“Fuck!” The green fire in his eyes blazed brighter as he spun around, posture tense. “Why would you surprise me like that?”

He looks so different.

Maybe it was the fact that Florette still remembered him with normal eyes when she thought about him, or maybe it was his longer hair or the scruffy beard now attached to his face, but that was all superficial.

More than anything, it was the way his body seemed to sag with exhaustion. The glow from his face illuminated dark circles under his eyes with striking clarity. Fernan had always been a worrier, but it had never seemed to affect him like this before.

“Sorry, I thought it would be funny,” she admitted. “I didn’t realize you’d be so on-edge.”

“It wouldn’t exactly have been difficult to guess, though,” Perimont—well, the Fallen, really—whispered quietly, reminding her that they were there.

He sighed. “It’s fine. We’ve just had to deal with this horrid ice spirit attacking us, trying to stop the sun from coming back. That’s in addition to everything else; it’s a mess.”

“Sorry,” she repeated.

“It’s nice to see you, though. I did miss you. Everything’s been so… complicated. Even if you’re wrong half the time, it’s hard not to envy it a bit, how easily the choices come to you.”

“I am not wrong half the time!” Still, she took the compliment for what it was.

“Indeed. Your success rate is arguably far worse than that,” Perimont added, nose high in the air. “And the larger of your failures are more recent, so it isn’t as if you’re even improving.”

Florette shot them a glare. “You know, no one asked you.”

With a tilt of his head, Fernan followed her gaze. “Who are you talking to?”

How do I even begin to explain this? “Right, sorry. I should have introduced you already. This is the Fallen, a spirit who apparently sensed that I was finally free of Eloise talking shit about me every moment, and stepped in to fill the void. Fallen, this is Fernan. He’s one of my oldest friends, and… he’s a good guy.” He managed to fix things here without shooting someone, or nearly getting a friend killed.

“Uhh…” Fernan scratched his chin. “Alright, so, I do believe you. Um, I think, anyway. But, I guess what I really meant was, why were you talking to empty space? Is this Fallen exactly the same temperature as the air, somehow?”

What?

“I show killers the lives they have felled, the sorrow they’ve wrought upon the world.” Perimont folded his arms. “This boy has killed no one. Manifesting at all would expend energy to no obvious benefit.”

Oh, I guess that figures. Yet another way to rub it in.

Frowning, Florette turned back to Fernan, trying to move past it. “They say they can’t appear to you without expending energy, and they don't want to waste any without a good reason. Usually they take the form of the people you’ve killed, but since you haven’t—”

“Are you telling me you killed someone, Florette?” Fernan’s eyes blazed bright, which made it hurt all the more. “I never should have let you leave with those pirates. I guess I thought with you back, maybe you’d come to your senses.”

Ok, well, first of all, fuck you for that. “You didn’t let me go; you respected my choice. Don’t regret that. Whatever happened after is on me.” She sighed. “Besides, I would have been able to see him before. Remember when we were trying to get out of the aftermath of that duel, in the fire and smoke?”

“Oh…” Fire dimming in his eyes, he dipped his head. “I forgot about that.”

“Me too. That’s what Fallen here is for, making sure I can’t.” She turned her head to address them directly. “But now that we’re in Guerron, they have important spiritual things to attend to, which will mean leaving me alone for a while. Possibly forever. Right?”

Perimont chuckled. “Perhaps you shouldn’t be so quick to wish yourself rid of me. Without me, even worse will take my place.” He smiled, seemingly proud of the way his words worked for both Perimont and themself. Fitting enough, Florette supposed, given anything else would cost them more.

But still, what an exhausting way to have to talk all the time. Maybe they could avoid the problem around other spirits or something, because otherwise even existing that way sounded awful.

“But yes,” they continued. “I have an old acquaintance I would like to see before the proceedings begin, and she’s already in this city, so far as I can tell. You’re welcome to attend to your business while I find Lamante.”

Probably another spirit. “Thank you.”

“Did they do something for you?” Fernan asked.

“Yes, they agreed to fuck off for a while. Genuinely quite courteous.” Florette kept them in her sight as she watched the form unravel, the spirit fading away. “Sorry about all that.”

