Angel's Creed, twenty-three
Okay so storytime. As of this chapter, AC’s current word total is about 198k. That’s long. And I feel like I’m not even halfway through the story yet, and I ESPECIALLY feel like...nothing has really happened yet, plotwise. But that’s for a different post.
Here’s the deal: I’ve come to terms with the fact that this is going to need to be AT LEAST two books to tell all the story I want to tell. This chapter ends one arc and the next chapter beings a new one - it seems like the best place for that break to happen. So this, chapter 23, is the designated “end” of book 1, while ch 24 will mark the “begining” of book 2.
They’re not written for that, of course, so this will feel v unsatisfying as an ending. That’s something I’ll have to change on revision, rewriting this first half to feel...satisfying, and not hacked off at the end. This is just a warning that this is what I’ve designated my cut-off-point.
9,423 words.
Chapter 23
Slay woke with a start. Something was wrong. He shoved himself up, eyes darting around the cell for the source of his sudden dread. Nothing. Just a few green rats in the corner, scurrying through equally green cracks in the stone. He sat up, shoving his hair back from his face, and then froze when he realized that something hurt.
"Something" was the best way to describe it, because it wasn't a physical pain like his still-healing ankle, and it was completely unlike the mental pain of the razor wire strung up behind his eyes. It felt more like he'd been stabbed right in the magic, which sounded positively asinine, but there was no better way to put it.
The hand in his hair fell to his chest, fingers lightly resting against the burnt patch over his heart. He closed his eyes, slowed his breathing from the panicked mess he'd woken up to into something more normal, and tried to concentrate through the magic barrier. He could feel his own magic, flowing like sludge under that damned wall, but that wasn't anything new. What was new was the...ache, was probably the best word for it, around where the bit of Adrakh's magic sat. And as soon as he found that, he realized what was wrong.
With the barrier blocking him, he hadn't been able to follow Adrakh's magic back to the Spirit himself to establish a connection, but he could still feel the line linking them. It had been there like a rope tied around a weight, and even if the rope had gone off through a wall, it was still there. But the rope wasn't there anymore. It was just the weight, sinking through the sea of his own magic, no Spirit on the other end.
He sank, doubling over, tangling his fingers in his hair. What did that mean? Had Adrakh broken Contract? Decided Slay wasn't doing his job so he'd just find someone else, then? But wouldn't he take his magic back if he was breaking Contract? Or wasn't that how it worked? (If Slay'd been formally trained, he probably would've known. Of all the things to make him wish he'd actually made it to the Cathedral as a boy.)
Wait, how far back was it that he'd told that Zheni girl how to find Adrakh - far enough for her to have found him? Had she done something? Had she passed the message to Redrum, and...
He realized then that it was entirely possible Redrum had finally found Adrakh, and things had not gone how Slay had hoped. He straightened, falling against the wall and staring at the green rectangle outlining the cell door in the dark. Suddenly he didn't care whether Adrakh may have broken Contract, because what if Redrum had informed Adrakh of Slay's capture and Adrakh had decided to have nothing more to do with either of them?
Even if he was certain at this point that he'd be dead before he ever got the chance to see Red again, Slay couldn't stomach the idea that he may have sent him to be ashed.
* * *
After an uneventful first day of travel, Amelia woke up the morning of the second day to the unpleasant feeling of a very familiar inconvenience. She groaned and clawed her way just far enough out of her sleeping bag to dig through her rucksack for a change of clothes and the necessary precautions. Of all the times - at least last time had happened while they were staying in Wey. Now? When they would be traveling for the duration? That was just mean. Stupid Karma.
It was even worse than that, though. She sat up, tossing aside the clean clothes she'd pulled from her bag, and started rummaging frantically through the wingspace for something she really, really hoped she hadn't somehow forgotten.
She overturned the bag, dumping its contents on the dirt beside her sleeping bag, and scoured every corner for something that may not have made it out before digging through the pile of personal items for one extremely personal item. She'd had it in Wey. Did she just forget it back in Alrael? How could she do something that stupid? It had to be here. It had to be. But it wasn't, and the longer she went without finding it the more hopeless she got, until she was sniffling and wiping her eyes every few seconds so she could see enough to keep looking.
"Amelia? What's wrong?"
She jumped, quickly clearing her eyes to see the figure of her godfather standing in front of her. With a start she realized that she was at the edge of a camp full of men, with the only other women there being Victoria and the naga, and who knew if naga even had this problem. She snatched up the clean dress, pulling it over her lap to hide the red stain in the one she was wearing.
Uncle Esteban averted his eyes, shifting his weight to one foot the way he always did when he was standing somewhere he didn't want to be and waiting for a cue to leave.
She was still mad at him, but it was hard to be angry in a situation this awkward. "Can you, um," she mumbled, staring at the ground to avoid having to look at him. "Go get Victoria for me?"
"Mm." He left without another word.
* * *
Matt raised an eyebrow as Esteban returned to the back of the wagon and quietly pulled Victoria aside. Aristophanes and Ash, sitting inside the wagon on the other side of a map of the Southern Wilds, looked up as well, while Esteban whispered something that sent Victoria running to Amelia's sleeping bag.
"What happened?" Aristophanes asked, as Esteban rejoined them.
He held up a hand, shaking his head. "Don't ask. Did you figure it out yet?"
"Nope," he replied. He leaned across the map to point out the forest between Burnoch and Sureloum. "The problem is there's no road through here. And that somewhere up here," he indicated the space north of the dense forest, "is Khiris, but the road down here," indicating the space below, "is bound to be swampland during the rainy season."
"So we pass by Khiris. Where is the problem?"
Ash spoke up - or thought, whatever. "I too am confused as to why Khiris would be a problem."
"Khiris doesn't even exist," Matt said, which got him looks from all three. And a snort from Bernard, which made him roll his eyes and clarify. "It's not a city. There's no lost city of the Kissed out in the middle of the Wilds."
"Whatever, Matt," Aristophanes sighed. "So Khiris isn't a city. There's still Kissed roaming around out there."
Esteban turned to the map. "But to the south, the--"
Amelia's sudden cry from the other end of camp interrupted him. "You want me to what?!"
He continued as if nothing had happened. "--the road itself is treacherous. I will take the roaming Kissed over a flooded road."
"Uh. Are you sure she's okay over there?" Stoph asked.
"I said, don't ask."
Ash, ignoring the interruption entirely, inquired, "Why is there no road through the forest?"
Stoph answered. "Because no one wants to build a road through the devil's land." He stopped, glancing up at Matt for a second before pretending he meant to look off in Amelia's direction again.
"Ouch," Bernard muttered from Matt's shoulder, which was completely unnecessary because Matt was quite well aware of how much the comment hurt and he didn't need Bernard pointing it out.
"Maybe you guys don't understand." Stoph turned back to them. "There aren't a whole lot of Kissed on the other side of the mountains. I grew up in the Wilds. I would rather drown in this wagon trying to cross a swampland than go anywhere near Khiris."
Ash directed her gaze to Matt. "Major Richards is the ranking officer here. Perhaps he should decide."
"Um." He straightened, looking between the three of them. It was true; he outranked Captain Lebeaux, First Lieutenant Ash, and, shockingly, (ex-)Sergeant First Class Tramden, but the LT was the only one he felt comfortable pulling rank on, not to mention none of them were in uniform - it was too dangerous to mark themselves as Alraeli officials in this part of the Wilds - which made the call even more uncomfortable. But since they were all looking to him, he had to say something. He aimed for a diplomatic approach. "Okay. If we take the south road and it turns out fine, there's no issue. But if it's flooded, travel slows down and we may end up having to turn around to take the north road anyway. If we take the north road, we risk getting attacked by Kissed, but if we can fend them off there's no risk that we'll end up losing time by having to turn around and take the south road, which may be impassable anyway. So, who votes for the swampland?"
Aristophanes raised his hand.
"Vampires?"
Esteban and Ash.
"You're outvoted, Stoph. Sorry."
He sighed in disappointment and picked up the map to start folding it up.
"We'll do two-man guard shifts while heading through Kissed territory. I'll brief the others on the plan and set up the rotation."
Esteban pointed out a problem with that. "Oriole?"
Good call. Matt sighed, trying to think of a way around that. With eight members in this group the shifts split up nicely, but one of those was a ten-year-old and not exactly somebody you'd want standing watch in a legitimately hostile territory. "One of us does two shifts every night. We'll rotate."
They nodded and Matt went to gather the rest of the group.
* * *
The rest of the day was, for Amelia, uneventful, but uncomfortable. Victoria was able to help, but beastmen did not handle this kind of thing the same way Almslanders did, and it was weird because it felt like she was bleeding into her dress even though she wasn't. But she dealt with it because she had no other choice and she pretended that she was not totally mortified about this morning (and Uncle Esteban, for his part, pretended the same).
The next day she ended up pulling guard in the middle of the night with Matt. Not a terrible thing, but he was on the second half of his shift because Oriole wasn't doing one, and he was awake enough for watch but too tired for conversation. Bernard - not that she'd want to spend a two-hour shift talking to him anyway - was sleeping. So she spent the night pacing around the wagon, watching the dark spaces between the trees.
They were going around the thickest part of the forest, but the road still went through woodlands. Victoria had warned her about wolves being able to smell the blood, but honestly she thought that was a little silly. How could they smell it from so far away? But now, looking at how close those shadows really were, she starting thinking maybe it wasn't so silly after all.
Eying the darkness, she rested her hand on the gun at her hip, worn there instead of her thigh because this skirt didn't have the slits that her summoner skirts did. Anything could be hiding out in those trees. It was too unnerving. She walked back to the other side of the wagon to find Matt.
He was standing there with his hands in his pockets, also watching the trees, but he glanced up when she appeared beside him. "Something wrong?" he asked.
She wrapped her arms around herself, looking out at the nothing around them. "It's spooky out here."
"Are you worried about the Kissed?"
She vaguely remembered being informed that they might encounter some Kissed out this way, but she'd managed to forget about it. "Well now I am."
"Don't be. Even if there were any in this area, they wouldn't attack a group this large."
"If you say so." She wasn't comforted. He had a history of being wrong about threats to her safety.
She stood with him for a minute before growing restless and deciding to circle the wagon again. That would be the perfect time for something to jump out at her, wouldn't it? Right when she was most on edge about it, all alone on the opposite side of camp with nobody around to help - why was she pacing out here, this was a terrible idea. She rushed back around the wagon to Matt's side.
Except that before she could get there, something did jump out at her. She drew her gun, whipping around to face the flash of shadow that she was sure had moved just then. She really hoped it hadn't because she was only halfway to the rest of camp and, despite the argument with her godfather, she was not confident that she could take somebody down at this distance.
But after several seconds of silence, nothing moving in the trees, she let out a sigh of relief and turned to walk away.
Of course - of course - that was when something did attack her. Stupid. That's how it always worked in stories. She should've known. She tried to scream, but the first thing her mystery assailant did was throw a freezing cold hand over her mouth. Argh, it was like Slay all over again!
The assailant turned Amelia to face her and she got a good look. Unkempt hair fell in a mess around the woman's shoulders, there were dark circles under her softly glowing red eyes, and her colourless skin made the shadows stand out on her gaunt face. It was a Kissed. There was no doubt about it.
She smiled, her eyes fluttering - it reminded Amelia for an instant of her mother on her deathbed. "You smell...nice," she breathed, barely any air to her voice.
