We sat in the stone hall. A squall of rain had forced us all inside. The torrent of water had cooled everyone off. Bors' expression was still cloudy, but it wasn't the thunderous storm it had been. He had ordered everyone inside and practically forced a drink into our hands.

We made small talk, letting the last of the untamed anger vent. I made small talk about the beer, and Bors grinned. He explained he'd traded some of his loot with a passing caravan of merchants. A group I vaguely remembered running past at some point yesterday. The rest of the furnishings were donated by the kindness of the Golden Hind. Their members had dragged a lot with them, likely planning to relocate after killing Bors.

Being not much better than a group of wandering cultivators, there were no legendary artefacts, no fantastic brews, just stuff. Still, there was enough to make the room feel warm and cosy. More helpful to us, they'd had some formations with them, including a ring of privacy stones that Bors had set up.

The chatter dried up, leaving the mood dry and brittle. Silence beat down, and I knew I had to be the first to offer some shade. “I'm sorry I didn't mean to cause everyone to get so angry.”

“I've never heard of that happening with death cultivation.” Gaz surprised me by speaking first. I expected him to be furious, and not solely because of my music fueling his wrath. The man had a bone to pick with death cultivation, and something in his tone implied it came from personal knowledge.

“It felt like a witch's Evil Eye, but different. Rather than pressing down on me, telling me you were willing to slay me, I could feel your anger at everything. The music was an invitation to join you in that fury.” Lance's assessment was astute. Growing up with a witch mother, I imagined she'd had at least some training against such things.

“I swear it was just meant to be a way to cultivate, to align the will of the glamour. I didn't expect this.”

“Wait, you didn't—haha!” Lance began to laugh. It was so out of place in the sombre mood that even Gring, who lay curled up on the floor, looked confused.

“What am I missing?” Bors asked. The man still felt off to my senses. He squirmed in his seat as if resting upon a colony of ants, and his fingers were twitching. A chunk of rock danced beneath them.

“I'm sorry, it's just sometimes Taliesin is just—” Lance turned to me, “You've got this mysterious air like you know everything. You picked up the whistling in a few hours, know about the Divine Cultivators, and there's other stuff too. So, it's nice to see that you can be completely clueless sometimes.”

“You know I'm so lacking in clues I'm not even aware of the mystery that needs solving.” I was lost. What was so funny?

“Aligning glamour with your will is the core of all aura manipulation techniques, like the Evil Eye. I had heard you stood before the Lady in Peach's Eye. How do you not know this?” Gaz wrinkled his brow.

“Wait, so did I just Evil Eye you all?” That felt intrinsically wrong. I'd heard it was a tough thing to learn. The Harkleys had restricted knowledge about the technique and its associated skills. You couldn’t learn about it unless you were Iron ranked, so much of my knowledge was built upon abstract writings, upon foundations of personal experience.

“No, that was closer to an aura technique. The Evil Eye is far more focused. Your aura was like a shield casting a shadow across us all, whereas the Eye is more like a flash of light reflected off a blade. Were you not taught this when you were building your defences?” Lance appeared intrigued.

“I did explain that my resistance comes from, shall we say, ‘critical audiences.’ I've received a litany of negative feedback over the years, which has hardened me to such attention. It's not like anyone taught me.” I grumbled.

“These critics, they would be the ones who controlled you before, the ones you spoke about destroying yesterday?” Gaz chimed in, and I had to resist the urge to snipe back at him. Who else would it be? I forced that down. He may be the one who'd done the most to earn my ire but was not to blame for the fire that burned within.

“Yes, they are—They were.” Words failed me. I went to strum my lute but stopped myself, “It was not a good place. I had to hide my true self. I wore a mask so long I became it, and there are parts of me I buried to ensure my survival. That's what came out in the song.”

“Fuckers, we should go stove their faces in.”

“Bors, I cannot help but notice you're more affected than most. Which is odd, as I'd assume your rank would protect you. I don't wish to pry if you're—” Lance was cut off.

“I hate this accursed bridge! What the hell am I even doing here? I should've fought more, not just accepted this exile. I feel like a child sent to his room. I should never have accepted it.” The words came out of Bors in a hot rush. The earth beneath rumbled like a struck drum.