“It’s alright. Honestly, I was a little worried you’d so something stupid and get yourself killed.”

“Your confidence in me is truly inspiring.” If only I could muster more offense at that. “I’m not planning to make a habit of it, you know. It was… two people, since I left. One who absolutely deserved it, and one who really didn’t. The second happened so fast, and I was sort of defending myself but… not in a way that counts. It’s on me.”

“Ok.” Fernan looked away, seemingly torn about what to say. For a moment, he just squirmed silently as Florette debated whether to cut in.

“You seem to have done well for yourself here, at least,” she decided to say. “While I was away, I mean. The papers in Malin fucking hate you, which is always a good sign. They’re mostly trash, but I think I got the gist. You gave that smug fuck Magnifico a black eye, and saved that girl from execution.”

“Girl?”

“Yeah, the Duke’s granddaughter.”

“Annette.” Fernan stifled a laugh. “She’s older than we are, Florette. Early twenties, I think.”

“Oh. The way the journals talked about her, she sounded… Huh… Why did you have to fight her battles for her, then?”

“It’s the way the law works here. She needed a sage, and Lumière ensured that no one else would help her.”

“Sounds like the law’s the problem, then. I would have started there.”

“You would have burned the whole fucking place to the ground,” he muttered, and Florette did him the courtesy of pretending not hear. If it’s rotten, that’s the only thing for it.

“Either way, good job! I always thought I would be the one doing something that ended up in a journal, and you’d be the one reading about it.”

“Honestly, I would have expected the same. Although ‘feared’ might be the more fitting way to put it. That or you’d get yourself killed.”

“Once again, thank you.”

His face softened. “But you’re alright? Is there anything you need?”

Well, since you asked. “Uh, I’m not totally sure how to ask this, but… Do you have a good place to store something, somewhere no one else could find it?”

“Something?”

“A half-dozen crates, to be more specific. They’re uh… Well, maybe you don’t want to know. I don’t want to rope you into anything again. But if you can spare a hiding spot, I’d appreciate it. I only rented the wagon for a day, so I need to get them somewhere and give it back by the next toll of the bells.” Basically the only way to keep track of time, these days. Even if the uniformity made it easy to lose track. “Everything’s so fucking expensive, now, and I have to ration my railyard money.” Jacques had offered plenty, but up-front payments for the train heist had mostly come out of that share, and completely wiped out anything left from the pulsebox theft.

Fernan frowned, understandably. “Please tell me they don’t explode.”

“They don’t explode,” she reassured him.

“And it’s not something stolen?”

“Well…”

If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

“Ugh, Florette. Really?”

“I took them from the old Governor in Malin! He was about to use them for war against Guerron. That much actually was a good cause, not a mistake, if it makes you feel better. It’s the same kind of weapon Camille was shot with. It would have been devastating to deal with in Avalon’s hands.”

That only made the light in his eyes burn brighter. “War?”

Oh, right. Easy to lose track of who knew what, with everything going on. “I wouldn't worry about it now. I’m sure all that’s on hold while the sun is out.”

“I hope you’re right. That’s the last thing we need right now.” He scratched his chin again, possibly trying to validate the existence of that scraggly beard by touching it enough. “If what you say is true, you could probably keep them in the castle. They have vaults that are better guarded than anything we could muster ourselves, and then we don’t have to worry about anyone finding it.”

Florette stared at him. “That’s not storing them, it’s giving them away! I didn’t steal them just to arm some other nobles, especially not for free.”

“Cut a deal, then. Make them an offer. It’s what your pirates would do, right?”

Yes. “It’s not about that. I need to be sure they end up in the right hands.”

Fernan paused for a moment, then nodded. “I know a place, a bit up in the mountains, but the wagon should still make it most of the way. Can the two of us lift a crate if we work together?”

Thank fuck. “Yeah, it shouldn’t be an issue. Thank you, really.”

“Mhm. Let’s just get this done.”

