Epilogue: The Role Player

The flames still danced across his skin, even so many hours later, taunting him for intervening, for trying to salvage something from little Lucien’s outburst.

For all the terror that had followed, Emile Leclaire found he couldn’t truly blame him either. Not after what that treacherous excuse for a sage had done to Camille.

I wouldn’t be surprised if he directed his sages to make sure I was caught in the crossfire, either.

Collaborating with the world’s enemy, wielding their weaponry, even arranging the Duke’s death, no matter what slanderous rumors he spread about poor Fouchand’s devoted granddaughter.

Trapped in the palace, there had been no chance to rescue Lucien or Annette. Or Camille, if she washes back up alive. I can only hope.

The saddle beneath him bit hard into his legs, agitating the burns, but there was nothing to be done. Aurelian would do far worse, if Emile couldn’t escape the city in time.

If I don’t pass out right now and never wake up.

But that was no way to think. Sarille had left him to take care of her daughter, and he had already failed once. If Camille survived…

She did. I must have faith in that. The alternative wasn’t worth considering.

And when she returns, she’ll need me alive. She’ll need allies to oust that bastard, Lumière.

The Duke of Condillac had taken the better part of valor and fled, but his ships would still be gathered on the Sartaire, ready at Malin’s doorstep. If Emile could reach them in time, explain the plight…

He won’t do it for nothing. I need to give the young lord something he wants.

Emile brushed his hand through his beard, gone to grey so very long ago. In that way, he’d looked the part of an old man since the Foxtrap, but only now was it truly the role he had to play. The elder statesman, negotiating on behalf of empires, having to hide every trace of desperation.

Sarille would have laughed to see it, her misadventurous little brother embarking on such an important diplomatic mission, but there was nothing else to be done. Malin had fallen seventeen years ago, and now Guerron was lost too.

Camille had that same seriousness to her, and how could she not, after everything she’d been through? She was smart, but never quite as smart as she thought she was. Confident, but often overconfident.

She had to grow up too fast.

Losing her parents so young, having to take on the responsibility of High Priestess not long after, all before she was even ten. It wasn’t fair, and it wasn’t her fault that it had damaged her, but it was impossible not to feel like it had.

I shouldn’t have let her assume those responsibilities so soon. And yet, could the Malinoise be able to respect her if she’d been kept in the children’s corner? The young Fox-King was sitting in on the Duke’s meetings at the same age, training with Christine…

And it was what Sarille would have wanted. Good or bad, Emile had no doubt about that.

Sarille had always been conscious of image, presentation. It had taken her from the scion of an ancient patrician family with a modest summer manse in Onès to the right arm of the Fox-King, finally returning the Leclaires to their vaunted position from the days of Marie Renart.

But she’d kept that image up in front of her daughter, and Emile wasn’t sure he could truly agree with the decision.

Children always saw their parents as deific figures, so much larger in power and size and scope and reign, and then they grew up and saw them as they truly were.

Camille had reached that point with Emile and Duke Fouchand, but not with her mother.

She never had the chance…

It amused him, occasionally, to think about how little mother and daughter might have gotten along if Sarille had made it to exile with them. Camille had that same need to be in charge, and it wasn’t compatible with a matriarch who demanded obedience. Camille needed to define her image for herself, where Sarille would have constrained her to her proper role.

Camille had taken every lesson of Sarille’s to heart, and then her mother had become frozen in time, still the same mythic figure, words of advice hardened into rigid creeds, the power of the spirits a way of life more than a vital tool.

And yet she was idealistic, where Sarille had always been pragmatic. The mother would never have accepted that duel without a firm plan to win, whatever that meant for Lumière or the Temple. Probably poison, if that story about the magistrate was true.

Emile took a ragged breath, feeling the bumps of the horse judder through his bones.

I’ve failed her so badly.

Camille would not return to a world in ruin. Even if every step this horse takes fills me with agony. Emile would keep his promise, no matter the cost.

