Interlude — Songs and Wands

How was your day𝄞? Lyonette’s was fine, thanks.

Substandard breakfast.

Lyonette du Marquin had a convivial conversation with Emperor Laken Godart. She didn’t relish her adopted daughter, Nanette, being upbraided. And she was Lyonette’s charge, in so many ways that mattered, even if Lyonette would never, could never, and should never replace Califor entirely. But it would be so nice if people could be reasonable.

“—Absolutely.”

The blind [Emperor] leaned away, and Lyonette realized she might be bending over the armrest of his throne too much. Laken brushed a hand on the sheet of parchment, doing a splendid job of appearing impassive and calm. He might not have had the training she did, but he was a natural.

“And you will allow me a moment to sign the contract and discuss this with my advisors, Your Highness.”

“Of course, Emperor Godart. I’d never wish to hurry any decision you made.”

“I would certainly never imply you were doing so.”

Laken handed the quill back to Dame Ushar as Lady Rie burst into the room, flustered. Lyonette innocently rolled up the mutual defense pact.

“I’m sure I wouldn’t like to take up your precious time, Your Majesty.”

“Your unannounced and sudden visit was certainly not an impediment to my day, Miss Marquin!”

Laken Godart looked mostly in Lyonette’s direction and contrived to beam at her. She beamed back and chuckled heartily.

“Well, when your [Witches] take such marvelous, understandable liberties with my inn, I can’t help but feel as close as two peas in a pod, Your Majesty.”

“Two peas in a pod in the backstreets, armed with knives, like Adventurer Typhenous keeps referencing, surely.”

“Your Majesty, you are a charmer. Dame Ushar, it is such a delight with His Majesty—”

Lyonette’s laughter might have been considered indecorous, especially since it was practically an inch from His Majesty’s face, but they were too close for small things like that. Dame Ushar echoed the merriment. The two backed out of the throne room as Laken Godart subtly maneuvered Lady Rie in front of him like a shield. Lyonette sunshined her way out of the room.

“I must be going, but do think of my offer. I have two Named-ranks under my employ to contribute to any emergencies.”

“And I have an army. I will assuredly get back to you. Lady Rie, lock the doors…”

Lyonette du Marquin had a spring in her step, a pep in her feet, and a bee in her bonnet whenever Apista got tired. She was having a splendid day. Just grand.

Couldn’t you tell?

 

——

 

Dame Ushar called in for reinforcements when Lyonette got back to the inn. The [Princess] was in a splendid mood, of course, and eminently charitable. That’s why Ishkr walked towards her with a list of questions about the new inn being built, saw Lyonette beaming at him, and decided to settle the matter with Hexel himself.

Nanette. Splendid girl! Amazing fashion sense too. Wand? What wand? Explain to me why I should be thinking about a wand, Dame Ushar. I’ll wait. 

“—Ah, Lady Lischelle-Drakle! Good morning! You’re just in time!”

Colfa val Lischelle-Drakle paused in the common room of the inn as Lyonette sat there, beaming around at everyone. The Vampire swept over, her black wool skirts settling around her like falling midnight. She didn’t have on Lyonette’s culottes—pants in the style of a skirt, double-layered so the plain, sensible beige working dress revealed an inner green—nor the laced white working barmaid’s shirt complemented by a golden hair clip.

Colfa just had on a black skirt, black waterproof cloak, black top, and black gloves, which she tugged off as she came out of the rain. She looked annoyingly marvelous, proving it wasn’t what you had, but how you chose to wear it.

“You look like someone threw a cat in the water out there and wrung it out. What’s wrong, Lyonette. The children?”

The Vampire’s smile had a crook of a fanged tooth in it. She said ‘the children’ like ‘ze children’, and the few droplets of rain that had touched her cloak made her look grand, like someone who’d sojourned a long journey to get here.

Which she had, if she’d walked all the bridges to get here instead of teleport. Lyonette remarked on that, and Colfa laughed.

“Lyonette. Sometimes ve have to suffer a bit of wet. Himilt has been fishing nonstop. He pulled some kind of gigantic fish out of the water just last night, all tentacles and teeth. I made him throw it back. You need a vacation.”

“I need a vacation, but I’m bringing my daughters on any vacations.”

Lyonette grumbled as she pushed herself up. Colfa’s chuckle was like the chocolate Calescent was making in the kitchen. Rich, dark, and sweet.

“Vell, you can’t fault Nanette for being a teenager. Why don’t we cheer ourselves up?”

Lyonette smiled, despite herself, as she headed towards a particular place in the inn reserved only for her and Colfa, and sometimes, Bird. They headed into the [Garden of Sanctuary] as she turned her head.

“Ushar? We’re not to be disturbed. Tell me if Mrsha and Nanette get back, but ah, don’t bother them.”

Everyone needed time to cool down, cool down. Lyonette was looking forwards to how she started her mornings. She and Colfa walked into the [Garden of Sanctuary], and then a second door opened.

She hadn’t told Mrsha and Nanette about it. Sometimes a [Princess] needed secrets, and the two girls never noticed; Lyonette stood in the garden filled with splashing koi fish and inhaled the scents of a garden in perpetual bloom. The smell of the falling blossoms of the sakura trees, pink and vibrant, was only enhanced by the picture-perfect red, wooden bridge, the simple arch of wood leading towards a cleared space that had once been used by an [Innkeeper] and Hobgoblin for their morning dance routine.

There was still a mat there; Lyonette hadn’t the heart to move it. But she’d repurposed this place.

Colfa paused over the bridge and shuddered faintly, as she always did, but then she was striding up to the clearing. Dame Ushar stood at the entrance, bowing, and Lyonette joined the Vampire. Presently—

The two began to do what they did every morning. Lyonette’s little hobby she had in common with Colfa:

She began to sing.

 

——

 

The [Princess] sang with the Vampire almost daily. It was one of the things that they enjoyed. It wasn’t something Lyonette deemed worthy of a [Singer] class, but she had taken a page out of Erin’s book.

She just—liked to sing. Part of the reason was because it was one of the few things that Lyonette was genuinely good at. Her lessons in Calanfer might not have taught her that much in the way of skills like waiting tables, cleaning, strategy—at least battlefield strategy—or even magic.

But she was good at a lot of things that a [Princess] should excel at to look good. And one of those things was, naturally, good oration and the ability to hold a note if you were singing a national anthem, especially your own.

Colfa just liked singing and had decades of practice. They enjoyed singing, and Colfa taught Lyonette songs native to Izril, especially [Farmers]’ songs and pithy bar carols in exchange for Lyonette’s memorized national anthems and songs befitting a ballroom or her royal status.

It wasn’t a big deal; they barely mentioned it, and if other members of the inn knew about the morning singalong, no one except Bird had ever asked to join in. That had been the three of them singing Bird’s made-up songs—of which there were hundreds—and giggling.

No, there was no reason this would ever matter in the course of The Wandering Inn’s history except that Lyonette had been doing this for over a month and really enjoyed it.

Also—Dame Ushar reported to Ielane everything her daughter did.

 

——

 

Other people were having a less salubrious day. Rafaema woke up from being knocked out by a moon Halfling throwing supersonic, magic-breaking stones. She blinked up at the sky, and another piece of her draconic pride flaked off and landed on the ground.

To be fair, it was lying in a pile with the pride of Cirediel and the Dragonlord of Flames. He was lying in a heap of brass scales, so badly wounded that Rafaema forgot her embarrassment as she tried to drag herself over to him.

She nearly crushed the Unicorn, who snapped at her.

“Oh, sure, ignore me. Okay, she’s fine.”

“What? Are you sure? You barely checked her—”

That was from the angry Spearmaster Lulv, who was very concerned about Rafaema’s health and also mostly naked. That was to say, he was healed, but all the fur on his body that had been burnt away from the acid was still gone, exposing pink skin.

He looked like a diseased rat, and Rafaema goggled at him for a second as Taletevirion stomped away. The Unicorn was visibly exhausted, upset, and in no mood to be nice. He reminded her of Manus’ [Medics]: all efficiency. They’d piece you together even if you had a sword wound through the chest, slapping the injury with a bandage if you gave them lip.

“I’m an expert.”

“But—”

“Expert. Her brain’s sending all the right signals, no one’s messed up her aura, her magical circuits are all firing normally, she’s got no damage to her scales aside from a bit of dirt that’s under the scales on her right flank, eighteen scales up from her front claw. She’s fine. I need a drink.”

His glare shut Lulv up for all of one second, which made him one of the most impressive beings that Rafaema had ever met. In a sense, the presence of Teriarch overshadowed Taletevirion. Here was a genuine Unicorn, and Rafaema had barely processed that fact…

“Then if you have the healing power, what about my fur? I know you didn’t heal it on purpose.”

“What? Sorry, I just had to heal myself from being pierced through the lungs, then undo a disintegration spell.”

“But I’m naked—”

“Well, next time, manage to touch that Halfling just once and you get your fur back, ‘spearmaster’. You did less damage to that Halfling than me sneezing on him.”

A second speechless Lulv, and Rafaema croaked.

“Thank you, Lord Taletevirion.”

He gave her a slightly more kindly look and lowered his voice.

“Don’t sweat it. The old goat’s out for a while. Don’t feel bad about how that went down. I didn’t even touch him once, and neither did Teriarch, aside from the Dragonbreath. Do you know how crazy that is? We could have taken out an Elder Creler if it dropped on us, and that fellow wiped the floor with us. And your spearmaster sucks, but you knew that.”

That did make Rafaema feel better, but she still slunk over to Teriarch. Cire was there, nervously nudging Feathi and Mivifa, who both seemed more stunned than injured. Even the Wyvern Lord had appeared, mostly to simultaneously gloat and figure out what the hell had just happened.

Taletevirion stomped after Rafaema as servants tried to clear up some of the destruction around Teriarch’s cave. Ressa was lying on a stretcher, because even with healing she was fragile, and the Unicorn searched around…

 

——

 

No one else wounded. Well, not critically. Lots of wounded prides, damaged psyches, and he counted at least three burgeoning mental traumas.

That was okay. Job done. The Unicorn could sense mental trauma as well as physical; even analyze damage to the ‘soul’, a concept that Teriarch disliked but the Unicorn understood. He was, after all, a healer.

But he was also a lazy healer, and he really, really didn’t want to spend more time on this than he had to. Today had sucked.

Nearly dying always sucked, but getting your horn shoved so far up your rear you could taste it was an extra level of embarrassment in Taletevirion’s books.

If he were a few millenia younger, he’d have gone off and practiced furiously to make up for this resounding defeat. As the old veteran he was, he understood how insane that Halfling was and just wanted a drink, a nap, and to never ask Teriarch about his past ever again.

Part of it was gear. Definitely. You wear armor like that, which blocks any attack, and you can take a few hits. I’d have had him if he didn’t have that sword. He didn’t even have boots on. 

Dead gods damnit, he beat me without enchantments on his boots. And that sling!

No, don’t think about it. Not his fight, not his battle. Even if the implications of a Halfling on the moon meant—wait, weren’t Elves supposed to be forest-lovers? Where the hell had he been during the last War of Green?

Nope! Not thinking of that either! Taletevirion recalled the tang of smoke in his nostrils, memory, not just reality. Wood ash. If he inhaled, he could see a burning forest full of trees a mile high. Screaming Treants, an army of mortals arrayed outside the glen as he and the last thousand Unicorns prepared to sortie—

This was why he hated hanging out with Teriarch. The Unicorn had been in a bad mood about the lung stabbing, as he had truthfully told Lulv. It was worse, now, and he actually overtook Rafaema as she limped over to Teriarch.

The old Dragon was lying on his side, murmuring to Magnolia. In the course of things, Taletevirion was expecting him to be morose and lie on his hoard for a month, pull himself out of it with some kind of platitude about the old days when he’d taken on sixteen Wyrms with one claw tied behind his back, and then go back to exercising, hopefully.

What he didn’t expect was to hear, sixteen minutes after the Halfling had left, was—

“I know this is purely banal, but I have to ask. Writing it down doesn’t work?”

Teriarch shook his head and winced as blood clotted around his ruptured scales.

“No. And mind you, I recall my mother trying. I think it’s not even the Halfling; something erases the words and magically destroys any clever attempt to tell people the you-know-whos exist.”

“Mm. Thought so. Ressga, write this down. No, in a column, please. The way Reynold showed you to take notes.”

Magnolia turned to one of her uninjured servants, and Ressga, the Goblin, noted this down. She rubbed at her chin as Taletevirion’s jaw dropped along with Rafaema.

“So I’m clear, have you ever related the ‘truth’ to anyone without directly telling them, Teriarch? Anyone you’ve ever met?”

He sighed.

“Not directly. I’ve hinted, of course, but even Nirayicel only had a vague understanding of the origin of the world. In her case, of course, her memory had been wiped, and I now understand I was wary of re-invoking the danger to her. If you’re asking if I ever managed to metaphor my way to the truth—no. Subconscious blocking, I suspect.”

“And when it passes to overt—Halfling descends? But Lady Bethal’s lands aren’t destroyed. So it must have been your invocation of them was too specific or knowledgable. What about metaphors?”

“Like…the beard-man was known for being a great leader? I could do that, but I’m on my last chance.”

“Mm. What if I stated things? Then it would be my head for a second chance—no, I suspect that fellow has no humor. So we can’t just talk about Amaroth-tay and his motley crew?”

Both Dragon and Human paused, and everyone glanced up. Teriarch hmmed.

“Metaphor. That might work. What if I wrote a book series about a completely unrelated group of characters and their wild adventures? Because I do know quite a lot.”

Ressga scribbled frantically as Magnolia raised her brows. Taletevirion was fast-clopping over, aghast.

“You don’t say, old man. Why so many?”

“Well, my mother didn’t pick and choose. She essentially gave me every story her father told her, and I think some of it was just—nostalgic? Potentially useful. Lots of old legends about them and their victories and failures. Magic man loves dressing up as different people, apparently.”

“…Not the most helpful. Though I suppose if he gets a body back—let’s see, magic man is a good nickname. Three-in-one, obvious. Dancer?”

“…I don’t like that. How about ‘dancing man’? Breaks it down by gender, and do note that ‘lost one’ is technically genderless, Ressga. Let’s see. Oh! How would you feel about a ‘video game’ recounting the major events of the origin of everything? I’ve wanted to make one, and I could marry the concepts of the original truth with, say, that game where you make cookies…”

The two were having such a deep discussion they didn’t notice anyone else until a horse with a horn poked his head between them.

“Um. Hello. What are you doing?”

Taletevirion screamed mildly, and Magnolia glanced at him. She was unharmed from the fighting, though she seemed mildly disheveled by all the dirt and dust that had been thrown around. But she was as steely-eyed as Teriarch. Indeed, the Dragonlord barely gave Taletevirion a look.

“Is Rafaema well, Taletevirion?”

“Yes, and you’re going to get her killed! And me too! What are you doing? You were just—”

Magnolia’s voice was precise.

“Logic dictates our man on the moon won’t come back so quickly, Taletevirion. Do stop shouting. Old man, you can’t make a…is that the game that Ressa was addicted to on Kevin’s computer? You can’t make that, and you can’t write a story. You don’t have the time. How about a puppet show?”

“…That could work, but it’s entirely beneath me. No, I think that’s too close to—Taletevirion, you’re panting on me.”

Teriarch slid Taletevirion aside with a claw. The Unicorn popped back into place instantly, phasing through the claw to shout.

“Are you insane?”

The last thing he’d expected was Teriarch of all people to hit the hornet’s nest with a stick, but the Dragonlord of Flames exhaled slowly and coughed.

“We’re testing the limits of what we can discuss, Taletevirion.”

Rafaema’s head perked up; she’d been inspecting Mivifa’s injuries.

“You’re going to keep trying?‘

Teriarch and Magnolia gave Rafaema an insulted look, and Taletevirion halted. For a second, the supercilious glower on the Dragonlord of Flames’ face had been like—

The him of old. Teriarch stabbed the ground and snarled.

“My dear Rafaema, the day I’m forced to hold my tongue by an uppity Halfling on the moon is the day I make peace with Crelers. Which they tried, incidentally. Did I ever tell you about that, Magnolia?”

Her eyes glittered.

“No. You told me about the intelligent ones.”

Mivifa sat up fast, and Feathi spat out through her nose a stamina potion she’d been drinking. She was, incidentally, a cute Pegasus. Totally not interested in him and way too invested in her rider, but—Taletevirion dragged his attention back to the Brass Dragon. Teriarch felt at his side.

“Dead gods this hurts. I can’t remember which stories I’ve told you, Magnolia. Perhaps we should categorize the important ones, though I’m willing to admit that most are merely ‘entertaining’. Crelers, though…I’m quite sure the Adult Crelers can learn to speak, if they want. But the Elder Crelers and the Ancient Crelers were certainly capable of negotiations. Given we trusted them less than a Wyrm, it didn’t avail them much, but they did sue for peace. And they can cast magic despite being so resistant. Heh. They weren’t very good at it, though. Khetieve tricked one of the Elder Crelers into blowing part of its brains out when it tried to copy his spells. Deliberate miscast, you see.”

Ressga was writing so fast her hand cramped up, and Reynold joined in note-taking as Magnolia’s lips twitched.

“That is quite good. You know, you never did tell me what Samal has in its vaults.”

Teriarch rolled his eyes.

“That lot? Either all their original Relics from the days of the Hundred Heroes or a card with a complimentary message. There’s nothing fascinating about them except all the countless key-obsessed maniacs they attracted over the years who decided to hide their goods away in Samal. I hate that place. Ah, Taletevirion. Right.”

He hesitated, mostly because a silently-screaming Unicorn had been putting his head in front of Teriarch’s snout, eyes bulging and mouth open in an endless howl of insanity. Teriarch frowned, coughed, then waved a claw.

“Here.”

Something popped out of the air, and Taletevirion telekinetically caught a dusty wine-bottle with a very promising dark red label over ancient crystal glass. He read it:

 

Dryad’s Reserve, Authentic II3, Pomegranate Nectar. 1412 A.

 

Teriarch glanced at Magnolia as Taletevirion gaped at the ancient wine bottle.

“I don’t have anything more recent. Could you…”

“Of course. Ressga, get the bribes. Eighteen bottles?”

The Hobgoblin rushed over to a Chest of Holding attached to the carriage and lugged back eighteen bottles of various wines, spirits, and even a sealed container of Rxlvn. Teriarch indicated the entire pile, then muttered.

“Hold on—here.”

A bunch of cheese, crackers, vegetarian salami, and even popcorn showered down in containers. Teriarch hesitated, eyed Taletevirion’s expression, and coughed.

“Fine. Here.”

He dropped about two thousand gold coins in a pile on the ground.

“Gold and drinks and snacks. I am entirely sorry, Taletevirion. Thank you for the healing. Can you at least check up on young Rafaema and Cirediel and Miss Ressa and Adventurer Mivifa in one week? I can send you a summoning spell.”

“And me.”

Teriarch waved a claw.

“Spearmaster Lulv is fine. Did you actually mean I should eat some iron and copper tonight, or was that facetious?”

He gave Taletevirion a polite, respectful, but harried look, and the Unicorn spluttered as he sniffed the ancient vintage. In any other time, it would have been a fine bribe for all his hard work, and he wondered how it tasted, but—

“Wh—yeah, I sort of meant it. Eating metal does help your scales heal, but you’re talking about the past? The dead gods? After what happened?”

Teriarch nodded.

“The times are changing, Taletevirion, and that fellow left us with our memories. I think that was the best he could do…or I actually scared him with my threat. Magnolia, did I ever actually mention Harpies—?”

“Empress Sheta, last Empress of the Harpies? Only a thousand times.”

“Ah. Well…write that down, Ressga. Rafaema, come over here. No scars, I hope?”

Taletevirion was left standing there as Teriarch fussed over Rafaema and then had to bat away Cire as the Earth Dragon loudly complained about his missing tooth. The Unicorn glanced around.

“Right. Well, I’ll just be going…”

No one paid attention to him. Mivifa was whispering urgently with Lulv, but Teriarch was still calling out to Magnolia.

“As I recall, Miss Erin Solstice got away scott free with a fairly direct explanation. What if we got one of the Earthers and…?”

“I had the same thought. Which one do you like least?”

“…Leon?”

