* * *
Gerude
* * *

The palace wards go down with an audible snap, as if all Iaen had to do to make it happen was snip a wire.

'Sssst. I told ya, Rudie, don't talk about me in your writing! Nobody's supposed to even see me!'

The folks in black ops are always so paranoid. Like anyone reads my stuff anyway. I'm sure the official people give it a dusting with their eyes, but come on. Gerald's the real Poet. I'm just the real cowboy. I mean, he gives that a good shot and all, but in the end he's just playin' dress-up.

...Man. He really knows how to make a proper mess, too.

I mean, look at all this. This throne-room, which is already starting to look like a fancy rummage sale/barracks combo. The ornate banners and rugs have gotten real dinged up and frayed, even burnt, by some of the random fights that have broken out. The servants keep on rushing us from out of nowhere, man. And some of those people know what they're doing when it comes to impromptu weapons. Aside from the expected stuff like knives and spades and staves, we have been attacked with ladders, broomsticks, candleabras, tea services, spike-heeled shoes, aprons (makeshift garottes), wigs, torches, torches made out of wigs, spaghetti, plates, saucers, teaspoons, pepper shakers, mousetraps, and corn. Not to mention the tamed animals that Faun didn't get to. They keep siccing them on us. I bet you didn't know that squirrels make capable guard dogs.

Now, it doesn't take too long to find a garden in this place. Say what you want about the creepy buzzard, (and Caerig and Kennit grumble in agreement with that particular description of the Peek) but he has good taste in decor. I keep forgetting that this place is enclosed at all. Everything's so airy and relaxing, feels so open - especially in these little pockets of garden I find in the rooms. One problem with it, though - well, besides mosquitoes. Easy to lose sight of where you came in from, and where you're going. The wards are down now, which makes it easier to, you know, breathe in this place, but that makes my tracking sense even rougher. All the astral stuff around here's pretty broken up, after all. I guess that's my excuse for why I didn't see the damn thing coming until it was on top of my head. To be fair, neither did my Arms.

There's the most horrible screech, like a baby being dropped onto a brazier. Then, without further warning, my ears burst into flames. Well, that's exactly what it feels like, and I'd know since I got so used to the feeling when Stevie learned to ignite people's hair at the age of three. (Look, I don't know. Dad thought it was funny.) They feel strangely wet for being on fire, though. So at first I think it's some sort of, I don't know, operatic tyrotyle, but then fire rakes down my face, and I realize it's talons attacking me.

I lose my balance between all the thwaps my head is getting. Like two guys are just hammering it with pillows as hard as they can. And whatever this thing is, it's heavy, and it's got a curtain over my head or something. I almost get knocked over. Trying to pry whatever's on me off of me just results in more of those spine-shredding screams, and a stab to the back of my hand. So, I figure I'll look for help, while this thing's eating me alive. I run back to the throne room, or at least where I think it might be. For all I know, I'm on the moon with this thing. Can barely see through the blanket or whatever it's got tossed over me. What the hell is this?!

I hear a couple exclamations of surprise, and they're not accompanied by cheers, so I'm pretty sure they're from Armed and not the Peek's servants (or from someone who knows me well enough to find this funny). I hope for some assistance, flopping around while this thing just keeps SCREAMING on top of my head, and then the fire is in my eye and I can't see binocular-style anymore. After that, my arms move on my own. I ignore the fire raking along my scalp as I rip the thing away from my head. It lands on the throne. Then Caerig and Kennit dispatch it like lightning, which tends to be the way Arms dispatch anything.

It dies in a flurry of feathers.

"Gerude? Oh god Gerude, your eye." A couple people rush up, try to dab at my wounded eye, try to give me some medical aid. I don't so much notice. I'm still gaping at that thing I killed on the throne. It's mostly a splatter of red, now, with blue and green down sprinkled around its carcass like horribly-timed confetti. The fan-tail sprawls over the throne like a drape of silk.

Bloody my bones, I've killed one of the Peacock King's peacocks.

* * *
Camden
* * *

While they're mopping up Gerude, I cast my gaze to the heavens and then prop up my glasses. Gestures such as that tend to make them slide off of my face.

I hear Jenny watching me from the side. Hear really isn't the word, I suppose. She can be so quiet. I should recommend her for Julia's squad, when the time comes. Though I wonder if she and Lute would get along, or if sibling rivalry would turn their black ops to gray.

I turn to her, raising an eyebrow. She returns the glance with a wicked grin. I shake my head and tap the space between my eyes, then point to the commotion around the throne. Have to watch for trouble, now. There's no time for fun.

She sulks, and I'm reminded of how much younger she is than me. ...Not all that younger, by other comparisons. Her parents themselves had quite the differential in age...though, I don't really want to think about that. I don't want to think about her parents. I don't want to become a red smear on the floor - though of course, I can brave any danger. Survival, however, is another story.

There is, altogether, far too much happening right now. Thankfully Dooley and Keith and their team are keeping track of things when it comes to the writing. They're all a touch Poet, but not too strong in the art. What I need now is focus, not foolishness. Gerude's incident just now makes me wonder if he's got extreme Poet potential, in fact. I'll have to approach Jhe 'hLogos Elete about that. He's always far too thrilled to take yet another Armed into that loony fold.

Not that I wasn't one of those aforementioned Armed. I just don't let it show. Dooley and Keith are also the same in that regard. Between the three of us, we might just get some sort of grip on what is going on in this madhouse of a Palace. It's time to get organized.

"Alright. The shadows can keep an eye on things up here, but I'd appreciate some also casting back to the places Jhe Gerald and Gerude have reported, such as the labs and the cage-rooms. Hold on the Jhe o'Audiva Rocale's bedchambers and personal living spaces until the rest is cleared out. I imagine we'll have the most trouble there, and it's always best to drive all the pests into one spot instead of letting them spread back and forth between areas. That goes for the rest of you lot as well." I clap my hands. "Remember! We're not here to conquer or siege. We're here to prevent chaos while the King of this land is taken to Trial. Until after his sentence, nothing definite can be planned. We are here to bring Justice to those who have been stolen away from the sight of it for too long. We are not here to kill anyone, so try not to make it necessary." I sweep a glare over Gerude's way. He's not paying attention. Well, fair enough, he's missing an eye now. Not that it'd matter to some warriors I've known. Everyone's different.

...Poet potential.

"I want three groups. First group is to follow the shadows very slowly and secure the rooms in the Palace to prevent incidents. Second group, focus on these newly-freed people and spirits and see what assistance you can be. We will be organizing an exodus soon. Keith will be leading you. Third group, form up under my command. We'll be ensuring that the people of this Kingdom don't riot." That will entail something a bit more elaborate than summary demands. "Dooley will be staying here at base, and I'll want a core of soldiers staying here with him to keep it secure and watch over the wounded. If you are wounded, see to it that you heal before you're up on mission again. We need focus and precision now, not just a bunch of live bodies who're liable to be clumsy and light-headed. Do you hear me? No heroics. I've had my damned fill of that today." I push up my glasses, letting that sink in. "The leaders of each team will pick their men. If you're not picked, stay here with the core team. Now, let's work."

* * *
Rocsui
* * *

The Peacekeeper organizes his ducklings very well. And good for him. This place needs organization. Management. Control. It needs it very much, because this palace was born to combat outside forces, no matter if Father's wards are hanging about all broken and shredded.

I shiver. This is my home. This is my home and it's beginning to dislike me, too. I've banded with the invaders, after all. Taken their sympathy, their aid. Their...company.

"Are ya feelin' alright, Roxie?" I suppress the crawl at the back of my neck from someone renaming me. It's nothing he meant like Father meant it. And really, it's nice to be called something that isn't what my Father branded me as.

"I'm fine." I stand, prim, posture perfect. There's so many strangers around me. They don't stare as much as I expected, but they do stare.

He cocks his head at me, eyes warm in that puppy dog way. He's looking at me strange. I fight down the automatic urge to tell Father that with my mind: 'Daddy, a man is looking at me with strange intent.'

I'm not his girl anymore. I'm probably no one's girl.

"I uh...Roxie, why are you lying about that?" He looks uneasy saying it. As you would.

I'm quiet, my voice stiffening in my throat. "You can...tell that? I thought you said you were only training as a Poet."

"First thing they teach us, and there's refresher courses if you go Armed, and plus...well that's a big part of being Armed, so...yeah. I can tell. You're not okay." He squeezes my hands. "What's the problem?"

"I..." My tongue won't move, as usual. He's gone, and the wards are in shreds, but some chains remain in place. "I can't talk about it. I'm sorry." I turn to look over at the Peacekeeper's group. "What's he trying to do? They're poking at the Throne."

"If you're hurt, you should stay with the wounded." He's the one that sounds hurt. I wonder what's upset him.

No matter about it, now. They're doing something important, but the Palace will eat them if they're not careful. "Come. Tell your commander I will help them. Be my Poet." His hand tugs away from mine, but I keep hold of it.

"I...Roxie, are you sure about that?"

"You're the only one here who gives a shit about me. Tell him I know where everything is." I know there's a way to put emotion in my voice. There should be a way. Father fixed that, is all. Maybe Jax can make it right, just as he made me right with his touch and his words and the way he moved. I can't even sound passionate about that, damn my Father.

"You do? Really?" He's incredulous. Was it so hard to believe?

"Yes. A canary knows her cage well."

* * *
Camden
* * *

A pity. I had almost managed to forget about Jhe Jaxhelshon. Now he comes marching up to me, like he actually has something of substance to contribute. Then again, the Jhe o'Audiva Rocale's daughter is following him, so that's likely an inaccurate assertion.

I level a look at Jhe Jaxhelshon. He immediately wilts, as he tends to do around me now, smoldering after he crumples. Then he balls his fists up and, to my surprise, looks me in the eye.

"Jhe Rocsui a'Audiva Rocale Xaillyndesse'ten desires an audience."

I raise an eyebrow. That was unexpectedly polite. I hazard a glance at the Xaillyndesse daughter in question. She hazards me one back, just as icy and calculating.

Hm. Perhaps I've underestimated her. Then again, her Father was quite cunning. Why shouldn't she have been granted that aptitude?

"Very well." I skirt a bow to the princess. "Would you prefer to take this matter to a more private antechamber, Jhe Xaillyndesse?"

Her eyebrows quirk together in something that is the skeleton of a dreadful scowl. "I need nothing formal out of you. You're poking around in my Father's Palace and as no one else is left to give a damn, that leaves me in charge of it. You could at least ask me where everything is, or what else I might know that could aid you." There's a sullen undertone to her voice, as if she's actually sulking over this. I wonder how old she is. She doesn't look much older than Jhe Jaxhelshon, but appearances can be deceiving, especially when the person in question has been so obviously altered in her essence. As strange as she may appear, with the feathers sprouting out of her every which way, I do wish my Armed would control their faces better around her. She looks strange, yes, but what in this place hasn't been strange?

I bow again. "My apologies, Jhe Xaillynde-"

A plumed fan stops me short with a tap against my nose. She unfurls it and then positions it in front of her face haughtily. "No-no, none of that, now. You may address me by what name I can call somewhat as my own. Rocsui. Everything else, given or grafted or otherwise, is useless and frippery, especially now."

I clench my teeth, then slowly work my jaws apart, keeping my words smooth with due effort. "Then I extend my apologies once again, Jhe Rocsui, and wonder how it is that you might aid us in our endeavor."

She's distracted now. Oh, blighted and blooded, she's completely scattered, isn't she? Her eyes cast over the throne, her brow furrows, and then she leans down and runs a finger over one of the peacock's stray plumes. "Thelea," she murmurs.

Quite a few starts and jumps go through our merry little group. I am the originator of one of them, truth be told. She looks up at me with a wicked grin.

"Oh, yes. This was his first peacock. He named this one after his mother. The first animal he ever tamed." She practically coos that statement. "Given immortality for its prized status...or perhaps because his mother simply would be insulted if the dratted thing died." She snorts. "Thelea's name was just as much a curse in my Father's household as I hear it is in Crux Radia. It's a shame Father loved the bird so much more than his mother. Otherwise I think he might knight whoever had the blasted aim to kill the poor thing."

"We'll have no more of that talk about my men, in exchange for no more talk of your Xaillyndesse heritage."

She replies with a flutter of her fan and a flutter of her eyes. "Oh? Darling, so sweet of you. I simply must accept. Now," she closes her fan with a snap, tucks it away, and gestures for Jaxhelshon to attend her, all in one smooth motion. "What was it that you were trying to do before we were interrupted?"

"We are about to begin looking for accurate portraiture of the Jhe o'Audiva Rocale." I clear my throat. She certainly...abrades. At least her Father attempts not to snap at his enemies when tact demands it. "Would you like to be of aid, Jhe Rocsui?"

She's absolutely radiant with her smile in reply. I notice, then, that a couple of my men are falling for her besides Jhe Jaxhelshon, and that's certainly all I need, isn't it? "Of course I would. If you're looking for portraiture, well..." she chuckles, leading us away from the throne's dais and off into an adjoining parlor. "...you couldn't have picked a more convenient King for it. He simply loves his face, doesn't he? A shame he hates the Poets so much, but he's found artists enough to satisfy his ego from time to time."

* * *

I've never seen such a broad celebration of a single person's face, let alone busts and full-body studies. There are even sculptures and statues. The gallery Ebrellin-i's daughter has led us into represents such a broad range of medium and style that it could be a museum in itself. I wonder what the Poet King would think of that...and then am reminded of just how much these two sibling Kings detest each other.

Still, there are some of Jhe 'hLogos in here as well. Younger studies, most of them. Both of the Jhe o'Audiva Rocale's daughters are represented, though I notice that there are no images of Jhe Rocsui before the age of what appears to be twelve. There are no portraits of any other Xaillyndesse.

One of my Armed gazes up at a life-sized statue of Ebrellin-i in full imperial robes, carved out of marble so finely that it glows transparent through the more thin, delicate sections. "I'm pretty sure this room'll have enough for me to work with." He snorts. "There's even sketches of the gestures he makes."

I nod, propping my glasses up on the bridge of my nose. "Are you sure it will be adequate reference for you, Jhe Duhaine?"

Iaen grins back at me, his face already growing a nose too large and refined to be anything but Xaillyndesse (but only because the Akribastes line tends to produce a much girthier nose). "I've worked with lots less. This'll be a piece of cake. Hey, we found the kitchens yet? We're gonna occupy a Palace, we ought to set up base in its kitchen. Only goes to follow, right?" He's managing his hair now, trying to grow it out slowly so that it doesn't tangle up on the way down.

He's full of jokes today, isn't he? "We will see about provisions, but I caution you not to walk about as if we own this place." I cough. "Well, I would, if you were any other soldier with any other role... Now that I think about it, perhaps you should ask Jhe Rocsui for advice on that."

"Yeah, she's certainly a shadow of her Da', isn't she? Fine piece of work. And certainly not hesitant to contribute her suggestions to the conversation. I think I'll go do just that, before Jax thinks he can hog all the pie-ack."

I keep my grip on Jhe Duhaine's collar very firm. "Let's not repeat any of the mistakes the rookies make, yes?"

He coughs. "Sorry?"

"At least he can claim to be of a station to make the tryst permissible. She's a princess, Jhe Duhaine. Try not to cause a diplomatic incident. I hear-tell it is your duty to contain those."

He rubs his throat after I let go his collar. "Well, now," he grumbles, "can't see how anyone could take time to have fun, too many duties flying about these days." He's off to go consult with Jhe Rocsui, under the forbidding gaze of a hundred Ebrellin-i portraits.

Hell, I'd almost wish him good luck in his endeavors, just to watch one of those portraits flinch.

* * *

* * *
Iaen
* * *

Well, I guess I can talk a little about myself. Not like it can do you any good in IDing me - if ever I want to sneak up behind you, you won't sense me coming, and you'll never recognize me.

Think about that, and smile!

I'm still managing my hair as I approach the fair Princess. There's quite a bit to manage. Already I'm trying to wrap my (now more aristocratically-shaped) head around how to style this terrifying mass. Already my neck is feeling the strain. How I suffer for my duty!

Hey, she's cuter up close.

She looks up at me, eyes narrowing. "I see." Her eyes cast about the room. "That's what all of you wanted to come here for. Well." She heaves a pained sigh. I'd say it was her feelings, but it feels more like she's too good for me and I'm not worth her time. Ahh, royalty. "How long do you plan to pose as him?"

"I'm afraid that's confidential." I give a shrug. Hey. S'how it goes in this business. Like any of us can guess how long this stint has to last.

"At least you lot are making an effort to keep the citizenry at ease." Her shoulders slump. I can see the strain of the situation making its mark in her face, and I also see how she tries to school her expression to hide that. Very important, knowing her looks and mannerisms. Possibly more important than knowing her Father's, if things go badly here. "...You're really going to pose as him?" Her voice lilts up with this question. Her curiosity's piqued, and she walks around me in a slow circle, studying the changes. "It's impressive what you're doing with the clothes." She shakes his head. "No, no, that's still all wrong. His sash is knotted in this manner. It's a mark of rank in Lyiannethe." She reties one of the intricate knots that are weaving their way about my person. She brushes up against me as she does so, and I feel the sweet softness to the curves on her. I think I'm in love.

She gives me a rude look, eyes narrow. "If you are trying to imitate my Father, that would not be the expression he would wear around me." Oh. Whoops. Been awhile since I've been around the public. I grin and brush off the awkward moment.

"Well then, your highness, if you would be so kind as to give me a few acting tips?" I step back to get a look at her, noting a few sketches and studies of the King that show more of his movements and facial quirks than bland portraits typically do.

The Princess draws herself up, shoulders held straight, back impeccable. "He never slouches. Never. If he ever makes an error...well, darling, you must understand. The Peacock King never mis-steps. You must have made an error in your observations, or perhaps your vision is lacking?" As she talks in a tone more disdainful and royal than her own natural one, she also turns, extending her arms, posing as I'm certain her Father must.

I follow the poses and imitate them, adjusting my posture, reminding my body of how it's supposed to behave under this mask. As I do so, I school my face into a better resemblance to the King. I've plenty of material to study from. I take special care to remember Rocsui's resemblance to him, and study her face just for its curves and shadows, for how the muscles stretch and play over her cheekbones. "Ah. I see." I look over my shoulder at her. "What does he call you, in public?"

Her eyebrows lift as she pauses. There's just that hint of sweat on her brow, that hesitation in her breath. The rise in her chest. Is that what she looks like when she doesn't want to talk about something, but must pretend that isn't the case? "Daughter. Rocsui-ehellenae, in formality. If there is an occasion upon which you must use my Xaillyndesse title..." she glances to the side nervously. "Well, it shouldn't arise. Don't worry about it."

I square my shoulders a little more, deepening my voice. He has the neck for it. Let's see if I can get the proper pitch? "Allow me, if I may, to present my prized daughter, Jhe Rocsui-ehellenae, the jewel of my Court."

She jumps. "How did you know how to do that?"

I grin, letting a little remnant of my own face slip through at the corner of my mouth. "Study, precision, and impeccable training." I extend my hand with all the due grace I can bestow upon such long fingers and fine bones. "Please, if you would."

Her fingers hover above my palm for two seconds before she yanks her hand back. There's a timid pinch to the way she holds her shoulders now. "I would prefer not, were it all the same, milord."

I cock my head, the movement birdlike. "Why ever do you say that?"

"Can you stop? It's...really creepy. Look, you're his image, alright? You sound just like him, however you managed that. You've got his manner down pat. So...you don't need to practice anymore." She turns away from me. I get a chance to study the curve of her ass under that little plumed tail of hers. Rowrrr.

"That's no way for a daughter of mine to address her sire." My voice is cold enough that the air almost fogs. She stops, looks back at me with horror, those eyes full of dread as she studies my face, my body. Her Father's face and body. It takes her a long time to allay her fears, and even then, it looks like she'll have trouble sleeping tonight. Daddy wasn't the nicest paternal figure, I take it?

Finally her mouth curls down into an ugly scowl. "Don't you dare ever speak to me again with that tone or I will have you removed from this existence through whatever means I may find necessary." The scolding is a bit more of a novelty than anything else - her tone lacks emotion, and it sounds more like she's reading from a book than speaking in anger. I wonder why that is?

I beam. "I'm so honored you found me convincing, Jhe Rocsui. Shall we get in a little more practice later tonight?"

She slaps me across the face. Little bitch. I hate correcting imaginary makeup.

Hmm. I wonder if she does that in bed.

* * *
Camden
* * *

I let out a heavy sigh, pinching the bridge of my nose. Things were so much simpler when I could just shoot the incompetents in the foot so that the battlefield could be relatively clear of stupidity. I can't do that anymore. Well, at least not here. Possibly in a place where the Judge wouldn't get immediate wind of it.

...In any case, there are a lot of idiots about, but unfortunately they happen to be at least halfway useful, and double-unfortunately one of those idiots is Iaen.

Triple-unfortunately, I'll need another idiot to counter Iaen's twice-damned idiocy.

"Jhe Jaxhelshon. Collect your quarry." He looks at me with eyes that are slightly dumber than a cow's. "...The Princess. Ye've seen fit to have her companionship. Now keep it if you value her, and all of our, protection."

His shoulders slump. "But Camden, I don't think she likes me." He has a piteous face, better for panhandling than for reporting to a higher officer with. How did he end up here, again?

I'm admittedly lost for words.

He looks off to the side, sheepish. "I mean, she keeps ignoring what I say, and she doesn't pay much attention to me..." He stops when I lay a hand on his shoulder. He looks up at me, unsure of just what I might be about to impart to him.

I lean down, so that only he (and whoever of our shadows are lingering about and listening in to what's not their business) can hear me, and intone: "Whatever you care for her, boy, you make that enough and don't let yourself give one shit as to whether she cares for you. I can tell ye right now that she don't, and I can also tell ye that if ye feck this up, I will flay every inch of skin off yer ass and send it back home to yer Da'. You can tell that to your sensitivity when you start mincing over every tiny thing instead of doing what fucking duty you can do for Jhe 'hAkribastes and your fellow Armed."

He swallows. I think his colon plunked right down into his bootheels, but he doesn't talk back or glare at me or even cry. He just clenches his fists, and most surprising of all, he thanks me in a low tone.

Then he turns around and does his duty.

* * *
Jax
* * *

Okay. I can totally do this. It involves keeping my ass, and whether Rocsui breaks my heart...

...Well, I'm a man, I can take it!

I don't know what I'm even so worried about. Everything's fine. It's just all a bit much for her and she's really being thrown off by it. She likes me. She said so, or I mean, said as much in her bedroom. In...scream-language.

Probably not the best time to think about that, though.

I catch her outside the door, where there's generally much less of a crowd, which helps. "Rocsui? Hey, are you okay? Maybe we should go somewhere-"

"I'm fine and I don't need any of you. I wish you would get out of my Palace."

Okay. Choke it down, Jaxhelshon. You can take this. It's just a fierce kick to your heart and soul's vital organs. Also, possibly the testicles. "Alright, but I'm worried for you. I want to help you, Rocsui. You asked me to be your Poet."

She stands still, posture straight, chest barely moving as she breathes. Almost a statue to match the one of her Father. She seems to be collecting her thoughts. After a few moments of this and a nod to herself, as if coming to a conclusion, she speaks. "I did. I could use some time alone. Forgive me but I am entirely unused to being surrounded by so many persons with whom I am unacquainted. My Father deemed it inappropriate. So, while you may have use of me, and I may have need of you lot in the near future, I am afraid I must retire." She waits for recognition to hit my eyes, then curtsies in a sweeping, fancy motion. "A good evening to you." She walks away.

I follow her, something which does not slip past her notice.

"What do you want?" By her tone of voice, she could be asking for the time of day.

"Please don't go off alone. It's unsafe for you here."

She closes her eyes, attempting to hide a wince. "...Yes. Then you could do your duties and post a guard on my suite, as I am already well-accustomed to." Summoning a few Armed for the task isn't difficult at all. For some reason, Rocsui seems to get their attention quite easily.

She catches my arm. I look down at her.

"Stay with me." She begins to walk again. I keep pace, not shaking away from her grasp. This close, she's so warm, but I can barely pick up a hint of her scent. It's as if even that has withdrawn, shielding from the world around her.

"Alright." This is strange. It's more like duty than...you know, romance.

She asks me to accompany her into her chambers when we arrive. What we do in there...well, I can't quite call that duty, but it's what she treats it like. Maybe my heart won't take this so badly. Watching her eyes...

They're so cold and empty, like the windows of an abandoned house. If there's any emotion in them, it's the far-off wish for escape, and I'm pretty sure I'm one of the things she'd be escaping. Which confuses me, because she's the one who keeps pulling me into her bedroom. But I just can't figure out girls.

I'm pretty sure I get Camden more than I get girls.

* * *
Camden
* * *

Iaen is, of course, a willing candidate when it comes to playing dress-up and acting like the fountain of egotism that we've evicted from this Palace. This task was made for the boy. In fact, it'll probably turn out to be his favorite role, and we'll never hear the end of it.

But if we're going to have a pretender convince the populace here that all is well and Radia is not, in fact, taking over their dear Kingdom, Iaen will need an entourage.

This is where the situation gets a wee bit difficult. I do not have any volunteers.

It takes some searching and some very pointed orders, but eventually I round up a group of five individuals to make up a bit of a Court for Iaen. Thankfully, the Jhe o'Sul did not bother very much with individuality in his courtiers. Jhe 'Lotus' was perhaps singular in that...but then, considering the King planned for Lotus to take his fall for him, picking someone that stuck out and seemed very foreign was a tactic that aligned with his own interests. There are plenty of spare servant robes about, and heavy makeup is rather in the vogue in this Kingdom, given its principle monarch's habit of caking it on himself in massive volumes.

There we are, then. We might have a shot in Hell of this working, if Iaen does his job right and no one slips. With the Princess's aid, success seems almost likely.

I wish I could see it through. I won't be overseeing that duty, however. I have something else to see to.

I am not looking forward to it.

* * *

"Jhe Cade. It is a long-awaited pleasure, seeing you here in our custody." I may have lied about not looking forward to this, considering my grin. Perhaps 'pleasure' isn't the best word for my expression, however. There's much more malice bred into my expression than any other one thing.

The lout stares up at me from the binds and chains and ties and small magic fetishes and seals and whatever else could be mustered up to hold him in one place. Underneath all that are the manacles and collar that Geillg'a and I forged to hold him. All of that together keeps him in one spot, here, causing no harm to us. Finally, after years of pursuit and near-misses. He's a slippery one. It's difficult enough to describe his face - the lack of a proper nose is at least some aid. Amusing that the lack of a feature defines him more than the features that are still present on his face.

But that's what he's managed, somehow, through his allegiance with Nul. We're not sure how he managed to not get destroyed through it, but somehow he and the Jherent Nul have contrived for Cade Fayegeaux an identity that doesn't identify, a face and mannerisms and voice and name that all manage to slip from memory or even description.

It's been troublesome to deal with. That's a simple way of putting it.

He spits at me in response. It doesn't land, of course. His aim is utter shit. But he still grins that he even managed to do it at all. It's like a toddler taking pride in pissing in the toilet while entirely missing the bowl. "Having a lovely day in Audiva Rocale, are we, Peacekeeper Briarseal?" Calm words, but he can't keep the fear out of his face - what face there is on him.

"Just lovely. A shame you can't be outside to experience the beautiful weather. It's been a fine day for cloud-watching."

"Ah. You'd know, I'm sure - it's all you've done since you came to this dratted empire." He sneers. "Amazing you managed to get him off his throne at all. Or is he merely off on holiday?"

I smile. "Holiday, is it? That sounds splendid. Would you like to accompany him, then? Radia's weather is fine as well - and I find the mountains more scenic."

He clams up.

"You have a few choices, Cade, which is astoundingly more than the Jherent Nul gives you in your life, I am sure. You can divulge the information you know, and that just might be taken into account when you're Tried in Radia. You can stay silent, and see what that gets you when you are, as I said, Tried in Radia." I step forward, boot clomping against the tile floor. "Or you can give me shit. Then you'll go on Trial in Radia. If you're lucky."

He chuckles, not showing a bit of fear. "And just what would be worse than looking at the Judge's ugly face and breathing steel through three nostrils?"

I grin. I draw Geillg'a. "Facing me."

* * *
Cade
* * *

I spit three teeth out onto the floor, and they trail the loveliest little arcs of blood behind them. Like fractals, or sigils, or--

A black boot prods my cheek like a chaperon walking in on a fresh date. "None of that, now."

Oh, Camden, honey. You're such a party crasher. I could have had fun with that.

Scrawling my own escape out with my own blood and spit, using my teeth as the quill-nib? That's much more fun than cribbing Elric's little notes home. "What do 'oo wan', nao?" Yes, that's the voice I talk to the ladies with. Or the gents.

"I see you've regained your Dirybvik accent, then." He's so catty. Aww, did I upset poor wittle Camden by picking on his brother? Maybe he wants another letter. I could oblige, given a few spare hours to spew out an average correspondence from the little Poet. But it seems my hands are tied, here. "Ye've still tongue enough to tell what ye know, though. And ye'll tell, before we turn you over to Radia." He prods me with his boot again. Shame he's such a tease. He's already worked me over with a whip and everything.

"Why woul' I do tha', hen?" I'm known most for my eloquence, of course. After my fabulous dancing skills.

"I'll see that Nul receives your diary."

There's this thing I do, when I get really panicked. I freeze up somewhere in my mind, right in the back of it. And behind that, it's like there's this rabbit in a cage, thumping against the mesh, because it's damn sure it's going to be soup tonight. A whole warren of rabbits, in fact, all worked up in a frenzy, and it's enough to make me a little dizzy. I don't register it physically, of course, which is why you'd never know unless I told you. But there you are. I twitch my eyebrows.

I'm still mulling that one over. I can't let Nul see that thing. Truth be told, I don't even know what's in it. I don't read back on the early stuff. I just write it all as it happens, as you do, and by now it's...well, I suppose it has everything in it. I know Nul wouldn't approve of it. I couldn't give you an exact reason for that, but the way I know is because I feel the need to hide it.

I know it because the rabbits go thump in my head when the Peacekeeper levels his threat.

Well. That does put me in a bit of a pinch, doesn't it? Well, there's not much deliberation.

"I shuppose we coul' haf a tawk."

It's my ass or Nul's. I consider mine the better ass. You would too.

* * *
Camden
* * *

I'll have to admit that I wasn't quite sure that would work. In fact, I wasn't expecting it to. I was entirely bluffing. I keep the appearances up, of course, but now I'm wondering just why he didn't even think twice about giving in.

I'll have to watch him. He's up to something, I'm sure of it. I also keep an eye on his vitals, because he could just try to die on the spot, especially if that's what his master wants.

The master he's possibly outright disobeying right now.

He looks up at me, a noseless man with a sly broken grin on his face. "Y'dunno why ah wanna 'ell ya, do'ya? Foine enough." I suppose that filthy Dirybvik accent of his just comes forward once he's been beaten hard enough. Or maybe it's just his mouth that's messed up. With that accent, who can tell? "Ye dun need tah know."

"Dooley? I wonder if we could get someone in here, make him slightly more comprehensible."

"...Aye, that'd be a struggle, but I'm sure someone's up to a challenge." He's off to find a healer, or possibly a cobbler. Either will do. ...Given, it takes a bit of time to find anyone that's willing to go anywhere near Cade's mouth, but he manages.

Cade peers up at us, his eyebrows slightly misaligned due to some facial reappropriation that Geillg'a engineered, but otherwise not much the worse for wear. He's still down a nose, but at least it looks less like bacon. Also, I think it likely that his mouth will work the way it's meant to now.

"Aye, so you were saying, then?"

He narrows his eyes, but a grin peeks up into his cheeks. "If you don't send on my diary, I suppose we can do business. What are the terms of my release?"

I smirk, crossing my arms. "There are none."

He looks blank for a few moments. He might be thinking that over. "...Then just what am I bartering for, Peacekeeper Briarseal?"

I smile brightly. "The Judge's good favor, and the likelihood of the diary staying safe in his possession." His face darkens as he considers those terms, and then he shakes his head, half-grinning again.

"Still good enough to squeal about. What do you want to know?" Is that a tinge of nervousness I hear?

I wonder why he seems so pressed about it. Logically, the Nul can't do anything to Cade once he's in custody, so the diary shouldn't be much leverage at all. It's too strange for me not to want to puzzle it out, but...well, I have other important questions, and I can tell if he lies. Both are good enough for me to press on with this. "You've trafficked kidnapped Poets and Armed. What are their whereabouts?"

"Unmappable." The reply is flat. It sounds memorized. His eyes are dull as he says it. Then they flick up, and his stare looks like more of something that's coming from a living man. "Nul, of course. Although, a specific area of Nul. I'll not tell you more until I'm in custody." His look is wary now, and he hunches his shoulders in paranoia. Can't say I blame him.

"I suppose that's possible. I'll file the paperwork." He curses. "Ah, no worries, Jhe Fayegeaux. I'll be seeing to your hospitality personally." He curses again. I grin. "More questions, then? Or will you not be able to answer them at all? A shame. What's the point of keeping this journal to ourselves, then?"

He curses once more, spitting as he does so. "You fool, I can't just blaspheme him, trick him, backstab him with no protections put up! Make good on what you promised if you want to bargain. Asking me to spill in an unsecure place such as this is the same as sending him the bloody diary."

I cock my head. "Oh? And just why is it that you don't want it sent on, Jhe Fayegeaux?"

He narrows his eyes. "Because I don't. Now are we through?" He holds his breath. Geillg'a's blade is hovering just under his chin.

"I need a direction to search for Elric Briarseal in, regardless of your peril." His eyes stay narrowed, and I can feel the tingle of the attempt at a curse. It misses, but of course we all expected that. He's too bound for that foolishness to work.

"Look towards Lyiannethe, a fat lot of good getting anywhere near the King's family will do you. It's difficult enough for me. You'll never get a bloody Armed in."

I tap him under the chin with my blade. "That, Jhe Fayegeaux, is my problem. Now ready yourself for a trip. Pack your bags, and such. You'll see Radia's blue skies tomorrow. Call it a homecoming."

He snorts.

"The Judge has missed seeing your charmed face, after all."

* * *

Cade is secure for the coming night. Well, I imagine he's feeling very insecure for the night, but that's his fault, not ours. In any case, while I may be satisfied with progress in that area of operations, the entire Palace is a different matter. Iaen is progressing very nicely with assembling his entourage, and there's no particularly ill news from the shadows that are cleaning out the labs and other cells.

I'd be a fool to think everything is going smoothly, but thus far...well, it may be.

Maybe we can handle this.

* * *

RADIA

* * *
Lyric
* * *

It's not my fault.

I keep trying to think that as Father leads me through Radia's Palace. I don't want to even think of what I'm doing in here. I'm still in the servant robes I was wearing in Audiva Rocale. I'm lucky no one's around to see me, and it doesn't even cross my mind that there might be a reason for that. I don't want to think of much at all, because I'm afraid of Father picking up on those thoughts.

He makes one of those deep sighs, and the sound brings back memories. My mind queues up the long history of disappointments he's had with me while I grew up here. Then, without any warning, he stops in his tracks, boots planted firmly on the marble and malachite tile. I look up at him.

Ever since he laid eyes on me for the first time since I ran away, his expression has been so strange when he sees me. I never remembered him looking that hard at me back before I left home. That weird sort of stern yet almost apologetic searching.

"It's because I'm trying not to upset you by looking too deep."

I blink.

"You never worried before about how many of your thoughts I could hear, how much of you I could see beneath the facial expression." He frowns, a tiny line forming between his brows. "...That's a lie, isn't it?" It's so strange to hear him say that.

"...I did, but it was when you weren't around me to hear." He looks a little hurt at that. He's probably more hurt than he looks, knowing my Father. "I...maybe we should talk."

He looks away, to the path ahead. "We have to talk to your Uncle first." He hears me gulp. "...Not for a scolding. He wanted to see you as soon as you arrived. He missed you." Why's he look so uncomfortable? What's wrong? "Lyric...a...you should start finding your old friends and family, once you're fit for it."

"...I should?" Just being here is making my head spin. Fit for it?

"You were missed." I swear he almost chokes on the words. "Come on." No, it's just that he sounds gruff, that's what it is. Maybe he's angry. I follow him as he continues to walk. The Palace is big, but I don't recognize this arm of it. It's...it looks like a private wing. Maybe that explains why I can be walked about in this clothing.

"...Lyric? Are you alright?" He looks down at me again. I realize I'm lagging behind. I'm also breathing a little heavily.

"I...feel a little funny." That's probably the worst way I could describe it, I know. The look on his face says the same. "Kind of tired and dizzy. I'll be better when I can sit down. And change clothes."

He frowns. "Should Gerald come with us? Would that make you feel better? We can go back to his quarters and get him. He's stayed awake under more fatigue than that before." It's weird hearing him break into a officer's tone in that last sentence, instead of a father's. I'm still not used to it, but then, I never was.

I bite my lip. "...He doesn't have to. He should rest. I can do this." Father makes this weird little frown, like he did before, and I realize with utter horror that he's trying not to cry, and he's failing.

Oh, shit. And to think I just thought that he was mad at me. I start walking again, trying not to show that I saw that. It would just make things even more awkward right now. I'm pretty sure he didn't want me to ever notice that, anyway. So I'll pretend.

"...So, how has Unkie been?" My tone is unusually chipper and light.

He laughs. It's the most awkward chuckle in the world, with an extra weight to the 'hurr' in the middle. "He just got five new shipments of coffee in. He's fine." And with that, we've reached the door to Uncle Lui's suite, which I guess is pretty impressive. Well, it's got to be pretty grand, he's the King of Radia and whatnot.

It's just...well, easy to forget, but I kind of remember while staring up at the big wooden door, which, all things told, could be bigger. This is a private entrance, so there's not so much showyness needed. I think I'm used to that from the Peacock King. Still, the Royal Cruxradia Seal embossed into the door in bronze makes me start to wonder. Am I here to see Uncle Lui, or am I here to see the Jhe o'Radia?

Well, he did miss me.

Father knocks lightly on the door.

"Come in!" Uncle Lui's voice is as light and cheerful as I remember it almost always being. That's good. It means he's already had his morning coffee, which a relief in itself. Father opens the door and looks down at me, waiting for me to go ahead.

"Aww, don't be nervous. I missed you. Get in here!"

I jump a little, but Father pushes me a little between the shoulders, and that gets me to finally move. I walk in, still...on guard. It's Unkie's study, just like usual, where I've been tons of times. Well, usually not this area, this looks a little more private. I can feel the wards. They're powerful, but not like Ebrellin-i's were. Those stifled and choked, or chained. These more...just muffle sound. Privacy wards. And I'm sure there's security wards as well, but they're elegant or quiet enough that I can't really pinpoint them, and I give up on it.

This place is sort of like a den in a big hunting cabin, touched with the refinement and, well...expensiveness that only comes with high levels of royalty. Uncle Lui doesn't bother with a lot of pomp and showoff, but he allows himself what he's due...or, at least, that's how he usually says it. Dark wood paneling edged with ornate plaster molding, thick carpets and cushy armchairs and couches, and--

"--I got him, 'Sy." I blink in confusion. I'm staring up at the ceiling. Unkie's smiling down at me like absolutely nothing's wrong, and I can feel Father hovering all concerned in the background. "Wards got him pretty good! I can't wait to see what's attached to him that triggered that--" He stops himself, looks over his shoulder at my Father, and sighs. "Relax. He'll be all right. I figured something like this would have happened. Here, Lyric, we're gonna put you on the couch, okay?"

"...Okay." I don't understand. Why am I so dizzy?

"Because Audiva Rocale doesn't let things go without a fight, even if one of those things doesn't belong to it. Such a shame my wards are specifically tooled to fight that sort of thing." His voice has that cheerful tone laid over great annoyance, which doesn't really distress me because it's kind of a default for Unkie. He smooths my bangs back from my forehead and looks at the center of it. "Here, 'Sy. It's a pretty easy mark. More of a signature move of Ebrelle's." He looks into my eyes and smiles. "Confusing, isn't it? Don't worry, it'll all be explained once it's fixed. Just don't worry, and try to keep your eyes open. It's easier for us to see it that way."

I frown. I try to do as he says, but of course I immediately want to blink. "See what?"

"Something that has no business being there." Father puts his hand against my forehead, his palm centered over the spot Uncle Lui was inspecting. I feel something very warm under there. Under my skin, I mean. Maybe under my skull too. It...squirms?

Unkie's hand squeezes mine. "Don't worry. Just let your Dad do his work."

"When did you sign a contract with Ebrellin-i, Jhe o'Audiva Rocale, Lyric?" Father's voice is very clear. It sounds official, but somehow it doesn't make me panic.

"When he hired me as a trainer. It was right after I entered his Palace and proved my worth. It was just about being paid and what sort of work I would do."

Father shakes his head. Uncle Lui sighs. "It would have been enough for him to build on, given enough leverage," Unkie says, then traces a finger over my cheek, examining something I can't see. "Did you read it very well? No, you didn't. It would have set in after awhile, especially once you started performing outside of your Trainer duties, hmm? That's not typically the type of role a Consort plays, after all. This probably really hit you when he put the makeup on you for that role."

Whatever's under Father's palm pulses. I squirm a little. That really hurt. "I...there was more after that...he collared me..." It hurts to talk.

"There's more at work here than you can talk about, Lyric. You're sealed. Shh," Uncle Lui braces against me, so that I don't squirm off of the couch. "This is going to hurt."

Father grunts. "Don't say things like that, Jheida, it always makes them fidget more." His brow furrows as he stares at my forehead. Looking at his eyes makes me shiver. They're blazing gold, the tone so bright that it's like some metal molted down and ready to pour into a mold. "That's it." Eyes that don't look into me, they pour into me, soaking into everything inside of me and examining it with incredible scrutiny. "Just like that." Like...like wax, really, golden wax, and when you pull it out things catch in it it that don't belong and then the vessel left behind is clean and just a little sticky--

My Father sighs heavily. "Slightly inelegant at the last part, but you're a beginner." He pulls his hand away, revealing...

I look in his palm, perplexed. "What is that?"

Father snorts. "Crusted and broken remnants of half-cast, badly controlled spells." He turns to Uncle Lui. "He's losing his touch."

Uncle Lui raises his eyebrow at the ashen mess in Father's palm. It's like gemstones had been burnt down into charcoal and then half ground up. His lip curls. "Tainted more than focused. Half that work I doubt he even did on purpose. It's like seeing the cast-off clay bits left over from pouring into a mold. Interesting, and useful for something, but hardly a finished product. Lyric, do you feel any better?"

"I really hate these clothes."

"That's because they're gauche, dear." He squints. "And also bugged a bit themselves, though that doesn't matter inside the wards. 'Sy, does he have a change?"

My Father shakes his head. "He'll need some clothes. Nothing will set him right like a good shopping trip, I'm sure." He sighs.

"You have a lot to attend to, and soon so shall I. Why don't you see to it while I talk to him?" For some reason, this makes my Father smile in a way that's a grimace. "...You have news for me after, don't you?"

Father laughs. "Of course. There's no end to it."

"Well, then, why don't you go do some work, and you can torment me about whatever my son's gotten up to when I'm through here." Uncle Lui's voice is heavy with long-tried patience.

Father only grins, a happier expression, but also a very sadistic one. It fades as he looks over to me. "Lyric? I'm going to leave you with your Uncle. You can tell him whatever you want." He pauses before the door.

Uncle Lui cocks his head at him at the same time that I do.

"...Just call if you need me." I'm not sure which of us he was talking to, but he makes sure to leave quickly after that, that pinched expression on his face making my stomach twist. Why oh why did I have to make him cry?

I look at Uncle Lui after the door closes. He smiles at me. It's almost as if I'd never run away.

"It certainly must feel that way to you." He grins. "I wonder what trouble you've been getting up to all these years? I'll expect an account of it sometime, you know."

I frown, siting up as I try to puzzle out why Uncle Lui keeps responding to things that I didn't say out loud.

He chuckles and ruffles my hair. I scowl and fix it back. I hate it getting mussed and he knows it. "It's because you're broadcasting your thoughts. Your Father tinkering with your head and yanking things out probably helped a bit, there, but you've been loud and clear ever since you entered the room." He stands up, hands clasped behind his back, and steps back a little, looking over me. "Stifling, wasn't it? Being in the Jhe o'Sul's Palace for so long. Especially with your personality. It made you get pent up, I'm sure. I know you were fighting against his bonds even during our little tea ceremony in the garden. After fighting back against the his control for so long, your mind would get stronger, and your mental voice...well, louder. You haven't had a chance to adjust it yet--" He laughs with a snort. "No, you don't even know how to yet. But I'm very impressed with you, Lyric." He takes another step back, then flops into a nearby armchair. "You managed to play his games as one of his pieces and still not get caught. Now..." he leans back, propping his chin on the back of one hand, "why don't you tell me just how you went about that?"

I look to the side, trying to avoid his gaze. "I, um...well, I was writing it, before. I wanted to finish doing that."

Unkie nods. "It's usually easier to break heavy news via writing, isn't it? It's a little scary to say certain things in person. Only...writing takes a long time, and while you're doing it, everyone's hovering over your shoulder waiting for the next damn chapter. In the meantime, you might want to just tell me the more pertinent details, and, more importantly...spill what it is you need to get off your chest. That's why your Father left you with me. He's done the same for me before. With Katherine, of course. And sometimes Jaxhelshon." He smirks. "Edward was too awed by him to even think of being afraid to talk, Justice fanboy that he is. And then there's you Akribastes kids. Always in trouble up to your necks and terrified your Father will hurl you into the Void as soon as you make the tiniest peep. I get to listen to all of that." He grins wide. "What luck! So, Lyric," he hunches forward, hands curled under his chin in a pose of rapt attention, "why don't you tell your Uncle a story?"

He watches as I still avoid meeting his eyes. "I...I don't want to upset you, Uncle."

He still smiles. It's not that overly chipper grin anymore, but it is strangely carefree just the same. "You won't be the one that's upsetting me, Lyric. Now, please. If there is anything I am used to in this world, it is hearing things that no one wants to tell me."

I bite my lip. Well then. How do I possibly start talking about this?

I spread my hands, palms out. "Okay. Picture this."

* * *
Gerald
* * *

I don't nap very well. Now, sleeping in, that's another story. But naps just aren't my thing.

Waking up is kind of a blurry experience. The first thing I do is draw my guns, because I don't recognize this room. Then I realize that my hat's over my face and I don't recognize this room because it's the inside of my hat. Wagner and Bruce laugh at me, which is really my usual way of waking up anyway. I reholster my guns and slide my hat off of my head.

Ah. My room in the Armed Hall, as it were. We sort of have dormitories here, or little studies, I guess you could call them. People with families are different of course. And there's room at Father's place if I ever wanted it. But I prefer this room. I missed it, too. Crowded, kind of like a small closet, but with all my old trophies, notes, drawings from Poet friends...just all the souvenirs of my life, I suppose. Alphabetically arranged by the adjective Edward would describe the mess with.

Yeah, I remember now. Dad was bringing the two of us home, and I actually fell over as we got to my dorm room. He dragged me into bed and told me to keep my scrawny trailbitten ass in it until I got some real sleep.

I just can't do that, though. It's not night yet, and...well, things are too crazy right now. If I'm not going to be in the thick of things anymore then I at least want to catch up with anyone I know who's actually here.

Hey, Katherine. Since the Judge is here, and she's his assistant, she'll definitely be here in the Hall. Probably right in her office, doing paperwork. Heh, I probably managed to generate most of that paperwork, what with how my mission went.

Big success! Who else could have taken down the Peacock King? Well, Father did it, but if it weren't for me...Lyric helped too. And I guess Camden was there for something, and Jenny, and Rachella...

But Katherine doesn't need to know that!

I stretch, stand, and put my hat back on. Oof. I really am pretty tired. It's been a busy day. But I can't just prop my boots up now! I have a girl to impress, after all. I leave my quarters and trot off towards Kathe's office. It's a bit of a walk since the Armed Hall's living quarters are placed as far away from the Judge's office as possible, for some strange inexplicable reason. Well, to be fair, it's mostly trainees in three quarters of that area, and the rest is singles housing. Maybe some people don't want to be right next to all of that, for whatever reason.

Anyway, back to Kathe. She and I have a long history, you see. We grew up with each other, and were like childhood sweethearts. We had a couple flings, too. I guess she got over me, eventually. We did our own thing. Still, I like to think she remembers me fondly. And who's to say what the future holds?

I grin as I open the door, leaning my head in. She's nose-deep in paperwork, as usual. She doesn't even bother to look up at me.

"Just stick it in the inbox and I'll queue it behind the rest of the stack," she sighs, then keeps reading over whatever missive is on her desk while she nibbles on the end of her quill. She's a petite little girl, all told, curvy in all the right places. Hunched over like this, she's even teenier. The pinned loop of her mahogany hair peeks over her head like a little crown. I enter, grinning, and stand in front of her desk, hands on my hips.

She skirts a quick glance at me with forest-green eyes, then peers back down at her paperwork through her rectangular reading glasses. I don't think she even saw me. "Eh, Gerude," she says, "aren't you on assignment right now? Better get your ass back in the field."

I scowl. "Kathe, I'm not--"

"Oh, sorry Gerald." She grins up at me. Damnit, that wasn't a flub at all. She was getting a rise out of me! ...Successfully, too, I might add. "Oh hey, you're back! I guess Gerude's mission was a success, huh?" She stands up, coming around the desk to slap me on the shoulder companionably. "Here, it's time for my tea break." She sees me perk at the mention of tea. "Been awhile, huh? Come on, you can have a cup too. We should catch up! How'd your first assignment as a Poet go?" Her eyes are twinkling. I wonder if she's already heard. Oh well, I'll tell it better than anyone else does.

"It was a complete success!" I follow her into the break room, waiting for her to prep the tea. Oh, how nice, the water's already kept hot on a stove. It looks like a kind soul already had the part that takes the longest wait all set to go. Probably Kathe's cute little assistant, Bronwyn. She's the same person that decorated the tea room with the dainty wallpaper and lilac curtains that, while adorable, make for an abrupt departure from the rest of the Armed Hall.

"Oh? Really." She uses that eyebrow raise she learned off of Dad with the rest of us, then turns to pick through for a teacup for each of us. She has her own, of course, but plucks mine from a tea set that's been charmingly painted with tiny daisies and poppies. "That much of a success from jail? Your Poet career sounds like it might end up with the same track record as your Armed one."

I snort. "Yeah, well, sometimes you have to get creative to get the job done. If I hadn't been put in jail, then I wouldn't have been in a position to put the Peacock King in jail!"

She freezes, that eyebrow remaining raised up on her forehead, teacup clenched in her hand. "You...what?"

I give her my all-star grin. "Because of what I did, the Judge had no choice but to haul him to Radia for a Trial! He couldn't have done it if it weren't for me! What do you think of THAT?"

I don't expect her fist to come slamming into my jaw, teacup still lodged in her hand. It makes a very interesting double-impact of porcelain and knuckles. I hear shards tinkle against the floor before I realize that hey, my jaw really hurts!

Then she dives on top of me like a wildcat, teeth and claws tearing at me like I'm a rat that's pinned down for the kill. I really don't know what to do with her. I try to fend her off but this is different than our childhood scuffles, or our more grown-up fights, or even those couple other times that she tried to kill me. (Like I said, we had a few flings, it happens.)

"YOU BASTARD! YOU FUCKING BASTARD!" At least that's what she probably says. I don't even remember what language it was in. "WHAT THE FUCK WERE YOU THINKING, THROWING DADDY IN JAIL?!?"

I really can't answer her from this position, so I'm sort of just left to blink as it dawns over me in a sort of slow horror. The Peacock King has two daughters in the royal bloodline. I'd only found one of them while I was in the Palace. And I had never really given that much thought since then.

Guess the joke's on me, huh? Funny. Everything's kind of fading into red and black, and I can't hear Katherine's screaming very much over the rushing in my ears.

* * *
'Sy
* * *

I'm...not crying.

Put that fucking quill down right now. I am not. Crying. Do we have that understood?

I leave my brother's suite and walk through the Palace, taking careful note as I do of the energy currents running through the complex. The Palace is one of the buildings whose wards currently play host to the confinement of the Peacock King, and so those energies are playing a very important role right now. Just as important are the background energies of the Palace - the gossip and rumor, the shifting moods. We are in almost the most politically delicate situation I could imagine at this moment - I want to feel the tide right now, and know when it might shift.

Yes, plenty of my mind is occupied by my job right now. A great deal of it is doting on Lyric, though, and it's starting to distract me. Right now is the last time I should be thinking about him. His Uncle is taking care of him right now, and I don't want my mind to wander that way. I might try to intrude and listen in on just what my son is telling him. The desire to hear it is extremely compelling.

I have something to distract myself with, though. Camden will have sent in a preliminary report by now, detailing what's transpired thus far on his side of Audiva Rocale. It'll be awaiting me on my desk, I am sure.

I could take the walk across the complex grounds and into the Armed Hall, but inside the Palace there are a few places I can take a shortcut to get there. Warping space can prove very convenient for those such as myself with access to the privilege. This means I can take a shortcut inside the Hall, reducing the amount of people who might run across me on the way.

I don't want to talk to anyone just yet. I don't want this news spreading too quickly. It might reach...sensitive ears.

Oh, who am I kidding. I'm trying to reach Katherine before anyone who knows a fraction of what's really going on with her father does. I have a fair chance of it, though - it hasn't seemed to have leaked, yet, and right now Katherine should be fairly sequestered in her office, with the...less sensitive paperwork. I saw fit to route the more auspicious missives to my own desk, away from her eyes for now.

Right now with Katherine I've actually got things pretty well handled. For once.

I open the door to her office, bracing myself for a long explanation and some very serious discussion. The scene I come in on is that of Katherine straddling Gerald's chest while gripping his head by a fistful of red hair and slamming his skull back against the floor. It's not something I am unaccustomed to walking in on, to be fair, but I didn't expect it this one time.

My poor son. He's had it worse before, but Katherine's a special sort of pain on so many levels. I haul her off, fending off a fierce blow aimed at my liver, then protecting my crotch from the obvious potshots. She's very quick and efficient at taking down opponents, especially ones that attack from behind. She even tries to get her teeth on my neck. Once she realizes who's lifting her up, though, she...well, keeps hitting me, but in a way that betrays she's pretty sure it won't make contact before I fend it off.

"Let me go! I need to kill him!"

Words I've heard enough times before, to be sure. I sigh. This time is different, though. Gerald may have gotten into a beatdown because of his fool mouth yet again, but what happened to cause this wasn't really his fault. Of course, that doesn't make dealing with Katherine while she's having a fit any easier.

"I am NOT having a fit! I just need to kill a man!" I sigh. Words I've heard often enough. I spare a glance over at Gerald. Boy's not getting up? Ah, unable to? Good. Then I don't have to worry about him being stupid enough to come up to me while I'm dealing with this infernal girl.

I slip Katherine around in my arms while walking towards the wall. This maneuver, by the way, is not something I ever suggest you attempt yourself, unless you want to get mangled by her or me. I manage to catch her gaze with mine before I grab her wrists and hold her up by them. She's dangling about a foot off of the floor, back to the wall. She's also partially entranced by my gaze, or should I say, she's being ordered to Stand Down. That's why I haven't taken both knees to the crotch just yet.

She pouts. "Jhe h'Akribastes, he was lying to me, except that he wasn't." I hear a groan as Gerald attempts to roll over, and then a retch as he discovers yet again how stupid his ideas are at times. I sigh again, and keep eye contact.

"Yes, honey. I've got some things to tell you in my office, if you would be so kind as to help peel your comrade off of the floor." I see that frown line develop between her eyebrows. The pout is my brother's. But that little frown line is all Ebrelle.

"Are you going to tell me that I can't kill him?" It's cute, the way she's somehow convinced that I would let her. ...Well, to be fair, I am his Father and with that does come certain responsibilities and traditions.

"Not for this." I almost want to avert my eyes. "Katherine, what he did, he did within the Law, and he had help." I brace her as the reality hits her. I also hold her back in that last urge to attack Gerald. It's a lurch made from anger and pain, and it's not even something all her heart's behind. She doesn't want her Father to be a villain. I understand that. I give her an arm to lean on after she stops fighting it, and when I get her word that she's not going to kill Gerald today (any longer a duration than that she wouldn't agree to, something I completely understand), she kneels with me beside my son.

"Oh my stars and buttons, what happened to Jhe Gerald?!" I hear a high-pitched voice exclaim as somebody walks in to view the carnage. If I didn't recognize the voice (which is unmistakable), I would have known the entrant just by that nonsensical curse.

Katherine sighs, looking up from Gerald's bleeding, beaten body. "Benny? Maybe you should go and get some bandages and something to clean up Gerald with. He pissed me off." She rolls her eyes, as if that explains everything.

"Oh!" Jhe Averseen claps a hand over her mouth, lips shaped just like the exclamation. "Oh dear, the poor boo! I'll be right there!" She dashes off, a honey-brown blur of long hair and layered skirts. Apparently it was enough of an explanation. Then again, Jhe Averseen spends quite a bit of time with my Katherine. She's probably used to this kind of scene in the office, especially when someone just out of training starts making reports on every little goddamn thing.

(...Not that I had anything to do with making a rule that they had to do exactly that. What, do you think I enjoy frustrating her? How dare you imply any such thing!)

