With a grin and a wink, the intruder drew his… child-sized rapier.

Ari had to give it to him. The cross-guard was beautiful, forming a swirling globe of steel that looked like the trails of Jupiter’s moons.

Sir Beren laughed. ‘Are you really bringing a tiny rapier to a sword fight?’

He drew his own weapon: a double-edged knight’s sword that glinted under the light of the hearth. Wordlessly, Sir Dagon gripped his longsword with both hands and unsheathed it from its scabbard.

‘It’s not the size of your sword,’ said the man, nonchalantly, ‘it’s what you do with it.’

‘And what exactly can you do with that?’

‘Sir Beren! Is he a knight you know?’ Ari asked.

‘Never seen him before. Is he even a knight?’

‘Then please don’t take him lightly.’

Another world, another time…

Ari unwrapped the weapon. The Chief’s gaze lingered on her, a thousand times worse than the maggots that haunted the Cube.

Of all things, a machete.

‘Really?’ Max breathed, once upon a time, a time before his breaths became nothing but a byproduct of decay. ‘You can’t be asking her to bring a knife to a gunfight. You can’t! She’ll die.’

‘Will she now? I don’t remember asking for your opinion, Maximilion. Now then, Ari Lee, you know you have to do this, don’t you. You don’t have the talent to be a White, and we have enough Blues as it is. To be a Red, you’ve got to prove yourself.’

‘Thank you for the opportunity, sir.’

Because the thing about bringing a knife to a gun fight was: there were guns in other hands, and as long as you use the element of surprise to deactivate the hand, those guns were yours.

And also because the man’s choice of weapon didn’t make sense.

The sheer advantage of a rapier was its deadly reach. In unarmoured combat, like the one that was about to break out in Claribel’s solar, rapiers were hard to defeat; it’d take an extremely skilled longsword user to avoid the rapier’s piercing attacks to the sword hand and beyond.

To cripple the very thing that made the weapon superior had two possibilities: that the swordsman was hopelessly unskilled and unknowledgeable, or that the answer was the reaction that Sir Beren had freely given. It was a weaponisation of contempt, and in the moment when his opponents fell for making a mockery of his choice in his sword, he’d take them down with a hidden card up his sleeve.

A bollock knife hung from the intruder’s waist. It was a good complement to the rapier, which couldn’t cut in close-range combat. The man was no fool.

Ari shuddered.

Natty placed a steady hand on her shoulder and offered her a rondel dagger, plain yet sharpened to a needle point, along with a plain leather holster that she tied around Ari’s waist.

‘Just in case,’ she whispered. ‘Got it to defend myself, but you’d make better use of it.’

A piercer, not a slicer, and short-ranged at that. Its greatest advantage was to pierce the spaces between plate armour, and as luck would have it, there was none in the solar. She gave her dearest friend a curt nod. For now, she’d watch on. There were Agents keen to throw themselves into the fray, to take an early breath of blood-drenched air. They were often buried within the grounds of the Institute, graves unmarked.

Sir Beren parried the rapier with ease, and–

Slice.

The fog in her head cleared.

Here, surrounded by the song and dance of blades, by the smell of freshly-shed blood, she was fully Ari Lee.

The blood came from Sir Beren’s arm, where no blade had passed.

How?

~He’s a mage. A warrior mage who is not Hes. Somehow. Quick. My wind magic. My… Ugh.~

Wind.

The man smirked: a smug look that’d lead to his death.

This time, he thrusted his wind-extended rapier towards Sir Dagon, even as he ripped Sir Beren’s sword from his hand with a blast from his left palm.

No. No, she had to stop him. Stop him hurting Sir Dagon’s sword hand. The hand that was skilled enough to make silk threads bloom into feathers and waves.

Waves.

In. Out. In… Out… Calm. Calm…

‘Don’t rush in. Don’t lose yourself. That’s when you fail. That’s when you forget the mission and just…’

The rest of Connor’s words laid discarded, like Sir Dagon’s dagger, ripped from his belt by the man’s wind magic.

~If only I could–~

What had Claribel said about magic before, back when they were still sitting in the carriage, discussing Hesperus’s abilities? That magic required concentration. That Hesperus must have trained to filter out the noise from battle to use magic when wielding a sword or a spear.

Sir Dagon’s longsword fell with a clang, torn away by another swirl of wind.

The man lunged at Sir Dagon in the breath of chaos he’d caused. His rapier whooshed past the air between them.

Sir Dagon gritted his teeth and whipped out the sheath of his longsword, grabbing it in both hands.

Crack.

The wind etched a line down the centre of the sheath.

The intruder charged, lunging in his languid way, always leaning into his right foot, unblinking among the noise.

So he’d trained himself to be impervious to sound, like Hesperus.

‘If you want to distract someone properly,’ Connor Hart’s voice popped into her head, unbidden, as it so often did to offer bad advice, ‘you should either flash them or shit in your pants. It’s what I do.’

