Orthus watched her carefully, his posture stiff as if poised for another attack. “My interest in you has nothing to do with Corax,” he began. “I knew the Golden Lance personally. I must have been one of the last Linnaeans she brought to Mendel before she died.”

Ember swallowed. “You recognized me when we first met on the lake.”

It wasn’t a question, but Orthus nodded. “You look just like her. She didn’t usually reveal her appearance, but with me, it was different.” He looked away. “We traveled together for some time.”

“When?” she breathed.

“Nine years ago. I was eleven.”

Ember sat back down heavily, resting her head in her hands. She tried to reconcile it with the timeline, but her memory was hopelessly muddled; at best she could remember that her mother had often traveled to visit her parents or physicians in nearby towns.

“That was only a year before she disappeared permanently,” Ember observed, unable to keep the interest from her voice. “Did something happen during this journey to compromise her?”

Orthus sighed, coming to sit opposite her on the rock formation. His fingers fiddled with a sprig growing by his thigh, twisting it over and over. “I grew up in Serton,” he said, “a mining city-state near Vargas, although outside of the central district, it’s more like a collection of small towns. The northern mountains are unpredictable—many young men are lost to gruesome accidents or disappear mysteriously—so its people are particularly superstitious. Linnaeans are thought to be evil spirits, borne from the bowels of the mountains and trying to corrupt the village.

“Like most aquatic Linnaeans, I developed breathing problems, which wasn’t unusual on its own considering the pollution from the mines. But a nurse discovered by accident that salt burned my skin, and that was enough to incite mass panic. I was moved,” he continued, his face screwing up painfully, “to a cell in the central district.”

“A cell?” Ember asked intently, leaning forward with her elbows on her knees. “Doesn’t the treaty guarantee that Linnaeans be sent to Mendel?”

“The treaty is not infallible,” Orthus explained, “especially for the northern states, to whom Mendel is little more than a distant hell. It would save a lot of trouble if a short delay resulted in my death.”

“And Linnaeans are already in poor health,” Ember theorized, “so it would be impossible for Mendel to prove you hadn’t died from natural causes. Certainly not worth risking war over.”

Orthus nodded, abandoning the sprig to trace a pale scar circling around the delicate skin of his wrist, and Ember thought that she was beginning to understand the duplicitous relationship between Mendel and the mainland. It wasn’t peace, but a rocky terrain of espionage and politics: a sort of cold war, which her mother had navigated in order to reduce the number of Linnaean deaths.

“What about my mother?” she prompted. “How did she become involved?”

“The prison in the central district has particularly strong security,” he continued, speaking slowly as if weighing his words. “I discovered this all afterward, of course, but Mendel’s spies became aware of the situation after I was brought into custody. A confrontation with Serton’s government would have revealed their positions, so they needed an agent capable of breaking me out from the inside. Who’s better suited to a prison operation than someone who eats little and can see in the dark?”

“But not everything went as expected,” Ember guessed.

He shook his head ruefully. “No. There was a hitch in the plan. Some unionizers attempted a prison break on the day that she arrived. New guards were brought in, and our escape was delayed.”

“How did you stay alive?”

“Women and children were kept together, so the Golden Lance was able to sneak me some of the treatment pills that she had smuggled in. That kept me alive, barely.” His expression darkened, and he looked down at his clasped hands. “But one of the other prisoners gave us away. Your mother was taken in for questioning, and they discovered her disguise. To my knowledge, it was the first time anyone had seen her true appearance.”

A sinking sensation pooled at the bottom of Ember’s stomach. “How could you possibly have escaped after that?”

“The fate of spies is usually ugly—they’re tortured, used as leverage, or executed in secret—but we were lucky. There was a blizzard that night. It was loud, and the guards feared the mountain’s wrath. In the confusion, your mother broke out of solitary and freed me.”

“All of that under the noses of the guards?”

“Not quite. They caught on when we left the basement floor. It was a bloodbath, Ember. She must have killed ten men herself. She was unbelievably powerful.”

Ember, who had known her mother only as a frail woman, fought to push down a tangle of complicated feelings. Now we have both killed men, she thought bitterly. What do you think of that?

“Her—well, our—venom is distinctive,” she said at last. “It would have left traces.”

Orthus nodded, his eyes rimmed with red. “Yes. Reports in other regions could have been linked, all under her actual face.”

Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.

“One of the humans said I looked familiar during the attack,” Ember realized, feeling sick. “‘Like that woman’...”

They exchanged a weighted look. If mercenaries from Ciradyl had recognized Ember nearly a decade after her mother’s death, the Golden Lance’s appearance must’ve been widely publicized by her enemies, a fact that boded poorly for Ember.

“What happened after the escape?” she asked, unwilling to discuss the point further.

“She brought me back to our territory myself. I was delirious by then, so I don’t remember much, except that she told me stories of her family.”

“She trusted you completely,” Ember said, a painful lump in her throat.

Seeing her expression, the octopus leaned forward, his face open and earnest. “She adored you, Ember.”

“She hardly knew me.”

He shook his head. “You had your father, your village. We—the lost Linnaeans—had nothing.”

Ember wanted to argue that her mother had been controlled by Corax and that her choices had not been her own. But she sensed that the reality was somewhere in between; after all, the way she had risked her life to rescue Orthus didn’t seem like the work of someone without agency.