I look up at Katherine. She looks away from me as I catch her staring at me. "In the office. We'll talk there." I give a heaving sigh. "Really, did you have to make so much of a mess while you were busy killing him? It's going to take Hell to get the stains out of the carpet again."

Gerald replies with some odd sort of mumble. As he opens a puffy eyelid, his gaze manages to catch Katherine. My son goes sheet-white. Then he looks up at me with entreaty.

"You've got her 24 hour promise of no killings. Just don't ruin it like last time." I snort in exasperation. "We should be patching you together soon." And to prove my point, the sound of running footsteps rushes up behind me and comes to a halt, along with heavy breathing and the general feeling of...overwhelming exuberance.

* * *
Bronwyn
* * *

Oh my goodness Jhe Gerald looks even worse now that I have a chance to stare! Staring is rude, though. I feel kind of awkward, too. Is something going on between these three? I just sort of stand there with the first aid kit and the cleanup supplies I could find and what...what happened to the rest of Jhe Gerald's shoe?!

"Accidentally cut half of it off instead of his foot." Jhe Katherine sighs, and then she and Jhe Gerald share a look.

...Wait, was I narrating myself out loud again?

"Yes," say all three, and then the Jhe h'Akribastes holds out his hand.

"Something to mop up all the blood, if you please, Jhe Averseen." I nod a little numbly and pass on the towels. Jhe Katherine collects the medical supplies from me. I...edge back a little.

"Sorry, Benny. Just keep in mind that it looks worse than it really is. Most of this is superficial." Katherine starts unlooping a coil of bandage material.

Gerald snorts. "Bullshit it is, Kathe." She just rolls her eyes at his disgruntled tone.

I'd say they seemed tense, but they just get like this sometimes. And then on other days they're totally sweet with each other. I'd say it was a sibling thing but I haven't really ever seen siblings act like those two, and plus they're not even brother and sister. In fact, trying to chart out Gerald and Katherine's relation to each other gives me sort of a headache, and I don't want to think about the two going out with each other...

...Oh, except I suppose I just did.

The two of them get Jhe Gerald inside the office after cleaning him up and making sure he doesn't...bleed any more all over the carpet. Ew. Before the doors close, the Jhe h'Akribastes looks back at me. I make a nervous little bow. He does kind of set me on edge a little. Not that he's a bad person! Just a little scary but I'm sure he doesn't mean that. Some people just have things about themselves they can't really help, and--he holds a hand up. Oh. I was talking out loud again.

"Jhe Averseen, I think it would be best if you were in here for this as well." I blink in confusion. Jhe Katherine's face is...almost confused, but more like...angry?

"Y...Yes sir."

"I'll send someone to take care of the carpet, so don't fret about that. But could you bring in some tea, please? Don't bother knocking." With that, he withdraws into his office, the door left open.

I turn on my heel to go make the tea. Of course, that just makes me wonder more. The area's an utter mess, with broken porcelain on the floor and...more blood in here!

...Weren't there some shards embedded in Jhe Gerald's cheek? Oh thank goodness those weren't teeth! Come to think of it, I was starting to wonder whose teeth would have daisies painted on them.

* * *
Gerald
* * *

One of my eyelids has a cut on it that's going to be a bitch to heal. The other's getting nice and swollen. I can barely see out of that eye. I'm missing some teeth, but good luck finding them in the porcelain shards, which I am still picking out of my cheek, by the way. There's some stuck in my hair. Speaking of hair, I've got a bleeding scalp, plus a bleeding shoulder, bleeding-- you know what? There's just plain a lot of blood. I can imagine why Bronwyn would get squeamish around me right now. I look like Hell ran me over in a stagecoach caravan. I have bruises on my bruises, which is saying a lot considering bruises haven't had a chance to appear yet. I can feel 'em coming on, though. That's what I really need for my homecoming, isn't it? To turn. Freaking. Purple.

It would figure that's what I'd get from meeting up with Katherine, though. I just can't ever predict her or what her moods will turn to or whether she'll have a long-lost daddy that I helped arrest. Isn't life a bitch? She sure can be, but damn. Back in the good old days...

...It was a real sweet relationship, alright? The five or seven or whatever times we restarted it. Things never seemed to fall into place, though. Something always messed up at the wrong time, like I'd get arrested right before a date, or she'd be on the run from killing some corrupt foreign official, or...well...

...Or she'd go and have a kid with Dad. You know. That sort of thing. You'd think I'd be able to work past that, or that she'd move on. You might think I'd be kind of strange for thinking that, but he's had plenty of kids, and I don't see their mothers hangin' around here. They move on, you know? Mine did too. So why can't I get a piece of the action now? That's all I'm saying. Jenny's old enough to be out training on the trail with Camden, saving my ass and Lyric's.

Geez. She is giving me the fiercest glare right now, from one of the chairs in front of Father's desk. She meets my eyes, scowls at me, then scoots her chair farther to the side, legs and arms crossed. She's almost her own ball of rage. Well, no, go ahead and scratch that almost part.

Dad comes in with another chair, slides it between us without a word, and then walks around behind his desk. He passes Katherine on the way, giving her a very gentle pat on the shoulder. She looks up at him with an expression that's slightly less murderous. There's something about his posture, then, that makes me take note of him not as my Father, but as the Jhe h'Akribastes.

He sits. His eyes immediately go to the paperwork stacked neatly on his desk. Katherine lifts an eyebrow. Father replies with a sigh, picking up the sheet on top of the stack.

"I was trying to contain the incident until I could tell you properly myself. My apologies that this was not the case." His eyes run back and forth over the sheet a few times, and then he looks up. "Jhe Briarseal has already sent in one of his missives on the news in your Father's Palace."

Katherine sits up straighter upon hearing that, and actually makes a half-smirk that could be the ghost of a smile. "Camden? That would certainly explain why that stack's so high."

He nods. "You may look over it while we wait for the tea, if you wish." She almost reaches for it, then hesitates.

"...I want my tea. And I want an explanation, not a hundred-page travel guide with footnotes."

Father nods again. He looks over to me and raises an eyebrow. "I'm doing alright," I reply to the unspoken question. His eyebrow lifts higher.

"We'll have someone look to it after our discussion." He looks up before I can say anything. Bronwyn's stepping in, laden with a tray loaded up with a tea set and...aww, those are biscuits and jelly. She shouldn't have. "Jhe Averseen. Right there would be fine. ...If you'd close the door? Thank you." He gestures forward as she stands right in front of the double doors, nervous and timid, like a tiny mouse staring down a hawk. "Please sit." She gives a tiny nod, and then sits in between Katherine and I.

I manage to catch my Father's eye on that move. He narrows his eyes just a little at me, and I get the impression that I should shut my fool mouth if I want to keep it on my face.

There's no reason for Bronwyn to be in here. He brought her into the office so someone would be between Kathe and I. So we'd have to talk around her [whichever of us actually end up getting to talk]. It's a stopgap measure to prevent things from getting bloody. Kathe likes Bronwyn, after all. Bronwyn's her assistant, they work together quite a lot. Bronwyn's also so nice that it's just plain adorable sometimes...and sometimes it's just plain creepy. Well, maybe creepy's the wrong word. It's just, you don't really know what to do when you find a girl who finds something cute and actually cries from it. That's...kind of hard to even believe.

She's pretty special, but most Poets are, I guess. Hell, I'm one of the special ones. So is Kathe, for that matter. But we've got honed edges, which we call our Arms. Bronwyn's not Armed, and considering her reaction to the sight of blood, I don't think she's going to sign up for the forces any time soon.

Katherine shifts her legs while Bronwyn tries her absolute best to sit up straight. I sigh. I didn't mean to show any impatience but I'm getting a little dizzy. A little dizzier. Figures, Katherine gave me a better beating than Cade did.

"The mission in Audiva Rocale concluded much differently than anyone expected. I went there to go and get my son back. Not Gerald - Lyric was sighted there by Jhe o'Radia. So I went to go fetch him back to Radia. Unfortunately, while I was there it, far more turned up to be hiding in Audiva Rocale than a runaway boy." He pauses to settle himself with a heavy sigh. I hazard a glance over at Katherine. She's watching his face like a hawk, and she looks...all Armed right now. If there's anything personal going on in her mind right now, it's not showing on her face.

Maybe that's what it takes for her to deal with this kind of news.

"Cade was found in the Palace, captured by Jhe Gerald Akribastes and Jhe Gerude Akribastes after Jhe Gerald managed an escape from the Jhe o'Audiva Rocale's possession. An attempt was made on behalf of the Jhe o'Audiva Rocale to abduct both Jhe Jennelcia Akribastes and Jhe Rachella Hawksgard. The Jhe o'Audiva Rocale was also forcing Jhe Lyric Akribastes, through coercion and...other forms of control, to train an animism illegally detained in the King's...menagerie, which also contained a number of other illegal specimens as well as human slaves. The Jhe o'Audiva Rocale has admitted to some form of servitude to the Jherent Nul. Any other details...likely can be found in Peacekeeper Briarseal's missives. Jhe Lyric is with Jhe o'Radia for debriefing to see what other details he may have regarding this. The Jhe o'Audiva Rocale is currently being held in Radia for trial, which is...imminent. To quell uprisings in Audiva Rocale and keep the state from breaking down into chaos, Peacekeeper Briarseal is manning a temporary team there. While all of this is developing, and while we are still discovering just what in the world was going on in that Kingdom, all of this information should be treated as confidential. Moreover, extreme caution should be taken by anyone connected to the incidents," he nails me with one of his glares, "and anyone close to those people," his eyes go to Katherine now in a look that's less a glare and more...concern. "Jhe Averseen, as Jhe Cruxradia is included on that list, I felt it best that you be privy to this knowledge. The security will affect you as well."

She snaps to attention and then gives a very vigorous nod. I'm not sure if she was paying attention to all that. She looks a little sheepish.

Kathe...is very pale, but still keeping that Armed face on. I think I might want to leave before she kills me. Damn, the Peacock King's her Father, huh? How's that even work? I thought the Jhe o'Radia was her dad. Everything's coming apart on me. First her parents are all ambiguous, then the walls are wobbling from side to side, and now this chair's sinking.... And then Daddy's pinning me with one of those concerned looks again, and things blur a little and go to black. I'm being carried back to my room, though I'm not even sure by who. Then I'm in bed. Then I'm out.

I'm pretty sure I should have just stayed in bed.

* * *
'Sy
* * *

She's sitting up straight in her chair, like she's at attention for me. If that's the way she wants to focus, fine. I'm thankful for any coping response she can make. And really, am I surprised? I've seen this before, when it's been too much for her. She'll lock onto me, rivet her eyes to me. Like when that thing happened to Gerald. Sometimes it's all she has.

Sometimes I'm all she has, and sometimes it's been mutual.

I stand, and she rises with me. Jhe Averseen looks a little lost, and that in itself is understandable. I've burdened her enough today. "Jhe Averseen? If you could cover Jhe Katherine's duties for the rest of the evening, I would be grateful. I have need of her accompaniment." She nods, stands, makes her swift little bow, and then ducks away to Katherine's office to see just what there is to see to.

Katherine remains seated. "Gerald seemed more ill than I thought."

"He'll sleep it off." I look out the door, wondering if Jhe Averseen can hear, or cares to listen, if she can. "He had a heavy burden to bear on his mission. Yours are not the only wounds he took." I see her avert her eyes. "We can see him now, if you wish."

Her shoulders straighten. She still doesn't look up. "...Father?" she says in a low voice. I nod. She doesn't need to see it to know I did so. "When is his trial?"

I pause. It's a strange feeling, not wanting to tell her something this much. Most other times I've felt it, I could also avoid telling her whatever it was. "Tomorrow. You know how I expedite them. ...Waiting only makes it worse." She nods, jaw clenched, eyes pinned straight to the front, focused so rigidly on nothing in particular. I lay my palm on top of her head and stroke through her hair.

There's a little shudder that goes through her, and then she leans against me. Her eyes flick up to my face. Memorizing, saving. A picture for her memory's pocket. It makes it easier for her.

"...Let's go, Tesynnodai. I don't want to wait." She closes her eyes, her brows drawing together. "Don't tell Benny. Just...don't tell her who he really is to me. It'll just make it worse in the upcoming days."

"...Alright. If you wish." I expected nothing else. And of course, it's partially why I brought Jhe Averseen in for this at all. Something that would force the discussion to be blunted. Sometimes I have to play games with my pieces, is all.

With that, we step out of my office, chins high, official as anyone could ever want, towards Katherine's Father's cell. To where I've managed to incarcerate the Emperor of Audiva Rocale, for better, or more likely, for worse.

* * *

It's rare that anyone comes this far into the Armed Hall besides myself. Even Katherine doesn't usually bother following me this far, unless I require her presence. It makes her uncomfortable.

I would say it makes me uncomfortable, but that would be a flagrant lie. I live on this sort of thing, just as I live on the rapport that gunpowder makes when ignited, or the sliding sensation of steel sawing over and through bone, or the pounding thump of blood up against the skull when the pulse races before the axe falls.

I am all of that, and I am this, too. That is, in fact, why we can hold them deep in here. It's not the geography, the restraints, the strength of the bars or the security. It's the fact that the deeper you move within the Hall, the more tangible is the Law, that force that I embody and act as. I can feel Ebrellin-i, down here in the most secure of cells. I can feel him fight and rail against me. I can feel him thrash in ways that make me wonder whether it's really him.

But no, there's no confusion of identity. It's not possible, here. That is Ebrellin-i.

Katherine's hand closes around the bar. Not cold iron, not by far. It looks like gold. Its energy is that of Radia's Palace, however. Ebrellin-i is doubly bound within these bars. I see that read across her face, see her grasp just what that means. The Jhe o'Audiva Rocale bound by the Law, her partner, and by the focused warding of the entire Radian empire and its monarch, her other Father.

I sincerely wish that it didn't have to be like this, if only for her sake.

Ebrellin-i's accomodations are sparse for a King, but at this stage we can't allow him much. He's clever, all too clever, and far too skilled at crafting and mechanics to be allowed much within this prison. The rug is very fine, and he's been given a couch that is suitable for sleeping. There is a desk with a chair and writing implements. What he might write is harshly screened by the wards on the cell.

There are chains, unfortunately, but I had to, or else it would have been even more complicated. Chains make it easier to string wards along him. I have to be brutal. If I were merciful, he might manage to escape, and I can't let that happen. It would, in many ways, be unkind to him to do that.

No one should have to live through servitude to Nul. In a way, it's how I know he can't be in his right mind. If he were sane at all right now, he would be thanking me.

Instead, he spits at me as soon as he catches sight of me standing on the other side of the bars. Katherine jerks as his eyes catch hers. I can't read his expression in that moment. Wide-eyed, possibly in shock, possibly in disbelief. Still hanging on that intense denial, perhaps, even with her staring him in the face.

He stands up straight, then, with that royal posture that not even the members of the Xaillyndesse family can cop unless they happen to also be monarchs. His face tilts downwards, however. He's unable to meet her gaze.

His nose. I hear Katherine's thoughts next to mine, like an extra heartbeat, delicate as a swallow's wingbeat.

He didn't want to come willingly. He was attacking Lyric, and then myself.

She is silent for a moment. ...I'm sorry.

I lay my hand between her shoulders, on her back. I want to tell her not to apologize, that it's not her fault, but the words wouldn't reach her. Not like this. We all are.

He still won't look at her. His hands move in front of him, hanging down, one clasping over the other. It won't hide the manacles on his wrists, and certainly not the length of golden chain hanging between them. Katherine's breath hitches, and she jerks back under my hand, when she sees what he is hiding. His hair hangs down on either side of his face, but even with his head hanging low, it's not enough to hide the collar.

She can recognize where that came from as well. She'd know without recognizing, though. She doesn't like using those, but she's done it before, just like all Armed are trained to do.

"...My daughter. Katherine." Ebrellin-i's voice rasps just a touch. Perhaps he's speaking softly to disguise that. He's certainly screamed enough to wear his throat out quite a bit. "It is good to see you. I was going to request arrangements for you to visit me."

"Ebrellin-i." My voice accumulates frost. "This is not the place."

He steps closer, head still down. "I just recently spoke with your Father, in the garden. You know, the one with the trees arranged so you can't see the fence. We had a lovely time. He even had his coffee. He told me you were learning the violin."

Katherine is almost trembling under my hand, but she looks so still. So perfectly under control.

"Perhaps you can come back to this place soon and play it for your Daddy, while he's here."

I have to keep my hand from clenching over Katherine's shoulder. I will her the strength, even though I already feel her reply coming.

"I am here to inform you that your Trial is tomorrow."

He freezes. His eyes finally skirt up to look at her in disbelief.

"That is my function here. Any pleas you have to make will be heard and recorded at the proper time in the sight of the Judge and his Poet."

His hands clench.

"You are given an allowance to write your pleas before the date in lieu of speaking them, if it suits you."

"...Katherine." His voice sounds far away, like it's not even in my cell at all. Like there is no collar, no chains. As if he were still in Audiva Rocale. "That's not a proper thing for a young girl to say. What if your other Father heard? I do worry about your upbringing at times, and whether you're held to proper decorum."

I decide to preempt her and speak the next line, but she goes ahead before I can. "Your reply is an acknowledgment of your understanding in this matter. Thank you."

He's silent again, his jaw stiff, his lip in that odd pinched position. The Jhe o'Audiva Rocale is not often put in a position to have to endure being stuck at a loss for words. Then, he blinks one more time, gives the slowest of nods, and turns just as slowly. He begins to walk back towards the couch without any further acknowledgment of the two of us.

Then, he just has to go and say something.

"If that's how you prefer it, Katherine, I'll be waiting for you here when you want to act like a reasonable lady." He settles onto his couch without another look at either of us.

I narrow my eyes. Katherine is looking up at me, now. I wonder if it's because she needs to, by this point.

"Is there anything further you would like to say to my Poet, Ebrellin-i? I will leave you in peace until the morning's Trial if there is nothing more."

He stiffens a little, and I feel Katherine's heart quicken. He's silent for quite a long moment.

"I imagine there's nothing left, no, if that's all you've to say to me." His voice is snippy. Dismissive. "Katherine may come back later, if she wishes to play her violin, but I've no need for the likes of you."

I can't keep back a snort. "Why thank you, your grace. It's a pleasure being given your allowance, but I'm afraid I don't need such a thing here, and neither does Jhe Katherine."

"Oh? Does she not." He plucks at a seam on one of the cushions. "Is that so..."

Katherine's jaw is angled to the side. She's grinding her teeth again. "It is as the Law says, Jhe o'Audiva Rocale. A good day and pleasant night to you, and may you find due rest before our appointment tomorrow."

"...And you, too." His voice is soft now, finally bearing a tinge of regret. "I love you, Katherine."

"I love you too, Daddy." She turns away. I start to escort her out before he makes his reply.

"Thank you. Good night."

* * *
'Sy
* * *

When we leave the cells, I keep her walking. She's somewhat out of it right now, and so guiding her further isn't a problem. I start to lead her to her quarters, but she resists.

"...Let me see Daddy." There's always a twist of her tone that signals just which one she means. I hesitate. She is tired, and I know he's...busy.

But I can't deny her this, right now. "Alright, but let me come with you."

She gives a curt nod, leaning back against my arm harder than I expect. She knows the way there from here, of course, but still I feel like I'm guiding her. She's gone numb. She needs it.

Walking through the halls of the Palace is sobering. Relaxing. I know most areas of the Palace set her on edge a little. Too official, too full of dignitaries. This branch is private, though, more an extension of my brother's home than of the ruling capitol. Leading Lyric down here made him nervous, but then, what doesn't, right now? To Katherine, it soothes just a bit.

We stop before the doors. "Is he still seeing your son?" I nod. She bites her lip, and then knocks.

* * *
Luciprochoros
* * *

Lyric sits on the couch with his hands in his lap, fingers weaving and curling into and across one another. He's drawn his knees up in front of him from time to time, shifted them to the side, propped them up on the couch or just sprawled a little. He can't really settle on a position while he's talking. He's not comfortable here.

I'm wondering if he'll settle in, or if his Father will have to also worry about Lyric having a permanent wanderlust. I'm starting to wonder if maybe that kind of travel is good for the boy. He's certainly...grown up quite a bit, even if he's not gotten any taller. Without considering the issue of Ebrellin-i, I'd say travel has done him a lot of good. When he's not shifting around he sits up straight and tells his stories very directly. When he forgets himself, that is. He'll stumble every now and then and flinch away from my eyes when he gets self-conscious. All in all, I'm surprised he's told me as much as he has.

...And I would be lying if I said I wasn't shocked by some of what he's told me. I don't visit Audiva Rocale often - its monarch doesn't quite welcome me with open arms anymore. Even so, because it borders Radia to the north and has such a great size and military strength, it comes as a given that I recieve constant intelligence on it. Already some of the things Lyric has told me about are far beyond what we expected Ebrellin-i might be up to.

Of course, Audiva Rocale is notorious for being difficult to sneak a spy into. Gerald getting caught was no surprise, even without considering his track record regarding incarcerations. What really shocks me is that Lyric managed to do what he did, and find out all that he did, without getting himself killed, caged, or bound with something much more severe than the snips and wisps of spells that I found on him when he walked in.

He's hiding something else, though. As astounded as I've been thus far at what he's told me, I can tell from his eyes that he's holding back. I've managed to get him to tell me things up to this point without having to force the issue, but if he's going to hold back, I'm going to have to press.

I just don't want to push him too hard, or make him feel like he's being interrogated. His Father's even more worried than I am that whatever happened to Lyric will damage him permanently. Pulling the story out of him might magnify that if it's done by force.

...But we have to get it from him. And just when I've got a few good ideas as to what to do about that, I hear a knock on my door. I raise an eyebrow as both Lyric and I look over at it. ...Katherine. What's she doing here? With 'Sy, no less? Has he told her already? I look over at Lyric and smile in that 'what can ya do' way. "Excuse me for a moment. We might have to put a hold on this." He nods in a relieved way that only further convinces me there's information we need to pry from him. I sigh. "You may come in," I call.

Katherine strides in like she has business here, which startles the hell out of me. I'm not the one who's the most startled, though - Lyric makes a high-pitched little peep when Katherine plants her boots in front of him, leans over, and narrows her eyes.

"Okay, you tell me what happened to Daddy."

* * *
Lyric
* * *

I look over to Unkie with wide, confused eyes. What? I didn't know anything was wrong with him! All this time I was talking about myself... "I...I'm sorry, I just got back, I'm probably not the best person to--"

She narrows her eyes in a way that makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand to attention and tremble. I think the only reason I don't pee myself is that I'm afraid it'll provoke her to attack. Someone clears his throat from behind her. Daddy? Please let that be Daddy. He can stop her.

Probably.

"...Katherine. Please stop Aiming at my son. He doesn't even know what you're asking him." I see a hand on her shoulder. That's Father alright. He pulls her back a little. I remind myself to breathe.

"He's panicking." For some reason Uncle Lui saying that soothes my nerves. Maybe it's because his voice is so calm and even. "Katherine, please have a seat. Lyric's travels have not been kind to him, and I think he's had quite enough of being loomed over." At least, I think that's what he says. It's getting a little blurry for me, and I don't realize until my Father tugs on my hand that I've hunched up on the couch. My knees are up close to my chest, my arms crossed over myself. I blink.

I don't even remember where I am until I look up and see Uncle Lui standing by the couch. Katherine's perched on the other end, listening as Uncle Lui murmurs something in her ear. They keep looking back at me, but Daddy distracts me from that when he brushes through my bangs and then lays his hand against my forehead.

He has to move that hand to my shoulder and hold me down from jerking away. I don't know why I'm so afraid but it feels like something big and scary is towering over me. Like the Peacock King is going to hit me again. I feel Daddy touch my cheek.

"Lyric? Did something happen to you?" The voice is all concern and no interrogation. Nothing like what I expected. Someone's behind him, and later I realize it's Katherine, but right now I just notice the vaguest shadow of a person there, and the presence of my Uncle somewhere behind it.

"He hit me. He didn't...he didn't ask." I'm curling up again, my arms up on either side of my head, shielding me from something I can't quite convince myself isn't there. There's the feeling of Daddy pulling me to lean against him, but all of that is outside. What's inside is what's real right now.

I hear Katherine whispering sharply to Unkie, wanting to know what happened to me, and some response from him I can't quite make out. Hearing outside is hard now. Inside is so deafening.

I...I don't remember this. "It's all red in there. No. No, it's not really red. It just feels red. And green, in slashes. Underneath is the marbled black and white, contorted and twisted, and over that is the roseblood wrapped in the stranglevine. That's where Ebrellin-i was. Caught up in the stranglevine, with me on the leash behind him."

I blink. I'm confused myself by what I'm saying. "It wasn't really. It didn't happen, and that's why I remember it like it did. Because Ebrellin-i goes to a place where nothing happens, and a little of that nothing...he keeps feeling it, because the chain strings to him even through the bars, through the wards...he left a mark on me. He..." I start to shake.

"Keep him warm. Let him talk it out of himself. It's muddy now, but it'll run clear if he keeps talking about it." I can recognize the voice as Unkie's. Someone wraps a blanket around me.

"I watched Ebrellin-i leave the room, after he fucked me. He went into a throneroom through his mirror. Something talked to him there that I don't want to name. He had a red throne. There was blood all around him. He told Ebrellin-i to dance, and he did. Cade watched and laughed. Ebrellin-i jerked around like his limbs were hung on strings. There was so much blood. His marks kept warping and curling around his face. His eyes were white. He got up in the middle of the night. Sleepwalking. He got up in the middle of the night and went to another place through the mirror. The next day he acted like nothing happened. I wanted to pretend it didn't." I keep my head ducked down, hands up around my ears.

"Why?" I think it's my Father's voice. It might have been my Uncle's. I just can't remember.

"Because I don't want it to look at me." I feel the question before it's asked, and go ahead and answer. "The thing that made him dance."

"The Jherent Nul." Katherine might have said that part. It's so hard for me to tell.

I just close my eyes and shut my mouth and curl up tighter. I start to feel again, and that's when I notice that Father's rubbing his hand between my shoulders. That's what brings me out of the haze, in fact.

"Lyric? Is there anything else you need to tell us?" It's Unkie's voice, thank goodness, because if it were Father asking that question then my instincts would take over and my voice would petrify.

"Just...after, he...when he put the collar on me, he..." Unkie nods. Good. He understands. I don't want to say it out loud.

"You were very brave. Now you need to rest." I nod. "Tomorrow you'll need to be with your Father in the morning, but I think after that you'll get to shop for some new clothes." ...I'm amazed that I still can perk up, feeling like this, but I do. It feels like ages since I've been able to pick out my own clothing, let alone get new outfits.

Uncle Lui puts an arm around Katherine. She shrugs away a little, but he doesn't let that deter him. Father looks up to the both of them.

"I'll return shortly. He needs to be walked back."

"Aye, I can't imagine he'll be able to walk in the first place. Jhe h'Logos can send someone along to give him more sleep."

Father makes a crooked little smile. "Of course he can. And afterwards, he can ask his questions."

Uncle Lui chuckles. "Like he always does. Katherine? You could probably use a drink."

"No."

"Right, then I'll have something stiff brought in. 'Sy? Take your son home before he makes a bed of my couch, please."

Of course, that's the last thing I hear before I'm out like a snuffed candle.

* * *
'Sy
* * *

Lyric still has his room in my house. I never...emptied it out. I never quite thought of it as a way of waiting for him, but I suppose that was what I was doing. I had plenty of space and no reason to change what was in here. I just kept it dusted and...I waited.

I never did get a bigger bed for him. That was going to happen very soon, but then he...left. I suppose he can count himself lucky that he never grew any taller.

"So he's home, then." I don't expect that voice over my shoulder, and I'm in my own house. I glare back at the source of it. I almost dropped Lyric. The person behind me chuckles. "Father, I'm sorry, it's just so funny when I startle you into reaching for a weapon." He peers over my shoulder, short silver hair almost falling over his eyes in a shaggy cut. He and Lyric still have the same eyes, no matter how much the brothers have both changed since they were younger. Lute frowns. "...He should be taller." Lute almost matches my height, after all - the tallest of my children. Lyric's almost a midget in comparison.

"Maybe it's you that should be shorter," I say to him as I slide Lyric into his bed. I pull the sheets over him, then lean down and look over his face. "How did you find out he was back?"

"I watched you come in. 'M off-duty right now."

I snort. Off-duty, so he spies in my house in the guise of keeping it 'secure'. Lute is the family pro at not getting caught, after all. "You're going to keep an eye on your brother?"

"Of course, now that I've got the chance to. I'm impressed as hell that he snuck away from home in the first place, but he's not pullin' a second disappearing act on me."

I nod. "Thank you. Club Gerald in the head if he tries to get up, while you're keeping watch, then."

Lute snorts. "Don't tell me he's sleeping here, too. Doesn't he have his big boy room in the Armed Hall?"

I raise an eyebrow at him, then just let out a sigh. "He needs to be in here tonight. Already got himself into enough trouble. And you'll hear all about it soon enough, so stop giving me that look. I've got to go take care of Katherine."

His eyes widen. "It's true, then? I wasn't gonna believe we had the Jhe o'Audiva Rocale here until you confirmed it directly."

"...A lot of things are true right now that I'd prefer not to confirm. Watch your brother. If he wakes up he'll need someone to keep him calm. I think you'd be one of the best at that." He nods, then watches as I stare down at my son.

"...He gonna be okay, Dad?"

"That's one of the things I'd like to confirm, but cannot. I hope so. Good night." I pat Lute's shoulder, then turn towards the door as he melts into the shadows. It's amazing how undetectable he is, even in my own house.

"Night, Dad. Sleep well, when ya do."

I leave, close the door behind me, and check on Gerald. I consider nailing the blanket down over him, then decide Lute will do it for me if it comes to that. I go.

My responsibility to Katherine reaches just as deep as it does for my own children. Sometimes, deeper than I can even imagine.

* * *

I pause before I knock on Luciprochoros's door. I can hear him talking with Katherine. I can't deny that I want to listen to what's being said, but I also am not keen to interrupt a conversation. Judging by my brother's tone of voice, I should wait here.

"...can't do anything about it just yet, hon. I wasn't even there when he got arrest-"

"You damn well CAN do something about it! You're the King of Radia! What good's a fucking royal title and all the stupid decorations and frippery if you can't control what's going on in your own damn Kingdom?"

Luciprochoros is silent for a long time, then exhales through his teeth. "Katherine. You are my daughter and I respect you and love you. Can you not accord the same respect to me while making demands that would be better voiced in Court?"

"This has nothing to do with your Court. Have you even seen him? He's in a cell in the dungeons. He needs help."

Luciprochoros waits again before speaking. The tension gripping him is so palpable that I can feel it through the wards of the door. "Katherine, have you considered that he invited upon himself whatever afflictions he is currently in the grip of?"

"WHAT'S THAT SUPPOSED TO MEAN?"

"We won't know what any of it means until after his Trial, and that's not a very long wait. Please stop screaming at me, honey."

"NO. You tell me what the FUCK that is supposed to mean, Daddy. You tell me RIGHT NOW."

Silence hangs over the room, the atmosphere thick and volatile. If I touched the door right now, it would explode.

"...Katherine, I am sorry, but you are asking the wrong person to pity him. Please don't discuss this with me any--"

"You're the KING. EMPEROR. But you're putting this aside because you've got personal issues with the Jhe o'Audiva Rocale. Why can't you treat this like it's business?"

His voice is smooth and even. So flawlessly controlled, the most telling signal that he's upset. "Why can't you?"

I take that lull in the volley back and forth to walk in. Katherine whirls to face me. Luciprochoros...has to take this particular moment, of all times, to skirt a bow to me and invoke protocol.

"Judge. If you would, please, your Poet Armed requires an escort, and I must retire." I see her fume from that, but it's a quiet fume, and Luciprochoros takes the moment to lean down and kiss her on the cheek. "Night, hon."

"Night." It's more of a bite than a word, but at least she deigned to speak instead of shout. She grabs my hand like it's about to squirm away. "Let's go, Jud--may I leave, then, Jhe h'Akribastes?"

I sigh. "Yes, if there's to be any rest tonight." I give my own bow in reply to the Jhe o'Radia. It's a mixed blessing that he decided to greet me formally, but at least it reminded Katherine of proprieties. "A pleasant rest to you."

"And to you. I'd offer you wine, but..."

"...But you prefer not to give out your glassware upon exit. Of course. The sentiment is nevertheless appreciated. ...Please--"

He inclines his head. "I'll see to contacting Jhe h'Logos while you see to your own. I'd like to talk with him now, at any rate, so it's no inconvenience. Go on."

"...Thank you." I make another bow, then turn and escort Katherine out of her Father's quarters. She opens her mouth as soon as the door's shut behind us, but says nothing when she sees my face.

"Let's go home." She replies by leaning into my side and wrapping an arm around me. I haul her up into my arms and take the short way into my own home from here. I need to get her into bed. She's too distressed right now to make sense of this mess. Not that a calm head helps me make much more sense of it.

She pulls me down into my bed after that. Katherine is, at the heart of her, very complex and exceedingly simple. What she wants may not make any sense to others, but once she knows what she wants, she pursues it relentlessly.

You could take that to mean that I don't get much of any rest before the night is done with.

* * *
Katherine
* * *

...Shut up. None of you understand me. Nobody understands me, not even him. Not even 'Sy.

But oh, how good it is to be under him...closing my eyes and rolling with the rhythm...so warm. So delicious. It's not like taking shelter, because I'm too open to him to be sheltered.

And it's not like hiding from what's going on, because the Judge is every bit a part of that, as much as I might hate that part right now.

It's exultation. Celebration. Embracing something I can't understand but still just want to wrap myself up in. It is something that can take me completely, and there exist very few things in this world which can do that.

Oh, Daddy. I'm sorry. I didn't mean for it to be that way. I didn't want to snap at you but--

...'Sy, you always pick the best or the worst moments to distract me.

It's something to be thankful for, right now. I don't want to think of Gerald and how much more I want to kill him than usual. I don't want to think of my fathers and their fighting and where that's gotten them or me. I don't want to think of what the hell Lyric was doing there or why he had to see what he saw or what might be wrong with him because of it...

...Most of all I don't want to think. I dive into that fire that is 'Sy and I close my eyes and just let it consume me.

* * *
Lute
* * *

I can't tell you exactly where I am, right now. Well, I can give you a general idea, and I think that will be enough.

I'm inside all of the shadows of my Dad's house, looking out at anything that might decide to move.

It's a good way to chill. I like chillin'. Really, my other sibs are too high-strung. Even Gerude. He can't just sit back and relax, has to go off saving the world one backwater town at a time. Who's going to take care of things at home? Well, maybe I'm lazy. I do like to chill, as I just said. But tonight I really can't help wanting to be here.

My brother's finally home. My twin brother. That's special, you know? I missed having that other piece of me around. I keep looking down at him and wondering where the hell he's been for the last ten years. Where he's been hiding, most of all.

Audiva Rocale must have been a lonely big place for someone like him.

Look, people don't change. Gerald didn't change any from back when he was five years old and neither did Gerude and neither did I. Jenny might not sleep with a teddy bear anymore but she always tried her hardest to follow Daddy around and do what he was doing. Is she any different now, really? Hell, Lyric didn't even bother getting any taller. He's not any different now. He can't be.

He sure ain't sleeping well, though, that's for sure.

I notice the movement near the door before Dad's wards even do. Ah, but then, the person coming in has enough clearance that those wards won't pay him any mind. I just keep an eye on him as he strolls through. So aloof, such perfect posture, practically gliding through the place as if he owned it all. Then again, that's just the Xaillyndesse way of things, I suppose. Damn snotty.

He looks up as he walks and raises an eyebrow up at the shadows. Whoops. He caught that remark. I keep forgetting what long ears he's got.

He opens the door to my twin brother's room and then pauses. Oh, how polite. As is expected from him. He's waiting for me to manifest. I slip out of the shadows next to the door, then skirt a bow. He makes a quiet chuckle. I suppose it is amusing seeing someone so tall bow from the waist. It actually creates a mild breeze.

"Jhe Akribastes. If you'll forgive the intrusion. Jhe o'Radia requested the services of one of my own, but I preferred to come do the duty myself. May I be allowed to visit your brother as has been requested of me?"

"A'course, Sire." I grin and step to the side. "I'll just be keepin' a watch while you do that."

"Thank you. Such a dutiful boy, as expected from one of Jhe h'Akribastes's own."

I snort, then melt back into the shadows. "If you say so. He just says I'm nosy."

* * *
Luciprochoros
* * *

...No one would believe that I was here.

No. That's not the truth. The truth is that I wouldn't want them to know that I was here.

I reach out a hand, trailing fingers down one of the golden bars. I feel it radiate with power. My power. The power that threads through my entire Empire. Running through these bars, and still-

Still, 'Sy would be needed to hold him entirely at bay. I can't hold the Jhe o'Audiva Rocale on my own. I suppose I tried it before, long ago. ...No, but I like to fancy that I did, don't I, instead of thinking about who was really holding who?

What's the use of standing here trying to lie to myself? Reality's still the same, and so are these bars, and so is the prisoner behind them. Body draped across the couch while he sleeps, hair trailing down his back and to the floor in a long black smudge. I can't help but notice that he still looks so beautiful. This is, in a way, cruel to me. I shouldn't be able to stare at him while he's laid out, unguarded, the veils torn away. It makes me remember a time that's long gone.

I don't want him to be here. I don't want Katherine to hate me.

I don't want this Trial.

...But I don't see what I could have changed to prevent it. Isn't that such cowardly thinking? I have to face things and admit it, just like I told Katherine earlier: what if Ebrellin-i earned this for himself? 'Sy just wouldn't bring him in unless he merited a Trial. Heck, he couldn't.

What the Hell is everything coming to? If Ebrellin-i's found guilty, if...is there even an if? Is there any chance of there being an if? As much as he's wronged me, almost brought both our Kingdoms toppling down from our shaky truce...I don't want him to earn a death sentence.

I sigh. I'll draw 'Sy's attention if I stay here much longer. Not that he won't know I was here. But I'd like him to have some rest tonight, along with Katherine. ...Or whatever they might define as rest. I don't like to think about it too much. I'm her Father, after all. My eyes flick over Ebrellin-i's form again.

Her other Father. Funny. They never told him. He'd have been too angry. I've wondered, from time to time, how he'd react to knowing he had a granddaughter through Katherine and 'Sy.

...It's strange, when I think about it. Jennelcia looks more like Ebrellin-i than she does anyone else in her family. I've picked a rather strange place to come to that conclusion, haven't I? I chance once more look up at Ebrellin-i before I take my leave.

Oh dear. He's looking right back at me. I gulp. Talking to him really wouldn't be a good idea. It never is, in fact. "My apologies. I thought you were sleeping. I hope I haven't disturbed your rest." Which is why I do it, of course.

His eyes narrow. Now they glare holes through me, as opposed to just smoldering tiny holes into my jacket. Those marks on his face warp and contort as I watch, and I try not to flinch. He sits up, posture so perfect that the couch might as well be a throne. "You are not welcome in here, J'Lucipre'."

I narrow my eyes at him. "You have no claim left by which you may call me by that name again." My face flushes hot and my hands curl into fists. I'm not used to dealing with this anger. It's been years since he's tried that sorry tactic, and longer still since he had the right to use that name. It was bad enough when he pinned the title of consort on my nephew and paraded him in front of me. Pinning that title to my name...no, not even my name, 'an endearing' nickname...and according none of my station alongside it, for added insult to the injury...

He grins. No. No, that is no grin. That is bared teeth. "Admit it. You like it." He rises from the couch.

I stand stock-still, even though all reason screams that I should just leave right now. "No, and no. Call me by my rightful title, Jhe o'Audiva Rocale."

Those teeth still flash, but the grimace around them is happy enough that it might now count as a grin. "Call me Ebrellin-i." His voice is smoke running over silk.

I almost shake.

"No." Why am I not moving? Why can't I just leave? He doesn't have this power anymore. 'Sy tried to convince me back then that he never had it at all. Why didn't I believe him, then? The reason is sauntering up to the bars, wrapping one pale hand around one and sliding the other halfway out, stretching towards me. If he held it out much farther, his long nails could brush my jacket. He could feel my heartbeat through the thick fabric, I'm sure. He can hear it now.

"Then why don't you call me Master instead?" I knew it was coming next. Of course. The only way it could get any worse.

I curl my fists so tight that the nails bite into my skin. Maybe that's what reminds me to act like I still have my balls. "You don't seem to have many things to do in there while you wait for your Trial, so why don't you lie back down on that couch and go fuck yourself until the Judge comes?" Ah, the good old bitterness. I'm feeling better. And he's looking sour, which means I've done something right.

"I don't see why you came here, J'Lucipre', if you had no desires to pay proper respect to me." He draws his hands back and steps away.

"Katherine felt that you were ill, and I wanted to make her happy. Fool me. You're the same as you've always been." I turn and start walking out.

There's no reply. I'd say it's bitter proof that something is wrong with him. He's never let me have the last word before.

* * *
Gerald
* * *

Sleep hurts. I suppose it's strange to say that, and maybe I'll have trouble explaining it. You know when you go to sleep angry or hurt, and when you wake up you know the ache never died off? You can tell because it feels like a half-healed bruise. Better, but still bitter. I feel like that.

I know I dreamed of Kathe. 'Sy, too. Father. I can feel them like shadows still lingering behind me. As melancholy as that might sound, it makes taking a shower pretty awkward.

I can't get them out of my head, though. I almost try to dry them out of my hair while I rub it down with the towel. I try to brush them out as I grunt through all of the tangles yet another incarceration has left in my mane. They're still in my head. This feels bad, you know. I still want her.

And I think Father has her, and that's something that just kicks up the bile in my throat.

Dwelling on this makes me rather preoccupied, so I don't notice the fist before it collides with my head and then grabs me by the hair and shakes me a little. From the laugh, and the vague idea of the person's height, I can tell that either it's Lute, or Daddy's feeling pretty strange this morning. "Hey! I missed havin' someone to pick on. Come on, I'm makin' coffee." I snort. That narrows it right down, then. I follow Lute into the kitchen, hoping that coffee will clear my head of its muddle and its hauntings. "You work on breakfast and I'll brew up the coffee, 'kay? I try to take care of these things when Dad's got a big Trial day ahead of him."

I nod. Routine is nice. It helps wash away what lingers. "How many am I cooking for?" The sibling count doesn't often vary that much, but we kinda move in and out at random, depending on who's in training or out on a mission. At least Lute stays around home enough to have a more or less accurate headcount.

He smiles up from the coffee pot. "Well, let's see. Lyric's finally back, and then there's me, a'course, and then you, and then Dad, and Katherine was here tonight, and...hm. Make some extra just in case I missed one, 'kay? Jhe h'Logos saw himself in last night to make sure that Lyric slept off the shock." He looks away while he says that bit. I frown. "...When's the last time you really got a chance to talk to Lyric, Gerald? Do you know what's wrong with him?"

That's enough to break me out of thinking about Katherine and Father for a bit. I've got my own problems, but for Lyric...he must feel like the world's crashing down around his ears. "I haven't really been able to talk with him in a long time. ...Heck. I don't know if I really talked with him while I was out on mission. It was pretty crazy out there."

Lute snorts. "But nothing to write home about, you friggin' Poet? Okay, okay, fair's fair - you were on spy duty, so s'not like you could tie a postcard onto a pigeon. Make up for lost time and tell me while breakfast is cookin'. Those two take forever and a day to peel each other out of bed, so you should have plenty of lead time for the juicy stuff."

I try not to dwell on that last part and just think about what a muddle my mission was. How do I explain all of that before breakfast is done? It's all so complicated! ...Heck, he's my brother - he's used to this shit. "Alright. But it gets kind of scary."

"Oh? Really?" Lute leans back against the counter and grins at me. Funny, if I weren't his brother, and didn't grow up with that grin, I might be on edge right now. He certainly can look threatening to the idle passerby. Maybe it's the fangs that just barely peek out over his bottom lip.

"Yeah. Just wait till I tell you about my wife."

* * *
Lyric
* * *

There's a hand on my forehead. It's a pretty big hand with fine fingers, and it's nice and cool. I'm aware of it for a very long time before I'm aware of the fact that I'm asleep. Once I figure that out, of course, I wake up. I open my eyes while mentally relishing how rested I feel. It's like I've slept for days.

I hear a chuckle. "You could say that, Jhe Lyric."

I blink away the fuzzies in my eyes. There's a man sitting in a chair right by my bed. Hey, my old bed. In my old room. Yeah, that's my old desk chair, alright. Has it been ten years since I last saw all this stuff? Hasn't changed much! Hey, wait...

My eyes widen. Is that the Poet King? I almost stammer some sort of apology out. I'm not really sure what for. Before I can manage it, though, a wave of peace ripples over me and I slump back into bed.

"Oh dear. I think I overdid that one." He sounds a bit sheepish. "Dear boy, don't be afraid of me just because I'm wearing a crown on my head." Jhe h'Logos says that crown part with a kind of relish in the fact that he has one. That one word drips with condescension in such an effortless way that I'm immediately reminded of the fact that the Jhe o'Audiva Rocale is his brother. He does bear some resemblance to Ebrellin-i as well - his nose and eyebrows have similar curves, and the mouth could definitely make some of the Peacock king's most pretentious expressions. He's built much smaller, though...well, okay, comparing anyone to the Peacock King when it comes to height is a bit unfair. Even Father is shorter than the towering monarch. Jhe h'Logos is just a bit shorter than Father, though. His strangely-colored, bulkily layered robes do build him up a bit more to make up for it, but he looks a bit frail, as if he's been ill lately. His inky black hair falls to his shoulders under a gold and silver crown that is styled after the nib of a quill. He leans in, his deep blue eyes full of concern. "Really, are you feeling okay now, Jhe Lyric?" He slides his hand away, allowing me to sit up and see for myself.

I cast my eyes down at the blanket, dwelling on my thoughts. I feel so much better that it's almost strange. There are still things that upset me, but it's like I've put them to rest for awhile. I'm certainly not tired. This is the most well-rested I've felt in my life. "Yes. Did I..." My eyes widen. The Trial! "Did I really sleep for days?"

The Jhe h'Logos sits up straight, rolling his shoulders as I hear his back pop twice. He winces, twists a little to the left, and then there's a third, louder pop. "Well, in a way, you did. But as far as the time goes, only the night has passed for you. You just...slept for quite a very long time." He sees the confused look on my face and laughs. "Time is in the mind, Jhe Lyric, and a Time Lord need not think too hard to give a few days rest to someone that needs it very badly. You are feeling well, yes?"

I nod. "I'm...I'm sorry for the trouble."

"Oh, pay it no mind." He waves it away. "It's nothing to me, really. I am the Poet King, after all."

I'm almost knocked out of my bed from the condescension. It's just like Ebrellin-i's, except nicer, like it's made of feather pillows. So I guess in that way it's sort of pleasant. "I...I have to go to the bathroom." ...Ouch. I really have to go. What the hell?

"Oh, about that. It was three days' worth of sleep after all..."

My eyes widen. The Poet King darts from his chair to give me proper clearance as I run to the bathroom with all the speed my well-rested legs can give me. The relief I experience in that bathroom is so profound that I think it might be life-changing.

* * *
'Sy
* * *

I can't help the thought that rolls through my head as I sit down at the kitchen table. Of course Lyric would choose to come home at the most inconvenient time for me to enjoy the fact that he's come home. In the seat next to me, Katherine glowers at the world at large with her morning face. Gerald sits across from her in what must simply be an attempt to look as uncomfortable as possible. I swear, what is wrong with that boy these days? He's got a burr up his butt about something and it can't be his mission, I know that. Getting arrested is too commonplace for him. He's been trained for worse, and he took to that training. I'd know.

Lute, at least, is acting normal. I have that moment of despair that I always feel when I remember that Lute is the most normal member of this household. He slides a plate over to me, then to Katherine, and then to Gerald. He sets one out for himself and his twin, and then there's one more. He pauses with yet another plate, and I'm wondering who the two unidentified guests are that Lute has made plates for.

He recognizes that expression on me, apparently, because after looking at me he smirks and says, "Jhe Elete is still in the house, Father." He stifles a chortle after seeing me scowl. "You didn't know he was here?"

"Your Uncle was supposed to see that he sent a Poet to help your brother sleep." I start to pick at my eggs in emphatic chops. I've forgotten yet again that my fork is not an axe.

"Oh. Well, I guess he kinda decided to handle things directly like he always does."

I snort. "Who is the other plate for?"

He grins. "I figure it's one of those mornings where the unexpected comes in pairs." I narrow my eyes at him. What's he know that I don't? Or...what's he calculating for that I'm not?

Before I can come to a conclusion, the Poet King comes walking in himself, heavily layered robes swaying with his movements. His black shoulder-length hair is, of course, immaculately styled under his crown. It seems to be the Palace's long-running joke that Elete wears his crown more often than the Emperor of Radia does. It would be funny if it weren't true. He pauses in his stride as he sees my expression. Damn it all, he bows.

I hate it when he does that. It means he's about to make me feel bad about the fact that he's apologizing to me.

"Jhe h'Akribastes. I beg your forgiveness for the intrusion into your home, but I wanted to make sure the matter had my personal attention, considering the direness of the circumstances." He watches me as I narrow my eyes at him, then finally has the presence of mind to look sheepish.

"Jhe Elete. I would tell you just how foolish you are to overextend yourself, but I am hungry and I have a long morning ahead of me and at this moment I want nothing more than for you to sit down and eat so that I may consume my bacon."

"I'm really feeling quite fine." He glides over to a seat at the table. Lute actually pulls out the chair for him and then sketches his own smart little bow to the King. Cheeky little ingrate.

I chew and swallow my bacon, and before I can get something else in my mouth to garble the words I decide to reply. "Really? You look paler than even a member of your well-bred family ought to. I should send you back to your Hall on a stretcher." He only makes one of his little sighs and goes to nibbling at his eggs. Damnit, he doesn't even eat enough. I narrow my eyes. "Elete. Your clothing doesn't even match."

Elete's fork pauses halfway to his open mouth, his expression that of shocked perplexion. He looks down at himself and frowns. "I don't understand what you're talking about," he says, as if I were speaking some language that he, in a freakishly improbable turn of events, did not understand.

Katherine clears her throat. "Your...cloak, sire." I don't miss the bitterness in her tone. He's been straining her patience even more than is usual as of late.

Elete spares a glance back at the cloak that drapes over the heavy layers of his well-coordinated robes. He can't hide his surprise as his eyes widen. "I...err." He blinks. His cloak is an eye-searing array of vertical strips of patterned fabric, each more garish than the last. "...The students were practicing again. They often practice on me, you know. It's the custom."

"Yes," I say, raising an eyebrow, "and you've never before lacked the focus it takes to guide them into something coordinated. You're slipping during your lessons, and you can't even properly block your own students from sabotaging your wardrobe." Harsh words, I know, but what will it take to get it into his head that he needs to slow down and ask for help when he's obviously ill?

The Poet King draws himself up, robes shifting around him. His eyes narrow at me with something that borders on scorn. Just as he's about to reply with what I am sure is a well-worded and arrogant retort, my entryway door slams open. The wards ripple, telling me just who has intruded even as I hear the stomping footsteps and then see her burst into the kitchen entryway, a flurry of red curls surrounding two angry golden eyes.

Stevane. I hear Lute mutter an "Oh shi-" as he ducks back a bit, grinning like he's about to watch the world end in the most hilarious way possible.

She strides over to Elete's chair, then looks down at the Poet King, anger so deeply etched into her that she's vibrating with it.

"Jhe h'Lete!" ...Is she still using that childhood nickname for him? She's sixteen now, I thought she had grown out of that after about...six or seven or so! "What are you doing out of your bed?!"

The entire room goes so quiet that you'd think someone had been murdered. ...Perhaps that's more prophetic than observational.

"I...I'm sorry, was someone looking for me...?" His voice is so soft that I almost don't hear it, and he's ducking down in his seat like he's expecting to get hit. Which I know Stevane would...probably...never do.

"...You!" She stamps her foot, balling her fists up by her sides, cheeks puffed out in held-back rage. Finally she expels the breath. "I'm your duty-Poet for this half of the week and you KNEW THAT. Don't try and tell me the schedule was miswritten, I've done my Poet training and I know it wasn't!"

He smiles brightly up at her. "There's always more training to be had, if you'd like. Here, why don't you sit and eat? Someone was nice enough to make one extra." That gives her pause.

Then, her eyes narrow in an eerily spot-on imitation of me. "...And I suppose you're going to make me believe that you didn't plant that idea in someone's head in anticipation of the fact that I'd come running here after your sneaky derriere?"

He grins. I feel a surge of teacher's pride from him. "You're learning! Have a seat, Stevane. I thought it would be nice if you could have breakfast at home today, especially with how hard you've been working this past week. It was very dutiful of you to volunteer for extra work, you know. Ah, you thought I hadn't noticed that little detail? Now, who's overworking themselves?"

I make a quiet little sigh into my plate, giving Katherine that face which she, by now, is intensely familiar with. I make it any time I realize, yet again, just what it is that my children are learning by example when they get instructed by the Poet King.

Lyric, of course, chooses that moment to walk into the kitchen. He looks at me first, that timid expression at least tempered by a good long rest. If Jhe h'Logos has overextended himself in his work, I will have to concede that he performed said work flawlessly. He makes a short little bow to the Poet King, then walks to the table with his shoulders up so high from tension that they're practically level with his ears. He doesn't make it to the table, though.

Stevane interrupts his procession. Lyric's eyes widen. Oh dear. I don't think he recognized his sister. Well, she has grown quite a bit since he left, hasn't she? I can see him taking in the changes. I will admit, she...did sort of grow up all at once. More than I would prefer. There is a lot to take in. ...I think he's going into shock again, damnit.

Stevie just stares at Lyric's face as she holds him by the shoulders, looking him in the eye. "...Lyric?" It's like she's seeing a ghost. Well, in a way she is, isn't she? I didn't think about how this would affect her. Lyric was her favorite person. He barely nudged out my brother in that respect.

Everyone stays quiet as the two look into each other's eyes.

"...Stevane? You...you grew up!" Lyric almost sounds a little sad. Maybe it's getting to him, just how much he's missed while he was away, how much he's been missed. Then Stevie slaps him across the cheek with no warning whatsoever.

"I OUGHT TO SET YOU ON FIRE! ...If this weren't Daddy's kitchen I would! Where have you been?"

Lyric replies with enough stammering that I wonder if he's going into shock again. A special kind of shock that only Stevane can trigger. Thankfully Elete's there to tug her away from her brother just as Lute pulls Lyric back.

"Stevane? That's not the proper way to greet someone, no matter how long a vacation they've taken. Do I need to put you through Etiquette again?" She sulks as he leads her back to her seat, but that doesn't keep her from drilling Lyric on just where he's been and what he thought he was doing, leaving her all alone in Radia. I suppress an eyeroll. Really, I don't know if I'll ever be able to be properly angry at Lyric for leaving home like he did. Stevane went ahead and did it in my stead.

It certainly breaks the pallor over the room that I expected before a Trial. Katherine's so busy watching the spectacle and trying not to laugh that I think what's ahead is, if not completely off her mind, at least not directly at the forefront.

Really, it's a shame breakfast ever had to be over.

* * *
Gerald
* * *

It's strange to see the whole family depart for one destination as we leave. Usually everyone runs off in a different direction to whatever task they're set on, typically either in the Armed or Poet Halls. Now we all amble in...generally the same direction, and everyone looks pretty uncomfortable about it.

Well, at least I'm not the only one looking awkward now. Now it looks like everyone's daddy stole Katherine from them.

Stevane ambles up beside me for a moment while we're all in a group. Just a brief break from staying at the Poet King's side. (I'm...well, I'm surprised. He does have his episodes from time to time, and he does need a lot of assistants to keep him from overworking himself, but this is the first time I've heard of a constant attendant being assigned to him. I wonder what I've missed in the Poet Hall in the time I've been gone...) She looks up at me, then looks away, giving my arm a quick hug before grumbling, "Missed you," in an accusatory tone. "Don't worry me again." I snort, and then she elbows me in the side in a way that makes me wheeze. Those gold eyes glare up into mine. I smile halfheartedly, then ruffle her hair. She's still shorter than me, thank goodness. I don't want her looming over me like Lute always does.

"I'll try. You been good while I've been away?" She tosses her hair in reply to that. She's about to reply, but then she jerks mid-step and darts back to the Poet King's side.

"I'm fine," he reassures Stevane, but she remains unconvinced. Jhe h'Logos isn't smiling much right now. Considering his brother's being tried...

I glance up to Katherine. She's up ahead at the Judge's side. She'll be his Poet for the Trial, as always. Lyric's in front of them both, Father's hand on his back.

...Wait, why is Lyric getting led into the chambers with those two? Even as a witness, that'd make no sense...

He's not getting accused, is he? I start to go forward to ask, but I can't force my steps to close the distance between us. Something's holding me back, like I've been given an order. My eyes widen. I am being ordered back.

Going forward would get in the way of Justice. My heart almost jumps up into my chest. It's true, then. Lyric's going on Trial too.

Why didn't anyone tell me? Why's everyone been acting so normal?

* * *
'Sy
* * *

I keep my focus on my son.

He's done so well thus far. Ever since he got back to Radia, he has really tried to do as requested and answer questions. He has answered honestly in almost every regard. It pains me that his honesty has not been complete.

