Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Art by Matt Braly. Font is Victorianna by Sébastien Hayez and Jérémy Landes of the Velvetyne Type Foundry.

Marcy Wu had come to treasure evenings like this one. The day’s adventures tied up with string, the setting sun over the walls of Newtopia and the sea beyond. The view from the balcony was like a dream come true. No, it was a dream come true, wasn’t it? She turned her head to face Lady Olivia, who held a delicate cup of tea in her hand as they gazed out over the city.

“Mo–, um, Lady Olivia, I’m curious about something.”

“Go ahead.”

“How long have you been the king’s advisor? And what did you do before? And–,” Marcy added more quietly, “–why don’t you ever seem to hang around General Yunan for too long? You must know her.”

“Of course I know the General. We were educated together and rose through the ranks at the same time – her in the military and I in the civil service. For the most part.” Olivia took a sip of her tea. “We collaborated on occasion. Under extenuating circumstances, mind you.”

Marcy made a mental note of Olivia’s hurried cover before letting the newt continue.

“As for the rest, well, it is a rather long story.” She noted the hour off a clock tower in the city below. “If you wish, I have time to tell a portion of it. If I commence promptly.”

“Sure. I’d like that.”

The newt coughed, clearing her throat, and began. “Many years ago . . .”

The halls of Efton College, the premier school for the children of the Newtopian elite, flickered with candlelight. Slight and quiet though she was, Olivia’s feet rang out on the stone as she made her way towards the courtyard. She was carrying a small bundle.

The clock tower across town struck two. A crowd had already assembled outside. Best not to keep them waiting. Olivia emerged, took her place before them, and began dissecting her bundle. Wrapped in a sturdy gambeson was a fencing mask and a light, blunt-tipped rapier.

“Hiya, Liv. You ready?”

Olivia looked up. Standing before her was her opponent – a tall, lanky, blonde newt with pink skin and a devilish smile. “Nearly, Yunan. You do not expect me to fight unarmored, do you?”

“Not particularly, but who knows. Prissy missy might have a hidden fierce streak. Someday you’ll snap and surprise us with your pent-up berserker rage.”

“Ha, ha. Quite funny.” Olivia pulled the gambeson over her head and fitted the mask. She smiled. “If only you put as much effort into your fencing as you do teasing me.”

“Hey, I’m not teasing. I like you. That’s the reason I give you half my sandwiches at lunch.”

“I thought it was because I let you borrow my notes.”

Yunan grinned. “That is another reason.”

The crowd of students formed a circle around the duo. “Now, the final match of the evening, challenger Yunan Wolterstorff against our reigning Dueling Society champion, Olivia Newton! Please take your positions.”

A fencing piste had been marked out on the flagstone in chalk. Olivia stepped to one end, Yunan the other. Both held their swords with a firm but flexible grip.

“Fencers, ready yourselves!”

Deep breath in, deep breath out, Olivia thought to herself.

“Paukanten, los!”

Immediately there was a flurry of movement. Olivia was known to be a cool, calculating swordswoman, but not on this occasion. Let’s see if I can’t catch her off guard. Whatever train of thought was running through Yunan’s head was rudely interrupted by a point of sharpened steel sailing towards her face. She dodged, then let loose with her own strike, one countered by Olivia into a swift low jab. It didn’t seem to matter – Yunan pressed another attack with a speed Olivia couldn’t match. The blue newt took a step back.

Yunan’s offensive continued. The fight blurred together, each attack flowing into another, back and forth in an unbroken stream of steel. The tide was not in Olivia’s favor. Each engagement whittled away her footing until she found herself coming to the end of the lane. Shit. Her mind raced. I can still come out on top. She’s too aggressive. Use that. Olivia made a feint attack, intentionally leaving a gap in her defense. She couldn’t see her opponent’s eyes under the mask but the pink newt’s stature changed instantly. Oh, she’s fallen for it. Sure enough, Yunan lunged straight at her heart. It was exactly the sort of unpredictable strike Olivia had been waiting for.

Before she knew it, Yunan’s sword had clattered to the floor and the point of the other was held a respectable, yet still threatening distance from her throat.

‘Thanks for this one,” said Olivia. “I had fun.”

A few minutes later, most of the crowd had dissipated. Yunan was leaning against the wall, still catching her breath, when Olivia came sauntering out from among the stragglers.

“Hey, Yu. Good match.”

“I appreciate the kind words, but good match? Really? I humiliated myself out there!”

“Humiliated? Of course not! You had me cornered for most of it. Sure you lost, but it’s just a matter of refinement. You only made one mistake the whole time.”

The last of the students exited, leaving only the two in the courtyard. Moonlight filtered down from above.

“Well, what’s next? We graduate in what, two weeks? Then it’s off to Newtopia University for me,” Olivia added. “Still planning on the military academy? There is still time to switch if you want to. I’m sure my family could pull some strings.”

“Newtopia U? Nah, I’m good. I know my family would like it but, y’know, it’s not for me. It’ll be nice to get away from them for a change. Make a name for myself.”

“Always the action-oriented sort, you.” The blue newt smiled. “Suit yourself. But I’ll miss you. Be sure to stop by and say hello if we run into one another out there.”

Yunan grinned. “Will do.”

Olivia yawned. “That’s quite enough for tonight. You must get some rest before tomorrow, you have a big day ahead of you.”

“I’ve run on two hours of sleep before! I’ll be fine!”

Olivia chuckled. “As have I. I appreciate your enthusiasm, Master Marcy, yet we have obligations. It would not do well to sabotage the performance of our duties.” She moved to leave but stopped partways. “I will give you this: before we continue, read up on Ragnar the Wretched.”

Chapter Text

“That name she mentioned, Ragnar something-or-rather. Who the heck was that?”

This wasn’t her domain, Sasha knew that. Marcy was always the one who picked up on some tiny detail and whittled away at it with questions, but the road was dragging on unbearably and she needed to take her mind off it before she went nuts. She enjoyed the wilderness usually, the vitality of it, that fundamentally in it feeling she’d never known she was missing back in LA. But this? Sometimes, with the drizzle and the spring mud sticking to her boots, it was a little much.

“I’m usually not one for digging up the ghosts of the past like that, but . . . we have the time.” Grime side-eyed Sasha. You sure? The girl nodded.

“He was a soldier in a toad garrison many years ago. He fought well and served the Toad Lords loyally. When his commander, the captain of the East Tower, finally died, he was seen by most as her most obvious successor. But here’s the secret – one I suspect you know already.” He swallowed. “The Toad Lords make a show of flaunting their power. But they’re not independent. They answer to the king like everyone else, they just keep quiet about it. It happened that when the formal election was held to appoint the new captain – the kurultai – Ragnar was passed over in favor of the Newtopian-backed candidate, a toad named Laird.” Sasha noticed a subtle clenching of Grime’s fist as he spoke the name.

“Laird was a fair soldier, but he wasn’t to Ragnar’s caliber.” Wait, thought Sasha, does that expression mean the same thing here as it does at home? Do they have firearms in Amphibia? I’ll ask later. The old soldier continued. “Ragnar took his selection as a personal insult, that the Toad Lords would so blatantly bend to pressure from above. So . . .”

“So?”

“He decided to settle things the ‘toad-fashioned way.’”

The usual chatter of the East Tower’s central hall fell silent.

“What did you say, Ragnar?”

Ragnar wedged his sword into the wooden floorboards. Many of the others arranged around – many holding flagons of mead – turned to watch the confrontation, including two gray-green toads sitting near the back.

“I said – I challenge you to prove your worth.”

Laird sneered. “And I am honor-bound to accept. State your terms.”

“It’s very simple, Laird. We draw our swords, we fight, and one of us walks away.”

The other toad drew his sword. “Don’t you mean Captain Laird?”

“We’ll find out.”

The rest of the conversation was dropped. It was clear enough to everyone present. The rivals stepped to the center of the room and, within moments, the clatter of steel against steel began to echo off the stone walls.

“Well, Beatrix, it seems we get dinner and a show.”

“And the potential to denude our forces of the best fighters we have,” Beatrix retorted. “This could spiral out of control.”

“This is a toad challenge, sister. We must respect it.”

“As must we respect the rulings of the Lords and the outcome of the kurultai. If Ragnar takes umbrage with the result he should challenge them, not Captain Laird.”

A yelp rang out, along with the sound of a weapon falling to the ground.

“Well,” concluded Grime, “perhaps he was Captain Laird.”

Sunbeams streaked through the fluttering white curtains lining the castle’s hall. The aroma of seafoam and imminent springtime permeated the air along with a wisp of fresh grass on the wind. The soft clicking of her and Olivia’s footfalls on hard stone reminded Marcy of the polished library steps back home. Library – right, right, she remembered.

“So, Ragnar. I may or may not have burned all of my free time for the past week down in the archives. He really found himself waging war on Newtopia all because of a personal slight that got out of hand?”

“Yes, it is true. Some individuals cannot contain their ambitions, they see the world and the forces arrayed before them simply as means, not ends in themselves. Combined with a layer of society irrationally resentful of the crown and willing to follow them into battle, well – they can be quite dangerous indeed.”

“Sounds . . . I don’t know what that’d be classified as. Bonapartist, maybe? In the broad sense, not by the Marxist definition of the term.”

“Remind me, Master Marcy, what is this ‘Marxism?’”

“Give me a while to figure out whatever the heck is going on with your mode of production and I’ll get back to you. But, you were saying?”

Olivia resumed her speech with an air of propriety. “Ragnar’s conquests were initially focused on the towers. He took command of the East Tower and turned against the others. After the northern one fell, Newtopia was spurred to act. Though it was a toad matter, how could we not? Losing control of the Toad Lords would be entirely against our interests. They are de jure largely autonomous, but in all reality they exist to keep the toads in line and maintain the realm’s stability. Each tower has either a Newtopian emissary in residence or reports to one of the regional administrative offices scattered throughout Amphibia.”

Marcy eyed the small blue newt with great interest. The lady hesitated for a second, remembering something. She coughed.

“It’s nothing. Er, as I was saying – they, the Toad Lords, are de facto vassals of the crown and thus an attack on them could not go unpunished. However, for the same reasons, we could not fully bring our forces to bear. Doing so would make the towers out to simply be puppets of Newtopia. We committed to a limited intervention in the conflict. Patrols, military advisors, and so on.”

Olivia swallowed.

“And what happened next?”

“Our report, captain.” A toad in a bright blue uniform with brass buttons placed a sheet of paper down on his commander’s desk and saluted, wincing as he did so. His shoulder was wrapped in bandages.

“Very good, soldier. I admire your dedication, but you must recuperate. What of your comrades?”

“They’re being attended to, captain . . . except for Rhinello.”

"Ah. My condolences. Rhinello . . ." Ragnar looked out from the tower window, lost in recollection for a moment. "He was from Swamp Shire, had a brother there. I'll have to send my condolences." He turned back to his desk and scanned the paper, candlelight shimmering off the tassels of his gold epaulettes. Midway down the page, his breath caught. "You were ambushed by a . . . Newtopian force?"

“That is correct, sir.”

"My, my. It appears they've come out to play. They're showing all of Amphibia that the Toad Lords really are their lackeys." Ragnar finished reading excitedly, processing this new turn of events, then looked up to the soldier before him and straightened his back. “See to it that you get plenty of rest, Grime. I’ll take you off the scouting rotation for the next two weeks. You have more than earned it. Send in my advisors, they’re in the next room. You are dismissed.”

The young soldier left and in his wake appeared the three toads. Ragnar walked out from behind his desk and closed the door.

"That which we have been anticipating for some time has come to pass, gentlemen. Newtopia has overplayed its hand. With this intervention, we have full license to respond in kind." The advisors murmured, but he continued. "Once we have more securely established ourselves I intend to draw them further into the conflict. Newtopia is unaccustomed to war, and too stuck in their ways to quickly adapt to how we fight. The only way they could hope to defeat us is with a massive show of force – one that will show them to the people as the tyrants they are."

"Sir," one interjected, "what of King Andrias? The Newtopian military may lack battle experience, but in the king's thousand years he's seen plenty of conflict."

"That is true. But that also makes him a known quantity. Newtopian military strategy has remained unchanged for five hundred years. We must anticipate some alterations, but their officer corps is fundamentally conservative and aristocratic. Expect a by-the-book approach in most engagements." Satisfied, Ragnar turned to a map case and withdrew its contents, setting it on his desk and weighing the rolled corners down with inkwells and books. "Now, assuming a better opportunity does not present itself, this is something I've been working on."

The map was a medium-scale representation of Loughop, a town to the east of the great lake south of Frog Valley, and the surrounding terrain. Various labels were affixed to important buildings – SUPPLY DEPOT, TROOP BARRACKS – but one stood out in the center of town, circled in red.

NEWTOPIAN REGIONAL ADMINISTRATION

Chapter Text

For the first time, Olivia could finally say she was getting used to life out in the countryside.

It had been an adjustment for sure. She had rarely been out of Newtopia for much of her life, but here she was, posted in the eastern foothills. Most of her classmates would’ve deemed it the “hinterlands” or the “frontier,” but Olivia’s mother always made sure she understood that each part of Amphibia was inextricably linked to every other, all part of a cohesive whole. Take away one piece and the whole kingdom would be the less. “Countryside” would do. More specifically, Loughop – seat of the easternmost county.

The peeking sunrise and the breeze that crept across her pillow stirred her – up at dawn, an odd feeling for a habitual night owl like herself. The first few mornings at her new post had been hellish but she was now settled into the new rhythm. A dawning, a yawning, freshening up, an outfit for the day, gathered papers, the staircase down from her rented room and out the door, tumbling into bright light and brisk air.

Next came breakfast. It was a short walk to the market and another to her eventual destination: town hall. Olivia brimmed with excitement under her bonnet. Of her compatriots at the administration office, she'd been chosen as Newtopia's nonvoting representative at the quarter's Frog Council meeting. The first step of an illustrious career! That's what Mom always called her time out here. Remember Liv, impressions matter. Cool, calm, collected. Don't let them know you're nearly buzzing out of your skin with excitement. This is a big step for you. No unnecessary interjections – er, perhaps one. Or two. That transportation investment– "Oof!"

In her absentminded stroll Olivia smacked right into the side of a passing snail. Its owner, a yellow frog in a straw sunhat perched up on a farm wagon, peered down at the discombobulated newt with a smile. “You’d best watch where you’re going, young lady!”

Olivia rubbed her face. “Yes, yes, I’ll be careful. Sorry about that, Mrs. Anura! I just got a little carried away, that’s all. Big day.” She dusted herself off and regarded the elderly frog with embarrassment. They had chatted in the past, not so much friends as good acquaintances. Mrs. Anura often brought the products of her farm to market in the morning.

“I understand you’re excited, sweetie, but you mustn’t let your mind wander like that! Can’t exactly do a good job without staying in one piece, can you?”

“I suppose I can’t. Oh, actually, I have something to ask you.” Olivia’s eyes wandered over to the back of the wagon, laden with baskets and barrels. “How have things been on the roads? Any difficulties?”

Mrs. Anura’s face soured. “Same as it ever was. Terrible! With the muddy season here I can only load up with so much without getting bogged down. It’s either that or take two wagons, but do I look like I have another pair of hands for that?” Olivia got the impression that this had been a peeve for time immemorial and nodded along in agreement. “No sense in complaining, though. Just how life has always been out here.”

“I understand.” She didn’t really. Some traditions had real value – many, for that matter – but she couldn’t resign herself to something so glaring. “Well, I need to get going, but I’ll make sure to watch where I’m going in the future.”

“You should, dear. Good luck with your big day.” Mrs. Anura gave a parting smile and continued on.

Loughop Town Hall already buzzed with activity by the time Olivia pushed through the doors. She dodged innumerable frogs on her way to the annex that served as the Newtopian secondment’s offices. Officials, dignitaries, farmers who had come to watch the proceedings, and even a few toads from the outskirts already crowded up the chambers. She'd attended a fair few balls in Newtopia, but this was a bit much. Olivia quickly shut the office door behind herself and let out a heavy sigh of relief.

"Bit of a crowd out there already, Liv?" She looked up to meet the cheeky smiles of her twin compatriots, Cecil and Charlotte. They were two near-identical myrtle green newts, save that Cecil was slightly taller than his sister and wore his hair shorter. "Don't worry, we won't get in the way. Wouldn't want to ruin Princess' special day." Olivia flushed from embarrassment.

"Oh stop you two. I can handle it."

Charlotte kept prodding. "Ah, we know you can. After all, this is what you were raised from birth to do." Olivia slipped from embarrassment into the realm of downright mortification. "You will forge your kingdom from embers and gaze out over your subjects; all shall kneel before Olivia of house Newton, nonvoting representative of Newtopia at a quarterly meeting of the county Frog Council." Her brother groveled on his hands and knees for effect while she clenched her fist authoritatively. "All will tremble and obey."

From the ground, Cecil continued where Charlotte left off. "Fear the day she unleashes her wrath. Frog and steed will be split in two, and the land will be put to waste. All will be cut and be slain instantly. Supreme divine art– Lotte, I think we broke her."

The newt at the door had turned from her normal blue to a bright crimson and held her downturned face in her hands. One of the twins hazarded a poke. No reaction. "By Frog, Cici, this is a first. Who should we call?"

A withered, pleading voice replied. " Just . . . . . give me the papers . . . "

". . . and on to the next item, regarding inter-county trade tariffs . . ."

The meeting was going smoothly by Olivia's reckoning. The twins got around to behaving themselves, taxes on grain were lowered by 0.4%, and the representatives from Mount Verdant were somehow not throttling those of Bellwald despite their centuries-long rivalry sparked by a stolen bucket. Her mother had told her stories about that last one.

". . . we conclude this segment of the proceedings. Now, does the Newtopian delegation have anything to submit to the council?"

My time to shine. "Yes, one item, regarding potential improvements to road infrastructure. This is a purely advisory proposal for your consideration, but I do believe it would be most beneficial for the prosperity of the county. Regrading or even paving the most travelled roads, primarily those used for commerce, would be a large undertaking. Despite this, our projections indicate that it would pay for itself within ten to twenty years."

"A most ambitious proposal, Miss Newton–" The council's spokesman was cut off as the front door creaked open. A squad of toads wearing vivid, almost royal blue uniforms stepped in, breastplates gleaming in the shafts of light that filtered down from the high windows. The toad in the front wore no armor, instead bearing a high cap and plume denoting his rank as an officer.

An officer in Ragnar's army , Olivia realized. She felt a weighty sense of dread in the pit of her stomach.

"Please excuse the interruption, gentlefrogs, we require only a moment of your time. On behalf of Ragnar, Lord of Toadkind, we request the presence of all Newtopian staff in Loughop." The eyes of all assembled immediately fell on Olivia. There was a moment's hesitation.

"One moment please," she stammered, and most indecorously legged it for the back room.

For the second time that morning she slammed the door shut behind her, trying to bar the way with what little body weight she possessed. Cecil and Charlotte glanced up from their desks at her and froze.

"Ragnar's forces are here looking for us. They've probably surrounded the town." Both their quills dropped from their hands. "Princess' special day has been ruined. We need to run like hell." 

With that, Olivia rushed over to an adjoining window, opened it, and gestured for the twins to follow. Within seconds all three were sprinting down the street, desperately trying not to think too much about the heavy footsteps a few blocks back.

Charlotte piped up first. "Liv, do you have any idea where we're going?!?"

"There's one hummingbird at least in the stables. That's our ticket out of town, if we can reach it." Grabbing Cecil by the arm, she tugged them into a sharp left turn. "Detour. We'll try to trip them up through the marketplace."

The market square provided concealment, yes, but it was somewhat nullified by having to weave through stalls and leap over barrels. Hope it's enough , she thought. The toads were significantly less agile than the newts, especially with their armor. But there were still a lot of them. " Duck! " The three slid under a passing wagon. Their momentum carried them through and they popped up on the other side and kept running. Olivia glanced over her shoulder to see its driver, an old yellow frog in a sunhat, eye her with confusion and some manner of pride.

"Stable is on the right! I'll break off to keep 'em distracted while you two get the bird. Then pick me up." Her companions nodded in assent and ran for the open door. She forged on ahead, feeling her exhaustion growing with every stride. Newts weren't meant to sprint for this long – or at least, she wasn't. The clattering of pursuers drew nearer, maybe a block behind. Each step felt heavier than the last, until she was traveling just above jogging speed instead of full tilt. It has to be enough. I have a head start, just get around that corner, Liv. Circle back and fly away.

Suddenly a flying cord whipped around her ankles and pulled tight, sending her careening to earth.

Olivia hit the muddy ground with a wince and a thud. She opened her eyes and caught sight of shimmering movement in the sky overhead. The hummingbird circled for a moment, its riders staring down at her with bleak expressions.

It broke from its pattern, zipped west, and was gone.

Chapter Text

Despite her clumsiness, Marcy was surprisingly invulnerable to all forms of transport-induced nausea. She was never seasick, carsick, nor even airsick. It came in handy on roadtrips. It also came in handy on the deck of a 16th century-style carrack built by giant sentient newt people sailing through a Force 8 gale.

"WHAT WAS THE NAME OF THAT SEA GOD YOU WERE TELLING ME ABOUT, MARCY?"

"NEPTUNE! OR POSEIDON, DEPENDING ON–" Marcy's voice was abruptly stopped by a wave smacking her directly in the face. General Yunan was too busy shouting into the void to notice.

"HAHA, NEPTUNE! YOU SLY FROG, YOU'LL HAVE TO DO BETTER TO VANQUISH THE GREAT GENERAL YUNAN, SCOURGEOFTHESANDWARSDEFEATEROFRAGNARTHEWRETCHEDANDTHEYOUNGESTNEWTTOEVERACHIEVETHERANKOFGENERALINTHEGREATNEWTOPIANARMY! NOTHING BAD CAN POSSIBLY HAPPEN FROM CURSING THE GODS AT SEA!!"

"Look, Master Marcy, if I had known you were incapable of breathing underwater I would've never profaned the sea gods. I aim to do better. Do you know of any other gods I could profane?"

Marcy shook her head, adding yet another item to her 'List of things General Yunan is no longer allowed to do.' Thankfully her notebook had been stashed safely below decks when the storm rolled through, but she herself was soaked. They sat in Marcy's cabin, swaddled in blankets and sipping an approximation of hot chocolate.

"Darn. Well, if it makes you feel any better, due to my armor if this ship goes down I will sink to the bottom and either starve to death or be cursed to rule the dread kingdom of the deep for all eternity. Come to think of it, that's a retirement plan."

"Alternatively, ditch the armor when you're out here and commission a fancy pirate outfit. Big hat and everything."

"Marcy, you're brilliant! How big can these hats be, legally speaking?"

"That's the thing about pirates, Yunan. There's no law stopping you from making it as big as you want." Yunan's eyes glittered with the kind of pure, childlike wonder that is usually reserved for Christmas morning. "On an unrelated note, might I ask you something?"

"That being?"

"A certain Lady Olivia has been telling me stories of her youth. Did you know she got captured by Ragnar the Wretched?"

Yunan's eyebrow raised in curious delight. "Most interesting, Master Marcy. But how do you think she got out to live another day?"

Marcy was no master like Sasha, but she admired her handiwork with a barely concealed grin. It was almost too easy.

"So no shit, there I was . . ."

The look that General Brudenewt wore as he pushed his forces around on the planning table always struck Yunan as that of a child playing with toys rather than units on a battlefield. He took pride in his clockwork precision on the parade ground and strong showing in the annual maneuvers – exercises that, according to custom, the highest ranking noble in the Newtopian Army was always mandated to win. Those games weren’t war. Genuine conflict was something new to him. By Yunan’s private reckoning, it was also something that he, the top general of the entire military, was wholly unsuited for.

“Now, a small portion of Ragnar’s force has been spotted near Byrneford,” the old general intoned. His voice rang with an undiluted poshness that brought images of beast polo and country estates in Ribbitvale to Yunan’s mind. “Tomorrow morning the eastern detachment will move to pursue. We shall have the advantage in numbers and matériel. I expect a clean victory.” Wait, no, Yunan thought, it can’t be that simple.

“Sir, permission to speak, general?”

“You may, Lieutenant, but bear in mind this is your briefing, not a strategy meeting.”

“That may be, General, but I sense there’s more afoot. Ragnar’s forces have thus far maintained a low profile. Why would they show themselves now, and in little numbers? I suspect it’s a ploy – they get us to pursue with a portion of our forces split off from the rest, wait until we’re too far to be effectively supported, and hammer us in detail with a larger force waiting in ambush.”

“Your reasoning is faulty, Lieutenant. Perhaps you should spend more time in the archives. Toads always favor a direct approach,” Brudenewt replied.

“That may be, General, but it must be considered! Ragnar and his men have already proven capable of taking on superior foes with clever tactics. We wouldn’t be here if he hadn’t.”

“Those were other toad forces, not the great Newtopian Army. There is nothing to fear from some toads – unless you think me incapable.” His eyes narrowed.

“But sir–”

The general glowered, his voice dripping with cold anger. “The name Brudenewt is a glorious one. My grandfather Ivor gave his life for our nation, and my father and I have honored his deeds by following in his footsteps. What valor does your name carry, Lt. Wolterstorff? Merely eraser dust from a long line of pencil pushers and nobodies, barely fit to call themselves gentry. I was born for this. I carry the martial spirit of Newtopia in my blood. Who are you, Lieutenant, to question my orders?” Yunan shrank back. “Just as I thought. Get your men ready, we shall bring the fight to Ragnar tomorrow. And one more thing, Wolterstorff,” he sneered, “give these a mirror shine by morning.” The general thrust a pair of his boots into her arms. “You are dismissed.”

Yunan scanned the horizon with suspicion the whole way east. Sure. it set her troops on edge, but she had to be right. None of General Brudenewt’s haughty assurances could ward off the feeling that there were arrows leveled at her back. Yet orders were orders, so the column marched on.

The pitter-patter of feet alerted Yunan to something approaching behind. She whipped around – it was a runner in Newtopian garb clutching a message from the general in his hand. Great. Now I’m jumpy. She motioned her men to stop and tore open the seal.

General Brudenewt wishes your vanguard to secure the upcoming heights above the river crossing before the arrival of the main column. If encountered, engage the enemy in a delaying skirmish.

“Acknowledged.” Oh, and remind your commander to watch his flanks. He’s just courting an ambush. She had enough wherewithal to keep her mouth shut this time. Her wrist still ached from polishing the boots the previous night.

Enough malingering, Yu. Do your duty. A heavy sigh washed her resentments away and she refocused her eyes on the distant heights. Foliage enough to accommodate all three squads, nine newts each. Fan out and advance carefully using concealment and defilade to mask our approach from the eyes that are most certainly watching from the hillside. They wouldn’t be so dumb as to silhouette themselves on the crest of the ridgeline. These are professionals, not merely “some toads.” And make sure Švejk takes the lead this time, he’s your best point man as long as you keep his spirits up. This will take nerve.

Go show ‘em what you’re made of, for once in your frogging life.

“Listen up, newts! Looks like we’ve got a hike ahead of us. Campfires and marshmallows will not be included.” The twenty-seven newts arranged before her perked up. The last remark earned if not a smile than a subtle loosening of the tension in their eyes.

Be a big girl, Yunan. Don’t die.

“Eyes on our first section, don’t expose yourself but be ready to assist. Remember, we’re here to secure the position and skirmish if we make contact, we’re not the hammer.” Yunan patted the low shoulder of Sergeant Tsoi, who nodded in acknowledgement. A toad in the Newtopian Army was unusual but he and his squad brought stability and resilience to the center of Yunan’s force, a core she was very glad to have. Especially now – Frog knows we’ll need it. She glanced downhill to where the third squad knelt. Those with crossbows held their breaths, bolts nocked and drawstrings ready. Off in the distance marched the forward elements of Brudenewt’s men, just rounding the bend into the valley. Yunan crept as quietly as she could up to rejoin the first squad. A curt nod was all it took to put the nine of them into motion.

Perhaps against better judgment, Yunan followed as they emerged from their spots among the roots and foliage and advanced. The brush should be thick enough for at least *some* concealment, she reasoned. It was certainly thick enough to hide the tripwire she stumbled through. Without warning a branch, bent under tension, swung down and slammed Yunan into a tree trunk, driving improvised barbs into her arm and side. From the ground she let out a disoriented, involuntary scream. The newt leading the advancing squad, Švejk, snapped his head around at the sound and dashed back towards her. Within five paces a single crossbow bolt sprouted from his back and he collapsed face-first into the dirt.

“CONTACT!!”

The world around Yunan erupted with shouts and frenzied action. It felt numb. The searing pain of her wound drowned it out. Her right arm and flank – broken, maybe, certainly lacerated and useless. She scrambled to get up with her left but failed to find purchase. The noisy activity around her shifted, no longer in front but falling behind. Yunan gritted her teeth and did her best to crane her neck around. There, downhill from her, were the remnants of her first squad, locked in combat with unfamiliar toads in blue uniforms. Behind them were Tsoi’s men, clustering themselves together to form a harder target. To Yunan’s dismay, that wasn’t all. 

Much further in the distance, she could see Brudenewt’s column – and other faint dark shapes charging down from the shallow slopes on either side of them. I was right. In her eyes was none of the validation or pride she ordinarily would’ve had at being proven correct. This was no recompense for her earlier humiliation. It was just cruel, ironic horror.

The next moments happened too quickly to process. Her strength faltering, Yunan turned back. Tsoi, overwhelmed, slipped further and further away. Something rustled in the bushes. The foliage parted to reveal a grey toad carrying a halberd and emblazoned with Ragnar’s colors. For a hesitating moment, their glances met. Then the blunt end of his polearm shot forwards and cracked the wounded lieutenant in the head. She hit the dirt, motionless.

Sound came back first. The world announced itself with a faint, incessant ringing. Next came dull light and the taste of stony soil. Not blood, though – good sign. 

Yunan flexed her arm and attempted to test her strength through a splitting headache she hoped was figurative. It was shaky, slow going, but she rose to her knees. Her side stung and the leather armor was slick to the touch. She hesitated, then opened her eyes.

The hillside was still and quiet, eerily so. A wash of blue twilight and the faint pinpricks of stars would’ve made for a beautiful tableau were it not for the remnants of battle. Yunan could make out the upright shaft of a bolt through the brush marking Švejk, long gone still. Far down in the valley others lay. They formed a sort of ghoulish record of the day, showing the high-water mark of the Newtopian advance and their ignominious withdrawal. Or, perhaps, rout. 

Her head was killing her. She’d lasted this long, but her wounds had to be looked after sooner rather than later. Hazy eyes scanned the horizon. Her army, or whatever was left of it, was long departed, most likely with a pursuing force situated between her and them. They would easily snatch a lone, heavily wounded newt and dump her in captivity. She needed another option.

Yunan steeled herself, rose to her unsteady feet, and began trudging up to the crest of the hill. This would ordinarily be a blunder – I’ll be silhouetted against the sky – but the fight was over and she needed the vantage point. From the top she gazed out at the land beyond. There, to the left. On a distant hill across the river twinkled a faint light, accompanied by a wisp of smoke rising. Not wild, but steady and controlled.

Here’s hoping.

As she walked she could feel the jagged pain sinking deeper. The downhill leg was manageable enough and the shallow river provided some cleansing relief but the last miles ate into her. Breathing became more ragged, frayed. Darkening trees went double. Some instinct told her to stop, to lie down, but she had to press on. Nothing kills the great Lieutenant Yunan.

Then – a fenceline.

Sluggish steps carried her forwards, more the motive power of will than anything. Through the fence was a modest homestead with beckoning firelight in the windows. She coughed. Soft grass gave way to dirt and gravel. Just a little further. Her boot momentarily caught on a rock and she stumbled, then tumbled.

The light went dark.

A taste – stony soil again.

Instead of ringing, footsteps.

The corners of her mouth turned up a little.

Chapter Text

As an eft, Olivia had cherished time away from the city as a rare treat. Her mother was constantly busy due to her position in King Andrias’ court, but on the few occasions she could slip away she brought her daughter along on excursions into the lands beyond the white walls and shallow waters of the capital. Olivia could remember holding her mother’s hand and pointing out the flora and fauna she had previously only read about in the archives. Her mother would smile and pat her head, glad to share the beauty of Amphibia with the next generation of Newtons. In those days there were fireflies and picnics, and grandfather’s stories on the porch of his cabin while she sipped sweet, cold apple juice from a glass jar. If she stared out far enough from the window of her trundling coach then maybe she could find it again. She would slip out from her captors’ grasp and fly back to where the light met the hilltops. Then those golden hours could last forever.

She sighed into the evening sun. They were farther away than they’d ever been.

The gentle rocking of the spider-drawn carriage eased to a halt. Where was she? Why are we stopping at a barley field? The opposite window revealed a small farmhouse with soldiers stationed outside – commandeered as a waystation, she supposed – and beyond a fenced-in expanse of tents. One toad, the driver, hopped off and made his way to the house. Olivia yawned and settled back down on her cushion. Guess I’ll just have to wait.

Minutes passed. The stagecoach guards now stood conversing up the path. An opportunity? This thought was soon spoiled by the sound of marching feet as a column of prisoners approached from behind. They wore Newtopian Army uniforms, some torn, dirty, or, occasionally, bloodied. It was a far sight from the splendor of the parades which used to wind their way through the streets of the capital.

The column drew alongside the carriage and halted. Guards barked commands and shuffled about, forming a perimeter while their charges waited in limbo. None of the guards are too close. Perhaps–

“Psst!” A furtive whisper prompted the captive to peek her eyes out over the lip of the carriage window. There below her stood a grey-blue toad in creased Newtopian garb. “Who are ya, fancypants?”

The newt glanced around before responding. “Olivia Newton, of Newtopia. And you?”

“Sergeant Viktoad Tsoi, from Brudenewt’s corps. Or, I was.”

“Brudenewt?” She recognized the name from many seasons' soirees. “What’s he doing out here? Is he coming to save us?”

“He’s losing, missy. He got kicked hard near Byrneford. More like we did, really. He ran.”

“What, like a whole battle? The army . . ?”

“Only a portion. But we lost a lot of good soldiers.” Viktoad swallowed. “My section was hit first. Seven killed, eleven wounded, most captured and the rest retreated. It was a mess. Lost our officer first thing. Lt. Wolterstorff, but she always had us use her first name. Now, don’t tell anyone I ever said anything nice about officers–”

Olivia’s breath hitched at the name. Her?

“–rest of the army didn’t fare well either, but quite a few got away.” The toad checked around again. “I shouldn’t be here long. If you make it back, tell my folks I’m alright. I’ll tell yours, if I can.” With that, he shrank back into the crowd.

When a new driver boarded and the journey resumed, Olivia lost her desire to watch out the window. She collapsed into her seat and let the swaying lull her into uneasy sleep.

The next morning brought bright skies and the crisp taste of mountain air. The young newt yawned and stretched, a little cramped from a night wedged in the corner. White mists rose from peaks above. The hillsides were dotted with evergreens rather than the familiar deciduous trees of home. Some loomed near, almost cathedral-like, but they retreated like a curtain before the open sky. A dark spot flickered against the light background, a fast-moving shadow heading lengthwise down the valley center. No, not quite a shadow – Olivia wiped her eyes and refocused. It came around again, swooping low over the carriage. It was a swallow of unusual navy coloration with a single rider perched on top. It banked, keeping the carriage and its occupant in sight, before it broke off and continued up the road. Olivia craned her neck out the window and watched it shrink into the distance before the mists parted just so to reveal its destination – a stately manor house built on a terrace atop a low peak. Evidently it was hers as well.

Within half an hour, the spider-drawn coach drew up to the manor and halted. Guards shuffled and a hand opened the door. She found it . . . surprisingly courteous. The newt stepped out onto the sunlit flagstone to meet whatever awaited her.

“Apologies, just one moment!” A mulberry purple newt across the courtyard removed the saddle of his swallow and placed it in the hands of a waiting assistant. He was well appointed in riding boots and white jodhpurs, completed by a navy colored jacket which matched the rich feathers of his steed. He turned to face Olivia and strode towards her as if greeting an honored guest, removing a white silk scarf from his neck as he did so. “Might I extend my greetings, madam? I am Count Emil von Stroheim. Though these are certainly unusual circumstances, it is still my pleasure to welcome the scion of the Newton family into my home.” He bowed and kissed her hand in formal greetings.

In the practiced manner of the aristocracy, Olivia buried her emotions and met courtesy with courtesy. “I must confess I do not favor this situation, as you must certainly understand, but I must still accept this invitation.” She formed as gracious an expression as she could muster.

The count showed his involuntary houseguest inside what Olivia later came to know as Raffenstein Manor, first to her quarters on the second floor by way of dark, elegantly carved wooden stairs. Behind double doors lay her home for the foreseeable future – a guest suite, consisting of a bedroom, a study, and a drawing room, each richly but not sumptuously appointed in parquetry and Newtopian damask. The drawing room felt a little excessive. Olivia suspected she would not be receiving many visitors. Additionally, she would have full use of the manor’s dining room for her meals (though not the kitchens) and the library for edification. That didn’t interest her at the moment, though. Perhaps if she were younger – even by a few weeks – and had her shining vivacity restored. Rather, she kept herself busy through the morning reviewing her cloister and the modest possessions she had been provided. That complete, she laid herself down on the bed and stared at the canopy above until it slipped into darkness. For the first time, the world felt so heavy.

The young newt awoke to the sound of a chiming clock. Seven – the dinner hour. She tiptoed her way out of her rooms and down the creaky stairs to the dining room, passing the occasional servant. Mostly frogs, she noted. Von Stroheim was already waiting at the head of the table by the time she arrived and seated herself across from him. He was young, perhaps only a decade older than Olivia. Unusual for a titled nobleman.