They nodded at each other, and Ressga grinned evilly. Teriarch looked down as someone nudged him repeatedly on the tail with a foot. He sighed loudly.

“It was all my fault, Taletevirion. I’m an old fool who was both too stubborn to tell a story straight out, and I dragged out the telling and endangered everyone else. And I’m unfit. There.”

He gave the Unicorn a hopeful expression, as if expecting a lot of insults and hassling. Taletevirion worked his jaw.

“Well, yes, but—o-okay, I am going. Because I’m not part of this and—”

“Mhm. I’ll remind you in a week about the checkups. Magnolia?”

She put her hands on her hips.

“I just don’t get it. If this Attack Halfling was so good at hiding the truth from everyone, what about the Gnomes? The Last Elf? You told me she did live for millenia. And the other Dragonlords—if they were all mind-wiped, is the truth that dangerous?

The Dragonlord of Flames shook his head, grimacing.

“My guess is that the Halfling was meant to deter Sprigaena’s voice, as well as the Gnomes themselves, even if they were on the same side. I say, I can talk about her, can’t I?”

Another wary glance up at the skies, but there was no moon. Teriarch went on, and Taletevirion had never heard him talk this directly to anyone but, well, the Unicorn.

“It was…honestly, Magnolia? If I remove all the pride and lens of nostalgia? Few Dragonlords, even of old, ever knew the truth. There were quite a number of individuals that knew. It…never mattered. It doesn’t actually matter, you know.”

He looked around, giving Rafaema, the Wyvern Lord, Cirediel, a despairing look.

“The truth didn’t. Until now, this very moment, it was just…us living. Things we thought mattered dominated our actions, like being Dragonlords, forging nations, protecting this, taking mortal stands.”

His head dipped.

“Nirayicel lived her entire life untroubled by the truth except for when I tried to preserve it in her. This entire world’s history has been influenced by the horrors of Rhir, echoes of that war, but the nations that rose and fell and did terrible things did it without them. That’s the irony. That’s why Gnomes weep. Our finest and best moments are our own fault. So it never mattered. Nirayicel didn’t die for the sins of dead gods. Because it didn’t matter to her. It did not. DO YOU HEAR ME? IT NEVER MATTERED UNTIL NOW, WHEN I NEED TO SPEAK IT!”

He raised his head and roared at the skies, so loudly that rocks crashed down off the cliffs and Carn Wolves fled yipping. Taletevirion was breathless. Thrice, now, Teriarch had spoken his daughter’s name.

He was…trembling. You could see his golden scales shaking, and Rafaema gave Teriarch a look of shock, but Magnolia spoke. She was trembling too, but they were like two roaring hearts, forging ahead nonstop.

“Tell me of Nirayicel, Teriarch.”

His face crumpled up.

“…What is there to say? No—she has a legend, and I should tell it. I preserved it. But I was merely her father. I…she doesn’t shape the pillars of the modern world, Magnolia. Her legacy is not here. Her bones are not part of a Walled City. Nor is her skin worn as armor, her body sullied as treasure.”

His eyes flashed.

“I made sure of that.”

Magnolia Reinhart rested a hand on his side until he gazed down at her. Her voice was then gentle, the softest tone he’d ever heard her speak. Filled with that love she’d had over the decades for him, in all its cruel and beautiful forms.

“Tell me anyways, old man. Because it matters to you.”

After a long second, he nodded, and it had taken Taletevirion a thousand days and nights of drinks, the most alcohol he’d ever had, to drag it out of Teriarch. Today? The Dragonlord of Flames dipped his head and glanced at Rafaema.

“Tonight. I’ll need my own drink for that. What—what else?”

The Unicorn was dreaming. If he kept butting his head against this rock, he’d wake up. No one was paying attention to him. When he cleared his throat, Teriarch handed him a second bottle of ancient wine with a sigh.

“I…”

The Unicorn realized he could just walk off because this wasn’t his business, and he’d stated that so many times everyone was respecting his position. He backed up, regarded Magnolia, Teriarch, the solemn little Goblin—when he went over to mutter to Feathi about all these serious two-legs, she slapped him with a wing without looking at him.

Taletevirion trotted off. He came back twice—then eventually left to have a drink. He stood behind a rock, drinking and staring at a bunch of weirdly magical ants, and eventually poured the rest of the magical wine out of the bottle.

“Tree rot take it—”

He shape changed, then stomped off. Not back towards the gathering, because that was too embarrassing. He’d just have a drink at a proper place for it.

An inn.

 

——

 

Somewhere, a Gnoll girl was opening a door. A Goblin was laying a trap for a horror older than Pallass. A Dragonlord was confronting the memories of his daughter’s demise—

You know who really mattered? Rhisveri Zessoprical.

Fithea was dead. Eclizza was gone. Dionamella had passed away.

He was fine. Really. Just doing what needed to be done. There was always something going in Ailendamus, even in times of peace. They were moving carefully into the New Lands, reconsolidating, going through a full overhaul of their armed forces—

Oh, and had you heard of the Windy Runner show? It had its own television slot, and he was working on a secure television channel not beholden to Wistram. Everything was going great. Splendidly.

“Rhisveri. A point of clarity. I am the one working on the television network.”

“Shut up, Sophridel.”

The Elemental of Masks shut up, because he was a literal type, but his feelings were hurt. You could tell because all the happy masks on his face subsumed into his body to be replaced by ones with exaggerated, gloomy expressions. It took all of Rhisveri’s effort not to spit acid at him.

Sophridel was so touchy. He was a Greater Elemental of Masks technically, one of the most powerful immortals of Ailendamus, but he was a bad team player. That was why his role was Minister of Entertainment; he was a superlative spellcaster, and he could use his mask abilities to create countless proxies and powerful magical effects like the Court of Masks, but he wasn’t a leader.

Normally, he wasn’t the dedicated liaison to Rhisveri, but the two people who used to do that were Fithea and Visophecin.

Both were gone, so Sophridel had been given the task. It was going as well as you could expect.

Rhisveri was adjusting a suit in a mirror. He didn’t truck with ties, but this was the modern fashion in Izril, and at least it wasn’t lace. He hated damn lace. The suit and tie were rather plain, so he’d had a design commissioned with faint lines like snarling serpentine shapes—glossy black on black, and his tie was bright green like his acid.

Style. If anyone looked too closely, they’d assume it was Dragons. They always assumed it was Dragons. He snapped at Sophridel.

“Speak already.”

“We are concerned for your wellbeing, Rhisveri.”

“Psh, why?”

Sophridel produced a mask, and it spoke; his way of being shy and letting someone speak for him. Each mask had its own personality, and this one had an annoying city-girl accent.

“Well, boss! We think yer all broken up about Fithea and stuff. Between that and Ryoka leaving, you’re sort of losing it. Plus, we’re now in debt, so—”

Rhisveri’s Human guise slapped the mask out of Sophridel’s ‘hand’. He spoke fast, feeling his body run cold; his instinctual reaction instead of blushing or heating up like mammals.

“We are not in debt. I explained it to you again and again—”

“You gambled hundreds of thousands of gold pieces of our treasury and lost it all. Yes.”

“It’s not even that much. I could have had it back in the year or paid it out of my own finances—”

Sophridel spoke over Rhisveri, his calm voice as agitated as it got.

“It is a substantive sum, and if it were enforced with a [Loan Shark] Skill of sufficient power, it would impinge our entire nation on a level of such magnitude that—”

“Sophridel, Sophridel, shut up. Listen to me.”

Rhisveri slunk around Sophridel and put his hand on what he reckoned was the Mask Elemental’s shoulder. He purred in Sophridel’s…okay, he had no ears.

“I had it under complete control. It was annulled that very night. Because I charmed that [Princess]. She even gave us a substantive sum of money, or didn’t you see the budget reports? Did you hear Itorin complaining about that?”

“A loan. A [Princess] has given us a substantive sum of money that she can—”

Sophridel found a finger pressed up against one of its masks, and Rhisveri growled.

“Shush. She’s one mortal, and she’s giving us gold. How am I at fault here? Now, listen, I’m going on a short trip. I admit there were mistakes made. It was the Dragonlord’s plan; I see that in hindsight now. This is a battle between him and me, and he got one up on me. I’ll rectify the situation. Now, keep this between yourself and the others, but I’m going to send the good Duke to the inn.”

“Where you lost all the money? If you are gambling again, I will stop you. I will stop—”

Sophridel grew in size, rising until he was two stories tall and still growing. Rhisveri spoke rapidly; getting the Mask Elemental agitated was risky, even for him.

“Nononono! Perish the thought! Remember the Windy Runner episode on gambling?”

“…That was a very good one.”

Sophridel shrank down, and Rhisveri slicked his hair back. Duke Rhisveri was forty-some years old, and Rhisveri was glad of it. His hair was black, his eyes a faint green; he was, of course, good looking as most species reckoned such things. It’d do.

“I have a plan. Miss Lyonette—the woman running the inn—is a more reasonable person than you might think. She also has the wand, and she is the principal holder of any money Ailendamus has received, and she helped annul the loan. Relations with her dictate all of your concerns, Sophridel.”

“Ah. So you’re going to kill her. Very good.”

Sophridel relaxed, and Rhisveri glowered.

“No! That’s so—are you mad? Kill someone for doing nothing…? Dead gods, you’ve been hanging out with the Lucifen too long. I’m going to seduce her, idiot.”

He found some cologne he’d bought from a [Merchant] and puffed it in his mouth, then gagged. Sophridel paused.

“What.”

“Seduce. It shouldn’t be hard. I pop in, out, and I’m back with the wand. The wand, Sophridel. She told me she’d sent it to Ryoka via Courier but clearly she’s forgotten or she can’t even handle that. Plus, I’ll get her to invest another hundred thousand gold coins with us and make the terms of the money lending far more generous. A non-punitive clause in a contract enforced by magic. Don’t tell me it’s impossible.”

“It is not. Let me send one of my most charming masks to do the job. You would be a mist—”

“Hm?”

The Duke and his real body both narrowed their eyes, and Sophridel kept talking because he had no tact unless he was using a mask.

“—take. You have no charming qualities. Visophecin could do it. You cannot.”

“Visophecin? Is that a challenge?”

“It is most emphatically framed as not a challenge. How are you taking it that way? You are not charming, Rhisveri. And you are unskilled in both the areas of romance and intercourse.”

The Wyrm stopped preening and turned his head. His main body loomed his head over Sophridel.

“Sophridel.”

“Yes?”

“Wyrms die the first time they mate. Male Wyrms get eaten by females. Is this part unclear?”

“No.”

“It’s just that you said that like it was a pejorative.”

“I am merely saying you are unskilled in—”

“And I’m not laying with mortals like some horny Dragonlord of old. So why would you be saying this like an insult?”

The Elemental of Masks couldn’t sweat, but his masks rattled a bit.

“I think you are projecting my words—”

“I’m going now. One night, and I’ll be back. Just you see. Where’s my gift?”

“Rhisveri, I am begging you. Please do not—”

The Wyrm ignored him as his copy strode over to a teleportation matrix on the floor. The Wyrm clicked his tongue, and Rhisveri vanished. Sophridel stood there, and a mask with a look of horror fixed itself onto his ‘face’.

Rhisveri snapped.

“Oh, stop that.”

“You are going to interfere with Ryoka Griffin’s plans. You stated you would not. The wand is her business, as is the resurrection of Dryads.”

“Dryads—the seed is—”

Sophridel realized it might have made a mistake, invoking Fithea’s memory. For a moment, Rhisveri’s face turned uncertain, then crumpled.

“The last Dryad seed—has nothing to do with my visit. It was purely for the gold. I just thought I might as well deal with that while I’m there. Good point, Sophridel, I’ll make it a priority. What’s wrong now?”

The Elemental of Masks didn’t respond, because he’d decided not talking was better than continuing to do so.

 

——

 

A bunch of people were visiting the inn as two Gnolls were standing in the [Palace of Fates], hugging each other. Lyonette had emerged from the morning singing practice to receive a surprise.

Not unexpected; Ushar had given her a heads-up, but even so, Lyonette had almost forgotten. Her mother had made her a promise, and Ielane could keep her promises.

About a dozen people were standing in the common room of the inn and not screaming as Ishkr, Peggy, and Rosencrantz stood with them.

That already was a good sign, though at least one of them had her hands in knots in her apron. Lyonette blinked as Ishkr strode over to her.

“Lyonette, we have a bunch of people, uh, applying for jobs at the inn.”

He regarded her with a knowing stare, and she smiled as Colfa walked into the kitchen to request a bloody cut of meat. Lyonette saw a motherly-looking woman, a Drake clearing her throat, and a collection of mostly Humans and two more Gnolls.

“Oh my. What have we here? Are you all together?”

They glanced at each other in a good act of confusion and uncertainty, or they genuinely just had arrived together. Lyonette wouldn’t put it past Ielane, but she was excited. This was the help she’d promised. At least, the first wave.

It was the Drake who cleared her throat, spoke at the same time as the motherly woman, and then took over.

“No, I—that is, I’ve come to inquire about employment, Miss Lyonette. With the Players of Celum and you, if I may. I think everyone else here is for the inn. May I introduce myself? Calla Songscale, [Singing Instructor]. I hear the Players of Celum are putting on musicals, and I was hoping for an introduction—and to avail you of my services, of course! I’m Level 42, and I have quite a number of references, including from Barelle the Bard, who’s an acquaintance.”

Dead gods! She blasted past the others in terms of interest instantly. The woman next to her blanched and bowed to Calla like she were royalty, and Lyonette took an embossed card.

She shot a glower at Ushar, knowing how her mother had heard of her singing, and the Thronebearer didn’t even have the decency to be embarrassed. Colfa raised her brows.

“Oh my, you must be famous—I can certainly introduce you to Temile, and I should be delighted to review your Skills, Miss Calla. And you are, miss?”

“Ebente, Miss Lyonette. I—I was told you had two little ones in need of my charge. I’m a [Caretaker]. O-only Level 32, but I’ve warded Named-rank adventurers’ children!”

The Human woman with the apron spoke up quaveringly, and Lyonette’s brows shot up. Incredible! Her mother had made an effort!

A Level 32 [Caretaker]? She had to be excellent at her job! Lyonette studied the others and guessed, instantly, they were a mix of competent [Server]-types and people who could work under the Thronebearers. Probably a few Calanferian spies with orders to listen to Ushar.

She came to a rapid decision and beamed.

“Oh my, there are so many of you—Ishkr, can we get everyone something to eat and drink, on the house? I may need to interview you all directly, but let me first give you a tour of the inn! And you’re sure you want to work here instead of in Liscor? There are plenty of inns, and I could give you a reference to others. The Drunken Gnoll is run by a friend of mine, for instance…”

She was testing them slightly, to see how her mother had incentivized them. Several of the men and women instantly muttered that they had to work here, citing reasons of loving the inn for this or that reason—

Calla and Ebente were the two genuinely independent strangers, it seemed. Calla frowned.

“If you don’t need me, I’ll be honest that the Players of Celum are my main focus, Miss Lyonette, but I’d be delighted to teach, ah, someone of your repute.”

Royalty. So she knew Lyonette’s class. Lyonette hid her grimace internally, but it helped. Ebente was even more direct. She glanced at the Antinium and Goblins, clearly anxious, but then her eyes fell on Sticks, and her expression softened.

“Miss Lyonette, I’m not one to—go to such a chaotic inn. But someone told me that your two little ones were getting into nonstop trouble, and I can see there’s children of all kinds here. If I can keep them a bit safer, I’d like to discuss my terms, if I may.”

She squared her shoulders, giving Lyonette a gaze of such determination, both mild and stubborn as a wall, that Lyonette nodded. Sticks, meanwhile, pointed at his face in mild outrage.

“I not a child.”

—Both women had Skills. Considerable ones, it seemed; Calla was talking up her resume and abilities, which included the ability to write songs as well as train her students to put out stellar performances.

Ebente, by contrast, refused to talk up her abilities, but demonstrated them almost instantly.

“Oh no, this is just what I feared. There’s a rat of some kind running around in the basement. A magical one. And this entire inn isn’t really safe. There’s ways to get hurt here; not the staff, but the owner of this inn has a…dangerous place. At least those horrifying undead have a safety mechanism on them! And what is this?”

She began pulling crossbows and jars of acid out of hidden compartments around the inn as Lyonette toured them around, and Ebente instantly began slapping pieces of paper on them. Lyonette was fascinated and amazed to see they were pieces of yellow paper that said:

 

No children allowed.

 

“Are you…sealing the weapons?”

“Just from little ones touching them, Miss Lyonette. Dead gods! You let them run around with daggers and—another crossbow?”

The woman was so horrified that Lyonette colored until Dame Ushar hurried to assure Ebente that the inn had been attacked and this was a precaution. The woman just gave Lyonette a longer look.

“I’ve helped Named-ranks ward their young. I understand Thronebearers do a decent job, but if I may say so, I could at least put up a few systems to protect them—you know, teleport them to safety if they’re in danger—even if we don’t work together, Miss Lyonette.”

“I would be delighted by that, Miss Ebente.”

Lyonette replied weakly. Colfa had joined the mini tour, and she leaned over now to whisper in Lyonette’s ear.

“She’s walking over you, Lyonette. Is this from your mother? You don’t have to hire her.”

“Well, she’s very good at her job…”

Lyonette was hesitating until Calla decided to throw her own hat into the ring. The Drake, incidentally, had silver scales around her eyes that were shiny and reflective and contrasted with her regular black scales; Lyonette hadn’t made up her mind if the Drake had dyed her scales or if it was natural.

“I can also provide security of a kind, Miss Lyonette. Not of the same kind, but I am a high-level [Song Instructor].”

“Wh—you can? Can you deafen people or…?”

The Drake’s voice was rich as she chuckled.

“Nothing so prosaic. Mine’s a bit silly, but it’s worked in stopping me from being mugged or attacked by [Bandits] over six times! One time, they took all my money because they could hold a note—er, it’s more like a useful deterrent, really. Let me show you. [Enforce Rule: World of Song and Verse]!”

She spread her arms, and something unfolded from her. Lyonette blinked, and Calla pointed at the [Princess]. She felt a tingling on her skin as something settled over her being, and she could have thrown it off with her aura, but she was so intrigued that she let it happen.

“Your H—”

Dame Ushar reacted by trying to interpose herself between her and the [Song Instructor], but then halted in the air. When she tried to speak, it didn’t work.

“What’s going on?”

Lyonette eyed Ushar, and then the Thronebearer’s face contorted. She reddened, then spoke—

“It appears—it appears—”

She stuttered, almost went silent, and then began to count, and when she spoke next, her voice had a cadence to it. A rhythm.

 

“Your Highness, it appears I’ve gotten got.

It’s pathetic, I’m embarrassed to be caught.

But if all that is required’s to hold to verse—

Then I can handle it,

Though I’m afraid that others might fare worse.”

 

Calla applauded instantly.

“Oh my, that’s splendid, and off-the cuff? You really are as good as I’ve been led to believe, Miss Knight. That’s right, anyone except for me has to speak in verse. Now, that might not work well on someone like Adventurer Deniusth or a [Bard], but most [Thugs] can’t mug you rhythmically.”

She paused and confessed after a moment.

“Some can.”

It was the silliest Skill that Lyonette had ever seen, and Calla explained it was more of a broad rule: she could make her pupils only sing replies or hold them to an octave. But she could also use it as a kind of song-defense to ensure you’d only be mugged by someone who could hold a beat.

 

“That’s wonderful, Miss Calla.

Now what about you?

I am happy to

Have you come and stay with us

 

I can’t wait to try—

Practice, you and I

Oh drat, now I’m singing too!”

 

Colfa started laughing as Lyonette realized the Skill was a bit too powerful. The embarrassed [Princess] only had to carry her words in something like a song; if she didn’t, she couldn’t speak. The other staff suddenly went mute, including the self-conscious Ebente, and Colfa managed to reply after a few moments of her mouth working.

 

“Oh my,

Oh my,

Lyonette oh~ my,

Oh my!

 

I think I’m gonna cry

I’ve never laughed harder than–

(I think I’m gonna cry)

Poor Himilt isn’t here to take part in the joy

But I will tell him all about the day

I laughed so hard I cried.”