I cannot carry out Justice without bringing him in alongside his accuser. Perhaps my methods seem heavy-handed. Perhaps you might think me a bad Father. But of all ways to settle this, there is only this one that is Just. I have to take the path of the Law. It is all that I am.

I will admit that some things about this case disquiet me, as much as I like to keep the appearance that I've seen everything before and look stoic in the face of it all. One of those things, one of those deeply disturbing things, will likely keep me awake for many nights ahead of me.

This son of mine is no Armed, but he knows full well what his place in this procession means. I am disturbed, even dismayed, by the fact that he doesn't question it and accepts it without even a flinch of hesitation. That full-knowing admission of guilt is not something I want to see in this circumstance. Being a Father has been very hard for me, if you can understand. There are so many things about my children that I don't want to know, and other parents, the lucky ones, aren't able to look, don't need to look. I could check now, you know, but it has to be during Trial. Otherwise it's no use. I learned very early not to make exceptions.

I can't.

* * *
Ebrellin-i
* * *

The dogs drag me out of my cell like I'm a mangy cur. This collar isn't enough for the Judge. No...no. There must be chains for me as well, to bind my arts and natural talents. As if any of them have the right.

I'll be back in my homeland shortly. Mark those words well. Then, there shall be war. I'll cast away the treaty like so much old dust and scraps, and level the Land flat until it obeys me. They don't know what they've unleashed. Radia should have known never to touch that which it does not own.

I hold myself up well. Like someone they only wish they were, which is obviously a part of this scandal. Tall, graceful, aloof. My crown's been taken away, but there's no mistake of who, and what, I am.

Let them have an early taste. I'll rule them all when this fiasco is over.

* * *
Lyric
* * *

I'm actually pretty positive about this whole thing. So don't worry about me.

I still have the bullet, you know. Gerald's bullet. Bruce and Wagner's gunmetal voices echo through my mind as clear as ever. Maybe even clearer now. I heard them in my dreams. I heard them through breakfast.

I'll keep trusting them. That bullet's been the only thing I could rely on through my whole debacle. I shouldn't be afraid anymore. Daddy's right behind me, and I choose to take courage in that, not fear.

So, let it be known to all the generations to come: I absolutely do not wet my pants at any time throughout the entire Trial.

* * *
Stevane
* * *

Is it a little strange that the first thing I really hook my eyes onto when I enter the Court is my Uncle? I'm attending Jhe h'Lete very closely, of course. But I'm watching my Uncle. I guess he's always managed to grab my attention like that. Jhe h'Lete makes jokes that I'm mixing up who I work for, but they're just as good-natured as all his occasional jibes at me are. He's told me he admires the amount of respect I have for my Uncle. ...Then he'll go on and follow that up with a comment on how I should really tighten up my etiquette if I'm so intent on following around a high official.

Maybe I can convey just what it is that grabs me about him.

The Court is Daddy's room when there's a Trial. It's his spectacle. Yes, I say spectacle. I know it's Justice, but it seems like a part of that Justice is the display and the ritual just as much as it is the Law. Of course, those things are very much a part of Daddy, and he is the Law, so I guess it makes sense. But, for all intents and purposes, consider the Jhe o'Radia's Court to be the Judge's arena right now. Unkie is now its principle audience.

During Unkie's regular days of holding Court, the arrangement is a bit different, with him as the prominent figure and the whole interior arranged to compliment that. For the Trial, it's a different shape. Seating is raised up all around in a circle around the central floor, where the Judge presides. There is a podium, of sorts, but it's not used as much as you'd think. Well, you'll see for yourself. It stands under Unkie's throne, which is raised up with the rest of the balconied seating. Both Podium and throne face the doors that enter into the Court.

When I walk in with Jhe h'Lete and Gerald (and Lute somewhere in the back shadows, like always, but he is here), I stay to the right and a step behind the Poet King as he comes forward, presents himself with a simple bow, and then is dismissed to be seated in the upper rows. I like swinging Duty during a Trial because then I can sit with him. He always gets a really good seat. Also it kind of helps me get let in at all. They stopped letting me attend Court when I was a little kid because I was kind of disruptive. Sometimes one of the guards that knows me will try to give me crap when I enter alone, even though that old ruling's been overturned and it's obvious I know how to behave myself like an adult now. The cheek!

Gerald looks nervous as heck, which isn't really much different from his default mode when he's come back from a mission. I yank his arm so that he follows us up into the good seats. "You ought to check in with the King, you dope. You weren't out as an Armed on that mission." He gives me this surprised blink, then nods and follows us.

"You're not worried about your brother?" His voice is so tense with concern that it squeaks.

I shrug. "If he got this far without Dad killing him I can't see how he won't slide through somehow. He couldn't have done anything that bad, anyway." I cast a glare back at him that almost freezes him. "Unless you know something that I don't."

Gerald juts his chin up. "I have to report in to the King on that. You said it yourself, little trainee." I'm about to rise to that old bait and correct him, but Jhe h'Lete gestures for me to heel.

He glances back at us as we walk around to the front, in the nearest group of seats to Unkie. "I'll give out the designations, thank you, Poet." He tilts his head at Gerald in that way of his that's condescending in such an undefinable way that no one can call him on it. Gerald flushes and clenches his fists.

Yeah, the challenged-at-etiquette thing? Kind of a family tradition.

Oh, and getting back to it, my Uncle. I wouldn't say it's the fact that he's on his throne, though he looks absolutely glorious up there, dressed in some of his most formal attire. It's not that it's a Trial, either, though that is when he looks his most serious and insightful. It's just him. He sees things. Daddy sees things too, of course. Unkie always sees them. Whether he chooses to always look, or whether he can't turn it off, there's something in his eyes, in the set of his face. Like he's watching the world, all the world, with concentrated attention. It's even in his posture, in the way his shoulders tilt back and his spine aligns with his back at the base of his neck. His eyes are this light blue that, when he really concentrates, seems to turn so clear that it's white, or tints straight into yellow. He can pin you with those eyes, even from high up on his throne. It's not that kind of pinning that Daddy does, where all the breath goes right out of you. You just have this clarity of being seen, of all the attention of the world being set on you, and you'd better do something now that it has been. Something very interesting. During a Trial, it's even more potent.

Maybe that's what it is about him. I don't know. Maybe Daddy would know better, or Jhe h'Lete.

My brother Lyric is standing alone in the middle of the Court. He looks as relaxed and as confident as I remember him being. Maybe it's because Unkie's looking at him. I don't know. It makes me feel better that Lyric's acting so calm about this, though. He really is a very good person. He should be fine. And I have some other foundations for my hunch on that, but...

...Well, I don't write about that stuff right now. Being at a Trial makes it awkward enough for me. It's easier to focus on Jhe h'Lete and stop thinking about it. He needs someone to pay attention to him. Daddy just can't watch him at all times.

Speaking of Jhe h'Logos, Gerald is whispering things to my King, but he probably wants privacy so I make it a point not to listen in too hard. I'll hear the report in good time. I get to read all the good notes nowadays, especially when I'm bringing the King his tea. What can I say, I have a knack for picking the best jobs for being nosy! It's another family tradition.

Daddy steps behind the podium. He looks over to Jhe Katherine, who is sitting at her desk to the Court's side, facing the accused. She gives him that precise little nod.

He calls Court into order.

* * *
Katherine
* * *

Being inside the Court instead of up in the stands is a different experience altogether. I bet you think I mean that a lot more figuratively than I do. But no, part of why there's a Poet on the floor is so that it can be recorded firsthand just what happens down here on the floor with 'Sy. What the audience sees (with the exception of Daddy up there in his throne) is never reliable.

He looks just as grand as ever. Sometime in between breakfast and his entry into Court, he shifted his clothing. Justice hangs over him, a set of robes, belts, straps and buttons. His office as a clothier would depict it. It's a shame he doesn't wear this more often, it's damn sexy. On the other hand, I'm kind of grateful it's reserved for highly official occasions, because then I don't have to worry about stripping the whole complex mess off of him. It would probably take a pair of wirecutters and a crochet hook just to unlatch the first layer.

Have I mentioned I'm distracting myself from this whole mess? I'm distracting myself from this whole mess.

I'm almost expecting him to whip out the Trident and point it right in his son's face, just so the boy will piss his pants right then and there and never run off again. No, that's just one of 'Sy's passing whims, not something he'll actually do. ...Probably. I see Lyric jerk, all the same, as if he caught the thought as well.

Clever boy. Have you gotten perceptive during your time away? I wonder if you'll see what's coming next, then. I'm quite sure Elete would be interested in that as well.

* * *
Lyric
* * *

I've been told that each Judging is very personal, and no two persons have exactly the same one. It would be difficult for me to say. I managed to squirm out of ever seeing one before this, and after I don't think I'll be too keen on a repeat performance, even if it's from up in the stands.

I can hear the bullet's voices echoing in my ears, but I can't make out the words just yet. They're just background crowd noise, nothing I can focus on at all. The only thing I can focus on is Father.

'That's not Father, lad.'

'Aye. That's the Judge.'

'I can't tell the difference.' I shudder. I didn't mean to, but there's something about him right now. It's not just that the podium makes him however many feet taller, and its not how serious he looks, or how serious it is in here, either. 'And I don't want to, either.'

'Some say it won't make much difference if you do.' A steel voice sinks right between my ears and I go rigid, my posture straighter than it's ever been in my life. My eyes flick up to meet my Father's. Somehow this voice matches his eyes, even if it's not his voice. ...The Trident? 'Diyn. If you dare speak of me, you might as well be proper about it.'

I try to make a sound, but it doesn't really come out. There's just this prying, searching, hunting. As if an eye is looking through every part of me, even the parts that try to hide. ...Especially the parts that try to hide. Memories are stirred up that I thought I'd long buried.

Crying in a huddled ball in some windswept threshold, trying to convince myself this was better than being home. Spending the last of someone else's money on booze instead of a warm place to sleep. The girl I met that night, and the things she taught me about my body that I'd never discovered before. Her two sisters. The disease I caught from...one of them, probably the short one.

Judgment shouldn't be like this. I should feel wretched, not...embarrassed. Of course, the shaft of steel that's running through my brain just takes that as an invitation to dig for deeper dirt. It doesn't take long, but on the other hand, he finds so many stops to make along the way. So many things I didn't tell my Uncle, last night. I thought no one needed to know. I tricked a girl into becoming a slave, in some Court before I went to the Peacock King's. I didn't realize. I thought they were just playing games. I only learned afterward what the collars really meant. I didn't--

Further, further down, through those accidental injustices, through the petty thieving and sniping, and into the darkest things in my heart.

I liked him. No, no. It was a little more than that, what I did with the Peacock King. It hurt when I saw him dancing for Nul. It hurt because I loved him. Did I hold back because of that? Did I let people get hurt, because I'd fallen in love with Ebrellin-i?

'He seduced you. Does that make it different to you' The Trident sniffs at me like I'm so much meat.

'Sometimes I wonder if I seduced him.'

'Who are you to know what's in his heart? Who are you to Judge Ebrellin-i?'

I swear I can't think of an answer to that, but somehow it comes forth anyway. Something I'm learning is that you can't not answer the Trident. 'I was close to him. I should have known. I should have stopped him. I should have turned him around. And instead all I did was sit there and let him move me, and turn me, and make me his toy. If he's here at all, isn't at least some of the blame on me?'

'Are you choosing to accept the weight of his crimes?' That question sounds so official that I can't help but wonder what record the answer will be written on. ...Or even worse, what contract.

'No.' I take in a deep breath. 'Only the ones that I committed myself.'

'If you won't accept them then stop blaming yourself for them and wasting my time. Do you want to confess to something you've DONE?'

I let out that deep breath. I also have half a mind to check if my pants are still dry. I have my doubts. 'I touched the animism with a knife. I made sure I didn't draw blood, and the Peacock King's hand guided me through it. I tied him down after that. I was the one who stripped him of his furs, and I was given them as a trophy for my successes in training him.'

'Did you do as ordered?' I can feel its eyes staring straight down into my gut.

'Only when we were being watched by the Peacock King.'

'Then you are guilty of refusing to turn traitor in the King's sight rather than not defile the animism. You already know that.'

'Yes.'

'Why did you freely walk into this Court, Jhe Lyric Akribastes?'

I close my eyes, preparing myself for it. 'Because I knew in my heart that I was guilty.'

'Then that is your Judgment. Are you prepared for the penalty? It is swift.'

My heart forgets to beat for a few moments, and then I try breathing to resurrect it. Guilty? It feels like all the blood's been drained from my body, but I'm so exhilarated at the same time. I wonder how that's even possible. 'Perhaps. I've never really been in this position before.'

'Yes you have. It's referred to by your kind as 'fessing up.'

'Oh. Yes, then.' Giddy. Like all the wind's knocked out of me. Punch drunk. I hear the Trident kill the air as it arcs towards me. I feel it pass through me. I don't even notice. I don't even feel it.

'Well, you're still alive, it would seem.' It sounds a little disappointed.

"We were expecting that." Ah, my Father's voice. It's a little surreal to hear now. It's very surreal to hear anything right now. I should be dead, by all accounts. A big three-pronged hunk of metal just whooshed through my midsection. Maybe I'm just taking my time about falling over in several very neatly-sliced pieces. "Congratulations, Lyric Akribastes. You've been granted a pardon."

My spirits lift up and all the blood comes rushing back to my head at once. It's a miracle I didn't just fall over dead from shock.

Father--no, the Judge-- looks over to Jhe Katherine. She nods and stands, holding up a scroll of parchment. "It is decreed this day that Animism Faun has declared the crimes committed against him by Lyric Akribastes voided, and thus any Judgment called against Lyric Akribastes shall be overturned in favor of the Animism's terms, which shall be contracted in a separate, private hearing. The defendant is dismissed from this Court, may he go in peace and not find his way again to this floor." She bows to me, a short conveyance of decorum and dismissal.

Then she makes this courteous shooing gesture when I don't get the hint. I decide to turn and leave before Diyn decides to aid her. In fact, my steps take on a scampering quality when I realize that Trident is in far too close of a proximity to my butt.

* * *
Gerald
* * *

My brother almost walks right into me as he leaves the Court's floor. Which is just as well, since I immediately crush him against me in a bear-hug.

"Ouf frwm zrrsnk Gerrunk--" he mumbles something completely unintelligible into my shirt. I ignore it. I am reminding myself over and over that he's right there, and he's in my arms, and he's alive. My Guns are berating me for being an unobservant overemotional chickenshit, and you know what? That's okay. It just means I'm in touch with my feelings.

"I think he's gonna die of asphyxiation, bro." Lute pats my shoulder, his voice full of only slightly mirthful understanding. "Really, you need to let go and shake it off before you strangle him. I think you got more upset about his Judgment than he did." His grip tightens, helping cement me in reality. My mind's trying to rush everywhere at once. Wagner is telling me it's my stupid Poet's nature and Bruce says that if I don't focus on something soon he'll shoot me to give me something simple to concentrate on.

It still takes Lute prying at my arms a little to get me to stop squeezing Lyric to death. By that time Lyric's turning blue in the face and looks about ready to pass out.

"Wa-was that my punishment?" Lute snorts, then pulls Lyric close and gives him a much shorter, much less lethal hug. Then he holds Lyric by the shoulders and looks down into his twin's eyes.

"Don't worry me like that again or you'll end up having something to worry about." Lyric gives a prompt nod in response. "Okay. Good. You a'right for steps? You gonna be able to sit up through the next Trial? You don't want to miss the Peacock King getting Judged. That's kind of a one-time event."

Lyric gives a weak little nod, then leans on Lute's arm for support while we guide him up to where my seat was. Stevane's more to the side now, where she and the Jhe h'Logos are talking to...

"Sit, ya moron, these are made for butts, not feet." Lute pushes me down to sit. "You leave your brain in Sul?"

I shake my head and stare at Faun. He gives me a nod, then looks over to Lyric and does the same. "Well, I'm certainly glad to see that my plea was accepted. Are you feeling alive?"

Lyric shakes his head in reply, then leans against Lute.

"Should Lyric still be here?" Stevane's voice is rife with concern. She looks over to him. "You can always read one of the accounts after the Trial. There'll be quite a lot of them, considering." She gestures out to the seats. There are a whole lot of Poets watching the Court.

Lyric shakes his head, then looks out at the floor. "I should be here. I'm what got him here in the first place. It's stupid, but I do owe him that." Lute wraps an arm around him. Jhe h'Logos scoots down to where Lyric sits.

"If I may?"

It never ceases to amaze me how easily the Poet King can confer rest upon a person, or just give them a bit of peace.

Faun decides to sit next to me, of all people, his eyes focused very intently on Lyric. I raise an eyebrow at him.

"I'll keep my distance. I am merely concerned for his well-being." He looks out over the floor. "Ah. The singular event commences."

I break away from scrutinizing the animism to watch as the Peacock King glides into the Court.

* * *
Katherine
* * *

I don't recognize him. That terrible man with the sick dark circles under his eyes and hatred riding him like a hood can't be my Father.

'Sy's voice cuts across my thoughts as if it were Diyn. 'Katherine! This is not the time for that.' As deadly serious as his tone is, his thoughts are like a cushion behind me, supporting my own and giving me strength.

'I'm sorry. I forgot my position in that moment.' I bow my head and set my quill to paper. It's so much easier, this way. What I am, and what I do. Words and ink and paper. So simple.

'Just record.' I've never heard him like that in Court. Soft and reassuring. It only sets this event apart even more so.

Ebrellin-i is resplendent in his robes and finery, the chains swaying down heavily in the same motions that his sashes and cords make. The lack of his crown only makes his nose and chin jut out and upward even more prominently. His hair whispers behind him, a raven cloak that shimmers with the green of deep forests. I've never been afraid of him like this.

No, Katherine is afraid. The Advocate watches on with the same relaxed gaze she gives every other defendant. Just as Lyric's Father isn't the Judge, when I become the Advocate, I am no longer Katherine. I watch as Ebrellin-i halts in the center of the floor, the chains clinking and then settling. He jumps as they snake and then bolt to the floor seamlessly. He cranes his neck down to stare at what's been done to him, and then glares up at the Judge.

The Judge returns his glare with a look that could burn stone into glass. The Trident is already in his hand, and his arm is ready, wrist cocked.

I'm almost afraid that Ebrellin-i will be sentenced right here and now.

* * *
'Sy
* * *

There is something that must be done with filth.

First, you must inspect that which has just dragged itself across your threshold. Diyn is ready to destroy him, and there's no reason to hold back that is in the Law in its most literal interpretation. I wonder, then, if a soft hand is a betrayal of myself. No, I don't wonder. But from time to time I must become introspective, before the Advocate does so for me.

A heavy hand is always an option, and it lends a short thrill, but it prevents further learning and growth. It is not caution that stays me in these cases, but the knowledge that Justice is something that must sometimes be excavated rather than dealt. Call it parenting that makes me plunge the Trident into his forehead, then, and spear his Third Eye to see inside of that wretched mind.

The Father in me doesn't want to look, but what Father ever really does? Still, some part of myself that is Lyric's Father takes note of what I see. The rest is sad simply for what Ebrellin-i has done to himself. There are so many crimes in his memory. Were my Poet to record every one, she would be here for days. I've no wish to inflict that on Katherine. Instead, I dig through Ebrellin-i's memory as if it were so much wet earth. The metaphor is accurate down to the worms and their branching tunnels.

I suppose he never noticed that, did he? If his words tell of his deterioration, his mind gives even more testimony to it. I feel him squirm around me, around Diyn. I feel him try to struggle up and grab Diyn's shaft and pull it out of himself. Diyn only bites in harder, even though the chains binding Ebrellin-i are more than enough to bind the King's struggles.

'Avoiding the Truth, are you? Is it that you don't want me to see?' I grin at him. His multi-hued eyes, shot through with blood and pain, can't even manage a proper glare in reply. There's only the pleas that his mouth can't even choke forth. 'Or...is it that you don't want to see for yourself the things you've done?'

'Deserved it, every one of you...' After that, a different part of his mind pipes up in reply, or counterpoint. 'Never even committed a crime. All just a conspiracy. They want to take Katherine and my Kingdom away from me and soil my pure Rocsui-ehellenae.' Some squirming part of his mind only chitters for awhile, before demanding a blood toll from me and the sport of my son, and the rest of my children besides. Diyn reaches out for me and strangles that one before pulling it forward.

"You're so filthy I can barely recognize you, Ebrellin-i."

The creature that is Ebrellin-i grins as if there is no Trident impaling him. His tongue hangs out of his mouth, garbling his speech. "And would you care to guess, Wielder of Destruction's Arm, just what tricks I'd have turned with your son against your country? Your precious Armed and your Poets?" He wriggles, trying to jerk the Trident further into himself.

Trying to destroy himself.

"I can see all of that already."

"The animism would have been beautiful as an assassin. Why didn't you kill the boy for attempting to train him into one? At least trade the beauty for blood. At least give me that much, my King Unkind. I've served you so well. Why do you lay waste to the faithful now?"

Diyn agrees with me. Neither of us can make much sense of what he's saying.

The Advocate's voice nudges my mind. 'He's according you the same respect that he would his own Master.'

I pause, digesting that particular statement. 'How decorous of him. I do wonder what I should respond with.'

'He would prefer you killed him in response, as he's been ordered to suicide rather than expose secrets. Please retry him after you've cleaned that thing out of him. I can barely touch upon the accused's true voice, buried under all that filth. I don't recognize him.' I can hear where her heart would fill those words with emotion, but she says it all in perfect calm. The Advocate's Judgment, then. Given in compliance with Truth.

My eyes narrow, and I slowly draw the Trident out of Ebrellin-i's head. Diyn bickers with me, but doesn't fight, of course. His matters of opinion don't weigh as heavily as the Advocate's.

Ebrellin-i slumps onto the floor in a broken heap. The chains look more alive than he is. Later, I am told that most witnesses in the stands assumed I'd dealt him the death penalty then.

The Advocate walks closer to him, looking down at the pile of hair and elbows and silks that is Ebrellin-i. She's still scrutinizing. She looks up to me. Her eyes blaze a color that I've not seen in quite some time - irises a white-gold so primordial and otherworldly that I shiver, pupils a deep, piercing blue. Many Trials have passed since the last time she's stepped in. I'd almost forgotten those eyes - or possibly tried to, knowing how I often clash with the Advocate's stance.

'Bring him to my Court.' She turns, walking towards the exit. I follow suit, the chains binding around Ebrellin-i's form, one leading from his collar to Diyn. He gets up and walks in front of me, still unconscious, his movements ghostly and puppetlike.

After that we depart to a much different room, our departure's only fanfare the many questions and rumors drifting through the audience.

* * *
Gerald
* * *

Lyric goes white when the Peacock King collapses. I think he's going to collapse right on the spot as well. Lute manages to shake him out of it. Lyric watches on, then, as they lead the Peacock King out of the Court.

I look around to see the reactions in the stands. Most people don't know what to make of it. Most of them thought, as my brother did, that Ebrellin-i had been sentenced to death. So there's quite a lot of talking, and even a few arguments breaking out. I'm on guard against fights starting up here in Court. Hell, it wouldn't be the first or last time. And I don't miss the fact that glares are being cast my brother's way. Of course, with no official explanation thus far of my brother's connection to the Peacock King...rumors have no way of being stopped. I stand up to start to counter some of what happened, and then get drawn into an argument myself.

That's why I miss what happens to Jhe h'Logos. The next thing I know, my sister's yanking on my hand so hard that my elbow almost gets pulled out of its socket.

"Gerald. Could you clear the way for us? I already called for some assistance but he needs to get out of here now."

The Poet King leans against my sister. His hand on her shoulder looks consoling, but he's really holding himself up. He's as pale as bone china, but at least that looks natural on a Xaillyndesse. "I am fine. I just need air."

"Then there's fine air where your bed is. Come on." She starts to walk him down, then thinks better of it. She looks over to the throne at the same time that Uncle Lui looks over to her. He stands and beckons her towards his throne. I lean in to prop the King up, but Stevane elbows me away. "He doesn't want to look sick. ...Bring Lyric. The audience in this courtroom's being less kind to him than Diyn was."

The Courtroom begins to empty, but we don't have to worry about the hectic crowd - Uncle Lui's private exit bypasses all of that. We shuffle into his suites right before Jhe h'Logos goes into shock.

* * *
Stevane
* * *

I brace Jhe h'Lete more as his legs start to fail him. I don't ask for help because I know it would embarrass him. With him leaning against me like this, I'm especially aware of his feelings and thoughts. It's painful. In a way wish I could distance myself from him. I manage to get him to the couch before someone does need to help me.

"Here, it's long enough for you to lay down and you won't be cramped."

My King looks up at me, his blue eyes stubborn and his chin held primly. "I'll just sit, Stevane, thank you."

I square my shoulders for an argument, but then there's my Uncle's voice over my shoulder. "Eleth-travente a'Radia. Do as your Poet tells you." I rarely hear Unkie's voice so ironclad. Strangely, I recognize the tone from when he's spoken to his children around me. Jhe h'Lete pales one more shade, then lies down as ordered.

...Wow, I'm going to have to figure out how to pull that trick. I drop to my knees and put my hand on my King's forehead. He sees that frown on my face, sighs, then takes off his crown and hands it to me. I put it in my lap, then put my hand against his forehead again.

My King closes his eyes to hide the fact that he's wincing. He sucks a breath into his chest. I feel the wave of dizziness hit him as if it were my own. I have to catch myself from falling over. ...Correction. Unkie has to catch me from falling over. He then gives me a nudge.

"Let me."

I stand back and let my Uncle see my King. Jhe h'Lete's nerves immediately rise. He even edges away from my Uncle a little. The edge of fear bleeds off of him, over our connection, and onto me. My fingers clench around his crown and my knuckles tint white.

Unkie tsks at Elete. "You..." he sighs. "It's always something, isn't it? Let me look before it gets any worse. ...Stevane?"

I jump a little, then ease my grip on the crown before Elete's scalp begins to itch out of sympathy. I need to be useful, not a mess. "I'll make tea and coffee." I look around the room. Lute's dear enough (and sneaky enough) to have ducked into the shadows and made himself not so much of a nuisance, but Gerald and Lyric are just standing around and gawking like idiots. I push Gerald into a chair and grab Lyric's wrist.

"Give me a hand in here." I pull him into the coffee bar without too much protest on his part. I need someone in the room with me so I won't start worrying about things. I'm pretty sure Lyric could use the same thing. "You know how Unkie liked his coffee? That hasn't changed any. I'll handle the tea. I'm certified."

He snorts as he readies a coffee press. "Does that come with the Poet training?" He can't suppress a little smile as he grinds down the beans.

I giggle. "It's more of a prerequisite. Here, give me a hand, the cups are behind you."

The work keeps us busy, and it's something we can do instead of just worry about. We ready two services. Before we carry them back into the room, I surprise-attack my brother with a bear hug.

"Urp. Stevane, are you okay?"

"Don't make me miss you again." I sigh into his shoulder. "I keep telling people that. Dad and Gerald and Edward and Elric. It never works. Still." I look back up and stare hard into his eyes. "...Don't make me miss you again. Promise?"

"I promise." He kisses me on the cheek. "Let's get tea to your King." He collects the coffee service and hoists it up over his head on one hand. "...And a coffee transfusion to Uncle Lui."

"Hey, I forget. Were you here when he tried injecting it directly into himself?"

My brother almost drops the platter.

* * *
Luciprochoros
* * *

My Poet King has, yet again, overextended himself. This is just something Elete does because he doesn't like to think of his limits. Everything else is just an extraneous factor.

The thing is, if I keep thinking that at the front of my mind, he won't throw up his guard. It's what he wants me to think. He's easy to get the drop on in that way. A lot easier than he thinks, even though we have to do this almost every time he gets sick. You'd think he'd catch me at this by now.

Even more testament to the fact that he's much sicker than he wants us to know.

"Were you alright, watching the Trial?" Talking's a great distraction for him, once I can get him to stop clamming up.

"...Both were unfortunate, if not earned. Is the boy taking it well, I wonder? He looked fine, but as I've heard told, he's quite the actor."

I manage to drop my senses into that space behind his eyes while I answer. "Lyric's fortitude is admirable. He held up while being groomed as your brother's pawn. He's got quite a mind on him, though he tries to hide that. I imagine things would be different now if I'd thought to put that mind to use before he ran away with it."

Elete snorts. "Hindsight is always so clear. Why not make use of that and turn it into foresight?" Ah, he's got ideas brewing in his mind. That makes it much easier to pick around in there.

He's so dizzy that I'm surprised he's able to think at all. If he'd tried to stay sitting up like he wanted, he'd probably be on the floor by now. There's a dull pain all through his head. He'd call it a particularly bad migraine, of course, and try to work through it if not for the vertigo. Hells, if he'd managed to get to his quarters instead of shoring up in mine, he'd probably be laid out in bed, dictating to Stevane while she took notes. ...Well, maybe a different Poet than Stevane. She's got the same mind as I do when it comes to Elete's illnesses.

"...You sound as if you have a plan for my nephew. Care to inform me of the details?"

Elete grins, and I can't help but welcome that spark of youthful excitement in his eyes. "I've heard a rumor or two that the boy has taken a turn to putting quill to paper."

A new recruit always does lift his spirits so. "So he's told me." I slide my hand to the back of Elete's head, feeling along the base of his skull. "Quite some headache you've got, it seems."

"They come and go." He brushes it off, which makes it easier for me to prod deeper. 'Sy and Katherine are better at searching him, but that's largely because I'm not often willing to pry directly myself. He's pushed my patience and then some, though. This illness has lingered for how long now? We can't even tell - it's been obvious in the past few months to his close students, but he's likely been hiding it for much longer, or explaining it away as 'his usual ailments'. Of course, none of that is even on his mind right now. "Tell me, do you think his Father will mind if I..." he trails off, unable to find a complimentary way to say it.

"If you go about meddling in his affairs like you always have a mind to?" I chuckle. I delve a little deeper into him. He's so difficult to scrutinize. So damn guarded, ever since he moved here from Lyiannethe so many years ago. "...Be careful. 'Sy's only just got his son back, and that son has gone through quite the ordeal." I pause in my scrutiny to think about it for a moment. "It would be better if you waited for Tesynnodai to approach you about Lyric himself. He will. His first concern will be giving Lyric something constructive to do and putting him somewhere safe."

Elete chuckles. "Really? The Jhe h'Akribastes describing a training at the Poet Hall as either constructive or safe would certainly be a moment worth recording."

It's hard to search any deeper than I am, and I can't just do this with a surface reading. I don't know what's causing these episodes of his, but this is the worst yet that I've seen. He should be unconscious. He's straining himself just by staying awake. "Well then, wait for it so that you can put it to permanent record yourself, because I'm sure it will happen." Damn it. I just can't see it. I don't know what to look for or where to look. Elete's always made it a point to keep me from knowing what it is that might distress him.

"Unkie? I have the tea. Lyric made your coffee." I hear a clink as Stevane sets the tray down and then serves her King his tea. He tries to sit up. It's funny how both Stevane and I hold him down at once.

Stevane imparts him with one of her cheerful smiles. "Jhe h'Lete? Why don't you just prop yourself up on your side? I've noticed a tea's flavor improves when enjoyed in a relaxed posture."

Damn, she really can pretend for him, can't she? At least he accepts the excuse gracefully and does as requested. He looks less strained when there's a cup of tea in his hands.

Lyric gives me a nudge. It certainly is a dire situation when I have to be reminded that I have coffee. Stevane can see to her King for the moment. I give Lyric a nod and then take my cup, sink into a nearby armchair, and dose myself.

Gerald looks up from the chair across from me, then immediately looks away from me. He must have been doing his very best to make us forget he was here, because I certainly did.

Well, he certainly isn't the only one in the room who's obviously trying to hide something. "Do you want to talk about it?" He mulls that over. "Get some coffee, then, and think it over. I'm tired of the whole world clamming up around me. You'd think I was your Dad."

Gerald snorts as he gets up. "Thanks, sir."

I scoff. "Disowning me as your Uncle now? It seems I lose more family to protocol every day."

"Sorry, Uncle." He makes himself a cup, then settles back in, shoulders so tight that I wonder if he can even reach his arms over his head. "Bad day."

"Considering the amount of people still alive to see the rest of it, I'd judge it a fair one so far. Come, now. What's eating you?" I watch him take an awkward gulp of coffee, then fidget in his chair. He looks over to where his brother and sister are attending the Poet King. Elete's already chatting the boy up, of course, but I suppose it provides an excellent distraction for the three of them. Everyone's as wound up as a cat on a leaky raft.

"...Most things are eating me." Gerald closes his eyes and sips, then lets out a long, low sigh. "How have Father and Katherine been?"

I snort. Fine. The boy decides to pick at my sore spots. "My brother and my daughter are just darling together." I hold back an acrid comment about weddings. I don't want to even think about those two marrying.

Gerald experiences a sober moment. "...I'm sorry, sir, I hadn't even thought about it that way."

I snort. No one ever thinks about me. "No, really, what's eating you?"

He experiences another one of those strange moments of clarity. I wonder what I'm saying that's so illuminating to him? "I guess...something that's not as big as I think it is. Look, am I going to be useful around here, or should I just haul off?"

I grin. "You know Gerald, you've got a good head on your shoulders for a son of Tesynnodai. Why don't you go out and get a gauge of how your Father is doing with the Jhe o'Audiva Rocale?" I catch the look he gives me, his head cocked to the side. "I don't look in on certain things my brother does, Gerald. I find it a much better idea those times to give him my trust without my scrutiny. It would be best if you waited for them to come out, and then fetched them."

He gets up without a reply and bows courteously before he leaves. I wonder a little bit about him, but I don't think he has problems I can solve that his Father wouldn't solve in a better way.

* * *
Gerald
* * *

...Okay, I think I've been kind of a dick. I guess it took my Uncle coming straight off of a caffeine hit to make me realize it. When I look at the Kathe thing from his perspective, though...wow. But now I've got my boots on the right feet, as it were, and I'm using them to march right down to the Peacock King's holding cell. I know Katherine and 'Sy will have to end up here after Ebrellin-i's secondary interrogation.

Heck, the fact that he got one was pretty extraordinary. I mean, Lyric got sentenced and almost executed and everything without getting some special process called up for him. I don't really know what his Trial was all about.

'Ye'd know if you'd calm down and ask us instead of wandering around and whimpering at everyone like a lost pup.'

...Okay. I am a little chagrined by that. 'Fine. Why didn't you two tell me about his Trial?'

'Because it wouldn't have changed nuthin'.'

'A Trial's a Trial. Ye've got to conduct yerself the same way no matter whose neck it is.'

'Ye know that sure as ye know anything. Why're we even tellin' ya this?'

...I hate getting my ass handed to me by my own guns. There's nothing more wounding to my dignity.

'Eh? How about that time Katherine shoved Gevurah's revolver barrel into your mouth and told you to suck it like a cheap whore if you didn't like her trail cooking?'

...Make that the second most wounding thing.

I gather my wits back together. A proper dressing-down helps with that sometimes. 'So my brother gets tried and pardoned for a single crime against an animism, and the man who forced him to do so much of that gets a special hearing before he'll even get sentenced? I know Ebrellin-i was crazy, but...' I shake my head.

'Ye think he's not crazy enough not to die for his actions like your brother could have if Faun hadn't requested he be pardoned?'

'Why are ye so eager for the turkey buzzard to die? Not that we blame ye.'

'A vile creature he be, but can ye say that he deserves his death with no complete testimony of his actions?'

'Don't you know what it means when Katherine takes special testimony from someone?'

I shake my head. 'I thought it was only done for exceptions from the Law, even when Father claims there are no exceptions from the Law.'

'Nay. Lyric could give his own testimony without special assistance. Even if he'd held back from admitting things, Diyn would drag it out of him in your Father's Court sure enough.'

'The Advocate tries those who have lost the ability to give their own testimony.'

'He's a right crazy buzzard, that King. He was tryin' to kill 'imself before he'd plead insanity.'

'That in itself is reason enough for him to have a special hearing. Whatever he's hiding is important enough for him to destroy himself before giving it up.'

* * *
Katherine
* * *

It's easy to focus on how limp his arms are, hanging down in the same way that his hair drags behind him. His closed eyes and weary expression both could give me a false sense of security.

'Sy doesn't allow that, crossing Diyn in front of Ebrellin-i's chest before the regent can step any further. "Reveal yourself," he whispers. My Father's eyes open.

He had possibly been unconscious once or twice after his Trial, but it's doubtful. No, whatever is within him was still pretending - trying to exploit any weakness that it could find. That won't stop, of course. He'll never stop trying to get himself killed.

That's why we have to destroy that part of him, if you can even call it a part of him. Or at least, I hope we can destroy it. I hope it's not a true part of his Will. If it is...it's back to the Court for him, and 'Sy really will Judge him. We were spared from Lyric's execution. I pray we'll be spared from my Father's as well.

He looks down at me. He doesn't recognize me. I can see that in his eyes. I've not changed enough for that to be possible. He should know his daughter. He knew me last night. But still, he tries to smile, tries to pretend, to look endearing.

It's time.

They never scream when this part comes, and I don't know why, because I want to scream. 'Sy tells me that they forget their wretched mouths at this moment, or even worse, become too cowardly to speak unless commanded.

"Ebrellin-i. You are well-acquainted with cowardice, are you not?" He nods. He tries to shake his head, then, realizing that he had answered me. He fails at even moving his head.

Within this room, there can be nothing but Truth spoken.

"When did you start hurting your daughters?" I don't wince at the question. 'Sy winces for me, but Ebrellin-i does not see him.

"I, I didn--" He halts his speech. A bead of sweat breaks out on his forehead. He's fighting it, but he'll lose. They all do, in the end. This is a Grace to bestow on them, but it hurts me so much. And if they didn't fight it so hard, they wouldn't need to be here in the first place. "Rocsui-ehellenae. I renamed her when she was three. Closer to four. I wanted to protect her, so I removed her name and bound her to me with a new one. I don't remember when the feath--no. Now I do. She was eleven. I feared the day she would grow old enough to begin attracting a mate, who would then take her from my protection. I brought her to my lab and asked her if she wanted to be more beautiful than any other woman would ever be. I needed some indication of consent to enable the process. I made her into someone singular. Unmateable. It meant tainting the Xaillyndesse blood, of course, but I no longer cared for the particulars of that lineage. Eleth-travente could carry on the line if he so wished. I had better things to do. Katherine, though. She was difficult. I couldn't have her, no matter how much I fought the contract or tried to sabotage custodial negotiations. All I could manage, in the end, was to trouble my ex-suitor and ensure she wasn't raised by either of her Fathers. There was very little I could do there, unfortunately. She was always so well-guarded. But in a way, that fulfilled my intentions and my obligations. She was very rarely near me. She was safe. Not safe enough, but I could only do so much."

I narrow my eyes. "And what are you keeping them safe from?"

Ebrellin-i's face is so calm, now. As if he were giving a lecture in his labs. He's starting to accept this, find shelter in it. Or perhaps he's convinced that if he says the right thing, it will get him destroyed, and end his master's worries. "Myself, of course. I could not trust myself with children. Oh, I tried to convince myself it was untrue. Even got Hesperides with two darlings when she begged it of me. That protected her from me, though, so it was acceptable. Keeping children away was better. They might find out. They might see me. They might know what I was. And worse...what owns me might see them and want them, and I couldn't have that. It isn't my children's fault that I'm a traitor."

I nod. "Fine, then. Tell the rest of the truth. You've only given me half."

His face is calm. "I'm sorry, my dear, but I haven't the faintest what you're--" He frowns, his tongue stopping itself. He shakes his head, tries to fight me again. "But I don't...stop showing me this."

"You must look."

"I have no need to see these things." He jerks against the chains. 'Sy presses the Trident's staff closer against Ebrellin-i's chest.

"Every creature must gain a clear sight of who and what he is. You are no exception. This is a favor to you."

"I don't WANT--" he chokes on his own words. Even that was a lie. "Please. Just let me go in peace."

"What can he do to you, all the way from Nul, if you disobey him here?" Ebrellin-i's panicked expression surprises both the Judge and I. If nothing else, his terror is genuine. "Tell me how he punishes you."

"No." His voice is dead quiet, his skin as pale as the white makeup he wears. Still, my power compels him to speak. His mouth opens no matter how his own crippled free will fights to keep it closed. "You can't make--please don't make me. I don't--please. Please." Tears trail down his face, his shoulders jerking. I can see the cracks running along his mind. I draw Gedulah. A shining length of steel, ivory and gold. "Please..."

I ready it. 'Sy moves the Trident away. I thrust my sword through Ebrellin-i's heart.

I feel its beat like a pulse against my palm, throbbing through Gedulah's hilt. Now Ebrellin-i screams.

It's not the wound, you see. It's his heart. He's buried it for so long, trying to forget its existence. Trying to rationalize those beats away as just blood and biomechanics, no matter how damn much he knows about chakras and energy flow. Putting the pain away meant not having to be hurt by his own actions. No, more than that. He'd done much more than that to himself.

Or rather, much more than that had been done to him by someone else. I try to feel for it, but it's too raw to parse through my blade. It's strange to see a person who has been this damaged and mixed up, but was walking around and pretending so convincingly that he was whole. What's wrong with him?

I'm thinking too much. He has to see it for himself. He has to see the knots for them to be untangled. I concentrate on bringing the feelings in his heart forward again. He chokes on his agony. I strain harder until 'Sy's hand falls on my shoulder.

"Don't break him, Khatarina." I frown.

Ebrellin-i is breaking from this, and that's not supposed to happen.

I stop drawing it out, and focus again on interrogation. "Tell me how he punishes you, Ebrellin-i."

Ebrellin-i screams, but it can't mask out the words. "Like this! LIKE THIS!"

I almost drop the blade. I cut short the franticness in the back of my mind that wants to chase itself in circles, scrambling over how Nul could control me and make me into a kind of torture. I keep my grip steady. "Explain."

"He makes me watch!" Ebrellin-i tries to writhe away from the blade, tries to escape, but the chains keep him steady for me. "He makes me watch when I'm like this! I tried to seal them away! I tried to keep my heart silent! He'd have nothing to use then! I could be free!" He's so self-convinced of those lies that they've become their own truths. Very well. Let him speak rather than be silent. "I didn't want to. I didn't want to!"

"You didn't want to what?" 'Sy asks it for me.

"Become this! Writhe for him! Be his p-p-p-pet!" He jerks, his posture straightening with panic. "He'll punish me now. He'll punish me now. He'll punish me now for speaking. I try to be so quiet. I can never stop talking or whimpering, as much as I try. He scares me so much. He'll punish me now. I tried to learn. I'm trying so hard to be good."

'Sy's arm supports me as the panic washes back into me. It wells up so much that I can't block it without help. Even while wielding Gedulah. This terror...it's not natural.

Ebrellin-i's punishment. This fear. It's blinding.

I have to cleanse him of it.

"You'll cripple him."

"Better than letting him live blind." I close my eyes and send the fear back into Ebrellin-i. It causes him to howl again, but I need to be calm. I need perfect clarity. I open my eyes.

I see a man. His name is Ebrellin-i. He ruled an Empire. He is my Father. He is hurting.

I'm going to have to dive into him with Gedulah. "'Sy. Wait for me."

There's just enough time for me to hear my partner curse before my senses are overtaken with what is inside Ebrellin-i's heart.

* * *

* * *
Katherine
* * *

It's very green here, in this tiny piece of my father that Gedulah has found. This is all of him, all that is left of Ebrellin-i. Nothing else remains.

I suppose I should clarify: I mean literally Nothing. Which I guess means there's something in here besides him. That something is lots and lots of Nul. The Jherent Nul's taken ownership of Father, however that was made possible, and so while there might technically be many pieces and broken shards of my father inside this body of his, they're claimed and enfolded by pieces of Nul. It's worse than the Void. At least the Void can be Aimed at, in a manner of speaking.

Nul, though...however it is that it can be possible, Nul doesn't exist in our world. It shouldn't be there at all, and thus, it isn't. Why it can still interfere with Existence and harm the inhabitants of our world is something that every Poet and Armed would give their heart and soul to discover. Sometimes we wonder if that's why Elete is ailing so.

Those broken and abused pieces of my father aren't in here, you see, because the Nul is inside him, claiming almost every part of him. Except...this. This tiny green glowing shard which Gedulah has found for me. She purrs her satisfaction, then slices away at a wave of Nul that tries to wash over me. I'm so proud of my blade.

This cursed filth can't even touch her.

I can almost feel Ebrellin-i quake at the sight of her. That false Ebrellin-i that keeps speaking for my father is terrified. I can see now, though, why it wasn't possible to simply draw out all of the filth in my father and quickly clean it from him. It must be done from the inside.

...But not by me. It must be done from inside of those Nul pieces. Only Father is capable of cleaning them out of himself. I...I don't know if he's capable.

Gedulah chastises me for doubting him. 'He called out to me from deep inside this muck. He led me to the one piece of himself that was still beautiful. Surely you can have more faith that that.'

Arms are so mouthy. What's worse, she's right.

'Why this piece, Gedulah? What makes this one special? Why is it the only one to survive?'

She tilts in my hand, light rippling along her blade, a quick little grin. 'Let us see.'

I turn the shard in my hand, then, and look into it to see through my father's eyes.

* * *
Ebrelle
* * *

I've missed Faun. That's in the forefront of my mind as I stand amongst the leaves scattered on the ground underneath the canopy of trees outside of the Lyiannethe estate. The sun cascades down through motes of dust and pollen, dappling everything in gold spots.

It makes Faun's hair look even more like a pelt. I grin. "Welcome back." I execute an odd little bow that barely has even the trappings of decorum in it. Mother would smack me across the face with a hot iron. He returns the bow with a snort, then folds to the ground in a flop that I thought only quadrupeds could manage.

I grin wider and flop to the ground myself, taking care to lean so that my hair doesn't get in the dust. It's the longest it's ever been, now. Almost at the small of my back. I've dared my brother to grow his longer, but Mother keeps cutting his, as if she's trying to prevent another Me happening by simple grooming.

"It's harder to get here now, you know."

I nod. Mother's cut back many of the trees. We're pretty far off from the complex now. They keep an eye out for Faun as well, and try to chase him off as best as can be done. "I...I'm sorry."

"What did you want to talk about, Ebrelle?" His expression doesn't change, just remains at that flat calm. It relaxes me. Just enough to get me to answer his question instead of let it go. Who knows when I'll see him next? I'll never be able to talk about this with anyone in the estate, not even my brother. I don't like to get him in trouble.

"I...my mother." I see him tense just a little, the hair on his neck standing on end, his posture straightening ever so slightly. Otherwise, he suppresses the recoil. I don't blame him for his feelings. "She...still wants pets. I don't understand. Why?"

Faun almost spits, then looks off the the side. "Why do you think? Why do you think it makes people happy to stuff little animals behind bars? If I knew, I don't think I would be what I am."

I bite my lip. He sighs.

"No, Ebrelle. I really do mean it." His hair smooths back down, and for the hundredth time I suppress the urge to reach out and pet him. "Answer the question. For me."

"Why? It won't be my mother's answer."

His yellow eyes simultaneously freeze and heat my soul, just as they always have. Is that the appeal? The draw? "If I wanted your mother's opinion I would ask her for it. I want to hear the answer you give."

I smile. It's an odd bit of praise to take to heart, isn't it? "They say that animals are healthier when taken out of the wild and cared for."

He raises an exacting eyebrow. "Oh, really? Is that your answer?" I look away. He snorts. "Or is it just one of the excuses your mother gives you when she's not smacking you around?"

I clench my jaw, eyes staring hard at the ground. He doesn't apologize. He isn't the type to give people things that are useless. "...Yes."

"Then what is your answer?"

* * *
Katherine
* * *

I want to hear his answer very badly, but it ends there. I don't understand. Why?

'It's fresh. He must have been thinking about it very recently. Perhaps before the Trial.'

I nod. 'During, even.' I look at the little shard. It's so close to being dust in my fingers. 'Can it be healed?'

'It can heal itself, even blossom into something more complete, if given proper soil to grow in.'

...That's not something that can be found in here, not yet. I scrunch my eyebrows. We have to clear this place somehow of all this Nul. We have to try to free his other memories. What I just saw isn't enough yet. Neither 'Sy nor I can get anywhere with it.

'Your father can't get anywhere with it either, and he's the one that will have to fight his way back out.'

I clench my jaw.

'I've got an idea.'

Gedulah listens to me. Gevurah perks up as well, while I recite my plan. Funny, she usually stays out of this part of my duties.

'No, this is way too much fun to miss. The Judge is going to absolutely slay you for doing it.' She cackles, the sound nothing but steel and serrated edges.

I grin. 'He can't see me in here, remember? That's why this part makes him the most nervous. It's something only I can do, and he won't follow me in. So....' I bounce on my toes just once. 'Nobody needs to know, once I leave this place, just what I did in here. Do they, girls?'

Even Gevurah agrees with that. If I die, there'll be no one to stab Gerald with her.

* * *

I draw Gedulah from his chest, forever remembering the squick sound as it comes out. With the same motion, I swing Gedulah back. I arc her, white fire gliding through the air and then through Ebrellin-i's side before slicing clean through him.

Ebrellin-i falls sideways to the floor, not a wound to be found on his body. He twitches, then curls, as something that isn't even fear runs through him. He tries to let out a cry, but his words don't make it out of his throat.

"Memories," 'Sy mumbles.

I nod. "His real punishment. He was shielding himself from it with the fear. But now he has no way to hide."

"That's rather cruel of you."

"No one ever calls me fair except you." I stare down at the man that is my father. I frown, trying to think of how best to do this. "It may be a while until he is retried. This will take time. He will have to do it himself, and I don't know if he's capable of that."

"Capable of coping with memories that he's likely buried since before his children were born?"

"Yes."

He raises an eyebrow, inspecting me for a moment. He could say it, and it goes unsaid, really: I'm hiding something. He turns away, though, and lets it drop. He lets me have my way in this place, of all places.

'...Yes.' I keep it very quiet and discreet.

'Sy has a particularly ugly expression on his face as he looks down at my father. I pay it no heed. I understand his ire. Truly, Ebrellin-i has committed many crimes because of his cowardice. How could 'Sy forgive him that? It's not within the Law, but then...that's why I'm here.

"Of course he'll be successful. He will be aided with all the assistance Radia can offer. Then, I can Judge his wretched soul."

Ebrellin-i whimpers, his body uncurling like a slow exhale. To my surprise he moves again. He looks up at me with eyes that might as well be blind. I take a step towards him. 'Sy's hand squeezes my shoulder again.

"What now?"

I clench my jaw. I peer at Ebrellin-i for a few moments. "...'Sy? Stay by him."

My partner raises an eyebrow. "What are you doing?" Even with the question asked, he goes to Ebrellin-i's side. Instinct makes him hold the regent down.

I walk closer to Ebrellin-i, looking down at him from a pace away. I expect the strike he attempts then. 'Sy intervenes. It wouldn't even have harmed me. It was a weak flail more than it was an attack.

"Begging for help." 'Sy looks back up at me.

I nod. "He's not allowed to ask for it. He's only allowed to lash out." I hunker down, knees bent, and look Father in the eyes again. He really is almost blind. I think he's guiding his eyes by instinct alone.

"Are you suggesting that everything he's done...."

"Not everything. But what other way would there be for him to try to get help?"

"It's a theory." 'Sy gives me that much. "...What do you plan, now? He can't function on his own. The memories are all but attacking him."

"He'll have a lot of trouble defending himself from them. He's all broken up, and he has to draw himself back together before we can do anything for him. It's especially difficult for him because he's tried so hard to forg--" I catch myself. That was a lie. I frown, trying to probe Ebrellin-i's mind and heart. It's like trying to search a battlefield for a body. "Something's crippling him. Or it crippled him at the time of the memories."

"...Purposefully rendered us ineffective? Thought ahead for a Trial?" That's not accusatory. He's rolling the idea around with interest. The Jherent Nul has tried very interesting tactics against both of us before. Every shift in his moves is another thing for us to consider in our own.

"Of course. It would explain why it's taken this long for the Law to reach him. I don't know what's been done, but whatever it is, it's as good at hiding itself as Cade." 'Sy grimaces at the mention of the name, like there's an acid taste in his mouth. "...We shouldn't destroy him."

"You've already made your case for that."

I shake my head, staring beyond the walls. "If we destroy him before he's healed, we'll have even worse things to deal with than Nul and a broken treaty with Audiva Rocale. I can sense it. Whatever's been done...." I sigh, looking down at my father. "This would have to be complicated, Daddy... How can we help him at all if we can't poke at the memories? He'll take forever to face them. In the meantime we'll have no clue of whatever else might be hurting him."

"They're memories. Someone must remember them."

My fist clenches. "Camden still has Cade in Audiva Rocale?"

'Sy's face splits into a wide grin. "I would love nothing more than to interrogate that wretch. He'll be brought here soon. Do you have anything else you'd like to do in here? If he can't deal with his own memories then he sh--"

"Yes, I know, he shouldn't be in here, but I don't know how much better his own cell will be for him." I sigh. "At least he'll have rest, though, right? That'll help him recover. If he's put to that rest, that is. 'Sy, could you...."

"Of course." A smirk accompanies the thud that the trident's shaft makes against the back of Ebrellin-i's skull. My father's whimpers and moans cut off abruptly. If he were any further into sleep my Court would have a sheep infestation.

"You didn't have to look so happy about it." 'Sy only grins and scoops up my Father's body. We leave the chamber. I can't say I'm distressed about that. It's my job, even a part of me, but not everybody has to be completely happy with themselves.

Even 'Sy.

* * *
Gerald
* * *

"What are you doing here?"

Katherine has given me better greetings. Even Father gives her a look for that one.

"Helping. I have a message from Jhe o'Radia after you're finished with your prisoner." I swallow my pride and step away so that Father can enter the cell. Katherine stays outside while her father is secured. I find that more than a little strange.

"What? You're giving me one of your looks. Stop it." She folds her arms, hunching her shoulders.

"I'm sorry, Katherine. I know it hurts you."

She looks at me like I've grown a second head, one that apparently brings back memories of childhood nightmares, judging by the tinge of fear in her eyes. Then she looks away, exasperated. "Yeah. Thanks for that brilliant observation."

I give up.

Father finishes in the cell. "Look over him before I lock it." He winces when he looks at her eyes. "It shouldn't take long. It's just--"

"Everything has to be done correctly. Especially now." She has that odd, calm, faraway voice as she walks in. She leans down over her father, who is now chained by his neck to the couch in the cell. She brushes his hair to the side so that she can look at his face and lean down to his temple. A moment's concentration while she closes her eyes, and whatever she needed to do is done. "He'll rest well. Thank you." She joins us outside the cell. Father locks it.

"What's going to happen to him?" I can't suppress the question, and regret it as soon as I ask it.

"Why are you here?" My father smoothly wipes away the inquiry with one of his own. It's delivered in a tone so calm that I don't even feel a rebuke in it.

I bow my head. I don't want to look anyone in the eye. "Jhe h'Logos took ill after the Trial, and is convalescing in Jhe o'Radia's quarters near the Court. He's pushing himself too hard."

Father snorts, then starts walking briskly towards the Palace. "Nothing new there. Thank you for notifying us."

"He seems a lot worse than usual. I can't be sure...I haven't been here recently. I didn't know his illness had progressed that much. Stevane and Lyric are with him. And Lute is, you know...wherever."

"...Elete. That damn twit can't go a day without us managing him." Father sighs. "Gerald? Could you get the papers from off of my desk while we see to the Jhe h'Logos? Bring them to your uncle's quarters." He pauses. "Bring something to write with as well."

I nod. It'll be a relief to get away from Katherine. She looks like she's about to gut me and make a violin out of what's inside. "Of course."

He gives me an odd look, and I feel the brush of a query against my mind, as if he was about to look for himself to see just what might be on it. It goes away, though, and he and Katherine head to my uncle's rooms. I start to make my way to the front of the Armed Hall.

I sigh. There's nothing quite as exasperating as a father who can make my own guns threaten me into fessing up.

* * *
Stevane

I brush Jhe h'Lete's hair away from his forehead as he sleeps. Sleep may not be the best word for this, considering that he more or less passed out a few minutes ago. Unkie hasn't gotten up out of his chair yet, but he's keeping a close eye on Elete from where he's sitting. I peer as far as I can. He's so guarded, even while asleep. I do have one advantage, however - since I act as Poet for the King so often, his mind and mine are somewhat connected by default, especially when I'm on duty. It's helped me get a feel of just what he's been experiencing.

Still... "I can't see in."

My Uncle nods. "What did you pick up off of him before he nodded off, Stevane?"

"Some pain, but more than that, the dizziness and confusion growing at an alarming rate. Then, shortly before he passed out, he was feeling crushed. Smothered. Surrounded. He wasn't afraid of it, though, which confused him." I swallow. I don't particularly want to say the next part. "When it was happening, it felt familiar to him. He remembered it happening not too long ago. That might be why he was so calm. He was bearing through it because he'd done it before." I pause to breathe calmly for a few moments. I'm really trying not to panic. "He's been...out quite a bit, the past few days. Resting in his quarters. This was happening to him then. He wasn't asking for help."

Unkie just looks so...damn disappointed. I can't help but feel at fault. I should have been sterner with Jhe h'Lete. It's so difficult, though. He was almost like a Father to me when I was little. I try to be like Daddy and keep command of the situation, but...Jhe h'Lete is my King, too.

"I just don't know what to do, Unkie. I...this job..."