“Welcome, Miss Newton. I must apologize again for the circumstances of your . . . secondment here, but I hope you have found your arrangements to your satisfaction.”

Her voice spilled out a little shakier than she was used to. “Y-yes, sir. They are quite more than satisfactory.”

The count’s face twinged a little at her inflection. “If there is something amiss, I would be perfectly willing to rectify it. Within reason, of course.” Olivia just shook her head. A servant poured her a shallow glass of an unoaked Chardonnay from a decanter, which she sipped in silence.

There was something stuck on her mind, but she stubbornly pushed it away and instead focused on the newt before her. Young and inexperienced but puts on a show of exaggerated courtesy like he knows what he’s doing. A true gentleman wouldn’t be gallivanting around on a flashy bird like that. He’s trying to prove something, but he doesn’t know how. He’s aware he lacks the prestige of more august newts and is searching for a way of solidifying his claim. Thus, an easy mark for someone looking for quick allies. “When did Ragnar first approach you?”

Von Stroheim looked decidedly taken aback. “Wh-h-how? Er? I-why, we spoke . . . after he took the East Tower . . .” His voice trailed off. Olivia didn’t smile or even acknowledge her victory.

They stayed like that for a while, watching the candelabra’s light flicker over each other’s features. The blue newt could feel the unwanted thought creeping into her tired mind once again. She had to redirect, push it away again–

“Why am I here?”

“Pardon?”

“Tell me why I’m here, Emil.” He blinked. She took another swig of her wine. It was foolish, but she wanted the confidence. Or for her mind to be full of fuzzy drunken thoughts instead of anything else. “What, did your buddy Ragnar put you up to this? Needed to put a bargaining chip on the shelf and happened to have just the right sap to dump her on?”

The count audibly staggered, trying to find his footing. “B-because I know which way the wind is blowing. Newtopia as it is is long in the tooth, and Ragnar is the fire needed to clear the way for new growth.” It sounded rehearsed to the young courtier’s ears. Because you’re impatient to make your name and betting on glory to just fall in your lap because a shiny new friend said it would.

The two newts cut the conversation there and sat glaring at each other until dinner arrived. They ate in silence. Olivia finished first and set down her silverware coolly. Von Stroheim hesitated, fork caught in the air.

“Emil, do you know how to properly make the acquaintance of a lady?”

He remained frozen.

“You stock her liquor cabinet with over 100 proof. What is this, fucking amateur hour?”

Olivia stood up from the table and made her way back to her quarters. She shut the door behind her firmly and paused, standing just inside the darkened drawing room. Soft, celestial blue light pooled in from the window, accentuated by the occasional splatter of rain against the glass. After all the upsets of the past days, the hollow high of dissecting von Stroheim, the long journey, the encounter at the camp . . . she just deflated. Her fist unclenched itself and she leaned backwards against the door for support, gazing up at the ceiling. Strong wooden beams placed with delicate hand. They echoed craftsmen long gone, a world long gone. She remembered her world. She remained there a while, feeling it all rinse away until she was clean again, her again, a girl so many miles from home longing to set the clock back.

Some time later her fingers fumbled at a desk drawer until it produced a paper, a pen, and an inkwell reminiscent of seaglass. With practiced hand she drew up a familiar opening, written out every week from her room in Loughop.

Dearest Mother,

I don’t know when you’ll have the chance to read this. Indeed, I doubt I’ll be able to get any letters out at all. By now I’m sure you’ve heard what has happened to me. Cecil and Charlotte must have gotten through, since the army is on the march. And battered. All that because of me – where you are great events must be in motion, while here I feel as if I have fallen off the face of the planet.

I’m here safe now, but I can’t help turning things over in my mind. I learned yesterday that someone I knew from Efton fell in battle. Yunan. I don’t think you ever met her. I won’t ask you to inform her family. You will never read this, I know that. But I can’t get her out of my head. We hadn’t spoken in five years and now she’s gone. Is this what war is? Stuck in a cage, watching pieces of your childhood get whittled away? It’s a lonely feeling. I’ll try and find something to keep myself occupied. Someday, maybe, you’ll get a letter again.

Your loving daughter,
Olivia

She concealed the letter in a drawer, slipped into the bedroom, and blew out the candles for the night.

Chapter Text

“Mom! Look, she’s waking up!”

“I’ll be right there, Manke!” A series of hurried footsteps on hardwood announced someone’s entrance. “Oh, yes, she’s stirring. Run and fetch some water, she’ll be wanting some.”

She eased an eyelid open only to shut it immediately, seared by irritation from the bright light. “Agh!”

“Oh, dearie. You’ve been through a lot. I’ll get the curtain.” The pinkish-red behind Yunan’s eyelids faded to a dull burgundy. She tried again and managed to get both open with only marginal discomfort.

She was lying in a bedroom, built of timber and modestly decorated with trinkets and embroidered squares. At the foot of the bed sat who she could only guess to be the family’s mother and matriarch, a periwinkle frog with kindly eyes and hair only just beginning to go grey. She clasped Yunan’s hand with her own.

“H-hi,” the newt managed weakly.

“Hello, dear. I hope we’ve been able to make you comfortable.” Yunan did her best to nod. The girl reappeared, another periwinkle frog. She handed her mother a glass of water and retreated to watch from behind the doorframe.

“Where am I?”

“You’re in our home. We found you outside last night and brought you in. This is the guest room.” She offered the glass to Yunan, who gladly took a sip. “You can call me Mrs. Frosh. That is my daughter, Manke.” The girl by the door waved meekly. “My eldest is upstairs, and my youngest is out with his father gathering wood and mending the fence. It wasn’t you, don’t worry.” Yunan couldn’t help but smile.

Mrs. Frosh took the glass and placed it on the nightstand before leaning over to check the bandages swaddling her guest’s arm and side. The newt winced, but it was momentary.

“Now, I’m sure you have many questions, but you must get some rest. It looks like you had a bad bump on the head so I’ll be in to check on you, but make noise if you need anything, dear.” With that, she rose to leave. The door drew shut behind her, and Yunan allowed her heavy eyelids to fall closed once again.

The next morning the battered soldier felt notably better. She could sit up – gently, quick movements aggravated her headache – and examine herself and her surroundings more thoroughly. The room was quaint, with wooden walls and clearly handmade decorations. Directly opposite from the bed hung a cross-stitch depicting the four seasons with a little poem attached. Yunan had to focus to read the letters – I’m definitely concussed – but they resolved themselves into ALL IS WAITING / EXPECTATING / FROG IS IN THE RHYTHM. She smiled. It reminded her of something an old friend of hers would say. “It’s from a lullaby my mother taught me.” As for Yunan’s injuries, the family had patched them up as best they could. Her arm was wrapped up in a little cocoon with a splint that restricted its movement. Yup, broken.

A soft, slow creak from the door caught Yunan’s attention and she looked over to see a little brown eye peeking through the crack.

“You’re awaaaaaake,” the eye said in an awed, hushed tone. The door poked open further and a young frog hopped in, only recently graduated from polliwog status. He perched himself on the nightstand. “Psst! I’m Dovid. What’s your name?”

“My name is Yunan. Nice to meet you.”

“What happened? My mom said there was a fight. With army guys.” He waggled his feet, kicking his heels against the furniture.

Yunan nodded. “Yup. I’m army guys.”

“Woooooow. You must be great!”

She recoiled. “I don’t know if I’d say that . . .”

“What? You walked here all beat up by yourself. I heard something and came downstairs and you were there on the path all bloodylike. That’s tough.” He leaned in to whisper in her ear. “You know, I’m pretty tough too. The other day I got a splinter.”

“Did you cry?”

“Nope!”

The newt gave a slight smile of admiration. “Good kid.” Dovid joined in with a grin and bounced up onto the bed by Yunan’s feet.

“Mom says you’ll be staying with us. I think you shouldn’t. When I grow up this is going to be my bedroom, you can’t have it.”

“I won’t be staying that long. Only a few days.”

“Oh, good. I was planning on fighting you for it.”

A hand and a head peeked around the half-opened door. “Dovid? Are you being nice?” It wasn’t the girl from the previous . . . however long it had been. Time for Yunan was a tad finicky at the moment. Must be the eldest.

“I was just saying hi, Rivy!” He pointed a thumb at the newt with a smile. “She’s army guys!” His sister’s arms scooped him up.

“I hope he hasn’t been bothering you, miss. He can be a handful.”

“Not to worry. I’ve dealt with my share of handfuls in the past.” Her mind returned to a moment some time earlier – when Soldats Coke and Švejk had been fooling around and managed to lock two expensive wheellock powder-rifles together by the bayonet lugs with no way of detaching them. I’m sorry, Švejk. The thought didn’t linger.

“Mom’s making breakfast at the moment. I’ll bring you some.”

Dovid piped up, squirming in his captivity. “You can join us if you want! She can walk! Right?”

The eldest daughter (Rivy? That had to be a nickname) shook her head. “No, Dovid, she must rest.”

“Actually, I . . . I-I’ll see what I can do.”

The frog raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure? Don’t overtax yourself on our account.”

“No, no. It might be good to stretch my legs a little.” Exclusively using her left arm the newt removed her covers and gingerly slid her feet onto the floor. A few unsteady steps brought her to the door where Dovid, newly liberated, grasped her free hand and led her down the hall to the kitchen.

Yunan was glad that her aversion to light had dissipated as the morning sun cast sunbeams into the room. Mr. Frosh stood at the stovetop frying strips of meat while Mrs. Frosh and Manke buzzed about setting placemats and napkins out on the table. It felt delightfully homely.

The male frog noticed her appearance first. “Oh! You’re up! Well, sit down and we’ll make a place for you. We have some grubhog bacon and pancakes coming up.” The newt’s face lightened. Sweet, sweet revenge! She plopped down at the table and the others joined her within minutes, but not before Mrs. Frosh took the opportunity to recheck the bandages. When the rest were seated, she spoke up first.

“Well, dearie, you were pretty out of it yesterday so consider this your official welcome into our home. I must ask, what is your name?”

“Yunan. Lt. Yunan. Thank you for hosting me.”

“Oh, it’s no issue. We’re happy to have you for as long as you need.” She passed a plate of pancakes over to the guest. “Here, tuck in. You must be hungry.” Yunan fumbled a little trying to use the fork with her left hand, but she got it working eventually.

“I’m surprised you’re up and about this quickly. Two days ago you were . . . well, not looking good to say the least,” Mr. Frosh commented.

“I am pushing myself a bit, I know, but I need to be getting back to my unit.” The newt’s hand wavered trying to cut another piece of pancake – her strength was still largely absent. “If I can. Wherever they are.”

The two elder frogs exchanged a look between them. “From what we’ve heard, the Newtopians have moved back towards the capital. They’re cut off from here by some of Ragnar’s men.”

“If that’s the case, I don’t want to endanger you all by staying.”

Mrs. Frosh responded in a kind, motherly tone. “Dearie . . . we are perfectly willing to let you stay. In fact, I insist. Your injuries need time to heal and I wouldn’t want you to go wandering out and get captured. And, rest assured, we are no friends of Ragnar’s.”

Her husband continued. “I’ll admit that Newtopia has not been kind to us, what with the toads and the newt nobility taking our coppers. But Ragnar is just another of them. The king himself, he cares about us, even if he’s far away.” Yunan’s eyes focused enough to see a diminutive portrait hanging on the far wall – a representation of King Andrias, painted perhaps a century prior. These icons were passed down as heirlooms among certain segments of the frog populace.

The newt sighed. “In that case, sure. Until my arm heals up.” Broken bone – six weeks or so. Mrs. Frosh faintly smiled and Dovid did a little celebratory dance in his seat before being shushed by his nearest sister.

“Glad to hear, dear. Now, how about seconds?”

Two weeks. Olivia, punctual as always, looked to her calendar first thing in the morning and filled in a small 14. She’d already missed her mothers’ birthday. The next week she would not be attending the annual Newtopian parade, if it was even still on, and the accompanying gala. The polite thing to do would be to send apologies for her absence but she figured that was right out. High society would understand.

There were more footsteps than usual on the flagstone outside her window. Her bedroom occupied the corner of the second floor overlooking the courtyard entrance and valley. As such, she had a good view of whatever activity was going on outside – a blunder on von Stroheim’s part, but she wasn’t about to correct him when he was making a mistake. She gingerly pulled back the curtain. Below her stood double the normal amount of soldiers, some stationary and some patrolling. A special occasion. But why? Normally Olivia was able to go about her business without much interruption, but in the past couple days they’d become more inquisitive, even bothersome. I haven’t done anything to provoke this behavior by the guards – and I doubt I’m that important to them – so it stands to reason that whatever caused this has to be external. Did Newtopian forces free a prisoner held somewhere else? Or is there someone of importance visiting?

As if to answer her question, there came a knock at the drawing room door. It was von Stroheim, still trying – and failing – to project authority after Olivia’s dismantling. “Excuse me, Miss Newton, but due to exceptional circumstances I must confine you to your quarters for today. I will have your meals delivered at their usual times.” The door shut, but not before she glimpsed the shoulder of a guard on the other side.

“For today.” Bingo. There was no telling when the guest would arrive, so Olivia kept going about her rather unstructured day with one eye on the road outside. Around midmorning she spotted an approaching coach in the distance.

Von Stroheim probably wouldn’t take kindly to her snooping in on whoever was arriving, so she’d have to be discreet. She grabbed a hand mirror from the dresser and propped it up by the window, giving her a view of the terrace. Soon enough, the carriage drew up and a pale yellow newt in a long coat stepped out carrying a satchel. A few papers poked out from the overstuffed bag but he managed to hurry inside without losing anything.

Olivia barely had time to contemplate the purpose of his visit before she was interrupted by the sound of beetle wings, loud and low in the sky. It touched down on the terrace and was immediately surrounded by soldiers. One of them reached up and helped a singular figure off the back. The guards, most of them toads, saluted.

Wait a minute. Is that . . . She had to get a better view, mirror be damned. Olivia poked her head out over the windowsill.

The figure was a grey-green toad of moderate age and stature dressed in the finery befitting his rank. His gold eupalettes glittered in the sun. The newt held her breath as his guards saluted and he strode towards von Stroheim, who stood near the door to greet him. There was none of the aristocrat’s bluster in his manner, rather the vitality of a man of action and a cold, purposeful confidence. He glanced up to Olivia’s window and their eyes met if only for a moment.

It’s you. You who’ve stolen me away. You who’ve rendered our army low and disrupted the peace of a thousand years. You, who have taken so much. She shivered. I made a vow to my mother to work for the sake of this land. It’s about time to put it into practice.

The newt dipped back out of sight before von Stroheim could notice and began pacing about the room. Below she could hear the front door open through the aged beams of the house and a few sets of footsteps enter. She stopped and focused her hearing. They remained on the ground floor, tracing their way to . . . the library, she reckoned. Now here’s an idea.

Some of the furnishings were Newtopian, but the architectural structure of the manor itself was decidedly of the alpine regions. Alpine means pitched roof and heavy timber framing. Maybe, she thought, there might be a gap inside the walls. She moved to the study, grabbed a letter opener, and tapped at the wooden panelling covering the lower third of the wall. A couple portions resonated better than their neighbors. There. Hollow. She wedged the letter opener into the gaps between the boards and gingerly peeled a panel away from the wall, revealing the wooden framing of the house and the dark, narrow hollow of the eaves. No going back now, she sighed, and went in.

The space Olivia found herself in overwhelmed her with a rich, musty, woody smell. She had to negotiate her way through on her hands and knees without sight, ever mindful not to move too quickly lest she alert anyone with a thump. Once fully inside the hollow the newt closed her eyes, slowed her breathing, and turned her attention to the muffled sounds resonating through the wood like nervous signals transmitted along the bones of the house. She picked up a door shutting, glasses clinking, and faint strains of conversation.

“. . . as . . . your oth . . . est . . .”

To the left – she felt her way through the darkness. The voices gradually grew louder as she moved until she could press herself to the wall and make out their words.

“. . . a regrettable situation, yes, but she has served her primary purpose and we must await an opportunity to make use of her again. She is, after all, the daughter of Lady Newton – it would be foolish to discard such an asset, even if her remaining value is only in exchange.” This first voice was deep and resounding. Ragnar, more than likely.

“Can’t we, like, put her to work on something?” Von Stroheim.

“Her? No. The Newtons have stood at the right hand of the king for centuries. To give their young scion tools or information would be inviting disaster. Do not underestimate her commitment.” You’re giving me too much credit, honestly. I’m just seizing the opportunity. That or earning myself a ticket straight to a real prison. “Now then, to business. Merkwürdigliebe?”

A third, unfamiliar voice joined the conversation. “Why, yes. I have requested your presence in person as, well, we’ve reached a development that we would rather not have intercepted and known by the enemy. The Newtopians are aware of the theoretical outline of it – I myself asked them for research funding two years ago and they rejected me out of hand – but practical implementation? That’s another matter.” Olivia heard the sound of a glass placed on a table. “Now then. The war has entered a new phase, and, though you have been performing well, you must adapt to that reality. Until now your victories have come on the back of superior skill on the battlefield, but Newtopia is a hardy kingdom. They can afford to take losses that you cannot.”

“This is . . . more than fair. But the Newtopians have thus far proved themselves incapable of matching our speed and flexibility in the field.”

“Yes, but in time, they will learn. A war cannot be won on tactics alone. You must develop resilient logistics – and I believe we have found the key.”

“I’m listening.”

“I and a few of my colleagues have been researching an . . . unusual barbariant colony discovered in the far northeast. Resident ants moved and behaved as one rather than as individuals! Ants do tend to work as a collective, but not to this extent. Imagine – a whole sea of ants coordinated across distances of miles, each perfectly choreographed and working towards specific goals. Upon investigation, we have determined that they behave in this manner as the result of a mutation in the colony’s queen caused by extended contact with a rare species of fungus. By combining trace spores of this fungus – rendered harmless, do not worry – with barbariant trail pheromones, we have developed a method of controlling these ants. Tell them to follow, and they follow. Tell them to lift, and they lift. Tell them to haul supplies where they’re needed . . .”

“. . . and you feed an army.”

There was a moment of quiet. Olivia imagined the toad nodding in ambitious contemplation. Her blood ran cold.

“Use a force of spider-riders to trace a path, load the ants with supplies, and they will deliver them in a timely manner, day or night, even unsupervised. No more frogs trying to get their wagons unstuck from the spring mud. No more toads hauling crates when they could be on the frontlines. The ants themselves could be used in combat in an emergency, but they’re less effective than conventional soldiers. Still, though, the possibilities are endless. And as for you--”

“Me?” Von Stroheim interjected.

“Yes. I believe a pheromone trail could be laid rapidly from the air. Given your avian experience you may prove instrumental in putting that into practice. With Ragnar’s permission, of course.”

The toad’s voice returned. “Once we have the basics down, yes. How long would it take to begin deploying these ants, Dr. M?”

“Soon. Perhaps only a month or two. The system works in the ants’ home territory, at this point it is only a matter of scale.”

“Very good. I shall allocate resources and a complement of soldiers to your operations.”

At this moment Olivia picked up a new set of vibrations through the wood – footsteps in the hall below. Her heartbeat picked up but she held her breath as she began the slow retreat back towards the study, praying the unknown presence would not investigate her chambers. The footfalls were on the stairs now. She ducked her way back out of the hollow and into the light for the first time in what felt like an eternity. The loose panel was hastily slotted back into its place and she moved to her bedroom where she picked up a discarded book and began to read in her normal manner. There came a knock at the door.

“Excuse me, Miss, I have your lunch here. I’ll place it on your table.” It was a servant. The dust-covered newt breathed a heavy sigh of relief.

Chapter Text

It felt good to get outside again after many hours cooped up in bed. The rest was nice but Yunan was a newt of action. She’d been stuck in stuffy rooms too many times as an eft to stand the indoors for long. Once she was strong enough, the eldest daughter of the Froshes (Rivkele, as it turned out) invited her on a walk.

“So, what are your plans for the future?”

“Well,” replied the frog, “I’ve been focusing on my studies. Whenever we’re in town I try to pick up a few books. I have quite the stack up in my room.” The grass underfoot was wet with morning dew. “Eventually I’d like to go to school in Newtopia if I can.”

“Newtopia University?” Rivkele nodded. “Best school there is. I had a friend who went there, actually. Wonder what she’s up to.”

“When did you last see her?”

“We went to the same academy when we were younger. About your age, actually. She’s the smartest newt I’ve ever met. Prissy and prim as all hell but, I don’t know . . .” A subtle blush came to her cheeks. “You’d be surprised.”

“Well then,” remarked Rivkele, obviously putting the pieces together on something Yunan had missed. “I hope you run into her again. Someday, I bet.”

“Yeah, probably. More than likely she’s still running around the capital.”

She smiled. “You’ll have to be getting back home then. In due time, of course.”

“Of course. Before then, though, is there anything I can help with? I don’t want to be lounging around all day.”

“It might be tough with your arm . . . hmm, now that the weather’s warming up we’ll be planting this year’s crops. I can show you the basics.” A fresh breeze carried their words away on the wind.

Five weeks passed quickly. By the time Yunan’s injuries healed the height of springtime had broken and the trees burst with color. The Froshes’ dormant fields turned into orderly tilled rows ahead of schedule by virtue of an extra hand. By midseason, the newt’s arm was out of its sling and the family was packing supplies and preparing for her departure.

The night before, Yunan and Mr. Frosh gathered around the kitchen table by candlelight to plan.

“I’ve reached out to the neighbors to see what they know about what’s going on. Whisper network says that the direct way over the river and to the west is dicey, but doable. Ragnar’s men have a solid hold on the area. But, another thing,” the frog cleared his throat, “is that there’s been some strange activity on the roads north. Just over a month ago a guarded carriage was spotted moving up into the mountains and since then there’s been intermittent traffic by what seems to be some of Ragnar’s higher-ups. It’s odd. Maybe once you get back you can call it in to your commanders.” Yunan nodded. “In any case, you should have plenty of provisions to make it back west to Newtopian territory. Just take it slow, and be careful.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll do my best.”

“Alright then. Get plenty of sleep, you’ve got a busy day ahead of you.” He nodded in parting.

The next morning, Yunan woke early to the familiar sound of little hands knocking at the door. Dovid hopped in with as much stealth as he was capable of.

“Psst! So, you’re leaving?”

“Have to. Gotta head back.”

What’s home like? Busy, I bet.”

“Yeah, you could say that.” Yunan gave a halfhearted smile. Dovid hesitated and cocked his head.

“. . . Do you like it there?”

She paused, thinking back. Brudenewt’s arrogant face loomed out of her memory. “Merely eraser dust from a long line of pencil pushers and nobodies.” That idiot got my men killed and Newtopia trounced. *I* got my men killed by not standing up to him. Her expression soured. What, you think it’s gonna be great to be back home where they just squander your talents? What talents do you really have? “I . . . well, sometimes. But it’s hard.”

The little frog nodded thoughtfully. “But you can’t stay here?”

“No. It’s my duty. Duty comes first.” Duty to a newt that’s running the army into the ground.

“Ok.” Dovid huffed. “Just . . well, don’t let anyone be mean to you. You try hard. You’re great. Unkillable.”

Yunan’s thoughts quieted down. “Well thanks, kid. I think you’re the first one I’ve met who agrees with me.”

A couple hours later, she stood at the edge of the property and waved goodbye to her hosts. The boots she’d taken care to polish crunched over twigs as she took her first tentative steps west – then stopped.

What, are you just going to let Brudenewt bring down Newtopia with his blundering? He won’t like it, but there is *another* duty. Get out there and make a difference, you unkillable lout.

She had a choice to make, one she spent less than a minute mulling over. Her next steps were to the north.

Night was closing in on her fourth day out in the wilds. Yunan had thus far managed to evade detection, but this was something too intriguing to pass up – streaks of smoke against the sky. Not wild and uncontrolled, like a burning town or wildfire, but modest. Numerous, too. It was an opportunity, yes, but also a risk she’d have to take.

Yunan crept up through the forest as far as she safely could, but, assessing the situation, she’d have to make a break across the road that lay west of her to get close. She peeked, concealed in tall grass and ferns. All clear. A second’s dash landed her safely on the other side, enveloped in darkness and stalks of barley.

The newt turned right, moving quietly until she came to a gentle rise from which she could observe the scene. Before her lay a vast field of tents, haphazardly lit by a smattering of cooking fires. Tall, thin amphibians gathered around them, warming themselves or roasting food over the flames. They had tails. Newts. She looked closer. Faint tendrils of wire weaved their way around the area, hard to distinguish in the dark. Yunan knew what this was. Comrades. There’s nothing I can do for them. She swallowed. For now. But I could . . . her eyes fell on a house on the near side of the encampment. Bet that’s where the guards are staying. I’ll have to be careful. The pink newt gingerly pushed her way through the barley until she was within earshot of the lone candlelit window.

“. . . your turn, Fitz. Raise, call, or fold.”

“Fine. I’ll raise you two coppers,” replied a gruff voice. “Just my luck it’s going to be a heron or something and I’ll get wiped. I know what you have, Morris. It’s gonna happen.”

“Oh, so if it’s so gonna happen, why are you even playing?”

“Because I just lost the cushiest posting in the world and I’d rather be mad at you than my officers, you twit.” Yunan heard a flagon slam down on the table.

“I bet they fanned you with palm fronds all day,” said the first voice.

“Or they served grubble pie for every meal,” said a third.

“Screw you two. No, it was just quiet. Good views. Security detail work.” Who would need that?

“And by security detail you mean wiping that newt’s chin after dinner. And his bird, too.”

“Right, right, boys, let’s not get to punching each other. Yet.” There was a pause. “Okay, now you can.”

“SEE WHAT I SAID, YOU TWERP? HERON ON THE RIVER. I SWEAR TO BARREL I DON’T KNOW WHY I PLAY WITH YOU, YOU LITTLE CHEAT!”

“Because you hate yourself, I bet. What, wanna run back to your little chalet? It’s just up the road.”

Yunan used the ensuing brawl to slip away into the night. Up the road, eh? I can do that. She checked her course by the stars and set off for the mountains.

The sea-breeze from an open window tousled Marcy’s hair and woke her from her slumber. She groggily shifted in bed and shut her eyes but, try as she might, sleep did not return to her. This was not the first time she’d awoken in the middle of the night, and it certainly would not be the last.

The young ranger yawned and rose. I’ll just get a snack or something. She padded down the desolate hallways of the castle in her socks. It was always so empty at night – like all the light and life of the place had deserted it leaving only the indentation in the dust where they used to be. The tall ceilings gave it a uncanny echo. Without people, sounds hung in the air longer than they should've. The girl shivered. Eventually, she came to the stairs and descended down towards the level of the kitchens. On the way she’d pass through a small sitting area with tall windows, but as Marcy approached, she noticed something unusual – there was just a little bit more light filtering through the doorway than normal, like someone had left a light on in the next room. She peeked around the corner to find a familiar figure – Lady Olivia with a book on her lap, decanting something that probably wasn’t juice.

“Couldn’t sleep?” The newt looked up at the sound of her young charge’s voice. There were bags under her eyes.

“Why, yes,” she said in a soft voice. “It happens from time to time.”

Marcy nodded. “I’ve been there.”

Olivia shifted her eyes and changed the subject. “How has your training with General Yunan been progressing?”

“Pretty good! She’s been showing me the ropes of orienteering, longsword, and Newtopian Knight Guard tactics. Oh, and, adding on to your story.”

She smiled. “I bet.”

“I assume you’ve heard her side of things?”

“Oh, so many times. And I was there for the rest.”

Marcy could only imagine. “Well – I should let you get back to reading. Want anything from the kitchen?”

Olivia shook her head. “I’m quite alright. Sleep well, Master Marcy.” The girl turned to go but she was interrupted before she could take more than a couple steps. “One more thing – something to be mindful of. Reality is not always like a storybook. One must never lose sight of those involved.” She coughed. “Anyway – goodnight to you.”

The girl paused. “Goodnight to you too, Olivia.”

Chapter Text

Olivia made her preparations for another quiet night in, perhaps the fiftieth she’d had in her seven weeks at Raffenstein Manor – that being almost every night. By now she’d claimed a particular porcelain cup for herself which she positioned on a side table next to an overstuffed wingback chair that faced the fireplace. It’d been warm enough for a week to forgo a fire, but she liked the stability of her little evening ritual. Even if she couldn’t control the world around her, it helped that she could block it all out for a while and create her own warded bubble in the drawing room. A blanket and a book completed the set. The young newt sat herself down, placed the blanket over her lap, and was about to crack open Dr. Minerva Newtback’s Guide to the Fauna of the Eastern Mountains when she froze.

Something caught her trained ear – a muffled skittering from above. It didn’t match with any of the footfalls and carriages she was accustomed to, nor did it make sense given the late evening hour. Maybe staying cooped up in here really is driving me crazy. It stopped. A guard outside paced on the stone as part of his normal patrol. Their sturdy boots made them easy to track. Olivia measured his steps as they landed. Nine steps, one-two one-two one-two one-two-three. Halt. A moment passed – and the noise from the roof started again, slow and steady. Six muted thumps passing overhead, probably indiscernible from ground level. They faded, and, moments later, Olivia had a rendezvous with the inexplicable. Or rather, the unkillable.

“Erf–oof–ow–gah–shiii–oh, frog.” A pink newt enveloped in soot tumbled down the chimney and flopped out on the floor before Olivia’s chair. She lay there for a moment coughing. There was something eminently familiar about her. Beyond the backpack and hardy traveling clothes was the same shock of blonde hair, same skin coloration, perhaps a little more developed musculature. She looked up and Olivia instantly knew.

“YUNAN?”

“Olivia? What are you–” Footsteps in the hallway cut her off.

Olivia frantically shushed and waved her away. “Shh! Hide, hide!” Yunan slid for the wall next to the door and pressed up against it.

“What’s going on in there?”

“Oh, nothing! I – well – tripped and fell while trying to get my pajamas on. Sorry about the noise!” The blue newt raised her voice to carry through the door. The footsteps plodded away. Olivia whispered back at Yunan. “Okay, that worked, but get over here so we don’t attract attention!” She rose and made for her bedroom, waving for her unexpected companion to follow. She shut the door behind them.

“What in newt’s name are you doing here? I thought you were dead!”

“Dead? Me? Never. What are you doing here?”

“I was on assignment in Loughop and got captured. They took me north and I’ve been here since.” She glanced to the side, holding one hand in the other.

“Wait. That was you? We got orders to move on Ragnar’s army after they captured an emissary of Newtopia, I had no idea! Who told you I was dead?”

“A Newtopian toad I met in passing after my capture. Er, let me . . Tsoi?”

“Tsoi? Sgt. Tsoi?”

“Yes, indeed, that was him.”

“Eh, figures. Last time he – holy hell, where is he?”

“At a prison camp by the road south of here.” Yunan nodded. The two newts stood in silence for a second, each taken aback by the improbable presence of the other. Olivia brushed at Yunan’s soot-dappled shoulder. “I just can’t believe that you’re . . here . . . I . . . oh, where are my manners. Welcome to my humble imprisonment in Raffenstein Manor, such as it is. Would you care for a spot of tea? I, uh, only have the one cup.” She proffered the porcelain to Yunan.

“Don’t wanna impose if you were already drinking it.”

“I insist.”

“In that case, thank you.” She cradled the cup with both hands and brought it to her lips. The tea was warm and smooth, a black variety from the Southern Valley tempered with cream.

“My mother had a friend from the south in her younger years who taught her how to make tea in the Valley style. This is only an approximation, of course.”

“It’s still delightful,” Yunan replied with a smile.

“Thank you. It’s nice to have something from home.” The blue newt turned to hide a curious warmth on her cheeks. She shook the feeling away. “Right then. We should determine our next steps and figure a way out.”

“First step: establish a place to withdraw to in case things go FUBAR?”

“Precisely. Or, to put it in more civilian terms, find you a place to sleep without the chance of being spotted. If they find you here I’m sure they will have both our heads. Luckily, I have an idea.”

Olivia led her companion into the study, knelt down, and pried the loose panel off the wall. “This is the hollow of the eave. If you are quiet, you should be able to avoid detection in here. My, er, lodgings came with a few spare blankets stashed in the closet when I arrived. I’ll get you some.” She returned with an armful of flannel sheets and sparrow-down pillows.

“How’d you find this?”

“Oh, I snuck in to eavesdrop on a meeting a while ago. Idle hands are Littlepot’s workshop, as they say.” Yunan accepted the soft pile and set about stuffing it in the crevice. “I might ask of you, too – how did you find me?”

“Well, I almost bit it due to a toad with a halberd, woke up, dragged myself to a frog homestead, stayed with them while my arm healed up, heard about a weird place to the north, followed the trail, and wound up sneaking around on the roof.”

“Bit more of a fanciful adventure than mine, I must admit.” Olivia passed the last pillow to Yunan and yawned. “You should get some rest. I’m sure it has been a long journey.”

“Sure has,” the soldier smirked. “One more thing – do you have a way of grabbing some food for me? I have some supplies left over, but not too much.”

“Of course. Leave it to me.” She lingered by the bolthole a little longer than necessary. “Goodnight, Yu.”

“Goodnight, Liv.”

When Olivia drifted off to sleep, she was greeted with a first for her time at the manor: pleasant dreams.

Yunan woke the next morning to a gentle tapping at the wooden panel. “Rise and shine, Yunan. I procured some breakfast for us.” She stretched (as much as she could in the confined space) and poked the impromptu door open. Olivia sat crosslegged on the other side before a tray of croissants and milk.

“At this rate you’re shaping up to be a master thief.”

“Not remotely. I just said I had a cold and they were perfectly willing to bring breakfast to my door. Lunch and dinner too, in fact.”

Yunan stuffed her face with one of the buttery pastries. “Liv Newton, crafty as always.”

“Remember when I talked you out of trouble with the headmaster after the Great Zapapede Debacle?”

“You can’t prove that wasn’t an accident,” she mumbled, mouth half full of croissant. The blue newt just smirked, sipping her milk. “Anyway. We should get down to business. The longer I’m here the higher chance I get detected and things go belly-up.”

“Right you are. In my time here I have assembled a list of factors we need to consider in any escape attempt. First, von Stroheim – er, that’s the newt who owns this place. Young man, fancies himself a swallow-rider. If we want to get out without being detected soon after we will need to delay him in some way. Second, our surroundings, seeing as we are stuck in the mountains. Fortunately, not too deep in. We will need appropriate supplies regardless. Third, the guards, but their patrol is fairly predictable.” She twisted a lock of hair in her finger. “Their hobnails give them away. Leave a contingency to me.”

Yunan nodded. “Anything else, smartypants?”

“Hey, I’m – ugh,” she sighed. “Those are the major pieces. But we will need warm clothes and food when we are roughing it in the wilds. Just because we are free does not mean we can ignore our basic needs.”

“What about belonging, esteem, and self-actualization?”

“Those can wait.”

“Damn. Well, your list sounds pretty comprehensive. Is there anything I can help with?”

The prisoner thought for a moment before retrieving a middling blanket from the closet, which she placed in Yunan’s arms. “Can you sew?”

“Mmm-hmm,” she intoned.

She raised an eyebrow. “Can you make a basic cloak and bag from this material?”

“Behold the delicate work of a master.” Yunan produced a knife from her pocket and slashed at the fabric until it resembled a frayed, frazzled cloak. “Boom, done.”

Olivia, covered head to toe in stray fibers, stared at her friend’s handiwork of no more than ninety – no, sixty seconds. “. . . That does meet the technical definition of a cloak, yes.” She brushed the excess cloth off and rose to leave. “I will prepare the rest while you – oh, fuck it, I’ll just use a pillowcase.”

“Okay. I . . . think that’s everything.” Olivia glanced over the assembled supplies one last time. Cloaks, bread, sausage, relevant books, some extras. Night had fallen some hours ago so she was checking their work by candlelight – with the curtains drawn as a precaution, of course. It was well past her usual bedtime, so the newt hoped the men outside would let their guard down. It wouldn’t do to alert them that something was amiss.

“You know, we could just hop out the window and make a break for it.”

“I get you are anxious to get out of here, Yunan, but we mustn’t jump the gun.” The blue newt replied. “Von Stroheim should be sound asleep by now. Even if he does awaken he cannot fly without daylight. We have the supplies needed to sustain ourselves, and, in a few minutes, the opening to slip out undetected. What matters now is doing it right.”

Yunan cocked her head. “And if it goes sideways?”

“Then, and only then, will we,” Olivia said disdainfully, “improvise.”

“Well then.” Yunan swiped the letter opener from the top of the desk. “Lead the way, milady.”

Olivia wormed her way inside the hollow of the eave just as she’d done some weeks before and led her companion down the dark, dusty passageway. She had to resist the all-consuming urge to sneeze. After the correct interval she halted and tapped on Yunan’s shoulder with her tail. “We’re here.”

Yunan nodded, unseen, and felt out at the wall. The timbers felt rough and unfinished under her hand, but, moving around, she managed to locate a section of smoother wood set back from the structural elements. Paneling. She brought the letter opener to bear, wedged it in the seam between two panels and then, with practiced strength, pried a gap open for her peek out.

“Library, empty.”

“Let’s move.”

The soldier pushed the loose panel further and wiggled out. Her companion followed, pulling their sack of supplies behind. The two found themselves on the floor of the manor’s library, darkened and abandoned for the night. Olivia had spent many an afternoon here and had learned through careful observation how, for a moment in the guards’ shift change, its windows were left unobserved. Soon the two o’ clock shift will arrive and we’ll slip out. Here’s hoping.

“What now?” Yunan whispered.

“We wait. Give it a few min–” Olivia stopped herself short as, to her horror, a set of light footsteps approached. She shoved the pillowcase into Yunan’s hands, grabbed her collar, and pointed her to a hiding place behind a bookshelf. Then, as the pink newt scampered away, she made a mad but quiet dash for her usual chair and cracked open the nearest volume within reach. The doorknob turned.

