Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Loneliness was as heavy and comforting as Siffrin’s cloak. They’d hung onto it for about as long, too, unable to grasp at any memories where they felt safe, doted over, or loved.

Over the years, they’d found pockets of casual, everyday care from strangers; he hung onto those moments as fiercely as he could, all the while fearful and aware that such moments would always, always fade.

They needed to fade. He wasn’t the sort of person who’d been granted the privilege to put down roots.

They’d grown used to the emptiness, they guessed. It was the one constant they had in life.

“It must be nice, being able to travel so many places all by yourself,” a Poterian actor had said to Siffrin over coffee.

After an especially moving play, Siffrin had spotted one of the lead actors mingling among the audience, their head thrown back as they laughed at something someone said. Their dark hair cascaded down their back in tousled waves. They’d taken notice of Siffrin quickly, hands clasping around his as they smiled. Poterians were even freer with casual touch than Vaugardians, but when Siffrin flinched, the actor abstained from kissing their cheeks in friendly greeting.

The actor had worn a coy smile as Siffrin expressed their gratitude for such a moving performance.

“Come get coffee with me, so we can talk about it more,” the actor, who later introduced themself as Alessi, suggested with a twinkle in their light eyes.

As they’d walked to a nearby café, Siffrin had removed their hat from the largest pocket sewn into the inside of his cloak. It had taken a moment to shake the wrinkles out of the wide brim before he could put it back on. His cheeks had darkened at the sight of Alessi watching him with amused interest.

The two hadn’t spoken about the play much, but Siffrin hadn’t minded. It was nice just being able to talk to someone at all, even if he himself wasn’t doing much of the talking. Alessi didn’t seem to mind; Siffrin wasn’t sure if they’d even noticed they were carrying the conversation, to be frank.

On the topic of travel, they’d admitted that they’d only left Poteria once—to go to one of Vaugarde’s Houses and Change. Poteria didn’t have laws against Body Craft, but it was less accepted. One’s body was seen as a gift from their parents; altering it with Craft was considered rude. Alessi’s family hadn’t been happy with their Change, so they’d left the village they’d grown up in without looking back.

“Thankfully, there was a troupe traveling through a nearby town, so I was able to find work, learn the craft, and eventually rise to be who you see now.” They’d winked, making Siffrin feel warm and want to learn how to wink like that. “It’s one big family, really. I love it, but I do wish I’d taken more time to travel, instead of coming straight back home.”

Siffrin didn’t remember much else of the conversation, despite it happening only a few months ago.

They kept imagining themself joining a theatre troupe but dashed that thought across the rocks soon as it appeared in his mind.

Being around a group of people for long periods of time… it was never a good idea. Not for them. They were sure that the housemaiden running the first and last home he'd known had suspected something. The way he’d watched Siffrin whenever…

One night, Siffrin dreamed of the dark and a woman crying.

“RUN!”

He’d bolted upright. Voices drifted up through the floorboards from downstairs. The name Siffrin had been given back then was said more than once.

When the sky was at its darkest, just before dawn, he was kilometers away from the coast with nothing but his cloak, hat, dagger, and a change of clothes.

He never looked back.

Vaugardians were generally open and kind enough that he’d rarely needed to beg. Siffrin would knock on a door, and he’d be given a meal and sometimes even extra clothes and a bed. The next morning, he was chaff in the wind.

No home, no family, no name.

He couldn’t remember why he’d even chosen Siffrin or when exactly he’d stumbled upon such a name. He’d used several before settling on it. He remembered pretending he was a detective on the case, burning through aliases, or an actor taking on new characters—pretending, trying on personas like clothes… it was the easiest way to get by, to survive, to stay sane.

At this point, Siffrin wasn’t sure what his real personality even was. They tried their best to stick to simple facts: They were short and lithe. They were almost supernaturally fast with high enough endurance that he’d had to learn to pretend to be tired around others. They had large, dark eyes and nearly darkless hair that was straight, wavy, or curly depending on the climate. They were Scissors Type—Piercing Craft came as naturally to them as breathing.

Callous, manipulative, aimless.

Siffrin forgot where he’d heard the words. One of his earlier visits back to Vaugarde, maybe. They’d traveled to Jouvente, curious about its famous ballet hall in the southern district—oh, right, yes, it was there. Some kids a few years younger than Siffrin were gathered around a Craftology book in a second-hand bookstore that Siffrin had decided to browse. He’d become fluent in Vaugarian and Poterian but still struggled to read either; it was about time for them to change that.

“You do Protective Craft, right?” one of them asked another, who nodded. “Let’s see… oh, here! Says Rock Types are loyal, honest, and patient, but they can also be slow to act, vain, and gullible.”

“Ooh! How about Piercing Craft?” the third kid asked while lightly bouncing on the balls of their feet. “Mama thought I’d be Paper like her, but I just tested as Scissors!”

The first kid had flipped back to the chapter they wanted. “Oh, here it is. Scissor Types are determined, brave, and honest, but they can also be callous, manipulative, and aimless.” They’d laughed, but not unkindly. “Kinda like when you took forever to figure out what classes you wanted and all the good ones got filled up!”

Or wandering from city to city, country to county, with no roots to speak of.

Like borrowing idiosyncrasies and ways of speaking from strangers to mold themself into some semblance of a functioning human being.

Like running away at the first sign of becoming attached, as if the person reaching out were a Sadness attacking him.

This time, Siffrin was heading towards something.

He had grown tired of running, of wandering, of feeling like there was nowhere in this world that he could ever call home.

He also worried.

Worried of the emptiness he felt in place of guilt.

But if he was worried about its lack, if he knew he should feel guilty and wanted to, then… then he wasn’t entirely lost… right? It meant he was still a person, not a monster.

Siffrin drew a deep breath in… and let it out.

He kept walking.

He never did end up seeing that ballet, but that was fine. Another time, maybe. Should the Universe lead them to it.

Voimort was in a different region of Vaugarde, in the foothills of the central mountains. If Siffrin was lucky, he’d get answers before the King’s Curse reached the city.

The stories about the King—no name, only The King—had seemed far-fetched when Siffrin first saw articles about him. They had dismissed them as exaggeration, even fiction.

Then they saw the Curse firsthand as it grabbed hold of a village they’d been staying in near Elothen’s border. They’d barely escaped; everyone had panicked, running, screaming, going back for children and the sick and elderly. Many had dropped to their knees in the middle of the streets, frozen in place as they begged the Change God for help.

The chaos and panic had attracted Sadnesses. Siffrin had nearly lost an eye fighting one off to protect a mother using her body to shield her son.

He’d taken off when the mother tried to thank him.

His throat had ached. The only reason he’d been able to escape was because he’d been awake, prowling back roads and hugging the surrounding forest to find his next—

Siffrin never knew what to call them. Donors? Well, no; it wasn’t like they consented. Victims? Stars, he hated thinking that way, but worse was thinking them as meals.

Later that day, he’d drained a rabbit of blood and roasted the meat. He’d have preferred stew, but he’d been forced to leave his sack behind in that village. Going back for it would have been his… not death, but definitely his end.

Unfortunately, animal blood couldn’t sustain him. He’d tried. It was like eating candy in place of dinner.

If he wanted to avoid another Incident, he’d have to find a person and soon. Before he lost control. Again.

They weren’t sure if the House in Voimort could even help them, but they were sure they wouldn’t if they knew their body count. If they knew Siffrin would rather listen to ghosts rattling their ribs like prison bars than face responsibility of taking their lives.

“I should have talked to that professor,” he mumbled to himself as he tilted his hat to keep the sun out of his eyes.

While at a café in Mwudu, Siffrin had overheard a tall woman with big glasses and long braids talking to colleagues or friends—Siffrin hadn’t been able to tell which. And although he wouldn’t call himself fluent, Mwudu felt familiar enough somehow that he’d been able to parse what everyone said more easily than he thought he should.

Trying to think about it had given him a headache.

The tall woman worked as a professor at the town’s university, a prestigious and sprawling campus with no fewer than five colleges as well as a laboratory that boasted exciting advancements in medicine and Healing Craft. All of it was way over Siffrin’s head, but she’d caught his interest as he sipped his free cup of coffee—the owner had gasped dramatically when he’d told her that he’d only had coffee one other time and in Poteria; she’d seemed on a mission to show him that it was Mwudu that was the coffee capital of the continent.

“… affliction that causes the patient to crave blood. However, the few subjects we and Voimort in Vaugarde have been able to test—”

Her colleague wearing a headscarf had interrupted. “I thought you said it was a virus. It sounds more like a parasite, if its controlling the afflicted like that, and I’m not sure I’ve heard of a parasite of that sort that affects someone with as high sentience as a human. Ants and mice are one thing, but a human?”

Nonplussed by her colleague’s—or friend’s—skepticism, the professor said, “There’d been reports of a virus that acts like a parasite. It’s not the same and usually affects bats, but it’s been able to jump species to dogs and cats and more recently, humans.” She’d sipped her drink. “Now, this one we thought might be similar, and we still don’t have enough data to say truly one way or the other. It could be a mutation of that virus, it could be an entirely new one!”

Siffrin had struggled to keep from tapping his foot in agitation. Could she get back to the blood-drinking part? There were others like him? It was a medical condition? A virus? Did that mean it could be cured?

“I’m more interested in the blood cravings,” the third person had said. Their tone made them sound like they actually found the news abhorrent. “Wouldn’t that leave them more likely to catch ill? From parasites or bacteria and whatnot you’d usually get from eating raw meat?”

“I was just getting to that,” the professor said, pausing as if to challenge her companions to interrupt her again. “Now. In the afflicted Voimort and we could test, no, somehow, they come up negative for any of the parasites or bacteria we’d expect from such a diet. Especially when for all but one of them, they drank human blood as well—”

“Stop. Please, I don’t want to listen to this while I’m trying to eat. I know you’re excited about this break-through discovery, but can we change the subject?”

The professor had sighed but relented. “Alright, fine. How is exam week going for you two? I’ve been neglecting all the papers my students turned in last week—"

Oh, Siffrin could have just screamed right then.

He’d barely remembered to thank the café owner before leaving, ensuring he’d finished his coffee before doing so. He hadn’t wanted her to think he didn’t like it, though by then, he’d had no memory of its taste.

They’d wanted to wait nearby and talk alone with the professor, but admitting that they’d been eavesdropping sounded embarrassing. Not to mention that she would likely ask why they were so interested.

So, they’d left, grabbing their stuff and camping several kilometers outside town to sleep under the stars and decide what they were going to do next.

Siffrin might not have gotten all the answers they’d wanted, but they’d learned two important things: 1) Voimort in Vaugarde (likely a housemaiden or team of housemaidens at that city’s House) was also studying this condition, and 2) There were others like Siffrin.

Not many, surely, but odds were good that most were keeping to themselves just as he was.

Get to Voimort, get to Voimort, get to Voimort, Siffrin thought as he paused at the crest of a hill. Spring had shaken off the last of winter’s chill, but a new winter was approaching. Slowly at first but seeming to gain speed. Don’t turn around. Just keep going. Keep going. Keep going.

They drew a breath in… and let it out.

Nestled in the valley was a small farm, an old man with long, light hair and an even longer beard. He lifted one hand to wave at Siffrin while rocking in a chair on his porch. In his other hand was a book; its size and thickness made it look more like a textbook than one suited for relaxation.

“G’day, traveling one!” The old man’s voice boomed like thunder, but it didn’t make Siffrin flinch. It was like the sort of thunder heralding a storm at the end of a long drought. “Care to rest and allow an old one some company and conversation?”

Stopping on the road in front of the cottage, Siffrin looked around and blinked. “D-do… you take care of all of this yourself?”

The old man laughed. “Oh, these old bones have energy in them yet! But the hands that come down from Chasion are a mighty big help in my fields. If you’re in need of coin, there’s always more work to be offered here.”

You hadn’t had time to bathe the last two days, but… Siffrin gave a smile he hoped didn’t look too tired. “I have work waiting for me in Voimort.” The lie spilled over his tongue as easily as water over river stone. “I’ll take your offer of company, though, if it comes with food.”

His throat burned. His stomach screamed. He hadn’t stopped since draining and eating that rabbit, too fearful of the approaching Curse to even think of it.

Laughing, the old man nodded and huffed as he pushed himself up to his feet. He set the book down on his chair, not bothering to mark his page. “Follow me, traveling one. It’s been many years since I’ve had another mouth to feed for supper, but you should wash up first.”

Oh, so you really do look that bad. Siffrin tried not to let his smile tighten into a grimace as he thanked the old man.

Under better circumstances, Siffrin would at least have a change of clothes, but the best he could do was wring as much of the grime he could from his shirt, pants, and underwear in the sink before hanging the articles over the fire that fed heat into the large, clawfoot tub. It must have been expensive to install such a thing just for heated bathwater, but years of working fields and taking care of animals must have made it a necessary investment.

It wasn’t until he sunk under the heated water that Siffrin realized just how sore every part of his body was, and by the time he got out, he noted with a frown that he’d left the water tinted darker than expected. There was a brush on the sink, but he felt weird using it and simply combed his fingers through the uneven locks and slicked his bangs back so they wouldn’t drip water into his eyes.

Whatever kept his cloak and hat from ever getting too small for him despite owning them since childhood also kept them from getting stained. They smelled lightly of dirt but not nearly to the degree his shirt had.

Are the threads Crafted? Siffrin wondered, then stopped as they began to feel a headache build behind their temples.

No use wondering. Just put them on and find the old man.

“Thank you,” Siffrin said again as he found his way into the kitchen. “This is really generous.”

“Oh, it is no problem at all, now sit! Make yourself at home.” The old man lifted a pot’s lid, hummed, and covered whatever bubbled inside. “Should be maybe ten or fifteen minutes before everything is ready. More than enough time for you to pay me in stories.”

Siffrin laughed as he located the nearby table and sat down. He sat sideways in the chair and rubbed the pommel of his dagger with his thumb. “What sort of stories?”

“Your travels, of course!” The old man opened a cabinet and pulled down two plates before setting them aside. “I’ve never had time to leave my farm, let alone Vaugarde. I kept telling myself for years, ‘I’ll have time later,’ but eventually, time ran out. Even without the borders being blocked, these old knees wouldn’t get me too far. I see plenty of travelers coming or going from Elothen being as close to the border as I am, but your accent is rather unique.”

“I’ve been traveling since I was a kid, so my accent was bound to get mixed up from never staying in one place for long,” Siffrin replied breezily.

They’d said it so many times. Every time the topic of their accent came up in conversation. Yet. Yet… It wasn’t the truth, was it? Not fully. But then, what was?

A dull pulse left their temples aching. They blinked. Pale stars gathered at the corners of their vision, but they ignored the pain and kept smiling.

“With your parents?” the old man asked. Such an innocuous question. Hardly anyone Siffrin had come across had realized the sort of mine they’d just walked on when the topic appeared.

But Siffrin was starving. Thirsty. They needed rest. Even with his high endurance, he was exhausted.

The best lies laid on a bed of truth. “I never knew them.” His casual response made the old man worry more than if they’d burst into tears. “I started traveling going to different group homes and orphanages. Found odd jobs when I got older. I never liked staying in one place for long, so I usually only worked just long enough to keep me clothed and fed until I ended up somewhere new.”

He jumped a little when the old man set a glass of a dark liquid in front of them. It smelled like mead but was darker than the kind they were used to.

“My own brew,” the old man boasted, still sounding jovial even as his dark eyes shone with pity.

Siffrin hated that look, but he worked to appear grateful as he nodded and pulled the glass closer.

Returning to the stove, the old man said, “I used juniper berries and some other spices. Ah, you don’t have allergies, no?”

“None that I know of,” Siffrin responded before giving the mead a careful sip. They hated the taste of alcohol, so drinks were often hit or miss for them. Usually, when they wanted to get drunk, they simply ordered whatever was strongest and cheapest and shot it back too fast to taste anything. “Sweet.” It was hard to keep the surprise out of his voice.

“Not too sweet, I hope. I wanted to darken the honey before adding it, but while I liked the taste, it left it a tad too sweet for me. I’d added juniper berries to that batch, hoping it would help balance it out a bit.” The old man puffed up with pride when Siffrin smiled, not having to act this time.

“Way better than what I drank at the last tavern I went to,” they said.

“Good, good! Let me know if you need more or want to switch to water or tea. I can put a kettle on, but I thought maybe it was too warm today for it. Though you are wearing that cloak, so the morning may still have had a bit of winter’s bite for you.”

“I don’t get too hot wearing this.” Siffrin took another sip of the mead, mentally reminding himself to take it slow. He wasn’t trying to get drunk today. “But I’ll probably switch to water later. I didn’t anticipate some of these trails to be as steep as they are. I thought we were still pretty far from the mountains.”

“Oh, these hills can still get treacherous when you aren’t careful.” The old man uncovered the tallest of the pots and grabbed a ladle hanging from a rack above the stove. “If you’re in a hurry, I suggest camping near Emerald Creek. It’s a few kilometers up the way you’re heading. You’ll see a fork with a sign. Take right to the clearing. Left takes you towards Voimort, but it’s still a few days’ walking from here. I’d suggest stopping by Chasion. It’s the last town before the city. Those part of the hills don’t have great soil for farming. Feels like a wasteland, but it’s pretty in summer when all the wildflowers bloom. They aren’t edible, though, so you’ll want supplies, water especially. You got a waterskin? Eh, I can give you an old one’a mine—no, no, don’t talk me out of it. It might as well get some use. We’re entering the dry season up here on this side of the mountains, so you’ll be hurting fast if you don’t keep water on you. I’m sure by the time you reach Emerald Creek, you’ll need to refill. It’s clean and peaceful, and the land around it’s mostly flat. Very nice for camping. There’s also a Favor Tree near it, so the land gets taken care of by people passing by.”

Siffrin had heard of Favor Trees before but didn’t care to ask about them. He assumed it had to do with Vaugarde’s religion, the House of Change. It was a rather pushy belief in his opinion, but he didn’t want to be rude, so he avoided bringing it up at all whenever possible.

“Thank you.” Siffrin was already starting to lose track of how many times they’d said it. It was probably too much. They should probably stop before the old man grew irritated. “I lost most of my stuff in Ladraig. The King’s Curse spread faster than I thought…”

The old man nodded solemnly as he filled a bowl with soup. “One of my hired hands from Chasion always made sure to bring me the paper. It’s hard for the post office to bring me mail up here, so it’s all usually delivered to a box there.” He let out a long breath, mustache quivering. “But I pray, and I hope. I even visited the Favor Tree to ask it for help. Haven’t done that since I was a kid, wishing for our cow to give birth safely or for my dad to get me palmiers while he’s in town selling our crops and milk.” He laughed without humor and brought the bowls to the table. “Ah… latest I heard was of a savior. You hear about her?”

Siffrin shook his head.

The old man pulled some bread out of a box on the counter and grabbed a serrated knife. “It’s sourdough. One slice or two?”

Siffrin was surprised their stomach wasn’t rumbling loud as thunder. They swallowed, hoping they hadn’t been drooling. “Two, please.”

As he methodically cut the bread, the old man said, “She’s a housemaiden from Dormont—this savior. Blessed by the Change God Themself! Or so everyone says. I’ve never been particularly religious. My mother was a housemaiden, learned how to combine Rock and Healing Crafts to help our crops grow! But my father followed old beliefs, like the Favor Tree. I still have his old shrine to our ancestors set up in the bedroom. Never felt right to take it down, even if I don’t leave food or coins for them.”

“Dormont… Isn’t that where the King was marching towards? Why there?” Siffrin had never been up in the central mountain towns before. They were all small towns, villages, and scattered farms. Types of places where a blood-drinking monster was more likely to be noticed.

“It’s right in the center of the country, I reckon—or, well, as close as you can get.” The old man set two slices of sourdough onto a small plate and brought it to the table. “No need to wait for me to sit. Go ahead and start eating before you drool all over it.” He laughed as Siffrin’s cheeks darkened. “Since the King was starting with the borders and working inward, I’m guessing that’s one reason. Another might be that Dormont’s House has always been a very important one—spiritual-wise, but for education too. Besides one of the Houses in Jouvente, it offers the most classes. One of my hands used to teach there before she Changed and decided to study agriculture instead of poetry. Well, she still writes poems from time to time, but—meh, I’m getting off topic.” He let out a small laugh and grabbed a large spoon from one of the hooks above the stove. “Dormont’s Head Housemaiden had been in the news quite a bit in the weeks leading up to the King’s march. She’s a powerful Crafter from what I’ve heard and a leading scholar in Craftonomy. I have an interest in the subject myself, so I have a few books she’d collaborated on in my little nook. It’s possible that since Corbeaux was one of the first major cities to be frozen, the King maybe thought Dormont was the only other House that would have a chance of defeating him.”

Siffrin was still stuck on Blessed by the Change God and had retained little else of what the old man had said. “You said ‘blessed’? Like how?”

“As far as I’m aware, the Savior’s immune to the King’s Curse.” The old man nodded at Siffrin’s dropped jaw. “Mmhmm. She’s even unfrozen people that got hit by Sadnesses that have been able to gain the King’s skill. Not sure how those things managed that, but it helps knowing we got a fighting chance still.”

Sadnesses didn’t seem to get affected by the Curse. Siffrin didn’t bother thinking of why. It didn’t help with fighting them as far as they were concerned, but they couldn’t remember any who’ve been able to freeze people in time. If that was true, then he’d just need to be faster. Strike first and hard; they couldn’t freeze him if they were dead before making their first move.

“It does,” he agreed, and he tore off a piece of bread to dip into his bowl of tomato soup.

Siffrin tried hard to eat slowly, but before he knew it, he had an empty bowl and plates and could barely remember what any of it tasted like. When did the old man set down the plate of goat curry and rice?

His face sunk into the high collar of his cloak, but the old man laughed and picked up the plate and bowl to bring them seconds.

“Oh, you eat like my daughter!” His laugh sounded lighter this time. “She’s the youngest and was me and my late wife’s only girl, and when she was young, eating much more than I thought such a small body could hold, my middle son convinced her that she was a cow! Told her that me and her mom used Body Craft to change her into a girl, and she was eating so much because she had four stomachs and would turn back into a cow soon. Change, I’d never seen her cry so hard before or since.” He set the refilled bowl onto the table and checked the oven. “Ah, good, the samosas are ready. I’d been craving them but don’t always have the energy or time to spend making the dough and filling them all.” He grabbed a tea towel to pull out two baking sheets, setting them onto the counter on the other side of the stove, where he’d already set down potholders. “My daughter and oldest son both went to a House further north, near the coast. My son there sent me back all the recipes he was learning as he traveled.” He chuckled as he spooned curry onto the plate. “All my kids inherited my travel bug, it seems, but unlike me, they had no qualms about acting on it. Can’t be mad about that. Just wish sometimes they’d visit more. My daughter, especially. She moved to another country—”

The air felt weird. Siffrin’s ears popped like he was climbing to the top of a mountain, and the kitchen smelled faintly of burning sugar.

“Oh, crab!” The old man swayed but managed to keep the curry and rice from spilling off the plate in his hand. “Oh, that’s embarrassing. Sorry about that, traveling one. I forgot what I was talking about. That can happen at my age, I suppose.”

“Um… You were talking about your daughter…?”

“Daughter?” The old man sounded confused. He set some samosas onto the plate, like they were a dam to keep the curry from spilling. “Nah, I got three sons. Never could get the girl my late wife was hoping for. They’re all traveling now, though—my sons. Much as I’ve wanted them to visit more, now I’m glad they’re outside Vaugarde.”

He… Siffrin blinked. Nodded. Tried to smile as he accepted the second helping of curry.

This was weird. And oddly familiar.

Siffrin didn’t want to think about it.

They nodded when the old man offered them two more slices of sourdough. “Please. I haven’t eaten this well in a while. Not since I was in Mwudu.”

“Ah, if you liked Mwudu’s food, then that explains why you didn’t so much as flinch at my curry.” The old man gave a belly laugh. “Wasn’t sure if the peppers would grow out here, but they managed just fine. Spicy food’s kept me strong. Took a few tries to figure out the recipes my oldest son sent me when he lived there, but I think I’ve managed well.”

“It’s really good,” Siffrin agreed. He finished his mead, and the old man switched his glass for one filled with water. “I used to live up north by the coast for a while when I was younger.” Why was he telling him this? “Curry was always good in winter. It always seemed to catch me off-guard how cold it could get on the beach once the sun set.”

“Especially if you’re by the cliffs near Bambouche.” The old man nodded as he left the room.

Siffrin’s spine went rigid.

It was a coincidence. It had to be a coincidence. Those northern coastal towns were all small. Bambouche was the largest of them. It used to be a major port town; it made sense for it to be the town he’d mention.

It was a coincidence.

He didn’t know about the group home atop the cliffs overlooking Bambouche. He didn’t know about the housemaiden who ran it or the body that washed up on Bambouche’s eastern shore.

“Before I forget—oh, sorry there.”

Siffrin hadn’t noticed that the old man had returned, a water flask in his hand. Their hands were trembling in their lap. Their heart was beating so hard and fast that it roared in their ears.

They placed a hand over their heart. Slowly, they drew a breath in… and out…

“Hmm.” The old man held up the water flask, waiting until Siffrin took it gently into his hands. “The others did the same breathing thing. Cultural?”

“… Others?”

The old man sat back down and tore a piece of bread off his slice, dipping it into his soup. “Three others, all with light hair. Two of them had big dark eyes like you, too.” He smiled, like he was remembering old friends. “All the same accent as yours, all heading to Voimort. Only one of them told me the truth why, which helped click some missing puzzle pieces in place about those first two.” He ate the soggy piece of bread and tore off another piece. “That waterskin’s been Crafted to keep whatever’s inside fresh. My great-grandfather made it. Strongest Crafter in my family for generations. Had to be to make something that advanced. He’d made it originally for holding milk. He’d swear up and down that it was a miracle beverage. Made my grandfather and father and their siblings all drink a glass every morning and night like it’d keep away any disease. But it should work for what you need, too.”

Frozen, Siffrin could only stare at the old man as he held onto the flask.

Three people, all with light hair like him, all with the same accent, all heading towards Voimort.

Only one had told the old man the truth.

A flask, crafted to keep any liquid inside it fresh.

“How old were you,” asked the old man in a suddenly serious tone, “when you lived up north?”

Siffrin felt as though he’d been struck by lightning.

He couldn’t breathe.

His mouth went dry.

Somehow, he answered, “Don’t know for sure,” at the tail of a raspy exhale.

In… out…

The old man only nodded, as if he’d expected that that would be the answer. “Small thing, but I’m guessing you’re a little older than most people guess.”

Most people guessed he was in his teens, still, mainly thanks to his height and round face, so... yeah. He nodded.

“You’d still have been young then. Too young to be left alone like that, with no one to help you figure anything out.” The look in the old man’s eyes when he met Siffrin’s gaze wasn’t quite pity. It was like he was ready to give up anything to wish that things had been different for him. “I hope you find the help you need in Voimort’s House, traveling one. Once we don’t have to worry about the King’s Curse anymore, know my home is open to you. There’s no need to be al—”

Siffrin’s chair clattered to the floor as he jolted to his feet.

The old man sighed as Siffrin sprinted out of the cottage, forgetting that they still clutched the flask in their hands.

Chapter Text

For as long as they could remember, Siffrin’s heart warred between wanting acceptance for what he was and never wanting anyone to ever find out.

They weren’t sure why they’d ended up at the creek. What if the old man sent someone out to find them?

Why would he bother? Siffrin frowned. Sat cross-legged in the soft grass. Stared at the flask still in their hands. It looked simple. It was a little shorter than the length of their forearm, and the leather was dark and smooth. There were small loops for it to attach to a strap or belt, but Siffrin didn’t have either.

It was too late to return it, and… they didn’t really want to. A flask Crafted to keep whatever was inside fresh… If it worked on blood, then carrying this would be a huge help, though getting the blood inside without spilling it would prove difficult.

The Universe is laughing at me for leaving that Crafting class in Ka Bue. Siffrin looked up, but clouds covered most of the sky. It would be an hour or so before the stars would be visible anyway. Behind them, the sun sank further past the mountains, light and shadow painting the hills with broad, uneven strokes.

While visiting the southern Ka Bue prefectures, Siffrin had heard some students talking about a Piercing Craft master. He hadn’t been able to understand much out of the students’ rapid and excited speech, but he’d managed to figure out where to find this so-called master.

More miraculously, she’d agreed to take them on as a student. However, when she asked Siffrin where he’d learned his form during their first lesson, he ran and never went back.

He hadn’t known the answer.

He hated that he hadn’t known, couldn’t think of it.

He was scared and angry and disturbed over why he couldn’t remember something so blindingly simple.

When did he get tested? Who tested him? Were his parents Scissors Types? Had he even lived with his parents prior to waking up on Vaugarde’s northeastern shore? Who had his teacher been? Had he learned from more than one? Why had he already known battle skills at such a young age?

Southern Ka Bue’s Piercing Craft was renowned for its precision. Siffrin’s attacks used more dramatic movement. Comparing their moves to that Ka Buan master was like comparing the arc of a great sword to the jab of a needle. The form had originated from healers who’d used Piercing Craft for bloodletting; Siffrin could have learned how to draw blood quickly, easily, and safely into their new flask.

Oh, well. What’s done was done. No matter how much Siffrin wished for it, there was no going back.

“Might as well use it for water, then.” Siffrin turned their attention to the creek in front of them.

Clear, cold water glided over smooth rocks, and minnows darted away from their looming shadow. It didn’t take long for the flask to fill, Siffrin staring as the water seemed to flow in through the spout much faster and more easily than they’d expected.

… Curious.

Had it also been Crafted to ensure liquid didn’t fall out of it? Crafting leather wasn’t easy. The tool used to burnish it would have also needed to be Crafted beforehand for Craft to be guided from the user into the leather, and that by itself was no easy feat. Siffrin’s boots had been Crafted to last longer, and he’d known an artist who’d Crafted rabbit and calf skins she’d used for vellum to ensure they’d keep her paint from fading in sunlight. So, they knew it was possible.

Siffrin, still squatting at the bank, turned the flask over. No water dripped out. He drank about half of the water inside and slowly lowered it towards the creek again. Holding his breath, he held it so that the spout’s edge barely skimmed the surface. Siffrin’s eyebrows raised as water lifted to refill the flask.

Strongest Crafter in the family for generations, indeed. Maybe the Universe wasn’t laughing at them after all.

Next problem was finding someone to bleed, but that could wait until later.

Part of him wanted to keep walking, but now that his belly was full, Siffrin’s exhaustion felt amplified. All he wanted right now was to curl up and sleep.

His steel-backed heels sunk into mud with each step as Siffrin followed the creek downstream, seeing the sway of weeping willow branches in the distance. The creek widened as he walked, having to watch his step to keep from slipping on rocks or avoid stepping on little holes with mud packed around their edges like little walls. He wasn't sure if those had been made by crayfish or snakes, and he didn’t want to risk angering the latter.

Were there poisonous snakes in this part of Vaugarde? He couldn’t remember.

The stream widened, which Siffrin didn’t notice until cold water splashed over the top of their right boot. Grimacing, they side-stepped back into the clover and grass. Ahead, the stream gently bent around larger rocks and what looked like fallen logs in the dying sunlight. Squinting, Siffrin focused their vision and realized those were roots so large and long, they created knotted bridges across the creek.

More clouds gathered above, blotting out the stars as they greeted the night. The sun was nearly gone, and the forest around him began to stir. Small creatures scuttled and chittered; leaves rustled as a breeze pushed against the afternoon’s lingering heat.

This weeping willow tree was massive; leaves sighed as they brushed against one another as rising wind blew through its long, ribbony branches, which had bits of paper tied to some of them. They hid the trunk at their center, and Siffrin had to take more care as he walked over where the roots broke through soil and grass.

He guessed this must be that Favor Tree the old man had mentioned. There’d been one by Ladraig, too, but that one had been oak. Did the type of tree not matter?

Reaching forward, Siffrin parted the branches like curtains and was immediately engulfed in darkness so complete that he needed to stop walking and wait as his eyesight adjusted. Even with his good night vision, he could make out little more than lightless shapes cutting through shadow. He walked slowly, keeping his steps small and light as he felt for a good place to lay down and rest.

Hand resting against the tree’s rough bark, Siffrin froze and held his breath.

Heavy breathing. Tromping steps.

Laughter. A second pair of footsteps, quieter than the first until the person slipped on something.

They yelped, and the first person let out a loud, “Oh! Crab, you almost took me down with you!”

“Sorry, sorry.” The person laughed. Their voice was a deep baritone, and the cadence made them sound like they may be a singer. “Think of it as payback for making us leave late. It’s dark already, and we didn’t pack a torch.”

“We’ll be fine. Moon’s full tonight.”

“Much help that is behind clouds.”

“Well, I need to ask the Favor Tree for something, so we might as well picnic here until the sky clears.”

“How the crab are you hungry again so soon?”

“We’ve been smelling Madame Eulalie’s croissants since we left Chasion. How are you not hungry?”

The other person didn’t say anything, but Siffrin was willing to bet his dagger that they were rolling their eyes.

After a moment, they said, “Okay, go do the Favor Tree thing. I’ll see if I can find a rock or stump or something nearby. I don’t want to get my new dress wet in the grass.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Oh, don’t start. At least I didn’t wear heels this time.”

Hey, Siffrin thought as they looked down at their ankle-high boots. They’re fine as long as they’re broken in.

This pair was holding up better than he’d first expected, Crafted leather or not; Poterian cobblers truly deserved their reputation.

The two had fallen silent again, and then one set of footsteps retreated while another slowly drew closer. The person swore, right after a loud splash echoed in the darkening night. They’d accidentally stepped into the water as Siffrin had; he wondered if they saw his footprints. Would they worry about someone else being here? Possibly not, with how safe Vaugarde was before the King; the person likely felt no need to worry.

Slowly, Siffrin lowered into a crouch at the Favor Tree’s base, silently cursing how light their cloak and hat were. Hopefully it was dark enough under the tree’s branches that it wouldn’t matter. They shuffled as they watched the narrow gap between leaves and grass, soon catching sight of a pair of dark boots. They stilled as a tall person pushed through the branches. They had long, light hair pulled back in a ponytail, and they wore an untucked tunic with a low neckline. A long skirt swayed around their legs.

The person stilled as the branches fell back into place behind them; they were probably waiting for their vision to adjust to the darkness.

Carefully and while remaining in a crouching position, Siffrin moved away from the trunk. He kept his eyes on the person, who stumbled when stepping forward.

Siffrin pounced.

One hand covered the person’s mouth as his other twisted their right arm behind their back. With one leg wrapped around the person’s waist, he kicked them in the back of the knees in quick succession, forcing them to kneel. The person attempted to jerk out of their hold, grasping back wildly with their free hand. Siffrin felt the person’s shoulder pop out of the socket from their attempt, and before they could attempt again, Siffrin leaned down and sank his fangs into the side of their neck. The person gave one last jerk, nearly shaking their attacker off them, but it only took a moment for them to slump as Siffrin quickly moved his arms to grab them around the chest as he drank.

When he felt like the person couldn’t fight back anymore, he brought two fingers up to feel their pulse as he swallowed mouthfuls of warm blood.

Siffrin stopped reluctantly after a while and licked the wounds closed. The person was pale but breathing; he grunted with the effort of pulling them further from the trunk, so they’d lay just outside the curtain of branches and leaves. Their companion wouldn’t have gone far if they didn’t have a torch, and it shouldn’t take long for them to come looking.

Moonlight broke through parting clouds as Siffrin stared at their victim’s face. High, sharp cheekbones, high forehead, and a bottom lip much fuller than the top. Like nearly all Vaugardians, they wore earrings, but theirs were mismatched—a diamond-shaped stud in their left ear and a simple, small hoop decorating the right.

“Jules?” the other person called from several meters upstream.

Oh, stars. Siffrin left Jules and sprinted further downriver to find a place to hide. They didn’t want to be seen on the trail by Jules’s companion if they ended up running that way to find help.

Distantly, they heard the person cry out, “Jules!”

It was followed by a flurry of speech Siffrin was too far away to make out, and they finally came to a stop when they spied large rocks jutting out from the earth on the other side of the creek. They backed up, judging the stream’s width. He’d jumped further before and in regions with a much greater risk of falling.

Counting his steps, Siffrin bounded towards the creek and leaped just as the soil softened. He cleared the water with ease and kept running until they reached the huge rocks, which formed a small, shallow cave—to be generous with the description. They didn’t smell any animals living inside, but that possibly had to do with how the rocks leaned against each other. The two lower rocks created a lopsided V, while a third created a slanted overhang that would be useless during rain.

For tonight, though, it was fine. Siffrin gathered moss and leaves to help pad and insulate the rock a bit, but even during winter, his cloak and hat kept him warm enough when circumstance drove him to sleep outside.

Clouds covered the moon again as he settled in, curling up in his cloak and tilting his hat to cover his eyes.

Belly full and thirst sated, Siffrin slept soundly, dreaming of stars falling into a lightless sea.

After some deliberation, Siffrin had decided to put as much distance between him and the Favor Tree as he could. He wanted to see if Jules was okay, but by now, they would have been taken to a healer. At the very least, they would have roused after a few minutes, enough for their companion to get them to eat those croissants and recover.

Going there would either only make him feel bad, or he’d run into them again, if Jules and their companion had ended up camping there for the night.

So, using the rising sun to orient themself, Siffrin headed northwest.

Off-trail, the land grew more uneven as trees became rarer until suddenly, there seemed to be only rocky soil and random bumps passing for hills. Tufts of light grass broke up hard soil now and then, and Siffrin had to watch their step as the ground shifted under their feet. Pockets of snow remained between rocky mounds, and the combination of melted snow and last week’s rain had left the area difficult to venture through.

Eventually, the grass gathered in thicker clumps, and there were even some enthusiastic wildflowers already in bloom. Most grew close to the ground and were light or darkless, and some looked more like weeds than flowers. Clumps of thorny leaves sprouted here and there, Siffrin recognizing them as thistle leaves—the nation south of Vaugarde had an image of blooming thistles on its flag.

Yawning until their jaw cracked, Siffrin paused to look around, making sure they were still heading in the right direction. Having to watch the ground and avoiding ditches had nearly gotten him turned around a few times.

There. Squinting and pulling down the brim of his hat to block the sun, Siffrin saw a wide break through the grass and flowers. Further down was a wooden post, small signs attached to the sides.

When they reached the post, Siffrin stopped to read the signs pointing towards Chasion and Voimort on one side and towards Ladraig on the other side. Good, you're heading in the right direction. 11.4 more kilometers until Chasion and… 98.7 more kilometers until Voimort… They made a face. Well… better get walking, then.

On top of the post was a rock that was painted on one side. Siffrin picked it up, unable to keep from smiling at the tiny strokes of paint depicting a darkless bunny looking like a ball with tall, skinny ears. It wasn’t the best painting, but it was cute! Siffrin put it into one of the pockets lining the inside of their cloak. He missed the souvenirs he’d lost when forced to leave his sack behind in Ladraig. Honestly, he regretted that loss more than the loss of his coin purse. They’ve always been able to get more money; physical reminders of what they’d experienced hurt more to lose.

It was mid-afternoon when Siffrin reached a wide, pretty but weathered sign welcoming them to Chasion. The sign had been cut to resemble the silhouette of a loafing cat, and the town’s name had been painted in elegant cursive. Instead of a population estimate underneath were dark pawprints and a childish drawing of a cat’s face with a fish in its mouth.

Cute… Siffrin couldn’t keep a smile off their face. Wait, wasn’t this the town that was famous for all its cat cafés?

Drinking tea while a cat purred in their lap sounded wonderful; suddenly, Siffrin regretted the loss of their coin purse.

There’d been many times they’d considered adopting some sort of companion. Petting an animal regularly was supposed to be healthy, right? They could have sworn they read that in a book once.

Maybe he’d find a big, fluffy cat willing to trot alongside him. If he ended up frozen in time while in Voimort, at least he wouldn’t be alone.

The path stretched over a hill, and Siffrin could see rooftops just beyond it. The path widened, hoof prints and grooves showing it was well-traveled. The wider part of the trail branched off away from where Siffrin had come; likely, Chasion didn’t do business much in or by Ladraig. The way the old man had spoken, it sounded like people didn’t pass his farm very often.

As he thought of the old man’s weathered face and long, light beard, Siffrin clutched the flask to his chest.

Before finding a companion, he should find a belt or strap to keep the flask secured to his body. Keeping it in one of his pockets gave his cloak an odd, off-center weight that irritated and distracted him. Holding something weighted in his hands this entire way hadn’t been too bad, though. It was almost like hugging something, but it could become an inconvenience later.

Siffrin heard fast hoofbeats.

He jumped out of the way just as a dark horse galloped past, someone over the hill’s crest crying out what must be the horse’s name.

Then the screaming started.

Before they could even think about it, Siffrin sprinted towards the cacophony of terror and rageful wailing.

A Sadness.

“Someone get the Saviors!” someone ordered.

Someone else shrieked. Children cried. Cats hissed and caterwauled. A large, light horse whinnied and took off, missing Siffrin by centimeters.

Their flask fell to the ground, making a nearby cat arch its back and jump. Siffrin paid it no mind. Dagger already out, their vision narrowed as they raced down the street and turned sharp enough around a building for their elbow to briefly brush over the packed earth.

There.

The crowd parted around them as people ran for cover, a few slowing just enough to gape at the newcomer charging towards the Sadness.

This one was tall as the nearby buildings and multi-limbed, though several of its limbs hung uselessly, bones sticking out where skin had split like weak seams. Only one, weeping eye was visible, piercing through shadows cast by floating fluid that gave it an appearance of growing hair. Rows of long, jagged teeth kept it from being able to close its maw, and several teeth had burst through its cheek on one side.

Large fists at the end of three of its longest limbs were slow to move. Its thin arms didn’t have enough muscle, and as it slammed a rock attack into the ground, forcing fleeing people to stumble and fall, a bone broke on impact and cut through its skin.

Siffrin had leaped up just as the Sadness’s fist hit the ground.

Stars, it was a blinding Rock Type!

Well. Then, they guessed they just had to keep the Sadness from hitting them.

They sprinted around the Sadness, gaining enough speed to run up and along a brick building’s wall. They pushed off, feeling Craft flow down their arms. Their hands tingled, and their dagger vibrated in their grip.

He curled into a ball in the air, cloak billowing out around his exposed arms.

The world briefly slowed around him as the Sadness turned and Siffrin hung in the air, arms an X in front of his face.

The Universe held Its breath, and Siffrin exhaled as he slung his arms behind him. He landed on soft knees as Craft crackled the air around it, catching the Sadness’s head before it could move its fists up to block the attack.

Heavyweight attacks but low defense.

That was something, then, at least.

Already, Siffrin was on the move again, leaping onto the railing surrounding a nearby porch to jump atop the thatched roof jutting over it.

Too fast for his feet to sink through the straw, Siffrin kept running and used the edge for the purchase they needed to jump, dagger in front of their face and other hand making a scissors symbol by their neck. They clicked their heels, feeling the steel vibrate with Craft as they readied the skill they’d learned in Mwudu.

Siffrin spun in the air and kicked out a leg, scissors hand outstretched towards the lumbering Sadness.

This time, they fumbled the landing, pain shooting up their left ankle as they dropped their dagger and rolled.

Boom boom boom

The Sadness roared in pain; at least the attack had hit it. A huge Craft strike had split into three rapid bursts. The Sadness shook its bloated head, drops of water falling from its hair. One hit a short woman who’d been slow to escape. Soon as the water hit her, she froze and hit the ground like a stone.

… Oh…

… Oh.

Siffrin sprinted away, making sure to dodge the drops of floating water. Stars, stars, stars.

“Mirabelle, wait for us! It’s a Rock Type!” someone with a deep, loud voice called out as hurried footsteps sounded from behind Siffrin.

Ignoring them and the pain shooting up from their ankle, Siffrin located their dagger and dove for it, narrowly dodging a fist-sized droplet of water, only to get hit by one of the Sadness’s boneless limbs. They staggered back but quickly righted themself as they gripped their dagger and charged towards the Sadness’s wide, webbed feet. They had one more Craft skill they could use before they cooled down enough to reuse one of the others, but they were worried about it hitting the frozen woman, too. They had no idea if she could get hurt by it while frozen in time but didn’t want to take the chance.

Siffrin dropped to one knee and spun around, dagger slashing at the back of the Sadness’s ankle, just above the heel.

At the same time, Craft crackled the air, and Siffrin caught sight of a girl holding out a rapier in a guarding position while holding out a paper sight just above its blade.

Didn’t Paper Types usually use books or scrolls to channel Craft? Why did she have a sword?

The Sadness roared as the paper attack hit its side, and as it doubled over, huge fists hitting the ground to keep it from falling over completely, Siffrin leaped up onto its back.

He had no idea if this would work, but— "Please work, please work, please work!"

Before he could question himself, Siffrin plunged his dagger into the Sadness’s boil-covered back, other hand making a scissors sign as he moved it in an arc up over his head, then down while slicing through leathery flesh and atrophied muscle.

They dropped through hot, humid air as the Sadness evaporated, the rest of the droplets of water disappearing with it. They let themself fall to their knees, dagger pushed into the earth as Siffrin drew a deep breath in… and let it out.

There was a thump behind him as the woman unfroze and fell forward, and the girl sheathed her blade and ran past Siffrin to check on her.

Behind where she’d stood were two more people, a Paper Type Crafter and a Rock Type Crafter based on their stances and weapons.

The tall, broad-shouldered man wore fingerless gloves with dark stone chips secured to the knuckles, and the willowy woman stood with a wide stance with a large book open in one hand. She wore central Ka Buan fashion, the diamond patterns on her shoulders showing that she’d served in the mines at some point.

The girl wore a long, light dress with detached sleeves that were typical for housemaidens, and a large bow pulled her puff of lightless, coily hair away from her round face. She spoke in a soft, gentle voice to the woman as people slowly gathered around them.

“That was amazing!” The big guy backed off with hands up by his face when Siffrin jumped. “Oh, sorry.” He smiled awkwardly, and the older woman moved slowly as she approached them. “I just wanted to say how cool that was! I’d never seen someone use Craft like that, pushing it inside a Sadness and making them explode!”

Face growing warm, Siffrin blinked slowly as they had to incline their head to meet the man’s face. They weren’t used to praise like this and had no idea how to respond.

“Um…” The big guy’s smile faltered, and a spike of panic ran up Siffrin’s spine.

Oh, no, you made the moment awkward! he thought, gripping his dagger harder to keep his hands from trembling. Say something, anything, you idiot!

The woman saved the moment from further awkwardness by commenting, “That really was impressive, young one. I don’t think I recognize you, though. Had you just arrived? Apologies for the rough first impression if that’s so. This town’s been rather peaceful until just now.”

They were now close enough for Siffrin to notice the cat fur on their clothes. Likely, they’d been at one of the cat cafés when the Sadness attacked.

He sheathed his dagger finally and opened his mouth to respond when the young housemaiden jogged back towards her companions. The tear-shaped, metal beads dangling from her twin broaches tapped against each other as she moved. Her broaches were pinned to a capelet that looked to be more for fashion than warmth, and they were that circle design Siffrin often saw housemaidens wear. He’d never cared enough to ask if it was supposed to mean anything. Since running away from that first group home, he tried not to think about housemaidens in general, often even avoiding them soon as he caught sight of those circles. He tried not to tense as the housemaiden approached, her big, dark eyes worried and apologetic as she looked at him.

By the way the older woman regarded him, Siffrin wasn’t sure they succeeded.

“Are you alright?” The housemaiden’s voice was soft and breathy; she sounded like she was moments away from a panic attack despite the powerful Craft she’d exhibited earlier. “We tried to get here sooner, but—”

The older woman cut in, “But unfortunately, the panic had blocked the street we were on.”

The big guy continued, “So we had to go the long way around, and we only got here yesterday, so it took a little while. It’s a good thing you were here!”

The woman took over again and said, “Yes, it really is. Thank you. Anyway, where are our manners? I’m Odile, and this is Isabeau.” She rested a hand on the big guy’s shoulder briefly. “And over there is Housemaiden Mirabelle.”

Grinning, Isabeau added, “The Savior of Vaugarde!”

“Haha…” Mirabelle’s hands trembled, which she tried to hide by wringing the skirt of her pale dress between them. “Please don’t introduce me that way, Isabeau…” She sounded even closer to that panic attack now.

Savior… oh. Siffrin suddenly remembered what the old man had said about a housemaiden from Dormont, who’d been blessed by the Change God.

They hadn’t cared enough to picture what she might look like, but they were sure they would have imagined someone… more confident.

Her nervousness somehow put them at ease; Siffrin smiled, hoping they looked less skittish now. “I’m Siffrin. I just got here when I heard screaming.”

“And rushed right over?” Isabeau sounded proud as he rested his hands on his hips, and Siffrin was sure that their cheeks had darkened. They resisted the urge to hide their face under their hat. “Hardcore!”

“That was very brave,” Odile agreed as she thumbed through the pages of her book. It looked like a habit more so than her reading anything; it seemed like she was the sort that needed to keep her hands busy. Siffrin could relate.

“Here,” Mirabelle held out her hands, freezing for a moment when Siffrin flinched. “S-sorry. I-I know Healing Craft. No one else close by was too hurt, but…”

She trailed off, the nervous shine in her doe-like eyes showing she was having trouble reading Siffrin and wasn’t sure what to think about him.

“I’m sure they’re fine, Mirabelle,” Odile said, trying too hard not to look like she was examining them. “Look, they’re barely winded.”

Wuh-oh… Stars, Siffrin had been taken too off-guard by this small group crowding him. He’d forgotten to look tired! Well, it was too late now. If he started panting out of nowhere, they’d only grow more suspicious. “Y-yeah, I’m okay, don’t worry about me. I’m fine.”

Was he smiling too much? Was he making enough eye-contact? Wait, eye-contact didn’t always mean looking right into people’s eyes, right? Didn’t someone tell him that once? Oh stars, oh stars, oh stars, were they looking at him weird? He couldn’t tell.

“I’m just hungry,” they said in a rushed breath while holding up his hands as if to ward off an attack. “I ran out of food last night and didn’t have breakfast.”

“Oh, no!” Mirabelle grabbed his hands but quickly pulled them back when Siffrin jumped. “Sorry, sorry! You must come back with us to the café. Our treat!” She looked up at her companions. “Right?”

“That sounds more than fair after their help,” Odile allowed. Siffrin couldn’t tell if she cared much about him eating one way or the other. “I’ll head back with them, then. Mirabelle, you and Isabeau can check on everyone.” Oh, probably she was still suspicious of him and wanted to speak to him one-on-one.

Only then did Siffrin notice that all the people still around them were watching from a respectable distance. Many were talking to each other, patting each other down or helping someone into a nearby building. Likely, they hadn’t wanted to interrupt the Savior of Vaugarde or her allies.

Very considerate.

Very… awkward.

“I actually dropped something,” Siffrin said. “I should go pick it up before I forget.” He doubted someone would steal it.

“I’ll go with you!” Mirabelle piped up, and Odile made a face but quickly recovered.

It looked like her statement had been less about wanting to size up Siffrin and more that she hadn’t wanted to be the one to check on the townspeople.

“Sounds good!” Isabeau waved at the nearest group of people before approaching them, and after a moment of hesitation, Odile sighed and followed.

“I, uh, came from that way,” Siffrin said, gesturing with their chin towards the road they’d taken. He put weight on his left ankle and didn’t flinch. Good. It was healed already. “It’s not far.”

“Lead the way.” Mirabelle gave a bright smile, and despite his reservations towards housemaidens, Siffrin couldn’t help but return it. “My pronouns are she/her, by the way. Madame Odile sometimes forgets that part of introductions.”

Ah, right. It was more common for Ka Buans to wear gems that signified their pronouns. The ones dangling from her glasses were darkless, so unless the code changed between regions, then that meant her pronouns were she/her. The person running one of the hostels Siffrin had stayed at would switch up the gems he wore as pins on her lapel. Their gender flowed like a river, as she’d told Siffrin once, so his pronouns did as well. Siffrin had decided to start experimenting with using they/them pronouns soon after staying there.

“I use they/them and he/him,” Siffrin offered as they walked, watching as Mirabelle smiled and nodded as townspeople thanked them both. He tried to smile and nod as well but felt itchy, nervous. He wanted to grab his flask and run, but he was hungry again. If these saviors were offering him free food, then he could force himself to stick around. “I don’t mind people picking to use just one or the other, but I prefer when people switch back and forth.”

“Of course!” Mirabelle slowed to a stop as a small child ran up to them, and Siffrin stopped as well. “Hello!”

“My mama says you’re blessed by the Change God!” the kid exclaimed, their big eyes sparkling. “Even though They hardly do anything!”

Can they say that…? Siffrin wondered as they swallowed a laugh. They looked up and nodded as the child’s parent quickly approached, apologizing for the interruption.

Mirabelle’s shoulders had tensed, but she nodded at the child. “Yes, this was too important for the Change God to keep from helping us with.”

“Are you going to kill the King? You have a sword! Are you going to stab him?” the kid asked excitedly, and Siffrin bit their tongue to keep form laughing. It got harder to hold it back when they saw the mortified look on the parent’s face.

“I’m so sorry,” they said in a rush. “Pardon us, Savior, and traveling one.” They gave each of them a respectful nod. “Georges, this way. We need to go check on your grandpa.”

The child’s shoulders slumped, but they nodded and followed their parent.

“I forget how bloodthirsty kids can be sometimes,” Siffrin muttered, jumping when Mirabelle looked at him. Oh, they hadn’t meant to say that out loud. Stars, they’d turned the moment awkward again! They needed to say something! “D-do you get interactions like that a lot?”

They started walking again, and Mirabelle’s shoulders relaxed as she sighed. “Not… a lot, but… Enough.” She drew in a breath. “Truthfully, it’s getting overwhelming. I was still just a student at the House when the King showed up.”

“Dormont, right?”

Mirabelle nodded. “The town itself is small. A village, really, but the House is one of the largest ones in the country. The Head Housemaiden had been working in conjunction with the House in Corbeaux on a new discovery when suddenly, the Head Housemaiden at the Corbeaux House stopped responding to her letters. The King was already marching towards Dormont when we learned that the whole city of Corbeaux had been…”

Tears gathered at the corners of Mirabelle’s eyes.

This had to be hard, and Siffrin could see that the weight of being Vaugarde’s Savior was weighing heavily on her. Just a student? How young was she? Siffrin had been ready to guess sixteen or seventeen at first, but people always guessed that young for them as well.

They turned down a wider road, Siffrin seeing in the distance that at least one of the horses that had taken off earlier had been found and reclaimed.

“I was in Ladraig when the Curse hit there,” they admitted, needing to say something. They couldn’t say anything about ever living near Bambouche, not after yesterday, but they would need to mention how they’d ended up in Vaugarde sooner or later. They noticed the questioning look in Mirabelle’s eyes. “It’s a village near Elothen’s border. I think the innkeeper told me it used to be a trading outpost?”

“That must have been scary…” Mirabelle was wringing the skirt of her dress again.

“More like… surprising?” Siffrin cleared their throat at Mirabelle’s incredulous look. “I arrived soon after the King started his march to Dormont, and honestly, everything being printed about his Curse sounded… far-fetched? It wasn’t until I saw it with my own eyes that I actually believed it.”

“… That makes sense.” Mirabelle frowned, a wrinkle forming between her thick eyebrows. “No one knows where he came from or how he got so powerful.” She stopped when Siffrin did. “Oh, is your stuff… Oh, no, someone didn’t take it, did they?”

Anxiety laced her voice again, but Siffrin was too focused on scanning the road before them to think about trying to reassure her. It should be… ah.

A light, fluffy cat the size of a beagle was laying right where he’d dropped his flask.

Approaching it slowly, Siffrin asked, “Keeping it warm for me?”

The cat looked up at him, blinking slowly.

“Um…” Mirabelle sounded unsure. Likely, she’d assumed Siffrin had been talking about a backpack or trunk, not a flask that wasn’t even the length of their forearm.

Squatting down, Siffrin reached out a hand, the cat sniffing his fingers but not moving. He chuckled, pulled his hand back to take off his glove and held it out again. The cat bumped its head against his fingers, guiding him to scratch behind its ears. It purred loudly, and after a minute, the cat decided he’d paid it enough in scritches and scampered off.

“There it is.” Siffrin put their glove back on and wiped dirt and cat hair off the flask. “This is it.” Their easy smile faltered at the worried look on Mirabelle’s face. “… What?”

“That’s… that’s all you have?”

“Uh, yeah?” Siffrin hugged the flask underneath their cloak. “I had to leave everything else behind in Ladraig.” They chuckled awkwardly. “There… wasn’t enough time to run back to the inn and get my bag…”

“Oh…” Warring emotions flashed across Mirabelle’s face. “You should travel with us!” She froze, eyes wide, and she kept her hands clasped in front of her chest. “Um, only if you want.” Her speech grew more rapid, Siffrin struggling to keep up. “It’s just you’re so strong, and I know you’re not from here and it shouldn’t be your responsibility to help save Vaugarde, and I’m sure this isn’t anywhere close to what you were expecting when you got here, and I promise Vaugarde was so much nicer, and the border towns and cities all so much prettier before the King’s Curse, and—”

“H-hey… it’s okay—” They didn’t want to say calm down. It always sounded more like a demand to respect your own comfort more so than a wish to help the other person. “Um, here, take a deep breath with me. Okay? In…” He smiled when Mirabelle followed his lead. “Okay, and out.” He waited a beat. “Feel better?”

She nodded, but her hands still trembled as she clasped them in front of her chest.

“I was actually on my way to Voimort, but—”

“So are we!” Mirabelle exclaimed, then sucked in a breath upon realizing she’d interrupted. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry!”

“It’s okay.” Siffrin hoped he didn’t sound irritated. This was already way more talking than he was used to. Usually, others he’d come across were fine carrying the conversation, but Mirabelle seemed to expect a 50/50 exchange. “Why are you going to Voimort?”

Wasn’t the King in Dormont already? And Mirabelle was from there, so…

Was she going around to find allies to help her fight the King? Siffrin guessed it made sense. Blessed by a god or not, she’d need help. Vaugarde didn’t have an army, but wasn’t there a group that had evolved from the royal guard, from back when the country used to be a monarchy a long time ago? They called themselves guards, still, right?

Oh, no, that’s right, they were called Vaugarde’s Defenders. Couldn’t Mirabelle just ask them? Surely, they’d be more help than a random traveler who, as far as she knew, got lucky against that Sadness.

“Oh…” Mirabelle looked down at the ground for a moment. “The House’s main gate is locked, and it’s impossible to get in through any other way.” She huffed, sounding like she couldn’t figure out if she was about to laugh or cry. “I can explain more details at the café, but the main part is that since none of us had any idea the extent of the King’s powers, the gates were all sealed, and five orbs that were set into the main gate were scattered across Vaugarde. So far, we’ve only found one, but I’m sure another is in the Voimort House.”

None of that made sense, but Siffrin nodded anyway.

It seemed enough to get Mirabelle to continue as she led the way back to the cat café she and her companions had been eating at. “How much do you know about Vaugarde’s history, like, before the House of Change became our predominant religion?”

Too much, in Siffrin’s opinion. The housemaiden in charge of that group home had been a history scholar, so that subject had received more attention than the others whenever he oversaw the kids’ lessons. Which had been often. The teachers and tutors he'd enlisted to help couldn't always make the trek up to the cliffs. Sometimes it felt like they would have been content to forget the group home ever existed.

“You guys had a monarch, like, a really long time ago, right?” they asked, unsure of how much knowledge would make them seem odd. Then, it was odd that Siffrin knew more about Vaugarde’s past than they did its present. “But then they Changed, themselves and the country. Something like that. I don’t know a lot about the Change religion, to be honest. Only that change is important to you.”

“It’s at the center of everything.” Mirabelle’s smile was soft, and her gaze was faraway.

Siffrin hoped he could feel that kind of peace one day. He wasn’t aware of how many gods he was supposed to believe in, if any. There was only the Universe, and It was as distant as It was all-encompassing.

Mirabelle cleared her throat. “Well. Um… yes. Right. That’s right. Almost 300 years ago exactly. The coming autumn festival was supposed to double as a tricentennial celebration of Vaugarde’s first Change, but… Anyway.” She cleared her throat again. “Back when the House was a castle, the front gate had orbs that were Crafted at the same time the wood and metal were. They’d been kept in place since it got turned into a House, but the Head Housemaiden scattered the orbs and locked the gate after I escaped. I think she’d hoped that all the shields Crafted into the House walls when it had first been built might work to keep the King’s Curse within the House’s walls, but…”

“… But the Shield Craft doesn’t work that way,” Siffrin finished in a despondent voice.

Mirabelle nodded, and they turned down a narrow street between buildings. “Or the shields had faded too much over time.” She blinked rapidly to keep back tears. “So not only did she sacrifice herself…”

Herself and anyone else who hadn’t escaped the House, but Siffrin wasn’t going to say that. They had no place to judge, and it wasn’t like the Head Housemaiden had been given many options. Her best option had been Mirabelle, blessed by their god. That must have been why she’d waited until Mirabelle escaped before scattering the orbs and locking the gate. Knowing Plan A might fail, she needed to know Plan B had a chance to find the orbs, find help, get stronger, fight, and win.

“I’m guessing you weren’t given a list of places where all these orbs are,” Siffrin guessed, and he allowed a smile when Mirabelle snorted. Even as her eyes shone with unshed tears, she glanced at him with a wobbling smile as if she already considered him a friend. It made him feel warm, even as his heart beat faster, feet itching to run, run, run.

“No, but that would have been nice.” Mirabelle pulled an embroidered handkerchief from her dress pocket and dabbed at the corners of her eyes; Siffrin then noticed she was wearing eyeliner and mascara. “The Houses still operating have been helping me search, and one of the librarians thinks she found one in Voimort. But I can also… get a sense of them? Sort of? I don’t really understand it, so I don’t know how to explain. Madame Odile might share her theories, if you want to ask her.”

Possibly, it had to do with the sort of Craft that had been used on the orbs and gate in the first place. Whatever it was, though, Siffrin didn’t really care. It didn’t matter. What mattered was that this group was heading to Voimort. The distance meant at least two more days of travel, if Siffrin walked nonstop as he had when fleeing Ladraig. It would be longer when traveling with other people, but…

Siffrin’s fingers drummed along his flask. He wouldn’t be dangerously thirsty again for a few days—so long as he didn’t get injured again. A sprained ankle wasn’t bad enough to make him delirious with thirst, but getting hurt multiple times within a short period was enough to tip them over the edge.

Whether he took his leave in Voimort or before then after filling his flask with blood, traveling with a group when Sadnesses seemed to be getting bigger and stronger sounded like a good idea. Especially when Mirabelle had the ability to unfreeze people hit by a Sadness’s time ability. That woman had unfrozen soon as the Sadness dissipated, but would that have been the case if the fight had taken longer? Siffrin wasn’t sure they wanted to find out.

Regardless, they didn’t have to decide yet. That could wait until their stomach was full again.

"How long would it take before we reached Voimort?" they asked, trying not to tense at Mirabelle's hopeful grin.

Chapter Text

More people meant more complications, more chances for screwing up. Why was Siffrin entertaining this?

He could always just run the other way next time he heard a Sadness. Why hadn’t he this time? He didn’t need to immediately leap into the fray every single time. What did he think he was? A hero? What was he trying to prove?

“How long were you in Elothen?” Mirabelle asked after a few minutes of silence.

They walked down a narrow street after several turns, one of which had taken them through a small shop. No wonder it had taken some time for her and her companions to reach the Sadness. Past the main streets, this town was like a maze, Siffrin having to watch their step to keep from stepping on the tails of slumbering cats basking on the packed dirt or cobblestone paths.

Were they walking in circles? Siffrin could have sworn they’d seen that exact same short-haired cat with a nub tail five turns ago.

“Not very long,” they answered as they paused with one foot raised as a striped cat suddenly bounded past them.

The distraction gave them enough time to think of how to construct their story. Mirabelle hadn’t yet asked why they were heading to Voimort, but the others might. They might also wonder why he’d come here straight from Mwudu, and he wasn’t about to tell them about the professor of the conversation he’d overheard.

“I spent the most time around… oh, I can never remember how to pronounce it…” Elothen’s language felt heavy on the back of Siffrin’s tongue. The rough edge of its consonants always made them feel like they were about to choke on them. It was the rare language where they had an easier time reading it than speaking it.

Mirabelle chuckled, sounding shy as she clasped her hands behind her back. The street was narrow enough that she had to walk in front of Siffrin, and like them, she watched the ground to avoid tripping over slumbering cats.

“I’ve never left Vaugarde, so I probably wouldn’t know if you were saying it right or not,” she said. Her tone made it hard to tell if she were regretful at not traveling more, or if the thought of leaving home made her nervous.

The polite thing would be to ask if she wanted to travel, right? Though, technically, she was traveling now, even if just within her home country’s borders and under not-the-best circumstances. So, would asking that be insensitive in this case? Oh, stars, why did conversations have to be so hard? It felt like for every blinding rule, there was a blinding exception, and everyone was expected to just blinding know them automatically.

“It’s a big city,” they told her instead. “Right on their eastern coast. There were just as many people there from Mwudu as from Elothen. In the district my inn was located in, I hardly even heard anyone speak Elothenian. Almost everyone was speaking Mwudu.”

“Oh, sounds like one of our towns south of Jouvente.” Mirabelle giggled. “That part of the country used to belong to Musmeer about 500…? Yeah, about 500 years ago.”

That conflict had been from Vaugarde’s bloodiest war, if Siffrin remembered correctly, but they didn’t say anything.

Mirabelle turned down another street as a small, darkless cat batted at her boots. “There’s still a lot of Musmeer’s influence in that region. Lots of people there even still worship the Fates and their ancestors instead of the Change God. Isabeau had some coworkers from there, and their accents sound more Musmeerian than Vaugardian. I’ve never been there, but I’d read a book that takes place there! It’s a historical dark fantasy, though… more emphasis on the fantasy.” She chuckled, and Siffrin smiled as her voice grew more animated. They took a right and then a left. “It’s inspired by an old legend from Creurre, or well, this sleepy little village by it in southern Vaugarde. Legend says an old Musmeerian soldier haunts the cliff there. He was the general’s son but had fallen in love with a Vaugardian soldier! They’d agreed to meet in the middle of the night at the cliff, but the Vaugardian soldier was late. The Musmeerian soldier feared that he’d been betrayed and would be beheaded for treason, so he jumped off the cliff! Only for the Vaugardian soldier to arrive tragically too late. He left a bouquet of roses and thistles at the edge of the cliff to mourn the Musmeerian soldier, and it’s said if you go to the cliff at night and find roses and thistles in front of your door the next day, you’ll lose the person closest to you that night.” She sighed, like she’d recounted a beautiful love story instead of a tragedy.

When Siffrin didn’t respond, Mirabelle jumped a little and cast an embarrassed look back at them.

“Oh, I’m sorry!” She wrung her hands nervously again. “I forget not everyone likes horror…”

Oh, no, she was upset! Siffrin’s face prickled with heat. “Oh, n-no, it’s fine. I don’t read a lot of horror books, but I like ghost stories.”

It wasn’t even a lie. Back when they’d only been a lost, amnesiac child at the group home, they’d beg the housemaiden running it to tell them more about the old ghost stories and legends the cliffs seemed to be abound with. The housemaiden occasionally relented but had often said, “History shouldn’t need such embellishments to grab your interest” before finding some dryly written book or article for Siffrin to struggle through for ten minutes before walking off to find something else to keep their attention.

They hadn’t read a ghost story in years, unless the subplot of that Poterian play script he’d read a few months ago counted.

Smiling, Mirabelle continued holding her hands in front of her chest, but she looked more at ease. “Maybe I can give you recommendations!”

Well, he couldn’t exactly say No now, could he? Wait, had they passed those posters before? “S-sure! That’d be great.”

Mirabelle’s eyes crinkled as she smiled, and she faced forward again, dancing around a pair of cats that were play-fighting in the middle of the street. She hesitated but then took a left, motioning for Siffrin to follow—as if he might dash off at any moment. “Traveling light seemed like my best option, so I only brought a few books with me, but if you like ghost stories, then you might like the one I got for my birthday last year…” She stopped walking and let out a long exhale. “Oh, thank Change, there it is!”

Did… We really were going around in circles, weren’t we? Siffrin did their best to keep smiling and not look annoyed.

It didn’t matter. They’d found their way to the café, and it looked like they’d beaten Mirabelle’s companions despite the detours.

The lobby was small but cozy with light-colored walls and circular rugs with floral designs scattered about the hardwood floor. Someone at a far table teased a striped cat with a feather tied to the end of a stick, and to the right was a counter, the person behind it waving at Mirabelle.

“Savior, welcome back!” The young man beamed as Mirabelle tensed at the title, and the young man went back to petting the cat splayed across the counter when it let out a displeased rumble. “We left your tables as is upstairs. The tea has gone cold, but there’s already kettles on the stove for a new pot.”

As he’d spoken, a mostly lightless cat wound around Siffrin’s legs, but when he bent down to pet it, the cat darted away to hide under a chair.

“Oh, don’t mind Spade,” the young man laughed. “He’s cuddly but only under very strict guidelines. Otherwise, he prefers being left alone.”

Siffrin could understand that. They nodded and ignored Spade as he stared at them from underneath the chair.

“A new pot would be wonderful, thank you,” Mirabelle told the young man, and she looked at Siffrin, her smile both warming him and making him nervous. “Go on and order something. Our treat, like I promised. No need to be shy, since you haven’t eaten since last night.”

“Oh, uh…”

“Really?” The young man blinked. “That long?” He sighed when the cat on his counter protested at the lack of petting again. “I’ll throw in a few croissants on the house—no, it’s okay, Savior. Madame Eulalie would insist if she were here right now.”

Why did that name sound familiar? Siffrin decided to stop thinking about it.

“Th-thank you,” Siffrin managed, heart already beating faster. That trapped feeling was returning. They wanted to run, but now that they could smell fresh bread and sizzling meat, their stomach had woken up and started to growl. He flushed when Mirabelle giggled at the sound. “U-um, what sort of tea did you guys order?”

“Two kinds,” Mirabelle answered. “A dark tea with marigolds and butterscotch for me and Isabeau to share and a ginger-peach tea for Madame Odile. Feel free to order any other kind you’d like more, though.”

“Our selection is still pretty small,” the young man said apologetically, scratching the counter cat under its chin. “The main roads in and out of Chasion only recently opened back up, thanks to the late season snow we had this winter.”

After a few suggestions, Siffrin made his order, and Mirabelle led him up the staircase, so they could wait at the table. Floating shelves decorated the walls, but instead of books, cats lay on them or jumped from one to the other. Several of the shelves were connected by wooden or rope bridges, and a cat stuck its head out of a box mounted beside one of the tall windows. Two square tables had been pushed together by the other window, and Mirabelle grabbed a fourth chair from an empty table closer to the stairs.

A kitten sat on one of the chairs, looking up and giving a loud Mew as Mirabelle approached.

“Aww, she stayed,” Mirabelle giggled as she set the chair down and motioned for Siffrin to sit.

He didn’t like having his back to the staircase, but he didn’t want to be rude and take someone else’s seat. He set his flask onto the table and sat at an angle, like he was trying to face Mirabelle, but instead he kept the staircase within his line of vision.

“Mew,” Mirabelle mewed back at the fluffy kitten as she picked her up and sat her onto her lap. On the table in front of her was a book with a cloth-bound cover; it was open and overturned to keep her place. She noticed Siffrin looking at it and grinned. “Oh, that’s the latest book in a series another housemaiden recommended to me! I’d been rereading the latest issue in my favorite series while I waited for the next one—the last one the author plans on writing for it, ever—and they said they were getting tired of me reading the same book over and over.” She laughed nervously.

Siffrin nodded in encouragement for her to keep going. They didn’t care, but they liked how excited Mirabelle got when talking about books. It was cute, and it also distracted her from asking anything personal about them.

Her eyes sparkled as she rattled on about the plot of the current series she was reading—her excitement when describing the gory way the protagonist’s love interest was murdered left them feeling unsettled. The kitten in her lap purred loudly, and a striped cat jumped into Siffrin’s lap. It purred as they pet it, only for it to suddenly roll over and bite his fingers while kicking at his arms with its back legs.

“You’re here already!”

The striped cat jumped at the booming sound of Isabeau’s voice and sprinted away, heading for the staircase only to see the two new people coming up the steps. It jumped a few times, fur standing up along its spine, and then it leaped up towards one of the shelves, only to miss and fall.

Siffrin and Mirabelle laughed at the sight, the poor cat finally finding refuge underneath a shelf of cat toys and reading material in the room’s front corner.

Oh, stars, his ribs hurt. When was the last time he’d laughed like this, with hands covering his mouth and tears gathering along his lashes?

“Sorry, kitty,” Isabeau said in a low voice, the distraught look on his face only making Siffrin laugh harder.

Odile heaved a sigh but struggled to keep a smile off her long face. “Try not to get us in trouble for animal cruelty, Isabeau.”

“I didn’t mean to!” Isabeau’s tone was melodramatic, and he clutched at his heart.

“No harm done, madame,” Mirabelle squeaked out between giggles, and Siffrin wiped his eyes as he calmed down. “I’m surprised you two didn’t get here before us.”

Taking the seat across from Siffrin, Odile set down her book and smiled fondly as a heavyset cat immediately hopped up onto her lap. “Madame Eulalie and Housemaiden Collette wanted to speak to us, our apologies.” She sighed again; her annoyance was real this time. “The Sadness had appeared suddenly and in the middle of a major road in town. They’d wanted to discuss theories.”

“Ah, right…” Mirabelle’s laughter dried up, but she smiled when Isabeau gently took her shoulder for a side hug. “We’ve seen that some of them are getting stronger, but…” She looked to Siffrin, who was still wiping their eyes. “About how far is Ladraig from here? I’m afraid I don’t know that region well.”

Before Siffrin could consider how to answer, Isabeau sat down in his chair after checking to make sure no cats had hopped up onto it when he wasn’t looking. “Ladraig? By Elothen’s border?”

Siffrin nodded as Mirabelle said, “They were staying there when the King’s Curse started freezing the town. If it’s close…”

“That’s something I’d considered,” Odile said. She adjusted her glasses, and Siffrin straightened as her dark eyes met theirs. “How fast was it moving?”

“… Pretty fast.” Siffrin looked down at the ground as a darkless kitten pounced onto their boot. They still remembered the way a horse reared back as it froze, its rider left falling for eternity. “It looked like it was starting to slow down after a little past town limits, I think? I didn’t exactly stick around to take notes.”

“You must have been walking for a while,” Isabeau said, and Siffrin only nodded. “Sorry you had to go through that. Was anyone traveling with you?”

“No, just me.” Siffrin gently tapped his toe as the kitten pounced and swiped and bit. “I had to leave my bag behind—no time to go grab it.” He lifted his flask. “So, I just have this and whatever was in my pockets.”

“Oh, gems,” Odile breathed, frowning when Siffrin shrugged. “I’m sorry that happened.”

“It’s fine. Most of it’s replaceable. It’s not the first time I lost my stuff,” he said blithely. “A boat I took to Baktan capsized when a storm came out of nowhere. Thankfully everyone was okay. We were close enough to one of the islands that people saw and grabbed boats to help.”

Thickening silence answered him; a chill wound up Siffrin’s spine. He looked up from the kitten to look around at the party.

They… were all staring at him.

Why were they staring at him?

What did he say wrong this time?

Breaking through the silence, the young man from downstairs arrived with their tea. He wore a big smile, and Spade trotted in behind him.

The lightless cat caught sight of Siffrin looking at him and darted under the nearby table Mirabelle had taken their chair from. Spade curled up into a loaf, and Siffrin smiled and joined in with everyone thanking their server.

“Dark with marigold and butterscotch.” He set the largest pot near Mirabelle. “Peach and ginger.” He set a smaller, plain pot near Odile. “And plain dark tea.” He set a matching pot near Siffrin. “Food will be up soon.” He set out the cups and saucers as well as two pitchers of milk and a small bowl of sugar chunks.

The young man practically skipped towards the stairs, the darkless kitten leaving Siffrin’s boot to follow him.

Deciding to keep the moment from returning to whatever awkwardness Siffrin had stumbled into, Odile overturned her cup, which had thistles painted around it, just under the rim. “Baktan, hmm? Did you ever visit Ka Bue while in that part of the world?”

Tapping the bottom of his teacup three times before flipping it over, Siffrin nodded. “The southern prefectures. I didn’t get to stay long, but I got to enjoy the New Year’s festival. The kites were all cool-looking, and I had fun making one, even if I couldn’t get it to fly for very long. There was also this person who wanted to read my first dream of the year. It was interesting, and he was really nice. I felt bad when he said he wanted to do it for me for free, so I went back to give him a little wooden hawk I’d carved when I met him the next day for tea. I think I spent most of the day eating, though… I ended up liking the candied sardines more than I thought I would.”

“Ha!” Odile looked genuinely delighted, making Siffrin wonder how long she’d been away from home. “I’m assuming the date didn’t go anywhere. Poor fortune teller.”

“… Date?” Siffrin hadn’t mentioned going on a date with anyone.

Mirabelle looked as puzzled as he did, and Isabeau turned his face as he covered his mouth, like he was trying not to laugh. Odile, meanwhile, looked at Siffrin’s face incredulously, like she wasn’t sure if he was joking.

“Let’s get back to the original topic,” she said, and Siffrin couldn’t help but feel like he’d been admonished for something. She sipped her tea as the others filled their cups. “About how far is Ladraig from the border?”

“Um.” Siffrin set his pot down and picked up the largest of the sugar chunks. “About 30 kilometers?”

“And what part of the border? Northern? Closer to the south?” Odile opened her book to a mostly blank page and pulled a stick of vine charcoal from up her sleeve. “Corbeaux was the first city to be frozen, the Curse spreading outwards from there—and from the King’s steps as he marched.”

“Um…” Siffrin thought, trying to picture a map of Vaugarde in their head. “About halfway between central and southernmost part of the border?”

“Interesting.” Odile wrote something down and flipped to a map of Vaugarde, though only a few cities were marked. She held the book up and pointed to a point with her charcoal and marked the spot when Siffrin and Isabeau nodded.

“Okay, so I was right,” Isabeau said, nodding. “One of my buddies is from that region. Most of those towns are really small. Mostly farmland, and there aren’t a lot of roads. It’s near the Moving River, so it floods a lot.”

“Moving River?” Odile raised an eyebrow. “I take it the river shifts course often? There’s a similar river in a country near Ka Bue. The imperial family there reads their fortune by how the river changes course at the start of the year.”

It looked like Odile and Isabeau were taking over the conversation, so Siffrin took the moment to stick the sugar chunk he’d grabbed between his front teeth. He held it firmly but not enough to bite through it, and Mirabelle cast him a quizzical look as Siffrin sipped his tea, letting it slowly dissolve the sugar.

He gave her an equally puzzled look when she added two small lumps of sugar to her tea, followed by enough milk to turn the liquid nearly darkless.

Odile theorized that the Curse’s uneven spread across Vaugarde had to do with how densely populated certain regions were. Craft worked best around other Craft users, which was one reason why Houses were constructed the way they were. Having so many Craft users in one place helped everyone’s Craft work better. A side-effect of this could be some people’s Craft getting out of control, even causing small explosions in some cases, but typically the walls had shields Crafted into them, as Mirabelle had mentioned earlier. They could keep any uncontrolled Craft from doing too much harm to other students.

“… Ah…” Mirabelle looked down at the sleeping kitten in her lap morosely. She was probably still thinking about how those shields had failed to stop the Curse from spreading further.

The food arrived, a second server helping the young man. A striped cat wound around their legs, begging for scraps as they set down all the dishes. Odile and Mirabelle shared a plate of scones, though Mirabelle pushed the small dish of darkless stuff towards Odile, preferring the jam. Isabeau had gotten a bánh mì, but it had meatballs, while Siffrin’s was filled with sweet sausage and fried eggs. A dish of spicy peppers had been left for them to add themselves, and when Siffrin grabbed one, Isabeau pushed the dish closer to his plates. His eyes widened when Siffrin took a bite of the pepper to test how spicy it was.

More of a kick than they would have assumed, but then they remembered what the old farmer had said yesterday, how he grew peppers from seeds his son had sent him from Mwudu. It was possible that this café got the peppers from him.

… Siffrin didn’t want to think about him anymore.

“Too spicy?” Isabeau asked them.

Siffrin only had the energy to shrug as they set the rest of the pepper down.

Along with the bánh mì, there were three croissants as the young man promised, and Siffrin smiled in thanks. There was also a bowl of pumpkin soup, which had been garnished with chopped-up roasted pumpkin seeds; a salad of tossed spinach, primrose flowers, strawberries, and mint; and a small slice of cake that had been soaked in honey and topped with walnuts.

“You can really eat all that?” Odile asked incredulously, and Siffrin nodded. “… Alright.”

Thankfully, they didn’t have to contribute much to the rest of the conversation. It was nice, getting to listen to others speak around them but not having to pretend they weren’t listening.

As they listened, they grew more impressed with how knowledgeable Odile was. She grew frustrated when she had to backtrack to re-explain something when the others didn’t understand, though this frustration felt unbalanced. She was more likely to tease at Isabeau, while her responses towards Mirabelle were closer to a teacher trying to guide her student to the right answer. She tiptoed around Siffrin at first, unsure as to how much he knew about the subject and how much she should expect from him.

Odile took notes as Mirabelle and Isabeau suggested possibilities, and Siffrin finished his salad, which had been drizzled with a mix of olive oil and aged vinegar. He poured himself a final cup of tea, Odile noticing this time when he stuck another chunk of sugar between his front teeth.

“…?” The look on her face said she couldn’t figure out how to word her question, but she shook her head and snapped her fingers to get Isabeau’s attention back on her. “If your prediction that a Sadness suddenly appearing like that might foretell the area soon freezing in time…”

“By now, the borders are all frozen,” Mirabelle whispered, eyes shiny with tears. “The area around Ladraig must have been the last bordering area to get hit with the Curse.”

“So now it’ll just keep moving inwards.” Odile hummed. “You’d gone to the area by Corbeaux first, yes?”

“Well, after Jouvente.” Mirabelle sighed, and Siffrin didn’t miss the flash of anger in Isabeau’s eyes as he crossed his arms over his chest. “Are you thinking we should try to get people out?”

“That’d be dangerous,” Isabeau said, voice low and conflicted. His brow furrowed as he looked at his empty teacup.

“And it will get more dangerous the longer we wait,” Odile pointed out. “And if people can get out, then people can get in and help.” She looked back at Mirabelle. “You said last night that Voimort, Jouvente, and Etoile have already sent their strongest Shield Crafters to the region Corbeaux is located in, to try slowing the Curse.”

“It’s working from what the Head Housemaiden at Voimort’s House wrote in her letter, but… not much.” Mirabelle pet the kitten still asleep in her lap absent-mindedly. “And some of the Crafters have already been caught by the Curse in the attempt.”

Siffrin felt a cat twining around their legs. Glancing down, they saw it was Spade and ignored him as they finished their tea. The sugar between their teeth had already dissolved, leaving a sweet taste on the tip of their tongue.

“But it is working, if even only a small amount.” Odile let out a sharp breath. “We don’t know how long someone will survive walking through land already frozen in time, but based on that letter, it would take longer than a day, though not by much, it seems. At the very least, we know shield skills are a possible angle. It’s just a matter of finding ones that work best against him.”

“Poteria’s Ministry never responded from what I’ve heard,” Isabeau said, trying to keep his voice even. “They’ll probably take refugees, but…”

“Even though we share a border. They could…” Mirabelle didn’t finish the thought.

“Well, the Curse seems to end at Vaugarde’s borders.” Odile tapped one end of her vine charcoal on her napkin. “No one knows where the King came from, how he possesses so much power… It’s frustrating, but since the King will likely end up frozen in the end as well, it looks like they’ve decided to—”

“Ignore us and let us fend for ourselves.” Isabeau couldn’t keep the anger out of his voice and cleared his throat. “Or get frozen in time trying.”

Silently, Siffrin moved his cake slice so it was between him and Isabeau. They gently tapped the plate with their fork to get his attention, and Isabeau jumped and looked at them, then the cake.

“Feeling full?” he asked them, and Siffrin shook his head.

“You look like you could use some,” he said, looking away when Isabeau’s cheeks darkened.

“Aww, that’s nice Siffrin,” Mirabelle cooed. “He’s right, Isabeau. You could use something sweet.”

“What is it?” he asked, wiping off his teaspoon with his napkin.

“Semolina cake,” Siffrin told him, noticing Mirabelle tilt her head out of the corner of his eye. “It’s soaked in syrup or honey. My family liked to switch between cinnamon syrup and tangerine syrup. We’d top it with shaved almonds and coconut…”

Their… family…?

The air smelled like burnt sugar, and Siffrin flinched, feeling like electricity pulsed just beneath the first layer of their skin.

“… Siffrin…?”

They couldn’t tell which person had said their name.

They blinked, shook their head. The breathed in… and out.

“Are you okay?” Mirabelle’s voice sounded like Siffrin was underwater.

“I’m fine,” he said automatically, and he flinched again as the world around him seemed to right itself like a band snapping back in place. He glanced down at the empty dishes he’d piled in front of him. He could have sworn he hadn’t eaten his cake—

Oh, when had he moved it…?

They didn’t say anything when Isabeau tried a bite.

They were reminded of that group home. The kids had been taken down to Bambouche for a day trip, and they’d been given a bit of money for snacks. Siffrin had lashed out at one of the other kids for stealing their cup of boiled fish balls, making her cry. The housemaiden in charge had pulled Siffrin aside, telling them, “There are much more polite and respectful ways to talk to your friends when you change your mind.”

Siffrin hadn’t known what he was talking about. Changed their mind about what? They’d gotten a cup of fish balls coated in spicy-sweet sauce when all of a sudden, the cup and skewer were no longer in their hands.

They wouldn’t lash out this time.

The plate being between them and Isabeau showed maybe Isabeau wanted to share, not just take it.

Why didn’t Siffrin remember?

He stopped thinking about it.

“It’s good,” Isabeau said, giving Siffrin a smile that made his cheeks prickle with heat. “The way your family makes it sounded better, though. Think you’d be… uh, Siffrin?”

What was he talking about? Siffrin had never made up lies about a family. Bigger lies like that came undone too easily. It was easier to let others make assumptions.

That hadn’t sounded like a random assumption, though. Isabeau had said that, as if it were in response to something Siffrin had said.

Odile watched them, voice careful—like he was Spade, who’d gone back to hiding under the other table. “Do… you not remember talking about the cake your family made?”

Joke.

Joke, joke, make a joke, you idiot! Don’t just sit there! They’d learned years ago that the easiest way to change the subject was through humor, but the edges of reality felt fuzzy again.

They still felt like that kid being reprimanded on a street in Bambouche, not understanding why they should be in trouble when it was their food that had gotten stolen. All the while knowing that something had happened, something had changed, but whatever that brief gust of wind had uncovered had been quickly reburied by ever-shifting sand.

Tongue heavy in their mouth, Siffrin could only blink as his expression went blank.

Seeing that they weren’t going to answer, Odile turned the subject back to the possibility of getting more Vaugardians across frozen land and hopefully to safety. As she spoke, Mirabelle and Isabeau kept glancing their way in worry; they ignored them.

Thoughts too muddled to let them listen to anything being said, Siffrin took a bite of their cake.

They might as well have swallowed ash.

“Absolutely not.” Odile’s tone was firm and final. She tilted her head up slightly to glare down at Siffrin, her bangs casting a shadow that cut her face in half.

He flinched under the weight of her glare. What was this? All he’d said was that he didn’t mind sleeping outside again!

“You’re small enough that you shouldn’t bother my sleep,” she continued, and Siffrin heard Mirabelle gasp behind him as Isabeau swore under his breath.

… What…?

Before Siffrin could even open their mouth to respond, Odile turned around and started towards their inn. He jumped when someone tapped him on the shoulder; in an instant, he was turned around and gripping his dagger under his cloak while Isabeau stood with his hands up in a defensive stance.

“Sorry,” he squeaked out, and Mirabelle stood between them with a soft but nervous smile on her face.

Something had shifted. Even more than earlier, Siffrin felt like they saw him as an abandoned cat they were trying to goad into their home.

“We should follow Madame Odile before she gets mad,” she suggested, and Siffrin forced his muscles to relax as he nodded.

They hadn’t agreed to join them yet. Had they?

Siffrin guessed it didn’t matter. By the sounds of it, they assumed that they’d agreed, and all of them were heading for the same city anyway. Whatever came after could wait until then.

One of the town’s two inns was across from a library, which was in the process of closing. The inn looked like a shop at first, with its big front window and—ah, it looked like the sign had been painted over, the ghost of Boulangerie hiding underneath a layer of light paint and Tortitude Inn.

The group shared one room with two beds on the second floor, and while Isabeau and Mirabelle weren’t shy about changing into their pajamas around everyone else, Odile went into the bathroom for privacy.

Siffrin just stood with their back against the wall as they stared at the window. They hugged the flask to their chest, barely hearing Isabeau call out his name.

“Would you like to borrow something?” he asked, and Odile answered for them from inside the bathroom.

“They would,” she said with that same finality as earlier. “You’ll wash what you’re wearing soon as I’m done in here, young one.”

“Uh… okay…?” Siffrin had no clue what emotion they were feeling. Annoyed? Embarrassed? Anxious? Bewildered? Overwhelmed? Inadequate? Amused? Hopeful? All of the above?

Mirabelle saved them from having to think about it more as she brought him a folded nightgown. “Here. Pretty sure we’re close in dress size, so this should fit you.”

The cloth was a shade darker than Siffrin’s cloak and hat. It had a high neckline and looked plainer than the nightgown she wore now, but that suited Siffrin fine.

“… Thank you.” He forced himself to let go of his flask with one hand, so he could take the nightgown. The fabric was soft and well-worn.

They didn’t change into it right away, and Mirabelle and Isabeau didn’t comment on it as they sat on the bed closest to the door and talked. They spoke about some romance book they’d both read, an enemies-to-lovers story of a pirate captain hunting down the siren that had killed her crew—only to fall for her instead. Siffrin half-listened to them. They didn’t mind romance books but didn’t usually go out of their way to read them.

When Odile exited the bathroom, she wore a plain, light shirt and dark pants, and her thick hair had been restyled into a low ponytail for sleeping. It reached the small of her back this way, and she pulled it over one shoulder as she motioned for Siffrin to use the bathroom next.

He followed the silent order without a word, and after a quick wash, he put on the nightgown. It fell just past his knees, and he was thankful for the long sleeves. Washing his clothes didn’t take as long as it had yesterday, which Siffrin forced himself to stop thinking about as he wrung out water and left the bathroom.

Mirabelle went inside next, her hair now covered by a satin bonnet. There was a book on the table between the beds, and Siffrin was sure it hadn’t been there earlier.

“Mira said you like ghost stories,” Isabeau said as Siffrin hung his clothes on the line hanging out the window. “This one’s a little too intense for me, but she thought you might like it.”

“What’s it about?” Siffrin asked, more out of politeness than anything else.

Although… they were touched that Mirabelle had remembered that he’d said he liked ghost stories.

Touched and scared. These three were paying attention to them. They’d need to be careful of what they said.

“No reading tonight,” Odile spoke up from bed. She’d claimed the side closest to the wall. Her glasses were on the table, next to Mirabelle’s book. “We need to be up early tomorrow.”

Something about her tone dared Siffrin to argue about him following along with them. He almost did, if only to rankle her, but he kept silent and walked towards Isabeau to inspect the book’s cover. It was dark, and the page edges had been painted to depict dark woods with a pair of light eyes spying from behind a pair of birch trees.

“Fine, fine,” Isabeau relented. He smiled at Siffrin. “Camping will probably be a better atmosphere for that anyway. Mira could hardly sleep the night she got to some big twist. She says it was excitement, but I’m pretty sure our little housemaiden was scared.” He grinned in triumph when Siffrin chuckled. “Anyway, it’s based on an old Poterian folk tale—loosely. The main character is being haunted by something. He doesn’t know what it is at first, he only sees it in reflections, but each time he sees it, it gets closer. Mira says it’s a slow-burn kind of creepy scary story.”

It sounded more interesting than other horror books he’d glanced over before. Maybe he’d give it a try, if only to make Mirabelle happy.

… Why did they care about that?

“‘Slow-burn kind of creepy’ sounds good.” Siffrin smiled and set the book down. “I’ll start reading it after we set up camp tomorrow.”

Chapter Text

Scenes from the day played behind Siffrin’s eyelids as he rolled onto his side and waited. Things could have gone better, but he hadn’t been cast away, and for some reason, he still hadn’t run. If he was going to stay with them, though, even if only a short while, he needed to get things in order.

Siffrin had always struggled with improv. Most interactions with other people were short, though, so a little awkwardness or hesitation didn’t give them away. Now, though, they needed to write a script, a character sheet.

Start with the facts, they thought as a door slammed downstairs.

Facts, facts…

Siffrin was short. They had nearly darkless hair, the lower layers still dyed Midnight Dark. They had big, dark eyes and a round face. They always wore their light cloak and matching hat. They were fast, and they were Scissors Type.

… What else…?

They were 24? But that wasn’t necessarily a fact, was it? It was an estimation.

Their birthday was the first of September? Also not a fact. It was a random date they’d picked when the fortune teller in Ka Bue asked. Before then, they’d picked other dates or changed the subject when birthdays were brought up. After Ka Bue, though, Siffrin had figured maybe picking a date and sticking to it would be good.

A routine, something to mark the passage of time just for himself. September 1 was as good a date as any. Better than February 21, which the housemaiden at that group home would refer to as Siffrin’s “founding day.”

Stop. Don’t think about it, don’t think about it. You’re done thinking about it and him. Siffrin brought his fingers to his teeth but stopped. He curled his hand into a fist, nails digging into the meat of his palm. He drew a breath in… and let it out.

They were getting distracted.

A character sheet. They needed a character sheet.

They were Siffrin the Traveler. They knew Piercing Craft and had fighting knowledge and experience. They were…

Ah, the others had finally fallen asleep.

Opening their eyes, Siffrin waited as their vision adjusted. Directly across from him, Mirabelle slept on her stomach, and her arms were crossed under her pillow. Next to her, Isabeau slept on his side so that he faced the front wall, and his head was propped up on two pillows while he hugged a third close to his broad chest. Behind Siffrin, Odile slept on her back, hands resting gently over her sternum.

Based on Mirabelle’s and Isabeau’s earlier reaction, Siffrin guessed Odile typically insisted on having her own bed. Was it due to her preferring the extra personal space, or was she a light sleeper?

Holding his breath, Siffrin shifted on the mattress, so he was closer to the edge, and then he waited.

Odile’s breathing didn’t change.

Careful to not pull on the sheet and quilt, he slipped out of bed and waited again.

The party remained asleep.

Before retrieving his flask from under the bed, Siffrin ran a couple possibilities through their mind.

Window? It was still open and closer than the door. Listening, Siffrin could hear cats but no people walking down the streets.

Don’t be stupid, he told himself as he slowly lowered and grabbed his flask from between the folds of his cloak. He uncapped it and drank, swallowing slowly to keep from making noise.

Once it was empty, Siffrin stood and switched this weight from the side of one foot to the other as he walked. The skirt of his borrowed nightgown gently swished over his legs as he walked silently across the hardwood floor.

Without pausing, he cracked open the door and slipped out into the dark hallway, closing the door with a soft click behind him. He clutched the round handle, and his jaw began to ache from him clenching it.

Breathe… breathe… Siffrin closed their eyes and drew a long breath in… and let it out.

More relaxed, they let go of the handle and listened while looking around. There were five other rooms on this floor, but three of them were vacant.

Siffrin went to the closest occupied room and put his ear to the door. After a moment of focusing, he could hear two people breathing, and he left and went to the room across the hallway. He heard one person inside, and Siffrin brought the spout of his flask to his lips.

“Please don’t let them struggle, please don’t let them struggle, please don’t let them struggle,” he whispered, trying to calm down.

In… out…

Like all the other rooms, the door wasn’t outfitted with a lock, and Siffrin slipped in silently and easily. This room was smaller than the one he was sharing with the party, and the window was closed. A man was curled up on the narrow bed against the far wall, sheet tangled around his legs and quilt a pile on the floor. The room smelled like brandy. Hopefully, alcohol being in the man’s system helped keep him from fighting or calling out for help, and if he was late for breakfast or check-out, a hangover could be easily blamed.

He hadn’t stirred, and Siffrin considered the best way to do this.

It had taken trial and error before Siffrin had learned that biting people in the neck knocked them out faster than biting their wrist or by the crook of their arm. Doing that risked waking up the man first, but that just meant Siffrin needed to be fast.

Within moments, Siffrin was on the bed, hands pinning down the man’s wrists and fangs sinking into the side of his neck as stubble tickled him along his hairline. The man jerked and slumped, losing consciousness faster than most.

Siffrin swallowed a mouthful of blood and grabbed his flask. They licked their lips and rolled the man over so that the twin wounds now marking his neck faced the ceiling. Blood dribbled into the flask easily and slowly, Siffrin having to bite him twice more to keep the wounds from closing too fast. They kept their other hand on the other side of the man’s neck, counting under their breath to keep measure of his pulse.

They licked the wound closed sooner than they usually would, worried about how drunkenness might affect the man’s recovery from blood loss.

Licking blood off the spout’s edge, Siffrin got down and hurried back to their room. The others were still asleep, so Siffrin let out a slow breath, put their flask away, used the bathroom, and slipped back under the covers.

It wasn’t long before they drifted off to sleep, dreaming of walking down an endless hallway. Sconces smoked like incense. Light came from cracks between the stone, casting hundreds of flickering shadows around Siffrin as they continued to walk, never wavering from their path.

Before leaving Chasion, Isabeau had insisted on getting Siffrin a leather strap for their flask, and Mirabelle had insisted on getting them a change of clothes. She’d hoped to find them something less plain than their simple, lightless shirt and pants, but after they pointed out that any clothes would be worn underneath their cloak anyway, she relented.

When they set up camp, Siffrin shared a tent with Odile, while Mirabelle and Isabeau shared the other. Since Sadnesses were becoming more unpredictable in where they appeared, it was decided they’d need to take turns standing watch just in case, and Siffrin volunteered to take the first shift. The party had passed by other travelers, so once the others were asleep, Siffrin had quickly backtracked to drink from one traveler and use the other to top off his flask before returning to camp.

He read the book Mirabelle had loaned him, starting with a reference section in the back. The author shared the original Poterian folk tale—well, a more well-known version of it—and the process of deciding what parts of the tale to keep and what parts to change or leave out entirely. He didn’t recognize the story, but most of the plays he’d watched while there pulled more from history than myth or folk tales.

The main character had just noticed that the shadowy figure behind them in their reflection had gotten closer when Isabeau got out of his and Mirabelle’s tent.

“Is there enough light for you to read?” he asked in a low voice when he saw that Siffrin was reading.

Oh, stars, Siffrin thought as he looked up from the book. No, he guessed sitting this far from the fire would make it difficult for most people to read. “Just enough. I didn’t want to get Mirabelle’s book too close to the fire.”

Isabeau chuckled as he checked for rocks or thistles before sitting down by Siffrin. “Yeah, probably a good idea. How is it so far?”

“Kinda slow right now.” Siffrin closed the book without marking the page they were on. “Interesting, though. I… think I forgot to tell Mirabelle I don’t handle gore well. Do you know if…”

Isabeau hummed. “I stopped pretty early on, to be honest, so I have no clue. No gore before chapter 5, but Mirabelle will let you know if you ask. She hates spoilers, but she forgets sometimes that not everyone can handle what she can.” He chuckled. “I don’t like gore either. I almost stopped reading the siren and pirate book she let me borrow, but the romance was good enough to keep me interested. What do you usually read?”

This was the first personal question any of them had asked since yesterday, he realized. Had they lost interest in him after he bumbled through their café conversation? It was for the best, probably, but Siffrin still felt oddly hurt.

“Play scripts, usually,” Siffrin answered. “Genre’s not important, but the ones I’d read recently were mostly comedies.”

“Oh, plays!” Isabeau smiled, but Siffrin couldn’t figure out if his tone was genuinely interested or not. “Haven’t seen one in a while. Jouvente’s theatres mostly put on tragedies prior to the King, and I don’t really like being bummed out, y’know?”

Fair. Siffrin tapped the book’s spine. “They can be nice sometimes. No matter how bad you feel, someone’s felt the same things you have. Even if it’s a fictional character.”

“… Ah, that makes sense…”

Siffrin felt electricity crackle down his spine. What was that look on Isabeau’s face? They couldn’t read it. It wasn’t pity, necessarily, but… “B-but, yeah, I sometimes prefer comedies.” They couldn’t look Isabeau in the eye. “Happy endings can feel cliché sometimes, but sad endings can too. And I like the way drama gets blown up to weird proportions in some comedies. If you ever get to see them, you should watch A Single Grain of Sand. It’s both a comedy and tragedy, usually played back-to-back. It’s the same script, but the first time I went to both showings, it took a while for me to notice, because of the big mood change.”

“That sounds interesting. I’ll keep an eye out.” Isabeau still had that look on his face; Siffrin kept their eyes on the ground. “Is it the same actors for both usually?”

“Depends on the theatre putting on the show. When I read a copy of the script, though, the playwright said their vision was for the same actors to be in both productions but in different roles.” They yawned, jaw popping.

Laughing, Isabeau said, “Sorry for keeping you up. Go on and sleep. I got this.” He pointed at himself with his thumbs, smile growing when Siffrin snorted a laugh.

“You won’t get too bored without me?” Siffrin’s heart skipped when he realized what he’d said, but he managed to keep a small smirk in place as he tilted his head to the side.

Isabeau looked away as his face darkened. “Oh, I’ll be fine.” He cleared his throat. “Not that I want to take you away from your book when it’s starting to get in-tents.”

He beamed when Siffrin barked out a laugh, quickly covering their mouth when they realized how loud they’d been. “Okay, I should go to sleep now. If we wake up Odile, we’ll have to book it.”

“HA!” Isabeau covered his mouth, his body quaking from laughter. Between his fingers he squeaked out, “Yes! Yes!” His laughter slowly ebbed. “Finally, a pun buddy! A comedy partner!”

Siffrin’s cheeks ached from smiling; his whole body tingled with warmth.

Comedy partner…?

They liked the sound of that.

It was a good trait to add to Siffrin the Traveler’s character sheet. Especially if it would make Isabeau smile like that around him more.

The next night, they were too far from any trees to find any wood for a fire, so Siffrin left his book in the tent when he took first watch. Mirabelle had promised that the violent scenes in later chapters didn’t have explicit gore, so he’d figured he might as well keep reading in his downtime. The writing was lyrical and a little pretentious, to be honest, but at least it was something to keep his attention.

They couldn’t read tonight, though, so to keep themself busy, they lay in a bed of wildflowers and stared up at the cloudless sky.

They couldn’t help but feel like they should be seeing something… greater. Patterns and stories and… something. Something… filling. Something… something…

Familiar. This was familiar, staring up at a clear night sky, but just as Siffrin couldn’t pull stories out of the stars, they couldn’t pull meaning out of that familiarity.

It left them feeling more lost and lonelier than ever.

“You better not be asleep.” Odile stood over him, one of her thin eyebrows arched so that it disappeared beneath the shadow of her bangs. She carried her book in one hand and a large lantern in the other.

“Not yet.” He gave a small smile, which grew when Odile huffed and sat down by him. “Isn’t it too dark to read?”

Hand petting the cover of her large book, Odile huffed again. “Unfortunately. Even with a torch, possibly, but I’m hopeful it will help.” She watched Siffrin out of the corner of her eye as he sat up and brushed grass and dirt off his cloak. “But I’d rather have this book nearby if a Sadness attacks, regardless.” She frowned and got up a bit to shift over, tossing a rock aside. “I have other ways of keeping myself entertained. I’ll be fine for a few hours.”

She turned to look at Mirabelle’s and Isabeau’s tent and hesitated, which made Siffrin pause. He remained in a squatting position, cloak encircling him.

After a moment, she set the lantern in front of her, opened the little glass door, and snapped with the candle’s wick between her fingers. Craft in the thick, light candle reacted with hers, a flame popping into existence. Odile rubbed her fingers together as she closed the glass door and sat back.

“My apologies for the rude question, but I’ve been wondering why you Crafted your teeth to look like that.” Odile turned to face Siffrin again as he tilted his head.

He blinked slowly, knowing exactly what she was asking about but feigning brief confusion. “Oh! My kitten teeth, you mean?”

Her dumbfounded look made Siffrin laugh. “Your… kitten teeth…”

“That’s what a kid called them once, and I thought it was cute.” Siffrin sat back down, legs crossed in front of him. When it came to his fangs, he’d found the truth was easiest. Easiest to remember and easiest for others to understand. It wasn’t like people jumped from seeing his fangs to concluding that he drank human blood. “And you’re fine, I don’t think it’s rude to ask.” He followed her brief glance back to Mirabelle’s and Isabeau’s tent. “Oh, right, the whole Changing thing.” He shrugged. “Well, not rude to me, then, but I’ve never used Body Craft on myself.” He shrank under Odile’s heavy look, the sort of glower that said she didn’t appreciate lies. “Honest! They grew in this way. My baby teeth were the same. Just… not as big, of course.” He pointed to a thin scar on his bottom lip. “Bit myself a lot because of them.”

“You’d probably do it less, if you ate slower,” Odile pointed out, shaking her head when Siffrin only laughed.

“Maybe. But I got used to them. They don’t annoy me enough to make me want to Craft them smaller or anything.”

“Fair enough.” Odile tapped the cover of her book. “Thank you for indulging my curiosity.”

“No problem.” Siffrin made sure to smile wide enough that their fangs showed, which made Odile roll her eyes. He got up, brushing grass and dirt off the hem of their cloak. “Good night, Odile.”

“Good night, Siffrin. See you in the morning.”

Siffrin continued smiling as they drifted off to sleep.

The next night, the party opted to spend it camping and enter Voimort in the morning rather than keep walking through the night. There were finally more trees growing around, but the land was still uneven, ditches and small canyons pocketing the earth. Even Siffrin would be loath to wander a terrain like this at night unless he absolutely had to, and he surprised himself by thinking that he was enjoying spending extra time with the others.

Mirabelle was dual type, and she’d curled up into an embarrassed ball when Siffrin’s jaw dropped upon hearing that. She leaned more towards Scissors, though—she said few dual types were perfectly balanced between their types; most leaned more towards one type than the other—so she used a rapier she’d inherited from her great-grandmother for channeling Craft.

She loved tragedies as much as horror and romance, and she’d been hunting for an anthology of monster stories when news about the King had reached Dormont. Her favorite book series had over 80 issues, which had been written over the course of nearly a century. Apparently, the current author had taken over the series after the original author passed away in the middle of writing issue #67.

Her eyes lit up when talking about her theories for how the series would end. Siffrin understood none of the context but liked seeing her animated and full of excitement.

Odile had arrived in Vaugarde a few weeks before Corbeaux froze in time. She’d come for research that she was keeping secret, which Isabeau took as a challenge, determined to guess what she was studying. She could perform Rock and Scissors attacks as well as Paper, and she’d practically preened at Siffrin’s wide, sparkly-eyed look when he learned that about her. However, she admitted that her greater strengths were her Craft abilities to Slow Down her opponent and to Examine them. For the latter, she couldn’t always get specifics, but it was usually enough to at least figure out a weakness to exploit.

