(I am on my monthly break until October 31st! It might not be explicitly a Halloween chapter. Also I’ve gotta buy more candy for those darn kids. —pirateaba)

Benoix was no Talenqual. It was neither as large nor had a company of even moderate renown to hold it. Nor did it have a Fraerling city nearby and the potential to play into the war of the Great Companies.

This was a good thing for Benoix. It was allowed to be smaller and, still, interesting.

Certainly, once you had won clear of the deep jungle to find one of the closest port-cities to the Illaxian Jungle—notable for stretching for over five hundred unbroken miles southwards along the eastern coast of Baleros along with the presence of the Synectic Maze—this glimpse of civilization would feel like a mirage.

Benoix had cleared the encroaching trees and vegetation for a thousand feet from the trade road that stretched northwards. The city? Stone walls. Buildings made of barnacle-encrusted wood, so old that generations of Lizardfolk had lived and died within the walls.

More stone than Talenqual had been. That city of sprawling Lizardfolk had been four times bigger, but consequently, far more wooden. The walls not made of stones mortared into place, and the streets dirt instead of Benoix’s stone. Paradoxically to the eye, richer.

Any thriving Lizardfolk city pushed at the seams. Benoix was not nearly as well-placed as Talenqual. It was not growing; when Lizardfolk or Nagas sought ambition, fortune, a change in their status, they did not embark on enterprise here.

They just left. By sea or land. So Benoix was a stable population of sixty-eight thousand—small as Lizardfolk cities went. Its main exports were sea catches, seaweed especially, and bananas. It had several plantations that the small army had marched through and ransacked.

This was upsetting to the local Naga council, but within ten minutes, they had been assured that they would be compensated. On top of the handsome fee for lodging, healers, transport for the dead…

Discretion.

Benoix had a standing army instead of a mercenary company. Barely two thousand strong, though they could call on the militia and swell that number mightily if the enemy came calling. As they watched the mostly-Human procession coming their way, there was a thought.

Could they capture them instead? Everyone knew these were Terandrians. And a royal.

Survivors of the calamitous battle at sea. This lot had, if rumor served, shipwrecked on the coast south of here, then marched north through the jungles.

Already a feat that would gain you the sympathy of any actual native who knew how perilous and hard that trek was. For a bunch of thin-skinned Terandrians? Almost made you feel bad for them.

But they had also, in fleeing Dullahan and Lizardfolk armies from two of the Great Companies, Iron Vanguard and Jungle Tails, gone to the worst place ever.

The Synectic Maze. A death-zone. A kind of dungeon that even Named-ranks avoided. They had gone in and survived. Then fought their way clear of a Jungle Tails army and marched for ages to get here.

Very impressive. Very sympathetic, if you had any for those Terandrians who’d set out to claim the New Lands. It also meant they were definitely weary; malnourished, if how fast they’d stripped that banana plantation was any indication; and depleted in numbers.

The Calanferians didn’t really shine with the light of the Eternal Throne. More like the mud and grime of weeks in the jungle over chafed skin, bug bites, and blisters. They had come in a giant Citadel-class ship, but there were barely a few thousand of them, sailors, soldiers, and colonists. Terrible, what a tragedy.

How much were they worth as ransoms?

Benoix’s [Commander], a Lamia, was making that calculation atop Harbor Precipice, which hung over the bay proper. The city was in fact one giant cliff; the harbor below was a miniature lake where water rushed into the bay. A [Geomancer] had made this city ages ago, allowing Lizardfolk to build on the stone and have ample space for fishing and trade with the sea below.

The Lamia trained his spyglass on the army marching his way. Sure, there’d be more Terandrians in a bit, but if they took this group hostage, a dagger at the throat of the [Princess] or whatever was worth a lot of gold. It wasn’t personal; she had no relationship with any Great Company. It was just survival in Baleros.

Two thoughts made the Lamia hesitate. He swept his spyglass over the people marching towards the city. They were, oddly, in formation.

“They’re not soldiers, Commander. Some are; I can see their armor, but the rest look like irregulars. But they’re marching in close to parade formation. What, are they trying to look like they’re a real army?”

“Good lines for amateurs if they weren’t all soldiers before. It makes no sense; they’re not going to train that while they’re desperate to get out of the jungle. If it were a feint, I’d screen their front with those [Knights] and [Soldiers] to make it appear like they’re more organized. Those civilians…they’re armed.”

The Lamia saw weapons and armor on the Calanferians. Hodgepodge and not readied; just strapped to shoulders, hanging off them as they walked. It made him think of village militias who’d survived a warzone. The Medusa peering at the group murmured.

“They survived the Synectic Maze.”

“Yeah. I don’t think we want to know how they levelled. Still…”

He was thinking, using all of the brainpower that his specific evolution afforded him. The Lamia spoke.

“The Council’s gotten information requests from multiple Great Companies. Their tails are all knotted up about it. Well, two requests. Jungle Tails wants to know everything.”

“Ergh. Are we joining them? We’re on the wrong side of the continent…”

“Doesn’t hurt to play nice. The other one was the Iron Vanguard. We told them to eat their armor.”

“Hah! I heard Jungle Tails spanked them and sent them packing. There’s something. They don’t have an army near us, right?”

A moment of worry; the Lamia shrugged.

“Not landed. Might be trouble from the sea, but we’re independent. I think that’s the best move. The last Great Company interested in this lot is Forgotten Wing.”

“You said we had two information requests—”

“Last one wasn’t a request. The Titan just said to leave ‘em be. Or he’ll toss a Tier 5 artillery spell into our town. Too busy for War Walkers, he said.”

The Medusa shivered as she curled up.

“Nagas. So why are we thinking of taking them on!?”

“[Princesses] are worth a lot of money. The Titan’s busy. A couple of Tier 5 spells? Just get the ransom to rebuild all the buildings and put us ahead.”

Balerosian logic. Everyone knew it, from the Titan on down. It wasn’t personal like other continents. You didn’t let opportunity like this pass you by without at least thinking…but the Titan knew that.

He was a smart guy. The Lamia grunted as his spyglass swept over the army, and he made up his mind.

“Think I saw that [Princess]. They’ve got [Knights] on her, or a body double. Smart. Tell the army to stand down. Disband the militia, throw the doors open, yadda yadda.”

The Medusa peered across the army.

“That fast?”

“Found a third reason we’re not engaging.”

“What’s the third r—Temples!”

The Lamia lowered his spyglass. Even from a distance, he could see Reason #3. The beleaguered Calanfarians were clearing the jungle, still emerging from the hellish terrain that made each step a fight to push through thorns, vines, and clouds of biting gnats. It must have been a raiding group which had looted the banana plantations.

Hungry enough to grab food even within sight of the city. But the main body was just fighting out of the trees. He’d wondered how they’d made such good time.

‘Good time’ meaning they’d taken probably a month to go barely a hundred miles. In the Illaxian Jungle? For non-natives? That was insanely good. He’d put it down to marching Skills, perhaps a native guide, luck, and counterlevelling.

All these things were probably true, but another reason was likely the glowing magical spells clearing the undergrowth ahead of the Calanferians. Bright little orbs of red, deceptively small, that expanded into flashes of light. Smoke, dust…

[Fireballs]. Someone was blowing the undergrowth to pieces ahead of the Calanferians. Even now, the [Fireballs] kept flying. The Lamia [Commander] shook his head.

“That’s not even a [Mage] division. That’s one damn [Mage].”

They were still throwing [Fireballs] as the Calanferians cleared the trees. Just shooting them backwards into the jungle. He shuddered.

Fighting high-levels sucked. The rule was you took a hundred for every high-level combatant if they were ten levels higher than you. A thousand if they were nastier. Then you let someone else fight that battle because you weren’t going to survive it if you were the enemy commander.

Benoix would stay poor, and he’d stay a low-level [Commander]. What a pity.

It beat being Talenqual.

——

They made it to Benoix without incident.

Yes, without incident.

If you wanted to call losing over a hundred people to infected wounds after the Synectic Maze, illness from bug bites, attacks from monsters ‘without incident’.

Compared to what they’d been through, it had been…quiet.

No more armies. No more great incidents.

Jungle Tails hadn’t come back for round two after their defeat. They’d just fallen back, let the Calanferian army escape northwards, picked up their dead, counted their losses, and declined to re-engage.

Mercenary logic. They’d seen the survivors of the Synectic Maze, and they didn’t want to pay the cost of fighting them.

Funny thing—the Iron Vanguard had also vanished. No other armies had come calling.

It was almost like there weren’t that many damn roving mercenary groups in a jungle where no one lived. Almost like the Dullahans, for all their ire, didn’t want to try a jungle landing and campaign after their own losses.

If there were other groups in the jungle, they’d been raiders, villages—no one keen on taking on several thousand Humans. Let alone how they’d made their way through the jungle.

[Fireball] solved a lot of problems. Tree? [Fireball]. Insect swarm? [Fireball]. Animals? [Fireball]. Free charred meat.

Even the city didn’t want a fight. Which of course meant they were now in the position of fearing these visitors had the upper hand. They might easily take the city hostage…

Well, that was where Calanferian diplomacy came in.

——

Benoix did not throw open the gates for every soldier and colonist as they marched towards the walls. But they did have tents set up and a lot of people outside the gates.

“Esteemed guests! Hello, welcome! Calanfer has already been in contact with us. We have rooms for your officers, [Healers], food—and I understand a few ships of yours are coming this way. The rest of you may camp outside our city, and we have provisions aplenty, even water and heating spells.”

It was a rather clever suggestion to put Benoix at ease. Inviting the entire army within the walls would have been disastrous, but this was far more amenable. The colonists could enter the city in rotations, and despite being barred from access, most of the weary Humans didn’t seem to care; half were setting up their own ragged tents or just heading for the baths, food—or lying down on the spot. The Naga was prepared for some objections or comments, but the weary group was so quiet he flicked a tongue out and coughed.

“We have plenty of amenities we are willing to offer, and the costs have already been taken care of. Just say the word if you need more. Can we…get you anything?”

“A [Time Travel] spell?”

The Naga slithering next to a weary-looking [Lord] laughed. Hundredlord Cortese did not. He strode ahead, limping a bit—his visible flesh was riddled with mosquito bites. He still had his dueling sword, visible magic armor, but his underclothes, his entire bearing, seemed worn down.

Like everyone else. The overly-proud, confident look of a man stalking his prey, a lion amongst equals, was gone. But more than that? He just appeared lost. Lost.

The Guilty Man.

The Nagas did not know him by that name. He introduced himself as Hundredlord Cortese of Kaaz, a powerful nobleman, and they treated him as such. But he would forever be The Guilty Man in their memories of the Synectic Maze. Purple, uncertain, borne down by his sins. A blade held aloft in trembling grip.

They walked with him, even now. Not his people; there hadn’t been many Kaazians aboard The Throne’s Will when it ran aground. Yet his people were with him.

The Guilty Man’s…followers. The people who had borne his color, had known him, walked with Hundredlord Cortese. In formation—they unnerved the Lizardfolk who didn’t understand why they stood together, moved together. They listened to Cortese. When he elected to get a [Healer] to check up on him and anyone in need of it, they all walked with him.

It was the same for the others. A few were more…independent.

Captain Ennerev, for instance, looked like he’d aged a decade. He hobbled towards the Council, favoring his good leg; he’d lost the other. In true [Sailor]’s fashion, he’d had a replacement peg leg made.

“I’m Captain Ennerev of Calanfer, by way of bein’ one of the leaders here. How does the Eternal Throne know we’re here? We kept out of contact to avoid pursuers…”

The others slowed to listen as the Naga chuckled.

“Er, hard to miss you lot coming north, Captain. Benoix is the only city you’d reach if you were hugging the coast. Our [Hunters] noticed wildlife fleeing you a week back; it was probably then.”

“Ah. Then the Eternal Throne has protected us.”

“Yep, they’ve arranged everything. You people are really good at diplomacy, you know that? Hence the warm welcome! Believe me, we’d have taken you lot for [Mercenaries] and given you the old Balerosian welcome until we got a good look at you. Come in, let’s get you a seat. And some cream for those bug bites. Dead gods, you look horrible!”

The Captain nodded. But he half-turned even as his knees buckled at the sight of a chair.

“First, Her Highness of Calanfer. Seraph—Your Highness?”

He caught himself as the vagaries of civilization returned to him. But the woman who walked forwards didn’t seem to even notice. She was like the others, footsore, yet less bug-bitten and worn.

It was that damn circlet. It kept the bugs off her, mostly, and even some of the rain and rot. Her servants were probably why her wardrobe was at all feasible. She was still visibly exhausted, but she was stumbling forwards.

“We should rest. We should all rest…but first, Ser Solstice. Markus…”

Captain Ennerev tugged down the cap over his head. The Nagas didn’t understand until they glanced back and saw the last figure. He stood at the back of the procession, bearing a white shroud in his arms. The Nagas closed their mouths.

“Oh. That. Yes, there’s already, um, a ship.”

Princess Seraphel, no, The Weeping Princess turned. Like Cortese, she had her own followers, though she was only half…the other woman who stood next to her whispered.

“How?”

“Ser Thilowen.”

A [Knight] stepped forwards.

The Grim Knight. He bowed.

“I have informed Their Majesties of the particulars of our needs. I thought, given the circumstances…”

“Yes, yes. Go. Tell Rabbiteater…I see.”

Seraphel’s head hung, and she breathed in and out. Then she turned.

“We must rest. But after we—we deliver the remains—we had to leave so many behind.”

She might have wept, but she was too tired to. They had needed every drop of water on their trek. So the [Princess] just closed her eyes, swaying, until someone steadied her.

Not her maidservants. Mariel and Beacle were as worn as their mistress, but they had leafy fans they were used to smacking mosquitos with. They hit one now, slapping Dame Neranthei across the cheek.

She didn’t even blink, just wiped the bug guts away. Better a blow from the fans than sickness or the damn bites. No, the woman who caught Seraphel was—

A nobody. The council of Benoix were clearly trying to figure out who she was. She was neither a handmaiden nor a Thronebearer. Nor even the undead duo, Strategist Veine and Clatterface, who stood next to Seraphel, eternal bodyguards.

This woman had rougher clothing, no royal training or visible magic about her. She did have a spear she had been using as a walking stick, and some looted leather armor, but she was…what?

“Thank you, Gilthisa.”

Seraphel thanked the woman, and Gilthisa, a [Commoner], nodded.

“Seraphel, does this mean we’re going home? Or to the New Lands?”

She murmured—then saw the Nagas eying her and flushed.

“I meant Your Highness—”

The [Princess] half-turned to the woman who had also been The Weeping Princess. Theirs was an odd case, because Seraphel had vanished, but it meant that two women were defined by that painful blue, a shower of tears.

“Even now, you may call me Seraphel. You must. It is an order, Gilthisa. I couldn’t bear it if we were to become strangers just because of formalities. Not you, a friend.”

They smiled at each other, a pair who had not even known one another before landing in Baleros, never exchanged a word. Gilthisa shook with trepidation as she glanced around; she was a nervous woman. Wracked with her own guilt and regrets. She had killed her husband in self-defense. Been a pariah—

Her life’s story was one everyone knew. Any one of the Calanferians could have told you elements of her life by heart. Not all of it. Just the most painful ones.

The reasons she wept.

Each leader to their own company.

Ser Thilowen, filled with discipline. Cortese, lingering, glancing back at the silent figure standing there with his brother in his arms, guilt on his back. The Weeping Princesses two, too tired to cry. They just hugged each other as Seraphel whispered.

“To the ship, then. He won’t put his brother down until he’s sent back home.”

And—the last of them watched it all. Even he, the [Knight], had his own followers, though they stayed back out of respect for his grief.

The Lonely Warrior.

No longer alone, for countless people knew him; if not what lay behind his helmet, then his strength, his loss, his force of will. He walked forwards at last, past the others.

A collective. Individuals slowly waking from the Synectic Maze’s madness. Some who fought to become their own people again, like the [Summoner], Revi, who stood with Vofea, Ksmvr, adventurers of their own names and natures.

Others who continued to follow, even if they no longer shared thoughts. Who found meaning in being a follower of The Guilty Man, like a pair of [Archers], a weary [Storm Sailor], and so on. Calanferian [Soldiers] and would-be colonists who had fought and levelled and now didn’t seem to know if they were truly going home or if this was just a dream.

And one other.

The Angry Woman stood alone. Alone, of all the others. Her arms were still covered by the ruined magical clothing that marked her as a noblewoman of Tourvecall, the Kingdom of Incantations. Yet she alone had no followers. Her dented helmet hiding her visage slowly swivelled to follow Rabbiteater as he walked past. Bearing his brother’s body.

Lady Menrise said nothing. A wand was smoking from the countless [Fireballs] it had fired off. Her blood was almost boiling with mana burn. Her stomach longed to vomit, and she was malnourished, exhausted.

She was still—

Furious.

——

It was a custom of [Knights], seldom talked about, to send charter ships for their fallen. They were used to it.

Brave [Knights] went on quests abroad. They embarked on crusades, and some came back covered in glory. Some came back covered in shrouds.

He was not the only one who had died. He was just one man amidst thousands of casualties. But Ser Markus of the Spring, of the Order of Seasons, had been Rabbiteater’s friend. He had died in the Synectic Maze before they had ever seen the sky. The Goblin hadn’t known it. He had fought his way free of the madness, won a victory, then learned his brother was dead.

The first man to embrace him after learning his identity, the companion who had rode through a war and fought his way across the sea—Ser Solstice’s grief had not ended even after all this time.

The Naga council of Benoix was eager to learn anything they could about their strange visitors and would have joined the procession headed to the docks, except for the—smell. It came from the pale white shroud that the [Knight] held, and the Nagas recoiled, paled, drew back.

“Is that—?”

“It’s his brother. Please, allow him a moment. He has to—is the ship ready?”

“I, er, don’t know. But we have—look, we have mortuaries. A [Graveyard Keeper]. We could have the body preserved or put in a coffin—”

It was not a terrible stench. Nor were there flies. Menrise had enchanted the shroud after that had begun. It was just that odor that was unmistakable.

Death.

Seraphel du Marquin shook her head. She murmured as she slowed.

“He must lay his brother to rest. He—he hasn’t put him down since…he has borne him all this way. Please.”

The Nagas stopped slithering after the others. They turned to each other, and Menrise brushed past them. Cortese followed. An army followed. Ser Solstice walked down the stone steps towards one of the ships in the harbor. It bore a unique strip of paint on the hull with the flags and crest of countless Terandrian kingdoms upon it.

Expensive markings for a reason. They denoted it as a barge for the dead. No [Pirates] or regular ships would seek to loot it; Terandrian kingdoms and [Knight] orders vowed undying vengeance upon those who did.

The procession stopped, and Princess Seraphel, Cortese, and a few others walked forwards alone. Another limping Spring Knight. The Ivory Four. Those who had known him.

Lady Menrise was last to approach. Ser Solstice said nothing at first as the [Captain] of the ship herself disembarked.

“Ser Knights. Your Highness, Lords and Ladies—I am Captain Wisaindre of Home’s Repose. It is my sworn duty to bear the fallen of Terandria’s children home. Is this the honorable [Knight] I have been sent to collect?”

“Yes.”

Seraphel answered when Rabbiteater did not. She half-turned.

“We have other bodies. And—and a list of Thronebearers. Many whose remains were not collected.”

Captain Wisaindre’s eyes widened at the list that Ser Thilowen presented. It was long. Over a hundred names?

Entire battles in war had not seen so many. Yet she composed herself, bowed deeply.

“If possible, their remains shall be recovered. I will return their names to their kingdoms. I—it is customary to list how each fell, their deeds—”

“They fell in battle. In the Synectic Maze, a death-zone. List that for each and every one marked thusly. Those who did not fall there died at sea, battling the Bloodtear Pirates.”

Ser Thilowen’s voice was not cold, but edged. Hard steel, that man. Harder than anyone had dreamed from one of the silly Thronebearers. Menrise’s gloves were clenched by her sides as Captain Wisaindre bowed again.

“We have attempted to recover as many bodies from the sea battle as possible. This [Knight]…”

“Ser Markus of the Order of Seasons. Spring.”

At last, Rabbiteater spoke. His voice was grating, thick from the long journey without speech. Seraphel turned to him, but hesitated as he lifted the shrouded body.

“Where do I put him? He’s tired.”

“We can take him, Ser Knight…”

“No. Show me.”

After some whispering, one of the crew led Rabbiteater up the gangplank. There was momentary silence, and Menrise stood for minutes on the dock as the Captain talked to the [Princess] and others.

“…Thought lost, Your Highness. Those that did survive, well. The Iron Vanguard has boarded or captured all those who did not immediately flee to the New Lands or sailed to northern Izrilian cities.”

“All?”

“Their pursuit was relentless, and they had a full navy. Not all were sunk…many were ransomed wholesale. As of yet, no fleet has set sail to repulse or address the Dullahans. There is much talk of it, but…the survivors are the focus. Those who reached the New Lands still numbered thousands, but they fled their ships as the Dullahans sank them. Then they lost contact, of course.”

“Why ‘of course’?”

Lord Cortese demanded, growing slightly more animated. Menrise shifted; she had wanted to know that too. But she was holding onto her tongue for fear of what might come out. The Captain gave him a look as if he were mad, then spoke.

“Because of the mana-drain, Hundredlord. It is…lantern lights, you have been out of contact so long. It is known, now, that the New Lands are both draining mana of all who step foot there—artifacts, [Mages]—and that the ground is salted. Nothing grows that is not native.”

“Dead gods.”

Seraphel whispered. The [Captain] bowed deeper and turned.

“If there is any news I might impart…I would offer you passage homewards, Your Highness, but this ship is sworn to take none but the dead. Not even royalty.”

And I don’t want to be attacked for having a damn [Princess] on board. Menrise filled in the little social niceties of Terandrians with ease. They all knew this language, this game. Ser Thilowen bowed.

“A more suitable escort shall arrive in due time. I am aware of some developments—is there any news of major import we might have missed?”

The [Captain] thought as Rabbiteater returned. Everyone fell silent, but he just walked down the gangplank and stood there. So they gossiped about the news in front of the dead. That was Terandria for you.

“I…oh, there is one piece of news. The Singer of Terandria was headed for Baleros. Rumor has it she intended to begin a tour here or—”

“Cara? Cara came here?”

Seraphel’s face lit up. She almost began to smile until the [Captain] hesitated.

“I…you are a fan of hers, Your Highness?”

“I know her personally. She can’t have come here for me? Could she?”

That statement made even Menrise’s head turn. The Singer of Terandria knew the 4th Princess of Calanfer well enough to…? She was no [Heroine]. Why would someone sail all the way to Baleros?

However, the [Captain] had turned pale, and she was licking her lips.

“I, ah, perhaps this is not fit news, then—”

“What? Why? Did something happen to her?”

“I—I—there are still vigils being held across Terandria. You see, it was a remnant of the Bloodtear Pirates. Her ship was sunk, and there were no survivors found by the Blighted Kingdom, which had—”

Silence. Seraphel took in the news of the Singer of Terandria’s presumed death—then she began to scream. Her handmaidens and bodyguards rushed to her as the [Captain] stepped back.

“Your Highness!”

“Not Cara! No—no, I refuse to believe it! She’s survived—she is alive.”

“Of course, Your Highness. Her body was never found, and they are searching. I am terribly sorry—”

Please don’t ask me about anything else. The [Captain] seemed ready to sail back to Terandria that moment. However, Seraphel didn’t remain in hysterics long.

Gilthisa had come running as the [Princess] clung to Dame Neranthei, weeping. She hesitated, but Seraphel embraced her.

“She is alive! I know it! Oh, dead gods. This ordeal never ends. But I shall not lose her. I swear that by the Eternal Throne and Noelictus and—Gilthisa, I have to tell you about Cara! She’s another friend. Between you and she—I have few friends in this world; I shall not lose another. If I may call you that?”

The sight of a Calanferian [Peasant] embracing a [Princess] had the rest of the Terandrians agog, but Gilthisa was smiling as she took Seraphel’s hands.