“Miss Newton, what exactly are you doing up so late? It’s unlike you.” Von Stroheim stepped in. The mulberry newt had never quite regained that gentlemanly veneer Olivia had shattered, although he did try.

“You did say I could make use of your library. I am currently making use of it.” Olivia didn’t bother to look up from her book.

“It’s the middle of the night and you don’t have a lamp. Or a candle.”

“I have the moonlight. It is enough.”

The count hesitated. His eyes wandered over to the pried-open panel on the wall. “Something’s up here, Liv.”

“Liv. Really.” She glared. “Only one person is allowed to call me that.”

“. . . Who?” Suddenly, a hand tightened around his mouth and another held him fast. An unfamiliar voice rang in his ear.

“Me.”

Olivia couldn’t help but smile.

“Don’t rush it, Yu, but we have very little time before the shift change.” Yunan tore another strip of fabric off a pilfered curtain. They had managed to tie von Stroheim to a chair without making much noise, but the process had been long – and clumsy.

“I’m just adding another for his mouth–”

“No time.” Olivia slid the window up and looked back for her companion. “We need to climb down and run, now.”

Yunan nodded, dropping the cloth, grabbing the pillowcase, and leaving the aristocrat behind. He struggled at his bindings as the two crept out of the window to the ground. Olivia felt a great pressure fall from her shoulders as she crossed the threshold. The night air, forbidden for so long, seemed to greet her again with an invisible touch that tousled her hair. She drank it in and ran.

The hobnails of the guards’ boots clicked against stone some distance behind. The pair dashed as quietly as they could, first up and over the low wall at the edge of the terrace and then through the field on the other side. The grass, which parted with a faint swish, felt silky underfoot. Almost luxurious, Olivia mused.

Her elation was interrupted by a distant shout.

“GUARDS! GUARDS! THEY’RE OUT – THEY’RE RUNNING EAST!”

The blue newt whipped her head around. Far behind them, von Stroheim had managed to work himself free and was now gesticulating wildly out the library window. The guards’ boots rang out louder than ever, sprinting off the terrace in the direction their master pointed.

“Well, shit!”

“Shit!”

“You got any other plans, Liv?”

“I can slow them down! Just – oh, stop!” Olivia grabbed Yunan by the collar and yanked her back. Before them a sharp drop of several hundred feet loomed out of the darkness. The sound of running water echoed from below.

“. . . Shit.”

“. . . Hand me the sack, Yu.” The pink newt passed it over and turned to face the approaching clamour. Her companion withdrew a liquor bottle, an sharp-smelling rag, a shard of rock, and a firesteel.

“What the hell are you doing?!? You brought booze? There’s ten guards on their way and you get out the booze?”

Olivia wrapped the rag around the neck of the bottle, set it down, and frantically struck the flint and metal together until a shower of sparks fell on the alcohol-soaked cloth. It caught alight.

The escaped prisoner held the bottle aloft in one hand, flames casting a mad glow across her face. “Why do you think I asked for *over* 100 proof?” Yunan’s jaw dropped. With a wave of an arm her friend sent the fiery bottle sailing through the air, ending only when it came plummeting down on a rock. The glass shattered on impact. Its contents spilled out and, with a mighty whoof as the fire drew in oxygen, erupted into an inferno.

Olivia turned to her companion, the light of the burning hillside reflected in her eyes. “And now we are free to climb down.”

“That’ll still take ages!”

“Yeah, sorry, but I didn’t prepare a rope or anything! I didn’t know this was here!”

“Well – don’t worry. I got this.” Yunan flashed a smile. “Time to improvise.”

Before Olivia could react, the pink newt wrapped an arm around her and sent the two of them plummeting into the gorge.

Chapter Text

Olivia hit the water back-first, Yunan’s arm still wrapped around her waist. The impact knocked the wind out of her, but this wasn’t much of an issue given that, as an amphibian, she didn’t need to worry about drowning. It was nevertheless disconcerting – though she was glad she hit water and not stone.

Yunan, eyes open following their splashdown, struggled to keep a grip on her friend. Her hold around her waist slipped but she managed to catch the young newt with her tail and bring her into a tighter embrace. The current did its best to separate them. Her companion, held tight against her, wrapped her own arms around Yunan’s back. Don’t let go.

The soldier let a breath out. What’s the danger? The rock. Mind the rock. The river, tucked at the bottom of a narrow gorge, accelerated in its confines and swept the newts downstream at a rapid clip. Yunan rolled herself around until her legs faced in the direction of travel and, feeling out for the shore as it whipped past, pushed off to dodge a looming obstacle. The river pitched right and entered an eroded tunnel. The faint moonlight vanished. Oh frog. She tensed. Any second could bring a disastrous impact.

After an eternity in the dark, her foot snagged. A tangle of drowned branches caught the pink newt and held fast, whipping her around and slamming her into the rock face. She yelped, unheard over the rushing water, and her grip on Olivia loosened. In that instant the blue newt was clawed away by the current. Her hands flailed out. One connected with Yunan’s and the young lady desperately clenched her fist around the soldier’s arm. They were tethered again, but still at the mercy of the water.

A swell brought Yunan’s face to the surface. She gasped. “Hold on!” Olivia could hardly make it out.

The pink newt reached out for the rock face with her one free hand. It found it – uncomfortably close – and traveled up, hoping for a ledge in the dark. Yes. There. A lateral crack offered a handhold. Yunan readied herself. Just hold on, Liv. She pulled, raising her upper body up and out of the torrent. Then, half tucked over the lip of the ledge, she hauled the blue newt over the side with her other hand. “Now!”

Olivia, battered but still present, scrambled her way fully onto the rock shelf as Yunan’s strength left her. The branches cracked. The soldier had almost resigned herself to being swept away when she was hoisted out by her collar. She coughed. Her companion sputtered next to her. Any semblance of strength remaining deserted Yunan. The arm propping her up gave out and she collapsed, relieved, and lost consciousness.

“Yu. Yu. Wake up.” A small hand tapped Yunan’s cheek. She opened her eyes. Olivia’s worried face was lit by soft sunlight shining down the length of the chamber. “Wake up. We need to move.”

Yunan spat a bit of water out of her mouth. “Technically – we have been.”

The blue newt rolled her eyes. “Von Stroheim will know where the river goes. Odds are he is already out there scouting the way.”

“Figures.” Yunan shrugged, then coughed. The sound echoed off the walls. “You seen a way out of here?”

“The light filtering in suggests yes, yes there is. But once we reach the outside we must be careful so as not to be spotted.” Olivia reached out a hand to help the taller newt to her feet. “Additionally . . . it appears our supply bag has deserted us.”

Yunan wore an apologetic expression. “My bad, Liv. I think it came loose in the water.”

“Perfectly understandable. We had larger concerns.” Olivia smiled faintly and brushed a fleck of dirt from Yunan’s sleeve. “Now – shall we get this show on the road?”

The journey out of the cavern took less than an hour, made easy by the newts’ natural climbing abilities. The pair ducked into a divot to avoid the distant eyes of von Stroheim, spotted far away on his sparrow, before dashing into the relative safety of the forest. By the time the navy-colored bird returned for a second pass they were well and truly gone.

The day passed uneventfully. Olivia reasoned it would make sense to head east before turning south so as to increase their chances of evasion, which Yunan agreed with. The two spent their time weaving between trees and picking off bugs to snack on as they passed. The blue newt hopped from gnarled root to gnarled root to avoid falling in mud. It pooled, ever-present, in the low points of the forest floor.

“You know, the book I have – well, had, it is now somewhere in the river – mentioned that these forests are home to a particularly delicious species of edible mushroom. Or, if you have hunting experience, we could try catching some grubhogs.”

“GAH!”

“What?”

“Grubhogs! No, no, let’s not. Where do they live? Or more importantly where don’t they live?”

Olivia raised an eyebrow. “Er . . . why exactly are you so adamant on avoiding grubhogs?”

“There was an incident! When I was a kid, before you met me. I’d like to stay as far away as possible if you don’t mind.”

“So, it is more of a learned response than an irrational fear?”

“It’s a completely rational fear. I don’t have irrational fears. Besides soup.”

“Soup?”

Yunan sighed. “Look, it’s just terrible! I don’t like the smell of it, I don’t like the taste, texture, I don’t know! If I can avoid it I don’t even want to see it. I’m fully aware it’s absurd but at this point I just have to accept it, I have tried so many times but I just can’t do soup. I hate it with a burning passion. I-it’s not a food, really, it’s a contaminant. It makes me viscerally uncomfortable. The concept of it. I don’t even like sitting next to someone having soup. Just, just – no.”

There was a long pause. “. . . . . Sometimes I wonder how you’ve survived to adulthood.”

“I did it by avoiding the grubhogs. I know they’re after me.”

“They might even have soup.”

“I HOPE NOT.”

Olivia smiled. “In other, non-soup-related news, the sun will be going down in a couple hours. We should find a place to rest.”

“Agreed.” Yunan rubbed her shoulder. “I need it. That damned river did a number on me.”

“Do you think we will be warm enough?”

“Well – we’re not in the properly high parts of the mountains, not yet, and the season’s been turning. On my way up towards the manor it was chilly in the windy spots but we’re fairly sheltered here. So, I think we’ll be just fine.” The pink newt, effortlessly clambering over a rock, reached back to give her companion a hand.

Olivia graciously accepted the assistance. She balanced atop the outcropping and searched for a way forwards. “Glad to hear. I can’t handle cold.”

“Really?”

“Nope. Outside of summer I always throw on an extra layer. When I was growing up I lived in the palace with my mother, it can get surprisingly chilly there.”

“Never would’ve guessed.” Another hand from Yunan brought Olivia back down to the ground. The forest was beginning to transform, becoming less damp as they traveled. Broadleaf trees would soon be giving way to evergreens.

“Well, you never visited when we were at school. I returned home on breaks, I would have been perfectly happy to take you along had you asked.”

“Well, I – I didn’t want to impose, you know.”

“No, no, it’s fine!”

“Next time, then! Whenever I get leave.” The young soldier grinned.

“That’s contingent on a lot of things.”

“Relax! I can handle this, we’ll be back in Newtopia before you know it!”

The blue newt poked at her shoulder. “Oh, what’s this? Unearned confidence? This is new.”

“It is. And I’m rather enjoying it.”

“. . . Is that why you rescued me?”

“What?”

“Confidence. Independence.”

Yunan turned her head. “How the hell’d you know that?”

“I’m a Newton, Yu. We have an eye for reading people. Mom’s the same way, only more so.” The blue newt smiled, remembering. “She can look at some Newtopian apparatchik and strip them right down to the bones. It’s scary, honestly.”

“Must be useful when you’re at the right hand of the king.”

“Definitely, it’s part of why she has the position. Andrias is – well, to be honest, he’s a big goof, in a good way, but that means he needs someone to bring the discipline and decorum. There is a time and place for lightheartedness but when handling affairs of state you can’t get anything done unless the people respect you and view you as legitimate. That’s why you need it.”

Yunan let out a low whistle. “Wow. Never thought to look at it that way.”

“You would be surprised at how practical presentation can be. Even in your line of work – nobody flees from ‘Bill of Ribbiton.’ But everyone would flee from, I don’t know, ‘Yunan the Great and Terrible, Slayer of All.’”

“I oughta try that now! Thanks for the idea!”

“Please, please don’t.”

“You can’t stop me. Nothing stops the great Lieutenant Yunan!” She clenched a fist aloft. “Everyone must know.”

“Lieutenant?” Olivia chortled. “Everyone hates a butterbar.”

“Well screw you, Liv.”

“Screw ya too, Yu.”

“That’s a strange way to say ‘thank you for saving me from my imprisonment.’”

“You have a curious way of saying ‘in doing so I have earned myself the ire of my commanding officers for eternity and quite possibly a court martial for desertion.’”

“Oh, please. If I just disappeared for a while then yeah, sure. But I was wounded, and now I’m gathering vital intelligence! And rescuing the daughter of the king’s advisor! That counts for something!”

“Entirely fair, entirely fair. My mother would have Brudenewt’s head if he tried anything.”

The pink newt picked her way over a root. “Yet again, I’m curious how you know about that.”

“Of course I know the general, he’s in and out of the palace all the time! Briefings with the king, or, more realistically, buttering up the king.”

“Is that how he keeps his position?”

“Well – no. That he keeps to appease the nobility. Most are content, but there exists a vocal faction within their ranks who desire more power and influence. The king gave the most prominent family among them, the Brudenewts, the generalship in order to keep them satisfied. The realm had been at peace for so long that the arrangement seemed a safe bet.” Yunan nodded. “I expect this large scale conflict has thrown Brudenewt’s weaknesses into sharper relief, however. Andrias cannot directly remove him without provoking internal reprisal from the nobility. Still, Brudenewt knows the precarity of his position, so he guards it from any perceived threats. Thus, when a young dynamic new officer arrives and questions his authority – and one from a less-than-noble family, no offense–”

“None taken.”

“–he must do away with them.”

“So that’s why he treats me like shit.”

Olivia laughed. “To put it that way, yes! He’d like to make you quit, or find a way to expel you from the military.”

“Hell of a way to run an army.”

“Indeed. You must remember, though, he does not consider the interests of Amphibia. Only his own.”

As Olivia finished speaking the trees parted to reveal a meadow clearing, oval in shape. The sky burned with a shock of blue fading to orange as the day began its slide into sunset. Long grass and budding wildflowers swished in the breeze. Towards the end of the clearing stood a ruin, long collapsed and weathered by rain. It was little more than a tumble of stones.

“Wow.”

“Wow indeed.” Yunan smirked at her companion. “Now I could go for a run, but I’m guessing you’re pretty tired out from today’s hike. That right, city girl?”

Olivia went red. “Hey! I’m doing just fine, I’ll have you know.”

“You sure?”

“Ok, fine, you’re right. I suppose you suggest we rest here?” The tall grass by the ruin did look inviting.

“Yep. I’ll keep watch, at least for a bit. I honestly don’t expect that anyone’s been tracking us with our route.”

“I’ll have to trust your judgment on that.”

The two newts made their way for the stones. Their surfaces were weathered and pockmarked with age. How old? Olivia remembered her mother’s even voice. Long ago, she had said, there lived amphibians who could do great and terrible things. It was little more than a bedtime story, half-finished fantasy of a prelapsarian age. She ran her hand over the cool stone. Who are you?

“Newts to Olivia?”

She blinked. “Ah, sorry. Just thinking.” She glanced up to where Yunan sat perched on a rock. She’s so . . . effortless. Freewheeling. How does she do it?

“I’ll be up here, for a little while. Get some rest. I was going to call you a city kid again before I realized that it also applies to me.”

“That didn’t stop you from using it earlier.”

“I can be slow on the uptake.” She stuck out her tongue in jest. “Sleep tight.”

The blue newt slept well in the grass. It had been a long time since she’d had someone watching over her.

Chapter Text

Yunan slipped off to sleep a couple hours after her companion when the sun fully disappeared from the sky. The primary threat pursuing them, she reasoned, would be that nobleman on his bird. He wouldn’t be out flying at night.

“Did you sleep well?” A soft voice prodded the soldier from her rest.

“Mmff,” she yawned, stretching her arms out above her. “You’re up early.”

“I got in the habit of rising with the sun when I was working in Loughop,” Olivia replied. “Does this mean I got the drop on you?”

“What? No! I’m perfectly capable of defending myself.”

“Even while snoozing on a rock in the morning sun?”

“. . . Shut up.”

“Ha. Well then. What is the agenda for today?”

“I suspect you got tired of walking east for hours but it’ll be totally different today, don’t worry! Today we will be walking south!”

“Please tell me there will be appreciable differences besides that. My dress is . . .” Olivia glanced down at her garment. It had been a lustrous yellow when she’d found it in her closet at Raffenstein Manor but a hard day on the lam had given it an ever-spreading dirt ombré. “. . . Annihilated.”

“None whatsoever.”

“Fantastic! Let’s begin.”

The day’s hike south traced along the spine of the mountains. It was easier than going against the grain, even if it was slightly riskier. She’s soft, Yunan thought to herself, best not to push her too far by climbing into the range. Not that being soft is a bad thing.

She seems quieter today. Is that normal? Is that good? She might be tired. Should we rest? Can we afford to rest? Can’t discount the possibility that we’re being followed. At this pace we’ll reach Newtopian lines in . . . perhaps a week and a half depending on the breaks. I don’t want to be demanding by asking her to step it up, no. She’s had a rough few months. Just keep her safe. Yunan smiled to herself. I can do that.

Wait a minute.

“Do you hear that?”

Olivia looked up, slightly startled. “What?”

“That chirping. Slightly distant, bearing southeast.”

The blue newt closed her eyes to focus her hearing. “Yes. That’s a . . . common sparrow?”

Yunan recognized the chirp as well. It brought her home to mind, how the birds of the royal aviaries in Newtopia would fly overhead. She’d had time to herself in the afternoons after school was through, when she would head to the market for a treat or set out on any number of youthful adventures. On overcast days the king’s messengers would swoop low to avoid the clouds and fly just above the rooftops. Just out of reach.

“That’s a sparrow alright. Try to avoid making noise, I’d like to get eyes on it.” The lieutenant brought a finger to her lips. Shh.

She crouched low and pieced her way through the brush with Olivia tailing a cautious distance behind. The sparrow came into view across a clearing. It was chirping furiously with one wing tangled in brambles.

“Poor thing,” Olivia muttered over Yunan’s shoulder. She stepped out from the treeline but, as she did so, the pink newt felt an anxious tingle on the back of her neck. She turned around.

“Liv – Liv, stop.”

“What? I’m just going to . . . ” The newt’s prim voice trailed off as she looked back. Yunan stood silhouetted by a great yellow eye.

The sparrow wasn’t the only bird in the area.

“NEWTS ABOVE, YUNAN, THAT’S A–”

A heron. That, that is a heron. Yunan shook off her momentary fear and forced her legs to move. No point in getting hysterical. At least be somewhat dignified while your remains are splattered over a three mile radius.

The heron screeched, which gave the soldier a moment’s grace to slip under and away from the giant bird’s beak. Its plumage was a little more brown and splotchy than what Yunan would have expected. A juvenile? Olivia shrieked in the background. Probably. The heron twisted above her as she weaved between its legs, trying to find an angle. Once it jabbed, a blinding fast attack that Yunan only barely evaded. Then the duel ceased. Is it tired? Hey, you big bastard, look at me. But, to Yunan’s dismay, the heron’s eye wasn’t fixed on her anymore. It had a new target.

The mottled neck of the beast turned in the direction of Olivia, who was standing stock-still and hyperventilating in the meadow. The bird advanced.

“Liv!” She didn’t respond. Shit. Yunan used the reprieve from the heron’s attacks to grab a sturdy branch. It was still closing on the paralyzed newt. A few more seconds and she’d be gone.

Olivia still failed to move. She could only watch the heron’s hypnotizing eyes grow ever closer. The beak opened slightly in preparation for the killing blow – but before it could strike, Yunan dashed up and bludgeoned the beast in the side of the head.

“OLIVIA! Get it together!”

The young lady inhaled sharply and shook her head to clear the feeling. Her legs lost their footing and she toppled back into the grass, feet flailing, before she scrambled back up and ran from the scene.

Damn it, Yunan thought, fending off the heron’s strikes with her stick. The next snap of the beak landed a bit too close for comfort. Great. The heron pulled back, raising itself until it loomed above the lieutenant. A chill ran down her spine – they both knew, it seemed, that this game wouldn’t go on forever. At least one of us got away.

There was a rustling in the grass to Yunan’s right. Olivia, with a running start, appeared and lobbed something at the heron. It struck home. A small, round, whitish object flew from her hand and lodged itself in the heron’s nare. It shrieked and wavered, twisting its head and stamping its legs. Finally the great bird took to its wings and retreated. Olivia fell to her hands and knees, still breathing heavily.

The weight of the fight dropped from Yunan’s shoulders. She took a moment to collect herself, then went sauntering over to her companion.

“Liv?”

“Y-yes?” Halteringly, the blue newt stood up to face Yunan.

“What was that about?”

“That – well, I, er, thought about the environment, what might grow here. We’re high up and it’s a little soggy so I grabbed a wild onion and tossed it into its olfactory system. Irritant.”

Yunan let out a heavy breath. “Yes, thank you for that, but before then?”

“Sorry, sorry, I . . I don’t know what came over me there. You know I can deal with danger if I know what I’m facing, but out of nowhere like that . . . it got to me. I’m sorry,” Olivia stammered.

“Yes. Well. Don’t let it happen again. I don’t want you getting yourself hurt.” Yunan turned to their original focus, the sparrow trapped in the brambles. “Can I get you to deal with the other bird?”

“Yes, yes, of course.” The two made their way over. It was burnt orange with a cream-colored underbelly, considerably smaller than the heron but still towering over the newts. “Look at the plumage, Yu. I think it’s a male.” Olivia stepped up to it. The sparrow regarded her, agitated chirps turning to curious chittering.

“H-hey, big sir.” Olivia’s voice still wasn’t entirely settled. “Apologies for your predicament. We will do our best to get you out. Yunan, I will keep him calm if you can handle the wing.”

The pink newt nodded. Maneuvering around in the bush was tricky, but she managed to get the bird’s wing out of the thorns without too much difficulty. Once freed, Olivia checked it over.

“Besides some minor scrapes, his wing appears to be in good condition. He must not have pulled with too much force, even while tangled up.”

“Smart bird,” Yunan remarked. “Think he’s up to fly?”

“Fly?”

“Well – if we have a sparrow now, it’s worth a shot.”

“Yu, that’s incredibly rash, he’s not one of the riding birds raised in the royal aviaries. We found him in a field fifteen minutes ago.”

“Beats walking.”

Olivia sighed. “You know how to convince me, and I resent you for it.” The feathers on the sparrow’s neck felt downy and soft beneath the first layer. “I’ve flown a number of times in my life. I sincerely hope this is not disagreeable to you, sir, er, sparrow.”

“Eternal law of the universe says you gotta name him.”

“I refuse to believe that that is codified anywhere.”

“Everyone knows, Liv! You gotta!”

“If you’re so passionate about it, you name him.”

“Fine.” Yunan looked the bird over. “I dub thee, uh, Scorchy.”

“Scorchy.”

“What, do you want something pretentious?”

“No, but that’s–”

“Boom, done. Wait, actually, he needs a last name. Ummm . . . sparrow. You called him ‘Sir Sparrow,’ right? Scorchy, uh, Sparrow. That’s his name.”

“’Sparrow?’ Just ‘Sparrow?’”

“Brevity is the soul of wit, Olivia.”

“I refuse to believe that a surname is in any way necessary for a bird.”

“What if we need to fill out some documents when we get home? What if he has to sign his name, what then?”

“He’s a bird!”

“Yeah, I suppose you’re right, he has bigger problems. He’d have to hold the pencil in his beak to sign anything and I doubt that’s got a lot of fine motor control.”

Olivia slapped her palm to her face.

“Anyway – let’s see what he thinks.” Yunan clambered her way up onto Scorchy’s back and reached a hand down to Olivia. “You coming up?”

“I suppose,” she replied, and took it. “We’ll need to be careful, usually there would be a saddle.”

“Yeah, well, they don’t exactly grow on trees.”

“Some of them have seats made of wood. So yes, in a technical sense, they do,” Olivia mused. She patted Scorchy’s head and ruffled his feathers a little. “In any case – Scorchy, I hate to impose, but it’s time we get out of here.”

The sparrow pecked at the ground absentmindedly.

“Yu, he’s not doing anything.”

“Let me handle this. ALRIGHT SCORCHY, HAUL ASS!” Yunan dramatically pointed to the sky for emphasis. The bird instantly snapped to attention, beat his wings, and lifted off from the ground. “See? Works with kids too.”

“Woah!” Olivia wobbled at the sudden movement and wrapped her arms around Yunan’s waist. “Fine, then. Have it your way. I just hope you haven’t alerted that heron again.”

“Oh, we’ll be fine. I promise! I’ll keep it to low altitude so we’re harder to spot from a distance.”

“Have you ever ridden a bird before?”

“No, but it seems pretty easy.” Yunan leaned and brought the sparrow into a slow bank to the left. They completed most of a lazy circle before leveling out to the south. “He mostly flies himself.”

“I assume you know where you’re going?”

“Relax! ‘Course I do. Remember how I stayed with a frog family? Their homestead’s to the south so we can skirt along the mountains ‘til we reach it. At this rate we’ll make it before nightfall.”

Olivia looked out over the landscape. The springtime had filled the rolling hills with some intangible energy, a blooming green that seemed to glow from every leaf. Thousands upon thousands passing by below. Then the bird dipped into the shelter of a valley and the newt watched as the leaves turned to meadow grasses and white flowers rippling in the wind like waves on the sea. Scorchy flapped his wings and they rose, cresting a hilltop, and Olivia strained her eyes. Somewhere out there, far to the west, was home. A little piece of it had come back to her. It would still be quite a journey to reach Newtopia, but now she could wait. They were on their way. Olivia could wrap her arms around her piece of home and hold on.

“Hey, Liv?”

“Yes?”

“Sorry for snapping at you earlier. I get it, it happens to all of us.”

“It’s ok. I understand.” She squeezed Yunan a little tighter. “I was overwhelmed. I’m just worried that you will think that I can’t handle myself.”

“. . . I know you can. I trust you.”

“Thank you, Yunan. That means a lot to me,” Olivia murmured. The hills rolled on beneath them.

Chapter Text

“Hey, Mom? Look out there. You see that?” Manke Frosh pointed out the window.

Mrs. Frosh put down the book she was reading and stood up from her chair. She made her way to the window and squinted. “That’s a sparrow, Manke.”

“It’s heading towards us.”

“It’s coming from the north. I hope it’s not bad news. Manke, get your father.”

“Wait – look who’s on it. Is that Yunan?”

“. . . . . I’ll be darned, it is!”

Mrs. Frosh and Manke stepped out onto the porch in time to see the sparrow alight on their front path. It was certainly a more dignified entrance than Yunan had made previously – and this time, she wasn’t alone.

“Hiya!” Yunan exclaimed, helping a pale blue newt off the bird’s back. “Sorry to drop in again out of the blue.” Her companion hopped down to the ground and dusted off her shredded dress.

“Not a problem at all, dearie. Who might this be?”

“This is my old friend Olivia! Turned out she’d been captured by Ragnar so I busted her out of there.”

Olivia chimed in. “Or so to speak. It was more of a joint operation.” She poked Yunan in the side.

“Yeah, well, you at least had a top-tier partner.”

“I’ll allow it.” She smiled. “Olivia Newton of Newtopia. Pleased to make your acquaintance.” The newt performed a gentle curtsy, which caught the periwinkle frog a little off-guard.

“Newton? Really? You wouldn’t happen to be related to Lady. . .”

“Well – yes, I am. I am her daughter.”

Mrs. Frosh’s eyes widened a little in amazement. “Wow! Okay, then. Won’t you two come inside? You must have quite the story to tell. Wait – Manke? Manke!”

Manke had skirted around the two newts and was now gently petting Scorchy Sparrow. Rather than being irritated, the bird seemed to enjoy the attention.

“I hope that’s alright. She’s always loved avians,” commented Mrs. Frosh. “Not too many to be found in farm country.”

Manke looked back towards her mother and the guests. “Mom, can I bring him to the barn? Also, could you get Dad to grab some salve for his wing? He’s got a few scratches.”

Mrs. Frosh turned, deferring to the newts. Yunan spoke up. “Fine by me, Manke. You’re the expert.”

“While she’s doing that, come in and I’ll get you a change of clothes. Oh, and dinner. I’ll bet you’re hungry.” The frog opened the door and gestured for the two to follow inside. “Miss Newton, I assume that Yunan’s told you, but we’d be happy to let you two rest here. It’s – well – a bit modest, unfortunately. We only have the one guest room.”

Olivia glanced up at Yunan, who was already opening her mouth to reply. “I don’t think that’s too much of an issue. Liv?”

She shook her head, very much hoping that her years of immersion in the subtle world of courtly etiquette had granted her the composure to avoid noticeably blushing. “Oh, no, I’m not opposed.” Newts above. Absolutely nothing is amiss.

“Alright then! Make yourselves at home, Yunan can introduce you to everyone. Just don’t tell all about your adventures first thing – I want to be there for the story.” The motherly frog smiled and dashed off to begin her errands while the newts proceeded to the kitchen and sat down. Scorchy was surprisingly comfortable, but the long flight had made more terrestrial seating look downright heavenly.

The blue newt turned to her companion. “How long are you planning on staying here? Just the night?”

“We could. We are close to Newtopian lines, less than a day’s flight. But – I do have an idea I’ve been tossing around . . .”

Olivia raised an eyebrow.

“Bringing you back to Newtopia is my top priority, of course. We have another opportunity though: remember that prison camp north of here?”

“I recall, yes.” It was a sour memory for her. “It seemed to be a temporary affair.”

“It was still there when I passed by. They couldn’t’ve been able to pack up and transfer the prisoners further east in the amount of time since. Plus, they are trained Newtopian troops. If given the opportunity I’m sure they’d be ready and willing to bust out.”

“It is a gamble . . .”

Yunan looked at her companion tenderly. “It’s up to you. Don’t feel obligated to put yourself in any more danger. If you wish to return to Newtopia directly, then we’ll do that.”

Olivia weighed her options. Home was so close now. She could be in safe territory in a matter of hours. But there again came the thought she’d had riding Scorchy – the longing inside her didn’t feel as sharp now. And I’m sure Newtopia would appreciate having a complement of their troops back. They must be anxious for good news.

Not to mention it’ll mean more time with Yu – no, Liv, get hold of yourself.

Eventually, she placed her small hand over Yunan’s. “I’ll do it.”

At that moment a new presence entered the room: another periwinkle frog, perhaps a couple years Olivia’s junior. Startled, she quickly withdrew her hand.

“Yunan! Oh, you have company. Is this that friend you were telling me about?”

Olivia most definitely blushed this time. Curses, my powers are limited. She side-eyed Yunan, who thankfully didn’t seem to notice.

“Yep! Her name’s Olivia, she’s the one who went to Newtopia U. I’ll tell the story in a bit.”

The other newt regained her composure and offered her greetings. “Olivia Newton. And you are?”

“Rivkele. Or Rivy, according to Dovid. He’s the little one, but it’s past his bedtime so you’ll probably see him tomorrow.” She smiled. “How long have you two known each other?”

“A few years, off and on,” replied the lieutenant. “I think I told you, we met in school ages ago. We lost track of each other for five years but it turns out she’s just as prim and proper now as she was then!”

“Hey!” Olivia elbowed Yunan in the side.

“What? Don’t shoot the messenger.”

“Oh you would, you truculent sellsword.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means you’re a brute.”

“I’m cultured. I have hobbies, you know.”

“Name one.”

“. . . . . Topiary?”

Olivia sighed. “Let me guess, using swords instead of garden shears.”

“Liv, you know me so well!”

“I was informed that there was only one guest room. I was not informed it contained only one bed,” stated Olivia crossly. It was less an objection and more a delay of the inevitable.

“It’s an adventure, Liv. Sacrifices must be made.” Yunan flopped down on the bed. “What, would you prefer to just lie down in a field again?”

“I think I would like to lie down forever in a graveyard to be specific.” She sighed. “Scoot over, I guess. I’ll be on this side. Just don’t steal all the covers.” She ran a fold of her linen nightgown between her fingers.

“You’re just saying that because you want them all to yourself.”

“These accusations, Yunan.” The young lady tucked herself in and rolled on her side to face outwards. She didn’t normally sleep like that, but it was easier than the internal confrontation she’d instigate by facing the other way.

It didn’t completely extinguish her thoughts.

What’s gotten into you, Miss Newton? A woman of your caliber should be invulnerable, unshakable, at all times behaving in the manner that befits your station. Now you are gallivanting around with what many at court would call a common soldier, leaping from cliffs, taming wild sparrows, and soon to attempt some new harebrained venture. What would they think? What would they say?

It’s not heroic so much as foolish. You’re crazy.

Or maybe you’re just meeting reality for the first time.

. . .

Stop mincing words, Olivia. You know what this is.

Olivia slept in the next morning. It was her first chance to truly rest in several days, so by the time she finally began to stir the sun was comfortably filtering through the windows.

She didn’t open her eyes at first, just yawned and tried to stretch and – Oh, newts above. She peeked. Sure enough, she was snuggled up against the still-sleeping Yunan. Ever so slowly she disentangled herself. Pleasedon’tnoticepleasedon’tnoticepleasedon’tnotice. Now to just get out the door . . .

The newt cautiously exited the room. The door clicked shut. Olivia breathed a sigh of relief.

“~w a k e y w a k e y~”

“WHAT THE FU–”

Olivia barely had time to look up at the small frog on the ceiling above before he dropped directly on top of her. She wobbled and clawed at her perched ambusher. By some miracle she resisted the urge to scream obscenities.

“Dovid, be nice! She could have your head. Possibly for real.” An embarrassed-looking Rivkele snatched the frog off Olivia’s head.

“I wouldn’t,” said the newt. She corrected her hair with a hand. “My mother might.”

“Really?”

Olivia flashed a smile that concealed razor wire in its ambiguity.

Awoken by the sound, a pink newt in borrowed pajamas opened the door and, seeing Dovid, patted him on the head. “Hey, little man, what now? How’s your bone collection coming along?”

“Yunan, this tiny brigand dropped on my head as soon as I stepped into the hall.”

“Oh, he did? Great job using those ambush tactics I taught you, D! They come in handy.”

“Don’t encourage him!”

Dovid squirmed his way out of his sister’s arms, dashed back to the kitchen, and returned with a picnic basket which he shoved into Olivia’s arms. “You’re fancy.” The newt raised an eyebrow.

“Oh, that,” interjected Rivkele. “Well, I was thinking, you two have had quite the adventure so far. You deserve a break! You know the lake up the hill, Yunan? How ‘bout you take the morning off and get breakfast together? It’s ready and packed in there.”

“That is an excellent idea, Rivy. Liv, you down?”

“Er, uh, yes!” Olivia nodded perhaps a little too fervently – the events of the morning had really thrown off her usual rhythm. A clumsy cover was all she could manage.

“Sweet!” The lieutenant lightly punched her shoulder. Rivkele smiled mischevously.

Oh no, thought Olivia. She knows too much.

Breakfast by the lake was less of a disaster than Olivia originally estimated. It was the first time the newt felt comfortable letting her guard down – most of it – since Loughop before the war. It was easier with Yunan around.

Speaking of.

“Thinking of something, Blue?” Yunan, mouth half-full of waffle, looked over to her companion. She was staring out across the water.

“Well . . . we’re closer to home now, you know. And believe me, I’ve missed it like nothing else – you should’ve seen me blow up at von Stroheim when I first got captured – but I also don’t know what I’m going to do next.” She sighed. “Resume my post – if I even have a post anymore, or spend my time elsewhere.”

“Don’t feel the need to have it all figured out, Liv.” Yunan patted her shoulder. “Though I know what I’m doing when I get back.”

“Which is?”

“I’ll get a sandwich.”

Olivia, try as she might, could not suppress her cackle. “Really. I’m envious of your ability to be so . . . unburdened.” She waved a hand out over the lake. “Look at me, rescued from imprisonment and twenty-four hours out from nearly being butchered by a heron and I’m already concerned about next week’s itinerary.”

“Advice, hmm . . . not sure how much this helps, but I really have no idea what I’m doing on a minute-to-minute basis. Try that.”

“The more you speak the less reassuring this gets.”

“Somewhere there’s a happy medium.”

“But wait – you had that tactical advice for General Brudenewt, and you managed to navigate us out of the wilderness without getting caught. I’m sure a panel of scientists would judge that you show some indications of executive thought.”

“High praise,” Yunan smiled. “As for you, miss know-it-all, you were pretty handy with that onion ploy. You can think on your feet.”

“Look at us, being functional adults after all.”

They paused. Wisps of fog rolled off the shore’s rocky outcroppings and over the surface of the lake.

“Gosh, that’s beautiful.”

The two sat in silence for a while.

Chapter Text

The kitchen table before Olivia and Yunan creaked under the weight of dozens of old farming implements – pitchforks, mattocks, hoes, all worn or rusted past the point of usefulness in farm work. They were still suitable for one last purpose.

“This should work, yes?”

Yunan nodded at Mr. Frosh. “Very much so. Where’d you get ‘em?”

“Called in a few favors, checked around at market to see if any of the neighbors had old tools they could spare. Turns out they did.”

“I must thank you for your generosity, sir,” added Olivia. She held herself high and spoke with an even tone of voice, like a Newtopian diplomat.

“Oh, think nothing of it, it’s just good to help out.” The frog puffed up a little. “I hope all goes well for you on your mission.” He then turned to Yunan and patted her on the shoulder. “As for you – write us when the war’s over, okay? Keep in touch.”

“Oh, I will. I figure Dovid will want the full rundown of my exploits. See, Liv? Someone appreciates me.”

“I believe my ability to keep you out of trouble should be considered an exploit in and of itself.”

The group wrapped up the implements in a sheet of canvas and carried the bundle out to the front path where Scorchy was waiting. Manke stood at the side of the freshly-groomed sparrow, feeding him out of her hand. The newts saddled up, bid one final goodbye to their hosts, and took off into the darkening afternoon sky.

By the time twilight crept up, Yunan had taken Scorchy above the scattered cloud layer and begun scanning the ground below for landmarks. Olivia spotted the first – a road snaking its way through the forest. It led to the barley field, the guardhouse, and, at last, the prison camp itself.

“Stay high for a minute, we should survey the scene before diving in,” Olivia advised.

