KNITE:

“Unsightly, isn’t it.”

Roche was at the front of our group—beside Sanas, as usual—and had seen the city first as we curved with the bend of the valley. Kipsith, Halga, Helena, and I were close behind, and we soon understood what he meant.

Partum had grown into a city rivaling the principal capital. War fattened pockets to bursting, and the excess wealth had spilled onto the buildings and streets, expanding borders and enriching the populace’s indulgences to vulgar heights. Mountains surrounded the city, the closest of which had been sheared in half, demolished, and flattened, giving way to the city’s enlargement. Valleys were formed, adding four intercardinal roads to the original four cardinal entries I knew of. Unified walls made of a dark emerald gemstone taller than a score of men and deeper than two rose along the city’s new border, manned by lavishly outfitted guards whose similarly colored uniforms made them seem like shifting crenelations.

We followed the heavy traffic leading to the eastern gate—a procession of carts and wagons laden with raw resources and pulled by stout workhorses bred for strength and endurance. Just as many traveled in the other direction, though they were less encumbered, their bulk of raw goods exchanged for the creations the Alchemists and Aedificators of Partum had molded and transformed into the overpriced items they hawked.

The city was just as immoderate on the inside as it was on the outside. More so, even. After having paid the exorbitant entrance fee to gate guards who appeared better fed and dressed than Branches, we came across jewel-studded towers, an upsidedown pyramid resting on its tip, and an assortment of other such reason-defying buildings, all of them separated by even, symmetrical, hair-breadth-perfect, cobbled streets. As we traveled, we saw more extravagances: ponds, fountains, parks, and a multitude of architectural experiments for which I could not find the name. Most extravagant of them all were my brothers’ palaces. With the tallest mountains to their back and the cloudy marble of Leaf estates to their fronts, the two were separated by the only city entrance exclusive to their Houses—an underground forest filled with evolved beasts and flora that led all the way to the northeastern coastal city of Fossores. Grono’s was an amalgamation of precious metals and stones, all of them transformed into exotic variants he’d created and taken a liking to. Much of it was shaped into spires of varying lengths and topped with living gargoyles. Silas’ palace was both alike and unalike. Where Grono used earthly metals, Silas used purple-tinged wood, and where gargoyles stood guard, evolved beasts and flora slithered or purchased or flew.

Our circuit around the city lasted the entire day. In the end, we circled back west to where the native merchants and Roots stayed—the northern region was held by the houses, the eastern by visiting foreigners, and the southern by The Muds and the mills and factories and farms they worked.

“T’is a city of fleeting fancies,” Sanas commented.

“Ugly fancies,” Roche said, though it was unclear if he was adding to or correcting Sanas’ observation. Knowing him, it was likely the former. “House Grono and House Silas have no sense of elegance. They're almost as bad as House Lorail.”

“When am I gonna get to wet my tongue with some ale?” Kip asked. He was a man of simple pleasures and one who was far more comfortable with the humble yet sturdy surroundings you’d find in Golodanian cities.

“Helena,” I called. She appeared beside me like an avatar of silence. “Have you the lay of the land?”

“Somewhat.”

I pointed at a modest but clean tavern where Roots drank and less successful merchants stayed. “We’ll settle in. Come see me when the answer to my question is certain.”

Helena nodded and folded into the crowd. The rest of us left the horses to halga once we reached the tavern’s stables. So quickly and effortlessly did Halga attain Qaniin’s favor that the unruly beast did not make a sound of protest against the prospect of being cooped up into a stall.

Night came. Halga had gone to bed early. Roche and Sanas ate supper. Kip’s chipper disposition had gathered all the drunk dullsmiths and merchants, and he regaled them with bawdy tales and stories of conquest as he downed mug after mug. I sat alone at a table near the quietest corner of the room, nursing a cup of mead and the memories of Aki’s ruthless fury. I had gone too far—a mistake that gnawed at me. I liked Aki more than I liked most people. I liked him more than all people, for I found my memories of him were full of color, whereas others were marred by the grey of dearth. The consequences of my miscalculations did not sit so lightly as to be easily brushed away. It did not hurt, for pain was beyond me nowadays, but it nagged persistently at my thoughts.

