"Thank the ever-wandering gods you are un-killed!" Fallon said as the stilt-legged, gray-skinned, insect-lizard he rode dropped to its knees to let him off.

"No thanks to you."

Fallon ignored the comment, grabbing her shoulders to examine her. He fussed over the shallow cuts on her arms, tutting. Bronze-armored warriors armed like Spartans and liveried in pale-green-trimmed white swung from their tall mounts to swarm the alley.

She bent over Toothy to retrieve his crude rope belt and leather knife sheath, looking at Fallon accusingly as she did so. "I'm carrying this. If you want to take it from me you'll have to take it the sharp way."

"You simply cannot carry that." Fallon reached to take the knife.

She yanked it from his reach. "I'm not going anywhere without a weapon again."

"Have you any idea how gauche it is for a Dynast to wield a menial weapon?" Only Fallon could be shocked by indecorousness amid sprawled corpses.

"I couldn't give less of a shit right now if I tried. Did you even notice that Feral, White Spiral, and the Valeer are dead?"

He shook his head and tutted again. "Shame that. Ferals can be challenging to acquire given the demand lately but they are nothing to the loss of the Valeer. We will be hard pressed to replace him."

At his seemingly genuine sorrow, she rose and touched his arm. "I feel bad about him too. At least the Ferals knew what they were in for, but he was such an innocent. Childlike."

Fallon nodded. "Few slavants in The Book come as rare and expensive as Valeers. Acquiring another will bear no mean difficulty and cost."

Aida recoiled.

"Difficulty and cost? He was a person, Fallon." She thrust a finger towards White Spiral's body. "Does their death, their sacrifice mean anything at all to you?"

He crossed his arms, his return look all cold contempt. "So in the verse you come from everyone is precisely equal?"

"No, of course not, but we-"

"That ancient from your prison who wanted you hung, you'd be sad if he died?"

"Frank? Look, dying of old age is different from getting knifed in-"

"They were barely people to begin with." Fallon spat in a most un-Fallon like way. "Menials, slaves, and criminals at best before we re-purpose them. The damned and slavants should be grateful we gift them function and meaning, yet so many remain unruly and uncooperative. At least we can sell these bodies while they are still fresh. I passed a surgon not far back and recouping at least-"

"Sell their bodies?" she said, incredulous.

"Better than leaving them for some opportunistic Wretch or menial to steal away and sell to the Crowmen for a pittance."

"We're not selling them, even the ones who attacked us. That's final."

"Final? Do you have any idea how much Ferals cost, much less Valeers? Bodies this fresh could be worth-"

"Final." She turned her back. She'd known him long enough now to sense when the springs and gears inside him neared maximal crank so she walked away before he could launch into a tirade.

She sought out the detachment "Spartan" commander among the warriors standing armed and alert about them or policing the onlookers clumping at the alley mouth. Lacking a clear officer-type to focus on, she settled for a young dark-skinned woman sitting astride one of the tall mounts. Clothed in wispy white silk serving to tantalize more than conceal, the woman's straight back and imperious gaze told Aida all she needed to know.

Aida stood a safe distance away from the woman's mount, her ignorance of the beast's temperament encouraging wariness. "Can we collect my fallen companions and get out of here? I could use a meal, a bath, a change of clothes, and an hour without Fallon. In no particular order."

The woman cocked her head and smiled faintly, clearly not comprehending. Aida sighed and turned to find Fallon standing behind her, arms crossed.

"Pardon me, Dynast. I could leave you two alone for an hour if you desire a long, meaningful discussion."

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Ghillie jogged from the alley and stopped not far from Fallon. Her head swiveled slowly as she took in everything around them, hand tucked into her suit. Aida suddenly felt unsafe standing in the open, soldiers or no. She grabbed the new knife’s hilt for reassurance.

Fallon sighed and looked reproachfully at the crude weapon. "Shall I relay your desires so we can get to our meeting with Ocyl?"

"Strings first."

"He is renowned to be a impatient and capricious Dynast. He may take insult if we do not attend with haste to-"

"Strings. Now. If they give me even a tiny scrap of freedom from you and help me know what's going on around me for once, I need them before I meet the ruler of an entire goddamn universe."

She winced. She'd never liked swearing and hearing herself do so pushed deeper the realization of her instability. Not that she didn't have a hundred goddamned reasons to be ungrounded at the moment.

"Your will be done, Dynast." Fallon said, armored in formality. He bowed absurdly deep, palms pressed to his eyes before he swung his arms outwards. "They have offered the royal strider there with the carriage hanging beneath for our conveyance."