“Agreed. I doubt anyone’s going to spot us against a sky this dark.” Yunan brought the sparrow into a slow circle above the camp. There was a smattering of activity; cooking fires, groups of prisoners congregating, the occasional guard around the edge. It was a quiet night.

“Verdict, Liv?”

“Your humble advisor suggests bringing us in for a landing. Aim for the middle.”

“Right on.” Scorchy winged over into a quiet dive. The only audible sound was the low whistle of the wind through his feathers.

Far below, Sergeant Victoad Tsoi of the Newtopian Army was carrying a pot of water back from the pump. He sighed. Quite a ways away from two months ago. Who knows how the war’s going – * WHUMP*.

A cloth bundle of something heavy crashed down only a few feet ahead of him. Sgt. Tsoi recoiled for a second, then rubbed his eyes in disbelief as a sparrow alighted in the dirt. It bore a couple familiar faces.

“Hi, Vitya!” A pink newt, long thought dead and grinning like mad. “Been a while. Care for a pitchfork?”

“Come now,” added the other. “They’re really quite fetching.”

Within minutes, a transformation seemed to come over the Newtopians. Their old guise of ‘prisoners’ had melted away and was replaced with a renewed professionalism. Newts in patchwork coats became soldiers, tired old men became hardened veterans, plowshares became swords. The newts gathered with their old units and set about taking over the camp. Some guards tried to fight but before long all were overpowered and tied up in the farmhouse outside.

When all was said and done, Yunan – no, Lieutenant Yunan, Olivia reminded herself – assembled the troops in the central clearing. Her companion seated herself at her side atop Scorchy.

“Alright! We’ve only got one shot at this, so listen closely. The plan’s simple: we’re going to stick together in squads, maintain a marching column, and just go all night. We should be able to reach Newtopian lines by morning if we maintain a good pace. Distribute the sticks around in case anything goes to shit. Understood?”

She received a universal reply of “Yes, ma’am.” Olivia smiled.

“Right then. Miss Newton and I will provide cover from above when it’s light enough to fly. Sgt. Tsoi’s squad will lead the column. Now let’s get this thing on the hump, we’ve got some marching to do!”

Yunan’s estimation turned out to be correct: by the next morning, the Newtopians were indeed nearing friendly territory. All that stood in their way was a mile-long push across open ground and a shallow river.

As soon as dawn broke Olivia and Yunan took off on Scorchy and began patrolling the area. Both strained their bag-laden eyes searching for anything out of place – even a small dot on the horizon could spell danger.

Olivia yawned. She held the shaft of an old farm implement in her hands. It was a clumsy and fairly stout affair, rather unlike the slender, finely-worked lances that Newtopia’s swallow-cavaliers carried. It was the best they could do, she supposed. I’d kill for a buggachino. When I get home I’ll – wait. What’s that ?

“Yunan. There, 8 o’clock east.” She pointed.

At the end of her outstretched finger was a small dot flying just above treetop level. At their distance it appeared black but upon further inspection was a rich navy. Below and behind it, on the ground – a column of shuffling insectoid shapes.

“Oh my word. That’s von Stroheim. He’s laying a pheromone trail. They got it working.”

“What?”

“When I was stuck at the manor, I overheard a meeting between him, Ragnar, and some boffin. They were working on a method of controlling barbariants with pheromones and using them to haul supplies, but – in a pinch, they could have other uses.” Olivia swallowed. “Guess they only had the ants available.”

“Shit.”

“We need to interrupt him before he reaches the troops, otherwise they’ll be overrun. I doubt the pheromone will work over water so once they cross they’ll be safe. But before then . . .”

Yunan leaned forward and patted their sparrow’s neck. “Scorchy. Push it.” The sparrow chirped and began beating his wings with a redoubled intensity.

“Don’t head directly towards him, Yunan,” Olivia advised. “He doesn’t appear to have spotted us. Circle around and approach from the east, that way we’ll catch him in the back from out of the sun.”

The lieutenant nodded. They circled around and, within a couple minutes, lined up on their target. Von Stroheim was flying straight and level at the head of the barbariant line. His swallow held a dripping cask of what Olivia figured to be the pheromone.

“You’re good. Take us in.” Olivia passed the improvised lance up to Yunan. She accepted it, then leaned forwards.

The blue newt felt her stomach jump a little as the bird nosed over. They picked up speed rapidly. Von Stroheim’s mount grew larger and larger, Yunan brought her lance to bear, and Olivia could swear they were going to crash straight into him – then at the last second the traitorous newt banked out of the way. Yunan’s attack missed by inches. Scorchy pulled out of the dive only moments before hitting the forest canopy, causing his riders to be forced down into their seats by the G-forces. Olivia’s vision narrowed. She grimaced and pushed past it.

“Yunan, I know this is weird, but climb!”

“What?” Yunan had levelled the sparrow off. They were still travelling at a tremendous clip due to their dive.

“Climb!”

Yunan sighed. “I hope you know what you’re doing.” She leaned back and brought Scorchy into a steady ascent.

“I’ve seen von Stroheim fly before – his bird is fast and nimble, but Scorchy’s larger and has more powerful wings! I think we might be able to maintain and gain energy better.”

“And?”

“If we have the energy advantage, we can engage with him at will and force him to burn his away. Control the energy, control the pace of the engagement.”

“Olivia, gonna be honest, you’re a fucking genius.”

“Why thanks,” Olivia blushed. “Just don’t get cocky. This might be a close one.”

While Scorchy exchanged speed for altitude von Stroheim’s bird frantically beat his wings. He had been flying low and slow and so was in no position to fight, at least for the moment. The important thing, Olivia thought, was that the pheromone trail had been interrupted. Their job was to keep it that way.

“Keep your distance, Yu. Let him waste time coming to us.” The sparrow leveled out and maintained a steady turn. Both sets of riders scoured their opponents, waiting for an opportunity.

“We’re going to have to go in sometime. Be best when he’s still climbing.”

“I suppose you’re right.” Olivia’s grip around Yunan tightened.

Yunan held her attack until von Stroheim was only a little under their altitude. Then she inhaled and brought Scorchy to bear, swinging down like a pendulum. The element of surprise was gone now. This will be dicier.

The aristocrat saw it coming, of course. Rather than run he instead turned into the attack once the Newtopians had committed. Yunan, arm outstretched, saw the sun glint off the varnished wood of the traitor’s lance as he raised it. FUCK! There was nothing she could do – Scorchy was moving too fast to abort. Pulling away too sharply might’ve ripped his wings clear out of their sockets from the G-forces.

Von Stroheim’s lance found its mark. Yunan felt a sharp pain in the center of her chest followed by weightlessness – the weightlessness of plummeting to earth.

“ YUNAN!” Olivia screamed. One moment her friend was there and the next she was ripped from her seat.

She wasn’t about to lose her a second time.

The young lady cleared her mind and shuffled forward to take control of the bird. Come on, Scorchy. You know how to do this. She leaned left, hard, and the sparrow followed. Olivia suddenly found herself inverted and had to pull back to stay in her seat. This brought Scorchy into a partial inside loop, like a giant slide that grew shallower as it descended. The bird could guide himself. The newt focused her attention on the sky, searching for a pink, plummeting shape. There – ahead and a little above.

The lieutenant had little time to orient herself before she slammed down on the back of a sparrow. Her eyes closed from shock but she wrenched them open when she felt a small hand reaching out for her: Olivia, looking relieved and a little blurred by the pain.

“Fucking motherfucker shit, Liv,” Yunan slurred.

Olivia, satisfied that her companion was back in the saddle but hesitant to turn away, forced herself back to the fight at hand. She’d lost track of von Stroheim in the interim. Anxiety crept up the back of her neck.

From behind, Yunan managed a choked “LEFT!” The young lady didn’t hesitate. Scorchy rolled left and out of the way as von Stroheim sliced his way down. Why there’s the bastard. Instead of extending straight out to conserve his energy, however, he did something curious: he pulled back into a loop. Olivia watched, shocked, as the navy swallow’s tail feathers twisted and swung it right into a sort of vertical sideslip, then hard left at the apex to bring it back in line behind Scorchy.

“Fuck! He’s on us again!” Olivia tried a few evasive rolls to no effect. Von Stroheim drew closer. Yunan cringed, bracing herself.

The attack never came.

A streak of cream, brown, and orange feathers bore down on von Stroheim’s bird from the side. Olivia got a better view as it pulled out of its attack dive: it was a swallow with a single rider. At the tip of their lance was a purple streamer. Newtopia. Von Stroheim, forced off Olivia and Yunan’s tail, peeled away. A wave of relief washed over them.

“Yunan! Are you okay?”

“Never better.” The lieutenant gritted her teeth. “Look up. There’s another one.”

A second streamered swallow watched from high above. Von Stroheim was skilled enough to maneuver himself onto the first’s tail, but as soon as he threatened them the second swooped in and headed him off. Frustrated, he turned his attention to the new target, only to find himself pressured yet again by the first.

“You think you’ll be alright with some rough handling?” Olivia had pulled Scorchy back into a gentle climb.

“Yeah. I’ll be fine.”

“Understood. I’m taking us in.”

They banked left and around to face the furball below. The young lady tried to steady herself with even breathing, conjuring images from years before. Apple juice by the lake. Climbing the steps of the capital. That first gala, when father spilled the tray of drinks. You must’ve been very young if he was there. She leaned forward and sighed.

The fight grew larger as they accelerated. One of the Newtopian sparrows was still coming around in a turn as von Stroheim chased the other. A moment of vulnerability. The traitorous newt glanced over his shoulder and moved slightly to avoid Scorchy’s dive. He kept watching has they passed. Too long. Fixated on this target, he never saw the lance coming.

The turning sparrow had come around and used Olivia’s distraction to its advantage. Their blow caught the aristocrat in the side and sent him tumbling down. He hit the ground unceremoniously.

“. . .”

“. . .”

“. . . I need a drink.”

“That we do,” groaned Yunan. “We should return to the troops. They’ve got to be over the river by now.” Gonna have a hell of a bruise after this.

They turned for home. Their twin companions followed, streamers fluttering in the wind.

Scorchy alighted on the opposite bank of the river. Most of the troops had moved up to rest by a small Newtopian watchtower built on the hill, where Sgt. Tsoi stood speaking with the guard contingent.

“You sure they’re not coming?” Yunan wobbled her way down from the sparrow’s back.

“No, they’re gone. The ants won’t advance without either provocation or a pheromone trail.” And we both know that’s gone, don’t we. “I believe we have visitors?”

The two Newtopian sparrows spiraled down and landed next to Olivia and Yunan. Their riders hopped off and–

“Oh. Was Princess trying her hand at ~flying~ this time?”

“That she was, Lotte. Explains the creative maneuvers.”

Two newts, both myrtle green and near-identical, wearing flying outfits and high leather boots. They were awfully familiar to Olivia.

“Liv, who are these twits and how hard should I punch them?”

“No need,” she grinned. “Made it out of Loughop after all, did you two?”

“’Twas a near run thing, but we did,” explained Charlotte. “Turns out we had a knack for flying. By the time we reached the city Cici was already chittering about the swallow-riders.”

“You must understand, we were suddenly unemployed.” Cecil unfurled the silk scarf around his neck. “What about you? How was your . . . involuntary vacation?”

“As imprisonments go, not the worst. Amenities, aristocrats, dashing rescuers; you know, the works.” The bags under Olivia’s eyes suggested a slightly less lighthearted experience than she let on but the twins weren’t about to pry. “I should make an introduction. Yunan, these are the Foxleys, the Foxleys, Lt. Yunan.” She turned to the pink newt. “I worked with them prior to the war. They are menaces to society.”

“And you’re a menace to yourself and everything in the air,” countered Cecil.

“Yes, bugs too,” added Charlotte.

“Yunan, you don’t have to kill them, they’re always like this.”

“Fair enough.” Yunan stretched a little and yawned. “Got anywhere to rest? It’s been a day. Or night.”

“There’s an inn up the way if you want to follow us, Lieutenant,” replied Charlotte. “It’s about an hour’s flight west. Show them your badge of rank and you’ll be set.”

“Yunan, are you sure we should go off on our own? What about the troops?”

“I’ll put Sgt. Tsoi in command for now, but Newtopia will definitely send someone to repatriate them soon. As for us, I have a mission to get you home safe.”

Olivia smiled a little. “Much appreciated.”

A few minutes later the three birds took off again. Yunan thought herself fit enough to fly, but Olivia insisted she take the back and rest. Just a day or two, now. Soon, many miles to the west, the city walls would rise to meet them.

Chapter Text

Scorchy Sparrow cleared the city walls and immediately the streets of Newtopia beckoned from below. Sun-warmed stone pathways, chiseled statuary, the leaves of flowering trees fluttering in the breeze. The bird banked low enough for Olivia to catch a whiff – something fragrant floating just beneath the sea air. She looked beyond. They skipped over the rooftops, each glittering and dear.

Scorchy pulled up in a shallow climb to burn off speed, then fully unfurled his wings. The castle was coming up now. The sparrow’s legs extended to catch the stone lip of the aviary and brought them to a gentle halt. “We’re here, Liv,” Yunan announced.

Olivia let out a held, heavy breath. “At last. It feels like it’s been forever.” Yunan gave her a hand off the sparrow’s back and she took her first steps on solid ground. It was a moment she’d dreamed about for weeks during her sojourn at Raffenstein Manor. Never before was she so thankful to be in the presence of familiar flagstone, worn smooth with time.

She didn’t make it five paces before a squad of royal guards came barreling from around the corner with spears in hand. The young lady stopped short, rather dissuaded by the sudden appearance of four sharpened points held at her throat.

“Halt, intruder!”

“This is outrageous! I am–”

One of the guard’s eyes widened in recognition. “Miss Newton!” They and the others quickly lowered their weapons. “M-my greatest apologies, miss, we weren’t expecting – well, you’ve been missing . . .”

The tension of the moment faded from Olivia’s chest. “Surely that wasn’t necessary.”

“You’ve been away for a while. Things have . . changed.” Olivia and Yunan exchanged a glance. “We’ll take you up immediately. Everyone’s been rather short of good news.”

The trip up to the castle’s entrance hall took only minutes, but Olivia’s anticipation built as she climbed the familiar steps. From the aviary – a belt of balcony clinging to the castle’s lower circumference (yet still significantly elevated) – the journey wound up the outer spiralway that contained many of the staff’s quarters. Towards the summit Olivia recognized her own home, a stately manor traditionally provided to the king’s chief advisor. As such, it had been in the family for generations. She glanced up at its stone edifice.

“What are you looking at?” Yunan sidled up to her curiously.

“My window. The flowers in the planter-box are wilted.”

The lieutenant tracked her eyes. She could tell her friend was remembering something.

“Ahem! We’re here.” The guards halted at an enormous, finely-gilded door. “Miss Newton, you are no doubt familiar with the castle, but given the presence of a guest there are some procedures we must adhere to.”

The door cracked open. Another guard within ushered the group into the entrance hall. Some tables and plush seating lined the walls, but most people simply chose to stand until they were called upon and escorted into the castle proper.

“How long does this usually take?”

“Depends, but we are unscheduled, so–”

A hooded newt tapped the haft of his spear twice on the stone, coughed, and called out just before the next set of doors burst open. “May I present the Royal Advisor to King Andrias Leviathan, Lady Calanthia.”

A severe newt in formal dress walked through the open doors with the utmost propriety. She kept her neck and head high (the latter framed by two seashells decorating her silver hair) until she paused before the two. Her regal bearing dissipated and she looked on the shorter of the young women with a warm, tender smile. Yunan noticed a sparkle in her eyes, the surface of some incommunicable feeling of relief. The pale blue of her skin was familiar.

“Welcome home, Olivia.”

Olivia walked right up to the royal advisor and enveloped her in a hug. “Thank you, mother.” They stayed for a moment before the younger Newton froze and pulled away. She flattened the creases on her sleeves brusquely. “Newts above, what am I doing. Completely against castle etiquette.”

The elder Newton smiled. “Oh, Livy. Exceptions can be made.” She reached out a hand and tousled her daughter’s hair.

“Hey!”

Her face cracked into a mischievous grin. “What, do you think the king will dismiss me for this?” She ended her attack with a light boop on Olivia’s snout. The young lady blushed up a storm.

“Gah. No fair. Not in front of guests.”

“Ah, yes.” Calanthia turned to the other presence in the room, the young lieutenant who had stood patiently in the background. Perhaps ‘patiently’ wasn’t entirely accurate – she was flicking her tail a little. Energetic and restless by nature. “Who might she be?”

“Mom, this is Lt. Yunan of the Newtopian Army: defeater of herons, hater of soup, and, of course, rescuer of daughters.”

“Oh! This is Yunan? I remember – from Efton. Olivia mentioned you a lot.”

It was only by the great newts’ grace, Olivia figured, that Yunan would miss the instant flush that flooded over her.

The young lieutenant bowed slightly. “Yeah – or, yes, Lady Calanthia. We were classmates.”

No further reaction? WHAT THE FUCK, thought Olivia. It seemed that the great newts had indeed shown their favor. She stayed silent and thanked her lucky stars.

“How did you come to rescue her, I may ask?”

“Well–” The lieutenant perked up a little. Ambitious, perhaps a little self-absorbed, noted Calanthia. “I was knocked out in battle and lost contact with my unit. Stuck behind enemy lines and covered in blood, I crept my way to a friendly homestead and recuperated until–”

“Yunan,” Olivia cut in, “you don’t have to illustrate everything with your hands.”

The lieutenant halted with two fingers extended downwards to make a little walking figure. “It’s for emphasis! Oh, where was I–”

Yunan started up again. Calanthia shot Olivia a look with a raised eyebrow. Really?

Her daughter caught the expression and answered back. What? She’s actually quite nice.

The hand gestures are a bit much.

I know. You get used to it.

“–and then we tamed a wild sparrow, busted my unit out of prison, and foiled the traitor von Stroheim’s attempt to attack us with barbariants.”

The royal advisor interjected. “Wait, that last one?”

“Well, we got into a bit of a tussle with that aristocrat–”

“No, the ants.”

Yunan opened her mouth to speak but instead deferred to the younger Newton. “Hold that thought, mother. That deserves to be addressed in more official channels. Urgently.”

Calanthia shot Olivia another nonverbal look. Meaning?

“It concerns matters of state and the military.”

“Right.” The elder Newton steeled herself. The change was noticeable even to Yunan. “As much as I would love to catch up at the moment, dear, it seems our duty demands attention. I’ll call a meeting and clear Andrias’ schedule.”

Yunan started. “What?”

“Begin compiling a full report on your experiences, Olivia. Any information helps the war effort.” Calanthia stopped with a sharp gaze that seemed to burrow straight down to Yunan’s marrow. Not hostility, not contempt, not even annoyance. Just complete and total command.

“The king, Lieutenant. I am his right hand, am I not? Let us proceed.” She turned and led the two into the shadowed castle.

The Colosseum of Newtopia was a far sight from its former glory, not that anyone besides Andrias knew it. To the murmuring crowd it was a given, a point that had remained static in each of their lives for as far back as they could remember. Their grandparents sat on the same marble steps they did. To the king, though – a king who had lived a hundred lifetimes – it was like a childhood doll without its stuffing. Gone were the lights and projections. They couldn’t be maintained, not after . . . the memory sunk in Andrias’ gut the way it’d done a thousand times before.

Far below the king’s box, two fighters struggled against each other in the arena. One, the local champion, was a purple newt wielding two swords in the traditional Newtopian dimachaerus style. The other was a gray-green toad with a spear and shield. He seemed to be losing.

The toad held his spear out to guard, but the newt managed to slip through despite the reach advantage. Their first blow was blocked but the second blade overwhelmed him. It slashed up and through the gladiator’s right eye.

He howled, dropping the spear and covering his eye with his hand. A trickle of blood seeped through his fingers. The toad gritted his teeth. Instead of conceding as Andrias, the champion, and the crowd expected, he burst forward and swung wildly with the edge of his shield.

The champion fell at the blow. Not dead, but unconscious.

The king turned to an attendant. “Who was that gladiator? He’s quite impressed me.”

“The tabulature has him as ‘Grime,’ your majesty. Reportedly he was a prisoner of war before choosing to fight in the games.”

“Curious.” I’ll keep an eye on him.

A second attendant came running up. “Your majesty! The Royal Advisor requests your presence at the castle. She cites an urgent matter to attend to.”

Lady Calanthia wouldn’t call him away frivolously, Andrias figured that. He knew her as a serious, stern, disciplined woman who knew what needed to be prioritized and what could be set aside for later. Then what in the ancients’ name is going on?

“I’ll return immediately.” He stole a last look at the arena floor. The toad was being led out. He pressed a white handkerchief to his eye; or where it used to be, at least.

Rather than the white marble that made up the majority of the castle, the war room was outfitted in lacquered panels and dark, heavy curtains. A table stood in the center, large enough to spread out any of the innumerable maps that were held the corner cabinet. It dwarfed most of the assembled newts. To the king, though, it could’ve been comfortably used as a desk.

“I recognize that this assembly is unconventional, your highness, but I believe a preliminary brief is prudent.” Lady Calanthia appeared to Andrias even smaller than usual. Young Olivia and her companion didn’t fare any better. “We can bring this matter to the military’s attention shortly, but for this meeting I would prefer we discuss this among ourselves. I believe all present are well aware of the Army’s recent . . unreliability.”

Yunan looked down and to the side. That one hit home for her.

“I trust your judgement, Calanthia. What is the matter?” Olivia’s returned. How long has she been back?

The older woman’s face was a little lighter than it had been the past couple months, even if she wasn’t letting it show. “As you can surmise, my daughter Olivia has returned to us, courtesy of a friend from the Newtopian Army: Lieutenant Yunan.” The pink newt bowed her head with her best imitation of humility. “The full tale can wait. But as a prisoner of the rebellion, she was witness to some unsettling developments.” She turned to her daughter expectantly. “Now. Olivia?”

“Yes, thank you mother.” She cleared her throat. Speaking to the king was not a new activity for her. It never had been, in fact. Since she was old enough to talk she’d had conversations with him on anything from Amphibian political history to youthful crushes. Rather, this would be the first time it was ‘for real.’

“During my secondment at Raffenstein Manor, I was privy to a discussion between the recently deceased traitor von Stroheim, a scientist, and that wretched Ragnar himself. It was behind closed doors, yet they rather forgot to factor in the walls.” She flashed the ghost of a sly smile. “The essence was thus: Ragnar is now in possession of a system to control barbariant behavior using the coordinated release of pheromones. Once a trail or directive has been made, the ants will stop at nothing to reach the end. Imagine: a supply train that can march twenty-four hours a day, through any conditions, all while carrying a wagonload of arms on its carapace. And that may be only the start.”

Andrias inhaled and slowly nodded. “That would explain the uncanny troop movements we’ve seen in recent weeks. Complements showing up in places thought impossible. Forces moving well beyond their supposed limits, only to stay well supplied the entire time. It fits.”

Instead of Olivia, the lieutenant spoke up next. “As of yet we have developed only rudimentary countermeasures, sire. It is possible to interrupt the pheromones before they are laid, but we know no methods of mitigation at the present moment.”

The young lady shot a quick, slight expression towards Yunan. Good job, you. Calanthia, ever-watchful, intercepted it.

“If I can recall correctly – my notes unfortunately succumbed to, er, falling off a cliff into a river gorge,” Olivia continued, hurrying past to avoid concerning her mother too much, “– the system is limited to just one colony of barbariants. No others possess the required conditions that create the, well, choreography. I believe it was some sort of fungus?”

Yunan boldly interjected. “I’ve been thinking, it might be possible to eliminate that colony’s queen and server the connections. Could just be talking out my–”

Olivia coughed.

“Pure speculation. It’s pure speculation.”

The king’s voice reverberated through the small room. “Do you know the location of this colony, Miss Olivia?”

“Deep in the interior of Ragnar’s territory. Beyond that, I have no knowledge.”

“Very well.” Andrias paused for a second to take in all he had learned. “I will set our researchers on it immediately and inform the military of the threat.” His voice stepped down a level, slipping into something lower, warmer. “I must thank you, Miss Olivia, and you, Lieutenant Yunan. You have far exceeded any expectations we could have of you in such a situation. Newtopia is in your debt.”

Neither of the two could help but glow from the praise.

“We could conclude our council here, but I would like another word, if I may?”

No one objected.

“I heard bits and pieces of your adventures before we began this meeting. What you were able to pull off, Olivia and Yunan, was tremendously impressive. We all know of the less than stellar performance of the Newtopian Army in this conflict. Meanwhile, a team of just two highly competent individuals, one of them without any military experience, managed to traverse enemy territory undetected, gather vital intelligence, rescue a high-profile prisoner, drive off a heron, and liberate over a hundred prisoners of war. It makes one think: if that is what two could do . . . what could, say, an entire unit? One flexible, highly trained, and answerable to the king directly?”

Calanthia, sensing his intentions, cut in. “My lord, what of the Newtopian Army? Will they not be hostile to the establishment of another force outside their jurisdiction?”

“Oh, they’ll be livid. Yet, my dear advisor, they are in no place to be making demands.” He chuckled. “It’s an idea to consider. I’m not even sure what to call such an outfit. It’d be royal, so perhaps ‘Knight’ . . .” He eyed Yunan, looking for suggestions.

“’Knight,’ uh, ‘Guard?’ ‘Knight Guard?’”

“It’ll do,” said Andrias lightly, “at least until we think of a better one.”

“The first one always sticks, Andrias. Once named it can never be un-named,” counseled Olivia.

“Then it’s decided. I hereby establish the Newtopian Knight Guard, under my authority, to defend the people and crown of Newtopia from peril.” He snapped his fingers, which sounded more like a thunderclap than a click.

Calanthia rolled her eyes. “You’ve signed yourself up for quite a lot of paperwork, my liege.”

“We can make it quick, just for today. The rest will be tomorrow’s problem.” He grinned. “First order of business: a premier force requires a premier commander to match. I wish you luck, Knight Commander Yunan.”

The blonde newt jolted, partly standing up out of shock. “Wait, WHAT?”

“Why yes. Why shouldn’t it be you? You are the only one who I trust understands what the Knight Guard should be. Quick, decisive, and deadly.”

The surprise in Yunan’s heart died down, but her pulse didn’t. She was elated to have such an unbelievable opportunity simply crash right into her after so long. Eons of being shut out by the noble establishment had been neutralized in mere seconds.

“Wow. Okay. Yes. Fuck yes.”

Olivia looked over at her mother, who she knew would be scandalized by Yunan’s indiscretion. Andrias took it in stride. “Don’t mind her,” he quipped. “Lady Calanthia has cornered the market on wearing taffeta and tutting disapprovingly.”

The king paused to let Yunan’s soul return to her body, then continued. “I would like you to select about . . . oh, three dozen troops to start with. A good range of skills, with both high physical ability and cunning; this will be an outfit of brains and brawn. That done, report back to me. In the meantime I will inform the Army of all we have discussed.” He widened his attention back to the room. “You are all dismissed.”

Calanthia exited gracefully. The navy-haired newt found herself having to drag her starstruck companion out by the arm, but she followed. The doors closed.

Even having been deserted by the three, Andrias wasn’t alone.

“Do you think I made the right choice, elevating Yunan?”

A new voice, one only he could hear, rolled into his head. It was deep, frayed, dripping. “YES, SON. YOU ARE IN NO REAL DANGER FROM THE UPSTART TOAD. BUT TO HAVE SOMEONE NEW, BOLD, AGGRESSIVE CARRY YOUR BANNER, THAT WILL ENDEAR YOU IN THE EYES OF THE POPULACE.”

The towering, white-haired leviathan seemed a little smaller. “Time will tell.”

Olivia and the still-rebooting Yunan descended the stairs from the war room. Lady Calanthia had already disappeared somewhere off ahead of them, probably rushing to get a start on the myriad of headaches Andrias’ actions had just caused.

“Well, Yunan, how do you feel?”

The pink newt was, for once, quiet. “. . . It’s a lot to take in, gotta admit. Been shoved around so long it’s weird having anyone put actual faith in me. Besides you, ‘course.”

“Of course,” said Olivia with a curt smile. “One day that’ll no longer be a rarity.”

“All shall tremble when they hear the name of the great Knight Commander Yunan–”

Her speech was cut short by Olivia, who placed a finger to her lips. “Shh. Not in the house.”

“Ugh. Fine.” Yunan rolled her eyes. “Guess I should head off and start picking out my new troops. Or ask your mom to give me some sort of authorization so I don’t immediately get beheaded by General Brudenewt.”

“He’d do that anyway,” remarked Olivia. “But now we can go around him. Thank goodness.”

“Don’t fancy him either, eh?”

“Remember that first day when we were talking about the king and the nobles? The Newtons are nobility, yes, but we’ve always been at the right hand of the king. Mother is the seventh of our line to serve as the royal advisor. You could say relations between us and the other noble families are . . . chilly.” The young lady giggled. “Now if he knew I had a hand in this Knight Guard business Brudenewt would be liable to run me through with a sabre.”

Yunan cracked a smile. “I won’t tell him.”

“Much appreciated.” Olivia’s warm expression hovered, then slipped away. Their time together was limited. She became aware of every step she took on the marble floor, every painting or landmark they passed that indicated they were nearing the castle’s entrance. Where Yunan would have to leave, and she’d be back to her normal life. With no guarantee of her friend ever returning.

There was another option, one that popped into her head almost from nowhere.

Olivia sighed heavily. This would be difficult. “If you’re really doing this, then I think you need someone to watch your back. Someone you can count on.”

“I agree. I mean, you did that pretty well when we were travelling together–”

“Run that back one more time.” She stopped walking and turned to face her tall companion.

“Wait, you? You have any recommendations?”

“No, silly. Me. Me as in me.” She felt her cheeks flush. No, not like that, it’s the logical thing to do. Prove it. “I think this new approach is the quickest way to put an end to the war, and if it’s my job to take care of this land, then that’s what I have to do. Not to mention I’m the only one I trust to keep you from running face-first into a spiked pit.”

“Well,” replied Yunan, not noticing how broad her smile was. “I’m glad to have you, Blue. Every dashing commander needs an equally gallant second.”

Olivia laughed. “Go find the rest of your gaggle, Yu. I’m going to return to Mother, I can tell she was rather put out by having to set aside our reunion.”

The blonde newt patted her on the back. “Attagirl. Go get your hugs.”

As the young lady bid her friend farewell, she felt the warmth of the pat linger. What the actual fuck did I just sign myself up for?

“Gripping the sword too tightly will only slow you down. You must be fluid, yet decisive.”

General Yunan’s sharp eyes cast an intimidating spell over the training field. Marcy’s adventure with her on the warship had gone well, but as soon as she’d seen the girl’s sword technique (derived from fantasy movies) she’d promised to correct it when they returned. Marcy appreciated the instruction, but it could be . . . intense.

“Steady your blade, Master Marcy! You’re wobbling all over the place.”

“But it’s heavy!”

“Your opponents won’t give you a break just because you’re tired! Find the reserves of strength within you and channel them into your fighting. Even the meekest of newts have held their own in battle. It requires only the will to do so.”

Yunan's breath hitched a little. At what cost?

Somewhere in the distance, a clock tower struck noon.

“Alright, class is over. I have some business to take care of. Keep practicing, Marcy.”

“Th-thanks, Yunan.” Marcy’s arms immediately sagged. “Oh . . . before you go, would you mind if I showed you something I’ve been working on?”

“Go ahead, kiddo.” She could spare the time. Yunan could be hard on Marcy but it felt good to take care of her and listen to her interests, even if they were such different people.

“So – I was thinking the other day. And tinkering. In . . . uh, in the armory. But anyway! I was thinking, why can’t a crossbow be a tool as well as a weapon? So I added a grappling arrow and rope–”

“Chief Ranger Marcy!” A hooded newt of the city guard came running up. “We need you at the city gates, the lookout says there’s a wagon coming in and it might blunder right into the ants. You know the most about them, so . . .”

Marcy nodded. “Right away – if you’ll excuse me, Yunan.”

“Of course.” The general smiled. “Good luck out there, Marcy.”

The sound of the Chief Ranger’s footsteps on cobblestone faded.

Chapter Text

Lady Olivia took the morning off in a rare attempt at recreation, not that she’d ever admit to it. Rather, she justified it to herself (and anyone who would listen) as part of her duties not only as an administrator, but also as a diplomat.

Her polished shoes clicked against the hard cobblestone of the street. The sun was just barely peeking over the lip of the city wall, enough to cast eastern-facing surfaces in its light but not yet enough to pierce down into the twisting avenues and alleys without number. The sea breeze carried with it a hint of salt. Olivia’s mind wandered back to a summer, many years prior, spent in the sun with the promise of wild adventures to come. Before she’d shut herself up in the castle. Back when she’d had someone at her side.

Enough of that now. She had an appointment to keep.

Olivia rounded a final corner and quickly picked out the distinctive figure of her guest standing outside the Hemisphere Hotel. She nodded, and approached.

“Good morning, miss.”

“Hi! Um, ‘milady?’ You called?”

The royal advisor smiled. “Though we have met several times in passing, I find it important that I visit with such a distinguished visitor to the realm. Marcy has been such a blessing to us. I would very much like to know more about you, Anne Boonchuy.”

The curly-haired girl stuttered a little. “W-wow. That’s . . . quite the . . what should I call you?”

“My formal title, if you prefer, is Lady Olivia Artegall Newton, Royal Advisor to King Andrias Leviathan, Knight Warrant of the Newtopian Knight Guard, and Dame Grand Cordon of the Order of Urodela.” She managed a wry smile. “But you can just call me Lady Olivia.”

“Lady Olivia, then. I was saying – that was quite the introduction for someone like me. Never really thought of myself as ‘distinguished.’”

The pair began walking. Olivia mentally planned a circuitous, scenic route into the central district, up towards a teahouse there she’d once enjoyed. “A visitor from another dimension, a seasoned traveler from the Valley and beyond. You have done more than enough to warrant the term ‘distinguished,’ if the exploits that Marcy has relayed to me were accurate.”

“Oh, Marcy has been telling you stories too? Yesterday she took me on a walk up on the wall and talked all about her time here. She mentioned you and some general she’s training with.”

“General Yunan?”

“Why yeeess, General Yunan.” Anne leaned in with a teasing smile. “What do you think of her? What about her ~incredible~ skill with a sword?”

“The sword is an ugly piece of metal and its adherents idiots.”

“What if I, you know, introduced you?”

“The sandy soil of Newtopia is rather difficult to dig shallow graves in, not to mention the water table, but I will have to make it work.” Olivia’s exasperated face dissuaded Anne from pushing it any further. “Do you have any other questions?”

“Fine, fine. So, uh, where ya from?”

“I hail from Newtopia originally, as does my family lineage. Barring the occasional interruption I have lived in the city all my life and served it for nigh on sixteen years. Not the most extensive record, I must admit. My mother did so for forty.”

“Damn, girl.”

“I will take that as an expression of respect.”

“I mean, yeah, it is,” Anne replied hurriedly. “What is it that you do here? I mean, you’re in the castle all the time. You advise the king?”

“My role is not only to advise the king, but to take his commands and execute them in the most efficient, effective way possible.”

Anne could sense that her words concealed a lot more than she’d said. They were a little more clipped and curt than they should’ve been despite her flowery, diplomatic language. Not resentment, Anne felt, just the weight of heavy responsibilities borne without assistance – in some ways, self-inflicted. Lonely years.

“How often do you get out? Take time for yourself?”

“. . . . None too often.” The newt cast an eye down to the cobblestones. “No one’s saying it’s ideal. But we do what we must.”

“I’m not saying it’s ideal, Mother, but we have a responsibility to the land, like you’ve always said. We do what we must.”

Calanthia paused. “I see what you mean.” She faltered, considering her words carefully. “I cannot say I am entirely comfortable with it, but I understand.” Her face softened a little. Olivia could tell it was the best she was going to get out of her. It was probably time to go.

“I’m sorry, mom.” Olivia leaned forwards and embraced her mother. She seemed a little smaller in her arms than she remembered.

“I understand.” She felt a pat on the back. “Go, now. I expect I’ll be making arrangements shortly.”

“Thank you.” The young lady let go and pushed open the door a crack, slipping through before it had a chance to close. The royal advisor watched plaintively as the hem of her daughter’s dress disappeared from view.

Outside, Olivia met a familiar face standing at nervous attention, flicking her pink tail back and forth. Yunan cracked a hopeful smile. “So how’d it go?”

“Optimally, I believe.” She took a breath and brushed a hand against her eye to clear away the beginnings of a tear. “Let us get going, we have a busy schedule.” The two began to make their way towards the castle’s entrance. Olivia had to walk quickly to keep pace with her companion, whose long strides down the marble hall gave her a considerable speed advantage.

“Here’s the list you made up, checked a few things off.” Yunan pushed an overflowing clipboard into her hands. Olivia looked it over. “Most of the recruitment is taken care of.”

“Leaving . . .” The young lady flipped through the rest of the wobbling papers. “Uniforms and equipment – oh frog, that’s going to be a mess.”

Yunan waved her hand. “We can do the first few days without them. Futzing around with this stuff’ll only slow us down.”

“But what if the king wishes to review the troops before–” Olivia sighed. “You’re right. I’ll check with Mother, she’d know whatever supplier the army uses. Or actually,” she started, “she has an old friend. I’ll pay him a visit, it’s been a while anyways. I haven’t had the opportunity to since I returned home.”

Yunan nodded. “Who is this guy?”

“He’s an officer, he and Mother go way back. Father too – well, did.” She waved her hands. “His home is on the northeast side of town if you would like to join me. Take a bit to relax.”

Yunan puffed up a little, dramatically. Olivia sensed she was putting on airs. “What, me, relax? I thank you for the sentiment but I must be ever-dedicated to the mission–”

“We could get tea on the way. It’s a nice walk.”