Helena slid into the chair across me, her form clad in the dark leathers she wore on nights when she roamed the streets as a shadow. “Yes.”

“And?”

“There are three forces in play.”

“Houses?”

She nodded. “More or less. Syndicates, to be more precise. Two smaller, one bigger—the Scorpions, the Annanas, and the Hoard. There is a fourth, but they are young and do not yet have the influence to matter.”

“Are any connected directly to either of the main Houses?”

Helena shook her head. “Not if you mean your brothers’. They remain apart from matters regarding wealth.” She hesitated. “Well, Grono has a vested interest in maintaining the value of Evergreen’s currency, but that is as far as his attention goes.”

I took a sip of mead at the mention of Silas and Grono and our relationship. “Tell me of the syndicates?”

“Scorpions are drug dealers. They supply over nine-tenths of Evergreen's mind-altering recreational drugs if the junior bookkeeper I interrogated is to be believed.” Helena threw the tattered remains of a ledger onto the table. The book came to lay splayed before me, revealing neat-written lists of materials and drugs alongside the prices they were bought and sold for. “Their members consist solely of those loyal to House Silas and include two of their four Leaf houses.”

“Nasiil, Ahmuur, Mustar, and Ileye?”

Helena nodded. “With how secretive they are with their research and their discoveries, few of the up-and-coming Leaves can contend with them. As you know, Silas Leaves are made or broken by the quality and quantity of their exclusive creations.”

“And the Annanas?”

“The counterpart to the Scorpions, they are also born from the partnership of two Leaf houses. Where the Scorpions think Silas is the true ruler of Partum, the Annasas stand with Grono. Both seem to neglect how little regard Silas and Grono have for their causes.”

“Armor and weaponry?” I asked.

“Annanas’ trade? Yes. That and some domestic building contracts.”

“Go on.”

“Then there is the Hoard, four Leaf houses—two from both Silas and Grono—who’ve come together in the pursuit of wealth. They are the most prominent merchant group in Evergreen and, considering how coveted Evergreen’s goods are, likely the largest on the continent. They do all the other two do but on a grander scale. Several sources confirmed they, in fact, hold six-tenths of the drug market and almost all the architectural contracts in Evergreen. Roving teams of Golems service the Islands, each of their two dozen companies consisting of over a hundred members, their least skilled at the level of a Named. With how swiftly they are rumored to complete projects, I can very well believe they’ve cornered the market.

“There is also the matters of armor, weaponry, and the Alchemical tinctures used for combat. Seeing as the others are comprised solely of Alchemists or blacksmiths, and since only the Hoard has the reach to extend beyond the empire, they are the only syndicate who dabble in illegal foreign trade.”

“Illegal?” I asked.

“The Old Queen had dictated that all creations related to combat and healing are earmarked for her army.”

I nodded, satisfied with the depth of her initial investigation. For me to be more than satisfied… “Tell me of the fourth group.”

Helena frowned. “Why?”

“Helena.” The metal of my cup groaned.

Helena bowed her head in apology. “They appeared thirty cycles ago, first as a collection of gambling dens before growing into an assortment of whorehouses, Surgeon carveries, exotic fruit vendors, and so forth.”

I got up. “Where is their most profitable establishment located?”

“I’m not sure of their most profitable, but the best known is a whorehouse in the northern plaza.” She got to her feet. “I can show you.”

“No,” I said. “I will handle this myself.”

“What is it?”

“I’d been wondering why there were so many pockets of capable Augers in the city.” I downed my mead and placed the cup back on the table. “I expected spies, but their heavy presence is worrying. Best I silence this threat before word escapes back to Halor. Being Lorail’s Adjudicator, you very well might be recognized. Roche shares that risk, Halga is asleep, and Sanas is too… unreliable.” I turned to look at Kipsith. He had one arm around a stout man and the other held high, the froth of his ale spilling onto his head and shoulders as he danced. “I’ll guess he’ll do. Kip!”

