The morning after the coup attempt was chaos.

The agents of the Verdant Reclamation still lingered in the city. Some were smart, leaving Scuttleway in the night, stealing away into the cold winter snows to survive in the wilds. Those were the survivors, the ones who would make their way back to Tlantoia, back to the bases of the Verdant Reclamation on the other side of the Landmass.

Those who stayed in the city, those who decided to hole up in some inn or other, in Sunala's manor, or in the remaining White Feather safehouses, were put to the sword. To the spear. To magic, horrid and beautiful. They were captured and put into holding cells in the Bronze-Hued Keep. When the Militia arrived at the prison, they found it near-devoid of life. Only a few members of the Militia, as well as Lazuli, were still inside.

Everyone else, the elves, the bodies they had left behind, were gone. In their place was dust. Wakeling floated in the center of the lobby, her arm orbiting her head like the ring of a planet, a somber look on her broken face. Lazuli was looking at her differently now. With something akin to...

Akin to fear.

Sunala's manor was taken, and cleared out. The Militia, Rithmound's soldiers, and the Amber Foundation were hard at work picking out the last enchantments, the last traps, the last stragglers, from that place. From other parts of the city, too.

But, by morning, most of it was over. Wakeling deigned to send most of her people home.

Those uninjured, at least.

Those injured were brought to the infirmary. Most with cuts and bruises. Joseph was, perhaps, the worst of them. He was cordoned off from the rest of the guild. He had multiple slashes across his body, three broken ribs, a crack in his arms, four broken fingers...

It was, Elenry said, a miracle he was alive in the first place. More of his blood seemed splattered on the floors of the Grand Commons than inside his body.

All Joseph could give in response to that was a truly vicious smile, missing tooth and all. Elenry rolled her eyes at that, ignored the urge to smother him with a pillow, and continued sewing him back together.

***

Rosemary was there as they brought Sunala to her prison. As per the negotiations Busciver had with Rithmound, she was to be put under protection, thrown into one of the Bronze-Hued Keep's cells, to be guarded by Ket, the Inléan's wounds having healed up enough for him to go back onto the field. Sunala simply sat in the cell at the table provided for her, her face impassive.

Rosemary sat on the other side, her arms crossed, biting her lip. Elenry had worked quickly with her, to remove the bullet in her gut and smooth the wound over with magic salves. She would need proper surgery, when she got back to the guild. But she had insisted on coming here, first.

To say one last piece?

To say goodbye?

She wasn't sure.

She hadn't slept at all since the coup. Even now, as the Inner Sun sparked to life and drenched the world in light. She swayed unsteadily, even in the chair, Mallory holding her shoulder in case she fell.

But Rosemary didn't fall. All she could do was stare at Sunala.

Just Sunala, now. Doge Rithmound had sent out the call to the other Houses for a vote to strip her of her noble status. They could not take everything from her, but Sunala would no longer be a noble of the Great Orange Crab.

Not that it mattered. The price of treason was execution. Soon, the Lady Sunala would be nothing at all, save for what lay on the other side of all things.

And both of them knew that Sunala’s execution would not come from the city.

“Mallory,” Rosemary said, “You can go.”

Mallory looked down at her guildmate.

“You sure?”

“Yeah.”

“Rosemary, you're barely awake.”

“I'll drink a coffee when I get home. When Elenry's looking over me again. It's alright, really. You can just wait outside.”

The Steamer's brow furrowed. But she gave Rosemary a nod, and walked out of the room, closing the door behind her. Rosemary knew that they weren't completely alone – there were magical sensors here, and with Ket around the shadows had ears, but nonetheless she wanted as much privacy as possible.

“Well,” she said, “It's over.”

Sunala did not respond. Through her window, the Inner Sun peaked out, filled the room with its glow.

“I...” Rosemary stuttered, “I don't know what to say.”

The noblewoman did not reply.

“I know... I know what you must think of me,” Rosemary said, “A traitor. A... A wingless freak.”

She bit her lip, feeling a lifetime of insults wash over her.

“Did you... you really believe it?” Rosemary said, “Back at InterGuild. Adaya's rally. Did you truly believe it?”

Outside, they could hear dogs barking. Music drifted through the window from the markets. Not even a bloody coup could stop the flow of coin, the trading of goods, the Golden Round.

“I've been thinking about it,” Rosemary said, “About what you've said over what you've done. Parts of them make sense. Parts of them don't. I don't know. I've never been good at this.”

