“Will anything I say dissuade you?” Glade asked. “Or will you go with or without me?”

“Whether you come or not is all up to you,” Vayra said. She glanced over her shoulder to make sure no one was eavesdropping, then added, “But I’m going to Muspellar. It’ll be safest if I keep moving, and I’ll be better equipped to protect myself once I get stronger.” She bit her lip. She’d be better equipped to put an end to this war, too.

For a moment, Glade paused, his eyes narrow. Finally, he said softly, “I will come.” As soon as he finished, he sighed.

Vayra gulped, and for a moment, her stomach dropped. “Wait, but what about your training?”

“That was not a concern of yours before you asked me to join you?”

“Well…I didn’t think about…” She trailed off.

‘You don’t often think about things,’ Phasoné commented.

“Regardless, I will come up with an excuse,” said Glade. “I will tell them I followed you, in the interest of keeping you safe. You would not listen to reason—which I am sure is quite accurate.”

She chuckled softly, then said, “Perhaps throwing myself into danger will help me overcome this, anyways. Or I might have a realization. That always worked before—I didn’t learn the Starlight Palm while sitting around a campfire.”

“That does not mean I will be complacent with everything…” Glade warned.

“I fully expect you to disagree with me. I…I kinda need you to keep me in line, I think. Stream knows, Phasoné isn’t good at it…”

‘Hey!’

“Then I will come with you,” Glade said.

“That works, I guess…” Vayra stepped back, then put her hands on her hips. “I’m going to head back to my apartment and get ready. I’ll meet you there—assuming you’re looking to gather a few things of your own?” She thought, How’s that for thinking about others, Phasoné?

‘Getting better,’ the Goddess replied.

They parted ways. Vayra ran down to the plaza outside the Temple, then walked across it as fast as she could. A pair of Order adepts followed her, their hands on their swords, and she didn’t mind the extra protection while in the city. But she would have to lose them eventually.

She boarded a carriage at the edge of the plaza, along with the adepts, and they travelled back to her apartment. It was a long ride in evening traffic, and Vayra glanced around as the carriage rumbled along, wary of someone sneaking up on her.

No one did. She arrived safely at the tower and took the staircase up to her floor, then walked down the hall to her room. She entered. The two adepts waited outside.

The inside of the apartment had mostly been repaired. There wasn’t much to fix on the inside, but the windows had been replaced, save for a crack near the edge where the glass didn’t fit perfectly, letting in a gust of warm summer air. It wasn’t enough to cause her discomfort—there wasn’t much heat that could do that to a phoenix—but it was noticeable. It would be warmer on Muspellar; she had better get used to it.

First, she organized her haversack. She still had the two vials of Namola elixir that Mr. Spawlding had prepared for her, in case she got nicked by iron and needed a quick fix. In her apartment, a shipment of other elixirs prepared by the Order awaited her. She plucked up a few vials of green liquid that shimmered in the city lights—a mixture of distilled herbs and stimulants that, when cycled, would help her body heal. Beside them, she found another turquoise vial—for improved concentration.

The last of the elixirs was a single orange vial. Its contents truly glowed, like fire mixed with honey, and when she swirled it, she could practically feel the mana rolling off it. “Any idea what this one does, Phasoné?”

‘What you might think,’ the Goddess told her. ‘It’s straight mana, if you ever need a boost.’

A black, velvet-lined box had been used to store the elixirs. She nestled them all back in, including the Namola elixir, then snapped it shut. It fit nicely inside her haversack. “At this rate, we’re going to need a backpack.”

‘Or you could leave some of it with me, in the white void,’ Phasoné said.

“And not be able to grab it quickly when I need it?”

‘When you get more powerful, you’ll be able to call it at a whim…’

“Keep giving me things to hope for.” Vayra let a smile slip onto her face. “But we shouldn’t need a full pack, yet.”

She turned back to the counter. A second black velvet box waited for her. She flipped it open, revealing three small, white pills.

‘And that there is probably the entire quarterly bankroll of the northern star systems,’ Phasoné said.

“What are they?”

‘Silver-Rain Circulation pills,’ Phasoné said. ‘Take one of these, and you’ll double the rate that your mana converts to Arcara for a few weeks. Helpful if you plan on cycling a lot.’

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It wouldn’t be useful at the moment—converting more mana was the last thing she needed—but she could recognize the benefit. She closed the case, then tucked it into her haversack with the others.

Finally, she added the Godscourge book, a few bandages, and a few pouches of rations. Dried fruit, nuts, some smoked meat, and a few pucks of hardtack. “That should be everything.”

As soon as her sack was sorted out, she tightened her bracers, and took a clean white nightgown out of the closet, put it on, and tucked it into her short breaches. It might not have been proper fashion, but it was comfortable, and easy enough to fight in when tucked in.

“Ready?” she asked Phasoné. “We’ll have to make a break for the port, once Glade—”

On cue, she heard a knock at the door. Carefully, she approached, arms up, until she heard one of the adepts call, “Miss? You have a guest—Mr. Charl, a disciple who you might know.”

