Lavastro kept her back straight as she sat, arms folded across the smooth marble table and breathing forced to a mechanical consistence.

It was a testing state to reach. Moreso in the presence of an Immortal. The room around her was filled with far more than just that. She thought the money and influence might have taken on a scent, so strong was it. The magic certainly had. An enemy to her composure.

“It is simply unacceptable.” Came the booming tone of Lady Balogun. “To have known and obscured such a thing is tantamount to betrayal.”

Lavastro studied the woman as she spoke.

Born in Bârëi, she wore her nationality at a glance. Balogun’s skin was dark enough to near blackness, her hair the same graphite tone that seemed almost universal in the southernmost Unixian nations. Most women in their middle years were diminished by the lines of their face. Balogun seemed to consider hers a challenge, making war paint of them.

War paint, with, for the time being, Lavastro as the enemy.

“Explain yourself, girl.” The woman demanded. “Why would you keep such vital information from us?”

Lavastro thought for a moment, pushing the withering glare from her mind as she moved through possibilities and counter-plays. She decided on condescension as her shield.

“I assumed that it was something you were all aware of. My own spy network is rather trifling, and I learned of the butchers’ presence almost immediately.”

Balogun’s eyes narrowed.

“Are you trying to cloud your treachery with insults?”

“Treachery?” Lavastro asked, forcing as genuine a laugh as she could manage. “Don’t be so dramatic. If I wanted to betray the rest of you, I can assure you there are subtler and far more impactful measures at my disposal than merely failing to pass on a warning.”

Not to mention that one’s enemies are uniquely safe from betrayal already.

“This is a tangent.” Cut in Unison Mylif. “There are more important things to focus on. The presence of the butcher’s themselves. That’s what actually threatens the Sieve, that’s what we need to discuss.”

Mylif seemed the opposite of Balogun in many ways. Pale where she was black, young where she was in her middle years, cold where she was hot with anger.

Lavastro felt an odd kinship for him, both of their ages combined would total less than the years most individuals seated around them had lived.

She didn’t let it distract her though, he was far from an ally.

Balogun glared at him with hate enough to almost kill on its own.

“A potential traitor is no less severe a matter.”

The words sent a wrathful tremor down Lavastro’s spine, animating her tongue and tearing free a retort of barbed impulse, just barely filtered by reason as it passed between her lips.

“And, as has been explained to you slowly and carefully several times already, there is no potential traitor.”

For a single, excruciating moment she thought the woman might disregard all else again to redouble her accusations and charge even faster along the warpath.

Instead the tension eased from her as she leaned back in her seat.

She said nothing. The silence was as great a sign of assent as Lavastro had expected.

“Lady Kaiosyni.” Mylif said, turning his pooling-blood eyes around as he spoke. “What else can you tell us about the butchers?”

“Nothing.” Lavastro answered, truthfully. “All I know is their numbers, nature and presence. Possibly intent, too, though I’m doubtful they were telling the truth when proclaiming to be here with a contestant.”

“Why so dubious?” Came the loud, hearty voice of Lesifarz.

Lavastro tried not to bristle as she shifted her focus to the man, seeing the flecks of drink clinging to his thick, needled beard, addled gaze proving his intoxication. Lesifarz would have stood out in the room even if his fellow organisers were naked.

“Because butchers, by their nature, are not individuals with whom trust is wise.” Sorafin cut in. He seemed far more at ease around the table than any other, fitting his seat as as a Spadai’s grip would about their weapon.

Lesifarz grinned heartily at the Jyptian.

“If you say so.”

It didn’t seem to bother the man when he was wrong. Somehow that irked Lavastro more than anything else.

“Then why are they here?” Balogun asked, eying the rest of the organisers expectantly. As if they might spontaneously deduce the answer with enough prodding..

“I truly can’t say.” Sorafin answered impassively. “Jack the Butcher and his kin are a Unixian presence, sworn to the Alliance. Dewlzians like myself and Kaiosyni are likely to know less than any of you. And, from what I’ve heard at least, the butchers are a private and mysterious lot even to those they’re bound to.”

“That’s right.” Grunted Mylif, a shade of irritation in his voice. “Mysterious and unpredictable. From what I know of butchers, they could spend the next week happily drinking away in one tavern after another, then slaughter have the city when they sobered up.”

It drew a solemn curtain across them.

“Perhaps in backwater towns.” Balogun said, slow and careful. “I have heard the stories of a butcher’s contempt for human life, their joy to end it. But their history working with the Alliance is beyond reproach. Never have they done such a thing in a place like Udrebam, certainly not in the midst of an event as important as this.”

“That’s true.” Mylif admitted, frowning. “But you’re not suggesting we just leave them be.”

Balogun seemed almost reluctant to answer.

“I’m reminding you all that only Jack and the Faction Leaders themselves have official authority over the comings and goings of butchers. And I’m afraid both our honoured leaders are some thousands of leagues away.”