≋

At least the cold had made the sweaty work more bearable. Fernan had chosen a great spot, a hollow practically invisible from the outside, and certainly impossible to spot from any path a wagon could traverse. Unfortunately, that meant hours of heavy lifting, but Fernan luckily hadn’t seemed to mind too much.

It had given them a chance to catch up more, between grunts of exertion anyway, and being able to talk to someone about everything had been… cathartic.

He’d judged her, that much was obvious. He’d never been good at hiding his expressions, and since Mara had burned him, he’d only gotten worse. But at least he’d kept it to himself. His words had been kind, and that counted for a lot.

It was kind of shocking, to realize how short the supply of that had been since she’d left.

“Thank you, again,” Florette said as they made it back into town, less one rented wagon and six crates of guns. “Drinks are on me, if you have time.”

“Maybe for one. I was supposed to be checking in on people when you showed up.” He was even more winded than she was, each heavy breath sending a ripple across his flaming eyes. “I’ve really let them down, to be honest. I got everyone here, I tried to get them used to the geckos, but mostly I’ve been absent. WIth the trial, and then”—he waved his hand directionless—”you know, everything. My mom’s been running a lot of it, and that’s not really fair to her. And everyone else… I’m just disappointed in myself.”

“Screw drinks, then. I’ll help you with that.” She slapped him on the back. “And I’m sure you didn’t let them down. You were dealing with those stuffy aristos so they didn’t have to, making sure everyone wasn’t shaken down or executed or something. Just tell me what you need. Guarding supplies? Securing supplies?”

He exhaled, though it was hard to tell whether it was out of amusement or weariness. “You don’t need to steal anything. Lady Annette’s providing for us, as part of the deal for helping her, and I think a lot of people are working out other ways too. Or they were, before darkness fell. Now it’s all pretty much centrally distributed, to make sure no one starves.”

So Annette controls everyone’s food, and directly at that. Powerful position to be in. And dangerous. “Ok, I think I know how I can help, then. You need to get everyone independent of that supply. Or at least have alternatives. A single point of failure like that is dangerous, especially one resting on the good faith of some noble.”

A silent scratch of the chin was his only response..

“Unless there’s something specific you’d rather have my help with?”

“No, I guess not.” He shook his head. “Maybe once I check in with Mom, but that’s not a bad idea. The issue is that it all ultimately comes from a single source. Nothing grows in the fields with solar power, and most of that is coming from a single corpse.”

Right, Lord Prick’s body is feeding thousands of peasants. The thought brought a smile to her face.

Before she could respond, though, a man in his thirties approached them, half-circle glasses resting on his face. Rare to see that here, she realized, though they’d been far more common in Malin. “Excuse me, Sire Montaigne?”

Sire Montaigne, right. Florette held a hand up to her face to hide her laughter at the thought.

“How can I help you…? I’m sorry, I’m not sure we’ve met.”

“I am called Michel, Sire. I’m a solicitor your mother hired to help negotiate the contracts for… Actually, that’s not what’s important right now.” He took a breath. “One of Glaciel’s spears took out the shed where we were keeping spare wheels and axles for the wagons. We haven’t had any big breakdowns yet, but it’s only a matter of time.”

“I see,” Fernan said.

“Isn’t Annette supposed to help you with stuff like that?” Florette asked. It figures that she’d be shortchanging them already.

“I don’t think so, but actually—”

“Sire Montaigne, if I may, that aspect has already been worked out, but the guards turned me away at the castle. In their words, they didn’t want to speak to ‘some gawky minion, who could really be anyone’. I was hoping you might accompany me, so they can see our affiliation?”

“Sure, of course…” Fernan frowned. “They should have let you in already, though. That’s disappointing.” If this is disappointing you, I can’t even imagine how naïve your expectations were.

“You need a way to show that people are working for you,” Florette noted. “Like an insignia, or a pin. The way Camille has that serpent sewn into the breast of all her clothes. A burst of green flame, probably. Something so well-crafted it’d be hard to fake.”

Michel bowed. “I would be honored to wear such a mark, Sire Montaigne. And it would spare you the time better spent on other things.”

Fernan looked pretty uncomfortable at that thought, though. “Maybe later. For now, I’ll come along.” He turned his head towards Florette. “I’m surprised you remembered that about her. I think you two only spoke once, before she died.”