Amelia, face-to-face with a mythological horror for the first time in her life, panicked. She raised her gun and fired a shot into the woman's stomach. This wasn't going to end the same way it had with Slay. This time she had her gun and she was going to use it. (If she didn't, Uncle Esteban won.)
The Kissed flinched, taking her hand from Amelia's mouth to gently touch the bloodless hole in her shirt. "Ow," she said, sounding more surprised than anything.
That wasn't what was supposed to happen. People were supposed to go down when you shot them. Amelia shuddered, put a few steps of distance between her and the monster, and fired again.
That didn't do much more than get her attention. With a snarl, the Kissed lunged at her, ignoring all six bullets Amelia sent into various parts of her torso.
Before she could wrap her hands around Amelia's throat, something snatched her away, flinging her to the ground.
That something turned out to be Matt, sabre drawn, moving like a force of nature. He slammed a foot down on the Kissed's chest, pinning her to the ground. His face was grim determination and every action was calm and precise. It was like...like she'd always imagined a Valkyrie would look in battle.
Before the monster even had the time to register what had happened, Matt's sword flashed. His foot hit the ground, throwing up a cloud of ash that had been someone an instant before.
Amelia let out a shaky breath and lowered her gun.
Matt stared down at the ashes of Amelia's assailant, his face unreadable. Amelia was afraid to say anything; she didn't want to pull him out of whatever world he was lost in.
All that tense atmosphere broke when he turned to her and said, "Next time, just scream instead of wasting ammunition."
She punched his shoulder. "I could have died!" There was his damn scream.
He narrowed his eyes at her. That hadn't been a light punch, but he acted like he didn't even notice it.
"Seven wings of Khim!" That was Aristophanes's voice. They both looked up to see him and Esteban standing by; no doubt they'd come running when they heard the gunshots.
"That was a Kissed, wasn't it?" Aristophanes exclaimed, pointing at the pile of clothing and ashes at Matt's feet. "I told you! I told you!"
"Aristophanes," Matt said, with the sort of coldness Amelia was accustomed to hearing when her godfather got angry, "shut up."
He strode off, not sparing either of them a glance as he passed by, and was gone.
The silence left in his wake didn't last very long. Amelia turned on her godfather and shouted, "There, I used my gun, are you happy?!"
He gave her a soulful look and a sigh, and held his arms out for her. "Come here, Kitten."
She was too shaken to keep up her grudge with him. Shoving the gun back in its holster, she ran to him and threw her arms around his neck.
He held her close and said, "It's okay," and even though it really, really wasn't, she believed him.
* * *
Matt sent Victoria to calm the horse down - it had panicked during the gunfire and god damn he hated horses - and told everyone else to go back to bed. They didn't, of course, but at least they didn't bother him, either. He sat on the back of the wagon and glared off at the trees.
Some time later, Aristophanes sat beside him. It was another some time later before he asked, "So what, uh, happened out there?"
Matt didn't really feel like talking, but Stoph would keep bothering him until he answered. He tried to make it as succinct as possible. "Varista got attacked by a Kissed, emptied her revolver into it, and I killed it for her."
"Ah. Well, she couldn't have known that they only die when you decapitate them."
Matt did not care, and did not respond.
"What the hell are you so mad about?"
"I'm not."
Stoph groaned in frustration. "No, man, we are not doing this. You are pissed the hell off and anybody with half a brain can see it. What is wrong?"
He refused to answer. Stoph would just write him off as crazy, because he already didn't believe Matt about being a Carrier. He couldn't come out and say, "I'm angry because I think I just proved I'm Daruma's ghost," because his best friend would laugh him off and call him a nutjob and that was honestly the last thing he wanted to deal with right now.
"Fine. Whatever. I don't care." Now Aristophanes was mad too, but Matt just kept glaring silently at those trees.
He didn't know how long it was before Esteban led Amelia over and the two of them joined him and Stoph on the back of the wagon.
Aristophanes asked Amelia for details, and she explained haltingly, sounding shaken and upset.
"First time you've ever seen a kill?" Stoph asked.
Matt looked up at the others. Everyone seemed fairly calm except for Amelia, slouching and wringing her hands in her lap, her eyes intensely focused on her knees. She considered the question for a second before nodding.
"That first time always hits hard. You don't even have to be the one doing it. I was pretty messed up the first time I saw a guy die, too. Heh, it was the same guy making the kill, even." He pointed at Matt.
Matt straightened, brow furrowing.
That got Amelia and Esteban interested. He didn't like that. He didn't know if he wanted either of them to hear this story, especially now, both of them knowing what he was.
"What happened?" Amelia asked, her eyes sliding from Matt to Stoph.
"It was in the Orean Uprising. I was picking up this kid - Victoria, actually, now that I think about it - and one of the rebels was sneaking up on us. Matt doesn't even think about it. Whips out his rifle and puts a bullet between the guy's eyes, right over my shoulder. I turned around just in time to see the look on his face before he ashed."
Matt watched the reactions. Esteban didn't seem to think much of it, but Amelia's eyes flashed to Matt again before moving back to Stoph. Her hands twisted up the fabric of her dress, and it was a moment before she asked, softly, "What did you do?"
"Got over it." He shrugged. "I was a wreck for a couple days, but I didn't have much choice. It was the middle of a revolt. Wasn't the only guy I watched die, just the first."
She glanced warily to Matt again. "...What about you?"
He paused before answering, toneless, "That was my first kill."
She stiffened.
"This guy! He's like a golem or something." Stoph pointed at him again, mock outrage in his voice. It defused the situation to some degree, but it was still the last thing Matt wanted to be reminded of right now. "You know the first thing he said to me after I watched that rebel ash right in front of me? He said, 'Come on, the LT's waiting,' and just walked off. Didn't even blink! And that was the first guy he ever shot!"
Matt's reply was cut off by Esteban's conveniently timed coughing fit. That was for the best, because it stopped him from starting a fight. His first kill and all subsequent kills hadn't had any effect on him. The other ANGELs had avoided him for weeks after hearing Stoph recount the story and then seeing Matt's utter nonchalance about it. For a while he had a reputation as a stone-cold warrior because of it, but knowing what he knew now, it was more likely a byproduct of being part of a genocidal elven goddess.
Which body part makes you be a complete jerk? He frowned, remembering Amelia asking that like it was a goddamned joke.
"I was thirteen."
His head snapped up. Esteban's coughing fit had ended and he was staring distantly into the night, his expression unreadable.
Amelia bit her lip and leaned closer to him, just as intent as the two ANGELs but not hiding it nearly as well.
"Killing is a skill," he said. "The more you do it, the easier it will be. But coping with death, that is always the same. You can't learn that."
"Yeah," Aristophanes agreed. "All you can do is force yourself not to think about it, because if you start, you end up in a pretty dark place."
"Mm."
Matt slouched and let out a slow breath, closing his eyes. Maybe that comforted Amelia, but it only made him feel worse. He didn't even think to ask how Esteban had been exposed to murder firsthand at thirteen. It wasn't as important as the fact that the "dark place" Aristophanes spoke of, a place Matt had never been to and did not understand, was something SFC Tramden, ANGEL's model soldier, knew.
* * *
Amelia didn't go back to sleep. She couldn't. While the others drifted back to their sleeping bags and Joel and her godfather picked up the watch shift, she curled up in the wagon, huddled against the supplies stacked up near the front, and tried not to think about anything.
She was failing, miserably, but she was spared from it when Uncle Esteban climbed into the wagon and sat beside her. He didn't say anything, but he didn't need to. He knew just being there was enough and if she wanted to speak, she would.
She did. "Shooting her didn't work."
He sighed. It was a moment before he responded. "It's not always the answer."
She drew herself in tighter, arms around her legs, chin against her knees. "Then why did you get so mad at me about it?"
He started to say something, but he stopped, shook his head, and told her, "I'm sorry."
As angry as she wanted to be - about anything as long as it let her stop thinking about tonight - she couldn't be mad at him after that. Uncle Esteban did not apologize unless he meant it.
"I was angry because I thought you were not taking it seriously," he explained. "But... Joel says that I am," she recognized that slight hesitation before something he didn't want to admit, "maybe a little too hard on you."
"Yeah, a little," she muttered.
"I will say it again if you want."
"You should."
"I'm sorry," he repeated.
That made it hard to stay mad, but by god she was at least going to fake it. "I don't think I heard you."
"Amelia."
"That doesn't sound like an apology to me!"
"Amelia."
"You must not be all that sorry after all, I guess!"
"Stop," he told her, holding up a hand, but she could hear a smile in his voice. "At least you are feeling better."
But that just made her think about the Kissed again and the helpless feeling of shooting six bullets into a person without stopping them. (And then Matt, that jerk... What was his problem, anyway?) She edged herself closer to her godfather, leaning against his side as his arm came up automatically to rest along her shoulders. "Can we talk about something else?" she mumbled.
"Anything you want."
But the only things at the front of her mind right now were the Kissed who had attacked her, Matt acting even more like a jerk than usual, and what Aristophanes and Uncle Esteban had said about experiencing death never getting any easier. That last one led to something that she was genuinely curious about. "What happened when you were thirteen?" she asked.
A long, heavy sigh answered her.
"You said anything."
"Anything but that."
"I won't tell anyone. Promise."
"Amelia." He paused, debating it before he answered. "You know when I am being very serious."
She did know, and she could hear it in his tone now. She nodded, a response he would've felt more than seen in this darkness.
His tone dropped; what he said next was so grave it frightened her. She'd heard his "very serious" voice before, but this was on a whole different level. "This is not a joke. It is a secret for a reason. Knowledge can be very dangerous. Do you understand?"
She swallowed, digging her fingers into her dress. "Yes." Uncle Esteban very rarely talked about his life before joining the military; her mind raced at the possibilities why he might have to preface it with a warning like this.
"I don't want to tell you. You talk too much--"
"I do not!"
"You do," he said, no room for argument. "And I don't know if I can trust you with this."
"I bet Joel knows," she accused.
It didn't faze him. "Yes. Because he does not accidentally let slip things he has been told in confidence."
The edges of her mouth turned down, brow furrowing. She could keep a secret. She had plenty. She hadn't even told anybody that she knew Matt was Daruma's spleen. Okay, so maybe she did occasionally forget something was supposed to be a secret and told somebody else about it, but she always made sure they knew not to tell anybody after the fact. And...maybe once or twice she'd caused a fight by telling people things other people had said about them without realizing she was breaking their confidence...
Her frown turned into a pout.
"You are too much like your mother," he said.
She faced away from him, staring at the green outlines of the planks lining the bottom of the wagon. One hand came up to brush her hair behind her ear, moving the red out of her sight.
"But I will tell you something else. A different secret."
Her attention returned to him. "What is it?" she asked, immediately forgetting her offense at being told she couldn't be trusted with a secret.
He pulled her closer, leaning in. "I only get angry with you because I worry about you. When I look back over my life, I think that you are the best thing in it. I wish, sometimes, that I could have been your real father."
That wasn't what she'd expected him to say. Not anywhere near it. She felt tears sting her eyes, and she tried desperately not to sniffle because that would be his one clue to her reaction. She pressed her face to his ribs, hoping he wouldn't hear her voice waver if it was muffled by his shirt. "You are," she said. "To me."