"Come here." Unkie stands up. I walk to him and he hugs me. It makes it a little bit better. "This isn't your fault. This also isn't your job. You did what you were supposed to by getting him somewhere safe and not letting him sulk off on his own again. Stop assigning yourself someone else's duties." He lets go of me, looking down at my face. "Now. Go take your brother shopping."

I blink. Lyric looks up. "What?" We say it in unision.

"He can't very well wear that Aurocan uniform every day of the week. Go grab your Aunt Muriel. He's in town, you know. I bet you missed that because you were working so hard, but he misses you and I know he'd love to see his nephew Lyric. Now, go on. Your Father and Katherine will be here soon, and they're experts when it comes to getting the Jhe h'Logos back in good health. There's no sense in you both holing up in here, especially when Lyric's just gotten back home." He pauses for a moment. "Oh, and here. It's on me. Go get some coffee or something while you're at it."

Lyric's eyes widen at the amount of silver Unkie hands me. "Um, I...th-thank--"

"So modest! Now go on and spend it all in one place." He grins. "Out! Before I summon the guards to kick you out!"

My brother and I shuffle out, Lyric still boggling at seeing that much silver. I'm going to guess he's seen some slim days in his years as a runaway. As we leave, I sense Lute slide out behind us, cloaked in shadows.

I wonder who thought Lyric rated a bodyguard today.

* * *
Gerald
* * *

When I arrive in Unkie's suite, my arms are full of papers and journals. Either Camden did quite a lot of logging while on mission (not something that would surprise me) or Father didn't notice just how much paperwork was stacked on his desk. His eyebrows lift as I heave the whole pile over to him. "I tried to bring it all, since I didn't know which of them you wanted."

Uncle clears off a desk for me, and I gratefully set the whole load down, trying not to make more of a mess of the pile of sheets. Father gives it a cursory look-over, then looks back over at the couch.

I grimace once I see how much paler the Jhe h'Logos has gotten. "How is he?"

Father just draws his lips tight, jaw clenched, and watches Katherine lay her hands against Jhe h'Logos's forehead.

Uncle sighs and leans against the wall, looking over at Elete with obvious concern. "He's been out for awhile. I sent your siblings out to get some air...and lighten their spirits a bit. No sense everyone glowers in my room."

Father touches my elbow. "Gerald? Help me go through this. Katherine's going to be at it for awhile." He and I lean over the desk. "Try sorting them out. I'm sorry my desk was such a mess. Everything's...a mess right now." He sighs under his breath, more a growl than an exhalation.

I try to do as instructed, but I can't help looking up at him. He meets my eyes, then recognizes what's on my mind. "...I'm sorry, Gerald. I want to talk with you, but I've been brushing you off, haven't I? ...Later, after dinner--"

"I just want to know what's going on, Dad." I know my tone is petulant but I'm tired of getting shushed when it comes to Jhe h'Logos and his jailed brother. I spent a long time incarcerated by Ebrellin-i and I feel I have a right to know what's going on. All I've gotten for my work and strife so far have been bruises and brushoffs.

Father frowns a little, and I realize that he's seeing all of that go through my head. Fine, that's all well enough. At least he knows now. He shakes his head. "We need to talk about what's going on." He looks up at Katherine. "As soon as she's finished, and as soon as we've read over this. I haven't even gone over all the notes Jhe Camden's sent me yet, and considering what's been happening over there..." he sighs. "You need to make your own report, but you were in the Jhe h'Logos's division for this mission, so I haven't drilled you on it as I normally would have. Still, any commentary you may have on what you read would be very useful, I am sure." He frowns.

I frown too.

"That's not Jhe Camden's writing."

I pick up the papers, carefully clipped together behind Camden's logs. They look as if they've been cut out of a journal. "This is Lyric's writing."

"...Really." Father takes the papers from me.

"Ah yes. Your boy's quite the budding writer, it seems." Uncle Lui grins.

A sigh. "So I've heard." He flips back a corner and looks over the next page.

"He um...picked up writing when I couldn't. That's what he told me in Audiva Rocale. I uh...it might be pretty bad. It was pretty crazy--"

Father holds a finger up to his lips. "I'll look at it myself. Thank you." He pauses once more before reading. "...Where are your writings?"

I lift my eyebrows. I knew I'd forgotten something. "I stashed them with my Arms as I wrote, so..." I flip my hand and lift the papers out of a pocket of hidden space. "Here. The last page is missing since the Jhe o'Audiva Rocale caught me while I was writing it, but there wasn't anything of much consequence on it. I'd only written a sentence about his daughters."

Father pins me with a look I can't read at all. "Oh?"

"I...was looking through his genealogies, since I thought I should know who to keep an eye out for. He got me before I could get far with that."

Father shakes his head. "You should have known better. Here. Read through these. Jennelcia and Jhe Rachella's are in here as well." He glances down, rolls his eyes, then passes some papers to Uncle. "Jaxhelshon's."

We get to reading as Katherine goes on with her work.

* * *

* * *
Rocsui
* * *

I lie back in my bed, blonde hair spread back behind me like a fanned tail. I can feel that it's morning. There are no windows in my room, so I can't see the sun, but the birds outside in the garden are singing. I've always felt a kinship with them since even before Father gave me plumage. I can hear them go on about just how bright it is this morning, how beautiful.

Something to look forward to.

My arm drifts out to the side so that I can brush the cheek of the boy who shares my bed. He's still deep asleep, but makes a little grunt as my nail traces the underside of his jaw. I turn to fully observe him.

There's not been much time for observation. I only made advances yesterday, after all. And he's an excitable young boy, and not prone to introspection. I...well, I suppose I differ, there.

My fingers drift up and down along his jaw, then start to comb through the dark brown curls springing from the top of his head. Fun to play with. Not as fun to pull as I'd hoped. But then...

...Well, I suppose it's rather impolite to say so, but he's not as fun as I'd hoped. Perhaps because he was a virgin? It's so hard to tell. I was as well, after all. (Well, to some extent. Daddy wouldn't like to know that the nymphs and dryads in his gardens were just as amicable towards the Princess as they were towards the King. But none of them had that...well, maleness. Except for the mushroom dryads. They kind of had to.)

Nothing's as fun as I'd hoped. I'm still sleeping in the same old cage, just as the birds outside are. Most animals in the Palace have been freed, but even with Faun putting the wild back into them, some won't move their nests. I wonder, though...

...I wonder if he should have put the wild back into me. I wonder if that's what's missing.

Whatever the case may be, I don't really...care for Jaxhelshon. Not that he's been anything but a gentleman, and anything but kind. He's been a bit bumbling and forgetful, but he's young, and a man. Or a boy, perhaps. Should I feel like I owe him gratitude? No, I am Royalty, and I owe nothing to anyone in my Kingdom who is not a citizen. That much Father taught me, and I take it to heart. Jaxhelshon has his own Kingdom. And though I will keep treaty with his Kingdom if I rule Aurocale in my Father's stead, that does not imply that it brings with it my favor.

Am I already thinking of ruling this place? Well, it must be done. While emotions stir slow in my heart if ever they stir at all, I must admit that the Armed's attempt at a coup has angered me. They may call it maintaining peace if they like - it still doesn't change that they are putting someone outside of the royal line on the throne. No one asked them to.

Yes, this might be anger. I could call it that emotion. It's firmer and colder than what I felt when Iaen mocked me in the form of my Father. I've never really had a chance to attempt more emotions than those necessary to be Daddy's perfect, demure, blushing little doll of a daughter. And in a way...

...Well, I just don't know why I'm so cold. But I don't have the time to just lie here thinking about it. I wake the boy beside me. He'll prove useful today, after our morning fun.

After that, I've other things to do.

* * *
Camden
* * *

I'm not sure if you could call what I had last night sleep. I did work a nap in, just to eliminate the possibility that I might again contract the sort of hair-trigger paranoia that lost Jhe Blackirons a foot that one time. Since then it's been agreed that I do need to obtain some form of rest each night, for the sake of peace.

I'm pretty sure I spent that hour or so of rest mentally flicking through the paperwork that I'm looking over now. Orders have come back from Radia, you see. They were quick about it, thank goodness. I was getting nervous, but as the Judge is leading these operations personally, there's not much bureaucracy to wait on.

I'm to return to Radia.

I put the papers down and push my glasses up the bridge of my nose. This is a...development. It isn't that I wasn't looking forward to returning with Cade in tow. It's just that...

Well, there are two things.

First there is the time that these orders were written and sent to me. Technically, they are from later today. That means that when these orders were made, someone found it necessary to muck about with time to make sure they were carried out even faster than is usually possible - as in, before the orders were actually made. It's always a headache when someone messes with time in this way, and since the Judge usually gets the biggest headache of them all from it, it must be for a very important reason. There's some reason that I, and some of those under my command or Armed protection, absolutely should not be here in the next few hours. That's upsetting - it's more than a premonition, but a guarantee that something bad will happen in this Palace today.

The second thing is the reason my presence is requested in Radia. If it were for sanction due to negligence or some other error I've made in the course of carrying out my duties, that would be one thing. I wouldn't make any complaint. If I'm found in error, then I must be disciplined. No, this isn't sanction. I'm being called back to fill a role that has just become necessary again.

When not training Armed or doing a number of other duties, I train, direct, and command armies. That is the role of the Peacekeeper. If I am needed in Radia for such a thing...

Well, war would not be unexpected now, would it? But as ready as I am for it, and as skilled as I am in the fighting of it, it makes me nervous as all Hell. A war with Audiva Rocale would imply the Treaty is done with.

Nobody wants to imagine those two great Empires going to war again. That time was long ago, but the wounds are still healing. Even the scars in the land are still there. Not to mention the scars in the people's consciousness...

I don't want a war with Sul, but my hopes that I'm merely being called back for precautionary measures feel in vain. I sigh, then look through the papers again to make sure I've missed nothing. No, everything is in order. These people are to return to Radia. Myself, my trainees, Jhe Gerude, Jhe Cruxradia. A few more wounded besides Gerude as well - the rest of my men will remain here. And...the King's daughter that Jaxhelshon took up with. It seems proper that she visit her Father, given that it might be his last days in this world. There is also simply too much danger for her to stay here any longer.

Well, I imagine that issuing out those commands will be a fine and peaceful experience and involve no kicking, screaming, or even hairpulling.

It's difficult to write lies when you're a Poet, even when they're meant as sarcasm.

Ah, and then there's the matter of my replacement to direct operations here.

Jhe Julia Wysthaven.

Well, the less said about her, the better for me.

* * *

I had said that I thought the transition would go smoothly. While that was said in outright jest, I did, at the time, think that it would go over slightly better than it is currently.

"You are not taking me away from my country." Jhe Rocsui crosses her arms over her substantial bosom and narrows her eyes at me, the jewels lining her brow and cheeks twinkling in a strange counterpoint to the disdainful glare. Behind her, Jhe Jaxhelshon shifts uneasily, as he always seems to do by default. How cute. He's considering being useful for once.

I cock my head. "Oh? And just what is there for you here? It's a mess, Jhe Xaillyndesse, a mess that needs cleaning up. Forgive me for putting the concept forth so abruptly, but your life is in danger if you continue to occupy the Palace at this time."

She glares at me further, actual emotion beginning to peek around the corners of her eyes. "Oh? And whose fault is that, Peacekeeper Briarseal? Perhaps I should travel to Radia, then, and take up such matters of incompetence and intrusion with Jhe o'Radia. He, perhaps, will listen to reason."

My face does not shift one bit past the realms of diplomatic calm. "That is fine, if you wish to do so. The avenue is not only open to you as an envoy of Audiva Rocale, but I can forward the paperwork to expedite your request and move you to the top of Jhe o'Radia's agenda." Oh dear. I've mis-stepped with my words, by the lift of her eyebrows. I should have phrased that last bit much differently, or not said it at all.

"Oh?" She pops her fan open, propping it just under her chin. "Why would I not be on the top to begin with, Jhe Peacekeeper?" Her words fall cold and heavy, the very stones that seal tombs.

There's no way I can dig myself out of this, but I make a valiant attempt. "Beg my pardon, Jhe Rocsui. I meant to say-"

"That Father will be absolutely delighted to make your accquaintance." Jaxhelshon takes the Princess's hand before she can mince me with her glare, then meets her eyes. "I'm sure there'll be no problems at all. And you did say that you would love to see my homeland, Roxie." He smiles then, that goofy-arsed smile that he shoots at all the ladies. She doesn't melt, but it certainly knocks her balance off. Hell, I'd be off my kilter if that boy gave me sweetheart-eyes. I wonder if she'll follow up the momentary balance loss with a prompt evisceration, as Geillg'a and I would in such a situation.

She seems at a loss for a reply, and Geillg'a and I are robbed of the opportunity to witness possible bloodshed. "I...of course."

I take a closer look at her, while her focus is off of me. Geillg'a's attention draws upon the girl as well. There's something odd...does Jax notice? Or is he thinking entirely with his cock?

"Great! Then it's a date." His eyes sparkle, and he layers on yet more charm through his grin.

"I...I suppose." Rocsui turns, flustered. She's projecting worry as much as she'd previously dripped condescension. Now she does have our attention, and Jax's, but it's a pity mine is lost quite fast as another concern decides to air itself.

A shadow brushes by so fast, and by so narrow a breadth, that she almost hits me. To others, it would look as if a sudden gust blew through the room, perhaps causing a blur in their peripheral vision. I've grown accustomed enough to our shadow agents that I see her, though. Besides, she whispers a message to me through our Arms.

Go home. I'll secure things here.

Ah. Jhe Wysthaven. Earlier than I had expected, optimism be damned. It would be time to get my things, then.

I don't wish to speak with her right now. Truth be told, there's a rather large mess in the Palace for which she will most likely blame me when she gets the idea to. Therefore, I let Jaxhelshon handle the Princess (though I regret phrasing it in quite that way) and see to making my withdrawal as promptly as possible.

Had I not done so, I wouldn't have missed the next guest to arrive, and then Julia would have seen me dead before Geillg'a could so much as be drawn. Thus, there's much to be said about the life-preserving powers of discreet troop withdrawals.

* * *
Jaxhelshon
* * *

I'm so excited. I finally get to go home and see Daddy and I'm practically a hero considering I got a girl here and everything and didn't get killed. Overall things are looking up here for good ol' Jaxie.

Roxie's a little quiet, still, but she's probably just thinking about packing. Or heck, maybe she'll miss the place a bit. We head off together to her room as she maintains her silence. "You alright, there, Roxie?"

She jumps, then slowly starts tinting towards green. I lend her my arm before she wobbles off-course towards the floor. Oh man, I wish I could take that back. She might...puke on me or something.

We arrive at her door in thankfully vomit-free condition. She steadies herself, takes in a deep breath, then grasps the doorknob. "I just need a little bit of time alone. That is all." Another breath. "I...I thank you for your kind hospitality, and your offer, Jhe Jaxhelshon."

I blink. Wait, what's she going on about, now? Is this sort of like when girls go off together to the bathroom? Except she doesn't have any other girls with her. "I uh..."

She levels her gaze at me, and I lose myself in those green irises. Something in the back of my mind murmurs about the Peacock King and his hypnotism, and I startle back into awareness. "I...have not left the Palace in quite some time, Jax." Her fingers perch up under my chin, and suddenly I'm meeting her soft lips with my own.

She breaks away.

"I just need a little time to adjust, and ready myself. Wait for me." And she slips inside as quick and quiet as a gust of wind, while I'm left out here waiting.

Girls. Strange.

* * *
Rocsui
* * *

I don't want to see my Father again.

I pack my hairbrushes and makeup compacts and little perfume imps into a carry-case, then close it with a snap.

I want to stay here. Father isn't here, for once.

I feel him like a hand barely brushing the back of my neck. He's there, still, in Radia's Court, locked up. Not dead and buried yet. He's still out there, and damnit I'm afraid of him, but my tongue can't so much as spit that at anyone.

I look around at the potted plants in my suite, at the windowbox and the patio and all the greenery there. They'll wilt, die, decay. No one here will take care of them. Audiva Rocale is all but a metaphor away from suffering the same fate, with no one left behind to tend her. I cup a leaf in my hand, relishing in the cool green feel of it, smiling at the warmth my heart feels as its dryad purrs to me.

But I couldn't tell them now.

The Peacekeeper noticed, I think, though Jaxie's more concerned about his cock and how tight a grip I've got on his rocks at every passing moment. Fair enough, but I've got grown-up matters to attend to, now that Father's fallen.

Damnit, I should be here now, when the power's finally passed on! When freedom is right on the tip of my tongue! Why can't I just tell them 'no' when I can taste the word in my mouth?

I slam my suitcase shut. It's packed with dresses and feminine concerns such as all-too-frilly underwear. Do you know? It was so much easier when I could just run naked with the nymphs.

I don't want to go out. Why am I going out? Why am I going back to him?

I sigh, the curse I want to spit out unable to even make it out of my mouth, and I let in my fool of a boy toy. He's good for certain things, and this luggage is cumbersome.

* * *
Gerude
* * *

I adjust my goggles.

They're pretty cool. One of the shadows found 'em in the labs and passed 'em on to me. I checked the things over as best as I could with my one good eye, and they're pretty clean and functional. Best of all they look pretty dapper compared to, say, an eyepatch.

I figure, best put my best face forward. Said face being, in this case, one where you can't see my eyes.

Socket's pretty gory. I won't fib or play it down - that damn bird punctured my eye. My uh, former eye. Look, don't be freaked out, I might be able to get it fixed in Radia.

If Dad doesn't glare me into the floor for losing it in the first place. Sheez. Not looking forward to that.

Look, it kind of makes me a laughing-stock already, losing an eye when I'm Armed, given that Armed are kind of defined for, you know, their Aim. Shootin' without missin'. Part of that means that you get the Judge's eyes for that Aiming. So, I just lost one of 'em, is the simplest way of putting it. I get to go to the Armed Hall and give Daddy a good story about how I lost one of his eyes, and that's less embarassing than losing, say, an Arm, but only marginally so.

But hey. These goggles? Pretty sporty. I think I cut a dapper figure in front of the ladies, or at least I will as soon as they stop snickering.

* * *

RADIA

* * *
'Sy
* * *

I've just about finished puzzling through this mess of reports and field journals when I hear the shifting of heavy fabric and a murmured, very polite request for Katherine to stop hovering so much. "I'm perfectly fine, dear. Just another of my episodes. Hardly anything worth mentioning." That's when he looks up and notices that I'm watching him. Oh no! Caught fibbing by a grownup! I've seen the same facial expression on my five-year-olds. "Ah, not that I am anything less than grateful for the assistance. If someone could but summon Jhe Stevane, I think she'll make for fine assistance back to my quarters."

I raise an eyebrow at him as I step forward. "Stevane has gone off on a shopping expedition with my son Lyric."

His eyebrows shoot up, and then there's this pause where he cocks his head and listens to something it seems only he can hear. "...Ah. Yes, I see that. They're going to have an interesting journey, you know."

"Of course," I nod. "Much more interesting than your uneventual retirement to your quarters for some much-needed rest." I swear. That pout he gives me. I just want to slap him across the face. ...Hm. That's more something to do in private, when there's less clothing between us. "For lack of Stevane, I suppose another Akribastes would do just as well for you? Katherine can even accompany me."

"But--" He lets out a heavy sigh. Amazing. He realized that arguing with me is futile. He must be even more tired than I thought. "...Well, I suppose." He tilts his chin up. "If you insist."

Katherine has been very quiet through all of this. Just I'm about to ask her something, she looks up sharply. Right as she does so, I feel a ripple across the back of my mind. Incoming. Someone else has hopped over from Audiva Rocale.

I blink. "Jhe Briarseal?" Of course there can be no mistake, but if there was any doubt as to who had just arrived, Katherine's scowl says everything I need to know.

She and the Peacekeeper always did coexist on special terms with one another.

I notice, then, that Elete is studying my face far too closely, and there's just too much of a twinkle in his eyes for my own comfort. "...You did this." He jumps, then tries to school his face into shock, as if he could even lie to me.

"Why, Jhe h'Akribastes, I believe it is by your request that later in the afternoon I will send the orders promptly enough that Jhe Briarseal and company will arrive this early in the day." He does have the sense to look sheepish under my glare. I hear a sigh behind me. Jheida. I turn and face my brother.

Luciprochoros tugs me by the elbow until I'm out of earshot, then leans over to whisper to me. "It would be best to keep Gerald occupied. He's been feeling a bit useless, I think. And, well...you really ought to talk to him, once you've handled the mess. Until then, he's one of the ones that might benefit from some prolonged exposure to Elete." I raise an eyebrow at him. There's something my brother is hiding. "Ah. Yes. Your son Lyric? Perhaps he should be pointed towards the Poet Hall soon? Nothing keeps Elete busy like a new trainee. Consider the benefits of a new student, even - he'll stay out of the most dangerous foolishness with someone who's just initiated." My brother looks so proud of himself. I...mull it over.

It feels strange, giving over another of my children to Elete, especially when he's ill like this. Or...perhaps I'm simply being protective of the boy. And then there's Gerald. He's been acting all funny lately - keeping watch on Elete will certainly keep him out of harm's way.

Brother grins.

"...It seems we have yet to be at a loss for an Akribastes to attend you, Jhe h'Logos. Such lucky days for you lately. Gerald, would you be so kind as to show the Poet King to his suites and ensure he's properly rested? Stevane and Lyric will be steered your way when they're through gutting the clothiers's racks." Gerald gives me a curt nod, his eyes showing he understands what I need and will carry it out immediately. My. He seems worse now than he was before. Perhaps he could benefit from Elete's presence. As much as the Poet King likes to wear himself out, he tends to lend peace to those around him.

With that, I've a new mess to attend to in my office, and undoubtedly a crankier Katherine to handle during it all, as if having to fix a broken Elete wasn't causing that already.

* * *
Lyric
* * *

"Brother? Hun? If you don't stop cringing, your posture's going to suffer for it."

I try to stop ducking from people's glances. It's an automatic reaction. I'm very nervous about being looked at right now, which is totally not the norm, but...well...

I really, really don't want anyone to recognize me from the Trial. Or worse, from ten years ago. I'm still getting used to being back in Radia and reuniting with old 'friends' isn't really my cup of tea right now. The really bad thing is I think a few people do recognize me, because there's the occasional sneer at me. Word spreads fast, I guess.

"And if you don't ease up, your shoulders are gonna freeze up, and the cut of your clothing will be all wrong when we get it."

I nod. Stevane is right. I need to loosen up. Hey, at least I'm not traipsing around in Aurocan servant robes anymore. She leant me some clothes. This skirt is just darling.

Hey, the looks aren't because of that. I look fabulous in this outfit. I rock the crossdressing scene. If anything they must be looking at me because I am just so fabulous. And with that, I set my shoulders straight, hold my head up high, and relish the attention.

"Yeah, so, I guess it's good you like, wax your legs? Since you couldn't just settle for a pair of trousers." My sister sounds a little grumpy, now that I take time to pay attention to that sort of thing. Whyever might that be?

"How could I wear trousers when you had this cute little skirt?" I do a twirl in it. Okay, that's that - definitely a few looks in my direction from that little move. I've been paranoid when it turns out people are just that impressed with my taste in fashion!

Stevane sighs. "I hadn't even worn it yet. Now everyone's going to think I borrowed it from you!"

I grin. "Well, if that's the case, it would be best if you just gave it to me outright." Ooh, what a glare! I remind myself that she usually looks like that right before flames start sprouting from people's eyebrows. "Look, why don't we find something cute for you today, too, and I'll just buy it with the money I got? Since I'll have this skirt it pretty much comes out even." I think I've got her, now. "I'll get you some barrettes to match!"

"Well, oka--" And then she jumps me, right in the middle of the street. I squawk a protest and flail, but neither saves me from hitting the cobblestones. Shit, now I'm all dirty, and I've got Stevane straddled on top of me, holding up a large hunting knife--

Hey, where'd she get that? And why's there a smoking hole in the wall right behind where I was just standing?

"Fuck." She springs to a hunched-over standing position, still curled over me in an odd manner, like she's blocking something. She tugs me up from the crook of my elbow. "Stay down. We've got to get you out of here."

"I've got you two covered, sis." I don't even see Lute, but he's somewhere in the shadows. "Over here. Keep shielding. You're doing just fine."

I realize with a start that the knife my sister has pulled out of nowhere isn't...normal. Is it...I cock my head. I almost hear the whisper of its voice...

"Go on, you dolt!" She hisses into my ear, shoving me towards the alley, into the shadows. "Don't you have a lick of sense? You almost got assassinated just now! Fucking boys."

There's a chuckle in the darkness, and then the shadows fold around me like a pair of arms. "Now now, sister. Don't hold one idiot against us all. A coupla' us have the sense to leave a crime scene while it's still hot." She ducks in beside me, and fool me, I'm still staring at her...Arm? Or is it a regular knife? Did Stevane go Armed? She sure didn't mention it! Then Lute draws up the shadows around her too, and we all three wink out of there, as if we'd never been there in the first place.

Huh. Assassinated. It's just so inconceivable to me that I can't feel shaken up about it. I just want a nice pair of shoes, and where we're going I don't think we'll get that.

* * *

Okay, I was wrong. But hey, people can be wrong sometimes. Look at the entire duration of my stay in Audiva Rocale for details.

Stevane's hugging my head when we appear in a den that's decorated with impeccable taste and with attention paid to every recent trend in fashion. I recognize it immediately as Muriel's house, which is kind of funny considering it looks completely different than when I was last here over a decade ago. You really can't miss anything having to do with Muriel, though. Trust me, he makes sure of it.

Oh yeah. Stevane's still wrapped over my head like a very large red hat. A stylish hat, I'm sure, but not really an accessory I care to keep wearing. I try to squirm away and she almost wrenches my neck off my shoulders.

"Hey, sis? You can let him go now. We're in a safehouse." Lute comes to my rescue, just like in the old days. I'm de-hatted, but not before a light buff to the noggin. I take it like a man.

"Geez, he even squeals as loud as back in the day." Stevane sounds pretty miffed. Man, what did I do? "You almost got yourself killed! If Lute hadn't been there for our getaway, how much longer do you think we would have lasted? And stop thinking so loud!"

"I don't know, Stevane. You were handling it pretty well on your own. I think you two would have been just fine." Lute sounds perfectly calm, even a little proud, as he pats our sister on the head. She just glares up at him, and he beams down at her in reply. "I think you're letting this get to you too much. You knew it was going to happen, same as I did, right?" She gives a begrudging nod.

"Hey..." I raise a protest, "just how come both of you knew someone was going to take a shot at me? And just why did someone want to kill me? And...hey, Lute, how'd you manage to show up so quick?"

Stevane rolls her eyes and snorts. "You didn't even notice him following us as we left, did you?" She sighs and pinches her brow, the motion so characteristically like my Father that I double-take. "...Just how did you make it back to Radia alive in the first place?"

I scowl at her. I really don't have a good retort, though. I've asked the same question in my mind.

"Boys, boys. Such a ruckus! And you haven't even told your Auntie Muriel hello! Such manners they're teaching the kids these days." Muriel pouts as he poses in the doorway. I double-take. Your first look at Muriel always requires a double-take. There's only so much fashion and fabulousness that one person can gaze upon and actually take in, and Muriel has at least twice that much. I'm not sure if anybody can even measure it. And describing it...

I've heard Muriel's broken a few Poets just by requesting a short description of his more casual outfits, so I'm just going to try to sum this up real quick. He's not the parade float that the Peacock King is, but that's because Muriel doesn't need to show off to that degree. He could dress in anything, in fact, and make it look like that season's top fashion. It's the way he carries himself...heck, more than that, things seem to sparkle when he's around them. He's got blonde hair so light that it's near-white, cut short to frame his refined features. His eyes are a blue that's a little lighter than mine, and a little...dreamier. He looks a lot like Lute and I, actually, and the resemblance was even stronger when the two of us were younger and more twin-like.

Muriel's a lot older than us, though, even though he's another of Father's kids. He's from an earlier generation. My Father's pretty old, and we tend to be long-lived, coming from his bloodline. I guess I don't think about it much...it's kind of weird to really think too hard about. Maybe I just don't want to. But that's why we call him Auntie even though he's technically our brother. He just...sort of acts like an aunt anyway. And um...well, nobody can think of him as an uncle, I guess.

Anyway, I heard after Muriel was born, Father dressed really stark for a period of time afterwards, just to recover from passing on so much fabulousness to Muriel. That's the legend, anyway. Looking at Muriel now, I can kind of believe it. He's wearing an embroidered jacket and pants that are crisply pressed, with a half-cape riding his shoulders. There's matching white shoes and a handbag to match, and of course earrings and makeup. If I go on any further about him, I'll be writing all night, so that'll just have to do. Besides, I can't really observe too much more about him since the next thing he does is asphyxiate me with affection.

"Lyric!! I'm so glad you're in town again! I think about you every time I go out shopping and I find shoes in your size, you know! Oh look at you you've grown so...not at all! Oh goody I've bought you a couple things here and there that were cute I couldn't pass them up and it's all a bit out of season but I'm sure you'll know how to make that work, yes? So come over here and I'll get you a cup of tea and you can tell Auntie Muriel all about your travels. I hear Sul has the most esquisitely patterned fabrics, did you bring anything back from your trip? Oh, and isn't that skirt so darling on you! I bought it for Stevane, you know, but you two have the same butt."

* * *
Stevane
* * *

Auntie Muriel whisks Lyric away to his wardrobe rooms, which I figure is for the better, especially when Lute lays his hands on my shoulders.

"Easy, girl."

I realize I'm cutting little crescents into my palms with my fingernails. I unclench my fists and try to relax my shoulders. Lute cranes his head down and looks over me.

"First mission accomplished, huh?" It's meant to be comforting, but...

I wilt. "Sure. Someone took a pot shot at my brother and I knocked him out of the way. No one will ever attack him again and my work is done for good."

He snorts. "You expect a lot of yourself, Stevane." His fingertip grazes my upper arm. I hiss. He holds it in front of my face. "You protected your target, but you didn't even notice you got hit? And you bully Lyric for not taking it seriously..." he tsks.

I lift my hand, hold it over my arm, and close my eyes. I can ignore the teasing. Well, at least from Lute. For some reason nothing ever seems particularly malicious when he says it to me. It's just everybody else that raises my ire, even Jhe h'Lete sometimes.

"So, what can you tell from the wound?" His voice is soft, though I doubt Muriel and Lyric will overhear us while they have clothes to distract him.

"It was fired by a woman. Arrowshot. No, dart. Self-destructed on impact, explains the crater in the wall. Would have made a pretty big hole in Lyric--"

"Easy. Focus on the facts. You're emotional enough to kill him yourself, and that won't do no one no good."

"Leaves no trace, if it hits. Pretty easy to feel out by accidental contact, though. My Arms--well, I'm hearing some things from the girls, such as they are."

"You're an overcooked egg. You really should see about going in and getting that taken care of, you know. It doesn't take long, never did for any of us, won't for you." He squeezes my shoulder. "And we've been waitin', ya know."

I try not to feel down about it. "...Maybe when everything calms down. For now...she's a young one, freelance assassin, kind of inexperienced though alert enough. Didn't realize anybody was watching, but then, she should have known better. It's the effin' capital. Got paid a quarter of the hit's worth already, so she loses a lot if she doesn't finish it, but she's not on a good enough contract to keep her really loyal. She might move on. Doesn't know who hired her." I swallow. "Things are moving too fast for there to already be an assassin, Lute."

He narrows his eyes. "Yeah, you'd think that, but I've seen...well, after long enough in my division, Stevane, you're a little less surprised by that sort of thing." He shrugs. "Anything else, sis?"

I close my eyes again, and I hear half a voice (that ought to be Arms, if I'd ever get my act together) tell me I shouldn't need to do that to focus, and I ought to have both of 'em open especially at a time like this. I open my eyes and try to do it right. "She did sloppy work. I could track her from this."

He pats my shoulder. "If you can, others can from your blood. Stay here, kay? I'm gonna see what we can do, and check in with Dad. You're both safe here. Well, you kinda ensure that. But Aunt Muriel's place...well, no one will look for him here. It's the best safehouse right now. Too much stuff is happening near the Palace for my liking-oof!"

I give my brother a hug while I have a chance. He has a habit of disappearing before I can say a proper goodbye to him. He grins, ruffles my hair, and then he's gone.

I sigh. I can still hear the girls halfway, in the back of my mind, and holding off from going to the Armed Hall right now and finishing things up just makes me ache. For now, I bind up my arm before joining my brothers and focusing on fashion. From here, that's not a very difficult task.

* * *
'Sy
* * *

It's not often that I enter my office to find that someone is inspecting my crockery with such intense scrutiny. At least, someone who isn't Jhe h'Logos. The slender blonde looks up at me with an arched eyebrow that implies I am intruding on her. I raise an eyebrow myself, recognizing the features of Ebrellin-i's daughter. While I've no explanation for her presence in my office just yet, I decide that the proper thing to do is bow as I would in Court.

Her dour composure splits into a grin, and she curtseys in return. "My word, it does please me that someone from this realm observes proper decorum. Rocsui Xaillyndesse d'Audiva Rocale, if you please." She extends her hand in greeting. I take it in turn, bow over it enough to be polite, and release it.

"Jhe Tesynnodai h'Akribastes l'Radia, if it please you." I give her a grin that sends a light blush into her cheeks. Just then I hear a not-so-polite cough over my shoulder, and feel a glower that can only be Katherine's. She did follow me in, after all.

So familiar. Would you like to invite her to a sleep-over while you two are at it?

I school my expression so as not to give away that my mind is anywhere else but on my guest. I would think that's more your sort of thing, given that she's your sister. Please calm down. I'm only trying to be polite.

An inaudible snort makes itself heard between my ears. Can't we just throw her into one of the cells? That seems to be the standard royal treatment these days.

Katherine. She quiets after that, at least between my ears, and then moves from behind me and makes herself known to the room at large. Rocsui's eyes narrow. I can feel hate boil up from Katherine. It's like a brewing storm, with nothing in sight to defuse it--

"Oh! My apologies, Princess, but the tea room's a bit of a wreck for some reason, surely temporary, I--Jhe h'Akribastes." My brother's youngest son bows very quickly and neatly for someone carrying a tea service, and also someone so suddenly afraid of me. ...Well, that's not too much different from his childhood. Jaxhelshon always did have a strange knack for self-preservation. A shame it conflicts with his natural predilections towards trouble and stupidity. "I'm very sorry, sir," Jax says, "but I felt it was best to show Radia's hospitality until you arrived here." He's sweating bullets, a trait that would be very useful in this building if it were just a bit more literal.

Katherine looks like she's about to load her Arms with them regardless of whether they're just a turn of phrase. I can hear Gevurah stretching to shift out of her knife-sheathe and into a form more appropriate for shooting with. Katherine mentally catches her Arms and halts the change before damage even starts to get done.

Jax, to his credit, looks slightly more on edge and alert in case of a sudden attack, though I doubt he consciously knows why. That knack for self-preservation is serving him well today. I shake my head, waving him off in a gesture of dismissal that's meant on several levels. "I have read your field notes, Jhe Cruxradia. Please see your guest to the Jhe o'Radia, as I'm sure she has concerns to address that are much more within his means than mine." Perhaps this makes me appear as if I am instantly perceptive to my guest's needs, but in actuality, there's nothing my brother and I enjoy more than using each other to pass unwanted burdens along to. He's fully capable of managing this, and I really do suspect that it's best he does, but I can't deny that the other motivation for handing Luciprochoros this specific chore is the delight of just imagining him dealing with a possible daughter-in-law.

Not that such a potential union doesn't churn my stomach a little bit.

Jhe Jaxhelshon, it seems, is also considering the implications of introducing his new friend to his father. That scared shitless expression is something that only the Cruxradias can properly pull off - as if the entire world is about to sink down and then yank itself out from underfoot.

Rocsui tugs on his elbow. "Well? Are you going to introduce me to your Father, or aren't you?" Her tone leaves no room for argument, and Jaxhelshon has never proven himself to be very resistant against the fairer sex, or even the not-as-fair sex. Soon enough, my office is empty of the couple.

Katherine opens her mouth, but before she can yet again attempt to vocally castrate me, I cut her off. "I noticed that something isn't right with your sister, so I wanted Luciprochoros to look at her as soon as possible. Considering his wards are the strongest single set in the Empire, I think he and your brother will be safe. I'd prefer she be temporarily detained there instead of near her Father, considering the circumstances. Besides that, my brother does need to attend to the matter of his potential daughter-in-law before it becomes even more likely to happen."

Katherine sighs, bites her lip, clenches her fists, and remarkably does not set herself nor the surroundings on fire. I remind myself, as I always find a reason each day to remind myself, why I block her from taking the pyromancy lessons. "Fine. Let's go see what Jhe Briarseal is doing home so friggin' early, then." With that, she turns to the exit, and I follow her. I can't deny that finding that out was part of my reason for shooing Jaxhelshon and Ebrellin-i's other daughter out of my care so quickly.

* * *
Camden
* * *

I'm a bit nervous, but that really shouldn't surprise me, given my position. In exchange for escaping one of my career rivals, I'm facing Katherine, who would be an even longer-running and fiercer rival. And then there's the Judge. Jhe h'Akribastes, who until now, has been very patient with me. Jhe h'Akribastes, who has always considered my rather unconventional approaches to training, missions, and battles with an open mind and, often enough, a forgiving nature. Jhe h'Akribastes, a warrior I respect and, as Geillg'a is quick to bite at me for, currently fear.

I don't pay any mind to the fear, though - or rather I put it all in the back of my mind and deal with more pressing matters that are right in front of me. If the Judge decides that I need to be demoted or punished for what happened in Audiva Rocale, that's fine. I do find it rather silly that I'm worried about these things now, when earlier I was dealing with everything quite calmly. Maybe it was easier to do so when I wasn't about to face that which might threaten, or worse, fire me.

Jenny clears her throat from behind me, breaking me out of my reverie. Ahh, speaking of people who have issues with the particular choices I've made during my command who happen to look like Katherine. Her frown is so deeply etched in, in fact, that I have a tiny moment of panic where I mistake her for her mother. I reach up and poke the little crease between her eyebrows, and in return she bats at my finger in a way that implies she'd break it if she actually caught me. I love doing that to her.

"I am present, in case there is any pressing need for me here." Her words are clipped out through clenched teeth, as if she's rationing each syllable. She's standing rigidly still, her spine straight and her shoulders held in perfect posture. In that stance, she could hold at ease for hours (with a due amount of foot-shifting and pinched expressions) or draw her Arms in a flash.

It might be an odd moment to be filled with pride for her, but I am. I reply to her with a tilted smile. "While you prefer to be in the thick of things, Jhe Jennelcia--"

"Oh cut the crap and the fancy titles, Peacekeeper. I'm through training. I should be out there, not cooped up in here watching some hick who's already locked up just fine! There's nothing to do here!"

I reply by widening my smile to a full grin. "Indeed, and I will put the proper paperwork in with your Father as promptly as is possible within the current circumstances, such as they are. However, until that time comes, you remain my trainee, and I remain needed here. That I was ordered to return from the field is no judgement of your skills or growth, and certainly no punishment for anything you did out there, and you would do well to remember that, Jhe Akribastes." The room grows colder as I speak. Indeed, I'd rather her not think too much about what we've done with each other out in the field. Her Father and her Mother are both adept at picking up thoughts that others don't want them to hear.

Jennelcia replies with a glare that heats the air right back up, crosses her arms, then stomps her boot down on the flagstones in the hall. "Fine. Am I needed here?" Her head tilts at just that angle it gets to before we have our most cataclysmic confrontations.

My smile crooks maliciously. "Do you think you should act as if you've anything to hide from anyone?" I turn to the cell we're standing outside of while she mulls that over.

Her calculating looks becomes more, well, calculating. The question of what to do with Jhe Fayegeaux does have the ability to get ones mind off of nagging issues. With him here to deal with, the likelihood that the Judge will pay Jenny and I's interactions much mind is drastically lowered. I will pay Cade that compliment, then - he's been convenient for a number of parties.

That just may be his only redeeming feature.

He hasn't been accorded the same accommodations as Jhe o'Audiva Rocale, of course, but what he has will likely serve just as well as the quarters Ebrellin-i assigned him. He'll have less to do here, of course, but we might need him to make use of a writing desk, and there's no reason to short him a bed. There is the desire for vengeance, and then there is common decency.

...Well, disregarding all that, if I wanted to take his deeds out on him then Geillg'a and I would simply haul him out and invite more of his blood to taste the air.

He's passed out on the bed, sprawled out on his back, that mangled nose of his lending a disgusting timbre to his snores. Chains lead from the manacles and collar to the bed. Jenny and I both enjoyed a smirk over how similar the arrangement was to how Gerald had been jailed by Cade.

My hand twitches, and I look down at the diary I'm holding in it. I'm still reeling over the fact that he kept one at all. Reading it was...

Well, let's just say that I closed it quickly enough after I opened it, and leave it at that.

The clacking of hobnails against the stairs alerts us to the Judge's approach, though I can't deny the sense of impending doom was a small clue. Katherine precedes him. She gives barely a look to Jenny, and after the cursory limbs-all-on-and-no-funny-business parental check her glare skirts over me before diverting itself to look into the cell. "Well," she says, "at least you brought something to make up for the diversion."

I'm about to protest when the Judge's hand comes down on my shoulder. "Jhe h'Logos," he says, "is being particularly reckless with his timing lately, so please excuse the rush. It may not have been necessary." He looks over into the cell and raises a single eyebrow. "Or do I speak in error? Is that...person even alive?"

"He's only out a nose."

"I'm surprised he's not been flayed." Katherine says it with a grin.

"Yes, well. If we hadn't patched him up after the flaying, he'd never have been able to talk enough to make it worth my trouble." I look up at the Judge. He looks down at me, waiting for an explanation. Good. Nobody is thinking of Jenny.

That's just how we like it.

"Jhe Cade Fayegeaux has agreed to tell us whatever we ask in exchange for his safe-keeping." I smirk. "If my observations are accurate, we seem to have enough leverage to permanently threaten his good standing with the Jherent Nul." I hold up the diary. It's an old thing, the leather green and cracked at the edges, the pages molded and brown. The writing on the cover is illegible with the fading and blurring that comes from age. I've got my hunches as to just how old it is. Older than myself, most definitely, but not my clan. It may have been young when my clan was young, perhaps. I'm sure it'll tell its share of stories about parts of the Dhealg'seala history I've always wondered about. Parts from the other side, from those who attacked it over generations. Only a hunch. But with Elricht gone...well, it's certainly something I've been dwelling on, when I can. "His diary. He's begged me not to pass it on to his employer."

Katherine turns to look at Cade and study his face. Her eyes narrow. We all get the message - he's not asleep anymore, but he'd certainly love us to think that he is.

"How intruiging," the Judge intones, plucking the book from my hand. "Certainly it's very...literate of him." He doesn't open the book. "Have you read anything in it?"

I glance back over at Cade. "...Enough to wonder just how interesting the entire work will be as a read. I felt pressed to close it before I got too far along into his misadventures." I click my tongue. "Should we go on and tell him that we can tell he's spying on us right now, then?"

Cade's eyes pop open, a bit of a grin playing across his cheek. It's like watching a doll come to life. "It would have been rude to interrupt your palaver."

I snort. The Judge cocks his head and looks over the prisoner. "Well, now that you're awake, you're free to join in." Just what is it, Jhe Briarseal, that you agreed to extend on Radia's behalf in exchange for his tongue to flap?

In particular, I told him he was buying your favor, as if it could really be sold. He expects nothing but to be kept here behind our wards, and has been promised nothing more than that arrest. Curiously, that was enough for him, and he did not barter for more.

His eyebrow lifts. Interesting.

"Oh, please, don't mind me, I'd hate to be a bother to ye." Cade attempts to wave the Judge away, the attempt so half-hearted that I wonder if he's simply bored.

"Oh no, I insist." Jhe h'Akribastes's smile quirks up into his cheek in a wicked little hook. "Do not let me stop you from talking, by all means. It has been so long since we've been able to have a pleasant conversation." The Judge's nature is growing more malicious by the second, his tone as calm as ever. Cade shivers for just a moment.

"Ah. Well. There's just so much to talk about that nothing at all comes to mind, Sire." It's interesting hearing him be so polite - like watching a dog very carefully arrange a tea setting.

The Judge nudges me forward. "Well, then, I suppose it wouldn't be too much trouble at all for the Peacekeeper to think of a few prompts to help you focus your thoughts." He leans down to whisper into my ear, "If you could please hand me your summons, Peacekeeper? I would like to have an idea of when it is I shall end up sending them back to you today."

I produce the official scroll rather quickly. Not but a few hours hence, by my mark. Did Jhe h'Logos truly arrange it all for his convenience? Ye summoned me as Peacekeeper, with the implication that the title would be put to full use sooner rather than later.

The Judge pauses as he reads over the scroll. I imagine he was attempting to leave me here with Cade and attend to other matters. His day must be quite full. His lips press into a thin line as he takes in the letter's contents. Amusing that the directive is as much to me as it is to you, isn't it? Jhe h'Logos seems to think that mucking about with time like this makes things simpler, but I feel it often evens out to quite the opposite. In any case, perhaps it would be best if we retired to my offices and discussed this in depth, as much as I am sure we would all love to hear this canary's song.

I repress a shudder. I've heard the horror tales told of Jhe Fayegeaux's vocal contortions. Perhaps so. Allow me to dismiss my trainee, then. Also, your other Gerald has a pressing matter in need of your attention.

The Judge gets a mental flash of Gerude's face. ...Again? I swear that boy's gone through more eyes than Lute's Arms have. He tisks, then looks up to Cade. "My pardon, it seems that we'll have to exchange pleasantries later. I'm sure you'll find a way to pass the time until our return. Perhaps consider just how many things you really feel that you must tell me before we consider a more permanent means of keeping you out of Nul." A flash of teeth punctuates the trailing threat, and Cade turns as pale as a Xaillyndesse. Well, a particularly unwashed one. He's left to think on talking points as we leave for upstairs.

* * *
Gerald
* * *

Jhe h'Logos is someone who I've always respected, and who my Father has always respected (though at more of a downwards angle). I've always considered him a higher power, like my Father is. So it's weird to see him walk just a little slumped, and it's weird to see him look pale enough to be transparent, and it's weird to see hollows under his cheekbones and bags under his eyes. The Poet King can have a quiet nature at most times, but he's also energetic, charged, and quick. He has to be, to keep up with all of his Poets. At some point, he leans against me just slightly, and I'm almost floored. Or rather, I'm not floored at all - he's so light!

He smiles in that undefeatable but still-a-little-bruised manner. "Is my condition so shocking that you're stunned into silence, Jhe Gerude?"

I trip from the misnomer. "Jhe h'Logos, I--" His eyes are twinkling. I just stare at him with my mouth hanging open.

"You'll draw flies, Jhe Akribastes," he says as he glides smoothly ahead. "Such a ghastly health hazard. And some people refer to my august self as sickly." I dart to keep up with the King that I've been assigned to keep an eye on, just as it flits through my mind that this was usually Stevane's task. I recall just how exasperated she was about it, and how quick Stevane is on her feet. Much quicker than me, in fact, when it comes to the reflexes. Then I curse myself for having landed this job. Jhe h'Logos just smiles back at me as I do so, eyes still twinkling. I catch up to him, suppressing a glower. He chuckles.

I let out a heavy sigh. I wonder if this is how my Dad feels, in those frequent times when he complains of just how much trouble the Poet King can be to manage.

Jhe h'Logos's smile quirks up. "Yes, actually. His eyebrows pinch together just like that." He tilts his head. "Please don't think I'm being purposefully difficult for you, Jhe Gerald. You are a delight as a student and trainee-- and, yes, a full Poet, as you have graduated into just recently. I should hate to cause you discomfort."

I suppress an eyebrow-raise. Those words were carefully measured and weighed without actually committing themselves to what they merely implied. Also, I know from watching this morning's breakfast routine that the Poet King enjoys getting a rise out of my sister. Something tells me that the fun doesn't stop once there's a different Akribastes involved. Father would certainly say that it doesn't.

"Yes, well," I compose myself. "I just want to make sure that you're properly settled in for a rest."

"As your Father instructed, yes." He tilts his head ever-so-slightly at me, a strange expression on his face, like a tiny smile. I recognize it from somewhere. I've seen many Poets with that expression, now that I think about it. I just can't place it, though... "Jhe Gerald. Tell me, have you had a chance to look around much in the Poet Hall of late? I don't believe you've been through it since your return, have you?"

I narrow my eyes in suspicion. "No..."

"Ah!" He beams, then catches me by the elbow. "Then come along. I've something to show you before I retire for the evening."

I should feel bad for being waylaid so easily by him, I really should, but hey, I'm a Poet. That look? That's the look we all get when we're getting what is, by Poet systems of measurement at least, a tremendously good idea. The rest of the world at large often differs vastly in opinion.

"...Aside from that, Jhe Gerude, we really should see to your injuries. Your face is so mauled that I keep mistaking you for your brother Gerald."

I facepalm, which is a mistake, as it only makes my swollen eye hurt even more. Is there still a porcelain shard or two in my cheek? I've managed to forget all about that, I've been so busy and too stupid to think about my own condition. Oh man, nobody even mentioned it, did they? I bet they thought it was funny. "Right, my King."

"Oh, don't go on like that, Gerude, you don't have to call me King if you're not a Poet yet." He's all too cheerful about playing this game.

I just sigh heavily. "Gerald, sire." What a long day, and now I'm babysitting the most restless busybody in all of the Empire.

"That would be your Uncle the Emperor, Jhe Gerald. And you have to admit, at least I didn't mistake you for Stevane."

What did I do to deserve this?

* * *

AUDIVA ROCALE

* * *
Julia
* * *

I nudge a piece of broken pottery aside with the toe of my boot. Hm. Rather nice, from an early Lyiannethe dynasty. Such a shame it had to go this way. No real tragedy to me, though - the only reason I'm such a pottery expert is from the amount of estate treasures that have been broken in the course of my duties.

I'm called in when there's nowhere else to go with a situation, when everyone else's skills and options have been exhausted. It's nice to be called in right at the beginning of an incident - but rare. Makes me wonder just what that Poet King thinks is gonna go down here. Not that he could tell us, though. Poets are good for fair warning, which is why I'll still stand to take one or two along with me on a mission, even after seeing what a mess they can make of things. But when it comes to specifics...they can be fucking mysterious, man. Something about 'ruining the suspense', or 'making it a good story'. I've lost good men in 'good stories'. I'd be bitter, but it's my job, and it's my black, hidden world of intrigue. Grisly death is a part of that territory - sometimes, a welcome part.

We're still trying to comb through this entire complex. Something tells me we'll never see the end of it - the Peacock King's got a few dimensional rifts set up as wards, and they make for a lot of complex space to deal with. Nothing we can't crack, but it takes time and effort that might not even be worth it. There's evidence of his misdeeds here, to be sure, but like that'll really matter for anything. The Judge already split Ebrellin-i's head open and looked in himself. There's more evidence between the monarch's ears than we'll ever find in his Palace.

Not that it made his Trial very satisfying, but I don't question the Judge when it comes to his decisions. That's not my place at all. It's just my place to do all the things on behalf of Justice that he'll never admit actually happened. A fun job, to be sure, with not much glamour, a bit more quiet than the uninformed would expect, and not without some small bit of satisfaction.

Lute grins from the shadows. "Took out more of those hiding guards." I hear a blade wipe itself clean against soft fabric, and know that the only reason my ears register it is because Lute allowed the action to be audible. "They're gettin' pretty clever. I'm proud of 'em."

I nod. "Glad you're having fun." I tilt my head, listening to the shadows. "And what of the rest of your division?"

"Split up. Everything's runnin' that can run. Groups aren't a good idea. Everybody's scattered everywhere. I guess to the casual observer it seems like the whole Palace is empty. 'Cept for the audience hall. We ever gonna finish clearing that out?"

I sigh. "I have priorities. We've moved out the most important ones. I'm not going to risk the whole mission for a couple of wayward pixies. Besides, we can't even get some of them to move, even if it's for their own good. Fucking Ebrellin-i. Couldn't just play with his toys like a nice boy. He had to break them just to see the pieces scatter." My voice is just as even-tempered as it always is, even though the conversation's struck a nerve. "I'd like to know just how we're gonna ask a dragon to talk to the King's 'pets' while we're already busy mopping this infernal place dry."

"Eh, one thing after another, just like Dad would say. Hey, at least we got plenty of time, right? Anybody that knows what happened to this place is already dead. By the time word gets around to somebody who can do something about it, we'll be gone." He sounds so happy, so confident.

So much like the now-dead boys I've fought beside. I don't comment, and think back on the Judge's instructions. Clean the place up. Make it presentable. Have Iaen greet whoever shows up that's of enough importance not to kill. Don't betray what we have done, at all costs.

Be prepared to revert things to a more permanent solution if Radia cannot return Audiva Rocale's King to her soil.

I sigh, dragging my fingers through my hair. Gwen rattles politely, reminding me that we have things to do. I pat the razor-sharp length of chain hanging at my side.

"Time to start drawing things together. Perimeter fortifications first, then we gather the floorplans, and we can eat before we start drawing them all together. I want to know this place inside and out. We all will, before the night is through, or we don't sleep."

Lute's already off before the last sentence is through. He knows how that one always ends. Speeding things along, is he? Well, good. He's too lazy not to feel motivated to catch more z's.

* * *
Lute
* * *

Now's a good time to case this place, just to check for anything amiss. I always have the feeling there's something wrong that I just can't quite sense, or that somebody's hiding somethin' from me. Julia calls it healthy paranoia, befitting my job. Sometimes I think it's somethin' else. But I have too much of a job to do to be a Poet, too. Let my brother fulfill that half of our potentials. I'm certainly the only one out of us two pod-peas that's ever gonna be Armed.

So hey, we have...lots of broken stuff around the entryways. That really ain't gonna do. You know, it's our job to be the cleaning crew, but nobody ever cleans. Is it my job to mop up after everybody like this, pick up the loose ends? Cuz it feels just like home, man. Next thing you know I'll be cookin' the bacon.

Here I am, then, Mister Superspy, all decked out in black with shadows stickin' to my clothes still, and I'm weilding Arms? Nope, I've got a hand-broom and a dustpan. Hey, somebody's gotta do it. I start sweeping porcelain statue chunks out of view from the main entrances. If somebody that we can't just kill off checks in on the Palace, they're gonna notice if stuff's broken and if the rugs are all twisted up and ripped.

A soft clap, as if through leather gloves, applauds my labors. A low whistle lends itself to the fanfare. "You should really have gone into interior decorating." The tone's down-to-earth enough, considering the speaker, but it's still so haughty that I wanna punch the guy. Ahh, Aaren. The only Xaillyndesse Armed I think we'll ever have, and thank the Creator and all his really annoying servitors for that. I mean, Aaren's okay and all. He really doesn't prance around like his family does, just keeps it to the same level we all do it at. He doesn't even claim Xaillyndesse heritage, took his mother's surname, Voitre, instead. Not that changing his name got rid of all the snootiness, but hey, it was a start.

Anyway, he's pretty understated for one of them. Shaggy black hair, chin-stubble that's halfheartedly trying to arrange itself into a goatee formation, droopy blue eyes that the girls go crazy for. Can't really blame them, he's a pretty good catch. Too bad he swore he'd never go out with me again after I stabbed him in the ass with Kuroroi. It was just a poke. Shit, you'd think he'd never tried to make a pass at an Akribastes before.

I flick a shard of porcelain at his stubble-swarmed face. "Yeah, well, I figure a few throw-pillows and maybe a skylight, and this place'll be good as new. Maybe switch out for some spring fabrics and go for hardwood floors instead of all this marble tile. Give it some atmosphere, ya know?"

He raises an eyebrow at me, then goes back to his work. "Yeah, well...whatever," he grumbles. He carves a line over the threshold of the doorway he's working in, etching sigils and words of power into the wards he's building for us. Must be nice to be a Poet, sometimes. There's a lot of knowledge you can control, if you go through all that training. Guess Aaren's lucky - he did all that before he ever trained for Armed. He was a little skittish of Dad, you know, but Jhe Elete's been a good friend for Aaren, and I guess he helped convince him it was all gonna be okay, and if Dad killed Xaillyndessen on sight, we'd be minus one Poet King.

S' probably how it went down. I'm glad, anyway. It's hard to find Poets that blend with Black Ops. Poets who go Armed usually end up like...well...uh, Gerald.

You know. All "let's go to jail every three days and make a whole city explode just to prove there's something messy going on that shouldn't". I'm not saying he can't be subtle, or that Poets can't. It's just...well, Mixed are usually kind of...not-very-subtle. They can usually stay by themselves and be quiet and do their duty, but with teams...things get a little messy, you know? I guess Gerald was kinda screwed when Lyric showed up here all of a sudden. If he hadn't, well, maybe Gerald would have stayed undercover. None of us would be here, and he'd still be spying. It sounds a lot less messy, and a lot less interesting, and a lot less crazy. Therefore, a lot less like a job a Mixed would do.

What was I sayin'? Oh yeah - Aaren. Aaren's a damn subtle guy. I'm not sure how he landed the Poet schtick in the first place. But he's fucking good with words and signs, and he can always manage to be quiet, and I've never heard of any explosions happening around him that were his fault. Or that even weren't his fault in that way that they probably, through some crazy causality nonsense, actually were. He's the real deal. Always gets his job done, super-dedicated, always thinks of the team and watches our backs. Super-quiet, almost too quiet, but hey - you can't be too quiet in our division.

