Ivy sat on the rooftop of a small warehouse on the docks, overlooking the Great Sea, sobbing openly. Her whole life had fallen apart in a single day. She had expected push-back—especially from Rose—but not like this. After everything, after offering the first thread of resistance to the church in centuries, Ivy was back to being alone.

She had run as far as she could from the palace, and ended up here. No one was even working. The news of her slaughter had spread, and the streets were literally empty. No one knew if it was safe to step outside. It suited her needs, though. Watching the waves did little to abate her tears, but at least no one had to see her like this.

Or at least she thought that would be the case. A single figure hobbled up to where she sat, leaning on a gnarled old cane the whole way. Ivy knew who it was long before she reached close enough to make out facial features. She wiped her face as best she could while waiting on the old woman’s slow advance. Eventually, the beggar witch stopped right beneath Ivy.

“You are a stupid girl,” she said.

“And you are a mean, old bitch,” Ivy said, “what do you want?”

“Want? Nothing.”

“So we can skip to the part where I kill you for messing with my head last time?”

The beggar witch placed both of her hands atop her cane and leaned forward.

“I came to offer some advice,” she said.

“Don’t want it.”

“I’m sure you don’t. But that brat Rose thinks she knows everything, and I figured you might want a different opinion on the world.”

Ivy let out a half-choked laugh.

“So what, you’re the one who actually does know everything?”

“Not at all. But I’ve been around a while, and I know what it’s like to feel the weight of the world on my shoulders.”

“Begging for coins holds a great responsibility, does it?”

That seemed to garner a rise out of the old witch. Her grip tightened around the head of her cane and her brows came together at a sharp angle.

“I stood at the right hand of Queen Calanthe, you nitwit.”

There was that name again. The demon had mentioned it as well, though Ivy had no idea who that was.

“Is that supposed to mean something to me?” Ivy asked.

The beggar witch sighed.

“I should have known better than to assume a kid like you knew her history. I am Forsynthia, Royal Adviser to Witch Queen Calanthe and second seat of the Council of Dragonflies.”

“Okay,” Ivy said, keeping her face neutral.

Assuming any of that was true, it didn’t mean a whole lot presently. Ivy had of course heard of the Witch Queen, of whom the church had ended her “reign of tyranny,” but that was supposed to have been something like a few thousand years ago.

Forsynthia wrinkled her nose, adding to the numerous creases in her aged face. Maybe she really was thousands of years old if Rose barely looked older than Ivy at whatever her age was.

“You would do well to heed your elders, girl,” Forsynthia said.

Ivy raised an eyebrow.

“Oh yeah? Why don’t you just make me like you did before?”

“Trust me, if that were an option, I would have taken it already.” Huh. Good to know. Perhaps Ivy should just kill this relic of a forgotten age. “But you have no idea how long I saved up strength to pull the few tricks I played on you already.”

Few? Ivy began to replay the last several years in her head since she had returned to Atrican. When had she not felt herself? Like something was influencing her? Her eyes immediately went to the dagger laid across her lap. It had given her confidence and encouraged a darkness inside of her that she loved and hated at the same time.

“Oh yes,” Forsynthia said, “I helped to forge Calanthe’s blade, girl. The same blade you used to kill my hope at reinvigorating my powers.”

Ivy stared down at the demon heart still stuck on the center of the dagger. For a moment, she considered discarding the thing, horrified at the idea that this old witch could somehow alter her thoughts through it. But the dagger’s influence hadn’t felt like being under Forsynthia’s control. The dagger was bonded to her. More like a part of her, and who she was, rather than a foreign invader.

“Well,” Ivy said, looking down at Forsynthia again, “at least that confirms I made the right decision, there.”

A guttural growl of disgust echoed from deep in Forsynthia’s throat.

“You and Rose are insufferable. The brat refused to lend me her Qix’rymith and now you kill him.”

Ivy could only roll her eyes. This didn’t feel like any kind of “advise” yet. Maybe she wasn’t very good at her job.

“So how long have you two been planning out my life? Have you been working together from the beginning?”

“Working together?” Forsynthia scoffed. “I wouldn’t say that. But some of our goals align.”

Ivy went back over everything Rose and Forsynthia had said and got a rough idea of what the ancient witch had been hoping for.

“So,” Ivy said, “tell me if I’m wrong here. You both want to…I dunno raise me as some kind of magical queen, but in different ways. You, for example, seemed to be leading me toward the destruction of the church. You arranged for me to find this dagger, I assume. What were you expecting out of that? For me to steal away Rose’s demon and then give it to you? Are you that stupid? I think you may be the one in need of an ‘adviser.’”

