Prince Luevo had not slept well.
True, the Denrama were kind, when they wanted to be. They trained him in their ways, told him stories of their people, tolerated his more… eclectic tastes. But the one thing the prince could not understand about them was their insistence on sleeping on a blanket on the ground. Try as he might, he could never convince them, not even the most inquisitive, to try out a proper bed, frame and all, with a fluffy mattress and pillows stuffed with Gele feathers.
“We stick close to the earth,” the Denrama's leader, Manzima, told him, “Even if our place is born anew, Kimao, it is the earth that is our home. Let the air be ruled by the Spioa.”
“It's... three feet off the ground,” Luevo had said.
But the look Manzima had given him no room to argue, so he relented.
So here he was, on the ground, in the yurt the Denrama had given him when he had returned to them, to live with them for a little while. He had returned back to the royal palace after the ragged journey across the multiverse.
And found it...
Empty.
Of the experiences he had come to enjoy in the multiverse. His adventures. He found his old habits hollow.
So, two months later, he had returned to the Denrama, and lived with them ever since.
They had named the Landscape after the creature he had carried, as though he had a womb, across the breadth of reality, as was his duty as Kimao.
Rolala. It rolled off the tongue, did it not? Luevo could feel nothing but bittersweet pride at the name.
He stepped out of the yurt in the early morning, the sun glaring into his eyes, his bare feet brushing into grass, squelching into the dirt. The Denrama had set up near the exact center of the plains. Yurts were scattered haphazardly across the expanse of the field, a city of cloth, as other Deadlanders had arrived in Rolala. They swore to the Denrama. Swore to Luevo, too, for the Denrama had become patrons to his father's kingdom.
At the edge of the city was an airship. Settlers from across Nesona were coming here, too, mostly farmers to take advantage of the vast grassplains, with ample room to grow corn, tobacco, tomatoes, and wheat. And the airship companies that had set up shop on the plane were having quite the business boom, moving folks from hither to thither.
A few of the Denrama greeted Luevo as he stepped out. He smiled, bowed his head to them.
And he walked a few steps.
And turned right back around, back into his yurt, to retrieve his shoes. He still could not stand the feeling of dirt between his toes. His feet were to be clean, thank you very much.
He emerged a bit later, hiking boots wrapped around his legs like vises. Uncomfortable, but still better than the dirt and the grime.
He walked out.
A few of the Denrama greeted Luevo, again, a few of them wearing light smirks on their faces. He had learned to ignore these. Luevo went to begin his daily chores, moving to take his shift tending the herd of goats and sheep the Denrama collected. The creatures were no longer skin and bones. They had fat on them now, their fleeces freshly groomed.
And with that, came their ornery attitudes. He wasn't looking forward to today.
“Luevo.”
Manzima spoke behind him. The prince turned.
“Yes, ashai?” he said. Manzima had gained some meat on the bone, too, thank the Lady. She had been practically at death's door before the landscape had changed.
“Two people approach,” she said.
“More settlers?” Luevo said, “Is there... danger?”
“They are outlanders, Luevo,” Manzima said, “Two of them. They appear wounded, but it is still a wary situation. Will you go and meet them?”
“I...” Luevo faltered.
For a moment.
“If I have sufficient protection, yes,” Luevo said, “I am a prince, and they might be here to kill me.”
“You'll have our best warriors,” Manzima said.
Ten of the Denrama had died during the battle with Mordenaro. He felt guilty using them again, in case things went sideways.
But he would not deny Manzima's generosity. To do so would look bad. He gave a grateful nod.
“I'll meet them, then.”
***
They were tribesfolk, clad in goat furs and wielding weapons made of old wood and bone. A few of them wore masks, a few held bows. Fresh settlers of this part of the landscape, Ichabod supposed, for their haggard looks made them stand out on the field of green that paraded to the horizon. Sitting in the center of their number was a man, dark-skinned, in white robes with muddy edges, a silver tiara adorning his head, sunken into his thick locs. Some noble, or other.
