“You will relinquish to us your soulsmithing-”

“I will manufacture and soulsmith weapons, armor, and tools, but the technique stays with me, this is not negotiable.”

“You will sell to us at half price for the first year.”

“Three fourths for nine months.”

“Two thirds for ten months. And you will make a personal piece for me at cost.”

“That depends on the nature of the item in question, which we can negotiate at a later date.”

“I can accept these terms. But I don’t want your soldiers in my city.”

“Just the Rakers and one Other whose job will be to return dead bodies to me.”

“One of these, Rakers, and you will call before you open any gate within my borders, only opening them with approval.”

“When the flesh rots, I have little use for it. If you would deny me free gate access, then I will request that you allow me to build flesh pits within the nation so my Flesh Rakers can keep the bodies fresh.

This means one Raker for each city, and one pit that can hold at least a thousand bodies.”

Magne spoke of the dead, of harvesting, with the same tone that he spoke about the idea of purchasing magical ovens.

He had completely dropped the face of the young boy and showed a ruler in his place;

Fomoria saw the Yggdra he knew.

When Yara returned, he saw that Patrcia was wearing the ring, a fair judgment, and one that Fomoria had already come too.

The nation of Duran was made of many villages, a few towns, but most importantly was the three cities.

Duran, the capital, Dal, the second largest of them, and Dail, the third.

The other two cities were run by nobles under the king, and though they had power, it was little compared to Magne, in part due to them lacking someone like Roland, a truly powerful warrior.

Thus, at dinner, these other city leaders, dukes of areas smaller than some barons in Ragne, were not invited by Magne, who was further consolidating his power, a consequence of knowing that a child king was likely to be deposed and replaced if he could not be brought under the heel of his elders.

The spread on the table was fairly normal for someone so extravagant who was trying to show that fact: Whole roasted birds, chicken, turkey, pheasant, roasts, pork and veal, salads of many colored vegetables. puddings, boiled and cold, jelled foods, sweet and savory, cakes of decadent layers;

Fomoria thought back to Blackstone, her attempt at a modest meal.

They sat around a U shaped table, letting the servants walk down the center in two rows, handing out portions to any who requested them.

But, they only offered food after they had made a full trip to the king and back, giving him first servings.

On Magne’s right, Roland and Patricia sat, and on his left, Fomoria and Yara sat.

“Now that we might speak more informally, I must ask how you saw through me.”

“I know that evil and intelligence are not traits reserved only for those of age.

Where I was born, the king took his seat at… 14 if I recall. He had his father killed, his siblings killed, and all by my own grandfather. He was a pragmatic man, without regard for any morality or humanity, a heart as black as a starless night. Yet, he was the greatest king in many generations, who brought the nation from the brink of destruction, who reined in the corruption of nobility slowly rather than with a shock which has caused the civil war my birthplace now finds itself in. And what is it that allowed such a monster to rule so well?”

“I do hope that this isn’t some manner of braggery.”

“He was as great a king as he was because of his ability to bring in advisors who can see when he has gone too far and tell him that.”

“I would rather you not whisper nothings into my ear.”

“Though I did have some involvement in the last years of his life, my grandfather being the man who could help to dull his more pragmatic but vile actions, and thus my words were taken by my grandfather, and sometimes reached the ear of the king. I have no desire to be that man for you. But you do need that man.

I believe Roland is fit for the task. He has a hard edge of his own, but he has a humanity to him that you lack.”

“You talk of him with a strange love in your throat. Why is that?”

“I believe he and I are of a mind on certain things, and we both feel that connection. Shall we toast before we eat.”

He raised his glass of grape juice, but the others had wine of a deep crimson shade.

“To unity.”

“To unity.”

Patricia spit out her wine.

“What terrible wine. Servant, pour me another.”

Stolen story; please report.

Roland thought her reaction was strange, since they had all been poured from the same bottle, and he found it quite pleasant.

“Here, try mine.”

Fomoria tossed the glass with a spell, letting it land softly, not spilling a drop.

She was confused, his wine was wonderful.

“How strange.”

“That ring was given to many of my friends, and to members of my family.

Now it rests on your finger, and its purpose is to destroy poison, but leave a bitter taste as warning.”

She didn’t understand, because his words and actions implied that he hadn’t done such a thing, yet no other person came to mind who would want her dead.

Fomoria had told one lie, that Magne was like Yggdra.

A rage formed, one not of careful consideration of how much of a reaction would get what he wanted.

“KILL HIM.”

Yet Roland did not move, nor did the other guards in the room.

“In your anger, you failed to see what I can already tell even your mother has come to realize.”

He breathed deep, yet it helped none to quell his emotions.

“Calm, or they will see something that you would rather not reveal.”

Instincts fought against instincts, rage against rationality; Magne sat.

“I found something interesting when I had my men spying on this nation.

You let others think that your mother is using you as a puppet to run the nation.

Yet you also implement policy that takes power away from these nobles.