 

That was less impressive, but got her a pass from Calla. The Drake winked, and Lyonette debated asking her to disable it—but then she needed to see…

“Ishkr, I’ve returned, good morning, hello all of yous! Come on somebody, bring me some good news!”

Lyonette came into the common room singing, cheeks flushed, but it was worth it to see Ishkr skate up to her, open his mouth—and then go cross eyed.

Better yet, Relc, Valeterisa, Calescent, and Elia were all present and having a late breakfast. They were caught up in the Skill, and Lyonette rubbed her hands with a gleeful expression.

“Wriggle, wriggle, little tail. How I wonder…what’s for breakfast. Up above I was asleep. Now I really want to weep. If I have to sing this song, I am going to leave the inn.”

Relc was first to reply and gave Lyonette a look of such pain that she began to laugh and held her stomach. Ishkr turned progressively redder as Calescent threw up his hands. Elia tried one verse—

 

“I just wonder

What there is

I can eat?

(I can eat?)”

 

She hesitated, and then Calescent broke in with an oddly rhythmic, deliberate, spoken verse. Elia provided the backup, echoing each line.

 

“I’m just hungry-

I’ve-been-hungry-for-this-whole-mor-ning (ning, ning)

My-poor-sto-mach-woke-me-up-at-night (night, night)

This-di-et-was-a-big-mis-take (take, take)

Let’s-go-eat-(eat)-some-bur-gers-Elia (Elia, Elia).”

 

He nodded at Elia, and she nodded back, and the two backed out of Lyonette’s radius fast. It didn’t matter; she’d gotten what she wanted. Lyonette was beaming. She turned to Ishkr, but the normally happy-to-participate Gnoll was backing up.

“Oh come now, Ishkr. Sweet Ishkr, sing to me. Don’t be shy! Sing: to me!”

It was easy for Lyonette to put together a vaguely song-like sentence. She had the training and ability to project, but the suddenly-shy Gnoll shook his head. Relc also seemed to be in hell, but the sleepy Archmage of Izril glanced up from her morning coffee and eyed Relc, then opened her mouth.

“Archmage Valeterisa of Izril. Reluctantly forced to sing. Sort of.”

She gave Relc a wink.

 

“I find this Skill—

…Somewhat irksome!

But I suppose—

…It’s not so hard!

So long as you–

…Call and answer!

I’ll wager I could break the grip—

…But it’s an interesting trip

 

And I suppose I need to hit the second verse so here I go!

 

Relc, my dear if—

…You don’t like it

All you have to—

…Do is step out

Skills like this have—

Limited range!

 

Oh this is quite cool to see

But now I think it’s time to eat

 

I want, I want, I want to eat,

I want to nom,

I want to chomp on food!

To nom, to nom, to chomp, to nom,

I want to have some food to nom

Food to nom—”

 

She was so good that she was in the chorus when a grinning Relc offered her a burger, which shut her up. Lyonette was in pure joy; all her pain and the trevails of this morning became delight.

‘We simply must visit Emperor Laken again, Colfa! And Zevara! And—everyone.’

She took a trick out of Mrsha’s book and held up a notecard. Colfa opened her mouth.

 

“We are silly women playing games while livin’

On a morning that has gotten crazy

But I’m down to go on out, so if you give me a shout then

I will get up and stop being lazy

 

Come on and

Let’s go hit the city, you and me

Let’s go hit the city, happily

Now let’s go hit the city, lead the way

Let’s go hit the city, and have ourselves a day!”

 

She dropped the Vampire accent entirely for a farmer’s drawl. Colfa swung Lyonette around by the elbow, and the laughing duo turned to Ishkr. He was flushing, Lyonette realized, under his fur, and she felt bad suddenly about making him sing. But then he grabbed Sticks, and the surprised Goblin blinked up at Ishkr and grinned.

 

“Sticks! Suddenly, unexpectedly,

Out of, nowhere

If you could spare me some help?

I don’t mean to trouble you;

I know you’re with me.

You sing, with me,

And then we will be free

To get back to our jobs and work in peace-ish.”

 

The Goblin did his best, and he sung in an unexpectedly smooth tenor.

 

“This inn, this place, has always been so strange

It’s just like Chieftain said, just like she told me.

This singing day?

Is fun and that okay!

The Goblins say this place bad but that why I like it!

Now we can dance and move, and sing and never lose

This is so fun, it really is crazy!

So I will sing all day, and then we sing the night away

I want to hear boss Peggy try~!”

 

He got a shower of applause, and Ishkr gave Sticks a high-five. Lyonette saw Calla blink at the Goblin and murmur.

“Dead gods, I didn’t know they could sing.”

The Wandering Inn effect. She’d come into the inn with her best Skill, and it was great, but it was already working! That was before the Antinium came in from the front doors, singing.

 

“I am Bird, I am green,

I am finished peeing!

It is a good way of being—

Breakfast I am foreseeing!

 

Chicken nuggets, eggs, and curry

Bring it to me in a hurry—

 

I am Bird, I am green,

Not a lot rhymes with green!”

 

She even had a second verse that she sung with all eyes on her.

 

“I am Bird, I am green

I do not like to eat most beans

And I make ballista bolts careen

 

I am hungry I am needing

Prompt and tasty things for feeding

I am Bird, I am Bird, I am green!

 

I am Bird, I play chess

Niers and Erin must confess

That I beat both of them more or less

 

I am finished with my peeing

It is a good way of being

I am Bird, I am Bird, I play chess!”

 

Lyonette should have known Bird of all people would be unfazed by the requirements of the song. She turned.

‘Bird! Enjoying the new song Skill? This is Calla!’

Bird halted.

“What Skill? I am singing because I want to, not because I have to. Silly Lyonette. You just have to ignore Skills like this. Hrgh!”

She visibly strained, offered Calla two middle fingers, then stomped off. Which left the [Song Instructor] speechless for different reasons.

 

——

 

—And that was how Lyonette found herself rushing around harassing everyone from Liska to Pelt to Laken. It was funny when they refused to sing, but even funnier when they felt the compulsion to accept.

For instance, Pelt had a hammer song, and Laken sung two bars in a German song before swearing and having her thrown back through the door. She and Colfa ran around like giggling children as Himilt speed-walked away from them.

After an hour of causing havoc in various cities, Lyonette came back to the inn and breathlessly sat down at a table; everyone else was avoiding her.

“This is the best Skill I’ve ever had, Colfa Lischelle—let’s just do this all day, you and I.”

They grinned at each other, and were only interrupted by a note from Dame Ushar. Lyonette read it, then frowned at a little Gnoll girl that had just appeared in the inn and was sitting next to Bird, eating a burger.

—That’s when someone knocked on the door of the inn and let himself in.

 

——

 

The inn was bustling, and at first, the man who had knocked was admitted by a little Goblin and ignored. The Goblin was used to visitors and bold; overly bold, one could say.

Asgra was a Cave Goblin who delighted in uttering statements like ‘Velan the Kind did nothing wrong. You want fries with that?’

—And other statements that got a rise out of people. She was, in many senses, as annoying as Gothica, and Peggy had to keep a watchful eye on her.

Peggy was avoiding Lyonette right now, so the little Goblin was alone. She answered the door with a smirk, and opened her mouth to give the visitor a huge shark’s grin. Asgra was about to begin with one of her most radical statements, but she faltered, and then held the door wider and peeked up at the new visitor.

He walked in with a slight bow to her, and she blushed and didn’t know why at first. Perhaps it was his looks. He was the most handsome Human that Asgra had ever seen, and he walked like a dignified shadow, three steps in the inn, until the door closed behind him, and he inhaled.

His posture was perfect, and he stood with one arm pressed to his chest, wearing a black suit, a single sword at his side. His hair was black, and his head slowly took in the entire inn. When he smiled—Asgra jumped as his eyes found her.

“U-um. We have tables. You want one? And food?”

Without a word, the gentleman nodded, and Asgra shyly led him over to a table and pulled the chair out for him. He sat, and she hurried to get him a menu and a cup of water, then rushed into the kitchen to find Peggy.

“What? You not causing trouble, Asgra, is you? Don’t or I hit you! I don’t want to have to sing with Lyonette!”

The [Floor Boss] scowled at Asgra as she peeked at Lyonette. Mrsha was sitting with her burger at a table with Bird, and Nanette had just flounced in and was scowling at, well, everything.

It was ripe for another unpleasant encounter, and if it came in song—well, that’d sort of be funny. And no one wanted to sing to Lyonette if they didn’t have to.

So that was why several Antinium, Vaulont, and Elia Arcsinger were all eating sushi while they were waiting for something to happen. Asgra shyly pointed to the visitor and tugged at Peggy’s hand. The Goblin realized this was different, took one look at the visitor, then did a double-take.

“Oh, he is handsome. Fine, I go take his order.”

Asgra didn’t want that; she wanted Peggy to just stand there for moral support! She and Peggy hurried out, and the visitor turned in his chair.

“Excuse me, I believe I have settled upon my order. I do hope I am not troubling you?”

His smile was—well, classy. Peggy had never understood how you applied that word outside of the books she liked reading in Nanette’s library, but she got it now. Everything about this stranger seemed polished; not like he’d worked obsessively on it, but like it was a default state of being.

She met his eyes, blushed, and got elbowed in the stomach as Asgra produced a notepad to take the stranger’s orders. He was handsome.

For Goblins, that meant he had qualities they liked. Such as sharp teeth, red eyes, and a mouth that could eat at least half a burger in a bite.

Viscount Visophecin ordered a hamburger and blue fruit juice and sat back at the table, seeming to see nothing and everything at once. His eyes flickered over the white Gnoll, lingered just for a moment on the [Princess], and strayed around the inn.

Searching for something. He didn’t hide who he was. And his presence was instantly noticed—not just by Goblins.

 

——

 

Ser Dalimont was having a troublesome day. He missed Seraphel. He couldn’t help but feel that she needed him in Baleros.

It would certainly beat having to look after a moody witch who’d just hit adolescence. Mrsha was better, but he was wondering how long he’d have to stay here.

Then again, Lyonette needed him.

But sometimes you just had to admit that working for Lyonette was hard work. For once, Ushar had just warned him about the singing.

At least the [Princess] was looking happy. But Nanette was on the warpath and—something was wrong with Mrsha. Dalimont couldn’t put his finger on it, but he’d seen that Lyonette noticed it the moment she laid her eyes on Mrsha.

Between that and double-checking the employees, Dalimont had his hands full. Ishkr was helping interview them, but Ebente had already asked if the Antinium were ‘safe’, and she’d expressed that she felt Goblins were monstrous—but she was conflicted about Sticks and Asgra, who she considered to be children.

—And there was the song thing. Dalimont was about to throw Mrsha in Ushar’s lap and beat a retreat before Nanette and Lyonette got into it.

Then he spotted Viscount Visophecin.

Of course, Dalimont had noticed the man entering, but he’d timed his entrance with a gaggle of first-time visitors having a ‘Goblin meal’ on a dare, wanting to see the famous inn. Dalimont had focused on Visophecin after running the others through a brief scan, both magically and against any wanted posters or other marks of identification he had that might suggest they were trouble.

He had over a hundred faces on the list, and he’d be glad when the employees that had come here could pull some of that duty off him. But when Dalimont had finally turned his attention to the quiet man sitting at the table, his heart had nearly stopped.

Viscount Visophecin, ordering a burger. Dalimont spotted him and had a flash of recollection.

The men and women from House Shoel who had helped invade Noelictus. Dalimont had met Visophecin before, oh yes. In the company of Princess Seraphel and Cara.

The Thronebearer almost sounded the alarm right there and then. But held back. Visophecin was alone—seemingly. Dalimont began to sweep the inn, glancing out a window. He murmured into a speaking stone.

“Ushar. Ailendamus. House Shoel! Viscount Visophecin.”

He hesitated as Ushar glanced around casually. Dalimont had another thought, and he grudgingly added.

“…Erin Solstice’s allies?”

That complicated things. Though Dalimont would have loved nothing more than to let Vaulont, Bird, and Elia Arcsinger jump Visophecin, with Captain Todi for good measure…the situation was complicated. Ushar’s voice was smooth, and he knew she understood.

“Acknowledged. Be on guard. I’ll tell Her Highness right away.”

Ushar’s voice had that stupid song cadence, but suddenly Dalimont was grateful for the Skill. He tried to remember everything he knew about Ailendamus aside from their involvement in the war.

Viscount Visophecin. Very high-level spellcaster of House Shoel. If not the [Spymaster], then highly-placed. What is he doing here?

He realized the Viscount wasn’t moving; he was chatting politely with Asgra, who seemed so taken with him she was asking him questions. And he was glancing around the inn with interest, not focusing on any one person…

Waiting to be noticed. It was, as Peggy would have said, classy. An open invitation to be noticed and interacted with. Indeed, Princess Marquin herself broke off from ordering lunch in song and spotted the Viscount. She went still, and when he glanced up, he gave Lyonette a polite smile.

Dalimont slipped into the kitchen to get Elia and Vaulont. He sensed trouble—and that was before the door opened and he heard someone whisper into the speaking stone channel.

“This is Ishkr.”

“Not a good time, Ishkr—”

“That damn drink thief’s back. I’m going to try to get rid of him, so someone watch the employees for me.”

The—Dalimont saw a familiar silver-haired half-Elf stride into the inn and groaned. Wonderful. No wait—he amended that. Perfect. Taletevirion seemed haggard, and he made a beeline for the staircase at once, but he’d be excellent if things came to blows. Dalimont was about to intercept him when the door opened with a bang and the third guest strode inside.

Duke Rhisveri walked in, adjusting his tie and a package wrapped in gold paper under one arm. He gazed around with a sneer, and Dalimont groaned.

“This is Ser Dalimont to all members of staff. Solstice event. Solstice event! All employees not with a job, to the garden!”

On the plus side…

No wait, he was working on that.

 

——

 

The first thing that happened was that Visophecin and Duke Rhisveri caught sight of each other. Visophecin rose abruptly, his calm face going blank, and Rhisveri recoiled, then strode over.

“You!”

“Hey, you two together? You want table?”

Asgra squinted suspiciously at Rhisveri. She’d been asleep for the gambling night, but she didn’t like Rhisveri instantly like Visophecin. Rhisveri eyed the Goblin.

“—Tell your employer I’m here to introduce, no, rekindle our acquaintance. I’m just going to speak with this fellow here for a second.”

“Damn. I hate singing.”

Both Visophecin and Rhisveri stared at Asgra as she stomped across the inn to the [Princess]. They knew the [Princess]. They regarded each other, and Visophecin activated a silence spell with a twitch of the finger. Rhisveri slammed his gift down on the table.

“What in Titan turds are you doing here? You should be with Ryoka Griffin, you imbecile!”

“Rhisveri. Why are you in this inn? I am upon the task set to me by House Shoel. Are you further entangling yourself in this inn?”

The Wyrm’s eyes narrowed, and he yanked a chair over and sat down.

“How did you know about—Sophridel’s been talking behind my back! Does Paxere or whomever rules the Lucifen know about that?”

He gave Visophecin a sinister smirk, realizing he could hold this over the Lucifen, but Visophecin didn’t rise to the bait like normal. He looked—tired, and after a second, Rhisveri relaxed.

“…Where the hell have you been?”

“Reconnoitering. The situation is more complex than I assumed. I have established the locations of several individuals key to the inn and Ryoka Griffin. I entered the inn to negotiate for the object Ryoka Griffin needs.”

“—The wand? You know it’s here?”

Rhisveri saw Visophecin’s eyes narrow slightly.

“Naturally. I request that you depart posthaste, Rhisveri. My understanding is Her Highness of Calanfer will not take kindly to your presence.”

Rhisveri had never been good at taking instructions, even when Fithea gave them, and she was the only being he let talk down to him. He ostentatiously magicked over another chair and put his feet up on it. He gave Visophecin an unctuous smile.

“Don’t worry. Just nab the wand and get it to Ryoka. I’m here to seduce her. Not just for the wand! She’s got lots of money.”

The Lucifen gave Rhisveri an unblinking stare, studying him from his slicked back hair down to his polished leather shoes. Rhisveri’s confident smile wavered as, after a minute of silence, Visophecin slowly put a hand over his mouth.

“Rhisveri. May I offer you frank advice? Most [Princesses] are highly resistant to [Charm] spells if not outright immune due to artifacts.”

“Shut it. I don’t need magic.”

Visophecin coughed, then coughed again, glancing away from Rhisveri. The Wyrm was getting to feel actually insulted. He snarled at Visophecin.

“Get. Lost. I’ll get the wand. You’re fouling my style.”

“I cannot disrupt what does not exist. Rhisveri, I am no longer under your authority.”

“Right. So I can just kick you out myself, then.”

Rhisveri grabbed Visophecin by the collar as Asgra came back. Visophecin seized Rhisveri’s own jacket, and the two tensed—

The Cave Goblin interrupted in a loud voice.

“‘Scuse me!”

They looked at her, and she jerked a thumb over her shoulder. The [Princess] was at a table.

“Chieftain Lyonette says ‘go to Rhir’. You gotta get out of the inn. But you can have burger.”

She put a burger and fries in a paper bag on the table. Visophecin and Rhisveri peered at it and then sat back down.

“We’re not going anywhere. A burger-thing for me too.”

Rhisveri informed Asgra, and she beamed for reasons he didn’t understand.

“Okay, sure. This gonna be funny.”

She hurried off as Visophecin hissed at Rhisveri.

“The wand isn’t in the inn. It’s clearly been secured, likely in the [Garden of Sanctuary]. Breaking a garden is notoriously difficult.”

“Damn. Seduction it is. Alright, stand back and leave this to me—”

 

——

 

Fun fact: Nanette Weishart had a skeleton key. She also had Stones of the Elements and a Friendship Whistle. The skeleton key opened doors.

She had Sammial running defense in the hallway and Hethon as lookout. No more games; Nanette was juggling one of the Stones of Elements like a hot potato—because it was on fire.

Lyonette had locked the wand in an enchanted drawer before. And she could tell when Nanette was in her room. But that didn’t stop a simple smash-and-grab. Nanette would burn the wand right out if she had to! She stood in her room for a few seconds, hoping Lyonette wasn’t focused on the inn—then stepped out, jammed the skeleton key into Lyonette’s door, and turned it.

The door clicked. Nanette strode past Hethon, who gave her a thumbs up and winced as she slammed into the door.

It was locked? Nanette recoiled, twisted the skeleton key, and the door unlocked.

…Which meant it had been unlocked already? She swung the door open, rubbing at her chin, and Taletevirion tossed a bunch of underwear over his shoulder. It floated down as the Unicorn pulled the rest of the dresser drawer out and upended it.

“Damn.”

He tossed the drawers to the ground, not even bothering to be quiet. Nanette’s mouth opened. The room was destroyed.

The Unicorn had overturned the bed, ripped all the sheets out, and yanked every drawer out. Including the desk drawers. He glanced over his shoulder as she stood there and Hethon peeked into the room.

“Hey, help yourself to whatever you were going to steal. There’s all the underwear. Have you seen a wand? Grey? I’ll pay you for it. Here.”

He tossed a bunch of gold onto the ground from a bag of holding. Nanette’s mouth began working.

“The wand! You’re after it too?”

“What? No! How do you know about—? I’m just making sure it’s in the right place! It’s not my business. And I bet no one knows what it is, and since that windy idiot forgot to do anything about it, I’m just going to—where the hell is it?”

He picked up the table, and Nanette winced as the sturdy wood cracked. Taletevirion was impossibly strong—the table was not! He hurled it aside, and the crash made Sammy come running.

“What’s going on—hey, it’s the old guy! Are we trashing her room? Yeah!”

He began kicking things around and punching pillows. Hethon grabbed his brother as Taletevirion rubbed at his face.

“It’s…not here? But it was last time. I think.”

“Sir, you want the wand too? We’re after it! We have to deliver it to the people in—in the Vale Forest!”

Nanette spoke rapidly, seeing an ally, and Taletevirion jumped. He twisted around and gaped at them.

“You what? You want to give it to—the who?”

“The Lords and Ladies of the Vale Pact? They’re in this forest realm, around this table of stone, and they need the wand to—”

The Unicorn’s face went slack as he focused on Nanette, then Hethon. He bent forwards.

“Veltras. You’re a Veltras.”