“If I can do anything, Your Highness, we are sworn to you by our shared bonds. Friends? Of course.”

“Friends. I had always wanted some. And she is alive. My friend—”

Seraphel was composing herself. Then someone spoke in a mocking, piercing tone that carried across the silent docks.

“Friends? Fwens. Oh, glorious day! Hooray, hooray! I’m a thirty-some [Princess] and I have a fwen. That makes it all worth it. Me and my fwens against the world.”

The sarcastic voice dripping with bitterness made Seraphel jump. Then turn, biting her lip. Everyone else turned, and Lady Menrise kept talking.

“What a sacrifice! Two friends, the Singer, and Ser Markus dead. So much more than the rest of us have lost. Can your hearts bear to lose a third friend? I should hope not. Let ten thousand more lie dead and rotting in the maze and Baleros’ sands before such a heartache should come to pass.”

“Menrise. I didn’t mean—”

The Angry Woman’s throat burned. Her chest was heaving, and her tongue felt like a viper striking the flinching [Princess], the silent Rabbiteater, again and again. At last, she caught hold of it. Covered her visor with one hand, turning her head away.

“I’m…sorry. I just—”

“No, I understand. Let’s…Ser Solstice? Rabbiteater? Is there anything else to…?”

“It’s done.”

He didn’t look at Menrise or Seraphel. Rabbiteater turned away as the aghast [Captain] eyed the [Lady], the company, and backed towards her ship. The Goblin whispered.

“I’m tired. I’m going to sleep.”

He walked off as the rest of the weary Terandrians followed him slowly. Lady Menrise stood alone on the docks. Then she followed them. They had emerged from the Synectic Maze with levels, alive, against all odds.

But they were not well.

Least of all…her.

——

She did not apologize again for her outburst on the docks. She should have, but by now, it was easier just to let it go. Move on.

They were used to that. It did not mean the words had not hurt; Princess Seraphel did seem to recall her higher station and composed herself as they found their lodgings. An inn. Benoix had thrown open all its housing to the Terandrians, who would strain the city, but the soldiers and colonists would sleep in houses, the barracks, anywhere space could be found.

Gilthisa got to lodge with the most important people, such as the [Knights], command staff, and high-level members of the entourage like Admiral Dakelos.

His leg was still healing, so they’d carried him off to a [Healer] to make sure the bone was properly set and there was no infection. He was a hated Ailendamus [Admiral]…a sworn comrade.

Funny. Before the sea voyage, Menrise would have said that the Ivory Five, herself included, were the only real friends of Princess Seraphel. Even to her subjects, she was an aloof, distant personage. Heroic at times, beloved or pitied, the Cursed Princess.

But today, she had admirers in this weary group, at least. She would have probably trekked a hundred more miles in the jungle than abandoned Dakelos, broken leg or not.

Menrise would have done the same.

…Probably. She didn’t know sometimes. She wondered whether that damned man and the ship crewed by the [Innkeeper] were responsible for more good Terandrian ships going down, or if they’d saved people.

Menrise didn’t know if anything she had held as good and true were the same.

She stared at herself in the mirror of her bedroom after washing up, removing her helmet. She wasn’t that filthy under it; it was a spelled piece of armor meant to contain her magic and hide her visage, which was distinctly non-Human in some respects, from the rest of the world.

Even so, it was a stranger’s face. So bitter.

That was not Lady Menrise du Chavresel, or ‘Menny’ to some of her friends. She distinctly remembered being the silly, prank-loving [Lady] of Tourvecall’s Enchanted Courts. Friendly towards most people, if not a close companion to many. She’d gotten along with the crew on their voyage, told jokes, been happy…

Then had come the battle at sea.

Then she had seen her friends, relatives, her entire people of Tourvecall vanishing as the Bloodtear Pirates swept their ship and it exploded in one last burst of magical defiance. She had seen good men and women slaughtered and their dream of New Lands sinking there. But even then, she hadn’t realized how much it had changed her.

Not until the Synectic Maze.

The Angry Woman. That was who she’d become in there. The Angry Woman, one of the leaders of the colors that everyone had divided into.

After they’d gotten out, Revi and some of the experts in dungeons had speculated that it was due to Menrise’s higher-ranking class or authority-Skills that had led her, Cortese, Seraphel, and Rabbiteater to define the other colors. It would have been odd to assume the four of them had emotions that trumped any other’s.

They had become foci for the gestalt, and everyone dragged into their emotion had become a singular being that fought and acted as one. When The Angry Woman had swung a sword—ineptly—all of them had done the same.

When a monster came to them, a horde of creatures behaving and moving as one, they had fought like that. Taken ‘damage’ which had translated into hundreds dying in a single moment. It had been like a game.

Madness.

All things being equal, it was hard to blame oneself for falling into the trap. It was a known death-zone that had murdered armies thusly. A few had covered themselves in glory, like Seraphel and Vofea, who had kept countless people alive after freeing themselves, even averting a terrible ambush by Jungle Tails.

Others held guilt, like Rabbiteater, who had not known his brother had died while he thought he was fighting and keeping everyone safe, but it was understandable guilt. He, Cortese, they had done their best, and the experience had bonded them to the others who had shared parts of their emotions, their mind.

But Menrise…there was no army of people who followed Menrise afterwards. Plenty had seen through her eyes, knew her as The Angry Woman. But because of that—no one longed for that commonality from before.

——

The [Lady] was the first one to enter the inn. She saw interested Lizardfolk being kept back from entering; this was just for Terandrians. She stood, aimless, until a server asked her if she wanted food.

“Food? What do you lot eat, rats?”

The comment slipped out—again—and Menrise blushed under her helmet as the Lizardman’s eager smile vanished.

“I—I could get you some, but we actually do lots of fruit. Bananas or—”

“I’ll take whatever is being served. Thank you. I apologize.”

He nodded, told her to sit wherever, and hurried off. Menrise stood there, then walked away. She saw a few Terandrians sitting at tables and paused by the fire. It warmed her as they spoke, a pair of [Soldiers].

“Think we’re actually sailing back to Terandria?”

“Now? I don’t…what about the Dullahans?”

“I dunno, but I heard the [Knights] talking. There’s ships coming our way.”

“All the way from Terandria?”

“If the Eternal Throne knew we were bound here, they could have re-routed them, seas in turmoil or no. But if we just leave after all that’s done?”

“Disaster. Disaster, and the 4th Princess might well be in trouble ere she returns.”

“Says who?”

Menrise didn’t turn her helmet, but her head swivelled inside of it; a trick she’d learned as a girl. She saw the two talking and recognized them as officers in Calanfer’s army. Calanfer’s army which was thought to be a joke compared to other kingdoms’ standing forces…but this lot had seen fighting. One of them grimaced as he greedily drank banana milk down and bit into a hot dish of meat and rice stewed in a milk broth.

“Dead gods but this is good. It makes me feel alive. Says who? Says Erribathe. For all her popularity of late, and Ser Solstice’s, the death of a [Prince] of the Hundred Families is surely a grave mark across Terandria. And there is her reputation to think of. The Cursed Princess? Some might lay the misfortunes partly at her feet…”

The other man was a [Captain], and he slammed a fist down as a server brought over more drinks.

“Bah. Are you mad? After what we went through, the Eternal Throne should commend her! I will if no one else will! You saw her light!”

The [Major] shuddered, and the Lizardfolk eavesdropping who knew about the Synectic Maze shifted uneasily. But the [Captain] pointed a finger upwards, and Menrise thought she could still see that terrible light in his eyes.

“I shall never forget it. I’d rather go to war twice than—Eternal Throne, the things she went through on her wedding night.”

“Don’t speak of it. Don’t sully the crown nor—”

“Sully it? You saw it too, Haldre! I saw The Weeping Princess, and if anyone utters slander against her, I shall challenge them on the spot. I would follow that [Princess] over any other. I know her. Dead gods but I wish I didn’t, but she, Gilthisa—she will have my loyalty if we return. Maybe we all should. To rest…”

Strange as the conversation was, there was a kind of heart to it. The Cursed Princess had bared her soul to her people. In the doing, she had become far more sympathetic to them.

Her wedding night. What was it, three marriages, each to a man she had never loved? Menrise wiped her gloved hands on her dress despite it all being fresh clothing after she’d cast [Cleanse].

It was all sanctioned by crown and done legally, but if she took those memories out and studied them again, it seemed like rape by another word to her. At least, how Seraphel had felt—

Lady Menrise could at least understand the perspective of the [Princess] as another woman and someone familiar with the duties of rank and station. It was probably far harder for the two men. The mention of Seraphel’s bridal night had the [Major] drinking down his wine so fast he was through two cups in less than a minute.

“Let’s not speak of that—or anything else. Dead gods, I shall sleep for an age. I’d take bed in this town over a ship. But if we must talk of anything…here, is there a scrying orb about?”

He waved a hand, and there was a huge, ovoid mirror over the bar. Everyone turned, and it flickered on as a Lizardfolk changed channels before finally getting a Terandrian station. It was of a live mass, a…vigil?

Thousands of people were waving glowing [Light] spells on wands, crying, and shouting. The caption underneath the video read, ‘thousands mourn the Singer of Terandria, still missing after…’

“Dead gods. What else has changed while we’ve been stranded? They’re still mourning the Singer.”

The two men stared, and Lady Menrise shifted. Felt it bubbling up again. Tried to hold it down, but she could not try very hard. It was like pushing down a pot boiling over; the steam vented. It came out of her lips.

“Thousands mourning one woman. Where’s Tourvecall’s mourners? Where’s coverage for Kaaz, Pheislant, or the dead? They won’t weep for you, me, or any of us. Just one pink-haired singer.”

Every head turned. Some in outrage, but when the two [Soldiers] saw who was talking—

Haldre and his companion leapt to their feet in alarm, bowing.

“Lady—Lady Menrise. We did not realize you’d come down. Forgive our idle talk.”

The burning fury subsided. Menrise caught her tongue.

“I…I took no offense. We’re all resting here.”

“Of course, Lady—”

But the two men remained on their feet. They cast around, saw no open tables, and so both men stood there lamely. One grabbed his plate and cups.

“Please, sit, lady.”

“I’m content to stand.”

“We should not sit while a [Lady] of Terandria stands, please, Lady. I—can we fetch you anything? Server!”

The server hurried back with more of the food, and Menrise had to sit. The two men circulated, then, when she assured them she was fine—backed off.

Not just to another table. They glanced at her, then took their dishes and themselves out of the very inn. She saw it written on their faces, on the other people who lowered their voices around her. Watched her out of the corner of their eyes.

Not fear. Not precisely fear. But wariness. A wariness not like someone facing an unpredictable, wild animal—that was uncertainty. No, more like someone staring at a trap rune that would kill you the moment you stepped on it. A justifiable, wise man’s fear. They knew her.

The Angry Woman.

It sounded like a joke. But like Seraphel, they had gazed into her soul. Seen what lay in Menrise’s heart, and that was why even the most boisterous [Sailors] got out of her way. Why they watched her, asked her if she was well, and treated her with that understanding that was both too well-intentioned and grating because they were wary.

They knew how deep the rage lay. Enough to send a woman charging a monster bare-handed.

Enough to get hundreds, perhaps thousands of them killed.

——

That was her guilt. Of all of them, the four ‘heroes’ of the Synectic Maze, they had all led their colors and made horrific choices. Not realizing they were bleeding lives as they fought through the Synectic Maze.

Cortese, Rabbiteater, Seraphel/Gilthisa—they had that burden, of course. But Menrise?

The Angry Woman bites and claws at the Ravening Beast in turn! She delivers 1 damage! 

The Angry Woman throws stones! She delivers 1 damage. 

The Angry Woman lashes out! She does 4 damage! 

Menrise had been that woman, a being so angry, so ready to do violence and heedless of the peril to her that she had gone hand-to-hand against the monsters of the maze. Her, an untrained [Lady] whose greatest asset was spellcasting.

Cortese had used his mind, acted as a strategist and fighter both, and he could swing a sword. Rabbiteater had fought well. Seraphel, again, had freed herself and done so much, and she was a [Princess].

But Menrise had killed her people, ineffectually doing the least. And then, when she’d remembered her magic…

They called it mana burn when you drew on your magical circuits so much you overdrew your reserves, drank too many mana potions, and essentially started consuming your body due to the imbalances in it. It felt like burning your veins inside out. But if you didn’t have the mana to even burn…it was like yanking the life out of your very body. Creating a negative area of magic, and that did terrible, terrible things to you. A debt of mana had to be paid, and the body paid it.

She had killed more people with her spellcasting than she had in combat. Every time The Angry Woman had cast a [Lightning Bolt] spell, every member of her color who hadn’t been able to pay the mana cost had gone into shock.

Vofea and Seraphel had saved some, and it seemed that the repeated spellcasting had created a tolerance in those who hadn’t dropped dead the first time they cast a spell. Plenty had failed to cast any spell and been saved that way.

But she had murdered them. Been so useless the entire time…and that was her emotion, her color.

Rage.

Who wanted to follow Menrise after that? Who wanted to go back to that unending fury that was practically suicidal? No one.

That was why she was alone.

Worse…worse…Menrise stared at the charred wand, an artifact of her kingdom. Fit for a [Lady]—almost melted from all her spellcasting in the jungle. Everyone had levelled from the Synectic Maze. Many had capstoned, gained power for their trauma, as always happened. But sometimes? Sometimes, you didn’t like what you got.

[Condition: Furious Outburst].

[Condition: Rage-fuelled Spellcasting].

Blood Skills. Menrise knew of them; Tourvecall had a few that popped up due to the inbreeding and their nobilities’ peculiar biologies. She’d just never thought to gain any…

[Furious Outburst] meant she would say or even do things when her anger got the better of her. Spiteful comments or just firing a [Fireball] spell in a haze of anger. The others understood, of course. But it did not make Menrise pleasant to be around.

Gone, gone was the happy helmeted [Lady], the prideful Hundredlord of Kaaz, the shy, desperately lonely [Princess], and the odd, adventurous [Knight].

Earl Altestiel was dead.

Menrise regretted ever leaving Terandria. Ever making friends with a strange quartet in a bathroom. She hated them for leading her here, leading her people to their doom.

No…

Maybe it was just him she hated.

——

Ser Solstice was the last to come downstairs. Seraphel second-last—the [Princess] had to make herself more presentable, and there was information from Calanfer to absorb now they were back in civilization, Menrise bet.

The ban on scrying spells was definitely over, so they had returned to the world. They were at a port city; in theory, they could buy supplies, get a ship home, or at least arm up if another company came calling.

The problem was…Menrise had no idea what to do.

She was theoretically important; as a Level 27 [Lady of Incantations and Japes]—a product of her penchant for being lighthearted—she was a high-level member of aristocracy.

Functionally? Menrise had never led even a company! She’d once failed to lead twenty nobles to steal some wine from a wine cellar. She didn’t know what to do, nor did she have the wealth or power of, say, Cortese.

So she bothered him.

“Cortese. What are we supposed to do now?”

He was sitting at a table, slightly more clean and presentable like everyone else. After one wary peek to make sure she wasn’t furious, he gestured, and she sat.

“You mean aside from seeing if Calanfer’s sent a ship for us?”

“I mean getting supplies. Hiring mercenaries? Making sure that if the Iron Vanguard or Jungle Tails comes back they don’t stick a spear up our asses? What about that Lizardfolk [Huntress] who was guiding us?”

The Hundredlord was fiddling with a ring on his fingers.

“You mean Aiche.”

“The bitch who nearly got Seraphel kidnapped for good and almost led Jungle Tails towards us in the Synectic Maze, yes.”

His eyes flickered. Guilt, again. Menrise wanted to smack it out of him, but Cortese murmured.

“She was a soldier, Menrise. They follow orders, and Jungle Tails apparently conscripts any Lizardfolk they find. You heard what Seraphel said they did to the Lizardfolk in the maze.”

“The ones who didn’t do anything to help us? My heart bleeds.”

Anger and guilt. Both realized they were feeding into their colors again, and Menrise took a deep breath as Cortese pinched his wrist. He sat up a bit.

“Aiche led us out of the jungles. Under duress, true, but Seraphel will handle her. Supplies? If we’re journeying overland, buying some would be appropriate. If we’re bound for sea…let Captain Ennerev sort that out.”

“We don’t figure that out as nobles?”

He grimaced.

“I could try to put together a list, but this is what [Strategists] are for, Menrise.”

“What about mercenaries?”

“Again, if we need some…I would let our commanders or Ser Thilowen sort that out. I might try to gauge a [Mercenary Commander], but the haggling, no. Arming ourselves? I’d let our ranking [Strategist] make recommendations, assign them a budget, and go from there.”

She stared at him.

“So we don’t do any of that?”

He raised his brows.

“I’ve gone to war, but never led an army, let alone a full campaign, Menrise. These aren’t my people either, nor yours. Let Calanfer sort out its disposition.”

“We should be doing something.”

She pointed out, irked, and he nodded and exhaled again. His fingers drummed on the table, and he eyed the ring on his fingers.

“So we shall. The important thing for us, Menrise, is to communicate with our kingdoms. To tell them we are alive, see what they might send…we are functionally penniless except for what we carry, unless we prevail on the Merchant’s Guilds. The ones in Benoix do not have much coin to lend us. Nor is that a simple matter. I have quite some wealth as a Hundredlord, but it is all in my family’s estates. Better to have our kingdoms supporting us.”

“Oh. That makes sense. So should I send a [Message]…?”

He held up a finger as he twisted the ring.

“Encrypted if you can. I’m sure you know more magic than I. I have to use this ring, and it…I think it will connect me to whomever is managing my family back home. But I fear to know. His Majesty contacted me during the maze, and I remember that.”

He closed his eyes.

“I must face whatever comes.”

Menrise fell silent. Cortese’s face was utterly apprehensive, but she just whispered.

“I can’t encrypt [Message] spells.”

He blinked at her. Everyone assumed Tourvecall’s magic was so much better because they were the Kingdom of Incantations, and they were half-right. But Wistram, even academies like the Hundred Tomes, had a lot on the kingdom that Menrise hailed from. All the modern magics that Archmage Eldavin and his Terras faction produced—Menrise put a finger to her helmet.

“[Message]…”

She didn’t even know who to message. The Enchanted Courts? She eventually settled on one of her court friends, her mother, and the Mage’s Guild in the capital. Fired off some spells. Waited.

——

It took some time to reassure them she was alive, explain what was going on, and confirm it was indeed her. Menrise paced around by the fire as she impatiently sent bursts of [Message] spells off.

That wasn’t hard. [Message] was a Tier 3 spell, and Menrise had magic for days. It was just annoyingly complex to link to each sender in turn—like placing a letter in the cubbyhole of a mailbox, only you were using a long stick instead of being right next to it at the ranges they were involved in.

Cortese’s ring seemed like a real artifact that was a two-way connector straight to another ring in Kaaz. An actual speaking spell no less. Old magic, which meant anything not easily reproducible in the modern era. Tourvecall could make speaking stones like that—they had an effective range of four hundred miles, which sounded great.

Across continents? Old magic. Not that Cortese was having an easier time of it. He was hunched over his table, hiding his mouth and whispering into the spell. He’d asked Menrise for privacy, so she’d cast [Muffle], [Barrier of Privacy], and [Scatterfocus Ward] over them. Three spells like that tended to ward off anything short of Tier 5 magic.

Again…she was a [Lady of Incantations]. But not like a [High Mage] of Wistram. She’d felt that keenly, too, both at sea and after.

Menrise was inside the privacy spells, so she heard Cortese muttering. It kept her from focusing on her own fluttering stomach as she waited for her kingdom to get back to her.

“Siveris, why isn’t my father—oh. Another heart shock? During the—the battle at sea. The lions…they must have felt Bearis dying. Yes.”

He fell silent, and his eyes closed. Menrise remembered his beloved lioness had died and felt bad for him.

All my friends and fellow nobles died. It was just a damn cat.

She ignored the thought. Heard him murmur.

“Bravely. I didn’t get her body. It fell into the sea. Siveris—I know I responded to something that was sent to me. His Majesty Fireth sent a spell.”

Another pause.

“I don’t recall. I was in a dungeon. The Synectic Maze. It was—a full hearing? About what?”

He listened, his eyes widening.

“Ser Solstice? We lost Knights of the Thousand Lances, and that was—”

Then his face grew grave. Nervous.

“All the Hundredlords and the [King] in personal attendance? Who stood in opposition? Brinth? Iirn? Brinth makes sense. He’d stab his own mother in the back if he sensed weakness. What have I done to Iirn? Oh, Prince…ah. So who represented me? You?”

Menrise could almost hear the voice on the other end, who sounded quite strident, like she were shouting. Seraphel came down and glanced at Menrise. Waved awkwardly. Menrise pointed at the ring and her helmet.

Messaging. Seraphel ducked her head. Cortese whispered.

“Thank you, Siveris. No, I mean it. I truly do. Did they challenge…? It would have been suicide unless you were able to take one of the dueling heirlooms out of the vault. Good. So what happened?”

His face grew paler as the woman on the other end gave him a summary of the very events he had been called to testify in. He whispered.

“I recall my testimonial. His Majesty’s voice found me, even in—I spoke unguardedly.”

At this point, he held the ring away from his ear because his cousin’s voice was so loud even Menrise could hear it.

“Unguarded? Are you mad? The Hundredlords were set to pronounce you a traitor and send the Thousand Lances against Ser Solstice or his Order, and then you spoke like the dead itself bore witness! It set everything to chaos. Prince Retner admitted that he gave the orders to have you stab Ser Solstice in the back! Seventeen of Kaaz’s nobility issued him a duel on the spot!”

Hundredlord Cortese sat there, shaking his head. Eyes wide and disturbed. He had to try three times to speak over her.

“Siveris—Siveris—Siveris, listen to me. Prince Retner didn’t order me to do that. It was His Majesty. Do not tell anyone, but the order came from the throne, and I cannot imagine Retner…”

His cousin’s voice went quiet in sudden shock, and Menrise felt at her arms.

Oh no, that was bad. It sounded like Cortese had revealed state secrets to the other nobles. Even for him, offending the crown like that by revealing the truth, despite how they’d put him in a bind?

In any other circumstance, that [King] probably expected Cortese to fall on his own sword. That he got The Guilty Man means he was blown up on his own stave. Serves him right.

Anger said that. Menrise’s logical side told her Cortese was in trouble. Which was confirmed a second later when he gasped, put the ring down, and said—

“Dead? Prince Retner is dead?”

Menrise’s helmeted head slowly turned. Cortese glanced up, and she saw true worry in his eyes. And grief. He touched the ring after a second’s pause, and Siveris’ voice grew louder.

“He did well enough for a [Prince] not suited to it, but yes. The third death-duel in the week. It was a Tenlord—he’s dead too after the crown’s supporters avenged him. His Majesty and the Hundredlords declared a moratorium on duels for two weeks to stop more bloodshed. The kingdom is in grief, but you have support, Cortese.”

“I have killed His Majesty’s son.”

“He should not have lied, then! If His Majesty admitted the truth—”

Cortese snapped back.

“What would you have him do? Have King Fireth draw the Sword of Kaaz and duel? It was a request from Erribathe! I should never have told the truth. Now the Crown Prince is dead and…”

He covered his face with one hand.

“This is not the end of it, Siveris. My enemies won’t hold back with blood in the water, and the Crown may hold our entire family to blame. Let it be just me. But mark me—you must rally all the Hundredlords sympathetic to us.”

“I might be able to sway a few. Then do I speak with your authority, Cortese? How would this come to blood aside from duels when you get back?”

“Ser Solstice is still alive, and he will continue to remain that way. But many of the kingdoms of Terandria surely hold a grudge against him and Erin Solstice. It is his mission to bring her back with him.”

“Ah. And here I thought you’d come home with the first ship. Well, now I see the issue. Kaaz won’t send the lances to war for you or Ser Solstice, not now. We’re more interested in the New Lands; some of the Lances have gone there already. The top 10, even. But if that [Innkeeper] sails back home…”

Cortese stretched his legs out, staring blankly at the ceiling.

“Speak to everyone you can. Old Kinth, maybe? But he’s loyal to the crown. Brinth is a waste of time.”

