The interior of the unfinished manor surprised her, but it probably shouldn’t have. The halls were indistinguishable from the tunnels of a cave. An opulent cave, with walls of white marble, but a cave nevertheless.

There was some décor—tapestries and Kaia sconces. But it had the damp, musty air of a cave, and Leira spotted a rat wriggling through a crack in the stone.

The cavernous tunnels were large enough that Brock could comfortably roll through.

Ansoir’s face was ghostly pale, and his sweat splotched his makeup and caused his afro to sag in some places. He looked downright deranged.

Leira rested her chin in her hand, ready to stifle any laughter. This would be a wonderful disaster.

The fledgling lord licked his lips, then laughed like a hyena. “This is my father’s private wing, you see. I assure you, the rest of the manor is normal, with wood flooring and proper walls and such, as is befitting of my station.”

Leira grinned. “You worry too much, darling. Just be confident, my lord. What your father needs to see is some bravado.”

Ansoir’s nostrils flared and through bared teeth he said, “No one is as bravadocious as me.” He clutched his chest while hyperventilating. The cords in his neck went taut, causing his pudgy jowls to jiggle.

“Uh, are you alright?”

“Of course I am,” he snapped. “I will be Burgermeister. I’m not afraid at all. How dare you even ask me that?”

Leira raised her eyebrows, said nothing.

Another bark of nervous laughter. Ansoir undid his bowtie and unbuttoned his collar. “Forgive me, Lady Leira. Yesterday, my prized 917 Red Tiger was damaged after some worthless slave walked in front of me while I was driving home. It has me all out of sorts. The man just wandered into the middle of the road while the alarm was going off!”

Leira nodded. “That’s completely understandable. What a clumsy moron.”

Ansoir slumped in his chair, leaning toward her. “Might I inspect the flower in your eye?”

“I wouldn’t,” Leira said. “It’s very poisonous.”

“I’ve seen my share of exotic splices, but something about yours is quite… ravishing. I wish we had better surgeons here. I’ve long considered getting an alligator tail. Where did you have yours done?”

“Veirga,” Leira said, smiling. “A World-renowned botanical cosmetologist.” She tittered. “A friend of mine actually got cantaloupes implanted…”

***

Clink, clink…

***

They stood—or rather Brock stood—before a formidable vault-style door. It opened via the huge metal plate rolling into a recess. The door was ajar, open about a third of the way.

Soft music played inside the throne room, and there were chattering voices, along with sharp claps of stone against stone.

Ansoir was muttering to himself. Sweat dripped from his afro. They’d been sitting here for ten minutes now.

Leira cleared her throat.

Ansoir looked at her like a terrified mouse, his jaw quivering.

“I see there’s some whiskey there,” Leira said. “That’ll help.”

“Brilliant!” Ansoir said. He extracted the bottle from the ice bucket and took four healthy swallows. “Alright! Let’s go!”

Leira grimaced as Ansoir leapt out of the litter. It wasn’t terribly high up, but he had time to flail his arms before landing hard and crumpling.

To the little lord’s credit, he bounced right up. “Brock, you fucking idiot! Why didn’t you lower yourself?”

The Talus raised his boulder-arms in a big shrug. Ansoir did not seem aware enough to construe the gesture as disrespectful.

As Leira made to climb down, Brock raised his arm in a way that she could use it as a step, and then lowered her down to the ground.

“Thank you, Brock.”

“Take my arm,” Ansoir said. “It’s time I become Burgermeister.”

Leira clung to his arm, giddy with anticipation. She set her face to look as snide as she could.

Ansoir stumbled over the threshold but, unperturbed, pressed ahead.

“Father!” he barked.

Leira took in the throne room; it was a stark contrast from the bare marble walls outside.

The entire high-ceilinged cavern glittered like the night sky. Leira thought it must be obsidian, sprinkled with gemstones. Red tapestries hung from the walls, emblazoned with the Podexian crest—a chain coiled around a pickaxe.

She tried but failed not to gawk. There were no humans inside, save for the host of guards. She spotted the sheriff among that group, face obscured by the wide brim of his hat. His motorcycle stood beside him.