“Y-yes, sir. Hethon Veltras. My father is Tyrion Veltras.”

Hethon answered, and the Unicorn closed his eyes.

“One with old blood or some connection to—no. You poor, unlucky bastard. Those old ghosts talked to you? And they know about the wand—? Of course they do. You must have activated them somehow. Did you hum a song? Hear the wood’s voice?”

He peered at Hethon, and the boy stuttered.

“I—I didn’t do that. One day I just saw a forest—”

“Damn. And they’re mucking about? They told you to get the wand?”

“They saved our lives during the Solstice! And gave us a charge—which Lyonette ignored!”

Nanette felt like the conversation was sliding out of her control and tried to interject. Taletevirion rubbed at his forehead.

“How’d I miss that? Probably dodging…dead gods. And you were going to give it to them?”

His incredulous stare was the point at which the witch faltered and Sammial and Hethon exchanged an uncertain glance.

“Yes? They said it’s the last hope of—”

“Nonono, don’t do that. They’re bastards. They’ll let you die on some hopeless quest to revive the forests in a heartbeat. And they’re as dumb as Earth Elementals. Just—okay, where’s the wand? I need a drink.”

The Unicorn covered his face, and Nanette felt herself going pink with embarrassment. The haranguing from the witches earlier today came back to her, but she stuttered through the gazes Hethon and Sammial were giving her.

“Even if that’s so, we don’t know what—we know it’s important, Taletevirion, sir! If you explain the matter to us, we’ll help you find the wand. But my mother’s hidden it! If it’s not here, it must be in the [Garden of Sanctuary]! She refuses to let anyone have it!”

“Yeah! What she said!”

The Unicorn took in the explanation from Nanette, Hethon, and Sammial. He studied them, the destroyed room, and then exhaled.

“This isn’t my problem. Nope.”

He strode out of the room, and the three children realized that they were now in the scene of the crime—and the room was truly trashed. They hurried out with Taletevirion just in time for a harried half-Elf to come jogging up the stairs.

“Whoever’s in Miss Lyonette’s room, halt! I—oh. It’s you.”

She recognized Taletevirion, then frowned as she saw Nanette, Hethon, and Sammial. The two boys tried to hide behind Nanette. Elia strode past them and took one peek into the [Princess]’ room.

Elia Arcsinger stood there like a statue as Taletevirion kept rubbing at his face.

“…Okay. I’ve got to talk to Lyonette, then. She’s the one with the red hair, right? I’m just going to talk to her.”

He walked past Elia, stumbling down the stairs, as Elia tried to speak into a stone.

“This is, uh, Elia. Miss Marquin’s room is—looted? Destroyed? I, uh—everything has been tossed about. By the white-haired half-Elf. Taletevirion? Right. And—”

Her glance took in Nanette, Hethon, and Sammial. They decided to make themselves scarce.

A storm was brewing in the inn. Nanette felt it starting up below; a very angry aura swirling around like a hurricane. She’d just like to point out that she was the wounded party today! And the room wasn’t her fault.

Then she heard the scream from below, and things got worse. Because Lyonette was now on her feet in the middle of the inn, it also got musical.

 

——

 

Something was wrong with her daughter.

Lyonette was aware of Rhisveri. She had been informed about Duke Visophecin and had grave reservations about his presence. She had just been told about Taletevirion (and Nanette), and she was no longer happy. Colfa was trying to reassure her, but Lyonette’s instincts as a mother and [Mother] told her something was wrong with her daughter.

That came first. But they were—conflicting instincts.

She felt like nothing was wrong, and the longer she studied the girl patting her stomach, staring at Ishkr like he was a stranger or some long-lost friend, the more Lyonette was certain something was terribly wrong.

Mrsha kept glancing at her and giving her a thumbs up, trying to seem innocent, but she was all dressed up. She never dressed up beyond her kilt and a t-shirt. Something was wrong. Normally, Lyonette would have ferreted it out…but this was, as they all understood, an Inn Day.

Lyonette described it to new staff like this: everyone had off days or chaotic days.

An Inn Day was a good event or bad, it was just that destiny came out with steel-toed shoes to kick chance in the stomach, regardless. If something could happen, it did.

“Keep them away, away, Ushar! My daughter, my daughter is the one I need. And turn off this song, please, please!”

—It was now getting in her way, and Lyonette didn’t know if it’d even work on Mrsha. Ushar didn’t move; she was watching the two talking noblemen and the slightly inebriated half-Elf stumbling down the stairs. They caught sight of each other and recognized one another from the gambling night. But they also knew each other, if not their natures, then by that common link between them…

 

——

 

Immortals.

Three men met in The Wandering Inn, all three with a purpose that brought them together.

A dapper man wearing dark disgrace.

A lonely tyrant in mourning.

A cynical and weary champion.

They regarded each other, weighing the others’ presences, and Rhisveri jerked his head in a challenge. Visophecin stood and swept the Unicorn a bow. Taletevirion grunted.

“Greetings. I’m not here to chat.”

“Neither are we. We have business here. If you would care to speak briefly—?”

Visophecin’s careful address was greeted by a roll of the eyes. Rhisveri snarled.

“He’s one of Teriarch’s associates. Out of my way, both of you. I have business here!”

He stood and strode at Lyonette on the basis that Visophecin could talk with the other immortal. Taletevirion was already walking towards Lyonette, and both halted and glared at each other. Visophecin groaned softly.

All three of them tried to take a step forwards and ran into a Skill. They recoiled instinctively, Taletevirion’s hand falling to his sword, Rhisveri snorting, and Visophecin backstepping fast. Rhisveri peered at Visophecin.

“What the hell was that? Some kind of Skill—”

“Hm. What kind of protection is…?”

They cut off as the [Princess] glowered at them, eyes flashing. But she was headed to the little Gnoll girl, who got out of her chair and began to fast-walk away.

 

“Come here my daughter

Now don’t run away

I am not angry and couldn’t be

I am your mother

Accept my embrace

Come and let me see what’s wrong.”

 

The girl froze guiltily, and Rhisveri hissed at Visophecin.

“…What in Spriggans was that?”

The Lucifen raised his brow.

“Song Skill. Interesting.”

Mrsha turned, and Lyonette opened her arms and smiled. Mrsha tensed, to run, to confess? She wavered as Ser Dalimont blocked the common room door, and Lyonette stepped forwards. She saw Mrsha’s face, so…weary and pained and sad lift desperately. The girl had to force herself not to run into her mother’s arms.

But she couldn’t resist. She stretched out her arms, tears filling her gaze. Lyonette rushed forwards, and Miss Ebente body-checked Lyonette into a table. She seized Mrsha up in her arms and shouted.

“This child has been abused!”

Huh? Lyonette hit the table with a musical oof and landed on the floor. Dame Ushar leapt forwards, but the [Caretaker] had moved so fast that even the immortals were impressed.

Empowered by Skills, Ebente backed up, and Mrsha was in her arms. The moment she’d seen Mrsha, the [Caretaker] had leapt for her. Now, she shouted.

“This child has been treated horrendously! Neglected! This is horrific! How could you—?”

Her voice choked in her throat as Calla’s song-skill reactivated. Lyonette rose.

“Let her go. Let her go! Why are you lying to me?”

In response, the [Caretaker] backed away as the Thronebearers advanced. Elia and Bird drew arrows, but they didn’t want to hit Mrsha; the [Caretaker] whispered and revealed she did have a melodic bone in her body.

 

“You lied to me (you lied to me)

You lied to me, (you lied to me!)

Abused a child, (abused a child)

Abused a child! (abused a child!)

 

Since you’re not worthy of this Gnoll

(abused a child, abused a child, abused a child)

I will take up the mantle

I name you worthless and a wretch

You are no mother, you’re a worm

I curse your Knights! I curse your Inn!

I’ll tear it down and watch it burn!

 

I see her hunger, see her hurt!

I see her madness, and yet worse—

I see her loss and her despair!

And now her fate will be reversed!

 

I claim this child, I call for help!

[Summon the Watch]!”

 

Her voice began ringing like a bell, and Lyonette cried out in horror. The [Caretaker] turned and, Mrsha struggling in her arms, trying to explain, shoulder-charged Ser Dalimont. He put up a shield and braced.

 

——

 

—The Thronebearer hit the ground in the hallway and rolled three times. He stared at his dented chestplate, and Ebente’s foot stomped on his helmet. The [Caretaker] kept running.

Mrsha was squirming, trying to get out of her grip, and the inn was ringing. Ebente had a death-grip on her! She had given up trying to protest or clarify—the woman yelped as Mrsha exploded out of her arms for a second.

She’d doubled in size! [Fur of the Fortress]! Mrsha waved a wand as Ebente grabbed for her; someone pounded towards the door. It slammed on them.

“[Child’s Lock]. [In My Arms]. Child—”

Ebente pulled, and Mrsha’s leap for the [Garden of Sanctuary] turned into a blur; she blinked in Ebente’s arms.

Stop! St—

“[Sleep, Now].”

Ebente touched Mrsha’s forehead before Mrsha could point her wand at the woman. The [Survivor] resisted the effects, wand wobbling. She squirmed weakly.

Don’t make me. [Thorn Paw].

She slashed at Ebente’s arm, trying not to hurt her too badly—the sharp thorn bounced off Ebente’s dress.

[Caretaker]. Her charges couldn’t hurt her! Ebente stormed towards the portal room, mantling Dalimont’s body. A door opened under her feet; the [Garden]. She leapt over it. That was just good reflexes.

Chaos in the portal room. Alarms were sounding through Liska’s door in Liscor, and the Watch were flooding through the door.

[Caretakers]. With protective Skills. Ielane had chosen Miss Ebente for a reason, though probably not for this. She was almost at the door; Liska tried to close it, and an invisible uppercut knocked her flying out of her sofa.

“[Retribution to the Harmers]! Almost—”

The woman was racing for the door, and even the [Knight] and [Doorgnoll] felt a terrible wrongness as they tried to stop her. It went against their very conscience, but their minds told her she was making a mistake. They saw Mrsha’s wide eyes, her weak attempts to squirm free, but the Watch were helping Ebente on instinct, summoned by her Skill.

Only a monster would stop her, or an enraged mother running out of the common room with a sword. Ebente leapt for the door.

Vaulont the Ash slammed it shut, and she hit it with a sound like a giant’s hammer smacking into the inn. The room shook—the [Caretaker] recoiled, pivoted to run, and Rhisveri poked her in the forehead.

“[Paralysis].”

She went sprawling, and Vaulont snagged Mrsha and leapt away in a blur as the Duke beamed at Lyonette and gave her what he imagined was a saucy wink. She stared at him. One of the [Guards] raised a spear instantly and aimed it at Rhisveri.

“Halt! In the name of Liscor’s W—”

“[Mass Paralysis].”

The [Guards] keeled over, and Rhisveri dusted his hands theatrically. Then he saw Ebente’s desperately darting eyes and straining, helpless limbs, and Rhisveri sighed.

“Oh, fine. [Deep Slumber].”

He followed the [Princess] back into the common room and gave Ser Dalimont a wink.

“That’s for last time, one supposes. Now—onto pressing business.”

He adjusted his tie.

 

——

 

The [Princess] stood in the inn, irate and upset. She was panting, reaching for Mrsha, who was squirming in Vaulont’s hands. The [Princess] strode forwards, arms outstretched, and a trio of men blocked her way.

Or did they block each other? The three immortals had been aware of each other’s presence, but like passing rival sharks in the night, hadn’t gotten in each other’s way.

—Until now, when it became clear the focus of all three’s goals was the [Princess]. Rhisveri’s brows snapped together, and he sneered at Visophecin, mouthing a silent warning. Taletevirion eyed the other two and made a ‘get back, children’ gesture—but said nothing.

Visophecin opened his mouth, closed it, and all three realized they were under a Skill. They swiveled, as Lyonette glared at all three of them, and had a standoff, sizing each other up.

Taletevirion adjusted his stance slightly. Visophecin coughed into one hand, glancing from Rhisveri to Taletevirion, and the Wyrm’s jaw jutted out and his eyes began to flash. What might have happened next was anyone’s guess, except that someone chose that moment to interrupt.

“Excuse me, sirs, this is a musical ground. And, uh, I think this isn’t the moment to bother Miss Lyonette. Please, remove yourselves. You are under my Skill, and until everything calms down a bit, I’m not releasing it.”

Songmistress Calla interrupted the trio, smiling desperately as she eyed the chaos in the inn—which she’d been warned about—and made the mistake of thinking she was in charge.

In the face of the Skill, the three immortals focused on the Drake woman, who felt her heart rate accelerating as the trio of ageless stares found her. She flushed, despite herself, and wondered who they were. But the immortals were on Lyonette next.

Musical ground? Visophecin nodded to himself. Rhisveri rolled his eyes and snorted—musically—and Taletevirion shrugged. They exchanged another glance, but one of calculation this time. Visophecin wrote in the air, his finger a blur so fast that Mrsha, a [Scribbler] herself, was astounded. Rhisveri rolled his eyes around and around, but he gave a grudging nod as Taletevirion shrugged.

The Unicorn held up a finger.

One, two, three, four—?

They nodded, and if you were perspicacious like Calla, you’d notice that Visophecin tapped his foot to the beat and Rhisveri’s knees flexed slightly in time. Her eyes went wide.

“Gentlemen, gentlemen—this really isn’t—um, who are you? My Skill is—”

The three men gave her a look and stepped past her. They approached Lyonette, who glowered at them, warily, but the immortals strolled forwards, passing by Calla as if she were nothing more than an amusing pebble in their path. Their attitudes seemed to suggest, with indignation, amusement, and skepticism, each in their own way:

Even if you were thirty levels higher, do you think that could stop me?

They came before Lyonette and halted in a flanking formation, Rhisveri in the center, Taletevirion and Visophecin on the sides. They nodded at her as her scowl intensified—but a hint of curiosity was in even Lyonette’s gaze. The Skill clearly was working on them, but were they going to…?

Rhisveri smugly adjusted his tie.

Visophecin sighed as he bowed slightly.

Taletevirion raked a hand through his messy hair.

Then, they didn’t count to four. They didn’t look at each other. But they spoke, then sang. Voices overlapping perfectly, one after another.

 

“I greet you humbly, Your Highness.”

“Miss Marquin, I address you again.”

“Hello—”

“Listen—”

“Hey, I’m back to see you.”

 

Syncopation. Even when Taletevirion and Visophecin spoke over each other, they adjusted. Calla’s breath caught. And they were pitch perfect. Who were they?

Lyonette was less impressed. She tried to step back, and Ser Dalimont and Ushar tried to shield her.

“Gentlemen, I’m not interested in—”

The [Princess] began, but Duke Rhisveri offered her a bouquet of roses. Taletevirion and Visophecin stared at it. So did Lyonette.

 

“I hate to bother you, but I—”

“There’s a matter of import—”

“About a friend of ours—”

“Oh, won’t you be quiet!”

 

Lyonette slashed with her hand and had a bad feeling. Calla was peering at the trio with admiration, claws over her mouth. And Lyonette felt the Skill activating harder.

“Absolutely not. If this is about the wand, it is not your business! You don’t know what trouble it’s brought!”

 

A roll of the emerald eyes, a polite courtier’s smile that said she was an idiot, and a huff of weary air. They stepped around her in a trio as Dame Ushar stood there.

 

“Yes we know that you’re afraid,

Of a mistake

You are (rightly) wary of us,

But there are none who are above us.

 

They extended a hand to take her arm, to pull her aside, to kiss her hand. Three different smiles, Wyrm, Lucifen, and Unicorn.

 

“We’re so much older than you know

Just leave everything to us!

Come on~

See now~

Give in~

We beseech and implore you.”

 

Their singing was synchronized, but oddly, each voice was on a different pitch, but the dissonance made it work—they were hitting the same notes at the same time, and when they chose to, their voices overlapped perfectly. Without practice. Calla swooned into Ser Dalimont’s arms.

He handed her to Peggy. Lyonette stood there. She looked at each expression, haughty, falsely genuine, annoyed—

Superior.

The [Princess] saw Vaulont step back with Mrsha in his arms, and she sweetly put her hands behind her back. She shook out her hair and gave the three visitors a level look. They waited for her, expectantly, aware of their presence and charm and powers.

She stepped back, and her aura coalesced around her. She trailed around, her arms moving like a dancer, a pair of [Knights] at her back, a Vampire behind them. Her staff lining up, guests listening.

This was Lyonette’s reply:

 

 

“I’ll make a statement

Here in my inn

I shall be brief as I can

 

You have two kneecaps

Here in my inn

I will let you keep one.

 

Far better monsters, have tried to get their way

The stains from the last are still on the stairway

 

Show some respect or

Time for your goodbye

This is the part where I watch you die.”

 

Three heads exchanged glances, and three voices began.

 

“We just meant—”

“May have a w—”

“I only—”

 

Her eyes twinkled as her aura shone down. They began to blaze like the light of the Eternal Throne, illuminating the room like a flashlight as her aura intensified. And the three immortals realized this was not the right day for this.

Or ever. The [Princess]’ slow, ominous cadence sped up.

 

“So you think you can bully me in this inn?

Without Erin?

How funny.”

 

“Lyonette, I think I was a bit forwards. Actually, this is so funny, Teriarch sent me to—”

 

“Teriarch! Do you think he scares me?

Do you think Ailendamus makes demands of me here?”

 

“I believe this is entirely a misunderstanding, Miss Marquin, I did not coordinate with these two.”

 

“Oh, but you know them so well.

Sit down, Viscount. Sit down, Duke,

You too, Taletevirion. Sit.

Let me tell you what happens to things like you.”

 

“—I have a present.”

 

She drew a sword in her other hand, and an enchantment glowed across it. The [Princess] pointed it at them. Visophecin glanced over to the door. Liska closed it.

Ishkr closed a window. Peggy loaded a crossbow. The [Princess]’ voice picked up, growing faster. And now it was a song.

 

“I’ve seen the inn exploding over and over again!

First a skeleton, then Skinner, and all his friends!

It breaks and then it shatters in pieces and everything ends!

Then we build it higher again and yet again.

 

Moths died in rain, The Witch of Webs was repelled

With jars of acid Skinner melted away

Lord Veltras was defeated, Facestealer fell—”

 

The [Princess] pulled a crossbow out of her bag of holding, and a glowing bolt was loaded. A warning bell rang in all three’s heads.

 

“—Did you think that I wouldn’t prepare for a monster like you?”

 

Major Khorpe’s crossbow swung from face to face, and the [Princess]’ voice rose, her daughters, audience, and staff watching.

 

“Who you are? Who you are? Why do you think it matters?

You’re the ones about to be thrown out of my inn in tatters!

Feel free to try your luck, I’m sure it’ll go fine!

Quietly go away—

Or come and find out!

Pick one and try

Not to whine.

 

Now you think today’s the day the inn is dying again?

So you think that I am afraid of how this ends?

I~ am getting tired of sweeping, ashes and blood off my floors

Watch your tongues here, you little men,

In this inn

In my—

In my inn.”

 

The [Princess] was breathing hard, and her fingers were dangerously tight on the hair-trigger. She took a breath, panting, and every eye was on the crossbow setting off every [Dangersense] in the inn. She paused—and clearly—did not have a final verse. So she closed her eyes, took another breath, hummed.

 

“Mi—mii—miiiiii—

My, my, my, my, we’re

All so polite now

Here we are all polite now and it’s nice

 

I’d like—

—To say—

The Wandering Inn

Wishes to welcome you if you behave!

(Try again do it better.)”

 

She gestured with her crossbow, and Taletevirion, Rhisveri, and Visophecin had their hands up. They backed up towards the door, and Lyonette beamed at them until the door was opened for them by Asgra. The Goblin closed it, then ran for it.

In the silence, Calla finally turned off her song Skill and then desperately began to crib all the lyrics down. Lyonette gave everyone a smile as her eyes stopped glowing…mostly.

“I do love singing. Now, what were we talking about?”

No one said a word, even Nanette. After a minute, one of the immortals gently knocked on the door and waited for her to let them enter.

 

——

 

A [Princess] with a crossbow stood in The Wandering Inn, breathing hard after her musical moment. She had a slightly unhinged look in her eyes, which either made you back away or like her more.