≋

“There won’t be any spirits there other than Glaciel, Levian. That’s my point.” Emile Leclaire’s eyes stared down the brute of Lyrion, confident in his role. “Few to none of them will care that you bumped off a few humans. Flammare might even be grateful to you for ensuring that they don’t upstage him.” Though he’d be a fool to show it. “If it doesn’t go well, just step back and leave.”

“If, you say, as though my prowess might ever prove insufficient. You forget yourself.”

“Never.” The word fell softly out of Emile’s mouth. “Though I have been pushed to the brink of that more than most. In this case, your prowess alone would not be the deciding factor.”

“You speak of my humans? Even now, Leclaire is gathering one thousand souls and delivering her homeland back to me. Should she fail, her soul is mine. Either way I succeed.”

“What I’m proposing is similar. With your help, Glaciel has a fighting chance.”

“Glaciel is softer than her demeanor would imply,” the spirit of the deep hissed, words echoing through the water. “She has spent the last six centuries fighting humans and basking in their worship, not testing herself against truly worthy foes. Before Flammare, she will crumple.”

“So Flammare believes, or he would have not pushed for so very long. All that held him back was Soleil’s wish to keep the peace amongst the spirits.”

“And now Soleil rests in peace.” Levian’s tail curled around Emile’s neck. “You always come to me with words, because you are too weak to do otherwise, but that does not make you clever.”

“No, a conversation with you proves nothing. But just as you must demonstrate your strength against worthy opponents, I too must act according to my nature.” Emile’s fingers ran through his beard, a smile forming on his lips. “Harold Grimoire lies in Guerron’s castle. Trained by the warrior who sealed Khali, slayer of Eulus and Soleil and countless others. You could not find a worthier opponent, nor a better opportunity to provoke him to arms. On any other day, the humans would kill him before releasing him to fight you, but during a battle? Wipe them out, and you’ll have all the access to him you need.”

“And if Glaciel fails before I get the chance…”

Emile’s shoulders shrugged. “Then you didn’t really lose anything in trying, did you? The other spirits will have witnessed your prowess, and Flammare will be too busy hunting her down to worry about you. You could make a play for whatever seat you desired, confident in the knowledge that he’s too occupied to oppose you. Arbiter of Darkness, perhaps? Lunette is weak, dependent on allies to maintain her seat. Soleil is dead, and Corro has found himself a new pet human to play with and occupy his time.” Irritatingly, the Fallen had taken a shine to the girl as well, but bringing that up wouldn’t do any good here. If Levian even remembered the Fallen, it would only be as the companion of Lamante. They were ever in her shadow. “Flammare and Glaciel are at each other’s throats. Who’s left to stop you?”

Levian relaxed his grip around Emile’s neck, eyes staring deep into his. “That you present yourself this way to me means nothing. I hear only the merits of your proposal, not the lips that speak them.”

“That’s fine.” Even if I doubt it’s fully true. Not a lie, but a delusion you came by honestly. “What I propose is strong enough to stand on its merits. Glaciel has already agreed to grant you your pick of domains, should the two of you stop Flammare’s ascension. Whether she wins or loses, you still come out ahead.”

The spirit of the deep fully relaxed his grip, stretching his body out. “You may continue.”

Got you.

≋

“Are you alright, sir?” A weathered arm shook the man awake, the face of a woman in her fifties looking up at him with seemingly genuine concern.

“Ugh…” He groaned, painfully pulling himself up to a sitting position. “I must have passed out. Thank you.”

“You’re lucky you didn’t fall off your horse,” she said. “Are you by any chance headed from Guerron? I was hoping to try my hand in the tournament for the Festival of the Sun, and—”

“There will be no tournament,” he croaked, a hint of disbelief in his voice at the thought of someone her age competing. “The Duke is dead. Half the city’s on fire, and that bastard Lumière is feasting under the ashes he created.” What a lovely turn of phrase.

The woman’s finger tapped against her cheek. “Do you know what happened to the Duke’s body? Is his death widely known?”