“A lie,” Sunala whispered.

Rosemary wilted.

“I...” Rosemary sighed, “If all you ever wanted was power, why work with them? With the Reclamation? I see you, and what you did for me, and I can’t understand why. It’s like there are two different people I met, living in the same body. You said they were a tool for you to use. But they weren’t. They were more than you. And… and now they’re going to kill you.”

Tears were brimming up. She choked back a sob.

“Why, why did someone as kind, as intelligent, as lovely as you, choose to work with them?”

Sunala did not respond. She stared hard at the wall. Refused to look Rosemary in the eye. Refused to look at her at all. Rosemary, for her part, wiped her tears with pale, shaking hands. Breathed in. Out.

“I... I thank you, I guess,” she said, “I... I always try to look for what people have done for me, even when they haven't been... been the best. I don't know. Is it coping?”

She fought off another sob.

“I'm tired. I'm so, so tired. For a while, I thought you'd...”

She looked up at Sunala. Fought back, for a moment, on what she wanted to say.

But the way that Sunala was staring at the wall, with the sun pouring behind her, gave Rosemary a feeling that this was the last time she'd ever get to talk to her.

“For a while, I thought you'd be my light,” she said, “I... I dreamed about us.”

Her heart was heavy as lead. Sunala did not reply.

For what felt like an eternity, for what felt like no time at all, the two sat as the sun rose.

Then, Rosemary rose from her seat.

“Goodbye,” she said, her voice tight.

She opened the door. Walked out of the room. Mallory supported her as they walked out of the Bronze-Hued Keep.

Practically held her, as Rosemary broke down into tears halfway to home.

***

Lord Busciver did not escape the retribution of the city, either.

He was allowed home, back to his home at Moonstone on the Len. But he discovered that the elves had holed up there, too, a squad that had gotten separated in the chaos of the night. They had held the place down, gravely wounded his Master of Arms, and fought to the last against Rithmound's soldiers. The gnome was held up outside, clutching his niece. Isaac Rithmound stayed outside with them, surrounded by his soldiers, by Moriguchi.

When, at last, it was over, when blood stained Moonstone on the Len and bodies were being carried out on stretchers, the Doge turned to Busciver.

“Lord Busciver,” he said, “I'm afraid we're going to need to investigate your dealings with Sunala and the Verdant Reclamation.”

Busciver deflated.

“Of course, my Doge,” he said.

Guards moved to take him away.

“Lady Busciver, too,” the Doge said.

This caused a stir. Isaac looked over at his father. Busciver's eyes widened. His niece's lower lip started to quiver.

“Bryce,” Busciver said, “S-Surely not. She had nothing to do with this. Any of this. I kept her away from Sunala. I kept her away from all of this.”

“I can't believe those words,” Rithmound said, “I can't believe anything you say, Lord Busciver. Not until a thorough investigation has been made.”

He nodded to his guards.

“Take them away.”

The guards made to move. But it was Isaac who put a hand on the Lady Busciver's shoulder first. He drew himself by her, even as she was separated from her uncle.

“No, father,” he said.

The Doge glared. The guards moved away from him. They were not about to try and get in the way of the ruler's son.

“Isaac,” Doge Rithmound's voice was quiet. Hard, “Move away from her.”

“No,” Isaac said, “Look at her, father. I've been speaking to her throughout the election. She didn't know about any of this.”

“Oh, you spoke with her?” Rithmound drawled, “Of course you did. That must mean she is innocent.”

“I know why you're doing this, father,” Isaac said.

“Do you now?” Rithmound said, “You think I'm doing this because you fancy the girl?”

“I don't fancy her,” Isaac said, “I love her.”

The guards started. A few of them knew. A few did not. Lord Busciver's eyes were like twin globes as he looked at his niece.

“Buscie,” he said, “Is this... is this true?”

The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

But Doge Rithmound waved a hand.

“I'm not speaking to you as your father,” Rithmound growled, “I'm speaking to you as Doge of this city, which has just survived a harrowing night. Move away from the girl, Isaac Rithmound. Unless you would join her.”

“Perhaps I would,” Isaac said, “Perhaps I will.”

The two Rithmounds, the elder and the younger, glared at one another. Isaac stood firm.

“I am not speaking to you as your son,” he said, “Nor as a citizen of this city. I am speaking to you as Isaac. As someone who has found someone in the world. I will not be parted from her, old man. You cannot take me from her.”