What exactly did you think would happen?”

Magne had killed the rest of his family and not felt a shred of conscience, but knowing that his mother had been nearly killed as a result of his own failure to see the consequences, he felt something approaching contriteness, and understood that he was still a child.

“I will burn their homes, their bodies will be paraded down the streets, I-”

“No.”

“YOU DO NOT GET TO DECIDE MY ACTIONS.”

He slammed the table, his fists so tight that his fingernails dug into his palms until they drew blood.

“Yggdra would’ve never made such a stupid move. That humanity that you ironically hold, combined with your age, is why you need an advisor. I can kill your enemies, and I can do so with subtlety that will not cause too much anger.”

Magne saw the sense in his words.

“Do it.”

“Just as soon as I figure out who did this, I will.”

“Kill the duke of both houses, I don’t care which one did this.”

“Another lesson from Yggdra, never kill without proof or reason.

Don’t kill people unless they are already guilty, either in the public eye, or with hard evidence.

If someone absolutely must die and you don’t have either, use falseflags or something that absolutely cannot be traced back to you, since the same rules apply to the killing by your enemies.”

“False flags?”

“Meaning to fly the colors of someone else, more of a naval warfare term.

The Cast are perfect for this, since everyone already hates them and they are a magical powerhouse that can justify many methods of assassination which wouldn’t point towards you.”

“The instant I find who did this, do what you want with them, but they must die.”

“Thank you for keeping a calm mind on the matter. It is important that you don’t fly into a blind rage, lest you strike a target undeserving.”

Roland’s original plan with Fomoria, one that neither of them ever actually discussed, was to throw a coup at the dinner, but such a plan was based on Fomoria’s judgment of Magne.

When they returned home, Yara had a few important questions.

“You told me that there was something else with him, and you told me to ask her if she had noticed him changing. So, what’s the secret?”

“He’s a Changeling.”

“Huh?”

“It’s funny, I’ve been accused of being one, I’ve taken the name for myself, but this is my first encounter with one in person. It has also revealed something very important about their life cycle.”

“How did you know?”

“I hunted a Skinwalker once, their souls are… how best to say this… A goblin, no matter what variant, is always female, but this is not the case for a Skinwalker.”

“Oh, yes, I believe I read about that. Women have brighter souls than men. So you’re saying that a Changeling is not as bright as a woman?”

“They aren’t consistent in brightness, they change suddenly and at random. I happened to catch one of these shifts when we met, and then more than once throughout the night.

Though I wonder, does he know that he is one? There is far less known about Changelings than Skinwalkers. A Skinwalker often doesn’t know what they are, only realizing it in moments of hunger when instincts tell them to do something. We know so little because if a Changeling is ever discovered it is killed immediately, yet the fact that I’ve seen such a similarity between their soul and the soul of a Skinwalker leads me to believe a Changeling is a juvenile Skinwalker, and what comes after a Skinwalker, I did not know its name before I killed it.

I want to study him, that is my primary reason for letting him live.”

“Study him for what?”

“Just curiosites sake.”

Intentional or not, Xol had let slip that he was involved in Nemain’s project to create them, and that when he helped make Fomorians, he had reused some of this research to make better Fae slayers.

Part of that was that a Skinwalker was in a sense, disconnected from Aarde, making it harder for a Fae to turn the power of Aarde against them.

Yet in this state of disconnection, a Skinwalker not only existed, but it was capable of casting magic at the same level as whatever they had eaten.

What Fomoria needed to know was how disconnected they really were, and if Aarde truly wanted to express control over them, how much could they do so.

There was the question of how much they could influence any creature really, since most of the magical creatures that existed now were Fae creations to some extent. If Aarde really wanted them gone, why weren’t they?

He had to stop his own spiraling questions, it did him no good to know the rest of the details, all that mattered was what he might be able to learn from Magne.

----------------------------------------

David and Parnell were more than a little cautious of the vials, but what was already in them called for it

“Why wouldn’t she tell us anything though? Not even a note. It’s been days, but not a word.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time that she’s vanished on us.”

“But we can’t feel her, something is wrong.”

“Maybe she is hiding from Marigold, that’s why she gave us more ichor.”

David opened his vial and drank without hesitation.

He fell to the ground, every vein feeling like fire and glass flowed in place of crimson.

Yet this feeling lasted only a moment, and the power that he felt remained.

His body was like the air, his mind was like the open sky, giving him the sense that Harlan had, and he coveted.

David jumped in place, then side to side.

He flew into a tree, splitting it, then turned to a flock of ravens, the cutting winds of his flapping wings turning it to sawdust.

“Parnell… drink it, then we can get back to that spell.”

“Really?”

“I think we can both cast it on our own if we try.”

Parnell had never really doubted if it had been right to come with David, he had distrusted Nemain, but he still went along with whatever she said because David did it first.

So, he opened the vial, downed it, and more chiropteran traits mutated towards avian.