“It’s my own damn fault for picking fights I know. I thought Arty had my back though. I always thought Percy was the one who'd be whispering for me to be held back. No, my best fucking friend told me I had to stay here, that I should ‘work on my etiquette.’ While he and the others go hunt down the sodding enemy. I'm not dumb, but he doesn't half treat me like it. Half the fights I got in, he was right there with me! Percy even told him it was a mistake. But no, he is too busy being a sappy sod filled with the idea of honour and no idea how to actually live up to it. So, now I'm stuck here waiting. On a bridge that next to no one crosses, in the sodding cold, while my friends risk their lives!” Stones rumbled as Bors spoke, the entire structure trembling at his wrath. In his hands, he snapped apart a slab of slate like it was a biscuit.

“They did that to you? At least there's a good reason I'm out here. I might hate it. That I'm too weak to help, but it's not like I can argue.” Lance joined the angry circle, venting her frustrations. The group turned to Gaz, who fought against his even-keeled nature before finally joining us.

“The complete knave I've been toadying around for the last year proved to be insufferably evil rather than merely insufferably crass! So many terrible jokes I laughed at. Fights I've had to bail him out of. The worst part? I knew he was an honorless swine the entire time!” Gaz laid out his gripes. We all nodded in agreement. I'd shared a scant few words with Barclay and enjoyed none of them.

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Gring began to stamp and flick his head. He looked at us, and we looked at Bors, whose ruddy cheeks flushed further. “Gring says there are no mares around here, and Lance is the only one who is a decent groom.”

I choked down a laugh at the tonal shift, and like the shattering crystals from earlier, one crack was all it took to topple the column of strife and anger we’d built. The dome exploded into gales of laughter.

“Well, I think that answers why that was so effective against us all. We were all very susceptible to anger. Still not great, but good to know.” Lance finally got herself under control and wiped a tear from her eye.

“I need to read the whole book and understand if I can avoid that in future. Lance, I might need your help. I wasn't aware of just how much I was missing.”

“I'll help where I can. I'm not always the best at witch stuff, but my mother hammered it into me anyway.”

“I need a fight.” I saw Bors stand, and Gaz flinched. “Gaz, how about another bout.”

“I think he needs a break, Bors. Look, how about you see about a hunt. Something must've moved in around here since we last spoke. Besides, aren't you faster now?” Gaz shot me a surprised look as I interceded. He still wasn't my favourite person, but I could try and be a bit kinder.

“Yeah, that’s a good point. I might accidentally squash you right now. I'm so worked up. Besides, I have all this hunting gear and haven't made use of it. Gring, why not come with me? You can scout from the sky.” The Pegasus, who’d been curled up on a large bearskin rug until now, nodded, and the pair headed out. Gaz let out a sigh of relief when he left.

“I need to go cultivate. I will follow the gorge a ways down. I’m sure there are some rapids with some rich glamour.” Gaz offered, heading out as well, though he did pause for a few before leaving the dome. Probably didn’t want to risk Bors changing his mind.

I got the book out and started to read, or at least tried to. There was one remaining member of our group in the dome, and she was staring dead at me. Lance’s eyes bore into me. With her sharp gaze and blonde hair, it felt like a lioness was watching me, equally at ease but totally focused, tail flicking idly back and forth, daring me to make a wrong move.

“Can I help you?” I dared to ask.

“Why are you so angry? No, how are you so angry? It’s like you're a berserker on the inside but a jester on the outside. I couldn’t believe the rawness of that feeling.” Lance didn’t let her gaze drop.

“It’s been a rough old time,” I replied with a half smile.

“No, that’s bullshit! A rough old time is getting rained on or lost. It’s not a feeling that tells you to dive headfirst into the fray with a knife between your teeth.” Lance wasn't giving up. I sighed, trying to find the words. I could feel my rage beginning to simmer, to build in response. I didn't want to think back on those days. I loathed the idea of my thoughts lingering on them. Daring to give voice to them would drag them out, yanking them from the gloomy haze of memory and into the light.