* * *
No more Kissed so far, but Matt was forced to admit that maybe there actually was something to worry about out here. He was sure the one they'd run across was half-starved and would never have been out in the middle of this no-man's-land otherwise, but there was the possibility it hadn't been alone. Didn't mean anything to him, though - maybe he paid slightly closer attention to the trees on watch, but that was about it. After all, if anything attacked them he'd have it ashed in seconds, wouldn't he?
Esteban came over and sat beside him on the back of the wagon. (It was supposed to be Joel, but he and Matt had quickly agreed that one of them needed to swap shifts.)
Since they'd set out from Burnoch, Esteban had been wearing the rifle Matt had refused, but now he lifted the strap over his head and handed the weapon over. "Here," he said.
Curious - because they'd already covered this, hadn't they? - Matt took the rifle and inspected it. There was a black knit fabric covering the stock, attached to the trigger guard so it wouldn't slide. And, of course, a set of white ANGEL wings woven into the black toward the inside bottom corner. At a glance he could tell it covered enough to make the weapon usable for him.
Despite his persistent bad mood, he couldn't help the grin slowly spreading over his face. "It's a gun-cozy!"
"It's not a - !" Esteban stopped, cocked his head, then relented with a shrug. "Mm. Anyway. Can you use it like that?"
"Yeah, it's a good solution, but--" He laughed. "I don't know why I'm so surprised. What else would an ANGEL knit?"
"Ah..." He was smiling behind that red scarf. "A real knitter can solve any problem with a pair of needles."
"You're like the Jarovah of knitters."
"The Sergeant Tramden of knitters."
That set Matt laughing, and he couldn't stop. He had to throw his hands over his mouth to muffle it so he wouldn't accidentally wake anybody.
Esteban, looking both amused and pleased by the reaction, leaned back and waited for Matt to get his giggling under control.
He finally managed to stop, wiping tears from his eyes with his gloves between the odd chuckle.
"It's good to see you smile," Esteban said.
Matt choked on his laughter.
"Lately, you have been very grim." Esteban's smile faded, his eyebrows coming down in an expression of concern. "You are worried?"
"I..." He turned to the rifle in his lap, running his finger over the wings in the weave. It wasn't something he'd voiced. He didn't know if it was something he could voice. He bit his lip, wondering if there was some way he could get out of answering this.
"You are afraid of what Ljasame will tell you."
Matt nodded.
Esteban set a hand on his shoulder, leaning in close, and somehow it was comforting instead of incredibly awkward. "Whatever she says, Matthew, you still are you."
His brow furrowed and his fingers tightened around the rifle. He didn't say it, but that was exactly what he was afraid of.
* * *
"So," Lei Wan said, "how do you know Slay?"
She sat on the ground, one leg up to her chest while she picked thistle burrs off her pants, as if this were nothing more than idle conversation. Ryder stood behind her, watching Andrew with a discerning face.
Andrew was cross-legged on the ground across from her, his head down and his shoulders hunched. Farahan was getting to know beastman body language by now; she could tell he looked worried and uncertain.
Farahan stood off to the side with her arms around herself, not sure what to do or say. This was all very strange. Somehow Lei Wan knew the person Andrew was trying to help, and it was enough to make Ryder suspicious, and the Spirit they'd come up here to see had gotten aggressive and Lei Wan had killed it, and there was still that naga Heather was supposed to be keeping an eye on - she really had no idea what was going on, and was sure she wasn't going to get a satisfactory explanation out of all of this.
"Slay's me best mate," Andrew answered. "I known him a real long time now."
"You know what he's imprisoned for," said Ryder.
Andrew nodded solemnly.
"What is he imprisoned for?" Farahan asked.
Andrew looked away. Lei Wan tilted her head back, drumming her hands against her raised knee.
The silence was aggravating. She threw her arms down, fixing the both of them with a stern stare - or as close to stern as she could manage as confused and frustrated as she was. "I think I have a right to know! Do you realize how much trouble I'll be in when I get back? I left without telling anybody - because I wanted to help somebody who really needed my help! And - and I deserve to know how I was being used!"
"Aw, Miss Naomi..." Andrew sounded so miserable, she almost felt bad for getting angry.
"Slay is a murderer," Ryder said, calm as anything. Of course none of this mattered to him, he was already dead.
But Farahan could not stay calm at that. "He's what?"
Andrew hastened to interject, "He ain't a bad person! He's only just...done some bad things."
"He's been nice to me," Lei Wan said, frowning pensively.
"Nice?" Farahan could not sound more incredulous if she tried. "He's a murderer! I've been helping a murderer!"
Lei Wan cocked her head, looking up at her ghost. "Ryder's a murderer, too."
"That's a little different," Ryder replied.
"It's not!" Farahan stomped her foot, glaring at all of them. "Murder is murder, and there's no excuse for that!" She paused and then added, "And don't any of you say a word about how that's ironic from an elf - you don't understand what elves are like if you think that."
"I'm pretty sure none of us were going to say that, Naomi," Lei Wan said, resting her cheek against her knee. "Calm down, okay? Slay's locked up in Ismae's dungeon, he can't hurt anybody there."
"I'm not angry about that." She turned her glare on Andrew specifically. He turned away, drawing in on himself. "I'm angry that I got used to help free a murderer." Especially by somebody as shy, withdrawn, and all-around nice as Andrew. She still couldn't believe it. She couldn't see this sweet, thoughtful person being friends with anybody like that.
"Everyone calm down, okay?" Lei Wan shoved herself to her feet and looked at both of them in turn. "Slay is a murderer, but he's locked up. Ismae's not going to kill him, though. He told me that. So you don't have to worry, okay, Andrew? And Naomi, Andrew's not a bad person. He's just trying to help his friend."
"Help his murderer friend escape from prison."
Andrew winced.
"But he won't now, right?" Lei Wan turned to Andrew with a big smile. "Because it's okay. I can even pass him a message for you."
"I have a question," Ryder interrupted, before Andrew could respond. "Who was Adrakh, to Slay?"
Andrew rubbed at a tusk, eyes still on the ground. "His Contract," he mumbled.
Ryder nodded, as if this was the answer he expected. "Does he have any other Contracts?"
He shook his head.
"It would seem," Ryder said, looking sidelong at Lei Wan, "we've inadvertently disarmed our prisoner."
Naomi let out a quiet breath, a thin cloud of white as her eyes widened with a sudden realization. "Wait." They all looked to her, Andrew cautiously out of the corner of his eye, Lei Wan and Ryder turning attentively to listen. "You...killed a Spirit," she said, staring at the Ghostwalker in front of her.
Lei Wan blinked, looking at the spot where Adrakh had fallen. "...I guess I did," she replied, mildly perplexed instead of any other remotely appropriate emotional response.
Andrew, however, realized what Farahan was saying and his eyes went wide too as he lifted his head to stare at Lei Wan.
"You...you killed a Spirit!" Farahan repeated, trying to get her to understand.
She looked wary, now. "Uh...huh...?"
"Spirits aren't mortal!" She practically screamed it.
"...Ohhhh." Lei Wan glanced at where Adrakh had fallen again, and then exchanged an awkward glance with Ryder before turning back to Farahan and giving an awkward smile and a shrug. "Um... Sorry?"
"No, not - you don't understand!"
Andrew wrapped his arms around himself, staring at the empty space toward the back of the cave. "Spirits ain't supposed t' be able to die," he whispered.
"Anything with a ghost is killable," Lei Wan replied, completely brushing them off. "Anyway I'm going to go tell Heather to come up here. It's late and I'm kind of tired. We should set up camp or something."
"No." Andrew stood, throwing one last look at the darkness before moving toward the mouth of the cave. "Not here. I ain't camping around that kind o' death."
Farahan had to agree, though she wasn't sure she should be camping around these kind of people, either.
* * *
"Ismae, I'm back!"
He jumped, nearly falling out of his desk chair in a frantic attempt to face his bedroom door from whence LeiLei's sudden voice had come.
She stood half in his doorway, hands wrapped around the edge of the wood.
He stared at her.
"It was unlocked," she said.
He set his face in his hand, took a deep breath, and then straightened to address her in the calm, regal manner that was expected of him. "You've returned."
"Yup. I had to kill a Spirit but everything turned out fine. Naomi's going to spend the night here, is that okay?"
His eyebrows rose. Killed a Spirit? As far as he knew, that was impossible. Alas, he knew LeiLei and he knew the offhand mention of it meant it wasn't the pressing matter on her mind. He'd get that information out of her later; for now, he concentrated on what she was concentrating on. "Naomi?"
"The elf Ryder says looks like Matthias."
"I see." The one Vladimir had pitched a fit over, then.
"She's really nice. You should come meet her."
"I'm a bit busy at the moment. Did you need to have a room prepared for Naomi?"
She paused, shuffling further into the doorway and laying a hand on the door handle. "Um, yeah, I guess so."
"Find one of the servants and tell her you need a room on Ismae's orders. She shouldn't give you any trouble."
"Okay. I guess you really are busy, huh?"
Was that disappointment in her voice, or was he only imagining it? His brow furrowed. "LeiLei," he said.
"What?"
"It would seem Father Vladimir wishes to speak with you and...Naomi, tomorrow morning. He was quite upset at her sudden disappearance."
Her eyes lowered. At least, he thought they did; it was difficult to tell where her white eyes were directed at any given time. "Oh..."
He hesitated, tugging at the cuffs of his sleeves as he forced himself to hold eye-contact with her. "After that, would you like to...have lunch with my mother, perhaps?"
Her face lit up. "Sure, I'd like that."
He nodded. "Very well. I will arrange it. I'll see you tomorrow, then."
"Okay! Good night." She left, pulling the door shut behind her.
He got up and locked it.
* * *
Farahan was not looking forward to this. After hiking three days back to Alrael with a criminal's best friend and a Spirit-killer and a murderous ghost while being followed by a naga, the last thing she wanted to do was face High-Father Vladimir. That was why she'd stayed at the castle when they'd come back instead of returning to her dormitory (well, that and Lei Wan had suggested it), but of course she wasn't going to be able to hide from the highest ranking summoner in Alrael for very long.
So morning came with a certain sense of dread, because she knew she'd have to go back to the Cathedral and explain to Father Vladimir why she'd run off, and now that she knew why, exactly, she couldn't very well explain that to him.
Lei Wan brought some hope, though. She threw open the door to Farahan's guest room (which was overwhelmingly large - the largest room Farahan had ever slept in) and informed her that Father Vladimir wanted to talk to them both. That meant she could sit back and let Lei Wan explain what had happened, and that was a relief.
After informing her of that, Lei Wan left to go get dressed, and Farahan did the same. The last clean set of clothes she had were plain hiking clothes, comfortable pants and a sensible sweater. Father Vladimir wouldn't approve, but she hadn't exactly brought her summoner outfits along. At least she pulled her hair into a braid so he couldn't complain about that.
Lei Wan came back dressed in another set of clothes that didn't fit her very well, though they still fit much better than what she'd worn for the hike. It was black this time: loose-fitting pants that almost looked like a skirt at a glance and an overcoat that only half covered her hands. She hadn't bothered braiding her own hair; Farahan wanted to correct her because that was going to get her some looks, but then again it wasn't "proper" to go around in pants if you were a woman, either, so in the end she didn't bother.
Lei Wan led her to the kitchens for breakfast, and after that they left for the Cathedral. At that point, Farahan was following her blindly and hoping she knew what she was doing. It did not help when she had to ask Heather how to get there.