So yeah, that's what I'm thinking about right before the fucking doorway explodes, rubble flying inwards through the newly-formed dust.

Fuck. Isn't that always the way? Everybody's gotta make a mess after I sweep.

* * *
Xen
* * *

Cleanup is a dirty job. I'm sure you've heard that before. It goes double for myself, however - I get the dirtiest jobs, doing Jhe Thelea's personal work. I wouldn't have it any other way, though. I love it.

I toe a piece of rubble to the side. That was Ebrellin-i's front door, wasn't it? Well, it was just crawling with roaches. I nudge a hand to the side, which is in fact attached to a wrist, and that wrist leads underneath rubble.

I raise an eyebrow. Is that one of my own...why, yes. I recognize him very well. Aaren. It would be a pity if I had actually killed him. I check around, but there's no other bodies, and nothing alive in sight. Good. I'd not want any of the invading forces to see this. I push aside rubble, taking care not to get my cloak too dirty. I hate getting dust on the fine silk lining. It leaves such inelegant marks.

I pull Aaren out by the shoulders, looking over his long black-clad body. He has suffered no harm - no major harm, that is. Good. He's always served me so well.

I take him back to Thelea and I's little carriage, then, to see how much more use I can have from him. Every war must be fought with specialized tools if it is to be won.

The next bits of destruction can carry on without me for now, in any case. This is only the opening movement - I shall conduct the crescendo directly.

* * *
Lute
* * *

Bastard and a half - not just a good curse, but an adequate description of the two people I just watched leave the scene. Lucky for me I'm so good at hiding myself. I'm barely even hurt - a broken ankle won't hinder me nearly enough to make me useless in combat. Especially if even Kommissar Xaillyndesse didn't see me just now. I cloak myself in shadows once again and follow him directly, after communicating with the tiniest nudge to Julia that I am all right, I am leaving in pursuit of a suspect, and I will not communicate anything again to her until it is safe to. All de rigueur, but I prefer to be polite in my comings and goings, just as Dad taught all of us. Also, I'm fleeing from an imminent battle, and I feel very bad for that, but I know my place, and it's in staying unseen while witnessing secrets that our enemies don't want told.

So that's why I'm not there when the bloodshed starts. I still feel torn about it, but I am confident that I performed my duty adequately, as the Judge would have wanted.

* * *
Dooley
* * *

It's a bit of a privilege that we were even allowed to remain here when Jhe Wysthaven's squad took over and the Peacekeeper departed, so I'll make no complaints abut our roles, or how much danger we might be in. It is the life of the Armed to be in the way of harm, to live in danger so that others will not have to. I have no regrets at all, something I'd like stated up front.

We were considered expendable because we were Camden's regiment. No love lost there, yes. We're the first to die when Lyiannethe forces close in, flooding through the broken front gate and the nearby side entrances. There's a scuffle that I hear of from the entrances farther down from the front, but that's shortly before everything goes black.

We're outmatched, and we all know it. There's too many, and the soldiers who hang in the shadows have the advantage over those of us who fight in the open. I wish the best of Jhe Wysthaven's squad, then, as we don't put up much a fight in the grand scheme of things. As I said, however, I have no regrets. I take down as many of the enemy as I can. My lance cuts into as much flesh as it can before I fall, and Harper grumbles no bitter things into my ear as I die.

I suppose, in the end, we're very simple creatures, we Armed. We fight, and we die. But we fight well. It's all that distinguishes us from the rest of humanity, and it's all we need.

* * *
Iaen
* * *

The fighting's finally on, much sooner than anyone expected here, and what do I do? I immediately get shoved back into a safe place, something that disgruntles me in no small way. But it's my role, and I knew that when I came here. I'm supposed to pose as the King. I can't be out there drawing blood with my knife. Gotta hang back. Protect the role. I could be invaluable, later in the game. That's what castling the King's all about, isn't it? In the opening movements, the endgame lays itself out.

At least, I hope so, because I hate a game where the Kings never get much play. It's always boring, and I didn't choose this job for its scenery.

Can't say much about what happened on the front lines, though, since I'm in the Jhe o'Sul's personal study, heavily protected, while all of this is going down. I get so antsy during this part, even as I outwardly keep the composure that the Peacock King himself would present to the rest of the world.

* * *
Julia
* * *

The remnants of the Peacekeeper's division would argue that I tell lies if I said that I was sad to see all of them die. It is the truth, though. I wish it didn't have to be that way.

This, however, is my battle, which is why we cleared the field of Camden and his wounded lads in the first place. I overlook the end of the slaughter, silently giving orders to my soldiers even before the last of Camden's ceases to breathe. We counter just as quickly and quietly as we do everything else.

These are Xen Xaillyndesse's men, that I can tell. I recognize the heavy black coats and the curt, brusque movements of his enforcers. They're tough bastards, damn good at shielding, and perceptive demons to boot. We wait for their next move. It's expected, but brutal all the same.

"Erase them." One says it. It's the only words I hear spoken by any of them. An enforcer follows suit by holding his two-pronged military fork against Dooley's neck. The soldier's brows knit as he focuses the energy of the weapon. Then he loses his fucking head before he can 'erase' anything.

Did Lute do that? No, he's away. Some other soldier of mine, then, that's so good at hiding his identity that I don't recognize him. Then Xen's soldiers start dropping like flies for a few moments before they get the idea that maybe they ought to leave our fellow Armed's bodies the fuck alone. A few of my men are able to drag the corpses away, sinking them down through the floor in puddles of liquid shadow. It's very elegant. It's the last coherent part of this battle. I'm glad we got the bodies to safety before the next detonation, which makes the ceiling above us crumble and takes out two of my men who were using the buttresses as hiding places. One's gone permanently, but it's a weak one I won't miss. Maybe next time around, Camden can have him.

The other gets pretty badly hurt, but he can still fight, and that's all that matters.

My own arm wells up a line of blood, straight across my left bicep. Damn, the Kommissar's brought shadows of his own, and we've not warded this Palace well enough yet to have an advantage, it seems. Aaren Voitre was on that task - where is he? He's the type to be in the thick of it, all young and green and ready to hone his weapon on anything that moves. I'd love to see that spear-tipped whip-chain snake its way around a few of our enemies right now. Schiphael moves more beautifully than even Geillg'a, when Aaren takes the time to weild his Arms properly.

In any case, there goes the ceiling above us. This is a multi-floored Palace, though - the explosion carries up into the roof, sending not only more plaster, but also terra cotta roofing tiles, down on our heads.

Well, they would be on our heads, if we were anywhere that our heads could be seen from. The walls and doorways are safer, and the astral spaces between them even more so. Everything we do is punctuated by another explosion, though, and soon those spaces become less safe. Ebrellin-i's defenders are decimating his Palace, but it's a solid strategy - it's a good way of decimating us.

I feel Raven die, and I'm not even sure how he managed it. That's strange. He's always been pretty good at not dropping dead, so this is an uncommon slip, for him. But hey, I could be the next to go. None of us rule our own deaths out, ever. That would be foolish. I almost bite it, at that. The next blast loses me an arm.

But not an Arm, and I strike back at the enemy soldier who detonated that blast. Gwen bites into him, sinking her daggerlike links into his neck and turning his head a full 180 degrees further than it should naturally rotate. I'd be dead in the next second, by backstab, but a Poet nudges me right then, and I duck. Ah, that was Cary. You darling, I didn't think you cared. I whirl in a circle and take the neck of the man who almost carved a fucking hole in my back.

I get the barest sense of a bow from Cary, and then nothing. Smart boy. He's always been stealthy. Damn near fucking invisible, for a Poet. I'll never argue against posting a pure Poet with an Armed brigade again, not after having him on my team for this many years. He is a godsend and then some. He's giving us more than a fighting chance, I wager - there's too many near-misses and narrow escapes in this battle for him not to be doing his job. Shame there's only one of him - but he can't watch everybody's back, even if he's ambidextrous and can write with two quills at once. There's just too many of us.

But I approve of a bit of rank-trimming in these situations. Let the weak catch the bullets - it strengthens our ranks. Shame about Raven, though. I won't allow him to live that down, if he ever comes back.

Some don't, no matter how much we try. But some I don't really care to have back, and that's why I'm the biggest bitch to ever set foot in Tesynnodai's Hall, or so I'm told.

There goes the last remaining buttress, right into my shoulder. Doesn't even bruise, so Cary's still doing his job. I feel a bit shoddy, getting hit this many times. I shrug off losing a limb like it's merely a broken nail, but this is a bit perplexing. It's not sloppy, it's just...

...There are more severe casualties in this battle than would be reasonably expected. Cary? What are we dealing with? I dodge a few enemy shadows, snaring one by the ankle and dragging it into the open just in time to catch a few bullets with his throat. Perfect.

The voice that replies is barely a whisper. He's concealing himself, after all. I'm trying. Don't know what they're doing. Try to sing a tune in your head. Tends to work as a cheap counterspell. Cloaking again, Miss. And then I can't sense him at all, which means all is right with the world, really.

Hah. A song. Of course he'd tell me a Poet solution. But I chant the Radian anthem in my head, all the same, and pass on the word to the rest of my soldiers. It could just be my imagination, but after that, we stop getting hit so easily, and the stupid mistakes get a little smarter by comparison. The battle turns, or at least shifts a little, and we hold our ground.

We've got to keep our King piece safe. If for nothing more elaborate than the shock effect. That's something to work on, at least, until Xen Xaillyndesse himself enters the field. I sense him around, and I know of his taste for wetting his own military fork with blood. Sometimes that bloodthirst is so prominent that his own soldiers barely see battle.

* * *

RADIA

* * *
Luciprochoros
* * *

Ruling half of the free world is a busy and time-consuming job, with a lot of distractions. In the founding days of our Kingdom, I had to create a coffee company just to have enough coffee on hand to be able to perform all of my duties. That's right, I have my own supply-chain, bean-sorting, and roasting hierarchy. That is a LOT of coffee. Celestial Coffee Company is a highly successful business as well, more than paying for its own overhead and expenses. It is also a lot to manage in its own right, and it really can't all get done properly unless it's done directly, by myself, no matter what my accountants tell me about fair business practices.

So I'm busy today, alright? 'Sy handed me a bunch of papers to read. I figured Jaxhelshon would be back home in a few hours, so I could skip reading his well-meaning but much-embellished accounting of his deeds in Audiva Rocale until I had a free moment. I don't have free moments. So by the time Jax knocks on the door to my study, I still haven't read any of it.

I wave him in and just let him give me the news directly. I don't expect him to have company. I certainly don't expect him to have Ebrellin-i's other daughter on his arm, her green eyes pinning mine in an eerie imitation of one of his own imperious glares. Jax, bless him, is just grinning his damn face off.

"Hey, Dad, you got a minute? I want you to meet someone special."

I'm afraid to say that I don't really have an answer for him. I'm a bit stuck here at my desk, my face frozen in an expression that is, hopefully, shock. There's a possibility that it could be disgust, and I'd hate to be rude to his first girlfriend.

I ignore the churning in my stomach that the last sentence produced.

I somehow force my jaw to move, and encourage my throat to produce some comprehensible sound to go with the movement of my lips. "Jaxhelshon...would you please do the honor of introductions?" Stalling for time, really. I've got to manage to stand up on my own without hurling.

He makes the most polite of smiles, then bows. "Jhe o'Radia Luciprochoros, may I make known to your accquaintance Jhe Rocsui-ehellenae a'Audiva Rocale Xaillyndesse'ten?" The girl's eyes widen as the whole name is announced in proper Court fashion, with no small amount of Poet flair. She also stumbles a little, which Jaxhelshon misinterprets as nerves. While he pats the back of her hand and soothes her, I pay close attention to the strange reaction my wards had to her name, and what her very presence is doing to them, at that.

To put it briefly, my wards either want to kick her out or knock her out. It's lucky for all of us that she's not considered enough of a threat that they're set to automatically kill her - an honor that has sometimes been reserved for Ebrellin-i during the rockier phases of our relationship. Of course, at some points that was due to 'Sy's insistence. But that's neither here nor there, is it? I step in and catch her before the girl collapses. I get an elbow in the ribs for it, but isn't that always the way when you're being a gentleman?

"Father!" Jaxhelshon is radiating concern, which I suppose is good, but he's radiating it far too close to me right now, and I need some room.

"I'll get her to the couch. Jaxhelshon, you really should announce your guests before you take them into my quarters. Especially foreign guests. I've lectured you on that before. Now...why don't you go and make us all some coffee? I'm sure a stimulant is all she needs. The wards will take a few moments to adjust for her, in any case."

My son's brows draw together, and I swear he's about to confront me on just why my wards are clubbing his new special interest over the head, but he drops it before he can outright ask. Perhaps his experience in the field has garnered him new wisdom, then, because that's a first for him.

* * *
Rocsui
* * *

Being forced to stay mute and demure is a state that I am used to living in. Being clubbed in the head by the astral walls of a room just because my name was spoken aloud is a new experience for me. I'm not really sure how I feel about it just yet, because I am simply too dazed to--

I'm sorry, I lost a few moments right there. When clarity comes back to me, I'm lying on a very comfortable couch while Jaxie's Father stares at me from an armchair. A coffee table sits between us like some sort of barrier. This is not how I imagined my meeting with the Jhe o'Radia would go, but I imagined worse scenarios.

"My apologies for raising the ire of your wards," I say, my eyebrow raised in a subtle way that turns the apology into accusation.

He demurs with a handwave. "Think nothing of it. My couch has gotten lonely. It's been over an hour since anyone's fainted onto it." He shrugs away my confused expression. "We've been introduced, Jhe Rahellene, but I believe you might prefer being addressed by your true name."

My eyes widen and my mouth goes starch-dry. I've not heard my name spoken by anyone in so many years that I'd forgotten what it sounded like. I manage to croak out a response. "How did you know?"

The smile he replies with is oddly sweet for an authoritative figure that I've just met. "I have a long memory for important things. Now, I do appreciate your coming here, and am glad to give you sanctuary, but I must get something out of the way immediately--"

"Oh, don't bother with this part, please. I wasn't going to express any further interest in your son, Jhe o'Radia."

He looks at me in surprise. "Oh?"

"He's a nice boy, but I've already grown bored of him."

Jhe Luciprochoros attempts to disguise a laugh by coughing into his hand, but it's a poor play at discretion. "...My apologies. It's rare that foreign dignitaries address me so directly." He suppresses another snicker.

I try to sit up instead of lying back on the couch, but I simply can't summon the strength to. "I am happy to be recognized as a dignitary, then, and not an attachment." I flick my gaze up to his startlingly bright eyes. "Really, how is it that you knew my name? It was a highly kept secret by my Father."

He nods with the barest tilt of his head. "Yes, and I have long ears."

I bite my lip. The evasion frustrates me, and whenever I try to focus enough to pry at what he's hiding, the wards try and clobber me once more. Fine, then. I'll leave it for now. Best not to play up my disadvantages at the outset. "I have important things to discuss regarding the present state of my country, and your own forces occupying it."

He replies only with an odd sort of grin. I'm not sure if he's taking me seriously.

"I do hope you realize that Audiva Rocale cannot go long without a ruler. Whether or not the one your Judge has seen fit to detain has committed a crime, someone must come forth to bring order to the Kingdom. If things remain as they are at my Palace, the people will riot and order will fall apart in my Kingdom."

He doesn't look as mocking anymore. In fact, I'm not sure if I can describe his expression at all. It almost looks like dawning horror, but it could be sadness as well. Emotion is something I'm still trying to familiarize myself with. I don't feel it like a normal person does, and my Father certainly never showed it.

Of course, before I can get any clarity from just what his face might mean, Jax walks in carrying a tray with coffee on it. I'm not sure if Jhe o'Radia looks relieved or annoyed, but once he has his coffee he certainly appears more in his element. I take my mug but don't drink from it. I more stare at it a bit perplexed, as I've never drunk coffee before, and it does not smell particularly pleasant.

Jax kneels in front of me, looking on me in concern. "Are you alright, Rocsui?"

"Call her Rahellene," his Father speaks over a mug of steaming coffee, eyes closed.

Jax tilts his head at me, now wondering about more than my health.

"Do as Jhe o'Radia says, Jaxhelshon. And I am fine. I simply need to take my repose while the Emperor and I discuss matters of diplomacy."

Jax turns back to his Father to say something, and then pauses with his mouth open. The sternness of Jhe o'Radia's expression is surprising, but Jax must have seen it sometime before, because he scampers out of the room without another word. After the door closes behind the boy, Jhe o'Radia's expression relaxes. Ah, that must have been a 'daddy' expression. It was very efficient, but I'm afraid it just wouldn't have the same effect if I learned it and used it myself.

He turns to me, then, and his face reverts to that odd sadness again. I cock my head, and he composes himself.

"Ahh, Audiva Rocale. Long has your peace been intertwined with Radia's. And long have I grappled with its rulers over said peace." Jhe Luciprochoros smiles at me for a moment. "It would be lovely if I could have peaceable talks concerning the future of both of our countries to you. It is a shame that's not meant to be." He goes on before I can voice a protest. "I know you mean well, Jhe Rahellene. I know just how much you want this, believe me. But I also know how succession will pass along Ebrellin-i's line." He looks away, pain reflecting in his eyes.

I don't understand.

He sighs, then sets his coffee mug down and begins to refill it. "Jhe o'Audiva Rocale Ebrellin-i Xaillyndesse did not pass on heirship to our daughter Katherine. I prevented that, in fact, by passing my heirship to her before he could do so. To protect her. Later, he came to the same conclusion that I had - that the Xaillyndesse heirship was something to be protected from and was not itself any form of protection. To that end, he passed the heirship down to his younger brother, who has not seen fit to pass it on to any of his progeny. As he did this before, or more precisely, during your birth, you are not eligible to inherit his throne."

I can't feel my face. I don't know what expression I'm making. Jhe o'Radia's is one of pity.

He goes on. "As Elethe-Travente Xaillyndesse is in no condition to rule Audiva Rocale, there is no suitable heir to the throne, and thus it would likely be taken over by a steward of the same line. Perhaps she shall declare herself Queen, if she makes it to the throne to do so."

I swallow, but my throat is still dry. "Jhe Thelea Xaillyndesse."

Jhe o'Radia leans over the coffee table towards me. "Now do you see why it is so critical that the Armed take control of the Palace before someone else does?"

I barely manage a nod.

"I'm sorry. I truly am. But I can't twist and turn bloodlines. Your grandmother attempted that herself, and look what we have to show for it! As it is, you need to remain under protection. It is very noble that you have tried to bring your Kingdom to order, Jhe Rahellene. Unfortunately, you aren't the one to do it. In fact, I'm not sure who will be. With all hope, your Father will survive his Judging."

I narrow my eyes as I stare down at my clasped hands. "I have no wish for my Father to live." Oddly, the wards press against me a little less after I say that.

Jhe o'Radia's expression is deeply sad. "I'm sorry to hear that, but I cannot say that I don't understand the sentiment. As it is, his tampering with you is making it difficult for you to live outside your garden, isn't it?"

I look up sharply at him. "Just how do you know where I lived, Jhe o'Radia?"

"Certain places were declared off-limits. I smell Fae on you, and it isn't the blood your grandmother passed down, either. It's like a dusting of pollen on those feathers that dot your skin. I know where you've stayed. Moreover, I know where Jhe o'Audiva Rocale keeps his most precious things."

My eyes narrow. "You're lying."

Jhe o'Radia smiles back at me. "I'm a politician, honey. Lying is one of my hobbies." He sighs, crushing his palm against his forehead. "It's been a tiring day already. You're very stressed. It would be better if you rested now, and got an explanation later."

"I--" I choke my words off. The wards got me before I could even make a demand. No, not the wards. Something else. Something Camden and Jax never saw, even though it was right in front of their eyes.

"In fact, you need more than a rest. You need care. You've been bound for years. Ebrellin-i put more than feathers on you when he changed your true Name."

I shudder. Hearing the truth hurts me. Or, more likely, it makes the binds hurt me. Jhe o'Radia's hand falls on my shoulder, propping me up. He's right. I am tired.

"I have a few spare bedrooms in this suite. I've children away from home, after all. You can sleep in one. The wards are overbearing in here, I know, but it's the safest place for you."

"I didn't know I was in danger." I let him lift me up. There's nothing I can do to fight him off, and sleep sounds divine.

"You'll find, sadly, that there are many things you've never known, Rahellene." He carries me off then. I catch a glimpse of the twin bed before I'm unconscious. I feel the tiniest wrinkle of scorn when I see it - it's his daughter's bed. Katherine - my sister who never had to live in Ebrellin-i's cage of a shadow.

* * *

* * *
'Sy
* * *

The Advocate, the Peacekeeper and I are finally ready to discuss just what is going on with our temporal deployments when my son Lute comes walking into my office, dragging a dead body behind him.

This happens more often than I care to admit.

He blinks at me. Those blue eyes are just as wide and innocent as they were when he was five - very wide, not very innocent. "I'm sorry, were you busy? I can take this elsewhere."

Jhe Camden disguises a laugh with a polite cough. Katherine just smirks.

"Oh, no, please come in and explain just who you've killed this time." I motion him in. Lute was raised to observe proper etiquette, and so closes the door after our dead guest is dragged into the room.

Katherine nods after looking over the body. "Nice one there, Lute. Pretty fresh!"

Lute grins back at her. "I like to get 'em done quick, you know."

I sigh, pinching the bridge of my nose. There really has to be a better place for corpses than my office, but try as I might I just can't think of one right now. "Explain."

Lute places the corpse rather primly in one of the chairs in front of my desk. "She was messin' with my brother, Dad. I had to."

Like I said, just like he was when he was five. Thank goodness that wasn't his first kill, back then. No, he only managed an actual death two years later. The five-year-old attempt was mercifully unsuccessful. I suppose it really didn't help things that I was so proud of him at the time, but can you blame me? He's always looking out for Lyric. But I always have to write the letters afterwards.

In any case, I should have expected this to happen the moment Lyric returned. "Go on."

Lute takes in a deep breath, then begins to explain. Katherine, bless her, starts serving up the tea that Jaxhelshon had made about an hour ago. It's cold, but it's good, and it is also tea.

"Oh, thanks." Lute takes his cup and sips, raising his eyebrows. "Hey, you tell Benya this is good stuff."

Katherine smiles back at him. "Benny will be glad to hear it. She takes such pains to pick nice tea blends. Now, as you were saying?" Katherine perches on the corner of my desk, legs crossed, while Camden stands to the left of her, trying his damnedest not to grin. Camden, I should mention, always liked Lute's approach to kills, and heavily lamented the fact that my shadow-racing son was practically born into Julia's division.

Lute takes the seat next to the corpse. He rolls his shoulders, then pops his knuckles. Oh great, he's settling in for storytelling. This should be good. "Alright, so I dropped Lyric and Stevane off at Muriel's place afore I went and killed anyone, alright? So they're safe, first of all."

I raise a single eyebrow at that, but let him continue his story as he sees fit.

"Lyric's gone and gotten a bounty on his head. I guess flitting about and going over to Sul and foolin' around with its criminal of an Emperor in public and whatnot garnered some attention for himself! As you do. So Stevane tackled the poor boy to the ground this morning before I had a chance to block the hit on him. Good reflexes on the girl! She really ought to come and get her final training, you know. Girl's almost Armed."

I nod and reply with a "Hmm." I'm not sure when that'll happen, honestly. Things are a bit busy around here, as a general understatement.

"Aaaanyway, some assassin took a pot-shot at Lyric while we were walking to the markets, that's the general idea. After I got my two sibs to Muriel's, Stevane did a quick trace on the dart, since it nicked her when she threw her brother out of the way of it. She was targeting pretty well, but I figured it'd be better if she stayed with her brother and Muriel. By using her blood, I was able to trace the assassin on my own." Lute grins up at me, and I have to resist the urge to pat him on the head. I can't reward behavior like this. Well, I shouldn't. I have to keep telling myself this every time he does this.

Then I ask the inevitable question. "So...why did you kill her on the spot, instead of bringing the assassin back to the Hall alive for questioning?"

"Cuz she tried to kill my brother." Lute shrugs as if that's that. And, well, to him it is.

I let out a heavy sigh. Camden squares his shoulders a bit, but hesitates to say anything. Lute isn't under his direct command, after all. The same goes for Katherine, who is only smirking and silently drinking her tea. I have a sip of my own, closing my eyes.

Julia will be furious. Well, fine then. Let Julia handle it, while we figure out just where - and when - our soldiers are supposed to be right now.

"Bring the body to your commanding officer and do what you must. Find out any relevant information."

Lute looks downcast. Ahh, I see. He reported this directly to me so as to avoid Jhe Wysthaven. How typical of any of my progeny. "...Aye, sire." He rises, bows, then takes his leave, moping out of my office, dead body dragging forlornly behind him.

Just like when he was seven.

"Well, that was a nice bit of an interlude. Are we to business now?" Camden turns to me, peering up through his spectacles.

I nod, then get out maps of the Aurocan Palace and the papers for Camden's deployment. "According to this, I sent the rest of our shadows out to relieve your wounded, along with Jhe Wysthaven to relive you of command."

Camden nods. "Aye, sire. The rest of the men I brought to Sul's Palace remained as reinforcements, with Jhe Daltry in command of 'em."

I raise an eyebrow at him. "You sound troubled, Peacekeeper."

Camden replies with a very short bow. "Pardon my mentioning it, Jhe h'Akribastes, but I feel ill at ease about leaving my men where Jhe Julia is doing her proper job. It seems an odd place for them, and I'm unsure as to why they remained behind."

As if on cue (and it should not be overlooked that Camden is a Poet as well as Armed), we all three look to the north, as if we could gaze right over the empire of Audiva Rocale. The hairs on the back of my neck are prickling, and I feel that there is a great conflict arising.

"Combat," Camden mutters under his breath, the word almost a growl.

Katherine runs her white gloved fingers over the map. She says nothing out loud, but I know her opinion regardless - it's time to plan for just what we're going to do, regardless of the consequences.

"It's already been done, Jhe Briarseal." I thumb through the orders that I'll send out today to him, contemplating moving troops through time, and just why we would ever do so. It's something that only Elete would typically recommend, but he's at rest right now.

Or he should be, at any rate.

Camden grits his teeth. "More like it will be done, and when that time comes we won't be able to change any of it, regardless of the consequences."

I close my eyes and nod. In the darkness behind my eyelids, the conflict is already playing itself out before me.

"There's one more thing." I look up from my reverie. Katherine and Camden are looking at each other like they just burped kittens up from their mouths. They both said the previous sentence simultaneously.

I motion for Camden to go first. He's just arrived back from a deployment, after all. I hear enough from Katherine day in and day out as it is.

He bows again in that apologetic way that makes me brace myself. "Jhe h'Akribastes, I wrote of some of this in my report - my brother Elricht... well, you read it. I'm worried that, given just who took him and had possession of his quill... there might be something to be concerned on my own end of things."

"You mean, other than that he's your brother?"

He nods, still bowing. "I am divided. He could have just been taken because he is a Poet. They have apparently been keeping many Poets that we thought to be deployed to far outposts. Armed as well. On its own, that is disturbing...and at a time like this, something that could be too easily forgotten. However, Elricht is a Dhealg'seala. A Briarseal. He is not the heir to the line, but he is the only survivor of the clan besides myself. It brings to mind concerns beyond the fact that Elricht is a captive Poet."

I nod. "Such as?" Damn Elete for giving them all a blasted annoying tendency to pause dramatically. I know of some of the implications, but I'd prefer Camden speak plainly about it in case there might be any that I have overlooked.

"Sire, they might use him to break the Seal. Jhe Fayegeaux's clan's history is quite interwoven with monsters that are kin to the Old Man. Liyannethe has a storied history of playing with said monsters. The home Kingdom of the ruling Xaillyndesse family, central in the Aurocan empire, where all the darkest stories come from. They may swear against their 'old religion'...but Ebrellin-i's actions run counter to his words of treaty and peace, so how much can we trust the rest of them? Hell, he was the most reasonable of them with any clout to his name, save Jhe h'Logos Elete. I took from my summons that I'm to be readying the armies for war - I feel there are other things which must be attended to. If I'm not the one to do it, someone responsible must be appointed to this issue."

I nod. "That sounds perfectly reasonable, Jhe Briarseal. Until such time as you are immediately needed as Peacekeeper, please see fit to supervise the situation yourself. Please, you may stop bowing now." I sometimes think that the reason Camden needed a time-consuming Armed career appointment the most is because if he stayed in the Poet Hall for any decent amount of time, he and the Poet King would do nothing but bow at each other, day in and day out.

Oh but I am not looking forward to going into the Poet Hall to ask Jhe h'Logos just what is going on with the timing of our deployments.

"Ah, speaking of which, sire..." Camden ceases his bow, looking flustered from having yet another request. "Forgive me for eavesdropping--"

"We expect you to hear things by now, Jhe Briarseal."

"Aye, yes. If you're going to see the Poet King, then perhaps we should entrust the reading of Cade's journal to him. I..." he looks askance, then nudges his glasses up on the bridge of his nose. "I attempted it on my own. I find that to be ill-advised, now. It's very... protected."

I raise an eyebrow. Camden has always been a master of understatements. Given his abilities, it's surprising that he was unable to overcome the journal's defenses. "Oh?"

"To be honest, sire, I was reluctant to pursue the activity any further myself, for fear of inadvertently breaking the Seal."

I know I must look dubious, now. "The Seal? The Seal of clan Dhealg'seala? I thought your life was sufficient enough to keep it locked down."

Camden props up his glasses again, a gesture that's obviously more meant to hide his face. "Yes, well. That's a succinct enough explanation for why I might prefer someone else try to read it from here on out."

I look down at the moldy old book. Impressive, that it came close to killing Camden. "I'm certain Jhe h'Logos and his Poets will have LOTS of fun with it. I'll ensure that it's closely guarded. Will that be all, Jhe Briarseal?"

"Aye."

I nod. "Good. Katherine. State your business, please."

She gives me a pinched look, as if she's about to hit me. If Camden weren't in the office, she possibly might. "Jhe Ebrellin-i Xaillyndesse must be attended to promptly. He can't go long unmonitored, given that which is attacking him from the inside. I must see to him as Advocate." She cocks her head. "The Judge may also attend, if he sees it necessary."

I shake my head. "You may see to it on your own. I can watch just as well from afar, and I've more than enough mess to deal with right now. Let Jhe Averseen know that she'll have plenty of paperwork to keep her busy soon."

Her eyes narrow to dagger points. "Very well." She turns on her heel and marches out without another word. Camden skirts me a nervous bow, then makes his quiet exit.

I prepare myself for the rest of a very, very long day.

* * *
Katherine
* * *

I stalk down the hall towards the cells, my boots clacking against the stone floor. Not that anyone cares, but I'm going to go see if my Father's still even alive now.

Of course, while nobody cares, someone might be fool enough to brush my shoulder while I think I'm perfectly alone. I spin on my heel and check the fool into the wall with my hip, then grapple his wrists so I can see just where his hands are, and make sure they stay there. I narrow my eyes.

Calm blue eyes study mine. Camden's face remains stoic. His damn spectacles aren't even ajar. He raises an eyebrow in lieu of asking me just what I think I'm doing. I shove him out of the way and return to stomping off to my destination.

His footsteps follow mine, at a slower pace but somehow the same speed. I remind myself that not only is Camden taller than me, he's also a Poet, and can fudge the details just a bit for effect. I almost spit. I'm getting tired of flair and dramatics for effect. There's too much going on. There's no time for this shit. "Why the hell are you following me, Peacekeeper?"

"Because the Judge sees fit to make our jails more efficient by placing high-risk criminals near each other. My quarry is not far from yours." He pauses, likely for effect. "Perhaps our missions are not too dissimilar, Advocate."

"Oh? Really." I cross my arms, slowing my pace slightly. Not that he needs such an allowance, but it's a sign that I'm more willing to talk to him.

"Indeed. I apologize that I am not quite up to speed regarding Jhe o'Audiva Rocale, but I gathered his sentence was delayed until such time as the Advocate could fulfill her often-mysterious purpose. Tell me, is Ebrellin-i open to be questioned?"

I shrug. "Much good it will do you, in his state. It's doubtful he's even aware of his own words right now. I would advise you focus your interrogation on Cade right now, Camden. Ebrellin-i must grow his tongue back before he can speak."

Camden looks at me with concern. "That bad? Acht. No wonder you're acting as if you're bleeding from a monthly wound."

He ducks far too quickly for someone gifted with such an eloquent tongue for jibes. He's grinning, too. The bastard.

"Aye, but you're grinning as well, aren't ye?" He slaps me on the back, the old camaraderie showing through. "Now, you go fix up your turkey, and I'll go choke my chicken."

I give him a very dubious look for that last comment. It takes him a few moments to realize the euphemism, and then the blush creeps up his cheeks.

"Acht. I didn't mean it like that at all. I still think in Rhivennish, not Radian."

I wave him away. "No worries, Peacekeeper. There's plenty of places to be alone down here. You go have your fun."

He clucks his tongue at my back as our paths diverge, and then I'm alone for a time.

* * *
Camden
* * *

"Aye, so are ye going to get up for a nice chat, or am I going to have to shake you out of bed, Jhe Fayegeaux?" I've already drawn Geillg'a. Cade is, in fact, studying her links very closely.

He grins up at me, those teeth flashing like a dog's. "I see no reason not to engage in healthy conversation. Come on in, Camdhegn. It's a treat, living in a cell with a real bed and no roaches. Might as well share the joy."

I shake my head. "No, but thank you for offering so kindly." I kick a stool out in front of Cade's cell, then take a seat, already tugging out a pad of paper from one of my pockets. It should come in handy. Talking to Cade is in itself a difficulty - he's so closely claimed by Nul that it's hard to make out his features, and often difficult to pin down his words. Behind the wards here, it's a bit easier, but I still prefer to have my tools to hand.

He's watching the paper in my hand, in fact, and the pen. "I did wonder," he murmurs, "why you all chose to pen me up in a cell that had a writing desk."

I shrug. "Perhaps we might find a way to make you useful, Cade, regardless of the improbabilities of that. Now, our chat has been long delayed - just where is Elricht, if you don't mind being precise?" My quill is poised. Cade is very watchful of it.

He did agree to spill his secrets in exchange for protection. I can see him debating it internally. I'm sure the deal seemed quite good at the time, but now that he's held to it... he might actually have to make good on his end. Such offers always seem appealing in the moment of desperation, but later on, there's always the hemming and hawing.

"The Judge always has time for another Trial, regardless of his schedule." Oh, he jumps at that suggestion. "Surely your life as you've lead it has guaranteed you a grisly death by now. Why are you so afraid of comeuppance? It's inevitable."

He spits on the floor cell. Prisoners usually do that early on, before they realize that they're the cleaning crew for their own living quarters. "Inevitable never has to mean today. That's been the key to my longevity, Camdhegn. Surely you, a Dhealg'seala, could properly appreciate that."

I narrow my eyes. He's trying to bait me to distract me from questioning. It's difficult not to rise to catch it, but I stop myself. "Aye, so I can, just as you are in a position to appreciate the inevitable approaching you. Tell me, haven't you ever longed to spill the secrets you've kept all these years? You know more secrets than many men will ever learn. Between who your master is, or perhaps was, and your uncommon longevity, there certainly is a lot to be told of. Beyond all that, there's the simple fact that the Jherent Nul has likely figured out by this point that you, Jhe Fayegeaux, have turned traitor. No matter what you tell us, I doubt there's anything you know that will make us more certain to kill you than we already are. There is only, in fact, room to prolong your life. As such, there are no reasons for you to keep secrets anymore. Tell me where the Poets are."

He smirks. "Such a statesman. They should keep you in the other Hall. Certainly the windbags there could learn from you. But it is true, Camdhegn - I have no reason to keep my secrets." He draws himself up in his seat on the bed. "And perhaps I will enjoy the telling, yes? So, then - your precious Poets. And not a few Armed, besides. Where to keep them, in Nul?" He grins at me. His eyes are full of malice and trouble. Damn his current usefulness. "You've given me a desk. How about I put it to use, and draw ye a map to them all?"

I raise an eyebrow. I don't trust this suggestion. "I've pen and paper of my own, and cartography skills to my own name. I'll draw the map."

"...You wouldn't understand how to get there. You've never been."

"Try me."

He narrows his own eyes. We stare at each other for awhile, a battle of wills. There's not much contest - the collar and manacles I wrought for him are still in play, and none of his strengths can dominate in here. He's too chained down, and besides - I'm too damn stubborn. He looks away, scowling. "Lyiannethe is the closest you'll get to a real physical correlation, for now."

"Aye, ye did mention it earlier. Why do you say 'for now'?" I begin scrawling on my notepad.

"Some of the entrances and portals come and go, mostly...mostly in the desert. Isolated places. Places people forget about. We almost had a great one going in Rhivend, and then you and your brother had to go on and survive." His lip curls up. "That's a different case, of course. There's nothing consistent when it comes to portals to Nul. Just a case of the right energy, the right circumstances, and in some cases, the right person giving it just a push. But then there's Lyiannethe. Spooky place. Well-fortified against Radia, rarely directly incurred upon by the Law. Long, long history of the old ways. Monsters. Blood. Bad magic." He grins. "Lyiannethe is a permanent portal to Nul. Couldn't really say where it is. It's more a matter of who's opening it, and who needs to go through. But things go into Nul there. Things come out, too...some things from Nul are even kept there, to preserve them."

"Preserve them from what?" My throat's gone dry. I'm beginning to wonder why I went off alone to pursue this avenue of questioning. Why does the mere mention of Nul bring such terror to people?

His grin widens, showing off more of those carnivorous teeth. "From Nul, of course. Why do you think I only have half a face?"

I snort. "That last part rings with little truth."

He sighs. "Damn Lawmen, always have to be so literal. It could be said that my lack of identity is in itself a protection. A sort of shield. Being in Nul is being nowhere, after all - it can chafe. Especially if a Poet is kept there too long. In the case of your brother...well. I never imagined a Dhealg'seala would have such a weak constitution." He giggles. "I only kid. He does ail just a tad. He is, after all, a little more special than the average Poet to Nul. They're sometimes kept in Lyiannethe, sometimes in Nul. Most times, it's in the places that hang between - too decayed to be reality, too real to be Nul." He sounds so fucking cheerful about it all.

I unclench my fingers around my quill. I'll crush it. "Who in Lyiannethe is responsible?"

"The entire royal fucking family?" He snickers. "It's hard to find a Xaillyndesse who isn't involved with Nul, Jhe Dhealg'seala. Perhaps you should comb your own ranks. They're more treacherous than even the likes of myself." He shrugs. "If you want specifics, however...well, there's the Kommissar. I don't particularly like him, myself. Too brutish for my tastes. But he'll ally himself with whomever it takes to obtain power. He reeks of the old ways, the old monsters. Thelea Xaillyndesse, of course, hasn't found a power she doesn't want to murk up her own vein-blood with. This should come as no surprise to you. As for what you can do about it... well, it's a bit of a shame, but you're about to go to war with their fucking Kingdom." His grin is split practically ear to ear. "Not the best time to send in a spy, is it? Them damn Akribastes kids always get caught, in any case. Oh, of course - that would be what started the war in the first place, wouldn't it?"

I nod cheerfully. "Wouldn't have 'em any other way." I grin. "Keeps me employed! Now, tell me about what you've done. Most other things you've said might as well be things I already know. Why pay attention to others? Put your own hard work to the fore!"

He looks a bit crestfallen at that suggestion. Ahh, it seems he was trying to distract me with things that had not-much to do with him. Shame I'm so attentive. "Yes, well. You've known me, Camdhegn. My life's not all that interesting."

I poise my pen. "Then do what the trainees do and skip to all the good parts."

* * *
Katherine
* * *

Before I even make it to Ebrellin-i's cell, Gedulah warns me to draw her. I do, pulling the steel length of her up through the sheathe at my hip. I keep her in rapier form, usually - both my Arms are most comfortable resting in blade form. She could be a gun, if I so chose. Hell she could be a mandolin pick. She can be anything I can kill with, as can Gevurah. The only difference between me and the Armed who can only maintain their Arms in one constant form is discipline and practice.

I draw Gedulah as a rapier. She is both elegant and ready for any task at hand. She calms me, curbs my emotions, and makes me cool and calculated. She also can pick up the sensations of the energy around me as her blade glides through the air. That property is most useful to me now. If I feel endangered while approaching my Father's cell, I want to immediately know why.

There's no danger in the hall out here. That's good, then - if something were down here roaming outside the cells that didn't belong here, that would be cause for alarm. There's already been enough alarm in Radia. As I step in front of my Father's cell, I can see why Gedulah wanted to be drawn. Gevurah also calls out to be unsheathed, but that's unnecessary, and I need a free hand. I just look upon the cell and survey what my Father's become. He looks back up at me, and the moment he does that is painful.

His eyes are trying to free themselves of the marks surrounding them. By now, all of his makeup has been wiped away in all the struggles he's gone through. Underneath the decorative paint, black marks stain his face and hands. Black is perhaps the wrong word. They are black in some areas, and in others, they are grey shadows. It is as if ink were seeping under his skin, pooling in some areas and diluting through others. I see the marks ripple as I look upon them, contorting into new patterns and designs. Gedulah vibrates in my hand, and I pull her back from attacking. She sweeps up, then, into a guarding position. I understand - she's to shield me from any curses that are laid from within my Father's skin.

Even with bars between us, those marks could strike me down.

He's trying to hide his face. That's a futile gesture - the marks on his hands wink out at me, an eye welling up on the back of one, warding scripts swirling across the other. Both marks fail to succeed in their aims, but still Gedulah cautions me from even entering the cell right now. My hand hovers over the lock on the door.

"Please don't come in here, daughter." My Father's voice is distant, as if he'd said the words years ago, and I'm only remembering them now. I try to come up with some reply, but I choke it down. I want to go in there. I want to make it all okay for him, even though I know that's a silly wish, a frivolous little girl's thought. If he's to be healed now, it must be worked for. And he must do that work. There's very little that I can do here now.

Why are we here, young one? Gedulah asks me in a patient voice. I have half a mind to spit at her, and then I realize that's Gevurah's urge, not mine.

I have to monitor him.

He must do the work himself, and you know that. It will take time. Why attend his side when it will do nothing for either him or you? Is this one of those silly people-things that we Arms don't understand?

...Yes. That's the best way of putting it, Gedulah. I sigh. I didn't want it to be this way. I thought he would be better off than this. Most of all, I've been afraid that there's more here at work than Father's mind battling for himself. I've seen marked people before. Victims of curses or charms. Nothing like what's on my Father, though. I'm starting to wonder how deep those marks go, and how much they cover him.

Would you like to look? Clothing is no boundary for our eyes.

I nod. My vision ripples, and underneath Ebrellin-i's clothing I see marks ebb and flow, weaving over his entire body. They're concentrated on the energy points of his body, most notably his chakras. The throat is bound well, and then the heart, the stomach, the base of his spine, the groin. Oddly, his forehead is clean, but his crown was enough to charm and block the chakras there. It was taken from him almost immediately - the gem set in the center of it was practically a piece of Nul, it was so tainted and bespelled. His hair jewels were also confiscated for similar reasons, along with the other jewelry he wore. The jeweled posts drilled through his ear cartilage were the most tainted besides the crown itself.

His wrists and ankles are marked so much that he might as well have shadow-lined cuffs under the shackles the Judge wove onto him. Even his ears are marked. When the shadows crossing his body roil faster, Ebrellin-i cringes, pulling the blankets over himself and burying his face into the couch.

They're hurting him. Punishing him. They're ordering him to kill himself, and when he resists or is unable, he meets censure for it.

Sometimes, Gedulah's voice rolls through my mind, sad and soft, they punish him for no other reason than to taste his pain. That is not a new thing to him. It is, in fact, familiar to him.

Gevurah's voice pops in, suddenly. But he doesn't remember those times. That's the strange part, for him at least. He's robbed of those memories, so every time they punish him, he feels surprise, no matter how commonly it happens to him. He's a confused little chick of a peacock, he is, and kept terrified through that cursed ignorance. But... she sighs.

He is trying, says Gedulah, with no small amount of pride.

And that's reason enough not to kill him, says Gevurah, her growl both disappointed and glum.

Will he win? I ask, not understanding why I'm even bothering to. Still, in situations like this, people ask stupid things.

He can, if he keeps at it. He can't hear you right now, though, and I suggest you leave him to it.

I nod at Gedulah, watching the black spirals skate over the rims of Ebrellin-i's ears. I want to cut through them, but something tells me I'll only cut through my Father. What if it takes too long?

It always takes as long as it has to. He can't be rushed. At the very least, he's not completely overwhelmed. He's dealing with it... well, as best as he can. Mostly it's shock right now. He must have devoted a lot of energy to fooling himself into thinking there was nothing wrong with him. He had to have seen the marks before. He had to have seen them, to paint his face as he did. He's been so deluded that he never even consciously acknowledged them. Now, he has to take that all apart piece by piece, and put his own mind back together. Once he's done that, he can have help. Now, go from this place. It is not the one for you, not right now.

I sigh, step away from the cell, and sheathe my rapier. Father cannot talk right now, and I cannot touch him. It is time to be elsewhere.

* * *
Cade
* * *

I'm incredibly talkative today, as if the words are being pulled from me, one by one out of my throat. That's the Poet Camdhegn's fault, of course. He's remarkably apt at calmly grilling someone. I know I'm bespelled by the craft, and what's worse is that I'm so calm about it. So passive. My defenses are down, mostly because so many of my defenses draw from Nul's power, and I can't really call upon that right now, can I? So I'm stuck.

And what's odd about that is that I'm not worried about it at all. Another thing to blame on the Poet, I suspect. His scrawling on that notepad can't just be my words being recorded. Never give a Poet paper, not if you want the upper hand. As if I have a choice here. And I would prefer, on the whole, to have a choice in this. This is my life I'm talking about, after all.

Regardless of what I even remember about it today, I'd prefer all of it to remain secret.

I watch his quill move as I speak. "There were very few casualties when it came to the Armed. That were taken by me, of course. I prefer to preserve my specimens as intact as possible, as that garners the best response from my employers. It's a shame, since they're so fun to play with - but Xen's specific order was that I deliver him the Armed in as perfect a condition as possible. He was annoyingly particular about them being alive. That's no indicator that you'll find them still living, if you find them at all. I've seen very few since giving them to him."

"So your superior is Xen Xaillyndesse, then?"

I snort. A typical pressing point from an officer like Camdhegn. Shame that I really didn't want that avenue explored. "I answer to Nul itself. Jhene Xen and Thelea like to think of themselves as in control, but they're mere pawns of Nul in the end. I am the Herald and no one gives me orders except my Master. Often enough, I relay them their orders, while they treat me as a mere messenger boy."

"But you're very important, aren't you, Jhe Fayegeaux?"

My eye twitches from the use of that surname. A twitch I'd rather hide, but damn the Seal Guard, he notices it all the same. "No one answers directly to Nul as I do. It can be a position of power, if used properly. It lends me a certain preservation - when he'd easily wipe his pawns from the board, I remain as his prized piece. The position has certain costs to it, but doesn't everything?"

"Would you consider it worth it?" Camdhegn raises an eyebrow as he makes the query. Odd sot. What the hell is he trying to get at? I thought these questions were going to be much different.

"I do it, so it must be worth something." I twitch as I feel him pressed for the actual answer. Damn it. "Shove off, obviously I've been in the position for a very long time. Of course it's worth it if I've stayed there that long."

"But it's no longer worth it now, is it? What changed? Is the danger of Nul suspecting betrayal so great that you'd throw your prized position away? You've worked so hard, for years, and now - nothing? Why the turnabout?"

I scowl at him. "None of your bloody business."

He only grins, an expression eviller than any one I've made, by my reckoning. "Fine then. Tell me why you were stationed under Ebrellin-i's command."

I snort, a grin stealing up the side of my face. "Ebrellin-i would like to think he commanded anything! You're quite the comedian today."

I hear a breath sucked in from out of my view. Camdhegn's eyes flick to the side, then back to me. "Jhe Katherine, unless you are to be of use in questioning, I doubt the Advocate has any place here." Aww, he's getting territorial over me! I feel so loved. Or perhaps that's just a tiny bit of bile in my stomach.

The deposed Emperor's daughter herself steps into view, raising an eyebrow as she glances into the cell. Such a Judge-like expression. "I somehow doubt you would need the Advocate presently. However, your line of questioning interests me. May I observe, Peacekeeper?"

A small smile alights on Camdhegn's face. "Of course. Pull up a chair, if you'd like."

She remains standing, staring down at me. "Who commanded Ebrellin-i?"

Ahh, a proper audience for the things I have to tell. I cock my head at her. "Well, who didn't? The current ruler of Audiva Rocale's been wrapped around the finger of the royal family since I've had the pleasure of his accquaintance. And that's been quite a long time, I assure you, lass. The Kommissar and the Mother Queen Thelea have both had their use of him, though he does maintain control over his own Palace and its adjoining lands. Or did, rather. I'm sure they'll love moving into the space, now that their prize pet's been put in the pound." He smirks. "Not that he's their prize pet, mind ye, but Nul likes to let them think that."

"In reality, Ebrellin-i is Nul's pet." The girl says it without making it a question, saying it to herself more than us.

"Ebrellin-i is Nul's prized peacock. It's cute of you to try to win him back, but Nul doesn't give up his possessions."

"Does that make your struggle a hopeless cause, I wonder?" Camdhegn's voice is conversational. Pleasant, almost.

My expression darkens. "I'm no collared prize of his. I serve as I will. Ebrellin-i could never dream to be Herald. He shakes before Nul, grovels and cowers. I take my bows when I should, but never do I have to-hnnnnrgh." I lean forward, hand clasped around my throat.

It's closed itself.

Camdhegn stands bolt upright, then looks quickly around. His witch-whip is out in a flash, streaking through the bars and snaking around my form. I end up with a few nicks, but far less than I'd expect considering the flayings I've earned prior to this. All that is a side concern, however. I'm beginning to see black around the edges of my vision.

Perhaps I really have said too much. I crumple forward off of the bed, the links of the whip curling out of the way before I can be slashed to ribbons. I had thought Nul wouldn't reach me here. That they would protect me. Keep me safe.

I was wrong. Stupid. What a waste of a life - I could have gone down killing someone.

The edges of my vision flash white, and then the veil covering my senses lifts itself as air sucks back into my chest in one great big gulp. I glance up at the door of my cell.

Katherine's eyes are closed, her hand pressed against the bars palm-open, fingers spread. She's chanting something that I can't make out the words to. The words make me tingle in a way that's not unpleasant but that do not make me comfortable. I try to struggle away for a moment, but the spell holds me still. She opens her eyes at the last breath of it, and the pupils that focus on me are a cold blue, the irises around them a milky, golden white.

I piss myself.

She turns away, walking behind Camdhegn's stool. "And you said there'd be no need for the Advocate. Silly Armed. Always so sure of themselves, including me." Her voice sounds strange, as if it's coming from higher than where she speaks from. As if she's a lady twice as tall as even the Judge.

Fucking spooky.

Camdhegn snorts, ignoring the admonition. "I'd imagine he needs as much protection as he can get, now, so it's appreciated, Advocate. Now if only he were bestowed with greater continence." He shakes his head. "Cursed Dirybvik bastards always wet themselves as they run from battle - suppose I should have seen this coming."

I crouch away from them. "Can a man have some privacy to neaten up, then?"

"Nay, put a blanket over yer shame - hope that it teaches you to use the toilet next time. We gave you one, you know."

The Advocate buries her face in her hand, shaking her head. When she looks back up at me, her eyes are forest green again. "So uncivilized, Camden. As I would expect from two boys speaking Rhivendish."

I laugh. I didn't even notice we'd lapsed into it. I wonder when that started happening? As it is, I'm surprised she's returning speech in our language. I grab a blanket and tug it over myself, appreciative of the fact that I didn't have that damn accident in the bed I've been given.

"Keep talking." The bitch certainly doesn't let up any more than Camdhegn does. "I've seen to it that you're free to speak."

That she has, which is rather an alien feeling for me. I'm used to that absolute control Nul holds over my tongue - without it, my words feel strange and alien. "Which topic would you prefer?"

Camdhegn takes the lead on questioning now, his hands clasped over his knee. "Ebrellin-i is of interest, but I will be grilling you further on the Armed you've been assigned to steal away from us. The Poets as well."

"Heh. Funny you mention it like that. I can talk about all three at once - Ebrellin-i stole more Poets than I did, though his track record with Armed is sorely in need of improvement. He tended to avoid them more than capture those pieces. Seemed to have a bloody stupid fear of them, as if they were a real threat. Poets, though, he loved to collect. He'd have his fun being diplomatic, getting drawn, playing his little Court games. Then he'd tire of them, eventually, and off I'd take them. Bloody hilarious, watching them the moment they'd realized he was really just out to catch them. Those collars were so useful. Elricht certainly looked cute with one on. Ahh, yes. He was one of the first, you know. Never made it to the proper post he'd been sent off to, not that anyone could tell from the letters I mocked up."

"Just what did Ebrellin-i do to them?" Camdhegn's just adorable when he tries to hide how tense he is, and how much he wants to kill me for hurting his brother. If there's anything I enjoy from being in here, it's playing with those stifled emotions of his. He looks like he's trying to swallow a rat while keeping his mouth closed.

"Seduced a few, gave em presents, had tea. Then wrapped his collars around their necks, and it was my turn to deliver them to where they truly needed to be. Poor thing, I think he missed his pets after I took them away. He always wanted more." I feel the next question coming on, and go ahead and answer it. "The Poets went to Lady Thelea. That's her own pet project, much as Ebrellin-i sometimes is. Well, he's everyone's pet project, really. It's hilarious to watch him bow down before the throne of Nul. To watch him dance for the Court there, to answer the Calls. He'll sing, if the canary boy's ordered to. He is always so pretty--"

"Where is Elricht now?" Ahh, Camdhegn's cutting that little avenue short before I can probe Katherine's emotions. Pity, I was going to have fun with that. The opportunities that the Elricht topic brings to irritate Camdhegn are too rich to pass up, though.

"Elricht? Ah, I never did say, did I? He's almost Lady Thelea's favorite pet now. Nul favors him as well, but agrees not to look upon him too much. We don't want to break the poor lad. He's too useful as a Poet, and as a tool. We think that maybe we can break your Seal without breaking you, Jhe Camdhegn." I smirk. "And if that's not possible, well now - if it just so happens you die, Seal Guardianship will pass to Elricht, and we'll simply break him. Then, well - there'll be the Old Man for Radia to contend with. Try your armies against that monstrous one -- well, you won't, would ye? Ye'd be dead, not even in the ground then. Legend has it that should ye fall and allow the Seal to be thrown into contention, the Old Man will eat yer soul. I just wonder if that will be true." Camdhegn's anger is flaring up so much that his hair is almost standing on end like a cat's. As it is, now that he's taken his seat again. he's clenching both hands around whip and pen, as if to control both - or summon them to control him.

"Go on," says Katherine's voice, cool and calm. It prickles at my temple, and there's a strange glow from her face that I'm afraid to look at. Her eyes have likely turned again. Advocate. Fucking freak. I start to speak before she tries another of her tricks.

"Elricht is kept safe. Thelea would like him to be her little Court boy, to serve her as one of her pets. She trains up many pets - where do you think Ebrellin-i got his taste for those hobbies, after all? But little Elricht, he isn't very pliant when it comes to that. Mostly he's kept locked up, safe with her. Sometimes he's brought before Nul to punish him, soften him up a little, and remind him why he should behave himself as all good little Poets should. It's funny - ten years now, it's been, and he's still holding up. He's tired, though. Starting to get rattled, but that steel remains. I suppose he's waiting for his little brother to rescue him. I wonder how long he'll be kept waiting, eh?" My eyes flash. "You should go and get him, Camdhegn, before it's too la--"

I snatch my hand up to my throat. It's closed up again, but this isn't Nul. I look up at Katherine, who is making a close-fisted gesture. Little fucking minx, she's commanding me not to speak! Her glowing eyes regard me, and I'm grateful that my bladder's empty already. "That's enough, little Nul-servant. Tell us of the other Poets now."

I shrug, try to play it cool, and try to break my gaze away from the Advocate's. It's not working. Fuck. "As I said, Lady Thelea's pets. She wishes to use the Poet craft to Lyiannethe's own ends. To bend and break them and make the writing and art serve her. She is succeeding, to some degree, and at times it's funny to see just how successful she's been in breaking them. Not everyone can have the will that Elricht has, after all." I smirk. "Even the Jherent o'Radia's eldest son."

Katherine's hand tightens around one of her blades. The long one, the 'merciful' one. "What?"

"Ah, you thought the Cruxradia Poet was away on his mission, doing his duty? Oh no - Edward is at her beck and call. She has him eating from her hand now. He's besotted, it seems - truly broken, almost as much a puppet as Ebrellin-i. Hilarious, to see one of Cruxradian blood kneel before her, follow her every command." Ahh, I've got her now. Her eyes aren't fading back to green yet, but I think she's riled by this. Good. "He's practically her consort. She prizes ones of the royal Radian family line, you know. She worked very hard to collect him. They make quite the handsome pair." I cock my head. "I wonder, has he written you letters home, in all this time? I wasn't given his quill to copy out letters like I was for Elricht. You see, it simply wasn't necessary."