She was trying to teach herself a Craft Buff ability, which would allow her to help their defenses against whichever Type they were weak against. She was sure she almost had it, but after the Sadness in Chasion, she’d decided to switch gears for a while and focus on learning a stronger Paper attack first.

Isabeau had lived in Jouvente his whole life, and he’d been the first to join Mirabelle on her quest. He’d been working as a Defender, and he was supposed to have a baby half-sibling due in three months. He’d been tested late, but the Protector Craft skills he knew were powerful despite the late start. He was trying to learn skills to help build the team’s defenses, to help bounce off the attack-boosting spell Mirabelle knew, which could strengthen both abilities.

Some of his guesses about Odile’s research sounded off-the-wall and ridiculous, making Siffrin wonder how many of those guesses were genuine and how many were him wanting to get the others to laugh. Isabeau seemed to relish in his ability to make her roll her eyes or Mirabelle groan, and the first time Siffrin piggy-backed one of his jokes, she’d whipped around to look at him, eyes wide with surprise.

“Oh gems, Isabeau’s contagious,” Odile had muttered without ire.

Things were going well.

Then, the night before they were to reach Voimort, Siffrin had a nightmare.

They were eating a copy of their body, choking on bone. They coughed and coughed and coughed and coughed as saltwater rose around them. Their body began to float, pale and bloated as their head twisted unnaturally to stare back at them.

Their body’s lips flapped, but Siffrin couldn’t understand what they were saying. Trying to parse their words gave them a headache. A dull, pulsing pain that matched the rhythm of an unseen clock.

Louder and louder and louder.

Saltwater continued to rise. Siffrin continued to gag and cough around their own sinew and bone.

A tide carried them away, and they rolled over and coughed and spat and heaved. Bone, raw meat, cake, and fish balls plopped onto the darkening sand. Everything was cold, the waves freezing centimeters from crashing into Siffrin’s trembling body.

Within the wave, a dark shape moved. Siffrin shrank as he sat up on his knees, face softening and hair growing until he was once more the small child who’d first washed up on Vaugarde’s shore. He stared at the dark shape as harsh, winter wind tangled his pale, curly hair, his hat nowhere to be seen. Blood, bile, and molasses dripped down his chin and under the high collar of his cloak, and his fangs grew too long for him to close his mouth.

His adult, bloated and lumbering body burst through the frozen wave, water shattering around them like glass. The top half of their face was hidden under the shadow of their hat, which was lightless but for little, sparkling dots that shifted across the fabric like a night sky.

Standing at the edge of the still tide, Siffrin’s adult body raised a hand, his dagger appearing in it. The blade grew longer as his fingers clutched the hilt, and as he leaped forward to attack, Siffrin closed their eyes and pulled down their collar to bare their throat to their other self.

“My apologies.” The voice was distant, like listening to someone while underwater.

It took a moment for Siffrin to realize it was Odile’s voice.

It took longer for him to realize he was in their tent, back pushing against the wall and fists clutching his hair. His scalp burned, and he tasted bile in the back of his throat.

He… couldn’t… breathe…

Odile looked at a loss on how to approach them. “Siffrin…”

Siffrin.

His name was Siffrin. No middle names, no last names.

Siffrin the Traveler.

Siffrin the Traveler went from city to city, country to country, looking for fun and adventure. They had big, dark eyes and nearly darkless hair that was straight, wavy, or curly depending on the climate. They were a strong Crafter. Most recently, they’d become Isabeau’s comedy partner.

They were not that scared, lost child in a group home on the cliffs by Bambouche. They were not a monster licking blood off its claws.

They… needed… to… breathe…

In

.

.

.

.

.

Out…

They let go of their hair, fingers cramping.

Slowly, ever so slowly, their muscles relaxed.

“I’m fine,” Siffrin rasped.

Odile looked like she didn’t believe him, but after a moment, she sighed. “Try not to collapse our tent then.”

Our tent. Siffrin swallowed the lump in his throat and nodded. He scooted away from the wall as Odile lay back down on her thin bedroll.

Locating their flask, Siffrin uncapped it and drank what was left of the cold blood inside. True to the farmer’s word, it had stayed fresh inside the Crafted leather, and Siffrin held the flask close as he was gently pulled into dreamless rest.

Chapter Text

The Universe could never allow anything to happen so easily or straight-forward. No, of course not. Life would always twist into a spiral, would always twist and double over itself like a pretzel. Siffrin wasn’t sure why they allowed themself to be surprised anymore.

Voimort was much larger than Chasion, and all the roads were paved. It had two Houses, but while the oldest of the two was called Voimort’s House, the other was identified by the name of the district it resided in. Fewer people recognized Mirabelle, or equally likely, the city’s culture leaned more towards the importance of one’s privacy and anonymity. Either way, Mirabelle appeared more relaxed than she had right after waking up, until they turned onto the street that would take them straight to their destination.

Siffrin’s cloak was bunched up awkwardly just under their shoulders, thanks to their backpack. It was their turn to carry the second pack; Isabeau always volunteered to carry the first. The extra weight felt odd. The pack they’d had to leave in Ladraig had been maybe a quarter of the size, small enough for them to wear underneath their cloak. Their flask was strapped so it rested over their chest, and Siffrin focused on breathing harder but not so hard as to make the others think they needed rest.

They’d already noticed that he was barely winded after fighting that Sadness in Chasion—well, Odile noticed—so Siffrin wasn’t entirely sure if his act was even doing anything. At the very least, none of them gave him any suspicious looks, so he kept it up. Focusing on their breathing helped to keep them from thinking too much about whether they were making the right decision.

Despite the act, they were still ahead of both Odile and Isabeau, and they only hung back behind Mirabelle, since she was the one who knew where they were going.

In theory.

They’d gotten lost three times, but now that the tops of the House’s turrets were in view, Siffrin was sure she was heading the right way.

“Are you okay?” Siffrin panted lightly at the end of the question.

“Y-yeah! Why?” Mirabelle glanced back at them.

“You’re biting your nails,” they pointed out, and Mirabelle quickly dropped her hands to her sides, fingers curling into tight fists.

“No! No, I’m not,” she replied with a tight voice. She faced forward, and her shoulders grew tense again.

“Mmhmm…” Siffrin wondered if a joke would help or make things worse. It was hard to tell with Mirabelle sometimes. Might as well try. At the very least, getting angry at them would take her mind off the orbs and King for a few minutes. “Don’t worry, Mirabelle. I’m sure they’ll give us a hand.”

“Bad,” Odile deadpanned. “You need to workshop that one more, Siffrin.”

Turning to look at her, they pouted, which made her roll her eyes. In front of them, Mirabelle’s fists tightened, but they couldn’t tell if it was from annoyance or trying to hold in laughter.

Chuckling, Isabeau followed up with, “Sure, they could polish up their puns more…”

Siffrin smirked at him and continued, “But it’s more fun to nail a joke when it’s improvised, not one you filed away for future use.”

Isabeau laughed while Odile groaned, and Mirabelle slapped her hands over her mouth too late to keep her snicker from escaping.

Siffrin beamed. Success.

Would it be so bad to stay with them?

Voimort was still moving, but the King’s Curse would reach it eventually.

Siffrin had no idea how much information they’d get from the housemaidens here before that happened.

Had the old farmer been right about three others like them coming here? He’d had no reason to lie. Were they still here, though?

Mirabelle stopped as a carriage passed, and Siffrin stared up as the House loomed higher over them.

“What do we do when we get there?” they asked.

“There’s probably some housemaidens or students gardening out front,” Mirabelle replied as she started walking again. “I’ll ask about the librarian, since she’s the one who said she might’ve found it.”

Might…? “Might?”

“Well…” Mirabelle swallowed. One of her hands almost reached her mouth before she pulled it back down and curled her fingers into a fist again. “She… wasn’t sure. It keeps, um, flickering in and out of view? But around the same place in the library… sorta? To be honest, her handwriting is hard to read, so I’m not entirely sure I even understood what she was saying, but… the closer we get, the more I’m sure there’s an orb here. It feels really similar to the first orb we found.”

“You found,” Isabeau corrected good-naturedly. “I wasn’t even sure what we were looking for. We wouldn’t have it if it wasn’t for you, Mira!”

“He’s right,” Odile said, and Mirabelle glanced back at her for a moment. “The town had already been evacuated by the time we got there. Without your ability to sense the orbs’ locations, the Curse would have reached us before we found it.”

Mirabelle gave a small nod but still didn’t look sure.

“It’ll all end up okay,” Siffrin told her, hoping his smile looked genuine, but when she looked at him, it faltered.

He couldn’t read that expression. Had he said something wrong?

… It was possible he had sounded less reassuring and more dismissive.

Oh, stars, they were going to fuck things up if they stayed with the party, weren’t they?

As they walked, Mirabelle kept glancing back, so Odile and Isabeau struck up a conversation—Isabeau starting it by asking Odile if her research was on bryology—so that Mirabelle could hear that they were still close by. Siffrin didn’t have anything to add to the conversation—were there really people who devoted their lives to studying moss?—so he walked alongside Mirabelle. He tried offering another smile, relieved when she returned it.

Her smile faltered when she eyed his wrists, and Siffrin whispered a swear when he realized his sleeves had started pulling up his arms while he grasped the backpack’s straps. He quickly pulled his sleeves down again, and Mirabelle faced forward, trying to act like she hadn’t seen the scars peeking over the worn, lightless hems.

As Mirabelle had predicted, there were housemaidens and students working in the gardens in front of the House. As one approached them, Siffrin stared at some nearby flowers. They were light, most of the petals spread out. They almost reminded him of stars but for a ruffled circle growing out of the flower’s center.

“They’re daffodils,” another housemaiden told them when she noticed them staring. She had a long face and wide smile. “We started planting their bulbs in February.”

“They’re pretty,” Siffrin said when they realized they’d been silent.

The housemaiden began to say something else when Odile grabbed Siffrin’s attention. The first housemaiden was leading Mirabelle into the House.

“Bye.” Siffrin waved at the housemaiden caring for the daffodils, who chuckled and waved back.

“You like flowers, Siffrin?” Isabeau asked as Odile lightly jogged ahead to keep up with Mirabelle and the tall housemaiden.

“…?” Siffrin was confused at the question, and Isabeau looked away sheepishly and scratched the back of his head.

“Uh, coz you were looking pretty intently at those daffodils?”

“Oh.” Siffrin looked around at the light walls and high ceiling before meeting Isabeau’s gaze again. “Some are pretty. I just think I remember someone planting those ones.”

“Oh? Who? I’d never had a green thumb and grew up in a boarding house in a busy district in Jouvente, so there weren’t many places besides the community garden to grow stuff. And that was mostly for just veggies. Not very many flowers, unless they were edible.”

“I… don’t remember…?” Siffrin looked away from Isabeau’s questioning look. “I was a kid, I think. I just remember seeing the flowers and taking one. I think I remember putting it in a book?”

A thick, leatherbound book full of stories written to sound like diary entries.

The air smelled like burnt sugar.

“Oh, pressed flowers!” Isabeau smiled. “My grandmother has a few journals filled with pressed flowers—Siffrin, you okay?”

Shaking their head, Siffrin pressed the heels of their palms against their temples and drew in a deep breath in… and let it out…

“Just a headache,” they said. “Had trouble sleeping last night.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.” Isabeau’s genuine concern made Siffrin’s chest feel tight. “Do you need to r—”

“Pay attention, you two,” Odile chided, and Siffrin saw that she and Mirabelle were… behind them? At the opening to another hallway. “This way to the stairs. The library—”

Screaming.

“She’s alive?!” someone cried out in jubilation as someone else shrieked, “She’s not dead?!” and at the same time, a deep voice bellowed, “Rose! Please, stop!”

Siffrin knew that voice.

“Siffrin—”

They were already running, pack left behind and dagger in hand.

Housemaidens, teachers, and students parted around them as they ran the other way, expressions washed in varying strokes of fear and disbelief.

Mirabelle was soon right behind Siffrin; their feet hit the stone floor in near-perfect rhythm.

Siffrin smelled fresh blood, throat aching. He swerved around the corner, dodging bodies and gaining enough speed to take three steps along the wall. He pushed off the fourth step, curling into a ball as Mirabelle leaped over an overturned gurney.

She froze, rapier drawn and in a guarding position in front of her face. Her other hand was in a scissors position, but she hesitated as her eyes went wide as she struggled to make sense of the sight in front of her.

Siffrin didn’t hesitate. Their arms were crossed in front of their face as the world slowed around them.

They exhaled, arms moving out as Craft crackled through the air.

A bleeding housemaiden screamed, “NO!”

They stepped in front of the monster draining Housemaiden Aurélin of his blood.

“Stop!” they begged as tears ran down their face, and Siffrin landed hard and dropped to their knees as they pulled their arms back into an X.

It felt like they were caught between twin poles of a magnet, teeth ringing as they tasted the metallic tang of Scissor Craft.

The crying housemaiden pushed out a shield as fast as she could. A woody scent peppered the air, twining around the scent of Siffrin’s Craft as it fought against its onslaught.

Both were blown back, and the edge of Siffrin’s knife caught his earlobe as he dropped it while rolling across the floor. His ears were ringing. He was vaguely aware of his party calling out his name.

“STOP! SHE DOESN’T KNOW WHAT SHE’S DOING!” the crying housemaiden sobbed as they scrambled to their feet. They threw their arms out in protection, even as blood dripped from gouges in their left arm.

Blinking away explosions of light in his vision, Siffrin ripped away from the large hands grabbing him as Odile shouted, “What she’s doing is killing a man!”

“Then help us stop her, but don’t hurt her.” The housemaiden’s wail rang through Siffrin’s ears as he jarringly took off back towards Rose and Housemaiden Aurélin.

“Housemaiden Sofiane!”

Siffrin didn’t bother turning around to see who had gotten the crying housemaiden’s attention. He dodged around her and grabbed Rose by her shoulders.

She wasn’t much taller than he was, and her nearly darkless hair had been cut to her earlobes. Her earrings didn’t match; it was an odd detail for Siffrin to focus on as he forced her back and got between her and Housemaiden Aurélin.

A heavy thump and groan, and Mirabelle started running again, her rapier sheathed once more.

Rose had big eyes, the irises just light enough for Siffrin to see that her pupils were vertical like a cat’s or fox’s. Blood dripped over her bottom lip and small chin, and Siffrin held his breath as he ignored its smell.

They kicked at her ankle and grasped her wrists before she could swipe at him, fingers curled like claws. Blood splattered Siffrin’s hat and face as Rose hissed, baring her fangs.

Siffrin tasted his own blood as he bit his tongue to stop himself from hissing back.

Rose threw Siffrin off easily as a doll, and her right hand curled further into a rock sign. The air crackled and smelled of wet clay, and Siffrin scrambled back but suddenly found himself blinking, sharp pain shooting through his collarbone and realizing he was flat on the ground, several feet away from where he just stood. Before Rose could lunge towards him, Isabeau wrapped his arms around her waist and hoisted her up just as Housemaiden Sofiane and another housemaiden each grabbed one of Rose’s arms.

Pushing himself up, Siffrin looked towards Mirabelle as she used Healing Craft on Housemaiden Aurélin with trembling hands. Her face was pensive, and pain shot across Siffrin's collar bone and through his shoulders as he crawled towards them. Odile dropped to his side and held out his dagger to get his attention.

“Stay still, young one,” she said in a soft voice. “That was quite the hit you took, and if you make it worse doing something stupid, I’ll knock you out myself.”

Rose hissed again, then slumped in Isabeau’s arms. The two housemaidens still held onto her arms, one making a rock hand sign against her head while the other made a paper hand sign on her opposite temple.

“I’ve never seen Craft be mixed that way to knock someone unconscious,” Odile marveled, and she told Siffrin again to stay in place while she went to fetch the overturned gurney.

“Sif—Siffrin…” Isabeau was at his side in what felt like a second. “N-no, don’t get up.” He kneeled and reached towards Siffrin, stopping when they flinched. “Just stay here. Everything’s under control. Mira’s healing that housemaiden, and the, uh, the… uh…”

“Her name is Rose,” Housemaiden Sofiane hissed at them. Her cheeks were wet with new tears.

Siffrin looked around Isabeau, having to squint to focus their vision. Housemaiden Sofiane had half their head shaved, and the rest of their long, dark hair had been twisted into locs. The long, blocky earring in their left ear matched the one Rose wore in her right.

“Right… Rose.” Isabeau coughed, and the other housemaiden whispered something to Housemaiden Sofiane.

Her expression was stern, dark brows knitted and the wrinkles around her mouth more defined. Housemaiden Sofiane looked away, abashed, and Odile helped her lay Rose on the gurney.

“… Yes, Head Housemaiden,” Housemaiden Sofiane murmured. She motioned towards a narrower hallway branching off this one when Odile asked where to help them push Rose. “The lab is this way.”

“How are they?” Voimort’s Head Housemaiden asked as she knelt by Isabeau.

Siffrin’s breath left in a low whistle.

“Breathing and conscious,” Isabeau answered for them.

“That’s good.” The Head Housemaiden let out a long breath. “I’m terribly sorry for you getting caught in that, traveling one. Rose… is unwell.” She glared when Isabeau muttered something under his breath. “Let me heal you, but we’ll still need to observe you in the clinic for a little while. We’ll try not to keep you long.”

“Nng…” Siffrin didn’t want to go to a clinic, but he wasn’t in any shape to refuse. There were a few tonics in the backpacks, but those were temporary fixes they needed to save for battles.

The Head Housemaiden took that as permission, and Siffrin closed his eyes and waited.

The world tilted around him. He wanted to throw up. It felt like electricity had gotten trapped just under the first layer of his skin, and he… was so thirsty. He drew in a slow breath and held it, all too aware of how loud everyone’s heart beat as his senses focused, instinct screaming at him to lunge, bite, drink.

He shot up, wanting to run, but instead, he fell over, Isabeau apologizing as he caught him.

“Oh, not too fast, traveling one,” the Head Housemaiden said, failing to hide her amusement when Siffrin doubled over and clapped a hand over his mouth.

The smell of blood was everywhere.

“… Are you okay?” Isabeau asked, and he frowned when Siffrin nodded. “You sure?”

“Help them to the clinic,” the Head Housemaiden ordered Isabeau in a soft but firm voice. As she spoke, though, her dark eyes remained trained on Siffrin. She watched them thoughtfully, knowingly. “It’s attached to the lab where your friend went with Housemaiden Sofiane.”

“Wait, it’s not in the same place as—”

“Rose? Yes.” The Head Housemaiden’s tone left no room for argument. “She won’t be a problem for the rest of the time you’re here, I assure you.” Her knees popped as she stood with a low grunt, hand pressing against her lower back; she waived away Isabeau’s attempts to help her to her feet. “We underestimated the effects of her… condition. My apologies, but saying more would betray her trust, which I refuse to break for any of my patients. You understand.”

The last sentence sounded more like an order, and after a moment, Isabeau nodded.

The Head Housemaiden went to check on Mirabelle and Housemaiden Aurélin, and Siffrin forced themself to turn.

Housemaiden Aurélin was still breathing.

Blood loss had left his skin pale and papery. There were new lines by his eyes and mouth, and his forehead was higher but held familiar wrinkles. His long hair was pulled back in a low tail, light strands peppered throughout the dark curls.

“He’ll be okay,” Isabeau told Siffrin, but he didn’t sound sure.

Swallowing the lump in his throat, Siffrin nodded, retrieved his dagger, and slowly rose to his feet. When he didn’t immediately fall over again, he sheathed his dagger and gave Isabeau a small nod, which sent pain scampering over his collarbone. He staggered and swayed, each step making Siffrin feel as though he were on a listing boat. Isabeau stayed close but didn’t touch him again, and after a few aborted attempts at conversation, he remained quiet as they walked down the hallway.

The clinic was through the last door on the right, and Odile walked out of the adjoining room with an unreadable expression on her face. She nodded their way and gestured to the middle of the clinic’s three beds. Siffrin took it without argument, keeping his head ducked into his collar, ignoring the pain such a motion caused. His throat and chest screamed, but he couldn’t let himself take a full breath. He sat on his hands to keep them from trembling.

“Siffrin.”

They looked up as Odile walked towards them. She stopped a couple paces away, and Siffrin’s spine went rigid. They could feel the warmth emanating from her, hear the calm beat of her heart.

“Would you like me to take your cloak and hat to wash?” she asked carefully, keeping her hands behind her back. “There’s… blood on them.”

No. Absolutely not. Thinking about having them taken from them threw Siffrin’s heart hard against their ribs.

Their cloak never stained anyway. Blood, grass, mud… it all always washed away easily enough.

But.

This was Housemaiden Aurélin’s blood on them.

Siffrin didn’t realize they’d nodded until Odile held out her hands. They took a careful, deep breath with their nose against the soft fabric of their cloak and took off their hat. They’d taken off their cloak when the Head Housemaiden and two other housemaidens brought in Housemaiden Aurélin.

“The Savior is upstairs,” the Head Housemaiden told Isabeau and Odile. When Housemaiden Aurélin was laid onto the bed in front of Siffrin, she turned to the other two housemaidens. “Housemaiden Luca, please lead these two there to join her. Housemaiden Harini, go help with Rose.”

“Yes, Head Housemaiden,” the shorter of the two housemaidens said, and the other motioned for Odile and Isabeau to follow him.

Both hesitated.

Isabeau, who stood by the foot of Siffrin’s bed, said, “One of us should probably stay—”

“I’m sorry,” the Head Housemaiden said, hands folded in front of her chest. “We have strict guidelines here when it comes to our patients’ privacy. Housemaiden Luca will bring you back in for them when everything looks to be in order.”

Isabeau hesitated again while Luca waited patiently at the door. The Head Housemaiden followed Harini into the lab; Sofiane started to say something before being shushed.

“I know she didn’t mean it,” the Head Housemaiden said, but Siffrin couldn’t hear what she said after.

Siffrin’s lungs burned.

“Isa…” they eked out, making him jump. “I’m okay.”

They tried for a smile but weren’t sure if they succeeded. Regardless, Isabeau nodded.

“Okay.” He nodded again. “We’ll be right back for you. You can’t get rid of us that easy.”

Odile chuckled. “That’s right, young one. We’re not letting go of someone with your Craft ability anytime soon, and I need to give these back to you in person.” She held up his hat and cloak, carefully folded in her arms. “It’s only good manners, after all.”

Siffrin could only smile, which seemed to be the right response, because Odile and Isabeau smiled at him before leaving. Luca closed the door behind them, and Siffrin let his smile fall.

Covering his nose and mouth with his hands, Siffrin breathed carefully, slowly, trying their hardest to focus on the smell of old leather, dust, and sweat.

All they smelled was blood.

“Here, traveling one.”

Siffrin’s head snapped up as he scrambled back until he hit the bed’s metal headframe.

The Head Housemaiden remained still at the foot of the bed, a large, handleless teacup in her hands. The liquid inside was dark. It was thick enough to cling to the porcelain, and Siffrin looked from it to her face in dawning horror.

“Please,” she pleaded gently. “You need your strength to help me heal you. I hold no judgment over your condition, traveling one. You’re not the first case I’ve seen.”

This is why you came here, isn’t it? Siffrin couldn’t stop shaking. Just take it!

He looked at the lab door, then the door leading to the hallway.

“What your companions know will be up to you,” the Head Housemaiden assured. “I take my patients’ privacy very seriously, and as of now, this includes you, regardless of how long or short you choose your stay with us to be.”

She had a careful but confident cadence of speech that made Siffrin wonder briefly if she’d once found home on a stage.

Swallowing, Siffrin nodded and scooted forward on the bed. The lack of weight from his cloak and hat left him feeling oddly light. He almost felt as though he were floating inside his body, and he started to reach for the cup but stopped, unsure if he’d be able to hold onto it.

Understanding, the Head Housemaiden took a step forward before pausing. She nodded and closed the gap between them at Siffrin’s nod.

She tilted the cup carefully as Siffrin drank, fangs clinking against the porcelain as he fought the instinct to bite. Too soon, it was gone, and Siffrin grasped his hair as he curled up into a ball at the edge of the bed.

“Deep breaths, traveling one,” the Head Housemaiden ordered in a soft voice. “Forcing yourself to hold your breath for too long makes it worse, I’ve found.” She followed his gaze to Aurélin. “I can see your control, traveling one. You won’t be losing your grip on it yet. I’ll be right back with more blood.”

Siffrin wanted to laugh at how casually she said she was fetching blood for them to drink. Where’d she even get it? It was human blood; Siffrin would be able to tell if it wasn’t.

Did it matter?

A housemaiden—head housemaiden, even!—wouldn’t hurt someone, not for a monster like him.

They stared at their old guardian.

Aurélin had been laid so he faced the other way, and his hair was draped over one shoulder. Just like back at the group home all those years ago, he wore only one earring—a small, darkless stud in the shape of a star.

When the Head Housemaiden returned, Siffrin took the cup from her and drank.

The ache in their throat eased. When they were finished, they drew a deep breath in… and let it out.

The Head Housemaiden held out a hand. “I’ll give this to Housemaiden Sofiane to clean now that they’re finally bandaged up. She doesn't do well with nothing to do.”

Siffrin could relate.

He wanted to lick it clean, but he nodded and handed her the cup. He went back to staring at Aurélin as she left, shifting to sit cross-legged atop the bed.

“Do you know him?” the Head Housemaiden asked as she approached.

Instead of answering, Siffrin asked, “What happened earlier? With Rose.”

The Head Housemaiden hesitated as she considered what to say—how much she could say. “… Something that can be mitigated in the future as knowledge of her condition furthers.” Seeing she wasn’t going to get an answer to her own question, she stepped in front of Siffrin and held out her hands, palms up. “I’ve found that your condition sets up a resistance to Healing Craft, but after drinking blood, I should be able to help you enough to rejoin your companions without much issue, so you shouldn't get cravings again too soon.”

Resistance to Healing Craft? Siffrin had never needed Healing Craft aside from first arriving in Vaugarde as a child. They didn’t remember much of those early days; their first solid memory was being alone in a dimly lit room, hungry.

Their body healed itself just fine, but after some hesitation, they rested their hands over the Head Housemaiden’s.

Healing Craft felt… weird.

It didn’t crackle the air around it like Battle Craft skills. It pushed into Siffrin like a tide, like water filling a teapot through the spout.

He closed his eyes and focused his breathing to avoid accidentally setting up mental resistance against the Craft flowing through him.

In

.

.

.

.

.

Out.

Their feet tingled. They imagined roots growing from them, pushing through their boots and the stone floor. The roots spread wide and deep, anchoring them to the earth as the tingling rose up to their shoulders, their neck, their head. They imagined thin branches arching upwards, through the ceiling, through the second and third floors, past the sky and reaching for the stars high above and invisible in the sun’s light.

In…

Siffrin drew energy from above.

Out…

They allowed it to pass through their branches, their body, their roots, and into the earth below.

When they opened their eyes, the Head Housemaiden was smiling, and Siffrin no longer felt as though they were floating inside their own body.

“There.” The Head Housemaiden retracted her hands. “Your ribs might still feel sore for a day or so, but you’re fit for traveling with the Savior, if you still wish to leave here.”

… Did he?

He thought about staying here, drinking blood from teacups and learning more about his condition.

He thought of the confused and hurt look on Isabeau’s and Mirabelle’s faces.

Mirabelle might try to hide it, he thought. She would ask why he was leaving them, and Siffrin wouldn’t have an answer he could tell her.

Odile would probably only look disappointed.

It was hard for Siffrin to gauge how much any of them cared about him. He’d only been with them for about three days. They might be confused, hurt, disappointed, but they’d forget about him eventually.

At the thought, Siffrin felt as if a cold, skeletal hand grasped his heart and squeezed tight.

“… Thank you,” he whispered, voice hollow.

The Head Housemaiden’s brow furrowed in worry. She opened her mouth, closed it, and adjusted her glasses in a way that made Siffrin think of Odile.

“Um…” Siffrin flinched when she looked at them. They cleared their throat and pulled their flask’s strap over their head. “S-sorry, you probably don’t have much to spare, but this is Crafted to keep anything inside it fresh, and…”

Their heart thudded in their chest.

Thankfully, the Head Housemaiden could easily figure out what they were asking and gently took the flask from their outstretched hands.

“Of course, though would you mind if I have Housemaiden Sofiane use their Examine skill on it?” She smiled, eyes glittering with curiosity and mirth when Siffrin said it was okay. “Thank you, traveling one. It might take some time. There’s a basin in the corner to wash your face, and if you grow bored while waiting for me, you’re welcome to browse the books we keep here.”

“Thank you.”

“Oh, thank you, traveling one.” The Head Housemaiden inspected the flask as though it were a holy object. “If we’re able to replicate such Crafting, this would be so much help for Rose and any others with the same condition.”

“… Is Rose the only one of… our condition here?” Siffrin was confused. The old man said he’d seen three others before him.

“Hmm…” Again, the Head Housemaiden hesitated as she considered how much she could say. “At this time, she’s the only one of your condition staying here long-term, yes.”

The wording only gave Siffrin more questions, but the Head Housemaiden was already heading towards the lab, flowing dress billowing about her long legs.

Oh, well. Siffrin doubted she’d answer anything about the others. It was annoying, but at the same time, it made Siffrin feel safe in the fact that she also wouldn’t tell anyone about him.

After a few minutes of sitting on the bed, Siffrin grew bored and hopped to his feet. They winced in pain, but after drawing in a deep breath, they found that while sore, the pain in their ribs wasn't bad enough to impede their breathing. They’d suffered worse and for longer, but Siffrin banished the memories from their mind and went to the far corner. A tall, wooden table held up a large bowl of water, the porcelain crafted to keep it lukewarm.

They pulled off their gloves and stuffed them into their back pocket. They pushed up their sleeves past their elbows, revealing a web of scars on the underside of one arm and a single, long and puckered scar on the other.

Ignoring them and the memories they held against his skin, Siffrin splashed his face and hair. He touched the ear he’d cut by accident, wincing in pain. It had stopped bleeding, at least, and it would heal completely before the day was over. Water dripped down his neck, and his fingers caught knots in his hair as he tried to comb it back from his face. The clean towel hanging nearby was soft and smelled like flowers.

Flowers. Rose.

Nearly darkless hair and pallid skin. Eyes just light enough to show cat-like pupils. Long, sharp canine teeth with small grooves that allowed her prey to bleed.

Siffrin ran the tip of his still-stinging tongue over the front of one of his fangs, finding the groove that allowed him to do the same.

He turned and stared at Aurélin’s pale, angular face. He was breathing, thin lips parted and one hand reaching past his pillow as if searching for someone that wasn’t there.

It would be easier to know how they felt if he’d been terrible, if he’d been a monster, a shadow haunting Siffrin’s nightmares.

Instead, he was just a man. Stern and often impatient. Overwhelmed but apologetic soon as he realized he’d done wrong. Tired and in mourning but frustrated when he couldn’t remember what it was he mourned.

“Fill that void with knowledge,” he’d tell Siffrin when they grew irate at their lack of memories and lash out at the other children because of it. “It will make navigating those gaps easier.”

Looking back, Siffrin wondered if Aurélin had been trying to convince himself more than them.

They… didn’t want to think about that anymore.

Most of the books filling the clinic’s shelves were nonfiction. The wide array of history books and memoirs made them think Aurélin spent much of his time here.

Siffrin frowned and grabbed a book at random.

It was a collection of southern Vaugardian folktales, connecting them to real-life stories. Some were unarguable truth while most were speculations. He sat on the floor with his back against a narrow space of wall between the bookcase and a desk. He flipped from tale to tale in the book, unable to retain anything he read. He skimmed a story about the ghost that appeared in front of children wandering in a town in southwestern Vaugarde after dark and hugged them until their bones broke, looking up when the main door opened.

“Siffrin? Siffrin?!”

“I’m sure—”

Mirabelle pushed past Luca, cutting him off, and Siffrin swore as he knocked his shoulder against the desk as he stood.

“I’m right here,” he said as he set the book aside and rubbed his shoulder. “Sorry…”

Mirabelle, standing by the beds, turned and slumped as she exhaled in relief. She ran up to Siffrin but stopped dead in her tracks when he flinched, and she bit the inside of her cheek and kept her hands in front of her chest.

Her expression was eerily blank, and goose pimples erupted up Siffrin’s arms as he realized his sleeves were still pushed up past his elbows.

“I told you they were alright,” Isabeau said, and before he could see the scars too, Siffrin yanked down his sleeves.

After a beat, Mirabelle recovered and smiled softly at Isabeau and then Siffrin. “Yeah, you were right. I shouldn’t have worried.”

She was worried. About… him.

“Sorry we took a while,” Odile said, and Mirabelle stepped aside as she brought over Siffrin’s cloak and hat.

“The orb was up high and kept changing places?” Isabeau shook his head as he crossed his arms over his chest. “Pretty weird, but Mira finally got it down.”

As Siffrin pulled their gloves back on, Mirabelle sighed.

“No offense, Isabeau,” she said in a small voice, “but I never want to stand on your shoulders again. That was terrifying.”

“That was pretty quick thinking, though,” Odile said with light praise. “After doing that, it shouldn’t be long before you’re able to finally do that shield skill you’ve been learning.”

“Thank you, Madame.” Mirabelle smiled and turned to look at Aurélin, her smile dropping. “Oh, good. I’m glad his breathing is stronger.” She felt the inside of his wrist. “His pulse, too. I’ve never had to use Healing Craft for blood loss before. I wasn’t sure if it would work.”

Siffrin said nothing as he adjusted his cloak. The lab’s door opened as he took his hat from Odile with a nod of thanks.

“Ah, Saviors!” The Head Housemaiden smiled. “Housemaiden Luca, thank you. How is everyone?”

“It’s calming down now,” he answered, and Siffrin noticed that his accent was Poterian. “I think I’ll hold my next lecture out in the gardens, though. Fresh air might be good for them.”

“That sounds like a good idea.” The Head Housemaiden smiled as she returned the flask to Siffrin.

It felt fuller than he’d expected, and he smiled with gratitude.

Housemaiden Luca nodded and bid the party a safe journey.

“We’ll probably need more water, too,” Isabeau chuckled, and Siffrin flinched slightly as he adjusted the strap under his cloak, so his flask rested over his chest. “If it’s not too much trouble, m’dame Head Housemaiden.”

“None at all,” she assured. “Follow me. The kitchens aren’t too far. You’ll need food for your journey. Where are you heading to next?”

Walking alongside the Head Housemaiden once they were out of the clinic, Mirabelle answered, “I think I feel the third orb not too far from here. Further up in the mountains.”

“Hmm… More of the roads are opening, but I do hope it’s not up in the peaks.” The Head Housemaiden sounded worried, and Siffrin looked at Odile as she watched him.

When he tilted his head, she gestured for him to go first.

“And try not to run headfirst into danger. Again,” she deadpanned, sighing when Siffrin winked and followed after Isabeau and Mirabelle.

“… old building in that area,” the Head Housemaiden was saying. “Do be careful there, Savior. That had been a fortress hundreds of years ago, and even after all these years, it’s possible that some of its traps are in place.”

“We’ll be fine,” Isabeau said with surety when Mirabelle hesitated.

“I’m good with traps,” Siffrin piped up, surprising himself. His cheeks darkened when Mirabelle and Isabeau looked back at him. “I-I—I’m good at finding and disabling them, I mean.”

“That’s good,” Odile said, and Siffrin couldn’t tell if she was genuine or simply indulging him. “It’d be terrible to be knocked out this early on in the journey.”

“Indeed,” the Head Housemaiden agreed, nodding to a few students that waved at her and the party. “Well, if that’s where the next one is, I can lend you flint and steel my bonding partner imbued with Craft. It can set any wood on fire, even if it’s wet. Storms can be unpredictable there, so it’ll be a great deal of help.”

“Thank you,” Odile said, and Mirabelle nodded as she stuttered her own thanks.

As Siffrin walked alongside him, Isabeau bent down to ask, “Uh… where’d you learn to deal with traps?”

Siffrin only winked, mouth curved into a smirk.

Isabeau’s cheeks darkened as he looked away.

Chapter Text

Many years of traveling by himself had left Siffrin a rather unfinished and skewed view of which parts of himself were normal and which set him into the category of Other.

While Mirabelle and Isabeau had grown up in different parts of Vaugarde and with drastically different experiences in some respects, there were enough threads tying them together that showed that whether from a big city or rural village, whether devout or a borderline skeptic, whether a student or with years of working experience… they were both Vaugardian. Their roots connected in a way Siffrin had never known—could never know.

The party’s second night outside of Voimort had them huddled around a fire under a jutting rock. Marks along the wall showed that this shallow cave—though calling it that felt like calling a closet a ballroom—had been created some time ago, to protect those long-ago travelers from the elements. Light rain stirred the quickly and dramatically cooling air, surrounding them in fog thick enough that Siffrin thought to try pressing their hand against it.

Everyone ate the last of the turon one of the Voimort House’s cooks had given them, insisting they take as much food as they could carry. The cook had moved to Vaugarde from Baktan’s largest island years ago, and Siffrin found himself remembering his time on that small northern Baktan island, left only with his cloak, hat, dagger, and what few items had managed to remain in his pockets.

The moon was waning, nearing its halfway point to darkness, but Siffrin looked up through fog and trees and remembered how full and heavy it had looked over Baktan’s lightless sea. The balmy air around him had cooled, and Siffrin sat, gloves cast aside as he lifted handful after handful of dark sand, watching as it spilled between their fingers like echoes of a memory that left his head aching the longer he tried to grasp it.

“Hm?” he asked, returning to the present.

The air was thinner, colder, but just as wet. A fire crackled close enough to make sweat dot his brow, light and shadows dancing across Odile’s stern expression. She’d been speaking.

Whoops… Siffrin had learned that she hated being ignored and didn’t like having to repeat herself. “S-sorry… You were saying something about rationing?”

“Yes, I was.” Odile’s voice was flat, and Mirabelle cast Siffrin an apologetic look. “If Mirabelle’s and Housemaiden Clair’s estimations are correct, the abandoned fortress we’re heading to will take—at best—a week to reach it.”

“We started with the fried stuff, since we don’t have a good way of reheating it,” Isabeau said around the last bite of his turon.

He’d eaten the one with ube smeared inside, since Siffrin hadn’t wanted to try it after Odile said that ube was a type of yam. It didn’t matter that people said yams weren’t the same as sweet potatoes or that sweet potatoes and potatoes shared little more than the name. They were close enough; Siffrin didn’t want to eat them.

The kind with jackfruit inside was fine; Siffrin liked the texture. The wrapper wasn’t as crunchy as the ones he’d eaten yesterday, though.

“And we were given plenty of rice,” Odile said, “and besides rain, maps showed that there should be plenty of water sources for us to cook it. We’ll save that for later on, though I’m sure if the temperature continues to drop, we’ll all enjoy a bowl of congee.” She glanced around at the others’ questioning looks. “Rice porridge. We call it okayu in Ka Bue, but we make it primarily as a dish for when you’re sick, so it’s usually served rather plain, maybe with simple toppings like egg or pickled plum. Congee might be made with fish or chicken, ginger and other seasonings, and while traveling, I’ve had it topped with lemongrass.”

Siffrin couldn’t help but hum as they imagined eating a warm bowl of rice porridge, and their cheeks darkened when Isabeau laughed while Odile watched them with amusement.

Also smiling, Mirabelle said, “The bags of mixed nuts and dried fruit can be saved just for snacks during the day. Walking up here will tire us out more.”

“Very true.” Odile opened her book and stopped a loose sheet of paper from fluttering towards the fire, which Isabeau fed, casting sparks all around them. “Careful, Isabeau. Now, if we stick to the rations I wrote out”—she gave Siffrin a pointed look, smirking when his nose scrunched up as he frowned—“the prepared food we have will last us seven days.”

“Even with the Crafted foil,” Isabeau said, “some of those won’t stay hot long.”

“That is correct.” Odile sighed. “We’ll start with the hot food, then. Cold food like the smoked fish will keep longer anyway. We also have some dried sausages to use for cooking, which I think we should save for when we switch to rice dishes. We don’t have many spices with us, so we’ll need meat at least to provide something.” She sighed again. “But we don’t exactly have many of those sausages. At best, they’ll only last us three days, and we don’t know which direction we’ll be going after retrieving this orb, do we?” She looked to Mirabelle and gave a nod when she shook her head. “Right…”

“I mean…” Siffrin startled when Odile looked at him with raised eyebrows. “W-well… Hunting’s always an option, too, right? Pretty sure I saw deer and rabbits on our way up.”

Mirabelle made an upset noise, likely at the thought of killing an animal or watching it be killed.

Siffrin somewhat wished they could relate, but it was hard not to get annoyed. They did their best to keep their attention on Odile when she said, “We could, if we…” Her smug expression melted into a more serious one as she watched Siffrin. “Ah, you’re saying you know how to hunt. Hmm… You… don’t use the knife you Craft with for hunting, do you?”

Mirabelle gasped at the thought, while Isabeau looked at Siffrin with disbelief.

“Is that… bad…?” Siffrin suddenly wished he hadn’t eaten his turon so fast. Something, anything, to occupy his hands. They kept them balled in their lap.

It should be fine, right? They always cleaned their dagger after dressing whatever animal they’d hunted.

After a few seconds that stretched out long enough for Siffrin to feel like the silence was wrapping around their neck, Odile said haltingly, “It’s not… bad… necessarily…”

Siffrin waited for a but that didn’t come.

Instead, Odile said, “We’ll need to save that option for later, though. After we’ve finished eating what we have and can reuse the Crafted foil.”

Rain sprayed them as it fell harder. The fire sputtered but didn’t die, and Siffrin helped Isabeau set up a tarp to cover the cave’s entrance. The four set up their bedrolls around the fire, Siffrin thanking them again for his own.

“You don’t have to keep mentioning it,” Isabeau told him after a yawn. “We can’t let you sleep on the ground!”

“He’s right,” Mirabelle agreed. “And… uh, how’d you usually get money before? S-sorry, that’s—”

Siffrin laughed. “It’s fine, and I did random odd jobs usually. Years ago, gambling—”

“Gambling?” Mirabelle looked aghast, and Siffrin shrunk into the collar of their cloak.

If that was her reaction to them gambling, Siffrin was never going to tell her about the theft.

They continued, “O-or if there was some kind of festival, I could usually find an artist willing to share their table with me, so I could sell wood carvings.”

“Oh, you’ve mentioned you did carvings!” Isabeau grinned, and Siffrin returned the smile a beat later.

Had they…? When?

Reading Siffrin’s expression, Isabeau suddenly looked a little awkward. “Uh, at the cat café? You mentioned you gave a carving you made to your not-date.”

Odile snorted at not-date, and Siffrin’s lips parted in a small O.

Ah. Right. He was going to need to remember what he said to everyone. Keeping his character sheet in order was going to be impossible otherwise.

Before he could think of what to say next, Odile said, “Time to sleep, children. I don’t mind you and Mirabelle talking when it’s in your own tent, but I’d rather you not keep me awake.”

“Oh, sorry, M’dame,” Isabeau said with an embarrassed chuckle.

“Are you okay keeping first watch again, Siffrin?” Mirabelle asked as she adjusted the dark, satin cap covering her hair.

Reaching for his borrowed book, Siffrin replied, “I’m fine. It’s easier for me to stay up than wake up anyway.”

“We’ve noticed,” Odile deadpanned, and Siffrin bit their bottom lip while staring at the ground. “And now that we have that settled—”

“Bedtime!” Isabeau cheered, and Siffrin and Mirabelle tittered as Odile rolled her eyes while settling under her blankets.

Mirabelle and Isabeau both tucked themselves in tightly to keep their blankets from touching the dirt too much, and Siffrin found where they’d left off and continued reading. Their mouth moved around each word silently, brow crinkling now and then when they reached words they didn’t know and weren’t sure how to sound out.

They’d only gotten through two more chapters when Mirabelle stirred awake for her shift.

“… Is it bad?” she whispered anxiously, and Siffrin startled. “Sorry.”

Giving her a smile, Siffrin crept closer to her bedroll and pointed at the latest word he’d struggled with. Her brow furrowed, but when she saw the questioning look on Siffrin’s face, realization dawned.

“Oh!” She glanced at Odile and let out a long breath when she didn’t wake. Mirabelle lightly cleared her throat and looked at the word again. “It says ‘augury.’ It means omen, but in this context, it’s divination.” She looked away when Siffrin looked confused again. “Um… divination’s telling the future? Sort of? In this one, it’s telling the future using birds.”

Ah, okay. Siffrin probably could have figured that out from the context… if they’d read the passage multiple times. The lyrical writing style was hard to parse at times.

“Thank you,” they whispered, and Mirabelle smiled.

“Of course. Are you liking it so far?” Her eyes sparkled in the firelight.

No, not really. They didn’t hate it, though, and despite their grudges against the poetic style, it at least kept the book from being too scary.

Siffrin nodded, smiling when Mirabelle beamed.

She shooed Siffrin back into his bedroll, and he continued to smile as he slid the book under his pillow and curled up under his blanket. He dreamed of playing poker against a younger version of themself, a shadow wearing a crown of stars, someone that looked like a fusion of Rose and Aurélin, and a person whose face wouldn’t stop changing.

“Is it safe?” Mirabelle didn’t sound sure. She pulled her cape around her. It was longer than the capelet she usually wore, and the collar had fur lining on the inside.

“It is definitely not safe.” Odile struggled to keep her voice even.

The trail had ended.

More specifically, the footpath had ended. There were bent rods of metal that had been inserted along the sheer wall on their left side, giving them a short ladder and hand and footholds. Those would take them several meters up and forward to where a new path would lead them up the final length to the abandoned fortress.

Leaning against the wall to get as far from the ledge to their right as she could, Odile flipped through her book with trembling hands. Her gloves made it hard for her to turn the pages, and she spat out Ka Buan and Vaugardian swears. The trail was so narrow that they were forced to walk single-file, this time with Siffrin in front. They were close enough to the abandoned fortress that the threat of hidden traps loomed greater over their heads.

Was this the first trap?

Siffrin tilted their hat and pressed an ear against the wall, listening as Odile desperately searched their map for an alternate path.

“What’cha doing, Siffrin?” Isabeau asked. He took up the rear, carrying both packs this time and wearing a dark, turtleneck sweater with sleeves that hugged his biceps and tighter pants that had a tear below the right knee.

He’d insisted on carrying both packs, saying Siffrin needed freer movement in case they stumbled over any traps and that Mirabelle needed to stay free to heal them, just in case. Odile had been so distracted by their altitude that she hadn’t bothered to say she could carry the second one. That or she’d feared the weight would make it more likely for her to fall.

The slope to their right was steep, and while a fall wouldn’t likely be fatal with the ledges and craigs, Siffrin wasn’t in a hurry to test such a theory. He’d fallen over a cliff once, saved by tangled roots, a housemaiden, and probably a lot of luck. He wasn’t in any hurry to relive history.

“If the wall is boobytrapped,” Siffrin said, “I’d hear something. Rocks sliding, knocking, something like that to make this wall throw people off it.”

He drew in a deep, careful breath. He smelled pine and petrichor. Pigeon droppings, but whatever pigeons usually spent time here had since left to wait until the intruders were gone.

No Craft.

Doing those jobs that had made Siffrin vow to never enter Asmu’ur ever again had been good for three lessons: 1) Picking locks; 2) Finding hidden things; and 3) That even after hundreds of years, when Craft had been used to set up a trap—and said trap was still active—they could still smell a hint of it in the surrounding air.

Siffrin wouldn’t be alive to return to Vaugarde if they hadn’t learned that third lesson specifically.

He thought of Rose.

… Or maybe he would.

No. No, he wasn’t going to think about that. He wasn’t going to think about her.

“… Even if it doesn’t have traps—” Odile cut herself off. Her clumsily-painted stoic mask was slipping.

Siffrin pulled off a glove to scratch at the light scruff dotting their chin. The hairs grew slowly and sparsely, at least, but the growth always irritated their skin. They could have shaved this morning, but after the looks they’d gotten about using their knife for both Crafting and hunting, they didn’t want to chance seeing those same expressions when their party learned that they also used the same knife to shave.

“Is there another path, M’dame?” Isabeau asked. “Even if it takes a few more days, it’ll be fine. The orb isn’t going anywhere.” He glanced up at Mirabelle and Siffrin to silently tell them not to argue.

Both bit their bottom lips, looking sheepish. Siffrin put his glove back on.

“…” Odile slammed her book shut. Her nails dug into the leather cover. She spoke through clenched teeth. “There is... But. But it takes us further up the peak. It will take much longer, and likely it will be more perilous.”

The wind picked up, singing against the rocks and through the trees.

Looking from the wall to his party members, Siffrin thought.

“Think you could hang onto me, M’dame?” Isabeau asked gently, coming to the solution moments before Siffrin did.

“I can carry one of the packs,” they offered. Facing Mirabelle, they asked, “Can you climb across with the other? I can always climb back for it if not.”

Mirabelle opened her mouth but then closed it. After swallowing, she said, “Honestly, I don’t know. I’ve never gone climbing with something weighing me down before.”

“Well, this is definitely not the place to test that.” Odile drew in a deep breath, but her hands still shook. She hugged her book against her chest and leaned against the wall as much as she could as the wind threatened to tear her hair out of its bun. “S-Siffrin. You’re sure?”

“I can always climb back and forth for them,” Isabeau offered, but his tone didn’t portray confidence.

Odile’s face paled, and Siffrin quickly said, “Yeah, I’m sure. I’ve made climbs bigger than this while carrying supplies.”

Carrying stolen money and artifacts, more like, but his party didn’t need to know that part.

Once, those bags had been too heavy for Siffrin, nearly causing them to fall and leading them to drop a satchel full of counterfeit coins and copper tablets to avoid capture, but they didn’t need to know about that either.

This wall wasn’t just a deep crack going up the wall, at least. They couldn’t be sure how secure all the metal rods were, but even if they were all perfectly secure, free-handing a climb still wasn’t the safest—

Oh! Siffrin smiled as he spied pegs meant for looping a line through.

“Which of the packs has rope in it?” he asked, and he quickly started saying his plan as panic flashed across Odile’s face. “I can go with just rope first”—he pointed at the peg closest to the other side—“I’ll attach rope to that. That way I can bring the packs over more safely.” And faster, but there was no need to remind the others that sunset was fast approaching. “Then you guys can use the rope. I can set it up so that I’m holding the other end for you, Mirabelle, and then both of us holding on for Isabeau and Odile.”

“That sounds like it could work!” Isabeau cheered, and Siffrin’s cheeks warmed.

Odile was still pale and looked unsure, but when Mirabelle asked if she was okay with the plan, she nodded.

“It’s our best option,” Odile relented. “The ‘ice corridor,’ even if we reached that high, is less likely to be stable this time of year if we try going over the peak, and falling into a crevasse would be even worse.”

“Don’t worry, M’dame Odile,” Isabeau said with a smile on his face. “Defender school had us do exercises where we had to carry people. I’ll make sure you get to the other side just fine.”

“… Right…” Odile gave a small nod, and after another smile, Isabeau carefully pulled the packs off his back to find a long enough piece of rope.

Once the rope was in Siffrin’s hands, he flipped up his cloak, so he could show the others how to tie it around themselves. He then wound the rest over his shoulder and shook his head when Isabeau asked if he needed him to hold his hat.

“It didn’t fall off when he was fighting that Sadness or that… er, Rose,” Odile commented. “It’s probably been Crafted to stay in place. My glasses are the same, though there are still limitations to such Crafting. They’d still get knocked off from someone striking me for instance.”

It was obvious that she was starting to babble out of nervousness, but Mirabelle asked her questions about that type of Craft to help distract her while Siffrin stepped onto the first of the metal bars. It was just wide enough to hold both his feet, and the others slowly angled right as they moved up, the depths somewhat uneven but all holding firm under his weight.

He made sure to move slowly, both to ensure each bar could hold his weight and as to not accidentally antagonize Odile. He was sure he’d end up with an earful about his carelessness and recklessness as she had that first night away from Voimort. She’d determined that once they had the third orb and were on flatter land, they needed to start learning how to operate as a team when fighting. No more splitting off to run headfirst into danger.

Mirabelle’s embarrassed expression had shown that Odile’s order had been aimed her way as much as it had been Siffrin’s.

“Sif, be—”

“Hush, Isabeau,” Odile hissed. “Distracting them will only make him more likely to slip.”

Hooking one arm under a metal rod, Siffrin gave a thumbs-up with their other hand but didn’t take their eyes off the looping peg just above their head. The peg scraped the wide brim of their hat, and Odile muttered something under her breath. It sounded like she should have agreed with Isabeau about them holding Siffrin’s hat for them.

Carefully, Siffrin unwound the rope and stepped up onto a higher metal rod, causing his body to almost double over. He threaded the rope around the rod he had his arm hanging on first, then when he had a good grip, he slowly straightened his body, no longer holding onto the top metal rod. Ignoring Odile swearing and Mirabelle suggesting she look away, Siffrin grabbed the loop of metal with his free hand and pulled.

When it didn’t slip out of the rockface, Siffrin breathed slowly and deeply as they threaded the rope and pulled until it went taut between their torso and the wall. They’d never spotted themself like this before, but they’d had plenty of experience free handing, so they wrapped the slack rope around their right arm and kept climbing towards the other side, only pausing every few steps to ensure nothing tangled.

Siffrin hopped off onto the opposite ledge while holding onto the rope.

“You good, Sif?” Isabeau called over the wind, and Siffrin smiled at the nickname.

Focus, focus, they told themself. Without turning around, they called back, “Good so far! I just wanted to make sure there wasn’t something waiting on the other side.”

He listened and drew a deep breath. It could be hard sometimes to separate the smell of Craft from that of nature, but Siffrin had gotten enough practice. There was the slightest… sizzle. Almost like right after lightning split the air, mingling with the scent of wet clay or wood pulp or metal.

Siffrin did not smell that here.

They flashed everyone a smile and thumbs up, and then they got to work securing the end of the rope to the top of the “ladder” the bent rods created. They tested the knot by grabbing the rope and leaning back, making Odile swear again while Isabeau tried in vain to distract her.

By the time Siffrin had both packs secure on the other side, sunlight was fading. It wouldn’t be long before it was dark, and if Odile was correct—and Siffrin couldn’t fathom questioning her calculations by now—then they still had at least three kilometers to walk before the trail led them to an area wide enough to set up camp.

Getting the rope to swing far enough to the other side for Mirabelle to catch took several tries; Siffrin’s heart beat faster as each second passing pulled them closer towards nightfall.

Still, Siffrin smiled, keeping their expression placid. Hopeful.

They focused on keeping hold on the rope, and soon enough, Mirabelle was across. She breathed heavily, each exhale marked by pale vapor rising like a prayer.

“Thank Change,” she murmured, and she untied the rope from around her torso and thighs. It had bunched up her dress around her hips, and she moved a bit to make sure the knife pleats fell to the top of her boots. “Ready, Isabeau? Ready Madame?”

“Ready, Mira!” Isabeau called back, and Odile drew in a deep breath and managed a shaky “Ready…”

Isabeau caught the rope after a few tries, and Siffrin held onto the other end with Mirabelle. He slowly moved around her to be closer to the edge, just in case, and Mirabelle opened her mouth to ask what he was doing but then instead murmured a prayer for protection.

“… Maybe you can pray too?” Her voice was soft, shy, unsure.

… To who? The Change God? The Universe? The Fates? Ancestors that Siffrin couldn’t remember ever learning the names of?

But.

Mirabelle was nervous, and if they were honest, so were they.

“… Yeah.” He swallowed, mouth dry.

Isabeau and Odile were talking and pointing at the rope.

“The Change God will listen, even when you don’t worship Them,” Mirabelle said, voice still soft, shy, unsure. “You just have to believe strongly that what you ask for will come true.”

Why ask Them, then? Siffrin might as well find a well or whisper his wish into paper cranes.

Well? Paper cranes?

Siffrin let go of the thought as pain bloomed along his temples.

Odile was climbing onto Isabeau’s back, expression showing that this whole scene was really denting her pride.

Oh, Mirabelle had asked him to pray with her.

He’d never bothered praying to the Change God before, but when Mirabelle held out a tiny statue she’d been keeping in her pocket, Siffrin took it and closed their eyes.

Believe strongly… “Keep them safe, keep them safe, keep them safe,” he whispered to the statue, then tried to hand it back.

Holding out a hand, Mirabelle said, “Keep it for now, please?”

She better not give me a pamphlet next, Siffrin thought, but they nodded and stuck the tiny statue into one of their inner cloak pockets.

Fingers of sunlight stretched across the rock wall. It wouldn’t be long now before it was dark, and Mirabelle started to panic.

“Grab the torch,” Siffrin said calmly, and Mirabelle sucked down a breath.

“Torch. Right, torch.” Mirabelle reluctantly let go of the rope to untie their large lantern from the side of the darker of the two packs.

It took a few tries, but once the Crafted candle was lit, Mirabelle closed the little door and swore under her breath.

“Are housemaidens allowed to say ‘crab’?” Siffrin teased, smirking when Mirabelle harumphed behind them.

“Don’t tease me, Siffrin!” she hissed. “I’m a grown-crab lady, I can say what I want!” She flinched. “… Sorry, I shouldn’t yell. I’m just worried.”

Siffrin wanted to laugh but kept their eyes on Isabeau and Odile. “Isabeau said he’s done exercises like this before. They’ll be fine.”

Mirabelle made a sound, but Siffrin didn’t want to turn back and look at her. She had the rope in her hands again, and she fell silent as the final fingers of sunlight grew thinner and dimmer.

Odile’s face was pressed against the crook of Isabeau’s neck, and the rope connected them at their waists. She hugged him underneath his arms, hands locked over his heart and one side of her coat weighed down by her Crafting book.

The lantern did little to light the wall, and even if the moon weren’t little more than a thin crescent, it and the stars were hidden by gathering clouds. Siffrin thought he could hear a distant rumble of thunder, and he gripped the rope harder.

Isabeau moved more by feel than sight, and Siffrin clenched their teeth.

They’ll make it, they’ll make it, Siffrin thought desperately, the tiny Change God statue suddenly feeling like lead in their pocket. Odile said so herself. It doesn’t look good if we get knocked out this soon in the journey.

And the Universe wouldn’t let the King succeed in freezing an entire country… would It?

The emptiness in Siffrin’s chest made itself known when they realized they didn’t know the answer.

What was the Universe to them? Not something loving or compassionate. But not something malicious or vicious.

It was neutral.

Yet.

At the same time, in Its neutrality, It was all those other things, too.

“No!”

Mirabelle’s pleading scream reached Siffrin’s mind even before they realized they were leaning back into Mirabelle while pulling on the rope with all their strength. He kicked out when his foot slipped, and the lantern went careening over the ledge as Siffrin’s muscles burned.

Whispering that prayer for protection through clenched teeth, Mirabelle leaned back and pulled.

“We’re okay!” Isabeau called up as he felt the wall for anywhere to hold onto, and Odile let out a long whine that the rest knew automatically they were never to speak about. “We’re okay!”

He continued feeling the wall, and grunting, Siffrin inched forward. Isabeau couldn’t see in the dark, and even if the lantern had helped at all, it couldn’t anymore.

More distant rumbling, and when Mirabelle whimpered, Siffrin realized that the incoming storm was now close enough for the others to hear.

Stars… He swallowed, but his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. Closer. Closer.

Pulling down on the rope, Siffrin reached the edge and looked down.

There.

Bent metal rods, hammered low on the rock, probably just for this sort of situation. Isabeau was so close…

“Reach up and to the left!” he called down.

Without question, Isabeau groped the wall there and let out a triumphant noise.

“There’s another just above it!”

Siffrin’s heavy heartbeat felt like the ticking of a clock. He could feel it in his throat as he directed Isabeau from one hold to another. Mirabelle was crying with relief as the rope slackened as Isabeau and Odile drew closer.

“Oh, thank Change, thank Change,” she whispered while keeping her grip on the rope.

“Gems above,” Odile exhaled, face darkless. “… We’re going to have to do that again when we go back, aren’t we?”

“Maybe the fortress will have a map that shows a secret way down,” Siffrin suggested, trying for a joking tone.

He and Isabeau pulled the rope down, and Isabeau carefully turned around so that Odile could get down while he still took up the rear.

“Are you both okay?” Mirabelle asked as she wiped her eyes.

“A few scrapes on my end,” Isabeau reported. “How about you, M’dame Odile?”

Odile looked down at her hands and sighed. “Ah. Same for me, but I’m otherwise alright.” She glanced towards the edge and frowned as she leaned against the wall. “… I’m guessing we won’t be getting our torch—Siffrin, if you get any closer to the crabbing edge…”

Hands up by his face, Siffrin leaned against the wall. Yeah, a normal human without almost supernatural endurance, senses, and healing abilities probably wouldn’t be able to climb down to the ledge, fetch their lantern, and carry it back up. Truth be told, Siffrin wasn’t sure if they could do it.

“Staying here all night—” Isabeau stopped when no-longer-distant thunder rumbled. “Not an option. Got it.” He looked around Odile at Siffrin, making them startle as they tried to figure out his expression.

It was too dark now to tell for sure, but he looked… thoughtful? Maybe?

“You could see those hand holds,” Isabeau said, smiling. “We can all hold onto this rope, and you can lead us to a safe place to camp!”

Now Odile was watching Siffrin, eyes widening briefly in surprise—her fear earlier must have kept her from realizing that Siffrin shouldn’t have been able to direct Isabeau where to go.

Wuh-oh… Siffrin nodded. “Y-yeah, I can do that. We’ll have to move slow though.”

“Better than slipping and falling,” Odile grumbled, and she closed her eyes as Siffrin carefully walked around Mirabelle, so he could take the lead again. “Alright. Let’s get moving.”

The tents were set up just as the heavens opened.

A rock overhang gave only enough shelter for their fire, the tent entrances facing it and tarps working hard to keep the tents from collapsing under the harsh downpour.

Lightning flashed as Siffrin held their hands up to the fire, staring into the pale flames as if they could give them lies to spin. Their speed was easy enough to write off as natural talent and years of practice, especially since they never ran at top speed in front of other people anyway. They’d usually been able to hide their injuries to keep people from seeing how quickly their cuts scabbed over or even how quickly their broken bones set themselves.

“Not scared of storms, I hope.”

Siffrin jumped at Odile’s voice. “N-no. I like storms.” They watched as Odile sat cross-legged next to them and stared into the fire. “Did you want to take first watch instead?”

“Oh, no… I’m still catching my breath after all… that.” Odile’s hands curled into fists in her lap to keep them from trembling. “Thank you, Siffrin. I’m not sure how long we would have been hanging there if…” She drew in another breath. “I’m glad you and Mirabelle were there.”

“I am, too.” Siffrin flexed his fingers and looked over the tents as lightning flashed again, thunder booming nearly simultaneously.

“No book tonight?”

“I don’t think I want to think about ghosts right now.”

“Ha!” Odile leaned back against the rock as she laughed, the sound tumbling out of her as though all her earlier fear and anxiety were finally escaping from her chest.

Siffrin laughed along with her, having to wipe tears from his eyes. He wasn’t sure what exactly he was laughing about. He just wanted to curl up in a corner somewhere.

“Oh, oh, I don’t think I would want to either,” Odile whispered, laughter still tinting her voice. “All that and only scratches.” She let out a long breath. “You didn’t hurt yourself, I hope.”

Putting on a reassuring smile, Siffrin held up his hands to her. “Gloves. I’m fine.”

“Hmm…” Odile took hold of their left wrist, making Siffrin’s eyes go wide as his spine straightened. Her thumb pressed against his pulse for a few seconds before she leaned back, letting go. “Ah, my apologies, Siffrin. I thought I saw something. Might have been rust. Those metal bars had been there for quite some time.”

She was lying. Her heart was beating fast and hard inside her chest. She smelled like salt; she was sweating, fearful.

Siffrin thought of Housemaiden Aurélin holding their arm, which had been broken so cleanly only an hour prior. They thought of him staring in disbelief, musing aloud if he’d imagined the break, despite having seen with his own eyes the way bone had stuck out through Siffrin’s pale skin.

They refused to think of what had happened next. Of what those fishermen in Bambouche discovered that fateful morning.

Siffrin kept smiling and nodded. He lowered his hands to his lap and felt his heart in his throat.

“I think I’m ready for sleep now,” Odile said as she stood, knees popping. “Goodnight, Siffrin. Don’t stay up chatting with Isabeau when he takes over. We need you alert tomorrow to find any traps that might be around the fortress.”

You should go, Siffrin thought as they took out their flask. You should just go.

They stared out at the rain, uncapped their flask, and swallowed a mouthful of cold blood.

Chapter Text

The thing about a character sheet was that it was supposed to remain static once finalized. A character remained that character from rehearsal to when the curtains fell. There may be misdirection or lies by omission, but by the end, everything the character said and did could be tied back to the core of who they were, how they fit in within their slice of the wider world, what they represented for the narrative.

But a character sheet could not be finalized if everyone else’s lines and actions forced the blinding story to continually shift.

But then… People were so much more complicated than characters, weren’t they? They went against their own goals and contradicted their own moral codes. Many resorted to lying and cheating and hurting, not always out of selfishness but so, so often in desperate need to save themselves or those they loved.

So often, people acted out, moved by motivations even they themselves overlooked, because they didn’t plan, they simply acted—and not to the beats of a script.

Siffrin couldn’t remember what he’d said to Isabeau by the time he took over the watch. They hoped it was at least a good night, but all they could register when entering their tent was that Odile wasn’t asleep.

She was lying on her back and breathing deeply, but they were measured, quiet breaths. If she were truly asleep, there would be the occasional hitch, her breathing growing shallower, faster, broken up by a gasp before she settled again. The breathing of someone regularly plagued by nightmares, though Siffrin had no way of knowing if she remembered any of them once she was awake.

He paused in the entrance, and when Odile’s breathing grew deeper, slower, he knew. She’d realized he noticed that she was awake.

Maybe she’d say nothing. She’d faced a huge fear of hers earlier, nearly faced great injury or even death; it made sense that she’d have trouble sleeping. She wouldn’t want Siffrin bringing it up.

They pulled off their boots, set aside their hat, placed their flask next to their pillow, and climbed under their blanket, mainly using it to only cover their legs. Their cloak kept the rest of their body warm enough.

“Siffrin.”

He tensed. “… Yes?”

“Why were you heading to Voimort?”

Mirabelle must have told her and Isabeau that he’d been heading there. Stars… What else had they said about them behind their back?

Odile stayed silent as she waited for an answer.

What could Siffrin tell her? She hated when people lied, and she’d become better at figuring out Siffrin’s tells.

That was going to be a problem…

He needed something with more than a grain of truth to it. He needed to give her something and let her assumptions fill in the gaps.

He didn’t want to say it… He couldn’t… Even thinking of divulging such information hurt…

But.

She’d gotten better at reading him, but he’d gotten better at reading her.

If he gave her this much…

She’d leave it alone.

Maybe.

Hopefully.

For a while, at least. Long enough for him to complete Siffrin the Traveler’s character sheet; ensure each I was dotted and each T was crossed.

Stars, stars, please let her leave it alone!

Already, they felt like they were taking their dagger to their own flesh, peeling it away, allowing their blood to dye their cloak dark, dark, dark.

Mouth dry and hands curling into fists, Siffrin whispered, “Do… do you remember Housemaiden Aurélin?”

A beat of silence, and Siffrin pulled off his gloves. They’d forgotten they were still wearing them.

“The…” Odile paused, thought, considered. “The housemaiden that was attacked. By the… by Rose.”                                                                                            

Siffrin barely managed to keep himself from flinching as he recalled Rose hissing in his face, how Aurélin’s blood sprayed off her tongue and across his face and cloak and hat.

Thunder boomed. The tarp angled over the tent had blocked most of the lightning’s flash.

“… Yeah.” His voice was flat. He paused, but it seemed Odile was waiting for him to continue. “He… Um. This isn’t my first time in Vaugarde. I lived here for a few years as a kid. And.” He tried to swallow, but it felt like a stone had appeared in his throat.

He closed his eyes and breathed in… and out…

“… And…?” Odile prompted, sounding like she was beginning to lose patience.

When they next spoke, Siffrin’s voice echoed flatly in their ears. They felt as though they were floating centimeters above their body. “And Housemaiden Aurélin ran the group home I lived in.”

Odile’s sudden intake of breath made Siffrin dig his nails into the meat of his palms. His jaw clenched, and his breathing grew ragged.

It felt as though hours passed before she finally spoke. “Was… he cruel? To you?” Her voice was flat. Wary. Careful.

“I used to think so sometimes, back then.” Siffrin felt like a marionette, like someone above them were speaking instead while forcing their mouth to keep moving. When all they wanted to do was shut up and take their exit from this conversation. “Looking back… No, he wasn’t. He was mean sometimes, but… I got called ‘mercurial’ a lot. Back then, as a kid.”

The bark of laughter pulled out of Odile was stripped of all humor; the sound was nearly swallowed by a deafening clap of thunder. “I’m… well-acquainted with such a descriptor.”

She didn’t offer anything else, and Siffrin suddenly wanted to scream at her for remaining behind her walls when she was forcing him to bleed.

You’re fine. No, he wasn’t. You’re fine… just… breathe…

Hands trembling as his body was washed with angry heat, Siffrin forced himself to take a deep breath in… and let it out…

Still angry.

In

.

.

.

.

.

Out…

It was fine. It needed to be fine.

They wanted to get up. They wanted to run. They wanted to scream, to cry, to curse, to… to…

Breathe. They drew in another deep breath, held it, and let it out as slowly as their lungs could stand.

In… out…

In… out…

“I’m… sorry, Siffrin.”

The guilt filling Odile’s voice made Siffrin freeze, eyes wide. She was facing him now, squinting, but even if she were wearing her glasses, he doubted she’d be able to see him.

Thunder boomed, shaking them. Or maybe Siffrin was shivering. They couldn’t tell.

“I overstepped, asking those questions,” she continued.

Yes. She did. Siffrin continued to feel as though they were bleeding out. “… You didn’t know.”

“It’s no excuse.” She paused, likely stopping herself before she could give away whatever it was she’d suspected about him. “It was insensitive of me. I shouldn’t have pressed when I realized the memory was painful.”

Still, she didn’t share why she hadn’t stopped them, why she’d asked in the first place.

“I’m tired” was all they could say, voice hollow. Their chest felt empty, light, but their limbs felt as though the bones were turning into lead.

“… Of course. Good night, Siffrin.”

He didn’t want to say anything. But… “Odile.”

“Yes, Siffrin?”

“Please… please don’t tell them.”

“Of course. I swear upon my father’s diamond.”

The strongest vow someone from Ka Bue could make.

“Thank you.” They couldn’t be sure if they said it or not. They were… so… tired…

They dreamed of dangling over the edge of a cliff. Odile’s hair was loose and blowing in the harsh, winter wind as she held fast onto his wrists. She wore a dress that looked like Mirabelle’s and screamed something as tears froze into diamonds on her cheeks, but the wind stole her words. She screamed it over and over, and each time, one of Siffrin’s shadows joined her along the cliff’s edge, staring down at him.

Odile left Siffrin to sleep in, and it didn’t take too long for him to figure out why.

Rain pelted the tent hard as it did last night, but as Siffrin rubbed sleep from their eyes, they realized that it sounded different. Once they noticed that, they realized that the tent was rattling; wind blew the rain sideways and pushed against his and Odile’s tent, as if trying to use it to knock over Mirabelle’s and Isabeau’s. The half-secured flaps of the tent’s entrance were wet, and Siffrin swore as they moved their boots aside, finding the insides damp.

Getting to the fortress in this weather would be a pain, and trying to smell any traps set using Craft would be all the harder.

So, while Odile boiled rainwater she’d collected while attempting to keep their fire alive, Siffrin joined Mirabelle and Isabeau in their tent.

Briefly, they’d considered offering to help, but when Odile noticed them pause upon exiting their tent, she waved them away, unable to meet their gaze.

Yeah, they doubted they’d be able to look her in the eye for a while, too.

“G’morning, Sif!” Isabeau greeted with a huge smile as Siffrin entered, taking off his hat and cloak to avoid dripping water all over his and Mirabelle’s bedrolls.

“Or, well, probably ‘good afternoon’ by now.” Mirabelle sighed.

Was it really that late?

“Pretty sure there’s still an hour of morning left, at least,” Isabeau laughed, and while she still looked pensive, Mirabelle returned his smile. “Sif, want to play cards?”

“We’re playing Gin Rummy.” Mirabelle patted a spot where he’d be facing the tent’s entrance, and Siffrin pulled off his boots and went there, making sure not to disturb the cards between Mirabelle and Isabeau. “It’s usually a two-player game, but we’re almost done and can play something else, so you can join!”

“Like Cheat!” Isabeau suggested, and Siffrin couldn’t help but snicker at the way Mirabelle’s mouth twisted into an exaggerated frown. “You ever play?”

“My roommate loved that game,” Mirabelle sighed, equal parts annoyed and sad. “Our friends Isai and Shikha usually played with us. Claude almost always won.”

Should Siffrin suggest a different game? Or would asking her to teach them this one help more? Even Isabeau looked at a loss.

“I’ve never played,” Siffrin said softly before the silence could stretch for too long. “Could… could you teach me?”

Mirabelle smiled, and Siffrin barely stopped himself from grinning ear to ear. Yes! He made the right choice! Maybe he was getting the hang of this—socializing with and befriending people.

Mirabelle proceeded to beat Isabeau at Gin Rummy, and Siffrin laughed when Isabeau dramatically grasped at his heart and swooned at the crushing defeat. Mirabelle rolled her eyes but smiled, and she started gathering the cards to cut and shuffle them.

“‘Cheat’ is just one of the names,” she told Siffrin. “Claude—” She cleared her throat, smile faltering. “My roommate liked to call it ‘Crabbing Liar,’ and one of our classmates called it ‘Doubt.’”

She explained the basics of the game, and Siffrin nodded along. It sounded simple enough.

He smelled sausage as it sizzled outside. He pressed his lips together to avoid licking them in anticipation. After only eating some nuts, dried cherries, and chunks of dark chocolate last night, he was hungry!

Misreading Siffrin’s expression, Isabeau said, “I’m sure you’ll get it!”

Oh, stars, Mirabelle had still been talking. Siffrin nodded nervously, but thankfully, it looked like she hadn’t noticed that he’d gotten distracted.

For his first few turns, Siffrin tested the waters by telling the truth; since the deck had been dealt to only three people, they had the cards they needed for those turns. Any lies would test their memory as well as their ability to read the others’ tells; the game was probably more difficult when more players were added to the circle.

“Cheater,” Siffrin told Mirabelle when she claimed to lay down two sevens.

“Ha!” Isabeau grinned as Mirabelle groaned and flipped over her cards, revealing that she had, indeed, lied.

She flipped them back over and took a few moments to get the discard pile in order, so she could add them to her hand. “Hey, wait a… Isabeau, I should have known you didn’t have three twos!”

Oh, really? Siffrin’s eyebrows raised, and Isabeau looked away with darkened cheeks. Ah, looked like he was a better liar than they’d expected. Siffrin would have to watch him closer; Mirabelle was easy enough to figure out.

While Isabeau remained hard to read, he fell easily for Siffrin’s faked tells, allowing them to easily win the first and second rounds.

Halfway through the third round, Mirabelle huffed in irritation when she ended up with nearly the entire deck, while Siffrin had four cards left in his hand and Isabeau one. Her eyes even started watering, and her nose scrunched up in frustration.

“Uh…” Isabeau startled the same time Siffrin did, but unlike them, he was able to find his voice. “We can play something else, Mira.”

Her response was to glare at him, but she looked more sad than angry. Siffrin guessed she was still thinking about her roommate and friends, all currently frozen in time in Dormont.

“Careful, Isa,” Siffrin singsonged. “She might deck you.”

He snorted, but his lips were pressed firmly together as he watched Mirabelle, like he wasn’t sure if he should be laughing right now.

Her glare turned Siffrin’s way, but he recognized the way her mouth pinched. She was holding in laughter.

“Oh, come on,” he intoned. “Why the cutting look? You know by now what a joker I am.” His cheeks warmed when a guffaw escaped Isabeau.

Mirabelle couldn’t hold back anymore. Tears ran down her cheeks as she laughed and laughed, dropping her cards and hugging her knees close to her chest. It was easy to tell that it wasn’t just Siffrin who’d brought upon such a reaction; he’d simply thrown a rock at a crack that was already there, bringing the entire dam down.

She leaned into Isabeau as he moved over to hug her, and as she settled, he asked if she was alright.

“… I am now,” she whispered, wiping her face. This was the first time Siffrin had seen her without makeup. “Thank you.”

“Anytime,” Isabeau promised, and Siffrin nodded.

“We’re here for you, Mira,” he said, then started when Mirabelle sat up and blinked at him.

Oh, stars, had he messed up again?

Before they could start panicking, Mirabelle smiled again and nodded.

“Thank you,” she repeated, and Siffrin only nodded, still not sure what her earlier reaction had been about.

They opened their mouth to ask, but then Odile, standing right outside the tent, ground out, “If you kids tell me ‘Just five more minutes’ one more time…”

“Coming, M’dame!” Isabeau called, as Odile stomped back towards the fire. “Sorry, M’dame!”

Siffrin was the last out of the tent; he adjusted his hat as Odile poured congee into Mirabelle’s and Isabeau’s waiting bowls.

As the party ate lunch, the rain finally, finally lessened. The wind had died down during round two of Cheat, and Odile, Mirabelle, and Isabeau discussed the pros and cons of leaving after lunch versus waiting until tomorrow morning. Siffrin listened as they served themself seconds; they flashed a smile and nodded vigorously when Isabeau paused the discussion to ask if they liked the congee. Odile gave the barest of smiles at their silent praise. Whatever suspicions she’d held against them had been shelved for now.

But Siffrin knew better than to think she would stop observing him, considering each puzzle piece she’d discovered and how they might possibly fit together.

“… big box,” Mirabelle was saying when Odile asked her if she could get a more specific sense where the orb was, now that they were closer. “Um… It’s partially covered by a light cloth, and it’s by a window, but the window is really, really narrow? Kinda like the turret windows high up in Dormont’s House.”

“Archers’ windows,” Odile figured. When she noticed the others’ questioning looks, she elaborated, “It’s easier to shoot arrows out of thin windows than it is for enemy archers to aim for them.”

“Ah, makes sense,” Isabeau said with a nod. “Jouvente’s biggest House has really thin windows in its towers, too, now that I think of it. The other ones don’t.”

“I’m guessing the largest House used to be another castle, back when Vaugarde was a monarchy,” Odile said before blowing on her spoonful of congee. “While the others were built after.”

“How can you see those details?” Siffrin asked Mirabelle. When she’d said she sensed the orbs, he’d thought it was closer to a gut feeling, not visions.

“Um…” Mirabelle looked down at her food while she thought about it. “I… don’t know? But… but it’s like when I read a book?” She looked at Siffrin and tilted her head, like he was the one confusing her. “Except, I have less control over what I see in my head? And it’s less detailed? Kind of like someone showing me a half-done painting really fast and then asking me everything that was on the canvas… sort of. Sorry, that’s probably a horrible comparison.”

“N-no,” Siffrin assured, even if they still didn’t really get it. “That makes some sense.”

It didn’t explain how she saw, but he got the feeling that asking would only invite a lecture he would only halfway understand and would quickly lose interest in. The how didn’t really matter anyway. What mattered was finding the box Mirabelle described without setting off any traps.

“Hopefully this one doesn’t flicker in and out of places,” Isabeau sighed.

“I… don’t think it is?” Mirabelle’s brow furrowed. “It… it feels like it’s just staying in the box?”

“Maybe it feels safe there!” Isabeau suggested, making Siffrin smile, Mirabelle giggle, and Odile roll her eyes.

“Or…” Odile dragged out the word. “The more we have already, the more stable the next one is. The first one jumped from one room to another. The second was faster but stayed relatively in the same general area.”

“That’s good news for us,” Isabeau said after swallowing the last of his congee. “Means getting the rest will get easier, not harder.”

Odile raised an eyebrow. “Don’t jinx it.”

It was mid-afternoon by the time they reached the abandoned fortress. Siffrin stopped and held up a hand, signaling to his party to do the same.

The fortress was a lighthouse-like tower, the roof oddly circular for an old war fortress. There was a long hole in the roof as well; something about it tickled the back of Siffrin's mind, but he discarded the thought and focused on the present. The tower was surrounded by an octagon-shaped wall, maybe half its height. Trees obscured it, but Siffrin could make out a thin window above a wide-open doorway. Most likely, looters had knocked down the gate long ago; if so, hopefully they’d been the ones to trigger whatever traps lay inside.

Unless it was a trap that could reload.

“Leave the packs behind, Isa,” Siffrin said as they kept their eyes on the weathered stone up ahead. “They’ll be fine by a tree for a while.”

“Ah, yeah, wouldn’t want these slowing me down,” Isabeau agreed, and he set them down by a nearby tree. It had mostly-light bark with dark whorls that resembled eyes.

Many of the trees here were the same species, all with those dark whorls; Siffrin suppressed a shiver, unable to keep from feeling like they were all being watched and judged.

“An old Fates shrine,” Mirabelle whispered, and Siffrin looked to where she was pointing.

Between twin trees creating a V was a rock, wedged between them with the sides wedged deep into the wood. By the looks of it, the trees had been eating the flat rock for some time—likely, for centuries. Something in Old Vaugardian was etched into the side of the stone, and smaller rocks created what looked like three wells on top of the slab.

“When did Vaugarde switch to the Change belief?” Odile asked, eyes sparkling with curiosity.

Her eagerness to learn anything and everything was cute, but Siffrin wasn’t suicidal enough to say that aloud—even if he was still angry enough that provoking her felt tempting.

“Almost 400 years ago,” Mirabelle answered, her earlier anxiety and stress melting away. She got almost as excited talking about the Change belief and Vaugarde’s history as she did when talking about her favorite books. It made Siffrin wonder if she was planning on becoming a teacher. “Before that, Musmeer and Vaugarde used to be the same country—well, to put it more easily. More like, it—and part of Elothen, too—was a single country but made up of semi-united city-states and confederacies…”

Siffrin zoned out. While Mirabelle talked, he might as well search the grounds closer to the wall.

When they heard Isabeau move, they turned and shook their head. “Wait,” they mouthed, and Isabeau nodded but kept his eyes on Siffrin, in case they ended up needing backup.

The trail from here up to the fortress was steep, roots from nearby trees breaking through the soil to create stairs at two points up the slope. This part of the trail was narrower and more overgrown; hikers likely didn’t make it this far very often. But was it more out of lack of interest or to avoid any leftover defenses still in place?

Dashing into the trees, Siffrin kicked off a tree and then another, using them to move forward. With each leap, he moved higher and grabbed onto a branch when he was maybe four meters from the clearing between the tree line and wall.

Heaving themself up to squat atop the branch, Siffrin squinted to focus on that front window above the door. They breathed in deeply, first only smelling trees, petrichor, and decaying leaves. They stared and drew in deeper, slower breaths, focusing. Was that woody scent Paper Craft or wet bark?

There.

The hairs on the back of his neck stood up, and Siffrin’s heart quickened. He couldn’t help but smile as adrenaline pumped through him, sharpening his senses even more.

Siffrin had forgotten how much they’d enjoyed this sort of rush. How much fun it was.

It wasn’t time for him to play quite yet, though.

Plus…

Odile had said not to rush headfirst into danger anymore. They were all a team now.

Siffrin’s jaw twitched. Why should he listen to her after—

No. No, that wasn’t fair. He knew why she needed to ask.

Siffrin was mysterious, suspicious from the tip of his hat to his steel-backed heels. And this was an important mission with the fate of an entire country on the line.

Logically, he knew that she just wanted to protect herself, Mirabelle, and Isabeau.

His emotions didn’t like to play nice with logic.

But.

He needed to keep a tight reign on his emotions. He needed to work as part of a team. Ideally, without said team learning more about what he was and what he’d done.

Get in character, Siffrin, they told themself. Find your mark. Remember your character sheet.

Siffrin the Traveler. Small and fast. Good with traps. Lived in a Vaugarde group home for a few years and returned years later to confront his tragic past when greater tragedy struck the country. Now, he fights with a group led by Vaugarde’s Savior, a housemaiden from a humble village called Dormont. In order to confront his past, Siffrin the Traveler must use his collection of skills to help her stop the King from freezing Vaugarde in time.

Maybe it wasn’t such a bad thing that Odile forced him to say that bit about his past. It gave his character a more rounded narrative. It was thematic. Poetic, even.

Nodding to themself, Siffrin drew a breath in, and let it out.

They returned to the others as Odile told Mirabelle, “That is fascinating” with sincerity.

She turned when Siffrin approached.

“There’s a Crafted trap set in that front window.” Siffrin gestured up the path. “Odile, how precise is your Scissors attack skill?”

“… Why?” Odile’s brow furrowed as she tried to follow Siffrin’s logic.

“My only skill that might be precise enough breaks apart into three consecutive attacks, and I’m worried that it would only set off more traps.” He looked awkwardly at the ground when everyone looked at him questionably. “Um, see, it looks like the stones framing that window have been Crafted so that if you get close enough, the trap’s triggered. Piercing Craft doesn’t stick to rocks very easily or for nearly as long as it would have needed to be there.”

Odile’s eyes lit up as she caught on. “And if it was Protector Craft, the trap would risk damaging the wall each time it got triggered.”

“Leaving Creative Craft!” Isabeau grinned, then frowned. “I should hang back, then, until that trap’s been disabled.”

“Why would a wide attack be bad then?” Mirabelle asked as she tapped her rapier’s bowl-like guard nervously.

“Because then we risk triggering other traps,” Siffrin said. “The trap in the window is like a lock. Destroying it instead of picking it will set off a mechanism that will basically make the fortress ‘lock down,’ and I can’t tell from this far what that’ll mean.”

“That… makes sense? I guess?” Mirabelle still looked lost, but she trusted Siffrin and Odile to figure it out.

He looked up at her, and Odile said, “It’s the weakest of my attacks, so I don’t know if it will reach the distance we need, but it is precise. An old friend taught the move to me. The style evolved from a sort of Piercing Craft that had been used for bloodletting.”

Oh, stars. Siffrin hoped their expression remained neutral as they nodded, but a flash of recognition in Odile’s eyes said they hadn’t succeeded.

Well, as far as they were aware, there was no Scissor Craft more precise than that, so they led the others to where they’d stopped. Again, they held up a hand to signal for everyone to stop, and Mirabelle had her rapier halfway unsheathed as Odile grabbed onto a tree trunk to keep from sliding down the rain-slick slope.

“I’m not climbing,” she hissed when Siffrin looked up at the branch he’d been perching on earlier.

She’d need to remain stable, and a high branch would allow for a better vantage point. However, he also knew that her fear of heights would interfere too much; staying on the ground was probably a better option.

He nodded and motioned for her to join him at the tree he’d climbed up earlier. “Lean here. It’s a clearer shot.” And the smell of wet bark made it too hard to judge accurately just how close they could get without triggering the trap. At least he shouldn’t have that issue once they were inside.

Once in place, Odile adjusted her glasses, lips pressed into a thin line as she judged the distance. “Mirabelle, do you remember if we have pepper juice?”

“Oh!” Mirabelle nodded. “I think we do!”

“I’ll get it!” Isabeau volunteered, and he dashed off.

“Grab the others, too, Isabeau, in case we need them inside,” Odile called after him, and Isabeau gave an affirmative.

“Are you okay, Siffrin?” Mirabelle asked, mistaking Siffrin’s rising excitement for nervousness.

Keeping their eyes on the window, Siffrin gave her a thumbs-up.

“… O-okay…” She looked at the window but couldn’t seem to see what he did. “How did you learn all this, Siffrin?”

“I asked them that in Voimort!” Isabeau said as he jogged back to them. He hugged their tonics close to his chest to keep from dropping any. “I should have worn something with pockets.”

“Give them to Mirabelle and Siffrin,” Odile ordered, taking the dark vial of pepper juice. “They’re the fastest and can get them to us more easily than we can to them.”

“Right.” Isabeau nodded, and Siffrin finally tore his eyes away from the window to grab five vials from Isabeau, while Mirabelle took the other four. Mostly sour tonics and pepper and ginger juices. Only two crafted waters between them. They’d all have to be careful and cover each other’s weaknesses. “So where was it, Sif? Must’ve been an exciting trip to learn all about traps like these ones!”

“Yeah!” Mirabelle agreed, looking excited to hear a story of danger and intrigue.

There had been enough blood spilled for that story to fit right in on her bookshelf.

“Now, children, leave the mysterious traveler alone now.” Her tone was stern; this was an order that the conversation was over. “We need to focus on the task at hand.”

Siffrin glanced up at her, quietly thanking her intervention, and Odile gave a tiny nod before uncapping the pepper juice and knocking it back like a shot.

Her mouth twisted in displeasure at the concentrated pepper taste, and she swallowed back a cough while blinking back tears. She pulled out her book and nodded at Mirabelle, who nodded back and let go of her rapier.

“Now,” Odile told her, and Siffrin got ready to run as Mirabelle closed her eyes and raised her hands to the sky, then down towards Odile, Craft sparking off her fingertips as she fed energy into her to raise her attack’s strength.

“Soon as it’s disabled, I’ll run inside,” Siffrin said. His voice echoed in his ears as adrenaline thrummed through his veins. “Isa, cover me.”

“I’ll be right behind you,” Isabeau promised, and the air crackled as Odile raised her free hand in a scissors sign.

A sound like an arrow singing through the air.

A ping-crack like a metal ball bouncing off stone.

A sizzle, like lightning splitting the air.

Siffrin took off at half-speed and still heard Mirabelle gasping at how fast he was, and Isabeau charged behind them, already panting.

“Stay in the door frame!” Siffrin ordered once he was through the threshold, spinning just before hitting the wall.

Stars, the inside of here was narrower than they’d expected. How had the blinding soldiers managed to move around each other in here all those years ago?

Siffrin froze, listening, sniffing. He could hear the slightest buzzing in the front wall, could smell wet clay. “Ah-ha.”

A switch, between two stones on the door’s left.

Siffrin checked the other side and spotted another switch. “Isa, come here. There’s two switches. They’ll need to be flipped at the exact same time to disable whatever they’re for.”

Isabeau nodded and looked where Siffrin pointed. “Oh, I would have walked right past that! Good job, Sif!”

Smiling, Siffrin went to the first switch and said, “On three.” He waited for Isabeau to nod. “One… two… three!”

The switches flipped up, and there was the sound of stones shifting along the back wall. Then, the buzzing stopped.

“Was that it?” Isabeau asked, and he punched the air in triumph when Siffrin nodded. “Crab yeah! Guys! Come on!”

When Odile and Mirabelle were halfway to the door, the hair on Siffrin’s arms stood on end.

He smelled rotting wood, then heard thump-shh… thump-shh…

“You don’t think that’s…” Isabeau turned to stare down the hallway, something dark and watery-looking coming into view around the corner. “Mira! M’dame Odile! Sadness!”

They ran faster. Mirabelle unsheathed her rapier. Siffrin already had his dagger out.

An oversized hand slapped the uneven, stone floor. A too-long, too-thin arm with four joints pulled the Sadness’s body forward.

“Paper type,” Siffrin said, and Isabeau cursed under his breath as he got into a defensive stance behind him. “The hall’s too narrow for us to surround it. Mira! Let me attack first.”

“Okay!” Mirabelle got in front of Isabeau and got into a defensive stance as Siffrin leaped forward.

His arms made and X in front of his face, and as he landed, he threw his arms back to his sides, Craft crackling through the air.

With a roar, the weeping Sadness rolled over to dodge the attack. Its oversized hand, cut off by Siffrin’s attack, flopped away like a fish as the Sadness screeched and flailed; an arm sprouted suddenly from its back.

The rotting wood stench intensified, and Siffrin jumped to the side and cursed when he hit the blinding wall. He mentally berated himself and ducked as the Sadness’s Paper attack crackled past him. Mirabelle sliced through the attack with her rapier, but her teeth clenched as she slid back in the process, Isabeau catching her and keeping her steady.

Panting, Odile reached them as Siffrin sliced at the Sadness, briefly seeing double as his vision slowly righted. The hallway was too narrow and the Sadness too close for him to gain enough speed to run along the wall and get behind it. Thank stars it wasn’t as strong as the one in Chaison had been, but it was smaller and more agile, the Sadness easily rolling away to dodge Siffrin’s knife.

It rolling away gave Siffrin the room they needed to run past it, placing the Sadness between them and Mirabelle.

They clicked their heels as Mirabelle leapt forward, Craft vibrating her sword’s blade. The air crackled, and Mirabelle’s attack rang while Siffrin’s gave a soft boom boom boom. There was no need now to throw all his strength into the attack; using up his energy this soon could mean his downfall further into the fortress.

The Sadness’s scream as it evaporated was like a fox’s cry. Siffrin shivered as they caught their breath.

In… out…

“One down,” they murmured.

“How many are you expecting in here?” Isabeau asked, looking a little annoyed at himself for hanging back during the fight.

“It’s an old fortress, right?” Siffrin asked. “So it was used during war?”

Isabeau sighed. “Probably a lot of Sadnesses, then.” He punched his palm, trying for a grin. “They won’t know what hit ‘em.”

“We might as well get moving in case this one reforms,” Odile said, getting her book back out of her pocket. “Lead the way, Siffrin.”

Before taking off down the hallway, Siffrin looked at Mirabelle. He was still a little dizzy from hitting the wall earlier. “Do you sense which direction the orb could be?”

Mirabelle thought for a moment, brow creasing in concentration, then frustration. “No… only that it's in the same place. B-but it must be upstairs. There’s no windows down here.”

Siffrin nodded. “Okay. Let’s go.”

Chapter Text

Teamwork didn’t come easily to any of them, barring Isabeau. Siffrin and Odile had been traveling by themselves for years, and when it had come to the Dormont House hosting Craft fighting tournaments, Mirabelle had participated as a spectator, then by working one of the food stands, then in the infirmary tent.

Odile had reluctantly admitted that her own tournament experience didn’t translate well to fighting on a team against Sadnesses. She’d only ever fought in one-on-one battles, and her university had given more points to fighters for style and technical knowledge than for winning the fight.

Siffrin’s experience fighting alongside others was minimal. He’d gotten roped into working on a team in Asmu'ur, but that wasn’t a year he looked on with any level of fondness. He’d also gotten work as a Sadness Hunter a few times, usually when he was desperate for money. The dangerous job paid better in some places compared to others, but everywhere had at least offered him free food and board while employing him.

“Sadness Hunters?” Isabeau had asked when Siffrin brought it up a few nights ago. He’d looked worried while Mirabelle had looked scared.

“Ah, Vaugarde doesn’t have them?” Odile had cut in while steeping tea for everyone. She’d hummed when Isabeau and Mirabelle shook their heads. “Ka Bue has them, but it operates more loosely than some other countries. Freelance Hunters offer themselves as a guard of sorts to a village or town in exchange for food and shelter. They’re becoming more of an organized force in a few northern regions, though.” She’d cast Siffrin a worried glance, looking like she’d been about to say something before thinking better of it.

Mirabelle had then said that it was similar in some Vaugarde villages, but she’d never heard them be called Sadness Hunters. They usually instead were called Protectors or Honorary Defenders—the latter since, in larger cities, it was Defenders who usually protected people from Sadness attacks.

This lack of experience in fighting as a team among three of the four party members had become evident when they finally reached the second floor. Siffrin held up a hand, everyone pressing themselves against the wall as they did. Slowly, they inched forward, pushing their hat back and took the final three stone steps one at a time.

Siffrin breathed in deeply and almost gagged. Rust and something like a body that had been left to bloat in stagnant water.

Siffrin ducked their face under their cloak’s high collar and looked around the corner. To the left was an empty hallway angling around a slight corner; to the right was a huge, sluglike Sadness basking in slices of sunlight streaming in from the nearby windows.

It had stubby legs that fused into its long, flat tail, and its arms were set close and further down its torso than it should, more like a horse’s front legs than a human’s arms. Its arms were short and thick, ending in flat hands with only two outstretched fingers each; what might have been its other fingers were fused to the underside of its stumpy hands. Its face was misshapen, looking like it had begun to morph into the shape of a snake’s skull but stopped halfway. Its eyes—which stared at the ceiling—were too big and bulged out of its sockets, eyelids stretching over them, like they were rubber bands struggling to keep the organs in place.

Quickly backing up, Siffrin told his party members, “Just one, but it’s big. Scissors Type.”

Odile and Isabeau shared a look. Both were sweating, and Odile struggled to even her ragged breath. It would be a while before she could use her Rock attack again, and Isabeau was still low on energy after a fast Paper Type Sadness they’d encountered before reaching the stairs. Siffrin had been able to slice at the Sadness’s ankle, making it stumble, but its Craft attack had still managed to hit Isabeau before Odile could help Siffrin deal the winning blow using her Slow Down ability.

Thank the stars for Crafted water, but it and the sour tonic Isabeau drank afterwards wouldn’t sustain him for long. They needed to find a place to rest and soon.

“I strike first, and you come in after with your Examine ability, M’dame?” Isabeau asked Odile, trying to sound steadier than he was.

Pale spiderweb-like marks peeked over his turtleneck; Siffrin didn’t want to imagine how the rest of the injury looked. Craft damage wasn’t permanent when healed quickly, but Isabeau had talked Mirabelle out of using Healing Craft on him. They still had two more sour tonics left and even a sweet tonic—and one more vial of Crafted water. He’d told her to save the healing for later, when they found somewhere safe to rest.

Odile nodded once. “Siffrin, soon as you find an opening, run to the other side. Either me or Isabeau will join you when we can, and we’ll attack the Sadness from both sides.”

It would be easier for Mirabelle to join Siffrin’s side, but since the two of them were the ones holding onto their tonics, having them separated from the others was too risky.

He nodded, and Isabeau charged forward with Odile right behind him.

Siffrin and Mirabelle stood back as Isabeau shouted, “KABOOM!”

They felt the ground shake from Isabeau punching it, sending out shockwaves of Craft. He couldn’t control the direction of the shockwaves, unfortunately, so Mirabelle and Siffrin had to wait until Odile announced she was using her Examine skill before they were safe to bound back up the steep, narrow stairs as the Sadness roared.

A flash of light, and Odile drew back her outstretched hand and allowed Mirabelle to get between her and the Sadness, rapier drawn. Siffrin stood near the inner wall, waiting for an opening as Isabeau sidestepped and leaned into a right hook before quickly shuffling back.

The Sadness’s jaw broke and fell, hanging on by its stretchy skin as its flat chin slapped against where its collar bone should be. It hissed, thick bands of saliva dripping from long, needle-like teeth that looked like they’d been jammed into its dark gums at random.

“Watch out!” Odile called out right as three, frog-like tongues shot out from its maw.

Mirabelle’s free hand was already in a scissors sign, and she gave a shout of warning as her blade vibrated with Craft.

Isabeau dropped to the ground, forearms crossing over his head, and one tongue hit where his chest had been before it suddenly dropped out of the air and landed on him before bouncing onto the ground.

“Eeeeuugh!” Isabeau gagged and rolled away as the Sadness hissed and threw its head back and forth as its severed tongues shimmered and smoked. He hopped back up onto his feet and took a step back into a defense stance.

“Sorry,” Mirabelle squeaked as Odile said, “Slow but strong. Without its tongues, it’s more likely to use Craft. Despite being weak to Rock, its lack of bones means even Rock attacks won’t do as much damage as we’d like.”

Her jaw set, and Siffrin could see why. The Sadness was wide, too wide for him to get an opening to run to the other side.

He looked above its thrashing head. The ceilings were higher on this floor.

“Isa!” Siffrin called as they sheathed their dagger. “Can you lace your fingers and throw me over?”

“Back up, Madame,” Mirabelle instructed Odile as Isabeau grinned and bent down while getting his hands into position.

Two steps, and Siffrin jumped, turned, and was thrown up and over. They allowed themselves to arc over the Sadness as Mirabelle rushed forward to strike, more as a distraction than to hurt it.

Hands, shoulder, back, hip, feet, and Siffrin had his dagger back out. He bolted forward, slashed at the Sadness’s flat tail, and jumped back as it roared.

Quickly, he glanced to the left, where the hallway angled. He didn’t see another Sadness, and this one’s stench was too strong for him to smell if another was close. He held up a thumbs-up, and Odile asked Mirabelle to raise her attack again.

“We’ll hit it with a scissors attack at the same time!” Odile called to Siffrin as Isabeau leaped forward, dropped to a knee, and threw a right hook at one of the Sadness’s legs.

The Sadness lilted to one side as Isabeau backed up, and Siffrin got into a ready stance as they crossed their arms in front of them, waiting.

“Now!” Odile shouted, and Siffrin threw their arms down by their sides as the air crackled in front of them.

The Sadness gave an ear-splitting shriek as it crumpled, spasming, and still moving forward, motions fluid, Odile stomped and punched the center of her open book while arcing it upwards so the covers faced the Sadness.

Air crackled, and wet clay mixed with wood chips scented the air as the Sadness’s scream was cut off.

Vapor plumed between Siffrin as their party, and they placed a hand between their flask and chest. A deep breath in… and out.

Mirabelle was asking if Odile was okay after doing consecutive Craft attacks like that, and Siffrin jogged to Isabeau’s side, checking him over.

“I’m okay, Sif,” he assured, but his eyes were half-lidded. A pallor had overtaken his face, making the dark circles under his eyes stand out dramatically. His smile wobbled at Siffrin’s disbelieving frown. “… O-okay, I think I need a rest. Did you see anything that way?”

He gestured to where Siffrin had been standing, and they shook their head.

“I’ll check the other way really quick,” Mirabelle volunteered and dashed down the other end of the hallway. “I don’t see anything.”

“Let’s rest on the stairs,” Odile suggested, nose wrinkling. She chuckled at Siffrin’s quick nod. “Ah, is the smell still making you sick? You looked like you were about to throw up earlier.”

“Yeah,” Isabeau agreed, looking worried even as he swayed on his feet.

Oops. At least he knew this Sadness’s smell had been strong enough for the others to notice, too. He made a so-so motion with his hand, not wanting to open his mouth. Not here. As it was, he could practically taste the rot-and-rust smell of that Sadness.

In the stairwell, Odile kept herself closest to the top step, so Siffrin could be further from the smell as they caught their breath while it faded. Isabeau finally allowed Mirabelle to use Healing Crafts on him, the pale marks on his neck slowly fading. He drew in deeper breaths and eventually leaned back against the wall.

“How about you, Madame?” Mirabelle asked Odile, who shook her head.

“Ask me again once you’ve cooled down,” she said. “We can’t risk burning out when we still haven’t even located the orb. Do you feel it close by? I haven’t seen any large boxes yet.”

Mirabelle nodded. “It’s close, I’m sure of it.” Her lips pressed together in a thin line, and then she hugged herself around her waist, too late to stop the grumbling sound.

She glared at Siffrin when they chuckled at the noise, but there was no heat behind her look. Her glare melted into a grateful smile when he pulled a small bag of mixed nuts and tossed them up to her.

“Are you sure?” Mirabelle asked. “You’re not hungry, too?”

They were, but they could last longer without eating than the others could. “I’m fine.”

Mirabelle waited a bit but started nibbling on an almond while Isabeau regarded him but only sighed, “Wish I’d thought to bring snacks in here.”

“Yes.” Odile sighed as well. “That’s something we’ll need to keep in mind for next time. It hadn’t been in an issue in the Voimort House or that library…” Odile paused, thinking of something.

“What is it, Madame?” Mirabelle asked when she was about to eat a dried apricot.

“Is it the first two orbs being in libraries?” Isabeau guessed, and his lips tightened slightly at the surprised look on Odile’s face. He turned to Mirabelle. “Dormont’s Head Housemaiden is this big-name scholar, right?”

Mirabelle nodded. “In craftonomy, specifically, but she’s also writes fiction, not just resource books.” She smiled at the dried apricot in her hand, eyes sparkling as she lost herself in a memory. “She writes her books under a pen name, so people won’t buy them only because of who she is.”

Odile smiled. “Ah, so scholars are held in such high regard here, too.” She shifted to lean more comfortably against the wall. “In Ka Bue as well. The Head Housemaidens are voted into their positions in most Houses, are they not?”

“We call it ‘peer review’ but yes, essentially.” Mirabelle giggled and ate the apricot and then a dried cherry. “Based on their contributions to their chosen field, community service, and ways they’ve Changed since making their initiation vows.” She made a small, sad noise, but she was smiling again so fast that Siffrin thought he imagined her frowning for a second. She started picking out the chunks of dark chocolate, giving them to Isabeau, who shared them with Odile. “Some of us joked sometimes that Head Housemaiden Euphrasie has a secret library. The House used to be a castle, so secret passageways aren’t impossible, and some areas have been sealed off for years.”

“Those might be fun to look for once we’re there,” Isabeau said, smiling when Mirabelle giggled again.

“They could be worth looking for,” Odile mused. “We might find something useful.” She wiped her hand on her lightless pants. “So, the first two were in libraries… and this one is in an old fortress…” She sighed. “I don’t think it matters now to wonder. Not when Mirabelle is able to sense them more clearly now.”

While the others discussed the orbs and possible reasons for them appearing where they had, Siffrin turned away and ducked his face under his cloak’s collar. They used their hat to shield their face, and they uncapped their flask, taking small and quiet sips. The blood was cold, making their mouth twist into a frown, but they could already feel themself regaining strength.

“You better not be napping.” Odile’s voice was stern.

Startling, Siffrin quickly capped his flask, licked his lips, and turned. They shook their head, hand lightly pressing their flask against their chest. They tilted their head at the look Odile gave them.

… Exactly how much did she know? Siffrin couldn’t ask without showing his own hand. It was safer to stay quiet.

“Everyone ready to keep going?” Isabeau asked, and his face wasn’t such a pale shade anymore. He still looked tired, but it didn’t look like he was about to faint anymore, at least.

Siffrin nodded, and Mirabelle handed them back their small, drawstring bag—empty now. They smiled at her thanks and stuffed the bag back into one of their pockets.

Odile’s knees popped as she pushed herself up, and she rolled her shoulders with a grimace. “I don’t smell that last Sadness anymore either. I don’t think that particular one will reform.”

“What makes you say that?” Isabeau sounded genuinely interested. “I don’t think anyone’s figured out why some Sadnesses reform and others don’t. The big, more powerful ones sometimes take longer, but…”

He trailed off, losing himself in thought, so as Siffrin hopped up the stairs to take their place as leader again, they joked, “She’s researching Sadness-ology.”

“Not you, too,” Odile groaned as Isabeau laughed, but a smile pulled at the corners of Odile’s mouth.

“That true, M’dame?” Isabeau asked, though his tone showed he knew it wasn’t.

“No.” Odile fell back, allowing Mirabelle to get between her and Siffrin. “But I can sometimes get a sense for it when I use my Examine skill on it. I’m not always right, but I’m right more times than not.” She nodded Siffrin’s way. “Lead the way.”

After a nod, Siffrin faced forward and cautiously peeked around the corner, just in case. Seeing nothing, he gave the others a thumbs-up and decided to head left. Since the hallway formed an octagon, it didn’t really matter. They’d end up where they started eventually, regardless.

He kept close to the inner wall, breathing in deeply to subtly scent the air as he went. He pulled off a glove and ran his fingers along the brick and crumbling mortar; his party remained silent behind him.

