Two of the castle guards stood at attention outside the door to the rooms where Wren had been placed. “Master Grenfell hasn’t arrived yet, m’lady,” one of the men told her. “I’m told Mistress Trafford gave her a dose last night, but she hasn’t come since.”

Liv nodded, opened the door, and slipped inside the sitting room. The hearth was cold, and the door to the bed-chamber ajar. When she entered, she found a convenient chair next to the bed, and presumed it had been placed there for either Master Grenfell or Mistress Trafford to use. For a moment, she tried to picture exactly how the chirurgeon would have been getting new doses of a sleeping medicine down the throat of an unconscious woman, and then decided she would rather not dwell on it.

The guards must have let the woman get undressed before lying down, because her hunting leathers were neatly folded, cleaned, and set to one side. Liv noticed a pile of nursing supplies. Of course, someone would have had to clean her over the past few days. The chirurgeon must have been getting broth into her, as well, so that she didn’t begin to starve. Liv tucked her skirts beneath her, sat down in the chair at the side of the bed, and waited.

Perhaps half a bell later, Master Grenfell arrived. “You’re up early this morning,” he commented, when he saw Liv.

“I wanted there to be at least one face she was familiar with,” Liv said.

Grenfell grunted, approached the bed, and placed a hand on the huntress’ forehead. “Cedet Ceia,” he murmured, and then lifted his hand. “She should wake shortly.” He glanced down at the wand Liv wore on her hip. “Good that you are here, perhaps. In case she needs to be restrained.”

“I don’t think that will be a problem,” Liv said. “In fact, why don't you step out, Master Grenfell. If it was me, I’d want a moment to dress myself without a man in the room. And I thought I would take her down to the baths, to clean herself up.”

Grenfell considered that. “I will instruct the guards at the door to follow you both down to the baths,” he decided. “And I will send word to your mother to have some food brought up to these rooms for the two of you. Kindness is not a fault, my dear, but be certain your trust is not misplaced.” Without another word, Liv’s old teacher departed.

It was perhaps another half bell before Wren’s eyes fluttered open. Liv could tell the instant the older woman realized where she was, because she shot upright and backed into her pillows, clutching the blankets to her chest.

“There’s no one else in the room,” Liv told her. She tried to keep her voice calm and even, using the same tone she took with Steria when the mare was upset. “Your clothes have been cleaned, and they’re ready for you. Once you’ve dressed, I thought you might want to come down to the baths and get cleaned up.”

“I – I would like that, yes,” Wren said. “How long has it been?”

“This is the morning of the third day since we returned to Whitehill,” Liv told her.

“That explains how hungry I feel.” Wren threw the blankets aside and rolled out of the bed, walked across the carpets, and began to pull her leathers on, piece by piece.

“There’ll be food brought up from the kitchen waiting for us once you’re clean,” Liv said.

“You’re my jailer, then?” Wren asked.

Liv shook her head. “There’s two armed guards outside the door, and they’ll come down to the baths with us. But I thought it would be good for you to wake up to someone you knew, even a little.”

“Thank you for that,” Wren said.

It was peculiar, to march the woman through the halls and stairways of Castle Whitehill, two guards following them the entire way. On any other morning, with Triss or even Duchess Julianne, Liv would have slipped into the baths as well, and enjoyed a bit of quiet conversation as the heat soothed her muscles. Instead, she stood on the stone above the pool, her hand never far from her wand.

“You look like you’re ready to kill me,” Wren commented, as she washed out her hair.

Liv thought about it before she answered. “I feel responsible,” she admitted. “I spoke for you, and if you tried to get away now, or trinity forbid hurt someone, it would be my fault.”

“I won’t,” Wren said. “I’ve hurt enough people already.”

Liv missed the arrival of the Crosbie party; by the time they reached the castle, she’d escorted Wren back up to the rooms she’d occupied for the past few days. Master Grenfell must have let Gretta and Liv’s mother know that she’d be eating with the prisoner, because the trenchers that had been placed in the sitting room were filled with entirely different foods.

“Mana-beast?” Wren asked, digging into her own food as if she was starving. A few days wasn’t enough time for someone to die without food, but Liv imagined that wasn’t how it felt.

“Someone must have raided a nest of quail eggs just inside the shoals,” Liv observed. They’d been scrambled into a fluffy, white mass and then topped with shredded cheese. There were venison sausages, as well, and fresh baked bread for them both. Wren had a plate of spiced and chopped potatoes, as well as bacon; a pot of tea and a pitcher of ale had been provided for them to share. “Can you eat mana-rich food?” she asked, out of curiosity.

Wren shook her head, her mouth full, and then chewed and swallowed before responding in more detail. “The blood, I could, but nothing else,” she said. “It would make me sick. But we can drink blood from just about anything.”

“It may be a while before they call for us,” Liv told her. “The plan was for you to speak in the great hall after the midday meal. That’s a good bit of time to fill.”