“That’s not entirely true.” Lavastro cut in.

All eyes turned to her with a chilling synchronicity.

“As the organisers of the Sieve, it is well within our power to banish any potentially hostile or disruptive elements from the city as we deem fit.”

A disheartening scepticism met her words. From Mylif, strongest of all.

“The authority, sure. How about the power? Individual butchers have been known to destroy entire companies of war mystics, packs of them have killed Immortals. If we give them an order we’ll need to be capable of enforcing it.”

Lesifarz drew all eyes to himself with laughter, snorting and unrestrained as ever.

“How many butchers did you say were present?”

“Around half a dozen.” Lavastro said, curious. She’d not seen the man grow half so alive before.

“Half a dozen.” He repeated softly, grinning again. “Well, I can’t say I’ve ever fought a butcher personally, but they are certainly not the only beings more dangerous than a hundred mystics.”

A chill caught the air at that. Untouchable, numbing, like the touch of snow. Lavastro shivered despite herself, fought to keep from averting her gaze.

Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

For all his drinking and inattentive joviality, she’d nearly let herself forget what Lesifarz was. Feeling the man’s magic from so close, she knew the mistake would never be repeated.

“I would sooner leave them to flee than battle them within the city.” Balogun hissed. “You’d find fifty civilians dead for each of them!”

Lesifarz seemed to consider that, shrugging.

“Well, of course I would rely on the rest of you to… negotiate.” The warrior quickly said, taking a hand from his magic and leaving the pressure to abate. “It just seemed prudent to let you all know that, should you need it, there is magic aplenty to enforce your decrees.”

Lavastro felt a weight ease from her shoulders at that, though she kept it carefully obscured.

“Is there anything to suggest such measures will be necessary?” Balogun asked. “Because for every tale of butcher savagery that has reached me, I’ve heard two of their strict adherence to the decrees of both the Alliance and their clients.”

Lavastro’s instinct was to argue, but she found herself half agreeing.

“There’s nothing to tell us why the butchers are truly here.” She cut in. “Or, for that matter, who their employers actually are. There are far too many variables for my liking. It’s safer by far to leave our guard up.”

Sorafin nodded at that.

“I find myself in agreement with Koros Kaiosyni.”

“To drive the butchers from Udrebam?” Balogun asked.

“To tolerate their presence.” Lavastro corrected. “And keep a very careful eye on them, to ensure that whatever move they make, if they intend to make one at all, will be stopped before it has begun.”

A pause followed that, halted by Mylif.

“And what about their place in the Sieve?”

“Allow it.” Lavastro suggested, waving a hand dismissively. “Provided they break no rules of entry or participation. Butchers are classified as a higher species, yes?”

“By Unix alone.” Sorafin interjected, passively. As if he had no stake in the correction

“Is that it then?” Lesifarz blurted out. “Have we all come to an agreement, at last?”

Lavastro allowed herself a silent smirk at his impatience. She’d known meetings of a similar sort to drag on for near enough an entire day, the thought of him being stuffed into one so long as that was nothing short of comical.

“It appears so, to me.” She said aloud. “Unless there are any matters yet to be discussed?”

“If I may interject.” Came a smooth, spine-chilling voice from the room’s far side “I have information the rest of you might find interesting.”

Lavastro turned to see Zilch standing in the doorway, pasty skin lined and sunken eyes sagging, exhaustion leaving him more a corpse than usual. She placed herself on guard instantly.

Finally, you’ve arrived.

The luminar walked across the room slowly, taking an unoccupied seat and clearing his throat before he continued. That the table came up to his chest seemed to concern him little.

“You have been operating on the assumption that the butchers within Udrebam are disconnected rabble, insignificant to the rest of their kind. This, I am afraid to say, could not be farther from the truth.”

He paused, taking long enough for Balogun to lose patience.

“Hurry it up, luminar. We don’t have all day to waste on your dramatics.”

Lavastro fought a smile upon seeing the woman’s ire, and her amusement only grew at the sight of Zilch’s own discontent. Irritation seemed to diminish him, deepening his face’s lines.

“Very well.” The luminar said, icily. “I’ll cut to the chase. Bob Danielz is among the butchers in Udrebam.”

Silence fell across the room in an instant, held in place by the tension that came so quickly to all its inhabitants. Lavastro could practically hear the drying of mouths.

None more clearly than her own.

“How do you know this?” Lesifarz asked, surprising her by speaking first. Surprising her moreso with the measure of his voice.

The drunken slurring and perpetual half-shout of his addled tongue had vanished, replaced by steel and focus. The mystic’s eyes burned like coals, even as his face darkened around them.

A warrior, clear at a glance. And one who didn’t like his odds.

“The means through which I found this out are irrelevant.” Zilch answered coolly. “Just know that it is the truth, as I’m sure you will all soon discover when your spies grow confident enough to give you a clear description of him.”