“I could try Iirn?”

“She loved Prince Iradoren. She’d rather put one of those dueling daggers in my chest!”

“She was mightily rattled by the revelation, Cortese. It’s worth a shot.”

“Do that, then. But what I need from you, Siveris, is a full muster of whatever soldiers can be spared. Any of the Lances willing to crusade to Baleros as well. Only get those who would actually be willing to fight with Ser Solstice and for Erin Solstice. Not Glaphire, for instance; she’d haul both back in chains.”

A pause.

“You’re asking me for an army. Who are they fighting, the Great Companies? You’d need multiple Hundredlords to muster for that, Cortese.”

“Not yet. It depends on Ser Solstice. Get me what you can. I’ll speak to you, and Father, later. Anyone else who wants to speak to me—only via this ring.”

Cortese was pushing himself back from the table, and he met Menrise’s gaze. She felt a shock run through her.

She had been insistent about doing something, angry and helpless, but he had just asked for standing forces. He meant to stay with—with Rabbiteater.

A Goblin.

The Questioning Lord arose, and The Angry Woman just stood there. She saw him walk past her, towards the [Princess] who no longer wept.

And she was the one lost.

——

When they did get in touch with Menrise, Tourvecall was relieved to know she was alive. But they were far less…active than Kaaz.

Kingdom of Incantations: Lady Menrise du Chavresel, we are delighted to know you are alive and safe in Benoix. Their Numinous Majesties have personally announced your survival to the Enchanted Courts. They have also appointed Strategist Renoin to oversee any details regarding your return to the Kingdom of Incantations. It appears the Eternal Throne has already sent for transport. Are you desirous of personal transport or separation from Calanfer’s company?

Menrise: Calanfer’s company is fine. I’d be dead without them. We survived the Synectic Maze, and we’re much depleted, but are we leaving? For Tourvecall? What about the New Lands?

Kingdom of Incantations: Any confidential details of your trip should be discussed in person, Lady Menrise, due to concerns of [Message] spells being hacked.

Menrise: Okay, but the New Lands?

Kingdom of Incantations: Given the destruction of Tourvecall’s colony ships, you are the only member of the peerage abroad. Recall to the Kingdom of Incantations until a second attempt is made has been deemed the most prudent course of action. Rest assured, the New Lands will be reached by the Kingdom of Incantations. A second muster and full army and navy is being prepared.

Menrise: So I’m the only survivor?

Kingdom of Incantations: Of the nobility, yes, Lady du Chavresel.

Kingdom of Incantations: A fact which we believed you were aware of given the battle at sea. Your position aboard The Throne’s Will meant you survived the heroic sacrifice of the peerage.

Kingdom of Incantations: The Kingdom of Incantations has been in mourning for months.

Kingdom of Incantations: Your own survival had been in great doubt, and of course the Spellbound Throne had been casting spells to divine your whereabouts and for good fortune. We had all hoped for survivors, a last-minute teleportation, but you may not have realized in the battle the tragedy.

Kingdom of Incantations: Lady du Chavresel?

Menrise: I understand. My peers of the realm fought bravely as did all the citizens of Tourvecall. I did witness their end. My company here may not be prepared to leave immediately.

Kingdom of Incantations: Completely understood, Lady du Chavresel. Separate transport via Courier ships or appropriate vessels will be expedited at once. Strategist Renoin will contact you for further details. Please note down the personal spell-phrases for confirmation of his identity are the ones applied to your Mage’s Guild sendings. Do you require a different set of spell-phrases?

Menrise: If I need support in Baleros, what can be arranged? I do not believe our house guard or my family can muster many standing forces, but can the crown support me?

Kingdom of Incantations: If needed, we will hire ships to escort yours to Terandria, but the Bloodtear Pirates have mostly been eradicated or are in hiding.

Menrise: I meant in Baleros.

Kingdom of Incantations: Your departure from Baleros should be effected within the week at most, Lady du Chavresel.

Menrise: What if I need to stay?

Kingdom of Incantations: Is there some kind of geographic issue with Benoix’s harbor, Lady du Chavresel? A magical storm unreported? Monsters at sea?

Menrise: No, I mean, if I’m staying in Baleros, can you send soldiers? Artifacts? Anything?

Kingdom of Incantations: If you are delayed by sea, we will expedite your departure with all means possible. Potentially via Wistram if teleportation can be arranged. We understand you are eager to return home—

Menrise: Are you stupid?

——

That sort of put paid to discussion for a bit. Especially because it turned out Menrise hadn’t been corresponding with some [Palace Mage], like she’d thought, but one of the younger members of the royal family who’d been really excited to congratulate her on her survival.

It wasn’t quite as bad as getting a [Prince] killed, especially because given how much intermarriage went on in Tourvecall, everyone was related to the throne. Menrise was like…29th in line for the throne by bloodline?

Even so, it put a weird perspective on it all. Everyone expected Menrise to do the sensible thing and just…go home.

After all she’d been through, it made sense. The thing was—

“I do not…wish to return home.”

Seraphel du Marquin told the others as Rabbiteater came downstairs. He sat silently, not eating, as Cortese stole a quick glance at him, and Menrise inserted a long spoon into her visor which was cracked open a bit. She didn’t really care if anyone saw her face right now.

So much had changed. Menrise eyed Seraphel.

“Why?”

“Because Rabbiteater isn’t going. Until Miss Erin Solstice departs, we surely cannot just leave! And my parents would rather me return to Calanfer. I have…nothing waiting for me there. The New Lands were where I was bound, but Baleros is as good as Izril.”

Every head in the room focused on her. After all that, she could say that with a straight face?

When she returned home, she’d be married a fourth time. Menrise realized that with a chill. Then her tongue took over for her.

“Oh, splendid. I suppose it’s simple as that. We survived one death-zone, let’s line up for round two. Please, sir, may I have another?”

A Satyr sitting at a table with Ksmvr and Revi spat out her drink laughing.

“Hah! ‘Tis my joke! Told you it was a good one! We’re with you till my bitter end too! Say, Lord Racisms, do you want your sword back?”

She waved the Sword of Not-Racisms at Cortese. He ignored Vofea as Menrise bit her tongue and Seraphel flushed.

“I didn’t mean to say that, Menrise—”

“I am staying as well. Ser Solstice, you are searching for Erin Solstice, yes? It would be foolish to leave without her, given the danger to her presently. And I also might benefit from a remove from my home for a while. But we shall return anyone who needs it, if possible.”

He eyed Menrise, and the [Lady] folded her arms. She didn’t like the way the other two glanced at her, then away. She had been an equal member of the Ivory Five. But it was true she had the least reasons to stay. And Rabbiteater?

He just sat there. Seraphel nervously pushed something over.

“Rabbiteater, you haven’t eaten all day. Have a banana smoothie. It’s very refreshing.”

She even had a metal straw for his visor. At last, the [Knight] spoke.

“Already ate.”

“Oh, in your rooms?”

“No.”

“While we were marching? I didn’t see—”

“No.”

His friends regarded each other, and Menrise snapped again. She kicked Rabbiteater and instantly regretted it. Swearing, she held her foot as he glanced down at his armored leg.

“Spit it out! We can’t make sense of anything you’re saying, idiot.”

She growled at him, and Seraphel lifted her hands.

“We don’t want to pry, but—”

Rabbiteater came a bit more alive. He sat up in his chair, peered around, and then shook his head.

“I ate in the [Pavilion of Secrets]. Erin called me again. And Ulvama.”

Everyone sat up. Ksmvr turned to Vofea.

“My, the [Pavilion of Secrets]? How exciting.”

“Wonder what it looks like, Senior Ksmvr.”

“…Do not call me that. It makes me feel old.”

“Sure thing, Elder Ksmvr.”

Menrise stopped getting angry, and Seraphel covered her mouth as Neranthei began casting privacy spells fast as she could with Veine.

“She contacted you? Rabbit!”

He had been worried, distraught, by the last time he’d seen her an age ago. The lack of contact during the Synectic Maze hadn’t mattered; they’d been busy. But now…Menrise couldn’t see his face, but Rabbiteater’s voice was flat.

“She’s fine. Talked to me. I told her about the maze. Markus.”

“Ah.”

Cortese exhaled and peeked at the scrying mirror over the bar. He lowered his voice.

“She’s well enough, to judge by the reports of her. There wasn’t as much news, but I did ask, and she’s in the Titan of Baleros’ company last anyone saw. This Ulvama is…?”

“A [Shaman]. They didn’t say anything about the Titan, though. Didn’t say much.”

Rabbiteater just sat there. It occurred to Menrise that the [Innkeeper] had probably gotten about as much communication out of Rabbiteater as they were. Seraphel’s lips moved.

“I…is she well?”

“Better.”

Rabbiteater stared past them all. He muttered.

“Better than Markus.”

“Everyone looks better than Ser Markus. He’s dead. You’re the one who wanted to run off and save her. Is she in danger? Where is she? If you’re going to drag everyone else off to fight or die, you might as well ask a few damn questions.”

Again, the words came from Menrise too hot, too fast. She saw Rabbiteater jerk. Saw Seraphel cover her mouth, then grab for him at the same time as Cortese.

Rabbiteater punched Menrise in the visor, and she went over backwards, swearing. She lifted a wand, and the [Fireball] blew a hole in the common room’s ceiling.

She hadn’t…meant to do that.

——

It was only midday when Erin and Ulvama came back. Only a few hours, really. The two emerged from their tent and found the Fraerlings had camped.

It was raining. But everyone was lashing together new tarps from shredded canvas. A swearing Roja was hacking bark off a tree to form a new canopy. Erin had been staring at her feet as Ulvama chivvied her outside. Both gazed down at a splintered wagon, a bunch of scattered food rapidly getting wet in the rain, and a very upset Battle Hamster nursing several huge bruises and places where his fur had been ripped out.

“Erin! Ulvama! How was the, um—”

One look at Erin’s blank face and Ulvama biting her lip and Matha hesitated. Erin walked past her.

“Bad. What happened here?”

Zemmy and Mera were nursing the most bruises. Zemmy winced as he felt at a cracked rib.

“Battle Hamster attack. Sixteen. Eurise is chasin’ em off.”

“Oh.”

The two looked around. Erin kicked at a piece of wood as Ulvama rushed over to the Battle Hamster.

Of the two groups, Matha wasn’t sure who’d had the worse morning.

——

Battle Hammies sounded like a joke. They looked like a joke—right up until one gave you an uppercut to the jaw and broke it.

Even so, to Tallfolk, they were probably less of a threat, even if they could break bones. Battle Hamsters could punch way above their weight class due to their insane strength and ability to twist their bodies up to perform terrific attacks like a [Martial Artist]…but it was still proportional to a hamster’s might. Armor probably stopped them. Enchanted armor probably stopped them.

They were super annoying scavengers though, who could tear open packs and make away with food. Battle Hamsters were lazy. Aside from fighting, they didn’t store food, collect it, or do anything their other rodent cousins did.

They just went out, beat down victims or started extorting entire ecosystems, and ate that way. The problem was that Fraerlings had lots of food, and Battle Hamsters were fast and territorial.

The one-eyed Battle Hamster going through their territory had pulled down an entire pack of them. Bowom actually pulled out an encyclopedia he’d brought from his laboratory and did some research; like heck he was going to repair anything in the rain.

He announced his findings to a grumpy group of Fraerlings.

“Bad news—Battle Hamsters are usually a pack. This group’s larger than normal; it’s normally around eight until they have children. But it might be two packs.”

“Wouldn’t they fight each other?”

Bowom cheerfully closed his book.

“Not with our one-eyed friend here. They’d be used to fighting each other for dominance, but once a wandering vagrant comes by, they either assimilate the newcomer or chase them off. Sounds like we’ve run into the latter.”

“Vagrant?”

“Oh, that’s what they’re called. Vagrant hamsters who don’t socialize—they sometimes pair up, but they’re solitary. Packs of them are known as a ‘rumble’. A rumble of hamsters.”

He grinned. No one else did. Mera swore as she rubbed at an eye.

“There’s too many of ‘em! We’ve fought off a pack before, Zemmy and me, but it took three weeks before they cleared off! These ones punch as hard as that guy. The only reason they didn’t swarm us was because of his bat.”

The conversation drew Erin out of her shell a bit. She’d been staring at some fire she’d conjured in an acorn for them; it was burning on top of the Corumdon Beetle’s back as he marched along with the repaired convoy. She glanced up.

“Really?”

“Oh, sure. He just stopped punching ‘em and started hitting them with the bat. Really funny stuff; he sent one flying fifteen feet.”

The thought of their Battle Hamster hitting home runs on the other hamsters made the two young women smile. The Battle Hamster was not happy, though. He kept sniffing the air and snarling. Ulvama wailed.

“They bit him so much!”

“Maybe he’s got history. It’s not that far from this group. If they chased him away…how large are hammy territories?”

Someone began trying to do math on a map while Ulvama fussed over the hamster’s fur. Erin turned to Eurise, who had jogged back into camp with a sour look on his face.

“Okay, so we have a hamster problem. They smashed up the caravan and stole food?”

“Not much. The damage is the real problem. I knocked a few of ‘em down, but they just avoid me.”

The [Retired Explorer] was the least hurt; the Battle Hamsters had sensed he was a threat, but they were pretty fearless. Erin nodded. She drew a pair of kitchen knives.

“If they come back, I’ll help. How many did you kill?”

Eurise raised his eyebrows as Ulvama whirled with an expression of horror on her face. The [Explorer] raised two fingers.

“Zero.”

The [Innkeeper] squinted at him, and he sighed.

“If we kill them, they’ll try to kill us, Erin. We just need to chase them off and get through their territory.”

After a moment she rammed the kitchen knives back into her belt. Erin got up and stretched. Then she walked out of the tent.

“Darn. Then I’m no use. All I do is get people killed. Let me know when we’re doing that.”

Matha’s heart sank as Ulvama’s head rose. She reached out for Erin, then sat there, applying a balm to the Battle Hamster’s side. Roja cleared her throat.

“So…how’d your pavilion-thing go?”

——

Matha didn’t know who Ser Markus was. It took Ulvama a while to explain about Rabbiteater and the Synectic Maze and everything else. Matha had gotten some of the battle at sea, but the other adventures?

Crazy Tallfolk stuff. She had time, though; she helped clean up the tent, which had come under attack, and lugged around Ulvama’s supplies as the [Shaman] applied healing gels and did her rounds of the camp.

“Erin called Rabbiteater right after he…sent his friend home. On a ship.”

“Oh. Whoa, that’s…cats. That’s real cats.”

After a quick sidelong glance to make sure Matha wasn’t being facetious, Ulvama nodded.

“It was a very hard talk.”

“How’d he take it? What’d you say?”

What did you say? Matha had spoken to some of the Cottontails when they lost Aphids. And there had been deaths—living in the wilds had been like that. Ulvama just shrugged and began mixing up paints.

“What you have to say. I’m sorry. He was brave. I wish. Talk to me. He didn’t. Too soon, and she was too late in calling. She could have. It probably wouldn’t have worked in the death-zone, but she blames herself. That’s why she doesn’t call other people. Dumb idiot.”

It seemed like she meant that about herself, not Erin. Matha fidgeted; Ulvama was mixing up black, inky-dark paint and applying it to the Battle Hamster, who sat, scowling.

“What’s that magic you’re doing, Ulvama?”

“[Master Holding Rune].”

“Whoa.”

Ulvama squinted at the Hamster’s back and poked him until he stopped fidgeting. She kept drawing with a brush.

“Maybe. It’s hard to do a [Master Rune]. Higher runes are more specific. This one is for super strong body, like a shell.”

She was painting a vaguely beetle-like design on the hamster’s back. It was certainly powerful; Matha could feel the magic. But Ulvama didn’t seem satisfied.

“Eh, it’s only expert-level. Bleh. Good enough if they come back.”

No one was in a great mood. She leapt up to go talk to Erin. Matha packed up Ulvama’s paints before the rain could get in them and hopped out of the tent. She saw them talking along the forwards balcony as rain poured down off the awnings.

“We can’t leave him. That the worst thing, Erin. How about this? How about we do another call—tonight?”

“He doesn’t want to talk, Ulvama.”

“So we don’t talk to him! But we talk to someone. Doesn’t he have friends?”

“…Ksmvr’s there. Vofea, Revi. And—Badarrow. I almost forgot he went there. I haven’t spoken to him either.”

The [Innkeeper]’s head came up after a moment, and she once again seemed to snap out of it. Ulvama nodded rapidly.

“Yah! Let’s talk to him. Okay?”

She led Erin past Matha and almost gave the [Raider] a kick until she saw Matha had packed up her paint kit. Ulvama gave Matha a grudging nod.

“…Put that in my rooms. Thanks.”

“No problem! Can I, uh, get you anything? You want lunch?”

“I ate lots inside the [Pavilion]. Bleh.”

Ulvama patted her stomach, but Erin half-turned.

“That’s not real food. Let’s get you lunch, Ulvama.”

“Ooh, good idea. Guess who else hasn’t eaten?”

Erin Solstice glanced at the Battle Hamster, then over the side of the tent at the beetle. Ulvama went back into the tent. She fetched her paint-kit, unlatched it, and pulled out a hand-mirror she’d bought in Lemoste. She held it up.

“You, dummy.”

——

They vanished again, and Matha aimlessly tidied up, then went to hang out with the other Fraerlings keeping a watch out for the Battle Hamsters.

Sadly, that meant Zemmy and Mera, because most of the other Fraerlings were crammed under any awning possible to get out of the rain. The two [Brawlers] were riding on top of a literal bucket attached to a wagon; they’d jump out of the little crow’s nest to fight.

Matha squeezed in, and Mera nodded at her.

“Hey, homewrecker, you slept with anyone you shouldn’t have yet?”

“Oi.”

The [Raider] was willing to put up with a lot of real cat turd comments from other Fraerlings, especially when she deserved it, but not Mera. She elbowed her hard, and Mera lifted a fist—but Zemmy played peacemaker for once.

“Hey, we’re on hammy fight duty. Save it.”

When the two [Brawlers] knew they actually had a good fight on their hands, they got surprisingly peaceful. Mera took one side of the bucket, and Matha leaned out of her side, gazing into the rain-lashed trees.

“Gnomes, it’s raining hard out there. You think it rains harder this far north?”

“Listen to you. This far north? We haven’t gone anywhere! Grandma Zinni went a hundred miles on her best aphid and you’re acting like we’ve crossed a mountain after a few dozen miles!”

Mera mocked Matha. The [Raider] scowled at her.

“What’s eating your crawdads today, Mera? You sore about getting punched out by a hammy? I haven’t done anything to you.”

They were actually cousins, though they’d fought for years as Matha led the Cottontails. Was it that old rivalry? Mera answered as she spat out the side of the rattling tower.

“Maybe I’m not a fan of you getting in the way of two people I like.”

“Ulvama and Erin?”

“No, Zemmy and my boot. Yes, those two! Everyone with eyes can see they’re patching things up. You could have stayed in Lemoste and been a celebrity, but instead you just had to come over and keep twirling everything up.”

Zemmy was half-nodding, but he seemed disinclined to get in the way of the two fighting. Matha got more annoyed as Mera jerked her chin at the tent.

“Last I checked, neither one was going out with the other. And if it weren’t for me, you’d have another weeks-long fight!”

Zemmy hesitated.

“Really?”

Mera just rolled her eyes.

“Hah! You think you’ve got a chance?”

“Sure!”

Both [Brawlers] sniggered at that, and Matha resisted the urge to pull out her spear and start poking.

“At least I’ve got courage to take the Tallfolk on by the boots. They’re the most interesting people to ever come to our villages—no one else is brave enough to give it a shot!”

“Maybe it’s being respectful, not a wandering pervert like you.”

Mera scoffed, and Matha narrowed her eyes.

“Sure. Sure. Hey, Zemmy, which one would you court? Erin or Ulvama?”

“What? Me?”

He jumped as she threw him under the wagon. Mera’s eyes instantly narrowed, and Matha leaned over.

“Sure, they both like you. You and Erin practice each day. Which one d’you like more?”

“I, uh, I’m being respectful.”

“You sure? Then how about Explorer Roja? Remember when you had a tree-sized crush on her?”

The [Raider] leaned back as Zemmy protested that was when he’d been a kid and gave Mera a significant look. Matha whispered.

“Who’s the coward now?”

The [Brawler] was red to her eartips, but she hesitated on a literal counterpunch. She’d always been better with her fists than anything else. Everyone and their pet aphid knew she and Zemmy were a thing, only neither one had the guts to say it.

No matter what size you were, no one fought as viciously as family. Eventually, all three decided to stop sparring by unanimous, unspoken agreement. Mera jerked her head at the tent.

“So…how bad is that pavilion-thingy? It sounds pretty interesting. Erin didn’t use it much in Lemoste, though. What, she talking to another Ant-person about to die?”

“Nope. She just called one of her friends right after his friend died.”

“Cats. That’s…cats. Is everyone she knows in mortal peril?”

“I sort of think they are. I don’t think that place is good for them, but they’re going to talk to someone else they know. Say, you see anything good out there that’s colorful?”

Zemmy frowned.

“In this rain? Nothing, why?”

Matha rolled her eyes; Erin had been talking about this for two days straight. Did he not listen?

“Because Erin wants to use the colors, roach-for-brains. Just holler if you see anything, and I’ll grab it.”

Mera nodded.

“Sure. I guess you are being helpful, a bit. Weird. Do you really like ‘em that much?”

Matha thought about Erin Solstice admiring Lemoste or when she’d seen Ulvama appearing with her new outfit. The way her heart leapt in her chest each time they found out something new about themselves…she rubbed at her chest.

“Yeah. I guess I do.”

She just wished the world would treat the two of them better. Unfortunately…it wasn’t really the world’s call. It was Erin’s friends, and when she appeared to the ones who hadn’t seen her since the battle at sea?

It hurt them. Which hurt her. And that—

That was real rough. Almost as rough as the Battle Hammies coming back for round two.

——

Matha had a bit of a concussion from taking a hamster punch to the head. Bowom had told her not to walk it off and prescribed her with a weird jelly that hung like a helmet over her head. She lay, curled up, in a dark part of the tent as Mieve scuttled over now and then to check on her. She heard Erin’s voice, tired, but attempting to sound cheery.

“Hey, we’re back. What happened here?”

“More hamsters!”

Even Bowom was cursing them; they’d broken into his tent searching for food, and he was hobbling around.

“I kicked one of them, and I did more damage to myself…I need to calibrate this leg. I forgot how hard galas muscle activates! You seem to have a knack for missing them. Or—and this is a working theory—they sense you two gone and decide we’re weaker.”

“Sorry.”

“Where’s Hammy?”

Ulvama peered around worriedly, and Bowom pointed.

“Down below. He’s fine, but our beetle friend is healing. They decided to punch him when he grabbed one; your rune armor saved the hamster, but they mobbed both before Eurise pulled them off. They’re too aggressive for this to be about food. We might have to adjust our ‘no-killing’ rule.”

The [Shaman]’s face set as she sprang to her feet.

“That’s not a good idea. I am a [Shaman]—I can boss wildlife. If this is about Hammy, then maybe I can communicate with them?”

“Hmm. Good idea. See Roja about that; she was thinking maybe we find their den and take their young hostage. She and Eurise are mad enough to try. If Vrilla were here, she’d just pull rank on them. Erin, how was the other call? Fruitful? Can you give me a huge, gloomy expression for ‘good’? Tears for me getting someone to be emotionally supportive in my place?”

Ulvama strode out of the tent, and Erin stood there as Matha lay on the floor.

“…Better than last time.”

“Aha! Tell your [Doctor] about it. Don’t mind my patient. Matha took a bad punch trying to protect our beetle friend.”

Erin glanced over and looked concerned for a moment, which Matha appreciated.

“Is she okay?”

“Concussion.”

“Concussion? That’s bad. That lasts for a month!”

“Not with my patented I-don’t-have-time-for-this gel! No, seriously. I’m being facetious, but it’s really an Eir Gel reduction that seeps in through the skin and skull to heal the brain. Are you sure someone destroyed the island?”