The elder said nothing.

Then, he grimaced.

“I see your heart is set as stone.”

“It is.”

“Where will she stay?” the Doge said, “Back here? In Moonstone on the Len? Alone?”

“She is not alone,” Isaac said, “Investigate her, if you must. But you will not throw her into some dusty cage, to be forgotten.”

Another moment passed. The wind picked up. It smelled of the city. Of spices and grime.

Doge Rithmound spun.

“The uncle, then,” he said, “Take him away. Leave my idiot son with his lover. Moriguchi, with me.”

The guards made to move Busciver off. He gave one last look to his niece, before allowing them to guide him to the prison. Isaac held Buscie to him. She buried her face in his chest. Moriguchi hesitated for a moment, looking to his father, then back to the son.

“Congratulations, Raulito,” the Exodus Walker said, “You broke that little story in half, no?”

And the Roshador moved off.

Isaac all but collapsed. Buscie moved to support him.

“Gods,” he said, “That...”

“Isaac,” she said, “Isaac, what did you do?”

“Revealed myself,” he said, “I'm sick of hiding, Busciver. I'm sick of meeting you in the park late at night. Sick of our secret getaways. I want to show the world what you mean to me. I want us in the sun, not in the shadows.”

Her lower lip quivered.

“What if your father throws you out?”

“He won't,” Isaac said, “I'm too valuable to him. And,”

He looked down at her, and gave her a soft smile. A smile without regret.

“Even if he did, I'd have you. An admirable trade. One that merchants would applaud.”

The gnome was stunned at that frank assertion. Despite herself, she laughed.

Then started to cry. Tears rolled down her face. Isaac wrapped his arms around her, held her close once more.

“Oh, Isaac,” she said, “Y-You really are a fool.”

***

The Lady Deirdre visited Joseph in the medical wing the day after. She came alone, for she knew she was safe in the guildhall. The old crone's eyebrow quirked up at the sight of the large marionette who accompanied her to the medical wing. She looked impressed at the sight of the Glass Slipper, Titania Amber's blade. She narrowed her eyes at Chadwick, the calico dancing on the blade's hilt, his emerald eyes staring down from above. He was, thankfully, more humble today. He had been warned of her visit by Wakeling.

He had been warned that, if he played his usual games, Wakeling would bind him further.

So he did nothing. Merely pranced on the glass sword before bounding off of it to one of the higher floors, and went about his day. The door to the infirmary was just off of the Great Hall. The mannequin opened the door, peering in. A gloivel was in her office – Deirdre had only ever seen one, a member of Blue Sky Waiting, in her younger days at the university. She looked up at the noblewoman.

“Ah,” the gloivel said, “You must be... Lady Deirdre, I presume?”

“Yes,” Deirdre said, and she felt a hinting stab of offense at the lack of recognition.

“I'm Elenry,” the gloivel said, and she rose from the pillow at her desk, “Are you here to see Joseph?”

“I am,” Deirdre said.

“I do hope,” Elenry said, “That you aren't here to recruit him into another bloodbath. Joe nearly died.”

“I... I am aware,” Deirdre replied, “I came to visit him. To extend to him my thanks.”

“Hmm,” Elenry said, and she quirked an eyebrow, “Very well. It will do him some good, I think. He's had a rough few months.”

She padded from her desk, towards the medical wing proper. The entire room was filled with Amber Foundation injured. Broon the Wildarm, with grazes all over his body. Mekke, a soldier from a distant part of Londoa, wrapped up in casts. Beside her was a catman, a tiger, who even now was straining against a magic spell that held him to his cot.

Elenry strode over, and flicked his nose. Her guildmate let out a growl.

“No, Tiger,” she said, “Rest. You've earned it.”

“Don't... need... it,” Tiger growled. Deirdre moved away from that little scene as Elenry spoke a few words, re-binding the spell, and moved off.

“Through here,” she said, and she opened up another door. A private room. Joseph was in there, an older man at his side. Myron Becenti, still in a nice suit, his graying hair tied back in a ponytail, a severe look on his face as he was talking to Joseph.

“And that ended the Third Age of Repayment,” Becenti said, “We were scattered, across the stars and the miasma.”

“And that's where Armagest comes in,” Joseph said.

“Indeed, Mr. Zheng,” Becenti said, “Armagest was one of those kingdoms that stayed in the Silver Eye. Many metahuman ruins that dot the galaxy are from your ancestors. Most are under lock and key, or gone, now, but...”