“You come to the landscape of Rolala,” the man said in a nasally voice, “And you are...?”
“Outlanders,” Ichabod said. He grimaced, glancing over to Contort for a moment, before continuing, “On guild business.”
“What kind of business?” the noble asked.
“The private kind,” Ichabod said, “We're just passing through.”
“Uh-huh,” the noble said. One of the tribals walked over to him, whispered something in his ear. He nodded, looking hard at the horizon behind.
“I s-see,” he said, betraying a bit of his nervousness, “I see two pursuers after you. Guildfolk as well?”
“Yeah,” Contort said, “Look, pal, you better let us pass. What's coming isn't going to be pretty.”
“Where will you go?” the noble said, “All of Rolala is claimed by the Denrama. We're... we're not going to just sit there and let you tear it all to pieces. They've already lost a lot, because of guild spats.”
“Nothing but sympathy, for that,” Contort said, “But if you don't let us pass, you're going to get a guild spat at your front door.”
He glanced back. As did Ichabod. The cybernetic man's sight was better, and he could just barely make out the sun-headed man on the horizon.
“One way or another, this is going to play out,” Contort said.
The noble seemed to wince, biting his lip in thought. For a long time, with shaking hands, he considered the situation in front of him.
“What guild are you?” he said, “You'll foot the bill.”
“Amber Foundation,” Ichabod said.
And the man's eyes widened.
“A-Amber Foundation?” he said, “Joseph and G-Wiz, are they okay?”
Ah.
Ichabod had heard of this job. It had been the one that got Shetavalk and Nole killed.
“Joseph's fine, last time I saw him,” Contort said, “G-Wiz too. I think.”
“You... think?” the noble faltered, and the veil of diplomacy fell away for a moment, “She's...?”
“We've been separated from our guildmates for a long time,” Contort said, “A job went south. We're being pursued by Pantheon.”
“Pantheon?” the noble said, “...Agrippa's guild, yes?”
“You know him?”
“Our spies indicate he tried to have me killed,” the noble said, “They hired Mordenaro.”
He was quiet for a moment. The shaking in his hand had stilled. He looked out towards the horizon, calculating, his jaw set.
“And they're trying to kill you again?” he said, “Sending more pursuers?”
“Yes,” Ichabod said.
“...Alright,” the noble said, “Let me pull a few strings. I suppose I should help get you out of here.”
***
And so Luevo made his moves. Got the Amber Foundation all loaded up and on their way. It was only natural, a debt he had wanted to repay, and would probably always repay. They did not need to traipse across the multiverse with him, all that time ago. They didn't need to die for him. Lady's breath, he didn't deserve that.
Yet died they had.
He would not soon forget that.
It was all that held his heart in place, as he waited for the three Pantheon agents to arrive. A demon. A sun-headed man. A mercenary from the Eye, he presumed, decked out in Fedtek. The demon would be the hardest to deal with.
He took a deep breath. The mercenaries toed the line between the Deadlands and the Landscape. Denrama warriors pointed spears at them, aimed arrows. Luevo, as before, stood at their center, trying to look as regal as possible despite his muddied robes.
“You come to Rolala,” he said, trying his best to sound authoritative, “What business do you seek here?”
“Guild business,” the sun-headed man said.
“Of what sort?”
“There are two,” the demon said, and Luevo shivered at the sight of her, all skinless and floating, a woman's voice curling from her skull and into his, “There once were three, but the journey has been difficult for them.”
“Well,” Luevo said, “I'm sorry to say, they aren't here.”
“Tell me, friend,” the sun-headed man said, “In what direction did they go?”
“South,” he said, “They went south. I told them that no guildfolk with violent businesses are to come here to Rolala. They must go south.”
“To another Landscape,” the demon said, “Hyperion, see if he speaks true.”