Nearing the next corner, Siffrin slowed, then stopped. He held up his right hand, left still touching the wall.

Ah, there. A sound like pebbles scraping.

A stone on the floor knocked loose, likely from Isabeau’s earlier attack.

Smiling, Siffrin put his glove back on and knelt, widening their stance and slowly swinging one leg forward and then the other. It was difficult to keep their balance this way, but they managed and soon slid forward until they were belly-down on the floor, right in front of the loose rock.

“… Sif?”

“Shh, don’t get closer, Isabeau,” Odile ordered in a low voice. “I’m guessing they’ve found something that’s weight-sensitive.”

Siffrin nodded but couldn’t tell if the others could tell due to how they were laying on the floor.

They got their dagger out and slid the blade into the widest part of the crack and waited.

A sound like rocks tumbling.

Oh stars, no!

“Mira!” Siffrin scooted aside. “Over here. Crawl over and take out your rapier. I need your help.” Quickly was on the tip of his tongue, but he bit the word back, not wanting to make her panic and make a mistake.

She looked worried as it was, but she did as told while biting her lip. “Wh-where?”

“Here.” Siffrin pointed where his dagger remained between the stones. “You use your rapier to channel Paper Craft, too, right? Not just Scissors?”

Swallowing, Mirabelle nodded.

“Do that, pushing it straight down under this rock.”

“O-okay.” Mirabelle swallowed and drew up onto her knees to get the angle she needed, thanks to the length of her sword. “Now!”

Siffrin pulled out his dagger right as Mirabelle brought down her rapier, the blade vibrating as the air around them crackled. Mirabelle’s worried expression steeled into determination as she concentrated, working hard to keep her Craft from spreading out too far.

A sound like rocks crumbling, and the scent of newly fired clay, then wood in the process of being carved, then brick and crumbling mortar and a bit of salt as sweat beaded down Mirabelle’s cheek.

“It’s deactivated,” Siffrin announced, smiling at Mirabelle. “Thank you, Mira. That was amazing.”

“Crab yeah!” Isabeau cheered, and Mirabelle beamed but looked away, suddenly shy.

“Do you know what that was?” Odile asked as Siffrin and Mirabelle got up.

Sheathing their dagger, Siffrin replied, “Pretty sure it was some kind of fall-away trap. The bricks were Crafted to fall under our weight but then remake itself back into the floor once we’d fallen.”

Odile hummed, thoughtful. “And the ceilings downstairs aren’t very high, but that staircase… I’m guessing there’s a space between floors, maybe a meter high at most.”

“… Oh.” Mirabelle’s face grew ashen at the thought of them all ending up trapped under the floor, but after a moment, she shook her head. “Okay, let’s keep going.”

Around the corner was a wooden chest. It was right up against the inner wall, closed, and with no cloth in sight.

“Is that it?” Siffrin asked Mirabelle anyway.

Mirabelle drew closer, jumping when Siffrin placed a hand in front of the lock to keep her from touching it. “S-sorry!”

“It’s fine, I just want to check to make sure there’s no traps around it before we open it.” Siffrin’s voice was flat as he tried not to think about that particular job.

He’d gotten lucky that night; he couldn’t count on getting lucky again.

Stop thinking about it.

“R-right.” Mirabelle took a step back from the chest. “Um, it doesn’t look like it? When sensing the orb, it was in a box on the other wall, under one of the windows. B-but, maybe we should check this one, too?”

“Sure!” Isabeau said when Odile didn’t object. “Just in case, right?”

Odile nodded. “Right.”

Siffrin also nodded and squatted by the box. He drew in a deep breath, smelling wood, dust, and brick. No Craft, no chemical smell. He pressed an ear against the chest’s side and took off his right glove. Ear still against the wood, he touched the lock, waited, then held it up.

A sizzle against his skin, slight, weak, but there. When he got closer, he smelled not just the metallic scent of the lock itself but of Piercing Craft.

Having a lock Crafted with that so close to a trap—a much larger, and more technically complicated one, even!—made using Protective Craft… Either whoever made it had assumed the floor trap would be enough to handle any potential enemies, or…

He told the others, “The Piercing Craft on this lock is weakened.”

“Probably by being so close to the collapsing floor,” Odile mused, looking impressed when Siffrin nodded to show he’d already thought of that. “So…?”

“So, can we just break it open, then?” Isabeau asked, taking a step forward but stopping when Siffrin harshly shook their head.

“It’s hard to tell, so I could be wrong…” Siffrin looked at the chest again, swearing it was darker, bigger, sitting in a tiny closet of a room Siffrin had nearly died twice trying to reach.

Breathe, breathe. You’re not there anymore. You don’t owe them anything anymore. Your debts are paid. He drew a breath in, and out.

“I…” Oh, stars, there was no way they could tell their party about that job, but… Okay, maybe if they told them enough, they wouldn't pry for details. “I found a chest like this, uh, well, by ‘like this,’ I mean it had a lock Crafted with Piercing Craft, which had degraded, coz it was by a trap made using Protective Craft.”

“Oh…” Odile looked thoughtful. “And I’m guessing getting around it wasn’t as straight-forward as simply breaking the lock.”

Siffrin shook their head, hoping they were keeping their expression neutral. They swore they could hear an echo of their younger self screaming. Of a large, bleeding body hitting the ground, the sound not unlike dropping a pile of meat dropped onto a tile floor.

“You didn’t get hurt, did you?” Isabeau asked.

“Oh, I was fine,” Siffrin answered breezily. They almost wanted to laugh. “Picking or destroying the lock ended up being the trigger. However… Odile, are you cooled down enough to help with your Scissors skill again? And do you think it would work channeling it through me and my dagger?” He tilted his head at her wide eyes. “My dagger by itself won’t be able to cut—”

“No, no, I can see already what you’re thinking.” Odile drew in a breath and adjusted her glasses. “Channeling Craft through a person, though… Is that something you learned…?” She seemed to notice a shift in Siffrin’s expression and dropped the question, instead saying, “You could end up hurt. I’m not sure it’s something we should risk.”

I mean, we kinda already are, doing this quest, right? Siffrin didn’t ask that. “It’d be a bigger risk if you were Rock Type. Worst case, I’ll just need to drink a sour tonic after.”

Odile’s expression looked split between worry over Siffrin’s casualness towards risking injury and irritation at his assumption that her Scissors skill wasn’t strong enough to seriously harm him.

“I can heal them, if I need to,” Mirabelle said, and Siffrin managed to keep their expression neutral.

Hopefully, it didn’t come to that. She’d notice something was wrong with him when she tried to heal him and felt resistance to her Craft.

“…Okay.” Odile came forward and knelt as Siffrin did the same. “We’ll start with the back, since I’ll need to go all the way through, unless we should move it?” She nodded when Siffrin shook his head and pointed at the bolts securing the chest to the floor. “Right. Ready?”

Siffrin unsheathed his dagger and pressed the top, curving edge against the wood, halfway down the chest and right up against the wall. He flinched when Odile grabbed his other hand, her hand making a scissors sign right above his. She was close enough for him to hear her heart beating, and he mentally cursed himself when his throat ached. He licked the back of his teeth and focused on his breathing.

He imagined something like roots growing out of him and towards Odile, locking them together. She flinched, as if able to feel them, but after a moment, she relaxed, the two breathing in tandem.

Odile held her book up with her other hand, pressing it against Siffrin’s chest, and her Craft flowed through him, making Siffrin’s arm hairs stand on end as it traveled down his arm and into his dagger.

Air crackled, and wood split, dust rising as Odile and Siffrin cut a line straight down the chest’s back side. They moved slowly around, Odile wielding Piercing Craft carefully and with the precision that reminded Siffrin of when they’d carve wood.

Both let out a breath when they were done. The imaginary roots dissipated, and Odile nearly stumbled back before Isabeau helped her rise.

“Thank you,” she mumbled, needing to take a few more breaths before she could stand on her own. “That… took more out of me than I thought.”

Similarly, Siffrin was on the ground, dagger in one hand and the other over his chest as he drew a deep breath in… and let it out…

“That looks almost like using a Jackpot Skill,” Isabeau observed, one eyebrow raising at the others’ questioning looks. “It’s sort of like what you two just did, sharing Craft energy. Usually to make an attack even more powerful, or at least that’s how we’re trained to do it in Defender school, not that we use it much after—except for tournaments, anyway.”

“That sounds like something we should practice,” Odile said. “If you’re willing to teach us, Isabeau. This 'Jackpot Skill' could come in handy if we come across more strong Sadnesses.”

“Definitely!” Isabeau looked excited at the prospect.

Kneeling in front of them, Mirabelle asked, “Are you alright, Siffrin? Do you need me to heal you?”

Siffrin shook their head. “I’m fine. Just need to catch my breath.” They pointed at the chest. “We need to make sure the lock doesn’t get damaged moving that.”

Isabeau grabbed the top of the chest. “Got it!” He made sure to grab underneath the lid, so as to not jostle the lock too much and set the top half of the chest aside. “Ooh, jackpot!”

Inside the chest were vials of Crafted water, sweet tonic, sour tonic, pepper juice, ginger juice, and salty broth—the salt imbued with Craft. There were also heavy, rabbit skin bags, and when Siffrin nodded that it was safe, Isabeau lifted them.

“Double jackpot!” He laughed as coins slid into his hand. “This is an old currency, though, and… hey, wait, this looks like Elothenian?”

Odile walked over and looked at the coins. “Old Elothenian. We should take some of those to sell. I don’t know much about coin collections, but we should at least get enough to help keep our funds from depleting.”

They checked the other bags, finding coins of other old currencies as well as some jewelry—mostly earrings.

“…We should leave these here.” Isabeau put the earrings back into their satin bag, double-knotted the strings, and laid them back into the chest. He looked ill, suddenly.

“…?” Siffrin was confused but decided not to ask. He focused on splitting the vials between himself and Mirabelle, while Odile held onto the coins and non-earring jewelry.

Isabeau recovered the chest when he was done, angling it slightly, so the top wouldn’t slip. “Everyone ready? Sif?”

Nodding, Siffrin rose to his feet and took the lead once more.

There were two other large chests on this floor—and thankfully no other Sadnesses—but neither held the orb.

“But… but…” Mirabelle wrung the skirt of her dress, and Isabeau patting her on the shoulder did little to ease her tension.

“It must be in the tower, then,” he said, and Odile nodded while she tried not to look irritated. “There’s still enough time for us to run in and get it before the sun sets.”

One of the Sadnesses downstairs had reformed, but it was thankfully a weak one that Isabeau and Mirabelle made quick work of, while Siffrin checked around the nearby gate for any switches.

“Nothing?” Odile asked when Siffrin took a step back.

He drew in a breath, but he smelled only brick and old wood and rust—real rust, not the wet, static-y rust of a Scissor Type Sadness.

He shook his head, and he and Odile leaned against the doors, metal whining and creaking as the hinges finally started to give.

Nothing grew in the packed dirt between the protective wall and the tower.

“Wait,” Siffrin said, but Odile was already still.

A hiss as the Sadness evaporated, and Mirabelle asked, “What is it?”

“I’m not sure…” Odile’s brow furrowed. “But something’s wrong.”

Siffrin nodded in agreement.

He didn’t hear buzzing or static or rustling. The only Craft he smelled was from Mirabelle’s and Isabeau’s fight.

But… Something was there. They could feel it. Not in a physical sense but in a weird shiver winding down their spine.

He looked up.

Birds flew past, going around the protective wall instead of over the courtyard between it and the tower.

This wasn’t something Siffrin had seen or experienced, but they’d heard about it. Breathing in deeply again, he caught it—a slight ozone smell, like right after lightning cleaved the air. But nothing else.

They shivered, thinking again of Asmu'ur and his so-called team there.

“Odile, how does your Slow Down ability work?” they asked. “It’s not like freezing people in time, right?”

“No, of course not.” Odile’s tone managed to sound both dumbfounded and irksome. She adjusted her glasses. “It’s a hybrid of Body Craft and Healing Craft I’ve concocted and created specifically for battle purposes”—she turned to hide her smile when the others looked at her in wonderment—“Essentially, I tighten my opposition’s muscles, making it harder for them to move. If they’re particularly vulnerable, it can even temporarily stop them from being able to use Crafts.”

Interesting… but currently useless.

Still… Siffrin hummed, thinking.

“You know what this is?” Odile asked them, mouth pinching at their shrug.

Clearing their throat, Siffrin said, “I’ve heard about it, but this is my first time seeing it.”

“… What exactly are we seeing?” Isabeau asked.

“Yeah…” Mirabelle looked around the courtyard surrounding the tower but made sure to stand back when Siffrin held his arm out. “It just looks like a normal field? Well, a normal empty field.”

She couldn’t feel it?

“… It does feel… off,” Isabeau allowed, and Siffrin nodded.

Okay, so he could feel it, and Odile seemed to feel it as well.

“It does?” Mirabelle sounded confused but also disappointed in herself for not noticing.

“It’s creatively called a Dead Zone,” Siffrin told them. “I’ve never had to cross one, but I’ve met someone who had. He told me about it while we prepared to”—he hesitated, stopping himself from giving away too many details—“find something.”

“Something,” Odile echoed under her breath; Siffrin was sure he wasn’t supposed to hear and ignored her.

“It’s a Curse combining different types of Craft,” he continued. “The more types of Craft were used to ‘feed’ it, the more powerful it is, since there’s fewer weaknesses to exploit to break the Curse.”

And if he couldn’t smell anything but ozone… A lot of Crafts powered this particular Curse.

“Is there any way to find out what kinds of Craft were used?” Mirabelle asked, but something in her tone said she already suspected the answer.

“Not without the original casters telling us.” Siffrin sighed, thinking. “But… one good thing is that this sort of Curse isn’t fatal… not right away.”

And not by itself. Left too long in its hold, the afflicted person would end up killing themself.

“How is that a good thing?” Isabeau squinted at Siffrin, frowning when he caught something in their expression. “Nope, no way.”

“What?” Mirabelle sounded panicked.

Odile glowered at Siffrin, making him shrink back and hide his face with his hat.

“You are not running out there,” she ordered in a flat voice, and Mirabelle gasped.

“Siffrin!”

Oh stars, it sounded like she was about to cry! They should do something, right? Oh stars, what should they do?!

Eyes shining with tears, Mirabelle shouted, “You are not putting yourself in danger, running across something you just called a Dead Zone!”

Exactly how was this any different than putting himself in danger fighting Sadnesses…? Siffrin stayed quiet, though. His party’s passionate insistence about this… he felt oddly warm? Why did this feel nice?

“What does this Dead Zone have to do with my Slow Down ability?” Odile asked, trying to get everyone back on track.

“I was kinda assuming you knew some super-rare Craft, which would make it the most likely way of finding a way to disable the Curse,” Siffrin admitted, tilting their head when they couldn’t read Odile’s expression. He blinked in realization and turned to face Mirabelle. "What about your ability? The one that unfreezes people."

Mirabelle's eyes widened, and she wrung the skirt of her dress. "U-uh... W-well, it's most closely related to Healing Craft? In a way? I don't know how to explain it. The blessing isn't... um, it's not Craft, at least by itself? It's more like... It's like using glaze on ceramics. I 'add' it to Craft I already know, and 'adding' it to Healing Craft is how I make people's time flow again. The shield I'm trying to learn, basically I can add the ability to that, and it could make a shield that would make us immune to time-freeze attacks."

Siffrin wasn't sure if that made sense, but Isabeau and Odile were nodding.

"And you've never learned how to 'add' it to Battle Craft." Odile didn't frame it as a question, but Mirabelle nodded. "So I doubt you'd know how to cast it out into the Dead Zone."

Mirabelle made a noise, and Isabeau patted her shoulder, offering reassuring words as Siffrin tried to think of a solution.

“You said it’s not fatal right away,” Isabeau said slowly, tapping his chin. “So, what exactly does a Dead Zone do?”

“Visions,” Siffrin replied. “The person who told me about them walked into one by accident, not knowing what it was until after. He couldn’t remember what he saw, only told me that it was bad and that he woke up screaming for weeks afterwards. He’d survived, because others on the team were able to reach him. See, as powerful as the Curse is, it ‘turns off’ in a way, once it’s triggered. It afflicts the person who triggered it, but then it’s safe for the others to cross, until the Curse reactivates later. I’m not sure if it’s time-based, or if it reactivates the moment the afflicted person leaves the Zone.”

Or dies trying.

“Lasting damage like that isn’t worth it,” Odile said with finality. “We’ll need to find another way.”

“Is he at least okay now?” Mirabelle asked, and Siffrin’s heart clenched.

A sound not unlike a pile of meat hitting a tile floor.

A teenager screaming as the closest thing he could call a friend started to bleed out in front of him.

Abominable thirst betraying him.

“Yeah.” Siffrin smiled, but the others didn’t look convinced. Blinking, they turned away and looked back towards the tower. “… The birds are avoiding it…”

“Yes.” Odile squinted as seven magpies avoided the Dead Zone. “Makes me wonder how animals would be affected by such a Curse, or if they only avoid it due to some sense, like when they feel when some natural disaster is imminent.”

“… What about a Sadness?” Siffrin asked, shrugging when the others looked at him. “It’s worth a try. If the birds are avoiding it, then trying to find a way over isn’t a good option, but what if a Sadness getting affected by the Curse is enough for us to cross?”

“Then we potentially get stuck on the other side…” Odile trailed off, brow creased. “Splitting up isn’t the safest option…”

“Splitting up?” Isabeau’s eyebrows shot up. “But—”

“How would we even decide?” Mirabelle sounded close to panicking again.

“You’d need to be one of the ones going across,” Odile said, sounding distant and conflicted. “You’re the one who can sense the orbs. And… Siffrin would need to be with you, in case there are even more traps in the tower. You two are also the fastest in our group, so you’re more likely to make it across before the Sadness either gets out or evaporates.”

“… I don’t like this,” Isabeau muttered, crossing his arms, but he couldn’t provide any other ideas.

“… We can do this,” Mirabelle said, and Siffrin turned, smiling at the determined look on her face. She gave the barest smile when Siffrin nodded. “So… We wait? For a Sadness?”

Siffrin smelled rotten wood before hearing a distant roar.

“Sounds like we don’t have to wait for long,” Odile said, holding out her hands.

Understanding first what she wanted, Mirabelle reached into her pockets and handed over some vials of Crafted water and sour tonics. A beat later, Siffrin gave her vials of pepper juice and ginger juice.

As she put them into her coat pockets, Odile asked, “Ready to act as bait Isabeau? I’ll hang back to make sure you’re not injured and to knock it into the field.” She gave a small smile when Isabeau grinned and gave her a thumbs-up. “Good. Mirabelle, Siffrin, you two wait here. Stand aside, so the Sadness will go out the door instead of going after you two. Then, run.”

Mirabelle and Siffrin nodded in unison and moved aside.

“Let’s goooooo~!” Isabeau bellowed, charging forward and around the corner.

Soon, he was running back towards them, the Sadness ambling behind.

It was tall and its much too thin, swanlike neck bent as though it had been hanged. Its oversized ear scraped the ceiling, and its ribs moved as it wheezed through its too-big, blocky teeth with each breath. The way its ribs moved made Siffrin think of someone playing scales on a piano.

“Don’t get too close to the Dead Zone!” Odile reminded, book out and other hand in a rock sign.

Isabeau feigned left, and Odile nearly ran into him trying to get behind the Sadness as it hit one of the gate doors. She punched Rock Craft through the air, and as the Sadness let out an ear-splitting wail, Siffrin and Mirabelle ran, leaping over the Sadness’s spasming body as its single eye bulged and its long, boneless fingers scraped at the packed dirt, its neck, its chest.

It was working. The Curse was afflicting the Sadness, and Siffrin and Mirabelle ran across the courtyard, the tower looming closer and closer.

Siffrin rammed his shoulder into the tower door, quickly looking for switches and yelling at Mirabelle to get down.

She dropped to her belly without hesitation, Siffrin right beside her. His arm pressed the point of his hat flat as it could get, an arrow’s fletching kissing his glove, nearly cutting all the way to his skin.

Arrows flew over them from the back wall, some hitting the front wall, some scraping the door, and the rest landing in the Dead Zone.

Rock scraped against rock, and Mirabelle hyperventilated as Siffrin held up a thumbs-up when Isabeau shouted, “Are you guys okay?!”

A beat, and Siffrin hopped up to his feet but remained low to the ground as he searched the wall by the door again. It didn’t take long for him to look up and spot the trigger, which was at the top of the doorframe and had activated the trap soon as the door was opened. The holes in the back wall were still visible; they were spent and wouldn’t shoot at them again.

“Can you get up?” Siffrin asked, trying to keep his voice soft.

Mirabelle hesitated, shaking, and Siffrin dropped down next to her.

“Breathe with me?” he asked, “Here, sit up.”

Mirabelle stared at Siffrin’s offered hands, and he shyly pulled them back. He tried to think of what else to say when Mirabelle pushed herself up to sit across from him, watching as scared tears streaked down her ashen cheeks.

The Sadness was still screaming.

“Okay.” Siffrin placed a hand over his chest, and Mirabelle copied him. “Deep breath in…” They waited a few beats. “And out…”

Twice more, and Mirabelle nodded, though her hands still trembled as she wiped her tears away. “Th-thank you…”

“Do you need some time before we start going?” Siffrin asked, no longer having to work hard to soften his voice. He hadn’t realized how worked up the Dead Zone and arrows had made him.

Mirabelle thought for a moment and shook her head. “I’m okay.” She stood and turned to look past a doorway behind her. “That way. I’m sure of it.”

Smiling, Siffrin nodded and started forward and drew out his dagger. “I’ll take the lead, in case of more traps. Tell me which way to go.”

One hand on her rapier, Mirabelle nodded, faltering. “Siffrin… may I ask… one question? You don’t have to answer if it’s too personal, but…”

Oh stars. Siffrin steeled themself but nodded.

“… Okay.” Mirabelle drew in a breath. “You’ve been a Sadness Hunter, worked with a team to find… ‘something’… You’ve been traveling on your own for I’m guessing a while… Um, how old are you?” She started at Siffrin’s suddenly blank look. “Um, sorry, just, I assumed you were the same age as me! Uh, 22, by the way.”

She frowned when Siffrin laughed.

“Sorry,” he said after a moment. “I just… wasn’t expecting that to be your question. I’m 24.”

“Ah, okay…”

Siffrin couldn’t read her expression. She looked a little like she wanted to ask follow-up questions, but when she didn’t, he turned around again.

They had an orb to find. Siffrin peeked around the door frame and found an office and a narrow staircase, sconces on the wall but without any candles for them to light their way.

The Sadness outside was still screaming.

Chapter Text

Good news: Beyond the arrows at the entryway, the tower itself appeared to be devoid of traps.

Bad news: There was no light except for the thin windows in the exterior rooms.

Well, it was bad news for Mirabelle, but she was the one Siffrin was depending on to help guide them to the orb. They tried their best not to be annoyed. At least the screaming had stopped, but would another Sadness regenerate when they and Mirabelle were ready to cross the courtyard again?

Oh, stars above, please, Siffrin silently pleaded as he threw bulging folders and loose paper onto the otherwise clean desk. Whoever had worked in this office hadn’t been organized in the least, and it looked like they hadn’t thrown anything away. The papers looked to be a mix of maps, to-do lists, letters, reports, and doodles.

“Any candles in there?” Mirabelle asked while she checked an armoire. “Oh, Change”—she sneezed—“no one’s really been in here for years, huh?”

“Probably… not.” Siffrin froze, staring at the desk. Other than the papers he’d just thrown onto it, the surface was clean.

And… those were papers. Bright papers. Not parchment or vellum or birch bark or silk. They weren’t even darkened with age.

Eyes narrowed, they dragged a finger across the dark wood and brought it close to their face, in case the darkness was affecting them for once.

No, they were right. There was only the thinnest layer of dust. Someone had been here—a few weeks ago, if he had to guess.

“Siffrin?” Mirabelle sneezed again.

“No candles in the first drawer,” he replied, voice echoing in his ears. He spread the papers out over the desk’s surface, squinting again. The only light was a sliver to his right, the narrow window situated between two skinny, ceiling-high bookcases.

Siffrin grabbed two papers at random and brought them to the window.

“Siffrin, what is it?” Mirabelle came over to them, squinting at the pages, then gasping. “Wait, that’s…”

“It’s definitely not Old Vaugardian,” Siffrin said as he stared at the reports. They were dry and boring, one a list of demands brought to a House’s higher council—one was to serve more bread at lunch?

No, okay, Siffrin could understand that one, and suddenly, they wanted nothing more than some fresh-baked bread.

They were still hungry!

“Here.” Mirabelle pointed at one of the names on the other report. “That’s the equestrian instructor in Dormont’s House!” She jumped when Siffrin stared at her. “I’m sure of it! They have a pretty unique name, using Vaugarde’s pronunciation of an old Mwudu saint, to honor two sides of their family.” Mirabelle cleared her throat to keep herself from rambling, and she looked over the papers; Siffrin angled them to make it easier for her. “These are the Head Housemaiden’s, I’m sure of it, but… How could she have…”

Mirabelle stared out the window, and Siffrin bit the inside of his cheek.

He was curious, too, but how Dormont’s Head Housemaiden had gotten past the Dead Zone didn’t matter right now. It didn’t matter why she’d come here of all places, only that she had.

“Mirabelle, you guys were talking about how the first two orbs were in libraries, right?” Siffrin asked, watching as her brow furrowed.

“Madame Odile thought it might have to do with all the places having some sort of historical connection,” Mirabelle whispered. “But the Head Housemaiden is a scholar, studying the history of Craft and theoretical Craft.”

“So, maybe the orbs went where she’s been. Maybe places important to what she’s currently studying?” Siffrin nodded a beat after Mirabelle. “I don’t know how she scattered them, but it makes sense, right?”

“Yeah, it does.” Mirabelle sighed. She stepped aside, looking at the books now. “These aren’t dusty.”

Siffrin set the papers aside and ran a finger over some of the books in the shelf next to the desk. “No, they aren’t.” He saw the lost, longing look on her face and clenched his fists. “You’ve already read the books you brought, right?” He smiled when Mirabelle looked away sheepishly. “I’m sure no one will object to you taking a book from here. I still need to search the last drawer. If your Head Housemaiden’s been here recently, then we should be able to find something.”

“I hope so,” Mirabelle sighed, already on her tiptoes to reach a large, dark tome. “If we can’t…” She sighed. “I’m pretty sure the orb is by a window, at least. That might help. We’ll just have to be careful going up the stairs and walking around any interior rooms.”

Nodding, Siffrin finished looking through the drawer, emptying it of papers and sticks of graphite—looked like the doodles had been the Head Housemaiden’s.

They pressed the bottom of the drawer, probing the edges, but the wood held fast to the sides. Nodding to themself, they closed it and moved onto the much deeper drawer below it.

Stars, it’s stuck. Gritting their teeth, Siffrin yanked it open, sending pages fluttering onto the floor as a folder hit their knee and plopped onto the ground. The papers and wax tablets inside scattered over the stone floor. They glanced up at Mirabelle’s giggle.

“She’s never been very organized,” she said, tone a mix of grief and amusement. “My roommate was always trying to help her find ways to keep her files organized. Our friend Thomas would joke that Claude helping someone stay organized was like a cat trying to lead a fox through water.”

Siffrin snorted a small laugh. “Your roommate sounds nice.”

He startled at the dark look on Mirabelle’s face as she gripped the tome in her hands. “She’s…” Her shoulders relaxed as she swallowed the lump in her throat. “H-how’s the book I lent you, Siffrin?”

Ah, don’t bring up the roommate. Got it.

Picking up the spilled papers, Siffrin replied, “I’m still only a few chapters in. I’m not a very fast reader.” He chuckled. “It’s starting to get spookier, though. I’d never heard of the folktale it’s based off of.”

“Really?” Mirabelle slid the thick book back into place and chose another one, bringing it into the light as she flipped through its pages. “Oh, sorry. Vaugarde has a similar story about doppelgängers, though it’s not as… bad I guess as Poteria’s versions. More of like a warning, maybe, since the spirit only targets bad people. Hireth and Gael have a similar story to it, too, so I assumed it was a really wide-spread myth…”

Siffrin half-listened as she spoke. She had a nice voice, and her way of speaking and expressing herself made it easy to want to be on her side and make her smile. She’d be a natural at playing the ingénue, if Mirabelle ever wanted to get into acting.

One of the fallen wax tablets had broken nearly in half. Siffrin picked them up, sniffing the wood. Whoever had cut these hadn’t bothered to Craft or varnish them; they were rotting.

Mirabelle moved onto talking about other books she’d read recently that were based off fairytales and old myths. Her voice grew sharp edges as she ranted about one in particular; the author had tried to subvert popular tropes in the horror genre but had only succeeded in pissing off their audience.

Etched into the light wax coating one side of the wooden tablets was Old Vaugardian. Siffrin couldn’t read it but recognized a few words that were close enough to their modern counterparts. Based on what they recognized, they were pretty sure these tablets were talking about… stars? But the Vaugardians he’d spoken to didn’t know anything about stars. Same with most people in any country, really, and, honestly, even Siffrin forgot about them half the time.

So why had Dormont’s Head Housemaiden been looking over old wax tablets talking about stars?

… Did it matter?

Siffrin clumsily stuffed them back into their folder and set it aside.

“Mira.” Siffrin grunted as they yanked out a leatherbound book wedged between an accordion folder and loose papers that had been clipped together. Silver leafing flaked off the spine, and the embossed image on its front was slightly off-center. “This one has a stabbed heart on the cover. Seems like a book you’d like.”

“Oh!” Mirabelle returned the book she’d been holding and took the one Siffrin offered. “Oh! Three swords going through a heart, like one of those cards this one housemaiden in an art class I took liked to play with. Head Housemaiden Euphrasie doesn’t like horror much. She only made an exception for The Cursing of Château Castle, since the horror parts are more of a secondary… Um... Oh.”

Siffrin had returned to pulling papers and folders out of the drawer, barely glancing at them anymore. They didn’t have time to look at them; they needed to find a candle and then the orb. “What is it?”

Mirabelle startled. “Oh, it’s just an epistolary book—”

“A what book?”

“Epistolary. It’s written to be like a collection of letters.” Mirabelle flipped through the pages, fingers drumming along the edge of the back cover. “I don’t usually like them, since the ones I’ve seen are usually romance.”

“I thought you liked romance?”

“I do! I do!” She sounded… nervous? Why was she nervous? “B-but every epistolary romance I’ve read feels… fake? Like the characters know stuff they shouldn’t, or they word things in ways that make me go, ‘Why not just write this in regular first person?’ But… oh, never mind.” She’d realized she was rambling and took a breath. “This one, though… I wonder why it was in her desk instead of on the shelf.”

“Maybe she was in the middle of reading it? Head Housemaidens need to take breaks, too.”

“There’s no bookmark.” Mirabelle sighed. “Not that that’s weird. I’ve seen the Head Housemaiden use leaves and a fork to mark her place—once, I saw her use another book! And that’s when she decided to mark her place at all. Usually, she just flips the pages until she finds what page she’d left off on.” She stopped, realizing she was rambling again. “I’ll take this one with me.” She looked at the shelves. “… And maybe one more.”

“Remember you have to carry them across the courtyard,” Siffrin teased, curiously opening the bulging accordion folder.

“This one isn’t that heavy.” Mirabelle paused, thinking about something. “… A thin book, then.”

… There were taper candles inside the accordion folder. Siffrin made a face but noticed something written on one of the tabs.

Crafted Virus (???)

There were only two pieces of paper in that section. One was a reply from the Voimort House’s Head Housemaiden.

Glancing at Mirabelle, Siffrin saw that she was still browsing books and quickly read the letter.

He had to squint, unable to make out all of it, but it looked like Voimort’s Head Housemaiden had written that the information Euphrasie wanted would betray patient confidentiality.

Heart in their throat, Siffrin quickly grabbed both papers, folded them, and slipped them into one of their inner cloak pockets.

“I found candles,” they announced, holding onto the accordion folder as they stood. “She’d put them in here for some reason.”

Looking over and noticing the folder, Mirabelle laughed. “No, that’s… Yeah, that’s like her.” She grabbed a dark, clothbound book. She opened it to the table of contents. “Thank Change, it has a chapter for healing multiple people at once.”

“That sounds… really hard?” Siffrin grabbed two candles and set the folder onto the desk.

“It is, but it’ll be extremely useful if I can learn it.” Mirabelle sighed. “There’s a book here on Piercing Craft if you want it.”

“… Every time I’ve tried to learn Craft abilities from a book, I just ended up hurting myself,” Siffrin admitted with a flinch. “I learn better watching other people and copying them. I can hold one of your books, though.”

“No, that’s okay! The pocket inside this cape is big enough.” As if to demonstrate, she lifted the longer cape she’d been wearing when the temperatures dropped and stuffed the books into its inner pocket. She was nervous again? Why?

It was probably because they’d spent all this time just looking for candles, plus her thinking about her Head Housemaiden and roommate, plus her wondering if they’d be able to cross the courtyard back to Isabeau and Odile.

Yeah, it made sense she’d be nervous.

Make her laugh, Siffrin. He held out one of the candles to her. “Well, as long as you find them enlightening.”

“I’m sure I—no.” Mirabelle frowned and snatched the offered candle.

Smirking, Siffrin watched as Mirabelle pinched the wick between her fingers and snapped. Craft in the wax reacted to her slight push of Craft onto the wick, lighting it on fire.

It seemed easy enough. Siffrin pulled off one glove and copied her, but the wick didn’t so much as smoke.

Swallowing back a giggle, Mirabelle said, “It takes a few tries to get it. Madame Odile had to show me.” She traded candles with Siffrin after he put his glove back on, and she lit the other one. “Okay, let’s check upstairs.”

Failing to light a blinding candle wasn’t how he’d wanted to make her smile, but he’d take it. At least she sounded calmer now.

The second floor opened into a small, circular room. It was dark and empty, but when Siffrin drew closer to wall, he saw that some sconces were set low, and the stone above it was slightly lighter than the rest. Something had hung there long ago, a map or battle plans or something, most likely. The dust on the floor had been disturbed, and Siffrin and Mirabelle followed them into a long, outer room decorated only by three bows hanging on a wall, disintegrating string on the ground under them.

No big boxes.

Siffrin and Mirabelle searched around, just in case, but it didn’t take long to see that it wasn’t here. They returned to the small, interior room to take the spiraling staircase up to the next floor.

The next level looked to be a living space, a half-dozen beds spaced around the open room.

“There!” Mirabelle pointed at a large, wooden box beneath a narrow window. A light cloth draped over one corner. “Is this room safe, too?”

All Siffrin smelled was dust. “Yeah, it’s safe.”

He listened as he stepped towards the box, but nothing happened. He guessed the soldiers likely hadn’t wanted to risk getting hurt by their own traps in their sleeping space.

Nestled in the cloth as though tucked in was a ball roughly the size of a swan egg. It was a bright shade, and when Mirabelle picked it up, it shone.

This feels a little anticlimactic after everything, Siffrin thought, before remembering that they still had two more orbs to locate.

“Oh, Change…” Mirabelle let out a long breath, as if she’d been holding it since they reached the fortress, and she handed her candle for Siffrin to hold. She looked tired suddenly, eyes shining with tears. “One more step closer.” Her eyes were trained on the orb; it didn’t sound like she was talking to Siffrin. “Don’t worry, everyone. I’ll be there soon.”

She hugged the orb close, and Siffrin remained silent, giving her the time she needed.

Tears slipped down her cheeks, and Siffrin’s heart ached for her.

“And then we’ll kick that King’s crabbing butt,” he said in a low voice, smiling when Mirabelle laughed hard enough that she snorted and coughed.

“We’ll kick his crabbing butt!” she agreed, breathless. She gave Siffrin a grateful smile. “Thank you. This isn’t your fight, but I’m glad you’re here with us, helping. We wouldn’t have been able to get past those traps without you.”

Well, I’d be frozen, too, so it’s kind of my fight. Siffrin didn’t want to ruin the moment by saying that, so he nodded, fighting the urge to hide his face with his hat. “Of course, Mira. You ready to head back?”

“Yes.” Mirabelle nodded. “Let’s go before Madame Odile does something drastic to come after us.”

When they reached the entrance, after returning their candles to the office, Siffrin could see Odile pacing back and forth as Isabeau said something, looking pained when Odile snapped back at him.

“We found it!” Mirabelle called, and Odile caught Isabeau before he could fall into the Dead Zone. “Sorry!”

“All good!” Isabeau called back as Odile shouted, “No other Sadnesses have reformed!”

Siffrin’s blood ran cold; he hadn’t heard her sound that anxious before. Panic was painted clearly on her face, and Isabeau crossed his arms over his chest and looked away.

“… No.” Mirabelle’s voice was small and brittle. “No, no, no. We… we can’t…”

There had to be something. Anything.

Come on, you idiot, think! Siffrin stared up at the top of the wall surrounding the tower, then at the ground. There had to be something—

“Let me see something.” Siffrin dashed back into the office and got one of the taper candles they’d used. “Mira, can you light this please? Try seeing if you can add your time ability to it? Maybe if we throw it, it will be enough to short out the Curse.”

Turning as Siffrin returned, Mirabelle looked unblinkingly from the candle to their face and back, unsure this would work but unable to think of another solution. “… Sure? I-I can try...”

She tried to shift the orb so that it was between her elbow and chest, but it slipped, ringing like dozens of winter bells as it bounced off the stone floor and rolled into the Death Zone.

Mirabelle and Siffrin jumped back at the sudden, riotous noise—like hundreds of bells of all sizes. Siffrin couldn’t stop himself from baring his fangs as he hissed in pain, clutching his ears as he backed up until his back hit the wall.

“Siffrin? Siffrin!” Mirabelle snatched her hands back to her sides when he flinched.

Breathing fast, she looked from them to the orb, Craft crackling all around it. Siffrin squinted their eyes open as they slid to the ground, breath ragged and hands trembling against the sides of their head. Tears clung to their pale lashes, and the world around them seemed to quake as Mirabelle stood at the entrance, shouting something to Odile and Isabeau.

Stars, stars, why was it so loud?! It hurt, it hurt!

Somehow, through the bells, Siffrin could hear Mirabelle’s heart beating. Fast, almost like a hummingbird’s wings. Adrenaline spiked and surged through her veins.

Siffrin gnashed their teeth, starting to rise when they realized what they were doing.

No. No!

The bells rang and clanged and boomed and trilled. Every muscle in Siffrin’s body wound up tighter and tighter.

He grabbed a chunk of brick that had fallen from the wall when the trap was set off earlier. He stuck it in his mouth and bit down hard. He focused on the way his teeth practically vibrated from the effort, the taste of dirt and silt and mortar.

Time slowed, then skipped. Siffrin’s stomach churned, and he covered his mouth with a hand.

“You’re alright, young one.”

“Are they going to be okay?”

“What happened to him, Madame?”

“I was hoping you could answer that.”

“I-I don’t know?! They didn’t get any closer to the Death Zone than I did, so… so…!”

“Everyone calm down. We don’t want to make them feel worse.”

Everyone was speaking at once.

The ringing had stopped.

Siffrin was… across the courtyard?

They jumped, and Isabeau held up his hands and scooted back. Since when had he gotten so close?

“Sorry!” Isabeau kept his hands up, and he sounded out of breath. “You weren’t responding, so I had to carry you. After Mira dropped the orb, M’dame Odile saw it was reacting with the Craft in the Death Zone, so we got the other two. They made a triangle across the courtyard that was safe to cross.”

“It took a while to get here, since Mirabelle needed to use a stick to slowly roll the orb you two found behind her but without stepping on the Cursed areas,” Odile explained.

It should have been Siffrin doing that, not Mirabelle risking her safety. Their eyes burned suddenly as failure twisted around their heart.

“Hey, hey.” Isabeau moved like he was going to touch them but stopped. “We’re all okay now.”

“Do you remember what happened?” Odile asked, squatting down as she tried to meet Siffrin’s gaze.

He… was sitting on the floor, back against the wall. His teeth scraped the chunk of brick still in his mouth. He shook his head.

“He started plugging his ears when the orb fell and rolled into the Dead Zone. I don’t know what happened, but it was pretty loud,” Mirabelle said, but she still looked troubled as she thought over what had happened.

“Yeah… it felt like my teeth were ringing inside my mouth,” Isabeau agreed.

“Yes, indeed. My ears are still ringing,” Odile sighed. “I don’t know why, but I’m guessing Siffrin ended up getting the worst of… whatever that was. No use worrying about it too much. We’ve retrieved the orb, and now”—her face paled—“we have to climb back down.”

It was true Siffrin struggled with loud noises sometimes—super-senses were a curse as well as a gift. Still… he’d never reacted like that before.

And stars, their throat burned.

Hands trembling, Siffrin surreptitiously removed the chunk of brick from his mouth and slid it into one of his pockets. They unhooked their flask from its strap and uncapped it with their teeth. As they drank, Isabeau rose, talking to Mirabelle. Odile continued to watch Siffrin for a moment before standing to join the conversation; Siffrin didn’t have the energy to care what she’d seen or thought she’d seen.

Forcing themself to sip slowly, they closed their eyes and concentrated on the blood as it slid over their tongue and down their throat. The flask ran empty too soon, and soon as they realized this, Siffrin’s heart fell.

This was all the blood they had for their trip, until they reached another town or at least ran into more people.

It’ll be fine. It’ll be fine. Siffrin placed a hand on his chest and breathed in, and out. He shouldn’t get thirsty again for a few days at least. Deer or rabbit blood would help tide him over for another day, maybe two, Universe willing. By then, they’d be close enough to the base of the mountain that they were more likely to come across other travelers.

“Are you okay to walk, Sif?”

Looking up at his party, Siffrin managed to give a weak smile and stood. He felt better, steadier. He reattached his flask to its strap and nodded.

Isabeau still looked worried. He, Mirabelle, and Odile were each holding an orb.

“Alright.” Odile didn’t sound sure but made no objections. “Let’s go, then.”

Siffrin nodded again and took the lead once more.

When camp was made, the others decided that Siffrin would sleep throughout the night; Isabeau could take the first watch while Odile took the second watch. He didn’t have the energy to object.

“Apologies. I tried to be quiet.”

Siffrin blinked. They were awake and in a crouch; they couldn’t tell if they’d been ready to run or attack.

Odile heaved a deep sigh when Siffrin stayed silent. “Go back to sleep, Siffrin. We need to be up early.”

To reach the climbing wall well before sunset.

Siffrin tried to nod, tried to lay back down.

They… couldn’t… move…

Slowly, carefully, Odile drew closer and knelt, so her calves folded underneath her thighs.

“Did you have another nightmare?” she guessed.

“…” Siffrin tried to think, tried to remember.

They didn’t even remember getting into the tent.

“I won’t say I have any understanding of what you’ve been through,” Odile said in a surprisingly soft voice. “However, I do understand having so much happen, it feels like too many lifetimes stuffed into a single one.”

Siffrin’s chest ached as their breathing remained shallow.

“My father…” Odile swallowed. It seemed this wound was still fresh. “He’d have me say one thing. One thing that bothered me. It didn’t have to be the thing I was worrying about right then. Truth be told, often, I couldn’t even put the thing into words. Trying felt like trying to separate one thread from the rest of a spider’s web.”

Siffrin’s breathing slowly deepened, the ache in his chest beginning to ebb.

“So, I’d tell him a small problem, anything, whether it was something that we could find a solution for, or something I simply needed to complain about.” A small, brittle chuckle passed through her thin lips. “I used to hate doing the latter. Complaining about something that I couldn’t find solutions for felt… burdensome, I guess. I wanted to focus on problems I could fix, but that left everything else to fester in the background, until they suddenly weighed too heavily on me to get up again.”

… That sounded familiar. Siffrin gave a small nod; they weren’t sure if she could even see them do it.

“So… one thing, Siffrin, please. It doesn’t matter how small. It doesn’t matter if it’s petty or even worth complaining about.”

A problem, a problem…

“I…” Siffrin’s breath wheezed through his teeth. How long had he been clenching his jaw? He forced it to relax. “I don’t really like the book Mira let me borrow, but I don’t want to hurt her feelings.”

“…” Odile blinked in surprise, then laughed, tension leaving her body. “Oh, I’m sure she’ll understand. Isabeau and I don’t like a lot of the books she enjoys, either.”

That didn’t make Siffrin feel better, but they nodded. Their jaw cracked as they yawned, and Odile laughed again.

“Back to sleep, young one. Isabeau and Mirabelle will be taking tomorrow’s watch.”

Already lowering themself back onto their bedroll, Siffrin mumbled something. Maybe a half-hearted objection; they couldn’t tell.

Before they knew it, Odile was outside, relieving Isabeau, and Siffrin was drifting until he was stuck in that space between sleep and wakefulness.

At the wall, Siffrin had gone first as before, going back for their packs and throwing the rope to Mirabelle. It took more tries this time, since he was throwing up instead of getting to let gravity do most of the work, but it wasn’t long before everyone was across and setting up camp. They still had rice and mixed nuts left, but they’d cooked the last of their sausages this morning.

With Odile handling their fire and Mirabelle and Isabeau setting up their tents, Siffrin went off to find water first, then rabbits.

“Do you know how to forage?” Odile asked him, raising an eyebrow when Siffrin shook his head.

“Never learned,” he told her. “I worked briefly for a healer once, but all I did was organize his stuff and, sometimes I held the basket when he foraged for herbs and stuff. He never taught me how to identify any of it, besides willow bark when I kept getting headaches.”

“Hmm…” Odile finished setting down a circle of large stones to surround their fire pit. “I’ll look, then. I think I might have seen wild cucumbers and radishes growing on our way here. I have some spices to make us a salad to go with our rice and rabbit.” She sighed at Isabeau’s face. “I can make a mild one just for you.”

“… Thanks, M’dame,” he said sheepishly, making Siffrin chuckle.

“M-me, too, please,” Mirabelle said shyly.

Odile sighed again but looked at Siffrin. “And you?”

“I’m fine with spicy,” he assured. “Sounds good. How many rabbits should I bring back?”

“The ones we’ve seen on our way up were the size of small dogs, so one should be fine. We don’t have enough salt to cure any leftovers that won’t fit in the Crafted foil we have.” Odile looked over when Mirabelle made a small noise while hammering in one of the stakes for her and Isabeau’s tent. “Dress them outside camp. I don’t remember seeing predators nearby, but I’d rather the organs be thrown far from where we’re sleeping as to not tempt any closer to us.”

Siffrin nodded and set off with everyone’s flasks. There was a clear stream with fast-moving water nearby, and after filling everyone else’s, Siffrin unclipped their own flask and filled it a little less than halfway. He swirled the water around to catch all the leftover blood clinging to the sides and drank, grimacing but getting it all down. He did this twice more, and when the water no longer held a metallic aftertaste of blood, Siffrin filled his flask the rest of the way and reattached it to his strap.

Back at camp, the tents were up, and Isabeau was securing tarps over them, just in case it rained again. Mirabelle was tending the fire and let Siffrin know that Odile was looking for the vegetables and herbs she’d seen while the sun was still out.

She took Odile’s flask from him, and when he started to turn, she said in a small voice, “Sorry.”

“… About what?” Siffrin wracked their brain, trying to think if they’d disagreed on anything, or if they’d made a face at something she’d said.

“I know I get squeamish when it comes to… killing animals.” She stared at the fire and poked one of the logs with a stick. Sparks flew up, their light diffused by the smoke. “When I was younger, I used to help on a farm near Dormont, during class breaks. The farmer’s my aunt’s ex-partner—oh, don’t worry, it wasn’t a bad separation or anything, they just both Changed and talked and decided together it was better for them to move onto new relationships. Anyway, she wanted me to help kill and defeather one of the chickens for soup, and it was harder to kill than I thought…” She shivered. “Maybe I’m a baby, but… I had nightmares of that poor chicken screaming for months after.” Her laugh was hollow. “Or maybe I’m a hypocrite, since even after that, I still didn’t want to give up eating meat, even chicken, but just… I couldn’t…”

Oh. Oh, that made sense. Siffrin didn’t know how old she’d been when that happened, but he didn’t try hunting for meat the first time until he was… 12? 13? And even then, the first few times, he hadn’t been able to go through with it, calling himself a hypocrite—What, you can break into someone's house and drink their blood, but you get squeamish killing a poor little bunny rabbit?—letting the rabbit go and instead digging for tubers—potatoes, usually; for over a year, just about all he ate was potatoes, potatoes, potatoes, until he’d decided he’d rather steal or starve than eat them even one more time.

“I don’t think that’s hypocritical,” Siffrin said carefully, unsure how to word it or even what they were trying to say. “And that was a lot to ask if it was something you’d never even seen before, let alone helped do. It doesn’t make you a baby, Mira. You have one of the softest hearts I’ve known, but that doesn’t make you weak or a baby. I think it makes you strong to keep it that way.”

Mirabelle’s smile held no warmth, even as her eyes glittered with grateful tears. “Anouk—the farmer—always… She always told me I’d survive easier if I hardened it.”

“She’s wrong.” He was surprised by the vehemence in his voice and looked away when Mirabelle straightened and turned her gaze towards him. “I saw a play once, one of the last ones I got to see before coming to Vaugarde. The main character was like you. Soft and kind, even to people who didn’t deserve it, and she ended up getting hurt. Badly. But when she was told by the antagonist, who was in disguise as her ally, to harden her heart, she said that coldness and cruelty were easy, easier if she put a wall of briars around her heart, which could only hurt her as much as they’d protect her. The hardest and bravest thing she could do was to keep trusting people to handle her heart gently.”

A tear escaped down Mirabelle’s cheek as she smiled at Siffrin. “Thank you. It really is hard to trust like that.” She wiped her eyes and sighed. “Go on, now. I don’t want to keep you, and if you get lost in the forest after dark, I’m going to be really, really mad.”

Siffrin laughed easily. “Of course, Mira. I’ll be back soon.”

As he passed the tents, Isabeau smiled at him, offering a thumbs-up, which Siffrin returned as he dashed into the woods, cheeks warm and heart full.

Chapter Text

Mirabelle, like other housemaidens Siffrin had interacted with beforehand, claimed that the Change God rarely interacted with humans directly. They didn’t step into people’s affairs, content to stand back and allow them to come to the solutions They knew they had already.

Hearing this always made Siffrin wonder what the point of prayer and worship was in the first place, then.

He wondered if the Change God watched them all with amusement, clapping or booing or gasping like an audience watching a play.

Although, the Change God stepping up to deliver a blessing to Their chosen one meant They’d decided to elevate Themself from audience member to benefactor.

He never pondered such things for long, but as Siffrin stared up at the stars, he struggled to hold onto anything else in his mind.

Three nights had passed since the third orb was found, and the rest of the party finally allowed Siffrin to start taking first watch again. No one still had any idea what had happened to him with the orbs; Odile seemed most frustrated about not being able to come up with a theory.

Siffrin didn’t care anymore. It happened, it passed, it was time to move on.

Right now, a bigger problem was their thirst. They’d drained all the rabbits they’d caught of blood before dressing them and bringing their meat to Odile to roast or toss into a pot for stew. It wasn’t enough; of course it wasn’t enough. Siffrin knew it wouldn’t be enough.

They grew restless, fingers tapping along the ground as they stared at the faraway, cold and distant stars. Nostalgia and familiarity and grief and loss and longing churned their stomach and stretched their heart until it felt ready to burst and break their ribs apart.

Breathing… breathing… They needed to breathe.

In

.

.

.

.

.

Out…

“Hey, Sif, buddy, you okay?”

Blinking, Siffrin turned their head. When had Isabeau woken up? Was it already that late?

“I’m fine,” Siffrin whispered, his throat feeling like sandpaper.

“…” Isabeau crossed his arms over his chest. Now that they were at the base of the mountain again, he’d changed back into his sleeveless, dark turtleneck worn over a light tunic with wide, bell-like sleeves.

When Siffrin didn’t say anything else, Isabeau’s shoulders fell, but he forced a smile.

“Okay, I’ll believe you,” he said before sitting on the log they’d rolled by the fire earlier. “So, totally changing topics… Do you want to talk about something?”

No. Where would they even start, if they wanted to? “Nope, I’m good.”

“…” Isabeau watched as Siffrin pushed themself up and brushed grass and dirt off their cloak. “Okay, well, I’m here if you ever change your mind.”

Would that change? If Siffrin actually talked to him? Told him how their throat burned, how they could hear his heart thud-thud-thudding and wanted to sink their fangs into the side of his neck?

Would he ever look at him the same again? Make jokes with him? Trust him to be around him and the others?

“Thanks, Isa,” Siffrin told him, smiling tiredly and going into his and Odile’s tent.

He dreamed of eating his friends one by one.

Idiot. Reading it again won’t change the words. Siffrin crumpled the piece of paper into a tight ball. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

They threw it into the fire, staring as the paper caught and turned darker and darker, slowly unravelling as it smoked.

He’d already thrown away the letter from Voimort.

He’d already known it would be void of any information he didn’t already know. He’d known, he’d known, he’d known.

Still. It was nice, at least, to know that the Voimort Head Housemaiden was true to her word. Regardless of who asked, she would always refuse to break the confidentiality of her patients.

But the second paper, a report in a section Euphrasie had labeled Crafted Viruses (???)…

Despite his cloak, Siffrin felt cold.

His throat burned.

A virus, hypothesized to have been created using Craft, possibly by mutating an existing virus, possibly by creating one from nothing—the latter possibility had been annotated, guiding Euphrasie to check notes in SL-office, whatever that was.

The virus bound itself to a person’s DNA, and the rest of the paragraph was mostly crossed-out or had a bunch of annotations or question marks next to underlined sentences. It looked like Euphrasie’s personal theory was that the virus had essentially Crafted itself into a gene over time this way—with lots of question marks after it. This gene was recessive; most carriers didn’t show symptoms but could pass it down to their offspring, nonetheless. For someone to be afflicted, both parents would need to be carriers.

If Euphrasie was right, then both of Siffrin’s parents were carriers, possibly unaware of the fact until after he was born.

This was the only thing Siffrin knew about their parents, if true; this fact felt like a knife twisting in their gut.

The afflicted could be of any Craft Type, though Scissors Types seemed to be most common, but all of them showed resistance to Healing Craft and Body Craft. People with this affliction had bodies that healed quickly, but this caused them to crave human blood soon after.

Ignoring this craving too long caused them to go into a fugue state; the afflicted typically didn’t snap out of it until drinking their fill. In the margins next to this piece of information were two notes, and as always, Siffrin grew sick at the second note:

Belenus, est. 9yo (see SL-office notes) when first contacted, 25yo in February present-year, last seen in Bambouche, under guardianship of H. Aurélin.

Belenus was a unique-enough name that Siffrin, except for one occasion while in Gael, had never needed to worry about randomly hearing it, of randomly being hit by memories best forgotten.

When the healers in Bambouche couldn’t get Siffrin to remember anything, they guessed his age to be eight and handed him off to Aurélin, who had opened a group home for abandoned and orphaned children a few years prior. Almost two years later, Siffrin broke his arm after a play-battle with his Rock Type roommate knocked him over the edge of a cliff.

All that had saved Siffrin from certain death had been tangled roots, a fast housemaiden, and probably a lot of luck.

Their bone had stuck out of the top of their forearm, but by morning, it was completely healed.

The next morning, Siffrin was found sleeping outside, and the morning after that, fishermen discovered a body that had washed up on the beach. The body had been drained of blood.

About a week later, Siffrin woke up from a nightmare they couldn’t remember. They heard whispering downstairs. Their name back then—Belenus—had been said multiple times.

Had Euphrasie been one of those people downstairs? Had she suspected what Siffrin had done? What would have happened to him, had he stayed?

… It didn’t matter. It didn’t matter. It. Didn’t. Matter.

They were here now.

Traveling with Mirabelle, Isabeau, and Odile.

To Dormont.

… If they beat the King, would the Head Housemaiden—

Siffrin didn’t finish the thought. Even if she’d been one of those people downstairs, odds were, she wouldn’t even recognize him. Right?

Siffrin continued to stare at the burning paper, frowning.

When people afflicted with this virus died, their body healed them of death… in a way.

That part of the report had been covered in cramped annotations and crossed-out sentences, making it difficult to read. Euphrasie’s writing was more organized than her desk drawers but not by much.

From what Siffrin had been able to gather, people like him resurrected after death. His heart would no longer beat, and he wouldn’t need to breathe. However, he would crave blood much more frequently than he already did. He would be more likely to enter a fugue state and become violent.

Everything written after that was prefaced with words like speculation, hunch, or suspected.

Siffrin watched as the report turned to cinders. The fire could have Euphrasie’s speculations and hunches and suspicions; he didn’t want them.

Their throat burned.

Looking over the fire at the tents, which were under the cover of nearby pines, Siffrin stared. Waited. Blinked. They stood. They wanted to run. They wanted to bite, to drink.

They wanted…

They… weren’t sure. They’ve never felt this tangle of conflicting wants before.

Heart lurching, Siffrin removed his hat and cloak. He folded them and set them on the log he’d been sitting on and set his flask to weigh them down, in case the wind returned.

He’d come back here; he had to, now.

Looking up to measure time by the moon’s position, Siffrin nodded to themself and bolted into the surrounding forest, away from camp.

Running faster than Siffrin let himself dare to around other people, he wove around trees, shoulder or elbow occasionally scraping bark. His feet barely touched the ground, and his breathing grew deeper as the muscles in his legs began to burn.

There.

Siffrin turned, sliding over leaves, hands pressing against the damp forest floor to right himself as he kept going. He ducked under branches and jumped over roots and large stones breaking through the earth.

They stopped in a crouch at the edge of a small clearing, breathing hard and grinning despite themself. They didn’t get to test their body like this often. Adrenaline pumped through their veins, and a part of them wanted to just run through the forest—no destination, no goal, just run until their muscles screamed and their lungs struggled to pull in a single breath and adrenaline left their mind spinning, spinning, spinning.

Instead, Siffrin smelled the air and listened. There were two people in the tent; the fire in front of it was nothing but embers.

There was no time to waste.

Siffrin darted towards the tent, silent as the surrounding night.

“Where the gems were you?!” Odile hissed as Siffrin emerged from the forest.

She’d been pacing, indecision painted clearly on her face. Siffrin shrunk back from her glare and leaned against a tree.

“Bathroom,” he told her, hoping she couldn’t hear his ragged breathing. “Sorry.”

Massaging one of her temples, Odile exhaled loudly and sat down next to Siffrin’s cloak and hat. She watched him out of the corner of her eye as he approached, her elbows propped up on the book in her lap. Her fingers laced under her chin, and her mouth was a thin line as Siffrin set their flask and hat aside and put their cloak back on.

“This might be the first time I’ve seen you sweat,” she commented, and Siffrin flinched as they settled their cloak comfortably over their shoulders.

“I… got lost. Ran around trying to find my way back.” It wasn’t a lie.

Running so fast around trees that all looked alike and without a planned way to find their way back to camp hadn’t been their best idea. They were lucky they hadn’t taken longer, but it was fine. Their throat no longer burned, and all that blood and running at full speed had left them feeling sleepy.

They yawned, covering their mouth with their arm.

“Mmhmm.” Odile sighed, but when she looked Siffrin’s way again, her eyebrows creased with worry. “Is that a bruise?”

Oh, stars. Siffrin gingerly touched their left cheek, grimacing at the tender skin. They hadn’t thought a bruise would have had time to form already; Odile was bound to notice when it was gone again by morning.

When he’d bitten their first victim, they’d kicked their partner, waking them. Siffrin had dropped the first person, and as he’d stumbled around their tent to grab the second person, they punched him in the face. Siffrin had only been able to dodge enough for them to miss his nose.

The first victim had tried to help their partner, but Siffrin planted his foot against their chest, keeping them back as they struggled to stay conscious.

He’d ended up drinking from both and left the two tangled in each other’s arms when he left.

“I didn’t think I was hit that hard,” Siffrin mused. Also not… technically a lie. Instead of elaborating, they motioned towards the forest, hoping Odile would assume a stray branch was to blame.

She narrowed her eyes but only sighed again, shaking her head. “Try not to wander so far from camp next time. You could have gotten hurt worse than that.”

“Learned my lesson,” Siffrin chuckled before yawning again. “I’m sorry.”

Odile had opened her book and was already reading. “I heard you the first time. Saying it twice doesn’t get you forgiven more. You are forgiven, though. Now get some sleep before you fall into the fire.”

She didn’t have to tell them twice. It wasn’t long before Siffrin was under their blanket, hat and flask dropped carelessly by their shoes.

Isabeau woke Siffrin the next morning.

Grunting, Siffrin turned over and pulled their pillow over their head, and Isabeau sighed.

“Sif, c’mon, we gotta eat breakfast and head north.”

Mirabelle had gotten a sense of the fourth orb a few nights ago; it was in a museum this time.

“Mmf…” Siffrin grumbled but finally sat up, pushing their pillow aside but curling up under their cloak. Sleep glued one of their eyes shut and left the other feeling as if sand were blocking their tear duct. “Mmm…”

Isabeau was holding something out to them. It was… a comb?

“M’dame Odile said to let you take one of mine,” he explained as Siffrin squinted at it.

It took a moment for the words to chug through Siffrin’s brain. He still felt half-asleep.

“Uh… coz you still have leaves in your hair?” Isabeau pointed at Siffrin’s head.

Blinking slowly, Siffrin finally rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. “I’m awake,” he mumbled, making Isabeau laugh.

“Sure you are, buddy.” He smiled wider when Siffrin finally took the comb and started working it through their hair. “I’ll, uh, leave you to it. Make sure you don’t fall right back asleep after, or M’dame will punish us both.”

Siffrin snorted but nodded, wincing as the comb caught on a knot in his hair. When was the last time he’d used something other than his fingers?

Once he was done, he put on his hat, flask, and shoes and joined the others around the fire. The smell of rice and leftover rabbit meat greeted him, and he smiled as he pulled his hair out of the comb.

When he tried handing it back to Isabeau, though, he held up a hand. “Nah, keep it. I brought others.”

“Because it matters we look our best,” Odile muttered teasingly as she pushed another log into the fire. She glanced at Siffrin’s face but said nothing about the bruise—or lack of one.

“Always, Madame!” Mirabelle chimed, and she admired Siffrin’s hair as he slipped his new comb into one of his pockets. “You look much nicer now! With how tangled it was, I couldn’t tell if it was supposed to be wavy or not.”

Lifting a lock of their hair, Siffrin sat next to her on the large log. “Depends on the climate. It’s straight now, but it can get wavy or curly if it’s humid enough.”

“Ooh, you’d look nice with curly hair.” Mirabelle got up to accept her plate from Odile.

“I prefer it usually.” Siffrin shrugged. “When it’s curly, it’s harder to tell if I cut it uneven.”

“… You cut your own hair?” Mirabelle turned back to look at him, both her and Isabeau wearing similar shocked expressions.

Odile, meanwhile, laughed. “Not everyone likes wasting time at salons, you two.”

“It’s not wasting time when you’re treating yourself,” Isabeau said, and he brought a plate of food to Siffrin before going back for his own.

“Uh-huh.” Odile filled her plate and sat at the end of the log, next to Isabeau.

Hot food continued to wake Siffrin, and they took their time eating for once as the other three talked about where the fourth orb was likely located and what towns they could stay in on their way there. Mirabelle was sure they’d find it at a Craft history museum in a town near Etoile. It wasn’t very far from towns in the northeast that had already frozen in time, so they’d need to be fast. Finding horses—Mirabelle and Odile both knew how to ride—would be a priority, once they reached the first town on their new route.

Siffrin didn’t have much to contribute to the conversation and was content eating silently as he listened. He was okay following them anywhere.

The two horses—named Dahliah and Lily—wouldn’t be ready until morning, so the party found an inn. None of the rooms had three beds, so Siffrin and Odile were sharing again; no one was amused when Siffrin joked he could just sleep underneath it.

The inn was more crowded than the one in Chasion; the party had to wait before a table on the first floor was free. A fire burned in the massive fireplace at the far end of the room, and several tables hosted groups playing cards or dice, cheering and booing as Lady Luck switched her favor from one person to another.

As they waited to be served, Odile said, “I saw an antique shop on our way here. I think I’ll look around there before turning in.”

Antique shop? Was she looking for something specific, or did she only want to browse?

“Looking for something, M’dame?” Isabeau’s eyes glittered, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth that let the others know what he was about to ask. “Something related to your research maybe?”

“I’ll never tell,” Odile answered breezily as a server arrived. She led them to a circular table, setting ale down in front of everyone.

“On the house, Saviors,” she sang, and they all thanked her. “Oh, it’s no problem, dears, no problem at all! Now, I’m afraid we’re all out of the beef stew for now, so if that’s what you’re hungry for, you’ll have to wait a while.”

She listed the inn’s most popular dishes, and she promised to return soon after getting their orders.

Mirabelle slid her pint of ale towards Isabeau, who laughed when Siffrin failed to keep his nose from scrunching up at the taste. “Don’t drink much, Sif?”

Sort of? Siffrin didn’t go out for drinks often, but when they did, it was to get drunk, not enjoy the taste. They only shook their head but took another sip. It was a little too hoppy for them, but it was more tolerable after a few swallows.

“Slow down,” Odile told him. “You’re small. I’m surprised she assumed you were old enough to drink.” She laughed when Siffrin stuck out his tongue at her. “Oh, yes, Siffrin. That makes you look less like a child.” She switched her attention back to Isabeau. “I want to take those coins we found to whoever runs the antique shop.” Odile took one of them out of her inner coat pocket. “If they aren't willing to buy them, they may at least know someone who’d be interested or at least give me an estimate for what they'd be worth, should we come across a potential buyer.”

“Mind if I tag along?” Siffrin asked, starting at his friends’ puzzled looks. “I used to wander through antique shops in whichever town I was in, if they had one. Lots of interesting stuff, usually.”

“Sometimes,” Mirabelle replied. “They usually just smell like mildew and dust to me. If you don’t mind, I’ll probably walk around the park instead. The town’s Change God statue is there, and I’d like to take some time to pray.”

“I’ll go with you,” Isabeau told her before turning to Odile and Siffrin. “You two have fun.”

“I’m sure we will.” Odile sipped her ale and glanced over at Siffrin. “But no sticky fingers.”

“Hey…” Siffrin couldn’t help but smile at her wry look.

“Madame!” Mirabelle sounded insulted on Siffrin’s behalf, making him snort.

The conversation switched to horses and travel as the server brought them their food and a center plate piled high with loaves of sourdough, straight from the oven. She again insisted that it was on the house and not to be shy about asking for refills.

Siffrin was pleasantly buzzed as he followed Odile to the antique shop a couple hours later. They walked in comfortable silence, weaving around shoppers and families and couples and groups of children. A few of the kids stopped Siffrin to ask about their hat and cloak; Siffrin tried to be nice but cut the conversation short when they noticed Odile tapping her foot.

The antique shop didn’t have many people inside, and Odile went straight to the person tidying behind the counter while Siffrin decided to start browsing. A narrow staircase near the back brought them up onto a balcony overlooking what must have once been a great room. The large fireplace wasn’t lit, and one of the employees scrubbed the stones, charred logs in a large canvas bag behind them.

The upstairs balcony connected what must have been bedrooms back when the store had been a home; one had floor-to-ceiling shelves stuffed with books while the other was filled with miscellany that didn’t appear to have anything in common. Siffrin went into the second room, tapping the pommel of their dagger three times as they looked over the hand mirrors; tarnished candelabras; quartz, granite, and marble figurines and statuettes; ring and bracelet holders; and many other things, several he couldn’t recall the name of or figure out a purpose for.

Odile was in the room full of books, unsurprisingly. Her mouth was pinched into a frown as she looked over the stacks of books on the square table in the room’s center.

“Is an organization system really too much to ask?” she grumbled to herself.

“Yeah, they really have no shelf control,” Siffrin quipped, grinning triumphantly when Odile failed to stop herself from laughing.

She covered up the sound with a cough and turned to look over the nearest shelf.

Under the table were boxes filled with more books; on the sides, someone had written A-E, F-M, N-R, R-T, U-Z. By author or title? Siffrin guessed the former but knelt by one of the boxes.

By title. Weird.

Oh, no wait. These are biographies. Siffrin nodded to themself. That makes more sense then, I guess.

Atop the table were books of every genre—horror and picture books and old math textbooks and historical romance scattered and piled upon one-another with no rhyme or reason. Siffrin picked up one bound with light cloth, bubbles caught underneath where the binder didn’t adhere the cloth to the cardstock smoothly enough. He flipped through it and put it back; the book had been written to resemble a diary, which made him feel uneasy for a reason he couldn’t name.

Might as well ignore it, then!

Leaving Odile to browse upstairs, Siffrin went to see what else the shop offered, starting the back-most room. It was small and looked like it must have once been a mud room. The door leading to a courtyard between it and a café was propped open by a brick, and a rug covered most of the warped, hardwood floor, which creaked with every step.

Shelves had been installed in a cubby-like area, which still had hooks for coats and scarves. Signs requested that customers ask employees for help handling the glass sculptures, which ranged from bowls and cups to rearing unicorns and many-headed hydras. Siffrin gave them a wide berth.

They meandered from room to room, not knowing what they were searching for—they never did. All they felt was this tug, this intuitive sense that they’d know it when they saw it.

Whatever it was the lights in Siffrin’s chest were guiding them towards, it wasn’t here, just as it hadn’t been in any other antique store they’d browsed.

“I got more for our coins and jewelry than I expected,” Odile commented as they left through the door in the mud room. “We might as well help ourselves to a treat. I’m sure Isabeau and Mirabelle will be taking their time.”

Siffrin sensed an ulterior motive, but the smell of fresh-baked pastries from the café across the courtyard easily smothered their suspicions. They nodded, and Odile had them find a table while she went to order for them after asking Siffrin their drink preference.

He chose an iron table in the courtyard, next to a brick wall separating the courtyard from an alley between a dance hall and a restaurant. The space allowed him to see the whole courtyard, which was more of a garden—a small plot of land with flowerbeds and a couple of sugar maples. There were three other tables, one a long, wooden table with eight chairs in the center of the courtyard, currently empty.

A server helped Odile bring everything to the table, both smiling when Siffrin waved.

“Here you go, madame!” the server sang, setting down the tea for Odile, drinking chocolate for Siffrin, and a long plate of yeast cakes and croissants for both to share. They faced Siffrin, then Odile, asking if there was anything else either of them needed.

Siffrin shook their head, and Odile said, “No, thank you. This should be it for now.”

She set the shot glasses and bottle of cognac onto the table, smiling mischievously when Siffrin tilted their head.

“I hoped”—she set one of the shot glasses next to Siffrin’s mug—“you may help satisfy some of my curiosity, if we made it a game.”

“A game?” Siffrin blinked, too intrigued to be anxious.

“One I learned while traveling in Hireth.” Odile opened the bottle and poured its pungent contents into both shot glasses. “A rough translation of the game is ‘Never Have I Ever.’ It’s a rather simple drinking game. You state something you’ve never done, and if someone at the table has done such a thing, they take a shot. The game ends when either the bottle’s empty or everyone forfeits—or gets too drunk to carry on.”

Interesting. This was the first Siffrin had heard of this game, but they didn’t like drinking with others often. They couldn’t always trust how tightly they could hold onto their secrets. Or control themself from crawling onto someone's lap and taking a bite. That fact in itself should be enough to make them refuse to play, but…

“How do you decide who wins?” he asked, and Odile chuckled.

“Whoever wakes up without a hangover, I’d say.” She smiled when Siffrin laughed.

“I’m already at a disadvantage,” he said. “Like you said, I’m small.”

“Oh, with your metabolism, I don’t buy you’re at that much of a disadvantage.”

This was probably a bad idea, but the drinking chocolate, treats, and Odile’s lighthearted tone lulled Siffrin into what was probably a false sense of security and confidence.

“Okay,” he said finally, pulling the shot glass closer to him. “But I start. Hopefully this won’t be a pour decision.”

“Ugh.” Odile rolled her eyes. “Please don’t do that all night. I won’t be able to bear it.”

“Oh, come on, I think I raise the bar with my puns!” He smirked at Odile’s glower. “They’re gin-ius, after all.”

“Just start the game.”

Laughing, Siffrin sat up and grabbed a croissant. “Okay, okay. Hmm…” He took a bite of his croissant and thought. It had to be something he hadn’t done, which had sounded easier before he had to think of something to say. “Alright. I’ve never written a book.”

Odile started to smile, but she stopped and hummed, thinking. With a shrug, she downed her shot with practiced ease and refilled the glass. “I guess that counts.” She didn’t elaborate, and Siffrin didn’t ask. “Now. I’ve never sold artwork I’ve made.”

Siffrin almost didn’t drink before remembering that their wood carvings qualified as artwork. The cognac left their lips and tongue tingling; they winced at the burn and taste and finished the croissant in their hand before refilling the glass.

The game went on as the two ate and sipped their drinks, the cups Crafted to keep them hot. The drinking chocolate was rich and left Siffrin feeling almost as giddy as the cognac. After several rounds, he’d only taken three shots to Odile’s four, and both were flushed and smiling.

When the bottle was half-empty, Siffrin became more focused on getting Odile to lose than he was on keeping his secrets. Before he could stop himself, he admitted, “I’ve never gone to school. Traditional school, like classrooms and teachers.” He doubted Aurélin making him read about Vaugardian history in lieu of teaching him arithmetic or syntax counted.

Odile blinked in surprise but downed her shot and refilled the glass. She hummed as she thought about what to say, taking the last of their croissants and tearing off a piece. “I’ve never been on a Wanted poster.” She choked on her croissant when Siffrin threw back a shot. “Oh—I wasn’t expecting that one to be—”

Belly warm and brain feeling like it was floating, Siffrin couldn’t help but laugh. He spilled a bit of cognac as he refilled his glass. “I’ve never… kissed someone.”

“You’ve said that one already, young one,” Odile chuckled. “I’m not drinking for it twice.”

“Oh, right!” Siffrin laughed and sipped the last of their drinking chocolate. They grabbed another yeast cake. A divot in the middle of the soft bread was filled with cream cheese mixed with fresh blueberries. “Hmm… I’ve never gotten into a bar fight.”

Odile raised an eyebrow as if to ask, Really? But Siffrin couldn’t tell if the reaction was her not believing them, or if she was affronted, thinking they were insinuating that she had.

“I’m fast,” Siffrin slurred, smirking, and Odile shook her head and took a shot, making Siffrin guffaw. “Oh! Really?!”

They wouldn’t have guessed!

Instead of answering, Odile refilled her glass almost to the brim. “I’ve never… Huh… I’ve never stolen jewels.” She raised an eyebrow again when Siffrin ignored their glass and finished eating their yeast cake instead.

“Nope, not jewels.” Siffrin swallowed, hardly able to taste the blueberries now. The alcohol was leaving his tongue feeling like it had sprouted fur. “If you’re trying to be specific, though, I guess you’ve stolen something before?”

“What child hasn’t at some point?” Odile chuckled, her vowels blending into one-another and consonants barely noticeable.

At the same time, they both answered, “Mirabelle,” and laughed.

“Whose turn is it?” Siffrin asked.

“Oh, I don’t—ah, it’s yours.”

“Oh! Okay, okay… hmm…” Siffrin leaned back in their chair and looked up at the twilight sky as they thought. “I’ve never…”

They’d said smoke tobacco several turns ago… What else? It felt like their brain was swimming in cognac, the liquid seeping into its wrinkles and pulling memories of the last hour out of them. Even worse, it was crumbling their walls, allowing secrets to slip out for the sake of getting one over on Odile in this game.

“I’ve never…” Stars, what was something he’d never done that Odile might have? They snapped their fingers—or tried to. “I’ve never—”

“Oh, crab, there you guys are!”

Both Siffrin and Odile jumped as Isabeau ran towards them with Mirabelle right behind him.

“Oh, thank Change,” she sighed. She frowned upon seeing the full shot glasses and half-empty bottle of cognac. “Really?!” She harrumphed and spun on her heel. “I’m going to get you two water before you end up sleeping out here all night.”

“We’re fine!” Odile called after her as she crossed her arms and slumped in her chair, looking almost like a scolded child.

Siffrin snorted at the image, and Isabeau sighed as he claimed the bottle.

“Please tell me this isn’t new,” he mumbled, but it sounded like he already knew the answer. “What were you two even thinking, drinking this much when we’re supposed to be up early? M’dame—”

“Oh, don’t start.” Odile started to roll her eyes but stopped, looking like the motion had been enough to leave her feeling dizzy. “Some water and rest, and we’ll be just fine.”

“Uh-huh.” Still holding onto the bottle, Isabeau crossed his arms. Siffrin wondered, if he placed his hands on either side of one of his biceps, would his fingers even touch? “I doubt riding a horse while hungover is recommended.”

“Odile was teaching me a game she learned in Hireth,” Siffrin chimed in as he began to sway in his chair.

“Of course it’s a Hirethian game,” Isabeau grumbled under his breath.

Odile waived away Isabeau’s concern. “Oh, Hireth isn’t so bad a country. Rough and oppressive, sure, but the crime isn’t near as bad as someplace like Bachalla or Asmu’ur.”

“Yeah, not as bad as the military-controlled countries that have been at war with each other for over a century. Really reassuring.”

“Eh, they’re probably more controlled by gangs constantly having territory wars than they are their militaries.” Siffrin had meant to mumble it, but Isabeau’s flat look and Odile’s snort said he’d spoken too loudly.

“Yeah, very reassuring, Sif.” Isabeau sighed again. He rubbed his forehead, looking uncomfortable with having the Responsible One role thrust onto him. “Were you two seriously going to drink this entire bottle yourselves?”

“If Siffrin didn’t give up first,” Odile said unflappably.

At the same time, Siffrin said, “C’mon, stop wine-ing, we’re just getting into the spirits of the game.”

Isabeau covered his mouth, muscles tensing as he struggled not to laugh, but Odile groaned. She narrowed her eyes when Siffrin stuck out his tongue, but her gaze was unfocused. He was sure his was, too.

“I’m going to help Mira get water,” Isabeau announced after clearing his throat. “I’ll see if they have mangoes or bananas, too.”

He kept the bottle as he went, and Odile leaned forward, elbow on the table and cheek resting on her palm.

“Well,” she sighed. “Guess this is our last round.”

“Mmhmm.” The break from their game had allowed for exhaustion to seep into Siffrin’s bones, his thoughts moving even slower than before. “It was my turn for the first round. Only fair you get to end it.”

“Magnanimous of you.” Odile lifted her glass, and liquor sloshed over her hand and Siffrin’s glove as he lifted his to clink against hers. “So… For our last round.”

She paused, and a shiver ran up Siffrin’s spine, even though they couldn’t recognize the steely expression on Odile’s face.

“Never have I ever”—Odile spoke slowly, to enunciate as best she could in her inebriated state—“been responsible for someone’s death.”

Before they could process the question or what they were admitting, Siffrin tossed back the shot, watching with shiny, unblinking eyes as Odile did the same a beat later.

Chapter Text

A kid walked. Nerveless stumps filled large boots. They tromped, tromped, tromped across grass, wildflowers, and mud.

Days have passed. Each sunrise was a stab through the kid’s heart that rattled aborted sobs through their hollowing chest. Each sunset was a harsh reminder of what no longer was, of what they could no longer return to, of the inevitability of meeting the very fate they ran from, far far far far far far far far far far away from the one person they wanted beside them.

“She’s not dead.”

“The Change God will save us.”

“Our Savior will defeat the king.”

“Don’t worry, little one, all will be well soon enough.”

“I’ve heard it’s like being asleep. Your sister will be fine.”

“There’s no need to worry.”

“There’s no need to worry.”

“There’s no need to worry.”

“There’s no need to worry.”

“There’s no need to worry.”

Prayer or curse, the kid could not tell.

They wanted to scream.

They wanted to rage.

They wanted to burn everything down until the King and every person who told them their worries were unnecessary were nothing but cinders.

They wanted their sister.

The kid walked.

Riding while hungover might now have made the journey more tolerable, but it wasn't like this would have been her first time. However, Odile had to contend with this child acting like touching her might lead to their skin sloughing right off their bones.

As someone who preferred a large personal bubble, even by Ka Buan standards, she could be understanding. When Isabeau had brought up Siffrin jumping into a defensive stance at a simple shoulder touch, Odile hadn’t even looked up from her book to tell him that he simply shouldn’t do that again. When Mirabelle fretted over Siffrin’s jumpiness, thinking it might point towards something tragic in his past, Odile hadn’t bothered turning away from the fire to say that it wasn’t any of their business and to stop thinking about them like a book character.

Isabeau had needed to smooth Mirabelle’s feathers after that one. Odile probably should have apologized for her snappishness and implying Mirabelle saw their newest party member as a story, rather than a real person.

It was too late now, and Odile couldn’t trust herself not to accidentally offer how Mirabelle’s statement had hit her… a little too close to home.

Odile could understand having secrets; gems knew she had plenty of her own.

“I’ve never been on a Wanted poster.”

She’d almost taken a shot herself. Lying wasn’t technically against the rules of the game, so long as you drank along with the others; yet technically she hadn’t been the one on that Wanted poster. No, the notice had instead called for the arrest of Nagashii Akimitsu, who had insisted upon taking both glory and blame from Odile’s shoulders. Good faith insisted Akimitsu had focused on taking the latter, so Odile could escape arrest, which would have surely led to authorities to discovering her files, her connections, her use of Body Craft.

“They’ll only arrest her,” Odile’s father had said when Odile told him she wanted to turn herself in. His voice was a pale breath; his bony fingers dug into Odile’s arms as he dropped to his knees to beg. “They’ll kill you.”

Good faith insisted that Akimitsu had come to the same conclusion. Good faith insisted she’d known she could survive jail, but that Odile would not have survived the officers’ swords and batons.

Odile had always struggled with good faith.

“A stream!” Isabeau announced, hand shielding the sun from his eyes. He dropped it immediately to grab Mirabelle’s waist as she slowed Lily to a trot.

Soon as the party stopped to let the horses drink and rest, Siffrin let go of Odile and hopped down with more grace than most people would after their first time horseback riding.

“Oof!”

“Whoa!” Mirabelle pleaded with Lily as Odile clucked her tongue, rubbing Dahliah’s neck in gentle circles.

The spooked horses calmed as Isabeau apologized, rubbing his elbow with a wince. He smiled sheepishly as Siffrin knelt by him and inspected his arm and head without touching him, mouth pinched in worry.

“I’m okay, Sif,” he assured as Odile got down and removed Dahliah’s bit.

The dark mare moved its tongue around for a moment before it finally bent down to drink, Lily already blowing bubbles in the stream. She was as playful and seemingly carefree as her current riders; Odile couldn’t help but smile.

“Let’s have lunch,” Isabeau suggested, “since some of us couldn’t eat much this morning.”

Siffrin winced, but Odile only rolled her eyes.

As if Isabeau was someone who could take the high ground here.

Then again, their pub crawl had been a special occasion. He turned 26 a week before their arrival in Chasion. Neither had wanted to leave Mirabelle alone, but she’d been adamant that following them from tavern to tavern would be “the furthest thing from fun” for her. She’d promised to stay in their room and read, and as the door was in view of the inn’s great room, one of the barkeeps had promised to keep an eye out for any funny business once Odile and Isabeau had moved onto a new location.

At the end of the night, Odile needed to leave Isabeau sprawled on their last tavern’s porch as she fetched him water and food. She wouldn’t have been able to hold his weight up to walk him back to their inn until he sobered up a little, and by the time they’d finally returned, the sun had already started rising.

Odile had left extra coins after seeing that the barkeep had stayed well after her shift to ensure Mirabelle remained safe, even as the barkeep tried to turn the money away, saying it had been an honor to keep watch over Vaugarde’s Savior.

They’d ended up staying there a day longer than planned while Isabeau and Odile recovered from their hangovers. Mirabelle had bravely refrained from scolding them; Odile still wasn’t sure if it was because she’d been too scared of confrontation or if she believed a night off had been well-deserved.

Maybe both, knowing her.

Lunch consisted of bread and hard cheese to start, followed by the quiche Odile and Siffrin hadn’t been able to stomach this morning.

He wasn’t looking at her; his eyes stayed on his food as he ate more slowly than usual.

Odile had once dealt with a man who always wore a pair of gloves, claiming they were to hide the blood on his hands. He’d been all bark and no bite, and she doubted Siffrin would claim the same story. She’d caught him bringing his hands up to his teeth before, only for him to bite the edge of his gloves and quickly pull his hand back down to his side or lap. Likely, gloves were his way of eradicating a nail-biting habit; maybe one of them should bring up the idea to Mirabelle at some point.

As they all ate, Isabeau and Mirabelle talked about a romance series they’d both read. It sounded like there’d been some sort of schism among the series’ fans; some had expected the main character to end up with the bad boy, some had expected him to end up with his best friend, and so on and so forth. Odile was already bored but would rather listen than let her thoughts wander again.

Whatever secrets the party’s little rogue hid under his gloves or inside his pockets, they could keep them to themself. For now.

The kid walked.

The kid tripped.

The kid got up. Shuffled. Limped.

Pain.

Step. Hiss. Drag.

Step. Hiss. Drag.

Step. Hiss. Drag.

The pain pulsed, then spasmed, then ebbed, then throbbed, then spasmed, then lingered, lingered, lingered.

The kid held onto the pain.

It would keep them awake, keep them moving, keep them walking, keep them from freezing.

They couldn’t stop, couldn’t freeze, couldn’t give up.

No more time to sleep. No more time to eat. No more time no more time no more time no more time no more time—

Nille… Nille, help me… please…

The kid prayed to their sister instead of the Change God.

They felt neither nearby.

Whatever uneasy truce had formed between Odile and Siffrin on the mountain had cracked and splintered after that drinking game.

Mirabelle had been too worried about their health last night and this morning to ask questions. Isabeau had worn that look on his face that said he’d ask about it later.

It was no surprise Siffrin wasn’t saying anything about it, and Odile reluctantly admitted to herself that she had no idea how to broach the subject.

“Never have I ever been responsible for someone’s death.”

Odile had no idea what she’d expected, but it hadn’t been Siffrin looking her dead in the eye while he threw back their final shot of cognac. Their lack of hesitation had left Odile frozen for a sobering moment before she’d finally knocked back her own shot.

The two had then sat there, staring at each other in silence until the others returned with water and fruit. If they’d noticed the change in mood, they’d likely trumped it up to drunkenness.

Thank gems.

“Nope, I’ll take first shift,” Isabeau told Siffrin. “Mira will take second. You and M’dame Odile sleep tonight.”

“Gems above, Isabeau,” Odile couldn’t help herself from saying. “It was one night of drinking, and all the alcohol is out of our systems by now.”

Arms crossed, Isabeau looked ready to argue back when Mirabelle spoke up. “It didn’t sound like either of you were sleeping well last night.” She managed to sound simultaneously annoyed and worried. “It’d be a good idea for you two to get extra rest.”

Odile’s first instinct was to push back, but Mirabelle had a point. Last night had been even more restless than the day after her pub crawl with Isabeau. Between constantly needing to get up to use the bathroom or dry heave or drink more water, Odile had dreamed of holding a faceless woman underwater, of being dragged down to her own watery grave with pockets full of fist-sized gems, of climbing a rope towards a floating island, of gloved hands clapping over her eyes and mouth, of a child with darkless hair hugging her leg and begging for help, of clinging to the side of an icy peak, of her father begging her to put her safety first for once.

“It’s killing me. Watching you constantly put yourself in danger like this.”

“Alright,” she finally said, jaw twitching when Mirabelle and Isabeau relaxed, as if both had been ready for a fight. “Fine. Goodnight, then.”

Unsurprisingly, Siffrin remained by the fire to help himself to seconds, giving Odile time to change, lay down, take off her glasses, and think.

“Never have I ever been responsible for someone’s death.”

“What was I thinking?” Odile whispered to herself.

Maybe to allow the concession she wasn’t even sure Siffrin had caught onto. Maybe because she’d thought saying the more direct Never have I ever killed a human being would only make him freeze and not drink, even if it was a lie. Maybe… Oh, she didn’t even know, and it wasn’t like her motive at the time changed anything.

Outside, Isabeau asked Siffrin about a play they’d watched while in Baktan, and Mirabelle cut in to ask why he watched plays when they didn’t know the language. They explained that watching plays helped them learn languages, the exaggerated movements and expressions helping them connect words to meanings and emotions. Siffrin chuckled with some embarrassment when admitting that in some languages, they sounded overly formal or sometimes simply odd, as different regions had different conventions and trends when it came to how actors were expected to speak or articulate the language on stage.

One style of Ka Buan plays had their own unique dialect; Odile almost laughed imagining Siffrin trying to learn her native tongue from them and getting weird looks repeating their lines to an increasingly confused shopkeeper.

“Is that how you learned Vaugardian, too?” Mirabelle asked, and Siffrin’s expression must have shifted, because she quickly said, “Oh, sorry—”

Siffrin laughed in a way Odile was starting to translate as No, everything is fine, I promise.

“Housemaiden Aurélin ran the group home I lived in.”

Odile had only heard a voice that devoid of emotion a few times, and she had needed to concentrate on reeling in the fury that had suddenly overcome her. She should have stopped there, but she’d needed to know one thing: “Was… he cruel? To you?”

If he had been, Odile would return to Voimort, so she could finish what Rose had started.

It frightened her, how protective she’d become of this child so quickly, when she knew hardly anything about them.

With Mirabelle and Isabeau, even if she didn’t know every detail of their lives before this journey, she’d been able to get a clear read on them from the start. Both wore their hearts on their sleeves; they were open to the point Odile feared for them eventually finding themselves deeply hurt.

Mirabelle might constantly be fueled by anxiety and lived in perpetual doubt of her own abilities, but she was strong and resilient. She loved quickly and easily, and she had an enviable gift for finding light shining through people when others could only see the cracks.

Isabeau was so similar to her that despite them not sharing any physical traits, Odile had thought them to be siblings or cousins upon first meeting them, then partners when she learned they weren’t related.

Mirabelle had accidentally hurt Isabeau’s feelings with her vehement, negative response to Odile’s assumption. She’d panicked and spluttered assurances that Isabeau was a wonderful and handsome man, and Isabeau had eventually rescued the moment by saying that while he loved Mirabelle—“Like a sister,” he’d quickly added—she wasn’t his type.

“Type? People actually have ‘types’ that determine who they’re attracted to?” Mirabelle had looked confused, and the earlier awkwardness was soon forgotten as Isabeau explained—or tried to.

It had been almost cute, Mirabelle’s naiveté towards the subject, like her own experience came exclusively from books.

Actually, there likely was truth to that. Odile guessed she couldn’t judge; she didn’t have her first crush until she was well into her twenties.

Gems, my thoughts don’t usually jump around like this! Odile pressed the heels of her palms against her eyes.

“Are you okay?”

When had Siffrin entered the tent? Sometimes he scuttled about like a frantic rabbit doing its best to escape a fox; other times, he was silent as a cat on the hunt.

They were full of mystery and contradictions, and they were as foreign as they were familiar.

“I’m alright, Siffrin,” Odile sighed. Her hands remained over her eyes.

He was silent for a moment but then took off his shoes, gloves, and hat. He placed his flask next to his pillow as usual and used his blanket to only cover his legs. He breathed deeply in, and out.

Back at Voimort’s House, as Odile helped Sofiane bring Rose into the lab, it hadn’t taken long before she realized Rose wasn’t breathing. Worried, Odile had felt for a pulse but found none. Her skin had been cool as overturned dirt. Yet, when Sofiane had pulled up one of Rose’s eyelids while ordering Odile to bring a nearby candle closer, Odile had seen Rose’s catlike pupil contract as the flame grew nearer.

It had matched a story Odile had long-since written off as fiction. Now, she wished she hadn’t. She wished she’d listened, so she could remember the details.

She wanted to ask Siffrin more questions, but each time she’d poked, she couldn’t help but feel like she was treating him like a frog she was dissecting.

By his reactions so far, she was sure Siffrin felt similarly.

Odile drew in a breath and rested her hands over her sternum.

“What did you steal?” Siffrin’s low voice cut through the silence like their knife.

Odile almost laughed, though she wasn’t sure why. “A classmate’s hairpin. I don’t even remember her name, but I still have that hairpin back home.”

“… She didn’t notice?”

“No, she didn’t,” Odile said, still feeling smug about it, even after all these years. “When she finally noticed it was gone, she blamed a different classmate, who she considered her rival.”

Siffrin laughed.

Uneasy silence settled over them as Siffrin waited for Odile to ask a question. There were several she wanted—needed—answers to. This child was a puzzle, and she couldn’t help her deep seeded need to solve it.

The first questions she wanted to ask, of course, were about the end of their game last night.

How did Siffrin feel responsible for someone’s death? Had it been an accident? Had he been a bystander too stunned by the violence to leap in and help someone? Had he let someone take the fall for him? Had he killed someone with his own hands? Did he feel blood staining his palms? Had he ever washed them until he himself was bleeding?

When Odile didn’t ask any of the questions weighing down her tongue, Siffrin wished her, “Goodnight.”

Their truce was patched up, though Odile wasn’t sure he forgave her. She didn’t want to ask; she didn’t need a child’s forgiveness when she was only trying to ensure Mirabelle remained in safe company.

Yet, she had trusted Siffrin enough to leave him alone with Mirabelle. In Chasion, in that tower.

So, what exactly was she after?

Odile didn’t trust herself to open her mouth, lest she vomit out every question threatening to choke her.

She grunted and closed her eyes. She dreamed of walking into a forest that grew darker and darker the deeper she went, her footsteps somehow in front of her instead of behind.

The kid shivered. They rubbed sleep from their dry, stinging eyes.

When had they laid down? Why were they in itchy grass? Why was a rock poking their thigh? Why did their head hurt so much? Where was their bed?

… Oh. Right.

The kid’s eyes burned, but they couldn’t cry.

They got up and started walking, shuffling, limping.

The pain was worse, now.

They kept walking. They kept shivering. They kept going.

Their mouth was dry. Their nose was clogged. Their lungs rattled with every breath.

The kid kept walking.

They needed to keep walking.

They’d promised. They’d promised. They’d promised. They’d promised.

Shouting. The kid didn’t recognize the voice, didn’t recognize the grass or the dirt or the trees or the—

The kid collapsed into skinny arms as a voice in an accent they didn’t recognize begged them to hang on, promised they were safe now, promised that they would help them.

The kid tried to speak, but their tongue stuck to the roof of their mouth as if glued there.

They couldn’t move.

They… didn’t… want… to… keep…

But they had to. They had to. They had to. They’d promised.

The world slipped from underneath the kid, who felt like they’d never be warm again.

Chapter Text

Kids easily threw even the best-laid plans off the rails, but no one in the party had considered learning this first-hand during their journey.

Soon after the child—who Odile guessed could be as young as eight but as old as eleven—collapsed in Siffrin’s arms, Isabeau and Odile got to work setting up a fire and tent. Mirabelle had used Healing Craft on the kid, but she’d said they’d need a trained healer and took off on Lily to the nearest village to find one.

“I might as use my ‘Savior’ status to get one to follow me back here,” she’d mumbled to herself as Isabeau helped her get the saddlebags off Lily.

As everyone worked, Siffrin held the child close, putting his cloak over them in hopes it would get them to stop shivering.

But stars, they were burning up! Odile had said helping them sweat out the fever was their current best course of action, but Siffrin couldn’t help but doubt and worry and double-guess themself as they sat by the fire, a pillow between their lap and the kid’s head.

Their lightless hair was plastered to their head, full of dirt and grime and oil and leaves. Siffrin picked a few out, tossing them into the fire as he hummed the first tune that came to mind—the overture of a tragedy, of all things.

“They’ll be okay,” Isabeau said, but his brow furrowed as he watched the kid’s ashen face.

Siffrin nodded absently as they kept humming, trying to ignore the way the kid’s lungs rattled, the way their heart skipped beats, the way they smelled like vinegar and mud and urine and blood.

“What’s that song you’re humming?” Isabeau asked as he set up a cooking station.

They still had enough rice left to make some okayu. When the kid came to, they weren’t sure if they’d be able to stomach much else. Odile was already out to fetch more water.

Siffrin hesitated, looking down as the kid twitched in their sleep. “Th-the overture from Chocolate Soldier.”

“… Isn’t that a tragedy?” Isabeau sounded both puzzled and amused. “Like, an everyone-dies-at-the-end tragedy?”

“… It is…” It was also the first play Siffrin saw after running away from the group home, now that they thought about it. “I-it was the first thing that came to mind.”

“Definitely not for kids,” Isabeau chuckled, and Siffrin snorted. “What’s the play actually about? I only know it’s got a sad ending where I guess the main couple separates or something right before all the dying, since people always go ‘Oh, it’s like Chocolate Soldier’ whenever a bad breakup happens.”

Siffrin laughed, then stopped when the kid twitched again. “It’s by a playwright who’s from Bachalla originally but fled to Poteria and then to Vaugarde to escape the violence, and even though it’s mainly a tragedy, it’s also satirical. It’s about a woman from a high-class family—countess or something. High enough that the war going on is only an inconvenience for her. She starts out complaining she can’t get the chocolates she likes, since the country that makes them stopped trading with hers…”

As he talked, Isabeau continued setting up the cooking station and took out what they’d need. Siffrin rubbed the kid’s shoulder, thinking back to being around their age and sneaking into that theatre house. They’d slept backstage when it was empty and stole food from concessions. During shows, they’d hide up in the little-used catwalk, watching Chocolate Soldier show after show, until they finally got caught a few days later by some stagehands checking the torches.

He'd almost landed on an audience member escaping them, and despite the brief chaos, the actor playing the female lead—who had been in the middle of her famous Act III soliloquy—never broke character.

He’d run out the door as her voice echoed around him: “If I’m a child, then he’s nought but a beast! / But O, this beast does make me wish for teeth / to rend his flesh and claim his heart as mine!”

When Odile returned, she started barking orders, and Isabeau helped her prepare herbal tea while Siffrin removed one of his gloves to check the kid’s pulse.

“What?” Odile demanded when Siffrin’s lips pressed into a thin line.

“It’s fast,” they answered. “It doesn’t sound very steady, either.”

“Hopefully, it’s only from exhaustion.” Odile didn’t sound sure, and she whispered something to herself in a Ka Buan dialect Siffrin didn’t understand.

By her hand movements, though, he guessed she was praying to one of her gods—spirits, whatever they were called. Siffrin hadn’t been able to understand the nuance when a shrine maiden tried explaining it to him.

Isabeau was praying silently, mouth moving as he muddled the herbs as Odile had directed.

Siffrin didn’t know who to pray to. They looked up and saw only leaves and a tauntingly bright sky.

The stars… they were always there, weren’t they? Yes, they simply couldn’t be seen during the day, because the sun’s proximity compared to them made it so much brighter, too bright for the stars to be visible. And ah, ah, ah, the sun was also a star, wasn’t it? Wasn’t it?

Many cultures had sun gods in their mythology. Would the sun listen to Siffrin’s wish, too?

His chest felt empty.

He leaned forward; the brim of his hat shadowed the kid’s face as he begged the kid to stay alive.

The healer was a muscular woman with short, lightless hair, light eyes, and a spray of freckles decorating her face, neck, shoulders, and upper arms. She wore a dark, sleeveless shirt half-tucked into high-waisted trousers, knee-high boots, a wide-brimmed hat that resembled Siffrin’s but dark, and a belt with pouches and a sickle attached. She’d squinted at Siffrin as if studying them, but before they could begin to wonder if they should remember her from somewhere, the healer had turned her full attention to the kid.

“I’m Stella, she/her, Rock Type,” she rattled, sounding like she was following a script that annoyed her. “Mademoiselle Mirabelle told me you just found ‘em walking? Their guardians nowhere ‘round?”

Isabeau shook his head while Siffrin stared at the healer as she knelt by the kid and laid the back of her hand over their forehead while feeling their pulse with their other hand.

Odile answered, “I saw a couple walking when fetching water, but when I asked about the child, neither knew anything about them.”

“Their style of earrings says they might be from the northwest coastal region,” Isabeau suggested. “It’s mainly that area where I see people wear earrings that stretch their lobes like that.”

Mirabelle approached now that Lily and Stella’s horse were tied to the same tree as Dahliah. “Oh, you’re right!” She wrung the skirt of her dress. “Oh, do you think they’ve been walking all this way to escape the Curse?”

“A guess as good as any,” Odile sighed.

Stella leaned set the kid’s hand down and smoothed Siffrin’s cloak back over their small body. She hummed and leaned down, listening to the kid’s breathing.

“I’ll check their neck and head,” she said, “and if those are fine enough for travel, we’ll carry ‘em back to my cottage. They might have pneumonia, and staying out here for too long ain’t a good idea.”

Everyone agreed, and soon as travel was deemed safe for the kid, the fire was extinguished, the tea poured out, the rice—thankfully Odile hadn’t yet rinsed it—returned to their packs, and the tent collapsed and stored. Odile, being the more experienced rider out of all of them, held onto the kid, leaving Siffrin to ride with Stella without even his cloak to act as a shield between his body and hers.

“Hang on, shrimp. I ain’t coming back for ya if you fall off,” she told him, stopping just shy of grasping Siffrin’s wrists and forcing him to hug her waist.

Her coastal accent paired with her calling him shrimp tugged at a memory, and Siffrin let that thought distract him as he held on.

They knew her from somewhere, but…

Lightless hair and light eyes. Freckles. Rock Type.

No. No, this couldn’t be—

She couldn’t—that kid had been—

She’d Changed.

Stella’s cottage was just outside the village, and while the stable wasn’t big enough for Dahliah and Lily to share it with her horse, she assured they’d be just fine in the pasture for now.

Soon as they were all inside, Stella set them to work. Odile set the kid onto a cot in the upstairs room—more of a loft over the den with half a wall to give it some semblance of privacy. Isabeau filled the tub while Mirabelle was given orders to start making bone broth and ginger-and-turmeric tea.

“All the drawers and cabinets in my kitchen’s labeled. You’ll be fine, Savior,” she’d told her, tone curt rather than reassuring. She’d then turned her pale eyes to Siffrin, pointing like she was trying to pin them in place. “You, hatted one, you’re helping me get the plants I need. This way.”

She grabbed a basket, pushing it into Siffrin’s thin arms. They left out a back door in the kitchen, and Siffrin had to jog to keep up with Stella’s long stride.

“What do we need?” Siffrin asked soon as they reached the tree line just beyond the pasture.

“Willow and birch bark. Cowslip or horehound, whichever we find first. Horseradish, if there’s any growing out here. If not, I can send one’v ya to the village to buy some—or marshmallow root; this past winter’s depleted my supply.” She glanced back at Siffrin, hat shadowing her face. Her brow wrinkled, but she faced forward again, leading Siffrin deeper into the forest. “… The big one, he called you Sif?”

Siffrin suddenly felt cold. “… Yeah. Short for Siffrin.”

“Hmm.” Stella slowed down and turned right to avoid a large holly tree. “Guess we both went with S names.”

Mouth dry, Siffrin made an affirming noise. They stopped walking a beat after Stella, almost running into her arm.

Using her sickle, Stella cut several twigs the size of her middle finger from a branch. Her wide mouth was pinched in a frown. “… I’m glad you’re okay.” She paused, reminding herself of his name. “Siffrin.” She blinked quickly, dropping birch sticks into the basket without looking him in the eye. “I thought…” She cleared her throat and swallowed her tears. Her knuckles turned pale as she clutched her sickle tighter. “Don’t matter now, anyways, what I thought.” She finally met his stunned gaze, her eyes glassy with tears she was holding back. “I’m just glad you’re safe.”

She didn’t move to hug him. She stood anchored, as if roots had sprouted from the thick soles of her boots.

Hugging the basket close to him, Siffrin whispered, “Y-yeah… H-how was everyone… after…?”

“After you vanished?” Stella’s voice cracked, and she cleared her throat as she started walking again, movements wooden. It was several moments before Siffrin could move, jogging to catch up. “Crabbing days after you… after I…”

“It wasn’t your fault.” Siffrin meant it. “We were both told not to play close to the cliffs.”

As kids, Siffrin and Stella had become friends by fighting each other. Both had been angry kids—Stella, a bully demanding the other children’s respect, and Siffrin, a half-feral loner who went back and forth between hiding in small spaces and snapping at anyone he perceived as having slighted him. He’d refused to kowtow to Stella’s self-appointed authority, and they’d fought until a panicked and furious Aurélin separated them.

Undeterred, the two children had fought again and again; neither were certain when it had become out of fun instead of animosity.

After separating them a dozen times, Aurélin had seen that the two kids were laughing instead of screaming obscenities at each other with each blow and decided to let them fight—with a few ground rules: 1) No striking the other above the shoulders; 2) No weapons; 3) No using Craft against each other; 4) All fights needed him or another teacher or housemaiden within eyeshot; 5) No fighting by the cliffs.

They’d broken each rule multiple times. It had become part of their game. Not only were they fighting, but they were trying not to get caught.

Stella swallowed audibly. “… If Maeva hadn’t been there…”

Ah, that had been the housemaiden’s name. Siffrin only remembered that she’d been the one to reach him first, holding onto his unbroken arm and nearly falling herself as she held him long enough for Aurélin and an adult Siffrin hadn’t seen before to help her pull them up to safety. He remembered that she used to teach them poetry and music; they would fold the poems she gave them into paper cranes.

“But she was,” Siffrin said. “And I wasn’t hurt all that bad—”

“Siffrin. I saw…” Stella motioned for them to stop as she knelt by a plant growing at the base of a large tree. It looked like mint but smelled more like the candies Aurélin would give kids to help soothe their throats. “You almost died, and then…”

But they didn’t die, so it was fine now, right? “But I’m okay, though…?” What was that look Stella was giving them? “So, it’s fine?”

“Fine?” Stella almost crushed the horehound in her fist but dropped them into the basket. She was still on one knee, looking up at Siffrin as her hat cast a harsh shadow over her face. “Stagnation and stasis—”

She stopped just shy of blurting Siffrin’s old name, the first name he could remember having, could remember being able to claim as his. Even if she hadn’t said it, he flinched anyway, and Stella sagged as anger and frustration pulled out of her like a tide retreating.

Neither could look at the other in the eye.

“… It's...,” Siffrin murmured as he stared at the twigs and herb in the basket. “I… didn’t know what I was thinking when I ran away. I… I should have…”

They… didn’t know.

“…” Stella gave a small nod and got up. “… Like you said, you’re fine now.” Her voice was unnervingly flat, a thoughtful and conflicted look on her face before she turned around and started walking again. “There’s a copse of willow trees this way. And to answer your question from earlier, the home was a bit of a mess after you disappeared—left.” She paused. “Aurélin was called to the Bambouche House’s high council for some kind of audit or whatever they call it. There’d been issues with that House’s Head Housemaiden for the years leading up, and it was found out that he hadn’t been sending funds or help Aurélin had been petitioning for, so that Head Housemaiden was sent to another House further south, and Aurélin still worked at the home but just as a history teacher, while a woman who used to work as a nanny and housemaiden brought over from Corbeaux took over.”

She paused again, and Siffrin remained quiet, unsure of how to feel about any of that information.

“Dunno if you ever heard about the body that washed up. Happened around the time you left. Lucille—remember Lucille? She had insomnia like you did.” She shrugged when Siffrin shook their head. “Eh, she’d always been quiet—more’n you, even. But she told Aurélin she heard screaming the night before the body was found, and he reported it, so a healer and expert in Body Craft tested the body to see if the poor guy’s death was accidental or not. Everyone panicked for days when they said it might be murder, hell, even some villagers here have asked me about it when they hear I lived by Bambouche when it happened.”