“Yup. That’s why there’s no Healing Potions.”

Bowom made a note on a clipboard.

“Well, there goes worldwide healing. Mortality rates among the elderly or those working in hazardous environments may climb fifty percent…but I’m sure the Tallfolk did the best they could instead of, say, only having one island and never culturing the stuff like we did in Lemoste. They had samples being grown; they’re all destroyed after the ant-attacks. If we’re lucky, our neighbor city will have some.”

“You guys had Eir Gel samples?”

That interested Erin, and Bowom smiled at her.

“It’s one of the things I was discussing with the medical community in Lemoste before I exiled myself for reasons of unspeakable medical acts against Fraerling-kind. We’re not blind, Miss Erin. We’d have sent you with a sample, but again…hope that Cillencreith has some.”

She paused, nodded at him.

“You Fraerlings are too generous and nice, Bowom. Thank you, really.”

It was his turn to cackle with a [Mad Doctor]’s amusement.

“Erin, Erin…you think we’re doing it just out of the kindness of our hearts? If we send it out with you, it will be in a way that ensures no one can trace it back to us so they can force us to do all the work they can’t do. And it will be with a big note saying something to the effect of, ‘hello, we, Fraerlings, have saved your collective behinds! The next time there’s a major calamity, you had all better give us help!’ It pays to be a cooperative, useful member of a worldwide community. A fact you have reminded us all of in our isolation. So really…credit yourself, credit practicality, but I shall take all the applause.”

She chuckled at that, and he strode about the tent.

“Mieve? Where’s Mieve? Can you keep an eye on Brain-Trauma Patient #1?”

“You mean Matha, doctor?”

“Yes, exactly. Show Miss Solstice where food is—we could really use a stirring meal for morale, Erin. I’m going to check on Patient #2.”

“…You mean the beetle?”

“Yes, exactly.”

He vanished, and in the silence, Mieve scuttled over.

“The food is in the compartment next to the firepit, here, Miss Erin. It is hidden away.”

“Got it. I’ll figure out something to make. Everyone okay?”

“They are not badly hurt. Aside from Matha. Doctor Bowom believes we will not notice if she has lost any intelligence.”

Hey. This was actually starting to hurt Matha’s feelings a bit, especially because she thought that was a serious comment Bowom had made. Erin just chuckled, then shook her head.

“Matha’s not that bad. Just annoying. Let me know if she needs anything. What do you want to eat, Mieve?”

“…Something with Tallfolk meat?”

“How about steaks?”

“I do not know what that is.”

“Great. Steaks and eggs it is. Lemme just see what can transmute into it. I’ll try not to use up our supplies, but Eurise can probably just kill something.”

Erin squatted over the cooking area and quickly had pans out and a fire going. She flopped some very red-looking pieces of meat into the pans after doing her transmutation trick, and it smelled good.

Matha’s head hurt. The light made her close her eyes and hope Bowom’s gel worked faster. She might have dozed off, because the next thing she heard was Erin exclaiming.

“Food! Hey, do you want me to set it up here…?”

“Patient needs quiet and no light! We’ll take it down here!”

That was Bowom screaming as loud as possible. Erin clattered down the steps, then came back up.

“What, popcorn, really?”

“Yah, yah. Get me popcorn, honey, um, fatty foods. But no meat! Anything they’d like. We do a peace offering. Hammy, he has history with them. So I go out, make peace…”

“You’re gonna broker a peace between the hamster groups and us?”

“Yep. With bribes. So, popcorn without the damn yeast, nuts, the really tasty ones—”

“Macadamia?”

“Mhm.”

“And you’re going to broker peace.”

“That’s what I said.”

“You. Between hamsters.”

“…It sounds like you don’t believe I can broker peace between us and hamsters. Is that what you’re saying, Erin?”

“What? No, no, I totally believe you. Definitely. It’s just, um, the Battle Hamster—”

“Hammy. His name Hammy now.”

“…the Battle Hamster doesn’t really listen to you unless he wants to.”

“Psh. He listens all the time. And this time, I’m going to be official. You just make me food. Actually, you keep checking in on Rabbiteater, okay? That…that conversation with Badarrow went well.”

“Sure.”

“No, really, Erin. It’s hard, I know. And—and—but you can call Snapjaw!”

“Yeah, I’ll do that. I did promise.”

“And Chieftain Rags was good.”

“Mhm.”

“She was fine. He was fine. I see what you mean. It’s hard. But we did it, and we’re helping. Okay?”

“Yeah. No, they’re good. Badarrow’s great. And Rags…two Ragses, huh? Crazy world.”

“Exactly. So—I can join in tomorrow, but I know it’s tiring. You look tired. You rest, but tomorrow?”

“I’ll call Snapjaw. Don’t worry, I can do that, Ulvama. You just deal with the hamsters, okay? I believe in you.”

“Thanks. Wish me luck!”

More footsteps, then Erin closed the door. Rain pattered down until Matha heard a voice.

“Hey, Matha, you awake?”

“Nn.”

“Are you hungry?”

“N.”

“Do you need anything?”

“Uhmn.”

“Okay, I’m going to put some food in the pot for when you are. Let me know if you need anything. Have a good night.”

Silence. Matha saw Erin pace around, wash a few dishes and the frying pan by taking them out into the rain and scrubbing, then stump inside. Talking to herself, but in a quiet enough voice that it didn’t hurt Matha’s head. Plus, it was Erin. Matha would have listened to her, headache or not, all night.

“Cast iron frying pan. Funny how Fraerlings have the exact same…I guess it works, so why reinvent anything? Especially with their allotment. Maybe I should stick around tomorrow morning in case I have to stab a hamster. Then again, I would make it worse. Eurise is there.”

She sat down with a sigh. Then stared at the embers in the fire pit. After a few seconds, Erin slapped her knees.

“…Might as well get it over with. She’ll wait all night if Rags told her. I can probably pull him in as well. Just…okay.”

She reached up. A glowing little key in her chest clicked.

Erin vanished.

——

Matha wasn’t sure how much time passed. She dozed off, so it could have been a few minutes. Or a few hours.

It was the same dark, the embers almost vanished, when Erin Solstice re-appeared. No flash of light, no sparkle. She was just back.

She did conjure a flame. A small, blue flame that lit up the tent but didn’t hurt Matha’s eyes. Just her heart. Erin Solstice paced around in a circle, checking on Ulvama and Bowom, but they were still out, it seemed. Mieve, slumbering in a little nest in his workshop.

The [Innkeeper] kept pacing. She roamed past Matha’s vision, halted—then cast around. She bent down, and Matha heard a click as Erin opened a familiar little case.

Ulvama’s paints kit. The waterproofed suitcase flipped open, and Erin rummaged around carefully, not opening any of the sealed jars or messing with the brushes. Eventually, she found what she wanted and lifted it up.

She exhaled as she lifted the blue flame, and the hand mirror glinted in the light. The darkness faded, revealing detail, a blue tinge over everything as Erin’s hat caught fire. Azure fire filled the hat on the [Witch of Remorse]’s head, illuminating her as she tilted her mirror.

Across her unsmiling face. She was angling it, checking not so much her features as…her neck. Her wrists. Her arms, and then she swept the mirror up and gazed at it as she eyed herself. Top-to-bottom.

Then Erin just held the mirror in one hand and gazed into it as the flames on her hat began to burn low. Stared and stared into her reflection before she suddenly balled up a fist and punched the mirror.

The crack and tinkle of glass was followed by a curse. The [Innkeeper] bent down, then hurriedly swept the fragments up. She hid the mirror fragments and broken hand mirror before pushing Ulvama’s suitcase away. She strode into her rooms, and Matha lay there for a while.

Her eyes glimmered with tears for a long while before she went to sleep again.

[Lovestruck Punk Level 16!]

[Skill – Helping Hand Obtained!]

[Skill – Credit Where Credit’s Due Obtained!]

——

The next morning, if Ulvama noticed the absence of her hand mirror, she didn’t comment on it. She was a flurry of dressing up for her hamster diplomacy anyways, and Erin didn’t mention the pillow she’d hidden the glass shards inside of.

Matha was feeling better, so she casually shuffled the pillow out of sight as she got up, and Bowom pronounced her un-concussed. The last thing anyone needed was to step on the glass by accident.

This proved to be a mistake. Because Matha was very ginger about moving the little orange pillow with yellow tassels with her foot. No one noticed in the morning’s breakfasting and cleanup.

Except for Erin Solstice.

The [Innkeeper] was unperceptive about many things. Very, very perceptive at some things. She casually picked up the pillow as the tent was lifted onto the beetle’s back and they got moving.

“I’ll get her a replacement.”

“I, uh, I was just—I woke up because I couldn’t sleep, and I—”

Matha froze. Now would be a really bad time to mention her levelup—and new class—and Skills to Erin. She was anticipating being lifted up and slammed against a wall or something like that, but Erin just fished out the pieces of glass. Pocketed them.

“It’s fine. Just don’t tell Ulvama. I have more meetings to do, and she’s busy.”

She had that flat expression on her face again, and Matha, relieved not to be suffering maximum Erin Wrath, hesitated.

“In the, um, [Pavilion of Secrets]?”

“Yep.”

“…It doesn’t seem like it’s going well.”

Matha hazarded. The [Innkeeper] glanced up at Matha, visibly surprised.

“It’s going fine. What makes you think—ah.”

She glanced at the broken mirror and shrugged.

“That was different.”

“Um. Okay?”

The [Innkeeper] didn’t elaborate, so, awkwardly, Matha began to pick up dishes for washing and clean up. Erin did the same, silent, until she exhaled loudly.

“The meetings are fine. Aside from Rabbiteater, it’s catching up with everyone on what’s happened to them and me, Matha. I talked to Badarrow, and he wanted to tell Snapjaw he’s okay. Same with Revi. Then I talked to Chieftain Rags. Then I got him and Snapjaw in the same place together. Which was fine aside from all the kissing and crying. I didn’t even get to Typhenous.”

She rolled her eyes and even smiled at that. Pleased with herself. Which begged the question…

“So what’s with the mirror?”

Erin Solstice lost the smile. Matha hid behind a stack of bowls she was carrying, but the [Innkeeper] just started scrubbing a pot with some water.

“It’s just how I look, that’s all. I guess I should start wearing makeup. Cut my hair better. Get it dyed. Long-sleeved shirts—really long. And a scarf.”

“Oh. That’d look good on y—because of the scars?”

To Matha, who’d met Erin after all the events at sea, it was part of who she was, but they were fresh…and dramatic. Matha would have classified them as ‘sexy battle scars’ in the most complimentary of ways.

But she definitely saw how they were not that. Erin muttered.

“I didn’t have them when they last saw me. That’s all. It hurts them more than it hurts me. If I could cover them up, I would. That’s all. Alright?”

“Yep. Got it. I mean, they’re worried about you, right? Not horrified? Like none of them think you’re ugly all of a sudden.”

The [Innkeeper] glanced up, hazel eyes flashing with annoyance.

“No, they’re not worried about my looks, Matha. I just have to stop them from going off to murder [Slavers] each time. Then wonder why I’m doing that. But if they do that, they’ll get killed.”

She scrubbed furiously and then glared around, palpably annoyed her cleaning Skills had eradicated all the dirty dishes. Matha cleared her throat.

“We could cover them up if it’s really bad.”

“Cover what up?”

“Your scars.”

A blank look from the [Innkeeper] made Matha explain.

“It’s not hard. Bowom can do it with skin grafts, but those are gross. But there’s plenty of alchemy that makes it fade.”

“Okay. But they’re my scars. They’re there because I was hurt.”

“Got it, got it, but if your friends get upset—I mean, I get it. They fit you. I mean, they’re yours, you don’t have to change the scars for them. It’s just you don’t want them to notice them. And be upset on your behalf.”

The [Punk] blathered as Erin kept eying her and putting away clean dishes. She felt pretty sure she was about to get [Minotaur Punched], but Erin Solstice just tilted her head, then nodded.

“Yeah. That’s about it.”

She finished cleaning, dusted her hands, then leaned against a support pillar. She closed her eyes.

“…Badarrow said he might get on a ship to Izril, if they find one. If Rabbiteater needs him, he’ll stay. But he’s worried about Snapjaw. Snapjaw’s leading Goblins into the New Lands. Searching for a home. Rags is planning on moving the entire Goblinhome.”

“Whoa. That’s big.”

Matha might not know much about Izril or the world, but she knew about relocating bases, and it was never easy. Erin nodded, staring ahead.

“Rags asked me if she could stay somewhere in the Crossroads of Izril. How likely it was that it was safe there.”

“That’s the, um—”

“The long-lost roads that Drakes had some of their Walled Cities in. I was told that it’s dangerous. Multiple things that ended the cities are still trapped in there, and they’ve gotten worse over time. But it’s a place where there’s magic, even cities her tribe might take over. If they survive. What am I supposed to tell her? Not to try? Or tell Badarrow he shouldn’t go back to be with his love? I should have told Rabbiteater to leave without me.”

She stared at her hand, opening and closing it.

“That place is too powerful. Too many truths. When Snapjaw told Badarrow she was going to risk her life for the tribe…he wavered. I saw him waver. I shouldn’t have brought them both in there. Ulvama was right. It can do more damage to a friendship than a foe.”

That seemed—difficult—to Matha. Lots of unintended consequences. The Fraerling hesitated.

“Who’re you gonna call today?”

“Rabbiteater’s friends. So Seraphel, Lord Cortese, or Menrise. The Ivory Four. Altestiel was one of them.”

“What h—”

“He died.”

The [Punk] was really worried about stepping on another trap spell, and the ground seemed to be littered with them. But Erin Solstice just kept flexing one hand.

“Badarrrow isn’t certain if they know…Rabbiteater’s a Goblin. He thinks they do. But I could make a mistake here. Rabbiteater’s not doing well, though. And if they do know, and they’re thinking of doing something—”

Her eyes glinted.

“I’ll be back in a bit. There’s someone else I could call. But…”

Then she was staring past Matha, and there was a horror on Erin’s face. A fear that Matha had never seen there. Erin shivered.

“Maybe not. I can do so much damage.”

She lifted a hand, and that key was in her chest. Matha squeaked. She had to say it.

“Do you—do you want someone to go with you? You know, for moral support? I’m, uh, I have [Helping Hand].”

She threw it out there, and the [Innkeeper] half turned. Erin pursed her lips.

“Why would you help? Ulvama—it’s good she’s not here for those three, especially if they don’t know. But what would you do?”

Matha gave Erin a thumbs up.

“I don’t know. Element of surprise?”

The [Innkeeper] stared flatly at Matha. Then squinted ahead. She tilted her head, rubbed at one ear, and then, to Matha’s astonishment, chuckled.

“That sounds familiar. Okay, I don’t want to do this. Let’s see what happens.”

Matha blinked.

“Wait, r—”

Click.

——

Seraphel du Marquin wiped her sweating palms on her dress five times before she finally took the handle of the door. She swung it open and stepped into the [Pavilion of Secrets].

She knew what it was, of course, but getting a handbook like the ones her mother made detailing exactly how the rules worked—that was scary. It was scary knowing who she’d meet in here.

The [Innkeeper].

They had never spoken to each other, not one-on-one, just when Erin Solstice had appeared before their group. Nor had Seraphel thought that Erin Solstice was interested in her.

The young woman scared Seraphel. Not just because of how they’d last parted.

A blade dragging itself out of Prince Iradoren’s chest as he choked on his own blood. A young woman staring past him, not even focusing on the man she was killing. Bright, hazel eyes. Burning skies. A Goblin Lord’s hand clasping hers.

The woman who had begun Rabbiteater’s journey and who was responsible for both legends and calamity…in a Skill more powerful than any Skill that the royal family of Calanfer had known.

Seraphel was allowed to fear Erin Solstice. She had more magic than any Earther that Seraphel had ever known, aside from Cara. And Cara’s songs were not like these.

If anything, Erin Solstice had crossed over the meridian line. Crossed the event horizon into a place that Seraphel had seen only once before.

She had once witnessed a battle between mortals and immortals, a true clash of powers. The day the Singer of Terandria roused the Spider from her dreadful nest in Terandria…Seraphel had been there, a bit player witnessing a battle between countless heroes.

Only…

When she stepped into that infinite landscape, laid eyes on the young woman sitting there, Seraphel’s heart constricted, and she felt it.

Unlike Cara, the Singer of Terandria, Erin Solstice had crossed the line. Now, her power lay on the side of the immortal Witch of Webs. And Seraphel was no Cara.

She took so long walking towards the gazebo that Seraphel du Marquin thought the [Innkeeper] got annoyed. The [Princess] was glancing everywhere, taking tiny steps, mind racing. The Walk of Years—as in it was a walk so slow it could take a year to get anywhere.

Calanferian classics. But the [Innkeeper] was not made of time. She rose, and her voice tolled across the long walkway.

“Seraphel du Marquin. Lyonette’s older sister. I’m not going to hurt you. Let’s talk, please.”

The [Cursed Princess] jumped and didn’t exactly scuttle forwards, but she was fighting to keep composed. Maybe Erin Solstice didn’t realize it herself—but the [Princess] saw it. Her class gave her an insight into Erin Solstice that even the Quarass had lacked.

Oh, Eternal Throne. She’s a monster. Would Belavierr have looked this dreadful? Gold. She’s cursed gold.

Seraphel’s new class was [Curse Bearer Princess]. She had the power to take on curses—and share them. A gift that played into her reputation. With that new authority came the ability to hit people with things she’d suffered.

Not great, but she could let someone hex her, then copy it. But that also came with a sense of…well, curses. Not many people were actually cursed. The most she’d seen so far was a kind of weird debt on a [Storm Sailor] with a gambling Skill. Like a cup over-empty that needed balancing.

But Erin Solstice? Seraphel peered up as the [Innkeeper] eyed her, and she saw it.

A mountain of gold. And for some reason, some cloves of garlic—piled behind her, illuminated by a black sun. It looked like misfortune. It looked like a pall over the very idea of…gold?

She’s the reason Father was talking about all those new currencies! She’s—how much gold is that?

To the [Curse Bearer Princess], it was as if Erin Solstice sat before a pile of wealth to make even Khelt’s ruler blink twice. If someone had pulled out the Immortal Tyrant’s throne and sat Erin Solstice on it, she would have seemed the image of an [Evil Queen] presiding over the cursed treasury to damn nations.

That was why Seraphel’s heart juddered. She had no idea how this kind of curse could be balanced. But she felt, in her very bones, that Erin Solstice wasn’t paying the cost of it. She’d hit the world with a curse like no other.

Again, the garlic made no sense—that curse was all but expiring. But the gold—

Then she was standing in the gazebo, and Erin Solstice was smiling at her. Only, when Seraphel focused on the woman, it was no better.

Her hair! Seraphel recognized the signs of magical damage. Her eyes found the dreadful scars on Erin’s neck, her wrists. The [Innkeeper] was a completely different person from the one Seraphel remembered from Pheislant’s harbors, and her clothing—!

[The Wandering Innkeeper]’s eyes narrowed slightly as she saw Seraphel’s expression. She rose, hand extended, and Seraphel hesitated.

She was afraid to touch Erin’s hand. In this place, truth was a binding force. Be careful. Oh, be so—

“Hi! And I’m Matha!”

“Aaaaaah!”

Seraphel whirled, slapped the second young woman across the face, and immediately began apologizing. Matha staggered.

“Ow. Wait, have I been slapped by a [Princess]? Is that better than a kiss? Can I get both?”

Erin Solstice eyed Matha. Seraphel blinked at the young woman with a black leather jacket, odd leather armor, and an excited grin. After a moment, the [Innkeeper] sighed.

It had been a good idea after all, damnit.

——

It might have been weird, but it made sense to Erin. Matha, in the deck of cards that were people, was a kind of wildcard that had the qualities of being, well, Matha-ish.

She was not very intimidating, and she cut Princess Seraphel’s tension with a knife. Erin had used to be, well, a Matha. Since she didn’t have the ability to be a weird, zany, harmless [Innkeeper], using the Fraerling as a distraction worked.

She just hoped Ulvama understood.

Part of the Fraerling’s power was that she had no real cultural knowledge of [Princesses] outside of books about Tallfolk; Fraerlings had no royalty, at least in no city she or Erin knew about. And she was both excited to be here and not good about propriety. Especially since she got to be the same size as Seraphel. That was just a trick of perspective; if Erin could be normal-sized, why not let Matha?

Lies within the [Pavilion of Secrets]. If Seraphel had asked how tall Matha really was…but who would ask that?

“So you don’t kiss frogs? Ever?”

“N-no. Why would I do that? Legends aside.”

“I dunno, if I thought there was like a one-in-a-thousand chance one was a [Prince], I’d go around giving some smooches just out of obligation, y’know? Unless you have to marry ‘em. And you don’t feel peas in your bed?”

“…No.”

Matha was completely let down by Seraphel’s inability to sense peas under hundreds of layers of mattresses. Erin coughed.

“Matha’s a…friend, Seraphel.”

She scowled, and Matha appeared delighted. Erin sighed.

“I’m here to talk about Rabbiteater. How’s he doing?”

The 4th Princess composed herself with remarkable swiftness and sat on the edge of her chair. Her face fell.

“I—w—not very well. I cannot lie, I suppose. Ser Markus’ death was hard on all of us, but he feels as if it were his fault. I told him there was no way to know, but he feels as though he was responsible for not breaking out of the Synectic Maze. Because he was the highest-level warrior…”

“Yeah.”

Matha sidled back, and Erin leaned forwards. She inspected Seraphel.

To hear Vofea tell it when Erin had met with Pisces, Seraphel had covered herself with glory and the guts of monsters. But she looked much like, well, an older Lyonette, only one who had never actually toughened up from running an inn. Seraphel’s posture was immaculate, and more than that, she just didn’t look like she’d survived a jungle trek.

Maybe it was her clothing, suited to a ballroom, or her lack of scars. Erin tried not to curl her lip.

“You’re all in Benoix, correct? Safe?”

“…For a given value of the word, yes. And you may assume we are at that city. For now.”

She was being exceptionally cautious. Erin lifted a hand.

“I am not trying to get you, Rabbiteater, or anyone in Calanfer’s delegation in trouble, unless you mean to harm him or anyone I care about, Seraphel. I called you in here because I wanted to know if you could help him.”

“I thank you for your reassurances, Miss Solstice, and I would like to do anything in my power to help Rabbiteater as well, as long as I don’t make it worse. But he is grieving; we are speaking to him, but he prefers solitude. I cannot blame him.”

Erin’s eyes narrowed as she went over Seraphel’s wording, searching for holes in it. Wordplay was going to be hellishly annoying here. She shrugged slightly.

“Just don’t leave him alone or abandon him. Are you going home?”

“I have been instructed to by the Eternal Throne, but I am conflicted. I know he would like to stay, to join you. But given what we have already been through…”

“I see. So you’re leaving. Who else might stay? Hundredlord Cortese? Lady Menrise?”

Seraphel started.

“I—Hundredlord Cortese indicated he would stay with Ser Solstice, yes. Lady Menrise has also been called home.”

Erin nodded to herself.

“Got it. In that case, I will speak to Lord Cortese. Which will be interesting, Matha.”

He had seemed like a prickly, prideful man the last time they’d met, but if Rabbiteater trusted him—Seraphel blinked at them.

“Well, if there is anything I can do for Rabbiteater, I would like to! I, um, don’t know much about his past or particulars, but I consider him a good f-friend. And I will do anything for my friends.”

She sounded pretty earnest. Erin offered the [Princess] a polite smile.

“I know you stuck by him at sea. I wouldn’t expect anything more of royalty, Princess Seraphel, and the fact that your company has been with him so long matters. I know how hard this has to be for you, and Lyonette has been worried sick. She’ll be relieved to know you’re alright.”

Erin debated pulling Lyonette in here, but she had more calls to make, and she was limited in energy. Matha was blinking between Seraphel and Erin. Erin had asked her to stay quiet once they got down to brass tacks, but the Fraerling was antsy.

“Thank you, Miss Solstice. Are you in communication with her? I am sure my parents will let…I am sure, at some point, she’ll be informed I am alive.”