Hyperion, the sun-headed man, nodded. His face began to glow. The Denrama began to shout a few warnings, prepared their weapons.
The mercenary took aim.
“Don’t move,” he said, “Make any move at all, and I open fire.”
Luevo brought up a hand to still them, his heart racing. This was not a time for action. Better he die, and they move on, then the Denrama waste their lives in a futile effort. He knew they would not survive an engagement with this trio.
Hyperion's face became swallowed with light, and his entire form began to blaze. Luevo winced as the full brunt of the sun washed over him like an ocean wave, burning his skin, his bones, his skull, his mind. It flayed him with a thousand whips, surged through his memories.
And then, the light ceased. Luevo found himself on his back, spots dancing in his eyes. One of the Denrama, Ruti, ran over to help him to his feet.
“He lies,” Hyperion said, and pointed, “High above. An airship. He paid off the captain to get them away in a hurry.”
The demon glanced up, and hissed.
“They are outside of my range. Mercenary, can you pursue?”
The mercenary looked up. Nodded.
“N-Now, hang on,” Luevo said.
The three of them glared down at him.
“What stops us from killing you?” the demon said, “What stops us from pulling free your spine and beating your savages with it?”
He swallowed.
“W-Well,” Luevo said, “That airship is... under my protection.”
Hyperion scoffed.
“Your protection?” he said, “On whose authority, some backwards tribe in the middle of nowhere? You wield pointed sticks, little man.”
“I am...” Luevo rose. He was shaking. This was not...
Not how he expected today to go.
But he had been through worse, hadn't he? Mordenaro. His father's cooking.
He swallowed, again.
“I am Prince Luevo, son of Soluum,” he said, reconquering his whining tone, “Of Ionica.”
“Ionica,” the demon said, “The largest nation, in these lands.”
“Rolala is under my patronage,” Luevo said, “As is that ship up there. As are the guildfolk. You... You will not touch them. You will turn back. You will leave.”
The demon moved forward. Luevo faltered, for just a second, as she leered down at him, the bridge of his nose almost touching her nasal cavity. The demon had no eyes. All that was there was a void, deep and foreboding, like a black hole given sight.
“And if we do not...?”
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“I-If you kill me,” Luevo said, “It will look bad. It will... you'll send all of Ionica a-after you.”
“We would kill them all,” the demon said.
“K-Killing me?” Luevo said, “A prince? Going to war with an off-plane nation? Without a contract? What sort of message d-does that tell the F-Federation, hmm?”
“He's right,” the mercenary grunted, “We're here to kill the guildfolk, not some random royals.”
For a long time, the demon stood there, staring at Luevo. Gauging him. Sizing him up. Luevo all but glared at her, letting a bit of his anger at Agrippa come through his eyes. He had to be solid. Look like he could follow through with his threat.
And then...
“Fine,” the demon said. She drew back, turning to Hyperion and the mercenary, “We turn back. We can pursue them with other methods. Other ways. We tell Agrippa that the Amber Foundation is...”
She shot one last glare back at Luevo.
“Under Ionica's protection.”
Hyperion nodded. The mercenary shouldered his rifle. The three Pantheon agents turned.
And went back the way they came. Back to the Deadlands. Luevo continued to watch them, his mouth turned in a deep frown.
He only relaxed, the Denrama only lowered their weapons, when the trio was well past the horizon.
“You handled them well,” Ruti said.
“I hope so,” Luevo said, his knees shaking. He felt the need to vomit, “...But I feel like I've just made quite the enemy.”
He swallowed, tasting bile in his mouth.
“Come on,” he said, “Let's go back. I think I'll lie down for a little while.”