She was hugging her daughter in one arm, a hand-crossbow in the other loaded with a clearly magical bolt glowing like a miniature sun; the tip of it was beyond red-hot. The contained power of the magic in the bolt seemed to writhe like a [Fireball], giving off flares of heat and force.

Everyone relaxed when she took it out of the crossbow, but she tucked the crossbow back into her bag of holding with a look that said she was going to shoot the next person who condescended to her in song.

…The [Infiltrator] for 2nd Army was an expert saboteur, scout, and killer in his own right. He was used to the cross of blades in the middle of a forest at night or strangling an enemy [Sentry] as an entire camp of [Soldiers] were bedded down barely a dozen feet beyond.

He was on his best behavior in the inn. Good manners, he used his napkin, and tipped well. General Shirka herself had briefed him on his role.

No getting your scales shit, whatsoever. No games, no taking chances. He knew there was an [Assassin] in the inn, two Thronebearers, and a Named-rank adventurer as well as Bird the Hunter. Trying to poke around upstairs would get him killed; his job was purely to report back.

Plus, the Grand Strategist often visited the inn. He was even sitting in a corner in a wheelchair, forgotten, that glazed expression on his face. That was hard to see.

Infiltrator Deiss was composing a brief report in his head to General Shirka. He was sure the other [Spies] who still lurked about, the Drowned Man, a few regulars who knew the staff by name, were all preparing their reports.

But Deiss had an insight unique to him as a representative of Pallass and as an [Infiltrator]. He stood up—after paying for his burger—and sidled out of the inn.

“Pallass, please.”

Liska was a bit distracted gawking at the three men currently arguing in whispers in the hallway of the inn. Deiss overheard them, but couldn’t linger; he had already marked Duke Rhisveri and Viscount Visophecin for his report. Ailendamus might be in bed with Liscor or Calanfer. Or just the inn.

“—fouled my entire ground game with her. Now, I want you to get out of here, Visophecin—”

“I fouled your—you are the principal offending party here, Rhisveri.”

“Yeah. They love me here.”

The enraged Viscount and Duke stared at Taletevirion and tried to edge away from him. One of them cast a silence spell, but the Unicorn just walked with them and leaned on both’s shoulders.

“Listen, boys, I appreciate that we all had a moment to do the old a capella song and dance, but now why don’t you shove off? I have work to do. Let the adults work.”

Sadly, Deiss had to go before he heard how that comment went down. He had already figured out how this inn operated, and he was going to come back on break…assuming the inn was still standing and he was welcome after this. He had to wait a second; the [Doorgnoll] hurried to the grumbling line.

“I’m back, I’m back! Sorry, inn event, guys. It was awesome. Hey, where are you going?”

She turned to him, and he coughed.

“Pallass, please.”

Liska slouched into her couch and sighed.

“They don’t let you in without a passport or temporary card and they get all snooty, you know.”

“I know. I’m on the list.”

He wondered if he should bribe her, but the Gnoll was just being grumpy.

“Okay, but if they don’t let you through, it’s a ten minute wait until I check the door. Pallass!”

Deiss got into line and waited as people walked through, into the checkpoint. They’d expanded it twice; he stood in a long hallway, wondering when they’d open a second checkpoint door. Still, it only took six minutes before he walked through.

“Papers? If you’ve come here without them, you’ll have to turn around. Inquire at City Hall in Liscor for temporary visitation papers.”

A bored voice from a [Guard] changed slightly as Deiss handed over his papers.

“That’s not a regular passp—oh—uh—right this way, sir.”

They hurried him forwards, though ironically, double-checking his papers took just as long as he would have coming through regularly. When he was finally clear of all the hubbub, Deiss made two reports instantly to a Garuda standing by the checkpoint.

The Garuda was drinking a milkshake, and Deiss leaned on a railing and spoke rapidly.

“Report to General Shirka—minor inn event. Duke Rhisveri and Viscount Visophecin visiting the inn. No connection with Goblinhome yet. I need a lookup on ‘Taletevirion’.”

The Eye of Pallass had the ability to forward his reports to 2nd Army. But the Garuda just grimaced.

“You’re not getting a report on Taletevirion. Anything you’ve got I have to file.”

“What?”

That half-Elf had to be important, but the Garuda just shrugged, keeping his voice low.

“He’s unknown. Keep going.”

“Er…I’ll have the full report written up. I might need a musical note sheet. Got one of those?”

“…A what?”

Deiss had to explain that it had been a musical inn event, and the Eye of Pallass just stared at him like he was some kind of rookie [Scout] with a brain injury. But he eventually muttered that he’d get Deiss one.

“Anything else? You should be maintaining your watch.”

“I came back for a good reason. I need a query escalated to Salazsar immediately.”

The Eye of Pallass’ brows bobbed upwards. He sucked on the empty cup.

“To whom?”

“Their own intelligence services, but a general query to their High Command wouldn’t go amiss. Can you ask them about the effects of the possessions of the late Major Khorpe?”

The question was so intriguing, as well as the name, that the Eye of Pallass dropped his professional act for a moment.

“Khorpe? What’s this about him?”

Both of them knew Major Khorpe, of course. Among their particular classes and skillsets, Major Khorpe was a legend, if only because he’d survived to retire in a job that took you out within four years on average.

Here was how old he was: he’d come out of retirement to kill Silent Antinium during the Antinium Wars. He belonged to an older generation who’d been cleaning up the mess after Zelkyr vanished. He was pre-Antinium, the age of Chaldion when the Cyclops was at his best, with Wall Lord Eschowar and the other old movers and shakers.

There was just one thing that made Deiss’ scales crawl. When the [Princess] had pulled that crossbow out, he’d felt his [Advanced Dangersense] going insane. That had been a very elegant hand-crossbow, and if he remembered right…

 

——

 

The request from Pallass went to Salazsar at speed and was actually processed quickly. Not just because the inner wheels of Salazsar were moving faster than usual, though they were.

Wall Lord Eschowar’s return had seen him sacking and replacing several officers, not just with older Drakes like he was, but with more competent leadership. The request was noted, shot down through various channels, until it reached a low-ranking Gnoll in charge of memorial services.

She found herself reporting to the old Wall Lord Eschowar and head of Salazsar’s own intelligence agencies, along with Wall Lord Zail and a mix of young and old figures, mostly Drakes.

“I—I did my best, Wall Lords, sirs, and I assure you that—”

“No need to justify yourself, Miss. We can see you’ve petitioned Liscor, Pallass, and the inn over eighteen times. So please, tell us about Major Khorpe’s memorial service.”

Wall Lord Eschowar had activated his Skill, and he was sharp—like crackling lightning, his thoughts and demeanor that of a precise bolt of lightning, juxtaposed by his ancient frame. The Drake’s flaking scales framed bright eyes as the Gnoll gulped.

She was in charge of collecting possessions after an occupant of the retirement collective passed, among her other duties. Generally, the young woman just forwarded everything to a representative in charge of distributing the will, but occasionally, and especially within the elite group of old Drakes and Gnolls, she had to work hard.

…Mostly because now and then, the objects they had in their rooms were highly magical, highly dangerous, or highly sensitive. More than once in her three-year tenure in her position, a bunch of Drake officers had barged in to confiscate files that the deceased owner should not have had.

“Major Khorpe’s possessions were returned to Salazsar after his demise at the Solstice, Wall Lords. But not all his possessions. I know because I quadruple checked that everything arrived. I knew I had to flag a number of his possessions coming in for the army to dispose of…”

“Nothing for his descendants?”

Wall Lord Zail muttered. Eschowar paused and murmured.

“I think he didn’t have any. Proceed, Miss?”

The Gnoll had a knot in her stomach, the same knot she’d had for ages when she’d thought about having to even touch—she coughed, nervous.

“His body was conveyed back to Salazsar, and his armor and effects, personal blade, poisons, and other effects were each logged and, um, disposed of appropriately. But his personal crossbow wasn’t logged, and I have been asking and asking about it.”

“Very conscientious of you. May I ask why it’s so important?”

Zail glanced at Eschowar, and the Wall Lord seemed to recall…the Gnoll’s voice rose a pitch.

“Well, because one of the last items he apparently had was a Phoenixflame crossbow bolt!”

The room went silent, and Wall Lords Zail and Eschowar very clearly remembered Khorpe pulling the crossbow out when they had all met for the last time. Zail bit his tongue; several people in the room clearly didn’t even know what that was and had to lean over and be told before blanching.

“Just…for memory’s sake, how big a hole would that leave if someone were to fire it?”

Zail glanced around, and Eschowar answered for him.

“I think it’d crater the entire inn. Even if it’s got Skills on it. That’s a Tier 6 enchantment. I suggest we answer Pallass—truthfully—and request the crossbow and bolt back posthaste. For everyone’s sake.”

The Drakes nodded slowly, and the Gnoll [Caretaker] almost fainted in relief when Eschowar looked at her.

“We’ll take care of the disposal, Miss. Thank you. Now, why are civilians handling military-grade artifacts?”

He looked around pointedly, and she backed out of the room as Salazsarian officers squirmed.

 

——

 

A report was sent back to Pallass.

Infiltrator Deiss got to read it as he wrote up a quick report, and when he saw the reply, his scales went cold. He glanced back at the inn and then turned to the Eye of Pallass.

She’d been holding that crossbow and had her finger on the damn trigger! He tried to grin at the Garuda staring at the underlined words.

“Uh—you wouldn’t be keen on going to the inn instead of me?”

The Eye of Pallass said nothing, but patted Deiss on the shoulder. The Garuda took one look at the checkpoint, then decided to flap a few hundred feet away to wait for anyone to come out of the door.

Just in case.

 

——

 

Lyonette du Marquin held her daughter and wondered what had happened.

Why was she so thin?

Mrsha was squirming, protesting, trying to explain and lie, and the [Princess] didn’t care about anything. Not Caretaker Ebente, not Songmistress Calla, not the three stooges…she didn’t even look up when Dame Ushar hissed in her ear.

“Your Highness, that crossbow you had—”

“I took it from Khorpe.”

Before she’d returned his remains via Courier. She had been ashamed, but she’d reasoned he’d have probably let her have it. She needed it.

“May I—may I have your bag of holding? I would just like to see that crossbow bolt…”

“No, Ushar, you may not.”

“Your Highness, I suggest that it is a dangerous, a—if you had fired it—”

“Ushar, be silent. I wasn’t going to fire it. I know how dangerous it is.”

Ordinary Bolts of Fire didn’t look that menacing. The Thronebearer was sweating.

“Your Highness, if you had fired it, the blast radius—”

“Ushar. I said I am aware. If I fired it, I’d have a lot more distance between me and anything I want to kill. The crossbow is staying with me. So is the bolt. Be told.”

All of you. Everything. Even her immortal guests had just realized the [Princess] was not joking around. Lyonette was tired.

“Mrsha? Do you have something to tell me?”

Mrsha squirmed in Lyonette’s arms. Something was going on, the [Princess] now knew. But the girl was just sipping at a big drink of juice and munching on some crackers. She held her mother, tightly, and broke Lyonette’s heart.

What had gone on? Why am I failing? But Lyonette just saw Mrsha write and hand a card up.

Mother, I’m fine. Please don’t shoot anyone. Especially in the inn. Please listen to the silly, stupid singing guys. You can’t keep the wand forever.

At first, Lyonette got angry, but the writing wasn’t like Nanette, pushing and pushing. The [Princess] lowered her hand and stroked Mrsha’s head.

“It’s not our problem, Mrsha. I don’t want you mixed up in it. Ryoka can come back herself and get it if it matters—!”

Then give it to them.

“I—it would only come back to bite us, Mrsha.”

So the solution is to lock it up forever? Bird had shot two beings she claimed had been made of wood and moss lurching towards the inn. But Lyonette had tried to ignore it, tried to pretend nothing was going to happen.

“I’m just tired of inn events. I tried to keep it all calm. Even when we had the box and gold—! Mrsha, tell me what’s going on. Please!”

Her daughter just gazed up with an expression of such calm determination it scared Lyonette more than if Mrsha had been waving around the loaded crossbow. Mrsha squeezed Lyonette harder.

Mother. You have to trust me. I have to trust me. When I ask for help, please listen. Until then, you do what you have to do. And I’ll be responsible too.

She looked up, anxious and tired and hurt, trying to win the [Princess] over.

 

——

 

Dame Ushar was watching the interplay. And she had no idea what was going on or how Mrsha had tripped the [Caretaker]’s warning Skills.

This was a grave failure on her part. The three intruders to the inn were one thing; Mrsha’s situation she fully owned as her and Dalimont’s laxity. However, despite her grave worries as to Mrsha’s condition, she noticed something Lyonette did not, at first.

Mrsha was not being the child she could be, mature and precocious in many ways, but still a child with a child’s vulnerabilities and blind spots. In this moment, as she wrote, her composure was worthy of the Eternal Throne’s scions. If she could see this, Queen Ielane would applaud the girl herself for her poise under fire, and given the number of her agents in the inn—Ushar had to sweep the entire inn for spying spells.

However, Lyonette only saw her daughter, hurt and refusing to tell her what was wrong. She developed that strained, unreasonable expression so hallmark to Terandrian royalty—a product of her war over the last month with Nanette—and snapped.

“Trust you? Trust you? You’re in danger, Mrsha! I can see it! This is worse than the box, isn’t it? Is it Erin? The wand? I am your mother, Mrsha. Yours and Nanette’s, even if she doesn’t think so. I swore I’d protect you. How can I trust you when you’re like—”

Her voice broke. She held Mrsha to her, feeling every fragile inch of her daughter, and the girl clung to Lyonette, her eyes wide and shimmering with tears. Even so, she wrote, her wand tracing delicate curls of light in the air, like she’d seen Visophecin doing. Writing without even drawing the words out.

I know, Mother. I think of you as my mother, the only one I’ve ever wanted or needed. I know I’m a bad girl a lot of the time, and troublesome. I know how much you care for me and what you would do to protect me. I’ve seen it. Believe me, I have seen it. But also believe me that you can’t keep the wand locked up forever. Please trust me.

“To get hurt more? What parent would do that?”

Lyonette’s voice was fierce, and Mrsha patted her on the shoulder gently. She responded—

Sometimes, Mother, and some day, you’ll have to trust that I’ll get hurt. Or I’ll make mistakes. Trust that I’ll do something dangerous, risky, but trust that I have to. Because you would do the same thing if you were me. I must, or I will wake up every single day for the rest of my life and know I was there and I failed. I don’t want more regrets. So please, trust me.

Dame Ushar felt like someone had pierced her armor. She felt like she were bleeding out—not blood, but emotions. Lyonette’s breath caught, and the Thronebearer saw the [Princess]’ face twist with more grief and worry and—concern and raw feeling than she had held in herself all the years Ushar had known her at court.

Here, far from home, was the crucible that baked royalty worthy of that terrible throne. Ushar saw it, and if she did, Her Highness must surely see it too.

“I can’t let you do that, Mrsha. I’m your parent. If there’s something—risky—happening, it’s my job to take on that risk. Let me. Please, tell me.”

Lyonette felt like she were arguing with Nanette and bit back all the things that hadn’t worked. You’re not ready. I won’t allow it. You don’t understand the stakes. However, Mrsha wasn’t Nanette. She looked Lyonette in the eye.

I don’t think I’m in any physical danger.

“You’re so thin—”

That’s different. I swear, I never did anything that put me in real danger. I can’t let you know the truth, Mother, because you’ll make your own choice. I have made mine already. It is selfish and perhaps wrong, but it is mine. Like Erin, you cannot stop me. You can try—but can you just be here? If I need help, can I ask for it?

She sat there, reaching up her arms to be hugged, face earnest and hiding everything, and Dame Ushar considered their options. They could search for clues. Confine Mrsha to her room—somewhere safe outside the inn. They could—

Do what? The girl sat there with such somber, supreme confidence that there was nothing anyone could do to stop her. They could take her away and it wouldn’t matter because they didn’t understand.

The audience watching the silent drama between the mother and child saw the [Princess], who had bested Invrisil’s [Mayor], [Merchants], foreign rulers, undead Revenants, and immortals, rock back on her heels. Outfoxed and outplayed. Shut out.

Someone chuckled. Someone laughed in real humor, surprising even herself with the hilarity of it. At first, Ushar jerked around and tried to find who was interrupting this confrontation. Then she realized—no one was laughing.

No one in this room, rather. The laughter was so alien that Ushar didn’t recognize the low voice, and goosebumps erupted on her flesh as she finally recognized it. She turned and saw one of the new employees for the inn.

Calanferian agents. A mousey-haired young woman holding up a tiny marble in her fingers, angling it to take in the scene.

Scrying orb in miniature. So the voice was then—

Queen Ielane stopped laughing and whispered into the speaking stone hanging from Ushar’s ear.

“What an interesting child.”

What was Lyonette to do? The [Princess] closed her eyes, and when she looked at Dame Ushar, the Thronebearer twitched her chin fractionally. She understood her orders. Lyonette turned back to Mrsha and embraced her hard, feeling how frail her daughter was.

“Can’t I help, at least?”

Lyonette was pleading with her daughter, pleading because she realized that somehow, Mrsha had all the cards. Both she and Ushar had an instinctive feeling that even if they sat with Mrsha, held her, and she never vanished—something would continue happening. The only way to know was to see it or Mrsha to give them access to it. As proof, the girl wrote in the air again.

You can resolve the problem with the wand, Mother. It will put us all in danger. Maybe not today or tomorrow, but it needs to be done. Just remember: if you go to them, don’t go as a warrior with a weapon. Go like a [Princess] of Calanfer.

The warning was so pointed it struck Ushar a second time. Lyonette brushed at her eyes and glanced at Ushar, helpless.

I shall find out what it is, Your Highness. Else, I have failed you utterly. We will protect her, I swear it.

Ushar projected the words at Lyonette, as if the [Princess] could read minds. The [Princess] nodded fractionally, barely even moving her head. If they could not get it from Mrsha, then the entire inn would find out what was wrong themselves.

However, Lyonette had other problems. She looked up and saw the three beings standing there.

Duke Rhisveri, Viscount Visophecin, and Taletevirion, not as haughty as before, but each one watching her. Waiting for her.

Each one not a regular person. Lyonette had no idea what they were. She had ideas, but she had developed that sixth sense that Ryoka and the other Earthers had cultivated. Whomever they were…she took a breath, then nodded.

“Dame Ushar? Make sure Mrsha stays right with you. Don’t let her out of your sight or I will shoot you. With a regular crossbow bolt. Adventurer Arcsinger is under your direct command, as is Peggy and Colfa.”

Elia started, and Peggy and Colfa turned as the Thronebearer bowed again.

“—Yes, Your Highness. And our guests?”

Lyonette stood slowly and exhaled. She bent down, gave Mrsha a fierce hug, and then nodded.

“I suppose I’ll see what they have to say.”

Mrsha du Marquin gravely nodded at her mother. Then she felt her stomach rumble. For reasons unknown to everyone but her, the little girl’s stomach was unused to this much food so fast.

Let’s see…she’d had juice, a burger, a muffin, crackers…and Lyonette had just squeezed her stomach hard.

Dame Ushar looked down just in time for Mrsha to lean over and all her food to expectorate out her mouth. Mrsha wiped at her face, then requested a new drink and a lighter meal.

Dame Ushar requisitioned a mop.

 

——

 

Viscount Visophecin had little idea what was going on here. He had educated guesses as to some of it, but Mrsha du Marquin…? No clue.

Of course, his face and bearing gave none of that away. Looking as if he were in control of the situation was essential to victory, and the Lucifen was the best actor you could ask for.

He was…also desperate in his way, he could well own. Distress was not something Lucifen processed like mortals. He didn’t panic or grieve or weep.

In some ways, that was worse; he had quietly, and coldly, reflected on each one of his kindred he had led to their deaths. Azemith, Igolze…all because he had trusted an [Innkeeper] to be less ruthless than he. He had acted like a youth, and House Shoel had paid the price.

To atone, to prepare for his new mission set upon him by Paxere, Visophecin had spent weeks researching everything he could. Including this inn. He was well aware this was a ‘Solstice event’, though he had to admit arrogance had once again shown its unwelcome head.

He’d thought it was an exaggeration when the event had been described to him in [Informant] reports, in gossip at pubs, or direct conversations with people keen to brag about their association with the inn, like Menolit. However, it appeared Ryoka Griffin was not the only extraordinary…Earther.