“Okayfineifyouputitlikethat.”

At the same moment, a gray-green toad in uniform walked along a faraway pond’s shoreline, accompanied by a newt in a long coat.

“The ants have been performing well, Merkwürdigliebe. We should have sufficient forces freed up to redouble our lines and prepare an offensive.” His voice faded, lost in thought. The surface of the pond shimmered almost as if it was covered by a film. He stepped towards it, idly entranced. “Though I’d prefer if the Newtopians were distracted. I’d rather they not launch a spoiler attack beforehand.”

The yellow newt behind him joined him at the stony edge of the pond. “Hmm . . very well. I’m not much for strategy, but if you need a distraction – well, I would suggest you quit stalling and create one yourself.”

“A fair assessment. What would you do, if we are talking hypotheticals?”

“A hypothetical distraction wouldn’t necessarily have to have a major impact. The enemy, I’d imagine, anticipates a carefully planned offensive in a more-or-less vulnerable sector. But for maximum psychological effect it would be far more disturbing to receive something totally unexpected. A bolt from the blue, you understand.”

“Somewhere unexpected, with something unexpected.” Ragnar nodded, picking up a stone and lobbing it into the water with a ploosh. The circles of its impact radiated out and soon lapped at their boots. “Perhaps even . . . Newtopia itself? Is such a thing practical?”

“Risky . . . yes, but you could. Theoretically.” The doctor furrowed his brow. “Undermine the enemy’s faith in the sanctity of their home.”

“And force them to commit forces to interior defense rather than the front.”

“You must be sure, of course, to present a reasonably serious threat. Otherwise, they may just brush it off.”

The toad commander nodded. “Where to strike? The castle itself, while impressive, would be a dangerous target. Perhaps the exterior walls?”

“Most of Newtopia is below sea level. If you crack the shell, as it were, the tide would start flooding in . . .” He chuckled. “. . . Do most of the work for you, yes?”

“I suppose.” Ragnar wound up for another shot. This stone he sent sailing at a shallower angle. It skipped over the surface one, twice, then thrice before disappearing. “How thick is the shell?”

“Substantial. But not so thick as to be impenetrable to a determined foe, assuming your force is concentrated. Apply successive boomshroom charges in the same place and the wall’s strength would be compromised. Once a leak is sprung, preventing collapse would prove quite difficult, hm hm.”

“From what I recall, there’s no plausibly accessible buildings that directly adjoin the wall. Guards patrol both the top and the base of it. There’s no way to stealthily apply charges to it from the inside.”

“Well, no. That leaves the exterior.” The newt fell quiet again. He rubbed his temple, trying to jog an idea while Ragnar bent down to pick up another stone.

“You’d need to get the charges close, and close to the same spot . . . but the sea is too shallow to simply swim there, you’d be spotted.”

“Correct. Delivery must come high and fast. But then again . . a cask of boomshrooms, dropped from above, would simply lodge in the sandy bottom of the lake. Not to mention that they would need to be lobbed against the wall with horizontal velocity.”

“We’d need to hit it as far down as we could – let the bombs hit the wall, then sink. If such a thing is even possible.” The toad grasped the flat stone in his hands, lunged forward, and let fly. The stone skimmed across the surface almost miraculously. One bounce, two, three . . .

Before the stone had even slipped beneath the water, Ragnar stood up, flush with an idea.

Olivia and Yunan’s walk took them down from the central heights of the city and into the organic weave of the city streets. They passed parks, gardens, places Yunan half-remembered from years before. It piqued her interest, sure, but she found herself more focused on her companion. The mission, she reminded herself. Having a nice time with Olivia and getting tea is of strategic interest.

“I must confess, Yunan,” said Olivia over her steaming teacup, “I have very little in the way of combat training.”

“Says the person who practically dissected me with a sword at Efton?”

“Well, yes, I can do that. But I’m rusty, and I’m sure you know that the battlefield is nowhere close to a fencing match.”

“There will be a couple months of training time. We can catch you up. What do you want to learn? Oh, oh, obstacle courses, orienteering in the field, maybe even firearms. Did I tell you we scored a few greygloves?”

“Really? The king must be putting a lot of faith in you.”

“I’d like to apologize in advance for what Brudenewt’s going to say to your mother when he finds out they’ve been reassigned.”

Olivia rolled her eyes jokingly. “Look at that, Yunan apologizing. Must be serious.”

“Hey, I’m a nice person. I just have priorities.”

“Mmm-hmm.” The blue newt sipped the last of her tea.

“How the hell did you drink that without scalding your mouth?”

“The training of a lady, my friend.”

The knight commander gingerly brought her full cup to her lips and attempted a sip. She regretted it immediately, slamming it back to the table and nearly shattering the porcelain. “Dammit, Liv, you must have a high pain tolerance.”

“Relax. It’s not a stab wound.”

“If you bring this up in front of the troops I am definitely stabbing you.”

About an hour later (fifty minutes of walking and ten of Yunan waiting for her tea to cool down), the two arrived at a nondescript doorstep. Olivia stepped forward and knocked.

“Coming!” A series of muffled steps on hardwood, and then the door opened wide to reveal a mossy green axolotl with one missing gill. “Oh! Little Olivia! Come in, come in!” He gestured to them both, but the pink newt hesitated until her companion led her over the threshold.

“Olivia! How have you been? You’ve been gone so long, your mother was completely out of sorts – let me get you something to eat, I’m sorry, I was totally unprepared–” The pair sat down at a small table while the axolotl rushed into his pantry. He returned mere seconds later with a loaf of fresh-baked bread held between flowery oven mitts, a smattering of salt sprinkled on top. He set it down on the table and drew up another chair.

“It’s good to see you again. I hope Mother wasn’t too upset.”

“You should have seen her, Olivia, she tripped and spilled a buggachino all over Andrias’ thigh! But I mustn’t joke – how are you?”

“Frazzled, perhaps, but quite well these days. And you?”

“Creaky as usual, but intact. We’ve been better.”

“I can imagine.” Olivia smiled distantly. “I suppose introductions are in order. This is my friend Yunan, Yunan, this is Mykolai Chepyzhin, Lieutenant General of the Newtopian Army. And a friend of Mom’s.”

The man’s rank came as a shock, but Yunan kept her composure. What does that make him, second-in-command?

“I’d prefer to stay longer, but we’re on a bit of a mission at the moment. Did Mother inform you . . . ?”

“About the Knight Guard? Yes. General Brudenewt as well, he’s hopping mad, naturally.”

“I would expect nothing less,” commented Yunan. Chepyzhin smirked.

“Well – as it is, our outfit is in a bit of a pickle. The king would like us to be up and operational as soon as possible, but, while we have the troops, we can’t begin training without equipment.” The young lady hesitated, phrasing her next words carefully. “Would you have any of the reserve available for temporary use?”

“Equipment – that, that we do have. For all that’s going wrong, we have more than enough equipment stockpiled!” He chuckled heartily. Olivia could read between the lines some dissatisfaction with his superior’s leadership. “I must ask, though, you used the word ‘we.’ Are you part of it?”

“Er, well, yes. Yunan is the head of the unit and I’m serving as her second.”

He smiled quizzically. “Never expected you to be the military type, Olivia. What happened to the civil service? That was all you wanted, even when you were little.”

She stuffed down a blush as best as she could. “I, uh, figured it would be the best way to help the kingdom at this moment.” A half-truth at best, Olivia. You know very well the reason.

“Admirable,” replied the axolotl, “but with no formal training?”

“That comes next, I suppose. I received a special dispensation from the king – I’m a ‘Knight Warrant’ for now.”

“She’s small, but she holds her own,” added Yunan. “I don’t have any worries about having her by my side.”

Chepyzhin stroked his chin. “Very well. But . . . hmm. Excuse me.” He got up and left the room. He returned from the upstairs a minute later carrying a plain wooden box just over a foot in length. “It may be best that you have this. It’s experimental.”

He set the case down on the table and scooted it over to the young newt. Olivia undid the latch and cracked it open. Inside was what she recognized as a firearm, though not one of the wheellocks she knew the greygloves – Newtopia’s firearm troops – to carry. It was fairly large for a pistol, made of blackened metal and sporting a round cylinder with multiple chambers.

“It uses the same powder as the others,” explained the general, “but ignites using a small contact charge they’ve developed from boomshroom caps. Thus, ‘caps.’” He pointed to another compartment built into the case where a small box lay. Elsewhere within was a powder horn, a bag for round-shot, and a spotless pair of silken white gloves. Olivia was somewhat taken aback, but Yunan positively fawned over the thing.

“It’s an excess, I know,” acknowledged Chepyzhin, “but if Little Olivia insists on going into battle I’m sure your mother would prefer that you be equipped with the best.”

“I . . . cannot entirely argue with that.”

The axolotl closed the lid and redid the latch. “Take it with you when you go. And, I’ll inform the quartermasters that you are welcome to pull from our stocks whenever you need to. Having you lot out there will be a big help, as much as Brudenewt refuses to believe it.” He turned to Yunan. “Do you have uniforms?”

“Not yet, sir,” she replied, slightly embarrassed.

“Sir! So formal!” The old man laughed. “I’ll inform our suppliers to expect an order shortly.”

Olivia took out a notebook and jotted it down. “Through the quartermasters again, I presume.”

“Naturally.” Chepyzhin looked back to Yunan. “You know, she’s always done that. I remember once when she was barely even an eft, she found her way into one of the king’s council meetings and started taking notes with a colored pencil!”

“Really?”

“Oh yes. Her father had to excuse himself and scoop her up, it was quite a moment. The king took it in stride.”

The pink newt glanced back to her companion, who snapped her notebook shut and tucked it into the pocket of her dress. There was something about her expression – a little put out, maybe, but wearing a sly smile, like she’d been caught in some petty act of mischief – that made something in Yunan’s chest flutter. Huh?

“Well, thank you again, Kolya. This has been a great help,” concluded Olivia. “I’m sorry we couldn’t stay longer.”

“Quite alright, Olivia. I’m sure our paths will cross again soon enough, eh?”

“Most certainly. I’ll ask Mother to let me know the next time you dine over.”

Chepyzhin wrapped up the bread loaf in a piece of embroidered cloth, which he handed to Yunan. “By then I’m sure you’ll have all new adventures to tell about. Good luck out there, little one.”

“Thanks, uncle.”

Olivia tucked the pistol case under her arm and stepped out the door. Yunan followed. After the darkness of the house, the sun-dappled street came to life with a luxuriant warmth that fell from above and dripped its way down, flowing even in the cobblestones, where it formed a pool that her companion stepped out into. Just for a moment, suspended there – she turned, hair illuminated in the light, right hand resting on the box – and that unaccountable flutter returned.

“Shall we? The quartermasters aren’t far.”

Warm, golden, a moment trapped in amber. “. . . Lead the way, Liv.”

Chapter Text

Three days after her visit with General Chepyzhin, Olivia found herself in alien territory: a sun-drenched parade ground, standing at the side of the new Knight Commander of the Newtopian Knight Guard. The words still felt fresh and clumsy in her head.

Before the pair about thirty-six newts, three squads of twelve, stood arranged at attention. Calm your nerves, Olivia reminded herself, you’ve faced more than this. What’s thirty newts compared to the king?

The king didn’t have to trust you with his life, she mused. Great. That didn’t help at all.

“Alright everyone! Glad to have you on board. I’ll keep this short: my name is Knight Commander Yunan. If you’re here, that means you’ve been picked or otherwise recommended for your abilities. Smarts, initiative, what have you. Now that we’re assembled I see no point in getting bogged down in what Liv here would probably call the ‘faffing about’ of the regular military. We’re not the Newtopian Army, we’re here to get in, do our job, and get out. For now: if you need something, report to me or Knight Warrant Newton. We need to grab our kit so – well, you all know where the city barracks are, so let’s say meet there in an hour and we’ll get suited up. Dismissed!”

The crisp formation immediately bled away into a loose flow of movement. Olivia, surprised, turned to her companion. “That’s it?”

Yunan shrugged. “What? They know what to do. They’ve all been in the military before, I either picked ‘em myself or pulled some strings. Best of the best.”

She huffed. “I understand your logic. Borne of your independent spirit, no doubt. Just remember that I am not up to speed.”

“Oh, you are. I’ve seen enough to know that. And don’t stress – I’m not Brudenewt, we won’t be wasting time on parades or anything like that. Just follow along and you’ll get the crucial bits. And I’ll help.”

“That will be much appreciated.”

“Can’t wait. I get to teach little miss princess to shank a fucker.”

Olivia’s cheeks flushed. “Hey!” She went to poke Yunan in the ribs, but the taller newt effortlessly avoided the attack.

“Uh-uh! First lesson in combatives!” Yunan cracked a wide smile. “Don’t get in that close if you can help it. Nobody wins a knife fight.” Her eyes narrowed and she produced a small twig from the ground, then launched herself at Olivia. The young lady tried to dodge out of the way – her fencing reflexes got her further than the average amphibian might’ve – but Yunan still landed a solid hit on her stomach.

“Gah. You’re mucking up my dress. See, you got dirt on it.” She brushed the majority away with a hand.

“Well, lucky for you, the uniform order’s come in. They’ll be expecting us at the barracks. Shall we?”

“I suppose we shall. It’ll be good to get out of this blasted sun.” Olivia wiped her brow and the two of them made off into the city.

Fifty minutes later the pair arrived at the main city barracks, a long stone building that curved along the inner circumference of the great wall. It was the same color as the wall, too, which gave it the effect of being some sort of outgrowth of the colossal structure. Already the Knight Guard’s rangers were lining up outside.

While Yunan organized the troops, Olivia took the liberty of inquiring at the quartermaster’s desk. Soon all thirty-eight of them had been handed a bundle of clothes and pointed towards various changing rooms, storage lockers, unattended pantries, or in one unfortunate’s case the kitchen’s walk-in icebox. Olivia herself was directed into an accounting clerk’s deserted office where she slipped out of her dress – one of the few she’d left behind when she’d transferred to Loughop and thus part of the now meager remnants of her old wardrobe – and into her new uniform. It consisted of a grey-bluish green tunic worn with a waist and shoulder belt over sandy trousers and high brown boots. The ensemble was completed by a kepi ringed with silver braiding, whose flat top was colored a brilliant sea blue. Two badges of rank were pinned to the lapel, hers being a silver diamond. She folded her dress into an also-provided pack full of kit and stepped out. Yunan was waiting.

Art by the amazing Angel Niemczyk (@Angel_Cake_Art on Twitter)!

“Looking spiffy, eh?” Yunan, uniformed as well, sized up the smaller newt. “It’s very . . . flattering.”

“I’d say you cut a dashing figure yourself.” She sauntered up to Yunan and brushed a speck of dust from her lapel. The Knight Commander swallowed, warmth rising to her cheeks. “Wait, where’s the hat?”

“Hat? I’m not wearing that, since when have I worn hats?”

“But what if–”

“Liv, there’s literally one guy in all of Amphibia with the authority to order me to wear the hat. Ain’t gonna happen.”

“You are incorrigible,” Olivia grumbled.

Yunan smirked. “I like it that way.”

Olivia took her companion – and commander, technically – aside. “What in newts’ name is this? Is this your idea of a sedate introduction?”

“Well, yeah!” Yunan whispered tersely. “We need to hit the ground running. Besides, you jumped off a cliff! Scaling the bell tower‘ll be a cinch.”

“A cinch. Need I remind you who tackled me off the cliff.” Olivia fought the urge to fold her arms and scowl.

“’Kay, fine, but you did throw the firebomb. Proves my point.” She broke away and stepped forward to the base of the tower, surrounded by the rangers. “Listen up – this first exercise will be pretty simple.” The Knight Commander tugged on a couple lines affixed to the top of the building. “The goal is to simply scale up and back down. While we all could climb a surface like this pretty easily, conditions in the field are never this peachy – so I want you using the ropes. Newton and I will go first.”

Olivia’s social training helped her fight off any visible averse reaction, but she was still taken aback. There was little she could do, though – she walked up to one of the ropes and placed her hands around it. It felt rough, almost bristly in her palms. Surely holding on wouldn’t be a difficult matter.

“Catch you at the top.” Yunan gripped her rope and hauled herself into a standing position sideways on the building. Olivia nodded, cautiously placing a foot on the stone brick. Then she leaned back. She supported herself entirely with her arms now – and she quickly realized the scale of that proposition. Curse me. Why couldn’t I have picked a more active profession than desk clerk until now?

One foot in front of the other. Yunan was already a few strides away, passing the first story windows. Olivia pushed herself to catch up. Recklessly – one foot slipped a couple inches before catching on a lip. Her heart dropped with it. Shaken, she acknowledged her fortune that the stonemasons had missed a spot before continuing on a little more cautiously.

For all of Olivia’s time in the city, she’d never experienced it like this. The usual layer – routes to and fro, history architectural and sculptural, the smattering of here-is-wheres – all fell away and another rose to replace it. Every jutting block or lintel became a foothold, every inch a struggle. Here was a brand-new city that only came out at night and was seen only by a select few. Whose eyes now inhabited her sockets?

Whoever that was, she resolved to flay them with a butter knife. Just one damn thing after another. The young woman gritted her teeth and heaved herself another few inches up the rope.

Halfway up the tower her arms began to shake. Her sticky newt’s grip was in no danger of slipping but she suddenly realized that her strength might fade before the summit, whereupon she’d be in the undignified position of having to be hauled up by Yunan. Olivia scrunched her eyes and tried to put it out of her mind. One hand at a time.

“Nearly there!” Yunan stood at the top, hands on her hips. “Is this your first time climbing with a rope?”

Olivia’s look didn’t need to be vocalized. Save it for when I’m up, you bastard. It took another twenty seconds, time Yunan spent tapping her foot. At last she hauled herself up and over the edge. “Hhhh – fucking hell, Yu. My arms are burning. My palms are burning.”

“Ah, the dignifed tongue of the nobility.” Yunan scooted over to make room for her by the great bell. Olivia sat down, able to peer over the edge and watch the first few rangers begin their ascents.

“What’s the plan from here? I expect we get – whew – a breather.” Olivia adjusted her cap.

“Yup. When they’re done we’ll get down and do a few more exercises. I’m thinking a speed march around the circumference of the wall, break for lunch, a quick combat refresher, and something else at the end. Haven’t decided.”

“Ah. What joy.”

“You’ll get it with time. Don’t worry.”

Olivia turned. “I thought you said I already was already ‘up to speed.’” Her palace-bred enunciation came out on the last three syllables.

Yunan shrugged. “Yeah, but everyone needs the practice. You’re up to speed but – well, so are the men. But that doesn’t mean they don’t need to be pushed.”

“Well, you are the expert here.” But that doesn’t mean I’ll like it, thought Olivia.

The tired Knight Warrant managed to hold her own in the speed march – right up front next to Yunan, naturally. Lunch was a welcome reprieve. Yunan’s experimental organization of the Knight Guard meant they didn’t have to worry about eating rations while they were still training in the city; they simply broke to find food among the city’s many hole-in-the-wall street restaurants and imbisse. Neither did they have a barracks. It was up to the rangers to assemble on time in the morning – they had been been given a stipend for rooms in the local inns; the Guard’s two officers had a two-bed suite at the Hemisphere Hotel courtesy of the king. Not that Olivia would make use of it; she had a perfectly good home she’d missed for the past several months.

After their mealtime, the combat exercises allowed Olivia room to breathe. She managed to hold her own decently well with Yunan in a swordfighting demo. Her old tactics, worn into her muscles after so long on the fencing piste, took some adaptation to work properly in a more dynamic environment. Nobody’s playing fair out here. A quick riposte, though, managed to get a few hushed exclamations from the rangers.

“I’d like to know where we’re going,” commented Olivia as she marched in step with Yunan after the combat lesson. It had taken almost all of the afternoon, but her exhaustion seemed to spring right back once they’d begun moving again. The straps of her pack dug into her shoulder. “We’re nearly back where we started.”

“You got that right,” replied the Knight Commander. “We climbed the bell tower, yeah, but that’s not realistic. You gotta train for what you’ll actually be doing. So we’ll be climbing it again, with packs.”

“You have got to be kidding me,” Olivia glowered as the structure came into sight. She resigned herself to her fate, took the rope again beside Yunan, and began her ascent. Within minutes she was back to cursing her weak arms and struggling foot by foot up the tower.

Far below and two streets away, a newt and a frog stood conversing by the threshold on an inn. The sign of the establishment – “The Bell and Bauble,” by virtue of its clear view of the bell tower – swung above them.

“They’re still at it. Who are they, Newtopian Army?” The frog, a short, balding man with dull purple skin accented by scattered bright spots, queried his companion.

“No. They’re a new outfit. ‘Knight Guard,’ they’re calling them. Caused a bit of a stir.”

“How interesting. Perhaps they’re getting desperate.” He dropped his voice to a hushed tone. “This month’s shipment is late, Climent, is there something going on?”

The other man, a bright yellow newt, clapped a hand on his back and gestured inside. “Ye – well, we’d better talk in the back.” The frog nodded and veered right after crossing over the threshold, then ducked through the office door and closed it behind them with an audible latch.

“What’s happened?”

“Word around the barracks is that the princeling’s dead. No point in waiting on his cash, apparently a pair of swallow-riders bagged him out near Byrneford. Something about escaped prisoners being involved.”

“Well, damn. And I’ve got a contact waiting on payment now.” The frog sunk into a chair and poured himself a sharp-scented drink.

“I’m sorry, Nicodème, just the way things go.”

“Little joke of a count too. He probably spent more on that racing bird of his than he ever funneled to us. Don’t tell me you’ve got another man, kid, I’ve got enough mouths to feed.”

“Just the two still. And one just gives tips, sometimes doesn’t request payment.”

Nicodème gestured with his glass. The bronze-colored liquid inside sloshed. “Remind me. Is that the – shopkeep?”

“The shopkeep’s a miser. The other one’s the oddity. Keeps under wraps, only turns up at night. Older woman,” replied Climent.

“Species?”

“I’d hazard to guess newt but I’ve never managed a good enough look. Fine by me, she’s given us some solid leads. Remember, she gave us the – uh, the, um, the Ribbitvale caravan.” He snapped his fingers in recognition.

“Oh, right, right, I never have a memory for this. Guess it’s what getting old gets you.” He took another sip of his drink. A muffled tolling reverberated through the door – the bell tower striking seven.

The dandelion newt instinctively checked over his shoulder. “Best I run, I’ve got a guard shift in an hour.”

“It’s nothing,” the frog sighed. “Even without von Stroheim I’m sure we can figure something out. Could run a message to the field hands to get Ragnar to drop us a line.”

Climent hesitated at the door. “Wait until you need it, else it’s not worth the risk,” he replied, then ducked out.

BONNNG, BONNNGG, BONNNNGGGG. The last toll of the bell reverberated in Olivia’s bones as she clambered onto the platform. Yunan was there already, of course, having beaten her by a full ninety seconds. Rather than engage she simply settled down and leaned against a stone pillar, silent except for the heaving of her breath.

Yunan’s gaze was focused on the troops below taking the ropes, but with a glance to the side she noticed Olivia’s sulking. Then back to the rangers – but she wavered, finally, and sat down next to the young lady.

She cleared her throat. This will be awful, you’ve never been one for talking. “I’m . . . sorry if it feels like I’m pressuring you. Going first and all.”

“Well, er,” Olivia stammered, “a little bit, yes.”

“That’s on me then. Sorry.” She leaned forward and brought Olivia in for an unexpected hug. “It’s just – I’m learning to find the balance. I’m worried. And I’ve been worried in the past. Out of character, I know.”

She retreated from the embrace. Olivia, tired but heartened, giggled a little. “Oh yes, I’m aware.”

The pink newt couldn’t help but break a smile. “Naturally. But – I’m anxious. I’ve never had a position like this, and never in any circumstances even close to now; we’re rushing to get our shit together. I guess what I’m most scared of is not being ready in time.” She gestured, hands in front of her like the sands of an hourglass were slipping through her fingers. “If this is gonna work we need everyone to have full confidence, in each other and themselves most of all. The men need to see us out there leading by example. Like my friend Tsoi once said to me, before this kicked off: ‘if the officers can do it, I can do it. If the officers can do it.’ But I never stopped to explain myself or consider how it’d affect you. It’s – I’m – how do you say it. I’m not like you. ‘M still learning how to people.”

Olivia still hovered close, not yet disconnecting. She reached up and brushed a small tear from Yunan’s cheek. “I get it. I’m glad you told me.”

Yunan nodded in tender acknowledgment. “For the record – and I don’t know if this helps anything – but in my book you’re just as deranged as me.”

“You know, maybe four months ago I would’ve been mad, but I can’t refute it.” The young lady beamed. “That may be the most grotesque compliment I’ve ever been proud of.”

Eight weeks flew by before Olivia knew it. It was hard to believe – not only that the time had passed, but that in that span a former administrative clerk and debutante had learned the finer points of speed marching, orienteering, signaling, demolitions, unarmed combat, assault courses, and practical swordfighting. Normally at this time of year she’d be in a gown rounding the social circuit. I should inquire with Mother whether I should be in attendance at the Royal Regatta, she thought to herself amusedly. The life of the nobility went on, wartime or no.

On this particular morning the Knight Guard assembled themselves on the parade ground to mark their two month anniversary. They’d been two months of floundering on the part of Newtopia: Ragnar, bolstered by his barbariant logistics network, had launched a summer offensive in early June that saw Brudenewt’s command pushed back further. There were no disastrous breakthroughs, but the old General had been forced to retreat from an exposed salient around the North Tower. The loss of their traditional seat of power at the hands of the usurper had sent Captain Aldo (along with the rest of the Toad Lords) into a rage. Meanwhile, Lieutenant General Chepyzhin’s efforts to reform the Newtopian Army had been stonewalled by his superior. It was needless to say, then, that Yunan and the King were anxious to get the Knight Guard into the field.

“Specialized training begins today,” Yunan stated. “Myself and Flight Rangers Foxley and Foxley will lead those of you with birdy tendencies over to the castle aviary for some flight instruction.” Olivia, standing at her side, nearly guffawed at her phrasing. “Knight Warrant Newton and the greygloves will participate in firearms training courtesy of our guest lecturer, Sergeant Tsoi from the Newtopian Army. The rest of you will do more combatives with Ranger Chevalier Alberici. Understood?” The troops nodded. “Very well. Dismissed!”

The Knight Commander winked at her companion before ducking away in the direction of the castle. Olivia – after a delicately subtle eyebrow raise – strode with her contingent over to Yunan’s friend, the stout brown toad she’d first met on the road to Raffenstein Manor. He’d set up a table with a number of long wheellock rifles, a cask of powder, and a bowl of round lead balls.

“Ah, Olivia!” A friendly wave led Olivia to notice he wore a pair of dark-stained gloves. “Been quite a while, eh? Holding up?”

She shrugged. “It’s a change, that is for sure.”

“For the better, I hope. At least from the first time I saw you,” added Tsoi.

“Oh, indubitably.”

“Should apologize, I guess, for scaring ya like that. I thought Yunan was dead at the time. Didn’t mean to worry you – and, well, I didn’t know you two were so close.”

Olivia yet again fought off the instinct to blush. “Er – it’s quite alright. I completely understand.”

Sgt. Tsoi smiled. “Are you two . . . ?”

The young woman gave him a look that could skewer at twenty yards. “Don’t even insinuate.”

He raised his hands in mock surrender. “Fine, fine. For you I shut up.”

Olivia rolled her eyes and hefted the wooden box Chepyzhin had given her onto the table.

“What’s this? Can I?” Tsoi gestured to the latch, to which Olivia gave a little nod. He opened the box with a click. “My, my. This is an odd one.” The toad began to reach in but stopped himself. “Well, uhm, I suppose it makes sense to start with you. I’ll grab this.”

Tsoi, box in hand, led Olivia over to a prepared firing position on the training ground. Opposite them was a stout earthen berm with a number of paper targets set up before it.

“Before we begin, a number of ground rules. These are tools, yes, but you’ve got to treat them with respect. Hard to blow yourself up by touching a sword wrong. First: always, always, treat ‘em as if they’re loaded.” He set the box down and picked up the pistol. Even as it sat in his hand he kept the barrel pointed at the ground. “Never let the muzzle cover something you don’t want to destroy. Be aware of the target and what’s behind it.” The toad raised the weapon and aimed it, unloaded, at the nearest target. Olivia noted the earthen backstop, and that Tsoi kept his finger extended along the side of the trigger instead of resting on it. “And lastly, keep off the trigger until you’re ready to fire.”

The toad relaxed his position and returned the pistol to the box. “I’ll do to remember that,” commented Olivia.

“Good. Now reach in and grab yourselves those gloves.”

Olivia did so. The silk slipped over her hands effortlessly. She felt a little ridiculous wearing garments more suited to the palace in her military uniform, but there had to be a logic to it. “Why the gloves, if I may ask?”

“Keeps the moisture in your hands from wetting the powder. Speaking of, grab the pistol and the powder-horn.”

The young lady held the revolver barrel-up as Tsoi showed her how to measure out the right amount of gunpowder. It stained the palm of her white gloves with a tinge of grey. “Just be careful to get it all in the chamber, any powder on the face of the cylinder might lead to a chainfire.”

“Chainfire?”

“More than one cylinder going off at once,” he explained. “These revolving types are new but I’ve worked on a couple. It’s an issue.”

Next came the wadding, which was stuffed down atop the powder, and then the lead shot which Tsoi had Olivia lubricate with a gross, slimy substance. The ball sat atop the chamber stubbornly. “I think it’s too big.”

“No, that’s intentional. Means it gets a good seal. Use the lever.” Olivia took hold of the stout loading lever beneath the barrel and bent it down with all her might. Still, the ball refused to budge.

“It’s a bit of a difficult process, given the fit around the ball is tighter than the Royal Advisor’s–”

Another sharp expression. “Mother would kill you if she heard you say that.”

“Wait, she’s your mom? That explains a lot.”

Rather than reply Olivia channeled her rage into the loading lever. The lead eventually gave way and sank into the cylinder, leaving a small ring-shaped shaving behind.

“See that? That’s good, it’s got a proper seal. Now grab one of those caps and you’ll be ready to fire.”

After fitting the percussion cap onto the back of the cylinder, Olivia stepped forward to the firing line and cocked the hammer on the back of the gun. A pair of notched sights appeared as it settled into its raised position. She leveled the weapon at the target, framing it in the sights – her hand wobbled. The weapon felt as heavy as a solid ingot when held outstretched. For all her activity the last two months had not done anything to shore up her “nerd arms,” as Yunan dubbed them.

She pushed the weight out of her mind and steadied her grip. Her gloved finger slid itself over to the trigger, resting on the center of the first pad, drawing back . . .

It was less of a crack and more a concussive THOOM. The weapon in Olivia’s hand didn’t fire so much as detonate, erupting in a gout of smoke. The air filled with a sulfuric tang, somehow agreeable to her palate, like a sweet memory of vinegar and charred pepper. She cursed – there was a hot pinprick of pain on her hand. She looked down to find a fragment of the shattered cap, which she brushed away.

“Not a bad first try. You got on the board, at least.” Tsoi pointed to the target, which was sporting a new hole towards the edge of the paper.

“It’s something to work on.”

“Yep – grab the powder and I’ll get you another round.” He turned away.

BOOM.

Sgt. Tsoi looked back over his shoulder. “Wait, what? You only loaded one, right?”

Olivia wasn’t looking at him, nor did she have her pistol raised. Her head was turned out over the rooftops towards the city’s edge. There was some sort of distant commotion, shouting – and within seconds, a wisp of smoke over the lip of the great wall.

“Tsoi – that wasn’t me.”

Chapter Text

“You may be our superior officer but that does not preclude you from being teased,” remarked one of the twins. “I believe our mutual friend mentioned a ‘dashing rescuer?’”

“Aha! Perhaps a story for another time, but, well . . . you see, I was wounded in battle and stuck behind enemy lines! Carefully, I kept my wits about me and infiltrated the dastardly Count von Stroheim’s clifftop manor!” Reaching the grand double doors of the castle aviary, Yunan paused a minute and faced the other way, back to the varnished wood. With one arm she slowly and dramatically eased it open. “By my lonesome I crept inside until I found Knight Warrant Newton, and from then on–”

“She’s not even embarrassed,” interjected the other twin as they crossed the threshold of the aviary. Yunan could barely tell them apart.

“I know. It’s no fun, teasing Olivia’s so much better.” The newt – Charlotte? – gestured towards Yunan. “She doesn’t even blush!”

Cecil (Yunan was fairly sure it was Cecil) turned back to address the Knight Commander. “So you broke her out of a house. Do you count that as your first date or were there any prior?”

“Date?” Yunan rang out incredulously. “It wasn’t a date, we aren’t – it’s a battle-worn partnership, oh – what do you call it when you ‘dashingly’ rescue someone from military prison?”

Charlotte smirked. “I don’t know, second base?”

Within half a second Yunan disproved Charlotte’s theory that she didn’t blush. “An–nyway,” she sputtered,” . . . uh . . . birds?”

The twins looked at each other. “Birds?”

“Birds.”

They turned back in unison. “Birds.”

Yunan nodded. “Birds.” She exhaled and continued down the hallway, resolute. The twins conferred behind her in whispered tones.

“Truce?”

“Truce.”

The castle aviary opened up before them. It was a long, dark series of niches built in a semicircle around the structure’s circumference. Shafts of bright sunlight and fresh air flooded in through the intermittent roost-bays, combining with the interior’s darkness to render the whole thing in chiaroscuro. Yunan stepped forward past the first bay. This one was empty; she could see over the ledge and far below to the tiles of Olivia’s manor home, and skipping across innumerable rooftops to the lower districts, the wall, and the sea beyond. It was enough to make one dizzy.

“Which one are we going to?”

Cecil checked over the clipboard he was carrying. “Ledger says they’re in bays ten through thirteen.”

“Right then.” The Knight Commander pressed on. Around them activity bustled – attendants hurrying to and fro, hitched birds being watered, two swallows to be saddled for an escort sortie. Finally they reached a verdigris “10” placard on the wall, and with it a familiar face.

“SCORCHY!” Yunan dashed forward and gave the ruddy sparrow a pat on the head in greeting. Its stablemate, a dust-brown crag martin, regarded the disturbance with a distressed chirp.

Charlotte grinned. “Liv told us you’d react like this. She put in the request for this bird specifically. Given you two brought it in in the first place, it looks like the requisition office didn’t have an issue with it.”

“Oh glorious day,” replied Yunan, still lovingly ruffling Scorchy’s feathers.

Cecil glared at the other bird with distrust. “She could’ve at least asked for a better roommate.”

“Only you would be the victim of bullying from a bird,” his sister quipped.

Yunan perked up. “What’s that now?”

Charlotte looked over her shoulder at the large avian – still barely three-fifths of Scorchy’s size, slender and clearly fit for only one rider – with her arms crossed. “That’s Tinkertoy. My idiot brother flew him while we were in the swallow-riders. They’re not on speaking terms.”

“He’s cursed, I swear he’s cursed!”

“Is he now?” Charlotte cracked a smile. “I believe you are just experiencing what is known as a ‘skill issue.’”

“He’s fine when he wants to be, then the wind changes and ughh–” Cecil shivered. “Something always goes wrong. He’s a jinx, I swear.”

“Suck it up, Cici.”

Before either of the bickering twins could get another word in there came a distant and fantastic BOOM on the horizon. Yunan snapped to attention, any inkling of her previous task vanished. She turned in time to see a great column of sea-spray collapse down over Newtopia’s perimeter wall. Because of the distance it was impossible to make out any detail, but she swore she saw tiny black flickering dots hovering over the area. Gray-white smoke began to rise.

“We need to get out there. Now,” she commanded. “Cecil, take your bird, it’s already saddled. Charlotte, get up here.” Yunan vaulted up to sit atop Scorchy’s back.

“We’ll need to get him prepared–”

“No time,” Yunan said emphatically. “Hop on.”

Charlotte obliged but struggled with her footing. “Without a saddle? You’re crazy!”

The Knight Commander gave her a loopy grin. “If I was crazy enough to do it before I’m crazy enough to do it again.”

“Liv and I are going to have a talk after this,” Charlotte sighed. Yunan patted Scorchy and the sparrow immediately sprang forward, out and over the lip of the aviary. It was less flying and more a controlled 60-degree plummet, at least until the great bird unfurled his wings and pulled out into level flight. “HOLY SHIT, YUNAN!”

“What, is that not how you’re meant to do it?”

“No, not at all!” Charlotte held on to Scorchy with a white-knuckle grip. Behind them her brother gracefully launched off on Tinkertoy. He’d had the presence of mind to grab a lance, just in case.

Yunan shrugged. “Hmm, well, you might have to give me some pointers.”

“Better to just let me fly. You don’t want to go and kill yourself before you’ve had a chance to smooch Olivia.”

“You make a fair poin–HEY!”

“Oh, was that so hard?”

Just another block, Olivia repeated to herself mantra-like. As much as she was loathe to admit it Yunan’s training regimen had done wonders to improve her stamina. If only she’d had her around earlier, then perhaps she would’ve gotten away at Loughop.

“There’s the stairway!” She shouted, gesturing for the half-dozen or so newts behind her to make for it. Another heavy footfall on the right, a lighter one on the left. Olivia had had the wherewithal to strap on her pistol’s leather leg holster before dashing off, but – I dearly hope Mother doesn’t have the ability to read minds right now – it was a real bitch to run with.

The Knight Warrant’s squad arrived at the base of the wall and began their ascent. Suddenly, a sparrow trailing a cerulean streamer (one of Ragnar’s , Olivia thought) burst over the wall above and made a smooth exit turn out over the city. Seconds later: KABOOM. The stone reverberated with the shockwave and Olivia nearly lost her footing. Salty sea spray rained down from above and dampened the marble.