***
Brother Bone led Rosemary, Meleko, Ora, and Orvisan deeper into the jungle. It was late at night, and Rosemary had to ignite the tip of her sceptre to provide some light as they stepped over roots, side-stepped thick trunked palms, and pushed back leaves. The forest on the island was deceptive (then, all forests were) going much deeper than one would have anticipated. Brother Bone had been making his abode in the very deepest part of the wood, and they arrived at his makeshift camp to see a small tent, the remains of a campfire, and a cage made out of bones.
“A cage...?” Ora said.
“Part of my plan,” Brother Bone said, giving the Nelnuthan a wry smile, “I've been building it ever since I got here. Been eating birds, fish, even a couple monsters if I can catch them. And I use every part.”
He rested a hand on the bone cage. It was twice his height, circular in appearance, easily large enough to fit a few people inside. He beamed at it in a dark sort of pride.
“What you see here is several meals worth of bone,” he said, “I can control it all.”
“And what's the purpose of this cage?” Meleko said, darkly, “You going to capture a few elves with it?”
“I thought of that, at first,” Bone said, “A good ol' hostage situation. But I'm not in a position of strength, here. Too many variables. No, I've decided to use this bone cage as my chariot.”
The Amber Foundation looked at Orvisan. The gnome shrugged.
“Your... chariot,” he said.
“Aye, my chariot,” Bone said, “This is what I wanted to show you.”
He cleared his throat, spitting a loogie to the side.
“The elves have gotten a pretty good schedule going,” he said, “At least once every few days, they send a ship out. Or a ship in. I think a few of them are cargo haulers, probably full of fresh water, but that great galleon-”
“The Vanima,” Rosemary said.
“The same,” Bone said, nodding, “It comes in, stays out for most of the night, returns before dawn.”
“So what was your plan, then?” Meleko said, “Use your chariot, hitch a ride on the ship? Sneak aboard?”
“Not exactly,” Bone said, “I figure the Vanima probably has magical defenses. I'd considered using the cage and hanging on-”
He flexed a hand, and the bone cage's outside twisted, two of the bars curling into off-white hooks.
“-But I figured, why not just stay a bit behind?” he said, “Go in a moment later?”
“So the elves on the other side will be expecting movement at the Traveling Point, and will be distracted by the Vanima,” Rosemary said, “Smart.”
“Don't give him credit, Rosemary,” Meleko growled. He was giving Bone a suspicious look, “What happens next?”
“Well, we dive into the water,” Bone said, “The cage is airtight.”
He gestured. The bars shifted, turning the bone cage into a closed up, vaguely irregular ball.
“The problem is we don't know what Chliofrond looks like now,” the metahuman continued, “We know it's general shape, right?”
“A series of islands,” Meleko said, “A freshwater sea. A lot of plants.”
“There's the island we landed on, the island with the Shard, a few other miscellaneous places,” Bone said, “But we don't know how the elves have set up shop. We'll be doing everything on the fly once we get there.”
Rosemary nodded.
“Right,” she said, “How many people can you fit in the cage?”
“Myself, and five others,” Bone said, “But the more we pack in, the less air we'll have, the less time we'll be able to be submerged.”
“You, me, Meleko, and Ora,” Rosemary said.
“Wait, now,” Orvisan said, his brow furrowing, “Lass, what about us?”
Rosemary turned to him. The gnome, despite his objections, looked harrowed. Exhausted. She could see the gray streaks in his beard, only accentuated in the sceptrelight. Of all of them here, he had lost the most.
“You've done more than enough,” Rosemary said.
“I don't feel as though I have, Rosemary,” Orvisan said, “There's still elves on the other side of that portal, still people who want to turn my city into something it's not.”
Rosemary put a hand on his shoulder. She leaned down. She gave him a sad smile.
“You got us here,” she said, “But you should stay for a few reasons. One, the less people go to Chliofrond, the better. We'll have more air when we go underwater. There'll be less of us to look after.”
“Yes, but-”
“Second reason is we need a lookout here,” Rosemary said, “In case someone else arrives.”
“We can leave a few crewmates here, we can-”
“Third,” Rosemary said, “Is enough of your crew have died.”