—At any rate, he also realized he was in the unwelcome camp of being a hostile presence within the inn and that he’d been lumped in with Duke Rhisveri, never someone you wanted to be associated with when it came to faux pas.

As well as the being known as Taletevirion, who was clearly an immortal of some kind. Allied with the Dragonlord of Flame.

Wonderful. No help for it but to proceed, so Visophecin let Rhisveri whisper to him as they watched the interplay between mother and child.

“Hey, Visophecin, let’s drop the animosity for a moment and focus on what matters.”

Visophecin bit back a retort and murmured.

“Agreed.”

Rhisveri nodded subtly at Taletevirion.

“Who’s white-hair over there? His aura’s strong. Shape changed; he’s clearly emitting magic. A natural producer—what do you reckon? Orichalcum-grade mythical beast?”

That was an old reference to grades of magical creatures, outdated, outmoded—mostly because a lot of the species were dead. Visophecin replied softly.

“Could be Adamantium-grade.”

“That’s my species and Dragons. Don’t be stupid. He’s more magical than Mithril-grades like Lucifen, but less than me.”

Again, the Lucifen swallowed another retort. Lucifen were inherently less magical than giant beings like Wyrms, but that was a poor estimate of deadliness.

“What is his age? Older than you, Rhisveri?”

“I…maybe.”

That grudging admission made both’s spines prickle. The real quality immortals used to estimate the relative deadliness of their opponent was how old the other one was. The longer you lived, the better at continuing to live you became.

Rhisveri was over ten thousand years old. Even Wyrms of old would have respected that, though Rhisveri had spent a lot of his life in hiding. Anything older than him was a threat indeed.

—Not that Taletevirion gave off that immediate impression. He seemed distinctly unwell, sweaty, glancing at the bar. But Visophecin had a definite feeling that Taletevirion knew how to use the blade at his side.

Visophecin had trained with Agelum all his life. He wasn’t a natural like they were, but he could probably take on any Silver-bell [Duelist] in the world fairly equally on technique alone, and with his magic and abilities, he had confidence in his martial abilities against almost any foe.

Taletevirion made Visophecin think of spells, distance, and Rhisveri as a living shield. The Lucifen would rather challenge Menorkel to an arm-wrestling competition than cross blades with the white-haired half-Elf.

Mostly, though, Visophecin was fascinated by the child. Mrsha. Her conversation with Lyonette was beyond mature for her age.

He had no ability to see emotion like some classes, nor was he impressed by it. But Lucifen did admire drive. Visophecin had a flash, a question in his mind.

If she were to sit in that room, the Verum Pactum, and ask for a boon, what would she demand? What would she offer?

…Could I pay her price?

He shivered. But then the [Princess] was rising, and turning and her gaze on her daughter, which Visophecin took to be ‘loving’, hardened to wary dislike as it fell on him.

A bad first impression. He bowed instantly, a proper courtly bow.

“Your Highness of Calanfer. May I apologize for my rash display earlier?”

“You may. I am disinclined to take it. Viscount Visophecin. Duke Rhisveri. Taletevirion. This is not the time for interruptions in my inn, and as I said—in song—you will comport yourselves with respect here or I will throw you out. But it seems I must hear you. So: to business. We shall meet in the [World’s Eye Theatre] in five minutes. Ser Dalimont, please find Village Head Elosaith and meet me there with Vaulont and Bird. Ishkr, get Captain Todi and Captain Earlia. Someone find poor Caretaker Ebente? I need to at least speak to her and the Watch. Oh, and put Songmistress Calla somewhere safe.”

The Drake who’d swooned had passed out fully; probably backlash from using her Skill on so many powerful individuals. The inn burst into movement, and Visophecin stepped back, nodding, as he observed.

What he observed was a lot of people coming at the [Princess] and being intercepted. Ishkr, the Gnoll, Ser Dalimont, and even the woman, Colfa, funneled the others around them. This inn was used to this kind of event. Lyonette went striding past them through the doorway, and he heard her voice.

“Watch Captain Zevara! Hello, how are you? We haven’t talked all week!”

“Lyonette, eight of my [Guards] are paralyzed on the floor, and I just received a Skill-based warning—”

“Solstice event.”

Visophecin was rather amazed that the simple reply stopped the angry Drake’s voice. When Zevara spoke again, it was with genuine resignation.

“…Ancestors damn it, can’t you turn them off with Erin gone? Okay, so…”

The door closed. Someone held out a gauntleted hand, and Visophecin saw Ser Dalimont pointing to a side door.

“This way, sirs. Her Highness will see you shortly.”

The gaze he gave Visophecin was full of so much dislike that the Lucifen had to stop.

“Have we met, Ser Knight?”

Dalimont’s face tensed up even further, if possible, and he uttered one grudging word.

“Noelictus.”

Ah. The Singer of Terandria. The invasion—and the Hunters of Noelictus. Visophecin recalled the 4th Princess of Calanfer, Seraphel, had a bodyguard of Thronebearers.

What an interesting connection. He inclined his head with a slight smile.

“Rest assured, we are all on the same side. I swear on House Shoel I mean no harm to anyone in the inn.”

“Very good, milord. I would hate to have to place a call to the Hunter’s Guild in Noelictus.”

Rhisveri eyed the two as Visophecin walked forwards, and he leaned over.

“Not exactly the most tactful display, Visophecin. You should learn some tact.”

Visophecin tried, but he had to grit out a response between his teeth.

“Rhisveri.”

“Yes?”

“Listen to your own words and recall who speaks them.”

The Wyrm’s eyes narrowed, but before he could round on the Lucifen, the two men were surprised by someone else intending to escort them into the theatre.

“Gentlemen. This way, please. We have a lot to discuss.”

Witch Nanette, in her bright yellow raincoat and blue leggings, was self-importantly standing in the impossible hallway. Visophecin knew this hallway could not exist within the bounds of the inn; it should have exited the side of the building. His skin crawled as he felt the oddity.

Dimensional Skill. The famous theatre.

His eyes narrowed as he noticed Nanette.

Witch.

She had a self-assured look. Visophecin didn’t understand the class. But after Noelictus, he had a wary respect for how dangerous they could be. He also knew Nanette was the child of a famous ‘Great Witch’ of Izril. So he nodded to her.

“Miss Weishart. Are you part of the impending negotiations?”

“If this is about the wand, of course I am! And Hethon’s here too. He’s—Hethon? Sammial?”

Nanette looked around. Visophecin glanced about and saw two boys hiding behind Ser Dalimont. Both were visibly scared; Sammial was pointing a shaking finger at Rhisveri.

“It’s h-him!”

“Nanette, what are you doing? That’s a [Viscount] and a [Duke]!”

Hethon was horrified. He understood the relative ranks of the two men, but Nanette folded her arms.

“They understand what’s at stake, and soon, Lyonette will too. Sirs, let’s have a brief chat before—”

She had a sheaf of notes hastily written out and seemed confident, which was fascinating to Visophecin. Rhisveri was less impressed. He snapped his fingers as he passed by Nanette.

“Out of the way, brat. I’m here to speak with people who matter.”

Visophecin heard a pop and winced. He saw Nanette’s eyes go wide, and she vanished—only to land outside the inn in the pouring rain. Through the window in the hallway, he saw her fall and splash into the water. Rhisveri kept walking.

After a moment, so did Visophecin. Smiling.

“So why are you here? The wand?”

Rhisveri snapped at Visophecin as they walked through the theatre, admiring it. Visophecin kept out of the light as best he could; even with the storm clouds out, the glass dome made him a bit uneasy. He replied, candid.

“Naturally. It is instrumental to Ryoka Griffin’s mission, and therefore, mine.”

The Wyrm raised one eyebrow. For all his bluster, arrogance, greed, lack of foresight, and many other flaws, when he was calm, he was cunning and sharp indeed.

“You were charged with providing something of worth to House Shoel that would make up for the deaths of twenty-four Lucifen. Even Ryoka Griffin’s impossible quest feels substandard to that amount.”

Visphecin couldn’t deny that, so he adjusted his tie.

“—I believe assisting her is the most direct road to that end, as well as aiding Ailendamus. Something you concur with, or you would not be here. I believe you stated you were staying out of the matter?”

Rhisveri avoided Visophecin’s gaze as he sat down in a chair.

“Well, that idiot can’t even keep track of the damn wand. I was simply going to toss it at her. Though she’s on the wrong continent. Tell you what, amusing as this has all been, what’s to stop us from just finding the wand and going?”

He was casting a location spell when someone spoke in a flat voice.

“That would be the fact that Lyonette has a debt Skill hanging over you. And that the wand isn’t in the inn. It’s in the garden. Which means that unless you want to blow a hole through the door, you’re not getting access to it.”

Taletevirion stood in the entrance to the theatre. He came down the steps two-at-a-time, and Visophecin eyed him warily. The Unicorn had a wet bundle under his arms—which turned out to be Nanette. She opened her mouth, red-faced.

“I—”

Rhisveri waved a hand as he turned to Taletevirion.

“[Complete Muffle]. As a matter of fact, the debts were annulled. And you think you could stop me?”

The Unicorn tossed Nanette into a chair and continued walking down the steps.

“I’m in a bad mood, kids. You’re within my radius. At least one of you won’t die if I cut you. The wand is my responsibility.”

“Aha. That’s where you’re wrong. It belongs to one Ryoka Griffin, and I’m merely assisting in getting it to her. If someone else had designs on it, well, I’d take that personally.”

Rhisveri’s intensity ratcheted up instantly, and Visophecin realized it was another mistake to have him here. The last Dryad seed was in the wand, and Rhisveri knew it. Fithea was dead; Rhisveri’s mother, or as close as you could approximate to that. He was going to be emotionally compromised.

And this was the wrong person to have it out with. Taletevirion didn’t react as Rhisveri stood up and strode over to him.

“Personally? I saw what Tolveilouka did to you last time. I’ll be gentler.”

Rhisveri went dead white with fury, and his nostrils flared. He raised a finger, and Visophecin interjected.

“Introductions would appear to be in order. I am Viscount Visophecin. This is Duke Rhisveri, of Ailendamus. And you would be…?”

“Taletevirion.”

A name neither one of them recognized, at least, in connection with historical events. But both felt they should know it. Rhisveri stepped back, eyes narrowed to slits.

“And what are you really?”

He was so angry he ignored the girl sitting there, head flicking back and forth. Taletevirion wiped at his mouth.

“Older than you and tired. Like I said, leave the wand to me. You don’t even know what it is.”

Nanette waved her arms wildly, standing up to get everyone’s attention, mouth still silenced. She began to write furiously like Mrsha, and Visophecin spoke.

“A Dryad seed. The last in the world.”

Nanette froze. Taletevirion’s silver eyes found him, and Rhisveri snorted.

“Unplanted, ungrown. From a thousand year-old magical tree. Probably a Millennial Maple. Classic. Entombed in an ironbark wand. Which is just—like putting a seith core inside magicore to channel your spells.”

The other immortal paused, and his face was grudgingly impressed. Though he snorted at Rhisveri.

“Not a Millennial Maple. Those died out first of the greatwoods. Probably just some old aspen. I’m impressed; you can read, at least.”

“Read? Hah! I heard that one first-hand.”

Rhisveri bristled, and Visophecin covered his mouth briefly. Taletevirion rolled his eyes.

“Oh, I’m sure you did. You’re older than Teriarch told me, but you’re not old enough to remember that.”

“As a matter of fact, I knew someone from the old forests.”

“Please. They’re all dead. You’re Terandrian? Everything and everyone is dead. The last Giants walked off the damn continent when they saw the writing on the walls. Say you’re from Chandrar or Baleros and you have more odds of being right. Everyone’s dead. Treants walked into the sea. Every single [Druid] circle from the old days was slaughtered and had their heads piked outside Kaaz’s walls.”

Rhisveri’s face changed as Taletevirion talked. The Unicorn’s face was flat, but the more he spoke, the more a note of anguish and wild fury entered his tone. Visophecin recognized that too. It was the way his own sire had talked, recalling the losses that had taken their people from Rhir.

Who is this? How does he know that?

Rhisveri was just as struck. He narrowed his eyes, and his tone became more conciliatory, a rarity.

“The Day Kaaz’s Honor Died. As a matter of fact, there were survivors.”

“Impossible. I was there. The last survivors either wyldwalked to Izril, Baleros, or died when they petrified the last of the greatwoods. Everything collapsed into stone and dust and died.”

The Unicorn’s eyes were lost, and he shuddered. Visophecin and Nanette’s heads swung back to Rhisveri as the Wyrm’s eyes widened.

“Not all. Just one survived. Buried in the darkness, half-petrified herself. A Dryad. She hid down there for thousands of years. When she emerged, she disguised herself among the mortal peoples, a wanderer.”

Then Taletevirion recoiled as if struck. He peered at Rhisveri, trying to see—his head shook violently.

“No, no. I’d have known it if—no Dryad can survive without her tree for that long.”

“Dryads can survive it. With the will. She persisted across the ages, untethered, but still a master of magic second to none.”

At last, the other immortal’s eyes held a note of uncertainty. Taletevirion looked at Rhisveri for the first time.

“Where is she?”

“Dead. Months ago. The Wind Runner of Reizmelt killed her. In self-defense.”

It was impossible to know who flinched more at that. Rhisveri uttered the words cold, dry-eyed, like a walking corpse bled out, twitching once. Taletevirion recoiled with a grimace and gazed away, like a veteran watching a scar reopen.

“…Fitting. Someone who’d follow Teriarch around and get her heart—and internal organs—broken kills the last Dryad. It’s always them.”

His eyes were like a distant streak of silver clouds vanishing into the horizon. Then he regarded Rhisveri.

“I know you. Do you know me?”

Both men glanced at Nanette, but neither seemed to care, for a moment. Rhisveri’s lips moved, and he took in Taletevirion’s silver hair, sword, and his half-Elven guise. He spoke.

“—Of course. Unicorn.”

Nanette’s mouth fell open, and Visophecin twitched.

A Unicorn? He was incredulous; perhaps it was bias, but Ailendamus had few quadrupedal immortals, Gilaw being one of the notable exceptions, and she was wild, half-tamed.

Taletevirion was utterly composed, a mark of his extreme age. No, that was wrong. He was utterly natural in this form, but he appeared to be a drunken, cynical wreck, at least from how he acted. In short, a worthy addition to Ailendamus, where he could find purpose and, perhaps, community.

Something told Visophecin that now was not the time to offer; they were not exactly on friendly terms. But again, to his surprise, it was Rhisveri who acted out of character. Or perhaps in a character that Visophecin didn’t know.

Slowly, the Wyrm ducked his head slightly, and he made a curious gesture with his hands. Spreading them wide, fingers splayed, as if he were making the symbol of a tree on his chest.

The Unicorn recognized the gesture and almost moved to copy it. Then turned away.

“That’s an old gesture for a dead place. We’re not friends. I don’t care who you knew. She never knew me, and I didn’t know her.”

“But I knew Fithea sor Kerwenas of the Great Forest of Estiphole. Turn and greet me, Unicorn Taletevirion of the Vale Forest, or I’ll melt you where you stand.”

Slowly, Taletevirion turned around. He met those green eyes, which were at their deadliest when Rhisveri didn’t posture or make threats in anger or try to be menacing. Taletevirion made the gesture, briefly, and dropped his hands.

“So Ryoka Griffin killed the last Dryad. And she found a wand with the seed to grow a tree of the greatwoods. Even Teriarch would call that overly poetic.”

His lips twisted into a grimace of pained amusement. Visophecin spoke.

“We are, it appears, aligned in intents after all. It is our goal to take the wand to Ryoka Griffin. Which I volunteer for. I can have it to her in days.”

Overnight, really, but he didn’t say that. It was hard to gate across continents anyways. Taletevirion glanced at Visophecin.

“I know your kind too. Assuming I took you at your word, which I don’t, that’s not my goal. I want to see the wand. Then have a conversation about the problem she’s entangled with. Apparently, there’s some dead people who want the wand just as much as you two do.”

He jerked a head at Nanette, and Visophecin frowned. It was Rhisveri’s turn to be perplexed.

“Wait, she’s actually important? What do you mean—dead people? G-ghosts?”

His voice turned uncertain, hopeful, and Visophecin recalled the phenomena he had personally witnessed. The hair rose on the back of his neck. He glanced from Taletevirion to Nanette.

“Should we then meet with them? Any information would surely be valuable.”

The Unicorn was shaking his head as someone spoke from above them all.

“No. This is precisely why I have refused to do anything. Nor do I care if it’s the last Unicorn in existence petitioning me, or whomever the two of you are. I hold the wand, and until I am satisfied by what will be done with it, no one will have it.”

They turned, and Lyonette du Marquin was there. She must have been listening in for a while; she descended the stairs, flanked by four people.

Ser Dalimont, Elosaith, Bird, and Vaulont the Ash. Visophecin recognized three of them; he didn’t know Vaulont by name, but he could tell an [Assassin] when he saw one. Bird the Hunter was a known quantity, but he detected a lot of death-magic from the humble-looking villager.

A potent amount of levels for an inn. He and Visophecin could clear the room in seconds were it not for Taletevirion. However, Rhisveri gave Lyonette a grudging nod.

“Princess. Are we going to get down to business? I came here peacefully. And I thought we had an understanding.”

“Duke Rhisveri, I would appreciate it if you called ahead first. As for you, Taletevirion, I tolerate your filching of drinks in my inn, but I don’t appreciate you throwing Ishkr out a window.”

“He got a taste of his own medicine.”

The Unicorn replied. Lyonette stopped two stairs above them and met Visophecin’s eyes.

“As for you, Viscount, I would expect the leader of House Shoel to have a bit more tact.”

That stung. The grey-skinned man answered with a low bow.

“I appear to have let down members of The Wandering Inn on numerous occasions, Your Highness. I can only beg your forgiveness.”

Her voice was less thunderously angry than before. Lyonette sighed, and her tone was less acerbic as she gestured to the seats.

“Somehow, I doubt that. Gentlemen, I have been convinced by my daughter to at least hear you out. And you’re here, Nanette. I should have known. Well…”

She stared blankly ahead for a second, rubbing at her face, and even Visophecin felt moved to offer some silent sympathy for her. Lyonette gazed around blankly, then smiled.

“Shall we discuss the issue? Make your case, gentlemen. Politely.”

The hand-crossbow was still hanging at her side, minus the Phoenixfire Bolt. The three immortals studied each other, and Nanette waved her hands furiously, demanding to be unsilenced.

No one paid any attention to her.

 

——

 

“Why don’t you want to let Ryoka Griffin have it?”

“I never said I was opposed to the notion. I would have sent it to her via Courier ages ago if I thought that was the best course of action. I should love to make it her problem.”

The first question, once they’d pulled up a table in the middle of the theatre and been served some drinks and snacks, took everyone off-guard.

There they were, the three immortals, Nanette—still silenced—and Lyonette sitting at the table.

Vaulont, Bird, and Elosaith looked on, being caught up to speed by Ser Dalimont, Hethon, and Sammial. Jericha had appeared as well and was watching with narrowed eyes, but that was the group.

Higher up in the stands, Captain Todi was lurking with Earlia. Their job wasn’t to be direct muscle but to run like spit if it got nasty—and bring their teams.

Lyonette was alone against four determined individuals, but she was talking. Rhisveri sat back, lowering his aggressive finger.

“…So why didn’t you send it?”

Lyonette counted on her fingers, voice tired but precise.

“Several reasons. One. Ryoka Griffin’s location was unknown. By the time she reached Elvallian, the circumstances had changed. Two—she’s associated with the Forgotten Wing Company. Anything I send, even via Sea Courier, is in jeopardy of being intercepted by Niers Astoragon’s enemies. Three, from what everyone’s been shouting at me, this is a valuable seed…that I should send to Baleros? Is that where it’s meant to be or will it just have to come back this way? Last, and most importantly, there is a claim on it by a bunch of strangers that involves Nanette, Mrsha, Hethon, and Sammial. If I should send the wand off, what happens to them?”

Viscount Visophecin raised a finger for clarification as Rhisveri sucked on a blue fruit drink he seemed to enjoy. Taletevirion was having a non-alcoholic drink of milk, which he seemed to be regretting. He was shoveling down fries loaded up with relish, though. A glowering Ishkr was refilling the fries basket.