Sight. Well. She couldn’t exactly remove this dress in any haste to flash–

~Don’t you dare.~

Smell.

The Chief towered over her as she retched onto the lawn outside the Cube.

‘Funny, isn’t it, our aversion to death. To decay. You need to rise above it, Ari Lee. Rise above it and truly see.’

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Open your eyes. Open your eyes and truly see.

Every opponent could be taken down. You just need to observe them first, find out their weaknesses and their strengths. See. Truly see. Thanks to Sir Beren and Sir Dagon, she’d seen enough.

Gripping the leather ball she’d sewn, she lobbed it at the intruder. It landed just before his lunging foot, then…

Crackle.

His wind magic ripped it in two.

How convenient.

She followed it up with the second ball. Claribel’s arm was even weaker than she’d anticipated; it was a better throw this time, now that she’d recalibrated for her new body’s strength.

‘My lady, keen to join the fray, are we?’ the man said with a condescending laugh.

Then she lobbed the box that carried Malory’s remains in a high, arching path above the man’s head. He sliced it open with ease, unleashing a rain of decay all around himself. A fragment of charred ribcage landed near the chair.

===Task: Temporary resting place. Store Malory’s remains in the solar. [Complete]===

Ari dashed through the remains, leaving a smear as Claribel’s gown left a trail of Malory, tip-toeing past a charred tooth that had embedded itself into a lump of what might have once been the lungs. Skulls and ribcages were amazing, being able to shield the brain, heart and lungs from complete incineration even under Hesperus’s blue flames.

The man gagged, clawing at a gloop of brown gel that had landed on his cheek. In the heartbeat when his wind died down, Ari swept up Sir Dagon’s longsword and heaved it towards him with both hands, swinging at his waist – an amateur move, but against a high-[Dexterity] fighter like him, Claribel’s speed would stand no chance – and as he moved to protect his body, she threw it down at his favoured right foot.

‘Arghhh!’

[Dexterity]: down. Balance: off.

She stepped forth and pressed into his body space, too close for his rapier’s tip to stab her, and steered him back, one hand on the sleeve of his sword-arm, and another on the front of his cloak. A gentle dance, one step, two step. He was four hundred years too early to understand what was about to happen.

A little hook of Claribel’s left foot around the outside of his injured one was enough to topple a stronger opponent. And with a tug and a spin, he twisted under her gentle guidance.

De-ashi-barai.

Bam.

She’d have preferred kani-basami. Break a leg or two. Not sure it’d be possible in this gown though. Rather not injure Claribel’s body trying to throw him with the flying scissor either.

There he was, face up, feet sprawled away from her, ankles smashed into the chair he’d once sat in, uninvited.

Winded from the throw, he gasped for air.

It’d take him two blinks to refocus. She didn’t need two blink to grab the sliced-up leather ball and jam it into his still-open mouth.

Sputter. Cough.

His right hand reached up to yank out the shredded linen, which was a hand away from the back-up bollock knife.

One blink for Ari to shake out Natty’s dagger in one hand and grip the burned rib bone she’d spotted near the chair with the other, where she’d chosen to end their little dance.

Funny, how bones would pierce vital organs in traffic accidents. Fractured ribs pierced lungs easily enough: a strength turned fatal.

She brought it down on his eye.

Funny, how he squirmed away from it, not so agile now, just as she brought the dagger down on his sword arm with a double-attack…

On his sword arm with a…

A force yanked her back. She blinked, swallowing her rage.

The tendrils of Claribel’s hands tightened around hers.

~STOP!!!~

Yes, every opponent could be destroyed. You’d just need to cripple their strongest points, rob them of the things they hold most dear.

For the man who’d dared put her and Claribel in danger, if [Dexterity] was how he lived and died, then she’d maim him and splinter his knees.

Bonus if Sir Beren could stop gawping and pitch in.

He had enough sense to scramble to her side now, sword lowered towards the intruder.

~STOP! Look! He has a chain of office around his neck.~

She could strangle him with a chain–

~Don’t! He’s a Royal Coroner! Step back. Now!~

Ari blinked. Back… Back when she was fighting to protect Sir Dagon’s hand. Back when she was supposed to lay low, supposed to be Claribel.

She drew back the dagger, blinking the knights back into view.

There was something in her eyes that made them freeze. Fighting men like them knew danger when they smelt it. She’d been Becky for too long; that look had almost become a faded memory.

‘Yield! Yield!’ cried the intruder. ‘Here, let me take out my–’

‘Don’t move,’ said Sir Beren, pointing his sword at the man’s neck, even though he could not tear his gaze away from her.

‘Oh come now, good sir, look at the state of me. Do you think I can? I deeply regret coming here tonight, but come here I must, because… if you’d just let me take out my chain of office properly, you’d see.’

‘I…’ said Ari, and the words wouldn’t come.

‘You…’ came the Chief’s voice, silky and cold, ‘should know that killers are born, not made. Some children are born craving death, don’t you think? You, my child, you have a predator’s eyes.’