Made sense. Murder was so rare in Vaugarde. The story had followed him every town and village he’d found shelter in for years. It was like being haunted by a ghost; eventually, he’d left for Poteria to escape all the gossip and speculations as the news story slowly morphed into a legend, a story for spooking people while sitting around a campfire.

“There was a curfew because of it, for a while. I remember being annoyed.” Stella laughed without humor. “I left a bit later, joined the Bambouche House and Changed, eventually transferred to the Etoile House and Changed again. I lost contact with everyone except Maeva and Amos.”

Siffrin didn’t know who Amos was but didn’t say anything.

“What about you? How’d you end up with Vaugarde’s Savior?” Stella’s tone made Siffrin’s hackles rise as heat prickled over his cheeks.

They’d been aware that not everyone believed that Mirabelle had been blessed by the Change God, or at least, not everyone believed she would succeed in defeating the King, blessing or not. They weren’t sure they believed either part, but regardless, they wanted to jump to Mirabelle’s defense.

Saying what, though?

They weren’t sure if they or their friends truly believed they would win, but what else could they do? Quit? If the King was going to win anyway, the least they could do was make him fight for it. Make him freeze in place with bruises on his face and his teeth in his throat.

Siffrin swallowed and said, “I came back to Vaugarde just before the border towns all got frozen. I was trying to run further inland to escape the Curse when I ran into Mirabelle.”

They stopped at a copse of willow trees, and Stella started touching branches, lightly bending them before moving onto the next. “Hmm… And where were you before that?”

Siffrin didn’t owe Stella answers. They didn’t owe her anything.

“I traveled all over,” he answered. “Never really stayed in one place for long. Longest I stayed somewhere was about a year.”

“You’re going to have to give me more than that, shrimp. You got a story. Let’s hear it.”

“Leave it alone, Stella.” Siffrin didn’t recognize the dead tone of their voice. They weren’t sure what expression was on their face, but when Stella turned to look at them, she flinched.

She gave him a wounded look, but she dropped the subject.

Using her sickle to pry up bark from a young branch, Stella leaned forward to sniff, then broke off a bit of the bark to chew. She made a face, and Siffrin laughed, remembering the bitter and somewhat acidic taste well.

“Are you sure the kid will willingly chew that?” he asked, laughing again when Stella spat out the bark and pulled some mint leaves out of one of her pouches.

The leaves were bruised but fresh, and she chewed on them while she peeled away more bark, motioning for Siffrin to bring the basket closer. “I’ll doctor up the willow tea with orange peels, cinnamon, and honey.” She swallowed the mint leaves and stuck two more into her mouth, wiping spit from her lips as she chewed. “My cottage is small, so your whole party can’t stay with me, but if you and one other wanted to stay and help watch over the kid, I wouldn’t mind ya sleeping in the den. I got another couple patients in town I’ve been needing to check daily, so the help will be good.”

“Thanks.” Siffrin hadn’t considered leaving the kid behind; he couldn’t bring himself to. “I’ll ask them. And… Stella… my friends… they don’t know about the group home.”

Odile did but no details. Siffrin planned on keeping it that way.

“Oh, Siffrin.” Stella’s blasé tone was obviously fake, but she smiled easily enough. “It really has been a long time, if you think I’d ever snitch on ya.”

Stella hung up her hat, slicked back her lightless hair, and scrubbed her hands and forearms with heated water and soapwort. She instructed the others on their jobs and went up into the loft above the den.

The kid was awake but barely. Their shoes had been removed, but their socks had needed to be cut off, several pieces of the threadbare cloth sticking to scabbed-over blisters. Mirabelle stripped birch bark from the twigs as Siffrin gave them to her, and Isabeau washed the oyster mushrooms and morels while Odile double-checked the bath water and sprinkled in a blend of oats that had been ground into a fine powder; salt; and ground-up, dried orange peels.

The kid tried to say they could walk but coughed into Stella’s shirt, their whole body shaking, shaking, shaking. She’d removed their large hat and Siffrin’s cloak, and they looked even smaller now, like they could take them outside and watch them get blown away in the wind.

It was decided that Siffrin and Isabeau would stay the night in the cottage, while Odile and Mirabelle would stay at a lodging house near the village’s library. What they’d do tomorrow was still a question no one was asking.

“If you don’t stop squirming, I’m gonna start singing,” Stella warned as Odile set a kettle on the stove. “And trust me, you don’t want me to start singing.”

The kid grumbled, splashing water, and as warned, Stella started to sing—if what her voice was doing could be called singing—an aria from a popular Poterian opera. Everyone winced, and the kid eventually called out, “Gah!” They coughed and coughed and coughed. “No, I’m sorry! Stop!”

Cough cough cough cough cough.

Siffrin’s chest felt tight. They’d never gotten colds or flus, but whenever one kid at the group home had gotten sick, it usually wasn’t long before every other kid caught it. Siffrin, if in one of his rare, good moods, would insist on helping Aurélin bring everyone soup, tea, licorice syrup, and horehound candy.

“Then stop yer squirming! It’ll be easier to use Healing Craft if you stay still.”

The kid grumbled again, and Mirabelle brought them a small bowl of bone broth when Stella asked for it.

While Odile used some of the broth as a base for a pot of mushroom bisque, Siffrin helped Isabeau break up garlic bulbs and drop stripped cloves into a baking pan. Once they had enough, Isabeau poured enough olive oil to cover the cloves, Odile stepping aside long enough for Isabeau to push the pan into the oven.

After the kid’s bath, Mirabelle helped Stella wet the birch bark and use bandages to hold them against the kid’s feet. They complained between coughs but stopped when Stella said she’d start singing again. They were asleep again after drinking half a cup of tea, and Stella excused herself for a nap but assured the others that they were free to keep eating.

“I can just grab some toast on my way out,” she said, leaning against the doorframe between the kitchen and short hallway that held the bathroom and her bedroom. “I need to check on my other patients, soon. Change willing, Armand took his crabbing pills this morning.”

Stella stumbled into her room, and Mirabelle told the others that she was fine but had worn herself out using the amount of Craft she’d needed to heal the kid’s injuries and clear their sinuses.

“She didn’t even get to start using Craft on their lungs yet,” Mirabelle murmured as she accepted a bowl of bisque from Odile. “Even after the Healing Craft I did before getting her, the cuts on their arms and left leg had started to get infected. Just getting all that cleaned took all her strength.”

“… Gems…” Odile dropped into a chair at the small table in the corner. “If you hadn’t used Healing Craft on them first…”

No one spoke.

Despite Stella saying she’d just grab toast on the way out, Isabeau set aside a bowl of bisque and toast spread with garlic before grabbing food for himself. He joined Odile at the table, but Mirabelle went to eat outside, saying she needed fresh air. Siffrin followed her.

There was a table by the herb garden, and Mirabelle sat with her knees pulled up to her chest, food sitting on the table untouched. Siffrin sat across from her and ate slowly, unsure if she wanted him to break the silence first or wait for her to gather herself first.

“Would you like me to get you some tea?” he asked after a while. “Not the willow one, though. Even with honey, I don’t think it’d taste very tea-rific.”

Mirabelle’s nails dug into her knees. “… No, thank you.”

Ah, not the time for puns. “They’ll be okay.”

Mirabelle didn’t answer, but after a while, she lowered her feet to the ground and took a bite of her toast.

They ate in tense silence, and when Stella was rested enough to see her other patients, Mirabelle and Odile left with Daliah and Lily. There was a stable near the lodging house that would be able to hold them there overnight.

Inside, Isabeau tackled the dishes while wearing his pajamas, and Siffrin scrubbed down the tub and mopped up what was left of the water the kid had splashed onto the floor. When he was done, he quickly washed up, changed into the nightgown he’d borrowed from Mirabelle, and rejoined Isabeau in the kitchen. They’d do their laundry in the morning; it was getting too late to do it now.

“Do you think Mira will be okay?” Siffrin asked as he sat at the table. He smiled appreciatively when Isabeau brought over two cups of strawberry-mint tea.

“I’m sure she will,” Isabeau said, trying his best to keep his voice down. “The poor kid was obviously running away from something. Maybe the Curse, maybe a bad home situation. But…”

“Another reminder what’s at stake?” Siffrin guessed.

“A harsh one.” Isabeau sighed, shoulders dropping. “Hopefully M’dame Odile can be easy on her tonight. Give her a nice pep talk.” He smiled awkwardly at Siffrin’s snort. “Okay, yeah, maybe just the ‘easy on her’ part, then.”

They sat in silence for a while as they sipped their tea, and Siffrin listened for a change in the kid’s breathing. It still rattled, but at least their heartbeat was steadier now.

“I’m glad you spotted them,” Isabeau said after a while, looking uncomfortable with the silence. “I didn’t notice anyone there until you said something.”

Siffrin had almost missed them, too. They’d been trying their best to ignore how close they’d been forced to sit behind Odile when they’d caught movement out of the corner of their eye. They’d seen the kid’s large, light hat first, and before they could think about what was happening or what they were doing, Siffrin had called out to their friends and jumped off Dahliah’s back.

“I am, too,” Siffrin murmured. “I hope they’ll be okay.”

“I’m sure they will be, thanks to you and Mira.” He smiled when Siffrin’s cheeks darkened. “I’ve never seen anyone run that fast before! It was impressive!”

Oh, stars. Siffrin had been waiting for that to be mentioned. They hadn’t thought about it; all they’d been able to do was react. The only thing that had run through their mind was reaching the kid and making sure they were okay.

When Siffrin stayed quiet, Isabeau suggested Siffrin take second watch this time.

“I got something to brew to help you wake up,” Isabeau said when Siffrin started to protest. “And I’m not sure I can fall asleep right now, anyway.”

Siffrin wasn’t sure they could either, but they agreed, finished their tea, and went to the bathroom to brush their teeth. By the time they were done, there was a blanket already on the couch. Without their cloak, though, Siffrin struggled to fall asleep and rolled over, so they faced the back of the couch. They grabbed their hat from the ground and used it to cover their face, listening as Isabeau grabbed a book from the nearby shelf and went up into the loft.

At some point, Stella returned and asked how the kid was doing.

“They woke up for a little bit,” Isabeau answered. “Their name’s Bonnie, short for Boniface. Couldn’t say much else, and I got them to drink more of that willow tea before they fell asleep again.”

“Good.” Stella groaned. “Armand did not take his crabbing pills, so I’m even more beat. Thank you two for staying to keep watch over them. I don’t think I could manage it alone right now.”

“It’s no problem. Thanks for putting up with us. It’s really cozy here.”

“Small you mean.” Stella laughed, sounding like she was going into the kitchen. “Grew up in small quarters, so this suits me just fine, though.”

“Same. Boarding house apartment with four older siblings, though three of them moved out by the time I left for a bit to stay at a House for a while.”

“Housemaiden?”

“Nah, wasn’t for me. Needed a Change.”

“I get that.” Stella filled the kettle. “Thought I wanted to be one—a housemaiden—but the Etoile House is one of the more, uh, restrictive ones. Head Housemaiden said I needed a Bonding Partner before I could make my vows, so I found a healer to apprentice to instead.”

“You don’t want a partner?”

“Not back then. Now? Eh, dunno. Got someone I’ve been seeing now. She’s great, we started as friends, then as we got closer… dunno.” The softness of her voice gave away that she was smiling. “But I’d never felt anything like this with anyone before, so he’s okay with taking it slow as we figure things out. We just like being together. Don’t need a special name or earrings.”

“Ah, yeah, I noticed you don’t wear any.”

“Took ‘em out when I decided not to be a housemaiden and let the holes heal back over—and maybe I used a little Body Craft to help. A little vindictively, probably.”

Isabeau laughed.

“So, I’m not interested in getting them pierced again.” Stella yawned, and dishes clinked as she retrieved a cup. “How ‘bout you, big one? Got anyone you’re fighting for?”

“O-oh, me?!” Isabeau cleared his throat and lowered his voice again. “Uh, no, not really.” He chuckled; his heart sped up. “I used to have a little crush on one of my coworkers, but after he and everyone else said they wouldn’t help Mirabelle fight the king…”

“… Defenders, I’m guessing?”

“That obvious I was one?”

“I can’t think of many other professions where someone would look so… weird about them not agreeing to that. Confused and mad.” She poured boiling water into her cup. “And can’t say I’ve ever had good interactions with them, so guess I’m just wired now to imagine the worst.”

“… Really?”

“Story for another night, big one.” Siffrin could imagine Stella winking. “Maybe I’ll tell it if ya tell me about this new crush you’re growing.” She laughed. “Don’t be so shocked. It’s written all over your face. Oh…” It sounded like she was holding back laughter, and Isabeau’s heart sped up even more. “... Good luck.”

…? Siffrin hadn’t heard Isabeau say anything. Had he mouthed it? Maybe it was something he’d been worried the kid—Bonnie—might overhear, in case they’d woken up.

Stella carried her tea into her bedroom, and the cottage again settled into silence. Isabeau went up into the loft, his heart calming down as Siffrin heard pages turning. He counted the seconds between page turns, starting over again and again as Isabeau read his book. At one point, the kid woke up again, and there was a brief argument broken up by coughing and wheezing, Isabeau setting down his book and going into the kitchen to fetch more tea.

By the time Isabeau was whispering his name, Siffrin had given up on the idea of sleeping tonight. He rubbed his eyes and rolled over, hat falling back onto the floor.

The tightening of Isabeau’s smile said he suspected Siffrin hadn’t slept, but he didn’t say anything and simply held up a cup of coffee.

“If it’s too bitter, there’s milk in the fridge, and sugar should be easy enough to find.”

“Mmm…” Siffrin sat up and accepted the cup with a murmur of thanks.

His nose wrinkled at the bitter taste. He preferred the Poterian coffee. It had been doctored with heated milk and shaved chocolate decorating the top.

“Milk and sugar?” Isabeau asked, sounding close to laughter.

“Please.”

Isabeau returned minutes later, and the coffee tasted much more tolerable.

“It’s more popular in the cities here,” Isabeau said as Siffrin sipped. “Started to spread when theatre houses performing Poterian operas started selling it to guests.”

Weird. Poteria usually served wine at their operas, but then again, Poteria and Vaugarde had a (mostly) good-natured rivalry when it came to their wines. They all tasted the same to him.

“Have you just been carrying coffee beans everywhere?” Siffrin asked, feeling warm when Isabeau’s cheeks darkened.

“Y-yeah, my moms gave them to me to bring along, but Mira and Odile don’t like coffee, so this is the first time I’ve made any.”

“That’s nice,” he said, rubbing one of his eyes again. “Are you close to them?”

“I’m closer to Yvette. Um, she’s my mom’s new partner. Oh, she and my dad are still together… in theory. They still get together sometimes, but it feels more like they’re doing it out of habit? If that makes sense?” Isabeau shrugged, looking away. “Um…”

“Want your turn on the couch?” Siffrin asked. They mentally kicked themself for bringing it up; it sounded like a sore subject.

“Oh, yeah, sure!” Isabeau sat as Siffrin grabbed his hat and got up. “Goodnight, Sif.”

Smiling, Siffrin put his hat back on. “Goodnight, Isa.”

Coffee finished, Siffrin cleaned out the cup and set it up into the rack above the sink to dry. He found a bottle of licorice syrup and brought it up into the loft with a spoon. He set both onto a small table next to the narrow bed and picked up the book Isabeau had been reading from the chair.

Flipping through the pages, Siffrin’s eyebrows rose. They’d known Isabeau liked romances, but they hadn’t expected him to enjoy ones quite this explicit.

Bonnie started coughing again, breath rattling in their chest. They squinted up at Siffrin with watery eyes, wheezing with each exhale. “Who’re you?”

“Siffrin. I’m helping Stella.” He tapped the top of the licorice syrup bottle three times. “Think you can swallow a spoonful?”

Recognizing the lightless liquid inside, Bonnie made a face.

Fair. Siffrin had tied it as a kid out of curiosity. They never tried it again.

Bonnie weakly lifted their hand, fingers barely curling as they tried to point at the book in Siffrin’s hands. “Story. Za wouldn’t read any to me.”

For good reason! Siffrin hummed and flipped through the book again. “I can see why. It’s too scary for kids.”

“I’m not”—coughing coughing coughing—“scared!”

“You sure? I’ll be the one getting in trouble if you get nightmares.”

“Story, or—” Bonnie coughed again, turning their head to cough into the sheets instead of all over Siffrin again.

“It’s a long book…” Siffrin pretended to deliberate. “One chapter.”

“Two.” Bonnie narrowed their eyes again.

They were sweating, but they trembled as if cold. Siffrin gathered their cloak from the narrow table behind him and handed it to Bonnie to put back on. They managed it with minimal grunting and complaining, and they were shivering a little less when they settled back down under their blankets.

“Two,” Siffrin allowed. “One spoonful for two chapters. If you want more, you’ll have to take another spoonful, and you swallow the syrup before I read. Deal?”

“Deal,” Bonnie wheezed.

The syrup poured slowly into the spoon’s deep bowl, and Siffrin tried his best to keep from scrunching up his nose at the smell. Bonnie swallowed the dark goop while making a face.

Their darkened tongue stuck out as they gagged after swallowing, but they settled back down in bed and asked, “What’s the book about, anyway?”

Siffrin said the first ghost story they could think of. “A ghost story from Bambouche.”

“I’m from Bambouche!” Bonnie shook as they coughed, tears streaming down their round cheeks.

Oh, stars. Of course the kid was from Bambouche and was brought to a healer who used to live in the same group home as Siffrin all those years ago. He really hoped the Universe was entertained, if It was going to keep doing this to him.

“From a village by Bambouche,” the kid clarified. “It’s a new village, and it’s so small, we don’t even have a name yet, so we just say we’re from Bambouche.”

“Hmm, then maybe you know this story. It’s about the ghosts that walk on the sea up there.”

“Oh, I know about that one!” Coughing, coughing, coughing. “But my teacher made Cyril stop telling it, ‘cause crabbing Noe got scared and started crying.”

Siffrin couldn't hold back a chuckle. “Well, then you know it’s usually a short story. This book made up a person who saw the ghosts as a kid and returned to Bambouche years later, as an adult. Ready?”

Bonnie nodded, face squishing into their pillow.

“Okay.” Siffrin opened the book to the first chapter and pretended to read as they crafted a whole new story.

They remembered to turn the pages every so often, and Bonnie listened, their eyelids growing heavier and heavier as Siffrin talked. They were asleep as Siffrin described the cold cliffs by Bambouche, his wary main character imagining someone falling from them and into the dark, churning depths below.

Closing the book, Siffrin watched the kid continue to shiver in his cloak as they wheezed out shallow breath after shallow breath. “Goodnight, Bonnie.”

Chapter Text

Time was running out. Bonnie’s arrival had heralded Vaugarde’s encroaching end.

Everyone was scared, and when Stella woke up as dawn set the eastern horizon aflame, she told Siffrin that nearly half the village was planning to evacuate. Where they planned to go, however, was undetermined. Many planned to walk further towards the country’s central mountains. Many others claimed doing so would only delay the inevitable and planned to brave already-frozen regions in hopes of making it across the border before becoming frozen themselves.

Stella planned to remain here. Many of the people staying were too weak or sick to leave. She was the village’s only healer; no matter what the future held, she needed to be here for them.

As Isabeau slept on the couch, Siffrin, still wearing Mirabelle’s nightgown, mixed up a savory sauce—sleeves pushed up to his elbows as per Stella’s instructions—while Stella rolled leftover morels in batter as a pan of oil heated on the stove. Her cup of dark tea with mint sat by the sink, and Siffrin set his bowl aside and took a sip of coffee. He’d found the pitcher Isabeau had used for steeping and decided to give it another shot—still not great, but it was fine.

“I hadn’t pegged you for a smut reader,” Stella said after a few minutes of silence. Neither had spoken since Siffrin narrowed their eyes when she opened her mouth to ask about the scars on the underside of their forearms.

She motioned towards the table with her head.

Siffrin had decided to bring Isabeau’s borrowed book downstairs, just in case Bonnie woke up and wanted to know what happened next in the ghost story Siffrin had been “reading” to them.

“I’m not.” Siffrin moved onto chopping garlic for their rice. “Isa got it from your shelf but forgot it upstairs.”

“Huh.” Stella glanced out the wide opening between the kitchen and den. “I would have pegged you as a smut reader before him.”

“Hey…”

“Hey, I watched you eat raw meat once. Who knows what kinda freaky shit you grew up being into.” Stella laughed when a clove of garlic hit her temple. It bounced off the counter and onto the floor, but she blew on it and stuck it into her mouth, talking as she chewed. “Hope the kid didn’t read any of it.”

Oil sizzled and popped as Stella dropped the batter-covered morels into it. As they cooked, she pulled out cabbage and started chopping it into slivers.

“Nah, they wanted me to read some, but I made something up.”

“Oh, that had to have been good.”

“Hey.” Siffrin dodged Stella trying to check him with her hip and placed the pot of rice and garlic onto the stove, measuring with his middle finger to double-check that he’d added enough water. “It was that ghost story Aurélin told us once.”

“You’ll have to be more specific. He was always indulging your ghost story addiction.”

“He did not. He always tried to give me history books instead.”

“To teach you how to read, remember?”

“… Right. Whatever.”

“Which ghost story?” Stella pushed the chopped-up cabbage into a large bowl and got a wire ladle to rescue the mushrooms before they ended up burnt. “Oh, wait, I’ll guess. Let me think...”

Siffrin got a bowl padded with thin, clean cloth. “Don’t strain yourself.”

“Shut it, shrimp, my grades were always better than yours.”

“… We got grades?” Siffrin set the mushrooms aside to cool and for the cloth to absorb the excess oil.

“No, but that’s besides the point.” Stella chopped the carrots diagonally, knife moving so fast and close to her knuckles that Siffrin wasn’t sure how she could chop and talk at the same time. “Was it that story of the ghost lights? The ones that make you get lost? You had a weird fascination with that one. Wore all your clothes inside-out anytime we had to go into the forest for something.”

Siffrin had forgotten all about that story, but now that they thought about it, they remembered soon after running away, they’d stuffed some of their pockets with rowan berries anytime they’d had to venture into the woods. They weren’t sure when they’d stopped.

“No.” Siffrin went to the pantry, grabbing a couple apples and a jar of fennel seeds. “It was the ghosts that ride on the waves—”

He stopped, and Stella raised her brows as she dumped the carrots—reduced to slivers—into the same large bowl as the cabbage.

Isabeau was still laying down, but his breathing had changed.

Siffrin mouthed, “He’s waking up,” as he motioned towards the den.

Eyebrows still raised, Stella wiped her hands on her shirt and grabbed the slate and a piece of chalk she kept leaning against the window above her sink. Her handwriting was barely legible, but when she was done and turned the slate around for Siffrin to read, they could clearly make out, It’s still really crabbing creepy you can do that.

She used a tea towel to wipe down the slate as she spoke, tone suddenly distant, like she was talking to a stranger. “I can finish up breakfast, hatted one. Go on and get your and the big one’s laundry done. Bucket and pump’s by the shed. And while you’re out there, mind feeding Daffodil for me? The barrel’s inside the stable.”

Siffrin only nodded and set the jar and apples onto the counter before grabbing the pile of clothes by the back door.

Daffodil whinnied and snorted soon as Siffrin stepped foot into the stable. He watched them with large, unblinking eyes, the blocky shape of his pupils a little unnerving. He stood in the stall closest to the door, probably so he couldn’t reach the barrel of feed between the empty stall and tack wall.

“Good—hey!” Siffrin snatched their hand back before Daffodil could nip their fingers. His rubbery lips had brushed the pad of his middle finger, and the horse stomped and whinnied as if laughing at Siffrin’s fear. “… Stella didn’t mention you’re a crab.”

Daffodil snorted, and Siffrin sighed and left the stall door closed. There was a bucket inside the half-empty barrel, and Daffodil stomped impatiently as Siffrin scooped a mixture of pellets and oats into it.

“Hold your… well, you.” Siffrin chuckled to themself and held the bucket away as Daffodil tried to reach past his face. “Nope. Back up. I’m not going to stand here and hold it while you eat.”

The light horse neighed in indignation as he stomped one foot like a toddler.

“I do hope you’re not bullying the healer’s poor horse.”

Siffrin turned and almost dropped the bucket of feed when Daffodil nipped at his hair.

An amused Odile and tittering Mirabelle stood at the stable’s entrance. Odile stood with her arms crossed, a pile of folded clothes pillowing them against her chest.

“Uh—ow!” The feed bucket dropped from Siffrin’s grip and spilled pellets around their feet as Daffodil took a mouthful of their hair, lips brushing against their scalp, and threw his head back. The force yanked Siffrin forward, and stars danced over their vision as their head hit the edge of the stall door.

The sight sent Odile and Mirabelle into hysterics, and Daffodil snorted and whinnied as he pranced inside his stall, looking smug as Siffrin rubbed the side of his head and shot the horse a deadly glare as he suppressed the urge to bare his fangs at him.

“A-are… a-are you”—Mirabelle leaned against the doorframe, struggling to get words out through her chortling—“okay, S-Sif-Siffrin?”

Face hot, Siffrin nodded, scalp still burning where Daffodil pulled their hair. “Yeah, I’m fine. Crabbing horse.”

Mirabelle laughed harder, sliding down to the hay-littered floor as tears streamed down her cheeks. It was like all the stress from the past day—past month, maybe—drained out of her with her tears and laughter.

Knocking her glasses askew as she wiped her eyes, Odile got a hold of herself but continued smiling as she said, “Alright, alright. Siffrin, have you started on your and Isabeau’s laundry?” She nodded once when Siffrin shook his head. “Then, here. I’ll feed the horse and join you later. Mirabelle, once you’re under control again, go see if Stella needs any help with the kid.”

Mirabelle, sitting with her knees pulled up to her chin, nodded and pulled out a handkerchief to dab at her eyes and cheeks, and Siffrin took the small pile of clothes from Odile.

“You”—Mirabelle panted one hand going to her ribs—“sure you’re… okay, Siffrin?”

Unable to keep from smiling at the unrestrained joy on his friend’s face, even if it had been at their expense, Siffrin nodded. “I’m fine, Mira. How about you?” He smiled wider at the sudden frown on her face when she realized he was about to make a pun. “Your voice isn’t horse at all?”

“No,” Odile called out as she refilled the feeding bucket.

Meanwhile, Daffodil stomped, excited again.

Siffrin turned towards Odile, his long bangs shifting so they covered his eyes. “Aww, you act like my jokes give you night-mares.”

“Laundry. Now.”

“Booooo.” Siffrin pouted and adjusted his grip on the clothes, so they could hold out a hand and help Mirabelle up to her feet. “Stable now?”

Odile groaned, but Mirabelle snorted and gave Siffrin a grateful look before heading to the cottage.

Success.

Pushing his hair back and wishing he’d put on his hat, Siffrin returned to the shed, where he’d tossed his, Isabeau’s, and Bonnie’s clothes into the large, wooden bucket. They soaked in cold water from the pump that was nearly as tall as he was, and after dropping Odile’s and Mirabelle’s clothes in as well, Siffrin went into the shed, sighing in relief when he saw that everything was as organized as the kitchen.

The small space was perfumed by the bundles of herbs and flowers hanging from a wooden grid overhead, Siffrin able to recognize lavender but nothing else. The smell was strong, whatever was up there, so Siffrin hurriedly located a washboard. The shelves covering the left wall from floor to ceiling were filled with Crafted soaps, candles, and incense. The labels listed ingredients but also said whether a soap was supposed to help inflammation, whether a candle would extinguish itself after one hour or eight, or whether an incense blend would help with calming down. Siffrin grabbed a bar of soap with the fewest ingredients.

On the other side of the shed was a tall stool, so Siffrin grabbed that for Odile to use when she got here. They decided to start with Bonnie’s clothing, draping their lightless shorts over the bucket’s side while they lathered up their sleeveless shirt with honey-scented soap.

Siffrin looked away to sneeze, still smelling flowers and leaves and wax and resin. He jumped when Odile approached, not realizing she was already so close.

“My apologies,” she said. “And bless you.”

“Thank you.” Siffrin rubbed his face against his shoulder and handed the bar of soap to Odile as she moved the stool closer to the bucket and sat down.

Water dripped down Siffrin’s arms as they rubbed Bonnie’s shirt against the ribbed metal sheet making up the washboard’s body. They’d left their sleeves down to cover their scars, and the wet fabric clung to their skin.

“It’ll go easier if you roll your sleeves up,” Odile suggested as she started lathering Bonnie’s shorts.

“Probably.” Siffrin didn’t bother with their usual smile when it was just the two of them.

They knew she was apologetic, but her being sorry didn’t change what she’d done. They lightly pushed the washboard towards her and pushed down on the pump, so he could rinse Bonnie’s shirt.

Odile watched him over her glasses, a wrinkle forming between her thin eyebrows.

They worked in silence, the two working out a system where Siffrin lathered up the clothes, passed them to Odile to scrub on the board, and then he took them back to rinse and hang on the line nearby. The clothesline resembled an inside-out umbrella without the waxed cloth, and the sun came back out from behind the clouds as they worked.

“… I feel a ‘sorry’ would be inadequate.” Odile exhaled sharply at Siffrin’s blank look. “Siffrin, please, for a moment, can you see this from my perspective?”

They tried, wringing water out of the light tunic Isabeau always wore underneath his turtleneck. “Except, you’re the one who insisted I come with you guys. Even if you thought I was dangerous and posed whatever threat, I’d had plenty of chances on that mountain. The climbing wall, the fortress wall, the Dead Zone, the tower.” They counted off each one on their fingers, which were growing numb from the cold water. Their heart was beating fast; they hated confronting people like this. They couldn’t meet Odile’s eyes anymore. “So, trying to ‘see this from your perspective’”—they hung Isabeau’s tunic on the line above their cloak—“makes me think it’s all just to settle your own curiosity. Nothing else.”

Odile’s cheeks darkened, but her expression made it impossible to tell if it was out of shame or anger.

Siffrin couldn’t bring themself to care. They breathed in, and out, needing to calm their speeding heart. “I forgave you for asking me about why I was going to Voimort, but…”

They wanted to throw up. Their eyes stung, and they blinked quickly as they lathered one of Mirabelle’s dresses.

They didn’t want to talk about this. They didn’t want to talk about this. They didn’t want to talk about this.

“But…” Odile also drew in a breath and let it out. “But, I pushed again, with the drinking game. However…” She took the dress from Siffrin’s hand, regarding him evenly as he stared. “Siffrin, you must admit that things still don’t add up.”

“Do they need to?” Siffrin’s voice sounded hollow, like an echo deep inside a cave.

He didn’t want to talk about this.

He’d asked Odile about what she’d stolen a few nights ago. He’d meant it as a truce. Let her give something, something small. Let her believe he’d forgiven her.

Why did she need to bring this up AGAIN?

Admitting he hadn’t gotten traditional schooling was his fault; he’d been more focused on winning than holding his tongue. It was also inconsequential information that tied easily to what he’d already told her about living in a group home.

Admitting he’d stolen something but that it wasn’t jewels? Fine. He’d known that after what he’d said when talking about traps that the others probably suspected he’d been a thief at some point.

But that last question.

Stars.

And had Odile taken a shot, because she’d been lying, and she actually had killed someone? Or had she only drunk it to signal their game was over?

Siffrin didn’t want to blinding talk about this!

Odile scrubbed the dress silently, staring at the board as if Mirabelle’s dress needed special attention. Her lips were a straight, hard line that cut across her face, and the dark circles under her eyes said Siffrin hadn’t been the only person who hadn’t been able to sleep last night.

“… I guess not,” Odile said through clenched teeth.

Siffrin didn’t believe her, but his shoulders relaxed as he took the dress from her and rinsed it at the pump.

They lapsed back into silence as they worked, Siffrin lathering, Odile scrubbing, Siffrin rinsing and wringing and hanging.

After working together to tip the bucket over and dump dirty, soapy water away from the shed, Odile set the washboard against the pole holding up the clothesline to dry, and Siffrin put the stool back.

“… I won’t hurt anyone,” Siffrin whispered, and they weren’t sure Odile heard at first until she finally let out a long breath.

“I believe you.” She didn’t sound like she was lying, but Siffrin still tensed. “… With what’s been shown already… I think I’m more worried about you hurting yourself.” Her eyes went to Siffrin’s sodden sleeves.

They couldn’t think of a response.

“Put me down!” Bonnie cried between coughs. “Put me down, or I’ll punch you!”

“Sorry, Bonnie, but I’d rather risk your wrath than the healer’s,” Isabeau said as he carefully carried Bonnie down the stairs that were little more than a ladder leaning against the loft’s floor. “And she said you need to stay off your feet for another day at least while your wounds heal.”

“I’m fine!” Bonnie yelled, tears beading along their long lashes as they thrashed around in Isabeau’s grip. They were wearing a night shirt they’d borrowed from Stella, and on them, the light top looked more like a dress with too-long sleeves.

Taking his cup of coffee from Stella, Siffrin called out, “Guess someone doesn’t want me to keep reading to them.”

“No!” Bonnie protested. “I still want to! Our deal was lick-ish syrup!”

“Licorice,” Odile corrected as she went to wash her hands.

Setting a stool in front of the stove, Stella said, “And now it’s for drinking broth and tea. I’m already letting you eat at the table with us instead of up in bed, so don’t push it, kid.”

Pain flashed across Bonnie’s dark eyes, but they only crossed their arms and harrumphed as they let Isabeau carry them the rest of the way to the table, which had been extended so that it was a long oval that took up nearly half the kitchen.

Bonnie was set at the head of the table, with Stella on one side and Bonnie insisting Siffrin sit on the across from her. Odile sat opposite Bonnie, with Isabeau between her and Siffrin with Mirabelle across from him.

“I’m sick of broth,” Bonnie mumbled as the bowl was set in front of them.

Their skin looked less ashen, but there were dark circles under their eyes. Their lightless hair stuck out at odd angles, and while their breath didn’t rattle quite so bad anymore, as Siffrin listened, they could hear that Bonnie wasn’t breathing as deeply as they should.

Breakfast consisted of fried morels with a savory sauce, garlic rice, coleslaw with apples and a vinegar-based dressing, sauteed spinach, and minced chicken liver and gizzard.

“It’s only been a day,” Stella said, reining in a growl. “Once I’m sure your stomach can handle more food, I’ll give you something else.”

“I’m still sick of broth,” Bonnie grumbled as they crossed their arms and slumped in their chair.

While scooping minced chicken onto their plate, Siffrin told Bonnie, “It’s not pho long, only until you’re feeling soup-er better.”

Mirabelle sighed while Odile groaned, and Isabeau laughed while Bonnie lowered their head to cover their half-smile with their arms while narrowing their eyes at Siffrin.

“Another joke like that, and you’re eating outside,” Stella deadpanned.

She struggled to hold back a smile when Siffrin said, “Boooo.”

Bonnie glared at their food, arms remaining crossed over their chest. Mirabelle and Stella talked about Healing Craft, using terms that Siffrin didn’t understand. It sounded like they’d combined their power to help Bonnie’s lungs, and Odile occasionally interrupted with questions.

“What story were you telling to Bonnie?” Isabeau asked Siffrin.

Before he could answer, Bonnie piped up, “The book you wouldn’t read me, coz you thought it was too scary for me!” They narrowed their eyes at Isabeau as Siffrin swallowed a laugh.

“Siffrin!” Mirabelle scolded, and Isabeau paled while Siffrin put on a sheepish grin.

“Oh, the kid can handle a little ghost story,” Stella drawled after swallowing a morel. She fixed Isabeau with a knowing grin that had him slipping down his chair. “Maybe read more than just the title before picking a book to read, if you’re so worried about someone peeking at it.”

Isabeau cleared his throat as Mirabelle looked between them, confused, and Odile raised her eyebrows at Siffrin. His only response was to grin cheekily.

Looking up from their soup, Bonnie pointed at Siffrin’s mouth. “Frin, why’s your teeth so sharp?”

Isabeau and Mirabelle jumped, and Mirabelle started, “B-Bonnie, that’s not something nice to—”

“Oh, it’s fine, Mira,” Siffrin assured. They smiled wide enough to show their fangs and told Bonnie, “It’s to bite bad kids.”

Odile raised her eyebrows as Mirabelle scolded, “Siffrin,” again.

At the same time, Stella muttered under her breath, “They ain’t joking,” earning a kick in the shin from Siffrin. She only smiled, and Isabeau hummed, making Siffrin startle and glance at him. He looked between them and Stella with a questioning look in his eyes.

Stars, did he suspect Siffrin and Stella knew each other before now?

Before Siffrin could wonder about it, Bonnie threw their fists into the air and shouted, “No! You’re lying! You wouldn’t do that!”

“How do you know?” Siffrin asked them in a singsong tone.

“Coz Belle said you’re helping her fight the King!” Bonnie sat up in their chair, flinching when their foot hit one leg of their chair. “And good guys don’t hurt kids!”

“They’ve got you there, Sif,” Isabeau laughed at the same time Siffrin told Bonnie, “Good guys aren’t supposed to lie to kids, either.”

“This is going nowhere,” Odile sighed. “Bonnie—Is that short for anything?”

“Boniface.” Bonnie stuck their tongue out. “But I only get called that when I’m in trouble.”

“Then Boniface.” Odile smiled when Bonnie’s round face scrunched up. “Finish drinking your broth and tea. Then, maybe, after breakfast, you’ll get to watch us practice fighting.”

Bonnie sat up straighter, eyes sparkling. “Really?! Can I please!”

“Eat, and sure,” Stella allowed, giving Odile a look of thanks as she returned Siffrin’s kick with one of her own. “It’ll be easier to watch you that way, since I’m sure the Saviors will need a healer.” She gave each of them a hard look. “But no taking things too far. I still got other patients to see later today.”

No striking above the shoulders, no weapons, no using Crafts against each other, within view of a teacher or housemaiden, and don’t get too close to the cliffs, Siffrin thought, and a moment’s glance from Stella said she’d been thinking the same thing.

“So…” Isabeau held onto Bonnie’s knees to keep them stable while they sat on his shoulders. “Any ground rules to keep us from, y’know, hurting each other too bad?”

“Don’t be a baby, Za,” Bonnie said firmly. “Oh! Pony!” Their eyes sparkled in wonder.

Daffodil used his nose to push a large ball around barrels set up at three places in the pasture.

Bringing the chairs over from her outdoor table, Stella corrected, “Horse. His name’s Daffodil, and maybe once you’re feeling better, you can ride him ‘round the pasture.” She raised an eyebrow at the look on Siffrin’s face. “Got a problem with my horse, shrimp?”

Mirabelle started giggling into her hands as Odile snorted, and Isabeau looked between them, trying not to smile as he asked Siffrin if his head was okay.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” Siffrin rubbed the side of his head, but there was no bump or lingering pain. “Thankfully, he didn’t hit me that hard.”

Bonnie laughed, pointing down at Siffrin. “HAHA! You got beat up by a crabbing horse!”

“Language, Boniface,” Odile warned as she took out her book from her coat pocket.

“What?!” Bonnie pouted, crossing their arms so they rested atop Isabeau’s head. “My language is fine! My teacher says I speak elk-interly!”

“… I think you mean ‘eloquently,’” Odile said cooly.

“Eloquently,” Bonnie repeated. “Yeah, that. I speak eloquently!”

Pushing back her dark, wide-brimmed hat a bit, Stella said, “I think considering the situation, the kid’s entitled to curse a little.”

“Yeah!” Bonnie agreed. They let out a small, surprised, “Whoop” as Isabeau set them down onto one of the wooden chairs. “Fight! Fight—” They shook as they coughed and coughed and coughed, but it didn’t sound as heavy or deep as last night.

When Stella pulled licorice root out of their pocket and held it out, Bonnie made a face and shook their head.

Mirabelle draped the blanket she’d been carrying around Bonnie, who grunted a thank you and pulled it tight around their body.

“It doesn’t taste as strong as the syrup,” Stella promised, but her tone was more annoyed than reassuring. “Not at first, anyway, but as you chew, you get used to the flavor and don’t notice when it gets stronger.”

Something about her tone or the stern look on her face made Bonnie frown, like they were remembering a sad memory, and they took the root, which was about the length of their thumb. They made a face as they chewed but kept it in their mouth as Isabeau brought over the outdoor table and set it next to Stella’s chair as she sat down. Odile took off her coat and folded it carefully to set onto the table, and Mirabelle did the same with her capelet, the teardrop beads attached to her brooches tinkling against each other.

Isabeau wore his backup sleeveless turtleneck but without an undershirt, and he wore the tighter pants he’d worn on the mountain. Siffrin was dressed in his backup outfit that Mirabelle had helped pick out for him in Chasion. He’d put his gloves back on, fingering the small tear over his knuckle from the arrows in the fortress tower. He’d also put his hat back on, but he still felt a little off-balance without his cloak.

He finally decided to take it off again, setting it atop Odile’s coat and combed his hair back with his fingers. He felt eyes on him and glanced up as Isabeau looked away, cheeks dark.

…? Siffrin turned his attention to Odile as she clapped her hands to get everyone’s attention.

“Alright,” she said. “How are we doing this?”

Bonnie shouted before anyone could respond: “Teams! Two against two!”

Smiling indulgently, Odile gestured towards Bonnie to continue. “Ah, good idea, Boniface. And how should we divide the teams?”

The rest of the party moved to stand on either side of her, and Bonnie narrowed their eyes as they looked from one to the next and then back again, deliberating. Isabeau and Mirabelle held back giggles, and Siffrin smiled easily, hands clasped behind their back.

“Hmm…” Bonnie wiped their mouth and continued chewing the licorice root. “What Craft Types are you guys?”

Odile answered, “Siffrin over there is Scissors Type”—Siffrin made a scissors motion with their hand—“Isabeau is Rock Type”—Isabeau punched his palm with a grin—“I’m Paper Type, and Mirabelle here is actually Dual Type: Scissors and Paper.”

“Whoa!” Bonnie’s eyes sparkled again, and Stella looked over Mirabelle with renewed interest, a smile playing on her lips.

Mirabelle chuckled nervously, shrinking back a little.

“Hmm…” Bonnie deliberated again, squinting as they inspected each of the saviors. “Okay! Okay, I got it!” They bounced in their seat, wincing when they kicked the chair leg. “Za should be with Belle, and Frin should be with Dile!”

“You should call her ‘Madame Odile,’ Bonnie,” Mirabelle lightly urged.

“No, it’s alright.” Odile watched Bonnie with affection. “I’ve insisted on using their full name, so it’s only fair to allow them to grant me a shortened version of mine. Now, Boniface, can you explain your reasoning for the teams you chose?”

“Yeah!” Bonnie spat out the chewed-up root and accepted the mint leaves from Stella to help cover the lingering taste of licorice in their mouth. “Za’s Rock, so he can protect Belle from… Wait, Belle, if you’re both Paper and Scissors, are you weak to anything?”

Chuckling again, Mirabelle answered, “I’m weak to Rock.”

“But you’re Paper!”

“Dual Types usually lean more towards one Type than another, so I’m strong against Rock Types with my Paper attacks, but I’m still weak to Rock, since I lean more towards Scissors.”

“… Huh?”

“I’ll try explaining it further another time,” Odile promised.

“Okay.” Bonnie swallowed the leaves and sat up straighter. “Okay! Okay, so.” They coughed into their blanket. “Um, Belle can protect Za then! From Dile’s Paper attacks! And Dile can protect Frin from Za’s Rock attacks, but he can protect her, since she’s old and old people are slow.”

Odile’s smile twisted into a grimace, and she shot Siffrin a glare when he couldn’t cover up his laugh fast enough.

“Don’t worry, I’ll protect you from Mira, Odile,” Siffrin promised with a wink, twitching a little when she looked back at him, unsure.

“See!” Bonnie pointed at Siffrin while looking at Mirabelle. “They didn’t call her ‘Madame’!”

“Well—”

Isabeau cut off Mirabelle. “Sif’s not from Vaugarde, Bonnie. Different cultures have different rules for formalities when talking to your elders.”

“Form-what?” Bonnie’s face scrunched up, and Stella chuckled as she pulled a bag of candied orange peels from one of the two wider pouches on the left side of her belt.

“Don’t worry about it, kid,” she said, distracting Bonnie from their natural next question after hearing Siffrin wasn’t from here. “Madame already said you’re okay calling her ‘Dile.’”

“Indeed,” Odile agreed. “Let’s get started, then. We don’t want to keep Stella and Boniface out here all day.”

“YEAH!” Bonnie cheered, accepting some candied orange peels from Stella. “Fight! Fight! Fight!”

Daffodil let out a high-pitched whinny from the pasture, watching the group as if also invested in the mock battle.

Siffrin laced his fingers together and stretched his arms high over his head as he followed Odile to their spot on the field.

“Hey!” Stella called, and the saviors looked at her. “I got an idea. Any of you play Capture the Flag before?”

Isabeau grinned while Siffrin fought to keep their face blank.

Stella had talked them into joining a game of Capture the Flag once, and the grin on her face as she handed the rest of the candied orange peels to Bonnie said she remembered that day, too.

“Crab yeah!” Isabeau bounced on the balls of his feet. “Used to play that with the other Defenders during training sessions!”

“I’ve watched some students and housemaidens play it at the House,” Mirabelle said. “I’ve never joined, though.”

“I’ve never played,” Odile admitted, one hand on her hip and the other holding onto her book. “I’m assuming one team tries to ‘capture’ the other team’s ‘flag,’ however. Sounds straightforward enough.”

Stella nodded and took off her hat. She looked Siffrin’s way as her hand hovered over his, and after he nodded in agreement, she grabbed it. She brought it back to him, and Siffrin raised his eyebrows in question as he put it back on.

As she brought her dark hat towards Isabeau and Mirabelle, Stella explained, “These hats are your flags. Your mission is to get the other team’s hat without losing your own.”

She smiled when Isabeau took her hat, put it on, and struck a pose that made Bonnie groan in annoyance and Odile roll her eyes.

“Team that gets both hats back to their side”—Stella stood in the middle of the field and punched the ground, Craft crackling as a deep line cut through the earth—“Crab, I forgot how much that crabbing hurts without my crabbing gloves...” She shook her hand and braced her wrist with her other hand as she returned to her chair. She stuck out her tongue when Bonnie laughed at her. “Team that gets both hats back to their side—wearing them, not just holding them, so there’s still a chance for the other team to snatch it back—you’ll be the winners. Now, ready?”

Odile and Mirabelle stepped forward to protect their flags, and Isabeau and Siffrin fell into defensive stances.

“Ready!” Mirabelle and Odile chorused.

At the same time, Isabeau held up his fists, Craft crackling over the stone chips studding his knuckles, as he bellowed, “LET’S GOOOOOO!”

Siffrin gave a thumbs up as Bonnie cheered, “Let’s go! LET’S GO!”

“Find your marks,” Stella called out, “and action!”

“Mira!” Isabeau yelled. “On my back!”

Without question, Mirabelle sheathed her rapier and danced back and jumped onto his back just as Odile punched the center of her book and stepped forward with a hard stomp. Craft crackled in the air, but Mirabelle was already out of the attack’s path as she hugged Isabeau around his neck as he dropped to one knee, punching the ground.

“Siffrin!” Odile called out in warning, but Siffrin was already in the air.

“KA-BOOM!”

The flat field didn’t allow anywhere for Siffrin to jump to for safety, and when gravity claimed him again, he caught the edge of Isabeau’s attack like an explosion’s aftershock. Air whooshed out of his lungs as he was knocked back, Siffrin hissing as he tried to control the spin of his body to land on his feet.

Pain shot through his right shoulder and down his arm as he rolled, but he held up a thumbs up at Odile, who pressed her open book to her chest and pushed out a Paper attack with her open palm.

Mirabelle hopped up into the air as Isabeau dropped and rolled. Odile’s attack soared right above him, and Daffodil let out a high-pitched whinny as the power sizzled and died halfway to the pasture.

Mirabelle was already on the move, her path curving the long way around and passing in front of Bonnie and Stella as she unsheathed her sword.

“I’ve got her!” Siffrin yelled, and Odile sprinted towards Isabeau as Mirabelle headed their way.

Dagger out and right arm tingling, Siffrin crossed his arms over his face and stepped forward, mimicking the way Odile’s earlier wide stance when sending out a Rock attack. They waited until Mirabelle was in front of the shed and dropped their arms at the same time, Scissor Craft crackling through the air, straighter and slower than Siffrin’s usual attacks but with more power behind it.

Mirabelle shifted, but the attack still clipped her shoulder, causing her to stumble as she grasped at her arm, nearly dropping her sword.

Siffrin used the distraction to run around to her other side, sending Craft through their dagger as they slashed the air in front of her knees.

Mirabelle jumped but not high enough, and Bonnie shouted obscenities Siffrin’s way in-between screaming at Mirabelle that she could still win.

“See if I read to you now!” Siffrin shouted, then cursed as they quickly dodged when Mirabelle made a grab for their hat. He slid in the mud; the water he and Odile had dumped earlier had still left this part of the field wet.

“You did threaten them, earlier,” Mirabelle panted, and Siffrin couldn’t read the expression on her face.

Ah, yeah, right, they kind of did. Okay, then, that was fair.

On the other side of the field, Odile and Isabeau danced around each other, Odile telling Isabeau that she’d be less forgiving if he held back.

Siffrin blocked Mirabelle’s rapier with the broad side of his dagger before he even realized either of them had moved. Sparks rained as he ducked to push her blade away at the same time Mirabelle pulled back to strike again.

Swearing heavily, Siffrin slipped in the mud, falling right as Mirabelle’s sword piercing his hat just beneath the tip.

“Oh!” Mirabelle fell back when Siffrin’s head hit her thigh, but she righted herself and started running back to her side, only to slip in the mud, and Siffrin took the opportunity to dive for her, dagger forgotten and hands wrapping around her ankle. Her dress hitched up almost to her hips from the fall. “You—you crab!”

Stella and Bonnie exploded into laughter, and Daffodil pranced about the pasture, equally entertained.

Siffrin yanked, but as she slid back, Mirabelle kicked, narrowly missing Siffrin’s face and instead catching his already-hurt shoulder as he rolled.

They scrambled up to their feet, spitting out grass and grabbing for their hat just as Mirabelle rolled away, mud caking her dress and hair as fury lit up her dark eyes. The sight both chilled Siffrin and made him smirk, and he hit the ground again as Scissor Craft sailed over him. Mirabelle’s wild aim sent her off-balance, and Siffrin tackled her, Stella laughing even harder as Odile yelled something that sent Bonnie into a new round of cough-laden hysterics.

Yoink! Siffrin grinned as he yanked his hat off Mirabelle’s rapier as Isabeau shouted, “Mira! Down!”

“SIFFRIN!”

“CRAB!” Bonnie and Stella shouted at the same time.

Mirabelle dove away from Siffrin as Odile used a Paper attack in attempt to slow down Isabeau’s Rock attack.

Siffrin dove to the left, but not fast enough. He smelled wet clay as Rock Craft scraped across his back. He slid back across the dirt and mud, and he dug his fingers into the soil for purchase as he leaped up, staggering as the world tilted. There were two Mirabelles as he listed to the side, both staring at him with wide, shocked and worried eyes as the two visions slowly grew closer to become one Mirabelle again.

Siffrin held up a thumbs up and smiled before diving for their hat again, knee buckling and causing them to fall onto their side. They tried again, this time grabbing their hat and putting it back on as they stuck their tongue out at Mirabelle, tasting mud again.

“I…” Odile’s unsure voice drew Siffrin’s gaze towards her, and he blinked quickly as the world tilted again and made two and then three Odiles that were holding onto Stella’s dark hat. “Guess we win…”

Odile put it on, and Siffrin let out a tired “Woo,” as he fell to one knee, arms heavy against his other thigh.

“SIF!”

They looked up as Isabeau ran towards them, tears in his eyes and apologies stumbling over his tongue.

“ISAAA!” Siffrin cheered, swaying as Stella sprinted over towards him. Odile panted as she ran over as well. “Odile! We won!”

Stella bent down, snapping to get Siffrin’s attention. “Yeah, yeah, you two won, now, hatted one, how many fingers am I holding up?”

Pain spiked down Siffrin’s spine as he turned his head again to look at Stella’s hand. He squinted. “Can you stop moving them?”

“Crab.” Stella huffed. “Big one, take Bonnie back upstairs. Jeweled one, run a bath. The salts labeled for pain relief. Savior, help me carry him inside.”

Bonnie complained loudly as Isabeau picked them up.

“I’m okay, Bonbon!” Siffrin held up a thumbs up as Stella threw his other arm over her shoulders.

“They just need to rest a little,” Odile assured them.

Ignoring her, Bonnie yelled at Siffrin, “You promise? You super promise you’re okay?”

Siffrin ducked away from Stella’s touch, ignoring her glare. He forced himself to stand, smiling despite the pain shooting down his arms and back. “I super promise.” He nodded to Mirabelle in thanks as she retrieved his dagger from the mud. His throat burned.

“You super duper promise?!” Bonnie demanded.

Their heartbeat was fast in their chest. So was Mirabelle’s. The steady beat of Stella’s heart became Siffrin’s anchor as he focused on the present, focused on being fine. He was completely and totally fine. He was not thinking about the blood pumping through his friends’ veins, wasn’t even considering touching any of them.

“I super duper promise!” Siffrin kept smiling, and Bonnie grunted but let Isabeau take them back inside.

He turned when they were halfway there, guilt and worry painted clearly on his face.

Siffrin kept smiling, but Isabeau didn’t seem to believe it as he went through the door, Odile right behind him.

“‘Okay,’ my ass,” Stella grumbled.

She didn’t try to touch Siffrin again but stayed close as he shuffled towards the cottage, unable to lift his legs too high without reigniting the pain shooting through them.

“Maybe we should have set those ground rules,” Mirabelle murmured.

Siffrin stayed quiet, unable to do anything more than focus on walking and keeping a small smile on their face. His throat burned, burned, burned.

Stella mumbled, “In my experience, ground rules end up doing shit all.”

Chapter Text

The way their Capture the Flag game ended didn’t provide Siffrin with confidence in their party’s ability to defeat the King. What Craft Type was he again? Siffrin was sure an article had mentioned it, but they’d never bothered to read any of them at length. All they knew was that he was a tyrant, who somehow got the power to freeze people in time and was only using that power on Vaugarde.

With Siffrin’s luck, the King was Rock Type.

“C’mon, it doesn’t smell that bad,” Stella growled as Siffrin failed to keep from scrunching up their nose as they lowered themself into the bath.

The door was closed, and after fruitless minutes of Siffrin arguing that they were an adult who could take a blinding bath by themself, Stella remained in the room.

“Not bad,” Siffrin grumbled, throat still burning. “Just… strong.”

Rosemary overwhelmed the other scents—ylang-ylang, lemon peels, and peppermint, all ground into fine powder and mixed with salt.

“You’ll get used to it.” Stella crossed her arms.

She bent down, face close to Siffrin’s. He tried to back up, but pain rocketed up his spine and exploded across his back. He clenched his jaw as tears clung to his lashes.

“Your pupils are dilated,” Stella observed, backing up. “The Craft marks on your shoulder aren’t reaching too high up your neck, and they’re already starting to fade. Good sign. Now sit up, so I can heal your back.”

“I’m—”

“I swear to Change, Siffrin, if you say you’re fine, I’ll break your other arm.”

“…” Siffrin couldn’t help but focus on her heartbeat. It was steady. The herbs in his bath made it hard to make out her scent, which he was suddenly grateful for. He didn’t want to think about the blood in her veins. He didn’t want to think about the familiar pounding of an anxious heart just outside the door. “Mira’s here.”

Stella raised her eyebrows and was about to open her mouth when a quick succession of knocks made her head snap towards the door.

“Uh, Stella, I’m sorry,” Mirabelle said with a shaking voice, “but someone’s at the door, and it sounds important?”

Turning to look back at Siffrin, Stella whispered, “Still crabbing creepy.” She sighed and stood up, telling Mirabelle, “I’ll be right there.” She looked down at Siffrin with a glower. She hesitated but didn’t say anything more before leaving, giving Mirabelle a nod as she passed and closed the door behind her. “Once he’s done in there, the bathroom’s yours. I dunno what hair products you use, but there’s coconut oil under the sink.”

“Thank you,” Mirabelle said, her and Stella’s voices growing fainter as they walked away from the bathroom. “Odile’s on her way back to the inn for my leave-in conditioner—”

Siffrin sunk into the hot water until their head was completely submerged, hair floating around their head like kelp. Pain shot down their spine and exploded across their back, igniting the dull, pulsing pain in their shoulder. Tingling danced down their right arm, and it took a few tries before Siffrin could form a fist. Even when they succeeded, the fist wouldn’t close tightly; it felt like the joints were only just waking up and struggled to take orders from their brain.

Even after seeing the damage Isabeau’s Rock attacks could do, feeling them was a whole other matter. If Odile hadn’t been able to slow down that last attack with her Paper Craft, they would have needed to use Crafted water on him. Siffrin was… impressed. He smiled, bubbles floating around his face as he laughed.

This could have been negated if Siffrin had put more work into learning how to build up defense, but he’d always been able to rely on his speed, so he’d never seen much of a point. If he was going to be a more valuable member of this team, he would need to change that.

It would mean having to fight Isabeau one-on-one more, so Siffrin could work on training himself to brace himself better against Rock attacks.

Siffrin smiled at the thought; they wouldn’t mind that.

Lungs burning as much as their throat, Siffrin surfaced and pulled a deep breath in, and let it out as slowly as their lungs could handle. They repeated this three times and let themself float in the bath, waiting for their pain to ebb.

Siffrin curled his right hand into a tight fist, held it, and relaxed. When he sat up, pain sparked across his back and coalesced in his shoulders, making them feel tight. Bending forward to pull the drain’s plug sent spasms through his lower back that settled in his hips, but it was bearable. He could move, and hopefully, he could talk Mirabelle and Isabeau into letting him go out.

Thirst left their throat burning, aching, and Siffrin swallowed hard as they focused on the smell of rosemary and lemon and mint.

Stella had sink-washed their clothes for them before leaving them over the tub’s heater to dry.

Remembering the old farmer, Siffrin’s limbs felt suddenly heavy, and it was several long moments before they could stand up and leave the tub.

The comb Isabeau had given Siffrin was on the sink. They stared at it while toweling off their body, smiling. The comb was thin, light metal with tiny dents all around where a hammer had done its best to make the comb as flat as possible. Their hair held a slight curl to it as it dried, leaving the back of Siffrin’s hair turning upward, showing off what was left of the dark dye.

Their clothes were still damp in a few places, but it was fine. They turned and stretched in front of the mirror after changing, wincing when the motions caused pain to spark through their back and shoulders; what was left of the Craft marks were nearly invisible against their pale skin. Good.

One last rinse of the tub, so it was clean for Mirabelle, who was waiting in the short hallway. Siffrin blinked, hoping he looked surprised to still see her there. Her heart continued to flutter within her chest, and beyond the lingering scent of rosemary and lemon, he smelled mud and grass, both still caking half her hair and most of her dress.

“I’m sorry about the mud bath,” Siffrin said, and Mirabelle’s mouth wobbled.

Whatever anger she’d held towards him in the heat of battle, it had already died.

“I’ve always fought dirty,” Siffrin continued, and Mirabelle snorted.

Bonnie groaned dramatically from the kitchen table, and Isabeau told them in a low voice, “See? If they’re making puns, then it means he’s fine.”

“Are you okay?” Mirabelle asked, expression washed with worry again.

“Yeah.” Siffrin’s smile faltered when Mirabelle looked at him with doubt. “Stella did good. Where’s Odile?”

He wasn’t sure if him being able to overhear part of Stella’s and Mirabelle’s conversation a few minutes ago would fall under Stella’s category of “really crabbing creepy,” so maybe it was best to pretend he hadn’t heard them.

“Oh.” Mirabelle hesitated, the topic change pushing her off-kilter for a moment. “She’s getting my leave-in for me.”

“Sorry again.” Siffrin’s hands twitched; they needed something to fidget with. “I know you already washed your hair only a couple days ago.”

“No, no, it’s fine.” Mirabelle let out a small laugh, but it didn’t hold much humor. “Considering everything else we’re risking, I guess my hair should rank a little low…” She kept going when Siffrin opened his mouth to object. “A-and, I’d been meaning to style it soon anyway—in a more protective style for the rest of the journey.”

“Need help?” He looked away at the mix of shock and incredulity on Mirabelle’s face. “Uh, if you’re okay with it. I’m not the best at braids, especially if you prefer cornrows, but—”

“I’d love help.”

Siffrin looked up, unable to keep from smiling at the gentle smile on Mirabelle’s face.

“Thank you,” she said, tension leaving her shoulders. “Now…”

“I’m in the way, right.” Siffrin moved aside. “Soap you later.”

“Bad,” Mirabelle deadpanned as Bonnie groaned loudly again, while Isabeau laughed.

However, his laugh was more subdued than usual, sounding like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to laugh or not. Why that reaction?

Chuckling, Siffrin joined the other two in the kitchen, his hat sitting next to a cup of hot chocolate. He tilted his head, and Isabeau got up and walked around the table to pull out Siffrin’s chair.

“Healer’s orders,” he announced, looking bashful. “I’m sorry, Sif.”

“About what?” Siffrin flinched at Isabeau’s kicked-puppy expression before Bonnie started shouting as they threw their fists into the air.

“FOR HURTING YOU, DUMMY!”

Wow, the kid could be loud! Siffrin fought not to clap their hands over their ears, but Isabeau must have noted the pained look on their face and asked Bonnie not to yell.

“Loud noises can hurt Sif’s ears,” he explained as Siffrin sat down.

“Oh.” Bonnie looked bashful now. “Sorry.” They coughed into the crook of their arm.

“You didn’t know,” Siffrin and Isabeau said in unison.

Cheeks dark, Isabeau went back to his seat across from Siffrin. “I should have held back more with my Rock attacks. I’m sorry. You’re sure you’re feeling better? Stella had to leave pretty abruptly, so we weren’t sure…”

Siffrin sipped his hot chocolate, unable to taste any of it as his thirst grew worse. “She got to heal me, still,” he lied. “Maybe not to good as new, but I’m all good.” He smiled and fingered the holes in his hat from Mirabelle’s rapier. They weren’t as big as he’d feared; they’d be fixed in a day or less.

“I can patch those for you,” Isabeau offered, hands around his own cup of hot chocolate. “Uh, once M’dame’s back with my mending kit.”

It seemed Odile needed to pick up a few things from their packs at the inn. That could work in Siffrin’s favor.

“Patch?” he asked as Isabeau’s question fully processed.

“Uh, like sewing?” Isabeau sounded unsure of what Siffrin was puzzled about.

Bonnie cut in, “Do you not know an easy word like that?”

“Oh, I know what it means, but I don’t need a patch for these.” Siffrin touched one of the holes. “I just need my pins, the ones I wear on my cloak.”

“Um…” Now, Isabeau looked confused, but Siffrin wasn’t sure why.

“What pins?” Bonnie asked. “Is it that big, heavy cloak you put me in?”

Siffrin nodded. “I took out the stuff from my pockets and my pins while you were wearing it.”

“I was always wondering what those pins were for,” Isabeau said thoughtfully. “There’s no tear on the collar of your cloak or anything for them to hold together, so I just assumed they were there for decoration or something.”

“No, I keep them there, so they can’t accidentally fall out of my pockets.” Items rarely fell out of his pockets, but he still hadn’t wanted to risk it.

“Okay… so back to the holes in your hat…?” Isabeau still sounded confused.

“Oh!” Siffrin took another sip of chocolate. He could tell other ingredients had been added, but he couldn’t figure out what. He fought the urge to tap his foot; he needed to get out and find someone to drink from. Soon. “Anytime my cloak or hat gets torn, I just put the pins over them, and after a while, the tear is fixed.” He started at Isabeau’s blank look. “Is… that not… common?”

“How come everyone doesn’t have those!” Bonnie complained. “My sister—”

They stopped. Their eyes dulled, and their heart beat heavily inside their chest.

… Sister?

“You okay, Bonbon?” Isabeau asked gently.

“… I wanna go back to bed,” they grumbled, and Isabeau set down his drink and got up.

“Of course, Bonbon.”

Siffrin watched with a frown as Isabeau carried Bonnie back upstairs.

When Isabeau returned, he sighed, “Today took a lot out of them, and, uh, to answer your question, no, not really? I’ve heard of pins that can do that, sure, but they’re usually hard to get.”

Huh? Siffrin blinked.

“Do they work on any clothes?”

Siffrin shook their head. They’d tried, of course, but… “Only on my cloak and hat.”

“That makes more sense. Pins like that are usually Crafted at the same time as clothing items that are meant to last a long time and get sold with those clothing items, sort of like a personal mending set.” He smiled. “Where’d you get them?”

They… didn’t know. Siffrin shrugged, doing their best to keep a lighthearted smile on their face. “I’ve had them forever.”

“Hm.” Isabeau looked like he wanted to ask more but didn’t feel like he deserved to pry. Not now.

Siffrin got up, making sure to move slowly. “I’ll go join Odile, so I can get those pins. Do you need anything you forgot to tell her?”

“Oh! Uh…” Isabeau started to stand. “No, I—but, Sif…”

“I’m fine, really.” Siffrin’s smile faltered at Isabeau’s hurt and disbelieving look. “Honesty, it’s partly my fault.”

“Sif, no, it’s not—”

Siffrin kept going. “I’ve never put much work into working on learning how to resist Craft attacks. I’ve always been able to rely on being able to just run if the fight looks like it’s not going my way.”

Like he’d told Odile during their drinking game. He’d never been in a bar fight, because whenever someone started trouble—or the time he’d been caught taking someone’s coin purse—he was fast enough to get away.

“... Makes sense…” Isabeau still looked guilty.

“So, we should train more together,” Siffrin suggested, tilting their head in puzzlement when Isabeau suddenly tensed, face dark. “Um… or not…? I, uh…”

“Oh, oh, n-no, it—” Isabeau cleared his throat and smiled. “I’d like that! Yeah! We should train together more! You’ll be able to resist Rock Craft attacks better in no time!” He cleared his throat again and sat back down. “Uh, you sure about going after Odile? We can always wait a bit.”

No, no they couldn’t. They really couldn’t. Siffrin could not wait much longer. They breathed shallowly while trying not to show it. “I’ll be fine, and the walk will help, I think.”

“Oh, uh, I guess? Do you know the way?”

“By the library, right? I should be able to find it.”

“Alright…” Isabeau still looked unsure, and Siffrin waved as they grabbed their flask and dagger from the den and left.

Sweat beaded along Siffrin’s brow.

Panting, they nearly dropped to their knees and leaned against a tree for purchase. Running at full speed through the forest might not have been their brightest idea, but they’d needed to get into town and fast. Even if they’d considered riding Daffodil, he hadn’t been in the pasture when Siffrin left. They were sure he wasn’t in the stable, either.

Closing their eyes, Siffrin listened.

They were near a marketplace, and Siffrin’s stomach rumbled at the smell of fresh meat.

Stella had said it as a joke this morning, but he remembered when she’d caught him eating raw meat. Aurélin had left the kitchen to find where the sausage skins had gone. It was autumn; they needed to store meat in the cellar to last them through winter.

Siffrin had just started craving blood. A few of the other kids had caught him biting his hand to lick the wounds, and he'd nearly ended up with a broken nose when he'd followed one kid around, stalking them and then giving chase when they got scared and ran. Siffrin barely remembered anything from that instance, only getting kicked in the face after biting the other kid's leg. A different kid had begged Aurélin to let her trade beds with someone, saying she was scared that Siffrin would eat her. Stella had ended up trading beds with that kid and had half-joked that if Siffrin tried to bite her, she would just knock his teeth out.

Instead, when Siffrin woke up staring at Stella’s neck, listening to her heart beating as she slept, he slipped out of the room and hurried downstairs into the kitchen. The door’s hinges had squealed, waking up half the room, but only Stella had gotten out of bed to follow him.

On the large table in the center of the kitchen had been trays of deer, rabbit, and goat meat, raw and bloody. The grinder, salt, and spices sitting on the counter said the meat would be turned into sausages.

Siffrin’s mouth watered all over again as he remembered that night.

They had gone straight to the table, picking up a dripping chunk of gamey meat and stuffing it into their mouth. They had chewed and chewed and chewed, one of their fangs cutting their lip as they struggled to swallow the huge bite. They’d grabbed another piece and another, eating happily but never feeling full.

They’d cleared nearly half of the tray of rabbit meat when Stella suddenly grabbed them around their waist and carried them back upstairs as Aurélin returned to the kitchen, a bowl of soaking sausage skins in his hands.

Stella had practically thrown Siffrin into the bathroom between two of the bedrooms all the kids shared. Thankfully, everyone else was still asleep, and Stella had shut the door and yanked Siffrin’s hands over to one of the three sinks when he tried to lick rabbit blood off his fingers.

“What the crab were you thinking?!” she’d hissed, water spraying so hard from the faucet that it splashed over the sleeves of Siffrin’s nightshirt.

“… Hungry” was all Siffrin had been able to say.

“Normal people wait for their meat to be cooked,” Stella had grumbled, scrubbing Siffrin’s hands with soap when it became evident that he wasn’t going to do it. “What the crab has been up with ya lately?! Are you gonna to turn into a wolf like those stories or something?”

Stella’s hands had been so warm against Siffrin’s. He’d been able to hear her heart beating hard in her chest.

Without thinking, he’d taken hold of her arm, Stella gasping as Siffrin bit down on her wrist and drank.

He’d seen stars when she slammed his head against the sink. He’d turned, blinking them away as Stella stood there, pale eyes wide and glassy and wrist bleeding. Her blood had looked almost lightless against her pallid skin.

The next morning, Stella had acted as if everything were normal. She’d never asked to switch rooms, and she’d never said a thing about what had happened to anyone. As far as she was concerned, it hadn’t happened at all, and Siffrin had been more than happy to act along with her.

Returning to the present, Siffrin forced himself to take a deep breath in… and let it out.

Wiping the sweat from their brow, Siffrin fought against the pain and fatigue and thirst and pushed towards the shops. Trees gave way to paths and buildings, the voices becoming clearer as people conversed and bartered and laughed. If they listened closely, they could make out a few hushed voices, people talking about their plans to leave and the confliction they felt over making such a choice.

Siffrin ignored them and spotted a shop with a cloth covering its back door. Next to the door was a large, stone… oven-looking thing. Siffrin was pretty sure it had another name but couldn’t remember it.

He slipped through the striped cloth and blinked, eyes adjusting easily to the dimness. His nose wrinkled as he looked around the wide, shallow room with a stone floor that sloped slightly to a drain on the far side, under what looked like a wide sink, except bars ran vertically across it, with what smelled like wet clay dripping into the deep basin. Shelves ran along the length of the other walls, crowding the space, and on the widest shelf were light boxes held together with belts or rope, while the other shelves held drying pots, vases, bowls, and cups.

Directly across from where he’d entered was another door covered by hanging cloth, and Siffrin heard a pedal pumping and a wheel turning. The potter was singing to herself—an old mining song. Haunting words set to an upbeat melody fit for marching—or digging or striking tunnel walls with pickaxes. She sang of uncertain death and certain rage, a warning to the mine owners that their options were to change their ways or die.

Siffrin shivered; crouched near the drying, ceramic cups by the door; pressed his flask to his chest; breathed; and waited.

The potter had moved onto a House of Change hymn, her voice not quite hitting the high notes, before the wheel stopped moving. There was a light scraping sound, then footsteps.

Siffrin’s back felt tight, and their thighs ached. Their shoulders still hurt, especially their right one. They made a fist, testing the joints.

Now humming instead of singing, the potter walked backwards through the pale fabric separating her workspace and storage. She was tall, and her light hair was secured in a tight bun atop her head by paintbrushes. Clay cracked over her hands, and her heartbeat was strong and steady.

Already moving, Siffrin got behind her, turning so they remained in her blind spot as she turned to bring her tray of vases to the long shelf across from the light boxes.

Siffrin leaped up, one arm hooking under the potter’s and the other clapping over her mouth. He wrapped his legs around her waist.

Pots, vases, and bowls plopped, cracked, and shattered against the stone floor. Siffrin sank his fangs into the side of her neck as her other arm flapped back, hand slapping his shoulder and back.

Siffrin drank deeply, and the potter’s movements slowed. Siffrin’s feet hit the floor at the same time as her knees. They held her up and continued to drink, their free hand going to the other side of her neck to feel for her pulse. As they drank, the pain in their shoulders and back ebbed, and the tingling lessened, nearly gone.

Still thinking of the old mining song, Siffrin licked the wound closed and laid her gently onto her side, arm stretched out under her. Humming, Siffrin looked around and spotted a glaze-stained towel hanging over the basin. They grabbed and folded it, and they then gently wedged it under the potter’s head, in case she shifted in her sleep. They didn’t want her head hitting the stone floor.

“Hello, hello!” someone called from the front of the potter’s workspace the same time as bells chimed. “Evie, I’ve got lunch!”

Time to go, Siffrin thought as they slipped out the back door while wiping their mouth with their sleeve. They still needed to find someone to bleed into their flask.

They drank from it as they walked, letting the water wash the taste of blood out of their mouth.

“Siffrin? What the gems are you doing walking around?!”

Oh, stars. Flashing a smile, Siffrin capped his flask as he turned. He waved at Odile as she stalked towards him. You need to get out of here before—

“Oh, Evie!” The person’s voice was faint from where Siffrin stood.

“Hi, Odile!” Siffrin jogged over to meet her halfway, making sure not to glance back towards the pottery shop. He heard a few worried voices, one person complaining about the potter’s penchant for skipping meals when she worked. “I worried I’d miss you.”

Odile stood with a stern look on her face and a hand on her hip as Siffrin approached, his smile turning sheepish. She tapped her foot, and he remembered that she’d asked a question.

“I’m all healed, see?” They spread out their arms while balancing on one foot. They tilted their head, so she could see the Craft marks weren’t on their neck anymore. “I didn’t realize you were getting stuff from our packs, and I wanted to get my pins to mend my hat.”

“I’m already picking up Isabeau’s mending kit,” Odile grumbled, still not looking pleased.

Siffrin stood up straight, hands going behind his back. He didn’t hear any more ruckus from the pottery shop and assumed the potter’s friends were helping her. “My pins were Crafted to mend my hat and cloak like new.” He looked down, cheeks darkening at Odile’s raised eyebrows. “Uh, so… were you heading there, or are you already on the way back?”

“… On my way there,” Odile said slowly, thoughtfully. “How did you catch up with me, anyway? Unless that question is off-limits, too?”

Siffrin’s mouth twitched, but they managed to keep smiling. “Stella got called away for something but dropped me off, since she needed to take Daffodil.”

Odile frowned, smelling a lie but unable to prove otherwise. “Called away to what?”

Siffrin shrugged. “All I heard is it was an emergency. I’m not sure where she went after dropping me off.”

Sighing, Odile started walking down the street—thankfully, away from the pottery shop—and Siffrin followed, hands still clasped behind their back.

Stars, they should have gone the other way first, but at least they’d gotten some blood in their system. While they felt better, they were still hurt and would need more blood. Preferably today, but Siffrin was sure they could wait a day or so, if needed. With their next victim, they’d focus on filling their flask first.

After a while, Odile asked in a softer voice, “Am I allowed to ask your relation to Stella?”

Ah. Siffrin should have figured he was acting more familiar with her compared to how he usually acted around strangers. It didn’t help that Siffrin honestly couldn’t say how it was he typically acted around strangers. He’d never needed to think about it before.

It was getting hard to keep everything about Siffrin the Traveler straight.

What had Siffrin said about themself? What had they left up to speculation? What had they told Odile but not the others?

This was why they avoided direct lies when they could. Keeping straight what he said versus what he omitted was hard enough.

Maybe he should start writing everything down to study later. Relying on his memory didn’t tend to end well.

“We’re from the same group home,” he said after a moment. “I didn’t recognize her at first, but I was only there for a few years.”

One year? One and a half? Almost two? Siffrin couldn't remember exactly when they'd left. All they remembered was that it had been cold. Winter that year had been long, snow and ice clinging to the cliffs until almost May, and summer had been cut short by an even harsher winter full of storms, starting in September and not letting up until the following March.

Odile was silent as they turned left down a wider road. “… Ah.” She paused, considering whether she should ask for more details or leave it alone. “… And Boniface?”

What about Bonnie? “This is my first time meeting them. Why?”

Odile looked down at his face, searching. She nodded to herself and faced forward again. “I assumed you’d recognized them from somewhere.” She let out a long exhale. “I’m… glad you saw them. I’d missed them entirely.”

“Well, you had to face forward to guide Dahliah.” Siffrin shrugged. “And I’m glad, too.” They turned their eyes downcast. “… They mentioned their sister earlier. But soon as they did, they clammed up and said they wanted to go back to bed.”

Pushing her glasses up, Odile pinched the bridge of her nose. “… Am I terrible for hoping their sister is frozen and not dead?”

“I hope not, because I was thinking the same thing.” Siffrin tried to laugh, but it fell flat. “I’m glad they’ll be okay. They said they’re from Bambouche, and that’s…”

“… Quite a way from here, yes.” Odile sighed as she adjusted her glasses. “They must have stopped somewhere before now. They wouldn’t have survived, otherwise.”

Siffrin nodded. Even his endurance would have given out if he’d tried to make that trek without stopping.

“To think no one tried to take them in…” Odile shook her head.

“Maybe someone tried?” Siffrin guessed, thinking about their own childhood.

After leaving Bambouche and the cliffs far behind, they’d gone from village to village, home to home, accepting food and a bed whenever they were offered but always running away before the sun had risen.

There had been a few people who’d suggested they stay with them, saying, “Until we find your parents,” or even, “If you’d like me to be your new guardian.”

Siffrin’s answer was always to run. And run. And run.

“And…” He blinked, trying to return his mind to the present. “And Bonnie just left instead?”

“But to what goal?”

“Get as far from the Curse as they could?” Siffrin shrugged. “Or go to Dormont and see if they can help fight the person that froze their sister in the first place?”

“…” Odile rubbed her temples. “Let it be the first one, please. We are not taking a kid with us.”

“I wasn’t suggesting that…” Siffrin ignored Odile’s stern look as they passed the village’s small library.

“Good.” Odile drew a piece of paper out of her coat pocket. “While I find your pins, Isabeau’s mending kit, and Mirabelle’s conditioner, can you see if the library has any of these? I’d like for Boniface to have stories more suited for their age than that ‘ghost story.’”

Grimacing, Siffrin took the paper and looked over the list. They didn’t recognize any of the titles, but then, they’d never read children’s books. Siffrin had mainly been given nonfiction and poetry to read at the group home, and they’d only read town signs and markers for the first few years after they’d run away.

“Do you remember which pack you put your pins?” Odile asked.

“… No…” Siffrin didn’t have to fake his embarrassed smile this time.

Odile sighed. “It’s fine. I’ll find them.” She pulled out a few coins from her pocket and held them out, laughing lightly when Siffrin stared at the money, confused. “I need to speak with the innkeeper. They’re one of the people contemplating evacuating town, and I’d like to see how soon we should leave. I’d rather not dawdle and make her think they need to remain. The library is small, so feel free to wait for me at the boulangerie nearby.”

Moving slowly, Siffrin took the coins. “Thank you… Were you and Mira the only lodgers?”

Odile shook her head. “No, but based on what we’d heard this morning, the few other lodgers are leaving soon as well. I can’t help but think…”

“That there are other Bonnies,” Siffrin finished in a low, flat voice. “People—kids—running from the Curse but didn’t have anyone nearby to find them when they…” They couldn’t finish. They didn’t want to think about that.

Odile nodded once, expression grim.

The two stewed in silence for a moment, and someone started playing a pianoforte, though Siffrin couldn’t see where the music was coming from.

Odile finally said, “Well. No use ruminating on such things. We still have two more orbs to find, so we’ll need to leave soon. I’ll find you at the library or boulangerie when I can. Try not to get distracted and wander off.”

Fighting a grimace, Siffrin made a Scissors sign with his right hand under his chin—a Hirethian Peacekeeper salute.

It took a second for Odile to recall the gesture, but once she did, she let out a bark of laughter and turned towards the lodging house.

As she went, Siffrin watched and listened to the people around them. This street wasn’t as busy as the marketplace, and along with the library, there was the aforementioned boulangerie, a tea shop, an outdoor seating/lounging area, and a small art gallery that was empty and closed.

Between the boulangerie and tea shop was a narrow path, the ground sloping, so rainwater wouldn’t flood the shops. Siffrin reached to pocket his coins, dropping them before remembering that he wasn’t wearing his cloak. He quickly picked them up and stuffed them into his trouser pocket along with the list of books, cheeks dark at the embarrassing blunder. Worse, he didn’t have his hat to hide his face, either.

He walked quickly down the drainage alley, turned to walk past the tea shop and empty art gallery to go down another drainage alley a street over. He emerged between a restaurant and an empty building that looked to have once been a tailor shop.

Down the street, towards where the lodging house was, he could make out what looked to be a stable, and inside a music shop with a large bay window, someone played a pianoforte. The shop’s door was propped open, allowing her music to flow out onto the street, and a few people stopped to listen. There were more people here, and Siffrin walked around them and into a mostly empty shop a few doors down from the music shop.

A vocalist began accompanying the pianist, and Siffrin finally recognized the song. It was a House of Change hymn, one that called for practitioners to open themselves up to possibility and change, even change that was hard, change that left them terrified for what the future may bring.

Siffrin ignored them and slipped past someone coming out of what turned out to sell metalwork, the walls and displays showing everything from jewelry to statuettes to cutlery to teapots. There were two other people inside other than the cashier; they seemed to be a couple and were bickering over what cutlery to get. Siffrin walked around them and went into the small area past the register. The cloth separating it from the main room of the shop was tied to one side of the doorframe to show it was open to the public.

Straight ahead was a door leading to an area behind the store, and to the left was a square room filled with weapons. Helmets, maces, axes, and swords decorated the walls, and in the center of the room was a table displaying knives. Siffrin picked up a leather case, unrolling it to reveal throwing knives.

This was probably a bad idea. They rolled the case up again and set it down.

Bells attached to the front door chimed as the bickering couple left.

Grumbling, the employee closed a display case with a click, and Siffrin thought about their options.

They didn’t know how long Odile would take, or how long it would take them to find another reasonably-empty building.

No time for second guesses, they told themself, picking up one of the decorative knives. The hilt was crafted to look like scales, the pommel a roaring dragon’s head. It was heavy and unbalanced—for display, not use, they were sure.

It was loud hitting the wooden floor, Siffrin wincing and then rolling his eyes when he heard the employee whisper to themself, “Crab, another customer?”

Well, if they hadn’t seen Siffrin enter, then at least that helped make this easier.

The employee’s boots clomped against the wooden floor as they headed Siffrin’s way. “Hello! Can I help—”

Moving quickly and without hesitation, Siffrin stepped out of the room, grabbed the employee by their wrist, yanked them forward and off-balance, twisted them around, and slammed them into the wall, arm bent awkwardly behind their back. They were only a few centimeters taller than him, but they were bulkier and drove their elbow into his ribs as Siffrin grabbed their other hand and pinned it against the wall. He wheezed from the strike, fangs bared as he growled.

“Hel—Ah!”

Siffrin got some of their light hair in their mouth when they bit down on the side of their neck, but Siffrin didn’t let go until they felt the employee slump as their consciousness slipped.

Making a face, Siffrin set them down and undid the tasseled rope that tied the curtain to one side of the doorframe. They inhaled, the pain in their ribs already lessening. Once they had more privacy, they opened their flask and drained it of the remaining water before taking it off.

There’s got to be a way to make this faster than last time, right? Siffrin wondered, eyes going to the dagger on his hip. I shouldn’t…

He didn’t know how much time would pass before someone else walked into the shop.

Outside, a celloist had joined the pianist, and baritone voices sang alongside the soprano vocalist in a more popular version of the old mining song the potter had been singing earlier. This version was less grim and angry; it claimed even people who’d committed heinous crimes were capable of change, if only they wished for it. This version of the song had once been an anthem of sorts, back when Vaugardians fought to abolish prisons and switched to a restorative system of justice.

Shaking his head, Siffrin told himself to stop getting distracted.

There was no time to think.

Siffrin got on one knee, pain once again settling in his hips. He ignored it and his sore shoulder, moving the employee’s long, fine hair. The twin punctures on the side of their neck were already beginning to scab over.

The sound Siffrin’s dagger made against the edge of its sheath seemed to echo in the small space, and he steadied his breathing. He would need to be careful.

First, he took off his flask, the cap still popped off. He rolled the employee onto their side and straddled their long torso to keep them tilted slightly as Siffrin held their flask in front of their throat, the spout’s position telling him where to cut.

A long breath in… and out…

Siffrin dragged the top curve of their dagger across the side of the employee’s neck, dark blood immediately beading along the line. They licked the side of their dagger and sheathed it as they held their flask steady.

As they reached down to feel for the employee’s pulse with their other hand, Siffrin heard bells chime.

STARS! He bent down, licking the wound closed as he ignored the flare of pain in his lower back.

Out in the main room, the new customer gushed, “Oh, look at this peacock statue!”

Siffrin capped their flask and dashed out the back door while wiping their mouth with their sleeve. As they walked towards the adjacent road, away from the stable and lodging house, Siffrin secured the flask so it sat over his chest again, and he pressed it there as he drew a breath in, and let it out.

That wasn’t enough, they grumbled mentally, trying not to scowl.

No, matter. It would be enough to temper their thirst for a day. Maybe.

Time to find Bonnie’s books. Siffrin pulled the list out of their pocket as they walked back to the library, avoiding the drainage alleys this time. They listened as they walked, the singers still singing that newer version of the old mining song. Siffrin found himself humming as he walked to the song’s beat, almost skipping.

As he passed a group of people, one whispered, “That song’s a little… I don’t know…”

“You think they’re trying to say the King can change?” her friend asked in an equally hushed voice.

“Probably,” the third person said with a grunt, his arms crossed over his broad chest. “Wishful thinking, if y’ask me.”

Siffrin kept walking.

There was no one at the front desk in the library, but he heard breathing and a heart beating in the office behind it. There was only one other person in the small building, reading at a table up the short flight of stairs. The second story was more of a raised platform that overlooked the main part of the library, and the person up there looked engrossed in whatever it was they were reading.

None of the signs gave clues to where the kids’ books might be, if they had any, and Siffrin had never learned how to use the card catalogue.

Even before stepping into the office, Siffrin guessed that the deep, even breathing he heard meant the librarian was asleep.

The files holding the card catalogue were against the back wall, and to the right was a long, oak desk, the librarian indeed asleep in his chair, arms crossed under his head and halfmoon glasses askew. A line of drool had formed a puddle on the newspaper he was using as a pillow.

Hesitating, deliberating, wondering, Siffrin froze and held their breath. They listened, hearing no one else enter the library. The person upstairs was still reading, gasping as they reached a plot twist in their book.

If the Universe led me to him…. Siffrin frowned at the thought, but he didn’t argue it.

He stepped lightly, quietly, and in a fluid motion, he moved the librarian’s dark curls aside and bit into the side of his neck, drinking deeply as the librarian gasped and jerked under him before letting out a stuttering exhale as he slumped, unconscious again.

Siffrin licked the wounds closed and drew out his dagger again as he took off his flask, uncapping it. He didn’t know how long it would be before someone walked in, before the person finished reading. He positioned his flask and made a short incision near the base of the librarian’s neck, faster this time. He licked the blade of his dagger and sheathed it, then kept check on the librarian’s pulse with his free hand as he listened for the door opening.

Dark blood trickled into his flask, and Siffrin licked his lips at the smell.

Hold it together, they told themself.

They leaned forward, back aching again, but they ignored it and licked the wound until it closed. They capped the flask, put it back on, and wiped their mouth as they headed for the door.

You still need Bonnie’s books, idiot, he thought, and he drew a breath in, and let it out.

He couldn’t exactly ask the librarian for help now, and Siffrin still didn’t know how to use the card catalog.

Might as well just start scanning the shelves, they thought with a grimace, turning to start with the nearest one.

There were three chest-high bookcases at varying lengths in the main room, and they were spaced apart enough for chairs to sit between them, two holding books that hadn’t been reshelved yet. After a while, Siffrin noted that these shelves were all nonfiction. He moved onto the shelves lining the walls.

Cookbooks, herbology, music, poetry… Ah, there was the fiction. Horror books were next to fantasy and romance, so Siffrin guessed the librarian hadn’t bothered sorting these by genre. There was also a picture book next to an anthology that mentioned severed heads in the title, so children and adult books were all mixed together, too.

Unsurprisingly, all the books were sorted by the author’s surname, but Bonnie’s list only had titles. Siffrin guessed they couldn’t remember any of the authors' names; he chose to be grateful the list didn’t say something like It was big or There’s a fish on the cover. Possibly, they had, but Odile had decided to only write down books where Bonnie was sure of the titles.

When they had one of the books on Bonnie’s list located and tucked under their arm, Siffrin heard the door open.

“You’re still looking?” Odile asked, sounding incredulous.

Careful not to fall off the chair they’d needed to stand on to see the top shelf, Siffrin turned around. “I don’t know the author names for any of these.” They held up the book they’d found moments earlier. “All I’ve found so far is Star Soldiers. It was pretty dusty. Pretty sure no one’s checked it out in a while.”

Taking the book from him, Odile raised an eyebrow. “What sort of soldiers?”

“Star soldiers, apparently.”

“Stars?”

“Um.” Siffrin pointed up, already regretting picking up the book, but Odile had transcribed the list. Had she really forgotten? Did she really not know what stars were? Planets? The Universe? “Stars? They come out at night?”

“Ah, the dots in the sky, right.” Odile’s brow wrinkled in that way it did when she was annoyed with herself for missing something. It smoothed, and she looked at the cover, which showed three girls dressed in flowing dresses and helmets. The girl in the front held a sword in front of her, so that it bisected her face. The girl on her left held twin knives, and the girl on her right held a lightless mirror. “I don’t know this book.”

“I read the back while wiping dust off it.” Siffrin went back to scanning the top shelf, not recalling where they’d left off. “This book starts with three schoolgirls realizing they're magical soldiers after discovering their powers, but they have to find the other nine and make them remember their past lives as star soldiers, so they can defeat the Evil Queen that took over their kingdom and find the Lost Princess. They’re all based off different constellations.”

“… You’ve lost me again.” Odile’s voice was flat as she struggled not to get frustrated.

“Which part?”

“That last word.”

“Constellations? They’re patterns you can find in the stars, drawing lines between them to make shapes and stories. The constellations in that book are the zodiac.”

“Vaugardian, please, Siffrin.”

“Sorry, I don’t know the Vaugardian word for ‘zodiac,’ but it’s twelve constellations that relate to when people are born. Some people believe you can figure out how someone’s personality and future will be by what zodiac their birth date is ruled by.”

“Ah, so similar to Craftology but more convoluted.” Odile sighed. “And twelve? That sounds like too many to remember.”

“It gets more complicated.” Siffrin laughed, voice becoming more animated, similarly to when Mirabelle talked about Vaugarde’s history or the House of Change. “A person usually has multiple zodiac signs that are supposed to rule over different areas of their life, all depending on the position of the planets, moon, and sun in relation to Earth at the time of your birth. Mage Tym—”

The air turned heavy, pressing down on his body.

The scent of burnt sugar flooded Siffrin’s nostrils.

His ears popped, like when diving deep underwater too quickly.

They blinked, dizziness overtaking them as their knees buckled.

“Siffrin!” Odile caught Siffrin before his head could hit the shelf behind him, and the patron that was still reading upstairs put down their book and hurried towards them.

“Are they alright?” they asked. “What happened?”

“I’m not sure…” Odile’s voice sounded distant, that wrinkle returning to her brow. “Siffrin…”

Blink. Blink. Blink.

Why was Siffrin lying on the ground? When had Odile gotten here?

“Easy,” Odile whispered as Siffrin pushed himself up, sitting cross-legged on the wooden floor. She turned to the stranger. “Thank you. He’s alright. I’ll take it from here.”

The stranger nodded and wished them both well before returning to their book upstairs.

“Siffrin.” She waited until he faced her again, the lines by her eyes deepening as she searched his face. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.” Siffrin decided not to ask when she’d gotten here. He was pretty sure she wouldn’t react well to it. He noticed the book in her hands. It had three girls on the cover, two holding weapons and the third holding a lightless mirror. “Oh, you found one of the books Bonnie wanted?”

Odile didn’t speak for so long that Siffrin shrunk back, unsure of what happened but feeling like it was their fault.

“…” She looked away, thinking. “… Yes, I did.” She set the book onto the chair Siffrin had been standing on and got up, knees popping. “Here.”

Siffrin stared at her outstretched hand, still dizzy. Odile hesitated but retracted her hand and waited until Siffrin slowly pushed themself to their feet.

“I’ll search for the card catalogue to help find if this library has the other books on Boniface’s list.” Odile paused, looking worried. “You… you go ahead to the boulangerie. No more climbing on furniture.”

Oh, had he fallen? If he’d hit his head, it would explain why he was having trouble remembering the past few minutes, but he wasn’t in any more pain than he was in when he—

Oh, wait.

“Oh, I think it’s in the office.” They pointed past the front desk. “I went in there to ask the librarian, but he’s napping.”

“… And you didn’t wake him up, because…?”

Siffrin shrugged. “Figured if he’s asleep at work, he probably needs it?”

Odile sighed, some of her earlier worry washing away. “Alright. Thank you. I’ll check, and I’ll find you at the boulangerie later.”

“And no climbing on furniture and no wandering around,” Siffrin said, hands behind his back. “Don’t worry, Odile, I’ll roll with the punches and wait at the boulangerie. Hopefully, it won’t be a crumby experience.”

Odile made a face. “No.”

Laughing, Siffrin headed for the door as Odile shook her head and shoved Star Soldier into a random spot on the nearest shelf.

Chapter Text

Sometimes, Siffrin forgot that emptiness could have weight.

Sometimes, Siffrin forgot that emptiness could fill their hollow chest in such a way that it left no room for anything else.

Sometimes, Siffrin forgot that emptiness could be so cold that he could not remember what it was like to be warm.

The boulanger grinned and waved as tinkling bells announced Siffrin’s entrance; he looked like he awoke each morning with joy as his only goal. He was tall and wide, and his pale hair was pulled back into a braid that hung to the small of his back.

He hummed a tune that picked at Siffrin’s memory while cleaning the top of the large, glass case next to his register.

The space was small and cozy; the smell of fresh baked bread drew Siffrin’s mouth into a gentle smile as all thoughts of blood and unconscious librarians and falling off chairs flowed from his mind.

The front of the shop was decorated with potted plants, and the right wall showed off paintings, their titles and artists’ names written on little cards underneath, along with prices.

Wordlessly, Siffrin pulled two coins out of their pocket as they looked over the loaves and pastries offered. The croissants were some of the fluffiest ones they’d ever seen and immediately pointed at one with almond slivers decorating the top. He matched the boulanger’s grin, the smell of soil and leaves and flowers and warm bread surrounding them like a thick, heavy blanket. It was the closest to a hug they’d felt in… a long time.

Chuckling softly at the excited look on Siffrin’s face, the boulanger grabbed a square of waxed paper and opened the back of the case with one hand and the register with the other. A few of the almond slivers fell off the croissant, and already, Siffrin was tempted to shove the entire thing into his mouth.

The waxed paper crinkled in Siffrin’s hand, and the crust gave the softest crunch, more of a whisper or sigh. He swallowed to keep from drooling as the boulanger took his coins, still humming the melody that picked and picked and picked at Siffrin’s brain, like it was trying to wriggle deep into the wrinkles and pull out a long-buried memory.

The silver coin the boulanger pulled out of the register shone in the light from a nearby torch, and as he pressed it into Siffrin’s outstretched hand, both said, “Thank you,” in near unison.

Siffrin’s hand curled into a tight fist reflexively. His smile fell.

The boulanger’s accent was as familiar as it was foreign, and Siffrin was sure their own accent sounded the same to him.

The two stared at each other in surprise, in shock, in hope, in pain, in a mélange of whiplash emotions that echoed loudly in the empty spaces within their chests.

Eyes wide, the boulanger seized Siffrin’s arm, pulling him forward, pressing his body against the glass case. The croissant nearly tumbled onto the counter. His thick fingers squeezed hard enough to leave bruises as wonder and hope and need filled his watery eyes.

In a desperate voice, he rasped, “Young one… where are you from?”

Lightning striking Siffrin down would have been less painful.

All they could do was stare, long bangs falling over their dark eyes and lungs forgetting how to pull in air.

Was this a joke? Or was he truly asking?

Did he remember the stars? Did he beg the Universe for help, to lead him?

Did he dream of lights reflected in an obsidian sea?

Did he know? Could he taste the name on his tongue, the name that once left Siffrin coughing up blood onto their pillow when they clung desperately to a memory already slipping away?

Could he say it? Was he taunting them? Did he see the empty space in their chest where their star should be?

Did he remember?

Did he remember?

Did he remember?

Siffrin felt like something hot and hard had wrapped around their throat, squeezing tight, tight, tight. They felt like their skull had suddenly filled with cotton and dandelion fluff. They tasted something bitter and sickly sweet and terrible.

Siffrin didn’t remember leaving the boulangerie.

All of a sudden, he was running.

All of a sudden, streets turned to grass turned to undergrowth and trees.

All of a sudden, he was doubled over, crushing the croissant in his hands.

His cheeks were hot and wet.

His lungs burned as his throat ached and ached and ached and ached with a feeling not unlike blood-thirst.

His knees gave way, and suddenly, he was chewing and chewing and chewing and chewing as the waxed paper floated down and was caught by a sudden breeze.

He might as well have eaten the dirt under his boots.

Somehow, he managed to swallow. The croissant dropped into his stomach like a cold, lead weight.

The actor flexed their hands. The joints of their fingers moved awkwardly and out of sync. The leather of their gloves squeezed and pulled and pinched. They took them off. The silver coin slipped from their palm and into the dirt.

The actor flexed his hands. His fingers looked too thin, too long, too light. He pinched the skin on his middle finger to make sure it was there. He pulled, stretching the skin. He pushed up the itchy, lightless sleeves and pinched, pinched, pinched all the way up scarred skin.

He squinted, frowning. The skin around his eyes felt loose, then tight.

The actor dragged their fingers—were they supposed to have this many joints?—down their damp cheeks. Why were they wet? Was that part of the script? They pinched their chin, feeling the beginning of stubble breaking through this soft, off-center skin they wore.

The actor grasped at their hair. Too short, too short. Why was it this short?

The actor stood, turned, tilted their head, still clutching the too short, too short hair.

This body was all at once too small, too light, too large, too heavy. It took up too much space and not enough.

This body felt wrong. It felt like a clay avatar that hadn’t been left long enough to dry.

Darkness dribbled from dots and lines that had suddenly appeared on one forearm.

The opposite hand gripped a dagger.

The hand shook.

This body was cracking. It was breaking. It… was…

A dead star.

The body stepped back. The jarring movement caused the rest of the body to jerk and sway, like he was a marionette with tangled strings being cut one by one.

Dark rivulets dripped, dripped, dripped down his left arm and off his fingers.

He… felt nothing. Nothing but cold. Nothing but the suffocating weight of emptiness.

He clutched the dagger harder, other hand rising to grasp his neck.

The actor could not remember his lines.

[Enter Odile.]

[Odile wears her typical light shirt and lightless pants under her long, light coat. Darker diamond patches on her shoulders declare she had served in Ka Bue's mines. Her lightless hair is styled symmetrically, offering a visual clue to her need for order and to control both herself and the environment around her.]

[Odile holds three books under one arm. None are the book she uses for Crafting. That one she keeps in a large, inner pocket of her coat. The only clue to its presence is the way the left side of her coat hangs a few centimeters lower than the right.]

[Odile pants. Her eyes squeeze shut. The palm of her free hand presses firmly against a tree she uses to keep herself propped up. Sweat beads down her face, and she scowls.]

Odile: [panting] What did I say about wandering off?!

The actor could not remember his lines. He could not remember the choreography. Where was his mark?

Character sheet, character sheet.

All facts of Siffrin the Traveler fled their memory.

Just like everything else.

The actor’s hand squeezed their neck harder, their breath hitching.

Odile: [grits her teeth and opens her eyes, then mouth to yell, then stops] [she looks suddenly haunted by a memory she will never share because she never trusted this Siffrin, this lonely suspicious traveler who can’t remember their blinding name blinding past blinding lines]

She stared at the actor, took a step closer but stopped when they flinched back and raised their dagger in front of them. She raised her hands, defensive and pleading.

“Oh… Siffrin…” Her voice was soft as a prayer, or a wish. Her tone shifted as she asked, “Siffrin, what’s wrong? What happened?”

A pragmatic tone. A serious tone. A tone that said there was a problem; therefore, there must be a solution.

There was no stage manager to remind the actor of their lines. There was no understudy to take their place.

He had never been good at improv.

The actor opened his mouth—

He opened… He…

Their lips wouldn’t move.

They… couldn’t… move…

A whinny and clomping hoofbeats cut through the thickening silence, and the actor noted then that the music had ended. No piano. No cello. No soprano or baritone or gentle humming.

[Enter Stella.]

[Stella wears a sleeveless, lightless shirt that tucks into dark, high-waisted trousers. She wears a wide belt with several pouches and a sickle attached to it; thick-soled boots; and a tall, dark, wide-brimmed hat. Its cone-like top droops somewhat before tapering off at the tip, and frayed string suggests a charm had once hung from it. Her dark hair is cut short and looks unbrushed, and freckles are scattered over her face, neck, and arms. She wears long, lightless, fingerless gloves that hug her forearms and have tiny gemstone beads sewn onto the tops in circle-within-circle patterns. The knuckles are studded with quartz points the length of her thumb nail.]

Stella: [claps once loudly to get Odile’s attention] Hey, I was checking on someone when I saw you run— [she stops upon noticing the actor that can’t remember their blinding lines] Oh, Change, not this again. [she jumps and glances at Odile] Um—

Odile: He’s told me already you two knew each other as children. Now, if you’ve seen this before, how should we handle… [she turns towards the blinding useless actor whose costume is on wrong and can’t breathe can’t speak can’t do anything right he should just exit the stage exit the stage exit exit exit exit exit exit] Oh, gems, they… [she turns her attention back to Stella] What do we do?

Stella: [with a pained look on her face] There’s two ways this can go. He snaps, or he breaks.

Odile: … Neither sounds like an appropriate choice. [she hugs the three books to her chest] [she looks conflicted, haunted, remembering memories she will not share cannot share will never give even a hint towards this useless actor, suspicious traveler, empty shell]

Stella: Nope, just bad and worse. [she draws in a sharp breath and faces Odile] Go somewhere that ain’t here. They won’t want you seeing them like this.

Odile: [suddenly angry] [speaking through her teeth] I will not leave him when they are obviously in pain!

Stella: [hesitates] [looks from the useless actor to Odile] Fine. Then… do them a favor and after this is done, pretend none of it happened. Got it?

Odile: [hesitates but nods] [barely audible] … Alright.

Stella: [nods once and turns a hard gaze back to the useless actor wearing the skin of a boy she once knew] Stand back then, Madame. Don’t interfere. This won’t be pretty, but we’ll both be fine. [she pauses] Eventually.

[Stella approaches the useless actor that can’t remember anything—not his lines, not his stage directions, not the stars, not his country, not his language, not his religion, not his family, not his name!]

Stella: [narrows eyes and clenches fists] [she looks ready for a fight] Drop it or strike, shrimp.

The actor clutched the dagger’s hilt so tightly that they felt as though their knuckles might break through this too pale too light too tight skin.

Stella: [flatly] Fine then.

[Shifting so her feet are shoulder width apart, Stella brings her fists together, Craft sparking and sizzling and smelling of wet clay just like the vase on that potter’s wheel as she sang of uncertain death and certain rage.]

[The Craft sparking between Stella’s quartz gloves keeps them from touching, like twin poles of two magnets repelling each other.]

[Stella steps back for purchase and—

Siffrin was moving, all thoughts fleeing their mind.

Stella’s attack crashed against the tree that had been behind him; bark exploded as a thick gash splinted upwards. Birds took flight as rodents scampered, and Siffrin slid to a stop, crouching with one hand pressed against the ground and the other stabbing his dagger forward, as if he were holding Mirabelle’s rapier instead.

Craft rocketed off the blade with such force that it knocked his hand up and grip loose. Stella dove the same time as the dagger fell, and Scissor Craft clipped her right shoulder as Siffrin reclaimed their blade and charged forward.

Stella rolled and swung her legs up, losing her hat as the backwards summersault left her on her knees. She grit her teeth and made an X with her forearms over her face, Rock Craft creating a shield that blocked Siffrin’s next Scissor attack.

Roaring, he stabbed at the shield, a sound like metal scraping rock ringing through his ears as Stella stood and shoved him off, sweat beading along her brow.

The dagger had fallen again, but Siffrin leaped forward, fist pulled back by their ear.

Stella danced around them and threw down her elbow between their shoulder blades.

Breath whooshing out of their lungs, Siffrin dropped and rolled.

“Done yet, shrimp?!” Stella shrilled, stepping back when Siffrin landed on their hands and knees.

He leaped forward with a savage scream, throat sore and eyes burning and voice forming furious words he already forgot.

Blinding Stella! Always acting like she knew everything, knew them better than they knew themself!

When she barely knew herself, refused to think of what happened before she’d ended up on the group home’s doorstep.

“You’re lucky you don’t remember anything,” she’d said once, and Siffrin hated her right then. Just a little.

She was the one who was lucky.

Siffrin would rather deal with pain, with agony that threatened to shatter their ribs and tear into their heart like a starving wolf.

As long as it meant they could remember.

Anything… anything other than this… heavy, suffocating, cold… emptiness.

Stella kept dancing around Siffrin, but it was already apparent that waiting for Siffrin to tire out wasn’t an option. Whatever she’d been doing earlier had already left her tired, and she was close to running on empty.

“This all ya got?!” Stella demanded, her bravado angering Siffrin further. She deflected his punch and twisted on her back foot before skipping back out of striking distance. “Poor crabbing Belenus!” She jumped out of the path of a wildly cast Craft attack that left Siffrin’s arm shaking. “Always getting all the housemaidens to fawn over him with their crocodile tears!”

Manipulative.

Siffrin struck.

Stella dodged.

“No one’s problems are ever as important as his own!” she screamed, deflecting another punch and delivering one of her own into their stomach.

Callous.

Doubled over from Stella’s hit, Siffrin huffed, breath whistling as one arm pressed against his middle. He couldn’t draw in a full breath, and sweat finally beaded along his brow and ran down his neck.

“Always running away whenever things get too hard,” Stella mocked, fists up as Siffrin recovered, panting.

Aimless.

Siffrin struck.

Stella took told of one wrist, then the other.

Breath whooshed out of Siffrin’s lungs as she slammed his back against the nearest tree. She pinned their arms above their head and pressed her knee hard into their thigh as she leaned in so close, her nose was inches from theirs.

“Are you going to run again?” Stella growled, laughing humorlessly when Siffrin hissed, baring his fangs. “Aww, the kitten's scared? Going to run and hide? Gonna leave the Savior behind? Gonna give up?”

“STARS! SHUT UP!” Siffrin bellowed, trembling under Stella’s grip.

“Well, are you?!” Stella demanded. “Are you just going to run away again?!”

