking the familiar stone corridors of Labassette, Kat approached the only room she thought of as home—Vidonia's study. At the end of the corridor, gathered around the thick oaken door that once led to Vidonia's room, were three Sonants in light gray scale mail armor. They heard her encroaching footsteps, but paid her no mind as they glared down at a body.

At their feet, lay Anais. Her pale skin gray. Her doe eyes dark. Moving around the ambling group of Sonants, Kat gazed upon the woman who tried to send her to the sea. Anais looked frightened—shocked. Her mouth lay open and the blackened tips of her fingers lay upon her swollen abdomen. Bright red blood stuck to a gaping hole upon her neck, while her matted hair attempted to cover it.

Kat ignored the urge to look away. She ignored the urge turn around and give the woman privacy.

Before the group, the door to Vidonia's study moaned open.

Tangled rubicund locks touched the floor as Vidonia stooped, black taffeta sleeves trailing upon the ground as a tall figure forced her arms behind her. Vidonia was shoved forward with an oof. The councilor almost tripping to the floor before one of the Sonants outside of the doorway caught her. The Sonant was tall, his face concealed by a visor of pointed silver that prodded Vidonia in the crown of her head as he reached to roughly yank her up by the muscle of her shoulder.

“Throw her somewhere,” a familiar voice commanded. “and lock her up.”

Kat couldn't help but smile as the three Sonants edged past her, the familiar figure in the doorway turning away before he set his single eye upon her.

“Has my eye gone to shite?” he murmured, jaw dropping before he closed his mouth. His grim features rising as he curled his lips into a smile. “You aren't dead!” he laughed.

Kat brought her arm behind her back, edging her knuckles along her spine as she puffed out her chest. “Sonant Kaiden!” she beamed—happy to finally be in familiar company. “Glad to see you as well!”

The two shared a laugh—the first bit of laughter Kat had had in some time. Reaching out his hand, Kat grasped it with a nod of her head and the two shook. Kaiden and Kat acting as if they were estranged friends seeing each other for the first time in a decade.

Their hands detached. With a grunt, Kaiden nudged Anais' corpse towards the far wall and closed the distance between Kat and himself. Leaning upon the study's door frame, he crossed his leather bound arms.

Kaiden avoided her gaze. “Your cousin's missing.”

“But he's not dead?” Kat blurted out.

Kaiden cut his eye towards the far wall. Shaking his head, he crossed his legs. “I think not.”

Kat took that as a no.

“Is this...” she ventured, moving her arm from behind her back to rub her forehead. “...is this the Chaperon?” she tried, meeting his eye. “Was this its true purpose?” Was this why the duke stressed it must go through Remicourt?

“We can't win our freedom in blood and steel. Not like the northerners can.” shaking his head, Kaiden ran his fingers through locks slick with grime and dried blood. “The purpose of the Chaperon has always been to test the north's strength. Be it through requesting provisions, or through the needless bloodshed of civilians. This was our choice—,” he roared, stabbing himself in the chest with his thumb, “the Sonants of Liberation have veered the Southern Reaches towards the path to freedom. Instead of losing needless lives with a battle to determine an opposing side's strength, we left the cityfolk at Remicourt and conducted our own people—the Sonants of the South—towards Labassette in the quest for the south's freedom!” he caught his breath, cutting his eye from Kat's gaze. “And, unfortunately, we have lost a sizable amount of our forces. But,” he added with a cunning smirk, “we've acquired a vital piece of the Monarchy's power. An impressive bargaining chip.” Kaiden finished, smiling wolfishly. “How did you come to be here?”

Kat shook her head, “It matters not—I'm,” swallowing, she searched for courage in the cracks of the stones at her feet, “I'm magebane,” she whimpered, shutting her eyes tight. “A witch, Sonant Kaiden.” bringing her gaze up to meet Kaiden's, Kat found sympathy in his gaze. And pity. “What will you do with me?”

It was a Sonant's job to burn a witch. According to so many tales and tomes, women wielding god given magic brought the Cataclysm upon Danae—bringing monsters and dragons, elves and hetaera into their world. To avoid another Cataclysm—a universe shattering force that could grind their world into dust—witches had to either be sent to the Sybil, or burned. The Sonants often chose the latter—slitting the witch's throat first before taking her life by throwing her body to the flames of a pyre or a stake. Kat clenched her fists until her knuckles turned white as she heard Kaiden shift.

She felt a large palm engulf her shoulder. Looking up, she met Kaiden's grizzled face. A white rag hid the eyeless slit opposite the soft gaze of his other eye.

“You wouldn't be the first I've saved.” he told her, clapping her on the shoulder. “Besides,” he murmured, the soft smile growing upon his face warm with bubbling laughter, “I've always known.”

FORTY-THREE

Councilwoman Vidonia stood with her hips cocked, eyes scanning the drafty tower room as the door clicked to a close behind her. She stood at the round room's center, her nails digging into the thick fabric of her black drop-sleeves as she stood. Her sharp incisors biting down on her bottom lip, the skin of her lips blooming to a bloody red as she increased the pressure. Her heart hammered within her chest, only for the throbbing organ to silence itself as she glared towards a towering rectangular window.

The Confrerie has forsaken me, she told herself. Nails plunging through the fabric of her drop-sleeves, I am alone.

Vidonia had played the part of a graceful captive, the councilwoman submitting to the Sonants almost instantly after swallowing Anais' life. Taking what was left of the young sorceress immediately stopped the hail of fire from heaven. Stopping her brought life-giving rain which fell as heaven's apology for the perplexing turn of events; fire hailing from on high incinerating all—except the crumbling towers of Labassette.

Vidonia thought it strange that Anais touched the Power's crux to murder both sides of the warring forces, while using her own life-force to protect Labassette from the flame. The girl had been driven—she was nothing more than Vidonia's dog. An obedient thing professing unconditional love for Vidonia—no matter what the High Sorceress did. When the young sorceress stumbled upon Vidonia's well kept secret, it surprised the High Sorceress when Anais offered herself—her blood, her Power—in the hope that what Anais could give her would quell the High Sorceress's lust. Anais was like the blubbering child Vidonia could never have, nor want.

Anais...Councilwoman Vidonia felt her lips curl into a cruel smirk...what a sweet girl.

Vidonia was sure she'd never find another soul as willing as Anais.

If only she hadn't let the magebane go!

Throwing her hands to her sides, Vidonia crouched as anger roiled through her body like flame. The fire burnt through her veins, erupting upon her skin as beaded sweat.

If only she hadn't let the magebane go!

With the magebane, Vidonia could have finished off the last of the Sonants while gaining a softhearted ally. Katell could have replaced Anais upon her death and became Vidonia's new assistant. With the help of the magebane and her blood puppetry, Vidonia could have returned from the chateau wielding nothing of circumstance for the Monarchy's eyes and still have held her place. The magebane could have entered their minds and misconstrued all. She could have been the south's token of peace. She could have been Vidonia's mouthpiece.

But Anais let her go.

Vidonia had sensed jealousy in the young sorceress. Perhaps—perhaps Anais meant to let the girl escape.

Vidonia sighed, she had to move her mind to greater purposes. Now that she was on her own, she had to free herself from this prison—but how?

A stab of piercing pain speared through the back of Vidonia's head as she thought. The pain blossoming into a rush of warmth as Vidonia stiffened. Her body freezing as a familiar voice rattled within her head.

Councilwoman Vidonia? Can you hear me? Merde—

Vidonia narrowed her eyes as she approached the towering rectangular window before her.

Archmage Ledora? Vidonia thought back, the voice within her head gasping.

We tried contacting the Confrerie, but—

Placing her palm upon the glass, her eyes scanned the barren field of black below. The Confrerie has relayed no message to me.

Ledora swallowed, We were told you were in a bit of trouble.

What have you contacted me for? Vidonia snapped, her head heavy. My Power wanes. Make haste, archmage.

Vidonia felt Ledora's spite build like bile within her throat. The colors of Baate Noir have changed, sister. The black forest is no longer dark.

Vidonia rolled her eyes. The Archon has already notified me. If the changing of the leaves and a midnight sun scares you so, perhaps you should relinquish your title of “archmage”, hm?

Biting back a chuckle, Vidonia felt Ledora seethe as heat welled up within her chest. Our hatred for each other is shared, yes? This much is obvious—but superior forces play calamitous games thrice more important than our decade old feud, Councilwoman. The changing of the leaves in Baate Noir—

Once again, Vidonia rolled her eyes as she cut the archmage off, The monsters will be free—you must think me a lean-wit, archmage. I know and understand this—but I can do nothing to stop it. Not in my current situation. My connection to the Power's crux wanes, archmage. Get to the point.

Swallowing her anger, Ledora let out a breathy sigh, Baate Noir's guardian, our Seraphina, has been murdered by a presence engulfed in sun. I've taken on her soul as a passenger within my body, but doing so has weakened my hold on the Power's crux as well. This presence lurks within the forest—setting it alight—freeing horrors and aberrations. We need your help, Councilwoman. We need you to travel to Baate Noir and merge your power with our own so that we may stop this sun presence from doing more harm than it has already done...

Vidonia cocked her head. I cannot, she thought matter-of-factly, for I am locked up.

Then teleport! Use what you have left to send yourself here! The fate of the north depends upon us dispatching this sun presence, sister! Do you not comprehend this?!

Cringing slightly at Ledora's sudden outburst, Vidonia felt the warmth within her skull explode in a shower of skull throbbing pain. Dropping to her knees, she clapped her hands over her ears and replied quickly, Grant me your combined Power—Ledora, Seraphina. I can no longer touch the Power's crux—my head is splitting! Grant me what you have left and I swear to do what I can.

What you can? Ledora snapped back.

Everything that I can.

Silence as Vidonia felt the Power rip into her mind like a leather bound whip. They were doing it—Seraphina and Ledora were replenishing her ties to the Power's crux with what the two souls had left. Though intensely painful, Vidonia felt renewed as the Power raked at her skin—causing the hairs upon her arms to stand at attention as her face fell to the floor. The woman crying out—whimpering—as the Power's crux tightened within her like a knotted rope pulled from both ends. She felt her blood boil beneath her skin as she clenched her jaws and shut her eyes tight. Her forehead kissing the cool stones of the floor as her hands moved towards her temples. Pallid fingers rubbing at cool skin beaded with sweat.

Vidonia felt the world pause.

We have done all that we can, Ledora's voice reverberated clearly within Vidonia's head now. Almost as if the woman were sitting beside her, whispering into her ear. Now, it is your turn, Councilwoman. The fate of the north rests upon you.

Ah. What a pity, Vidonia thought as the pain within her head subsided. A cooling sensation fluttering over the crown of her head like soft fingers creeping through her hair, that humanity's golden age will come to an abrupt end.

FORTY-FOUR

Katell wouldn't be able to stick around Labassette. She didn't want to.

“So, you're leaving us, Maeva?” Sonant Kaiden grunted as he leaned upon her room's stone gray door frame, the tower's dusty corridor yawning behind his large frame. “On your way to Remicourt, then? Port Niva and the Methusa?”

Kaiden had issued her new gear, his Sonants scavenging through the blackened battlefield for untouched clothing and working weapons simply to supply Katell with a getup that would have her looking more like a patchwork soldier instead of a disheveled fishwife.

Kaiden knew what he was doing—supplying her with ax and shield, happily shrugging off a cloak of black bear hide to drape around her shoulders—Kaiden knew what he was doing. Yet, after divulging information on the perceived whereabouts of her cousin and leaving Kat to her devices, he acted positively perplexed that Kat was preparing to vacate the crumbling old tower.

“Remicourt,” Kat told him. “the Chaperon lost him there, yeah? So,” hefting a leather bound shield upon her back, she grunted beneath its weight before smiling at the familiarity of it all. How long had it been since she'd had a shield on her back? A month? Two? Labassette had served as her prison for so long, and now—now she was finally free.

“Remicourt is where I go.” she said, turning on her heel to face him. “Will you stop me, Sonant Kaiden?”

The Sonant's smile was genuine. It was a smile she'd often seen Horace wear whenever she'd demand he practice ax and shield techniques with her. He'd leave her skin mottled in black and blue marks, but she'd always demand—again!—and he'd wear that smile. A smile that offered luck. “You aren't curious as to what will become of your captor, the Councilwoman? Vidonia—that's her name, right?” he asked, cocking his head. “You don't want to speak to her? Don't want the chance to spit on her? Curse her with your power?” he winked.

The final question made her bristle. “Of course not.” Kat spat, setting her shoulders. “I'd be just fine never seeing her again. Do what you will with her,” her hair had been washed and she took advantage of the newfound lightness upon her head. With a flick of her chin, her hair followed. “leave me out of it.”

Kaiden moved aside as she stomped forward towards the corridor outside. “Perhaps it would do you some good?”

Kat froze and gave him a sidelong glare, her chin almost to her shoulder as she turned her head. “When did you get a sense of humor?”

“The moment I saw Death.”

It wasn't a joke and Kat shivered at the black monotone darkening his words.

The two walked shoulder to shoulder in silence for a time, following the curve of the chateau's corridor as wind whistled through the cracks and crevices of the crumbling tower's stones. The weight of Kat's new gear weighed her down considerably, the shield upon her back forcing her to hunch over as the ax attached to her waist belt slapped upon her thigh. As the two neared a crossroads within the tower, twisting stairways leading up towards the tower's top and down towards Labassette's entrance, Kaiden made his plea.

“You should speak to her.” he said, moving to stand before Kat. “She's our prisoner, yes. She kept you captive here, I understand this. You have a multitude of reasons to dislike this woman, Kat. And I have a single one to burn her—but hear me. Before she is judged by the Fates, perhaps you should learn from her. There is nothing more dangerous than a witch unsure of her power, Kat—which you are...”

“Then why not burn me, hm?” Kat snapped, planting her hands upon her hips. “Why not keep me prisoner here as well, hm? You certainly wouldn't be the first—and you'd have good reason to! Why not do it, Sonant? Why not stop me? Why give me the opportunity—no, the ability—to walk out of here and survive out there on my own? Why help me at all?!”

Kaiden reached out as if to strike her and Kat flinched, twisting her head to the side to let him. She had just yelled at a superior—a man who had the ability to strip her of her title and rank. Kat had no right to make him suffer through her outburst—she had no right.

Yet, he simply placed his hands upon her shoulders. Weighing her down with the strength of his hands just as the weapons attached to her belt and back did.

“We're comrades, Katell Maeva. Unless you've forgotten—we're siblings in arms. My purpose is to protect the weak, and guide the strong. These few months of separation from the Chaperon have strengthened you, Katell. Considerably. Winterskin or no, it's your confidence that guides you. Your ability to be on your own and still trust yourself—to no longer fear the inevitable. You've seen the raw underbelly of our world, and come out stronger because of it. Labassette has made you new.” he sighed, pulling back.