The Golodanian turned to look at me, his smile so large and witless as to show all his teeth, the expanse of his tongue, and the back of his throat. “Lord!”

“Get sober,” I said, and then whispered, “We have godlings to hunt.” I knew he heard me. His Golodanian powers made him sensitive to vibrations, be they of the air or ground.

Kipsith was clearheaded in moments—another aspect of a Golodanian godling’s constitution. He placed the mug down and briskly walked to join me as I headed to the exit. He did not pay any mind to the hollering friends he’d made.

***

The plaza was large. I knew stalls would be erected come dawn, but for now, for the nocturnal clientele, it was an empty expanse surrounded by restaurants, alehouses, and brothels, the largest of which was our destination. Standing prominently in the center of the plaza’s northern face was a building of dark grey stone covered in lacey vines. It had three entrances, and no one who saw the streams of men and women coming in and out of the place would ask why they needed that many.

The brothel was unlike the last one I’d visited, less intimate and more factory-like—a choice made to hide their nature, I was sure. There were signs on the wall directing clients to their particular flavor of sexual vice, all of which led up the twin stairs that circled left and right from the entrance. Only one sign kept you on the ground floor, the letters posted above the door across the foyer, and it was the only sign not related to the establishment’s primary source of income.

We headed in.

The tavern bustled despite its size. Drunken patrons danced gayly to music that managed to fill the room without losing volume. Drowsy men sat around tables, intoxicated, sharing pipes of smoke and slurred conversations. Whores whispered in ears or roamed the floor seeking rich laps. Their eyes shifted ever so subtly so as to not give away their search. To the right was a long counter where hashla and spirits and other drugs were being sold and served. Lines of Roots waited to be given their choice of stimulant. To the left was a line of small stages, each occupied by indecently dressed whores. They danced seductively, expressions filled with a forgery of lust, their hands gliding up and down their body as if to showcase the groping customers might hope to enact if only they took the plunge into depravity and had the coin to get there. In the back, across the den of iniquity, on an elevated, half-circle stage hidden behind the dark fog of an Af’titalan matrix, sat my presumed target.

We threaded through the spacious lounge, past tables of smoke, stumbling drunks, and dancing whores, and toward the circular floor raised as if it were a gallery from which spectators might observe the animals that were mankind. A man stood there, barring the way, darkness at his back, a shock of red hair tumbling down his head to partially obscure the green of his eyes and the width of his brow. He noticed our approach and raised a hand.

“No one may—” he began.

I slid two fingers and a thumb into his neck and pinched his windpipe. He reached for his throat, mouth working without air and so without sound. I snatched his wrist with my free hand and yanked it down, wrenching the ball of his shoulder out of its socket and causing him to stumble sideways.

“Resist any further, and you might find yourself ascending to the next plane of existence,” I said. An empty threat, of course; the man was merely doing his job, and going from his soul, he went about it with as little evil as he could manage. If the tightly controlled sensus of his Golodanian matrixes were not open to my sight, I might not have even caused what I already had.

“Do not resist, Earthkin,” Kipsith said.

The guard’s reaching hand froze midair, then fell back to his side.

“Good choice,” I said. “Now turn around and escort us up, will you.”

The guard did as I instructed after I’d let go of his neck. As he ascended the short flight of stairs, he popped his loose arm back into its socket.

The Af’titalan matrix was a barrier. It did not, in fact, fill the space with darkness but more so created a shield whereby no light exited. A quick glance back at the lower floor showed this blockade only went one way.

Inside the barrier were five persons. They sat around a table covered in parchments. Four Named and a godling. The two closer to us watched me from over their shoulders. One was black as night. Blacker. His pupils, the whites of his eyes, lips, hair, nails, every part of his body was an abyss that drowned light. An Af’titalan. The other had caramel skin, long, thick, wavy hair, olive-colored garments cut in the style of Kolokasians, and a band of thorny vines around her head. At the head of the table was a young girl in her early to mid-twenties. A Seculor. One of Bainan’s. She watched me, eyes dancing with fascination. Sat to either side of her were two women who were known to me: Sephoni and Lenineer. I knew then who had wormed into Partum.