Orvisan choked up. At once, his facade of the good captain broke, and he fell to his knees. Tears were stinging his eyes as he looked down at the ground.
“I... I...”
“Stand, Orvisan,” Rosemary said. She removed the hand on his shoulder, turned it to him in offer. After a while, the gnome took it, pulling himself to his feet.
“It's been quite the game, Rosemary,” he said, “I'm sad to say that I'll have to drop out.”
“Oh, you aren't dropping out,” Meleko said, “No one ever drops out, when facing groups like the Verdant Reclamation. But take your time to rest. Repair your ship, look to your crew.”
He fixed Orvisan with a hard look.
“And be ready to get out of here in a hurry.”
***
They waited for the little hours of the morning for the Vanima's return. Zad cast a night vision spell, pouring the magic into his hands from a vial and applying it to the crew's closed eyelids. Ora watched them from a small distance, as those on watch rubbed it, blinking a bit, squinting as though they were seeing in bright daylight. Rosemary had used some, too. She looked at Ora.
“You want in?” she asked.
“I-I suppose so,” Ora said, “It will make things easier, won't it?”
“We don't know what time it will be on Chliofrond,” Rosemary said, “But it'll help to look out for the Vanima.”
Ora looked down at the paste in Zad's hands. It was clear, only able to properly be seen in Rosemary's sceptrelight.
Well, he had done crazier these past few days, hadn't he? More living than he had for most of his life. He nodded, and Zad smiled. He poured some into his hands. The magic was cold, gel-like, with only a slight burning sensation in his head, like a hot brain freeze.
A paradox. But Ora had read that magic was built on paradoxes.
When he opened his eyes, it was as though night and day had turned inside out. Shadows became light, light became shadows. His heart's beat quickened as he tried to make sense of it.
“Easy, there,” Zad said, laying a hand on Ora's shoulder, “Just go with the flow. The magic inverts the perception of shadow and light.”
“I-” Ora stammered, “It's-”
“Intense, yeah?” Rosemary said, “Here, look at my sceptre.”
She presented it. With the magic fully in his system like a drug, the end of the rose seemed to emanate shadow, yet not shadow, as he knew it was light but it still dragged the world around it into a pit, like-
“This is night,” Rosemary said, gesturing to her sceptre, “Concentrate.”
“I...” Ora took a deep breath. And he followed her orders. Concentrate. Yet don't concentrate. Have the two ideas in the mind.
He calmed down.
“Right,” Zad said, “Snap your fingers, and-”
Ora snapped his fingers. The world returned to normal.
“Dammit, not now!” Zad snarled, “That ends the spell. Hold out your hand again.”
***
The Vanima drifted from the horizon a few hours later, at almost four in the morning. Ora had been dozing as Meleko approached, tapping him on the shoulder.
“Yo,” he said, “Wake up. It's here.”
The Nelnuthan's ears flickered as he rubbed his eyes, yawning. In the all too bright darkness of the dusk, he could make out the Vanima as it flew overhead, moving with the grace of a rogue planet across the pre-dawn, burning sky.
“She's a beaut, ain't she?” Meleko said, drawing up beside her, “I did a bit of research on airships like her, from Melmaen. She's an older vessel, not just a ship with a slapdash rune job.”
“It used to be a...?”
“A sailing ship,” Meleko said, “A lot of ships from Melmaen used to be sailing vessels, for the ocean, before they were converted for the sky. Hence why her shell seems so out of place up there.”
He smiled at Ora.
“Not like our ancient birds back home, eh?”
Ora nodded at that. Brother Bone, the metahuman, was rolling out his cage onto the beach. He gestured over for Ora and Meleko to join him. Rosemary was talking to Captain Orvisan, giving him a few last words of advice.
“If we're not back by tomorrow,” she said, “Assume we've been captured.”
“What time tomorrow?” Orvisan asked.