Blinking away her gaze, he opened his palms to her. “I won't stop you because I know I can't. I won't stop you because this is your Path—this is your way, and it is my purpose to guide you towards it. I only ask that you speak with her, Katell. I only ask that you pick her brain so that you may be able to protect yourself and others. She may have kept you captive and forced you to do regretful things, but now it's your turn to hold her shackle and chain.” he told Kat, holding his palm up towards the twirling stairway at his right. “Do what you will with her.”

~~~

I will, Kat decided as she found her way to Vidonia's tower room, I will do what I want—for once.

Vidonia stood as a statue, her slim form stark against a backdrop of silver as she stood facing a far window. Black taffeta trailed against the cold stones of the floor as the woman brought her arms up, resting them against her chest as she crossed them. Locks of rubicund shivering with each graceful movement. Silence pervaded as Kat set her jaw and glared.

Vidonia made no move to break the silence as drizzle pattered against the latticed glass before her.

Kat didn't know where to start. Forming questions suddenly became a task as she listened to the rain. “Your assistant sent me floating down a river in a warded crate.” she began, her voice wavering. “I broke the ward with my power—I had to bleed myself to invoke it, but I did it. Tell me how—,” she had to stop her voice from shaking somehow, so she swallowed, “—tell me how to control my power!”

Rain continued to tap at the glass as Kat clenched and unclenched her fists, her teeth slowly grinding against one and other as she felt her frustration pile up behind her eyes like hot coals. If this woman wouldn't speak to her—would answer her with prolonged and unending silence—then Kat would leave.

“I'm leaving to find my cousin and my mother,” she tried again, the silence grating at her ears. “but I...I cannot leave without knowing how to control this.”

Damn the world and the precautions she must take because of this new found power—she'd learn to control it through trial and error. Wasn't that what most witches did anyway? Wasn't that how the Cataclysm was caused?

Kat bit her tongue—she didn't want to be responsible for something as catastrophic as that. She needed this woman to talk—or perhaps she could ask someone else. Perhaps she could find her mother—the Night Lady—and beg her to teach her how these powers worked. It was her magic after all, wasn't it?

“I came here looking for help, but—,”

“Everything comes with a price.” Vidonia called, her voice bubbling with laughter. “Your Sonants hold me prisoner. I have nothing now. No assistant. No auxiliary. My mind is the only trinket I have left, and you expect me to freely give it? To casually give you knowledge expecting nothing in return?” she laughed, her booming guffaw like that of a gull. “My heart is not made of gold, girl, it is black.”

“What would you want as payment? What would you need?”

Vidonia cocked her head. “Time.” she said matter-of-factly. “A miracle.”

“Well, I don't have that!” Kat exploded, throwing her hands up into the air before ripping her fingers through her hair. “I don't have time—all I need are the essentials!”

Clasping her hands behind the back of her black taffeta gown, Vidonia began to pace. “The Solomon could grant you understanding in an instant, but...” she trailed off, shaking her head, “...you would not survive such a spell, much less live to bask in the caster's presence. If you wish to understand the blood, you need time, Katell. And, like I said, a miracle...”

Kat watched her, eyes narrowed. “What is, 'The Solomon'?”

Vidonia's smirk grew. “A transfiguration spell. One you would not survive. The Solomon opens the path to knowledge—your third eye—and allows you to drink the knowledge of others, be they willing. The presence that is able to enact the Solomon would also be able to imbue you with the 'essentials' of the Power and its crux. But it is a draining process, especially for the one on the receiving end. Receiving a plethora of knowledge as quickly as you can snap your fingers is life threatening. You could go mad. Your mind could shrivel and dribble from your ears as mush. But...” she breathed, catching her breath as she forced herself to slow down, “...understanding the blood would enable you to find your cousin, at the very least. Knowing how to expertly use your power like that of a high sorceress would enable you to find your mother as well. No matter where she is—or what she is—in our world, you could reunite with her...”

Kat's heart jumped at that. She knew where to begin searching for Horace—but beyond that, if he continued on towards the north and marched past Labassette, she wouldn't know. If he took a boat for the free cities, she would never know. She could spend her entire life searching for her cousin only never to find him. She could be searching for a dead man—for a man whose given up and gone home. She could be searching for someone who doesn't want to be found.

And then, there was her mother. The Night Lady resided in the black forest—but the forest wasn't black anymore. She heard Kaiden's Sonants talking about gold, gold littering the forest. Perhaps she's fled too?

Kat would never know—not without truly understanding her power. She could use it to track them. She could use it to find them—but only if she understood how.

Unfortunately, she knew where this was going. “I will not help you escape. I'll find the caster on my own. Simply tell me their name.”

“An eye for an eye, isn't that how the saying goes? I'll give you nothing if you give me naught.”

Kat approached the woman slowly. Could she intimidate her? “I know enough to hurt, Councilwoman. I know enough about my power to injure. I'm not asking again.”

Kat felt her blood boil as she eyed the councilwoman, fists clenched, the women nose to nose.

“You would perish in the caster's presence. Without me, there is no hope. You'll flail through the woods searching for your long lost kin only to die in the next onslaught of winter—if the monsters don't get you first. Alone, you will perish.”

“This is your fate.” Kat hissed between clenched teeth. “And I will not steal you away from it.”

“Then, your fate is to die. Alone. In the wilderness.” Vidonia flashed white teeth as the air became heavy and hot. The heat blistering as the temperature began to ramp up. Beads of sweat broke upon Kat's face as her eyebrows lowered.

Kat could do it—she could feel the woman's heart thumping. The organ barely moving as it pulsed out blood and took in more. Pausing for a breath before it beat again. Kat thought of constricting the organ. She thought of striking her own wrist and using her blood against the woman—Kat thought of forcing Vidonia into spilling information by constricting the woman's heart using the power of her blood. She could do it.

But something held her back. A tether? A leash? Spiritual reigns reaching from her own blood to the councilwoman's veins. Something held her back.

“It is the Rite.” Vidonia whispered, a half-crescent smirk planted upon her red lips. “all those days ago—the cut Anais made beneath your jaw...do you remember? How you patched it up using my blood? How our blood intermingled and saved your life. That was the Rite,” Kat's hands moved without her consent, snaking towards her neck to touch the fading line upon her neck. “and it forbids you from harming me—and from venturing too far from me. Without me,” she breathed, her breath chill like peppermint as it caressed Kat's neck, “you cannot leave.”

FORTY-FIVE

Councilwoman Vidonia fought to keep her ire from bubbling forth from her lips as white froth.

“You cannot leave without me!” she repeated, her words falling upon deaf ears as Katell turned.

Damned hard-headed magebanes!

“You cannot leave—,”

Katell set her sharp gaze upon the councilwoman, her brown eyes hard. “I left just fine before! When your assistant sent me barreling down the Poudurac in a box!”

Vidonia winced, her face a stone mask, as her sharp nails dug into the pink face of her smooth palm. “But did you get far?”

Katell's smirk capsized as it dropped into a frown, “I crossed the Poudurac—,”

“Then you didn't get far at all.” Vidonia retorted, giving the girl her back as she turned towards the square window behind her. Rain glistened upon the latticed window-face, thoughts whirring in Vidonia's head as quickly as clear droplets showered from the sky. She would have to convince this girl to help her escape—she couldn't risk wasting what Ledora and Seraphina had given her on a teleportation spell. Vidonia would need everything—every bit of her Power—to face what was to come. Be it standing up to the Archon or Danae's Monarchy—she'd need it all. Every bit of it.

Vidonia would have to use her wit to convince this girl to free her. Her wit and what information she gleamed from Seraphina and Ledora's combined power.

What could she do? What could she promise?

What mattered most to Katell?

Clasping her hands behind her back, Vidonia clung to the silence pervading her tower room. The girl wanted to understand the essentials of her power. But it wasn't a necessity. She wanted to understand the essentials quickly...

Vidonia had already mentioned the Solomon and its abilities to open one's pathway to knowledge, but the girl didn't trust Vidonia leading her to the spell's only caster. The girl seemed content to wander and die—but Vidonia couldn't let such power go to waste. If the girl died, Ledora would be all that was left of the magebanes. Ledora...a woman Vidonia couldn't easily control—especially now that she was dual-souled. Holding the soul of Seraphina and herself—Seraphina would hold reign of the archmage's mind now...

And then, there was the thought of Vidonia returning to the Monarchy empty-handed. The councilwoman would be basically giving up her position if she didn't return to her betters with something of note...Katell...the magebane would be her something...

There was also the Confrerie...the organization's Archon turning his back on her...never before had a forsaken member of the Confrerie lived to enact revenge on the guild. She could be the first...

There were so many possibilities! But one thing stood in the way of it all—Katell. How could Vidonia get the girl to free her and follow her? Yes, Vidonia had the Rite, but the tethers of that spell only went so far. If only Vidonia had...

She would need to drink Katell...to steal a taste of the young woman's blood. Then, the bulwark would be removed. Vidonia would hold reign of the young woman's mind and the councilwoman would be free to choose her own fate.

But, how would she do it?

Katell's presence stuck like a cloud of gnats fluttering around at the corner of Vidonia's eye. The councilwoman sensed a wavering determination radiating from the young woman at her back. Casting a sidelong glance over her shoulder, Vidonia watched Katell shift slightly. The young woman clenching and unclenching her fists at her sides as she fought with herself. Unsure if to leave the councilwoman to her fate, or rescue her.

Vidonia smirked—it is not I who needs rescuing.

“Why do you linger?” Vidonia murmured, turning her face back towards the glass. “If your mind is made up, why stay?”

The girl sighed. “My cousin is out there somewhere...”

“As I said before, the Solomon would help you understand your power and find your cousin.”

“And I am supposed to trust you?” Katell retorted.

Vidonia's lips vanished as she straightened them. Here we are again at a standstill, she thought harshly. What must I promise? What must I do?

All at once it came to her. Like a spark lighting up against the darkness of midnight.

FORTY-SIX

Upon stepping out of the councilwoman's makeshift prison, Katell approached Sonant Kaiden immediately.

With her knuckles grazing her spine, Katell stood ramrod straight. “I need to take her.” she said matter-of-factly, Kat forcing her voice into a monotone.

Sonant Kaiden didn't blink, his raised eyebrows betraying his shock instead. “I assume you speak of the councilwoman.”

Kat nodded.

“You understand she's the south's prisoner? The Southern Reaches' only bargaining chip with the Monarchy? Without her balancing out the scales—there will be war if we request freedom. There will be more blood.”

Kat swallowed. “Bloodshed will happen irregardless, Sonant Kaiden—innocents will die if Baate Noir does not revert back. The south's winter was eternal for a reason, Sonant Kaiden—to keep the monsters at bay! There will be no Montbereau if the councilwoman doesn't go to the black forest! If you burn her, the south will be overrun with monsters!”

The Sonant smirked. “Has she told you this?”

“Have you ever seen a hetaera past the fringe of the forest, Sonant? Dragons? Elves? The black protected us!”

“The witch has stolen your mind.” Kaiden hissed, eye narrowed. “If you free her, you will be a traitor to all of the south!”

Kat bit her tongue, but hardened her gaze. She had no choice—she knew the councilwoman wasn't telling her everything about the situation in Baate Noir. But from the stories and legends her own Gran had told her—Kat knew the forest protected the Southern Reaches from the worst of things. Be it vampires and night-stalkers—she knew the winter kept them from entering southern villages and murdering all. Kat had seen too much to call Gran's tales falsehoods. Dragons existed. Elves existed. Who was she to question if Baate Noir protected the Southern Reaches?

This was for her family—for Maddy and Eva, Gran and Horace—this was for her home. And if Kaiden didn't understand...then so be it.

She was prepared to fight.

“This is my Path.” she told him, palms out and open. The gesture one of goodwill. “She is already gone. There is nothing you—or anyone else—can do.” This is my destiny, she told herself.

Kaiden simply stared, his head ominously shaking as the corners of his lips turned down. Without a word, he lifted his arm with an outstretched finger pointing towards the curving staircase leading to the tower's ground floor. He wouldn't make eye contact as Kat opened her lips to murmur an apology.

Clamping her lips shut, she skulked towards the staircase and froze.

“Thank you,” she murmured, searching for an eye that wouldn't meet her's. “I'll make sure she does as she has promised.”

…

Kat found Vidonia hovering at the edge of the Poudurac, the river gray as the sun died upon the horizon. Rain fell as a light sheen of mist, the droplets forcing Kat's hair to stick to her forehead and neck. She shivered at the coolness—at the sudden whiff of a curling breeze as it fell upon her. Once again, she was outside. As free as she'd ever get.

“Before we venture into the forest,” Vidonia began, eyes on the smattering of chalk-white trees on the opposite riverbank, “you must endure the Solomon. You must be in complete control of your power.”

Kat bristled at that. “And how long will it take to find the caster of such a spell? How long will the south be vulnerable to the forest's monsters?!”

“Understand that whatever forces the changing of the leaves exceeds the bounds of my power. If you wish to save the south, you must couple your power with my own. But if you have no means of controlling your power, you could destroy yourself. Or take the entire south out. You must learn to control what resides inside of you, Katell.”

Kat sighed as her question went unanswered. “How long will this take?” she repeated, jaw clenched.

“At the most, three days. Perhaps four.”

The entire south could be dead by then! Kat shook her head—she was exaggerating. No.

Patience. She needed patience.

“And what could my power do? Besides finding my cousin—what could I do?”

The councilwoman blinked as she hesitated. “There is a presence in Baate Noir that forces the change. With our power combined, we could destroy it.”

“And then, what?”

Kat watched Vidonia's eyes break eye contact as her gaze moved towards the crumbling tower far behind them. “It seems your kinsmen have retracted whatever deal you've brokered.” she remarked, her lids heavy. “If we stay here any longer, I'm afraid I will be forced to spill blood.”

Turning, Kat whispered a string of curses as she watched Sonant Kaiden's ragtag force of surviving Sonants surge out from the entrance of Labassette's tower. Kaiden had simply pointed. There were no words exchanged as he soundlessly beckoned that she leave. He had warned she'd be a traitor to her countrymen, but she hadn't thought that she'd see the aftereffects of her decision so soon.

Though the group of Sonants stood with their faces masked, Kat could feel their combined malice as they looked upon her. Though they were miles away, Kat could feel their anger wash upon her skin as acid. The sensation biting and nipping at her, making the hairs upon her arms stand on end despite the endless onslaught of rain.

Kat spotted Kaiden standing atop Labassette, his arms behind his back as black smoke broke from the tower's top. A single finger of wood burned behind him, the flame's tongue red and hungry—outright ignoring the mist of rain as it continued to fall. Kat believed the Sonant's passion for the south's freedom fed it and kept it from dying. Kat's heart lurched forward as she stared at the figure perched atop the tower. She flinched as Councilwoman Vidonia brought a hand to her face and snapped loudly.

“We need to leave. No more stalling. We go around Labassette...” she decided, her voice a harsh command. “...far around.”

Kat nodded, her mind awash as fire gleamed from the corner of her eye. The Sonants made no move against them. The force frozen beneath the rain and explosion of color upon the horizon as the sun gave way to the night.

Vidonia struck Kat's shoulder before digging her nails into the tendons. “Come on, then. Before your kinsmen make a move they'll regret.”

“And where do we go?” Kat blinked, her steps uncertain and choppy as they two began to follow the river west.

“Safrana.” Vidonia snapped, her gaze floating towards the Sonants as the sky bellowed with thunder overhead.

With an agile flick of her wrist, white lightning struck in a jagged arch. The bolt touching down upon the burning finger of wood at the top of the Labassette's tower before unraveling into a myriad of thin singular bolts.

Lightning hailed upon the chateau, the bolts narrowly missing a handful of Sonants while striking others. Howls speared through the twilight as Kat froze. The figure standing atop the tower burning black before falling. Sonant Kaiden twirling through the air, a tail of smoke following, before he smacked into the black ground at the tower's foundation. His scream of silence deafening.

FORTY-SEVEN

As the moon rose, a new host of wildlife took to the night skies. Cricket chirps echoed from within towering blades of high grass, as creatures hooted hungrily overhead. The thrum of monstrous wings flapping against the light of the moon forced the grass swallowing Kat and Vidonia's ankles to bow and bend. A single piercing caw speared through the night as the two stumbled and twisted through blue tinted plains of dancing grass.

“We cannot go on forever.” Councilwoman Vidonia whispered as the two plunged through the plains. “I know of a place we can rest, but it is just a clearing. You'll be sleeping in the grass.”

Kat shrugged, somewhat rolling her eyes. “Lead on, then.”

~~~

Vidonia lead them through the plains, the woman stopping beneath a large oak that cast a crooked black shadow. The shadow reaching over a thin thicket of blue tinted grass infested with chirping crickets.

The councilwoman was the first to lie down and wish the world goodnight, the woman laying upon her side in the grass before letting her exhaustion take her to sleep. Kat attempted to do the same as she rested her back upon the trunk of the thick, crooked, oak. But as she watched Vidonia breathe easily upon the grass, Kat found herself wondering why the woman was willing to help her and save the south. Wasn't she a northwoman and a councilor to the Rose's Monarchy? Of all the people willing to turn on the north to help the south—Kat would have expected Vidonia to be the absolute last and the most devoted to the cause of the north. Why turn to help Katell? Why turn at all?

Councilwoman Vidonia had her own agenda in mind, that much was true. She seemed to care more for magic and power than she did for the north or her kinsmen. If Vidonia was truly self-serving, then there had to be an ulterior motive as to why the councilwoman was so willingly taking Kat to meet the creature who could cast the Solomon and bring Kat into her power. There had to be—but what?

Kat remembered Anais speaking about Vidonia...drinking...her. Now that Anais was no more, did Vidonia plan to trick Kat into allowing her to drink her as well?

Drinking...Kat shivered at the thought. Was Vidonia some sort of hybrid hetaera? What did the councilwoman plan to do with Kat once they reached the caster of the Solomon? What did Vidonia plan to do beforehand—in Safrana? Was Kat willingly marching towards her own doom?

She murdered Kaiden. With a flick of her wrist—she murdered him!

Kat stood, careful to be quiet as she looked to the night sky.

Bertrand was still out there somewhere—he vanished. Perhaps he could help her—perhaps she could leave this woman to her fate and search for those who would actually help her...

Without Vidonia, Baate Noir and the Southern Reaches will perish beneath an onslaught of monsters freed by the broken wards of the black forest. Without her...

Kat fell, plopping upon the ground at her feet.

Is there no other way to save the south?

Vidonia would betray her, that much Kat knew, but without Vidonia Baate Noir would be no more.

And the monsters—the monsters will be free.

Where was help when she desperately needed it? Where were the Fates and their instruments? She knew that the world was not perfect, but when the balance of power between man and beast was upset—where were the gods to right it? Where were their creators and destroyers? Had the Cataclysm gotten rid of them too? Replaced them with beasts and monsters?

Maybe Baate Noir was never meant to exist. Maybe monsters were meant to be free...

At least—that's how the Night Lady had made it seem...

No matter.

Kat eyes grew heavy as she rested her hands in her lap. She'd keep her ax close as the inside of her shield prodded her back. A sweet wind rolled through her nostrils as her eyes became heavy slits. A white fog settled upon the ground before she allowed sleep to possess her and passed out.

~~~

“Wake up—someone is toying with us. Wake up—,”

Kat did as she was told, her breath catching in her throat as she patted her thigh for her ax.

It was gone.

“Wake up!”

White clouded her vision. The stream of blue tinted grass she sat upon was now blanketed by a surging froth of white mist. Tugging her bear skin cloak tight around her shoulders, Kat brought her gaze to the sky only to find that that too was cleansed with white.

Before her, a presence illuminated in gold bloomed into existence.

It beckoned her with a hand. A feminine creature hidden by a cloak of gold.

Kat froze. Damn, she hated magic.

“Don't—merde—what are you doing, girl!”

“Ignore that shrill creature.” the woman before Kat scoffed, still beckoning her forth with a hand. “I've come to tell you the truth, Katell Maeva. Come closer.”

Another thing waiting to enshroud me in its lies. Kat took a step back, her foot slamming into something rough.

“Open your eyes! Whatever you're seeing, it's a—,”

Vidonia's shrieking voice faded as the gold woman shut her dainty palm. “I am a projection of the one you seek. I've come to warn you, magebane, turn back. The woman you travel with serves power and pride, she cares not for the plight of our world.”

“And what of Baate Noir and the changing of the leaves? Without her—how will I stop it?”

The presence cocked its head of golden hair. “You will not.” it responded matter-of-factly, “For it is not your destiny to.”

“Then what am I to do?!” Kat shouted back, fists clenched at her sides. “Sit and wait until the Southern Reaches go up in flames? Let my kinsmen die?!”

“You are to let the world continue on as it ought.” the figure commanded, the fog at Kat's feet gradually receding as the night sky became visible once more. “As this age comes to a close...”

The fog peeled back, the white melting away like snow turning to vapor beneath the bright light of the sun. Kat fell back into the grass, palms catching on rough dirt as she edged away from an explosive burst of hot breath that surged from her front. Heavy wing beats brought up a cloud of dust as her hair whipped past her ears. A hand fell to her shoulder and yanked her up.

You were supposed to die in those woods, an otherworldly voice hissed upon a breath of hot wind.

Vidonia pulled and threw Kat behind her as the shrill cry of an injured gryphon speared through the night, golden wings whirling up the stale air as burgundy blood spilled from between gold and white pinions. Its large black eyes were glassy as the creature looked on, its jagged beak shining white beneath the harsh glare of the moon. Sharp claws the size of Kat's arms dug through the moonlit plains as it lowered its upper body, the creature lowering itself into a crouch as it locked eyes with Vidonia.

Thunderous magic whirled to life in the high sorceress's clenched hands as Kat gasped. In the grass, she found her ax. The weapon carelessly thrown by something or someone.

Something told Kat that she had done it. In her fog induced stupor, she had disarmed herself.

This world does not need another magebane.

Rearing back its head, the gryphon screeched.

FORTY-EIGHT

Kat scrambled to her hands and knees, her hair whipping past her face once more as the gryphon roared and beat its wings against the earth.

“Stay down,” Vidonia growled, the power whirring to life within her hands exploding into two clear orbs of pulsating energy. “you've done enough.”

The creature charged forward with a screech, its mighty talons ripping up grass and dirt as it rushed forward.

Rolling to her right, Kat hissed as a talon ripped into the skin of her face. Narrowly missing the gryphon's charge, she clung hard to the handle of her ax as Vidonia uttered a shrill war cry and forced a pulsating orb of power into the gryphon's right hip with an explosion of red gore.

Losing control of its leg, the right side of the massive beast's body plummeted to the ground with a slam. Vidonia froze—hand squarely within the gryphon's right hip—as the creature's useless haunch pinned her to the ground and held.

Vidonia roared, her breath labored and pained.

Kat clung to the ax in her hand before pushing herself up into a crouch. She bit her lip as the injured gryphon thrashed its head of white feathers from side to side, the creature calling out to the night as it tried to bring its useless right hip from the ground.

Its bloodied wings beat lamely, the beast pawing at the ground as it lifted its head and cried out once more.

All at once, it noticed the woman pinned beneath it.

Kat charged—screaming for the beast's attention—as Vidonia forced her body to turn beneath the beast's massive weight. Hissing as she moved, she roared in frustration as Kat dug the head of her ax into the gryphon's belly.

The creature screeched in exasperation then, its jagged beak ripping open to its breaking point.

“Over here!” Vidonia screamed, fingers raking at air as she fought to breathe. “Pull me out—you won't—you won't kill it that way!”

Clasping the high sorceress's hands, Kat yanked as the woman roared in ear splitting agony. The gryphon matched her screams, anxiously beating its massive wings against the ground until it brought itself from its blood soaked spot upon the plains and into the air.

Vidonia wreathed upon the ground, her hand to her chest, as she coughed. Black blood spurting like a dying fountain from the side of her lips.

“You—,” she coughed, staring at the hovering gryphon as it flew in a lopsided circle. “—you called it. Injured it.” Kat's eyes went wide as she brought her hands to Vidonia's armpits and dragged her through the grass. Away from the gryphon's lopsided path. “Then threw your weapon. Wanted to—to sacrifice yourself.”

Dropping her beneath the shadow of the oak tree behind them, Kat shook her head. “Something woke me and told me that I...” should have died in those woods. Vidonia stood, every movement visibly painful as her face twisted and her lips scowled. “It told me that I'm...not destined to save the south.”

Vidonia cursed.

Spreading its black talons before itself, the gryphon flew towards the two as its wings locked up. The creature falling.

“Stay where you are.” Vidonia coughed as Kat readied to run.

Letting go of her side, Vidonia wheezed as she moved her hands before her chest, her fingers pointing towards her heart as she moved her palms backwards. Over and over she repeated this movement, murmuring foreign words as her eyes locked with the gryphon's. Raw power surged as Kat felt the air suddenly grow cool around them. Kat's jaw dropped as Vidonia's eyes became large pools of black, her skin suddenly dropping all color. A sickening gray overtaking the pink tone of her skin as a pulsating red grew from her chest and enveloped her hands.

The gryphon spread its talons. Opened it's jagged yellow beak.

As Vidonia spread her palms before herself and roared.

A thunderous boom shook the ground, the sudden jolt bringing Kat to her knees as the gryphon squawked overhead. Gargantuan wings flapped wildly as the massive beast collided with Vidonia in a hail of blood and gold pinions.

FORTY-NINE

Catching herself with outstretched hands clutching the grass, Kat heaved as the gryphon sprawled upon the patch of grass beside her breathed its last. Kat heard Vidonia hiss beneath the bloodied carcass's golden chest. Hanging her head, Kat closed her eyes as she wondered how she'd gather the strength to free the councilwoman from her prison of feathers and meat.

Fortunately, she wouldn't have to think hard.

A bubbling cloud of dark mist came to life before her. Lifting up her head, Kat sat back upon her haunches and watched as the councilwoman materialized before her in a breath of chilling wind.

The smoke—the materialization—it was all too familiar to Kat.

“You're a hetaera.” Kat breathed, the hair upon the back of her neck rising. “Anais said that you...drink people—this is what she meant, isn't it?”

Brushing invisible dust from the fabric of her torn gown, the councilwoman scoffed as her black eyes lightened into their normal olive tint.

“Hetaera?” she barked, rolling her eyes. “Anais knew little—and you, even less. I took its life, saving you.” she spat, throwing a hand towards the gryphon's immobile carcass. “Is that not what matters?”

Kat bit her lip. “I can't trust you if you won't tell me the truth.”

“You've trusted me this far.” the councilwoman snapped, crossing her arms. “Or, are you suddenly regretting freeing me from that tower?”

Kat couldn't bring herself to tell the councilwoman the truth—that figure wrapped in gold had shaken her confidence. Was the councilwoman truly as selfish as the figure warned? Could she be leading Kat towards something entirely different? Could the Solomon spell help the councilwoman instead of Kat? Was Kat truly not destined to save the south?

Should she allow the world to continue on as it ought?

Perhaps the black forest's beast are meant to be free.

Where did the gryphon come from? The figure encased in gold?

Where was Vidonia truly taking her?

Kat looked to the councilwoman for answers, but knew she'd receive none. She'd have to continue on. Turning back now would be fruitless. The councilwoman had killed Kaiden, and news of this would spread quickly. Southerners would mislabel her as a traitor if she returned with nothing. If she did not fix the forest, she'd have no home to return to. She would have to turn to northerners for help—or worse.

Perhaps Vidonia would drink her life, and that would be that. Or, perhaps the woman's heart wasn't as black as she believed it to be.

Kat would never know—or, at least, not yet.

After a prolonged silence, Vidonia held out a hand. Kat took it, the woman's skin pallid and lifeless as Kat felt it. Grasped it tightly.

“The Archon sent the gryphon.” the councilwoman told her, eyes dead-set. “If we can get into the city sooner rather than later, it will make it that much harder for him to send more...mythic creatures. Does this quench your thirst for the truth?” she grunted as she pulled Kat up. “Will you trust me, now?”

Kat ran a hand through her hair. What choice do I have but to trust you? “Who is the Archon? Why did he send this beast after us?”

Vidonia smirked, head cocked. “He is a coward who believed me to be dead, and now wishes death upon me because we've encroached upon his territory. He is the realm's puppetmaster.” she finished with an anxious twist of her wrist. “If we don't move, more will come. If we stay here in the open, we might not be so lucky next time.”

Kat nodded, wrinkling her nose. She avoided speaking as worries overshadowed her curiosity. Was the Archon right about Councilwoman Vidonia? And if so, was that truly a bad thing?