“I expect that soon even Avalon will know about it. He was pushed from his balcony, by some agent of the sun sage, no doubt. So close to a peaceful end, and instead his head was dashed against the cobblestones.”

“Truly, that is a shame. It seems that your end approaches as well.”

The man winced. “I may not have long, but I can’t stop with nothing to show for it.” He let out a dry laugh. “To think I survived Avalon’s assault and countless meetings with the Torrent of the Deep, only for a few measly burns to do me in.”

“Levian?” The woman’s lips curled with interest. “Are you a sage of his?”

“For as long as I still live…” His head slumped forward, only to jerk about halfway back up. “I pushed myself so hard.” He ran his fingers through his horse’s mane ”And I pushed poor Buttercup even harder, but I fear I’ll never make it to the Sartaire.”

A sage of Levian… The woman couldn’t help but lick her lips, though that did not fit the role she played. “I can promise that you will not die alone, at least. I will stay with you, as long as it takes.”

The words didn’t seem to bring him much comfort.

But that doesn’t matter. The face of a sage, with that share of a spirit’s power…

There was so much that Lamante could do, and all she had to do was wait for this human to die and take his face.

“I am so pleased that I came across you. You can be sure that’s not a lie, for I never tell them.”

The man’s eyelids fluttered open, realization creeping across his face. “You’re a spirit.”

The old woman’s shoulders shrugged, and then Lamante took off her mask, revealing her original form.

“I do not wish you malice, sage of Levian. But you present a priceless opportunity to me. The share of a spirit’s power that a sage dies with remains in their form. Once I take your face…”

“The Face-Stealer…” he wheezed. “I see now. You cannot kill, so you wait for me to die.” He took another ragged breath. “I have a deal for you then, Lamante. I still have enough strength in me to throw myself from the mountains and leave my face as useless to you as poor Fouchand’s. I’m offering not to resist my fate, or prolong the inevitable. And in return, you have to help my niece. Swear to it.”

Lamante tilted her head. A small request, to reduce the risk of him spiteful denying me everything. With so much power so close, it would be better not to take chances. “I shall grant her one wish,” Lamante promised, already planning what she could accomplish with the strength of the Torrent of the Deep and the form of his follower.

≋

“Giton,” they called it, the massive hive of stone and mud and dead trees and water and humans, so many of them in some places that it was impossible to even see the ground underneath their fat, bulbous feet.

Humans had all sorts of words for things, spat out from their mouth like rotten food. Marran said that was because they had big bags of wind in their stomach, but Arrac could speak to them when she needed to, and she definitely wasn’t a wind spirit.

And they wrapped themselves in skins and plants, only first they all had to be woven together or soaked in urine or cut apart and then assembled together. It made every single one look different, even though their bodies alone were practically impossible to tell apart.

And that one over there has a red one. The color of the sunset. It was such a contrast to the relentless green of the hive, every mantis so uniform in color. That had always felt normal before seeing the human hive, but now it seemed so limited.

Despite all that time practicing their language with the matriarch, trying to wrap her wings around each of the sounds they used, she still felt so slow using it, while the humans talked incredibly fast, and a lot of the time they used words that even Arrac couldn’t define.

But she could still try.

The mantis scuttled out from behind the rock where she’d been lurking and approached the human in red.

The human didn’t even need the extra help standing out. The threads on the top of its head were pale instead of black, and were woven together into a line stretching down its back. It was smaller, which usually meant a male, but it was always hard to be sure of that trend being true for humans too.

“Good day!” The mantis rubbed her wings together just right to recreate the human greeting the matriarch had taught her, trying not to scare the human.

Three had run away already.

The human opened its mouth wide, loudly expelling a word Lamante didn’t recognize.

“Friend,” she declared, making her intentions clear. “I am friend.”

“No…” The human fell back onto the ground, adopting a common idle position. But why is she saying that? ‘No’ meant bad; it meant opposite; it meant…

“I can… red?” Annoyingly, she forgot the word for ‘touch’, but that hopefully got the point across anyway. The mantis stuck her head forward, widening her mandibles as she reached out towards the red pattern on the plants the human had draped around her.

