* * *
Camden
* * *

Cade Fayegeaux is not very happy with me right now, which implies I've done something right this morning. Jenny and I watch him glower in his cell, too angry to speak to either of us right now. Jenny's seated on the stool now as I lean against the wall. Soon enough I suppose we'll switch. The plan is that we'll both stay well-rested and keep both pairs of our eyes on Cade at all times. He's slipped away from guards before by distracting them or making himself seem beneath notice. We won't ignore him.

It's quite interesting that Jenny and I both came to act under this plan without discussing it at all. In fact, this very morning we both walked to this cell with no explanation whatsoever for what motivated us to do so. I'd question it, but I know that both of us are keenly attuned to our sense of Duty. That is enough.

I am very concerned about Katherine, and I know Jenny must be. We haven't talked about her, though. We've exchanged very few words at all today. Maybe we don't need to, yet.

How could she die, though? Katherine? I suppose I ask that question every time she bites it, but she's not exactly in a war zone, now is she? She's been near the Palace at all times. It just doesn't make sense, and I want to know what's going on--

A ripple of thought traces across my mind, and it's not my own. I jerk a little. Jenny sits up at attention - she of all people would know the aura of Jhe h'Akribastes.

We are taking care of it.

I nod, then mentally curse myself for showing an external response. If he's working on things now, it explains why neither I nor Jenny felt the need to do anything else other than what we did. And, since the necessary measures are being taken now, an explanation will be in order later.

We need defenses to be in order now, Peacekeeper.

I keep my eyes on Cade. I'm seeing to that right now. Once you're finished, we'll have a Trial to set in motion.

The response is the impression of an eyebrow raising, and for a moment I'm not looking through my own eyes. Or rather, someone else is. Then I regain my own sight.

The Judge sounds mildly amused. More abrupt than I initially thought, but I see no reason why not. There's a pause. There is no other danger you see fit to prepare against, then?

No, I say, none worth guarding against. The enemy has made its most severe move. Attacking now would be foolish - we're obviously already on alert. Besides, there's the conflict in the Aurocan Palace to divide their resources. I see no reason to disrupt life as normal. It may prove to lend us strength. What I don't say is that my hunch is motivated largely by senses that are usually attributed to Poets. I don't deny that I am one, but it's a detail that tends to cut down on credibility with the Judge as of late. Besides, my analysis is sound on its own.

Right. Then, nothing. I imagine he's very busy right now.

* * *
'Sy
* * *

I suppose I could explain where I am right now, but that would give away too much. We don't do this in a place of absolute secrecy just to keep the process from being discovered. We keep the place secret because the place itself is a part of this process. I can say that it, or at least the entrance to it, is somewhere in the Palace's most secluded and warded confines, and that is all you will know.

Besides, it is improper to tell too much of this ritual. It is holy. Perhaps it could also be that I am uncomfortable with talking about it. Tia, the Lady of the Void, would have much to say about that.

"Now that I am mentioned, I find it prudent to point out that I see nothing of Katharin-toa'rhian-to'----' inside me." Tia steps forward, her casual teasing gone from her usual tone with me. We all flinch at that pronunciation of Katharine's name, which is all too obviously missing parts of it. Destroyed so thoroughly that even bits of her full name can't be said in this place... I have trouble believing it, but we cannot tell lies in here. "...I expect, then, that something has been brought, for I can give you no aid today. There is nothing left of her for me to return to you." Does her voice contain the slightest tinge of worry at that prospect?

"There is something left of her." Luciprochoros steps forward, resplendent, but with no circlet. It's so strange to see his hair completely down, to see him in that old, ancient set of robes. Chetharian lines and trim, not Radian, though the two have their similarities. They're more stark than Radian clothing, and every cut and seam echoes the ancient duties and traditions. I, too, am wearing the garb of the olden days. I don't like to think of it, just as I don't like to think of the bindings that strap the sandals to my feet. The robes, and the sandals, I can no longer call my own.

But in this place, this most secret of places, my brother and I are different. Perhaps you could call us more brothers now than ever, for we're the closest we will ever be to what we were at our original creation. I hate this place so much, I think, for making me remember what it was like in those days.

You always hate change, Diyn whispers between my ears. His voice is different now. Deeper. Closer to mine, but also closer to... someone else's. I would anger over it, but it defines you, that hatred of change. And it, too, has always had its uses.

Can I even call him Diyn, in this space? Or is he really...

No. Don't think about that now. Especially now. I wonder if I'm the only one with this problem. Luciprochoros (That's not his name in this place, not his proper one...) never shows a shred of discomfort from it. But then, how much has he really changed, since the old days? Other than the fact that he no longer eats meat now, I think the only distinguishing difference is that he never ceases to smell of coffee.

Tia takes no form expect for shadows, but I can feel her stand beside me, looking over me, smiling. "Arik'tighesynnodai-theoni," she whispers into my ear, her hand brushing my arm. My hackles rise, but I say nothing. She turns to Luciprochoros. "Lu-i-si'vrahn-prochoros-otheosil," she intones, holding out her hand, "show me the sign of the passing of Katharin-toa'rhian-to'----'."

My brother bows to the mother of two of my daughters, then straightens from the bow, crooking his arm at his waist, cradling something. In a smooth motion, he sweeps his hand out to Tia. Cupped in it is a small round bowl filled with what amounts to almost two tablespoons of blood. "There is very little, but what is there is fresh."

The shadows of Tia's face ripple into a frown, her dark brow creasing. "That is all? But I have nothing. Nothing. Where did the rest of her go?"

Luciprochoros shakes his head. "That, my Lady Tighe-Ma'at-seh'vrahn-'Eoni, is a mystery to solve in another place and another time entirely. We have what is here, and it will suffice." He shows no doubt on his face, and neither do I. We keep our worries inside right now.

"Very well." Tia takes the small dish in a motion that speaks of easy grace, then turns and begins to walk away. "Follow me. I will show you where I keep it now."

"Slowly, please," says a faint voice.

Tia turns back to face it, and then looks alarmed. "Why you, Jhe h'Logos?" A ripple of ire trickles through me. In this most sacred of spaces, where she refuses to use naught but my brother and I's true names, she accords him his title?

"I am naught but Eleth-travente now, my Lady Tighe-Ma'at-seh'vrahn-'Eoni, but I do stand as Audiva Rocale's Regent, as the heirship rests with me." Elete slowly makes his way to my side. He's limping a bit. I can't restrain my worry for him. It's so strange to look upon him right now, to look at his head bare of a crown. Without it, he looks so much shorter than me. He's also dressed plainly for the first time in years, wearing nothing else of decoration, rank, or status but a signet ring that he avoids bearing openly in day-to-day life. I am sure he keeps it on him at all times, of course, but he disdains publicly showing the mark of Xaillyndesse heirship. Sometimes I am surprised he never gave the ring back to Ebrellin-i. Right now, I am thankful that he kept it. "My brother is unable to attend to the duties of the Treaty this time. I shall suffice, I expect?"

Tia's lips part into a grin. "You shall always more than suffice, Elethe-travente Xaillyndesse. Please, follow me at your own pace." Tia resumes the procession slowly.

Luciprochoros walks on the other side of Elete, his back straight and his jaw held tense. He objected to Elete's presence here earlier. I must admit, I am even more worried for Elete's health as more time passes. Elete looks weak, even in this place where life becomes so strong. Stripped of his kingly robes and rank-symbols, it's even more obvious how much weight he's lost, how frail he's become. Despite all that, he holds his chin up high and ignores our concern, just like always.

The procession stops in a place that seems no different than the rest of this empty void. With a turn of my head, everything changes. There now are walls around us. They are ivory colored, gilt designs of sunbursts spreading across them, up to the ceiling, and down to the marble floor. The ceiling would have a similar sunburst on it, but the center of it opens into an empty circle which reveals the void outside - and a light from far beyond where human eyes could reach. Even mine have trouble beholding it over the great distance, as if it were the faintest of stars. In the middle of the chamber is an altar, similarly decorated. It changes each time we do this, as does the room at times. This time the altar is adorned with a large golden bowl.

Tia's golden eyes trace back to me as she turns. My attention is drawn to the dish of blood that she holds. She motions for me to step forward. After I do, she hands me the small dish. I feel in my hand, for the second time, the faint weight of all that is left of Katherine, our treaty, my Advocate. My lover and, through this world's genetic standards, my niece. My sparring partner in all things.

I feel all of these things running through the blood, the memories and thoughts and the weight of her upon me, and I cry. Every time this happens, for every one that I come here to contest for, I cry. Tia beholds my tears, takes my chin, and tugs it toward the altar. Tears drip onto the altar and evaporate before they can quite touch the surface of it. This happens every time I come here.

I hate this place. So much.

She pulls me into an embrace then, allowing me to bury my face into her shoulder. Her hand tips mine, allowing the blood to pour into the bowl. I always forget that she is taller than me. This, too, is something that I regret happens every time I come here. There's some consolation, some weight off of my chest--

I've lost so much.

It is perfectly okay, my dear Arik'tighesinnodai-theoni, and then she pushes me away from her to stand upright again, my tears all dried on the black fabric of her night-dress, for you to feel pain from change. She turns my head so that I am facing the end of the altar. There is enough space there, just enough, for something to lie there. Something very small. Now, you can feel joy from it.

There is something there, something very small. A faint and glowing whisper of soul. Something in my chest jumps at the sight of it. I am always afraid that I will have to mourn in this place. Sometimes that is all I have in this place, because nothing appears on the altar no matter what we do. Sometimes, for whatever reason, what we bring isn't enough. It's too little, or too old, or impure. I wish there were some way to know why, but it has remained ineffable to me. I wish there were some process of making old things new again, or of purifying tainted remains. I wish there were any way of bringing all of them back, but the world does not operate according to my wish. There is a twinkling of Katherine returning to this world, though, and that is enough to settle me. Tia's hand is on my back, rubbing at a shoulderblade, comforting me. This is a rare moment between us. It was like this when our daughters were born. Very quiet.

Elete steps forward to the altar, bowing to the bowl. (I note that his balance still compensates for his crown, even though it's not on his head. Likely that will never change. I'm reminded, with a pang, that there's very little time left for his balance to change.) He holds forth his hand, shows the ring that proves him Regent of the Empire of Audiva Rocale. At the same time, Luciprochoros steps forward and waves his hand, presenting himself. My brother need wear no proof of sovereignty - he is the true Emperor of Crux Radia. The true King is his Land and his People.

"I state my accordance," he intones very slowly and clearly.

"I state the accordance of my Empire," Elete says, the words unfamiliar to him, but just as clearly spoken. Hopefully, he will never have to speak them again.

Tia casts her golden eyes upwards to the light that seems so much less dim, and so much closer, at this of all moments. "Once more, whole, let us have Katharin'toa'rhian-to'dharahni-seohs."

Katherine is birthed in a flash of light and the sigh of unseen feathers. Luciprochoros takes her, folding the cloth she appears in around her. It is the original robe of the Advocate, though much smaller than usual. Old clothing for her, old as my robes. Tiny sandals adorn her feet.

I watch her, silent. She encompasses all of my focus right now, and all of my heart.

Luciprochoros jumps as he hears something I don't. He looks up at me, blue eyes questioning. "A Trial, so soon after this?"

I blink. I'm surprised that he felt the summons before I did. I realize that he is holding the Advocate, after all. A tiny baby in form, but a grown woman in mind and an old soul indeed. Her green eyes pierce into mine, demanding.

Of course, our old dance would resume at the instant of her re-creation. My eyes skirt up to the distant light that shows through the circle in the ceiling. It seems to be laughing at me.

I don't see why I fear change. It never seems to happen much to my life, so why bother?

Our procession leads out of the chamber. Tia stays behind, her worry nagging me in the back of my mind. She wants to know who did this to Katherine, how we could let it happen at all. She also wonders if I am hiding something in this most holy and sacred of places. We are not to hide ourselves, any part of ourselves, in this place. It's why I must wear this robe and these sandals that I hate. But I am hiding nothing of my open self, and my thoughts are my own to keep now.

We leave this place with Katherine before Tia can dig out of me just what I'm keeping silent on. This is the last place I want to be when she discovers that Stevane is gone.

* * *
Stevane
* * *

I'm still lying down on my little bunk in the back partition of Thelea and the Kommissar's carriage. The collar around my neck is itchy and tight, and it's stifling my thoughts just as Gerald described in Lyric's tale. Speaking of Lyric, my brother is still asleep in the top bunk... well, more like unconscious. All I know is there's a lump in the mattress above me. I don't know if he's tied up or what. The carriage has been rocketing along, as far as I can tell. I don't know how far it's traveled. I don't know what's to become of us, but there must be some way out of here.

I've got to warn someone. I've got to do something. Maybe somebody can find Katherine's body. Daddy will need it. Maybe it just rolled somewhere, or something. They can bring her back, if it hasn't been too long! Yes, that must be why Jhe 'hLete sent us out to help! He must have foreseen that even if we couldn't save Katherine, I'd tip someone off and help them find a body. That's more than worth getting kidnapped over! I push my mind against the collar, trying to pry it off, to wish the locks loose or rusty or--

It's like being hit in the head with a very light, blunt object. I'm dizzy for a moment, but not hurt. The collar gave me a gentle reprimand. Okay, that's fine. I'll keep working at it. I mean, Gerald couldn't get his off without his Arms, but he's Gerald. I've had lots more Poet training than him.

After three consecutive attempts, the collar gives me a small knot on the back of my skull for my troubles, and starts to choke me. Okay. I give up, for now.

Man, it's a shame it blocks Poetry. I don't have my practice Arms on me, otherwise I'd try to cut it off or something. Maybe pick the lock. They left me untied, other than the collar, but there's nothing back here that I can see to aid me. If I get out of the little bunk, they'll hear me moving around back here, too. Well, what else do I have besides Poetry, then? Do I have some other, non-Poetry skill that the collar won't block and will at least get me out of this carriage?

I have what is possibly the most brilliant idea I will ever have in any of my lives.

I light the carriage on fire with my mind.

* * *

The next thing I remember is being grabbed by the neck. I don't even react - for a moment I think it's the collar just squeezing me for the little rebellion I managed to stir up. I'm a little dazed, so I'm trying to figure out why I'm being lifted into the air. Scraps of burning wood are all around me.

Huh. I think I managed to explode the thing. Makes sense. Lots of air in a little sealed-up compartment. They really should have put more vents in the thing.

My thoughts are cut short by the intense glare of the blue eyes looking into mine. Now, I'm a little fuzzy in the head right now, and I'm pretty sure that with this guy's grip around my neck, I can't breathe. Possibly, my wooziness is due to an increasingly dire lack of oxygen. Still, even with all that factored in, I swear it's not a hallucination when I see a smile light up on the Kommissar's face. "Cute," he says in a whisper only intended for me, "and it almost worked. In an aesthetic sense, I appreciate that." Then he squeezes a little harder, and black spots start to peek around my vision.

"Have you killed her?!" Thelea's voice screeches from behind me. I'd turn and look at her, but you know. Neck-grip. Urk. She sounds pretty pissed. Almost as pissed as Katherine was when I accidentally vaporized her perfume and makeup stashes. I swear it was just an early chemistry experiment. I was just trying to make her a present. She never really did appreciate my motivation. Hah, some Advocate! (...Hope they found the body. Hope there was one.)

You know, I think Thelea is going to appreciate my motivation even less. Xen is clenching his jaw, trying to keep a straight face and still trying to hold back chuckles. Oh ew, this is like flashbacks to my childhood. Why can't I just get out of here?

Everything goes black for a second, and I slump to the grass. Why am I so dizzy? Oh yeah, air. I bring my hands to my throat and gasp for awhile as stars shower over my vision. Xen's no longer holding my neck, which is good, but someone else is standing over me. Even through the blocking effect of the collar, I can feel boiling fury, so it must be Thelea. Which is bad.

Man, this was a pretty sucky escape attempt, and the first time I've exploded something and it wasn't on purpose. Did I do something wrong? Usually the fire stuff works out exactly as planned. I remember the collar around my neck. Oh, yeah. Without Poetry, I probably have less control over the results of my actions. Plus, Thelea's subverted Poets probably countered a bit of what I was trying to do. Speaking of Thelea, what is she--OOF.

Thelea gives me another kick in the side with her pointy black granny shoes. I curl up and try to huddle away from it, but I'm too dizzy to do much about her assault. "Destroyed the carriage! Scared off my horses! Brained my fucking carriage driver! He was expensive!" Kick-kick-kick. Then the kicking stops. I check to see if I'm dead.

No, the kicking stopped because Xen's standing in front of Thelea now. "The destrier horses are still here. They were obedient. We should get going. We're technically on Radian soil still." His voice is very calm and matter-of-fact. I have the feeling he deals with Thelea very often, which makes me feel sorry for him, but I still don't like him. He may be sticking up for me, but he squeezed my neck pretty damn hard.

Just telling you what lines shouldn't be crossed. Play along.

I blink. That's kind of odd. It sounds like Herald's voice, but Herald's my knife I left with Jhe h'Lete. Then again, sometimes I hear voices in my head, and Iaen taught me that's a normal thing with Armed, and he said to listen to them as long as they didn't tell me to go kill myself. I guess that's pretty reasonable advice for crazy people. Armed might as well be crazy people, and as a Poet I already qualify as crazy people. So I will take Iaen's crazy people advice and listen to the voice in my head. Besides all that, it sounds like a pretty reasonable crazy people voice, and I guess I could use one of those right now.

Thelea is quiet for a moment. Less kicking, more thinking. That's great. "How are we going to take both of them?"

"They're large horses. They can each fit an extra occupant. Grab the King's consort and take him on yours." He pauses. "...And see if she didn't destroy the wine."

"And if she did?"

"Then I'll hurt her." I get pulled up then, but at least it's not by the neck. My vision's coming in flashes, so as I'm being half-carried, half-led, I see: grass, footprints, burning carriage shrapnel, broken carriage horse rein, bit of wooden thingy, rear end of a horse. The rear attaches to the rest of a horse, a very big horse, which is standing and living and breathing and doing the horsey things that horsies often do.

"Two of the wine bottles are whole." There's a clinking of glass. "Three broken. The rest of the champagne's still intact." She sounds mollified on that score. That's sort of a relief, until my hair gets yanked almost out of its roots.

Xen holds my head close, his lips brushing against my ear. I can smell his breath, and I couldn't say it stinks, but it's like the breath of an animal who is about to eat me. Maybe a wolf, but I don't really go around smelling wolves' mouths, so you can just make the assumption if you like. I think that's pretty poetic, myself. "Don't step out of line again, Poet. She doesn't need you that much, and it won't be nearly as funny to me next time. Now get up on the horse."

There's a tense moment of silence. I try to tell him something, then I realize that if I open my mouth, I'm gonna puke on him. That's close to the message that I'm trying to impart, but something tells me the means of delivery won't be appreciated.

"...Don't tell me you're Jhe h'Akribastes's daughter and you can't ride a horse, little girl?" It's a growl, but it almost seems amused. I can't tell if he finds it funny or not. I'm not sure if I hope I do. I don't know if I'm supposed to make this man laugh or not, which is awkward for me, because I got through most of my life up until now that way.

What else got me through life? Well, I am Jhe h'Akribastes's daughter. The only other way out besides sneakiness and laughter has been honesty. I just shake my head.

He snorts. "You'll be fun." He boosts me up on the horse, which involves a lot more touching my ass than I ever wanted to happen between us. I just sort of lurch forward and grab the oh-shit handle. The pommel. Yeah, that thing. He's gone for a bit, at least as far as my tunnel-vision can tell. I wonder what makes this horsie giddy-up. That's probably not a very good idea. The last time Daddy tried to teach me to ride a horse, Camden ended up feeling very sorry for the horse, and Mikhal wouldn't stop telling glue jokes. It really was very sad.

You've done very well. Now sit still for once and wait, little scrub of a Poet. Stupid crazy voice, thinks it's so smart. I listen to it nevertheless.

"Pack it into the saddle-bag. Three bottles in each. That should balance well." Xen's voice is gruff. I try to turn and look at what he's doing without making myself throw up. They have another war horse. They're probably good horsies, but I'm not really a horse person. Probably why Katherine and I never clicked. The horse thing and the whole makeup on fire thing. Anyway, Lyric's lying on the ground a few paces away from the horse. He is tied up, by the wrists. Good. If he's not wearing a collar, they don't know he's a Poet. He looks relatively alive, which is a lot better than I feel. I think he's unconscious, but then I see him blink and look up at me in confusion.

I shake my head, trying to gesture behind him without getting Xen's attention. Lyric's eyes widen as he begins to comprehend his surroundings. He sits up and looks over his shoulder at Xen and Thelea.

Then, to my utter horror, he stands up and walks to them.

* * *

* * *
Lyric
* * *

Stevane is up on a horse, which alerts me to just how dire of a situation we may be in. I'm pretty sure that in the ten years I was gone, she never learned to ride. That means someone was stupid enough to put her on a horse. She looks pretty bedraggled, and I feel like shit. Also, my arms are tied behind me, which is a bit of an annoyance. Still, besides the fact that I'm bruised and aching, my hair is unmussed and my clothes seem undamaged. I call the match in favor of myself. Then, I get myself up and see who Stevane seems so concerned about. It's probably the same idiot that put her up on a horse.

My blood chills as my eyes set on Lady Thelea, who I immediately recognize. She's, ah, famous, and she looks just like my former employer. Next to her is a very tall, very Xaillyndesse-in-appearance man who I think I should recognize. It takes a couple moments for me to dreg up memories of descriptions of the Kommissar. We're all taught to recognize him. The Kommissar is one of the sworn enemies of the Akribastes family and all that, so we're taught to stay clear of him. A few assassinations in the family, which Father never really likes to talk about, were enough to make him teach us caution. Thelea herself could also be implicated in those, but it's hard to make that call - she's very subtle in her machinations, and I never paid much attention in history.

They're fiddling with the saddlebags on the horse. There seems to be a lot of burning shrapnel about, which I'm going to blame on Stevane because that's what Daddy would do. Those flaming bits are probably the carriage I seem to recall seeing before I was knocked out. I'm still a little dizzy, but I stand. Stevane was trying to catch my eye about something-or-other. Probably telling me not to get noticed. That's not really something I'm good at, so I decide to do something I am good at. I'm a Poet, right?

I should go with my instincts.

I walk to the two by the horse, and from a respectable distance, I bow. I keep my eyes on them, though. I'm pretty sure that this could get me killed if I'm not careful. Wasn't that the story of my whole life, though?

The Kommissar reaches towards my neck, keeping his eyes on Thelea, waiting for permission. She shakes her head. He withdraws the potential death-grip. Then Thelea speaks. "Yes, servant? You had a concern?"

I take a deep breath. Time for the performance of a lifetime. "I only thought, dear Lady, that you shouldn't be bothered with such an inelegant task while one such as I is traveling with you."

She raises an eyebrow, as does the Kommissar. They sort of do it in unision. I wonder how closely related they are, then try to keep the Xaillyndessen inbreeding jokes out of my head. I don't want to laugh right now. It would shatter my outwardly obedient image.

"Are you volunteering your services?" A question I have heard so many times before, in the same measured tones.

I bow a little deeper, then bob up again. "As far as they are useful to you, my Lady. I served your son happily until I was taken from the Palace by the Armed. If it be your choice, I should like to continue to be useful to the the royal line."

The Kommissar looks dubious, but it's not like he's my type. Thelea, though, bears all the traits of someone who desires proper servitude. I learned long ago not to get sick thinking about that sort of thing. It would conflict with my job skills. "Such a convenience, then, you running straight to us. And just how did that transpire?" She makes a motion to the Kommissar. He then cuts my bonds with a scowl. I stand upright very slowly, shaking my hands and rubbing my wrists. I'm willing to bet Thelea didn't tie those knots. They were inelegant, and spoke of no proper training in bedroom restraint.

Not getting sick. Definitely not getting sick.

I gesture to my convenient sister, who is silent on her horse, confused and obviously trying not to panic. I really feel bad about this, but... "To gain their trust, I permitted them to assign a Poet to watch me. She's aided me in buying my Radian clothing, ensuring my safety, and taking down my account of the recent events at the Aurocan Palace. When she was sent out to search for a missing person, I decided to offer my aid. It seemed, to me, to be a fine occasion to exploit for escape." I shrug my shoulders, spreading my hands as if to reveal that all this was in my plan. "As you can see, my hunch was correct. If you keep her around, I'm sure she'll prove convenient. She has a very good knowledge of the Radian Palace and royalty." Yeah uh, please don't kill off my sister. I've only gotten to see her again for a day, and I don't want that death on my head.

All in all, I think that story is pretty smooth. The Kommissar looks like he might even swallow it.

Thelea snorts, holding herself up in a haughty posture. "And just what can you offer me, if you have such a limited knowledge of Radian affairs that you needed a Poet to aid you?"

I beam. "I am sure I can be even more useful to you than I was to your son. Under his employ, I was successfully training an animism. Even the King was impressed with my skills."

She takes a moment to consider this, inspecting my appearance and my bearing. She scrutinizes my face quite thoroughly, but if the Peacock King couldn't find my Father in it, I doubt she will. The Kommissar is, meanwhile, looking a little too closely at my neck. "Very well. You might show promise, after you show me a reason to trust you. You may come with us to the Palace unbound. Now stow our wine bottles and prepare yourself for a ride."

I bow once more, with a proper flourish this time. So much easier with my hands unbound. "Of course, my Lady. Such a pleasure to serve one so lovely as yourself." I attend to stowing the bottles in her saddlebags. Goodness, she had the straps arranged all wrong. Perhaps Ebrellin-i does have an edge on her when it comes to restraints. Oh dear, I was really trying not to think about that.

During all this time, the Kommissar has remained silent. He waits for me to finish my task, then waits and watches as Thelea mounts the horse. She gestures for me to ride pillion. I do so, situating myself behind her. The Kommissar gives me one final look, his face unreadable, before walking to my sister's horse. Well, I guess that's his horse, he was just stupid enough to put my sister on it. He mounts it, keeping my sister in front of him. I suppress a growl. I don't like seeing that man with his arms around my sister, but there's nothing I can do now, and I'm pretty sure she can take care of herself.

Thelea leans back ever so slightly. She really is quite tall, though not as tall as her son. Her black eyes look upon me, one elegant eyebrow raised in inquiry. "And can you ride, boy?"

"Your son seemed to think so," is my quip in response.

Her mouth crooks into a saucy smirk. I try not to think about the turn my stomach just made. "Then hold tight. My hand is much rougher than his." I put a hand on each side of her wasp-thin waist, noting the ridges of boning in her corset. It's just in time, too, for the next thing Thelea does is flick the reins and cry out, kicking the horse straight into a gallop. I barely hear the Kommissar curse behind me. Then, everything is a blur as scenery whips by me. I never knew a horse could run so fast.

* * *
Stevane
* * *

A readiness comes over me, a feeling which doesn't seem to be my own. I hear the barest whisper of --don't set him on fire just yet, girl-- before Xen looks up at me. His eyes are calculating, and a cold tingle runs up my spine as I feel myself measured. Then, without a moment's pause, he hauls himself up onto his horse, sitting behind me.

I make a little 'urp'. I feel sick again. He is way too big and my oh-shit handle is way too small. Also, I can't hit him with it because it's attached to the saddle. The voice in my head is quiet now, so I've only got myself to keep myself calm. Think about business. Lyric was obviously doing that. Hell, he got ahold of his wits so well that he contrived to ride on the back of the horse. I have mixed feelings on that, but overall I'd say I'd rather hold onto Xen than deal with him holding onto me. He slips one hand around my waist. He is probably holding the reins with the other. Forgive me but I am paying a lot more attention to the hand that's on me.

He makes one of those clicky sounds that, for people who aren't named Stevane, makes horsies go clop-clop. The horsie dutifully does so, but not in that way that makes him take off like lightning the way Thelea's horse did. (Even with the tenseness of the situation, when that happened I did kind of giggle - Lyric's head whipped back and his eyes were all wide.) Instead it just sort of ambles along like we're going on a nice country ride.

"Allow me to have a word with you, Jhe Akribastes, while we're alone." Xen's voice is smooth, measured, and gives away nothing. It's even pleasant.

Oh, shit. "Yes, just us and the horsie." It's brilliant exchanges like that which prompted Jhe h'Lete to make me retake Diplomacy three times, with the ever-looming threat of a fourth. I now know forty different ways to bow to a King, but heck if I can ever catch myself before smarting off.

He chuckles. The hand holding the reins draws back towards my shoulder, and then I feel a tug on my hair as Xen's finger traces through a curl. "You have your Father's hair, but perhaps you have your Mother's eyes."

"Um." I blink, and try to think of a proper response to that. "People can never tell," I say, though Jhe h'Lete seems to have a knack for the eye thing. Or at least for when I'm stirring up my Mother's sort of trouble. Wait, how does this cretin know who my Mother is?

"I would daresay your brother has inherited more of his Uncle's looks, though. It's in the jawline, and the hair." He continues to trace that curl. I'm almost glad that what he said froze my blood right in its veins. I might try to slap his hand away otherwise, and that would turn diplomatic relations rather bad right now, I imagine. At my silence, he prods the horse to trot a little faster. How long can we linger here, anyway? Why won't someone find us? "What would you say, Jhe Stevane?" He leans forward, whispering it right next to my ear. Everything feels deadly silent. I'm numb. There's only my heartbeat, and Xen's question.

How did he know? Another question immediately chases that one: what if he doesn't? What if he's bluffing? But my Mother, too? If he knows that much, then Lyric's relation to me isn't that much of a leap. Why's he playing this game, then? What does he want?

Let him think you're playing along. Pretend you're putting your cards all in view. It will draw his attention away from the cards you have out of sight.

But... what if I'm selling out my brother?

What can really happen to him that hasn't already? Your brother is strong. But are you?

"Father says he looks more like his mother. But my Uncle's proud of the resemblance." I bite my lip, then go for it. "What do you want, in exchange for not telling Thelea?"

"Hah!" Xen spurs the horse to run a little faster. I get a little bit dizzier. "You're quick to catch on. The Queen Mother may think you're too much trouble to keep, Jhe Akribastes, but I find that the ability to think on one's feet to be quite useful. Especially when diverted to more productive ends. It's all a matter of managing resources, if you may imagine."

He still hasn't answered my damn question. Perhaps he picks up on that closely-guarded thought, or maybe I'm not schooling my face well, because he drops the banter.

"All I want is your cooperation, Jhe Stevane." He traces a line down my cheek with his gloved fingertip. I watch it unblinking, as if it's about to burn me. I remind myself not to bite it. That would go over quite poorly. He withdraws the hand then, and I wonder how clear my intentions were just now. "Your complete cooperation. With that, your dear pretty brother can go on playing Court with my Queen just as long as he wants without her knowing his lineage."

"How did you know?" Avoiding an answer. Thinking very fast. Wondering if I could jump off this horse even with him holding me, and without me getting killed. Probably not.

"Do I have your cooperation?" There's tempered steel in his voice now, and his grip around my waist tightens.

"Of course," I say, as if the decision's nothing. For all I know, Thelea secretly knows our lineages too. Is it really that much of a secret, what the Kommissar knows? Was he bluffing all along? He's in charge of intelligence, though, and they have spies. There's a whole world to this that I don't know, and can only guess at.

"I keep the dossiers. Thelea only concerns herself with the Cruxradia line, the other Radian lines by her reckoning being as thin as commoner blood. I only share with her what she concerns herself with. She is, after all, a busy woman." He whips the reins, grunting, and the horse goes full-tilt, or whatever horsie top speed is. At least, I hope this is top speed, because I don't want to go any faster. Already I'm getting pressed back against the Kommissar's chest. It should be louder, shouldn't it? At this speed? I shouldn't have to listen to him anymore. "I find myself busier with my own matters, however. Do cooperate when the time comes. Even an Akribastes such as yourself should understand how to follow a lead when the binding terms are so very simple."

I try to let my thoughts become the blur that the landscape around us has become. It works, somehow, maybe because of the collar's effects. For the ride, I no longer have to think about just what we're riding into, or what calamity must be going on at home.

* * *
Cade
* * *

I walk, hands bound by chains that lead to the collar round my neck, my pace egged on by the occasional bladepoke to the back. One of the Armed fancies himself a bit of the Judge, I suppose, because the one guarding me and spurring me on to march forward carries a pike as his Arms. Certainly not a trident, but it is pretty damn sharp.

"Now-now, Gilbert," says the boy with a Rhivendish lilt in his speech, "dunnae taste his blood jes' yet. We 'ave teh save thot ale fer tae Joodge." I blink. No, not a Rhivendish accent at all. I think the mongrel is trying to make fun of a Dirvybik accent, and failing miserably. And his Arms shove me pointily between the shoulderblades anyway, so he can't even get the pike to listen. A sorry Trial this makes - my guard detachment isn't even led by someone on a par worthy of me. They lead me forward. I hear a great door slam shut from the direction that I entered. The poke between my shoulderblades recedes, and footsteps lead away from where I stand now. Perhaps the Armed detachment escorting me is taking up positions to guard and watch from.

I feel something scowling in its regard for me. I try to ignore it, and thus make it forget me, but its regard is something I can't ignore, no matter how hard I try to ignore it. My head tilts up, is forced to do so, as if something is grabbing my chin and yanking it to get my attention. I try not to focus my eyes on it. Damn it all, they do so anyway. Why can't I deny this force? Why can't I slither out of here like I've slithered out of so many places, out of so many situations and troubles?

Because it is your time that has come, a deep voice intones in my head, a steel edge whispering through it. I behold what my vision has focused on. I do not deny it. There is a Trident pointed at me from the far end of the room that I am standing in the middle of. The room is the High Courtroom of Crux Radia. The Emperor of that land beholds me from far above, on his throne. The Judge holds the Trident. A grin is beginning to cut across into his features. This is my Trial.

It almost relaxes me when I realize that there truly is no way out now. This is the end. A shameful, sorry end for one who has lived a life so grand. Well, I did my best.

Oh, don't think that this is the end for you. I don't make things that easy. The voice makes me jerk upright, looking around for its source. That wasn't only the Judge's Trident. There were three voices, layered on top of each other. No, four. One was the Trident's, which I'm attributing as the metallic voice. The second was the Judge. I recognized Camden's as well, and sure enough, there he is, standing beside the Judge's dais. In much the same place as I've been told the Advocate stands. What the-- he's no Advocate! He's the Peacekeeper, which is really, as far as I stand, the Warmonger. He doesn't belong in my Trial! And why the fuck is he holding a baby? Did the Judge produce yet another spawn? What the hell is a baby doing in a courtroom? That's... that's just irresponsible! My eyes skate over the baby, tracing her features. Something is wrong. Or something is familiar.

That voice I heard...

No one says anything. The baby nods its head to Camden. Camden tilts his head at the baby, smiling, then walks toward me. As he does so, the Judge draws up, taller and more protective. It is his progeny, isn't it? And he's just bringing it here to make a mockery of my Trial. It would go to show. Camden stops a few paces from me, propping the baby up to get a good look at me.

"Are ye showing the wee one its future, then?" I growl. Camden's expression is even. The baby, however... the baby just glares at me. Creepy.

I'm quiet. Something is wrong. Something about those eyes... a chill runs up my spine. Blue eyes, white-blue, glowing and gold at the pupils. Like ice-hot fire running down my throat and into my stomach. My bladder is whimpering again. No, not at my Trial, of all places. Please no. Then, I imagine comprehension dawns on my face, because Camden smirks.

That fourth voice. It was Katherine Cruxradia. She's the Advocate. She's also the baby.

What the hell.

The Advocate scrutinizes me with those creepy eyes. Just because she's a baby doesn't make it any less freaky of an experience. Hell, it's even freakier this way. Then I swear she raises an eyebrow at me. Camden looks down at her, as if to confirm something. His expression is either that of anger or of stifling laughter. I really can't tell which. Then he looks over his shoulder, at the Judge.

"It is the Advocate's decree that Cade--" His eyebrows draw together as he concentrates, takes a breath in pause, and then starts over. "--that Patrick Oghue'dvrinsidhe of the Dheaghnn'on Clan cannot claim full responsibility for his actions."

I don't even react to hearing that name, my real name. It's been too long. I can't react to things that I don't remember. Of course, reacting to anything is difficult right now. The Advocate's eyes have captured me. I can't even move. I can't protest, either. I want full responsibility for all my deeds. I want that pride, that ownership. Something's raging inside of me that I'm being denied this. I may have served him, but it was willing! I brought this all down upon myself! She can't take that from me!

She only stares at me with those white icefire eyes, golden pupils spearing into my soul. Funny. When she stared at me in my cell, weren't they golden with blue pupils? What does that mean? Why do I feel like I'm being sucked downwards? I can't see the Trident or the Judge. I can't see what's in front of me anymore. The air all around me is a thick sludge, pulling me down with it, drowning me where I stand. Do I fall to the floor, or do I fall straight through it? I don't know. I can't see anymore. I don't know anything anymore. Everything is black and nothing.

Then there is dawn, very far on the horizon. That's when I start to feel again. That's when the pain comes.

I try to scream, but that doesn't stop anything.

* * *
Cade
* * *

Drums. I hear the drumbeats from this dark place. I'm huddled on the ground, my arms around my head. I don't think I can move anymore. I've run too much. All I can taste is my heart in my throat, pulsing so fast that my breath can't keep up with it. I'm dizzy, and sweating, and I think there's vomit on me. My muscles feel like they've been pounded with clubs. My days usually go pretty well in the Dheaghnn'on Tribe, so this is all very new to me. What happened? I'm too stunned to remember. I remember voices, but only as if they're being shouted from far down a cave. No, those aren't memories. They're from the present. The voices are getting closer, fading from muffled garble into something coherent, something louder, until I hear them, finally, clear as day. That's when the door opens into my enclosure. Weird, dull orange light floods in.

Getting my senses back. Figuring out where I am. It's like a hut, but smaller. A dirt floor. Ramshackle, built within minutes, really. Only there to keep me in a cage and in the dark. There's a leather collar around my neck, thick and rough, that's attached to a chain. Someone takes the end of the chain. The orange light glints off of it and becomes sharp and warm, as if the whole length of the chain is on fire. I just watch it, entranced. I should be concerned that two people, likely my captors, are standing over me. I'm not.

One of them, a tall, broad-shouldered man with short hair, reaches down and hauls me up to my knees by the back of the collar. My vision goes hazy, the dizziness consumes me, and I retch a little more of the contents of my stomach onto my shirt. I can't move. I'm too weak. How long did I run from them? The world lurches sideways in a way that just isn't right, and then the dark comes over my vision once again.

There's the feeling of my boots dragging over the ground. One long drag, then a pause, and then a drag, then a pause. Very regular. Someone's pulling me. I feel air over the bottom of my right foot. Did I run the sole off of that boot?

"Should we clean him up?" Who is-- I recognize that voice. Dhe-gleashe. He's my friend. Always has been. Keeps me from staying in the bars past my welcome. Held me up once when I was too sick to stand. Helped me clean up my kid when the poor squirt tried to wear his dirty diaper as a hat. Where is he taking me? I'd ask, but I can't even lift up my head, and my voice is scraped right out of my throat by now. I'm so confused.

"Eh, if the regents want 'im clean, they'll order us to." A more restrained voice. Gouss'tave. Never really got on with him well, but we tolerated each other.

"...Aye." There's no conversation after that. They're just dragging a dog to his death, after all.

I'm still trying to pry at the situation mentally. The regents from the north come down every now and again, to remind us that they're better than us. We don't tend to argue and just leave well enough alone, when it comes to the regents. But this time they made us dig up the bonfire mound. We've used that thing for years and years, as far as my father's father can remember back, even as far as great-great-great-granny-gel can remember that anyone's remembered. It's attained sort of a holy status, you see. I don't remember anyone raising a protest, though. No one does, when it comes to the regents. There's something about them that just frightens the blood clean out of you.

Then... well. Then the killing started.

I'm being dragged up now, even though there's no possible way I can stand. My vision runs clear for a bit. Everyone is standing here. Everyone that's left of the tribe. I catch a glimpse of Dhe-gleashe's face before I'm pulled high into the air by a one-handed grip around the wrists. To be fair to him, he does look very sorry.

I'm lifted even further up. I hear the rough gravelly exhalation of one of the northern people's horses. Those regents ride huge beasts, I imagine because otherwise no other horse could carry them. They're so damn tall. They're like giants. It explains why I'm so high up, though. A horse-mounted regent's got me by the wrists.

It's a little hard to take in, you'll understand. I can't quite connect what I'm seeing with, well... myself. So many people have died. And then I ran so much. Who died while I was running? Did they kill Thedd--

I can't think about that right now. Theddore wasn't a sick kid, anyway. Just a little stupid. They only killed the sick, then churned the flesh into the dirt of what was left of the bonfire mound. The sick elderly, at first, then the sick children. A few of us even tried to stop them. Fought regents, of all things to fight. How brave we were.

I can smell the blood. We're standing on what's left of the bonfire mound, aren't we? Now it's a burial mound. I can hear the pounding of many hammers at once. Is someone building something? Now of all times? I don't have the energy to turn my head. I can only see out of the corners of my eyes. Another horse-mounted regent on one side of me, and on the other, the regent holding me. They speak, but I don't understand it. They have some other language they use. It's like listening to the sweetest set of pipes. So many ells and esses. The regent holding me is male. He's as pale as milk, his hair is night-black and long, beads and trinkets strung all through it. His eyes are blue. He's so beautiful that I forget myself for a moment, and all the carnage around me.

Then I look forward again, and see the men standing around the ruins of the mound. The men, and some women, but hardly all of my tribe. Where are all the others? Where are the children? I smell so much blood, and my heart's forcing itself back up into my throat. I keep trying to think of my son, my wife, and then I keep trying to stop. We have a baby. I don't see my wife. I don't see--

My thoughts freeze. The regent is looking at me. Both of them are. Their regard chills me straight through to the bone. Then, after a little more of that speaking-music that seems to be the regent language, the chain attached to my collar is pulled upwards until the collar draws up tight around my neck. My heart finds it in it to beat again, frantic pulses of alarm. Then the regent drops me and spurs his giant of a horse forward. I see my people scatter before him, and then I'm swinging around. My arms droop down to my sides. I can't move.

I'm just hanging here, from the scaffold they've built over the mound. My head is hanging down. I can see into the mound now. The mud churned into a red pudding from the pieces and bits of my people that have been mixed up into it. I see an eyeball, here or there. I'm spared from seeing any bits of my family, except for a shock of long red hair strewn through the mess. My wife kept her hair long and unbraided. Friends' faces spiral under me. Rivals. Children too innocent for me to ever make quarrel with them. It all blurs, after awhile. Swirls and warps. But that could be the lack of air.

...No.

It isn't that I'm choking, though I am, in fact, choking. The ground is moving, as if something's crawling inside it. The bits of my people are getting dragged down, one by one. More blood wells up in the depressions left behind. Dark blood. After a few moments, the blood begins to turn black.

I start to feel sick.

They ran us through their paces, the ones of us who tried to fight. Lined us up after we lost to them, then spurred us on with metal-tipped lashes. Yelled to us in a heavily-accented lilt of our own tongue that if we all ran our fastest and hardest, they would only take the loser as tribute.

And I, after running my best for days, I ended up being the loser. To tell the truth, one of my comrades tripped me. By then, though, there was very little left of me to care. I was only glad that all of us could stop running, that somehow this all might just end.

Now I'm watching the very ground below me eat the remains of my people, and wondering if it ever will end at all. That's when I feel the thing in my mind.

The hungry thing. The hungry voice, that's just a growl. Smelling me out, sniffing at my pain, my fatigue, my exhaustion. Like a cold nose pushing the inside of my skull. Then a lurch, and I'm pulled downwards.

No. The scaffold isn't slipping. I just felt dizzy. But I feel it again, then, and again, along with the nagging impression of a gnawing, of hunger sated.

I'm being eaten. I can't see it, I'm not bleeding, but I'm sure of it. Possibly because of the pain. Little wedge-shaped teethmarks, making their little impressions right along the seam of my mind. The pain is excruciating, and I open my mouth, and I scream with my broken voice. It comes out as a rattle.

I hear one of the regents assure my people in our own language that the killing will stop once I die. There'll be nothing to fear, once I die. Then the hunger will be over.

Once I die...

I can feel that thing in the ground watching me, sniffing at me again. It can't seem to get any closer, because the gnawing's stopped. I feel thinner now. Less of myself. But I'm still here, hanging. Slowly choking. Slowly dying.

Once I die...

The beast is impatient. It's snorting and pawing like a horse. I'm not dying quick enough for it, am I? I see the red-toned mud beneath me give one solid blurp, and then the scaffold shakes. One of the regents makes a startled exclamation, and I hear its horse spook backward a few paces. That's all becoming a blur.

I'm closer to the monster now. It's working at the supports. Gnawing at the base of the scaffolding hanging me over its nest like a treat.

Actually... more like bait.

Wood splinters with a tearing sound. I lurch as the scaffold does, and then I fall straight down into the mud. They've churned the whole mound up into something that I should sink slowly down into. As my body begins its descent, I brush a small hand that's buried in the murk. In the frenzied recesses of my mind, I imagine that it tries to grip me.

How many of us have been fed to this thing?

My eyes can still see my people, or what's left of them, watch me as I sink. I'm not dead yet, after all. But then, I sink under, and I suppose I might as well be.

I can feel the beast gnawing again at me down here. Not physically, no. It's worrying at my mind again, taking bits and chunks as it pleases. I sink, and sink, and sink. How can this mound be so deep? It seems to be pulsing, like a heartbeat. It's so warm, down here. I can't breathe. I'm surrounded on all sides by blood, and flesh. There is no earth here anymore.

Then, it sinks its teeth deep into my mind like a spade, for one final, satisfying, killing blow. I scream, my lungs giving up their final air into this fleshy soup. It's not agony I feel, nor despair, nor hurt or hatred. Those are all gone, probably eaten by the beast itself. No, that scream is all defiance. My one final bit of desperation. I stab it into the beast like a knife, because that's all there is, down here. Me and the beast.

Something happens, then.

Everything rushes up. Myself, the mud, and the leftover bits of people. Everything except the beast. The blood is all around me, floating, flying, and then the ground comes up and pummels me in a blow that should crunch my bones.

But it doesn't.

I hear the thundering of hooves approach. I dash to the side with strength I didn't know I had. I feel a pining, a longing in the back of my mind. The beast beneath the ground. It misses me. It misses its food.

The horse runs by as I hear the most melodious cursing that has ever graced my ears. Missed. Bastard regent didn't expect me to dodge. I lurch to my feet, then dodge somebody who grabs for me. One of my own kind. Is he really, now? Are they my own kind, who let me die in a hole? I skitter away, using strength I didn't know I had, that I wished I had earlier when I was running.

There's a howling that fills the whole world. None of them can move. It's a terrifying sound, it is. The voice of the beast. The beast who wants me. The beast whose strength I'm stealing, I suppose, as I run faster and faster.

The regents can't catch me, try as they might. Their great big stupid horses are terror-bound, foaming at the mouth. The foam is tinged pink. I don't care, really. I'm on my feet to run out of here. I expect it to be pouring rain, I hear so much thunder.

That must be the beast, beating at the ground. Oh dear, is it trapped? Did the poor thing taste freedom, only to have it snatched away? Am I the key to its cell door? Is it angry I am escaping?

Yes, yes, yes. I can feel it growling into my very brain, the brain it tried to eat. It wants me back, is even trying to lure me back, but no thanks. I'm taking off for the hills. Out of the very corner of my vision, I see the regents escape in the other direction. They've pissed off what they were trying to entreat to, it seems. They're giving up on feeding me to it.

I go, then. I clutch at what's left of my mind and sanity and I keep on running. Who knows when my legs will tire?

* * *

* * *
Katherine
* * *

Patrick's memories glide over my mind. As grisly as they were, the sensation is as smooth as silk and of little consequence to me. I feel Camden's arms tense up. My world wobbles a little, and I become accustomed again to being the baby in his arms.

This baby thing is weird. Always has been, always will be, if it happens again. I guess I can count on that sort of thing.

Camden jogs my little body a bit. Huh? Oh, yes - I'm at a Trial. Being Advocate. Well, Camden's kind of standing in for me on that count, but still, I suppose I'm needed. Patrick's just sleep-standing right now - a common stance for anyone on Trial. It means Diyn or myself is communing with him, which tends to take all of a person's attention. Patrick's story doesn't surprise me much. I suppose it should, but my mind's pretty simple right now. In a way, that helps. I'm blissfully free from associating the later guilt with the earlier soul of the person. This is just a story. It makes it even easier than usual to be the Advocate.

Where next, though? The path of least resistance is always nice. Sure, we saw where in his life he was relatively blameless, but we need to see the choices he made under his burden. Crap things happen to people all the time. What defines them is what they do about it, if they can do anything at all. In most situations, they can. In the situations where they can't, or it's dubious whether they can... well, I'm called in.

I can also feel Camden's desire to see more of this. I aim a query at him in regards to that. He looks down at me, frowning.

Cad--Patrick's people and mine were once the same, long ago.

I blink. I recall that, yes. You never talked about it much.

Camden sighs, narrows his eyes, and pinches the bridge of his nose. That's because I hate the Dirvybik people regardless of whether we were once cousins. They killed off the Rhivendish Clans and sold our land off to foreigners when they didn't keep it for themselves. Still, once I overcome the anger, which is admittedly easier to do right now for what I suppose are silly Advocate-related reasons, I can think about Patrick's situation with a calm head. I start to wonder.

Yes? I hear 'Sy's voice make its own query. Oh, groupthink! That's always fun. I smile, then shift my weight as my guts cramp up a little less. Oh, goody, it's about to be my favorite part of baby-time!

Camden frowns, then shifts me around in his arms. I have a blood-tie to a monster locked under a seal. Patrick's Beast is not the Old Man. It's not the Old Man's horse, either - I'd recognize the breath of that mare. I didn't know of another, but my people had stories of other horrors and monstrosities. We always saw the old enmities as blood quarrels, though. Not of... puppetry from monsters. My family's story-memories don't go far back enough to mention giants from the north intruding on our lands as well. And yet... I think they did. The 'regents', as they were called - I might know how stories were passed down of them.

We do have our fairy tales, the beautiful royalty who would come and steal children if not appeased. By my generation, those were only entertainment for the littlest of children. We knew what real Fae were - the spirits of the waters and woods, the protectors of nature. There was no magical royalty among them. There were no people living in the ground, though there were certainly monsters that would devour the mind if one let them have their way. The witches and sorcerors in our fairy tales, the beautiful, imperious people... they were real to Patrick and his people. The regents? They would seem like giants to our ancestors. We're not a tall breed, after all, and we've only gotten as tall as myself over time. Another people have always been known for their great height, their pale skin, their bewitching beauty. Saying that the regents were the Xaillyndessen is no surprise to either of you, I'm sure. But knowing that the Xaillyndessen possibly created those monsters, or caused those like the Old Man to rise high enough that my clan and others would have to become seals... it changes my perspective slightly.

Camden adjusts his glasses again, as evidence of that. I just smile, ease myself back, let myself relax... and sigh. As we've spoken, 'Sy has drawn nearer to us, and so I get to see his face as he sees Camden's face, and it's like my own little party, just for me.

'Sy tries to keep his composure as Camden turns purple from holding his breath. Hey, I made a stink! It happens when you're this age. I'm a baby. Camden hands me off to 'Sy, then, who holds me gingerly, as if I might detonate again at any moment.

"I'll call a recess," says 'Sy after a long sigh. He sounds a bit stuffy. Trying not to breathe. After that, he and Camden leave the floor for a bit, and I get to have a fresh diaper.

* * *
Cade
* * *

Hah. The very recording that you're reading is already a fallacy. There is no Cade, is there? Cade is just a lie, to cover up Patrick. But there isn't a Patrick now, is there? When did Patrick stop existing? When the Beast started chewing up little bits of his mind? But if that's the case, which of those bits contained the essential thought-gum that was Patrick? What really makes a person that particular person, when you stop to think about it? Time changes men, but not often enough to make them different men altogether. Or perhaps it does. I'm not really sure, when I really stop to think. What mind do I have left, after all?

I would say very little, the Trident intones to me with its metal voice, but that would only be playing to your act. I know you exist, Patrick. I know there is enough of you left to call by the name of Patrick. And do you know why I know?

I'm not fool enough to answer that question, or brave enough. The terms have been interchangeable in my experience.

Even though silence is my answer, the Trident doesn't let go of my mind. I know it because I sense there's enough left of Patrick for me to call Judgement upon and destroy. The Trident doesn't even growl that out. It sounds amicable, even. Well, I suppose it would be happy about what we're discussing, wouldn't it?

I'm not very happy about it. I didn't want a Patrick. I've tried my hardest to forget Patrick, and here he is, getting all dredged up again, and then there's no me anymore. Me being Cade, right? Or am I Patrick? My mind gets shaken back and forth in this weird black unconsciousness. The Trident is trying to get my attention without stabbing me. ...Yes?

You will do well to heed the Advocate.

I let that sink in a bit. ...Thanks? I say in reply. I'm not sure what you reply to the most feared weapon that's wielded by a man, or at least someone shaped like a man.

I will kill you if you do not, and then, after I joyously watch the Beast of your nightmares devour your soul, I'll have to deal with the filthy thing when it rises. That will be burdensome, and so I'd prefer you did not die right now. Behave for the Advocate.

...I'll do my best. I'm pretty sure I mean that. I have the impression that if I didn't, I'd already be stabbed through by that three-pronged thing. But I do mean it: I don't want to die. That's been more important than anything else in my or Patrick's life. No matter what the consequences.

Something's changing. I sense more presences than the Trident's are here with me. I didn't even realize until now that they were gone.

Let's resume, shall we? says a voice I can't even identify. Then the floor swallows me up again, and all is black once more.

* * *

I find myself working steadily northwards as I run. I'm not literally running at all times - but I am definitely fleeing the Beast. It's been days since my escape. In the night I sense things chasing me. They're no more than shadows, but I'm certain that if I let them catch me they'll do more harm than a mere shadow can. They make leaves rustle when they run, and they leave footprints behind them. They're fairly dumb, though, and I mostly avoid them through cleverness.

Northward. Northward, and eastward. I feel a pull as if I'm the nail in a compass. It's not a disagreeable direction at the outset - any way that's not towards the Beast is a good one in my book. But it makes me wary, when I pause to think about it. (Such pauses are rare. I must keep moving.) Upon this route lies the way of the northern regents. I see signs of their passing, in fact, and spy many well-used trails that were obviously frequented by their huge steeds. I don't want them to see me. I'm certain that they'll know who I am on sight, and they'll drag me into the Beast and throw me back into that pit, and this time I won't come out. Or perhaps I will come out - riding in the Beast's belly.

No, let's not be seen. I'd prefer not being noticed by another living creature at all. After a little more experience, it turns out that it's rather easy to slip past most creatures. They shun me. They don't want to notice me. As for myself, I'm still so strong, so fast. Not as much as there was with the initial burst of speed, but I feel there's a power within me, or at least attached to me. Perhaps I do have the Beast's strength, or enough aspects of him that I can leverage them into my own power. That would be convenient, because I have nothing now. No weapons, no possessions, nothing to trade for either. I don't want to get near enough settlements to steal. Too paranoid.

But I'm being called northward. Towards the homeland of the giants, I'm certain of it now. Try as I might, I can't resist that call. It's a sort of destiny, I suppose. Was I meant to be part of that slaughter? Was I meant to go into that pit and become part of a pact with the Beast? Was all of this meant to be? I try to ask my tribe's gods, but all in my head is silent, and Fae refuse to answer me as well.

Fine, then. There is no better place to go, and if none have noticed me so far, perhaps the pale giants with their singing-speech will not see me transgress upon their lands. Perhaps I'll even get a sort of revenge. Northward, then. North, and to the east. I find it easy enough to sneak up on the animals that have the necessary pelts to keep me warm. Choking them to death is its own silent comfort.

* * *

That's a bit overstating it, isn't it? Camden's voice rings out, interrupting what I thought were my unaltered memories.

How do I have memories, though? I never had these before. They can't just be dredging them up from possession by Nul - I hid these from even my Master. I hid them from myself. How can I have them back again, all of a sudden?

We are reading your diary, you small, dimwitted thing. Diyn sounds almost fond of me in that statement. You are also dirty, untempered, foolish, foulmouthed, and not worth stabbing a second time for good measure.

It makes sense that he wouldn't mention in his diary that most of his actions were motivated due to shock. The Advocate's words are strange. I expect them to match the baby's form that her body is in, but the effect of her body on her mental voice is minimal. Once he recorded the memories, he'd look back on it and rationalize. He'd make it grand. In the moment, however, he wasn't thinking anything. He was alone, and desperate, and thinking of his family while trying not to. The routine that marked his entire life previous to this was shattered. Of course he followed whatever there was to lead him along - there was nothing else.

Hearing it put like that is strange. I want to argue with her that it was still destiny, that my job and subsequent crimes were all meant to be. That I wasn't just some poor confused sot who'd lost a family that I even now am too pained to think about directly. I'm angry about these new memories that I don't want and that can't even do me any good now. But it's either accept what she says is the truth (and I know it is) or protest, and end up dogmeat as punishment for annoying the Trident. I, as always, choose the path that preserves my life. I know where I'm going if I die. If the Judge truly is set on killing the Beast when it rises, it likely means that I'll be killed twice by the Trident. I'm sure that would only satisfy the weapon even more.

So I stay quiet, and let this mockery of a Trial go on in peace.

I was not aware that the diary had been brought to the Trial. Camden's voice is, as always, critical and precise. I can imagine him pushing his glasses up on his nose afterwards.

The Judge replies. I brought it. I didn't succeed in returning it to Jhe h'Logos, but it seems that was serendipitous. It belonged in this place, at this time, all along. And it seems we should read it with the fact in mind that the text itself is misleading.

Aye. Convenient, then, that two Poets are reading through the memories, especially with the Advocate being one of them. He sounds troubled. I don't see why. He doesn't know the half of troubles. Jhe Katherine, is the implication thus far that Patrick was not under his own will?

Thus far, yes. We won't have to follow every step of his journey to ascertain that. You only need look at what he is, really. How willful can a man without memories be?

Quite willful indeed, if given the chance. The Judge's voice is stern, and reminds me of the fate I could face if I lose. But if losing is letting these old secrets stay unburied and dying from it... does winning look that good in comparison? What if winning isn't living either? Why not just die quick and get it over with, dodge the pain of remembering what was well-buried--

Caught that, says Camden. Very clever. There's enough Nul in him to make this interesting.

See? How much Will can he have? The Advocate sounds so smug. I just feel sick, like cobwebs have been stripped off of me, while their stickiness still lingers on my skin.

The blackness of lost memories spirals up again. This time, I hold my breath and let myself plunge in. I'm beginning to get used to this.

* * *
Elete
* * *

This is admittedly difficult for me. I probably shouldn't be here. I should be at rest in my quarters, especially after participating in the ceremony to restore the Treaty. But here I am in my usual place in the observation seats overlooking the Trial, dodging glares from the Jhe o'Radia. Really, I should be ashamed of myself, but he hasn't ordered me to bedrest yet and 'Sy hasn't bothered to back his own orders that I rest with any real power.

It's only my body that's tired now. My mind is clear and alert. I feel better between the ears than I have in quite some time. Possibly better than I have since Ivae died. That's something I try not to think back on, but they say it all comes back to you right before you die.

I have at least a week. I can see it very clearly. So, knowing that my body's the only thing affected adversely by my impending death, and knowing that my mind's probably in the best state it ever has been, how can I not try to witness as many things as I can before I die? Especially while 'Sy's busy and can't give me an earful about it in the process. Yes, I'm a conniving, scheming, underhanded wretch of a Poet, and I know it, so don't hassle a man who's a pace or two away from his death-bed.

I have two Poets on the floor, so I already have eyes and ears up at the front, and I can review what's happening at any time. I don't even need to be here, with that logic. That said, I am thinking about Ebrelle right now and not so much the events occurring on the floor beneath me. Other than witnessing his Trial, I have not seen Ebrelle nor spoken with him yet. While I've attended resurrection ceremonies in my time, it has usually been in my office as Poet King, to reclaim one of my lost pupils. Standing as Regent of Audiva Rocale this morning was quite a reviving slap in the face of just what a plight my brother is in, and may have been in all this time.

I don't think much of my brother. That reads as a layered statement, and it's intended as one. He has plagued me since my youth and, at many times, I was absolutely convinced he wanted to kill me. He has been so dangerous for me to be around that 'Sy appoints shadow guards to me any time I'm to have an audience with my brother. He is maddeningly condescending, juvenile, and entirely too possessive of any one person under his height (ie: everyone). He is also my brother, and he is hurt.

Someone needs to be watching him. Of course, as soon as I think of that, I feel 'Sy bump against my mind--

It's taken care of.

And then of course he must follow that up with--

Why are you in the stands? You should be in bed.

Silly me, as if being fully involved with a Trial would keep 'Sy from mothering me. I feel a warmth inside my chest and smile in spite of the henpecking, or maybe because of it.

Nevertheless, I need to see my brother now.

'Sy pauses before his reply. I'm not surprised, considering how busy he is right now. He's likely trying to think of an Akribastes child that could keep an eye on me while I'm out. We're starting to run out of those. Please allow Gerude to accompany you, Jhe h'Logos. The others I would prefer remain here to witness the Trial. Feel free to bring along any Poets that you feel would be appropriate to accompany you in such a place. Which of course means that he's just given me permission to take along Jhe Blackirons, who I'm sure would live inside Jhe Gerude's shadow if he wasn't afraid that 'Sy would interpret that as some sort of marriage proposal. I'm sort of impressed with Gerude, he's managed to keep a boyfriend safe from his Father far longer than Stevane ever has.

Jokes aside, it's interesting to consider taking along Gerude, who did go to the recent mission in Audiva Rocale, but did not finish up in such a grandiose manner as Gerald. Of course, a rare few ever manage to live up to Gerald's grandiosity, but that's just the boy's way. Gerude is easygoing, notoriously coolheaded, and hasn't any real issues with Ebrelle as far as I recall. That puts him ahead of Gerald and Jenny, one who was captured by the King and the other being his granddaughter. It's a wise choice, all told. I'm sadly not as familiar with Gerude as I could be, as he is one of the Armed that keeps avoiding the Poet Hall due to the prevailing fear among many non-Mixed Armed that prolonged exposure to Poets may make you become one. Of course, the logic of that breaks down when you consider his association with Erynn, who is about as Armed as your common rutabaga.

Gerude and Erynn are conveniently placed together amongst a group of Armed and Poets in the stands that also includes a few more familiar faces. The pervading aura of a group hangover hovers over them all. I'm certainly glad that someone managed to have fun last night, during all that tragedy and mayhem. The two boys accompany me with a bit of alarm - certainly a lot of unusual things are happening these days.

I note Jhe Gerald's attitude before I leave. He doesn't even notice me approach the group, nor does he notice my departure. He only has eyes for the Trial below, and he's much more alert and intent than his friends, despite the hangover. He's completely fixated on Katherine. I can think of a number of explanations for that, but I'll leave the boy to keep them in the privacy of his own heart.

* * *
Cade
* * *

I'm in their lands now, after weeks of careful and slow travel. I thought I would feel better now that I've run so far from the Beast. But I still feel sick, as if something's welling up inside me. When I sleep, I see an oily blackness ebbing around me, rippling. I'm laying on top of it, floating, curled and calm. I'm not even touching it, I'm sort of hovering over it. I don't know what the dream means. It sets me on edge. Everything sets me on edge.

I keep thinking about what will happen when I die. I know it won't matter where I am or where I run from here - the Beast will eat me. I feel its breath at my back in the silent moments, and I know I am a marked man. Whatever the regents did to me, it may be permanent. What if I live another fifty years? A hundred? It won't matter if I'll still go to the same place when I die. I won't join my honored ancestors, see my gods, be reunited with my lost family. I will be reunited with the Beast. I'm starting to wonder what's the point of living, then, if I'll fetch up there regardless. It's only putting off the inevitable.

...I've got to keep on going. The inevitable is worth putting off.

* * *

The memory stops, and I'm waiting in the black void once more. I can sense the four around me - Judge, Trident, Peacekeeper, Advocate - but I can't see them.

I can't get the rest. It breaks off here. The Advocate sounds confused. I know I am. I never thought I had these memories in the first place - but that's the point of forgetting, isn't it?

Hrm. Is it in the diary? Or are there pages missing? Camden pauses for a moment. No, even with the pages gone, you have enough power to be able to read the spirit of the diary, if not the words. He's frustrated. Why so excited to pry into my damn memories? It's like I'm a roast that everyone's taking their turn to carve into.

Nul does hide things. There's the grumbling voice of the Judge. You told me that Ebrellin-i had to clean himself of Nul's filth. I don't see how Cade-Patrick should be different.

Nul didn't keep my memories. The entire point was that I hide them from him so that he wouldn't know that killing me off would be a prudent move. I'm surprised to hear myself speak up. Why should I be helping them? But then, what else is there to do but die? I'm still not very keen on the death thing.

How do you know? The Judge's voice cuts through me and my self-assuredness. Nul has already tried to kill you several times during your incarceration here. How do you know that you hid those memories from him, considering that you waded in his very energy for most of your blighted life?

My silence gives away more than I'd like it to. I can't give an answer. I honestly thought Nul didn't know.

What if he was just biding his time until you were no longer useful, and then planned to kill you off so that the Beast could rise?

Not true. Couldn't be. Damnit, it's so hard to lie to myself in here.

If that's the case, then there must be something about you that makes you very useful, says the Advocate. We were trying to get to the part when you agreed to work for Nul, so that we could find out more. So that we could see clearly whether you committed crimes of your own free will. Nul is obscuring whatever we're trying to find out, so it's likely that your importance to him will give us information Nul doesn't want us to know.

I'm still silent.

You're a political prisoner. We have no desire to raise a Beast from behind its seal. We can give you safe harbor, Patrick. But you have to help me. You have to help me see what your past was if you want me to help you live.

The Judge snorts. It's always bribery with you.

The Advocate laughs. And I could say that it's always intimidation with you, but don't we switch our roles often enough when there's no one to notice? Now, let's get cracking. My concentration can only hold for so long. Can we have nap-time soon? Camden lets out a weary sigh.

I don't know how to help you. I can't get back memories I don't remember. I might as well not have them.

I can help. I can clean you. You just have to be aware enough to swear an oath.

A cold hand crawls down my spine. Swear an oath?

People can't just be absolved just like that. There's an exchange. A payment, if you will. Without it, I'm powerless in my most important function as Advocate. I can stay 'Sy's hand, but I can't place my own upon you unless you accept it.

That doesn't seem like such a high payment. So what? I'll accept, then.

There's the tiniest inkling of a smile from her, but I don't wonder if I've made the wrong choice. It'll hurt. You do realize that? She sounds concerned for me, which is the real shocker. Nobody's ever been concerned for me. Maybe for Patrick, back when he had his original life, but not for Cade.

Pain doesn't matter to me. It's just another thing to wait through.

What if it kills you? In her whispered inquiry I can't tell if she's concerned or excited. What if it hurts so much that you die from shock? What if your last thoughts are the most painful ones of your life before you wriggle into the maw of the Beast and dissolve into dripping saliva?

That still won't be as excruciating as what I'd do to him, intones the Judge.

I mull that through. There's not enough time to decide. It's not fair. I've never had a shot at a real life, a real Will, a real self, and there's no time left for me now. Out of all my options, I'm left to choose the least repulsive. But Nul doesn't kill that painfully, does he? His servants do, yes, but that's only because we think it's fun. Nul isn't even cold. Nul is numbness. Oblivion. The best way to go - maybe I'll be so oblivious that I won't feel the Beast eat me.

The Advocate has presented a new option in life, though, and I'm intrigued by it: a way out. Nul was my refuge from the inevitable, but the inevitable was still lingering in the back of my mind. It's why I kept a diary, after all. To remind myself not to die, not to give myself away and let Nul kill me. But Nul's known all along, hasn't he? Nul's been using me all along, and he always meant to kill me off and feed me to that terrible thing once I stopped being someone he could use. I thought I was special, damnit! I was! I was special, so how dare that fucker trick me? He's going to finally get his from the Radians, though. He's made a big mistake, using me like that. I just know it.

I'll do it your way then, Advocate.

A hand extends. It's the first thing I've been able to see since my vision was first filled with inky blackness. It's a woman's hand, not a baby's. Eyes are gazing at me from beyond where the hand fades into the darkness. They are a bright blue, almost white, with golden pupils.

I take the hand.

I regret it.

* * *

I don't so much feel myself being jerked down as I remember it happening a few moments ago. The action was so quick that it was barely notable, save for its speed. I am in a new place now, a new world, and it is very white. It is a large room, possibly with a domed ceiling. Things are looking at me from what could be balconies or stands along the high walls. She's standing beside me, the Advocate, dressed all in white robes that I've never seen the like of. It's too ornate and flowy for Radian clothing, too structured and severe for Aurocan wear. There are so many details, beads, glints of embroidery and trim, knots and sigils and strange writings... I'm lost in the details.

The Advocate takes my chin and lifts it so that I am looking her in the eyes. Fear stabs through my chest with the realization that I can't look away from them. I think this'll be the end of me. Not really a bad way to go, staring into a girl's eyes. They're terrible, but they're kind.

I see that creepy smile on her face now. My guts are turning ice cold. I'm glad I'm watching her, though - it keeps my focus away from the rest of this place. I think there are others watching here. I don't want to pay attention to them. I don't want to feel them.

"Don't mind them. They're just friends. Others who perform my same function. We all have our different territories, but we share this place."

Of course, now I want to look around, as much as this place makes my skin crawl. Still, her eyes keep my gaze locked to hers.

"Not that I would ever intrude on your work, madam, but I wanted to note how impressed I am by your acquisition of such a rare specimen. It's not often that I see one so direly condemned accept the oath." The comment comes from one of the figures watching. While I can't see him, from the corner of my eye I can tell they all have similar robes to the Advocate's. Direly condemned? Does that mean I'm more special than the average wretch who ends up in this terrifying place?

The Advocate raises an eyebrow, her smile pleased and pitying at once. "Oh? Really? I don't play collecting games with Mercy, you know. You were always one to keep count, though, weren't you, Ed-huar-teo'sisthi?" The word comes out strange. It doesn't even sound like a word at all, the language is so foreign to me.

"Shh. He's afraid enough as it is." A calmer voice, female this time, quiets the discussion. She's serene enough that she quells even my fears. "You don't have the most room to talk, Dharahni-seohs. Always making it into a game or a contest for them." Dharahni-seohs? But I thought the Advocate's name was Katherine. Katherine Cruxradia with a bunch of Radian titles attached if you want to be picky about it. Wait, is this girl Katherine? Does she really look like Katherine did? She is most definitely the Advocate, but can I really call this creature a girl or a person at all? In this place she's more a force of nature than anything lesser. All of the figures here are like that. Too much power, too much importance. Where the fuck am I?

The Advocate snorts, her lip making a weird upwards quirk with the utterance. "This is no mere game. I see it as a sacred hunt, as does my partner. I am always serious about my hunts, as you know, Ja-hovatro-eohi." The figure only sighs in response and gives no further objection. Wait, she's been hunting me?

"It's too late to back out, now that you've entered this space." Her voice is calm and even, and bears no judgement in it. "Everyone asks if they can, at this part, so I've grown used to telling them no." She sounds sad at that last bit. Well, I am too. I want to get out of this creepy place. Nul wasn't as creepy as this. "It won't take long. All I really had to do was take you here, and all you really had to do was agree to be brought. Understand?"

No, I don't.

She holds my chin more firmly. She takes her other hand and raises it to my cheek. My nerves tremble. It's a comforting gesture, yes - right up until her fingers curl around the back of my head. With her first hand on my chin, she has the proper grip to--

"It's all a matter of getting the proper leverage," she says, "so that I can show you from the proper angle." With a quick push of her hand and deft twist of her wrists, she turns my head and snaps my neck.

* * *

* * *
Kevrin
* * *

Djardrik's beginning to look uncomfortable, which isn't normal for an Avian that's riding a windbird this high up in the sky. It's usually our own version of heaven. But then, I think I have some idea of what's gotten to him after a few hours of flying south.

"Err, Kevrek? Not that I think ye can't navigate... but are ye sure ye've got the right heading?"

"Aye, aye," I say breezily. "Naught's wrong with the world, brother. We're coming to the place soon."

"Aye..." He sounds dubious. "Kevrek? This is Radia, is it not?"

"Aye! You've a good feel for navigation, Djardrik!"

He pauses. Probably mulling that over. "Then, that'd be the capitol just ahead of us, would it not?"

"Beleth, aye. My hideout's right in the middle of it, in fact."

"In the middle of the Radian capitol city?" He almost falls off the bird in shock.

"So it is! It's well-placed so that nobody's ever given me trouble. Very convenient, I think. Nobody'd look for an Avian there!" I laugh. Some of my mirth must catch onto Djardrik, because he chuckles in response.

"I say! That's either a damn good joke of yours, or you're the most brilliant Avian I've ever met!"

"Well, there's not really that high of a bar, is there?" I do a doubletake while scanning the ground. Before Djardrik can respond to the jibe I guide the windbird into a steep swoop downwards.

"Hey, what's going on? You almost swept me off the bird, mate!" I can't blame him for his alarm. I did give no warning. But now Dram is whispering to me just how to prepare and Buidhe is promising me that she'll keep an eye on Djardrik while I'm occupied. This warrants my attention.

Lute is down there. He's fighting against someone. Dram mutters to me about the dangers of dive-bombing an Armed out of nowhere, and I do agree - it's not the most subtle thing I could be doing. Tell his Arms we're coming.

Dram chuckles. Kuroroi says to get your ungodly huge nose out of their fight. I take that as an invitation to ruin it.

So be it, brother. I ignore Djardrik's screaming in my ear about crashing and dying and shove a chakram into his feathered hands. "Here, hold this."

The scream cuts short. Buidhe is very convincing, and more friendly than most Arms. She'll let someone else hold her without lopping off fingers.

I'm off the bird while it's still ten feet above the ground. It knows how to land, and Buidhe will ensure that Djardrik doesn't just take off on it again. Meanwhile, Lute's in a fight. He's out in the open and he's bloodied. I feel like butting in because I'm just that kind of person. I'm 50 feet away, though, and behind some bushes. I don't think either person even noticed us, they're so intent on fighting.

You recognize his opponent? Dram nudges me. I do not. All I see is a black blur, really. Familiar Arms, though...

Arms? Ice slides down my neck with that realization.

Schiphael. Dram pauses. Maybe you should stay out of this fight. Something's wrong.

--out of my damn fight you fucker-- Kuroroi deigns to speak to me, but his voice is choppy and distant. That's not right. Well, hell, Aaren and Lute are fighting - a LOT about this isn't right.

The Judge should know about this, but more importantly, it must be stopped. I'm not sure whether the thought's Dram's or mine. Buidhe doesn't comment. She seems happy enough with her own situation, which must mean Djardrik's piss-scared of her.

Kevrin? That's Lute. He sounds fainter than his Arms do. What're you... no, get out of... no, I need help. There's a pause while the fight moves so quickly that the black figure of Aaren appears to have four hands. Damn, I can barely even track him. What happened to him? Fighting for hours... he won't stop. Get the Judge.

That's the second time someone's said it. I'm in friendly territory now, it shouldn't be unsafe to use long-range communications... I wonder why Lute didn't already, though. Aaren must be taking up all of his concentration. Nasty. Dram?

He's in Trial. He says he can still come. Says he's not needed for some reason. The Advocate must be having a lot of fun this time around, if that's the case.

I've never seen the Judge leave the Court in the middle of a Trial, but I've heard it happens. It must be my mind playing overly dramatic tricks on me, but from my vantage point it looks like the sky darkens when he appears behind me.

* * *
'Sy
* * *

I do not like leaving the Court while a Trial is in progress, regardless of whether I am actually taking part in the proceedings. Especially with the unusual arrangement we have with the Advocate right now. But duty calls and I am capable of being in more than one place. It's not the same way Jhe h'Logos does it (that time-bending idiot), and therefore not as easy on my head. I simply leave Diyn in the Court so that I can still observe and be technically present. Then I leave to attend to Dram's alert, feeling less myself than usual, and with a very literal splitting headache.

Most Armed are not capable of splitting their focus to the point of physical bilocation. The ones that can do it only in the direst of circumstances, or else they do it at their peril. I do not condone taking this skill lightly.

It's so hard to keep my attention off of Katherine, though. I almost lost her...

She's doing her job right now. It's time to do mine. Kevrin and his Arms know not to call me directly for foolish reasons. This must be urgent.

They're not far away at all - in fact, they are so close to Beleth that I feel a bouncing sense of dislocation. I'm a bit more near to myself than is comfortable. I have trouble even focusing on my exact location, in fact - I can't even properly gain my fucking legs.

Just what the hell is going on here? But then, I am out of balance with my partner still recovering, and so focused in the Trial. It grinds against me that such a thing would affect me so much, but there's nothing to be done. I get my proper footing and ignore it.

Dram draws my attention to what's wrong. Aaren. Schiphael. Lute and Kuroroi are keeping them at bay. I don't know why two of my Armed are fighting but there's been a host of reasons in the past for it. What disturbs me is that something is wrong with Aaren, and I can't tell what from here.

"Follow and cover me," I say to Kevrin as I walk in front of him and through the bushes. Kevrin stays far enough back that he's out of the Trident's usual range, close enough to be a lookout for me. Diyn appears in my hands despite his concurrent location in the Court. Diyn seems to not suffer the same imbalance in focus as I do. I twirl the Trident once as I walk forward to the fight.

"Boooooooooooys!" I say, in the same tone I scold my youngest children with when they fight. Its efficiency is universal. The two do not react, however. This is a common problem when two men are fighting and neither wants to stop and give the other an opening.

Fine. I have other ways. I raise the Trident as it flips through the air and then I drop its blade against the ground. It makes the earth shake in at least a 100 foot radius. It's really just a dramatic touch to my command for them to both stop in their tracks. They can sort out the damn quarrel later.

Lute stops in his tracks. Luckily it just so happens to be a guarded stance, because Aaren keeps on going despite the order. Schiphael's chain coils around Kuroroi, the two Arms grinding against each other with silver and black sparks.

WHAT? Diyn's thought echoes my own. We surge forward as I cancel the order for the two Armed to halt. Otherwise, Lute can't defend himself. He manages to swing himself out of the way, disentangling Kuroroi, just as I sweep in to counter Aaren's next blow and trap his blade.

--so tired Daddy, tried to tell you but so busy--

At ease. Drop back to a stealth vantage. His forte really is spying in any case. Fighting in the open probably put him at a disadvantage, especially considering Schiphael's reach.

Now to attend to Aaren. He's not shifted position since I caught Schiphael's bladed barb in Diyn's tines. He's looking up at me, his eyes so dilated that the irises are black. No...they really are black. His entire body is wrapped in shadows, which is a common enough skill for his division, but something's off now. Schiphael is growling at me. Schiphael isn't listening to me. Aaren's eyes focus on me before he lunges forward, for all the life of me trying to leap over Diyn to get at my throat. I almost take pride in that bravery, but I fear it's really madness. It doesn't matter. I raise Diyn with enough haste that the bar of his shaft catches Aaren in the throat. Schiphael still whips around in an attempt to gut me, but Diyn counters that with ease. Aaren's already dropped to the ground, and after a blow like that he will not soon get up.

Diyn whips around my hand and twirls of his own accord, tangling up Schiphael's chained length until finally impaling all three tines into the ground. Schiphael's blade is wedged under the fork of the Trident.

Aaren twitches a little, trying to rise before he's ready. I help dissuade him of this decision by kicking him in the head and knocking him unconscious. Considering he's my Armed, I try to do so as gently as possible.

"We have a bit of a mess to clean up, Jhe Harpseal. Can you see to Jhe Voitre? He'll need to be kept in the Hall until something can be done for him." I then raise an eyebrow at Kevrin. "Where is Buidhe?" I've already got crazy Arms, I don't need one that's gone missing.

Kevrin blinks up at me with those huge, almost birdlike yellow eyes of his. His grin is genuine, I remind myself. He's eternally affable. "Well, about that... I brought back a friend from Audiva Rocale. One I just made. He's over on the bird."

"...The bird."

"Aye, we rode a windbird home. Buidhe's watching my friend. His name's Djardrik."

I snort. I recognize the Avian style of naming. "I see. And where did you intend he stay when you both got here?"

"I figured it'd depend on how he liked the place. He's a nice guy, pretty reasonable. I think he can tell us a lot about Nul's operations. He's already told me a fair bit. We might not even have to lock him up!" He's so... optimistic.

"...Go attend to that, then. I'll see to Jhe Voitre myself. Jhe Lute will go with you. Let him know if you prefer he go unseen. I imagine what your friend thinks you are is quite afar from the truth."

Kevrin's eyes light up. "Aye, Jhe h'Akribastes." He scampers off. I shake my head. Kevrin. Always making friends, despite all expectations anyone else would have to the contrary. I let out a deep sigh, then reach down and gather up Jhe Voitre. Diyn and I vanish as one with the Armed and his Arms. It's time to put them away before focusing concentration back on the Trial.

* * *
Kevrin
* * *

Djardrik is a difficult man to convince of certain things.

"Now, now, no one's gonna hurt you, mate." I hold my palms up in the air, trying to calm him. Djardrik will have none of that.

He remains perched on top of the windbird, feathers bristling, eyes wide. "We could have gotten killed! And this thing! This thing that claims she's a girl and keeps threatening to lop my hands off at the wrists if I drop her! What the hell is this thing, Kevreck?!" His voice is rising to a high squeak, and while I don't blame him for the panic, we are wasting a fair bit of time. Lute's had enough chance to steal aboard the windbird - he's one of our shadows, after all. He wasn't looking too hale when we found him, though, and I'd like to get him back to the Hall as soon as possible. I also want to know what this Trial's about, and report what news I know.

"Aye, that thing ye be so terrified of is named Buidhe. She's being right friendly with you, so relax. She's not a normal weapon, she talks and moves on her own sometimes. I got her in Radia, along with her match, and I left her with you so you'd be protected. There was a fight down here, and it involved one of my contacts. If it wasn't cleared up, we might not have had a hospitable place to stay here after all."

He's calming down, but still bristling a tad. "Strange things they've got here in these Radian lands. Are you sure we should be staying? There's other places an Avian could find to nest up in, without so much danger as this."

I laugh. "There's no real danger to you here! Now come along, hand me Buidhe, and we'll be off again. Shan't be long now."

He still seems a little dubious, but gladly hands Buidhe over. She hisses at me a little, silently berating me for leaving her with the uncultured, and then quiets. She can't pretend to not have had fun scaring the feathers off Djardrik. I hoist myself up, and soon we're off again - the bird just a bit heavier, as if we have a third person flying with us.

* * *
Elete
* * *

I advance down the halls, led by Jhe Gerude as Jhe Blackirons chatters as if to mark our path with words instead of breadcrumbs.

"--can't really imagine what this is doing to poor Gerald. Looked practically hangdog, he did. Worst hangover I've ever seen on a man, worse even than mine this morning. Can't really blame him, what with Katherine doing that dead thing again. And what with her coming back on top of that. What a way to twist the knife!"

I catch myself from tripping.

"Oh, sorry Jhe h'Logos! I forgot that I was in polite company. The politest company of all! ...But you know how those two are. They're bad enough 'round each other that I'm surprised they aren't going out again. Most terrible relationship ever, too terrible to quit! Unless you quit it five times."

Gerude sighs heavily. "Erynn, you twit. Shut up and let the condemned suffer in peace."

"What? 'Rude, they'll get plenty of peace in the Void. Anyhow, do you think Gerald and Katherine are gonna finally quit it? Because I think I've still got a chance with her."

I disguise whatever sound that was going to illicit with a polite cough.

"Were all the boys in Robinstead born with rocks in their heads instead of brains, or was it just you, Erynn?" Gerude snorts. "Even if you did have a chance with Jhe Katherine, you'd still have to get past Jhe h'Akribastes. It's like trying to do it with one of his kids."

The Blackirons boy grins. "Well, he hasn't kilt me yet over you, has he? I'm already halfway there!"

Gerude sputters, trying to make his mouth work again. "And just what the fuck does that mean?"