“To make sure we all understand: this would be the group of individuals that Lord Hethon made contact with? That saved your children during the Winter Solstice?”

“Correct.”

“You have not met them?”

Lyonette developed a brief scowl.

“Not unless you count threatening nature spells. Growing wooden hands, grass rearranging itself, sudden blooms of flowers—even nature-monsters. Like Snow Golems, but made out of mud and branches. Bird’s been shooting them down.”

“Shamblers? They’ve got the magic to make shamblers?”

Taletevirion was astonished; Rhisveri was also astounded and spluttered.

“Survivors of the Vale Forest? And you didn’t make contact? Are you mad?”

“They’re apparently dead, and they have been trying to threaten me into giving them the wand. As well as turning my own daughters against me!”

Lyonette snapped. Visophecin lifted a hand for quiet again; he did the intermediary role well.

“As a point of clarity, how dangerous are these shamblers? Has this been going on all month?”

Lyonette shrugged.

“Not very dangerous. I didn’t even know about it until Bird told me she’d been shooting them down all week. Bird, how dangerous are the shamblers?”

Bird looked up from ordering a chicken burger.

“They are very weak. Some of them die in the water before even getting to us. They are not very smart, either. I can kill them in three arrow shots without Skills most of the time.”

“Even so, summoning natural magical allies, remote control over deadwood…I’m forming an image of these beings. I happen to know almost every nature-related being in the world, you know. I knew an actual Dryad. You, girl. Give me a few more details and I can identify this species.”

Rhisveri sat up importantly, and Nanette beamed. She inhaled as he released the magic.

“They looked like—”

Taletevirion cut in, interrupting the two of them.

“Nevermind that. I know what they are. They’re not a species, and they’re dead. Don’t give the wand to them, but Lyonette has a point. They’re stubborn as tree roots, and the only reason they’re part of this is because he can see the Veltras Forest.”

The Unicorn pointed at Hethon, who jumped.

“M-me?”

Visophecin’s ears perked up as Taletevirion explained.

“It’s a Skill that House Veltras shared since…well, since they landed on this damn continent. They struck a deal with the Vale Forest. That stupid glade is all part of it. I thought it was dead. The last time I ran into those talking corpsewood sacs of sap, it was two millennia ago. They’re not going to be helpful. I’d say ignore them, but they’re persistent. And they can be a threat.”

“Precisely. That’s why I refused to let anyone visit them. I suspect they’re going to ask for the oldest thing in the world.”

Lyonette stabbed a fry on her plate like her mother would grind a cigar butt down. The others regarded her.

“What? Ask for you to plant the seed? Save a species? Is that so hard?”

Rhisveri was outraged. Lyonette’s glower overwhelmed his and made him sit back, to Visophecin’s surprise. The [Princess]’ voice was icy.

“No, Duke Rhisveri. The oldest thing. They will ask for help to plant the seed. A mission I am sympathetic with! Do you think I have a heart of stone? Don’t answer that, Nanette, or you, Sammial Veltras! They will beg for help, but they will charge my daughters to do it. They will send children on a dangerous, deadly adventure. That is the stuff of stories, and we have had too much of it in this inn. No more. I have been trying to keep us safe after the Solstice. I cannot allow it.”

The [Princess]’ face flushed with emotion, and she nearly stood. Visophecin was impressed; that did sound like a very fairytale thing to happen, and Taletevirion was giving Lyonette a grudging nod of approval. The [Princess]’ eyes glittered, then she sagged.

“Yet, it seems, despite my best efforts, despite all I tried, at least one of my daughters is in danger. So, here we are. I had hoped Ryoka would return or make her own arrangements. Now, it is your turn to convince me to either turn the wand over to you or meet with these ‘lords and ladies’ of the forest. Tell me why I should endanger this inn more.”

She put her head down, exhausted, and Visophecin replied.

“I can assure you, Miss Marquin, I would only interact with Miss Griffin after bearing the wand to her—”

The red-haired young woman spoke without raising her forehead from the table.

“Don’t lie to me, Viscount. I am well-versed in the consequences. I know my daughters. I know how this kind of story goes, even if Ryoka fancies herself the master of it. Hethon is connected to that forest. I promised Lord Tyrion I would protect his sons while they were in my inn. This will affect us. I will send the wand with you, and in six months, Ryoka Griffin will be fleeing as fifteen [Druid] circles and a Treant chase her out of the sea, and she will come here. Why should I allow it?”

He hesitated, wanting to deny this and finding he could not, in good conscience, do so. Nanette opened her mouth, and Rhisveri spoke grandly.

“I can give you a personal assurance that in light of this favor, I will guarantee the safety of The Wandering Inn and denizens inside from all harm. I do represent the will of Ailendamus, Miss Lyonette.”

He got no further, because Lyonette gave Rhisveri such a scornful look his cheeks went red. He tried to go on, but stuttered into silence.

“Lyonette…it’s the right thing to do. It’s the last member of a species. And we owe them a debt.”

Nanette was next. From the way the [Princess] grimaced, it was the core of an argument the young witch had trotted out many times. Lyonette replied briefly.

“Erin did the right thing, Nanette. You saw what that results in. Whatever gratitude I had towards these strangers is markedly lessened after their repeated attempts to steal from the inn. We’ve been over this before. I allowed you at this table because you were so determined.”

“You allowed? This is crucial business of the inn! I am here because a witch is needed, and here I am.”

Lyonette twitched, but she wasn’t about to argue with Nanette. Not right now in front of the others. Nanette, though, seemed to think this was her finest hour. The girl was drawing breath to argue, fierce, eyes flashing with wonder and conviction, and she was young.

The [Princess] was also young, but she saw the issue more clearly. Rhisveri was invested, even more emotional than Nanette, and Visophecin was not, but cared about this because it would help Ryoka, and thus him.

Each person here had a reason to want the wand—they were all united, actually. Good intentions. But one of them was just weary. And it was all about him.

The last Unicorn in the world rose to his feet, and Taletevirion spoke.

“It will not matter, you know. Even if you do succeed; that’s not what you should say, Nanette. A witch should know better.”

He addressed the girl directly, the first of the people here to really do that. Nanette hesitated, then flushed.

“Lord Taletevirion, I am here to help you in this regard! Lyonette has been slightly unreasonable, but I am here to represent the interests of other beings seeking the wand. And I am a witch.”

Rhisveri and Visophecin stared at her bare head, and Nanette hurriedly covered it with her yellow raincoat.

“A witch is a witch, even without a hat—”

“Of course she is.”

The Unicorn sounded like he’d heard that statement before. He knew witches. Nanette gazed at Taletevirion with shining eyes, filled with excitement and wonder; she knew his nature now. But she had forgotten something.

He knew [Witches]. So, the Unicorn placed his hands at the table. He ducked his head until locks of silver hair hung over his face.

“A witch has decided to interfere with events again. I know better than to question that.”

“Hah. A half-pint witch with less magic in her entire body than I have in one fingernail. I objected to her presence from the start, but this is Miss Lyonette’s place, and I don’t make a habit of harming children.”

Rhisveri objected, voice acidic. Nanette reddened and began to retort, and Taletevirion silenced Rhisveri with a glower. He turned that old, old gaze to Nanette and, again, ducked his head.

“Rhisveri. You must never have met a witch before. A real one.”

“I’ll have you know that I’ve met—”

“A real witch needs no hat. When she intercedes in an event, she does it because it matters. She chooses a side and places her neck on the line. She has a plan. I have known [Witches]. I have faced them. Young and old. Age doesn’t matter with them. When I was a child, my people found themselves against a young witch, for they had done a terrible thing. They chose the wrong side: she pulled the moon down and caused such devastation you couldn’t imagine. They called her the Witch of the Moon after that. Barsoijou. The [Witch] who pulled the tide onto land when she was thirteen years old. Because she took a side.”

Nanette opened her mouth in delight, nodding, as Visophecin and Lyonette exchanged glances. They sensed the other edge of the Unicorn’s words. Taletevirion went on, looking Nanette in her eyes.

“—Which means this young witch understands how unkind waking a Dryad seed is. She is prepared for the cost, to ward and raise that child all her life. She knows whom she serves, those old folk who have given her a charge, and has weighed their sins—and they have so many—against their virtues. So when she tells me to act, I, Taletevirion, will listen. Because when a Witch says it, the authority of her kind is in her actions and words. She knows her own will and has pondered her choice.”

The young witch froze. Sweat had begun to bead on her forehead at some point in the Unicorn’s slow speech. She tried to meet his gaze and failed.

“I’m—I want to be part of—”

She began, voice suddenly hoarse, and Taletevirion straightened. He stood there until she dared to raise her head, and he didn’t admonish her. He didn’t go any further—he just nodded.

“I know. But Miss Nanette would be better. If you are a witch—I expect better. Your mother didn’t always walk around as a witch. She was often just…Califor.”

Nanette’s face drained of color, then Lyonette did interrupt, out of protectiveness.

“Taletevirion. Nanette is part of this.”

“Of course she is.”

He turned away, and Lyonette reached for Nanette’s hand and squeezed it; the girl was white-faced and still. Then tears were in her eyes as she felt the cruel cut that the Unicorn had delivered.

Visophecin had to fight to resist the urge to applaud or smile. He saw now that the Unicorn wielded a subtle, kindly blade, in action and tongue, when he cared to.

As if the altercation had not happened, Taletevirion walked back, shaking his head.

“The beings Nanette is representing are…wrong. They will never achieve their real goal, which is bringing the greatwoods back. Even if they found a way to plant the seed—and I know how hard it is to even grow a great tree, let alone protect it—it will not save Dryads.”

He paced around the table as everyone listened to him. The normally-taciturn Unicorn’s tongue was loosened, and it was not drink that did it. It was probably being hit by a Halfling, the shock of the day, or just—a dam breaking.

That’s why he kept away from Teriarch except now and then, why he stayed away from interesting mortals with lives he cared about. He had not lived this long by being…

Entangled.

The roots were around Taletevirion, and he had evaded them so many times, but they were a good trap this time. Well, maybe he’d walked into it because he was tired. They used to trap Unicorns like that, back in the day. Some virgin woman—or lad, depending on the Unicorn—resting at a creek or under a tree. And sometimes the Unicorns fell for it, because they were stupid or trusting.

Or maybe they just lay down there because they were tired. Did the triumphant hunters ever realize that? At least one, laughing and reaching for a saw, had ended up with a Unicorn’s horn buried in their guts.

He had the floor. Nanette was protesting.

“But Taletevirion, if there really is a last Dryad seed, then—”

“Then what?”

He cut her off, gentle. The Unicorn stepped around the table and put a hand on Nanette’s shoulder.

“Then you’d have the last Dryad wake up? Be born into a world, a single tree, alone, without a forest to sing to her? To wake into a world where her people were burnt to ash and chopped down ages ago? I know you’re young, kid, but you claim to be a witch. Even the cruelest of witches would hesitate to do that.”

At first, Nanette didn’t get what Taletevirion meant. Then, her furious expression changed to one of uncertainty. Her face went pale. She hesitated, and he spoke, slashing into that opening with his gentle sword of words.

“If you think that’s kind—find a pair of kids, Rafaema and Cirediel. They visit this inn now and then. Tell them this story and ask them what they’d do. It will change nothing. No Great Forests will return. Even if this Dryad survives ten thousand years, what will she do? Replant the Vale Forest? Grow another World Tree? She cannot. Even if Oteslia’s stunted tree were to bloom tomorrow, the forests are gone. Lost!”

He stood and peered at Lyonette, and then his eyes swept to Rhisveri and Visophecin. Even they were younger, and the Unicorn pointed at them. They flinched.

“These two. They have their secrets, and I’ll keep them. I’ve kept so many, two more don’t matter. But they’re like me. The last of the last. They should know better. Maybe they’re just—young. But they get it, deep down, in the marrow of their souls. None of our peoples are coming back. It doesn’t matter what we try. We are beyond trying. That last struggle of a people on the verge of extinction, reproducing, keeping our old glories alive? That battle was lost before we were born. Never shall our peoples flourish. If you bring that Dryad back, she’ll be alone.”

He turned away, and his hands were in his pockets, back hunched. His voice kept speaking.

“It’s funny you think it could happen. It truly is. It’s because none of you were there. You think we could grow a Great Forest, but you cannot imagine it. The Vale Forest? You call that the ‘last’ magical forest of Izril. All I see are saplings after the land was cleared. A Great Forest? Oh, we had them. In the days when I was a little colt, there was no City of Growth. Oh, there was an Oteslia and they were mining the place that they would later call Salazsar, but neither was a Walled City. Back then, the Walled Cities meant something different. There were so many more, and those were grand and terrible and beautiful and flawed. Even back then.”

The ancient swordsmaster’s eyes opened wide, and he held a hand up, pointing south, where he could still feel the dead lands.

“Irvoryth, The City of the Branch. The lone Drake city allowed to build on the branch of a World Tree. Vaster than Oteslia by ten times. Tall trees? There were times when the mountains were of a height with them. They cast the land into shadow; they called those places the Autumngroves, because they were always out of sunlight. Rocs would nest in canopies so vast they were like chicks, and when leaves fell, they could crush entire towns. Those were the forests of old. They took tens of thousands of years to grow, and when they died, people said the same things you did. They said—‘someday, another World Tree will rise’. It never did. The last hundred Dryads spoke of planting the great forests again, carried seeds and hope. The last ten thought they could do it. The last one knew the truth.”

He’d thought he was the one, once. Tending to dead seeds in the earth, watering them, infusing the soil with magic for hundreds of years. Now, the Unicorn searched around, and they were all wide-eyed children. He nodded, again, to the Wyrm and Lucifen. And he thought of the two Dragon children who had been told they’d repopulate the world. Teriarch understood how monstrous that hope and charge was.

“We are the last. Each one of us. That’s why we came here, Lyonette. That’s why we care. Even me. I tried to ignore it. I tried to pretend I was done, but here I am.”

His braying laugh was self-deprecating. Taletevirion rubbed a hand down his face.

“We know it will never come back, but we can’t just walk into that lonely fog and vanish. None of us can. I have met so many of the last. As they passed into the twilight, they all told the same story I tell, that you two will tell. It’s different, each time, but the same story.”

He touched his chest, and his eyes found the witch, the [Princess], the Antinium, Humans, Vampire, and they flinched, for someday it would be their turn, no matter what they believed.

“The last only tell one tale: how we ended. If you want to add to that, one more verse, after Fithea sor Kerwenas’ long ballad, then just know what you’re doing.”

The Unicorn swore he could hear someone playing on those old strings; a Dryad with a harp only she could play, made out of strands of her own hair. He listened to the long drums made of vast acorns and realized that stupid Drake was awake and using her Skill again. But he didn’t care, so he sang.

 

“I am the last one of them all

I witnessed my species’ sorry fate

I have been waiting for that final fight, to end

My sad, eternal state.

 

I cannot escape this child

I’ll look away and still I see

The wyld halls, my numberless beloved homes

It’s all still, standing right there!”

 

 

He pointed a finger at something only he could see, and his eyes were filled with tears. He brushed at his face and tasted it. Ash on the wind. Glowing skies, like embers. And he still thought there was beauty in that horrific sight.

 

“Burning forests walking into sea

Falling branches, dusty skies

Voices vanish into gray

Still I say: 

I’ll see it again. ‘Someday’.”

 

 

 

When he turned, he saw the [Princess]’ eyes. And he remembered a young woman holding a sword, teeth clenched, a helmet askew on her face. When he regarded the Wyrm, he saw the sneering serpents gathered by the dozens in vainglorious pride.

In the Lucifen’s gaze a smiling coven gathered in dark nobility. He had known them all. He glanced at Vaulont and saw a court of laughing fangs, honorable as the ancient faces of the dead stewards he saw in Elosaith’s. Last of all, he looked at House Veltras and saw a lone man riding a Corusdeer, laughing as he leapt off the saddle. A gathering of [Witches], each with a different hat, meeting Dryads under an eclipse, in Nanette’s eyes.

None of them could hold his gaze. The Unicorn’s breath escaped his lungs, and he sang the last of it.

 

“Wandering the lonely saplings

Listening for that final call

I tell myself I’ve made my peace

And all the while I hear it all.”

 

Then he could go on no longer. It deserved a dozen more verses, a hundred, but that wouldn’t have been enough to encapsulate one millionth of his grief or all he had known.

The Unicorn stopped and rubbed his eyes on his sleeves.

“Damn song Skills.”

No one said a word. After a moment, Rhisveri opened his mouth to say something. He looked around, at Taletevirion, and closed his mouth.

It was little Sammial who broke the silence in the worst, or best, way possible. The boy slowly and deliberately put his hands together. He began to clap. Slowly, at first, then faster and louder. Then he stood on his feet, applauding the Unicorn.

The boy had tears in his eyes. When everyone gaped at him, horrified, perturbed, angry, he kept applauding defiantly.

“It was a good song. It deserves applause!”

Taletevirion smiled at that. Hethon and Jericha were trying to shush Sammial as he applauded, and it was a faint noise in that grand theatre. When the Unicorn looked up, he saw the Goblins and Antinium watching him.

Just like all the rest. Not a single one applauded. They stood there, and of them all, those two mortal species understood his song best. The applause continued, a boy clapping defiantly away, applauding grief without end. No one else said a word, and they listened with pained embarrassment until they heard another sound.

Hiccuping. Taletevirion turned his head again, and Sammial Veltras was now hiccuping. Red-faced as Hethon tried to cover his brother’s mouth. Until the older Veltras boy saw that Sammy was crying.

Tears were running down his cheeks, and his nose was running onto Hethon’s hand. The boy was sobbing, looking at Taletevirion, and clapping his hands until they hurt. Because he didn’t know what else to do.

So, as he had done so many times before, the warrior of the green lands, the swordmaster, and the healer, who ran into war to deliver death and life, did what he had always done. He extended a moment of magic and grace in a single action.

Taletevirion bowed to Sammial, like a performer on a stage. The boy stopped clapping and stood there, hiccuping faintly, and the Unicorn rose, his silver hair shining under the rain drenched skies. When he looked up, he saw no one in the stands. Not other immortals, nor guests of the inn. For a second, he and only he saw a room filled with companions. His kin, friends and enemies, acquaintances of distant years.

The watchers could only guess at what he saw. Taletevirion listened to that applause from an audience only he could see. He took another bow, quietly. Then he came back to reality and saw glistening eyes. Heard a sob from Nanette and sighed.

The Unicorn stood there, cursing himself for being a real bleeding-heart Teriarch, and saw someone else rise after a while.

Lyonette had tears in her eyes. She was wiping them away.

“I think—I think we need a recess. Just for a second. U-um. Taletevirion. Can I get you anything?”

“Nothing. You can’t drink away memories. Well, you can for a while, if you try hard enough. But not today.”

She nodded and then, impulsively, hugged him. Taletevirion let it happen, but hoped he wasn’t establishing a precedent. When Nanette tried to do the same, he groaned.

“No, your nose is running—no—come on. We’re trying to deal with the wand. Not you too, Bird.”

 

——

 

It took a while before all the hugging wound down, and Lyonette felt ashamed. Embarrassed by her long fight with Nanette. Taletevirion had put it in perspective in the way only he could.

Here they were, fighting over a living person. Lyonette had her fears, but oh, it was so much more painful than that. In his way, Hedault had realized it from the start and abandoned the wand at once. And Ryoka, that magnet for suffering, had picked it up.

Now, Lyonette had to make a call, and she saw why Mrsha had given her that advice. The girl was eating some broth in the inn when Lyonette came out of the theatre, blowing her nose.

“Mrsha? Are you okay?”

Yes, Mother. Did you make a decision on the wand?

“Not yet, but I’m a bit—where’s Rhisveri and Visophecin? I saw them come past here. I’m a bit overwhelmed. It was a lot to take in. The wand, the enormity of it. I feel rather foolish, Mrsha.”

Lyonette confessed to her daughter, and Mrsha held up another card, face somber.

I know. Taletevirion is good at singing. Who’d have thought, right?

She turned back to her broth, and Lyonette nodded, strode past Mrsha to where she had spotted the two immortals at the bar, and hesitated.