“Ah, what a wonderfully diverse collection of peoples we have here,” Kip offered. As usual, he was entirely too jovial for the situation.

The guard went to his knees and bowed. “My apologies, Mistress Gweleesi,” he croaked. The injury I’d caused him had not yet fully healed, but the progress he made marked him deserving of his Name. “I was unable to stop them.”

The godling, Gweleesi, laughed goodnaturedly, the musical cadence devoid of the ominous cackle most gods employed in their expressions of humor. “No apology needed, let alone multiple. Rise, Lenex, and return to your duties.”

The man popped to his feet and retook his position outside the dome.

“So,” Gweleesi began, “what name do you go by?”

“Merkus,” I said.

“So, Merkus, what brings you to Partum?”

“I was about to ask you the same.”

“Well, considering you are familiar with Sephoni and Lenineer here, I suspect you already know.”

Stolen story; please report.

I looked between the two Named. Sephoni, pretty as she was the night she tried to seduce me, did not meet my gaze. Lenineer, on the other hand, glared with thinly veiled bloodlust, her short and unassuming stature doing nothing to disavow the dangerous lethality of her aura.

“What interests does Nikal have here?” I asked. Preferrable as she was to her other sisters, the woman who wielded a replica of my sensus was decidedly more troublesome.

“Aunt Nikal is fastidious in her rule.”

“And what brought you into her service?”

“A lack of talent in Meaning,” Gweleesi said. The sadness of that truth did not touch her expression. It did, however, howl in her soul like the cry of an abandoned wolf. “My father can be mercilessly pragmatic, as you well know.”

“Do I?”

She tucked her lips between her front teeth and smiled innocently.

“You knew I’d come,” I said.

“We did.”

“Since when?”

“Since you entered the city.”

“How?”

“One of your Named.”

“Helena.”

Gweleesi nodded. “You’ll have to tell me how you managed to swindle away Lorail’s Adjudicator.”

“You’ll have to tell me about that Namat of yours. I assume it was you who tracked Helena to Lira’s domain.”

Gweleesi laughed her enticing laugh. “Indeed. Aunt Nikal did say you were a smart one. I guess you’d have to be. Not many earn her respect.”

“I take it the same deal we struck in Halor is acceptable.”

“If you wish,” she said. “But I’ve been tasked with negotiating a more… mutually beneficial arrangement.”

“Stay out of my way,” I said, “and I’ll stay out of yours. And trust me, you do not want me in your way.”

“Are you sure threats are the way to go?” Gweleesi said. Her expression was unchanged, but as before, I sensed the unease in her soul and knew my instant refusal had thrown her. It made sense of the ill-conceived threat that followed. “I assure you, the trouble we can bear down on you far exceeds that which you can draw our way.”

Kip moved before I did. It was times like these that I remembered why I tolerated his tiresome temperament. The Af’titalan went down first. Kip’s fist struck body and soul, and the man slumped where he sat. I took the Kolokasian. An Alchemy matrix sprang around my left hand, purple and complex, and flew at her. Her homestead—the thorny circlet about the crown of her head that was the source of her power—slackened and lost purchase. The backlash from the severing crumpled her. Kip turned to face the Golodanian guard as he rushed back into the barrier. I turned to face the others.

Sephoni huddled against the wall, breathing hard and shallow, fear wrapped around and through her soul. She was out of the fight. As was Gweleesi. The Banain Seculor had not moved, rooted in her seat, the sudden violence too much to handle in the blink of an eye since Kip had instigated our attack. Lenineer was too experienced and hardened to be fearful or stunned. She was already halfway across the table, flowing like a brisk gust, blades held out in front of her and aimed at my neck.

I did not hold back much—only insofar as I did not want to unleash the full scope of my power and, in doing so, reveal my identity. This was a warning, a show of strength, a means to dissuade interference. And so I rendered both of Lenineer’s arms useless with Surgeon Arts. Armless and without any active allies, she thrust a kick at me. And so I took her legs. Limbless and prone, she shouted insults. And so I took the air from her lungs. She thrashed in vain. And so, finally, I took her consciousness and ended her resistance.