I manage to hide my mirth. "Ah, it seems you've guided me true, Jhe Akribastes." I give Gerude a short bow, which both he and Erynn return. I turn to the cell which lays only a few meters away. Before it are posted three guards. They each give me a bow upon seeing me, and not a few questioning looks, but from the mental echoes that are bouncing about I believe that explanations are being given to them. It shouldn't be too hard to grasp, really - the prisoner is my brother, after all.

One of the guards - Jhe Bloombrucher, if memory serves me - gives me another bow and then clears her throat. "Jhe h'Logos, while you are welcome to visit, we must warn you from stepping too near the cell. He's got a power over him that's difficult to contain, and very wily in nature."

I nod. "That's nothing new to my knowledge, but giving him a wide berth has always been wise." I step in front of the cell, which my mind keeps wanting to call a cage, but far away from the bars. I look in, bracing myself should I need to shield. I feel Gerude take a post behind my shoulder, and note that Erynn stays far enough back but close enough in to have a good view of everything should recording be necessary.

My brother is out of sorts. That is... somehow more surprising to me than I thought it would be. I should have expected this. I've just... even preparing myself for it mentally, I never expected to see him this weak, to see him lying down, chained and vulnerable, in an enemy's fortress. Ebrellin-i is barely awake, his form twitching every now and then. Perhaps he is sleeping with his eyes open. His blank, whited-out eyes...

Everything goes grey in my vision, and a voice comes into my head, along with a hand that seems to grip me by the hair and pull me forward. Come in, Elethe-travente. It is warm in here. You can have rest in here. You shouldn't strain yourself by walking about alone. Come with me, and let me protect you.

I shake my head, and feel a hand on my shoulder. "Jhe h'Logos!" Jhe Blackirons's voice, Jhe Gerude's hand. The grey is past. The voice of my brother echoing from my childhood is gone.

"I am fine," I lie, and face the cage again. Brother's eyes are closed. He is still lying down peacefully. There is definitely some force that surrounds him in the cage. I feel light-headed, but I hide it. I have to face my brother. He's near-dead, bars between him and I, so how could he have any power over me anymore? What am I afraid of? Looking at him, though, the memories shake me. I still feel betrayed, even though the last time he ever took action against me was long ago. I'm still as afraid as I was when I was a powerless young teenager who was, by the standards of Xaillyndessen, Ebrellin-i's property. What am I even doing here? Trying to let go? Why should I? The old anger's coming back now, and instead of empowering me as it used to, it just makes me feel weaker for all that I'm about to die anyway. I wonder who will expire first, then: my brother, or myself? Will Mother take the Throne of Audiva Rocale when we're both dead? What will happen to the treaty then, and through it, to Katherine?

Why do I feel like throwing my life away despite all that to spite my brother? It makes no sense. I can't even speak with him. He might as well be dead already. All there remains is the force surrounding him - something I have to wonder about, now. Now that I know through Jhe Lyric's writings that Ebrellin-i has played a pet for the Jherent Nul, it's putting my own past in a new light. How early was he consorting with such a force? Mother likely did so for all of her life. What did she teach her eldest son? Did he do anything to me before I fled Lyiannethe?

That's a silly question. I know he did something. Back then, every time he'd walk past my shadow I'd black out. And 'Sy wondered what I was running away from. My eyes scan over the unmanned-puppet limp body that is my brother. I wonder too much about the past, and have no idea what it will mean for I and my brother's very short futures.

I keep myself on guard. That first shield I tried to keep up did nothing against that which surrounds Ebrellin-i. I can't become a puppet myself. I may be surrounded by Armed and a cherished Poet, but none of those here would be comfortable with dragging me out of here against my will. A detail that I may exploit, but am also exercising caution because of.

Don't be so sure of yourself, Commander of Words. A cold steel voice slides through my head, the feeling familiar and strangely comforting. I smile.

Why, Diyn. Such a rare pleasure to be spoken to by such a fine weapon as you are.

Flattery will only grease down the path to your end, but I appreciate the compliment all the same. What are you doing in my domain, sniffing about in my business?

I must apologize. I wanted to visit my brother.

You are acting a fool, and what's worse you're a Xaillyndesse. One of these you can correct. Come here. I have something more interesting to show you than a mumbling idiot of a puppet. On the heels of that I hear 'Sy mumble an inquiry to Diyn as to just what the hell he is doing and who he is talking to. The Lord Word Salad, of course. I've my own things to attend to, why don't you babysit each other? Come, Poet King, see how Tesynnodai and I have added to our growing Xaillyndessen collection, and try not to become a part of it. You've been asking to be locked in the cells here for years.

Would you shut up? 'Sy's voice is clear and gold and infuriated. Go attend to Schiphael. You run your mouth too much, you three-tongued beast! I hear a sigh behind those words. Oh, get over here, Elete, you walking pillow-stuffing, your useless brother's likely not going to so much as twitch until the Advocate glues his brain back in.

I hear genuine affection in those words, and enough weariness that I think the talk of pillows is more wistful than anything else. He's not far away, attending another cell. I stroll towards where I sense my comrade, waving Gerude and Erynn to stay posted near Ebrellin-i. "I'll come back if I need your assistance, but it seems the Judge requires mine."

It's only a minute before I reach the cell. I note that it's far enough to be out of earshot of the others. I have a premonition that what I'm about to see isn't something that I want the youngsters guarding my brother to hear discussion of. My hunch is proven correct when I set my eyes upon the cell. 'Sy is inside, looking a bit pale and haggard but mostly angry. It's understandable - nothing pleases him when it takes him away from a Trial. With an Armed Poet lying on a bed and more unconscious than my brother...

"Jhe Aaren Voitre." Diyn was correct to attribute him as a Xaillyndesse, but I do concede that the ability to not go by such an onerous name is a blessing. If Aaren wants to be named for his mother's line, all the better. "To what do we owe the pleasure?"

'Sy grimaces as he leans over Aaren's unconscious form. "Maybe you can help find out. He should be in Sul with the rest of his brigade. Instead he was fighting with Lute, another Armed that should be in Sul. Right outside of Beleth, no less. Lute could barely hold him off. Both the Voitre boy and his Arms have gone..." he pauses for a bit, jaw tilted, as he tries to find a way to put it. "Feral. That's the best word for what this is."

I frown, looking over the boy. There doesn't appear to be anything wrong with him, but as we've learned in the last few days, looks can be deceiving. "And Jhe Lute?"

"On his way, with Kevrin, on a windbird, with a stray Avian in tow." 'Sy blinks. "...Kevrin shouldn't really be here either, but it just seems more normal for something odd like that to happen with him."

I smile. "I keep telling you he has Poet potential."

"A phrase that strikes fear into the heart of every Armed, even the Mixed ones. Come in here. If you're going to insist on being useful while you're walking death row, you might as well help me."

I chuckle, then step into the cell.

* * *
Diyn
* * *

That idiot Tesynnodai has someone to keep him company now, so he can stop prattling on to me about his problems. I have my own children to deal with. Specifically, this errant child Schiphael who had the lack of wit to attack me.

Not that it's uncommon for my children to attack me. To attack is in our nature. Often it's how we communicate. But there is a difference between 'Oh hello Diyn here's a friendly feint-and-tap' and 'I'd like to take the shortest course possible to disembowel your Armed.' Even the latter is acceptable at some times, especially if it's Gevurah and Gedulah. Jhe Katherine at least has reasons to disembowel Tesynnodai - quite regularly, at that. Even then, there's little in it that has to do with myself. Schiphael quite deliberately attacked me, and I must say that I'm not used to that from the older ones. Maybe if he was younger, and still learning the extent of his reach and the sharpness of his teeth. Such a lunge would have been a part of his education.

Even then, the feral edge... something I'd possibly expect from Dyennah? She's a wild creature... no, she's colder. There's a wild touch to her and Jennelcia, but it's the same as with Kuroroi and Lute. It's natural, expected. Even then, they act respectful. Schiphael's actions were...

Rabid? That doesn't make sense, though. Arms don't go crazy. The Armed go crazy and act stupid and get drunk and tempt death and are too foolish to even breathe in air instead of water at most times. The Armed are ridiculous, which is half from being human and half inherited from Tesynnodai. Arms are consistent, they are absolute, they are the Law, and most importantly they are ME. Arms do not go crazy.

Schiphael is quiet. Too quiet. His physical form lies on the floor, light winking at me from the limp chain. It's mostly dark in here, with no humans inside to need torches to see by. Here we are surrounded by the shelved Arms of long-dead Armed. This is the physical resting place of those Arms who no longer have Armed to bear them.

Do you want to become one of them, then, Schiphael?

I receive no reply, only the glint of a sneer across Schiphael's blade. I narrow my eyes. There will be no playing games with me. It is time to end this farce that we act out for the Armed's sake. I will stop seeing through the eyes of a mere weapon - something only done for Tesynnodai's sake so that he and his Armed can function normally in their own space.

I see with silver eyes, stand on my own feet, look upon this resting place where the retired Arms quietly watch from the stands. This is the view from our own world, which may run parallel to Tesynnodai's but certainly doesn't mirror it. We are unconstrained here by the steel shells and wooden frames that we act through for the Armed. You could say this is where we truly exist. Some few Poets that have dared describe this world consider it as a phantom one below their own - we consider that your world is the phantom. After all, we exist in a world of Law. What other world could be more real than that?

I look down at this child of mine as he kneels before me, wrists chained to the floor. His silver hair is cut to hang across his face almost down to his cheek, obscuring his eyes. He is pale, but his cheeks are strangely flushed. His clothing is strange for Arms - we dress for our business. I have my simple cloak and riding wear, for instance. I have a cane for the appearance of authority it lends me. Schiphael usually dresses in close-fitting garb, dyed in the hues of midnight. Now he is in dirty white baggy pants and shirt, his feet bare.

"You haven't been keeping yourself up," I say. "What is wrong with you? Has your Armed gone astray?" They sometimes do, as much as Tesynnodai tries to lead them true. He can only do so much, though, considering what materials he has to work with. You cannot cast something fast and true out of flesh and bone, only whip it along the proper path until it bucks you off or finally tires and gives out.

Schiphael turns his head to the side, still smiling, and stays silent. His hands are shaking now. They're the only normally-dressed bit of him, fitted with neat black gloves. The rest of him begins to shake. I realize that he is laughing.

Laughing at me.

I extend the cane, propping it up under his chin, turning his face upward so that I can look him in the eye. Those damn bangs still shadow his face. Through a part in them, I manage to glimpse just a sliver of iris. He sees me, yes. He hears me.

"Isn't it funny," he says, purring the words. "Isn't it funny how my Armed suffers? We were only doing as you told us, and now look at him. Attacking his fellows. Is that what you wanted, Diyn? When you sent me out to see what you couldn't?" His eye widens, glaring into mine. I'm so surprised I almost start. It's not silver, it's a pure, alien white. What could cause that? Our eyes are the truth of us. All Arms have my silver eyes. He only laughs more, that purr escalating into an eerie chuckle. "Isn't it funny? Did you think this would happen? Diyn?" A grin cuts up into his cheek as if to split it.

I lower my cane, releasing Schiphael's chin. I look away and I think. My eyes skirt upwards over the crowd of Arms. The Arms that may no longer move about in either world, as their Armed have gone into the Void and not returned. I wondered why some didn't return, that was all. Arms always return to me when their Armed are irretrievable.

At least, they're supposed to.

"What did you see," I ask, no emotion in my tone. It is the frost tone of brushed steel.

"Did you expect it, Diyn? You have to tell me. I have to know." I look back at him, at that crazy white eye staring back up at me through the part in the silver curtain. At that wicked sickle of a grin. There's no sanity in that face, as much as any of us can claim what the humans call sanity. Sanity is just another component of humanity, and humanity is a frail thing that decays. There's no reason in that face, to be more clear - just the shattered remnant of it.

"I am sorry," I say. I am. I did not know what danger lay in wait for my child, but I sent him out on a mission nevertheless. "Tell me who sundered you."

He barks out a laugh, the sharp thing cutting through the whole chamber to make the witnessing Arms wince. "Sundered? Is that what you call this? Sundering would be a pretty thing, Diyn, and nothing that ever happened to me on that mission was pretty."

I close my eyes, sigh, then open them again. Tesynnodai says I show too much favor towards my children and too little towards his. He doesn't understand - his Armed sacrifice something to become what they are. They pay, and then receive. We have no choice about it, and no mercy in us at all. If there is favor to be shown, my children will have what I must give. "Report, then, Schiphael, so that you can rest your silver tongue."

He snorts, then spits at my feet. "Go on and do it yourself, Diyn. Consign yourself to it, and we'll see where the Law is then, whose feet the fucking Judge will be at, where the Arms will roam in the shadows and on the heels of the humans that have borne them--"

I hold my cane against his throat, cutting off the testimony, crazed as it is. "I understand. I will ask you no more, then. You will rest in solitude. I apologize for sending you to a mission that you were incapable of accomplishing." I turn and leave, then. I must talk to Tesynnodai. Schiphael may stay here - the curtains are drawing tight around the stands, leaving the retired in peace from his mad rantings.

"Go on to your chain-bearer then, you lapdog. You'll never know freedom." His voice growls quiet across the chamber floor. I turn and look back at him, eyes narrowed. He only sneers.

"Freedom?" I smile. "I am sorry. I understand how you have been warped, then. You were never supposed to know a poison like freedom." With that, I leave. That idiot Tesynnodai has much to answer for.

* * *

* * *
'Sy
* * *

Elete, kneeling beside the bed, looks over the Voitre boy to peer closely at his face. He places his hand on the boy's forehead. Elete closes his eyes, obviously concentrating on something.

I stand overhead, ready to move if the Voitre boy does. I invited Elete to come in, yes, but I don't like him being so close to the boy. Still, we need to find out what's wrong with him.

Elete frowns. He leans away from the boy, then looks up at me.

I raise an eyebrow. "Yes?"

He sighs, looks down at the boy again, then bites his lip. He seems to be chewing over what he's going to tell me. I prepare myself for the worst. Finally, he takes in a deep breath and says: "He seems perfectly normal to me."

I almost fall over.

He smiles wanly, then rises. When he wobbles during the attempt, I give him a hand. "I know, 'Sy - I know something strange should show, considering what you've told me thus far. But I can find nothing in a cursory viewing. If it's something hiding from me, you'll have to ask Jhe o'Radia or the Advocate to look for something. I can verify, though, that as a Poet he also exhibits nothing wrong with his mind. The only thing I detect is a wariness of admitting where he's been, but that's quite common in your presence, and doubly common among those in his brigade." He pauses. "I did not know until now that you'd assigned him with the shadows. He hid that well."

I cock my head. Elete is an interesting person to discuss Aaren with, isn't he? As Poet King, he had Aaren first. It's something I keep forgetting - I think of all Armed as primarily mine, even the Mixed, until I'm reminded that the Mixed are not. Aaren's even new at being Armed. He only recently joined the forces under Jhe Wysthaven's command. "Perhaps you can shed a bit of light on the situation, Elete. You are correct, he does hide things well. You know him better than most, though, don't you? You brought him here, after all."

He smiles. "Ah, yes. I did aid in his extraction from the Xaillyndessen." He looks at me with an idle querying expression. "Would his paternal roots have something to do with where you've placed him in the Armed?"

I school my expression. On the one hand, there's no reason per se to hide anything from Elete. On the other, there's the automatic, oft-justified fear of telling a Poet something and then seeing the statement spread across the Kingdom like wildfire.

"Have I ever broken your confidence?" says Elete in the most measured tone I've heard him use with me.

I blink, then realize how stupid I'm being about this. There is a difference between telling a secret to Erynn Blackirons and telling it to Jhe h'Logos Elethe-travente Xaillyndesse. "I'm sorry. No, you have not. I'm just..."

"You're just protective. I understand. I am protective of my own, as well. And he is yours as well as mine, is he not?" He pauses, clearly deliberating over saying something, over admitting something. The air grows thick with it. I steel myself for the worst. "I bear no ill toward you for what happened last night, and I apologize for my excesses and my failure to listen. I'm saying this because you seem intent on going without discussing it, and pretending as if none of it happened. Certain issues need to be buried, though, am I correct?"

I can't really speak. I nod. How'd he corner me into this? I didn't see it coming at all, and I've played chess against Elete for years.

"They do. They do because we've been keeping secrets from each other, have we not? For no other reasons than rivalry and paranoia. But I have too little time left to gamble with. Death is the best secret-keeper of all. So, before Jhe Harpseal arrives with his cargo, and Jhe Lute is here to shed more light on what brought he and Jhe Voitre here, perhaps I should illuminate you about certain things, and you should illuminate me in turn."

I can't help my automatic reaction - the desire to move to see where he moves, to check my actions so that his will bend as well. He is right in that we have no time for playing games, but that's all we've ever done with each other. There's no reason not to disclose everything. ...Wait, did he just admit outright that he's been keeping secrets from me about Aaren?

A smile creeps onto Elete's jaw and sits there with impudence. Damnit. All his talk about playing games was just to checkmate me in his own game!

"You think too much, Tesynnodai. Come, now. I will tell you of what I know, but you must be open with me as well, and it is vital that I be with you when you take your next steps with the boy."

"Because you've Seen it, or of your premonitions, or because you'll die in a week?"

"Because I can help," he says primly.

"Fine." He's right in one thing: I have no time to argue with him. He seems satisfied with my agreement.

"Jhe Voitre has had me help him send false information to his Father, to perpetuate the lie that he is a spy in service of the Kommissar. He had a particular amount of difficulty in doing so himself. He has, in fact, met with his Father several times under my overseeing. These are things that wouldn't surprise you, I am sure. He would tell you. His Arms would tell you even if he tried to hide it, yes?"

I nod. I don't like where this is going.

"Aaren has trusted me implicitly. I think he's told you a fair bit about the circumstances with his Father. How he was able to come to Radia at all, and serve in the Halls, only because he insisted to his Father that he was serving as a spy. How he divested himself of his Father's name to hide his roots, and thus aid in that 'mission'. He told you everything that was necessary." Elete hesitates. "There is a great difference, in the Xaillyndesse family, between that which is necessary to tell and that which is the truth. It's how we survive, on that side. We make do. Some might say that Aaren didn't have the worst of it - Jhe Xen Xaillyndesse isn't, by Xaillyndesse standards, really in the family. He's not from the core line, but more of an outlying cousin. Aaren wasn't a party to the worst things that family has to offer... but as a son of the Kommissar, he would be directly in the line of sight of my Mother. That elevates the danger just a bit." The Poet King is looking more and more uncomfortable as he speaks, as if he'd rather not at all. "He would tell you that he changed his name to hide his origins, as a service to you, in fact. So that he could be a double-agent and play a game for us, so that he could in turn fool his Father into thinking he was a spy, while in reality he was spying for us."

"I understand that," I say. He's waiting for a response, in that annoying Poetic habit of halting before turning the page.

"He told you that because you are not a Xaillyndesse. I, however, who is one, and who helped to get him away from his family, he told something else - something he knew that I would understand more than anyone else here. He told me that he changed his name because he could not stand to be associated with his Father any longer, and that double-agenting for us was a personal joy to him. He told me, in very few words and nuances that only a Xaillyndesse would understand, just how much he hated his Father. Through that, he told me without any words just how much had been done to him by his Father." Elete is pale now, his tone growing green and sickly.

I frown. "Jhe Voitre told me none of that, no." To be honest, I let Aaren omit certain things when talking to me. I felt that it would be better for him that way, and since I knew I could trust him implicitly, I was eager to help him leave behind it past. "I could tell that something was abnormal with his past, but I believe in the liberty of discretion. Had it been important, I would have known to press him for it."

"He would tell you as little as possible about it, in any case. He would want you to think he was capable of the task of being a double-agent, and unmoved by emotion. Xaillyndessen prefer to keep up the appearance that everything is about business. We do not bear our weakness in the open."

"No," I say softly, "you don't."

"Thelea Xaillyndesse has done strange things to some of her children--" Elete chokes for a moment, something I'm sure is motivated by emotion or sickness. "Xen Xaillyndesse worked with her closely in many things."

"Gods in ether," I say, "are you telling me Aaren was engineered in the same way that you were?"

Elete's skin turns so pale that he's almost transparent, and I catch him around the waist. He has never, since the time I first met him, liked to discuss his Mother. He pants for a few moments, sweat dripping from his brow. He gains his feet after some time. "No, not at all. Aaren was not like me, he was conceived as naturally as you can claim a Xaillyndesse ever was. Mother just... had ideas. About children, and about control."

I remember how grateful Elete was for everything that we did for him all those years ago when he first came to Radia from Lyiannethe. Not just big things, like giving him his own suite and giving him a level of respect that most young teenagers didn't commonly receive. Little things, like inviting him to sit and have breakfast, or allowing him to pick the tea. How strangely taken he was with pouring his own tea, making his own schedule, speaking without being prompted to. Only a Xaillyndesse would understand, he said. I am beginning to see why. "You're saying that there are certain things I may have taken for granted about Aaren."

"Moreso - there are things he's outright hidden from you." Elete averts his eyes. "He swore me to secrecy, asked that I not tell unless it were a dire circumstance. As in, something that would threaten other people than himself. Aaren did not consider himself worth very much."

Another thing that Elete would have shared with the boy, had we not trained him out of that nonsense.

Something ripples through the air around me. Elete blinks and steps back. I feel an invisible weight upon myself - Diyn's. I also feel the foreboding countenance of a weapon that is very angry with me. We have a very short conversation.

"Diyn tells me that something is wrong with Schiphael, and blames some weakness in my Armed for allowing an incorruptible thing to become tainted." I sigh. It only gets worse, it seems. "What is it that Aaren told you, Elete?"

"His Father considers him only a tool, and used him as such before he came to be here." Elete closes his eyes. "He didn't want anyone else to know, but he wanted to notify someone of the danger."

I frown. "That makes no sense. He told me that he had no fear of dealing with his Father."

"Well, he wouldn't, would he? He was a spy for his Father. Of course he'd have no fear of dealing with him - he was working for him." Elete's as matter-of-fact about this as if he's talking about the weather. I try to focus on his words while ignoring the way Diyn is growling in the back of my head.

"He worked for us, not Sul." I pause. "Are you implying that this wasn't the case?"

"I am telling you that Xaillyndessen allegiances and controls and manipulations and oaths run deep and complex. Who knows what his true heart is?" He bites his lip. "He secretly worried that he might be spying on us for the Kommissar without even knowing it."

"That's impossible!" It's not until I bark that out that I realize that my emotions are so heated. "Diyn and I knew the truth of him. If he was a backstabber, even without knowing it, we'd have seen it on him like a visible mark!"

"So you say." Elete has a distinct amount of trouble looking me in the eye.

I glare at him, not caring if he sees the expression or not. He can feel it. "You're going to tell me that I'm not a Xaillyndesse and so I wouldn't understand."

"Is it not true?" Elete shakes his head. "That's unimportant now. I only wanted to bring to light what his fears were. You deserve to know. Had I even believed that he was capable of secretly following his Father's orders, I would have told you of this sooner."

I narrow my eyes, trying to hold back how flabberghasted I am. Between this, Diyn, and the Trial I'm concurrently attending, my head is pounding. "You didn't believe him?"

Elete shrugs, his expression almost hopeless. "How could I? I didn't see the potential for it to happen. Besides, I know how paranoid being Xaillyndessen can make me - Aaren is younger and he's not yet been exposed to as much of the world as I have. I suspected teenage dramatics - something the boy has not been coming up short on, as you well know."

I rub my palms against my cheeks, then massage my forehead. My face muscles are cramping. I must be wearing the most tremendous scowl right now. Besides that, Diyn's trying to bore three holes into my skull. "So if you didn't believe him, why are you telling me this?"

Elete has the prescience to back away a few steps before he says: "Because it seems important."

I almost hit him. It's not the pathetic way he says that, it's the sound of Diyn laughing at me in the back of my head. That metallic sneer draped with smugness. Diyn directed Elete to come bother me in the first place, and now that carefully planted crop is being harvested. "Thank you for your assistance. Did you have anything else to contribute?"

Elete shakes his head. "Nothing yet. I'm considering all of the variables for now. Besides that, Jhe Lute will be here soon, and he'll have more information than I do." I look up at him due to the shift in tone and examine Elete's eyes. The far-off look that comes with prescience is dominating his expression. "He'll tell you something very important... 'Sy, you must remember these things. When this information becomes the most important, I will not be there to remind you of it."

That gives me a pang, a feeling that makes even Diyn somber. I don't want to think about missing Elete. I know that soon I will, but I just don't want to think about it. "Fine, then," I say, and look up to face my son Lute.

He's half-emerged from the shadows in the back corner of the cell, looking over Aaren with wary eyes, ready to withdraw from the open at any moment. It's strange to see that much open paranoia shown from my boy - stranger still to see it aimed at his fellow Armed. He flicks his eyes toward me and then steps away from the wall entirely, as if my presence alone assures that Aaren will not rise to attack him again. Lute walks with a limp, bleeding from a few scratches. He grips his upper left arm, wincing. The arm is hanging limp at his side. Kuroroi is whispering panicked, quiet things in the meantime - that Lute needs medical attention, that I need to know so much before that can happen, that this must be quick. The report fades into a background murmur as Diyn begins to debrief him. Then Lute catches my gaze with his own, flops down to the floor in front of me, and sits up expectantly. (References to Lute as the family dog have not been ungrounded in reality.)

"Report," I say.

Lute doesn't even bat an eye at the presence of the Poet King and just launches into things. "Early in the twilight hours I followed Xen and Thelea Xaillyndesse in a carriage from the Audivan Palace to Radia. They had Aaren Voitre with them. They had plans of sabotage in the city. I was forestalled from delivering the information by Aaren attacking me. I'll go on if none of this is news to you." His tone goes flat on that note. I certainly can't blame him for being cranky.

"It is news to us who committed the sabotage, but not that it was committed." I pause. "The danger has passed, and what can be fixed at this point has been fixed. Now we need to know how it happened."

He nods. There's something bitter in his eyes - he wasn't able to stop it. Such a thing is always hard on us. It was even harder on me. "I will start from the beginning, then, and tell you what I have seen."

* * *
Kevrin
* * *

Landing is a bit of an issue with Djardrik this time around. He keeps screaming.

"We're gonna die! We're gonna die!!!" He seems to have it in his head that landing in the Armed Hall is a dangerous thing. I don't know what gives him that idea - it's a well-defended compound with lots of allies inside of it. "Kevrek, we're gonna be surrounded by Armed if we land down there!" He holds onto me for dear life. Unfortunately, his grip is around my throat. After a bit of gagging, I manage to dislodge him.

"Djardrik! Please, calm down! Everything will be fine!" I try to keep control of the bird. I'm perfectly used to this place, but the poor thing's used to rural areas, not cities. "I know some guys here!"

"The guys with the p-p-pointy weapons?" Djardrik's shaking so hard that he's about to fall off of the bird.

"YES!" I say with exasperation. "Why else would I come here?"

He quiets down, mulling that over. "Oh," he says, "sorry."

"Quite alright," I say, taking a slow spiral down on a few low-lying gusts. Thankfully Dram and Buidhe have already been in steady communication with the Arms of the Armed below. Those are all guys I know, as well. Well, I guess everyone knows me. I've been told I'm a friendly guy. I'm kind of grateful that there's a Trial going on right now, though - usually the Hall is crawling with Armed, a lot of them rookies. Rookies who might get the wrong idea about Djardrik. They're all watching the Trial, though, and by the bareness of this place so is anybody else who can find an excuse to attend. All I see down there are the cursory guards. Must be a pretty big event. I query Dram.

Cade Fayegeaux, he replies with a smugness and a longing.

Well damn, now I want to be there too!

Sometime during our circling the bird got a bit lighter. Lute's off to where he needs to be, then. I wonder if I'll ever hear what his fight was all about, but I doubt it. Shadow news stays in the shadow brigade. Most of the time we pretend they don't exist, and some Armed go a lifetime without ever seeing concrete proof that they do. We keep to our own jobs - gets the most done. "Alright, hold on, I'm gonna land this tired bird."

It's quite delicate about the landing, even with the fatigue. Windbirds are sturdy beasts, and very friendly. Not sure what I'm going to do with this thing, though. It won't fit in the paddock. Guess I've got time to figure it out, though. Dram says Diyn says that the Judge will be occupied until the Trial is done with.

"Hey Djardrik? Help me with our birdy here. None of these guys are gonna know what to do with it." It works out as a pretty handy way of keeping Djardrik's attention off of the fact that we're surrounded by Armed. We are, in fact, working side-by-side with Armed! After some deliberation, everybody agrees that the only place to keep a windbird for now is the practice arena. It's a large open-air space that nobody will miss if it's commandeered for a day or two. We can probably build a paddock for the thing in that amount of time. I mean, now that I've brought one home we might as well keep it. I'm sure it'll come in handy.

That being done, I escort Djardrik into the living quarters of the Armed Hall. Pretty much it's just a place to keep a bed and our things when we're not out on missions. "Okay, here we are," I say, opening the door to my room. Bed, desk, odd little trophies here and there. Stuffed head of a half-gator monster that we could never really identify the origin of. The usual bachelor pad things. "Sorry, it's a bit cramped. I don't really stay here much."

Djardrik's distracted by something, so what I said clicks for him a few moments after I said it. "Oh! Right. No bother, it's much nicer than the holes I've had to hide my head in before." He steps in, I follow, and then I close the door. Buidhe stays on alert, but I don't think we'll have any problems. "Hey, Kevrek, I was wondering."

"Yeah?" I check over my desk. There's a few letters and notes here. I've only been gone for a day or two, but like I said, I'm popular.

"How'd you swing this? A room in the Armed's... fortress place. That's pretty hard to come by. You know the guy who lives in here or something?"

I chuckle. "I'm the guy who lives here. The Judge gave me this room since I don't have a house nearby or a local family who sponsors me. It's pretty normal."

"Really?" He seems pretty surprised.

"Yeah. Hey, look, Jhe Averseen sent me a drawing of the new chicks that hatched in the tree behind the Poet Hall. She's a dear." I shuffle through the rest of the papers. Odd, the Peacekeeper hasn't sent me any orders to report yet. I'm in his brigade, after all. Oh, that's right, he probably doesn't even know I'm here yet. Dram informs me that the Peacekeeper's in the Court, providing some function in the Trial. Not the usual, but occasionally another Armed is needed on the floor, so it's not something to worry over. It's no real surprise, in fact, considering Cade Fayegeaux is finally on Trial.

"Kevrek?" Djardrik cocks his head. "You're looking a bit ill. Like you need a toilet."

I laugh. "S'okay, just talking with my Arms. Everyone makes a face when they do. It's a weird sort of concentration."

The tiny feathers lining his brow lift. "Your Arms?"

"Yeah, my Arms. Remember? I had you hold one of them when you waited for me on the windbird."

"Oh! Oh yeah." Djardrik cocks his head again, mulling this over. "That makes sense. Wait, what?" He blinks, then looks at me more closely. "What? You're Armed?"

I look at him with a deadpan. "Well, otherwise it doesn't make any sense, does it?"

He laughs. "No, I guess it doesn't!" The joke must get funnier after he says that, because he laughs harder. It drags on for a little longer until he manages to compose himself. "Oh dear. Oh dear oh dear. I think I need to sit down."

* * *
Elete
* * *

After 'Sy and I hear the boy's testimony, Lute is asked to go seek the attentions of a healer. His initial stubborn refusal to move after the request is typical of any Akribastes with a vendetta on their minds. Lute's eyes won't leave Aaren. I don't blame him - both of them have endured much, and Jhe Voitre has done a great many strange things in Lute's presence with no clear warning beforehand. Nevertheless...

"Go, or I'll skin your rear with one swing," says 'Sy as Diyn manifests visually in his hand. The Trident has a glint to it that one should not ignore lightly. Lute seems to feel the same, as he immediately vanishes into a wisp of shadow. His motivation might be helped by the fact that 'Sy has used that same threat on all of his kids since the oldest was old enough to comprehend it.

'Sy is silent for a few moments before he turns to me, raises an eyebrow, then looks towards Jhe Voitre. He motions for me to come closer as he approaches the bed.

Diyn is having a look at Schiphael again. He is asking him more questions. 'Sy frowns, mulls for a bit, then decides to go on. Are you sure that you wouldn't find something wrong with Aaren if you looked at him once more? He sounds just a touch embarrassed at questioning me.

I was very thorough the first time. There's a bit of uncomfortable silence. He might not be guilty. You would be the one to tell though... not me.

I don't want to look. His face is so pained. I can't blame him. The thought of having to try an Armed for letting his own Arms be destroyed... Besides, I already know.

I raise my eyebrows. How?

"Because I told him to do this." 'Sy breaks into open speech. I suppose he feels there's nothing to keep from Aaren now, if he might be somehow listening in secret. "I told him, if he had the opportunity, to find out how some Armed were disappearing over the years and why even their Arms wouldn't come back. I told him that if it happened that he could find out by his family ties, to exploit them as much as necessary and play along as much as it took. I told him to do it at all costs, and that if he had to die to do so, as long as he could send Schiphael back with a piece of himself. I told him to do this to himself, and Diyn similarly instructed Schiphael. I did this."

It's hard to think of anything to say to 'Sy in response to this. Even affirming that it's his job to send his soldiers out into harm's way would be like rubbing salt into a wound. But there is no consolation for this, is there? There's no time for it. "Well done. You assigned the correct person to the mission, and they succeeded in your aim."

He jumps, then looks over to me. "Are you serious, Elete?"

I clasp my hands behind my back, affecting a rigid posture. "Your agent came back alive. He can tell you what happened. You have a culprit now, and some clues as to what to defend against. That was your intention, yes?"

'Sy averts his eyes, then looks at Jhe Voitre again. "Yes, that's what our intentions were."

"Then stop moping about something you already took responsibility for, and act on what's happened."

His eyes snap back to me, his face betraying his shock. "Elete, are you telling me to ignore whatever may be wrong with my Armed?"

I bite my lip, then strengthen my resolve. "It's the only way you'll survive this, and you know it. You're trying to feel remorse, but in the end, Aaren signed his life to you already, doubly so when he agreed to the mission. If he is to be helped, it will have to be after what he's discovered in the field is acted on, isn't it? Even if he's never able to give you a personal telling of what he did on his mission, it was enough that he be there for Lute to follow in secret, as is his job. The only reason I need to tell you this, I believe, is because you are in the middle of a Trial and Katherine was almost killed off less than a day before now. You want to feel bad about something, but it's not Aaren, is it? I, too, want to feel bad about something."

"Do you?" 'Sy's tone and face are unreadable now, even by me.

"I want to feel bad for letting my Poets go unaccounted for. By my guess, by Lute's observations, and by Camden's reports, I've had quite an attrition in my forces without even knowing it. I never followed up properly on some of the missives they sent in that seemed strange - now I have quite a few I suspect or know were forgeries. There's Elric and Edward that are confirmed. Stevane and Lyric were taken at Katherine's fall, likely to the same place that the Poets have been squirreled away to." I can't quite look him in the eye now that I'm about to speak the next part. "And among others... there's my son, Elam."

"I'm sorry."

"They weren't your responsibility, but thank you for your sympathies. If it is at all possible, though, we must act now. Once your Trial is over with, you'll have all the pieces assembled. Jhe Cade, after all, has his testimony to divulge. After that... well, it's questionable whether you'll even need me anymore."

"Elete!"

"I don't mean to go into dramatics, 'Sy. You'll have most of the puzzle pieces, though, and I'll have a nice rest, just like you keep nagging me about. Relax. Go back to your Trial. It's time." I have trouble brushing off the glare he gives me, but then, I earned it. I've gotten away with quite a bit of directing his energies, or even bossing him around, and he usually prefers our arrangement to be the reverse of that.

"I'll escort you out," he says, nudging the way of things back to their natural order. I acquiesce. I've gotten my way quite a lot today, and I honestly want to rest now. The worst is coming for me, and I must be ready.

* * *
Cade
* * *

My neck hurts.

...it's broken...

Yeah, I think so. A shame, that, to be without a neck.

...anything can be fixed... if you pay...

That's great, just great. Hey, wasn't I paying for something, or working on something? I was in the middle of a thing, I know that. There were people there...

...past now... let's go on...?

Sure, if you say so. Hey, who am I?

...depends... who you were... isn't who you will be...

That's catchy. Almost sorta wise. Do you know a lot of things?

...know you... know all about you, now... want to see...?

Yeah, that sounds like a plan. Let's go.

* * *
Stevane
* * *

The Kommissar brings the horse to a halt, yanking the reins. Thelea Xaillyndesse does the same almost simultaneously. I try not to fall off. Hoofbeats are ringing through my ears in the loudest silence I've ever experienced. Are we there yet? Did we get to Lyiannethe that fast?

Thelea brings her horse up beside the Kommissar's, giving me a chance to look my brother in the eye for the first time since we left Radia. He lets his gaze linger long enough to establish that I'm okay, then looks away to the huge building that's not too far off on the horizon. In a few moments I recognize the Aurocan Palace. I've seen enough illustrations of it to know it when I see it. It just took a moment to register, since several prominent features of its structure are now in rubble. Overall it still looks intact, but it's going to take more than a coat of paint to fix that. Lyric looks like he's in shock.

"No great loss," says the Kommissar, "though I suppose you'll want a few of your son's things? It won't take my men much longer to gain control, but I would advise a wait."

Thelea shrugs. "However long it takes. What I want that I haven't taken yet shall keep for a time. There are more urgent matters, and I always favored the Lyiannethe Manor to this gaudy little display of my son's claim of independence. I only came to see that our cargo has deployed."

The Kommissar nods. "The wagons will take longer to arrive than we will, but considering how the Arachne-kin packed your possessions, I doubt that will be a problem for you."

She answers only with a predator's grin. Arachne-kin? I hope I don't have to see any. I hear they're creepy. Are there going to be any where we're going? I don't really want to think about where we're going. We're already so far away. How did Lyric ever travel as much as he did? As much as he said he was scared at times... well, he sure seems brave right now. Thelea's gaze turns to me. The air around me turns frosty and I try not to exist for awhile. "Any more trouble from the Akribastes girl?"

"None, now that she's been schooled on proper behavior. Though I still can't go on uncomplaining. Your attendant sits his horse well. He could teach her some lessons."

She barks out a laugh. "You'll survive. It won't be but a blink of an eye till we're in Lyiannethe, and then she won't be your problem anymore." Her face bitters at the last part, and then she's gone. She's turned her horse about and is racing off into the distance.

The Kommissar leans down and speaks into my ear, his voice low. "You keep in mind what we agreed to, girl. Understand?" He waits for my nod, then kicks the horse forward once more. The Aurocan Palace is just a memory now, the land rushing by so fast that there's nothing I can make out in the blur.

* * *

Thelea barely exaggerated how short the journey would be. I only manage to take three breaths before we've arrived in front of another very large building. It's built lower and more spread-out than the Aurocan Palace, with less domes and more pillars. It looks like a giant manor house, which it actually is. This one I recognize as well, though fewer illustrations exist of it. Jhe h'Lete makes sure that all Poets have a good knowledge of Audiva Rocale's more prominent locations, just in case we have to write about them. Sometimes that's the only way they find out what goes on over the border. The Armed don't venture this far for training - Lyiannethe is far north and well-fortified. It's where they keep all the bigwigs that aren't the Peacock King.

What I think when I see the place, though, is that it's not all that nice. Why would anyone stay here? It's all dark and foggy, and the air is so clammy it sticks to you. It feels like something's crawling on my skin, and I keep hearing snatches of voices that are cut off before I can pick up what they're saying. The grass is thick, reaching up high on the horsies' legs.

What's surprising about the Lyiannethe Manor is that it has no additional walls built around it in defense. There's a forest around it, which we're approaching now, but that looks like it stops before the moat that surrounds the Manor, and then there's sparse ground cover before the Manor's walls cut off the landscape. When we enter the forest, though, I stop wondering about it. The trees are moving and that takes up all my attention. I hear my brother let out an involuntary "Eep!"

"Not to worry, little lovely," says Thelea while petting his hair, "they're well-trained. I'm sure my son introduced you to proper dryad training? He's merely a novice, however - I am the expert in the family. Isn't it a beautiful garden?"

"Yes, of course Your Majesty," says Lyric, "your technique is breathtaking." How he says that with such deadpan composure I just don't know. All I know is that he was accurate about it - I'm having trouble breathing in here. It... it smells really bad in here. Like a swamp. I'm pretty sure I just saw a tree branch grab another tree's branch and begin to chew on the rotten fruit hanging from it.

I make a little gulping sound and try not to throw up. "Could we move it along?" says the Kommissar with a touch of distaste. "I'm sure you'll have more time to acquaint him with your pets later, my Queen."

Thelea sniffs disdainfully but urges her horse to move a bit faster. We emerge from the forest and my gorge stops rising like over-yeasted bread. It's not long before we cross the moat via a drawbridge that looks older than Daddy. I try not to look into the moat, but from Lyric's gasp his reflection in it looks just as unnatural as mine. If the dryads are warped here... just think of the naiads. After we cross, the bridge is drawn up behind us, effectively closing the entrance off.

As if anyone's really coming to rescue us...

I'm not allowed my negative dwelling for long - once inside the gate there's a clearing full of very drab grass and a place to put the horses. They don't even seem very tired, for all that we crossed an impossible distance today. Still, there's attendants here that take them to rub them down and do all that horsie-cleaning stuff that my sister Jenny lives for when she's not killing people. Before that happens, though, the Kommissar slips down, then helps me dismount. It's more like helping me fall off a horse, which you'd think I'd be able to do on my own, but apparently not so much on purpose. He keeps an arm around me so that I'm not even able to stray from his side.

Thelea looks over at us, then nods to Lyric. He dismounts first, then helps her off of her horse in a way that just oozes formality. Dang, no wonder the Peacock King hired him. Thelea gives him another pat on the head, looking down at him in a way that kind of turns my stomach. It's not just that he's my brother, it's that I don't really want to imagine Thelea being intimate with anyone, and-- eww.

Anyway, she takes another look at us, or rather at me, when she's done mooning over my brother. Then she tilts her head over to a set of double-doors that lead into the Manor proper. She strolls toward them, Kommissar and I trailing behind in her shadow, before a pair of attendants open the doors and let us all in. Then, well... then it's difficult to see for a moment. It feels like the air pressure's gone up, too. I get used to it after a few moments.

"I see we've stepped up the wards a bit, hmm?" says the Kommissar.

"Only just a tad, darling," replies Thelea in a trite singsong voice. "We had a bit of a scare when we thought the Radians were invading instead of relieving us of the burden of my son." We walk a bit further until we're in a small audience chamber with a low ceiling, lots of draperies, and very shiny floors. "Here, Lotus, be a dear and familiarize yourself with the staff, hmm? You're in cultured land again, not begging for scraps from that Radian trash. And while that waistcoat is rather fetching, I require my servants to wear a uniform. Have yourself properly outfitted, grab a bite to eat, and then you'll meet me in my quarters tonight." She strokes her hand down his cheek, practically purring the words. Lyric makes doe-eyes back at her. I try to disguise my bile as a burp.

"I feel that way myself watching that, my dear, but don't sick up on her floor," mutters the Kommissar to me.

Thelea doesn't hear any of that, she's too busy watching my brother's butt as he leaves the room. Once she's done fantasizing on that (ew ew ew) she takes her seat on the dais and looks at the two of us. She raises an eyebrow. "Guarding her close, are we?"

"She's foiled your collar once already, my Queen - I'd hate for you to be put in any further danger by her. That's my duty, after all." He nudges me a bit, I'm not sure why for. I try to pay attention regardless.

She snorts. "Your duty, when you see fit to do it. Let me see her." She gestures for me to come forward. The Kommissar nudges me again and I decide to interpret that as my signal to obey. Really, I'm losing track of all the cues I'm supposed to be obeying or disobeying here. I'm also keeping alert for any possible ways out. This playing along stuff is only going to get me so far before I have to take action - though I have no idea how yet. After a few steps forward, she looks at me expectantly. I raise an eyebrow back at her. I can play this expectant-look game all day, I learned this from my Uncle. He can stare down my Daddy, and with one eyebrow raise he can make Jhe h'Lete stop talking.

Her eyes narrow, and then she does this hand-gesture wrist-twist that sends me crashing down to my knees with an "OOF!" I hope that didn't fracture anything. I've got enough problems right here. She yanks my chin up from a distance with another gesture, and then I'm staring into her eye as my cheeks are squished together. It's like she's grabbing my face with an invisible hand. What an annoying gimmick.

Her eyes narrow, and I don't know if she's using the collar for this part, but my mind feels like it's burning. Not enough to make me flinch, though - I've been trained for this kind of stuff. Well, more like I've had to teach new Poets and read their beginning exercises. It evokes a similar sensation. I got used to it. I'm not really sure what her problem is - I mean, she dragged me here, it's her fault she has to put up with me. Radia has a bigger palace and a nicer throne than anything here, so what makes her think she's so high and mighty?

She spits, though not on me, so that's a plus. Jhe h'Lete's etiquette lessons are rather muddy in my mind (as always), but I do recall that spitting on the floor conveys something different than spitting on who you're speaking to. I think it just means that I haven't pissed her off enough yet. From the odd echo-feeling in my head, I'm wondering if she managed to peek into my thoughts for a bit. That probably didn't make her too happy, come to think. "I fucking hate Akribastes brats. I was content with killing the last two." Wait, last two? Does she mean from that first batch of kids that Daddy had? Auntie Muriel's the only one I ever met. "She's too damn useful for now, though. Maybe my High Retainer can make her heel. Urgh!" She wrenches her hand to the side, which wrenches my face to the side, which hurts.

I try to keep my balance, but it's been thrown off and my head's all muddy from her little mind-reading attempt. Next think I know I'm rocking sideways, and instead of hitting the floor I bump into a pair of legs with some very shiny black boots on them. One toe nudges against my leg. I wonder with some wooziness whether this is one of those signals I'm supposed to pay attention to.

"Yes, Kommissar? Is there something you'd like to assist with?" Thelea's voice is bored and more than a little frazzled.

"Indeed. I would like to offer to take her off your hands. While she is indeed a Poet and could lend your units some expertise, she is quite the burden and nothing that Your Majesty need worry yourself with. As I said, overseeing your security is my job. And while I think you are more than able to keep her out of trouble, I also think it would be an unneccesary strain on your Poets at a time when they are coming in the most handy." The Kommissar gives me another subtle nudge. Either I think I know where this is going, or I'm about to get myself killed.

The things I do for my brother's safety.

"I don't think you should waste your time trying to hold me in this puny place anyway. I think my Daddy's going to follow you both back here and then you're both gonna catch it in the ass. It doesn't matter whether I'm dead or alive - I'll be a hassle to you until I'm back in Radia where I belong." I put as much haughtiness and bravado into my voice as possible.

Thelea doesn't look very impressed, but she does develop a marvelous tic in her forehead. I'm so proud. "Oh, is that so? And why are you so eager to take on such a burden, Kommissar?" She betrays a bit of suspicion in her voice. I guess these two don't trust each other very much. Guess that makes them both somewhat intelligent.

"I am doing it out of allegiance to the Empire and the loyalty I feel for it, of course. What reasons could be more important?" Even I can't swallow that one. How could he even bank on that? Great, looks like I'm gonna be staying around this bitch for quite a while.

Thelea just looks at him.

The Kommissar chuckles in response. "Very well. When it comes down to it, who out of you or I would the Judge least like to be responsible for her? I'll even write the ransom letter myself, if you like."

Thelea's fingers are perched under her chin as she looks over to me. My skin crawls as a smile slowly crinkles into her face. "I do like how you think, Kommissar. Very well. Do as you wish with her. I've a new servant to break in, after all - I've no time for trash like her." I can't suppress a shudder. I'm sure Thelea thinks it's all about her, but it's really because of me thinking about my brother being with her.

The Kommissar snaps his fingers. My first instinct is to look for a doggie in the room, and then I realize that I'm the doggie. Oh, cute. I'm about to ignore him just for the cheek of it, but then one of those weird head-voices Iaen kept insisting were normal back when I was training peeps up again.

Haul your butt up and stuff down your pride. She may be a bitch worthy of showing up, but he's your ticket out of here.

Well, it's not the worst advice, and it's not like I want to stay here, so I begrudgingly drag myself up to a standing position. What do you care? You're just a crazy head-voice. I bet you're not even real.

Who'd take your word on what's real or not, when you can't even tell the ass-end of a horse from the front?

Hush. Pay attention. The second voice is a bit more rational, or at least less emotional. I'm starting to get a feel for them, but there's not enough time to think about them. The Kommissar takes hold of my arm with a painful iron grip. "Is there anything you need? If not, I'll now take her out of your sight."

Thelea looks at me with a critical appraisal. "Nothing. But don't let a day pass before my High Retainer sees her. She's still a Poet, and she won't escape being useful to me. Now go." She wards me off with a disdainful flip of her hand.

The Kommissar pulls me back a few steps. "Bow to the Queen, my dear," he says with only a touch of a growl. It doesn't even take crazy voices to convince me that it's a good idea to listen. I can't do a proper curtsy with my elbow in the vise-grip, but I manage something.

Thelea only rolls her eyes and gestures to an attendant to do some more of her bidding. I don't catch any of it - the Kommissar leads me out of the audience room then. He's silent for a while as we walk, giving no indicator of any expectations of what I should be doing. Good. I'm tired of following orders and figuring things out. Getting kidnapped is exhausting, and I hardly even slept last night to begin with, and this damn collar makes my best creative thoughts about as clear as pudding.

* * *
Stevane
* * *

It takes some more walking and passage through a lot of thick wards, and a few bits I don't even remember, but eventually we come to an end point in our journey. I'm pretty sure a few parts of that are foggy in my head because of the wards, and possibly because of some odd space warping. Either are pretty commonplace in the more secure or dangerous areas of the Poet Hall, so I've become familiar with the sensation. That means that I could be anywhere in Lyiannethe now - that I'm still in Lyiannethe Manor is an unfounded hunch.

We're in a small room with a closed door on either side, and one just-closed door behind us. The floor is an unremarkable , the walls are smoothly mortared stone blocks, and the ceiling is low. After the lavishness of the Manor it's a stark shock. The Kommissar lets go of my arm, his bootnails clacking against the polished white granite floor as he strides forward. I'm a bit confused as there's nothing to stride forward to. He turns back towards me, waits for a moment, then gestures for me to come forward as well. Obviously he can't comprehend why I even hesitated. "You were at least capable of following cues in the audience room. For that, I thank you."

I take a few steps forward to show some cooperation, but I'm not overeager to be right up next to him. "You're welcome. I wasn't sure I was even doing the right thing." I'm still not sure I did. Yes, I got away from Thelea and ensured my brother's safety, but now I'm stuck with the Kommissar. I think of his means of persuading Thelea to let him have me - that Daddy wouldn't like it. 'Daddy wouldn't like it' has been a pretty steady barometer in my life. When it comes to boyfriends and trouble I want, 'Daddy wouldn't like it' is a good sign. When it comes to anything else, it's a big warning.

The Kommissar snorts. "Step closer, I'm not going to snap at you. In any case, you don't need to know you're doing the right thing, you just need to follow orders. The Queen doesn't need to know anything about this place or what I do with you, does she? Answer no." His gaze is hard to break. My eyeballs strain while trying to look away from it.

"I suppose not," I say. I don't really go for absolutes.

He raises an eyebrow. "Thinking too much. Fine. You won't be much trouble, as much as Thelea thinks you're a hassle. You know how to do what you're told. Can you play a musical instrument?"

I scowl. "I doubt I can so much as thread a needle with this stupid collar on. You Xaillyndessen have weird ideas of what 'useful' means."

He narrows his eyes. "That was not my question, but let me modify it for you so that you can understand. Are you proficient at playing an instrument?" There's something flat and cold in his tone that's ringing a few warning bells. It's hard not to be mouthy, though. Most of my etiquette training was in the Poet Hall, so I usually express what of it I can through my Poetic skills. They're all being blocked now, so there goes most of my tact - what little of it I had.

"I've attained expert level with a Rhivendish dulcimer. I am also proficient with the piano and have displayed moderate abilities with a violin, though I prefer a fiddle. I can keep a beat with a drum and I can flagrantly annoy with a triangle." I'm also particularly good at setting other people's fiddles on fire, but that's not a musical ability so much as quality control. Besides, he really doesn't need to be reminded of me setting things on fire.

He chuckles. "A hill people instrument? How quaint. We don't keep trinkets like that here, though. Violin shall suffice. I can tolerate you in my presence if you're playing violin. This way," and with that, he leads me to the left door, and gestures for me to precede him.

* * *

Stepping through the door is like stepping through a sheet of water. The energy shift sucks the breath out of my lungs. My collar gives a distinct protest in the form of a POP and a cloud of some rather noxious smoke. This isn't really the best thing for my nerves, so it's not surprising that I jump to the side and let out a yelp. The Kommissar, ever the understanding sort, grabs me by the back of the collar and yanks me back towards him.

"It's not on fire, you fool, it's just been made incapable of spying on me," he growls through his teeth. "Now, here. Sit." He leads me to... a small bed? I find that hard to believe until I realize that by the look of the plain stone walls and the drab furnishings, this place is a cell. I bet it doesn't even physically connect to that entry point we came through. Damn, that means I'm not going to have much luck finding my way around this place. Well, we'll see what happens. I sit on the bed and look up in time for the Kommissar to push my head back down. He brushes the mountain of curly red hair out of the way and inspects the back of my neck.

I examine my lap and try not to lash out at him. The urge is very strong right now. I'm sure he has very flammable eyebrows. I clamp down my violent leanings. They're not going to get me anywhere yet, even if they are unusually strong these days.

The Kommissar's fiddling with the collar. This doesn't have the best effect on my thinking. My vision goes blurry for a moment, and then fades to black, and then everything is perfectly clear. Clearer than it's ever been. Then I'm starting to see colors that I swear never have existed.

"Damn Ebrellin-i and his cursed, overcomplicated devices... 'man of science' my bare end, I could have built something much simpler, but noooo. Lean over further." My neck's already straining enough, but I oblige. "You've certainly got your Father's hair. Feh, what a mess. Ah, here we are. Would help if he'd have just made more of the same and stopped 'improving'. These things work too well as it is. There now, your wits shouldn't be AS dim as they were before I tried that." He lets go of my neck and backs away, surveying me with his arms crossed.

I sit up and get my hair out of disarray, then rub my neck and wince. My head is a fair bit clearer. I can still feel the effect of the sealing and locking the collar's built for, but I can at least think better. "Thanks, I guess. Is this my dorm room?"

"You can call it that. I've got to put you somewhere when you're not useful to me. And feel grateful that you're not in someplace a lot worse. I have them." He grins. "The Queen has more of them."

I blanch a little. "You're gonna stay quiet about my brother, right? He has enough problems right now."

The Kommissar snorts. "Your brother's not my problem if he wants to defect to Audiva Rocale. Thelea can sniff out her own rats, and her business is not my business. Speaking of her business, I might as well get that over and done with. Her High Retainer ought to have some time to take a look at you now."

I try to think that through. Everyone's acting like I'm going to be here for quite awhile, but I don't have any sort of plans for the same. So do I just pretend to go along, or do I fight all of this procedure? I'm not going to escape or contact anyone from home anytime soon, that's obvious now. But if I'm stuck here, I might as well learn something. I'm even in a good position for that! How many people can say they've had the chance to know what happens in the Kommissar's operations? Well, I don't know, since I never got through enough training to find out that much about Lute's division and the spying they do, but still, I bet nobody's got in this deep before!

Still, the Kommissar's not going to expect me to play along, so I can't play along TOO much, and I can't get in trouble... geez, this is like playing chess with Father! I always have to keep an eye on what he really notices and expects, and he keeps such a deadpan. At least the Kommissar doesn't seem as subtle as Daddy is.

"I suppose," I say. "Why do you want me to play violin, anyway?"

"Because if you're going to be in my presence, you're going to be working, and we don't get many musicians down here. Thelea keeps all the Poets. We might as well have SOMEONE here for entertainment. In any case, what does it matter to you? Just do what you're told, stay put, keep hold of your tongue, and maybe you'll get through this with no visible scars." He walks to the doorway, stops before putting his hand on the doorknob, and looks back at me. "Don't try anything. I'm not saying it because you'll fuck something up for me. I'm saying it for your protection. Don't ruin a good track record. It's for your own good. I can't keep you here if you're not going to behave." Then, he leaves. The air he walks through before shutting the door behind him is wavy and hurts my eyes, like he's walking through heat or... or something.

Huh. He didn't look all that honest when he explained why he wanted me to play violin. He never looks all that honest, but this time it was particularly noticeable.

So, here I am, waiting. I do a slow circuit around the room, because while I'm going to try not to cause trouble, I can't just sit there. I can't keep still. I investigate this terribly interesting room, then. Two chairs, a small table, a desk, a mirror, a basin with no water in it, some towels, some paper, quills, inkwell... look, you might as well ask me to write a a description of the most drab place I've been in my life, because that's what this is.

At least I have paper and quill, right? At least I have something to do now. I try sitting at the desk and using the implements in the usual way, and I swear my quill's nib breaks off as soon as I touch it to the paper. I try a new nib: inksplat ruins the sentence before I begin it. I try one more time, and I barely get a line before there's a twinge in my head and I forget what I was trying to write.

Fine, I'll draw instead. I refuse to think that this collar could block every attempt. I'm not trying to get out, I'm not trying to do anything bad, I'm just trying to kill time here. If I do a study of my hand, surely that's not going to cause anything bad, right? I try. I try outlining first and then crosshatching - the ink bleeds over and makes a mess of the whole thing. I try an etching style, but lose coherence of the drawing about thirty seconds in. I try the damn stipple effect, and my quill's nib permanently injures itself. I curse and throw the damned thing to the floor.

Fine, I'm gonna try fingerpainting. It's not even a question of killing time anymore. This is a fight and I'm going to win it. I try dabbing out a... a happy face. A simple, stupid happy face! One dab for an eye, another for the other, and then a simple C for a smile. My wrist twitches at the final swing-up of the smile, obliterating the tiny doodle and covering my finger with ink. I screech, ball up the paper, and fling it across the room.

It hits Edward Cruxradia in the chest.

I jump in my chair, grabbing the back of it to keep steady. "Edward? You're here? How did you get in here? I thought it was locked off! Do you know how to get out too?"

He just smiles. It's that creepy smile he always seems to have when he's trying to be superior about some issue or another. He also uses it for the ghost stories. I'm pretty used to it, I grew up on those stories. Why is it giving me the willies now? Why are his blue eyes so blank? "Oh, Stevane, it's so nice to see you here. It's been such a long time!" Why is he wearing those strange clothes? A black outfit, semi-formal, cut the same as the garb of the servants that Thelea likes to dress up all the same. There's more green trim on it, and the embroidery and buttons are more ornate. The formality looks so odd topped off with his wild curly brown hair. He steps forward. "Oh, dear Stevane. I'm glad you wrote to me. I really enjoyed those letters. They made me laugh for quite some time."

I try to shut my mouth, my jaw is hanging open. "You... got my letters? Here?" I shake my head. "I sent those to Chethar. You... wrote back. You said..." I shake my head. Things are going a bit fuzzy, like a few times when I tried to write. "You said you were in Chethar, Edward."

"Oh, I was. For a time. Well... practically. I decided to visit home for a bit, you know? Just got a little sidetracked, is all."

The collar may be trying to interfere, but I can still tell that: "You're lying."

He pouts. "Aww. Poor little Stevane. You're making the same face your Father makes when he's disappointed with someone. Have I disappointed you? I really did go to Chethar." His eyes are so fuzzy. They've almost gone white. "Really, I swear to you. I remember it so well."

"...Edward? Are you okay?" Why is he here? Did Thelea catch him, too? "If you weren't in Chethar, where have you been all these years?"

The Kommissar coughs from behind Edward. "Really, you can have your little reunion later. I've things to do, Cruxradia."

"Oh, of course," says Edward in an airy voice. He's not even really here. It's not like when Jhe h'Lete's gone out of it - it's like someone else is in there. "Let me attend to that, then. I'm sure you and I can chat later, can't we, 'Bit?"

Frost goes right through me. I shiver. That was his name for me when I was little. Heck, even when I got big. Tidbit. "I..."

"Of course we can. Now, come here. I won't bite." Standing there with blank eyes and that creepy smile, he's not very convincing. "...Oh, come now. You're not going to listen to your Uncle Edward?"

The Kommissar coughs from behind him; I swear it's a laugh.

"What are you going to do?" I narrow my eyes.

"So suspicious! Just as always. You were like that when I gave you your tenth birthday present. But didn't you like that story? I'm sure you'll like this one, too."

"I screamed because of that story." I swallow, trying to wet my throat and failing. "Jhe h'Lete had to calm me down afterward. You apologized, you said you should have waited until I was older. Unkie almost beat you for it, but Father got to you first."

"You're older now, aren't you?" His smile is perfect and blank but somehow still full of harm. "Come over and see your Uncle."

I don't know why I'm getting up, why I'm rising from the chair and stepping toward him, chin up, arms down. I'm standing in front of him by the time that I realize I've even done any of this.

"Good girl. You've grown so much. You've got your mother's eyes, you know." I'm having trouble keeping track of him or even looking at him. One moment everything's fine, and the next he's got his hand around my throat. My mind generates a spike of panic before I realize that he's holding my collar, not my neck. He's examining the jewel in the center of it. He's concentrating on it, and whatever he's doing is making my head throb in dull pulses.

"It'll be alright," he says in that dreamy, not-there voice. "Just stay still..."

Then there's a bit of a POP in the collar again, though this time there's no smoke. Something loosens around my mind, some sort of band that was constricting it. It's different than when the Kommissar modified the collar - it's not something that makes my thoughts clearer so much as...

"Sit down. Try to draw now," Edward says.

I do so. The pen's in my hand before I even realize I've decided to draw. My hand scrabbles across the page, sketching out a frame, then picking in details. A crow. No, a bigger bird than that. It's a crow-face on a man's body. An Avian, like Kevrin, except he's a full Avian, and he doesn't look friendly. There's an Arachne-kin behind him, and it has something in its spindly hands. An arm, a bare arm. Something long and slender and detached. It's looking at it like it wants to eat it...

I jerk my hand back from the page and my quill slips away to the floor. Edward chuckles. "You always did make the most entertaining starts! Part of why I loved keeping you around so much. Loved teaching you, helping you ply the craft. It seems we're back to that now, Stevane. Again, I am here to train you, to mold your potential into something new, something grand, something even your imagination couldn't conceive."

I ball up my hands in my lap. "I won't draw for you." My voice is ragged. I take in one long, shaking breath. I haven't channeled a drawing like that without controlling the wave for some time now. That's one of the first things they teach you as a Poet trainee. I feel dirty for forgetting it for even a few moments. "I only draw like that for Jhe h'Logos." I don't remember the last time I used his proper title instead of the childhood nick, but even the name being in my mouth is a reminder of how I can defend against this, and how much is there to protect me. I've been trained. I can do this.

"So you say. But you've already done it." He reaches forward and plucks the paper off of the table. "Oh, lovely. My friends. You'll meet them sometime, I'm sure. They stay around the Manor, assist Miss Thelea from time to time. Very charming creatures, really. Resourceful."

I bite my lip. "Avians?"

He chuckles. "Those stupid things? No, Tidbit, Arachne-kin. They're so pretty..." his voice drifts off again, sing-song and hazy. "So very slender, always making things... or sealing them up. I do so love to talk to them. They understand me better than anyone here." He straightens up, shaking back into his wits, or what of them he has. "Except Miss Thelea, of course." His smile gets a little more intelligent, and a little more dangerous. "You'll get on with Miss Thelea, won't you Tidbit? She did say you were being rather typical-of-yourself with her. Did Elete's etiquette classes never catch on? Your letters seemed to convey that you were still taking them."

The Kommissar coughs again, a bit more impatiently.

"Ah, yes. I'm sure you'll be fine here, 'Bit. Just do what you're told, is all. I'll have assignments for you, from time to time. Nothing big, since you're just beginning. It takes training to build up to the grander projects Miss Thelea has for her Poets." His expression brightens. "Oh, you'll be happy to know that Elric's here too, puddin'. He's doing really well. If you behave yourself, maybe you can see him soon. I think he'd really like that."

At my expression of horror, he just grins wider. I'm starting to see red peeking around the edges of my vision, and then there's a black blank spot, and then I'm on top of Edward, burying my fist deep into his right cheek. I seem to be very intent on doing this over and over with alternating fists and cheeks, to sort of balance it out. I don't really conceive of there being anything particularly wrong with this - in fact, it's a kind of bliss. For the first time since I woke up with that collar on, not only does my head not feel stifled at all, but I actually feel really good.

It's not until I've got Edward by the neck and am bashing his head against the floor that the Kommissar intervenes by lifting me up off of him and throwing me onto the bed. In fact, I think that he gave me a few extra seconds of Edward-strangulation before bothering to stop me.

Then, well, our little meeting is over. Edward glares at me as the Kommissar escorts him out. "Remember Stevane - all of us have to pay our dues. I won't let you stir up trouble in Miss Thelea's house."

The Kommissar snorts. "Out, boy, that's my job."

Then they're both gone.

* * *

* * *
Stevane
* * *

It's awhile before I have any guests again. I guess that last show of my talents was quite a doozy. I'm glad for the alone time, though, because it means I have time to buckle down my urge to kill people.

I mean, this is a pretty regular thing to have if you're an Akribastes girl. We're known for our, er, fiesty natures. And I've been known to lose it a few times and light someone's head on fire when I'm PMSing or just very angry. Still, this is pretty impressive. I'd murder the next person to step through that door if I could. It's a kind of ire that's been growing over the last few weeks and I really don't know why.

Until, of course, I put two and two together, and then curse myself.

Armed don't receive their Arms until they train up for them, and then Daddy hands them over in a special rite. Nobody talks about the rite of course - they like to make it all sound spooky to the trainees. Even Lute, my most level-headed brother, said he couldn't tell me anything beyond the fact that I didn't need to be afraid of what would happen.

Well, I don't care about any of that mystical bullshit right now. What I care about is that the reason Daddy makes a special little ceremony about all that stuff is because Armed must be initiated in his presence, after training. That's about as safe as you can make it. Whatever happens during your initiation, it almost kills you.

There are such things as Armed who initiate in the wild, who don't recieve training before they recieve their Arms. They don't get to the Armed Hall soon enough because they don't know what they really are. They just... bloom early, I guess you could say. And they die. They die in explodey little bits, because when you get Arms without the Judge around, apparently they don't like it too much, and they take it out on you.

I should have initiated weeks ago. I was so busy looking after Jhe h'Lete that I put it off, and I'm pretty sure Daddy tried to put it off to for whatever reason. Probably so I could keep an eye on Jhe h'Lete for him, because I'm so busy being a Poet, and... well, maybe because Daddy's so busy, too.

I can't go to an initiation now. I'm kind of stuck here, you know? So if I don't try to control this rage that's been building up on me... I will probably literally pop. I will make a big red messy pop and leave an equally messy stain and that will be the end of THAT Armed.

Well, at least I know I'm the real thing now. I had been fretting about that. Lute said that was a normal thing, too. Kind of funny, since Poets also do that all the time.

I sit at the desk, ready a fresh quill, and decide to write. Edward unlocked my collar enough for that, and the Kommissar unlocked it on another level so that I could be free-thinking. Maybe I can write something of worth. If I can't, at least it'll help me focus on something other than killing people. I don't really want to pop. For one thing, I like the outfit I've got on.

Of course, there's the question of whether I'm going to trance-write again like I did when Edward was here. Not my happiest place in the world to be, but I've got few options right now and I need to take care of the pop issue. I'll worry about what dreck I've churned out later. So what I write next, I write with no aim in mind, and no expectation of anything remarkable other than distraction.

* * *

The Kommissar has divested himself of Edward and is walking alone with a swift gait. All of his focus is on what he is approaching as he walks through the halls of Lyiannethe Manor. Even though his are pressing matters, he keeps his stance easy. He doesn't want to appear too urgent to Thelea, after all.

Thelea is retiring in her own chambers, having been fittied with a new silk dress and robe to recline in. She's showered and put on fresh makeup. She looks up to the Kommissar when he enters her room - she obviously has been expecting him.

The Kommissar bows his head and takes a knee, waiting in silence until Thelea bids him permission to rise. He does, then approaches her slowly. He takes her hand and kisses the back of it. Strangely, he shows none of the revulsion for her that he obviously harbored before. As expected, he has incredible control over his outer appearance and his emotions. It's something I can't deny I'm jealous of. He doesn't flinch when Thelea reaches forward and strokes his hair, then his cheek.

"My consort's gone off to herd the poor lambs," she whispers. "I'm all alone here."

The Kommissar chuckles. "Would you like some company, then?"

"Please."

What follows is something I care not to describe, and I don't really have to, so there. Thelea is an icky woman, and the Kommissar is no one that I want to see naked (however much such a thing always draws my attention) and so I try to move my literary eye elsewhere. I consider my brother, but I'm afraid of putting too much attention on him. No... no, something's calling me, tugging me. I decide to follow it for just a little bit. The sour mind on the other end betrays his presence, though - Edward.

Are you writing, 'Bit? Such a coincidence, so am I. Care to join us?

I get the impression of many minds, all joining together on a single project, and I shiver. I don't want to be a part of that. There were similar exercises in the Hall, but... but then it was different, with Jhe h'Lete presiding over us all. I don't trust Edward.

Of course, now all those minds are tugging me at once, trying to draw me in. It's hard to fight the pull, expecially with the collar starting to help them out. I can only fight so much. I'm about to start flailing when I feel a very calm mind reach out to me and divert my path away from them.

I flock to it immediately. I'd recognize Elric anywhere. He feels as kind and warm as ever, though very tired. On my heels, I can hear Edward chastizing him.

Now Jhe Elric, if you're going to refuse to work Poetry for me then you can't very well do it with her--

I pay it no mind, and I feel Elric wrap a mental arm around me.

--okay sweetcake? You safe? Where are you?

Safe, I guess. Not with the Poets here. With the Kommissar. What's going on?

Oh, sweetcake, I wish you hadn't come-- and then he's cut off, and I can feel Edward's anger all around us. Elric's mind flinches back. He's being punished!

Edward bristles at me. Naughty little girl. I ought to have you flogged. I could do it with my mind, wouldn't even have to ask permission from Lady Thelea. But I suppose Elric deserves it more, because he knows the rules and you don't.

I lash out at him, but it's blocked. He laughs at me, leaking self-satisfaction. I glare and then return fire.

Literally.

FUCK! YOU BRAT! You don't set your elders on FIRE! Your Daddy always told you that! There's the distinct impression of someone slapping their own eyebrows. Eyebrows always were my favorite target. Nobody needs them, but they sure do miss them when they're gone.

Daddy always said I could set you on fire whenever I wanted. It hasn't been retracted, as far as I know. I add another glare. You traitor. Shame on you, taking Jhe h'Lete's arts and turning them ugly.

The backlash from him isn't physical, but it's got more emotional heat in it than my little flash-fire in his eyebrows had. I have to duck. Shielding isn't so easy in this collar. At least Edward's not at top form either. I wonder if they did anything to him, too. I couldn't see if he was wearing a collar himself. His uniform covered his neck up. They're my Poets! Jhe h'Logos isn't my King anymore! And he won't be yours! You'll bow to me! And with that, there's a mental pressure of command. He's trying to get me to heel.

Fat fucking chance. I respond with not a push, but a YANK which sends him reeling towards me. He's slow to compensate for it. Weird. I wonder if he's used to our types fighting ba

* * *

Fingers drum along the back of my neck in a way that implies someone could choose to grab it and choke me instead of just giving me a tap. I look up to meet the Kommissar's eyes.

A chill runs down my spine that not even Edward could induce - which is a shame, considering that's Edward's specialty. He must be off form right now. The Kommissar, he's a lot scarier right now. Especially with that slow smile creeping up his face, and his hand starting to get in a better position to grab the back of my neck. He hasn't really choked me, not yet. He's just implying that he could.

Oh great, more chess!

"Is there something amiss?" The quill is still in my hand. I haven't felt Edward fight back any. I wonder if the Kommissar is blocking him. The Kommissar is currently skating his eyes over the words on my paper. Now that I look at him, it appears he's had a recent shower. Probably to wash Thelea's stink off of him.

He narrows his eyes. "You're narrating aloud."

I gulp. "Well, you do smell fresh as a daisy, to be fair."

I see him slapping me across the face and out of my chair. I see that because I see the potential event happening - I'm still in writing mode and so it's easy to be sensitive to what-could-have-been. Instead, he brushes a piece of nonexistant lint off his sleeve and says, "I'm glad you've learned to fight off Thelea's favorite pet. He can be a bit of a brute, yes? It's time now to attend to more important things, however. Come, we will procure you a violin." He turns away, expecting me to follow him. I start to rise, then notice that I'm shaking.

His voice was so calm, so even-toned. His mind isn't very well-shielded, though. I can still see, even now, just how much he wanted to beat me.

I compose myself, rise, and follow him after reaching over and signing my work. I like to close every book I open.

* * *

Again the Kommissar takes my arm as we walk down the halls of Lyiannethe Manor. This is definitely outside of his personal complex, but still tightly warded. The walls are painted in neutral tones, and there's a row of wooden doors on either side. They each have ornate molding, but they have locks on the outside and smaller inset peephole slits near the top. It's like walking down a row of cells. I can't feel out the minds within at all.

"Just think, Jhe Akribastes, you could be dwelling here instead of sharing my company," the Kommissar whispers to me. "Now, do be well-mannered, or my Queen may decide she'd prefer you stay in one of these after all."

I see a smear of blood on the very edge of one door. I feel so numb here. I wonder who's inside these little cells. I probably know all of them. I've practically spent my entire life inside of the Poet Hall, after all. "Does Jhe Edward stay in one of these?" I keep my tone to a whisper.

He chokes back a laugh. "That prick? Not hardly. He's the prize specimen, so he's too good for Thelea to keep in a place like this. Or, so she tells me. Come, they have supplies in here." The hall takes a turn to the right, and then we go through a door into a warehouse room that's utterly lined with instruments.

I recognize a lot of them. Poets travel with their personal instruments, usually ones they made by hand, or else gifts from patrons or other Poets. Sometimes they're gifts from Jhe h'Lete himself. So what's in here is basically a treasure trove. My fingers brush Elam's lap harp, and as the chord sours my blood chills a little. It only likes him. Poet instruments can be like that, after all. Not quite like Arms, just very... personal.

I can hear them whispering to me. They want to be let out, and they're demanding to know why I'm not bringing in their Poets to set them free.

Xen clears his throat, bringing me out of my reverie. I shake my head, then follow him. "I don't know my way around the place, I'm sorry to say. But I do believe they're sorted by instrument. You didn't say you can play harp, so I don't see any reason to dally with one." His tone carries just a hint of reproval.

I bite my lip. "I recognize it. Is he... is Jhe Elam still alive?"

"Jhe Elam?" There's polite confusion on his face - the expression of someone attempting to humor me.

"About yea tall, shaggy light greyish-blueish hair, looks like an unkempt Xaillyndesse, skulks around in libraries, obviously sexually repressed? He has glasses." I pause. "And he's the King's son. Most people remember that first." What can I say? Elam has certain attributes about him that set him apart from the crowd.

"Ahh, Lady Thelea's favorite whipping boy. He's fine, but seems to show a bit of attitude." He says that with a smile that I want to slap off of his face. "He's alive, yes, as long as he doesn't stage any more trouble. He does take after his father in that regard. You all seem to, at that. I don't begrudge Thelea at all when it comes to keeping your kind under locks." His eyes flick over to the corner. "Ah, I see we've found the violins? I don't play. You can go ahead and pick one. Can't imagine Thelea or her pets will miss it - she's not very interested in music, and few of them earn the freedom of keeping possessions." He leads me past a table of drums (I spy Jhe Colin and Sharrel's tamborines, still strung with ribbons) and a rack that includes a dressmaking doll and fabrics. The array of sewing implements is wide, and there's some rich fabrics there besides. I recognize that special set of sewing needles, though. But... Jhe Dougrasse? I thought he was dead! Even Jhe h'Lete did.

The violins are here, at the bottom rack. Above it, though, is something that catches my attention and will not let it go. It freezes me somewhere in the gut, my innards turning icy cold. I make the amateur mistake of checking to see if I've peed myself. No, all girly-fresh.

Good.

"Mmm? OH. I forgot we'd kept those. How odd! They're antiques... really do belong in a museum, don't you think?"

There's a scream building up in my throat, but there's no sound in it. I just sort of breath out for a few moments, let the silent cry expire, and will my hands to stop shaking.

They're instruments made of severed human heads. I can feel the pain coming off of them. The madness. Elric-- no, his people, people like him and Camden. Their hollowed out skulls with stretched scalps for drums. Hair strung for harps. Ribs that double as picks or bows. All manner of crafting experiments, really, in the as-far-as-I-had-assumed-before-now very limited field of decapitation-related musical accompaniment.

There are violins somewhere under there, but I can't take my eyes away from that stuff. I can still see bits of the people's lives before their heads became tools, and the latter bits of those lives were definitively unpleasant. There are tiny instruments too, little maracas that are so small that they'd have to be made from the very young--

"Why don't you sit, Jhe Akribastes? You seem distressed." I'm escorted to a padded stool that faces away from the display. I try to recover my nerves before I keel over. When I'm farther away from those... those things, I feel better. The worst part is that I could tell they'd been played very recently. They were all freshly repaired and strung. They were starting to sing to me, and I'd do anything to get that music out of my head.

Something's pushed into my hands. A violin. My hand automatically seeks the neck. I grasp the bow when it's handed to me.

"One's as good as any other, I suppose?" He pushes me between the shoulders. I rise and walk to the door when prompted. He's wrong, but I don't have the breath in my lungs to correct him. If I open my mouth I will puke. I just want to be out of this horrible room of instruments and their plaintive voices. As we exit, the relief flooding into me almost bowls me over.

* * *
Stevane
* * *

As we walk down the hall of cells, snatches of imagery and wispy voices dart through my head. They're visions. I try to keep walking and hold onto the violin, pretending there's nothing happening. In better circumstances, I could block the visions or hold them off, but right now there's precious little energy available to me to block with.

* * *

Elam shudders for a moment, the power in the wards of his cell making his whole body shake. He's remarkably thinner than he was last time I saw him (was it only three years ago?) but he certainly hasn't lost his imperious glare. There's someone standing over him - Edward. Uncle Edward is looming over the King's son with eyes narrowed in hate.

"Not his special boy anymore, are you?" And with that, he jams the thing he's holding into Elam's hands. Elam screams, but he can't make his hands drop it.

It's a harp, one of the infernal instruments I saw on the shelf. It's constructed from pieces of a ribcage and some grisly-looking strings that are someone dried-out guts. As Elam stares at it with wide eyes, the strings pluck of their own accord - the music as rotten and moldy as the flesh that's still crusted up in the creases of bone.

* * *

Elric slumps to the floor, the violin still in his hands. It's a good violin, a well-crafted one. Jhe h'Lete gave it to him as a gift before his journey, and likely the Poet king made it himself. The bow almost snaps as it's caught under his weight, but Elric manages to roll to the side before too much strain is placed on it. It's just in time for Edward to lean over and take both violin and bow from his limp hands.

"It was a sweet song. Almost worth getting caught, I imagine." Edward looks at the violin with narrowed eyes, sets it on his shoulder as if he's preparing to play it. "Should I answer your tune, then?"

"Nay. I just wanted to touch it again." Elric's voice is a sandpaper rasp. "But if you want to hear it, then go ahead and play. It sounds of home, which I'm sure you miss so much by now." His voice is so wheezing that I can't hear if there's sarcasm in it or not. Don't they give their prisoners water? Or is that the collar's doing?

Edward snorts. "No thank you. I just want to know how you got it at all." He glares down, then prods the back of Elric's head with a toe. Elric just smiles.

"I walked over n' picked it up. It was right under my fallen ancestors' remains, so they jus' told me where it was. Yer cell isn' very secure, teh be honest." Elric grunts from a kick to the back of his head.

"I don't believe you, Briarseal," growls Edward. "What are you hiding? The others clam up when I ask them. What are you planning?"

"Plannin' teh survive, yer royal Xaillyndesse majesty. And that breedin's showin' through, might want to look into that."

"Solitary. Solitary until you start cooperating. The others will learn that your rebellion means nothing. You'll cave when we drag you to the King again."

Elric doesn't manage to suppress a shudder of revulsion.

"You should make sure to tell them just how it feels to be ground under his heel, so they can avoid your fate." Edward leaves the cell, violin in hand.

* * *

My vision is clear again. I swallow. I recognize that violin now. I don't know how long ago Elric rebelled, but the violin he was so adamant about playing is the same one that I'm holding in my hands now. I've played it before, and so has Elam. Jhe h'Lete showed Elric how to make it when Elric was still in training. It's old and resonates with memory.

What's wrong with Edward? Why is he being so mean? I know his mother was an expatriate Lyiannethe Xaillyndesse, but Edward's always been firmly Cruxradian in how he treats other people. Which means that he may have been arrogant and conceited, but he did so in a friendly, joking manner. I can't understand what's happened to him. Where is all this jealousy and spite coming from?

* * *
Lyric
* * *

This house is a creepy place.

No, scratch that. Ebrellin-i's Palace was a creepy place, particularly in the bedroom, but also sometimes in the gardens and the dungeons. Thelea's place is a horror show, pure and simple, and I can't wait to get out of here.

But I can't. And the funny part is, the only reason I can't is because I'm here willingly. It's not like Stevane's situation, where she's collared and trapped. I feel horrible about that, yes, but there's nothing I can do about it now. I'm not even sure how I can begin to try. Not yet.

I'm hustled through a maze of halls and down two flights of stairs. It seems like a lot of this complex is underground, which makes a lot of sense. Ebrellin-i had a few floors like that. These seem to comprise servant quarters, laundromats, kitchens and all that sort of thing. The utility aspect of the Manor is all hidden. That's just splendid - it means the freak show can be exhibited in full upstairs.

Let me put it to you this way - along the walls up there, I saw things in cages. Not just things, but people. Dryads in coccoons, and half-breed beauties in stocks, and people chained up on display, standing on pedestals. These are what she uses to hold her torches. At least the fucking Peacock King understood what a plain old-fashioned sconce was!

Down here, though, there's none of that frill or decoration - just regular tile floors, blandly painted walls, and clean linens. I'm beginning to think that most servants here make it a point to just make their living underground. Not a bad aspiration, in this nightmare of a Palace.

"Let's see here - slight little boy, aren't you? Didn't think the Lady would fancy that type. Well, no matter, let's get you fitted up for a uniform." The attendant in charge of tailoring turns to the one who guided me here. "She say what position he's gettin'?"

The servant smirks. "I rather think she fancies him a Consort."

The tailor laughs. "Well! Givin' her favorite flavor a run for his money?" He levels an appraising look at me. "How brash of ye. I commend it. Knock that cock of a man off his heels. Has it coming, the way he acts all equal to our Xaillyndessen." He measures the length of my arm and begins to turn and twist me in every which way, getting every measurement from wrist to inseam. "Lovely, lovely. You've had a fair bit of practice being dressed up."

I smirk. "This isn't my first time being Consort. It was more fun when I had Jhe Ebrellin-i wrapped around my finger, though."

He laughs. "Explains quite a bit! He would fancy your type. And what with all the sharing that goes on in the family... Well now... let's see what we can make of ye, then."

I'm fitted with clothing that loks quite like the rest of the servants, but with the cut of someone who serves in Ebrellin-i's Court. Less jackets and waistcoats, more robes, drapes and sashes. They thought it would be appropriate, and that style does suit my figure very well, I must admit. Something tells me that they're more competing against her current Consort than helping me, though. Fine, then - I'm more than adequate to knock any man or woman out of the runnings.

Of course, there's the question of if I really want to eliminate contenders against me when it comes to Thelea. I am not looking forward to ANY contact with her. Still, I decided to do this, so I've got to carry it through. Just because she isn't as pretty, charming, or persuasive as her son doesn't mean I can't seduce her.

I am getting very good at suppressing shudders.

It isn't long before I am escorted by some very eager servants to Thelea's quarters. I'm trying to ignore the surroundings here (such as the potted plant that I just passed which was really a manacled dryad that's gone half-dessicated with neglect) and trying to keep my natural flair and grace about me. "Is there tea? I should like to bring tea to her and serve it in my style."