Weird way to say that. Erin didn’t have a good impression of Seraphel’s parents already, and that lowered it. She grunted, recalling Nerry’s conversation with her. Calanfer would be the worst people to let slip…well, maybe her appearance had already done it. Still.

“I’ve talked to Lyonette, yes. I’ll wager I’ve been in contact with more people than you have until now. I hope you two can meet; Ser Dalimont’s a good guy, and he’s talked about you.”

“Dalimont!”

Seraphel said that with such relief and fondness it did surprise Erin. The [Princess] leaned forwards.

“Is he truly well? He found Lyonette, I know, but that traitor hasn’t been replete with details!”

Erin’s eyes flickered at that, and Seraphel smiled—until Erin drew back.

“Traitor? Is he in trouble with the Eternal Throne?”

“What? No, nonono—it’s just a nickname I have for him! I call him—he is a trusted [Knight], one of only two in the world I confide in! I would love to speak to him, and Lyonette, if I could do it without my mother listening in.”

The [Princess] was growing increasingly distraught, and Erin nodded.

“I’ll tell Lyonette to use the [World’s Eye Theatre] to get in contact with you. I’m glad you’re getting to safety, Princess Seraphel. Until you go, please help out Rabbiteater?”

Cortese, then. She stood up and smiled at Seraphel, even bowed. But the [Curse Bearer Princess] didn’t immediately rise. She seemed more upset.

“Miss Erin Solstice, I rather fear we’ve come to the wrong conclusions here. What I meant was—I have been instructed by the Eternal Throne to return to Calanfer, yes.”

Erin gave her a puzzled gaze.

“I understand. You have to do what you have to do, and after the sea battle, it makes sense. I’m not mad.”

Seraphel half-rose.

“Yes, but what I meant was that I have not acceded to their request. Of course, they assume I am going, and they have apparently re-routed several Calanferian ships, including colonists bound for the New Lands!”

“What ships? They were all sunk at sea. If there were any survivors like your vessel they were probably hunted down by the Iron Vanguard.”

Erin remembered the battle. She couldn’t imagine the Bloodtear Pirates and Iron Vanguard had left many survivors. Perhaps some had made it, but to stay at sea that long? Princess Seraphel gave Erin a bleak smile.

“Ah, that would be the second wave of colony ships, Miss Erin Solstice. We have not given up. Many of Terandria’s kingdoms have mobilized fleets bound for the New Lands.”

“After you lost the first group? Are you insane?”

The [Princess] lifted her chin and her voice was sad, self-depricating.

“We are the descendants of the Hundred Heroes, Miss Solstice. We do not admit defeat. It is not as cohesive as the first attempt, but would you believe more kingdoms are coming? There is a debt of honor to settle. Yet my father had two ships dare Baleros.”

She shook her head.

“Insanity. Father had them at sea and then moving up and down Baleros’ coast just in case we appeared!”

That was a nasty trick. Erin grimaced, imagining how long at sea they’d been. All to provide, what, transport, reinforcements?

Niers would approve. Maybe he helped with that. She smiled.

“Well, it sounds like you have a way back, unless the Iron Vanguard catches you.”

Good thing Rabbiteater’s not on those ships; I wouldn’t trust this lot to win a naval battle against a pot with a crab in it, let alone the Iron Vanguard. Seraphel flushed, and now she began to appear a tiny bit annoyed.

“Miss Solstice. Perhaps you’re not hearing me. I haven’t said I’m going!”

“But your parents have ordered you.”

Erin heard the nuance, now, but she wasn’t impressed. Lyonette had stories about who defied Ielane du Marquin—no one except poor Menisi, and it was poor Menisi, apparently. She remembered Rabbiteater’s face when she had called him into the [Pavilion]. Self-starved, burying another brother.

Whereas this [Princess]…Erin eyed her still-immaculate dress, her fair skin. Seraphel flushed at the [Innkeeper]’s flat gaze.

“I have…not fully considered the ramifications of their request. It would be highly, highly difficult for me to refuse. But there is a possibility I might. If it matters.”

Erin half-glanced at Matha. She expected the Fraerling to be annoyed by this circular discussion, but the [Raider] was looking thoughtful. Erin smiled at Seraphel fakely.

“I get that, Your Highness. It sounds like you’re going. Because it would be very easy to say you’re not going when you’re stepping in circles to avoid saying you are.”

In the Pavilion, this kind of double-talk stood out. Seraphel turned red.

“It is a difficult position to be in, Innkeeper Solstice! If I were to refuse, my parents would regard it as an act of rebellion.”

“I’m sure. Thanks for spelling out the part I already got. As I said, Your Highness, you’ve done a lot for Rabbiteater. You didn’t switch sides on him during the battle at sea. You’ve gone with him through terrible trouble, and you did a lot in the Synectic Maze. That’s impressive, but if you have to go—I can’t stop you.”

Seraphel blinked, then blushed further.

“You heard about that? Rabbiteater said that?”

“Hm? No, Vofea mentioned it.”

“Oh.”

The [Princess] seemed to get more annoyed. She pursed her lips.

“If I were to stay, Innkeeper Solstice, it would have to be for a great reason. Such as saving you.”

“I don’t need saving at the moment, but I want to link up with Rabbiteater. We’ll make it happen, but lugging around a Calanferian army probably gets in the way of that, so it might work out for the best to have a small group.”

“Lugging around a Calanferian army? We put one of the Great Companies to flight! We have all bled and suffered together, Miss Solstice, and I resent any slander against my people.”

Seraphel’s voice was becoming dangerous. Erin’s eyes rose, and her pleasant smile turned icy.

“Well, I apologize, Your Highness. It just seems to me that Terandrian affairs have nearly gotten Rabbiteater killed numerous times. It might be better if he had to stop bailing you lot out of trouble.”

The [Princess] gasped, and her head snapped back. Erin was debating apologizing for that—Seraphel had done a lot in the Synectic Maze—but then Seraphel the Sharptongued fired back.

“I suppose that is fair. We Calanferians have been the weakest link in multiple battles, and if I were a bit stronger, I might have spared Rabbiteater the grief of losing his friend or so many of our comrades. But at least I was there and had the decency to call him more than twice in as many months! For the woman he looks up to, trusts, and holds in such high esteem, you do not show it!”

The [Innkeeper] felt her heart ache at that. She rose, fast, and Seraphel recoiled, but not like a startled doe in the headlights. More like Alber setting himself up to punch Erin in the face. They locked eyes, and Erin smiled, a ghost of one now.

“Seraphel, I appreciate all you’ve done for Rabbiteater. Your friendship with him, Altestiel, your people—I truly do mean that.”

“I thank you for that clarity.”

“It’s more than I’d expect any Princess of Calanfer to be capable of, aside from Lyonette. I’m amazed you even managed to survive the Synectic Maze alone. From the looks of you, you haven’t exactly been roughing it. Everyone, Badarrow included, has scars from your trip. You might have a mild suntan.”

That one hit straight back at Seraphel, who flinched—then developed a dangerous gleam in her eye. Like…the moment a rodent you were hunting turned around and went for your throat. That’s what Matha saw, but she was already reaching for Erin’s arm to ask her why she was so hostile. Seraphel’s eyes flashed.

“Watch your tongue, [Witch]. Suffering is not skin deep.”

Erin’s head jerked back, and her eyes narrowed.

“Thought so. You have something against my other class, Princess?”

“I have never met a [Witch] I cared for. The one I met should have burned or been buried at sea. Do forgive me—but I do not know you, Erin Solstice. The architect of so much disaster and death lecturing me in this Skill is not something I will take lying down. Let alone allegations I have not suffered. I may be pampered, and I know I am royal. You do not know what happened in the Synectic Maze because you didn’t even check in on Rabbiteater while he was there.”

The words bit. Almost physically—Seraphel saw Erin’s cheek ripple like she’d been struck. The [Innkeeper]’s head twisted left, then back to face Seraphel.

“Huh. Skills work here. Thank you for the lesson, Princess Seraphel. I may have killed more Terandrians by my actions at the battle at sea. But since no one could protect Rabbiteater, not even his friends—I did what I had to.”

Flinch. But then Seraphel snapped back. Matha leaned back, as if she could feel something pass by her face.

“Oh, well done. Because of you, the Kingdom of Myths wants Ser Solstice dead, and every nation from Kaaz to Calanfer must hold him at arms length. Did you have to kill Iradoren? I did not like him, but the man was a [Prince]! Do you know how much danger you have put Rabbiteater, yourself, and everyone you love in, you thoughtless buffoon?”

Erin hesitated. She searched for a reply, then snapped.

“He was trying to murder Rabbiteater, and you did nothing. I don’t need to talk to you. The only reason you and the rest of the Ivory F—four are worth talking to is because you’re supposed to be his friends. I am doing all I can for people I care about. If Altestiel was alive, I’d have called on him. I don’t have the time or ability to be everywhere. Even now, I am focusing on the people who matter.”

“Oh, such as Ser Solstice? Wonderful, frankly, enchanting decision-making. Pray tell, should I warn him he has to carry you out again to save your life? Or would you prefer to reduce him to tears every time you call on him?”

The honeyed voice of the [Princess] stung worse than Calescent’s soup in the eyes. Erin’s own narrowed.

“At least I have something to offer him. A place to stay. A home.”

“Ah, that would be why he sailed to another continent? Because this home is so welcoming he wished to leave?”

Another flinch. The [Innkeeper]’s hands trembled on the table as Matha tried to edge forwards, then backed out of the way. A hat began to burn on Erin Solstice’s head, and it was…orange. Lightening in color, becoming an ominous pale yellow. Fury? The [Witch of Remorse] whispered.

“It is not safe. That is my fault. It is all I can offer him. Love, a place to stay, a family. I regret it all being so insufficient. But it is more than you can offer him, 4th Princess of Calanfer. All you can offer him is a grave and the hatred of the Hundred Heroes. He fought for you, and like all [Knights], you will only grant him an honorable death.”

Seraphel du Marquin’s face drained of color. Silently, she clenched one hand into her dress. The [Innkeeper] took a calm breath. But her blood was icy.

Erin was hunting around for something really cruel to say, and Seraphel was taking off a shoe to throw at Erin, when Matha raised a hand.

“Hold on, I think I’ve got it. What the [Princess] is saying is that she has orders to go back. But she might refuse, so that’s why it’s not a lie. Is that right?”

The [Princess] and [Innkeeper] stopped preparing to verbally or physically murder each other. Seraphel almost snapped off a side-comment about Matha’s intelligence, but Erin exhaled.

“Yes, Matha. She’s dancing around whether she’s going or not.”

“Because her parents told her to.”

“Yes.”

“That is what I said, Miss Matha.”

The two were speaking to Matha, barely breaking eye contact. Like two angry bull-caterpillars circling, trying to get the idiot out of the way so they could rip each other apart. The idiot Fraerling nodded desperately, edging forwards. She held her arms out, pleadingly.

“Got it. This place is weird. So…why are we fighting?”

She turned from Seraphel to Erin, and the [Innkeeper] blew out red cheeks.

“Because, Matha, Seraphel du Marquin is unwilling to just say she won’t leave Rabbiteater—because she can’t. She’s doing a Calanferian two-step and deliberating until the last moment when both of us know she’s probably just going to go. This is the only way she gets to salvage some pride before the inevitable.”

Her side-shanking of the [Princess] had Seraphel gazing down at her feet. Matha glanced at Erin, then at Seraphel.

“Okay, I get that. And that’s what you think because it’s true. And I’m saying all the stuff I’m saying because it’s true, even if the only thing that’s true is that I’m honestly confused. So…does Princess Seraphel want to leave Rabbiteater and Baleros?”

Erin’s mouth opened, then closed. So did Princess Seraphel’s. The delicate dance the two had been doing that had become a bar room brawl, the nuances of Calanferian and innkeeper-double talk—ran into a Fraerling [Raider]’s line of logic.

The [Innkeeper] glanced at the [Princess].

The [Princess] hesitated, cheeks going red in the [Pavilion of Secrets]. Then her blue eyes blazed, and she spoke.

“No. I would rather die than go back home to be a useless pawn again. I simply fear that Ser Thilowen will put me to sleep and I’ll wake up on a ship. I must have a reason to stay, and I do not have a good one outside of my wishes. That is not enough for a [Princess].”

She met Erin Solstice’s eyes, and the [Innkeeper] hesitated. That was—true—

Seraphel went on, voice trembling.

“I do not wish for anyone, anyone, to die for a pointless crown or in my place anymore. Rabbiteater is my friend, and what few I have? I cherish. I would do anything for them to be happier, not to keep taking their generosity. I have failed Altestiel. I will not fail Rabbiteater. I had hoped he could go home to Izril. I only wanted to be free myself. My selfishness tied me to him, and so perhaps I damned him to this suffering. But I swear, I want him to live. Even if that means we part ways.”

Erin staggered, struck by the direct, unequivocable wording. Erin sat down, and Seraphel spoke further.

“I don’t want to leave Rabbiteater behind. No matter what I find out, Miss Solstice…I do not believe there is anything he could reveal that would cease him being my friend. Not anymore. We are past it all. In the name of Earl Altestiel and the Eternal Throne, I consider him my boon companion and friend. And I do not have enough friends to ever abandon one. Being a Goblin cannot change that.”

Erin Solstice was struck again. Her eyes focused on Seraphel.

She knows. But how—? She didn’t care. She couldn’t lie.

The [Innkeeper] stared straight into Seraphel’s eyes, and for once, she was afraid to ask. At last, Erin croaked.

“I’ve misjudged you, Princess Seraphel.”

“That is the through line of my life, Miss Erin Solstice. I am only glad you noticed.”

The 4th Princess was still a bit spicy, but she calmed down and reset herself as Erin tried to reconfigure.

“I…what do you mean, Ser Thilowen will just put you to sleep? Your [Knight]? He’d just abduct you?”

“It’s happened before. One of my older sisters—he is my subordinate, but his authority is the crown’s. He could do it, and only my bodyguard would stop him. Everyone else would be under his authority.”

“Infected caterpillars, that’s horrible!”

Both women stared at Matha, and she retreated. Erin nodded.

“That is a problem. This Thilowen, he commands the Thronebearers with you?”

“And everyone else. But for the Synectic Maze, they would know him far better than I. Given the events of that, all know me as The Weeping Princess. Well, myself and Gilthisa. But I fear that bond will fall apart the moment we are returned home. I just…I need a raison d’être to remain in Baleros! If there were a goal, like the New Lands, it would be easier, an affair of honor!”

Seraphel went pacing around. She turned to Erin.

“Is there some great event happening in Baleros that requires, nay, demands Calanfer to be present?”

“Not unless I cause it, no. The Dyed Lands…but that’s not seen as a big issue.”

Erin was thinking out loud. Her eyes kept flicking back to Seraphel.

“You really consider Rabbiteater your best friend?”

“I…consider him to be my…one, two, three, four…let’s say, for the sake of simplicity, under the tenth friend I have ever made worthy of the name. And of them, he is the only one I feel as though I can journey with. However fraught this adventure has been—it has been better than my old life.”

She said that with a smile, in the [Pavilion of Secrets]. This time, Matha and Erin exchanged a glance.

Holy shit.

“But you’d stay with him even if it means risking death or another Synectic Maze?”

Erin pushed, sort of expecting Seraphel to balk, but the [Princess] took two seconds, then nodded.

“Yes.”

“For a friend?”

The 4th Princess smiled.

“My life is not worth much except to the Eternal Throne’s politics, Erin Solstice. It is far better spent keeping one of the few people I care about alive than anywhere else.”

Then the [Innkeeper] saw her fully. So that was the 4th Princess? Matha edged over and whispered in her ear.

“Erin. Erin, are all [Princesses] like this?”

“I’m sorry to say, maybe.”

Erin murmured, and the Fraerling gulped. Seraphel just waited.

“Well, Miss Solstice? If I am not doing enough, I—I should be delighted to be told how to be a better friend. Truly, I don’t know how much to push Rabbiteater. I don’t have much practice. But I do resent any allegations that I would just cut and run.”

“I see. I’m sorry, Princess Seraphel. I’ve misjudged you.”

It cost Erin more than she thought to admit that. It made her worried she’d done it more than once. The 4th Princess was gratified by the apology, but she didn’t quite wave it off. Now Erin was regretting her harsh words—and perhaps Seraphel, hers. But the two eyed each other, and Seraphel murmured.

“I recant my words about your class. I have only met one, and—I am aware there are good witches. The one I met was the Stitch Witch.”

“…I see. I’ve never met her. But I think I should forgive you, then. I’m sorry about saying you’d get him killed.”

“Thank you. But why did he leave your inn? He longs to go home. He nearly left the Eternal Throne. He misses you, his brothers—I do not understand why he came to a different continent and rode to war.”

Seraphel gave Erin such a confused look that the [Innkeeper] had to close her eyes.

“…Because he lost two of his brothers in a war defending my inn. Defending a city when they could have run. My inn isn’t safe. He left because he had to. To…go on an adventure. That’s all.”

“Just for that he rode against the Kingdom of Glass and Glory?”

“He’s a Goblin, Seraphel. He has nothing to lose and the world to gain. That’s how they think.”

Erin glanced up, and Seraphel wiped at her eyes. She expected the [Princess] to weep, but Seraphel just said—

“Yes. I understand that.”

Again, Erin and Matha glanced at each other, but the [Innkepeer]’s head was bowed. She traced at the carved chessboard, then murmured.

“I just didn’t see him.”

“Who?”

“The [Prince]. Iradoren was his name? If I had thought for two seconds, I’d have hamstrung him or…no, he’d have gone after Rabbiteater. So maybe I would have killed him regardless. All I saw was a man with a sword. It could have been anyone, and I would have done the same.”

Her hazel eyes lifted, and Seraphel shivered. Then ducked her head.

“…None of us could stop Prince Iradoren. I do not mourn him, Erin Solstice. He was a fool, and I have been wed to such men. I only regret that it puts us all in jeopardy.”

“Yeah. Me too. Thank you, Seraphel. I…I’m sorry for calling you a coward. Rabbiteater said you survived Crelers in the Synectic Maze?”

“Yes. An Elder Creler.”

Matha made a choking sound. Erin Solstice’s brows slowly rose. The [Princess] had flushed a bit at her own words, but she sat there with a kind of…dignity. A refusal to lie about what she’d seen and done.

That was me. She looked proud of that. The [Innkeeper] gazed at Seraphel, then reached up.

She took the hat off her head, and the yellow flames had changed. They burned pink, and Seraphel and Matha watched as the [Innkeeper] rose to her feet. Slowly, she clasped the hat over her chest and bowed, ever-so-slightly.

“…I take off my hat to you, Princess Seraphel. And I also recant my words. I should know better than to judge by appearances.”

She smiled at that, so sadly ironic that the [Princess] hesitated, then rose. She stuck out a hand.

“Then we have both wronged each other. May we make amends?”

“Yes. Thank you.”

They shook hands and then sat down. So awkwardly that both turned to Matha. The flustered Fraerling hesitated.

“Whoa! So, um, I’m going to not ask about the Creler thing because—are all [Princesses] actually really good at fighting?”

Erin and Seraphel chuckled, and Erin shook her head, then hesitated.

“Actually, I’ve not met any besides Seraphel and Lyonette or ghosts, so I don’t know, but I think she’s pretty unusual.”

Seraphel blinked, then nodded.

“Most are, ah, objectionable in some way. If you met Lyonette as I remember her, I can see where you had a negative impression of me, Miss Erin. Honestly, I’m still shocked Lyonette’s transformed so much…I’m changing too. If I could just stay in Baleros—!”

She clenched her hands and looked down at the chess table. Erin stopped fiddling with a queen piece and blinked.

“Oh, yes. I have a way for you to stay. Sorry.”

Erin glanced up. Seraphel blinked.

“Wh—how? How would you persuade my parents?”

The [Innkeeper] sat back, and she saw it with that simple logic that sometimes came to her.

“No clue about them. But here’s what I’d do. You are The Weeping Princess that people respect? They look up to you?”

“Yes…the new Calanferians will not. Several ships will land at Benoix soon, I am told, and likely take us all aboard. They might have to disembark colonists and leave them behind to make room—dead gods.”

Erin nodded. She closed her eyes.

“In that case, here is what I’d do: before those ships arrive, gather all the Thronebearers, commanders, and people loyal to you. Tell them you are staying with Rabbiteater. Explain it however you need to. You’re friends. You owe him a bond by the Eternal Throne. You have a <Quest> to save an [Innkeeper]. Then, when Ser Thilowen tells you to go, tell him to shove the orders up the Eternal Throne.”

Seraphel blinked. Matha snorted, and Erin’s eyes opened.

“When he tries to put you to sleep, have all the Calanferians you trust grab him, toss him on the ship, and send him off. He’s not the [Princess] on the ground.”

“But—but Miss Solstice! My parents! The crown! They’ll simply order—”

“The crown’s only got authority if people listen to it over you. You’re allowed to disobey. Lyonette ignores her parents all the time. Royal rebellion is part of Terandrian history, I bet.”

It was simple logic to Erin. Seraphel just had to win over the Calanferians around her. By the sounds of it, she had a good chance. The [Innkeeper] raised an eyebrow at the aghast [Princess].

“If that doesn’t work, body double. I know Thronebearers are good, but you might be able to fool them. And if those two don’t work, there’s one method that’s definitely going to work.”

She leaned forwards, and Seraphel and Matha drew closer. Erin closed her eyes, then opened them with a smile.

“[Fireball] the hull. Set off a blaze or just scuttle the hull and the ship sinks.”

“…Scuttle the ship?”

“Sure. It’s not hard. Vofea said you have two undead bodyguards?”

“Y-yes?”

“Have one sneak down there and start setting off spells or just make a hole. Water does the rest. There’s plenty of ways to stay ashore.”

The [Princess] sat there, open-mouthed, as Erin cast about.

“Okay, both options don’t work. You’re at sea. Got a [Message] scroll? Tell the Iron Vanguard ‘hey, I’m on the ship, come get me, neener-neener.’ Then tell your people you’re about to have Dullahans boarding. They’ll have to go for shore. That might get plenty of people killed, but it’s one example. I could keep going.”

“Dead gods. You’re insane.”

Seraphel breathed. Erin simply smiled at her.

“If you really don’t want to go, Your Highness, there’s always a way. It just depends on how much you’re willing to pay. I thought you didn’t have the guts to do it. But if you mean what you said—you will never leave Baleros.”

She sat back in her chair, and then—then it was the 4th Princess’ turn to witness Erin Solstice. Again, she stared up at the mountain.

“So that’s how you can do it. Damn a world’s economy. Damn a fleet. If the cost is worth it?”

Again, Erin flinched. Then she closed her eyes, inhaled, and exhaled.

“Yeah. Because I’ve paid the cost before, the other way. Believe me—it’s not easy, but I can live with it.”

Her hazel eyes opened, and Princess Seraphel rose slowly. She dusted at her skirts, adjusted the circlet on her head, and for a moment, became a fussy [Princess].

“I see. Well, I thank you for your time, Miss Solstice. I shan’t take more of it, especially if you are to speak to Lord Cortese and Lady Menrise. I would suggest both. Menrise is—I think she might stay. Perhaps. We have done her such a terrible wrong…”

“I’ll speak to them. Can you stick with Rabbiteater? That’s all I wanted. Just don’t leave him.”

Princess Seraphel was nodding. She walked back down the steps of the gazebo, towards that door that had let her in. It was such a fast departure that Erin Solstice kept eying her. The [Princess] was walking sluggishly again, mouthing silently. Then, at the door, she turned.

“Miss Erin Solstice? I do apologize for my rudeness. It’s a foul trait of mine, and we did meet at cross-purposes. I am glad to have gotten to understand you and heard your wisdom. I pray that the next time we meet, it will be more agreeable.”

“I think I’d like to invite you here again, Princess Seraphel.”

The 4th Princess smiled with such gratification at that. Then she bowed.

“Then…I shall be going. Innkeeper Solstice?”