They sat at a table off to the side, drinking and playing cards. But the game was on hold as they all stared at Ansoir. Based on their eager expressions, Leira suspected they felt much the same as her.

Everyone—or thing?—else in the cavern was a moving statue. Dozens of Taluses. A few had utilitarian designs, like Brock. But most were humanoid—so realistic—just as incredible as the ones displayed in the amphitheater. Embedded in the chest of each was a blazing heart of Kaia. The statues all danced with each other in some sort of complicated routine.

In the center of the room was a dais of solid gold with stairs leading up to it. Sat on the throne was an amorphous pile of rubble.

But then Leira discerned the slumped features, the two cloudy eyes peering out of the mound-shaped head, and the slit mouth below.

Stondemaier? Fucking hell.

He was malformed like molten rock, but there was definitely a person under there. Flakes of stone covered his drooping body, like some sort of terrible petrification disease. He had a tattered toga wrapped around his body.

In the smaller seat beside the throne sat a statue of a woman, so perfectly sculpted that Leira would’ve sooner believed it was a human wearing body paint. She recognized her from the statue they’d seen outside the lift—Ophelia Jaqlov. Oh shit, that’s Ansoir’s mom! His father sure looked more like the sick one.

She’d been prepared for some weird shit, as one must always be when dealing with the filthy rich, but this exceeded her expectations.

Ansoir had gone unheard.

“Father!” he screeched.

Stondemaier raised a lump of an arm that was indistinguishable from the rest of his body. Bits of stone crumbled away as he moved. The handless limb looked like a burnt log, but the way it sagged reminded Leira of bread dough.

The music stopped. Leira turned to see that the players in the string quartet were Taluses.

Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.

Stondemaier’s voice sounded like grinding gravel. The words came slow. “Is that Brock I sense?”

Leira turned back to the door, saw the Talus heaving the plate aside so that he could fit through the gap. He rolled forward, bowed to the elder Jaqlov.

“I hope my son is treating you well,” Stondemaier said. “If he’s cruel, you tell me. I’ll punish him.”

Brock bowed again and then rolled over to stand near the other statues.

Laughter erupted from the table of guards. She looked over in time to see the sheriff spit right on the floor. Yeah, Leira thought. That man runs this place. Ansoir is too deluded to grasp the fact.

Leira gave Ansoir an encouraging squeeze of the arm. She could not believe he was drunk enough to attempt this.

He stepped forward.

“Father. I have come to discuss a most impoten– important matter.” He faltered and glanced at Leira. She smiled at him. “And I have a joyous announcement to make.”

Stondemaier’s laugh was like a pickaxe smashing rock to bits. “Disrespectful, boy. Greet your mother.”

The statue sat beside Stondemaier clasped her hands. The way she moved was so natural. Her too-human lips formed a pleasant but tight smile.

Ansoir straightened. “Good evening, Ophelia. I hope you’re enjoying the gala. Father, I believe-”

Another burst of laughter. The sheriff and his guards were howling, banging their fists on the table.

Leira bit at her lip. This was painfully awkward. Not much point in killing this useless sack of rubble. And she didn’t fancy her chances against the sheriff, not in this situation at least. Hallows were always full of tricks, and Nirva resisted her spores.

It was needless anyway; she had her ticket into the mines through Ansoir. There was nothing here worth toppling.

Not knowing what else to do, Leira squeezed Ansoir’s arm again. What a court of madness she’d stumbled into.

“Father,” Ansoir began again. “It’s high time I take on the mantle of Burgermeister. It is my birthright. Podexia will thrive under my leadership.”

Leira was not sure if Stondemaier was awake. A lip of gravel had fallen over his eyes, drooping down from his forehead. Her face grew hot—she’d never been so embarrassed.

“The floota– the future comes. If Chateau Podexia is to remain strong and wealthy, and in the good graces of the Leviathan, we must look to the future. I am the future.”

One guard made an impressively realistic bawking chicken sound. One of the others fell out of her chair.

Ansoir pressed on, the absolute madman.

“I will bring back the glory days of Podexia that I remember so fondly from my youth.”