The human got loud and incoherent again, sticking her hand out to greet Lamante but misjudging her strength, to the point that Lamante’s head really hurt the moment after, throbbing and ringing and making it hard to see the pattern as clearly anymore.

“Leave me alone!” they cried, driving their foot down on the mantis’s carapace, which hurt even more. Soon they were running, gone before Lamante could recover, and taking the red pattern with them.

I must not know the language well enough yet, or this wouldn’t keep happening. The matriarch had done what she could to help, but it seemed like there might be a better option.

Hide, and listen. The humans spent all day talking to each other, and listening closely enough would let her hear more and more of the way they talked, even bringing words to the matriarch if she needed to. It was just a matter of time.

≋

“Emile,” the red-haired boy breathed. “How?”

“Who’s Emile?” asked the other boy, the one touched by the flames.

“Camille’s uncle. He went missing after… after the duel. When Lumière was in charge I thought he was hiding, or maybe in exile. I hoped, at least. But—”

“I believe a round of thanks is in order.” Lamante jumped from the top of the wave onto the wall, maintaining her poise as she landed. “Though I wouldn’t count on it working again. That used up just about the last of my power from Levian, for the moment.”

More would come, in time, once the proper deals were arranged with the appropriate spirits. But first came information, always vital to playing a role properly.

“Emile, it’s so good to see you again!” The red-haired boy jumped forward and wrapped Lamante in a tight hug. Emile is his name, then. Excellent. While the late sage had been true to his word, he hadn’t been terribly forthcoming with details, which made Lamante’s work harder. But then, I do love a challenge.

The child continued. “After Fouchand and Camille I…” Emile had mentioned Fouchand as well, the late Duke. Was Camille the niece? “I was worried you wouldn’t be coming back.”

“I always come back.” Lamante smiled, putting Emile’s arms behind his head. “If you hear otherwise, you’re sorely mistaken. It’s kind of what I do.” Each face, one of the dead given life anew, turned towards the purpose they had once lacked. Each face, a new form to take, a new challenge to face, a new role to play. “Especially now. Soleil is dead, and the spirits will convene to choose a replacement. I couldn’t stand idly by and let it happen without speaking up.” I always do, but this time, things will be different.

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“You’re going to talk to Levian?”

“Of course!” I’m already having so much fun. Why should I stop? “That brute wouldn’t miss this any more than I would. The last time he came to one of these things, he was elevated from Torrent of the Deep to the Lord of the Lyrion Sea. It wouldn’t surprise me if he made a play for more, here.” In fact, I’m counting on it. His treachery brought him so much last time, he won’t be able to resist. “Play kingmaker, perhaps, in exchange for concessions.” Though Levian’s nature is to seek the crown himself. “It’s a familiar strategy, and frankly, he needs it right now, what with the death of… of poor…” What was her name again?

“Camille. She would want us to work through this.”

“She would,” the other boy agreed. “I didn’t know her long, but she was a woman with a mission, always.”

“I’m the same way,” Lamante agreed, nodding Emile’s head. A woman with a mission; I like the sound of that. And it was time to get to work.

≋

The girl had grown larger, older. Apparently she’d been a child that first time, which was probably why she’d reacted so strangely. Human children were dumb for much longer, and with their fat limbs it was easy to flail and hurt by accident before they got it under control.

Still, the mantis kept to the shadows, as the matriarch taught. She didn’t want a repeat of the repeat of the first encounter, which meant waiting until she was absolutely sure she was ready.

The girl’s name was Martine, based on the way the other humans always greeted her, and she had a different pattern almost every day. Red, yellow, brown, she even managed to make green look appealing and new. Of all the colorful humans, Martine was the brightest.

And she was always surrounded by others! Almost every day they would gather by the hotsprings and talk for hours, discussing everything from their migration and mating patterns to predictions of the next day’s weather. The extraordinary and the mundane all wrapped together in the same gatherings, bounced back and forth interchangeably by Martine and her other friends.