“Come on, just a little further!” Sergeant Tsoi, a few steps behind Olivia, beckoned to those below. Another flight – the young lady’s legs were really feeling it now – and they were atop the wall.

They came out into a scene of pure confusion.

Out over the sea hovered a carousel of circling sparrows, each with a toad rider. They seemed to be loitering: waiting for a turn at the wall. Slung beneath their bellies (by way of a frame apparatus) were barrels. Olivia, panting out of breath as the city guard panicked around her, stood rooted as one bird peeled off from the rest and descended to just a few feet above the shallow water. It was coming right for her. She could make out more details now. The toad, focused on the wall, readied a hand on a lever mounted by his saddle.

Olivia inhaled sharply to break her fugue state. Come on, you have a job to do. The last of her Knight Guard detachment, sagging under the weight of their heavy rifles, came scrambling to the top of the stairs.

“EVERYONE, ON ME! PACK IN AND MAKE READY TO FIRE,” the lady shouted. Her raised voice sounded alien to herself.

The sparrow was getting close now. It didn’t make sense – if they’re trying to crack the wall, isn’t the water far too shallow for a torpedo? No, she figured, it doesn’t matter. If they’re trying it that must mean they’ve devised a plan that works. We just need to get in the way.

The greygloves formed a line and rested their rifle barrels on the edge of the crenelated wall. Olivia raised an arm. Tsoi, just to her right, whispered advice in her ear. “You’ll want to plug your ears for this, fancypants.”

Too late for that now. “FIRE!”

An enormous, crackling concussion erupted next to her. The sound was indescribable. It felt like someone had placed a metal pot over her head and smashed it with a mace. The force of it reverberated through her, even into her chest cavity and stomach. She willed her eyes to open again just in time for the toad on the sparrow, shaken, to pull the lever on his mount. A wound spring loosed in the frame and set the barrel spinning up. The rider wavered. His nerves failed and he began to veer off just a little too early. As his steed started to bank and climb, the backspinning barrel came free of the frame and hit the water’s surface.

And sure enough, it bounced.

The fire in Olivia’s eardrums faded to a dull ringing as she witnessed the barrel skip across the water. Its trajectory wasn’t right – it came unsteady, one side hitting the sea before the other, until it caught and went tumbling end over end down into the sandy seafloor before exploding. This one, more distant, felt like a rumble in her lungs. The sparrow and its rider came over the top further down the wall’s circumference and exited her concerns.

So this is what we’re dealing with. The young woman saw no other option but to stand there and hold the line – at least until the stone gives out beneath me, anyway. Perhaps it’d be an amusing death, she mused darkly.

“LOAD AND MAKE READY!” Olivia felt her voice had been enveloped by cotton, but the flurry of activity from the men suggested otherwise. She hoped they’d be in time. The next of Ragnar’s sparrows was already breaking and descending to altitude – how long was it? Ten, twenty seconds? That surely won’t be enough. She glanced nervously at the six newts besides her frantically measuring powder charges and loading them down their muzzles, and beyond to the endless rooftops far below. That’s not enough time.

It felt stupid but she went for it anyway. Olivia reached down, loosed the revolver from its holster, and cocked back the hammer. Two hands – still shaky, too shaky for a clear shot – I’ve only tried this once, what the FUCK am I doing? I can’t, I mustn’t, thinking takes too much time – she gulped, the bird was coming in close, she squeezed the trigger – THOOM. Again. She cocked the hammer on the next cylinder. THOOM. Nothing but smoke, the stench of burnt powder, and more ringing in her deafened ears. “FUUUCK!”

“DUCK!” Tsoi, checking over his shoulder, suddenly bowled her over with a tackle. As Olivia hit the marble a brown bird flying inverted flashed overhead, missing her by mere feet. Its rider, a green newt couching a lance, continued over the wall and rolled right-side-up just in time to knock the toad on his bombing run out of his saddle.

A faint cheer erupted from the Knight Guard but Olivia was too discombobulated to join in. She merely smiled as a second bird, this one larger and carrying a pink newt with a shock of blonde hair, came sailing over the wall.

“Cecil’s got that one, climb and head for the next in line,” Yunan decided. As Scorchy Sparrow passed the great stone edifice that marked Newtopia’s boundary she spotted a certain blue companion of hers, flabbergasted, flattened against the ground. Yunan beamed.

“Right away!” Charlotte eased back and brought the sparrow into a gentle ascent. Some distance in front of them Ragnar’s birds circled ominously. They closed the distance in short order by Yunan was no nearer to understanding what exactly they were doing. Whatever. They’re here, I’m here, fuck ‘em.

A fresh sparrow peeled away from the now rather depleted-looking circle. Scorchy passed overhead – that makes four? I can handle that, Yunan thought. “You didn’t happen to bring a lance, did ya?”

“Well, no, I had someone yelling in my ear to leave without one!”

“No matter!” Yunan chirped. “Just get me close. I wanna punch them.”

“Your funeral,” retorted Charlotte as she suddenly rolled Scorchy belly-up and pulled back into an inside loop. The maneuver brought them to the attacking bird’s level flush with enough speed to catch up.

Scorchy approached the interloper behind and just below in such a way as to make them invisible to its rider. Once they were in range Yunan shot Charlotte a quick thumbs-up and then lept off. The pilot started – especially when her commander’s fingers just barely skimmed the other bird’s leg – but Yunan found purchase on the rim of the hanging barrel-bomb. The last thing Charlotte saw before she pulled away was the pink newt hauling herself up by her fingertips and grinning like mad.

Yunan rolled up and onto the sparrow’s back in one fluid movement. Now this is an entrance! “Hey fucknugget!”

The toad whipped around. “WHAT–”

“I,” boomed the newt, “AM KNIGHT COMMANDER YUNAN! AVENGER OF BYRNEFORD, RESCUER OF LADIES, AND CURRENTLY PUNCHING YOU IN THE FACE!”

Yunan accentuated her list of titles with a swift hand gesture that sent the toad flying clear out of his saddle. Well, that’s got it done. She settled into his seat and broke off from the bombing run. There’s a lever here. Why’s there a lever here? Birds don’t come with levers. Did someone add something to birds while I was away? Eh, who cares.

The young woman reassessed the situation. Charlotte was clawing for altitude – getting the high ground, that’s good – and Cecil had lined up on the next enemy in formation and was gunning for a head-to-head. He wasn’t distant, but the heavy cask of boomshrooms still tethered to Yunan’s mount meant she lagged behind. She could only watch as Tinkertoy came in too close on his head-on pass and collided, sending both animals careening into the drink. Holy shit!

Scorchy winged over immediately. Yunan understood the instinct, but Charlotte’s dive towards the water brought her out of position just as the last two of Ragnar’s sparrows started for the wall. Oh fuck! Is this me? I think it’s me. The soldier glanced back to confirm that yes, she was the only thing between them and the battered shell of Newtopia. It hadn’t crumbled – yet, anyway – but the repeated blasts had blackened and cracked the stone down at the waterline. Any more and the sea might come flooding in.

Alright. Yunan faced her heavy bird directly into the attack. Stabby things: none. Slashy things: also none. I should keep those on me all the time. Uhh . . . mysterious lever? That’s something. Levers are for pulling! The Knight Commander yanked the mechanism back. The bomb spun up in its cradle and detached. The two attackers in front of her, suddenly faced with a massive explosive charge skipping at their faces, pulled up to evade. Yes!

“What’s the situation?” Tsoi came jogging back after a quick dash for more gunpowder. He set a small cask on the parapet.

Olivia scanned the sky. “We are now two on two, one of ours went down just a few moments ago. It appears Yunan is . . . WHAT in NEWT’S name is that MADWOMAN doing‽”

The toad shrugged. “You know her better than I do now.”

“Well–” Olivia’s sentence was interrupted by the KABOOM of Yunan’s cask bursting. “Sod it all. TWO INCOMING, AIM AND MAKE READY!”

The six greygloves snapped into position. The approaching sparrows were climbing, aborting their runs, which made the shot an easier proposition. “FIRE!”

The friction-wheels attached to each rifle spun as the triggers drew back, grinding against pyrite and dumping the resulting sparks into a pan prepared with a dusting of powder. Olivia saw the momentary flash as they lit, then staggered back as the great weapons went off in volley. Spinning lead shot forth just as the attackers swooped overhead. A few bullets found their mark; one shot nicked the cradle holding a bomb in place, causing the barrel to suddenly plummet down towards the city. Two others nestled into the breast of the second sparrow. It yelped in pain.

Time moved slowly. Olivia, lungs full of gunpowder smoke, pushed off for the stairs. The wounded sparrow lost strength and began a precipitous dive towards the city. Simultaneously, the loosed bomb – trailing blue fungus, it must’ve been hit – sailed down until it hit a rooftop. One bounce, two, it shattered tiles as it passed, then ignited. THOOM. The air shimmered with the concussion.

There was no time for orders, not that Olivia needed to shout any. Her troops instinctively followed the young lady as the cascaded down the marble steps. They flew through the streets below. The populace – onlookers, storemongers, newts corralling frightened snails – lept out of the way.

“Go for the explosion,” shouted Tsoi as he sprinted alongside Olivia. “I’ll find the other one!”

“Right!” The toad broke away. Another block and Olivia arrived in the midst of a great commotion. Dust hung in the air around a collapsed wall. Someone was lying nearby – evidently the barrel had gone off on the roof and peppered them with fragments. A number of people hovered around the wounded man attempting to staunch the bleeding around his shoulder and back.

Someone turned to address Olivia as she came running up, but it seemed hardly any sound came out. It was drowned in the persistent while that now echoed in her eardrums. She just nodded, ashen-faced, and turned back to the situation. Shit. The newt on the cobblestone squirmed. What do I have? Bandages, I must have some bandages somewhere – but we need to get him to a medic quickly. She rifled through her pockets helplessly.

“I got it!” This voice was clear enough to get through. An elderly man, a tan frog, came forward and tossed a little bundle at the injured newt. It burst with a gentle poof. Suddenly the man appeared to slow and the blood that had been soaking through the crowd’s improvised bandages waned to a trickle.

“What did you do?”

The man mouthed something at Olivia. The young lady shook her head and pointed to her ears.

“I USED A CURSE BUNDLE TO SLOW HIM,” the frog repeated. “IT ALSO WORKS FOR BLEEDING.”

Olivia gave him a nod. “Good thinking!” A curse user? I never knew there were any in the city.

One of the Knight Guard stepped away to flag down a passing cart. They loaded the injured in and set off for the city center.

Sergeant Tsoi had taken some time to locate the crash site. The sparrow, mortally wounded, came down in a little side street straddled by buildings. Tsoi had captured the rider with the help of a couple civilians – they were now tied up in someone’s shed – then stationed himself at the mouth of the dead end where the bomb came to rest in order to keep passersby away. It was the responsible thing to do.

A couple hours later, a squad of uniformed newts marched up. Evidently the excitement of the raid had ended and the cleanup had begun.

“Hello! City guard?” Tsoi offered.

“Yes, sir,” their leader responded. “Newtopian Army, we presume?”

“That’s right. Sergeant Viktoad Tsoi. If you’re here for the crash site, we’ve got the rider over there, just ask. Behind me is some unexploded ordnance.”

“I see,” said the lead guard, a dandelion yellow newt. He reached for a folded piece of paper in his satchel, a document emblazoned with a red seal. “We’ll pick up the rider but I, uh, also have a writ here to remit that into our custody. Got it stamped by the Royal Advisor.” He eyed the explosive barrel curiously.

Tsoi’s eyebrow rasied. “Well – I, then, trust you have it handled then.”

“We’ll be fine,” the newt replied. “Besides, it’s something to do other than standing around. Those new guys stole all the action.”

The toad smiled. “Get used to it.”

The quiet, cavernous castle was much nicer on Olivia’s eardrums. The young woman hunched over a desk scribbling the loose ends of the day. She’d fallen into old habits and pulled out one of her innumerable notebooks smeared with tiny, scrunched-up lettering that Yunan declared unreadable.

“Charlotte brought her brother to the medics, superficial injuries but shaken up,” she noted. “Status of his mount?”

“Busted wing. Probably jinxed.”

“I know I should, Yunan, but I’m not going to interrogate that.”

“Fair,” replied Yunan. “That’s about it on my end. I found the rest of the Guard and gave ‘em a week’s leave. They deserve it.”

“That they do. We’ve been working them like draft snails.” She sighed and collapsed back into her chair. “On my end, one injured and transported to hospital. Civilian. Sergeant Tsoi dealt with the crashed sparrow.”

“Quite a fucking day.”

“Quite a fucking day indeed,” Olivia breathed. She rubbed her eyes. “No end to it. Did I tell you I ran into a curse user?”

“A curse user? I’d’ve remembered that if you had. Not that I remember anything.”

“You should give yourself more credit, Knight Commander Yunan. You have proven very capable,” a voice from behind affirmed.

Yunan nearly jumped out of her skin. “GAH! Oh, uh, L-lady Calanthia. How did you . . .”

The older woman shrugged. “I can be subtle when I prefer.”

“She gets me too sometimes,” complained her daughter. “It is absurd.”

The royal advisor coughed. “In any case, I should commend you both. We have dispatched a preliminary inspection team and it appears the wall is damaged, but fundamentally sound. Without your initiative the situation could have been inconceivably worse.” A warm smile crept over her face. “Well done.”

Yunan blushed. “Gee – thanks, m’lady.” Olivia’s eyes flitted for a moment to her companion’s flushed cheeks before settling back.

“Thank you, Mother.”

“Of course. You have more than earned the city’s praise.” Calanthia let the moment linger just a little longer before continuing. “I believe a debrief is in order, but I must say you two look positively exhausted.”

“I’m fine, personally,” Yunan deflected.

Olivia stifled a yawn. “I’m somewhat functional, but, yes. I did jot down this, though, it should be serviceable.”

Lady Calanthia took the offered notebook and scanned the page. “Oh, more than serviceable. I will start on consolidating a report. You two should get some rest. As well as some nourishment – I can hardly imagine either of you have had anything to eat.”

Yunan didn’t realize how hungry she was until she’d mentioned it. “Right away.”

“I will see you two later than,” the woman smirked. “And Yunan?”

“Yes?”

“Take her somewhere nice.”

“Um–”

Olivia’s face exploded in a deep blush, as was likely her mother’s intention as she exited the room gently chuckling to herself. “Mom~,” Olivia offered in withered protest.

“. . . Is she usually like that?"

“Not often,” she managed after clearing up her blush through sheer force of will. “She’s been more mischievous as of late.”

It’s kinda cute when she’s flustered like that, Yunan thought. Wait, what? “I, uh, bet she’s just happy to have you back an’ all.”

“Mhm. That’s most probably it.” Olivia nodded. All her powers of deception had deserted her but somehow Yunan accepted her answer.

“Anyway. You wanna get lunch? Or – dinner? Shit, what time is it?”

“It’s nearly seven. The last bells were about twenty minutes ago.” Olivia stretched and rose from her seat. It was a short walk from their antechamber to the castle’s main entrance. “I could do with a meal. And to pass out facedown in the dirt.”

“I’ve done that, doesn’t live up to the hype.”

“Liable to ruin one’s garments, I suppose.” The young lady paused a second to let the guards stationed at the castle’s entry open the heavy double doors. “My home isn’t far if you would prefer something quick. I’ll have the staff fix us something.”

“I’m fine with heading into town, but who knows what’s open right now given everything today. I’ll take you up on it.”

It was just a quick walk down the spiralway to House Newton, but it afforded the two a panoramic view of Newtopia. The late afternoon sun bathed the city in a wash of marigold. Yunan inhaled deeply – it felt like the first breath in hours that didn’t smell of castle dust or the fungal smoke of boomshrooms. Rather it was salt and grass cuttings and the bloom of whatever flowering vine clambered over the iron bars of Olivia’s fence. It was a scent a world away from anything she knew.

Olivia reached for a string around her neck and pulled out a key (threaded on the same cord as a little metal identification tag) which she fitted into a lock on the gate. A quirk of the wrist and it swung open. “Here.”

Yunan stepped inside. She was led around a side-path to a small terrace garden. A hedge blocked the view from the spiralway, but the sloping grass lawn provided the perfect spot to gaze over the rooftops, the wall, and the horizon. “Oh wow.”

Her companion tapped her shoulder. “Wait here.” She dashed up the patio and disappeared inside the white stone villa with a swish of her tail.

The soldier settled herself on the grass. The breeze tousled her hair – it’s getting long, she figured, I should probably trim that soon. She ran a hand through it to confirm. Yup.

The memory of when she’d first cut it short wandered back to her. She was about six. They’d thrown a fit, but she was Yunan, who was anyone to tell her otherwise? From then on she’d forged her own path – well, mostly her own path – and here she was today. Somewhere it’d been hard to imagine she’d ever be.

“Yunan!”

She rose. Olivia was placing a tray of sandwiches down on the patio table flanked by a wicker chaise. “It’s quick, but I hope you’ll forgive me. Sourdough, pastrami, and onion with a touch of butter.”

“More than good. Thanks,” Yunan murmured before attacking one of the sandwiches. “Fuck, Liv, this is heavenly.”

The blue newt smiled. “It’s a comfort. One would not find it at a banquet, but in my estimation it’s worth more than all the caviar in the world.” She almost cracked up at her own statement, mouth full.

“You gotta give the the recipe.”

“For you? Of course. But to anyone else – it’s a military secret.” Olivia finished and slouched back. She yawned. “Goodness, I’m–”

“Tired?” Yunan finished. Her companion was usually spick-and-span but the tight bun she kept her hair in was frayed and her posture belied a deep weariness. “A battle will do that to you. For me it’s – well, half the time I feel ready to drop dead and the other I can’t seem to sleep no matter what I do. Never know which it’s gonna be.”

Olivia read her face, the bags under her eyes. “I think it’s the former.”

She shrugged. “I think you’re right.”

“Here.” Olivia gestured to the chaise lounge she occupied the tail end of.

“No, I really shouldn’t, I should head back.”

“You’re tired, Yu. Let yourself sit a while.” She patted the space next to her. Yunan could hear the wellspring of tenderness in her voice.

Saying nothing, the soldier surrendered and seated herself. As she did a wave of fatigue that she’d been suppressing washed over her.

“Long day,” remarked Olivia in a quiet voice.

“Yeah.” Yunan stretched her aching shoulders. “Not the worst.”

“That being?” The young lady brought a hand to Yunan’s back.

“That first one, near Byrneford. ‘Know I told you about it.”

Olivia smiled. “Most certainly.”

“Oh yes,” Yunan added, angling herself to face her. “But,” her face fell, “what gets me is that I knew. I knew that idiot was walking into a trap. I knew and he didn’t listen. I should’ve said more. I know I’m not – I’m not – you’re, you’re the talker, there had to have been something–”

“Yunan, shh, shh, Yu.” Olivia started, patting her back. “Don’t harangue yourself. I know they are potent counterfactuals but you did your job to the best of your ability. That is really all one can ask for.”

“Okay,” Yunan sniffed. “’Yer right.” She calmed herself before easing into a gentle and unaccountable giggle.

“What?”

“Did a damn sight better than my dad, at least,” chuckled Yunan.

The other newt raised an eyebrow, interest piqued. “I don’t recall you ever mentioning your father.”

“Yeah, well, he’s – kind of a mess, really. I’m not a ‘Wolterstorff’ by birth. It’s my mom’s side of the family, I just started using it. My dad’s a Longclaw.”

“Oh,” she uttered with some manner of recollection. “The knight?”

“Yup. Him and everyone. Y’know, him and his father before him and his father before him, one of those deals.” The soldier yawned and stretched herself out on the reclined back of the chaise. “And his father before him. Wait, no, I think he was a milliner. Anyway, Dad’s the only one anyone remembers now. For being a coward.”

“To put it bluntly, yes.”

“Exactly. Turning up in a military career with that hanging over me would be like trying to juggle anvils in a petting zoo. So I don’t.”

“Didn’t?”

“Don’t,” Yunan affirmed, “do surnames.”

“Just ‘Knight Commander Yunan’ then. I’ll keep it up.”

“Thanks, Liv,” she said warmly. There was one of those moments again – her friend backlit against the fading evening sky, wearing a calm hint of a smile and that ridiculous little kepi. She felt charmed.

Olivia stretched and cracked her knuckles. “I remember my father, to an extent. I was quite young when he passed away.” She removed her cap and slid into place lying besides Yunan. The newt kept quiet as she tucked up into her shoulder.

“I’m sorry about that.”

“It’s quite alright. It was not you,” she replied in what most would mistake for a flat tone. Yunan’s ear, though detected a tinge of intended levity. Hanging around Olivia was perhaps the one place she felt occasionally confident in reading people. She stifled a laugh.

“I’m just lying down a minute, Yu.”

“’s alright.” For some incomprehensible reason Yunan was okay with her all snuggled up there. It was like that on occasion. Somewhat frequently. Increasingly frequently.

Olivia (or some tiny figment of herself) screamed inside her head. You should move. You should move. You need to move. This isn’t proper. Yet she didn’t. It wasn’t a rational or calculated thing; she silently wondered whether exposure to Yunan was making her more irrational. A definitive conclusion eluded her but the immediate answer was that Yunan’s embrace was comfortable, she liked where she was, and she fell asleep before she could think much beyond that.

Chapter Text

“Now, look here!” Marcy gestured with a hand towards a stone-lined waterway passing below a bridge. Anne followed, but Sprig’s attention was more tenuous. He was still getting used to the sights and sounds of central Newtopia. “Roads are cool and all but look at this baby!”

Sprig pouted. “That’s a hole in the ground.”

“It’s not just a hole! It’s a canal! Some of the lower-lying areas of the city use canals to transport goods, break-bulk, stuff like that. Newts are excellent swimmers, too, so some people just hop in the canal to get around quickly.”

This seemed to pique Anne’s interest. “Really? I knew frogs and such could breathe underwater, but I never really saw them swim all that much in Wartwood.”

“Well,” replied Sprig, waggling his butt. “We don’t exactly have the equipment newts do for that. Honestly, those tails are cheating. I saw one swim up a waterfall once.”

“Really? When?”

“. . . . . Don’t worry about it.”

Marcy whipped out her journal to make note of this uncorroborated feat. “Newt physiology is fascinating. Not only are their tails practical, they can actually regrow them if they’re lost! Sometimes a newt will drop their tail if it’s stuck or something but they’ll still grow it back if it’s lost in other ways. Newts can regenerate limbs, eyes, organs, practically anything if they survive the initial injury – waugh!!” Mid-stride Marcy tripped over nothing in particular and plummeted to the cobblestone.

“MARCY!” Anne and Sprig shouted in unison. They watched as Marcy caught herself with her hands, but not before scraping up one knee.

“Marbles, you okay?”

“I’m fine, Anna-Banana, nothin’ Chief Ranger Wu can’t handle.” Marcy stood and dusted herself off.

Sprig pointed to her knee. “Your leg’s bleeding.”

“What? Oh.” The girl regarded it nonchalantly. “Actually, perfect opportunity! Behold, the IFAK!” She reached under her cloak and brought out a leather pouch.

“Uh, what is that,” Anne responded.

“It’s . . actually just a first-aid kit Yunan gave me,” admitted Marcy as she cracked it open, “but she gave it a cool name so it feels like one of those ‘key items’ from Pokemon. And it does have this stuff.” She removed a vial filled with a bright green goop, which she uncorked and applied a little of the contents of to her knee. “This is healing gel. It’s coagulant, antiseptic, and accelerates tissue repair! Nifty, huh? Looks like pickle juice.”

“I wanna take a bath in it,” said Sprig.

Anne looked envious. “Could’ve used some of that when I broke my arm.”

“Ah, well, can’t help you with fractures unfortunately. I – um – actually broke my leg when I got here.”

Sprig folded his arms. “And how long did that take you?”

“. . . Nine seconds? Or fifteen, depending on if you count to when I started versus when I finished falling.” Marcy grinned sheepishly.

“Yup, there’s the Marcy we know and love.”

“I’ll just say I’m lucky Newtopia has a robust universal healthcare system! Like the NHS! Except they actually fund it. So nothing like the NHS!”

The gaggle continued on their winding way through Newtopia. Marcy led them along the grassy towpath next to the canal, chattering all the way. “It’s astonishing, really. They have everything you could think of regarding healthcare infrastructure. My first month here they let me play around with this brainscan machine and I was trying it on everyone. I even got Lady Olivia for a bit – but I think she was just humoring me.”

Anne placed a reassuring hand on Marcy’s back. “I think you matter to her a lot more than you give yourself credit for, Marce.”

“Ah – well–,” Marcy rubbed her hands together and blushed. “Maybe that’s so. She’s just always so busy and I don’t want to get in the way–”

“You’re not getting in our way, and I’ll bet you’re not getting in hers. I think she’s just . . . reserved, from what I’ve seen of her.”

“Something like that. She’s nice, but she gets all weird and quiet sometimes.”

Sprig came bouncing up besides Marcy, impatient and curious. “You can’t just say that you read her mind and leave it there! What’d ya see?”

“I mean, she had a brain? Same as any other newt? I can’t read thoughts like that, y’know, that’d be some high-level curse magic stuff. She just had elevated stress hormones, everything else was normal. It was kinda weird. Like her baseline was out of whack. She’d had a relaxed day, even.”

“Well, when you’re the personal advisor to the king, it comes with a certain level of stress,” offered Anne.

“I guess that makes sense.” Marcy thought quietly for a second. “Would you guys want to hit up the northern district? There’s this unbelievable kebab place, I have to show you.”

“Sounds good to me! Just remember, we have to run and pick up Polly later . . .”

What roused Olivia the next morning was not the noise of the city nor the dawn but rather the silken breeze from the ocean. It tickled her cheek and she found herself waking in the arms of her dear companion. Her mind, still hazy from the evening before, rejoiced. It was a good place to be. She opened her eyes.

There was Yunan, snoozing with the light of the early morning playing through her hair. They each had an arm around the other and the tip of Olivia’s tail curled around its opposite. The young woman felt each of the soldier’s breaths, chest rising and falling beneath her. She looks so peaceful. So often she had a furrow on her brow, focused only on the next objective. To see her like this, entirely unburdened . . . It would be so easy, she thought, to reach up and kiss her stupid little face.

Perhaps that’s a tad extreme for first thing in the morning. By the light she estimated it to be around seven. Not obscenely early, but they’d evidently had plenty of sleep. Summer nights in Newtopia were warm enough for that. Plus they’d had the blanket–

Wait, blanket?

I don’t recall getting a blanket. Who put it there?

. . .

. . .

Oh no.

Olivia bolted upright. The jolt woke Yunan, who batted her eyes and tried to take stock of the situation. Her battle-tuned reflexes made her jumpy. “Oh, what, whatsit?”

“Yunan! Er, sorry, I got up too quickly.” Feeling self-conscious, Olivia hurriedly withdrew her tail from Yunan’s and stood, peeling away the blanket as she did so. It drooped off the chaise. “How was your rest?” She checked around for anyone watching.

“It was good, I – are you looking for someone? Did something happen?”

“N-n-no! Not at all. I’m fine. Just waking up, you know. Heh.”

Yunan blinked at the sunlight. “Guess we were both really tired. Sorry ‘fer passing out of your couch,” she said.

“It’s alright. I should not have held you up like that,” Olivia replied. Please don’t note the blanket.

“No worries at all, Liv. I hope I was a decent pillow.” She turned away and stretched, which Olivia was thankful for because she turned a brilliant shade of red in the same moment. “What time is it, even?”

“I would hazard around seven to seven fifteen. The nearest clock tower is . . .” She rose to her tiptoes and strained her eyes. Searching the city. “. . . Down there. Seven twelve,” she announced.

“Damn you’re good. Well, I better run and grab breakfast, I don’t wanna stretch your generosity too far. Oh, remember that time we got breakfast by eating random shit in the woods together? That was cool. Anyway, bye!” Yunan took a running start down the lawn, leaped over the short hedgerow, and vanished over the ledge.

Olivia stood dumbfounded for a moment, then sighed heavily and sank down until she was seated on the chaise again. The blanket – one she recognized from its usual place on her mother’s armchair – brushed up against her ankles. What have I done?

She hadn’t been thinking clearly – she was conscious of that much. To slip like that. The way her brain flared with syrupy neurotransmitters, dopamine and serotonin and norepinephrine smelling like fresh, crisp pear on a summer’s day. This is a disaster. I’m a disaster. Sickly sweet and ever so tempting. It’d been so easy. Where’s Mother, she thought glumly. Better to face the music.

The house was silent and dim compared to the patio. Nobody, not even a servant, graced the villa’s ground floor. Olivia quietly folded up the blanket and placed it on her mother’s favorite wingback, then headed upstairs. If she’s not in her study she is surely at the castle.

The walnut door at the end of the hall was shut firmly, but a patch of diffuse light at the base betrayed someone’s presence. Olivia rapped twice with her knuckle, soft and hesitant.

“Come in.”

The young lady took a deep breath, muttered an indistinct prayer, and twisted the old doorknob.

Her mother was indeed there. She sat at a well-appointed desk with a letter opener methodically sorting through the morning’s communiques, as was her habit. After a quick tea break and a nap around ten she would move on up to the castle to brief the king. Olivia watched as one hand brushed a few more sensitive documents – her eyes were drawn to one, an envelope with beautiful, deep burgundy sealing wax – under the pile. It was a formality, but Lady Calanthia was nothing if not thorough. For her eyes only.

“Ah. You are awake,” said the royal advisor. Her mother. Sometimes those concepts were difficult to divorce.

“Would you like any tea? It is somewhat early, but I fancied a cup. The pot is still warm,” she offered. “You look stressed.” Olivia suddenly remembered she was still wearing her officer’s uniform, now slightly crumpled. ‘I thought you’d have gotten plenty of rest’ is what she wants to say.

“I’m quite alright, Mother.” Yes, she’d had rest, but she was still a nervous wreck. Her tail’s tip flitted back and forth involuntarily.

Calanthia dropped her work and made her way over to her daughter. “Olivia, my dear, what is the matter?”

Olivia swallowed. “Mother, I – please don’t take this the wrong way, but, er . . . I think I’m a . . lesbian?”

She was enveloped in a hug. “My darling, darling girl. Please do not feel you must hide yourself away from me. I love you more than you could ever fathom and I will always, always be here for you. You are growing into your own woman and it is so marvelous to see.” Olivia melted in the embrace. She reconstituted herself as her mother pulled away, hands lingering on her shoulders. “I must confess – and I hope you do not take this the wrong way yourself – I suspected as much for a long while.”

“You did?”

“You never expressed any interest in men. Not to mention how you came home from Efton swooning over that friend of yours. All these years later and you are still pining after the same woman, hm?”

“Mom!”

Calanthia shrugged. “I have a way of divining such things. Usually falling asleep in their embrace is a sign.”

Olivia blushed up a storm. “I’m not – we’re not–” Her mother remained silent, allowing her to collect herself and complete her statement. “We are not involved romantically, if you are wondering. We are just . . . it’s complicated.”

“Yet the desire is there?”

The young lady flushed again and nodded sheepishly.

“I understand. I will not press you further. But don’t be bashful – it is perfectly natural. All people have their predilections, we understand that.” Olivia, a tear on her cheek, leaned in for another hug, one her mother graciously reciprocated.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

“Of course,” came the reply.

After a while they broke away. The tear had dried and Olivia was back to her usual, regal self.

“I do have one request, though,” said Calanthia. “These are . . . turbulent times, as I am sure you understand. I would be wary of displaying your affections within sight of our ‘compatriots.’ They may not take well to the heir of House Newton being intimate with someone of lower birth.”

“We’re not ‘being intimate.’”

“I know, I know. But perceptions among the nobility are distorted. Most would rather waste their days on cards and beast polo rather than serve the realm, and the idle mind exaggerates scandal.”

“I’ll be careful,” assured Olivia. “We haven’t even kissed. Or talked. We have larger responsibilities. I’m not about to put my feelings before what’s good for the realm.”

Calanthia turned away, plucked a letter with a broken bronze-colored wax seal off the desk, and returned to present it to her daughter. “That is good to hear, because I believe we have our next mission.”

“I’ll take a croissant, a buggacino, and a platter of the grubhog bacon.” Yunan tried to smile at the waiter but evidently showed a bit too much teeth as he slunk away, mildly intimidated. Damn. Got to work on that.

She was seated at a sidewalk cafe down some nameless side street between the central district and the Hemisphere. To be honest she had no idea where she really was; her mind had been preoccupied (with . . . puzzling thoughts) and when she’d looked up, everything was unfamiliar. Ah well. Might as well grab a bite before heading back – wait, is that who I think it is?

“HEY, VITYA!”

A grey-blue toad in Newtopian Army garb turned. “Yunan!” He made his way over and plopped down in the chair opposite Yunan at her little table. Tsoi’s bulky frame gave him the appearance of a parent sitting with a child at their miniature tea party, playing pretend.

“What are you doing here, ya bastard? Everything turn out right for you yesterday?”

“Uh, yeah. Think it went about as well as it could’ve.” He stuck out a thumb to gesture at a tenement block down the street. “I got orders sayin’ I’d be in town for a few more days so I had some time to visit family.”

Yunan nodded. “We’re off for a bit ourselves. Quick rest, can’t be burning anyone out first thing.”

“Makes sense,” shrugged the toad. “Silly newts ain’t got the endurance.” He cracked a smile.

“Remind me to pack a lunch for you when you head out again. Which flavor of crayon do you like again, pink or purple?”

Sgt. Tsoi chuckled. “Anyway. What brings ya through?”

“Just passing. Stopped off for breakfast on my way back home.”

“Early morning?”

“No, not really. I actually just woke up. After yesterday I ended up sleeping over with Olivia.”

“Oh,” Tsoi raised his eyebrows. “Well, good on you two for finally figuring it out.”

“Figuring it out?”

“. . . Is that not what it means?”

“I just stayed over on her couch.”

“Oh.” The toad stared at the table, legitimately perplexed. “So you do everything together, wink at each other, and you stay over at her house. Are you sure you haven’t met the parents yet?”

“I did actually, her mom’s tough but really sweet when you get to know her.”

“I swear to fucking Barrel,” Tsoi moaned.

“Wait, are you trying to suggest we’re,” Yunan flushed, “dating?”

“You’re not?”

“No! I mean . . I mean . . .”

“So you want to, is that it?”

The newt was thoroughly flustered at this point. “It’s not that! She’s just – gah!”

“You’re doing a terrible job defending yourself from these accusations, Yunan.”

Words failed her. She was reduced to flailing her arms around pathetically.

“Fine, then, I’ll stop. I just want to know what you think of her.”

Yunan turned beet red. “I dunno! She’s so prissy but she keeps her cool, knows how to handle herself, beat me in a fight once, can talk her way out of anything . . .”

Tsoi prodded further, hoping to spark some sort of enlightenment. “And what else?”

“I mean, she’s really cute, she can rock a uniform, does that thing with her hair . . . . . . and she has that adorable little belly pouch,” Yunan muttered. She abruptly halted and pressed her face into her folded arms as she realized what she’d admitted. Did I really just say that?

“Ok, so we’ve . . established that . . . so?”

“So?”

“Sooo? You should . . .”

“You’re right, I should keep quiet.”

Tsoi facepalmed. “No, you idiot, you should say something!”

“But I can’t!” Yunan pleaded. “I can’t. What if she doesn’t like me that way?”

“Doesn’t like you that way? Have you seen her? She goes weak in the knees and makes ga-ga eyes at you whenever you turn your back, is that enough?”

“No!” The newt exclaimed. She hesitated a second. “No. I—I can’t right now. I guess I do . . . really want to . . but hell, we have the Knight Guard, we have the war, what kind of time do we have? Not much. Mission comes first.”

Tsoi nodded. “I see ‘yer point. But, promise me this. When the war ends, the first thing you’re gonna do is ask her out.” He stuck out his hand for Yunan to shake. “Deal?”

Yunan took his hand. “Deal.”

The waiter returned with Yunan’s breakfast. “I didn’t know you’d taken up buggacinos. You’re hyper enough already,” commented Tsoi.

“Olivia got me into them. Damned if I know how she figured that to be a good idea.” The Knight Commander grinned. “Anyway – I should ask. You’ve been on the front this whole time, yeah?”

“After you got us back, pretty much. Had a little bit of rest there but I guess they needed me enough to put me on the line. Or, actually, I don’t guess. They need all the help they can get.” The toad shifted slightly in his chair. “It’s bad out there. If we could get ‘em in a straight fight we’d be done in no time, but Ragnar’s too slippery for that. Those frogforsaken ants mean he can pop out of anywhere, so we have to hold the front. All of it. And if you slip, forget to cover a little crack, it’s a matter a’ time before the ‘Lord of Toadkind’ comes calling. We had a–” Tsoi paused to clear his throat and carried on. “We had a garrison, little hillfort manned by folks from the North Tower. Too proud to accept Newtopia’s help without grumblin’. Sure enough, they left a little trail off to the side unguarded, and when we came back two days later the only ones left alive were the ones who ran. Nasty business.”

“So you’re stuck.”

“Yeah, have to be. All it takes is a trail.”

Yunan finished her coffee and set the mug down. She stayed quiet a moment, considering. “Any idea where you’re headed?”

“Subject ‘ta change. For now seems I’m in the city. After a day or two, who knows.” Off in the distance a bell tower tolled eight. “I should run. But it’s good to see you again, little miss back-from-the-dead.”

“That was ages ago!”

“Still impressive,” Tsoi smirked. “You should brag about it. Hope I see ya out there.”

“You too,” said Yunan. She watched her friend disappear into the street traffic as she started on her grubhog bacon. Sweet, sweet revenge!

