Timbrelle tested the rope. It twanged with the resistance of a bowstring. Adna looked on proudly.

“I don’t understand why you needed all of this, but I can tie a mean knot.” She beamed at the extensive web she’d created in Timbrelle’s bedroom.

Timbrelle handed her a pile of sheets. “Maybe you were a sailor. They do knots, right? This is certainly going to be the biggest blanket fort I’ve ever made.”

“Women can’t be sailors and I’m so excited to finally find out why you don’t know all this basic stuff.” Adna squealed. “You even made your famous ‘apology’ sandwiches while I was in the shower.”

“Why can’t they be sailors?” Timbrelle asked.

“I’m not answering shit tonight!” She sang. “I did such a good job not bugging you about this.”

Timbrelle agreed with a laugh. They built the fort for a considerable chunk of time. Their architect having not understood the final product meant the ropes were often crisscrossing the open space. Adna clotheslined herself in the neck twice before making structural adjustments. She’d needed to be convinced not to bring the candelabra under the sheets and compromised by lighting extra candles and illuminated the canopy from the outside in a flickering amber.

Adna munched on her sandwich, serene. “Is it a good story or a bad story? I want to prepare myself for the appropriate reaction. You ever do that where you think a story is supposed to be funny and then it turns out it was a tragedy or something? Those are the worst. I dont want to get in trouble for laughing.”

“Has that happened much in the last two weeks?” She asked over a cup of cider Morto prepared earlier that day. Its warmth counterbalanced the chilly sapphire in her lap. It was the only way to combat the aggressive aura stench that assailed her each time she lost contact with the thing. The size of a housecat, she had to remind herself over and over not to pet it.

“Not the last two weeks but I’m so familiar with the feeling that I think it was a common occurrence for the old Adna. But we’re not talking about me, make with the confession.” She snapped her fingers to get the story moving. “Don’t make me guess, it’ll ruin your surprise when I get them all right.”

Timbrelle steeled herself. “Alright then. I’ll just say it. I woke up outside Tarsus, like I told you. Only, I’m not from Kitos. I’m from Earth and I don’t know how I got here.”

“Whad elfe?” Adna asked, mid-sandwich.

“What do you mean ‘what else’? I’m from Earth. It’s a whole different planet.” She said.

Adna swallowed hard. “I know that. I gathered it from all the weird stuff you went on about. Are you saying you’re not some princess there? That you haven’t be exiled to our planet for something cool?”

Timbrelle stopped. “You believe me? Just like that?”

"What do you mean ‘just like that’? Timbrelle, I’d believe you if you told me something stupid like you could speak to Gods, or eat rocks, or survive the Dorark- oh wait.” She huffed. “You made made think it was something insane. I was so ready to eat apology sandwiches and hear the secrets of the universe. ‘Wow, what could possibly be so horrible for Timbrelle, the most outrageous person alive, to keep it hidden?’ I sound like such an idiot now. Where is the body, Timbrelle?” She climbed atop the objecting woman and shook her shoulders.

“That’s too close, I think your nose touched my retina! And most people don’t take it well when their friends say ‘I travelled through the multiverse to get here’.” She exclaimed back, shoving Adna off.

“I think I could have handled it. I’m obviously handling it now.” She bragged. “Come on, you’ve built it up so much, I want drama.”

“I’m Unmade. What could be more dramatic?” She said.

Adna stopped, eyes widening. She whispered, “No way… you’re Unmade?”

“That’s what it means to be from Earth!” Timbrelle threw her hands up. “See? It was a huge confession and you’re the one who didn’t appreciate it. Don’t act like I don’t deliver.”

“How am I supposed to know that? I’m two weeks old. Cut me some slack.” She said with a shrug. “So what powers do you have?”

“I’m told I have a social ability but the Unmade I met, Brandon, didn’t go into detail. He and Fede think there’s something wrong with me. Apparently that’s why I have all the symptoms of an auror and Unmade but none of the abilities. Morto and the interface say it’s because my soul is too loud. Plus, to be Unmade you need to go through an ‘Unmaking’ and I don’t think I’ve had one of those. It feels like something I’d remember.”

“How do we fix your weird condition?” Adna asked.

“Do you want to go to Tellushra’s coronation?”

“The Rose of Tellcentra? She’s being crowned?” Adna’s face scrunched. “I don’t like her and I don’t know why. What would we go there for?”

“There is a soul hospital in Tellcentra. A bunch of Unmade, too, if I remember Brandon correctly. Loren and Fede both mentioned a festival and gladiatorial championship around coronation time. We haven’t enjoyed a blood sport together, but it feels like your scene.”

“Aww. You know me so well. When do we leave?” She asked. Timbrelle was tempted to be touched at her support when the woman added. “Unmade are hot. Like… they’re nutcases, every last one, but I wanna try a crazy one at least once.”

“Irredeemable.” Timbrelle passed judgement on the unstoppable woman. “A soul blackened and shriveled.”

“Can we leave soon?” She ignored the japes. “I’m getting really restless in Yost and I can’t pin down the reason. It’s like I have somewhere I was supposed to go and now I’m just circling the block trying to remember. Does that make sense?”