Every day, the mantis could learn something new, and it only became easier the more her familiarity with the language grew.

It took her almost ten years to be confident enough to try to speak to Martine again, venturing cautiously out from her hiding place amidst the greenery when the girl ventured into the garden once again, flocked by adoring companions, hanging on her every word.

“Martine!” the mantis greeted, scraping her wings with precision, careful not to leave the slightest syllable out of place.

“What the fuck?” One of the companions screamed, eyes widening in eager delight.

“I am enchanted to meet you,” the mantis said, repeating the phrase she’d heard on those few occasions that strangers encountered each other in the garden. “How goes the struggle?”

“I think it’s one of those spirit-touched,” Martine muttered, not addressing the mantis directly. “You aren’t supposed to be here! This is protected land.”

Technically true, insofar as Arrac had told her to stay away from the human hive, but where was the fun in that? Humans were so interesting. “I have been watching you since you were larval, Martine of Giton, beautiful and courteous and elegant in equal measure. I wish to know you. I want to be your friend.”

“Khali’s grace,” Martine swore. “You don’t know me! You have no power over me, monster!”

“Get the Grimoire,” one of the humans with her said.

“Would he even listen to us?”

“It’s the truth. He has to believe us.” Martine turned back to the mantis, her body shrinking into itself with obvious fear. And I got it! Gauging their reactions was no easy feat, but all that study had paid off.

“Those skins you wear look radiant. Even when you do wear green, it stands out from those around you. Did you soak them in urine yourself?” If the girl was afraid, it only made sense to cut through the tension with some casual chatter. “Everyone in my hive is all green all the time. It’s terribly boring by comparison.”

Even Arrac, for all that she glowed with a brilliant aura, remained entirely monochrome.

“You can’t scare me, beast! This whole village is a protected space. You aren’t allowed here.”

“Did I say something wrong again? I only wish to get to know you better.”

“Again…” Martine blinked, clearing detritus from her unprotected eyes. “You were the monster in the bushes! No one believed me… Have you been watching me this whole time?”

“Absolutely!” the mantis assured her. “I have loved getting to know you better.”

Martine began breathing rapidly, shrinking back with embarrassment. “You need to leave. Right now!”

“No I don’t,” the mantis corrected. “But your concern is touching. I’m glad we’re friends!”

“Fuck off!” she screamed, right as another human arrived, draped in skins dyed deep black.

“Hello!” the mantis greeted the newcomer as he raised his hand to the air, fingers fading into darkness.

But the other human did not respond, only waving the void towards the mantis.

She felt herself diminish as it impacted her, vibrant energy fading rapidly away. And when she looked down at her carapace, the darkness remained at the point of impact.

“Only warning,” the newcomer spat out. “Giton is under Khali’s protection.”

“Arrac said I should follow my passions. And I wanted to get to know you!”

“Kill it!” Martine shouted, shattering everything the mantis had loved about her.

I want only to learn, and yet they refuse. What right have they? Arrac hadn’t said what to do if your passions involved people who didn’t want to be involved… Would she want me to leave?

That didn’t seem fair.

The mantis had bided her time for years, watching the humans in the garden age and grow as she learned so much from them. Why should she have to leave? What right had they to make her?

She sprang forwards towards Martine, wrapping her forearms around the human’s neck in a loving embrace. “Your skin is so soft. It’s like clutching a leaf.”

Martine screamed out at that, so the mantis held her tighter, trying to salvage something from this moment she had waited so long for.

“Let her go,” the man in black ordered, raising his hand once more.

With affection and spite in equal measure, the mantis held Martine tighter, then tighter again, until she began singing from her throat with halting, unintelligible grunts.

Finally, she sees it.

The performance didn’t last long, and once it finished, Martine went completely silent, her head falling over to the side while her eyes stared vacantly forward.

She put everything into that. Even as unfriendly as she had been, the mantis felt like she had to forgive her now that she’d made amends. Making friends required patience. Humans were fallible in their own way, just as Arrac’s children were.