The chambers of the Royal Advisor were situated just off to the side of the castle’s throne room, separated only by a short corridor. It was accessible enough to handle the constant bustle of messengers, attendants, and courtiers, yet inconspicuous enough to provide shelter for the vital work performed within. It was an area the Lieutenant General of the Great Newtopian Army knew well.

The axolotl stepped through the open double doors into the reception room. The attendant, a golden brown newt seated by the next set of doors, nodded and disappeared. A minute later they returned, opening the way to the office where a silver-haired newt the color of seafoam stood expectantly. She turned to her assistant. “Please leave us and bar any disturbances.” They bowed and left, the entrance clicking shut.

“General.”

“Lady Calanthia.”

“I believe it would be pertinent to move this conversation to a more secluded area, if that is acceptable. I trust my assistant out there but you know how word travels.”

“If you believe it necessary, milady.”

“Prudence never goes to waste,” quoted the woman as she led Chepyzhin to her third, most cloistered chamber. “It was my grandfather’s saying.” She knew the room to have thick stone walls that left little opportunity for eavesdropping, as well as a secret passageway out of the castle accessible behind the wardrobe’s back panel. Prudence.

“Is this regarding the Amphibian Diet?”

“You received the invitation as well? They must be getting jumpy – but we can discuss that later.” Calanthia reached into a side-table drawer and extracted a number of compact, tightly folded papers which she handed to the general. “No, this is regarding some intriguing information that I received this morning from my sources inside the occupied territory. You are welcome to peruse those if you like – I have redacted all compromising details – but I request they do not leave this study. Not that I do not trust you, Koliasha.”

The axolotl began unfurling the little squares. “What is in them?”

“A wealth of intelligence. First, in an unrelated report, I received Newtopia University’s analysis on the fungal sample your men procured. It was as suspected – the rarer, recessive strain. More potent, but the fungal network is dependent on a central host.”

“Implying this intelligence is . . .”

“Precisely, general. The other half of the key.”

Chepyzhin sank into a chair, one hand on his chin. “I’ll look it over but please, do continue.”

Lady Calanthia strode over to an immense map of Amphibia that was posted to one wall. A snaking line of pushpins and knitting yarn marked the ever-shifting frontline. “My sources have located that central node. It is in the vicinity of the Loggington region . . . here.” She patted the spot with the fluffy end of a quill pen. “The unfortunate news is that it is a conical hill. Rather, we speculate it to be a barbariant colony inside the hill that is in some type of symbiotic contact with the, er, mind-controlling fungus.” I cannot believe I am calling it that.

“Don’t the ants themselves follow pheromones, not fungi?”

“That is correct, but the fungal exposure in the mother hive allows the pheromones to guide them with such specificity. If I have understood the boffins correctly.”

“I see, milady.” The moss green axolotl rose to join her at the map. “Then the question is, if we eliminate the colony – the barbariant queen, I would imagine – will that disable the pheromone guidance?”

“The University seems to think so. Thus the problem becomes military.”

“Indeed.” Chepyzhin’s eyes glazed over until he was no longer looking at a map but rather envisioning the territory in his mind. Hemmed in, isolated, very little room to maneuver . . .

Calanthia studied the paper as well. The location in question was far behind enemy lines. While the Newton line had never been invested with military matters (until recently, that was) the lady had done plenty of reading on the subject so as not to come across as a fool during the occasional briefing with staff officers. It was enough to recognize a horrifying fact: the Army cannot reach it. Not the conventional force, at least. A chill ran down her spine.

“Milady. Are you alright?”

“Yes. I shall be.” She sipped a breath to center herself. The warmth dropped out of her voice. “I believe a target of this profile requires an unconventional approach. I have no doubts this complex has been thoroughly hardened against attack, one would be daft not to. The only viable means of destruction would be with a small force bolstered by the element of surprise.” Her words dripped like the point of an icicle. “To butcher and bolt.”

“You have more sense than my superior does,” replied Chepyzhin. “I concur. With the terrain as it is, a conventional attack would be shattered before it came within twenty miles of the colony.” If it could even cover the occupied ground to reach that point. The solution, the only solution was shining clear in his mind, just as he was sure it shone in Calanthia’s, and he instantly knew why the newt glared at the map with such enmity. “The Knight Guard,” he spoke, and instantly regretted it.

“Indeed.” The woman’s expression shifted from bitter to downcast and back again. “The only approach is through the mountains. It is fifty miles from any relief.”

“But it’s the war.” Chepyzhin knew he had won the lady’s trust as the only man among Newtopia’s military leadership willing to speak the truth. It burned his throat to say it, but it would burn him more not to. It was a matter of loyalty. Comradeship, not in the ranks, but in this rarefied world of houses and honors and nobles with long knives and longer memories. Even at the point of a blade he wouldn’t be able to say which one frightened him more.

The newt turned away from the overbearing map and paced over to the room’s singular window. The grey light of an overcast afternoon lent the city a plaintive, melancholy air. It pleaded to her. “It is the war.”

“It’s forty men. And Olivia.”

“. . . Is it nobler to risk one’s own line, or, through inaction, allow far more to come to harm?”

“She’s your daughter, Cal.”

“She is,” shivered Calanthia. My darling, darling daughter. “If I were to inform her, give her the choice . . . she would go through with it.”

“No doubt,” added Chepyzhin. “I’ve known her since she was a child. She hides it well, but she’s a spitfire.”

The newt sighed. You know where this ends. “She would want me to give her the choice, wouldn’t she.”

“It’s a suicide mission.”

“It is the war. You admitted it yourself, Koliasha. She would want the choice.”

“What choice is it‽”

“The only one I have!” She froze, not having realized she’d raised her voice. She shook her head. “And they will need support, yes?”

The general stood momentarily puzzled. “The Knight Guard? Yes, we could have to mount a diversionary offensive, but only with the approval of Brudenewt.”

“The perfidious cur,” snarled the royal advisor. “We have the congress approaching. We can do what is in our power to have him reassigned. With the nobility’s assent.”

“Is the middle of a war truly the time for politicking?”

“Politics is simply a continuation of war by other means, general.” Calanthia straightened her back and gazed indeterminately out the window. She seemed momentarily distracted. “I’ll go through with it.”

“Asking the Knight Guard?”

“Yes. That.”

“There is yet time to find an alternative.”

“No,” asserted Calanthia, a fire in her eyes. “I am already damned for what I do, it is only right that I be the one to be cemented on that ledger.”

The axolotl sensed he had a fight no longer. He regarded his friend with contrition and a certain measure of awe. In his decades of service he had never met anyone her equal.

“Return to your duties, Lieutenant General. I expect to see you at the Diet.” Her expression darkened at the approaching evening. “There is much to be done.”

Chapter Text

Olivia took pride in arranging all the items on the tea tray just so. She’d grown up in her mother’s cabinets, it took her only a couple minutes to find the components of the evening ritual. Even the biscuits, which were wedged in the side of some obscure drawer. To an outside observer the royal advisor’s offices looked impenetrable but they had an arcane logic all their own.

“Do you have the tea, dear? She will be arriving shortly. Or I anticipate she will.”

Olivia poured a number of biscuits out, hoisted the tray by the handles, and brought it into the reception room. “Don’t worry, she’s quite prompt. Usually. Somehow she’s no nonsense and all nonsense, it’s nonsensical.” She set the tray down on the low table before which her mother sat. “I know we had our discussion this morning but now you are looking stressed, what is this about?” Unless this is her addressing Yunan and I’s . . . thing . . . which I highly doubt after our earlier talk, this must be something military. Or social – but why would Yunan attend?

“I must be particularly indisposed, then, dear.” The tip of Calanthia’s tail twitched almost imperceptibly. “I will elucidate in due course, as soon as your comrade arrives.” So it *must* be military, deduced Olivia.

No sooner had she turned her back to fetch some cheese than there appeared a short rap on the door and a pink newt in uniform stepped in. “Man this place gives me the creeps when it’s dark. Too echoey.” Her eyes fell on the blue newt standing across the room. “Not that I’m, y’know, scared of anything.”

“Ah. Knight Commander Yunan.” Calanthia gestured to two armchairs across from her. “I request you take a seat.” Her daughter immediately caught the unspoken addition. You too, Olivia.

The two sat down. They shared a brief, mutual look of worry.

Calanthia cleared her throat to speak. This is just like getting chewed out by the headmaster at Efton, thought Yunan. “What I would like to establish first is that this conversation involves particulars that should not leave this room. Am I understood?”

“Of course, Mother.” “Yes, ma’am.”

“Very well.” Olivia noticed another tail flick. Her mother gathered a breath, her hesitation suggesting she was searching for the right words. “It has come to my attention that there exists a potential vulnerability in the mutinous Ragnar’s defenses, one that may prove vital to bringing the rebellion to a swift and favorable end.” Or ending it at all. “However, as I am sure you can gather, this vulnerability is not to be taken lightly. Exploiting it would require a specialized team – your team – to undertake a . . . particularly perilous operation.”

Olivia considered this news carefully. She knows what the risks are, yet she also knows that I’ve already accepted the risks, so if she’s approaching us with this at all it’s because there’s no other option. But an operation like that would be vetoed by General Brudenewt, implying . . .

“I’d like to get Liv’s – uh, Olivia’s approval on this but I’d be in,” blurted Yunan a little too chipperly. “The Knight Guard’s here because we want action, no problem there. And hey, we’ve already done so much that we would’ve thought impossible. If it’s risky that just means they won’t see it coming.” She smiled at Olivia which had the effect of breaking her out of her cycle of troubling thoughts.

“I suppose Yunan is right, Mother, even if she is . . . enthusiastic.” The young lady blushed slightly. It was strange – normally she’d’ve been nervous out of her wits, but with her . . . she thought back to the manor, the heron, the dogfight over the river. Oh, hell.

Calanthia appeared slightly taken aback. “Are you sure? I mean . . .” She huffed. “I am worried. I am a mother, and that is what mothers do. We worry.”

“I know,” replied her daughter. “There is no helping it. But it’s worth it, isn’t it?” You wouldn’t have asked otherwise.

“You are a capable girl.” Calanthia sniffed and wiped away a tear. “I trust you will impress us. You have already impressed us all – look at just yesterday.” She hesitated a moment. “You two make a good team.”

Olivia and Yunan simultaneously flushed and sputtered, each glancing over at the other only to find her, too, sputtering. The moment settled into a mutual coughing fit that both hoped the other would find unsuspicious. The blue newt gathered herself first. “I . . . th-thank you for your vote of confidence, Mother.” Her eye twitched.

Yunan broke in. “I assure you, we won’t let ya down. With whatever it is you’ve got up your sleeve. It’s worth it.”

The royal advisor appeared contemplative. “I do hope you are correct,” she sighed gravely. “In any case. You will need support, which is a rare commodity in this political environment.”

Olivia lit up. Aha! Yunan, for her part, looked puzzled. She’s always five steps ahead.

“The assembly! We can use the meeting to try and replace Brudenewt!”

“Huh?”

“Well observed, darling.” Calanthia turned to address Yunan. “What my daughter is referring to is an assemblage of the Newtopian noble class which is occurring in three days’ time. It is known as the Amphibian Diet, a body convened only in times of need and outside the de jure purview of the King. The invitations, courtesy of House Iturburua, were distributed this morning. Yes, Olivia?”

The young lady cut in. “Notice the timing, Yu – right after the attack on the city. The nobles could ignore Brudenewt’s poor showing to a point, but that may have tipped them over the line.”

“Precisely. You want him gone as much as we do, Knight Commander?”

“Damn straight,” confirmed Yunan. “Bastard’s been nothing but a snag on us out there actually fighting.”

The royal advisor’s cheeks reddened. “You may find much of the aristocracy shares your opinion, if not so crudely.” She reached forward and poured three cups of tea in the fanciest china Yunan had ever seen. “Then it is agreed. We shall attend.”

Yunan held up her hands. “Wait, wait, wait. So you have to be a noble to go? I mean, you seem to know a lot about me, lady, but I’m not exactly a noble.”

Calanthia squinted. “More than you might imagine. But yes, you are correct. However, the military branches are also permitted to send representatives.”

“Remember, Yunan, we are independent.” Olivia added a touch of cream to her tea. “Technically speaking, you are the same rank as Brudenewt.”

“WAIT, REALLY? Holy shit – oh, sorry Calanthia.”

In a display so rare as to be the stuff of legend, the royal advisor to King Andrias Leviathan himself rolled her eyes.

“Anyway, what do I – we – exactly have to do there? Go up and talk to somebody? Liv’s more the talker.”

“The beauty of the situation is may be that we do not have to do much at all,” replied Calanthia. “Allow me to explain, and this may serve you in the future, Olivia: the key to this profession is to never take too direct an hand in things. While forceful intervention is, of course, required on occasion,” Calanthia, ever the diplomatist, nodded in Yunan’s direction, “too much stirs up opposition. The key to victory is to put all the pieces in place beforehand and nudge the players just enough that they set things in your favor. If they feel they have arrived at the end independently, or that the dice fell and they won by happenstance, why question the result? The easiest game to win is the one the opponent is not aware they are playing.” She stirred the tea in her cup and took a sip. “Or, to put it another way, place a ball at the top of a hill and let some other poor sod think he invented the idea of rolling it down.”

Yunan brought a hand to her chin and puzzled through the lady’s words. “So we don’t actually have to . . . if they’re already jumpy, and they see us, they’ll just start talking about booting him themselves! Oh, it’s like,” she snapped her fingers, “it’s like intimidating someone on the battlefield! If they’re scared of you, they’ll run without a fight. I mean, that can be boring, but it’s effective.”

“An interesting metaphor, but yes. I think.”

“No wonder you always trounced us at family board game night,” remarked Olivia.

Her mother smirked. “No quarter.”

Yunan returned to the subject. “So what’s one of these shindigs like, anyway?”

“Symptoms vary,” quipped Olivia.

“Five to ten minutes, localized pain followed by chills. After thirty minutes one becomes disinterested in fate,” Calanthia added.

“In all seriousness you probably will not like it. It’s a lot of old stuffy newts in fancy outfits talking with one another. Just stick with me and you’ll do fine.”

Yunan grinned. “Sure, I’d be happy to.” Calanthia raised an eyebrow, but neither of the young women spotted it.

“Well then,” began the royal advisor, “I believe we have our agenda. Let us meet at the house at seven in three days’ time, I shall arrange a carriage. Wear articles suitable for a formal occasion.”

Olivia sighed. “That reminds me, all my best dresses are still prisoners of war. Who knows where they’ve gone off to by now.”

“Not to worry, dear, I have a line on the finest tailors in the city. I can put in a favor – and that goes for you too, Yunan.”

“I’ll be fine,” shrugged the pink newt. “I got something.” She downed the remnants of her cup and stood to leave. “Be seein’ ya.”

“Farewell, Yunan,” smiled Olivia.

Calanthia’s gut clenched. It is so easy to fool ourselves, isn’t it?

“Another dispatch for you, general.”

General Brudenewt hardly looked up as a bronze-sealed envelope landed on his desk. “Bring me some coffee.”

“Right away, sir.” Panosyan, a tall orange frog whom Brudenewt thought was his most feckless staff clerk, ducked out of the general’s headquarters office in what had formerly been a bedroom of a sumptuous hunting lodge. The lodge’s rococo stylings clashed incongruously with its practical, military furnishings, though the general had had his own carpets brought in.

The newt frowned. These skirmish reports are dreadfully boring. He brushed them aside and went for the envelope. He tore it open with a finger and scanned the contents. An Amphibian Diet? Now? “Panosyan!”

“Coming!” Came the muffled reply. The newt heard muffled footsteps on his carpets from the next room over. If he got coffee grounds on them I’m going to have his head. He silently counted the seconds before the door opened. After twelve the frog stuck his head in. “What is it sir?”

“What is my schedule for the next four days?”

“You have two inspections and a request for a meeting with Colonel Puntridge, sir, I believe he has a proposal about–”

“Cancel them, Panosyan. Check this letter and send a response saying I will attend, then book transport, no lesser than a brougham. Now I have a meeting in two minutes in the Blue Cabinet, please do not disturb me except to bring my coffee.”

“Y-yes sir, the coffee is brewing. I will begin on the letter then.”

“You’d better.”

The frog took the invitation from the desk and hurried out. When Brudenewt emerged from his office a short time later he was pleased to see him with a stack of envelopes at his station in the hall. The general moved on before he could notice that his clerk had brought out two colors of sealing wax, one the noble bronze and the other a deep, beautiful burgundy.

The skies over Newtopia cleared during the night and the next morning dawned bright and early. In the back bedroom of the Bell and Bauble Nicodème stirred awake as the tower tolled seven. That makes what, four hours of sleep? Three? He yawned, still exhausted. No more late nights if I can help it. I’ll fetch the papers for the morning crowd and try sneaking a midday catnap.

The frog rolled out of bed and tossed on a pair of trousers and a light coat before quietly slipping out into the alley through the rear service door. He had only a block and a half to walk before turning left, venturing onto a main street just as it spilled out into a modest, stand-filled plaza at the base of the bell tower. Already the grocers and morning merchants were open for business – including a bread cart, but Nicodème figured he’d pick up his traditional two morning loaves at the corner bakery on the way back. Rather, he made a beeline for the newsstand. It always attracted some traffic but this morning saw it particularly busy. The day after the raid it’d been more packed than the frog had ever seen, this was only marginally better. Guess the rush is still wearing off.

He filtered in at the back of the line, some six people deep. Someone was loitering, a young newt leaning against the side of the enclosed newsstand with a cigarette and an open copy of the weekly Libertine while their golden brown tail flitted back and forth idly. The angle afforded Nicodème a look at the magazine’s cover: ATTACK ON NEWTOPIA FOILED BY PARAMILITARIES / HUMILIATED ARMY LEADERSHIP REMAINS SILENT / FEATURE: IN THE DIRECTOR’S CHAIR WITH YOUNG PHENOM RENEE FRODGERS. Two people ahead had moved on; Nicodème advanced. He yawned. His eyes wandered down to check the spot at the base of the stand’s facade – wait. There was a chalk mark there, the first in weeks. A double-barred cross in white. It kicked the frog’s brain into gear – who was it? One of Climent’s? Surely. The shopkeeper’s spot was further down the way, this had to be the other one. Whoever it was. It’s too early for this shit, he moped.

The frog stepped forward again and the stop of the reading newt’s magazine wavered. Just for a moment he caught their eye over the page, it pierced him directly then slipped away just as fast. Nicodème shivered. The brown newt flexed the paper and kept reading. He was next in line.

“We got a summons,” he said to Climent that night. The guard got off his shift in the evening which afforded the frog time for a much-needed nap.

“And I’m guessing you want me to handle it, old man?” They’d convened in the inn’s small office. Climent poured himself a cup of coffee. There were bags under his eyes, too.

Nicodème scoffed. “Well yes, it’s your contact. The woman, if I remember.”

“Tonight? Of all the fucking nights she had to pipe up again.” The newt groaned and topped off his mug of pure black coffee for good measure.

“Who exactly do you have to blame but yourself.”

“Yeah, well, you take these things as they come.” Climent tipped his head back and drained the mug in one impressive swig. “If it’s for one o’ clock I better get going now to beat the patrols.”

“Don’t rush. And let me know.”

“As always.” The dandelion newt pulled a ruddy cloak over himself and made for the back ally. Along the way he passed through a corridor made narrow by the installation of racks for storing wine casks. There were four at that moment, three tapped and stamped with a label that noted their grape, terroir, and vintage. The fourth barrel, made of a slightly different shade of wood, sat untouched and anonymous. Climent eyed it with suspicion and hurried past.

The alley greeted him with its cavernous darkness. There were no lights here, only what red-tinted moonbeams made it past the scattered clouds above. Even then it was a thin waxing crescent. The newt turned right onto a side-street. He envisioned his path in his mind, a wavering, circumspect sort of thing that would keep him hidden from the curfew patrols. If all went well.

The cobblestones underfoot clicked softly with each step, a sound magnified by the silent canyon of buildings. Click, click. It echoed right back at him, laughing and jeering and nipping at his heels. In truth it probably wasn’t much of an issue, but he knew how the mind grew skittish and paranoid in the midst of these clandestine activities. Left turn, back to the long alley until the avenue. The first time he’d gone out he’d scared himself half out of his wits over nothing. This time wasn’t much better.

Click, click. Silence, time to think. An interior light was on three stories above. An insomniac, maybe, or a late-shift factory worker with a night pass. Why am I here, anyway? A question he’d rolled over in his mind many times. For the people, for the king, against the nobles who lock him away and twist his words and take what’s ours. For the farm, grandfather’s farm. He couldn’t picture it, it’d happened before his time. His cloak made a shushing sound as it brushed against a wall. The land and the cider orchard his father told him about, impressed into him until he, too, could recite the story from memory. The jealous lord, the trees, the taxes, the logs on the winter’s hearth growing fewer and fewer until they were finally forced to sell. The city was everything he knew, but he was hard-pressed to call it his homeland.

End of this stretch. Climent crouched low in shadow as he came to the alley’s terminus – a grand, central avenue that radiated all the way from the Upper District like a spoke on a wheel. He had to cross and be quick about it. Check left, check right, hold your breath. He held. Click click. Distant, approaching, patrol. They emerged crosswise, three of them, city guards glowing under the dim yellow shroomlight of the street. Climent held for two minutes after they passed – ten minute intervals or thereabouts – then dashed as quietly as he could across the avenue and into the shade of the next alley. Safe.

From here it was a smooth shot. His heartbeat eased as he rounded a corner and gained the narrow service street that ran down to the canal. The area was deserted. A light mist settled over the water, its dark, glassy surface reflecting the shroomlamps on the nearby bridge. The only guard route through here passes over, we’ll be safe under the span, the newt reassured himself. He’d checked and rechecked the maps in the guard barracks; hell, he’d met here several times before. Why was he so antsy?

As Climent approached the rendezvous he could make out a fellow hooded figure already waiting. They were tall – well, taller than the average frog but a middling height for a newt. Their frame was slender enough for Climent to discount the possibility of toad entirely.

“Greetings again,” the figure began. Their – her voice was unmistakably feminine, older but not distinctly elderly. “I trust you haven’t been followed?”

“Definitely not,” replied Climent.

“Very well.” The contact’s head wavered slightly but remained completely obscured by her deep cowl. “I’ll be curt, brevity is key to security. A high-level Newtopian official will pass through the East Gate two days from now.”

“Time?”

“Evening.” Climent tried to place the contact’s accent. It was smooth, non-rhotic, and practiced in a way that stood out in the outer neighborhoods of the city. Perhaps east-side or Upper District.

“What sort of official?”

“To my knowledge military, but that’s not certain.”

“Two days,” Climent fretted. “You’re not leaving us a lot of wiggle room.”

“You can’t eat your cake and have it too.”

“’Suppose you’re right,” said Climent. The contact remained unnervingly still. “If . . . you’re wanting payment, I can have that next meeting?”

“It won’t be necessary,” replied the contact. “Watch for a carriage with a noble seal. The next time I do business with you, you will receive a dead drop. That’s all.”

“Th-thanks . . .” Before Climent could get much of a word in the hooded figure retreated back into the shadows like a fading ghost. In a moment he was alone, the only sound on the canal being the gentle lapping of the black water.

Chapter Text

Okay. Okay. Easy now, don’t fuck this one up. The great Knight Commander Yunan, hero of Newtopia, brought her weapon to bear and squinted at the target. First shot. C’mon. She steadied her hand and then launched at it – but the comb failed the catch the annoying little sprig of hair that stuck up in the back. The soldier scowled at the mirror. Dammit!

She made ready for another attempt. She wanted to get it right , she wanted to look good – for . . . for the mission, right? No no no, Tsoi said I should be honest with myself about my feelings, so – yeah, maybe it’s for Liv. Just a bit. Mostly the mission. The comb skidded away from her again. Shit. Okay, hand maybe . . . she tried a hand. The tuft refused to be smoothed; it bounded right up again, seeming to regard surrender as an indignity. It’s twenty to seven. I might have the call it. Tactical retreat. Very temporary. She pointed into the mirror at the offending tuft. Don’t think I’m not coming back for you, tiny bastard.

Yunan made for the door of her hotel suite. She’d been here months (on the king’s all-encompassing dime, of course) and yet the rooms remained oddly sparse. Sure, she had a few changes of clothes, a spare uniform, a desk with stationery for correspondence, and a small library of military history volumes (and some genre fiction, sue her), but she’d never nestled in for an extended stay. She traveled light. The newt was on the cusp of leaving before dashing back to check herself in the bedroom’s floor-length mirror again. The mission. Right!

She wore a variant of her usual Knight Guard outfit. Her daily uniform, with its wear and tear and subtly stitched repairs by Olivia, sat folded on the bed. This one was spotless, sharp-pressed and finely fitted to her figure. She’d always been lanky, yet the proportions of the steel blue tunic and slim, tan trousers lent her a poise and elegance she once thought impossible. She retained the boots (polished to a mirror shine) and the waist belt but the shoulder belt was substituted by a silken sash the same color as the top of Olivia’s kepi, that aquamarine that reminded Yunan of her companion’s skin. Pinned to her breast was a medal, a simple Maltese cross in bronze with a coral center. Yunan let out a breath. You’re good. She’ll like it – I think. She stepped out the door. Once beyond the lobby of the Hemisphere, the soldier hailed a hansom cab and gave directions for the castle. Within fifteen minutes she was standing amid the fading sun at the open gates of House Newton.

Yunan willed herself forward, but she remained stock still. Confidence, girl! This is nothing! Why in newt’s name is this so HARD now? She tried again and tentatively set off up the front walk. I’m not THAT smitten, am I?

Olivia was inside checking her hair in the hall mirror when she heard the knock on the villa’s front door. She opened it to find her companion looking . . . even more dashing than usual, if such a thing was at all possible. It was getting to be a real issue, honestly. She’d awoken all flushed that morning after a particularly enlightening dream that’d warranted a cold early shower. This was certainly not going to help matters.

“Y-yunan! You’re here! Quite on time, too!” She blushed. “And rather handsomely dressed, I must admit.”

“Thanks,” managed Yunan, heat rising to her cheeks as well. “You’re looking darn great yourself.” The young lady wore a cherry blossom pink gown made of iridescent shot silk that sheened amaranth when viewed from the right angle. Over it was a transparent shawl of muted, creamy yellow (or, more accurately, the sandy blonde of Yunan’s hair), with a seashell hairpin to complete the ensemble and hold some of her hair back in a bun. The remainder was styled in a bouncy curl that dangled to one side of her face. Yunan had difficulty remembering if she’d ever seen anything cuter.

“I appreciate it. Bit of a rush job, but Mother was able to pull a few strings.”

“That might be all she does. Full-time string puller.”

Olivia laughed, a charming, chiming laugh that made Yunan’s heartbeat do somersaults. “I believe that’s more accurate than anyone would care to admit. Be careful or you will cause scandal in the halls of power yet.”

“Oh, please. I’m not that much of a loudmouth. I can be subtle.” The uniformed newt grinned, following her companion to the carriage house.

“Really?” Remind me, then, what did you say to Headmaster Anahit that time during our schooling?”

“Baseless, baseless accusation. I know not of what you speak.”

“Hm. Oh, my memory, I must be getting old. I recall something like ‘I hope you choke on a mud flounder’ followed by two months of detention. An institutional record.”

“What can I say. I was born to excel.”

“Truly a leading light of the age.” Against her better judgment Olivia shot Yunan a smile over her shoulder. “Ah, we’re here.”

The royal advisor, dressed in her finest (not that she wasn’t always), awaited them at the side of a spider-drawn coach. “Knight Commander Yunan. I commend you for your prompt arrival. Shall we depart?”

Olivia nodded, extending a hand to help her mother into the carriage. She turn turned to assist Yunan, too, but found the newt instead extending a hand for her. “Quite chivalrous.”

“I have to practice my manners somehow.”

“So you admit they need practice?” The blue newt smirked.

“Sue me.” Once they were all seated in the enclosed cab the driver set off into the city.

Lady Calanthia leaned forward and, in a hushed tone, addressed the young women. “A word, please, before the Diet. Though my earlier counsel could have given you the wrong impression, just because we only need play a passive role does not mean we have not reason to be on guard.”

Olivia cut in, knowing if she didn’t clarify there was about a fifty percent chance Yunan would think someone was trying to assassinate them. “Against the nobility. Brudenewt is an embarrassment, but he’s well-connected.”

“Indubitably. We are yet outsiders and thus vulnerable. You must keep your wits about you.” The royal advisor shot a look to her daughter. And remember – be subtle about it. Olivia nodded, but the way she reflexively went for Yunan’s hand for reassurance before realizing and pulling away suggested she hadn’t entirely internalized that lesson.

The lights of Iturburua Hall, viewed through the coach window as it pulled up, glared rather than glimmered. The manor struck Yunan as dark and severe, like a severed boar’s head mounted on the wall. “Remember,” Olivia whispered in her ear, “stick with me.” Before she knew it she was being escorted through a barbed iron portcullis and into a receiving room of stained, carved walnut. There on a plush cushion sat a familiar mossy green axolotl.

“Vasilievich,” said the royal advisor.

“Calanthia! And more – it’s good to see you, I’ve been waiting.” He took his unofficial niece’s hand in greetings. “Little Olivia, how have you been? Keeping up okay?”

“More than keeping up; she’s superb,” Yunan assured.

“Yunan!” Olivia huffed.

The lieutenant general laughed. “Always the modest one, her. Shall we go inside?”

“Are you quite sure you do not wish to enter separately?” Questioned Calanthia. “It may send a signal.”

“It’s plenty alright. I’ve been in the ranks longer than anyone and I don’t need the nobles’ approval to stay. I’m in no danger.”

“Understood.” The royal advisor led the party over to a dark-stained door and knocked twice. A servant responded within seconds. He held a page and pen at the ready.

“Names attending, madame?”

“Royal Advisor Lady Calanthia Duessa and daughter Miss Olivia Artegall, House Newton. Lieutenant General Chepyzhin Mykolai Vasilievich, Newtopian Army; Knight Commander Yunan, Newtopian Knight Guard.”

“Yunan . . . ?”

“Just ‘Yunan,’” asserted the pink newt as she poked her head around Calanthia.

“. . Very well,” the attendant scribbled something with his quill. “We will see you inside.”

Yunan went second-to-last in the little procession. The other muddled the view ahead but she felt a perceptible change as she crossed the threshold. The servant led them down a short hall which opened, through a pair of double doors, into a grand ballroom. The soldier was a native of Newtopia; she’d been just about everywhere in the city, delved into its uncountable niches. But this was a new world like nothing else.

The first thing that struck her was the smell. Old walnut, books, notes of perfume dashed with musk and smoldering tobacco. It was a scent she couldn’t quantify and yet immediately knew what it meant, like a moth-eaten standard or an ancient, fragmentary palimpsest.

The room wasn’t cavernous like the castle or even particularly vast. The walls, dark and hung with tapestries, seemed to press in. A number of wrought iron chandeliers hung from the ceiling. The parquet floor, immaculately polished yet pockmarked with little chips and cracks that betrayed immense age, reflected the candlelight above like the moon on a gentle ocean. Atop this water flowed the delegates: newts by the dozens (with the occasional axolotl) draped in heraldic finery. Barons, counts, knights and ladies, councilors, dukes, duchesses, even some familiar courtiers from Yunan’s visits to the castle, all resplendent in sable and silk. They huddled amidst the plush chairs and fireplaces, drinks in hand and the kingdom on their lips.

“Yunan?”

Olivia’s soft voice broke her out of her stupor. “Uh – yeah, yes?”

“With us.” The young lady guided the soldier over to the side of the room next to a standing candelabra where Calanthia stood impassively. Yunan sniffed again yet could detect no odor from the white candles – they had to be of waxen spermaceti, rare fruit wrenched from the bloody sea.

“Alright. What’s our plan?”

Calanthia cleared her throat. “We are to monitor the discussion and gauge the congress’ assessment of General Brudenewt. We shall make our presence known but not engage in decisive action or reveal our inclinations unless prompted.”

“Yes, ma’am.” The pink newt suppressed the urge to salute.

Olivia broke in. “Aren’t our opinions already well known?”

“Of course,” said her mother, “but to be known to have an opinion and to air it aloud are two very different things. The former is natural, the latter uncouth and potentially dangerous without the correct context. There is a time and place for everything. For now, we do not spoil our hand.”

Chepyzhin moved to break away. “I’ll do some scouting. Survey the terrain.” The royal advisor nodded and he disappeared into the crowd.

To Yunan’s eyes the room was a forest, unknown and unyielding, but she noticed how Lady Calanthia’s gaze bounded around from one group to the next. She’s . . . doing reconnaissance. She’s already sent out her skirmishers and now she’s figuring out where to place her defenses. Ok, I know this! Yunan looked to check Olivia, but found the young lady’s gaze watching her through the corner or her eye. It only lasted a second.

“We can relax a little, it seems Brudenewt isn’t here yet. I wonder what is keeping him,” Olivia mused aloud.

“I would expect him to arrive later in the night. The longer he shows his face the more he attracts disparaging attention.” The royal advisor turned to the pair. “We may socialize in brief, but keep watch for Houses Cavalcanti and Kulkarn. They may prove our greatest obstacle. First, however, the proper thing is to greet our hosts.” Her daughter appeared to understand who this referred to as she nudged Yunan towards a group of four tan newts garbed in various shades of maroon. As they approached the eldest – furnished with a salt-and-pepper beard – stepped out to greet them.

“Milady. It is so kind to grace us with your presence.” He took a knee-bow and kissed Calanthia’s silken glove.

“Likewise. I was most honored by your invitation.”

“Yet an invitation is nothing without guests, and you are of the most sterling class.” He examined Olivia and Yunan. “Your daughter I recognize, but I confess I have never met this one and I am unfamiliar with your uniform. Would you happen to be with the outfit that did such marvelous work on the wall . . . ?”

It was time for Yunan to deploy her seldom-practiced ‘fancy voice.’ She fretted slightly, her tail flicking, yet she opened her mouth. At least she was talking about herself, that eased things. “Uh, yes, yes. The Knight Guard. I am Knight Commander Yunan, the leader of the group! You’ve heard of us?”

The man appeared to respond well. “But of course! You pulled off a masterful defense when handed a tough situation. Splitting your teams to interdict from both land and air? Sensational work. I haven’t seen the like in a long time.”

“Ah – it was a rush, but things came together! Gotta work with what you got!”

Olivia interceded with a little bow. “Thank you most kindly, sir.”

“Are they your wards, Lady Calanthia? You must be quite proud.”

She sensed he was referring to the Knight Guard, but lady’s eye drifted subtly to Yunan. “Of a sort,” she answered with a wispy smile.

The next hour or so proceeded without incident. The three engaged with the occasional newt but largely kept off to the side, especially as the discussions grew larger and turned to the issue at hand – General Brudenewt. His delegation still had yet to arrive. Olivia took the time to give Yunan a summary education on each of the major players.

“Duke Iturburua, we met him first, generally reasonable. House Xun might be the friendliest, along with d’Armilly, but House d’Armilly are newcomers – they have only been here three hundred years – so they haven’t much influence. House Brudenewt is closest with the Kulkarns, but they’re also married into the Cavalcantis.”

“Wait, didn’t your mom say they were gonna be a problem? They seemed alright when we said hi.”

“They’re polite, but House Cavalcanti is also one of the younger houses. They have wealth – plenty of it, they’re the financiers of half the aristocracy – but not prestige. Count Cavalcanti married his daughter to General Brudenewt’s son in an advantageous match for them, but that also means the Brudenewts might have everyone by the purse-strings.”

“Dirty trick,” Yunan grumbled. The little rumble to her voice struck her companion as impalpably alluring.

“Indeed. Who knows how likely he is to play it.”

Chepyzhin returned from his tour of the crowd and sidled up to Calanthia. Things looked somewhat favorable – the attack on the capital had truly given his superior a black eye – but still undecided. Further afield, Yunan watched as Duke Iturburua disengaged from his conversation with the van Hoytls and made to address the room. “Ladies and gentlenewts–”

Just as he began the double doors swung open and General Brudenewt strode in, flanked by his son.

“–D-dinner,” the Duke coughed, “dinner is served.”

The servants led the crowd away while Yunan tried for a look at her former commander. Calanthia hurried her along but from what she could catch he was the same as she remembered: middle-aged and medium height, with right Tyrian purple skin and eyes that surveyed the world with noticeable displeasure. If she was an eyeball she, too, would protest being installed in such a man. His uniform appeared unchanged; Yunan’s wrist ached at the sight of the leather riding boots she’d so tediously polished several months prior. “Well, shit,” she remarked to Olivia.

They were brought to an enormous dining room with damask wallpaper, black windows that acted more like mirrors, and a table longer than felt possible. The servant assigned to the Newtons (Chepyzhin fell away) led them up almost to the head. Probably a gesture to the royal advisor, Yunan figured.

Olivia leaned to whisper in her ear as they took their seats. “We’ll just lie low and let the others handle him; there is little benefit in instigating a scene–”

Something caused her to stop short. Yunan whipped around and, to her horror, found General Brudenewt and son sitting directly across from them. Her breath caught. The son – their own age, early twenties, if not slightly younger – noticed this. “What? No point in gawking, upstart, I’m already hitched.”

She narrowed her gaze. “Who’s this little shit,” she near-snarled to Olivia under her breath.

“Said little shit is Tristram Brudenewt, and your assessment is correct.” Fortunately the Brudenewts had their attention diverted by Duke Iturburua. He rose from his chair after the last stragglers had come in and held a chalice aloft.

“I humbly welcome you all to this convening of the Amphibian Diet. My friends, fellows, and family of the bluest blood – this evening we gather together to guide this kingdom as only the best can. But now, let us eat!”