“Let him in, please!” she called back, then pulled the door open.

Glade stepped into the room, then shut the door behind him. He had a clean black coat on, and his cravat was tidy. His sword hung at his hip, its pommel polished and its grip was clean. He carried a satchel as well. “You are ready?”

“I’m good to go,” she told him, keeping her voice soft so the adepts wouldn’t hear her.

“We are taking the Harmony, correct?”

“I’m sure Pels will be happy to go sailing again.”

He nodded, then tilted his head towards the door. “We might have to wait for the crew. And if we have to wait, there is a good chance someone will catch up.”

“That’s why we have to leave here without anyone noticing.”

“They will be very concerned about you, Vayra,” Glade said. “They will think someone succeeded in capturing you, and they will send people to look.”

He was right. She turned to the apartment’s counter, then sifted through the drawers. She thought she had seen a well of ink and a quill in one of them a few nights ago.

After a few seconds of rummaging, she found the inkwell and the quill. In the drawer beside it, a few sheets of parchment. She ripped a corner off one of the sheets, then, in her signature messy handwriting, scrawled a note.

Gone for a little. Looking for Nathariel Hayden Layre. Will come back soon.

-Vayra

“Hopefully that does it,” she said. Glade pinned it to the counter with one of the kitchen knives, then nodded.

But now came the hard part—she had to execute the plan.

‘A distraction?’ Phasoné suggested.

And when the guards realized that Vayra went missing after they were distracted? They’d suspect something immediately, and there would be chaos. The plan would fall apart.

Vayra looked back at the windows. They could break the windows, but it would be loud. They’d have the exact same problem.

‘The ventilation ducts,’ Phasoné said. ‘They’ll take you back to the stairwell, and the guards won’t see you.’

Vayra glanced around the apartment, until, on one of the inside walls, she spotted it. She pushed a chair over to the wall, then pulled the wooden lattice off and climbed up into it.

It was a small chamber, and she could barely fit through it while crawling. Once she was past the grate, the main structure of the duct was made of stone, and at least it seemed relatively sturdy. A strong breeze filtered into it through exterior grates, whipping her hair into a tornado around her face.

Glade followed close behind, his hands and boots thumping on the stone.

The duct turned a corner, and Vayra followed the bend. They passed a few other branches that led to other empty apartments, but she kept following it to the end. They crossed overtop a hallway—she could see down into it through a grate. Another Order adept walked along the hallway below, and Vayra froze for a moment. The adept kept moving. As soon as the woman was out of sight, Vayra continued on down the duct.

After another corner, they arrived above a staircase. She could see the ornate wooden banister and the marble steps a few yards below.

She pushed on the edges of the duct frame, nudging it forward until it slipped off its mount and fell forwards. She lunged, grabbing hold of it before it fell and made a loud crash.

Her legs slipped, and she landed hard on her chest, knocking the air out of her lungs. Her legs had nothing to grip, and she began to slip. She let out a soft yelp, but before she fell head-first onto the stairs, Glade caught her ankle and hauled her back up.

‘If only you could become less clumsy by climbing the ranks of magic…’ Phasoné grumbled.

As gently as she could, Vayra placed the cover inside the duct and crept forward. She swung down, gripping the edge of the duct with her arms and letting herself slip down as far as she could. As soon as her arms were extended all the way, she released her grip and fell a few feet to the stairs. To cushion her landing, she fell into a crouch.

“How’s that for clumsy?” she whispered to Phasoné.

‘The instincts of a street rat.’

Vayra rolled her eyes, then stepped aside to let Glade jump down as well. He landed softly and gracefully, and he glanced up and down the staircase. It was empty, but Vayra cursed herself for not checking sooner.

They sprinted down the stairs, taking them as fast as they could. As soon as they were a few flights down, they didn’t have to worry about stealth any longer, and they jumped down half of the winding steps to save time and energy.

By the time they reached the bottom, Vayra was panting. There were a few Order adepts stationed in the lobby, and for a second, she ducked back into the stairwell. “Adepts,” she told Glade.

“They are guarding the main entrance,” he whispered back. “Take the staff entrance. I do not believe they are paying as close attention to it.”

They left the stairwell and crept as softly as they could across the back of the building’s lobby, until they reached the reception desk and vaulted over it. Vayra fell to a crouch. The single receptionist working so late at night was distracted, sorting the apartment keys in a back office. She didn’t notice Vayra and Glade sneaking out the staff’s entrance door.

Once they were outside, it was a straight shot to the harbour. Glade hailed a taxi carriage—a black carriage with a yellow, candle-lit sign on its roof, and requested that the driver take them to the port.

In the evening, after rush hour, the traffic was sparse, and they arrived within an hour. Even though they were moving, it didn’t stop Vayra from glancing around. As far as she was concerned, the sooner they got off Thronehome, the further away they would be from the bounty hunter.

As soon as they arrived at the port, they leapt out of the carriage. Glade paid the driver a few silver coins.

They ran down to the wharf and onto the docks, then down the pier and onto the Champion. Soon, soon, they’d be off…