~~~

A two citadels rose upon the brightening horizon with the sharp spearhead of a dark castle reaching up through the westernmost citadel's heart to pierce the clouds hovering overhead.

Raging rivers gushed, breaking through the long stretch of grassy plains as Kat and Vidonia ventured closer towards the metropolis. Eventually, a gray river broke off into two branches before them. One branch careening off of a sharp precipice, the water falling into a crashing sea ramming itself up against a tall cliff; the other leading into the citadels gleaming like jades upon the blooming horizon.

Vidonia began following the branch of the river that lead off the cliff, her black skirts trailing through the grass like a shadow. The woman stopped at the cliff face, her body a black silhouette as she stood frozen. Her eyes scanning the fathomless horizon as it gleamed across the sea below.

“We're almost there.” Kat murmured, standing a good distance behind her, but close enough to be heard. “Shouldn't we continue?”

Vidonia seemed to hesitate before she swiftly nodded. Her head turning to give Kat a sidelong glare before she brought her face to the sea and took her gaze down.

“Councilwoman Vidonia?”

She began to laugh, the sound a low rumbling chuckle as she brought a hand to her mouth. “What she wouldn't give to meet you.” Vidonia giggled, throwing back her head. “So close, yet so far! Frustrating, isn't it?”

Kat had the oddest feeling Vidonia wasn't speaking to her—not entirely, at least.

“Here I am! Standing upon a precipice—needing but to simply jump and she'd finally get her way! Power,” she growled, lifting her hands only to lower them, clenching her hands into fists. “it is what we all crave. Even you, as holy as you claim to be—even you crave it!” Throwing her gaze over her shoulder suddenly, Vidonia gestured for Kat to move away. Move back, she mouthed as she batted her hand towards her, Move back!

Kat didn't budge.

“Perhaps.” a voice boomed back, the deep thrum of its bass shaking the cliff. “What have you come to offer, now?”

“Myself.” Vidonia called back, her voice haughty and controlled. “My curse. My immortality. In exchange for this one's power.”

FIFTY

They were fools—foolish to believe the councilwoman would help them.

Light wraiths encircled Ledora, blocking her path as she lifted up her hands and stretched out her arms in defiance.

Do not fight them—do not even threaten them! They are thinking creatures who will listen to a bargain! Let me speak!

“No.” Ledora whispered. “They want a fight—I shall give them one.”

You will not survive. We will not survive. The councilwoman siphoned our Power—if we touch its crux the pain will be excruciating without some sort of buffer!

“I'd rather die than bargain with beasts—,”

Selfish thing. You have me...

Ledora felt her chest stiffen as she lost control of herself to the foreign soul inside her.

Five wraiths circled the dual-souled sorceress, the creatures shivering at the ominously moaning wind as the sorceress threw back her head and opened her mouth as if to scream.

Snapping her head forward, a different voice crawled from between her scowling lips. “Can you feel my aura, lithranas? Do you know me?”

“Night Mother...” one wraith wailed, it's transparent form shivering as it floated near its kin.

“She is dead...”

“No more...”

“It is known.” the creatures decided in unison, tightening the circle as they glided towards Ledora's form.

“I live on in this one!” Seraphina tried, working Ledora's lips like a wry puppetmaster. “The one that has tainted you—has turned your color from midnight to daybreak—what does it call itself? What must I offer for this information?”

The wraiths froze, hovering as wreathing whispers wove themselves from one creature of light to the next.

“Human host...” the creature sheathed in light before Seraphina's gaze spoke, “...free the soul within. Let our mother out...”

“Only then will we tell you its name.”

Seraphina receded, Ledora's eye rolling back into her head as her soul took control once more.

Kill them. Seraphina roared. They simply want to watch me suffer. If I leave you, I'll die.

“Perhaps it's your time.” Ledora quipped, rubbing her neck as the wraiths looked on. Waiting.

Gods do not die. The wraiths will not leave unless they see or feel something.

Ledora felt drained as her fingers trembled, tingling with an electrifying sensation that prickled with a bitter intensity. “I cannot do that.” she told the wraiths, eyeing them warily. “If you plan to kill me, do it quickly. Before your sun presence does.”

“Free the soul within...”

“...you have no part to play in this, human host.”

A wraith touched her, its transparent hand warm as it placed weightless fingers upon her wiry shoulder. “You have no duty to her.”

Damn it all—I know you're thinking about it! Damn it all, Ledora!

They were fools to give all that they had to Vidonia. All that they were.

You don't know what I've done to keep this world safe! You don't understand—and beasts, animals, they damn well don't! Ledora!

Ledora couldn't get this thing off her—not without activating power she didn't currently possess. If she touched the Power's crux without some sort of buffer—without some sort of countermeasure to soften the blow of the Power, she'd injure her soul. She'd rip it to shreds.

But it seemed as though she had no choice.

It wasn't her own magic that roared to life within her. It was something cold and dark and slimy that coursed through her at a slithering pace—like an eel wreathing through her veins. It made her cold and hollow as the force reached through her—cutting her soul in two—to touch the Power's crux without a countermeasure.

Seraphina reached for the Power's crux. Using Ledora's own soul as leverage.

You don't know what I've had to do! What I've had to sacrifice!

The wraiths shrieked in unison, doubling back before becoming a roaring ring of white fire. Beads of sweat broke upon Ledora's tanned skin as she fell to kneeling. Her chest on fire as her soul was ripped to smithereens by the raw might of the Power's crux.

My village. My daughter. My life—all sacrificed to take care of this damned forest! To make sure humanity could live out its golden age in a semblance of peace!

The ring of white fire grew, the flames closing in on Ledora as her palms flattened against the scorching ground beneath her. She felt the skin of her palms sizzle and fought not to cry out against pain that wasn't truly there. Her vision blurred as the Power's crux worked to swallow the ripped threads of her soul—as Seraphina slithered through Ledora's veins, working to swallow Ledora's will whole.

Perhaps I've siphoned the lives of direwolves to increase my own power. Children lost in Baate Noir who never return? Perhaps I stole their youth. Northern Champions marching through hoping to tame these woods—perhaps I've torn them limb from limb for an ounce of their power. Yes!

Ice. Ice grew from her. White and thick and hot.

But who are they to put me on trial? I am the Mother of Monsters—the Night Lady—a God in my own right! Who are they?

“Who are you to claim such?” Ledora coughed out. “You who turned traitor against your own kind in life!”

Silence as the ice continued to grow, spreading towards the white circle of roaring fire as the wraiths screeched. Scaring birds from neighboring trees.

Within Ledora's head, Seraphina laughed.

It was my pleasure to spread discourse. And it will be my pleasure to continue doing so.

Ledora gasped, her vision snapping to black as the crux worked to eat her whole. The implement ravaging her soul to tiny particles as it feasted hungrily on a morsel it hadn't tasted in years.

It was an unspoken rule among magic users to never offer a human soul to the Power's crux.

Unspoken among many. Ignored by some.

Goodbye Ledora.

Fog slithered from her lips as a cold white dust settled over all. Frost materializing from the gathered gray clouds above.

C'est la vie.

FIFTY-ONE

Kat approached the cliff face, her eyes scanning the crawling waves below before bringing her gaze to Vidonia. Her face a mask of confusion as she watched the councilwoman stare out at the horizon.

Who...or what...was down there?

Vidonia did not return her gaze.

The land began to shift, the ground trembling as thick earth fractured beneath them. The ground crackling with a boom, the outcry like that of a tree ripping from its roots as it fell. Kat backed away as the ground beneath her shifted thunderously. Spreading out her hands, she watched the ocean lap at the cliff's rugged face, only for water to slip away and disappear into a newly formed opening below.

“Come. Come, then. Climb down.” a voice from below boomed, “The way is open.”

Kat watched Vidonia take a single step forward as if to dive. “She will enact the Solomon.” Vidonia said, crouching before ripping the fabric of her gown in two. “If your wish is still to save the forest, you'd do well to follow me below.”

“You said—,”

“I know what I said!” Vidonia snapped, kneeling upon the ground as she snapped her gaze over her shoulder. “I had to entice her somehow. You'll understand when you see her.”

Gulls shrieked hungrily, their high-pitched voices careening through the sky as Vidonia turned and climbed her way down the cliff face.

Kat held her breath, waiting as she listened to the calming push and pull of the waves far below. The sound echoed up the cliff face, climbing the rugged crags in the stony sediment one wave at a time. The sound's pace slow before it finally met Kat's ears, the noise making a watery crash that snapped at her. Letting the air within her lungs go, Kat bit her tongue as she approached the precipice of the cliff. Below, she watched Vidonia shimmy from stone to stone. Her pale legs bare as she climbed down towards the cliff's opening at its base. Swallowing her fear, Kat turned and began her descent.

Slimy rocks edged at Kat's palms the closer she got to the cliff's base. Brine showered her legs as she heard Vidonia shuffle and drop from the rocks beneath her. The woman landing into the ocean with an ominous plop. Looking down, Kat was close enough to the cliff's opening that the wall she clung to began to transform into the roof of a watery cavern. She'd have to follow Vidonia's lead and jump, or risk slipping from the rocks and landing in the water below back first.

Kat stared down. It was a far drop. She became dizzy as she guessed at how far. Two stories? Three? She bit her lip.

Vidonia submerged from the deep blue below. “You'll be fine if you drop down here. There's nothing but water!” she called up.

Kat froze, fingers stiffening on the slimy cliff face.

“She'll shake you off if you linger too long. Just ignore your fear and let go!”

“What do you mean?! She'll—,” Kat's eyes widened as the cliff face began to shiver beneath her grip.

“Let go!”

“I can't!” Kat shrieked as the crag's rocky shiver evolved into a violent tremor that threatened to propel her off, the force strong enough to fling her towards the ocean. “I can't...I can't!”

Down below, Vidonia sighed. The sound echoing within the watery cave before her.

At this rate, Kat would slip—she knew. If she slipped she'd fall back first into the water and black out. Or worse. She could drown. She could snap her back in two...

But as her heart hammered within her chest, she felt safer clinging to the cliff's face than jumping into the terrifying sea below. The drop was massive—the space between herself and the ocean lengthening the longer she stared at it.

I need to jump, she told herself—forcing her eyes to close, Do it for them—for Horace...Bertrand...where ever they are...

She let one hand go. Then the other.

And she fell—eyes tightly shut. Her legs stiff as she straightened them beneath her. Opening her eyes slightly, she hit the water with a scream. Submerging beneath the blue only to propel herself towards the surface with a gasp.