Of course there is tea. I push the service on a wheeled cart draped with fine silk and try not to think about what I am about to do. The other servants have left me, so I am alone before the door to Thelea's quarters. I close my eyes, take a deep breath, and knock.

"Come in." It's almost a whisper with the thick door muffling it. I open the door wide so that I can push the cart forward. With only the slight tinkling of crockery and my dainty footsteps accompanying my entrance, it's easy to hear the snicker. I frown, confused. That didn't sound like Thelea. I look up from the cart before closing the door.

I freeze for a fraction of a second, then execute a flawless bow. My heart's stepped in my chest, but still I go on with the flourish. "My Lady," I say, "I apologize, I did not expect a guest."

"Oh, Edward? My dear Edward is always with me, aren't you?" She reaches back and tousles my cousin's curly brown hair. Edward just looks at me with a smirk, eyes glinting with malice I've never seen in them when he's not reading aloud his newest scary story. He's thinner than I remember, dressed in servant's finery.

Queen Thelea's prized Consort.

"Of course, my Lady," he purrs. He takes her hand in his own thin, pale one, then kisses it delicately. He's grown pretty scrawny since I last saw him. I'm not sure which person sickens me most. "Who is your new toy? I don't think I've had the pleasure." His smirk widens to a grin. Oh, he knows exactly who I am. Oh shit.

Thelea rises from her bed with the ease of a sickly cat. Her hair is tousled, the bedsheets are rumpled, but her makeup is perfect. She is clothed in a negligee, the body under it thin and bony, but slight enough that I could pretend to find it appealing, should I have to. Maybe I'll just pretend she's male. I like my men on the bigger side, though, like Ebrellin-i. "I see you brought tea. Good boy, bring it over where we can all sit. Edward, this is Lotus. He is a former servant of the former Peacock King. One of the few recoverable assets of that unfortunate failure."

After I wheel the cart over, Edward bows to me in the decorum of higher servant to lower servant. I raise an eyebrow, then return the gesture with a bow given to those of equal stature. What, he thinks he's so high and mighty? I don't know what he's doing here, but I'm the one who has class.

He narrows his eyes, though Thelea doesn't react to the exchange at all. "I see. It's kind of you to pick up your son's lonely castoffs, my Queen." He pauses for dramatic effect. She's watching for his input. Damnit, she's hanging on his every word! I'm fucked. "Do you think it's wise to do such a thing, though?"

She raises an eyebrow as she slides into a white wrought-iron chair with an embroidered cushion. There are two more placed around a matching iron and glass table. Edward stands behind what would be his chair - placed between the Queen's and mine. I act as if nothing wrong is happening at all, and attend to the tea. Whatever trouble Edward wants to make for me is nothing compared to a ruined batch of tea, or an evening without tea at all.

"What would you be implying, dear heart?" She motions for him to sit. She allows me to proceed as I am, though. Good. I can even match a tea blend to this situation. Let's see Edward do that while he's trying to undermine me.

"Why should you trust a Consort of his, especially one positioned so conveniently near his demise?" Edward chuckles. "Even I recognize him. He's Radian."

Thelea sniffs. "How could he not be? I'm able to ignore it, and I'd not hold it against him." She's just leading him into what he's really trying to say - Edward very much still has her ear. I simply slide a full teacup and saucer in front of her. The delicate aroma wafts up. Rose petals, honey, and just a touch of lemon and spice. Edward pauses, waiting for his cup.

I slide it over.

"Oh, I don't mean to imply that Radian stock is, by nature, untrustworthy." That would be rather foolish, after all - he is one. "But don't you think he looks a bit more like Jhe h'Akribastes than he does Jhe o'Radia? I know he takes after my Father with the hair and eyes, but Lotus hearkens to his own Father in appearance too. It's just more in the jaw, and that smarmy Akribastes mouth. Subtle, and deceptive."

I know Thelea is bristling now, and I can feel her looking at me in a new light. I only smile and bow my head, waiting for permission to speak. A tense silence brews now that the tea is done.

"Well," she says after inspecting my features long enough to verify every one of Edward's claims, "explain yourself, Jhe Lotus." The inflection of Lotus is enough to tell me that she disbelieves that name. I deepen my smile, bow my head a bit lower, and then take my chair, and my cup of tea, with a smooth and delicate motion.

"I will admit to my deception. I have tried as hard as possible to hide my Radian roots, and if not that, the identity of my progenitor. Jhe Edward, as you grew up in the Palace, you yourself know the difficulties that my Father makes for all of those around him - especially their relations. With both of us understanding that, I am sure it's no coincidence that we both fled Beleth to find better, more prestigious careers that waited across the borders of the Empire of Audiva Rocale. I commend your taste - before now, I neither dreamed of nor aspired to serve in Lyiannethe, the very heart of elegance and refinement."

Thelea's glare is nothing that can be softened with mere words, and I bear up under it with grace and dignity. "You are a child of the Judge, then, and nephew to the seat of power in Crux Radia. I had suspected some relation, but to confess your roots openly..." She trails off, unsure of where to bring her accusations. No worries - she has Edward for that sort of thing.

"You brought down her son, and now you come to the Queen Mother to continue your deceptions and finish the Lyiannethe Royal Family off? How brave of you. It's a shame for your machinations that I was here to put such a scheme to rest." He grips the handle of his teacup. I have a hunch he's about to throw it. That would be such a poor waste of tea, though. Has he really sunk so low? In any case, I really can't allow it to happen.

"Did I do Audiva Rocale a disfavor by deposing the Peacock King from his seat of power? By all I could tell from what I have witnessed in the Aurocan Palace and Lyiannethe Manor, the Empire is better off without him." I nod my head to Thelea. "No offense meant to the Queen Mother, of course. I can merely tell what makes you happy, and which of you kept a better house."

"So you mean to say that you brought my son to his knees before the Law?" Her light tone carries on it the potential for a death sentence.

"I did what I could to help him survive, but in the end I watched Ebrellin-i dispatch himself. It's very pitiful when madness takes over, especially while having to play the poor, distressed and lost child for my Father's sake. Would you, in that situation, betray your heart to the Judge?" I pause for only a moment to sip my tea. "He brought me to Trial nevertheless, and I narrowly escaped my death sentence for the things Ebrellin-i had me do under his supervision. None less than the Judge's son would be capable of escaping his wrath. The only benefit of having such a Father - he's simply a pushover when it comes to his children." I set my teacup down. I don't shake at all. My words are smooth, and my face has just enough sinister turn on it to let Thelea realize just what it is I'm implying.

"You've been playing your Father for a fool, right in front of his eyes." She smiles, a greedy glint igniting in hers. "For how long, then?"

I feign dainty innocence. "A lady never betrays her true age."

Thelea titters. "So she doesn't." Her eyes are licking every bit of me that she can see. I do not flinch under such depradations, only glow. She believes she's won herself a prize, after all. Even if I'm not telling the truth to her, I'm a wonderful tool to work my Father over with - or so she thinks.

"...Of course," I say, "that really doesn't compare to what else I can do for you, my Lady. If you simply want bait to dangle before my Father as a lure, my sister will suffice. The abilities that your son hired me for, and that I was put to Trial for, are at your disposal as well. I nearly had broken and trained the animism that Ebrellin-i caught. I know that your skill in training surpasses even your son's. Perhaps I can be of more use for you than I was for him."

Her eyes glitter, and I know I'm dangling an even more tempting treat in front of her eyes. "An animism, you say?"

I nod, sipping my tea. "I brought him to kneel several times. He knew to fear me and learned better than to fight me. I would have had him begging me for treats if my Father hadn't come along to ruin my fun. But then... we can always continue such games, can we not?" Not that I think I'll have the opportunity, but wouldn't it be nice for her if she did? It's important to be valuable for a person - and even more important to not have a rival in that value. Surely such training isn't what she's keeping Edward around for. Speaking of him, Edward is smoldering. I wonder if I should make him happy as well. He's too close to her to be able to shoulder out of the picture so easily, and he would make a very useful ally. I'm not yet sure why he's here, though, or what functions he performs other than bedtime ones.

Thelea's eyes are even greedier now. "Describe the animism you caught, Jhe...?" Ah, yes. I haven't given her my real name, and it's obvious now that Lotus is a false one.

"Lyric, if you please, though Lotus shall do just as well if it pleases you more. The animism Ebrellin-i had me train was named Faun. He was a very small creature, with short shaggy tan hair, yellow fox's eyes, and sharp teeth. Quite a short-tempered little fellow. Do you know him?" The question is idle, just tea and crumpets talk.

She chuckles. "Perhaps we shall see him again soon, you and I. Wouldn't that be nice? Until then... well, my current gardening projects are on hold, but I'll have a number of new plants arrive today. I'd prefer you not work on those just yet, however. I think my Edward has some work for you, instead."

Edward starts, then looks at his lady in surprise. "I do?"

She laughs. "You need an assistant, my darling. Someone to pass off that work you've been grumbling about. Focus on the more pliant of your trainees - let Jhe Lyric handle the stubborn mule among them."

Edward laughs. "You mean to have him take a whip to Elric?" He snorts, then takes a gulp of tea. "Fine. I agree wholeheartedly. If nothing else, it will entertain me to watch him fail."

I confess that I am rather dismayed that I have no idea what they are talking about. Wait, Elric? The Peacekeeper's brother? He's here? Well, time to play it cool. I have no idea what I've gotten myself into, but I've got to pretend it's all on purpose. "Who, or what, is an Elric?"

Thelea smirks. "Oh, only the most wretched type of animal. A hills person. I think you'll find him less well-mannered than a common animism. I should like to see what you do with him, Lyric." She rises, then gestures for me to follow her. "Consider it a test."

* * *

* * *
Cade
* * *

How did I end up here?

I don't really remember, to tell truths. There was the charging of horses behind me, there was the feeling of being lifted. I was being sneaky, and no one's been able to detect me. How could I have been seen?

Betrayed, by the one luring me in, then.

Really? Is that possible? Then again, who knows what's possible? I'm kneeling before some person enthroned right now. Some huge person, some huge... thing. I try to lift my head to see it more clearly, but someone's got their fingers dug deep into my hair, scratching the scalp itself. I can't look up.

There's a pool of water around the throne, though. A very simple throne - just a chair, really. My tribe elder has fancier. It's red, like the water. Blood?

Chills go up the back of my neck like the caresses of a dozen ghostly hands. Blood. There's blood all around it. It's welling up from the throne itself - no, maybe not. Maybe it's seeping in. Maybe the throne is eating it.

That little bit of my mind that's becoming unhinged grows a little looser, and I feel even more distant from myself. I've done a few terrible things on my way to the northern lands, and it's gotten easier as my head's gotten looser, as I feel less guilt. As I become a little less Patrick and a little more...

Cade?

What's that? But I suppose it's as good a name for it as anything.

There's a reflection in the blood pooling around the throne. I can see the figure seated in it clearly. It's all black, covered in armor, even has a helmet. All spikes and iron and sharp edges. Such a suit of armor I've never seen in all my days - our tribe relies on the basics, and few who attack us bother with that much overkill.

There's a few more moments of peace, silence. Then someone must notice that I'm aware. As if they were all waiting for me. Those fingers tense up in my hair.

I wonder if they recognize me?

How? I look different by now, don't I? A bit more savage, to be sure.

Some things, some incidents, leave a mark that others can recognize for what it is.

Are you sure? That's going to go down badly for me, then. Hey, why are you so talkative? You're just me, right?

Of course I'm just you. You're just seeing through a different perspective now. Pay attention, we're almost there.

Almost at the end of my life? True enough. I have low expectations of it.

Don't be so unhopeful. The strangest turns can be taken when you least expect it.

I hear those song-words again. A northern regent behind me is speaking. I hear the musical language spoken back to him from many voices, as if in a chant. It gives me a strange feeling - as if I want to puke.

Then, the enthroned one says something that's almost inaudible, but I hear it as a whisper. "Stop it with your hound's screeching and feed me!"

The regents continue to chant, though, as if his words only encourage them. Strange. I heard it perfectly clearly - what's even more strange is that I can't remember what language he spoke it in. I would expect him to reply to the regent words in their own tongue, not mine.

But was it my tongue?

The hand that has me by the hair shakes my head, wrenching my neck, while the voices rise in a ululation. I'm pretty sure that my own blood's about to mingle with that which has been pooled around the throne. One more offering to appease a King they can't understand. I'd fight, but looking at the figure in front of me, all I can feel is lethargy, as if he saps all the strength from my body.

"Cease your racket! Infernal denizens of Hell, why must you be the ones willing to serve your Master when not a blasted one of you can hear me! This noise is enough for me to destroy everyone in the chamber and start over with some other line of people!" He does seem to be readying some power - I can feel it in my marrow. I can tell exactly what it is he wants to do. And if pulverising all of the people in the chamber so much that they were only so much red goo wasn't something that would also end my life, I might just go ahead and let him do it.

Instead I say to him, "Why do you show favor to such imbeciles?"

Two things happen. The regents go quiet after hearing the words that came from my mouth. I don't understand why - they've surely heard my people's tongue spoken before, albeit in screams of attack or howls of dying agony.

The other thing that happens is that the King gestures for the regent holding my head to release it - something that doesn't seem to carry over well for some reason.

Do they see him at all? Can they hear him?

...No. No, they don't, and as I realize that they don't see him, I get a shiver down my back. You see, I can't see him very well either, when I look up from his reflection and at the real thing. Whatever he is, he's kinda hazy to me. No, it's more like where there should be shadows at all, there's nothing at all. But I can see his eyes. I'm fool enough to look into them.

I can't describe it, not with words, not in this language. I could describe his eyes in a language that could unmake the image as you read it, that could unweave this entire story and everyone in it, if spoken by the right speaker, if gone unchecked. To summarize in the only way I can: there's madness in those eyes. Madness that locks onto that unhinged part of me and yanks it right to the front. And I'm hooked, right there.

I'm hooked? Now, with all these Xaillyndessen lowering their weapons around me, with the one towering above me - that very same one who hung me above the pit - unable to keep his grip on me any longer? I could run free, I could go anywhere, hide myself from any person. But I'm hooked?

Of course I am, you nitwit, what other choice do I have?

Are you collared by that Beast then, Jhe Patrick? Jhe Cade?

No. I'm collared by Nul.

Ah. Thank you for admitting it, then. Your life may not be forfeit.

* * *

What was that? I was remembering my first act of devotion at the foot of Nul, wasn't I? Why was I talking to myself? Was that even myself?

Come. We've a ways to go yet.

Who are you? Why are you inside of me?

Funny, you never asked Nul or the Beast that. In that light, it's not that uncommon for others to be inside you, looking at your most private thoughts and intimate feelings, is it?

I never allowed you to be inside of me!

You did, to make a point of it. You took my hand. You did not take the Beast's hand nor Nul's, but you object less to their indwelling. You welcome it. Why?

I don't welcome them! I just live with them!

What are you hiding?

Nothing! Nothing!

Then why are you turning away now? You can remember anything you want to, now. I'm in your head, unlocking the doors, guiding through the corridors. Yet you shrink back and cleave to those who have put you in this position. You can't advance without letting go of them.

I don't want to. Leave me here.

You don't have a choice. You've taken my hand. You've given your life to me. If you will not lead, then I shall drag you through this.

What? No!

I do what I must.

I thought you were going to save me! You're cruel!

I do what I must. That is all I am.

* * *

I speak the words that Nul speaks, but in the regents' own tongue: Lyiannesse. I am taught it because Nul makes clear to them that this is his will. He does it by killing a few of them quite messily, but in a way that leaves no remains behind. It's as if they flip inside out and then retract into their own eardrums. It must have been quite painful, because oh, the screams.

Nul is talking to me quite a lot. 'Nul' is the name he has chosen for us to call him by. He says even I cannot know his name, that it would unmake me. But he is quite proud to possess me, for I alone can hear him without dying or going mad in the process. The latter, of course, is debatable - but what's sanity to me anymore? I lost my grip on it when I was reborn from that hole without dying first.

Still, someone is proud to possess me - Beast-ridden, filthy, wretched, lonely me. He covets me more than those regal Xaillyndessen that kneel to him for his favor. He was more eager to possess me than a hollowed-out skull full of my people's blood. I do realize that still doesn't make me rate as much, but every time he yanks that invisible chain on me, every time I speak for him...

I feel important. Worthwhile. Loved.

Isn't that what everyone wants?

I'm giving orders to the Xaillyndessen for him. I'm translating advice for him. I'm becoming an indispensable part of what he does here. We're growing in power. Nothing can limit us. He doesn't say what he wants yet, but should I care? Why should I even try to break that chain? He keeps whispering to me that he'll keep me alive. Forever.

I'll never have to face the Beast.

* * *

Why are you so afraid of letting go?

He kept me alive all these years. I don't want to die.

You won't die the instant you let go. Your vitality is the Beast's. You'll live on as long as it does. And few will wish to kill you. There is a precedent to keep you alive with. A mark. Only one may deal it against you, though. The payment you have already given.

My life, to you?

Not to me, but in my care. I shall pass it along to the one who shall deal you the mark.

What is the mark?

It will stay the hand of death itself, until Justice can be properly dealt to you.

Will I have Nul anymore?

You will have to reject Nul.

...Can I just think about it some?

No. If you want leniency, you must seek it in Chethar, and plead to the highest Law in this world. Until then you are mine for safekeeping, but at least you are not Nul's. So you shall now be marked.

There's a pause. Everything's growing warm around me, the heat rising until it sears me. The fever rises until, in a flash, it burns every bit of me that I recognize, and leaves behind something I don't.

Welcome, Patrick. I hope you accept your gift with gratitude, for it cannot be returned.

* * *
Sy
* * *

Elete settles into his quarters, and to my surprise, goes to sleep. I suppose he wasn't understating things when he said he could use some rest. His ailments are beginning to trouble me...

But then, we already know they're going to kill him, don't we?

I try to tell myself that he's let me know it's inevitable so that I don't waste my resources on saving him and instead can focus my efforts on what's important. He's even said outright that there will be a Poet King to replace him. One of his Poets, then? That's a daunting thought. Some of them, even I will admit, are quite capable - but no one has that sense about them of... of knowing. That complete, almost undoubtable authority. Most of all, he engenders trust in everyone... even myself.

How do we begin to replace that? We never sought him in the first place. He called us, and we gave him a position for being, well... Elete.

I rejoin the Trial after seeing to him. There's nothing else I can do until we've finished the proceedings. That, and I am eager to step back into the myself that is overseeing in Court and learn just what's been found out. The flash of knowledge is refreshing, like a cool drink.

Of course, the first surprise for me is that our defendant is still even alive. I should tell my Advocate she's done a good job, but I'm not sure if it's a success in my eyes.

It never has been, Tesynnodai. Yours and my standards are continually at odds. ...I'm done with Patrick Oghue'dvrinsidhe o'Deaghnn'on. Nap now?

Katherine lets out a snore from the cradle of Camden's arms. I look down at the floor in front of the two.

I admit I make a double-take. I know what the Advocate did - that she cleaned Patrick of the Cade identity and bound him into indenture until such time as he can appeal to a higher authority. But even in the visions of Patrick's memories, I didn't see the man this clearly.

He is short. Shorter than Camden, which makes enough sense in that he is his ancestor. His hair is a brown-red that brings to mind maple syrup, he is covered in freckles, and somewhere under that bandage he just might have a nose. His clothing is old as well - ancient garb made of furs and leather. Strangest of all, I don't have the overwhelming urge to destroy him.

I begin to ask the Advocate if she's cleaned him completely of Nul, and remember that she is sleeping now. Memories inform me that waking a sleeping baby Katherine is much more trouble than it is worth. It's a question that I can answer myself, though. I level Diyn over Patrick's body.

Clean. Little deserving of blood loss. Still enough to lock him in the cells below, though. Diyn's tone is grudging, but he's always greedy, and in his opinion every living person (and many dead) deserve to be locked up. The man is normal, then. But what to do with him? Elete would have ideas... but he is napping.

"Ach. What a sorry sot." Peacekeeper Camden eyes the man. "We should beat some use into him. But that's for later, aye?"

"You've no regrets?" I say it in an even tone. Camden has lost much because of this man.

"I wish I could have killed Cade myself, but wager that Katherine did it in a more painful manner than I ever could. The cur didn't smile as he went. What's left behind is merely a man, and I whip men into what they ought to be. It's my way. No, I bear no ill will," his eyes glitter with a strange spark, "but I am curious as to what more he might know. We've things to attend to now, though. Are we through with this Trial?"

I nod.

"What are the strange things on his hands? The 'mark' that the Advocate said would be laid on him?"

I nod again. Strange leather gauntlets cover the backs of Patrick's hands and reach all the way up to his elbows. They cover his fingers as well, ending in bluntly clawed tips. I've only seen one pair before, but they were metal, not leather. Still, I'd wager that Patrick's are just as unremovable as the metal ones were to their bearer. "A visible sign that none may kill him, by the authority of Emperor Theos." They make me uncomfortable - but then, they signify a negation of my very purpose and function. They damn well should make me uncomfortable. I sigh. "Well, let's stick him in the cells for now. No point in letting him run off and get himself filthied when he's just been bathed."

I adjourn the Court, and we depart.

* * *

It seems I already have an appointment - and so soon after a Trial! Then again, they do tend to build up while I'm in Court. Patrick is put away in a newly cleaned cell. It's a strange action for me to perform as caring for the renewed is something the Advocate traditionally oversees. I'm not used to being the... tender one. Once that's done with, I return to my office.

A very distraught Bronwyn Averseen is waiting for me, perched in the chair in front of the desk. Her handkerchief is balled up in her hands and tears are brimming up in her eyes. By the redness of her face and the hellish state of her general appearance, I can tell just what is happened. I catch my breath as I take my seat, unable to say anything just yet. I'm not sure what there is to say.

No, I am.

"My apologies, Jhe Averseen, on not sending someone out for you--"

"Oh, it's no matter s-sir, J-Jhe h'Akribastes, sir... Jhe h'Logos did! Please... please don't worry for my sake!" Her eyes are wide, and her concern is nearly bowling me over. "Is Jhe Katherine alright? Are you alright?"

"Jhe Katherine is in the care of the Peacekeeper until she is put to bed in the Armed Hall's nursery. The Trial went well and she is performing her functions as she should, despite her... handicap." I rest my hands on the desk, lacing my fingers together.

"Oh that's good! Just like normal, then. Sire... may I go there, then? I really do love looking after the little ones, and it'd reassure me so much to see her again!"

I nod. "Of course, Jhe Averseen. Someone else can be appointed to cover your duties here, as I am sure Jhe h'Logos already has a suitable candidate in mind." He would. "I am only sorry that this has caused you so much distress. Please, though..." I have trouble phrasing the next part. It's difficult to ask her.

"Yes, sire?" She looks at me, alert, back straight. It elevates her cleavage quite a bit, and I have to remind myself yet again to keep my eyes aimed above her chin.

"Is there anything you can say about her attackers? Did you witness the event?"

Her crumpled expression is so pitiful that I instantly regret asking the question and already know its answer. "No, sire. I was inside, and was only driven with a premonition that I shouldn't leave my cottage for love of anything. I think it happened in the wee hours. I was driven awake by the premonition, but I didn't leave my bed until Jhe h'Logos's messenger came." She bites her lip, and more tears build up in the rims of her eyes.

I nod. "Don't worry at all about it, Jhe Averseen. We already know who the assailants were, and something shall very soon be done about it." It was a stretch, I knew. I wanted to know if she'd seen Lyric or Stevane, but obviously not. "Go on and see to Katherine, then. I need you in the nursery, in any case."

She raises her eyebrows. "Sire?"

"I expect it will soon have a high occupancy." I rise from my desk as the meaning of that revelation dawns on her. "Don't worry. Soldiers die on the battlefield, and our battles are coming due. It's only natural, with Armed."

She replies with a stammered response that's unintelligible, but well-meaning, and then she leaves. I only stand there, frowning over my own words. Battles are coming up due, yes. But will our fallen return? As Aaren and Lute have discovered for me, there are so many who haven't... and never will.

I've more things to do, though. Diyn informs me that Jhe Kevrin would like a word with me, but would prefer to do so in his own quarters 'for security reasons.' And with that boy, you just never can tell.

* * *
Jax
* * *

We empty out of the Court slowly, heels dragging, most of us not even bothering to look up. The group of us - me, Amanda, Gerald, Rachella, Gerude, and Erynn - moves like a sullen stormcloud. These hangovers are monstrous, I tell you. And, well, I'm just not feeling top-notch, regardless of how much my head is pounding.

My Dad stole my girlfriend. Like it was nothing. My Dad! Gerald understood. Gerald had a few drinks with me to dull the pain. But then he found Rachella, man. And he may have been hangdog at the Trial, but other than that he seems pretty happy to be attached at the hip to her.

Me, I'm alone. I'm feeling stupid. And I can't even go off and do anything about it. I'm the Armed version of grounded. They say there's killing probably going on in the Aurocan Palace - why am I not over there? Why can't I go fight and at least do something! Because that's what I want to do. It's the same as when that notion got into my head to charge off to Sul that first time. Of course, look what good that did me.

Amanda raises an eyebrow at my sullen face. "You look like you've got two hangovers sharing your head, Jax. What's up your bum? Still need a girlfriend?" That extra eyebrow waggle of hers is cute, but I know she's not serious about it. Besides, she's not my type. And we're friends. It'd be weird.

I sigh. It is a deep sigh, reflecting the unconveyable amount of manpain that echoes throughout my soul. This pain is deep, reaching, and just a little bit macho. Even though it hurts, I'm sort of proud to have it. "I feel like I'm needed somewhere. Do you feel it too, sometimes? Am I the only one?"

Amanda frowns, her jaw tilted in such a way that it could almost be a wry smile if her lips moved slightly. "Nah," she says, "I just wanna get into a fight. I've been wanting to get into a fight for ages. You wanna find one?" Her eyes glitter in that dangerous way. One thing I've noticed in the Hall is that everyone gets nervous when the trainees get antsy. None of us have been 'blooded' yet, as they keep calling it.

And all of us are just aching for that fight.

I kind of lead us into a pub for some post-Trial snacks and talk. Gerald's able to explain some of what's going on with my sister the Advocate, which is frankly freaking me out. I mean, it's not the first time she's gotten taken out, and with any of the Armed or Poets you learn to expect that the next day they might just be miniature. Lives have fast turnaround in this line of work. But this stuff is freaking me out, and it seems like nothing's moving fast enough. Even Gerald agrees--

"I don't know what happened on the Court floor today. I don't think anybody in the stands understands it. But it looks like nothing's being done right now - like Father and Jhe Camden are waiting on something we don't even know about." He buries his hands into his hair. "It's frustrating! Katherine just went and died overnight and nobody's making a move about that! And we have the Pea- Jhe o'Sul in the cells, still awaiting a real trial!" Rachella scratches his head a bit, and Gerald's shoulders unhunch. A little smile even creeps up on his face.

"There's a lot Father has to do now, a lot for the Peacekeeper as well. It's hard to move forward with so many troubles at home." Gerude leans over the table, his fingers woven together and perched up in front of his mouth. I don't know if he means to do it, but it makes him look a lot like his dad. "I know it seems like things are moving slow..." he sighs, shoulders slumping, and flops his hands on the table. "Okay. They are moving slow. But what do you suggest be done about it?"

"Let's go get something done!" The answer's so immediate that I almost don't realize that it came out of my mouth. But as soon as it has, I back it up. "Let's go out there and do something! We're useless at home, and they need to stay here and... well, figure out whatever needs figuring. We'll help, instead of just... sitting here!"

Gerude opens his mouth to say something, something probably to the tune of that not being a good idea, but he's drowned out by my fellow trainees' excitement. Gerald doesn't say much of anything, but I think it's mostly his infatuation with Rachella that's to blame.

There's a lot of talking after that. About action, and all things exciting - and for once, I feel like I know exactly what to do, and why.

* * *
Camden
* * *

I lay Katherine into the crib, tuck in the blankets around her, and then smooth over her hair just a little bit. I feel very clumsy. Elric always was the one who was good with the children.

"She's so... tiny." Jenny's voice is barely a whisper. She leans in, looking over the tiny figure of her mother. I wrap an arm over her shoulders. She's been more perplexed about all of this than very emotional. It's got to be hard to deal with.

It's certainly hard on me.

"She'll be bigger tomorrow, and the next day. In a few weeks she'll be older than you again - and then what will we do?"

Jenny's jaw clenches, revealing more of her Father in her face than her Mother. "I have no idea what the world will have done by then. I can't say." She looks over to me, eyes pleading. I nod. We can step out of the Nursery for a moment - Jhe Katherine certainly isn't going anywhere. As I recall, she's a heavy napper in this stage.

We lean up against the wall outside the doorway. Jenny is silent as she stares ahead. She at least looks more comfortable out here. She takes in one deep breath and lets it out, her chest rising and falling with the motion, stretching her bodice.

I take her hand and just hold it in the silence.

"Camden?" Her voice cracks as she speaks.

"Aye?"

"Did you ever do..." - she tilts her head back toward the Nursery - "that?"

"Ach. No." I chuckle, the sound almost one of remorse. "I've dodged that fair bullet for a number of days now."

She frowns. "Isn't that abnormal for a senior Armed? Gerald's died, what... nine times now?" At that, she sounds oddly more cheerful. But then, her older brother does have a charming way of bowing out of life with a certain regularity by which you could set calendars.

"Ha! That he might've, though you could be exaggerating." Though perhaps she isn't. "I do have a bit more skill in keeping my own skin than he does. You could say our talents are in different areas." I sigh, leaning more heavily against the wall. "But it is true that someone who's served as long as I will have, by now, died and come back round again at least once. Most aren't trying as hard as I to avoid such a measure, though." My face becomes grim. "Especially now, with Elricht held captive, and subjected to menaces we can't imagine. If I die, and the Seal falls to him to guard, who knows what horrors might emerge?"

She swallows. "A war is coming, and you tell me that?"

I have the presence of mind to look contrite. "I..."

"Just hold still, you old chickenhawk." Then she presses against me, lips and bosom and belly, and I wonder just what sort of assaults man is made to hold up against.

* * *
'Sy
* * *

Jhe Harpseal welcomes me into his humble abode. "Jhe h'Akribastes! A pleasure to see you, sir! This is Djardrik. Drajdrik, this is the Judge."

I set into Kevrin's dorm room, closing the door behind me. 'Djardrik' is an Avian with the usual black feathers and yellow eyes of that particular type of Breed. He also looks nervous. In the back of my head, Diyn lets slip a merry giggle.

Look at him! He's so scared! 'Sy, I think the Avians are my favorite creature we've ever battled.

You are strange.

What can I say? They're cute when they're mortally terrified.

I let out a heavy sigh and extend my hand in greeting. We are not meeting on a battlefield, and Kevrin has decided to set the protocol as such. "Good morning, Jhe Djardrik." Drardrik gives me a ginger feathery shake in greeting, then jerks his hand back as soon as it's over. I think he's about to lose his wits. "Jhe Harpseal, to what do I owe this unique pleasure?"

Kevrin grins in that singular, somehow infectious way of his, and offers me a seat. There's really only the bed and the chair in here. I politely decline. "Djardrik's the friend I was telling you about when I called you to help out over on the outskirts of town. He's been very helpful. Pulled me out of some rubble in the Aurocan Palace - nobody else was around to do it, I think the others ended up dead. Then he showed me around and helped me get some food in me, and I met the others in his gang. But it looked like they were all going to high-tail it to Lyiannethe, where Djardrik didn't really prefer to go. He was startin' to get pretty scared, so I told him we could hide out here, and he'd be safe." He says that all with a straight, genuine face, not betraying any guile.

"Ah," I say. "His 'gang'?"

"Yeah, they work for Nul." He might as well have said that they worked at the fruit strand down the street. "I thought he might be helpful. He's been kinda gun-shy about staying here, but so far he's handled it all pretty well. He held Buidhe and she didn't have a problem with it."

I raise an eyebrow. Buidhe has Geillg'a-like aspirations when it comes to temper, cleverness, and damage levels. That is quite a serious indicator of how trustworthy Djardrik might be. I smile, and for some reason, that seems to scare Djardrik even more.

"Jhe Djardrik, it is a pleasure to make your accquaintance. Please, let's all go to my office and have a nice chat. I can't imagine having a civilized discussion without any tea to accompany it."

Kevrin conducts us through the halls with the friendly chatter and casual nonchalance that always leaves me guessing as to whether he's doing it all on purpose. Of course, as his superior I could always take him aside and ask - but that would ruin the mystery. Some dogs you simply let free to track what game might be out there, regardless of how it is that they manage to find it.

And this is, indeed, very exciting game.

Jhe Briarseal? There's something in my office that you'll like to see. The moment of silence instead of reply catches me off guard - my Peacekeeper is prompt about his business. Is there something wrong? I sent Jhe Averseen to care for her and relieve you of your duties. Has she arrived?

...Ah, it seems she has. My apologies, Jhe h'Akribastes. I did not see her enter the Nursery.

I'm about to ask a question in regards to just how that could be when we arrive at my office. I take my usual seat behind my desk, Kevrin conducts Djardrik to sit in one of the chairs in front, and then goes to see to the tea. "Four cups, please," I say, and then he's gone.

Djardrik's yellow eyes take a good measure of just who he's facing, and he makes a little grunting noise. Kevrin will be a moment with the tea, so this makes for a wonderful opportunity for me to have a word with his 'friend'. I splay my fingers together, resting my hands on the desk in front of me.

"I do hope you realize just how much trouble you could be in."

There's a little squeak from his beak, which might be from him tensing up his jaw. Also, I think he's beginning to molt on the chair.

"Do keep in mind, then, just how much value there will be in lending your aid today."

A terse little nod. "Yes, sir." Then Jhe Briarseal enters the office, followed immediately by Jhe Harpseal bearing a tea service.

Jhe Briarseal raises an eyebrow at the sight of our guest, but his eyes shoot up at the sight of Jhe Harpseal. He looks to me for direction. I nod a little to my right, and he steps forward to stand beside my desk there. Jhe Harpseal dispenses the tea, serving me first, then our guest, then Jhe Briarseal, and then myself. We all take a moment to savor the blend. Then, all eyes are on Jhe Djardrik.

"I should conduct a bit of an introduction myself. Jhe Djardrik, this is Jhe Camden Briarseal, the Peacekeeper. Jhe Briarseal, this is Jhe Djardrik, a good friend of Jhe Harpseal's." Camden nods. Djardrik nods back awkwardly, trying not to dip his beak into his cup. I daresay he recognizes the Peacekeeper, who has had to conduct quite a few sweeps to quell the occasional Avian skirmishes. "According to Jhe Harpseal, his friend here has some very important information to share with us."

Camden nods, still looking at Kevrin. "Jhe Harpseal... before this starts. Report?"

Kevrin stands to attention. "Widespread chaos and fatalities amongst all forces, sir, though our brigade took the most hits. The Palace is in rubble in many areas. I've seen some dead with my own eyes, all of which already had pieces claimed by our side. I expect we'll be seeing them all again quite soon, once those are delivered. All in all, sir... better than expected."

"Thank you, Jhe Harpseal. You may sit at ease." Jhe Briarseal looks relieved - I certainly am. Jhe Djardrik looks as if he is assembling a puzzle with his mind.

"You took the hands off the soldiers? We'd been wondering! That's--" He catches the look on Camden's face, then shuts his beak with a sharp clack.

"Never mind all that," I say, "it's being taken care of by someone else. What's of interest is your knowledge, Jhe Djardrik. According to Jhe Harpseal, you work for Nul's forces. We'd like information on that. How many of you work for the Jherent Nul, how the troops disperse, who you take orders from... anything pertinent, really." My tone is light, as if we're discussing what plays we've seen lately. Djardrik looks as if he's facing down his doom.

"Oh yes, I was wondering about it but thought it imprudent to ask! Jhe Djardrik said that he took orders from Cade Fayegeaux most often, but that in Audiva Rocale the Kommissar was in command of them." He looks at Djardrik. "Is that common? It sounded as if it wasn't."

Something about Kevrin's tone must be very engaging, because it makes Djardrik stop seizing up and start speaking. "No, it's not common at all. Those elites from Lyiannethe rarely fraternize with Avian or Canie kind, though the Arachne-kin are welcomed there. Can't say as I know too much about those types, though. Try to stay away from them. The Kommissar asked for our efforts today in support of his own troops," Jhe Djardrik's face grows stormy, the tiny feathers prickling around his cheeks and beak, "but we were really more meat shields than anything. I was happy to pull Kevreck--Kevrin out of the rubble because there were plenty who didn't have life enough in them to warrant excavating. It was a useless mission. We may not get the best treatment or pay under Cade, but he at least sent us to do something besides die in spades."

I nod. "And what were those things, then?"

"Ah. Well, kidnappings, for one. They fancied Radians, especially from the capital city. Can't say as I ever did any of the snatches myself, didn't want to get near Radia. Not even sure if any of us did those kidnappings directly. We trafficked a lot of people, though. Some important people, royals I guess. Sent em all on to Lyiannethe, which is where most things go. We also sacked a lot of caravans to and from the east coast. Anything that looked like it had an official seal from it."

I school my expression. I don't want to scowl at him. "Any communications from overseas?"

"Ah, yeah. I think. Don't really keep up much with it but we did grab a few ponces who probably weren't from here. I don't know too much about the lands over the sea, try to keep my beak pointed at home, so to speak. Cade handled the communications himself. Mostly we grabbed anyone trying to go thataway, and they mostly came from here, I s'pose. I think there was a Cruxradian man, barely saw him."

I nod. "Describe him."

"Dark hair? Short. Blue eyes, blue as anything. Seemed to be a bit of a writer, definitely royal family. 'Bout ten years ago, I'd say, so the memory's a bit cloudy. We took a few others going to and from countries, though. Especially Rhivend. Not sure why, but there was a fascination about it. A lot of troops concentrated around there... just in case." His face is honest confusion. "Don't understand in case o' what, though. Not as if there's anything over there..."

"Tell us about Nul," says Camden, cutting off that avenue of conversation.

Djardrik shivers. "Been there once or twice. Not a nice place. You've got to go up north along the east coast. Mostly... drab lands, dead trees, very dark. Don't even understand much of how you get there. We did deliveries and such into and out of the place."

"How?" I must compliment Kevrin. I'm the one asking questions, but he's managing, by his very presence, to make Djardrik much more talkative than expected.

"Ah... kind of an arch... sort of portal thing that Cade would make for us to get there. Someone said that the lands we were crossing into were actually in a different place altogether, but we were taking the east route to throw anyone off from followin' us." Djardrik sighs. "Can't say much regardin' that. Nul's not a place anyone likes to remember well."

I nod. Interesting - a diversion to hide Nul's actual location. It's still more than we've heard before, other than that Lyiannethe is also a likely candidate. "What did you take in, besides people? And what did you take out?"

Djardrik pales a little at the skin around his eyes and beak that isn't covered by feathers. "Bodies. Well, we took bodies in. But some go to Lyiannethe, too. As for what we take out... some.. prisoners, I suppose? I saw some chains, heard movement. They were in covered wagons. We took em down to the desert south of here, the one what is man-made. There's a settlement down there - Robinstead. Never got as far in as the settlement, though. But there's lots of caves about." He shudders. "Can't say as to what it was for, because it seems the things would... die real fast." He grows silent.

"Things?" Camden raises an eyebrow.

"Ah... they... looked like people. Human people... sometimes. Sometimes they didn't look like anything I knew. They looked kind of... dead." He shudders again. "I'd have sworn they were dead, but they'd move. Glad to drop em off and be rid of em. Didn't like the smell at all."

I nod. Hm. What to do with all of this. "Why do you do the work you do?"

Djardrik just looks sad. "I ain't rightly got no other place to go, same as the rest of us. Can't live off the land, we ain't got no land. So we all have to get by somehow! Cade would hire us, nobody else would. Same as always. We didn't ask to be here, but there's nowhere else for us to go now that we are here."

"Well, you can stay here. The Armed Hall is welcome to you. You should make yourself at home. We have some business to attend to." I rise. Djardrik looks surprised.

No Trial? The Peacekeeper's voice contains no surprise in it, just idle curiosity.

I can't try him for existing. Besides, he belongs here.

Camden raises his eyebrows, then looks Djardrik over. So... so he might. Should I start trying to make something out of him?

I gesture for Kevrin and Djardrik to rise. Not quite yet. I want to see what he makes of himself, and what other surprises Kevrin might create for me in that. "Kevrin, get yourself moved to a double-room. I hope this isn't too inconvenient, but Jhe Djardrik is not quite settled in enough to have his own. Jhe Djardrik, this is my official welcome to you into the Armed Hall. Don't make yourself regret that." Something about my grin at the end of that statement makes the boy scamper to leave. Good. That signifies potential.

"Thank you for your time, Jhe h'Akribastes." Jhe Harpseal executes a smart bow, which Jhe Djardrik then fumbles to echo himself. Then, they leave.

Camden looks particularly mirthful. "When did you realize it?"

I shrug. "When do I realize it with any of you? You present yourselves, more than anything." I pause. "You haven't brought trainees from Sul in quite some time, even though you had a recent sweep in searching for them."

"Aye. I thought the well might have run dry for awhile, as it does from time to time. Does this have anything to do with what Jhe Djardrik just told us?"

"Perhaps. It worries me, with so many Armed going missing - what if they're finding the potential trainees before we do?" That possibility hurts more than anything, the ache of lost potential that was never allowed to blossom. "The concentration of forces around Rhivend doesn't surprise me - they've always contested for that land, to bring down the Seal there. It makes even more sense in light of Patrick himself being attached to a Seal there as well. But... Robinstead?" I'm almost taken aback by how perplexed my own voice sounds. "Why Robinstead? We've noticed activity down there, but even having that confirmed by Jhe Djardrik, there's no explanation for it."

"Aye. But again, we have Patrick who may answer." A cloud crosses Camden's face. "But how much time do we have to ask him in before we need to move ahead?"

Before I can answer, there's a pulse we both feel in the air. Energy coalescing, converging, finally becoming something we recognize. It's in the arm of the Hall that the Shadows tend to occupy.

I've returned from Sul with the survivors. Jhe Julia Wysthaven's voice is smug and crisp.

* * *
Julia
* * *

I've been having quite a fun time here in Jhe o'Sul's labs. There's plenty to fight with - and some of it is the enemy!

So I take it that we're holing up here until we all die? Or does this count as a stronghold? Iaen's voice is as sulky as usual. Aww, poor boo. It's a shame he's so damn good at that shapeshifting stuff, otherwise we'd put him in danger more often.

This is our last stand, I say with a mental grin. I think Gwen undercuts the expression with a gesture of her own, because Iaen immediately shrinks back and goes quiet.

The Shrouds are the most elite and secretive of the Kommissar's forces, and thus are something to be reckoned with. They've managed to slink through the wards just as we did - though I noticed it took a bit more effort, and a few of them ended up in more pieces than when they started. Thus, we've really only got to wait for them to take us on as they seep through, not as one giant wave. It tends to help for strategy.

But, of course, there are the monsters.

My comrades keep sending me comments in awe of them, and in awe of Ebrellin-i's work. He's really a master technician, as we've all come to agree. I'm not sure how useful this type of thing will ever be to anyone that isn't us, but that's as much as I need. I always stick to the shadows and see many more secrets than I'm ever able to reveal - rarely do I ever see anything as impressive as the things in the tanks.

And, most delightful of all, the Shrouds are the first to break a tank. As the fluid rushes over the tile, steaming and foaming around my ankles, there's a gurgle, then a roar. I see one of the Shrouds whipped overhead by a long arm with suckers all along it. Then I leap to avoid another tenctacle snaring me.

Everyone! Over here, this is where the action is!

Iaen, of course, sulks in the background.

The freed beast is clever - it manages to keep to the shadows in a way that you wouldn't think something so huge and grotesque would be able to. It lies in wait during the fighting, whipping out an arm and grabbing onto two fighters grappling with each other. I won't say whose head I see pop like a watermelon, but I will say it was one of my men. I fetch a bit of him as a keepsake. Sloppy work, but then, I suppose all my men are sloppy. They usually learn after a regeneration or three.

Of course, callous as I may seem, I am keeping track of the numbers. There are three of us left fighting out here, leaving Cary in the shadows, cleverly concealed, and Iaen in the study. I note with some surprise that Iaen has no guards with him.

I told them to go on ahead and be useful! Who ever heard of an Armed needing bodyguards? The little snotty brat. Oh well. Let him sulk off there, as long as we keep him handy. We can't have him dying just yet, Iaen is too useful. Which is a shame, because he wiggles when he dies, and it's pretty funny.

What? You get used to these things in my line of work. It's not personal. People die all the time. Often because of me.

Ah, speaking of me, Gwen's doing her own stint as a tentacle, wrapping around some enemy scum until he coughs up blood. I dispatch him quick, then go on to the next. It's difficult - that monster's learning. Whatever it is, the thing can detect us a lot better than we can even detect each other. I make a mental count. One left besides me? When did that happen?

I can't keep track of more than you. I've got your back, but the others have to make it on their own. Cary's voice is a low whisper at my back. I blink. He's right behind me.

He lays a kiss against my neck, says Shh, and then I can't sense him at all.

Little showoff of a playboy. I narrow my eyes and dive forward right as a tentacle undulates past. I manage to not get my neck broken, but a Shroud kicks me in the ribs and then sends me flying sideways. Thankfully the creature decides the Shroud's neck makes for a fine toy, and goes on and snaps it before I have to deal with anything else from him.

Of course, then there's the monster to deal with. A few moments passing has meant one more of my own going down. That leaves me with only Cary and Iaen, neither of which I can allow to be out in the open.

...Except there Iaen is, gliding past.

I am more impressed with Iaen's work every time I see it. I'm convinced that he gets better at it with every performance. Of course, the arrogant cock of a man always acts as if he knows it, which makes it aggravating as hell to ever hand him a compliment. Still. Every hair on his head glides as if spun from elegance itself. The silks and sashes hang perfectly on the tall frame. He actually makes a rather attractive Ebrellin-i, which of course means that Ebrellin-i must be attractive, somewhere under all that makeup and under the set of ballroom curtains that he calls clothing. A bit too much trouble for me, unfortunately. Besides, I'd really rather kill 'em than date 'em. A constant bother when it comes to my nonexistant love life.

So yes, Iaen has done a wonderful job imitating the Peacock King. Even the eyes are right, and the crown on his head is a flawless facsimile. All very well and good.

But what the FUCK is he doing strolling around here as if he owns the place?

Let me take this. I've got it covered. Smug as always, the bastard walks right up to the largest mass of tentacles, which must be the beast's body. I dodge one as he gives it a pat. "There we are," he coos in sugary tones, "who's a good girl? Who's Daddy's favorite?"

The thing purrs. Or gurgles. Possibly something between the two.

"Does snookums want a treat? Does she?" The beast vibrates with glee, a terrible sight indeed. "Well then, go get some! All those black things darting around - Daddy brought them all for you. Get them fast!"

The air is a flurry of tentacles, none of which aim for me, strangely enough. Ah, that's right. I don't dress in black. White shows off the blood so much better. Still, I'm on guard from any attack, either levied by beast or by man. Even levied by Iaen. He's too creepy right now not to guard against. I can't say that he does his job too well, but... well, he almost does.

There's only a few Shrouds dwindling about in the corners now. I dispatch two as the beast goes after the rest. Soon, the room is empty of all foes except for, of course, this huge tentacled thing. Iaen pats it. "Such a good girl! You're always such a good Daddy's girl! Come on, give Daddy a hug!"

And, of course, that's the end of Iaen. At least he did the wiggle.

The beast is more dismayed by Iaen's death than I am, which makes sense when you remember that she thought Iaen was her master. I can tell that Ebrellin-i treated his monsters well - it's almost a shame he's been locked up for treating everyone else so poorly. Ah, well. The beast is getting furious now, and there's no target left for it but me. This is compounded by the fact that I dart in and snatch a chunk of what she thinks is her master. That is quite the faux-pas with her, apparently! I flee for my life but apparently my life's about to become worth a lot less.

The paintings. You have to remember the paintings.

Cary? What are you talking about? Gwen manages to sever a tentacle as she and I dance for what might be the last time.

Just bring them back with the rest of us.

I turn to where Cary was hidden. He's stepping out, a quill in each hand. He's writing into the very air. And then, a strange thing happens.

The tenctacles come slapping down at him, but they keep missing. Just barely. He starts to run, and they pursue him, but they still miss. they forget me, leaving me to stand where I am, Gwen still unsheathed.

I realize what Cary's doing, then, and run ahead before he can get too far. the tentacles are still ignoring me, but then they would now, wouldn't they? A Poet walking out in the open, writing with all the mental resources he has left - of course things are going to move according to his Will. Right up until he dies, at least. Gwen manages to dart forward and snatch an ear - a tentacle almost slaps it out of her grip, but then it rejoins the dance that Cary's marching away with. I leave him, then. I leave him to die.

I know the paintings are in the little hiding spot he had. No wonder he favored it so much. He'd been concentrating most of his resources on hiding the paintings away. Whatever worth they have, it must be as much as all of my dead brigade.

...Which, in my eyes, isn't much. But we were all made to die anyway. That's what we're all here for. So I tuck that last bit of Cary into my pocket, secure the paintings, and ready the other remains that I've kept in little secret pocket spaces on my person. It includes Camden's ill-fated warriors as well, so I have a lot of passengers on me. I hear one dull thud that sounds awfully wet in the distance, and say goodbye to Cary. I say goodbye to the whole Palace. There's nothing left for me here, and I'd just as well leave it to Ebrellin-i's beast to guard. She certainly seems to enjoy the task.

* * *

Radia is pleasant to come back to, mostly because it means I'm going to report back, and I always like bringing my Boss a whole cartload of fresh dead. It really is the best gift, and I always feel so accomplished. Enough that he keeps asking me if I killed my fellows myself, which is just his joke. He knows I hardly ever do that, especially now that Iaen's more valuable and therefore less killable.

I stand at the ready in our own shadow-branch of the Hall - the one that nobody except Poet trainees ever seem to find unless they belong in there. (Jhe h'Logos always makes the cutest excuses for that. They're almost worth the hassle of dealing with his budding prodigies.) I lay out the dead. They're mostly hands, some feet, in one odd case a tail (Jhe Morgansen, who tells the most interesting bar stories), and then the fingers and ears, of which Cary is one. They keep fresh down here in the cold. I try to separate out the brigades, but it's amazing how alike everyone looks when they've been carved up into pieces. I keep trying to convince Cary to make that into some motto about unity. He keeps telling me it wouldn't be as universal as I think it is.

Huh. Cary's dead. That's strange. I don't think he's ever done that before. He's just... so much smarter than the rest of my brigade. Heck, he might even be smarter than I am. I think I might actually miss him, which is the weirdest thought of all. I never miss people.

"This is all of them, then?" The Boss. I didn't even hear him walk up. It's a subtle reminder of just where our skills at stealth come from.

"Aye. And something from Jhe Cee, who is in there somewhere. He was convinced that they were important." I gesture to the paintings. It's strange seeing the Judge double-take.

Huh. At that, they do look sort of similar, don't they? Jhe o'Radia and Ebrellin-i's daughter.

"We've other concerns before that. I'll have them delivered to Jhe o'Radia while we attend to our fallen brethren."

Hm. Strange, I'd have expected Jhe h'Logos, considering Cary found them. Oh, well. I just work here. "I'll go along with you, then."

"Yes. After we fetch the Peacekeeper. He's just outside."

Ah, of course. Camden has his fallen as well. We all gather up the parts as I try not to whistle about it. Camden gives me the dirtiest looks when I do that. Is it wrong to be particularly joyful that I don't have to deal with my men for a few weeks? If so, I don't want to be right about it. While we're busy, I see those paintings vanish from where they lean against the wall.

Congratulations on escaping the slaughter, Lute. Next time?

Lute just sends me a dirty look for catching him when he was trying to be sneaky. Then he's gone, and we finish our cleanup. Now it's time to go fetch them back from the Void.

The Boss stops before we leave the chamber, then narrows his eyes. "We'll need Jhe h'Logos. Theos's eyes, not twice in one day!" He sighs deeply. "It can't be helped. You two wait at the place. I'll go and fetch him."

* * *
Luciprochoros
* * *

I retire to my quarters after the Trial, excusing myself from some business that probably has to be done. I have something much more important to look after in my private quarters. Namely, Rahellene.

I stroke my hand through her hair. So flossy and blonde. Not at all how Katherine's turned out, to my surprise. Ebrellin-i said that the darker hair would be more dominant... but he also said he tried to put an emphasis on my features in our little experiment. He was a little afraid that without my input being definitive, it wouldn't work. Maybe he was afraid of what his own input would do without Theos's guidance, though. Look at him now, after all...

I don't want to think about the Ebrellin-i that's rotting in the cells, the one that's been in the service of Nul for who knows how long. I don't want to think of him and think of the Ebrellin-i I used to know. It brings back too many painful memories, ones that I promised I'd bury. I take my promises seriously... and I don't break them lightly at all.

Poor Rahellene. She's still asleep. She only awoke once at night, and after a glass of water she promptly passed out. She's looking fairly ill, and if she doesn't wake soon I'll have to have someone look at her in case this is more dire than I thought. Ebrellin-i will keep. He is half-dragon and all. Rahellene is only one fourth.

The half-archo part... well, I don't like to think about it. After all, we're not always made to mix with other kinds. But I did it once with Ebrellin-i before, and Katherine turned out just fine with Emperor Theos's blessing. Rahellene... well, her Father--

--her other Father--

did quite a number on her since I saw her last. My fingers glide over one of the feathers that coat her skin.

And just why did you do this, Ebrellin-i? To protect her from you? To lock her away from me, even though I promised I'd never pull her from your grasp like I had to do with Katherine? To see what would happen, as it's been with so many of your experiments? Or perhaps to create a weapon? No, I don't think you'd make a weapon out of her. You love her too much. You've chained her up, trapped her, collared her and tried to train her into utter obedience. You've tried to make her completely yours.

So you must love her.

My fingers trace around my neck. And why not? Memories are memories, after all - always so lively in my mind. Rahellene shivers in her sleep, and I frown. I back away and leave her room.

Katherine's room, really. But they're sisters, they can share things. Katherine will probably hate me for that, but I think she already does hate me for locking up their other Father - as if I had anything to do with it, and as if I could stop it. How could I change any of that?

And, knowing what Ebrellin-i has done, why would I want to?

There's the teensiest knock on my door, and the impression of someone very cross about the fact that they have to do so. I can't help but chuckle. Lute does have his charm, and he's one of my favorite nephews. 'Sy's children are adept at attaining that status. ...Then again, I technically lack any other 'siblings' besides him to give me nephews, so... perhaps it's necessity? No, I refuse to believe that. I could never have a brother or sister besides 'Sy who could give me such delightful, arrogant, brash, flashy and above all entertaining nieces and nephews.

I allow Lute in. He doesn't come in through the door - instead he slips through the shadows, barely making himself visually present until he sets two paintings on my couch. "Father said to deliver these to you. He'll be in the Regeneration Chamber. I bid you good day, Uncle." Then the boy departs without a trace of his leaving.

I frown, cock my head, and examine the paintings. I then seal the wards shut - even against 'Sy.

Especially against 'Sy.

No, he knows now. That's the only reason he'd deliver these. I have only to bide my time until he's delivered the results of the Regeneration Chamber to the Nursery. Then...

Then, I will be here, waiting for him. I arrange the paintings on a table against the wall. The one of me, done by Ebrellin-i's hand, I'd sooner burn than hang on my wall. Even though its mate still rests in my quarters somewhere - heavily warded and hidden from my sight as well as it can be. A painting of Ebrellin-i done in my hand. We did them when we first made the pact that would eventually make Katherine. The Treaty to save two Empires from destruction by Emperor Theos. The daughter that we almost went to war over despite the Treaty she represented.

The other painting is of Rahellene and bears the mark of a Poet, though isn't altogether special beyond that. I think it was made to keep track of her, as if Ebrellin-i even needed the assistance. Once I erase any elements that might have an ill effect on Rahellene, I'll hang it somewhere in here with the other family portraits. It's quite nice, and I've always felt a niggling guilt over not having a picture of her up with the rest of my family. She was supposed to be a secret, you see. And she was. Until now.

No, it is time to sit and wait for 'Sy. I make some coffee first, then on second thought I also make some tea. It'd be best to have some for him here. He'll want something to throw, after all.

I suppose I sound scared. Well, you see, he is my brother, and I love him the way I love a brother, and the feeling is mutual with him.

But he is also the Law. And I made him a promise or two, back in the day. And, well...

He warned me with the paintings. That in itself is the most foreboding part, I suppose. It's as if he thought I needed a warning, a gesture of 'prepare thyself'. Or it's his way of demanding an explanation, which is rather a laugh, because I guarantee you he will not like the one I give him. Heck, not even I do.

And so, after a few cups of coffee and some glances over export and import revenues and taxes, I hear some familiar boots tromp up to my door. My shoulders tense a tiny bit. Then there is a knock. A restrained and polite one.

Bring down your wards, Luciprochoros. Ah, the barely-restrained fury. It's been a while since last I heard him use that particular tone with me. I bring down the wards that lock him out - my personal protection is still very active though. I'm not taking any chances. I do run an Empire, after all. Once the wards are modified, Tesynnodai lets himself in. I rise.

We stand there, looking at one another. 'Sy is a little taller than me, which I always thought was a little silly, since I'm more important. But, there you are. He looks about a foot taller now, though - looks about as tall as Ebrellin-i. It must be the rage - or Diyn is making a faint impression, giving 'Sy the illusion of towering over me. All very fair. He closes the door carefully, then walks up to me with precision and choppy grace. Every step in time, as if he's his own army. And, well, isn't that the idea, with 'Sy?

There's just the coffee table between us, and a couch behind each of us. He notes the table's settings, actually snorts when he sees the coffee. I will have my indulgences. Then his eyes meet mine. His deadpan is very good. I only see the fury behind them for a split second. Then the mask is, once again, perfect.

He nods to me, a gesture that is as crisp as his march, and just as purposeful. He is to nod first, after all - I am the superior in the room. I nod back to him, opening the floor to any issues that need to be spoken of. Opening is the proper word - acknowledging means I am giving him all the opening he needs to take me down. He is the Law, after all. He has that power, and it extends even to myself, who was appointed Emperor of Crux Radia by Emperor Theos himself, who has a say in just about everything that goes on in our little world as it so happens.

He allows for some silence to pass before bridging the subject. I see him glance over my shoulder - at the portraits leaning against the wall.

"Very well then--"

"Would you like to sit down and have some tea, brother?" I am smooth in my interruption. He barely has time to blink. He sighs, shakes his head.

"Fine. We'll play it that way, if you prefer it." He sinks to his seat, pours himself a cup, and watches me take my seat. When he has sipped and I have my own coffee in hand, he resumes. "Explain yourself, Luciprochoros."

I raise an eyebrow over my coffee mug. He almost rolls his eyes at the gesture.

"Explain yourself, Jhe o'Radia." He doesn't take another sip - he holds up that teacup like it's a damn gun instead.

"I have been keeping things from you, my brother." He frowns when I say that. "I daresay that the crime lies not in what I have kept from Jhe h'Akribastes, so I have declined to use the title. My apologies, I mean no slight against your status." Like all my apologies, it insults more than it mends. He narrows his eyes and his nose wrinkles. It's like looking at a hawk that's about to dive for blood.

"I was contacted by Ebrellin-i not long after that scare we had when Katherine had that little accident out in one of those desert towns--"

"I remember it well. Don't waste my time with a recap of the event." Jhe h'Akribastes waves his hand as if to sever the sidestory completely. I daresay it works.

"After her death and subsequent regeneration, Ebrellin-i approached me with a concern about the status of the Treaty should we lose our daughter and be unable to retrieve her. He had similar thoughts at the time that Katherine was assassinated before then - when she was quite young, and we had no way of regaining her then."

My brother narrows his eyes. "Emperor Theos's promise in reply to our plea was more than enough insurance for any sane being. He gave us the Regeneration Chamber. With that in place we could bring her back at any time."

I let the silence sit for awhile. I don't quite want to give him my reply, but it's the only one I have for him, and it's necessary. "Was it enough insurance last night, when her body was completely destroyed and mere chance assured that we'd have enough of her blood to bring her back from the Void? What if we'd lost her, 'Sy? Ebrellin-i's concern was my own. I never want to lose Katherine. But I myself had been having similar thoughts to his - and I have been here to witness the times when someone could not be regenerated, or when they were lost in a way that we couldn't bring them back. Elete's wife and daughter were enough of a reminder of what risks we can't prevent taking. What if Katherine were lost at sea like they were? There's no recovering a body from the ocean. We'd have nothing - no Treaty. The nations would war and destroy each other, or Emperor Theos would take the duty to do so upon himself. I don't like risks."

'Sy says nothing. I know this is only his way of giving me enough rope to hang myself with, but I continue. "So thought Ebrellin-i. But since that first assassination, he had been thinking. Katherine's accidental death in the desert prompted him to act on that thinking. Ebrellin-i, despite his flaws, has always been clever--"

"You made some abomination to take the place of Katherine?!" 'Sy is quite the perceptive person, I suppose that's why he's the Law, isn't it?

"Indeed. That is the best way of summing it up. Ebrellin-i long contemplated doing it himself, dredging up whatever samples of me that he could and raising the daughter in secret, out of my sight and therefore without my knowledge. But... well, he decided against his Mother's ways, which is a blessing to us all, really. He decided, even though we hated each other, to call upon me and invite me to Audiva Rocale for a diplomatic meeting. Another custody talk for Katherine, I'd say to you. Not much of a lie, really - it was a sort of truth. I felt my guilt, but you always suspect me guilty of something, so it wasn't too difficult to get by you. I went alone. Ah, yes - you remember when this was." My brother's face is very illustrative - he looks so betrayed now, and so hateful. I do feel bad, I really do. "Ebrellin-i really only wanted the best for his daughter. He wanted my full consent as well. He worried that without it, Rahellene would not represent a Treaty."

'Sy's glare is almost unbearable.

"That was her purpose. If Katherine were to die unrecoverably, Rahellene would act as our Treaty, and Emperor Theos would possibly be none the wiser. It would at least give us time to do something, to possibly negotiate with him. Ebrellin-i and I still hated each other, but we both loved our Empires, and felt personally responsible for our people and our lands. We could not let Emperor Theos pose a danger to them, so we did what we thought would be most prudent when it came to protection. And, 'Sy, I'm sorry, but you would have hated doing something against Father, and I couldn't let you know. You would have told me no. You wouldn't have liked it. So I hid it, and I lied, and I'm sorry." My brother's eyes are a burning accusation. The hatred of the Law is a terrible thing to feel turned upon you, and I've felt it my due amount. It's difficult to be in my position, and it always will be, but I am what I am. "I broke your promise, I know. I had to."

"No, you didn't." The words might as well be flames, the way he spits them out. He could do that, too. I saw Stevane do it once, and he's the one who taught her how.

I nod. "Yes, I'm afraid I did, brother. Because he could have done it himself, you understand. His Mother made Elete without any of our knowledge, and strange as Elete is he does count as my son. She did what she could, stole what she did, and made him through her ceremonies and techniques in arcane, secret ways that we only know exist because Elete came to our side. Because Elete came as proof. Ebrellin-i, though, he's Thelea's son too, he grew up right under her wing, and he's three times as clever as her and so much more precise. Especially back then, he was. He was getting that spark in his eyes again, that one I hadn't seen since right before we agreed to make Katherine. I knew he could make Rahellene on his own, 'Sy. He'd find one way or another. So I could choose to be no part of it and let him do who-knows-what in those laboratories of his, or I could participate and make sure he didn't produce some abomination that got us in more trouble with Emperor Theos than it saved us from. I chose my Empire, Tesynnodai. I chose my duty as Jhe o'Radia, not as brother to you, not as someone who had sworn an oath to you not to have anything to do with Ebrellin-i that wasn't completely overseen by your eyes or signed off on by you."

His gaze is so damning. I almost wish he'd Judge me just so I wouldn't have to feel that look on me anymore. That angry, betrayed look. But I know he won't do it. He won't bring Diyn down upon me.

"What you have done as Jhe o'Radia you have done for Crux Radia, and thus served within your Duty as appointed under Emperor Theos. Fine, and so be it. No guilt rests upon you through your actions." He rises, turns, and walks to the door.

I don't rise to stop him.

"What you have done to your brother Tesynnodai Akribastes in breaking your oath, that is another story, and I've no time for it right now. Watch over your ill-begotten daughter and don't make any trouble for me today. I've no time for foolishness." Then, he leaves, closing the door quietly. Save for the used teacup, it's as if he was never here. I feel a bit of deja vu from Lute's visit. Like Father, like offspring, and all.

I hope my foolishness hasn't passed to Rahellene, though. It stings right now. It wrenches in my chest like something terrible that I can't, for the life of me, figure out how to remove. I sip my coffee, then set it down, and look in on my daughter once more. I think it will be wise to stay in my quarters until further notice. And with that thought, I revert my wards. If 'Sy wants to come back in, he'll have to carve his own way in with Diyn to do it.

* * *
'Sy
* * *

Not a word about my wretch of a brother.

I make my way down the halls, controlling my steps as I do so and channeling within me a bit of calm. I have a long rest of the day ahead of me, after all. I've got several new trainees drafted in, I have an overfull nursery, and I've far too many problems that still need solving and far too many people that still need rescuing. That is why, I think, that when I turn the corner I find not an empty hallway but Elete, leaning against the wall and patiently waiting.

"I know I should be in bed, 'Sy," he says as he puts up a hand as if to fend me off.

"Good. I'm glad that you know. It makes you one step closer to doing it." I try to ferry him along towards the Poet Hall. Hell, I'll teleport him there directly if I have to. As it is I'm afraid that he won't make it back on his own two feet. He was dreadfully tired when I woke him for the ceremony, and while he kept his feet and balance in the Chamber and performed his role there perfectly, he almost collapsed when it was over. I told him to get himself to bed after that, while I went to talk to Jhe o'Radia. Of course he didn't listen. He never does, and what with his short life expectancy I suppose he never will.

"I'm sorry to bother you, but I wanted to have a talk." Elete walks along with me willingly, not trying to drag behind or delay. He's leaning on my arm quite a bit, but he's keeping his feet at least. We might make it on foot, and I realize that I'd really like for us to.

I sigh. I'm too busy to set aside time for him, but the fact of it is that I'm going to miss my friend. "That is fine."

"Oh good, I'm glad. 'Sy, do remember the time I taught you how to swim? I was thinking about that while making my way back to the Hall. That's why I decided to wait for you."

Of course he has to go and talk about that. "I tried to block it from memory, but you've gone and resurrected it."

"Oh, good, I was afraid you'd forgotten. We couldn't have you forgetting how to swim, 'Sy. It's an important skill. Besides, I had a lot of fun in the lagoon, and I think you did afterwards." He sighs. "I did try to make it up to you in the boat."

I bite my lip. Damn us for not having enough time right now. "You... did."

"Splendid. Now, 'Sy, I know how you hate the water, but I was very surprised when I learned you didn't even know how to swim in it. A grown man, and all. That wasn't what motivated me to teach you, though. I was willing to leave you your pride and let you see to it yourself. But I had to be sure, you see."

I am getting the most dreadful, creeping feeling right now. Strange.

"I am a Time Lord, you know."

Ah. Yes, this dread is a premonition. I get it a lot right before Elete says that. "So you often say. What has that to do with the topic at hand?"

"Well, ships. I wanted you to be able to swim if you were on a boat. I do so love boats, you know. And I wanted to be able to go on a boat with you. That was fair motivation, but not really the chief one, and it has nothing to do with me being a Time Lord, I suppose. It's just a nice thought."

I roll my eyes. Poets. "Please, go on."

"You see, when I was thinking about bringing you onto a boat, all those years ago, and how you couldn't swim, it sort of triggered a pre-memory of a few minutes from now, and I decided back then that you definitely needed to swim because of that pre-memory. So, moving along, I wanted to be able to tell you that I'm glad that you know how to swim, because drowning today would be a poor way to end your story. 'Sy, there is a Chetharian flagship off the cliffs, waiting for entrance to the harbor. Considering everything, I thought it be best that I inform you of this early, before they're actually sighted. You should really meet them on the deck, and not let them set to harbor until you know what's going on. I am a...Time..." he shakes his head and lurches. "'Sy, I need to be in my quarters right now. I'm dreadfully sorry. But you can swim."

"Yes. I can swim on my own." I close my eyes, wrap my arm around him and see him to his room directly. There is apparently pressing business to see to.

"'Sy... I'm sorry, I'll sleep right away... but take a nicely-sized group with you, please. You'll need the company." Then, he's out like a light, and I have an awful feeling in the pit of my stomach. I brush a few Shenanigans away from me. They nest around the Poet King. I make sure there's someone in the vicinity to see to him, and then I leave for the Armed Hall. I have troops to gather.

I decide to give my brother a bit of a word before I leave, though.

You might want to hide your little extra Treaty. Chethar's finally noticed there's trouble.

All I get in response is a bit of panic, and then silence.

* * *

I cannot find a few of my Armed, which is most distressing considering recent news. There are trainees missing, as well. There is, however, Gerald, who is grinning like a damned fool.

"Oh! Hey, Father. Listen, can I talk to you sometime, when everything's sort of blown over?"

I try not to facepalm, really I do. "Gerald, I don't know when-- look, we need to form a fighting party with all haste. I've found a few of them, but where is your twin brother?"

Gerald's resulting explanation is most frustrating, and worst of all I can do nothing about it. Well, it does make me want to destroy some things, but I am trying - straining - to withhold my ire. "And you say they left after the trial let out? Then they've had some time to get farther out than I can call back."

"Yeah, they've got a good amount of lead time! We didn't want to waste a moment, really. Don't worry, Gerude'll keep the trainees out of trouble. And they've got Erynn."

I almost strangle him. I'm his Father, I've got the right. "And so why did you stay behind?"

Gerald grins. "Someone had to make sure you knew what was going on. Hey, what do you think of Rachella?"

Oh. Oh is that why he's acting like such an idiot? You know, after all this, at least he's gotten over Katherine. "I think that it is a shame that you're not getting ready for a dangerous mission. We'll talk later about why nobody is good enough for you." With that, I try to find anyone else for the mission. Kevrin would be an asset, but he's busy keeping an eye on Djardrik and the new Windbird that apparently we are keeping. I've got to keep guards on Jhe o'Sul, and I'm keeping someone handy to watch Patrick as well, and there are those in place that are watching the Nursery considering how dangerous a large amount of adult minds in very new, clumsy, tiny bodies can be. All in all I just don't have enough Armed here that are capable of keeping their heads on a diplomatic mission that might possibly turn not-so-diplomatic. At least Camden is still here, and Jenny follows orders most times. Julia and Lute will be handy in case things go awry. Should I take more than three visible Armed beside myself, then? Hmm. Any more and it'll appear as if we're looking for a war. I wonder if I could borrow a few of Elete's Poets? They wouldn't be perceived as soldiers and if we put them up in front they could make for cannon fodder. Heck, they could fill the entire ship with Shenanigans. Chethar'll never see that coming.

It's a damn shame Katherine won't be with me. I prefer to have her at my side when facing Chetharians. Especially if Mitheoni-archo is on the ship.

Of course. He must be on the ship. He holds the same rank as I used to in Chethar, and he's the best counter against me. And of course, if Emperor Theos is sending a ship, he must be taking me into an account. Really I've no idea why Elete told me to bring fighters to the ship - a fight with Chethar bodes ill even if we win it.

But he is a Time Lord, after all.

* * *

"We could call them off, have them ride back to Beleth." Camden pushes up his glasses, then looks out from the slots of the pillbox built into the cliffs overlooking the coast. "I presume you've given that some thought."

"I did. It would take too long. Collecting them by teleport is possible, but..."

"But you approve of their mission?" Camden's smile has a razor tucked into it. Jenny just glowers in the back of the tiny rock room. I imagine she'd rather be out riding with the trainees towards certain doom. Can't really blame her - Chetharian ships are most impressive, even from a distance.

I sigh. "I'm not calling them back." I don't want to voice my approval of something so foolhardy and brash as a spur-of-the-moment invasion of Lyiannethe, especially by such an uninformed and untrained task force. However, they are doing what I wish I could right now - taking immediate action. Trainees have a certain luck that goes with their bravado, which Jaxhelshon has in spades. And, well, they do have Erynn, and he is a competent Poet who works very well with Armed teams, and has yet to get himself killed in an embarrassing manner. "I am also not voicing any opinion on their actions." I would, however, like to keep their heroic raid attempt as unofficial as possible, should things go wrong.

Besides, if they were going to cause something horrible, Elete would have warned me of it. Right?

"Ah. Is that so? Wise." Camden glances again at the observation slit, then takes the spyglass from me and pokes it through. "Too hard to get a headcount at this distance." He sighs heavily. "Still, if there are many Archo on board, we might have a genuine scuffle on our hands. Will we be taking prisoners?"

The breath catches in my chest. I hadn't even thought of that. While the thought of taking Mitheoni-archo prisoner does have a certain charm to it, I really don't want to contemplate what Emperor Theos will do in response. There's a reason we agreed to a Treaty with Audiva Rocale on his demand. The Emperor does not act lightly. As it is, on a certain level it's difficult even comprehending raising Arms against those who, before Radia was founded, would have counted as my fellow countrymen.

On the other hand, the thought has a certain allure to it that's almost perverse. I blame the prospect of cutting Mitheoni-archo down. I do not appreciate replacements, even in an Empire I am no longer a part of.

"We will try to be diplomatic." I weigh the consequences of a slaughter versus the consequences of taking prisoners. Possibly the argument of protecting our own people would have more sway if we had something to give back to Chethar afterward. "If it comes to it, though, take prisoners. Killing even one of them could bear dire consequences."

"Aye." Camden nods. "Then may we not notify them of imminent boarding and then all of us be off?"

I do appreciate that my Peacekeeper is a direct man who weighs his options. I also fear that my Armed are a little too eager for blood. At least Gerald seems to have pulled his head out of the clouds, and is looking quite serious about this. "Yes. Let's see what they want."

* * *
'Sy
* * *

We appear on deck near the prow of the boat. Gerald is to my side, Camden to the other, and Jenny behind me. That will make for a good formation, should fighting come into play. Lute and Julia are already secreting themselves around the ship, though I gave them instructions not to spy too much into who and what is on the vessel. We're not here for that type of operation and it is impolite. Besides that, Mitheoni-archo will be expecting us.

Strange, then, that no one is here to greet us. While the ship hasn't hailed those landside yet, surely he would anticipate--

I narrow my eyes, then look about. Something strange is going on. Though perhaps its just every one of my senses screaming at me and demanding to know why I've just put myself in a place where I'm surrounded on all side by water. My skin is crawling from the sensation of so much water rolling around me, under me, and saturating the very air I breathe. Despicable. I don't know how Elete can stand this part. At least he had a nice friendly boat and not one of these giant Chetharian galleons.

Strange things goin on here, Pa. Should I kill 'em if they see me?

Prisoners. I explained what those were to you once, did I not? Your entire brigade has been instructed at length on what I mean by taking someone alive.

Awww, Daaaad. I thought you were kidding around about that! Lute sulks. Fine. Play your boring game.

The Peacekeeper raises an eyebrow at me. A query. I nod, and he takes a few steps forward. He's not drawn Geillg'a, but I can see his wrist cocked just-so, ready to draw her faster than an eye can blink. Jenny inches sideways a little bit, which gives her a better angle to offer him cover while still appearing to be an innocuous foot-shift.

"Hallo?" Camden's accent sounds stronger right now. Damnit, that means he's itching for a fight. I know we all are, right now.

"Gus? Zat you?" A young voice calls out. Odd, it must be no older than a child. And so it is - from what I can tell, he's a male child, probably twelve at the oldest, wearing a black vest, a red bandana, and a peasant's blouse. Odd garb, for a Chetharian. He blinks, looking us up and down. "Oh. Whoa. I'd better tell that--" he cuts himself off and sweeps a flourishing bow. "Pardon me, mateys. We were not expecting company so early. Permit me to summon the proper authorities."

"Oh, don't be so hasty," I say. "Perhaps we should have a chat." Camden hasn't drawn his Arms yet, but that child certainly cut it close. I want to talk with him, and see just what is going on--

A sword jabs into the small of my back right after Diyn decides to alert me to its presence. "Not so hasty, me gents. Drop yer weapons. Aye, right on the deck there. We just swabbed it."

A quick mental check tells me that Jenny has made herself scarce. Strange. Diyn assures me there's nothing at all to worry about. Why would I alert you to a swordsman of no skill?

Gerald raises a dubious eyebrow as we're surrounded by a group of swarthy, mangy, crusty, accursed brigands. What? Pirates?

It certainly explains why we weren't expected on deck, but how could a ragtag group like this take on a fighting squad of Archos? Well, that certainly says something about the training proficiency of Mitheoni-archo. Maybe he was a casualty. What a pity.

I roll my eyes, then focus on the situation at hand. Gerald is looking for a cue, and Camden is almost begging for an excuse to draw. I expect Jenny has found a vantage to shoot her arrows from. The sword at my back is obviously no match for my blade (as if any is). There's obviously nothing of value here.

"Kill them all, save for the child." I parry the sword at my back with the Trident, watching the man who dared challenge me widen his eyes in shock. Geillga's length uncoils and then strikes at a crewman with the grind and whistle of finely-honed metal. Gerald fires both guns, all grins. All around us rain Dyennah's arrows. I never see Lute and Julia draw, but I can feel their glee after I give the order to kill.

"Holy gullshit, Cap'n! They're sportin' iron I never saw on 'em!"

The man who pressed a sword to my back just cackles in response. Considering the size of his hat and the absurd feathers tucked into it, plus the flashy coat and high level of bravado, I'm going to guess that he is the Captain of this crew. "That's right, we might have a real fight from these Radian pansies, boys! Have at 'em! ARRRH!"

Diyn turns easily in my hand in a maneuver that will cut the man in half as if her were only so much grease and fat - and really, that about sums up the whole lot of this crew. Both my Arms and I take pause when the intended result fails to happen.

Breath of Theos, did he dodge me?!

There's a cackle from behind me, and I manage to duck away from the man's blade with Diyn's assistance. Had I not done so, my head would have been chopped clean off. Gerald curses as he fires. I'm occupied with the task at hand, but I do note that not of my son's shots are making their mark. The same can be said for Jenny's arrows. I'd say it was impossible were I not witnessing it with my own eyes.

Camden is silent, surveying the battle as closely as he can. Then he squawks, and I look over at him in between parries. Katherine is in his arms. Camden hoists the baby onto his shoulder with one arm as he weilds Geillg'a with his other.

"KHATARINA!" I roar it as I fight, my anger weighing on it and giving a particular accent to the name that only ever seems to come out unless I'm completely infuriated with her.

"M'name's Captain Zhienor Furiste d'Dragani du Barista von Karkavosta the Seventh, Unspeakable Terror of the Forty-One Seas!" The Captain seems to be annoyed that I got his name wrong. Whatever his name is, it's preposterous, and I shan't bother with it as it's about to be a dead man's name.

But 'Sy, I had to come and look! You're on a BOAT! I won't miss this! Katherine glares at me. Camden glares at her. Gerald shouts as he fires both his guns:

"Katherine, what the hell, you like dying this much?" Then he manages to get himself punched in the mouth and starts to brawl with ten men at once.

"GO HOME!" I take off the Captain's head. I swear I do, but there he is, still grinning at me, still having an intact neck, not a hair harmed on his head.

No! You're surrounded by water! And there's pirates! I'll never see this again in my life!

Camden tries to exit the fight and keep Katherine out of harm's way. He sort of manages - the pirates attacking him are rather intrigued about the sudden presence of an infant in his arms.

"Hey now, what's this? Psychological warfare, it is!"

Then Katherine vanishes, and Julia assures me that she's keeping the Advocate out of harm's way, somewhere secluded on the ship. Fine and good. Ungrateful brat of a girl, she's like this every time she's Regenerated. At least now I can focus on the fight at hand - and marvel at just how poorly we are performing in it. Out of all four of us, and probably Lute besides, none of us have landed a single hit on our opponents.

* * *
Katherine
* * *

I want to go back! Jhe Julia! Jhe Julia take me baaaack!

The Armed tsks at me and smirks. Nay, Jhe Cruxradia. We can't have you endangering yourself right after you've gone and endangered yourself. Besides, isn't it fun to explore new places? That's my job, you know! Julia sounds horribly cheerful. That's because she's pandering to me as if I am a child.

Wait, I think this is how Julia always speaks to me. It's a little hard to tell. We don't interact much - our jobs rarely have us do so. In any case, Julia is a lot more clever than anyone who was watching me at the nursery, and knows how to keep me from just teleporting onto 'Sy's head right now. But it would be fun to go and bother him right now!

Something a child like you would think, I know, but my duty is down here. Now, child, you are something I am sworn to protect above all things, so don't think I'm goint to let you crawl out of my sight. Others may forget that you are the Treaty, but I do not. Ever.

I hate being the Treaty instead of the Advocate. One's a birthmark, the other's my job. Feh. And I'm not a child, I'm not even acting like a child, being an infant doesn't make me act childlike at all! But whyyyyy?

Because spying is more interesting than cutting up a squad of pathetic and unworthy fighters. See, look. There's plenty of pirates down here, and they're all doing interesting things.

I don't really believe her and I don't want to look. I want to be up there and fight with 'Sy and the others! I can totally take everyone up there. Still, I'm stuck with Julia, so grudgingly I decide to look about. We're in a dark place, but that's mostly because I'm with Julia and she hides in darkness. This room below-decks is fairly well-lit with a single lamp. Up ahead is a desk - the man sitting at it has more light ready in the form of a candlestick. He's writing intently, his long black hair shadowing his face.

"And then... no, that's no good, have to-- ah! What a heroic maneuver! Really some of my best-- oh, they're clever, will have to-- very nice. Goodness, they're putting up more of a fight than anyone we've raided! There's just four of them... ah, no, five. Ha! Found one sneaking about. How cute! Just have to get him surrounded... hm! Remarkably difficult! Well I declare."

Julia and I do a simultaneous eyebrow-lift.

A Poet? Get closer.

I'm not your personal conveyance, dear princess.

Do it or I'll poop on you.

Julia seems to be as motivated by that as any other person who's looked after me while I'm a baby. It's always sad when I grow so big that I can't use it as a threat anymore. We get closer to the guy. Still can't see him! His hair's blocking the view. We can't get any farther without me being given away. As it is the only reason I got this close is because he's distracted by his writing. Julia scowls. I should just kill him.

Hmph. You shadow division people are always chickens like that. I manage to squirm out of her arms, hitting the floor with a muffled thump. Poetry has a nice knack of easing little crashes like that when you work it right, and I'm wearing my thick soft footie pajamas. And I can crawl!

You little--! Julia doesn't bother finishing to tell me what I am, though - she leaps backward into the shadows again as the man looks up. And then, down. I don't have the best vantage so all I can see is nose, hair, then knee.

"What--?" The man picks me up. The fool! I always knew being a baby would be the best disguise. It's a shame 'Sy never lets me do this on purpose, as much as he always warns that he's going to kill me. The man holds me in his lap, confusion spreading over his face. "Who are you--" He looks at his writing in a panic. "No!!"

Of course, it's too late, then. Our unknown Poet has given up a few seconds of watching his pirate comrades' backs in battle, and I bet it was enough for 'Sy and the rest to turn the battle. The man reaches for his quill in a panic, managing to scribble out a sentence or two before Julia's blade is at his neck.

"Get your hands off the baby before I have to spill all your lovely ink."

"My pardon. By all means, we don't mean any harm to an infant." The man raises his hands. Julia snatches me back, but keeps Gwen at the man's neck.

Hm. I send a thought to Julia and the Judge at once. 'Sy? Don't kill the pirates! They've got a Poet with them. They might have more!

'Sy's voice is a deep growl as he replies. That's no reason not to kill all of them but one. Bring the Poet here. And what have you been doing down there?

She's safe, Jhe h'Akribastes. Julia's voice is calm and even.

Have they really earned their deaths? I press 'Sy on it, scowling with concentration. He always hates that question, but...

He sighs. Oh, fine. We'll kill them later. They're complete pushovers now, in any case. I suppose their captive Poet is the cause of their previous invincibility?

Of course. Julia marches the Poet up the stairs. I'd like to get a better look at him - something's up with him. I think I might recognize him, but it's always hard to get an angle when I'm this tiny, and everything looks so much different!