Wait a second. Mrsha hadn’t been in the theatre, even among the Goblins and Antinium. Had one told her that…? She eyed Ushar, and the Thronebearer gave Lyonette a quizzical shake of the head.

Another mystery. Mrsha’s gaunt expression was all-knowing, like Erin after she’d returned from the lands of the dead. Lyonette shivered—and went to find the two immortals, because they were easier than her daughter. Mrsha’s gaze followed her mother, and she smiled in relief for reasons only she could know.

A tiny bit of salvation for a girl who had seen it all failing.

 

——

 

“A Velrusk Claw, two fangs.”

“Give me a glass of Rxlvn, on the rocks.”

Viscount Visophecin and Duke Rhisveri ordered from the bar. After a few seconds, Ishkr handed Visophecin a double-strong shot of the purple Gnoll’s drink, and Rhisveri a form. The Duke read it, signed the form indicating he was aware of the risks, and was handed a tumbler of black liquid with a ball of ice in the center. They took a sip, and both shuddered.

The Lucifen had seldom drunk for the act of getting intoxicated. It was the appreciation of the taste of wine itself or the social implications that he liked.

Right now, though, he was thinking he needed some Rxlvn too.

No wonder the Unicorn drank. The two immortals had beheld in him the very thing Ailendamus was founded in, but so old and so jaded and—weary that even Fithea would have seemed bright-eyed and green compared to him. In Taletevirion, Visophecin beheld the end of everything, and it was terrifying.

“—You know, Ryoka Griffin told me there’s more Wyrms out there. One of them actually wanted to mate with me. Highly flattering. Distracting.”

After Ishkr had gone, Rhisveri cast a silence spell and spoke. Visophecin hadn’t heard that. He turned.

“Doesn’t that result in…?”

“My death? Of course. So I wasn’t tempted. But it reminded me of how I thought when I was younger. I thought—if there was just one, what if I did it? You know? Wyrms can repopulate massively more than Dragons. There’s a chance. It’s not the same as the one Ryoka introduced me to. But I know they’re out there. There’s a chance for my species beyond this world, at least. That’s something. There’s even other nature spirits, or so she said, I think. It makes you wonder what this is about.”

Visophecin nodded. He spoke quietly.

“You put the geas on her. But aside from that—the fact remains there is a child, unborn, in the seed. In a sense, it is a living being. The only question is when the seed grows or if it is destroyed.”

“A tree, alone. That’s cruel. They do talk to each other, you know, Visophecin. Even the ones who don’t have voices we can hear. They can be lonely. They can feel pain; it’s just not as we do. I don’t know. I’m just—Fithea would do it in a second, but that’s because she’d be there. At least, if there was a child, she’d have us.”

Us. That gathering of immortals in Ailendamus. Visophecin had never felt like they were a family, but he’d been part of House Shoel, which was like its own group. But now, in this moment…he stared into his cup.

“Less of us. I have brought us to war, and this era is changing.”

“It wasn’t your fault. You made the first deal in eras, and you didn’t know the rules.”

“I bear every responsibility.”

Rhisveri tilted his glass back and then slid it over the counter. Ishkr teleported behind the bar, checked the empty cup, and stared at the Duke, but the Wyrm took no notice. He spoke, staring ahead.

“—Then I am sorry for you, Visophecin. Let me say that. I don’t want to imagine how that feels.”

“Thank you. As I am sorry for you.”

The Wyrm’s face was dead blank, and Ishkr cautiously offered him a second glass. He took a deep gulp of it and spoke, voice quivering with emotions he was trying to press flat.

“…I let her down. If she took that trap of an invitation, it was my fault for not giving her something to believe in. Gilaw, Menorkel. Why would she—?”

The two stopped talking as someone pushed against the privacy bubble. Rhisveri lifted a finger, and they turned.

Lyonette sat down, adjusting her outfit. She leaned over the bar.

“Ishkr, a finger of scotch.”

He slid one over, and they watched as she took the shot down in one go. Then again, Visophecin had it on good authority that House Marquin had been born with sponges for livers. Lyonette gestured, and Ishkr poured her one…two…three fingers. Then added some ice.

She let the cup rest in her hand as he departed. Lyonette stared ahead.

“Gentlemen, may I be honest with you?”

“Mm.”

Both nodded, Rhisveri silently, Visophecin with a slight sound of affirmation. Lyonette turned to them.

“I don’t know who you are or what it means for Ailendamus. I can guess, but frankly, I suspect it’s either known or guessed at. Nor do I honestly care. Your…natures might not be the most scandalous thing hidden in Terandrian royal closets.”

That was true. Visophecin inclined his head, though he hadn’t ruled memory-altering spells out. However, Lyonette went on, face straight. She sipped from her cup.

“I am not blind to what’s going on, and frankly, after Taletevirion’s…convincing soliloquy, I feel impelled to act. I would take your help, as it seems we are aligned. I may even welcome you as guests to the inn on a permanent basis. We do need them, and they are called upon.”

Her eyes alighted on each man’s face a second, and it was their turn to shiver before a mortal gaze, a novelty in their lifetimes. Lyonette continued.

“—But the problem is that you are like Demsleth or Teriarch. You are like Taletevirion or many others that have visited the inn, mortal and otherwise. I cannot have you come to my inn and tell me what to do, that you know better, that I should listen and be silent. We must be equals. If we can be equals, then I believe this can all be settled equitably, whatever differences we may have. What say you to that, gentlemen? Can it be done?”

She looked from face to face, seeking the first step in the diplomatic process. Visophecin, a master of it, would have lied in a heartbeat, even if he didn’t believe it. But he was watching the real problem: Duke Rhisveri.

Rhisveri, the Wyrm. Rhisveri, a being of true might and magic, but also, ego. You couldn’t just blame it on him being a Wyrm. He had acknowledged so few mortals, and two of them were dead.

Now came Lyonette, wanting the same respect as Great Knight Eclizza or General Dioname. This was either the best or worst moment for this conversation. Rhisveri took another gulp of his drink, turned, and met Lyonette’s eyes.

Visophecin saw Lyonette’s aura come up like a guard; she wavered, because Rhisveri was not hiding his true nature, and he often did, even as the Duke. Her chair slid back slightly as she resisted the pressure on her. His voice was cold, not overly arrogant, but direct. He spoke the words at her like his acid, not spat, but just spoke, burning holes through any shield of arrogance you might have.

“Lyonette du Marquin. I knew your namesake. I met her after a battle had ended, in the rain, as if it were trying to wash away the poison fouling the entire world. Before they called her ‘the Radiant’, she was just Marquin. A warrior holding a sword standing on top of an Adult Creler. She was fifteen years old.”

Lyonette’s eyes widened fractionally, and Visophecin sat up. He knew Rhisveri was that old. But had he really…?

Rhisveri spoke, relating a memory in rare confidence, as Ishkr listened with one long ear with the other two at the bar.

“No one called her a heroine, much less a [Queen]. She was neither, but when I met her eyes and she asked me and so many others to follow her, I thought she was royalty. And it turned out I was right; she was cut from the same cloth as the Hundred Heroes. I have held every single Marquin to her standard. And your lineage has never matched up to her boots. So. Are we equals?”

He didn’t look away, didn’t blink. Lyonette du Marquin drained her cup down to the dregs and exhaled. She stared into her glass, then dipped two fingers into the liquid and flicked it at Rhisveri.

He blinked and recoiled, actually dodging the droplets by twisting halfway out of his chair. When he sat forwards again, he seemed curious, not offended. Rhisveri waited, and Lyonette spoke with a hint of a smile.

“There, now. Are you finally looking at me?”

The Wyrm opened his mouth, and Lyonette pointed at her face.

“I know we rest in Marquin’s shadow. I know what House Marquin looks like to you, and our Eternal Throne, Rhisveri. I’m not sitting upon my name, nor the throne. Look at me. I can be no Marquin slaying Crelers with my sword and single breast.”

Some of his drink came out of Visophecin’s nose for the first time in his life. He coughed as Ishkr handed him a napkin, and Rhisveri laughed, despite himself. Lyonette went on, grinning.

“But I can be Lyonette. Lyonette du Marquin, whom you lost a fortune to. You can either admit you lost that night to an inferior or an equal. I know which I’d choose to believe. If that’s too much, too humbling for you—and it was for me when I first came to this inn—I can wait.”

Her eyes twinkled, and she smiled at Rhisveri, chin resting in one hand.

“For you’ve met Ryoka Griffin, Duke Rhisveri. You’ve met me. But you have yet to run into Erin Solstice. We can be equals, if you feel it’s possible.”

She held that gaze as Rhisveri’s eyes flickered.

“I have met her, in fact.”

“Oh? And was she impressive, like Marquin the Radiant?”

The Wyrm stared at an image only he could see, which he had never told anyone else of. A smiling ghost, a fleeing Wind Runner, and the Dragonlords of ancient days landing around him. His own mother speaking to him from the great beyond.

“—It wasn’t bad.”

He had to admit. Eventually, Rhisveri drained his cup and stood.

“Very well. A truce. I thought we hashed it out last time quite equitably.”

“So did I, but it’s always good to make sure we’re on the same page. Now, are we ready?”

Lyonette stood up briskly, and Visophecin glanced at Rhisveri; the Duke tossed coins onto the bar, exact change for the drinks, plus a four silver tip. Visophecin rose, and they turned to Lyonette.

“To do…what, exactly?”

The [Princess] came up with a loaded crossbow. The Phoenixfire Bolt was in the trigger, and both of them nearly jumped behind each other. Lyonette raised the crossbow and rolled her eyes.

“Oh, please. It has a magical safety, and the bolt doesn’t even fall out if I do this.”

She shook the hand crossbow upside-down, and Visophecin doubled his magical barriers. Lyonette turned.

“Let’s go pay the Lords and Ladies of the Veltras Forest a visit. Are you coming?”

She jerked her head at them, and the two immortals glanced at each other. Then they saw Vaulont, Bird, Elosaith, Todi, Ishkr, and Ser Dalimont were waiting. Peggy and Rosencrantz were also there; Lyonette walked into line.

“Miss Jericha, if you wish to bring Hethon or Sammial, beware of the consequences. Calescent, you stay with Elia, Ushar, and Colfa. Gemhammer will be security while I’m gone. Captain Todi, you’re with me. Mrsha, I think it’s best if you stay behind. How do you feel about me going?”

The Gnoll girl sat in her chair as Taletevirion waved the two immortals over. She held up a card.

Bring Nanette with you, Mom.

Lyonette pursed her lips, but she nodded.

“If she agrees that I need to be the principal negotiator—agreed.”

“Uh—I’m ready!”

Nanette checked her bag of holding, flustered, then rushed into place. Jericha hesitated, but Hethon Veltras stepped forwards, face grave.

“It’s my debt. Sammy, you stay here.”

Even Sammial Veltras, who was the most likely to object, just sat at a table with Mrsha. When Jericha and Hethon peered at him, the boy explained.

“I’m not going with him.”

He meant the Duke.

“Besides, I don’t like singing. I’m already sad from the first song.”

The small army eyed one another, and Lyonette exhaled.

“Then we go. Come on—”

She jerked her head towards the door, and everyone followed her out of it as she cradled the hand-crossbow in her hands. Ushar clenched her hands together, but Mrsha patted her arm reassuringly. The door swung shut, and then there was silence.

…After a minute, Lyonette came stomping back into the inn with Dalimont.

“I forgot the wand. One second—”

She vanished into the [Garden of Sanctuary], emerging moments later as Apista buzzed lazily over their heads and dropped a wand into Lyonette’s open palm. Then, Mrsha felt the ground shifting outside and gazed out the window.

Despite the rain, despite the Floodplains and the relatively barren High Passes…there was a treeline in the distance, wet by the downpour. Lyonette and her company went striding towards it, not over the bridges, but wet grass that seemed to have always been there.

Away, into a place only the Unicorn remembered. Mrsha sat back and exhaled.

She’d done all she could. She closed her eyes, and then, after a moment, got up.

The Wandering Inn was returning, if not to normal, then to a post-Solstice event condition. The staff were cleaning up, guests were wandering around, asking what had happened, if the singing was over, and why a [Caretaker] was throwing ten kinds of hell in Liscor.

Ishkr sprang into action as Elia and Captain Earlia helped restore order, mostly by speaking in a calm, patient voice and by being armed. However, the person in charge of the inn with Lyonette gone was Dame Ushar.

 

——

 

Ushar had not taken her eyes off Mrsha. In fact, she would not. She would have eyes on Mrsha if she had to stay in the girl’s room and stay awake through the night. She would find out what had caused the girl to waste away and what Mrsha was endangering herself with.

But the key to that was allowing Mrsha to believe Ushar wasn’t constantly dogging her steps. The girl glanced at Ushar, calm, and the Thronebearer glanced towards the door where Ebente’s voice was actually audible from the portal room.

And there was no Dalimont, let alone Sest or Lormel. How was she to do anything? She’d have to rely on Ishkr and the staff and focus on the only thing that mattered—

“Dame Knight, we have marked six Pallassians. Shall we monitor them or do you have dispensations for us?”

Someone whispered to Ushar, and the Thronebearer turned. A young woman stood there in an apron, looking for all the world like a wide-eyed village girl. She had an earnest face and plainish features.

Queen Ielane liked people who could pass as earnest and sincere. Failing that, they should be bluff and simple. Ushar glanced around, and several members of staff were already listening respectfully to Peggy or Rosencrantz.

Oh, they were good. Some seemed visibly terrified of the Goblins or Antinium, but were also just eager enough to want to work here. And the Goblins were trying to be reassuring…Ushar felt a tightness in her chest loosen.

“Levels?”

“Above 30. Three. The rest have passed muster.”

“Put yourself on Mrsha. You are not to let her go nor interfere unless you see her in direct danger. I will get you access to the [Garden of Sanctuary]. Mark the infiltrators and report anyone who leaves the common room. I need a list of competencies—”

“In your bag of holding, Dame Knight.”

The Thronebearer slapped a hand to her bag of holding. Oh my, they were good. She’d have to watch for Queen Ielane’s servants, who would do her will and report to her, but for now, Ushar used the reinforcements as pretext to head out to handle Miss Ebente. She knew Mrsha was watching her; this would lower Mrsha’s guard.

They would uncover what was happening, and swiftly.

 

——

 

Mrsha said nothing as she counted how many Calanferian [Spies] were in this reality. She nodded to herself and wrote a note.

Tall dude with the sniffy nose isn’t trustworthy. He reports to Rhir via dead drops every Beithday. Tell Queen Ielane that.

She folded the paper up and handed it to the mousey-haired girl when the girl stood there, stuttering, asking what she should do.

Mrsha was rewarded with just a hint of a blank face before the girl thanked her and rushed off to Ishkr. Her stumbling might have actually been real.

The [Survivor] gave the [Spy] a wan smile. In this moment, in this time…Mrsha knew more than anyone in the inn. She had Erin’s knowledge and more.

Or rather, the real Mrsha did. This Mrsha hadn’t spoken to the [Innkeeper] on the raft. But she had been…in the [Palace of Fates]. What did they think she’d done with her time? All she’d had was time. Time to sit, conserve energy, and look through doors. At what might be. What could be.

If only I could leave. She met the eyes of the mousey-haired girl, and the child’s smile unnerved the Calanferian agent. Then Mrsha turned and got up, weary. She walked across the common room of the inn to join someone at the far end, next to the kitchen.

Sammial Veltras was already at the bar. The boy solemnly put down the menu and regarded Sticks as the Goblin polished a mug.

All of them were on high chairs.

“I want a milkshake. Mint.”

Give me a glass of milk. Hot. Whipped cream on top.

Sticks nodded, hopped off the chair, and sidled off. When they got their drinks, Mrsha and Sammy solemnly clinked glasses. They took a deep gulp, wiped their mouths, and Sammial spoke.

“Unicorns are really depressing.”

Mrsha nodded in agreement. They took another sip, and Sammial spoke, with a sidelong look at Mrsha.

“You look sadder than him right now. Are you doing something bad?”

Root Mrsha sat there, and she closed her eyes. Then she smiled, and raised her glass to her own invisible audience.

I’m doing the only thing that I can. The only thing that’s ever mattered. What I’ve been waiting for. My turn.

Sammial digested that. After a moment, he reached out and clung to Mrsha’s paw.

“Well—don’t go anywhere, okay? I like you. And I don’t have many friends.”

The girl looked into the boy’s eyes. She smiled and nodded. Then she closed her eyes and wondered what came next. For her mother. For them all.

She waited.

 

 

 

 

Author’s Note:

Two things about this chapter you wouldn’t know. First, I tried to write the actual meeting with this chapter, but I just…ran out of time. Between this and the big Tuesday chapter, I needed a break, and I’ll take it and finish the interlude afterwards.

That’s good for editing and not bashing my head against a wall, but I feel bad about it. But as you can see—this chapter came out interesting. I had a drink before writing it—because I felt like I needed one to even make the attempt.

This was not how I initially planned the chapter, with music. But when it popped into my head, it was like the Two Rats chapter. Sometimes you try things and if it fails, it fails. But the attempt is worth it.

With that said, I’m not good at writing lyrics or music. I don’t play an instrument, and I don’t have a background in music; I often invoke Tolkein because he was a real threat who could do it all. Poetry, prose, and lyrics that could be adapted into actual songs.

My method is to do my best, working with what I’ve got, and to ask for help…below, you’ll find a list of songs so you can reference what some of the lyrics might have sounded like and three super-readers who stepped up to edit this chapter with me.

All in less than a week. They worked fast, and I can’t state how nice it is to talk to readers who’re knowledgeable about things I want to write in the story.

Which reminds me…I once asked a [Gardener]-[Reader] about plant details for an Oteslian chapter, and I never wrote the things in that I planned. I think I cut short Lyonette’s visit to Oteslia, so we never got into the different kinds of plants and magical interactions. Which I feel bad about. If that’s you, I apologize, but I’ll try to write it in someday!

Chapters where I collaborate with people, like the smithing chapter or our [Chemist] chapter with Rhaldon, are often higher-quality because I have to work harder. Anyways, this one’s slightly insane, but I hope it fits. It doesn’t, with the last chapters, and it does, hopefully, at the same time.

Anyways, give me a break for the month, and I’ll be back full of energy to continue writing. I hope you’ll find something to entertain yourselves with while you wait…

See you next chapter.

 

 

Song List:

A huge credit to Dyskantor, Pierre, and TheBlondeOwl for helping me adapt the lyrics into something actually rhythmic and on-key! The following songs aren’t one-to-one, but have the melody or pacing I used for the characters.

 

Elia + Calescent — I Wonder (Kanye West)

Valeterisa — They Both Reached For The Gun (Chicago)

Ishkr + Sticks — The Other Side (Greatest Showman)

Bird — I am Cow (Arrogant Worms)

Lyonette to Mrsha — Come Little Children (Hocus Pocus)

Ebente –– The Plagues (Prince of Egypt)

Trio Immortals — Let Us Adore You (Steven Universe)

Lyonette 1st — Drift Away (Steven Universe)

Lyonette 2nd — Other Friends (Steven Universe)

Lyonette 3rd — Steven Universe Future Opening

Taletevirion — Evermore (Beauty and the Beast)

 

I don’t know any of these other songs aside from The Wiz but they helped upgrade the ‘songless’ verses too. Also, check below for a recording of ‘Evermore’ that Pierre did!

 

Lyonette’s Initial Skill Reaction — Paradise (What About Us?), by Within Temptation.

Colfa 1st — Make Me Wanna Die (The Pretty Reckless)

Lyonette Dialogue — Don’t Nobody Bring Me No Bad News (The Wiz)

Colfa 2nd — Taking Care of Business (Bachman-Turner Overdrive)

 

 

Rulers of Chandrar by Bobo Plushie! (Amazing work! I’d save this for a Fetohep chapter but…that might take a while.)

Twitter: https://twitter.com/Bobo_Snofo

Ko-Fi: https://ko-fi.com/boboplushie

 

Evermore by Pierre!

 

Lyonette, Hamster Fights, Silvenia, and more by Avi!

 

Alternate Mrshas by Fiore! (I believe the term is ‘Warcoat Mrsha’?)

Ko-Fi: https://ko-fi.com/fiorepandaphen

Twitter: https://x.com/fiorephenomenon

 

 

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