Vidonia chuckled lightly by her side. “Good girl.” she smiled before swimming towards the cliff's opening. “We've but a short way to go now.”

~~~

Lapping waves fell away to stone as the two continued forward. Despite the pitch black of the cave, Kat found it easy to see her hand before her face but not much else as they followed a straight pathway that dug deep into the mountain's heart before ending abruptly at large stone steps leading upwards.

“Rosetta Vidonia,” a feminine voice screeched from above. “your companion...” the women froze, “...you bring me the child of the one who is anathema.”

“She wishes to atone for the sins of her mother.” Vidonia replied, chin raised as her gaze skirted the large rectangular steps before them. “She wishes to give up her mother's power...”

“And exchange it with you?” the voice bellowed, laughter poisoning its words. “You must be unaware of the change in the Crux.”

Vidonia narrowed her gaze. “I've not come to banter with you.”

“Then what have you come for, Rosetta?”

It was Kat's turn to speak, and she took a step forward as she cut Vidonia off. “The black forest is no longer dark. The tethers which once kept monsters in their place have been broken. Soon enough, monsters will roam free from Baate Noir causing havoc. The balance of power between man and beast will soon be broken—,”

“And what do you plan to do about it?” spat the voice, its tone slithering with biting spite. “Do as your mother has done? Sit yourself upon a throne of false dominion and demand every creature tremble in fear at the mention of your name? Night Lady...Mother of Monsters—is this what you hope to become to keep the forest dark, girl? Is this what you swear to become?”

Vidonia threw a biting glare at Kat before clasping her hands behind her back. “She is an idealistic child, Keeper—,”

“A child planning to repeat the errs of her mother's broken past.” the voice snapped, a sour wind bellowing from on high. “Walk the steps.”

Vidonia clasped Kat upon the shoulder. “Do as she says. And from now on, I do the talking.” Staring hard into the shorter woman's eyes, Vidonia narrowed her gaze. “Do you understand?”

Pinpricks of piercing pain erupted upon Kat's shoulder, the pinpricks originating from beneath Vidonia's constricting grip. Shrugging beneath the councilwoman's tightening fingers, Kat shoved the woman away. “I deserve answers. No more following blindly. This creature could be the Fates themselves—I no longer care—,”

“Then I am not at fault if she writes you out of existence. You understand that speaking against her—churning up her ire—could put you in an early grave, yes?”

Biting her lip, Kat nodded.

“Good. Then, by all means, question as much as you wish.” Vidonia replied with a flick of her drenched rubicund locks.

Kat took the steps one at a time, side by side with Vidonia who chanted lightly. The woman freezing at the slightest hint of a breeze or a hum. As they neared the end of their ascent, a barrier of wind materialized before them. The howling air falling to silence as it became a solid presence that halted the women upon the stairs.

Behind the barrier, a rolling mist of electric blue bubbled from the mouth of a dilapidated temple on the landing before them. The mist came from every crack and crevice, lurching upon the ground as it rounded out into a flowing gown of bright blue. Beneath the gown of mist materialized the thin form of a woman, her skin transparent. Her eyes a pupilless white with an unnerving gaze that glued itself to Vidonia, and finally to Kat.

“You know of the Power's crux, yes?”

Kat jumped before nodding as Vidonia shook her head.

“The Power's crux is a spirit that willingly shares its force with those of us who can sacrifice a little bit of our own natural Power. The crux has a keeper—,”

“A sylph?” Kat gasped, looking upon the woman engulfed in mist before them, “They exist?”

“She exists.” Vidonia corrected, crossing her arms as the sylph watched them. Waiting. “Will you let us through, Keeper?” Vidonia called.

“You haven't explained my purpose thoroughly, Rosetta. Go on.”

Vidonia swallowed. “The crux, unchecked and ignored, could very well devour the world because of its insatiable lust for power. Sorcerers drawing upon the crux, exchanging pieces of themselves, keeps the crux's hunger at bay—”

“More importantly, I keep it from devouring souls in exchange for a taste of cosmic Power...” the sylph vanished in a gasp of silver air before reappearing before Kat, white eyes narrowed, “...but your mother has usurped me...just as you plan to do...”

“What do you mean—usurped? Seraphina is close to death, she lacks a body—much less a will to bypass you—”

“Yet, she has and she does!” screamed the sylph, vanishing in a shriek of cold air, “The soul of a sorceress has been sacrificed to the crux, Rosetta! You have failed in curbing the hunger of our enemy, and now she taints the crux with her lust for Power—if you truly wish to take on this one's talent—if you truly wish to become magebane, in order to use the crux's Power you must give up your soul...” the sylph reappeared then, her hands flat against the barrier of air before them, “...which you cannot do...vampire.”

FIFTY-TWO

Kat slapped her hand to her thigh, her fingers grazing the cold steel of her ax as it hung from her belt. “I knew it.” she hissed, the puncture wounds upon Anais's neck from so long ago flashing through her mind's eye. “I knew it!”

Vidonia heaved a deep sigh, her long fingers clenching only to unclench at her sides as she avoided Kat's glare and stared directly into the pupilless eyes of the sylph.

The creature smiled, her grin all teeth, “Is your control slipping, Rosetta Vidonia? Even a fledgling knows what you are...under that cloak of goodwill and beauty...” placing a hand to her chest, the sylph howled with a ghostly cackle, “...how far you've fallen, vampire. Child—put your weapon away.”

A hand of swirling blue mist flew at Kat, palm flat, as it spewed an invisible force that slapped Kat's hand away from her ax and ripped the weapon from her leather belt. Snapping her gaze over her shoulder, Kat watched the weapon clatter to the stones of the floor before its silver head slipped down the temple stairs. Silver clashed against stone as the weapon continued to descend. The sound of the falling weapon dying with an ominous and watery plop.

Bringing her gaze to the sylph, Kat crossed her arms. “You never told me.” she murmured to Vidonia, sliding her gaze to the right. Peering at the older woman from the corner of her eye. “You expect me to trust you, yet you keep secrets upon secrets! What else have you lied about, councilwoman, hm? Do you even plan to save Baate Noir? Do you even plan on going back?” her voice rose a few octaves as the sylph before them sputtered with laughter. “Have you brought me here to help me, or yourself, councilwoman? Is the Solomon even real?”

“Do not fret, young magebane. The Solomon exists.” Vidonia hissed, her lips a red line as she opened them slightly to scowl. “But it shall help me more than you.”

“I should have never let you go. I should have let the Sonants burn you!” Kat bit her tongue, cutting herself off as she ignored the cold hand of guilt constricting her heart. She knew she wouldn't be able to let another woman die at the hands of the Sonants—no matter how black they proved their heart to be. She couldn't let another Jocelyn die.

From the corner of her eye, she watched Vidonia smirk. “You're too curious and softhearted for that, my dear.” she replied matter-of-factly. “Keeper of the Crux, we've come to enact the Solomon.” she murmured to the sylph, bowing from the waist as she spoke.

“Ah, the Solomon.” the Keeper replied, standing still behind her barrier of solid wind. “Again, Rosetta Vidonia, do you know the state of the Power's crux? Do you understand that Seraphina has fed a soul to it?”

“I understand that—”

The Keeper flashed a flat palm, fingers splayed. “Seraphina, this world's Night Lady—your creation—has done the ultimate evil and you have failed to stop her. Because of your failure, every man, woman, and child able to practice magic can no longer fuel it using their own natural Power to commune with the Crux, Rosetta Vidonia. Do you understand the ultimate result of this? Do you understand what will happen to this world if the Crux demands souls because of Seraphina's selfishness and your failure? Do you understand?”

Kat watched Vidonia squirm beneath the black fabric of her dress. She watched the woman's skin turn a sickly gray. “The Crux will simply demand more natural Power, Keeper. It will simply require—,”

“With every word, you reveal your ignorance. You've lived for several lifetimes—how can you not understand?!” shrieked the sylph as it began to pace, a bubbling trail of blue mist following its floating steps. “Touch the Crux, young magebane. Tell us what you feel, what you see...”

Kat blinked, meeting the sylph's pupilless eyes as Vidonia slid her a sidelong glare.

“Go on.” the Keeper commanded, her voice smooth silk. “Call upon your power, young one.”

What had she done to break those wards Anais had placed? “I'll need my ax.” she told the Keeper, “Or something sharp.”

“Vidonia.”

A hand slithered onto Kat's shoulder as Kat turned towards Vidonia. From her bodice, she slipped a thin black stiletto which she slapped into Kat's palm. “Do as she commands.” Vidonia murmured, her eyes a puddle of confusion before she turned away.

Holding the sharp end of the stiletto against her wrist, Kat made a straight cut. Crimson flowed from the incision, trailing down her arm in fleeting drips. Kat concentrated on it and thought to break the sylph's barrier—or at least send some sort of force towards it to show that she could commune with the Power's crux. But, instead of feeling her own blood boil and her skin prickle, she felt a cold slime slither its way through her veins as her throat constricted. Her blood suddenly dried, the incision weaving its way to a close as Kat's vision blurred.

For a long moment, all she saw was black.

“She cannot commune with the Crux,” a wavering feminine voice whispered over her, “no one can—not without giving it a soul as your charge has done. Seraphina has tipped the scales, Vidonia, and unless those scales are righted there is nothing I can do for either of you.”

Kat felt a palm grace her forehead. “Get up, now. You're intact. You're all right.”

Opening her eyes, Kat gazed upon Vidonia's disheveled face. The woman looked ten years older with ragged gray skin and sunken eyes framed by drenched locks of rubicund. Vidonia turned her gaze away from Kat's, “But, Keeper! We need the Solomon to stop her—,”

“I know your heart, Rosetta Vidonia. But know this: there is nothing I can do until the Crux is either satiated with its lust for souls, or the scales are righted and we can call upon the Crux using our natural Power.”

“Then how must we right the scales?” snapped Vidonia as she pulled Kat to her feet.

“Kill her.”

Kat felt her stomach drop at those words as her strength slowly returned.

“Kill the Night Lady and send her soul to the Crux—”

“But—the forest, Baate Noir and the people it protected—,” Kat felt her voice die as her eyes suddenly watered, “—she's—she's my mother—,”

The Keeper shot Kat a piercing glare that stung her like a bolt of white lightning. “The balance between man and beast will settle without your dear mother,” it spoke with a dead voice, with the haunting croak of an undead thing, “Baate Noir was her cage. But now that she has broken it, she must be contained.” the Keeper told her, misty arms crossed. “She must be punished.”

FIFTY-THREE

For a time, it was gold.

Autumn had come, winter had gone.

Baate Noir, the “Forest of Soot”, became Solace Viale, the “Forest of Life”.

“But you plan to bring it all back, don't you?”

Silence, as the green grass faded to gray around her. A pool of death sucking at her bare feet.

Seraphina felt the Power rage through her stolen body as the gray death sucking at the darkening grass blades around her ventured outwards. The gray pool of death widening into a pond. A sea.

“Little girl...you cannot stand to give up such power, can you?”

Seraphina clenched her jaw, bones clicking in her head, as she clenched her fists and crouched. “I will not entertain you, mother. You chose this life for me!”

A tongue clicked three times, causing birds to flee from their perches as a sharp wind blew hair from Seraphina's face. “In your position...who could truly blame you, hm? If given the opportunity, I believe I would do the same. Who wouldn't want to claim the world for themselves? Who wouldn't want to feel raw power in their hands and know that those around them have no choice but to bend the knee to you? Or risk death in rebellion?”

The old woman's raspy voice seemed to swallow Seraphina, the woman's words spiraling around her like a funnel of dangerous wind.

“I have no quarrel with you, mother. Leave me—go back home!”

“You have a quarrel with the entire world, child. Look at you—stealing life—for what purpose? Do you truly think you can do away with that presence? It killed you once, didn't it?”

“I wasn't prepared.” Seraphina snapped, eyes darting this way and that as she attempted to identify her mother. “But now I will be. Now, I'll know how to deal with it. So, tell me mother, you know of the presence—obviously...”

Seraphina listened to the old woman laugh—an old and grating sound. Like a rusty steel trunk squawking closed. Damn—she hated that condescending laugh. Her belittling tone. Even in the afterlife, her mother was able to haunt her. A compromising thought flitted through Seraphina's mind—a thought that made her clench her jaw even harder.

What if her mother treated her daughter as she had treated her? With spite and chilling love? What if she had treated Katell in such a way?

Seraphina felt her anger boil over. “Lead me to it, or leave me be!”

“Very well.” her mother sighed.

As you wish.

It emerged from a crooked thicket of sharp bramble, a womanly silhouette engulfed in orange. The color bright enough to mimic the sun. The shine bright enough to burn every bit of wood and foliage littering the now auburn Baate Noir. Seraphina's bottom lip dropped, the feeling of shock foreign to her as the muscles of her stolen face spasmed. Despite Seraphina's rapidly thumping heartbeat, she found a way to chill the air around her as the grass surrounding her died instantly. Trees turning a stygian black as Seraphina continued to suck the life from the forest in exchange for Power.

The Power's crux had given her a roaring sea of cosmic Power in exchange for Ledora's soul. Sucking more Power from nature meant more strength for Seraphina. It meant she was becoming her old self—the Night Lady. A goddess in her own right.

But this—this wasn't expected.

“The presence had been a man—not a woman! Curse you for taunting me—!”

The presence within the golden orb laughed, its voice mottled into two ebbing wavelengths; one a male voice, the other female. “Have you forgotten your lineage, little girl? Maeva blood is powerful—especially in the veins of its women. We come from a long line of goddesses and high sorceresses—but your short reign in the forest has forced you to forget this,” she breathed, “has it not?”

Seraphina became a beacon for the forest's Power, her life-force reaching out into the surrounding wood for a taste of more. Gradually, the gold of the forest dimmed as Seraphina sucked the woods dry. Green disappearing only to became black. Brown dying off into gray. Chirping birds dropped to the ground in droves, little feathered carcasses twitching as their meat fell from little bones and white bones hardened into thick dust. Rodents passed away, their life-forces melding into Seraphina's own as the sky above threatened to turn black.

But the woman engulfed in sun forced the sky to remain cloudless and blue, the orb behind her gleaming a reddish-white.

“Your time here has come to an end, Night Lady. Either you die here by my hand, or risk meeting your end at the hands of your own child.”

Midnight locks rippled around Seraphina's head as her skin dropped its tan color for a haunting white. “Come, then.” she roared, challenging her mother. “You defeated me once—but this time, you shall die by my hand.”

Her mother sighed, dark shoulders dropping. “If that is what you wish.”

Wreathing tentacles of white emerged from behind the blackened silhouette of Seraphina's mother as the older woman lifted her palms up towards the sky. Ripping her fingers down through the air, she bowed her back as the force of her lunge ripped Seraphina's hair from her face. The tentacles came immediately after, snapping through the air—reaching for Seraphina's form as the pale woman glared with burning eyes.

“You've tried this trick before.” Seraphina grunted, pulling more life from the wood before an inky black enveloped her pale fingers and a long black staff materialized upon her open palms.

Bringing the staff before her face, she ripped the weapon through the air; the black staff biting through the tentacles of light with an audible snap that rippled through the silence of the dead woods.

Still bowed, the silhouette slapped her flat palms to the earth with a scream. Fire danced between her outstretched fingers, the ground beneath her bubbling as the turf beneath Seraphina's feet suddenly burned her.

Seraphina stood her ground, nostrils flared as she smelt the biting embrace of fire.

Orange erupted before the silhouette as a white hot geyser that roared to life in a spray of tangerine scarlet. An explosion of red and orange surged towards the sky before chugging towards Seraphina at a breakneck pace.

Grasping her staff, Seraphina brought the black weapon up before slamming it down. Ice erupting beneath her feet before spreading—before chilling the fire that rocketed towards her.

Seraphina panted as she clung to the staff—arms lank.

The silhouette picked herself up, raising her body chest first before standing tall once more. “You're exhausted. The forest cannot feed your Power forever. The Power's crux eludes you, and your human body cannot take much more—give yourself to me, daughter, and I will send you someplace else.”

Seraphina heaved. Her stolen body wasn't used to this amount of raw Power roaring through its veins. Though Ledora was an astute archmage, she was only human. Drawing raw Power from nature was detrimental to a human—the Power rattling through her body like fireworks. The Power raw and uncontrolled as it shivered through her, meddling with her organs and her bones. She felt something drop within her and immediately lurched forward. Her mouth opened, blood red vomit dribbling from her cracked lips.

Her mother was right, she couldn't take much more.

“What will you do?” Seraphina coughed, clutching her staff savagely. “If I die here again—what will you do?”

“Your soul will go home—to the underworld,” the silhouette told her as it opened its arms, “Isn't that what you want, little girl? Freedom from these cursed plains? You may believe that claiming all—that having godlike power here—is worth everything; but I will tell you—it is not. There is a better place for us. A heavenly place...”

“And I—,” she shivered as she heaved once more, her vision blurring as raw Power ravaged her from the inside out. She felt her heart hammer in her chest—felt her veins sizzle and burn beneath her skin. “—and I would be welcomed?”

“Will you consider my offer? Freedom from this place? Will you consider it?”

Seraphina's knees knocked as they buckled, the woman's hands sliding down the length of her staff as she plummeted to the ground. “Yes, mother,” she hissed between clenched teeth, “I will.”

All at once, the silhouette covering her mother vanished as the golden orb behind her ceased to exist. The sun itself finding its place in the sky as Seraphina's mother—old Gran—raced to console her little girl. Falling to hands and knees, the wiry white haired woman reached for Seraphina and hugged her with long bony arms. With one hand, she forced Seraphina's dry face into her shoulder as Gran nuzzled her neck with her nose.

“You will be the first—the first in a long line of Maevas—to willingly go to the underworld—to the afterlife. Finally...the cycle will be broken...I may die knowing that—,” Gran pulled back as her brown eyes scanned Seraphina's face. “—knowing that there will be a better life for me and my own—a new life!”

Gran hugged her once more, her body stiffening.

“A new life.” Seraphina repeated, her right hand warm. Wet.

Blood spurted from Gran's smiling mouth as her eyes flooded with a deep glaze, the dark pupils within her brown eyes disappearing. Giving way to nothing.

“A better one.” Seraphina murmured, her lips brushing Gran's ear. “'Only a fool believes in a life after this. Only a fool,' your words, no?”

A watery gasp erupted from Seraphina's side as Gran fought to breathe.

An unforgiving hand squeezed pumping muscle, the old woman's heart struggling to beat as Seraphina dug the sharp ends of her nails beneath the corded muscle of Gran's seizing heart.

“You made me.” Seraphina hissed, hot breath raking against the old woman's skin as she struggled to slip away from Seraphina's grasp. “You brought me to this.”

“Don't do this—”

Blood curdled around Seraphina's fingers as she ripped Gran's heart from her chest, Seraphina's hand jerking back suddenly. The movement agile and quick. Ceremonious and cold. Calculated.

At the force of her movement, Gran fell backwards. Her back thumping to the ground.

Above, the blue sky died with her. Blue falling away to black as the sky churned with angry black clouds.

Seraphina watched as one patch of clouds peeled away to reveal the sun, the golden orb mocking her. Sending chills up and down her back as Gran's heart throbbed to life within her hand.

“I have one more trick.”

And Seraphina howled as scarlet rushed from the center of the thumping heart squelched between her clenched fingers and plunged into the middle of her wrist. The blood acted like a spearhead, ripping through skin and muscle to reveal the white head of her wrist-bone.

“May you never call upon the Crux again—to use your Power, you must make the ultimate sacrifice—”

Throwing back her head, Seraphina howled as the blood worked its way into her bone. Cutting off the rush of her own blood to the limb as it sawed at the bone of her arm. The scarlet spiraling up throughout her whole arm, making the limb go limp as tiny pinpricks of pain rushed up and down her arm. It made her fingers spasm—made her heart hammer harder in her chest as her howls reached new highs. As pain threatened to make her see nothing but cold, lonely, darkness.

All at once, her arm fell from her body like a snake shedding its old skin. All at once, a large hole secured the place her arm once held before the hole closed. Skin replacing it.

“To claim the absolute power you once held here—,” Gran sputtered upon the ground, her dying eyes staring upon the sun as dark clouds slowly rolled to block it out, “—you must kill Katell. You must take the life of your only daughter.”

FIFTY-FOUR

The Keeper left them with an order: Kill the Night Lady. Feed her soul to the Crux, only then can I enact the Solomon.

And they were back on the path to Safrana almost instantly, Vidonia leading Kat farther and farther away from Baate Noir the farther east she trekked.

Above, the sky churned an ominous black as the sun refused to show its face.

“Where do we go now?” Kat demanded as they walked, Vidonia a full step ahead of her as they wove their way through the tall grasses towards the glittering city of Safrana. “It told us to kill her—not run the opposite way!”

Vidonia shot Kat a scathing look over her thin shoulder. “What? And you believe you can fulfill the Keeper's wishes in your state? What more can you do than cut yourself and pray your Power works?” Vidonia asked, eyes narrowing as she stopped and faced Kat. “If you did not hear the Keeper correctly—we have been cut off. None and no one can commune with the Power's crux without sacrificing a soul as your mother has apparently done with my archmage. We are powerless—you are powerless! If we approached the Night Lady in our current state, she'd gladly kill us and sacrifice your soul as well. Is that what you want? A mission that would absolutely end in death, hm? Is that what you want?”

“When was any of this my choice?” Kat murmured, eyes wide. Fixed. “I was stolen—taken from my friend in the snow by Elisedd's Scyllah...” she felt her hands go limp by her sides as her will to fight left her as easily as a breath of passing wind. “...when Elisedd left, Ledora held me hostage...then you...” shaking her head, she sighed deeply as Vidonia met her gaze with hard eyes. “...I swore to myself that I would find my cousin...who is now gone,” Kat hissed in a breath, ignoring the tears that piled behind her eyes like hot coals. She blinked, “and now it is my duty to save the South by destroying my own mother. When was any of this my choice?!” she felt like a child throwing a tantrum—but there it was. Katell had gone from simple shieldmaiden to savior of the south in a matter of months. It was all jarring—it was all too much. “What makes me so damned special?”

At this, Vidonia smiled. “Do you believe in the Fates?” she replied, opening her palms. “Do you believe in destiny and a world after this one?”

A sudden gust of wind chilled Kat, the icy gust ripping through her skin to rake at her bones. “Yes.” Kat nodded, crossing her arms against the gust. “I do.”

“Then, follow me.” Vidonia told her, turning on her heel. “We have one more person to see before we do as the Keeper has commanded. This is your destiny,” Vidonia said, gesturing for Kat to follow with a wave of her pale hand. “this is what the Fates have willed for you.”

~~~

The wind blew white flurries from the sky as Vidonia and Kat passed through the Safranian countryside. Log cabins and stone temples dotted the path of dark dirt and rubble as they followed a weaving pathway that gradually turned to cobblestone. Few people meandered through the countryside, from merchants drawing carriages and wily horses or oxen, to weathered women and farmers carrying baskets of wheat or that of linen freshly drawn from the coastline. Most wore clothing that did not protect them from the wintry chill, the Safranians dressed for the scathing northern heat instead of the southern winter chill.

“The cold normally does not progress past the forest, but it seems as if things are changing.” Vidonia remarked to Kat. “The sun does not rise as it hides behind a curtain of black—it seems as though the day is coming to an end when it is only midday.”

Kat replied with a nod, her eyes on white stone houses and vast plots of land overgrown with bowing heads of grain.

When they came closer to the glittering citadels of white, Vidonia took a sharp left. The path veering off into dense plains of green. A single castle-like structure of pale stone sitting in the distance. The structure large and solitary, enclosed by sharp black gates.

Kat and Vidonia approached the structure, Vidonia clutching the black iron gate before wrenching it open with a grunt.

“Come on, then.” Vidonia murmured, waving Kat inside. “You're welcome here.”

The structure stood like a cathedral, looking down upon Kat with its stained glass spire-windows and its imposing stone of white.

From a smaller window, Kat registered movement. A slick silhouette of black stirred, stiffening as Vidonia approached before vanishing completely.

Vidonia brought a hand to the towering oak entrance and raised her knuckles to rap against it. But, before she could bring her hand to the wood, the door moaned. Opening slightly.

Kat took to the steps, coming up behind Vidonia as a chilly breeze sailed by.

“What do you want?” a raspy voice whispered through the slender crack of the door. “What do you have for me?”

Clasping her fingers around the door's thick frame, Vidonia attempted to pry the door from the person inside. “You don't recognize me?” Vidonia snapped, her voice icy. “Come now, Clara. Look into my eyes—,”

Snatching the door from Vidonia's prying fingers, the woman on the other side slammed it shut. Multiple locks clicked as Vidonia placed an open palm upon the oak.

“Are you a shifter? A changeling?” The woman called out, “You cannot be my Rosetta—she is councilor to kings! These are dire straits—creature. In times such as these, she wouldn't flee the capital to come to me—of all people!” the woman scoffed. “Try again. Perhaps you're another one whose been sent out to murder me?”

Vidonia sighed. “Clara...let me in—we need your help. The world needs your help!”

“Try again! I've heard that one before!”

Kat met Vidonia's eyes before she slowly rolled them. “I've a magebane here, Clara. Have you heard that one before?” she teased.

Multiple locks clicked before the door gradually swung open. “A magebane?” Clara whimpered, a single eye peering out through the dark crack in the door. “But I thought only one existed—one by the name of Jacinthe Ledora...”

“That one is...” Vidonia swallowed, “lost, for the time being. Here is another. One by the name of Maeva—,”

“Maeva!” Clara squealed, swinging the door open with a snap. “Ah, it has been some time since I've heard that name. Anathema—child of anathema?” Clara asked, cocking her head of midnight hair as her cat-like eyes widened. “Yes, child. Unless Seraphina is like us, Rosetta? She is not—,” Clara backed away, ushering the two inside with a graceful flick of her wrist, “—is she?”

“She is not.” Vidonia replied, voice monotone. “Clara, we've come to ask a favor.”

Behind them, the door slammed shut as they entered a large hall of polished wood floors and high dome ceilings. Their footsteps echoed round the massive room as Clara lead them to a spire-topped door and into a smaller room brimming with heat from a well-kept fireplace. Two chairs of plush velveteen sat in front of the fireplace's pastel colored brick, and a large rug of bright scarlet softened their steps as Clara led the two women to the chairs.

“A favor?” Clara sang, closing the door behind them. “Tell me then, sister. What do you want now?”

Kat didn't see the resemblance between the two, and as she sat down she took the chance to study Clara's face. The tall woman resembled a cat with her long swan-like neck and smooth locks of midnight silk. Her eyes were the most cat-like, slanted and sly, painted with black kohl upon the rims. Her face was longer than Vidonia's, yet younger and less pale. She moved with the grace of a slowly moving river, the woman floating forward as her long hair draped gracefully behind her like a curtain.

Clara came to Vidonia's side, placing a hand upon the armrest of the woman's chair. “Do you know the state of the crux?” Vidonia asked her, placing a hand upon Clara's.

Clara tilted her head. “I'm more interested in your magebane, sister. You know I cannot work magic.”

“We will get to her.”

Sitting upon her sister's armrest, Clara crossed long legs beneath a slick gown of scarlet silk before resting her gaze upon Kat's face. “What is your first name, Maeva? Are you a direct descendant of Seraphina or Francesca?”

“Clara!” Vidonia snapped, slapping her hand to Clara's shoulder. “This is important—we will get to her—,”

“Speak, Maeva.”

Kat widened her eyes. Seraphina was her mother's name—the Night Lady's human name. Francesca was the first name of her Gran. “Seraphina.” Kat replied, biting her tongue as Vidonia glared daggers at her. The fire light touching the other woman's face in all the wrong places. “I—,”

Clara raised a hand, halting Kat mid-sentence. “And what of you, sister? What have you got to tell me that is so pressing?”

“I am cut off from the Crux.”

Clara gasped. “Have they—,”

“We are cut off from the Crux—the entire world is cut off from the Crux because Seraphina has fed a soul to it!”

Clara gasped once more, her face turning white. “The soul of whom?” she asked, palm over her lips. “I thought—I thought that was against the sorcerer's code...”

“The Night Lady does not operate on the code, sister. Have you forgotten that she is anathema?”

“No—I know, I know.” Clara replied, shaking her head. “But still—even beasts know right from wrong—,”

“She has always lusted for power, and now she has tainted the Crux because of her unquenchable lust. The Keeper has demanded we kill her and send her soul to the Crux as punishment.”

“But will that cleanse the Crux?” Clara murmured, eyes upon her lap. “Will that right things?”

Vidonia sat in silence for a while as Kat listened, gaze scanning the flames as she dug her fingernails into the arm rests of her chair. Eyes heavy.

“I do not know.”

“Death only begets death.” Clara murmured, her voice a cool monotone. “Is this not so?”

Vidonia shook her head. “The Keeper has commanded it, and therefore...we have no choice. In this, we need your help.”

“How do you plan to take the life of Seraphina? Without magic—without being able to commune with the Crux...there is no way...”

At this, Vidonia frowned. “Have you forgotten our curse?”

Kat listened to the silence as she felt Clara's eyes bore into her.

“Does she know?” Clara hissed.

Vidonia brought her eyes to Kat. “Katell Maeva,” she called, “what am I?”

Kat brought her eyes to Vidonia. “A hetaera—vampire.”

“Correct.” Vidonia nodded, “My sister, here, what is she?”

Kat blinked. “A vampire as well?”

At this, Vidonia shook her head. “Close, but incorrect. Clara?”

Clara stood, her face grim as she opened ruby red lips. “I am a high hetaera.” she said matter-of-factly.

“And tell her what you're capable of.”

Kat watched Clara swallow, her throat barely moving. She snapped her gaze to her sister. “Wait—do you expect me to change her? To take her humanity away in the hopes that she...?”

Kat widened her eyes. “Change me?”

Vidonia nodded, her lips a sharp line. “It is the only way.” she told her sister, ignoring the gazes of both Clara and Kat as she glared at the rippling flames of the fire before her. “A hetaera in its primal form may not have a chance at defeating the Night Lady—,” snapping her gaze to Clara and Kat, she glared at both women. Sliding her gaze from one, and then to the other. “—but imagine two taking her on. Two hetaera in their primal forms. Together—we would have a chance. And all without touching the Power's Crux.”

FIFTY-FIVE

“Sleep on it, Katell.” Vidonia told her, leaning forward towards the fire with her clasped hands before her lips. “You'll have a matter of days to think on it.”

“The Changing can be painful—it could swallow your strength for days at a time...you'd need rest afterwards...time to regather your strength...,” Clara murmured as she perched herself atop Vidonia's armrest. “If you plan to stop Seraphina—make a decision quickly.