"Shush." Camdhegn steps in for her now, rising. That whip of his coils on the floor. The hairs on the back of my neck prickle as I feel it aiming for me. "That's enough for now. Your information has been more than sufficient, Jhe Fayegeaux. Tell me, though," he regards me through those square-rimmed spectacles, the gaze somehow freezing me just as the Advocate's did, "what is it about your diary that would provoke you to give up this much information?"

I say nothing. I clamp my damn jaw shut.

"Speak." Damnit, the Advocate's gotten her wits back around her, and the command's loosening my jaw.

"I don't know. Don't bother asking me questions I can't answer, foolish Briarseal."

"Aye? How can that even be the truth?" I think he might be asking Katherine that instead of myself, but somehow I'm prompted to answer the question, still.

"That diary's full of things I don't fucking remember. I don't read it. I just keep it safe. If I don't think Nul should see it, there must just be a reason for it, and it's enough to turn traitor for it. I don't have any better explanation for it, and I won't give you one, no matter how hard ye beat me."

They're quiet. They stare me down, for awhile. Then they turn and leave.

Fuck it all. I don't have a change of pants with me.

* * *
Lyric
* * *

Okay, so maybe I'm avoiding thinking about that whole almost-getting-assassinated thing from earlier. Can you blame me? It's the sort of thing that could be very upsetting if you dwell on it too much. I don't want to think about who did it, or why, or whether it might happen again very soon. I just want to try on these frilly shorts and be a girl for awhile. I'm good at that. I'm not good at much else, and I think that's been proven very well by this point.

Then my sister's hand comes down on my shoulder and ruins my introspection. "Hey, you."

I look back at her while applying a matching lipstick shade. I pucker my lips and blot them. "Yes?" She looks unusually serious. Oh, that's right. Sis has a job. And she's probably still thinking about me almost getting killed and all. "Hey, is your arm okay? You didn't get a scrape when we fell, did you?"

She bites her lip, then for some strange reason she smiles. "No, but thanks for asking. I was gonna tell you - Lute sort of whispered over to me that the coast is clear if we wanna head straight back to the Palace Compound. He's got a lookout for us so we'll be safe. And um..." she looks to the side, making sure Aunt Muriel's out of view. "He got the assassin," she whispers. "We can talk about it more later, okay? Don't want to drag stuff like that onto family doorsteps even more than we have today already, you know?" She clears her throat, then starts speaking at a normal volume again. "Anyway, I'm sure you have enough new clothes by now. Looks like Muriel gave you a couple bags of em. How about we drop them off at your room, then go to the Poet Hall? I've gotta check on things. Jhe h'Lete's probably running around again by now, and I don't want him exhausting himself all over again."

"That sounds alright." I think for a moment. "Hey, Stevane? You think that's the place for me to be?"

She mulls it over. "Huh. That'd be nice. I wouldn't be the only Akribastes stuck without guns." She sighs, then heaves a bag up over her shoulder. "Come on, punk. I'm not carrying all your clothes for you. Not unless I get to pick through em afterwards!"

"Hey, would you? Because that looks heavy..." Stevane rolls her eyes at me, then dumps a bag into my arms.

"Come on, let's go say goodbye. Auntie Muriel's not in town very often, you know. And at the rate you've been around, you'd better catch people while you can!"

* * *
'Sy
* * *

I can't really put this off any longer. Of course, it's ridiculous that I'm putting it off at all. It's not as if I'm afraid of the Poet Hall. Oh, no - I just prefer Elete do his job, and I attend to mine, and that they only cross over as is necessary. If someone needs to go to the Poet Hall I'll usually send over one of my Armed that just so happens to also have Poet abilities and duties. Mixed. That's the most polite word I've ever heard them referred to as. As for the less polite words...well, we don't like to repeat those, of course.

I pick up Cade's journal on my way out. I considered attempting to read it myself, as I doubt it could do any real harm to me - but I'd rather leave Elete his jobs. One more thing to keep him from running about. Or so I hope.

It really is a shame about his health. He has his episodes from time to time, and takes his bedrest then - even if we have to tie him down to make him get it. This is far more extended than an occasional illness, however. I'd be less worried if we had any idea as to the cause of it. Of course, all of my worries would be alleviated if Elete would pay any mind to his weaknesses at all, and tell us when something's wrong with him. It's gotten to the point where I've had to pry into his personal affairs - or have others like my daughter do it for me - just to make sure he's not hiding anything else. And he treats it all like it's just a silly game for him!

I sigh heavily, then step out of my office, walking straight into Jhe Bronwyn. She squeaks. The sound is so high-pitched that I double-check to make certain I haven't stepped on a mouse.

She darts back, bowing in such a flustered manner that I can't keep track of where her face is. "Jhe h'Akribastes I'm SO sorry, I didn't see you there! Well of course I didn't see you there, otherwise that would mean I'd run into you on purpose! I-I'd never DO that! Excuse me s-sir, it's just that--there's so much paperwork already and Jhe Katherine's so busy doing her job and all and-and-and well I heard there'd be more, sir, and I'm really in a rush, was there anything you wanted?" She looks up at me with those strange garnet eyes, a deep red set in a cocoa-colored face and framed by blonde hair. Jhe Averseen is fairly tall, and...rather adequately well-endowed. She is also a... handful, but rather useful to Katherine, and I could imagine less annoying pure Poets as a personal assistant in the Armed Hall.

...I mean more annoying. Bronwyn never annoys me. At all. Ever.

"...Yes. Well." I close my eyes and compose myself. I open them. She's still there. "...Jhe Averseen, as it so happens, I will be visiting Jhe h'Logos in the Poet Hall. Perhaps if you accompany me, we may request some aid for your position while we are there." I'm not sure what I'm thinking by surrounding myself with another Poet right now, but I have a feeling that I just desire a buffer from Elete. He is probably out of bed. Trying to run about. Scheming things. I may sound untrusting, I know. But I know him. And I know Poets. And most of the recent problems in my life have beencaused by Poets, so perhaps I am a bit paranoid, so I will have all the buffer I can possibly get from them today.

"I..." She blinks. "That would be wonderful, sir! I might get to go home tonight!"

I blink. "Jhe Averseen, you stay here at night?"

She blushes. "I live outside the city, sir. If my work keeps me here too late, well... well I'd prefer not walking home alone, so I just sleep here sometimes. I... I hope that's not a problem, sir? I'm sorry, I didn't know it was an issue."

"It's... not. I was merely concerned. Come, let us fix that problem for you. It's no good working all day if you can't sleep in a bed at night."

"Oh, that's true sir! And I have a very nice bed! It's so lonely!"

I raise an eyebrow at her. She blinks, and then her cheeks begin an endeavor to match her eyes.

"Jhe h'Akribastes, I, um, I... I didn't mean it like that!" She looks away. "Here, I'll, um, I'll just... I'll go get the documents that need to be delivered to the Poet Hall!"

I close my eyes, rub my temples, and sigh. Poets. When I'm sure she's out of earshot, I begin to chuckle.

* * *
Lyric
* * *

Stevane's pretty damn eager to get to the Poet Hall. I don't have time to hang or fold my clothes, and she doesn't listen to any of my complaints about wrinkles and stale odors. In fact, she brushes all of that away with a cryptic phrase: "Just learn how to write it off, okay?"

I've seen the Poet Hall before, but never really been inside other than a few times that I was little and I can't remember very well. Stevane practically grew up in there. Heck, I remember a few grumbles Dad would make when he didn't think anyone was listening to the tune of Jhe Elete being 'her other daddy'. The other kids frequented the Armed Hall much more, except for me. I went shopping.

What? I wasn't really thinking about the future, and nobody ever paid enough attention to me to point out that maybe I should.

While the Armed Hall is more of a compound that people go and shoot each other in, the Poet Hall truly earns the 'Hall' part. The entrance is very open yet also grand, in the famed columns-and-pretty-statues style of every Palace building. This building... it's different, though. There's a pair of boxer shorts on one of the statues decorating the front fountain.

Stevane cocks her head. "Huh! Yesterday it was a bra. Guess some girl found her underwear."

Three people are scaling the wall by the entrance. As we proceed through the grand double-doors, I hear a shout before one of them hits the ground outside with a WHUMP. Then we're walking on clean slate tiles. No, marble. No...granite? I trip as I try to keep track of the shifting pattern.

Stevane grabs my arm and pulls me upright. "Don't bother. That's the current trainee decorating project." She shakes her head, clucking her tongue. "Trainees can never make up their minds. It's like watching you try to pick an outfit in the morn-- hey! HEY, ERYNN!"

A young man with short dark hair waves at us from across the long expansive entryway. "Ey! Stevane! ...Is that Lyric?!" He approaches, and as he gets closer I realize that I recognize his grinning, mischievous face. He obviously recognizes me as well. "Well, where'd you catch him?" His eyes light up. "And do you get the bounty?"

I jump. "Bounty?"

Stevane facepalms, shaking her head. She looks back up at Erynn. "No, Jhe Blackirons. Gerald found him first." Then, her eyes light up. "Hey. We ought to give him the bounty. Where's it being kept?"

Erynn bites his finger tip. "Hmm. Amanda had it for a little bit. Over in the Armed Hall."

Stevane's eyebrows meet as she frowns. "What was it doing over there? We said it was for Poets only. The Armed had their own thing going."

Erynn sighs. "Yeah, but somebody ate that sandwich."

I raise an eyebrow. "Sandwich?"

Stevane, again, facepalms. "The Armed - not Daddy, but the actual Armed themselves - set your bounty as a sandwich, Lyric."

"It was a very nice sandwich," Erynn points out.

I blink. "That's...kind of weird, but I guess it's okay."

Stevane sighs. "No, Lyric, you don't understand. It's the same sandwich. Since you left, they haven't made a new one. For ten years, it's remained - mayonnaise and all. It...damn, Erynn, how could someone eat that thing on accident? It was green!"

Erynn chuckles. "On a dare? Swear it to my mother's name it's true. Mikhal puked it up afterwards, so I guess we could still use it, but eh...no. Anyway, Gerald was out on Poet business, right?" Erynn grins and slaps Stevane on the back. "So the prize goes to us! Gerald gets the Poet bounty. I'll uh...I'll go grab those from 'Manda. Hey, 'Rude came back, right? He went out on mission to cover Gerald's ass again, after all." Oh, that's where I recognize him from. Erynn Blackirons came to Radia with Gerude from way out in Robinstead when I was just a kid. Gerude was on a mission out there, and decided to take Erynn back with him because he had 'Poet potential'. The two have been best friends ever since then.

Stevane nods. "He's around. I haven't seen him yet, but I sort of felt the lurch when he came back. You wanna go hunt him down?"

"Yup! And I'll go get the bounty while I'm at it. Toodle-doo!" With that, Erynn darts away. After he's out of sight, I look up at Stevane. She looks down at me.

"Well. That pretty much sums up this place. Come on, Jhe h'Lete's quarters are this way."

* * *
'Sy
* * *

I approach the Poet Hall with wariness and trepidation that have been trained into me over time, exposure, and some very distressing learning experiences. Bronwyn seems to echo my concern. Then again, no one approaches the Poet Hall completely at ease - too many shenanigans have happened here.

Just as I think that, I'm almost barreled into by my second Poet today. I raise an eyebrow at him. "Is there some emergency, Jhe Blackirons?"

He jumps, then makes a smarmy little bow. "Sorry sir, it's just with your son back, we have to give Gerald the bounty now! So I'm gonna go fetch that."

I lift my eyebrows in concern. "Not another sandwich?"

He chokes back a laugh. "Oh, no sir. Nothing near so special as that. By the way, how is Mikhal? I haven't seen him since he ate that thing. It's been over a week now."

"Jhe Devisch shall walk again someday, or so I'm told. If your Poet bounty does worse to my son, I might see that you share his fate. Now go off and waste someone's time."

Jhe Blackirons pouts up at me from that last statement, then shrugs and dashes off. I don't pay it any mind. I've got things to do.

We enter the Poet Hall. I stare around the receiving area while mentally scanning, then raise an eyebrow. "Jhe Averseen?"

Bronwyn jumps. "Ah, yes sir?"

"By my reckoning, I do believe Jhe h'Logos is not sleeping in his quarters. Perhaps you can aid me in seeking him out?"

"Oh! Of course, sir! I'm sure he's just...resting somewhere else. Here, I think I sense his presence this way..."

And with that, I'm dragged off down a random hall in the Poet complex.

* * *
Gerald
* * *

I'm still not exactly sure how I got dragged here. Jhe h'Logos is supposed to be in bed, right? Not in a big room full of weird wooden boxes, pictures of squirrels, and balls of yarn. There's a weird brass contraption in the corner that's gathering dust, and a collection of quills and papers. "Here!" he says. "Try this one." I pick up a quill.

"Sire? With all due respect, you know that I'm not exactly an artist."

He shakes his finger at me. "Gerald, I taught you your arts myself, and made sure to grind it into your head then that it is not the technical skill behind the quill that matters in Poetry nearly so much as intent. Besides which, I need only for you to sign your name. I've had so many Poets out of the Hall as of late that I was short just one more to complete this project." He smiles. "It's been a long-running one, but I think you'll enjoy it. Jhe Stevane thought of it while having coffee with me."

I pause. "Wait, you had coffee?" Jhe o'Radia has handed down instructions to all the Poets and Armed in Radia to only give the Poet King coffee under Imperial authority. Apparently the Poet King is only allowed so much stimulant in a day.

"We had it with Jhe Luciprochoros. He had a new blend delivered that he simply had to share with educated palettes. I was only up for three days afterward. In any case...here, sign your name. It won't take long after that. Then..." his eyes twinkle. "Then you'll see."

I'd say something, but the Poet King is a very persuasive individual, and I'm not going to refuse an order just because it sounds a little...shifty. After all, this is the Poet Hall. Besides, he's a King. He knows what he's doing. I apply my signature. After that...

Well, after that, things get a little fuzzy.

* * *
'Sy
* * *

Jhe Averseen stops suddenly, looking ahead of her with some confusion. She rubs her head, furrowing her brow. I lean down to see what's wrong, but she only shakes her head. "It's nothing, sir. I think...I think somebody must have just now written something really weird. I have the feeling I just helped, though, and that's a bit strange. Well, the King does have his projects that we all help out with. Maybe he just finished one."

"Ah. I thought he should be resting right now."

She sighs. "Of course, sir. It's probably someone else, I'm sure. He's a hard worker but he wouldn't endanger his health...not at a time like this." She sounds so dubious of her words that she must just be saying them for the show of it. Most of all, though, she sounds very worried. That concern is beginning to rub off on me.

Maybe that's more a sense of impending doom. I can feel a strange energy building up. Something very fast...very chaotic...and like nothing I've ever sensed before. I run ahead towards the room we're approaching. What if Camden brought something else with him when he brought Ebrellin-i and Cade? Elete's in no condition to fend off an attack - even if it's from within his own Hall. I burst into the room.

I am consumed by...fluffiness. Disgusting, mewling, purring fluffiness. I summon Diyn. Diyn does not come. I realize, at the worst ever possible time to do so, that Diyn refused to enter the Poet Hall since about fifteen years after Elete took office in it, due to a ridiculous incident that almost cost three Poets their lives and Elete his dignity.

I decide that the best course of action is to set what's attacking me on fire.

"Tesynnodai! Please don't kill them! They've committed no crime!" I would feel more moved by his plea if Elete didn't sound like he was choking back a laugh.

"ELETE. GET WHATEVER THIS IS OFF OF ME." I flail, only to have my arm covered in more of it. Or, possibly, them.

"I err...well, I don't know what to call them yet, 'Sy. We've only just gone and invented them...they're really quite interesting, however. Here, Gerald, you can pick them up. Oh! Jhe Averseen, my dear. Thank you so much for helping. My, my, I didn't think there'd be so many. At least one for every Poet that signed!" He sounds so... proud. As he speaks, the small furry... parasites are being removed from me, one by one. "Stevane thought we could use little helpers, you see. That could fetch, and carry, and take messages...like hawks, except better for the indoors, and trained for litter boxes. And then I thought, cats would be so efficient if they had opposable thumbs. And we figured we should keep the wings, for speed and...well, more efficiency. But we added some squirrel in for...was it balance? Yes. It was balance. And one of the Poets thought it would be nice if we could feed them nuts, though I'm not sure how much of a use that would be...but it sounded plausible at the time. In any case, they're very young now, and...my, they do like you a great deal. Do you keep a lot of cats? I've not seen that many at your house."

I glare at him, now that my face is exposed. I am still wearing a fuzzy helmet made of... whatever these things are. "Cats annoy me. Every one of them seems to know this, and thus they all...oh for fuck's sakes, are these things all nesting on me because of that?"

Elete chokes back a laugh behind his hand. "It's a distinct possibility." He looks one of the things in the eye, then hands it to me. "Here, see? There's no harm in the little thing."

I peer over the small animal in my hands. It's a tiny kitten, though it's older than a newborn. Probably old enough to be weaned, though if it's a Poet creation it wouldn't have a natural mother. On its back are a pair of bird wings, like those of a small songbird. It has a squirrel tail instead of a cat tail. It meows at me, begins to purr, and then disappears. A second later, the damned thing has nested on my head. I look over at Elete. "Teleportation? Was that necessary?"

He smiles, eyes twinkling. "Very convenient, don't you think?"

I shake my head and curse under my breath. "You and your infernal shenanigans are going to be the death of me, Elete."

"Ooo! Shenanigans! Jhe h'Lete, that's the perfect name for them!" Stevane's voice cheers out from behind me. We're then joined by both her and my errant son, who is blinking at everything around him as if he were a newborn foal. There's the Poetic dance of oh-what-are-you-doing-isn't-this-fun-let's-babble-on-like-idiots, and then Stevane suddenly glares at Elete with no warning whatsoever. "All that aside, just what are you doing out of bed, Jhe h'Lete?!"

Elete is about to give a retort to Stevane when he looks over at me. The dawning, morbid, extremely delayed realization of the fact that he has been caught out of bed is warring with a strange smile. I realize that Stevane and I's faces look identical right now. It might almost be too much for the Poet King.

Then he collapses backwards, proving that it, in fact, was the very last straw. Gerald, ever looking for a use in life, catches the King before he lands on a mewling, fighting pile of shenanigans. Wouldn't that just be awful.

* * *

* * *
Katherine
* * *

I don't know what Camden is on about. When we leave Cade's cell, instead of going upstairs to the Yard or possibly to the offices, he takes me by the hand and drags me further into the dungeons. Why? This will just take us over to-

I stop, jerking my hand back. Camden's grip is solid, as if my wrist is Geillg'a's hilt. He looks over his glasses at me in wordless query.

"Why?" It sums everything up rather nicely. Why this way? Why, when I've already done anything that can be done, and there's nothing left to do?

He looks down, brow creasing as he thinks. Then he looks back up at me. "It's what Elricht would do." His words sound a bit unsure - he's speaking in Radian again. Then he turns and keeps walking, and I decide it's more rational to follow along than lose my wrist or lop off his hand. Elric always could see the future in ways most Poets train years to get close to, Camden included.

We stop in front of Ebrellin-i's cell. Camden drags up two chairs before I have a chance to say anything. The only natural thing is to plop down and sit. I look over to watch my father shiver under the blankets just like he did earlier, and then Camden reaches over and whacks my arm.

"Ow!" I turn and glare at him.

He just grins. "Ye need a distraction. I've some things to talk about, at any rate. And eventually, I'm sure the regent there will as well." He sounds pretty cheerful about that.

"I didn't think, by your experiences and position, that you'd like the Jhe o'Audiva Rocale."

He snorts. "Well, it's nothing personal, right? I like him well enough. He's polite when he's in his own head, or so I've seen. Rather pleasant, and he made Ethrain Jaxhelshon shovel horse manure. All admirable qualities in a man."

I look at him warily.

He tries to grin and keep aloof under my scrutiny, but it breaks down quickly enough. His face shifts to something more serious. "Ebrellin-i knows more than a few things about what happened to my brother, Katherine. I'd like to take Cade's testimony with a grain of salt, of course - I believe it would be best to test it against what Ebrellin-i has to say." He turns towards the cell. "Of course, all that is entirely dependent on him being able to talk. You say that it's a waiting game, but still...when Poets witness things, they happen faster. As Jhe h'Logos is so fond of saying, it is the exact opposite of a watched teakettle never boiling. I just feel it's important for us to be here right now, that's all. A hunch, like Elricht always has. It certainly couldn't hurt to wait here while we compare our notes, right?"

I mull that one over. If a breakthrough actually happened in here...well, I certainly see it being worth the time. I'm oddly more comfortable being here while there's another person with me, even though I'm fully capable of being the Advocate alone. "Alright. I can agree with that. I suppose you had something in mind to discuss?"

His eyes flash. "Indeed. Tell me, have you heard any of Lyric's testimony? Or read that which was written?"

I shake my head. "I haven't read anything, but I was there for his Trial. He was pardoned by the animism, in case you were wondering." By Camden's face, he wasn't very worried, nor surprised that Lyric went to Trial at all. "I've also heard a few things from him, here and there, but you know how it is at testimonies. Crazy, especially for those defending themselves. What is it that you know?" I can go back through the Judge's recall of things well enough, but there really is something to be said for perspective, or just for the knowing twinkle in Camden's eyes right now.

"I only know half of his story, really, but he wrote it very clearly in his journal. A classic example of a budding Poet. He was very sympathetic towards Ebrellin-i. He'd fallen in love with the ruler, just as Jhe Fayegeaux accounted that many Poets did with Ebrellin-i. Of course, Jhe o'Audiva Rocale didn't know what he had. He even took Lyric as a consort, and put a good store of trust in him. By all accounts, we have a good amount of testimony in Lyric, if you want someone to ask questions of."

I nod. "I see. Care to share anything specific?"

"No, but I thought I'd put that out there for you to do. This isn't my work. I'm just here to help you, because I feel that I should. No, the real thing I wanted to share was that Ebrellin-i's other daughter, Rocsui, said many things that did corroborate with what we've learned from Jhe Cade. Tell me, did you know just how set against the rest of the Xaillyndesse family your Father was?"

I frown. "Yes. There were few times when I was ever allowed to visit them, or they me. It's a little hard to remember, since I was quite young during some of those times. He was also...very adept at acting as if nothing was wrong during my visits. It's a little hard to look back on it all with an objective eye. Did I not notice his condition because of my youth, because of my closeness to him, or because he simply hid it so well?" I can't keep myself from looking into the cell. Father's shaking harder, and a sheet's fallen off of him, exposing his arm and the dark marks flowing across it. By gods and spirits, he's gotten worse. They're thicker now, and they're warping--

"It could likely be any of those. By all accounts, though, it seems unlikely now that he was a willing participant in many of his crimes, wouldn't you say?" Camden's voice distracts me from the cell. What was I thinking about? Oh well, Camden's got good ideas tonight, I'll keep paying attention to him. He gestures for me to keep watching Father, though. "Do you want to know just how to tell if someone's been conditioned, Advocate?"

"I know of a few ways, but I imagine you'd like to show me regardless." Father's writhing in his bed now, the marks flowing over him as if they're writing on him. I can make out characters every now and then, but I try not to read them. Those of us that can read Nulspeak, those very few of us, are trained not to read it when we see it unless we absolutely must read it. Reading it activates it - often destroying the reader in the process.

"Aye." I hear Camden rise. There's the jingle of metal links spreading across the floor as Geillg'a is unsheathed. Then the song of metal chiming as the whip soars through the air at Camden's side, and finally a uniquely leather POP as Camden cracks the whip. I expect my Father to jump, or to cower.

Instead, his body goes limp and still, and he quiets. It takes the farthest reach of all my senses just to verify that he is still breathing. The breaths are quiet, long, and tense. His eyes are fixed, staring out at a point of the wall that he happened to be looking at when the whip was cracked. They've lost any focus they had left. Ebrellin-i does not dare blink or make the tiniest movement.

That, dear Katherine, is a man who has been trained to stay quiet or know death. It's not the whip he fears. The whip was the warning, or the order. The pain he feels from the marks is also not what he fears. That's a separate thing entirely. Do you think Nul would need a whip to train his pets? Or is that something that Thelea would rather do?

The questions make me shake, make me even want to throw up, but I repress both urges. Thelea beats her servants, and she has many pets. I'm willing to bet that Ebrellin-i learned to use the whip because of her. Nul would not need it. I think about it. He has the marks of Nul's ownership, but Thelea's training. Nul destroys memories and rules and controls through oblivion. Ebrellin-i's been trained like an animal would be. I wince at the irony of it. Father did love his pets, but they were trained very well.

Aye. Enough of an indication, I think, that Cade speaks the truth in at least that case. Do you think, then, that Ebrellin-i can tell us of the Poets he's kidnapped? Or has that been made into oblivion as well?

I shake my head. The memories may have been made Nul, but they can be regained. He has to fight for them, though. That's the most difficult part of my job - I can't do this for him. Father's hands are beginning to twitch again, the eye on the back of one warping and glaring at me. Camden puts his hand on my shoulder, keeping me from getting drawn in again.

You don't have to do this for him, but ye have to watch it for it to happen, I wager.

Watch what? Father's body curls and he closes his eyes. He cries out, then huddles up, then claws at his pillow. His entire body bends backwards, as if someone's yanking him back by the hair. Slowly, he uncurls, as if he's pulling against some unseen force. His hands dart up to his neck, yanking at a collar that isn't visible, but telling by where his hands are positioned it's very thick. Finally his hands dart down, scrabbling at an unseen force. Camden twitches his whip just as my fingers curl around the hilts of my blades.

Father's hand then swipes down across the back of his other hand, sharp nails raking across the inky eye there, drawing his own blood. I see black seep out of the wound as well as red. Most importantly, I see the eye disappear. Ebrellin-i fought for enough control to put it out himself.

Father's body relaxes into the couch, going slack. His eyes stare up at the ceiling. They have a bit more focus to them now than they did before. In a moment, they close, and his breathing turns regular.

I imagine a bit o' sleep will do him best of all. If those marks can't hurt him like that, he should be able to do the important work himself.

I nod. Camden, did you do that?

Nay. I only came here to watch it. Nul's trick isn't to make something not happen - it's to make people not notice when it happens, so they forget it. Then it's like it never happened at all, and so it didn't. I felt we needed to be here, and it seems I was correct. Tell me if I'm needed here again. The Advocate's business is closely tied in with the Peacekeeper's, after all. If you fail, I get a war I don't necessarily want to fight, but will have to win.

I smile. Fine. We'll make it a date. Come on, it's been a long day and there's still more to do during it.

* * *
'Sy
* * *

I'm too furious to properly help my son drag Elete into the bed in the King's quarters. I let Gerald handle it on his own. As it is, Elete's lost more than enough weight to barely be an effort for Gerald to lug about. Most of the difficulty is in how TALL Elete is. And for some reason, that makes me even more furious. Just seeing how much he's let himself and his health go. Watching his slack face and frantically trying to figure out just what the hell to do about it. Katherine isn't here, she's off doting over her failure of a father. She always knew what to do with Elete, whenever any of us did at all. Now what?

Stevane takes one look at me pacing up and down the length of Elete's room and then promptly sends Lyric out to get tea. "Right in that room. However the Peacock King liked it, except with honey. Has he...has he told you that story? Oh, of course not. He probably didn't mention his brother much to you. Jhe h'Lete never really said much about him to me. But...well...tea."

Lyric nods and shakes his head at the appropriate times. "He spoke a little bit of Jhe h'Logos. Um. He said that he was proud of his brother but they um, they fought a lot." Lyric's getting shaky. He almost drops the teapot. It could be that my anger is getting out of hand and affecting others in the vicinity. I try to control it. Diyn whispers to me from across the boundaries of the Poet Hall. I anticipate something in support, but it's more of a contemptuous glare reprimanding me for not controlling myself.

But you're part of me, I tell him.

I fail to see how that makes you my problem.

I almost curse aloud, but I refuse to lose my dignity in this situation more than I already have. Elete's gone and fucking overexerted himself right when I need him, and all I have to show for it is a suit covered in cat hair! Something touches my hand. I jerk alert from my thoughts and stare down at Stevane. Her eyes are wide with tension, but she stands up straight.

She hands me a teacup. "Here. It's just a mild stimulant and it helps with the nerves." It's almost said from rote. I prod at her mind just a little and realize that she's precariously close to shock. Elete was close to her since she was born, after all. He's also her task, and she's close to failure now.

"It wasn't your watch."

She shakes her head as she kneels by her King. "It should have been." She brushes his hair back from his forehead, then gently tugs the crown back just a bit. "We shouldn't take it off. It's bracing him just as much as the Hall is, as much as he gets poked for constantly wearing it. Besides, it'll leave such a dent in his hair--" she chokes back a giggle, then swallows. Hysterics. She looks up, then cocks her head at Gerude. ...Gerald. That's Gerald. She gestures for him to come closer. Gerald, being the stable, obedient boy that he is, obeys. She gestures for him to lean down. He frowns, but complies. She plucks a feathered little fluffball off of his head, which begins to mewl. "Okay, now go find a few others. You and Lyric." She frowns and concentrates on the furball in her hands as her brothers rush out of the room to go bring some more of those wretches in.

"I kind of thought them up when everything was getting to be a handful for all of us." I'm not sure if she's talking to me. She almost sounds as if she's talking to herself. "Jhe h'Lete kept talking of convenience. I just thought, wouldn't it be nice if I could set something on top of him and he wouldn't want to get up? He'd finally sit." She sighs heavily, then kisses the shenanigan on the nose before resting it atop Elete's head, right in front of the crown. "Cat purrs are therapeutic. And they're sort of a little bit of him, since he put his energy into their making. Really it was silly..." She sniffles, turning away. "It was silly of him to go on and finish something like that right now when he's so sick."

My daughter is crying, and it hurts me in ways that Elete did not manage with any of his neglect or scatterbrained logic.

"Here, I've got some--oo! It puffed at me!" Lyric and Gerald each have an armload of shenanigans, with more of the little menaces piled on top of Gerald's hat. They try to just pile them on Stevane, who automatically hisses at them for the ridiculousness of that idea.

"Calmly - calmly, I said! - put them near him, or on him in a way that won't suffocate him."

"Here," says Jhe Averseen, moving with a grace and curt adeptness that reminds me very much of Katherine. I wonder why I didn't notice Bronwyn before, and then realize I'd been trying my damnedest to ignore her up until now, so as to feel I was in more control of this bloody situation. I decide I might as well just leave now and let the Poets handle things by stacking a wiggling pyramid of shenanigans around the Poet King. Then Elete has the indecency to pick that very moment to move.

"I think he's waking up!" chirps Lyric. My son. The budding Poet.

"...Dai'? Jhe h'Akribastes? What is the meaning of this?" Elete sounds dazed, almost drunk. Then I realize a shenanigan tail is stuck in his mouth and muffling his words. Bronwyn daintily plucks it out, then cradles the somewhat damp animal.

"Jhe h'Lete, you got sick." Stevane offers the King his tea, battling aside squirrel tails.

"Is that why I'm covered in meowing fur?" Elete takes his tea and sips it. By the unholy places, I think he's gaining coherency. "Oh thank you, dear. My favorite blend."

"My brother Lyric picked it." She looks back over her shoulder, not so much glancing at me as directing Elete's attention to me. Possibly it's a preventative measure. The pressure in the room seems to be rising, and I could be at fault for that detail.

Elete follows her eyes, then settles his focus on me again. His eyes widen. Oh, good. He's discovered that I'm not happy with the current situation. He tries to rise for a moment, but three Poets and one on his way to being one, plus a mountain of shenanigans, is enough to impede Elete frombowing at me.

I step forward. The Poets tense. I realize that they're getting ready to have to defend their King from me. I also remind myself that three of them are my children. Heavens. How did it come to this?

I sink to my knees in front of Elete's bed, which helps offset my height from intimidating them just a little bit. I don't want to hurt anyone. Alright, that's an outright lie - I have some intense desire to hurt Elete right now. But that's not what I'm here for, though I feel it's what I ought to do. "I'm here on Armed business."

Elete pales.

"This morning, our Peacekeeper's wounded and some civilians were withdrawn from Audiva Rocale. In exchange, other Armed forces were sent in. This was done later in the day, as was indicated by yourself, Jhe h'Logos. I can tell by now that there is conflict in the Aurocan Palace. There is undoubtedly killing. And you...sent the word that it should be done, yes?" I blink, then breathe, and go on. "This was your plan. So, now that it is later in the day, I ask you: are you going to go on and do it, or do you have some brilliant idea as to how to avoid this ridiculous bout of bloodshed that my Armed are involved in?"

Elete only shakes his head, but his pupils are dilating, his focus blurring to somewhere far distant. I've seen him look through the veil of Time before. It's common for him. I've never seen him do it in such a haze, though. I almost wonder if he can see it. "No..." he whispers, "that is how it happens. This is what should be." But he, himself, looks confused.

I narrow my eyes. He stares back into mine. "Fine then," I say, "as much help as you seem to be at all for the Armed anymore. As capable as you are of doing you job, anymore. Go on and do it." Stevane opens her mouth, but restrains herself from speaking. Good. I won't have to restrain myself from slapping her for giving one of her insolent retorts.

Elete looks into the distance again, then closes his eyes, and raises his hand. Gently, he turns his wrist, then snaps his fingers. The effort of it looks miniscule, but the act makes him collapse backwards. "I can't change what's already happened. I have to send them on. I can't alter--"

"Shut up." I close my eyes and breathe. I open them. Elete looks like he's staring into his doom. That's a good way of putting it, in fact. "Just stop your talking, for once, and listen to what I have to say. You are confined to this space until Jhe o'Radia gives word otherwise. Until you are fit for your position again, your duties here are ended. You are not capable of making rational decisions, showing restraint with your arts or powers, or guiding others to be capable of acting in your stead. You may think you cannot be replaced." I stand. "You are in error. I will see to it that someone suitable will stand in your stead until you are well again." I clench my fists as I walk towards the door. "If that time ever comes."

I don't wait to witness the horror reeling over him. I suppose that makes me a poor friend and a shitty comrade. The truth is that I can't stand to be in the Poet Hall for one second longer.

I don't notice it at the time, but as I leave, Bronwyn's footsteps follow mine.

* * *
Gerald
* * *

"Jhe h'Lete? You've got to rest."

I watch Stevane hold the Poet King down single-handedly, then wonder if I should help. Funny that I'm in shock and she's being all responsible here. Even Lyric's trying to scramble and sort out all the shenanigans that are swarming all over the place. Bronwyn followed Dad. So what use am I?

"Gerald? We need more tea." Stevane swallows back tears. "Please."

Okay, I know it's dire when Stevane remembers her manners. I go for the pot, pouring us each a cup and refilling Jhe h'Logos's. He doesn't quite meet me in the eye as I do so.

Can Dad really demote the Poet King? Even as Jhe h'Akribastes...can he?

"I'll be fine. Stevane, please. I really need to get up and... see to things."

"No. No, sir, you really don't." Tears pour down her cheek as she pulls him back to at least sit on the bed. "He'll feel better in the morning. And you will, with some rest. Okay? If you get up now you'll just piss him off." She smiles at him. "I've been sick in Daddy's house before, so I know. And you should know that too by now, silly. So stop panicking."

Elete pauses, then smiles at Stevane. "You're giving me a dose of my own medicine, finally." I notice that suspicious twinkle in his eyes, and decide that I'd better intervene before Jhe h'Logos gets a Really Good Idea That Just May Kill Us All. Before I do so, though, Jhe h'Logos collapses into the bed.

Stevane very sheepishly looks at her fist, as if she's wondering who possibly could have moved it. "I um... don't tell anyone." She sends a sharp look to both of us.

"Wouldn't dream of it." I stand up. "I um...maybe I should go see if things are okay on Dad's end."

Stevane cringes. "Have fun with that. I need someone to stay with me. I'm going to make sure Jhe h'Lete sleeps the whole night through."

Lyric raises his hand, which is quickly adopted as a new shenanigan perch. "I'll stay."

She cocks her head. "You sure?"

He grins. "I miss you, and this place is pretty fun. And these little critters are so cute!" He pokes at the shenanigan on his hand - a little cream-colored one with red points and cardinal wings. "Aww, look at you! What's your name?"

The shenanigan replies by biting his finger.

When the resulting scream doesn't wake Jhe h'Logos, I know it's okay for me to leave.

* * *
'Sy
* * *

Arriving at the Armed Hall, assembling Jhe Julia Wysthaven's Shadow Brigade, sending them off ahead with orders to do as they must, shuffling into my office, collapsing into my seat - it's all a blur. Thoughts bat ineffectively at my brain, like moths. That was my son Lute in that squad. I never asked him if he found anything out about my youngest son's attempted assassination. I haven't even talked to Lyric about that, and he was right there. I've left three of my children in charge of a man that I can't even trust to count up to twenty right now without using negative integers or having to divide fractions. I don't even know what Jenny's up to. As if that last part is some sort of cue, someone in my office coughs, and then sets down a cup of coffee in front of me.

Jhe Bronwyn looks up at me with red eyes that are very timid, but have the tiniest, strangest flicker of bravery in them. "I thought you might prefer it right now, sir. Sir, if you don't mind...I'm going to attend to the paperwork now, please."

I blink. "I'm sorry. I didn't even think of asking about that."

"Oh, no sir, Jhe h'Akribastes, it's not a problem at all, you were very very busy, and I should have seen to it myself what with knowing that already, just pardon me while I go work, I've got coffee enough to keep me up til dawn, not that I ever work here til dawn!" And with that, she's out of my office, which is left eerily silent.

There's nothing left to do. I should go home.

* * *
Lute
* * *

I'm not overstating for dramatic effect here - I'm afraid to tell you how I am in this carriage here right now without anyone being able to see me. If I tell you I'll get caught. Best to just leave it at that. As it is, I'm starting to feel better right now. We left Radia in the evening, got to Audiva Rocale in the morning via the Poet King's time magic. So while I've been in Audiva Rocale all day here, I've been in Radia as well, the entire time. We're used to stuff like that, mind you, but it still creates a strain. Existing a couple places at once is just hard on the body and the mind. We're trained to take it. We in the Shadow division are the most likely to have to do it, after all. Now we've actually made it past the time when we left Radia, though - which means there's only one of me at once. That's how I like it. It feels better, and I'm a Pure Armed, so the time stuff confuses me more than it would a Mixed.

This here is a nice carriage. Lots of black, but the Xaillyndessen tend to like black. Fair enough, they all look good in it. Pale, but good. And I like black too. I look good in it. Well, I think I look good. Most other people, they just can't see me in it. And I like that.

Nice wooden interior with black lacquer, black velvet curtains, plush wine-red carpet. Leather seating in the main riding compartment, with a rather spacious bed area through the back door. Two small beds back there in stacked bunks, so I suppose Jhe Thelea and Jhe Xen don't feel like bridging their relationship beyond the professional. Or perhaps they prefer to do it in the road. Hey, people have done crazier things. And the hell of it is, well - it's their country.

One tiny front room that has the tidiest, snuggest kitchen I've ever seen. The whole carriage is pretty damn big. They've got eight horses - fashionably black - out in front, though only six hitched up to pull it. The other two are for riding, I reckon.

So yeah, then there's Aaren. I suppose this is kind of like a family reunion for him, what with Thelea and Xen being right in here with him. And me, of course, in an undisclosed location in this itty-bitty room. I feel sort of like a magician. A magician with a tiny, tiny audience. Boy am I creeped out. I've been in some tight spots before, but all jokes about your mother aside, this has been the tightest of 'em. I don't know how I'll get out of here. I don't know if I'll live through this. But I do know that I'm gonna watch just what in the world is going on in here. Finding out what the hell your comrade's doing being dragged off and sat up in the enemy's carriage is pretty damn motivating, when it comes down to reasons to pay attention.

He's not tied up, you see. Thelea keeps brushing his hair out of his eyes and checking his forehead, as if she were his mother. She's not, we know that - he's a distant cousin or nephew of hers. Just as Jhe h'Logos is related to Xen distantly. And then there's Xen, just sitting next to Aaren and looking at him as if Xen knows a very hilarious secret about him. Finally, the Kommissar stops posing and leans over, reaching for Aaren's chin. He turns the boy to face him.

"Very nice, Aaren my son, but you can stop pretending to sleep now."

I almost fall out of my hiding place. My blood's rushing so fast in my ears that I can't hear for a few moments. Aaren? The Kommissar's son? Does Dad know that? How could the Jhe h'Akribastes not know that? But how could the Judge know that and still let Aaren work in our division? I feel betrayed. Not really by Aaren - by Dad. He should have told us. He should have known one of us would find this out on our own.

Of course, maybe he didn't know Aaren's true heritage. If he didn't...

Aaren opens his eyes. He didn't even flinch at the Kommissar's voice. He'd know it well, wouldn't he? "Father." He blinks up at his Father with those clear blue eyes. The Kommissar smiles down at him, then removes his hand from Aaren's chin. Huh. Right next to each other, they do look kinda alike. Looks like whoever Aaren's mother was, she managed to influence his looks just as much, though. They both have short black hair, but Aaren's hair is coarser and shaggier, and the Kommissar's is neatly-styled. Their eyes have the same shape, but Xen's are dark, almost brown, closer to black. Xen's a whole lot taller than Aaren is, even seated as they are like this. Aaren's pale as all fuck, but Xen looks like he could tan pretty well without turning into a dainty, crispy fairy. Not that Aaren's ever done that on a vacation. Not that I made fun of him for just that thing until he punched me sick in the guts.

I'm feeling sick right now, but it's not from that memory. It's just...well, he was my friend. And still is. Maybe. He'd better not be a traitor. If he's a fucking traitor, I'm going to fucking stab him. Right in the nuts.

Well, okay, I stab friends sometimes too. It's a different kind of poke, though. More... survivable.

Xen smiles, the corner of his mouth tucking up into his cheek like a concealed dagger. "Aaren? Honey? Why don't you ever write?" The voice is sing-song, mocking - but there's something deeper to this. Serious.

"I haven't had a chance to send something that wouldn't be screened." Aaren says it calmly, almost serene. "They're around a lot, you know. They watch me. I make friends." That sounds like it's almost a warning to Xen.

"I see." Xen's face is unreadable, though I can see just a touch of patronly sternness in it.

"Nothing's been of note, in any case. This is my first big mission as an Armed. And, well," Aaren shrugs, "I kind of got taken out pretty early on, so I can't tell you too much." There's the unsaid 'great going there, DAD' that I would have said, had it been my father. Of course, I'm getting the feeling that Aaren and I might have had quite different upbringings. He looks very relaxed and calm in that way that's actually tense as all hell. It's like he's in a fencing match.

"Oh, my apologies. I felt, as you were Armed now, that you would have the necessary reflexes to survive on your own." The Kommissar crosses his arms, looking down his nose at Aaren. "And how has that gone? Do you have them?"

Aaren breaks eye contact, looking straight ahead instead. "Have what?" he says with forced calm.

"Arms. Show me them. You're on a mission now, you're the real thing. You should have Arms by this point." Xen's voice is stony as well, but colder, with a steel edge to it. I'm starting to fear that Aaren's going to die. Hell, someone's going to die - the Kommissar just commanded someone to drop Arms, like he had a right to make that command.

My friend's face pales even more as he forces a calm, even expression. He even smiles a little. "Yes, Father, I am Armed now. If I show you them--"

"I'm protected," Xen says, his voice dead cold. "I fear none of the Judge's tools. I of all people shouldn't have to. Show me them."

Aaren bites his lip. I can't imagine what this decision must feel like. If he's not some chicken-ass, backstabbing traitor, then he's trying to pretend he is while surviving this mission to get back to Radia and report in. If he's a fucking traitor...well, he's scared to kill his boss/Dad. Actually, I know how that latter thing feels, as an Armed Akribastes. So, maybe I'm the one who can sympathize with Aaren the most, if I really want to feel sympathy for him in this situation. You know, I really do. Either way. I'm still his friend even if he's working for the other side. I think that's right and honorable. It should be me that kills him, if it comes down to it.

"Show me," says the Kommissar, his voice getting a dangerous edge to it. Heck, at this point I kinda wanna drop my Arms. That'd result in disaster, though. Hmm. Maybe I should do it, at that...

Aaren interrupts any really cool but way tragic fights I'm about to instigate by closing his eyes, saying "Yes, sir," and laying Schiphael very calmly across his own lap. (Guy's got steel balls. I don't often rest my Arms too near the family jewels.) He's got the calmest face in the world. There's silence in the carriage for a moment. Then, Aaren breaks it. "Father, he'll kill her if you let her stay in this carriage any longer."

It's like someone's just fingered the hairs on the back of my neck like piano keys. I skirt my eyes around the carriage, trying to figure out how they saw me. But I was so well-hidden! Then I notice that no one's looking at me, they're not even aiming at me, and Aaren's looking down at Schiphael with an intense concentration on his brow. I look at Thelea. She's white as snow, and backing towards the wall. Then she ducks out of the carriage, quick as a contract hit.

Xen raises an eyebrow at the Arms. "She was quiet."

"Justice knows the smell of a rat." Aaren clamps his hand over his mouth. Oh, shit, that was Schiphael talking.

Xen grins like he's got canary feathers lining his tongue. He knows what he's talking to? And he's not about to stick Aaren one through the chest? Holy shit, was he trying to do this all along? "And Justice isn't aiming for its counterpart? How strange that the Kommissar is in no danger, considering what I've done to your kind."

Aaren smirks, the expression not his own at all. I've seen that grin on my Father's face once or twice. I want to shudder every time I see it. It's the single expression that sums up what we all are taught - the Judge is not nice by nature. Quite the opposite, in fact. "The Judge doesn't worry about you, Jhe Xen. It's your job to fuck things up for everyone else. You'll get yourself caught."

Xen cocks his head, intrigued. "Strange. That's not what all the other Arms told me."

Aaren jerks, his Arms showing surprise through him. They're uncomfortable with being unsure of something. Hell, I'm having trouble myself. Other Armed have agreed to present Arms to Xen Xaillyndesse? There's no way. And then I realize what it is.

He's not telling the truth. I can tell through my own Arms. Why can't Aaren? Maybe...maybe he's already too far gone. Maybe he's really turned. How'd he keep his own Arms, if he turned? How has Schiphael not killed him for it? I almost want to ask Schiphael through my Arms, but that would give me away to Aaren.

"That doesn't matter," is all Aaren can reply.

"You won't attack me because it would endanger Aaren." Xen smiles, eyes glinting with malice. "I know how much you love your Armed. You want to protect him. They all did, in the end."

"WHAT did you DO?" Aaren lurches forward in his seat as he barks out the query. It's almost as if he's performing the interrogation, instead of the other way around.

Xen only smiles. "You'll see." He reaches forward slowly, making a point of leaving Schiphael an opening to attack or defend. He's showing off, the cocky bastard. Finally, he cups Aaren's chin. I see Schiphael try to struggle through Aaren as Aaren's shoulders twitch. He's being held still. Is Aaren restraining Schiphael, or is the Kommissar actually capable of restraining an Armed and his Arms with no visible effort whatsoever? What's the Kommissar been doing to those Armed, anyway? I don't know, but it's taking all my effort not to jump out and stop this shit right now.

I whisper in my mind to stay calm. Kuroroi's voice does too, its glacial tones helping to cool my nerves. I can't stand to watch this, but it's all I can do. It's what I must do.

Aaren stares up, his eyes calm, his nerves held back precariously. "What are you going to do?"

Xen smiles brightly. "Only what I must!" He tips Aaren's chin up, exposing his pale neck. "Swear allegiance to me, and the suffering your peers felt won't even happen to you."

"Never," growls Aaren in my Father's voice. Schiphael. That's Schiphael speaking, I remind myself.

Xen keeps his smile, then calmly reaches down and clasps Schiphael's handle. His other hand secures a grip around Aaren's neck. As he squeezes very gently, Aaren finally swallows. The whip twitches. "Now, now." Xen tsks, pulling the whip up, coiling it idly with that one hand. "There's no need for theatrics. You can play nicely like a good doggy. I'm only going to take your toy away for a little bit."

"My toy?" Aaren's eyes stare up very calmly. How can he let go like this? How can Schiphael?

"Your Armed, silly. I'll give him back. Once I'm done with him, that is-" His wrist twists just a little, the hand holding Aaren's neck squeezes, and then Aaren slumps.

The whip immediately slings around Xen's wrist, the bladed end flicking towards his throat. Xen only laughs, jerking his arm around so that the whip loops around it, throwing the trajectory of the knife-end off. It should have hit, dammit. The Kommissar shouldn't be able to dodge that at point-blank range! He does, though - wrapping Schiphael around his arm, then palming the blade in a black-gloved hand.

Fuck. That was tidily done. How was that possible? What's wrong with Aaren? Is he even gonna wake up? Why isn't Xen on the floor in many tiny pieces? All questions that I want answers to. Instead, I just see Xen smack Schiphael's blade against his palm, a content smile on his face.

"Let's introduce you to your friends," he says, then disappears.

Am I fool enough to follow him? It's funny that you ask. I am just idiotic enough to go off and do exactly that.

* * *

* * *
Julia
* * *

Not much about this situation is coherent right now. I'm sorry. I try to make my reports as clear as possible. If it weren't for Cary I probably wouldn't be able to think straight right now. I can feel the touch of his quill in my movements and my Aim. That boy can make more sense out of a nasty battle than anyone.

Gwen whips around me in a razored spiral that flays several of the enemy. She's all I can see, really - all I can focus on. To be honest, she's doing the dancing here. I'm only following her steps. I've reached that point in a fight where the Armed is led by her Arms. It's an odd sense of detachment - relaxing. Arms always know what to do in a fight. There's none of that silly hesitation that lost me my arm earlier. There's only that gentle nip at my heels, reminding me to keep up the pace. Gwen is patient, but she is quick.

Why is Cary so prominent in my thoughts now? That's rare - he likes to stay back, not take the spotlight. He's more picky about not being seen than Lute is.

I need your eyes. Can you move to another room? His voice is soft and patient, less abrupt and more subtle than a whisper.

Now that's a strange request, especially from someone who knows just how many people I'm busy killing right now.

I'm writing the rest of the battle with my other hand. Already I've ensured that our forces will endure while you are away. I wrote it ahead of time. I really need you to be somewhere else right now. And just to sugar me up, Gwen disembowels some foolish combatant in punctuation of his statement. Aww, Cary knows the best ways to sweet-talk a girl, doesn't he?

Then write me there, if that's where I need to be. Asking questions would just waste my time. They're not necessary. Cary doesn't pull stunts, so this must be something important.

I press myself into against the shattered remnants of the ceiling, shadows pooling up over me and pulling me into the structure of the Palace. There's an abrupt shift signifying that I'm now in a different area of the Palace. Shadows rise up around me and lift me through the floor of the room Cary needs me to be in. I look up. Jhe o'Audiva Rocale looks down his nose at me. He does this from every angle of the room.

My apologies, mistress, but there's really no way to avoid him in here. Don't worry about the art attacking you as a security measure. It's all neutralized from your point of view - it's really a safeguard protecting this room from the dangers outside. In fact, this is theoretically the safest room in the Palace.

I raise an eyebrow. Ebrellin-i built a shrine to his own face? Typical of a Xaillyndesse. What good is this place to us, other than a safe room? It is remarkably safe in here. It's as if not even a mote of dust has fallen from the eaves, as much as our battle has shaken even the Palace foundations. It's impossibly quiet in here, as well.

It's a treasure trove, at least to its maker it is.

Really. I'd never have guessed. Good gods that life-sized statue is ostentatious. Is he really that tall? I'd never stood anywhere near the monarch, so the perspective is eerie for me. I only reach up to his waist. ...Given, I am what the Peacekeeper refers to as 'a wee lass', and so that says not-so-much about the Peacock King's stature.

It's not what you think. The paintings of himself are mostly a ruse, beyond the protective status they lend. The real treasure is hidden in the other artworks. I need someone to examine them. He pauses, trying not to phrase his words rudely. Carefully examine them. The artworks themselves will also be useful.

I snicker to myself. Does he expect me to destroy them so off-hand? Well, the fear is rather applicable to some of my soldiers, and our brigade is well-known for breaking the most shit on purpose. (Accidental damage is more a Poet dominion.) What am I looking for? My eyes scan over the many paintings, drawings and sculptures of the Peacock King's branch of the Xaillyndesse family. It's less well-represented than I thought. Ebrellin-i's distaste for his mother is well-documented through the discreet channels we listen through, but I still expected at least a miniature of her. Instead, I see only Jhe Katherine, her strange half-sister, and Jhe h'Logos. Something about these artworks is tugging at me, though - they have something in common. What is it?

My eyes widen.

You noticed too? I'm impressed, then. You see why these are so important?

My eyes narrow. What is the Jhe o'Audiva Rocale doing commissioning so many Poets? He's famed for being too secretive to allow that sort of art of himself and his close ones.

Up to no good, I'm sure. Look around the corner. Past the small oval-shaped portrait set. No, behind that one, in the shadows. Oh, my apologies - he's warded it from physical sight. Here-

I'm in a secluded nook of the room, rather out of the way and not obviously worthy of much notice. The space is surrounded by a mediocre little portrait set that convinces people to just overlook it. Cary's work reveals that the wall here isn't blank. There's a portrait here, but it's not part of the set. A stone drops in my stomach.

It's Jhe o'Radia.

Take it. Keep it as safe as you can. They'll need it soon--

I hear Cary curse so strongly that I almost hear the words aloud.

I wanted us to have more time, but you're needed outside, and if I distract myself with this then I might lose us the battle. Quick, take a painting of Rocsui-ehellenae. Any one will work. It'll be needed too.

I do so, smirking. Finally pulling that flaky 'I've got a hunch about something spooky' Poet shit, Cary?

Just do it and get out there. He sounds so annoyed at it that I don't even want to prod him any further. He needs his focus. And he's no good in bed when he's cranky.

I slip out the same way I came in, stash the paintings in a pocket space, and then sink once again into the cacophany of battle.

* * *
Lute
* * *

I'm incredibly lucky that the Kommissar doesn't expect to be followed in a teleport from his own carriage. I'm also lucky that because of this, I can stick close enough to him that I can slip by the wards we pass through. Wherever we are is pretty damn tight when it comes to security, but teleports are kind of funny. They weaken wards easily enough on their own, just as they easily give away travelers if anyone's paying proper attention to things. This is why Dad tends to just walk to most places in Radia. It's safer. For us in Black Ops, shadows make for a much easier, much more secure mode of transport.

Xen Xaillyndesse isn't so subtle, though. He's wearing black, yes. Big black coat, thick leather gloves, black boots. But it's not a very subtle sort of dress, especially with the crisp green armband bearing the seal of Audiva Rocale bisected with a military fork on it. His troops wear it as well, to signify that they're his. The Kommissar does have spies under his command, but when it comes to himself and his shock troops, he's not afraid to advertise at all.

We're in a large room shaped like a circle with the ends cut off. It smells like a laboratory, but it's not like the Jhe o'Sul's labs. There's less chemical smells in here, and more the subtle spice of incense, with faint background hints of metal and leather. It's extremely neat, and almost so tastefully decorated as to be a room in a house, but it's too sparse. The walls are dark mahogany wood, the floor tiled in circular patterns and spirals of ivory-gold and dark brown. After a glance or too, I discern that the floor pattern isn't just for decoration. Spells are laid into it and woven into the pattern. I'm not sure of their nature yet, but I take care not to actually step on the floor. This room is dark enough that I can stick comfortably to the shadows and not be detected.

A countertop cabinet sketches a broken circle around the room, the ivory surface of it clean and shiny. A few prods at the cabinet doors prove unfruitful - they're locked. I could get in if I wanted, or look in on their contents, but I'm afraid of giving myself away to the management. He's still in this room, after all, headed to one of the flat-walled ends. There's a huge black laquer cabinet and rack assembly there, covered in hooks and hangers and brackets. It's sandwiched by two apothecary cabinets. There's also--

I didn't just drop my knife in shock, I caught myself in time, I double-check myself just to make sure I'm still alive, and then I grab onto my nerves as tightly as I possibly can. Kuroroi mutters something in my ear, deep-voiced and worried. I nod to him, only half-listening.

Arms. Ah, that's what he said. I'm too busy trying to stay still and not heave. There's Arms stacked and hung all over that giant cabinet thing. I recognize at least twenty of them. My mind's filing quickly through missing agent reports. None of our core shadow squad, I think, but we've been told that some long-distance correspondences could have been forged, so what if they just weren't reported missing? It's been a damn long time since I've seen Avery, and that crossbow-dartgun hybrid looks like his.

I feel Kuroroi's query before he makes it audible to me. We usually communicate like that - all subtlety, not so much anything you could really write as speech. It's quicker.

There's more than twenty Arms on that cabinet thing. It's just...

Sorry, I just now felt Kuroroi try not to puke, and I didn't even know Arms could puke.

The rest of them are...broken. Mangled. Crooked. How the FUCK. How is that even possible?

I look at Schiphael in the Kommissar's hand and I have the awful aching realization that I might be about to find that out. I realize Kuroroi is clasped in my hand with an intent to be used.

I frown down at Kuroroi. We can't. We'll lose.

The voice of my Arms slices through my head, stubborn and precise. I can't let my comrades fall like this. I can't watch silently. If we're to be here skulking about, we might as well make use of it.

We can't be caught. Why is it I'm the one steadying you, anyway? It's the other way around, most times.

There's a chilly silence from him, and a feeling of being measured. They're not your kind. If they were Armed, would you stand by like this?