The man in black gathered another sphere of darkness from which no light could escape, flicking his hand towards the mantis, so she released her embrace of Martine and began running.

We can meet back up another time, now that we’re friends. But there was no need to get Arrac into trouble if that could be avoided, so it was time to return home.

The mantis gave one last look to Martine, lying exhausted on the ground after her gesture of friendship, and set out for the hive, filled with an energy she’d never felt before.

≋

The mantis had barely made it inside her hive before she noticed that something felt wrong.

No one had greeted her at the entrance, but that was common enough. With the entrance hidden amidst the endless sands, her siblings only bothered to guard it during periods of particular fear, or when Arrac asked them to.

But it wasn’t just that. Something else.

The mantis tried to put it out of her mind as she continued into the silent hive, thinking about the next time she’d be able to see Martine. Now that they were friends, they’d be able to properly talk, instead of the mantis just listening in. She could ask all the questions she never could, like where humans came from or what they ate.

She could truly get inside her skin and examine everything from the top to the bottom.

The mantis stepped over a pile of molted skin, rude to keep so far inside the hive. Probably Marran. She’s so careless. The color was different too, a more vibrant green than—

That’s Marran.

Her sister was dead, green body stained with pink where she had been torn apart.

Only then, as she reached the central chamber, did the mantis realize that the entire hive was silent.

Something was hanging from the ceiling, darker even than the night. It looked almost like the humans had when sitting down in the garden, except inverted, with the legs touching the ceiling. Its hair was pulled upward too, somehow defying the pull to Terramonde, and seemed to have about double or triple the usual human number of arms.

The only break in its unrelenting, uniform complexion was a series of rings around each wrist, each a dull gray with a picture inscribed on the front of it. A flower, a spear, a pair of wings, a fist… The mantis tried to count them all and gave up before she reached twenty.

“Good. I was hoping I would not have to wait much longer.” The words crept out of the darkness, falling from above like rain. Soothing, yet stern, much like the matriarch. “What do you call yourself?”

The mantis looked up nervously, scraping her wings with intense deliberation to avoid the slightest sound out of place. “I have not yet earned my name. All children of Arrac—”

“Just you, now.”

What?

“You were the last to return here, so you shall be the last child of Arrac. Call yourself what you want, but I do not enjoy killing the nameless.” A single white eye opened on the spirit’s face. “Nor shall I leave you without the courtesy of giving you mine. I am Khali, Arbiter of Darkness, mother of the moon, and protector of Giton.”

“My mother is sworn to your domain, great spirit. Arrac—”

“Is no more, herself.” The spirit tapped a bracelet at her wrist, the one with the pair of wings. “All power that was hers is bound to me.”

Dead. They’re all dead. All because of the Arbiter’s whim.

“You broke the rules, mantis. That cannot go unanswered.” Khali flicked the bracelet, letting out a high-pitched ping. “When my Grimoire told me that one of the young had been killed by the mantis, I suspected poor Arrac. The failure is hers for leaving you free to do it, but I might have exacted a different punishment.”

“Someone died?” The mantis felt another feeling joining her fear, flecks of pink and red filling her eyes as she beheld the devastation. This spirit made a mistake, and now all of them are dead. She clenched her jaw tighter.

By way of answer, Khali fell from the ceiling of the hive, flipping in one fluid motion, then landed in a cloud of dust that did nothing to illuminate her form. Her hands wrapped around the mantis’s neck, immovable and firm. “Humans are so terribly fragile. The bravest and best of them come to us while the rest languish in their fragility. The one you slew might have come to be your follower in time, had she been given the chance to live.”

I didn’t really kill her, did I? It didn’t seem possible. It didn’t seem right.

“It was an accident, truly?”

“If the human is really dead.” The mantis still had her doubts. “I was only trying to be friends.”

Khali closed her eye, nodding her head as the humans did.