She seemed so cheerful about it all. Did she not know they were walking to their dooms? Marching off to Father Vladimir's wrath? Not that Farahan had much idea what he'd do beyond yelling at them, but with a face like a Roland Arch villain even that was terrifying.
Before she knew it, she was staring down the half-open doorway to Father Vladimir's office. Lei Wan pushed it open and stepped inside before Farahan could grab her, and she had no choice but to follow her into the abyss.
Father Vladimir was at his desk; he sat up as they walked in, narrowing his eyes at them. The chair she normally saw in front of his desk had been given a partner. "Sit."
She did not like the way he said that. She sat, and Lei Wan sat beside her; how did she look so calm about this? Farahan was so anxious she was ready to scream, but Lei Wan looked like this was almost routine for her.
"Heather, leave."
Farahan tensed, staring wide-eyed at his narrow, insidiously calm face.
Heather answered, "Why do I need to--"
"Leave."
She went silent. Seconds later, his eyes followed her out of the room and he stood to shut the door.
He walked back to the desk, but didn't sit. He stood behind it and looked at each of them in turn before settling on Farahan. "What," he said, punctuating each word with a vicious, barely contained rage, "were you thinking?"
"Um," Farahan squeaked.
"Running off without telling anybody, leaving nothing but a vague note to hint at your whereabouts? Miss Naomi, that is unacceptable."
She flinched.
Lei Wan spoke up. "But she was with me, it's--"
He slammed a hand down on the desk, interrupting her. "You do not get a free pass simply because the prince has taken a liking to you. Make no mistake, Ghostwalker - your kind is not well-loved in this country. You walk a thin line."
"My kind?" That incredulous response was maybe the first time Farahan had heard Lei Wan sound upset about anything.
"The two of you left alongside a beastman," and the way he said it was like the word left a bad taste in his mouth, "to find a Spirit in the mountains that I specifically told you, Miss Naomi, not to seek. Why."
She fiddled with the hem of her sweater, nearly prying the bottom button free of its thread-bound prison. "I...was..."
"We were trying to help somebody," Lei Wan said, leaning forward in her chair to glare at him. She was glaring - oh god, he had managed to make sunshine incarnate angry. "And how do you know that, anyway?"
How did he know that? Well, not where they had gone, because that was a logical assumption considering how she had asked him about it before leaving, but how did he know about Andrew? She hadn't told anybody about him.
"You sent the naga after us, didn't you?" Lei Wan accused.
He straightened, leveling a glare of his own at her. "I did," he said. "Because I am the high commander of ANGEL, and I control the Special Forces Naga within ANGEL, and I am responsible for the training and safety of this Cathedral's summoners. I sent a naga agent to ensure that my trainee summoner was not in the process of getting herself killed by a hostile Spirit due to sheer lack of sense." He turned that glare on Farahan for the last few words of that, and she shrank into her chair.
"You can stop worrying about that." Lei Wan threw a hand out to indicate Farahan. "She's safe, isn't she? And you don't have to worry about that Spirit anymore, either. I killed it."
Vladimir stopped, froze completely, and just stared at her.
Farahan pushed herself up, shoving her hands between her knees to stop herself from ripping off her buttons. "S...she did," was her meek confirmation.
He sank into his own chair without taking his eyes off of Lei Wan, not even to blink. "...You killed it," he repeated hollowly.
"That Spirit was part Astral Beast," Lei Wan said, "and Khim told me to kill those. And you know what else Khim told me to do?" She stood, leaning over Father Vladimir's desk to look him right in the face. "He told me to break those statues, so why won't you let me?"
He shot up from his chair, eyes narrowed at her again. "That is enough," he declared, jabbing a finger at the door. "Get out of my office. And you, Naomi!"
Her head snapped up.
"Change into something decent and go speak with Mother Jameson." They both got one more vicious glare each before he shouted, "Go."
Farahan did not waste a second in dashing out that door.
Heather was waiting on the other side. "Wow, that sounded pretty harsh, Farahan."
She had no idea.
Lei Wan joined her down the hallway (because of course Farahan didn't stop running right outside the door and kept going to the bend in the hall). She frowned back toward Father Vladimir's office and said, "That guy's just a big bully."
Farahan shushed her. "He'll hear you!" Not from here he wouldn't, but still.
"I don't care and I hope Ismae socks him one next time they talk!" she declared, complete with a shadow-punch to emphasize her point. "Did you hear what he said? About my kind? I can't believe he said that!" There was a moment's pause (listening to Ryder?), and then she said, "Oh, yeah, the naga was a good call. I was really expecting him to try to deny that, though. I'm kind of disappointed."
"Wh..." Farahan had no words. How had she gotten tangled up with this girl, again?
"Hey." She turned to Farahan. "Will you get in trouble if you don't go see that Mother person?"
"P...probably," she answered. She didn't want to think about the sort of punishment Mother Jameson would have in store for her for missing a whole week of training. Laziness, she'd say. Those elves and their utter contempt for any sort of schedule, no sense of time, those layabouts. Farahan did not particularly like Mother Jameson.
Lei Wan frowned, a disappointed sort in contrast to the angry sort from a few seconds earlier. "I guess you better go, then. I'll see you later?"
For some reason that surprised her. "I--um. Alright."
"Good luck!" Lei Wan walked off, leaving Farahan to her confusion.
* * *
Ismae had heard, at length, about LeiLei's encounter with Vladimir that morning. Somewhere in the midst of all that well-deserved vitriol, he managed to get a summary of where she had gone and what had happened. That was of particular interest to him considering his current business.
It remained on his mind during the arranged lunch with LeiLei and his mother, which was pleasant and hardly awkward at all. The two women got on well enough, but he paid little attention; he was preoccupied with his new knowledge and how he may be able to use it to his advantage. (Something his mother saw fit to comment on. "Head in the clouds," indeed. Sometimes he wondered whether his parents really knew him at all.)
That night, he took LeiLei and headed for the dungeons.
He hadn't expected her to start conversation on the way; what she said was, "I really liked your mother."
"Ah. I'm glad to hear it," he replied, wondering where she was leading with this.
"Your dad was right, you really do look a lot like her."
"Yes, and it has given me no end of trouble politically."
"Why?"
He paused, wondering if he could possibly explain it in a concise manner to a girl so blissfully ignorant of Almsland's social climate. "Let us suffice it to say that D'Nabans are not considered on equal footing in the political realm." It was far more complicated than that and delved into the courtiers going so far as to question his lineage due to his lack of paternal resemblance, but he didn't care to expand upon the matter.
"Oh." She didn't fully understand, of course, but at least she accepted the answer as indication that she wouldn't be able to. "Well... I don't care if you're D'Naban."
"That's quite progressive of you," he replied, in a joking deadpan.
She missed it. "Do they not like your mom either?"
That was also a subject he didn't much feel like getting into. He waved dismissively. "There's a reason she's not Queen Ramsthus; let's leave it at that."
She had just enough time for a quiet, "Oh," before they reached the door to the dungeons. He led her down the long staircase into the underbelly of the castle in silence.
One of the ANGELs standing guard accompanied them to Slay's cell and went through the routine process of cuffing the prisoner and removing his muzzle so Ismae could speak with him safely.
"I don't think there will be any further need for that muzzle," Ismae told the ANGEL. "He's been, shall we say, de-fanged."
The reaction Ismae got was not unexpected, but nonetheless interesting. Slay turned a wide-eyed glare on LeiLei as the ANGEL threw an arm across his chest, preventing his attempt to surge forward. "What did you do?"
She focused intently on the ground, holding her hands close to her chest, fingers buried in her sleeves. "I had to kill Adrakh," she whispered. "Sorry."
"Kill--killed?" he stammered, reeling to sink against the wall, gaping at her.
She nodded.
"No," he insisted, shock turning to anger. "That's a bloody lie. You can't kill a Spirit."
"I'm afraid it's quite true," Ismae cut in, though LeiLei would know better than he would. He was only taking the opportunity to take control of the situation. "It's amazing what sorts of impossible things one can accomplish when one happens to be a personal agent of Khim."
Slay's glare turned on him, black lips pulling back in a snarl that displayed his wolf-like teeth.
"I'll make you a deal, Mr. Alstaff," said Ismae. "I'm going to tell this ANGEL to leave this cell," by the look on his face, said ANGEL didn't like that - they never did, "and you and I will proceed to have a civil discussion regarding your role in a certain incident of great interest to Almsland's security. If you cooperate, I will see to it that you never come within sight of that muzzle for the remainder of your stay in this dungeon. If you choose to be violently uncooperative," he stressed the adjective, "I cannot be held responsible for the actions of any Ghostwalkers present. Does that sound fair to you?"
"Sod off," Slay responded.
"Very well. ANGEL, put his muzzle back on. I'll be in my office if--"
"Wait!"
Ismae waited, cocking his head in anticipation.
After a pause long enough for several shallow breaths: "No muzzle. That's a promise?"
"On my word as Prince Ismae Ramsthus er Almsland," he affirmed.
What followed was obviously a moment of intense mental debate for Slay, weighing his desire to be contrary and uncooperative against his desire to stay unmuzzled. "Alright," he decided finally, reluctant but firm.
"Glad to hear it." Ismae gestured for the ANGEL to leave. He did so, also reluctant. Once certain they would not be overheard, Ismae stepped forward, close enough to speak at a volume that wouldn't carry. "I've heard it on good authority," he said, "that Adrakh was your only Contract. Is this true?"
Slay sank to the ground, gaze cast aside. It was a look of defeat, but also petulance. "Where'd you hear that?"
LeiLei spoke up softly. "Andrew told me."
That got his eyes back on her, wide and attentive. "He's alive?"
She looked up finally, nodding and smiling. "Yeah, he's fine. And he, um." The smile fell as she worried at the edges of her sleeves. "He said to tell you he's sorry he couldn't do anything to help."
Andrew. A friend? An accomplice? Something to ask LeiLei about later, in any case. Ismae got the feeling Slay wasn't going to talk if he pressed.
"It's true, then?" Ismae questioned.
Slay shrugged, facing away again. "Yeah."
"I see." Good. Then he really was de-fanged and Ismae wouldn't need to go back on his word about the muzzle. "Now then, Slay." The beastman looked up out of the corner of his eye. "I'm sure you're aware that your case as the Summoner Slayer is fairly open-and-shut. I could have you convicted, sentenced, and ashed by nightfall, were I so inclined."
He paused to let that sink in; Slay looked away again, brow furrowed, eyes narrowed.
Continuing, he said, "However. There has recently been an incident at a nearby undisclosed location, and it is in my best interests to stall the investigation indefinitely. I'd prefer to do this in the most inconspicuous manner possible, you understand. And the most convenient way for me to do that--"
"Is me," he muttered.
"Yes." Ismae smiled, hands folding behind his back. "If I treat you as the prime suspect and stall the real investigation with a fake one, my goal is met, and you get to live much longer than you would otherwise. That sounds, to me, like a 'win-win,' don't you agree?"
The corner of his mouth pulling down in an involuntary sneer, Slay's eyes settled on LeiLei's feet, half-hidden beneath her oversized pants. "And what happens after?"
"If you'd really like to avoid dying, I'll see what I can do. And, perhaps, if this 'Andrew' of yours is in need of help, I could ensure he gets it."
That was the magic offer. Slay's face settled into a resigned frown. "Alright," he said.