“Oh, and—be careful in these halls. This is a place for...us,” Clara told Kat, emphasizing the final word. “if anyone bothers you, stress that you are under my mark.”

“Now, begone.” Vidonia snapped, clasped hands tightening. “My sister and I have much to talk about.”

Kat stood almost instantly. Facing the two women, she clenched her fists at her sides. “I'll make a decision tonight and approach you in the morning.” she nodded at Clara who responded with a silent chin tilt. “Can you show me to a room?”

Clara shrugged. “This place isn't terribly full. Pick any place you like—but avoid searching for too long. You'll need to lock yourself away when the moon rises,” Clara winked, smirking. “for safety, of course.”

~~~

Kat missed moments like this. Being alone. Though, often times in Montbereau she'd walk the edge of Baate Noir for a few moments of silence; being here, in Clara's sprawling domain, was much like being alone in the forest.

Domed ceilings rose up high over her head like an overcast sky, as hallways lengthened on for miles, their walls spread wide. Wide enough for Kat to zigzag and walk how she pleased. Wide enough for Kat to hear her echoing steps rebound off of thick stone walls or high-rising windows stained a myriad of saintly colors.

She walked with her hands behind her back, her bare forearms brushing the bear skin cape at her back. The feeling brought reassurance. It reminded her of petting a dog, or brushing Maddy's hair. It reminded her of sleeping at home, in that tiny little log cabin that barely had enough room for the four of them.

It reminded her of Sonant Kaiden—barely, just barely could she smell his musk scenting the cape she wore.

For a moment, she stood. Stooped. Grasping her fingers around the clasp at her neck that kept the cape on her back, she thought of ripping it off. Was it right for her to wear the gift of the man Vidonia murdered? Wasn't his death her fault? These clothes—these garments...the weapon upon her thigh—it wasn't right for her to keep it all.

Suddenly, she felt the urge to strip.

But knew she was being watched. Something lurked in the shadows before and behind her.

Clara's words echoed through her mind—this is a place for us...

Did she mean hetaera? Vampires? Kat always saw them as beasts—myths at first—but upon meeting, and killing, her first hetaera she believed them to be mindless, blood thirsty, beasts.

But, apparently she was wrong. Vidonia was one. Clara was one.

Had Anais been one as well?

Kat resumed her walk at a slow pace. How long had it been since she had had time to herself? Time to process and think things over? How long had it been?

Even back home in Montbereau, she was always being dragged this way and that—doing things for people. Always doing things for others, but never herself. She saw it as her duty to help others out—in servitude she found happiness. It was a great distraction to her state, to her thoughts and her past.

Remicourt.

The name still made her heave. All the things her mother had done...had Gran known her mother was the Night Lady? Had she willingly withheld that information from Kat?

Had anyone else known? Was she the only one left in the dark?

Kaiden knew she possessed Power—how had she not known? Was this something else Gran had kept from her? Had Gran even known?

Kat had so many questions—with no one to answer them. When did her life become so complicated? Some part of her wished things would go back to normal, that she had never fought to be placed on the Chaperon and gotten into this mess.

She missed her friends, her family, her shieldbrothers. She missed Montbereau—hell, she even missed the demesne's duke! She missed the order and simplicity of things. She missed being boring old Katell, granddaughter to a wood cutter. She missed only using her ax to cut wood instead of people. She missed not being able to commune with the Crux.

When did everything go so wrong?

When did she get mixed up in all this?

I don't belong here, she told herself as she approached a long window, I don't belong in this place.

Yet, here she was. Pressing her forehead upon the glass, she felt its cool touch as her eyes scanned the fields of bowing green below. Kat had never been this far east and yet, something told her she wouldn't be coming this far east ever again.

Her thoughts ventured to the north.

Before a hand landed upon her shoulder.

A nose brushed its way up the back of her neck, a warm breath coaxing the fine hairs upon her skin to rise.

Spinning on her heel, she turned to face the man at her back.

Only to find nothing but white walls and high windows staring her down. Taunting her.

Snapping her gaze to her right, she spotted a silhouette in the distance. The figure of a large man stood with muscular arms crossed over a wide and brawny chest. Kat opened her mouth to speak, her lips moving in silence before she closed them and decided to approach.

Only for the figure to disappear.

She gasped lightly, her chin rising as warm breath kissed the nape of her neck once more. A familiarity in the light brush of calloused fingertips moving their way up her spine and back down her neck.

Things this intimate, this close—she had only allowed one man to touch her in this way. Only one.

Her gaze snapped back to the right as a heavy door slammed shut with a wall shuddering smack. The feeling, too, left her the moment the door shut, the warm presence at her back, the fingertips brushing their way along her spine—all of it. All of it left. Gone as easily as a brush of wind.

Kat felt herself shiver. Did she deserve pleasure such as this? She had to make a decision today...tonight—would she become hetaera so that she would be strong enough without the Crux to defeat her own mother? Or would she find some other way?

Was there another way?

No—she shook her head—not one she could think of.

A brush of lavender scented wind crept its way up the hall, the breeze brushing her lightly, “Why so frightened?” a voice breathed after it.

Kat bit her lip. With a tentative step, she followed the breeze as it left her.

“You know, as well as I, that we are friends. Should friends not trust each other in all avenues?”

Kat opened her mouth—Those were his exact words before we...

“I'll treat you nicely...gently. Better than any man ever would. You can trust me, Katty.”

She came to a door of dark oak. Placing her hand around its silver handle, she sighed as the breeze of lavender left her.

You can trust me.

“Is it you?” she whispered, her forehead propped up against the door. “It can't be—why would it be?” Someone—something—had to be toying with her.

Kat felt pressure against the door and backed away as it slowly creaked open. Placing a hand over her mouth, she gasped silently as her dark eyes widened. Her heart seemed to slow in her chest as her blood became ice.

His calloused hand reached out to take hers, and with a swift brush he swatted the hand upon her lips away.

“I—,” she swallowed—choking on her own words, “—I have a choice to make tonight.” she told him, eyes locked with his gaze. “Will you help me?”

FIFTY-SIX

The Night Lady would not let fate simply find her.

She would find it. Stumble upon it. Chase it. She would catch it and force it to give her what she craved—what she deserved.

How dare Gran cut her off from the Power's Crux! How dare she!

Seraphina only had one option now. If she wanted to shed Ledora's human skin and become what she was once more—the Night Lady, a goddess in her own right—she'd need to steal Katell's soul and offer it to the Crux in sacrifice.

Ultimate sacrifice.

Seraphina felt her throat clench at that, as she knelt upon the ground, her hand flush against her deceased mother's forehead. She felt her stomach tighten as her mouth suddenly watered—could she kill her own daughter? Could she, truly? Did she possess the drive—the need to control Baate Noir—was it strong enough within her? Was she even connected to the forest as she once was?

Seraphina cringed as she forced herself to stand, the wind whipping dead blades of grass into a shivering puddle at her feet. Ledora had chained her to this black forest as punishment for helping the elves and others. The White Rose believed Seraphina to be a race traitor. A woman unworthy of living among civilized beings.

She could still remember Ledora sealing her soul to this land—making it impossible for her to ever venture north again.

And now...she smiled, her grin crooked...look at the strength of your wards now, sorceress.

But, even though she was finally free, she had grown accustomed to the absolute power she ruled with here. She had grown accustomed to being worshiped. To being creator and destroyer. How could she give this all up now?

She couldn't. And she'd take the life of her own child to come back into her power.

Somehow, her soul was still glued to this place. Still sealed to the south.

She had no choice but to make the ultimate sacrifice and rule as the Night Lady once more. She couldn't be human—not again—not after what she had been. Not after what power she had tasted as the Night Lady.

She had to make the ultimate sacrifice.

She had to.

Closing her eyes, she felt the fingers of her left hand splay out. Tilting up her chin, she felt an icy chill grow beneath the skin of her face as the wind picked up around her. A howling funnel of wind exploding around her frozen form before tendrils of air split, the wind surging towards all four corners of the darkening forest as the air became heavy with frost.

Air sucked raw Power from the forest, stealing life. Painting brown bark black, replacing green with gray. The forest seemed to buck against Seraphina's thievery as the roots of the trees cried out—screeches pelting her mind like sharp hail raining from an unforgiving sky. Grass blades withered to dust as dirt gave up its color for a chalky white. Creatures called for mercy, animals clawing at her mind as they too felt their life-forces being sucked away with the rest of the forest.

“Solace Viale?” Seraphina chuckled, eyes shut tight as she felt raw Power ricochet through her. The invisible force poking like needles through her veins, as it gradually ate away at her insides. “You shall always be Baate Noir. Now, and forever.” she hissed as life left the forest. Auburn burning away to gray. Gray giving way to a stygian black. “Life shall never reside here unless by my bidding, and mine alone.”

Her mother—the sun presence—had already trespassed once here. But, with it gone, the forest of gold gave way to a deathly black as it gave its life to its creator.

With nothing left to take from the withered forest, the wind receded as Seraphina lowered her head and opened her eyes.

A forest of death pervaded her vision, and she ignored the ominous black that surrounded her as she moved forward. The woman prowling through the wood until she emerged on the other side of the forest.

Stepping out onto a field of yellow, she felt her heart crawl its way into her throat as her body trembled with heat. Sweat beading upon her forehead. Coolly, she whipped it away. A headache forming between her eyes splitting her vision in two as she eyed the Poudurac.

The forest's raw Power would rip her apart. Humans weren't meant to harness raw, unpredictable, Power. It was only a matter of time until Ledora's body would be no more and Seraphina's soul would lack a host...therefore forcing it to either the Crux or the underworld.

With a gasp, she clutched at her heart as it threw itself against the cage of her ribs. Her legs buckling at the sudden impact. Her headache exploding between her eyes.

Calm...pace yourself. Find her...find her...then all will be well.

With so much raw Power surging through her human body, she'd need to find Katell fast.

FIFTY-SEVEN

Kat woke with a start. Tangled in heavy satin covers with her dark hair tousled, tangled in the fingers of another.

She thought she'd never see those sorrowful green eyes again, sunken into a face as pale as the moon. “Robin...” she murmured, half-asleep, half dreaming. “You're really here, aren't you?”

She watched him chuckle silently, his thin lips twisting up into a crooked smile mimicking a half-crescent moon.

Kat blinked, heat rushing to her face as she reached out to touch him. “As cold as you ever were,”

“And always will be.” he finished, placing his hand over hers as it cupped his chin. “How did you get here?”

Her mind was jumbled, as tangled and unsightly as her hair after an hour of lovemaking with this phantom. “What?” she blurted.

“How did you get here?” he repeated, his words slower...sharper. “You and half of Montbereau will know my secret...my mother's secret...”

Pale green eyes narrowed as they bore into hers. Kat returned his glare as her mind came back. “No—shouldn't I be asking you this?” shaking her head, she snatched her hand away from his scowling face and pulled the covers over her nakedness. “Where am I? What is the place, and what are you doing here?”

Robin smirked, his eyes laughing. “'A human in a hetaera feeding hall?' I thought to myself. Half of the guild smelt you and wandered around looking. Most were curious, some hungry—then I saw you—,”

“A hetaera feeding hall?” What had Vidonia lead her to? “Those...exist?”

Robin shrugged. “This is a very exclusive 'arts guild'.” he told her, throwing up his hands as he threw himself back into bed. “Exclusive, exclusive. Matron Clara often brings humans here for...feeding, and so we thought...”

Kat sighed. “I never knew you were hetaera.”

“It's something you don't go casually talking about. Half the world believes we don't exist,” turning on his side, he propped his head up as he winked at her, “and we'd like to keep it that way.”

Even more questions buzzed in her mind—Robin Bereau-Vanja, the same man who broke her during training. The same man who fought to have her put back in—who forced the duchy's guard to give her a second chance once she'd healed.

The same man who took her virginity. The duke's own son.

Why was he here? Was he truly hetaera?

There were rumors as to how his mother, a woman deemed barren years ago, had had a son. But now was not the time to question his true lineage.

“Why are you here?” she asked him, staring into those pale green eyes. “Why aren't you in Montbereau?”

Immediately, his face fell. Cutting his gaze from hers, he frowned as his nails dug into the linen beneath him. “Do you really need to ask, Katty?”

She wasn't sure. The sky was black, the sun refused to rise. Baate Noir was auburn and the Night Lady—she sacrificed a soul to the Crux, cutting everyone from its Power. Making anyone who practiced magic absolutely powerless unless they sacrificed souls to the Crux as well.

“Yes,” she decided, watching his eyes fall. “tell me the state of the south.”

“Montbereau was set alight the moment Baate Noir went gold. Most of the south went up in flames, Katty. And the rest—overrun by monsters...beasts...inhabitable. The creatures cannot stand the light of the forest, and so they trek to the south. Montbereau is gone, Katty.” he breathed, shaking his head. “Most of the townspeople disappeared through Baate Noir, some left for the Brandy's. Even less made for Remicourt. Any place where monsters and beasts aren't, is where most of the town has gone.”

“When you left,” Kat begin, pacing herself as her breath hitched in her throat, “did you catch any Maevas? My Gran? Maddy? Eva?”

For a moment he met her gaze, green eyes were even more sorrowful. Swimming in unshed tears before he fell to his back and stared up at the ceiling. “No.” he snapped, his breath hissing out between clenched teeth. “I'm sorry, Katell. I came here, alone.”

“And so you left your own family to die? Just—just left them to suffer?” she all but screamed—she knew it wasn't right but as the tears came, she couldn't help herself. “Your father and mother—if they even are your kin—you just left them to rot? To burn in flame or be eaten alive by monsters?!”

Gran's dead. Eva's dead. Maddy's dead.

Damn—she wanted to get up. Wanted to fling herself from a window.

“It can't be true.” she whispered to herself as he sighed heavily beside her. “You're lying—why would a forest cause a town to go up in flames? The beasts—I know that much is true—but how? How could Montbereau just burn?!”

“You want to know?” he snapped, shooting her a scathing look. “Then, fine. They willingly burned the town. Winter left, the cold left, and autumn—for the first time in decades—came. They thought it was the work of the Fates—a warning. A bad thing. They thought Montbereau was cursed because of all the witch burnings and that a gold Baate Noir meant they needed to purge the town using fire.” Turning towards her, Robin snapped, “Is this enough for you? Are you happy with this knowledge, Katell?” Throwing himself upon his back once more, he crossed his arms. “You think it's enjoyable knowing that I left my mother and father to die in the flame? They chose to burn the town, not I. Why give my life for a belief I know to be false? I told my father that burning women wouldn't stop another Cataclysm—if a witch even caused it at all. He never listened—no one ever listened. They brought the flame upon themselves!” he spat, “Willingly!” Robin added, throwing his hands to the air. “Are you happy, now?!”

“No—of course not! No!”

Throwing herself upon the mattress, she curled herself up into a tight ball of flesh as she choked away tears of anger and sadness.

Here she was—flinging herself at her desires...blissfully unaware that her Gran was gone. That Maddy and Eva were...gone.

She bit her lip. Hiccuped.

How dare she indulge when she had an important decision to make? How dare she be happy when her entire family was dead?

Not entire.

Her mother still existed—but if she didn't sacrifice her mother's soul to the Crux, humans would be forever powerless. Magic could cease to exist.

Why did this fall upon her?

“This isn't fair.” she whimpered to herself, holding herself as she cried. “Why can't things be fair?”

Beside her, Robin sighed. “Such is life.” he murmured, the bed creaking as he shifted his weight. “You said you had a decision to make? That you needed help?” he asked, trying to take her mind away from Montbereau. “I'm still here. At the very least, I could help.”

Could he? Kat felt the need to roll her eyes. “They want to make me into a hetaera—,”

“It's a curse—it'll make you immortal...unless someone bashes your skull in and the like.”

“—I'm not finished.” Kat snapped, turning towards him. “The Power's Crux, have you heard of it? Humans are cut off from it.”

At that, he sat up abruptly. “And, why?”

She swallowed. “The Night Lady sacrificed a soul to it, and now it hungers for more. Instead of offering up natural Power to it, now it only accepts souls in exchange for Power...”

“Then, your plan is...?”

She sat up completely, crossing her arms over her bare breasts. “I have to kill her. Give her soul to the Crux and hopefully that'll right the balance of things.”

“Hopefully.” Robin repeated, rolling his pale eyes. “Only give up your humanity if you're sure about this.”

She wasn't sure it would work. Something told her to doubt. Something told her to worry. “I'm not sure.” she whispered, her voice barely loud enough to hear. “I don't know if this will fix things.”

Robin shrugged, the curve of his lips as sorrowful as his pale eyes. “On one hand,” lifting up his right hand he showed her his palm, “you have a leap of faith to take. Undergoing the Change will turn your world on its head, and may cure the Crux of its lust if you can take out the Night Lady. But...on the other,” lowering his right hand, he lifted his other, “you run the risk of succumbing to a hetaera's lust—a craving for blood...live meat,” she shivered at his words as his eyes slowly roved over her, “even if you manage to take out the Night Lady as a hetaera—the Crux may not be fixed, and you'll be stuck—stuck as a monster forever.” bringing up both his hands, he showed her his palms and inclined his head. “The choice is yours to make.”

“Neither seem very promising.”

He winked. “Such is life, c'est la vie.”

“C'est la vie.” she repeated, “My life.” she mused, pulling the covers towards her chest. Mulling over the words with the slight tilt of her head. “And it is time I took it into my own hands.”

Outside, the sky shook as a peel of thunder boomed.

FIFTY-EIGHT

Clara Vidonia glowered at her sister as she leaned against the armrest of her chair. “Nothing will fix it.” she hissed, sharp eyes narrowed as she stared at her sister's hunched form. “The tainting of the Power's Crux has been foretold—you, of all people, know this! You are only trying to stave off the inevitable, sister! Sacrificing Seraphina to the Crux will only cleanse it for a short while—and then we will be back in this mess all over again! You know it happens—,”

“Every ten years.” Vidonia snapped, clasping her hands together tighter. “But if we lose our ability to command the Power through use of the Crux...”

“It doesn't matter.” Clara snapped, jumping to standing. “Isn't this right for us? For our kind? Damn the Confrerie—the other races—damn them! Who needs the sun?!”

“The Monarchy.” Vidonia griped, digging her nails into the skin between her knuckles as she glared harshly at the crackling fire before her. “The Scyllah, the Sonants—all life needs it, sister. Don't be daft—how else will we survive if they all die out?”

Clara opened her mouth to retort but promptly shut it before nodding.

“Exactly.” Vidonia said, shaking her head. “We have no choice. If Katell can kill her, it will ultimately set things right again. Meaning, the sun would come back. Our source of sustenance won't die out and the Power would be back in our hands.”

“But what are we doing?” Clara whimpered, holding her head in her hands. “Every ten years...over and over...the cycle continues—rebirths itself on another poor family. Rips mothers and daughters apart and pits them against each other. Can this curse ever be lifted? Will this world ever know peace?”

Smirking, Vidonia rolled her eyes. “When did you grow so caring? You, who said we should just let the sun continue to hide?” she chuckled, her laughter dark and dry. “You know the answer as well as I.” sighing, Vidonia shook her head once more. “Never. Until the magic leaves—until the Crux is destroyed—never.”

“Do you believe she will make the right choice?”

“There is only one choice she can make.” Vidonia told her matter-of-factly. “The same choice thousands of others have made before her in order to right the world and breathe new life into the race.” outside, a rumble of thunder speared through the sky, “There is only one choice she can make.”

~~~

But, Vidonia couldn't be too sure.

Standing outside of her sister's guild with her arms strongly crossed, she watched an old peddler make his way up the cobblestone road and approach the iron fence separating the large castle-like structure from the rest of the sunless world.

Bringing his hands to the thick iron railing, Vidonia watched him wrench the fence open with a haphazard swing of wiry arms.

“Why have you come?” she called out to the cloaked peddler as he made his way towards the structure's white stone steps. “I knew the thunder was you!” shifting her weight from foot to foot, she craned her neck as she screamed, “No one has called you here! No one would call you here, much less know your name!”

He stalked towards her with his head stooped, his arms linked together beneath a heavy robe of black cotton. A heavy hood hid the features of his face, the hood drooping low as he lowered his head towards the ground as if bowing. The peddler came to a halt before Vidonia, the man ominously silent as she waited for some sort of answer.

All she got was a chuckle, an old and dry laughter that made the hairs upon the back of her neck stand at attention.

She hated his laugh—his presence.

“What are you doing here, Riche?”

The man looked up, his face still hidden. Only his lopsided grin showed. “Like an obedient dog, I only come when I am called, Rosetta Vidonia.”

“No one here has anything to offer you, devil. Leave. Go away!”

His grin became sharp. Cruel. “Ah, you know my rules.”

“No one has called you here!”

Vidonia tightened her grip upon her forearms as Riche threw back his hood, revealing those unwavering eyes of mismatched glass she despised so much. “I only come when a willing soul has called me, Rosetta.”

“There are no souls here.” Vidonia hissed through clenched teeth. “We are all hetaera.”

“All but one.” Riche singsonged, grinning mischievously as he tilted his head. “Now, move so that I may meet her.”

