High Priestess Milve, or Milli, elected to join the Heads of Staff for the evening meal that night.

“It’s still difficult to believe,” she chuckled, on Hujur’s left as an honored guest, “Milve having stepped down voluntarily – in a manner of speaking.”

“It wouldn’t have been my choice,” Braelin sighed, “If he’d asked.”

“I’m sure,” Milli nodded, “But he’s always been like that – taking on personal burdens instead of asking anyone for their opinion or help.”

“He does seem pretty stubborn,” Festi said – then coughed, “With all due respect, your grace.”

“Stubborn is a polite way of putting it, yeah,” Milli winked at them, “But he’s not a bad man at heart – I even have two of his acolytes from the Wastes Temple that insisted on coming along out of loyalty to him, though I asked them to wait in the city. Didn’t want to spring too much on my old friend at once, ha.”

“You implied you have known each other a long time,” Jurao questioned.

Milli nodded, “Oh, most of our lives, really – Milve arrived at Iescula’s Temple as an adolescent, and I was about the same age then. Most acolytes are adults, and I wasn’t considered one at the time, so he was the first kid I’d met. He wasn’t very interested in being friends, but that didn’t stop me!”

“None of the other priesti had children?” Hujur wondered.

“I know it’s not uncommon at other temples, but it’s not really done at our – well, my and the Iesculan Temple. The Wastes are even less forgiving than the rest of the Demon Realm, so most priesti leave to raise their children in a city or send them off to relatives,” Milli shrugged, “My parents, unfortunately, died in the attempt to leave – caught in an unexpected dust lightning storm. No one knew who my relatives were, so I was kept at the temple.

“It’s a wonder Milve made it across on his own,” Milli shook her head, “I think that’s the only reason they initiated him that young. But it’s not really my place to speak more on that.”

Petal crawled under the table from beneath Braelin’s seat to rest itself in the High Priestess’s lap.

Milli pet the crushfern, snorting, “This one would probably know more than anyone. Not that I can’t see why it would change to a new master – I rarely got to see it this green back home.”

“You seem very comfortable with them, your grace,” Kloy observed.

Petal shivered and reached out a few tendrils to shake more flower petals into the Physician’s lap.

Milli laughed, “Oh, Ras- I mean, Petal hasn’t been really dangerous for centuries. At least, no more than a well-trained waste hound, eh?”

Her four were ranged around her feet, three of them napping – the one that was awake offered a yip of agreement.

Kloy gathered the petals in his lap with an amused look – patting the tendrils as they retreated, “I suppose that’s true enough.”

Braelin hummed, but didn’t seem to have a comment for whatever he was thinking.

“I actually brought Break and Burn to present as a gift to you, your highness,” Milli stated, “A rather overdo one, but since your combat with the Champions was one-on-one, I thought it best to wait until after you’d waged true war during the Reunification.”

“Ah, I see,” Jurao nodded. It was a common gift for those who proved themselves in war – a breeding pair of waste hounds from the Temple of Sciekles. Minaz’s family had their own pedigree of the hounds, as well as two other military lineages in Caslavven – it was a mark of great prestige. Though, occasionally, a single hound was gifted to those who proved themselves in singular combat.

“But, since this one is friends with Snip and Snap,” Milli chuckled, “I wouldn’t mind parting with them instead – I only brought them along since Milve was here.”

“You don’t have a personal waste hound, your grace?” Minaz asked.

“Several,” Milli laughed, “Including Break and Burn – we have a lot of time to ourselves in the Wastes, and I spend a good deal of mine in our kennels. Though I could ask you the same, Gasciezaron girl.”

Minaz chuckled, “Since the King became General after my mother, my aunt – who manages our family kennels – declined to gift me one.”

Vajur scoffed at this – clearly, he had more than one reason to dislike his partner’s aunt.

Minaz – as was her habit – reached over to tug at his tail, but more playfully than annoyed.

“Noga, isn’t it?” Milli nodded, noting the action with amusement, “I remember when she came to the Temple to learn kennel management – kept trying to get initiated but kept failing the initiation challenge, poor woman.”

“What’s the challenge?” Braelin asked, “If it’s alright to ask.”

Milli waved a hand, “I can use general terms – it’s a mock battle where the priesti are put over command of four or more initiates. Thing is, we have a script of how the battle is going to go – planned complications, if you will, to test the initiates’ ability to think on their feet.”

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“Ah, that makes sense,” Braelin nodded, “I asked Milve about the initiation for Iescula’s Temple – finding a safe way through the Temple’s gardens does seem equally fitting.”

“His gardens might not have loved him like yours love you, sir Braelin,” Milli sighed, looking down at Petal thoughtfully, “But they did have a mutual respect for each other – he never got angry with them for following their instincts, you see, the way many Iesculan priesti do. I can say that much for him, at least.”

“I don’t think any plant loves someone as much as the gardens love Braelin,” Festi snorted.

“Probably because no one loves plants as much as Braelin,” Jouvi chuckled, “It’s mutual.”

Braelin chuckled as well, “I knew Milve respected the plants – but I understand wanting to defend a friend.”

Milli laughed, “Well, I also don’t want a Beloved of his goddess thinking too poorly of him! He’s a bit of an acquired taste, you know.”

“Braelin’s uncle could speak more on that…” Jouvi remarked.

Braelin sighed, “I’d rather not think too deeply about that…”

The rest of dinner continued in the same lighter tone—Jurao making plans with Milli to familiarize the waste hounds with him as their new master. He had declined when offered a single hound, but Snip and Snap did get along well with Petal, and he did not want to deprive them of each others’ company.