There were cheers and scattered applause. Someone proposed a toast and Yunan noted how swiftly Olivia’s hand went for the bottle. Both of them remained silent, however. “To the bluest blood!”

The bluest blood? It all looks the same.

The dinner was as much foreign territory as everything else. Yunan started on the first course hungrily; Olivia had to coach her to pace herself so that she not finish too quickly. She pressed down her soldier’s instinct to eat as fast as possible – there wasn’t time in the field for luxuriating – but she pointedly noted that General Brudenewt ate as relaxed as anyone.

For the first minutes the room was silent. It was only on the second course and especially the third that any conversation broke out. Calanthia (seated to the right of Olivia) made small talk with the Iturburuas on the end, and the houses far to the left launched into passionate debate, but the Brudenewts – and the newts across from them – remained cold and quiet.

As Yunan polished off the third course, the younger Brudenewt broke the stalemate. “So where are you from?”

“What?”

“Where are you from?”

“Uh, Newtopia. Born here.”

Olivia understood his mode of attack better. “She is from Efton. We were educated together.”

“That so?” He returned to his plate. “I wouldn’t’ve guessed.”

Yunan sensed Olivia cringe in annoyance which made her prickly, too. The skirmish remained there until after the fourth and final course. Downtable a delegate from House Xun was advancing the notion of ousting General Brudenewt in favor of a new noble-backed appointee. Some of the others – House Kulkarn in particular, who blustered vigorously back – raised objections yet the majority appeared to quietly assent. The general held his tongue. The servants arrived with a dessert of chocopede mousse. As he ate, his gaze flitted up and focused on Yunan. It burned in her spine. Then it landed on Olivia, the table, and finally Calanthia.

“Is that what this is about?”

The downtable discussion snuffed out like a candle. Calanthia fixed him with her eyes but it was her daughter who spoke out. “Excuse me?”

“I’m not a dullard. I could hear everything you have been saying, he scolded, now addressing the Xun and d’Armillys. The newt rose from his chair. “We have all seen the state of things. The progress of the war.”

“It’s shameful!” Came a shout from somewhere further back.

“Aye. Shameful! But what is more shameful – a commander making do with what little he is given, or the poor conduct of the soldiers and the saboteurs at home who undermine his efforts?” There were various jeers – even Chepyzhin, seated towards the end, looked angry – but the general continued. “The stock supplied to me is simply of inferior quality, while others, who wish to sabotage my command for their own gain, take off the top!”

Lady Calanthia, cold with fury, rose and leaned forwards with hands on the table. “Is that what you allege? It is naught but your own failings that have brought you here.”

“My failings, not the workings of cowards such as yourself? While you dallied in the court I, and generations of my ancestors, have served this great kingdom on the battlefield! Unlike you I have made something of myself!”

Calanthia straightened her back. “Do you mean to imply that what you are deserves to be called ‘something?’”

“Cowards! Each of you!” He looked to Yunan. “That reminds me, I did some digging regarding this crumb of eraser dust in your employ. ‘Knight Commander Yunan,” little plaything so insignificant she doesn’t even have a last name. She did when I knew her, the insubordinate whelp. ‘Wolterstorff.’ But that’s not it either.” He stepped around until he was face-to-face with the royal advisor, backed by his son. “No, she faked that because she was too cowardly to let us know who she truly was. It runs in the family, Longclaw.”

The delegates collectively gasped. Yunan bolted up, cheeks afire. She felt every eye in the vast hall trained on her with contempt. To her surprise Olivia stood as well and pushed the soldier behind her. She faced the room. For shame, her expression seemed to say.

Duke Iturburua, host and head of the table, banged his fist. “ENOUGH! General, this is ghastly. It is far below the standards of this body and you of all people should be aware of that fact. I move to call and immediate vote to strip you of your command.”

“Do you?” Probed the general’s son, Tristram. “Should I remind you who renovated this manor by virtue of a sixty thousand copper line of credit?” The Duke’s indignant face turned white and he hushed.

The Newtons and the Brudenewts found themselves arrayed against each other like ships of the line. “You are pathetic, General,” hissed Calanthia. “You truly are. I have never seen anyone as quick to throw the well-being of so many others the pyre than yourself.”

Yunan’s mind buzzed with anger as the general opened his mouth. “It’s not so difficult to be better than yourself, you scheming slimeball. Even the lowest Frog Valley peasant could do it.”

“And your toy soldier here,” added Tristram. “Father and I had a good laugh when we figured out who you really were. Thought that’d work out? He always said you were the dimmest brute he ever worked with. Liked the taste of boot polish.”

Even breaths, thought Yunan. Calm. Be good. Be good for Olivia.

“But this one here really takes the prize,” taunted Brudenewt, pointing to the younger Newton. “She’s the worst of both. All the backstabbing of her mother on the one hand and on the other she evidently likes the taste of–”

Yunan’s fist pummeled the general’s snout, sending a tooth flying like shrapnel and the man flat to the parquet floor. She watched, wild-eyed and huffing, as blood swiftly began to pour from his mouth and nostrils.

“I would like to change the subject,” said Calanthia dryly. “We are leaving.” She bowed to the host, Olivia grabbed Yunan by the waist, and the three made for the exit.

The carriage ride to the castle began quietly. Having calmed down Yunan now slumped, mortified. Olivia placed a hand on her back.

“’M r-really sorry Liv, M-Calanthia, I shouldn’t have done that.”

“It’s okay, it’s okay, Yu. Nobody blames you. I would bet coppers half the people in there were thinking about it, he was way out of line.”

“Th-thanks.” She breathed the cold night air in and out. In and out. Olivia’s hand felt like a benediction.

Lady Calanthia, sitting across from them, remained stonefaced. She removed her ammonite shell hairpiece and held it in her hands. She brushed at it with her thumb and, without warning, broke out giggling. Then smiling, laughing, and a full-blown cackle. The two newts before her could only watch as the royal advisor howled with laughter. It was the hardest Olivia had ever seen her mother laugh in the full memory of her life.

Another carriage departed the Amphibian Diet soon after. General Brudenewt had swapped out the last-minute brougham he’d entered the city in, modest and uncomfortable by his standards, with his own personal padded coach. It was a bit odd for what was technically now a military transport (the plush interior and heraldic arms on the door stood out) but nursing a bruised jaw and a snout full of dried blood, he thanked himself for the indulgence. The suspension would make the ride to the front much more bearable.

They halted at the gate to pick up their escort – a detachment of spider-riders – then continued on east. Brudenewt looked questioningly at his son. “Are you sure you want to come along?”

“I’m not leaving you in this state, Father. Let me have another look at it. It’s not swelling, is it?”

“No, I’ll have a medic examine it when we get there. At least that way we’ll be paying them for a reason.” He readjusted the ice pack on his jaw. The sound of splashing water in the wheels receded, indicating they’d made it out of shallow Newtopia Bay and onto dry land.

“Father?” Tristram appeared bashful.

“Yes?”

“. . . Sorry I didn’t get her back for you. I feel like I should’ve.”

“Not to worry, Tris. All of ‘em are in for a good chewing out from the king. Those people need to know their betters.”

Further back in the convoy two of the spider-riders drew abreast. One of them, a newt, called to the other. “You see that guy? His mouth? The fuck happened?”

The other, a toad rendered grey in the red-tinted moonlight, answered back. “Fucked if I know. He’s the general, too, so judgin’ by the fact that we’re not killin’ anyone it’s safe to say it wasn’t anything we’ll hear about. Though, by the way people talk, my guess is he deserved it.”

“Are you part of his usual escort?”

“Me? Nah, just rotating back. Tsoi. You?”

“Bishop,” said the newt. “I wonder if there’ll still be proper barracks out there.”

“Since we’re headed for headquarters I’d say probably, dependin’ how full up they are. Once you get placed in with a unit – who knows.”

The path darkened as a hill blotted out the sliver of crescent moon. Tsoi could snatch the faintest hints of conversation from the carriage just in front. Suddenly, there came a great KABOOM from the heights above. He whipped around. His deafened ears now made out – rocks tumbling? He strained to see until the wall of falling boulders crashed into his vision from the black. Fuck this, he had time to think, and then he became nothing.

The white marble arches that made up the castle’s internal structure curved over Lady Calanthia’s head like a whale’s bleached ribcage. Click, click. Despite the emptiness her steps barely echoed.

They’d dropped off Yunan at the Hemisphere Hotel, then Olivia – soothed, but still a bit shaken from the night’s events – had opted for an early retirement. That was fine by her, Calanthia thought. King Andrias was often up at this hour, she might do well to brief him on the Amphibian Diet. Before he hears about it from someone else, something in her said. In any case we’ve stood by each other for decades. I’m in no rush. Her nerves were at ease.

She made for the throne room. The dimmed bioluminescence around the periphery did very little to illuminate such a large space. Neither did the weak moonlight that filtered, diluted, in through the stained glass. It was not by the light that she recognized the leviathan on the throne; it was by the hole at the center of the darkness.

“Calanthia,” the king’s voice rumbled. To him it was a murmur. The shroomlights scattered about brightened until she could see his face – his crown, his soft eyes, the feather-white beard that’d remained unchanged since Olivia was born. Since she was born, even.

“My liege.”

“You’re back tonight. If it’d gone smoothly I don’t imagine you would have anything to report this quickly.”

The advisor raised her eyebrows in acknowledgment. “Ever perceptive, Andrias.”

She told him the story of the night – her daughter, Yunan, the positions of the nobles, the dinner, the general’s tirade. “It was quite systematic. First he insulted myself, which, fair is fair. Then his son insulted dear Yunan for being lowborn and the child of Sir Longclaw.”

“Betraying your sympathies, Calanthia.” He smiled.

“I know, I am more than aware. She is . . . well, something very different, which is refreshing when most you come in contact with are the Brudenewts of the world. Excuse my rudeness.”

“No offense taken,” replied Andrias, raising his hands. “What else?”

“Finally the general insulted my daughter.”

“Oh. What did you say? Whatever it was you know I–”

“Before I could reprimand him Yunan punched him in the face.”

Andrias froze. “Wait. She – you’re serious? In front of the whole Amphibian Diet? She–” The king dissolved into a fit of titanic laughter that rattled the stained glass in its leaden frames. “No way. No way, Cal.”

The small newt sighed. “It is the truth. I had a . . . similar reaction. I must admit I wish it had occurred under different circumstances – the man was insinuating some salacious things about my daughter, and I was not going to stand for that – but in truth I’m glad I got to witness it. You can’t eat your cake and have it too, as they say.”

“Yes, well,” the king collected himself, “I can’t say he didn’t deserve it. He’s practically been a boon for Ragnar with the way he runs things and now he goes and pulls this? I’m sure I could recall him and no one would put up much of a fight. But I’m really sorry about that, Cal. Nobody deserves to be subjected to that.” He took on a mischievous expression. “Especially not those two. They’re pretty cute, right?”

Calanthia slapped a palm to her face. “Stellar. You can see it too? Is there anyone in the entire frogforsaken kingdom who can’t at this point?”

“No, but if you want to be sure I can put out a royal proclamation.”

“That will not be necessary,” she snapped. Then she sighed and let slip the tension. “I just . . . I am on edge. My little ‘Livia is on the front and in danger and every day I worry about her. Like lead in my stomach. Yet when I see her, and especially the two together, and how happy they are and all the good they’re doing and what might come when the war is brought to its end – when they bring it to an end, no doubt . . . then maybe what I’m doing is right.”

Before Andrias could reassure her there came a frenzied, persistent rapping at the throne room’s massive door. A panting messenger poked his head in. “My liege – sir – I – apologies–”

“Come in,” the king said seriously. The royal advisor regained her posture.

The messenger limped coughing and sputtering to the king’s dais. He sounded parched. “My king – urgent r-report, there’s been an attack outside the walls, shoreside, little is known but it looks to be from infiltrators–”

“Attack?” The king started. “On whom?”

“Th-the general, Brudenewt,” he said. The messenger finally got some air and continued. “They got his whole caravan. Ambush.”

“Oh my word,” the lady exclaimed. She seemed taken aback.

Andrias moved to reply but stopped short. There was a sound like buried thunder in his mind and a familiar voice seeped through the edges of his consciousness. “PAY ATTENTION, ANDRIAS. DISCREPANCY. HER HEART RATE, RESPIRATORY RATE, CORTISOL LEVELS ARE NOT ELEVATED.”

She’s not surprised.

Calanthia collected herself and spoke. "This is grave news. What is the general's condition?"

"He, um, he is not expected to survive, milady."

Andrias focused on Calanthia. At those words she let out an almost imperceptible breath. Even one practiced in the subtleties of courtly life for nearly a thousand years could hardly detect it. Relief.

"Very well," the king pronounced. "You are dismissed." The messenger bowed and scurried away, shutting the door with a click.

"Calanthia."

The royal advisor turned. Rather than shrinking back the white-haired newt stood tall and utterly fearless. She raised her chin. “Andrias.”

The king hesitated. He had a million things to say and none at all. The small woman focused in on him, eyes like iron, and when he tried to move – he went to stand–

“Sit down,” she commanded. And he found himself obeying without thought.

“DO NOT INTERVENE,” roared the torrent in the crown. “IT ALIGNS WITH OUR INTERESTS.”

“. . . Calanthia. Who was Brudenewt’s second-in-command?”

“That would be Lieutenant General Chepyzhin, sir.” Her voice was ice itself.

“Have him informed of his new position. See to it that the nobles do not give him too much trouble.”

When Yunan awoke the next morning she found a letter of support slipped under the door of her hotel suite, signed M. V. Chepyzhin in flowing longhand. The wheels were in motion.

Chapter Text

“You do not have to look if you would prefer not to, dear. What matters is that we are seen, not that we do the seeing.”

Olivia took the welcome distraction and looked to her mother. They were seated in a window together, the third story high above the Plaza Delpleurinae at a confluence of avenues. Far below was a gallows and two condemned (a frog and a bright yellow newt) already waiting. “What do you mean?”

“For most, government is invisible and abstract. If all is functioning correctly one may go through daily life without ever consciously encountering it. This is welcome, but the role of law – and of government, the hand that enforces – is that of an educator.” The floor suddenly dropped out from beneath the condemned and the ropes snapped taught. “Through its edicts it instructs. If it fails to follow through, then the lesson is negated. Thus, on occasion, the state must be witnessed meting out that which it promises – and as I am a representative of the state (as one day you will as well), then it is of importance that I be on display.”

Calanthia sipped from a glass of chilled cucumber water. Below, one frog jerked limp (hyoid bone, Olivia thought) but the other held too much tension in his body. His legs, though bound, flexed and tried to kick out for purchase.

“Brudenewt’s ilk support Newtopia as the rope supports those wretches down there. But times have changed, and you are more intelligent than them. You know your part.”

Olivia looked to her mother again. Calanthia was herself fixing intently on her. There, for a moment, was a flash; a dull something in her eyes, a something long immured that perhaps she was not meant to see until then. She blinked. It was gone.

It was summer – high summer – truly and honestly now, and Mrs. Anura was glad of it. It’d been a turbulent spring what with the rebellion and the region’s capture. That Newtopian girl – I was quite fond of her, the frog thought. Flighty little thing sometimes. I wonder whatever happened to her. Springtime, yes; I remember the roads were awful then. She didn’t count that latter part as particularly unique. They were always awful. Summer posed its own issues, though, as the dry sediment of the road was kicked up by wagon wheels. One cart was perfectly fine. But multiple ahead in afternoon, the sun firing down mercilessly, made the world all but invisible.

Wait. The old woman strained her eyes. She was coming up to an inn now and whatever traffic was ahead slowed, affording another look. Those aren’t snails, are they? Or spiders? Whatever drew the carriage before her wasn’t a silhouette she recognized. Neither did her own farm snail which murmured and tensed warily, half retracting into its shell.

As the dust settled Mrs. Anura drew alongside and realized two things: first, that the caravan was crewed by toads, and second, their mounts weren’t spiders. They were insectoid – great, strangely docile ants? She tried not to stare.

“Ah, hello! Curious?”

Well, there went that plan. “A little, I confess. W-what exactly are these?”

The man who’d addressed her, a grey-green toad just exited from the carriage in royal blue and gold dress, responded far more warmly than a frog would’ve normally anticipated. “These are tamed barbariants, madam. They pose no threat. Or, at least, as much as the average snail.” He looked on Mrs. Anura’s example humorously. “I’ve found they may be liable to slobber on one’s hat. No . . more of a foam.”

“That’s usually a sign of affection,” the frog chuckled. “Means they’re comfortable around you, accept you or likewise.”

“I ought to take it as a good sign then,” smiled the toad. “I should ask – would you care for a drink and a spot of lunch? It’s marvelously hot out.”

“Well,” the old woman figured, “I was planning on stopping anyway – I’ve still got a ways to go after. Let me tie up the wagon.”

“No trouble at all.” Mrs. Anura notice how he set about the men around him as she tied her snail up at the little roadside stable. Maybe an officer?

Some minutes later (and now minus what Mrs. Anura took to be the man’s guards) the toad held the door open for her and the two stepped inside. The place was half empty so finding a small table was no hassle at all.

“I must ask,” began the old frog, “Your uniform. You’re part of Ragnar’s group, yes?”

“I’d better be,” replied the toad with a tinge of levity. “I’m Ragnar.”

“Oh.” She was lucky in that she wasn’t holding her water and thus had no opportunity to spill it all over herself.

“No worries whatsoever,” said the toad. “I’ll admit I’m often not too recognizable. Which has its advantages, I suppose.”

The innkeeper was evidently also long in recognizing him and only now rushed over. “My deepest apologies sir! I was preoccupied – what will you be having, sir?”

Ragnar chuckled. “It’s quite alright. I’ll have the same as last time, the skewers with a hint of mustard. And the lady – if I might ask, what is your name?”

“Mrs. Anura. Of Loughop.”

“Loughop. Ah.” He seemed mildly interested. “What would you like? It’s on me, of course.”

The frog perused a menu placard mounted to a nearby wall. “The sausage, please. I might steal some of the mustard.”

“Be my guest,” said Ragnar. He turned to the innkeeper. “And how is your wonderful son? I recall he was just trying to tie his boots two months ago.”

“He’s very well, starting to get it reliably now.” Mrs. Anura noted how the innkeeper’s demeanor eased. He walked away with considerably less tension than with which he’d approached.

Ragnar looked to her as she returned to focus on him. “I don’t mean to be hasty, but if I’d hazard a guess, I’d say you are a farmer?”

“That’s accurate,” said the frog. “More of a wagon driver really. There’s a few of us with vegetable plots out in the hills near town. I take them in to market, distribute the profits, it’s a good arrangement.”

“I see. I admire your collective spirit,” said Ragnar.

“That’s not something I’d usually hear from a toad.”

“It’s quite true. We toads have our martial traditions, but directing us can be its own kind of challenge. Frogs are often far more reasonable.”

“I assume you don’t mean ‘reasonable’ in the way anyone gets ‘reasonable’ at the wrong end of a warhammer. That’s how many of the tower folk see us.”

“And how ghoulish that can be. No, I find frogs quite endearing, though I am new to their ways. And newts, though troublesome, have their place too.”

“To be fair, sir, we’ve had far more bad experiences with toads than we’ve had with the newts.”

“Hm. And who put them up to it, if I may ask?”

Mrs. Anura shrugged. “Fair point.”

The toad sighed. “In time, I suppose.” He sipped from his glass. The woman gave him a questioning expression. “By which I mean – I would be in favor of rebalancing things. When the time comes for it, of course, there is a fight to be won yet. But we would no longer be under the thumb of Newtopia, and yourselves no longer under its heel.”

But still under yours, Anura thought to herself silently. At that moment the innkeeper and slid their dishes on the table and the two picked up their utensils.

Ragnar tucked in, working through the first taste of his skewers with fervor but then halted before the second. He fixed the frog before him with a colder face. “Perhaps there are those who doubt my efforts. To each their own, I suppose. With time I am sure they will come to understand. I have quite enough to offer.” His lighter expression returned. “Mustard?”

“I believe I’m good for now,” said Mrs. Anura, thinking back to the springtime.

The Newtopian headquarters of the army may have not been new territory for its now-top general, but Brudenewt’s old map room certainly was. The man had had a habit of outlining maneuvers behind closed doors (like military planning was some kind of mystery cult) and only revealing the product as a fait accompli – no outside input, of course, such considerations were beneath his genius. Chepyzhin had dedicated part of the days following his superior’s assassination to simply unraveling his ‘genius’ filing system.

“For the scale you want, second drawer down on that chest in the corner, that one is for the northeastern mountain region.”

“Not sure why he forgot to add some fucking labels!” Complained Yunan.

“I’m sure it clashed with his idea of décor,” Chepyzhin smiled. Don’t have to hold my tongue anymore. This is never going to get old.

The two spent the next few hours pouring over reports, topographic maps, troop rosters, supply depot inventories. The impression that the general had gleaned of this newcomer in the preceding weeks had been one of youthful impulsivity, even if directed to the right ends. Olivia’s rosy-cheeked retellings of their adventures had contained that in spades. But here was another side: more disciplined, leaning over the table at everything arrayed to figure out all the factors, accounting for ones she could control and trusting in her bravery and muscle to power her out of ones she couldn’t. By frog, she’s even taking some notes. Some.

“Mind if I ask you something, Knight Commander?”

“Sure,” said the newt, crunching on an apple.

“You’re dividing your forces, some to go into the warrens and some to stay up top. You’re putting yourself in the former group, which I get. But why put yourself in the lead of that squad? You have, what, Alberici for that–”

“They’re actually up top with Olivia, that’d be Chevalier Syrett.”

“Syrett, right. But why not have them lead? I would, personally.”

Yunan clicked her mouth but paused, instead glancing down and smoothing her hair with a hand. “I think it wouldn’t be fair if I didn’t. You’ve got to stay with the fight.”

“No one would blame you–”

Chepyzhin was cut off by a sudden sharp look, but it faded. The young woman took a deep breath and reversed herself to lean half-sitting against the map table. “. . . You were at the dinner, yeah? I normally wouldn’t go into this but Liv puts a lot of trust in you, and I don’t really have anyone else, so . . .”

“Is this about what General Brudenewt accused you of?”

Yunan crossed her arms. “Accused? No need to bullshit me, it was true. My dad up and deserted his unit when things were against them. Some bandit shit, I don’t know. He was one of two left after and the other was so messed up he died the next day. Dad’s probably lucky he did ‘cuz he absolutely could’ve been hanged for that – they couldn’t prove anything with no witnesses, but everyone still knew, so . . . yeah. He’s out there somewhere. I was six. Never saw him again, don’t think I’d want to.” She hesitated, thinking, and breathed a long-tailed sigh. Chepyzhin didn’t know what to say.

“Well,” he finally began, turned back to the map. “It’s certainly bold. And I suppose I normally wouldn’t go for something like it. But Olivia puts a lot of trust in you.” The general smiled faintly.

“Worth a shot at least,” the newt said, stretching. She wasn’t quite back. I’ve forgotten his face, she thought. If I look in the mirror, how can I know how much is his?

The knocking at Yunan’s door was quiet, but insistent.

“Come in?” The general looked up from her paperwork. She noted the light outside: warm, slowly turning violet, late afternoon slipping away.

“Hi! Sorry!” Marcy slipped her way in through the door quickly, almost anxiously. “I hope I’m not interrupting. I’m not interrupting, am I? Oh no, you’re in the middle of – I’ll come back later, I–”

Yunan shook her head. “No-no-nah, just some borin’ stuff for the archives, it’s fine.” Marcy halted, hand already about to turn the doorknob again. “You ok? Come, I got another chair.”

The human girl nodded and took the offer. “So, uh, maybe I’m reading to much into this but IdunnoIthinkImight’veannoyedLadyOliviaandshemightbeavoidingmebutitmightjustbemebutIdon’tknowhowtobringitupandstuff!” She ended almost panting.

“Woah, slow down kid, you’ll make yourself pass out like that. Um,” the newt thought, “is this about . . all those stories she was telling you? Everything that happened back then?” Marcy nodded. “Well, I say everything, but . . . what was happening when last she left off?”

“The Amphibian Diet, you punched the old general in the face. And then he got killed out of nowhere, apparently some of Ragnar’s guys got lucky which doesn’t really speak too highly of Newtopia’s counterintelligence capabilities but that’s a different conversation, who’s in charge of that anyway? But, uh, I think there was gonna be a battle or something.”

Yunan nodded. “Yeah. Alright, I remember that.” She brought a hand to her lips in thought.

“Yunan?”

“Yeah?”

“Did I go too far, asking about this history? It sounds like it gets really personal and I’m not good with people like, at all so I’m scared I’m overstepping.”

The general shook her head. “No. Olivia and I . . . haven’t really talked in a long time, but from everything I know of her she wouldn’t’ve started the story if she wasn’t willing to see it through. She likes you a lot. It’s her way of expressing that, I guess, in her own kinda fucked up sort of way. Don’t take that wrong, mind you – I say that as a ‘value neutral statement’ or whatever – we’re both pretty. Kinda fucked up.” Marcy giggled and Yunan felt a very unfamiliar sort of maternal warmth. Boy I do not have time to unpack that right now.

The newt continued. “I think what it is is that the . . ‘fun’ part of that history is over. Adventures are like that. We all love to toast ourselves with the highlights but sooner or later you come back down to the mud. And for some people that’s a hard fall.”

The girl looked plaintive. “I take it things . . . don’t end well?”

“No.” Yunan shook her head. Marcy sensed something guilty in the expression. “She’s still very – well, it’s a sensitive thing. I can’t say, just don’t consider it anything against you if it takes a while. Liv’ll open up when she’s ready. She’s like that.”

The dwindling fires of the encampment combined with the moon provided just enough light to see by as the Knight Guard checked their packs. Olivia ran through the checklist again. Map, compass, two pencils, stopwatch, faint red shroomlight, sword, pistol, powder, round shot, caps, rations, water canteen, rope, two curse bundles for slowing, two vials of healing gel, and . . . the poison ‘stinkbombs,’ as Yunan called them. Terrible, childish name. Should’ve asked the University chemists to give us something better than that when we took delivery.

A whistle followed by a familiar voice pierced the quiet. “Alright everyone! It’s now ten o’ clock, which means General Chepyzhin’s forces are twelve hours into their offensive. With any luck Rangar’s boys are gonna be focusing all their eyes on that, giving us enough of a shot to slip through the mountains. Time to saddle up. Remember: riders keep all attention on the bird in front of you, Olivia will be doing the navigating for you and we all know she’s enough of a teacher’s pet to get it right.” The crowd laughed along with Yunan. Olivia found herself smiling, too.

“Light discipline, noise discipline, stick to the script. I’ll give it three then cast off on my whistle. Up in five second intervals. See you all on the hillside!”

The Knight Guard separated. Yunan trotted over to Scorchy, gave him a pat, and clambered aboard. Cecil and Charlotte shook hands and split to mount their respective sparrows. As he walked away Olivia noticed how Cecil shivered.

Chapter Text

The night’s dew had yet to burn off when the Froshes began their routine. Manke, the younger of the daughters, up first and energetic, next her father and mother still blinking sleep from their eyes, next Rivkele and finally little Dovid content to sleep in as long as he would be allowed. For all the intrusions on their world in the spring their summer had settled into a stable orbit. Mr. Frosh wandered out to tend to the farm as the sun first crested over the hill. The neighbor was waiting for him, arms folded over the fence.

“See anything last night?”

“No? Something off?”

“Next field over says he saw those toads at the camp along the south path putting the sword to their ants. Don’t know what about.”

“All of them?”

“Aye. Just sudden.”

The next day the area’s farmers would be lined up watching Ragnar’s men on the move, faces weary and grim. A quizzical happiness, but happiness nonetheless.

Olivia shuffled slightly as she stood outside the buttoned flap of Yunan’s tent. It wasn’t really much of a night anymore – the sun was soon to peek over the horizon – but she was still yet to sleep; the flight back to friendly lines had taken ages.

The raid had been – well, it had been successful. That is what matters, right? And yet–

She thought back to the hillside again. As Yunan’s team made their way back to the surface she’d cowered behind a stone wall as bullets sailed overhead. They’d tried to take the sentries by stealth but her footing gave way and she slid; tumbling rocks let them know something was afoot. At that point it was only a matter of time. Her mind rolled over the night.

She felt the weight of the pistol in her hand – long, unsteady. I’m not hitting anything with this, she thought, best keep their heads down at least. She laid the barrel steady over a convenient rock and fired near to the first toad she saw moving in the darkness. He flinched. That kept him in place. Further up a toad rose from cover and charged; Olivia saw one of her charges – no, her men – swiftly parry the sword away from blocking position and spear him in the thigh. He dropped, sliding a bit from his own weight down the hill before catching. More shots rained down on the toads’ advance. A haze of gunsmoke was settling in over the inky black. How long is Yunan going to be down there?

“Two more, left side!” One of the twins, Cecil, yelled over the din, gesturing so that the greygloves could see where he was referring to. His sister Charlotte was beside Olivia, slinging stones at anyone who decided to get too close.

“I can’t believe you brought that.”

“Look, princess, if it works don’t complain.” They ducked behind the stone wall as another couple bullets from downhill dug furrows in the air over their heads. “Not to mention I can actually aim.” As if to punctuate this remark she loaded another rock into the sling, spun, and let fly.

Over their shoulders came another FTHOOM as a Knight Fusilier ignited his powder. Distantly there was the wet smack of lead burrowing through meat, circular shockwave patterns reverberating in slow motion, some thud as the body fell. Olivia sensed it almost below consciousness. Here her senses were tuned to their highest; even the air had a flavor. Does this get addictive for anyone? She could almost see it. But then–

From the corner of her eye she saw movement. Charlotte rose, sling spinning, arm ready to cast the shot off, and was cut off by some passing concussion. Then a noise. It wasn't a scream, screams required one to have a mouth. Rather it was a wet slurping interspersed with locust-like rattles, dull and hollow, that made fine pink bubbles froth in the cavity. Arterial blood poured down from what had been her chin, dribbling down the tongue, her uniform, and onto the stony ground. Her knees gave out and Charlotte joined it, pooling into the pebbles–

The blue newt shook her head to return herself to the predawn light.

Breathe.

Just one, long and deep.

Look at it this way, her thoughts ran. She volunteered to be there, everyone did. I did. Because I thought it was the right thing to do, not just because of Yunan. It wasn’t selfish. Sometimes it’s necessary.

What would she think of you? What would they think of you, all the people counting on you to deliver? Mother? This isn’t a game and I can’t treat it like one, people are going to get hurt. That’s what we’re here for. And now I’m standing in front of her tent like it’s going to change anything. I should get back to my place before I do anything stupid.

What did Mother say? You’re smart. You know your part. I can hold it together. That’s necessary too.

Olivia twisted on the heel of her boot and stepped away. She settled into an uneasy sleep, alone.

“ . . . What, you think they’ll shatter everything in there if we leave them alone for a bit? They’ll be fineee.”

“Marce, I spent months with those two in Wartwood, hell hath no fury like the Plantar siblings.”

“Shortcut it is?” Marcy shrugged and pushed against a slightly jutting stone in the castle hallway. Anne perceived a small click then one of the gilt frames that contained a dour-faced leviathan ancestor swung forward slightly. The air inside the secret passage was chilly, it needled through the soft fabric of her pajamas. Surely there’s a tailor somewhere in the city that can hook me up with a proper robe, Anne mused, then I’d really be in business.

“Alright, quiet, this is going to pop out in Lady Olivia’s drawing room. She’s probably out of here by now but with her sleep schedule, who knows.”

“I cannot see how anyone’s sleep schedule could possibly be worse than yours.”

“Look, fair. But half the time she doesn’t even go home, she just sleeps in her quarters here.”

“She has a house?”

“It’s literally attached to the castle. She doesn’t get out much.” Marcy crouched; the ceiling dropped as they approached the end of the passage, hidden by a tapestry. They could see faint light through the threads. The room was lit.

“Quiet now. Duck behind the couch.” Anne saw her tiptoe through, hearing nothing, she followed.

The room was indeed lit, by a shaded shroomlight no less. They were evidently not alone. Anne remained tucked behind the carved wood of the sitting couch but could hear the rustle of paper and muted sniffling.

“This way,” Marcy rose, but their stealthy escape was promptly foiled by her tripping over a corner of carpet and landing with a thud directly within sight of the small blue newt woman who occupied the overstuffed chair near the window. The lady had a book opened on her lap but was leaning against the side of the wingback chair in an unusual manner.

"Hey, wh-w-what are you doing out of bed? It'sh late, I thought – ssschleepover?" The two girls noted an empty wine bottle overturned on the floor, and a second in progress. “D-ddidn’t hear door . . .”

"Uhhh," queried Anne. "We're going for snacks?"

Marcy joined in, dusting herself off. "Yep, Lady Olivia, we were just, uhh, going down to the kitchens, but are you . . . ok?"

"Yyeesh!"

"Lady, you're–"

"I'm fffffffinne." Her hand shook a little as it went to turn the page. It was multi-second process that ended with creased paper.

Anne turned to Marcy and whispered furtively. "Marcy! She's really in no shape to be out here. What if Sprig finds her? Or Polly? I mean, she's nice, but – I don't want them walking in on," she gestured vaguely at Olivia, "this."

"I get it, this is a bit worse than I’ve seen. Her quarters aren't that far, we can just ask her to go to bed."

"Wait, 'that you’ve seen?’ Marcy, is she like this often‽"

"No no no, not every night! And never this bad. Just . . . oh, just sometimes," she finished in a small voice.

Anne facepalmed. "Great."

Marcy looked sheepish. Olivia, meanwhile, seemed to think that the two were no longer paying attention and took a ‘discreet’ swig directly from the wine bottle.

"Okay, forget Sprig and Polly, is there anyone here who can watch over her for the rest of the night? Make sure she sleeps, gets water, doesn't, I don't know, fall out a window?"

"There's guards, but that might leave a hole in security."

"Right, they're out. Maybe. Anyone else you know?"

"I think General Yunan was visiting this evening to give some briefings, we can check if she's in the guest quarters?"

"Great," said Anne. "Lead the way."

“But,” added Marcy as they slipped out into the hall, “I . . . I’m worried that I’ll tread on something sore. I was talking with Yunan and she said things didn’t end well the last time they were–”

“THEY DATED?”

“No! Not like that. They just, you know, adventured together, attended balls, occasionally fell off of cliffs together, that sort of thing?”

“Look, being gay and falling off of high places are not necessarily mutually exclusive,” Anne replied. Wait, does that mean Sasha? She momentarily blushed.

“She’s down this way, follow me!”

General Yunan Bellona Longclaw (Scourge of the Sand Wars, Defeater of Ragnar the Wretched, and the Youngest Newt to Ever Achieve the Rank of General in the Great Newtopian Army) was busy getting ready for bed when the insistent knock she knew to be Marcy came again at her door. “Coming!”

Marcy was again nervous this time, but a different kind of nervous. She rocked back and forth on her heels as she spoke. “I really hate to bother you this time of night but you see we were going down to the kitchens for a snack and took a shortcut and found Olivia but she’s not really doing well and I think it would be good if–”

“She’s really drunk,” said the other human (Andy?), “I know it’s an ask, but can you check up on her?”

“Yesthankyou,” closed Marcy.

Yunan’s eyebrows raised. “Adult in the room on this one, huh?”

“More like adult in the castle,” replied Anne. “Nice fuzzy slippers, by the way.”

“Thanks. Liv said they were ‘unrestrained by such considerations as taste.’ I’ll go find her, her study or somethin’ I expect?”

Anne looked to Marcy, who nodded.

“Right then. You two have a night off, okay? Sleep tight.” Yunan dashed back to her room to fetch a robe (she was used to the elements but the castle was perpetually just a bit too cold) then set off into the stone labyrinth.

There’s that feeling again , she noted, no time to unpack now either.

“Olivia?” The varnished wood creaked as the pink newt shut it behind her.

“Zzhheneraal?” Fuck, she really is that drunk, isn’t she?

“Yeah, it’s me, what’s up here?”

What was up, evidently, was that the royal advisor to King Andrias Leviathan was slumped over so far in her chair it barely contained her. The book was mostly forgotten, lying folded over one arm of the wingback, the wine bottle was turned over the other with the lady’s fist still clenched around the neck. The glistening red puddle on the polished floor reminded Yunan darkly of blood. “Th-the ggirls were ‘erre. Said hi.”

Yunan sighed. “Not exactly a good thing. You need to go to bed.”

“D’wanna geddup.”

“Can’t imagine you even can,” Yunan spat. She wanted to sigh again. “I’ll carry you, but I won’t be happy about it.”

“Big shtrong zhenerall Yunnie,” slurred Olivia.

“Don’t you dare flirt right now.” The general impulsively tugged the now emptied second bottle from Olivia’s grasp, opened a window, and hucked it out into the darkness. A faint shattering of glass resounded through the night. She turned back to the lady, subtly bending her knees in preparation to carry her, but hesitated. The sheening of the wine on the floor caught her eye. Frog, not again.

She breathed out, expelling the memory from her mind, and bowed low to scoop her from the chair in a bridal carry. Olivia accepted, her hand weakly grasping up around Yunan’s shoulder until it found anchor. “Darrlingg . . .”

“Say that again and I’ll drop you,” the general said, and as if to punctuate it aimed next to the latch on Olivia’s door with her heel. The slipper did nothing to dampen the power behind it. BOOF–the door was knocked square off its ancient hinges and crashed onto the adjoining carpet. Yunan liked the feel of it underfoot as she entered the bedroom.

“How in the world do you sleep with this many pillows?” She nudged a few off with her elbow to make room then deposited the drunken lady in the center of the bed.

“. . . . . . Décor,” Olivia said weakly, and promptly passed out.