Was he?

What was he doing here?

He didn’t remember. Didn’t remember running, didn’t remember leaving the boulangerie.

The croissant felt heavy in his stomach.

He wanted to throw up.

All at once, all fight flowed out of Siffrin’s body. Stella was the only thing keeping them upright. Their face fell. They were tired. They were thirsty.

“… No,” Siffrin whispered, tongue sticking to the roof of their mouth.

“…” Stella swallowed and blinked back tears. “Good.”

She let go, and Siffrin crumpled to the ground, throat tight and heart heavy.

“Do your breathing thing and pick yourself up,” Stella ordered, voice flat. “I gotta go talk to the jeweled one about something.”

Siffrin tried to nod but wasn’t sure they succeeded.

There were voices nearby, but Siffrin tuned them out. They laid a hand over the flask still somehow resting right over their chest.

In

.

.

.

.

.

Out…

Jeweled one.

Odile.

She was still nearby. That was her voice, along with Stella’s.

She’d seen everything.

Heard everything.

Siffrin the Traveler’s character sheet was being ripped apart, piece by piece.

They stood, feeling like they were floating inside their body. They pushed their sleeves down, dried blood flaking off already-healed skin.

They reclaimed and sheathed their dagger and put on their gloves, discovering a silver coin underneath the left one.

Blinking slowly, Siffrin stared at it and remembered.

“Young one… where are you from?”

They didn’t know they didn’t know they didn’t know they didn’t know they didn’t know—

Siffrin blocked out everything. Made themself forget everything they forgot and picked up the silver coin.

Chapter Text

Siffrin had spent their life running. They’d spent their life with the goal of leaving things behind anytime things grew too difficult, too painful, too… much.

Moving towards something felt…

They weren’t quite sure how it felt.

When Voimort had been their goal, it had felt ephemeral. It felt like chasing sunlight.

Get to Voimort. Find a housemaiden there who knew what he was and could help him…

And that was where that goal had ended.

Now, Siffrin had a concrete goal: Travel with his party, find the orbs to unlock Dormont’s House, fight the King, save Vaugarde.

Impossible as it seemed, it was still a goal with steps, a goal with a clear path forward.

It was a little overwhelming in its novelty, but at the same time, it was anchoring. Whenever he thought of this goal, these steps, Siffrin felt steady and present.

What would he do if they succeeded and there was no more goal, no more steps to follow? What would he do once these curtains closed?

They… didn’t want to think about that right now.

Siffrin drained his flask without realizing. Licking the spout, he leaned against the tree he’d been pinned against only minutes earlier, staring at the tree Stella had wrecked with her first attack. It almost looked like it had been struck from lightning, but there were no scorch marks, though the ozone-like scent of her and Siffrin’s Craft still lingered.

Capping his flask, Siffrin frowned. Already, his soreness and exhaustion ebbed. He felt awake, alert, grounded.

He didn’t want to. He wanted to sleep, to shut himself away, to pretend none of this had happened.

They should have asked Odile to show them how to use the card catalog. Ka Bue had extensive libraries, including a massive one in their old capital that they boasted held the world’s knowledge; Odile would have been as excited to share knowledge as she was gaining it, even if she’d tried to hide it behind jeers and teasing.

They should have stayed closer to the cottage. They should have found a few people to drink from and return, telling Isabeau that he’d been right and that they’d tell Odile about their pins later.

They should have done… so many other things.

There’d once been a play in Gael, an experimental one that had been mostly improv. The script had been barely more than an outline of plot points and key dialogue written by the director. She’d wanted to tell a unique story, working with the identical triplets she’d discovered at a small college in one of Gael’s poorer prefectures.

The play had used a theory as its inspiration, a theory stating that reality broke and fractured and branched at each decision a person made. The triplets had each played multiple versions of the same character, all from these branching realities. The story had ended with these versions coalescing into a single version of the character that had transcended into godhood; their previous, multiple versions of themself became facets that allowed them to truly See and Know.

It had been a tragedy, this Knowing leaving the transcended, godlike character incapable of interacting fully with any of the people they’d once loved. They’d learned and experienced everything available to them in every fracture and branch of reality, and this experience had left them utterly alone.

The play had been slapdash and unfocused, and while Siffrin could see that the triplets had been good actors, the writing—or lack thereof—had worked against their skills at every turn. Nearly a quarter of the audience had gotten up and left by Act IV; it never got a second showing.

Siffrin had overall enjoyed the play, despite its many problems, but he wasn’t sure if it was because his understanding of the Gaelish back then had left much to be desired. Maybe if he's been fluent already when seeing it, he’d have enjoyed it less. He wasn’t sure.

Regardless, every so often, they couldn’t help but think about that play.

Did the Siffrin who’d stayed at the group home regret it? Did they end up following Stella to the Bambouche House? Had people found out what they'd done?

Did the Siffrin who’d stayed in Asmu’ur continue working as a thief? Had he risen in the ranks, gotten stronger? Or had he found himself in an early and unmarked grave?

Did the Siffrin who’d continued to learn from the Scissors Craft master in Ka Bue discover more about themself and how they’d learned to use Craft the way they had?

Did the Siffrin who’d talked to the professor in Mwudu get the answers they wanted?

Was there a Siffrin who had never washed up on Bambouche’s shore in the first place? Did they get to remember? Did remembering make them happy? Or at least full?

Did any of that matter?

They weren’t sure, but thinking about it now wouldn’t help anything, wouldn’t change anything.

This Siffrin was here, in Vaugarde. They were traveling with the Saviors. They had two more orbs to find. They had a king to defeat.

Get up, Siffrin, he thought, blinking slowly. You have a country to save.

He breathed in, and out.

They clutched the silver coin in their hand and slipped it into their pocket.

Hmm? Siffrin noticed Stella’s hat on the ground nearby and grabbed it as the breeze picked up again.

“… crabbing monarchists, probably,” Stella was grumbling, arms crossed tightly under her chest. She turned at Siffrin’s approach. “Ah, thanks, shrimp. Feeling better?”

Odile still held Bonnie’s books against her chest. Her face was unreadable.

As Stella put her hat back on, Siffrin asked, “There’s monarchists in Vaugarde?”

While Odile’s lips tightened, Stella was nonplussed; she’d expected Siffrin to ignore her question.

“Most went quiet about their political leanings when news stories about the King started to really spread,” she answered while rolling her eyes, and she motioned for Siffrin to show her his arm.

“I’m f—”

“Siffrin.” Stella’s tone and gaze were hard and cold.

Oh, so they got to be Siffrin again.

They pushed up his left sleeve, more dried blood flaking off smooth skin. “All healed.” They ignored the way Odile stared at their arm; they didn’t want to think about whether she was paying more attention to their scars or the fact their cuts had already healed like nothing happened. “They weren’t deep.”

He pulled his sleeve down again and licked the back of his teeth. Between Isabeau’s attack, running at full speed when he was still hurt, cutting himself, and his and Stella’s fight, he was going to need blood again soon. At least his throat wasn’t burning right now.

“…” Stella’s lips thinned, but she didn’t argue. She turned back to Odile, who forced her gaze away from Siffrin a beat later. “Go ahead and head back. I still need to check on a shopkeeper by here.”

“Apologies for pulling you away,” Odile said, tone stilted. It was taking every ounce of her self-control to keep from battering Siffrin with attention and questions. “I do hope they’re alright.”

“Oh, they are.” Stella’s hands rested on her hips, just above her belt. “They’re awake and resting, and someone from the workshop’s taken over working the till for today. I just wanna see if there’s an explanation for their fainting spell. They said it’s never happened to them before.”

Oh, stars, she’d been on her way to see that employee in the metalwork shop. Siffrin’s spine straightened, and they worked to keep their expression neutral. Odile’s twitching jaw as she glanced their way said they hadn’t succeeded.

Well, at least the employee thought that they’d had a fainting spell. Siffrin had wondered if his victims ever remembered being attacked; it was good to know that at least in some cases, they didn’t.

Stella left, whistling and calling Daffodil’s name. Someone further away called her over, and Siffrin heard Stella jokingly scold the person for feeding Daffodil apples after he’d abandoned her.

After a few beats of awkward silence, Odile cleared her throat. “Let’s go, then. We’ve kept Mirabelle waiting for her conditioner long enough.”

Siffrin nodded and followed her back into town, following its roads back towards Stella’s cottage. People around them walked and shopped and conversed like everything was normal, like the King’s Curse wasn’t approaching them, like half the village wasn’t planning on evacuating.

“Here.”

Odile’s lips tightened when Siffrin flinched. In her outstretched hand were their pins; Siffrin tried to smile but couldn’t manage it.

“Thanks.” They took the pins, both the length of their index finger, and attached them to the end of their sleeve.

“Of course.”

They lapsed into silence once again, Odile looking everywhere but them.

That was fine.

This was fine.

Everything was just fine.

“Ah.”

Siffrin was several steps ahead of Odile before he realized she’d stopped walking. He was more curious than annoyed and turned, tilting his head in question upon reaching her.

Turning away from a nearby shop, Odile held out the books she’d gotten for Bonnie. When Siffrin took them after a moment of hesitation, she pulled a dark bottle out of her coat pocket.

“I need to grab something,” Odile told him. “Go on ahead. I’ll be there shortly.”

“…?” Siffrin blinked but nodded.

“I don’t need to remind you not to wander off, do I?” Odile sounded off-kilter. Instead of arching an eyebrow, like Siffrin would have expected, her brow furrowed in worry.

He shook his head.

“… Good. Straight to the cottage, now.”

He nodded and set off, leaving Odile to buy whatever it was she’d forgotten about.

While walking, Siffrin ensured they had a good grip on Mirabelle’s conditioner as he looked over the books Odile had checked out: Rock, Paper, Scissors: Crafting Friendship; Shuffled Spells: Belle’s Beginning; and The Prince’s Lost Heart.

Huh. No Star Soldiers. Maybe Odile figured Bonnie would like these more.

Siffrin read the summaries as they walked, occasionally having to dodge small groups as people stopped to chat with friends and neighbors while getting fruit or meat or eggs.

It looked like Bonnie liked “the good guys win using the power of friendship” type stories.

Siffrin wondered if they would have liked these stories at Bonnie’s age. Shuffled Spells looked more entertaining than articles about Vaugarde’s last monarch or the conflicts that had risen when the Change belief spread and became Vaugarde’s predominant religion.

With the bottle of conditioner tucked under one arm, Siffrin opened Shuffled Spells: Belle’s Beginning and started reading as he walked. By the time he reached Stella’s cottage, he’d been introduced to four characters: Belle, who, despite being an average middle school student, was chosen to be the guardian of a magical card deck; Lovernisca, a powerful Crafter despite being only 13 and had been raised with expectations of being the magical card deck’s guardian until Belle was chosen; Samorix, the wizard who had created the magical card deck in the first place and was now believed to be dead; and Binx, Samorix’s familiar spirit, who was tasked to locate and guide the cards’ next guardian.

This sounded like a… very Vaugardian story—an average person having greatness and the responsibility tied to it suddenly thrust upon them.

The stories Siffrin had been assigned as an acolyte had involved main characters that got their powers through either hard work or cunning, depending on what morals the story was hoping… to… teach…

Siffrin stopped. Blinked.

The air felt heavy.

Assigned… as an… acolyte? What did—

A feeling like static between the layers of their skin. The scent of burnt sugar. Twin pops in their ears, leaving all other sounds momentarily muted.

Blink, blink. What were they…?

Ah, there was Stella’s cottage. Reading had really helped pass the time!

Siffrin shut the book, smiling at the cover art—the average middle school student Belle wearing a pensive expression as she clutched a wizard’s staff, while cards spiraled around her like a tornado.

This sounded like a very Vaugardian story—an average person having greatness and the responsibility tied to it suddenly thrust upon them.

They could see why kids would like these sorts of stories, where a person’s past played little to no part in them becoming the hero.

It made Siffrin smile a little to themself as they entered Stella’s cottage.

Inside, Isabeau hopped up from the couch, setting down his book and looking relieved when Siffrin waved.

“Conditioner for Mira and books for Bonbon,” Siffrin announced breezily. “Odile still has your mending kit, though. She’s grabbing something else, but she’ll be here soon.”

“That’s fine.” Isabeau took the conditioner from Siffrin. “Bonbon’s still asleep, but I’ll take this to Mira. You’re still okay, Sif? Did the walk help?”

“Yep.” Siffrin rolled his shoulders and twisted at his waist to show he was good as new. He smiled when tension left Isabeau’s shoulders as he sighed in relief. “I’m okay, Isa. Is there more drinking chocolate?”

“Still on the table,” Isabeau told them. “I put it in a cup that’s Crafted to keep it hot, so it should still be good. I found some… scones? They looked like scones, but the label said cakes. They’re by your cup. Hopefully Stella doesn’t mind, but I figured you’d be hungry.”

“Sounds good!” Siffrin had a good guess of what cakes they were and felt a mix of fondness and grief. “I’ll leave these upstairs really quick.”

Something about his tone must have given him away, because Isabeau crossed his arms, a pensive look on his face. “You sure you okay, Sif?”

“I’m fine,” they said, too fast. Isabeau’s mouth pressed into a thin line. “I probably should have eaten something before catching up with Odile.”

“…” Isabeau didn’t look like he believed him but tried to smile. “Okay. Okay, yeah!” His laugh didn’t reach his eyes. “I know I don’t always realize how hungry I am right after getting healed, so let me know if you’re still hungry.”

“Will do. Thanks, Isa.”

As Isabeau headed to the bathroom, Siffrin brought Bonnie’s books upstairs. They were about to simply leave them in a short pile on the nightstand when they noticed that Bonnie’s eyes were open. There were dry tear trails on their cheeks and crud in their tear ducts.

They blinked slowly, not seeming to register that anyone had come upstairs.

Had they been staring into space like this the whole time?

Siffrin doubted asking them anything about Bambouche or their sister would bear fruit. Best case scenario, Bonnie wouldn’t react. Worst case, they’d have a breakdown.

Siffrin felt terrible when they thought that they wouldn’t be able to handle dealing with a worst-case scenario with them and would rather avoid triggering it, if they could help it.

So, Siffrin sat down and shuffled through the books, as if they were looking at them for the first time.

“Have you read any of these?” they asked.

No reaction.

“Rock, Paper, Scissors: Crafting Friendship; Shuffled Spells: Belle’s Beginning; and The Prince’s Lost Heart. I’d never heard of these before.”

Bonnie shifted. Their nose scrunched up a little. They glanced up towards Siffrin but then stared forward again.

“I read a little bit of Shuffled Spells on my way back. I don’t really get why Belle got chosen as the cards’ guardian when Lovernisca has been studying for it all her life.”

Bonnie mumbled something into the blankets bunched over their mouth. It was too muffled for Siffrin to make out, but they thought they heard the words pure heart and friends.

“What does a pure heart have to do with being chosen?”

Bonnie mumbled again, but they moved the blanket, so they could be heard more clearly. “Coz magic needs incense-uns—”

“Intentions?”

“Intentions.” Bonnie curled up more under the covers. “Magic needs intentions to work, like Craft, but it’s really, really strong, and the cards got magic monsters trapped in them by the wizard. The wizard controlled the monsters, but he knew that the next person needed to be their friends, or else when the monsters all get out again, they’d just hurt people. Nisca wants to just control the monsters like the wizard did, but Belle’s got a pure heart. She’s nice and keeps trying her best. She messes up all the time, but her friends help her, and she can get the monsters to help her, too, coz they end up trusting that she cares about them and won’t just keep them locked up all the time.”

“Sounds like you really like this series.”

“… It’s okay.”

“Does Nisca learn how to be nicer?”

“Not until, like, book 12.” Bonnie made a face. “She’s a big ol’ crab until then. I dunno why Belle forgives her so fast.”

Siffrin laughed. “How about these other books?”

“You really never read them?”

“I don’t read a lot,” Siffrin said, a little embarrassingly. “I was probably your age when I finally got taught, so reading was hard for me for a long time, and my teacher used history books to teach me how to read. Not very exciting.”

Bonnie made a face. “Ew.”

Siffrin laughed again. “Yeah, that’s what I thought then, too.”

“Where’re you from? You talk kinda weird.”

Bonnie saying that he talked weird instead of specifying that they didn’t recognize his accent helped ease the pain shooting through Siffrin’s chest. He managed to keep his tone blithe as he answered, “Oh, a little of everywhere. I never stayed in any place for long.”

“How come?”

“Coz there’s always a lot more to see.”

“Do you ever go back to visit your friends? Was your family traveling with you too? They had to when you were a kid, right?”

Oh, stars. “I… never really had friends.” Siffrin couldn’t halt the waver in their voice. “And I’ve lost track how long I’ve been traveling by myself before meeting Mira, Isa, and Odile.”

Bonnie looked suddenly sad.

“I never minded, though.” Siffrin drew in a quiet breath and kept his tone lighthearted. “I’ve still got to meet lots of really nice people, even if I didn’t get to know them for long.”

“Like who?” Bonnie wiped their nose on their sleeve. “Tell me! Tell me, tell me, tell me!”

Why did it sound like Bonnie was the one trying to comfort them now?

Well… if this helped make them feel better, then Siffrin didn’t mind.

Drumming his fingertips over the books in his lap, Siffrin thought about who to mention. He couldn’t remember the names of all the people he’d talked to, and he definitely couldn’t tell Bonnie about some of the people he’d worked with.

“Well, there was Alessi, an actor I met in Poteria.” He smiled at the sparkle in Bonnie’s eyes. “They’d stayed in Vaugarde for a while, actually, so they could stay at one of the Houses and Change using Body Craft. We talked after I watched a play they starred in. There was also a carpenter in western Poteria I stayed with for a little while. He was really nice, always making sure I had enough food, and he gave me my first wood carving kit, since my dagger is too big for small details. And there was also Cúán, a healer I worked for in Gael. He had two big dogs that were as big as their ponies.”

“He had ponies! And dogs?! Lucky!” They coughed into the blankets.

Siffrin laughed, remembering the time Dulla, the younger of the two dogs, sat on them. They’d had to call over Cúán for help, but he’d ended up laughing so hard instead that the other dog came over to see what was going on and wouldn’t stop licking Siffrin’s face. Trapped by Dulla, Siffrin hadn’t been able to roll away from the slobbering kisses, and Cúán had only laughed harder while hugging his ribs.

“Yep!” Siffrin couldn’t stop the smile on his face. “Two of the nicest dogs I’d ever met, and they were really protective of the ponies and sheep.” His smile fell a little at the memory of Dulla digging up a stillborn lamb; he’d whined and cuddled around it, as if his love could be enough to breathe life back into it.

“They had sheep too?!” Bonnie sounded like they were imagining paradise, and Siffrin’s smile returned.

“Yep! A whole lot of them!” Better not mention how Siffrin had helped slaughter the older ones for meat. “Sometimes I helped bring wool to a weaver in the nearby town. I left before winter, though. I didn’t want to get stuck in those mountains until summer.” He’d nearly gotten stuck anyway, but no need to bring that up, either. Siffrin was lucky he hadn’t lost any fingers or toes to frostbite. He was pretty sure even his healing abilities wouldn't grow back limbs. “And in Baktan, I met Sudi. I’d lost my money and was on the beach, trying to think of what I was going to do, and Sudi saw me and brought me food. I didn’t know any of Baktan’s languages, but I knew a little Ka Buan, which he knew thanks to all the Ka Buan visitors the island got, so he talked to me about his island’s mythology, like how the sun’s tears created the volcanos that would eventually create Baktan’s islands.”

“What kind of food? I’ve only had their eggrolls, and something my sister always called ‘birthday noodles.’” Bonnie didn’t look upset when mentioning their sister this time; Siffrin wasn’t sure they even realized they’d mentioned her at all just now.

They didn’t want to push things by bringing her up, so they answered, “Grilled chicken and bilo-bilo, which is kinda like a sweet soup, I think? It was coconut milk with little rice balls and a few other ingredients. He invited me to stay with his family for the night, and his partner made rice porridge the next morning, plus pork that had been marinated in a sweet-ish sauce…? Tocino, that’s what he called it. He also gave me coconut pie before I left.” They noticed the interest in Bonnie’s eyes. “Do you like to cook?”

Bonnie nodded, grinning. “I love to cook!”

They dove into a story of the last recipe they’d tried, which sounded complicated for a kid to try, but Siffrin enjoyed the passion in Bonnie’s voice. They were happy to answer any and all questions Siffrin interjected with, soon sitting up and waving their arms around as they described pastries and soups and curries. They talked about their favorite foods and teased Siffrin about his dislike of potatoes. They talked about one of their favorite book series, which had all the recipes the main character cooked in the back.

After a while, Bonnie yawned, stretching their arms over their head.

“Go ahead and sleep,” Siffrin told them as they set the books onto the nightstand. “We’ll have food ready for you when you wake up.”

“Not broth.” Bonnie’s nose scrunched up as they coughed, and Siffrin laughed.

“Not broth this time. Maybe Odile will make you rice porridge.”

Bonnie grinned and laid back down. “Can I watch, so she can teach me? Is it the same as cooking rice pudding?”

“Not sure, but I’m sure she’d be happy to teach you.”

Bonnie yawned again and almost knocked over their books grabbing the bottom one. “Here.”

“Hmm?” Siffrin reached for The Prince’s Lost Heart. “You don’t want to read this one?”

“You should read it first. I wanna read about Belle again.” Bonnie snuggled under their covers. “That one’s about a frog who gets turned into a girl, and she has’ta help find the prince’s heart, so he can feel love again and save the kingdom. He doesn’t have friends at first either, but then he finds the bestest of friends when the girl keeps helping him, even though he keeps telling her he doesn’t want help.”

…

…

…

Somehow, Siffrin managed a smile. “That sounds nice. Thanks, Bonbon.”

When Stella returned, she wouldn’t speak to anyone until she’d checked on Bonnie and made herself a cup of strawberry mint tea.

Meanwhile, Siffrin helped Mirabelle section and braid her hair in the den, both occasionally having to pause and allow their cramping fingers to rest. Isabeau had been reading The Prince’s Lost Heart out loud to them while sitting on the couch, and Odile had taken her turn in the bath.

She reemerged, nodding when Stella held up another cup in offering.

“Is everything okay?” Mirabelle finally asked, a slight tremble in her voice. Half her hair fell past her shoulders in pinky-width braids, and she’d taken a break to sip her peppermint tea.

Looking up, Siffrin paused in the middle of braiding a small section of Mirabelle’s hair. He’d taken off his gloves, and he’d managed to successfully scrub the dried blood from his left arm before Mirabelle or Isabeau saw.

“…” Stella poured hot water into her and Odile’s cups. “Someone tried to burn down our Favor Tree.”

“What?!” The book dropped from Isabeau’s hands, hitting his knee and the low table before landing next to Mirabelle’s thigh.

She hadn’t noticed, only staring at Stella as if waiting for her to say she was joking.

Looking around at everyone else’s shocked expressions, Siffrin finally met Odile’s eyes. She looked perturbed, but it was in the way someone would look after hearing someone had tried to cause a wildfire. She didn’t seem to know any more about Favor Trees and their significance to Vaugardians than Siffrin did.

Both shrugged at the other’s silent questions, and Stella sighed loudly.

“Crabbing monarchists,” she spat, like the word had coated her tongue in grease. She leaned against the counter, arms crossed over her chest. She was pale and smelled of sweat and dirt. Her heart thudded loudly inside her chest. “Ya should be careful once you leave here, Saviors. Manus, Rani, and I couldn’t find hide or hair of any of ‘em—all we’ve been able to figure is that it must be a group of them. We’re also sure they picked today to do this shit coz they figured out Mademoiselle Mirabelle’s here.”

Mirabelle’s face went ashen as she stared into her cup.

“We’ll be okay, Mira,” Isabeau promised after a beat of hesitation.

No one else spoke for a bit.

Fighting Sadnesses was one thing. Same with their plan to fight the King; he’d surrendered his right to humanity when he started freezing Vaugarde in time.

Fighting people?

The thought left a sour taste in the back of Siffrin’s throat.

He didn’t want to hurt people. Not again and definitely not on purpose.

You hurt people all the time, you blinding idiot. Siffrin blinked hard, managing not to flinch. He didn’t want to accidentally pull Mirabelle’s hair.

That’s different, they told themself, but they didn’t believe it.

“Monarchists wouldn’t… actually be siding with the King… would they?” Isabeau’s voice was tight; he fought to keep his expression neutral.

Stella’s jaw twitched as she fought to take deep, even breaths. Siffrin went back to braiding Mirabelle’s hair.

Claiming her cup of tea, Odile made her way into the den and picked up The Prince’s Lost Heart before taking a seat next to Isabeau.

“All of them? No,” she said as she set the book onto the low table. “Definitely not. Those who haven’t changed their minds about a monarchy being a better form of government likely have only gone quiet about their political beliefs soon after Corbeaux was frozen.” She sipped her tea. “These ones? They’re a small, fringe group of radicals. I ran into a few before meeting you and Mirabelle. I wasn’t impressed, I’ll say. They’re still potentially dangerous, but experience has shown me that they’re only brave about destroying property, things. They’re less brave about attacking people, unless they feel they have numbers on their side.”

“Usually I’d agree,” Stella said. Like Mirabelle, she stared into her tea. “They’re like bullies that way. They’ll go after people they see as low-bearing fruit, people they think are easy enough to knock down. But introduce people they can’t overpower, and they retreat. But usually, that’s because the people they can’t overpower are authority figures or connected to authority figures in some way. Bullies don’t want to face consequences. But. The King’s Curse is spreading. Any consequences won’t matter for long.”

“You deal with bullies a lot?” Isabeau asked, trying to lighten the mood a little.

“I was the bully,” Stella replied, snorting at Isabeau’s and Mirabelle’s surprised looks. “Changed and Changed again, but that scared and angry kid’s still here.”

She sipped her tea, and Siffrin froze while staring at Mirabelle’s lightless hair.

Most of the fight was still a blur, but he remembered one of the things he’d snarled at her: “Poor, little Stella. Changed and Changed again, but she’ll always be the little bully. No one can love her, so she’ll make them all scared of her instead.”

Why had he said that? Why had he said that?

“You studied at the Etoile House, right?” Mirabelle asked timidly.

Stella nodded.

“I’ve heard the Head Housemaiden there is quite… rigid in her beliefs, almost to the point of it being antithetical to—oh, not that I want to insult her! I’m sure she’s very kind!” She pressed her lips together as Stella laughed.

“Oh, she was a crab!” Stella sipped her tea and grabbed a chair from the kitchen, so she could join the others in the den. “She’d made me wish I’d stayed at the Bambouche House.”

“W-well, regardless…” Mirabelle cleared her throat and set down her cup, so she could start braiding her hair again. “Um. Dormont’s Head Housemaiden said in pre-seminary that in the Teachings of the Broken Egg—”

Siffrin stopped listening.

They stopped thinking.

They focused only on keeping each braid even and securing them with one of the teardrop-shaped or circle-within-circle beads Mirabelle had brought with her.

When Mirabelle stopped talking, Stella and Isabeau were both smiling, and Mirabelle’s heartbeat practically fluttered. She picked up her tea again, sipping it as she tried to calm down.

“So…” Odile sounded uncomfortable bring the topic back around after that. “You think that with the King’s Curse spreading, these fringe monarchists might feel more emboldened to act?”

Stella nodded. “Everyone’s going to be frozen soon, if you guys can’t get those keys and back to Dormont.”

“Who’d want to be frozen? To be stuck in some eternity, unable to change…” Mirabelle sounded at a loss. She wanted to try seeing things from these people’s perspective, but their goal skewed so far from everything she believed in that she couldn’t begin to even attempt it.

“The King plans on freezing himself last.” Odile also sounded at a loss.

“No use trying to reason with crazy,” Stella sighed. “It’d be easier squeezing blood out of stone.”

Isabeau nodded in agreement, and Mirabelle made a sad noise.

“What did they do, other than try burning down the Favor Tree?” Isabeau asked.

Stella sipped her tea while tapping her foot. “Manus—that’s who was at the door when I was healing Siffrin here—came to get me when he found a crown painted on the side of the town hall.”

“Who are this Manus and Rani in town?” Odile asked. “Apologies, but I’m unused to being in a country without police seemingly everywhere.”

“Everywhere—ow.” Mirabelle had tried to turn her head and apologized to Siffrin when he let go of her hair. “No, it’s my fault, Siffrin. Madame, Ka Bue has police everywhere? That sounds… excessive?”

Isabeau agreed. “Yeah, we only have Defenders in a few cities, and there’s a quota for how many of us can be enlisted at a time.”

Huh. Siffrin didn’t know that. Vaugarde was weird.

“Oh, it is,” Odile sighed without elaborating.

Stella answered, “Manus is an archivist and librarian. Not the one who keeps falling asleep on the job.”

Odile chuckled. “I assumed not.”

“And Rani is a housemaiden from Jouvente. They settled here not long after their pilgrimage and vows, and she does various odd jobs around the village. Masonry, clothing repair, glassmaking… they’re a ‘jack of all trades’ sort of person. Can't stand to do only one thing. Free time makes her antsy.” Stella shifted to cross one leg over the other. “Like Isabeau said, we don’t have Defenders out here, so it’s usually up to everyone working together to keep the peace. Usually, it’s not an issue. Worst thing we usually deal with is some theft, but lately… First, it was just fights breaking out. Fear making people act out. But now…” She shook her head. “I don’t know if these guys are even from the village, or if they’re from elsewhere and came over after finding out the Saviors are in town.”

“We—”

Stella held up a hand to stop Isabeau. “This ain’t part of your fight. Find those keys, get back to Dormont.”

Fight the King. Save Vaugarde.

No one said those last parts. No one was sure they believed it was possible.

Siffrin secured the braid he’d just finished. “When should we leave?”

Mirabelle jumped a little, as if surprised he was still next to her. Isabeau stared at The Prince’s Lost Heart.

Siffrin flexed his sore fingers and grabbed the last of his cakes from the table. It was a soul cake, as he’d expected, even though autumn was months behind them. It was soft and crumbly, lightly sweet from raisins and currants and with a slight kick from a dash of pepper. When Stella asked how it was, he gave her a thumbs-up.

They tasted just like the ones Cúán had made for Gael’s final harvest festival—the night before Siffrin left.

… They didn’t want to think about that night.

They wondered where Stella learned the recipe but didn’t want to ask in front of everyone.

“Tomorrow,” Odile said at last. “Isab—”

“WHAT?!”

Everyone jumped and turned to look up at the loft. Bonnie crouched at the top of the stairs, face scrunched up and tears in their eyes.

“Bon—”

Bonnie cut off Isabeau, screaming, “YOU CAN’T LEAVE YET! I’M STILL SICK!”

“Bonnie…” Mirabelle looked down, and Siffrin wasn’t sure what to say. All they could do was look up at Bonnie with wide eyes.

Setting her tea down, Odile said sternly but gently, “Boniface, you’re not coming with us to Dormont.”

“YES I AM!” Bonnie raged as tears streaked down their dark cheeks. Their shoulders shook as they tried to keep from sobbing. “THAT CRABBING KING FROZE MY VILLAGE! MY SISTER!” They coughed, and snot started running down their face. “I PROMISED! I PROMISED MY SISTER I WOULDN’T GET FROZEN, AND YOU’RE THE SAVIORS! YOU’RE THE GOOD GUYS!” They coughed, coughed, coughed, their voice growing hoarse. “YOU NEED TO HELP ME KEEP MY PROMISE AND I—”

“That’s enough, kid,” Stella said tiredly, and Mirabelle took her tea from her as she got up and headed up the stairs. “Time for another steaming, kid. Your lungs are almost clear if you can yell this much.”

Bonnie scrambled back, and Stella paused halfway up the stairs as Bonnie curled up against the bed and hugged their knees against their chest.

“… I want Belle,” they murmured, and Stella sighed.

“Savior, you mind?” she asked with a hand on her hip.

“…” Mirabelle swallowed and got up, putting Stella’s tea on the table. “Come on, Bonnie.” She waited for Stella to jump down the stairs before climbing up. “You can have a cake after.”

Odile asked Stella, “Do you think it’s still safe for Mirabelle to stay at the lodging house?”

“…” Stella crossed her arms, and Odile sighed as she got up.

“I’d hate to—”

“Nah. If you think ya won’t mind piling up in my den for the night, then it’s fine. There’s only two stalls in my stable, but I can leave Daffodil at the stable by the lodging house, so Lily and Dahliah can stay here for the night.”

“That’s very generous of you,” Odile said, and Stella nodded. “If there’s—”

“Nah.” Stella drew in a breath. “Give the King an extra stab in the gut for me. Consider that my payment.”

Isabeau smiled solemnly as Odile gave a half-hearted laugh.

“Will do,” she promised.

Mirabelle guided Bonnie down the stairs; they winced with each step but could at least walk on their own again. The bandages on their feet needed to be changed, and Stella reminded Mirabelle where the clean ones were kept.

“So, what’s the plan?” Isabeau asked, keeping his voice low. His gaze was still on Bonnie’s book.

Odile adjusted her glasses. “Stella and I will take Daffodil to the lodging house and bring back our bags and horses. While there, we might as well ask around if people have heard any sort of chatter of these monarchist radicals.”

“Caterina hadn’t heard anything when I talked to her earlier, but it won’t hurt to check again.” Stella tugged at her long gloves. “You guys keep an eye out while we’re gone. If they know you’re here, then they might know already I’m helping you.”

Isabeau nodded, looking grim but determined. He met Siffrin’s eyes and tried for a smile before facing Stella again and getting to his feet. “Got it. If they try anything, they won’t know what hit them.”

Siffrin nodded as they swallowed the last of their drinking chocolate.

“Then,” Odile said, sounding exhausted, “we’ll head out in the morning.” She glanced in the direction of the bathroom, Mirabelle keeping Bonnie’s attention with stories about her friends in Dormont while changing Bonnie’s bandages. “Early.”

Before Bonnie woke up, she meant. Siffrin nodded.

“Before we go…” Odile reached into one of the inner pockets of her coat. “Siffrin.”

Blinking, they tilted their head in question.

“I got these for you.” Odile set a dark, rolled-up leather case onto the table, followed by a hand-sized block of light wood. “I do hope they’re adequate.”

She…

Siffrin blinked and shifted closer, grabbing the leather case. He pulled at the thin straps and unrolled it, finding a set of six knives and chisels with smooth, wooden handles. The handles were bulb-shaped, much wider than the set they’d had to leave behind in Ladraig but very similar to the set they’d gotten from that kind carpenter in western Poteria.

“… Th-thank you, Odile.”

“You’re welcome,” she said, tone unreadable, and Isabeau was looking between them questionably. “Now. Stella, are you ready?”

Stella nodded and grabbed her hat from the hook by her door. “Yep. Let’s go.”

They left, and Siffrin reluctantly set down their new carving tools to help Isabeau clean the cups and fix dinner for everyone.

“That was really nice of m’dame,” Isabeau commented as Siffrin filled a clay teapot with water and dried thyme, mullein, and peppermint.

The herbs had been set aside on the windowsill above the sink; Stella had written on the slate leaning against the window, If I don’t get back before sundown, make the kid breathe in steam with these. Use the clay pot with the long, straight spout.

“Yeah.” Siffrin lit the stove and retrieved the cutting board and a knife from the drying rack.

“What’s been going on between you two?” Isabeau lit a hanging lantern as the room slowly darkened as sunlight faded.

Siffrin hadn’t expected Isabeau to have noticed the tension between him and Odile but wasn’t surprised he had. He grabbed two onions and a garlic bulb from the tiered basket hanging by the sink.

“…” He cut the basal plate off the bulb and started pulling the cloves apart.

Isabeau looked at him with worry as he set their cups up into the drying rack. “Okay…” He sighed. “Look, I know Odile can be abrasive sometimes, but she means well.”

Siffrin must not have looked convinced as they crushed the garlic cloves with the broad side of his knife, because Isabeau drew in a deep breath and kept talking as he retrieved a deep pot and started filling it with water.

“She’s been traveling a long time by herself, like you.” He kept his eyes on the pot and held it steady while Siffrin continued smacking the garlic cloves to peel the paper off. “And pretty sure she’s had… a lot of stuff happen to her, not that she ever talks about it. Uh, not that she has to! And you don’t have to talk about your stuff either!” Isabeau’s cheeks darkened. “Sorry. For bothering you about it before. But, well, um. With M’dame Odile, once you notice, it’s easy to tell whatever happened really affected her.”

Siffrin thought about her comment about the police being everywhere in Ka Bue. She’d said it through her teeth, shoulders tense.

“She just offered a peace treaty, for whatever’s going on,” Isabeau said as he shut off the water. “Maybe take it? We’re all stressed with the… well, the everything.” He grunted as he set the pot onto the back burner. “Things will only get harder if we can’t trust each other.”

Could Siffrin trust her?

They wanted to.

Since their fight with Stella, she hadn’t said anything about what she’d seen, despite clearly wanting to. Instead, she’d sent them on ahead while she’d hung back to buy him a gift.

They thought again of that Gaelish play, of all the other Siffrins that might exist in their own branches of reality. Would one of them be more equipped with handling this than they were?

They guessed it didn’t matter. Even if all those other Siffrins existed, they were the Siffrin that had to deal with what was happening here and now, regardless of how prepared they felt.

“Yeah,” they whispered, and Bonnie entered the kitchen with Mirabelle right behind them. “Wood-ever you say.”

Isabeau laughed, though not as loudly as he usually would, and Bonnie groaned.

“Not allowed!” they cried out, and Mirabelle giggled at their reaction.

The clay pot started boiling, and Isabeau fetched the stool for Bonnie, so they could stand in front of the fragrant steam.

Siffrin returned their attention to the garlic, casting away the last of its papery skin. “When you’re done, think you can help with the pasta sauce?”

Grinning, Bonnie punched the air. “Yeah! Really?”

“Really, really,” Siffrin told them, then froze as they stared out the window.

Was there…

Yes. Movement. Two people—at least—just past the tree line, using the lengthening shadows to keep themselves hidden.

Or so they thought.

And one of them was holding an unlit torch. Was that the same person who’d tried to burn down the village’s Favor Tree?

Isabeau almost dropped the eggs he’d grabbed from the basket by the stove when he noticed the look on Siffrin’s face.

“Sif—”

“Mira, watch Bonnie and be ready, just in case.” The edge to Siffrin’s voice made Mirabelle pull Bonnie further back from the window without question. “Isa, stay close to the door and cover me. We have company.”

Chapter Text

Reality stood closer to Bonnie’s books than Siffrin’s plays.

Back in the tower while searching for the third orb, Siffrin had thought that Mirabelle would be a natural at playing the ingénue on stage.

Soft and sweet-natured.

Innocent and inexperienced.

Pure and idealistic.

The ingénue inspired the hero, reminded them of goodness in the world, goodness still worth fighting for.

Or, with her death, she represented crushed hope, innocence broken by the brunt force of tragedy, a dark world growing darker. Her loss drove the hero forward, so they could take revenge, be the storm that would either save the dry garden at their feet or drown it, depending on which lessons they took from their grief.

Mirabelle wasn’t a mere side character meant to inspire.

She was the Chosen One, born in a modest village and living a normal life as a student and housemaiden before the Change God unceremoniously bestowed greatness and all the responsibility that came with it upon her.

Like the Belle in Shuffled Spells, she had no previous training in the powers she suddenly found herself blessed with, but also like Belle, she was determined to prove she deserved them—that she, out of everyone else in Dormont’s House, had been worth being saved.

Siffrin wasn’t sure she realized he and the others had picked up on that. How she shouldered such guilt over being chosen. How she believed it should have been someone else.

The Change God hadn’t chosen Eurphrasie, a craftonomy scholar some said to be one of the strongest Crafters of her generation. They’d instead chosen young Mirabelle, who hadn’t even gone on her pilgrimage yet. They’d instead chosen young Mirabelle, who’d failed to use her new powers to unfreeze the teacher that had managed to escape with her, who’d had to tell that person’s wife that she didn’t know how to make her time flow again, who’d had to leave home to find the orbs and someone—anyone—to help her.

She’d learned how to use her new powers since then, but Siffrin could see that every person that she’d so far failed to save had taken up space in her chest. She could feel them with each beat and flutter of her heart. They reminded her of their presence with each breath. They filled her, these ghosts, constantly asking Vaugarde’s Savior why she hadn’t been able to save them.

Siffrin had told her one night to keep her heart soft.

He doubted that, if in her place, he’d be able to follow that advice. His was surrounded by so many briars, he wasn’t sure anymore where thorns ended and flesh began.

It didn’t matter.

Siffrin wasn’t in her place. They were here, pulling laundry off the line and listening, waiting, thinking.

They were here, helping the Chosen One and ensuring she could get back to Dormont and defeat the King.

She was the one that mattered, the only one of them who stood a chance.

Siffrin shook their cloak and pulled it on, sighing as its familiar weight fitted over their shoulders. They righted their hat, the pins making the tip flop back and forth as they moved. Closing their eyes for a moment, they tapped their dagger’s pommel three times.

The setting sun cast wide strokes of light and shadow across the land, and the first of tonight’s stars flared to life.

There was something important about the first star of the night.

Pain pulsed over Siffrin’s temples; they grit their teeth as it spread over their forehead, briefly blurring their vision.

Blinking hard, Siffrin tore their attention from the sky and cleared their mind of thoughts of stars and books and plays.

The people behind the tree line hadn’t moved since Siffrin came outside with Stella’s basket. He could feel their eyes on him. He could hear talking, but the low volume and distance kept him from being able to make out any of the words.

There were two of them. Siffrin wasn’t sure if they were the only monarchist radicals, or if others in their group were elsewhere.

They listened, smelled the air. Stella’s garden and all those soaps and hanging herbs in the shed made it difficult to make out anything. If there were other people, they were too far for Siffrin to hear or smell.

Siffrin folded Isabeau’s shirt carefully before dropping it into the basket.

“Sif, pasta’s boiling!” Isabeau called from the door. “Bonbon wants to know what kind of sauce we should make.”

“Tomato?” Siffrin turned the line and pulled down Mirabelle’s dress. The pleats kept spreading out as he tried to fold it, leaving it looking more lopsided than everything else in the basket. “Or, I think I saw minced meat in the fridge, if we want a meat sauce. Either’s fine with me.”

“I’ll leave it up to Bonbon, then.” Isabeau met Siffrin halfway between the cottage and clothesline, taking the basket from them. He lowered his voice. “I don’t like this.”

If Isabeau didn’t already know how good Siffrin’s night vision was, he would not be allowing this. His worried expression showed he didn’t want to, but he was trusting Siffrin to run straight back at the first sign of trouble.

“I just want to make sure. Know how many people are there and if they have weapons and run right back. As far as they know, I’m grabbing plants from the forest for Stella.”

“Let me get a lantern—”

“Nah, I’ll be fine. There and back. It’s not far in.”

“Sif…” He was having second thoughts.

“I’ll be right back, Isa.” Siffrin smiled. “Super duper promise.”

Isabeau’s laugh was more of a rough exhale, but he smiled and nodded. He laid a fist over his heart, a silent promise that he’d be right there to cover for them if needed.

Siffrin nodded, acknowledging the promise and waved as they jogged towards the forest.

Halfway there, Siffrin started panting lightly, in case the monarchists were watching. They wanted them to assume they were getting tired and wouldn’t be able to put up much of a fight.

They kept one hand on their dagger, glad to have their cloak on again to hide the action.

The sun was nearly gone, long shadows carpeting the forest floor. Small animals skittered and climbed, and two nearby deer looked up at Siffrin’s approach, moved half a meter, and went back to eating.

One of the monarchists, crouching at the base of a wide tree, held his breath, but Siffrin could hear his heart pounding as he anticipated a fight. The other monarchist was calmer, her heartbeat steady and strong. She stood up straight against a tree, an unlit torch pressed against her chest.

Siffrin passed both without slowing and retraced his and Stella’s steps from when they’d first arrived with Bonnie. They might as well grab some more birch twigs.

Neither of the monarchists followed them, but they didn’t hear them get closer to the cottage.

Were they waiting for others? A signal? For Siffrin to leave?

Siffrin couldn’t help but smile as their heart drummed inside their chest.

A hunt, a hunt!

No, no, no, they couldn’t think about this like that.

Keep walking, Siffrin. Find the birch tree, grab some twigs, and turn back. You promised Isa.

They heard a low click and hit the ground just as an arrow whistled over their head. The deer took off, kicking up leaves and dirt as they sprinted away from danger.

Siffrin was on their feet as the arrow embedded itself into a tree, adrenaline thrumming through their veins and a wide grin slashing across their face.

Play time. They took off left, running a wide circle around the crouching monarchist as he cursed and readied another arrow.

Stop it, Siffrin mentally hissed at himself. This is serious! Get back to the cottage.

The other monarchist remained still and silent as a statue, and Siffrin made a sharp right, then left, circling around trees and making the crouching monarchist incapable of following him long enough to aim.

“Arrows!” Siffrin cried out, just as Isabeau shouted, “GET BACK!”

A boom from Isabeau’s Rock Craft as Bonnie screamed.

Siffrin dropped to his knees, the arrow close enough for its fletching to make a clean slice near the base of his hat.

A sound of metal scraping metal as Mirabelle ordered Isabeau to grab Bonnie and run.

“They’re after you!” Isabeau reminded her loudly, sounding torn. “BONNIE, UPSTAIRS! NOW!”

The monarchist with the torch was running. It was lit now, the fist-sized fire burning brightly atop the long handle.

Siffrin rolled and lunged, darting around trees and catching the other monarchist by his throat as he began loading his third arrow.

It and the crossbow dropped to the ground as Siffrin slammed his head against the tree, and they kicked the crossbow away as breath whooshed out of their lungs when the monarchist’s knee caught their ribs.

Siffrin narrowly dodged the monarchist’s left hook, and he danced back just as one of the monarchist’s hands made a scissors sign.

Don’t waste time. Siffrin rushed forward, taking hold of the monarchist’s wrists before he could ready his attack. They sank their fangs into the side of his neck, ignoring his confused swearing and drinking deeply.

Soon as the monarchist slumped between them and the tree, Siffrin stepped back and took after the monarchist with the torch.

The torch careened through the air just as Siffrin reached her, hissing as they slammed into her back and rolled across the grass before catching themself and rushing her again.

Fire raced across the back side of the roof’s wooden tiles as Mirabelle screamed Bonnie’s name just as they cried out for help.

The monarchist rolled to avoid Siffrin, but he caught her by the shoulder and flipped her easily onto her back and straddled her front, hands around her neck. He bared his fangs as the monarchist arched her back, knocking him forward. Siffrin ducked into his arms just in time and allowed the momentum to carry him, so he rolled over his shoulder and hip, ending up in a crouch and catching the monarchist by her ankle, yanking her down again.

Bonnie screamed.

Bonbon! Siffrin scrambled up and kicked the monarchist hard in the side of her head with his heel. The steel backing sliced just above her ear, and the monarchist let out a gurgling scream.

He rushed into the cottage just as Bonnie leaped into Isabeau’s arms. Mirabelle screamed in horror as her rapier slipped beneath a tall man’s ribs. She let go and backed up, raised hands trembling as the man dropped his own sword, as his hands clutched the rapier’s blade. His back hit the wall behind him, knee hitting the couch.

“I didn’t… I wouldn’t…” Mirabelle’s knees gave out as Siffrin pulled his collar over his nose and mouth while running through the kitchen.

Siffrin smelled smoke and blood and sweat and Craft and vomit. The pots in the kitchen boiled over, and the clay pot on the stove cracked. The swordsman, one hand still on Mirabelle’s rapier, made a scissors sign with a blood-slick hand.

Isabeau carried both Mirabelle and Bonnie out the front door, yelling something at Siffrin, who grabbed the monarchist’s hand and twisted it hard enough to break his middle finger before he could Craft his attack.

“No!” Mirabelle fought against Isabeau. “I have to heal him!”

“Mira—”

A low thump as Mirabelle hit the ground. Each breath was a wheezing gasp as she ran back inside, sweat leaving her face and neck dewy.

“Siffrin!” Mirabelle shoved him aside as he pushed the rapier further into the man’s body.

Wha… what? Siffrin blinked, blinked, blinked. Adrenaline pumped. The iron scent of blood left their throat burning, their gums aching.

The monarchist slumped to the ground, face pale, pale, pale. He trembled, not hearing whatever it was Mirabelle said.

“Siffrin, help me,” Mirabelle ordered, expression wild. Determined. Absolute.

“Mira—”

She turned towards Isabeau, who held onto a trembling Bonnie just outside the front door. “I’M NOT LETTING HIM DIE, ISABEAU! NOW GET BONNIE SOMEWHERE SAFE!” She swung her furious, pleading, guilty gaze back to Siffrin. Tears streaked down her cheeks. Her lipstick was a dark smudge across her face. Her half-braided hair glowed around the edges like icons of Mwudu's old saints as the fire lit up around the kitchen window. “And you will help me.”

Siffrin nodded after a beat, and Isabeau swore heavily but left with Bonnie, who hugged his neck tightly as they screamed obscenities into his shoulder.

The cottage grew hotter and hotter as the fire spread.

Siffrin was in Stella’s bedroom before realizing they’d moved.

Suture kit, suture kit. That’s what Mirabelle had told him to get.

There.

Fire crackled and popped. The ceiling caved in over the kitchen sink, and Siffrin pulled the high collar of his cloak over his mouth and nose again as he ran back into the den, suture kit in hand and smoke burning his eyes.

The man stared at his would-be victim, face unreadable and complexion waxy. His breathing grew shallow, and an aborted scream clogged his throat as Siffrin pulled out the rapier as Mirabelle held the man as still as she could.

She had seconds.

Blood spilled down, down, down, seeping into his shirt, his pants. His teeth chattered. His hands trembled at his sides.

Siffrin focused on the smell of smoke to ignore his blood and dropped Mirabelle’s rapier before pushing down on his shoulders to keep him still while Mirabelle pushed up his shirt. He gasped as Mirabelle hooked the curved needle through his flesh, pulled it together with silk thread. Her other hand pressed against his body, next to the wound. Sweat beaded along her furrowed brow as she struggled to divide her attention between stitching his skin closed and feeding Healing Craft into him to handle the internal damage.

More of the kitchen’s ceiling collapsed, and the man coughed, spitting up blood as he trembled and seized. His eyes rolled up towards the back of his head, and Siffrin held their breath as Mirabelle worked.

He wouldn’t have done this for you, Siffrin thought, but there was no point in saying it.

That wasn’t why Mirabelle was doing this. She was doing this, because it was the right thing. Because she couldn’t handle more ghosts crowding her chest. Because the only person meant to die at her hand was the King.

It didn’t matter if these monarchists didn’t want to be saved. Mirabelle would save them anyway.

The heat was growing unbearable.

Isabeau ran back inside, a scarf tied around his nose and mouth.

“Time to go,” Siffrin said, not sure if Mirabelle heard him over the fire.

There was a commotion outside. Bonnie yelled, and Stella and Odile barked orders.

The next minutes passed like a series of photographs being shuffled: Isabeau threw the monarchist over his shoulder and carried him out, and Mirabelle retrieved her sword as she and Siffrin followed; people from the village threw bucket after bucket of water at the cottage, dimming the fire little by little; two of the monarchists were taken away; Siffrin and Mirabelle were carried away from the cottage, into in a field across the packed-dirt road.

When Siffrin felt reality click back into place around them, they were lying in the grass and staring up at the stars.

“There were three,” they mumbled before even processing Odile had asked how many monarchists had attacked them. They blinked, wondered if they would have tried to save that monarchist, if they’d known Healing Craft.

They weren’t sure.

Probably not.

They didn’t have Mirabelle’s pure, soft heart.

“Four,” Isabeau corrected as he dropped to the ground on Siffrin’s other side. “But the fourth guy ran off soon as he saw Bonbon. I guess he hadn’t expected they were putting a kid in danger.”

“Is Bonnie okay?” Siffrin asked, voice hollow.

He kept staring at the stars, not wanting to see either of his friends’ expressions.

He kept thinking about the smile on his face, of wanting to hunt, to attack, to drink them all dry.

To kill.

Not even an hour before the attack, Siffrin had balked at the thought of hurting someone, even people who meant his friends harm. But then… but then…

But then as soon as adrenaline had surged through them, they’d… liked it. They’d wanted to fight, chase, bite, drink.

They’d pushed Mirabelle’s rapier deeper into that man’s body without a second thought.

Stars, what was wrong with them?!

They hadn’t felt this way since—

Stop thinking about it.

“They’re fine.” Odile sighed heavily. “Rattled, of course, but they’re alright.”

“Good,” Isabeau and Siffrin exhaled in unison.

“That was a…” Odile paused. “Brave thing you and Mirabelle did, Siffrin. Stupid, but brave.”

Siffrin expected Isabeau to disagree with the stupid comment and blinked in surprise when he remained silent.

If anyone in the party were to agree with Mirabelle about saving the life of someone who’d just tried to kill her, they would have expected it to be Isabeau.

Siffrin wanted to laugh. Tonight was full of surprises!

They were hungry. They wished the monarchists had at least waited until they’d had dinner first.

“What do we do now?” Isabeau asked. “Is Stella…?”

“She’ll be staying with Manus tonight,” Odile replied evenly. “He and his partners have an extra room. The hard part may be getting Boniface to go with her. As for us… we should leave tonight. Maybe the monarchists will fall back and hide again. Maybe they’ll feel backed into a corner and hit harder. Best we put distance between us and get closer to retrieving the fourth orb, regardless.” She paused to take a breath. “Once Rani and Caterina say the cottage is safe enough to enter, we’ll see about grabbing our things from inside, should they be salvageable.”

Isabeau fell silent and got up, and Siffrin sat up to look at Stella’s cottage. The front looked mostly intact, but they could make out the charred walls and where the roof had given way.

Townspeople checked all around it, some taking torches into the nearby forest as they searched for any hiding assailants. Bonnie was near Lily and Dahliah, holding onto Mirabelle’s dress and shaking their head furiously as she said something. Isabeau reached them, squatting down so he was eye-level to Bonnie. Siffrin could only see his back but could tell by their partial view of Bonnie that whatever he said was working—until it wasn’t.

Siffrin bit back a sad chuckle when Bonnie shoved Isabeau, waving their arms and crying as Mirabelle held up trembling hands and tried to reason with them.

Telling Bonnie they needed to stay in the village wasn’t going well, it seemed.

Odile, sitting with one leg bent so her chin could rest atop her knee, cleared her throat. When Siffrin turned towards her, she blinked in surprise, brow knitting.

“You have…” she trailed off and tapped her chin. Panic shot through Siffrin like lightning.

He scrubbed at his mouth and chin with his sleeve, finally smelling dried blood beyond the smoke that had caught between the threads of his cloak.

“One of them punched me,” he muttered, unable to look Odile in the eye. “I bit my tongue.”

Watching Siffrin, Odile was silent for a while before she sighed and turned her gaze back towards the cottage.

“I would have left him in there,” she admitted after a while.

“… I would have, too, if Mirabelle didn’t come back inside.” Why was he telling her that?

“Oh, I dare say she’s a better person than either of us,” Odile said fondly. She also sounded worried, as if she feared Mirabelle’s kind nature would end up being her downfall.

“She is,” Siffrin agreed easily. “A pure heart, like in Bonnie’s books.”

“I doubt the library will be getting those back.”

Siffrin laughed, surprising himself as much as Odile. After a beat, she joined him, hugging her legs close to her chest as laughter spilled over her and Siffrin’s tongues.

No one could sleep, but they stopped for camp anyway. Watch shifts would be in teams of two this time; Siffrin and Isabeau first and then Odile and Mirabelle after.

“Which one did they find?” Siffrin asked after a while.

They sat cross-legged in front of the fire, still hearing a ceiling caving in and the gentle squish of metal pushing through flesh and fat and muscle.

Isabeau threw crumpled-up leaves at the fire, half of them ending up in the dirt. “Guy in the forest. He was still unconscious when they found him.”

“… So, the one who set the fire…” Siffrin wanted to kick themself. They should have checked to make sure she was unconscious! They should have bitten her to make sure she’d stay unconscious!

“She won’t get far.” Isabeau didn’t sound sure.

His stomach growled, and Siffrin swallowed back a laugh. The dark flush on Isabeau’s face and his embarrassed smile made Siffrin cough as the laugh escaped.

“The croissants weren’t enough?” they asked, unsure if their smile reached their eyes.

“Guess not, even with you giving me yours.” Isabeau’s face grew darker. “You’re really sure you didn’t want any?”

No. Never. Siffrin still felt like that croissant from the boulangerie had fossilized at the bottom of his stomach. “I’m sure, and too late to take it back now.”

Isabeau chuckled. “Right, right.” He threw another leaf into the fire. “Honestly, I felt a little bad taking all that food when Stella lost her home.”

She’ll rebuild. Siffrin bit the tip of his tongue to keep from saying it aloud. “Yeah… And we’ll be rationing again, since Odile wants us to avoid towns for now, until we return the horses.”

Siffrin reached into the larger of his pockets and ran a finger over the smooth leather case inside. His new woodcarving kit had been away from the fire and smoke, and he’d nearly cried upon finding it unharmed.

“Yeah…” Isabeau sighed. “Well—”

“Don’t say it could be worse, please.”

Isabeau chuckled. “Superstitious?”

“Hard not to be right now.”

“I guess.” Isabeau drew in a deep breath and followed Siffrin’s gaze upwards. “You like sky-watching a lot?”

“Sometimes.” Siffrin reached into another pocket and clutched the silver coin inside. “What do you know about stars?”

“Stars?” A wrinkle formed between Isabeau’s thick eyebrows. “Oh, right! Stars! The dots in the sky. Um, they come out at night? I think Musmeer has an old story that they’re all bodies of dead gods.”

“I hadn’t heard that one. I thought they were supposed to be the bodies of their ancestors.”

“Yeah, I think the dead gods story isn’t as well known. It’s from back when Musmeer, Vaugarde, and Elothen were always at war with each other. I don’t think any details survived; it’s all speculation, since Musmeer didn’t write much down back then.” Isabeau cleared his throat suddenly, as if caught doing or saying something he shouldn’t. He looked back at Siffrin, who still stared up at the sky. “How about you? Know any stories about the stars?”

“Only that they’re really, really far away. So far that by the time their light reaches us, we see only how they were, thousands of years ago. We don’t get to see how they are now. A few might even be dead by the time their light travels through space enough to be visible to us.”

“…”

Siffrin started, heat prickling over his face as he tried to read the look on Isabeau’s face. “Uh.” He forced a smile. “Haha! Funny joke!”

“… Right…” Isabeau wasn’t convinced by Siffrin’s smile, but he didn’t push. He rubbed his forehead, looking like he was starting to get a migraine. “… Do you think Bonbon’s okay? I was getting used to having them running around.”

“They’re probably giving Stella a headache,” Siffrin joked, gaze returning to the fire. “Maybe Manus and his partners, too. It’ll probably take the whole village to take care of them.”

Isabeau laughed. “They really are a force to be reckoned with.” He grimaced when his stomach growled again. “And I wanted to try their pasta sauce, too. I didn’t want to give them a knife at first, but they seemed to really know what they were doing.”

“You gave the kid a knife?” Siffrin asked teasingly. Their smile turned genuine when Isabeau laughed. “Mag-knife-icent. That was really sharp of you.”

Giggling, Isabeau said, “Yeah, maybe I’m not cut out for being an older brother.”

“Oh, don’t cut yourself down. I’m sure you have your best stab at it.”

“You’re knife-r going to stop, huh?”

“Why? Am I putting you on edge?”

“Change, I lo—” Isabeau’s face darkened again. “I really like how cleaver you are.”

Siffrin’s cheeks started to hurt from smiling so much. “We should end the bit here.”

“Booo.” Isabeau winced when his stomach growled again.

“Set up a spit.” Siffrin hopped up to their feet. “I’ll go grab a rabbit.”

“Sif—”

“It’ll be fine. I won’t go far, promise, and it’ll still be a few hours before we get to sleep.”

Isabeau crossed his arms, hesitating. “You didn’t sleep well last night. I’m not sure it’s a good idea for you to leave camp.”

Had it only been one night since they’d first brought Bonnie to Stella’s cottage? It felt like weeks had passed. Longer.

“I haven’t eaten much either,” Siffrin reminded him with an embarrassed chuckle. “And to be honest, I think I’m still wired from… what happened.”

Isabeau searched Siffrin’s face and sighed. “Okay. Stay close, though.”

Smiling, Siffrin gave him a thumbs-up and jogged into the surrounding forest.

There were a few nearby deer that scampered off at Siffrin’s approach. He ignored them and listened for the scuttling of rabbits. They were easier to find at dusk, but they were sure they’d find at least one.

Far off, a fox screamed, making Siffrin jump. It was a bloodcurdling shriek, like a woman as a blade sunk into her flesh over and over, unable to bring her to a quick and final end.

Siffrin rolled their shoulders as a shiver grazed down their spine.

Another scream right after.

This one wasn’t a fox.

Siffrin was on the move, weaving around trees even before their mind locked onto a single name: Bonnie.

Dagger out, he swiped at the air, knocking an arrow off-course.

The monarchist swore. Dried blood left half her light hair dark. A lit lantern hung from her belt, and one foot pinned Bonnie to the ground.

“GET OFFA ME!” Bonnie cried and coughed, coughed, coughed.

The monarchist notched another arrow, but Siffrin was already too close.

He slashed at the rope holding the lantern against her hip as he turned, other hand grasping the back of her neck.

The lantern fell, and Siffrin kicked it forward, the candle managing to stay in place and the flame sizzling but remaining lit. The monarchist was on the ground at the same time, and Siffrin tore his attention from her long enough to pull Bonnie up onto their feet. They wore their big boots, the sole on the right one melted around one edge.

“Camp’s that way!” Siffrin pointed, pushing Bonnie along and snatching up the lantern. They shoved it into their arms. “Run!”

The monarchist was back on her feet, and Siffrin got between her and Bonnie, dagger up and expression dark.

“Frin—”

“NOW, BONNIE!”

Bonnie flinched back at Siffrin’s voice, and after a second of hesitation, they ran, holding onto the lantern.

Siffrin leaped forward. The monarchist had traded her crossbow for a blade and jumped out of the way, slashing at them wildly. She’d misjudged their distance, allowing Siffrin to dance out of range easily before running around the tree and getting behind her before she could register he’d moved.

“How—AH!”

She spat as her face slammed against the tree, bark scraping skin as splinters shook into her eyes.

She screamed, and Siffrin slammed her forward again, grasping her short hair. He used his body to pin her against the tree, but his head barely met her shoulders. He pressed the top curve of his blade against the side of her neck, just under her jaw.

“Are there others, or is it just you?”

Instead of answering, the monarchist threw her whole weight into him. Siffrin nearly lost his grip on his dagger as he staggered back and allowed gravity to pull him down. He tucked and rolled, then dove to the side before the monarchist’s foot could smash into the side of his head.

She screamed as Siffrin’s dagger sunk into her calf.

She screamed once more and crumpled when he yanked it out again.

Finish it. Siffrin froze.

…

No.

They couldn’t.

This was a person.

The monarchist’s exhales pushed out heavily as she closed one eye to keep sweat from sweat from dripping into it. She reached for her blade and scowled when Siffrin kicked it away.

“This is useless,” she wheezed. “Your little savior can’t win.”

Siffrin tilted their head and stepped onto her wrist, pushing down with all his weight as she gasped, swallowing back a scream.

“You wouldn’t be going after us if you really thought that,” he said flatly, still wondering, still deciding, still conflicted.

“SIF!”

Siffrin blinked at the sound of Isabeau’s voice and stepped back, eyes still on the monarchist’s sweaty, dirty, bloodied face.

“Is Bonbon okay?” they asked as Isabeau reached them. They kept a tight grip on their dagger under their cloak.

Isabeau gave him a concerned look before looking down at the monarchist, who remained on the ground. She saw that she was beat, saw that this interruption might be what saved her life.

She didn’t take her eye off Siffrin, her face pale but expression defiant.

“They’re fine,” Isabeau assured Siffrin. “Mira and M’dame Odile are calming them down and healing their injuries.” He narrowed his eyes at the monarchist. “Going after a little kid? Really?”

The monarchist spat at him, her saliva dark with blood. Her calf still bled. Siffrin's throat ached.

“Leave her here.” Isabeau sounded like he was fighting himself and nearly lost. “I doubt she’ll come after us again.” He didn’t move when she snarled a few choice words his way. “Let’s go, Sif. The others will need help packing up camp.”

He walked away.

After a moment of hesitation as Siffrin stared at the monarchist’s neck and listened to her thundering heartbeat, he sheathed his dagger and followed.

Chapter Text

Even if no one in the party—except Bonnie—believed the King could be defeated, encountering those monarchists had galvanized the others further to try.

Next time they stopped, Siffrin was outvoted and ordered to sleep instead of taking watch. He dreamed of that monarchist crushing Bonnie’s spine beneath her boot as blood curtained half her face.

He woke up smelling dirt and sand and salt and sea. Tears pricked his eyes, a name tumbling over his tongue. Something slipped over his head as he rubbed away sleep and scrambled memories.

“Who’s Hemi?”

Groggily, Siffrin sat up, rubbing one eye still. They felt small items tumble into their lap, and they turned to look down at where Bonnie’s hat had slid off their head. Had Bonnie put it on them? Why?

Wait, they could guess why. They remembered being a kid and placing random objects on one of the napping teachers to see how long it took before the small disturbances woke them up. It looked like Bonnie had been at it for a while; Siffrin finally noticed the items in their lap. The painted rock they’d picked up before reaching Chasion, the whetstone one of the Voimort housemaidens gave them, the comb from Isabeau, the chunk of brick from the mountain fortress, a wooden rabbit they’d finished carving last night, one of Mirabelle’s lipsticks, a pack of playing cards, and their dagger (thankfully sheathed).

“Please don’t touch my dagger, Bonbon.” Siffrin swallowed a yawn and put the whetstone, brick chunk, and painted rock into his pockets. “It was a present.”

“From who? From that Hemi person?” Bonnie was sitting cross-legged next to his bedroll, hair sticking up in all directions and looking like it couldn’t decide if it wanted to be wavy or curly.

Hemi? Something about the name said Siffrin should remember someone with it, but…

Ugh, their head hurt. They fought a grimace and started combing their hair to give their hands something to do.

“Someone important,” they said vaguely, a name at the tip of their tongue, both bitter and sweet. They thought they remembered darkless robes and decorated locs that grazed a marble floor, but the longer they tried to hold onto that blurring thought, the worse their headache grew. Let go.

They blinked, headache slowly ebbing.

Bonnie was frowning. Oh, they’d asked something.

“Sorry, Bonbon, I didn’t hear you. Headache.” Siffrin picked up the lipstick. “Take this back to Mira, please.”

“Do it yourself!” Bonnie huffed and snatched their hat up from the ground. “She’s the one that wanted me to wake you up in the first crabbing place.”

Bonnie stomped out of the tent, and Siffrin sighed.

In some ways, kids were easier than adults. They hadn’t yet learned all the waltzing of social conventions that Siffrin still struggled with—it didn’t help that so many changed country to country, region to region—allowing them bluntness and openness many adults felt they couldn’t afford. At the same time, this very thing also made them hard to deal with at times.

Kids were honest and expected honesty in return. It didn’t matter that Siffrin couldn’t remember the truth a lot of times; not telling it was still akin to lying.

Oh, well. Either Siffrin would apologize, or one of the others would try their best to explain his frayed memory to them.

Mirabelle slipped into the tent as Siffrin tucked their comb away, and she smiled when Siffrin held out her lipstick and the pack of cards.

“I was wondering where that went.” Mirabelle sighed, then giggled as she took the items and slipped them into her dress pocket. “I had to pick the other shade I brought.”

Her lips were lighter than usual; Siffrin guessed she preferred the darker shade.

“Time to finish braiding your hair?” they asked, chuckling when Mira groaned and scooted closer.

“Please. Change, I really hope we don’t get interrupted this time.”

After camp had gotten packed up two nights ago, Bonnie had cried out about their hat—it had fallen in the forest when the monarchist spotted and grabbed them. Odile had been halfway through suggesting they get them a new one later when Bonnie screamed, saying it had been their sister’s. Siffrin had volunteered to search for it, Mirabelle following with the lantern.

The monarchist had been gone. A blood trail had ended where hoofprints began; he’d guessed someone had found and grabbed her. In that short amount of time, her ally must have been nearby already. Maybe it was that fourth monarchist Isabeau had mentioned, the one who ran upon realizing the others were willing to put a child in danger. Maybe someone else in the group that hadn’t been at the cottage.

Siffrin did wonder if the monarchists had been from the village and simply seized an opportunity, or if their group was more organized than Odile and Stella had assumed.

It didn’t matter now.

It had taken a while, but Siffrin and Mirabelle had eventually found Bonnie’s large sunhat. It still smelled like the sea.

When they’d stopped for camp hours later, Odile had gone with Isabeau to the nearest village to send a letter back to Stella and Manus, letting them know that Bonnie was with them and safe. They’d all talked about it up to that point, and in the end, it was decided that Bonnie would be safest with them for now. They could always bring them back to Stella after securing the fourth orb. Odile had written down all the herbs and syrups and ointments Stella had used on them, so she’d gotten what they needed, and Mirabelle had spent the day studying the Healing Crafts book she’d taken from the tower as Siffrin braided her hair.

A Sadness had interrupted them, and Bonnie had been sent into the tent as Siffrin and Mirabelle made quick work of the monster. It had evaporated just as Odile and Isabeau returned.

Thankfully, there wasn’t much braiding left to do, and when his stomach growled, Mirabelle teased him that they weren’t going to let his appetite interrupt them. He laughed.

It smelled like Odile was making rice porridge for them—mainly for Bonnie. They were feeling much better, but Odile still didn’t want to risk overloading them and insisted on everyone eating mild food for now.

Bonnie asked her questions about okayu and sounded excited at the thought of putting plums into their rice. Odile’s tone stayed light and indulgent as she answered all of Bonnie’s questions about her favorite foods and various Ka Buan recipes.

Mirabelle struggled remaining silent, however, and as she secured a braid with one of her beads—all unharmed in the fire, thankfully—she said, “Thank you, for helping me.”

…? Where was this coming from? “Of course, Mira.” Siffrin combed through a section of Mira’s hair. Coconut and shea butter had finally pushed out the lingering smell of smoke. “I’m not having second thoughts about joining you, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“O-oh! I—that... That’s good.” Mirabelle cleared her throat. “B-but, oh, I’m… I meant… Thank you. For helping me save him.”

Oh.

That’s what she was talking about.

Siffrin’s smile fell. They focused on braiding.

“It was the right thing to do,” he said after a few beats of silence.

“…” Mirabelle doubted he believed his own words. “… Yeah.”

Maybe she wasn’t sure she believed it, either.

Camping instead of staying in towns and villages meant fewer chances for Siffrin to sneak away to drink blood. Odile insisting they continue to have two people up per shift whittled those chances down to zero.

They were less than a day from the Craft museum. News from the last village they’d passed said Etoile had fallen. They needed to act fast. Find the orb and leave. Outrun the Curse.

“No!” Bonnie waved their arms around as they shook their head, and Odile sighed. “I’M GOING TOO!”

“Madame…” Mirabelle startled when everyone looked at her. She played with one of her braids as she kept her gaze on the grass at her feet. “With the Curse approaching and monarchists still possibly being an issue and the Sadnesses... We really shouldn’t split up, even to watch Bonnie.”

Odile sighed again, crossing her arms as she turned to look down the hill. From their vantage point, the village was in clear view, appearing closer than it was. Far in the distance but all too close was lightless grass and hills, the sky above it dark—jarring and disorienting against the surrounding bright sky.

“Fine,” she growled. “Boniface, keep back when we come across any Sadnesses. We’ll be riding Lily and Dahliah, so hopefully they’ll be fast enough to evade most of them. Siffrin, the sun will be setting soon, so we’ll be relying on your eyesight to help us if we’re not out of there by nightfall.”

They nodded.

“You can see in the dark?!” Bonnie sounded both skeptical and amazed.

“I’m part cat.” Siffrin stuck out their tongue, pouting when Bonnie crossed their arms and narrowed their eyes.

“Don’t lie to them,” Odile warned, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah!” Bonnie’s nose scrunched up, and they leaned away when Isabeau tried to ruffle their hair.

“But yes, they can,” Odile told Bonnie. “Quite well, but since I’m the one guiding Dahliah instead of him, I’m hoping we’ll be able to get out of there fast.”

Bonnie turned back to Siffrin. “How come you don’t steer then, stupid?”

“Bonnie,” Mirabelle lightly admonished.

Siffrin shrugged. “Never learned, and I don’t want to accidentally hurt Dahliah trying to learn now.”

That answer seemed to be enough, because Bonnie nodded. They didn’t want either of the horses hurt either; no one was sure how they’d react when it was time to return them.

After finishing a quick meal of baguette slices with hard cheese and slices of salted meat, the party was on the move again. Bonnie sat squished between Odile and Siffrin atop Dahliah, their little arms wrapped tightly around Odile’s waist and Siffrin’s hands laying over Bonnie’s. This time, Bonnie didn’t complain about Siffrin’s cloak blocking part of their view, and Siffrin did their best to focus on the approaching village.

The sun was arching towards the horizon behind them, and the dirt path under them slowly widened. Odile pulled Dahliah back as Mirabelle nudged Lily ahead; the village’s welcome sign had fallen, nearly hidden in the tall grass beside the road.

No one came to greet them.

No one came out to see what was happening, to see what sort of people were entering a town so close to death.

The village was not devoid of life, though.

There were apple cores outside the window of a nearby shop, no older than a few days. There were fresh footprints in the dirt path. There were signs on windows and doors of closed shops and taverns and cafés, pointing any people remaining behind towards where food and water and medicine could be found. More signs had been posted underneath, condemning whoever had taken more than their share; food in town was running low.

“Spooky,” Isabeau commented, almost too low to hear.

“This way!” Mirabelle pointed right just as Siffrin smelled rotted wood.

“Sadness!” he cried out, and Mirabelle jerked on Lily’s reins, making her whinny as the party charged forward, away from the Sadness lying in the middle of the narrow street to their right.

“How’d you—?”

“There should be another road towards the museum ahead!” Odile cut in, interrupting Bonnie.

Dirt kicked up behind them as the party moved, trying to keep to wider roads whenever possible. They passed two more Sadnesses, and Siffrin caught sight of someone watching them from a window as they passed.

The museum looked like a renovated mill. The stream shushed over rocks and moss and disappeared into a wide pool next to the tall building. The pool was half the size of the museum’s foundation, and signs on the cobblestone wall built around it warned people that deep, underground caves in the pool and stream made swimming there dangerous.

“Oh, I remember hearing about this place, now,” Mirabelle said as she took half a step back from the cobblestone wall. “It’s a bottomless well.”

“Bottomless?” Odile looked skeptical. She waited for Bonnie and Siffrin to get down before dismounting.

“Probably not really bottomless,” Isabeau admitted with a shrug as he patted Lily on the rump to let her know he was walking behind her. “But it is really deep and with lots of caves. There’s been divers who went down with Crafted gear, to see if they can find where the water comes from but—” He glanced Bonnie’s way as they patted Dahliah’s neck and stopped talking. Instead, he dragged a finger across his neck, and Mirabelle nodded solemnly.

Creepy. Siffrin couldn’t help but stare at the water after hearing Mirabelle call it a well.

“We’ll stay away, then,” Odile muttered, sounding rattled. “Siffrin, get back! Were you not listening?”

Oh. Siffrin hadn’t noticed they’d grown close, cloak brushing over the cobblestone wall. They smiled sheepishly as Bonnie pointed at them and laughed. They stepped back; they couldn’t think of a wish, anyway.

There was a post for tying up their horses, and Isabeau pumped water that came from the well into the trough for them.

“We’ll be right back,” Bonnie promised, patting Dahliah again and then Lily, who nudged Bonnie’s chest with her nose. Bonnie giggled and hugged her head, which Lily allowed, blinking her big eyes slowly. “We promise. We super promise. We super duper promise.”

“Come along, Boniface.” Odile’s tone was edged with irritation. “We need to be quick. Siffrin, I doubt there’d be traps or such, but…”

He nodded and jogged forward to take the lead.

“Why would there be traps?” Bonnie asked as Isabeau nudged them forward, so they were between him and Odile.

“If I were running this museum,” Odile said, “I’d have some sort of security system in place, and with Sadnesses about, I’d want to ensure they didn’t destroy any of the exhibits.”

“Makes sense,” Isabeau agreed, and Siffrin drew in a careful breath as he pushed open the wooden door.

No Craft. He’d expected a Craft history museum to have Crafted items or presentations, but if there were, it was long enough ago for any lingering scent of it to fade.

“It’s empty,” he commented, voice bouncing off the stone walls.

Opposite of the door was a plaque, thanking the museum’s donors and benefactors, and above the plaque was a Crafted painting. The animated figures threw scissor, rock, and paper signs, and words wrote themselves into the sky above them, welcoming visitors to the museum and reminding them not to litter. There was a glass case below the plaque, but it was empty.

Odile suggested, “It’s possible that the most important items were taken away for safe keeping as the village was evacuated. Mirabelle, can you tell where in the museum the orb is?”

“Upstairs,” she answered without hesitation. “It’s a small room with no windows and lots of books and old newspapers.”

“Sounds boring,” Bonnie mumbled.

“I’d rather this be a boring errand,” Odile grumbled as Siffrin saw a sign pointing towards the stairs. “It means we can get in and out as fast as possible. The Curse is close.”

Bonnie fell silent, and Siffrin’s heels clicked along the floor as he jogged down the hall.

“I’m guessing it’s an interior room?” he asked, and Mirabelle hummed while Odile gave an affirmative.

“Most likely, unless the bookcases are simply covering the windows. It looks like this building has gone under quite the restoration to add extra rooms and hallways for all the exhibits.”

“This place is pretty neat,” Isabeau commented as Siffrin followed another sign that said the stairs were right around the corner. “I’d like to come back here sometime.”

“Indeed,” Odile agreed as her eyes passed over empty displays and dusty plaques. “It’s interesting to see what parts of Craft history—or history in general—that different places prioritize.”

“Sounds boring,” Bonnie repeated, and Siffrin snickered as he slowed down.

“The stairs are pretty narrow,” they observed, listening. No shifting, no scraping rocks or gentle buzzing. “Let’s spread out a bit going up, in case there’s something there.”

“Why?” Bonnie asked, crossing their arms. “Won’t that make it harder for us to help you?”

“It could—” Odile allowed, and Isabeau interrupted, “But if Sif needs to back up really fast to get out of the way of a trap or Sadness attacking, it’d be bad if they bumped into Mira.”

Siffrin nodded as Odile cut back in: “Too true, and it’s easier for us to run up to help them than it is for us to get back up if he makes us fall by accident.”

“Oh. Okay! Yeah! That makes sense!” Bonnie pumped their arms into the air, looking excited, and the others couldn’t help but smile.

Siffrin inhaled deeply as they started up the stairs, the stone smooth as river stone in some places. As Mirabelle followed a few steps behind, she warned the others to watch their steps—mainly for Bonnie’s sake, but she didn’t want to single them out.

They smelled dust and old stone. They smelled coconut oil and Isabeau’s lilac shampoo and a hint of smoke still trapped between the fibers of their cloak. They heard a chorus of out-of-sync heartbeats and a trickling stream. They heard—

“Siffrin?”

They weren’t sure who said their name. Dagger out, they were up the stairs, someone else swearing as the others followed while Bonnie asked what was happening.

Against the wall opposite the stairs was an old, dark desk behind rope and a sign; on either side of the desk were large, arching windows. Siffrin cursed while shoving up the rusting lock. They shoved it open as one of their horses gave another high-pitched whinny while someone cursed, and another person shouted, barking orders and making threats.

“Sif—”

“They’re after the orbs!” Siffrin shouted in a panic, and as Mirabelle started sprinting downstairs, they hopped up onto the window’s knee-high ledge.

“FRIN!” Bonnie shouted at the same time Isabeau went after Mirabelle.

Siffrin jumped just as Odile pulled Bonnie back and screamed, “Don’t you dare—!”

He landed in a crouch on a protruding, metal pole that had once held the mill’s waterwheel in place. Above, Odile was still shouting, this time at Bonnie to get away from the window, as Bonnie gasped, “He really is part cat!”

He ignored them both.

Ahead, he caught sight of two people, one hopping away on one foot as Lily aimed for his chest with a heavy kick as she and Dahliah huffed and whinnied. The edge of her hoof hit his shoulder, and the second person shouted, pointing at Siffrin as he leaped down, heels clicking and free hand making a scissors sign.

Craft sizzled around him and split into three bursts as he spun in the air. Boom boom boom followed by screams and whinnies as Siffrin’s foot hit an algae-slick rock and slipped right out from under him.

Siffrin felt the biting cold that seized his muscles and clamped down on his joints before he could even register that he was wet and breathing in icy water.

Bubbles surrounded their head as they spat and coughed and wheezed, throat feeling like a hot tube encased in ice.

His feet scraped against rock. Plant life-like tendrils hooked on one boot, pulling him down just as his head was about to break the surface. One hand slid over moss and algae. His dagger sang against stone, the blade vibrating as Siffrin’s panic fed Craft into it.

That was it!

Chest burning, head aching, hands and feet growing number and number, Siffrin squinted and blew out the rest of the air in their lungs.

Seeing which direction the bubbles floated, they twisted around as the current carried them closer and closer to the well. One foot hit stone, the other water that was cold, cold, cold. Uneven ground and possibly one shot.

Siffrin was suspended, cloak floating up around their neck. They curled up into a ball, arms an X in front of their face.

Craft cut into the rock below as bubbles surged around Siffrin as they kicked, kicked, kicked and finally broke through the surface. Momentum from their attack carried them up and over, and they stumbled from rock to rock, knee smacking into the edge of the cobblestone wall surrounding the well. They leaned against it, clutching their dagger hard as they coughed and vomited while metal scraped metal and the ground shook from Isabeau’s rock attack.

“SIF?!”

Distracted, Isabeau took a direct hit from an assailant’s Paper attack, and Odile returned the favor with a Scissors attack even before Isabeau hit the ground. She ordered Bonnie to stay inside the museum, and Mirabelle disarmed her opponent before hitting them with a Paper attack that knocked him out cold.

She rushed to Isabeau’s side as Odile dug through one of their saddlebags, doing her best to avoid a very frightened Lily from stomping on her feet or knocking her over in the process.

At the same time, Siffrin hopped to their feet, swaying a bit as their lungs protested, as if not believing they were breathing in air this time. Lightless dots crowded the edges of their vision, and their cloak felt like weights had been sewn into it.

They rushed forward, a warning caught in their constricted throat, as the Paper Type that knocked out Isabeau turned their attention on Mirabelle.

Before she could raise her rapier for an attack, Siffrin leaped and slashed their dagger in front of them. With water dripping into their eyes and blurring their tunneling vision and their water-weighted cloak slowing them, the edge of Siffrin’s knife barely scratched the person’s arm, but they twisted away and stumbled over their partner’s fallen sword and body.

They rolled away as Siffrin’s feet hit the ground, and Odile splashed Crafted water over Isabeau’s face as Mirabelle picked up her rapier. Her other hand made a scissors sign, and Siffrin ducked to avoid a right hook as they slashed at the person’s knee.

They listed, Mirabelle’s attack missing their head by centimeters as a scream ripped from her lungs as the person grasped Siffrin’s cloak as they tumbled feet over head over the cobblestone wall.

It’s not so cold this time.

That was Siffrin’s first thought, bubbles exploding around their head as they realized they were underwater once again.

Paper Craft cut through the water and caught Siffrin’s leg. He hissed, free hand clutching thin fabric and dagger sending a cloud of darkness into their face.

More bubbles as the person screamed weakly, cold and water and exhaustion crushing them.

Siffrin pulled them up, kicked, stabbed again. They bit down, tasting fabric and hair and blood. They blew air and water out of their mouth and clamped down harder, one leg wrapping over their shoulder as the person tried to shake them off. Sealing his lips best they could around the wound, Siffrin drank, drank, drank. He didn’t notice at first when the person stopped fighting, stopped moving.

Their chest burned, lungs begging for air.

They kicked against the person’s body, kicked, kicked, kicked before realizing they were being pushed against an uneven wall, feet finding the jagged edge of a cave opening.

They stabbed the rock in front of them, but their dagger only slid right off. They tried again and again, trying to find purchase, trying to kick, to tread, to rise towards the surface as their lungs burned, burned, burned.

The freezing cold kept them from being able to feel the current, but it was there, pushing them into the wall over and over and over as they slowly sank, feet hitting only open water as they neared the cave they knew they would never be able to escape.

Stab. Kick. Slide. Stab. Kick. Slide. Stab. Kick. Slide.

Mouth against the oddly warm pommel of his dagger, bubbles swirled around Siffrin’s head and the hat magically still on his head as he said, “I wish… I wish…”

The pommel vibrated with Craft; something rattled inside.

Siffrin reached into their pocket, pulling out their wooden rabbit. They could barely hold onto it, their fingers feeling like brittle twigs attached to a lump of coal. They turned their head and whispered into the little rabbit’s ear. After listening to their wish three times, they dropped it, the rabbit dropping down, down, down, much further and faster than it should have.

Above, the dark cloud of blood cleared.

Above, a coil of rope slowly sank. Warped and blurred faces screamed.

Siffrin reached up, the rope sipping through their numb fingers even as his other hand remained firmly clamped around the hilt of his dagger, as if his glove had frozen against its surface.

Movements sluggish, Siffrin blinked slowly. His kicks grew less sure. His cloak threatened to pull him down, down, down.

He wanted rest.

The warped faces continued to scream.

He could rest later.

Stab. Kick. Reach. Slide. Stab. Kick. Reach. Slide.

The rope wrapped around Siffrin’s arm, almost as if it were moving along with him. He held tight as the brittle twigs that were his fingers allowed and pulled.

Hands were grasping, pulling, hitting. Water spilled from his mouth, down his face.

He coughed and coughed, Isabeau apologizing with each strike between his shoulder blades.

His hat and cloak and dagger were removed, and everyone spoke at once, a mixture of statements and admonishments and questions.

Are you guys okay? Siffrin tried to ask before he doubled over, coughing and retching and trembling as his friends swore and cursed and prayed.

He woke up curled under a pile of blankets and in front of a fire, far from the museum, and Bonnie hopped up to shout that he was awake.

“Oh, thank Change,” Mirabelle said in a rush, shushing and gently pushing and apologizing for touching him as Siffrin tried to sit up. “No, Siffrin, just… just lay down for now.”

“Mmf…” They moved their lips, but they felt rubbery, unable to fit around the words they… What were they trying to say?

“It’s okay,” Mirabelle said, her voice already sounding far, far away. “Go ahead and rest. We’ll have food ready when—”

Sleep stole Siffrin from the rest of her sentence.

They dreamed they were standing atop a corpse at the bottom of a dry well. Dirt rained over their head, shovelful by shovelful.

Siffrin woke up by another fire. Vague memories of Odile holding him in front of her as they rode Dahliah filtered through the fog of sleep and exhaustion and disorientation.

“Thank gems,” Odile sighed, and Siffrin smelled rice and scallions.

“Mmf…” Siffrin stretched and immediately regretted it. They bit into their forearm to keep from screaming as sharp pain spasmed dramatically through their calves, stretching and seizing, stretching and seizing.

The pain radiated all the way up to the crown of their head, and Odile swore heavily in Ka Buan as she pulled Siffrin’s trembling arm out of his mouth and wiped away the blood.

“Easy now, young one. You’ll feel better after you eat and rehydrate yourself.”

“Mmf…” Siffrin’s voice was a high-pitched whine, and there was movement and arguing as Bonnie was pulled back into the tent by Mirabelle.

“I DON’T WANNA KEEP PLAYING WITH STUPID CARDS I WANNA CHECK ON FRIN!” they bellowed, voice choking with tears.

Odile turned and said sternly, “You can check on him after they’ve eaten, Boniface. We don’t want to crowd them right now.”

There was a low thump as Bonnie dropped onto a bedroll and sniffled. “… Fine.”

“Mmf…” Siffrin blinked weakly up at Odile, confused at the deep worry painted over her face. No one was hurt, right? He tried to ask, but only a weak breath passed his chapped lips.

“Easy now,” Odile repeated, picking up Siffrin’s flask. “I’ve refilled this for you.”

Siffrin tried to lift their hand but couldn’t. It felt like their bones had transformed into lead.

Seeing their struggle, Odile uncapped the flask for them and tilted it towards their mouth. Siffrin’s chin trembled, throat burning, burning, burning.

They spat and coughed at the taste of metallic water, and Odile swore as much of it ended up on her trousers.

“Shorr…”

Odile sighed. “Slowly, now.”

She refilled it with water, idiot. What else?! Siffrin kept his expression even as he sipped cold water, trying not to grimace at the metallic aftertaste.

She was… staring at him.

“The water…” Her voice was low, distant. Barely audible. “It’s… dark…?” She blinked. Slowly. “You’ve better not have been keeping wine in this all this time.”

She was lying. She knew it wasn’t remnants of wine in the flask.

She knew, she knew, she knew.

Siffrin felt like he was back in the well, too numb and tired and cold to feel, to process how the current kept battering him into the wall, kept sinking him lower and lower towards that deadly cave.

Tell a joke, Siffrin. They couldn’t. They were too tired even for a sheepish smile. All they did was stare back.

Pain continued to twinge in his calves, but it was duller, tolerable. He continued to sip, and when the flask was empty, Odile used the darkest blanket to wipe his mouth and chin.

They waited in silence. When Siffrin didn’t throw up, she picked up the bowl.

Siffrin thought of the Voimort Head Housemaiden holding that teacup of blood for him. Lost in thought, he was surprised when a spoon appeared at his lips, when he smelled starch and scallions instead of copper and salt.

When the bowl was empty, the two travelers waited in silence once again. Siffrin didn’t throw up and nodded when Odile asked if they wanted more.

A second bowl became a third became a fourth.

Eventually, they were sitting up, legs crossed and blankets pulled over their shoulders like a thick cape. They placed a hand over their chest and drew a deep breath in… and let it out.

“Is everyone okay?” they asked, voice hoarse.

“Everyone is okay,” Odile said after a beat. Her brow wrinkled as her lips pursed, but whatever reprimand she held on her tongue was soon swallowed back down. “We’ve secured four orbs and are on our way to return Lily and Dahliah.”

“Does Mira know where the fifth one is?” Siffrin was still shivering, despite the fire, despite the blankets. Their calves continued to twinge; their throat continued to burn. They reached for their dagger, frowning when they couldn’t find anything strapped to their waist. They… were wearing the nightgown they’d borrowed from Mirabelle, plus a pair of pants that were much too long for their legs.

Odile was taking deep, even breaths, forcing her heart to beat steadily. “Apologies. We had to get you out of the freezing, wet clothes.” Her brow knitted in worry at the panicked look on Siffrin’s face. “And by we, I mean I dressed you. No one else saw.”

She waited as Siffrin slowly calmed down, nodding once as he managed to mumble his thanks.

“Of course. And if you’re wondering about your dagger, it’s in the tent. Boniface has been very particular about making sure it’s kept safe, reminding us nearly every hour that it’s important.” She smiled when Siffrin did. “Now, yes. The fifth orb. It’s not far from where we’re dropping off the horses, thankfully. We should be able to walk there in a week? Maybe two, depending on the weather. The latter, maybe, with our luck....”

“How long have…” Siffrin’s throat protested. It was too sore for them to speak any more than this.

Frowning, Odile drew in a careful breath. “Almost three days.” She waited as her words sunk in and swallowed back a sigh when Siffrin only hummed. “Alright. I’m going to refill your flask. Do you need anything else?”

Blood. He needed blood.

He shook his head.

“… Alright.” Odile exhaled slowly. “Are you alright with the others coming out to check on you?”

Her tone suggested she wouldn’t mind issuing threats to keep them inside the tent, if their answer was No.

“… -kay,” they rasped, throat burning, burning, burning.

Odile hesitated, nodded once, and grabbed Siffrin’s flask as she got up. She told the others they could come out now but not to crowd him too much.

Bonnie ripped out of the tent, dry tear trails on their cheeks as they ran forward.

Siffrin flinched, and Bonnie cried out as Isabeau scooped them up before Bonnie could bowl Siffrin over with a hug.

“Easy now!” Isabeau said with a forced laugh. “Remember what M’dame Odile said, Bonbon. We should give them a little space, yeah?”

“Yes,” Mirabelle said, sounding winded as she sat at the foot of Siffrin’s bedroll. “Are you okay, Siffrin?”

“Of course he’s not okay!” Bonnie wailed, wiggling until Isabeau set them down. “He almost died!”

Isabeau pulled them back as Bonnie tried to lunge forward and wrap Siffrin in a hug again. They sniffled but got the point and dropped onto the other end of his bedroll, knees pulled up to their chin.

Isabeau sat where Odile had been, one leg folded in front of him and the other bent, so he could prop his arm atop his knee. “But they didn’t,” he told Bonnie in a lighthearted tone that didn’t reach his eyes. There were dark circles under them; he looked like he hadn’t slept the entire time Siffrin was unconscious.

“Mm…” Siffrin swallowed. Their tongue stuck to the inside of their cheek. They grasped their throat.

“Why aren’t you saying anything?!” Bonnie trembled. The wide brim of their large hat shadowed their round face.

“Looks like their throat still hurts,” Isabeau observed, mouth pinching when Siffrin nodded. “M’dame Odile’s coming back with water in a bit. He’ll be good as new soon, Bonbon.”

Bonnie mumbled something into their knees.

Mirabelle opened her mouth but closed it. Her braids shifted forward as she stared at the ground. Her nails dug into the bedroll.

Siffrin tried to swallow again but coughed into the blankets. “… -acked… s…?”

“Huh?” Bonnie wiped at their eyes.

“Are you asking about the guys that attacked us?” Isabeau guessed, nodding when Siffrin did. “Ah, yeah, right. Well.” He took a breath. “There were three. Lily helped with one of them. Broke his foot by stepping on it when he tried searching the saddlebags and then broke his shoulder kicking him when you surprised them all with your acrobat trick.”

Bonnie muttered something into their knees again. It didn’t sound kind.

Isabeau continued, “Guy with the broken shoulder wasn’t with the other two. He was from the village and was looking to steal food and tonics from us when the others arrived. The other two were those radical monarchists. Tracking us since that first night after we left Stella’s place, apparently. Mirabelle knocked one of them out after they got me, and then… well…”

“Do…” Mirabelle cleared her throat. She couldn’t meet Siffrin’s eyes when he looked at her. “Do you remember falling into the well?”

Not really. He remembered being cold and unable to breathe. He poked a hand out from under his cape of blankets to make a so-so motion.

“They never came back up,” Isabeau whispered, eyeing Bonnie, who only continued to watch Siffrin over their knees. “Probably they got caught in one of the underwater caves. That current’s stronger than it looks from above the surface. We thought…” He cleared his throat. “Well, everything’s okay now.”

Bonnie got up, stomped, looking like they were about to storm back to the tent when they suddenly threw themself over Siffrin’s lap.

Isabeau and Mirabelle both jumped, but while Siffrin flinched, they placed a hand on Bonnie’s head, only for them to slap their arm away.

Clutching at the blankets, Bonnie looked up with teary eyes. “You crabbing idiot! Y-you—” They punched upwards but only hit the blankets. “You…”

“Bonnie…” Mirabelle reached for them but stilled when Bonnie flinched back.

“Mm -kay,” Siffrin rasped, tongue sticking painfully to the roof of their mouth.

“You’re not okay!” Bonnie cried. “You… you…” Their hands shook as they clutched the blankets and pulled themself up onto their knees, which dug painfully into Siffrin’s calf. “You need to promise! Promise you won’t get hurt like that again!”

“Uh, Bonbon—”

“PROMISE!” Bonnie ordered, wiggling as Isabeau started to pull them away.

“…” Siffrin held their breath. Bonnie’s heartbeat was thunder in their ears. “I… -om…ise…”

They weren’t sure they’d said it loud enough, but Bonnie sniffled and nodded, letting Isabeau set them down beside him.

Chapter Text

As a Defender, Isabeau had learned to be part of a team first and himself second.

And he’d loved it! At... at first...

The friends he’d made after his Change hadn’t understood, but Isabeau hadn’t expected them to. A lot of people didn't! And that was okay!

Isabeau had four older siblings, but he wouldn’t say he grew up with four siblings. Rather, he’d say that he’d grown up around four siblings. He wouldn't have been able to pick out his siblings out of a crowd as a kid, and he had no idea what they were doing now, if they had partners, kids, jobs they loved... anything! Some days, this depressed him. Other days, he missed them about as much as the neighbor who used to play piano at midnight. Every night. The most any of his siblings had done for him was leave toast on the table in the morning for him when their parents forgot to cook anything. Which they had. A lot.

That didn’t matter anymore, he guessed.

He’d Changed! He’d made friends! He’d been part of a team! He’d found a purpose!

He hadn’t spoken to any of his older siblings in almost a decade. He hadn’t spoken to his dad in almost as long. He’d only started speaking to his mom again after she’d Changed last year. She’d met Yvette, who’d encouraged her to apologize to her children. Isabeau was the only one who’d accepted her apology, who’d agreed to get to know the new her, and he couldn’t help but wonder if maybe his siblings resented him for it, even though their mom had Changed.

And that was fine! They could feel however they wanted to feel!

Isabeau had his friends. He’d gotten to know his mom again, the new person she’d become. He’d gotten to know Yvette, who was the ray of sunshine that Isabeau wished he’d grown up knowing. He’d had the Defenders.

Until the King froze Corbeaux. Until he began his march towards Dormont.

Until Mirabelle ran to the Defenders in Jouvente. Until Isabeau was the only one of them who chose to pack up and follow her lead. Before they met Odile, Mirabelle had asked Isabeau if he regretted coming with her; he’d said truthfully that if time rewound somehow and he'd gotten to keep all his memories, he’d choose to help her all over again.

"And this time, I'd know how to start a fire for us!" he'd joked, grinning when Mirabelle gave a small snort.

What else could he have done? The King's Curse was threatening all of Vaugarde! Sure, failure was likely! Sure, he might get frozen in time or even die, but if there was even the slimmest chance of ensuring everyone else got to keep going, then shouldn't he take that chance? He'd have frozen in time anyway! Seemed like a no-brainer of a choice, really! He'd thought his coworkers would have seen it that way, and he was still picking up the pieces of the illusion he'd built of Vaugarde's Defenders, now shattered beyond recognition. Now whenever he thought about them, all he could think about were the problems. The distant and secretive Defender Leads. The lazy coworkers who'd only wanted an easy paycheck and free place to live. The boastful coworkers who used their uniforms as a license to step on people's heads, just to feel taller, better, more righteous.

... If the King was defeated and Isabeau lived long enough to return to Jouvente... he... He wasn't sure he could return. His Lead had been more than happy to let Isabeau out of his contract, when he'd said he was going to help Mirabelle and that no one was going to stop him.

Even with the threat of the King's Curse looming over them, the quickness of his Lead letting him go had felt...

No. No, no... There was no reason to get paranoid and conspiratorial. This was important! An important mission! Of course his Lead would let him out of his contract, no questions asked! He'd have done it for any other Defenders, if any had been willing to join them! Of course he would have!

...

Although...

... It. It didn't matter. Isabeau wasn't sure if he'd be able to return to figure out if there was anything going on, or if he was just paranoid. Even if there was, there were so many checks and balances and dark tape that even if the Lead or some judge or anyone was trying to plan anything weird or nefarious, it would get stopped soon, anyway. Isabeau needed to worry about his friends.

And the King.

... Change, they all really had their work cut out for them. They weren't even in Dormont yet, and one of their party almost died! Twice! Not to mention Mirabelle, the only one of them who was immune to the King's Curse, risked her life, just to save that—

Isabeau hated how heated he was getting. Thinking about that night all over again. He hated how he couldn't stop himself from thinking that they should have let that man die.

He... hated it even more that part of him had wanted Siffrin to kill the monarchist that hurt Bonnie. How he... if he'd reached them and saw Siffrin standing over a corpse, he wouldn't have cared. He didn't like thinking that. It made him feel worse than dirty; it made him feel cowardly. He couldn't stomach the thought of killing either of those people himself, but he... was was fine just leaving them behind to be taken care of for him.

This... this mission was starting to change him, and he... didn't like it.

But Change was important! It was good! Isabeau had Changed, had become someone he could feel proud of! ... Usually!

... But this was different.

He—

Stop. Stop thinking about it. He. He needed to focus on what he was doing now, and right now, he and his friends were on their way to retrieve the fifth orb.

Bonnie had bid Lily and Dahliah goodbye with less fanfare than expected. Everyone giving them gifts upon hearing that their birthday had been earlier this month probably helped.

A book from Odile, a satchel from Mirabelle, a palm-sized wolf carving from Siffrin, and a cast iron skillet from Isabeau. He’d offered to carry it for them while they all traveled, since they’d be on foot again, but so far, Bonnie had been keeping it in their satchel without complaint. Isabeau had yet to get tired of the excitement in their big, dark eyes whenever they got to bring it out to cook something for all of them. He doubted he ever would.

He’d been excited when learning that his mom and Yvette were going to have a baby, but if the King wasn’t stopped, Isabeau would never get to be the big brother he’d wished had been there for him growing up.

Seeing Bonbon pretend to slay Siffrin as he pretended to be a monster chasing them, seeing them talk about (kid-friendly) books with Mirabelle, seeing them pepper Odile with questions about Ka Bue and her travels, giving them rides on his shoulders…

Isabeau was more determined than ever to make sure his baby sibling got to inherit a changing world, with him right there to make sure they never felt as small as he had.

Stopping to train made traveling take longer, but everyone agreed that it was a necessary risk. Isabeau loved the training sessions, even if he felt a little bad for the poor trees getting mowed down by their Craft attacks, especially when they were able to work together well enough to fire a Jackpot Skill. Since he was the most experienced at working on a team, the others relied on him taking the lead during training, and Isabeau always felt warm and giddy at having their attention, at getting to feel so big and important.

… It made him feel a little guilty, feeling that way, when he thought about it for too long.

So! He tried not to!

The recent sessions went better than in the mountains, and they even managed a few successful Jackpot Skills! Bonnie’s presence helped. They cheered everyone on, and their excitement was contagious.

Siffrin had been making more jokes during the recent training sessions, always smiling wider whether Bonnie laughed or groaned—often, it was both.

Siffrin…

Isabeau was worried about them, truth be told.

They’d looked like death when the others had fished them out of that well. They’d vomited water and blood, and Odile and Mirabelle had freaked out, worried that he’d ruptured his throat.

Mirabelle had fumbled over prayers as Isabeau swore, while Odile had cursed in Ka Buan.

“Water you looking at?” Siffrin had wheezed right before passing out. Isabeau doubted they’d even realized they’d said anything.

No one had laughed or groaned or rolled their eyes.

If the King’s Curse hadn’t been so close, they would have gone to an inn. They would have filled a tub with lukewarm water and left Siffrin until his skin wasn’t so cold, until his breathing stopped coming out as tiny gasps, until his pulse stopped wavering so frantically.

But the King’s Curse had been hours away from town. At best.

“Put his cloak back on them,” Isabeau had ordered. “It’s wool, the best insulator we’ve got, even if it’s wet.”

For once, Odile hadn’t argued with his knowledge. She’d nodded and pulled his cloak back over their head. She’d ridden Dahliah with him leaning against her torso, while Bonnie was squished between Isabeau and Mirabelle atop Lily.

They’d camped soon as they thought they were far enough away to remain in one place for a few hours. Siffrin’s teeth hadn’t stopped chattering for the longest time.

When Siffrin woke up, they’d still looked like death. They hadn’t looked fully present, their eyes glassy and distant. For two days, they’d held their breath anytime anyone got close to them, and when Odile suggested they stay up for a watch shift with her, Isabeau had been ready to protest.

“Sure,” Siffrin had said quickly, before Isabeau could object. “It’ll be a clear night, I think. Maybe I can help you with your astronomy research.”

He’d said the last bit in the slight tilt of a question, smile teasing, only for it to fall when everyone looked at him in puzzlement.

“Ast-what?” Bonnie had asked, looking to Odile, who shrugged.

She’d worn that frown she sometimes did, when she realized she was forgetting something, or when she was close to an answer but realized there was still an important piece missing from the puzzle.

“Regardless,” she’d said, still wearing that frown but trying to sound lighthearted. “I’m not researching that. Try again, young one.”

When Isabeau and Mirabelle had woken up for their shift a few hours later, Siffrin had looked much better. Healthier. Livelier.

... Smiling like a cat with a canary in its mouth. With glassy, faraway eyes, but not like before. More like they were running on adrenaline and gratification, like they...

Isabeau hated to keep comparing them to a cat, even with all the part-cat jokes, but... Siffrin had looked like a cat that had just had its first hunt after being cooped up inside and was antsy to get out again.

"Isabeau, he'd... he'd been smiling," Mirabelle had told him when recounting the night she ran back into the burning cottage.

He hadn't been smiling while staring down at the monarchist that had attacked Bonnie, but there'd been a look on his face that said he would have slit her throat if Isabeau had told him to do it. And Isabeau almost had.

"You don't have to talk about your stuff either!" Isabeau had assured Siffrin... Change, not even two weeks ago?

And he still meant it! Even if it was starting to become obvious that Siffrin's "stuff" involved bloodshed. And Isabeau hated that his insistence on allowing Siffrin privacy when it came to their past was more for his sake than theirs. Isabeau... wasn't sure he wanted to know, wasn't sure he could handle it.

Hopefully he was just imagining the worst, but seeing Siffrin practically swaying, looking at him more like he was a mouse he wanted to bat with his paws... Isabeau wasn't so sure how he felt, what to think. He definitely wasn't going to think about the warmth being looked at that way had led to! Nope!

It. It was only his imagination.

He. He should have been thrilled that Siffrin looked better! Thankful!

Instead, as much as he hated himself for admitting it, he’d felt… unsettled.

He... didn’t like feeling that way around them. This was Sif! Siffarooni! They could be a little strange, sure. They said odd things sometimes and occasionally felt distant—but not in a mean way! More like… they weren’t used to being around people? And didn’t know how to handle conversing with them for extended periods of time?

“I… never really had friends,” they’d told Bonnie as Isabeau stood in Stella’s kitchen after giving Mirabelle her leave-in conditioner.

Isabeau’s heart had ached for them upon hearing that.

Hearing some of their stories, though…

The carpenter in Poteria giving him a carving kit and always making sure they were well-fed; the person who’d offered food and shelter for them in Baktan after they’d lost almost everything; the healer with the dogs and sheep and ponies in Gael…

Isabeau had thought it odd in the mountains, when Siffrin said he’d worked as a healer’s assistant for a while. Healers didn’t typically hire hands to help with organization or holding their basket for them or taking wool into town. Usually, all that fell onto an apprentice, once the healer took one on, but Siffrin didn’t know any more than he did about Healing Craft, so that couldn't be it.

If Isabeau had to guess, he’d say the Gaelish healer had seen Siffrin wandering and needing help and decided to give it to him in a way that allowed Siffrin to keep their pride. It’s what he would have done, anyway, so maybe he was projecting?

But regardless, did they really not think of any of those people, who’d all reached out or helped them, as friends?

Did they not think of Isabeau and the rest of the party as friends…?

Isabeau felt sad at the thought that they might not, but he couldn’t bring himself to ask. That’d be awkward! It would just put them on the spot! He couldn’t do that to them!