"Madam? I suppose some barter could be made for our release? If I could but talk to your leader--" Julia jabs the point of Gwen into the small of his back. I doubt she draws too much blood, but it keeps the guy quiet.

"Oh, you'll see the Judge. Don't you worry about that, you traitorous scum."

"I beg your pardon?" He seems quite confused.

I poke Julia. Maybe he was being forced to write for them?

She shakes her head. Quiet. It doesn't explain why he's trying to barter.

Just because we don't know yet doesn't mean there's not a good reason! And I like him.

Julia snorts, then answers the man's question. "Fine. The Judge will work it all out, I'm sure."

The man has no answer for that.

We get onto the deck, where a number of pirates are bound up by quite a lot of rope. There's quite a lot of blood present, but no one seems to be dead. That's a bit strange considering how angry 'Sy sounded. We make our way up to him, where he's been questioning the Captain. Apparently that hasn't been going so well, if 'Sy's expression is anything to tell by. He looks up, first verifying that I'm alright, then taking me in his arms and verifying again, then holding me in a way that has a little extra huggyness to it even though he doesn't want to admit it he was worried about me, then looking at the Poet that Julia marched up here.

'Sy's face shifts to worried alarm, which starts turning to pure confusion. I start to understand why as I get my own chance to size up the guy in broad daylight, with all of his hair out of the way. I know who it is now, but that just gives us more questions to ask.

"...Elete?"

* * *

* * *
'Sy
* * *

A man is standing in front of me. He looks like Elete. For all the life in me... he is Elete.

No. That can't be right, not at all. Elete is in Radia. He may not be in his bed, but puttering around with his projects in the Poet Hall is his usual method of rebellion, not signing up with a bunch of pirates and... it's just not possible, no. Still. That has to be Elete. Not a brother, not some other Xaillyndesse. Elete himself. In fact, I am so convinced that I go ahead and address him as I usually would. "Elete?"

The man raises an eyebrow, no recognition showing his eyes. "I do beg your pardon? You are the leader of your boarding crew, yes? I am the ambassador on this ship. My name is Elessandre von Karkavosta du Trelainte d'Nda se-Tulowneh." He bows, doffing his hat with a flourish that almost makes Julia chop his arm off.

It doesn't really matter what he says his name is - the bow, the tone of voice, the stress on manners, the condescension, and especially the way all of the prior things make me hate him all add up. It has to be Elete.

I just have absolutely no clue how.

Diyn decides to get his word in on the subject. He is indeed Eleth-travente Xaillyndesse. You are making no mistake. I of all beings would be able to see the truth in him.

Are you sure? I think he can't be, but...

He is Elete. Diyn pauses. And maybe something else, too, but... he is definitely Elete.

At this point, I can do nothing less than verify directly from the source. My mind reaches out to the Poet Hall. Elete?

The response takes a moment, and is very groggy. ...'Sy? Yes? The poor thing, he sounds like he needs more sleep. He's obviously feeling terrible.

I'm just... checking that you're in bed.

I am. What's wrong? There's something wrong, isn't there?

Nothing's wrong. Why aren't you asleep?

...You woke me up. His tone is so cross and childlike that my reply is automatic.

That's no excuse! Now go back to sleep!

The man in front of me has a rather dubious expression on his face. He must be awaiting a response. He's probably also wondering at my cross, distant expression. Most people who haven't dealt with the Armed do.

"My apologies. There's been a bit of a mix-up. I am Jhe h'Akribastes Tesynnodai Akribastes, Judge of the Empire of Crux Radia, and you and your crew have trespassed on our waters. You have also set up an ambush utilizing a Chetharian vessel that was obviously not accquired through acceptable means. Ordinarily, you would all be dead by now, save one for questioning." My my. The man is getting paler by the moment. Good, that means that whoever-- whatever he is, he's taking this seriously.

"He was countering you with Poetry," says Julia. "From what I could tell, he countered all of the Armed on board single-handedly. His last bit of writing was to ensure their livelihoods, which explains the lack of corpses on this deck rather well."

The man blinks. "Poetry? Oh, nothing as fancy as all that, surely. I'm a story-spinner, but--"

"You shut up." I am just as tired of this man's pompous attitude as I am the real Elete's. No, however impossible it is, I think I may actually be more tired of this man than I am of Elete, and I've known Elete for most of his life and this man for only two minutes. I suppose that's impressive. "We'll sort this out in Radia. You're all under arrest. Jhe Camden? I suppose you can ensure that he works no further Poetry against us?"

Camden's brow crinkles. With all due respect, sire, I worry at how much power he might have, especially since it's a wild, untrained power. Reinforcements might be in order.

Done. I make the request for any of our Armed with strong Poetic abilities to grab some level-headed Poets and get here at once. Mixed do come in handy at the strangest times.

Out loud, he says, "Of course. I'm sure he's quite a reasonable fellow, aren't you--" Camden tries to remember the man's unreasonably long and complex name.

"Ales." The Captain grins. "His name's Ales!"

'Ales' pouts. "Captain Jules, I told you not to call me that in front of those who aren't the crew."

I raise an eyebrow. "Jules?"

The Captain waggles his eyebrows, which for some reason seems far more obscene a gesture than it should be. "Aye! Captain Zhienor Furiste d'Dragani du Barista von Karkavosta the Seventh, Unspeakable Terror of the Forty-One Seas, or just Jules for short! And don't mind Ales, he just has his particulars, he does. Fancy lad."

'Ales' looks pleadingly at me. "Elesse. It's Elesse for short, Elessandre is my proper name, and by no means is my name Ales."

"'But he'll answer to it in bed, he will!" The Captain cackles. I shudder. 'Ales' opens his mouth to voice some sort of protest. I am tired of this nonsense.

"Everyone shut up or we'll start clipping tongues." I look up. Our support squad has arrived - several Mixed that could be spared from guard duty, plus five Poets. It's strange to feel all that Poetic concentration focus on one man on board - especially on a man that is so like our Poet King. "Let's be off, now. Keep a small detail behind to get this boat... wherever it needs to be." I wave my hand with the dismissive statement. I hate boats, I hate water, I hate being here, and for all I care they can sink this damned thing. "Make sure to round up any stragglers left below-decks, and search the thing for any evidence of further wrongdoing. Call in more reinforcements if necessary."

Katherine pats my arm. I look down at her. She smiles up at me. See? This was so much fun!

I scowl in reply. With that, we leave, the Captain protesting as we vanish. "Hey now, this be the Kraken! It be my ship what I stole fair and square--"

* * *

I have Camden oversee the prisoners being filed into the cells. Once they're behind the wards there's little to worry about. After I request for the Captain and Elesse (or whatever his name really is) to be put into their own separate cells for extra security's sake, I leave Katherine in the nursery. I give the caretakers an extra scowl, which makes them look even more sheepish for losing track of my Advocate. (You would think they would expect this sort of behavior from her by now, and learn to counter it.) Then I leave for the Poet Hall.

I'm a little alarmed by just how much I'm rushing towards it. It's as if I'm worried about what I will find. The Poets within have a certain amount of alarm to them that merely feeds mine. No, I don't want to be asked if I need anything or if they can assist with any of the operations 'in this tense time'. "I'm here for Elete." I make my way to his room.

It's become a Shenanigan nest. Somewhere underneath the blanket of purring fur and feathers, Elete lies, a pale specter of a man.

For a moment, I can't tell if he's breathing. Then he opens his eyes. They focus immediately, which I hope is a good sign and not some sort of pre-death clarity. "Tesynnodai? What is going on?"

A sort of relief comes over me as I kneel by his bed. I stroke his hair back from his forehead. He's so cold. "I didn't drown. Elete, this is silly. We can't just leave you here to die."

He frowns. "'Sy, please stop wasting your time on me. I am a dead man soon, and there's no need for trouble--" he cuts himself off at the sight of my glare.

"You listen to me, h'Logos. I will waste my time on whatever it is that I deem appropriate, and you've no power over that." He flinches. "Now. If you're going to die there'll be a body. And then we'll bring you back. You're making a big show of things, aren't you? That's all this is, right? Because I'm not playing your games anymore."

He looks so sympathetic. He lays his hand on mine. His fingers are thin, and his touch is ice. "I'll miss you too, 'Sy. But you can do nothing to stop this."

I shake my head. "Elete, the ship was full of pirates. We don't know what happened to the Chetharians on it. There was a Poet with them who even Diyn swears is you. He's just like you. Longer hair, and a bit stupider, but that's really the only difference."

Elete raises his eyebrows. "I'm honored to be spoken so highly of. Nevertheless I've no answer for..." He shakes his head as his words drift. Then his head falls back onto his pillow. His eyes look blindly into the distance. I snap my hand to his neck to feel for a pulse. There's a sluggish weak thud of a heartbeat still in him, but I don't know how long it will last. "It's coming," he exhales in a hoarse whisper.

"What? What, Elete, just tell me what's going on and how we can fix you!"

"Everything's coming along... just fine. Talk to your new friend who is my match." His voice is a reedy whisper, an old flute in bad need of repair.

I close my eyes and shake my head. "Why, is he our replacement Poet King you told me of? Is that why I should just give up on you?"

"Oh? No... no, he'll not be... he's no h'Logos." Elete's chuckle sounds like it should be easing up from the chest of a doddering, withered ancient - not a man in his prime. "He'll be important for your future. Mine matters not."

"I'm not listening to you! Damnit, Elete, tell me how to fix this!" I pound my fist into his bedframe. A few Shenanigans squeak and scatter away.

Elete smiles up at me, and the expression hurts me in a way that I can't quite describe. "It's beautiful to see you fight this hard to preserve something that must be destroyed. It's something I've never seen burn in you quite this strongly. You've inspired me so much, Tesynnodai. I'm sure you'll do just fine on your own."

I wish I could say: and with that, he died. It would almost be better that way, better than his breaths easing, his eyes closing, his vitality fading as he sinks back into an uneasy sleep. There would be a finality if he just died now, and I feel guilty for thinking so. But he lingers. He lingers, and as long as he does, I will want to fix him. I will feel guilty every time I am away from this bedside. It will always nag at the back of my mind.

Still, I leave him. I leave my dying friend who is so set on being helpfully unhelpful. I have so very much to do now, and no time I can set aside for the vigil here.

* * *
'Sy
* * *

I arrive in the dungeons to what could almost be utter madness, if all the instigators weren't already locked in their cells. Mostly it's the noise that's making it seem unmanageable--

"YEH STAGGER THREE PACES RIGHT, AND POUR US MORE ALE!!"

--because they're all singing bar songs in chorus.

"AND MAKE YOUR BED UP REAL NICE, IT'S SHAG TIME FOR ALES!"

"Oh goodness. They're not-- Men! Good sirs! Please, this jail is full of polite company!" Elesse sounds truly wretched as he pleads for his fellow brigands to stop singing. I can't blame him. This pirate crew is made up of terrible singers.

I look over to Camden. He rolls his eyes. "We've had some trouble controlling the noise, but otherwise they're quite peaceable, for what they are." He snorts. "It's the Poet that does it. Not one of these men are used to real fighting. Whoever that man is, he must have been with them for some time now, to weaken their fighting instincts that much." Camden looks the most cross about that last part.

I only nod. "Get the noise under control. We can ward that sort of thing. Silence between-cell contact to keep them from consorting to keep their stories straight. I'll talk with the Poet. You interrogate the Captain. He's isolated, correct?"

Camden nods. "In his own cell, like the Poet." His face looks a little pinched. "The boy tried to stay with the Captain. We put him in an adjoining cell. If they looked anything alike I'd say that they were father and son. I think the boy carries the position of first mate." He rolls his eyes. "Being twelve, he's certainly more mature than the rest of this rabble." He lowers his voice. "I'd be in favor of killing them all, too. Surely they're guilty of something, right? But the Poet... my Arms keep telling me that he's Jhe Elete."

"Yes. Diyn does as well. Hence why I want to question him as soon as possible." I keep my voice calm through the next part. I don't want to raise alarm about this. Elete wouldn't want me to. "Elete is in his quarters, asleep. He's been falling ill again. He's not looking well. Keep on the alert."

Camden looks pained, not alarmed. He is, however, quite calm. "Of course. We all know how the King gets sometimes. I'll get what information I can from the Captain after warding for sound."

With that, we split off. I enter Elesse's cell just as the outside goes completely quiet. The man jumps. He has a table in his cell with two rudimentary chairs - it's already set up well for interrogation. Very good. There's a bed, as well, which means whoever put him in here expected that he'd last more than a day before Trial. Hmph. "Take a seat."

He makes another one of those bows before sitting, crossing his legs with his ankle propped on the other leg's knee. He looks like a total fop - or exactly as I'd imagine Elete if the man finally decided to wear some pants for once. I glare down at him for a moment before sitting as well. "You've some explaining to do, Jhe Elessandre."

He nods in deference. "If you please good sir-- Jhe h'Akribastes, I believe it was? Ah, yes. Elesse will suffice. The whole name I find to be quite unmanagable when repeated oft."

I raise an eyebrow. "Elesse, then. That's close enough to your real name, I suppose." I narrow my eyes. "Any of us could tell that the rest of the name you gave on the ship was false."

His eyes widen as he looks up at me with false, pleading innocence. The classic Poet 'oops' expression. "I beg your pardon? My family history is quite--"

"--An extravagant lie, I'm sure. I'm not here for your lies." I draw Diyn, then place him upright next to the table. He balances perfectly without tipping and without leaning against anything. We're rather proud of that trick. "Where did you get your ship from?"

He blinks. "I--" He sighs heavily then. "Goodness, we've never had someone raise so much of a fuss about it, just that we used such tactics... really, all of this can be settled politely. We can pay for your troubles--"

I smile. "Oh, indeed. You will pay."

He pales. "I do mean... we have a cargo, for barter. And we also have our services--"

"Pirating? You're trying to hire yourself off for pirating?" I'm actually cheered at the gall of him.

"Well, it's good business, and quite useful." He smiles broadly, leaning on the table with his hands clasped. "Parties should work together to find a way that they can mutually benefit each other, is our philosophy."

I smile broader. "You're the brains of this operation. The Captain just yells the orders."

He looks confused. "I beg your pardon?"

"That happens often." My grin could hone steel. "You get the deals done for the Captain, he commands the muscle, it works out for you. Did Elete train you? Perhaps you learned how to emulate him at the Hall. I'm surprised I've never seen you, but he does keep his secrets. It's a good business, isn't it? Pirating. A likely career for a rogue Poet. I commend you, in fact, for finding your true calling."

By the honest confusion on his face, and the way the words ring in my mouth, I can tell that only the first part was true - anything after the mention of Elete's name was completely off the mark. Still, I've at least learned what he isn't. He isn't a Poet that's run off from the Hall. "Again, where is your ship from? Surely there's no crime you committed in obtaining it."

The man blanches. "Oh, no, good sir. Nothing of the sort. She was a ghost ship." He shudders. Interesting. That was an honest bit of fear. "We found her in... blacker waters than the blue bay that were were collected from. Captain Jules fell in love with her. I did profess some relief in being able to save her. She was such a beautiful vessel. We claimed her ten years ago - she was abandoned, and what was left of the crew was... quite dead." He can't look me in the face at that last part. Then again, the subject apparently makes him ill. "I don't look back upon that fondly, 'Sy--"

My hand darts forward and grabs his wrist, and my eyes glare right into his. Into Elete's blue eyes, damn it all, they're just the same as Elete's. "What did you call me?"

He cocks his head, looking at me with that far-distant stare of Elete's. "...'Sy? Ah, that is your name, isn't it? That most people call you." He laughs, the sound oddly light and genuine, clashing with the situation at hand. "I have a knack with names. I win some money in bars from it."

He's speaking the truth, but I still don't believe him. You will understand the previous statement if you have children.

I let go of his wrist. I sit there for a moment, looking at him, composing myself. "You found no sign of what killed the crew?"

He shakes his head, looking rather pale while doing so. Ah, a lie.

"Tell me the truth. It always comes out better for the people who face me when they tell the truth." I lace my fingers together, propping my hands in front of my mouth. Diyn glints. The man looks at me, and then the Trident, and then me again. What dawns on his face isn't quite comprehension, but a sort of awe.

"My apologies, sire, but... just what are you?" An honest question. Interesting.

"You don't know what the Judge is?" I prop my chin up on my hands so he can see my smile. "I am the Law. That is the simplest answer." He still looks confused. "You are not from here. I can see that. I shall put this in the simplest terms - if you transgress against the Law, you transgress against me. When the Law dictates punishment, I dictate your punishment. When the Law decrees your execution, I serve you your sentence. So." I make a little motion, beckoning with my fingers. "The truth, if you please."

"I..." He doesn't look me in the eye anymore. "They were... people. Spider-p-p-p-p-people. They... I've seen them before." He's shivering. Interesting. What is he so afraid of? "They ate the crew. I'm sure of it. I saw some bits and pieces directly. I... didn't see much else, because Captain Jules and the rest of the crew didn't allow me to board the vessel until it was mostly clean. It took some time."

"Why didn't they allow you to board it to watch?" I examine the seams of my gloves idly. Taking my eyes off of those I interrogate sometimes allows them to relax and speak more on sensitive subjects. I can see him perfectly well out of the corners of my eyes.

"They know I'm afraid of spiders. I can't stand them, I can't be near them. They know that, so... call it a mercy." His eyes are pleading with me to stop - an expression I don't think I've ever seen come from Elete. So strange to see it in this way. I wonder if Elete will ever open his eyes again, or if this is the last I'll see of them - I cast away the thought and keep him out of my mind. I have to focus on this.

"Tell me the entire truth, or I shall have to resort to less polite methods." I glance over at Diyn. The man's eyes widen.

"I really don't want to-- it doesn't have any bearing on the ship or the pirates, sire, and I'd really rather not speak of--"

"You will talk." My words are very quiet, and very true.

"I..." He re-clasps his hands, flexing his fingers, then shifts them again, flexing again. So nervous. I wonder why. "I was found in the black waters on a ship of the spider-people's command. Captain Jules took on the people and defeated them in battle, then took me from the ship as someone he could possibly sell or barter with or... whatnot. That happened in the same black waters that we would later find the ghost galleon adrift in. It was..." his eyes look far off for a moment. "Ages ago. Time is a strange thing to keep track of on a ship under Captain Jules's command. He sails the Forty-One Seas, after all. In any case, my time with the... the spider people was not... was not kind, so I prefer... they all prefer to not keep me in sight of them."

I look dubious. Well, his story holds up and tests as true, it's just... "Forty-One Seas, you say?"

He laughs. "Strange to hear, isn't it? The Captain finds quite a few waters that do not reside on any ordinary map. The black waters would be just one of those Seas. Perhaps Forty-One is a number that is too precise, but we do like the sound of it. It makes for a good story or two when we're at port."

"Indeed it must." My fingers rap against the table for a few moments, which makes Elesse more nervous. It's as if I'm counting out his last moments in life. And, well, I very well could be. "Have you ever met Thelea Xaillyndesse?"

He looks up at me, honest confusion in his eyes. "Who?"

I keep my expression as kind as possible. "Please answer."

He shakes his head. "If I met a person named Thelea, then said person did not extend the kindness of an introduction. As far as I can tell, no, I have not met such a person."

I narrow my eyes. Diyn is telling me even now that the man speaks the truth as he knows it, but I can tell through the words that somehow... somehow he is lying.

And doesn't know it?

Indeed. There's a flare-up of that affliction as of late.

How to proceed, then? He's innocent according his own knowledge, at least in that area.

Why does that matter? Everyone is guilty of something.

"Are you alright? Something you ate, perhaps?" Elesse cocks his head, showing concern for my well-being. I suppose my expression wasn't the most pleasant, but talking to Arms never gives one a fresh face.

"I am contemplating just how to proceed with you. I am entirely certain that you are not what you seem, nor what you know." I decide to give him that much rope, to see whether he jumps with it or hangs himself from it.

He laughs. "Oh, that's a given. I don't remember anything from before Captain Jules and his crew rescued me."

I hook my eyebrow up, and his face looks like I've just caught him behind the gills with it. "A lie. A very clever, almost harmless lie - at least to you. But if you tell me more lies I will have to prove to you that I cannot suffer to stand a liar. Are we understood?" He swallows, then nods. "Very well then. Proceed at your peril."

Yet again he finds trouble looking directly at me - something I'm beginning to associate with him actually speaking with honesty. "I have a mess of memories from before I met Jules. I like to bury them as they... give me nightmares. There's no part of my past I fancy, when it comes to that. I have some idea that I was an important person, or highly valued. Then... then..." his brow creases. "I beg pardon. It's difficult to describe. There was a... a King. I suppose you could call him a King. I should think that maybe I should start from the beginning - I was in a place, a very dark place. The black waters where Captain Jules found the vessel that you boarded today would break tide on the shores of this land. I never heard a name for it while I was there... I never heard them speak. I was punished for speaking when I was there, for--" he flinches. "For being awake, really. They said I was noisy. The King did, rather. And so I was often..." He drags in a long breath, giving it dramatic pause as he calms his nerves. "There were s-s-s-... eight-legged things. Very large. Bigger than the spi-- the people who had me captive when Captain Jules found me. So huge..." He shudders. "They had a lot of venom, and their webs were very strong. I remember being kept there for a long time, but I couldn't say how long - the venom was driving me mad when it was in my system. From time to time it would thin out and I would come to my senses. I'd try to stay quiet, but..." he sighs. He looks up at me. "Music is always in my mind, you see. There's always a song in my head, whether or not it's really in my ears. I can't stop that music, not even if I try."

"I understand."

"I couldn't keep it quiet, not even for that King, and the sp-p-p-- the things could only keep me asleep for so long. I don't understand why they didn't just kill me. The King sent me away on the boat then, I think. I can only guess. I wasn't quite myself for any of that time. It took me weeks to truly come to my senses after Captain Jules rescued me. After that... well, he took me on as crew after I convinced him I was too valuable to sell." Elesse smiles at me. "Elessandre is a good name. I like it. I can't say whether it is my real name, but why dwell on the past?"

I nod. I see. Some toy or pet or project of the Jherent Nul, probably in collusion with Thelea Xaillyndesse. She'd have some material saved up from her son Elete, of course - such work has always been a specialty of hers. She's never liked that her beloved son joined Radia's side and defected from Audiva Rocale. 'Elesse' would have been her solution to that problem. Certainly it would explain why Elete got more ill as Elesse approached. It's all very simple, then.

Destroy this man, and Elete will live.

You can't kill anyone in the cells without me there first. There's a disapproving pout to Katherine's words. I almost feel bad.

Diyn's answering growl at her is immediate - so palpable that it causes a chill around the area near him. Elesse raises an eyebrow.

You'll want Elete to live more than you'll suffer this fool to do so-- I catch my mistake too late.

There is a baby in the cell, a baby with a disapproving glare on her face. She's a little older now, of course - close to a toddler by this point. They grow up so fast! She's sitting on the table, glaring at me so fiercely that I ought to be a smoking hole where I sit.

"Oh! You again." Elesse looks up at me from Katherine. "Is this a common child-rearing custom in your country?"

"Radia. And yes... of sorts." Katherine is Aiming at me. I have a feeling that she'd draw Gevurah right now if it weren't for how comedic she looks doing so when she's so tiny. "I'm afraid our interview has drawn to a close. I will consider your testimony and your pleas regarding how the crew shall be treated. Pray I do not consider your testimony when sentencing you." I gather Katherine in my arms, then twirl Diyn. On the second twirl, he vanishes. "I bid you adieu for now. It is a busy time, so do pardon me if I delay a return visit. Good evening." I leave his cell before he can raise a protest.

What is going on with Elete, 'Sy? What have you been hiding from me?

I sigh, leaning against the wall. I look my Advocate in the eyes. "It isn't a matter of hiding, dear heart. It has been a matter of there only being so much time."

She looks at me with such deep distrust that I begin wondering how many mistakes I've made with her as of late.

"I will tell you. But there are many other things, Katherine, and there is not time in the day for all of them." I let out a heavy sigh. Then again, Katherine does always seem to make the days feel longer, and she never lets me give up on things that I try to. Maybe I do need to talk to her about this. "Here, I've time in which all I can do is wait for Camden to finish grilling the Captain. Why don't we catch up now?"

...Talk. Permission is granted begrudgingly. I go forward.

* * *

* * *
Lyric
* * *

"If you were to need a whip now, I would think you were not as highly skilled a trainer as you have claimed to be. So, with this I leave you--" Thelea gestures at me in my fine servant's robes. I've nothing on me except the clothing. "I look forward to seeing your display of skill and daring, young trainer." She gives a tight little grin, a bit of pride actually winking in her eyes. Over her shoulder, Edward glowers at me. His glance appraises me and finds me sorely lacking. With that, his expression shifts into a smirk.

Enough of him. I'm buried in over my head and I've a job to do. I turn to the cell door. Thelea slides by me to unlock it - her body is too thin and angular to be pleasant as she rubs against me. Instead, the touch only makes my skin crawl. The lock gives way with a click, she withdraws, and I enter the small stone cell. I can't even qualify it as a room, it's so tiny.

The boy looks up at me from the floor. He's sitting calmly, waiting. His gaze says that he expects a visitor, his slight jump says that he doesn't expect me. I see a flash of recognition in his eyes. Does he know me? Well, I knew Camden from sight, and Camden knew me - Elric's his brother (and his face certainly carries the resmblance), did I know him from my childhood?

Oh, that's right. Stevane played his shadow all the time. Once I remember her, I remember him - he was so tall that it's hard to recognize him from above. Our positions feel quite reversed. The blonde hair is much the same, though - but he's lost his ponytail, so it's not kept as neatly, and his bangs have grown out long enough to hang in his face. Those light blue eyes look so much like Camden's that for a moment I feel paranoid that Elric will strike at me in the same way the Peacekeeper would if attacked. Of course, Camden wouldn't cringe the way that Elric does now. He must be used to people hurting him, if he thinks I'm a threat just from looking at me.

No, he's looking over my shoulder. Thelea and Edward are there. I tsk. "Really now, stealing my audience?" I close the cell door. I'm sure they have their ways of watching what happens in here, but I can't very well perform this role properly if they're right over my shoulder.

Elric stifles a giggle. I try to look stern. He just raises an eyebrow. I sigh. This is a farce, isn't it? How am I going to even pretend I want to hurt this guy?

Oh, I'm sorry. I'm being rather a poor actor myself, aren't I? I apologize. You've already got too much to worry about, Lyric.

I blink. I really wasn't expecting a voice in my head right now. Does Elric have Arms or something?

Oh, no, not me. My brother has all the weaponry to his name. I'm just skilled with my mind, no matter what they try to do to it here. More importantly, please try to look like you're doing your job, or this meeting will be very brief.

That would be more helpful if they'd told me what I'm supposed to do. I sigh inwardly. Trainer. Well, there's always the staples of training. Getting an animal to recognize you as your boss. There's various ways of doing that dance, but there's no space here. "Greetings. You will call me Lotus."

Elric looks up at me like a dumb cow. Oh, that's right. Acting. Yes.

"Say it." The command is very light, the force hidden behind it very tastefully.

"L--gh." Elric slaps a hand over his mouth. Sorry, I'm so, so sorry. It's so hard to talk as of late. I see something black slip between his fingers, then withdraw back into his hand. My stomach turns a little. What he hell was that?

"Try again." I keep my tone patient, but don't leave room in it for disobedience.

Elric mouths the word a few times before attempting to give it a voice. The process is very painstaking, and I wonder just what they've been doing to him to make him so unable to speak. "Lo-tus."

"Good. Now say it again, properly this time."

There's a tiny glimmer of fear in his eyes before he speaks. "Lotus." Relief hits his face when he manages to say it correctly.

"That's not what he's supposed to be doing!" I hear Edward hiss to Thelea from the other side of the door.

"No fault of his. We've not instructed him." Thelea's voice is louder as she addresses me. "Lotus, dear, would you please instruct the boy to recite? He's been having dreadful trouble with that."

I look back over at Elric. The fear on his face is plain, but genuine. I was afraid she'd ask that. Don't worry. This won't hurt me.

I almost ask him what won't hurt him, but on a hunch I just go along with it. "My Mistress Thelea asks that you recite, Elric Briarseal. Will you obey, or must I make you?"

Elric's face is stubborn, his chin raising up in defiance. Force me to, or they won't believe this is real.

How the heck does he know to play along? The more I'm around this guy, the stranger he seems. More importantly, how am I going to pretend to force him to do anything, if Edward's so much trouble for him? "You know what you must do. I am a kindness, pet. Don't make me become a cruelty. You've had so much cruelty here, haven't you? Don't you want all that to end?" Honey always works better on a voice than lemon.

Elric's eyes show a bit of hope in them, but he still turns away.

"Pathetic," Edward's voice is just near enough for me to hear it. I doubt it carries to Elric.

"Besides," I say, feeling awful for the knife I'm about to twist, "your dear friend Stevane would be sad if anything bad happened to you today. I'd hate to have to tell her anything. I'd hate to bring her here." My voice frosts just a tad on that last note. I don't want to use my sister as a threat, but damn. It would probably work even if this weren't all a farce.

Elric's eyes widen - I think I see a glimmer of real panic. "P-plea--" He coughs. There's an awful hacking in that cough, and I try to convince myself that another shadow doesn't try to escape his hand as he covers his mouth. It's so terrible to lie to one's self, but I'm especially good at it.

"Oh, don't plead with me. Stevane will do it for you, I'm sure. She's really just being held for ransom. With your help... who knows?" I shrug. "Lyiannethe might be convinced to show leniency towards her. Think of how much you could do with that, how much power you have right now. A girl's entire fate, changed because you behaved." I smile. "I know you have it in you. You seem like a good person."

A sob escapes Elric, a sob that he heaves with. I can tell it's genuine, too. But then, how could we convince Thelea and Edward unless all of this was real? I know that it's all too close to becoming real - and that if Elric decides to hold back, my sister really could be dragged to this cell to give him (and her) another nightmare. It'd be another nightmare for me, as well.

"Give me forgiveness for turning this step once again in your nightmare-dance, in your nightmare-dream, Lord who spites the green and curses the white, who twists all colors into his own blanket-dance... curl me into your dream and wrap me around your tongue--" Elric's voice withers into a shriek and he brings his hands to his eyes. For a moment before he covered them, they were blank and white. Then a garble ensues from his mouth that isn't any word, any speech that I know--

--but I do. I remember Ebrellin-i's Nulspeak. Awful flashes of the memory of the Jherent Nul's Court flash across my eyes, that dance Ebrellin-i flung himself through so obediently, the markings crawling across his face like a living thing. I remember it all so well, which is perhaps why I don't flinch or scream as Elric speaks now. "Enough," I say.

Elric gratefully shuts his mouth, keeping his hands clamped against it to hold it closed. Thelea tsks behind me.

"Well done, pet, but he didn't have to finish so soon. That was barely a song." Her voice is a purr. "Still, well done. I have a use for you. As do you, Edward?"

There's a grumble in reply, but I can tell Edward is relieved not to have this duty anymore. As would I be. Had Elric fought against me, I imagine he'd have been an opponent almost as fierce as Faun. His control is amazing. "You've been such a good boy," I purr.

I say that, and I can hear him weeping.

I'm fine, Lyric dear. Just fine. I just need a little bit of recovery. Thank you so much for coming. I knew you would, really.

I don't let my confusion show on my face, but it colors my mental voice. What are you talking about?

I See things, even with this wretched collar around my neck. I've been waiting for you for a long time, Lyric. I was beginning to fear I'd Seen wrong, but here you are. A good day to you. See you soon. His words are kind and even-paced, at a complete contrast with how his chest is heaving and his face is twisted up. He looks as if he's about to retch out his very guts. He's not exploding or anything, however, so I suppose he's telling the truth.

"Nicely done, dear Lotus. Why don't you step outside, and we can continue our little tea?" Thelea's voice is so pleased. I feel the thrill of doing a good job and immediately feel bad about it.

I give a parting bow to Elric. "A pleasure. We shall have to meet again soon."

Elric gives me the tiniest nod before I leave.

* * *

We're not even halfway back to Thelea's personal quarters before I say: "I could have him speaking whatever you want every day, every hour."

Thelea's gait shifts, as if what I've said has tripped her. Edward stops right in his tracks. His eyes try to pin me, but I keep my bearing steady. Then he lays his hands on my shoulders, eyes narrowed. Oh, dear. He seems quite serious. "Look. I know you think you've got a lot of ideas, and that you can get ahead here. Watch your step." The look on his face is murder. "You can do tricks. Fine. Don't start to think that means more than it does."

Thelea only raises an eyebrow from over his shoulder. Damnit, that means I have to deal with this creep alone. I think he's starting to pressure me mentally, too - I try to ignore it. I don't need to fight on that level, if I can already get my victory on another. "Do you mean it's just a trick?" I manage to bow out of his grip, flourishing as I do so. "Then by all means, show your way of doing it. I fail to see the point in stopping me, though - wouldn't it make more work for you?"

He doesn't have an immediate reply. This allows me to go on.

"It's just that my abilities are more suited to this type of work, Jhe Edward. I am, after all, a trainer of animals. The Rhivendish are simply another group of animals, however feral. You, you are a Poet, a writer, a creator. You are suited to higher tasks than this, much grander stuff than my abilities should aspire to. I prefer the place in things that I have made for myself. I would not want to move to your level. It doesn't become either of us to trade positions, does it?"

He's so dubious. He wants to find something wrong with what I've said, but he can't - he can't find a way to disagree with my hinting that I'm lower than he is, either. Flattery does help grease a sticky gear. "Very well, but what if you are not suited to it?"

I smile and give another bow. "That shall be my problem, and not yours, Jhe Edward. Just as the Rhivend boy will. This place is so self-contained and secure that I doubt even a fatal mishap on my part will cause much harm to anyone here in the long run. Little spent, little lost, and either way things will come out your way. So, that said... is there any other way that I can be of service? Serving people is, after all, my bread and butter."

Thelea chuckles. "Let us have tea with your bread and butter then. Edward, dear, I do believe you've done your job amply with Jhe Lyric. Or Jhe Lotus, as he seems to prefer. I am glad that you've sniffed him out for any ill-doing - now let it rest." She twines her fingers in his, staring into his eyes in a way that's sultry and bare. "You have more important things to do."

Edward swallows. "Indeed, Lady."

She turns to me. "You are a singular servant, Jhe Lotus. Let me detail for you just what it is I desire at tea. Then, I think, everything will move forward much more quickly."

* * *
Stevane
* * *

I settle into position in a new room that's mostly desk area, wall charts and maps, and a lot of papers that I'd love to have a chance to sort through. Everything has the feel of carefully guarded information and secret operations. Sadly, I'm not in a position to peek right now, and the Kommissar has his eye on me at all times.

"So... you won't know any proper Lyiannethe songs, then?"

I stare at the Kommissar like he's grown a third arm.

His grin twists up, marring the stern disapproval on his face. "No, I didn't presume to expect your education would be anything but sheltered and insular. I will have to make do with something else, then." He starts to ponder what music to request as I sit on a stool with the violin perched under my chin.

I scowl, then strike the bow across the strings. The fingering I produce is off, I know - I never bothered learning this tune properly. I doubt his ear is trained enough to tell the difference. It's certainly enough to get a rise out of him - it's one of the older tunes from Lyiannethe proper. Very traditional. After a few bars, he claps his hands softly. I continue playing - he's not signaled me to stop. And damnit, even if it's not on a dulcimer and it's one of those stuffy Lyiannethe songs Jhe h'Lete made me learn, I like to play. It's just a shame I'm playing all half-assed. I hate Lyiannethe music. It's all stuffy and it resists embellishment. Even beyond that, I can't play anything truly free while wearing this collar. So I'm sad that this is a short jaunt - it finishes soon on a bittersweet note.

I fix him with my gaze. "We are taught to entertain all manner of cultures at the Poet Hall. Jhe h'Logos insists on teaching a vast repertoire of music from his homeland. I can easily entertain you using such a limited musical palate, if that is what you wish."

His face sours. "There's no need for such a tone. Certainly I wish it - if I had any need for Rhivend's mewling, Radia's cacophony, or any other sort of tune, I'd request them of you instead. Now - get to playing and making yourself useful." There's a weird sort of anger captured in his posture, and I'm not sure what incited it other than my attitude.

I shrug, then sort through my mental music sheets. I'm not going to make my butt all sore perching on a stool all day without playing something I'll actually halfway enjoy. The Kommissar will probably fancy the more traditional stuff, unfortunately - which is a real shame, since in the more recent years some very upbeat stuff's come out of this Empire. The upbeat stuff's from outside of Lyiannethe, though - from the areas that Jhe o'Sul resided near. He probably got as tired of the old-old music as Jhe h'Lete once admitted he was. Lyiannethe proper doesn't look favorably upon change, if the music that comes out of it is any judge. Ugh. My Daddy has better taste in music than them, and I can't get him to listen to anything that's come out in the last five years for more than two minutes.

Fine. I pick a dancing tune that's almost halfway chipper, but still well up in years. Everybody likes dancing, after all. Later on in the set I bet I can shake things up. By then I'll probably have stretched this collar's binding a bit, too. Now that music's under my fingers and in my ears, I have a much better feel for just what this collar's boundaries might be.

It's as I'm doting on that question, and feeling the lines of tension that run through the binds around me, when a man I do not recognize walks in. He's slender, built like a fencer, and has bronze skin and short red hair. He has a goatee. He's got some papers in his hand and looks all set to talk to the Kommissar about them. Then he glances up at me, his eyes widen, and the hand gesticulating with the rolled-up papers falls to his side limply.

I try not to look at him like he's an idiot. That's not really getting me too far these days. I'm pretty sure my attempt isn't entirely fruitful, however - at least I have my music functioning as a shield. Maybe he'll think this is my violin face. He's still making his retard face, though - maybe he's just not used to seeing a Poet that isn't chained to a wall here?

The Kommissar's making a strange sound - like he's choking or something. I feel pretty happy about that, with a side of guilt for not getting off my stool and giving first aid. I mean, I can't just watch some guy die right in front of me, can I? The thought seems oddly appealing to me, and then I remember that I'm already due to have my Arms, and it makes more sense. It's going to be a reality soon, though - the new guy isn't giving the Kommissar so much as a glance. He's still staring at me like Gerude did when puberty set on and I grew a pair of breasts - part horror, part confused intrigue.

The Kommissar coughs. Aww, damn, that means air's getting through. No, wait, that's not a cough. Close. The sound resolves itself into laughter. Cruel, delighted, uncontrollable laughter.

I try to play through it, mostly to show I'm above all of whatever's going on, but the feeling that I've been part of somebody's joke rankles me. I keep watching the man who just walked in - he's staring at the Kommissar with an incredulous face. He looks back at me again with the face of someone who's looking at an old friend, or an old... something-else. He shakes his head, takes a step closer-- then rethinks that and takes two steps back.

The Kommissar's laugh is a bark. "Enough, enough." He walks forward, shaking his head. "She won't shoot you, Calyx. She can't. She's not Armed."

Like Hell I'm not Armed-- I cut the thought short before it goes any farther.

Calyx studies me, puzzled. "What do you mean she's not--" he cocks his head. Then he laughs - a weak sound, a sound of relief, not humor. "Oh dear. You've played a joke on me, haven't you? The resemblance is incredible, but Letitcia was much taller. Nice setup with the stool - it hid that fact for long enough to fool me."

I've stopped playing. "You knew Letitcia?"

Calyx looks over to the Kommissar, whose face has regained a touch of its hardness after that brief moment of mirth. The Kommissar nods to him, the motion a brief jerk of chin. Calyx then looks back to me. He sketches a formal bow. "Princess Stevane, I presume?"

I cough. "If you're trying to call me a princess, then you're presuming too much."

He laughs, and this time it's a sound of true delight. "You are like her, then. Yes, I knew your elder sister Letitcia very well during her time here." I'm not doing a good job at schooling my expression, because he picks up the confusion immediately. "Oh, they may not have told you much about her doings here. I'm not sure how much they even really knew--"

The Kommissar coughs into his fist.

"--but that's beside the point. Your sister and I were... friends, yes? We were all friends, way back then." Calyx smiles at me, hands clasped behind his back. "Let's just leave it at that."

I glare at him, eyes narrow. I don't believe a damn word he said just now, but I wasn't even alive yet back when Letitcia disappeared from Radia. Father never tells me about her, and everyone else is difficult to mine for information as well. Even Unkie steers the conversation into a tangent when I try to go there. It's frustrating, because Letitcia, even if she vanished without a trace, is my one true sibling. All of my siblings share the same Father, but only Letitcia and I had Tia as our Mother. When you're a daughter of the Void, of the well of Chaos in this world, sometimes you wonder if anyone else can really understand what it's like. I always thought Letitcia and I would at least see eye to eye on that.

Besides, I always insisted to Daddy that I had a twin, somehow, somewhere, and Daddy always just kept telling me no, and for all the gall he had I knew he was lying! Now I know the truth. "So she was taller than me, but otherwise looked the same? And she could play violin too?" I blink. 'And she was Armed' is not a question I ask aloud. How did Letitcia go missing at all if she was Armed? Diyn can track Arms, right? Given that they were Arms that were actually awakened, unlike mine.

And I don't ask the other obvious question of Calyx: 'And you were fucking her, right?' Because that one is really obvious.

Calyx smiles, cocking his head. "All true. Boss, is there some purpose you had for keeping one of the Judge's daughters in our workplace, besides to trick me?" Such a weighted question. "And are you sure she's not Armed?"

The Kommissar snickers. "Calyx, if that girl was Armed, she would have put up a real fight by now. Since when does an Akribastes kid know subtlety? No, no, that last part was in jest, I know there are many exceptions to that one. Still, I've tracked all of the Judge's children. This one hasn't shown any sign of being Armed, other than visiting her boyfriend in the Armed Hall every now and then." The Kommissar chuckles; I just blush. Well, I'm sure he thinks it's a blush. It's more contained fury. "She barely lives a moment outside the Poet Hall - I think her little jaunt here must be the longest escape, yes? What Armed stays near Poets that long?"

Calyx snorts. "Point taken."

"To answer the first question... she's assisting us." The Kommissar beams. "The Lady Queen has enjoyed her pet Poets so much, spying on me at any given opportunity. If we keep our own pet Poet, we can operate in secret. As Lady Thelea is currently keeping Jhe Stevane's brother as her own pet... I think you'll find the girl quite motivated to perform." He turns that chipper smile upon me. "Now, play. I want to hear music at all times." He claps his hands twice to spur me on.

I grimace, then draw the bow across the strings. "Any requests? And if I may make a suggestion: If you're looking for blocking music, playing the Queen Mother's homeland songs won't suffice. That'll only be more conducive to her eavesdropping. I can suggest something more appropriate."

The Kommissar appears intrigued by this suggestion. "Do go on."

I crook my fingers a little differently, then angle the bow at a more jaunty degree. "You want to play something that repels her so much that she won't even want to bother wondering why you're listening to it." And with that, I strike up an old Rhivendish dancing tune that Elric taught me.

When the Kommissar curses, I grin. I catch Calyx stifling a laugh. Still, no one tells me to stop. In fact, I've apparently devised the trick that gets me ignored - they get to work and cease talking to me. Nice. I take the chance, while unmonitored, to poke at my collar binds. Hah! As I thought, they're weakening quite a bit. Figures. The Xaillyndessen hate the Rhivendish so much that the Rhivend music itself is enough to dissuade their devices from working properly.

Their work, whatever it is, proceeds quickly. I try to get a good look at it, but I'm stuck on the stool. It's mostly reviewing all of those interesting-looking papers they have there. Hm. I wonder if I can distance-read those things? This collar's so weak right now that I might have a chance. They're ignoring me extra hard because of the music, so it's the perfect opportunity. I do a little mental stretch and sort of unfocus my eyes. It's like scrying, so you've got to relax your mind a litt--

Is the little girl listening? I almost jump out of my seat. Who was that? I almost look around, but stop myself. I don't want to draw any attention from the other two people in the room. Oh, don't worry, little girl. You'll meet us soon enough. A voice chimes between my ears, the jangling sound discordant. It makes every one of my vertebrae feel a tiny bit out of place.

What the hell was that?

Oh, you'll soon learn. I have you marked. Don't doubt my words - I have you marked like an arrow marks a swan. I can feel it aiming at me. Damn. What is that? It seems so big, like some hulking beast - not in here, though. Somewhere in the building, probably. I must have brushed across it while trying to scry. Damn collar, it threw off my accuracy.

Oh, your Aim is true. I long for it. I wait for it. There's an ominous cackle that echoes through my bones.

Weird. I sort of recognize it. What the hell? Now I'm just getting annoyed, and sort of angry.

"Excuse me? Miss Stevane is lost in her music, I suppose." There's the droll tones of the Kommissar, breaking me out of my trance. He looks impatient. "Awake, are you?"

"Uh, yes."

"That Rhivend music must make you even more stupid. Come, now. We're moving our little operation now that our little test is done with." He walks, waiting for me to follow. I stay on my stool for a bit before climbing off. I want to jam the bow in my hand right between the Kommissar's shoulderblades and out of his chest, and right now I feel like I could. There's a rage around me that, for whatever reason, I can't check. The Kommissar doesn't notice. That's good, because I'm pretty sure my Arms are nearly triggered, and I don't want him figuring out that I really am an Armed trainee. I suppose I do have Jhe h'Lete to thank for that - all that having to watch him in the Poet Hall instead of being in the Armed Hall and training has probably saved my life.

I walk, and Calyx follows me at what I observe is a safe distance. Interesting. Even after the Kommissar's assurances that I'm not Armed, Calyx is still pretty wary of me.

Well, that just makes him smart. In a way it mollifies me - at least someone in this room recognizes me as a threat! We proceed. The collar's still weak, at least. I can tell because I have a very bad premonition about wherever we are headed. Even more than that, though, I sense that beast I felt earlier drawing near - and that makes my spine feel all out of line again, makes my stomach feel like it's lined with thistle. I grip my violin as if it were the weapon I really wanted. Whatever's ahead, it's approaching fast - big and dark and unavoidable.

* * *
Stevane
* * *

I follow the Kommissar down the hallway, my violin at the ready. "Should I play as we walk?"

The Kommissar considers this. "...Yes, actually, that is a good idea." It would be a compliment if there weren't such shock in his tone. I sigh and set the violin under my chin in preparation to play. "None of that Rhivendish drivel, though. Surely you can think of something more suitable."

Behind me, Calyx tries to hide a chuckle. He needs to watch that. I might start to like him.

Hm. Something Thelea detests enough to not look in on the Kommissar, but isn't Rhivendish? That's a tall order. I decide to play some of Unkie's favorite music - he and Thelea never got along well. Daddy didn't like her much either, but his tastes run toward boring old music, and I want something upbeat. Unkie likes modern stuff, fast stuff. Besides, I think this is working just fine. It evokes a pained sigh from the Kommissar, but he doesn't stop me, so I must've done something right.

Thus, my mood is light when he opens the heavy door ahead of us and leads me into a room that, from the outside, seems like any other room that I've been inside of here. Once Calyx follows me in and the door closes, though... it seems a little creepy.

No, that's not it. It's not just that it's scary - it just plain seems wrong.

It's enough that I accidentally make my bow jerk while playing - the discordant chord amplifies the wrongness in here even more. I can't even say what it is, yet. As the Kommissar turns toward me to inquire as to the reason for my sudden onset of incompetence, I take in my surroundings. I really don't want to look around - something's telling me to just keep my eyes down and pretend I'm not here. But as a Poet I pride myself on observation, and I'm so used to recording everything...

Of course, I say that about my observation, but I don't really hear the Kommissar as I look around the room. Too much else is clawing my attention away from him. This narrow hallway is so dark, even though the lighting is normal. It just feels dark. There's hooks along the walls - sharp, bare hooks. Everything's clean at first glance, but I can see a rust-colored mark here and there, and I can smell the memory of blood. The hooks aren't rusty, either - that's someone's failure to clean something. Every now and then I see a black stain that can't be blood, and I wonder what it could be, and then I stop trying to wonder. Something just feels wrong in here. The hall curves as if it runs in a circle - but it looks like it bends and twists more than I know it does. I know because I can see the corridor bending and shifting. I can see the inner wall bulging, as if whatever this hallway is circling is trying to claw its way out of the room within. I know it can't be real, though - I know I'm just seeing things.

And I know those things are there in some sense, but that most people probably wouldn't see them. I should act normal. I should act like all of this is normal. But while I'm watching this, I can feel that presence again. That huge, hulking presence, that was talking to me before. It's closer now. Whatever it is that's stalking me, it's closer.

My shoulder's being shaken. I look up into the narrowed eyes and stern face of the Kommissar. When he's got me aware enough to notice him, he slaps me. His thin leather gloves add an interesting clap to the sensation.

I blink. That man just hit me. The thought, for some reason, calms me more than anything else. It gives my mind dead, peaceful silence. I nod to him. It seems the proper thing to do - confirming that I understood him. I resume playing. He regards me for a moment, then shakes his head and steps away. "Just keep playing, and stop getting silly about things that aren't your concern."

"Yes sir," I say in the calmest voice I've used in some time.

Calyx takes a step away from me, his movement slow, deliberate, and so subtle that the Kommissar pays no notice.

"There's nothing of importance in here now, at any rate. All this work's been done already. Come, there's a lot to do, preparations to make. Time is short." The Kommissar steps toward a door that's set into the inner wall. It will open into whatever this hallway is circling.

I nod, still playing. The music is fine, but it's a rote motion. I don't really hear it. I just hear a lovely silence, and my mind is perfectly calm.

Calyx, however, seems as nervous as ever as he readies to enter the room behind me.

"No more fuckups with the music," the Kommissar says as he opens the door. As it opens, there's a rush of air outward - no, energy. I can see it a little. It's dark, and it brings to mind the smell of rotting meat even though it doesn't have any real smell to it.

It's been awhile since I percieved energy this well. The last time... wasn't I still training? I was very sleep deprived because I was studying hard for a big test. It was pretty funny, because I was so hyper-aware that even Lute couldn't hide from me. He hated that. I crashed pretty hard after that exam, but the level of perception I had during that time was pretty neat. Kind of dangerous, but neat.

I wonder why I'm getting it now? Especially when I have the feeling that whatever is in this room, I should try to ignore as hard as possible. At least, if I want to survive it.

But I'm so calm. Isn't that a good thing?

The Kommissar steps in. I follow, violin still playing. Calyx follows behind me. He makes the foolish mistake of closing the door behind him. That cuts off all my perception of the hall behind us, forcing me to turn all my attention onto this room.

I don't even react at first. It feels like something inside me jumps forward and looks around before I can get the first glimpse. I get the impression of a lot of small things narrowing their eyes at me and sharpening their weapons. I hear snatches of strange voices. I'm aware of the Kommissar next to me - he's speaking again, and I don't hear. I just keep playing.

There's a low counter in the middle of the room. Work tables, or something like that. There's someone strapped to it - light hair, short stature, snub nose. Elijah? That's Elijah alright. I dated him for a little bit, I'd know him at a glance. The freckles are a dead giveaway. Didn't he go missing awhile back, though?

It's when I see the Kommissar walk up to him that I realize I'm seeing something that must have happened in the past - because the Kommissar is standing right next to me right now, and I'm pretty sure he can't be in two places at once. Yes, Daddy can do that, but the Kommissar isn't Daddy.

"Just sit over here and keep playing," he says, and leads me over to the table where I see another, not-much-younger, Kommissar standing over Elijah. Elijah spits in the past-Kommissar's face, hitting him right in that short streak of white hair that mars the black.

The past-Kommissar punches Elijah in the chest so hard that the rest of Elijah's body twitches upward in recoil. He's too strapped down to do more than that. I watch the past-Kommissar go on to slap the specter of Elijah as I'm directed to sit right up on the counter. I try to do so naturally, as if I'm not watching something happening behind me on the counter. I try not to pay attention to the twinge I feel from sitting here. Something nasty's being kept in the cabinets below me, I can sense it. I can't stop sensing things, that's the real problem. I can hear Elijah cry out now, which he must have done... months ago? No, it's been three years since we saw him last. What I'm seeing and hearing probably happened then.

It's a little sad, getting that confirmation that someone who was your friend really did die, and didn't just run off to one of the islands to form his own tiny nation. I'm distracted from it by seeing my brother hanging up on the wall, from more hooks hung up along it. I'm very proud of myself. I don't jump or scream at all. I just do the slow ID check. Gerude. That's definitely Gerude.

Gerude's hair is short right now, though, and he and Gerald have both been pretty good at staying alive in the recent years. That definitely looks like Gerude, though. No... more like Daddy. Too short, though, and Daddy wouldn't be caught dead here, in the most literal sense of that statement.

Now that I think about it, he looks like a brother, but he doesn't look like any brother I know. I see a past-Kommissar beside him, though, sneering up at him. This past-Kommissar is definitely younger. There's not even that little white streak in his hair. How long ago was this? Long enough that Lettie was still around? Gerude and Gerald weren't around back then. That was a long, long time ago. Daddy's an old guy, after all, and he doesn't age like most people do.

Is that one of my brothers from back then? One of them from the first batch, as we in the family sometimes call it? Both of them died, both assassinated. One more reason for Daddy not to talk about Lettie. Nobody ever told me that one of them's bodies got dragged away to Lyiannethe by the Kommissar.

Maybe nobody ever knew.

Tithonus was the one whose Mom was from Lyiannethe. Unkie nicknamed him Theo for reasons that were hilarious mostly only to himself. The other, Calaphar, was part of an alliance to expand Crux Radia's empire. I have a hunch that this one is Calaphar, because he doesn't look one bit Xaillyndessen. His features have a more familiar Radian cast.

It's kind of weird, seeing him hang up there. Dead. It really is like looking at Gerald or Gerude. I never knew this brother, but now that I can see him... I miss him. Not in the way that I miss Elijah now that I know he's dead... it's a little different.

No, it's a different feeling entirely. Sort of like anger. Like that righteous fury I get when I catch Jhe h'Lete sneaking out of his bedroom when he promised he'd rest. I watch the past-Kommissar pull my dead brother's body down to the floor, give it a kick, and then carry it over. He lays it onto the countertop behind me, where I saw Elijah there only a moment ago. But now the Elijah vision is gone, and I can see my brother instead. I can see the dusty tips of his boots right behind me.

The past-Kommissar looks over Calaphar, straps down his body, and turns around to face something that stands against the far wall. The present-Kommissar just happens to be standing in that exact place.

It's like an altar. There are hooks and chains hung above it and along it, and from them are suspended weapons.

Arms.

Then he looks back at my brother, and I jump. Thankfully present-Kommissar isn't paying attention, and Calyx isn't someone I'm worried about.

Calaphar moves. He moves because he was still alive whenever this happened. The past-Kommissar, when he sees this, grins. He grins wide. Are you having fun, or is it scary, this far away from home and from your Daddy?

Calaphar doesn't dignify him with a response. He looks so much like Daddy now, so stern.

I'm going to show you something, you privileged little half-Chetharian boy. I'm going to show you someone that nobody else has seen yet. You'll be the first. Isn't that grand? He unsheathes a weapon, pulling it from behind him, from midair. It's a black thing, a polearm made of shadow and nothing else.

"You're wearing that tune out," says the present-Kommissar. I nod, and switch to a different song, the motions automatic. I try not to think about the Kommissar too much, because then I'll want to attack him, and that probably won't end well. Best to just not be noticed. Besides, the past-Kommissar is a little distracting. He's stabbing that polearm into my brother's body.

No, not into. Around. The polearm ends in a two-pronged fork. It looks a lot like Diyn, in fact, except Diyn has three tines, and this thing is a wrong thing, a dark imitator. One tine rests on each side of Calaphar's chest, right under his arms.

Then my brother's eyes widen, then he coughs up something black, and then he just ceases to be. Just like that. The vision ends.

The music keeps playing, and I can hear it now. It's faster. I've increased the tempo automatically - maybe because my heart is racing. I've lost whatever calm had about me earlier. If someone so much as tapped me now, I'd scream. I try to distract myself by watching what the present-Kommissar is doing. He's wrapped up in his work and pays me no mind, whereas Calyx is keeping his distance from me, but watching me closely.

The Arms hung up around the altar-like cabinet draw my attention again. I've never seen Arms so ill-cared-for - certainly not caked with rust like that. If an Armed neglected their Arms like that, the Arms would kill them for it. I'm not sure how the Kommissar is in the presence of so many Arms without them striking out at him. I'm pretty sure he isn't even supposed to have them - Arms usually go to Daddy when their Armed die. Maybe they don't when they get vanished off like Calaphar was?

My stomach clenches. Katherine's body... I didn't see it anywhere, but Thelea said that she was dead. Did the Kommissar...

That bastard.

I clench down on the hate and try to stuff it down before it turns into rage. Unfortunately, that's a little hard, because I've not exactly been short on rage lately. Wherever I've been stuffing it all is starting to get full. It doesn't help that I'm looking at him right now.

"We're almost done, Calyx. Nearly there. Come have a look." The Kommissar sounds exceedingly smug. I can't see what he's working with, though. "The Treaty was almost enough to do it."

Calyx steps forward, somewhat hesitantly. He pauses beside me, seems to think something over, and then gestures for me to follow him. I'm a little surprised, considering how standoffish of me he's been so far. I follow him, though. Looking at him makes me less angry, at least, because he isn't the Kommissar. "Really, now? It's gained some structural integrity, then?" He stops about four paces away. I stop just to the side of him, and one step back.

The Kommissar lets out a bark of a laugh. "Structure it already had, enough to function as a blade on its own. Now though... now I think it's getting beyond that." He's still turned towards his work.

"Really? Let me see?" Calyx's tone is just a bit wheedling, but I bet the Kommissar enjoys a bit of simpering up to him.

"No. Too soon. It's not quite done yet. We'll need one more, maybe. The Treaty did help a little, I think... but did less for it than I thought. Perhaps this time I didn't catch her Arms. They do slip away sometimes, you know. Ah, well. A shame that Akribastes we have isn't Armed, but aren't they a dime a dozen? An opportunity will open up soon, I'm sure." The Kommissar chuckles. He's speaking like I'm not even in the room. He takes a step back, hands on his hips. He's only a few strides away. I could stab him with the violin bow.

Why don't I?

I'd get killed, that's why.

I'm not sure who's talking. I'm starting to get pretty confused. Maybe all of the stress is getting to me, because I swear the Arms above the altar are moving, twitching, on their hooks. Then the Kommissar reaches up and strokes one, and a sliver of black glides along the blade where his palm touches it. The fact that the Arms don't cut his hand is, for some reason, like a slap in the face to me. I try to stuff the rage down. Have I run out of room for it yet?

Calyx sees my expression, then steps away from me just a little bit.

"We'll be there soon, Calyx. Now that I don't need to worry about Thelea spying on my research, things should go even fast--"

The Kommissar stops speaking. I realize it's because I've dropped my violin. I couldn't say why. I just can't play anymore. Maybe because I've had it. Maybe because I'm too scared. Because now I can feel that beast behind me, stalking me again. I can practically feel its breath on my neck.

There's a blink of time passing that I just miss, and I hear some sort of clapping noise, and it's a couple of seconds before I feel the sting on my face. Compared to the beast, it's beyond my notice, but I figure out that the Kommissar just slapped me.

"Lazy girl." He looks down on me with disdain, impatient. "Come now. You've got no other choice than to serve, no matter what problems you may have with this operation. Pick it up and play."

I realize here's no room left for the rage anymore. Then the beast charges me. I don't know how the Kommissar or Calyx haven't noticed it. It's the biggest, most fearsome beast in the world, and however scary the Kommissar is, he really doesn't compare to it. In the few moments I have left before I'm sure the beast is going to catch me, I decide I'd better run forward and maybe get the Kommissar between me and it. I charge.

The Kommissar looks at me again, and his eyes widen. He's gotten pretty damn pale for some reason, so he must see what's chasing me too. Maybe he'll get out of the way, then. No, he looks like he's drawing a weapon--

--too late, though, because there's a knife in his gut before he can even start. A knife below the gut, now, a knife in his chest, down in the crotch in what my brothers call the unfair-points area. That's a lot of knives, isn't it? No, it's the same knife, over and over. My knife.

Garnet. She tells it to me in a sweet voice, then sweeps toward my own chest. I dodge her in a motion that helps me elude the Kommissar's counter with a half-formed black blade. He tries for that one strike, right before he collapses. His weapon vanishes. Garnet swings down to stab him in the back. Crisanto follows her. Crisanto is the other knife. I barely have time to note their appearance before I realize that I can still sense the beast I felt stalking me. It's no longer charging me. It's in my hands. It's my Arms.

There's a tiny surge of joy before they start attacking me. I was warned about this. This is why we're supposed to activate in the Armed Hall. Daddy's there to guide us.

No... Jhe h'Akribastes. The Judge. Not just Daddy.

Armed go pop when they activate in the wild. It happened a lot in Sul, before Daddy-- before the Judge was allowed to send scouts in to find potential Armed before they killed themselves, and any unlucky bystanders, off. Arms are cranky when they awaken, and untrained Armed don't survive that crankiness.

I'm about to go pop. I try to set Garnet upon Crisanto before she can put a hole in my throat, which meets with mixed success. I get bled, but I think I can survive it. Crisanto's counter is something I almost sprain my wrist dodging, though. I try as hard as I can to hold onto the girls--

I'm not a girl! I'm a... a not-a-girl!

--right, you're about as mentally gendered as Lyric and I are, then. The reply doesn't make Crisanto try to cut me any less, but she... he? It seems mollified.

I know if I drop them, I'm going to die. Arms can fire or cut on their own. At least when I'm holding them, I can partially control where they're Aiming at. I'm pretty sure I'm going to lose this fight, though. I'm starting to see it from three perspectives at once, and that's really throwing off which one of us I should be rooting for. Also, the only advice Camden gave me about Arms awakening was that it was like teaching a horse to obey a rider. Considering my experience with horses, I don't think that advice is going to be useful here.

Then something attacks me, and it's not my Arms. It's a black thing that comes from one of those rusty Arms hanging up from above the altar thing. It flies at me, a black knife like the black polearm the Kommissar wielded. We fend it off. Another one sweeps to trip me, and then gut me, but between Garnet and Crisanto and I we can handle it. There's a lot of them, though. And the Kommissar is still twitching.

We decide to fix that. It takes some more blood, and some more cutting, but none of us really mind. Once he slumps down, the black Arms that attacked us melt into proper shadows.

I just stand there, dripping with blood that is mostly not mine. Garnet and Crisanto are quiet and limp. I think we're all three tired, and are in general agreement that we'll let all three of ourselves live.

Crisanto snorts. For now.

Are you dead yet?

It takes me a moment to recognize Diyn's voice. I don't remember the last time he ever spoke to me - non-initiated Armed don't hear him that often.

No. Crisanto sounds very ashamed of that answer. Sorry.

But we had a lot of other things to kill! Garnet's riding statement sounds like a six-year-old making an excuse for not cleaning her room.

Well then, that's fine, but I expect you both to do better next time. Stevane, you're Armed now.

I blink.

Try not to be as stupid about it as your Father. His tone doesn't hold much hope for that. Apparently I am supposed to tell you that there is help coming along. If you need help, you're not much of an Armed, though.

I bite my lip. We killed off the Kommissar. Wow, I'm so calm. I still feel like I'm going to pop, but I'm speaking so calmly. Weird. But I could use some help not throwing up on my shoes right now.

...I will pass that along.

I look down at the Kommissar's body. There's not much to see that isn't bloody. So many ragged holes. I look down at my Arms, to get a clear look at them for the first time.

Garnet is a dark blade, a wide stiletto knife that reminds me of Lute's throwing knives. Her color matches her name. Crisanto is a golden sickle of a knife. They're both very pretty.

I haven't seen Calyx since I charged the Kommissar. I can't tell if he's even still in the room. I look around to check, but when my Arms perk up in attention to hunt down more prey, my stomach finally throws in the towel and decides to divest itself of its contents. I'm probably safe, I've just got to get out of here. I've got to go somewhere and scream. Maybe pass out. Maybe be alert for the help that's coming.

She's gone nuts.

There wasn't very far to go.

I puke again.

* * *

* * *
Lyric
* * *

I expect to have tea in Lady Thelea's room, as was planned before - but instead she decides to have tea out on the patio that adjoins her room, 'as the day is quite fine, is it not?' I agree out loud, schooling my expression carefully.

Now, I can't really disagree if the observation is held according to the weather. The weather is nice outside. A bit chilly, but there are heaters out here to tend to our comfort. The day itself is beautiful. The surroundings, however...

"My Lady, may I assume you tend this beautiful garden yourself?"

She giggles, her eyes sparkling as she looks at me far too intimately. "Why, Jhe Lotus, so I do! What gave me away?"

I smile at her. "Your touch with flora is very distinct."

It could be my imagination, but I think I just saw Edward fail to suppress a teeny shudder. Can I blame him? Hell, I just wonder how he's managed to survive all these years here, surrounded by scenery like this, and keep a (very tentative) grip on his sanity.

It would be easier to ignore if the plants didn't move. If they stayed still, like normal plants, maybe rustling in the wind every now and then. Reaching their taloned roots up out of the soil to catch mice is a bit much for me, though. That's really my limit.

I sip my tea and pretend it didn't happen. Edward, though, seems to dote on it, intrigued. Well, his specialty is creepy stories, isn't it? I guess he's been in the right place for the last few years.

Thelea sip deeply from her cup. "As is your touch with fauna, Jhe Lotus. I wish to see more of it in my service. Your work with the Briarseal rat was so phenomenal that I believe I'll keep you on that task. However... I suppose we'll have to give you some background. Or a bit of an initiation." At that, her gaze drifts to Edward.

Edward starts. "This early, my Lady? Don't you think it's too soon?"

"Really, Edward. I thought such an event would alleviate your concerns for good. After all... what else assures allegiance and knowledge of the Nul-deh'le tongue?"

My confusion is obvious - the growing sense of terror I'm feeling is not. It's best to just pretend ignorance, isn't it? But I have a very bad feeling about what's being proposed, and in the back of my mind I'm remembering Ebrellin-i's dance across the Jherent Nul's throneroom.

After Edward's reluctance to reply, Thelea adds: "And, as Jhe Lotus has said himself, if he fails... no loss to us, right?" That's enough to chill me right through. Edward just looks more troubled.

After some painstaking deliberation, he finally speaks. "We should wait. I would hate to have to... waste the King's time." Beads of sweat are standing out on his forehead. "But when he is more accustomed to our operation... when he's earned a little more trust... I think that it would only take a few days for us to be that sure of him, yes? And then, he could gain all the familiarity with Nul-deh'le that will be necessary."

Thelea regards him with a knowing grin. "You're a little upset that I'm giving him the red carpet, aren't you? After all the trouble that you had to go through to gain your position... all your hard work, all your struggles. I never made it this easy for you, did I? And now, since you struggled so, this new apprentice can simply glide through. So unfair."

Edward holds up his hands, fending off the accusation. "My Lady! I certainly don't mean to presume--"

She shakes her head. "No, don't back down. You did work hard, and it's unfair for me to just wave someone like him through. In deference to your position, I shall do as you advise, and wait." She crooks a finger under his chin, tilting his gaze up to her eyes. "You're such a charming pet. You've earned your place. I shall let him earn his." She leans forward and kisses him.

I feel a cold, scaly hand wrap around my ankle just then, and it takes every bit of strength that is in me not to scream. I jerk away automatically, looking down. A root has grasped my ankle. Oh gods, the plants try to eat people? That's disgusting!

Lady Thelea tsks, then leans down and slaps the root lightly. It cringes away, then withdraws, though only as far as the patio stones. It's still lingering, waiting for a chance. Thelea sighs. "Dryads get rash, you know, when you allow them to be the least bit unruly. That's why I have to take such a firm hand with my gardening. I obviously need to come back here with the clippers tonight."

At that, the root darts away into the underbrush, and I almost feel sorry for it.

It takes a few moments for everyone to compose themselves and for the conversation to feel as if it's gone back to normal. Well, normal isn't really the word I'd use for this, but it's the only one within reach. "If there is to be an initiation, am I to prepare for it?" Not that I'm particularly excited at meeting the Jherent Nul - the thought freezes my bowels, in fact. But I have to play this game if I want to survive... and I want to do more than just survive here.

I want to win at a game of my own devising.

"Don't worry about all that just yet, Jhe Lotus. There's no need to prepare yourself... if you are ready, then you will be ready. Until then, your job is the most important thing you could be doing." She sips her tea, regarding me. "We must have the Rhivend boy speaking Nul-deh'le as much as often as possible, and we must break him. You are capable of both, I assume?"

You know, the scary thing is that I probably am. "I can manage whatever task my Lady requires of me, on that score."

"Good."

Edward tilts his head, a smile trying to form on his face. "You know, boy... much as I'm hesitant to aid you... I must admit, I'm curious as to whether you're aware just how dangerous--" his sentence cuts off and he raises a hand to his neck, where his collar would be. His shirt collar covers it up, and because he's acted so willing, I forgot that Edward was even wearing one of those contraptions of Ebrellin-i's. He looks at Thelea with shock, but there's not that much surprise in his expression. I suppose in his line of work, having that collar triggered is an expected hazard.

Thelea's smile is patronizing in its cruel kindness. She waggles a finger at Edward. "Now-now. No giving the boy hints."

Edward seems truly alarmed. "But if he--"

"Shh." She turns that smile in my direction. "Let him learn the ropes on his own, Edward." She raises an eyebrow at him. "As you agreed before, there wouldn't be much loss if an accident were to occur... or were you misleading me on that account?"

Edward shakes his head fervently. I think he's afraid to speak right now.

I grin. "All the best lessons are learned through experience - very little of my trade can be taught by mere rote." I give Lady Thelea a wink. "And at that, I am wont to practice said trade again. It seems I only have a few days to prove myself... and time grows short, as Radia is prone to act fast against its aggressors." I don a forlorn expression. "I do believe my family might miss me and protest my absence this time."

Thelea laughs - a long, mocking laugh. It seems I'm entertaining her quite well. Edward looks daggers at me and sips his tea.

When the Lady recovers, she dismisses me with a gesture. "Go then. Break our Rhivend boy, and make me proud." Something dangerous sparkles in her eyes. "If your achievements are grand enough... perhaps I'll waive this grace period that dear Edward demands, and advance you more quickly to initiation. After that... we'll try you on more dangerous quarry than a mere human." She profers the key to Elric's cell.

I rise and bow. "Such an offer! My heart pounds with excitement." And oh, it truly does. "I will make haste, then." I reach forward over the table, cup her hand, and kiss it. Then I take the key and leave before Edward can think of a way to kill me where I stand.

* * *
Edward
* * *

I watch that Akribastes wretch go, still trying to figure out how someone that was so beneath my notice in Radia has now become the most prominent obstacle before me. He's not even a Poet, and is a rare non-Armed Akribastes. At least I never had to worry about that with Stevane. She was a wily enough Poet, but she's in a collar now - and there's never been any chance that she'd be Armed. Too interested in other things. I like to think I turned her away from that sort of fighter's life. Too delicate a thing...

I don't like that the Kommissar has her now, though. She should be mine like all the rest of the Poets here. I wonder if my Lady will give her to me instead. Xen's nothing to her, after all - I've more royal Xaillyndesse blood in me than he does.

It's so difficult to think now. But then, I can feel it drawing near now. Perhaps that's why I've been tensing up so much about the Akribastes boy being initiated. I couldn't be feeling any concern for him. That's laughable. He's beneath me.

Everyone is beneath me - and soon the conceit will be more literal.

My Lady rises. She inclines her head towards me. I nod, then rise and bow. "I feel the summons," I say. I try to keep the dread or the sadness out of my tone. I should be feeling neither. I should want this. He's our master, and I should want to feel closer to him. Even more important, it's my responsibility to bring all of the Poets closer to him. They're not very pliant when it comes to that - work is hard. It's always hard. But I'm the most capable - when I was in Radia, I was second only to the Poet King, after all. Elric was one of the other seconds, and now he's my subordinate here.

If only I could tell Jhe h'Logos what kind of power is available here for the taking. But my Lady has cautioned against that sort of thing. And of course, he likely wouldn't understand - and he's too busy. Often, too ill.

I'll do this for him. I'll bring glory to the Poets, no matter how they kick and scream along the way. That's how trainees have to be brought to heel, after all. I learned my lesson about going soft. It only breeds willfulness. There's so much willfulness in the young ones, in the foreigners, in the not-so-well-bred ones. I'm a brilliant teacher. I'm powerful. I can do this.

Reporting to our King is simply a step forward along that road, isn't it? This dread I'm feeling is just silliness. I've tried to rid myself of that sort of thing - to rid all the Poets here of it. There's no time for play, only for work. If we play, we might displease him. And if we displease him, I'm the one who has to answer for it...

I shudder.

Thankfully, my Lady is turned away from me now, and doesn't see the flinch. I follow her to her bedroom. It's funny that there isn't a more official direct route, especially here in Lyiannethe, the heart of Nul-worship. But the entryways are strictly controlled, and only Lady Thelea can direct access to Nul through her portal. It makes some occasions in her bedroom a little... chilling. Even when the portal is closed, I can see odd reflections in her mirror - shadows that aren't there. I can see my own reflection change. It's easy to shake the tricks from my mind, of course, but it's still unsettling. Especially now, when we're about to enter Nul. Her vanity mirror is completely black, the glints of light along the plane actually warping and bending inwards to be sucked in along with the image.

Or can I see myself in that mirror, at the same time? Is that just me trying to withdraw and back away? I can't do that. I've got my Poets to think about, after all.

She takes my hand and steps through with me. Like every time I go through the mirror (which shouldn't be able to take us in, considering the vanity below it - but that never seems to matter, because just looking at the mirror is enough to suck you in halfway), it feels like my mind peels back a little, gives way to something bigger, meaner, before I'm able to squeeze past it and pass through.

The slight nausea I feel once I'm on the other side is easy enough to ignore. I've gotten used to it, though the first few times were not... kind to me. I had my Lady with me then, though, and with her I was able to survive it all, come through intact. I will be fine. She's with me now, clasping my hand. I will be just fine.

I say it in my head like a mantra. Repeating the words makes them more of a pattern and less of a meaning, which is safer in the King's Court. He doesn't like our Poetic languages, much as I try to get our Poets to please him. He only likes his own language. But thinking in that is... well, suicide. My lady says the tongue of Nul is too grand for minuscule beings such as ourselves to keep as our own. Oftentimes the King's Herald will remind us that to Nul, our worldly languages are childish babbling, as annoying and worth dignifying as a fly's buzzing.

I keep myself quiet until bade to speak. I prefer it that way, really. Best to be seen and not heard - even better, to be beneath notice and not heard. My first encounter with Nul taught me...

But no. I don't think about that anymore.

Because I try to stay beneath notice, I notice nothing different in Nul's throne room. I only kneel at the right hand of my Lady and to the back - a respectful distance, but still near enough to her that I feel she is a shield to me. It takes my Lady's words, then, to bring it to notice:

"Respect to my High King, but his servant wonders at the location of his Herald?"

My eyes skirt up. A shadow is missing from the side of the King's throne, true enough. How could the Herald be missing? Where could he be?

"--why your corrupt body and wretch shadow-puppet were summoned at all--" I jerk automatically, unable to suppress the reaction. The King's voice is a rarity in this room, at least any time I've been in it. He never needs to speak when he has his Herald, after all. It's a dusty cough from dark crevices, a forgotten memory's dying murmurs. It brushes over the cobwebs that hang over the corners of my mind - corners I've closed off out of pity for myself. I can't help but shudder.

This is why he has a Herald. My Lady says it is as a mercy to us. I don't believe that, but allow her to keep her own conceits. But if his Herald is gone now... and we were summoned because of it? Why?

She bows low against the floor, kneeling so far down that her forehead presses against it. "Surely my Kommissar will know his whereabouts, my King. Perhaps I should go and fetch--" her voice halts in a choke. I only bow a little lower. There's no one to hide behind now, and I feel exposed.

Watched.

"--sorry," she manages to grind through her throat. "Such impertinence from a favored servant of yours. You are fully capable of summoning your own servants." Save, of course, the missing Herald. I'm getting a bad feeling about that. A worse one than the ones that usually plague me in this room.

"--no purpose in summoning that which has failed. Rats in your home. Vermin keeping vermin, summoning vermin--" the sentence ends in a raucous cough that makes my stomach turn. It turns into the cold and dark feeling of something bigger than both of us, than anything else either of us could ever behold, hating with a depth that is so personal yet so distant. It makes me want to hide, or apologize for being born and marring the King's existence with my stupid little body.

It tires of our language. Can you do nothing, Poet? Thelea's question is voiced with all quiet, along very private channels. I cannot blame her.

But it makes me want to quail, because I understand what she's asking of me. I speak.

I speak the Nul-words.

"An' forgive is none to thus of us who do sit here in your great shadow-- smote us cut us backhanded-- but were to forgive an' ask us what there is to do of service to your great kind--" my voice breaks into a hoarse cough, phlegm welling up in my lungs and triggering a deep panic. I don't have that kind of sickness, no. It's just a dream.

Just a side-effect. I spoke too much of it, must have slipped and not guarded against it like I should have. My breathing is fine. It was always fine. I am a Poet and I can heal myself. But I can't be so loud about it, or he'll notice. Committing Poetry before his Throne - the consequences of such an action are things I've only heard spoken of in rumor, and the Arachne-kin never lie about those horrible stories that intrigue me as much as they kick up my gorge.

"--need a Herald. Leave Palace. It is dead to you now, as are those who have not answered summons. Useless-dead. We shall rebuild, you and I. Come here."

And with a wave of disgust and horror I realize that the seen-unseen gauntleted hand is beckoning not my Lady, but me.

* * *

* * *
Jax
* * *

We're hacking through the undergrowth in the woods around the big castle here when Gerude tells us all that we shouldn't be hacking through it with the particular method that we're using now. He phrases it in a pretty creative way, though:

"YEEEAAAUUUUGH!!!"

I think pretty much anybody could understand that.

I didn't know you could shoot a tree dead, but I guess Arms can shoot anything dead. Kennit and Caerig manage to put three holes through the trunk of the tree that Gerude seems to be having a problem with before I realize that it was already dead-looking before he shot it. It's then that I notice that the trees in these woods are moving, but the air is stale and still. There's no breeze to make those limbs creak, so why are they--

Someone lets out a girlish squeal. I realize that person is me. I move on with my life, though - I don't dwell. By that I mean that I make all haste away from the tree I was standing in the shade of. It was - through whatever means - attempting to get a grip on my neck.

"These woods are strange," says Erynn in the most brilliant vocal observation of the year. He's got that frowny face, concentrating. That explains why he's not too worried. He doesn't have enough focus on this place to waste energy on something like worrying about it. He's probably trying to make the next Gate.

Okay, here's a neat trick - the Pass. It's one that we learn about pretty early on in Poet training, so as to avoid doing it on accident. It's pretty cool - you can use smoke or fog or whatever's around to use as a distraction while you step from one place to another place that's a lot farther away. My older brother Edward's pretty damn good at it, and apparently Erynn rivalled his skills in that when he was still training under Edward. So that's how we got here so quickly.

Unfortunately, it meant we had to ditch the horses. Erynn's specialty is doorways and arches, and he said he didn't want to risk anyone being on a horse while he was escorting such a "fresh-faced brigade", by which he meant that we're a bunch of untrained morons. At least he puts it nicely, unlike my older brother, who originated the "untrained morons" observation.

So, Erynn's been getting us through with Gates, which are his own version of Passes. He's pretty sure he can sneak us right into Lyiannethe Manor, but he has to find the right entrance to make. He was getting us to find a natural arch in the trees or foliage. That's when the trees starting getting all frisky on us.

All caught up? Great. I'm not sure how we're going to hide ourselves from the castle guards now that Gerude's opened fire on the arboreal assailants, but--

"We're deep in the woods right now. Forests have a convenient way of muffling sound." Erynn sounds so confident about it that I just don't doubt him.

Man, I wonder when I'll get skills like that. It feels like all I ever do is just wonder that, nowadays. Still, it's while wondering that I manage to trip across a fortuitous root that's conveniently at shin height. I plunge toward the ground - except the ground's not the ground, it's a big hole where ground really ought to be, and the hole's lined with wispy lengths of spiderweb.

Even with the terror of oh-shit-I'm-falling, I manage to notice how much my skin crawls upon that observation. Then someone grabs me by the collar of the shirt and manages to save my life in a way that almost garrotes me.

Amanda's breath is warm against my cheek as we fall back onto safer ground, and her face has that particular scowl that she adopts when dealing with me and my usual messes. "That's twenty-eight."

"That's not too high."

"That's because you've hardly been in the Halls lately, you idgit." She flicks a few stray strands of grass into my face, then sighs under the weight of all her sorrows. Then she just cracks up laughing. "Your face! You really thought you were going to die!"

For some reason Amanda always finds this to be the high point of any time she has to save my ass.

"Oh, nice!" Erynn claps his hands, dusting them off. There's an odd greenish stain on the back of one, his clothes look rumpled, and behind him Gerude looks as exasperated as Amanda. I guess we've been having similar misadventures, then. "You found the proper spot! Good job, Jax, I think you're growing fast as a trainee!"

I grin, hauling myself up. "Really?"

"No." He still has that big doofy smile on his face. "But you've got great luck, so why worry about it?" Huh. I never thought about it like that. He gestures to the place I tripped through. The root that tried to kill me is a part of a large interweaving circle of roots, as if they were trying to grow around a doorway through the trees. "Regardless, this is perfect. So let's go!"

I frown. "Through there? That place almost killed me!"

He nods, still grinning. "So will Lyiannethe Manor! It's a perfect match!"

* * *
Erynn
* * *

The first thing I notice is the spiderwebs. At first I think that we really did fall into Jax's pit, but no - we're all standing up as lateral as you please. It's just the ceiling that's getting all in my hair, because the ceiling is thickly carpeted with spiderwebs.

Rachella is the first one to scream.

Oh, my mistake. That was me.

Gerude curses softly under his breath, which is his usual reaction to my antics. We're paired up quite a bit - I think because the Poet King has noticed Gerude's unusual hesitance towards killing me for things like this. "Erynn, you flake, it's just YAAAAUGH!" Two familiar reports sound off, followed by an otherworldly squealing that jellies my bones. Amanda curses next. I see a faint glint of silver, then hear the grind of metal against... carapace? It's so dark in here that I can't see much of anyone or anything that's being fought against, which doesn't give me firm footing as a Poet. If only there were some light around here...

Oh, there we go. A soft red glow permeates the chamber. I can see old stone walls - fine masonry on them. They're decorated with rusty but sturdy-looking chains, queer stains that turn my stomach, and spiders. Hundreds of them. Hundreds of tiny skittering black things with eight legs apiece that look just as poisonous as can be, I just know it.

Jhe h'Logos always says that kind of thinking is counter-productive, and Jhe Edward always said it'd get me killed. I never believed the latter on it, though, because he always sounded too hopeful. Now he sounds too right.

As frightening as a squirming, skittering cloud of spiders covering the walls - and probably floor - around us is, it doesn't explain what Gerude and Amanda could be making such a fuss about. They must be fighting something bigger. Of course, with the new light situation, I'm more able to make it out. Ah. Giant spiders. Giant spider-people. With red glowing eyes that oh-so-conveniently explain the newfound incandescence.

Sometimes the worst thing you can wish for is getting your wish...

Thankfully, there aren't many of them. Surely a reputable Armed such as Gerude can take them on with the help of two faithful Armed trainees.

Oh, and Jax might do something beside stand there with his mouth gaping open, a skill which is in fact marketable in some areas of Beleth.

Rachella is putting her crossbow skills to good use, which is admirable (albeit a bit nervous-making) in such close quarters. When she can't get a bolt between their eyes (and not directly into them, which helps keep the illumination going) she slams the stock of her crossbow into any sensitive spots the enemies may be showing. So between her crossbow, Amanda's many blades, and Gerude's guns, things are pretty well covered. Jax... well, I won't lie. He's not exactly taking charge in this encounter. I don't really blame him - fighting's a pretty icky sport when it comes down to it, all bloody and crunchy. Ghastly stuff. I'd rather just write about it and let someone else take care of it.

See, they're getting along just fine. Barely any spider-people left. We're all doing a fantastic job.

Wait, no. Spider-people are lessening, yes, but the spiders on the walls... they're starting to encroach on the floor. Normally, spiders aren't so brave. They understand that humans are bigger than them and own most of the houses. But these spiders must realize that they've got the numbers.