No one said anything. Who does he even think he’s talking to? His mentally addled father? His mute statue of a mother—Leira didn’t even want to guess at what’d happened there. Surely not the cackling peanut gallery led by the openly vindictive Hallowed cowboy?

Through his drunken haze, Ansoir seemed to recognize that this was going poorly. And yet, he cleared his throat. “That leads me to my announcement. To show my preparedness for Burgermeistership, I intend to marry this fine woman who stands beside me. Lady Leira… Erm.” He turned to her and whispered behind his hand, “What’s your surname?”

Cheeks burning, Leira stared straight ahead. Fucking hell. She’d forgotten about that part.

A cluster of ropes appeared from nowhere and coiled around Ansoir’s afro. He swatted at them while his poofy hair was bound up so that it looked like salami in a meat net.

Ansoir screamed and fell to his knees, flopping like a fish on a line.

Swarm of ropes trailing from his hand, Sheriff Jackson climbed the stairs to stand in front of the throne, effortlessly wrangling poor Ansoir as he went.

Shit. If he gets himself killed, things get a lot worse for me.

Aghast, Leira looked past the sheriff to see Stondemaier, staring blankly, unmoving. The statue of Ophelia sat hunched over, her face buried in her stone hands.

Leira froze up like a panicked rodent. What the fuck is going on!

Ansoir curled into the fetal position and squeezed his eyes shut.

“Apologize to me, princess,” the sheriff growled. The ropes grew straight out of his palm. They loosened and tightened on their own, wrenching Ansoir around.

“Look me in the eye,” Sheriff Jackson said. The ropes unwound themselves from Ansoir’s afro and then snaked around his limbs. With a flick of the sheriff’s wrist, Ansoir was lifted onto his feet, suspended like a puppet.

Then, two thinner ropes shot out of Jackson’s other hand. One coiled around Ansoir’s face to raise his bowed head. The other untwined into tiny strands that crawled up Ansoir’s face to ensnare his eyelashes. His eyelids were forced open.

Damn, Leira thought. The sheriff had a good handle on his Invoke.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” Ansoir squealed. “I’m drunker than a beggar. Please forgive me!”

“Fuckin’ mosquito.” Jackson grinned, revealing golden teeth. He squirted brown spit through the gap in his front teeth. The wad landed on Ansoir’s afro.

The lordling whimpered.

The guards roared with laughter.

“Goddamn, kid,” Jackson said. “You are one baby-backed bitch. I’m not gonna kill ya. I won’t do that to your old man. Stony’s done me so much good, after all. ‘Sides, it’s funnier this way! You can’t pay for entertainment like this.”

“Father!” Ansoir shrieked.

The amorphous pile of rocks shifted. Cloudy eyes flickered open. “What happens?” Stondemaier said.

Jackson’s ropes vanished. “Go ahead, boy. Tell him,” he said with a drawl.

Ansoir’s legs were shaking. “N-nothing, father. I only wished to thank you for this lovely party.”

Stondemaier laughed, crumbling and broken. “Don’t thank me. Thank your mother.”

“T-thank you, Ophelia. Mother, I mean,” Ansoir said. “Thank you.”

Stondemaier looked at Ophelia, who still hid her face. His gash of a mouth gaped open, revealing bright, reddened tissue within. “What’s wrong, my love?”

Jackson conjured a rope and flicked it like a whip. “Cheer up, Lady Ophelia, or I’ll kill them both.”

Ophelia straightened up, took Stondemaier’s molting hand, and cradled it against her face.

“Go on, Ansoir,” Stondemaier said. “Enjoy the party! Lots of pretty ladies about, I suspect.”

Ansoir looked at the sheriff, eyes like a begging dog.

Jackson nodded. “Go. Try some bullshit like that again? I’ll dice you like a fuckin’ apple.”

Ansoir turned on his heel and sprinted away, fleeing the throne room.

After missing a beat due to her overwhelming relief, Leira ran after him.

Back in the tunnel, Leira saw no sign of that poor, sorry bastard. She didn’t fancy getting lost in this madhouse, so she wasn’t about to look too hard.

Dammit. I always overreach.

Behind her – a thunderous clattering. She dove out of the way.