In an instant, the shadows converged from the sides of the hive, silent and ominous dogs with blood in their jaws, the smallest of them twice the size of the mantis’ eldest sister.

“What you sought was never within your grasp. Humans are not equals to be befriended; they are a resource, and resources must be kept alive. You interfered with mine, however unknowingly, and now you have nothing left save your own life. I see no need to take it, provided you learn the proper lessons. As short as human lives might be, they remain worthy of lamentation, and the girl was under my protection.”

The mantis opened her mouth with confusion, feeling Khali’s grip adjust to match.

“If you wish to live, you must be willing to promise. Follow this vow, or your soul is mine.”

The mantis obeyed. “I vow that no human shall die at my hands. I will wield no weapons against them, nor give them the slightest touch that could end in their death.” As her wings played the words, she felt something within her change, a shift of her nature. This wasn’t a promise; it’s part of who I am now.

Khali had made that decision for her, imposing her rules from her high seat as Arbiter, killing and sparing whom she pleased, forced to answer to no one.

And then, just like that, she was gone, with Arrac and Marran and all the others left only as still corpses and trophies on her wrist.

The mantis returned to the human hive as fast as she could. She needed to be certain Martine was really dead.

She was still in the garden, laying exactly where the mantis had left her. Exactly as she’d left her, save for the red stains on the green dress.

Save for the blood.

Too fragile, Khali had said, but even that understated the girl’s weakness. How could she let this happen? It was ridiculous to expect anyone to treat her so delicately, to venture out into the world while being so vulnerable… How could you do this, Martine? What were you thinking?

It seemed that Khali had been right about this, for all her tyranny. Despite everything she’d done…

She could, because she has the power for it. The mantis was starting to understand the power within herself, now, energy from the human whose life she had claimed. It hadn’t seemed strange before, but now that she knew where it had come from…

No one will ever force me to do anything like that again, she silently promised herself, willing it to be just as true as the vow Khali had imposed upon her. What right had the Arbiters? All they are is strong, and I can be strong too.

Khali had her collection of trophies, showing every spirit she had overcome, and the mantis could build the same.

Quietly, she crept towards the body of Martine. Even in death, her face was impeccable, perfectly symmetrical, unmarred by age or labor. Her skin was still soft.

And after a few minutes of work nibbling it free, the mantis would have that face with her forever.

She draped it over her own, trying to see out of the human eyes and gain that new perspective, but she was interrupted by a human screech.

“La mante!” they cried, using words the mantis hadn’t learned. The next ones, though, she recognized. “Kill it!”

The mantis drew on the power within herself, what little she had inherited from Arrac and the greater amount she had claimed from Martine, ready to claim more faces, but she felt herself stop, bound by the vow she’d made.

Instead, the magic took another form, and so did she.

≋

Flammare was dead.

That much seemed rather indisputable.

Fallen, I should have given you more credit, seeking out that girl. She’s surpassed my wildest expectations.

“The Arbiter of Light is dead once more,” Lamante announced as the girl climbed over the hill, a scrap of Khali’s skin draped around her shoulders. “Now it falls to us to choose the next.”

The spirits seemed hesitant, caught in that same mute disbelief that made it so easy to manipulate humans. Though in this case, it was hard to blame them.

Soleil had lasted countless millennia as Arbiter of Light, Flammare mere minutes.

If the trend continued, they’d be sitting here choosing suns for the rest of eternity as countless thousands burned out in seconds.

Once was an event, but twice started a pattern, a curse on the role and those who held it.

Or perhaps not. But the perception was enough, at least for any warier spirits.

Phoenicia had been content to wait before, and would remain out of the way now. Fala had no interest in it, not seeing the need to amass power for one’s self to preserve their way of life. And Lunette was weak, her followers scattered and dead, her offerings nearly dried up entirely; the last thing she would want to deal with would be a seat where humans would inevitably try to end her existence.

In truth, any great spirit with a modicum of patience and sense would want to wait and see. Two Arbiters of Light dead at human hands in the space of only months was without precedent. The next shortest gap Lamante knew of was between Pantera and Khali, and had still lasted years.