She turned theatrically as she placed a hand on the doorknob. The [Innkeeper] waited. Seraphel’s lips moved, and then she beamed. With such an expression of delighted madness it took the [Innkeeper]’s and [Raider]’s breaths away.

“I shall not leave Baleros until Rabbiteater goes with me. If I must, I will die on these shores before I leave another friend behind. I am through with being the [Princess] who can do nothing, save no one, and goes where she is bid. You have my word.”

She flung the door open, and her hair blew as she wore a relieved smile. Then she stepped back, and the [Innkeeper] half-rose, staring at the place the [Princess] had been. Heart thundering.

“Erin. Th-that was a promise inside…”

“Yes.”

The [Innkeeper] whispered. That was a promise made in the [Pavilion of Secrets]. She carefully sat, and Matha smiled.

“This is a good thing, right? I mean, that’s sort of a worrying promise, but—”

“Again.”

Erin Solstice leaned on the chair and rested her head on the chessboard table. She shook her head.

“I’ve changed it all again. It only took me a few minutes this time.”

She saw Seraphel’s face standing in the doorway. It was burned into her retinas. Erin suddenly knew she had to bring the 4th Princess back into her pavilion. Take her to her inn. She feared, as she wiped at her eyes…

She feared someday it would not be as a guest, but as a statue.

——

Lady Menrise didn’t know why Seraphel was in such a good mood this morning, and she wished she didn’t care.

She’d spent the night up, tossing and turning despite the heavenly bed, unable to sleep. So she’d left the city of Benoix instead of reclining amidst the luxuries like fresh drinking water and chairs.

This was partly because she didn’t want to talk to Rabbiteater after last night. Also because the [Innkeeper] was patently nervous around her after she’d blown up part of the woman’s inn. But also—Menrise wanted to check on the army.

She was no Cortese, who had taken some command upon himself and had his followers, nor Seraphel or Rabbiteater. She had no one…but she was still a [Lady], and it had occurred to Menrise that the people outside of Benoix might not be so happy. Or that there might be more incidents.

She was correct. A few officers from the city’s militia were watching as Menrise strode into the camp and saw someone being flogged.

It was just a branch cut from the forest, and the blank-faced woman was stripped down to her back. But they were hitting her fairly hard. The Lizardfolk jumped when Menrise walked over.

“Er, Your Ladyship, we didn’t order this! We were a bit concerned—”

“What happened? What did they do?”

The [Commander] spoke, eying the woman who took a fifty-lash punishment from a [Soldier]. Red marks were appearing on her back, and still, she uttered not a word.

“It was a theft incident. Nothing major! We recovered the item, just a coin pouch, and we would happily have dropped—”

“She’s being punished so she doesn’t do it again. We’ll handle it. She’s a known…problem.”

Menrise recognized the woman. She waved the Lizardfolk off. They hesitated, and in truth, the punishment was heavy, and public, for Terandria.

Lashing a woman like that—but it was because of the Synectic Maze. Menrise saw Seraphel out of the corner of her eye. She instantly stepped back to avoid talking to her right now. She was too upset.

And she was not the only one. The moment the woman who had been The Weeping Princess appeared, several of the Calanferians, even [Knights], instantly walked away. It would be unthinkable in Calanfer, again, but…some of them had been in her color. Menrise saw a white-faced [Knight] striding away.

For every person who had followed the Guilty Man or Weeping Princess, there was someone who wanted to never be engulfed in the emotions again. It was easy enough for them to keep their distance, though the memories shared had left many with different traumas.

“I had no idea so many Humans had problems in bed. I always heard they were more into sex than us.”

A Lizardfolk [Healer] was whispering to some of her friends as she waited for the lashing to stop. They giggled—right up until Menrise stared at them.

The trauma of living through Seraphel’s bridal night, or Gilthisa’s, had hit many of the male population. It was not uncommon for someone to burst into tears at a small thing and not stop weeping for hours. Which led to issues of dehydration on the march, as well as the disruption it caused. But the army had grown used to that, and they were understanding; everyone had been in the maze.

Far worse were those like the woman, who finally stood and put her clothes back on after being lashed. The sweating soldier backed away, and Menrise eyed her.

There was nothing but blankness on her face. She strode off after one of the officers spoke sharply to her. Menrise distinctly heard a threat.

“You will be watched. Be told…”

The woman just presented herself to the [Healers], and Menrise had no doubt she’d steal again.

She was…guiltless.

Not everyone who had followed Cortese had become, like him, at peace with guilt or even continued to bear theirs well. Some had just—snapped. Or perhaps adapted in some horrible way.

This woman was unable to feel guilt. She stole, lied, and behaved how she pleased without ever worrying about her deeds. She was aware of the consequence, and even, it seemed, the morality. But she was literally guiltless.

They tried to be kind to her, but they’d begun this out of necessity. If anything, the guiltless weren’t half as bad as those unable to feel sad. Or even worse…get angry.

There was something horribly terrifying about someone who never felt a shred of anger, frustration, anything. You would think someone unable to be sad was worse, but the lack of anger did not mean they were without the ability to commit violence. They were just—

A blessing so few had turned out like this. Menrise turned on her heel after a few questions to the officer, who assured her this had been the only incident so far. She strode away from the camp and the city.

Those people needed to go back to Calanfer for treatment or…or just monitoring more than any other. That was the one upside of those ships coming to harbor, and Menrise stretched out her legs at the thought.

They’d be cooped up belowdecks for weeks soon enough. Another sea voyage. Potentially, another disaster. She scowled in her helmet.

She would have sworn the [Princess] didn’t want to go, but Seraphel hadn’t said a word about it. Ser Thilowen was watching her like a hawk, and Menrise?

They assumed she was going. Assumed it because everyone knew how much of Tourvecall she’d lost. How angry she was at them.

And she was.

At him…oh yes. Him most of all.

Lady Menrise stood in the clearing between the city and the jungle. She pointed her wand and cast a spell.

“[Fireball]. [Fireball]. [Fireball]. [Fireball]. [Fireball]. [Fireball]. [Fireball]—”

She blew the tree trunks and ground to pieces. Blasted holes in the terrain as fire rose, and animals fled the destruction until she had to conjure a [Rain] spell. Then just kept firing [Fireballs].

——

Things were bad-good. Bad in that there had been death, suffering, but good in that it might get better. Goblin logic.

Badarrow felt like he was the last of the Redfang Five who understood Goblin logic anymore. Yes, it had been terrible in the maze. Worthy of crying over. Now? It could be good.

He’d seen his girlfriend again. They were near a city with food and soft stuff, and even if Badarrow wasn’t in the city, he liked to think he was absorbing the nice things.

The Hobgoblin was, in fact, camping out in the forest near Benoix. He had created a dugout, and Strategist Veine had run him food that was very nice twice. He was hardly forgotten.

His brother even came to visit him despite his grief. Badarrow was trying not to get Rabbiteater down by talking too much about Snapjaw.

“And then she said she going to New Lands. I said no, but she distracted me with cunning trick. Kissing! Shame Erin there or else…”

He waggled his brows. Rabbiteater said nothing. Badarrow was trying to get a rise out of him. Anger, happiness…

You have lost brothers before, Brother! He didn’t say that. He knew Markus was different.

Markus was…a special little guy. A Human, not the same as a Redfang sworn in blood and combat, but he’d been like an Erin. Trusting. Nice. Honorable. He should have been protected. Could have been.

That’s why it hurt so bad. He kept patting Rabbiteater on the shoulder.

“Brother, Brother…Erin okay. Sure, she look real bad. Scarred. But she okay, and we get her home, then start shooting [Slavers], eh?”

He’d been very upset by her scars. That roused Rabbiteater a bit.

“Too late for her. And Markus.”

Right, Badarrow was going to have to do this the old-fashioned way. Which was waiting until Rabbiteater went to pee and drop-kicking him, then beating him up until he snapped out of it.

The problem was that the [Sniper] had the sneaking suspicion that Rabbiteater was going to kick his ass, surprise attack or not. But you did these things for your brothers. He sighed…then paused.

“Brother. Brother, I hate to ask you for favors.”

Rabbiteater’s head rose at least.

“Ask. You the one here. If you go home…if you need to, go. Can’t lose someone else precious to you. You’re the one sleeping in a hole in the ground.”

Right, well, that was another painful conversation Badarrow wasn’t quite ready for—he was undecided on whether or not Rabbiteater was going to walk in front of a ballista bolt the moment he let the [Champion] out of his sight. The [Sniper] sighed.

“Is a nice hole, Brother. But you want to make my life a teensy-tiny, ever-so-small bit better?”

“Sure.”

Badarrow pointed towards the trap-door of his hole.

“Can you…get helmet-lady to stop blowing up the forest? My ears hurt.”

She wasn’t quite shooting [Fireballs] on top of him, but it was getting on his nerves. After a moment, Rabbiteater got up, and Badarrow lay on his back.

“Sheesh.”

——

Menrise was up to 85 [Fireballs] when Rabbiteater spoke.

“Menrise.”

“Argh!”

She nearly hit him, but he blocked the glowing wand; the tip had turned to molten slag. He stared at it as magicore dripped out. Menrise glanced at it and tossed it down.

“Well, that’s useless. It’ll blow up in my hands soon. What? I’m not starting fires.”

“I know. It’s noisy. Can you stop casting?”

“Noisy for who, our hosts?”

“No. Badarrow.”

Her head swivelled, and the fury that had been animating her casting turned to alarm.

“Did I hit—?”

“No. He’s over there.”

Rabbiteater gestured just past the smoking swathe of forest. It was less devastation than you thought; even 85 [Fireballs] couldn’t blow apart that much landscape. Even so, the Goblin Lord seemed mildly impressed.

“How many did you cast?”

“Eighty-five.”

“…That’s a lot of [Fireballs]. Most [Mages] can do maybe ten with potions.”

“Sounds like someone under Level 30. Speaking from experience?”

The comment came out too snide and aggressive, even though it hadn’t been a [Furious Outburst]. Rabbiteater tilted his helmet.

“Yes.”

What did you say to that? Because you’re a Goblin and you’ve killed [Mages]? Menrise turned abruptly.

“Well, I practice. You want to cast magic like this? Just cast one thousand [Fire Arrow] spells, a hundred [Fire Orbs], and ten [Fire Strike] spells each day.”

“…You do that? I’ve never seen you do that.”

He sounded more impressed, and Menrise stomped on her wand on the ground.

“No, you idiot! I don’t practice magic! That’s not how it works! I was born with the magic in my veins! I’m Tourvecall’s nobility! Magic is in our blood!”

“Oh. Sorry.”

She ground her teeth together, then laughed with a trace of that old humor she missed.

“It’s not your fault, I guess. Everyone thinks I must be some ‘studious [Mage]’. There’s the lie my kingdom loves to cultivate. Tell me, Rabbiteater, have you ever seen me with my nose in a book?”

“Not really?”

Menrise nodded and gave vent to her frustrations.

“That’s because I don’t study. I’m lazy. Everyone of the nobility is. We have splendid tutors that cram spells down our throats—that’s why I know most spells from Tier 1-4. But have you noticed something? Someone who can cast [Fireball] that many times should probably be able to cast bigger spells, right? Guess how many Tier 5 spells I know?”

“Six?”

“Zero.”

He stared at her, genuinely shocked, and Menrise laughed again.

“It’s too hard. It hurts my head, and I was never a good student. Why bother? Tier 1-4 magic is enough; beyond that, you have to actually study magic. We’re too busy indulging ourselves, eating fine, worrying about who we’re marrying, going to balls and fêtes, to bother. By rights, I should have been a Wistram student when I was fourteen—I was too busy panicking over magical acne to study for the entrance tests! It’s not like Wistram wanted us; they’ve had us before and seen how well we do.”

[High Mage] at best, probably. And only by virtue of being able to cast with mana pools that any other [Mage] would die for. Was that better than being a noble of Tourvecall by birth? Menrise shook her head.

“That’s why I can only cast these spells. Or else we’d have won the entire battle with the Bloodtear Armada by ourselves. Didn’t you think it was weird that there were no Tier 5 spells flying about the battlefield? Dozens of nobles and we couldn’t sink a single ship.”

“They fought bravely. And you cast magic and saved us. In the Synectic Maze—”

Her helmet rose, and her eyes blazed beneath it. She pointed a finger at him, and it crackled with mana.

“If I were any kind of [Grand Mage], I’d have resisted the magic! Or cast spells to kill the monsters! Instead, I just got my people killed. Just like you and Lord Cortese. Some warriors, some leaders we were! It took an unarmed [Princess] and a talking, Bronze-rank goat woman to save us!”

She whirled away from him. But the outburst was from her heart. True. She regretted what she’d said to Rabbiteater last night, but she was digging herself deeper. He didn’t punch her this time. Instead, Rabbiteater sat down cross-legged and hung his head.

“Yes. We should have been stronger. I should have. It’s my fault so many died.”

She kicked dirt at him.

“Oh, shut up. I’m telling you why I failed. I…I’m so angry. At you, at myself, at Cortese and his damned Thousand Lances for not stopping the [Pirates]. At Iradoren and his stupidity, the idiots sailing the fleet who couldn’t see a [Pirate] ambush, at Altestiel—”

Rabbiteater’s head was nodding until that last part.

“Altestiel died saving us.”

“He died sacrificing himself in some big, heroic gesture! Couldn’t he have made some other dunce the scapegoat? Iradoren! He died and left us alone, and if he’d been here…”

She clenched her fists, voice shaking.

“He could have traded places with someone less important. Like me. Instead, he’s dead, and Ser Markus and all those who followed have been let down. And you—I hate you the most.”

“Good.”

He looked down, and she whirled.

“It’s not good! It’s not fine or appropriate! Do you think I don’t know that? I am The Angry Woman! Everyone else who went through the Synectic Maze—Cortese, you, Seraphel, even Thilowen, they’re relatable. They’re heroes because you did your best. His guilt, your strength? Seraphel’s grief? That’s something. But I’m just fury. A ravening dog who did nothing. Less than nothing. I did four damage to the Crelers. With my fists.”

She laughed at herself, and Rabbiteater glanced up at her.

“You were tricked. When you cast magic—”

“Then I murdered more. If I had known Tier 5 magic, I might have at least cast a spell beyond them.”

She passed her hands over her face and understood, now, those silly plays that the Players of Celum had put on.

Look, there’s a spot of blood. Only, it feels soaked in an ocean’s worth. Menrise whispered.

“I should have studied. I should have been a [Mage]. But I was too lazy. The blood of the Hundred Heroes runs in my veins, and I thought my chance for adventure, for fame and glory, was in the New Lands.”

What could he say to that? Nothing, surely. Rabbiteater sat with Menrise as the jungle smoked, then raised a hand.

“Question.”

“What?”

“Why…is all of Tourvecall bad at magic, actually?”

The question was basic, but it was something that would have been unthinkable to answer before this. Menrise snorted.

“Not all. There are plenty of commonfolk who are gifted. Level 40 [Mages]—we have one over Level 50. It’s just enough to keep calling ourselves the Kingdom of Incantations without anyone laughing at us. It’s mostly the nobility and royalty who fail the measure. We’re uniquely gifted and uniquely lazy, you see.”

“Oh. But you cast Tier 4 magic?”

“Not every spell—[Siege Fireball] is too hard to form fast, for example, but we can learn most spells, and that’s enough. Usually! A dozen nobles able to cast [Fireball] a hundred times in a battle generally does the job. That’s also why we’re lazy; why bother learning efficient levitation when we can just burn mana on [Flight]? Not that I know that spell either.”

Just not against the world’s best [Pirates]. He nodded at that.

“So it’s you all getting lazy, even with the Hundred Heroes’ blood and stuff.”

Menrise sighed.

“Not just that, Rabbit. You don’t get Tourvecall’s bloodlines or our appearances under our helmets in one generation, or even a hundred. The first generations of Tourvecall were weaker, magically, than we are. Far weaker. We were founded by the Hero of Incantations, hence the name, but we determined to make ourselves worthy of the title. The trouble is, the idiots did it backwards.”

“Making super-magical nobles sounds like a good step.”

“Yes…but do you think that’s what magic is? Just mana in your blood? Or is it the genius to make and learn new spells, the drive to cast magic and push oneself? Tourvecall focused only on the magic and made walking mana batteries of us. They should have given us minds able to focus or hold together magical formulas in our heads! Half of us get anemic—that’s where your blood’s thin—and we get dizzy casting spells above a certain magnitude! And that’s not even counting what having too much mana does to spells!”

“Say what now?”

Menrise shrugged. She picked up her ruined wand, and because she only needed it for one demonstration, levitated it out a hundred paces.

“Watch this. I’m going to cast [Fireball] with all the magic I’ve got. Ready? [Fireb—]”

The explosion actually kicked her off her feet and would have knocked her down but for Rabbiteater. He raised a shield, and she felt heat on her skin, then sat up shakily.

“I—uh—I must have levelled since the last time I did that. Oops.”

They stared at a substantially larger crater in the ground than a regular [Fireball] made. Maybe not a [Siege Fireball]’s radius, but the fact that Menrise had achieved even something close to that had the Goblin shocked.

“What was that? It was like normal, but then it got all wobbly and expanded. Like—”

“I overloaded the spell. [Fireball] can’t take on that much mana without the spell matrix breaking.”

“…You what?”

She snorted at him.

“Spells have limits. You think Tier 3 means it’s that strong? It also means it’s that weak. You can’t pump a spell beyond its regular limits without a Skill like [Empowered Magic]. And I don’t have one.”

So she had a hard cap on her magical output. Rabbiteater made a sound, clearly beginning to see why Tourvecall had so many limits.

“So…I get it now. Without better spells, you can’t cast greater magics. Like a warrior who can’t swing too hard even though he’s so strong he can swing for ages.”

“I mean, your analogy sounds really dumb, but sure. That’s right.”

“So why don’t you practice more?”

Menrise threw a rock, and it bounced off Rabbiteater’s helmet. Then she threw one of her shoes. Then her other shoe. She was hunting around for something else to huck. She couldn’t even cast magic without her wand; the risk of her flubbing a spell was too great.

“Some of us just don’t have the mind for it! Do you think I didn’t try? Everyone tries. But it’s so damn hard to commit to anything when you’re raised like a pampered lapdog! No one has the grit, the will—that’s why every odd generation we marry commonfolk who hit Level 40. Because they figure it out. I tried. I really did. But I can’t even read properly.”

She sat there, miserably hugging her knees, as Rabbiteater went to get her shoes.

“Wow. You can’t even read and you know Tier 4 magic? That’s better than me.”

This time, Menrise laughed.

“I can read, Rabbiteater. It’s just that I read things backwards all the time. I’ll read Market Street and it’ll say ‘Street Market’ to me. I have to concentrate to make sense of it. Or the words jumble up and then I’m reading ‘Tekram Teerts’. Didn’t you ever wonder why I had no sense of direction in Calanfer?”

Seraphel and Cortese had probably noticed; she knew Altestiel had, but Rabbiteater shrugged.

“Nope. I can’t tell where anything is there. Terandrian cities are dumb.”

She laughed and gloomily put her shoes on.

“We have too many problems, the peerage of Tourvecall. My father has the same backwards problem. Some of us are so nearsighted or farsighted we’re all but blind. Too much inbreeding. None of it’s an excuse.”

“Mhm.”

They went back to sitting there. Menrise was surprised by how not-angry she felt. Oh, there was still a true, abiding fury in her chest. One that was going to lash out and hit him any moment.

But talking to him was easier than she’d thought. Like they were back in Calanfer, on the Sky Bridge, and just chatting.

She wished it felt that way. Menrise murmured.

“Rabbiteater?”

“Yeah?”

“This [Innkeeper], Erin Solstice. The one who killed Iradoren. When she speaks to you, you said it’s a door?”

“Yep. You go in, and then you speak truth to her.”

Menrise nodded. She stared at the door sitting across from her in the burnt fields. Turned her head.

“Thanks.”

She’d been ignoring it for over an hour now. She didn’t want to talk to that [Innkeeper]. What was there to say?

The people who had sailed with her through hellfire and damnation onto these blasted shores were with her. Cortese, Seraphel, Rabbiteater…if Altestiel were there, it would have been four friends to test all of this against. To put her fellow nobles’ lives on the line against and ask ‘was it worth it’? There had been colonists on that ship, too. Volunteers from her county and across her kingdom.

She knew it wasn’t anything they could have predicted. But him…she turned her head.

“Hey, Rabbiteater. Want to play a game?”

“No.”

“Humor me?”

“Sure.”

She turned to face him, and the city in the distance was far, far distant. If any guards on the walls were about, they were keeping their heads down, perhaps for fear of a stray [Fireball] coming their way.

“Okay, here’s how you play. On the count of three, lift up your helmet. The ugliest one gets executed. Ready? One, two, three, go!”

She clicked her helmet’s lock and removed her headpiece. The sunlight hurt her skin at once. She blinked up and smiled, baring her too-short teeth, practically baby teeth at…

The Hobgoblin lifted his helmet off his head with a screech of disused metal. He blinked down at her.

What did he see? She took in his green skin, an unkempt beard over features that offended her to her core. Not the crimson eyes nor the pointed ears so much like a half-Elf’s or even the green skin.

Green skin? Hers was faintly violet. No, it was that face.

A [Champion]’s face. A [Knight]’s face. Had he always looked like that or had his class subtly changed him into someone fitting his deeds? If they colored his skin pink and gave him contacts, he could have been one of the Thousand Lances.

Did he see her veins, too dark under her skin that almost never saw sunlight? Too-wide pupils, her weak chin, or—

She rammed the helmet back on her head in an instant. Then spread her hands, leaping up with a laugh.

“I lose. Damn. Real fun game. We played it all the time in the Enchanted Courts as children.”

“You’re not ugly.”

“Shut up. I don’t want to hear that from you.”

He bowed his head.

“Yeah, I am a Goblin.”

This time, she executed a half-flying dropkick. Half-flying because she fell over mid-kick, but she still kicked him. He peered at her as she held her back, which she’d hurt.

“Shut up. Do you think I didn’t guess? Do you think it mattered? They were out to kill us all. You’re the only one the Bloodtear Pirates wouldn’t have wanted. If that Prince had killed you, it wouldn’t have mattered one damned bit for the actual battle.”

He peered at her as she lay there, and tears trickled from her visor. Magical tears; they floated out of the openings, like all the liquids she produced. He touched them, then recoiled at a bit of snot doing the same.

“But you’re mad at me.”

It wasn’t a question. He’d seen The Angry Woman. Everyone had. Menrise stared at the sky as tears floated upwards, whispering.

“I am. So very much, Rabbiteater. Not because you’re a Goblin. Or that you tricked me. I was shocked when we landed ashore. Shocked, but happy you were alive, because I had one more friend after it all. I started hating you the day we began marching into the jungle.”

“…That day? Why?”

She shook her head.

“Because I saw you on the ship, idiot. On the Throne’s Will literally catching magic and throwing it back. Slashing ballista bolts in half. A one-man army. That was when I knew you could have downed a ship yourself. That’s when I wanted to know why you didn’t save my people before. Why didn’t you save—?”

Her voice cut off. She choked as her own tears ran up her throat and nasal cavity. She began coughing, trying to re-ground her mana, stabilize her body before it all went out of control. You could die choking on your own spit…

Rabbiteater helped her sit up and patted her on the back. She leaned out of her visor, retched, and he whispered.

“I only levelled up after. I wish I were that high level before. I always wish that. In the Ailendamus war. At Liscor. Esthelm. Every time.”

“I know. I know…I know. Dead gods, Hundred Families, I wish I had been one level higher. Just one. I killed all of them, Rabbit. My color.”

She began crying in earnest. She hugged him as he patted her on the shoulder. Weeping all the tears that anger had burnt out of her. All the Goblin, the [Knight] said was this:

“Me too, Menrise. Me too.”

It was a terrible day, like so many in Baleros. The air smelled of smoke and ash, and a grumbling Hobgoblin was sweeping ashes out of his burrow as he eyed the [Lady] and [Knight].

Her friends of home were dead.

Her people likewise.

She had failed them, utterly, and she had killed so many more by her ineptitude and laziness.