“I want to find out the truth about her death,” he continued, “and I want to help bring your father to Mendel, too.” He glanced up at Ember, a question on his face.

She closed her eyes, inhaling deeply. As irked as she was that Orthus had concealed his history with her mother, it would be foolish to ignore his offer for help. She decided, without further ceremony, that she would trust him—and he will pay if he betrays that trust.

She steepled her fingers. “The Martial Eagle thinks that Corax will want to retrieve the captured woman,” she said.

Orthus’s eyes widened a fraction as he realized her implication. “Yes. There’s a good chance he’ll put together a rescue party when he returns.”

“And my chances of getting into this party?”

The octopus grimaced. “Hard to say. It wouldn’t be a stretch for Corax to use this as a training opportunity, and he must have some interest in you already” —Ember nodded—“but that’s unlikely to be enough. You need to show him some initiative.”

She nodded. “All right. And your chances?”

“With my abilities, I might be able to pull it off. But Ember, even if we make it to Ciradyl, it might be impossible to rescue your father. Do you know where he’s being held?”

“As of his letter, he was still at our old house, but it was under watch.”

“That was nearly half a year ago. He might have been moved by now.”

Ember frowned at him. “Listen. This is the only chance I’ve had since I came here. If I can get to Ciradyl, I’ll make it work. I just need you to keep me updated on what Corax is planning.”

Orthus sighed, messaging his temples. A bruise was blooming across his jaw. “Fine,” he agreed. “And for god’s sake, Ember, stay away out of the headmaster’s office.”

***

“So that’s… what happened,” Mr. Ernold said thoughtfully, pinching the mouthpiece of his oxygen machine between his first two fingers like a cigar. It hadn’t been easy to put wheels on his chair and his machine, but it had been worth it to see him regain some of his former authority.“The Martial Eagle acting up behind Corax’s back… and your teacher caught in the crossfire.”

Ember nodded, picking up another slice of dried sausage and biting it in half. The six Linnaeans—Mr. Ernold, Marcus, Naz, Carn, Orthus, and herself—were seated close together around the former mayor’s dining room table in a new set of wooden folding chairs (built by a surprisingly handy Marcus). In the center, atop a fresh tablecloth, was a picnic basket and six sweating glasses of lemon water.

The room had transformed in the two months since Ember and Marcus had been visiting the elderly boar-crocodile: the cabinets repaired, the furniture replaced, and the black mold scraped away. It was pleasant, although the mood among her companions was less so; Marcus, for one, was not even pretending to listen as he glared at Orthus with his arms crossed over his chest and his biceps bulging.

The octopus seemed more put off by the python than the prehistoric forest, although he had seemed uncharacteristically surprised when Ember had invited him to meet Mr. Ernold—for once, it seemed, she had known something he didn’t. Her good mood had been somewhat dampened when Marcus had arrived, taken one look at Orthus, and hissed “Is that the bastard that told you to fight Freya?”

Ember sighed. Well, at least Mr. Ernold seems pleased.

“Do you think, sir, that Corax will take action against the Martial Eagle?” Carn asked, the words viscous as though he was struggling to push them from his throat. It was a valiant attempt to ignore the boar-crocodile’s uncanny air—especially since the fox was still jittery from the walk through the forest—and Ember felt a rush of fondness for him.

“Well… he will certainly see through his ruse,” Mr. Ernold answered, “but moving against him… is a different business. No… he cannot afford to offend the eagle’s allies… nor risk losing his power in these uncertain times.”

“What about the chance of getting Ophelia reinstated?” Naz asked, glancing at Ember.

The former major shook his head. “Slim to none, I’m afraid. The public… the universities donors… they would never accept it.”

Ember clenched her jaw, though she had expected as much. “And what of the other matter?” she asked. “This expedition into Ciradyl?”

The smile dropped off Mr. Ernold’s face and his bushy eyebrows pinched together. “No,” he said, with more vehemence then she had ever heard from him. “If you join Corax in this… it will not be the end of his use for you.”

Though his reasoning was sound, Ember could see through to his guilt. “My mother’s death was not your fault,” she said. “You and Corax may have assigned her missions, but she wanted to save people.”

“Regardless… there was too much on her shoulders.”

His voice wavered, and Ember met his eyes and then looked away, wondering if she wanted to know exactly what she wasn’t being told. Regardless, it was not a conversation to be had in front of her friends. “Perhaps,” she admitted, “but I do not believe that you are responsible for her death. She would have always risked herself for others.”

Orthus made a small noise of assent, unnoticed to all but Ember. She hoped that, in time, he would trust Mr. Ernold with his story, if only to assuage some of the old Linnaean’s guilt.

“I still do not like this, Ember,” the former mayor protested. “Exposing your abilities to Corax… when you went to such lengths to conceal them.”

“What if I can earn myself a spot without my venom?” All five pairs of eyes turned to Ember, and she held up a placating hand. “I admit I’m not certain it will work.”

“That is more promising,” Mr. Ernold replied. He took another long drag on his oxygen machine, one finger tracing an idle pattern on the table. “Although,” he said, eyes gleaming, “I may have an idea of my own, just in case.”