Brock the Talus emerged from the throne room, tore past her, boulders spinning at full tilt. He raced off down the hall without sparing her a glance.

Stupid thing. Leira stood and brushed herself off. She’d hoped to learn more about Podexia, and she’d gotten way more than she bargained for. What an absolute horror show. That idiot and his mindless father were trapped under the sheriff’s boot.

Worst of all, she’d blundered her chance at getting escorted into the prison.

Leira trudged down the cave-like hall. She hoped the party was still going. She needed to do some drinking of her own and wash that foul taste out of her mouth.

It wasn’t over. She’d march right into the prison and raise as much hell as she could.

Something had to be driving the currents that had delivered her to Gwil. Finally, she’d found someone halfway decent. She’d killed him, for fuck’s sake, and even that hadn’t caused a problem.

And for that someone to be connected to Ashkana. An impossible coincidence. No, it could not end like this.

If it was required, she would unleash a Full Blooming. What other part could I play?

Leira laughed at herself. She was being dramatic. Panicking. She blamed it on the booze. It wouldn’t come to that. And if it did, so be it. Gwil would figure out how to bring her back—he already knew what she required to escape the rebirth flower. And they would keep drifting on.

As she neared the garage door that led outside, Leira heard that clattering sound again. She whipped around. Brock was rolling toward her.

“Damn, Brock. Sorry you’re stuck living in this hellhouse. See ya.”

She made for the door, but the Talus scooted past her and blocked the way. He rolled back and forth like a revving vehicle.

“You want me to follow you?” Leira asked.

Brock’s boulder head shifted in a nod, and he rolled up the tunnel, looking back at Leira as he went.

She caught up to him, running to match his pace.

“What are we doing?”

“Ah, dammit, you can’t talk.”

“So, how is it being a rock-person?”

Leira wanted to ask Brock how he’d feel about overthrowing his masters. He would be damned useful. But she couldn’t risk it. Who knew how the mind of a walking rock worked?

She wasn’t comfortable going this deep into the manor. Leira was about to turn around and high tail it, but Brock stopped next to an unadorned stretch of wall.

He gestured toward the ceiling and then knocked against the stone.

“Go away, Brock,” called a whimpering voice.

“What the hell?” Leira muttered, crouching to look up into a man-sized crack near the ceiling.

Brock gestured more frantically and then lowered his boulder fist so that she could step on it. “Ugh, alright.”

He lifted her up to the gap.

Leira stuck her head into the crevice and saw Ansoir laying facedown on the narrow shelf. She sighed. “Get out of there.”

“Brock, you idiot! How could you bring her here? I’m mortified.”

“Quit being a weird asshole for once in your life and get down!” Leira yelled. She jumped off of Brock’s hand. She’d give him five seconds…

The heir of Podexia stuck his head out. He looked like a doll that had been left outside through winter. His face was splotched red from crying, smeared with caked foundation. Black streaks of eyeliner trailed down his cheeks. The heavy dose of product in his hair caused it to retain the ridiculous shape that had been formed by Jackson’s ropes.

He looked like an insane and very down-on-his-luck clown.

Ansoir shimmied his way out and Brock helped him down.

“Lady Leira. I – I blame the alcohol,” Ansoir said. “It’s no excuse, I know. But I want to…” He gagged, then clenched his teeth. “Apologize.”

Leira was too bemused to speak.

Ansoir laughed in a courtly manner, attempting to feign some dignity. “I don’t apologize very often, you know, so…”

“You gotta buck up, man,” Leira said. “That’s a wild mess you’re in, but you’re only making it worse.”

Ansoir stuck out his jaw, perhaps in an attempt to make himself look less pitiful. “That cowboy bastard – I’ll murder him!”

“Yeah, yeah,” Leira said. She smiled. “You should get some sleep. We have our date tomorrow, yes?”

Ansoir’s face lit up. “Of course! Looking upon my slaves is just what I need. In the morning? Ten o’clock?”

“Ten o’clock,” Leira said. “In the main square.” She fluttered her fingers over her shoulder as she strode away.

Poor sap. She felt a little bad, but not too much.