Vidonia froze—Katell! Katell must have called this beast. Unknowingly, of course.

“She is ours, devil. She will be giving up her soul to us on the morrow.”

“To fix the Crux?” Riche plucked up an eyebrow, “I've come to offer her another choice. Now—move.”

And without a word, she did. Her body following the force of his palm as he threw it to the right, her body tumbling down the stone white steps and careening into the grass.

FIFTY-NINE

Katell rolled from the bed, startled by a soft knock at Robin's door.

“Here, pull this on.” Robin said, throwing her a long white tunic. “I wasn't expecting company.”

“It's probably Clara.” Kat told him, catching the tunic in her right hand before throwing it over her head. It shimmied down her form, hiding her curves, the fabric almost reaching the floor. “I told her I'd speak to her in the morning about this...dilemma.” But how would Clara know her whereabouts? Unless...

“Hey,” holding his hands up, Robin met Kat's accusatory glare with a twisted grin. “don't look at me as if I've turned traitor. Clara and I hold no love for each other.”

“Then how would she know to find me here?” Kat growled. “Of all places?”

Robin approached the door in nothing but trouser bottoms, showing off the chiseled curve of his back. “Perhaps it isn't her?”

Kat pressed her lips into a thin line. “Right.”

Opening the door a sliver, Robin gasped slightly before trying to nudge it closed. Despite shoving his shoulder against the deep oak, a force on the other side shoved it open with a gentle flick of agile fingers.

“What do you want?” Robin hissed, blocking Kat's view of the door with broad shoulders. “None of us here—,”

A bony hand pressed upon his shoulder before Robin stepped sideways, his pale eyes glaring daggers at the jovial face of a mismatch eyed stranger.

“Katell Maeva.” the stranger smiled, approaching her with open arms, “I've come to offer you...help.”

~~~

Taking the strange man out into the hall, Kat brought her hand to the handle of Robin's door.

“I'll be right here.” he whispered, halting the movement of the door. “You want to give your ear to a demon? Fine—but whatever you do...whatever he says...,”

“He says I called him here.” Kat murmured, cupping her hand over her mouth. “How could I have done that? I don't even know his name.”

“Southerners have the Night Lady, northerners have their own folktales. He's a devil, Kat, whatever you do—don't trust him.”

Kat tilted her head. “I'll at least see what he has to say...”

Robin nodded. “I'll be right here.” he repeated, bringing the door to a slight close. “Send him on his way as soon as you are able, Kat. Don't trust him.”

Kat gave him a curt nod before closing the door completely. Turning on her heel, she met the stranger's prickly glare before his mismatched eyes of blue and green widened with laughter as she cut her gaze away.

“Truly? You don't know who I am?” he laughed.

“No.” she told him, crossing her arms. “But you said you could...help me?”

The man cut his laughter before steepling his fingers before himself. “Let us walk, Katell Maeva.”

She grimaced. “How do you know my name?”

Crooking his head in a gesture to follow, he began to stalk down the dark hallway. Kat followed, shuffling forward meekly.

“What matters now is that you have a very important decision to make tonight.” he told her, the hunched man coming to a halt before a high spire window of stained glass. His voice echoed down the hallway as he talked, a sour glint in his mismatched eyes as he turned halfway towards the window originally at his back.

“And how would you know that?” Kat asked, narrowing her eyes. “How have I called you and what do you want?”

Could he truly...help her with this decision? She didn't want to give up her humanity to get rid of the Night Lady. She wanted to fix the Crux, sure, but she was becoming increasingly unsure of the effects of offering another soul to the Power's Crux. Could it truly fix things? Or would it make things worse?

As if reading her mind, the smiling stranger tilted his head knowingly. “It matters not who I am or how I've reached you. What matters is that there is a terrible imbalance in this world—one you could easily fix.” steepling his fingers before himself, the sleeves of his dark robe trailed upon the ground as he spoke, “The Power's Crux is tainted, no? As one who relies on the Power, I can feel it. You can feel it. I've come here to tell you that if things are not fixed soon, every mortal will lose command of the Power. Magic, as you well know it, will disappear. How, then, will mankind protect itself against the beastly scourge, hm? If the Power becomes severely unbalanced, how then will you prevent another Cataclysm, Katell Maeva?”

Her eyes became wild as they widened. “I—I don't—,”

He held a palm up to silence her. “Sacrificing a soul to the Crux has caused the imbalance—has caused all of mankind to be cut off. The Crux hungers for another soul, and in exchange it will grant Power to whomever satisfies it. But, how long will it be until another soul is required by the Crux? And another? How long can the Crux be satiated by the soul of the Night Lady, Katell Maeva? Will the Crux ever lust again—thus cutting mankind off and threatening to extinguish magic from this world forever? How long?”

She didn't know. With wild eyes, she watched his lips twist into a smirk.

“I've come to offer you a choice, Katell. I've come to offer you help.”

She forced her voice to work. “Who are you?”

“Does it matter?”

“What have you come for?” she demanded, her heart hammering in her chest as his mismatched eyes caught hold of hers. “Why have you—,”

“Do you want to become a monster because this world is broken? Don't you want another way out? Another way to fix the Crux?” he asked her, eyes burning. “Do you want to kill your own mother?” he hissed, inclining his head towards her. “If there is another way—will you take it?”

Of course—of course she would.

But help never comes without a price.

The man grinned. Digging into the thick pocket of his black robe, he yanked out a triangular gem which gleamed scarlet. Attached to its pointed head was a chain of silver, the links jingling as he ripped it from his pocket, took her hand, and placed it in her outstretched palm.

It felt warm there, like it belonged. It felt as though it would melt right into her skin.

“This will offer you a second path. One, where your mother could become human again—normal, again—wouldn't you want that?”

She was frozen—pinned on the spot by his unwavering eyes of green and blue.

“The Crux will be no more. The Power shall be freed.” he told her, closing his hand around hers. “Just as it ought to be.”

Kat swallowed, the gem pressing into her skin as he squeezed her hand. She felt no heat from his closed palm. She felt nothing. Nothing at all.

“Is this not what you want?” he asked. “Another way?”

“Nothing in this life is free.” she found herself saying, though she refused to let go of the jewel. “What do you want in exchange?”

He smiled. “This gem will swallow your mother's soul. It will cleanse her and allow her to live again as she once did. It will rid the world of its boundary—its 'Crux'.”

“And what will this cost me?”

He let his hand drop. “Nothing.” he smirked. “As of yet, nothing at all.”

She found that hard to believe.

“It is your choice—use it or not. Murder your own mother, fix the Crux—for a time; or free her. Free yourself. Free the world—,”

“And your price for such a gem?”

His lips stretched, his grin going from ear to ear. His eyes unblinking. Unwavering. “When the time comes,” the stranger hissed, his voice silver, “your help.”

SIXTY

Would she take it? Would she free her mother and ignore the Crux?

Would she take it?

Time seemed to freeze as she held the gem in her palm, the stranger looking down on her like a rabid wolf.

“I will...” she swallowed, “...consider it.”

The stranger's smile faltered, one of his mismatched eyes twitching as he opened them wider. “Very well, Katell.”

Yanking his robe's hood atop his head, he turned upon his heel and walked off.

Just like that.

~~~

Kat still held the gem in her palm. Her thumb rubbed its smooth surface, as her skin enjoyed its otherworldly warmth. Finding her way back to Robin's room hadn't been much of a pain, the stranger hadn't walked off with her far. But as she kept her eyes to the ground, it was easy to get lost. Especially since she was swimming in her own thoughts. Her own decisions.

Now that she had a way around killing her mother—but would she take it?

Was that man truly a devil?

How had he known to find her here? How had he known her name and the decision she had to make?

When did things become so complex?

Kat had the strangest feeling that she had just communed with a god.

“Katell!”

Kat jumped. Bringing her head up, she caught sight of a door slightly open. Looking inside, she spotted Robin standing. His curved chin jutted out in anger as he crossed his muscular arms over his bare chest.

She looked him over with dull eyes. “Who was that?”

“And here I thought I was important.” he grumbled, pulling her into the room before throwing the door shut behind him. “Does the name, 'Dunstan Riche', ring a bell? Hm?”

She shook her head. “He wouldn't tell me his name.”

“Of course he wouldn't. The less you know the better.”

Kat shook her head before sitting upon the bed. Bringing her hands into her lap, she opened the palm containing the scarlet jewel and stared at it. Her eyes transfixed as she bit the inside of her cheek.

“He comes when mortals are in need, or so the saying goes. Always in the form of some sort of merchant. He offers deals in exchange for servitude and souls.” Robin paced, arms tightly crossed. Snapping his gaze towards Kat, his eyes spied the jewel in her lap. “Is that what he offered you?”

She nodded, eyes still glued to the gem.

“Then you've already given yourself to him.” Robin murmured under his breath. “Or...have you?”

“I haven't given anything in exchange...I said...”...I'd consider it...

“Did you feel a burning sensation when he left? As if someone were branding or tattooing you?”

Her eyebrows rose in confusion as she snapped her fingers over the jewel in her lap. “No...nothing...”

Robin paused, clenching and unclenching his fist nervously. “Then, he's given you something for...nothing?”

“He told me this jewel would save my mother and the Crux.”

“It's not possible.” Robin snapped, pale eyes narrowed. “Perhaps Clara has done something. Perhaps...”

“Perhaps I need to use it...” Kat whispered, eyes meeting Robin's. “...and then he will take something from me.”

Robin approached her then. Falling to his knees, he placed his hands upon her thighs. “Then you mustn't. Whatever you do—Dunstan Riche is a trickster, Katell. Whatever he told you about that thing—expect the exact opposite to happen...or worse. Whatever you do...”

“It could save my mother—it could save her.”

“Or, it could take her from these plains forever.” Robin whispered back, fingers digging into the cloth of her long tunic. “Please, Katell—don't take his bait—,”

“Either way, I lose.” she breathed, her fingers tightening around the jewel as she met his gaze with a sharp glare. “Either way, my family is no more and the world will go on as it ought to.”

“Are you truly willing to trade your soul with this devil in exchange for your mother's? Are you truly willing to trade your life—your freedom?”

“I have never been free.” she hissed, standing. Brushing his fingers away from her thighs.

SIXTY-ONE

Horace felt something wither within the pit of his soul.

Leaning with his face pressed against the black iron bars of his cell's tiny window, his gaze wandered towards the grassy plains bowing beneath a howl of sultry wind.

Something was coming. The animals sensed it, birds fleeing to the skies as trees bowed. Brown bark suddenly fading to gray. Gray becoming a stygian black.

Something was coming. And with the howling wind, blew death. A black haze of fog rolled in from the east. A roaring funnel of it followed a tiny figure mowing its way towards the west. Towards the two citadels of Safrana.

The roaring funnel of black left a trail of graying grass and animal carcasses. Brittle white bones thrown haphazardly between hay-like stalks of dead grass.

From somewhere within Horace's bleak cell of slimy stone and rat infested cracks, water tapped upon stone. It was an incessant dripping which robbed him of sleep and sanity. But with the darkening of the sky came an eternal dusk that allowed him to slip in and out of consciousness.

How long had it been since the Rose's men had quartered him? Days? Weeks? Months, even?

Would he ever see his kinsmen again?

He watched the figure with keen eyes as it moved. The graying of the grass and trees reminded him of an ocean calmly receding. The waves pulling themselves towards the center of the world as beaches grew and sand shifted.

Like a candle being snuffed out in the darkness, below him, life was being snuffed out.

Something was coming.

Going—he corrected himself. Something was going.

But where?

Carrying the south's life-force on its shoulders—where was this thing going?

His mind jumped to his cousin—jumped to the Sonants and their mission. Could it have something to do with the Senior Sonant? Could it have something to do with Katell—if she was even still alive? Could it have something to do with the north's envoys...how the Sonants planned to slaughter them all at Labassette to send a message to the north. Could that thing down there have something to do with them?

Or...was it something completely different? Around him, the world was vastly changing. From the glowing of the leaves in Baate Noir, to the sudden death buzzing around the blackened forest. Something was changing. The air seemed to crackle with electricity—with life being snuffed out. The crackle falling to a deathly silence which rattled around in his bones.

What was happening?

What, in this world, was changing? Was it something drastic?

Wasn't this how Gran described the coming of the Cataclysm?

Fantastic events—the ending of the south's eternal winter. Night turning to day and day becoming night once more. The sun hiding. Dying.

Was this world about to experience a second Cataclysm?

Horace hoped not. Locked up in some Rose Fort at the hands of the Rose's men—Horace sourly hoped not. If a second Cataclysm were underway, he wanted to have some sort of part in it. Not be locked away in some tower awaiting something worse than death. A man stuck on the outside—he wanted to be a part of things!

But, on the figure went. Trudging through fields of dying grass. On the figure went, towards Safrana.

Should he beseech the Night Lady? Ask her for help like so many of his kinsmen did before they were slaughtered by the Rose's men? Should he just end things now and pray the Fates will let him look upon his changing world as a spirit?

He didn't have the strength—the audacity.

He still had to live—for his cousin—he still had to live.

Could Kat have a part to play in this?

Horace had always believed the eagle-eyed girl was special. A little off, but important to something big. Something...cataclysmic. He couldn't put his finger on it—what with the constant dripping of water from the corner of his cell and the eternal hunger stabbing his belly and weakening his body—but he just knew. Somehow knew, that Kat had her nose in this. Had a part to play in this.

Perhaps she would die because of this. Perhaps the entire world...

Horace shook his head and shut his eyes tight. Clapping his hands to his ears, he violently shook his head from side to side as the water continued to drip.

Drip...drip...drip...

Perhaps he had a part to play in this as well. Perhaps he...

Perhaps he could speak to Kat—warn her? But how?

Horace brought himself to standing as best he could, his joints ached as they popped and crackled. His mouth felt like cotton as he licked his cracked lips.

A bird flew by his window. A raven. It came to perch on the lip of the stone encrusted hole in the wall. It looked at him. Tilted its head of midnight feathers.

Horace jumped—gasped and clapped his hands over his mouth. Was he dreaming?

The creature looked at him, its eyes sparkling with intelligence. With value.

He found himself wanting to eat it.

“Tell her,” he croaked, his throat burning, “beseech the Night Lady.”

He hadn't heard his own voice in sometime, and he gasped at the sound. At the noise. He was surprised he could still speak—still make some sort of sense of words.

The bird cocked its head to the right before turning its head haphazardly. The creature seemed to nod before setting off. Before melding its midnight feathers with the blackness of the inky sky above.

SIXTY-TWO

Kat had a decision to make.

Would she pledge her soul to the hetaeras and become hetaera herself? Would she kill her own mother and use her soul to cleanse the Crux?

Or...would she use Dunstan's gem and save her mother's soul in exchange for her own? Would she forego the Crux—ignoring it for her mother? Would she outright ignore the demands of that sylph—the Keeper of the Crux?

Kat felt as though she were walking into a trial. Dragging her feet through the halls, sneaking a peek through a window, she couldn't tell night from day anymore. The sky stayed black, the clouds bubbling as if they were concealing a storm. The sun did not shine, it was almost as if the sun itself had died out. The stygian black of the clouds sucking away its orange shine, devouring the orb's bright light.

Pressing her fingertips against the stained glass of one spire-topped window, she felt a chill grow from her fingers to her elbows as a flock of black birds soared past. One bird dropping out of its formation like a rock learning to fly.

Kat turned away, determined to get to her destination. She told Clara she'd speak to her in the morning and of all the things she'd messed up or outright ignored—she wouldn't be going back on her word. Kat would meet her and tell her the decision she'd come to. And that would be that.

She dreaded Vidonia's face—the older sorceress's ire.

Kat could almost imagine what Vidonia would spit at her, the woman's face going ruby red—Then we've come here for nothing? No—I've come here for nothing! You insolent—

Kat clenched her jaw—this was her decision, and her's alone. Though Vidonia had helped her tremendously—she had no part to play in what ultimately would be the matricide of her own mother. Vidonia had no part to play. And if Kat decided to ignore the Crux in favor of saving her mother—then so be it. What had the Crux ever done for her?

It turned her into a witch. It made it so others could blame women for the Cataclysm and burn them. It spawned hatred in their world—so what if the Crux would possibly stay tainted, or fall apart all together? If anything, the Crux was the reason their world was so broken right now. The Crux is what made her mother into what she is now—the Crux. And, in all honesty, Kat would rather see the damned thing destroyed.

But who was she to come to that conclusion? Destroying the Crux would take magic from their world—how then will humans take on beasts? With rods and spears? True, the south had done quite well for itself without the protection of sorceresses, but how about the north? From what she knew, they were quite dependent on magic...

But what did the north matter to her? The north—those that forced the Southern Reaches into shackles? If she truly wanted to prove to the Sonants that she wasn't a traitor to her people—she'd cleanse her mother's soul and find a way to destroy the Crux, if removing its taint didn't prime it for destruction already.

Would she have to kill the sylph? The Keeper of the Crux?

Kat widened her eyes and shook her head before halting. Opening her palms, she brought them to her face.

What was she thinking?

What in the world was she thinking? This journey, these decisions—everything she has been a part of...it was...changing her. And not for the better, either.

If she saved her mother, she'd go on to find Horace...yes. Damn the south—the north—the Crux—her family is what mattered right now. Yes, her family...

When had she changed so much?

A pitter-patter of wings caught her eye as a large raven stretched its ragged feathers near the face of a darkened window. Kat approached the window as the raven began to preen. Slowly, she approached it, hoping she wouldn't be seen.

Pressing her hands against the stone windowsill, the raven snapped its meaty neck towards her. Its large beak tapping the glass as its pebble-like eyes twitched this way and that, the animal surveying her. Studying her.

“You aren't going to speak to me, are you?” Kat teased, holding her chin in her hand as she propped her elbow against the stones. “It seems like everything has something to tell me nowadays.”

“Do you regret walking with the Chaperon?”

Kat gasped—taken aback. Had the creature truly talked to her?

Its voice was feminine...smooth. “Do you regret losing your way? Finding yourself here and there...do you regret ever being brought to Montbereau? Losing your mother? Do you sometimes wish...”

Heels clacked against stone, the sound gradual and slow as the speaker paused.

Kat held her head in her hands—of course the damned raven hadn't been speaking to her.

It was Clara.

“Rosetta told me everything.”

Kat turned.

Holding out slender arms draped in crystalline lace, Clara inclined her head. Acting as if she were about to hug Kat. “It is paramount for me to know all about my hetaera.”

“I'm not hetaera yet.” Kat bristled, leaning against the window-face as bird wings beat against the air outside.

“But you've come to a decision?”

Kat cut her gaze away. Felt the warm hum of the gem nestled deep within her trouser pocket. “Yes.” she hadn't expected Clara to come looking for her—she wanted more time. More time to think things through, to enjoy this bit of normalcy. This little pause in her life.

“When shall we begin the Change?” she began, clasping her hands behind her back. “It is a tedious process. We'll need to begin immediately if you hope to cleanse the Crux within the week.”

Kat crossed her arms as she refused to meet Clara's sharp gaze. “I won't be doing that.” she told her, her voice meek. “None of it. I've...found another way.”

“Oh,” Vidonia murmured, her voice barely a step away from her. “have you, now?”

Her voice was laced with poison. A threat.

You'll forgive me for this.

Robin's voice—Kat brought her gaze up to meet Clara's as smooth palms felt their way up her back. Vidonia breathed down her neck, lilac pervading her senses as the woman grabbed hold of both her shoulders.

I'm so sorry, Katell. But this is for the good of the world.

She felt the gem hum warmth in her pocket.

Snatching her gaze from Clara's, Kat stole her hand down her trouser pocket, searching for the source of the warmth.

“There is only one way to right the balance of things, Katell Maeva. You were born to complete the cycle, and complete it you shall.” Vidonia hissed into her ear, digging her nails deep into Kat's skin.

Kat bit her lip against the pain—the burning sensation that slithered up and down her shoulders.

Closing her hand around the gem, she yanked it out of her pocket.

“See!” she almost screeched, holding the thing up for Clara to see. “I can use this to right things! I don't have to kill her!”

Clara's eyes fell, her growing frown darkened. “Is it human?” she asked.

Kat tightened her grip around the gem, felt the jewel hiccup in her hand as a watery squelch resounded down the hall.

The sound came from her. Thick mucous, warm and slimy, slid down the length of her hand.

Black blood dripped to the floor, creating a puddle.

Kat brought the gem towards herself.

Her eyes widened. Her stomach dropped.

It was a heart. A still beating heart twitching in her hand. Spurting someone's life-force.

How had this—

No—this was her way to save her mother. The gem—it was.

Her throat thickened.

Katell, you'll forgive me. I swear you will.

Robin. Robin had done this—but how? How had he switched her gem for a...a heart?

“And your decision, now?” Vidonia hissed into her ear. “You have but one, yes?”

Could she somehow call Dunstan Riche again? Could she somehow...?

Kat hung her head.

The choice was never her own. There was never a decision to make. She was a pawn in all of this. A pawn.

Kat bit her lip.

And nodded her head.

“Good, then.” Vidonia murmured, patting the girl on the shoulder. “What a good girl you are.”