“Were you planning to stay the whole while?” Wren asked.

“I was,” Liv confirmed. “I wondered if you might like to talk about Varuna. I’ve heard stories, of course, but I’ve never actually been.”

“There’s two Varunas,” Wren explained, in between bites. “There’s Calder’s landing, which is like a boil of Lucania growing on the ass of the jungle. And then there’s the real Varuna, away from the coast and the ships.” She sighed. “I guess I haven’t got anything better to do. What do you want to know?”

☙

By the time the guards knocked on the sitting room door, to let Liv know they were wanted downstairs, she’d heard about where to get the best meal in Calder’s Landing – The Sign of the Dancing Lady, according to Wren – why there was a purple streak in the huntress’ hair, that you couldn’t go into the badlands past the jungle without attracting the attention of a wyrm, and that there were water-filled caverns scattered all through the jungle.

“But you say they weren’t always there?” Liv asked, as they descended the stairs.

“According to the stories, only after your trinity dropped a star on Godsgrave,” Wren answered. “I wasn’t there to see it, of course, but they say the impact buckled the earth for miles and miles in every direction, and threw so much dust up into the sky that you couldn’t see the sun for days. Old caves collapsed, new ones opened. Even the coast is different, now.”

If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

“I want to see it, one day,” Liv decided. She thought back to her vision at the edge of the Bald Peak rift, and the endless expanse of green forest leading to jagged mountain peaks.

Another two guards waited at the doors to the great hall. “They’re ready for you, m’lady,” the older of the men told Liv.

“Thank you,” she said, and led Wren into the hall. At the high table, Duchess Julianne waited with Baron Henry and Master Grenfell, but not Mistress Trafford. Instead, not only Matthew and Triss, but also Arnold Crosbie, who Liv hadn’t seen in six years, sat with them. The Baron of Valegard had aged since last Liv had seen him: his short gray hair was thinner, and though his doublet made an effort to hide it, he’d lost a bit of muscle. The new sheriff occupied one seat, though the man didn’t seem inclined to speak. Finally, Liv’s father sat to one side with the air of a gyrfalcon about to stoop down and seize its prey.

“Thank you for bringing her, Liv,” Julianne said, rising from her seat. “Master Grenfell will be keeping our records today. For that purpose, would the prisoner please state her full name?”

“Wren Wind Dancer, daughter of Nighthawk, of the Red Shield Tribe,” Wren said. Somehow, she managed to stand straight and show not the slightest bit of fear or anxiety, and Liv envied her for it. “My people call themselves the Children of Ractia, but I’m told you know us as the Great Bats.”

Arnold Crosbie frowned, and took a long pull from his mug of ale. “I’ve only just arrived,” he said. “I understand that you came here of your own free will, Mistress Wind Dancer?” Julianne, in the meanwhile, had resumed her seat.

“From Soltheris,” Wren confirmed. “I flew south looking for Liv, here. She was the only one I knew at all, on this continent.”

“Soltheris, where you fought and killed innocent people,” Valtteri broke in. “In the service of the Cult of Ractia.”

“I –” Wren looked down at the floor of the hall. “I went to Soltheris.”

“And you have already admitted to stealing from this very castle,” Baron Henry said. “Some twenty-four years ago. By your own word, then, you are a thief and a murderer. It is well within the duchess’ rights to hang you and have done with it.”

“I don’t think it's theft to take back something that was stolen from your people in turn,” Wren said. “But I regret taking the statue all the same, because of what was done with it.”

“And what,” Master Grenfell asked, “was done with it? Precisely?”

Liv realized that she’d put herself in a position where she wouldn’t have a chair, standing next to Wren before the high table. She was certain that she could take a place up there, and no one would stop her: but that would also be saying something, wouldn’t it?

“The statue wasn’t important,” Wren explained. “The blood inside was. A vial of the goddess’ blood, preserved since before her death at Godsgrave.”

Glances were exchanged at the high table, but it was Liv’s father who finally spoke. “What was done with the blood, Wren?”

“My father and the blood-letters took it down into the rift, at the Shrine of the Great Mother,” Wren said. “Our ancestors, you see - they took her body from Godsgrave, and brought it north. Buried it in a tomb at the bottom of the rift. It took us years to fight our way down, and then longer to wait for an eruption.”

“What did they do?” Master Grenfell asked, leaning forward.

“I can’t tell you everything the blood-letters did,” Wren confessed, “because I don’t know. I mostly helped clear the mana-beasts, so we could keep the way open. My father was down there with them, when the eruption came, but he – he wasn’t the same, afterward.”

“After what?” Baron Crosbie demanded.

“After the Goddess returned,” Wren told them.

“Impossible,” Crosbie said. “Dead is dead, even for gods. Tamiris slew Ractia, along with Asuris and Iravata, when he smote them from the sky itself.”