Jax, bless him, notices this first. He's the first to try stomping on the spiders instead of screaming at them like he's a five-year-old girl, which was my approach. I have to say, it's effective. He also tries the good-old-fashioned whacking them with a stick maneuver. Odd, I don't remember him picking that up in the woods, but there it is, a big sturdy man-height limb that's just perfect for swinging around. I suppose his Poetic abilities are showing through in subtle ways, then - I wonder if he even realizes he just wrote himself a stave.

Ah well, whatever. He's frightening off the spiders. Smart little buggers.

There's one last report, then silence. Well, more a rustling and dripping and panting, but there's a lack of screaming or clanging or exploding which, in comparison to the previous state of affairs, seems very quiet.

"Anybody bleeding?" Jax asks the question, stave still hefted midair in preparation for any more spiders. Goodness, I think he might even be ready to swing that stick at something his own size!

"We seem to be fine." Rachella's voice is relieved, but has that underlying tension to it that tells me she wishes there were a couple more spider-people around to rough up. Oh boy, stuck in an enclosed space with a bunch of Armed trainees who haven't even been knocked around enough by the Peacekeeper yet. What did I do to deserve this? Oh wait - I volunteered.

Amanda just grunts as she pulls a strip of ripped jacket material around a cut on her upper arm. It's shallow enough that I doubt there'll be any problems, but I hope she gets that cleaned soon - there's no telling what nasty infections you could get from getting cut by giant bipedal spiders.

"Alright. Door." Gerude is brief with words, but efficient enough at finding the staples. He finds a heavy-looking wooden door made of huge sturdy beams and reinforced with strips of old iron. "Are we ready to move on, Erynn?"

I'm eager enough to get out, too, but... well, a Poet's got to do what a Poet's got to do. "Just a mome. Hey, Jax? Could you come here for a second?" The trainee cocks his head, lowers his limb, and walks over to where I'm standing over a spider-person corpse. The shiny black thing is dead, but its red eyes are still glowing. "Look at this thing here."

Jax nods. "Lookin' at it."

"Good. Could you give it a kick?" I take a step back - merely to observe, of course.

Jax frowns, but draws back his foot and then gives the thing a good punt. "Ow! That thing's hard!"

"Yes, isn't that strange? Arachne-kin tend to be more... brown and fuzzy and approachable-looking. For horrible spider-shaped monstrosities, at least. Maybe these are a different breed. I've never really heard about them - Gerude?"

He frowns. He looks impatient to move on, but he's giving the question some thought. It is important to investigate while we're here. "We've had a couple mentions of some odd creatures out by..." he trails off for a moment, considering that we're speaking around trainees. Gerude and I both know a lot of things that are a bit higher-level in terms of secure information. Then again, why die with a secret? We all in here have the same job right now. "...out by Robinstead and in the surrounding desert. There's been reports of monstrosities around the Rhivend area and also the northeast coast of Audiva Rocale, but of course we couldn't investigate the latter very much. The general explanation is Nul-warped creatures, perhaps monsters that need sealing, or perhaps someone is messing with things that they shouldn't. You know, perhaps somewhere out in Lyiannethe, in a dungeon." He sighs. "I'm not sure why you talked us into going all the way out here instead of the Audivan Palace, Erynn, but your hunches are usually solid. I guess this would be proof of that. So, when we head out that door... will we find more of the same? Or even darker secrets?"

I grin. "So you're picking up on my skill for the dramatic, are you?"

Gerude rolls his eyes and snorts. "Not hardly, just preparing myself for the worst. You've gotten me through missions alive, but you have the tendency to drag me through the most ridiculous--"

And then, a peculiar thing happens - the door opens from the outside and someone pulls Gerude into the next room. Then, the door closes.

We all stand and stare at each other a moment, somewhat dumbfounded. There's no sound of a struggle from the other side of the door. Not even gunfire. Strange. I'm sure one of us should do something, but...

"So, we stay here, trapped, or we walk through that door, which is most likely a trap anyway." Amanda sums it up well.

"This spider-corpse is starting to smell," Rachella says as she holds her nose.

Jax hefts his stick and approaches the door. He stands right against the wall, ready to hit someone if they enter from it. Good. Rachella stands farther back from him, closer into the room but still able to fire off a bolt if the door opens wide enough. Cover fire. Excellent.

I'm still farther back into the room. Amanda stands in front of me. Ah, yes. Someone to protect the defenseless Poet. I do love these strategic formations. And they really are very useful in the appropriate situation. It's just...

"Could you give me a moment?" I take a look at what Gerude is doing, my right hand sort of twitching at the wrist down by my side. I can write in my head by now, of course, but it's hard to convince my hand that I'm not going to engage its services with a quill right now. It's not much of a distraction, though, and nobody in here finds it odd.

Meanwhile, Gerude's still getting his breath back after the nasty scare he just got, and is still convincing his Arms not to fire upon someone that is not, in fact, an attacker. The profuse apologies of his new friend fade into the background as his attention shifts to the room he's in. There doesn't seem to be much harm in it, and it's better lit, which are his chief concerns. They're alone.

He fends off even more apologies from the man, who seems to be quite elderly. "Jhe... I'm sorry, I seem to be at a loss for your name?" Gerude is almost certain he recognizes this Poet, but just can't recall his name.

"Ah. My apologies." The man bows, his shaggy white hair fluffing back and forth with the motion. His gangliness gives an awkward emphasis to the motion. He extends his hand after he uprights himself once more. "My name is Dougrasse Galeotto, formerly of Crux Radia. I am pleased to make the accquaintance of such a well-respected Armed as yourself." As Gerude clasps his hand in greeting, Dougrasse continues: "Unless some sort of scandal has arisen in my absence, Jhe Gerald?" His eyes twinkle.

Gerude groans. He sighs, still shaking the Poet's hand. "Gerude, if you'll be kind. Any of my brother's scandals are his own business."

Jhe Dougrasse! I remember him! It's been years since anyone's heard from him - he'd been written off as dead. Strange! Well, already the trip is worth it. I take my attention off of Gerude and focus on the room I'm still standing in. Everyone's staring at me, which means I must have been muttering aloud while writing. It's a habit of mine that's easier to just leave unchecked if I don't have to quiet it - especially since said mutterings tend to tip off any nearby partners to what's going on.

"I guess we can go on," I say. "It's all clear. We've got a friend on the other side!"

Jax tries the door. He frowns, tries again, then glares at it. "It won't budge."

The door opens, and we all behold Jhe Dougrasse's shaggy head peeking through it. "My apologies," he says, "I sensed an Armed and thought he'd come alone. I didn't want any of the Arachne-fovos to follow him. The door can only be opened from the outside, you see. I um..." he swallows, looking nervous. "I didn't think one Armed could kill them all, and the opportunity to save--"

Jax waves it off. "No worries, man. We understand. It's very high-stress down here, right?"

Dougrasse swallows and nods. "Right." He lets us all into the next room, which is indeed well-lit and even a bit warm and cozy. There's lots of fabric draped about, and huge spools of wispy, soft-looking string.

"Why does it open only from the outside?" Rachella's question is far too innocent for the reply given.

"Because it's only opened to toss in the food." Dougrasse shivers. "I um... how did you all end up in there? I've been in this room here for most of the day, and I've not heard of the Arachne-fobos needing so much, um... I mean." He dissembles. He's obviously not used to talking to so many people at once. "I'm quite relieved that you're alive, let's leave it at that."

I smile, extending my hand. "Erynn Blackirons. I'm not sure if you remember me, I was just a squirt of a teenager when I last met you. I Poetried our way into that chamber. It was the only way I could get us inside in secret. I suppose this area of the Manor isn't used much?"

He shakes his head. He opens his mouth to say something, then drifts before he can collect it, then makes another attempt. I can tell he's trying to hold together under a lot of stress. He's got a calm sort of detachment which is probably helping out with that. "Are you coming to rescue us?" He shakes his head, rubs it, then focuses on me again. "It's... it's been so long. We knew nobody knew about us... is that what's really happening? A rescue?"

I nod, then pat him on the back. He's got a bit of a hunch to him, but I remember him always having that. Dougrasse's been an old coot since anyone can remember him being around, after all. "Yeah. We're gettin' you out of here. We're going to need some directions, though. I got us in here pretty haphazardly."

He's still confused - there's a haze in his eyes that isn't just fatigue or shock. "Right, right... well, the Mistress will be along any minute now, so we really should prepare ourselves..." He sighs, then looks around the room, his face oddly contemplative and just a touch wistful.

Jax frowns. "What's wrong?"

Dougrasse's face is heartbroken in a way that makes me feel a little sick. "I was... working in here. Working on something for so long." He closes his eyes, then rubs his head with both hands. Rachella slides an arm around his shoulders, while Amanda stands by watching... and on guard, I notice.

"We need to get you out of here," I say. Dougrasse doesn't reply, just nods his head and lets out a little sob.

I look around the room once more. That strange thread is hanging all about the place - on spools in some places, coiled about in others. It seems to have been dyed in quite a few colors. It's even been spun into heavier thread and into a variety of different yarns. I have a hunch about what it could be, but...

...But I don't want to think about it.

Gerude's checking out the two doors that exit this chamber. One's larger and looks like it could face a hall - the other's smaller and probably adjoins a similar room. "Is there anything else in here -- anybody else in here that's important?"

"Oh... Jhe Haari'se. She's in the other room. Another Poet... we really should bring her along." Dougrasse has an odd wheeze to his words. "I'm sorry. Not used to speaking so much... not in this language. So few opportunities... no one comes down here to talk to me."

I feel very, very sad in that moment.

"Here, it's safe in the other room - that's where we do the fabric. Some blankets as well... beautiful stuff, really, but we can't take it all back... she knows how to make it, though. So come, please, and greet Jhe Haari'se. She'd love to leave this place too, I know, as much as we're both attached to our work." He opens the small door into the next room.

Gerude raises his Arms a second after the Arachne-kin within wraps its fuzzy long brown legs around Dougrasse and pulls him in.

* * *
Lyric
* * *

It's strange walking down this hallway. There's something weird in the air - like something's going on, or it's just about to happen. Is this how Poets feel? I don't quite like it. I start to wish I'd been able to train a little bit before getting kidnapped - maybe if I were a really good Poet, I could have planned for this all. Jhe h'Logos is a Time Lord, after all. Couldn't he help me predict stuff like this? I mean, Gerald didn't seem like he was doing anything Poetic on purpose, but he's Gerald, not the Poet King.

Surely the Poet King would know what to do about this ominous feeling, and the near-visible flashes I'm starting to get of other places and familiar people. I'm thinking of Ebrellin-i so much right now - maybe because I've been around his mother so much? Ugh, that just gives me the chills.

Well, I'm heading to a place where lots of Poets are being held - and I'm about to pretend to 'train' one of them. Surely Elric will be able to help me with this. Heck, he can talk with his mind even while wearing one of those collars. I'm surprised he hasn't broken out of here all by himself already.

Oh, I have a couple of times, but it got old. The land always reclaims me, as cursed land is wont to do. Stay back against the wall and don't turn the corner yet. Think about the shadows.

His voice is steady, yet tense enough that I immediately do as he says. Shadows. There sure are a lot of those around here. Pretty dark, as shadows go. Hey, I'm standing in the shadows - funny that. I thought there was light in this branch of the corridor here, but sure enough, if someone looked over in this direction they'd barely see anything. Shadows sure are convenient.

Good. You're a natural.

Something walks by. I suppose I could call it a someone, as it is walking around on two legs and looks vaguely like a person I could talk to. It almost looks like one of those Avians that Ebrellin-i was on about, but... well, less person-like, and more crawling with its own shadows. I stop myself from recoiling. I don't want to draw its attention. As it is, I see the beaked thing glance over past my corner. My heart's in my throat - but its gaze passes me over.

It's gone.

Guard. It would recognize your uniform as that of one of Thelea's servants, Lyric, but it would mark you and distrust you. Come down towards my cell now, but don't stop where I am - keep walking to the end of the hall. There's a room there that I want you to go into. Don't be afraid - everything should go just fine now that nobody's seen you.

I walk down the corridor lined with cell doors. I recognize Elric's, but I do as he says and keep going, even though I want to pause and look in on him.

* * *
Lyric
* * *

I drum, just like Elric told me to. Now, I've never been much of a musician. My family'd be the first to tell you so, and we were all raised to at least appreciate music, if not make it. I don't really understand all those fiddly music note marks that Stevane and Daddy read when they're playing piano or whatever else, and I can't understand why my singing sounds "off-key" to everyone else. But I do understand a beat, because I understand dancing, and I am at least good at that. That being said, when I start drumming, it's more of a konk-konk-konk than anything else, and I wonder what Elric thinks is so special about this drum other than what it's made out of.

...A coconut. This is totally a coconut, just has a few extra holes in it. I'm gonna throw up all my guts later, but for now this damn thing is a coconut and I'm drumming up a storm on it.

Well, I wouldn't say a storm, but I do naturally find... some kind of beat. I couldn't tell you how, but somehow this particular rhythm feels right, and I'm actually starting to enjoy it. It's not really making a sound so much as marking out spaces between sounds, and expending those spaces until they're sort of solid themselves. Like I'm prying something apart with each KONK. It's actually kind of satisfying. So satisfying that I don't even notice Elric's door is open until it bumps into my shoulder.

Don't stop drumming, Lyric. We're not done... quite yet. Elric sounds like he's going through a lot of effort right now. I'm better off not poking into it. I just need to get my job done, like he said.

Konk. Konk. ...KONK.

The last one rings out with a kind of finality throughout the whole cell row, with more sound than what a hollow skull being pounded with a rib can produce. It's the sound of shattering locks and chains, and the subsequent creaking open of many doors. It's freeing, it's open, it's... Elric is standing up. He's got the greatest, biggest smile on his face. His chains are off.

No, not just the chains. The collar, too. The collar that was around his neck has shattered into teeny pieces that lie on the floor. I'm amazed. I didn't think I was that powerful. I don't even know how to drum. I just sort of blink as Elric hugs me.

You weren't alone, and that lack of knowledge is its own sort of power, Lyric. Not knowing how to do something means you're not limited by knowing how to do it correctly. That's the special gift trainees have that official Poets always lose to a degree. Someone new always comes along, though... He leans back, looking down at me. Wow, Elric's really tall. Not Ebrellin-i-level tall, but getting close to Daddy-level. He has a big goofy grin on his face and a weird look in his eyes that looks sort of familiar. I don't have time to place it, though - he slumps to the floor before I have a chance. Then he breaks into laughter as someone two cells down manages to shuffle through their doorway on their hands and knees and look over at him in perplexion.

I can't stand up! I'm finally free and I can't bloody stand up! Tears stream down his face as he keeps laughing - an odd sort of chuckle, as if he isn't used to using his throat for good. But I can laugh! Lyric, I can actually laugh! Thank you! He pulls me by the hand in front of him, leans forward, and kisses me.

Oh. I did recognize that look. It's just... been awhile.

My hand reaches up to caress Elric's cheek.

It's been quite awhile indeed.

"I can tell it's really happened," says the Poet who just crawled out of her cell, her voice raspy and broken. "People are doing utterly stupid things in the hall. Poetry's obviously been at work."

"Hmph," whoever the girl was talking to replies. "No surprise at all. Elric's been going on about his new boyfriend for weeks upon weeks to anybody who had half a head to hear."

"Aww, you're just jealous you haven't netted yourself a handsome boyfriend here yourself, Jhe Elam. All this pureblood Xaillyndesse stock to pick from - don't your kind marry back in?" This speaker's male, a new voice, one wreathed in amusement.

"I do not... I don't... you can't very well-!" Elam lets out a great harumph. "None of you are getting out of here alive. Not a rational thought in a single one of your heads. Me, I'm leaving this place."

"You don't seem to be too eager to get moving, much as your tongue seems to claim it." The other male voice counters him in a dry tone.

"I'll get to it just as soon as my legs start working again!"

"Here. Jhe Elam. I can still stand. You just hold on... I'll help you prop against the wall... we can all get out together, I'm sure, some of us still have strong legs!" The girl is speaking now, though I'm hearing some other voices of agreement in the background that I don't yet recognize. I suppose it'd help if I looked away from Elric, but we're kind of... occupied.

Thusly, neither Elric nor myself give the brilliant suggestion of walking into the music room and taking some instruments to strengthen the Poets who can't get their feet yet. Still, we've done our part, and Elric's more than happy to let someone else direct for awhile. Around when we manage to pry off of one another, everyone else seems to have gained their feet back, though we all look tired.

Well, I look pretty darn healthy, but I'm the new guy.

Up until now we've been talking to each other as I'm talking to you now... those of us that could. Elam's strongest for single-speaking, and I've got the head for group talking... I can speak to us all at once, really. Which, as I'm sure you can't quite detect yet, Lyric, I am doing right now. I really can't speak aloud right now - Thelea's damned near destroyed my tongue.

"Well, that's a bit of a lie, isn't it?" Elam's grey-blue eyes look up to Elric apologetically. "Not that I'm implying any sort of malice. It's just inaccurately summarizing the real factor - you can't speak anything but the black words with any sort of promise that the speech will stay without taint." He pauses. "I'm saying this so any of us who don't know that will understand what a danger it is to encourage you to speak aloud just yet." He's remarkably calm about it all. Elam's got a lot of the same facial features as the Poet King - I didn't see him much before, but I do know he's his son. His nose is a bit narrower, though, and his hair's more of a grey that isn't a result of his incarceration here - I think it's always been like that. He's almost as tall as Elric, but a lot skinnier.

Well, nobody here's exactly pudgy, they've been prisoners for who knows how long.

Elric nods. He looks away. By what's on his face, he didn't want to admit to what Elam just said. I grip his hand and squeeze it.

He squeezes back.

"We've got to go." Elam's dour expression hasn't shifted a bit since he first crawled out of his cell. "We've got to get out of here while we have the chance--"

Oh, no rush, Elam. Elric smiles. There's no one left to stop us. Thelea and the unfortunate case of Jhe Edward are, for now, out of the picture. We just need to wait here.

"Wait?" Elam glares at Elric. "What have you been hiding? Waiting for whom?"

There's a clatter down the hall, and a very familiar curse - my brother Gerald, I think. "Erynn, you bloody fool, don't jump just because you saw a shadow!" Ah, no. Gerude.

"It was different than the usual shadow! It was Jhe Haari'se's shadow! No offense meant, Jhe Haari'se, but you do cut an impressive figure, so to speak."

There's an eerie chittering sound in reply that sends several Poets scampering back into their cells to hide. Elric remains standing still, his resolve unfazed. When Gerude shows up around the corner with an Arachne-kin at his side, however, Elric lets out the faintest squeak. He claps his hand over his mouth, eyes widened in fear. I realize that he's not afraid of the Arachne-kin - he was scared of what might be coming out of his mouth. One of those inky black shadows from before, perhaps...

I shudder. I tell myself that shouldn't have anything to do with us kissing, but it still feels a little weird.

Gerude sighs heavily, looking over our group. "Bingo," he says, "looks like everyone's here that's worth getting. Are we missing anyone?"

* * *
Edward
* * *

Master says no speaking. Master is ever so close now. I do believe I can feel him riding my mind even now.

I wanted this. This is power. I'm his Poet now. His Herald. His first servant, his cherished one. It's so cold, but it's lonely at the top, isn't it?

I can't very well call out now. I'm still recovering. I can't even see, much less use telepathy. Besides, Master says no speaking.

I only slipped that once, when he took me. I only called out once, and he chastised me. Once was enough to learn. There's no going back now... and why would I want to? This is what I've been working so hard for... isn't it?

* * *
Erynn
* * *

"We're missing my sister," the dapper Jhe Lyric says. I do wonder where he got all that Lyiannethian finery.

Gerude curses. It's something in Chetharian, I think. He keeps picking that up from his Father, like a nasty habit. "Where is she?"

Lyric looks afraid to answer. "The Kommissar took her from Thelea. I haven't seen her since we arrived and were separated."

Gerude narrows his eyes. "And just what were you doing all this time?" A good question. Lyric's got odd tendencies - just look at the last job he fetched up from.

Lyric meets his brother's glare. "Not getting either of us killed. Do you want to go find her or not?"

Gerude fixes Lyric with a dubious look for quite a long time. He smells trouble. The moment is broken when one of the girls screams after seeing Jhe Haari'se out of the corner of her eye.

Oh, that was me again. My, I'm rather jumpy today, aren't I? Gerude's glare could kindle a woodfire. "Err, well. Sorry. Anyway, shouldn't we be worrying more about guards, security, giant spiders that aren't our friends, all that?"

Elric raises a finger. There'll be little to no resistance from this point out. Thelea has left her castle with Edward, which means that neither have any more direct control over events here. A large gathering of uncollared Poets, however bedraggled, plus your bright group, will counter any other minor adversity at hand. As for Stevane... He looks a bit sad, now. She's a big girl.

I can't say much for that last point, but I do understand Gerude's rather defensive stance about his sister when I try to think about it too much. Mind you, I can't feel too worried about Stevane for too long, but that's because I remember how often she's set my hair ablaze in the past.

...Wait. "What was that bit about Edward again?"

* * *
Stevane
* * *

Everything's sort of quiet, which is nice. I know I can see, but the shade of eveything's sort of tinted to a pleasant grey, and I know instinctually that nothing in my field of vision really matters in the long run. That's rather nice to know. I've got to get out of here, but I can take my time. There's nothing pressing to deal with in here, now that--

I feel a bit sick all of a sudden, for some reason.

It passes.

-- now that I've taken care of the room's main problem.

It's odd to feel so calm about it. I think later someone will tell me this is shock, and that I have trauma. I prefer to think of this peace as a reward for a job well done. For putting up with that brute for so long. It does sort of make me happy now, after the initial vomit-feeling.

Hm. Is someone else in here?

"Please don't stab me, Jhe Stevane. I haven't done anything wrong to you."

Oh! Oh, that's right. I've got my knife Garnet pressed against Calyx's throat. The most logical thing to do after eliminating the Kommissar was to make sure his assistant didn't pull anything funny. I've probably been standing like this for quite awhile, possibly while muttering to myself. "It's okay. She says you haven't done anything worth Judging you for, not yet at least."

He nods - or jerks his chin a tiny bit, at least. "Good to hear. Can we go?"

Hm. That would involve not stabbing Calyx. "Well, about that. I've got some questions for you, before we get along anywhere. I had sort of a proposition for you, I suppose." Crisanto is peeping up that she's thirsty and she'd like to cut him a little. I tell her to shush - it's too early for any of that. I realize that I might have said that out loud, but it doesn't matter. I'm the one with the Arms here, and Calyx isn't really the steel-spined sort.

Or is he? That's the thing - a jellyfish of a man would have peed his pants by now, and Calyx is a person who's survived working under the Kommissar for quite a long time. I can't trust how he acts. But my Arms can tell whether he speaks the truth.

"I am certainly in a position to listen to you, Jhe Stevane." His words are calm, but have a tense edge underneath them. Damn right they should.

"You know about my sister. My Father would certainly love to hear all about what you know, directly from you. My Father's protectiveness in regards to his children is rather well-known of. I don't mean that you ever did anything ungentlemanly to Letitcia, or that she never consented to you doing anything ungentlemanly to her, but considering the circumstances, I don't think you'd survive such an encounter. My Father, he has his moods."

Calyx is as pale as Jhe h'Lete's finest vellum. Garnet and Crisanto agree that it's not a reaction that he's faking.

"I'd wager that you'd rather not be brought in. My Father might forget all about you, though, if he knew where my sister was." Well, he wouldn't, but he'd be so busy tracking Letitcia down faster than he tromped over to Audiva Rocale to fetch Lyric that it would give Calyx a fair run for his money. "If I left you here alive, then, Jhe Calyx... what task would you set yourself to?" Garnet twitches in my hand just a little bit - enough to tickle his throat.

Keeping him honest. Men are never honest unless you remind them to be.

I try not to chuckle in response, but when I fail I suppose it's more motivation for Calyx to stay on the level.

"Well there's rather a lot to clean up, what with my boss dead." He actually has it in him to grin in this position. "I do get his job now, after all. Wonderful! I can finally get something proper done with it. I do suppose I owe you for killing him off."

I nod. "I'll remember that. What do you consider 'something proper'?"

"Not all this, for one." Calyx gestures to the room, to the dead Arms hung about the altar. "I think he was daft for this kind of stuff, and for working with the Jherent Nul at all. But service to Nul is something that's rather intertwined with the Xaillyndesse bloodline itself, just as the hatred for the Rhivendish is. It's a tradition, I guess you could say. But I'm a Gorey, and the Xaillyndesse blood might be in my veins, but it's even thinner than Xen's was before you let it all out of him. I'm not really one for tradition, I just like getting my job done. The Kommissar maintains defense of Audiva Rocale's borders and has authority over all intelligence and counter-intelligence operations. So, theoretically, if you left me here then it'd be my job to spy on your homeland. However, it would also be my job to keep correspondence with Jhe h'Akribastes to ensure the peace and prosperity of both our Empires. That's a measure that traditionally our Kommissars have gone lax on. A shame, really, considering it takes less resources than all that constant skulduggery. I would be willing to change the balance of our operations, if Crux Radia is willing to take the Lady Thelea's seat of power from her and restore it to her son. I like occasionally to pick my despots, and he's been rather level-headed for a pureblood Xaillyndesse."

I run all of that over in my head and do the math. "You're asking more from my side than I'm asking from you."

"Ah, you caught that." Such an insufferable grin. I almost stab him for it, but I recognize it from somewhere. I just can't place it. "I suppose my terms are a bit unreasonable, considering my position. Can I offer anything more than the location of your sister?"

I raise an eyebrow. "I think you're the one who should answer that question, aren't you?" My wrist is getting tired. That's my official explanation for why Garnet pierces his throat enough for a drop of blood to well up. "Sorry, I'm getting a bit tired just standing here. Long day."

"Hasn't it been?" His grin is a bit manic, but considering his position... "If you give me a map, I can lay out all sorts of interesting information for your Father to have. Certainly enough to communicate that I mean what I say... and certainly enough to mean the promise of more bargains in the future."

"You sound more like a businessman than a commander. Still, it's a sound suggestion. You can get up."

We both wait. He stares at me for awhile. "Your knife," he finally says.

Oh, whoops. Garnet's still against his throat. If he'd stood up he would have perforated himself. "Alright. Let's get out of this creepy room, then." I let him lead, Crisanto pressed up against his back. I toss once more glance to the Kommissar's corpse before we're gone. I almost expect it to move.

But no. He is very dead. Arms don't miss.

* * *
Stevane
* * *

"What was my sister like?" It's a natural question. Strangely, brandishing weapons at Calyx while asking it makes it even more so.

He's rummaging through drawers of paper and references, digging through documents that are who knows how old. He seems rather nonchalant about the whole weapons-brandishing thng, but then his line of work probably makes that normal. "Just as pretty and dangerous as you. Xen really did give me a scare. For a moment, I thought he knew she was still alive." He produces a compass out of all that mess, then places that with the quill and paper he gathered up. He's been adding things to the map already, but he wanted to keep things accurate. Already I'm impressed by how much he's marked on that thing... and curious as to how true it all is.

"Oh?"

"I'm the only one who knew. Everyone else where she's been holed up all this time has no clue as to her true identity. I agreed to sneak her out - she was very convincing about things, you see." He squints at his work, contemplates, then begins to fill out another section of the map. "Sneaky girl. She didn't warn me she wanted a baby."

He sort of ducks then, which shows he has good instincts - if I were my Father, I would have struck.

"Well, a lot of babies, but that first one was the big surprise. I couldn't let Xen have her then, of course. I got protective. I still to this day haven't gotten out of her whether she used that as her escape, or she really did want a child by me. My hunch is a little of both, but still, I wonder where the weight swings? She was a cunning girl. She was playing the role of an Armed who'd defected from Radia, joining our side, aiding Xen's research... then she seduces me, and then suddenly I've got a son on the way, and a lot more of my life determined for me than I ever thought. So we figured out that a place out in Radia would be best - she'd never fit in properly over here out on her own. That flaming red hair, that bearing of hers... not Aurocan at all. She was more restrained than you, more willing to play Xen's games than be defiant towards him. Possibly it's what pissed him off so much about you, but well... who really knew, with him? He was just a real prick."

I want to sit down, because this is a lot all at once. I've got to stay on guard and alert, though, if only to make sure Daddy doesn't overhear any of this right now and come kill Calyx this moment. Because I am starting to like Calyx, in that would-still-set-his-head-on-fire-but-maybe-not-kill-him sort of way. "When did you know she wasn't a defector?"

He chuckles - not a sound I like, because it's foreboding something else I won't like. "Who knows if she really is, is the question? I could never really tell. Her loyalty is certainly, if it's anywhere, placed with the family she started with me. Beyond that, how can I know her mind? She's a woman, and a crazy woman, and a crazy red-haired woman. I don't even know what got into me... though I certainly know what got into her..." he grins as he writes. Then he pales a bit as the tip of a blade pricks the back of his neck.

"I certainly know what could get into you." The words are leaden and utterly serious.

"Pardon," he says, and that's enough for both of us. Crisanto and I back off, and he goes back to his map-drawing. It's quiet, for awhile.

Something sort of nags at me, but my head's sort of cloudy in parts. The parts of my mind that have to do with the Arms are wide-awake - maybe even too much so. But something else feels sluggish and chained...

Oh. Of course. What an idiot I am. Crisanto cuts up through the collar around my neck in one clean motion, Garnet slamming down into it before it even hits the floor. The wretched thing is crushed. The release is like a flood of crystal water crashing into my mind, enveloping it and wrapping my whole self in a cool feeling of relief and joy. And with that is Elric's voice--

We're waiting for you, sweetcake.

Apparently I'm not the only one who was ready to break out of this place.

Soon, I reply.

"Are we done?" I look over to Calyx. He does seem to be well along on the map.

He bites his lip. "I believe so. Though you did make me jump just now. Didn't smudge anything, though. In any case... your sister." His face is clouded, and he doesn't want to look up at me. He sighs. "I wasn't supposed to tell anyone. She's the one person I won't betray - or so I thought. Would you just take the map instead?"

"No." The voice is leaden like before. I don't even think of the reply before I make it.

"Of course. A deal is a deal, and... well, she's a resourceful girl, and I'm sure she'll love to see her family again." It almost hurts to know he's lying there, or at least dubious enough to not be sure if it's a truth. "Robinstead, the desert settlement. She's been in Robinstead since she left here. It was barely much of anything back then, and certainly nowhere of interest to Xen. She had our son there, and, well... a lot more children since. She holds the settlement steady, to be sure."

I furrow my brow. Robinstead. Isn't that where...

My eyes flick up to his face, and then I see it. I almost laugh, but I keep my regard serious. I don't want to ruin the moment. "You have my gratitude, Jhe Gorey."

"And you have mine, Jhe Akribastes. May you move along now, then, so that you may have even more of mine? It has been a full day, and I suspect both of us have had enough of each other for quite some time." He hands the map to me. I take it.

I go.

* * *
Erynn
* * *

Okay, so all in all we have a lot of people to account for, and it takes up quite a bit of time while we wait for Stevane (whom Elric keeps on insisting is on her way). There's also the instruments room - enough stuff in there to give me the willies, to be sure, but also some treasures that I haven't seen in quite some time. Dougrasse is extremely happy to be reunited with his prized sewing equipment, and several others are starting to rediscover their missing possessions. There's also some instruments that belong to missing Poets who aren't present - a query to Elric give the unwelcome answer that not everyone that was captured is here.

A few of them aren't likely to be anywhere, Erynn. We haven't all survived. There's a dreadful pause. I can give at least a partial accounting of those we've completely lost later, but... not now. Not here.

It's a bit glum in here, and having a giant spider doesn't exactly help anyone, but at least she's polite. Some of the Poets knew about Jhe Haari'se already, which does help. As for where Jhe Edward is, well...

Well, I haven't been able to get a word out of Jax since we learned about that. He's blazing angry. I can't imagine what Jhe o'Radia will think, and I don't want to be around him when he finds out. Jhe Edward, a traitor... it's so strange. I mean, he taught me most everything I know, if sometimes by bad example. I don't really understand. Just like with Lyric.

Who, I may note, Jhe Gerude isn't letting out of his sight. And, well, do I blame him? Jhe Lyric's answers on a few questions don't sound right at all, and I can't rightly say he's telling the truth for all of them. The boy's daft - he already made it through one Trial, does he think he can survive a second?

There's a bit of panting down the hall, and then around a corner pokes a head framed in oh-so-familiar curly red hair. Stevane grins so hard that I'm afraid her face will suffer a strain. She fair tackles Elric, almost knocking the poor man over.

"I heard you, I knew I heard you, I listened and I found you-- Elric it's been so long..."

Jax looks up in the middle of the cute little reunion. His eyes narrow. He gestures to me to stay quiet, then bites his lip.

"Yes?" he says in a voice that's too deep for him, and a bit too... dour. What is he on about?

There's a rustle from the end of the corridor. "Edward, sire... we're growing worried. There are guards missing, and doors askew that shouldn't be." The voice is wheedling and shaky, an old man or woman. Probably some poor servant scared out of their wits. Don't really blame them, in this castle.

My eyes widen. Jax just nods. "Quarantine off this section - it's safe, but there could be trouble. Don't allow anyone in this area of the Manor until I give my say-so. Do you hear me?" The voice is so imperious and snooty that I barely recognize it - except I do. It's Jhe Edward at his worst. Of course Jax would be a fair imitator of his older brother. It's brilliant.

"Yes! Of course! Thank you very much, sire!" The servant shuffles off out of sight. Gerude lowers his guns - and Stevane lowers a knife I've never seen in her hands before. Come to think about it, she looks a bit more honed than usual, and certainly worth ducking away from at a moment's notice. Did she...?

Gerude can't quite find the words for a moment. "You're gonna be alright, sis?" She's got blood on her. I just now noticed. Some of it's not even hers.

She gives him a cryptic smile that's not at all happy. "I wanna see Daddy. Let's get out of here before I find something to kill again."

After that, we're all more than happy to haul out of here. Goodness, and here I heard that Armed trainees just became big red splats if they got their Arms away from home. Stevane looks back at me, her gaze measuring in a way that makes me keenly uncomfortable - it's the same way Gerude Aims.

"Jhe Stevane? Is something amiss?" I manage to keep the question quite upbeat, if I do say so myself. No pants-wetting whatsoever.

She grins - another expression that doesn't exactly console me. "It's just relieving to see your face, is all. I was reminded of it earlier. Was thinking of Robinstead, too." And then she won't say anything more on the subject, which is fine with me.

I'm occupied enough as it is, anyway, adapting a hallway arch into a Door to get us all the way to Radia. "Between all of us concentrating, I think we ought to be able to manage the trip. Everyone ready? Got everything in tow that they need?"

Everything's ready. We go home. It still feels like we're missing something, but...

Well, there's no getting Jhe Edward back from where we are now, is there?

* * *
Ebrellin-i
* * *

I haven't been able to speak for quite some time.

Speech just isn't allowed where I am - or where my mind is. I'm sure my body is somewhere quite safe. I'm sure the Radians, even dear Luciprochoros, think they've got everything regarding me well in hand. And while I am in someone's hands, it is not theirs. I can feel my Master quite close.

I'm not sure how he managed to bring me here. I don't remember coming here. Surely there's no way to get to Nul from the Judge's cells? But here I am, sure as anything - or at least here my mind is.

And there is Nul. Above me, as always. As it should be, for I'd certainly not aspire to be above him, would I? No one could. Mother taught me that much at least - that when you find something that would rule you, you either find a way to surpass it or find a way to keep it happy.

And I, well, I keep Nul happy for her.

The first grumble from him is probably an observation, or a question. I can't really tell. Usually Cade will translate for him, but for some reason the Herald isn't providing illumination. I almost prefer it this way. There's nothing I can do about the Nul's decrees, so why would I really care what he's going to say? It's merely my signal to ready myself - not to shield, no.

That only makes him angry.

He hurts me. He's good at that, and I know he enjoys it. Usually he just does it at the beginning to get my attention - for I am a lazy follower, as Cade has always informed me on the Nul's behalf before. I do not step in time to the Nul's orders, I merely toe them vaguely while I go about my own dance. It's no lie, really - I am loyal, but I don't so much care to be all that devout about things. I am not a religious man, as it were.

Nul detests this, and so I am sent into a convulsion. Worship is something he demands, and I am always a fool not to give it to him. The convulsions usually pass, though - they're typically just long enough to shake me into my senses, to jog my memories. These don't pass. They become more excruciating than usual, in fact - my vision a blur, everything in my mind clenching up and twisting upon itself, and every bit of sense in me turning itself inside out and then rambling on like a madman. It is an intriguing sensation, to be sure - to be driven into madness at another's will.

It finally passes, very slowly does it pass. I can feel Nul's regard on me as the torture slows, as he drags it out enough that I can be aware of him dragging out. This is a pointed sort of torture, then - a punishment. I have been a bad pet. I have been the very worst of pets.

But he will not kill me - not yet. I still have a use. This is something that a new voice intones - not Cade's, but a Poet's. A Poet I recognize and, in fact, admire. Jhe Edward? Whatever is he doing here? I manage to catch a flash of his face as he intones the words - his face is blank, his pupils white, and his hair...

His hair has gone silver in streaks.

I feel an odd coil of revulsion upon seeing that - with all the danger that is here for me, with all the ways that Nul could hurt me, I'm afraid he'll hurt my hair. Or mar my beauty, or strike me lame. All of these things I fear, but I don't fret for my mind. That was very much destroyed some time ago, after all - at least in part. We don't fret for the things that are already broken.

I have a use.

I have a purpose.

I am only to lie in my cell and wait, and earn myself a good death.

* * *
Camden
* * *

I am tired of talking to this imbecile who calls himself a leader of men. What crazy Clan would ever decide to live on a boat all their lives is another question - perhaps it explains Captain Jules's type of madness quite adequately! But it's nothing to do with me and nothing he's talking about has much to do with anything I care about. This man's words are worthless.

I tell him just that, and he only laughs and grins at me. It is then that I realize my error - I have let him get under my skin.

Well, Geillg'a knows just what to do about that. Get under his.

I do manage to pull her back before too much of him leaks out onto the floor. The Judge probably wants him for further questioning. Probably. I can always kill him later.

Tchae, what are ye on about? The mental feel of my hair being smoothed over by a blade that should well shave me clean bald betrays Geillg'a's concern. She knows me well, aye - knows me fair better than even Jenny. Yer raw inside, as provokable as a teenage boy. What is amiss?

What is amiss? I could say that it's just that - teenaged energy, a certain type of rage and joy that Jenny's managed to work into me with her own special ways. That would be a lie, though. I realize that it must be Poetry. I almost curse aloud. What a stupid reason to be sloppy with my Arms.

Tis not a bad reason at all. Your Poetry gives you a foolish sort of clarity that you even find useful in the men you guide. Now if ye'll pay heed to it instead of barking yer head off like some fool pup...

She's right. I realize I need to be done with this. I grin and finish my business. "That will be all, Captain Jules." He replies with a gargled foreign insult and a rude gesture - something that oddly makes me fee accomplished. I'll probably have to send a healer in to fix him - not for now, though. Jhe h'Akribastes has noticed something in the air as well - he's looking down the hall, and up a bit. Katherine's looking that way too.

Someone's arrived in the courtyard, and I need to be there now. It's as if my life depended on it.

* * *
Lyric
* * *

Gerude's probably the smartest among us - he has Jhe Haari'se stand farther in the back. Otherwise someone out here in the Armed Hall courtyard would probably mistake her for an assailant, which wouldn't be good... right? I'm so sorry she's just so creepy! I know it's not her fault. I just keep thinking of Thelea when I look at her. Ugh, Thelea. I barely escaped being stuck as her servant.

When I shudder, Elric puts his hand on my shoulder. Cheer up, he says in the strangest mental voice. Like he's bracing for something himself. Hold on to things while they last.

I give him an askew glance for that one. What's he going on about? I don't have the time to ask, though - someone's running up towards us, and Daddy just appears out of nowhere right beside the whole party. I feel a bolt of panic run through me upon seeing him, then remind myself that there's nothing to fear - I've done nothing wrong.

Then that someone's running towards Elric, and Elric sort of pushes me forward between him and... the Peacekeeper?

"Elricht! You're alive! In one piece!" I've never heard Jhe Camden so happy. I never knew he could grin so much and not look absolutely frightening while doing so. I wish Elric would let me get away from him, though - but I'm held firmly between the two of them.

Brother. I'm so happy to see you. Elric does sound happy, but he also sounds a bit... shaky. Forgive me, but I've got to keep a bit of distance, just in case--

"Elricht! What are ye goin' on about? Ah haven't seen you in ten years, stop shoving people in the way of me!" Camden looks determined enough to cut past me to get to Elric - I let out a squeak upon realizing that.

Ten years. And do you know what might've been done to me in all that time? How dangerous I could be for you? I can't even speak aloud, brother! Please... please don't try to--

Camden's had enough of that, and shoves me aside into the dirt so he can properly welcome his brother with what I'm going to assume is a traditional Rhivendish tackle. They both land in the dirt as well-- small consolation for me. Elric's eyes are squeezed shut. He's wearing a grimace as if the world's going to end while he's on the ground - when it doesn't, he opens one eye warily. There's only Camden's grin. The Armed punches the Poet in the shoulder.

"Stop worryin'! Tell me where ye've bee-- great mother of the rolling hills, is that a SPIDER?"

I hear a few explanations being batted back and forth, ["She's really quite social!"] but it's sort of in the background for me while I'm hauled to my feet by... Father. He's got an unreadable expression on his face. Then I realize it's that one he wears where he's trying not to show--

He hugs me. Tight. For a brief moment I can't breathe. I still feel, somewhere deep down, like I should be cherishing this moment before it's over with. So I do.

Then it ends, he lets go, and he looks over Stevane. He sees Stevane's Arms. He sees the whole mess that our group is.

"I'm sure one of you has an explanation for all thi--" his words cut off as Stevane takes one step forward, wavering in her stance. She holds something up - a rolled up scroll of paper which looks like it has some drawings and writing on it. A map? She hands it to Daddy. Then she falls over, clean unconscious, like she's given out.

After that, it's all a bit difficult to keep track of.

* * *
Katherine
* * *

The great thing about a few hours of time in which nobody can account for all of what's going on is that it gives me the opportunity to not be accounted for.

The few hours of time was really all I needed. It's annoying when I have to start from scratch again - takes a couple weeks to really get my proper age back. But it doesn't take very long at all for my body to grow enough to be able to walk dependably. I guess I'm about five now, physically. And, like I said, it's all I need.

Daddy needs me, after all. Nobody's paying any attention to him. They've just thrown him in a cell and forgotten about him while that other stuff happens. And well, I'm not doing anything useful right now while I wait to be 'big enough' to do something important. I'm the Advocate, no matter what size I am.

Daddy needs me.

It takes awhile to walk down to where he is, especially with me having to be all sneaky about it. I'd teleport, but there's no telling if 'Sy or someone else is paying attention to those kinds of energy fluctuations now that I've gone and done it a couple times already. During the trip I grow an inch. It's so strange. I always feel so awkward when this happens.

But here Daddy is. Weird - the cell looks bigger and more ominous with me this tiny. He looks bigger too - it's like I'm a child again, for real. I feel that warm ache in my chest, that longing I've had to deal with all through my youth - Daddy was never around very much. I got to travel and stay with him now and then, yes, but Radia was my home, and so I always missed my Daddy who stayed in Audiva Rocale. Now he's here, and nothing's right, and if I'm going to have any sort of family at all--

Heck, if I'm going to have any sort of peaceful world to live in--

Then I've got to fix him.

I hear a rustle around a corner - probably someone in a nearby cell. I'll need to keep this quiet. No matter - Nulspeak isn't a loud language, really. In certain ways, it's not a language at all.

I look at Daddy, lying there in his prison bed. He looks so peaceful, and so helpless. He was always so big and strong - the tallest man I've ever met, really - and now he looks frail... almost old.

He doesn't have much time. I have to do this. I have to unlock him.

My mouth opens and the syllables fall out. Nul's language flows and chants more than it is spoken - and you can't think about it, can't try too hard to do it, or you'll sing your tongue right out of your mouth. You can unmake yourself entirely--

Katherine, darling? You haven't drawn. Gevurah's voice is patient and sweet, a sing-song imitation of Gedulah's. I keep my concentration - or lack thereof - and draw both blades out from midair as I Unspeak.

This is difficult. Your form is unstable, young one. You would do better to wait.

She says she has to press ahead, Gedulah. What else are we to do but aid her? Do we try to intervene and make her slip in the middle of her foolishness? Gevurah's tone is angry. It reminds me of 'Sy.

No, don't think about that now, don't think about him right now. It'll only make me angry. I can't lose concentration!

Daddy's not responding yet, and I'm getting afraid for my tongue. My mouth is numb, my throat nearly the same. Daddy hasn't moved. I can't even feel his mind.

Katherine! You need to stop this. It isn't working this time.

After Gevurah speaks, Gedulah sighs. My dear, he has to fight this on his own. You can't win it for him now.

I stop. There's silence for awhile - real silence. It has a sort of purity to it. In it, I look upon my Father.

He looks almost as if he could wake. If I just went a little further...

If you try it again I'll cut your tendons at the ankle and then call for the Judge. Gevurah's voice holds no mercy in it - and Gedulah doesn't peep up to intercede.

Later. I could come back later. I'll be stronger then. Things will be better, then.

"Hold on, Daddy. Just a little longer. Everything will be alright." I swear he heard me, because he opens one eye then. It's rolled back in its socket, though - either that or the iris and pupil have gone white. I think it's the latter, really - he does seem to be staring at me. I open my mouth to say something, but then his brow creases and his eye closes.

No, he's asleep. Just an odd twitch. I feel a chill go over me and decide that it really is creepy down here right now and I should go upstairs. So I leave and try not to think about it.

* * *
Gerald
* * *

It's the truth and I can't deny it - I just heard Kathe trying to speak Nul to the Peacock King. And, well...

I check to make sure she really is gone, stifling down the urge to just scoop her up and plant her right in front of Daddy, who'll keep her safe and out of these shenanigans. I know that won't work. I know Kathe, after all. And Father's too overrun right now to have her dumped back into his lap.

No, I'll just let her go, let her think she's doing a good job or... whatever she thinks she's doing. And once the coast is clear...

I sigh. Safe. I lean back against the bars of an empty cell around the corner from the Peacock King's. "Do you know what she was trying to do?"

The animism's face crumples a little, like he's a very sad puppy. And, well, I guess he is. "Revive him? I did hear she had the tool at her disposal. I had a hunch... that she would be seeking him out at this most dangerous of times." He sees my questioning look. "I can smell trouble on Ebrelle. It's getting more and more rank as moments pass. Had she stayed longer..." He shrugs. "Who can tell what would happen, considering what language she was speaking? It's very foolish. He's practically a gate to Nul himself." He grimaces as if he's scented something putrid in the air.

I just take it all in. This is not where I expected to be this evening - had all the commotion not happened, I sort of planned to take Jhe Rachella aside and share more of her company. But, well, things didn't go as planned today. Oddly enough, I was forgotten in the rush of everything - which gave our friend animism the opportunity to pull me aside and make me his errand-boy.

But it turned out fortuitous, didn't it? Someone really did need to be watching Katherine while she decided to come down here and endanger her life. And what if something really had happened? What would I have done, then? I shudder.

Faun gestures for me to get up as he stands. He stays in a crouch - which could just be his natural stance, it's hard to tell. Then he approaches the King. I follow behind him and, answering some inner cue, draw Bruce and Wagner.

The animism walks right up to the bars, coming up just short of touching them. His nose wrinkles - it's as if he's sniffing the cell out. I notice his hair's puffed up as if it's standing up like a cat's fur. I can't really blame him - the hair on the back of my neck is starting up some crazy dance.

I watch the King for a moment. Is there anything amiss with hi--

I freeze. My body locks up, even my lungs. I don't breathe. My heart may well have stopped because I don't hear it. Faun's lightly-clawed touch along my forearm is the only thing that wakes me out of it. I double-check what I saw.

The Peacock King's eyes are closed. I shake my head. "Were his eyes closed a moment ago?"

"No." Faun's voice is as deadpan and nonchalant as ever. "I thought we were going to lose you, Jhe Gerald. Don't slip again - this man is every bit as dangerous as he was upon his thone." He frowns in contemplation. "No. Now, even more so. It's as if what has him is no longer afraid to move boldly... but then, why not? The piece is all but lost, so why not be rash when moving it?" His yellow eyes flick up to mine. "Your Father taught me chess when I asked him for advice on the ways men make war." At my surprise, he simply flicks his glance back to the King. "Quite long ago, in fact. When I was still making my first tentative steps into the world of man, of learning it... when Ebrelle had left me and the forest, and thus barred the path of compromise between him and nature."

If he weren't an animism, I would think he sounds sad about it.

"The only way to reinstate that compromise, I always mused, was to bring him back to that forest. But he never came, would never listen to me. He tried to bring me to him instead, to use me and train me as perhaps he has been used and trained. Now he is the one in the cage."

I nod. "It really is a shame." I feel like I have to say something in reply.

"It can be rectified, Jhe Gerald." Faun backs away from the cell and looks down the hall where Katherine walked to exit. "How would you get him out of this cell? We'll have Jhe Lyric to help us. He owes me his life, after all - and he's my Poet, though it's quite unofficial."

"Hm." I perch my fingers on my chin and think. "Well, it's a good time for it - Father's really distracted and overworked, and there's nobody on guard duty here because there's too much that needs doing to waste a few men right now on a prisoner that might as well be a corpse. The wards are still gonna scream about it, so that's gonna be tough--" I glare at him. "I can't take the Peacock King out of here, you moron!"

The animism's baleful look is as much as he needs to tell me exactly who he thinks is the idiot in this hall. "You will remove him from this cell or seek help in doing so. We're taking him to the forest in Audiva Rocale that I have guardianship over. There I will clean him to the best of my ability, and then perhaps we can regain what he should be. It is either that or watch the Judge's Advocate destroy herself trying to do the same thing. She should have the ability - and perhaps she does. But it will take time we don't have for her to grow enough to do so, and in the meantime whatever lurks inside that man in that cell that used to call himself Ebrelle will finally spill out of him and consume her when she's trying to do her job."

I have to admit. It's a strong argument.

"Besides, Jhe Gerald, back in Audiva Rocale you promised to aid me. You swore your Arms and your Quill to defend me." Faun's yellow eyes glitter with too much cunning for my liking. It's like staring down at a fox. "I call upon that now. It is the Law, is it not?"

I close my eyes and exhale. "So it is."

"Good, then I'll fetch Lyric."

I open my eyes. The animism is already gone, curse him. I'm left here with the creepy corpse-like King, and the task of figuring out how to get him free. The task is so flagrantly stupid that my mind balks at the contemplation.

Still, I start making plans.

* * *
Gerald
* * *

Alright, after some quiet introspection, I have to admit: this is the dumbest idea I've ever come up with in my entire life, and that includes the fortress I built when I was five that almost suffocated both me and my brother. This is that clever.

If Jhe h'Logos were in any way conscious, I think he'd be proud.

* * *
Elam
* * *

There is both too much and too little for me to do.

I look at the state of the Hall and I am overwhelmed. On the one hand, so much has been done since I've left. These Shenanigans, for instance - what a marvelous invention. Truly useful in the way that only my Father can design something to be 'useful'. On the other hand, well...

Well, there's Father.

Lying on his bed, won't move at all, won't even respond to a mental probe. I admit the probe was tentative - I'm still afraid of whether I'm 'tainted' from my experience at Lyiannethe Manor like Elric is. I don't remember anything being done to me... but we were being kept by someone whose master controls oblivion. It's easy for certain things to be made to be forgotten, isn't it? If you're Nul... if you work for Nul...

Fuck it, I can't stop dwelling on Edward. I'm infuriated at him, even now. I thought I'd made myself get over how he treated us long ago, as a way to cope. Now it seems I've been stuffing it all down. And now it's all coming back to me, just how depraved he was and what depraved things he made us do with our Poetry, and I look at my Father and I just think: my Father trusted Edward. Trusted him with his life.

I hold my Father's hand in mine and try to remind myself that Edward's treachery has nothing to do with Father's condition. Nothing can be proven, after all. But I wonder.

I wonder just how much Edward could have done.

And now it seems there's my Uncle jailed in the Armed Hall - Jhe o'Audiva Rocale. He never did like me... never did dislike me, either. Father never liked him, though. Bad blood between brothers. Ill luck. And now both have been felled.

I look at Father's face. He's unconscious, but he still looks... wistful. Not as if he's in pain... just as if he wants to do things. Wants to rise up and get it all done, even when he's unconscious.

I can't get it all done. I'm not at all like Father when it comes to leadership. I'm at home with my books and the archives. I'd happily dive into them now and be forgotten again - sometimes it seemed it'd be weeks before I had to look at another person, lost in the stacks. It's not responsible, though. What if, when I'm losing myself in our maze of a library, Father...

Well, what if something happens to Father?

I stroke a shenanigan and try not to think any further about that. I try to think of what to do - Stevane is explaining things she found while with the Kommissar to the Judge, the others are reporting what they can, and we've had Poets and Armed in and out making sure everyone's looked after. There's a lot of concern about Elric - who knows when, or if, he'll speak again? And a million and one other things have been happening while we were gone, and no one understands what Haari'se is saying and half the people that see her have to be cautioned not to immediately attack her, and what do I do? What can I do? I'm a bookbrain; I belong in the stacks. But I want to be useful. I want so very much to be useful right now.

The shenanigans in my lap look up. One squeaks. I check to see what's got their attention, and then something knocks me on the head and everything goes black.

Typical. Serves me right for asking.

* * *
Lyric
* * *

I am trying to help. I say that to myself yet another time, then take a deep breath and repeat:

"I tried to gain Thelea's trust from the beginning to protect both my sister and myself from harm." My eyes flick up to Gerude's. "It worked, didn't it?" Unvoiced is the additional question: 'So, what's the problem?'

I don't think I'll get a nice answer for that one if I pose it.

Gerude glares at me for just a moment before burying his face into his palm and ruffling his curly bangs away from his eyes. He really needs a trim, and maybe a cream for his face - the freckles are cute, but they clash so much with the clothing he tends towards. Really, Erynn knows about this fashion stuff - why doesn't he get Gerude onto a better track? And yes, this is off the subject, but it's nice to distract myself from the matter at hand: my Father is having Gerude interrogate me while Erynn records it all, and Erynn's recording in itself is prying at me, making me want to give up secrets that I swear I hadn't been keeping.

I don't understand. I'm not a criminal. Not anymore - I was pardoned at the Trial, and now I'm a free man. Now I'm doing what's best for Radia and for my family, most especially. I've done what I can to protect my sister and anyone else that was within my power to protect, and I put myself in a lot of danger to do so. Why doesn't anyone trust me?

"And the way you did that was...?" Erynn prompts me. He looks back down at his transcription, mouthing words as he scans over them with the feather-end of his quill. He curses when he smears a word, mops up a blot of ink with his sleeve, and then grins sheepishly at my brother. My brother's glare has a particular pout when it's focused on Erynn - as if he's so tired of doing it that he wonders if he should give it up from now on.

I fold my hands in my lap and keep my posture proper. It calms me. I do wish we had some tea here; it'd be a balm for my nerves. "I convinced her and Edward that I was a traitor to Radia from the get-go, and I was only waiting for a chance to give my family the slip and go to Lyiannethe proper to work for the Audivan side. Really, it's quite silly, but she was so distracted by Edward's jealousy that it worked." I tuck a stray strand of hair behind my ear. "I also have quite a bit of charm when facing the high-bred, and I knew most of the proper mannerisms from my job working for Jhe o'Audiva Rocale. It's really quite lucky--"

"Right. You saved the day with your courtly appearance and passed Stevane on to the Kommissar, where you knew she'd be quite safe." Gerude's tone is its own death sentence.

I frown. "He took Stevane from the start. Well, not from the start per se - Stevane ignited the carriage on the way to Lyiannethe, and when we took to the horses, the Kommissar grabbed Stevane and Miss Thelea took me on her steed. I don't really know what happened between the Kommissar and my sister, but I'm actually quite glad she ended up where she did - I think if she were put with the Poets, things might have turned out badly between her and Miss Thelea, who seemed to have a grudge against her." I shrug. "But who's to say? In any case, I'm sure Father's getting the full story on that now."

"And the full story on how you two ended up in a carriage bolting towards Lyiannethe in the first place." Gerude's so angry. I can tell because he sounds as calm as Father can be. I almost get the same cold stony feeling in my gut from when Father takes that tone.

"Look, it's strange to me too. Jhe h'Logos sent us out to see to Katherine, and then she wasn't there and they were, and well..." I shrug. "I got hit on the head then, and after that I remember waking up in the carriage with an aching head, and then, well..." I sigh. "Foosh. You know Stevane's handywork. She's efficient."

"Indeed I do." Gerude's jaw is set firm. I swear he's trying not to laugh, though. "You blacked out? So you can't explain why you two ended up in the carriage?"

Erynn tsks. "Shame." He notes a few things down that I'm sure are marks against me. But I can't help it. How'd I get in this situation?

"Convenient that 'Miss Thelea' and Edward escaped, too," says Gerude. He's focusing that glare on me. "Did we interrupt any plans of yours, I wonder?"

I frown. "Gerude, I'm not a traitor."

Erynn just inspects me thoughtfully. He raises his quill. "Lyric, I like you. And so I'm going to tell you something right now." He looks back down at his paper, then back up at me. "That there just now, that was sort of a lie. Not like, one of those awful solid black lies." He holds his hand up and wobbles it back and forth. "It was sort of a... fuzzy sort of iffy lie, you know? One of those. If you're hiding something, you really need to spill it now. The adventure's over, and we need to prepare for..." he trails off for a moment. "For whatever the next step is with you."

"I can just explain everything to Father if it's really that pressing," I say through gritted teeth. At least Father was happy to see me. "I've gone through one Trial. I'll survive another."

Gerude gives me a narrow-eyed look of scrutiny. "Will you?" I don't have an answer for him - and then he leaves with Erynn, and I've no one to answer to anymore.

Now I'm left alone in my old room in Father's house. I'm sure the door is locked from the outside. It gives me an odd nostalgia for my room in Ebrellin-i's Palace - I was locked into that one, too.

I flop onto my bed face-down and punch my pillow. I'm so angry. I did things right! I helped so many people, and all my brother can do is look at me like I'm really a criminal. And I'm not a criminal!

I'm not!

Except Erynn says that I am, or at least I'm sort of a traitor, and how--

A weight settles beside my feet on the bed, like someone's just sat down there. I sit up immediately, mouth already open to demand just what whoever it is thinks they're doing there. Or maybe, in fact even more likely, I'm going to launch into a rant about how I've been treated so very unfairly and how absolutely no one here understands me.

Instead, I behold Faun's cool yellow eyes as he rests his fingertip on my nose. There's a quiet moment where I lose all of what I was going to say, but it's not important anyway. What's important, and perhaps foreboding, is that Faun's face spreads into a slow smile.

A chill goes through me. I've got a bad feeling about everything that's ahead.

* * *
Gerald
* * *

Elam is heavier than he looks, especially for someone that's spent time in captivity. He's gangly, sure, but he makes up for it in height. I manage to lug him back to the Peacock King's cell, though - with a couple of extra guests tagging along.

Now, I'm all for progress, and I think the Poet King, may he rest in bed, comes up with great ideas. But so far I have not found a way to make a Shenanigan go away. In fact, attempting to do so only attracts more of them.

So I've got my shenanigan, Jasper. Then there's one that won't seem to let go of Elam - I suppose Jhe h'Logos made that one for him. Makes sense that he'd give one to his son. Heck, he was probably planning on shenanigans helping fix the broken communication lines between him and those Poets that were oddly quiet when out on assignment. I can't deny that they'd help if someone were to get abducted again.

It doesn't explain the cream-and-red shenanigan that won't seem to stop sniffing me and scowling at me, though. It tagged along too.

Certainly they caused an extra complication - they made it a little tougher to get through the wards. I guess after meeting shenanigans for the first time, Father wouldn't want them crawling around in his Hall. Still, I manage to shove on through by pressing the logic that surely Father would want the shenanigans locked up, wouldn't he? That really seemed to help.

So here I am with one unconscious Xaillyndesse outside of the Peacock King's cell and one inside. Right after I carefully set Elam on the floor, Faun appears with a very disgruntled Lyric in tow.

Faun nods his head in greeting. "Jhe Gerald? I assume you've devised a way of setting our plan into action?"

"Plan?" says my brother, obviously picking up on the intricacies of the situation. The cream and red shenanigan flutters to his shoulder and rubs herself against his face with gusto. "Mrph! Mewgul!" Well, he sounds happy about it. Elam's shenanigan is glaring up at me from the nest it's made on Elam's head, and Jasper's taken up my hat as its perch. Faun gives the creatures a raised eyebrow, then pointedly ignores they exist. Probably the best idea - a shame it didn't work for Father. "Oh," says my brother belatedly, "you uh... brought the King's son along?"

"Yeah, he's part of the plan," I say.

Faun and Lyric's dubious looks are not made any more heartening when the shenanigans echo them.

I explain my plan. It's met with a sigh of disappointment from Faun, and a look of fear from Lyric. In the end, it's agreed that Lyric should go into the cell - he'll do this best. I go in with him so that the wards don't jolt him. Faun stays outside of the cell. Until we've got the King properly bound, he shouldn't be anywhere near him. Hell, I'm wary of being in here. With the amount of energy focused on it, it feels like a furnace. I take the pressure just fine - the wards don't have any problem with me being in here. Lyric, though...

Lyric sags a little bit. I help prop him up a bit. "Thanks." He starts to chuckle. "I guess I do count as one of his servants, don't I?" He sounds so bitter.

"That's why you can do this better than I can," is all I say in response. It seems to calm him, because he just nods, then kneels beside the King.

* * *
Lyric
* * *

I notice, before I start, that neither Mewgul nor Gerald's shenanigan have followed us in - choosing instead to twine about Faun's ankles or knead Elam's face. They're wise. I wouldn't go in here if I didn't think it was necessary.

And this is very necessary. Faun explained that to me on the way. I can also just tell on my own - some pressing, urgent feeling that I have to get Ebrellin-i out of here as fast as possible. I owe him this, even though it seems like he should owe me something more. But then... Faun and Gerald and I may not be doing Ebrellin-i a kindness by this.

"Do you have a knife?" I try to keep the words light, as if it's just a joke, but this is all too serious. Gerald nods, handing me a small knife from inside of his boot. I test the sharpness with a fingertip and am reminded of just what color my blood is. Is it good to bleed in this chamber? By the look of the back of Ebrellin-i's hand, it's a common occurance.

The room's practically thrumming with energy. I'm so glad my brother is here. It's right that he should be here, protecting me while I do this. I wish it would have been this way when we met in Audiva Rocale. I wish a lot of things would have gone so much differently. But we're here again, the four of us, and it's time for me to put the knife to its work. To do a truly unthinkable thing.

I reach toward Ebrellin-i. My hand moves slowly, and as it does so, Gerald stands ready with Bruce and Wagner. I can feel Faun's attention focused on the King as well. I hope he's truly asleep. Because if he isn't...

Well, I wouldn't blame him for killing me for what we're about to do.

I touch Ebrellin-i, one hand stroking over his cheek. It's different, now. He doesn't have that strange power over me anymore. And because of that, he looks smaller, more delicate. He doesn't look any less dangerous, though. No, more so. If what Faun told me was true, then Ebrellin-i is at his most dangerous right now. He serves as a potential gateway to Nul, and here I am, touching him. I want to jerk away, leave the cell, be done with this business.

But no, I owe him this.

My hand strokes up over his forehead. His eyelids don't so much as twitch when my fingers slide through his hair. And when my hand parts through it and stops at the back of his head, there's no sign of wakefulness from him at all.

"Go on," whispers Faun. One of the shenanigans mews. Then, silence.

Utter silence as I slide the knife through a small chunk of Ebrellin-i's hair, cutting off enough that it could serve as a rope.

"Lyric..." Gerald's voice is tense, advising caution. I'm concentrating on my work, so I can't tell why.

"Just go on," says Faun, sterner now. I'm used to taking orders - and besides, there's no undoing what I've done, I'm in the middle of it. I finish the slice, my other hand tight around the clump of hair that I've just liberated. A black rope that glints green. It's like silk - but coarse and a bit tangled. He hasn't had a proper wash in a few days, of course. And there's no servants to care for his hair in here.

There's just me.

"Okay... done?" I nod. Gerald's voice is still tense. "Get up. Slowly. Back away from him. Leave the cell."

I walk out. I don't look back at Ebrellin-i - something tells me not to. I cradle the rope of hair in my hands, then kneel beside Elam. A few moments later, Gerald's boots scuff along the floor beside me. He's still facing the cell, still aiming his Guns at Ebrellin-i.

After a moment, he lowers them very slowly. He exhales with a curse.

"That was uneventful," says Faun. My eyes flick up to him. He's stroking Mewgul, who's curled up in his arms, purring enough that I wonder that it doesn't rouse Ebrellin-i. Speaking of which...

"What happened?"

Gerald doesn't want to meet my eyes. "Nothing bad," he says.

"Ebrellin-i's eyes opened when you took the knife to his hair. He looked at you." By the tone of Faun's voice, he might as well be describing the weather on a particularly dull day. "He closed his eyes once you both left the cell. Don't worry, the Nul within him isn't fully awake yet. Jhe Katherine didn't speak to him long enough for that, thank all the gods and their rivers."

"Oh," I say. My voice seems far away, but then, I'm trying to think about what Faun just said as little as possible. "Well, got the rope! What now?"

Gerald bites his lip to try to suppress a grin. "Macramé."

* * *

After everything's done, I've got to admit it's a pretty good plan, considering what Gerald had to work with. That being said, I still can't believe we're doing this.

Elam, bless his unconscious self, is lying on the floor of the Peacock King's cell. We tucked a stray pillow under his head and managed to find a spare blanket for him. Gerald says that with the Poetry he worked (while knocking Elam unconscious with the butt of one of his revolvers), Elam won't be awake for at least two hours. If that's not time enough to get us out of here, we're not very good kidnappers at all.

Elam is also wearing a delicately woven belt braided from Ebrellin-i's hair. I put a lot of work into that thing, but something tells me the boy just isn't going to appreciate my efforts. It's a shame, because it's actually quite pretty, and I'd hate for Ebrellin-i's beautiful hair to go to waste. As it is, I tried to cut it from a section of his head where it wouldn't be missed too much. I just hope he doesn't track me down and kill me for it after this is all over. I mean, I'd understand and all, but still. I had to!

We have to get Ebrellin-i out, which means Gerald and I will have to carry him. Faun's staying away from the King as much as he possibly can, which I don't blame him for. I almost wish I could do the same... but I can't abandon him.

Gerald looks down at Ebrellin-i and curses. I jump. "What?"

He lets out a deep sigh. "I forgot." He points to the collar and manacles on Ebrellin-i. The silver glint on them is eerie, almost alive... and definitely threatening. "If we leave those on him, Father will be able to track us no matter how sneaky we are."

"Only as far as my forest," says Faun. "After he enters, I am the only sovereign he can answer to."

Gerald raises an eyebrow at him.

Faun's smile is cryptic. "The old one across the ocean in Chethar has never seen fit to tell us any different. I go on doing my duty as I was made to do it, as do all my kind. The balance is kept." He looks over at Ebrellin-i. "Sometimes it is restored. Let us be off."

* * *
Gerald
* * *

I will admit, my brother isn't the most suitable person to ask when I'm in need of assistance hauling an eight foot tall half-dragon nearly-possessed man out of a cell. But still, he could put a bit more effort into it. All Lyric does is gingerly start to pick up an ankle and then drop it with an 'eep' at the faintest sign of a twitch from Jhe o'Audiva Rocale. This is almost embarassing. I think at this point a shenanigan might be more help. I sigh. "Lyric, I can't drag him out on my own."

The pout he replies with is almost enough to make me cave. I do kind of understand. Lyric's life is pretty much forfeit if Ebrellin-i wakes up and discovers the state of his hair. Still...

"He keeps starting to open his eyes." Lyric looks away, dropping his hands to his sides. "I'm just no help with this, okay? I can barely stand up on my own inside this cell."

Okay, I do concede that's an issue. "Well who else is going to help? Faun can't touch him until we're in the woods."

There's a far-off sound of a throat clearing, and then a familiar yet not familiar at all voice says, "Perhaps I could be of some assistance?" It has the strangest lilt to it, sort of like Camden's accent but somehow not.

I raise an eyebrow. I wave Lyric out of the cell before I step out, then motion for him to stay back by Faun. I walk slowly down the hall, my gait at ease but my reflexes honed. I can draw in a split-second if I need to.

"Oh, good, you're coming." The voice shows definite relief. Where do I know it from? I know it's familiar, and Bruce and Wagner are perking up at the sound of it, as if they're looking forward to having a specific someone to aim at. Within the next few steps, I am illuminated.

It's Cade. Or the man that was left behind after Cade was tried. I was told that he's not being held here as a prisoner, but for his own safety. And, well, it's obvious that no one knows what to do with him right now, and everyone's too busy to figure it out.

Bruce and Wagner are so happy, though. They're waiting for a chance to shoot him. Heck, I am too. I think my narrowed eyes tell Cade everything there is to know concerning the likelihood of that happening. He grins nervously, holding up his hands as if to fend me off. That brings my attention to the odd leather gaunlets strapped over his fingers and forearms. A strange leftover from the Trial.

"I can help, and you really should let me help." He looks to the side, then looks straight at me again. It's weird, seeing his eyes. They're not clouded like they were before, but they have sort of a reddish tint to them even still. Heck, it's weird seeing him at all - before, my eyes would just slide off of him against their own volition. Now I can actually focus on the man - the man who, now that I have a chance to get a close look, has a different appearance than before. His nose is back, for one - and his face isn't as leathery and wrinkled as it was before. He's missing scars and isn't missign his hair anymore - in fact there's a healthy crop of it on his head, red and curly. It almost reminds me of the Akribastes line's manes, but it's a bit darker. Most of all he looks... fresh. New. The part of my Aim that sees the guilt on people can't see it hanging all over him like a shroud, like it was before.

Kathe really did clean him.

"I should, should I?" I raise an eyebrow, my Guns still drawn but not cocked at him. This does not calm him much.

He nods. "It's the only way either of us will get out now. I'm pretty sure I'll just get left here to die, otherwise. I uh... have sort of a hunch, I guess you could say." He sighs. "Or something worse will happen." He has a little trouble meeting my eyes then.

"Really." I cross my arms and my Arms at the same time, then note that the gesture presents more danger to me than it does to Cade. Bruce and Wagner snicker between my ears.

He nods. "I um... well, if I didn't want to starve to death, and I had a way out, I'd take it, of course. But that would get me into a lot of trouble, I think. It's why I've been waiting patiently, even though there's no reason for me to be in here."

"Ahhh." I take the opportunity to change the Arms-crossed posture. Not my best pose. Now I'm just at ease. "So why would this be a problem for you? Can you get out on your own?"

He waggles his fingers in the air. "Maaaaagic," he says, then waves one hand by the lock on his cell. It pops open. "Not even something I do on purpose. Before I would have had to try at it." He inspects his fingers as if Lyric's just given him a manicure. "I think it's something to do with these strange gauntlets. They make me feel a little uneasy, and I don't quite know what they mean. The Advocate gave them to me... to Cade. Well, me by then, I suppose." He sighs, then shrugs. "It's all a bit confusing, so I take it in stride. Anyway, I just closed the cell again the first few times that happened. I don't want any trouble, but..." he shrugs again. "I'm obviously not supposed to be in here."

I nod. "Then come out."

He looks at me dubiously. "And what are you going to do?"

"If you make a funny move, I'll shoot you. Until I trust you, I guess that's the best arrangement. Jhe..."

"Patrick Dannon." There's a bit more guttural to that clan name than my spelling betrays, but I've never been the best with Rhivendish names. He halts for a moment, mouthing over those words again. "Dannon... really?" He sees my questioning glance. "I... don't know if I count as one of their number anymore. Don't know if I even should claim them anymore." He laughs. "But then, it's been such a long, long time since that day, and the joke of it all is that I'm probably the last of that tribe. The one surviving member... I wonder if they would ever have thought..." He drifts off for a few moments. I spin the chamber of Bruce's revolver. Patrick snaps to attention. "Oh, sorry. Time catches up with you, after..." he looks off to the side. "Centuries?"

He loses focus again and pity stirs within me. Whatever Cade was, this man seems to lack, and he certainly seems lost. I want to protect him, or at least guide him. That funny feeling that I always get around the trainees, in fact...

Ah.

"The past is behind you, and no matter how much of it is there, it'll still remain exactly where it was." I holster Bruce and Wagner. "I need your help."

He regains himself and nods. "Yes. Let's be off, then."

And so the unlikely alliance was built.

* * *
Gerald
* * *

Dragging the Peacock King out of his cell is difficult. It's especially difficult considering that Patrick, while helpful, isn't very tall. If he's as old as he seems to think (and indeed, Cade may have plagued the Radian forces for centuries), then I suppose the height makes sense. People do get taller with time, over the generations. Except Daddy - he's always been tall. But then, he's not really regular people.

This is a bit awkward, is what I'm getting at. Lyric comes to the King's side and bundles up all of that hair so that it's not dragging the ground. I do have to admit that it helps us not trip nearly so much, but something tells me Lyric's motivation was to keep the mane from being further damaged by our escape attempt. That boy... that boy looks nervous.

"Why so jumpy?" I grunt. Lyric and Patrick's heads lift in the same instant. Hm, they're almost the same height. I wonder about that for a moment, then discard it. "Lyric, I meant. I can gather why Patrick is so jumpy."

Lyric fidgets a little more before answering. "I... I'm a bit worried about getting into trouble for this. That won't stop me, but..." He bites his lip. "Gerude thinks I'm a criminal. Jhe Erynn's Poetry said I was a traitor."

I cock my head at him, looking with my Poetry, then with my Aim. There is something about him, but it's not really that he's a criminal. He looks like he has a long future, is all. A... well, a difficult future. Sometimes I hate Poetry, because it certainly doesn't always give us the easy answers we want to give people. "No, you're not a criminal. You've just got a long road ahead of you. Why worry about it? You've been through the toughest of it already, I'm sure."

Except that sounds like a lie, and I know Lyric can tell.

Faun lays his hand on Lyric's arm. "You have my protection. The Law will not cut you down for what you do now. Please, let's hurry." He looks towards me. "Jhe Gerald, how do you plan to leave this place?"

I think over my answer for a few moments. "I'm not entirely sure how to get to it, but I'm pretty sure what we'll use to get out of the Palace Complex and on towards your forest."

After that... well, some discussion ensues.

* * *

"You're very lucky." Patrick's eyes twinkle with a joy that's not quite mischief but not quite innocent. "I'm very practiced with them. And our combined weight shouldn't trouble the beastie too much."

That is a relief. No... no, it really isn't. It means this thing we're about to do will actually work, and I sort of didn't want it to. "Well then, can you get it close enough that we can load it up before anyone gets an inkling of just how stupid what we're about to do is?"

"Can't guarantee that at all, but I can get her over here with time enough to load her up before they can stop us." He grins. It's strangely convincing, possibly because the grin betrays just what sort of crazy Patrick is. He's our sort of crazy.

Very reassuring.

* * *
Patrick
* * *

It's odd how nobody notices me. There are a few people about, yes - but they don't really pay me much heed. It's strange, because I certainly feel here now in a way that Cade never seemed to be anywhere. I can feel the air around me, feel the world sort of... breathing. I'm definitely in it, I suppose.

And I can sense things, things that I didn't sense before. Or rather, it's like something I've tasted before but now the taste is so much purer, so much sweeter... like what I'm sensing is fuller, now. I can't even describe what it is, really - I'm afraid to follow the thought too much. I'm afraid to compare to my ancient past, and terrified of poking about and mentally brushing up against the Beast.

So I'm trying not to think about these things too much, but I'm still noticing that, well, nobody's looking at me as I cross the Courtyard, and the people around here that would usually note my being there quickly vacate. It's as if the time is right. Luck. Good luck, which is something I am not used to.

I pet the bird. She's a pretty one, she is. A big hen of a Windbird, one of the largest ones I've seen. Her feathers are stiff and glossy and strong. She coos at me as I stroke my thumb along the hollow under her eye her facebones make. Windbirds are sensitive in that spot. She clucks a little, rustles her feathers - it's like hearing a stiff wind through a forest. Then she settles.

They've got a bit of a paddock for her here - obviously a bit of a rush job but sturdy. I guide her out of it, slowly. I don't think about getting caught. People like me don't get caught. That's an odd thought to come into the head of a man who just went through a Trial, but it's no less true. I won't get caught. Surely. This fine bird will just follow me to the Courtyard entrance, where the Armed and the Peacock King's retainer and the Animism wait with the King himself. And I'd dwell on that, dwell on our odd little band being together in these circumstances after all that's happened, but I'm quickly learning that I don't fancy dwelling at all. Better to just let this all happen. Surely it'll all turn out right.

When's the last time I felt so positive about things? Now there's a question I can't answer.

We're at the entrance, the bird and I, and loading up the King onto her back when I hear a voice I recognize very faintly. Strange, Cade seemed to be so good at purposefully forgetting things - here I am remembering everything he ever could have forgotten. Who is that? Avian that worked for me once, that's right. Strange. What's he doing here? And why's he saying:

"Hey now, that bird's just now settling in, you can't go and play with her at a whim!"

Djardrik? That was his name, all right. What's he doing here?

Wait... this means I'm getting caught. A strong fiber of my being rails against the mere possibility of that, but I can't deny--

"Hey! Jhe Gerald? Can you tell Jhe New Guy to not--" Another Armed. I look behind me. Some man with a face that's half-Avian. They're rushing across the Courtyard towards us.

I'm pretty sure they're attracting some attention.

* * *
Gerald
* * *

Oh damn it all, Patrick was doing so well, and we almost had the King all loaded up... and now we're getting caught? My stomach sinks straight to my feet, resting cozily between my ankles. Of course, I've not had the best track record when it comes to sneaking around... but that's why I sent Patrick out!

Damn it all!

Faun's face pinches as he sees the two approach. The shenanigans on his shoulders perk their ears up as they hear rapid footsteps. Lyric looks as pale as the Peacock King's white makeup. He's so horrified. I pick up the tiniest thought from him--

--can't get caught don't want to go through my family hating me--

And then there's the much more prominent intruding thought of

Gerald what under the sky is going on in the Courtyard, I'm too busy to deal with a ruckus right now!

which means Father's finally taken notice. And I realize.

Now is the time to take flight. Now, or never. The Peacock King's done being tied on after a couple of cinches and a knot. I haul my brother and Patrick up onto the bird and get the best grip on the ropes that I can. I focus as hard as I can on the fact that we'll manage to get off the ground, even with how much this load must weigh.

Patrick takes the reins. Faun disappears in a whirlwind of dust. The windbird's wings beat. Kevrin and his Avian friend backpedal.

We rise.

* * *
'Sy
* * *

Something is wrong. And even though I'm elbow-deep in distractions and problems, I'm going to see to it right now. Alarm is spiking up in the back of my mind all of a sudden, and I know that whatever is going on, it involves some of my children, immense danger, and a flagrant breach of the Law. I haven't felt this dismayed ahead of time since the youngest of my children was six.

(She really didn't mean to cause that war. Really a minor skirmish, when it's looked at in context. But that's another story.)

Kevrin's certainly concerned too. Something about a bird? His bird? What, is there something wrong with Djardrik too now? I shove past the Armed I'm discussing things with, causing Camden to let out a surprised grunt. Too crowded. If I can just get out of this room I can see through one of the walkway windows into the Courtyard?

"Excuse me?" The person sounds confused as I elbow them aside, but not offended. My Armed are used to abrupt behavior these days, so that could explain it.

"There's no time! Later!" I don't quite mean to bark at him, but this is urgent. So very, very urgent. If I don't get out there now--

"Jhe Tesynnodai h'Akribastes, I ask for, at the very least, the small charity of an explanation!" Still no annoyance to his tone, no outrage. But I recognize the voice now, and of course, he never does react that way. Always so annoyingly affable and polite... like a Poet King I know.

...Wait.

I whirl around, facing him. No. I tell myself it can't be, and then Diyn tsks at me for lying.

He stands there, shoulders back, chest out, only a bit shorter than me, really. Straight reddish blonde hair cut to his shoulders, a neatly-cut straight beard that frames his chin to a point, white Chetharian robes, black boots properly shined after obvious wear from his military duties. I feel the automatic surge of fire (that could be hatred or could be mere competitive fury) at the exact same time that I have the urge to adopt him into the ranks and then whip his ass into shape. These are all the ways that I know.

Mitheoni. The Gahalespbar-archo. Commander of the High Army and the Law of Chethar.

He smiles at me. He pats my shoulder. "Can I help?" Of course. He's always like that. Like some wandering, overgrown, awkward puppy.

But it's too late to help now. With him distracting me, the moment has passed, and whatever I was trying to stop... "It's already happened." There's a weary, stone-heavy sigh in my words. Diyn materializes in my hand, possibly just for the support. No, no - he just wants to be as close as possible when I'm suffering through Mitheoni's presence.

He raises one red-blonde eyebrow. "What's already happened?" There's not just confusion and concern in those pupil-less sea-blue eyes - suspicion rests there, faint and uneasy.

I roll my eyes and shove my way to a window. Huge wings beat the air, each downstroke a WHAP that is quite loud, but is already fading. The windbird Kevrin managed to bring home with him has taken flight. And it is bearing riders.

My eyes widen. I can't think of what I can do to stop them. I can only wonder--

Why Lyric?!

as I see two of my sons depart with Jhe o'Audiva Rocale... and is that Patrick as well? What's he doing out of his cell? What, for that matter, is Ebreillin-i doing out of his cell?

I'm about to demand an explanation from Gerald when Diyn stops me.

Don't. He seems neither alarmed nor surprised. But then, shouldn't he have alerted me about Ebrellin-i leaving his cell in the first place? I have no such duty- the man is still bound by me. I almost hear a smirk in the metal glint of his voice. It wouldn't have done for you to try to stop them then, and have the Gahalespbar-archo enter your Hall in the middle of it. You were too busy to sense his approach - so I dealt with things as best as I could for you. If Gerald cannot take care of the problem, then we will intercede.

I make a mental nod. Everything's in order, then. I don't even have to worry about Katherine endangering herself by visiting her jailed nitwit of a Father anymore. I just have to take care of the mess that's been created in the Hall.

And it's time to not have Mitheoni notice just what's going on... not right now. If he wants to help, he can help with some other thing. I sigh in relief. "Is that all that was? I didn't know they'd be seeing him off so early."

"Was that Jhe o'Audiva Rocale?" Mitheoni's been watching from over my shoulder. "Was he tied up?" His voice betrays more confusion than suspicion now.

"He needed to be secured to the thing - he might have fallen off." I turn from the window. "I didn't hear of your ship arriving."

Mitheoni turns from the window as well. He looks a bit more serious now - I suppose I'll start to hear just why he is here. "Ah. Yes. I'm sorry we didn't announce ourselves - there's been some troubles with communication between your side and ours." He tracks my face very closely for my reaction to that. Interesting.

I nod. "So we have been discovering oh so recently. Measures are being taken to correct it."

He takes that in, nodding slowly. "We were also confused, I must say, regarding the Chetharian galleon that was already in your port when we arrived." Ahh, this explains the look. I don't blame him for the scrutiny, now. Well, how best to turn this to everyone's advantage, and get on with what needs to be seen to properly?

"Yes. That would be a matter that turned up earlier today." I grin. "Would you like to meet the captain of it?"

* * *
Elete
* * *

I feel sick, and it really is bizarre. Why am I so ill all of a sudden? I was feeling so good just now, so healthy. Now I feel heavy, and sore, and like I shouldn't walk too far unaided.

Wait, isn't that my normal... ah, I see. I was asleep. That's why I felt so good. Until I woke up, of course.

I'm not very used to sleep. It gets in the way of getting things done, so I try to do it very little.

Let's see now... what was I to do right now? I did see it clearly... ah, yes. Make my way to 'Sy. It's about time for that.

Time to meet my twin brother, if I can call him that.