I turned to face Gweleesi. “Do not make idle threats. I don’t. Next time you threaten me…”

Message sent, we strolled through the tavern and out into the night air. Bright lanterns filled the plaza with an ethereal glow so unlike the green of the capital spires as to warm my mood—violence without a feast of fear and pain is violence misspent. The hum of activity remained, and I knew the silencing stones Grono had long ago invented were sure to be as popular here as they were in The Bark of the capital.

Rather than make our way back to the inn, which lay south of where we were, I led us north.

“I got sober,” Kip complained as he followed behind me. “Why?”

I sighed. “I did not say the hunt would end in the deaths of our prey.”

“Ah!” Kip lay his thick arm on my shoulders. “Slippery as always. It’s good to see you haven't changed much.”

“Unfortunately, nor have you.”

“Come now, Aki. I—”

I sent a slice of pain at him; his words faltered, and he stumbled away from me. A welt representing the pain I’d inflicted rose as a line on his face, stretching from the middle of his forehead to the tip of his chin. It did not last long, however, and the injury soon faded back into the pristine bronze of his untarnished skin.

“Do not be overly familiar, Kipsith,” I said. “We are not so close as to be friends.”

Kip did not lose his smile. “Fair enough, Lord. But might I mention that, though you did not promise me blood this night, the offer was implied.”

“Implied?”

“Do you wish me to leave your service?”

“It is but a trifle.”

“My service?”

“Your payment. But it is also an affront to make demands of me.”

“Not at all, Lord. It is not a demand but, as you said, a payment of sorts. I do believe my worth measures up.”

“It does,” I admitted. “More than. Yet it is not in my nature to pay for what I already own.”

“I dare say you do not own me.”

“I do not. Your service, however…”

“Ah, yes, you have me there, again, as a matter of unsaid promises.”

“That, Kipsith, is in my nature, as you well know.” I sighed. “But I do not wish for you to think of me inconsiderate. Will a Named do?”

“Just one?”

“Maybe a godling?” I asked. He repeated his question. “I suppose you’d like a gaggle.”

He chuckled a subdued roar of laughter. “Oh, that would do nicely. But remind me, how many are in a gaggle?”

I stopped before an unassuming building of stone. “We’re here.”

Kip surveyed our surroundings; he’d paid little attention as I led us to our next destination. Cloudy walls marking the edges of the Leaf district were close by. The homes, inns, and stores in the area were markedly better than the area we’d settled in.

“You had planned this before I even thought to complain,” he said.

“I am not inconsiderate.” My level gaze bore into him. “And I am not prone to reacting positively to demands.”

“I wasn’t making—”

“Do not,” I said, my eyes holding his. And they kept hold until the curve of his lips straightened. “If I do not give you what you perceive to be deserved, know that I have my reasons.” I smiled at him to put him at ease—which I knew I did—and nodded to the rearing pens full of Silas Triplers hard at work. “Have at it.”

***

Helena sat beside me on a bench of carved stone, one leg over the other, hands daintily resting on her lap. She wore a dress, teal, an indiscernible fusion like the color of the waters you see off the Kolokasian coast or the jade vines you only find in the far eastern lands. My eyes refused to heed my commands and kept glancing at her every so often, pulled back by the elegance and rarity of the dress and how well it suited her unusual beauty—that is to say, true beauty, which did not come from the perfection of form but the perfect match between prism and subject. I was just such a prism, and she was just such a subject.

“You’re staring,” Helena said. Her smile urged both my hunger and the will to wrestle it into submission.

“Whoever our true creators are, the sack of flesh and bones we live in is surely their cruelest jest,” I said. A deception; my body’s reaction was but a symptom of my attraction, which I knew originated from the core of my being. “Try as I might, this body of mine refuses to listen.”

Helena adopted a coy smile. “You might try to listen instead.”

“I’d sooner get a new body,” I said. “What use are tools who refuse to listen and dare to dictate instead?”