“It isn’t impossible,” Liv broke in. “I’ve seen it.”

“What do you mean, you’ve seen it?” Crosbie asked.

Liv looked to her father; when she caught his eye, he nodded. “In a vision,” she said. “My father took me to the edge of the rift, and – it’s an Elden coming of age ritual. I saw a few things, but - the last was far over the water. I saw green forests that seemed to go on forever, and birds in half a hundred colors, and then a smoking mountain. I saw you there,” she said, turning to Wren. “With the purple in your hair, and there was another woman, on a carved throne.”

“What did she look like?” Wren asked.

“Dark hair,” Liv described, thinking back. “Her face wasn’t quite right. Neither human, nor Eld, but something else. I can’t describe it - something about the eyes, maybe? She wore a red dress, and she was, umm,” Liv motioned to her hips and chest, “generously proportioned. She could see me.”

“That,” Liv’s father spoke up, “should not have been possible. But continue, please, Livara.”

“It was like a pressure,” Liv said. “Like someone was lying on top of me, and pressing me down. She asked me who taught me to do what I was doing, and she was speaking in Vædic. Very good Vædic, like someone who’d studied it their entire life, maybe. And then it was gone.”

“How long ago was this?” Baron Crosbie demanded.

“Not long after we came back from Freeport,” Liv said.

“And you never thought to share this with the council?” Arnold said, turning now on Liv’s father. “By the Trinity, man!”

“Our people had already attempted to convince your council and king of the threat, to little effect,” Valtteri said. “I told my own father and mother, and left it to them to decide what to do.”

“That sounds like her,” Wren interrupted. “That weight that comes on you, I’ve felt that too. When she first rose, and then whenever anyone makes her angry. It gets so bad you can’t even stand, and you can hardly breathe.”

“Why did she attack Soltheris?” Liv’s father asked.

“She said it was to evacuate all her worshippers in the north,” Wren said. “She connected the two waystones.”

“You mean she activated one and then the other,” Grenfell said.

Wren shook her head. “No. She connected them, so that anyone stepping on one would be sent to the other, and she kept the connection open for the whole time I was there. She used mana from the ring to do it, and that’s why there were so many eruptions. She said eruptions across the north would be a good distraction. But you’ve got to understand, everything she does, it’s for more than one reason, or it accomplishes more than one thing. And she doesn’t share unless you need to know. So it could have all been a distraction for something else, as well.”

“But you don’t know what,” Valtteri guessed. Wren shook her head.

“It seems clear we’re now dealing with an enemy force,” Baron Crosbie said. “I don’t see why we should do anything but execute this prisoner. After learning what we can from her, of course.”

“Wren came to help us at the rift,” Liv objected. “She helped save your daughter’s life.”

“That’s true,” Triss said, speaking up for the first time. “I’d taken a pretty good knock on my head, and I don’t know that I could have gotten Matthew out by myself.”

“And I might never have found them without Wren,” Liv said.

“Doing a good thing does not erase a bad thing,” Liv’s father said. “How many people did you kill at Soltheris, Wren Wind Dancer?”

“None.” Wren said. “I was up on a roof, and I had an arrow nocked, but – I just couldn’t. So I flew away.”

“And what did you think would happen, when you came here?” Duchess Julianne asked.

“I hoped that someone would listen to me,” Wren said. “About what I’ve seen, and what’s happening in Varuna. I don’t think she’s going to stop. She’s got people from all over - Lucania, but there’s an Eld from the north among her captains, too, and even one from the east. And she woke one of Antris’ machines. You don’t need all that if you don’t plan on fighting someone. I can tell you a lot. Not everything, but a lot. And maybe someone can stop her, before she gets my entire family killed.”

Julianne drummed her fingers against the table. “We need to know everything she can tell us, are we agreed on that?”

“Aye,” Arnold Crosbie said, after a moment. Baron Henry nodded, along with Master Grenfell. Finally, Liv’s father inclined his head, as well.

“For theft, I sentence Wren Wind Dancer to the loss of her right hand,” Julianne said, and Liv could see the woman tremble out of the corner of her eye. “But. I am willing to suspend the sentence, under the following condition. You will swear fealty to this house. So long as you keep your oath, the sentence will be held in abeyance. You will begin your service by sharing with Master Grenfell everything that you know about the Cult of Ractia. He will take extensive notes, and I expect the process to last for days.”

“And what about the attack on Soltheris?” Valtteri asked.

Julianne shrugged. “I have no authority in the lands of the Eld. I leave that decision to your people. Should she ever cross the mountains, she will be subject to your laws. Will I have your oath, Wren? I assure you that I will use you against this risen goddess.”

“That’s what I expected,” Wren said. “Someone will have to tell me the words. It isn’t something we do in the jungle.”

“Approach the high table,” Henry said, “and kneel.” Julianne rose, and stepped around the table, extending her hand so that Wren could take it. “Repeat after me…”