“A High Priestess Milve?” Feyl asked, after Jurao’s opening move in Ascension that evening, “And one close to the resident Holy Advisor, no less.”

“She runs the Temple of Sciekles in the Volcanic Wastes,” Jurao nodded, “And goes by Milli – she and Priest Milve are childhood friends.”

“Though she sounds far more personable,” Feyl chuckled, “But then, you haven’t made a human General yet.”

“She has been friendlier than Milve was,” Braelin agreed, though he was distracted watching Petal.

The crushfern had yet to enter its usual basin of water and was instead aimlessly roaming about the room.

Feyl noticed his study, “Something wrong?”

“I don’t know,” Braelin replied, frowning, “It’s been unsettled since the evening meal, but… hm. I do wish carrying Iescula’s favor granted me the ability to really converse with demon plants.”

“It would be convenient,” Jurao agreed, also watching the crushfern now.

Braelin hummed, then got down from his seat and approached the crushfern, “What is it, Petal? Can I help?”

The crushfern reached up to pat the human’s face as usual, then shivered and shuffled over to the door, tugging at the handle.

Jurao rose as well, pushing the door open on the plant’s behalf, “I’ll accompany you. Feyl.”

“I’ll await your return,” his best friend sighed, “But hold a moment.”

They waited for the valet to return at the door – with Braelin’s mountainhound shawl and a pair of sandals.

“Ah, thank you,” the human said, wrapping the shawl over his light tunic and sliding on the sandals. While he typically kept a pair of soft breeches on until they actually went to bed, it was still light fare if they ended up outside.

“I knew you wouldn’t think of it,” Feyl shrugged, then sighed, “Well, I might as well join in this adventure now. Rather than sit here alone and wait, anyway.”

With that, they followed Petal through the halls – the crushfern leading the way out into the Gardens, which was little surprise to any of them. It did pause on the veranda, as if uncertain, but not long enough for any of them to question the plant.

“I think I know where we’re going,” Braelin said as they followed through the Kitchen Garden.

Jurao hummed but was not as sure himself.

Petal led them to the border between the Kitchen and Bewitching Gardens – and did pause, many tendrils up and swaying.

Before the Garden Shrine sat Milve – the man in a common pose of religious meditation, sitting with his legs folded under him, his bottom set of arms cupped in his lap, and the top set crossed over his chest. He didn’t seem to notice them – but then, priesti of his age and experience rarely did in that state.

Braelin hummed, “I thought so,” he crouched down, “Are you having second thoughts about leaving Milve?”

Jurao blinked in surprise at the question.

“I thought he treated Petal poorly?” Feyl voiced, but lowly.

“He did,” Braelin agreed, “But… not out of malice, just ignorance. Milli says the plants of his old temple respected him – the same was probably true of Petal. And he knows better now.”

Petal shivered, moving towards Milve, then back – repeating the motion a few times before crouching low and trembling.

“It’s alright,” Braelin said, petting the crushfern, “You can go back if you want to.”

Petal patted at his face – then paused, shuffling over to Feyl. Hesitantly, it tapped a tendril against the valet’s dagger.

As the only one of the three of them not dressed down, Feyl was the only one with a weapon. Arching his left brows, the valet unhooked the dagger from its sheathe, holding it so that the crushfern might take it.

Petal did – and then held it out to Jurao.

“I do not understand,” the Demon King said, even as he accepted the weapon. It had the slight hum of enchantment it always did – not really warm, but the feeling of warmth, which made no sense outside the realm of magic.

The crushfern flattened itself on the ground – until it appeared divided into two halves.

“Ah,” Braelin nodded, “Petal wants you to spit it in half – you’re probably the best one for it, since you’ll get it in one go.”

“… won’t that kill it…?” Feyl asked.

“Petal isn’t really a fern,” Braelin shook his head, patting some of the shivering tendrils, “It’s a type of moss. So long as its core isn’t completely destroyed, it should be able to regenerate both halves into a new full crushfern – the records from Milve’s temple wrote of it.”

Jurao readjusted his grip on his best friend’s dagger, “Very well, then.”

In one smooth motion, he cut through the section of the crushfern Petal had laid out for him, rending it in two. As Braelin had said, both halves were able to move afterward – though one crawled into the human’s lap, and the other dragged itself toward Milve in a way that looked pained.

Jurao handed the dagger back to its rightful owner, then picked up the other half of Petal and carried it to its destination – considering only a moment before sliding it onto Milve’s lap.

The priest started back to awareness, his eyes blinking rapidly as he took in the crushfern wrapping its tendrils around his torso and arms and the retreating Demon King. He sputtered, “Wh… what?”

Braelin chuckled, his own half of Petal curled around him like a second shawl, “It’s what it wanted.”

Milve took in the gardener, then looked back at the crushfern in his lap. He swallowed heavily, upper arms cautiously patting the plant, “I… see.”

“Good night, your grace,” Jurao said, their group leaving now that their ‘adventure’ was over.

“I suppose that’s one way to serve two masters,” Feyl observed dryly, patting part of the crushfern on Braelin’s shoulder, “Though it looks painful.”

“I imagine it was,” Braelin agreed, “But it will heal in time.”

Their soft discussion failed to prevent Feyl and Jurao, at least, from hearing one last thing from Milve as they headed back into the castle.

“Welcome back… Rascal.”