SIXTY-THREE

It is a cycle that comes to a head every decade. Every ten years.

Heat piled up like hot coals behind Kat's eyes as she was strapped down.

She did not want this.

She felt her bottom lip quiver.

Mortals cry out for Power—for magic—and the Crux gives. It gives and gives and gives...

Kat made it hard for them—kicking and scratching as the women attempted to tie her down with leather straps and brass buckles. They strapped her down to a block of thick wood, tying down her legs first. Then her arms. Her head.

In exchange for magic, mortals give tiny pieces of themselves. This is called, “Natural Power”, and it resides inside of everyone—even those who claim no connection to the Power's Crux.

Vidonia circled her, strapping her forehead to the block while wiping globs of saliva from her face. Kat spat—narrowly missing Vidonia's eyes—as Clara worked on her kicking feet. It was a losing battle, Kat knew, but for once in her life—she had a choice to fight. She had a choice—the freedom to do as she pleased. Until they did what they had to to enact the Changing—she had a choice. She was free.

And in that freedom, she would give them hell.

Natural Power cannot sustain the Crux. The more it gives, the more it requires. As the Crux dwindles down during the decade, it comes close to being empty. Like a well without water—but even the Crux seeks to preserve itself.

Vidonia cupped Kat's chin, wrenching her face upwards as the last of the straps were wrapped around Kat's feet and tightened. Kat felt the urge to spit once more—to successfully hit her with something. This woman was her antagonist—her adversary. How stupid she had been to believe that she was out to help her—to help the south and the forest. How stupid she had been!

And yet...

It whispers to those desiring Power, urging them to grant it a soul in exchange for godhood. It whispers to the weak and the needy, the hungry and the desirous. It whispers to those that draw too much from it, and to those that draw too little...

Vidonia's face was a blank mask—not one of malice. Not one of spite. She found no joy in this. But her sister...

Clara paced, chanting in a foreign language. One that Elisedd and Vidonia had spoken before her once...or twice. Somehow, her mind became muddled in a fog of confusion that blurred her vision as her strapped down limbs twitched.

Pull yourself together Kat—give them everything...everything you've got!

Kat clenched her jaw as she fought against Clara's words, the woman's voice rising in some sort of eerie song. Vidonia stood near Kat's shoulder. Gently, she shook her head and avoided Kat's gaze. “Don't fight it.” she told her matter-of-factly. “It will only make it more painful for you.”

Kat's limbs became heavy, weighted like useless stones. She felt a lump form in her throat—choking her.

Was she...giving up? Giving in to this...? This...cycle?

No—she couldn't do that. Dunstan Riche had given her a choice—where was that jewel?

Robin—Robin took it.

Could he be far? Could she break free from this and find him? Make him give her back the jewel?

Kat slumped against the block of wood as her blood suddenly turned to ice.

No—she could do it. She could break free.

Vidonia snapped her gaze to her, the woman's eyes vacant. “You must complete the cycle.” she deadpanned. “None of us have a choice in this.” she told her. “None of us.”

It promises immortality to the mortal. It promises godhood to those that see themselves as gods...

Kat felt the skin of the roof of her mouth shrivel up as the roof of her mouth turned to cotton. She tasted dust. She tasted dead skin and bone. She opened her mouth to scream as the ice spiking through her veins speared out through her, her bones becoming ice. Her blood becoming dust. She was changing—was this it? Was this it for her freedom?

Would she have a soul after this? Would she have a soul to give if she somehow found the jewel?

Would she have a choice in finding it? Was this the last of her freedom?

In exchange for mortal souls to replace the Power it gives, it turns those willing to parlay with it into Fallen. Mortal devils. Creatures who believe themselves to be gods...and the Crux demands more. Demands souls in exchange for Power, thus cutting off the entire world from magic.

A soothing chill grew from her chest as her body bucked against the ice encasing her veins, her bones. She fought against the leather strapping her to the block for as long as her will allowed it—the freedom to do so as intoxicating as lovemaking. As powerful as a man spouting his love.

She bucked and rocked—thrashed against the wood until bruises bloomed all over, purple and blue becoming her. Destroying her skin. Hurting her.

Exchanging the soul of a Fallen cleanses it—satisfies it—but only for a time.

Only for a decade.

In her mind's eye, the great black wings of a raven beat against the stagnant air of the dark chamber as Clara continued to sing. Continued to wail her sorrowful song.

Black eyes met hers, as a black beak tapped against her chest. Exposing her.

“Beseech the Night Lady.” it screeched before disappearing. Before becoming the darkness that surrounded her. “Beseech the Night Lady.”

And would she help her? Knowing she was fated to kill her? And would the Night Lady come to Kat's aid if she beseeched her? If she prayed to her with all of her might?

And then, the cycle begins again.

A voice told her—no.

There is no savior but yourself.

There is no savior for you.

A roaring resounded in her ears. A rush of blood. Of life.

SIXTY-FOUR

It is done.

~~~

“How long do we have? How long do you believe she will be out?”

Clara met her sister's eyes blankly. “Everything is coming to an end.”

~~~

Vidonia had been afraid to move the girl, what with the blood and the newfound paleness of her skin. But she removed the straps and attempted to make the poor thing comfortable. Vidonia could remember her first Changing, and at the sudden recollection—she shivered.

It wasn't something she remembered as being...pleasant.

Placing her hand upon the unconscious girl's forehead, she felt for a sign of life and shook her head.

“How long do we have?” she asked again, her tone urgent and sharp.

“Enough.” Clara snapped back. “How should I know? What signs am I looking for out there?”

“Darkness.” Vidonia replied matter-of-factly. “Death.”

“The sky is still black. There is no sun to speak of—next to no light. There's a horrid stink out there—like a carcass rotting in the sun—and it's cold. Too cold for the north.”

“And there's no person? No figure?”

Clara visibly swallowed as she stood near the entrance to the dismal chamber. “I hadn't thought to look...”

“She often appears as a woman.”

“Does she?”

Vidonia snapped her gaze towards Clara. “Yes.”

“Then I...” Clara shifted, her gaze moving towards the floor. “...I've done something terrible, haven't I?”

Vidonia stood, clenching her fists at her sides. “You've seen her?”

“I've invited a woman inside...refuge from the cold. It's not in season, sister. She looked old...sickly...”

Closing the gap between herself and Clara in three quick steps, Vidonia stood level with Clara. Her eyes chilly. “Take me to her.”

…

Clara led her to a similar small parlor with a fireplace and armchairs. The room was stuffy and humid with scarlet pressing down on them from all sides. In a large wingback chair sat the stiff body of a woman Vidonia knew quite well.

“Archmage Ledora.”

The woman tensed in her seat, her jaw clenching. “We meet again.”

Vidonia approached her from behind, sliding her hand up and down the back of her scarlet armchair. “Why are you here?” Vidonia hissed, hoping to get a rise out of the woman.

“I believe we have the same motives.”

It was Vidonia's turn to tense as she stood behind the woman's chair. “Are you missing...an arm?”

Ledora appeared disheveled and unkempt. She looked as though she had been sleeping in a forest for these past weeks. Her hair normally kept in a tight chignon at the back of her head stood around her face wildly, like a black halo. Her clothing tore beneath her armpits and at the bend in her legs. She looked like a Lady of the Wood, not an archmage.

“What happened to you?”

“That is none of your concern.” her voice was ice. Her tone steely. “Where is Katell?”

Vidonia raised an eyebrow. “Is it true she spirited you away from me?” she started, walking her fingers along the back of the chair. “Why did you have a need to run, Ledora? What were you hiding from me?”

Ledora hissed a sigh. “It matters not. Nothing matters now, does it? The Crux is broken and it is your fault, Vidonia. How does it feel to have the weight of the world crush you? To know that this is your fault?”

Vidonia dug her nails into the chair's upholstery. Never before had Ledora been so good at cutting deep. “How dare you.”

“How dare you.” she snapped back, refusing to turn her head and face Vidonia. “Insinuate me of things! Pft! Now, I'll ask again,” her voice was unnatural, her stance in the chair—it struck Vidonia as odd. “Where is Katell?”

“Why do you need her so?” Vidonia hissed through her teeth. “Why did you run all those weeks ago, only to come back like the sniveling dog you are?” Vidonia smirked—that had to do it. Now the truth would come pouring out!

But Vidonia's remark was met with silence. Had Ledora gone deaf? Vidonia wondered.

Ledora's head turned like a door squeaking on a rusted hinge. As she met Vidonia's gaze, her eyes became abysmal pits of black.

Something was wrong.

The air became thick with tension as Vidonia's breath exited her nostrils as white mist.

“Where is she?”

“I knew you weren't her.” Vidonia hissed back, digging her fingernails farther into the chair. Ripping the fabric. “I knew...!”

Vidonia didn't have the strength to defeat her now—Katell had only recently gone through the Changing. What would she do—what could she do to stop her?

Vidonia cracked a smirk. “Oh, do you mean you cannot feel her?” she snorted slightly. “Is that not how you tracked her down here? Weren't you following the trail of her soul?”

Ledora's face twisted, her lips darkening into a scowl. “Tell me where she is, Vidonia—I have no quarrel with you...yet.”

Vidonia stole a look around the room—Clara was gone. Good.

Maybe she could warn Katell—get her out and away from Seraphina. Maybe she could take Katell elsewhere and protect her until the girl grew strong enough to finally do away with the Night Lady and restore the Crux.

Maybe.

Vidonia avoided Seraphina's black gaze. “I cannot obstruct the balance, Seraphina.” she told her matter-of-factly. “You know that.”

“Where is my daughter?!” Seraphina screamed—throwing herself to standing with her single arm. “Where—what have you done? Where is she?!”

“Rest assured, Seraphina,” Vidonia murmured, coaxing the woman to stillness. “we've done away with her ourselves. May her soul rest in peace.”

SIXTY-FIVE

Clara shook her awake.

Pins and needles speared through her veins as Kat pushed herself up.

“She's here.” is all Clara murmured before a cry pierced the stony quiet of the chamber.

Kat's arms trembled as she worked to fling her legs over the side of the wood block. “And what do you expect me to do?” she croaked, her throat raw and dry.

“Fulfill the cycle.” Clara said, motioning for the girl to stand. “You may be weak, but together we can take her out and you can sacrifice her soul to the Crux.”

Another heart-sputtering screech ripped through the air of the chamber as something solid and heavy collapsed, the ground trembling.

“Rosetta cannot fight her on her own. Here,” taking Kat's hand, Clara squeezed it before leaning forward to brush her lips against the girl's skin. “I'll help you trans—,”

Kat viciously jerked her hand away. “I'm not well—I can't—,” did she have a choice? By now, Robin had to be long gone. Far gone.

Beseech the Night Lady, the raven had told her. But how?

Now was not the time to contemplate—the Fates had no mercy, throwing her destiny upon her so quickly. She felt her arms tremble as her blood ran cold—she was different now. Changed. Is this how it felt to be hetaera? To be an undead, blood sucking, monster?

When would she begin to feel...changed?

Bloodcurdling screeches snatched her from her reverie as Clara stole her hand and bit deep into the skin of her open palm. Summoning blood.

Black blood.

Clara locked eyes with Kat, those cat-like eyes turning to dark pools of nothing as her skin changed. Black veins rose upon skin as translucent as tissue, as Clara's fangs grew, the nails upon her fingers spiked out like long, white, needles.

Clara changed before Kat's eyes, and Kat suddenly felt a brutal heat soar through her, the heat ramping up the speed of her heart as her teeth began to viciously rip through her gums. She felt the nails upon her hands grow terrifyingly fast as her heart threatened to slam its way through her rib cage.

She felt her skin go cool and clammy as light suddenly stole her vision, the girl blinking profusely as bright light suddenly became a burden upon her newfound eyesight.

“Good.” Clara whispered, her mouth parting with Kat's palm. “Extraordinary. You aren't as weak as I thought you'd be.”

Kat stood, the warm vigor roaring through her veins sweet. Like pure adrenaline.

Was she truly going to do it? Was she truly going to kill her own mother to complete some cycle?

Did she even have a choice?

Clara was striking in her new form—a haunting beauty fell around her like a gossamer gown of frost. She was monstrous, true. Monstrous enough to send a shiver creeping up Kat's spine as the woman brought herself to her full height.

She had grown a couple inches. Standing at a mighty seven feet.