“Let's make it noon,” Rosemary said.
“So at noon, we go in blades drawn, aye?”
“What?” Rosemary said, “No. Get out of here. It means we failed. They'll kill us, Captain.”
“...Very well,” Orvisan said, “We'll leave.”
Though Ora suspected that Orvisan would not. He said nothing. Rosemary joined them as Bone put some last finishing touches on his construct, smiling a grim smile.
“It's time,” he said, “Are you all ready?”
They nodded.
“Get in, then.”
And they did. Meleko first, then Rosemary, then Ora, who nearly tripped as he entered, then Bone. The metahuman gestured, and the bone cage closed. Ora shivered, in spite of himself. He was not used to being this close to metahumanity. Bone gave off a dangerous air. Perhaps it was because of his power. Perhaps it was his history.
No matter the reason, he was unsettled.
Bone gestured again, and the cage shuddered, then rose. Like a shuttle. Ora held onto a bar as the cage took off in pursuit of the Vanima. He hung the cage low, like a lantern, the bottom skimming the dark-light sea.
The Vanima reached the Traveling Point. It disappeared into the rippling oblivion. Brother Bone was sweating, grimacing, his face contorted into a mask of horror, but he gestured, and the cage shot after the galleon. His creation creaked. A couple shards of bone fell away, only to be pulled back by the metahuman's power.
They entered the Traveling Point, almost a second after the Vanima.
And with the magic of the night vision, the rainbows were replaced by shadows. The rip between worlds became a grayscale kaleidoscope, shapes moving in and out of place. Ora's eyes teared up at the sight of them, at the fury of the wind whipping around them, all of the world raged in light and shadow, and-
And they were out. The cage fell at once towards a calm, silent sea. It was night here, too, the two planes syncing up their schedules.
This was to their advantage, for no one seemed to notice as the cage plunged into the water, the sides closing up to encase them in a casting of bone. Bone's breathing was laborious and heavy, but he gave them a wild grin.
“Now comes the hard part,” he said.
***
The metahuman kingdom, part of the collection of polities that converged into the nation of Epochia, had been known as Chliofrond. A series of nomadic, floating islands. They had, once upon a day, in an age of possibility, journeyed across the multiverse, from the Silver Eye to Squalls to Paradigms and everything in between.
But, thousands of years ago, they had crashed here, and with the kingdom's destruction came the name of this plane, scavenged from the remains of dead islands and dead metahumans. Chliofrond. The plane was a vast, freshwater sea, the bottom festooned in glow algae, the surface host to the corpses of the once-great cities of the kingdom. Some were standing tall, having taken to the water like landing swans. Others had capsized, tipped over, their towers pointing to the horizon. Still more had been turned upside-down, its contents consigned to watery graves.
Plantlife had claimed all. Trees grew unbidden, even in the depths of the dark halls that were now submerged in the sea. Vines crawled over the statues of the monarchs that had ruled the kingdom, flowers grew in gardens that covered islands, moss burrowed between the cracks of jade and lapis lazuli mosaics.
Broon had called this place a tomb, but no plane is truly dead. There is still movement. Storms still roil. Oceans still seize. Moons still circle planets, even if the planet's denizens destroyed themselves.
That, there, is life. For even when we are long gone, the universe, the multiverse, will churn on.
So we tell ourselves.
(And, perhaps, we are right.)
…
The bone cage erupted from the surface, breaching like an old whale, near one of the abandoned islands. Abandoned by metahumans, and by the elves that had settled the plane. It opened up, fresh air pouring into the pod, and the four infiltrators were glad to have the chance to breathe. Bone was slick with sweat as he stumbled onto the island, which had once seemed to have been a residential area, peppered with white brick, single story homes with blue, domed roofs. The forest had overtaken this island, too, a thick woodland growing out of the urban setting.