She turned to see a beast similar in shape to the slender-limbed, fast-looking striders around them, but this one stood much, much larger. Heavier too, thicker-limbed, longer-necked, and more plodding. While the soldiers came two-or-three per long saddle on the smaller striders' backs, the new beast stepping over the crowds towards them bore a cross between a palanquin and a carriage slung beneath it. White paint accented with green colored the carriage, chased with brass railings. An elaborate gold-stitched harness secured the it to the strider's underside.

A freckled, red-haired woman clothed in flowing green silks rode just behind the creature's neck. She whipped a long, flexible pole about. At her ungentle ministrations, the beast groaned and lowered laboriously to its knees like an overly-long-limbed camel. The carriage still dangled a meter or so off the ground with the creature kneeling, a pasty boy in green silks scrambling from the brass railings to open the door. How it fell open made Aida think of a private jet, the door's inner face even set with narrow stairs.

As Fallon translated her wishes, Aida marched to the carriage with Ghillie close behind. Hecklers catcalled from the crowed and she flipped them off without thinking, hoping to convey via body language what might be missed in direct meaning.

The carriage-boy genuflected before her. When she rolled her eyes and hefted him to his feet, he gaped at her in shock.

"Can't anyone in this stupid place just... pah!" She climbed in to the richly-upholstered and heavily-cushioned carriage. Faint green light spilled from a insets covered by rice paper. Dim, intimate light lit the padded white bench running along the three sides of the carriage not hosting a door. Beside the door hung a fine silver-wire basket bearing a collection of faceted crystal decanters. Aida prayed for alcohol. Shotglass-sized crystal cups nestled in smaller baskets around them.

Fallon began to climb in, but Aida rose, bumping her head against the low roof as she pushed him back. "No. You walk."

Flushing to his roots in spite of his dark complexion, Fallon gritted his teeth. "With all due humility, Dynast, might I suggest-"

"No, you may not." She sat back down and straightened her back, striving for the haughty regality the woman-in-white outside wore like a garment.

"Dynast, I do not think you realize what it would look like-"

"As always, you're right, Fallon! Being an ignorant barbarian I don't understand anything I'm doing. Tell him to close the door."

She knew a stuck-up bitch when she acted like one, but she didn't care.

"Aida, please." Tears welled in his eyes. She couldn't remember the last time she'd heard him use her name. She wavered as she realized he was begging.

Vivid images came to her: the Valeer's head laying in her lap, eyes unseeing. White Spiral dying for her. Feral lying dead with Ghillie's needle jutting from her chest. Fallon's casual disregard for all of them. Fire returned to her belly. Her body clenched from jaw to fists to feet.

"There wouldn't have been enough room for all of us in here. Where would the Valeer have ridden?"

"One of the Ferals could have escorted him to our destination. Or we could have hired another royal strider to carry them."

"Well, there you go," she said, primly. "If those sorts can get there another way, I'm sure your sort can figure it out too."

She knelt on the carpeted floor to grab the rope handle affixed between the stairs. The boy rushed to take over, eyes wide.

"Please." Fallon raised his hand to stop the door. She pried his fingers free. "Aida, don't make me-"

The door closed. Latched.

Aida poured a drink and leaned back, half-expecting it to bubble, glow, steam, or turn blue in the glass. Apparently alcohol was alcohol whatever the verse. It burned its way down her throat with a pleasant heat. The carriage swayed into motion and she was alone for the first time since this whole thing started.

Her mind turned to Fallon. He hated her already for some reason, so what was the difference?

In spite of the guilty pleasure she felt humbling him, she knew the answer. And didn't care. He'd dragged her around and talked at her like an idiot child long enough. If he wanted to pout at not being allowed on the big boy ride, fine. Maybe it would make him realize how he made everyone else feel.

Trembling and barely able to breathe, she noticed the compressed tension locked in her muscles. She'd endured hardship and abuse of all varieties before. Death was no stranger either. She'd held hands with two husbands and a child as they died for Christ's sake. Just never before in her life had violence and loss come so closely twined.

Though Feral's murderous ferocity had started it, she couldn't help but feel responsible. They'd made her royalty and first thing she accomplished was getting half her followers killed while the other half hated her more than ever. Some ruler.

"Once a screw-up, always a screw-up," she mumbled.

She was either going to burst into tears, rip the upholstery apart, or drink.

So she drank.

The strong, vaguely-nutty liquid worked its magic, numbing away the conflict, confusion, anger, grief, frustration, and fear. Catharsis could wait.

She was on her way to meet the ruler of a goddamned universe and had to get her shit together.