* * *

"This is absurd," says 'Sy, his arms crossed over his chest, his scowl hawklike. It's so like him, really classic 'Sy. I cherish it for a moment.

"Yes, well... grant a dying man his wish?" I should feel bad, really I should, especially the way his face crumples when I say it so cheerful like that. But... well, I know what works with him, and like everyone else in power, I know how to manipulate.

It'll really turn out alright, though. I know it.

"I should lock you up in here too," he growls under his breath as he walks with me to the cell. "Keep you from getting yourself in trouble." And, he thinks, from getting myself killed - but that remain unspoken.

Poor 'Sy. I feel worst for him. Elam... Elam will cope. He'll do fine. I know that - my successor even made sure to tell me so, in case I would fret too much for him. And Elam is really a darling boy, and I really should say goodbye to him. But there won't be time. And he will be fine.

This man, though, whom I've never met... I must see before I leave. 'Sy opens the door to the cell, and I enter.

The man looks up. Black hair, very long - and he has a touch of youth to him that I haven't managed to cultivate quite as well. Almost as if he were younger than me... but then, who knows where he's travelled, and what timelines he's managed to jump between along the way? I shouldn't expect less than that of him, considering. I reach my hand forward, and he gingerly takes it. He's at a loss for words, which likely doesn't occur often for him.

I make a short bow. He responds with his own bow, which has quite a bit more flourish. I chuckle. "You're just as I imagined."

He only looks at me with those bewildered blue eyes -- my eyes, to be frank. "Who are you?" He looks up at 'Sy. "Where did you get him from? Is this some weird custom? A test?"

I smile. He's so young. 'Sy growls something back at the man - I don't really pay attention to it. "I am pleased to meet you," I say. "I am Elete-travente." I incline my head.

He blinks, then composes himself. "Elessandre."

Ah, a lie of a name. But close! Very close. "You've been a bit of an enigma your entire life, but that's okay." I pat him on the forearm. "You do have a purpose here. Be kind to 'Sy, he's really a pushover once you get to know him." I sigh. "You write, do you not?"

"Of course!" He cocks his head. "Really, who are--"

"Could I see something of yours? Just to sate myself." I try not to be too impolite about the interruption, but I don't have much time. I, of all, would know that.

"We confiscated his writings, as he seemed so hellbent on killing us all with them." 'Sy sounds absolutely furious. The poor dear, this is getting to him. I can't imagine what having two of me in front of him must be doing to his nerves - one's often more than he can put up with! "...Here," he says, handing me a sheaf of parchment papers that I imagine he pulled out of some pocketspace or another.

I take the papers. I read. I try not to let my grin betray itself, but it outs me just as soon as I start in. I try to disguise the chuckles as coughs. Really, I shouldn't find it so hilarious, what he did to 'Sy and his Armed on the ship...

...No, I really do think I should.

I smile at Elesse once again. "It's very charming to read work like that again. I haven't seen the like of it since my younger days." 'Sy scoffs. I ignore it. "I must congratulate you on your fine work. I do think it will take you very far. Mind the Judge, and heed the Advocate. Good advice for anyone living, I say." I nod to him again. I turn to 'Sy and hand him the papers, which he tucks away before they can make any more trouble for him. "Could you please escort me to my quarters?"

My handsome young doppleganger raises a finger as if to ask one more time what's going on, but then he gives up.

'Sy regards me with a kind of scrutiny that's difficult to bear up under, but I manage. "Yes," he says. "I suppose you're not feeling well anymore."

I chuckle. "That's never anything to stop me. It's time for me to take a rest, though, and you do have a bit of time to spare for me, now that you've occupied your Chetharian visitor."

He looks a little surprised that I know that, but not a lot. We leave the cell. As soon as we're out of Elesse's range of sight, I begin to lean against him. It's easier this way. I feel so tired, and well...

He wraps his arm around me, giving my shoulder a squeeze.

I should have made more time for him. It's the least I could have done. But I worry about the whole world, and about what he'll do when I'm gone, and so I worked to ensure it would all be easier for everyone, and well...

Maybe it's best this way.

* * *
Edward
* * *

I can't see in here. I wish I couldn't hear, either, or sense anything at all. But no, it's just the blindness.

I'm going to throw up. I keep thinking I will - and I'm sure it'll happen this time, but then it turns out like all the other times. A wave of... I can't rightly call it numbness, its more like not being there... like oblivion. Yes, a wave of oblivion hits me, and then I feel fine again. Except I don't feel fine at all. I feel like I want to kill myself. Wouldn't it be wonderful to end all of this?

You'll adjust, pet. My Herald.

I heard him again. My King. Nul. I heard him again, and that's what drives me closer to true madness more than anything else. He's not really speaking, you see. No one speaks this deep inside Nul's domain. No one dares.

I think I can sense his thoughts. We're that closely connected now. That close. And well... does that mean he can sense mine? He could tell how uneasy I was.

He called me a pet. I shudder.

How long have I been in here? Is there any time in here? I can't see. It's the blindness that gets to me more than anything else - I could deal with deafness, surely. The blindness gets to me because I have a sneaking suspicion that I'd prefer it to whatever I could see, in here. That it's a gift to me, from my King, because he likes his pet so much.

I feel as if I'll throw up again, and then the familiar oblivion washes over me. I'm beginning to expect it. After long enough, I'm sure I'll start longing for it.

You're more entertaining than Cade was, Ed'huar-tsche'lina. I think I shall like you better. You look properly trained. Cade was too much of a mongrel for that. Do you know any tricks?

I almost piss myself.

A joke, pet. Merely a joke. I am in a good mood, despite the recent setbacks. You should feel joy. You are the cause of my good mood.

I do, in fact, feel a reduction in my terror. Is that joy in here? Perhaps.

We have work to do, now that I have you. Work that Cade was never good for, and Ebre-schtullin'eh wasn't ready for just yet. But now I have you, and the latter has been worn down enough that it should be possible. Tell me, pet, do you have family?

None that would keep me after this. None that would want me now, I'm sure of it.

Oh, don't bother lying for me. I can tell the truth in you, you know. I can dig out the lies inside that mind of yours, even hone them into fine jewels. It's quite entertaining... would you like me to dig for them now?

Please. Please no.

Don't plead with me. I am not one to be plead with. But as I do cherish you, pet, and you have made me so happy, I will not punish you for the transgression. Apologize.

I am sorry for my impudence.

Very well. Your family matters not to me - not for now, at any rate. Later, they will, but that is later, and now is time to move on something imminent. Families always have strong connections between each other, do they not?

Often they do.

We will exploit that, my Ed'huar-tsche'lina.

And as he tells me to come with him, we are already moving - no, we are already there. It's not the throne room we are in anymore - some other chamber in Nul's palace, if you could call this a palace... if you could call it anything at all. It reminds me of Lady Thelea's laboratories.

My other pet had to learn the craft from someone, did she not? I can see my King now. I can see where he is, at any rate - my eyes are blind when they run across the shape of him. There is a hint of darkness, of space warping... and then nothing. I wonder if it has anything to do with the blindness I felt in that other place... where I was so terribly close to him. Where it seemed that all there was in the world was Nul and myself, and soon it would be only Nul.

There is an altar. Simple, glass. It rises up from the floor. Jhe o'Audiva Rocale's body is laid out on it. He looks dead, but I know somehow that he isn't, even though he isn't breathing. Some knowledge that's been given to me with my new position tells me that Ebrellin-i simply ceases to breathe when he is this close to Nul. It is not true obedience because it has been trained into him, and so he shall not be commended for it.

How terrible.

Nul gestures for me to heel beside him, and I do. There's no decision, no deliberation - I simply do it. Perhaps that's a mercy in itself. Not being able to fight means not having to struggle... means no fear of whether I'd lose. For I'm truly lost here. None will take me back now, no matter how much my King may say that's a lie.

Nul reaches his cold hand behind my head. I feel something that might be a gauntlet, might be claws, might be fingers curl into my hair and guide me to look down. He pushes and then I'm not above Ebrellin-i--

Ebre-schtullin'eh. Call him by his proper name here, or call him nothing at all. None deserve to be addressed by any other name than I bestow upon them.

I'm in Ebre-schtullin'eh's mind. I almost reel from how much he's cringing right now. Every part of his being cowers away from the world, from me, from my King. He's so afraid that his fear is more palpable than his thoughts.

There's very little thought left in here, though. Only a concept, an idea. The only thing he has left, that Nul has managed to not pry away from him: protect.

Protect what? Himself? He's done a poor job of it so far, I must say.

He protects his family, or at least the family he still claims. He's quite good at it. I've not been able to reach them directly through him - only been able to use him as my puppet, at times. Even then, most attempts met with failure. He is clever, and knows many devious ways to fight. A poor servant, who I have finally manipulated into a position from which I can make use of him.

I reach forward. I don't mean to - it just happens. There's not even an order for me to act - I simply do as my King bids. I reach forward and prod at that part of Ebre-schtullin'eh's mind that wraps so fiercely around his concept of family. I squeeze.

Ebre-schtullin'eh screams. I hear it all around me, as if the very structure I'm inside of now is built from sound. But then, it's built from emotion and thought, isn't it?

He pleads. He pleads far more than I think it wise to dare - if it can be wise to plead with my King at all.

But it is, apparently, very common for him to plead. He does it often - and he runs often, and he tries to get his way often, and he is a brat. And while it is terrible, what is being done to him--

--by myself, even--

--I do realize why my King hates him. Ebre-schtullin'eh uses his mouth too much, and his Will even more. One of these things my King has sought to break.

But now there's less need for that - now that I have you, Ed'huar-tsche'lina. You are my pet, my servant, my Herald. You are better than Cade was - because you are a Poet. A trusted, powerful Poet, second to Elete-travente himself. You have the reach that compensates for Ebre-schtullin'eh's gall.

You can kill his family, then.

I can't remember the last few moments. I know they passed. I know time passed, quite a bit of it in fact. There's the lingering impression of what might have been a punishment, but... no memory.

My King hit me with a flail, lashed me with oblivion. I apparently raised an objection. Punishment is swift for such gall.

But, my family!

You need not worry about your family. Nul tsks in a way that makes it seem as if reality itself had clicked on and off. He has sealed both daughters from me in a way that would break my connection to him if I tried to pry at his grasp. He doesn't consider his Mother true family - and so your dear Thele'nuthelli-na is safe. I'd not kill her now, and certainly I don't need Ebre-schtullin'eh to reach through to do it. My touch is upon all of my pets - I could do so directly.

No, Ed'huar-tsche'lina - there is one other. See how Ebre-schtullin'eh cradles that part of himself that isn't himself, curls himself around it, protects it with all of the self that he has left? I cannot reach it and destroy it, even now.

But you, dear pet, my Herald, you have a connection to Elete-travente yourself. You can reach through to what Ebre-schtullin'eh protects. And you can bridge the connection from it to Elete-travente.

And you can kill him.

My panic is so palpable that I remember a bit of it before oblivion strikes me again. There is a longer moment this time. I must have objected very strongly. A stupid mistake, but-- my King!

I am your King. You may have none other than me. And now you will do as bade.

I try to fight, I really do. Well, I don't, but I try to remember what it was like to fight against something. I can't, now. I can only do as bade, wishing that oblivion upon myself as I do it. I don't want to remember this. I don't want to be here.

But you did want this, Ed'huar-tsche'lina, my pet.

No!

To surpass him, to supplant him, to replace him. You can't live up to his legend until he becomes one, can you? So cherish this as my gift to you. Take his life, and then from there... who knows what I might give you?

I can't hear my scream. I must have suppressed it - or perhaps I didn't, and I simply can't remember it. Perhaps the memory of it has been taken. You have to believe me, though - it was there.

I don't want to kill him.

A lie for me? How kind. I do so love collecting my gems...

* * *
'Sy
* * *

There's a growing sense of unease in the air, but Elete acts as if he doesn't notice it at all. He's jovial, talkative - I swear there's even a bounce in his step. How does he do that? How does he ignore everything that's happened, and whatever else that's waiting on the horizon for him?

"Well, I am a Time Lord, you know. I had to learn to deal with the past and the future very long ago." He sounds sheepish to proclaim it so proudly, and the self-deprecating grin betrays the interjection as a joke. "Your thoughts are very loud right now, 'Sy."

I glare to the side, not meeting his eyes. I don't answer.

"I haven't seen writing like Elesse's for quite some time." He goes on as if everything's been settled, then. "Quite a lot of them were written before I even knew of other Poets."

My gaze finally snaps back to him.

"Before I was even Poet King and before I'd moved here... when my home was in Lyiannethe -- those were the days that my writing was like that. Raw, bold, with such power and almost accidental grace. Writing the first thing to come to mind, taking down every word as if it were my last - that really was quite literal, considering my health, then. That's how we tell the trainees to write now. It lacks care and precision, but it has such energy to it, such depth of feeling, such power... if you don't take hold of it early, it's hard to develop later in life." He sighs, his face a touch wistful. "But you never do reclaim those early days. Myself, I can't."

Yet again, he reminds me that we're going to lose him soon.

"It's not a matter of age or anything like that, but simply... situation. I... those writings." He chuckles, closes his eyes and puts his fingers to his forehead. "I never told anyone of those, though of course my brother read them, back then. We were just children at first... but I was writing those works up until you and Jhe o'Radia took me away from Audiva Rocale and brought me to my home here. Thank all the rivers and waters, the grasses and the sky." He's... hiding something. Or avoiding it. I can't fend off my age-old role in reaction to that. I must press. It has to come out.

"What were the writings about?" I almost fear asking. Everything seems too immediate, as if we're marching to the Court instead of his quarters at the Poet Hall.

"...Adventure. Rescues." His eyes glitter with a light that seems very old, yet very childish. "Escape. It was the only way to get out of that dreary, dangerous place, sometimes. The writings protected me, I know. Somehow, they really did make me... not there." He shrugs, smiling. "I half-knew what I could do with words, then. I kept myself from fully admitting, at times, just what power I was using. I knew I was a Time Lord - to admit myself a Poet, at that age, before I came here, would have been a kind of suicide. Mother would have realized it, or perhaps some other relative, and they surely would have killed me. As it was, Ebrelle-- Ebrellin-i was the only reason I lived through some of those years."

That makes me go silent for a bit... but then, I haven't participated much in our conversation so far, anyway. Still... "Do you feel better, now that he's been taken away?" There's no way he wouldn't have heard. He's Elete.

Still smiling, he shakes his head. "I feel worse, to be honest. I miss him, and feel I'll never have any chance to make amends between us now. But things happen like that sometimes... people go before you can really... do anything about it." He's not trying to keep that expression of perfect, happy calm anymore. He's crying, his lip curling up as he tries to school his expression, as he tries to ignore those tears.

Before I know it, my arms are around him, and I've got his face buried in my chest. I know the gesture is protective as much as consoling. He shakes - something I don't expect at all. But then, his wife and daughter don't come up much at all nowadays, and he dealt with their deaths long ago. They were taken from him cruelly by a sea that does not give bodies back that it cares not to return - not even so that they can be taken back to be regenerated. Not even for life to come back from death.

We all have our limits.

Elete almost feels happy in my arms, even as he trembles. He's relieved. Maybe he's finally left them behind. He hides his illnesses and sorrows so well that it's hard to ever tell what's festering inside him, and what's finally healed. Katherine and I took that job upon ourselves together, and it's taken everything we can do to keep him going.

Of course, that's all for naught now. I'm a little relieved that Katherine isn't here now. She hates it when she can't help. And, though I may hide it at times, so do I.

"Thank you." Once he says it, we walk again. The walk is taking quite some time, but Elete is moving slow now - and everything, for him, happens right on time. "It's strange," Elete says, moving past what's happened just moments ago, "Elesse's writings. Don't you think?"

I sigh heavily. "All you Poets' stories are strange."

He chuckles. "He lived the life that I wrote for myself, 'Sy. I wrote myself out of Lyiannethe Manor on countless adventures. Pirates, monsters, dungeons... heroes and villains, swashbuckling and pistol fights! Almost always on boats, of course. You know how I love my boats." I snort. "Yes. So I'd wish myself away on those adventures... and Elesse would live them." He looks into the distance. "Even now, I'm not really sure which one led to the other... and I can't remember where he's from, though I'm certain I knew once, in my youth. I'm certain Ebrelle did too." He shakes his head. "But it's too late, now. Perhaps my successor--"

My head snaps up to look at Elete as he goes sheet white. There's a look of despair on his face.

"Oh Edward..." he tsks. "That was sooner than I thought. Commendations--"

"What about Edward?" I snarl as I dart to Elete's side. He's not falling, however. He seems to be standing stiff and still.

"Nothing. Nothing at all that we can do, not from now, certainly not from here-- I need to be in my room now, 'Sy. Could you please--"

I take him before he finishes the request.

* * *

I don't understand what he's just asked me. I try to tell myself that - I simply don't understand the request he made after he sat on his bed, and so therefore there's no possible way that I can fulfill it.

You're lying, hisses Diyn between my ears. He sounds just as cold as ever in reaction to me denying him. But Diyn is Diyn - he is metal, and he is cold. He is the Law stripped of remorse or mercy or fairness, and he is ever cold.

Whereas I, I have something more in me that makes it so hard sometimes to be me, that makes me want to deny Diyn sometimes, and now is one of those times--

Elete reaches forward and squeezes my arm. "Don't keep denying yourself, Arik." I start. I did not expect that name right now, and not from him. By his face, he certainly intended the jolt. "Please. Not over me. You must make this quick." His eyes look like he's trying to apologize for this, but he really isn't. And I don't blame him.

"Elete... surely you can stop this. Surely we can--"

Stop lying to yourself, Arik'tighesynnodai-theoni. Diyn doesn't even hiss now. He simply speaks, neutral and calm. And perhaps that's a sign of just how much this is going to hurt me - even the Trident softened a blow.

I'm crying. Damn me. As much as that could be said to have happened years ago. Damn me right now--

You cannot wish myself upon you. Stop throwing a tantrum. Diyn is almost confused now. But it's been quite awhile since I was that young, and that much of an idiot. I'm acting more irrational than usual to him, right now.

"I cannot stop Nul from taking me if I go on living. It will kill me, at best." Elete looks to the side, then locks my eyes with his again. "At the very worst, which I do fear is most likely to happen, he will take over some vital part of me in the process, and turn my powers against you all." He grips my arm again. "You can't let that happen."

There's a silence. He realizes I won't move.

"Kill me now, 'Sy, and my body and soul will be in the Void, with Tia. They won't rest in Nul... where I'm quite certain there is no rest." And now, the final blow - he looks afraid.

He looks afraid that I won't do it.

It is the Law. Judge him for what he would do, were we not to Judge him now. Diyn's sentence is reasonable. It is the Truth. Even Katherine would not stop him - I can't even have that what-if to hold against this decision.

I take in a deep breath. I draw Diyn. Elete almost lets out a squeak upon seeing him, but he manages to hold it in. I can imagine that Elete thought he understood what it would be like to face down the full weight of the Law, Aimed at him. It is fully understandable that he was wrong.

But he does not back down.

"Stand," I say, my voice so quiet that it is almost a whisper.

The Poet King stands.

"Take off your crown."

Elete almost raises his single protest at what has turned out to be his Trial. He questions me with his eyes even as his hands raise to his head and lift that heavy gold and silver work of artistry away from his brow. I hold my hand out. He gives it to me, pain in his eyes. Taking the symbol of his office from him, the signifyer of his duties and successes, hurts him more than the thought of his life being taken away.

That's so like him.

The crown disappears. I couldn't really say to where - I'm sure it'll show up when his successor appears. It has no place in this world right now, though.

"You stand Judged, Eleth-travente Xaillyndesse, as yourself and not as the bearer of any title, not as the ruler of any kingdom, nation, or office. You stand Judged, and now you may rest content with your sentence."

Diyn is a sword now, which is a shape he takes at times. I don't know if he chose the shape for this moment or if I did, but it makes for a less messy death. It takes away the touch of vengeance from the killing stroke. Most importantly, it takes Elete clean, and quick, and pushes through him as if there's little weight to the man at all. But then, there is nothing much that stands between men and their deaths - only flesh, which is too easily parted.

"Thank you." I don't understand how he managed to get that out. If anyone would, Elete would, though. He is dead now, falling to the floor. I reach forward to catch him - with the motion, Elete disappears into the Void. Tia takes him into her warm embrace as she does everyone who dies, and everyone who waits to be born.

I stand there. I don't really move. I don't know if I can. I realize that the tears have stopped, and wonder when they did. There's just a cold emptiness now.

Stop that. That is mine, not yours. Diyn's growl is more a prod at me to move than a chastisement. I told him, before he went--

Yes? I am starting to shake out of it. Heavens, is he really gone? Is my friend really gone?

I told him that it was appropriate that I was the one that killed him. He agreed. He left with no regrets, other than you and Katherine.

Katherine. Oh face of the Most High. Katherine.

Go to her, Diyn says, but I already am.

* * *

This is the real Chapter 39 - if you want to read the April Fool's Day version, it's in the Shorts section now!

* * *
Katherine
* * *

I know when it happens. I'm already on my knees, hands covering my face. I don't want anybody to see, which is silly. I'm still alone, still sneaking around. Still trying not to let 'Sy find me. And for a moment, I just stay there, rock back and forth, and let the sorrow press in. It's going to come whether I try to stop it or not, and it'll pass easier if I just accept it.

I tried so hard to extend Elete's life. 'Sy and I both did. Considering that, it's especially cruel how he went. I can feel it all out, sense 'Sy's reasons as if I was there at the time. And, in a sense, I was. He couldn't Judge someone without me.

I just... I wish I would have been there. Why didn't Elete let me be there? He was a Time Lord, he could have--

That's what breaks me. The sobs take over for a little while, everything is white and grey and snowy. When I come back to myself, arms are wrapped around me. Big, strong arms.

'Sy's crying too. I pat his head. My hand's still so small. I wonder, for a moment, if I could have stopped all of this if I had been fully recovered at the time. But it's nonsense to think that way.

"There was no time," he says. "There's still no time, Katherine. I'm so sorry."

"It's not you that has to apologize for any of that. Just stay here for a bit. Just for a little bit. Let us have this time."

Just a few minutes of quiet. Just a little moment of peace.

"Are you ready?" I really do think this hit him harder than it hit me. But then, 'Sy holds on to things. He's always so betrayed when they don't last. I'm glad I'm here for him now.

"Just a little bit longer." It's his turn to say it. He hugs me tight, and we stay like that for a moment. "Katherine, please don't leave me."

I stroke his hair. "We need to go. You must feel it, too. If we don't move fast... it'll only get worse."

"What will?" Maybe he doesn't feel it. But then, I'm the Poet, not 'Sy.

"Everything. Come on. We've got to rush." I can't say I know exactly what's going on. Without Elete, it feels like everything's falling to chance now. I wonder just how much the Poets have relied on him for their craft - how much I might have myself. Still... I can fix on someone now, and that's enough. I take 'Sy and I there.

* * *
Elesse
* * *

I feel terribly queasy. It's as if I'd never gotten my sea legs and was lost in a rough storm. The whole world feels as if it's pitching and yawing. I can't handle this. I can't handle this at all. I'm not built for it. It's not my place.

I don't even know what it is that I'm going on about. The room is lurching, and bad memories surface. Spiders... shadows... the webs and the things skittering across my skin... the long nights where time wouldn't pass at all...

I hit the floor. You'd think it would make me feel more still, being on the ground - but the ground is moving even now. I cry out. I flail for someone's hand. I keep telling myself that I'm not on the deck of a ship, but my voice isn't getting through to myself very well. I'm howling. How much did I howl for help when I was kept a prisoner in the dark? Is this going to last forever again? Jules isn't here to rescue me this time.

"Ales! Ye daft good-fer-nuthin' salted slug of a drunken landlubber! Get yer ass up!"

It's gotten to the point that I've started hallucinating.

A sharp pain in my ribs is my first indicator that perhaps some of this situation is happening in reality. I try to look up, and manage to turn my head the right way. "...Jules?"

"Captain Jules, you great big scurvy lug." He pauses for a moment. "Aye, and we grab a couple o' ships from the Radian harbor and it'll be Admiral." I can hear the gears turning in Jules's head now. Well, maybe just the one gear. "Come on up!" A hand reaches under my arm and tugs with surprising strength for a man as short as our Captain. Jules is always full of surprises, though. For instance, getting out of his cell at all, and into mine. Still, I can't gain my feet - can't even get to my knees. "Ales, what on the skin of the world is wrong with ye?"

I try to reply, but it comes out garbled. I almost lose it, then manage to climb back up into semi-consciousness. "Something's wrong," I say. It's like I'm a buoy that's lost its anchor to the sea floor, adrift on the waves with nothing to keep me in my proper place. "Help." It's all I manage to get out before I pass out.

I don't like staying awake while I sleep. Normally people would call that dreaming, but this isn't dreaming, and I'm not normal people. I'm some man that Jules dragged out of a spider's nest. I shouldn't even be alive. But I still am. I can see the ocean from here... it's as if I'm lying on top of it. It certainly explains the rocking motion from earlier. But the ocean is too dark, the waves almost opaque. Also, I can haul myself up to stand on top of them. My long years of experience on the open sea inform me that is not how normal waves are built.

Live. I recognize that voice. The man I met earlier. The man who has my face. Eleth-travente. Isn't he a King in this strange country we've landed in? I turn, and he's standing in the sea, ankle-deep. He smiles at me.

I don't smile in return, but I do nod my head.

I really should have moved on by now. He lets out a heavy sigh. He looks so tired. It happens when you're dead. Suddenly, you want to catch up on all the naps you missed. He reaches out and pushes my chest, frowning. You don't belong here, Elessandre.

I frown. But where am I?

All things return to the sea, Elessandre. But not you, not yet. You need to climb back up. It will be hard, but once you make it, you won't have to come back here. He smiles weakly. I can tell these things, you know. My one last prediction, you could say. He sounds so sad.

I extend my hand. He shakes it.

Farewell, then. I nod to him and try to reach for consciousness. It's shining up above me, like a sun in the nighttime. I stretch, I pull...

Awareness hits me like a slap in the face.

"Aye, hit 'im again! He likes it rough!"

The world isn't lurching anymore. It's wobbling a teeny bit, but not even as much as the Kraken's deck on a calm day. I don't feel as sick now. My vision is blurry, but I blink a few times and manage to get some focus. I look up into the Judge's face.

I think that squeal came from me.

"Hey, you don't hurt 'im, now! He's been hurt enough!" Jules sounds upset. I wonder what's got him so riled up? "What're yeh savages doin' teh my crew?"

A cool hand strokes my cheek, then touches the side of my head. It's much smaller than the Judge's. I see that the baby that I found below the Kraken's decks has followed me yet again - only she's definitely not a baby any more. Her green eyes look into mine - I see flecks of blue, flecks of gold in them, and wonder just how strange this child is. She certainly can put a man under scrutiny. I start to squirm. The Judge holds me still.

When did they show up? Jules's rescue certainly was a bust - at least they didn't kill him, though. I wasn't even on guard to keep him alive with my quill this time, so hat's off to him. I close my eyes as a wave of dizziness hits. That black sea wants to pull me under... the Sea where we all die, was it? I've lived to tell a tale about it... I can't die now.

The girl curses. I open my eyes, startled. That certainly wasn't a phrase appropriate for someone her age. Even Sam schools his language better. She glares down at me. "At least help me a little!"

I blink. "What are you trying to do?" She sighs in exasperation - she looks near tears.

Wait, the other me... Elethe-travente. He was in that sea... he didn't come back up with me. He was dying... no, he was already dead. That twists in me like a stiletto in the gut. He certainly seemed well-loved... and here I am, staring up at her, the spitting image of the dead man. "I'm sorry. I really don't know what to do. I really am sorry."

She bites her lip and nods, tears falling from her face. "I know. It's okay."

"Elete said that Elesse wasn't the next Poet King, Katherine." The Judge's voice is very sad. Oh dear. I must be like so much salt in the wounds to them.

"He's enough." She closes her eyes, her brow creasing. "He'll be enough. We just have to focus." The Judge gives no objection in reply.

"Ales? You okay? Don't let 'em hurt you, Ales!"

I try to answer Jules, but the words are taken clean out of my mouth. Instead, I see through the eyes of a young boy in a library... a girl recovering on her Uncle's couch... a pair of brothers who are trying to speak to each other without making a sound... so many people, more and more of them. It's like I'm brushing up against them all, touching each of them so briefly... and then I'm back.

And I feel... clear. Still a tiny bit wobbly, but I'm floating on that sea now, definitely floating. No more sinking. The mental touch of so many people actually serves to bolster me more - alone, it was almost impossible to endure whatever's started to happen to me.

Katherine smiles. "He'll work, for now. We needed a hub. Until we find our new Poet King... we all need someone to connect through. He's... close enough to what Elete--" she chokes off for a moment. "To what Elete was." She wipes away tears. "We can't go forward without a hub, 'Sy."

--Lyric? How could he get out of his room, Gerude? It's not as if he's Lute. Well no, I don't see him in here, but he really is built very small and--

--Camden, my brother, please, I really shouldn't talk to anyone right now, and I don't want to be a bother at such a crucial time--

--seen Jhe h'Logos? My Shenanigan's stuck in the Palace again and I don't know how it keeps getting past the wards--

I idly listen to the conversation, but it's hard to pay much attention - there are so many voices in my mind, so many thoughts that aren't mine. It's really a lovely sensation, ignoring the fact that I can't think myself because of it. The voices and feelings merge so well with that music that I always hear in my head, every moment, every second. It's really more of a symphony now. I'm quite glad I got an opportunity to hear it. It's also quite nice that I can just sit here and look pretty, because right now I can't do much of anything else.

--Hello? I'm stuck in a cell down here, in the Armed Hall? In Jhe o'Audiva Rocale's cell, to be precise. I really don't mind staying in here, it's nice and quiet, but someone really should know that he's gone--

Listening to the voices converse is so very interesting. Some of them sound as if they're from long ago, and some of them seem as if they're from somewhere very far ahead of me - the clear ones sound nearby, though. I wonder what could be causing that? What's that burning sensation? Oh, that's the Judge's glare. Or is it merely scrutiny? It's so very difficult to tell from my vantage on the floor.

"Will he be safe?" The Judge looks at Katherine. The girl's expression shows some surprise--

--oh Katherine I know Katherine do you know Katherine Katherine's such a nice girl but she's with the Judge all the time and he can be so scary and--

--and then nods. "What killed Elete can't kill Elesse."

The Judge's face is a kind of patience that is waiting for an explanation.

She looks away. "We know Ed'huar-- Edward did it. We know that." She takes in a deep breath, then draws herself up. "He could try to reach through the new hub to Elesse, but he won't know to even look. He's too disconnected from the Poets as a whole, and has been walled off from them for too long. He knows Jhe h'Logos is dead, and that's enough for him and enough for his master. Edward won't press because doesn't want to think about anything else that has to do with Jhe h'Logos right now." Her words ring strangely... in harmony with the music in my head. It's really very pleasant.

The Judge nods after thinking that over. "That sounds... plausible. And you know it because of Poetry?"

Katherine juts her chin up. "Yes."

The Judge closes his eyes for a moment. "Appropriate." He rises. "We need to secure this cell. Keep the Captain in it - he'll make a suitable guard." He snorts. "He was certainly competent enough to take out the Gahalespbar-archo." There's a certain rancor to his tone with that last sentence.

--Oh it really was so dreadful in Lyiannethe, even the trees were trying to kill us all, and the spiders--

A shiver runs down my spine. Spiders?

"That mangy ponce? 'E was more of a candied arse than Ales!" Jules's voice rings out above the chorus between my ears, breaking me from the rising panic.

"Hey," I say in faint protest. Sometimes, with Jules, I don't even bother that much. I'm just glad to know he's nearby - though restrained, it seems, in the corner of the cell. That won't hold for long - Jules can spit on a lock and it's as good as picked.

The Judge raises his eyebrow at my Captain. "Stay in here and attempt some sort of good behavior until we come back for you, and your men will be pardoned. Possibly you as well. Keep an eye on your friend. Something has a grudge against him."

Me? Something has a grudge against me?

"Something you're familiar with, I've no doubt." The Judge's scrutiny is hard to bear up under - Jules manages without showing an effort.

"Aye." He gives the Judge a nod. "I'll have my ship back, then?"

The Judge lets out a painful sigh. "I'm afraid that's the decision of the person you knocked out in your cell."

"Ah! Well then, half me work's already done!"

The Judge taps two fingers to his brow, as if in contemplation - I can't discern of what, though.

--careful, please, Jhe Haari'se! They don't know you yet--

The Judge settles himself, then looks at Jules one last time. "Don't run off."

Jules raises an eyebrow. "I make nary a promise I cannot keep."

"That wasn't a request for a promise, it was a threat." The Judge turns to Katherine. "We've more work to do, of course."

The girl nods, then takes one last look at me. "Be safe, okay?" She smooths back my hair, then kisses my forehead.

I blink in surprise. Then, they're gone.

* * *

* * *
'Sy
* * *

I follow Katherine. It's strangely relieving, but then, sometimes I need her for that. Sometimes Diyn is too sharp and the world is too hazy and the only logical thing to do is follow Katherine on one of her crazy hunches. I'm not sure when I started to accept that, but it must have been recent, because this is the first time I haven't felt angry or guilty about letting her take the lead without question.

Or maybe, without Elete around to do something impulsive and inscrutable, this sort of thing is a comfort.

She squeezes my hand. She can sense my sorrow. I can sense hers. "It'll fade," she says. "Everything fades, in time." That, too, soothes me. I am so weary of change hurting me - it's about time it became a comfort.

I squeeze back. Her words aren't getting through to herself. "But some things get stronger, in time."

She just nods. Then, we're there. Katherine has led me to the cell that Aaren has been kept in.

There's a thud like a steak being slammed onto a kitchen counter - it is the sound of Aaren's body hitting the wall. By the limp droop of his arms and head, it's obvious that he didn't bring this upon himself. A look into Aaren's mind shows that he's barely conscious at all, and that he thinks his Father is doing this to him. Then he rolls across the floor, dodging an invisible blow. A moment later, the beginning of a bruise wells up on his cheek - it seems Aaren didn't dodge that hit after all.

Aaren told me of the abuse he lived through in Lyiannethe, and how it was expected that he take it quietly. It was an important thing for him to tell me - it was crucial in preparing him to face his Arms. If Aaren had responded to his Arms attacking him (which they always do, especially upon the first meeting) in the same way that he responded to his Father's beatings, he'd have gotten killed during his initiation. Thankfully, he was a diligent trainer and very focused on overcoming his weaknesses, and thus he survived the ordeal.

He has, so far, managed to avoid Schiphael's most serious attacks. Aaren has allowed Schiphael to graze him several times to mollify the bloodlust, but Schiphael isn't out for his blood. He only wishes to punish Aaren. Diyn sounds troubled. I would have called you, but...

But what?

Diyn pauses, and I have the odd experience of hearing my Arms calculate his words. Aaren has made himself Schiphael's target to distract him. I don't want you going near him. He's meant to kill you.

I can't think of a reply.

Aaren's managed to get to his knees in this time. He flinches, then collapses face-first into the floor, a grunt escaping him along with most of the air in his lungs. His eyes are open, and they stare out with an expression of patience that he trained into himself from a young age. I feel a sort of anger well up that is entirely paternal.

Aaren is letting Schiphael do this because he wants to keep Schiphael occupied with a target that isn't you.

It's not that Aaren is an assassin - Diyn won't let me go near Schiphael's Armed. 'Won't let' is exactly the term for it, as well - I'll have to fight Diyn if I want to try to get in there. It's a fight I might lose.

"I'll go in," says Katherine, before she enters the cell and does exactly that. When I try to stop her, Diyn holds me back.

For once, she is not the target. I'll not allow anyone other than myself to kill you. You know that, Arik'tighesynnodai.

I can only summon up confusion in reply. But why does he want to kill me at all?

Diyn mulls over what his answer will be as Katherine approaches the exhausted sprawl that is Aaren. I do not know what is wrong with Schiphael. I must admit that he is too harmful to his Armed and to you for this to persist any longer. Diyn sounds extremely reluctant to say those words - but then, he encourages the Arms to attack and train their Armed. He encourages them to go for blood and deal mortal wounds if that's what it takes for an Armed to take their proper role. He is willing to let the Armed fail in their training, willing to let them die. He never speaks ill of the Arms, and he takes the side of the Arms in all quarrels.

Something must be truly wrong with Schiphael.

* * *
Luciprochoros
* * *

My son has died.

Not many ever knew to acknowledge Eleth-travente as my son, but he is as much my son as Jax is... as Edward was. And now... now he has gone.

It leaves me with a weight. I know one son killed the other. I felt it. I saw it. I heard it in the Song. I want to talk to Emperor Theos, the weight is so much on me. That is a rare feeling - not that I often don't want to report to Father, to write and keep him abreast of the events here in the Second World. But it's a pressing feeling now, a need.

So of course, Jerithea, the Gahalespbar-archo's Advocate, Mercy of Chethar, is in my quarters. Her brown eyes warm me as she smiles and bows. I nod my head. That is the extent of our formalities for the meeting.

The skinny, tallish brunette flops onto the couch that Stevane isn't occupying. I gesture for her to take a cup of tea from the tray on the table, if she pleases. She does so. She raises one eyebrow at my niece, then gives me a questioning glance.

"She'll sleep through our talk. Jhe h'Logos's death was the last straw on top of a great, recent pile of them. My niece sought some stability after returning from a short fray in Lyiannethe, and her Father apparently thought it best that she see me and... talk." That's certainly cutting it short - Stevane poured her heart out to me and cried on my shoulder. I don't know that she was that traumatized so much as she couldn't have done that with anyone else. The event of her Arms awakening left her very, very high-strung - but I'm her Uncle, and someone she could safely cave in around.

More importantly, though, she had to tell me of Lyiannethe... and of my son Edward.

If I can call him that anymore.

Jerithea's eyes take a sad tilt when that thought crosses my mind, and it's as much a signal as anything else as to how much she's reading me. Not that she wouldn't, or couldn't - she's supposed to see people and read them, and weigh them. Somewhat in the same way that I must read people when I see them, but... different. "Don't think that way, Jhe Luciprochoros."

"How kind of you to call me by that name, and not an older one." My voice has that odd cheerful choke to it. I cradle my coffee cup in my hands, focusing on the prickle of warmth that it lends me. Almost a sear, almost a burn, but not quite. Enough to make me lose focus, which of course tips me off that I'm trying to lose focus. But who wouldn't want to, right now? Why focus on this madness and despair? Why not just... let it blur?

"You are not the entity you used to be." Jerithea's voice is clipped in its matter-of-fact tone, but not bitter - just precise. I like that about her. She gets her job done, and she tries not to make it personal, tries not to make things sear. "Do you expect to be treated as such, Jhe Luciprochoros?"

I chuckle despite myself. "No... no." I close my eyes. "You can call me Luci, you know." Though I suspect she won't. "We've known each other long enough for that, yes?"

She sighs, the sound so disappointed. "You're afraid of me, Jhe Luciprochoros." Her teacup clinks against the saucer underneath it.

My breath catches in my chest. Not so much afraid of only her, no.

"But you want to talk to me now. I can feel it in you. Luci, why didn't you write earlier?" Jerithea's voice... is no different, yet it is more, and deeper, and truer. It's the voice of my Father, and that... well, it chills me, and I feel bad that it does.

"I've been hiding a thing." I pause, feeling out the weight of what I've said, and what has been heard. "Several things, yes, but one thing in particular. Forgive me, but--"

But what?

"You can go on," Jerithea says. Her words, they echo. It is her function as an Advocate to speak them, and it is also Emperor Theos's sentiment, I suppose. It's... a little harder for me to guess at these things, now, even though once I knew them in my core, and never had to guess at all.

But I don't have an excuse. How will I go on without an excuse? I open my mouth... then shut it when nothing comes out. My fingers press into the coffee cup, and it sears me back enough to prompt my Will to speak again. I open my mouth and hope for better this time. "I wanted to protect her. Katherine. And Rahellene. And I wanted to protect Ebrellin-i, even when I despised him. And I wanted..." I close my eyes and stop myself from clamping down on it-- "I wanted to protect my Kingdom, and his Kingdom, from being destroyed by Chethar, should the worst happen."

"You Willed to subvert me?" I can see him stroking his beard, wherever he is. Possibly on the Throne at Hacavah. But who knows, with him? I thought I knew what he was all about, and then I ended up here, across the ocean, guessing at games. Years ago. That's what comes of assuming one knows anything that's going on.

He doesn't sound particularly angry, but that's like judging 'Sy's fury by the lack of rage in his voice. My brother cloaks his wrath in calm. The trait is inherited.

"I sought to work my own Will by your rules, and hope that you didn't notice, or by the time you did, that everything would be better, and it would be less..." I sigh. "Yes. Father. I sought to work around you, or at least to allow Ebrellin-i to do so, and to aid him, instead of informing you of his treachery. I felt it was better he remain at the helm of Aurocia than anyone else that lurked in Lyiannethe. And really, when kept busy with something constructive, he wasn't so..." I bury my face in my hands. "He was. He was a madman. But he was my madman, or at least one that wouldn't directly seek to have us all destroyed, and he deserved a daughter of his own. I felt he was robbed when it came to Katherine's childhood, but... well, so was I, and it was safer for her not to remain with him, and..." It's starting to drift. I don't know where I'm going with this. I don't know what I can possibly say to the Emperor to spare us, and I never do. I don't even know how both Empires have survived this long, how I've even lived this long without being struck down for... something. There are so many things I've done wrong.

There's a hand on my shoulder. Not Father's wide-fingered, heavy hand. Jerithea's slender hand, warm and soft. That's a surprise, and then I remember where I am, and who is physically in the room with me.

(And after the fact, a tremor of fear runs through me for Stevane, but he would have spared her. She's done nothing wrong but spread the guts of a wicked man over a somewhat wide perimeter.)

"You don't have to fret over all that, Jhe Luciprochoros. Just tell me what you've sought forgiveness for." Her voice is lavender rippling in the spring breeze, is motes of pollen drifting down through early sunbeams. There's nothing meant to harm in that voice... not today, not for me. ...I think.

"My daughter. Rahellene. I left her in the grip of a madman who I shouldn't have trusted, who I should have known--"

"Did you know what he would do? Do you claim that you did, you who see the Words in people, who hears the Song echo forward through time? Do you really claim that you knew?"

"No." I sob. "But I wish I had."

She hugs me. It's warm, and it's nice, and because of that it hurts. It makes my voice burn in my throat, and choke, before there's a rush and suddenly it's better.

Jerithea has let me go. I hear her step away from me, and then take a few more steps away from the couches.

"Take me to her."

I lead Chethar's Advocate to my youngest daughter. Stevane sleeps on the couch.

* * *
Edward
* * *

My fingers, or more precisely our fingers, as I am moving as the hands of my King, brush through Jhe h'Logos's hair. Then the Poet King slips from our grasp. I feel a flood of relief that he escaped us - and try to ignore the little voice inside me that protests, that tells me I was so close, that was trying to do a good job for my King.

Of course, I do agree with the little voice on one count - there will be punishment, and I must prepare myself.

...It is no matter. Nul's voice surprises me. There is no anger in his tone. In fact, he seems almost pleased. I lost little. Opportunities, I suppose, that I won't see again - but he's dead all the same.

Dead? But Jhe h'Logos escaped us! We didn't reach him before he found a means to flee!

Nul regards me with a cool, calm gaze that makes me uncomfortable - as if he's examining me, weighing me. His only escape was to die before we took him. Well done, Ed'huar-tsche'lina. Indeed, my King sounds very proud of my abilities.

Myself, I just feel the bottom of the world dropping out from under me again, and I grow quiet in response.

Now, says my master, we must destroy the errant piece, as it's served its final purpose.

* * *
Gerald
* * *

I've got a bad feeling about this whole operation. I'm not too sure we're gonna make it.

Maybe it's the way the Peacock King looks right now, and the weird moans that are coming out of him. All I know is that I felt a weird sinking feeling just a minute ago that I almost mistook for the bird falling. Almost on top of that was a weird sense of satisfaction from my Arms that they won't explain and I don't have the time to pry out of them. I just don't feel like all is right with the world - and if I weren't soaring so far above the ground that I can see Audiva Rocale from here, I'd look into it. Now, though, I have the feeling that focusing on my job is best.

Focusing on my job is, for now, holding onto this damn bird and keeping an eye on the King in case he finally decides to kill my brother. That time may have just come. The Peacock King's eyes have been staring wide open for a minute now, and that bodes ill. I draw Wagner.

Lyric looks up at me with alarm, then gestures for me to put away the gun. I know he means well, but...

I holster Wagner, or more accurately, he holsters himself. Not now. Later.

Weird. He sounded a bit like Diyn there.

Oh, don't think he doesn't know, ye arrogant pup of an Akribastes. Jes' be thankful he's letting us take care of things for now. Don't screw this up.

Well that's... not exactly comforting, but I'll take it. I keep an eye on Lyric. He looks like he's going to do something dangerous, and in the middle of the air riding a bird that Patrick is steering is either the worst or best place to do something dangerous. I can't pick which.

* * *
Lyric
* * *

I'm afraid of him. Especially with his eyes open like that, and the way he keeps letting out those choked-off squeaks and moans. I'm just plain terrified of him.

So I go to him. It's the right thing to do. And no one else here can.

I have an idea of what kind of pain Ebrellin-i's going through. I remember how hurt he was when he attended Nul's Court, and how he danced through it anyway, and then shook with exhaustion when he finally returned to bed. Even beyond that, I can feel his pain. It's calling out to me, and I guess that's the most evidence of the fact that we still have a connection between us. I don't know if he let it happen by accident or if I innately wheedled it into existence, but it's there, and it's the only thing that's going to save him right now.

And I want to save him.

Those black marks on his cheek are alive now, squirming each time Ebrellin-i makes a noise.

It's almost as if they're digging into him, clawing at him. I try to ignore it. If I ignore it, I can ignore just how close to Nul I'm bringing myself by drawing closer to Ebrellin-i. I can wrap an arm around him, curl next to him, and ignore what Faun said about Ebrellin-i being a gateway to Nul. I can close my eyes, lean my head against his chest, and listen to the struggling twitch-thump that is his heartbeat. "Shhh." I stroke his cheek. "It's okay. You're on a windbird, Ebrellin-i. Don't you love to fly? You told me that once... in a carriage, while we were on a trip. Remember?" I stroke my fingers through his hair. It's easy to without the crown there... but so strange for it to be absent. I feel better without it there, though... never did like that eye-jewel on the brow of it. Never did like the way it made Ebrellin-i seem taller, seem a little like someone else.

He calmed for just a moment when I spoke, but he's starting to struggle again.

"The bird can feel that." Patrick sounds very nervous. And our coasting does seem a bit more... wobbly. I'll have to do what I can, quickly.

"Ebrellin-i," I scoot upwards, my lips against his ear, "I know you remember me."

And then I do something that can get anyone's attention, and I feel ashamed and at the same time smug that I'm doing it right in front of my brother. I kiss Ebrellin-i's ear, lick it, nibble on it.

"Hey now--" Gerald says, his voice shaky.

"Keep an eye on the horizon around here. There'll probably be sentries. This territory's held by Avians working for--" Patrick's voice cuts off. He chuckles under his breath. "Working for me, I suppose!" He laughs.

Gerald settles further towards the head of the bird, which is really for the best. I have half a hunch that Patrick distracted him on purpose. Funny, that.

I blow into Ebrellin-i's ear. "You remember me," I say. "Right?"

He blinks. In the moment before his eye is fully open, I swear I see a glimpse of real iris and not that awful deadly white stuff. I swear I see a change in him. I can go further, and it'd really help him. It'd really change things, taking a risk like that. I can be someone who fixes people instead of breaking them. That's worth a risk, right? When my family's already suspecting me, when we're who knows how far up in the air? It's good to take risks then.

So I dive.

Ebrellin-i? I'm here.

* * *

It feels like I've jumped off the damn bird. I know I'm holding onto Ebrellin-i's body -- clinging onto him with all my might, in fact -- but I can't tell at all from where I feel like I am. Speaking to him mentally was something I did as a hunch - it's gotten me in his soul, or his thoughts, or... or something. I don't know this stuff. But I know Ebrellin-i -- at least, I think I do.

I'm in a forest, it looks like - a very dark, very scary forest. Something in here...isn't Ebrellin-i. Maybe it's hiding him. This thing that's lunging at me, sharp teeth flashing from foamed muzzle, is not Ebrellin-i. Maybe originally it was him, but that trained attack dog inside of Ebrellin-i's soul is no part of him anymore. No, not a dog... it looks sort of like a dragon. Ebrellin-i's half dragon, though. Did Nul get to the part of him with the dragon heritage, maybe? Either way, it scares me, and I try to keep as far away from it as possible. In these woods it's like I can take ten steps in the time I should have taken one, which would be useful... but sometimes one step takes the amount of time that ten would take. Time's stretching, like I'm in a dream.

I've got to find Ebrellin-i. I try reach for him with my mind. I need to find him, to talk to him. He'll be better when I talk to him. Right now everything's going all awful, and the blackness in here is just closing in more and more. The black dragon is nipping at my heels. I ignore the fear of it and keep calling, I keep reaching...

I hear a pulse. And I see green. It's like there's a light in the distance. Something warm, and certainly something to draw towards... if I can navigate myself through the dark land I'm still in.

It's not hard, though. Once I reach towards that light, it seems to pull me forward. When I call out to Ebrellin-i, the light answers with its own beat - a stronger, more natural heartbeat than I could hear in Ebrellin-i's chest. Then, a fierce tug and a gust of air later, I'm out of the black and into the green.

Here the woods glow with their own light, as if sunlight's streaming through a canopy so thick with leaves that the rays are tinted green. It's very quiet... but I can hear far-off animals stirring as if they've been asleep for a long time.

There's a man lying on the ground. No... a boy. He'll be a man one day, and I suppose then he'll grow his hair out to reach past his heels, and he'll paint his face and hold himself as haughty as can be. Now, he just curls up in the grass and leaves, holding... something. His arms are wrapped too tight around it for me to see. It's as if he's trying to shield it with his body.

I step forward. The underbrush rustles under my foot. Ebrellin-i... or perhaps Ebrelle, yes? Faun said he changed his name when he was older than the boy who's in front of me now. Ebrelle glances up when he hears my approach. He tenses, ready to defend what he has.

His eyes are such a brilliant, beautiful green. They narrow.

He strikes out at me, which doesn't surprise me. I sort of earned it, encroaching on his territory.

I step back from him. Somewhere far behind me, there is some black thing with teeth that has been trained to bite. That dragon isn't Ebrellin-i anymore, but it resides inside him, and I know it's taken control of him before. It's snapped at me before, collared me, chained me, brought me to heel. Ebrelle will push me upon that thing if he thinks I'm a threat. But...

"You brought me here." I step forward again. I don't dominate with my stance - I simply stand. He can knock me over if he really wants to.

He doesn't. He merely crouches on the ground, cradling that which he protects. After a moment I realize that he's not holding back out of some respect for me - he simply doesn't have the strength to stand up or to lash out any further. The last of his energy is being spent protecting whatever it is that he has.

Somewhere in the darkness that lurks out in the woods behind me, something growls.

I try to keep my words soothing and calm. "Ebrelle? Can you speak?"

He looks at me as if another head's sprouted right from my mouth. After a long moment in which I wonder whether he can understand speech at all, he slowly shakes his head. His eyes betray a hint of fear that runs deeper than I've dived.

Learned not to. You staying? You'll get hurt. He sits, then curls himself around what he protects again. I still can't see it. He's making sure I can't.

He doesn't seem to know me. But then... this Ebrelle wouldn't have known me. I wasn't even born yet when Ebrellin-i was this young. Who called me here?

He shudders, then shakes his head. Won't answer.

Please, Ebrelle, I need to go to him--

He'll only hurt you! Ebrelle's eyes betray tears. And you'll die. Inside, and then out. He doesn't want that to happen to anyone else, so why would he call out and make it happen to you? He looks so angry and hurt. I wish I could do something to comfort him, but he's just as feral as Faun is.

He'll hurt me? Ebrellin-i will?

Ebrelle's eyes betray a childish wonder. You don't know anything, do you? Who keeps my soul?

Of course. If Ebrellin-i truly is a gateway to Nul... then part of him must be there. It's the part that's calling to me, and consoling him is the only way he'll stop. I have to go to him now. I'm sorry. Do you know how?

Ebrelle only cries in response, ducking his head down. Unable to stop myself, I reach forward to comfort him. Something pulls me back by the collar of my robe, its hot breath pouring down my neck.

The black thing with the teeth yanks me back into the darkness. I don't struggle. I just let myself be dragged. At the times that my feet or robes snag on a branch or bramble, the dragon snorts, the sound low and long. Once I'm free again, he is silent.

Wait, was I wrong about the dragon? Maybe there still is some part of Ebrellin-i inside of it. Maybe this was what called me here.

Ebrellin-i?

A sharper, longer growl, that of warning. I decide not to press further and let him take me where he will. The trick to working with large animals and surviving is to let them believe they're getting their way - or, when that fails, just let them go ahead and have it.

At some point during our journey it feels like someone's slowly stirring my brains with a finger. Dizziness, perhaps - but it feels worse than just that. I try to keep a grip on myself and don't panic. That's sound advice to myself, because the next thing I see is the Jherent Nul.

I can see him more clearly than before, which I find rather strange, but accept quickly so that I can deal with the situation at hand. His form is mostly black, tinged a bit rusty. He's clad in heavy spiked armor, clawed gauntlets covering his fingers, and a metal guard hiding his face below his eyes. His irises are the same black as his pupils, with a tiny hint of blood tinting them. His hair is long, black and straight. He looks like a Xaillyndesse.

Some part of my mind rails against that, and I can't make it make sense. Surely it makes sense, if they worship him like they do... for him to look like them? But how am I seeing him at all? I thought there was nothing to see! And for that matter, how am I here at all? Did I really manage to travel to Nul through Ebrellin-i? This isn't the throne room, but it's certainly just as spooky as it. The dragon creeps forward. The Jherent Nul pats him like an errant pet.

I'm so frightened, yet I feel calm. Maybe I can't get any more scared. What am I going to do now? He has me. I'm in the worst situation I could possibly be in.

The Jherent Nul waves the beast off, giving me no regard whatsoever. The beast that might have once been part of Ebrellin-i turns and pads off to curl up in a corner. Once he's settled, he releases me. I turn and look at it. The big furred and scaled thing's eyes are closed. It lets out what might be a tiny snore.

I whirl around to face the Jherent Nul. He's walking away, completely ignoring me.

I'm not in trouble?

Well, it seems not, though I'm stuck here in this place with no clue how to get out. Is Ebrellin-i here? At least if I find him, I'll have done what I came here for. I follow the Jherent Nul - there's nowhere else here that I can see to go, and... it looks as if he doesn't know I'm here at all. After a few paces, I can see Ebrellin-i again.

I can see Edward, too. My stomach makes a weird sideways wrench. He looks... old. Old like Stevane always joked he was, even though Edward appeared in his late twenties. His face is lined, his hair is greyed to white in streaks and patches, and he's got a hunch.

No, that's his cringing away from the Jherent Nul, who gives him the same pat that he gave the dragon. Peace. It won't be long, now. I've gathered the part of him that served me. He's nothing left to live for. The Jherent Nul's eyes crinkle, and I suspect he's grinning behind that mouthguard. And he understands simple commands, at least.

Edward nods, though it might actually be a shiver. I keep walking forward. Ebrellin-i might as well be dead, the way he looks spread on his back across that big table. It is the Ebrellin-i that I knew, too - he's the proper age, and he has the peacock-like face-markings. He's still, breathless, pale... but alive. Somehow, alive.

I walk forward, somehow sure that Edward isn't going to see me. I am correct. No one here notices me - except the beast, of course. But that means Ebrellin-i might. And whatever it is that I'm here to do, I know it involves him.

I sit by the altar, take his hand, and wait.

There's the sensation of a moth beating its wings against my ear, and then the tiniest hint of a voice between my ears:

--Lotus? You didn't really come, did you? Ebrellin-i sounds so afraid. I almost feel bad that I'm here. I didn't mean to drag anyone else here. Please leave-- oh no. You can't. Oh no.

Despair wells up from him, but it's not something he's running short on right now, so I don't think anyone but me notices it. The Jherent Nul and Edward don't seem to have even noticed that Ebrellin-i is communicating with me. I came of my own accord. I want to help you.

I can't be helped anymore. I was beyond help before you were born. Still, he sounds pretty resilient for a guy that's so resigned to his fate. I... I wish you hadn't come, but I can't deny that I'm happy to have company, here at the end. I'm sorry.

I hold back a chuckle. It's okay. I've been through worse. That may or may not be a lie. My Trial certainly felt like I was in more danger, though. Father almost cut me in half then.

What now, Master? What command to give him? I want to hurt Edward for suggesting such a thing, for going forward with torturing Ebrellin-i even more, but that's not my place here, not what I'm even here for. I don't know that I could even hurt Edward here if I tried, anyway.

Well, when certain information is imparted, commands aren't necessary. That chuckle again. It sends shivers through me, sets my hair on end, makes me want to leave this place. Why don't you tell him what you just did, Ed'huar-tsche'lina?

Edward flinches and cringes. Please... not so soon. I don't want to--

The strangest thing happens. Edward's words stop in his throat, and fade from my memory a little, as if he'd never spoken them. He flinches again, as if he's been punished - and I suppose he has. How grisly.

Edward takes in a breath, then steels himself. Yes, my King.

I squeeze Ebrellin-i's hand. The twitch that goes through it in reply seems more like a spasm than a conscious effort, but I know he feels me here with him. To be honest, I think I'm afraid of what Edward's about to say - alarm's ringing all through my head, and there's the sense of steeling myself against something, the hunch of ill things to come.

The Poet King died moments ago, Ebre-schtullin'eh. We put him to death.

* * *
Lyric
* * *

I can't tell whose panic that is, leaping up in my chest. Is it mine, or Ebrellin-i's? Whose despair is plunging down through me? Whose tears are these? In the moment after I hear Edward's words, I can't tell. It's so hard to recover - it's so hard to even believe. My grip on Ebrellin-i's hand is the thing that pulls me out of it - he's clutching at me, another spasm.

I'm here. It's all I can say to comfort him.

No, no, no, no, no, no, no-- Ebrellin-i doesn't hear me. There's only despair in his head, and agony all through his heart. I was protecting him all this time, that can't be true--

I see a flash of Ebrelle hunching himself over something, cradling it, protecting it. Was that the Poet King? Was he spending all of his remaining energy protecting his brother instead of fighting off Nul?

No, no, no, no, no, no, no--

Is there anything else for you to live for? Edward's words sound hollow, as if from a puppet - and his eyes are blank. But it doesn't matter - they have as much effect on Ebrellin-i as the Jherent Nul would want.

Ebrellin-i's grip slips from mine.

* * *
Gerald
* * *

The bird plunges down, even though Patrick's done a perfect job of directing it up until now. There was this weird wobble in the air, almost like a cross-current, and then--

I look behind me, making sure that my brother's still holding on. When I see him, I draw Wagner, or perhaps he draws himself.

That black stuff on the Peacock King that's started to crawl all over him, that used to just look like face makeup-- it's writhing up from the King. It's grabbing my brother, and the bird.

Lyric doesn't open his eyes. He just grimaces, as if he's having a nightmare.

We continue to fall. I level Wagner at the King.

* * *
Lyric
* * *

Ebrellin-i, I'm still here. It's all I can say after that revelation. It's all the truth there is to me right now.

There is no answer.

I take his hand again and squeeze it. I'll be here after you die. Please don't leave me.

Edward's smiling, the victorious expression on his face looking a bit distant... but still very genuine. I hate him in that moment, and I don't know if I'll ever stop doing so.

The Jherent Nul chuckles.

Ebrellin-i is silent.

Please, Ebrellin-i. I huddle next to him, laying my head against his side. I don't want to be here alone.

His fingers twitch, the motion tiny and feeble.

Please!

There's a whisper of thought that fails, and then it grows just a little, becoming a thought. I lived to protect my brother, little that he knew of it. It's the only thing that kept me from letting this part of myself die here, all these years. I have nothing left to live for.

I clutch his hand with both of mine. Live for me.

My plea is met with silence.

Edward frowns. Master? Should we just put him out of his misery?

He'll do it to himself. Patience, fledgling. Learn to savor it.

Silence, and the slightest twitch of Ebrellin-i's fingers. I take that as my answer.

* * *
Gerald
* * *

I squeeze the trigger. Then the damn bird gains its bearings and throws off my own as we lurch back onto a proper trajectory. Wagner misses.

Wait, no mere lurch could make Wagner miss. The bullet could damn well turn mid-air, if it needed to do so to do our job. But then... the black stuff that was crawling over the King and my brother has withdrawn.

False alarm. Wake me when the action starts. Wagner holsters himself.

I let out an exasperated sigh, then tie a couple of ropes over my brother. His grip on the King is amazingly strong, but if another accident like that happens, I want him to be safe - even though I feel like the most dangerous place Lyric could be is pressed against the Peacock King. There's a lot in life that doesn't happen the way I think it should - I've started to give up on having a choice in that, and just deal with the situation I'm given.

"Hey, if you're gonna fire, aim towards the front!" Patrick doesn't sound like he's noticed anything amiss, but then, if he were looking back here instead of in front of the bird, that'd be pretty distressing for us all. "That little dive didn't throw 'em off!"

Sure enough, the windbirds ahead are converging on us, their Avian riders just as adept as Patrick at guiding their mounts. Wagner and Bruce are both ready for some action, and so I ready them. Time to scare off some birds.

* * *
Aaren
* * *

I can feel Father near. It's comforting, which throws me off the most. Father is never comforting when he's near. At the best of times, he's a terror. Besides, I've been hearing Father ever since Schiphael woke me up, so why's it notable that I feel him nearby? One type of crazy is close enough to any other, right?

Somewhere beyond the hatchmarks that Schiphael's left carved into my mind, I can see him, though. Wait, no... too tall.

Oh. The Judge. On the other side of the bars. Good. I flop back against the floor again.

He's been more like a father than Father was...

Wait, no, something's wrong, Schiphael's trying to get me up again oh damnit, oh damnit no, he wants to attack again--

Why would Arms want to attack the Judge? Has he broken the Law? No, Diyn would take care of that. Schiphael wants to bite, though. Wants to rip and tear, and I can't let him, so he'll just tear me a little more, is all, and if there's not enough left of me to tear then, well...

There's worse ends.

I don't get very far. There's not much strength in me, something that Schiphael rails against. He tries to get me to flail him out through the bars. If I were in a condition to do it, then it'd be a sure shot. Textbook. But my arm can barely raise up off the floor, which is all for the better. And while Arms can draw themselves sometimes, I'm focusing hard on keeping Schiphael undrawn. It's strange, I can't even sense him in this room. Diyn took him, right? I have a vague impression of that. But you can't separate Arms from their Armed, and so... so he's still trying to emerge from me. To be drawn. And then to kill the Judge.

Why'd the Judge have to come? I ask that even as I feel happy that he's concerned for me. That someone came. I feel so sick in here and Schiphael's managed to break enough of me that I really can't sort out which parts need fixing. I can't think right at all. Did I do something wrong? I did like I was told. I came back to report. I can't remember much of it.

There's just Schiphael hissing in the back of my mind, hissing like a wounded snake. I can't even make out his words. I just hear Father instead.

Aaren, you're a curse on the family

if you can't get up

and kill him

He keeps saying it, over and over, and Schiphael hurts me, and I can't tell the Judge to get away, that I'm no good anymore and he needs to get rid of me.

A hand closes on my shoulder. Father? The Judge? No, not the Judge--

"That's good, Jhe Voitre. Keep your grip on Schiphael. You're doing very well, and," she swallows. "It'll all be over soon, mmkay?"

Katherine? She sounds so... weird. Young. Am I that crazy?

"Just hold on, okay? Jhe Voitre?" She shakes me a little. I manage a nod. When I try to talk, I have to swallow back bile.

There's an odd pull, as if someone's trying to tug something out of my grip. Schiphael. Schiphael's in my hand now, and he's trying to free himself. I grip him tight. He pulls harder, almost slips out of my fingers. I redouble my strength, and remember what the Judge said about Will during my training. Will is its own grip, and I have plenty of it in spades.

I hold onto the blade with my mind and just let everything else go. I can't control anything else. But I can control Schiphael, even as the blade spits broken curses at me, even as my Father calmly cheers on my failure.

Just one slip, and you'll make me proud, my boy

I grip with everything I am. Only, I don't know if I'm enough.

There's something else, though. Something else holding Schiphael back. Something much bigger than me, letting me match my strength to its power. Diyn doesn't talk to me that much, and to be honest, I'm a little scared of him. But he's big, and he's helping. It reassures me in the way that nothing else could, now.

Let go, Armed. He doesn't sound angry. He sounds patient like the Judge does when he trains us. I thought Diyn would be mad at me for what's wrong with Schiphael, but...

Let go, Aaren Voitre.

I don't want to hurt anyone. I think about that, and then remember what I am. Anyone that I'm not supposed to hurt.

Do you think I'm in danger? That I'll endanger my Armed by letting Schiphael attack him?

It takes awhile to mull that over. Arms are, after all, strangely vicious about their Armed. But they're protective. Even Schiphael hasn't killed me, yet. It makes sense, and it's... it has to be enough. Thinking right now is like groping at my thoughts through gauze. I can barely make things out if I flounder enough... but it's taking longer and longer as I lose my bearings. Fine. You take him. I loose my grip. Diyn tightens his. Schiphael doesn't move.

I'm sorry. I don't get why he says that. But then, there's this incredible ripping sensation, like someone's uprooting my brain and the spine attached to it, and I scream, and I understand the motivation behind the apology.

* * *
'Sy
* * *

From my angle, it simply looks as if Katherine soothes Aaren into laying down flat on his back. Then she beckons, and Schiphael appears in his hand, the blade still strange and dark. She leans forward, grips the Arms--

'Sy, don't watch this. Diyn sounds... different. There's an odd waver to his voice, and I realize that it is concern.

I have to watch this, Diyn. I curl my fingers around the bars of Aaren's cell. He's my son. My fingers tense up. They all are.

That may be true, but it would be better if you didn't watch this.

I stay. I look. Katherine is still holding Schiphael as Aaren loosens his grip. The boy's hand falls to the ground. Nothing happens, though. It's as if the Advocate is waiting for something.

There's the foreboding sense of someone shaking his head. So be it.

I feel the rip in my own head, as if Aaren's pain were my own. I expect it, in a sense - I knew nothing nice would be happening to the boy once Katherine entered that cell. Still... still...

You can't be doing that. I can't justify what I'm seeing, what I'm sensing, with the world that I thought I understood. That's not-- shouldn't be possible!

There's only the impression of sadness from Diyn, deep sadness, and the knowledge that he can't make this better at all. I told you not to watch, 'Sy.

I clutch the bars - something firm and steady in my existence now. Sometimes watching is all we can do. I can't abandon him.

Diyn only grumbles, and attends to his work. The discussion is only a matter of semantics, in any case. I would feel this pain regardless of if I watched Aaren's Arms get ripped away from him.

How is this possible? I don't even know, and I'm the first Armed. Their commander, their leader. I can't even fully explain Diyn's existence in the first place (though if you ever persuade Emperor Theos to divulge the full reasoning behind the Trident, I'm sure the story would be delightful). How do some people have Arms attached to their soul when others don't? It's the only thing that defines whether someone is Armed, and we don't know why it happens. Lyric has certainly proven that it's not genetic, at any rate.

Still... how can you take Arms away from their Armed? I don't understand it, which makes sense considering Katherine is a part of it. All I know is that it hurts. Some inviolate part of Aaren is being tugged and pulled until it rips away, the connection cauterized by the fire that is pain. The boy has every right to scream. Godsbreath, I scream.

The cries cease when Aaren loses consciousness.

Diyn glowers. Schiphael tore at Aaren while he was being separated. It didn't have to be that way. He grows quieter. I must see what is wrong with Schiphael. He has been taken to one of my spaces. Don't follow.

Katherine cradles Aaren's head in her lap, stroking his hair. Schiphael is nowhere in sight. "He'll heal, 'Sy." She frowns. "It will take a long time, and his head will be... far too quiet."

I try to imagine a life without Diyn growling in the back of my skull, and I just can't. I haven't always had him, but... how would I be myself without Diyn, now?

"It won't be a problem for quite some time." She bites her lip. "He's... not going to wake up very soon."

I nod. "We'll get him into the infirmary. He doesn't pose a danger to anyone while he's like this." I consider everything that's happened regarding Schiphael. "Perhaps even afterward. We'll keep a close eye on him."

I lean down and lift Aaren, still mulling over the fact that Diyn considered the boy such a threat to me. I'm just glad that he's still alive.

* * *
'Sy
* * *

I walk with my head down and let Katherine lead. It's an easy trip to the infirmary - we take a shortcut or two along the way, though teleportation is a bad idea with someone so psychically afflicted. Aaren's mind... it's a bloodbath. I'm thankful he's unconscious, but I fear even that isn't enough to blot out the pain.

"How much do you think can be done for him?" My voice sounds unusually rough. Strange.

Katherine takes a moment to respond. "A fair bit. You shouldn't worry so much over it, hon. The boy'll be fine." She sounds oddly detached. No, she's distracted.

"What's wrong?" I run that back through my mind. More like what else is wrong.

Another strange pause, and then for the life of me, I swear she giggles. What an odd person the Advocate is, no matter what incarnation. "Nothing dire. Here, I'll get the door for you. You're doing quite well with him. I think he knows you're with him on some level, and it's a comfort."

I feel a flood of such immense relief that it makes me wonder... but only for a moment. Aaren is easy to dote on. And, well, maybe that's the answer to a lot of my behavior right now. Diyn's certainly concerned... he's hovering. Shouldn't you be busy with Schiphael?

...I'm watching over you, as I should. And attending, as I should. I swear I hear mirth under his voice. It doesn't matter - I'm too busy to deal with either of their jokes. I speak to one of the orderlies and have Aaren put in a private room under close observation. Someone skilled will attend to the mental lacerations promptly, as well as his physical injuries. I wait for a bit until they arrive, ascertain that they know precisely what Aaren needs, and ask when is the soonest time I should come back to check on him. I ignore any implications from Katherine's stray thoughts and Diyn's smirk that I am 'hovering'. I am simply ensuring that one thing today ends right. That done, I dust myself off and turn to exit the infirmary.

It is at this precise moment that I run into the Gahalespbar-archo.

* * *
Katherine
* * *

I really did think that 'Sy was just ignoring the Archo as he followed us to the infirmary. It is such a 'Sy thing to do, after all. It is such a 'Sy thing, and would be so convenient for us right now, that I will him to pretend that he was. I feel a little bit of guilt, too - I wouldn't be able to do that without a mental battle with him if 'Sy weren't having such a bad day already. He just goes with it instead of having to bother with more trouble.

It isn't a bad idea, either. See, he does appreciate me and my annoying Poetic leanings!

Mitheoni does a fabulous job of apologizing all over 'Sy so much that it's an easy task for the Judge to hold himself aloof about it all. I'm afraid of us losing face in front of Mitheoni right now, of him... noticing the wrong things a little earlier than we can account for them. He's nice, but he does his job, and while he may bend in certain ways, they're not 'Sy's ways. It is a crazy day. I just hope he shows his usual dislike for asking too many questions.

Mitheoni's first concern, apparently, is for our safety.

"--dangerous man, obviously very powerful, quite sneaky, and by the look of things when I recovered from the blow to my head, quite err... gone." Oh, Mitheoni's embarrassed about the Captain incapacitating him. How cute! I do feel a little bad. Radia's a real jungle for him, compared to Chethar.

'Sy brushes it off. "No matter. It's been taken care of already. If Chethar seeks reparations for the galleon--"

Mitheoni shakes his head, trying to cut off any further discussion of it. "We seek no retribution against those who merely salvaged what others assaulted. The Captain was, at least, an honest man in regards to telling me of that." His expression darkens. "But there have been other transgressions today." Oh dear, he's grown long ears this time around. Of course, there's more calamity during this visit than usually occurs, but I had hoped he'd just brush off some of this as normal Armed training accidents or stray Poetic phenomena...

"Would you like to help?"

Both Mitheoni and I find ourselves in the same circumstance - we're trying to find an explanation for how that sentence could have come out of 'Sy's mouth. There is none.

Maybe the trauma's been too much for him today... maybe he swapped out with Diyn?

Oh don't be silly, you reckless, mouthy little trollop. Well, his mental tone certainly is the norm for his borderline-jovial snipes. He seems... happy. Odd.

'Sy crosses his arms, going on. "I've been informed of enemy movement and assault on every border. If you'd like to know what it is that we're up against, I can show you, but only if we've some guarantee of aid. My walk to the infirmary was my last peaceful action on this day - I can't focus efforts on anything else but what's ahead of us now."

Mitheoni's reply does not come immediately - his pause bears the hallmarks of him silently conferring with a higher authority. In this case, the only higher authority would be Emperor Theos himself. He nods, though I'm not sure if it's to us or to someone very far distant. "You have my time, and what resources I can lend from here."

"Good. Let us convene." 'Sy leads the way to his office. I find it a little difficult to keep up, I'm so bewildered by how smoothly that went.

We'll need the Peacekeeper. In keeping with proper rank, you can even tell him to make the tea.

I smile. Today has its rare joys.

* * *
'Sy
* * *

I really shouldn't be feeling so happy about Mitheoni being anywhere near me. It's such a unique occurrence that even Diyn is taking note and watching me closely - or at least paying as much attention to me as he can spare. His gaze is cast a great many places at once right now.

Your son is in trouble, he says without a great deal of concern. Of course, Gerald is always in trouble. It happens so often, in fact, that my Arms didn't even need to specify which son.

Are you suggesting a course of action in response?

No, but I believe you will. And then, silence, and the inkling of background information on exactly what Gerald's situation is. Hm. I do think he can handle himself where he is - but he may run aground soon, and his party is small. Especially considering his cargo, he will need assistance.

Katherine's done her own mental conversing - with the Peacekeeper. He awaits in my office, with a ready pot of tea. Splendid. We're ready to convene. Myself, the Advocate, the Gahalespbar-Archo, the Peacekeeper of Radia, and Elric Briarseal.

Wait, that wasn't what I expected at all. Well, a little more than I expected. "Jhe Briarseal?" I'm not sure which one the question is directed at, but Camden fields it, prefacing his reply with a short bow.

"Sire, it seems that my brother has important intelligence regarding the subject of your address to us in this meeting." He looks troubled, but then, I don't blame him. I myself am not sure what I'm going to say to all of them.

Ah, yes. Jhe Elric is a Poet.

"If you can guarantee his confidence, then I see no reason for him not to be here, then." It's a comfort, knowing that even with Elete dead, someone will always show up in a cryptic fashion to discuss things regarding my future. I don't entirely understand how it's a comfort, but there you are.

The Gahalespbar-Archo shifts a little bit, coming close to clearing his throat. I lend him a small bit of my attention.

Are you entirely sure if this is wise? Ah, he really is starting to question what's going on in Radia today. Well, his concern is good. It isn't condemnation, after all.

If I were sure of it, we wouldn't need Poets around at all. The Peacekeeper will be an adequate judge. I fail to mention that Camden is a Poet as well - it's something I try to forget myself, sometimes.

If you are sure, then. He quiets, no longer fidgeting, his expression that of silent concentration.

Camden, as a contrast, appears keenly nervous. "I... cannot, apparently." He gestures to his brother. "Elric himself says so."

I raise an eyebrow. "So much silent speech?"

Camden's face darkens. "His captors... made him unable to talk. His spoken words are bent into Nultongue. He says you may speak to him by mind if you wish, but he is afraid..." The shadow on Camden's face grows darker still. "He is afraid to hurt people by being in contact with them, but wishes to speak to you regarding your son. He says they are connected." There is a bit of a pause, and then Camden seeks to clarify: "Your son Lyric."

Ah yes, I do recall the Briarseal boy coming home to Radia alongside Lyric, come to think of it. It awakens a familiar ire within me, something I didn't expect to feel in this room. I raise an eyebrow at Jhe Elric. Connected, are you?

He has the courage to not look sheepish about it. There are a great many things that shall come to pass regarding your son. You must be prepared for them.

That's not unlike the things many of my children's would-be suitors attempt to say to me. What makes this have any bearing on our meeting? Some gut instinct tells me that he's right, but the presumption that he has any right to court my child has its usual effect on me. No... it doesn't, because I haven't grabbed a weapon yet. Jhe Elric's Poetic senses are quite strong - he contrived to tell me of his relationship with Lyric in front of Mitheoni, who I'd not draw randomly in front of, lest I be tempted to stab him as well, something that Emperor Theos might take issue with. I can never be sure, with him.

Mitheoni himself looks to be getting fidgety again, but Katherine hands him a cup of tea at the precise moment that he draws in a breath to ask just what is going on and why are we all staring at each other so intently.

The plight your son is in is twined with the destiny of this nation and every other bit of soil that you have any domain over. Elric's eyes flick over to Mitheoni. Perhaps even farther. It's hard to tell, with one like Lyric. I've Seen him for quite awhile now, though captivity makes it all quite fuzzy. I... He loses the conversation for a moment, his words trailing off and out of my line of thought. I try to regain the thread myself, but he manages to catch it. Sorry. Too much in one day. I'll have to travel with you as well, to help you find him. Otherwise he'll certainly be lost... and so will we.

I don't reply. I wait for the tall Briarseal boy to explain himself. I can tell he's building up to something.

He's linked to Ebrellin-i Xaillyndesse's mind, through his own luck and contrivance. Their fates are one... and Jhe o'Audiva Rocale's fate is linked with all of ours. If he fails to make it out of this... Elric's gaze trails over to the Gahalespbar-Archo.

Mitheoni's patience appears to be wearing a bit thin.

I understand. Do you have anything to say now, or would you prefer to impart it along the way? We leave... soon.

He blinks. Later shall suffice. He seems surprised about something. Thank you for your swift understanding.

I suppress a snort. He'd better not think this is over. I'll have it out with him regarding my son yet. As soon as there's time and some privacy... I nod to Mitheoni. "We've conferred. Jhe Elric Briarseal will accompany us. His recent incarceration in Lyiannethe will contribute valuable intelligence towards our foray there." I spread my hands. "That is, if you plan on joining us in this venture."

He crosses his arms. Mitheoni is generally quite patient, but he has had a bit of a rough day, and we've been incredibly cryptic in this meeting so far. "What venture would that be? There's yet to be any details discussed. Lyiannethe is part of Jhe o'Audiva Rocale's lands to the north, yes?"

"Yes. We'll be invading them promptly."

Mitheoni startles. "Invading? But you were just sending him off as I arrived!"

I smile. "Yes. He would be the one leading the invasion."

* * *

* * *
Gerald
* * *

We don't land in front of the forest. We crash into it in an upwards shower of snapping branches. I'm on the ground by the time I register the ghost-impressions of hundreds of leaves slapping against my face. I'm scratched up, with a pretty good cut on one cheek. Lyric seems untouched - the King's face and arms are scratched. They're both breathing, thank the winds.

Patrick's still sitting straight up, holding the reins. He's oddly quiet, and when I wonder why, I realize that the bird is dead.

I don't know quite what to say or do, because he seems sad about it. I am, too - she was a nice bird, and I liked her. Patrick, though, is broken up. And maybe this is hard on him. Maybe he hasn't gotten attached to a lot of things before. But there's no time to talk about it - the commotion coming from not too far away signals that our assailants haven't given up the chase.

I shake Patrick's shoulder. He snaps to awareness, back into whatever normal is for him now, and seems just... fine. Maybe he was just having a moment. Can't blame him - this hasn't been the best of days.

It's certainly not gotten any better now. I have a brother and an eight foot tall man that I have no idea what to do with who are both unconscious. Patrick is also assessing this situation, and coming up with the same conclusion that I am - none of us are getting out of here.

* * *
Lyric
* * *

It's almost peaceful here as I lie my head against the King. I can almost pretend that we're just resting together, but even if I could ignore where we are and how I got here, everything else that's come between Ebrellin-i and I would be enough of a distraction. We'll never be normal again - if either of us could ever be 'normal'. It's strange holding his hand, nestling against him like the lover I once was. That's over, now. For me, at least.

I'm sorry. The thought is as soft as a spring breeze, and it rustles past my thoughts just as gently. I blink.

I didn't know you could hear me thinking about that. I almost feel sorry. Almost, but I can't take it back. As sweet as being with him was sometimes, in the end, he treated me horribly.

I used you as a tool, just as I did with everyone else in my Court. Even my sweet daughter Rocsui-ehellenae. His tone is matter-of-fact, deliberate. I wondered why you even came here for me, Lyric. I'm not worth you.

I smile, even though it stings just a little. I can still care for you. I can still wish for you not to die.

I can do the same for you, can I not? His voice is strengthening, growing... angry? I can have that little bit of satisfaction, even here, where everything is dead or worse.

I frown. We'll be okay, Ebrellin-i--

No, Lyric. His grip tightens around my hand. You will be okay. I have decided this.

Edward straightens up as he sees some difference in Ebrellin-i's expression. My King!

I hear something that I'm sure the Jherent Nul says in response. Maybe it's Nultongue, and that explains why i don't understand it. It's nothing like words at all, nothing like what language ought to be - just the sense of nonexistent air being twisted and warped. I have a hunch that it was a curse.

This stubborn waste of a wretch is unable to even die properly. The Jherent Nul wrinkles his upper lip - an expression that seems so wholly Xaillyndesse.

I don't understand, My King. Why not merely order him to die? He is your servant, after all.

The Jherent Nul casts a withering look upon Edward. Edward shrinks under the glare, his expression pleading and confused at the same time. I'd feel sorry for him if I didn't hate him.

If Ebre-schtullin'eh was any good at obeying orders, he wouldn't need to die. Do remember that, for your own protection. His nostrils flare. He looks up across the chamber - the dragon that was once another part of Ebrellin-i looks up in turn.

The Jherent Nul extends one metal-clawed hand and beckons.

There's plenty of him here that will obey me, however. Pity it isn't the part that keeps him alive. Pity it won't be able to kill him here and now.

Edward's shaking, unable to stop himself from asking the question. What will you do with him, then?

The dragon rears up to the stone block that Ebrellin-i rests on. It's so close that its fur grazes my cheek. I summon my control, holding stock-still. The Jherent Nul and Edward may not realize that I'm here, but the dragon was what brought me here in the first place - and it obeys Nul, not Ebrellin-i.

The Jherent Nul smirks. I will send him out where he can do his job. Ebre-schtullin'eh will die, one way or another.

Ebrellin-i's hand twitches in my grasp. You will survive and be free of this place.

I have decided this.

I can't tell who spoke the last sentence, but it fills me with a sense of the inevitable and the terrible. I clutch at Ebrellin-i, but all I really see is the dragon, looming over us both, its lips pulling back to expose long rows of sharp teeth.

A whimper escapes my throat right before the dragon lunges at Ebrellin-i, its jaws encompassing my entire world before it swallows us both.

* * *
Patrick
* * *

Is it normal to be this afraid? With enemies converging on us from so close, and with me so trapped here with nowhere to go, it's feeling... familiar. No, I don't want things to feel familiar at all! I don't want to remember those days when I had to run for my life every day. I need to get out, need to get out--

I will admit, my vision clouds over for a bit, and rational thought sort of gives up in my head for awhile. I can't quite remember what happened up until when I'm untying the ropes that snare down the Peacock King and his former consort. I remember what happens afterward, though. I'm flung back from the dead windbird and against the trunk of a very sturdy tree by a force that isn't from our enemies.

It's the King. He rises, ropes sliding from his towering height, his eyes glaring white, full of fury. A whip trails from his hand, crackling with black, malicious energy. I remember the shenanigans that I once pulled while pretending to be under his service. I remember the cruelty I've seen him suffer under, that I laughed at while listening to him scream. I remember it all with a sort of detached grin. I have no idea what to do. This man is likely twice my height and seems to be filled with a force that blots out everything else under the sun. I don't know if he remembers me or if I'm just the first thing he saw to attack - all I know is that he hasn't stopped watching me since that attack.

"Patrick? You okay?" Gerald? He got knocked to the other side of the bird, he doesn't see yet-- "Oh shit!" There. He's hauled himself up to look. Now he can decide for himself how okay I'm about to be.