But they didn't venture into it, instead looking out towards the rest of Chliofrond. The Verdant Reclamation had taken over most of the plane. Ships trawled the waters, galleons and caravels, a few swan-shaped canoes, one of the ships was a cut-down oak tree that had been hollowed out, a few elves rowing it across the water, dragging a hunk of white stone behind them. Still more ships moved across the sky above. One of the islands, one with a tower, had been converted into a skyport, and much of the vegetation there had been cleared away. A few of the houses even had lights on inside. Music played in the distance.
Rosemary recognized it as the Enil-galdrim Marching Song. She shivered. Flags fluttered from reclaimed poles, from the parapets of specific buildings. They depicted a two-headed swan on a green background, one holding a faerie in its beak, the other holding an arrow in a webbed claw.
The Adaya family crest, now the symbol of the Verdant Reclamation as a whole.
Ora stood apart from the group, kneeling down as he stared out across the waters, which shimmered in shadow due to the nightvision magic.
“So this was...” he murmured, “This was a metahuman nation?”
“Aye,” Meleko said, “Pretty, isn't it?”
“That's a lot of flags.”
Meleko nodded at that.
“It's a physical claim on the plane,” the Jugdran said.
Bone was giving the place a hard look.
“This is...” he growled, “I... I never cared much about my heritage. But this feels wrong. The air's gone stale, hasn't it?”
“Do you think they removed Chronilocke's body?” Rosemary said, “Her power was holding most of this place together.”
“Maybe,” Bone said, “But then they'd have to move Brain. Subdue him, somehow, which would be a drain on resources. It's not easy to take him down.”
He paused for a moment.
“At least,” he whispered, “I hope he's not.”
“We should take a ship,” Rosemary said, “Disguise ourselves.”
She glanced over at one of the canoes.
“Bone,” she said, “What's the range of your power?”
“About ten feet,” he said.
“Can you get in close...?”
The metahuman nodded. His brow was set, and his eyes were mutinous. He kept glancing back at the Elven settlements, pupils flashing from flag to flag, parapet to parapet.
“Aye,” he said, “I can.”
Part of the cage broke off, turning into a one man construct that closed over Bone like a coffin. He sank into the water, the surface rippling for just a few moments, concentric rings mirroring out. Ora squinted.
One of the canoes in the distance stopped moving. The figures driving the boat forward jerked, then rowed into the shadows. Another few minutes passed, but none of the other ships noted the disappearance. No alarms were raised.
The canoe moved from island to island. Arrived at theirs. Bone emerged from the boat, and the two elves onboard collapsed, their spines snapped with a flick of his wrist.
“Get their clothes,” he said, “We can go in disguises.”
“There's four of us,” Rosemary said, “And two of them.”
“I stay underwater,” he said, “You take off that ridiculous cloak of yours. It's obvious. If you do that, you'll be able to pass easily enough.”
Rosemary blushed. She gripped her cloak's hems.
“I-I'm not taking it off,” she said.
Bone rolled his eyes.
“First thing I noticed when I met you was the cloak,” he said, “The elves know it. They'll recognize you.”
“We can stow it away on the canoe,” Meleko said, “Or stuff it in your bag.”
She was quiet, her head cast down at the ground. Becenti might have stopped them. Joseph would have taken notice of her discomfort, and told them to lay off. But neither of them were here. She sighed, and undid the cloak's clasp. The wind felt cold against her back, even through her armor and shirt. She folded it up and put it into her bag.
Tried not to show them she was fighting back tears.
Tried not to feel the scars on her back prickle.
Wakeling had told her that it was psychological. But still.
“Alright,” she said, and her face was like ice as she looked at the rest of them. Meleko was keeping mum. Bone didn't seem to care. Ora was giving her a sympathetic look.
“Good,” Bone said, “Now, I'll be underwater, in the coffin. Any trouble comes up, tap the side of the canoe.”
He was already sinking back into the depths, the coffin encasing him once more.
“Good luck.”