I contemplate that. ...Yes, if the stakes were the same. The Judge taught me to do my job.

And what is your job, then?

I smirk. He's playing with me. He never meant for me to jump out there and intervene. Kuroroi is making sure that I'm prepared to face whatever happens in here. To watch. To learn. And, at the right time...to sabotage.

Good. Then wait, and I will watch for the right time.

...I hope that time comes soon.

I inch along the walls towards Xen Xaillyndesse, trying to get a better view of just what he's going to try. We watch, tense, strung tight like catgut on a violin. Xen stares down at the countertop area of the complex cabinet. It's clear of Arms, and seems to be set aside as a workspace. He doesn't set Schiphael down, though. He lifts the handle of the whip up, staring at the Arms. The chain of the whip has retracted into the handle, its knife-barb tip standing up from the handle's end. In this form, Schiphael looks almost like a shortsword.

I don't understand why Schiphael doesn't attack, but I cannot ask him. Kuroroi's voice is gruff and angry.

I bite my lip. I really don't want to be on the business end of whatever Xen might have done to Aaren. On the other hand... Do you think Aaren could have made Schiphael stay still like that? That seems weird, though. Schiphael acted like he was protecting Aaren. I don't see how either of them could be traitors, but I don't understand why they let this happen to themselves.

Kuroroi twitches in the knife equivalent of a shrug. It's nothing I want to find out by watching, but I suppose we shall.

Xen smiles at the blade, his grin warping across the reflective surface. "So you say," he says in reply to something the whip must have said to only him. Then he sweeps the whip downwards in a snapping motion, stabbing the blade into the countertop. "Stay," he says, smirking, and then he turns his back on it.

Schiphael does nothing. Arms are fully capable of attacking without their Armed. Why isn't he doing anything? The Kommissar should be dead twenty times over by this point! Instead, the whip stands silently on the counter, as if it were an inanimate object. Not some sacred key to deadly arts, not some piece of my Father's self melded with the soul of an Armed. Just a regular weapon. That's the most sickening thought of all.

Kuroroi prods for my attention, then directs it towards the other Arms adorning the cabinet's shelves and hooks. I try to see what he's looking at. I could just use his eyes, but I'm trying not to. I don't want to use my Aim in here unless I absolutely have to. It might grab attention. The Arms that aren't mangled don't look abnormal. I can't talk to them and neither will Kuroroi - Xen might hear us. Still, they look...dead. That's the best way I can put it. Immobile, voiceless, unusable. Worse than Schiphael, who is just behaving and staying still for some reason that's beyond my reckoning. When I look at him, at least I get the feeling that he could move, if he chose to. These other Arms...what happened to them? I've never seen a weapon look like that.

Xen approaches the cabinets set in the broken circle, gloved fingers whispering over the smooth countertops. "Failure is so disappointing, Schiphael. I know you know this. Your patron feels failure quite keenly, especially when I'm the cause of it. Isn't that correct? Tesynnodai Akribastes takes things so very personally. I empathize. I, too, despise failure. Do you see the failures of your comrades around you? Those Arms are useless for what I want to do. But, they did serve their purpose to me. Tongueless and barbless as they are now, at least they had a point to their lives. You, too, will have one. Hopefully..." He draws up a vial, set with heavy brass fittings on each end of it. The substance inside of the vial is inky and black. "Hopefully you will serve it out fully. Hm. Don't need much of this, do I?" He squeezes out a tiny drop of the stuff onto his fingertip. It looks a bit thick for ink, but seems inert as it doesn't eat through the glove or anything. Its surface isn't shiny, either - it is leaden and grey.

I blink. I've seen that before. That's...that's the type of inky blackness that marks Nul's presence. I feel chilled inside. Kuroroi tenses like a bloodhound that's found its scent.

Xen only smiles, eyes full of malice as he inspects the droplet closely. He leaves the contraption on the countertop, then walks back to the cabinet rack. Schiphael glints up at him. He inspects the Arms with a cool stare, the smile gone from his face.

"Your comrades suffered. You can behave like a good puppy. I'll let you keep your Armed then."

Schiphael responds with the barest chinking sound as the chain of the whip rattles inside its hilt. But the whip does not attack the Kommissar.

You're not worth that much to me, says Kuroroi, and I learn for the first time just what Arms sound like when they lie.

You said you'd kill me before I ever turned. But would you...turn for me?

Turning is different than standing up under torture. The strangest things can become worth it, if you wait. Even now, Kuroroi sounds unsure. ...I wish I could ask him why he's doing this. Maybe if the Judge...

I blink. Is this truly an undercover mission? Would Father set up something this elaborate? Perhaps that's the most outlandish explanation for this scheme yet. Are we going to let this happen?

Kuroroi sends a cold chill through me. There's very little good I can find in not interfering, but it's marginally better than meddling right at this moment.

Xen reaches down, pointing towards Schiphael. He traces a thin line of Nul down over the hilt of the Arms. He continues all the way down over the shining blade. Schiphael does nothing in reply.

Kuroroi and I wait for something to happen. Time passes. Nothing. Xen smiles. "Good boy," he purrs, stroking his fingers down the unpainted side of the blade. He's treating the Arms like a pet. Kuroroi growls in the back of my head. "Now just keep staying still, and nothing happens to your dear sweet Aaren Voitre. Alright?" His voice is a mocking coo.

Schiphael doesn't move.

The inky form of Nul creeps over the weapon, wispy tendrils of shadow feeling out the texture and angles. The darkness concentrates around the hilt of the whip, encircling it as if it's taking a grip. There's a strange flex in the darkness of the Nul, as if it's squeezing.

Schiphael jumps, the tip of the blade not quite pulling all the way out of the gouge in the surface of the cabinet. The weapon shakes, the trembling almost restrained, as if the Arms are desperately trying to stay still. Xen only watches and tsks. "Now, now. You don't want me to do to your Armed what I did to their Armed," he gestures to the deadened Arms hanging around Schiphael, "do you? Stay still and let it take hold."

Schiphael continues to shake. To its credit, it never falls out of the gouge in the countertop. The Nul spreads over its handle, claiming more space, engulfing the entire hilt. Then, inexplicably, it retracts to a single bead on the surface of the blade.

"Very good. You're halfway there." Xen looks pleased as he grasps the hilt of the Arms, pulling it from the countertop. As he does so, the Nul swells over the blade, engulfing it in one swift sweep.

I clamp a hand over my mouth, forcing myself not to retch aloud.

Xen flicks the blade with his fingers, and with a 'ping' the Nul retracts into a tight little ball, like one of the bullets we load into flintlock pistols. It's roughly the diameter of a dainty woman's pinky nail. Xen palms it, the bead of seeming liquid now solid.

"There now. It's all over with." He holds the bead up in his line of sight, examining it. "Very, very nice. You did a good job. I daresay the Judge would be proud, disregarding a few key details." He raises his eyebrow at the Arms. "Oh? I didn't know you could be that eloquent. Still, you have no place saying such things about my mother. Aaren's her grandson, you know. That makes you related to her." He smiles. "And me, of course. Isn't that such a twisted family tree? In any case, you've fulfilled your use. I suppose the good thing to do would be to return you."

Xen stares at the whip, and the whip resolutely stares back.

"Such a shame," Xen says, and then cuts through the air with it before Schiphael can respond. Can I see the barest hint of effort in Xen's eyes? Is he actually suppressing the Arms with his willpower? I actually hope so. It would mean that this didn't happen because something's wrong with Schiphael. Even though that would mean that the Kommissar could do this to Kuroroi as well.

Kuroroi makes a gagging sound in the back of my mind.

I don't see what the cut has done, and then I do. He cut the very air with Schiphael. Arms are sharp. There's a bit of a rift in reality. My stomach lurches as the room...twists. Through the hole that Xen has cut is a space something that just looks wrong to me, and looking makes my ears pop and my balance go awry. He tosses the whip in. The rift seals itself.

Schiphael is gone.

"Goodbye," Xen whispers. He turns back to the workspace, balancing the little bead in his palm.

* * *

* * *
Kevrin
* * *

My name means 'beloved'. That's what I'm thinking as I stare up through the rubble over my craggy, beaked face. My name means 'beloved', and somehow in my mind, that has something to do with the fact that I'm alive right now. That's a little funny. It hurts to be alive. Heavy pieces of ceiling are crushing my body, and my entire brigade is dead. But I remain 'beloved'. What a joke.

I'm still contemplating that when someone hauls me up from the rubble and starts to brush off my clothes with gentle thwumps. I hope for just a second that another comrade has survived. I know it can't be someone from the shadow division. It's their job to save bodies from outside their division, not lives, and the shadow division invariably does their jobs to exact specs.

The hand brushing the dust and grit off of me is remarkably efficient, because it's feathered. The feathers are long, black and shiny, going all the way up the Avian's arm to disappear under his sleeve. Unlike me, he's covered in them. But then, unlike me, he's probably not a full half haerphitl. His yellow eyes peer out of his black feathered face with kindness and curiosity. It's strange to look at him, really - he looks like all the other Avians typically do, the crow-like visage and all. My hair is sandy and I've only half a beak to me. Still, there's enough flukes like me amongst our kind to not make my appearance seem that strange to him. It's much stranger to humans, most of whom view anyone with features like mine, even only half a beak and a few stray feathers, to be the telltale marks of a monster.

Now, I know for a fact that I'm the only beaked dude in Jhe h'Akribastes's forces, unless there's another in the shadow division that he's hiding away, and I've just ruled out that this person could be shadow division. I let him brush me off. I smile, the skin of my cheeks dimpling around my odd half-beak. He slaps me on the back, laughing.

"Nothing to it, eh? Got yer head on straight? Battle's cleared out from this section, and we're withdrawing to let the Shrouds handle the rest. Shock troops are kinda useless when the rest of the buggers are hidin' in the walls. Hey, you take any of em down when they got you?" His big yellow eyes are trusting, happy in fact. Hey, he just saved a man, and I have no division-identifying marks on my clothing. Why would an Avian be Armed? Of course I must be his comrade. Good thing my Arms like to stay concealed beneath my clothing. Nothing says 'I'm too special to be on your thug labor forces' than a pair of supernaturally sharp chakrams.

I grin. "Three. And a half." It's the truth. I killed almost four of his comrades as the ceiling took me down. The fourth could have died from blood loss afterwards for all I know, but I like to only count direct kills. It's more honest that way.

He punches me on the arm, then checks to make sure that arm isn't injured. It is, just a bit, but I don't wince. "Good on ya. Show those bloody Armed Radian bastards what our kind can really do!"

I grin. "Yeah, when it's not a ten-to-one bloodbath like they tried to kill us off with. 'Ey...where am I, even? My direction's all thrown off and I'm still dizzy as Hell. Can't say they got me that bad but the ceiling's something else in this here Palace."

"No worries, no worries. I'm headed back to base." He heads off, lending me a shoulder. I drape an arm over his back and lean. I'm actually a little unsure of whether I could walk on my own just now. "Terrain's all weird for me anyway. Used to bein' in the air, ya know? But Windbirds ain't no good indoors, and that Xaillyndesse bastard seems to think we are, so. I'll be glad when we pull outta this place, really. Hate operations like this, hate workin' for the stuck-ups in Lyiannethe. Cade's usually got fun errands for us to do. He sent you out on anything interesting lately? Hey, I don't even know your name, so forgetful I am. I'm Djardrik."

"Kevreck." Kevrin's not an Avian kind of name. You can thank my parents's romanticism for it. They wanted to leave me something I'd cherish. Can't say that it's failed in that, though. Hey, at least they left me a name at all. Avians tend to have to name themselves or each other since they're almost always orphaned. My father was a rare sort who actually kept his inexplicably beaky kid. My mother was flighty by nature, being a wind spirit, so I can't really blame her for not being around too much. I'm still lucky to have had parents raise me, instead of grow up in the streets or worse. "I've mostly sacked supply ships out in the Niytherian sea. Nothing so famous as what's in ballads, sorry to say. Plenty of action, though, and the wind's simply fabulous. Storms like you've never seen." Now, Jhe h'Logos was saying something about me maybe making some time for Poet training. Can't say it'll ever happen, but I did just make all of that up.

Djardrik grins. "Aye, the sea's wonderful. Only really been around the woodsy lands, m'self. More companionship, what with all the animisms and spirits and such." It looks like we might be closing in on their camp. I recognize some beaked silhouettes from afar, along with quite a few other interestingly-shaped people.

Oh boy. Reunited amongst my kind. I feel all tingly.

Really, though, the Judge has prepared me for this eventuality. It's why I stay out of prominent notice, and why I don't wear a uniform or badge showing my allegiance. I'm useful to him as a spy because I look like a freak. It's not something that hurts me, nor something I'm ashamed of. It simply is the reality of my existence. Perhaps I don't mind it because I know it's not why I was allowed to become Armed. Jhe h'Akribastes wouldn't waste something so holy as Arms on someone he considered to be a throwaway pawn. He has always respected me, and defended me against those who've condemned me for having a "peckerface", as his son Gerald once put it. (He got a sound reprimand for that, much as he apparently was just joking. The Judge's sound reprimands often leave slow-healing bruises.) It's funny, considering how much 'my kind' condemn the Judge and the Armed for slaughtering so many of their numbers.

Ah, here we are then. Yes, I can see how most of these would have come from Cade's branches of the world. There's creaky wagons, old and worn, hung with odd charms and decorated with strange warped sigils. There's many beasts of burden about, some strange and not like horses at all. More like the cross-mating of unlikely animals, like a mule with a dung beetle. I spot a flock of windbirds tethered off in a corral to the side of the camp. Of course - they're the favored Avian mount, even now. Djardrik helps me over to the infirmary section of the encampment, where a few healers are working on the injured with some very arcane methods indeed. I sit through some strange energy work, after which I feel a lingering dirtiness coating my aura like a fine mist. I'm not sore anymore, though, my dizziness is gone, and I can walk straight.

I tip my hat to the healer who assisted me. "Aye, thank ye. Anywhere we can get some grub here yet?"

"You're the good idea bird today. Come on, let's get on the cooking pot before there's a line!" Djardrik grabs my elbow and pulls me over to the cooking pot. After that, well, we chit-chat. Turns out Djardrik's beaten most of the fellows here soundly at dice games, thus engendering an overall dislike towards him. He was thrilled to find someone that could tolerate speaking amiably with him. I say I'm one of the soldiers who only arrived here lately, which is entirely true.

As we speak, I inspect where supplies are getting carted back and forth, what sorts of creatures are moving about, and how well-fortified this little base is. It's almost not worth taking. These guys are obviously just pawns for the Kommissar - his elite troops are doing the real work in the Palace right now. Djardrik and the rest of these boys won't be here for much longer. When it comes to the Palace being secured, this isn't an integral resource.

However, when it comes to tracking the movement's of the forces of Nul, I've basically found myself a treasure trove. I even see some elusive Arachne-kin. Those spider-people usually stay close to Nul's physical location and are rarely seen in the areas of the living.

"Those guys? Err. Creepy bastards. Dunno what they're here with us for. Didn't see em out in the battle. Don't care to be on their type missions either, so... hopefully none of it involves us." He frowns. "We took a lot of the animism spirits in the Palace over this way, and the Arachne-kin were there to receive them, come to think." He shudders. "Ugh. Don't really like to think what that might mean. Hope we get sent somewhere else soon. I don't like staying in one place for too long as it is."

I slide my beak sideways, the best attempt I can make at biting my lip. "I don't like to think of dryads and nymphs and such getting hurt on account of my actions." It's the truth, regardless of how he perceives it. We tried valiantly to defend those poor creatures from harm, and now they've been drug off. For what purpose would someone take them?

He shakes his head. "Ain't nothing to be done about it, chap. No one takes in Avians and the other strange folk - Nul's sort of people are the only ones who'll give us a job and not kill us on sight. When your only possible world is that world, you have to live by that world's rules. Else just die, and why even be born if'n you're gonna do that?"

I nod. "It seems strange, though. That we'd be born only to break the Law, only to be outcasts and miscreants. I don't see as how someone should be forced to only do ill in the world." That's what I thought about, before the Judge took me in. And then, oh how much I learned. "It seems like there should be another way, you know?"

Djardrik snorts. "The world's the world, and there's no other place we'll be in it. No sense wishing for things what don't exist. I do a good job at what I'm told to do. Maybe in the next life I can be human, and one of the men who slaughtered our kind can take my wretched place here."

I sigh. "Well, our job's done here, in any case. You think they're bringing the animism spirits where we're going next? I always like being around 'em."

He thinks over that one. "Hm. Well. Don't say as I know, but I hear some of us might be part of the escort for the Armed what got captured. They're stowed over there in those wagons. Can't help but think that the few extra wagons are for the dryads and nymphs."

I try to conceal my surprise, then decide that letting it show gives away nothing. "We actually got a few of em? I must have been knocked plumb out for most of the battle then. They actually alive?" I recoil a bit at that last part, but inside I'm a bit hopeful.

The Avian grunts. "Check fer ye-self. Nul and the Kommissar take both corpses and live 'uns. The wagons are enough to hold even the living for now, however that's possible. Don't really trust the charms on those wagons, though. Hope I'm not escorting them. If one is alive, they'll kill every last one of us when they get out."

I nod, then rise, brushing off my clothes. "Wanna come with?" I grin.

He looks at me like I'm daft, then shrugs and rises. "Ey, why not, I say. Die today, die tomorrow, what's the difference?"

I'd ask him why he'd go on and work for Nul if there's no difference, but I imagine that conversation might lead into trouble's path. We head off to the wagons, which are parked rather close to the camp, and oddly unguarded. Peering between the bars set in the back, it's obvious they're all dead. My heart sinks when I see Clark. He just joined the Armed, and we were becoming fast friends on this mission. Then I spy his left wrist and have to suppress a grin.

"...Huh." Djardrik squints. "Why're they all missin' hands? Can't just be an accident. Specially since the cuts look way too clean for that sort o' thing."

They're clean all right. I recognize the mark of Arms. Looks like the shadow unit left behind corpses they couldn't drag away in time and took hands instead. Not anyone's preferred means of being dragged back to Radia, but it'll get the job done. As it is, I'm getting just a bit nervous that no one is here to do the service for me when I'll need it. "...Weird Armed death custom, I suppose. I don't see any Arms on 'em - maybe their Arms did it. Nasty weapons that move of their own will... maybe they just eat chunks of their Armed." I feel a prickle of annoyance from Dram and recieve a lingering hint that Buidhe could make that a reality. I mentally remind my Arms that we're encouraged to spread outrageous rumors about the Armed so as to preserve our secrets.

Djardrik shrugs. "Can't say as I know. Jhe Xen's own lucky human troops get to destroy em on the spot. Don't see why we're the only ones who've gotta drag their spooky dead corpses around instead. And then watch the things all the way to Nul." He frowns. "Not the first time I've seen an Armed corpse headed down the supply chain, either. Wonder what the fuck they're doin' with em."

I shrug. "Not really our business, huh?"

"Yeah, well, just cuz it looks like it isn't doesn't mean I don't wanna know." He shudders. "Just think. The Judge on our ass again. I was in the first Avian battle against the Armed, you know."

I raise an eyebrow. "You don't look it."

"Got more than human and a drop o' animism in my blood. Don't really know what, though. Seems to keep me pretty long-lived." He looks up at me, and I'm struck by just how haunted his eyes are. I've only heard about the battles - and the most details I know, I know from other Armed. It's different hearing it from someone on the other side who was there. "I was just a kid. Ran before it really even started, like a lot o' the teens did. We didn't know what we was doin' there, and the feeling of hundreds of Armed approaching... ghastly. Like Death walking to your door with gravestone in hand. So we watched from far back, then turned our feathered tails when the slaughter was over and they started hunting up in the brush and the woods for any stragglers. They're deadly, fucking deadly. I don't want to be anywhere near them." He glances at the wagon. "In fact, only reason I stayed here was 'cuz we've been talkin 'bout things others might not like to listen in on." He looks a little nervous. Ahh, the familiar face of mutiny - how I know it well. I saw it in every mirror before I signed my life over to the Judge. "Hey, you know what? If we disappeared now, nobody'd ever know or care. They don't bother countin' us. No one in Nul's forces rises up in 'em if they're Avian. Those folk call us birdbrained and don't let us command a thing."

I nod. "Where would we go?"

He looks to the side, shifting his beak askew like I did earlier. The classic thinking pose. "We're as good as dead here, I think. I mean, anywhere else is better. I just got... I just got a real bad feeling, you know? Intuition, instinct, whatever you wanna call it. So you pick, I'll follow - it doesn't really matter."

"Right." I look to the distance. "I've got a crazy idea, then. Wanna grab some Windbirds?"

He looks worried for a moment, and then it passes. I don't know if he trusts me that much - I think he's just desperate. He shrugs. "Might as well. Surprised nobody else flew outta here yet. Let's go, man."

* * *

* * *
Julia
* * *

I rise out of a sea of rubble, my entire right side covered in blood, and it feels good. Possibly this feeling is because I have just killed every enemy soldier in the room. Heavy black coats lay in shreds over the marble shrapnel of the floor like peasant rugs. Every now and then I glimpse a shiny black boot. I take one careful step forward, Gwen's length shimmering in protective circles around my body.

Nobody home.

Given that this used to be the audience chamber, that's impressive. It was a very big room. Now it is very pretty rubble. I toe a broken bit of marble, oddly shaped like a nose. Some departed statue. Pity. Even the Aurocan crest in the overhead stained glass window is shattered.

Let's see. I'm pretty sure the Kommissar's special foot troops are dead. I've had a few reports of Avian troops and other cannon fodder, but they've withdrawn. The Shrouds are still about of course, but we've our own shadows to deal with theirs. We've our own substantial amount of dead as well. No missing remains as far as I know. By my count, we have five to twenty soldiers left on our side, not including Lute.

Plenty.

Now, just where have the dryads and nymphs and other fairies gone? Most were gathered in here. Possibly they're all hiding in the gardens, but that strikes me as somehow unlikely. Something's fishy. The Avians could have taken something with them when they withdrew...

And then Gwen chirps with news from one of Camden's still-living men, an event so astounding that I double-check that I even heard her report of it. He's keeping himself hush and withdrawing to Radia for reconnaissance and purposes. That would be more than enough in most cases - he isn't even under my command. But he also tells Gwen his name, and gives just a bit more information that is quite interesting.

It would go to figure that the Avian boy would wind up spying on the enemy's troops and finding our lost fairies. The extra tidbit that they pulled away Armed bodies for transport is possibly the most important part of his report.

Why is Xen Xaillyndesse destroying or taking Armed bodies? Does he know something about the Armed that we thought was kept secret? I'll have to ask Lute what he's found out, once he reports back. I'll have to ask the whole division and report back to Jhe h'Akribastes, at that. Once we regroup, that is...

Speaking of which, it's high time that was done. There's still enemy forces left to kill, and I'd like to get right on top of that. Iaen's holed up with two shadows in Ebrellin-i's study, right? That should still be safe. I mentally verify that one, though.

Yeah, well, safe. Funny word, that. Iaen seems to be grumbling, he's so discontent. There's so much action in the labs that this room's shaking. And I still can't get out and have fun! Aww. He's pouting.

Ah. Well, allow me to rescue you from danger, fair princess. I melt into the shadows as Gwen feels out the boundaries of Ebrellin-i's laboratory space. Whoa...this place is weird.

Gwen scowls. I've never encountered wards like this before.

These aren't wards, I reply. They're pure madness.

Space-time itself is knit and mangled in strange layers around the underground expanse of the labs. Oddly, I don't encounter any part of the wards that tries to harm me. Crossing into it is difficult just due to navigational issues. It's almost as if I didn't need to sneak in.

Once I'm inside, though... then the real fun begins.

* * *
Lute
* * *

The Kommissar clasps his fingers around the ball of Nul and closes his eyes. After a moment of quiet contemplation, his eyes flick open.

He's looking right at me.

Then he turns away, and my blood starts to pump through my body again. Still can't see me. Thank the light and the shadows that hide from it. He fades from existence, then, and I nick along behind him, quiet like always, ready for him to turn on me at any moment. After all, he's got that strange drop of Nul on him. I don't know what advantage it could be lending him.

Nothing happens, though. We make the hop together, this time ending up in the outdoors. I recognize the terrain outside the Palace - which is conveniently abundant with bushes, tall grass, and trees for cover. The carriage is about a hundred feet away. Xen is talking with Thelea Xaillyndesse. The skinny, pale woman is smoking a kretek with intense annoyance. Her fingers are thin and thick-jointed, perched around the clove cigarette like insect legs. Her hair is long, straight, and black, falling in a perfect line down her back. Her white skin and noble features echo both Jhe h'Logos and Jhe o'Sul sharply, or rather theirs echo hers. Her expression is more sour than I've seen either of their faces be, though.

The Kommissar smirks at her show of nerves. "I have everything handled with him. He'll be no problem to you, or either of us. I told you I had him well-trained. Did he lash out at you? Was your life ever in any danger?"

Thelea's hand shakes, ash spraying from the cigarette. Her face is pinched and angry. "And what if I was, Kommissar? What then would you do? I suppose you would get on very well without me and the leash of my son, yes?"

Xen snickers. "Your eldest son doesn't need a leash. He hangs himself. Did you know there's still evidence of him in the Palace?"

She raises an eyebrow. "I find that highly unlikely."

"Unlikely that he's taken revenge for Radia killing his poor ickle birdie-pet? I think you doted on the thing too much, myself. What if we're raiding his Palace for nothing?" He's not serious. He's all smirk and taunt, enjoying the opportunity to ride Thelea's worn nerve.

She takes the bait. "I keyed it to myself after he named it after me. It constantly attends his throne. His throne-guardian's death is obvious evidence of an attack. I know the location of my sons, Kommissar. They both dwell in Radia."

"Even so." He nods to her in slight deference. "My men are investigating. Until then, perhaps you should examine our catches? It's fine convenience, your defiant son's pantry being emptied right into our coffers." He gestures out to the opposite direction from the carriage. Past what he's gesturing at, a number of our enemies are congregated in a camp. I see very few of his human soldiers - the camp is packed full of Breeds. Avians, rare Canies, even damn blistering Arachne-kin.

Speaking of Arachne-kin, many of those are closer to us. I almost hiss, the hair on the back of my neck standing on end. A cat-like reaction, I know. Can you blame me? They're fucking creepy. Their bodies are vaguely humanoid, but they're much less human in appearance than the Avians. Their mouths are bundles of fangs perched under huge, beautiful amber eyes. Tinier eyes are arranged in clusters on their foreheads. Their hair is straight and fine, striped in ginger and black. Their bodies are elongated, with thin striped arms that reach down to their knees and end in long thin skeletal fingers. What disturbs me the most, though, is that they're attractive in some eerie way. They're gathered around a sort of corral made of webbing and cocoons. Given what the Kommissar just said, I imagine that perhaps some of Ebrellin-i's servants have been detained in there. My stomach turns over.

They're still knitting the containments with fine floss woven between their fingers. It looks delicate, but it's stronger than chains and sticky as hell. Makes a damn effective garrote, too. I'm not having too much fun looking at these spider-guys. They're fierce, fast warriors, and much stronger than they look. I've tangled with a few in the past and gotten a few chunks carved out of my flesh in the process.

"It's not a pantry. It's more of a garden." Thelea is aloof as she walks to the enclosure, her movements as graceful as those of the arachne-kin. Xen follows, and thus, so do I.

"What appreciable difference is there? Both of them you eat from." Xen surveys the scene with a look of boredom as the Queen Mother inspects a cocoon closely, running a finger down the smooth side. I don't know why it doesn't stick to her.

She doesn't rise to Xen's bait this time. She looks oddly content, in fact, a slow smile creeping over her face as she runs her palm over the cocoon, feeling it out. "Such a beautiful dryad in here," she purrs.

My eyes widen. I still can't see inside the enclosure or the cocoons, but I can guess now that these aren't servants after all. They're Jhe o'Audiva Rocale's damn nature spirit collection. Fuck, a dryad? I thought you couldn't--

"I thought you couldn't remove a dryad from its tree," the Kommissar says in a bored voice.

Thelea licks her lips. "Just because fruit grows on the tree doesn't mean you can't pick it. Our nimble-fingered friends just so happen to be deft harvesters." She runs her finger down the side of the cocoon one more time before stepping away from it. Something inside shudders. "The arachne-kin have a special way about them, to trap and preserve. It's more difficult without them - it becomes more likely that the dryads will be harmed. The waterways are a bit of a different story, but..." She waves a hand in the hair, passing the effort off as child's play. "Just collar a nymph and they're biddable enough to follow you anywhere, and away from their waters it's simple enough to hydrate them. The perfect pets, really."

"Ah. And the arachne-kin catch them for you as well?" They're both so clinical. One psychopath comparing notes with the other, I suppose.

"Have you ever seen a spider catch a minnow in its web? Of course they catch nymphs." She saunters up to the enclosure, peering through the great swaths of webbed fencing. After a few moments, she sighs with disappointment. "No animism. I was so happy when Ebrellin-i caught one." She scowls. "Especially that little snot of an animal. I was looking forward to caging it with my collection, finally." By the murderous look on her face, I wonder if she slides pins through her menagerie as if they were a butterfly collection. "Well, it can't have run far. And in my territory, it's only a matter of time."

Xen chuckles. "Finally taking the throne for yourself, then? Your son still lives."

"Not for much longer, I wager. He's shown himself to be too incompetent to be useful for much longer. That which isn't useful to Nul... simply dies, when training no longer works." Her smile is proper and composed, as if she's already at the funeral. "I can always make another."

Xen snorts.

"Hush, you. It doesn't matter how warped the vessel is now." She looks down at her hands. Yes, certainly I would describe Thelea Xaillyndesse as a warped vessel by this point. Her bloodline self-experimentation is legendary. Who knows what the hell swims through her veins by now? "A child can come through many processes, and be obtained, if not made." She's grinning, the fox contemplating the henhouse. "I may already have the stock to make another with. There is nothing to fear. I will continue our line of Kings if I have to steal Theos's blood to do it with."

The Kommissar is silent for a long time while he composes himself. "You're not serious, Thelea."

"Even Emperors bleed, Xen. Even Theos passes his blood down. I've been so close. Another opportunity awaits me. I must simply wait until the proper hour, when no one is capable of paying the proper attention to my doings. Elete wasn't a complete failure. I consider him practice, really."

Xen's eyes narrow. "Your son Elete works for the Jhe o'Radia now. Alongside and for the Judge. You consider that wretch anything approaching a success for us?"

She shrugs, turning away and inspecting the Palace on the horizon. "We must fail sometimes if we are to find the errors of our ways, Xen."

The Kommissar takes a step forward, clenching his fist by his side as if he's taking hold of the hilt of a weapon. "...And afterwards, it should follow logically to eliminate those failures, before they taint further experiments."

Thelea crosses her arms, hunching her shoulders. "Hmph. You don't see the usefulness in failed experiments. Sometimes they prove to be further material for success. If I didn't think he had a use, wouldn't he be dead? Just as it seemed for awhile that Ebrellin-i had no use for me. Look at how well he served our purposes over the years." She gestures to the Palace, then turns back to face Xen Xaillyndesse.

"It was my observation that Elete survived because his older brother protected him."

"Ebrellin-i loved to think that, and then fought so hard when his brother left us all for Radia. Now look at the situation he's in. Perhaps if my eldest hadn't fought us so hard..." She sighs. "Ah, well. There's always more blood to be spilled."

"And what of your little garden, here?" The Kommissar gestures to the captive dryads and nymphs.

"The same will probably be said for it. Nul hungers, and I will ask much of him soon." She sighs, stroking the side of another cocoon. It's translucent enough that I can see a faint tint of green from the dryad inside. "They're so pretty when he takes them. Like our estate in Lyiannethe. I miss my gardens, Xen. Ebrellin-i's are too crowded and warm. Choked up with buzzing insects, soil crawling with worms, the smell of dirt and pollen everywhere. Disgusting. It's high time I cleaned up the mess he made of them."

A grin spreads across Xen's face. It's like seeing a skull smile. "I should like very much to watch that, Jhe o'Audiva Rocale."

"Please. I've not been recognized for the title yet." She looks over to the Palace. "I'll keep them in Lyiannethe untouched, for now. I need the throne, first. But I daresay it is unsafe to enter and claim it for myself. Too many Radian forces. And with my poor son being held in Radia as well..." She sighs. "Perhaps we should give them a diplomatic visit."

The Kommissar raises an eyebrow. "I fail to see what logic there would be in such an endeavor. Things could be seen to here, and there it would be dangerous as well. Would you let the Palace descend into chaos, my Lady?"

"I fail to see how its situation could deteriorate any further. Let them squabble in it. Nothing of value is there for me anymore besides the throne. I have business to attend to in Radia." She raises an eyebrow at him, imparting a great deal of meaning to her words. I get a surge of frustration from her subtlety. The thing that annoys me most about spying missions is waiting for my targets to say something without being able to just strangle the information out of them.

He raises both eyebrows, but refuses to elaborate on that. "Well, if it's a matter of business, I must defer to you, my Lady. Please, allow me to escort you personally." He executes a very neat bow. He seems damn smug about something, and I'm beginning to think there's a level to this that I have yet to see. What the hell do they want in Radia, though? I'm torn. Do I follow, do I warn someone? What about Aaren? How can I leave him with them? Whether or not he's a spy, they can't be allowed to keep him for their purposes.

Of course, there's the question of whether I can even leave this territory safely at all. I know that if I leave it, there's extremely little chance I'll be able to return. Sticking with the Kommissar means that he won't detect me while I follow him - my presence is nothing out of the ordinary for him or Thelea ever since I followed Aaren's abduction. I'm missing a valuable opportunity to collect information if I pull out now. But I can't report that information unless I leave.

Thelea heads off to the carriage. The Kommissar leaves instructions with his men, then goes to join Thelea. For all that it might be the wrong decision, I follow him in for the ride.

* * *

RADIA

* * *
Lyric
* * *

Stevane knits her fingers together, hands clasped in front of her legs, knees bent up close to her chest. She's sitting with her back against Jhe h'Logos's bed. She closes her eyes, takes in a deep breath, and then exhales slowly. I don't think I've ever seen her so quietly tense. I've seen her angry, and busy, and frantic. That was different. It seemed more natural.

Then a shenanigans climbs onto her head with a high-pitched mewl, and breaks the spell. Stevane giggles, a strange hiccup that almost sounds like a sob. She cradles the shenanigan, nuzzling its nose. I pet my own shenanigan. She bit me, so I think she thinks I'm hers now. She's a cute little thing, though.

"What are you going to name her?" Stevane looks at me over a pair of tiny kitten ears.

"Mewgul." I nuzzle the thing, and it belligerently bats at my nose. "I think she's pretty cranky."

"Needs sleep." Stevane lets out another long sigh. "Not an uncommon thing in this room."

I nod. "Where'd the other shenanigans go?" There's a few nestled around Jhe h'Logos still, but most of them have disappeared.

She shrugs. "Probably went to whomever created them. Everyone who signed on to the project put in a request for at least one, so I imagine they're all gonna get a surprise or two now. I know Jhe h'Logos planned on a few extras as gifts and stuff, and made at least one for himself, so I think that explains the extras. Then there's my two, and it looks like you're getting one of them. There's no other shenanigans since nobody else is here." That pinched look is on her face again.

"Hey, it's alright. At least I'm here with you." She just hmphs into the kitten's fur. I tilt my head. "Stevane?"

She closes her eyes. "Yes, Lyric?" She looks like she's about to pop, but she's a lot like Father right now - he looks really mad when he really might be about to cry. I even have the same fear of actually seeing those tears manifest. Hopefully what I'm about to ask her will distract her from all of this, but it might backfire totally.

"I know this is going to be a stupid question, but are you Armed?" There's a moment or two of silence, and then I decide to nervously fill it again. "I've been gone ten years, so... I realize I missed a lot, you know?"

She nods, biting her lip and looking away. She's looking for a distraction too, trying to organize her thoughts and speak. She remembers the tea and drinks from her cup. I have a sip too. It makes me think of Ebrellin-i. Thankfully, Stevane starts talking before I can think too much about that.

"Yeah so, I started training as an Armed about a year ago. I decided to after my initial Poet training came to an end. Daddy was so proud, because I was catching on really fast. It felt pretty good for him to be proud of me, since he just thinks of Poets as dorks, or flakes. And well, he's got Jenny, and she's practically a girl-version of Camden when it comes to being Armed. She's a real natural, fighting's like breathing to her. Me, I... well, I didn't hope for the best, but... well, I actually did pretty good!" She gulps nervously. Weird - why would somebody be nervous about succeeding? "I mean, pretty well. I did pretty well." She glances back at Jhe h'Logos, her expression wilting.

"So... do you have Arms now?" I don't want her getting depressed. It feels awful to watch her be like that. Especially now, when things are so tense.

Another long sigh, like the weight of the world's coming down on her shoulders. Another Daddy mannerism. We all have them to some degree, but I've never seen her act so much like him before. It's even more than Gerald does, and he imitates our Father on purpose. "I... not yet. Not quite." She takes a cautious glance back at Jhe h'Logos before drawing out the hunting knife I saw earlier. It has that glint to it, that not-just-a-knife glint. She holds the point in front of her eye, and the glint makes it look like she's winking. "Iaen knows his knives, and so he gave me it when I was going out with him. Before Daddy chased him off and threatened him with a blunt instrument, which is really quite mild for Daddy. It was right when I needed temporary Arms, the kind you focus on and practice with while you train up to have real Arms. Herald... he's pretty handy. Not Arms, no, but I named him just the same. You're supposed to, with weapons. So I can communicate... well, he's like the Arms I don't have yet. It's practice, I guess, and it's honoring the weapon. I'll need to do that for my Arms or they'll, um... Daddy told me the Arms would get angry. Mikhal told me they'd gut me. So, Dad'll give me my true Arms when I complete my training. When I'm... ready." She pouts.

"Well... when are you gonna be ready?"

Her face grows even more pinched. She's really trying not to cry. "When Daddy has a chance? When I do? Jhe h'Lete's grown so weak and sick, and I've been helping out so much everywhere... I can't leave the Poet Hall now, and Daddy's too busy with his job. He says he can make time, but... well, then he doesn't, and I don't want to ask him and end up causing even more problems. There's more important things now than me getting my Arms." That last part sounds like a lie, but maybe I shouldn't say that.

"Is it okay to put it off? You seem... well, you look like hell, sissie. And you haven't acted like yourself since I've gotten back." I guess I can't help but be honest.

"I've been stressed." She bites her lip, waggling the knife back and forth slowly. She traces it down to the floor, almost starts chipping it into the wood, then pulls it up with a blush. She sheathes the thing, then. "Nervous habit."

"...Stevane? What happens if you don't get your Arms?" I can tell she's avoiding me.

She shrugs, looking away. "Let's not talk about that. It's... not something we need to worry about now, okay? I'll be fine. We just need to watch Jhe h'Lete for the nigh--" she chokes, then crumples forward, wrapping her arms around her legs again. She buries her face into her knees, lets out a sob, and then jumps at the squeak from the shenanigan in her lap. She uncurls, picking up the little thing. "Aww. You poor dear." She nuzzles it.

"Dad's... not really gonna fire the Poet King? I mean... he can't, right?" It scares me to even ask it. I mean... I just got to the Poet Hall, and just started considering the idea that I might be able to be a Poet.

She considers that. "He'll have to ask Unkie. Unkie... will probably say 'no'."

"Really?"

She nods. "Really. Dethroning Jhe h'Lete doesn't seem like the sort of thing Unkie would do. I'd know. I pay a lot of attention to how Unkie works and what decisions he makes. It's important, you know? It's kind of... part of what I'm fighting for, I guess. Why I became Armed."

"For Uncle Lui?"

She grins. "Yeah. Everyone has something to fight for, I guess you could say. Different Armed have different nationalities. We're not all sworn to Radia. Heck, Jenny's an anarchist. She just fights because she's like, Daddy number two." She shakes her head. "Getting off-topic. Unkie won't do what Daddy's asking for. He'll probably order Elete to rest, though. There'll be a proxy Poet set up for him to take care of active duties, and possibly some special wards to keep him in bed." She frowns. "It's weird... he's always been a little weaker than everybody else, but right now he's sicker than I've ever seen. It just came out of nowhere, right when the Peacock King got dragged into Radia." She blinks. "...Right when the Peacock King arrived. At the Trial." She frowns.

"What's wrong?"

She shakes her head. "He's... just never really liked his brother. Never likes to talk about Jhe o'Sul at all. Err, Jhe o'Audiva Rocale. He's... well, from what little I could catch, they've been fighting since they were kids. Sometimes... Jhe h'Lete acts like his brother might have... done something bad to him. I don't like to pry." She sighs. "If he did anything to Jhe h'Logos, they'll sort it out. Jhe Katherine and Daddy. But... in the meantime, like I said, somebody's got to fill in for him." She bites her lip, scrunching her eyebrows together.

"So what's the problem with that? I mean, it'd give him rest. He seems... like a pretty active guy. Someone to cover for him sounds like the perfect solution."

"Yeah. You have a point, but who's gonna do it? There's been a few Poets that have stepped in for Jhe h'Lete when he was ordered on vacation before. He's needed a break every now and then. Those guys... well, they're not here. They're on long-distance assignments. One or both will have to be called back here, and that'll probably take awhile since they're on diplomatic missions. Edward's way off in Chethar. That's across the ocean! He can't just hop back the short way from the First World! Elric's closer, over in Rhivend, but communication has been really slow from over that way. And things must be busy, because it's been awhile since I've even gotten a letter from Elric. I really miss them both. Elric's been gone almost as long as you have, Lyric!" She looks up at me, then blinks.

I know I must be making the worst face right now. I'm really trying to contain my emotions, but it's just not possible. She cocks her head at me, the question of 'what's wrong?' not even needing a voice.

"Stevane..." I gulp. "When we were in Audiva Rocale, we found out... Camden found out Elric's gone. He's been captured. That Cade guy had his quill and was faking his letters." Stevane looks horrified. "I'm... I'm really sorry. I didn't know you knew him."

Her eyes are wide. "If Elric's captured--!!" She almost rises, then sits back down when it looks like Jhe h'Logos is about to stir. "Somebody's got to do something! He's very important! It's really, really dangerous for him to be gone! I can't believe nobody let the Poet King know!" She catches herself. "But then... he's so sick right now. Still, his job still has to be done... did Daddy really not tell Jhe h'Logos about this on purpose?"

I shake my head. "I don't know. I do know... well, Stevane, it sounded like they have more Poets. N-Nul does. And Armed too. That's what almost happened to Gerald. He almost got taken away by Cade. He would have, if it weren't for... well, a lot of things."

Her eyes are still wide. "Well? Go on! What's wrong, I want to hear about this!"

"I... well, I wrote a lot of it down already."

"So show me!"

I sigh. "I didn't write it all! I got interrupted in Audiva Rocale and I couldn't record the rest!"

She stands up this time, stalking over to a side of the Jhe h'Logos's room where paper is neatly stacked up. She grabs a sheaf and also snatches a quill and inkwell while she's at it. She plunks them all down in front of me. "Write." She puts her hands on her hips. Her shenanigan glares down at me imperiously from atop her head.

I raise an eyebrow. "That sounded like an order."

She nods, grinning. "It is! You're my apprentice now. You can't just keep goin' untrained, and Jhe h'Lete was probably going to assign you to me. I teach now. That's while I do advanced training in the Poet Hall, and help out with stuff. My previous students are all done with now. So, get to writing!"

I roll my eyes, blow my bangs out of my eyes, and then wince as Mewgul clambers up on top of my head. Teeny kitten claws raking against my delicate skin! Ow!

"And tell it while you're writing it, because I wanna hear!" She grins. "That's good practice, too."

"No ulterior motives there," I grumble.

"Hey! If you're gonna say it, you'd better be writing it, too!"

I get to work. I'm not really that concerned about her being my teacher now or anything. It's more that I remember the last time Stevane set my head on fire, and she's getting that look in her eyes again.

* * *
Gerald
* * *

"Hi, Dad."

Father looks up at me from the door. He blinks, not wanting to show confusion, but obviously wondering what the hell I'm doing home before him. His jaw is tight, too - his face is showing the strain he's feeling right now. Considering how much effort he goes through to hide such things, that's a sign of just how much the situation has gotten to him.

"Stevane and Lyric are still at the Poet Hall, watching over Jhe h'Logos. I came here to make sure you didn't need anything. Gerude's gone out, and I guess Lute's out doing his duty now. Jenny didn't even come by here yet, it looks like." I shrug. "Weird, having an empty house. Do you think Katherine will be by soon?"

His eyebrows knit together. "I'm not sure, to be honest. Gerald, do you have some business with me?"

I startle a bit. "I um... no..." Oh dear. That's a lie. Father cocks his head at me, his expression plainly analytic. I'm being read.

"Lyric is staying in the Hall, you said? That's very good. I imagine Stevane will keep him there, safe. We'll have time to talk, then. I do believe I recall that you and I need to." He leads me into his study after pulling a bottle of wine from the rack in the kitchen.

I turn and look at him. "What's wrong with Lyric?"

Father's face grows a bit pained. "An assassination attempt was made on him after the Trial. Lute took out the would-be assassin, but has yet to be able to follow up on it, considering that he's in Sul now. So I'd rather the boy stayed somewhere safe until things blow over. Likely it's just related to the Trials. He's too closely associated with the Peacock King right now."

"Someone tried to kill him? Today? Are you sure Lyric's okay?" The words are out of my mouth before I even realize my tongue is moving. Father looks up at me with some measure of surprise, then cocks his head, his face shifting to a dubious expression. Almost mocking.

"Are you? You act as if he hasn't survived ten years on his own in one of the most dangerous places he could be, with one of the most dangerous men in the world." That tone. What, am I an object of ridicule now just because I care about my brother? Because I want to protect him? Father winces, then lets out a pained sigh. Oh, yeah. He can hear my thoughts, because I'm not shielding them and I'm in a bad place to even attempt it. I forgot. All that emotional baggage is just piling up in my mind now, and Lyric isn't the issue anymore. I know it never was. There's this awkward moment where I straighten up and he watches me, and we both know exactly what one of us is or is not seeing of the other's thoughts.

He gestures towards me. "Here. Sit down. It's high time I made some time for you." I walk to the armchair he waves me into, my nerves rising as I approach. I settle in with the full knowledge that all of us siblings refer to this thing as the Interrogation Chair. It's the seat in Father's study that he likes to put one of us in when he's in the mood to start grilling.

To my surprise, he passes me a glass of wine. I blink, then automatically hold it under my nose to sniff. It's a deep red, and that's really all I can say, because I can see the color with my eyes. You can't live around 'Sy without gaining some knowledge of wines, and usually I could do some rough cataloging with my nose right now, but I can't focus on it. At least I give it the proper ceremony before getting a mouthful of it and swishing it around. It's a comforting enough ritual, but not enough to really take me out of the situation - it's all a show that's undeniably his.

While I'm deliberating over that, he takes his seat and sips at his own glass. "Talk." There's no command to it, no idleness either. It's just a simple word, and at that, a simple request.

The question is, what's going to pop out of my mouth first? He's not even leading me anywhere, and I...well, okay, I do know exactly what I should be telling him, what I want to talk to him about, what's been driving me crazy. So I don't need to be led. I just need to talk about what I need to talk about.

"Katherine's all over me like she wants to kill me, and normally that wouldn't hurt a bit. S' sort of normal, you know that." I heave a sigh out of my chest. "You know...a lot, when it comes to me and Katherine. Old...news, I guess." I don't look at his face. I don't want to know what his reaction is to something I don't want to admit to. It's weakness, okay? Foolishness. "Look, I get that you two are an item by now. I guess...that happened, and all. Whether I liked it, and whether...I was there to have a say about it and all." I look off to the side, unwilling to see him right now. "Nobody can change that, I guess not even Jhe h'Logos. And I do like having Jenny around. She's a nice sister. Wouldn't trade her for the world."

Silence.

"But look, when you...I mean. I know I died and all, you were there and she was there. It's not something I enjoyed doing. Death's not...usually...fun. But you two, of all people in this blighted, too-small world, knew I was coming back. I'm yours, dammit. Not just in blood but I swore myself to you, and there was no way you were not going to go through that old ceremony. Katherine would have understood that too. She's your closest officer...closest in a lot of ways. So don't tell me you didn't know I would be back. You're...dammit Dad! You're the one that fetches me back from Tia, and you both knew I was coming back!" I glare over at him, forgetting in the heat of my anger that I was trying not to do exactly that.

He's gone white in horror, his hand up by his face, fingers spread out, almost gripping his cheek. Even more telling, his wine has been forgotten, save for the first sip or two he had of it. Worst of all, he's speechless.

Anger carries me forward when all three, in normal circumstances, would stop me in cold shock. "So look, you two...had a thing for each other. Fine, but you could have told me, either of you, you know? Or...fuck, you could have waited. I mean, what did I have to--how could I get her back, then? I'm back from the Void, all stunned from a kill, still muddling that out, still growing into legs that are too stubby and stupid for me to even move correctly. Getting from baby-size to a grown man in the span of weeks. That was enough, but I had to...had to go and see you two..." My fist balls up on the arm of the chair. I set my wine down before I waste it in a spill. "I was physically ten, you know, and when I saw you two kissing I had to remind myself over and over what big-boy-feelings felt like in a body that couldn't...you know...feel it. That was pretty damn fucked up, all over. I just...well, I just avoided you two as best I could then, which was way easier than it should have been. It all was happening at once, I know, but...I could have used...well I was growing up all over again and she was just...you could have waited, if you really wanted to, until your rival was grown past his second childhood, and well...damnit, Dad, when I finally said something you wrote me off like I was a teenager!"

"You were a teenager," he croaks, his eyes staring out wide into a distance far beyond the baseboards.

"I was way older than thirteen in my mind and you knew that. You both did, but at least she was a lot younger than you, and not as experienced with stuff, but..." I sputter, looking down at the table, at my red-tinged reflection in the wine.

"...Sorry." It's a half-whisper, half-mumbled little thing, and I almost don't even notice.

"Are you really? Are you sure you don't just need to elbow me out of the way again? Because I'm a grown man this time around, and it might actually take you a minute this time. Not that she even has eyes for me."

"...I couldn't stop that, Gerald." His voice is quiet, but unapologetic this time.

This time, I can't look up at him. "...Yeah, well." I dab a finger down into the wine and watch the surface ripples play off of the rim of the glass. "I guess that's just how it goes, but I..."

"Have you really been hurt over it all this time, Gerald?" He cuts in, his voice betraying nothing but mild curiosity.

I don't want to talk now, but...well, all I can do is leave instead. If I left now, what would be the point of telling him all the stuff before this? The thought that I do have an alternative, but that it's neither the smart thing to do nor pleasant, is strangely motivational. "Yeah. But hell if a ten-year-old could settle things out with you over a girl. Even if I wasn't mentally ten at the time. Which you sort of conveniently forgot."

"I didn't, but I concede your point." He tips his wineglass at me, then takes a delicate sip.

"And you wouldn't let a teenage kid get a word in edgewise, no matter what the factors were that you conveniently forgot at the time. Like you forgot a lot of things. Conveniently."

"Is that why you took the long missions away from home sometime after then?" His voice has a weird edge to it. Almost pinched.

"As soon as I was able? Well, it was nice to have some time with Gerude. I'd really missed him, and he's pretty heartfelt about saving the derelict corners of the world. ...Can't deny that it felt better away from home, though. As hard as it was to stay away once there were Jenny and Stevie darting around everybody's ankles."

"I was just about to ask why you'd started coming back at that specific time. I thought Katherine and I's spat might have had to do with it."

"I uh...actually, it made it even more awkward. Nah, I just love family, you know? Jenny's always been just like the rest of my siblings, except with a tinge more of a murder complex." Dad snorts. Somehow I think that's good. For some reason I'm glad he's finding something funny. "When it's family, like that, it...well, I wasn't too much focused on you two, you know. Being romantic."

"There wasn't much romance for awhile after Stevane, so you didn't miss much." I raise an eyebrow at him. He waves it away. "Not really something I want to share, and nothing that has any bearing on the present." ...Huh, weird. I wonder if he picked up that the second part didn't ring as true as he probably wanted it to. Nothing I think I'm really going to poke into with him, though. "The important part...well. I suppose you felt rather wronged, or still do."

Not that he needs that confirmed, but he likes it when people confess. "I guess I didn't do such a good job of hiding it recently. I just...well, I got back and...it was rough in Sul and nobody here gave a damn, and I kinda forgot about you and Kathe. You know, I kinda...I kinda thought you'd moved on." I'm having a little trouble looking up at him, and I feel his attention drawing up on me. "You...you've had a lot of...trysts."

"Is that any of your business?" His voice is very low, and it's also dangerous.

"Yeah, well...we've all got a lot of different moms, so it's not like I wouldn't notice."

"Ah." There's a silence that draws out between us as he sips his wine and I just...look into mine. Huh. I'm getting a little stubbly on the chin there. "You thought you had a chance?"

I cough. Didn't really expect that one. "Well I--"

"Because you didn't, Gerald." His voice plows right through my protest, full of authority.

My fists ball up. "Fine, if you want to say it like a man, but you're telling it to me like a Father, and I'm not really into that." He chokes off an indignant squawk. "You're my Father, sure. We ALL get that! But you're not muscling in on Myles and telling Stevane to go to her room if she calls foul on you. ...Well, you're not muscling in on Myles."

"I'm not sending her to her room because of him, either." His voice is wound up pretty tight over that one. "She is sixteen years old and may date whomever she likes." Not that he wouldn't still send a grown woman to her room, but hey. Stevane does kick up a lot of trouble. "What business does it have to do with your complaints?" His voice is tightening up again, and I've got this odd, creeping feeling, like my life is in danger.

Ahh, the familiar feeling of several of my childhoods. (I've kind of made an art of going out in style, guns blazing, so I've had more than one do-over.) "If you want to say anything about Katherine to me, say it as a man. You didn't muscle her away from your son. You muscled her away from a man."

That gives him pause for a bit. "There was no muscling. But you'll tell me that is because there was no man left alive to muscle, and you'll be correct in at least the literal sense. That's fine. I understand, now, how it might have been from your perspective." He pauses. "...Was I not there enough for you, Gerald?"

That makes me pause. Was that what I'd been saying through some of this? "I uh...I don't know. I kinda missed you, sometimes. I just...figured I was getting ignored for a reason, like I'd done something."

"I didn't mean to ignore you." He drums his fingers on his knee. "...You've been feeling that way since you returned, Gerald?"

I don't answer.

"I am very sorry. I should have paid more attention to you. I forget none of you have mothers here save for Jenny and...well, then there's Stevane." He sighs. I can hear the weariness in him from the exhalation. "Do you know, sometimes I haven't the faintest idea what I'm doing, Gerald? That's the trick of being a parent, I'll teach you that this instant. You have to pretend that you're doing it right, and when everyone believes you, your kids believe you. ...But I suppose you have to be around pretty often to be able to do that. Would you say that's the case?"

"I dunno. I think you were a great Dad, just keep off my girlfriends."

"Right. I'll do that."

An uneasy silence settles between us, in which I realize nothing's been settled at all. By the sound of the sigh Father makes, he must have come to the exact same conclusion. Hell, what was I even thinking would happen? We've just made a bigger muck of all this than it was before. I don't even know what I'm mad about anymore.

"...You really think so?" He swishes his wine around. There's way more left in his glass than is close to normal.

I jump. "Do I think what?"

"Do you think that I was a good dad? Really?"

"I said you were a great Dad. I don't think you're even listening, old man."

He snorts. "Fine. I'm senile and inattentive, then. Do you bear Katherine any ill will for what's happened?"

I shrug. "I'm annoyed she's so intent on cutting me up, but the circumstances are...well, you know what they are. No changing that. It just sucks. I don't want to have to deal with this stuff anymore. Not when there's so much important stuff. Not when..." I sigh. "I'm worried about Lyric. He got dragged through a lot of this because of me."

Father shakes his head. "Wrong. He dragged himself through the greater part of this. Why don't you let him fight his own battles, as he's already proven he can? I understand and encourage your wish to protect him, but...well, I've already had to learn that I can't shelter all of you. Sometimes it's difficult, though, to sort out when to be a parent and when to be something else. Roles are so very complex, with me. That's without even a mention of my role as Judge." I sit up a little straighter at the mention of that role, an automatic reflex.

"...Yeah. Well..." I slump. "It's all in the past, now." It still hurts, though. Damn shame I can't hide that anymore, because it's embarrassing.

"It's not your fault you died. I will say that what happened after your death did not occur due to a lack of honor to your memory. Does it sound worse that she needed consoling? That I might have too?"

I screw my mouth to the side. That's just...kind of weird. "No, but uh...awkward. I guess death is kind of awkward, though."

"Yes. That is very true, Gerald. Death is awkward. I am glad you have learned this."

I down half my glass, finally giving the wine some attention. It seemed to be a toasting moment. "Right, well...I'm glad I could contribute something useful to the troops."

He snorts, but it's out of genuine amusement. "You always do, whether you mean to or not. You make me very proud." That kind of sticks in my chest just from how sincerely he meant it. "I'm sorry I seem to have done something which, at the time, seemed like an insult to your memory. We did know -- should have known, in Katherine's case -- that you would be back with us, Gerald. It didn't take the pain or the loss away. You were all the more absent for it, in fact. She...she loved you. She was in a lot of pain. Maybe you should talk to her about it."