“Oh fuck, right! I almost forgot.” Florette reached into the bag at her side. “Michel, could you give us some privacy, please?”

The solicitor stepped back until he was out of earshot, waiting for them down the road towards the chateau.

“Camille wanted me to give this to you,” she said, handing him the letter written for him. She actually hadn’t read it, although it had been tempting. Fernan would tell her, if it were anything important or sensitive.

“Like a bequeathment? How did you even—”

“No, Fernan, she’s alive. I actually spent a bunch of time with her in Malin.” She closed the flap of her bag. “And wow, I do not envy you having to talk with her without having the upper hand. It was bad enough for me on more even footing. Sorry, again, for getting you caught up in that.”

“I—” He shook his head, bewildered. “Thank you?”

“Of course. What am I, if not a courier for entitled aristocrats? But I repeat myself.”

He snorted, patting the letter against his leg without opening it. “I can’t believe she didn’t come back, if she’s alive.”

Florette shrugged, reaching into her bag for the others. “I’m hoping you can help get me an in to deliver the others. I mean, you saved Annette's life, I’m sure you could get a meeting, right? And maybe one with the Fox-King too?” Fucking please. This would be so much harder if she had sneak in to deliver it, or something. “I have letters for the two of them, and she wanted me to make sure I gave them in person.”

“Not her uncle?”

Florette blinked. “No. Why?”

“No reason, I guess. She probably thought he was dead, too. A lot of that going around, I guess.”

“You’re saying the old Leclaire guy is back, too? Fuck, I can’t believe that being falsely presumed dead runs in their family. He’s probably also an arrogant ass, then?”

“A little, yeah.” Fernan stifled a laugh as he brought the letter up to his face. “He did save us though, when Glaciel was attacking. And Lady Camille… Well…”

“I mean, she threw money in your face, right? What a prick move.”

“She did…”

“Anyway, there’s apparently instructions in there. She wasn’t very specific with me, but as long as it’s nothing obviously evil, you’re probably fine to follow them. She’s… I don’t know, still not great, but she wouldn’t screw you over, I don’t think.”

“Hmm…” He unfolded the note, and began to read. He didn’t make it five seconds before sighing. “Force of habit. Could you read it to me, please?”

“Oh, right. Sorry.” Florette grabbed it, starting at the top.

“Florette, I told you not to read these letters, you nosy prick. Do you have no respect for other people’s privacy at all? If you look away now, I shall be courteous enough to forgive you. If you continue, I will make you regret it.

“Fucker,” she muttered, continuing to read as Fernan cracked up.

“Day 14 of the seventh month. When the Hanged Man crests the horizon. Drink psyben tea or nightshade, something to start the visions.

Thank you for everything you did for my friends.

~Lady Camille Leclaire”

Florette handed the note back, not hiding the confusion on her face. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen her be that concise. By the Hanged Man, she means the constellation, right?”

“Presumably. What does she care if I have visions, anyway?”

Florette shrugged. “Most likely, there’s something she thinks it’s important for you to see.”

“That’s in three days, Florette.”

“Yeah. Really reckless of her to pick that date. I could have been waylaid even a little bit and her plan wouldn’t have worked. The ship was slow enough as it was. Honestly, I’m surprised.”

He buried his head in hands, somehow not burning himself with his eyes. “Does it never end?”

“Chin up, Fernan. You’ve got to eat some mushrooms on a certain day. You’ll live.” Florette patted him on the back. “I, on the other hand, have to go tell the Fox-King that his fiancée chose to stay in hostile territory instead of returning to him.”

“Switch?” His eyes lit up, a smile on his face.

“Oh, if only.”

“Alright.” He nodded firmly. “It’s… It’s nice to see you again, Florette. I’m really glad to have you back.”

“I’m glad to be back.” She pulled him into a hug. “I missed you.”

After a moment, they broke apart, standing side by side, ready to face anything and everything. Entitled aristos, bloodthirsty spirits, and a sky condemned to ruin by both.

It was good that they were ready, because they were going to need to be.