But Gézarde was a hermit, isolated, ignorant of the danger and the need for caution; his sage had been the one to trick Flammare to his death.

It’s almost too perfect.

“Gézarde of the Mountain was the Convocation’s next most favored choice,” Lamante announced, taking charge of the proceedings and beckoning the flame spirit closer. “I see no reason not to seat him right away.”

The spirit in question looked entirely bewildered, curls of smoke trailing out of his half-open mouth, but he stepped forward all the same.

“The girl will channel what she can of Flammare’s energy into you,” Lamante whispered with Martine’s lips once Gézarde was close enough. “You can claim the seat outright, and then the rest will have no good choice but to acclaim you.” Most of them were cretinous followers as it was; now that their intolerable leader had been dealt with, they had no one left to follow but those whom they were pointed to.

Lamante swept her vision across the gathered spirits as she removed Martine’s face and placed it back with the others.

“What of Flammare?” Tauroneo asked, holding his bull head steady as the earth rumbled in concert with his words. “What of us who acclaimed Soleil’s rightful successor?”

“No punishment,” Lamante whispered to Gézarde, feeding him the words he needed.

He was a blank slate, isolated from all spirit society and conventions, entirely without the fixed mindset to gormlessly follow Flammare in his folly or serve and then betray Khali without a second thought to the implications of it. A lesser spirit among lesser spirits, singularly unworthy of the Arbiter position by all normal standards.

Gézarde took her advice. “I am not Flammare, and will not punish any spirit for their choices.”

He’s perfect.

He would look to her for counsel, but that was less important than what he represented, a permanent breakdown in the process by which Arbiters were chosen, leaving the door open for many more to come. Including me, when the time is right.

“How could any spirit choose freely, knowing the risk of reprisal?” Lamante added, laying bare the obvious problem with countless convocations since Terramonde itself had come into existence. “Gézarde will not wield his power against those who favored Flammare, so long as none stand against him now.” That didn’t say anything about what Lamante would do, though. “And now the Convocation shall make its selection,” she said, cutting off any possibility of waiting as Gézarde flew towards what remained of Flammare.

The girl would take it from there.

“Gézarde,” she voted, locking the proceedings in.

“Gézarde,” Fala echoed with a flicker of light, officially ceding his claim.

“Gézarde,” Tauroneo continued, taking the last option available to him now. The first convert.

He was far from the last.

The only other votes were a scattered few for Lunette which notably did not include the moon spirit herself, paling in comparison to the groundswell of support for the mountain hermit.

All because his followers were strong enough to kill the ones at the top. Flammare would not be the last.

Ancient Arbiters had wielded their power too long, become too entrenched as lesser spirits languished, punished for their lack of offerings, subordinated to foolish crusades against the Winter Court or forced to help seal the very spirit of darkness they had so enthusiastically been commanded to stand behind…

No more. Now we have control. Only one seat at the moment, but the most venerable and ancient among them. Darkness was sure to follow, recently replaced and currently held by a waning spirit.

Khali was gone, Soleil and his heir presumptive were dead, Pantera the Undying no longer held dominion over the seas and her successor was a gullible brute. One by one, everything was falling into place.

Filled with Flammare’s energy, Gézarde ascended into the sky, a lesser spirit claiming a seat nearly as old as the world.

He was the first, but he would not be the last.

As the humans were wont to say, the winds of change were in the air. True freedom was finally in sight, no matter the Fallen’s qualms about it.

The Fallen had always been so fixated on the value of life, failing to see the benefit in so very many deaths. Perhaps that was the essence from humans within them. They comprised countless dead, constantly rotating as new humans died for revenge and others passed forever from living memory.

They wanted stability. Home.

I do too, Fallen. But this is how we get there. We can live our lives in contented peace for centuries, but that means nothing if Arbiters can always disrupt it at their leisure. We’re forever at risk unless we take control. There was no true freedom without power, and now that power was nearly in Lamante’s grasp.