My words took the false and playful timidity from her. She did not know I spoke of my failure in discipline and self-control, of how I considered my mind, body, and soul as much instruments with which to play the game of life as I did her service.

“Why are we here?” she asked.

I stole another lingering look at her, my eyes drawing up past her delightful cleavage, past the length of the golden necklace I found tarnished the blush of her skin, over the refined lines and angles of her neck, across the stunningly sharp features of her face, and into the arresting eyes of her predatory, eagle-like gaze.

“To arrest a scent,” I said.

I peeled my eyes away and watched the many godlings frolicking about the public gardens we were in. Dregs of royalty, one and all. They sat on the grass, drinking and eating, laughing without a care, a picture of gluttony surrounded by platters of food, bottles of wine, and Roots to serve them both.

“No one of note would be caught dead here lest they be associated with these Autumns,” Helena said. “So, who is it we hunt that might fit into this crowd?”

“Autumns?” Context let me know I was unfamiliar with her usage of the season.

Helena splayed all her fingers without lifting her hands out of her lap—a discreet gesture at the godlings lazying away their day. “Sometime during your hiatus, godlings had added Autumn, Summer, Winter, and Spring to their colloquial language as categories for Branch godlings.” She looked up and to the right, tightened her bottom lip, and tapped the corner of her mouth. “A ranking might better describe the labels. Anyway, Autumns are those godlings who content themselves with the increased lifespan and relatively unoppressed existence they enjoy for merely being born a godling. They spend their lives doing naught but enjoying themselves.”

“And how do they avoid becoming Faded.”

“The Faded fall below a threshold of sensus. Autumns do not, but they fail to utilize their gifts.”

“A surprisingly clever label, then,” I said. I tugged at the seam between the shoulder and sleeve of my new and discordant outfit. Like Helena’s dress, the blood-red suit I wore held little resemblance to my typical attire. However, unlike her dress, it failed to flatter my looks or feel nearly as comfortable. “To say they are stuck in suspended rot. Elegant in its simplicity. I have a feeling the terms did not originate with the godlings.”

Our target did not leave us waiting for too long. I spotted the young Painter weaving between the topiaries bestrewn among the pathways and beds of grass that made up the bulk of the public garden. She had the skill of subtlety. Capable but talentless Triplers often adopted clever tactics that were more common in the ranks of the Named. The colorful and rich clothes, the garish amounts of gold around her neck, wrists, and ankles, and the carefree ease with which she strolled created a simulacrum of the godlings she walked past and amongst—no Painting was used to mimic them or her acting. What she did manipulate were elusive things. Indirect. More a way to divert attention than to avoid it. A glint of unnatural light here, a non-existent glance from a godling there, passing shadows, the sound of whispers, and the clatter of swift footsteps. She used all these and more to take attention away from her circuitous approach.

The Tripler was an inaccuracy in my predictions. I had chosen this time and place because I expected a godling with considerable talent in injecting Meaning, and thus, a godling who would stroll into the gardens with layers upon layers of Paintings with the arrogance to allow me to lead her to a more isolated region and a soul I might extinguish with impunity. Instead, I found the clean soul of a lowly Tripler who’d displayed too much caution to be led into danger.

Yet I was not worried; adapting came to me easily.

I drew a Painter matrix of my own, grasping my voice and projecting it beside her ear. “Tell her to come join us.”

The Painter kept her composure—another skill more familiar to a Named. A moment after her genuine and brief shock, she dissimilated her initial reaction into a thespian performance of a surprised and innocent young woman who had found herself assaulted by a Painted conspiracy: she squealed, leaned back, snapped a hand over her mouth, the other on her chest, and bunched up her shoulders.

“Well played,” I Painted to her, “but ineffective. I wish to speak to your master. Tell her to show herself, or I shall slay you where you stand.”

Nikal used the same trick I was using, and a voice beside my ear said, “Stay your hand.”

I raised a hand in her direction and gestured for her to join us. Her figure was clear to my souleyes. Behind layers of trees, hedges, walls, and buildings to the north was Nikal, sitting at a table on the porch of a teahouse. Those hundred paces turned to a cloud of dust as particles of dry soil puffed into the air at her sudden arrival. Nikal stood before us, not a hint of her violent anger reaching her expression.