I didn't appreciate Lance poking into my past so bluntly. I could feel my bile rising, felt the sharp words sitting ready on my tongue. I wanted to tell her to go ask her questions to the gorge, but I choked that down. If I could be friendly with Gaz, I wouldn't take a bite out of Lance. I settled myself and did what I was best at, deflection.

“I mean, I’ve given you parts of the story of my past. It’s not like I learned all of that, have the kind of connections I’ve got, by swanning through things.” I offered nothing and hoped that'd be the end of it. Lance paused and paced a moment. I managed to raise up my book before she began to speak again. I just about stopped myself from huffing in annoyance.

“Did you know I can use the Evil Eye?” Lance asked.

“I didn’t. I’m surprised you didn’t use it in our duel if that’s the case.” I might not know a lot about Lance, but she wasn’t the kind of person to leave power on the table.

“I don’t use it because I hate it! The training was some of the worst times of my life. It’s so draining, it makes me feel small and weak. You know, there’s a kind of unspoken agreement to not use Evil Eye in the ring. Of course, if someone else uses it first, then it’s fair game. See, I loathe that feeling so much that I never use it first. As much as an advantage as it'd give me, I don't want to open myself up to getting hit with it."

"Your point being?" I was getting a little lost. Years of the Harkleys had made me unused to people sharing things. On some level, I was waiting for the trap.

"No one is going to blame you for being angry about this! When you said you had been hit with it enough to just ignore it, I thought you were lying. That'd be literal torture. I couldn't imagine someone enduring that. It would be enough to send anyone half-mad. What's worse? You don't even seem to get that is some Unseelie shit! You bring it up like a joke!” Lance was nearly yelling, the echoes bouncing around the dome.

"Why are you so angry about this?" I worried my cultivation might've taken hold again. Could it be a delayed reaction? Lance's face snapped to mine, and I could see not the hard brow of fury, but the wavering eyes of worry.

"Because it's not right. Because you're my friend. It's wrong, and it's wrong that you don't even see it. It's madness." I'd seen the expression before on people. She looked like she was going to hug me. I was not a hugger, too easy to take a stab at the kidneys. I sought to deflect with snark.

“That being half mad from exposure helps me there.”

“You’re fully mad, Taliesin, but it’s not like that’s a problem. Hells, if you were sane, I don’t think you’d get anything done.” Lance replied deadpan.

“Not what I was expecting you to say.”

“It’s overwhelming, all this. I feel like I’m caught in a current, being pulled along, and the best I can do is nudge myself from side to side. I’m furious to feel so lost, yet it’s been, what? A couple of days? You’re in this deeper than I am. She pulled you into our dream! She gave you a name! You’ve got this history, these critics who’re so foul.” Lance paused and looked at me with soft eyes, gentle and worried. “Yet, you’re smiling all the time. Dancing and making merry. If you weren’t mad, you’d be up to something foul.”

“So my insanity equals good intentions then? Is this trying to cheer me up? If so, I suggest you stick with stabbing things and grooming horses.”

“Pegasus, not horse. And that correction rather proves your point. I’m not great at this. Look, what I’m trying to say is that if you let a bit of anger out, no one is going to judge you. You don’t need to hide it so carefully. I will always count you as a friend for what you shared with me about my cultivation and the support you offered my family. So, you don’t need to hide your anger from me at least, and I suspect Bors is no different.” Lance finished, and let out a huge sigh, placing her hands on her hips like she'd just vanquished a foe.

I didn't know what to do with that. I felt a happy little flame dance around the desolate waste that was my mind, blasted by the interrogation and my earlier failure to drive everyone to anger. I felt embarrassed by how much I cared about being called a friend and how little I knew what to actually do with the offer. My cheeks burned with embarrassment, so I held up the book to shield myself from further attention.

“I’ll take that under advisement. Now, please let me get back to this book so I can work out how to not drive people into fits of rage.” Lance nodded and made to leave, but the little flame in me demanded action. It didn't want to be snuffed out just because I was embarrassed. “Oh, and thanks."

Lance smiled and left. With her gone, I slumped down on my seat. That had been exhausting. I needed to get a hang of this anger if for no reason other than to avoid another conversation like that one. I may be good at helping people, but accepting help felt like pulling teeth.