Lavastro was reflexively sceptical of his claim, but found herself believing him. More than just in part because she found no reason he might have had to lie.

It irritated her. Had Zilch been trying to deceive his fellow organisers, things would have been far simpler.

She wrung her brain for whatever knowledge of Bob Danielz it held.

An Immortal of almost Deity scale, Danielz was as powerful an individual as most were likely to meet.

Eight centuries in age, and possessing an exceptional degree of natural power to compound his experience, he’d made a name for himself through brutality as much as power, proving particularly vicious even for a butcher. It was no wonder he’d become Jack the Butcher’s right hand.

She found herself glancing across the table at Sorafin, studying the Jyptian absently.

He had little in common with Danielz, from what she’d heard. Yet they were mirrors in one crucial aspect; both served a Deity in as close a way as could be expected.

Sorafin gazed up, catching her eye and returning it expectantly. She made sure to wait some heartbeats before breaking the stare. Weakness wasn’t something she meant to convey.

“This changes things.” The Jyptian said. Lavastro had expected he would be the next to speak. “If it were no more than the common rabble, then we would have the better of them. Bob Danielz, though…”

“What if Overseer Tamaias gives his aid?” Asked Balogun.

The question grew barely hidden sneers and curled lips from across the entire room, not least from Lavastro herself.

“Hurling one Demigod at another might well unmake the city.” Sorafin muttered. “It could be worse than simply letting them run riot.”

“Pit…” The Lady Balogun muttered, face falling as her fingers curled into a fist. The woman’s eyes grew distant, empty and dimly wishful. Lavastro could only imagine she was thinking of her husband. The wife of a Deity could surely take solace in nothing less.

It almost made Lavastro consider calling her own Deity defender. She quickly decided against it, not willing to taint her mission with needless panic

“What is there to do then?” Sorafin asked, addressing the room at large. Mylif answered first.

“Prepare for the worst, and try to push for the best. The butchers haven’t been violent so far, there’s every chance they won’t be at all unless provoked.”

“Does this mean you support allowing their presence?” Lavastro asked.

The man hesitated, eying her uncertainly while he thought.

“I do.” He finally sighed. “Bob Danielz’s presence changes… well, everything.”

None felt the need to answer that. For once, almost miraculously, the Sieve’s organisers were in full agreement.

The room began to clear out soon after, business concluded and energy distilled by a half hour of cramped conversation. It drove all to hurry as they left, only Lavastro found herself delaying.

Zilch stood slowly, that much was a blessing. It made him much easier to get alone.

He halted half-risen from his seat as she placed her palm flat against the table next to him, looking up expectantly at her. There was no fear in his eyes, nor did Lavastro detect even curiosity. She could see nothing close to human emotion at all.

“Professor Zilch, I do hope you’ll humour me with a conversation.”

Irritation burned on his face. Weaker than a man might feel at a smudge on his window, yet there nonetheless.

“I have duties to attend to shortly, Lady Kaiosyni.”

“Then I’ll make it a fast one.”

He bristled. Then, apparently realising she would not relent, sighed and lowered himself back into the seat.

“Speak then.”

Lavastro didn’t allow herself a smile, simply moved directly onto the matter at hand.

“Why did you interfere with my plan to pair the Gemini with a functional team?”

He didn’t drop his gaze, as Lavastro had expected. Only held her eye, face unmoving as stone, speaking after a bloated pause.

“Because your plan, if you truly are so eager to give it the credit of being referred to as such, contradicted my duties as a Sieve organiser. As did it yours.”

“Your duty was to pair contestants into teams based on compatibility of personality and familiarity. I fail to see how leaving the Gemini on a team with Unity Eden contributes to such a task.”

Lavastro’s answer was a test, and Zilch didn’t so much as pause before meeting its challenge.

“The Gemini, as you saw to it, was familiar and well suited to being paired with Deka Xenus. Deka Xenus and Crow Tempora’s abilities provide a degree of synergy, and her personality, according to my projections, was particularly compatible with Astra Tempora. Totalling four, their team had no other contestant particularly suited for any of their members. Save Eden.”

It irked Lavastro to hear the confidence in his explanation.

She studied the man, taking his measure and mulling over his explanation. Despite herself, it rang with a certain logic. Coming from a Manamicist monomage, she shouldn’t have been surprised.

The sphere had apparently sunken deep enough into him that he could stare down a war mystic unflinching.

Not the sort of influence that would leave room for a man to act with irrationality or spite.

Lavastro thought for a few moments, thinking all things over twice, as she was always sure to. Then she nodded, speaking over one shoulder as she left.

“Thank you for your time. Zilch.”

He said nothing more, and still her temper flared. It had never been Zilch’s defiance that left her furious, merely the thought of being seen through and out-thought. That he’d not dismantled her plan took the edge off, and yet Lavastro hadn’t missed his knowledge of her goal.

She left amid a grim storm of thought, all too aware that she’d find little rest until she’d deduced how the bastard had known.