I stood and gestured for Helena to leave with a nod of my head. No one stopped her. I was their target. Her role as my scent no longer mattered.

“Let us abscond our impending conflict to somewhere less populated,” I said. “We wouldn’t want Silas or Grono or their Leaves to catch us wreaking havoc in their city.” The plan had been to lead her to a vacant spot outside the city. I suppose asking her worked just the same. Better, given the circumstances.

Nikal nodded. “Very well. Lead the way.”

We made our way out of the city and halfway up one of the southeastern mountains. I led the way by choice so I might choose the location, and because my unprompted willingness to show my back to Nikal let her know I did not consider her a danger.

As we traveled, more and more of Nikal’s guards joined us, and by the time we reached the destination I’d picked out, thirty men and women stood with Nikal, some godlings, most Named. Amongst their number was Lenineer, the small and swift Reaper; Sephoni, the fearful Tunneller; the three other Named who’d been there the day Nikal had crashed down into Lira’s throneroom; and Gweleesi, the Bainan with the odd namat whose very presence was the reason we found ourselves in this coming fight. All of Nikal’s underlings wore similar clothing, as though Nikal had instituted a livery. I quite liked the black leathers and metals of their armor and how they looked arrayed behind her. Standing alone against a Lorail Leaf and over thirty of her most capable guards, I ran my gaze over them with appreciation.

“Well then,” I began. The winter chill and precipitous elevation thinned the air and lent verve to the present wind, yet my voice carried easily.

Nikal watched me intently, narrow eyes focused, stance prepared for the unexpected. “I am not brash,” she said. “Explain yourself.”

My fingers clenched into fists. “I am here to explain myself, but not in the manner or for the reasons you wish me to.”

I dashed forward and swept a kick at the closest of my opponents. Four broken legs collapsed two of Nikal’s Named. They screamed. Pandemonium ensued. A godling with molten gauntlets came at me from behind. I caught the heated fist and crushed it. He fell to his knees like he was praying to me. I kicked him aside with a blow that surely ruptured his liver.

Lenineer’s thirst had not dwindled since her loss. She came, daggers held in a reverse grip. Both swung for the tops of my shoulders. Both landed. They parted flesh and slid down where my shoulders met my neck and pierced my lungs and heart. Feet on my chest, hands held tight around her daggers, she looked down at me, grinning ear to ear as she leveraged her weight into widening the wounds.

Her glee was short-lived.

I reached up and broke her wrists, pulled her in close so her feet lost purchase and slid off my chest, reversed the bends of her elbows, grabbed the backs of her upper arms as she fell, and crunched her nose flat with a vicious headbutt. Her sockets fractured. Bone fragments littered the soft, watery pulp of her eyes. She was blind, disabled, and out of the fight. I moved on to my next victim.

A man cleaved an axe into my left shoulder blade from behind. Another Reaper, a lithe Named with a leather eyepatch covering his left eye and a perfectly groomed beard, stuck a knife into my right kidney. Some Ignis standing in the distance erupted a fire beneath my feet. More attacks landed—Zephyr blades of wind, Painted arrows, bone-clad fists, and more.

Suddenly, the attacks ceased, and they backed away to watch me fall. I looked around. They observed me, the blood leaking from my many wounds, my burnt feet and legs, the axe still buried in my back, the daggers still buried in my shoulders, and had thought me finished.

Fools!

I looked past the inconsequential Named and godlings and at the slightly less inconsequential Leaf. She watched me, her expression unreadable, her soul satisfied.

“Consider the debt paid,” she said. “But I’ll not—”

“Understand this, Nikal.” I reached up and slid the daggers out. A flex of my muscles popped the axe free from my back. “It is not you who’ve come to punish me; it is I who has brought you here to be punished.” I kicked the remnants of the fancy and impractical boots off my feet. Charred skin healed. “It is not me who must learn a lesson.” I ripped the red and tattered clothing off my body, one piece at a time, until I stood before them stark naked and weaponless. “It is not me who has offended.”