Of course he had to agree in the end. It wasn't as if he had much choice. "Glad to hear it." He turned to leave, motioning for LeiLei to follow.
Here’s the deal: I’ve come to terms with the fact that this is going to need to be AT LEAST two books to tell all the story I want to tell. This chapter ends one arc and the next chapter beings a new one - it seems like the best place for that break to happen. So this, chapter 23, is the designated “end” of book 1, while ch 24 will mark the “begining” of book 2.
They’re not written for that, of course, so this will feel v unsatisfying as an ending. That’s something I’ll have to change on revision, rewriting this first half to feel...satisfying, and not hacked off at the end. This is just a warning that this is what I’ve designated my cut-off-point.
9,423 words.
Chapter 23
Slay woke with a start. Something was wrong. He shoved himself up, eyes darting around the cell for the source of his sudden dread. Nothing. Just a few green rats in the corner, scurrying through equally green cracks in the stone. He sat up, shoving his hair back from his face, and then froze when he realized that something hurt.
"Something" was the best way to describe it, because it wasn't a physical pain like his still-healing ankle, and it was completely unlike the mental pain of the razor wire strung up behind his eyes. It felt more like he'd been stabbed right in the magic, which sounded positively asinine, but there was no better way to put it.
The hand in his hair fell to his chest, fingers lightly resting against the burnt patch over his heart. He closed his eyes, slowed his breathing from the panicked mess he'd woken up to into something more normal, and tried to concentrate through the magic barrier. He could feel his own magic, flowing like sludge under that damned wall, but that wasn't anything new. What was new was the...ache, was probably the best word for it, around where the bit of Adrakh's magic sat. And as soon as he found that, he realized what was wrong.
With the barrier blocking him, he hadn't been able to follow Adrakh's magic back to the Spirit himself to establish a connection, but he could still feel the line linking them. It had been there like a rope tied around a weight, and even if the rope had gone off through a wall, it was still there. But the rope wasn't there anymore. It was just the weight, sinking through the sea of his own magic, no Spirit on the other end.
He sank, doubling over, tangling his fingers in his hair. What did that mean? Had Adrakh broken Contract? Decided Slay wasn't doing his job so he'd just find someone else, then? But wouldn't he take his magic back if he was breaking Contract? Or wasn't that how it worked? (If Slay'd been formally trained, he probably would've known. Of all the things to make him wish he'd actually made it to the Cathedral as a boy.)
Wait, how far back was it that he'd told that Zheni girl how to find Adrakh - far enough for her to have found him? Had she done something? Had she passed the message to Redrum, and...
He realized then that it was entirely possible Redrum had finally found Adrakh, and things had not gone how Slay had hoped. He straightened, falling against the wall and staring at the green rectangle outlining the cell door in the dark. Suddenly he didn't care whether Adrakh may have broken Contract, because what if Redrum had informed Adrakh of Slay's capture and Adrakh had decided to have nothing more to do with either of them?
Even if he was certain at this point that he'd be dead before he ever got the chance to see Red again, Slay couldn't stomach the idea that he may have sent him to be ashed.
* * *
After an uneventful first day of travel, Amelia woke up the morning of the second day to the unpleasant feeling of a very familiar inconvenience. She groaned and clawed her way just far enough out of her sleeping bag to dig through her rucksack for a change of clothes and the necessary precautions. Of all the times - at least last time had happened while they were staying in Wey. Now? When they would be traveling for the duration? That was just mean. Stupid Karma.
It was even worse than that, though. She sat up, tossing aside the clean clothes she'd pulled from her bag, and started rummaging frantically through the wingspace for something she really, really hoped she hadn't somehow forgotten.
She overturned the bag, dumping its contents on the dirt beside her sleeping bag, and scoured every corner for something that may not have made it out before digging through the pile of personal items for one extremely personal item. She'd had it in Wey. Did she just forget it back in Alrael? How could she do something that stupid? It had to be here. It had to be. But it wasn't, and the longer she went without finding it the more hopeless she got, until she was sniffling and wiping her eyes every few seconds so she could see enough to keep looking.
"Amelia? What's wrong?"
She jumped, quickly clearing her eyes to see the figure of her godfather standing in front of her. With a start she realized that she was at the edge of a camp full of men, with the only other women there being Victoria and the naga, and who knew if naga even had this problem. She snatched up the clean dress, pulling it over her lap to hide the red stain in the one she was wearing.
Uncle Esteban averted his eyes, shifting his weight to one foot the way he always did when he was standing somewhere he didn't want to be and waiting for a cue to leave.
She was still mad at him, but it was hard to be angry in a situation this awkward. "Can you, um," she mumbled, staring at the ground to avoid having to look at him. "Go get Victoria for me?"
"Mm." He left without another word.
* * *
Matt raised an eyebrow as Esteban returned to the back of the wagon and quietly pulled Victoria aside. Aristophanes and Ash, sitting inside the wagon on the other side of a map of the Southern Wilds, looked up as well, while Esteban whispered something that sent Victoria running to Amelia's sleeping bag.
"What happened?" Aristophanes asked, as Esteban rejoined them.
He held up a hand, shaking his head. "Don't ask. Did you figure it out yet?"
"Nope," he replied. He leaned across the map to point out the forest between Burnoch and Sureloum. "The problem is there's no road through here. And that somewhere up here," he indicated the space north of the dense forest, "is Khiris, but the road down here," indicating the space below, "is bound to be swampland during the rainy season."
"So we pass by Khiris. Where is the problem?"
Ash spoke up - or thought, whatever. "I too am confused as to why Khiris would be a problem."
"Khiris doesn't even exist," Matt said, which got him looks from all three. And a snort from Bernard, which made him roll his eyes and clarify. "It's not a city. There's no lost city of the Kissed out in the middle of the Wilds."
"Whatever, Matt," Aristophanes sighed. "So Khiris isn't a city. There's still Kissed roaming around out there."
Esteban turned to the map. "But to the south, the--"
Amelia's sudden cry from the other end of camp interrupted him. "You want me to what?!"
He continued as if nothing had happened. "--the road itself is treacherous. I will take the roaming Kissed over a flooded road."
"Uh. Are you sure she's okay over there?" Stoph asked.
"I said, don't ask."
Ash, ignoring the interruption entirely, inquired, "Why is there no road through the forest?"
Stoph answered. "Because no one wants to build a road through the devil's land." He stopped, glancing up at Matt for a second before pretending he meant to look off in Amelia's direction again.
"Ouch," Bernard muttered from Matt's shoulder, which was completely unnecessary because Matt was quite well aware of how much the comment hurt and he didn't need Bernard pointing it out.
"Maybe you guys don't understand." Stoph turned back to them. "There aren't a whole lot of Kissed on the other side of the mountains. I grew up in the Wilds. I would rather drown in this wagon trying to cross a swampland than go anywhere near Khiris."
Ash directed her gaze to Matt. "Major Richards is the ranking officer here. Perhaps he should decide."
"Um." He straightened, looking between the three of them. It was true; he outranked Captain Lebeaux, First Lieutenant Ash, and, shockingly, (ex-)Sergeant First Class Tramden, but the LT was the only one he felt comfortable pulling rank on, not to mention none of them were in uniform - it was too dangerous to mark themselves as Alraeli officials in this part of the Wilds - which made the call even more uncomfortable. But since they were all looking to him, he had to say something. He aimed for a diplomatic approach. "Okay. If we take the south road and it turns out fine, there's no issue. But if it's flooded, travel slows down and we may end up having to turn around to take the north road anyway. If we take the north road, we risk getting attacked by Kissed, but if we can fend them off there's no risk that we'll end up losing time by having to turn around and take the south road, which may be impassable anyway. So, who votes for the swampland?"
Aristophanes raised his hand.
"Vampires?"
Esteban and Ash.
"You're outvoted, Stoph. Sorry."
He sighed in disappointment and picked up the map to start folding it up.
"We'll do two-man guard shifts while heading through Kissed territory. I'll brief the others on the plan and set up the rotation."
Esteban pointed out a problem with that. "Oriole?"
Good call. Matt sighed, trying to think of a way around that. With eight members in this group the shifts split up nicely, but one of those was a ten-year-old and not exactly somebody you'd want standing watch in a legitimately hostile territory. "One of us does two shifts every night. We'll rotate."
They nodded and Matt went to gather the rest of the group.
* * *
The rest of the day was, for Amelia, uneventful, but uncomfortable. Victoria was able to help, but beastmen did not handle this kind of thing the same way Almslanders did, and it was weird because it felt like she was bleeding into her dress even though she wasn't. But she dealt with it because she had no other choice and she pretended that she was not totally mortified about this morning (and Uncle Esteban, for his part, pretended the same).
The next day she ended up pulling guard in the middle of the night with Matt. Not a terrible thing, but he was on the second half of his shift because Oriole wasn't doing one, and he was awake enough for watch but too tired for conversation. Bernard - not that she'd want to spend a two-hour shift talking to him anyway - was sleeping. So she spent the night pacing around the wagon, watching the dark spaces between the trees.
They were going around the thickest part of the forest, but the road still went through woodlands. Victoria had warned her about wolves being able to smell the blood, but honestly she thought that was a little silly. How could they smell it from so far away? But now, looking at how close those shadows really were, she starting thinking maybe it wasn't so silly after all.
Eying the darkness, she rested her hand on the gun at her hip, worn there instead of her thigh because this skirt didn't have the slits that her summoner skirts did. Anything could be hiding out in those trees. It was too unnerving. She walked back to the other side of the wagon to find Matt.
He was standing there with his hands in his pockets, also watching the trees, but he glanced up when she appeared beside him. "Something wrong?" he asked.
She wrapped her arms around herself, looking out at the nothing around them. "It's spooky out here."
"Are you worried about the Kissed?"
She vaguely remembered being informed that they might encounter some Kissed out this way, but she'd managed to forget about it. "Well now I am."
"Don't be. Even if there were any in this area, they wouldn't attack a group this large."
"If you say so." She wasn't comforted. He had a history of being wrong about threats to her safety.
She stood with him for a minute before growing restless and deciding to circle the wagon again. That would be the perfect time for something to jump out at her, wouldn't it? Right when she was most on edge about it, all alone on the opposite side of camp with nobody around to help - why was she pacing out here, this was a terrible idea. She rushed back around the wagon to Matt's side.
Except that before she could get there, something did jump out at her. She drew her gun, whipping around to face the flash of shadow that she was sure had moved just then. She really hoped it hadn't because she was only halfway to the rest of camp and, despite the argument with her godfather, she was not confident that she could take somebody down at this distance.
But after several seconds of silence, nothing moving in the trees, she let out a sigh of relief and turned to walk away.
Of course - of course - that was when something did attack her. Stupid. That's how it always worked in stories. She should've known. She tried to scream, but the first thing her mystery assailant did was throw a freezing cold hand over her mouth. Argh, it was like Slay all over again!
The assailant turned Amelia to face her and she got a good look. Unkempt hair fell in a mess around the woman's shoulders, there were dark circles under her softly glowing red eyes, and her colourless skin made the shadows stand out on her gaunt face. It was a Kissed. There was no doubt about it.
She smiled, her eyes fluttering - it reminded Amelia for an instant of her mother on her deathbed. "You smell...nice," she breathed, barely any air to her voice.
