On the way back to the car, the Master of Language patted Cassandra’s shoulder with what seemed like real sympathy. “Dementia is a difficult disease,” he said – causing her to wonder what kind of mad ravings Grandpa had projected to the Masters.

She and Orion sat, pale and silent, while the Master of Language drove them back to the highway. From the passenger’s seat, the Master of Mind turned and said, “The Rot affects all aspects of pebble magic. When maps change, we call it erosion or natural disaster. With living things, it’s aging, death, and decay. With minds and language, it’s insanity and nonsense. Your grandfather…” She glanced at the Master of Language, but his eyes were on the road and his mind far away. “...shows us where the Rot leads.”

Grandpa’s words echoed: It’s you who have the power here; nod if you understand. Cassandra nodded, Grandpa’s pebble glowing in her hand.

“No promises, but,” said the Master of Mind, “I can have my scribes try to reverse-engineer his pebble.” Cassandra didn’t move. “If you’d like, we could investigate how long he’s been laying his plans. And whether he’s really dead. Modeling an entire mind leaves traces of reality behind.”

It was surprisingly refreshing to be asked what she wanted – not exactly a common occurrence these days. Then again, maybe she ought to expect it: As Grandpa had said, they had to retain her at all costs. Imprisoned by their own prophecies.

“How long would that take?” she asked, resisting the urge to add, “Could you have it on my desk by morning?”

“Every mind is encrypted a bit differently,” said the Master of Mind. “If you’re worried about losing his pebble, though, I could make a copy.”

Cassandra looked at Orion, who’s trembling blue-tinged lips whispered, “I just want to go home.”

In that moment, Cassandra picked a side. Not the Rot’s, not the Fortress’s. Not Mom’s or Dad’s or Grandpa’s. She reached over and helped Orion out of his mittens, wet from scrambling in and out of Grandpa’s bogus grave. With her scarf, she dried his hands and placed the grave digging map pebble into them. “Warm yourself up?”

He brightened and put the pebble to his forehead, eager to browse his spell inventory.

Cassandra said, “Home is good. I have some questions for Mom and Dad.” She tossed Grandpa’s mind pebble to the Master of Mind. “You can copy Grandpa if you want. I don’t even care.”

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

***

Tassadu calmed down considerably when he slid into his tub, pink jewels aglow. He mumbled something about the water being perfect. Then, his eyelids drooped and his jaw went slack.

Her bed – equally exquisite – almost lulled her to sleep, too. But she resisted. For one thing, it wasn’t bed time. According to an ornate cuckoo clock on the wall, it wasn’t even 2pm. The longer she lay upon the silks, though, the more the eternal night of the cavern outside made Earth time irrelevant.

But even so, there was something about the red light still streaming through the window that kept her from falling fully into dreams. It seemed to soak through her eyelids from the other side, reminding her of the top of the spire. What was up there? What did it mean that their Master had been set free?

To make matters worse, her bed was so soft that she couldn’t bring herself to leave it long enough to draw the curtains. Instead, she drifted through a sleepy, sleepless purgatory.

“You awake?” she mumbled, hoping she could convince Tassadu to do it.

“I refuse to fall asleep here,” he said. “The moment we do, cat-Styxx’ll be creeping through the door with flowers or something.”

“You could lock it,” suggested Aissaba, figuring that if she got him out of the tub, he’d be one step closer to closing the curtains.

“It was the first thing I did,” he said. “Oh, and another thing! What’s the deal with him and Styxx? Are they twins or something?”

“I don’t know, but it sounds like you have further questions for cat-Styxx, and…” Without opening her eyes, she slipped into an approximation of his warm purr: “...I’m sure he would be happy to answer them. In his room. Just down the hall.”

A small splash told Aissaba that Tassadu had abandoned his sleeping posture to glare in her direction. “And I suppose you don’t have questions.” She pretended to be asleep. “You’re perfectly happy sleeping in the enemy’s beds?” If she could frustrate him out of his tub, that would be progress. “Eating the enemy’s apples?” Deep breaths. “And petting their cats, of course.”

She must have jerked because she heard the self-satisfied splash of Tassadu sinking deeper in his tub. “Look,” she said, finally dragging herself into a sitting position. “We don’t know they’re the enemy. We just know they’re trying to enact a few changes.”

Tassadu gestured at the window with a dripping talon, “We know that they’ve got an entire Fortress, an entire planet full of pebbles. And we know they’ve been laying plans in secret for, like, thousands of years. When it comes to hostile takeovers, I think they might have the upper hand.”

“Yes?” said Aissaba. “And?”

“And… you don’t think that makes them the enemy?”

“I think they’re only the ‘enemy’ if we choose to define them as such.”

Tassadu sank to the water line and set off an explosion of annoyed bubbles. “Great. You’re doing it, too. Two plus two equals four – unless by ‘plus’ you mean ‘elephant.’ You and cat-Styxx will make a great couple.”

Aissaba found herself flushing, but thankfully Tassadu was too preoccupied with his bubbly diatribe to notice.