These things were true, and still…

When the Angry Woman stood up, she accepted The Lonely Warrior’s hand. She cast around and saw the craters left by her magic. The ruins of her wand…nothing she was proud of. Her magic saved no one. Did no wonders. Yet she breathed in, out, and walked with him back towards the city where her friends waited.

The Angry Woman left her fury behind. Then, what was she?

She didn’t know. But she could not be angry at him any longer.

——

Erin Solstice never got to talk to Lady Menrise. Which, in fairness, might be good; Lord Cortese wasn’t as pleasant as Seraphel, which wasn’t exactly good.

This was rough.

Matha saw the [Innkeeper] sitting there and staring at her hands after the Cortese call. She tried to cheer Erin up.

“Hey, Erin, let’s, um, let’s go back and check on Ulvama, okay? You did good! I bet they’ll help Rabbiteater.”

“Even if they die? Yes.”

The [Innkeeper] glanced up. She offered Matha a bleak smile.

“That’s the power of the [Pavilion of Secrets]. That’s what Sheta craved and…what I can do. Change people’s minds, change fate without even having to get up. I’m tired of it.”

She sat there, and Matha panicked. Erin was wearing the same expression as…the [Punk] leapt up.

“Aah! You know what? I have to pee.”

Erin’s face rose and wrinkled.

“You have to…? That’s never been a problem—just go over there. The Pavilion can deal with it.”

“Say what?”

Pavvy appeared with a huge frown, but Matha ran towards the door.

“Nope! I’m gonna go drop an ant log—you know what? This place sucks. Why don’t you get Ulvama in here? Ulvama—”

She ran out of the [Pavilion of Secrets] so fast that Erin didn’t have time to do more than stare. Matha sprinted outside, past a bunch of suspicious Battle Hammies sniffing at the one-eyed hamster and gorging themselves on a mound of treats. The Fraerlings were eying them as Zemmy and Mera grumbled.

“I can’t believe that w—”

“Ulvama! Ulvama, Erin’s sad in the [Pavilion of Secrets]! I told her to call you!”

A very self-satisfied [Shaman] turned. She blinked at Matha, then her brows crossed.

“How do you know that? Did she—?”

“She called Seraphel, then Cortese, but she’s really bummed about changing stuff. So I—”

“Yaaaah!”

Ulvama grabbed Matha and executed a shoulder-throw on the [Raider]. Matha felt the world whirl, then slammed into the ground. That took her breath away, so she lay there, dizzy, as Ulvama stormed off. After a while, a Battle Hammy hopped over and nudged her.

“Er…trouble, Matha?”

Bowom edged into view with Mieve, both of them munching on a single popcorn kernel. Matha stared up at his expression of urbane amusement.

“Did Ulvama just vanish into a door?”

“I think Erin reappeared, and then Ulvama shouted at her, and they left again.”

“Oh, good.”

She got up after a second, then ran into the forest. She really, really had to go to the bathroom after all.

——

“Dummy. Dummy.”

“Ow. Ow. I needed someone to cut the tension and—”

“And you chose her?”

“She’s like me, but more Matha! Listen, Ulvama—”

“This is our thing and you added her?”

Ulvama tried to twist Erin’s ear again, and the [Innkeeper] fended her off.

“Look, Ulvama, I needed help, and Matha’s actually useful. You said as much.”

“I never s—I only said she’s good at carrying things and shutting up sometimes.”

The [Shaman] was still mad, but Erin sat there.

“She’s not actually that bad. She helped out a lot during the Battle of the Bands. I don’t want to drag her into more trouble, but she came this far, and Zinni warned me she’d stick around as long as she could. I know she likes me.”

Ulvama’s expression grew slack jawed. She wavered.

“Y-you do?”

“Well, yeah, she’s into women. Which is fine…I’m not encouraging her, but I’m trying to treat her like it’s normal. I mean, I’m not homophobic. D’you know what that is?”

“Uh. Yah. So you, um, great you’re treating Matha normal. Great. Yah.”

Ulvama had stopped hitting Erin, so that was good. Erin sighed. She shook her head.

“I was getting upset because I feel like I made Seraphel make up her mind. I can’t…I just want to use this [Pavilion of Secrets] and not reduce someone to tears! Or—I wish I’d spent more time just giving you sweets.”

“Me? Why, because I don’t matter?”

The Hobgoblin was reaching for certainty, anger at Erin doing something stupid. But Erin just gazed up at her, melancholic.

“No, because it’s safe. It just makes you happy, and I’m okay with doing that for ages, Ulvama. I wish we could just use this place as a silly thing instead of each moment being life-or-death. It’s stressful. Even the [Gardens of Sanctuary] aren’t this hard.”

Ulvama was running out of things to say, so she sat down weakly.

“Um, these are great points, Erin. Now I hear you out and you say them, I’m not mad. You—uh—should do fun things. We should have had one of those.”

To break up the heartache and horror of the Quarass and Rabbiteater. It wasn’t a bad thought. Erin shook her head.

“I mean, now I say it, it’s stupid.”

“No, no. This is a good idea. Matha was right. For once. Just once. Don’t tell her I said that. How about…how about we summon someone fun and cheerful.”

“Like who?”

“Whom. Also, there’s plenty of people we know who are cheerful, funny, and don’t matter in big ways.”

“Name one.”

The Hobgoblin scrambled.

“Uh—uh—Apista.”

“I have to thank her for making the Ashfire Bee honey. Also, she lost half her body saving Mrsha and stabbed Belavierr’s eye out. I keep meaning to ask her if it’s in the inn.”

“In the—okay. Cheerful. Light. H-how about…Grev?”

“He’s a Player of Celum and involved in Invrisil’s gang-stuff. Either he tells everyone he met me or we get him in trouble. He can’t keep a secret.”

“Ekirra?”

Erin gestured at herself.

“Ulvama. Do you want to explain my scars to him?”

“Damn. Let me think. Shut up! There’s one…”

The Hobgoblin tried to ponder someone who didn’t have worldwide ramifications. Erin did the same. Mostly to make Ulvama stop worrying about her. How in the hells had Matha known to get Ulvama? Erin supposed that Matha wasn’t entirely dumb.

<+1 Erin Point acquired!>

<+2 Ulvama Points acquired!>

Maybe she should just make something fun for Ulvama. The Hobgoblin liked sweets, and Erin wasn’t sure if you could give magical Skill-based diabetes, but it was an actual concern. Still, there were plenty of things Erin could conjure here.

Music, for one. Ulvama liked music. They could do some dances in here, but Erin bet Pavvy would make a snide comment. But what if Erin showed Ulvama something like…

Her home?

Erin stared at the thought. She almost brought it to life. Her living room and her parents playing a song. It hurt.

The very idea hurt to bring to life. If she brought a fake Shauna and Gregori Solstice…

Just the music?

The idea caught in Erin’s head. In a way, she understood why she had inherited this place from Sheta. Their powers were alike.

Most of my Skills are about showing someone something or rooms where you can see memories or other places. A traveller’s powers, in a sense. Erin was happier to see other people delighted by the things she took for granted back home.

Like cookies; it was more fun to see Relc eat them and remember how they’d used to be so amazing before she’d taken them for granted. That was the power of Earth.

Erin hadn’t thought about home for a while, but here, she recalled that silly band. Who named themselves after beetles, anyways? It was like a Fraerling band-name.

Besides, if Erin recalled right, as a kid, she’d disappointed Shauna and Gregori terribly. It was probably contrarianism, a girl’s rebellion against her parents trying to shove their favorite band down her throat, but little-Erin had insisted there was only one song out of every album she liked.

Just one. It was a lie, of course, to aggravate her parents, but Erin smiled as she remembered why she had liked it so much. It was by the least-prolific member of the band. Which was why a young Erin had chosen it. And it wasn’t necessarily like the others. It was just a silly song about…an octopus who had a garden.

“Hm? Wait, is that possible?”

Erin Solstice had an idea. A silly idea, but she peered at Ulvama, then glanced around.

“Well, why not? It’s a fun, safe idea! Go for it, Pavvy.”

She twisted around, and Pavilion-Erin was there, sipping on a milkshake. She flipped up a pair of sunglasses and appeared…confuzzled.

“What? Are you serious?”

She mouthed at Erin, and the [Innkeeper] nodded after a moment. Well, if even the [Pavilion of Secrets] thought it was stupid—the other Erin opened and closed her mouth, then put her milkshake down.

“Okay, give me five seconds…and I’m going to mandate a scenery change just so—”

Ulvama twisted around in alarm as Erin nodded. Her eyes widened in a sudden panic.

“Erin? What did you do? Who are you summoning?”

“No one important! That’s the point. Just—whoa!”

Erin stood up, and then the wall of water carried her off her feet and left her flailing around underwater. The Hobgoblin made to leap away—then the water engulfed her.

The gazebo, her magical paints—she flailed around, eyes wide as the entire world sank underwater.

“Erin! What did you do?”

Ulvama wasn’t drowning; you couldn’t kill yourself like that. But she still had to conjure a bubble of air before she could scream at Erin. The [Innkeeper] separated the water around the gazebo so they could stumble into the center of it, gasping.

“Sorry! I just had a really stupid idea, and—”

They stared around at the world of water, and Ulvama turned to her.

“You asked for a Drowned Man?”

“No…the [Pavilion] thought it was a really weird idea. I asked for—”

A door opened, and Ulvama cowered backwards. Because she had a thought.

Belavierr?

In the depths of the sea, someone entered through the door cautiously. Erin blinked incredulously, and Ulvama saw Erin’s guest enter the [Pavilion of Secrets]. Another world-first.

A yellow octopus’ eight tentacle arms quested around the door as it pulled itself through. Then it floated in the water before promptly freaking out. It flailed around and jetted ink, and Ulvama slowly turned to Erin.

“…Is that a baby Kraken?”

“No.”

Erin was grinning desperately in that stupid way she had when she knew she was causing trouble on purpose. Ulvama’s head-slapping hand was itching, but the Hobgoblin continued.

“Then is that a [Polymorphed] person?”

“Nope.”

“Is it the pet of someone important?”

“Don’t think so.”

The Hobgoblin pointed.

“Erin! Is that a random octopus?”

The [Innkeeper] was smiling from ear-to-ear. Then she was running as Ulvama chased her around, trying to swat the back of her head. Until even the Hobgoblin had to start giggling. And then, well.

They were talking with an octopus. Or trying, at any rate.

——

It was a big octopus, at least, in Erin’s opinion, but she had no idea how big they got. The fellow was eight-feet long without stretching out. Just huge and yellow, though it could shift colors. Like to white; it was clinging to the gazebo, feeling around on the only thing in this strange void it was summoned to.

Oh, it was aware of Ulvama and Erin—it backed away fast whenever they got close. The octopus was currently on the roof of the gazebo, and Erin was shouting.

“Hey! My name’s Erin! How’re you doing, buddy?”

“Erin.”

“We don’t want to harm you! We just invited you in for a chat!”

The octopus twitched a few times. Ulvama grabbed Erin’s arm.

“Erin, it’s an octopus. It doesn’t understand you!”

“Damn. I was really hoping this place had translation. But it got through the door! So it was smart enough to enter! Either that or it was just hungry.”

The octopus stretched out a tentacle. Erin tentatively extended a hand, then recoiled as ink shot out of the bubble of water. Ulvama’s lips twitched.

This is the stupidest idea Erin’s ever had. And yet—she snuck a daring glance at Pavvy. The other Erin was sitting behind the gazebo, watching with a resigned expression on her face.

“Not bad, eh? First Quarass, now this.”

Ulvama edged over and expected Pavvy to give her more grudging marks, but instead, the copy of Erin just rolled her eyes.

“Every owner’s done this.”

“Oh.”

Somewhat deflated, Ulvama walked back over to the octopus. Rather to Erin’s dismay, it had squirted ink at her and was now inspecting the door it had come from. As in, it was clearly thinking about leaving.

“Hey, um, octopus, I don’t want to bother you and you’re not technically missing out on anything. I just want to—well, shit. I didn’t think I’d have a language barrier! And Ceria’s stupid method of yelling at animals isn’t going to work.”

Several streaks of ink showed the octopus was entirely wary. Ulvama was inclined to just let it go; it was such a pointless guest. But then she glanced at Erin and saw the wistful expression on the [Innkeeper]’s face.

…It was a pretty big octopus and lovely yellow. It kept swivelling to glance at the two of them, so Ulvama sighed, then felt around at her belt pouches. She produced a vial and began to pop components into it.

“You’re so lucky you have me and Lemoste had plenty of supplies. Because I’m a genius.”

“Huh? Oh—what’s this, Ulvama? A Potion of Translation?”

“What? Those don’t work or exist, dummy. You think you can just make a potion and translate everything? Saliss would laugh his tail off.”

“Then what?”

The cephalopod was just as curious as Erin and pulled itself closer in its water bubble as Ulvama mixed up the liquids and some powdered bug shells. She produced a very clear liquid, then found a thin piece of wood. She bent it around into a hoop and dipped it into the vial’s contents that she poured onto the chess table.

Erin blinked as the hoop took on some of the liquid, and Ulvama lifted it up and blew into it. Then she pointed.

“Wait, is that just bubble mix? You know how to make bubbles?”

Her words made the wobbling bubble deform slightly. Then—Ulvama twisted her hand expertly. The bubble rose, and a cloud appeared inside of it. The strangest bubble that Erin had ever seen rose, grey and fairly opaque, like a cloud of smoke contained within. When the [Innkeeper] touched it, her finger poked the delicate bubble, it popped, and—

Halt! The idea of stopping—suspicion. An orb made out of a familiar-looking liquid appeared in her mind. The image of Ulvama stirring. Her—mixing—creating the orb! Then a sense of confusion. Question?

The same words that Erin had spoken burst into her head in a series of images and ideas. She recoiled, rubbing at her head, and Ulvama winked at her.

“[Thought Bubble]. Is a good trick to talk in silence. Or to horses or animals. Try this.”

“You’re so cool.”

“Not to me, stupid—”

Too late. Erin’s comment flew into the bubble, and it floated out of the gazebo and into the water. Ulvama popped the one she’d made, and the two watched it floating upwards. And the octopus noticed it too, of course. They saw it abandon its hold on the gazebo and swim around the glowing orb, clearly wary and curious.

Then…it delicately halted in the water, and a single tentacle gingerly prodded the bubble, as if trying not to damage it.

The bubble popped anyways, and the octopus recoiled, turned black with shock. Then quivered. Erin and Ulvama exchanged glances as it cast around. Then they saw one huge eye lower, and it stared at them.

“Whoa! Wait, do you understand that? I said that! Me! I’m friendly! I called you here!”

Erin shouted, and a substantially bigger bubble popped out of Ulvama’s hoop. The octopus popped it faster this time, though it let it float up a good ways before doing so. Then it recoiled, shivered—and swam back down.

It slithered a tentacle into the gazebo and poked delicately at Ulvama’s foot. The Hobgoblin shouted and recoiled, and the octopus fled backwards. Erin realized—

“Not me! Her!”

The Hobgoblin yelled, but the octopus didn’t get her gesturing quite right. And it was looking at the person who had made the bubbles: Ulvama.

It doesn’t understand when we open our mouths we’re making the sounds that turn into the bubbles. Erin clarified.

“I’m Erin, the one speaking. The, um, shorter one? Ulvama’s green and taller.”

That seemed to come across. Astonished, the octopus clung to the gazebo. It slid a tentacle in, and Erin tried to give it a handshake. The octopus promptly wrapped a tentacle around her head.

“Groff. Yuck! Watch the tentacles, buddy!”

It backed off, and Ulvama whispered.

“This is so weird.”

On that—they could all agree.

——

What did you even say to an octopus, anyways? It couldn’t talk back. It had no way of verbalizing sounds, even if it had thoughts to translate back, and it was really…wild.

Erin got the impression she was speaking to a dog. Well, a dog that actually understood you, but the octopus kept moving around, confused, even when she tried to explain what the [Pavilion of Secrets] was. Eventually, she just tried to offer it something to eat.

“You want food? Fish?”

The yellow octopus grew excited at that and devoured the fish with its scary-looking beaked underbelly, but when it realized it wasn’t actually eating the fish, it grew instantly disinterested in the food. It kept swimming around, clearly searching for the rest of the world it had lost.

“I think we’re bothering it, Erin. It doesn’t get this place. Maybe it doesn’t even understand the rules.”

Ulvama was worried the thing would panic, but Erin was oddly fascinated by the yellow creature.

“Isn’t it cute, though?”

“Cute?”

“Yeah, like the Battle Hamster.”

The Hobgoblin’s expression was so offended at the comparison to her favorite rodent that Erin smiled. She had a playful, innocent look on her face. Someone doing something silly for the heck of it. Because of that—Ulvama sighed.

“You know more about these things than me. I just ate one once.”

It squirted her with ink when it heard that. But the octopus was somewhat genial, and Erin peered at it.

“Octopi have tons of cool abilities, you know. Not just squirting ink. They can change colors, camouflage. I wonder…hey, look at this!”

She produced an orange, glowing fish instead of her frustration fire, which would have confused the octopus, and the octopus immediately changed color to copy the fish. Erin laughed in delight as it reached out and tried to eat the light-fish. Then it poked at her.

“Want another?”

It didn’t nod or poke twice, but when the octopus popped the thought-bubble, it swam around in a circle, doing a loop-de-loop that seemed very positive. So Erin conjured another fish, this one bright green, and saw the octopus change colors again! It kept doing it, copying each fish, and when Erin produced a white fish with black polka dots—it copied that too!

Erin was delighted, Ulvama astounded.

She’d been told octopi were among the smartest creatures on Earth, hadn’t she? Smarter than dogs? Weren’t pigs supposed to be ultra-smart too? How smart was this creature? Crows could remember your face…

“We’ll let you go back to the ocean, buddy. I promise. I just wanted to talk to an octopus, and you’re pretty fun. I…sorry if we’ve bothered you.”

The octopus swam in a complicated loop around the gazebo, but it didn’t shoot any more ink. So Erin took that as ‘this is fun’ rather than ‘my time was wasted’. She held out a hand, and the octopus moved her arm up and down gently.

Shaking her hand? She was so tickled by that that she turned to Ulvama. The Hobgoblin actually dared to float in the water, and then the octopus grabbed her arm and towed her around until she got dizzy and retreated.

“You know, for an octopus, you’re all right. I’m sorry if I ever ate your buddies. I don’t think I did, but you never know with sushi. Can’t trust the stuff.”

The octopus clacked its beak-mouth, clearly also thinking that some sushi would hit the spot. Erin noticed one of its eight arms was substantially shorter than the rest. She guessed it had lost it in some underwater battle.

It couldn’t be easy being an eight-foot long octopus with Drowned Folk and Crelers and stuff. She felt bad for this innocent octopus and hoped they didn’t mess it up.

Ulvama clearly felt the same way. She had actually enticed the octopus onto land, and it was climbing around the gazebo, inspecting the chess boards—she let it climb onto her lap and gingerly touched its bulbous brain-head. Then smiled.

“He’s squishy. Yellow squishy octopus. Yellow Squishims. That your name now.”

Yellow Squishims considered the idea of a ‘name’ and then bobbed up and down excitedly. Erin groaned.

“Ulvama, you can’t just name people! We’re going to get attached, and he might, y’know, o-gay into the ea-say and ie-day?”

“…I don’t know what you’re doing. If you mean he’ll die in the sea, everything dies. He might as well have a name. Besides, I’m a [Shaman]. I give names.”

And Yellow Squishims was her idea of a great name? But Erin had to pat the octopus’ head too, just to say she had.

“Well, poop. Now I have to care about an octopus.” 

Her patting slowed, and her face went blank. Then she forced a smile and leaned over as the octopus wrapped an arm around her hand.

“Listen, pal. You get out there and eat all the fish, okay? Don’t let those sharks give you what for.”

She shook the octopus’ arm again and saw it go still. Sharks. Was that a bad topic? It spat some bubbles out, then quested around. It seemed…frustrated all of a sudden, but then Yellow Squishims pulled itself off Ulvama and Erin’s laps and onto the floor. It climbed the chess table, and Erin saw it delicately rub a tentacle over the liquid that Ulvama had made. It squirmed around, then made a little circle with one arm and waved it around!

A bubble popped out of its tentacle, and Erin saw Ulvama’s jaw nearly hit the floor. Astonished, Erin reached out, and her finger touched the little grey bubble—

Pop.

Erin felt fear, uncertainty, fleeing a huge—she had the image of a long, long eel with teeth pursuing it. Hiding, changing colors.

Other octopi, too slow, being found. A snap of jaws.

A cloud of ink and a limp body.

“Oh no. You poor thing. Eels are that big? I thought—since you were so big, only a shark would be a threat—”

Erin’s good mood went out at once. Yellow Squishims bobbed up and down as it heard her—then produced another bubble.

It might have been a bigger kind of octopus, but it showed Erin an image of a thirty-foot long squid hunting a whale. Then a shark that would have been a Megalodon if it were from Earth, a ravenous pack of smaller fish with teeth, a weird, swimming fish-man hunting with a crude spear.

“Dorhmim.”

Ulvama whispered. Erin twitched, remembering the only other member of the species she’d seen…Yellow Squishims balled up a tentacle and made a jabbing motion.

It showed Erin and Ulvama a thought-bubble of it, well, punching a shark in the head until the shark swam away. Which Erin took to mean that sharks were the one thing that the octopus wasn’t worried about.

“There’s always a bigger fish in the sea, huh? I wish…I know the feeling. You ever think about using tools. Knives?”

It was very interested when she said that, and she produced a knife…only to realize that the odds of Yellow Squishims finding a knife or having the correct body structure to make use of it in the water were remote. However, the octopus seemed content. It produced one last bubble.

When it popped, it showed Erin the image of a bunch of smaller octopi all hugging each other in a big ball. Not for food or mating, but just hugging each other, socializing, cleaning one another. Then the image changed, and it was of Erin and Ulvama, rather different looking as octopi saw the world, sitting and patting it on the head.

Friends.

Erin heard a sniff. Ulvama was wiping her eyes.

“Erin. Now I’m sad. Can’t you do something?”

“I…”

Erin wavered. She didn’t know. And she felt that rising dread in her, as well as a—she closed her eyes, thought, had an idea. [Boon of the Guest] might work on animals, like Apista or this octopus.

But Nerry had the [Boon of the Guest], and Erin couldn’t take it from her. Besides, if the octopus grew too used to it, and she had to take it away…Ulvama was gazing at it with shining, heartbroken eyes.

The [Innkeeper] stared up at the water draining out of the [Pavilion of Secrets]. Then, as the octopus opened the door and began to slip outside, she had it.

“Argh, okay. I’ll try. This is fair—it might not be in the rules, but it should be. Let me have this. If they’re worthy of the [Pavilion of Secrets], they’re worthy of more!”

Erin shook a fist at the sky, and Ulvama jumped. Then she saw Erin pointing like someone loosing an arrow.

Yellow Squishims froze, and Ulvama saw the octopus’ body changing colors as it slipped out of the [Pavilion of Secrets]. But not before she heard Erin speak. And the Hobgoblin gasped, clapped her hands over her mouth, and laughed with delight.

<Rare Exclusive Quest – Octopus Training! Be Stronger Yellow Squishims!>

Limits: Only octopi! I just mean Yellow Squishims, but…if any Drowned Person [Innkeeper] is reading this, don’t ask. This isn’t for you.

Hey, Yellow Squishims, if you’re reading this…you’re the best. We loved chatting with you. Watch where you put the tentacles next time, but for first-contact, you were very respectful! We only talked a few minutes, but that’s enough to be friends, isn’t it? This quest is to eat 50 fish.

Posted Reward: We can’t give you anything ourselves, but you get a reward in the next part. I hope it helps.

Quest Reward: The most nutritious fish an octopus needs to get bigger and stronger, not exceeding 400 lbs in weight.

Optional Condition (Impossible): Defeat a Kraken. (Do not do this, Squishims. It’s impossible for a reason.)

After a moment, it was gone. Thus went Yellow Squishims, and Ulvama and Erin were smiling, standing there, and the Hobgoblin turned to Erin after a moment.