Amelia, face-to-face with a mythological horror for the first time in her life, panicked. She raised her gun and fired a shot into the woman's stomach. This wasn't going to end the same way it had with Slay. This time she had her gun and she was going to use it. (If she didn't, Uncle Esteban won.)
The Kissed flinched, taking her hand from Amelia's mouth to gently touch the bloodless hole in her shirt. "Ow," she said, sounding more surprised than anything.
That wasn't what was supposed to happen. People were supposed to go down when you shot them. Amelia shuddered, put a few steps of distance between her and the monster, and fired again.
That didn't do much more than get her attention. With a snarl, the Kissed lunged at her, ignoring all six bullets Amelia sent into various parts of her torso.
Before she could wrap her hands around Amelia's throat, something snatched her away, flinging her to the ground.
That something turned out to be Matt, sabre drawn, moving like a force of nature. He slammed a foot down on the Kissed's chest, pinning her to the ground. His face was grim determination and every action was calm and precise. It was like...like she'd always imagined a Valkyrie would look in battle.
Before the monster even had the time to register what had happened, Matt's sword flashed. His foot hit the ground, throwing up a cloud of ash that had been someone an instant before.
Amelia let out a shaky breath and lowered her gun.
Matt stared down at the ashes of Amelia's assailant, his face unreadable. Amelia was afraid to say anything; she didn't want to pull him out of whatever world he was lost in.
All that tense atmosphere broke when he turned to her and said, "Next time, just scream instead of wasting ammunition."
She punched his shoulder. "I could have died!" There was his damn scream.
He narrowed his eyes at her. That hadn't been a light punch, but he acted like he didn't even notice it.
"Seven wings of Khim!" That was Aristophanes's voice. They both looked up to see him and Esteban standing by; no doubt they'd come running when they heard the gunshots.
"That was a Kissed, wasn't it?" Aristophanes exclaimed, pointing at the pile of clothing and ashes at Matt's feet. "I told you! I told you!"
"Aristophanes," Matt said, with the sort of coldness Amelia was accustomed to hearing when her godfather got angry, "shut up."
He strode off, not sparing either of them a glance as he passed by, and was gone.
The silence left in his wake didn't last very long. Amelia turned on her godfather and shouted, "There, I used my gun, are you happy?!"
He gave her a soulful look and a sigh, and held his arms out for her. "Come here, Kitten."
She was too shaken to keep up her grudge with him. Shoving the gun back in its holster, she ran to him and threw her arms around his neck.
He held her close and said, "It's okay," and even though it really, really wasn't, she believed him.
* * *
Matt sent Victoria to calm the horse down - it had panicked during the gunfire and god damn he hated horses - and told everyone else to go back to bed. They didn't, of course, but at least they didn't bother him, either. He sat on the back of the wagon and glared off at the trees.
Some time later, Aristophanes sat beside him. It was another some time later before he asked, "So what, uh, happened out there?"
Matt didn't really feel like talking, but Stoph would keep bothering him until he answered. He tried to make it as succinct as possible. "Varista got attacked by a Kissed, emptied her revolver into it, and I killed it for her."
"Ah. Well, she couldn't have known that they only die when you decapitate them."
Matt did not care, and did not respond.
"What the hell are you so mad about?"
"I'm not."
Stoph groaned in frustration. "No, man, we are not doing this. You are pissed the hell off and anybody with half a brain can see it. What is wrong?"
He refused to answer. Stoph would just write him off as crazy, because he already didn't believe Matt about being a Carrier. He couldn't come out and say, "I'm angry because I think I just proved I'm Daruma's ghost," because his best friend would laugh him off and call him a nutjob and that was honestly the last thing he wanted to deal with right now.
"Fine. Whatever. I don't care." Now Aristophanes was mad too, but Matt just kept glaring silently at those trees.
He didn't know how long it was before Esteban led Amelia over and the two of them joined him and Stoph on the back of the wagon.
Aristophanes asked Amelia for details, and she explained haltingly, sounding shaken and upset.
"First time you've ever seen a kill?" Stoph asked.
Matt looked up at the others. Everyone seemed fairly calm except for Amelia, slouching and wringing her hands in her lap, her eyes intensely focused on her knees. She considered the question for a second before nodding.
"That first time always hits hard. You don't even have to be the one doing it. I was pretty messed up the first time I saw a guy die, too. Heh, it was the same guy making the kill, even." He pointed at Matt.
Matt straightened, brow furrowing.
That got Amelia and Esteban interested. He didn't like that. He didn't know if he wanted either of them to hear this story, especially now, both of them knowing what he was.
"What happened?" Amelia asked, her eyes sliding from Matt to Stoph.
"It was in the Orean Uprising. I was picking up this kid - Victoria, actually, now that I think about it - and one of the rebels was sneaking up on us. Matt doesn't even think about it. Whips out his rifle and puts a bullet between the guy's eyes, right over my shoulder. I turned around just in time to see the look on his face before he ashed."
Matt watched the reactions. Esteban didn't seem to think much of it, but Amelia's eyes flashed to Matt again before moving back to Stoph. Her hands twisted up the fabric of her dress, and it was a moment before she asked, softly, "What did you do?"
"Got over it." He shrugged. "I was a wreck for a couple days, but I didn't have much choice. It was the middle of a revolt. Wasn't the only guy I watched die, just the first."
She glanced warily to Matt again. "...What about you?"
He paused before answering, toneless, "That was my first kill."
She stiffened.
"This guy! He's like a golem or something." Stoph pointed at him again, mock outrage in his voice. It defused the situation to some degree, but it was still the last thing Matt wanted to be reminded of right now. "You know the first thing he said to me after I watched that rebel ash right in front of me? He said, 'Come on, the LT's waiting,' and just walked off. Didn't even blink! And that was the first guy he ever shot!"
Matt's reply was cut off by Esteban's conveniently timed coughing fit. That was for the best, because it stopped him from starting a fight. His first kill and all subsequent kills hadn't had any effect on him. The other ANGELs had avoided him for weeks after hearing Stoph recount the story and then seeing Matt's utter nonchalance about it. For a while he had a reputation as a stone-cold warrior because of it, but knowing what he knew now, it was more likely a byproduct of being part of a genocidal elven goddess.
Which body part makes you be a complete jerk? He frowned, remembering Amelia asking that like it was a goddamned joke.
"I was thirteen."
His head snapped up. Esteban's coughing fit had ended and he was staring distantly into the night, his expression unreadable.
Amelia bit her lip and leaned closer to him, just as intent as the two ANGELs but not hiding it nearly as well.
"Killing is a skill," he said. "The more you do it, the easier it will be. But coping with death, that is always the same. You can't learn that."
"Yeah," Aristophanes agreed. "All you can do is force yourself not to think about it, because if you start, you end up in a pretty dark place."
"Mm."
Matt slouched and let out a slow breath, closing his eyes. Maybe that comforted Amelia, but it only made him feel worse. He didn't even think to ask how Esteban had been exposed to murder firsthand at thirteen. It wasn't as important as the fact that the "dark place" Aristophanes spoke of, a place Matt had never been to and did not understand, was something SFC Tramden, ANGEL's model soldier, knew.
* * *
Amelia didn't go back to sleep. She couldn't. While the others drifted back to their sleeping bags and Joel and her godfather picked up the watch shift, she curled up in the wagon, huddled against the supplies stacked up near the front, and tried not to think about anything.
She was failing, miserably, but she was spared from it when Uncle Esteban climbed into the wagon and sat beside her. He didn't say anything, but he didn't need to. He knew just being there was enough and if she wanted to speak, she would.
She did. "Shooting her didn't work."
He sighed. It was a moment before he responded. "It's not always the answer."
She drew herself in tighter, arms around her legs, chin against her knees. "Then why did you get so mad at me about it?"
He started to say something, but he stopped, shook his head, and told her, "I'm sorry."
As angry as she wanted to be - about anything as long as it let her stop thinking about tonight - she couldn't be mad at him after that. Uncle Esteban did not apologize unless he meant it.
"I was angry because I thought you were not taking it seriously," he explained. "But... Joel says that I am," she recognized that slight hesitation before something he didn't want to admit, "maybe a little too hard on you."
"Yeah, a little," she muttered.
"I will say it again if you want."
"You should."
"I'm sorry," he repeated.
That made it hard to stay mad, but by god she was at least going to fake it. "I don't think I heard you."
"Amelia."
"That doesn't sound like an apology to me!"
"Amelia."
"You must not be all that sorry after all, I guess!"
"Stop," he told her, holding up a hand, but she could hear a smile in his voice. "At least you are feeling better."
But that just made her think about the Kissed again and the helpless feeling of shooting six bullets into a person without stopping them. (And then Matt, that jerk... What was his problem, anyway?) She edged herself closer to her godfather, leaning against his side as his arm came up automatically to rest along her shoulders. "Can we talk about something else?" she mumbled.
"Anything you want."
But the only things at the front of her mind right now were the Kissed who had attacked her, Matt acting even more like a jerk than usual, and what Aristophanes and Uncle Esteban had said about experiencing death never getting any easier. That last one led to something that she was genuinely curious about. "What happened when you were thirteen?" she asked.
A long, heavy sigh answered her.
"You said anything."
"Anything but that."
"I won't tell anyone. Promise."
"Amelia." He paused, debating it before he answered. "You know when I am being very serious."
She did know, and she could hear it in his tone now. She nodded, a response he would've felt more than seen in this darkness.
His tone dropped; what he said next was so grave it frightened her. She'd heard his "very serious" voice before, but this was on a whole different level. "This is not a joke. It is a secret for a reason. Knowledge can be very dangerous. Do you understand?"
She swallowed, digging her fingers into her dress. "Yes." Uncle Esteban very rarely talked about his life before joining the military; her mind raced at the possibilities why he might have to preface it with a warning like this.
"I don't want to tell you. You talk too much--"
"I do not!"
"You do," he said, no room for argument. "And I don't know if I can trust you with this."
"I bet Joel knows," she accused.
It didn't faze him. "Yes. Because he does not accidentally let slip things he has been told in confidence."
The edges of her mouth turned down, brow furrowing. She could keep a secret. She had plenty. She hadn't even told anybody that she knew Matt was Daruma's spleen. Okay, so maybe she did occasionally forget something was supposed to be a secret and told somebody else about it, but she always made sure they knew not to tell anybody after the fact. And...maybe once or twice she'd caused a fight by telling people things other people had said about them without realizing she was breaking their confidence...
Her frown turned into a pout.
"You are too much like your mother," he said.
She faced away from him, staring at the green outlines of the planks lining the bottom of the wagon. One hand came up to brush her hair behind her ear, moving the red out of her sight.
"But I will tell you something else. A different secret."
Her attention returned to him. "What is it?" she asked, immediately forgetting her offense at being told she couldn't be trusted with a secret.
He pulled her closer, leaning in. "I only get angry with you because I worry about you. When I look back over my life, I think that you are the best thing in it. I wish, sometimes, that I could have been your real father."
That wasn't what she'd expected him to say. Not anywhere near it. She felt tears sting her eyes, and she tried desperately not to sniffle because that would be his one clue to her reaction. She pressed her face to his ribs, hoping he wouldn't hear her voice waver if it was muffled by his shirt. "You are," she said. "To me."
* * *
No more Kissed so far, but Matt was forced to admit that maybe there actually was something to worry about out here. He was sure the one they'd run across was half-starved and would never have been out in the middle of this no-man's-land otherwise, but there was the possibility it hadn't been alone. Didn't mean anything to him, though - maybe he paid slightly closer attention to the trees on watch, but that was about it. After all, if anything attacked them he'd have it ashed in seconds, wouldn't he?