Forsynthia laughed.

“Rude, stubborn, disrespectful, untamed, and power without reason. You are so like Calanthe I can almost see my dead sister looking down on me.”

“I’m not who you want me to be. Yes, I will fight the church until the end, but I am no queen.”

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“Calanthe once said the same thing, and then she ruled this continent for over five-hundred years.”

“I am not Calanthe.”

Ivy called upon her power, disappearing into the witch world. She’d had enough of older witches trying to tell her who she was and how she was supposed to act. She would never forget how Rose had taken her in and shown her kindness, despite it most likely being some plan to win her over. But still, Ivy was done listening to other people telling her what she could and couldn’t do.

She hopped off of the rooftop and followed the path in the witch world that led to her final destination before she could rest. There was still one man that was owed a reckoning. Brother Couch shined brightly in the top floor of the Bloody Flag headquarters, and the distorted figure of Armond sat at his desk nearby.

Ivy skipped along the path, her fingers tightening around the hilt of her dagger. She should just kill him first thing, but a part of her wanted to know why. Armond was basically her only friend. He had known about her. His wife supposedly had been a witch, too. It didn’t make sense to her why he had betrayed her. She settled into Brother Couch and let go of her power.

Armond grunted, noticing her immediately. It looked as though he had been sitting there watching the spot she had chosen to reveal herself.

“It wasn’t me,” he said. He didn’t appear frightened, but wary.

“Oh?”

“I figured I’d have a knife in my back already if you didn’t come to talk, so I thought it best to start there. When I’d discovered you had escaped the church, I was looking over my shoulder every few seconds. When I saw what you did to the churches…well I just waited. I wasn’t sure what to expect, but I’m glad you had some faith in me.”

“I haven’t decided what I think of you,” Ivy said, adjusting her position to put less strain on her mangled arm. She would have to do something about that. Soon.

“Can I show you something?” Armond asked.

Ivy shrugged.

“Be my guest.”

“Joseph!” Armond’s Baritone filled the room, and a second later, his lieutenant peaked his head through the door. When the man’s gaze found Ivy, his eyes widened in shock, but that was all.

“Yes, my lord?” Joseph asked.

“Bring him.”

Joseph nodded and closed the door again. Armond turned his attention back to Ivy and frowned.

“You’ve been through a lot,” he said.

“What?”

“Your tears still stain your cheeks.”

She couldn’t comprehend why, but she felt her face flush, and shot her good hand up to wipe her face more thoroughly than she had while waiting for Forsynthia.

“It’s…nothing,” she said.

“I imagine not many young women your age have had to endure as much as you. It’s alright to feel the way you do. You don’t have to put up a facade. Not here. Not for me. I know how strong you are, Iveriani. Hell, soon the whole world will.”

In that moment, she knew Armond hadn’t been lying. He wasn’t the one to sell her to the church. Ivy knew well the way people treated witches. Even those she thought closest to her could not accept her when all was revealed. But Armond knew everything, and still he tried to comfort her. Her eyes began to moisten again.

“T-thank you,” she said.

The door to the room flung open and Joseph entered, dragging along a second man that Ivy barely recognized. He had been beaten—badly—and thick ropes bound his wrists in front of him. Joseph shoved him forward before Armond’s desk.

“I trust you can handle him?” Joseph asked.

“Yes,” Armond said, “thank you, Joseph.”

Armond’s Lieutenant nodded and then retreated from the room, closing the door behind him.

The moment Ivy saw the prisoner’s face, she knew exactly what had happened. She should have seen it earlier.

“Marris,” she said.

“Yes,” Armond said, “this is the man who betrayed you. Betrayed me, and gave you up to the church. He spent years collecting testimonies and evidence against you. Eventually he thought he had enough.”

Ivy vaguely remembered Marris promising to figure her out or expose her or something. Back then she hadn’t given the threat too much thought. Apparently he hadn’t been bluffing.

“Huh,” Ivy said.

“He’s yours, now.”

Marris spun his head in Ivy’s direction and let out a little whimper before turning back to Armond and falling to his knees.

“Please my lord! I beg you! It’s not my fault! It’s the witch’s! She’s gotten into your head! No, before that even. Back home, the witch there—”

Armond slammed his fist down upon his desk.

“I would cut out your tongue and feed it to you for such a comment about my wife were it not for the debt owed to this woman.” Armond looked over at Ivy. “Well?”