“…You didn’t actually tell it to kill a Kraken, did you?”

“I absolutely did not. The damn impossible clause keeps popping up, whether I want it or not. It wouldn’t do that, anyways. What’s it supposed to do, gnaw on one? They’re huge.”

This was true, so Ulvama relaxed. She and Erin waved as the octopus vanished, and Erin hoped that helped. It did something. Certainly, the octopus seemed excited as it swam out into the sea once more. It turned, once, at the doors and waved its tentacles, as it had seen Erin doing.

Then Erin laughed, in relief, in hope, and the Hobgoblin chuckled too.

Fun fact: newly-born Krakens were proportionally tiny compared to their adult selves and spawned in vast numbers that would consume each other and everything in their path until only a few passed their infancy. First hatched, they were, oh, about seven feet big and all teeth and evil barbs. Most creatures wouldn’t risk a fight with even a baby Kraken without a really, really good reason.

Another fun fact: Erin Solstice had probably thought that her <Quest> was fairly generous, at least in that it was a ‘free’ reward for just eating fish, but she had no sense of weight for sealife. Small sharks could weigh over 1,400 lbs. Tuna could get up to the same weight on Earth and had been even bigger before overfishing reduced their populations and sizes.

400 lbs was not a large fish at all, but the most magical fishes tended to not correlate weight with magical intensity in most cases. And magical fishes were an octopus’ favorite treat if they could be caught.

——

For a moment, Erin Solstice laughed. She cackled in delight at the incredulity of the [Pavilion of Secrets]. For a strange meeting with a literal octopus under the sea.

For the delight and wonder of a [Shaman].

She cackled in joy, then the glowing <Quest> she had written into the sky caught her eye. The laughter turned to hiccups.

Then sobs.

She was crying, suddenly. A [Witch] wept as tears fell from her eyes, and a blue hat appeared on her head. Ulvama didn’t understand.

It had been such a funny moment. It was an octopus, however big. And they hadn’t hurt it. They’d given it a <Quest>.

“Erin?”

“I did it. I did it again. I can’t turn it off. Even a silly octopus—I changed its life forever. Now it’ll die or advance. Die or advance. I’m just pushing pawns to the edge of the board. I can’t stop this, Ulvama.”

She was holding her hands out, and they were shaking in front of her. Ulvama pulled at Erin, holding her up as she looked around.

Pavvy, that coward, had fled. The Hobgoblin spoke desperately.

“You change things because they have to. Because we want to change, Erin! They could run away, all of them! They come to you because they need your help. Nothing stays the same. Sanctuary ends!”

The words made the [Innkeeper] stop weeping. She peered up, and her tears ran down her face, little glowing tracks of blue fire. Ulvama’s eyes widened. But the [Witch of Remorse] slowly rose.

“Yes. It does. I have always known it. Ever since…the beginning. Relc showed me that. It ends for everyone, no matter if I try or not. Outside my inn. It will never be big enough. And I’m just guilty because of what I’ve done. But this time—I didn’t call. I didn’t know, and they still died.”

She closed her eyes. Rested her head against one pillar of the wet gazebo, and Ulvama touched her shoulder.

“Erin?”

“There is something I can do, Ulvama. It just hurts. It hurts, and I’m tired of pain.”

The [Innkeeper] didn’t turn to the [Shaman]. She ran her hand down the white, painted wood, then she inhaled. Exhaled, and her back straightened.

“I’m afraid I’m going back to the person you feared. The person that Dretonamis found, who only knows how to destroy. Ahead of us, this Fraerling city—do you think Cillencreith is truly just out of communication?”

The question struck Ulvama. She hadn’t thought about it. But when Erin asked the question, here—Ulvama put a claw to her forehead.

“Vision Tiregal—he wasn’t afraid. He just said they’re out of communication. And even Eurise wasn’t running north.”

“But they sent us to check. You’re right. They’re not that worried. Weird, after Lemoste was hit. It’s almost like they aren’t paying attention to it. Maybe—maybe there’s a reason they’re not thinking of the worst. Not just denial; Eurise doesn’t do that. Maybe it’s a Skill. Or something else. That doesn’t work here, though.”

Erin’s head turned. She fixed Ulvama with a hazel gaze, then turned away again.

“I fear what I might have to do there, if I’m right, Ulvama. You don’t want to go on an adventure with that kind of person.”

The [Shaman] came forwards and rested her hand on Erin’s shoulder. Pulled her around until Erin was facing her, but the [Innkeeper] didn’t meet her eyes.

“I didn’t. I don’t. But sometimes you maybe have to be that person. When terrible things happen, you have to become a terrible person.”

She felt like she was speaking to Tremborag a second, then the [Innkeeper]’s eyes rose.

“How do I come back from that?”

“I…I’ll find you. If you need to be that person, Erin, I’ll tell you. I promise. That’s my job.”

“Your job?”

The [Shaman] nodded.

“It’s the job of a [Shaman] to tell warriors when to fight and die. To tell the [Chieftain] when it is war and death and there is no way out. You’re not alone, Erin. So…whatever you do in here? Sometimes it’s okay to talk to people. But don’t do hard things alone. Even if you have to take Matha. Promise?”

She held out a pinky, like she’d seen Mrsha do, and Erin blinked at it. Then she softly laughed and hooked her pinky.

“Okay. Promise. Then…can you give me a hand, Ulvama? One last time tonight?”

“Of course.”

Ulvama let Erin lean on her as they walked to the gazebo’s stairs. The water of the sea washed past them, and Erin Solstice breathed in, out. She closed her eyes. Ulvama felt no wind on her face. She closed her eyes, though.

She couldn’t have said why.

There was a faint light upon her skin. Her heart beat fast and slow, and Erin Solstice reached out and grabbed Ulvama’s hand.

Ulvama heard footsteps and someone entering the [Pavilion of Secrets]. Slowly. Murmuring. An unfamiliar voice to her, but Erin Solstice jerked.

Then Ulvama opened her eyes as the light faded, and she saw the man walking towards them. Smiling as his hair caught that light unseen.

Like the first days of spring. He even smelled of it, and he wore the rueful smile of a silly [Knight]. Erin Solstice focused on him.

Then she bowed. She, who bowed to no one, bowed and took a knee.

“Hello, Ser Markus. Do you have a moment to chat?”

He bowed back to her as Ulvama covered her mouth and saw the dead man smile like his season.

“For you, Erin Solstice? Always.”

——

A pair of ships bore down on Benoix’s harbors in the night. They had been at sea long, and their hulls were scarred by both war and the elements.

They came with colonists and soldiers, re-routed from their mission by the Eternal Throne of Calanfer for a great task.

To bring the 4th Princess back at all cost. Even if it meant they would be marooned here—that was the politics of the Hundred Families of Terandria.

That was duty, and Ser Thilowen had been charged to effect the transfer with Princess Seraphel, any ranking officers and those who wished passage home. He had told the crown it would be his hardest mission yet, for he predicted she would resist leaving. He had been told to make it happen at any cost, despite his arguments against.

Of these truths, plans had been made. A [Princess] had been prepared for the moment, and her oath to the [Innkeeper] was like fire in her blood, lightning on the storm blowing into the harbor with the ships.

Expectations…made fools of everyone, as Erin Solstice could have told Seraphel du Marquin. The [Princess] watched as the two Calanferian ships surged towards the harbor whose gates were closed against them. But they were headed for any shore, even if it meant running aground.

“They won’t make it.”

A trio of the Iron Vanguard’s frigates were lighting the sea up with enchanted ballistae bolts. The same ones that had damned the Throne’s Will—were tearing the two ships to pieces at sea. The Iron Vanguard had hid them along the coast, and now they were intent on sinking the reinforcements before they even ran aground.

“I didn’t send a [Message], though.”

Ser Thilowen glanced at Seraphel, but every eye was upon the ships. His reply was terse as he watched the Calanferian ships.

“The Eternal Throne assumed the vessels had evaded detection. Clearly, the Iron Vanguard has been aware of our movements from the beginning. It is my belief they were spotted moving to intercept too soon, Your Highness.”

“Too soon?”

The battle was going to damn both Terandrian vessels if she was any judge. For every spell she saw shooting back at the Iron Vanguard’s ships, six more were hitting the hulls of the two ships bearing Calanfer’s flags. Ser Thilowen nodded once.

“Yes. What purpose is there in sinking a relief force other than denying us more troops? Far better to capture the Princess of Calanfer at sea. They are unlikely to take the harbor, but they may blockade Benoix and attempt to land more forces. We should prepare for further flight.”

“Dead gods, man, we cannot just leave our brothers and sisters!”

That was Cortese’s voice. He was watching helplessly, fists clenched, but the battle was just now coming into the harbor.

One of Calanfer’s vessels was rapidly taking on water as it came towards the harbor. It might make it—but another broadside lashed the hull. Strategist Veine murmured under her breath as she sighted down her ghostly crossbow wand’s scope.

“Only three frigates? They should have brought more.”

“Their fleets may be committed to other locations, the New Lands push especially. Three is all they need.”

“Can nothing be done?”

Cortese was demanding the harbors be opened so Dakelos and the [Sailors] of Calanfer could try to sortie with his Skill, but it would be fishing boats versus the Iron Vanguard, and Benoix refused to open the harbor gates.

They would not be a Talenqual.

Instead of fighting the Lizardfolk, Admiral Dakelos gave swift orders. Seraphel didn’t understand what the man was doing until she saw [Sailors] lugging over familiar pieces of wood. Assembling them—then activating a magical broadside.

The hull of the Throne’s Will. They missed completely; a [Valmira’s Comet] arced into the waters as a Dullahan ship moved slowly to the side, but Dakelos just adjusted the hull pieces, fired again. It was something but it wasn’t enough.

They were all so helpless.

——

A pair of figures stood at the docks. Ser Solstice and Lady Menrise gazed at the ships, and Menrise spoke.

“So much for my ride home. Not that I was taking it. That’s what hurt my feelings the most.”

“Sorry about that. We were giving you space.”

“Sometimes, space sucks.”

“Yeah.”

In the silence, they watched the Dullahans continuing to fire on the ships. Rabbiteater’s fists were clenched, and she knew he was feeling the same thing she was.

Helplessness. It was like seeing Tourvecall’s ships going down. Menrise turned to the only figure who could do something. The most important person…

Badarrow. He was lining up shots, cursing as he loosed arrows slowly into the rain.

“Can you stop them, Badarrow?”

The [Sniper] grunted.

“No. I killed six, but the [Captains] are hiding. They’re dying, Br—Ser Knight Guy.”

Menrise was clenching her fists together.

“If I knew a single Tier 5 spell…”

“If I were actually strong.”

They regarded each other. Now she had seen his face, Menrise could picture the frustration on Rabbiteater’s visage. She closed her eyes.

“You chased them off once! If you only had a ship—”

Admiral Dakelos was trying to commandeer a fishing ship, but Lizardfolk armed with spears were shouting, whirling slings at him. The Thronebearers were yelling for order, keeping the Calanferians back. If they fought in the center of Benoix, the entire city would be against them, and they had not let enough people in to take and hold the harbor. Even so…the [Goblin Lord] whispered.

“Yeah. I can’t run on water. I have [Steps of Light]. It’ll get me a hundred feet, then I drown.”

“No, you’d need a better enchantment than that. To get over there…that’s a Tier 4 spell. [Water Walking].”

She shook her head, and Rabbiteater glanced at her. Menrise gazed at her gloves. Then up at him.

“And I don’t have a wand. Wands are just conduits, though. I heard half-Elves could use their bones as conduits, and they’re not as magical as…”

The very blood in her fingertips was so magical that if she concentrated her hands would glow. She lifted a gloved finger, and light shone through the tip of it. Menrise traced something in the air…gave up.

“Bleh. [Retaw Gink…] It’s all jumbled up. I know what the magic is. I—just—can’t—”

She held out her hands, and her gloves began to glow. Badarrow edged away as other spellcasters turned.

The Angry Woman. She stood there, and Rabbiteater spoke.

“You know, I’m not good with magic. But I once heard that there was a kind of spellcaster that didn’t need fancy spells. [Sorcerer]. No one…ever tried that?”

She laughed at him gently. Cupped his helmet in her hands as Seraphel turned, eyes widening.

“Silly Rabbiteater. They just replace studying with more concentration and willpower. Do you think stuffy nobles have any focus and drive?”

“Sure. You don’t all suck. You can do it.”

His helmet turned, and she knew he was smiling at her. But the Angry Woman…she shook her head, despairing.

“Not me, not me, Rabbit. I’m not The Grim Knight. I wasn’t one of his color. That man could be a [Sorcerer]. His focus, his will—they sent an unbroken razor to guard Seraphel. But I’m just angry.”

Her eyes found the [Knight], and she remembered the unwavering focus and determination. Her head fell, and the Lonely Warrior took her hand. She glanced up, and his eyes shone crimson.

Honor, lonely glory.

Longing for home. A raised shield and a smile in the darkness.

He hurt her eyes. She could believe he could cast magic, more than she could. The Goblin Lord was gazing at her, though, at the face he had seen behind that helmet.

“I know, Angry Woman. I saw your fury. If I wasn’t me…if I didn’t meet an [Innkeeper], maybe I would have been one of yours. My people are all so very angry. Or sad as Seraphel. But it doesn’t scare me. People should be angry. That’s how I know you cared. I’m only scared of you being angry at me.”

She tried to pull her hands from his grip and turn away.

“Fat lot of good it does. It’s just fury.”

“Then use that. Or is magic something that only works with fancy words or will? Don’t be a [Sorcerer]. Don’t be a [Mage]. Be something else. A [Witch], a [Shaman], a—”

He didn’t know the words, but he believed. The [Champion] spoke, his voice husky, his head turning to the black waters.

“I believe you can do it.”

Anger? He was mad. There was no way…Menrise stepped back. Then she touched her chest, and it was there. Fury so hot it felt like it could ignite her veins. But it had no outlet. The magic would not fit into the diagrams and matrices she half-remembered. Nor could she hold it in her head, the image of what she needed.

There was only fury at her helplessness. A sinking ship exploding. 

A Goblin’s eyes. An [Earl] leaning against a broken mast, gaze fixed on them.

Magic in her body. It had never been as glorious and as beautiful as she had heard it described by other [Mages]. It was just breeding, bloodlines.

But now, she opened her heart and let a bucket fall. Tried to pull the magic up and form it, but it didn’t work. The magic twisted, and—

The Angry Woman rages. She calls on a spell. It fails.

She does not know how to cast it. She needs it. 

The spell fails.

Her blood is fire. The magic in her veins is igniting. Her dress is catching fire in the rain. The Lonely Warrior reaches for her and recoils.

Her aura is on fire. The Angry Woman whispers a spell. She cannot cast it. Her anger is burning mana. The magic is—twisting—

“Menrise!”

Seraphel’s voice. Menrise jerked. She looked down.

Her gloved hands were glowing bright. Her arms…it was running down her arms, shining through her dress. A streak of power. It raced through her veins, burning its way out from her heart, and now light was shining from her visor.

Furious magic. She felt it, now. Moving into place. Not by iron will or along memorized lines of power. Just burning, twisting itself into what she needed. Fury casting magic of its own volition.

She looked up, and Rabbiteater held out a hand. He saw the spell forming and wordlessly waited. Her lungs were filled with the same toxic rage, but Menrise held her trembling hands back.

“I—don’t want a friend to die. And if you run out there…you’re all alone.”

“Not as long as I have my bow.”

Badarrow grunted, but he hesitated, glancing at Rabbiteater.

“Still. That makes one ship for me, two ships for you.”

Rabbiteater’s armor was glowing. The rain lashing them…was puddling around his boots. When he raised one foot, the water seemed to lift him up. Menrise was panting, but the magic was burning in her.

She could overload regular spells. The [Goblin Lord]’s head turned, and he stared at the ships in the distance.

“I’ll probably die if they flank me. Too many arrows and Skills. Badarrow—can you keep that ship off me?”

“Oh, sure. I just shoot everyone on board dead.”

Rabbiteater gave Badarrow a thumbs up. Then he turned. His visor flashed, and she knew he was smiling.

“Good. Then Lady Menrise?”

“What?”

Rabbiteater’s finger rose, and he pointed, shifting to aim at the rightmost Dullahan ship.

“[Sister, Hit That Target].”

Her head turned. She barely saw the ship in the rain—then she jerked.

He grabbed her hands, and the magic raging in her limbs unleashed into Rabbiteater, coating him.

[Fury Spell: Water Walking].

The spell knocked the Goblin Lord back a step. He flexed one hand, and she saw the enchantment glowing on his armor. But it should have been pale blue, a coating like oil. Not…writhing, flickering red light. The same light as The Angry Woman’s. She saw his helmet rise, then felt something pass by her. A voice in her ear.

“I’m counting on you, Menrise.”

The [Knight] leapt into the raging surf. He dropped to one knee as he stumbled, but his boots didn’t sink into the water. He bobbed upwards, testing his weight, then grunted.

“Springy ground. Sucks.”

He began to run. His feet dug into the water, and when he pushed off, he sprayed a wave at the people on the docks. They shouted, and then the [Knight] was sprinting. His feet kicked up a spray as he charged into the harbor.

[Lesser Dexterity]. [Lesser Speed]. [Supreme Aspect: Supreme Strength], and [Bound Spell: Steps of Light].

A blur, fast as a Courier. Each step pushed the water down around him and left geysers in his wake. He was running up, out of the sea, on a flight of stairs and then leaping, coming down like a comet. His armor was shining like the sun. [Lightsoaked Armaments]. The Dullahans shouldn’t have seen him in the battle, small as he was, but they felt him coming. One of the ships turned and began to fire desperately.

Too late. The Goblin Lord hit the closest ship, and it sank five feet into the sea with the impact. He was already amidst them, sword swinging.

——

Seraphel didn’t see Rabbiteater reach the ship. She was running up from the docks to the cliff above. Badarrow was already there. He was drawing his bow back to its maximum draw and loosing arrows into the storm. The air cracked around him with each arrow, and he was grinning, wide-eyed.

But it was the other woman who stood there that Seraphel focused on.

“Menrise?”

The [Lady] of Tourvecall was aglow with magic. Seraphel had never seen anyone shining with so much mana—not even Archmage Viltach! She was hurling spells across the harbor bare-handed.

[Fireballs]. She was conjuring them, throwing them, faster than Seraphel could believe. But cursing.

“It’s not—they’re not—”

The [Fireballs] were exploding in the air. Despite the Skill that let her aim at the distant ship, the magic spells weren’t reaching their targets. For every ten she hurled, one got to its destination.

“What’s going on?”

“Rain. The raindrops are destabilizing the spells, or maybe it’s just the range. [Long Range Fireball] might do it—”

Cortese was tensed on the balcony. Menrise switched to [Lightning Bolt], but the same problem occurred; the bolts began to earth themselves in midair, on the water, and the Dullahan [Mages] were shielding their ship.

“Menrise! Arrow spells! Use [Light Arrow]!”

“I can’t fire more than ten at a time, dumbass!”

She howled back. Seraphel recoiled, and Menrise muttered.

“It’s all stupid. I don’t know how you configure a doogrel hex or—I know what it looks like. Like…[Fireball]! [Fireball]! [Fireball], [Fireball], [Fireball], [Fireballfireballfireballfireballfireballfireball—] ”

She started casting the spell over her head. But the hovering, burning orb of fiery strands didn’t loose at the ships. Instead, more and more orbs joined it until they were hovering above Menrise. A cloud of…

Ser Thilowen shouldered Seraphel back. She began to scream at him, then Dame Neranthei put her shield up. So did half a dozen Thronebearers. Strategist Veine and Clatterface backed up as the glowing orb of fireballs lifted higher.

Badarrow edged a few steps left. He glanced up and muttered at Menrise.

“You sure you got enough?”

“Shut…up. This is how it’s supposed to look!”

She raised her hands overhead, and the fiery orbs were melding. Forming one giant orb, a miniature sun that lit up Benoix’s harbors. The [Lady] was panting; her dress was aflame from the heat, and she was fighting to keep the spell from exploding. Her helmet was melting slightly, but the light shone through her visor.

“[Siege—Siege—]”

——

On a ship, a single [Knight] was fighting across an entire deck of Dullahans. He turned his head as the two Calanferian ships steered past him, his teeth bared as he saw a light in the corner of his eyes.

He looked back at the shore and saw it. His eyes beheld the [Lady] ablaze with magic, and he raised his sword, shouting.

[Wondrous Deed: I Believe in Miracles].

He saw the light pulse—go out—

——

Lady Menrise du Chavresel screamed. The oversized fireball above her head vanished, and she gave up.

[Siege Fireball] sucked anyways. She pointed her fingers together and howled.

“[Firebeam of Incineration]!”

The air split, and a roaring beam of fire magic shot forwards like the light of one of Pheislant’s Great Lighthouses. But everything around it turned to flame.

The Tier 5 spell roared across the bay, hit the Dullahan ship, and swept across the hull. The kickback sent Menrise tumbling head-over-heels. She might have snapped her neck but for Cortese lunging to catch her. When she got up, dazed, ready to puke, she saw a flaming ship in the distance.

Already turning, hull still ablaze, a curvy line drawn on it in white-hot flames. The other two Dullahan ships were falling back. Menrise looked up, and Cortese favored her with a wide-eyed expression of shock. Delight.

There was a roar in her ears. When she staggered to her feet, she realized it was the people below her. Colonists, soldiers, sailors cheering her.

The Sorcerous Lady lifted a hand weakly. It made up for none of her sins. But she let herself smile. Then she watched her friend running back to her.

[Class Division: Lady of Incantations and Japes → Lady of Japes!]

[Class Division: Lady of Incantations and Japes → Mage of Incantations!]

[Class Change: Lady of Japes → Lady of Mirth and Fury!]

[Class Change: Mage of Incantations → Catharsis Sorcerer!]

[Lady of Mirth and Fury Level 18!]

[Skill – Altered Spell: Magical Jape Obtained!]

[Skill – Furious Action Obtained!]

[Condition – Furious Outburst Removed!]

[Catharsis Sorcerer Level 20!]

[Skill – Fury Spellcasting (5/day) Obtained!]

[Skill – Overloaded Spell Obtained!]

[Condition – Wrathful Backlash (Spellcasting) Obtained!]

Author’s Note:

Yo it me.

I’ve finished my secret-project week but also the editing on this chapter. Which is why it took a bit longer to post than usual these days. This has been a busy month—the new schedule has gone off decently well, though the editing of both Erin chapters cut into my time a bit.

I’ll keep refining the process, and it will not always be four neat chapters each month, but it worked out this time. I would also like to report that the week off worked well.

I still need more time, but I finished the Oelnnox chapter as my first priority. I need to edit it, but there are solid bones there. Month by month, I will keep working on projects. So I supposed next month I’ll use the time to edit the Oelnnox chapter and move onto another priority. I want to do Griefman, but you’ll see why I had to make Oelnnox a non-TWI slot.

Anyways, aside from that…this one’s about Menrise. I was actually surprised to have the most trouble with her class. I assumed emotion-based spellcasting was some kind of class that everyone knew about in DnD or stuff, but there’s no actual parallel I could find with some lazy searching.

I guess [Sorcerer] or [Wild Mage] sort of fit the bill, but they weren’t quite the same as emotional casting. Nor is a [Witch] what Menrise is doing…is this how the Grand Design feels? I think I’ll stick to writing.

Lastly, I watched the Resident Evil movie earlier today, and I liked it. Some parts felt too silly to me, but as someone who’d played most of the games (and watched zero of the movies besides this one), I liked it. I can recommend going to see it in theatres. More than the other trailers because those movies looked like they sucked. One was about a killer Santa or something? Another was some guy going ‘Ghost Soldier’ and shooting a bunch of people with weirdly impractical bullets?

Sheesh. Anyways, that’s it from me. Taking my weekly break then back to it. Hope you enjoyed the chapter—I’m going to prepare for zombies by doing nothing. I doubt anyone’s surviving the ones in that movie. They’re pretty damn fast.

—pirateaba

Previous Chapter Next Chapter