Tapping his heel, Isabeau sat on a log while finger knitting a shawl. He was still only in the beginning stages; he’d had to undo the last few rows when he realized too late that he’d made them too tight. The bright yarn was soft and slipped over his fingers a little too easily. Wow, he was out of practice!

In front of him, Bonnie cooked quail eggs Siffrin had found and oyster mushrooms Odile had harvested.

Odile sat nearby, reading but ready to help Bonnie if needed. She was still unsure about leaving a child in charge of cooking for everyone, but she and Isabeau had agreed that giving them a job to do would be best.

Next to him, Mirabelle was back to studying the book on Healing Craft she’d taken from the mountain fortress. She hadn’t gotten any closer to learning how to heal multiple people at once, but that was a hard ability! Isabeau could hardly blame her, but she’d been doubting herself a lot more recently.

For whatever reason, her Healing Craft hadn’t worked on Siffrin after they’d fished him out of the well, and it weighed on her, much as she pretended it didn’t.

“What book did you get in town?” Isabeau asked her, and Mirabelle didn’t register he’d spoken for a few moments.

“Huh?” she asked, blinking as if just waking up.

Smiling and trying not to laugh, Isabeau repeated his question.

While in the last town, Siffrin and Odile had gone looking through another antique shop—thankfully without getting drunk afterwards—while Mirabelle had gone to a post office with Bonnie. She’d mailed the three books she’d bought back to her old home in Dormont with a note asking her uncle to take care of them for her, and then she’d taken Bonnie to a bookstore to purchase two new ones.

“Ah…” Mirabelle looked back at her book, mouth briefly twisting into a grimace. She shut the book, and he saw that it wasn’t the Healing Crafts book. This one had an embossed heart on the leather cover, stabbed through by three swords. “Um…”

“Oh, uh, do you not like them…?”

“Oh! No, no, that’s not it.” Mirabelle twisted one of her braids between her fingers. “Um. I’ve never read them before.”

“… And…?” Usually, Isabeau was good at reading Mirabelle, but, lately, it felt like she’d been building a wall around herself. It was worrying.

“And, well…” She looked away, and Isabeau finally recognized that her expression was one of embarrassment. “Well… It’s just they’re whole new character in whole new worlds and whole new stories, and… I keep feeling stuck? Like whenever I try to start reading one, I just… can’t?”

Not a problem Isabeau had ever had, but he was also the sort of reader who refused to dive into a series if it had more than ten books in it. He'd been a creature of habit as a kid, and sticking with the same characters and world for too long made him antsy, like he was that kid again, unable to break out his rut and take in new scenery. He couldn't say any of that, though, and honestly, it felt like such a small problem compared to everything else that, honestly, he was a little stumped!

“Huh…” He dragged the word out, trying to think of something he could say.

Eyes on her own book, Odile said, “I’ve had a similar problem. It’s why I switched to nonfiction books. That solved things for me, and it seems to be similar for you. You haven’t had issue with those reference books.”

“Well, yes!” Mirabelle took a breath. “But I still want to read horror and romance books! New ones! Just…”

“Then just read them!” Bonnie urged, sounding confused and frustrated as they moved scrambled eggs from the skillet into a bowl. “I’ll pick for you!”

They handed their spatula to Odile, who chuckled under her breath as Bonnie ran into the tent. Since they were doing watches in pairs now, they only set up one tent when making camp.

Mirabelle chuckled nervously, and Siffrin returned with everyone’s flasks and some rabbit meat. They’d all worried about Bonnie getting upset seeing dead rabbits, so Siffrin had offered to take extra time cutting up the meat into chunks. He could use the Crafted foil they still had from Voimort to wrap around the meat to carry back to camp.

Siffrin found Isabeau’s gaze first and smiled, which made Isabeau’s heart flutter inside his chest as he smiled back.

“Where’s Bonbon?” they asked as Odile reached to take the rabbit meat from them.

“Picking a book for Mira,” Isabeau answered, laughing when Mirabelle sighed and set aside the one she’d been reading.

As if summoned, Bonnie ripped out of the tent, a tome of a book in their hands. “This one! This one!”

“Whoa!” Isabeau caught Bonnie as they stumbled when tripping over a rock. Rabbit meat sizzled in the skillet, and Siffrin set down the flasks and sat near the fire, eyes wide with anticipation as Odile cooked.

Isabeau loved the sparkle they got in their eyes when waiting for food, and the way their cheeks puffed out like a hamster’s as they ate always made him want to laugh. It was cute!

The book plopped to the ground, but they picked it up again and slid it onto Mirabelle’s lap. “This one!” They looked proud of themself, and Mirabelle couldn’t help but smile. “The guy on the cover has horns and sharp teeth like Frin!”

“I don’t have horns, though…?” Siffrin shot Odile a look when she snorted and said something under her breath.

He told her something in Ka Buan, and Odile suddenly scowled at him. Siffrin responded with a grin wide enough to show his kitten teeth.

If it had been two weeks ago, Isabeau would have tried to step between them, but as he watched, he saw Odile roll her eyes, a corner of her mouth twitching upwards as Siffrin chuckled to themself.

Isabeau wasn’t sure what had been going on between them, but at least they seemed to be getting along better. Strained still, but better.

Mirabelle’s laugh sounded forced, but she held onto the book. “Okay, yeah, I think this book will be good. Thank you, Bonnie!”

Bonnie grinned ear to ear and pumped their fists into the air in triumph.

Isabeau glanced at the cover as Bonnie took their spatula back from Odile and asked her to get some spices. As she went to fetch them, Bonnie talked to Siffrin about the book Odile had gotten them, asking if he wanted to read it when they were done.

Indeed, the painted man on the cover of Mirabelle’s book smiled to show off sharp canines that should be too long to comfortably fit inside his mouth. Two sets of horns grew out of his temples, the longer set sweeping back over his head and curling so the points rested just under his pointed ears. He was shirtless, but what could be seen of his sculpted torso and muscular arms were covered in intricate tattoos.

“Didn’t think you were into those types of books,” Isabeau commented, holding up his hands in a placating gesture when Mirabelle gave him a betrayed look.

“I-it’s not that kind of book!” she squeaked, glancing at Bonnie to make sure they hadn’t heard. “Here.”

Blinking, Isabeau set down his yarn and took the book from Mirabelle, so he could read the summary on the back. It looked like it was the entire trilogy bound into a single book, explaining why it was so thick. The character on the cover started out human in the beginning of the first book but succumbed to his evil desires as a whirlwind, toxic relationship corrupted him. Isabeau stopped reading; he didn’t want to know what books two and three were about.

It all sounded… bad! That siren and pirate enemies-to-lovers book had been compelling, but he wouldn’t read it again. Romances where the main couple was toxic or just horrible people made his skin crawl. Just like with tragedies and horror, he struggled to understand how people found enjoyment reading those, but to each, their own.

Siffrin was getting better at resisting Craft attacks, and Isabeau was learning how to control his Kaboom ability. He could actually force it to spread in only one direction, so now he wouldn’t have to worry about accidentally hurting the others! Thank Change!

“Sure you’re okay?” Isabeau asked when the two took a break.

“Mmhmm…” Siffrin placed a hand over their chest and took a deep breath in… and let it out.

They did that a lot. Isabeau wondered if it was something they’d learned while traveling, or if it was something they’d learned from their family.

Ever since the cat café in Chasion, he and the others had been careful not to bring up the topic of family around them again. None of them were sure what had happened, but it had been… weird. Their face had gone suddenly slack in the middle of talking about the semolina cakes his family made before suddenly blinking, like they’d just woken up out of a trance. Then, his expression had gone blank, simmering anger barely contained.

It was just… weird, but he, Mirabelle, and Odile had decided not to bring it up anymore. Last time one of them had tried, Siffrin had laughed awkwardly and changed the subject.

Siffrin sat near Isabeau and leaned against the tree, which caused his hat to tilt forward and cast a deep shadow over his round face. Despite the bruise on his jaw that Isabeau already wanted to apologize for again, he looked peaceful, eyes closing and mouth curved into a placid smile.

Soon, he was asleep, legs curled up under his heavy cloak and lips parting slightly as his head lolled to one side. Cute…

It was a nice day. April was drifting into May. In this region, that meant a greater chance of getting caught in storms, which would slow them down even more.

Wasn’t Odile’s birthday in May? Would she want to do anything? They all should have something for her, at least, even if it was small.

As he sat under the dappled sunlight, Isabeau crossed his arms over his chest and let his mind wander.

This was nice, doing this. Getting to train one-on-one with Siffrin. Just hanging out with them!

Isabeau couldn’t keep the smile off his face, his cheeks warm.

He wasn’t sure when his feelings first started, but Siffrin’s behavior continued to be hard for him to really pin anything down. He could tell they liked hanging out with him. He could tell they liked his jokes and attention, but sometimes when Siffrin noticed that Isabeau realized something about him or suspected something about him, he clammed up. Like the thought of people knowing him beyond whatever mask he wore freaked him out.

Isabeau hoped one day, Siffrin would trust him enough to open up more. There were parts of him that worried him, but... Isabeau could get over that! He could! He wanted to know more about him! Whatever was in the past, was in the past, right? Sure, he could act a little... um... but!

Change was a process. It wouldn't be fair to hold Siffrin's past against them, whatever it was! What mattered was who they were now! And Isabeau wanted to get to now that person, not just the mask they'd carefully crafted to hide behind.

He wanted to know how he’d learned about traps and who’d taught him how to hunt. He wanted to know why he’d originally been traveling to Voimort and his favorite plays. He wanted to know about where he was from originally and more about what he knew about stars.

He just… wanted to know him, to help make the weight he carried just a little bit lighter, if he was willing to let him.

“Isabeau! Siffrin!” Mirabelle called. “Please don’t you both be knocked out, please!”

Isabeau laughed. “We’re over here, Mira!”

“Nn…” Siffrin yawned, blinked slowly, and closed their eyes again.

“Hey,” Isabeau said, reminding himself not to touch them. “Sif. Siffrin. Siffarooni.”

“Nng…” Siffrin’s mouth pinched into a frown, their brow furrowing.

Mirabelle let out a breath and jogged over towards them. “There you are! Oh Change, is Siffrin asleep?!”

“…ing,” they mumbled, and Isabeau chuckled.

“They said he’s trying,” he translated, and Mirabelle frowned at them. “What is it, Mira? Bonbon finish cooking already?”

“Not yet.” Mirabelle kept her eyes on Siffrin and crossed her arms to keep herself from trying to shake them awake. “Madame Odile wants to talk about our route to getting the fifth orb. I felt it move.”

Siffrin’s eyes opened, and he rubbed one of them. “I thought they were staying still now as we got more of them?”

Eyes downcast, Mirabelle’s lips pursed, and Isabeau felt unwelcome anger scorch through his veins. Siffrin held his breath.

Isabeau struggled to keep his voice even and low as he guessed, “It got found by someone? And they took it?”

“Monarchists again?” Siffrin’s voice was eerily flat. He hadn’t said anything about the well or the fire since asking what happened to the thieves, and Isabeau wasn’t sure if he wanted to bring it up—or how.

He really hoped Siffrin didn’t blame himself for that person’s death. They’d pulled him into the well, after all! As far as Isabeau was concerned, dying was the guy’s own fault!

But at the same time, the fact that Siffrin seemed so unaffected was… unnerving?

"Isabeau, he'd... he'd been smiling." 

Maybe Isabeau wasn’t ready to know all parts of him...

Coward.

“We don’t know that for sure,” Mirabelle sighed, but her tone said she didn’t like how coincidental this was. “It could be just someone who thinks they can sell it or found it and thought it looked pretty. O-or, it could even be someone who knows it’s for opening the Dormont House and wants to help us!”

“Hopefully, that’s what it is,” Isabeau said as he got up. He felt calmer. Yeah. Someone wanting to help made sense. It was that. Please, let it be that!

Siffrin nodded and adjusted their hat as they stood up, bouncing on the balls of their feet a little to stretch their legs. The bruise on their jaw was… gone? Already?

No, it wouldn’t have healed this fast, but Isabeau could have sworn they’d had a bruise there.

Noticing him looking at them, Siffrin met his gaze and tilted their head. Mirabelle looked between the two of them, suddenly confused.

“Guys!” She huffed. “Come on, we shouldn’t keep Madame Odile waiting!”

“R-right!” Isabeau looked away from Siffrin as he scratched the back of his head. “Let’s go, then! And don’t worry, Mira. We’ll get that orb!”

Siffrin nodded, and Mirabelle attempted to smile as she nodded, the beads at the ends of her braids clinking together.

“Yes,” she agreed. “I’m sure we will.”

Chapter Text

Those first two days after waking up had been the greatest test of Siffrin’s self-control he’d faced in years, and each time one of his friends had gotten within arm’s reach, he’d been sure he’d fail. How would he fair once they all reached Dormont’s House? With its inhabitants frozen in panic and terror, everyone was sure that it would be crawling with Sadnesses.

What would happen when Siffrin got injured on their way to find the King? Would their flask be enough? They doubted they’d be able to bite into someone frozen in time, and even if they could, they doubted they’d be able to leave their friends’ sight long enough to try.

He’d been surprised when Odile told the others that he’d stay up with her for a watch shift. It had been the perfect opportunity, so before Isabeau could object, Siffrin had made a guess as to what Odile was researching.

Of all subjects to guess…

Whatever. It didn’t matter.

What mattered was that before Siffrin could even sit on the log next to her, Odile had said, “If you need to use the bathroom, you might as well go now. Just try not to get lost this time.”

She hadn’t acknowledged Siffrin as they stared at her while she looked over notes in her book, so Siffrin had straightened, nodded, and left. This time, they’d made sure to remember which way they were going—or… they’d tried to, anyway. All the trees had looked the same, and their thirst was so bad that moving faster than a light jog had been out of the question.

To ensure they’d even be able to make it far enough to find a victim, Siffrin caught and drained a small deer only a few meters from camp. They hated wasting so much meat after draining an animal, but they hadn’t wanted to deal with Odile’s questioning looks or snarky comments. So, to help push down their guilt a little, they’d bunched up their cloak to fall more like an awkward cape, cut into the deer’s side, and cut out chucks of meat. They’d eaten it while walking, happy with the choice; they tried not to take too many portions when the party needed to ration and had still been hungry.

By the time they’d returned, they’d drunk their fill and had even gotten to refill their flask.

The next day, the group had stumbled upon the deer corpse, Mirabelle gasping and covering Bonnie’s eyes, even though she’d looked much more distressed than they had.

Odile had naturally noticed the clean cuts in the deer’s side, flies buzzing around the dark meat. She’d frowned and said, “A waste. Whatever did this should have brought it with them.”

…

… Message received.

Chuckling nervously, Isabeau had said, “Pretty sure it was a wild dog or something that got spooked, M’dame.”

She hadn’t said anything in response, and Siffrin had also remained silent.

A few nights later, Siffrin hadn’t been able to find any campers nearby, and they were too far from a farm or village. So, they’d drained three rabbits and brought their corpses back to camp. Odile hadn’t looked up from her book while he’d finished dressing them, only reminding him where the foil was, so he could wrap up the meat.

He’d eaten the hearts and livers when discarding the organs and bones away from camp.

Tonight, they were maybe two or three days away from where the fifth orb had stopped. Based on Mirabelle’s visions and Odile’s estimations, the fifth orb had been at the Encre House, which had recently fallen to the King’s Curse. They guessed that a housemaiden had escaped with the orb and was trying to figure out how to contact them to let them know where they’d brought the orb, or the housemaiden was trying to find them themself.

“I wish we’d taken more time to look around what Dormont’s Head Housemaiden had been researching,” Odile grumbled as she tapped a page of her book with a stick of vine charcoal. “With the first two, we’d been under the assumption that the placements were random. Then, when you and Mirabelle found those notes and books in the fortress tower, we assumed it was places she’d spent enough time in that the orbs went there automatically.” She looked at Siffrin as he carved a block of wood. “What do you remember about things in her desk?”

“Not much. I wasn’t looking very close.” Siffrin paused and looked at the block at all angles. “One of the wax tablets was old. I couldn’t read most of it, but I think it was about stars? There were papers sent from the Dormont House—petitions and stuff. There was that book about Healing Craft Mira took, and she asked me if I wanted a Scissors Craft one she found.”

“And you didn’t take it, because…”

“Coz every time I’ve tried to learn Craft from a book, I just got confused or overthought everything and hurt myself.”

“Ha!” Odile tapped the page faster. “Yes, many of those books are so bloated with theory that trying to learn practical Craft abilities from them can be difficult.”

That was as close to admitting she was in the same boat as she was going to get, and Siffrin found themself smiling.

They wouldn’t have expected Odile to struggle learning Craft from books, but then, her knowledge of Craft didn’t quite match up with the number of abilities she had, and she had only recently learned that powerful paper attack she’d been teaching herself.

“Why study at that fortress, though?” Siffrin asked suddenly, and there was a gleam in Odile’s eyes that said she was proud he’d thought to wonder about that.

The pride warmed his chest and tugged at a memory he decided to leave alone. Nothing good happened when he tried to grasp those loose threads.

Cutting into the wood block, Siffrin continued, “Even if she had a way of getting past the Dead Zone without problems, it’s not an easy place to get to.”

“Hmm…” Odile stared into the fire, as if she could scry the answer. “The tower was… an odd shape, wasn’t it?”

“I thought it looked kinda like a lighthouse,” Siffrin thought, recalling the oddly-rounded top. “Weird for a mountain fortress, sure.”

“You and Mirabelle didn’t explore the top, correct?”

Siffrin shook their head. “We found the orb on a middle floor. Third floor, I think? Most of our time was spent looking for candles.” They made a face at Odile’s look. “Just because I can see in the dark, doesn’t mean I was going to let Mira trip. She was nervous enough.”

Odile sighed but nodded. She propped her elbow in the crack of her open book, chin resting on her fist. “And you two came back down right after… There was nothing of import in that room?”

“Just beds. Some old weapons, I think. Nothing else in the box except old fabric.”

“Hmm…” Odile now stared at the fire like it had insulted her.

She was likely angry with herself for not pushing for them to inspect where they’d located the orbs, but it wasn’t like any of them could have known Euphrasie chose those places for a reason. They still didn’t; this was only a guess on their part.

“What else?” Odile asked, the fire’s light reflecting off her glasses. “In that office. Anything.”

Siffrin tried to think, but, stars, it felt so long ago! It felt like they’d all been traveling together for years, not weeks.

There was that one tab in Eurphrasie’s accordion folder. He wasn’t about to tell her about the papers he’d taken or that he’d burned them. What else, what else? Something… anything… It could be important!

There was that book in Eurprasie’s desk, the one they’d given to Mirabelle. They mentioned it, Odile raising an eyebrow but nodding when they described the embossed stabbed heart on its cover.

“I’ve seen her reading it from time to time,” Odile murmured. “By the mistakes in the binding and the notes on the pages, I’d assumed it was something someone bound at home and wrote to resemble a diary. Fictional diaries were a popular book trend in southern Vaugarde for a while. The mistakes in the binding were often purposeful, so that they looked amateur made.”

“Maybe the Head Housemaiden was reading it when she needed a break,” Siffrin said, then cursed when they realized they’d carved too much wood. The fox’s snout looked closer to an ibis beak. They hesitated but kept carving. Might as well keep going and see if they could pass it off as a stylistic choice. “Her desk drawers were so stuffed that I almost knocked myself out just trying to open one.” They stuck out their tongue when Odile laughed at the mental image. “I found the candles inside an accordion folder.” They shrugged at Odile’s questioning look. “Mira said that was normal for her and that the Head Housemaiden isn’t very organized.”

Odile sighed. “Unfortunately, messiness isn’t a rare trait among academics, I’ve found. The professor advising me for my thesis constantly lost papers they needed to grade, as well as my notes. I grew so frustrated every time I stepped into their wreck of an office that I broke in one night to organize the entire space.” She gave a small snort when Siffrin laughed. “Hmm… Alright. Well. When getting the fourth orb, we were unfortunately too distracted to do much searching, but I do remember spotting an old newspaper. The front page had stood out to me.” She leaned back to crack her spine, letting out a small, relieved breath. “It was about the bottomless well.” She paused, mouth tightening when Siffrin only kept carving, looking undisturbed by the fact the well she mentioned had nearly been his grave. “It mentioned some divers Isabeau had talked about, stating their names and where they were from. Apparently, the well’s source is mysterious enough that people from outside Vaugarde had been interested in being the one to discover it.”

Stars and wells. Something itched at Siffrin’s brain, but they ignored it and kept listening.

“With some of the words…” Odile’s brow furrowed, and she set down her charcoal to flex her hand. “They… kept shifting on the page? I couldn’t focus on them, and when I tried, all I got for my effort was a headache.”

Siffrin smelled blood before feeling pain. “Stars,” he hissed, and Odile looked up as Siffrin set his carving blade and lopsided fox down to pull off his glove. The cut was deep, pain throbbing throughout his thumb. He stuck it into his mouth, his skin slowly knitting back together again.

“You alright?” Odile asked.

After wiping his thumb on his cloak, Siffrin pulled his glove back on. “Knife slipped—don’t, it’s fine. It’s not deep enough to need a bandage.”

Odile hesitated but sat back down.

“And Isa just patched my glove for me.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t worry about that. I’m sure he’ll be happy to do so again.”

Siffrin wasn’t sure how to read her tone; they nodded and put the carving knife back into their kit.

“Now—” Odile was back to business, but Siffrin couldn’t listen anymore.

Getting up, they tossed their wood carving into the fire. “I’m going to use the bathroom.”

“…” Odile tried to read their face, but Siffrin’s hat was tilted so that it was veiled in shadow. “… Very well. Be quick. Mirabelle and Isabeau will be up soon.”

He nodded and left as Odile stared at Siffrin’s failed fox as it burned.

“Please don’t stab me in the hand, please don’t stab me in the hand, please don’t stab me in the hand,” Siffrin whispered absent-mindedly while carving.

So far, it was turning out much better than the last attempt, Siffrin trying to capture the likeness of a fox in the process of getting up from a sitting position, one ear turned and front left paw lifting off the ground. They paused every so often to hold the carving atop their palm to ensure it could still stand up on its own.

“That’s looking so cute, Siffrin!” Mirabelle gushed as she looked up from her book. She’d finally started the dark romance book Bonnie had picked for her, and despite the block she’d felt about starting a new book, she was already halfway through book one.

Smiling, Siffrin started carving away the top, following the way the fox’s spine would curve in this position. “Thank you.”

“Where’d you learn?”

“Feels like I’ve known forever.” His laughter felt hollow, leaving their mouth feeling and they rushed to continue, “B-but for detailed stuff like this, I mostly learned from Berlinghiero, a carpenter in western Poteria. Everyone in the city liked to say he was a descendant of Benasuto.”

“Benasuto?” Mirabelle thought for a moment and gasped in delight. “Oh! From that Poterian fairytale of the woodcarver whose carvings came to life during the full moon?” She smiled when Siffrin nodded. “Oh, his carvings must have been gorgeous if people said that about him!”

“They were,” Siffrin agreed, remembering how he’d stared at Berlinghiero’s carvings—birds about to take flight; delicate flowers Siffrin once tried to smell, almost surprised to only smell pine or cherry wood; cats ready to pounce or caught mid-stretch; and a bust with her face shadowed by a hood, which Siffrin had touched, his mind unable to comprehend that the hooded cloak was carved wood and not real cloth.

Berlinghiero had made his money by making chairs and bedposts, but his living had been built upon what Siffrin could only call miracles.

They’d spent years trying to capture even half of that life in their own carvings.

“I’m guessing he never carved his own son out of ash wood, though?” Mirabelle asked teasingly, and Siffrin chuckled, smiling a little wider as Mirabelle scooted closer and closed her book.

In front of them, Bonnie bossed Isabeau around, making him fetch spices or bring water or stir the soup while they focused on keeping the food on their skillet from burning. Odile, meanwhile, napped in the tent, reluctantly going when the others unanimously voted for her to rest.

Inspecting their carving from all angles and judging how to position the fox’s back legs and tail, Siffrin said, “If he did, it was after I left for Asmu’ur—”

They stopped talking, already regretting saying that much when Mirabelle widened her eyes.

“Oh, Asmu’ur—” She stopped herself, trying to smile.

While Asmu’ur didn’t have the greatest reputation in most countries, Vaugardian perspectives of the militant nation were especially… bleak, to say the least.

“Um.” Mirabelle cleared her throat as she tapped the edge of her book nervously. “Oh, Asmu’ur! I heard from another housemaiden once that they have a beautiful botanical garden in their capital.”

“There is,” Siffrin agreed, though they barely remembered it. It had been hard to see anything through the frosted glass covering the eyeholes in the mask they’d been forced to wear. “I got to see it for a bit during the Wild Hunt festival.” He laughed genuinely at Mirabelle’s frightened look. “It’s similar to Poteria’s Carnaval, really, except it’s in the start of summer. Lots of costumes and food.”

Bonnie’s head shot up, their eyes sparkling as they looked at Siffrin. “What kinds of costumes and food?! Oh, crab.” They quickly returned their attention back to the thin strips of frying meat in their skillet.

Feeling happy, overwhelmed, and anxious all at once, Siffrin replied, “Most of the costumes are animal-inspired, usually dogs, wolves, and foxes. Everyone fasts for three days—”

“You run for three whole days?!”

“Fast, like not eat,” Isabeau clarified, and Bonnie looked at him and then Siffrin, horrified.

“THAT’S WORSE!”

“Shh,” Mirabelle reminded, pointing towards the tent. “Madame Odile’s sleeping.”

“Sorry!” Bonnie bit their bottom lip. “Sorry. Why don’t you eat for three whole days?!”

“I think because of an old story,” Siffrin answered. “I don’t remember much of it, but I think the characters weren’t able to catch anything or eat for a long time, so people fast when celebrating until a big party on the third night. I don’t worship their gods, though, so I was allowed to eat, as long as it was in private, so I didn’t tempt anyone into breaking their fast early.”

His boss back then had been weirdly devout for someone who’d once snapped a subordinate’s neck for the great crime of disagreeing with him.

Isabeau seemed to notice the growing discomfort on Siffrin’s face and changed the subject: “So, Mira, remember anything else about where we found the orbs? M’dame might be disappointed if we don’t think of anything new by the time she wakes up.”

Now, it was Mirabelle’s turn to look anxious. “Well, for the first two, I was so focused on grabbing the orbs before they changed places again that I really didn’t pay much attention to anything else.” She tapped the edge of the book faster. “I searched an armoire while Siffrin searched the desk in the tower, and from all the dust, I’m guessing the Head Housemaiden didn’t touch the armoire much. Or at all, really. All the books were about Craft. Some practical guides for learning new techniques, some theory books, stuff like that. The papers Siffrin and I looked at were sent from the House, keeping the Head Housemaiden informed about what was happening and asking for stuff she’s required to weigh in on.”

“Hmm…” Isabeau stirred the soup when Bonnie chided him for stopping. “How about in the museum while I was watching Sif and Bonbon.”

Bonnie frowned as they flipped the shriveling meat, and Siffrin stayed quiet as they used the lightless end of a stick he’d taken from the fire to sketch how he thought the left back leg and tail should look, only to rub it away and try again.

“I think it was a storage room, or I guess an archive, just… not organized?” Mirabelle sighed. “Mostly I just remember it smelling like old books and mildew. Hardly any of the books had titles on their spines, and two of the shelves had signs saying those books were due to be copied, since they were damaged or so old they were falling apart. Some of the books gave me a headache when I looked at them? It was weird…”

“That does sound weird…” Isabeau took the soup off the fire at Bonnie’s direction.

“Maybe they were cursed books!” Bonnie suggested after telling Isabeau to grab a plate. “Like in The Book of Screams! Bastien finds an old, weird book at an antique shop, and then he starts seeing ghosts because of it! And he has to help all the ghosts stuck in the book, so they can leave and go to the spirit world!”

“Oh, my!” Mirabelle gave a small laugh. “Thankfully, I’m not seeing ghosts, but I didn’t touch any of the books there.” She thought, hands curling up under her chin. “Oh, Change, I wish I’d looked around more…”

“Well, we were kinda in a hurry,” Isabeau told her as Bonnie set crispy bacon onto the plate before dropping more strips of meat into the skillet. Melted fat popped and sizzled, and Bonnie swore when some of it hit their hand. “Careful, Bonbon.”

“You be careful!”

“Ooh, a definitely good rebuttal from the preteen.” Isabeau raised an eyebrow as he grinned, while Bonnie stuck their tongue out at him.

Siffrin and Mirabelle tried not to laugh.

When asked how old they were, Bonnie had said they’d turned twelve earlier this month. No one believed them, especially when Odile pointed out that their lateral incisor had fallen out recently, the adult replacement not yet having started to push through their gums. She’d guessed then that Bonnie was about eight or nine, ten at the oldest and was claiming to be twelve, because they worried that saying their real age would make them leave them behind again.

“What about Encre’s House?” Isabeau asked Mirabelle. “That’s where you think the fifth orb was before someone moved it, right?” His eyes widened a little as he looked suddenly worried. “Oh… sorry—”

“N-no.” Mirabelle hugged her book to her chest and took a breath. “It’s just… The Encre House is where my cousin Priscille transferred. We never got along as kids, but… I can’t stand the thought that she…”

No one spoke for a while. What was there to say? Siffrin’s carving knife hesitated over one of the lines he’d drawn.

“Want to talk about her?” Isabeau asked softly. “I don’t think I’ve heard you mention your family much before.”

“…” Mirabelle hugged her book tighter to her chest as she stared at her boots, and Isabeau tensed, looking unsure of how to comfort her. “… My dads moved to Poteria when I was little. I didn’t want to move. I’d dreamed of being a housemaiden forever…” Her mouth curved into a tiny smile but fell. “So, I lived with my uncles Benoît and Aubin and cousins Priscille and Renée until I was old enough to live at the House. Priscille’s my age, and Renée is turning fourteen in December.” Another tiny smile that fell a second later. “Priscille wasn’t as interested in the Change Belief when we were kids, but after I said I wanted to be a housemaiden, she said she did too, and…”

The pop and sizzle of bacon filled the lapsing silence.

“Belle…?” Bonnie asked in a small voice, but her eyes stayed on her boots.

When she wouldn’t continue, Isabeau offered, “Sounds like my two oldest brothers, Alois and Antone. They’re twins, and they were always competing with each other. Probably coz everyone always compared them to each other, maybe.”

“There's twins in my school!” Bonnie said suddenly. “They look exactly alike! So they wear different types of earrings, so we can tell them apart!”

As they talked about their friends Josephine and Delphine, the mood slowly lightened. The three listened to Bonnie regale them with stories of their classmates as they crushed crispy bacon over their bowls of soup.

“Feeling okay, Mira?” Siffrin asked as they ate.

Bonnie was explaining the plot of The Book of Screams to Isabeau when he asked more about it.

“…” Mirabelle stirred her soup.

Make her laugh, Siffrin. “Do you know why it’s taking me so long to carve this fox?”

Mirabelle blinked, disoriented by the sudden subject change. “What? Why?” She noticed the smirk on Siffrin’s face. “Oh, no…”

“Because I worry too much about de-tail.”

Mirabelle’s mouth wobbled as she tried to keep back laughter, but air blew through her lips as Isabeau barked in laughter. Even Bonnie laughed, before groaning dramatically when Siffrin bowed—while taking care not to spill his soup.

“Mirabelle.” Odile stepped out of the tent, her hair still in the low tail she kept it in for sleep. “Can you come here for a moment to help me with something?” She looked at Bonnie. “Go ahead and pour a bowl for me, please, Boniface. The soup smells heavenly.”

“’Kay, Dile!” Bonnie set their bowl down to fetch another. “Be fast so it doesn’t get cold!”

“Will do,” she promised as Mirabelle brought her soup with her to the tent.

Everyone was sure now that Euphrasie had purposefully chosen spots for the orbs to go, but they didn’t know why. They also weren’t sure why the orbs had revealed themselves to Mirabelle in the order that they had—if there was a reason at all.

“I feel like we’re just going around in circles with this,” Odile grumbled as she picked up a compact. Its button mechanism was rusted, making it impossible to open.

The village was so small that Siffrin was surprised it had an antique store. There wasn’t even a post office here—not an official one. Someone manned a storage-like office and handed everything to a mail-carrier that came this way from a nearby town once a week. The food shops hadn’t had the ingredients Bonnie wanted, but there’d been enough for them to make do.

Siffrin nodded as they gently inspected a Poterian Carnaval mask. There was no strap; instead, a button on the inside of the mouth was meant to be clenched between the wearer’s teeth in order to keep the mask in place.

While the two looked around the cramped shop, Mirabelle had gone to the village’s Change God statues to pray, and Isabeau tried to keep Bonnie occupied while also remaining close to Mirabelle—just in case.

“She must have been working with people for her research…” Odile looked over a shelf of books, pulling out ones that didn’t have their titles printed on the spines to check the cover pages before putting them back. “Mirabelle said she’d been in correspondence with housemaidens and scholars at Corbeaux before it froze, but it’s looking like she’d had quite a few of her fingers in various pies…”

Siffrin had no idea if she expected them to answer or not, so they nodded again while looking over some jewelry displayed inside an ornate cabinet with glass doors.

Shoving a book back into place, Odile scowled. “I’m missing something…” She rubbed her forehead with the heel of her palm. “… I suppose it doesn’t matter anymore. We could search her office for more information. Maybe see if that rumor Mirabelle mentioned about a hidden library holds merit, but…”

But the Dormont House was already frozen. They had a short window of time to locate the King and defeat him before ending up frozen themselves. Mirabelle would be fine, but their fight with the King would jump from hard to impossible if she had to repeatedly unfreeze the others in battle. Sifting through papers and reading books was lower on their list of priorities once they unlocked the House’s front gate.

Odile went into the back room, and Siffrin’s gaze fell onto a ring. He heard a steady heartbeat and jingling keys as he stared at it.

“See something you like, traveling one?” the shopkeeper asked, the floorboard squeaking as he stopped next to Siffrin.

Nodding, they pointed at the ring.

“Might be a bit big for you,” the shopkeeper commented, but he unlocked the cabinet.

That was fine. Siffrin didn’t plan on wearing it.

The shopkeeper was careful not to touch the front of the ring, like it might burn him if he did. “Rather macabre, but it is an interesting design, I suppose.”

Siffrin picked up the ring, inspecting it. The metal was heavy pewter, dented here and there from the jewelry-maker’s hammer. It looked like it was meant to be worn on someone’s thumb, the size and thickness reminding Siffrin of signet rings. However, instead of a circle or oval, the face was shaped like a star. Most interestingly, instead of a monogram or family crest were a pair of fangs with little grooves running down them from root to point. The fangs were smaller than he would expect but decided not to wonder about that right now.

He flipped the ring over, finding something etched into the back of the ring’s face, but when he tried to read it, his temples pulsed with pain.

Siffrin barely recalled following the shopkeeper to the front counter. They toyed with the price tag, accidentally ripping it off. Whoops. They set the ring onto the counter, looking down at the price tag before letting it fall to the ground. Okay, good. They had enough money.

Reaching for the coins in their pocket, they commented, “I’ve never seen a ring like this before.”

The statement felt sticky on their tongue, a lie. Except… they weren’t lying… right? They couldn’t remember ever seeing—

They stopped thinking about it.

“It is quite the unique piece of jewelry,” the shopkeeper commented as he walked around to the other side of the counter. “The one who sold it to us was quite the peculiar fellow, too. It had been years ago, not long after I first inherited this shop. You remind me a little of them, actually. They were taller, though.” He chuckled. “But, similar hat, though their cloak was more ornate, pinned in place with a brooch with a beautiful design. Talked a lot about their home, so descriptive, I felt like I was there! The lightless sand, darkless towers, and a castle built right into the… side of… a…”

The shopkeeper froze as he reached for his register, and the air smelled sickly sweet.

Blinking hard, the shopkeeper shook his head, thick eyebrows furrowing as his comb of a mustache wiggled over his mouth. “Hmm…” He blinked again, face finally going slack as he jumped, like he hadn’t remembered Siffrin was there. “Ah, traveling one, welcome!” He noticed the ring on the counter. “Oh, I’m afraid I’m not taking new inventory right now.”

…

Siffrin wanted to throw up.

They hesitated, feeling conflicted, but after a moment, they smiled, doing their best to look disappointed but friendly. “Aww, that’s too bad.”

“Sorry, traveling one, but business has been too slow lately.”

“Understandable. I think I’ll still browse a little bit.”

The shopkeeper’s eyes crinkled as he smiled, though his mustache made it hard to see much of his mouth. “Please do!”

Siffrin dropped the coins back into their pocket and reclaimed the ring, thumb running over the fangs. They slipped it into one of their cloak pockets as they headed towards the back while the shopkeeper hummed to himself, like he was trying to remember what he’d been doing.

Odile was still looking over the overstuffed shelves of books. She sighed in defeat as she pushed one back into place. She was still scowling and snatched another book off the shelf as if it was what had offended her. After a second of skimming it, she slammed the book shut and shoved it back into the shelf, the back of the case thumping against the wall from the force.

“Was it that bad? Well, I guess all books have their prose and cons.” He held up his hands placatingly when Odile jumped and whirled around with a murderous look on her face. “Oh, tough crowd.”

Gritting her teeth, Odile tried to calm herself. “I’m not in the mood, Siffrin.”

Obviously. “I’ll... go get tea or something. Want anything?”

Turning back to the books, Odile shook her head. “I’m fine.”

Uh-huh… Siffrin could tell she didn’t want to talk about whatever was going on; he was pretty sure she was still frustrated about the orb thing. She was probably frustrated about a lot of things, too many problems without clear-cut solutions.

He wanted to turn around and go, but something kept him in the doorway.

“One thing,” he said after a while, and he tensed when Odile’s spine suddenly went ramrod straight.

Her face was blank as she stared at the books in front of her.

Well, too late to stop now. Siffrin swallowed and managed to keep their voice calmer than they felt. “Tell me one thing bothering you. Even if it’s small. Or petty.”

Odile didn’t say anything for a long time.

Siffrin almost opened their mouth to say Never mind but kept it closed and waited.

Eyes closed, Odile swallowed a lump in her throat. She still didn’t face them. “…Omurice.”

Siffrin blinked and tilted their head. “That’s omelette rice, right?”

Eyes misting behind her glasses, Odile smiled sadly and gave a slow nod. “I’ve yet to find anywhere that could make it… the way I remember.”

“Maybe Bonnie can learn,” Siffrin suggested, voice soft.

“Heh…” She blinked rapidly and drew in a shaky breath. “Maybe… maybe they can.” She swallowed again, fingers drumming along a dusty shelf. She continued to stare at the books but didn’t look like she was seeing them. “… Thank you, Siffrin.”

Smiling, Siffrin nodded and left the shop.

The orb was on the move again, but Mirabelle was sure they were close.

“A housemaiden has it,” she whispered as she followed Siffrin. She wanted to watch him hunt.

His protests had only hardened her resolve. He worried that she was trying to push herself too hard. After lunch yesterday, she’d set aside her dark fantasy book to focus on learning more Healing Craft skills. She blamed herself for not being able to heal Siffrin more, and he hated himself for not telling her that it was his fault, not hers.

But if he told her that his body was resistant to Healing Craft, she’d ask questions he couldn’t answer.

They followed an overgrown trail, Siffrin trying to remember the direction they were heading. He should really learn how to tell apart trees besides a few stand-out species. It would make retracing his steps easier.

“It’s in her bag,” Mirabelle continued, keeping her voice low as she followed Siffrin. “But I saw her take it out at one point. She—”

She quieted when Siffrin turned and brought a finger to their lips. They’d warned her several times now that she might not like what she saw; she could turn back and return to camp at any point. She knew Siffrin didn’t have a crossbow and could make easy guesses as to how he caught the rabbits. Except on a few occasions, the party didn't camp anywhere long enough for traps to be ideal, so she knew they didn't use those. Different regions had different views when it came to using Craft for hunting; some places saw it as no different as using a crossbow, while the practice was taboo or even sacrilegious in other regions. Siffrin wasn't sure if Mirabelle assumed they used Piercing Craft to hunt, and at this point, they didn't want to bring it up. Maybe they should just use it this time, but they'd never done it before and didn't want to accidentally make the scene gorier than they would have just hunting normally.

Mirabelle looked nervous—almost scared—but she nodded when Siffrin once again asked if she was sure she wanted to come along.

Looked like Siffrin wouldn’t be drinking rabbit blood tonight.

Oh, well. He didn’t need to.

… Siffrin still didn’t want Mirabelle seeing this.

Snapping a rabbit’s neck was a faster kill than shooting it. It didn’t suffer.

But, still. They were aware of the visual, how grabbing a rabbit and snapping its neck before it could escape looked… heartless.

The thought of Mirabelle seeing them that way made their heart pound as they dove after a rabbit.

He caught it by the scruff, and Mirabelle thrashed through the bushes right as it stopped moving, one of Siffrin’s hands still wrapped around its head.

Mirabelle started to gasp but covered her mouth, swallowed, and nodded for Siffrin to continue.

“You sure…?” they asked.

Swallowing, Mirabelle looked sick but nodded as she laid down the small tarp Siffrin had asked her to carry. She knelt by it, lips pressed together in a thin line as she stared at the tarp.

Why was she doing this to herself?

Siffrin decided not to ask. Instead, as he laid the rabbit onto the tarp and unsheathed his dagger, he asked, “Were you able to see the housemaiden’s face?” He flinched at the way Mirabelle’s face fell. “Ah…”

“I-it’s fine.” She swallowed, holding her breath as her heart thudded hard inside her chest. She watched unblinkingly as Siffrin cut into the rabbit’s skin across its side. “She’s… Her name is Juliet. She used to be at the Dormont House. Simone—my old roommate before I ended up rooming with Claude—called us…” She covered her mouth to keep from gagging as Siffrin pulled the skin away in halves. “Um. Th-they called us ‘Plum and Apple.’ Be-because. Y-you know. Mirabelle plums and Juliet apples.” Her laughter sounded sad and forced. “B-but… she kept—” Mirabelle swallowed, nails digging into her thighs. “Sh-she transferred to Encre the same time as Priscille. She used to talk about Priscille a lot whenever we hung out. How pretty she is, how smart she is, always looking right at me when—” She swallowed again, blinking fast. “Like she was… like she just wanted to see me… react.”

Siffrin had no idea what to say about any of that. What could he say? That Juliet sounded like a crab? That maybe she’d changed—well, of course she probably had. Wasn’t that the whole point of the whole House of Change belief?

They… weren’t good at this. Feelings. Complicated friendship feelings.

He set the skin aside; the only fur left on the rabbit was its feet, which Siffrin broke off, the bones giving way easily. He frowned at the sound Mirabelle made.

“It… gets a little bloodier,” they warned her. You can leave. Please leave. Mira, you don’t need to…

They didn’t want to look at her face.

“I’m alright, Siffrin,” she whispered. “I asked to come along.”

But why, though? Still, they didn’t ask. They just cut off the rabbit’s head and pushed it aside.

“C-can you tell me more about Asmu’ur?” she asked. “I-I’m curious.”

Why this all of a sudden? Maybe she just didn’t want to think about Juliet and her cousin anymore. Siffrin didn’t know how to talk about feelings; the least he could do was distract her from them.

Careful not to pierce the colon or bladder, Siffrin made an incision in the rabbit’s belly, cutting slowly. “Which parts? I didn’t get to see much of the botanical garden, and I never visited any of their shrines.”

Not that they would have been allowed to, except for a few set up for some of the lesser gods.

Mirabelle hesitated, thinking. “I-I’ve heard there’s really pretty beaches there?”

“Not in southern Asmu’ur.” Siffrin started pulling out the organs. “Those beaches are all rock instead of sand, or just cliffs. And too many ports and boats to swim or anything. There was a nice one further north. The sand is darkless, and at low tide, you can walk to the islands. It’s not recommended, though. The tide comes back in without warning, and the currents can be deadly. Sometimes, people play Chicken there. They dare each other to run out as close to the islands as they can before getting too scared—and before the tide comes in.”

“… Why?”

“Usually, because they’re drunk.”

“Thank Change we weren’t at a beach when you and Odile decided to play a drinking game.”

Siffrin laughed at that.

“Please tell me you didn’t do that.”

“Don’t worry, I didn’t.” He smiled when she sighed in relief.

He quickly popped the rabbit’s heart and liver into his mouth while her eyes were closed; he barely chewed before swallowing. Even if it was only rabbit blood, smelling it was making him thirsty.

When Mirabelle opened her eyes, she stared at the pile of organs Siffrin was gently setting aside. “…” She covered her mouth and swallowed. “And how about the Wild Hunt thing?”

“I exaggerated a tiny bit, telling Bonnie it was lots of costumes,” Siffrin admitted with a sheepish smile. “Everyone wears masks for all three days of the festival, all usually made to resemble fox, wolf, or dog faces like I said. Sometimes sheep or rabbit faces, too, but for certain people only, and I don’t remember who or why. But everyone wears darkless robes with lightless sashes, until the third night, when everyone changes into lightless robes with darkless sashes for the feast and partying. Everyone eats and dances until dawn, and there’s usually bonfires, small ones you’re supposed to jump over.” He smiled at Mirabelle’s worried expression. “It’s fun, really! Oh, and there’s a play? Sort of?” He chuckled at Mirabelle’s teasing look. “Um, it happens in the street, but I’m pretty sure they were actors who rehearsed it. They pull audience members into it, so it’s even more interactive than usual plays.”

“What was it about?”

“It reenacts the Wild Hunt—from Asmu’ur mythology.” Siffrin took the Crafted foil from Mirabelle. “I was busy eating”—he glared playfully when she giggled—“so I didn’t realize about the play until it was halfway over, when the actors’ masks changed. They’d been wearing more human-looking masks at first, but they changed into fox and wolf masks underneath and chased after someone in a rabbit mask, pulling audience members after them to chase after them, too.”

Mirabelle smiled at Siffrin as they cut away meat to wrap up and bring back to camp. “That sounds like fun.”

It… was. A surreal but sweet dream surrounded by nightmares.

“It was, yeah…,” they said in a small voice.

The two were silent for the rest of the time Siffrin cut and stored the meat. To his surprise, Mirabelle still ate it later, and when she met their eyes, she smiled, and their shoulders relaxed. They still didn’t know why she’d insisted on joining them, but she wasn’t looking at them any differently.

That was all they could ask for, but a part of them couldn’t help but remind them that she’d only seen them kill a rabbit. She still didn’t know about the people.

And she never will, Siffrin told himself as he ate. None of them will. He glanced in Odile's direction and tried not to frown.

He stuffed food into his mouth, trying his best to focus on what Isabeau was saying.

Siffrin reached into his pocket and held onto the ring, rubbing his thumb over the star's edges. He wasn't sure why this ring had been made, but when he'd found a mirror and compared the size of the fangs to his own, his suspicions had been confirmed: The fangs set into the ring were baby teeth.

Chapter Text

Some people were willing to do anything to achieve the ending they believed they deserved. Sometimes, they were even so blinded by what they wanted, they were all too willing to burn every bridge and cut themselves off from any good ending at all.

“Big dummy,” Bonnie grumbled as they draped the hot towel over Siffrin’s back. “Za! Stop hitting them so hard!”

Wincing, Isabeau held up his hands placatingly. “We weren’t hitting each other hard, honest!”

Snickering as they lay on their stomach on a bedroll by the fire, Siffrin told Bonnie, “Go easy on him, Bonbon.”

Bonnie harrumphed and adjusted the hot towel. They’d heated it using steam, and Odile fished out some river stones that had been boiling inside the pot with a pair of tongs.

“What even happened?” She asked, looking from Isabeau to Siffrin and back with raised eyebrows. “I realize you two have been training to help each other’s endurance, but I’d rather you two not slow us down while you’re at it. The weather these past few days have been doing that enough.”

“Isa did his Kaboom move.” Siffrin folded his arms under his chin.

Running a hand through his slicked-back hair, Isabeau smiled awkwardly. He smelled of musk and salt, even from across the fire. By how much he’d been sweating by the end of today’s training session, Siffrin guessed this was the closest he’d come to beating him. Since they usually only trained for a couple hours at most, Siffrin couldn’t rely on simply running around to make Isabeau tire himself out. Working as a Defender meant he could see through a strategy like that easily, and he was more patient than Siffrin was, willing to wait for him to get bored and attack.

“And Siffrin ran up a tree to escape it,” Isabeau laughed.

“You ran up a tree?!” Bonnie exclaimed as Odile knelt by Siffrin.

“Maybe I can teach you—” Siffrin hissed in pain when one of the hot rocks touched the back of his neck, missing the towel’s edge by a centimeter.

“Whoops,” Odile deadpanned and moved the stone onto the towel, where it rested at the base of Siffrin’s neck. She poked Siffrin’s head with the tongs when he tried to turn and glare at her. “Keep still.”

At the same time, Bonnie cheered, fists pumping into the air. “CRAB YEAH! I WANNA LEARN, I WANNA LEARN!”

“Maybe once the King is defeated,” Odile suggested firmly, and Bonnie fell quiet.

Odile set another rock between Siffrin’s shoulder blades and said, “It’ll be hard for you to cook for us if Siffrin here gets your arms broken, Boniface.”

Bonnie was still quiet, but they were standing out of Siffrin’s line of sight.

Isabeau cut in, “Sif’s part cat remember? They have a hard time remembering what us non-cats can do.”

Siffrin was beginning to regret making that joke…

“Oh! Okay!” Bonnie’s tone suggested they didn’t believe Isabeau but were willing to indulge him. “That makes sense! Yeah!”

Odile sighed but left things alone as she continued setting heated rocks on Siffrin’s back.

“Mira should be almost done with laundry,” Isabeau said as he got up with a grunt. “I’ll just go ahead and wash up.”

“Please,” Odile said flatly, and Siffrin snorted as Bonnie laughed.

“Ha-ha! Za, she said you stink!”

“I’m hurt!” Isabeau lied, his tone dramatic, and Siffrin smiled, sure that he was doing that swooning thing, hand on his chest. “But fine. I’ll be back soon.” He squatted by Siffrin’s head, looking down at him as Siffrin rolled their eyes to look up, but their bangs blocked most of their vision at this angle. “You sure you’re okay, Sif?”

As Siffrin opened his mouth, Odile answered, “They’ll be fine. Now go wash up. Boniface, follow him to the river to fetch water for lunch. Walk Mirabelle back once you’re finished.”

“Okay!” Bonnie hopped up, boots tromping as they grabbed a pot. They protested when Isabeau tried to carry it for them.

Once they were gone, Odile let out a long breath. “I didn’t mean to hurt Boniface’s feelings on the matter, but I swear, if I see you—”

“I won’t,” Siffrin huffed.

“…”

Siffrin rolled their eyes. “And they’ll be fine.” Bonnie always got quiet whenever the King was mentioned. Sometimes they looked sad; sometimes they looked angry. Siffrin only got worried when they looked… blank, distant… empty. “… They’re resilient.”

“They are,” Odile agreed in a soft voice. “I… just wish they didn’t need to be.” She exhaled loudly, the topic now closed. “So. You ran up a tree.”

“Not as impressive as it sounds. I was trying to reach the lowest branch, but it was about half a meter over my head.”

“Ah, so someone of average height could have jumped to reach it just fine.”

“Hey.”

Odile set the last of the stones over the base of Siffrin’s spine, laughing when Siffrin practically purred as the towel’s and rocks’ heat spread throughout their body.

“Glad you’re comfortable,” she commented, knees popping as she got up. “So, you grabbed onto the lowest branch of a tree to escape Isabeau’s attack. And then?”

“And then, I decided to try attacking him from above.” Siffrin chuckled nervously as Odile took the pot off the fire. She’d throw out the hot water once it was cool. “I jumped to another branch to get over him, but…”

“You misjudged the distance?”

“I didn’t realize the branch was rotted,” he corrected, grimacing. “I’m glad Isa was able to get out of the way.”

“It’s a good thing you wear that heavy cloak, then. I cannot imagine the splinters otherwise.”

Siffrin tried not to shiver. They hadn’t thought of that. Landing on their shoulder hard enough for the joint to get stuck until Isabeau helped yank his arm back into place had hurt enough. The left side of their ribs and collar bone hurt worse than their back, but the weight and heat of the rocks helped.

… They should still take a “bathroom break” tonight, though.

“WE’RE BACK!” Bonnie announced as Odile started taking the now-cool rocks off Siffrin’s back.

Sighing, Mirabelle asked, “Oh, Change… Siffrin, what happened?”

She sounded more exasperated than worried; Siffrin couldn’t help but laugh.

“He fell out of a tree!” Bonnie bit out, sounding pissed off all over again. They huffed when Siffrin kept laughing. “Stop it, dummy! It’s not funny you fell, dummy!”

“Are you sure you didn’t land on your head, young one?” Odile asked, the teasing lilt of her tone subtle. She smirked when Siffrin stopped laughing and playfully scowled.

Mirabelle started to hang up their laundry on a line Isabeau had strung up in nearby trees before he and Siffrin ran off to train together. “How’d you fall out of a tree? I thought you and Isabeau were training?”

Siffrin sat up and slowly stretched their arms above their heads. Their shoulder protested as their collar bone ached, but the pain in their ribs had faded. “We were. I went up into a tree to escape one of his attacks and tried attacking him from above.”

Mirabelle sighed again, and Bonnie grumbled as they set their pot of water over the fire.

“What’s for lunch today, Bonnie?” Mirabelle asked, and Siffrin cracked their spine as they twisted one way and the other.

“I thought only Dile’s back made those sounds!” Bonnie told them, and Odile muttered something as she helped Mirabelle.

“It’s coz I’m around her too much,” Siffrin said blithely, a corner of his mouth turned upwards.

Without turning around, Odile ordered, “Stop telling the kid falsehoods! Boniface, they’re joking. It’s perfectly normal for people’s backs to crack that way, especially if they haven’t moved for a while.”

Bonnie glared at Siffrin, whose smile turned guilty as he reached for his flask.

“Sorry,” they told them, and Bonnie harumphed but nodded, accepting their apology.

Getting the largest of their bowls, Bonnie told Mirabelle, “I’m making rabbit and dumplings! They’re weird dumplings, though. They’re just dough!”

“Ah, so like gnocchi?” Mirabelle asked.

“Yeah!” Bonnie pulled over their satchel and dropped handful after handful of small potatoes into the bowl.

When did they dig up all of those? Siffrin couldn’t help but make a disgusted face after swallowing a mouthful of cold blood, which made Bonnie snicker.

“Hmm, that sounds good!” Mirabelle turned to smile at Bonnie, but their attention was now on the rabbit meat they were pulling out of their satchel. Their tongue poked out of the side of their mouth as they thought.

“What’s the potatoes for?” Siffrin asked as they recapped their flask and put it on, so it rested over their chest. They frowned at Bonnie’s suddenly mischievous look.

“For the dumplings!” They put the rabbit meat down and brought the bowl to Siffrin. “Now go wash these, and be fast! The water will start boiling soon!”

Siffrin had eaten gnocchi before; they hadn’t realized there were potatoes in them.

… If they couldn’t taste them, then they guessed it was fine, though Bonnie’s expression said they were eager for them to argue or complain, so they could make fun of them.

If pain wasn’t still pulsing through their shoulder, distracting them, Siffrin would have indulged them.

“… You can’t just use that water?” he nodded towards the cooling pot Odile had used to boil the river stones.

Bonnie made a face. “I’m not washing our food in the pot Dile used for your dirty rocks!”

Yet, he’d be washing them in the water Isabeau was bathing in. “… Okay, fine. Hand them over.” Siffrin took the bowl from Bonnie, flinching when they patted their head.

“Good kid, good kid,” they said playfully, and both looked over when Odile cleared her throat.

“Boniface, over here for a moment, please? To remind you of what we’ve talked about?”

…? Siffrin raised an eyebrow as Bonnie looked equally confused as they wandered over to her and Mirabelle.

Mirabelle glanced at them quickly before turning her attention back to the laundry, and Siffrin winced as they shrugged and got up. They considered grabbing their cloak, but they still needed to shake out all the splinters, so they only grabbed their hat. The sun was bright today; all the dampness from yesterday’s rain had already evaporated.

It wasn’t long before Siffrin heard singing; they smiled and hummed along as they followed the trail of his friends’ footsteps in the soft earth. The trees thinned as he drew closer to the wide stream, Isabeau in the deepest part as he did his best to lather up his broad back. His eyes were closed as he sang, and Siffrin switched from humming to whistling to let him know they were here.

“Oh! Sif!” Isabeau stumbled back, the resulting splash big enough for a few drops to hit Siffrin’s boots.

“You okay?” Siffrin asked as Isabeau surfaced and wiped water from his eyes. “Sorry, I didn’t mean—”

“N-no, it’s okay!” Isabeau’s cheeks were dark as he crouched so he was submerged to his chest. “I just wasn’t expecting—oh, helping Bonbon?” He laughed when Siffrin tilted the bowl to show potatoes inside.

“Yep. They said I need to be fast, so I can bring these back before the water boils.” They walked so they were about a meter upstream from Isabeau. “Why were you singing about bees stinging your ear and chin?”

“It’s a Vaugardian nursery song,” Isabeau said, looking around. “Ah-ha!” He located his fallen bar of soap and lathered up his shoulders and arms. “I almost stepped on an ant bed and thought of it, and then it got stuck in my head.”

“I didn’t know you could sing that well.” Siffrin’s boots sank into the mud as they bent down to dip the bowl, filling it with water. They were careful not to let any potatoes escape as they held the bowl with one hand and gently scrubbed the potatoes with the other. They didn’t think they needed to be too thorough; the potatoes would be peeled, anyway. Water splashed over their sleeve, but they didn’t want to push it up while standing this close to Isabeau.

There was a low ploop as the soap fell into the stream again. “Oh! Uh—” Isabeau cleared his throat and reclaimed the soap again. “Th-thanks, Sif!” He cleared his throat and swam towards the bank to set down his soap and grab his small bottle of shampoo. “What, uh, kind of songs do you usually like? I swear I don’t only sing baby songs!”

Laughing, Siffrin kept their eyes on the potatoes and breathed deeply. They enjoyed the scent of Isabeau’s lilac shampoo and conditioner, even though he usually wasn’t a huge fan of floral-scented products. It suited him.

Oh, wait, Isa asked a question. Siffrin’s cheeks darkened a little as he hummed in thought and carefully poured water out of the bowl. “I’ve never really thought about it?”

“Really?”

“Yeah, I’m usually fine with whatever. How about you?” Siffrin tipped the bowl into the water to fill it again.

“O-oh, uh…” Isabeau ducked underwater for a moment to wash the suds out of his hair. “He blew water out of his mouth when he resurfaced, eyes squeezed shut. “I usually like faster-paced songs? Anything that’s fun to dance to!”

It usually took several drinks before Siffrin could be goaded into dancing. No matter how crowded the floor was, they couldn’t help but feel like everyone was staring at them. This feeling had once been worsened in Hireth, when a singer got back on stage during an instrumental set and called out Siffrin specifically to cheer them on. They’d rushed out of the tavern soon after and left the city entirely the next morning.

Siffrin’s face heated when they felt Isabeau’s worried gaze on them. IDIOT, YOU’VE BEEN QUIET TOO LONG AND MADE THINGS AWKWARD! SAY SOMETHING! “D-did you go dancing a lot?”

Isabeau hesitated, looking like he wanted to prod Siffrin, but he smiled and squirted some conditioner into his hand. “Often as I could while I was at Defender school. It got pretty stressful, so I really needed some fun time to keep me going.”

“Just by yourself?”

“When no one else could make it.” Isabeau laughed as he worked conditioner through his thick hair and waded back to the deeper part of the stream. “Usually, I went with some friends from Defender school. Sometimes with my friends Marianne and Elise. I met them before taking my entrance exams, but they’re housemaidens and couldn’t always make time to hang out. My friend Josef went sometimes, but he wasn’t always in Jouvente. He’s from Elothen, but he’s studying Vaugardian and Musmeerian literature and travels between the three countries. Or… traveled…”

The two lapsed into silence, Siffrin’s eyes on the bowl in front of them. Their fingers were starting to grow numb. How did Isabeau handle staying in the stream for so long?

“A-at least he’s safe, either in Elothen or Musmeer, right?” Siffrin spoke softly, already cringing. Stars, couldn’t they have thought of literally anything else to say? They sounded so dismissive!

Isabeau was too nice to point it out, though, and he replied, “Yeah, you’re right. I’m pretty sure he’d been at one of Musmeer’s Houses when the Curse started spreading over the border towns.”

“I forgot Musmeer calls them ‘Houses,’ too,” Siffrin said, because he didn’t know what else to say.

“Yeah.” Isabeau smiled, though it wasn’t as bright as before. “Houses of Seeing instead of Houses of Change, though. And their housemaidens are called watching ones.”

“All the eye imagery creeped me out the time I was there.”

Isabeau’s laugh sounded more natural. “I don’t blame you!”

Siffrin carefully poured water out of the bowl and rose. “I should get this back to Bonnie before they send Odile or Mira after me.”

“Good call. I’ll be there soon.”

Bonnie had indeed sent Mirabelle, who looked relieved when she saw Siffrin walking towards her.

“Got distracted talking to Isa,” he explained as he shifted the bowl to his other hand. He rolled his shoulder, only twinges of pain sparking through the joint. “Sorry.”

Mirabelle smiled softly, eyes dancing with amusement. She bounced a little with each step to make the beads on her brooches and braids clink and chime. “It’s fine, but Bonnie will probably have something to say about it.”

“Probably,” Siffrin chuckled.

“Is your back okay?”

“All better.” Siffrin smiled, which faltered at Mirabelle’s skeptical frown. “My shoulder hurt worse, but that’s already starting to feel better. I’m fine, Mira.”

A beat passed, but Mirabelle nodded, appeased.

Both spoke at the same time: “So—” “I was—”

“Oh, sorry,” both rushed out in unison.

Siffrin smiled as Mirabelle snorted.

“You first,” Siffrin insisted just as Mirabelle opened her mouth again to say the same thing.

A beat, and Mirabelle nodded, eyes going to her boots for a moment. She clasped her hands behind her back. “I, uh, wanted to know more about Asmu’ur!”

Why this again? Of all countries on the planet, Siffrin would have guessed Mirabelle to be least curious about Asmu’ur.

… Maybe she just needed a distraction. Rain had slowed them down, and even though the orb had also remained in one place, they were still a day or more from its location.

Not to mention that it was still in the possession of someone she had all those mixed feelings about.

“What about?” he asked finally. “Not sure I can answer everything, though.”

It wasn’t like he’d gone to any of their museums or signed up for classes at their—way too expensive, frankly—universities. Odile’s questions about different cultures usually skewed more towards every day, layman stuff, but Mirabelle was interested in the history, regional Craft traditions, religious practices—academic stuff that Siffrin usually allowed to pass over their head.

“Uh—” Mirabelle looked like she hadn’t expected Siffrin to agree this easily. “Um. Their gods!”

Ah, yeah, Siffrin knew it. He smiled. “Uh… what about them?”

“S-sorry!” Mirabelle mistook Siffrin’s smug amusement for veiled irritation. “I-it’s just—it’s so different? The House of Change just has the one god, and even when Vaugarde worshiped Fate, that was also just one god, but split up into three aspects? And um, wh-why call some of them ‘lesser’? That sounds… rude?”

Siffrin laughed. “It kinda does!” But a lot of those lesser gods ruled over things like sickness, nightmares, and madness, so he felt they deserved a bit of rudeness. “I don’t know, honestly.” He grew confused at the incredulous look on Mirabelle’s face, though she was looking ahead, not at him. “Well, uh, I didn’t really pay attention to that. I’ve never really been religious.”

The last sentence tasted like a lie. It felt heavy in their mouth, but… it wasn’t a lie. It wasn’t. Siffrin would go through waves of being interested in mythology and religion—they’d even participated in services and rites when allowed to do so—but they’d never…

They were supposed to be following… something…

The… Universe.

“You’re asking the wrong questions.” A familiar, strange, comforting, stern voice echoed through Siffrin’s mind. “Before you can ask whether the Universe allows for free will, you must define what exactly free will is. Can you do that, Acolyte—"

“Siffrin?”

The air smelled sweet. Siffrin’s ears popped.

Blink. Blink. Blink. “… Huh?” Pain pulsed at Siffrin’s temples; his vision cleared, like leaving a tunnel. “Oh, Mira! Did Bonnie send you after me?”

“…”

What was with that look on her face?

Oh, stars, had Siffrin zoned out again?

Siffrin smiled, but his heart was beating fast, a rough hum against his ribs.

“… Th-they did…” After one last, long, look at Siffrin, Mirabelle started walking, expression troubled.

After a moment of hesitation, Siffrin took a breath, let it out, and jogged to follow her.

They neared the edge of their campsite. There was a question on the tip of Mirabelle’s tongue, but Bonnie interrupted, yelling at them to hurry up.

Huh. Siffrin could have sworn the river was further from camp than that.

…

Oh, well. No need to ponder. Bonnie needed help with lunch, and Siffrin was hungry!

“Is Belle gonna be okay?” Bonnie asked as Siffrin helped them carry the ingredients they’d just bought.

Ah, so Mirabelle’s anxiety was becoming bad enough that even Bonnie noticed. Or maybe they noticed more than Siffrin realized.

“She’ll be fine,” Siffrin answered, brow furrowing as they turned to glance down the street.

This town was big enough to have a well-stocked apothecary but not big enough to have a pharmacy. Eddas-wort or passionflower weren’t the best replacements for Mirabelle’s anti-anxiety medication, but they were better than nothing.

And Siffrin was pretty sure Mirabelle was getting an earful from Odile about taking this long to tell any of them that she was off her meds.

It wasn’t funny, really, but Siffrin still wanted to laugh at how Mirabelle had thought to grab books when fleeing the House but not her medication.

Bonnie frowned, unconvinced.

“The Change God wouldn’t have chosen her if They didn’t believe she couldn’t handle it,” Siffrin attempted, speaking carefully. He could never be sure what minefield he might be tiptoeing across whenever he spoke about other people’s deities.

“Hmf…” Bonnie gave a small nod. After a moment of awkward silence, they asked, “Can we check out that book teahouse? We still have time before we have’ta go back, right? Za won’t mind!”

Isabeau had decided to stay behind at camp to watch their stuff. He wouldn’t mind if Siffrin and Bonnie took a detour, but Mirabelle and Odile probably would. Still, they’d probably be a while at the apothecary.

“Hmm…” Siffrin rocked from side to side a little, thinking. “Yeah, we have time, I think. Sure, but looking only.”

They were burning through what they’d gotten from those old coins faster than originally estimated, mainly thanks to all the food, utensils, and ingredients they were buying, not that any of them would say as much to Bonnie. They still foraged when they could, Odile teaching Mirabelle how to identify certain plants, and all their meat came from Siffrin catching rabbits for them. He hadn’t killed a deer since that one night. Despite what Odile had implied, he wasn’t sure they had enough supplies to carry that much meat at once.

“Yeah, yeah.” Bonnie rolled their eyes and took the lead; of course, they remembered where it was.

… I’m going to end up buying them a book, aren’t I…? Siffrin swallowed a sigh and followed.

Escaping Reali-Tea had once been two separate shops, but when the shopkeepers got married, they tore down the wall separating the teahouse and bookshop.

“Welcome!” one of the shopkeepers greeted as they came out of the kitchen. “Would either of you like me to prepare something? We only have plain dark tea left, but we also have plenty of Poterian coffee! We’d ordered a lot of beans right before the borders closed.”

“Beans?” Bonnie asked, trying to raise one eyebrow like Odile often did. The attempt only succeeded in scrunching up their face.

“Coffee beans!” the shopkeeper told them with a smile. “Instead of leaves like tea, coffee is made from these little, hard beans we ground up into powder.”

“Oh.” They lost interest. “No, thank you!” They ran upstairs, and Siffrin told the shopkeeper that they were alright for now.

“Alright, just ring the bell if you change your mind.” They gestured to the small bell by the pastry case and disappeared into the kitchen again.

Switching the tote bag to his other shoulder and careful not to jostle the eggs too much, Siffrin went upstairs, steel-backed heels clicking against the hard wood.

“What are you looking for?” he asked, tilting his head as Bonnie got on all fours to look at the titles on the bottom shelf behind a long couch. The children’s books are downstairs… He wasn’t going to say that, though. Bonnie had made it clear they didn’t like being called a child.

Remaining on all fours, Bonnie narrowed their eyes as they searched, occasionally pulling out a book to glance at its cover. “That book you were reading me at El’s house!”

It took a moment for Siffrin to connect El to Stella. Soon as they did, they grimaced. Oh, stars… They quickly recovered, glad that Bonnie hadn’t noticed. “… Why?”

“Coz I wanna know how it ends! Dile and Belle won’t buy it for me, so you should!”

Siffrin couldn’t keep the grimace off their face as they crossed their arms under their cloak. “…”

Bonnie blinked and startled upon seeing Siffrin’s expression. “… Please!”

Siffrin wasn’t sure who they were annoyed at more: Isabeau for leaving that book by Bonnie’s bed or themself for indulging Bonnie at all. “Do you remember the cover?”

Bonnie pouted. “No… it was plain! Oh! I think there was a rose on the cover? But there was no title! Crabbing book.”

Thank stars Isabeau had at least had the insight to remove the book’s jacket beforehand.

“D’you know why the main character’s name was Belly-ness?”

“… Belenus.” Siffrin wanted to kick themself. They could have picked any name when making up a main character. Literally any name. And they picked that one. Stars, they were a blinding idiot.

Whatever. What’s done was done.

“Belenus,” Bonnie repeated. “Why were they called that?”

Siffrin tilted their head. “… What do you mean why?”

“My teacher said in grown-up stories, names are important!”

“I guess…” Siffrin uncrossed their arms to switch the tote bag to their other shoulder again. It was like that in plays sometimes—a love interest using a name that meant death to foreshadow the relationship being doomed, for instance. “Not in all stories, though. Sometimes authors just... like a name?”

“What’s he named after then? I’ve never heard that one.”

“It’s a Gaelish name. After one of their gods.”

“Their gods have names?!” Bonnie shrunk back a little when Siffrin winced at the volume of their voice. This store had quite an echo. “Their gods have names?”

“Most of them,” Siffrin answered. “Belenus is their god of Healing Craft. Maybe healing in general? But some people believe He invented Healing Craft.”

“Oh, weird. So your old boss worshiped Him?”

Siffrin smiled and leaned against the wall. “He did.”

“Do you think He’d help Belle? The Change God would ask other gods for help for us, right?”

Oh, stars, this was getting heavier than Siffrin wanted. “Maybe. Are… housemaidens allowed to ask other gods for help…?”

“I… dunno.” Bonnie looked down at the fraying rug under the couch, chairs, and table. Their hands curled into fists over their knees, and they looked up with a determined gleam in their dark eyes. “But! But this is extending syrup-stances, right?”

Siffrin… had no idea what extending was supposed to be but could guess syrup-stances. “I… guess so…?”

Hopefully that was the right answer?

“Hmf!” Bonnie grinned and pumped their fists into the air in triumph. “Yeah! They should! They’ll do it! It’s allowed!”

Siffrin still wasn’t sure if they’d given the right answer, but at least Bonnie was happy. They’d hear about it later after Bonnie talked to Mirabelle, anyway.

Bonnie went back to searching for the book they wanted, and Siffrin “helped,” looking over titles and occasionally pulling out a book, flipping through it, and putting it back.

After a while, Bonnie asked, “What’s the god Belenus look like? Or does His face change all the time like the Change God’s?”

Siffrin tried to remember, but unlike Vaugardians, Gaelish people didn’t typically keep icons of their gods. They usually placed items on their shrines and altars to symbolize them instead.

“I don’t know,” they answered after a while. “All I remember was that He doesn’t have a shadow for half the year.”

“Huh?” Bonnie looked confused, which, fair enough.

“The story I was told was that Belenus, uh, made His own light? Like, His body gave off light, so He didn’t cast a shadow in spring and summer, but in fall and winter, His light gets dimmer, and everyone who ends up being touched by His shadow gets sick.”

“Why doesn’t He just go hide then, so He doesn’t make people sick? Pretty dumb for a healing god…”

Siffrin laughed. “Pretty sure it’s not supposed to be a literal story.” They hummed when Bonnie looked confused again. “It’s supposed to be a story people made up about Belenus to explain why so many people get sick in fall and winter compared to spring and summer, not a literal historical story that happened.”

“He should still just hide somewhere when his light starts going away.”

Chuckling, Siffrin agreed. “I don’t see that book up here. I’ll ask the shopkeeper.”

“Ooh!” Bonnie jumped up to their feet. “I wanna ring the bell!”

They ran downstairs before Siffrin could respond, and he sighed, picked their bag of groceries back up, and followed.

Bonnie rang the bell multiple times when Siffrin was halfway down the stairs, and the annoyed look on the shopkeeper’s face went away soon as they saw Bonnie at the counter.

“Sorry ‘bout that,” Siffrin told them, and the shopkeeper chuckled. “They want to find a book, but unfortunately, neither of us remember the title.”

The shopkeeper’s smile tightened. Ah, they probably got this a lot. “Oh, that’s alright! Do you remember anything about the cover?”

“Bonbon,” Siffrin called as they thought of something. “I just remembered. Maybe it’s in the horror section. Why don’t you go look while I explain the book to them?”

“Oh! Sure thing, Frin!” Bonnie ran off, looking at the signs and eventually finding the horror section.

Siffrin sighed and approached the counter, the shopkeeper’s eyebrows raised. He explained the situation in a low voice, and when he was done, the shopkeeper covered their mouth to keep from laughing and drawing Bonnie’s attention.

“O-oh, my.” They cleared their throat. “Hmm. I recognize that ghost story, and everyone in Vaugarde knows about that murder—poor man… My heart is with his family, not having any answers even after all this time.”

Siffrin tried not to flinch as he nodded slowly. You’re a blinding idiot for getting yourself into this situation.

“But I can’t think of any book that would be similar enough to appease them, and I’m quite the avid horror reader.” The shopkeeper thought for a moment, one arm crossed over their chest and other hand tucked under their chin. “May I suggest Hot Cocoa, Cold Night? Don’t let the title fool you; it’s pretty spooky. To say it was based on that murder in Bambouche is… Well, probably claiming that The Cursing of Château Castle is based on Vaugarde’s old nobility would be less of a stretch. The main character is a woman named Henriette, though. Most Vaugardian books avoid using the names of gods we have no connections to for characters. It sounds a bit rude, right?”

…

“Uh, right.” Siffrin managed a chuckle. “It was just the first name I could think of. Uh, so do you have Hot Cocoa, Cold Night in stock?”

“I believe so. It should be in the horror section, unless someone bought it last week. Unfortunately, we haven’t been able to get new stock, so what’s out here is all we have until…”

They trailed off, and Siffrin nodded, understanding. “Uh, yeah…” They weren’t about to tell them that they and Bonnie were traveling with Vaugarde’s Savior. They didn’t like the attention it brought and could understand why Mirabelle had been so anxious the first time they met her. “Thanks.”

“Of course.”

The shopkeeper returned to the kitchen, and Siffrin rejoined a very irritated Bonnie.

“I don’t see it!” they groused, sitting on the floor and crossing their arms as they pouted. “Stupid crabbing book…”

“Yeah, unfortunately, the shopkeeper doesn’t recognize the book, either.” Siffrin looked over the spines, nodding to himself when he spotted Hot Cocoa, Cold Night. “The closest thing they have is this one.”

He pulled it out and handed the book to Bonnie, who was already reaching for it.

They stuck out their tongue. “This doesn’t sound scary.”

Siffrin chuckled. “Read the back first before you decide. It’s not exactly like the book I was reading to you, but it’s based on the murder that happened in Bambouche a long time ago.”

“Boring.” Bonnie held the book up for Siffrin to reclaim as he stifled an amused smile. “It doesn’t say anything about ghosts!” They hopped up as Siffrin put the book back. “Hey! Frin, what was Dile drinking last night?”

This was quite the non-sequitur. Why—

Oh, stars, this better not be going where Siffrin thought it was going. “Vodka… Why?”

The half-bottle of cognac had disappeared at some point, and neither Odile nor Siffrin had it in them to ask where it went. However, out of pettiness, Odile had procured a small bottle of vodka soon after. She’d finished it last night with Isabeau’s help.

“Can I try it?” Bonnie asked.

“… Odile already said no, didn’t she?”

“Uh, yeah? Za and Belle, too.” They crossed their arms again, pouting. “So you should let me try it!”

Why them? “Why me?” Did they just have a sign on their hat that said Pushover?

“Coz we couldn’t find my book and I’m sad now!” They pouted so hard that Siffrin wondered if it was possible for them to pull something.

Siffrin was about to say, Nope, we need to get back to camp, but thought of something. “Okay, fine. Go pick a table.”

“Wahoo!” Bonnie bounced, smiling. “And a croissant, too?”

Siffrin couldn’t help the frown on his face, his whole body turning cold. They reached into their pocket and gripped the silver coin inside.

“…” Bonnie suddenly froze, looking… scared?

Oh, no. Stars, Siffrin needed to learn to control his face better. He made a disgusted face even more exaggerated than the one he made when Bonnie threatened to cover his food with mashed potatoes.

Bonnie looked unsure, but their shoulders relaxed. “What’s wrong with croissants?!”

“I just don’t like them.” Siffrin shrugged. “But sure, I’ll get you one.” It was the least he could do after accidentally scaring them. “Now go pick our table.” He handed his tote bag to them. “Careful setting this down.”

Bonnie smiled as they took the bag, and after a while, Siffrin returned with a tray of two waters in espresso cups, a croissant, and a coffee with extra cream and sugar. The waters had been spiked with a few drops of pepper juice—the shopkeeper’s idea when Siffrin explained what he was doing. He’d offered to pay for the pepper juice, but the shopkeeper said it was fine and that after a week of no customers, this was the most fun they’d had in a while. That was when Siffrin had decided to order the coffee for himself.

“Why’s the cups so small?” Bonnie squinted at the tiny mugs as Siffrin sat down.

“It’s expensive, so it gets served in small glasses. And vodka can burn when you swallow it,” Siffrin said. “So drink it fast. That helps it burn less.” They pulled the coffee closer to them and then lifted one of the espresso cups. “Ready?”

“Spicy drink…” Bonnie marveled, and Siffrin struggled to keep from laughing. “That’s why Dile likes it so much? But Za’s a baby with spicy, and he drinks it!”

“And he drinks it much faster than Odile does,” Siffrin pointed out, hoping Bonnie didn’t realize that this didn’t actually answer anything.

“Oh, yeah! Yeah, he does!” Bonnie lifted their cup. “Okay, ready!”

“On three?” Siffrin smirked when Bonnie nodded. “Okay. One, two, three!”

The two drank at the same time, but Bonnie had a much higher spice tolerance than Siffrin or the shopkeeper realized and only stared at their now-empty cup in confusion.

“That tasted boring! Like the pepper tea I made my sister, coz my teacher told me peppers and tea were good for the flu, so I wanted to combine them, except this one’s cold,” they complained, and Siffrin shrugged before setting down the espresso cup and picking up their coffee.

“Odile seems to really like it, though,” they said. “Not sure why.”

“She’s weird,” Bonnie decided, and Siffrin laughed, nodding.

They were close. Mirabelle couldn’t sense exactly how close, but they were close.

Soon, the fifth orb would be in their possession.

Soon, they’d be on their way to Dormont, to the King, to saving Vaugarde from being completely frozen in time.

“Bathroom?” Odile asked as Siffrin rose to their feet.

They nodded, and Odile said nothing else as they dashed into the surrounding forest.

They weren’t particularly thirsty, but their flask was half-empty. Siffrin wanted to stick to a habit of keeping it topped off whenever the opportunity arose.

Pausing by a large tree, Siffrin sniffed the air and listened. They’d been passing more travelers lately, all of them running from Encre and surrounding towns. Some had been housemaidens, but none of them were the one who’d taken the fifth orb. Mirabelle had asked them about Juliet, but those that knew her claimed they hadn’t known she’d escaped Encre’s House.

“Thank Change she’s okay,” a light-haired housemaiden had said, grasping Mirabelle’s hands. “Her partner… do you know if she’s alright?”

Mirabelle hadn’t, and the light-haired housemaiden had cried. Mirabelle had mourned and prayed with her, then promised she’d do everything within her power to defeat the King.

The light-haired housemaiden had been silent, but the person traveling with her had said, “We believe in you, Savior.”

He’d sounded like he was telling the truth, but the housemaiden had looked doubtful, even if she’d done her best to hide it.

Mirabelle had remained quiet the rest of the day.

Distantly, Siffrin heard a voice. He ran in that direction, keeping his steps as silent as possible. As the voice grew clearer, he slowed, tucking himself into a tree’s shadow.

“… to do!” It sounded like she was crying. She punched a tree and swore heavily, Siffrin smelling blood. “Change—”

Crouching, Siffrin slowly moved away from the tree and shifted forward. He heard no one else nearby, though he could smell a trail. A group of travelers had been here recently, but if he couldn’t hear them, then it must have been a while ago. This girl was alone.

Soon as they were close enough to see her, Siffrin once more tucked themself into a tree’s shadow. They smelled mud and grime and musk and the barest hint of apple-scented soap.

Her frizzy, dark hair was in two haphazard braids trailing down her back, and her pleated skirt had been torn just above her scuffed knees. She wore a long half-cape over a high-necked blouse and heavy-looking satchel. A Change ornament was pinned over her throat. She stared blankly ahead, chapped lips parted and knees pulled close to her heaving chest. Next to her was a lantern, the candle short and dark.

Her dark skin was ashen, and as she stared at nothing, one of her hands rose to absent-mindedly play with the charm hanging from her left earring. Her right earring was a large hoop that resembled three thorny vines that had been braided together.

Siffrin almost left to find someone else. Drinking from her felt… unfair. She looked like she’d watched the world end and was waiting to follow in its destruction.

“Oh, Priscille…”

Siffrin froze in the middle of getting up. Why did that name sound familiar?

“I’m… I’m so sorry… I… I should—” The housemaiden’s breath hitched as tears spilled over her sharp cheek bones. “I should have… It…”

Oh, stars, Siffrin shouldn’t be listening to this. They should… Leave? Yeah, leave.

No, she needed help.

They should…

Without thinking, Siffrin stood and stepped forward, purposefully stepping on a twig. It snapped under his weight, and the housemaiden’s head snapped up, mouth falling open as he walked into the clearing with raised hands to show he meant no harm.

This was a bad idea.

Who was he to offer her help? He knew little about her religion. He wasn’t Vaugardian. She had no reason to listen to him.

“Wh-who are you?” The housemaiden shifted back, clothes scraping against the tree’s rough bark.

“My name’s Siffrin. I wanted to know if you need help.” He spoke slowly and tried not to cringe. Stars, he sounded like he was talking to a wounded, wild animal. “I’m traveling with Mirabelle of Dormont’s House.”

Her eyes went wide. Suddenly, she was holding her breath, her heart pounding loudly within her chest.

“Um… th-the Savior…?”

The housemaiden jumped to her feet so suddenly, Siffrin stumbled back in surprise.

“I—”

She grabbed her lantern and ran.

Blinking, Siffrin tried to process what just happened.

Oh, stars, was this housemaiden the one who…?

He swore and took off after her.

Chapter Text

Panic and grief brought out the worst in some, leaving them cut down to little more than splinters of who they once were—little more than sharp pieces of pain and impulse and despair.

The housemaiden was like a rabbit as she ran, kicking up dirt and leaves and thrashing through the underbrush. She ran and ran and ran, a small and jittery creature that was always at risk of her thousand enemies closing in from all sides.

Siffrin kept their distance as they ran behind her, keeping just close enough to see the light from her lantern or the dark fabric of her half-cape as she rounded trees or yanked it free from holly or briars.

He smelled blood and swallowed hard.

What to do, what to do…?

They could easily speed up enough to get in front of her, but what then? That would only scare her, and she was terrified enough as it was, even if they weren’t sure why.

Her heart had started thundering the moment they said Mirabelle’s name. Why?

As they ran, Siffrin’s heart quickened. Their mouth curved into a smile as their vision sharpened, adrenaline thrumming, body feeling like lightning had caught just under the first layer of their skin.

They picked up speed without realizing, the housemaiden letting out a strangled noise as her cape caught on a bush of what looked like thinner, lighter holly leaves. Berries shook to the ground as twigs snapped, and the housemaiden cried out, lantern shattering against the knot of a root as she ripped her cape trying to escape.

The abject terror on her face wiped the smile off Siffrin’s face as they slowed, eyes widening.

What are you doing? he admonished himself, empty hands going up again. He needed to be calm. He needed to stop being weird and stop thinking of her like a rabbit, like prey. “A-are you Housemaiden Juliet? From the Encre House?”

“G-get…” Her breathing was haggard. Her hands trembled as they wrung her torn cape. Her light eyes were wide enough to show the sclera all the way around her irises. “Please… She—”

She ran.

Siffrin’s sigh had barely passed through his lips when she tripped, a scream ripped from her lungs.

“Stars,” he spat, kicking dirt over the lantern to kill the candle’s flame before it could spread.

“GET AWAY FROM ME!” Juliet shrieked as Siffrin approached.

He stopped, frowning. He tried raising his hands again, fingers splayed. “I’m not trying to hurt you. If you’re Housemaiden Juliet, I just want to know if you have one of the orbs for opening the Dormont House’s front gate.” His brow furrowed when the housemaiden tried to scramble up onto her feet, only to cry out in pain and fall again. “Let me take you to Mirabelle. She can heal—”

“I’M NOT GOING ANYWHERE WITH YOU!” The housemaiden’s gaze was just right of Siffrin’s face; her eyes were slow to adjust without her lantern. If she tried to run again, she’d probably end up with worse than a twisted ankle. “ESPECIALLY NOT TO SEE THAT SELF-RIGHTEOUS CUNT!”

Siffrin briefly wondered if it would be easier to just bite her now. Grab the orb—if she even had it—and leave her here.

…

Stars, they couldn’t do that. If this was Juliet—and everything right now said she was—then despite Mirabelle’s mixed feelings, she had, at least once upon a time, considered Juliet a friend. Siffrin couldn’t just leave Mirabelle’s friend out here, alone and defenseless and unconscious. If Mirabelle found out, she’d never forgive them.

“Do you have better ideas?” Siffrin asked, trying their best to keep their tone even, calm. They flexed their hands underneath their cloak, body still buzzing, part of them wanting the chase to continue—to pounce and find more prey to chase after. Stop thinking about it stop thinking about it stop thinking about—

Juliet stared in his direction, silent. She trembled, hands curling around her hurt ankle. She knew she had few other options but was reluctant to choose the one with the best outcome for her.

Siffrin still wondered why.

Why take the orb, if not to rescue it from a House as it froze and bring it to Vaugarde’s Savior?

Why run all this way at all? Encre was still two days southwest of here, according to Odile.

Was she like Lovernisca in Shuffled Spells: Belle’s Beginning? Someone who’d trained and trained, learned and learned, only to witness someone else become the Chosen One? Someone she saw as undeserving?

But why run? Even if she thought she could claim the orbs and become the Chosen One somehow—open Dormont’s House and fight the King—then why not follow Siffrin back to where the other orbs were? Pretend to join them, only to take the orbs and run?

Did she even have a plan?

This was the thing about people versus characters. They acted so wildly. Whatever motivations they were supposed to have got lost in the madness.

Siffrin waited.

Fresh tears ran down Juliet’s cheek. Blood dried on her knuckles, fingers, and the back of her left hand. Her heart continued to thunder within her chest.

“… No,” she finally said, and it took Siffrin a moment to remember what he’d asked. “Can… can you help me up?”

… No, she wasn’t Lovernisca. That character would swallow thorns and stuff her shoes with broken glass before she asked anyone for help.

Moving slowly, Siffrin stepped closer and reached out a hand. He flinched a little as she took hold of his wrist, Siffrin briefly feeling the cold air at the cliffs overlooking Bambouche. He swore he smelled salt and fish and rock.

They blinked and pulled Juliet to her feet, flinching again as she leaned into him. She was nearly Odile’s height, making them an awkwardly moving pair as she hobbled alongside Siffrin, one of their arms around her waist and her hands getting blood on their cloak as she grasped their shoulders. Their trek through the forest took longer than necessary thanks to Siffrin getting turned around a few times, and each time he had to pause to reorient himself, Juliet grew more irritable.

“Are you even taking me to your camp?” Juliet growled. She hissed in pain when she accidentally put weight on her hurt ankle, and Siffrin stopped walking and waited for her to get her bearings.

“… Where else would I be taking you?” he couldn’t help but ask.

“…” Juliet’s full mouth pinched as a wrinkle dug into the skin between her eyebrows.

“…” Siffrin guessed it didn’t matter what she thought about them. “You good to move now?”

“You could try to act more sympathetic.”

Callous. Siffrin flinched.

They moved slowly, and the combination of Siffrin’s annoyance and the earlier chase and the smell of Juliet’s dry blood made their throat itch. Stars, they hated this—getting thirsty from excitement, not just need. The one time they’d dared to explain their thirst to someone, they’d compared it to craving water, but that wasn’t completely true. Like water, it was a need, but it was also an itch they couldn’t scratch, one that grew and grew the more they tried to ignore it.

Siffrin had never tried tobacco, but they imagined it was like skipping a smoke break for a few days.

“Where are you even from—ah!”

Quickly, Siffrin loosened his grip around Juliet’s waist, but he didn’t apologize.

“I thought Vaugardians thought that question was rude to ask,” he replied instead. He’d tried for a jokey tone, but his voice flattened. The sound made Juliet flinch as goose pimples erupted up her arms. Something hard and round in her satchel pressed against his side.

Vaugarde accepted everyone, and most Vaugardians didn’t ask directly where visitors or immigrants were from, as it implied that they didn’t belong. Instead, they usually waited for people to offer the information voluntarily, or they’d ask in roundabout ways, pointing out their fashion or accent or mannerisms.

Juliet fell silent for a moment before her face twisted into a defiant expression once again. “I’m just wondering how you ended up following ‘the Savior.’”

Siffrin’s jaw twitched at the disdain dripping from her voice at how she addressed Mirabelle. He drew in a breath through his teeth and held it, not wanting to say something he’d regret.

After exhaling, Siffrin answered, “I met her just before she found the second orb. After I helped her fight a Sadness, she asked if I wanted to join her group, and I said yes.”

That wasn’t exactly how it went, but Juliet wasn’t worth the full story.

“Oh, is that all it takes?” Juliet spoke through her teeth. “Wow, little Mirabelle must be desperate, but I guess the little cunt never learned how—”

She yelled out again as Siffrin flipped her around and shoved her against a tree. On his tiptoes, Siffrin pressed Juliet’s shoulder into the bark with one hand as their other slipped into her satchel. They leaned in closer than they usually allowed themself to get, swearing they could smell frost and firs and blood.

Wait, yes, he could smell blood. Dried blood marking this girl’s hands and arm and his shoulders.

Stop that, Siffrin told themself as they slipped the orb into the largest of their cloak pockets and grasped Juliet’s wrist before she could slap them. You’re in Vaugarde. You’re Siffrin the Traveler, following the Savior to find the orbs and fight the King.

It was too dark for Juliet to see Siffrin’s face beyond harsh shadows, but shock and fear kept her in place as he pinned her to the tree. She winced when putting weight on her hurt ankle, and adrenaline sang through Siffrin’s veins, urging them to let her go, to let her try getting away, so they could chase, chase, chase—

Stop that. Siffrin swallowed. It wasn’t like she’d get far anyway. “Listen. I don’t know what kind of grudge you have against Mira”—he hissed without thinking when she opened her mouth to argue, and she closed it immediately—“and I don’t give a blinding shit. If she did anything, I don’t care, because right now what matters is she’s trying to stop the King from freezing the entire country in time.”

Juliet said nothing. Tears burned her eyes, and with a savage shout, she shoved Siffrin away. He saw it coming and danced away easily, allowing Juliet to crumple to the ground as he pulled the orb out of his pocket and tossed it from one hand to the other as he whistled.

“I got what I need~” He grinned when she looked up, eyes squinting as she tried to focus on him. He wasn’t sure if she could see the orb, but she must have known what he was talking about by the strangled, distressed noise she made. “So unless you want to start being nicer…”

“Y-you wouldn’t just… you wouldn’t just—”

“Leave you here?” Siffrin shrugged and pocketed the orb. “We’ve been passing travelers and evacuees. I’m sure one of them will find you eventually. Hopefully before a Sadness does. We’ve been seeing more of those, too.”

Juliet made another strangled noise.

… Siffrin felt a little bad. “So?”

“… Fine.” Juliet sounded despondent, fragile… weak.

Whatever bravado she’d had earlier had drained away, but just like the tide in northern Asmu’ur, it would be back—and potentially just as threatening.

Siffrin held out a hand, and soon, they had a hand around her waist as her hands remained on their shoulders. They walked slowly, Juliet shuffling alongside Siffrin as they watched the forest floor to ensure they didn’t trip.

They were loud enough upon their return that by the time they reached the edge of camp, Odile was on her feet, eyes widening behind her glasses when she saw the housemaiden leaning more and more of her weight into Siffrin’s side. It was getting harder to hold her upright, and Odile took over, ordering Juliet to hold onto her arm in the softest voice she could muster.

“Go get Mirabelle,” she told Siffrin as she led Juliet to the log she’d been sitting on. She gave him an odd glance before checking over Juliet’s hands and face.

He… didn’t want to know what she was thinking.

Inside the tent, Bonnie had moved so that the crown of their head pressed against Mirabelle’s stomach, while one of their feet was propped up on Isabeau’s neck. How any of them were asleep this way, Siffrin wasn’t sure; he woke up when he caught himself growling every time Bonnie accidentally scooted or rolled close to him in their sleep.

Mirabelle roused easily at Siffrin’s entrance, though, and her body suddenly froze before she could jolt up and wake Bonnie.

Lifting the flap higher to let in firelight, Siffrin motioned for Mirabelle to follow, and she nodded, looking… oddly grim.

Oh, stars, Siffrin forgot to smile. They quickly forced the corners of their mouth to lift, but Mirabelle’s expression didn’t change. Could she even see their face? Maybe not. They let the tent flap fall again and started towards Odile and Juliet.

When Juliet flinched, they stopped and remained near the tent.

“…” Odile glanced between the two of them, brow furrowing in thought. “Siffrin, did you get the chance to use the bathroom?”

They blinked. After a beat, they shook their head.

“Maybe you should go now,” Odile told them. She was holding onto Juliet’s arm, but the tension suggested it was to keep her in place, not to comfort her. “Mirabelle and I can handle this.”

…

She… really didn’t trust them, did she? Even after all…

Of course she doesn’t, you blinding idiot. Don’t you remember what she saw? Heard? When you fought Stella? Snarled at her like an animal? Said all those things and almost stabbed her? What would have happened, if Stella hadn’t known that shield skill?

They were no better than one of those monsters trapped in Belle’s cards.

Except, this wasn’t Shuffled Spells. Friendship, love, and trust weren’t enough to make them less monstrous.

Siffrin swallowed, closing that mental door. He didn’t want to think about this anymore.

He nodded and dashed into the forest just as Mirabelle exited the tent and gasped.

While hunting, Siffrin had come across a couple of weak Sadnesses. He’d made quick work of them, using them to take out his frustration and anger and… He wasn’t sure what to call the emotion. It wasn’t quite betrayal; rather, it was like—

He… didn’t want to think about it anymore.

It didn’t matter.

So, Odile didn’t fully trust them. That was fine.

She trusted them enough to not question their “bathroom breaks.” She continued to abstain from asking personal questions.

… She’d given them a wood carving kit.

Did she see them as a friend or not? They… they couldn’t tell, and it wasn’t like they could just ask.

Not only was that embarrassing, but… what if he didn’t like her answer…?

He blinked quickly, eyes hot. Now wasn’t the time to wonder about that stuff. Mirabelle needed him.

Full of blood and their flask topped off, Siffrin returned to camp, still smelling Juliet’s blood on their shoulders.

They walked slowly, quietly; they stopped upon hearing Odile speaking.

“…room break.”

Siffrin crouched, tucking themselves into a tree’s shadow as they watched and listened.

They’d sold their second tent a couple days before retrieving the fourth orb, but their tarps had been strung up and secured to create a rough lean-to between their tent and a skinny tree. Juliet stood in front of it, ankle healed and shredded cape and satchel set aside. She glared at Mirabelle, who was holding back Bonnie. Siffrin could only see their backs, but Bonnie looked ready to fight.

Meanwhile, Odile and Isabeau stood closest to him, between the fire and log. Both were glaring at the other with crossed arms as they frowned. While Odile’s expression looked more resolute, though, Isabeau looked to be feeling a mix of anger, worry, and uncertainty.

“But it’s been like twenty minutes?!” Isabeau turned towards the forest, and Siffrin fought the instinct to push himself more firmly against the tree.

Movement would only alert him to his location; Isabeau’s eyes passed right over him. Still, he started to step over the log, stopping when Odile held out an arm.

“They’ll be fine,” she said, voice thin. “We should—”

“M’dame, what if he ran into—”

Isabeau stopped talking, he and Odile’s gazes snapping towards the others as Bonnie screamed, “DON’T TALK THAT WAY ABOUT FRIN YOU CRAB!”

“Bonnie,” Mirabelle admonished, and Juliet let out a hollow, manic laugh.

Clapping her hands sarcastically, Juliet flashed a cruel smile Mirabelle’s way. “Oh Change! I still can’t believe you brought a kid along with you! Quite the group you’ve collected, ‘Savior.’”

Mirabelle flinched.

Siffrin started to reach for their dagger but stopped themself.

“Hey—”

Isabeau approached them as Juliet screeched, “THIS IS ALL THE PEOPLE YOU FIND?! THIS IS THE BEST YOU CAN DO?! AN OLD WOMAN, AN AIRHEAD, A CRABBING CHILD, AND SOME ONCE-CHANGED SERIAL KILLER-LOOKING CRAB?!”

… Serial killer…? Siffrin ground his teeth as his heart sank into his stomach. His cheeks were hot, and he closed his eyes as he forced himself to breathe.

In… and out…

“HEY!”

Everyone looked at Isabeau. Juliet was shaking. From exhaustion, fear, or anger, Siffrin couldn’t tell. Maybe all the above.

“That’s enough!” Isabeau’s voice was deep and commanding. Even Bonnie fell silent in mid-complaint at being called a child. “It’d be best for everyone to cool off. Juliet, it sounds like you’ve had a long night. Mira, take Bonbon back to the tent. We’ll talk about everything in the morning. M’dame, do you mind waiting up with me until Sif gets back? We’ll figure out the watch shift together then.”

Odile nodded, and Mirabelle cast a long look at Juliet before hurrying Bonnie back into the tent. She didn’t have the strength to remind anyone that she was supposed to take the second watch shift with Isabeau, and Siffrin frowned, chest tight.

He should have just bitten Juliet and left her in the forest. Mirabelle wouldn’t have had to know.

Hands balled into fists, Juliet continued to tremble as she stared defiantly at Isabeau. She was crying again, and soon as she realized, she only grew angrier, face growing splotchy as she sneered.

“Go to bed,” Isabeau said again, voice softer but no less stern.

With a shrill sound, Juliet whipped around, braids hitting her back. She dropped to her knees and crawled into the lean-to, where she wrapped herself in her cape and a borrowed blanket.

“Impressive,” Odile commented as Isabeau sighed and returned to the log.

He didn’t sit down, eyes going to the forest again.

“They brought their flask with them,” Odile said gently. “I’m sure he’s just refilling it, and you know how he can be with directions, but they always find their way back eventually.”

Ah. They were talking about Siffrin again. They considered joining them now before a slight pinch in their pelvis reminded them that while out, they’d forgotten to actually use the bathroom.

…Whoops.

“… You’re right,” Isabeau sighed, and he dropped down onto the log. “Everything else going on just has be worried.”

Odile sat next to him and patted his knee. “Understandable.”

Quietly, Siffrin retreated into the shadows to find somewhere to relieve themself.

When they returned, Odile was reading, while Isabeau paced, throwing his hands into the air.

“… can’t possibly be considering—”

“Dormont’s Head Housemaiden sent these orbs to specific places—”

“We don’t actually know that for sure, and—”

“It’s the King, Isabeau!” Odile slammed her book shut. Her back was to Siffrin, but they could imagine the aggravated look on her face. “We need—”

“What we need is to get to Dormont quickly—”

“And go in blind—”

“It’s too risky! You can’t—”

“This whole mission is a risk!”

Isabeau stopped pacing and hissed through his teeth as he raked his fingers through his hair.

Siffrin pulled the orb out of their pocket as they walked into camp. “What are you guys talking about?”

“Sif!” Isabeau let out a breath and started to move forward but stopped suddenly. “Good, you’re okay.”

“… Yeah?” Siffrin tilted their head and held up the orb. “And I forgot to hand this over before stepping out again.”

Since Odile was closer, he handed it to her, and she nodded in thanks as she took the orb. It was bright and reflected the fire oddly. Not like a mirror or polished metal. It looked more like the orb was made of solidified quicksilver, but Siffrin knew that wasn’t right. It must look that way because of all the Craft used when making it and the other orbs.

“And this makes five,” Odile said in a small, disbelieving voice. She tucked her book away as she stood, pointedly not answering Siffrin’s question as she wished them and Isabeau a good night.

“M’dame—”

“We’ll talk more about it in the morning,” Odile interrupted. “Siffrin—”

“I’ll stay out here,” Siffrin said quickly. He tried not to flinch under her and Isabeau’s concerned gazes. “I… don’t think I can sleep right now. Might as well stay up with Isa.”

Isabeau looked like he was going to object, but Odile said, “Very well. Just don’t slow us down tomorrow.”

“M’dame—!”

Siffrin’s rough laugh cut him off. “My ‘slow us down’ is probably still faster than you speeding up.”

“Sif—!”

Odile blinked and searched their face. Whatever she saw made her laugh, but it held no humor. Her smile was all teeth. “That... may be true. Good night. Siffrin.”

When she disappeared into the tent, Isabeau practically deflated with a deep sigh. “… And you two were getting along so well, too....”

Why did Siffrin have to be the tiebreaker?!

Sitting at the edge of her lean-to, Juliet pulled her legs close to her chest, chin resting atop her knees. “Oh, sure. The kid gets a vote, and I don’t.”

Sounding bored, Odile sent her a sideways glance. “Is that an offer to join us?”

Juliet said nothing.

With breakfast eaten and the fire extinguished, it was now time to decide: Head straight to Dormont or risk being hit by the King’s Curse to search Encre’s House.

Near the lean-to, Odile stood tall, arms crossed over her chest. Beside her was Mirabelle, who cast apologetic looks at Isabeau and Siffrin.

On the other side of the firepit, Isabeau frowned, his arms also crossed. He stared back unflinchingly under Odile’s hard gaze, which made her watch him with something akin to pride. Next to him was Bonnie, who mimicked Isabeau’s stance. Unlike him, though, Bonnie didn’t care—or didn’t fully realize—the risks of going to the Encre House. Rather, they just wanted to get to Dormont and fight the King as quickly as possible.

“Can’t we just all get along…?” Siffrin asked as they looked from one side to the other.

Isabeau gave them a pained look. “Unfortunately, this isn’t something we can compromise on, buddy.”

“Indeed,” Odile said flatly.

Juliet muttered something under her breath. Siffrin did his best to ignore her.

“Who cares about some boring papers or books!” Bonnie cried out. “Let’s just go!”

“Those ‘boring papers or books,’” Odile bit out, “could be just the information we need to ensure the King’s defeat!”

“We don’t know that!” Isabeau challenged. “And it’s not a risk we should take, when we could end up empty-handed at best. Worst case, one or all of us get frozen, and Mira has to leave us behind!”

Mirabelle wrung her pleated skirt between her hands as she blinked back tears. Her lips parted slightly, but after a moment, she closed her mouth again and looked at Siffrin pleadingly. She looked conflicted, like she had no idea if she could trust her own judgment.

He couldn’t tell if he wanted her to join her side or talk her out of this idea by agreeing with Isabeau.

“Why the crab are you even leaving this up to a vote?!” Juliet jumped to her feet, scowling when Odile stepped between her and Mirabelle. She looked around her, eyes narrowing as Mirabelle flinched. “Oh, sweet, innocent Mirabelle can’t step it up and make a decision?”

“Oh, shut up!” Siffrin roared, flinching when everyone looked at him in surprise.

Bonnie was the first to recover, stance widening as they shouted, “YEAH! SHUT UP! LEAVE BELLE ALONE YOU CRAB!”

Juliet’s smile wasn’t kind as she looked from Bonnie to Siffrin while clasping her hands in front of her chest. “Aww, look at that! The Savior’s guard dog has a puppy!”

“WHAT’S YOUR CRABBING PROBLEM?!” Bonnie bellowed, grunting and wiggling away when Isabeau tried to pull them back.

Mirabelle sniffled, sounding close to teetering over the edge of a breakdown.

“Her.” Juliet’s hands were fists at her sides. She breathed through her teeth as tears gathered along her lashes. “Vaugarde is crabbing doomed, because our ‘Savior’—”

“BELLE WAS CHOSEN BY THE CHANGE GOD, YOU CRAB!” Bonnie tried to fight against Isabeau as he pulled them back. They looked ready to lunge at Juliet and start punching.

That made two of them. Siffrin remained still, not even breathing.

A flash of rage across Juliet’s eyes, and suddenly, she was taking aim, Craft sparking over her scabbed knuckles.

Before anyone else could think to move, Odile had her book out, one hand out in a paper sign.

“STAND DOWN,” she thundered as she stood between Juliet and Mirabelle. “I do not care if you are a housemaiden. If you even think of harming a hair on Mirabelle’s head, I will not hesitate to strike. And I am very sure I’ve been fighting much longer than you have.”

Siffrin hadn’t realized he’d moved until Mirabelle held out an arm to keep him from advancing.

One finger at a time, he let go of his dagger’s hilt, leaving it in its sheath.

Shaking and breathing hard, Juliet stared Odile. Angry tears streamed down her face.

“You think They were wrong.” Siffrin blinked in surprise at their own statement, but they didn’t flinch away from Juliet’s wild look. “You think the Change God was wrong to bless her.”

It wasn’t a question, and Mirabelle couldn’t stop her tears from falling.

“Crabbing look at her,” Juliet bit out, and Isabeau once again pulled Bonnie back as they tried to attack. “You honestly think she can save anyone? Let alone a whole country?!”

Mirabelle covered her mouth with both hands to hold back a sob, and Isabeau looked torn between holding back Bonnie and running to her side to comfort her.

“I do,” Siffrin said without hesitation, and his heart broke at the stunned look on Mirabelle’s face, like she couldn’t comprehend any of them believing in her.

“Me too,” Isabeau added immediately.

“YEAH!” Bonnie punched the air for emphasis. “I BELIEVE IN YOU BELLE!” They pointed at Juliet accusingly, eyes narrowed. “AND YOU’RE A CRABBING BABY IDIOT FOR SAYING THOSE MEAN THINGS TO HER!”

“I wouldn’t be standing here if I didn’t believe our little Mirabelle could succeed,” Odile said coolly, and Siffrin felt his own eyes prickle with tears as Mirabelle fell to her knees.