I look dubious. "Maybe she'll rip my head off."

"What's the worst that can happen, in that case? Maybe you even underestimate her, Gerald. If you assumed she forgot you so easily, that's possible."

I can't look him in the eye.

"Tell me whatever you need, when you need to. I promise I will make the time for it."

"Thank you." I rise, wine still half-finished. I leave the glass there. I'm just not in the mood for it. I clasp his hand. "Ask me, if you ever feel the need. I'm kind of stupid about remembering to mention some things, as you well know."

He chuckles. "Fine."

I leave, wondering when the last time was that a talk with my Father had gone that well. At least we're all settled between us now, if Kathe really does succeed in ending me this time.

* * *
Katherine
* * *

To mock a great opening line, picture this: Gerald standing in front of me, happy all over his beaming, punchable face, hands on his hips, the very picture of a heroic retard.

"Okay, Katherine, I forgive you."

"I... okay wait, what?" I swear, that was so out of nowhere that I can't figure out a way to kick him for it. "Will you just get out of the way? I need to go see the Judge."

"Oh, Daddy's not in his office. Come on, let's go talk." Gerald grabs my hand. I jerk it away.

"I think I can hear and speak perfectly well right here." Right here is in the hallway that leads up to 'Sy's office suites. Not very private, mind you, but the Armed Hall isn't very populated right now anyway. Besides, I really don't want to talk to him right now, so I'd rather get it done with fast. By the look of his pouting face, I'm going to guess it won't. Fuck. "Look, why don't we just have this talk in his office? It's empty, and it'll give Benny some peace." I lead the way and don't wait for an answer.

After settling down in two of the chairs in front of 'Sy's desk, I realize that not only is this positioning really strange without the Judge behind the desk, but we're repeating a scene from earlier in the day. Except Benny's not here, she's in my office. So without her or the Judge here, I'm missing all the buffer that I'd like to have between Gerald and I.

Great.

"...Well?" I cross my eyes, fixing him in my vision.

He shakes his head. "Sorry. It's just been a long day, and I've had a lot of revelations. Look, I wanted to put the issues between you and I to rest."

I raise an eyebrow. "Hence the sudden talk of forgiving me?"

He grins and nods. "Yeah. It's all in the past, Kathe. I'm okay with you picking Dad over me."

"I... wha?" In the past is an understatement. That's literally a lifetime ago for him. I didn't even know he was still thinking about it.

"I understand that it definitely looked like I was dead."

I look at him in stupor. It's like somebody just smacked me in the face with a fish. "Gerald? You were dead."

"Yes, but I was gonna come back." His face looks comically pained. I'd feel bad for laughing, really I would, but-- "Kathe, don't laugh!" He's laughing too, though. Dammit. Now we're both going off, and I don't know if we can even stop.

"Okay, fine, you died. Then you came back. What does that have to do with me deciding who I want in my life?" I pin him with a glare. He deflates a bit, but only so much.

"Well I um..." He looks off to the side, unable to meet my gaze. A little sheepish, and... I don't really want to notice that he looks hurt, but he does. "I came back and my girlfriend was suddenly with my Dad, Katherine."

"Oh." I'd never really thought about that. To tell the truth, I'd never really given much thought to Gerald after I left him. Not in the romantic way, at least. I was just glad to see him alive, and I'd found who I wanted to be with then, so what was the point? In retrospect, it does seem very callous. Only... "I wasn't your girlfriend."

"What?" Gerald jumps in his seat, a glare sliding onto his face. "What the hell does that mean?"

I roll my eyes. "You remember how you died? In a war? In a city that was being infiltrated by Nul's forces? And how we triggered that war whenever we rode into that place without any caution or discretion whatsoever, and everyone started attacking us and then fighting with each other? And how the reason we were so indiscreet was because we were riding pell-mell into and through the city, firing our Arms at each other, because we were going to kill each other? And that we were fighting because of a lover's spat turned ugly? Really, Gerald." I can't even look at him.

"Well I..." he sighs. "Damn. I didn't really think about it that way."

"Yeah." I run my hands through my bangs, neatening them. "You didn't think much, then."

"But I don't think that counts as a break-up, does it? It was just a fight. We tried to kill each other all the time back then." He's so smug and self-assured. "Katherine? Something wrong?"

My head is in my hands, face hidden from view. He's just so dumb. "Nothing. I'm tired."

"Okay. I'm gonna go out. I wanna catch up with everyone. Dad's at home. I bet... I bet you need some rest."

He sounds guilty. "I just need to get my work done. Do you feel better, Gerald?"

"I guess I do." There's a long pause. "Katherine, I'm sorry about... stuff."

"I am too."

"You have a good night, now." The door closes, and I'm alone. I give him a few moments to clear the area, remind myself that I really shouldn't destroy parts of 'Sy's office in anger, and for once succeed in not doing that. After a few more moments, I get up and make my way to 'Sy's house.

I'm not sure what the hell the point of that talk was, but at least Gerald stopped and went away. Maybe he's finally got it in his head to leave me alone for the next fifty years and get over it. I can only hope.

I was thinking about important things. I was getting somewhere, dammit! Then Gerald had to go stuff his face in mine and go on about long-dead relationships and his effin' Dad and how he'd forgiven me. Okay, fine, whatever. Time for dinner. I can go talk to 'Sy about all this stuff and we can possibly start to get things straightened out. Time to leave all of today's idiocy behind.

I open the door into the house, then close it. Feels pretty empty in here. Strange. It's pretty dark, too. I walk into the kitchen and am immediately struck with the sense of something being wrong. I realize it's because several bottles are missing from the wine rack. 'Sy always replaces the bottles as they're used, so it's pretty odd to see several empties. Maybe one of his kids got into them for a party--no, that's stupid. The house has very clear wine rules that they've all learned early in life. 'Sy's also protective enough of his wine that nine times out of ten he tells them to go buy their own. (The tenth time is when Stevane and Jenny both make the pleading-kitty-eyes at once.)

It's really strange to see so much of the wine gone at once. That's five bottles. It's not a party's worth of wine, and Theos knows 'Sy's drunk more than that on his own before, but it's up there.

I walk out of the kitchen and hear piano music in the study. Of course. Tesynnodai's own sanctuary, a quiet room where he may sometimes entertain close friends or talk seriously with family, but mostly it's his own to withdraw into. Especially when the children are younger (and more are always coming along, believe me), the house can become more chaotic than my partner would like. The study has always been his private place. Not just a relaxtion room, but his office away from the Armed Hall. Even the younger children knock and wait before entering.

By the sound of his piano, he's had a few bottles of that wine himself. I pause before the door, wondering if I should even come in right now. Then I raise my hand and softly knock.

The playing stops.

* * *
Gerald
* * *

I'm thinking about Katherine. Well, not really about her at all. More about the past, and how much of it I've spent not looking ahead, or giving a thought to the present. How much of it I'd spent still thinking I was with her, to be more clear. It's a huge stretch of time. My whole life since I died that one time, really. How did I not see this? Why didn't I realize? It's like a great weight has finally shifted back and fallen off of my shoulders. A waiter comes up to the table I'm sitting at, breaking me out of my reverie.

"I'm sorry, but kittens aren't... allowed in this bar."

My confused expression must tell him a lot, because the thin, dark-haired man heaves out a pained sigh, brushes his bangs away from his face, and then softly taps the top of my hat. I realize that I really should have felt more of a firm impact from that, and also not heard a 'squeak'. I tip my hat down, causing whatever's on top of it to roll off and onto the table. It squeaks again, looking up at me, a confused flurry of feathers with a fluffy tail attached.

I raise an eyebrow. "Shenanigans?"

The waiter snorts. "That's what the manager would call it."

I laugh. "I'm sorry, I had no idea." ...That it was even on my head. No wonder I got some strange looks as I claimed our table. "I'll deal with as soon as my friends get here."

The waiter nods, that pained expression still on his face. I glance at his nametag. Chuck. He cocks his head. "How big a party are we talking about?"

"Oh, pretty big. About ten people, maybe more. A bunch of us from the Poet Hall are having a celebration of sorts--"

His eyes widen. "Poets? Oh shi--" He cuts himself off. "Right! Poets. We're so happy to have your esteemed patronage here. Allow me to escort you to a bigger table..."

After I'm seated at the new table, I peer down at my shenanigan. I... guess it's mine. Jhe h'Logos did get my signature, after all. "I think your name is Jasper. You look like a Jasper."

The black-furred kitten raises one rust-colored eyebrow, the matching tip on its tail flashing like copper as it lashes back and forth. It ruffles its chocolate-colored wings, then settles against my forearms, tucking its rusty paws underneath its chest. Funny. It's colored more like a dog that a cat. Well, winged-cat-thing. A soft purr rumbles up in its chest. Jasper will do.

"'Ey! Gerald! Nice table you grabbed for us!" Erynn looks around inside the pub. "Huh. They're wising up to us, seating us away from all the other patrons. Might have to start looking for a new venue..."

I notice the shenanigan peeking over his shoulder. "Yeah, and they've got a strict 'no kittens' policy. That one your fault too?"

Erynn spit-takes. "Oh, that's rich. Don't worry, I'll talk to the manager if it comes to that." He grins down at Jasper. "You got one too? Good! Stevane should have a couple, is she gonna come?"

I look away. "She had some duties at the Hall--"

"Always working, that girl is! Deplorable."

I move away from that topic. "Anyway, where's everyone else?"

Erynn looks back over his shoulder. "Hm. Good question! They were following me in... looks like they got held up at the door. Here, let me go finesse the management a little." He walks off, and I'm left alone with my shenanigan. After a bit of a wait, he arrives back at the table again, alone, and looking fidgety. "So yeah, uh... they really meant it about that kittens thing. And... animals in general, I guess... something about this place not being a zoo. Plus some disparaging side-comment about Poets belonging in a zoo. So we're all gonna party in my room." He grins. "Plenty of booze there anyway. Come on!"

I chuckle, then get up and follow him. With Erynn, it's always something. There's a bit of a crowd outside waiting for us - and at the sight of me, some grinning faces. Well, this is a bit larger of a gang than I expected. Gerude came as a given, but I haven't seen Amanda in quite awhile - and what's that thing she's carrying? Some sort of round case with a cloth draped over it. Rachella's showing a keen interest in it, whatever it is. Mikhal's with us too. Then there's--

"Jax? Why are you looking so down? Want to be back out in the field again?" I pat him on the back. He just looks up at me, a hint of terror lingering in his eyes.

"Huh, the field? Man, I've had more than enough of that for now, let me tell ya." He sighs, his shoulders slumping. "No, it's a girl."

I blink. A girl? Oh. "...Huh. Well, maybe it's not all lost. Did she uh... come with you to Radia? Or did she stay home?"

Jax's face turns sour. "She's staying in my Dad's suite."

"Oh." I pat him on the back a bit more heartily this time. "Man, I know exactly how ya feel. Next time we get allowed into a real bar again, your drinks are on me for the night."

* * *

I don't know why Erynn even bothers going out. His suite pretty much is a bar in itself. I think this as I sway towards a chair near the corner, trying not to bump into anybody in the room. The room is, by now, awfully full.

A pair of hands gently push my back, guiding me. "Watch out now, honey, you just got back. No need to plaster yourself all over the floor." The voice has a drawl to it that indicates she's just as inebriated, if not moreso, than I am. I turn, as unwise as that is while being guided to a seat.

"Amanda Cee?" I kinda lost track of her in the haze of the party. Where have all these people come from?

She grins. "The one and only. Now sit yer petard down and share a drink on me." Wow, her grammar is really disintegrating. If she were a Poet as well as an Armed, she'd probably be speaking in some other language by this point. We each have a seat, after sorting out which chair is whose in a confusing knot of giggles.

Another voice joins in the laughter, and when I look up to its source I'm faced with the prettiest blue eyes I ever did see. They fade into a honey brown that's even prettier. I cock my head, regarding Rachella Hawksgard and wondering just what Poetry I caught her working just now. We gain our Poet King's eyes when performing that art sometimes, hence the change in color. It's either that, or I really am that drunk. But I don't think I am. Amanda is sloshed, I'm just dizzy and happy.

It takes me a few moments to realize that the girl is smiling back, and that confuses me. After dwelling on my past with Katherine, I'm a little unused to the idea of girls smiling at me that much. I notice that the strange little case is next to her, still covered with a cloth. She breaks away to peer inside after tugging the cloth away on her side. A charmed smile creeps up on her face, and she giggles again.

"Lemme see!" shouts Amanda, and I'm elbowed to the side, right in the ribs even. I let the girl at the case, no fight from me. "I wanna see em one last time."

Rachella sighs. "You know, if you really wanted the dears, you should have gone out and looked for Lyric, same as all of us."

Amanda snorts. "This is a Poet thing. Armed bounty was the sandwich. I'm pretty relieved that Mikhal took that bullet for Gerald, come to think. Guy's walkin' around like he's fine tonight, and if he pukes now it'll probably only be from drinkin'. There's a stomach of iron on him. Gerald's a more delicate man than that, bein' a Poet and all. Ain't that right?" She pats me on the back repeatedly, cackling. It's not so much pounding as patting, really. Damn is she wasted! I just grin and nod, trying to follow this conversation. Amanda drags the cage close to her, parts the curtains just a tad, and then sticks her nose in there and peers with the most serious of expressions. One precisely-groomed eyebrow raises in a deadly hook, and then her expression softens. She sighs, sits up, and scoots the cage away. "Alright." She turns to me. "You can have 'em, you bastard. Treat 'em right, or I'll shoot you. Stick my gun right up in your mouth and pull the trigger." Her expression is deadly serious. I keep nodding. "Okay." She scoots the cage over to me.

Rachella watches it eagerly, her excited gaze skirting up to my face every few seconds, waiting. I scrunch my eyebrows, then uncover the cage. Inside is a pair of tiny sparrows. Rachella squees.

"Aha! You gave him the bounty!" I'm almost knocked over from the blow against my back. Erynn gave it a pat. He's wasted too, very much so. "Congrats, 'Rude!"

"That's Gerald, you brain-stewed idiot." Gerude's voice rises up from behind Erynn.

"I can teach you how to take care of them," whispers Rachella over the table. She gives me a wink.

I return it. "I think I'd like that," I say.

There's a bit of a blur after that, which is when I do share that drink with Amanda, who ends up passed out on the floor after going into a drunken, sputtering confession about how she's worried for her brother Cary, who's out on yet another dangerous mission, and she's so glad I came back in one piece, and she loves those damn birds so much. I think they must remind her of her brother. I also think that I'll give them to her when it's proper - after Rachella teaches me how to care for them, for instance.

The other part of the night is spent making fun of Gerude's ridiculous goggles, after which we have to prevent Erynn from trying to replace that missing eye right then and there while drunk as a skunk. I like laughing at my twin brother, but in the state Erynn's in, 'Rude'd probably wind up with an eyeball on his ankle.

After all that, Rachella and I find a place to go talk, which results in us falling asleep on top of each other in a drunkling, giggling heap.

* * *
Camden
* * *

"Are you sure you don't want to go to your brother's welcome back party?" I say, easing Jenny's shoulders back onto the bed.

Her nose scrunches up, pert, her mouth curling as she tries to hold back a laugh. She raises an eyebrow at me. (Her Daddy's eyebrow. Do you know how much the resemblance makes me shiver when it shows so strongly? If she were anyone else, the effect would make me lose my immediate drive to conquer.) She raises her hands, covering the round swells of her bare breasts. My heart pangs with dismay at the obscuration of two splendid artifacts of beauty. "I'd have to get back into my clothes right after you went through so much trouble taking them off for me."

Well, that settles that. I sink down into the pleasures of the evening, both of us taking such pains to keep the act quiet and concealed that, were Julia here, she'd qualify both of us for her division. After all, Jenny and I both have appetites that even the Advocate might not pardon me for sating.

* * *
'Sy
* * *

There's someone in my house. I think about it as I continue to play. The piano is, in a way, playing itself by this point. The notes always flow best when I've lost just about all of my cares. Still, I think. The thought sloshes back and forth in my brain, and I swish it back and forth a few times to taste it out. Katherine. Katherine's in my house. She's come home. That must be it, because everyone else has gone out. That's fine. I wanted the house to myself, but having Katherine around is fine. Someone to commiserate with. Someone to share the rest of the wine with.

There may not be a rest of the wine, but there are always more bottles in the kitchen, and if those run out, I can finally be arsed to replace them from the cellar's contents. This house is well-fortified with wine. In the event of a siege or apocalypse, you can damn well better be sure that I will be finely drunk, if not dead out there on some bloody battlefield. The flashes of the battlefield to come: something that's been keenly on my mind in the past day or so, and something I've tried to push back, slowly, one bottle's diameter at a time. Or length. How do you measure drunkenness? Height? I'm a very tall guy. I need several more bottles before I could stack them up and match my height. Obviously I need more. I hear a knock. I stop playing.

That's very strange. Katherine almost never knocks on the door to my study. She never has to. I turn to the door and gesture for her to enter. Then I recall that the door is still closed - my hint for that being that I can see that it's closed. I gesture again, then clear my throat. "Katherine, please come in," I say.

She opens the door, head peeking in timidly. She's so much like a cat. Always has been. She steps in, closing the door behind her. "'Sy? Where's everybody gone?"

"Lyric's at the Poet Hall with Stevane, looking after Elete's sorry ass like a good couple of Poets. Gerude went out with Erynn. Jenny's not been back but I expect she's reacquainting herself with the Armed Hall. Lute's gone off to get himself killed again in Sul, and Gerald's fool enough to go talk to you. Is he dead yet, or did he survive that conversation this time?"

Katherine pouts, looking over me. "No, I didn't hurt him this time. Much. He's gone out too. It's just you and me here." She perches on a nearby stool near the piano, an extra one in the same design of my piano stool, but made for one person. I have several. They're very nice for quiet little socials around the piano. Her legs are crossed at the ankles, her hands, ladylike, folded in her lap. She's a delicate thing, I realize. Like my tea doilies, or like Elete. I wonder why that comparison came into my head, but all the same it twists my anger at Elete into my current thoughts. Everything's so complicated. He makes nothing simple.

Katherine frowns. "I...have a lot to talk about. But what's so wrong, 'Sy? It's dark in your house. And you're..." she frowns, cutting off the observation of 'drinking a lot.'

"I'm just fine. Now. I haven't been fine for much of the day." I turn back to my piano and let a few notes ripple through it. I feel better when my hands are moving. When something's being done, even if I'm sitting still.

"Glumly doting over the piano," Katherine mutters. "'Sy? Honey? How is Elete?" In the next few moments I must make a face, because her eyebrows raise and she bites her lip. "Is he going to be alright through the night? Should I check on him?"

I shake my head. "No. He's staying put, I've seen to it."

"Ah." She studies my face for a bit longer. "Honey? What's wrong?"

I stare down at the keys. I've stopped playing. Even music reminds me of him, even though the music is mine. Should be mine. What's wrong? What isn't wrong? "There's been a slaughter in Audiva Rocale. It's being contained as best as it can. But Elete caused a bloodbath due to his insistence on working himself into exhaustion and delusion. I called him away from his Duty. I'll discuss it with Luciprochoros in the morning." I grimace, keeping my eyes on the keys, my hands drifting to them once again. My music. It sounds so lonely. Elete's accompaniment made for the sweetest duet.

Katherine gasps. "I..." She catches her breath, then continues. "'Sy, I don't know what to say. I... I really can't..." She breathes once again. "Perhaps you should think about it."

"He can't go on like this, Katherine." I'm tired. I'm whispering. "He can't continue to abuse his position like this. Too much is falling apart, and he's letting it fall apart."

"But... 'Sy. Elete is what we need right now! He's... my Father needs help from both the Armed and the Poets."

She goes silent. There's nothing but the sound of the piano. A bitter song, no sweetness at all to it. It must be my face that's quieted her. It must be quite stormy indeed.

"...'Sy?" She clears her throat, nervousness creeping into her voice. "There's a lot I have to say. It's very important. I don't think it can wait, either. Father should last the night, but if he deteriorates any further, who knows what the consequences... actually, you know exactly what consequences there will be." The steel creeps back into her voice as that thought comes to her mind.

"Of course there will be consequences, dear Katherine. They're unavoidable. There is no way to stop this bloody war. Don't you feel it? It's already happening in Sul. There's no way to contain this. Your Father was a failure and a fool, at worst a tool and most likely a willing participant in this sabotage. What good will saving him do?"

Katherine's stood up, and the whole room feels like it's on fire. I look over to her, my hands still stumbling across the keys. My Advocate's eyes are like the sun, burning as golden as my own. There's a chill going through me, like cold water being poured down the back of my shirt collar and flowing down my neck and along my spine. I actually shiver a little. I blink a bit in disbelief. Katherine's eyes haven't shifted completely to the Advocate's, but I have a feeling I'm about to face her down.

"It is my duty that he be saved. Do you truly know the consequences of him dying? Do you? You don't know what I saw in his heart when were were in the Advocate's chambers. You haven't even heard the testimony the Peacekeeper and I acquired today. You don't know the half of what's happened to him."

My brows knit together, my expression collecting itself into a glare as my piano bench scrapes slowly back. I don't so much rise as unfold. She is so tiny, and I so tall. Delicate, though, is perhaps not the proper word for her. When she can burn like she is doing now, I don't think 'delicate' works anymore. "Testimony? I tried to Judge him. You dragged him out of my Court before I could gain proper testimony. You coddled him in your own chambers. And then what did you find out? Nothing!"

She bites her lip, fists clenched at her sides, beginning to tremble with rage. "That's not true. How would you even know that? What help were you with it?"

"You disabled me from doing it in the first place! How can you dare to ask me to do anything after stepping in my way and obstructing the Law?" My voice is climbing to a roar that I barely can hear over the rushing in my own ears.

"You're an obstruction to yourself! Disabling the Poet King after trying to kill off a man before beginning to understand what's happened to him! He's so fucking messed up that Camden and I had to interrogate Cade for answers, 'Sy!"

My eyes narrow to tiny slits. Something's got up the fury in my brain. I'm not really sure what, but it's as if she's put a drop of pure vitriol into my bloodstream. "Fucking Cade, the deceiver, direct servant to Jherent Nul himself, is your key to Ebrellin-i's survival? Could you make your methods sound any more questionable?"

There's a fire in her eyes, a dangerous spark, the kind I recognize. I see it in her eyes right before she says something she shouldn't. I'll have to confess that I usually encourage that sort of outburst to happen to get the upper hand - but isn't that my job? "Do you want to know just how desperate I've been to get any edge at all, to make any advances in this without your help, 'Sy? I think you do. I think you deserve to know that I had to speak Nul-deh'le to Ebrellin-i just to get him to hear me. To advance with him at all without you helping me."

Her accusatory tone is enough to send me over the edge on its own, but then there's the question of Nul-deh'le. The tongue that few know, can even learn to begin with, because it destroys the source of the sound as it is spoken. Even thinking in the language can erase a person's thoughts or drive them to madness. The rare times it's ever been taught to Poets is to prevent them from accidentally reading or speaking it. The fact that Katherine would use that language as a ploy to salvage her worthless, wretched Father is so infuriating to me that I have to remind myself to speak. "I see. You're resorting to madness to work with a madman. Has it driven you insane yet?" I take in a deep breath. "I forbid you to work with him any further, if all you're going to do is destroy yourself and everything else in the process."

Her face is utter confusion now. "You what? Forbid me?" Her mouth opens and closes a few times before she says, "You could never do that. It's not how the balance works and you know it."

"Do you want to try and stop me?" I can't prove it, but that might be the most common set of last words to ever be uttered by anybody.

My head is knocked back, my face whipping sideways. A few moments play back in my mind, and I recall the sensation of the back of her hand smacking across my cheek. I come to that conclusion right before her hands dig into the front of my jacket and pull me downwards to eye level. She bites me.

After that, things lose all sense of coherency. I don't remember visuals. I don't remember anything else that we said. I remember the sound of thick glass breaking - the wine bottle, against my head. The echoes of more delicate, thinner glass breaking in the background. My crystal wine glass set. It flies across the study at the same time that the piano is knocked over. I feel a blaze of heat - Katherine letting loose with some concentration of her aura, but still her Arms are withheld. Fair enough; Diyn absolutely refuses to enter this room right now. My only weapon is one of the legs of the piano. Katherine opts for one of the stools. I hear paper ripping. We must migrate to a corner of the study that has my books. Wetness, the smell of wine. A bottle I didn't quite empty, and now that problem's solved. The sound of panting, then of shouting. I'm not quite sure what either of us say. I see her face, red. I feel warmth trickling down my own face. We're both bleeding, and that's at least the one thing right now that feels right about the world.

Then she leaves, and I promptly black out.

* * *
Katherine
* * *

I'm bloodied. I stalk out of his house and I'm bleeding. I'm stalking out of 'Sy's house, and I'm bleeding. Thank the gods and the heavens and all their servants that we didn't draw real weapons. Arms. Because I would have killed him.

Gevurah has the audacity to whisper that I wouldn't have, and I just tell her to shut up. My heels grind in the gravel leading to the Armed complex. It's not far. We're never far from work, after all. It's the only place to go. I can't stay in that house. Daddy's got a guest, I can tell. I don't want anyone else around if I'm gonna go stalking into his place bleeding and angry. Camden's a good ranting partner, but I can't seem to pinpoint where he is. He's quiet. Probably wants some rest. At least Gerald went out, because I don't want to run into him right now. I'd kill him, and I'm not sure now if I'd enjoy his death this time around. Didn't that first time, that's for sure.

There's Elete, but he's in fucking detention with a Poet-and-a-half watching. Fucking 'Sy. Has to ruin everything that's free and everything that might, just might, give me an upper hand in this fight. And it's not even a fight against him! Or at least it wasn't, up until just now.

I hold my hand against my arm. The office. It'll be empty. I can clean up in the tea room. I can sleep behind my desk. Wouldn't be the first time, though it's a true mark of desperation on my part. Tomorrow... tomorrow I can start doing what I can, no matter if the Judge tries to stop me. I can't let Father die. I can't let Elete lose his footing against Tesynnodai. If anything's to come out of this... damnit, I've just got to keep fighting!

I open the door to my office and stare right into the face of Bronwyn Averseen. My hair is falling into my face, and some of it is bloody. She looks up at me in shock, her quill held mid-air as a strange kitten-thing bats at it over the paperwork. A strand of hair falls in front of her nose, completing our awkward moment.

"Jhe Katherine? Hon? Are you bleeding?" She rises, breaking the moment, the kitten-thing mewling after her. I don't really remember her walking to me, just the feeling of her hands around my shoulders. She pulls me into the office, guides me into the tea room. I perceive this in little slices of moments, perfect portraits held up beside one another.

She's wiping my face when she asks me what happened.

"Nothing. 'Sy and I got into a fight. It's... nothing. He's bleeding more, that's enough." I look at the tiny thing sitting on her shoulder. "Benny, what's that?"

She starts, then looks over her shoulder. "Oh! Precia!" She reaches up and scratches the thing behind the ears. "Here." She hands the winged kitten down to me, and I cup it in my hands, instinctively stroking the fur. It responds with a purr of appreciation and settles into my lap. "Jhe h'Logos's most recent project. It's a shenanigan. Everyone gets to have one, or two, or even three, he said. Except Erynn can't have his battalion. Jhe h'Logos said that was too much trouble for even one Poet." At that, she bites her lip. I feel it too. That wave of depression at the mention of the Poet King.

Then the thing nips me on the finger, and I'm not allowed to think about that anymore.

The rest of the night goes reasonably well. I could say, in fact, that it's a lot of fun. Benny's paperwork wraps up quickly, and we proceed to her home. It's pretty far, since she doesn't live in the city, but I relish the feeling of being outside a ways. Free from all of this chaos. A little quiet, for once.

"I was hiding it from him!" Benny recounts the events in the Poet Hall from her vantage, which apparently she didn't pay much attention to, because most of the time she was trying to hide the fact that she had tucked her shenanigan right down into her ample cleavage. That it stayed quiet the entire time she was with the Judge, and that he actually looked her in the eyes and not in the chest every time she talked to him, is a testament to her skills as a Poet. Nothing else could have possibly gotten him to ignore the presence of an animal that had so humiliated him.

In fact, Benny's recounting of the shenanigans crawling all over 'Sy is so vivid that even as I fall asleep in her bed, I'm still giggling about it.

AUDIVA ROCALE, BORDER REGIONS

* * *
Lute
* * *

This carriage is moving way too fast. We should not be anywhere near Radia in this short of a time, but somehow we are. Thelea only looks smug about it, and Xen doesn't question the speed.

Then there's Aaren, who hasn't made any reaction at all to what's gone on in this carriage. He hasn't woken since Xen's return. He just lies back against the seat, his complexion pale and waxy and his face drawn and tight. As far as I can tell, he's experiencing normal sleep, but after what happened to his Arms, who knows what he's experiencing right now? Just thinking about Schiphael makes me want to jump out and get Aaren and I the hell out of here.

With the speed we're traveling, though... we'll be back in Radia before I can even make that kind of grab. I don't know how I'd do it, either. Once Xen stepped into this thing the wards slammed down so tight that I barely have room to twitch in here. I'm lucky that I've been tailing him so long that he overlooks my energy. It's also a testament to my skill as a spy, but I'm not overlooking the sheer luck of the situation.

Shit, this thing's just barrelling away, isn't it? This speed shouldn't be possible no matter how many horses are strapped to the thing.

Xen raises an eyebrow after taking a peek outside. "Don't you think that's overdoing it? We're almost into Crux Radia already." He's trying to hold back a grin, but it's not working.

Thelea chuckles. "We're not overdoing it at all. My Poets are capable of much more than this, working together. With my pet directing them, their focus is unrelenting." She sighs with smug satisfaction. "My Cruxradia is really quite talented. A shame we're still working on the little Rhivendish bastard in my dungeon. With him working with the hive of Poets, we'd likely be unstoppable. Oh Xen, dear, stop looking so scornful. Just because you have to admit that my Poets are aiding your own efforts doesn't mean it degrades you."

Xen snorts. "If you say so. I must concede that this carriage's breakneck speed is rather convenient." He raises an eyebrow. "Did we just enter Crux Radia?"

Thelea titters behind her hand. "Not that you'd notice behind our wards. We'll be within shooting distance of the capital in two hours." She looks off to the side, eyes unfocused, as if thinking of something very far away. "Our passage is protected. Edward is extremely competent at such things. And it seems that Elric is being coerced into playing along, at least for a little bit." At Xen's look of surprise, she grins. "Enough Nul in someone's brain, and they start to become biddable. Even someone as stubborn as my own son. It makes for a superb weapon." She looks down at Aaren. "And, speaking of... how about your own project?"

"He will be ready," is all that the Kommissar says in reply.

* * *

RADIA

* * *
Aaren
* * *

There's nothing here but darkness. There's nothing on the outside, but inside there's... something moving within my chest, or my heart. It doesn't quite hurt, but it feels so nasty that I wish it did hurt. It would feel cleaner then. More just.

Then there's a twist within me that lurches my world out from under me in such a way that even this semi-consciousness fades away.

* * *
Lute
* * *

Aaren opens his eyes. The irises are perfectly white. There's a thin crisp line of dark gray to delineate them from the corneas. His pupils are absolutely gone, and I can't figure out how he could possibly see right now.

Then he stands up, head snapping around to face the Kommissar. He makes a crisp bow, and stays bent forward. The Kommissar only smiles, stroking his thumb in a single sideways line along the back of Aaren's neck.

Aaren shivers, but otherwise stays still.

The Kommissar raises an eyebrow at the reaction, but shrugs it off. He reaches behind himself, then in a smooth motion brings his hand back forward. "Here," he says, "take this back. I've cleansed it of that Radian filth." He hands Aaren's Arms back to him.

I blink. Was that Schiphael? Kuroroi is confused as well. In the flash that I saw the glint of the weapon, it certainly appeared to be so. How did he retrieve it? Was the Kommissar only keeping it in a pocket space for safe-keeping? But when he had tossed the Arms away, the moment had seemed so... final.

Aaren extends his hand, clasps Schiphael's hilt and then promptly tucks the weapon out of sight. He unbends, standing up straight. His motions are as precise and clipped as those of the Kommissar's own elite soldiers.

His Father gives him one final look-over, then nods. "Sit. We don't have long."

Not thirty minutes later, the Kommissar opens the door. He nods to Aaren. Aaren stands, walks to the door, and looks out. The carriage is still moving at a speed faster than I could ever expect any wheeled vehicle to attain. Then, Aaren steps out.

In a split-second, I have to make the decision to follow Aaren or to tag along in the carriage. Then all the hairs raise up on the back of my neck and Kuroroi pushes me out of the carriage before I can decide.

You were going to get caught. Follow your comrade. We can keep ourselves safe out here and notify the Judge as soon as possible.

I have no choice but to follow my Arms. I trail along behind Aaren. He breaks into a run as if hellhounds are nipping at his heels. He's headed for the Capital, but then, so is the carriage. The carriage will doubtlessly get there first.

I direct a question to Kuroroi. How will I warn anyone without Aaren turning on me?

Then, before I can get an answer, he does. A chain whips through the air and a black blade follows it, arcing on a perfect trajectory towards my throat. Kuroroi deflects the weapon, pulling us both into the heat of a battle of Armed versus Armed.

* * *
Lyric
* * *

Stevane's leaned back against the wall, her head tilted to the side, as a trickle of drool collects on her shoulder. Her shenanigan is flumped on top of her head, tiny snores emanating from it. Occasionally it twitches a leg or its tail. At some point its tail tickles against Stevane's ear, and she mumbles in her sleep about "the teapot's under the ceiling" until the shenanigan calms. Then she eases back into the rare bit of sleep she's now managing to catch.

I look at her, keeping calm, keeping quiet, keeping my part of the watch. Mewgul's curled up in my lap, asleep as well, and when I grow bored I snuggle her without waking her. She's utterly adorable, and I feel pretty damn content with her here. I finished writing the rest of the tale of my stay in Audiva Rocale already, Stevane guiding me through it all the way.

'No, just keep writing. Don't worry about how complex the words are. Don't worry about if it sucks. The first thing you have to learn as a Poet is to just tell the truth and write everything down that you possibly can. Later you can figure out how you want to control it. Right now you just have to make sure that you can turn it on at will.'

I raised an eyebrow. 'Turn it on?' Mewgul swatted at my quill. I then scooted her away from the paper.

Stevane nodded emphatically. 'And turn it off, after that. You have to know how to be a Poet, and how to stop being a Poet. You already know it innately. That's how you survived. The Peacock King never caught you because you subconsciously stayed quiet and didn't let your Poetry, your willful control over reality, be noticed by those that would destroy you. That's pretty damned good for a wild Poet. It means you've got good instincts. But those instincts have to be turned into skill, now. In the Poet Hall you're gonna learn it through lots of writing, lots of practice, and some damn interesting trials.'

That's how she explained it to me then. It makes a lot of sense to me, now, that I survived from some innate instinct. And I feel good about the fact that I did survive due to some subconscious control over the situation. I just wish that I could have made it better for Ebrellin-i. That while I was there I could have somehow found out what was wrong with him, or how to clear his name. I guess that's a job for the future, now. At least I'm in the right place to learn. I look over at the Poet King, thinking about that. He's quietly watching my sister. He's wide awake.

He looks over at me, then, and smiles. "I do apologize for the interruption, Jhe Lyric. Could you do the honor of waking your sister up? I'm in a bit of a bad health condition to expose myself to the danger."

I shudder, my bladder clenching. Waking up Stevane is still apparently a legendary feat. I'd kinda hoped she'd grown out of that. Ten years ago, Father was afraid to do it himself, and we'd draw lots to see who got the ill luck of attempting it. It must be something about Stevane's mother, because every time I'd wake her up it would be like summoning a dark creature from the depths of the Void.

That, and also she can set things on fire at will.

That being said, I decide to throw my shenanigan at her, because its life up until now has been short and happy. Jhe h'Logos lets out a little squeak as the furry feathered ball pelts through the air and lands with a whump against Stevane's face.

My sister sprawls to the side, scrambling away from the fuzzy projectile, her knife already waiting in her hand for the unexpected opponent. A phrase tumbles out of her mouth, unintelligible to me but obviously some language of the abyss. "Mvfenegorrethyver..ffft." The shenanigan on her head puffs and spits at the entire room. After a couple moments, Stevane's breathing eases to a human level, and she focuses on the shenanigan on the floor.

She says, "Aww," cradles Mewgul, and then pets both her and her own shenanigan.

It's Jhe h'Logos's chuckle that brings Stevane back into reality. She faces him with a glare, opening her mouth.

He cuts off her reprimand. "Stevane, please listen. The Judge would find what I'm about to say of the utmost importance." He sees her close her mouth, then continues. "There's little time. I promise I will stay in my bed, but you have to go and find Katherine. She's in grave danger, and no one else is going to help her." His eyes have a far-focus, as if he's seeing something in the distance beyond his room's walls.

Stevane looks very dubious, but considers it. Her eyes are distantly focused as well.

Me, I'm starting to feel some sort of eerie urgency, as if I should really be going somewhere right now. Mewgul flutters back to me, perching on my head with an odd restlessness.

Jhe h'Logos waits patiently for Stevane's response. He doesn't have that patronizing look when addressing her anymore. He's deadly serious, and he's not even trying to get up out of his bed. All things that strike me as odd, given what I've observed of the Poet King so far.

Stevane bites her lip, thinking, focusing inward. Her eyes snap back up to Jhe h'Logos. She extends her knife towards him, hilt-first. He raises an eyebrow at it, then looks at her with a sober expression. Stevane's face is serious, but lacks the angry impatience I've seen in her since my return.

"Swear on this knife that you won't get out of bed until I or the Judge come back to check on you."

Jhe h'Logos jumps. His eyes flick down at the knife again, and then he cocks his head at Stevane. "Wise. An oath on your Arms?"

"He's not Arms. Daddy will give me my Arms soon. That's why you can keep Herald, and Herald will keep you, and he will tell the Judge if you move from your bed." Stevane's jaw is squared, her brows drawn together, and if she weren't wearing lipstick I would swear she was Father.

Jhe h'Logos reaches out and touches the hilt of the blade. "I will do so, then, and I will keep this as you say." He clasps the hilt then, and takes the knife from Stevane.

Stevane stands, then sets her shenanigan on the blanket covering Jhe h'Logos's knees. "Good. Let's go." She turns to me.

I pet Mewgul, put a kiss on her head, set her next to Stevane's shenanigan, and as an afterthought hand Jhe h'Logos my written tale. "Stevane made me."

Jhe h'Logos's eyes shine. "I'm proud." I'm not sure which one of us he means by that, but I nod, and Stevane curtsies. "Go out of the city, towards Jhe Averseen's house. She's quite a ways from home right now. And hurry. There's no time for anything else."

Stevane makes a final bow, and then we're off.

* * *
Katherine
* * *

I awake with my thoughts completely scrambled, the only thought in my head that of: RUN.

I get up quietly, careful not to wake Bronwyn. She's so nice to let me sleep in her bed. But I really should be going now. I shouldn't bring danger into her house. I should leave, now, and take the trouble away from her. She's done nothing to bring that upon her and into her house, and I can defend myself. Gevurah and Gedulah are sheathed at my sides. I can take anything on.

I am on foot, then, five minutes from Benny's house, pre-dawn light just beginning to blush pink along the horizon, when I hear the carriage. Before I can even turn around, he's upon me, the carriage already stopped ten feet ahead in my path. How can it be so fast, is my only thought before he takes me.

I only see the flash of his face, the nose, the black hair, and then the stab of a weapon into my side. I don't react. My arms are lead, hell, my Arms are lead. I'm on the ground, bleeding. I recognize those boots. Everything is blurry, but I recognize those boots. My body can't move, but my eyes slide upwards and I see Aaren's face over mine, grinning, his sneer arced under that prominent, fucking famed Xaillyndesse nose.

Then he wrenches the weapon in my gut, and I hear a woman's laughter, and I'm being torn apart. Gedulah is a muffled scream, Gevurah barely a whispered growl in my ear, before all is nothing.

* * *
Bronwyn
* * *

I snap awake. The dawn is red. No, it's everything around me that's red. Every sound I can hear is bordered with a whisper telling me to stay in bed, stay quiet, and stay as still as I can. I am the mouse in the thicket and the hawk is flying over me.

I don't know where Katherine is because I can't see her, but I have the sickening suspicion - the sickening certainty - that all is wrong with her world.

I don't get up. I don't move. I don't even send out a cry of help to the Poets and Armed that I know. I am absolutely certain that it would be suicide. Even more importantly, I am certain that such a death would be a blow against those who love me and the King that I serve.

Precia nuzzles me with a soft mewl. I concentrate on the warmth and softness of her tiny body and the gentle mercy of her purr.

* * *
Stevane
* * *

Everything's a blur in my eyes, everything's a blur in my head. The panting, the running, my brother's frenzied steps beside me. We started out fast, but as we've run towards where Katherine's supposed to be the urgency has been pressing into us, shoving us into a frenzied pace. Panic is a bad thing. I know this, but by this point it's as if we're being dragged forward. When the pull finally stops, I skid to a halt, Lyric stumbling beside me. I catch the flash of a carriage in the dirt road and the large dark silhouette of a man standing over a patch of scuffed up dirt. It's just in time for me to dodge to the side, pulling my brother with me, as the man strikes out for both of us with a long, bladed weapon. When we both roll in the dirt, something clubs me in the side of the head.

"Guests?" A woman's voice calls out from the side.

"Ants," the man replies. I try to pull myself up to my hands and knees, but a foot shoves me down into the dirt, firmly planted on my back. It stays there, the weight so heavy that I can't breathe. He's a big fucker! There's a protest from Lyric, and then the horrible muffled thunk of a blunt weapon hitting a skull. "Should I crush them?"

I can't get up. I can't make a sound. For some reason, I can't reach out for help with my mind. I try to grab Lyric, and then a blade comes down on each side of my wrist. "Quiet and still, those are the hallmarks of a survivor," whispers the man. The voice is familiar, but I can't place it. I do consider listening to it, much as I hate listening to anyone without question. I try to think if I saw Katherine anywhere near where we stopped in the road. I saw signs of a struggle, but no body and no blood. Maybe she got away.

I hear muffled footsteps in the dust. The woman's voice draws closer. "Ants are known for their hard work and discipline in their obedience to their Queen." She pauses for deliberation. "Keep them."

"Do we have room?" The man sounds bored.

"Are you leaving your son behind?"

"Of course."

"Then we can put them in the beds and still have plenty of room to ourselves. Make them kneel. I want to inspect them."

When I'm forced to my knees, the man is behind me. I see the woman, though. She bears a strong resemblance to Jhe h'Lete in facial features, but not in expression or demeanor. The man stays behind me, keeping his blade to my back. When I try to look down at my brother, who is still lying on the ground, the man jabs the very tip of the blade into me and I suck in my breath. "Eyes ahead, girl."

The woman raises an eyebrow. A chill runs up my spine. That woman. I recognize her, though not from in person. We're taught our history, our diplomacy, our politics. And, being so close to Jhe h'Logos, I should recognize his Mother. He himself has taught me to avoid her presence at all costs.

If that's the Queen Mother, then the man holding a weapon to my back is the Kommissar. That realization comes to me with a certain numbness. I must not show fear. That will kill me, right now. The Queen Mother is studying me like I am a particularly interesting specimen of bug. More importantly, she studies my brother. If he's worth more than a glance, it means he's probably still alive. Her eyes go back to me, and then pin me. The freezing sensation turns my guts sour. "She is a Poet. One of the Judge's rare non-Armed children. A Princess, by that lineage. The boy with her seems to be my son's consort."

The Kommissar snorts behind me. "I thought you sent out orders to have him killed."

"My assassin was incompetent, as she's dead now, and the consort is still alive. But that was an old hit, commissioned when Ebrellin-i was still reigning. Now that the consort is here, though... he'll have a use, I am sure. As for her, I can always use another Poet. Especially another Akribastes. She could also prove a useful hostage. Bind them both up. We ride to Lyiannethe as soon as it's done."

The Kommissar sighs with disappointment. "We're not staying to watch the reaction?"

Thelea is already standing in the open door of the carriage. "There's no Treaty anymore. The fireworks will be loud enough to be seen and heard from Lyiannethe. Bring them."

I'm oddly not thinking of how to escape now. Just when I'm starting to wonder about that, something thuds against my head again, the sound identical to whatever knocked Lyric unconscious. My body responds the same way to it that Lyric's did.

The next time I wake, it's in a semi-conscious, red-tinged haze. I'm in a tiny bunked bed, everything's dark around me, and I'm being jostled just a bit. I'm riding in the carriage, in the sleeper compartment. At least this thing rides smoother than most. The wards are thick, ironclad and stifling. There's something around my neck. I realize it must be the same collar that was around Gerald's neck in Lyric's story. The fact that I feel absolutely mentally muffled is the tip-off. I reach up to it automatically, fingers hooking under the band and tugging it forward a little, but I don't try to fight it and don't try to pull it off. I just don't like tight things around my neck, and this place is already small, and cramped, and it's moving...

My stomach lurches. I curl up and try not to focus on the movement. There's a reason I never learned how to properly ride a horse.

"Champagne is always suitable to keep handy, in case it comes to pass that we will have something to celebrate." I hear the sounds of pouring and serving. That was the Kommissar's voice. They're having champagne, then. Why?

I think of Katherine and my stomach goes numb, which is kind of a mercy. Thelea did say there was no more Treaty. Did they really kill Katherine? I didn't even see a body or any blood! And if they were stowing her in here I'd probably, well, smell something.

"Ahh, thank you, dear Xen. It is a lovely occasion to celebrate. I did so despise that grandchild. Good for nothing except impeding my ambitions. Ebrellin-i favored her far too much."

The Kommissar snorts. "A shame we won't be able to see his reaction. I do say, my lady, I rather liked your definition of a diplomatic visit."

Oh no. Not Katherine. Her life is the Treaty. The agreement between two nations to not go fucking bugnuts and destroy each other. As long as she lived, Crux Radia and Audiva Rocale couldn't attack each other. How could Thelea and the Kommissar kill her? How did they get the chance?

I listen to the two of them chit-chat over drinks and try to think of some way to get out of here.

* * *
Camden
* * *

I awake from a rather pleasant slumber to a sense of utmost urgency. It's as if some small person is beating his fists against a door in my head, urgently trying to rouse me. I pinpoint the cause of it.

It's not so much a new and pressing variable as the profound lack of one. In my mind, there are many connections. To people, to superiors, to important places such as my homeland of Rhivend. To objects, even, the most prominent ones being Arms. Foremost in those connections are Geillg'a, The Judge, The Advocate, The Poet King... there are more, of course.

The Advocate's absence is profound. I have trouble even moving, it's so upsetting. Jennelcia does not have that problem. I feel her move against me, and then feel the covers shift as she sits upright quite suddenly.

She knows.

"We have to do something," she says. I nod, then, finally getting up. We are quick and deliberate in the motions of dressing.

"Come on," I say. I can feel the urgency, now, and the sense of exactly what we must do. "We haven't much time left."

We leave together, Jenny just as eerily calm about the whole affair as I am.

* * *
Ebrellin-i
* * *

I am sorry. I am a bit of a mess right now. There's a mess all around me, and all in me, black and sticky and snarling me up. I don't quite understand it. I think that it is me, trapping myself, getting all tangled in my plumes, and then a voice in my head tells me rather insistently that it is not.

But I can't see right now, not at all, not at all, not at all. It's gone white, like gessoed canvas.

Do you know I painted him once? I painted Luciprochoros once... I do rather miss that painting. Enough of that... something very insistently tells me enough of that. My ropes tell me that's enough, that is who is speaking. The Judge's ropes? Or the ropes of something...

...I never think about that. Not proper. Too frightening. I have the most intimidating hunch that it might be not allowed for me to think about.

And then it comes upon me as a flash, clear as day. I am asleep, aren't I? There's a dawn over my mind. Golden light. Then it washes away, and there's a lingering sadness in me. As if I miss it, even though I just now only felt it.

Then, for no reason that I know at all, I claw at my chains, claw at my bedding, claw at the bed itself. I try to get it off of me. I try to get it away. I have to save her, have to save her, surely I've saved her up in a test tube somewhere? I did try that once, didn't I? But those experiments were forbidden. That was no reason to stop, of course. Once does not tell Science what is improper for it to do. But still I quit. I always left the experiments and the labs before they were finished, left them so alone. Was turned towards other pursuits.

But I kept something, didn't I? Succeeded at something? It feels so urgent. I feel a dreaded loss, even though I thought I began to welcome it long ago. Started severing parts of myself just to feed my captor, to keep it at bay.

Where am I, now?

Where is Katherine?

* * *

* * *
Cade
* * *

I ignore the weepy head-case in the special padded cell down the hall. He's making enough ruckus to keep anyone distracted from me, bless his crazy buzzard brain. Not much of anyone notices me. Not when I don't want them to. And my master, he's calling me home now. I feel the pull, feel him beckoning. All should be forgiven. I've kept my sad skin alive long enough to serve another day, after all. Who should care if I've fraternized with the Radians? Let the Peacekeeper and the Advocate think I'm turning tattle on my master. I'm the only one who can be Nul's Herald, and it looks like that hasn't gone forgotten.

I had worried for a little. Had started to wonder just how I'd manage to go on living without him... looks like there was no reason to worry, after all. There's been a change. Something's twisted, or likely Nul's found something to be pleased with. It does feel odd in here. Warped. As if someone's slipped on my bonds. Surely not the Judge and his unforgiving heart? No, that can't be it. The Advocate's touch is gone from my wards. I do wonder what happened to her. I don't wonder for long. I just make myself unnoticeable enough to slip out of my chains, and then approach my cell door with the same intent. It won't be the first time I've slipped right out from under the Judge's nose. Like as not won't be the last. I imagine my body as a fine mist. I push against the bars, or rather push through them. My body's like water, or like it's not there at all. Then I turn to sneak off down this hall and leave that squawking loon to cry out about whatever's got his brain this time around.

I walk straight into someone, and get a hand 'round my throat for my troubles. There's an arrow pressed into my back, sharp and insistent. I feel the touch of Arms in it. I swallow, my Adam's apple bobbing up against Camden's palm.

His eyes stare into mine. We have a few moments where perhaps something goes unsaid between us. Then he opens the door to my cell, his trainee keeping that arrow pointed at me the whole time, and he pitches me back inside.

The cell door clangs shut. For all of me, I cringe. I can hear my master howling. I can hear him fret. It's difficult to hear Camden's voice over it, but the damned Rhivendish accent cuts through my thoughts all the same.

"Stay in there and wait. Ye've got things to do here in Radia. Now's no time to leave it." His words are so casual, but his voice is so cutting and final that I've got to wonder just what those things are that I've yet to do. I wonder if I'll actually have to go through with them. The thought of a Trial terrifies me.

I don't want to die. Never have.

* * *
Rocsui
* * *

I wake up shivering. Why? Why am I cold, when it's so warm in here? I push the sheets down to find myself covered in sweat from head to toe.

Then I curl up, burying my head into the nest of my folded arms, and cry. I blink in confusion against my forearm as the tears come. Why am I sweating? Why am I crying like this? Did I have a dream? It's like something is gone. Something I didn't even notice, like how I never notice my own breathing until some idiot calls my attention to it, and then I can't ignore it.

I hear the door open. "Rahellene?" says a male voice. The Jhe o'Radia. So strangely kind when addressing me. I look up, confusion written across my face. His only shows sad understanding. He folds me up in his arms. I start to understand.

I don't know why he's comforting me when his daughter's just died, or why I feel my sister's death. I'm so confused these days. Nothing is ever clear-cut, nothing in this life makes sense. But I have my cry into Jhe Luciprochoros's chest, and he strokes my hair, and I must feel better because sleep takes me soon after.

* * *
'Sy
* * *

I awake to the inside of my skull burning my brain matter from my forehead and on inward. With each pulse - probably my blood, which is probably boiling behind my eyeballs - the pain grows worse, then eases, then grows worse again. Fucking heartbeat. Fucking hangover. Fucking wine. Why am I lying on the floor? Was I that drunk? Am I still that drunk? Where are the children?

Something cold, rough and slimy slides over the tip of my nose. I scream. No, it was a roar, really. A roar of anger. I... I don't scream. Ever.

I open one eye to behold the world with, and I'm now staring right into a kitten's asshole. Somewhere, Tia, Lady of the Void, mother of two of my daughters, is mocking me with her tittering laughter.

The kitten turns around, blinks at the revelation that the Pile of 'Sy might have moved, and then mews at me. It bumps its tiny nose into mine, and curse my blighted heart, that was kind of cute. It's a good thing no one's here to see that. I do a mental check. ...Yes. Nobody is here but me and the - check for wings - shenanigan. Good.

...What the fuck is that thing doing here? I spy a curl of paper tucked into its collar. I tug it out while trying to avoid repetitive purring headbutts against my palm. I unroll the tiny scroll, hold it up to my face, and remember how to read.

My office at earliest convenience. Most urgent. - E Next to the initial is a quick sketched-out version of Elete's personal seal.

The shenanigan squirms a bit and then nips at my finger. I scowl at it and hold back the urge to swat at it. What's it want? It growls at me, then glares, and then vanishes.

I stand up. Time is of the essence, I gather. I can't even tell what time it is right now. I stretch, arms up over my head, and then shriek as a clump of my hair is almost yanked out of my scalp. The damned thing's taken a mouthful and started pulling it!

Fine. I teleport into Elete's combination bedroom and office with all due haste and without changing from these smelly, bloody, torn clothes.

The Poet King looks up at me from his bed, several shenanigans snuggled up around him. His eyebrows shoot up when he takes in my bedraggled appearance, but he says nothing. He doesn't even act all haughty. He simply hands me a knife, hilt-first. Something about his expression combines with the weight of the knife in my hand. By the time I realize whose knife it is, I've already sobered up.

"I apologize for the rude awakening. I was told to stay in this bed until Stevane or you came here and instructed me otherwise. I swore on her knife. That was several hours ago, and I fear for the worst." His eyes have that far-off look and dread is creeping up in my stomach. No. Just... no. "You need to go and find out if there's anything left of Katherine, 'Sy. If those two are gone--"

"Those two?" I ask, my mind going numb.

"Stevane and Lyric. They went together to Katherine's aid. The worst has come to pass. I am telling you this now so that you don't waste time that you could be spending making things right. Worry later over what happened. I can tell you more after the necessary deeds have been done. Now go and do what you must."

I look down at him. "Elete. You look... much more cogent today than you have in a long time." For all the gods and hells they dug I want him to be wrong, but his eyes aren't clouded, and he looks to be in perfect command of his senses.

He nods, regarding me as calmly as when he first met me. "I possess perfect forward recall currently. It does not reach out for very long, but for the span of time that I can see, we must make as much use of it as possible."

"How long?" I ask. The worst coming to pass. In how many ways?

He shrugs, almost nonchalant about it, and strokes one of the shenanigans in his lap. "Perhaps days. Maybe even a week. Who knows how long I'll last? The future is a fluid thing, so it is not that certain, even when I can see it clearly. The next Poet King will be just as competent, so I've no worries." That far-off look again. That tingle down my spine. The perfect sense of urgency... "Go, 'Sy. I won't matter by the end of the month. She will."

* * *

My study has been ripped apart. That's convenient, then, because what I am doing now is ripping it apart. I have to find some part of her. I have to find anything of Katherine that might have been left behind.

Carpet's been shredded and torn up. Furniture is destroyed - the wood splintered and twisted, the cushions ripped in a flurry of scattered stuffing. Piano wire is embedded in the plaster of the ceiling. Stray strands of hair are tangled up in it. Unfortunately, I'm not looking for hair. I need more than that. If Elete sent me to find bits of her, it means her body isn't worth looking for. Somehow they destroyed it, and I'll just have to find out how later.

Torn paper, ripped and scattered in little bits along the floor. Books that we killed last night. And why? For what? So that I could be right? I'm beginning to get the awful, sneaking suspicion that I was not right at all. Elete dances through my thoughts at the mention of books. Losing Elete. Losing Katherine. I can save one. The other?

Death shouldn't be an issue for us, not when there's a body left behind. So why is he going on about the next Poet King? What is wrong with him? Why now?

The paper bits form a trail, and at the end of the trail I find what I'm looking for. I pick it up.

A sliver of wineglass. A tiny chunk of the bowl, attached to a broken stem. It's like a glass spoon. Welled in the hollow is something red. Red like the wine from last night. Still wet. Her blood. I know it's hers, and not mine. I know the look and smell of her blood, but most of all I remember her crashing to the floor and crushing this glass, the shard digging up into her knee.

The blood is fresh. Recent. It is the best we have, in fact all we have. It shall have to do.

* * *

I tuck away Stevane's knife. Herald. Temporary Arms. I'll need it later. Him, not it, she has managed to impress quite a bit of personality into what is a regular blade. I'll question him later. If I needed to do anything with Herald now, Elete would have informed me. Now, I must walk into Luciprochoros's quarters and request his presence at an urgent meeting.

He is waiting for me, his clothing somber and his eyes shadowed. "I am ready."

I don't ask how he knew. I don't say anything in apology, or to explain my beaten appearance. The aura in here is high-strung, almost humming in my ears. He might strike at me, if I say anything. I know he's angry. Every time she dies, it's my fault. That's fair enough, and I hate even thinking the word 'fair'.

We vanish, then. Time is of the essence.

* * *
END
* * *