Esteban came over and sat beside him on the back of the wagon. (It was supposed to be Joel, but he and Matt had quickly agreed that one of them needed to swap shifts.)
Since they'd set out from Burnoch, Esteban had been wearing the rifle Matt had refused, but now he lifted the strap over his head and handed the weapon over. "Here," he said.
Curious - because they'd already covered this, hadn't they? - Matt took the rifle and inspected it. There was a black knit fabric covering the stock, attached to the trigger guard so it wouldn't slide. And, of course, a set of white ANGEL wings woven into the black toward the inside bottom corner. At a glance he could tell it covered enough to make the weapon usable for him.
Despite his persistent bad mood, he couldn't help the grin slowly spreading over his face. "It's a gun-cozy!"
"It's not a - !" Esteban stopped, cocked his head, then relented with a shrug. "Mm. Anyway. Can you use it like that?"
"Yeah, it's a good solution, but--" He laughed. "I don't know why I'm so surprised. What else would an ANGEL knit?"
"Ah..." He was smiling behind that red scarf. "A real knitter can solve any problem with a pair of needles."
"You're like the Jarovah of knitters."
"The Sergeant Tramden of knitters."
That set Matt laughing, and he couldn't stop. He had to throw his hands over his mouth to muffle it so he wouldn't accidentally wake anybody.
Esteban, looking both amused and pleased by the reaction, leaned back and waited for Matt to get his giggling under control.
He finally managed to stop, wiping tears from his eyes with his gloves between the odd chuckle.
"It's good to see you smile," Esteban said.
Matt choked on his laughter.
"Lately, you have been very grim." Esteban's smile faded, his eyebrows coming down in an expression of concern. "You are worried?"
"I..." He turned to the rifle in his lap, running his finger over the wings in the weave. It wasn't something he'd voiced. He didn't know if it was something he could voice. He bit his lip, wondering if there was some way he could get out of answering this.
"You are afraid of what Ljasame will tell you."
Matt nodded.
Esteban set a hand on his shoulder, leaning in close, and somehow it was comforting instead of incredibly awkward. "Whatever she says, Matthew, you still are you."
His brow furrowed and his fingers tightened around the rifle. He didn't say it, but that was exactly what he was afraid of.
* * *
"So," Lei Wan said, "how do you know Slay?"
She sat on the ground, one leg up to her chest while she picked thistle burrs off her pants, as if this were nothing more than idle conversation. Ryder stood behind her, watching Andrew with a discerning face.
Andrew was cross-legged on the ground across from her, his head down and his shoulders hunched. Farahan was getting to know beastman body language by now; she could tell he looked worried and uncertain.
Farahan stood off to the side with her arms around herself, not sure what to do or say. This was all very strange. Somehow Lei Wan knew the person Andrew was trying to help, and it was enough to make Ryder suspicious, and the Spirit they'd come up here to see had gotten aggressive and Lei Wan had killed it, and there was still that naga Heather was supposed to be keeping an eye on - she really had no idea what was going on, and was sure she wasn't going to get a satisfactory explanation out of all of this.
"Slay's me best mate," Andrew answered. "I known him a real long time now."
"You know what he's imprisoned for," said Ryder.
Andrew nodded solemnly.
"What is he imprisoned for?" Farahan asked.
Andrew looked away. Lei Wan tilted her head back, drumming her hands against her raised knee.
The silence was aggravating. She threw her arms down, fixing the both of them with a stern stare - or as close to stern as she could manage as confused and frustrated as she was. "I think I have a right to know! Do you realize how much trouble I'll be in when I get back? I left without telling anybody - because I wanted to help somebody who really needed my help! And - and I deserve to know how I was being used!"
"Aw, Miss Naomi..." Andrew sounded so miserable, she almost felt bad for getting angry.
"Slay is a murderer," Ryder said, calm as anything. Of course none of this mattered to him, he was already dead.
But Farahan could not stay calm at that. "He's what?"
Andrew hastened to interject, "He ain't a bad person! He's only just...done some bad things."
"He's been nice to me," Lei Wan said, frowning pensively.
"Nice?" Farahan could not sound more incredulous if she tried. "He's a murderer! I've been helping a murderer!"
Lei Wan cocked her head, looking up at her ghost. "Ryder's a murderer, too."
"That's a little different," Ryder replied.
"It's not!" Farahan stomped her foot, glaring at all of them. "Murder is murder, and there's no excuse for that!" She paused and then added, "And don't any of you say a word about how that's ironic from an elf - you don't understand what elves are like if you think that."
"I'm pretty sure none of us were going to say that, Naomi," Lei Wan said, resting her cheek against her knee. "Calm down, okay? Slay's locked up in Ismae's dungeon, he can't hurt anybody there."
"I'm not angry about that." She turned her glare on Andrew specifically. He turned away, drawing in on himself. "I'm angry that I got used to help free a murderer." Especially by somebody as shy, withdrawn, and all-around nice as Andrew. She still couldn't believe it. She couldn't see this sweet, thoughtful person being friends with anybody like that.
"Everyone calm down, okay?" Lei Wan shoved herself to her feet and looked at both of them in turn. "Slay is a murderer, but he's locked up. Ismae's not going to kill him, though. He told me that. So you don't have to worry, okay, Andrew? And Naomi, Andrew's not a bad person. He's just trying to help his friend."
"Help his murderer friend escape from prison."
Andrew winced.
"But he won't now, right?" Lei Wan turned to Andrew with a big smile. "Because it's okay. I can even pass him a message for you."
"I have a question," Ryder interrupted, before Andrew could respond. "Who was Adrakh, to Slay?"
Andrew rubbed at a tusk, eyes still on the ground. "His Contract," he mumbled.
Ryder nodded, as if this was the answer he expected. "Does he have any other Contracts?"
He shook his head.
"It would seem," Ryder said, looking sidelong at Lei Wan, "we've inadvertently disarmed our prisoner."
Naomi let out a quiet breath, a thin cloud of white as her eyes widened with a sudden realization. "Wait." They all looked to her, Andrew cautiously out of the corner of his eye, Lei Wan and Ryder turning attentively to listen. "You...killed a Spirit," she said, staring at the Ghostwalker in front of her.
Lei Wan blinked, looking at the spot where Adrakh had fallen. "...I guess I did," she replied, mildly perplexed instead of any other remotely appropriate emotional response.
Andrew, however, realized what Farahan was saying and his eyes went wide too as he lifted his head to stare at Lei Wan.
"You...you killed a Spirit!" Farahan repeated, trying to get her to understand.
She looked wary, now. "Uh...huh...?"
"Spirits aren't mortal!" She practically screamed it.
"...Ohhhh." Lei Wan glanced at where Adrakh had fallen again, and then exchanged an awkward glance with Ryder before turning back to Farahan and giving an awkward smile and a shrug. "Um... Sorry?"
"No, not - you don't understand!"
Andrew wrapped his arms around himself, staring at the empty space toward the back of the cave. "Spirits ain't supposed t' be able to die," he whispered.
"Anything with a ghost is killable," Lei Wan replied, completely brushing them off. "Anyway I'm going to go tell Heather to come up here. It's late and I'm kind of tired. We should set up camp or something."
"No." Andrew stood, throwing one last look at the darkness before moving toward the mouth of the cave. "Not here. I ain't camping around that kind o' death."
Farahan had to agree, though she wasn't sure she should be camping around these kind of people, either.
* * *
"Ismae, I'm back!"
He jumped, nearly falling out of his desk chair in a frantic attempt to face his bedroom door from whence LeiLei's sudden voice had come.
She stood half in his doorway, hands wrapped around the edge of the wood.
He stared at her.
"It was unlocked," she said.
He set his face in his hand, took a deep breath, and then straightened to address her in the calm, regal manner that was expected of him. "You've returned."
"Yup. I had to kill a Spirit but everything turned out fine. Naomi's going to spend the night here, is that okay?"
His eyebrows rose. Killed a Spirit? As far as he knew, that was impossible. Alas, he knew LeiLei and he knew the offhand mention of it meant it wasn't the pressing matter on her mind. He'd get that information out of her later; for now, he concentrated on what she was concentrating on. "Naomi?"
"The elf Ryder says looks like Matthias."
"I see." The one Vladimir had pitched a fit over, then.
"She's really nice. You should come meet her."
"I'm a bit busy at the moment. Did you need to have a room prepared for Naomi?"
She paused, shuffling further into the doorway and laying a hand on the door handle. "Um, yeah, I guess so."
"Find one of the servants and tell her you need a room on Ismae's orders. She shouldn't give you any trouble."
"Okay. I guess you really are busy, huh?"
Was that disappointment in her voice, or was he only imagining it? His brow furrowed. "LeiLei," he said.
"What?"
"It would seem Father Vladimir wishes to speak with you and...Naomi, tomorrow morning. He was quite upset at her sudden disappearance."
Her eyes lowered. At least, he thought they did; it was difficult to tell where her white eyes were directed at any given time. "Oh..."
He hesitated, tugging at the cuffs of his sleeves as he forced himself to hold eye-contact with her. "After that, would you like to...have lunch with my mother, perhaps?"
Her face lit up. "Sure, I'd like that."
He nodded. "Very well. I will arrange it. I'll see you tomorrow, then."
"Okay! Good night." She left, pulling the door shut behind her.
He got up and locked it.
* * *
Farahan was not looking forward to this. After hiking three days back to Alrael with a criminal's best friend and a Spirit-killer and a murderous ghost while being followed by a naga, the last thing she wanted to do was face High-Father Vladimir. That was why she'd stayed at the castle when they'd come back instead of returning to her dormitory (well, that and Lei Wan had suggested it), but of course she wasn't going to be able to hide from the highest ranking summoner in Alrael for very long.
So morning came with a certain sense of dread, because she knew she'd have to go back to the Cathedral and explain to Father Vladimir why she'd run off, and now that she knew why, exactly, she couldn't very well explain that to him.
Lei Wan brought some hope, though. She threw open the door to Farahan's guest room (which was overwhelmingly large - the largest room Farahan had ever slept in) and informed her that Father Vladimir wanted to talk to them both. That meant she could sit back and let Lei Wan explain what had happened, and that was a relief.
After informing her of that, Lei Wan left to go get dressed, and Farahan did the same. The last clean set of clothes she had were plain hiking clothes, comfortable pants and a sensible sweater. Father Vladimir wouldn't approve, but she hadn't exactly brought her summoner outfits along. At least she pulled her hair into a braid so he couldn't complain about that.
Lei Wan came back dressed in another set of clothes that didn't fit her very well, though they still fit much better than what she'd worn for the hike. It was black this time: loose-fitting pants that almost looked like a skirt at a glance and an overcoat that only half covered her hands. She hadn't bothered braiding her own hair; Farahan wanted to correct her because that was going to get her some looks, but then again it wasn't "proper" to go around in pants if you were a woman, either, so in the end she didn't bother.
Lei Wan led her to the kitchens for breakfast, and after that they left for the Cathedral. At that point, Farahan was following her blindly and hoping she knew what she was doing. It did not help when she had to ask Heather how to get there.