“They're in the hall.” Clara said, turning on her heel. “Follow me.”

~~~

Wide and spacious. A high dome ceiling of bronze. Shiny wooden floors littered with blackened blood. Rugs cut up, scarlet and blue threads mingling in ripped twine.

Of course—of course her mother would be here.

Clara backstepped as Kat stood her ground. Lowering her gaze, she came eye to eye with Vidonia who heaved upon the ground. The woman stuck between her human and primal hetaera form. Her gown ripped into shredded tatters upon the shoulders. Her skirts shreds.

Upon the ground, she heaved. A blackened hole sucking at the air in her chest, the crater wheezing as she breathed.

A familiar figure stood at an arm's distance away from Vidonia. A black staff in her hand.

“Ledora?” Kat said, her face twisted with confusion. “I thought—but you said...”

Ledora grinned, her eyes pools of deep black that made Kat shiver.

Before Ledora's grin capsized, sinking into a deep frown that stunk of malice. “They've Changed you.”

Kat turned her gaze sidelong, meeting Clara with a questioning glare.

Upon the ground, Vidonia let out a string of deep chuckles.

Until Ledora silenced her with a slam of her staff, black tentacles wreathing from the ground in a swirling line before her until the black appendages shot through Vidonia's chest and strung her up. Holding her body up like a prisoner of war on a pike.

“Is this what you meant?!” Ledora screamed at Vidonia who wheezed upon the makeshift pike, her hands holding the piercing tentacle as if she could wretch it from herself. “You stole my daughter's soul by...”

“By turning her into one of us.” Clara finished, taking a step forward.

“You—!You—!”

Was Kat truly going to do this?

Vidonia still chuckled, her voice weakening as she hung there.

Was Kat truly going to kill her own mother?

Was that even her mother?

Kat tilted her head as Ledora's gaze locked with her own. “Are you even my daughter anymore?”

“Ledora?”

“She's dual-souled. Or—at least, was.” Vidonia coughed out, her voice strained. The explanation forced. “Ledora took your mother's soul in to save Baate Noir, but your mother...sacrificed Ledora's soul...stole her body...”

Kat's bottom lip dropped.

Ledora opened her arms—no, her mother, opened her arms. “I needed to survive. If I perished, so would Baate Noir. So would the south.”

The south as she knew it was already gone—already doomed. She clenched her jaw—was this even her mother?

How could her mother do such a thing? Steal the body of her savior—how could she?

Maybe she deserved to die. Maybe she...

Maybe the world is not enough for her.

Kat took a step forward. “To cleanse the Crux, I must kill you—mother,” she choked the final word out, the title hard to say while looking into the single eye of the Archmage. “and sacrifice your soul to the Crux to cleanse it.”

“And how are you so sure my soul will fix the Crux?” her mother answered, her words prefabricated.

“I'm not.” Kat answered matter-of-factly. “But it's worth a try.”

At that, her mother outright laughed.

“If I kill you, there will be no gain for me. Yet, perhaps the Crux would accept your body instead of your soul?” her mother said, tightening her grip upon the black staff between her hands as the air grew colder. White steam left the woman's mouth as she grinned and narrowed her eyes, her stance one of complete confidence. “It's worth a try.”

SIXTY-SIX

Her mother was swift, keen, and unforgiving as she threw a wall of wreathing black towards Kat and Clara. Rendering the two blind for a matter of seconds.

Kat cried out as the hard butt of a staff slammed into her right knee, joints popping—breaking, as Kat wrenched her leg away and flung herself to standing. Amidst the darkness, she threw her talons this way and that—hoping to blindly catch her mother before the deranged woman caught her.

She missed. Two times. She missed.

And saw stars as a staff connected with her neck, the woman swinging with precision. Aiming to deter Kat, not to kill her—or so Kat thought.

Once again, she was on the ground—breathing, finally able to see.

Clara flung herself at Seraphina in an instant, wrestling with the woman. Her hands holding tight to the black staff in her mother's single hand. Clara bore down on the woman, grunting and snorting as she attempted to throw her entire weight against the smaller woman.

But a blast of wreathing black sent her careening towards the far wall, a mountain of dark wind smacked her—hard—against the wood of the wall. The brute force creating a crater that bent the wood inwards, before Clara slid to the ground. Unconscious.

Kat tensed as she listened to her nails click against the polished wood floor.

Her mother strolled, staff in hand, a growing smile on her face.

Kat was frozen—frozen in terror.

Vidonia was already incapacitated—struck up on a line like a fish. And Clara—she was knocked out.

Kat couldn't do this alone.

Her neck ached. Her right knee throbbed angrily.

She couldn't do this alone.

If only she'd had that damned jewel—this could have all been over. Her mother's soul could have been cleansed—but now, she had no choice. None at all. She had to kill her.

Kat clenched her jaw as she crouched—mind blank. Heart throwing itself against her rib cage.

What could she do now?

Her mother approached, coming to a halt about an arm's distance away.

Kat crouched deeper, ready to spring into a sprint.

“I don't want to kill you.” Kat said, coming out of her crouch. “You're my mother...even if you're in a foreign body. There must be another way...”

Pressing her staff into the wood at her feet, her mother made no move to speak as her smile died. The grin replaced by a solemn frown and a terse twinkling of the eye before she brought her staff up and slammed it upon the ground. Ramming it into the floorboards three times.

A circle of inky tentacles rose around the two women, the ring a breathing jail as it encircled them.

Beseech the Night Lady, the raven had told her.

Kat clenched her jaw.

Beseech the Night Lady.

Kat threw back her head at a sudden rippling of red hot pain as the knife like point of a tentacle wreathing at her back sliced through the skin at the back of her neck. Falling to her knees, she felt warmth trickle down from the incision, felt her life-force ebbing away.

She looked up to see Ledora's face callously staring down on her as other tentacles in the ring rose before snapping at her—whipping her with so many knife points. Drawing blood. Stealing skin. Her entire body cried out—blood oozing from a myriad of cuts as the stabbing sensations ricocheting up and down her body slowly became large gashes. Clenching her fists beneath her, she listened as her mother approached. Staff still in hand.

“If only that were so.” the woman replied, her voice husky. “If only the Fates had given us a choice in how our lives would end.”

Seraphina stood above Kat as the tentacles ate away at her. Kat clenched her jaw and swung at the woman's ankles with the claws of her right hand.

Somehow—they caught—and threw the woman off balance.

The tentacles receded.

As Kat swiped the woman's staff from her hands. She gasped as the black staff melted to an inky blackness, the staff becoming a black puddle at her feet.

The circle of tentacles died away, a black ring staining the floorboards in their place.

Seraphina was not done yet.

Springing up from her back, she threw herself on Kat. Elbow lodged against the girl's windpipe as Kat's head knocked hard against the floorboards at her back.

From her tattered skirts, Seraphina produced a knife.

“You still have a body to give—and I still have a soul. I could take you—as I should have all those weeks ago. Your body could become mine.”

The woman held her down with one arm, all of her weight pressing into Kat as she drove her knee into the girl's stomach.

Kat felt her eyes roll up into the top of her head before she forced herself to focus.

She couldn't give up—not now. Not yet.

“And?” Kat snapped, focusing hard as she narrowed her eyes. “What would that solve? How would you commune with the Crux?” Cutting her gaze from her mother's, Kat spat upon the floorboards. Salty blood dripping from the corner of her mouth. “You could take the soul of every man, woman, and child and sacrifice them all to the Crux—but what then? Who would you have to rule if everyone was dead?”

Seraphina faltered. Swallowed and brushed the edge of her knife against Kat's throat. “It is my curse.” she finally said, her single eye unblinking. “I have no choice in this. This is who I am cursed to be. I want and I want...” her eyes became bleak. Dead, “...but, just like the Crux, I can never be satisfied...”

And in that moment, Kat felt unending pity for the woman—the woman who stole the body of a friend so that she might live on. The woman for whom the world was not—and would never be—enough.

Perhaps it was her time? Her time to pass on to the underworld?

Was it Kat's duty to send her on? If Seraphina were truly cursed to be what she was—a power hungry sorceress detained to the black forest—wasn't it Kat's duty to break such a curse? And, instead of sacrificing her soul to the Crux, wasn't it her duty—as this woman's daughter and kin—to send her soul to the place it belonged? The afterlife—the underworld?

Kat understood. Finally—she understood.

Her mother no longer belonged in these plains.

The knife brushed against Kat's skin haphazardly, drawing blood, before Kat wrenched her neck away and jerked her upper body up with all of her might. Grunting with effort—every scratch and incision made by the ring of black burning upon her skin. The digging sensation left by the tentacles burning all the hotter the harder she tried to move—tried to throw her mother off of her and save her own skin.

With a thump, the woman fell backwards. Knife clattering to the floorboards. Sliding.

Both women raced to snatch it up—Seraphina's single arm reaching feverishly before Kat swatted her away with a needle-like talon to the face, narrowly missing her eye. Falling to her elbow, Kat snatched the blade up and turned.

Only to see nothing and no one—the hall empty except for Clara and Vidonia's incapacitated forms.

Where had Seraphina gone?

As if listening to Kat's thoughts, the woman appeared behind her. Wrapped her arm around Kat's throat and attempted to choke her within the crook of her bent arm. Kat felt her blood run cold—her head filled with air as her vision slowly blurred.

“I have no choice.” Seraphina giggled before moaning—before hot wet tears scattered from her face, burning into the cuts upon Kat's neck. “I am cursed—I am cursed—,”

Kat clutched the knife in her hand, but felt it slip. Felt her breath die as the world turned upside down and slammed into the back of her head. Creating stars. Creating a rush of cold air that chilled her and brought her back as her mother strengthened the hold upon her neck.

She caught hold of tears. Kat caught hold of missed years and sorrow. She caught hold of an apology.

Before Kat let the knife's hilt slip in her palm, turned the blade towards herself, and jabbed it into her own abdomen.

SIXTY-SEVEN

Kat forced the knife through herself, feeling the blade twist and separate her organs as she bit down on her tongue. Drawing blood.

Her mother still held her from behind—choking her. Stealing her breath.

Kat grunted as she lodged the knife deeper, the hilt disappearing inside of her as the blade jutted out through her back. Breaking muscle, breaking skin.

Seraphina's wiry muscles pressed farther into Kat's throat—making her gag.

The knife slid through her organs, the blade kissing her mother's skin. Sliding farther to break skin. To squelch through muscle.

Her mother hadn't noticed. Tears flooded her eyes as she refused to let go of Kat's neck.

Kat fought the choke hold. Blood exploded from her tongue, coating the inside of her mouth.

As the knife went farther, charging deeper. Deeper and deeper—exiting Kat through her back completely as it entered her mother's abdomen. Ripping through skin and muscle. Tissue and flesh. Warm slime bit through Kat's clothing as her mother began to bleed profusely. Ledora's body tensing as it froze. As it went into shock.

The knife kept going. Kept charging forward.

Kat ignored the pain as her mother's arm dropped. Turning on her heel, she snatched the knife protruding from her mother's side and lodged it deep within her heart—cutting through bone and muscle. She locked eyes with Seraphina for a moment as she lodged the knife in deeper, the moment of intimacy stolen as Clara swiped her talons across the woman's face. Stealing an eye.

“Do it.” Clara hissed as the woman hit the ground, her hands around the knife protruding from her chest. “Take her soul.” Clara commanded, hovering over Seraphina. “Cleanse the Crux—complete the cycle!”

Kat felt her energy leaving her. Her body felt ragged and drained as blood poured from the incision in her side.

She met Clara's inhuman glare with a cold gaze. “You do it.”

“Only you can—,”

Kat cut her off with a stare and a scowl. Holding her side, blood dribbled between her fingers as she crouched against the pain. Wanting to fall to her mother's side and die as well, yet knowing she could not.

She was a monster now. A hetaera. This—this would not kill her.

Unfortunately.

But knowing that she murdered her own mother...

“I will not do it.”

Clara's eyes went wild. “If her soul fails to go to the Crux—,”

“I will not do it.” Kat repeated, her voice dead. Broken. “Her soul will go to the underworld.” she told her. “Where it belongs.”

“Traitor.” Clara hissed, clenching her fists. “You will be a realm traitor! You will never be welcomed here—or anywhere else—again! I curse you to walk this world as a homeless monster for the rest of your days! No one—not one soul will offer you hospitality, nor love. You will never know happiness again!”

Kat bowed her head and approached Clara. “So be it.” she murmured, limping away.

SIXTY-EIGHT

So be it.

Vidonia woke with a gasp, her body prostrate upon a long block of hard wood.

Planting her palms into the block, she caught her breath. Coughed. Choked.

Whipping her head to the right, she locked eyes with Clara. Her sister looked disheveled, her silky locks tangled and matted. Her gown in bloodied tatters, parts of the cloth permanently stained black.

“Has she done it?” Vidonia sputtered out, hand upon her heaving chest as she attempted to pulse Power towards the Crux. As she attempted to commune with it.

All she felt was cold—an unnatural chill that reared back at her like a chilly tide coming in. The cold attempting to eat away at her—tendrils of ice attempting to steal her very life-force.

She clenched her fists, sharp nails digging into the sweaty palms of her hands.

Clara shook her head, her eyes heavy with black bags that pulled her cat-like eyes down. Her face ten times older, assailed with wrinkles and dark blue bruising.

Vidonia snarled. Her sister did not need to speak—did not need to tell her. She knew. From being unable to commune with the Crux—from being unable to fuel her Power—she knew. She knew the girl had betrayed them.

But why?

Did she not understand the gravity of this situation? If the entire world needed to exchange souls with the Crux in order to commune with it and draw Power from it—did she not understand what that would turn sorcerers into? People will find out—they'll learn soon enough that giving the Crux a soul will grant them Power, and what will stop them from doing exactly that? Killing each other for a breath of Power? Stealing souls to commune with the Crux?

“She has broken the cycle.” Vidonia hissed, blood rushing to her face. “She has cursed the entire world!”

From her right, Clara whimpered. Her shoulders trembling, as she buried her face in her hands, “I tried—I tried to make her—,”

Vidonia snapped her gaze to her sister. “Where is she?”

Clara froze, her blubbering silenced by Vidonia's cold gaze. “Rosetta...I don't know! She simply...she simply...left!”

“You didn't stop her? You just let her go?!” Vidonia roared, her anger blackening her face as blood surged angrily beneath her skin.

Clara stood, stumbling away. Unsure of how to deal with her older sister's ire. “I—I hadn't thought—,”

“The Keeper of the Crux ordered Seraphina's soul be sent to the Crux, Clara! The cycle is broken and the world will turn to murdering each other in exchange for Power all because of this girl! And you say—you say you simply let her go?!”

Clara swallowed before nodding her head.

Throwing herself from the wood block, Vidonia's knees buckled before she forced herself to stand up straight. She felt her rib cage protest, the bones burning as they remade themselves—the hole in her torso from earlier having closed just hours before at Clara's behest.

Heat roared in her temples—her heart thrumming like a hornet. She felt fear welling up within the back of her throat. Choking her.

“She has no soul to give, so we will bring the Keeper a body.” Vidonia decided, glaring at her sister as she crossed her arms. “How like you to simply let her walk away.” Vidonia hissed, curling her upper lip into a scowl. “How like you.”

Clara wrung her hands as she lowered her head. “I—I apologize...”

“Did you watch her leave?” Vidonia snapped, coming to stand before her sister. “Where would she go, hm? Who would welcome her?”

Clara bit her tongue, snatching her gaze away from her sister. She stared at the floor, thinking. “It wouldn't make sense for her to go home...” Clara began, intertwining her fingers as she thought. “...she would...find a friend close by. A friend...” her eyes brightened as she lifted her head, “...a friend I well know.”

SIXTY-NINE

Kat stood on the edge of a precipice, having backtracked. Pining for home.

It was down below, amidst the crashing waves and spiking rocks, that she met the sylph. The Keeper of the Crux.

She contemplated swimming as white brine hummed, crashing into the spiked rocks below.

Up above, a yellow sun pierced through dark gray clouds.

Because of her, the world would be without magic—unless there were those willing to make the ultimate sacrifice and steal souls to satisfy the Crux. Because of her, magic would slowly dissipate from their world. Because of her, the cycle was broken.

Because of her. All because of her.

Kat felt empty. Done. She felt as though something immensely heavy had been lifted from her shoulders and thrown. Thrown far, far away.

“You remembered.” came a voice.

“Of course.” she murmured back, hugging herself. “I've lost everything. Now,” she swallowed, choking back tears. “all I have is you.”

He had told her to wait for him here after it was all said and done. He'd taken the jewel at her behest, after explaining in explicit detail who and what Dunstan Riche was.

“The Devourer of Souls,” he had told her, all those days ago. “If you're fine with carelessly giving your soul to a devil—no, evil incarnate—then go ahead,” he said, rolling his eyes, “do it. But, let me ask you this: would you want to be stuck in that thing? Dead, your soul looping around forever and ever, trying to get to the underworld, but unable. Forever unable because you're sworn to that jewel—that thing in your hand!” she grasped it tightly, feeling its warmth. Thinking. “Your mother—however crazy she may be—deserves a final resting place. Katty,” he touched her, tapped her shoulder with a slow hand, “she needs to go to the underworld.”

He had convinced her to simply kill the woman and give her soul to nothing and no one. To allow her soul to peacefully go to the underworld.

He had convinced her to break the cycle. He had convinced her to betray the whole world so that another mother-daughter duo wouldn't be stuck between killing each other and restoring the Crux...only for the Crux to become tainted and unsatisfied ten years later. All over again. Again and again and again.

The world would be without magic, but it would finally know peace. No more poor souls would be caught up in an eternal cycle which simply refreshes itself every decade or so.

The world would finally be free.

She bristled as she felt his presence beside her. Opening his palm, he showed her Dunstan's jewel. The triangular thing of scarlet. It winked at her as she placed her palm over it. Hiding it. Taking it in her hand. She clutched it tightly, thinking.

Taking a step towards the cliff face, she felt the cold spray of the ocean's brine wet her face. She closed her eyes, blinking away the salty water, before bringing the jewel up to her face. “What am I supposed to do with it now?” she asked him, admiring her complexion. Unblinking. She looked like a walking corpse—unattractive, undead. Her skin was gray, pallid. Her eyes drooping. Her hair disheveled and wiry.

“That's your decision.” he told her matter-of-factly.

She decided she would throw it.

With the careless flick of her wrist, she tossed it towards the blue below. The ocean—vast and wide—accepted the scarlet jewel. Swallowing it as easily as one swallows a candy. She watched it splash into the blue with unblinking eyes. Tired. As it sunk, she sighed.

Done. Everything was done.

And yet she couldn't go home—not yet.

End of Book 1

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SNEAK PEAK

Kindred Souls Book Two

Chapter One

This was a night devoid of stars. Tonight, there were no mechanisms by which she could slow her breathing by counting...one star, two. Three stars, four. Tonight, the black void of night assailed her. Hugging her close with its icy gossamer arms.

Planting her sweat drenched palms to the thin pearly balustrade before her, Reine held tight as her heart lodged itself into her throat. Choking her as red hot coal piled up behind her eyes. She couldn't breathe—she couldn't pull herself together long enough to even hold back the tears. They came—they came as easily as the tremors did. Her legs and arms shivering as if she were in the midst of a screeching blizzard. Despite her tensing them until they cried out in burning pain, they still shivered as tears rolled down her cheeks. They still shivered and she still cried.

Poor Reine, the poor Odette, Lady Valentine had tittered earlier while Reine had sat and dined with the others in the crypt's hall, as her father huffed beside her at the table, someone should bring her a tissue—a napkin.

You haven't felt true pain yet, Reine remembered her whole body tensing as her father snapped, leave until you can control yourself!

And so she did. With tears trailing down her face and soaking her new velvet gown, she fled the dining hall and escaped to the crypt's moonlit gardens.

Yet, tonight, there was no moon. No stars. Only darkness.

Darkness befitting a funeral.

Clutching the balustrade, Reine pulled herself towards the sea of rose bushes basking in the darkness below her. They were infinite—much like the deceased woman she remembered. They were infinite, the dancing sea of verdant darkened by a starless night.

Something soaked through her slipper as she tapped it upon the ground. A puddle surrounded her, soaking through her the thin silk of her slippers. Warm water.

Reine glanced down.

Crimson—a trail of it crept down the garden path. The blood snaking through the cracks in the stone strewn pathway like bloody fingers prying through stone.

Blood.

Reine snatched her feet away and contemplated running as a voice wafted down the path, high-pitched notes swinging past the hanging green hedges only to latch on to her. A man's voice coupled with a woman's throaty wail.

Picking up her skirts, Reine's legs shivered as her knees knocked together. Bunching the smooth fabric of her dress between her sweaty fingers, she swallowed at a growing lump in her throat and took a single step up the path. Another.

She followed the trail, tiptoeing upon the stones.

Whoever did this—whoever was doing this.

Reine has been warned previously that something...strange...had been going on at the crypt after the duchess's death. Upon bringing the woman's body to her final resting place—the Crypt of Queens—people had been systematically going missing. People who had been close to Duchess Mariett in life. Friends, those privy to her secrets. Old handmaidens.

Rounding a corner, the trail of blood grew thicker as it swung around a towering conical hedge that rose up like a fat lance high into the black sky. Dropping her skirts to the ground, Reine clutched at the vines and branches of the hedge as she peeked around the corner. Slowly, slowly, her eyes following the trail as it became a thick pool.

How much blood could one person have?

In the midst of the high hedges of the garden, she saw two people then. One tall, swallowed by a black cloak and hood. Another tiny, pudgy in the waist and attempting to hide it with an overly tight scarlet bodice hardened and shaped with steel boning.

“Lady Valentine!” Reine called, stepping out from her hiding place.

The figure turned, it's drooping hood following like a listless patch of loose skin.

Reine lifted a finger and jabbed it at the man swathed in black. All fear and trepidation gone as ire surged through her veins like fire. “You!” she screamed, taking a step forward as the man moved to drop Lady Valentine. Her body as limp as a used rag doll, “How dare you do this to us!”

The man tensed. Jerking the corpse from his arms, Reine sprinted forward to catch the old governess. The woman landed into Reine's outstretched arms like a large sack of rocks. Heavier in death than she would have ever been in life. “How dare you!” Reine screeched as Lady Valentine's head lolled to the side, her alabaster skin papery as a dry trail of blood stained her neck in strange circular lines. “Who are you?” Reine demanded, her knees coming together as her legs began to shiver. Turning on her heel, she screeched and ducked as a massive pair of bloodied hedge clippers dove for her neck. The clippers snapping overhead as Lady Valentine's lifeless body slammed into the ground.

Reine followed it, palms slapping to the bloodied stones. Slipping.

As a gush of cold air nipped at her neck—the hairs of her nape rising. Standing. On edge.

“Whoever you are—you'll—you'll pay!--,”

Reine froze as the clippers snapped.

And fluffy blonde locks rippled past her shoulders. Floating to the ground.

Her assailant didn't talk—didn't converse. He groaned. He hissed out a heavy breath.

Reine hefted herself up—panting. Her body ignoring her once again as her arms and legs shivered—more from fear than from sadness now—as she turned on her heel and snatched a loose stone from the ground. Holding it with both hands, she flung it at her assailant. The fist sized stone connected with his chest as she screamed.

He didn't budge. Didn't move. He simply froze.

As she turned on her heel and sprinted down the path.

Behind her, steel hit stone as the hedge clippers clattered to the ground and her assailant sprinted after her. Charging—his breath silent. His every step overtaking two of her's.

She'd have to make it back to the crypt—back to the dining hall and warn the others. Reine had found the murderer—of all people—she had found the man who had been terrorizing Safrana ever since the duchess's death!

Of all people—why me? Why not someone else?

The Crypt of Queens loomed before her like a fortress. The garden's exit called out to her, a steel arch with the crying head of an eagle forcing her forward as footsteps whispered behind her. The hedge clippers were gone—but this man could surely kill her with his bare hands. He had already killed four of the duchess's friends with nothing but his fingers—leaving dark strangulation marks bruising their distended necks. He could surely catch her and kill her if he tried.

But Reine could not die—she was the court's Odette.

She was invincible.

Or, so she thought.

Racing through the archway, she entered the crypt at a breakneck pace. Skittering torches lining the dusty brown hallways met her at every turn as she sprinted for the dining hall—her assailant unforgiving as the hairs of her nape rose again. Her neck and shoulders sweaty as her chest heaved. Her breath surging out as wheezing gasps.

Reine wasn't sure how long she could keep this up—but if she valued her life...

She met the bronze doors of the dining hall—the gateway tall and overbearing as she flattened her sweaty palms against it. A high-pitched whimper escaped her as she threw her shoulder against one door—knocking with her entire body. Praying someone would hear her as her assailant's echoing footsteps slowed.

It wouldn't budge—no one was coming to her aide.

They had locked her out.

“Daddy—daddy, it's Reine! It's Odette!”

Nothing. Nothing as the echoing footsteps came to a halt and a black cloak opened before her.

Nothing. Nothing but silence.

Reine whimpered as she slid to the floor. Tears began to cloud her eyes.

This man had to be...human—if anything—right?

Tears began to trail down her face, breaking through the sweat that stained it.

Appeal to his humanity—no man likes a crying woman.

Did Lady Valentine cry? Cry before he gut her?!

She had no choice—there was no other way. If she valued her life...

Reine began to sob, her shoulders racking, her lips twisting down into the ghost of a frown.

“Please...” she whimpered.

Her assailant simply stood there, face eschewed by a drooping hood. Reine watched his arm move and vanish beneath his long cloak. She watched him lower his head, his hood drooping as he produced a satchel.

Reine stood—whimpering still—as his gaze left her.

I should rush at him, she shivered at the thought of touching him, —no—if that rock couldn't hurt him...

She quieted as she approached him, her gaze flitting to the right—to another passageway. Another hallway she could lose him in.

I could talk my way out of this—I could follow father's advice--

The man's hood shivered. His gaze connected with her's. She saw stars—eyes bright as death.

Reine sprinted.

Zigzagging through the hallways like an erratic cat, she took a sudden right. Orange torchlight shivered as every brown hall seemed to blend together, her vision blurry as she looked for more opportunities to lose him.

Panting, she took a left.

And froze.

Thick bronze doors stood in her way. Flowing script etched into the shiny bronze face cradling her eyes.

Echoing footsteps tore her away from the words and she shoved her shoulder against the door.

It moaned. With another shove, it belched dust as it opened.

Reine entered a dome roofed sepulcher as the footsteps grew closer, the man's running dying to a shuffle as a painful groan echoed up the hallway.

Reine's mouth fell open.

How far had she gone?

It didn't matter—she thought, nodding as she eyed five raised stone daises cradling iron coffins in their slate gray hands. She picked a coffin and rushed towards it as the shuffling outside the room halted—silence overcoming all. Pressing her fingers to the iron lip of the long rectangular coffin, she fell to all fours and crawled behind it as the doors at the entrance of the room moaned open once more.

He entered with a slow step, every movement careful.

He looked for her—scathing eyes bore into her like a heated brand almost as if he could see her, as she pressed her back up against the cold iron of the coffin. She held her breath.

As the door to the room moaned to a close and he walked. Every step a rebounding echo. Click, click, click...

There wasn't much she could do now—stuck in a sepulcher with a murderer. Angry tears burned her eyes—was this it? Was this how she'd die?

The deep echo of his steps ricocheted around the massive room, the noise bouncing off the rounded dome of the stone ceiling.

Risking a peek over the iron coffin, she watched his dark form skulk away the dark hallway of an attached antechamber.

Reine's heart drummed in her chest as she risked a glance at the bronze doors leading out. Could she make it? Could she sprint for the doors and make it before he heard her steps? Everything echoed loudly within the massive room—could she make it?

Would she make it?

Reine shook her head. She couldn't risk leaving. Not now.

Crawling around the side of the coffin, she froze—listening for footsteps—before undoing the metal clasp holding the coffin's lid down and opening the iron box.

She'd climb inside with the dead if she had to—if only to save her life.

Ignoring the stink wafting up from the coffin's iron innards, she slunk inside and pushed the body away as she closed the lid. It locked automatically, clicking as metal slid against metal and the clasp's magnetic pull forced it to lock.

Reine heard his footsteps again. Her assailant skulking back into the sepulcher. Looking for her.

Reine turned her head.

And yelped before silencing herself.

The footsteps died.

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Table of Contents

Contents

Copyright

Map

ONE

TWO

THREE

FOUR

FIVE

SIX

SEVEN

EIGHT

NINE

TEN

ELEVEN

TWELVE

THIRTEEN

FOURTEEN

FIFTEEN

SIXTEEN

SEVENTEEN

EIGHTEEN

NINETEEN

TWENTY

TWENTY-ONE

TWENTY-TWO

TWENTY-THREE

TWENTY-FOUR

TWENTY-FIVE

TWENTY-SIX

TWENTY-SEVEN

TWENTY-EIGHT

TWENTY-NINE

THIRTY

THIRTY-ONE

THIRTY-TWO

THIRTY-THREE

THIRTY-FOUR

THIRTY-FIVE

THIRTY-SIX

THIRTY-SEVEN

THIRTY-EIGHT

THIRTY-NINE

FORTY

FORTY-ONE

FORTY-TWO

FORTY-THREE

FORTY-FOUR

FORTY-FIVE

FORTY-SIX

FORTY-SEVEN

FORTY-EIGHT

FORTY-NINE

FIFTY

FIFTY-ONE

FIFTY-TWO

FIFTY-THREE

FIFTY-FOUR

FIFTY-FIVE

FIFTY-SIX

FIFTY-SEVEN

FIFTY-EIGHT

FIFTY-NINE

SIXTY

SIXTY-ONE

SIXTY-TWO

SIXTY-THREE

SIXTY-FOUR

SIXTY-FIVE

SIXTY-SIX

SIXTY-SEVEN

SIXTY-EIGHT

SIXTY-NINE

SNEAK PEAK