Back… Back… Leaving the satisfying squelch of a pierced eyeball behind, unfulfilled. In… Out. One. In… Out. Two…

She’d messed up again, swallowed by the now that ate her whole, making it impossible to see past or future. Swallowed by the sway of the moment.

If only Claribel had ended up with a White like Natty, a White who’d stay undercover, playing the perfect fool for months on end. Not with a Red like her, who’d get them killed, or a Blue like Hannah Temple. Hannah Temple… How long had she been able to keep up the act before someone…

~Stop. This is not the time. Just let me in. I will make everything good again. Trust me.~

Claribel’s spirit slipped into the seams of Ari’s being, propping her up like a puppet. She felt their body tumble to the ground, dry-heaving in front of a piece of Malory.

‘My lady…’

Sir Beren bent down beside her, offering a supporting arm.

Ari shrank from it even as Claribel pressed their body towards him, clutching onto the arm with a pitiful cry.

‘I… I don’t know what I would have done without you, dear sirs!’ Tears – real tears – streamed down their cheeks, but Claribel dabbed it away with a flourish of a well-concealed handkerchief. ‘Oh, I am in such a sorry state. I am afraid I lost my composure.’

‘You are not to blame,’ said Sir Beren, rubbing his other hand down her back, like a mother might do for a sickly child. It made her sick. ‘You on the other hand…’ He turned to the man, glaring. ‘You don’t deserve the title of “sir”. How dare you enter a lady’s abode, uninvited?’

The man still managed to muster a laugh. ‘They do say that you should only approach a woman from Aquilon if you are prepared to have all five limbs cut off. I am mistaken to have thought you half-Southern in blood.’

‘No, sir, you are not. I am half-Southern in blood, through the line of my father. Your mistake was to walk into anyone’s house uninvited. It makes it hard not to see you as an enemy of my household, therefore a fool, and not a witty one at that.’

‘Well, I–’

‘In case I have not made myself clear, I expect an explanation. I believe you are here by the King’s decree, but I don’t believe that His Majesty would ask you to scale my walls, Sir Edwin.’

‘I… I don’t believe I have introduced myself, my lady?’

Claribel drew their body to their full height, freeing them from Sir Beren’s support.

‘There are not many Royal Coroners of the same age as my brother, sir. Your name had come to my attention before, although I did not know you were also a fellow wind mage. I was also unaware that you’d be all skill, no manners.’

Sir Edwin attempted to heave himself upright. ‘My lady, do you also know why I am here today?’

‘To make a mess of my solar?’

With a sigh, he hobbled over to a satchel he’d left behind Claribel’s chair.

‘Why don’t you take a look at this.’ He tugged at a red, satin bow and unrolled a thick, creamy parchment.

‘What is it?’

‘A contract,’ he said, ‘of marriage.’

Natty’s eyes went wide. ‘A real-life contract marriage?’

‘Look, I’m currently seeing Sir Aurelius,’ said Ari; the name rolled naturally from her memories, and she hoped that she hadn’t inadvertently started a scandal by remembering the wrong knight’s name, ‘and we’re as happy as can be. It’d take a miracle for me to agree to a contract marriage with you.’

The man’s brows furrowed. ‘Do you really not know?’

‘That you are overstaying your welcome?’

‘I wanted to pay you a surprise visit because chief benefactors are often a good starting point when investigating a death. You are the chief benefactor, because this is a contract marriage between yourself and the deceased.’ Scanning the scroll, he read, ‘On consummation only before two witnesses, allowing you full benefits of being his wife, with the permission to live for five years in Eirene, fulfilling your duties as Warden of the Guild of Mages. Dowry waived. Marriage of love. Ceremony delayed until your five years are up. Then you’ve agreed to move to Taur and take up your duchess duties. Til death do you part.

‘So,’ he paused, ‘how should I address you, my lady? Are you truly Lady Claribel? Or should I call you Your Grace?’

~I…am so confused.~

~I most certainly did not! Consummation too? What in the Fated One’s name…?!~

‘This is a seal from your signet ring, is it not?’ he waved the parchment at her, ‘and your signum manus too.’

The seal at the bottom certainly had a raven bearing a mage’s compass, but Ari could have forged it with a carved potato. Next to the seal was a thinly-curved diamond shape with a diagonal crisscross in the middle, inked in blue, and in each corner of the diamond lay a flourish of letters. North had an ‘A’ and an ‘R’, while east was a squiggle followed by a ‘B’. South was an ‘E’ connected by an angled line, and… Claribel. The letters spelt out Claribel.

‘…Yes… But…how? It is certainly my signum manus. Not many will know what it looks like, yet it must be a fraud. I never agreed to this. This is not… This cannot…’

‘We have the seals of two witnesses to accompany your own. Here,’ he said, drawing out a second scroll. ‘One, stamped by Zarto, Master Musician.’

‘Oh him. He’d do anything for money.’

‘The other, stamped and accompanied by a signum manus, from Her Majesty, the Queen.’