Juliet looked down at her and then around at everyone else. “Then you’re all even stupider than she is.” She grasped at the Change ornament pinned over her throat. The high neck of her button-up shirt looked suffocating. “Of all people…” She scowled when Siffrin stepped up beside Odile, shielding Mirabelle from her. “Of all crabbing people, the Change God chooses a—”

“You should probably go,” Siffrin told her, voice soft but with a cold edge that made Juliet step back. “Why are you still here? To try and help the King—”

Juliet’s eyes flashed. “Don’t you dare—”

They kept going: “—by tearing Mira down and make her doubt herself? If you didn’t take that orb to help, then what was your plan?”

Juliet’s face went blank. She said nothing.

“That doesn’t matter now,” Isabeau said, doing his best to remain calm. “Juliet, looks like you have a choice to make.”

She stood still, staring into Siffrin’s dark eyes. He stared back, refusing to be the first to blink, even as unease spooled inside his stomach.

“Are we going to Encre or what?” she asked finally, voice hollow.

As Isabeau opened his mouth, Siffrin said, “Yeah, looks like we’re going to Encre.” Sorry, Isa.

Juliet nodded, her gaze like steel. “Okay. You’ll need someone to show you which room to check.”

Odile closed her book but didn’t put it away. “And that will be you?”

Juliet nodded again as Bonnie glared at her while they and Isabeau circled behind Odile and Siffrin. He heard them whispering to her, reassuring her and asking if she was sure about this.

“I’m sure,” she whispered, though she sounded anything but.

None of them were sure how searching a House frozen in time would work. Would they be able to pull books off the shelves? Would they be able to move aside papers and open drawers? Would they be able to use any tonics and potions they found? How many more Sadnesses would there be? How powerful? How many of them would have the ability to freeze them?

Siffrin chose to look at this as a trial run. After Encre’s House, they’d at least have some idea of what to expect in Dormont.

Except, unlike Dormont’s House, the Curse here was still moving towards them.

Odile had explained that while Siffrin was unconscious, she’d noticed that the Curse had slowed considerably after passing over the village. It was similar to Siffrin’s own observations when they’d escaped Ladraig, but unlike Siffrin, Odile had taken notice of the birds.

While ones on the ground or in the trees froze along with everything else, birds that had taken off into the air hadn’t.

“They’d… slowed. Not a lot. I didn’t even notice at first, only that something about their movements looked… odd,” Odile had explained after the party stopped for the night.

“You’re expecting us to fly?” Juliet had rolled her eyes.

Siffrin really hoped she wouldn’t be a permanent member of their group. Sure, they needed all the help they could get, but… he didn’t like her. Her ire towards Mirabelle affected all of them, and Siffrin constantly felt off-kilter. He wondered if she was trying to set him off on purpose—if she was trying to get him to act like the monster she’d seen inside him.

Instead of entertaining Juliet’s sarcasm, Odile had looked from Siffrin to Isabeau, her face pale. “Remember that toss you two did at the fortress wall?”

The six now stood atop a ridge overlooking Encre. The Curse had engulfed the city but moved slowly along the wide field between them and what looked like a school and archery range. Already, Siffrin could spot people that hadn’t been fast enough to escape, most caught in mid-stride and a few on their knees as they cried out to the Change God for protection, for help.

Oh, stars, some of them were kids, Siffrin realized, and they stopped themself from turning to look at Bonnie.

Odile flipped through her book without reading anything. “According to what we’ve learned from people carrying refugees across frozen cities into neighboring countries, we have about 24 hours to get in and out before the Curse finally catches up with us.”

Siffrin nodded as he stared at the sky just past the city. It was dark and full of stars, despite the rest of the sky being light and clear. It was just as jarring to see now as it had been last time. Siffrin felt ill.

Stars, stars, stars, but none of them feeling like his. None of them feeling like—

Pain bloomed across their forehead, and Siffrin closed their eyes to draw a breath in, and let it out.

“You alright, Sif?” Isabeau asked.

“Headache.” Siffrin swallowed.

Juliet muttered something disparaging under her breath, but he was getting good at ignoring her.

“The House is half a kilometer up this road,” Juliet said, and Odile nodded, already knowing this.

The House’s proximity to the city’s border was a big reason why she’d felt this risk was one they could take. She seemed to be the only one in the group who was sure they’d all make it back out.

“Bonnie, stay here and guard our stuff?” Isabeau had meant it to be an order, but it came out as a question.

Wrong move. Bonnie only puffed out their cheeks and widened their stance. “I’m coming too!”

“But—”

“They might as well come along,” Odile said. “We can tie up our bags to ensure they don’t get stolen.”

And if worst comes to worst, Bonnie won’t be left waiting, not knowing if we’re coming back or not, Siffrin thought. At least if they’re with us, we can tell them to run.

Juliet muttered something else, and Mirabelle stopped Bonnie from kicking her in the back of her knee.

“Alright.” Odile slid her book back into her coat and dropped the pack she’d been carrying. “We can’t waste time. Juliet, what room did you find the orb in again?”

As Juliet talked, Siffrin worked with Isabeau to pull their bags up into the high branches of a nearby tree. Siffrin secured them with rope, which he then tucked underneath the knot, so it wouldn’t dangle and alert anyone that happened to pass by that something was here.

After Siffrin dropped to the ground, Isabeau said, “I guess we’ll see if we can pull off those Jackpot Skills.”

“Those trees were shaking when you were teaching us,” Siffrin replied, smiling. “We’ll beech any Sadnesses, easy.”

Isabeau snorted, and said fondly, “Not your best.”

“Aww, well, I beg to dif-fir.” He smiled when Isabeau laughed louder. “C’mon, tell me acorn-y joke!”

Another laugh, then, “Okay, okay. Why’d the tree go to jail?”

Oh? Siffrin smirked and crossed their arms over their cloak. “How come?”

“For tree-son!”

The two laughed as they walked back to the ridge, stopping at the stern look on Odile’s face, the pensive look on Mirabelle’s, and the dark look on Juliet’s. Bonnie, however, groaned loudly and dramatically.

“Stop it!” they demanded. They still wore their satchel. They’d refused to leave it in a tree, and Odile had given up fighting them on the matter.

Inside, along with snacks they’d prepared, was one of the orbs. Siffrin, Isabeau, Mirabelle, and Odile each also carried an orb. After the attempted theft at the Craft history museum, none of them wanted to take the risk of leaving the orbs behind.

“Fine, fine,” Isabeau said, making a placating motion with his hands.

Siffrin only shrugged as they looked back towards Encre.

“If you two are done dilly-dallying,” Odile said, “then let’s get going.”

Siffrin nodded. 24 hours to reach the House, find the information they needed—if any even existed or could be accessed—and leave. They weren’t sure about this, but they trusted Mirabelle’s judgment.

Even if she didn’t trust herself.

Chapter Text

In fairytales, the hero was sometimes given impossible tasks: weaving nettle into eleven cloaks for eleven swans; boiling water inside an egg’s shell; retrieving fire from the deepest part of a forest, where it always rained; fashion iron used to kill someone’s brother in cold blood into a ring without using fire; or capture sunlight inside a walnut shell. Often, the tasks came in threes. After completing the final task, the hero received what they needed to rescue their loved one, to exact revenge, or to kill a tyrant.

This sidequest felt like one of those impossible tasks.

Stars and wells and speculations and hunches and suspicions.

The party was hoping to find a weapon that could kill a demigod with speculations and hunches and suspicions.

The party killed three Sadnesses before reaching the street Encre’s House was on. Juliet had hung back with Bonnie after the first one evaporated; without her fighting gloves, her Rock attacks had left her knuckles sore and one wrist sprained.

Everything around them was lightless, with motes of something bright floating along lines of mortar or within the cracks between cobblestones. The motes were brighter in some places compared to others; Siffrin couldn’t bring themself to pay close enough attention to notice any patterns.

Worst was the people.

Lightless, like the world around them.

Lightless, despite the sky in this area still being bright, the sun still reaching them.

Lightless, like their bodies pulled in light and refused to let it escape.

A shiver fluttered down Siffrin’s spine as they kept going.

“Residual energy?” Odile guessed when Bonnie asked about the motes of light. “Some places are bound to have more Craft attached to it than others. This close to the river that used to mark the old Vaugarde-Poteria border—”

“The border used to be somewhere else?” Bonnie interrupted.

“Yes,” Odile sighed, and Siffrin tuned everyone out as Mirabelle gave Bonnie a brief history lesson about the land west of Souhaitant River—until Bonnie suddenly grew bored and complained that this wasn’t school.

“We could change that,” Odile told them wryly. “Maybe I should give you an assignment to turn into me by the time we reach Dormont.”

“No!” Bonnie pleaded.

“We’re here,” Siffrin said, and the others fell silent.

At the end of the road was Encre’s House. It was smaller than Voimort’s but still much larger than the buildings around it. There was a wide field between the shops and cafés and House, the land dipping into the House’s walls—Siffrin wondered if the House had once been surrounded by a moat that had long-since been filled-in.

“More of those light things!” Bonnie announced, pointing.

The space between stones making up the House’s façade seemed to glow. Motes of light drifted from those cracks, floating ominously.

Siffrin remembered one of the ghost stories Aurélin used to tell him. Fragments of people that had gotten lost in the forest, doomed to lead more travelers astray until their lights finally faded. He used to wear his clothes inside-out as a kid anytime he’d needed to go into the forest, but he could no longer remember why such an inane-sounding tactic was supposed to work against the ghost lights’ trickery.

Same with the rowan berries. He’d kept them in his pockets after running away from the group home. The berries were supposed to keep any ghosts from getting him lost or lead him into the underground or trick him into dancing until his shoes filled with blood. However, he could no longer remember why some berries were supposed to be so powerful against ghosts.

“Ghosts in stories are usually metaphors,” Aurélin had told them once. “Whether to symbolize someone needing to learn to let go of the past, someone feeling guilt or grief, or regret over believing they’ve made the wrong choice. What do you think the meaning behind this one is?”

Stop. Siffrin blinked hard and kept going. They all needed to be quick.

In, find information, out.

Dozens of frozen bodies crowded the cobblestone leading to the House’s entrance. It was impossible not to brush against the fleeing occupants as the party wound around teachers and housemaidens and students. One was carrying two children, one child captured in their shock while the other had tears frozen on their chubby cheeks. Someone by the front of the group had been captured mid-cast, one hand gripping a large pair of sewing scissors as the other made a scissors sign by their forehead—Siffrin guessed they’d been about to attack a Sadness that had been in front of them prior to everyone freezing in place.

Occasionally, Mirabelle gasped, while Juliet kept her eyes on the ground, hands clenched in tight fists at her sides.

“That’s Bea—”

“Shut up,” Juliet hissed from the back of the group, and Mirabelle hung her head, hands going to her arms, as if to keep off a chill. “You don’t get to talk ab—”

“Quiet,” Odile snapped as they neared the yawning entrance. “We need to make this venture quick, and it won’t be if we end up fighting.”

“We’re not the ones fighting,” Isabeau whispered under his breath, and he squeezed Mirabelle’s shoulder reassuringly.

The House’s front gate had lightless spikes following along its top curve; a frozen housemaiden was inside, mouth open in an unheard order, body doubled over, and hands wrapped around a lever. It looked like they’d been holding the gate open.

He looked terrified, eyes wide and long hair wild.

The party entered the House, passing under the spikes that made the gate resemble a gaping maw.

“I’d have thought those would have been removed after the castle was reconstructed into a House,” Odile commented.

“Atmosphere,” Juliet said, voice low and flat. “The designers leaned more into the ‘old castle’ aesthetic than most of the other Houses. That gate got lowered for special days, then opened dramatically for guests here for our annual balls or monthly shows.”

“It looks like its eating us!” Bonnie sounded excited rather than scared; Siffrin hoped that this was something that would remain true.

They didn’t want Bonnie to act rashly, but fear was unpredictable. They might freeze or run headlong into danger. If anything happened, Bonnie would need to run as far and fast as their legs could take them. Inside their satchel, along with one of the orbs and some snacks, Odile had ensured they also had a small map of the region, a compass, and some coins.

Bonnie hadn’t been happy about it; they’d acted like Odile had thought everyone was going to die.

“If anything happens to us, Mirabelle will still be okay. She’ll be running with you,” Odile had said, and too late, she’d realized it was the wrong thing to say.

Juliet had commented, “Yeah. Change knows it’s what she’s good at.”

The only bright spot of that night was that Bonnie had gotten so angry at Juliet for insulting Mirabelle again, they’d forgotten to stay upset at Odile—and at Siffrin and Isabeau for not disagreeing with her.

Enough people crowded the entrance that the party had to go inside one at a time; Siffrin stood off to the side of the space that felt oddly narrow compared to the gate’s size as they waited.

The smell was worse in here. Siffrin couldn’t ignore it anymore, and they pulled their collar over their nose.

Everything the Curse had touched smelled like burning sugar.

Siffrin felt like they were beginning to float inside their body.

Forgetting, forgetting, this was the smell of forgetting.

What had they forgotten? Or was it someone else?

“Fill that void with knowledge. It will make navigating those gaps easier.”

Stop thinking about him, stop thinking about that place, stop stop stop. Siffrin jumped when Juliet spoke:

“This isn’t right.” Her voice was cold and disbelieving and hollow. “This isn’t… This should be a reception hall, not a corridor.”

The gate was at the start of a long hallway, smooth wall at the other end. Now that they were inside, Siffrin could see that part of the frozen housemaiden’s elbow clipped through the wall, as if it weren’t there. They went to it, brushing their fingertips along the wall before resting their hand flat against it.

“Is this the Curse’s influence, then?” Odile sounded unsure. “But… how?”

“None of the other buildings looked out of place,” Juliet said, now only sounding dismayed.

“Do you think it was on purpose?” Isabeau asked. “If the King went to Dormont specifically, maybe he knew the Head Housemaiden had been studying something that could defeat him?”

“It’s as good a theory as any,” Odile sighed. “Though the thought that he can do that at all is… troubling.”

It was also troubling that he might know where the orbs even were. How many steps ahead of them was he?

Then, this was only speculation.

All of this was only speculation. Hunches. Suspicion.

“We might as well follow this hallway,” Odile said. “We should mark the doors we take somehow, so we don’t get lost.”

Now that Juliet couldn’t do the only job she had. She was basically useless now, dead weight.

Stop it, Siffrin told himself. Stop thinking that way.

Even if it was true, even if it was about her. A better person wouldn’t think that way.

But they’d never been able to be the better person, not truly. It was all an act, always an act.

An actor who could barely keep their blinding roles straight.

“Siffrin?” Mirabelle asked gently.

No. No, this wasn’t a play. It wasn’t one of Bonnie’s books. It wasn’t a story told to a child that felt more like a ghost than a person.

Breathe. In… and out… Pheeeewwww…

Siffrin remembered to smile before turning around. “Ready?”

“Ready, ready!” Bonnie cheered, and Siffrin ignored everyone’s expressions as they took the lead.

The torches along the wall looked weird; halfway down the hallway, Siffrin realized it was because the fire wasn’t moving. They didn’t flicker, and their light no longer resembled fire but the motes that remained suspended along the space between stone and brick. Like ghost lights trapped in place, here to watch the saviors get turned around, lost in this maze the Curse had rendered the House into.

Siffrin resisted the urge to pull their shirt and cloak off and turn them inside-out.

“There’s… only one door,” they observed, looking from the dark opening to down along the lightless walls.

Burnt sugar, spun through with ozone.

They were forgetting something. Or someone else was forgetting something. Forgetting a daughter that didn’t exist. Forgetting a loved one whose ghost was a star-shaped earring. Forgetting a traveler with stories of lightless sand and darkless towers. Forgetting—

Stop. Siffrin watched as Odile asked Bonnie if she could borrow the “cool rock” they’d found last night.

Reluctantly, they handed it over, the chunk of bone-pale rock scraping over frozen stone. When the light X remained in place, Odile nodded and asked Bonnie if Siffrin could hold the rock until they all left the House.

“Well…” Bonnie thought about it. “If it’s Frin, sure.” They glared at him, and he couldn’t help the way his mouth curved into a fond smile. “Just don’t lose it, or else you’ll be sorry!”

“I promise to take good care of it.” Siffrin accepted the bone-pale stone from Odile and slipped it into one of their pockets.

Everyone ignored Juliet as she muttered something under her breath.

The doorway led into a storage room full of barrels. Signs tacked to the walls declared which barrels were filled with water, which were filled with which sorts of nuts, and which needed to be refilled. Atop a nearby barrel was a square piece of paper, angry scribbling issuing the order to Stop eating nuts directly out of the barrels!!! The graphite was nearly indistinguishable from the lightless paper.

Siffrin picked up the paper. It felt stiffer than the thinness suggested, but as he folded and creased the paper, it moved without resistance.

“Good,” Odile said to herself. “That’s one question answered.”

Siffrin held up the paper crane in their hand, inspecting the folds. The crane didn’t unfold itself; they tucked it into one of their pockets and began looking around with the others. The hallway had only one door; there had to be a way through this storage room somewhere.

“Be careful keeping that paper, Siffrin,” Odile said. “Let us know if you feel anything.”

They nodded and looked over when Mirabelle approached.

“Can I see really quick?” she asked timidly. She’d been trying her best to stand strong since her breakdown following Juliet’s arrival, but being inside a frozen House was affecting her—a deep cut she couldn’t stitch closed herself. “I…”

Ah. Siffrin caught on and pulled the crane back out.

Isabeau looked over from where he’d been searching behind some barrels. “Oh, neat!” He leaned against the nearest barrel to get a closer look as Mira closed her eyes and held one hand over the crane. “Sif, where’d you learn to make those?”

…

…

…

He… didn’t remember.

He didn’t remember.

He smelled burnt sugar and ozone, nothing but burnt sugar—

No, no, no, he could smell coconut and shea butter and lilac shampoo and olive oil soap and salt and sweat and the lingering scent of wood and leaves from his cloak.

Focus, focus. “Don’t remember.”

“…” Isabeau looked bewildered, concerned.

YOU WAITED TOO LONG TO ANSWER, YOU IDIOT! Siffrin tried to think of something else to say, but Odile interrupted:

“They probably learned it while traveling in Ka Bue. Origami is a popular craft there.”

“Oh!” Isabeau smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes, which remained on Siffrin. “Maybe you can teach me sometime!”

“ME TOO!” Bonnie’s voice didn’t echo; it was like the walls absorbed sound instead of bouncing it back. “Teach me too!”

Siffrin nodded, the movement a jerk of stiff muscles. He forgot to smile.

It made sense, what Odile said, but Siffrin had been making paper cranes since he was a kid. Folding music sheets and poems and assignments he hadn't felt like completing. Maybe one of the teachers had learned while traveling to Ka Bue? Or had learned from a Ka Buan traveler and taught Siffrin? But that wasn't right. He'd known... since—

Stop thinking stop thinking stop thinking. Stop trying to remember! You have to focus! Siffrin drew in a deep breath, held it, and let it out. Focus on Mira.

“It’s not changing,” she murmured, handing back the crane. Her eyes were wet with tears, but she blinked them back.

Juliet started to say something but swore loudly just as Odile pulled a very smug-looking Bonnie away from her. Juliet scowled down at them as she balanced on one foot while bending down to clutch her knee.

Okay, seeing that helped make Siffrin feel a little better. He gave Bonnie a subtle thumbs-up, earning a mirthful grin from them. Odile shot him a tired look, but a corner of her mouth tugged upwards.

He smiled wider seeing Mirabelle turn her face and bite her bottom lip as she tried not to laugh; he stepped in front of her so Juliet didn’t see, sure she’d probably start screaming and ranting again otherwise.

“I’ll take the crane with us when we leave,” he whispered to Mirabelle. “Maybe you can unfreeze it when we’re further away from the Curse.”

Mirabelle’s expression sobered, but she nodded, resolute.

Everyone went back to searching.

Bonnie was the one who spotted the door, everyone following their finger… up.

There. A dark square, barely noticeable against the lightless walls. A few motes of light floated in and out of it; otherwise, Siffrin wouldn’t have been able to see it was there.

Odile made a small, strangled noise, but before Juliet could comment or Isabeau could offer her comfort, she slapped a hand on one of the barrels. “Alright. Let’s get moving. We know we can move these now. We’ll need to be careful stacking them. Siffrin, take the lead.” She nodded when he did. “I’d like you to go further ahead than usual, just to check if that passage continues vertically and for how long, as well as where it opens up and if it has a way out other than this. That knowledge will help with deciding our next steps.”

He nodded again; Isabeau was already moving barrels around.

“Them in the lead?” Juliet muttered under her breath. Her gaze burned into the back of Mirabelle’s head as she asked Isabeau how to help.

“Yes, him in the lead,” Odile said. Her tone suggested it was obvious, and Juliet was an idiot for not coming to the same conclusion.

Juliet’s cheeks turned splotchy, and Bonnie demanded, “What’s your problem with Frin?!”

“Hey, guys,” Isabeau cut in, doing his best to keep his tone jovial. “This’ll probably go faster if we all work together, right?”

“Right,” Odile agreed as Mirabelle and Siffrin nodded.

“Lemme help, lemme help!” Bonnie rushed over to Isabeau’s side, and Juliet crossed her arms but nodded in agreement. The faster they got what they needed, the faster she could leave her friends’ shared grave.

Siffrin probably shouldn’t think like that. If Odile was right, and there was information here that could change everything, then the ice encasing Vaugarde wouldn’t be permanent. Whatever eternity the King longed for would shatter.

When the barrels had all been stacked to create a rough staircase against the back wall, Siffrin hopped onto the first tier, then the next and the next. He gave everyone a thumbs-up to show it was stable and crouched as he looked up. There was still quite a bit of space between the top barrel and the opening, but Isabeau could easily help Mirabelle and Bonnie up. Juliet and Odile were tall enough that they likely wouldn’t need the help, though Isabeau may give Odile help anyway due to her fear of heights.

Siffrin extended their arms upwards as they jumped, hands pressing against the sides of a narrow passage. They blew their bangs up in a huff, trying their hardest to keep their mind empty.

This wasn’t that place, this wasn’t that place, this wasn’t that place.

They were looking for information. Not money, not artifacts. They were looking to find something to defeat the King, not give to his debtholder.

This was fine. They were fine.

Focus.

“You good, Sif?” Isabeau called up.

Siffrin pressed their palms against the cool wall. Their feet dangled below them, and when they looked up, hat scraping against stone, they saw only darkness.

“’m good,” Siffrin grunted.

Lips pressed into a hard line, Siffrin pulled his legs up as he bent back. His shoulders and abdomen protested, the muscles straining. His feet hit a wall the same time his back hit the wall opposite. He grunted and shifted his arms, fighting the urge to roll his shoulders. He could see little more than dark shapes, no matter how hard he focused, and now that he wasn’t constantly thinking about the wrongness of how everything looked or how everything smelled like memories being ground into powder, Siffrin realized how quiet it was.

They heard their party’s heartbeats. They heard the small shush of Mirabelle’s muslin capelet against the silk of her dress. They heard Isabeau placating Bonnie. They heard Juliet tapping her foot and the thin chains sliding against the frames of Odile’s glasses.

The rest of the House was completely silent. Even when moving the barrels, the nuts hadn’t so much as shifted; the water hadn’t so much as splashed. At least outside, there’d been the occasional bird turning back upon realizing how wrong the air felt here; there’d been the wind and distant talk of leaves and grass brushing against each other.

Here…

A shiver spiraled down Siffrin’s spine. They’d never been encased in such total silence before and once again thought of how this House felt like a grave.

But not yours, they told themself. Keep moving.

Slowly, Siffrin moved upwards, tiny sparks flaring as the steel backs on his heels scraped against rock. The width remained constant as he continued upwards, and he felt a breeze hit the tip of his hat before he smelled fresh air cut through the smell of burnt sugar and ozone and forgetting.

Siffrin swore as he rolled onto flat ground. He swore again as he hit what felt like a leg; he scrambled up into a defensive stance, seeing the lightless girl’s frozen scream before remembering that anyone still inside the House would be frozen in time.

This girl looked young—thirteen at the oldest, they guessed. She wore a housemaiden’s typical pleated skirt and unattached sleeves, and Change ornaments decorated the tops of her flats, one of which had started to slip off her foot when she froze. She’d been caught by the King’s Curse right as she’d begun to fall, both hands outstretched to catch herself; Siffrin tasted bile in the back of his throat.

This room looked like a dance hall. Three of the walls were covered in reflective glass, which had a name—

Mirrors.

Three of the walls were covered in mirrors. There were waist-high bars positioned by one of those walls, the stands weighed down so they wouldn’t fall over. In a corner looked to be blocks of resin for the dancers’ shoes, and everyone but the young housemaiden were wearing tights or leotards, their hair slicked back or styled in tight buns. They’d all been caught in the middle of running towards the door.

“It goes straight up,” Siffrin called down the hole. “Meter and a half, maybe? Looks like a dance classroom, and there’s a door. I’ll check to make sure there isn’t a Sadness right outside it first.”

“Careful, Siffrin!” Odile called up as the others’ voices overlapped as they discussed who should go up next.

The open door led to a spiral staircase with narrow windows, but the door fit into the wall oddly. It looked normal inside the classroom, but when Siffrin got onto the staircase, the curve of the walls didn’t match the wideness of the dance hall’s door.

Stars, navigating this place was going to be a nightmare!

Oh, wait, the rock. Siffrin pulled it out of their pocket and drew an X on the inside of the doorframe like Odile had done in the storage room. They went to the square hole in the floor and made an X on either side of it before slipping the rock back into their pocket.

Siffrin wished they’d thought to bring rope with them. Hopefully they found some. He’d be able to get down the chute again without much issue, but he wasn’t sure if the others could, especially Odile and Bonnie.

It took time, but between Isabeau helping everyone up and Siffrin coaching them on how to climb—thank stars even Juliet listened without comment—everyone made it into the dance hall.

Looking at the floor to avoid seeing the faces of any of the frozen people, Juliet said, “This is supposed to be on the third floor, in the west wing.”

Pointing, Siffrin informed, “The door opens to a spiral staircase, but it looks… wrong.”

Shaking her head, Juliet’s arms wrapped around her middle. “Those staircases are all in the corners of the House. This room’s supposed to be across from another dance hall, a bigger one that rehearsals take place in. This one’s small, so it’s just used for exercises and the beginners’ classes.”

After a quick vote, the party went down the staircase, which went down for much longer than it should have by Odile’s estimations. The narrow door at the bottom led into what looked like a dungeon—and Juliet said it was exactly that. A leftover from when the House had been a castle. The dungeons flooded regularly; the doors leading down to it should have been blocked.

The floor was narrow, a frozen river directly to their right. Bonnie kicked a rock over the edge and gasped when it sat atop the water for a second before slowly sinking. Odile yanked them back before they could lean over the edge and touch the water.

Siffrin heard the haggard breathing before they smelled something like swamp mud, the scent even more putrid when mixed with the burnt sugar stench covering everything. “Sadness ahead. Around the corner.”

“Let’s go back up,” Odile said. “I doubt there’s anything down here.”

“How the crab can—?”

“Now,” Odile cut off Juliet as Siffrin carefully walked around everyone to take the lead.

Siffrin let out a relieved sigh when they saw the X marking the dance hall as they passed. Good. The rooms weren’t shuffling around as they explored the House.

The next floor up was a long hallway, and Siffrin walked closer to one of the sconces, squinting at the frozen fire. He held the back of his hand next to it—no heat. Another shiver skittered down his spine.

Stars, this place felt weird. Weird and wrong and warped—like it didn’t sit within reality anymore.

“… like everything’s a little to the left,” Isabeau was saying as Mirabelle verbalized the same feeling Siffrin had about this place.

No mention of the smell.

Maybe it wasn’t strong enough for any of them to notice, but it was so everywhere, so suffocating, so much that Siffrin couldn’t ignore it.

But they had to. They had to. They needed to keep going.

Siffrin heard a roar before noticing the scent of rust. Isabeau was already moving, taking a position in front of the group as Odile pushed Bonnie into a nearby classroom.

“I wanna fight!” Bonnie grunted. They glowered at Juliet as she joined them and said that they’d only hurt themself.

“Not now Boniface.” Odile’s no-nonsense tone was enough to make Bonnie stay put, and she got out her book as Isabeau threw his first strike just as the Sadness noticed they were all there.

It roared, rearing back onto cloven hooves. The hooves were high and heeled, though the heels looked more like knives stabbing into the rock as the Sadness scuttled back. Its too-skinny arms reached up as its narrow, deer-like head thrashed. Its arms split into two more arms at the elbows, but while the top arms ended in hands stuck in scissor positions, the arms below were long pieces of jagged bones that ended in spikes that tore through its sparsely furred flesh.

Isabeau ran to get on its other side, and Siffrin remained close, pausing to deliver a low-powered Scissor attack that caught it in its beaky mouth just before Odile’s Rock attack shattered half its skull.

The Sadness wobbled to the side as one eye dropped out of its ruined socket, hanging on by a cluster of nerves as the Sadness hissed, jaw clicking. Its back was arched like an angry cat’s as it remained on all fours, the spikes scraping against rock while its hands hung in front of them.

Spiraling horns erupted from its head; the one on the shattered side of its skull wobbled like a loose tooth, and Odile shouted a warning as it charged forward.

“MIRA!” Isabeau shouted, and Siffrin was on the move again. “WATCH OUT!”

Siffrin ran along the wall closest to the Sadness as Mirabelle shifted her position from defensive to offensive.

One step. Two.

He jumped as Mirabelle lunged, and Isabeau punched the ground with a yell. The ground quaked around them, as Siffrin clicked his heels and spun, slashing the air with his dagger.

Boom boom—Mirabelle sheathed her blade at the top of the beast’s neck—boom

It evaporated just as Siffrin landed right where the top arch of its spine had been. They sheathed their dagger and caught Mirabelle as her rapier clattered against the ground.

“Sorry,” she whispered when Siffrin flinched under her, but they shushed her as Isabeau ran over, apologizing over and over.

“I’m fine,” Mirabelle gasped. “The Sadness took the brunt of your attack.” She nodded in thanks when Siffrin leaned her against the wall. “I can heal myself. It just takes a little longer compared to when I heal others.”

“Take your time,” Odile told her as she put her book away. She patted Isabeau’s shoulder. “You did good, and your aim is much better with that attack.”

She didn’t say that Mirabelle shouldn’t have taken the risk she had, but Mirabelle winced anyway.

Bonnie yelled at Juliet, and Siffrin clenched his fists under his cloak. He could imagine what sort of comment she’d made.

“I’ll check one of the classrooms while we wait,” he said.

“Good idea,” Odile said. “Isabeau, join them.”

The classroom didn’t have any desks, but there were books everywhere. Most were stuffed every which way into overflowing shelves, but many were stacked on the floor or atop the table upfront. On the blackboard was a Venn diagram, comparing three… plays? The titles were in Poterian, and there was mention of sopranos and arias—ah, operas, then. Though many of the books looked like they were scripts, languages ranging from Vaugardian to Poterian to Mwudu to Hirethian. Other books discussed costuming and fashion, the history behind Hireth’s underground theatre community and the presence of art in activism, and biographies of some of Vaugarde’s more popular playwrights.

Nothing about Craft—except for one book about using it to help with quick changes when performing.

“Do you think Mira’s going to be okay?” Isabeau asked as he flipped through a book about theatre costumes influencing counterculture fashion trends.

Siffrin set the script he was holding back on its pile atop a chest-high bookcase. “… I think so. Being here’s probably hard.” He ran a finger down the spine of a Hirethian play: A Wish for a Kiss. He’d never seen it—Hireth’s government-approved plays were bland at best—but something about it picked at a memory.

Remembering and forgetting, remembering and forgetting, remembering and forgetting.

Would they be stuck smelling burnt sugar and ozone and loss and grief forever?

Without thinking, he took the small book—more of a quarto, really—and slipped it into one of his cloak pockets.

“… isn’t helping,” Isabeau was saying, and the slight anger in his tone helped Siffrin know who he was talking about.

“No, she isn’t,” they agreed as they skimmed the other titles. “What do you think her issue with Mira is?”

“…” Isabeau picked up some loose papers on the ground and sat down to flip through them. The graphite and ink were hard to read on lightless paper; he took some time squinting at each page before setting it aside. “I think she’s sad and is taking it out on Mira.” He shook his head. “I’ve known some guys like that. They don’t know how to deal with their feelings, so they just get angry instead. Hurt a lot of people and then either try to move on like they didn’t do anything or start making up excuses instead of apologizing. The worst was someone who’d act like we were wrong, like it was our fault they yelled at us!” He sighed and tossed the papers aside. “But… ultimately, I think it’s coz she’s hurt, y’know? Ran away as the city started getting frozen. Survivor’s guilt, maybe. And grief, since she’s so sure we won’t succeed and her friends and family won’t get unfrozen, scared of course that she’s going to get frozen anyway even after escaping Encre, and anger that it happened at all! I’m… trying to be understanding, but…”

But they were all grieving to some capacity. They were all scared. They were all angry and sad and guilty. They were trying to share the weight of the world that was on Mirabelle’s shoulders, a weight that Juliet didn’t and couldn’t understand—refused to understand. And for what? A grudge? Envy?

… Did it matter what her reason was?

“Anything in here?” Odile asked as she stood in the doorway. She gave a tired nod when Siffrin and Isabeau shook their heads. “I figured not. Mirabelle’s healed, but Boniface is insisting we stop for a ‘snack break,’ so come on, now. Let’s join them before Boniface kicks Juliet again.”

As Isabeau got up, Siffrin couldn’t stop himself from saying sarcastically, “Oh, no~! That’d be un-kick-ceptable!”

Isabeau let out a loud bark of laughter as Odile sighed.

Juliet had pointedly not eaten any of the snacks, so Siffrin had taken her share of the fried fish skins Bonnie had made this morning. The smell had helped block out the surrounding stench of cane sugar, but even now, Siffrin couldn’t help but think that the flavor had been off—missing something. Something salty… eggy… What was—

Stop thinking stop thinking stop trying to remember. Siffrin kept walking.

The hallway inclined, bringing them into a common area filled with tables and couches and chairs. There was frozen food on some of the tables, one person posed with a bowl of soup tilting over the edge as they turned towards the opposite door, where three people had been in the middle of running when the Curse hit them all.

Someone else was left eternally asleep on one of the couches, and several people would be cowering along the walls or under the tables forever if the party didn’t reach Dormont in time.

Siffrin returned to the entrance to mark an X on both sides of one of the double doors.

Behind him, Mirabelle said, “They… they look so scared.”

“Of crabbing course they do,” Juliet hissed, and Siffrin whirled around as Mirabelle flinched. “What, you hoped they’d get to be all happy and shit—”

“Enough,” Odile pressed. “We should keep going.”

Juliet opened her mouth but closed it again. She nodded, the movement harsh. She touched the Change ornament pinned over her throat and followed as the party moved around tables, toppled chairs, and people.

Siffrin paused to mark more X’s; the double doors led to a hallway that looked too narrow for the entryway to fit, and when he turned to look at the hinges, he saw that they clipped through the hallway walls.

This whole House was a headache. The sooner they left here, the better.

The wall on the left had windows, large ones that reminded Siffrin of the Craft history museum’s windows. The glass was lightless as the surrounding stone, sunlight unable to break through it. The glow between stones provided more visibility.

“This is the office,” Juliet said suddenly, and Siffrin slid to a stop.

They grunted when Mirabelle ran into them and assured her that they were fine when she kept apologizing.

“You’re sure?” Isabeau asked as he followed Juliet into the small room.

“I’m sure.” Juliet pointed at one of several teacups on the large desk in the room’s center. “The orb was balancing on that. House…” She swallowed audibly, and her hand shook as it fell back to her side. “Housemaiden Anne came in here sometimes to proofread the papers Head Housemaiden Euphie left here. Sh-she was always forgetting to bring her teacups back to the kitchens.”

No one said anything about that, and Juliet stood still next to the desk as the others searched.

“You weren’t joking about how she keeps her desks,” Odile grumbled when Siffrin yanked out the desk’s bottom drawer.

Just like at the mountain fortress, the force knocked them back as papers and folders flew out of the drawer.

“That’s even messier than my desk at school!” Bonnie complained as they pulled books out of the short bookcase by the door. “So many books!” They grumbled to themself and started flipping through books as Mirabelle searched the taller bookcases with Isabeau.

“How does she get anything done like this?” Odile muttered to herself as she set teacups aside and sorted through the papers on the desk.

She started putting them in piles, having to squint at each paper. It was hard for Siffrin to make out the ink against the lightless paper, so they couldn’t imagine how much harder it was for her.

“Letters, I think?” Siffrin flipped through a bulging folder.

Mirabelle perked up. “Letters?”

“Who cares?” Juliet flinched at Odile’s hard look but stared back with narrowed eyes.

Siffrin got up as Mirabelle walked over and tried to read over their shoulder.

“Oh,” she whispered under a gasp. “These are the originals.”

Originals? Siffrin let her take the folder as he got back down on his knees to sift through the drawer.

Odile glanced over Mirabelle’s shoulder, nearly leaning into Siffrin to read what was on the page she was looking at. “We don’t need those. Look for something new.” She went to the other side of the desk, so she could continue sorting through the papers without bumping into Siffrin.

“Oh!” Mirabelle closed the folder and set it onto the chair. “Yes, Madame.”

“New?” Isabeau asked, but neither answered him as they continued to search. He hesitated but continued to pull out books to check the title page and flip through them, in case any loose papers fell out.

Siffrin found a square book and flipped through it. Pressed flowers, leaves, and clovers had been glued to the pages, Euphrasie’s hurried writing noting the species as well as where she’d collected them. He set the book aside and rummaged through loose papers and opened accordion folders, squinting to read each tab. Nothing stood out.

Stars above, how were they supposed to know what to look for?!

It wasn’t like Euphrasie would have been given the foresight or time to label anything Ways to Beat the King.

Locating fire in the deepest part of a forest that always rained would be easier.

“Do you all even know what you’re looking for?” Juliet grumbled, and Siffrin grit his teeth, the point of one of his fangs cutting the inside of his lip. “If Head Housemaiden Euphie really knew some secret to defeating the King, don’t you think the Change God would have chosen her instead?!” She clutched her Change ornament and whirled around, side-stepping when Isabeau tried to put a hand on her shoulder. “Even without some secret super-powered Craft, she would have been the better choice.”

Mirabelle winced, eyes shiny. She whispered a plea for Siffrin to calm down when they jumped to their feet and got into an attack stance.

“You need—”

Juliet cut Odile off: “What I need—What any of us need—”

Isabeau tried again, “Hey—”

Juliet stomped closer towards Mirabelle, scowling when Siffrin stuck themself right in her path. “What are you—”

“Leave them alone!” Bonnie chucked a book at Juliet, who ducked.

Catching the thrown book, Isabeau stuttered an admonishment at Bonnie as Odile gave them a quick fist-bump. Isabeau gave her a look that said something like, Please don’t make this harder or Please don’t encourage them.

“Jul—”

Mirabelle’s soft voice set Juliet off: “DON’T CRABBING START! WHY WOULD—?!”

“Stop.” Siffrin’s voice was low, but its edge made Juliet take a sudden half-step back.

Their cheeks were dark and prickled with dangerous heat. They started imagining roots growing out of their feet without thinking, needing to ground themself, needing to calm down. But soon as the roots hit the frozen rug underneath the desk, they recoiled, and Siffrin’s body seized, as though they’d been struck by lightning.

The feeling only stoked their burning anger.

Jaw set, Juliet dug her nails into her palms. Siffrin smelled blood.

“You never even Changed,” she spat, and Mirabelle flinched hard, whimpering.

Siffrin was too surprised by the statement to react. He might not know much about the Change belief, but he knew that change was integral to it—the center of everything, as Mirabelle had said herself when they’d first met. Most housemaidens had Changed at least once before taking their initiatory vows; several Houses even required it.

“Hey—”

“Now—"

Again, Isabeau and Odile were ignored. Juliet squeezed her eyes shut and roared, “YOU NEVER EVEN CHANGED, AND YOU’RE RUNNING AROUND LOOKING AT NOTHING WHILE—”

Through her teeth, Odile seethed, “May I remind you that you agreed—”

Juliet pulled at her braid with one hand and clutched at her Change ornament with the other. Her eyes were filled with fury and shone with tears. “It should have been you. IT SHOULD HAVE BEEN YOU THAT CRABBING FROZE INSTEAD OF HER!”

She wasn’t talking about Euphrasie; the whimper Mirabelle made said she knew exactly who Juliet was talking about instead.

Tears streamed down Juliet’s face, but when Mirabelle let out a sob, the crackling flame of Siffrin’s anger whooshed into a blazing inferno.

He spoke at the same time as both Odile and Isabeau, but both fell silent as he raged, “SHUT UP YOU”—blinding wasn’t strong enough of an explicative, and the following words that fell out of his mouth stuck to his teeth like caramel—“WISHLESS CAVE SHADOW—”

“EVERYONE STOP!” Bonnie threw a tome, aiming for Juliet but hitting the teacups on the desk instead. One shattered on impact as two others toppled onto the floor. Tears rolled down their cheeks. “STOP SCREAMING! STOP IT!”

The inferno inside Siffrin smothered immediately, as if bags of sand and dust had been dropped right over it.

What were they saying?

They felt dizzy.

Everything smelled like burnt sugar and ozone and forgetting.

“Juliet.” Odile’s voice was flat. “Step outside and cool down. We won’t be long.”

Isabeau bent down by Bonnie, speaking in a low tone as Juliet heaved a few breaths. She shot a murderous look at both Mirabelle and Siffrin before storming out of the office.

When Odile next spoke, her voice was softer. “Mirabelle, Siffrin. Will you both be alright?”

Bonnie mumbled something, and Isabeau responded as his brow furrowed.

Something was ringing in Siffrin’s ears, and they licked the back of their teeth. Had they eaten something sweet just now? Or was the Curse’s smell filling him like sand in the lower half of an hourglass?

They nodded. Odile didn’t look convinced, but when Mirabelle wiped her eyes and said she’d be fine, she nodded.

“Siffrin.”

Hand going to the desk’s edge, Siffrin stopped before dropping back to the floor to continue searching through the desk papers. They tilted their head at Odile, who watched them curiously.

“What did you say earlier?” she asked. “I didn’t recognize the language.”

…

Had… Had they said something?

They couldn’t remember.

They shrugged and dropped to the floor. They needed to find information to defeat the King. There wasn’t time to dilly-dally, as Odile would say. There wasn’t time to wonder about the gaps. There wasn’t time to try to remember what they’d forgotten.

Whatever it was, it was gone now.

He needed to keep going.

Chapter Text

In plays, when one character killed another, it was deliberate. Reasons stretched from greed to jealousy to wrath to possessiveness to revenge to defense. Rarely had Siffrin seen plays where a character killed someone by accident, and when he had, the character absolved themself by rotting in jail forevermore or by committing suicide. Or, if they chose to remain in hiding instead of seeking repentance, justice was restored by having them die, whether by divine intervention or someone seeking revenge.

Maybe it was their own bias, but Siffrin had always thought it felt rather insidious… Even characters that killed for power or fame or wealth could repent and continue to live on; meanwhile, the few examples of characters that killed by accident had to absolve themselves by forfeiting their own lives.

… Siffrin did not know the names of most of the people he’d taken blood from. He hadn’t wanted to know—now, anyway. When he’d been younger, he’d written their names down in a little notebook, before one of the other thieves in his gang in Asmu’ur found it and asked if the list was of all the people he’d slept with.

Thank stars that asshole had been illiterate, or else she might have recognized some of those names. She wouldn’t have been smart enough to connect any dots, but one of the others might have. Siffrin had burned the little notebook that night and stopped keeping any record of his victims. He’d stopped taking time to poke around their things to learn their names, hobbies, humanity.

It was probably better that way.

“People don’t learn the names of the cows or chickens they eat,” he’d been told by the one person they’d tried to explain their nature to.

A month later, his body had crumpled to the ground, the sound not unlike a pile of meat dropped onto tile.

“One got me in the gut…” He’d laughed, the sound hoarse, rough. “Drink up, kid. If I gotta go… Well, I’m a coward that wants to go fast and painless.”

Siffrin hadn’t been able to move. By the time they could control their body again, the closest thing they could call their friend been bleeding out for several, long, agonizing minutes.

They’d continued to drink long after his heart stopped beating.

And gluttonous monster they were, they’d only wanted more.

Siffrin… couldn’t remember his name.

Siffrin… didn’t want to think about what that might say about him.

One mercy kill. Three accidents.

Four ghosts rattling his ribcage like the bars of a prison cell. Maybe more. It wasn’t like he checked up on his victims afterwards anymore, didn’t make sure they’d received help to ensure they were still breathing, to ensure someone else didn’t take advantage while they were unconscious.

Mwudu’s Death God weighed the hearts of the recently departed against one of the Truth God’s feathers. If someone’s heart was heavier, it was tossed into everlasting fire, and they ceased to exist. If the heart and feather weighed the same, their heart was returned to the Fates, so they could unravel the heart into thread and weave it back into the Tapestry of Life.

Surely, Siffrin’s heart was heavier than a god’s feather, and if he was to be absolved that way in the end, he didn’t want to quicken the process by handing himself over.

As long as no one found out what he was or what he’d done, he’d be fine.

“It’d help if we had any idea what we’re looking for,” Isabeau sighed. He slipped the book he’d been flipping through back into its spot on the shelf. “Nothing’s standing out to me.”

“Same here,” Mirabelle said, despondent.

“Some of these books gave me a headache,” Bonnie grumbled. They crossed their arms and frowned.

Odile’s lips thinned into a hard line; she couldn’t stand the thought of taking the risk of coming here just to leave empty-handed.

Dumping a pile of papers back into the top drawer and hearing a weird crunch, Siffrin supplied, “This was just about how Body Craft branched off of Healing Craft.”

Brow furrowing, he pulled papers out again. Origami stars fell out of paper cube that had torn open.

Stars and wells and clovers and leaves.

Siffrin pocketed two of the paper stars. They still felt dizzy. They kept their breathing slow, shallow, even. Everything smelled like forgetting.

“It is a relatively new Craft,” Odile said under her breath as she tapped her chin. She stared at the teacup shards she’d dumped into one of the intact teacups. “Could that be…?”

“She thinks a newly discovered Craft could fight the King?” Isabeau guessed, but he sounded incredulous. Even if Body Craft was new compared to other types of Craft, it had still been practiced for decades.

A newly discovered Craft… Like a Crafted virus? One that ensured that the afflicted would reanimate after death, giving them a second chance of fighting a tyrant with the power of a god?

… Exactly how many of people like Siffrin were there in the world? How many had Euphrasie heard about?

Something about this didn’t feel quite right, though. They were missing something. Forgetting something. They were always forgetting something. Their throat itched.

If this was it, how did Euphrasie expect Mirabelle to find people afflicted with the virus? She’d found Siffrin, but that had been by happenstance.

… Did she know…?

No. The confusion and frustration on her face were genuine.

“It’s something to look for,” Odile said, sounding determined, if unsure. “Do the rest of you recall seeing anything similar? Most of the papers on the desk that I was able to read seem to be letters from Dormont’s House to keep the Head Housemaiden informed on what’s happening.”

“Sorry, M’dame.” Isabeau shook his head. “Closest to that I could find about new Craft was a book talking about combining Rock Craft and Healing Craft to help grow crops.”

“I found a book called Stitch Craft!” Bonnie looked around. “Oh, wait, I think that’s the one I threw.” They pointed at the thick book Odile had set next to the paper piles she’d made.

“Stitch Craft’s really old, Bonbon,” Isabeau told them. “It’s just not practiced by a lot of people, since it takes longer to weave or sew with Crafted thread, and it's pretty advanced stuff, so clothes made using it are really expensive. I learned a little bit of it in school!”

Bonnie deflated. “… Oh…”

Startling, Mirabelle clapped her hands in front of her and said, “But it was a very good effort, Bonnie! Thank you so much!”

“Yes, thank you,” Odile added. “Your help is greatly appreciated, Boniface.”

“Yeah!” Isabeau agreed. “This would be impossible without all of us putting our heads together!”

“Definitely,” Siffrin told them.

Bouncing a little on the balls of their feet, Bonnie laughed, appeased.

From outside the door, Juliet said, “If you’re all done coddling the kid instead of being useful—”

Bonnie stomped one foot and screamed, “NO ONE LIKES YOU!”

Siffrin flinched but more out of habit than Bonnie’s volume causing them pain. There was no echo; the lightless walls seemed to absorb sound.

“Bonnie,” Mira scolded in admonishment. Her mouth pinched in a frown when the others merely shrugged.

“Thank you, Siffrin.” Odile gave an odd smile at his bewildered look. “For finding that paper about Body Craft. It gives us a good direction to look into. If we can’t find much else here, we can at least use that information to know what we should look out for when searching her office and the library in Dormont’s House.”

Cheeks warm, Siffrin pulled his hat over his face.

It was time to leave. Siffrin held in a relieved sigh. They felt like they’d never be rid of the burnt sugar smell, like it had already woven itself into his cloak and hat. They felt like they were starting to float inside their body. As before, they imagined roots growing out of their feet to anchor them, to ground them, but soon as the imagined roots hit the lightless rug, they recoiled, every muscle in Siffrin’s body seizing.

The itch in his throat grew as everything muted, like listening to the world while underwater.

“That’s all?” Juliet growled as the party left the office.

Siffrin uncapped his flask and took a few quick sips of cold blood to avoid saying anything.

“That’s all,” Odile said cooly, her expression a dare for Juliet to push things further.

Her lips pressed together into a hard line, but she looked away and followed the group.

As they passed through the common area, Odile said, “Tonight, I’ll compose a letter to send to the Voimort House’s Head Housemaiden and lead librarian. Now that we have a lead, maybe one of them can help find something. Mirabelle, let me know later where in Dormont they should send whatever they find.”

“Of course, Madame.” Mirabelle’s voice was small and unreadable. Siffrin worried but continued on.

“Do you think they’ll send anything?” Isabeau asked. “M’dame Head Housemaiden was pretty insistent on keeping things quiet when we were there.”

“Only about her patients,” Odile told him as they started down a wide staircase back towards the classrooms. “And even so, I’m hoping she’ll consider this a… gray area.”

…

She might. Siffrin’s heart sped up.

Haggard breathing around the corner. Siffrin stopped walking.

“Sif—” Isabeau stopped talking when Siffrin unsheathed their dagger and held it out in front of their face. “Bonbon, you and Juliet stay up here, by the pillars.”

“But—”

“No buts, Boniface.” Odile already had her book out, and she swore when the Sadness came into view.

The hulking creature had stumpy legs without knees. Three long tails that ended in hands in paper signs dragged along the ground behind it, and a hose-like arm growing too far forward on its right shoulder wrapped tight around its barrel chest. The plate-sized hand at the end was curved towards its body, protecting something covered in feathers.

“It’s hiding something,” Siffrin observed, and Odile got between them and Mirabelle.

She was about to Examine it when the Sadness roared, its jaw unhinging like a snake’s. Curving fangs dripped viscous liquid, and its barbed tongue shot out, the party scattering as Bonnie and Juliet cried out from behind a pillar.

The bulbous end of the Sadness’s tongue crashed into the stairs, chunks of rock spraying as Mirabelle and Siffrin both attempted to slice at the Sadness’s tongue. Both lost their blades as the long, hard barbs caught them.

“Crab!”

“Stars!”

Isabeau’s Rock attack hit the Sadness right between its bulging eyes, but it only shook its head in annoyance and roared, one tail lifting and slapping the ground hard.

Isabeau narrowly dodged the Paper attack, rotted wood and ozone mixing with the surrounding burnt sugar stench.

Running, Siffrin dove and rolled over his shoulder and back, and Mirabelle caught her rapier by the hilt as Siffrin stabbed upward with his dagger. The blade sliced through the flap of rubbery skin between the Sadness’s legs as the feathers in the Sadness’s cupped hand glistened and

a ticking clock and smell of salt and sea and rock and fear

                                                                                                                                                             “Siffrin!” Mirabelle sighed in relief. She was kneeling in front of them. “Are you okay?”

Siffrin was still posed on one knee, dagger jutting upward and body feeling cold.

However, the Sadness was suddenly halfway down the corridor, one tail slapping the wall as Isabeau dove to dodge the attack while Odile aimed a Scissor attack at its neck.

“You were frozen,” Mirabelle gasped, seeing the confusion on Siffrin’s face. “Are you okay to keep going?”

They nodded, and the two ran back into the fray.

Odile’s Scissor attack had gone high when she jumped backwards to avoid being hit by one of the Sadness’s tails, and it had hit one of the Sadness’s six deer-like ears instead, slicing it off and leaving a deep cut in the side of its head. The cut leaked the same viscous fluid as what dripped from its fangs.

Siffrin leaped up, one of the barbs on the Sadness’s tongue brushing the bottom of one sole. He clicked his heels, arms an X in front of his face, and he threw them down by his sides as he landed, one of those tongue-barbs slicing a hole through his trousers and drawing blood across his inner thigh. His Craft attack broke into three consecutive hits, flying straight for the Sadness’s thick neck.

Boom—Mirabelle’s rapier vibrated—boom—Craft shot out from the thin blade and hit the Sadness square in the chest the same time as the third boom of Siffrin’s attack.

Isabeau dodged the Sadness’s tail more easily this time; it was slowing down, getting weaker.

Siffrin rolled to dodge another strike from the Sadness’s tongue, stinging pain skittering over their thigh as their throat burned.

Odile swore and cast her Slow Down ability on the Sadness’s tail just before it slammed down on Siffrin’s leg before they could scramble up to their feet. He cried out as Mirabelle charged forward, and he stabbed the narrowest part of the tail, just before it flared out into the base of the large, flat hand.

The Sadness roared, and Siffrin rolled away, swearing as they nearly fell over again, their left shin feeling wrong.

Siffrin grit his teeth through the sharp stabs of pain and mimicked Isabeau’s attack stance, stomping forward with his right foot and thrusting their dagger and hand forward simultaneously. His Scissors attack was slower than usual but had more power behind it, and the sizzling Craft crashed into the side of the Sadness’s barrel chest as Odile’s Paper attack slammed into its back, Mirabelle’s rapier sunk into the flesh just above its hip, and Isabeau punched its ankle as Craft sparked across the rock chips studding his knuckles.

A shimmer of feathers as the hulking Sadness evaporated with a shriek, and a sound like a nail scraping glass as Mirabelle grunted and stepped back. The air around her shimmered, and something small and round and covered in feathers plopped onto the ground like a bag filled with loam.

Odile cast Examine as the fist-sized Sadness scampered towards Mirabelle. She leaped aside, and Siffrin sidestepped to avoid her.

“It has—” Odile’s eyes went wide just as Isabeau froze in place. “Isabeau!”

Mirabelle was already on the move. “I’ve got him!”

“Siffrin, stand back!” Odile ordered, and he twisted out of the way, shin bone shifting painfully as the Sadness’s feathers shimmered again as it ran around in a circle in the middle of the corridor.

Its foxlike muzzle touched its long, spring-like tail as it circled round and round; the air next to Siffrin had felt cold, and when he looked behind him, he saw the air shimmer as vapor collected to create drops that fell to the rock and disintegrated.

As his back was turned, Craft crackled through the air, and Odile shouted a warning as Siffrin dodged. Rock Craft struck him in the shoulder, sending him sprawling as the tiny Sadness squawked and shrieked and cried as it ran, Odile’s Paper attack missing it by centimeters.

“Oh!” Isabeau startled as he unfroze, and Siffrin reclaimed his dagger and scrambled up, keeping his weight on his right foot.

He bit back a hiss as pain radiated down his arm.

The Sadness squealed and barked, scampering back as it ran, then shrieked when a rock hit it between the eyes as Juliet shouted at Bonnie to stay behind the pillar.

“BONNIE!” Mirabelle shouted as the distracted Sadness puffed up, facing the wide staircase.

Just as the Sadness’s feathers began to shimmer, Mirabelle stepped forward, rapier held out in a defensive stance as she thrust her other hand forward in a paper sign.

The Sadness shrieked as it evaporated, and Mirabelle rushed around the corner with Isabeau and Odile right behind her.

Huffing, Siffrin took time to sit on the ground and roll up his pantleg to check his shin. The way his bone pushed against his skin was troubling. Half his leg was covered in blood from the cut on his inner thigh, but when he checked the skin, he saw that it had already scabbed over. If he didn’t drink enough blood soon, it would scar, but that was the least of his problems right now.

Hand pressing his flask to his chest, Siffrin drew a deep breath in… and let it out. At least the pain in his shoulder was already fading. He reached under his cloak and unhooked his flask. He drank half of the blood inside and stopped. If they ran into another Sadness, he’d want to have at least a little leftover to drink after.

“… crabbing stupid!” Juliet was shouting at Bonnie. She sounded worried.

It surprised Siffrin enough that they almost dropped their flask when reattaching it to the strap across their chest. They pulled down their pant leg and stood, making sure to keep weight on their right leg as they tried to walk as normally as possible.

“DON’T CALL ME STUPID, STUPID!” Bonnie cried, angry tears gathering along their bottom lashes.

“Boniface.”

Bonnie whipped around to face Odile, nearly stumbling down the stairs. They shrunk back at the stern looks on her and the others’ faces.

“I-I—” They swallowed. Steeling themself, they stomped one foot, fists at their sides. “I needed to help! It already froze Frin!”

And Isabeau, but Bonnie wouldn’t have been able to see that from atop the stairs.

“And now they’re fine.” Odile crossed her arms over her chest. “Mirabelle had that under control.” She shot a glare Juliet’s way to tell her she better not have a comment, and thankfully she managed to keep whatever she wanted to say inside her head. “Your job, Boniface, is to stay safe, and that means staying put when we tell you to.”

“But—but—”

“No buts,” Odile said. She exhaled slowly. “But what’s done is done. Thank you for your help, but please help next time by staying put.” She waited until Bonnie grumbled an affirmative. “Good. Now, let’s go before that or a previous Sadness regenerates, or a new one runs into us.”

Before taking the lead, Siffrin thought of something they’d wondered about. “Will everyone be able to get down that chute okay? I didn’t see any rope anywhere…”

Honestly, they weren’t sure they could climb down too easily in their current condition, but they’d rather not say anything. Already, they could feel the bone shifting, and it took most of their concentration to keep from crying out or shuddering. Their left shin felt like it had been set aflame while the rest of their body flashed cold. Sweat broke out along their forehead and dripped down their neck and back, and the way Mirabelle looked at him said they weren’t hiding the pain nearly as well as they thought.

Moving to stand next to him, Mirabelle asked quietly, “Siffrin, do you need…” She trailed off, brow wrinkling.

She’d tried to use Healing Crafts on him after the well incident. Siffrin could see she was blaming herself, her abilities.

“I’m fine,” he whispered back.

She didn’t look like she believed him, but she nodded.

Odile closed her eyes, lips pressed firmly together.

Isabeau offered, “I can go down first to help everyone down.”

“It took almost an hour for us just to get up,” Juliet mumbled. She looked away as she crossed her arms over her chest.

“And it will take longer to get down.” Odile looked around. “Trying to find rope would only waste more time.”

…

You’ll be fine, Siffrin told himself.

He took the lead.

Once everyone was back in the dance hall, Isabeau started his descent while the others debated which order everyone else should go in. Siffrin sat, legs stretched out in front of them. They resisted the urge to pull up their pant leg and inspect their shin.

“I should probably go next. If a Sadness is down there—”

“It’s more likely one would come here—”

“The kid should—”

“I’M NOT A KID—”

“If something should happen, Boniface should wait—”

“Most of the Sadnesses we’ve come across wouldn’t fit in the staircase—”

“We didn’t come across any on the first floor—”

“But we’ve seen some in town, so it’s reasonable to expect—”

“LET FRIN PICK! HE HASN’T SAID ANYTHING YET!” Bonnie pointed at Siffrin as if to punctuate what they’d said, and Siffrin felt their face turn clammy as the others turned to look at them.

“Probably wore themself out after screaming,” Juliet muttered. “He can only hiss and bark now.” She met Siffrin’s glare with one of her own, though her brow wrinkled—the same way Mirabelle’s often did.

He wondered who picked it up from whom.

Juliet’s mouth became a hard line as her light eyes looked him over, and she drew her arms in tighter as she kept them crossed over her middle. Siffrin couldn’t tell if she looked angry or worried.

Fingers at her temples, Odile swallowed a groan. “That’s actually not a bad idea, as we are getting nowhere elsewise.” She crossed her arms and fixed Siffrin with a look. “Siffrin. You pick which order we all go down in, then.”

This was worse than being the tiebreaker! “Um… uh…”

“Very articulate,” Juliet grumbled as she went to stand by the blocks of resin. She pointedly looked away from them, staring at the resin as if were the most interesting thing she’d seen.

Jaw set, Siffrin closed his eyes and took a deep breath in, almost gagging.

Stars! He was sick of the sugary smell everywhere!

Clenching their jaw, Siffrin tried to focus.

In

.

.

.

.

.

Out…

Their shin felt hot, hot, hot. Rivulets of sweat glued their shirt to their back and arms. It was hard to think about anything other than the pain and the way his shin bone shifted, cracked, and clicked. The feeling of their bones healing never failed to make their skin feel like it might crawl right off them.

They blinked back tears and took another breath in, and let it out. Their throat burned. They wanted to throw up. They felt like they’d die with the stench of burnt sugar and ozone suffocating them like a tightening noose.

Bonnie glared at Juliet and then looked up at Odile as they tapped her elbow. “Are you gonna be okay, Dile?”

Right. Heights. Siffrin needed to start thinking. The faster they all got down, the sooner Odile could forget about having to slowly descend down the dark, dark hole.

Looking a little embarrassed that her fear of heights had shown so clearly, Odile replied softly, “I’ll be fine, Boniface.”

“I can go find rope if that’ll help?”

“I—” Odile sighed. “Thank you, Boniface, but that’s unnecessary. I’ll be okay.”

Bonnie looked unconvinced but fell silent.

As they’d spoken, Siffrin considered what order they should all climb down the chute. He almost said Juliet should drop down first, just so she’d be away from him, but the others had made points about a Sadness potentially appearing on the first floor or coming down the spiral staircase. In a pinch, Juliet could attack, though she wasn’t very strong and had sprained her wrist trying to help when they first entered Encre.

She was also Rock Type, same as Isabeau, so if a Paper Type Sadness happened to be what showed up, she and Isabeau were both at a disadvantage.

Odile or Mirabelle made more sense. With Mirabelle, though, there was the added fact that she was the only one of them who could unfreeze people. This had been the main point of conflict. Mirabelle wanted to go down before the others, in case Isabeau ended up frozen, while Odile wanted her to wait up here, thinking it was more likely for any Sadnesses with a freezing ability to be on one of the upper floors, purely based on what they’d come across so far.

A detail she either hadn’t picked up on or forgot about, though, was Mirabelle’s climbing speed. She’d been the fastest besides Siffrin when it came to shimmying up the chute, and Siffrin knew from experience that climbing down often took longer than climbing up. She’d have an easier time climbing back up if needed, but with her tendency to panic, being forced to jump down in a hurry was more likely to lead to Mirabelle injuring herself.

“Mira next,” Siffrin said finally. “Then Bonbon, Juliet, Odile, and then I’ll come down last.”

When Odile looked unsure, Siffrin briefly explained their reasoning. His cheeks warmed when Odile smiled, impressed.

“Hallway looks clear down here!” Isabeau called up. “Ready?”

Siffrin looked up at Mirabelle, who nodded.

“Ready!” she called down before beginning her descent.

When she was more than halfway down, Siffrin turned to let Bonnie know—

“Boniface?” Odile’s tone mirrored Siffrin’s spike of panic.

Pain shot up his left leg as he leaped to his feet and whirled around. How could they not have noticed they’d left?! Where the blinding stars could they have gone?!

“Crab,” Juliet hissed. “You had to bring a kid—"

“You check downstairs,” Odile ordered Siffrin. “I’ll check upstairs.”

She’d barely finished speaking before Siffrin was out of the room, feeling as though someone were stabbing his shin with every step.

Faster, faster. He needed to be faster. The world tilted as he grit his teeth against the pain, one fang cutting the inside of his lip.

Halfway down the stairs, he heard someone huffing as they followed, but Siffrin blocked out everything but what was in front of them.

Focus. Focus.

Bonnie.

They needed to find Bonnie.

Please, oh stars, please… not Bonnie. Any of them but Bonnie.

Siffrin unsheathed their dagger at the same time they heard Bonnie scream. It sounded weird in the House—no echo, and it was difficult to pinpoint a direction by hearing alone.

“BONBON!” Siffrin’s voice was swallowed by the staircase’s lightless walls as he leaped over the final steps and into the dungeon.

Straight ahead, Bonnie was rounding the corner, rope wound over one shoulder and under their opposite arm. They slid across the smooth stone floor, scream cut off as their foot slipped out from under them.

Siffrin was already in the air, jumping over their body just as Bonnie’s head smacked the ground, hat sliding towards the wall as Bonnie nearly went over the edge and into the frozen water.

The Sadness struck as Siffrin clicked his heels and threw his hands down by his sides.

Boom—his right foot slipped over the walkway’s edge—boom—the Sadness’s left hook caught the side of his face, fiery pain flaring through his eye and skull—boom

Screaming. Crying. Yelling. Burning pain, pain, pain.

Siffrin started to sink; the water felt more like quicksand. He smelled blood and grasped the walkway’s edge. Pushing himself up with one elbow, he swiped the air with his dagger, Craft crackling through the air and slicing a deep cut into one of the Sadness’s digitigrade legs. It roared as it staggered back, giving Siffrin just enough time to roll onto the walkway and jump back to his feet, only to nearly stumble back into the water as pain shot up his left leg.

Yelling. Arguing. Crying.

Dark stars crowded Siffrin’s vision. Their left eye burned. Blood spilled over their throbbing cheek.

Slice. Dodge. Slip.

Rock Craft glanced off the side of the Sadness’s head as Siffrin pulled themself up onto the walkway, frozen water clinging to their clothes like cold hands trying to drag him down, down, down below. They dropped to the cool stone as Rock Craft crackled through the air over them. Someone nearby swore in between lines of a prayer for protection.

Their eye and throat burned.

The Sadness lunged forward, one arm swinging. Siffrin spun on his right foot. The spiked fist brushed the back of his cloak the same time his dagger’s blade opened the Sadness’s windpipe.

The spiked fist caught the fabric, pulling him around. He slashed wildly as he was slammed into the wall, dark stars exploding across his vision. Dropping to his knees, he slashed wildly where the Sadness’s thigh had been.

When they hit only air, Siffrin pulled their arms in close and fell back, rolling over one shoulder and nearly ending right back over the edge again before someone grasped their cloak and yanked them forward. They rolled as Juliet shouted a warning at him, someone else calling out from elsewhere.

Siffrin was on the ground, unseeing and groping the ground for their dagger before realizing they’d been hit. Pain shot across their chest and shoulders with each movement. It grew harder and harder to breathe.

A pinprick of light.

Another weak Rock attack, this time glancing off the Sadness’s shoulder.

Screaming. Yelling.

A strong Paper attack.

A shriek as the Sadness finally, finally, finally evaporated.

“FRIN!”

“Juliet, take Boniface—"

“I’M NOT GOING ANYWHERE WITH—”

“BON—”

“FRIN—”

“BONIFACE.”

Normally, her voice would have boomed, but the lightless walls, lightless floors, lightless water drank and drank and drank the sound. On all fours, Siffrin swayed and wheezed, coughed. Their left eye throbbed. Pain shot through their left leg. Their throat burned.

They could feel themself begin to slip.

No.

No, no, no, no, no…

He couldn’t. Not here, not now, not with Bonnie this close.

Not Bonnie, not Bonnie, please, stars, anyone but Bonnie!

“Juliet, stay here with them,” Odile ordered as Bonnie thrashed and screamed Siffrin’s name over and over. “I’ll be right back. Boniface, now.”

Seconds, minutes, maybe hours passed. Siffrin couldn’t tell, didn’t know, all he knew was pain and thirst and need.

“You’re crabbing welcome.” Juliet’s voice was flat. She hissed, grabbing her right wrist. “Crab, that’s just great. I think I broke—Why are you looking at me like that, you crabbing weirdo?”

Her voice cracked, fear spiking with her heartbeat. Thump thump thumpthumpthumpthumpthump

The corners of Siffrin’s mouth lifted as she backed up until she hit the wall.

He lunged, smelling blood and sugar and ozone and fear. He caught the loose fabric of Juliet’s sleeve as she dodged, yanking her down. She rolled away before he could get on top of her and punched wildly, a weak Rock attack brushing the wide brim of his hat and sizzling to nothing above the water.

The look on Juliet’s face was a mixture of terror and vindication as she grasped something on the ground just as Siffrin pushed her shoulder to force her onto her back.

Siffrin screamed as his dagger sliced up his left cheek and hit his brow bone, the blade’s edge kissing the surface of his already injured eye. He scrambled back and clutched at his face, hissing as Juliet dropped the blade and nearly slipped while getting back to her feet.

Run rabbit run

One hand pressed against his eye, Siffrin lunged forward, pain rocketing up his left leg and scattering over his upper back from his shoulder. He hooked his arm around his rabbit’s leg, her scream cut off as her chin slammed against unforgiving stone.

He rolled to dodge as she kicked back with her free foot, and as he rushed forward, she rolled away, nearly throwing herself over the edge. She kicked wildly again, but she was too early, and Siffrin moved aside easily to grasp her arm and yank her closer to the wall.

Their rabbit twisted to kick again, and this time, her foot connected with their shin. They hissed savagely as pain bloomed and shot out like lightning, and suddenly, they were against the wall, dark stars dancing across their vision as pain throbbed along the back of their head.

They grasped the Change ornament pinned over their rabbit’s throat, fabric ripping as the rabbit pulled away. Her breathing was harsh and shallow, and blood covered their chin, and dripped down the front of their neck. She screamed when Siffrin was suddenly between her and the spiral staircase’s entrance.

They pounced, predator and prey grappling until Siffrin reared back and howled. They grasped at their eye again, warm metal biting scarring skin as the brooch’s thick, bent needle pierced their eye and scraped against bone.

His rabbit’s fist connected with the side of his head, but she hesitated and screamed, having hit him with her fractured arm. He grasped it, twisting as he yanked her down once more and bared his fangs.

With her free hand, she punched, aiming for the Change ornament, and Siffrin hissed again as heat and pain flared through his skull and left his teeth rattling.

Their rabbit screamed in disbelief as much as fear and fury and pain as Siffrin’s fangs sunk into the side of her neck. She punched the side of their head, but the movement was slow, sluggish. Her scream ebbed into a gurgle as her eyes rolled up and her body slumped underneath Siffrin.

Warm blood slid over their tongue as they pulled their rabbit up, so she was sitting while they held her, one hand around her arm and the other cradling the back of her head. Some of her blood wouldn’t stop soaking into the fabric of her high collar. Growling, Siffrin pulled back and licked as they pulled down the stiff, stained cloth.

Before he could bite into his rabbit’s neck again, bony hands grasped the back of his cloak and yanked him back.

He yelped and jumped, twisting away from the person’s grasp. He kicked out wildly, the intruder swearing as she backed up to avoid being cut by the steel attached to the backs of his heels.

The intruder swore again, making a strangled, worried noise. She dodged as Siffrin lunged, each movement setting his eye on fire as warm metal bit into blood-slick skin. He flew over the edge, sinking slowly as the intruder grasped his cloak, under his arms, and pulled hard as her knees and back popped and cracked.

They twisted away from her, growling, and she danced away easily as they reached for her ankle. She kicked him in the arm, just under the shoulder, and when he scrambled back, she noticed how he favored his right leg and spun to kick the other—hard.

Siffrin roared in pain as his back ended up against the wall.

They couldn’t put weight on their left leg anymore. Their skull felt like it had been filled with sun-warmed cotton and dandelion fluff. Their eye felt like steel and flint in clumsy hands, trying to light a spark to set the rest of their body on fire.

Teeth clenched, they tried to rock forward but only fell back as they sunk to the floor, head throbbing as it hit the wall. Something pressed against their teeth, and as it tipped upward, Siffrin drank instinctively, even as they grimaced against the taste of cold blood.

The flask emptied much too soon, but the lingering coldness helped Siffrin return to himself.

Odile stared at them in worry and guilt and sorrow.

“Siffrin…” She pulled her hand away from his face when they flinched. “Oh, Siffrin…” She looked at the left side of his face. “I’m… terribly sorry, Siffrin. This… will hurt.”

A scream caught halfway up his throat as Odile pushed him against the wall with one hand and pulled the brooch out of his eye with the other. She tossed it behind her, where it skipped across the frozen water before clinking against the opposite wall.

Siffrin felt like their skull had suddenly grown twice in size. It tilted to one side, neck straining and shoulders throbbing. Their shirt felt glued to their body, like it would have to be cut off. Their shin was on fire. Their throat burned and burned and burned and burned.

“Isabeau is on his way here,” Odile promised, keeping one hand on Siffrin’s shoulder, so they sat upright. Dark stars crowded their vision. “You’ll be alright, young one. I assure you.”

She’s… not disgusted with you…? Siffrin wanted to cry. Even after she saw him… You’ve always been good at looking pathetic. Like Stella said, always good at getting everyone to fall for your crocodile tears.

Manipulative.

Dark stars crowded Siffrin’s vision further, tunneling it, until it was like trying to stare through a straw.

They slumped against the wall and let the darkness claim them just as Odile called out to Isabeau.

Chapter Text

Receiving confirmation of her suspicions had been… surprising, to say the least.

Seeing Siffrin glaring at her with blood covering half his face as he snarled like a cornered animal… As if he couldn’t recognize her… As if he’d been incapable of registering either of them as human beings…

Odile was sure her mind wouldn’t rid itself of the image for a long time, if ever.

It was worse than when he’d fought Stella. He’d been furious and aggressive, but he’d still appeared perfectly human. His words had been as sharp as his dagger, and each of his attacks had been fueled by pain he’d been storing inside until he’d suddenly cracked.

The way he’d been in the dungeon hadn’t been like that at all.

“There’s two ways this can go. He snaps, or he breaks.”

Had. Had that been what that was? Siffrin breaking? Was that what Stella had been trying to explain?

When Stella and Siffrin had fought, Odile had felt useless. Utterly useless.

Self-inflicted cuts on Siffrin’s arm with new blood dragging dark trails over old scars. After seeing how quickly those cuts had healed, leaving behind no evidence of anything ever having been wrong… How many times had Siffrin cut himself in order for the injuries to finally scar the way they had?

And the way they’d backed up from her, dagger raised and a hand wrapped around their throat… They’d looked like they couldn’t decide if they wanted to hurt someone else or themself.

And then Odile only stood there.

Useless. Utterly useless.

Just like with—No, no, she couldn’t think about that.

She couldn’t allow herself to wallow in self-pity and regrets. It solved nothing. Siffrin was still here. Still alive. They could still be helped.

“When he showed up at the group home, he couldn’t remember anything,” Stella had said. Each word pulled out of her like extracting a rotten tooth. “No family, no name, no nothing. I got there a few months after they did, so most of this was what I heard later, but they could barely speak either. Or wouldn’t. The housemaidens and teachers weren’t sure which.”

Listening to that had felt like a violation, but Odile hadn’t thought to stop Stella from talking.

“He’d always been…” Stella had flapped her hands, as if the motion could supply the word she needed. “Sometimes, it’s almost like they forget they’re human? It’s…” She’d shaken her head. “I’m doubting they’ve learned to talk about what bothers them.”

Odile had only shaken her head, unable to think of anything to say. It was rare that she found herself rendered speechless, but seeing Siffrin that way… she’d felt split down the middle. Half of her watching Siffrin balancing on a razor’s edge, and half of her back home, an angry young woman kicking over a candlelight vigil left for someone that everyone else had only cared about after he’d jumped.

Someone she could have saved, if only she’d bothered to pay attention.

“… Figured.” Stella had rubbed the back of her neck. “And well. Okay, they ran away when they were… nine? Ten? So, sure, take what I say with a grain of salt, but it’s all I know for how to snap him out of… that. Trying to get them to talk will only make him clam up more. He’ll try even harder to keep everything inside and hidden, and the next explosion ends up being worse. Only way I’ve ever gotten through to them was by, well, being a crab. Egging him on, making them fight. They react on instinct a lot for someone who’s always stuck inside his own crabbing head. Make him react on instinct, get his body moving, let his energy spend some—not run out; trust me, you’ll get tired hours before they do—and it won’t take long for him to, well, basically snap back into place.”

Finally, Odile had found her voice enough to ask, “And what happens if he… ‘breaks’?”

“Don’t let him” was all Stella would say on the matter.

Stella had said to pretend she hadn’t seen anything. Siffrin would only build his walls higher and higher, thicker and thicker otherwise.

So. She’d found the reserves of patience and strength needed to keep her mouth shut. She’d left him to walk back to the cottage alone to purchase that wood carving kit—mainly as a peace offering, to let Siffrin know she was here for them, whenever they were ready to talk, if they were ever ready to talk.

Partly it was to be away from them for a few minutes and get her thoughts all in order. To banish the ghosts haunting her and reorient herself to the here and now.

She was no longer in university in Ka Bue. She was in Vaugarde, traveling with allies she’d found herself growing almost uncomfortably close to.

She was in Vaugarde, one of the Saviors, and they had a tyrant to kill.

But first, Siffrin. Who was still unconscious three days after they all escaped Encre.

The worst part of this was Odile’s indecision.

Not over what to do with Siffrin, oh no. They were staying with them. That much she was sure about. Even if they’d managed to stay alive by themself for this long, Odile was growing increasingly suspicious that whatever bargain they’d struck with a god, spirit, or Expression of luck had since run its course.

Though, Odile couldn’t help but feel like her insistence on ensuring Siffrin’s safety was… less than altruistic. They were a powerful Crafter. They had incredible night vision and hearing, and Odile had noticed at the mountain fortress that they were capable of smelling the presence of traps, somehow. They were inhumanly fast when they allowed themself to be, and it was becoming clear that they could easily go without food and sleep for much longer than the rest of them when needed.

And then there was the Rose Issue. Rose Probability. Rose Contingency?

After seeing Siffrin like that in the Encre House’s dungeon, Odile now doubted that Rose’s feral reaction at Voimort had been a default state of being. Rather, it seemed to be some sort of episode following physical and mental stress.

Odile should have checked Siffrin’s leg the moment she’d noticed he was favoring his right one. She’d seen how hard that Sadness’s tail had hit him, but after seeing how easily and quickly his cuts and bruises healed, she’d done exactly what her father had always warned her against: She’d assumed. She’d assumed he’d heal and be fine by the time they left the House. She’d assumed his flask was full and would be enough to tide him over in the meantime. She’d assumed… too much.

Boniface blamed themself, for running out of the room without saying anything. For not being strong enough to fight that Sadness in the dungeon. For stopping to argue with Juliet instead of running upstairs to get Odile faster. For arguing about leaving the dungeon, forcing Odile to leave Siffrin’s side, so she could drag them back to the dance hall.

Mirabelle blamed herself, for not insisting on trying to heal Siffrin before going down the chute. For hesitating when a fast Sadness suddenly galloped into the House’s first floor. For not being faster when climbing back up the chute after she and Isabeau finally defeated it.

Isabeau blamed himself, for only checking the hallway and not outside the House’s front gate. For not noticing that Siffrin was limping in the first place. For not checking in with Bonnie to make sure they were feeling okay, ensuring they were being helpful just by being there by their side. For getting frozen by the fast Sadness, forcing Mirabelle to take time to unfreeze him before she could climb back up the chute.

Juliet probably didn’t blame herself for anything, the absolute fracture.

Odile honestly did hope Juliet’s recovery went well, wherever it was she’d run off to, but she could still hate the little troglodyte.

And gems only knew what Siffrin would blame themself for once they were awake.

You were thinking of the Rose Issue, Odile reminded herself, and she knocked her glasses up into her bangs as she rubbed her face.

Physical and mental stress leading to an episode that Odile could only describe as feral.

Siffrin’s body had been working hard to heal all his injuries.

And as insane as it sounded, after feeling Rose’s lack of a pulse and seeing how quickly Siffrin’s injuries healed, Odile was now sure that Rose’s body had managed to heal itself from death.

Not completely.

No pulse, no need to breathe. Likely, she no longer needed to eat or sleep, either. Odile hadn’t bothered asking about that in her letter to the Voimort House’s Head Housemaiden; she knew already that she wouldn’t answer those questions. She’d been more roundabout in her inquiries, though she had a feeling the Head Housemaiden would see through it easily. As long as she sent something more substantial than I can’t answer that, Odile didn’t care. Even if her only response was an explanation for how to combine Craft to knock someone unconscious as she'd done with Sofiane against Rose, then that was fine. Surely, Voimort's Head Housemaiden would share that much.

Regardless. If the same could happen to Siffrin… If after death—Odile ignored the sharp pain in her chest as she considered such a thing—Siffrin’s body resurrected itself, then he could be their weapon against the King and his strength. They would just need to ensure they had a goat or deer or something for him to… well, it wasn’t technically eating. Drain, then.

Siffrin could be exactly what they needed to succeed.

The image of Siffrin snarling as they stared at her like a stranger—worse, like an intruder encroaching on their territory—returned to the forefront of her mind, unbidden.

They could be the reason they succeeded, or they could be the reason they failed.

Odile frowned as she stared at Siffrin as they slept.

They’d been lucky that the village’s healer had chosen not to evacuate. Like Stella, he’d decided to remain, since most people staying behind were likely too young, old, or sick to escape as the Curse drew ever closer.

Siffrin looked… so young. Small. A smooth, round face and a fire in their gaze that said they believed they could take on anyone and anything.

Since Chasion, it had become clear that much of that fire was a front—a veneer slowly peeling off, showing Odile just how thin it had been.

Bandages covered the left side of their face, and Isabeau worked dutifully on an eyepatch in the cottage’s kitchen, using Stitch Craft to ensure it would be comfortable.

The door squealed as it opened, but Siffrin did not stir. He had to wake up soon. It had been three days. That was how long he’d slept after nearly drowning.

Another part of… “being what he was” sounded too insensitive. He was human—just, a human being who needed to drink blood in the same way he required water.

“Here, Madame.” Mirabelle used a tea cloth to hold out a large bowl, one arm pinning her book to her chest awkwardly. It looked like the book might slip at any moment. “Bonnie made laksa.” She sighed. “Madame, your—"

“I don’t need the sling anymore.” Wearing it had hurt her neck, and after using Crafts on her arm, the healer had only warned her about overexerting herself. She sat up as Mirabelle set the bowl of curry soup onto the small table next to her—on top of her notes.

… Well, it wasn’t like there’d been space for her to set it elsewhere. It was fine.

And anyway, the laksa smelled heavenly, but Odile didn’t have strength left to smile right now. “You found something else?”

Glancing at the door, Mirabelle shut it and opened her book. It was the leatherbound one she’d taken from the mountain fortress. It was full of letters written in Asmu’urian, addressed to someone named Amabilis. Each letter was signed I trust you to keep my heart safe in your breast by someone named Marte—a decidedly not Asmu’urian name, or at least, not a common one.

I trust you to keep my heart safe in your breast was a rather corny but admittedly romantic sign-off, common in Asmu’ur’s eastern regions between lovers.

Between each letter was a page or so of Euphrasie’s notes. She hadn’t translated the letters word for word; Odile guessed she was fluent in the language but struggled with many of its nuances, going by what she’d written. This and Euphrasie’s chaotic style of notetaking had made this more of a cypher puzzle than a book for Mirabelle, leading her to take breaks between deciphering what she could.

When Odile picked up the book after trying and failing to take a nap, she hadn’t had much luck either—her understanding of Asmu’urian was intermediate at best, and this Marte’s handwriting made the words incomprehensible in some places—but something had caught her attention enough to ask Mirabelle to join her in the tent and look the page over with her.

In a letter where Marte had used a code common among Asmu’ur’s resistance at the time. It was no longer in use, dating these letters to be a decade old, at least. They had assured Amabilis that they were safe and in a non-sequitur Odile still didn’t understand—was this a story they both enjoyed? Had Amabilis mentioned it in the letter Marte was responding to? Was it part of a code Odile didn’t know?—Marte mentioned a story Odile vaguely recognized.

The tale spoke of “pale creatures” that started out human but then became something else after death. They supposedly had two hearts according to Asmu’urian legend—one light, one dark. The light one beat while they were human. They were often soft-spoken and forgetful, flitting about with no past or home. Perpetual outsiders, they were often bullied, and when they died, their dark hearts started beating, reviving them and leading them to exact revenge on the people who wronged them by draining them of blood.

The only way to kill them was by beheading, and towards the end of the letter, Marte jokingly—Odile sure hoped it was a joke—asked Amabilis if they’d keep his head in their garden or burn it with the rest of his body.

Ka Bue’s tales of a similar creature differed in some of the more important details, but it also wasn’t a wide-spread myth. It was more of a campfire story several small towns had, names and locales changing story to story.

Her aunt Yumi once shared a story from when she was in school, of such a creature, though she wouldn’t call it a monster. She’d remembered very little of the story, suddenly forgetting what she’d even been talking about halfway through. When pressed about the foreigner with light hair and sharp teeth, Yumi had grown confused, saying she’d never met such a person and couldn’t figure out what everyone was talking about. The oddness of her sudden memory loss had overshadowed the story; Odile could no longer remember any details, only that her aunt Yumi had asserted that the foreigner had been very polite.

What had made her try sharing that story in the first place was Odile’s youngest cousin talking about a second-hand account he’d overheard while at university. Odile had tuned him out; he’d always been prone to theatrics when telling stories. It had often annoyed her how everyone would listen to him as if every syllable out of his mouth rang true, even when it was obvious he was overexaggerating—at best.

Then, a year later, her friend Mayumi claimed to have witnessed this creature with her own eyes while taking a shortcut back to their university through the woods. Like most other accounts, it had pale skin and hair, and she’d seen it biting into the side of a deer’s neck. Mayumi had gasped, and the creature—person, Odile now knew—turned, their eyes going wide as blood dripped down their chin. Mayumi had been unable to move, but then the person ran away—as fast as a fox, she’d claimed when telling Odile about the encounter over tea.

Mayumi had always been one to have her head in the clouds, so Odile hadn’t paid her story much heed. Oh, how she regretted that now.

Euphrasie had made note of Marte’s account, but unfortunately, the note was merely a reminder to check elsewhere for further notes—and where to check was in shorthand. Mirabelle’s best guess had been somewhere in her office.

Dormont’s Head Housemaiden reminded Odile a lot about her thesis advisor in both the best and worst ways.

Slipping her Crafting book under her chair, Odile shifted around to use her chopsticks to fold the noodles over the bean sprouts, mint, cilantro, and enoki mushrooms.

“Is Isabeau eating this, too?” Odile asked teasingly when Mirabelle didn’t answer her question.

“He’s trying,” Mirabelle chuckled. “I worry for his stomach later.”

“At least we’re staying with a healer.”

Mirabelle smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. She pulled a nearby chair over to sit on Odile’s left, close to Siffrin’s head. Pain and worry and guilt washed over her face as she stared at his bandages.

“He’ll say he’s fine.” Odile’s voice was hollow, and she slurped noodles to avoid saying anything else.

“… They will.” Mirabelle swallowed, still staring at the bandages. “Ju-Juliet said…”

Odile tried not to look too interested in what Juliet had said. She should have known the pebble wouldn’t have left without saying something, but what she had said to Mirabelle had the potential for making things harder for Siffrin.

Odile never told the others that Juliet had stabbed him in the eye with her brooch in self-defense when Siffrin tried to drain her of blood.

She hadn’t told any of them a lot of things.

“I swear on my father’s diamond.”

That vow had been in consideration of Siffrin’s past in Vaugarde—of living in a group home as a child. Yet, Odile still felt a need to keep all his secrets for him, even the ones that could prove dangerous.

“I’m guessing it wasn’t anything of substance,” Odile said blithely before popping a fish ball into her mouth.

“…” Absent-mindedly, Mirabelle traced the embossed design on the front of her book—a heart pierced by three swords.

Odile had asked before if the design held any significance to Euphrasie; Mirabelle had said she didn’t know but that the design resembled that of a special type of card that was popular to use in divination. One of Mirabelle’s classmates had been painting her own set, she remembered, but she couldn’t recall if Euphrasie ever used them.

After a while, Mirabelle said in a low voice, “There’s more letters in Head Housemaiden Euphrasie’s office. She mentions this name a few times—Gwendal. She didn’t write an H in front of his name ever, so he’s not a housemaiden, but she mentions the Dormont and Corbeaux. It sounds like he’d helped her with… well, not the translations, but some questions she had about a few parts in here?”

Hmm… Whatever it was Juliet had said… Was it something Mirabelle doubted and thus had decided to disregard? Or was it something she didn’t want to bring up to Odile?

She wasn’t sure how much of the attack Juliet remembered, but even if she remembered only part of it and told Mirabelle, it was possible she’d want to ask Siffrin directly.

No matter. Odile was sure she could drag the information out of her before she managed to gather the courage she needed to talk to him about it. For now, she’d simply put a pin in it. There were other things to worry about at present.

Odile had a feeling she already knew the answer, but she asked anyway. “Which parts?” She savored the crunch of bean sprouts mixed with the noodles and mushrooms.

Boniface had gone a bit heavy on the coconut milk for Odile’s taste, but she guessed it had been an attempt to accommodate Mirabelle’s moderate spice tolerance. There was little help for Isabeau’s complete lack of tolerance when it came to this sort of dish; hopefully, there was plenty of bread for him to eat.

“I… don’t know,” Mirabelle sighed after a while. “I don’t even know if we should bother looking for his letters to the Head Housemaiden.”

“Might as well, while we’re looking for whatever it is she thinks can help us.” Odile stared at Siffrin’s mouth. Their chapped lips were parted slightly.

They’d told her that they’d always had “kitten teeth,” even as a child.

Did that mean as a child, Siffrin might have…

Odile could imagine that if someone Boniface’s age attacked her the way Siffrin had, she would hesitate to strike back, despite the danger. And that was assuming Siffrin had attacked an adult.

“Frin, why’s your teeth so sharp?”

“B-Bonnie, that’s not something nice to—”

“Oh, it’s fine, Mira. It’s to bite bad kids.”

“What made the name stand out to you?” Odile asked, frowning when Mirabelle winced. Ah, her tone had been a bit rough there, hadn’t it?

She sometimes grew annoyed with Mirabelle’s sensitive nature—as well as her vacillation and timorousness. She was technically the party’s leader, but rarely did she stand up to make any of the decisions.

Granted, it was deeply unfair for Mirabelle to even be in this situation at such a young age. Odile had her doubts about this “blessed by the Change God” business, but her investigations into Mirabelle’s claims had been put on the backburner soon as Siffrin joined their little party. It probably didn’t matter how Mirabelle got her immunity from the King’s Curse, and maybe there would be time later to ask her directly where she’d learned the ability, anyway.

And so, Odile did her best to be gentle with her, but her gentleness still often felt like sandpaper instead of silk, if her eldest cousin were to be believed—and she’d always been much more adept at reading people and navigating social conventions than Odile had.

Mirabelle drummed her fingertips along her book’s cover. “The first time he’s mentioned in the Head Housemaiden’s notes is talking about the letter where Marte talked about those people with two hearts.”

Hmm… Odile had missed that, but she hadn’t paid much attention to the names. She nodded, signaling for Mirabelle to continue.

“The annotation by his name goes to a paragraph near the back of the book.” She looked at the pile of blankets covering Siffrin’s body. He looked even smaller asleep than when they were awake. “He looks so…”

“Focus, Mirabelle.”

“R-right!” Shifting in her chair, Mirabelle did her best to calm down—that passionflower tea was doing less to help than Odile had hoped. “M-Madame, are you sure we shouldn’t tell—”

“Not yet.” Her eyes went to Siffrin’s lips again, the image of him snarling returning to the forefront of her mind. “What did the notes say?”

“…” Mirabelle watched Odile’s face, but she’d always struggled reading others’ expressions, always misreading and misinterpreting.

This endeared her more to Odile; she’d always hated when her friends could read her mind just by the twitch of her eyebrows or twist of her mouth.

After a moment, Mirabelle let out a breath. “Gwendal was helping the Head Housemaiden research Craft, but the notes don’t specify what kind. I’m not sure what the shorthand means, except maybe to point at another book or folder.” She sighed. “I… don’t understand how she kept track of all this. It’s all so spread out!”

Odile returned her attention to her food. She slurped up more noodles, lest she end up saying anything disparaging about Euphrasie. She’d never met the woman but was already deeply annoyed with her, which she knew was unfair.

“I’m… I’m sorry I can’t find more,” Mirabelle said, voice small.

Odile got annoyed all over again, both with Mirabelle’s low self-esteem and with herself for wearing her irritation so clearly on her face.

“It’s not your fault,” she said, doing her best to keep her voice soft and even as she set her chopsticks aside again. “It’s probably too much to ask for this whole ‘saving a country’ business to come with instructions, but thus far, you’ve been handling everything very well.”

Isabeau would be able to say something better, but at least Mirabelle was smiling again.

Odile snorted when Mirabelle’s stomach growled. “Heh. Go eat, Mirabelle. You can try decoding more of the Head Housemaiden’s notes when you have more energy.”

Mirabelle’s smile fell when she looked at Siffrin. “When—”

“I don’t plan on moving.” Odile picked up a chunk of chicken meat with her chopsticks. “I’ll let everyone know when they’re awake.” Not right away, however. “Go ahead and close the door again on your way out. I’d rather not risk the healer’s dog try to jump on them again when he’s returned.”

Swallowing back a giggle, Mirabelle nodded as she got up. “Bonnie’s also making beignets and orangettes, if you’d like any.”

“Orangettes, please, if it’s with dark chocolate.”

Once the door was shut again, Odile let out a long exhale and continued eating.

Three days.

It had been three days since the party escaped Encre.

After everything that had happened towards the end, the rope Boniface found had ended up coming in handy. After tearing a tendon in her arm and spraining an ankle, she hadn’t been in any shape to climb down the chute herself. Isabeau had climbed up and down that rope three times to get her, Juliet, and Siffrin down.

Thank gems Isabeau was strong enough to carry both Juliet and Siffrin out of the city (once again thanks to that rope), though he’d been thoroughly worn out afterwards. Soon as they arrived here, he’d slept for a day and a half, waking up starving, cramped, stiff, and sore.

Odile had worried at first Boniface would need to be carried out of the city, too, but they’d followed in silence.

This morning was the first time they’d said anything since then. Odile was worried, frankly. Maybe allowing them to come along had been a mistake, but Boniface was quite slippery. She worried that trying to leave them with someone would only result in them running away again.

If they were this dead set on reaching Dormont, Odile would rather they travel with them, where they could be safe—in theory. Their record on that front so far wasn’t great.

Siffrin’s breathing changed—more haggard and pained.

Odile stood, walking around her notes and lunch to a table pushed against the back wall. On it were Siffrin’s things, jars of salves and herb-infused oils, a pitcher of water, two glasses, and Change God statue that had been Crafted to dance. She grabbed Siffrin’s flask, nose wrinkling at the thought of what was inside. After the trouble she’d gone through to fill this thing, she regretted complaining about how long his “bathroom breaks” had been, even if she’d never voiced such complaints aloud.

She was still a bit miffed still about that wasted doe meat, though.

“Here.” She ignored how they flinched as she helped them sit up while pressing the spout against their lips.

Just like in the dungeon, they tilted their head back automatically, but Odile stepped back in surprise as Siffrin clapped their hands over their mouth. Dark blood splattered over their hands as they coughed weakly, throat bobbing as they tried to swallow as their uncovered eye screwed shut.

“Fish?” His hands muffled his hoarse voice.

Odile couldn’t help her scowl. Really? This kid had some nerve, being picky when she’d gone through the trouble of getting blood for him!

Holding in a sigh, Odile recapped the flask and set it onto her chair as she fetched a washcloth and dipped it into the basin in the corner of the room.

Siffrin hadn’t moved a millimeter when she returned to the side of their bed. Hands still pressed against their mouth, they stared forward, eye wide in panic.

Oh. Hmm. Hopefully, this conversation would go better than a few of their others. She’d grown tired of their tango and hoped for an easy walk of truthfulness and trust.

“Boniface has been making dishes with fish in them.” Odile held out the cloth, trying to remain calm and look disinterested as he stared at it. “It was the best I could do. I doubted the healer would have let us stay here if I’d slaughtered one of his goats.”

Slowly, slowly, Siffrin reached for the cloth. He wiped his hands, mouth, and neck. He was trying very hard to keep himself from touching the bandages on his face.

He took the flask back when Odile held it out, his nose wrinkling, and Odile wrung out the cloth into a small bowl by the basin and rinsed her hands in the clean water.

“I did not consider you might have preferences,” she admitted. “Though I feel silly for that now. Plenty of people prefer chicken over pork, for instance.”

Siffrin’s lack of reaction worried her. No pun, no joke, not even a chuckle.

Gems, she’d settle for a sarcastic comment!

Odile allowed their silence to fill the room as she shook her hands dry and returned to her chair. She ate another fish ball, content to wait him out.

Finally, Siffrin wiped his mouth on the back of his hand and said in a small, barely controlled voice, “It’s… usually, um, convenience? Since I need to eat, too, so rabbits or sometimes deer… uh, make more sense, when… when…”

Odile continued to eat. She’d learned by now that he’d only shut down when pressed. Her father would be much better at this, but he wasn’t here. She was here, so Odile did her best to channel him, though his diamond was all the way in Ka Bue.

Siffrin swallowed audibly and finished the fish blood while doing their best to keep from scrunching up their face. It wasn’t too unlike the few times he’d eaten potatoes.

That face always reminded Odile of a kitten trying dry food for the first time, reluctantly chewing but making sure everyone in the room could see their disdain. Odile slurped noodles to keep from chuckling at the mental image. She had no idea how he’d won anything by gambling; she could think of few people she’d met with worse poker faces.

“When I can’t drink human blood.” Their voice was nearly inaudible.

Odile stopped chewing, surprised by the truthful admission more than what Siffrin had said.

Hmm, so he did require human blood. It wasn’t simply a preference of taste. Based on clues Odile hated she only now saw in retrospect, she’d figured out that Siffrin had been drinking human blood before Juliet. There was that shopkeeper Stella had been checking on—the one who’d fainted despite never having done so before. Siffrin had struggled to keep their expression flat after hearing about them, and then there was the librarian. He’d still been breathing, but despite Odile’s attempts, he hadn’t woken up and had looked a little pale for someone simply sleeping at work.

Siffrin wasn’t a bad person. If he drank human blood and put people’s health at risk to do so, then it had to be for good reason.

Still, it didn’t make sense to her. One source of meat above others wasn’t a requirement for survival. A cat might go after birds or fish, but they could eat mice and chipmunks just as easily.

“Hmm.” She swallowed and wiped her bottom lip with the back of her hand. “Is it that human blood helps your healing process more, or is it that it’s unique, when it comes to your body getting what it needs from such a diet?”

Pandas had very specialized diets, though from what she knew about them, they’d sooner starve than eat something other than bamboo. Siffrin could eat other things, but…

“…” His gaze remained on the flask. His face was still pale and waxy, telling Odile her theory held credence. “It’s like…” He closed his eye, one hand going to rest over his chest. He inhaled deeply, holding air in for a few beats, and then he exhaled for twice as long as he’d inhaled. He looked calmer but no less ill. “It’s like… eating candy instead of a full meal? I can get some energy I need, like that deer. I wouldn’t have been able to make it to town from our campsite otherwise.”

An… interesting analogy. Though it still eluded her why human blood would be more akin to a “full meal” while every other type of blood would be more like “candy”—edible and even helpful when nothing else was available but definitely not something Siffrin could survive on alone.

Odile wondered again about Mayumi’s story of the person drinking deer blood. They would have been close enough to town to drink from a person, but had that person been trying to survive off animal blood alone? Or was it like Siffrin, where a traumatic injury had forced them to drink from animals to gather strength they’d required before finding a human to take some blood from? Though, if it was the second one, why not bite Mayumi—not that Odile wasn’t now grateful that her friend had left those woods unharmed.

“And the sleeping for three days?” she prodded gently. “My assumption has been that you more or less go into… almost like a hibernation type of state as your body heals itself.”

They shrugged. The blankets shifted as they shifted on the bed, only to wince and hiss in pain. They reached under the covers to massage their legs.

Odile set her chopsticks down and poured a glass of water. “It’s not cold anymore, I’m afraid.”

Siffrin took the glass and handed Odile his flask, which she returned to the table.

“It’s okay,” they said after draining half the glass. They paused, eye closing for a moment before they took small sips. “Um. You’re probably right? This… It’s only happened… three times? Including this time.”

“Hmm.” Odile returned to her seat and mixed the noodles around. “It makes the most amount of sense, I think.”

She wanted to ask what that third time had been but refrained. She was finally getting him to talk and didn’t want to ruin it by getting too personal with her questions. That could come later, when he trusted her more. Trying to pick up and coddle a feral cat wouldn’t domesticate it faster; it would only get her scratched.

“Unfortunately,” she said instead, “the others aren’t going to let you wander around anytime soon.”

“…”

“I’m taking up the watch shift tonight—no need for two of us to stay up this time.” She picked up her bowl to drink a mouthful of soup. “Would you like me to help you sneak out? My only request would be you let me know where you’re going. I can show you a map of the village and where those who stayed behind are staying.”

“…” Siffrin stared at the empty glass in their hands, expression unreadable.

Lost, maybe. A bit of disbelief. A painful memory.

Odile wondered if he’d ever told anyone else about this, or if he’d ever stayed with someone that put enough pieces of the puzzle together. What little he’d shared about his travels… it sounded like he’d left many of those places rather abruptly.

Like Ka Bue. It had taken a while of digging through her memories and an old letter, but Odile was sure that Siffrin had been the light-haired Piercing Craft student her friend Masato had mentioned. His older sister was a Scissor Craft master, who specialized in a style that had evolved from Piercing Craft used for bloodletting.

Upon being asked where he’d learned how to Craft, though, the student had suddenly panicked and run away. It had been an odd enough encounter for Masato’s sister to talk to him about when they’d next met up, and Masato had mentioned it in his letter to Odile. He’d always written novel-length letters, knowing Odile missed home; he’d cram as much information and observations into each of his letters, some details so clear, she could taste the food he ate or smell the forests Masato frequented when he grew too restless to remain indoors.

Odile could imagine why Siffrin would seek out a master in that style of Scissor Craft, but she couldn’t comprehend why such an innocuous question would result in such a dramatic escape.

“Yes... please,” Siffrin said finally. The please came out as if remembered at the last moment. Odile had noticed Siffrin didn't often use the word. Not out of intentional rudeness. They simply... forgot. Odile wondered if it was a Siffrin-specific quirk, or if their culture didn't use words like please or thank you very often. "I... appreciate it.”

The mix of relief and apprehension in their voice made Odile frown. Her heart felt heavy in her chest, but at the same time, she wanted to shake the kid for still being uncertain when she’d already done so much.

“Of course,” she managed. “Do you need more water?”

They nodded, and Odile took the glass.

“… Odile…?”

“Hmm?” She set the glass down and picked up the large pitcher.

“…” Siffrin swallowed audibly. “If… if I’m ever like… that again…”

Oh, gems. Odile wasn’t sure she liked where this was going. She set the pitcher down.

“… Stop me,” he finished finally, voice low and flat.

“…” Odile forced her jaw to relax. “I believe that’s what I’d done.”

“I was exhausted. I had a broken leg. I had—” They stopped. They inhaled, held the breath, and exhaled. “That’s… not always the case. I don’t… always just… snap out of it.”

“Never have I ever been responsible for someone’s death.”

… Ah, right. “Ah.” Very articulate.

How many ghosts were chained to this kid’s soul?

“So…” Siffrin clutched at the blankets. “Please. Stop me if I… do that again. Even…”

Even if you have to hurt me. Odile could hear the rest in his voice, even if he wasn’t saying it out loud. Even if you have to kill me.

Body flashing hot, Odile suddenly wanted to throw this glass of water at him. How dare he ask such a thing of her! How—

… How dare they ask the exact same request she would make, if it were her in their place.

“It’s killing me. Watching you constantly put yourself in danger like this,” her father had said to her once.

When she first started joining—and later organized—police abolition protests, her father had begged her over and over to think for herself, her future, her safety. His pleas had only grown in earnest after she’d performed Body Craft on herself and printed zines to pass out in secret to help keep knowledge of the Craft circulating.

All any of them could do was keep fighting for what was right.

But Siffrin’s nature—no, condition? Odile wasn’t sure how to categorize it—meant other people could end up in danger when he found himself under duress.

I’ll ensure it doesn’t come to that. It was what Odile should say. Isabeau might say something like that. Mirabelle would admonish Siffrin for asking for such a thing; she’d assert that there would be another way. Even Boniface would call him a crabbing idiot, and Odile wanted to agree.

Instead, she told them, “I promise. If… and I’m holding onto the belief that this will be a big ‘if’…” She picked up the glass and brought it to Siffrin. “If you end up in such a state again and pose a danger to us… I’ll stop you. However it is I need to.”

After a beat, Siffrin nodded in thanks as they took the water, and Odile couldn’t help but feel like that as she so often did, she’d said the wrong thing.

Chapter Text

Once upon a time, loneliness had been as heavy and comforting as Siffrin’s cloak. Now, the thought of traveling alone again felt akin to lying down as slab after slab of rock were slowly piled atop their body.

How had this happened? Siffrin had only been traveling with his friends for, what, a month? Month and a half?

Focus. Siffrin drew a deep breath in… and let it out.

Odile had made sure to mark the map in a way that not only showed Siffrin where the villagers lived but who stayed due to being too ill, young, or old for travel. He appreciated the gesture… he thought. He wasn’t sure. This was… new. Too new. Siffrin had no grasp on how to think or feel about this development.

As always in Vaugarde, the doors weren’t locked. Siffrin slipped inside the house easily, keeping close to the doorframe on his right side. The way the world looked now… it wasn’t like seeing the Curse encroaching. It wasn’t half-darkness pressing against half-light. It was more like everything had subtly shifted around them.

Their shoulder still hurt from hitting that tree.

The back door opened into a kitchen, and as he slipped inside, Siffrin tasted blood biting his bottom lip. He’d hit his hip on the blinding doorknob!

This was… going to be an issue.

Sucking on their bottom lip and waiting for the wounds to close, Siffrin stood still as they listened. The house remained silent but for undisturbed breathing in the nearby rooms.

Letting out a breath, they closed the door behind them with a soft click.

Left hand outstretched slightly, Siffrin moved towards one of the bedrooms. His hand touched an end table and bookshelf before he saw them, frowning. It was… unsettling how those things were just there. They weren’t sure how they’d expected their field vision to change and thought again about the sky over Encre and the village by Etoile. Half night, half day.

This wasn’t like that at all; it was harder to conceptualize and gave him an almost creeping feeling.

He didn’t like it, but there was nothing to do but keep going.

This house wasn’t ideal, but it was close to the healer’s home, and the occupants were all healthy enough that Siffrin didn’t need to worry about accidentally hurting them too badly.

They’d slipped out of the healer’s cottage without their hat and cloak and still wore their nightgown; they’d chosen to take only their dagger and flask. If Odile had wondered if Siffrin used their dagger on any of their victims, she’d thankfully decided against asking.

They still tasted fish blood…

Siffrin should be grateful. Or at the very least, relieved.

They weren’t sure how to feel.

Focus. Siffrin turned the bedroom door’s handle, waited, and kept one hand on the frame to avoid hitting his hip again as he slipped inside.