She seemed so cheerful about it all. Did she not know they were walking to their dooms? Marching off to Father Vladimir's wrath? Not that Farahan had much idea what he'd do beyond yelling at them, but with a face like a Roland Arch villain even that was terrifying.
Before she knew it, she was staring down the half-open doorway to Father Vladimir's office. Lei Wan pushed it open and stepped inside before Farahan could grab her, and she had no choice but to follow her into the abyss.
Father Vladimir was at his desk; he sat up as they walked in, narrowing his eyes at them. The chair she normally saw in front of his desk had been given a partner. "Sit."
She did not like the way he said that. She sat, and Lei Wan sat beside her; how did she look so calm about this? Farahan was so anxious she was ready to scream, but Lei Wan looked like this was almost routine for her.
"Heather, leave."
Farahan tensed, staring wide-eyed at his narrow, insidiously calm face.
Heather answered, "Why do I need to--"
"Leave."
She went silent. Seconds later, his eyes followed her out of the room and he stood to shut the door.
He walked back to the desk, but didn't sit. He stood behind it and looked at each of them in turn before settling on Farahan. "What," he said, punctuating each word with a vicious, barely contained rage, "were you thinking?"
"Um," Farahan squeaked.
"Running off without telling anybody, leaving nothing but a vague note to hint at your whereabouts? Miss Naomi, that is unacceptable."
She flinched.
Lei Wan spoke up. "But she was with me, it's--"
He slammed a hand down on the desk, interrupting her. "You do not get a free pass simply because the prince has taken a liking to you. Make no mistake, Ghostwalker - your kind is not well-loved in this country. You walk a thin line."
"My kind?" That incredulous response was maybe the first time Farahan had heard Lei Wan sound upset about anything.
"The two of you left alongside a beastman," and the way he said it was like the word left a bad taste in his mouth, "to find a Spirit in the mountains that I specifically told you, Miss Naomi, not to seek. Why."
She fiddled with the hem of her sweater, nearly prying the bottom button free of its thread-bound prison. "I...was..."
"We were trying to help somebody," Lei Wan said, leaning forward in her chair to glare at him. She was glaring - oh god, he had managed to make sunshine incarnate angry. "And how do you know that, anyway?"
How did he know that? Well, not where they had gone, because that was a logical assumption considering how she had asked him about it before leaving, but how did he know about Andrew? She hadn't told anybody about him.
"You sent the naga after us, didn't you?" Lei Wan accused.
He straightened, leveling a glare of his own at her. "I did," he said. "Because I am the high commander of ANGEL, and I control the Special Forces Naga within ANGEL, and I am responsible for the training and safety of this Cathedral's summoners. I sent a naga agent to ensure that my trainee summoner was not in the process of getting herself killed by a hostile Spirit due to sheer lack of sense." He turned that glare on Farahan for the last few words of that, and she shrank into her chair.
"You can stop worrying about that." Lei Wan threw a hand out to indicate Farahan. "She's safe, isn't she? And you don't have to worry about that Spirit anymore, either. I killed it."
Vladimir stopped, froze completely, and just stared at her.
Farahan pushed herself up, shoving her hands between her knees to stop herself from ripping off her buttons. "S...she did," was her meek confirmation.
He sank into his own chair without taking his eyes off of Lei Wan, not even to blink. "...You killed it," he repeated hollowly.
"That Spirit was part Astral Beast," Lei Wan said, "and Khim told me to kill those. And you know what else Khim told me to do?" She stood, leaning over Father Vladimir's desk to look him right in the face. "He told me to break those statues, so why won't you let me?"
He shot up from his chair, eyes narrowed at her again. "That is enough," he declared, jabbing a finger at the door. "Get out of my office. And you, Naomi!"
Her head snapped up.
"Change into something decent and go speak with Mother Jameson." They both got one more vicious glare each before he shouted, "Go."
Farahan did not waste a second in dashing out that door.
Heather was waiting on the other side. "Wow, that sounded pretty harsh, Farahan."
She had no idea.
Lei Wan joined her down the hallway (because of course Farahan didn't stop running right outside the door and kept going to the bend in the hall). She frowned back toward Father Vladimir's office and said, "That guy's just a big bully."
Farahan shushed her. "He'll hear you!" Not from here he wouldn't, but still.
"I don't care and I hope Ismae socks him one next time they talk!" she declared, complete with a shadow-punch to emphasize her point. "Did you hear what he said? About my kind? I can't believe he said that!" There was a moment's pause (listening to Ryder?), and then she said, "Oh, yeah, the naga was a good call. I was really expecting him to try to deny that, though. I'm kind of disappointed."
"Wh..." Farahan had no words. How had she gotten tangled up with this girl, again?
"Hey." She turned to Farahan. "Will you get in trouble if you don't go see that Mother person?"
"P...probably," she answered. She didn't want to think about the sort of punishment Mother Jameson would have in store for her for missing a whole week of training. Laziness, she'd say. Those elves and their utter contempt for any sort of schedule, no sense of time, those layabouts. Farahan did not particularly like Mother Jameson.
Lei Wan frowned, a disappointed sort in contrast to the angry sort from a few seconds earlier. "I guess you better go, then. I'll see you later?"
For some reason that surprised her. "I--um. Alright."
"Good luck!" Lei Wan walked off, leaving Farahan to her confusion.
* * *
Ismae had heard, at length, about LeiLei's encounter with Vladimir that morning. Somewhere in the midst of all that well-deserved vitriol, he managed to get a summary of where she had gone and what had happened. That was of particular interest to him considering his current business.
It remained on his mind during the arranged lunch with LeiLei and his mother, which was pleasant and hardly awkward at all. The two women got on well enough, but he paid little attention; he was preoccupied with his new knowledge and how he may be able to use it to his advantage. (Something his mother saw fit to comment on. "Head in the clouds," indeed. Sometimes he wondered whether his parents really knew him at all.)
That night, he took LeiLei and headed for the dungeons.
He hadn't expected her to start conversation on the way; what she said was, "I really liked your mother."
"Ah. I'm glad to hear it," he replied, wondering where she was leading with this.
"Your dad was right, you really do look a lot like her."
"Yes, and it has given me no end of trouble politically."
"Why?"
He paused, wondering if he could possibly explain it in a concise manner to a girl so blissfully ignorant of Almsland's social climate. "Let us suffice it to say that D'Nabans are not considered on equal footing in the political realm." It was far more complicated than that and delved into the courtiers going so far as to question his lineage due to his lack of paternal resemblance, but he didn't care to expand upon the matter.
"Oh." She didn't fully understand, of course, but at least she accepted the answer as indication that she wouldn't be able to. "Well... I don't care if you're D'Naban."
"That's quite progressive of you," he replied, in a joking deadpan.
She missed it. "Do they not like your mom either?"
That was also a subject he didn't much feel like getting into. He waved dismissively. "There's a reason she's not Queen Ramsthus; let's leave it at that."
She had just enough time for a quiet, "Oh," before they reached the door to the dungeons. He led her down the long staircase into the underbelly of the castle in silence.
One of the ANGELs standing guard accompanied them to Slay's cell and went through the routine process of cuffing the prisoner and removing his muzzle so Ismae could speak with him safely.
"I don't think there will be any further need for that muzzle," Ismae told the ANGEL. "He's been, shall we say, de-fanged."
The reaction Ismae got was not unexpected, but nonetheless interesting. Slay turned a wide-eyed glare on LeiLei as the ANGEL threw an arm across his chest, preventing his attempt to surge forward. "What did you do?"
She focused intently on the ground, holding her hands close to her chest, fingers buried in her sleeves. "I had to kill Adrakh," she whispered. "Sorry."
"Kill--killed?" he stammered, reeling to sink against the wall, gaping at her.
She nodded.
"No," he insisted, shock turning to anger. "That's a bloody lie. You can't kill a Spirit."
"I'm afraid it's quite true," Ismae cut in, though LeiLei would know better than he would. He was only taking the opportunity to take control of the situation. "It's amazing what sorts of impossible things one can accomplish when one happens to be a personal agent of Khim."
Slay's glare turned on him, black lips pulling back in a snarl that displayed his wolf-like teeth.
"I'll make you a deal, Mr. Alstaff," said Ismae. "I'm going to tell this ANGEL to leave this cell," by the look on his face, said ANGEL didn't like that - they never did, "and you and I will proceed to have a civil discussion regarding your role in a certain incident of great interest to Almsland's security. If you cooperate, I will see to it that you never come within sight of that muzzle for the remainder of your stay in this dungeon. If you choose to be violently uncooperative," he stressed the adjective, "I cannot be held responsible for the actions of any Ghostwalkers present. Does that sound fair to you?"
"Sod off," Slay responded.
"Very well. ANGEL, put his muzzle back on. I'll be in my office if--"
"Wait!"
Ismae waited, cocking his head in anticipation.
After a pause long enough for several shallow breaths: "No muzzle. That's a promise?"
"On my word as Prince Ismae Ramsthus er Almsland," he affirmed.
What followed was obviously a moment of intense mental debate for Slay, weighing his desire to be contrary and uncooperative against his desire to stay unmuzzled. "Alright," he decided finally, reluctant but firm.
"Glad to hear it." Ismae gestured for the ANGEL to leave. He did so, also reluctant. Once certain they would not be overheard, Ismae stepped forward, close enough to speak at a volume that wouldn't carry. "I've heard it on good authority," he said, "that Adrakh was your only Contract. Is this true?"
Slay sank to the ground, gaze cast aside. It was a look of defeat, but also petulance. "Where'd you hear that?"
LeiLei spoke up softly. "Andrew told me."
That got his eyes back on her, wide and attentive. "He's alive?"
She looked up finally, nodding and smiling. "Yeah, he's fine. And he, um." The smile fell as she worried at the edges of her sleeves. "He said to tell you he's sorry he couldn't do anything to help."
Andrew. A friend? An accomplice? Something to ask LeiLei about later, in any case. Ismae got the feeling Slay wasn't going to talk if he pressed.
"It's true, then?" Ismae questioned.
Slay shrugged, facing away again. "Yeah."
"I see." Good. Then he really was de-fanged and Ismae wouldn't need to go back on his word about the muzzle. "Now then, Slay." The beastman looked up out of the corner of his eye. "I'm sure you're aware that your case as the Summoner Slayer is fairly open-and-shut. I could have you convicted, sentenced, and ashed by nightfall, were I so inclined."
He paused to let that sink in; Slay looked away again, brow furrowed, eyes narrowed.
Continuing, he said, "However. There has recently been an incident at a nearby undisclosed location, and it is in my best interests to stall the investigation indefinitely. I'd prefer to do this in the most inconspicuous manner possible, you understand. And the most convenient way for me to do that--"
"Is me," he muttered.
"Yes." Ismae smiled, hands folding behind his back. "If I treat you as the prime suspect and stall the real investigation with a fake one, my goal is met, and you get to live much longer than you would otherwise. That sounds, to me, like a 'win-win,' don't you agree?"
The corner of his mouth pulling down in an involuntary sneer, Slay's eyes settled on LeiLei's feet, half-hidden beneath her oversized pants. "And what happens after?"
"If you'd really like to avoid dying, I'll see what I can do. And, perhaps, if this 'Andrew' of yours is in need of help, I could ensure he gets it."
That was the magic offer. Slay's face settled into a resigned frown. "Alright," he said.
Of course he had to agree in the end. It wasn't as if he had much choice. "Glad to hear it." He turned to leave, motioning for LeiLei to follow.