The King raises his arm, readying the whip. It brings to mind all those times I watched him whipped -- or Cade watched. I remind myself of who I am, and how that's different than who was steering my mind around for however many years. I remind myself so that I'll know who I am when I die and my soul gets pitched into the mouth of the Beast.

There's some part of myself that's mocking me for standing here like a coward. I wonder if that's the lingering remnants of Cade... and then I stop getting to wonder, because then the whip comes down, and I'm in a world without thought, but full of pain. That whip is all the malice and agony that Cade accepted as a necessary and normal part of day-to-day life, that he just wore like a comfortable coat instead of even feeling it. It kept him warm. To me, it burns.

As terrible as it all is, it doesn't last as long as I expect. Maybe it takes less for a man to die than I remember. There's just this odd report, like a very calculated explosion - then the pain ceases.

My vision takes a few moments to uncloud, which is as long as it takes for me to realize that I can see, and that means I'm probably not dead.

The Peacock King clutches his hand - it's bleeding as if it's been bitten. One of Gerald's guns is smoking. The other is aimed at the King, ready to take him down should he make another move.

He saved me.

It's something I have more trouble believing than the fact that I'm alive.

* * *
Lyric
* * *

My head is throbbing. I hear things as if through a thick wall - some sort of crackling, and then screams... and then what might be gunfire. The latter is what startles me into full awareness.

I blink, staring upwards. Someone's towering over me - a dark figure, full of malice. Terror stabs through me - at first I mistake him for the Jherent Nul. But no... it's Ebrellin-i. Somehow, he has made it out of Nul alive.

Somehow, I have too. I feel the rustle of feathers next to me, confirming that we really are in the waking world. Wait, what happened to the bird?

Wait... Ebrellin-i is standing up?

I slide backwards then, as yet again I'm dragged through a forest with no idea of where I'm going. This time I'm just tugged back slowly, though, and by the look of the slender arms that are doing the tugging, this job isn't being done by a dragon. Ebrellin-i looks back at me and away from... my brother? Gerald looks at me, eyes wide. Then he looks back behind him as something comes up from within the brush. Several somethings that sound very dangerous.

"Just stay still," Faun growls into my ear. "And when I tell you to, run." He stops dragging me, his breath a bit heavy. I look up at him. He scowls down at me, a shenanigan perched on each shoulder.

Something growls. I look back up at Ebrellin-i. He's snarling at Faun.

Faun hisses in reply. "Do you want to take me, Ebrellin-i? Come at me, then! I am in my own forest!"

The King lunges forward, his lips pulled back from his teeth in an eerie imitation of the dragon within him.

"Run, Lyric. For your life, and for his!"

There's nothing to do but to listen to Faun, and to follow him. Ebrellin-i follows on our heels, energy crackling around him once again. Far behind us, I can hear a battle begin - I can only hope that Gerald fares better than I think I'm going to.

* * *
Gerald
* * *

This is pretty bad, all told. When it comes to standoffs, this is about the worst position you can be in - your only cover a carcass, your only brother-in-arms a unarmed man.

I pass Bruce to Patrick. There's oddly no ill will from the revolver over this, but then, Bruce already got to shoot Patrick once before. Patrick, now... his eyes are pretty wide.

"You'll know how to use him." It's all I get a chance to say.

There are a lot of Avians. More than I thought could be possible. This land is part of their territory, though - making us the invaders. That might explain why it's so damn hard to hit them. They're closing in.

"We've got to run." Of course, there's nowhere to run to.

Patrick curses, then braces himself as Bruce fires off another rapport. That one nails the Avian right in the shoulder, knocking him down. It probably won't die. It's a good solid shot, though. Patrick's a good shot. I wonder if he'll end up with guns or--

Something hits me in the chest. A good, solid shot. The wound is bleeding - gushing. All over. Patrick curses again, but turns away to fire a few more times.

"I can survive this. I've survived worse." What the hell hit me? They're throwing rocks, right? What is this, a dart? Shit, it's a crossbow bolt. Nasty. Maybe I've got time to plug the wound--

No. No I don't. Something flashes over me, bright and clear. A sort of realization. "You'll find my body. Promise me that."

"What?"

I don't wait for a real reply. I know he'll find it. It'll be okay, just like it always is. Just like every time I pull heroics. "Once they're distracted, you can hide. Good luck." I run.

I don't get very far, but I run.

Patrick has to live, is what I realized. I don't quite understand it, but it's something I knew just like I knew he's an Armed trainee, just like I knew he'd be okay with Bruce. Patrick can't die here, but I can. I'm good at dying, in fact.

And then it happens, and it's just like every other time - a little pain, a lot of fading, and the heavy weight comes down on me - the assurance of a long rest.

* * *
Julia
* * *

I'm enjoying the rare but predictable peace and quiet I get when almost my entire division manages to kill itself off.  It'll take long enough for them to grow out of childhood that I'll have a nice break. Maybe a few days... maybe a little less.

So of course, I don't expect Jhe h'Akribastes to contact me, but sure enough--

Jhe Wysthaven?  Report.

I crack a smile.  All quiet and clear, in my corner.

He snorts.  Of course.  Lucky.  He sighs.  He seems to be busy arranging a trip, apparently with multiple parties.  I sense Jhe Katherine on the edge of his thoughts - looks like they couldn't keep her in the nursery for long.  As expected.  I need you to arrange for security.  I'm leading an excursion into Audiva Rocale and taking the Peacekeeper and the Gahalespbar-archo with me.

I raise an eyebrow.  Certainly that is worth noting.  What are my resources?  Troops are a bit thin right now... the Peacekeeper usually would command the main army.

He pauses.  Go through the necessary procedures to direct them if you must, but...  There's a certain weariness to his thoughts as they march forward.  Almost a kind of dread.  For this type of incursion, I doubt they will be the necessary counter.

Then who shall I rally, sire?

Another pause, as if he's trying to decide something.  If it comes to it, arm the Poets.

Then there's silence, and I'm left to contemplate just what sort of threat would necessitate an army of crazed loons.

* * *
'Sy
* * *

After all the effort to get here...

I can't get into this forest.

Katherine looks at me, raises an eyebrow, then observes the treeline before us.  "Odd," is all she credits to the situation.

I want to get into that forest.  I can feel the conflict within, can feel it tingling on my skin.  Two of my sons are in there, as well as a criminal it is my Duty to Judge.  One of my newfound Armed is in there, and I especially hate my trainees going astray - especially after finding out what the Kommissar has done to some of my lost Armed.  And damnit, it took far too much trouble to get here--

It was just some light Poetry, 'Sy, almost like teleporting.  You just don't like Jhe Blackirons.  She has to hide the chuckle in her mental voice.

I like him just fine, I say, for a Poet that I've no excuse to pummel.  He is an utter scamp.

She grins.  Don't fret over him hanging about Gerude, he keeps swearing he only likes girls--

Thankfully, before that conversation can continue any further, Mitheoni taps my shoulder.

I turn to face him.  He clears his throat, then squares his shoulders.  I swear to Theos, that mere boy of an Archo seems to be convinced that every breath he exhales has to be delivered as an official announcement.  "I can't seem to breach the perimeter."  He's not showing his consternation, but I can tell it's there, because I'm sharing it.

I nod.  "It seems that which rules within does not desire the presence of the Law."  I sigh, letting my shoulders drop.  "And of course, it is the Law that the sovereign within is the highest word on that subject.  Animisms - they do have their whims."

Mitheoni scrutinizes me.  I do wish he hadn't had so many opportunities to do so today - he might actually learn something from it.  "You have a plan?"

I nod.  "We'll send a Poet in.  They're not subject to the same Laws, if you could ever call a Poet lawful--"

"Hey!" Katherine's interjection has a note of surprise buried in the consternation.

"--But I suppose that's to our advantage today.  Hopefully the Jhe h'Logos will feel the same."  Such a strange thing to say, with Elete's absence so profound.  Still, I have the slightest premonition that the new one is at least sufficing.  None of the Poets have given any indication that they heard of Elete's death, and any nerves seem to be due to the many surprises we've gotten over the past few days.

He is doing his job well in that regard.  He's assuring everyone that everything is okay, and his voice is--  Katherine has to catch herself for a moment.  --it's perfect, identical.  With the chaos, and all the work being done, no one will notice until it's... time to.  She pauses again.  Hmm, he doesn't quite understand what he's doing.  But he seems to be performing perfectly well in the innate way, like any trainee Poet.  She breaks out of her semi-trance.  "We should be fine to send in a few Poets.  Even Mixed Poets with Armed capabilities would be able to slip in."  With that, her eyes take a particular glint to them.

Then they widen in surprise.  "You mean I'm not--" She looks up at me, as if something is somehow my fault.  "No, it's not your fau--" Her head snaps towards Jhe Elric.

He seems rather sheepish, and tilts his head with an apology that I can't quite hear.  Kathe sighs, the exhalation ending in a growl.  Perhaps the boy is coming on to Jennelcia now as well?

Nothing like that, you single-minded-- argh!  He's Seen that I'm not going.  She looks... crestfallen.  He won't even tell me why.  Can't.  Says he can't.

Elric tilts his head again.

He says I'll find out soon enough, though.  Which I suppose means that they'll be moving along now.

I raise an eyebrow.  They?

* * *
Camden
* * *

I head off into the woods alongside my brother without a word to anyone.  I can sense my Duty, know it for what it is.  On a deeper level, I'm just afraid that if I say something aloud, my brother will question the decision.

He's so strange since he's returned.  So damned standoffish, and convinced that he'll do some harm to me.  As if I'm afraid of harm, as if I'm vulnerable!  As if he could ever hurt me so badly in the first place...

The trees aren't spread out widely at all in this forest.  It's not far in until I can't catch sight of the Judge and his companions - a little farther, and it feels as if there's nothing else in the world but trees in every direction.

My brother catches my hand.  No further, not together.  They'll find us too easily.  He points ahead.  Avians - this place is thick with them.  I forge ahead quietly, and then you track where I've gone.  Just like the old days in Rhivend.

It seems like a solid plan, and it does call up some fond memories.  Elric always was so clever at not being found.  It took almost a lifetime to learn to track him at all - surely he can elude those that are in here.  If, that is, he's up to it.  But he looks fine - he's been seen to by a healer already, and he did rest in Radia.  You feel comfortable with being hunted so soon after your incarceration?

He smiles - a sad expression that I'd rather not see on him, but suppose I shall have to grow used to.  I suppose the familiarity will make it an easier task.

I don't have a reply for that.  He takes my silence as consent to go ahead.  I don't even hear a single twig snap as he passes out of my sight.

I take a defensive posture in the shadows as I wait out the minutes.  I have to give him time to explore, but too long and the path will go cold, even for me.

Will he make it through?  Strange, I didn't even think to question that.  I didn't even stop to wonder about the danger my brother could be passing into at any moment - could be passing back into.  I've only just come back.  He's only just come home.

Wait... what if he's trying to leave me now?

I pursue the trail, feeling like a complete idiot.  Of course that's what he's doing.  He's so damn concerned for my safety - for the safety of the Peacekeeper, bleeding hills!  I'll not let him slip away from me that easily.  I'm on his trail now.  An easy trail, all told - I do believe captivity has cost Elric just a little of his touch when it comes to hiding the signs of his passing.  Well, he'll have plenty of chances to work on that, just as soon as I bring him back.

...Where has he gone?

Ah, there.  Almost lost him, but I see him now.  Must have run across some Avians - I do see a few of their telltales.  Feathers, strange-toed tracks.  They're not trying hard to stay hidden, but then, these woods are their home.  We're the transgressors.  He's lying low, curled up in a ball.  Something twists in my chest - this isn't the first battle Elricht's had to hide himself from.  All those territorial fights back before we came to Radia... when he couldn't defend himself, and the only choice left to him was the coward's choice...

My eyebrows draw together as I squint at the curled-up ball of a person I've found hiding in the brush and shadows.  Elricht... Elricht's so tall that what I'm seeing doesn't seem quite right.

It comes upon me, and I feel like an idiot.  That's not Elricht at all.

It's Patrick.

"Ye damn fool," I say under my breath, and then regret it as I'm lined up in a gun's sights.  Gentry under the hills, did that boy get his Arms already?  Of course, all we need in this situation is a wild Armed--

Fool ye are, through to the bone.  He's no Armed yet.  Geillg'a snorts in my ear.  That's Bruce.

I blink.  Gerald's gun?

That's why yer slow-movin' arse hasn't been shot yet.  Bruce knows us both.  She tsks.  The poor trainee's too blind with fear to recognize you, and would probably fire out of fright even if he did.
He's not even looking at me.

He's not really all there.  Geillg'a says it softly, as if Patrick could overhear her.  Who knows - he might.

Well, I can't waste my time snapping him back to reality - I've got to follow Elricht--

Oh, you're where you need to be.  Elricht's voice is completely unexpected, and it has an odd note of finality to it.  He doesn't respond to a prod in answer - I feel stranded, in fact, when I realize that I can't reach his mind.  I thought that'd all ended when he came back.  Does that mean he's shutting me off on purpose now?  Why lead me through the woods, then?  Why say he'd Seen me coming in?  What's his game?

Patrick shakes, looking around frantically with eyes that probably don't see a damned thing.

Elricht led me to Patrick on purpose?  Is it a way of keeping me off his trail, or is there some reason for this after all?

No sense in plowing ahead after him anyway.  Too many fighters between you and he.  Lucky they've started to follow some trail he's left behind, and drawn away from Patrick.

I do agree with that.  I decide to approach Patrick very, very carefully.

Bruce chuckles.  I won't fire at ye.  Well, I won't make it lethal.  I'll try not to, at any rate--

Ye'll do no shooting at all at my Armed, Geillg'a cuts in.

Disarming Patrick isn't all that difficult.  He's jerky, and he'll startle a little bit at odd noises, but he mostly just stares ahead, dead quiet.  He doesn't follow my hand when I sweep it in front of his eyes.

What'd ye do teh him, ye brute?  Geillg'a's glare is palpable.

Nothin'.  Poor fellow lost it when he had to hide.  Like 'is lights went plumb out.  He was holding on pretty well right up until Gerald--

I jerk my head up, my hand clenching around Patrick's gauntleted one where it rests on Bruce's grip.  "Gerald?"  The vocal slip is trainee-worthy, but lucky for me there's no one around to hear it.  Not even Gerald, if my suspicion is correct--

He went out with a show, as usual.  Bruce is so nonchalant, as if Gerald had gone out to get some eggs.  Passed me off to Patrick before I could get a word in edgewise.  I can point ye toward the idiot's sorry corpse.

I curse as I disarm Patrick.  He's not too out of it that he won't follow me, and hopefully he'll rouse soon.  I'll need the help lugging Gerald's body out of this forest.

I note the fallen Windbird on my way to the body.  And Jhe o'Audiva Rocale, and Lyric?  I don't have high hopes for either, but see no sign of the two.

They lived, last we saw them.  The Peacock King woke and Lyric fled from him, deeper into the forest.  There's no telling if ye'll see either of them again.

News keeps getting better and better today.  I sigh when I find Gerald's body.  Out like a hero, as usual - he's still wearing that grin.

* * *

* * *
Lyric
* * *

My heart's doing that thing where it thuds inside my throat, which tempos nicely with the burning in my lungs. I'm just lucky that Ebrellin-i is so tall and I'm so tiny - it means I can get through the tangled, dense woods more easily. The chains trailing from the manacles on his ankles and wrists and neck are also making things a bit difficult for him. I also don't have ten feet of hair to drag behind me. His mane may be a tiny bit lighter after I snipped a bit of it off not long ago, but still--

--Oh shit, is that why he's chasing me down?

Ebrellin-i is following me. Faun's voice is strange to hear in my head, but not completely unexpected. He sounds so calm... as if he expected all of this. You are something he also desires, but I am sure he does not wish to attack you.

I remember the dragon that dwelled inside Ebrellin-i and inwardly disagree on this point. What are you going to do? Keep running until he collapses?

Why wait for him to collapse when he can catch me instead?

I barely have a chance to dodge as Faun stops in front of me, hunched on the ground like a crouching cat. Every human is expected to lend all possible aid to an Animism in distress - me, I hide behind a tree. There's a pretty broad line between honest peril and blatant suicide - Faun's crossed it, possibly after peeing on it to mark it as his territory. He can have it.

I'll watch.

Ebrellin-i overtakes Faun with a lunge that brings to mind the beast inside of him. He means to tear the animism apart, or strangle him, I'm sure. Maybe it's the history between the two - maybe Ebrellin-i thinks Faun is the reason this all happened. Certainly the animism's existence set all of this into motion, regardless of whetehr Ebrellin-i brought this all upon himself.

He means to destroy the animism, and I suppose through that he'll manage to destroy himself. The final broken Law that will bring down every force there is upon his head - that will give the Judge every reason to sentence him to death.

I can see why the Jherent Nul unleashed the dragon that is Ebrellin-i. I can't see why Faun is letting that beast set upon him, but I see no way of stopping it.

But it seems Ebrellin-i sees no way of stopping himself - and by that I don't mean that he can't stop his urges and his desires. No, I quite simply mean that he can't stop running when he reaches Faun. He skids past the animism--

--no, Faun sidestepped him in at the very last moment, narrowly evading capture and certain death. I marvel at how quickly the animism moved. I couldn't track it with my eyes, and Ebrellin-i is still figuring out that he's missed his quarry. The man that is a dragon stands, turns, and then lurches forward in a motion that is clearly not of his own free will.

Faun pulls the King forward by the chain around his neck. The chain that leads to the collar that Diyn forged. That set of collar and chains kept Ebrellin-i restrained right until we ended up in this forest - now that one's in Faun's grip, they're realizing their original purpose.

"The Law means nothing in this forest unless I invoke it myself, Lyric. Watch well. I want this recorded. I want it to be known for all time. This is the limit I have finally set for this man. In this forest, he kneels to me. His life is my property."

* * *
'Sy
* * *

It is odd indeed to feel yourself invoked in a place from which you are physically banished. Mitheoni feels it as well, of course - he is right next to me, and while he is not the Law Faun is invoking, his Law has potential sway over mine.

Thus, there are now two things coming into play which I had both tried to avoid. One: there is no hiding from Mitheoni what the situation here really is. Two: he may actually attempt to do something about it.

It's not helping that you're making the innocent face right now, dear. My Advocate almost sounds amused, but the nerves edge a little too much into her voice. Meanwhile, I try to school my expression. Unfortunately, Mitheoni is already looking at me. His eyebrows are drawn together in something approaching a scowl, and there's a slight tinge of betrayal to his expression. Ahh, he's been thinking.

Well, I suppose now is time for explanations, isn't it? "Before you accuse, no, I haven't lied to you about anything today. I merely protected that which I'm sworn to do so. Such measures are well within the Law I represent." Indeed, being the Law of the Balance leads to some very difficult decisions day to day. Unfortunately, Mitheoni represents the Law of Chethar, and as Chethar is only half of that Balance, Mitheoni won't understand that at all, much as he pretends to try.

Mitheoni narrows his eyes. "You've deceived Chethar for how long, now?" He waves a hand in dismissal. "No, don't bother. There's no point to such deliberations. It is in a Radian's nature to deceive."

Both Katherine and I school our expressions. It's not a proper time to laugh. I begin to wish that Elete was here - he at least would appreciate the humor of the situation. Pity. "If that is such a constant as to be viewed as a triviality, I fail to see how it weighs on the situation at large."

Mitheoni stares into the woods, as he is done with looking at me. His pupil-less gaze always appears distant, but it's obvious that he's looking to somewhere far off. As half of the Law that commands mine, he can measure the situation within the woods. I'm not even bothering - what's going on is so clear to me right now that I don't even need to look. "The Animism is in a position where he is forced to attack and possibly kill Jhe o'Audiva Rocale, whom you failed to tell me is a criminal of the highest degree."

Now that's just nonsense. In my and Diyn's eyes, everyone is equally guilty. "There was no way to reclaim him when he left the courtyard, not without killing him. He was already being escorted by my Armed, so I deemed the situation safe enough to carry itself out until I could see to it."

"Until you could get me out of the way and have your pirate ally lock me in one of your cells!" My, my. So indignant.

You need to be careful. You're almost letting slip just how much you're enjoying this. Katherine's worry is now palpable through her scolding.

I can't say I'm behaving the most properly, but I have few chances to enjoy being in Mitheoni's presence, and even fewer to possibly have the upper hand against him. Such unfortunate difficulties inherited from my Duty. "I had no control over the pirate's actions, nor any idea that he would even attempt to overtake you. You can ask my Advocate if you doubt the measure of my words. But going on about that is fruitless- what do you propose for the here and now? We cannot go in, and I cannot override the Animism."

Mitheoni raises an eyebrow. "You presume that I cannot."

I don't have a witty response to that. You. You're a Poet. This is your territory.

You're the Law! I'm just the Advocate. The tiny sneer in that reply does not go unnoticed. Still, she has a point - this isn't any part of her job. This mess is entirely my own, as much as she helped make it by not letting me deal with Ebrellin-i in a permanent way already.

"So you'd have the Animism bend to Emperor Theos's Will, then? What good will that do when the creature takes dominion back over its own forest? Or do you presume to do that yourself? You're welcome to the Avians within that refuse to take a sovereign, along with every rabbit and leaf and insect. I've been told to let wild things stay wild, difficult as it may be to show that kind of control over what I could rule." Tia also tells me to do the same with my children, but at least I don't have to always kneel to her in that domain.

"So you'd have everything in that forest fall how it may, and let Audiva Rocale go leaderless, and allow the Treaty to be broken? The Treaty that protects your own Kingdom? Emperor Theos is kind, but his patience only goes so far. If you lose Jhe o'Audiva Rocale, what do you propose he do?"

I regard Mitheoni, and then glance down at Katherine. The Treaty. She's still so young, still growing again after her regeneration. Eleven, now, in body? Maybe it gives her face a certain innocence... or maybe that's always there. So hard to tell, when you've looked at a person in anger too much in recent life.

She looks like she trusts me so much, and that almost hurts. You didn't have to be just the Advocate. You had to be more, didn't you?

She looks up at me in confusion.

"You propose to destroy the Treaty if Jhe o'Audiva Rocale dies of his own stupidity, then?"

Katherine's eyes widen.

Mitheoni puts his hands up, palms out, trying to defuse the tension. "It doesn't have to happen like that. I could go in. I could order the Animism to stand down."

"That would be wrong." I can't stop the words from leaving my mouth. They are the Law I represent. "You can do so, and I cannot stop you. I can only tell you that, though you have no way of understanding why as long as you are the Law of Order, you would be doing wrong by it."

Mitheoni's eyes look so confused. He shuts them for a moment, his lips moving as he confers with someone across the ocean, concentrating very hard to ensure that he gets every detail right and nothing is lost in communication. His eyes snap open, solid expanses of pure blue iris. They are confused. "He says to wait here. Why does he say to wait here?"

I am just as confused. I don't remember the last time Emperor Theos listened to the words of the Law of Balance, but I've lived my life with the assumption that it just doesn't happen anymore.

Katherine only sighs in exasperation. Of course, out of all three of us, she wants to go into the forest the most. Why don't you just go in? You're a Poet.

She scowls up at me. You know how frustrated you'd get when you asked Jhe h'Logos questions and he'd only reply with something about fate and destiny? The new one has the same damn answers, except he knows even less as to why.

I almost smile, but it would seem inappropriate. Elete, at least, would find it humorous.

* * *
Lyric
* * *

Faun yanks the chain. To my surprise, Ebrellin-i doubles over and hits the ground. The Animism is about half the King's size - it just doesn't seem possible.

But then, I suppose Faun has all the power here.

Ebrellin-i manages to make it up to his knees before Faun yanks the chain again, keeping the ruler at about eye level. Once the King realizes that he can't regain his feet, his eyes narrow. He snarls.

The shadows in the forest grow a little... deeper.

Faun laughs, the sound a short bark. "Threaten me, then. Show me the worst you have within you. See if you can break my grip."

I almost raise my voice to caution Faun against that... but stay quiet behind my tree and watch. Maybe it's because I'm too frightened to intervene. Maybe I have a bit of a hunch. I couldn't say - it's all happening so fast. All I know is that my role as a witness here is somehow very important, and it's probably why Faun dragged me along for the ride.

Ebrellin-i's pupilless eyes widen. For a moment, he seems even larger - then something billows up from him. Black and writhing and towering in comparison to even the King, the shadow that rises up takes the shape of a dragon that I certainly do recognize. The last time I saw it, I thought I was going to be its dinner. But no - Ebrellin-i managed to push me out of Nul in time. It's just... the dragon followed me out. Now its gaping maw foams, bits of black froth splatting onto the ground. It rears - and then buckles down as Faun yanks the chain once again.

"Do you think you're more of a beast than me?" He laughs again, the sound more mirthful this time. "Come now. You've got to have something better than that!" He pulls the chain closer. "You'll have to defend yourself from me, after all."

The dragon snorts and pulls back, not managing to do much but make Ebrellin-i's body sway back and forth a bit. He mimics the motions the dragon makes - baring his teeth and snarling as the shadow does the same.

Faun's eyes narrow. He strengthens his grip on the chain, and then-- then he's not there at all. He's a blur. Suddenly the dragon shrieks - no, Ebrellin-i shrieks. A shower of black dragon's blood hits the grass beneath him as a slash appears on his cheek, red blood welling up from it.

Faun appears again before the King, the chain still in his hand. "Defend yourself! You've invaded my territory - I've every right to kill you!"

* * *
Edward
* * *

I have the gall to ask my King just how Jhe o'Audiva Rocale will die on his own. I am honored with an actual response to my questioning of his superior logic.

I told you already - he shall kill himself. My King sounds very smug now, and in his smugness I think he is just a bit more likely to go on about it. He'll attack something nearby, now that I've sent the most violent and corrupt part of him to the fore. The Animism, perhaps, or maybe Jhe h'Akribastes. Whichever - he'll be drawn to power. He'll challenge it. He'll be killed. His tone is so eager now. So... hungry.

What happens then? I'm afraid to ask, but even more afraid of not speaking if he expects me to prompt a response.

I claim one more soul, and take a little more of what should be mine. More importantly... I shall be owed a new puppet for the Lyiannethe Throne. Someone much more obedient than Ebre-schtullin'neh. I look forward to seeing who my other servant selects.

I think of where Lady Thelea might be right now. I wonder if she is searching for a new Throne candidate, or if she is simply fleeing. I miss her. I miss anyone, really, anyone closer to human than my King. How long ago was it before I became Herald? It seems like years... I miss the familiar touch of Poet minds. There's none of that here... none can reach me.

Well, more likely, none choose to. Why would they? I'm a traitor, a fiend--

No, no I've ascended, become better than them--

It's somewhere within those thoughts that I feel the faintest brush of contact. I double-take, running it through my mind again. Fleeting, gentle and swift... Jhe h'Logos?

What are you sensing, my pet? My King looks past my mind, out at what I've found... or what has found me. What? How could you--

Hatred sears the edges of my thoughts, even though it's not directed at me. I recoil, shielding myself from my Master.

* * *
Elesse
* * *

It's so very wonderful to have so very many people to talk to. And to tell stories to, and hear stories from! I can't very well move anywhere right now - too dizzy, by all counts, and not very capable of clear vision at all - but I don't need to! All the stories are in my mind! All the stories I could ever possibly write... all the characters! All the writers!

Writing was such a lonely thing on the boat - now, though, everyone's with me, and I'm with everyone! A young boy pens his first narrative, poking around for an idea - I tell him about the one time Jules tried to dance the hornpipe with a broken leg. An older man tries to remember the days when he was young, for a memoir - I help him fill in the holes, spicing up the dull parts that no one will no the difference about anyway. A girl reaches out for assistance, looking for an idea of how she could possibly end the part of the story she's stuck in. I answer with catastrophe! Dramatic cliffhangers! And later, monsters!

It's all quite easy, really. I could do this all day. I think they've asked me to do this for a job!

I reach out to everyone. I love them all, love hearing from them all. I've felt so lonely in my life, out on a boat - the company and locale were both grande, of course, but no one understood what it felt like to be a writer. The pain, the frustration, the weird ideas that wake you up before the dawn's even twitched under its blankets. Finally, I've found that everyone else feels like that too! They all understand me! And they all need, want, and love me! So I reach out to them all. Even the distant ones, the quiet ones, the hiding ones. Even the one so far out that it seems like he doesn't even exist. Him, most of all - he shouldn't be lonely! There's so many of us! I never knew there were so many of us!

But instead of reaching back, he shies away... and then something behind him looks back at me. I feel its hatred. Cold, aching, silent hatred.

I scream, and Jules scrambles to my side. I can't answer him when he demands to know what's the matter. I've woken something, got its attention - something I never wanted to have the attention of ever since I escaped captivity. Ever since I joined Jules's crew and fled that dark, cold, silent land.

Now it's found me, and I can't hide at all.

* * *

* * *
Stevane
* * *

Part of me just wants to stay asleep and be aware of nothing - to blank all of the last few days out and stop thinking at all. The rest of me knows that's a stupid wish because I dream too vividly for anything to be a rest - worst of all, I never stop thinking. And, like most Poets, I tend to notice things around me even as I sleep.

So I suppose I heard a conversation between Unkie and the other Advocate from across the ocean that I probably wasn't supposed to. Except, Unkie knows I'd hear it, so I don't understand why he'd just let it happen, unless he wanted it to. That means he wanted a witness around... or someone did. It's something to think about, which I'm welcoming right now, because I'm not dreaming heavily at all and I'm starting to notice things that I wish I wouldn't.

For one, Jhe h'Lete seems a little strange. He's always a little strange, of course - that's part of what makes him Jhe h'Lete. But he shouldn't be so active right now, talking to everyone so much - he should be resting! He's been so ill lately, and Father even threatened to take his crown away from him for being such a busybody. It's just like him to react by working even harder, but... this can't go on. I poke back at him with just a hint of Daddy-like disapproval.

He shrieks in reply, and that's what wakes me up.

I look around, so sure that someone else must have heard the scream. The room's empty, though. Unkie must still be with his daughter, and the other Advocate must be with them. I'm alone... except it feels like I'm not. It feels like I'm being watched. A rustle behind my head makes me almost jump across the room in panic - and then I hear a tiny mewl and realize that Millie, my Shenanigan, has found me. I pull the cute little thing to my chest and give it frantic stress-cuddles. That's why it takes me so long to see what's on the coffee table. Once I glance up, though...

My stomach feels like it's sinking into a pit. Jhe h'Lete's crown is on the table, and worse, it's... it's giving me a terrible feeling. As it is I can't think of any good reason at all for the crown to be off his head - he clutches that thing like it's the only thing that keeps him alive sometimes. I don't really want to touch it... except that I have to. I have to find out what's wrong. On some level, I already know that I will touch it, and that makes the foreboding even worse.

I sit up, set Millie gently on the couch next to me, and reach for the crown.

The world lurches.

* * *
Jules
* * *

This rotting husk of a ship disgusts me in all the right ways. If she weren't crawling with bug-kin she'd actually be quite pleasant - the craftsmanship is solid, and once I believe it was even well cared-for. Maybe in a time fairly recent. But now the thing's a hive - well, no, a nest. A funnel web of a vessel, the poor girl. These black wicked things don't deserve a ship as fine as this one.

Why, I'm much more wicked than all of them, and much more deserving.

Cutting through the chittering, venomous things is hard, but I lead the excursion nonetheless. My crew won't respect me if I don't, and by the abyss I wouldn't blame em for scourging me for a lack of courage. A pirate must be chickenhearted only when it counts - now is the time to be reckless and foolhardy. They're guarding treasure, that's for sure. Precious cargo. Live cargo too - I saw it being loaded on. One in particular, blindfolded and shrouded and chained, swaying back and forth from the confusion, and extremely well-guarded. The person must've been a hostage, that's my guess. If the wretch is still alive, we can free them and get ourselves the ransom instead. If they're worthless... well, there's more ocean on this world than all the corpses in it can fill. It won't make much of a difference.

Ah, here we are. Big, big guards - they fall pretty hard due to their size. Real satisfying, to be truthful. And within, a prisoner or two. More like a corpse or two. I give the shrouded body a nudge - it doesn't move.

But it seems warm.

Samuel's followed at my heels like a good boy. Never did understand what was in it for him, but he's a real charmer and I won't hold him back, young as he is. Four's a good age for adventuring, right? At least, I think he's four. So hard to tell with human young. The boy inspects the corpse, checks for a pulse... waits.

He squints.

Samuel looks up at me. "He might be not-dead." The boy seems dubious, as if he's scrutinizing the cook's mess pot.

I shrug. "We'll haul him in, then. No reason to leave the opportunity to rot."

Samuel flinches at that, hells if I know why. That boy knows what life is like on the high seas by now. I lean down to test out how many men should be here to left out this man - he's pretty tall, so I expect it'll take a few. Nudging the shroud aside, I see he's quite a looker, under the spiderwebs wrapping him up like a cocoon.

Samuel shudders. I just frown. This man's light enough for me to carry. "He's really alive?"

Samuel bites his lip. "He might be." The boy looks like he might cry. I roll my eyes. Not much of a weight on my back, either way. I heft the cargo out myself - the crew can take care of the gold, which no matter its age or condition is always heavy.

* * *

I blink through some sort of haze. Memory? Dizzyness. Eh, whatever it is I'll not worry about it. Ales is fretting. Fretting being an understatement for anyone else but him - Ales is well-known for his startles and fits. Such an easily frightened sort! Always a pleasure to keep around, if only for entertainment's sake.

Still... screams like this aren't common for him. It's rare his nightmares ever get this bad anymore, and as far as I can tell he isn't asleep. And nightmares he'd wake from - he's not waking from this. He's just terrified and stupid and shrieking at nothing--

No. Not at nothing.

A grin curls into my cheek. That curly-headed fop that called himself the Law was right on one count - Ales's old foe has successfully sought the poor fool out this time. I can feel that cold regard - can feel something else, too. Something more human than the old, cold one that I stole Ales away from long ago. He's the one that found Ales, and then led the cold one to the cage.

I hear the voice:

But I can't understand how it could possibly be him, my King!

My cutlass is ready, though there's no opponent in sight. I still grin. I can taste a fight upon us. Ales is still whimpering, but I'm ready.

* * *
Edward
* * *

My mind is still reeling. I don't understand. I know the Poet King died - yet here he is, still alive. He even reached for me, tried to invite me in. The question as to why he was so foolish as to even do that is crowded out by how he could be reaching for me in the first place.

My King will not provide any answers for me. He keeps going on about how he recognizes the Poet King, how he remembers him. I don't understand - maybe from when Jhe h'Logos lived under Lady Thelea's oversight?

Memories skirt in front of my eyes - memories that aren't mine. Perhaps they're my King's, then? I still don't understand what it is to be his Herald, and I'm sure I don't want to. It's better not knowing, not realizing - and in a way, I wonder if I'll even remember the images I'm seeing now. It's not my choice to, is it? It's just my choice to watch what he wants me to watch, to say what he orders me to say. Anything more than that is forbidden - and it's relaxing, in a way. Comforting to know exactly what I should be. It's nice to focus on that, instead of the pain radiating from those memories.

That is Jhe h'Logos in my King's memory - I can't see how anyone else could look so much like him. But I don't know when my King ever had Jhe h'Logos captured in his possession - he looks young in the memory, perhaps fifteen. Perhaps younger. It's difficult to tell with all the spiderwebs draped around him. Spider legs as well - he was chained in a dungeon, one huge spider curled around him like a tight cage.

I shudder just as the Jhe h'Logos in my memory does. If he hadn't done so, I'd have wondered if he were even conscious. He looks half-so - or perhaps asleep and vividly dreaming. He's so pale and sickly, the pain more than enough to keep him sedated.

Even so, once he moves the spider wrapped around him sinks its fangs into the young Poet King's neck to subdue the twitching. He screams.

No, the current Jhe h'Logos screams. How? Is this his memory? When is this? When am I?

* * *
Elesse
* * *

I'm going to die like this. The spiders won't get off me.

* * *
Edward
* * *

I hear my King, and think that I'm in the present now, because he says:

Enough. I know how to fix this. Here.

I reach forward towards my former King. He's in a cell now, just as he was in my King's memory. Except it's a different cell. Still, I've almost got my former King in my grip again - just as before, when he died. When I thought he died. Now we'll finish the job, and I...

...I won't have to remember how it was anymore, being a Poet.

My fingers brush his hair, and then I lose my hand. The cut is cold and clean, and my wrist ends in as much nothing as I've lived in for however long I've been my King's Herald.

Fool. We can't be cut by mortal blades.

"This be no mortal blade, ye great ugly bastards! Come at me, then! YAARH!!" The blade whicks through the air again, and if it weren't for my King pulling me back by the hair, my throat would have opened up just now.

The freakish man just cackles into the hole that's opened between my former King's and my current King's lands. "Come! I'm achin' for a fight! Or do ye have nothing of the sort in ye? HAH!"

My stump of a wrist aches until my King tells me to forget it was ever cut. There's no pain after that. In fact, I can't remember why there would be any pain - I've always had only one hand, have I not?

Where are they, Ed'huar-schelina?

Somehow by the feel of it I'm sure that it's in Radia. It's a cell in the Armed Hall - that would be too tightly warded to reach externally. Our connection into it was through the Poet King's reaching out to me - but it's being guarded by whoever that raving madman is. My King seizes on the idea, though--

Radia

--and decides that he knows yet one more way to fix things. I'm told to remember, through my King's memories of the imprisoned Jhe h'Logos.

I'm to remember the spiders that kept him.

* * *
Elesse
* * *

I can't forget. I can't forget it at all. I tried so hard... told so many stories... wrote it all away...

Now it's coming back. I can see that now. I can hear it, even, through the voices of the Poets that I'm supposed to lead. I don't understand that at all. I just tell them to run. No person could be worth the pain of protecting me from what's found me-- certainly, I'm not worth it.

Something growls, sending more chills down my spine. I look up, expecting to have to duck away. It's my Captain. Jules is growling - growling at me.

I duck away, but that just makes him give chase. He thwacks me in the rear with the flat of his cutlass.

"Useless ye are, snivelling like that when there's fighting to be done! I told ye long ago, if'n ya aren't gonna fight alongside me then ye'd better make yerself useful some other way!"

Tears wet my face, my eyes wide. "B-but... I can't oppose that thing! It'll only hurt me!"

He narrows his eyes. "A fine crew member you are." The words, cold and quiet, turn my stomach to stone.

"And besides, I... I don't have anything to write with here."

Jules snorts. "As if this cell can hold in a grand warrior like meself. Come on out!" He hauls me up, my legs still so wobbly. It's difficult enough to think straight while at the center of the thoughts of all the Poets - my fears added on top of that make it hard to even remember how to stand. I end up leaning against Jules, one arm thrown over his shoulder. Except he's so short that his head's nearly wedged into my armpit.

That doesn't faze him, of course. He merely kicks the cell door open and marches out, cutlass thrust out in front of us like the prow of a ship.

* * *
Julia
* * *

I'm lurking in the shadows, keeping my mind's eye on the wards around the whole Palace complex, when I hear Cary's voice - faint, but clear.

What's strange is that I can hear him at all.

Don't underestimate me. Just because I'm... young now... He's so calm, even in his annoyance.

Can I call death a minor annoyance? For Armed it tends to be, but I don't know if Cary takes that sort of thing more personally.

No time... well. He stops to mull something over. There seems to be a lot of it.

I blink.

Time, I mean, he clarifies. More than there should be. But maybe... maybe you don't feel the effects... Poets are. Jhe h'Logos seems distressed. He pauses for even longer. And maybe a little... weird, but it's Jhe h'Lo--

He breaks off then, and I almost curse aloud. Cary's usually so dependable and stable - regeneration seems to be bringing out the usual-for-other-Poets flaky nature in him. What are you trying to tell me? Please be clear. I don't want to lose my temper with him. By this point in regeneration he's probably physically three years old. It would feel weird.

He's quiet for a long time before he answers: It's difficult to explain when I don't understand what's going--

* * *

Gwen is her name.

That is good, and that is right. I don't know anything else now. My mind's flayed to hell, my clothing's shredded bits soaked with blood, and I'm missing some fingers. But her name is Gwen, and Gwen is happy now - satisfied. I wonder if she ate those fingers.

Just tasted them. Meh. Her chain-blade coils around my feet as I feel her stretch in my mind, sated and warm. You did well, Diyn says. For a kid.

I whip the sword's links out from around my feet, taking her by surprise as I fling her blade away from me. I suppose it makes some sort of a point, or exerts control. I'm not sure. I just feel angry, even while I feel good wielding her. Feel right. I'm not just some kid.

No. Gwen's tone is matter-of-fact, with just a hint of dagger to it - like my own, in fact. No, you are not just some kid. You are my Armed. You are also a kid.

I snarl as I fling the blade outward again, testing her tension and coil. Something makes me wobble a bit as I do so--

"I appreciate you training with your Arms as soon as possible, Jhe Wysthaven, but..." the Judge's voice is warm with pride and amusement intertwined. "Jhe Katherine would still have a look at you first, if you would permit it."

You're wounded. Gwen is smug about it, and well she should be. She dealt the damage, after all.

But I survived it.

I draw her length up into a flat blade, then tuck her away into the kind of mental pocket space we Armed have been trained to use for what is obviously that exact reason. I then let Jhe Cruxradia tsk over how much of my blood's been spilt.

It has been a good day.

* * *

My mind lurches and I almost fall out of the shadow I've tucked myself so nicely into. Carey! What was that?! That wasn't just a memory. I was there. Even though my initiation as an Armed happened years ago...

Time's-- His voice cuts out again, and I swear the Palace physically lurches this time. No, must just be perception. Time is shifting in its place. It's all out of order. Something's wrong with Jhe h'Logos, and he's panicking instead of telling us what the solution could be. I-- I was telling you so you could be on alert. No one can find Jhe h'Logos in the Poet Hall.

I nod. Well, it explains that intense reverie just now. Not that Gwen doesn't enjoy reliving the old days with me. I hear her chuckle in the back of my mind in response, and try to ignore it.

Then I sense a breach on the perimeter. This isn't some weird time fuckery - it's a real, physical combatant, followed by several more. They can't get into the Palace, whatever they are. Not yet. Another appears across the Palace complex, outside of the Poet Hall. They start clustering around the Poet Hall and disregarding the Palace altogether.

Arm the Poets, Jhe h'Akribastes said? They'll certainly have to meet assailants one way or the other! Cary. The Poet Hall is under attack. I've been left behind to defend the Complex, but you'll have to help me coordinate defenses.

I can feel him grinning. Just like old times.

I make my way towards the Poet Hall in stealth and make plans.

* * *

* * *
Stevane
* * *

I close my hands around the edge of the crown. I lurch forward - my guts are churning. I feel time puke.

Yes, I just said time puked.

There's the worry of what could possibly be happening to Jhe h'Lete. He's a Time Lord, and even on his deathly ill days he maintains very good control over the fabric that the Poets often put rents and wrinkles in even as they try to smooth it out. Something's wrong - it's not that nothing's being done to maintain it, but that it's being made even worse by Jhe h'Lete, which is nothing like what he--

Tears overcome the nausea, and then I know what happened to him. I see it, feel it as if I were him. As if I were Katherine. As if I were Father. I try to put the crown down then, but it's not done with me yet.

It's not done with me at all.

* * *
Luciprochoros
* * *

Healing my daughter takes the amount of time that I blink my eyes in. One moment she's a feather-speckled girl with an expression that tells of nightmares as she sleeps, shadows hanging on her form in unnatural pools and eddies. Then her skin is unblemished, with a healthy glow to it that I haven't seen since she was just a child. She sleeps peacefully; the whole room seems brighter.

I look at Jerithea in confusion for a few moments. I spent half of Rahellene's lifetime worrying over what her Father had turned her into, and here she is, returned to her natural form so fast that I couldn't see the transition. All of that hand-wringing, all of those sleepless nights, and in the end it was this easy? How? Why?

Then I'm hugging my daughter close to me, reveling in the fact that I can even be so close to her, that there aren't entire countries and one very angry, powerful, twisted man between us now. For one moment there isn't a worry in my mind - in the moment afterward, I marvel at how long I've endured so many worries, and how many of them have lurked there that I haven't even acknowledged.

"No," I say in denial of that.

Rahellene just sleeps. I lay her down. I look at her, silent, not acknowledging Jerithea. I can practically feel her nudging me, though. That one slip, and now I'm on that deadly path again. But I won't have it. I can't. I won't. One or the other, and both are important enough to be enough on their own to make the refusal. At least, they have been up until now.

"Jhe h'Logos is dead." Jerithea puts no emotion into the observation. It carries all the weight it needs to.

I still can't meet her eyes. There's too much pain in that. I know Father's in them, and I know he's looking at me now, though her. That hurts enough on its own.

"I don't want to do it." It should be enough. I've got choice. That's the trade-off for all the burdens I've been given... all the damn trials I've been put through. All the responsibility. I have a choice not to take it. And it's pulling me, even now, the Duty is coaxing me toward it and I don't want it, I don't need it, it's not right that I have it! Without an official Jhe h'Logos, though, there's no one else for it to call to. That must be why it feels so strong--

My eyes widen. I can sense her. Stevane. Awake.

I run into the next room before Jerithea can impart yet another loaded observation to me.

* * *

A frown purses Elete's lips as he peers down at the crown, his expression almost a pout from this angle. I certainly can't blame him for the mannerism. I have no love for this thing--

But it has to be his. I know it right now, cling to the certainty of that knowledge. It has to be Elete's now, and then he can take that dreaded position and make it his and make it right. It'll help him live, pull him out of the despair he's been locked in after the deaths of his wife and daughter. At least, that's my aim.

Part of my aim. There's always a greater game being played, but that is just planning for the future, right? It's not scheming or manipulation. It's... tactical maneuvering. Utilization of the resources at hand.

Besides, it'll make him live longer, and that's the important thing. He's been wasting away before our eyes.

Something in him takes to it in the next moment - there's a spark in his eyes, and then he bends down and takes the crown in his hands. I feel that moment - that passing of it from me to him. I might feel a faint scolding too, but I ignore that. Elete will like the crown. Elete will take good care of it and serve the Duty well. I'm simply... delegating. That's right.

Then he puts it on his head as if it's been his all along, and it's not my problem anymore.

* * *

I feel time wrench around my memories, feel my chest wrench at the realization that I just saw Elete for the last time. Elete ten years younger, a little less wise, a little less confident... but still. He was like a son, and yet not like a son at all. He was my very own illegitimate bastard, however it was that he came to exist as such, and all I did for him was push my problems into his lap.

Now he's gone, and Stevane's holding the crown, and Stevane is looking at me with the most hurt expression I've ever seen on her. I know she saw, and I know how much. I probably know more than she does what she saw. Between the crown's power, and her scrying... it's likely she saw the crown all the way back to when it was created. She wouldn't understand any of that, though.

When her eyebrows knit together, I know there's one thing that she does understand. She holds it up to me. "You have to take it." It's half an accusation, half a question.

I'm a bad person. I hang back in the doorway. I don't want to have any part of it. Even when the pain wrenches in her eyes, I don't want any part of that crown.

Then something in her expression twists, wrenches, and... breaks. I lunge forward, unable to believe how long I let her hold that thing. With as much feedback as she gets from touching objects, as much as she can see, as much Poetry flows through the crown, how could I have let her hold it for one moment past when I learned she had it? I cradle the crown in one hand, then lean her against me with the other. It takes an extra tug to pull it from her hands - her fingers had gone rigid around the thing.

Of course, I realize after the fact what I've gone and done. I ruffle Stevane's hair as a grimace settles into my face. I hate this crown and everything associated with it.

And now that it's mine again, this mess is mine to take care of.

* * *
Gerude
* * *

I like doing my job. It's an important Duty - not only am I proud of it, but I take the responsibility very seriously. I'm an Armed, and as such it falls to me to uphold the Law.

Except that, when my Father tells me to stay home in Radia because I'm 'too hot-headed for field work,' what good am I?

I think half yer anger is that yer Poet shadow got to go without ye.


Shut up, Caerig. Feh. As if telling them that ever does any good. And what good is Erynn to me? He's off helping save Lyric's traitorous keister while I'm stuck in my Father's house trying to figure out where Lute's hiding this time. He always jumps out when I least expect it--

"Oh, hi Gerald."

I manage to use the rage induced from the wrong name to stifle the scream. He was right behind me, damnit! "Lute! Where have you been?" I can't say my glare is only from my ire at being snuck up on. I'm just generally annoyed that I can't be useful right now, and therefore everyone else needs to be busy doing something useful instead. It's perfect logic. Damn it all I just want to find Lyric and strangle him, Lute's his twin, it's close enough...

He narrows his eyes, as if reading my thoughts. Damn. I thought I was keeping a tight lid on that. "Strange, I didn't expect her to talk to me..." His eyes widen. "Gerude. We need to get out of here."

I snort. "Right. Father ordered me to stay in here. As the Judge, even." Maybe that's what's been rankling more than being grounded - that I got actual discipline as an Armed, not as his kid. It's so stupid - Lyric's breaking the Law, how am I the one at fault?

He shakes his head. "I'm sure that's overturned. We're under attack." He darts toward the door, staying visible - which is how I know he's serious. He'd only slow himself down by staying in sight if he really did believe that I'd be following him. And, well, he's right - the prickle of the order to stay in the house and not cause any trouble is no longer there. Instead, there's a surge of zeal from both Caerig and Kennit - they must smell quarry already.

Fine, then. Let's go find some trouble to make.

* * *
Jules
* * *

We're making pretty good time, considering that Ales is such a sorry slowpoke of a man.

"Ah, Cap'n?" Ales stops walking entirely. I try to proceed without him, but he just stands there and I'd rather not let him fall over. There's no one else around to help him up, and I do need the sot. Plus he's carrying that writing stuff we found at a desk on the way here, and damned if I want to get ink all over my finest pirating outfit.

I frown at him. "Ye're slowin' up the trip, Ales. What is it?"

He bites his lip. By his expression, it's obvious that he's preparing his words. "I um... where are we going now?"

I sigh. "Where the action is, of course, you doof. Where else would we be going?"

He sighs, all the wind leaving his sails at once. He wasn't even going full sail to begin with, at that. "I had a feeling you were leading me to more trouble." He looks at me, and for all the world he looks hurt. Why? What did I do to him? I'm fighting for him, damnit!

He leans against the wall, managing to keep his feet that way. Then he waves for me to go, as if dismissing me. "Go on. Fight your fight."

I blink. He's just letting me leave?

"You'll come back." His tone's clipped, and it's as if all the life's gone out of him.

I narrow my eyes.

"Please." He looks up at me, his eyes pleading. "I can't face them. I think... I sense that's why you're going ahead. Because I..." He wraps his arms around himself and shudders. "I can't. I'm sorry. I won't make it, and I know it." He can't look me in the eye anymore.

I spit on the floor. "Yer a coward to the bone, Ales."

He swallows back a sob, then nods.

I snort. "Jes' so you know it to be true. Fine. I'll go fight yer war. Yer wretched ass can stay here and write it down." I turn and walk down the hall. "I'll be back for ye if I survive, Ales, and mark my words - I'm scarier than anything you'll find out there."

I barely hear him reply, "That's the only thing reassuring me right now."

Freeing my other men is easier than lugging Ales about - for one, they all help me free them, as opposed to the ungrateful wretch who's elected to stay behind. There's no guards around that I can find - probably they're all out dealing with what's outside. I can smell the fight... and I'm coming for it, now. Coming with my own army, and whoever's smart out there better be able to run faster than Ales.

* * *

* * *
Lyric
* * *

After the first few lunges, Faun apparently tires of the sport and proceeds to lash Ebrellin-i with the chains he's been cuffed to. During the first few strikes, I don't even realize how much damage the Peacock King is taking from the blows. All I can think about is how much a parody Faun is of Ebrellin-i right now - taking a lash to him, just like the monarch had me do to Faun.

It's then that it strikes me as so very wrong - and it's then that Faun catches my eye for just a moment. He goes on lashing the King, though, and I wonder if I even imagined it.

The King, for all his power, can't rise from his kneeling position, and can do very little to block Faun's assault. The lunges from before left their cuts and scratches on the King, but the chain bites harder than Faun's claws.

But it is the Law, after all. I feel Elric's hand on my shoulder right before I hear him speak mind to mind, and it's all that keeps me from screaming in surprise. As it is now, I'm not far from screaming otherwise. That black mass of shadows still looms above Ebrellin-i, squirming under each blow as the King does and alternating between gurgles and roars. It's every part of Ebrellin-i that ever hated me, and it frightens me to the core.

Why is Faun taking the Law into his own hands? It doesn't surprise me that he can - he did command Gerald to do his bidding, and Father won't raise a hand against Animisms. But... it seems so strange. Ebrellin-i was in the Armed Hall before, he was even brought to stand in a Trial. Faun was there for it - why didn't he do something then? Why wait and do this horrible thing? And it is horrible - not just the damage that Ebrellin-i is taking from it, but seeing Faun be as cruel as those he accuses... it's just wrong.

The question you must ask instead, Lyric, is why are you here to see it? Elric presses closer behind me, taking care to hide himself behind the tree I've claimed as my shelter. You're here for a reason, as am I.

I swallow back something. Maybe a yelp, maybe tears, maybe even anger. Why?

Because nothing can change if it is not witnessed.

He presses something into my hand. A twig? It's long and thin and unusually springy, yes, but still just a stick. After I take it, he presses his hand against mine, and I start to wonder just what it is I'm holding.

Then I start to wonder why I'm not writing.

I don't understand.

He chuckles in reply, a welcome bit of mirth to my ear. You don't need to know where the berries were pressed to be able to use their ink, Lyric. Just write. I'll take care of the silly details such as where it's actually being written. Reality can be quite forgiving to those in need.

I don't understand at all, but I feel a quill in my hand nonetheless, and there's nothing I want more to do that write what must be written... whatever that is.

Then a flood of images overtakes me, and I'm quite someone else for awhile.

* * *
Faun
* * *

It was quite a few years ago that I realized he'd gotten to be so unruly.

Time passes quickly and without much regard for we Animisms. The years cycle on, seasons to season, and the circle continues to wind as it should. One year is not often dissimilar to the next in my forest - the foxes have their cubs, the trees shed their leaves, the grubs burrow underground to winter. Nothing seems to change when everything is changing as it should.

I missed Ebrellin-i, but feared to search for him. He had left me and my forest, and I dreaded what he had turned to when he turned his back on the green life he had so seemed to love. I had not counted the years, as I expected he wouldn't return.

And he did not. He, in fact, sent an envoy. A message. An invitation.

Fool that I am, I took it.

He did not capture me then. He humiliated me in his Court - humiliated some diplomat as well, proved himself sovereign over the other human's country in some sort of show of dominance over me. I was not harmed - I was just a tool to him, and once it was shown that he had power over me, he released me, and I vowed never to be caught by him again. But i was interested again in these fools that call themselves humans - interested in what game Ebrellin-i was playing that he thought me a piece in. It was then that I ventured to Crux Radia, and then that I met the Law. I grew to understand, then, that even Ebrellin-i must answer to something, even in his own Court. I longed for the time that such a thing would happen, for the boy that I knew - who so loved my forest and every living thing that called it home - had been eaten alive by this man who called himself a King.

But the Law did not take him down, did not punish Ebrellin-i for his crimes, and did not even presume to cage the King as I had been caged twice until after things had carried on so far that they could not be stopped.

And so here I am, the Law in my hands, and I tell you, Lyric

(Yes, my witness, I know you're listening - why did you think I brought you here?)

--it seems so simple now, simpler that the spring melt and the spilling of the riverbanks in summer, simpler than the plumping of berries, simpler than the sun's set and the stars' falling, and it is up to you to tell me why I should stop this, for I cannot see into this hollow shell of a man, can see nothing of the Ebrelle that I knew in there, and fear you haven't ever known him.

But look, if you can, before I end this man that I'd hoped would be my and every forest's salvation. I cannot stop myself. I am but an animal, after all.

* * *
'Sy
* * *

I find my own self wanting to cease this, almost raise my hand to sway Diyn - and then I stop the motion, or rather one end of the Balance does.

Tia, I wager.

Mitheoni curses, and I don't blame him. I don't know one bit of what's going through that crazed Animism's head, but I know even Diyn is angry to be swung by him, and that the only thing keeping my Arms from biting Faun back now is the binds of the Law itself. But I fear what may happen when even Faun crosses over that line, as he very soon will. He's holding the very reins of the Law in his hands - when it turns on him, I won't be there to hold it back. Neither will the Advocate. There will only be Diyn, and Diyn will surely kill him.

Then everything in this forest dies, as it was in Rapa Nui. And with Ebrellin-i dead, Crux Radia won't be far behind it.

I take Katherine's hand.

* * *
Lyric
* * *

I find myself back in the woods - not behind my safe little tree with Elric, as I expect, but in a much darker place than that, and with someone entirely different. What light there is filters down from above through the thick canopy, illuminating the small space around me with a rich green glow.

Where the light doesn't reach, there is a darkness that's much thicker than the absence of light. The crawling along my skin alerts me to the presence of Nul.

With me, in the tiny remaining bit of green in his soul, is the body of the boy who is Ebrelle. He's still curled around whatever he's been protecting, his shoulders hunched away from me, his hair spilling over his face. I reach for his shoulder, hesitate, and then wonder what else there is to lose by now. I tug at Ebrelle's shoulder. He rolls onto his back with a motion so boneless and heavy that I'm certain he's dead. His dull green eyes stare up at me... and blink.

There's no energy left in him to fight me, no feral intensity anymore. Tears trail from his eyes, but even they are faint and slow. There's nothing he can do to protect himself anymore--

I blink and realize that he was protecting something. As I do so, Ebrelle looks down at the treasure he's guarded. His hand is curled around its hilt.

There's a knife buried in his gut.

His lip twitches into an expression that faintly echoes his stubborn obstinance. Defiant to the end, of course. I'd expect nothing less of him.

I hear the voices then:

Do you think it will end soon, my King? Edward's voice is strained with impatience.

His master chuckles in response. That sound of dead leaves crumbling off the branch is his only reply.

I take Ebrelle's hand. Those two are so close, now. Before, the only thing that could reach this Ebrelle was that black bit of his own soul - and even then, it couldn't get into this clearing to attack him. The forest of his soul had kept the Jherent Nul and Edward far away enough to leave him with some strength. Now they're close to breathing down his neck.

He shivers, a leaf on a branch.

"Go on," he whispers, the words so hoarse I barely even distinguish them from breaths. "Take it." He closes his eyes and his grip on the knife slackens.

I close my hand over it before Edward and Nul can fall upon him.

* * *
Ebrelle
* * *

I love my brother more than anything. There is nothing I wouldn't do for him. But sometimes he can just be so stupid, and it's all I can do to make sure he doesn't get himself killed.

I do admit, it is a difficult family to live in. I'd know. Still, he's even more special than the most 'gifted' of our family... and all the more precious for it. He's my treasure.

And so, when I leave my crown title behind so that I can pursue my life of learning the forest's ways with Faun, I bequeath the title to dear Alestere. He deserves it more than I do - I imagine he'd make an even better King than Father. I'm naught but useless for the position myself. My head's in the treetops -- literally -- and my feet are planted too firmly on the ground for me to strike the proper amount of Xaillyndessen regality. I've used the title to protect him until now, but he is twelve and mature enough to use it to look after himself, and I am sixteen and ready to leave.

* * *

Mother hauls me back by the hair, drags me down onto my knees, and proceeds to teach me all that I've made myself ignorant to.

My first lesson is that her twisted garden dryads can mimick the healthy trees of Faun's forest very well. Certainly for long enough to lead me down the illusory path that marched me straight back into my Mother's web. That's just one lesson, though - one in a long course that I don't remember the whole of. The pain blurs most of the moments together, and time does strange things in my Mother's laboratory. I could say I spent months there, and be correct enough in the estimate. Still, some nights I wonder that I'm not still there.

But then, considering my current condition, I might as well be.

She breaks me, as royal Xaillyndessen do. As royal Xaillyndessen are taught to do when the royal disciplines don't take hold. She breaks me for disobedience, she breaks me for passing my crown title to Alestere, and she breaks me because she can. These are all things I understand as it happens - they are the things I rationalize it with as I feel my grip on myself crumble.

She has more reasons for it, but I only find that out later. First I must be taught to stay quiet - pain is an efficient teacher, and in the rare times I can't learn from it, unconsciousness is acceptable. The conditioning takes hold more quickly than I care to admit. But, as her child I've been trained in subtle ways for years, just as I know I've trained Alestere in ways I don't yet understand. It is simply our way. Me learning Mother's demanded silence and obedience is natural - and once I do break into full obedience, it's a blessed relief. I've graduated. I don't have to feel the pain anymore.

But, of course, I don't understand.

Very little of what happens next can I remember clearly. I don't know when she brings me to kneel before the Nul - our true King - nor how many times I do so before I am even aware of myself. I hear the words "sacrifice" and "offering" many times before I remember they are words that have meanings. I don't even recall the language they're spoken in. It could be either Lyiannethe's tongue or Nul-dehle, for all I have leave of my senses now. When I reach awareness again, I'm curled up in a pool of blood at the base of the King's throne, wondering how much of it is my own. When I realize that it very well could all be mine, everything goes grey for a bit, and I wonder if I'm dead now.

Death is a mercy I am not to be given for a long while.

Of course, once I have some sense in my head, I hear the King address me. I don't understand the words - I'm not even sure if my hearing is right at all. I shake my head, which is the last time I ever tell him no in his Court.

The back of his hand strikes me across the face like a fistful of fishhooks. The jagged spikes on his gauntlet make short work of my cheek and eye - then he pulls back and smites the other side of my face, and I'm completely blinded. I land face-first in the pool of blood, the lake of it only growing now that my face has been irrigated.

I lose myself. I don't really know when it is he takes me, but I find it's likely now, when I've no face to call my own, no sight, when I can't even scream because Mother's trained me that well. I'm taken, and for awhile there's only the cold, blessed silence.

* * *

When I awake, my face is whole, and someone's whispering to take the knife.

I can't reply. I know better than to speak.

You'll take the knife, and then you'll know what to do. Not what they tell you to do. You'll free us, and the cycle will be broken, and nothing will hurt you and our brother anymore.

I furrow my brow. Eistinn? Older brother? But he died. I was naught but a child. I never knew how he went - he just disappeared, and Mother named me successor in his place.

You're lying almost dead on the floor of Mother's laboratory, and you wonder how I managed to die? He's so calm, yet furious in an oddly detached way. You wonder how Alestere will die?

Even now, it's the thought of Alestere in danger that worries me most.

There. Now I have your attention. Mother got to me, tried to make me into what you are now - but I escaped. I'll help you escape, too. Alestere as well. She won't have any more throne candidates after that. Everyone will be safe and happy. So do we have a deal?

What matters the most to me is Alestere's safety. That it doesn't matter to Eistinn - or that, as a ghost, he has no reason to care about it - never crosses my mind.

He is right, though - eventually, Mother comes for me. I rise and bow to her, my body aching and bruised, my skin whole but the tissue beneath it still healing. I move unthinking, the motions so well-trained that I don't realize I make them until I watch myself do so. It takes a few moments to convince myself that I'm still in my own body, but I do recognize myself. I even manage to glimpse myself in a mirror and see the sorry condition of my face. My eyes are a whirling array of violent colors, my face smooth but blackened where Nul smote me. I almost cringe away in shame, but don't have the control to do it.

Mother looks me over then, and nods to a servant. "Dress him." She's brought along one of her two young Kommissars - she turns to him and holds her hand out, gesturing to me. "You see, Xen? A perfect candidate. The people will adore him even as much as our King now does, I'm sure."

A fragment of memory splinters up in my mind, and I relive for a moment just how much our King 'adored' me. I lose the time between when we are in Mother's lab and when we've gone out into the hall - gone very far, in fact. We're at Alestere's door. I open it - I remember that Mother would not be able to, if Alestere has the crown title now, not without his permission. But I am his beloved brother, and he trusts me.

He is asleep. He's grown. There's such a difference between twelve and thirteen - if it's only a year that's passed. He's a man now, or well on his way to one - the boy in him's been largely left behind.

I raise my knife slightly as I approach the bed. I can see what I am to do - what my body is to do. Alestere is to be a live sacrifice to Nul, just as I was. Mother offered me, but only I can reach Alestere to offer him up. I, the perfect puppet. Just a slit, just a cut, and the proper words. Then Alestere can know this joy too - then Mother can have us both, and we can be as one whole, happy family.

Then I bring the knife down into his chest, with all the intent in the world to kill him before Nul can have him. Mother's gasp signals what I suspected - that her grip has grown weak on me while I've been so complacent and numb-minded, and that I can very well succeed in what I'm doing.

The deed done, I plunge the knife into myself. I aim for the chest - I hit the gut instead. Mother may be in shock, but the Kommissar here is just as alert as he's been bred to be. He attempts to block the strike. Something black comes over me - possibly the pain, but more likely a punishment. I can feel Nul's anger rushing between my ears, and I'm far too weak to bear up under it.

I hope I don't survive it, this time.

* * *

* * *
Stevane
* * *

"Do you sense him, Stevane?" Unkie's got his hands under my jaw, tilting my face up so that I'll look at him. It's not that I don't want to, really - it's just that even more I want to close my eyes and not think at all. But I just say:

"Yes, Unkie."

He frowns, his brow creasing in thought. He still keeps holding me, but then he's been hovering over me since he took his crown back. His crown. And here I always wondered why he didn't bother with having a crown for being Emperor. Now he has Jhe h'Lete's crown. Which is just as well, someone should now, since Jhe h'Lete's--

Unkie hugs me, and I shush the thought. No one else should know. The other man who sounds so much like Jhe h'Lete has been so good at convincing the rest of the Poets that nothing's wrong, that we haven't lost Jhe h'Lete. He's been such a good actor that no one's started to poke into the tragedy that was Jhe h'Lete's death. I hope they never do. No one should have to see that.

And right now's the last time they should panic.

He puts his hands on my shoulders. "Stevane... I know today has been difficult for you--" he cuts off what he's about to say. Maybe he doesn't know what to say.

I saw a lot of things when I held his crown - saw his past all the way back to Chethar. I hardly understand any of it, and I don't know if I ever will. My head hurts so much from everything that's happened today, and my Arms are twitching somewhere in the pocketspace they're hidden in, and something's building up in me. I want to burst.

Unkie pushes me forward a bit. "I think we need to get you outside, Stevane." He... he sounds nervous? "You can lead. You can find him."

There's something unspoken, but I can sense it on the edge of his thoughts because he's so close to me: And you need something to carve through. I blink. What's outside? But, before I can ask that, something else pops into my head. "Why can't you find him? You've got the crown and everything."

He laughs, the sound still nervous as he begins to lead me out. "Stevane, if I could have found him I'd have done it long ago. He's one of the few things that I can't see. He was made to be hidden from me, I wager. Elete--" His voice breaks off for a moment. It's a raw wound for him. For me, it's numb. "Elete was intended to be Thelea's project to undermine me. This other man is likely the same."

I'd ask him why he's seeking a person who's supposed to be his undermining, but I already know. I can feel where fate is leading him on. Not only that, but I can feel something else pressing me on, and I can't ignore it at all. In fact, I have trouble waiting for my Uncle to open up the wards so that we can leave his quarters.

Unkie was right. I can feel a fight outside, and more than anything else I want to carve my way through it.

* * *
Gerude
* * *

Lute, being Lute, managed to lose me about three seconds into this fight. That's fine. Just fine. I don't need anybody else around. Certainly not a meddlesome Poet who just gets in the way and would just keep whining about how everything's so creepy and he wants to be somewhere safe and warm and drunk.

I don't miss that at all.

I didn't miss fighting Arachne-fovos, either. They're even more nasty in broad daylight than they were in that dank dungeon - more details to notice, out in the open. Like the beads of slime skating over their fangs, or the spiky hairs along their armor-plated abdomens.

Still, I've got to be thankful for the chance to go outside and get some fresh air, right? I've just got to wonder, though - did the Arachne-fovos follow us from Lyiannethe when we escaped to Radia? Strange that they'd lay low for so long, only to rise up and attract so much attention now. There's certainly a lot of them, too - where were they hiding? It's all Erynn's fault, I'm sure - had his head in the clouds when he walked us through the Pass, let a few spiders through... just like him, really. Except, I think maybe he left a door to Lyiannethe open or something, because they keep coming. I'm killing them off pretty well this time around, but fresh ones keep popping up--

Was that Stevane I just saw? No way. She's recovering from the Lyiannethe incident. No one'd let her out right now, anyway, she just got her Arms! She's crazier than normal! She's being watched, right? By Jhe o'Radia, most likely--

Yup, I'm right. There he is, marching behind her as she mows through Arachne-fovos with a furied efficiency that frightens me at the same time that I'm proud of it. Strange to know I'm not the angriest person on the battlefield, but hey. She's had a rougher day than I, and maybe maybe she's even more pissed off at Lyric than I am. It certainly explains that strange burning smell I'd started to notice a couple of minutes ago. Arachne-fovos don't smell very good roasted, by the way. Just in case you had dinner plans.

I follow along behind Jhe o'Radia - he's the top priority to protect, after all. I sense Lute nearby as well, covering our passage. It's Jhe o'Radia's own business why he needs to cross a battlefield at this very moment wearing Jhe h'Logos's crown - at least my being out here has a purpose that's not mindless slaughter. Order is prevailing, and that's a comfort.

Then, we converge with the pirates, and I regret that thought immediately.

* * *
Jules
* * *

So, there's some other people in this fight besides me and my mates. A couple of my men make moves to take hostages, but I wave them off. Not really the time for it, right now. Too many things to do right now, and the people seem to be opposing the blasted spiders that are after Ales, so I'll leave em to it unharmed. Besides, Ales is off form today. My coat's already gotten nicked, and he knows better than to let my outfit get messed up in the thick of battle, when I'm at my most triumphant.

Something's wrong with Ales, though, that's evident. He's too shaken. But then, I know what's after him, and I know that it's found him, and Ales knows too. I can't blame him for being afraid, can I?

Well yes, yes I can, especially when he's supposed to be seeing to the safety of my men. I told him ten years ago not to waste his time being afraid of anything else but me, and now look at him - whimpering in the shadows, unwilling to even come out and see the fight. No sport at all, no bloody sport. I cut through the carapace of one of these blasted spiders, but the satisfaction is taken from me. The fun's not in it anymore, somehow.

Something's changing.

Right as that thought runs through my mind, the man steps in front of me. Tall - though most men are tall compared to me, right up until I cut them off at the knees - blonde, seems rather regal. Dressed similar to that fop that called himself the Judge. I have just the slightest inkling that he might be important.

Could be the crown.

I'm still sizing him up when the girl that's slicing up anything in the man's path sets her eyes on me. For just a moment - a strange moment, to tell the truth - I feel... mortal. As if I might actually end. In a fight, no less! Horseshit. I tell myself it's imagination, and then it passes anyway - she makes an odd shrug, as if I'm not hers to contend with, and then sets into one of the spiders with a zeal that I must appreciate if only on an artistic level. I note the red curls and the sour demeanor right as I see it on another man - the one who keeps the crowned one's other flank clear of buggy-eyed monsters.

Hm. Must be a lot of redheads in this Radia place.

I'd just go cut up some more eight-legged scum, but I still keep getting the feeling that this blonde crown-wearing freak is important. It takes me another minute or two of staring to realize that it's Ales who finds this guy important. Well, Ales does have a thing for fashion - he's a swishy lad, he is - and this Radian guy's certainly fancy about himself.

Huh. There's a funny way he's looking at me. Like somehow all of this is my fault. I'd say that's a familiar expression on people's faces when they look at me, but quite honestly they tend to be dead before I get close enough to notice. "Yeah? What? I got things to kill here!" Really, all this slaughter around and I'm not even participating!

His mouth quirks up into a grin, of all things. He lets out a choked laugh. "I can't believe it. I really can't. Of all the places to find something like you." His eyes are looking at me all funny, like they're looking right through me. Reading me, if that makes any sense in the world. "No wonder he picked you as his guardian. You're... fearless."

My lip pulls back in a snarl. "I am fear, matey, and don't make me feed you your own liver to prove it to yeh."

He holds up his hands in joking defense. "Parley, parley. I've no grievance with you." He smirks. "Even if you did raid the latest coffee shipments from Moana, you guileless cretin. And you were about to sell them to Astoniarche! How wonderfully shameless of you. It's almost deserving of some sort of... medal."

I blink. How in blazes did he know we were going to do that? I brandish my cutlass at him, with a more serious intent to it, this time. "No funny business, here. What do you want?"

"You have an ally you're guarding. I wish to speak with him. We'd cut through the spiders on our own, but I don't wish to pick a fight with your band. That would in effect be picking a fight with him, and as I'd like to help him, I find that rather counterproductive." He puts a hand on his chin, ruminating as if there's no chaos brewing around him, no black ichor flying through the air, no screams intertwined with unworldly chittering. "I can guarantee your ship back. The Chetharians will consider the galleon tainted, in any case, so why waste it? And I can make you an Admiral, or something like that." He shrugs. "I'm easy to negotiate with, really."

I narrow my eyes. I can tell a blatant lie when I hear one. "No deals, not for Ales."

He puts his hands up again. "Just to talk with him. I wouldn't dream of taking him from you. Really, though - it's in your favor to allow it. After all... the one who's hunting him is hunting me as well, so I suppose I could consider the man my ally, right?"

I'm about to give him the same reply again, only this time with sword-reinforced punctuation, when I feel the prod from Ales.

The idiot wants to let this crook through?!

The not-so-subtle reminder that I myself am a crook is neither welcome nor necessary, in my opinion, but it's enough to make me relent. If I don't, Ales will get stupid and try to sway the fight, and there's nothing worse than when Ales makes a fight into something pathetic.

* * *
Ebrelle
* * *

I shouldn't come to. I shouldn't see, shouldn't hear, shouldn't feel anything at all. If anything I should be a ghost, right? The dead don't experience life the way the living do. They can't. That, at least, I learned from Mother.

I am alive. I am in pain, I am bleeding, I am a mess, and I am very much alive. It is the biggest letdown of my life.

Nothing really gets much better from here, either.

The Kommissar holds me down as he keeps a bundle of sheets pressed against my wound. It's already been bound, in a rudimentary way. He looks down at me, sees that I'm awake. He says nothing, just grins. He appreciates the show I've put on.

I don't know what's to happen to me, but I know Alestere has at least escaped the future, if I haven't. It's a relief - I can relax, lie back, let my fate take me. Maybe it'll turn into the numb haze that was most of my time in front of Nul's throne. If so, then I suppose there are worse eternities.

Then I hear a weak cough, and my heart sinks.

The Kommissar glances back for half a second. We're on the floor by Alestere's bed - out of view of my brother, but very near Mother, who is leaning over the bed, presumably over Alestere's body. "Is he going to recover, then?" The Kommissar doesn't sound concerned - he sounds bored.

Mother hisses through her teeth. "He certainly did a good job of it. There was less to work with that I thought. Ebrelle stabbed deep." She takes in a deep breath, straightening up as she does so. "Thankfully my skills as a White Lord are a match for this wound. I've kept the soul inside the body."

She pauses. I just hear a strange rushing in my ears, as if everything's falling down around me.

"At least, part of it. Ebrelle stabbed deep." She sounds concerned. I don't understand, though. Is Alestere dead or not?

"Was the sacrifice enough?" Tension runs through Xen's voice.

Mother exhales slowly. "Our King... says the sacrifice was more than enough. He is... quite pleased."

Xen's brows draw together. "Oh? You don't sound pleased, my Lady."

"I think a rather large piece of the boy's soul ended up with Nul. More... more than I'd intended, and far more than necessary. I'm unsure how it will affect the boy." She looks down at my brother. "I... am unsure of how long he will live." She sounds annoyed by the prospect, but not sad. "I have a bad feeling about this," she says in a quiet voice.

Xen raises an eyebrow.

"I rather think that the blood of the Jherent o'Radia which flows through this boy's veins has not ended up in our King's possession as intended." She sighs in disappointment. "A wasted effort. I'd have used this boy for other projects if I'd have known this was to fail. Our King can't take the Radian throne if he can't take the Jherent o'Radia as a host. He may not even accept the sacrifice, if there's no throne to claim with it. At this rate, I can't tell which of my sons has been the more useless."

I pray for Alestere's death, then wonder what I am praying to. We're guarded by Nul - we make pacts with Nul, pledge our Kings to Nul, give possession of the throne to Nul through them. Am I praying to Nul? What then? Will Nul take me?

Isn't that like dying?

And then I wonder why I've been fighting at all - if I just give myself up... if I just let it take all of me... it would damage me enough to kill my body. Then I'll simply be dead before Nul can keep my soul, and I'll likely just become a ghost as Eistinn did.

I start letting go.

* * *

* * *
Ebrelle
* * *

Mother grabs me by the hair and twists her hand in that special way that she likes to use to get my attention. I manage a hazy blink, but I really can't concentrate on her all that much. There's something looming over me, something that's dark and quiet and yet hates me so much. It'll eat me, though. I've already been enough trouble for it that it'd be more satisfied with killing me than using me.

I never knew Nul hated me so - I assumed that his actions towards me were typical of his treatment of anyone put in the position I was in. But I'm not that surprised. I can't put the effort into it to be surprised. I'm dying, after all - so whatever Mother is trying to tell me can't be all that important.

"Think you'll escape like Eistinn, will you?" Her voice hitches up at the last note, and I wonder if he was her favorite. Then I tell myself: of course he was her favorite. He's dead.

I nod like an idiot, but it's the only reply I can give her. Yes, I'm dying like Eistinn did. And Alestere is well on his way to follow us - she'll have an empty nest. Who knows if Mother can even make more children now?

What will she sacrifice to Nul then? I muse on it, my mind starting to drift away. Maybe one of the Kommissars. Would anyone even find them worth that much? But there's no accounting for taste...

Something pulls at me. Mother. She's resorted to tugging at my very soul to get my attention. I've let Nul take so much of my energy that I barely notice even that. "Yes?" I don't know if I say it aloud or mind-to-mind. I don't even know why I bother speaking, but by this point it's something to pass the time until I die.

"He can't kill you unless you let him." Her voice is acid, every word spoken as a curse.

I think I manage a shrug - or she reads my reaction through her grip on my soul. White Lords can be so perceptive about those things... and twist what they can perceive so horribly. I once aspired to be a Green Lord, but now I think I'll content myself with being dead.

"Oh, you're letting him. You're letting him now, because he'll take your body and kill you - he doesn't want your soul. He considers it a vile thing that he'd just spit out." He voice grows louder. She's leaning in closer. "But he'll take your little brother's soul. He likes the taste of it, but only the part that's still in his body. The body you stabbed with the same knife you stabbed yourself with."

Time goes strange as you're dying. There's a pause filled with all the silence in the world, where I have as much time as I need to contemplate what she's getting at. But in death, I am a slow thinker. I don't realize it until she finishes.

"You didn't wipe the blade before you struck yourself... did you?"

I finally feel something. I feel her hand press against my chest before it slides down to the wound I've dealt myself. It slides under the bandages, against the skin. A finger slides into my wound and reminds me of what pain is. I didn't realize I could still feel it.

Mother whispers words I can't understand, and my blood feels as if it's turned to ice.

A blood bind. I try to fight it, but I'm too far gone to have the strength. I've already made it too easy for her by willingly mixing Alestere's blood with mine. I was too stupid in my assumption that we'd both simply die to think of what Mother might use her skills as a White Lord to do to us.

I feel it happen - I don't need her to explain it to me. But Mother is smug and triumphant, and she is happy. She tells me what she's doing to us.

"Your life is tied to your life's blood just as easily as your brother's soul is tied to his blood. Seeing as you've mixed them together, it's child's play to link one to the other. So go ahead and let yourself die - you'll meet the oblivion you seek, but you'll feed your brother's soul to our King in the process."

I can't die.

I feel Nul's rage as I shrink back from it, as I withdraw my consent for him to take my life. I can already anticipate how much punishment I'll endure for such behavior, but I don't care. He won't have my brother. In the end that's all that matters... and it's all I have. Everything else is Nul's. I might catch a glimpse of my life from time to time - in glimmering times, I take most of the control back, but never all of it. I never have that control again.

"You're heir again, Ebrellin-i." The name is poison to me - I don't want the throne title attached to it, but I certainly can't pass it to Alestere now, even if I had the liberty.

Now that I know what it really means...

"You may name your brother now." Mother giggles, and I wonder with dread just what she could find amusing about this. "He can't keep the same name, now that he isn't heir anymore. He's your possession - yours to name. So go on. Name him."

I want to open my mouth myself, say the words I want to say - that Alestere is not mine, that he can name himself and be free of me. But my King doesn't want that, and Nul opens my mouth instead, and bids me speak on his behalf. I suppose it's his first act through his new puppet of a King.

"His name is Eleth-travente." I feel a pang of sorrow. No... that's not right at all. Alestere meant "gift" or "gifted one". I always thought it was a pretty, fitting name for someone who had so much to offer the world. Now I know he was intended to be Nul's gift. This new one means...

"The little broken gift?" Mother, even, is confused.

"We shall make him whole, one day, with the piece of him you have given me. Then he shall be fit to take the throne of Radia. Until then, I shall hold that piece of him in my own lands. I shall make it ready."

I don't understand anything, but there's nothing I can do to stop it - and soon, Nul helps this confusion slide away from my mind, and the whole incident blurs out of my memory. There is only the throne to keep, and my brother to keep as close as possible.

When he runs away to Radia, I protect the only connection I have to him - this little piece of me. When Nul takes everything else that's me, this part remains. This part that keeps Nul from taking Elete's soul. Now Elete is dead.

I should just let them take me, now.

* * *
Lyric
* * *

I'm not aware of holding Ebrelle until I'm already lurching to the side, dragging him just far enough to evade Edward's grasp. I hear the man curse, I even see him glare at Ebrelle with perplexity - but he doesn't see me, somehow. And then I realize something that, if it was true before, I never noticed until now.

Edward's irises are solid white.

I don't know what I've done, but I've pulled Ebrelle just far enough out of reach--

Everything lurches.

We open our eyes. We're in Faun's forest again, in the waking world.

When I started this, I was writing on the tree with a quill that had no nib. Now I'm hunched beside Ebrellin-i, holding him for dear life as the towering black dragon that is probably all of him by now looks down at both of us. Its breath wisps out in hazy tendrils that smell of incense that's burned thick and long in too small of a space.

I remember to breathe. Ebrellin-i, as beaten and bloody as he is, stares up at his own soul. He shakes, either out of fear or sheer physical trauma.

I can't move.

The dragon doesn't eat us - it looks at Faun, wary. The animism gazes back at the dragon unblinking, then turns that eerie gaze on me.

"Did you find anything worth keeping?"

I tighten my arms around Ebrellin-i. "He's all worth keeping. It's just what to do with him that's always been--"

The dragon makes its decision - it dives down and its jaws consume me once more.

* * *
Ebrellin-i
* * *

There are so very many ways to end yourself, or take a large amount of the world with you while you're at it. I've studied them all very meticulously, and am quite sure that the list I've made of them is as comprehensive as one could get it in the lifespan I've been allowed, with the tools I've been alotted.

It's been a busy life, though not necessarily a happy one. There were daughters, yes. Lovers. None as sweet as you, J'Lotus, but the Jhe o'Radia did come very close to the mark before I broke him. Oh, he wouldn't call it a break. And maybe it was more of a burn, in retrospect. Perhaps if he'd been as sweet as you...

Ah, but then, I broke you too. I break all of my toys - or at least keep them in line. Otherwise, they run away. And see, when they run away, they aren't safe anymore. See what my poor little brother did to himself by running off to Radia? It took years, but eventually he got himself killed. And I--

I...

I wouldn't have let that happen to him, J'Lotus, I really wouldn't have.

I know a lie like that when I hear it, Jhe Ebrellin-i.

So formal you've turned, and after you started out so cheeky. After all we've been through. I just wanted to say goodbye. It's simply my time to end. Master beckons.

It's your choice whether you live or die.

Goodness, your voice is so pleading! Such a lovely tone, really, but not to my taste at the moment. Those dalliances are for the past days... my future will be simple oblivion, I think. But J'Lotus, I do wonder - why do you even care? I've bitten you in so many ways by now. Haven't you learned your lesson? You, who came to me with a pedigree of experience training animals. You should know what cases are beyond your control... you should know when to let go.