Timbrelle nodded. “We’ve encountered compulsions from your past, before. I think we should chase that instinct and see what happens. Let’s go make a scene in Tellcentra, that should make it easier for your people to find you. I’m free as a bird now that I found this.” She patted the heavy blanket that dulled the outrageous shine of the sapphire.

This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

There was a knock at the door. Adna could open it only a handspan without loosening the ropes and sending the whole thing down on Timbrelle.

“Morto? Do you need something?”

Timbrelle hadn’t seen the man when the congregation came straggling back in. While they all sat around eating the scones he’d baked earlier, no one mentioned his absence.

“Young aristocrat asking for you girls.” He was a habitually direct man. A trait Timbrelle enjoyed. “The house is empty. I’ll wait in the temple. Take your time.”

Like that, he was gone.

“Did… you forget about Trestovan too?”

“Yes.”

***

In lieu of the sizable ruby and writ of provenance, Fede offered them a carelessly tossed bag of gold coins. He added an order of transport when Adna pressed. The head priest mumbled something about the karmic poetry of House Daliega begging to the temple of Nerrus.

Trestovan saw the situation much the same way but admitted he could not go elsewhere. In a moment of weakness he’d sought out Nerrus. The young man clearly found this action significant and shameful. He agreed to wait in the single bedroom of the pseudo-temple while the women prepared to smuggle him out. They’d truly taken his bedroom at Capri for granted. The aristocrat was only shelf stable for so long locked in the supply room.

The two women found themselves onboard a wagon bound for Gren and halfway through the countryside before either of them addressed the situation.

Adna broached the topic first with a tactful, “What the hell are we doing, Timbrelle?”

Timbrelle let out a long breath. “Right?”

“Trafficking people, faking Trestovan’s death, kidnapping Gren.” She listed.

“Well that wording isn’t fair, we’re just helping a friend run away from home with their lover. He happened to have a very convenient death last night at Capri that makes our job easier.” She reasoned. “Also, it’s not considered kidnapping if we convince him to go willingly.”

“You’re right, that’s called coercion.”

“We have a letter from Trestovan, so hopefully there will be no coercion required. But I know what you mean. I feel like I’m making a great big enemy out of house Daliega by spiriting away their son.” She groaned.

“As long as we’re careful, they should never know.” The thought hung in the air, echoing about the carriage. An air of anxiety prohibited further conversation until the driver thumped the roof to signal their arrival.

Once more the two found themselves in front of the cobblestone “fort”.

Gren came trotting out the door to meet the carriage. “What are you doing here?”

Timbrelle smiled. Gren couldn’t hear how rude it sounded.

“Come to breakfast, buddy.” Adna heaved the man into the carriage by the hand he held out to escort them.

“I just ate lunch. I have to complete my patrol by four. I came out to turn you away. I’m very busy. I need to go.” He said.

“We have a letter from Trestovan.” Timbrelle said.

Gren’s hand relaxed on the open carriage door. He pulled it closed. “He wrote me a letter?”

She handed it over, watching with Adna as he checked his name on the envelope.

“He wanted to stress its length. There was a lot of concern about whether you’d notice how long it was.” Timbrelle relayed dutifully.

“Now, I thought this was all euphemism, but he insisted you’d be much more interested in a lengthy letter.” Adna said.

Gren didn’t look up. “Then he knows me pretty well.”

The women tried to allow Gren what privacy could be spared in the close confines of the carriage. This entailed pretending to find the scenery fascinating. It was an entirely fabricated excuse as the driver had parked the window in a bush.

Ten agonizing minutes later, Gren refolded the letter and returned it to the envelope. He closed his eyes and sighed. “Trestovan is in love with me. I didn’t believe it on the first page, but his argument is decent.”

The two women allowed him another few minutes of contemplation before Adna cracked. “Do you love him?”

“No.” Gren responded honestly. “I‘ve never once thought of him like that.”

The look of horror on Adna’s face was mirrored inside Timbrelle.

“But… he is my dearest friend, closest ally and most meaningful relationship. I care for him and want to be around him. I trust him.” He fidgeted with the envelope, looking out the window at the fort. “And I think I’m done here. I don’t fully understand why I can’t seem to progress in my career, but I understand that I can’t. I’m done beating my head against it. Why not go with someone who wants to make me happy? Someone I look forward to seeing. I don’t love him… but I might be able to love someone if it’s him.”

Gren nodded to himself and said “I need to pack.”

It was evening by the time they returned.

Trestovan looked horrified when they told him the job was a success. Apparently having believed that Gren would choose to stay behind. They wrapped him in a temple robe and shoved him into the carriage.

“You came.” Trestovan breathed, sitting across from his new travel companion.

“You asked me to.” Gren answered.

“You didn’t have to…” he offered.

“Would you have been alright alone?” Gren’s question earned a bashful look from Trestovan.

The silence was answer enough.

Adna shut the door without getting in and whispered to Timbrelle. “I can’t do it. I’m sitting with the driver. You can have the luggage rack in back.”