The old metahuman glanced up as he took notice of Lady Deirdre.

“Another visitor,” he said.

“I hope...” Deirdre shuffled, perhaps a bit awkwardly, “I hope I'm not intruding.”

“It's fine,” Joseph said.

“I was needing to move out, anyways,” Becenti rose from the chair, “We'll talk when I get back, Mr. Zheng.”

“Alright,” Joseph said, “Be safe.”

“Of course, Mr. Zheng.”

He made to leave, giving a nod to the Lady Deirdre. The noblewoman returned it with one of her own. She turned to Joseph.

“Be safe?” she asked.

“Oh,” Joseph said, “He's, uh, going on a bit of a dangerous job. Nothing crazy. A personal project of his.”

He shrugged, and winced. He was covered, practically head to toe, in bandages. His right arm was in a cast, held close to his chest. An IV was stabbed through his hand, connected to a fluid bag that held a strange, neon red liquid. A healing potion.

The young metahuman noticed her staring.

“Most of this is going to get removed in the next week or so, I think,” he said, “But I think Elenry's lying to me. I haven't gotten this beat up in... in a long while.”

He flashed her a grin.

“I just keep getting myself killed, don't I?”

The Lady Deirdre felt a flashing pang of guilt. She walked over and sat down at the chair that Becenti had been occupying.

“I... I wanted to thank you,” she said, “For saving my life. For saving the city.”

Joseph shrugged again. And winced again.

“Got to stop doing that,” he said, before looking at her, “It's fine. Honestly. Part of the job.”

“You went above and beyond the call of the job, Mr. Zheng,” Deirdre said, “You... You could have gotten out of there. With me. But you stayed. You helped bring the coup to an end.”

“Well,” Joseph said, “That was me being selfish.”

“Nearly getting yourself killed for a city that owes you nothing is not 'selfish.'”

Joseph was quiet for a moment. He stared, hard, at the wall.

“I...” he said, “I didn't do it for your city.”

The Lady Deirdre nodded. She waited for him to continue.

“I did it for the guild,” Joseph said, “For everyone here, in these walls. Castle Belenus, it's become... it's become a home to me, you know?”

He gave her another smile. It was warm. It was pained.

“I've treated them like shit for a while. Took my hits, and gave them out too. To people who weren’t really to blame. Because that's how I always thought family treated each other, yeah? But now I... I don't have to be like that anymore.”

He shifted again.

“I don't have to be the guy who's always used, or who uses others. The people here, they've given me that. And then some asshole waltzes in, says we're trash? Wants to take over the city? No, I'm not going to tolerate that.”

He fixed Deirdre with another look. His voice burned with venom.

“I will die, before I let these people hurt my family.”

The two of them were silent. Let the words linger in the air. Outside, they could hear Tiger let out a chuffing roar. He seemed to free himself from his bonds, as they heard him snarl at Elenry, who shouted at him to get back into bed.

Then, they heard the sounds of scuffling. Elenry let out a shout. A crack. And then mewling.

“That's one way to get him into the cot,” Joseph muttered, “Third time today.”

“...Your intentions were to save your guild, not the city,” the Lady Deirdre said.

“Yeah,” Joseph said.

“But, intentions or not, you did save it. Saved me. And for that, Joseph, you have my thanks.”

She reached down into her bag, fishing around for a second, before pulling out a sack of coins. She laid it on the table.

“And what's this?” Joseph asked.

“An heirloom,” Deirdre said, “From my family, to yours. Before my family settled here, they were Far Travelers. Did you know that? Nomads across the multiverse. We collected coins from across the myriad realities. And, when we settled here, we kept it. As a reminder of who we were.”

She presented the sack of coins to Joseph.

“But I have enough reminders. It isn't much. I would thank you with the world, Mr. Zheng. But...”

“I get it,” Joseph said, “Needs must. But I'll accept it.”

She placed it on the table for him. He smiled.

They talked for a little while longer.

And then, Elenry walked in. Told her that visiting hours were over, and that Joseph would need rest. Lady Deirdre gave Joseph one last wave, and left. Out of the infirmary. Out of Castle Belenus. Back into the city. A city her family chose to call home.

***

Another day passed.

Then, a second. The Inner Sun rose. Fell. As it always had.

Sunala stayed in her cell for that time. Ate her food like a good prisoner. Said nothing. Her trial was scheduled for a week's time.