Ivy let out a deep sigh.

“Honestly,” she said, “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I think I’ve dealt with enough death for one day. Do with him as you will.”

Armond smiled.

“You know what? I was actually hoping you would say that.”

He retrieved a small fruit knife from the top of his desk and stood from his chair. Marris tried to shuffle away on his knees as Armond circled around his desk with murder in his eyes.

“My, my l-lord,” he said, the words stammering out, “P-please.”

Armond Grabbed him by the back of his neck and pulled him up. With the same hand he pried Marris’ lips open, shoving the knife between his teeth. Armond somehow got a hold of Marris’ tongue with his free hand and pulled it tight. The screams that filled the room as Armond began sawing Marris’ tongue off gave the demon’s infernal howling a run for its money.

The act even caused Ivy to look away. She had committed her fair share of brutalities, but this? It was a little gross. And Armond wasn’t even done. When Marris fell to his back on the floor, scrambling away on hands and feet, Armond followed him down. Blood and mangled words flowed from the condemned man’s mouth, but the prince of outlaws paid them no mind.

Armond stabbed the severed tongue lying discarded at Marris’ side with the point of the knife and straddled the downed Marris. Once again prying the man’s mouth open, he forced the dismembered tongue down Marris’ throat, still attached to the knife.

Seeing a man choke to death on his own flesh and blood from an outside perspective, she understood how people could be so afraid of her after seeing what she had done.

“I’m glad you’re on my side,” Ivy said.

Armond pulled himself off of Marris after the man finally stopped squirming and sat beside the corpse on the floor.

“That’s my line,” he said, “I don’t know how you did it, but they say even the Grand Cathedral was massacred.”

“It’s…complicated.”

Armond nodded.

“Joseph!” Once again, Armond’s aide came to his call. “Clean this shit up.”

“Of course, my lord,” Joseph said, and then began dragging the body out of the room, no questions asked.

Once he was clear of the room and shut the door, Armond took a deep breath, regarding Ivy.

“I’ve been wanting to do that for a while now,” he said.

“Glad I could be of service.”

He chuckled.

“Well, what will you do, now?”

“I…don’t know.” Ivy really hadn’t thought too far in advance. Too much had happened. Too many things had gone wrong that she had trouble just keeping up with the present. “I’m not sure I can stay here. The people I thought I knew aren’t who I believed them to be. But even still I care for them, and just my presence might hurt them, despite me having no desire to see them. It’s just a lose-lose if I stick around.”

“I see. Then you intend to leave the mess you created for me and that dolt of a prince who calls himself governor?”

Ivy laughed.

“Yeah, I suppose that is what I’m doing.” She thought about Armond and Virian working together to stabilize the city after what she had done. “I feel like I shouldn’t have to say this, but…don’t kill him.”

Armond waved a hand.

“Yes, yes. The boy with the golden cock will be unharmed. At least until you return.”

Ivy’s face warmed again, but she quickly forced it down. The pain radiating from her right hand to her shoulder helped with forgetting about Virian’s…cock. She looked down at her lap and remembered an old promise to the king of the underworld.

“Oh,” she said, and then tossed her dagger over to the floor where Armond was still resting, “that’s yours if you can pry it off.” He gave her an appraising look. “The black thing. Not the dagger. Fresh demon heart. It turns out the church did have one after all. It was just still inside a demon.”

Armond almost jumped out of his skin. “You killed one? How?”

“Later, Armond,” Ivy said, sinking further into Brother Couch, “please. I’m exhausted.”

Blessedly, he seemed to understand, and went to work on her weapon, eventually resorting to slamming it with full force into the floor. The demon’s core cracked in half, leaving two near perfect semi-spheres.

“Don’t eat it,” Ivy said.

He tore his attention away from the two pieces of the demon heart to give Ivy a look.

“Huh? Why would I—”

“I’m serious. It’ll kill you. I think.”

“I…see. So what am I supposed to do with it?”

“I don’t care. Whatever you want.” She yawned, but the pain in her arm could no longer be ignored. “Hey, can I ask a favor?”

“Of course,” Armond said.

“My arm is basically…destroyed. Can you call a healer for me before I leave Atrican?”

“Joseph!” he called out again, but Ivy stopped listening. She turned and lay sideways on Brother Couch, nestling into its fluffy embrace.

“I’ll just rest…a minute.” She yawned, her heavy eyelids closing. “Just…a…minute. Just until…the healer—”

Sleep took her in moments, and the world faded into darkness.