And then I began to whistle my tune. My song. The beat of my skill. The ballad of my strength. It came like a haze of mourning, of death, and of inevitability. It came, and they fell back.

And then I moved. They did not see me, could not, so fast did I move, yet the song remained clear. Unhindered.

I grabbed the axe wielder by the throat and slammed his back against the ground. The crack of his spine was played into a crescendo of my song. A Reaper was next. I pulled his jaw off its hinges and cleft his hip in two. And on I went, only the heat of my footsteps and the wind of my passage and the carnage I left behind making my presence known. Nikal tried to help but found herself unable. How do you fight what you cannot see? She had mastered a degree of combat that put her leagues above her sisters, used esoteric matrixes, employed a fraction of the flavor of sensus I wielded, mastered the Arts of her House to levels deep enough to fend off many, if not all, of her sisters, and had a sharp mind that helped her navigate the cutthroat and guileful games of power Lorail’s children played. In her young life, limited by the shores of her mother’s island, she had not seen what a true Fiora could accomplish in the realm of physical combat because her measures of success never strayed too far into the arenas of martial prowess.

Few could display the peaks of that realm better than I.

When the last of them fell to me, I appeared before a stunned Nikal.

“It is not me,” I told her. “Do you understand?”

Nikal swept her gaze upon the destruction, the downed bodies of her people, the utter ease with which I had rendered them all—and her—useless.

“Do you understand?” I repeated. She nodded. “Then remove the tracker your Gweleesi attached to Helena and adhere to our original bargain. If I must repeat this performance, know that you and your people will not escape with only injured bodies and bruised egos.”

And then I walked away, a Painting of clothes scintillating over me in layers of light.

***

My people were waiting for me when I arrived at our lodgings. They sat around a wide table, drinks in hand, sulking. A fierce confrontation with a prominent Fiora and her court of Branches was an outing they indubitably wanted to join, and my refusal to allow their participation did not sit well with them.

“Here comes our hoggish leader,” Kip announced, tankard held high.

Helena dragged a free chair over for me. I took the offered seat.

“What gives, Lord?” Roche asked. “We haven’t had a decent taste of royal blood in quite some time, and here you are banqueting without us.”

“Trust me,” I said, “it was not nearly as satisfying as you might imagine. They yet live.”

Kip and Roche stood, aghast. Their exaggeration amused me. Helena frowned. Sanas appeared uninterested, though I knew it was she who cared the most.

“Not a one?” Kip asked. “I’m not sure I’d have had the discipline.”

Roche nodded his agreement. “I’d surely not have.”

“Which is why I did not invite you,” I said. “Resisting the temptation was difficult enough without having to spare the effort to resist yours, too.”

“But I heard your—” Helena stiffened from fear.

I reached for the cup Roche was drinking from. He gave it to me without protest. “Juices squeezed from Kolokasian fruits,” he said. “My abstinence remains unbroken.”

“I know.” Kolokasian fruits were painfully sweet. The flavors exploded across my tongue and entered my nose upon my first exhalation. “And relax yourself, Helena. I knew you watched the fight before you gave yourself away.”

“Your song,” she said. “I heard your song.”

“What of it?”

“It foretells death. Always.”

“Usually,” I corrected. “Every once in a while, it carries only a glimpse, a forewarning, a promise of delivery if the course remains stubborn.”

“But now she knows who you are.”

“Unlikely. My song is mine, and no archive is capable of recording its notes.”

“I still don’t understand.” Helena was still frowning. “What is it you accomplished today.”

“I erased a scent.”

“What scent?” Helene leaned forward to rest her elbows on the table.

“You were being tracked.”

“By Nikal.”

“By one of the godlings under her service.”

“The strange namat that tracked me to Lira’s domain?”

“The very same.”

“And now it is gone?”

“It is.”

“How do you know?”

I gave Helena a sideway look of warning. She leaned back and raised her hands.

“I am done answering questions,” I said. “Questions of curiosity, I hope, for your sake. Because while I welcome questions of doubt from my enemies, I have little tolerance for them when they come from my own.”