The room was small and cozy, with circular rugs overlapping, covering most of the floor. Bunk beds were pushed against the wall on the left, with one person on the top bunk and two in the lower. A dresser and armoire pushed against the back wall were overflowing with more loose fabric and bundles of yarn than clothes, and Siffrin jumped before realizing the shadow in front of the window at the foot of the beds was a mannequin. It wore flowing muslin covered in pins and pencil marks, and papers taped to the walls detailed plans for current and future projects.

Siffrin wondered if this was where Isabeau had gotten the fabric he was using to make their eyepatch. They smiled a little at the thought, cheeks warm. Their bandages started itching all over again, scar tissue tight around their left eye.

Resisting the urge to scratch, Siffrin crouched and moved closer towards the beds, neck straining a little as they swiveled their head more to ensure they didn’t trip over anything.

The two people on the bottom bunk were facing the wall; the one closest to the wall hogged the blankets while the other hugged them close, face veiled by their long, light hair.

Remembering the couple in the tent, Siffrin paused to think.

Odile couldn’t cover for his absence forever; an old clock somewhere in the house sang the hour, as if to remind him of this.

Moving quickly, Siffrin bit the person closest to him. When they tensed, he pressed a hand against their bicep, and it only took a moment before their muscles relaxed. With great restraint, he pulled back and licked the wounds closed before climbing over them to bite the person closest to the wall.

Siffrin repeated the process with the person in the top bunk and drank from her first, fingers pressing against the other side of her neck as he drank. After closing the wounds, he jumped down, left knee popping when he landed in a crouch. It popped again as he stood, but beyond some soreness, that leg felt fine.

They drank from the person furthest from the wall before climbing over them and biting the other person again. Once done, they stood and took a long breath in, held it, and let it slowly out.

They were still thirsty.

In the other bedroom, four people slept. There was a bunk bed here too, but the top bunk was covered in old newspaper and tape, while the mattress was on the floor, close enough to the door that Siffrin nearly kicked it on their way inside. The two people lay haphazardly, one rolled up in a sheet like a burrito and the other splayed out over him like a starfish.

This room was larger than the other and had two easels at opposite corners; Siffrin wrinkled their nose at the smell of linseed oil and white spirit. He also smelled eggs and vinegar. The window was wide open, but the smell was still dizzying.

Watching the floor, Siffrin stepped around brushes, ripped-up sketches, sticks of charcoal, and loose sheets of music. They bit the person who splayed out like a starfish first.

The person wrapped up in a sheet was a lighter sleeper than anyone in the first room, but he’d been unable to move much before Siffrin’s fangs sunk into the side of his neck.

When approaching the bed, Siffrin didn’t notice the palette of not-quite-dry tempura paint before stepping right on top of it. It flew and slapped the nearby dresser as Siffrin hit the ground, pain shooting through their right ankle, and even before stopping to see if either person in the bed had woken up, they rolled until they were under the bed, the wooden frame scraping against their back. Papers crinkled underneath them as they flattened themself against the hardwood floor best they could, nose pressing against their sleeve to stop a sneeze.

… When was the last time anyone cleaned under here?

“Hello?” one of the people asked groggily, her voice raspy and low.

Her sock-clad feet hit the ground, centimeters from Siffrin’s hand. He curled his fingers into a fist, thinking about what to do next as his flask pressed painfully against his chest. His bandages itched. His throat ached. The pain in his ankle was already ebbing.

“Huh…” The woman scratched the back of her head. “Crab, it’s cold in here.” She took a step towards the window but stopped. “… Nah, Eloise’s paints will just stink up the room worse…”

She groaned and headed for the door, already forgetting what had woken her up. She left the door open a crack, and it wasn’t long before Siffrin heard the bathroom door open and close.

Letting out a breath, Siffrin crawled out from underneath the bed and pressed his arm against his nose as he sneezed. He waited but heard only the woman use the restroom. He wanted to sneak over and wait. Let her run—

Stop that! Siffrin clenched his teeth. He needed to be quick. Drink. Fill his flask. Leave. This wasn't a hunt. These weren't rabbits or deer.

He breathed in—and sneezed again.

Again. Breathe in, and out.

The other person in the bottom bunk had rolled over so she faced the wall, but she’d remained asleep, ink-stained fingers gripping her pillow as a nightmare made her brow furrow and mouth twist.

She jerked as Siffrin grasped her wrist and sunk his teeth into the side of her neck, tasting cloth and hair. She gasped and cried out a little before slumping underneath him, and he quickly pulled her long, dark curls aside to lick the wound closed as he listened.

Water ran in the bathroom as the woman washed her hands.

Siffrin moved to wait by the door, heart picking up speed and the corners of their mouth quirking upwards, but instead of returning to the room, the woman walked into the kitchen as she grumbled about rations.

They hesitated, wanting to follow, to—

STOP IT! They breathed in, and out. Odile's not going to help you again if you lose control like this so soon after—

... Maybe she and the others should just—

No. No, Siffrin would stay with them. They could control themself. They were fine. This was fine. They didn't have to be a monster.

Siffrin returned to the person wrapped in a sheet and bit him again, drinking deeply. After licking the wounds closed, he moved the other person, rolling them onto their side. They paused to listen, but the kitchen cabinets were still opening and closing as the woman softly sang to herself—a song celebrating spring’s return.

Quickly but carefully, Siffrin cut the person under them, holding the flask by the tip of their blade. It had taken a few washes to get the fish smell out, and they were sure Odile was interested in figuring out how the Craft imbued into the leather worked to keep whatever liquid was inside fresh.

After closing the person’s wound, they pulled the woman in the bottom bunk closer to the edge and straddled her to keep her on her side. They pulled the high collar of her nightgown down, having to unbutton it. They frowned, thinking of Juliet. Their left eye throbbed.

Siffrin didn’t remember much about what happened in the dungeon. So much of it was a blur, time stuttering and skipping from him leaping over Bonnie’s fallen body until Odile held him against the wall, her face awash in worry and guilt and sorrow.

Swallowing, they sheathed their dagger and reached underneath the woman to hold back her nightgown’s collar and feel her pulse as her blood dribbled into the flask.

A cabinet door slammed shut.

Siffrin licked the wound closed and secured his flask over his chest. He couldn’t see the bedroom door from this angle and clenched their teeth to keep from growling.

There was stomping in the short hallway connecting the bedrooms, and Siffrin kicked over the easel closest to the bed as they climbed out of the window.

One of the healer’s goats bleated as Siffrin drew close. It charged along the fence, kicking up a fuss while the healer’s dog only looked up from its spot under the tree. It blearily watched Siffrin slow to a walk; its fluffy tail thumped against the grass and roots as it gave a low ruff before going back to sleep. The goat turned its attention to the dog as it continued to bleat, as if annoyed that it wasn’t doing its job to protect the herd.

He sipped into the cottage’s breakfast nook through the back door and pulled off his shoes as he bit back a swear. He hit his hip with a stupid blinding doorknob again!

The door shut louder than they wanted, and they heard Mirabelle and Isabeau rouse in the den.

Stars! Siffrin quickly took off their belt with their sheathed dagger and flask. They kicked their boots behind the billowing curtains next to the door, dumped their dagger and flask by them, and dashed around the table and into the kitchen just as Odile stepped in from the den.

Her hair was in its usual low tail for sleeping, though she wore a long-sleeved lightless shirt instead of the darkless one she usually wore. She raised her eyebrows as if to say Siffrin was cutting things close, and they grimaced as they caught the way she motioned towards the ice box with her head.

“You better not be sneaking food this late,” she said in a low voice soon as Siffrin opened the ice box. “Both the healer and Boniface were clear that you’re to be kept on a strict diet for now.”

Siffrin made sure to look sheepish as Mirabelle walked up behind Odile, her surprised expression quickly turning exasperated. She crossed her arms as Isabeau yawned, arms stretching over his head. His hair fell over his face, nearly covering his eyes.

“What’s going on?” he asked as he scratched the back of his head and stood behind Mirabelle. When he noticed Siffrin, he exhaled sharply, looking disappointed but unsurprised. “Sif…”

Siffrin’s gaze returned to the ice box. “… I was hungry…”

On cue, their stomach growled, and Mirabelle’s mouth pinched as she tried to keep from giggling.

“Broth only,” Odile reminded them. “Boniface’s orders.”

“Their payback, you mean. Next, they’re going to give me licorice syrup,” Siffrin mumbled, and Isabeau snorted a laugh.

“They just might,” he agreed. He looked at the others. “Half a sandwich or something wouldn’t hurt, right?”

Siffrin straightened, smiling as he widened his eyes. The feel of scar tissue stretching turned his smile into a grimace, and he stopped himself just before he could scratch at the bandages.

The others fell silent; Siffrin turned so they were on their blind side. They… didn’t want to see their expressions.

Odile recovered the quickest and sighed. “Probably not, but it’s better not to risk it. Siffrin, you’ll survive until breakfast. I’ll talk Boniface into letting you have bread or crackers along with the bone broth.”

“… Sure—” Siffrin looked up when someone pounded at the front door.

Isabeau rushed to answer before the noise could wake Bonnie, who slept on the couch. They hung upside down, legs propped up against the back of the couch, while their head dangled over the floor. Staring at them, Siffrin tilted his head.

Seeing this, Odile said in a low voice, “I’ve tried laying them in a more comfortable position. Twice. I figured it was best to just leave them like that.” She turned to Mirabelle as Isabeau started talking to someone with a very familiar voice. “Take Siffrin to his room, please, before he manages to stuff something into their cheeks to save for later.”

Mirabelle giggled as Siffrin frowned at Odile, who only stepped aside to gesture towards the guest room.

“Back to bed now, young one.” Odile turned her head towards the front door as Isabeau implored for the guest to lower her voice as he gestured towards Bonnie.

“C’mon, Siffrin.” Mirabelle smiled gently, hands clasped behind her back.

Siffrin tried not to look like he was hurrying as he followed Mirabelle; he had no idea how much the woman had seen when he fled her bedroom.

Mirabelle walked on Siffrin’s right side, and she pulled her hands back from them when they accidentally ran into the wall. “O-oh, are you—”

“M’fine,” Siffrin chuckled as they rubbed the side of their head, left eye suddenly throbbing.

In the den, Odile told Isabeau to wake up the healer, and she offered to make tea for the guest. Siffrin wondered if at least part of her reason for the offer was so she could find where Siffrin had stashed his boots, flask, and dagger before the others found them.

Isabeau passed them as Mirabelle suddenly jogged ahead of Siffrin before he could walk right past the guest room. Ah, right, it was right across from a landscape painting.

“Thanks, Mira.” Siffrin smiled and stepped onto the stool to get into bed. It had been set high to leave space for boxes of medical supplies.

“You’re welcome, Siffrin.” She hesitated before leaving, and Siffrin tried not to look nervous as he got underneath the blankets. “D-do you need anything? Besides food.”

The healer, half-awake and yawning, passed the room as he followed Isabeau towards the den.

If Juliet had said anything to anyone, it would have been Mirabelle. She wasn’t looking at him any differently, though. Mainly, she just seemed anxious, but that was normal. So, either Juliet had said nothing, or she didn’t remember anything worth saying. Or, she had, but Mirabelle didn’t believe her.

They tried not to worry about it too much. “I’m fine.” Siffrin frowned when Mirabelle turned around suddenly but not quick enough to hide the pained look on her face.

She touched the table, near his cloak and hat. If she noticed that his dagger was missing, she said nothing about it.

“What’s up, Mira?” they asked, rolling so they laid on their side. The pile of blankets pushed down on their body, making them sleepy. They yawned. “Are you okay?”

Mirabelle whirled back around, expression showing a mixture of disbelief and heartbreak. “Am I—?” She shrank back when Siffrin flinched. “…”

What was with that reaction? Had Juliet said something after all?

Mirabelle opened her mouth, closed it, opened it again. No sound came out. She wrung the skirt of her nightgown in her hands, and her large eyes shone, like she was close to tears.

Siffrin remained frozen under the blankets. What… what did he do? He couldn’t help but feel like this reaction was his fault somehow.

Out in the den, the healer told the guest to stay inside while he checked on her girlfriend and roommates. The door opened, and he whistled, his large dog barking in reply.

“Siffrin…” Mirabelle swallowed and reached for her eyes and paused. Upon remembering that she’d already removed her makeup, she wiped the building tears away. “Do—”

“Ah, Mirabelle.” Odile appeared in the doorway. She now wore her long coat. “Would you like some tea? It looks like we might not be getting back to sleep tonight.” She gave Siffrin a pointed look. “Besides you, that is.”

Too tired to argue, Siffrin only let out a half-hearted whine before yawning again.

“Mira—”

Looking away, Mirabelle interrupted, “Madame Odile is right.” The smile she flashed them was obviously fake and only highlighted the pain in her eyes; both Siffrin and Odile frowned. “You should get your rest. We’ll have toast and soup ready for you in the morning!”

Odile watched Mirabelle leave the room in a hurry. She looked just as worried and confused by her reaction as Siffrin did.

“They’re all fine, I’m sure,” Odile said in a low voice. She pulled Siffrin’s flask and dagger out of her coat pockets, setting them onto the table. “Just unconscious.”

Siffrin had already been sure of that but felt themself relax anyway. They sank into the mattress, yawning.

“Good night, Siffrin.”

Siffrin only had the energy to give a small “Mmf” before sleep claimed them.

“Squinting harder won’t let you magically learn Ka Buan. Especially not that script,” Odile teased. She laughed when Siffrin sighed in defeat and dropped her notes back onto the table. “Anything you were hoping to find?”

Oh, so she was willing to share now?

Well, it seemed like she was willing to play fair. Her questions yesterday had focused on the facts of Siffrin’s condition, and when those facts had leaned close to private matters, Odile had kept herself from delving into them. She hadn’t even asked about what had happened in the Encre House’s dungeon. Instead, her questions had focused on what Siffrin needed, possibly because she’d decided that it was more important to know how to keep that from happening again than it was to know if Siffrin remembered anything while in that state, how many times it had happened, or even if he’d killed anyone during those times.

And Odile was smart and scarily perceptive. It was very possible she’d observed things that Siffrin had overlooked. Living like this all their life meant they had trouble sometimes knowing exactly what about them was normal and what wasn’t.

“Not sure,” they admitted, and they sat cross-legged in the chair as Odile set their breakfast on the table. They grimaced at the thick slices of a fresh baguette and bowl of bone broth. “Ah…”

“Heh.” Odile got her notes in order and pulled the second chair around, so she sat on the other side of the small table. “Be glad I talked Boniface into allowing you bread. They’re outside now, by the way. They got bored of waiting for you to wake up, so the healer is keeping them occupied by helping him feed and milk the goats. Isabeau is napping in the den after he and Mirabelle trained—she accidentally hit him a little too hard with a Paper attack—and Mirabelle is either at the library or the Change shrine.”

The healer was here, and if Odile wasn’t mentioning them, then the people Siffrin had fed from last night were alright, as she’d predicted.

“How late is it?” Siffrin asked. The soreness in his lower back told him he’d been asleep for some time. His feet wiggled as he shifted in the chair; he wanted to go outside and run, climb, something.

Instead, he picked up a slice of bread and dipped it into the broth.

“Early afternoon.” Odile licked the pad of her index finger and paged through her notes. “I’ll start with your sleeping habits.”

“… So those notes are about me…”

Odile raised an eyebrow as if to say, You already knew that. Why are you wasting our time with such an obvious question?

Sighing, Siffrin nodded for her to continue and stuffed the slice of bread into their mouth, cheeks rounding as they chewed.

Odile pulled a piece of paper out of the short pile, moving it so it was on top. Siffrin smelled a bit of chili pepper and lime; their stomach growled as they remembered the noodle soup she was eating yesterday. Bonnie and the healer were torturing them with this diet!

It’s only been a day, Siffrin reminded themself, but they were still annoyed.

“You slept longer than usual after the well, too. Three days where, when you did wake up, it wasn’t for long, and you didn’t appear lucid,” she said, speaking slower than usual.

Likely, due to how different the two languages were, she had to take extra steps mentally to read one but speak in another, despite her fluency in both. Siffrin would offer to listen to her speak Ka Buan if he’d bothered to keep up with what knowledge he had. As it was, he could only remember a handful of phrases and jokes and the names of his favorite foods he’d eaten while there.

“What’s the longest you’ve gone without sleeping?” Odile asked, looking at him over the papers as he swallowed the bread.

“Um… almost a week?” Siffrin tensed at Odile’s expression. “I wasn’t doing much, just sitting around for the most part! A stake-out sort of job. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have been able to go that long without resting.”

Odile didn’t say anything for a moment, probably debating whether to ask what they’d been doing that required a week-long stake-out job. Instead, she eventually asked, “And how about when doing any strenuous activity at the same time?”

“Three… almost four days? I was hiking a mountain, and I also had plenty of food. When leaving Ladraig, I walked nonstop for two days and didn’t eat much either and was already... uh, thirsty, so I needed to sleep after two days.”

Again, Odile was quiet, debating internally as she pulled her charcoal stick out of her pocket to make more notes.

Since it was related, Siffrin added, “That was another time I passed out for three days after. The mountain, I mean.”

“… Were… you alone?”

“Mostly.” They shrugged, looking down at their broth as they dipped the second slice of bread into it. “But someone found me. Claimed she was the winter crone’s wolf and was asleep for three days after she found me. I left her cabin soon as the blizzard passed.”

“…”

Siffrin stuffed the bread into their mouth. The crust crunched noisily and scraped the roof of their mouth and inside of their cheeks.

Odile closed her eyes and took a breath. “Okay.” She paused, struggling to keep from either asking more questions or admonishing them for hiking a mountain during a blizzard in the first place. “Okay. And, um…” She trailed off, looking unsure of how to word the next question—if Siffrin would find it too personal or not.

“Oh.” Siffrin lifted the bowl to sip his broth, letting it soften the bread still in his cheeks. After swallowing, he explained, “I found some deer. That lasted me enough until I reached a village near the bottom of the mountain. Then, I found an inn at another village. I slept until afternoon for the few days I stayed there.”

Still struggling to swallow back questions, Odile pressed her lips together and jotted something down and looked at another page. “How about your… appetite?”

Siffrin opened his mouth and closed it again. Ah. This part was harder to talk about than he’d expected, even knowing that she knew already. “…” He swallowed, staring at the broth. “Bigger. I… have to… drink more… after.” He picked up the bowl to sip more broth, and Odile muttered something about using the spoon. “I start with animals first usually… depending.”

Depending on whether they felt like they could control themself. And even after drinking animal blood first, controlling themself could be... difficult. At times.

Odile seemed to pick up on that part, and she nodded. “Alright, then it does seem to be a way for your body to heal. Not too different from typical reactions, like Isabeau resting right now after training and having Healing Craft done on him, if a bit more extreme in your case. Feeling a spike in appetite is also common after healing from injury. Normal so far.”

Siffrin stared at his broth, head light and heart heavy. He… wasn’t sure what feeling this was. A big mess of all kinds of related and contradictory ones, like when he’d first followed his friends into their room at Tortitude Inn in Chasion. It was… a little overwhelming, but it… it was nice.

“So does that mean I get more than just broth to eat?” Siffrin asked with a cheeky grin.

“Ha! Nice try.” Odile snorted at Siffrin’s exaggerated pout. She pulled another piece of paper to the front but paused, looking both pained and exasperated. “Alright, I have to ask.” She frowned when Siffrin tensed. “What wolf?”

She continued to frown as Siffrin snorted, a furrow digging between her eyebrows as Siffrin went to wipe his eyes, only to sober up as his hand brushed over the bandages.

They were going to need to get used to that…

Making themself smile again, Siffrin said, “It’s from some folklore in Gael, I think mainly in the mountains? And people argue if she’s considered a goddess or spirit or whatever. Some nuance I never understood.” They shrugged. “I watched a play about her, and she supposedly rides a giant wolf instead of a horse. The woman who found me had lots of wolf decorations in her cabin. I ended up giving her a wolf I'd carved as payment, since I didn't have much coin. She'd seemed happy." More like manic, but whatever. She'd been harmless, regardless. "I assumed she was just really into that folk story or maybe that she used to be a priestess.”

Odile nodded, catching up. “And Gaelish priests and priestesses often offer their bodies as vessels to gods and related spirits to possess temporarily, to work through them—or so it’s believed. Ah, that makes sense, then.” She adjusted her glasses. “Alright. I’ve actually been wondering about how you make sure those you bite don’t, erm, bleed out.” She looked abashed as Siffrin’s mouth twisted. “I'm sorry—”

“No, i-it’s… it’s fine.” Siffrin drew a breath in, and let it out. “Uh, probably sounds a little gross, but my spit just closes the wounds?” He stirred the broth with the spoon. “So, all I have to do is lick the wounds, and they close pretty fast. Even if I don’t, they stop bleeding after a little while either way. My fangs have small grooves in them, kinda like hunting knives.”

“Hmm.” Odile nodded. “That makes sense. Again, normal, if more extreme.” She chuckled when Siffrin tilted their head. “There is a reason someone’s instinct is to stick their finger into their mouth after cutting or injuring it. It helps with pain, too, so I wonder… I’m guessing that this may be related to why the people you bit last night ended up unconscious. I suspected blood loss at first, but…”

Siffrin nodded and finished their broth. “I never thought about why, but yeah.” They frowned at their empty bowl, and their stomach growled loudly.

“Ha!” Odile stood and sat her notes down on her chair. “I’ll get you a refill.” She raised an eyebrow at Siffrin’s pout. “Nope, only broth, I’m afraid. We’ll see if we can change that tomorrow, but Boniface has been very insistent.”

Grumbling under their breath, Siffrin leaned back until they felt their spine pop, and then they stretched their arms over their head. “I’m fine, though? I don’t—” He froze suddenly at Odile’s dark look. “… What?”

Closing her eyes, Odile pressed her lips into a hard line as her jaw twitched. Her face slowly relaxed as she picked up the bowl and plate, but she didn’t look Siffrin in the eyes.

“You may be feeling better, Siffrin, but I do not believe for a moment that you’re ‘fine,’” she ground out. “And the healer and Mirabelle both felt resistance when trying to use Healing Crafts on you—”

“I’m resistant to Healing Craft,” Siffrin said in a small voice as they dropped their hands into their lap. “Body Craft, too. It’s a… side-effect? I guess? Of what… er, my condition.”

“…” Odile hummed, thinking. “Oddly specific Crafts to have resistance towards. Usually, when there’s resistance to either, it’s due to a mental block.”

“When the Voimort Head Housemaiden healed me, I had to concentrate pretty hard to keep from… er, blocking? The Craft?”

“Hmm. Well—”

The dog barked outside, followed by Bonnie squealing in delight.

Chuckling as she looked out the window with a fond smile, Odile said, “I’ll be back in a moment. And no messing with your bandages.”

“Mmhmm.” Siffrin turned away and got up as Odile shut the door behind her.

Hearing Bonnie laughing made Siffrin realize that they were the only one of their friends that hadn’t visited them. Siffrin had been eating inside the guest room, Isabeau and then Mirabelle and now Odile bringing them broth. Seeing them asleep on the couch last night had been the first time they’d seen them since Encre.

Were they okay?

Bonnie let out another squealing laugh, and Siffrin went to the window, arms crossing as he leaned on the sill. He was careful not to knock over the small pot of mint.

The dog chased after Bonnie as they sprinted, arms straight behind them as they leaned forward. Their hat had flown off at some point, and the dog yipped and barked playfully, continually cutting in front of Bonnie to herd them towards the pen as all the goats either watched with mild interest or ate from their trough. Bonnie slid to a stop as they breathed heavily, laughing as the dog jumped on them and licked their face.

Siffrin smiled at the scene, remembering how he’d run like that around Cúán’s dogs, like he was a kid again.

Turning as if sensing they were being watched, Bonnie caught Siffrin’s gaze and froze. Their smile dropped as their dark eyes widened.

…? Siffrin widened his smile and waved timidly.

The dog dropped to all fours and circled Bonnie, tail low as it whined in worry.

Bonnie turned and ran out of view, and Siffrin’s smile fell as they stared out the window in confusion, heart falling into their stomach.

The scars didn’t look… terrible.

Considering…

Siffrin swallowed a sigh and combed their hair. Their skin still tingled with heat from their bath. The healer didn’t have a Crafted heater installed for the tub, so Mirabelle and Isabeau had poured boiling water from some pots and kettles into the tub, mixing it with the cold water they’d already run for them.

He had to push his eyelid to make it open wider than halfway. The skin there was half-numb; he hadn’t felt the prodding but still somehow felt like he was still poking the skin long after he’d pulled his hand away. It was like his mind realized there should be sensation there and had been slow about overcompensating.

Juliet had hit bone when trying to use Siffrin’s own dagger to protect herself; the vertical scar just left of the center of their eye puckered and slashed through their eyebrow. Skin pulled at the edges of the scars, and blood dotted the outer corner of Siffrin’s eye. That Sadness’s spiked fist had torn away skin, and the resulting scar made Siffrin think of an exploding star.

His eye had healed as best as it could under the circumstances. It was still there, but when Siffrin rolled his eyes, only his right one moved. The other remained stationary, the blown-up pupil staring straight forward, milky-looking and unseeing.

Siffrin wanted to tear it out of their skull.

Gentle knocking roused Siffrin from their thoughts.

“All good?” Isabeau asked.

Suppressing the urge to comb their hair over their scars, Siffrin affirmed they were fine.

They set the comb down by the sink as Isabeau entered, the healer right behind him. He noticed the bleeding right away, and it wasn’t long before fresh bandages covered half their face. This was starting to feel a little excessive, but there was no point in arguing.

Isabeau carried a tray as he waited in the hallway; Siffrin smelled chicken broth, tea, and bread.

The healer asked a series of questions, and Siffrin gave short answers.

Pain? Not much.

Dizziness? Not anymore.

Nausea? No.

Soreness? Neck and back.

Siffrin flinched as the healer took one of his hands, pinching the skin and holding it for a few seconds. It went back to normal soon as the healer let go, and he nodded, satisfied with the elasticity. Siffrin had been quite dehydrated when they’d first woken up.

There were other patients to take care of in town, so he then left the party alone, whistling for his dog soon as he was outside.

“Ready for dinner?” Isabeau asked as Siffrin exited the bathroom. He smiled when they nodded and circled behind them, so he walked on Siffrin’s right side. “Shouldn’t be long before you can eat more. Sorry you’re stuck with this diet for now.”

So were they, but Siffrin made themself smile. “Makes sense to be careful.” They wanted to ask how long they’d be staying here but refrained.

It wouldn’t be for long. The Curse was getting closer; whatever Siffrin’s injuries, escaping the Curse took precedence.

“Glad you agree.” Isabeau cleared his throat at Siffrin’s raised eyebrow. “I hope you’re not getting too bored!”

Not bored, so much as restless. “The play script Mira got me from the library helps.”

“Good!” Isabeau stood aside, so Siffrin could enter the room first. “Bonnie had me helping in the kitchen when she got back, so I didn’t see what all she checked out.”

Siffrin sat down and nodded his thanks as Isabeau set the tray down onto the small table. Odile’s notes were on the longer table, by his dagger. He gestured to the book he’d left on the bed.

“I’m not sure what she got for herself,” Siffrin said as Isabeau sat down in the other chair, “but she got me Sky Prince. It’s a Poterian play.”

“You can read Poterian?”

“Yeah, but this copy was translated into Vaugardian.” Siffrin sipped his tea. It was tart, but he could also taste a bit of cinnamon and cloves. “It’s really good. I saw it at a few different theatres. The playwright’s unknown, so it’s common for the mystery of who wrote it to be inserted into the actual play?”

“Really? How so?”

“Usually, directors make it so it’s hinted that the prince is the playwright.” Siffrin tore off a piece of bread and dipped it into the broth. “Sometimes, a whole new character is inserted, taking notes and stopping the play after certain scenes and ‘rewinding’ everyone to do the scene over but with a different outcome.”

“So like a story within a story?”

“Yeah!” Siffrin smiled and swallowed the chunk of bread.

Isabeau got up and moved the chair around, so he could straddle it and fold his arms atop the chair’s back while he faced Siffrin. “I hear that’s a popular trend in Poterian stories. Breaking the fourth wall, usually to comment about our relationship to art or something like that.” He smiled when Siffrin nodded.

“It’s a popular motif with their historical plays, mainly the ones inspired by their nobility.” Siffrin’s cheeks rounded as he stuffed bread into his mouth after dipping it into the broth, and his face warmed at the way Isabeau smiled at him.

“How about the versions where the prince supposedly wrote the play?” he asked. “What’s it about?”

Siffrin wiped their mouth with the back of their hand. “It’s about a prince from an island that floats in the sky.” He laughed and shrugged when Isabeau asked how an island was supposed to float in the air. “The prince ends up falling in love with a commoner in a kingdom that’s on the ground.”

“Wait, so the island in the sky—”

“I dunno, it has ground? Like imagine an island, but it’s just… floating? All other kingdoms are normal, though. It’s never explained, and plays never bother trying to show it, anyway. It starts with the prince already having left his kingdom, his personal guard arguing with him about abandoning his own kingdom just for a person he never even talked to.”

“Wait, abandoned?”

Siffrin nodded and tore off another piece of bread. “Anyone who leaves the island in the sky can’t go back up, not even the prince. The chorus sings to explain that when the prince and guard walk off the stage, still arguing.”

“Oh, wow… Does the play have a happy ending, or a sad one?”

“Uh, neither? Both?” Siffrin shrugged, smile shrinking but not disappearing entirely. “He doesn’t win the hand of the guy he’d fallen in love with watching him from the island—”

“Hmm, no, I’d think not.” Isabeau chuckled.

“But he and the guard realize they’d had feelings for each other all along. They can never return home, but they can be together now. Some theatres make the ending happier, where they make a life for themselves with new names. Others make it more tragic, where the guard still can’t forgive the prince for making them leave home. Usually, though, even in the happier ending, it’s suggested the prince is the playwright, and he’s lying about how the story ends. I’ve never read the script, so I’m not sure which ending is the real one.”

“Probably no one else does either, since no one knows who the playwright is,” Isabeau pointed out.

“Ah, right.”

“Which ending do you like better?” Isabeau asked, voice soft. His chin rested atop his crossed forearms.

Staring at their tea, Siffrin shrugged. “I… don’t know? I can’t explain it, but both endings feel… wrong?”

“Wrong?”

“Like that’s not how it’s supposed to go?”

“Heh.” Isabeau smiled. “Maybe you should try writing your own ending? Mira’s done that with books where she didn’t like the ending.” He chuckled as Siffrin tilted their head. “She said she and some of her friends will write stories using characters from books they read together. Sometimes it’s just to make the characters they like start dating, or write an alternative ending where characters don’t die, or even ones where they do die.”

Siffrin laughed. “I’m guessing Mira’s stories are more horror-y?”

“Probably!” Isabeau laughed. “She won’t let me read any of them.”

“Too bad. I’m curious… If I can think of a way to end The Sky Prince in a way I like better, I’ll let you read it, then.”

Isabeau’s cheeks darkened, and he used his arms to hide the lower half of his face. “Aww… Thanks, Sif! I’d like that! I’d like that a lot!”

Chapter Text

Bonnie was adamant about making good on their declaration that Siffrin would be served bone broth and little else for a week. This alone was annoying but seemed like a normal reaction; however, they were also avoiding them. Even now, two days after leaving the village, as the party made their own March to Dormont.

It was worrying. For… several reasons.

“But, if they didn’t see anything…” Siffrin turned their head to ensure nothing breakable was on their left side. Just a small table holding a couple of candelabras and some paperweights. “Why…?”

“…” Odile gave them an unreadable look as she set down a mushroom-shaped, ceramic jar. “Why is Boniface avoiding you, you mean?” Her lips thinned when Siffrin nodded. “That… I implore you to speak with them about that. I can nudge them to do so. If you’d like.”

… Yeah. After Siffrin, Bonnie was most likely to listen to Odile—sometimes more than Siffrin, really. If they’d seen something… something that made them scared of him… It was probably best if Odile approached them first.

“… I would. LIke that.” His voice was small. He followed her into a nearby room.

She always gravitated towards books during their Secret Quests—as Isabeau and Mirabelle had taken to calling them. It made sense, he guessed. She was probably looking for something related to her research. Most of his guesses leaned towards jokes; Odile seemed to find entertainment from Isabeau and him trying to figure it out. However, he was truthfully interested. She hadn’t returned to Ka Bue in years and had traveled to as many countries as he had, if not more.

Her research being related to travel or cultures felt too obvious. Isabeau had likely already guessed any related fields.

“… the orbs,” Odile was saying as someone passed by the room as his child pointed at something excitedly. “Ah… we should probably discuss this… without someone being able to overhear.”

“… Discuss what?” Siffrin asked cautiously, then tensed when Odile flashed them an annoyed look. Her bangs cut a harsh shadow over her narrowed eyes. “Sorry! Got lost in thought.”

“… Do I dare ask what about?”

“Your research!” They relaxed as Odile shook her head and blew out air, like she was trying not to laugh. “So… it’s not antiqueology?”

Odile let out a soft groan. “That’s not even a field of research!”

“Could be somewhere?”

“I believe it would fall under something like anthropology. Or maybe appraisal. I’m studying neither.”

“Aww…”

“Back to the topic at hand…” She turned back to him and raised an eyebrow, then moved closer as someone else entered the room to browse the floor-to-ceiling shelves. Picking up a book from one of the long, skinny tables in the center of the room, she asked in a low voice, “Other than Vaugardian, which languages are you most fluent in?”

What? Why—oh right, she said she didn’t want to be overheard… This was probably the closest to a personal question she’d asked in a while, but honestly, they were a little surprised she hadn’t asked before. Mirabelle and Isabeau had been interested, and Bonnie had, on a few occasions, tried to get them to teach them swear words in other languages.

Apparently, when they’d asked Odile the same thing, she’d gently refused, so Siffrin had taught them ash-eater, a Gaelish insult that shouldn’t get them in trouble if anyone understood what they’d said.

“Um, Mwudu”—they shrugged at her raised brows—“Poterian and Asmu’urian. Gaelish, I guess. I’m better at understanding it than speaking it, though. A lot of the words are hard for me to say.” Not as hard as Elothenian, though. Musmeerian was troublesome for them, too, but most Musmeerians were also fluent in Vaugardian, Poterian, and Elothenian, so it had been easy enough to communicate there when they’d needed to.

“Hmm. Asmu’urian, then, though I warn you my knowledge is… intermediate, at best. I read it more easily than I speak it, so talk slowly, please.” Odile set down the book she was looking at and picked up another. When she saw Siffrin open his mouth, she explained further, “It’s still better than my botched attempts at Mwudu, and I didn’t stay very long in Gael, so there’d never been any reason for me to learn. Not when nearly everyone I approached spoke Hirethian. I'm guessing you don't...?”

"Speak Hirethian? Not... well? I spent most of my time there in the southern districts, so I mainly just learned their dialect but forgot a bunch already. Been a while." They shrugged at Odile's raised eyebrows. "The Crown wasn't able to get rid of the dialect completely, and native speakers started teaching it in secret. Mainly in underground meetups, and I usually went to those, plays mostly. And uh, I forget their word for it, but it's basically like choir? Everyone sings the old songs, to learn the dialect and keep it and the region's mythology alive."

"Hmm. Interesting. The few rebels I'd spoken to hadn't mentioned such meetups, but, oh, we're getting off-topic." Odile sighed. "Asmu'urian, then."

Oh, stars. Well, they did offer it as one of the languages they were most fluent in, and they guessed she decided against Poterian, as it was a common second language for many Vaugardians to speak.

Seeing those crowns painted on the side of those shops in the last village must have left her more shaken than she appeared.

Mirabelle was definitely shaken, and Isabeau refused to let her go anywhere in town unaccompanied, so he and Bonnie were buying supplies with her.

“Sure,” Siffrin said in Asmu’urian. “Why talk about this in secret, though?”

“It’s… just for caution. This close to the end, I’m a little scared,” Odile’s accent slanted the consonants in a way that made Siffrin take an extra moment to understand what she was saying. She also spoke more slowly and stressed syllables in such a way that made it sound like the words kept sticking to her teeth like taffy. “And this also is for you.” She paused. “With the planets.”

She must mean orbs, making Siffrin wonder where she'd learned Asmu’urian. Books? She had said she read it more easily than she spoke it. Most Asmu'urians used the words for spheres, globes, and planets interchangeably in everyday speech. It wasn't until reading a book he'd stolen from his boss's room out of petty revenge he'd learned there'd once been a difference. However, any inquiries had revealed that hardly anyone knew what planets even were.

What does she mean ‘for’ you… Ah. Oh, wait, the… thing that happened at the fortress. Siffrin’s lips thinned. “Why—oh. I mean, How?”

Those two words were nearly indistinguishable; he constantly got them mixed up. It… wasn’t the worst mix-up he’d made when speaking Asmu’urian, though. Six words for specific types of hunting, and four of those words were very close to various terms for lovemaking.

Odile turned to drag a finger over the spines of books, pausing to pull one off the shelf. “I think about what the planets did at the… estate—your… act. I…” She paused again. “I Fear you—” She cut Siffrin a glare when he failed to hold back his chuckle, and she switched back to Vaugardian to demand, “What in the world did I say that is so funny?”

You’ve been spotted! Coughing into their fist, Siffrin turned away as their cheeks heated. “Sorry. Uh, it’s just I’m guessing you meant ‘fear’ as in worried?” They glanced back at Odile as she nodded, one eyebrow raised. “Well, uh, the word you used is reserved for talking about fearing divine retribution? I just thought it was a little funny. Considering. Everything?”

It was also exclusively a noun, making it sound odd when Odile used it as a verb, but that part didn’t matter.

“Heh.” Odile couldn’t keep a corner of her mouth from quirking upwards as she turned back to the bookcase. “Well. I guess that’s what I get from using comparative religion textbooks to learn. Now.” She hummed, pausing before switching back to Asmu’urian: “I think for what might happen. When we go to the… home.”

Asmu’urian didn’t have an equivalent for what Vaugardian Houses were—the closest might be temple or maybe university, but the connotations for the first especially didn’t really match up well at all. It didn’t really matter; Siffrin still understood what all she’d meant and nodded as his mouth pressed into a thin line.

The edge of his eyepatch pressed against his skin as a furrow dug between his eyebrows. It wasn’t uncomfortable—Isabeau had Crafted it well—but it was still, well, there. There were longer stretches where Siffrin wouldn’t notice he was even wearing it, compared to the first day he’d put it on, but then, suddenly, it would be all he could think about. Isabeau had a coworker that wore an eyepatch, and he’d promised that he’d get used to it over time.

“I still don’t know what happened,” Siffrin said when they remembered what Odile had just said. They carefully pulled a book from the bottom of a stack on the table. It looked like a book from a series Bonnie liked. “All I remember was it was loud, and…”

“… And…?” Odile pushed the book back into place and returned to browsing. The other customer had left the room, but she continued speaking in Asmu’urian. “What? That is important, Siffrin.”

“… I know.” Siffrin turned the book over to scan the summary. “I… got thirsty all of a sudden.”

“Ah, yes, I remember you drank your bottle after Isabeau carried you.”

“Drained it.” Siffrin sighed, remembering how thirsty they’d gotten towards the end of their journey down that mountain. “That was the first time I’d had a reaction like that.”

“Hmm…” She pulled out another book and flipped through it. “My one guess is the mix of Crafts. Maybe the shields… the, hmm, strong… tight—”

She sighed and looked to Siffrin for help.

“Uh…” He tried to think of what word she was trying to reach for. Strong? Tight? Talking about Crafts in the—ah. “Concentration?”

She nodded in thanks. “Concentration in shield Crafts, maybe, repelled the Crafts in the Dead Zone. I think…”

That… was possible. It made sense, anyway, from what Siffrin knew—which always felt like not much whenever he heard the others talk about Craft.

“So, you think it might make noise like that again?” Siffrin asked. “And hurt me again? When we put them into the gate, maybe?”

“I… don’t know.” Odile glanced their way, her expression apologetic. “Maybe not, and I F—” She stopped and inhaled through her teeth.

“Worry,” Siffrin supplied, a smile playing on his lips.

He felt a little guilty, being this pleased that he knew more than Odile did about something.

“And I worry over nothing.” She swallowed a groan, nails drumming over the shelf’s edge.

“…” Siffrin reread the book’s summary upon realizing they hadn’t retained any of it. This looked to be a spin-off novel, connected to Star Soldiers. It focused on the princess before she sacrificed her memories and magic to save her kingdom—only for it to fall anyway, Siffrin guessed, seeing as this was a prequel. “I’ll have my flask with me, but other than that and making sure I’m full beforehand, I don’t know what else to do.”

“… Right…” Odile sighed, and switched back to Vaugardian. “I’m not particularly fond of the ‘wait and see’ method, but there’s not much else available to us at this time.”

“That’s usually been my way of doing things.” Siffrin flipped through the book to make sure no pages had fallen out; it looked pretty old.

“And how well has that worked out?”

Siffrin shrugged, smiling when Odile frowned. They held up the book. “Think Bonnie will accept a peace offering?”

Odile exhaled slowly, an unreadable look on her face. “… It couldn’t hurt, I guess.”

“I don’t like this.” Isabeau’s arms shifted before he crossed them, looking like he couldn’t be sure what to do with them. His hands curled into fists as he hugged his arms tighter to his chest.

Siffrin didn’t like it either.

Another village, another painted crown, this time on the welcome sign. Thank the stars Mirabelle had stayed at camp with Odile and Bonnie.

“At least it looks like someone tried to wash it off?” Siffrin tried. They let go of their dagger; they hadn’t even realized their fingers had curled around the hilt. “Unfortunately, looks like they weren’t very suds-cessful.”

“…” Isabeau laughed, but it was a beat too late and didn’t reach his eyes. “Yeah. Yeah! And, it’s probably just someone who wants to scare people or make them angry.”

It was working. Siffrin nodded. “Wanting to stir up crown-flict.”

Isabeau snorted, the muscles in his shoulders finally beginning to relax as he and Siffrin continued towards the village.

“You really do reign supreme with your puns, Sif,” he said, cheeks darkening.

Siffrin stepped aside to give a sweeping bow, one hand over their heart and the other outstretched by their side. “I do try to be re-monarchy-ble.”

“Ha!”

Not Siffrin’s best, but at least Isabeau didn’t look ready to punch through a wall anymore. It didn’t suit him.

“While we’re here, how about we get you something to eat?” Isabeau asked, cheeks getting even darker. “Coz, well—”

“Coz I’ve been ‘a little grumpy’ only eating bread and broth?” Siffrin glanced away, face hot.

He’d hoped no one else had heard him hiss at Odile when she’d woken him up this morning, but he’d been able to tell by Isabeau trying not to laugh and Mirabelle hiding a smile behind her book that they had.

At least they’d found it funny.

Bonnie’s only reaction had been quietly stirring the broth they’d made for Siffrin and the porridge they’d made for everyone else.

They’d refused to talk to Siffrin after they and Odile had returned from the antique shop two days ago. She’d told Siffrin to give them a bit of time, but anxiety chewed up their insides the longer they waited, the Star Soldiers book like a weight in their pocket.

“A little,” Isabeau chuckled. “Sorry about the diet. We’ve all just been worried, y’know? When you woke up the first time, you couldn’t even keep down water.” He crossed his arms again as he looked at the dirt road ahead of them. “You were… really out of it. Even tried to bite M’dame Odile when she tried—” He startled at the look on Siffrin’s face. “B-but it was okay! No one got hurt, right?”

… Odile hadn’t said anything about that.

“… I don't…”

“I-it’s okay! Really!” Isabeau blew out air, hand moving before he suddenly scratched the back of his head and crossed his arms. “Those Sadnesses in the dungeon really got you hard, looked like. I’ve had to fight some pretty strong ones with the other Defenders before. Once, two of my coworkers got knocked out, and then after getting splashed with Crafted water, one of them got knocked out again. She ended up fighting one of the infirmary nurses when she woke up an hour later, even had to get restrained for a bit.” His laugh was stripped of humor; Siffrin winced a little. “Sometimes it’s hard to break out of that fighting… well, mindset? Especially if you’re knocked out in the middle of it? It happens, is what I mean, and M’dame Odile understands, or else she woulda said something!”

That… was true, Siffrin guessed. It didn’t make them feel any better.

Seeing this, Isabeau frowned as his brow knitted in worry. “Hey—”

“Ex-excuse m-me…”

The two stopped walking and looked up as someone approached. She moved slowly, leaning heavily on a cane they seemed to still be getting accustomed to. It looked heavy—a weapon as well as an aid. The person was not much taller than Siffrin, though she was nearly as wide as Isabeau, with a healing bruise under one eye, bandaged nose, and split lip. Her fade had been cut to resemble ocean waves, and sea glass hung from thin chains attached to her circle-framed glasses. They sat crookedly on her face, and her loose-fitting shirt was mostly patches.

“Did-didja s-say you were a D-Def-Defender?” She had a coastal accent and fiddled with the longest of her several necklaces—a thick chain laden with sea glass and star-shaped pearls.

Star-shaped pearls…

Siffrin let go of the thought the moment pain bloomed along his temples.

They glanced at Siffrin, dark eyes widening slightly before they returned their gaze up at Isabeau, who stuttered a little before saying, “Oh, uh, yeah! I am! A-are you okay? Who—”

The person flapped their hand in front of their face; a splint and bandage kept the middle and ring fingers bound together. “Th-that ain’t im-imp-important—” Their other hand gripped the head of their cane harder; it looked like an albatross’s head. “It’s—it’s… pl-please, just follow m-me.”

She turned and walked down a narrow road that ran behind the nearby row of shops. The thunk, thunk of her cane as it hit the ground with each step told Siffrin they’d been right. They guessed the dark wood surrounded steel or iron.

They and Isabeau glanced at each other and nodded in unison before following the person.

The few people they passed were staring at nothing, nodding solemnly towards them, or scrubbing paint off the walls.

More crown graffiti.

Siffrin tore their attention away from the walls and stared at the person in front of them.

Soft-spoken and stuttering. Sea glass and stars, and an albatross head decorating their cane. Their fade cut to resemble ocean waves.

Something about them seemed familiar, but that could easily be the way their eyes had widened when looking at Siffrin.

It could just be how you’re dressed, he reminded himself. His attire did occasionally grab people's attention.

“Um…” Isabeau raised his voice as he widened his stride to catch up with the person. “Before we agree to anything, can we at least get some introductions first?”

Glancing back at him for a second, the person stuttered, “A-ah, s-sorry. I’m Lu. Sh-she/they. S-scis-scissors Type.”

Isabeau and Siffrin introduced themselves, and Lu turned again, dark eyes meeting Siffrin’s gaze for a moment before they repeated his name, then Isabeau’s.

She nodded to herself and swallowed. “It’s—”

“Lu!” Somone leaned out of a window, dark curls falling over half their face. Steam billowed around them, and Siffrin smelled peppers and garlic. “What’cha doin’ with—”

“That-that’sa D-Def-Defender there, M-Madame Mo.” Lu gestured towards Isabeau, and Mo’s visible eye narrowed as she eyed him. “I-I’m tak-taking him and”—a barely noticeable pause—“S-Siffrin here to—”

“Cher, you betta not be taken ‘em—”

“M-Madame.” Lu hit the ground with the end of her cane, and Mo’s full lips pressed together as she gave Lu a hard look. “W-we c-can’t—”

“Don’t you be telling me what we can’t—”

Someone nearby gave a sharp whistle that made Siffrin flinch. He shrugged when Lu flashed him an apologetic look as Isabeau and Mo turned their attention towards a tall, lanky man with patchy stubble and long, thinning hair. A large fishhook with a blunted tip hung from the dark gauge in his left ear; the gauge in his right ear had been decorated to resemble a fishing lure.

“M’dame Mo,” he intoned in a voice that was much deeper than Siffrin had expected, “Little Lu-lu knows what they doing. Right, quiet one?”

He leveled Lu with a hard look that said she better not make a liar out of him.

Lu swallowed hard but nodded. They looked frightened but determined. Their heart hammered against their ribs.

After a single nod, the man turned his attention back to Mo, who frowned but didn’t argue. “These young ones will need a good meal once they’re done giving our rebellious ones a nice talkin’ to, don’tcha think, M’dame?”

It was a little dizzying being surrounded by coastal accents again, but Siffrin guessed Bonnie couldn’t have been the only one to escape as the King’s Curse had spread across Vaugarde’s coast.

Glancing Siffrin’s way again for a second, Lu asked Mo, “C-can we get some-some’a your pr-praline brie and app-app-apples, M-Madame?”

Siffrin’s heart skipped a beat.

“… Sure thing, cher.” Mo shook her head and looked from Isabeau to Siffrin and back again. “If ya let anyone so much as pluck a hair off my Lu’s head…”

“We won’t, M’dame Mo,” Isabeau promised.

Mo snorted through her nose. “I don’t trust ya southern ones as far as I can throw ya. Creurre?”

“U-uh, Jouvente, M’dame.”

“Jouvente.” Mo said the word as though it were a swear, and Lu rolled their eyes as the man and someone listening nearby laughed. “Even worse.” She turned her eyes to Siffrin. “How—”

“M-Madame Mo.” Lu swallowed a groan. “N-now you’re just w-wastin’ time. Wh-what, you’re trying t-to let Lou-Louis b-beat th-those k-kids?”

Kids? Beat?

What exactly was Lu leading them towards?

The man laughed again and said just loud enough for the others to hear, “Only M’dame Mo can get her to get snarky like that.”

As he and Mo argued, Lu turned around and gestured for Isabeau and Siffrin to follow. They complied, if only to avoid ending up in the middle of what sounded like an old rivalry.

As their voices faded behind them, Lu turned left, and made a hand gesture towards a guy that whistled at them—it looked like they’d tried to make a V with their index and middle fingers before remembering their middle and ring fingers were bound.

“Where exactly are we going?” Isabeau asked. He sounded like he wanted to ask why this necessitated a Defender getting involved, but he didn’t want to come off as apathetic or apprehensive.

“D-dance hall,” Lu answered. “I-it’s g-gon’ be used f-for meetings after th-the t-town hall…” She trailed off, expression pensive.

“… Does this have to do with that monarchist graffiti on the… well, everywhere?” Isabeau asked in a low voice, and Lu flinched before nodding. She looked close to tears.

They turned right, the street wider and paved with cobblestones. Lu grunted as their cane hit each stone, Siffrin hearing the slight reverberations—there was indeed metal within the wooden lining.

Lu’s cane was new, but their lack of hesitation when walking said the leg injury was old. Siffrin wondered if the cane replaced an old weapon, or if Lu needing a weapon was a new development. It didn’t seem like the sort of weapon that would channel Piercing Craft easily, but they’d been surprised before.

“A bun-buncha us h-here ev-evacuated c-coastal towns,” Lu said as she slowed down. She breathed heavily and adjusted her glasses. “M-Madame Mo b-back th-there’s from a sm-small v-village n-north’a Cor-Cor-Corbeaux. I—” Lu paused to breathe deeply, and they stopped in front of a long building. They put weight on their left leg as they lifted their cane to tap the tilted door with the albatross’s beak. “I l-lived in B-Bam-Bambouche as a k-kid, then—”

The door opened, and a guy that looked to still be in his teens leaned against the doorframe. Baby fat still clung to his freckled face. The wood creaked under his weight, but he paid it no mind as he gave Lu a bored but stern look. His dark hair was pulled into a messy bun atop his head, and his tunic was half-tucked into high-waisted trousers.

“I thought you ran away,” he commented. His accent almost sounded Poterian; he must be from further west originally. His light eyes narrowed as he gave both Isabeau and Siffrin a once-over. “Who are you? More evacuees? The Curse will hit you the same, whether—”

“Is-Isabeau’s a D-Def-Defender,” Lu interrupted as she put her weight onto her cane.

“Really?” The guy didn’t look convinced. “Where from?”

“Jouvente.” Isabeau crossed his arms over his chest, refusing to let this guy intimidate him.

Still looking unimpressed, the guy’s eyes slid over to Siffrin. “And you?”

“L-Louis.” Lu huffed and swallowed as she pushed her glasses up to rub her eyes. “We d-don’t got t-time for this!”

“You still haven’t said what ‘this’ is,” Isabeau reminded them, and Lu flinched as they bit their bottom lip.

Still leaning against the door frame, Louis supplied, “Some kids torched town hall using a Craft bomb after painting crowns around town.”

“Kids?” Isabeau raised an eyebrow.

Louis nodded. “The ones we caught are fifteen and thirteen. I have someone rounding up the sixteen-year-old and twelve-year-old.” He shrugged at the look Isabeau gave him. “Gabriel—fifteen—has always been a little shit, and he's always acted like a big shot, always galvanizing other kids for whatever prank, but never something like this, and he’s not smart enough to pull this off by himself, and Lamont just does whatever they’re told. The sixteen-year-old isn’t the ringleader either. I moved here a few years back. Work at the school here. None of them have the brains for this, especially not to build a Craft bomb, but they all love causing trouble. I don’t think any of them realized how bad it’d get until it was too late, and now they don’t want to talk.”

Siffrin looked at Lu and gestured towards her face and injured hand.

As they stared at the ground, Louis sighed and said, “Those are from yesterday. Unrelated. But maybe they’ll listen to you about going to see a healer before her nose permanently—”

“I’m f-fine.” Lu frowned at Louis, who made a face. “Th-there’s oth-other p-people who n-need th-them more r-right now.”

Isabeau gave Siffrin a knowing look, as if to ask, Sound like anyone we know? but they pretended not to notice.

“Not to be rude…” Isabeau trailed off, and Louis barked in humorless laughter.

“Why’re we handling this? A teacher’s assistant and fisherman with nowhere to go fishing anymore?” Louis’s smile was all teeth; he was missing one of his canines, and a lower incisor was chipped. Like Lu, he had a split lip, and Siffrin was sure he’d also had bruises that he’d had a healer take care of already. “Everyone else who’d handle it is either at the healer’s or being carted to nearby towns to be seen by their healers. Did we mention when the town hall got bombed, it was in the middle of a meeting?” His smile fell at Siffrin’s and Isabeau’s wide eyes. “Yeah. It’s not good here right now.”

“Alright.” Isabeau gave a nod. “Take us to them. We’ll see what we can do.”

With an eyebrow raised, Louis gestured towards Siffrin. “This supposed to be your muscle?” His expression turned mocking when Siffrin glared at him. When he didn’t get any other reactions, his smile fell. “… Come on.” Louis sighed and started walking into the building. “Maybe they’ll talk if someone that doesn’t grade their essays interrogates them.”

Before they followed, Siffrin asked in a low voice, “Should we get Mira and Odile?”

Isabeau hesitated but shook his head. “Not yet.”

No need to worry Mirabelle yet, he meant. Siffrin nodded.

“Sif-Siffrin?” Lu whispered before he could follow Isabeau into the building.

Turning back, Isabeau gave Siffrin a look, then nodded when they gestured for him to keep going.

When they were alone with Lu, Siffrin said, “He doesn’t know I used to live by Bambouche.”

Lu let out a long breath and nodded. She suddenly looked exhausted. “I f-figured…” Her brow furrowed. “Y-you…”

Did Siffrin admit that they couldn’t remember who she was? Did they ask how she’d been doing?

They remained silent.

Swallowing, Lu glanced around, flinching again when they bit their bottom lip.

“We’re alone,” Siffrin promised. He didn’t hear any heartbeats or breathing nearby.

Lu hesitated, then nodded.

Before Siffrin had learned that others couldn’t hear as acutely as he could, he’d regularly respond to conversations happening in other rooms, announce who was awake or asleep by how they breathed, or name what song Maeva played on the piano while Siffrin sat upstairs. It had become a game at times, kids taunting Siffrin by saying things they knew would upset him in another room, pretending they were trying to be secretive. Lu didn’t seem like they would have been one of those kids, but it had been a long time since then.

“…” Lu blinked rapidly and wiped her eyes again. “I-it’s one th-thing… fr-free-freezing…”

“But that can be undone.” Siffrin smiled when Lu nodded in earnest; she believed that Mirabelle would succeed. “But…” His smile fell. “Whoever orchestrated this attack… Was anyone…?”

“…” A sob caught in Lu’s throat. “Two.” Their voice was small and high-pitched. They looked to be in agony. They pressed a hand to their chest, drew in a deep breath, held it, and let it out. “… M-may-maybe m-more. S-some…”

Some of the injuries might be too much for the healer to handle. Siffrin tasted bile in the back of his throat.

“So…” They flinched at the pleading but apologetic look in Lu’s eyes. “I… I’m not…”

“One… one o-of th-them was t-ten.” Lu’s voice was barely above a whisper.

“You didn’t think to ask a Defender to do this.” He frowned when Lu flinched at the hardness of his voice. “You’re only asking me, because… you think—”

“I h-heard h-him sc-scream.” Lu’s lips barely moved. “A-and th-then y-you were…”

“Dunno if you ever heard about the body that washed up. Happened around the time you left. Lucille—remember Lucille? She had insomnia like you did. Eh, she’d always been quiet—more’n you, even. But she told Aurélin she heard screaming the night before the body was found…”

So, this was…

“A-and…” Lu swallowed. They began rocking side to side but continued to meet Siffrin’s gaze.

He remembered her now. Small, quiet. Like him, Aurélin often found her outside at night, staring up at the stars. She’d been found not long after Siffrin had; she had been living in someone’s house without their knowledge until they finally discovered her sneaking out of a cupboard to eat the bread they’d left out one night. Like Siffrin, she’d had no name or memory of what her life had been before finding herself on Vaugarde’s shore. However, due to her younger age, her amnesia had been treated as less severe compared to Siffrin’s, as if it were normal for a five-year-old to not remember anything.

Even though they were alone, Siffrin still kept their voice low. “Even if you’re right. You’re seriously going to blinding ask me to—”

“Th-they’re not g-gonna st-stop!” Lu’s voice was a high-pitched, breathy whisper, inaudible if they were speaking to anyone but Siffrin. Tears streaked down their cheeks and fogged up their glasses. “… Pl-please.”

This was more personal than wanting someone behind a terrorist attack to be stopped. The question was on the tip of Siffrin’s tongue, but he swallowed it back. Nothing good came from digging into someone’s open wound.

Instead, Siffrin turned away from her. He was halfway into the dance hall when Lu said in a low but sure voice, “I-I’ll t-tell. Him.”

She looked terrified when Siffrin turned around and stared at her.

Heart in his throat, he rasped, “What makes you think he’ll believe you?”

“L-looks li-like he d-don’t have’ta.” Just the knowledge that she would say anything was enough leverage.

“…” Siffrin blinked slowly, feeling dizzy. “We’re not staying long. We need to get the Savior back to Dormont.” He paused as Lu’s eyes widened. “What makes you think they’re still even in the village?”

Lu opened her mouth, closed it. The thought that the person behind this bombing already having run hadn’t occurred to them.

“Where were you going when you ran into us?”

“… Fav-Favor Tr-Tree.”

Siffrin decided not to ask how a tree was supposed to help in this situation. He didn’t really care.

Flexing their hands under their cloak, Siffrin said, “If we figure out who it is, and Isa agrees, we can lead you to them. Tell him what you want.” They wanted to throw up. “I’m not killing someone for you.”

Lu leaned all her weight onto her cane as sobs wracked through her body. Siffrin’s heart squeezed as they went into the dance hall, following the scent of Isabeau’s lilac shampoo.

As he walked up a creaky staircase, Siffrin hummed an old mining song—the one about uncertain death and certain rage.

Kids and crowns and Craft bombs and death.

He’d been a fifteen-year-old working for a monster once, but this didn’t feel like that. This was a tiny village a few days’ travel from Encre. According to Mirabelle, they wouldn’t reach the next town with a House for another day or so.

What kind of motive would someone have to target town hall while it was full of people?

The radical monarchists had attacked Mirabelle to stop her from reaching the King—by any means necessary. They’d tried to set fire to the town’s Favor Tree, which, by Stella’s, Isabeau’s, and Mirabelle’s reactions had been a huge deal—culturally. Religiously, maybe. Siffrin still didn’t’ care to ask what Favor Trees even were, but they were important enough that setting fire to one sent a message. It scared people, made them angry, but it didn’t hurt them—not physically.

“They’re a small, fringe group of radicals. I ran into a few before meeting you and Mirabelle. I wasn’t impressed, I’ll say. They’re still potentially dangerous, but experience has shown me that they’re only brave about destroying property, things. They’re less brave about attacking people, unless they feel they have numbers on their side.”

That’s what Odile had said.

She’d probably have a better idea of what to do here, a better idea of what they were dealing with.

Louis punched the wall hard enough to make the harpsichord next to him shift.

Isabeau had his head in his hands, and while the smaller of the two teenagers glared at Louis, the teenager built like a brick wall stared at the floor with a hollowness in their eyes that made Siffrin inhale sharply.

All but one of Siffrin's ghosts were strangers. It didn’t make him a better person, but it made them weigh on him less.

These kids’ ghosts had been their neighbors. One of them might have helped that ten-year-old with homework once upon a time. Maybe had played with them, loved them.

And now they could never wash their blood off their hands.

Vaugarde was a peaceful nation. Loving. Generous. They welcomed everyone, allowed anyone to study at their Houses, regardless of whether or not they chose to honor the Change God.

This country had Changed a lot over the centuries, and it was Changing again.

Worshipers in the House of Change believed that any Change was worth celebration, whether good or bad.

Right now, Siffrin couldn’t agree with anything less.

“Let them go,” they said, unsheathing their dagger. “They don’t know anything.”

“Sif—”

The smaller teenager—Gabriel—screamed obscenities as Siffrin approached, while Lamont closed their eyes, ready to accept whatever fate befell them.

“Hey—”

Gabriel fell silent when the ropes binding his wrists dropped to the ground with a low thump. Lamont kept their wrists pressed firmly together, as if they couldn’t feel that their bonds were gone.

“They don’t know anything,” Siffrin repeated as they sheathed their dagger. “They’re kids. You think they got told anything important?”

Heart thudding like a fleeing rabbit’s, Gabriel hopped up and sprinted down the stairs, nearly running into the wall in the process. He cried out Lamont’s name, voice cracking.

“Go,” Siffrin told Lamont, and the kid sprang up, looked around the room with wide eyes.

Breath hitching, they turned and ran as tears spilled down their acne-covered cheeks.

“Isa.” Siffrin winced at the look Isabeau was giving him. “Get the others. Bonbon can probably stay with Mo. I’m sure they won’t mind helping her cook while we figure this out.”

“Sif—”

Louis’s mouth opened, their face like thunder, and Siffrin quickly told him, “They’re scared kids who know that the whole town probably hates them, who think even home isn’t safe for them anymore. Where do you think they’re going to run to?”

Isabeau blew out a long line of air as he crossed his arms, and Louis slowly calmed down as he looked away. His expression said he was annoyed that he hadn’t thought of the idea first.

“I’ll follow them,” Siffrin said as he turned to open the window. Below, Lu cried out as the teenagers sprinted past them. “Isa, I’ll meet you guys at Mo’s. Okay?”

Isabeau hesitated but nodded. “Careful, Sif. Could be a trap.”

Siffrin smirked. “Sounds like a job for me, then.”

Chapter Text

All of this felt too far outside of Siffrin’s realm of understanding. When he’d been a fifteen-year-old thief working for a monster, it was because that monster’s obsession with money and power outweighed any morals he might have had left.

Siffrin hadn’t seen any plays that could provide any clues for him.

Even in Bonnie’s books, where antagonists could range from ages twelve to sixteen, they were often foils to the protagonist, and often, they’d join the heroic team upon either realizing the error of their ways or when the main villain—always an adult—threatened them and not just the hero. And never were these child antagonists behind something as irreversible as murder.

The teenagers hadn’t spotted Siffrin hopping from roof to roof. The line of shops was coming to an end, and Siffrin stopped, waited, and watched.

Thirteen-year-old Lamont gasped for each breath, their lumbering movements growing slower. Fifteen-year-old Gabriel got behind them and pushed, swearing and threatening to leave them behind.

After a while, Gabriel made do on his threat and kept going, while Lamont fell to their hands and knees as they gasped for breath.

Siffrin hesitated, looking at Lamont in worry.

Someone will come by soon and help them, he told himself and climbed down to follow Gabriel.

Callous.

Siffrin shoved the thought away and kept going.

Siffrin ducked into a porte-cochère between connected buildings; they used one of the covered wagons parked inside to hop up onto the flat roof. Scrambling up the almost tower-like roof ahead of them was more difficult than it normally would have been, but Siffrin pushed the thought back. They were fine.

Just keep going. He let go of the short overhang shielding a half-circle window and allowed gravity to drag him down the tiles as Gabriel raced up a hill.

Siffrin landed on soft knees and rolled forward over his shoulder and back. When he was on his feet again, he paused only long enough to ensure that the orb was still in his cloak pocket.

Close to the crest of the hill, Siffrin ducked down and slowed, practically on all fours as they shuffled to the left, so they were behind an old, gnarled tree that was probably in its final years. They glanced around the twisting trunk, watching as the teenager dry-heaved while doubled over. He looked even smaller now than he had in the dance hall’s upstairs music room. His hair had half-fallen out of its braid, sticking to his neck and face.

He was crying.

Falling to all fours almost landing on his head, Gabriel let out a guttural, inhuman scream of pain and rage and grief and loathing that had Siffrin covering their ears as his skin broke out into goose flesh. Gabriel’s nails dug into the earth, his arms, his sides, his legs, his face as he screamed and sobbed, entire body shaking.

Siffrin smelled blood.

Gabriel kept going until his voice turned hoarse, until he was slumped over, like he might fall unconscious right there.

He mumbled something, but Siffrin couldn’t make out the words.

His breathing sounded like a death’s rattle as he stood again and shuffled forward. He walked like a puppet on strings, and Siffrin reached into one of their smaller pockets and pulled out the miniature Change God that Mirabelle had given them before they found the third orb.

“You’ll still help him, even if he doesn’t believe he deserves it, won’t You?” they asked the statue, but Siffrin wasn’t sure if they were speaking about Gabriel.

As expected, the statue didn’t answer. Siffrin exhaled through his nose and dropped it back into his pocket before standing up.

Just keep going. He walked slowly. There wasn’t enough cover to bother trying to hide, but Gabriel seemed too out of it to bother looking over his shoulder anyway.

Gabriel veered right into the forest bordering the village. He pushed against trees, as if needing the extra help to propel himself forward. Siffrin made sure to hang back and to the side, only staying close enough to keep the kid in sight.

It wasn’t long before Siffrin smelled cologne and tobacco smoke. Their nose wrinkled, and they hopped up and grabbed the branch above them. They swung up and over, hissing when a branch slapped their eyepatch hard enough to move it up into their hairline. It nearly snatched their hat right off their head, and they slapped one hand down to flatten their hat down as they jumped from one tree to the next before stopping to catch their eyepatch before it could fall. It was hanging onto their ear by its string, but after a bit of fiddling, it was back in place.

Ahead and partially hidden by branches and leaves, someone smoked while leaning against a tall, lichen-covered rock jutting out of the ground. He wore Asmu’urian military garb, but it was wrinkled. The ribbons on his breast were out of order, too.

“It’s just you? What happened with the others? Don’t tell me all of them got caught.” The man’s accent sounded Hirethian—but too crisp, unlike his uniform, and his r’s gave him away.

Vaugardian. Siffrin was willing to bet their hat.

Weirder than if he was Hirethian or Asmu’urian. Siffrin frowned. What was going on here?

“Dunno what happened to Charles or Fernand.” Gabriel made a motion like he was trying to shrug but didn’t have the strength. His voice still sounded hoarse, like his vocal chords had torn themselves to shreds. “But Lamont couldn’t run anymore. Probably got themself caught.” He bit off the end of the sentence, probably to keep from saying again.

 Slowly, Siffrin moved to another branch, keeping close to the trunk.

The fake soldier spat onto the soil, in front of Gabriel’s boots. As Gabriel nearly fell back to avoid getting spit on him, the fake soldier flicked the butt of his cigarette. It continued to smoke, and Gabriel quickly stomped on it as the man laughed. The sound was rough, like stone striking stone.

Oh, so the fake soldier at least knew of Hirethian customs—insults, at least. Spitting like that at someone was a good way to get your skull caved in, especially if you held your index and middle fingers in front of your mouth in a V when doing it.

Crawling forward until he could see the fake soldier’s face, Siffrin hugged the branch they clung to, smelling the wood. Good, it wasn’t rotting. This would be a terrible time to repeat that mistake.

The fake soldier’s pale cap was dirty and deformed, and his dark hair curled around his ears, which were pierced—not allowed for officers in either Hireth or Asmu’ur. He also looked like he hadn’t shaved in a couple days, stubble spreading halfway down his neck. The top button of his jacket was undone. Siffrin could understand—that uniform felt like it was trying to choke you when worn correctly—but it added further proof that this man had never been in the military, Hireth’s or Asmu’ur’s.

Squinting, Siffrin could see that the jacket wasn’t fitted correctly, either. It was too big in the shoulders, too baggy around his upper arms. The spacing and width of silver ribbons on the sleeves said he should be a colonel, but the incorrect ribbons on his breast only had two rows of stripes and symbols that were supposed to tell a story about his service. Someone of his rank should have at least three rows.

Siffrin would have been knocked out before even leaving his gang’s fort, if he’d been that sloppy with his own stolen uniform.

You’re being ridiculous, acting this insulted, they told themself. You’re acting like he’s insulting you somehow.

He might have only lived there for about a year, and it might have been a series of nightmares, but Asmu’ur had been the closest thing to a home Siffrin had found himself in, since leaving Bambouche.

Pathetic. Siffrin frowned. Stop it. Focus.

“You…” Gabriel wheezed. “You said…”

The fake soldier’s smile was all teeth as he crossed his arms, looking really blinding proud of himself. “Oh, so you all had a blast, then?”

Okay, Siffrin hated him even more now.

They started to shuffle back towards the trunk when Gabriel leaped forward, fists flying.

The sound that came out of his mouth was too strangled to call a scream, and he’d knocked off the fake soldier’s cap and split his lip before the man could think clearly enough to shove the teenager off him.

Gabriel made a guttural, heaving noise as he pushed himself up onto his knees, and as the fake soldier unsheathed a serrated knife from the inside of his boot, Siffrin dropped to the ground, dagger out and jaw set.

“Make your case for the gods,” he spat in Asmu’urian before crossing his arms in front of his face. His dagger’s blade vibrated with Craft.

The fake soldier’s hunting knife dropped into the dirt as Siffrin jumped over Gabriel’s body and clicked his heels as he landed. He threw his arms down by his sides, Craft crackling through the air. He turned and yanked Gabriel up by his shirt collar as the fake soldier screamed and ducked. He wasn’t fast enough; Craft threw him into the tall rock as Siffrin shoved Gabriel away.

“Run back to town!” they ordered, baring their fangs when Gabriel hesitated. “Now!”

Gabriel, with adrenaline spiking through his veins, ran, and Siffrin turned their attention back to the fake soldier, who spat blood. His wheezing told Siffrin that at least one of his ribs had broken from impact, and the fake soldier winced as he tried to push himself up, only to slip on a patch of damp leaves. He cried out in pain, and Siffrin plucked his hunting knife from the ground.

Shiny. New. They doubted he even knew how to fight with it.

“I’m not killing someone for you.”

Four ghosts rattled their ribs, as if anticipating a fifth.

He’d thought earlier that three of these ghosts being strangers… it made them weigh a little less. Maybe it did, but they weighed enough. Enough to take up space. Enough to push against his heart and lungs. Enough to make his body feel like a graveyard.

Siffrin drew a breath in, and let it out. “… You’re not worth the weight.”

They kicked the fake solder in the ribs, threw the hunting knife further into the forest, sheathed their dagger, and left.

They’d promised Isabeau to meet him and the others at Mo’s.

With sunset a few hours away, Siffrin found themself back in the forest, this time with Odile, Bonnie, and Lu. He hadn’t wanted the party to split up again, but the healer needed Mirabelle’s help. Most people were alright enough that they could be sent home with bandages and ointments or tonics, but there were enough people left requiring round-the-clock care that unharmed townspeople had needed to clear out and set up beds in the general store and library.

The death toll had ticked up from two to three—that they knew of. Many were still waiting for word from neighboring towns that had taken in their overflow. At least two other people may not make it through the night; all anyone could do for either now was hope and pray.

There should be plenty for Isabeau to do as well. As much as he’d wanted to help Siffrin and Odile search the forest, he hadn’t wanted to leave Mirabelle alone. He’d been surprised when Bonnie demanded to go to the forest; however, they were still avoiding Siffrin as much as they could.

They’d even replaced Siffrin’s plate of curry with a bowl of broth at Mo’s. When they’d told her that Siffrin had been sick, Mo had kowtowed to Bonnie’s demands and only allowed Siffrin bone broth, bread, and water without apology. This really was getting ridiculous; talking to Bonnie was going to be impossible with how grumpy this diet was making him.

Everything about what had just happened in the village wasn’t helping, either.

“Here.” Siffrin flipped the hunting knife in his hand, so he was handing it to Odile by the hilt. “I threw it earlier when he tried to stab Gabriel.”

He’d recounted what happened after meeting the others at Mo’s, and it hadn’t taken long for Louis and the old man from earlier to find the fake soldier and drag him back to the dance hall. Siffrin had done more damage than he’d thought. Along with two broken ribs, he’d ended up with a bruised clavicle, whiplash, and he’d broken his thumb when landing on it. Siffrin couldn’t dig up enough sympathy to even consider feeling bad.

The fake soldier hadn’t been identified yet; whoever he was, he wasn’t from this village, nor had he been among the displaced people from the coast.

“You were right,” Odile said as the motes of light from her Examine ability faded. “This has never been used for channeling Craft, but due to how easily he was subdued by your Scissors attack, I’d been assuming he was Paper Type—and untrained in battle, despite his attire.”

Siffrin shrugged. They’d already told the others their observations about the uniform. They still weren’t sure where he’d gotten it, though, or why he’d donned an Asmu’urian uniform but spoke in a Hirethian accent.

Odile had suggested that most Vaugardians wouldn’t be able to tell the difference between a Hirethian and Asmu’urian officer’s uniform. The two countries’ uniforms looked completely different to Siffrin, but he guessed Odile had a point.

“Even Frin can be right about some stuff,” Bonnie muttered as they looked around a tree with Lu.

…? Siffrin’s lips parted, but they couldn’t think of anything to say.

“You didn’t hear anyone else nearby?” Odile asked as she handed the knife back to Siffrin, who carefully put it into one of his inner cloak pockets.

He shook his head. “I think Isa’s got a point that the guy’s low on the food chain.”

Odile sighed and cast her Examine skill on the tall rock. The fake soldier’s blood had dried near its base. “I was hoping he was working alone.”

Turning, Siffrin called out to Lu, “When we get back, can I get another look at those ribbons? On the fake soldier’s uniform?”

Using her cane to push herself up to her feet, Lu nodded. “Wh-why?”

Bonnie looked around the tree and glared at Siffrin, confusing them further. What was up with them? They hadn’t been looking at Siffrin in fear, which had been their biggest worry. Instead, they’d seemed… angry? Why? What did they do?

Trying to keep their mind on the task at hand, Siffrin said, “Ribbons worn on the breast of a dress uniform tells a story of their service. It’s easy enough to buy old uniforms, but the ribbons would have been harder for him to get, unless they were stolen—or borrowed, but I’d assume an Asmu’urian loaning their service ribbons would have them ordered right.”

“What do you think you can learn by looking at those ribbons? They’re just different shades of stripes?” Odile raised an eyebrow as she gave Siffrin a once-over.

…? Then, he realized. Oh, stars. He was standing at attention—hard to notice under his cloak, but of course Odile would notice the slight change in his posture.

He forced himself to slump a little, suddenly not remembering how he usually stood. He’d never really thought about it.

… It had only been a year. A year! A year that was almost a decade ago, at that! And yet—!

“…” Siffrin thought over how much to tell. “I had to wear a stolen uniform for a job I had. Needed to know as much about all the ribbons and everything as someone who actually served, so they’d believe I belonged there.”

It was easier to break into someone’s home when they thought he was some kid whose parents sold him into military service to pay off their debts. Rich people didn’t bother learning the names of low-ranked soldiers, and they were switched out often enough when more bodies were needed at the Bachalla-Asmu’ur border. Casing their estates was easy when he’d been tasked to guard the property.

Odile waited for more, but when Siffrin didn’t offer any extra details, she let out a long breath and nodded. “Could be useful information.” She crossed her arms and frowned at the rock, as if it had insulted her. “It was just him here… Before Gabriel, I mean.”

As she’d spoken, Siffrin looked around for footprints. It was easy enough for them to separate their, Odile’s, and Gabriel’s footprints from the fake soldier’s. “The kids haven’t mentioned anyone else, and I believe them. Probably they only ever talked to this guy.” They pointed in the direction where the fake soldier’s footprints had come from.

Noticing, Odile nodded. “Lead the way. Boniface, stay here with Lu for the moment. I’d like to know if he’d hidden anything around here. If they picked this area to meet up for a reason, I’d like to know.”

“You got it, Dile!” Bonnie cheered as Lu nodded.

Siffrin inhaled deeply as Odile followed. Much of the fake soldier’s cologne had faded by now, but they could still make out the warm, citrusy scent. The further they left the tall rock behind, though, the less Siffrin could smell tobacco. They guessed the fake soldier hadn’t lit up until reaching the rock to wait for the kids he’d sent off to bomb town hall.

“… You are aware you’re bending down to smell the ground,” Odile said, and Siffrin stumbled, face hot. “Hmm. Well, I guess the scented air would be a tad denser than the surrounding air and fall closer to the ground.”

Clearing their throat, Siffrin straightened and didn’t respond. Their face and even the tips of their ears remained warm.

Odile was quiet, but Siffrin could imagine an amused smile on her face. He didn’t want to turn around to see if he was right and kept his eyes on the ground.

The trail grew narrower and more overgrown, obscuring the footprints. It was also harder to make out the scent of the fake soldier’s cologne, thanks to patches of fragrant flowers nearby.

“Lost the trail?” Odile guessed when Siffrin stopped walking and looked around. She hummed when they nodded. “As that hunting knife was brand new, we can come to two possibilities: He either rarely ventures into wooded areas and would stick to the easiest path to walk, or he ventures into wooded areas very often, enough to warrant needing to obtain a new knife very recently.”

Hmm. Siffrin had never considered the second possibility. However… “First one, I think.” Siffrin glanced away from Odile’s look; it was that look she gave as invitation to state his evidence. “A knife that big, if he’d planned on using it regularly, he would have kept it attached to his belt or strapped to his thigh. For easy reach. In his boot like that, it’s concealed, but it’s harder to reach and would have made it harder for him to walk. If he was experienced with using knives and felt like he needed to keep one concealed, he would have gotten something smaller. I’m guessing he picked that one, because it’s big and scary-looking.”

Odile smiled, and Siffrin’s face heated again. “Excellent deduction. Now…”

There were two trails he could have taken. One kept going straight, while the other veered right. That trail sloped upwards, part of it steep, with natural steps in the hard soil—formed by years of people walking it, most likely. A skinny pine tree grew right by those steps, a branch low enough that Siffrin would need to duck.

Remembering the dirt on the fake soldier’s cap, Siffrin took the path that veered right, finding strands of dark hair caught in the low branch.

He motioned for Odile to follow as he ducked under the branch and hopped up the steep incline.

“Oh, dear,” Odile sighed, frowning when Siffrin offered a hand to pull her up.

Retracting their hand, Siffrin waited quietly as Odile carefully stepped on the protruding roots and rocks to get herself up.

This part of the trail was damp enough that Siffrin could see footprints again, and they walked along the narrow trail’s edge. It led to an old barn, the wood rotting but with new-looking tarps attached to the roof.

Odile had her Crafting book out and ready. “Is anyone here?”

Siffrin slowly shook his head, but he unsheathed his dagger just in case. The smell of rotting wood, petrichor, grass, and metal made it harder to pick out anything specific. Odile kept her book out as they walked the perimeter of the clearing. There were rings of dead grass or dirt, showing where something—barrels, maybe, by the size—had sat there before.

The wall on the broad side of the barn looked like it had burned recently, some of the boards little more than charcoal. The window by the darkened area had been shattered, making Siffrin take stock of the other windows; the frames and glass looked new. Whoever had used this place as a storage area or base had been doing so for a while.

A wheelless cart sat by one side of the old barn, and Siffrin stopped by another trail that faced the barn’s yawning entrance. The trail was wide, and twin grooves ran into the dirt. Nearby branches looked to have been recently cut, dried sap staining some of them.

Whatever had been stored inside the barn was gone now.

Inhaling deeply, Siffrin slowly approached the barn’s door. The air smelled as though it had been cleaved by lightning. They looked around as they continued forward, keeping their stance wide as they swung one foot forward and then the other.

They stopped, the hair on the back of their neck standing at attention. They held out a hand to Odile, who stopped walking immediately. Her heartbeat remained steady, and her breathing remained even.

The subtle scent of wet clay, barely noticeable past the stench of manure and… drying blood.

He’d worry about that later.

If there was a trap here, then there was something inside that barn. Something that couldn’t be moved yet, something someone would rather have destroyed than discovered.

Or it could be a diversion.

The first option felt more right, but Siffrin knew that Odile wouldn’t give much credence to a gut feeling.

It didn’t matter. What mattered was disabling the trap and finding whatever was stashed inside—if anything was even there.

For the scent of ozone to be stronger than the smell of Rock Craft…

“There’s Craft bombs buried around here,” Siffrin told Odile, lips pressing into a thin line when her heart pounded against her ribs. “Can your Examine skill find them?”

“It’s just as likely to set them off, I’m afraid,” Odile answered, her tone suggesting she’d discovered this the hard way.

Stars. They should have known it wouldn’t be that easy. “Sorry we have to spend your birthday this way, Odile.” They hadn’t even finished the present they were carving for her.

“…” Odile let out a long breath. “As long as I get to see the next one, I don’t much care how this one is spent.”

Fair.

Okay, think, Siffrin. Breathing in through his nose and out through his mouth, Siffrin kept his heart steady as he stood still and scanned the earth in front of him.

If the land mines were for a diversion—to blow up anyone who wandered this way to keep anyone from guessing that the important stuff had already been moved—then they’d likely been planted after the cart left. If the land mines were to destroy whatever was inside, lest it be discovered, then they had been planted in such a way that the cart wouldn’t set them off.

There was a space between the tracks about a meter away from the barn’s entrance. The soil there was slightly darker than the surrounding dirt; it had been dug up and filled in some time ago.

Keeping his dagger out, Siffrin crouched and tilted their head. There were grooves on either side of the wheel tracks by that patch of discolored earth. Likely, the ramp used had been pulled onto the wagon once it had passed the danger.

Even with a ramp, Siffrin wouldn’t want to pass over a trap like this on a regular basis. Did the people who planted the bombs trust that they wouldn’t be set off accidentally?

Their brow furrowed as they remembered the burnt part of the barn, and at the same time, Odile said, “I’m guessing these are incendiary Craft bombs, not your typical one that explodes and sends debris everywhere. So, they’re close to the surface, but that puts them at risk of being set off accidentally from environmental factors.”

“They cared more about hiding whatever was inside than hurting whoever stumbles out here.” Siffrin had assumed as much already, but now, he was sure. “But if they’re gone, then…”

“Then, it’s possible they’ve taken everything worth hiding with them. The barn itself is inconsequential; no reason to bother taking the risk digging up those bombs.”

“Should we just turn back and let Lu and them know about this place?”

If Siffrin had come here with either Isabeau or Mirabelle, they would have said, Yes, before he’d finished asking the question.

Odile, however, hesitated as her brow scrunched up in indecision. If they didn’t have Bonnie to consider, she might have suggested they press on already.

“Do you think they replaced the bomb that burned the side of the building?” she asked instead, and Siffrin hummed, thinking. “It calls into question how many resources are available to these people. Supplies for Craft bombs aren’t cheap, especially specialized ones like these. I’m assuming the ones they’d created to guard this building are kept by those doors and the windows.”

“And it looks like if one gets set off, it doesn’t trigger the others,” Siffrin said, crouching again.

They put their ear by the grass, but there was no low crackle of latent Craft. They might not be able to hear it before getting closer to where the bombs were, but that risked getting too close.

“Indeed,” Odile agreed. “We already know there aren’t bombs around the clearing’s perimeter. We might as well stand there. It also gives us more cover, should I be wrong about the bombs’ nature.”

Standing up, Siffrin sheathed his dagger and nodded.

Once they were standing in front of the tree line with the burnt side of the barn in view, Odile cast Examine. Motes of light sank into the earth right in front of the darkened area, and as she concentrated, Siffrin continued to breathe deeply.

“There’s a dead body in there,” he said, voice low and flat. That hadn’t been manure he was smelling.

Odile blinked in surprise and pulled her hand back. “You’re sure?”

He nodded. “I smelled blood earlier, but I assumed one of them cut themself on something.”

“Hmm.” Odile’s mouth pinched into a tight frown. “Well. It appears that area is clear. My guess it was triggered by accident recently, so I’m guessing they hadn’t wanted to bother replacing it.”

Since they’d be leaving soon anyway. Siffrin nodded, stepping aside as Odile pressed her hand against her book as she widened her stance.

“And here’s the test. Siffrin, do you have pepper juice on you?”

Siffrin checked their pockets and found the vial she wanted. They’d need to pick up more, but they could deal with that later.

Honestly, carrying around so many different types of bottles and vials was getting annoying; Siffrin wondered if combining any of their potions would provide good results. They could always experiment later.

Odile’s eyes watered after downing the pepper juice, and Siffrin took the vial back as she stepped forward and threw out a scissors sign. Craft sizzled through the air as she cut through the darkened boards, which crumpled into the barn.

As they drew closer to the barn, Siffrin felt like he was choking on his own heart, and Odile’s heartbeat was so fast and hard that he wasn’t surprised that she was out of breath by the time they were inside.

The body was in front of a worktable pushed against the opposite wall they’d entered through. Her large, dark eyes were still open, and her lips were parted around words that had long-since been stolen by whatever blade had left its mark across her throat.

Siffrin covered his nose as he drew closer, and Odile covered hers as well. The bowels and bladder emptied upon death, and flies had already begun to gather.

Holding his breath, Siffrin crouched down and tried not to gag. Seeing death hadn’t gotten any easier, and he wanted to keep it that way.

It felt like moving clay as Siffrin lifted her arm and pushed until she lay on her side. As her head tipped back, the gash opened like a second mouth, and Odile made a retching sound as she stepped back.

A moment later, she returned to where she’d stood, face pale but expression like stone.

“The guy from earlier may be a fake soldier, but a real one did this,” Siffrin said, voice sounding strangled as their air ran out. They turned to take a breath while covering their nose and mouth with their cloak’s high collar. “Or at least someone trained.” At Odile’s raised eyebrows, they pointed at the gash while still holding onto the body’s arm to keep her on her side. “It’s deepest here at the edge, and there’s a little bruising on either side of the cut. Whoever did it started with the tip of their knife and pushed forward until the hilt hit their neck. Most people want to pull their blade, so they work in the opposite direction, but that gives the victim more time to realize what’s happening and fight back.”

“…”

He could see that she wanted to ask where his knowledge came from, but he'd already shared enough and remained silent. After a while, Odile exhaled slowly through her mouth.

“They betrayed them, perhaps?” she wondered aloud. “Or let someone know they planned on doing so?”

Maybe. Siffrin carefully patted down her pockets but found nothing.

“We should let the others know they’re here.” Odile started searching the worktable, moving aside papers and opening drawers. “At the very least, someone might recognize them.”

Siffrin nodded and allowed the body to roll back onto her stomach. He helped Odile search the worktable, which spanned nearly the entire wall’s length, pausing to test the bottom of each drawer to see if any had a false bottom.

“What are you doing?” Odile asked, her tone saying that the knocking had been grinding against her nerves.

He explained briefly, and her annoyance shifted towards herself for not thinking of that sooner. She went back over the drawers she’d already checked.

“If their killer is a soldier or at least trained to fight like one…” Odile coughed into the crook of her arm. She took a moment to breathe through the cloth, unable to deal with death’s stench. “And that one man was dressed like one…”

“It’s… weird.” Siffrin felt like several puzzles featuring similar pictures had all been dumped onto the table in front of him, and he kept trying to attach pieces from separate puzzles.

“Ha!” Odile shook her head, looking like she couldn’t figure out which emotion to latch onto. “It… really is, isn’t it? When I’d first agreed to join Isabeau and Mirabelle on their journey, the objective seemed straightforward enough. Find the orbs, go to Dormont, kill a tyrant…”

Her palms slapped the table, making Siffrin jump as she leaned forward.

“… Odile…?”

“…”

“… What is it?”

“… Keep searching, Siffrin. I don’t want us going back empty-handed.”

Siffrin stared at her, blinking slowly. When she didn’t come forth with more, he shrugged and turned his attention to the nearby shelves. They were tall and had been set up in two rows down the barn’s center. He guessed the wagon the group used had been stored elsewhere.

He doubted they’d find anything. It didn’t look like they’d fled; they’d planned on leaving at the same time as town hall was bombed.

Why leave one person behind, then? Those kids had obviously been oblivious pawns.

With someone else’s voice echoing through their mind, Siffrin said, “Money, honor, revenge, blackmail, trickery.”

Odile didn’t look up as she stomped along the floor, looking for hollow areas. “What was that, Siffrin?”

“Reasons why people betray their countries, according to… an old friend.” Siffrin still couldn’t remember his name. “Money, honor, revenge, blackmail, or trickery.”

“…” Odile kicked hay aside and inspected the area where she’d been standing. “Vaugarde is neutral. Same as Musmeer.” She paused. “Granted, Vaugarde has never been… militant about their neutrality, unlike Musmeer is.”

Vaugarde didn’t have an army. Not for many, many years. And there was a quota for how many Defenders were allowed to serve at any given time.

What a blinding time for some outside group to decide they wanted to… what? Siffrin felt like he was getting closer, like he’d moved the pieces he’d tried to fit together to their respective piles.

Vaugarde was Changing.

“This might not have anything to do with the radical monarchists,” Siffrin said, and Odile nodded once as she stomped by a tall series of shelves bolted into the wall by the doors.

“They’re possibly being used as a smokescreen, yes.” She sighed, then gagged. “Are you finding anything?”

Yep. A whole lotta nothing. Siffrin stated a negative and kept looking. They followed Odile’s lead and started stomping as they walked, listening for hollow spots before craning their neck to look up.

New planks lay over rafters. There was no ladder in view, but scuff marks near the shelves Siffrin had been searching around showed one had been here recently.

Hmm. Siffrin grabbed the shelf and shook it a little. It wasn’t bolted down, but they weren’t that heavy.

They were halfway up when the structure shifted enough to scrape loudly against the floor, and Odile groaned, “Siffrin, what—Siffrin!”

He continued to climb as Odile raced towards the shelf as she swore under her breath. There was still a fair distance between the top of the shelves to the makeshift floorboards, which didn’t look like they’d been nailed in place. Siffrin was too short to see much when he stood up atop the shelf; he ignored Odile as her swearing grew louder and more agitated as he couched, spine bending so his knees were just below his shoulders.

Realizing that they weren’t climbing back down, Odile shrilled, “SIFFRIN! YOU BETTER NOT—”

They leaped up as Odile struggled to hold the shelf structure steady. They landed too close to the makeshift floor’s edge, the long boards tilting under their weight. Panic spiked as Siffrin darted forward, gasping for breath as the boards fell back in place and settled. Odile was now shouting swears up at him, insults and questions and admonishments bleeding into each other.

“I’m okay!” he called down at her, which only incensed her further.

“Can you at the very least warn me next time!” she roared, and Siffrin stayed quiet as he looked around, figuring any response would only annoy her more.

The tip of Siffrin’s hat brushed over the beams holding up what was left of the ceiling. Both the dead woman and the fake soldier were taller than him.

Whatever had been stored up here hadn’t warranted securing the boards better, so nothing explosive, then?

Figuring any of this out would probably be easier if Siffrin knew how to make a Craft bomb.

Odile had said the stuff needed to make them didn’t come cheap, and the group had been working out of here for a few months at least. Yet, no one so far recognized the fake soldier, so either he’d been brought in recently or had stayed out of sight this whole time.

You’re missing something, Siffrin thought, frowning. He walked around the area carefully, trying his best to ignore the smell of waste and death as he took deep breaths.

A large splinter stabbed his hat, nearly yanking it off his head. Swearing, Siffrin ducked and pulled his hat away and inspected the damage. Nothing a couple hours with his pins couldn’t fix, but he huffed in frustration. That beam had been on his left side.

… It was fine. Again, it was nothing that couldn’t be easily fixed.

Siffrin drew a deep breath in, held it, and let it out. They put their hat back on.

Inspecting the offending beam, Siffrin squinted and traced a finger over something carved into the soft wood. The edges were sharp; someone had carved this recently.

The markings almost seemed to move. Staring at it made pain bloom across Siffrin’s forehead.

He pulled the signet ring out of his pocket and held it up by the beam, the small fangs facing the wood.

Siffrin’s tongue stuck to the roof of their mouth as the pain spread, as their vision tunneled. It felt like something hot and blunt was beating the back of their eyes.

Gritting their teeth against the pain, he stared from the carved lines to the etchings on the back of the signet ring.

They matched. The. lines. Curves. Words. They matched and they said—

Pain rocketed down his neck, and Siffrin pinwheeled as he stumbled back. The boards under him shifted, tilted, and Siffrin dropped and rolled. He landed with his limbs splayed out like a starfish as the boards settled again.

Hand shaking, Siffrin gripped the ring hard and backed up as his other hand pressed against the side of his head. Distantly, he heard Odile asking if he was okay.

Stars. Stars! It hurts! He breathed through his teeth, struggling to focus.

“Siffrin!” Odile called out from below. “Answer me, of I’m coming up there!”

They almost laughed. No, she’s not! They pressed their fists against their eyes, trying to breathe. “’m fine!”

“I don’t believe you. What’s wrong?” Odile’s tone was stern and no-nonsense.

Again, Siffrin wanted to laugh. How would they explain? They weren’t going to; they would rather swallow thorns and stuff broken glass into their boots. But even if that weren’t the case, how would he begin to explain what just happened? How would they explain the void inside of them, like the dark space between stars?

It sure felt just as vast at times!

“I hit my head!” they called down, laughter bubbling over their tongue as they sat up.

“…” Odile probably didn’t believe this was the whole of it, but she sighed and chose not to push. “Take your time coming back down, then.”

Pulling his hands away from his eyes, Siffrin blinked and readjusted his eyepatch. He pulled his flask out and took a few sips, still feeling dizzy as pain slowly retreated to his temples.

He recapped the flask as he stood up and placed a hand over his chest, eyes closing.

In

.

.

.

.

.

Out.

The pain faded completely, and Siffrin noticed something poking into his chest.

Pulling their hand away, they jumped as the signet ring dropped to the makeshift floor, nearly falling between two boards.

When had it fallen out of their pocket?

“Did you find anything?” Odile asked as Siffrin bent down.

He accidentally shifted one of the boards further away from the other, and he swore as the ring dropped to the ground. Great.

“Nothing!” Siffrin called down. “Looks like they took everything important. On my way down!”

“Be careful!” Odile ordered.

Just as the boards began to tilt, Siffrin jumped.

His feet hit the top of the shelf right as the barn doors blew off their hinges, fire stretching over the barn's yawning maw.

Chapter Text

Everything moved at breakneck speed.

The shelf fell as Siffrin jumped. It smacked the shelf structure behind it, the row falling over like dominos as pain shot up Siffrin’s legs as he landed and rolled, heels nearly catching the side of Odile’s head as she scrambled to her feet.

Siffrin hissed as his skin split just above his belt, and he pulled the hunting knife out of his cloak pocket.

Odile blasted someone with a Paper attack as the final shelf crashed into the barn’s back wall. Rotten wood bowed and splintered, and fire blossomed, clinging to grass and wood and straw.

Odile dropped to the ground as an arrow flew, and Siffrin charged forward, the hunting knife vibrating with Craft as the cut on his waist closed.

They dropped to one knee as another arrow flew, fire licking at their cloak as they slashed the air in front of them. The knife wasn’t attuned to them or their Craft, though, and Siffrin hissed as pain shot halfway up their arm as the Scissors attack went high and sent burning wood raining down on the three attackers.

Two of them cried out or cursed, and Siffrin jumped up and danced left at Odile’s order, just as her Rock attack slammed into the attacker with a crossbow. She went flying back, shrieking as she triggered the last of the Craft bombs buried in front of the barn door.

Her companions ignored her as one charged forward with a scabbard and the other slapped one of the paper blessings attached to his forearms. His Paper attack missed Odile by centimeters, and Siffrin twisted away as the tall, dark-haired woman brought down her scabbard where their head had been.

She kept her momentum going as she stepped forward and turned, aiming for Siffrin’s neck as he continued to dance around her.

She was fast, dancing back and twisting around, refusing to give Siffrin an opening as he kept the hunting knife up, pommel pressed against his left cheek as his other hand grasped his dagger’s hilt.

Not only was she fast, but she was keeping close, even though it made it harder for her to find a clean opening as well as put herself within range of Siffrin’s knife. She wore a plackart full of dents and scuff marks and a shoulder guard, curving metal protecting the left side of her neck. The rest of her outfit was dark leather—a Hirethian bounty hunter, Siffrin was sure.

The fire continued to spread; more wood and embers rained down. Siffrin’s good eye watered as they struggled to pull in a full breath.

He needed to end this, but with how close the bounty hunter stayed, it was hard for him to get the speed he needed to get behind her.

He dropped into a crouch as she slashed, nearly taking off the tip of his hat. She danced back as he slashed at her knees with the hunting knife, and Siffrin rotated on one foot, landing directly into the flames as the bounty hunter’s blade came down where he’d been, and before she could change course, Siffrin had his dagger out and kissing her thigh.

She turned at the same time Siffrin did, flames licking up their leg and melting the edges of their sole. Pain exploded over their calf and shin, like glass straight out of the flames clinging to their flesh. They hissed, and the bounty hunter’s pale eyes narrowed.

The boards high above them warped and groaned and cracked. Siffrin coughed and rolled away, hissing and losing visibility as tears evaporated right off their skin.

They were on the ground, but before they could think of when or how, they brought down the hunting knife before the bounty hunter could move her foot. She cursed, the language proving at least part of Siffrin’s assumptions correct.

Odile screamed.

Siffrin thought he felt his heart stop.

He yanked out the hunting knife and rolled away as the scabbard came down where he’d been like a hammer. She kept stepping further towards the barn’s center, away from the flames, and her breathing grew more haggard as her heartbeat sped up.

An arrow flew, and there was a strangled cry—not Odile. Thank stars.

The markswoman cursed in Vaugardian.

A strong Paper attack knocked the Hirethian bounty hunter off-kilter, and Siffrin leaped forward, hunting knife sinking into her thigh until the blade hit bone. He twisted around, the bounty hunter shuffling back as she raised her scabbard, but Siffrin was already slicing the hot, smoke-choked air between them. Craft caught her in the arm that didn’t have a shoulder guard on it, and she cursed as skin split and blood spilled.

Siffrin and Odile ran as the barn groaned its death rattle.

The markswoman aimed her crossbow. She was on her knees, one arm shaking and half her face burnt.

Odile cried out as Siffrin threw her to the ground as the bolt caught him in his right shoulder.

“Fractured gems, Siffrin!” Odile spat as Siffrin leaped at the markswoman, and Odile swore heavily as she picked up her book and his dagger.

The markswoman screamed as Siffrin bowled her over, his left leg unable to bend and right arm growing numb. He roared as pain exploded through him as the markswoman grabbed hold of the bolt and twisted it, the sharp edge scraping against bone.

Odile swore and threw a Rock attack as the bounty hunter ran towards Siffrin, and the markswoman screamed as Siffrin’s fangs sunk into the side of her neck.

Her heart pounded against her ribs, then slowed as she lost consciousness, and then it stopped.

Siffrin continued to drink.

The barn collapsed, setting off the rest of the Craft bombs. Fire exploded upward; Siffrin felt like the back of his neck was burning, and then it was suddenly so, so cold as the fire sputtered and died.

Odile’s Scissors attack made a clean cut through the vein on the unprotected side of the bounty hunter's neck.

Her pale eyes went wide, then narrowed as she slapped a hand onto the wound, blood seeping between her fingers.

Siffrin dodged her scabbard easily, and Odile took hold of her arm, keeping her still just long enough for Siffrin to jump up and yank her other arm down. The scabbard dropped as their fangs sunk into the bleeding side of her neck, and she hissed a Hirethian curse. Her angry words tapered off as her heartbeat slowed, unconsciousness claiming her as Odile held her up while Siffrin continued to drink her blood.

The final embers died as Siffrin stumbled back and gasped for breath.

In… out… in… out… in… out…

Odile left him to lay in the sparse grass and stare up at the gathering clouds, the sun slowly sinking towards the west.

Five and six.

Six ghosts crowding their chest.

Six ghosts beating their heart and squeezing their lungs.

Six ghosts rattling their rib cage like prison bars.

“They would have killed us, Siffrin,” Odile said suddenly as she sat next to their face, legs crossed.

She held out his dagger so the pommel faced him, her fingers careful around the blade’s edge. He didn’t reach for it, didn’t even glance her way. All he could do was stare up at the clouds as the fire and heat retreated, as a breeze picked up ash and carried it towards the trees.

“We may still not know who these people are, or what they want,” Odile continued in a measured voice, “but that”—she gestured—“was a Hirethian mercenary. Or bounty hunter. Possibly originally here to take care of the body left behind before one of the others triggered a bomb—I’m assuming by accident, but we’ll never know for sure now.” She paused, drawing in breath after breath as she struggled to calm her speeding heart. She still held out Siffrin’s dagger. “But. She would have followed us. And we would have ended up leading her straight to Boniface.”

Siffrin flinched.

“Now, sit up. I need to take care of that arrow.” Odile muttered something in Ka Buan under her breath; it sounded like an insult.

Her hair was a mess, and Siffrin could smell blood running down her back. They almost wanted to laugh as their good eye burned with unshed tears.

The clearing smelled of blood and waste and ash and burning flesh.

That third attacker was still underneath the pyre he and his companions had made for themselves. His heart was still beating, but it was weak. He would join his companions soon enough.

Siffrin’s throat burned.

They sat up and winced when they instinctively lifted their right hand to take their dagger back. They were ambidextrous, but they would still always favor their right hand, mainly due to right-handedness being common. They’d often caught opponents off-guard by switching hands mid-fight, throwing them off and buying themself precious seconds.

Ignoring the look on Odile’s face, Siffrin grabbed his dagger with his left hand and sheathed it.

“… This may be easier if we move, so you can lean against a tree. Can you walk?” Odile looked apologetic, though she didn’t need to. Siffrin would need to walk eventually, anyway.

He nodded. He winced as he got up, the sliding scale of pain and numbness in his right arm leaving him feeling dizzy.

At some point, Odile had taken the hunting knife out of the bounty hunter’s thigh. Siffrin took the piece of wood Odile gave him. It was maybe half the width of his wrist and the length of his hand from heel to the tip of his middle finger. It was willow. He wasn’t sure if she’d chosen it on purpose, or if it just happened to be nearby.

Taking a deep breath, Siffrin put the wood into his mouth and bit down, wincing a little at the bitter, acidic taste of the bark, which didn’t seem to match up with its almost peppermint-like scent.

Splinters jabbed the inside of their lips as they bit down harder while trying to remain still while Odile sawed through the arrow’s shaft with the hunting knife’s serrated edge. Sweat beaded along their brow and ran down the back of their neck. The pain in their shoulder as the arrow’s iron tip continually scraped against bone made them think of a star caving in on itself.

“Almost done with this part,” Odile whispered. “You’re faring well. Just stay still.”

Siffrin’s throat burned. They bit down on the willow branch harder, saliva dripping over their trembling lip and down their chin.

Their good eye burned, but no tears spilled.

“Done.” Odile sat back and tossed the arrow’s end piece into the grass and leaves.

Siffrin said nothing, gaze trained on Odile's neck. She smelled like blood and adrenaline and smoke.

“Your flask, Siffrin." Her voice remained steady. "Then I’ll begin the next part.”

Right. His flask.

Left hand shaking, Siffrin let the willow branch fall into his lap as he reached under his cloak. His fingers fumbled the clips, but Odile waited patiently as Siffrin uncapped the flask with his teeth.

“Better?” Odile asked after Siffrin drained his flask.

His trousers felt tight after all that blood, and he needed to pee. He wanted to laugh. He wanted to vomit.

He nodded.

“… Alright. I… won’t be able to push it through it seems due to the arrow’s angle. So…” She sighed. “This is the worst part.” Again, Odile looked apologetic, and she waited as Siffrin reattached his flask to its strap, so it rested over his chest. “Well, worst, if I can get the arrowhead out of you. Otherwise…”

It would be better to wait until they made it back to the village, but neither of them wanted Bonnie to see a bolt sticking out of Siffrin’s shoulder. All the other injuries both had sustained were bad enough.

They put the willow back in their mouth and bit down.

They nodded and leaned against the tree as Odile slid his cloak carefully over the arrow shaft. They flinched a little as she tucked the thick fabric behind them.

In… out…

The pain didn’t hit right away. There was a beat, like time slowing, flattening, stretching.

Then the supernova nearly knocked them out as their vision went darkless. They thought they might have screamed. They thought they might have died, but their heart kept beating.

Somehow, the willow was still in their mouth. Darkless spots crowded their vision, but they could slowly make out other shades, even if all the shapes didn’t quite make sense.

They smelled blood and tasted bile and focused on not throwing up.

The arrowhead was still inside him. Siffrin could tell by Odile’s cursing before he registered the throbbing in his shoulder.

“… That will have to do for now.” She made a huffing sound when Siffrin spoke. “Siffrin, I can’t understand you with that in your mouth.”

Oh. Right. They let the wood fall into their lap again. Spit dribbled down their chin. “We need to keep the wound open, before my skin heals over it and makes getting the head out harder.”

Odile swore again; she used the hunting knife to make the hole in his shirt bigger.

“Oh, gems, it’s already closing.” She swore and cut a strip of cloth from Siffrin’s lightless shirt.

She broke off a twig from a nearby fallen branch and quickly wrapped the cloth around its widest end. She broke off the thin part of the twig to shorten it, not wanting it to rub against Siffrin’s cloak as he walked and cause more pain than necessary.

With a whispered apology, Odile pushed the plug into Siffrin’s wound. His heels dug into the soil as he pushed back against the tree, hissing in pain.

This pain wasn’t an explosion. It was the stuttering of a wagon on a rough, unkempt road. He sucked in air through his teeth, nails digging in his thigh as he struggled not to slap Odile’s hand away.

“There,” she breathed, sounding ill. “That should hold until we reach town.”

Siffrin’s shirt clung to their body uncomfortably as sweat continued to drip and pool. They were pale, complexion almost waxy. They tilted their head back and turned their attention back to the clouds.

As they stared at the sky, Odile got to her feet. She walked over to Siffrin’s victims—no, their attackers, he tried to remind himself—and slit their throats in such a way that the puncture wounds from Siffrin’s fangs were obscured. She then returned the knife to where it had been inside the bounty hunter’s thigh.

“Let’s go.”

Siffrin hadn’t noticed she’d returned to him. He stared at her hand as she reached down to help him up.

“Boniface and Lu are likely worried by now.”