When to let the animal free, you mean? After all, I can't protect you.

I laugh. The sound is so strange, in this mental landscape... not really a landscape, not really land. It's Nul, but not Nul. Not quite yet, but it soon will be. And then, I'll finally be nothing. I'll finish that deed of so long ago, and be at peace.

Except, he keeps nagging at me. Why? There's no value to my life for him, likely no bounty he could claim. There's nothing of worth to me at all. There never was. Mother taught that to me early, and Nul finished the instruction. What I tried to make of myself turned to ruin in the end.

Just as I will, now.

And so I turn to him, that great sea of nothing at all, that strange King that wears armor so powerful that none can see past it... or at least, no one that I've heard of has. I turn to him... but he eludes me, in this final hour, and I don't know why.

...

Boy, insolent boy, are you denying me this death? How?

I have my ways. His voice betrays a lot of fear, but nothing of what his method against me is.

And then, I feel it. The touch of my brother. His methods, his ways. He called them his skills as a Time Lord - he made up that term just so there'd be a word for it. He was so gifted... he was so many things. Jhe Lotus has this ability too? How? I would have known if he was a Poet. He was with me the whole time, after all!

Jhe Lotus is silent, but I know he senses my thoughts, and my suspicion. And that knowing is what confirms it for me - that Jhe Lotus is a Poet, and likely was all this time. But how? He wasn't one of my brother's spies! I'd have sensed that!

Does it matter, what I was? His voice is broken, now. He's crying. I've hurt him somehow in my suspicions, in some way I can't even be aware of - and for some reason, I feel ashamed of it. I wonder why? But then... I felt shame for all the Poets I hurt. The Armed as well, though a little less so. They were a true danger to me and that which I loved and protected... still, had I not been a puppet...

I would have let them go, if not particularly in the best of shape...

The Poets, though, the little children and students of Elete... those I truly mourned. And to think, Jhe Lotus would have been one more--

It's Lyric! His voice cuts through mine. My name is Lyric, damnit! If you're going to kill yourself then at least you'll die knowing who was to blame!

I'm silent for a moment.

You can die cursing that name, if you wish! My parting gift to you!

I am confused as to how my death could be this boy's fault. My demise has, if anything else, been truly my own invention.

It's all my fault! This would have never happened if it weren't for me. I wish I had never answered your invitation in the first place!

Pure dramatics. I have been the sole mastermind here. All of this had to have happened... wait, no. No, I think this really is your fault, Jhe... Lyric.

Re-really? There's a tiny indication of a sniffle. He almost seems placated by the blame.

No, but it was enough to loosen your Poetry's grip on me--

Something unexpected happens, then.

He hits me. Somewhere in this expanse of nothingness, somehow, I feel it. As if he's struck my cheek. The... the gall of it. No, it's more than a simple slap in the face. It's an outright attack. He's actually trying to fight me, this strange boy...

I find myself growing angry, and I don't know why. But I am tired of this dragging out. I want to die, damnit. There's nothing left for me.

Coward! Coward King! Coward father, coward trainer, coward keeper of everything you claimed you'd protect! It's all still there, damn it, and it's broken because of you, and you're just going to leave it because you're too scared to come back and--

Then, whatever skill Jhe Lyric was using to seal me away from my unmaking slips, because he screams. I feel, for the first time in what seems like an eternity, panic. Not him. Me - I'm supposed to die! I can be hurt and kicked and whipped and--

Not him!

I lunge forward with everything I can, everything I have left of me, to attack whatever it is that's gotten after my Lyric. And then I realize, fool me--

He'd been pretending.

* * *

* * *
Lyric
* * *

I cling onto Ebrellin-i as soon as he comes to save me. It was a gamble, I admit - I didn't know if he would. But now I have him.

Except, he's still a dragon now, and he's not going to like what I'm doing.

I manage to climb on top of his head - I'm small, and he's quite big, as a dragon. There's plenty to climb onto. From there, I dig in. He can't shake me off. I've got excellent grip.

"If you go, I go with you." It's a simple statement of fact, and something that's enough to make me dizzy with fear. I don't want to die in Nul. I don't want to be there ever again. Something tells me that this time it wouldn't be like when I could walk about unharmed, unseen - this time, it really would hurt me. I'd die the same death as Ebrellin-i if I was lucky - the Jherent Nul sounds as if he has all sorts of awful uses for people he's not proven to be useless to him yet.

...But if it does come to that, and I die, will it really be as big a deal as if, say, Jhe Katherine died? No. I'm expendable, and I take a little pride in that. It's gotten me somewhere.

Ebrellin-i stays still. Good. That gives me a little more time to think of some way to fix all of this. Faun told me to find something worth saving. But what I don't understand is how to save it.

Then Faun makes my decision for me.

"Come at me, giant human-souled lizard. Come at me and get revenge."

We're back in the forest - me atop the dragon, Ebrellin-i under the dragon, Faun in front of us. Only, while I was off distracting the dragon part of Ebrellin-i... Faun was coming in close. The King is on his knees, and with Faun's short height it's just enough for the animism to crane his neck up and latch his teeth around the King's throat.

The dragon freezes. Heck, I freeze.

Faun's hand reaches up and unlatches the collar around Ebrellin-i's throat, the collar that was forged by Father and Diyn. The thing falls to the ground with Ebrellin-i's manacles, the chains following them. Ebrellin-i's body sways back and forth, but he manages to stay kneeling. He doesn't have much choice about it, really - Faun's teeth are still at his throat.

Then the chains slither up and wrap around the dragon, forming a bridle and reins that would lead up into my hands--

Don't you dare try to hold me, boy.

I drop off of the dragon and roll to the side, out of the way. There's only so much suicide I can threaten to commit in one day, and this has just grown out of my control. Possibly, it's still in Faun's.

The dragon gives one good struggle, but Diyn keeps his jaws clamped shut. Not a whisper emerges from them. Then his head comes crashing to the ground besides Ebrellin-i's swaying form. Faun disengages his teeth from the man's neck, then guides him to lie on the ground, curled up in the crook of the dragon's neck. He gives Ebrellin-i's body one pat. The he takes up the dragon's reins, and yanks them.

"Purge from him what you see fit to eliminate. If Lyric is right, then there might be something left after you're done."

I hear Diyn's reply as Elric pushes the quill back into my hands.

I can't imagine how.

* * *
Diyn
* * *

Something left? I don't see how it will happen - as it is I'm only eliminating what's been handed over to me bit by bit because the Animism has stipulated it. Otherwise I could simply eliminate Ebrellin-i all at once.

Hm, there's a thought. And a starting point. You need to lose that meddlesome title - you've no use for it, and you won't claim it as having value anymore. Why keep a thing that is useless to yourself?

And the King squirms as I strip away the parts that are the monarch, as I clean each and every one of the filth that is Nul... and then destroy them, one by one. These are not things he can keep anymore. Certainly they are nothing he's earned. And they're all guilty.

Every bit of him is guilty, of course. But taking it all bit by bit does have its merit. He pleads for his title, and thus learns the value it had for him as it's taken away.

Then it is Tia's, and the rest of him is mine.

I am not sure if I can consider this a cleansing. It is more of a carving. I do find it amusing that he was so intent on suicide - he's running from me now, every bit of him. They often run in the end. The ones that stand their ground often don't even need to stand Trial at all.

Ebrelle runs. It doesn't make things any less quick - in fact, it makes my job a bit easier, because the parts of himself scatter as they each try to survive on their own. I don't have to strip them off one by one, now.

Here's the bit that played at being a Father. So many stains here, so much black. In the end, there's something left - some worm of a thing that didn't intend it to go all wrong, didn't know what he was doing. I suppose it could have some worth in a whole person, but can't see how it'll survive on its own without the entire rest of a soul.

Here are the parts that kept animals, and slaves. Oddly there is more here to spare - some part of himself that desired to protect others, badly perverted. I doubt it could manage such protection now, as I've stripped away the meanness in it, the ambition, the dominance.

What is this? Something that loved to investigate. Ahh, yes, the part of him that decided to put wires on Bruce and Wagner, and aspired to figure me out through that strange game.

I am amused by it.

There is less Nul to clean here - he was a naturally curious and mischievous individual, and a large amount of the mischief of this part was... honest mischief that I really don't care about. It got him in trouble, yes, but isn't that a good thing, in that it could have kept him in line that way? He was his most clean when this part took to the fore - when he engaged in this 'science'.

I keep it whole, paring off some of the blackened edges.

The part that loved. I am not sure of love in so many cases - it is just as much trouble as it could be solution. With him it is doubly so. I am not sure what is pure and what isn't. What he considered to be 'love' was just another self-justification to keep and train others.

It's not love at all, really. Just something he trained into himself, and the blackest part of him. When I destroy it, there's nothing left to hold the whole together. Everything is scattered and unwilling to join, as would be expected of someone who acted out of fear in most everything he did. What is left? What part of him can even stand anymore, in this raw and unbridled version of a Trial?

Ah, it's really a question now of what's left around the edges, cowering. There's a lot of that - mostly Nul posing as him, and thus duly stripped and purged. There's a bit of honest fear that's left behind, and in some of that fear I find the actual love that he might have shown towards those he chose to protect, once or twice. It's crippled and blinded and stripped of skin already - Nul presumed to do what is my job, yet again. So, while it survives, I'm unsure if it could ever act as it should again. The fear is healthier, and far more of it exists in him.

Fear, torment, anger, anguish, dread, resignation, depression, dull shock. So many wonderful things that are quite whole after I clean them. Really, there's nothing in him that will stand and take responsibility for the crimes he's committed. Even after he's cleaned, if he's still found guilty then there's no worth to any of this exercise beyond mere semantics.

What is left of this peacock? I search so that it might answer to me. I find one last scrap of stubbornness. I scrape away what must be purged from it, and afterward it still manages to stand. I'll speak to it, then.

Do you have a plea?

It looks at me, defiance still hiding somewhere in those eyes. "I have been dragged here beaten and bloody and have been bloodied further still, and you ask me my plea now?"

Yes.

He has to think over it for a moment. "What am I supposed to say? Sorry takes back nothing that I've done, and won't bring back the parts of me that you've taken."

True.

"Sorry won't bring my brother back and won't undo what my Mother has done to my life and my world. I see nothing that I can aid you with, nothing I have left to offer anymore. I don't even see what choice I'm being offered, now."

That is a lie. You know what you are left with now. You may decide to try to live through this, or you can let me kill you.

He scoffs. "I can die in pain or I can die in different pain, then? Which makes me more or less guilty?"

Does your guilt even matter to you now?

He stiffens. "I want someone to answer for all that I've been put through. If it's not me that should, then I at least deserve to know it. If I don't live to know, then what was the point of being not guilty? Furthermore, if it's my choice whether I'm guilty or not, then what is the point of you Judging me? I fail to see how any of this is a proper and measurable method."

You certainly like to talk, don't you?

"Well, what is the point? There's certainly nothing I can lose anymore by asking."

Would you prefer your mother die knowing what she had done to deserve it, or die oblivious?

"I'd prefer she die knowing the pain she caused others and just how much of it she never had to cause at all."

I would prefer that you die, or survive this, knowing just what you are responsible for. I can't have everything that I want, and thus you can escape the knowledge and just die. There, you have an answer. Now choose before I decide to carve off a different piece to ask.

"I refuse to die in ignorance, thank you." Ah, yes. This part of him is the man that knew 'science'.

I run him through the same as everyone else. The pain in his eyes is evidence that he is no longer ignorant. I am sated.

* * *
'Sy
* * *

My eyes widen as I realize what Diyn has done. There's no point in blocking Mitheoni - no point at all. I couldn't, even if I tried.

Odd, then, that I find myself standing between him and Katherine anyway, unwilling to budge.

Katherine's eyes are wide. Our hands are clasped - she squeezes mine.

Mitheoni lowers his gaze, then looks off to the side completely. He must be conferring with Emperor Theos. A verdict. It's nice that he cares enough to double-check, but no. There can be no question.

There is no more Jhe o'Audiva Rocale. The Treaty has been broken.

* * *
Luciprochoros
* * *

I daresay everyone feels the Treaty break. Every Armed gives pause, every spider opposing them seems to tremble with a sort of zeal, and the Poet Hall echoes absolute alarm.

The Captain shows no concern at all, not one stutter or trip in his step. I follow him as he cuts through a rather overzealous spider - and then Stevane finishes the thing off.

You can go and fight without me, I say, even though I suspect her answer.

I want to see this man who is so much like Jhe h'Lete.

By then we've reached the Armed Hall, which the spiders can't break the wards of but the Captain seems to have no trouble entering. Funny, that.

I walk through the double-doors, taking note of how it feels to cross this particular threshold... perhaps for the last time.

The Captain whirls to face me, his head tilted at an awkward angle so that our eyes can meet. I keep reminding myself of how short he is - really he's about Stevane's height. It just doesn't come across while he's in action.

"I really must hurry," I say.

He narrows his eyes. "I'll hold ye accountable if something happens to 'im. I will. I'll never leave yer shadow alone, and none of yer dreams'll be quiet again." Then he turns on his heel and leads on without another word.

Stevane looks at me, the unspoken question in her eyes. I nod. She follows the Captain directly, and I follow her.

It isn't really that I need the protection. She's just doing what 'Sy would do, and I'm glad. It makes me feel more normal with this... with this silly hat on.

I hate this crown...

It's not really a thought intended for anyone, but I see Stevane pause for a step just the same. I curse myself. She's a Poet and I'm wearing the Poet King's crown. Of course she'd hear me.

I'm not sure how to apologize to her, or what for, really. I could have fixed this long ago, I'm sure, before it all spiraled out of control. Perhaps that's what I need to apologize for most, but... I'm not sure if it's worth anything, at this point. I'm not sure what I can even do as Jhe h'Logos now.

Then I set my eyes on the very image of the dead Jhe h'Logos, and every thought's gone out of my head. It's Elete. It really is Elete. My son, if I could ever call him that... alive, whole, and terrified.

Except he's different, and I know it. At least, I keep telling myself that.

Maybe Thelea made twins when she tried to make Elete. Who knows where our pirate friend could have found him?

Stevane chokes on a word, or possibly a whole sentence, and I wonder how stupid I was to bring her with me, so soon after she saw Elete's death. She clenches her fists, standing stock-still.

The Captain looks at me, wary as ever. "Ales. This man right here said he's got spiders hunting his arse down too."

My brow crinkles. "I didn't say that. I said we had a common enemy--"

"He pretty much said that." He glares down at the man who could be my son. "You seemed to think it was okay to bring 'im in, so I did."

'Ales' seems to be in shock for a moment. He shakes himself, then nods at the Captain. "Th-thank you." He wraps his arms around himself and shudders. On the floor is a sheaf of parchment leaves, some already inscribed. The quill rests against his knee, leaking a tiny pool of ink onto the floor. I glance across the words and my eyes widen.

He was writing the battle?

"Stevane. You can write." It's not so much a question as an order. I need her to write now, and because I need her to she'll be able. It's that simple.

She nods. For a moment she can't take her eyes off the man with Elete's face. She shakes herself, blinks away tears, and then sits on the floor. She takes the parchment and quill and sets to writing as if she were at her own desk instead of hunching over in the halls of the Armed Hall. There's a zeal to her actions that speaks of someone that's happy to lose herself in them.

That's good, then. I'm sure the fight outside will go well. For us, at least.

"May I?" I don't wait for an answer before I take a seat in front of Ales. It's my Empire, after all - at least for now it is. I don't know how long we'll last past the Treaty's breaking, but I have what's in front of me to work with, and I certainly won't stop until there's no choice about it.

Ales manages to meet my eyes. Those clear blue eyes... how could 'Sy stand it? I barely can. Of course, it's worse for me - I'm starting to read this man. I can't blind my own eyes - keeping the crown away from myself was the most I could do to stave off the kind of sight that just sees too far for my comfort.

And so I see this man, and where he came from. I see how long he's run away from the lands of Nul, and from the Jherent Nul's servants. I see just how wanted and how hated by Nul he is.

I see something else in his eyes, though. A light, perhaps. It's getting brighter with every second. Ales whimpers.

"I don't want to remember."

Then it blinds me.

* * *
Lyric
* * *

My writing comes to an end. The quill ceases its scratching against the grass. I look up.

Where the dragon was held chained against the forest floor, there is now only ash. Grey, powdery ash, as normal as what might have been left behind by a campfire. Ebrelle's body lies in the center.

I don't believe what I see.

His skin is pale and smooth, though still wounded by Faun's claws. The shadow marks, the very hallmarks that first had him dubbed as the Peacock King, are gone. It's not the most shocking change, though.

At first I think it's the ash coating his hair, but then I realize it's his hair I'm seeing. The whole length of it's gone white.

I wonder if he's alive. He's still very wounded by Faun's assault. The chain's not on him - it's off to the side, twinkling in the grass, not even touching any of the ash. But... he's so still and pale.

Then Faun looks over Ebrelle, inspecting what's been done. His nose wrinkles as he sniffs at the former King. He strokes a finger through the white length of hair, then strokes Ebrelle's cheek. He smiles that not-smile of his.

Then, he's gone, and we're alone in the clearing. No goodbye, no instructions, no help. In so many ways, Faun is a typical Animism.

After some deliberation, I step forward and inspect Ebrelle more closely. I can't tell if he's breathing. I see his hand is still covering the place where young Ebrelle had been stabbed.

Without knowing why, I lift his hand. I take comfort in the fact that it's still warm.

I don't know what to think about the strange light that flashes out from where the wound once was, then winks out just as quickly. Enough strange things have happened today that I just brush it off as another one of them.

"Jhe Lyric?"

I whirl around. The Peacekeeper? How did he get here? Who's that other guy with him? And what are they carrying?

My eyes widen. "GERALD!"

* * *
'Sy
* * *

We have been bought some time by the sheer fact that Mitheoni either hasn't been told what to do yet, or Emperor Theos must still be deliberating on it.

"The Most High must hold even himself to his own rules, but..." Mitheoni holds his hand up, still looking into the distance. "He is unsure whether any party has truly broken them. He would prefer not to be rash. On the other hand, he is unsure whether Audiva Rocale and Crux Radia can ever know peace again."

Ah. Of course - that was the reason behind the imposition of the Treaty in the first place. When Audiva Rocale and Crux Radia were at war, the hostilities escalated to the point of threatening most life in our hemisphere. I can't argue with the position, really - there's not much Crux Radia can do by this point besides a full-scale invasion to suppress future hostilities from the Xaillyndesse royal family.

But that's not Katherine's fault, and I'll not see her die today. Her hand's still in mine. She's said nothing yet.

...Is Father okay?

I try not to let slip in my demeanor just how much the emotion in her voice crushes me. I don't have what I can articulate as an answer for her. All Diyn cares about is whether Ebrelle has answered for his crimes. Knowing that he has done so doesn't tell either Katherine or I whether he's 'okay'.

I just don't understand why I couldn't go in. I'm the Advocate. Where the Law goes, I'm supposed to go. I didn't understand...

I look back at her. I only see the top of her head - she's staring at the ground.

I don't see why Faun didn't let me in, too.

I squeeze her hand. I feel just as powerless as she does. I'm always able to exert some sort of control over Diyn... this time, Faun took that role. I'd grown used to how things were and how our systems are set up... until now, I couldn't fully appreciate why we did things the way we did.

Then Faun appears before us all, as if in answer to my ruminations. He sketches one of his strange bows to me, then hesitates before Mitheoni. He settles on giving the Law of Chethar a vague courtesy nod.

But then, Chethar's Law doesn't preside over wild things. ...Not yet, at least.

"You may remove Ebrelle now. He has been cleaned." He cocks his head. "It seems your scouts have already reached him. You may join them, if you wish." He gives another bow to me, then disappears.

Katherine is gone. She may have left before Faun even dismissed himself. I give one glance to Mitheoni--

(so much consternation on his face)

--before I follow Katherine where Mitheoni can't follow either of us.

Just yet, at least. There's no telling if Emperor Theos will turn a blind eye to what Faun has done today.

* * *

* * *
Edward
* * *

My King is furious, and I can be thankful for two things right now: that the anger isn’t focused on me, and that he’s so very furious that I’m not sure if he’d remember to focus it on me if he could. It’s hard to tell - emotions from my King are so very cold and inscrutable... but very pure, in their own way. Crushing in their scale, so potent that they make you want to stop existing just so they’ll stop being focused upon you.

...Yes, I am very thankful my King has forgotten me in his fury.

How did we go wrong? I can’t see what we possibly missed. We had almost reached that core part of Ebre’schtullin-neh that he’d kept sealed away for so long. He’d all but given his will to live over to our King. Then he slipped out of our grasp as if he was never within our reach to begin with. Not just that core part... but all of Ebre’schtullin-neh.

He is no longer called by that name. Don’t bother according it. I did not realize that my King had been listening to my thoughts, and feel a tiny spike of alarm in that I haven’t been schooling them. But he sounds calm now - marvelously calm.

Perhaps I’ll live through this.

My King contemplates. I am allowed to see just what he is contemplating - he wonders how some other entity could possibly have stripped away the name he gave to... Ebrelle? Is it only that now?

Not even the name Ebrellin-i is left to him, and that was just a bare trace of the name I gave him... something for mortals to be able to pronounce in their own societies. Something they could imagine to worship him by, instead of me.

Then my King leaves me out of just what he thinks, and I’m left to wait for the next thing he says:

Perhaps things must change for the Throne, after they have persisted so marvelously as they were for such a long time. I feel that anger rise again, then feel that anger become focused, channeled, sharpened and aimed.

One target has been lost, but Jhe h’Logos still remains, though we’ve no way to reach him now that he’s shielded. But that will not stop my King. No... he has nothing else to attack, now. He can focus everything onto that location.

He’ll break those wards if it takes everything he has. I feel him pull me into the assault, and realize that if he’s successful, I’ll break the wards.

* * *
Stevane
* * *

This is a pretty easy fight to provide Poetry backup for. The present Armed and the pirates are more than enough to deal with the arachnids attacking the Halls. Especially now that I’ve taken over the quill instead of this man who looks so much like Jhe h’lete--

He um... he doesn’t write like Jhe h’lete, though. Too much flourish, too many dramatic notions packed into one passage, too much scatterbrained lack of focus instead of the dignified order that I’ve come to expect of Jhe h’Lete’s work. I learned from that focus and detachment... it’s the sort of thing that makes it a lot easier to write one’s brother in a fight against gigantic, slavering monsters and not feel tension about whether he’s going to live or die.

...Well, maybe that’s more from being an Akribastes.

I can say one thing - the fight’s turned a bit more vicious now that I’ve taken over. There’s some arachnids that ought to have died long ago, but this Jhe h’Lete-alike apparently likes to play around instead of getting to business. The spiders get dispatched a lot faster now, and I start to think that this fight might wrap up pretty quickly.

Then my quill skitters across the surface of the parchment, followed by a dark little chasm of ink, and everything starts to slip out of my grasp. I’m pretty sure one of the pirates just managed to get himself killed!

I scribble something down and manage to save him by a hair. Considering the penchant for the dramatic that the first writer here had, it’s not that difficult of a conversion.

Then it’s as if someone puts their hand over mine and guides my hand to write for them. I’m in so much shock over it that for a moment, I let it happen. It’s just... so familiar. It’s how we’re taught in the Poet Hall at certain points, especially if a teacher has to step in and pull us out of a bad turn in our work directly. Some teachers prefer not to be so invasive, but it’s a favorite technique of--

My eyes narrow.

“Uncle Edward’s writing,” I manage to spit out through my concentration. I’m trying to block as best as I can, but Edward’s strong. He’s older than me and more experienced, but I never thought he had this much raw power behind his writing! It’s so hard to move my hand where I want it to, but I press in with every bit of will I’ve got...

And still it’s not enough. The words march on outside of my own volition, and nothing I can do will change them.

* * *
Luciprochoros
* * *

There’s something more to Jhe Ales now - that spark in his eyes isn’t flaring so bright anymore, but he definitely seems... more here. He pulls himself up, gathers his focus, and in one moment seems to be everything he should be, everything Elete’s potential ought to have led to.

Then he collapses to the floor, unconscious.

I close my eyes, massaging my brow. Nothing is simple today.

“Uncle Edward’s writing.” Stevane’s voice is so tense and terse that I’m alarmed by the tone before I’m alarmed by the message -- and then I leave worrying over Ales to the Captain, who is surely more experienced in that matter anyway.

My son. I don't want to think of him like that right now - it just makes things complicated. I don't want to think of how this is a man I raised from a baby, who I always marveled at all the infinite potential of from that young age, who I waited excitedly for in anticipation of just what he could show the world. All of that, and some part of me has disowned him already. I couldn’t tell you why it was easy.

But this, this is hard.

“Just focus,” I say, putting my hands on her shoulders. I close my eyes and concentrate. I can reach him as Jhe h’Logos... but I’m afraid of what I’ll find as a Father. I can’t let that stop me, though. There’s too much at stake, and what Edward has already done is unforgivable.

...Well, if there is something to forgive, I'll leave that to the Advocate. She's his sister, not his Father. Maybe that will make it easier for her.

It’s so easy to sense Edward’s energy - he’s attacking Stevane directly, after all. I start to wonder how he’s even able to do it - his Poetry should turn back on himself if he attacks Jhe h’Logos. Or rather, the stronger Poetry should counter. Is there something I don’t know? It seems a little silly to ask, considering that I’m the Song and all, but so much has been revealed lately that we knew nothing about...

In any case, the theory doesn’t matter, because Edward is still attacking with as much as he’s got... and more. There’s a power backing him, something that almost makes me shudder. What is it? Is that Nul? I can’t see it exactly, but Stevane remembers that particular resonance of energy--

--It was all over Lyiannethe, Unkie, the Kommissar reeked of it too--

She’s half cringing, half holding herself back from attacking with her Arms. In such constrained quarters, and with her recent awakening, it likely wouldn’t go well.

Then I don’t have any time to notice such things, because Edward notices me.

--sorry Jhe h’Logos, but you’d have done yourself a favor to stay dead the last time--

I hate this crown.

* * *
Edward
* * *

It's really not so bad of a crime, is it, to attack and kill a man who is already dead? Jhe h'Logos surely needs to move on to the Void, where he belongs. And after all, he was sick for so much of his life - it'd be a pity to leave him wounded and living, with so many duties burdening him.

...And I could take over those duties, soon enough. There's no reason to linger here, Jhe h'Logos. Just make this easy for yourself. Don't you want to rest?

There's no reply. Strange, but... I prefer it that way. I'm still a little ashamed... hearing Jhe h'Logos's voice would make it harder, I think. Better to make it quick now, while he's apparently stunned.

Except... how?

We still can't reach through the wards, I say to my King.

Then use your tool as you should have already.

Ah, yes. My darling little tidbit. She’s finally doing as she’s told. Her Poetry’s certainly potent enough for the killing stroke. Time to make her useful. I command her quill to move as I and my King bid it to.

I wait.

Why... why is nothing happening?

No, something is happening - just not much of it. She’s blocking, that’s what it is. She’s found some hidden willpower, I suppose, or a new reserve of energy. Well, she may be resilient, but she can’t stand up to the might of both myself and my King combined. If she won’t relent then...

Then we’ll just have to crush her until she knows her place.

I focus more of the power and rage of my King at Stevane. It doesn’t touch her yet, but soon it will. It’s just a matter of waiting--

You should cease this pointless cruelty, Edward.

I didn’t want to hear him! I didn’t want to hear him! I try to shut the voice out of my mind and pretend I never heard it. Surely my King will aid me in this - he so loves muting my memories.

But no... before I can request such a blessing, I realize there is something different about Jhe h’Logos’s voice. Something in the pitch. In the sound of it...

No, that’s not possible. That’d mean he sounded like a completely different person.

Then I realize that Jhe h’Logos, being King of the Poets, would easily be able to make a feint such as that. Changing his voice to throw me off and divert the attack from Stevane...

Very clever, but you can’t fool me! I know who you are, Jhe h’Logos!

There’s a wave of sadness that almost topples me. No, no you don’t. Jhe h’Logos still speaks in my Father’s voice, for whatever reason. I don’t understand it, and I don’t have a chance to. In the moment of my confusion, he counters.

* * *
Stevane
* * *

I push the quill across the page, rejoicing with every tilt and jaunting step it makes. This is no longer Edward's writing. Somewhere between Unkie and I's voices is a harmony, and in that harmony echoes the Poetry I'm inscribing.

It makes it easier to write what we're about to write. My inability to counter Edward’s level of power is offset by Unkie’s ability to do just that, and Unkie’s hesitation to strike Edward is negated by the rage and volatility that’s so hard for me to hold in check now that I’ve awakened as an Armed. Somewhere between us we find the equilibrium that’s necessary to strike Edward.

Besides, I say to Unkie, if you help, what I do can be tempered.

I sense the barest of nods from him as he anticipates my plan.

I stop writing, but my quill keeps moving. The motions are for a different purpose, though - for drawing. I manage a quick, passable sketch of Edward. Unkie lends the gracenotes to it, adding the little touches that give the drawing life. Unkie knew Edward better than I ever did - of course he’d be the most apt at rendering him quickly.

I hold up the quill over one of Edward’s eyes. I want to gouge it out. My Arms crave that sort of victory, that level of Justice. Unkie considers it. With his guidance, I swipe the quill over Edward’s eyes, stitching them shut instead of putting them out. The attack on Unkie shudders and weakens.

But it still persists. Uncle Edward was always so stubborn.

The ears are the next obvious point of attack. Unkie stifles my urge to just lop them off - that won’t really do nearly as much as stopping them up with a good blob of ink for each. I make sure to focus on how sticky the ink is, how near-to-impossible it would be to wash it off. It registers a bit of a response, but still Edward presses on, as expected.

We’ve planned for it, though. Unkie reins in my quill’s desire to skate sideways over Edward’s neck and slit his throat. He guides my quill upwards instead, to the mouth. The marks to stitch it shut are simple and quick to draw.

After that, Edward’s attack ceases entirely.

* * *
Edward
* * *

I try to hear the commands of my King, I really do. Our bond is too strong to be broken by someone as weak as Jhe h'Logos, let alone a fledgling like Stevane.

But all I hear is silence, and everything around me goes numb.

Being in such a bleak place as Nul, where very little is felt or heard or spoken, made me convinced that there could be no further detachment from the world. I was wrong. Isolated from isolation itself, all I can do is writhe - or at least, I think I writhe. I can't tell anything anymore, really. Certainly can't serve my King, even though I long to - possibly in self-defense. He shall be so infuriated. But I can't hear, can't speak, can't even feel. A shroud's been put over me.

Is this death, or is it worse? Time stretches out until it's long and thin, until it's nothing at all.

* * *

* * *
Ebrelle
* * *

I blink my eyes open and behold the green hues of the canopy of Faun’s forest with my own eyes. It’s a beautiful, fresh green, yellowed with the rays of the sun. I’d love to marvel at the leaves and branches spiraling upwards, perhaps spy a crevice of blue sky, but my vision is blurred beyond that sort of comprehension, and I don’t know if it’ll ever improve beyond that.

I don’t know if I have that long.

I miss the part of me that had the missing parts of my name, but I am too tired to miss it much. I am too tired to account for all of what is there. My thoughts feel as if they’re about to shatter even before I make them, and everything in my head is tender... everything that can even be felt at all. I shouldn’t be awake - there’s a crisp burning sensation around the edges of my thoughts, senses, and sight, and it only grows worse with each moment. I’ve only one reason to be conscious.

I heard my daughter call my name, and I woke up. She’s holding my hand. I feel very blessed that she’s here... but more than that, cursed by how much of a wretch I am, and have been, for someone who’s supposed to be Katherine’s Father. My vision blurs more, but the tears don’t exactly hurt. I miss the years I’ve lost. I miss the person I was supposed to be. The burning sensation begins to sear through my mind with a heat that’s almost relieving--

“Father, Father please. Please listen to me this time.”

I close my eyes and try to focus on my daughter’s words. There are worse things to hear as you die.

“You can live. Let me heal you.” She pauses, and in that pause is a muffled sniffle that she can’t entirely hide. “Let me heal you now, or there was no point to any of the sacrifices. Please.”

Katherine’s gone straight to convincing me in a rational manner to decide to preserve my own life. How many times has she plead, in how many ways, for my life? It dawns on me just how much she must have been through with me, up until now, to decide that an emotional appeal was worthless. I can’t remember much of what happened after I fell to Justice in the Palace of Audiva Rocale. I don’t know how much grief I’ve caused her since then.

Quite a bit. It must be quite a bit. And while I am a wretch and beyond redemption and not worth saving... I don’t want to fight anymore. I don’t want to be the burden anymore. If I’m worthless as a King now and worthless as a scientist now and worthless as anything else, at least I can do one little thing as a Father--

“Fine. I relent.”

All I remember after that is a warm glow, but somewhere within it I think I glimpse her smile, though it may just be my shattered mind imagining things.

* * *
‘Sy
* * *

I take my son from Camden, look down at him in my arms, then shake my head. I’m sad, to be sure - but Gerald certainly has a knack for going off in style. I’m not entirely surprised by it... and it’s not as if he hasn’t come back after all the other deaths. There’s little to worry about.

Then... there is Lyric, who seems to be far more concerned about his brother than I am. I almost feel a little ashamed, but then, Lyric hasn’t been with the family for such a long time that perhaps he is the only member who isn’t used to this happening.

And the guilt. It radiates off of him, but not like something Diyn and I need to attend to. It’s a healthy thing - something that will remind him to show caution next time he thinks of doing something so foolhardy.

...I can hope.

Lyric looks up at me, his blue eyes full of tears. I’m reminded all of a sudden just how much like his Uncle’s eyes they are... and then I realize how like Luciprochoros he is overall. Always full of surprises, never questioning where he’s going.

And always... always headed somewhere I can’t expect.

Faun appears in front of me without even so much as a whisper of warning. He bows again. “It relieves me that the Advocate has convinced Ebrelle to live. I apologize for the loss, but there was no other way. What was buried in Ebrelle had to be unearthed here, and Lyric had found a doorway into his heart that Ebrelle wouldn’t close.”

Lyric looks to the side and blushes, unable to meet my eyes. Of course, Jhe Elric picks that moment to step up behind Lyric and wrap his arms around him. It’s too damn soon, and Lyric’s been in too much danger, and he’s my son, damnit. Of course, he would find the one time that I was holding something I refuse to drop.

I can glare, though - and the Briarseal boy flinches. His resolve doesn’t break, and he doesn’t back away from my son, though - which I at least approve of. He’d better show himself worthy.

I look across to Katherine. She sits up from leaning over Ebrelle, who looks a great deal healthier now - possibly more so than when I first faced him in the Aurocan Palace. He looks... clean.

That might be saved, then... the Treaty might be saved, if Ebrelle is still alive. I can only hope Emperor Theos will show that much mercy.

Elric clears his throat. I look at the Poet, his eyebrows drawn together, his expression somewhere in the distance.

Then Lyric’s eyes widen.

* * *
Lyric
* * *

Elric says it to me just as I feel the pull:

You’ve got to go, Lyric, and it has to be now.

I know where, too. I know to whom. And I know why. My eyes flick up to my Father’s - he’s looking straight at me, expectant. Of course - he probably didn’t hear Elric, but he knows he spoke.

And he probably senses that something is about to be wrong in the world again, and it’s going to involve one of his kids.

“I--” The words choke up in my mouth, and I close it, close my eyes, and steady myself. I kept myself calm in the face of the Peacock King, in the face of Thelea Xaillyndesse, and in the face of the Kommissar.

I can do the same in front of my Father, can’t I? I’ll have to. I open my eyes and meet his.

“I have to find Thelea Xaillyndesse and convince her that I’ve not defected.” I close my eyes, steady myself again, and open them once more. “I can write home this time. I’m not running away. You’ll need me to do this. It’s the only way you’ll catch her. And if I wait any longer, she won’t believe me.”

Father’s face pinches in that way when I know he wishes one of us children didn’t say something to him, but knows it can’t be taken back. He closes his own eyes, and would probably pinch the bridge of his nose if Gerald wasn’t in his arms.

Gerald is such a keen reminder of why I have to do this. I reach forward and touch his face. It’s a sort of goodbye... maybe even a thank-you. I couldn’t have done any of this without Gerald.

I hope he knows.

“Go.” I look up at Father, then look away. I don’t want to look at his expression any longer. It’s not a look any child wants to see on a parent.

I walk to his side, I hug him, and then I turn and walk away. Elric got his goodbye in early. And besides...

You aren’t leaving me behind. I’m always with you.

I take one last look back at Ebrelle, and then I leave.

* * *
'Sy
* * *

With that done, there's nothing left to us but to leave with Ebrelle. Faun checks over the dethroned man, his expression, as usual, betraying nothing. There isn't really much to betray, is there? Faun's emotions aren't even emotions as such.

The Animism looks to me, then Katherine, and nods. We can take Ebrelle, then. I've no idea...

I collect myself.

I have no idea how we're going to carry him out.

Camden is visibly tense, looking about for any sign of enemy approach. Patrick is like a statue next to him, simply following the Peacekeeper's lead when he moves at all. Diyn says that Patrick is relatively stable - at least, the part of Patrick that Arms would stir from. There's no danger of a premature awakening. The man's not even had the barest whiff of training yet-- though a field encounter with Camden involved could certainly be a start.

"Jhe Faun... have the Avians withdrawn completely?"

The Animism cocks his head. "They roam through my lands at will, though often at their peril. They ride the fringes now, looking for more assailants. They're far from your party, though - luck would have it that they've lost the scent of all of you."

Luck. With so many Poets in the vicinity, I prefer not to think about what could be skewing our odds. I look down at Gerald. Idiot - with his flair for the dramatic, he probably considered dying in battle to be a stroke of good luck.

I sigh, then pass him back to Camden and Patrick. "Katherine? Could you look after Gerald's body?"

She sits up straight, surprise in her posture. "He died again?" Her voice is more amazement than it is shock or in any way sorrow.

I sigh. Katherine attends to Gerald's body. I attend to Ebrelle's.

The man is tall - taller even than I am. I wonder at how that's possible, but shrug it off. I'm strong enough to bear this man's weight, especially considering how scrawny his adventures have made him.

I leave for the forest's edge. I bid Katherine and the others to go ahead of us to Radia.

Is that the best idea? Katherine's concern rings through her thoughts. I wonder. But I won't have her with me when I face Mitheoni, and his Emperor through him. I just can't have her there and keep my thoughts clear.

...I understand. They leave.

* * *

I deposit Ebrelle on the ground before Mitheoni as a sort of offering. "Alive, and in better condition than I found him," I say as sort of an apology.

Mitheoni's expression is, at best, dubious. "What do you expect us to do with this?"

By 'this,' I suppose he means 'everything'. I haven't the slightest clue myself, but he takes my silence as a prompt to continue, so I'm saved the burden of having to find words.

"You've divided two Empires completely, war beckons towards the entire continent, and you've no explanation for..." Mitheoni, at a lack for a proper way to finish his point, gestures fervently toward Ebrelle. "Why was any of this necessary?"

I open my mouth, but cannot dredge up an explanation. This was one thing having Katherine around helped me with. I find it so much easier to speak with her around.

Mitheoni pinches his brow. "Is there any reason why we shouldn't destroy everything and start over?" I think he's asking the Most High now, instead of me. However, I've not been told not to speak.

"We still have a member of the royal bloodline." I gesture to Ebrelle. "There may be a way to return his title, after he recovers. He's been..." How do I even describe this business with Nul? I don't even know the half of it myself yet. "There were traitors working against him in his own Kingdom, suppressing his Will with trickery and making him largely unable to change his own actions. What happened today was necessary. It freed him when neither I nor the Advocate could."

This, perhaps, is not the best answer to give Mitheoni. The Gahalespbar-archo's eyes bore into mine, a heat behind his gaze unlike any I've ever seen there. I feel that odd tingle of being Judged that I so rarely feel unless I'm training an Armed - but this has more potential than mere kitten scratches. It's almost like bearing up under Diyn, a predicament I know quite well.

I blink. I realize that he doesn't believe me. I'm so shocked by the prospect that I immediately say: "I'm not lying to either of you."

And then I realize the terrible truth of the matter - I'm not lying in my eyes, but in theirs I am.

I can attest for him. He would be as meat to me if he dared falsify in front of you and claim different.

Mitheoni steps back in shock. I realize Diyn appeared in my hand as he spoke. I try to make that particular move seem on purpose.

The Law of Chethar frowns. He knows as well as I that Diyn would be quite fervent about judging me if the opportunity arose. "Most High, I don't--"

I feel the Emperor's regard through Mitheoni's eyes then, and try not to flinch before him. Diyn remains a steadying force, and besides - I really have done nothing wrong in this.

Mitheoni and the Emperor then gaze down at Ebrelle. "Curious... his hair's gone white. What needed to be cleaned out of him so thoroughly?" The Most High's voice is still stern, but curiosity tempers it. Then the gaze is turned back up to me. "What do you plea, then?"

"Innocence. Innocence for all parties involved. We have no choice but to defend ourselves and that which we are able to protect from aggressors."

"As is part of your function." Mitheoni nods. Something fades from his gaze, and I'm less prone to wince at it. Emperor Theos is no longer looking directly through his eyes. "Much remains unexplained that we feel should not be without reason."

"Only time can solve that problem, amongst many more that deserve our attention. Without that..." I cut myself off, in the realization that my mouth is running with a lack of diplomacy that rival's my brother's deficit. Still, now that it's half-spilled, I can't very well hide the statement. "Without that time, the problem will still be there, unresolved, even if we are all destroyed."

Mitheoni seems dubious of that assessment.

"Ebrelle did as much as he could to keep his daughter safe. He shouldn't have that taken from him. We can recover Audiva Rocale while it waits for him. We are willing to take all measures--"

"Enough." Mitheoni waves off my bartering. "There is a Will in you to preserve the Balance, at least. We cannot test this man for it, nor can we see how a nation with no leader will go to war just yet. You have eight months." Mitheoni gestures to dismiss me, as if we were in High Court.

I suppose we were, in some sense. I feel relief and sheathe Diyn. I lift up Ebrelle. Mitheoni still studies the Xaillyndesse as I right him in my arms. He's light enough, but so tall and awkward.

The Gahalespbar-archo frowns. "We still don't understand what could have tainted him so to begin with, and why you can't explain it without lying to us. Perhaps the Song or the Advocate will have better words." Then he vanishes, and I'm left alone to compose myself for a bare second before following to Radia.

* * *
Julia
* * *

The fight is glorious. Cary finally gave me the go-ahead and do my worst, saying that another Poet's necessary work had finished up. I don't care for any of that mystic shit - all I care is that Gwen and I are cutting through everything in our path as if it weren't even there.

Then they really aren't, and I'm left looking for the next nonexistant opponent as several other Armed and an entire crew of pirates do the exact same thing. I duck a few swipes from our supposed 'comrades' as confusion spreads over the battlefield. On the one hand, I suppose disappearing to let us attack ourselves is a clever battle tactic.

On the other hand, there's no sign of the spiders at all, not even a leg, not even a drop of blood. It's as if they were never even there. Instead, there's a bearded man in the middle of the courtyard in strange apparel--

I make myself unseen as I realize that the Gahalespbar-archo is present. He need not know too many nasty details on my division - which explains the sudden absence of Lute from the battlefield as well.

Sorry it was so short. Cary really is apologetic. He knows a good fight when he sees one. I'm not that sad to see the attackers vanish, though. We've enough problems right now. I feel the barest sensation of a yawn. And it's time for my nap.

I'm about to tease him, but then the Judge asks me to please look after Katherine as she brings another body to the place of Regeneration. It's rare that she needs a guard inside the Palace Complex, but these days certainly would engender caution if anything ever could.

* * *
Luciprochoros
* * *

Stevane sits up and surveys the work below her. She grimaces. My son Edward is... sleeping. I'll think of it as sleeping.

Everything seems a lot... quieter now. It worked, then. I have to remind myself to be thankful for that.

Stevane peers down the hall. "Huh. Sounds like even the fighting outside's died down."

I nod. I'm only half-listening - the outside doesn't matter anymore. What matters is...

"Ales! Ales! Wake up, ye sorry git!" The Captain is still attending to our unconscious new friend... and his preferred method of waking the man is to repeatedly ram his head against the stone floor. I'm concerned, but only a little. Considering the Captain has served as this man's guardian for so long, this is unlikely the worst Ales's head has been through.

"I can wake him." I stay back and wait - the Captain is a volatile person, after all, and very territorial.

He narrows his eyes at me, scrutinizing every bit of me, reading on levels even deeper than 'Sy might be able to. But the Judge cultivates his blind spots, and the things he looks most closely for are different than what the Captain would scrutinize. 'Sy looks for fear of Judgement - the Captain doesn't limit himself to just that.

I do wonder if I'll pass this test.

Then he nods, and gestures for me to come closer to the man he protects. "There's enough fear in yer heart for what would happen if ye botched this up. Pray that it stays that way."

I kneel in front of the man who looks so much like the former Jhe h'Logos. He looks as if he's asleep, but there's more to it than that. I reach forward and push his hair away from his face. So much like Elete... but younger. That might be the strangest part...

No, the strangest part is what I see once I touch him. Before, I could already get a sense of the man's past journeys. Now, I can't stop seeing them.

Now I'm stuck until I see them through.

* * *
Elesse
* * *

The spiders want me to stay where I am, to stay quiet. I listen to the spiders. They're in charge of me, for all that anyone's taking care of me now. They don't hurt me when I listen to them. They seem to like me, to want to keep me, and therefore they want me to succeed.

I'm their pet, after all. Their pet, and... his pet.

I don't like thinking about him, but I'm such a little fool. The fear's too hard to resist for my mind - so easy to dwell on. Maybe because it gets my heart rate up, maybe because it makes it hard for me to forget myself. Maybe it's keeping me alive, but... but then he hears me fretting because I can't keep quiet and--

Oh now they're coming for me now the spiders are comi

* * *

Every time it's a little harder to wake up, like they've wrapped my mind in silk and not just my body. It's so hard not to shudder, either - to shriek every time I see a long, skinny, jointed leg out of the corner of my eye...

Shivering just makes the webs draw tighter. Does that mean I'm being a good pet? I don't know what I am. Sometimes I hear a song in my head, sometimes I can't hear it but I can just faintly remember it, and sometimes I could even sing it if I wanted to. That always causes a fuss, though. But the song is warm, when it's so very cold in here. It comes through in many voices, on all kinds of instruments. It scares me with its beauty, gives me the sort of chill that makes me feel alive again.

Then one of the spiders bites me for the noise my mind is making. The pain burns my nerves into numbness, and I forget

* * *

I was a person once, I remember that. I was a person called Alestere, and I was young, and I was royalty. I remember that. I was a free person who could walk. I could sing, and draw, and go about without a chain. I could see sun and grass and I could touch the grass. I could talk to--

myself?

--to the future and the past, and get warnings and send hints, and I had a brother named Ebrelle and he talked to plants and made fun of me, and I made fun back, and that's how we knew we loved each other.

I miss my brother, even though his name's just slid from my head. I feel the prick of spider fangs and remember this makes me forget a lot. Forget about... the plants. Did I talk to plants? No, fairies, I'm sure of it. Maybe water? Oh water sounds lovely, I barely remember what it smells like. There must be lots of it somewhere. The ocean - did I see it once? I should like to see it again sometime. But I'll need a guide, because I can't remember what it even would look like.

My name. I am a person with a name. A pet who is a person, but a named pet. I think the name is Alesse... Alice? No, not at all Alice. Elessandre? That sounds proper, I think I might keep it. The one who keeps me as a pet doesn't call me by any name, and the spiders only chitter in that way I can't stop hearing, even in my nightmares--

there was a knife, glinting as I slept, and brother slammed it into my chest as one final gift for his favorite

--and they're talking to me now, asking me if I'll dance? They love to pull my strings. I'm just a puppet, really, not a person at all, they say. Stay here long enough and I'll just be a doll, an empty husk like their other mea

* * *

Broke today. Don't remember. Don't remember anything at all. Don't remember where I'm going. I should know. It should be familiar to me. I think they put me on a boat. The one who kept me as a pet is sending me to... someone.

Someone I feel like I should remember, but I'm afraid of her, afraid to remember. I try to remember and all I remember is the knife killing me. But I feel alive, even if I'm not, and it confuses me--

One of the spiders sinks its fangs into my neck as a reminder to stay quiet. Oh, I so very much wish that I could. I kept trying so hard, but the music never stops, and by now I don't want it to, because it's all I can remember. I can drag up my name--

Elessandre, right?

--and I can remember being with the spiders for so very long, and I can remember how they got me to scream, but I can't remember... where am I going?

The ocean. I want to go to the ocean. Is this the ocean?

There's a scuffle above me, possibly on the deck of the boat. Are the spiders dancing? Did I hear one screa

* * *

Someone's brushing my hair. I don't understand. This never happens. I don't understand feeling good - the tingle the brush sends through my scalp is a sort of bliss I've never imagined, or remembered imagining.

"Stay still. It's all in your hair. Captain Jules says you won't be worth anything all wrapped up in cobwebs." The person pauses, which I'm thankful for. The pause gives me a chance to remember the meanings of human words. I haven't heard them spoken in...

ever?

"Got to say, I'm impressed you're even alive, what with all those bites on you. D'you tick those guys off somehow? Them spid

* * *

"He plumb keeled over when I mentioned them, Cap'n."

I blink. I stare upwards. I'm lying on my back on the floor - which is rocking for some reason, but it doesn't alarm me. It was like that on the boat. Are we still on it?

"Mentioned what, Samuel?"

"The spi

* * *

"--HILARIOUS! Do it again, Samuel!!"

"Sir, I don't know if this is the best id--"

"Shut up and just talk about them again! Ain't met a man in my life that's so scared of spide

* * *

"Okay. Ales? That's yer name, right?"

"Elessand--"

"Aye, Ales. That's good enough fer what ails ye. Ehhhh, get it? Ye alright?"

I'm not aware of much beyond the blankets and the fact that I'm huddled in them. I can't stop shaking, although the tremors are slowing over time. They might eventually stop altogether. Other than that, there's the burning in my mind, but that might be what it feels like when it's healing.

And there's this strange man that kept saying he wanted to sell me, and now he's naming me, and I don't understand. He seems to like me the same way the spid--

No, don't think about them. Besides, he doesn't hurt me.

...Much.

"--Ales? Ye're goin all woozy again. Snap to!"

I try to focus. This is probably important. And besides, the pirates fed me. I don't remember the last time I ate something besides regurgitated--

Stop, stop, don't think of those days...

"He's very tired, Cap'n. This is the longest he's been awake yet." Samuel. That voice I recognize. He's been with me from the start of my... rescue? Was that what it was?

"Stay awake, Ales. Yer spider friends are following us."

I try desperately not to faint, but it is difficult.

"I ain't sellin' you anywhere near where those things are. I wanted ye to tell me why they want ye."

My brows draw together. "There's a song... in my head. They want to stop it." Another shudder goes through me. "They keep me quiet for their master. I don't know his name--"

"Don't try to. I already do." The Captain sounds more on edge than he has before. I wonder if he has a history with this nameless foe. "We're taking you far away from him, and them. And ye can stay with us, if ye make yerself more useful than a shivering whelp."

I contemplate that. It seems... almost fair. Like some gift has been dropped into my lap. "Pardon me... but why?"

"Because it's my ocean. Now figure out how to make yerself useful before I drop yer lazy ass innit."

* * *
Luciprochoros
* * *

I frown. It makes a little more sense to me... especially when I focus on the crown and draw up other Poetry that's been recorded in connection with this. Some wayward piece of Elete-- no, Alestere --was cut away and fed to the Jherent Nul... who wouldn't swallow it. Probably he sent Elesse back to Thelea, in the hopes that she could make him more palatable, or possibly use him in another one of her experiments. But before Elesse's boat could make it to her, Captain Jules and his crew took the galleon and all its contents... including Elesse.

Fine. But what did I see flash in Elesse's eyes? And why did he fall unconscious? The Poetry that I can access starts to fill in even that blank.

Ebrelle had a piece of Elete sealed into him? My stomach turns. It's been returned to Elesse now, but...

Why didn't we know? Elete didn't have to die for something done to him so long ago. Why couldn't we have seen it?

Why couldn't I? I see everything, I see so much that I turn my eyes away before I see too much. Did I truly hate Ebrelle so much that I blinded myself to this? Did rejecting my Duty cause all of this, or was it unavoidable?

I'm afraid to find out, and I turn away from the answers one more time because of it. Besides, there's something else happening now. The piece of Elete has finally settled back into Elesse.

He's paler. Sickly, like Elete. And...

Slowly dying, just like Elete was.

* * *
Elesse
* * *

I remember dying. It's the most curious thing. I thought it was just another hallucination from when the spiders kept me. But I'm remembering all sorts of other things now, too, and some of them seem fake, some of them seem real, and all of them are like a bright white hurtling towards me--

Oh dear, or am I hurtling towards the light?

Something grips me before I can hurtle all the way in -- and to who knows where, perhaps another adventure? Another life? It's not much of a yank, just a hand deftly hooked into the crook of my arm. I settle back down to...

The sea?

Ah, this again. I recognize the black sky above, the quiet waves below. I recognize the man who held me back. Eleth-travente. He's almost the man I used to be, isn't he?

He smiles up wistfully from the water. He's waist-deep in it now, his legs slowly kicking back and forth below the surface. I offer him a hand up, but he declines the aid.

"I'll stay here, thank you." He sounds so obstinate, as if he truly does want to sink. He looks at me reprovingly. "I do." He sighs, weary as ever. "I've died. It's time I rested with those who've already gone ahead." His face twists in a way that pains my heart. He looks so... crumpled. "Why can't I move on? You should have walked in my place. I don't understand..." He glares at me. "Why are you here?"

I feel out the memories coming back into my mind. Things are slowly making more sense, even things I never wanted to make sense. "Ebrelle let go of... some part of my heart. Yours, too. Ours."

He looks away, unwilling to meet my eyes.

* * *
Luciprochoros
* * *

I sense the pirate has drawn his sword upon me. I hear Stevane draw her Arms in response. "Shh," I say. "I know how to fix this. Captain Jules, please oblige me a bit longer. Stevane, please don't draw on guests if you can help it."

She sighs, then stows her weapons at the same time, and with the same grudging motion the Captain stows his. "I'll try."

"Your Father's already had to take your other siblings to task on that, don't make me tell him that you haven't learned from their mistakes."

"Yes, Unkie." Now she's glaring holes in the floor. The Captain gives her a pat on the shoulder.

I take one last look at Elesse. I'm pretty sure that if he isn't dead now...

Well, it's just a matter of time. No reason to wait. I gather him up and walk farther down the hall. I look back over my shoulder. "Stevane? Could you... show our esteemed guest around, possibly? Neither of you can follow where I'm going."

She looks taken aback, but not by the request - by the fact that she can't follow. She shakes it off. It's not the first time she's not been able to follow me into one of my 'meetings', after all, and it won't be the last. "Are you... oh." Her eyes widen. "That's where you're going."

I nod.

The Captain is busy mulling over my previous words. "Esteemed guest, the fop calls me. I rightly like the sound o that, that I do." He raises an eyebrow, then fixes me with a glare. "What do ye mean, I can't go where ye take me own crew member? Ales has rank, he does! He's Second Banana! That's right after First Mate!"

Stevane attempts to muffle a laugh with the back of her hand. I maintain my composure.

"He'll be back. Just wait for me."

And then, ignoring any more protests the Captain might make, I vanish with Elesse.

* * *

* * *
Sy
* * *

I appear in the Courtyard. Before I can even survey the damage around me, I meet Mitheoni's eyes. Just as quickly, I look away. Was that. . .

"Jhe o'Radia is in the place of Regeneration."

Mitheoni's eyebrows shoot up. "What in blazes is he doing there?"

I snort. "Regenerating somebody, obviously." I wave off the ensuing interrogation. "I won't ask him who while he's in there. It's not proper. I can't intrude like--"

My eyes widen. I then cut the most formal bow that I can possibly execute with any due swiftness. "I am being summoned." I'd bother with more words, but Luciprochoros demands my presence so immediately that I'm to just bring the former Peacock King along with me instead of taking the time to lay him somewhere secure.

And so, I leave straight away, not bothering with any more words. I'd expected the chamber to be in use quite soon, and thus took it as a matter of course that my brother was in it, though I didn't expect that this soon. I'd assumed Katherine had signalled her Father to head into the chamber in anticipation of my arrival. But that's not Gerald that's been taken into there... not yet. And it wouldn't be so urgent for him - he died recently, and we're all quite used to it happening to him by now. I don't know who's the one being taken in and what's going on, but I thought I sensed...

No, it couldn't be possible.

I sense Katherine's questioning nudge, and then I request she join us immediately.

* * *
Mitheoni
* * *

I'm left in Radia's Courtyard with far too many questions left unanswered and far too many persons milling about who obviously don't know enough to be interrogated, and now I am rather cross. There are what I can only describe as brigands mixed in heavily with the crowd, brigands who I am very well aware were responsible for the sacking of a grand Chetharian galleon, and it's all I can do not to draw my sword. I have been sorely tested today, for whatever reason. It's as if my predecessor has just given up on all pretenses of upholding the Law. The Most High's Judgement passed down through me was as lenient as it was due to some Mercy towards him that I don't even understand, and I expect that only Jerithea could rightly make me do so. I trust that this is the case, as always.

But I am sorely strained, I have been left alone here with no explanation worth halfway listening to, Jerithea is nowhere to be seen and nowhere that I can reach for because this place's wards are a sinister and infernal web of chaos, and...

There is a kitten sitting on my head and I've no idea how it got there.

When did it get there? I don't know when I noticed the weight of it. Was it there all the time, staying quiet? Maybe Jhe h'Akribastes and his Advocate weren't mentioning it for fear of embarrassing me. But wouldn't they react? I mean, an entire kitten... on my head, no less. This puts everything else in a stark contrast, because it's even less explainable than the day's entire mess.

And then it purrs and licks my eyebrow.

"No, no, you can't just stand around here." An imperious voice rises over the crowd, the tone contrasting the age and the... well, in Chethar it's not really our way to have the women boss the men round like that. Jerithea being the exception, of course.

...Well, that's the way it is.

In any case, some girl is trying to herd the pirates here by simple dint of bossiness, and I suppose that warrants more attention than the kitten on my head, which chirped at the girl's voice anyway, so I suppose she warrants more attention from it.

"Ey, I can boss me own men 'round, wench. BOYS! Even the ones of you I calls women! Haul yer arses up in a line here, it ain't as if yer all dead!"

There are a few grunts and mumbles suggesting that they're unsure of that, but the lot of them look healthy enough. The few other Radians, some of whom are Armed, just mill about and stay alert to any more trouble the pirates might cause. Hm. It's almost as if there were a skirmish here.

Wait, why is the man who knocked me out and locked me in a Radian jail cell roaming about as if he owns the Courtyard? Before I'm able to approach and demand an explanation, and most likely exact some retribution for the Chetharian galleon that I was told the Captain was responsible for pillaging, that girl's voice pipes up again... only a bit sheepish-sounding. "Um... excuse me?"

I look down. My, she's short. I didn't even notice her approach. Well, a lot of humans don't really reach the height of many Archo. She also looks remarkably like Jhe h'Akribastes, except... a little girl. Strange, she's the same eyes and everything. Oh, that's right, he reproduces.

"Yes?" I try to sound formal, but I've a kitten on my head and I'm not sure what the proper protocol is for that sort of contributing factor.

She points up at my head timidly. "I um... that's my um... cat. Thing." Her cheeks are growing redder by the moment. Odd, why is she so alarmed? Is she afraid of me? Radians can behave so strangely, it's never like this in Chethar.

"Ah, well." I mull that over. "Would you like it back?"

She looks absolutely mortified, but nods.

I reach up, but then there's a strange sort of POOF sound over my head and the weight of the kitten vanishes. The next moment, a curious creature that certainly looks as if it's part kitten appeares in the girl's arms. It reaches up and licks her nose, then ruffles its... wings?

Is that a squirrel tail?

She bites her lip, then looks away. "Um... her name is Millie." She looks distinctly uncomfortable, and I start to wonder if there's something amiss about this creature. Certainly it's nothing the Most High has ever heard of.

"Ah. Well then, I'm Mitheoni. And your name is?"

Her eyes widen and she curtsies properly. "My sincere apologies! I've been so rude. Jhelogios'denuos Stevane a'Crux Radia a'Logos d'Akribastes Akribastes-ten." Ah, it seems she's a Poet, and an Armed, and of course she's a citizen of Crux Radia and a subject of each respective King that presides over her. Radian names can be so complex. As I consider her name, she shifts the kittenlike creature in her arms in some vain attempt to hide its extremely strange qualities.

I raise my eyebrow ever-so-slightly at the attempt. "And just what sort of creature is that?"

She squirms a bit. "I'm sorry! I don't know how to explain it, I'm not sure if... well, Jhe h'Logos said they wouldn't be worth much notice and... well um, they're a sort of messenger... they're really quite useful!"

My eyebrow arcs a bit higher. "Oh? And just what do you call them?"

She finally meets my eyes. "Shenanigans."

I blink. Suddenly, it strikes me just how quiet the Courtyard is now. I hazard a glance around. We're the only ones here. Meaning... the pirates have departed entirely.

"I um... you should come in and have some tea." The girl's voice manages to cut through my fury, or at least timidly nudge it aside. The kitten... no, the Shenanigan mews. I get the impression from the Most High that I've enough to deal with today without hunting more trouble down.

I close my eyes for the briefest of moments, mentally compose myself, and decide to follow the girl for tea. "That would be lovely, thanks."

"Oh, well... well good! We've a quite delicious assortment of blends, and you're in a uniform and everything! Finally, someone dresses properly." And then I'm nearly dragged out of the Courtyard and towards the Poet Hall just as Jerithea wonders at me if she can join.

I'm simply flooded with relief that my Advocate has returned from whatever Duty she was attending to. Of course. Please, this day is utterly unbearable.

Aww, poor boo. Did Jhe h'Akribastes frown at you in that way of his?

...I focus on the prospect of tea.

* * *
Luciprochoros
* * *

It's so quiet in this place of rest and possible renewal. So peaceful. I could almost imagine that Elesse is sleeping in my arms, and not...

"You brought a body. That's... surprising." Lady Tia glides toward the altar in a glimmer of gold and stars. She examines Elesse, first peering at his face and then stroking his cheek with one hand. She raises an eyebrow up at me. "So young." Her tone is almost accusational.

Ah. She feels she's been cheated. Elete is supposedly in the Void already, after all.

"I didn't hide him on purpose." The words almost choke in my throat - they're dangerously close to lies, but not quite. She can see my crown just as plain as day - she knows my Duty, knows what it means for me to be the Song. "He was created outside of my knowledge. He naturally sought to persist in any way he could, as only a piece of the Song would."

Tia snorts. "A piece of the Song? Moreso than any of your other children. But of course, you wouldn't pass that along on purpose, would you, Lu-i-si'vrahn-prochoros-otheosil-ma-at?"

I wince. There's no point in hiding it. She even let slip a bit of my name at the end that's usually withheld. She claimed it was never necessary to accord her part in me - her partial ownership of me. She usually says that Emperor Theos requires those airs and graces, but she does not.

But sometimes she likes to make her points, and I suppose I have transgressed.

"You are the Song of the Balance." She almost spits it. "Have you lost your shame in it, now that you'll actually wear the crown I gave you for it?"

I can't really speak. Such a silly predicament, for someone whose primary role is to Sing. I just look down instead, and that means I look at Elete.

No, this is Elesse. Elete died before I would take any responsibility for this. He's lost. "I'll recover what I can. That's what I decided. It all carried on so far that it got out of control. That was when I thought I could let Elete..." I sigh. That's another lie. I knew on some level that Elete couldn't be the entirety of the Song. He could Sing part of it, teach his Poets to sing other parts of it, but not... not become it.

He couldn't replace me. I just wished he could.

"Are you ashamed of me? Is that why?" Her voice is twisted, bitter. "You never wanted any part of me, is that right?"

I shake my head. "It's nothing nearly so simple as that. Nothing nearly so..." I sigh. "Is this my Trial?"

She snorts. "Theos holds Trials. I make do on my own. Put your man on the altar and we'll see what he becomes."

I nod, then step forward. Before I set Elesse's body down on the altar, he vanishes. I stare at my empty arms.

"Ah. It seems he's amounted to your faith in me. Fitting." Tia turns her back to me.

I stare at the altar. Empty. I was so sure of what I was doing, but... he's gone.

There's nothing left now.

* * *

* * *
'Sy
* * *

I can't find Elete. Something's nagging me in the back of my mind about that - probably Diyn trying to get a smart word in or two. I won't let him ruffle me this time. I'm so close.

Close to what?

Ah, it's Katherine. I shake my head. Of course she's following me - I asked her to, didn't I? Yes, with... who?

Where am I?

Something's bothering me about this - I know on some level that something is wrong, and I shouldn't have appeared here. But I ignore that, just like sometimes I ignore Diyn's voice.

Where are you? Katherine is an even more persistent nag when she wants to be, though.

I give her a sense of my whereabouts, and then she appears beside me. Then I continue to look for Elete, but still something seems wrong.

"...'Sy, we're in the Void."

Ah. That would be it.

* * *
Katherine
* * *

The thing about 'Sy is that if he's caught off-guard in the Void, it can easily confuse him. That's one of Tia's favorite tactics for playing with him, and she never seems to tire of those games. Not that I blame her - 'Sy is fun to rile up. But she takes her advantages mercilessly, and watching him try to catch up is... an exercise in pity, sometimes.

Thankfully he's recovering very quickly now that he understands what's been going on. "Strange. I meant to go to the Place of Regeneration. She must have directed me here instead..." He looks at me with a touch of alarm. "Where's Gerald?"

I panic for a moment myself, because I came in here carrying Gerald's body and I don't remembering it disappearing. I can feel him, though-- "He's where we both meant to go. He'll be fine until we get back. 'Sy... were you looking for something here?"

He frowns in that way that's so much of a pout, and doesn't answer for the longest time. He's trying to figure out how best to answer me. "I... was. But I don't understand why, now." He stops meeting my eyes. "I was looking for Elete."

I sigh. "Well, he would be in the Void." I consider my partner for a moment, looking at him and how he stands. He's tense, but he's also bewildered. As he rightfully should be. "'Sy, are you trying to bring him back?"

He shakes his head. "I... just started looking for him. I don't know why. Do you know why Luciprochoros summoned us here in the first place? It couldn't have been for Gerald... he wouldn't have known yet."

I shake my head. "No, I just realized that's not even what we should be asking."

He raises an eyebrow at me, waiting.

"Why are we in the Void looking for someone at all? Should Lady Tia just give back the ones that we bring to her, and then they revive? Isn't that how it works?"

Not always, young one.

'Sy stiffens as the voice glides through our minds. It's unmistakably Tia... hence his reaction.

Sometimes, it's not so simple as that.

"Well then, what's making it so complex?"

'Sy frowns. "There's a price that hasn't been paid."

It would be paid for Gerald. But Lu-i-si'vrahn can't pay the price for the one he brought in before the both of you entered. Therefore, you must both find a way for it to be done.

"Who did he bring in?"

Silence is the answer given to me.

* * *
Ebrelle
* * *

I awake to the smell of spice and ink heavily overlaid with teas of all kinds. It eases my mind like a calm wave of deep blue, a reminder that everything will be alright. Thus relaxed, I let myself ease into awareness without questioning just why I have managed to awaken so quickly. By the time I'm alert enough to realize just what the scent is, I'm too awake to be truly shocked by the revelation.

It's my brother. He smells like that. The tea notes evolved over time, growing deeper and more potent with age. Contemplating the span of time that brings to mind gives me a bitter sting, but I welcome it in a way. I miss my brother. I miss any sense of him I can recove--

No, he's... near. Is it his body? Is that what I sense? I shake my head. That can't be true. He wouldn't have left a body behind, if Nul...

...It's dark in here.

I can't quite measure the panic I feel in the next moment, and I don't know how much time passes during it - if time even does pass. It's all blank. I just know when it ends - my daughter's hands go to my cheeks, cool and comforting.

There's no way she could possibly be in Nul, and that's what convinces me that I'm not in it again. I almost fade back into sleep, but there's that memory of my brother's scent again. No, no that's him. "Why is it so dark here?"

"How is he even awake?" My mind crackles from the amount of fear I feel in response to that voice. I want to hide from the Judge. His weapon has already flayed every strong bit of my wits off of the remaining parts of my coherent mind. I just want to curl in a ball and pretend I never woke up. In fact, I think I do, for a moment. But I can hear Elete.

Somewhere far off, I can hear him. And with my brother somewhere far ahead of me and the Judge to my back, I do the only thing that seems natural. I run.

The voice behind me is faint, and I ignore it this one time. "Father! Stop!"

* * *
'Sy
* * *

I stare bewildered at Ebrelle's retreating form. I'm not sure what to do. For one thing, I'm not sure why he's running. We've been through this already, right? Didn't Diyn already Judge him? I wasn't there when it happened, though. I decide to ask Diyn about it.

What happened? Did you miss something?

The snarl I receive in reply is edged in frost that chills me even further, and I'm already inside the Void. Fine, Diyn did our job with Ebrelle.

Well, then why is he running?

Diyn isn't sure, either, but is as hesitant as I am to give chase. He shares my confusion regarding Ebrelle. Does the man think he could have done something wrong enough to warrant our attention in the short time since he was Judged? I mean, surely he's capable of such a feat if anyone is, but he's been unconscious! During most of the time that passed, I was holding him!

"'Sy... are we gonna follow him?" Katherine's voice nudges my thoughts out of the way. She sounds like she's strung with tension. Well, we are in the Void.

I shrug. "What's the point? He's as innocent as he'll ever be."

That flusters her, for some reason. After a few failed attempts to formulate a reply, she manages to string one together. "'Sy, we need to keep him from getting lost in the Void."

"...Oh." I still don't move. "Are you sure? Maybe he'll like it here."

She glares at me as if I've actually done something wrong.

I wave her off. "Fine, fine." I make chase, keeping close pace with Katherine. I'm afraid to lose her in here. Not necessarily because she would be lost, mind you. I... I just easily lose my own way in here, a trait which Tia does not mind at all. I suppress a shudder at the thought of it. She's kept me in this place for years before... and on the outside, not an hour passes.

"You'll be fine," Katherine whispers. "Let's find Daddy. Then we'll try to sort this all out."

* * *
Ebrelle
* * *

I don't know why fear spreads so easily through my mind right now, why it can take over me so completely. I've always known myself to be in control of my emotions - this emotion is in complete control of me. I have to escape the Judge, have to escape his Trident. Every wit in me is certain of that.

I keep running. I can't say why I head towards Elete even when I'm so sure that what's chasing me is dangerous. Some part of me is sure that Elete will protect me. He survived the Judge for so long, didn't he? He survived living near all those Armed. He'll know a way to keep me safe. Besides... I want to see him so badly. I don't know where I am - contemplating it drives all of my rationality out of my head, even. But I have to find Elete. There's nothing more important than that.

Elete isn't far away at all. I can sense that. I can sense him like I used to when we were children, and there were no walls between us. There were no walls between me and the rest of the world, either. Maybe that's why I'm feeling so much nostalgia now. Or is it something about Elete?

I finally catch sight of him again, and then of course I collapse once more. I should have known better than to run like that. Now I'll just be chased down and carved into again--

A pair of arms wrap around me in an attempt to pull me up to sit. "E... Ebrelle?" The voice is very halting, but I recognize it as Elete's. Don't I? I manage to pull my head up and good look at him.

My eyes widen. "...Alestere? But... I killed you." The breath catches in my throat. Am I facing down my crimes, now? My Trial must not be over yet. Maybe this is how I die. And yet... I'm still glad to see him once more.

"...Ebrelle." That is Elete, his voice light and shaky. I look over to my younger brother, past the man that he used to be... or is that even right? Elete is next to us, half-sunken in this strange sea that Alestere and I are sitting on as if it were solid. The ripples are so calm that I thought it was all a smooth floor before. My brother is paler than he ever was before, and he's still somewhat afraid of me. "How did you end up here?"

I'd answer, but I'm still trying to understand why there are two of him. He changed so much after I stabbed him that I understand there being two separate natures to him... but different people entirely? Am I just seeing double? I'm panicking again, aren't I? This is probably just a dream.

Alestere strokes my hair. "Calm down... brother." He seems to mull the last word over as he says it. "You'll be okay. I don't hold anything against you for what happened. I lived my life and... then some."

I look over to Elete. He meets my gaze after a few moments. He doesn't say anything.

"I'm sorry. I tried to protect you up until the very end. I didn't mean to--"

He shakes his head. "You didn't kill me, Ebrelle. I just..." He looks away again. "I don't understand you, even now, but you are my brother and I know you love me. I love you too." He sighs, the sound incredibly weary. "I'm just... so tired. I'd like to leave you in peace. Is that why I'm still here? Did I have to forgive you first? I think I forgave you long ago... the grudge I held was mostly to hold you close in a way that I felt safe with."

I bite my lip. I don't want Elete to die.

But everything must eventually pass on, Ebrelle. You of all people understand the order of life, you man of science and nature.

I blink. Who is that woman? I feel as if I should recognize her voice. It brings to mind golden sparks and rains of butterflies...

Alestere's hands tense. I look up - his face is drawn back in a wince. "Something's happening."

Elete looks concerned, but not pained.

"I feel like I'm splitting apart, this..." he looks over at Elete. "This doesn't make any sense, you know. We're the same person. We already split apart once long ago. Why am I doing so again?"

Elete can't find an answer in him before they both vanish in a flash of light that leaves me blind for a few moments. By the time my vision clears, my daughter's at my side again and the Judge has found me.

Have you all solved the puzzle, then? That warm golden voice again, full of hidden tricks and unknown treasures. Or do I have to show you again? I think Ebrelle saw it, didn't you?

I blink. "Were we looking for something?"

The Judge looks profoundly annoyed, while Katherine's face is a study in concern.

"Were we looking for my brother?"

Ah, you're catching on fastest. Who do you think you were looking for then, Ebrelle?

I blink. I'm right? But it's been so long since he... "My brother Alestere. But that..." I bite my lip, thinking it over. "Neither Elete nor the one who looked so much like Alestere were actually Alestere. They were... pieces of him. I split him apart when I meant to... to send him away from the dangers in our family."

Then how do you suppose we solve this, dear Ebrelle? The familiarity in the woman's voice is unsettling, but I ignore it for the sake of finding the answer.

"The solution would be to restore my brother to what he should be, but I can't imagine how we would possibly go about that."

Well, you're in luck. You don't have to. There's a clap, and then a change of scenery so abrupt that the dizziness floods back in between my ears. We're in some sort of chamber with an altar in it and ornate walls, a soft light emanating from far above the oculus in the ceiling. A woman stands before the altar, resplendent in a fine gown, her hair long and blonde, her eyes gold, and her skin the color of the Void itself. "This happens to be my specialty."

* * *

* * *
Luciprochoros
* * *

I don't particularly want anyone to share what is almost my greatest failure, so of course Lady Tia allows 'Sy and Katherine into the chamber in the next moment. I get the feeling of someone waiting for Regeneration - not Elete, though. Gerald. Ah, he fell into some ill luck during the mission? He's not visually present - which means Lady Tia is waiting for something else before she allows 'Sy to bring him back.

Probably rubbing my nose in my shame--

My thoughts break off abruptly as I realize who else is in the chamber with us. Ebrelle is... not very recognizable without his makeup and with his hair gone white. He's also shaking and leaning on Katherine and 'Sy just to stand. He has an odd determination in his eyes, though.

I just don't understand why he's here.

Lady Tia pats my arm. "You're being given a second chance, Lu-i-si'vrahn-prochoros-otheosil-ma-at." She regards me as I take in that Name again. It's never been something I've completely warmed to, but the sting has dulled, oddly. "To be fair... you never stood a chance at reviving him the first time."

She savors the look on my face in that moment.

"Why?" 'Sy saves me from replying to her, and his voice is just as disgruntled as I'd expected it to be.

"Because none of you know my brother." Ebrelle's voice is so broken that I feel pity for him... and it has been very difficult for me to ever feel any pity for Ebrelle. He looks up through that curtain of prematurely white hair, his eyes meeting mine, of all people's. "Alestere died before you could even meet Eleth-travente and take him from my Court. He died years before that even happened. But I was Alestere's older brother, and he was my shadow everywhere I walked, up until a point."

...Alestere?

The Song is an informative thing, now that I've finally decided to listen to it, to take the role of it as I should. It floods into my head at that moment: the song that is Alestere. The melody he would become, were he to exist. The hole his absence has left in the greater Song, all these years.

Breath of the land, how did I never notice?

Ebrelle steps toward the altar. Before he places himself next to me, he hesitates.

I bite my lip. "Come on, then."

He joins me at my side, looking as uncomfortable with such a placement as I am. After a brief few seconds, in fact, I have to brace him. He can't stand on his own.

He was Judged, Father. He shouldn't be walking. He shouldn't even be awake.

Ebrelle's brow furrows. It's strange to see him in here. He's been here before, of course - Katherine has needed his presence a scant few times when she'd managed to get herself killed. But it's different now - Katherine is standing behind us, healthy and almost fully-grown. Goodness, was she only in here so recently, on this altar herself?

I realize the altar has grown since then. It's not to hold a baby. Not even to hold a full-grown man, as it tends to have to do from time to time. It is three times that latter size.

"What will you give, then, Ebrelle?"

I keep my arm firm around his shoulders and keep him standing up. I have the suspicion that the support will be dearly needed.

Ebrelle brings his hand to his face as the tears fall down. "What wouldn't I? What haven't I?"

Lady Tia watches the first tear trickle down the back of Ebrelle's hand and hit the altar. "You've paid this price over and over, yes. But now you pay it to me, who can actually give what you want in return."

He whimpers, his shoulders shaking. "How? I never understand this. How?"

Tia wraps her arm around Ebrelle from the side opposite me, brushing against and twining with my own. "It's like being born. You don't remember being born, do you? You remember your brother, though. Remember Alestere. Suffer for Alestere. Wound yourself for Alestere. These are all things you do for me now, and in return for your tribute... I may give back." She flicks her free wrist towards the altar, running through the tears it's collected, her fingertips leaving wet trails. With that hand, she brushes my cheek, and it's only then that I realize that I'm crying too.

I miss him. Whoever he is, through whatever hole he's left in the Song, I miss Alestere.

* * *
Elesse
* * *

I miss the feeling of wind through my fingers

Coming together now, but I miss-- I don't

It's not long now, I feel, somehow I'm ending. Is this alright, am I

Don't want to go, want to stay here in the--

--like it's rushing up inside of me

No, I'm afraid.

I don't understand what you are at all, really, nor what I am. Do you remember--

I don't want to remember being Alestere. I don't want to remember life--

But it's so beautiful, so much fun! And it felt so much better as Alestere--

I want to be with my wife, Elesse.

I look at the man before me half sunken into the ocean, look at myself, and realize that there is too much of both of us to make one person. Then a voice above us, or perhaps in the distance, tells me not to worry about that. Elete drops into the water, and I'm left alone.

* * *
Elete
* * *

Lady Tia, please, I just want to be with my wife and daughter--

The water rushes over my head.

"You can."

I can't describe what sort of joy I feel from the sensation of drowning, how many times I dreamed of this moment, longed for the chance to dive beneath the waves and rejoin my wife. I promised her that I wouldn't leave her alone. Now I can fulfill that promise--

There's a tingle through my scalp as I dive down deeper. I can almost hear her down there. As I go, the worries finally slide out of my mind. It's so peaceful down here. So cold and soothing. Like some sort of home, forever...

That tingle again, reminding me just a little of my former life, of my obligations. I feel it one final time, and then they're lifted from me, along with my attachment to that former life...

Then there is just her, and me, and forever.

* * *
Elesse
* * *

The woman holds my hand as I watch Elete sink into the water and disappear into its depths. Her grip is strong and very imposing. She makes me nervous.

"Everyone's a little afraid, before they're born."

Then the tide comes upon me and rips me apart.

* * *
Luciprochoros
* * *

The Song fills my head, the sound so strong and loud that I almost collapse under the assault. It's been so long since it's caught me up like that... since I was allowed to be caught up in it and just let it take me where it would, losing all cares, all sense of self, feeling the new branches grow up and the dead growth wither away and the flowers bloom everywhere I can behold...

It dwindles, resumes at a normal volume, and leaves me wanting.

But someone is on the altar now, where before no one was at all.

I, being the Song, can't find the words fast enough. There are so many possible ones, after all. And so... "Three people." 'Sy voices my confusion.

Surprise ghosts across Ebrelle's face before he collapses to the floor, unconscious. I can't blame him. I'm exhausted as well, and I didn't just face down the Trident.

A cold shiver runs down my back as I consider the possibility, though. But in the present... I'm seeing in triple. There's the man nearest me, who I know must be Alestere. He appears the same age as Elete, but has some of the carefree look of Elesse.

Why isn't he a baby? Tia always gives us back babies!

Then there's the other two, both also full-grown. One looks very much like Ebrelle and Elete, but the family resemblance isn't quite there. Certainly the pale skin and long black hair, but the face...

I blink. The face I recognize. I glance back at 'Sy, and am validated by the shock in his eyes. "Vailem," he croaks. "But... it's been years. We'd just left Chethar when he disappeared. My Lady, why have you returned him to us? He must have been in the Void for quite a long time now."

Tia shakes her head. "He came with Alestere. With Elesse, to be precise."

We stare at her in complete befuddlement. She shrugs.

"It seemed that since he wasn't a whole person, he was somehow packing a few additional souls inside of him for stability. Otherwise I imagine he wouldn't have lasted as long as he did. Do you want them? I can always take them back."

"Please don't. We need them," a voice replies with a great deal of urgency. I realize after the others glance my way that the voice is my own. It's in the Song, I realize. I don't know how or why it's happened this way, but we need all three of these people.

Katherine glances at the altar again. "Who's the third one? He looks like a Xaillyndesse."

'Sy's face gets that pinched look of his when Diyn is informing him of something he may or may not want to hear. "Eistinn. Ebrelle's older brother. He's guilty of murder." At our reactions, he merely shrugs. "Everyone's guilty of something."

At that, he reserves a special glare for me. I do my best to ignore it.

Katherine speaks up and breaks the moment, bless her. "We need to take them outside, if they're coming with. 'Sy, for Gerald, do you need--"

"I'll do it alone, this time. Go on ahead." I can't quite look him in the face anymore. 'Sy endures far more Regeneration ceremonies than anyone else.

Tia leans over Ebrelle's body and waves her hand, returning him to the Armed Hall. She turns to me then, cocking her head towards the altar, a question in her eyes and half a smile on her lips.

I nod my head. "Please."

With a wave of her hands, the trio on the altar join Ebrelle. Then Katherine and I follow, and 'Sy is left alone to collect his son.

* * *
Gerald
* * *

Picture this:

I'm on an altar, the same altar I wake up on every time I get the notion in my head to do something particularly heroic. Father gazes down on me, slight disapproval hovering about his expression, but the foremost emotion is relief, as always.

"You're testing your limits, lad. At this rate, I think I see you a fair bit more often than your Father does." The Lady of the Void chuckles and slides her cool fingers through the crop of curls on my head. Ah, good. Still got the hair.

Father shakes his head and gathers me up. I tell him that it'll be okay - that we've survived this long, fought this hard, come so far in so short a time. Instead it all comes out as a gurgle.

He grins, chuckles, then cradles me over his shoulder. He looks happy again, and I suppose that's enough for now.

Then there's a flash of light and the rushing of air all around us. I'm back in the world again.

* * *
END
The Peacock King Trilogy

* * *

Wait!

This is not the end!

...Well it is the end of the Peacock King Trilogy, I didn't lie up there. But it's not the end of the story! Next week we'll be posting a sort of epilogue short about Elete, and then we'll be posting a prequel novella Char has been writing called Echoes. It'll go into the history of the characters that come from Chethar, and what happened over there so long ago that will give you a lot of insight into how things are in PK's present time.

And then, after that?

Well, we've got a LOT more story for you. I'll just put it this way...

The Peacock King is only the FIRST trilogy in this story.

Stick around! More news is forthcoming. News about a new site design with really neat features, ebooks, and a print edition...

It's going to be an exciting time for readers. AND writers. As in, Char and I.

As in... we've got a lot of work to do, bye!

- Irk 8/20/2010