No one visited her after Rosemary. There were no more friends for her in the city. Song drifted in through her barred window. The Golden Round was still going on. Merchants traded wares. Children laughed. Dancers from across the plane danced.

If she had been successful, the entire city would have been on lockdown. On curfew.

But here Scuttleway stood, still 'free,' if its government truly was that. At least it was not under the Reclamation's control.

Part of her, the part of her that loved Rosemary, and dreamed of her, was glad.

…

The music continued to play.

And it was from that music, through the windows, that Tirmo Telundela appeared. Song became construct, knitting the assassin together. He placed a stone on the ground, and the air shifted. Froze. Time outside of the cell stopped, and the world took on a feverish tone.

Sunala scooted her chair around. She still sat, her hand crossed over the stump of her arm, as she watched Tirmo Telundela stretch. Look around, a calm smile on his face. He was still wearing his ascetic robes. For the work he did was akin to worship to him. A wicked-looking blade was strapped to his side, a flint piece that had been said to have been sloughed off of the Manticore himself. He drew it now, gave it a couple of test swings. Sunala's eyebrow quirked at that.

“You're certainly calm about all of this,” Tirmo Telundela said, and he checked the door. No one seemed to have noticed his entrance. Then, Sunala recognized his spell. Time was collapsed here. Moments stretched to hours.

“When one knows the time and place, one tends to accept what's going to happen,” Sunala said.

Tirmo Telundela smirked.

“You can't seriously believe that, can you?” he said, “Where's the primal fear? The base, animal nature to survive?”

Sunala's face was like a mask.

Then, she cracked. Took a shuddering breath, and her hand shook. Her eyes were wide and watering.

“Do not be ashamed of this,” Tirmo Telundela said, “It is in our nature to want to live. To survive. Fear springs from that desire. It is the natural response to danger. It is not something to hide.”

Sunala glared at him.

“Spoken like a true Darwinist,” she said, “Have you truly never left the Manticore's teachings?”

“Before I was working for you, he was my guildmaster,” Tirmo Telundela said, “It is difficult, to forget the teachings of one's parents, and the effect they had on you.”

Seemingly satisfied that no one would disturb them, he returned back to the center of the room. Made another practice swing.

“I assume you already know of my judgment,” he said.

“I do,” Sunala said, “I... I suppose it is logical.”

“Mmm. The heads of the Verdant Reclamation are not pleased,” Tirmo Telundela said, “Adaya is dead, and there's a void in leadership. Those usual games are playing out. I've got three other elves I need to kill, once I'm done here. But they needed a scapegoat for here.”

“And I suppose I am sufficient,” Sunala said.

“You were the one who headed operations in this city,” Tirmo Telundela said, “And you were the one who pushed for the Reclamation to try and colonize a dead plane. They’re being quiet now. Making sure not to make any ripples, lest the High Federation catch wind, and decide we’ve had our day.”

He looked around the room again.

“I’m surprised I haven’t tripped any alarms,” he said, “Didn’t Rithmound hire some guildfolk?”

“He did,” Sunala said, “But the only magician he brought on is an Inléan. And he was injured enough during the coup.”

“Hmm,” Tirmo Telundela said, “Doubtless, he assumed that was enough. But people always, always, underestimate the multiverse. The wonders out there. The horrors one can use. I wouldn’t be surprised if they’ve never even seen the magic I’m using here.”

He gestured at the shivering, timewarped wall. Then, he stretched. His eyes had never lost their predatory glint, despite his almost-kind smile.

“It's time,” he said.

Sunala nodded. Seemed to be barely holding it together. Her eyes kept glancing to the door of her cell. But it was still locked. She was trapped here.

“I know,” Tirmo Telundela said, “It's a hell of a way to go. Do you have... anyone here?”

Through panic that threatened to bubble over at any moment, she shook her head. Tirmo Telundela gave a soft nod.

“A shame,” he said, “No one should have to die alone. It is unfortunate that fate had other plans.”

He lifted his blade.

“Ready?”

“J-Just get it over with,” she spat.

“Ever the facade,” Tirmo Telundela said, and he swung sideways. Cut through her neck in a clean slice. Blood splattered the walls. Her head hit the ground with a surprising heaviness. Her body slid off of the chair, one of its legs breaking with her fall.

It was almost painless.

It was an ignoble end.

(It was, in truth, better than she deserved.)