Ajoke felt the magic doing its work as she leaned back in bed, eyes closed and muscles emptier of tension than she could remember them ever being before. She had no energy left, nothing to do but wait for the soothing mysticism to repair her ruined flesh

It would take no small amount of time, she knew. Even without another look at the young woman responsible for treating her, Ajoke was perfectly aware of her youth. She couldn’t have been more than a half decade her senior.

Mystic healing was difficult enough to do painlessly without the yolk of inexperience compounding it.

“You fought well, boss.” Fisher placated.

Ajoke tilted her head towards the Unixian giant, found a strange peace in seeing him by her. Folded atop her bedside stool, he seemed almost comical. The furniture too small by far to fit him comfortably.

No complaint escaped him, since Ajoke’s task he’d had concern only for her. She loved him for that.

But the comfort he brought was a knife of lead, blunted and broken against the sheen of emotion clouding her thoughts. It still seemed like a dream, a nightmare. One to be woken from at any moment.

Ajoke knew better than to let herself humour such wishful thinking. No nightmare had ever been half so cruel as reality.

“I lost.” She sighed, not looking up for his reaction. It made no difference, she could hear it just as well in his voice.

“You lost well.” He shot back. “That’s more than plenty of folks can say. In fact, a few would argue you didn’t lose at all.”

He was trying to make her feel better, Ajoke knew that much. That her friend had worsened her torment through ignorance rather than malice did little to cool her temper.

“It’s just a shame those few aren’t the ones deciding who passed on from each task, isn’t it?” She snapped.

Fisher said nothing more than that, his silence speaking more than any words could have. Guilt eroded Ajoke’s mood, but still she held her tongue. Emotions running too wild and high for her to place any trust at all in her own voice.

She’d failed. She’d died.

“Can I do anything for you?” Fisher asked after a pause.

The energy was gone from him, and Ajoke realised only then that the boy’s hope had been a facade from the beginning. She studied him, his square, bristled face and leathery skin seeming harder than ever with the weight of reality bearing down behind them.

The sight coaxed truth from Ajoke even as it killed some small, quiet part of herself that had been glad for the boy’s pigheadedness.

“I don’t think anyone can do anything for me.” She replied plainly. “Save my father himself. I had a task to do in exchange for my life, I didn’t do it. The dice has been rolled.”

Fisher seemed to weigh his next words with an uncharacteristic caution, speaking slower than even his usually measured, sluggish cadence. Hesitating in a way most unlike himself.

“And there’s no chance your father could be… convinced? You are his daughter. Surely…”

He trailed off, saying no more. Enough already spoken.

It was a natural question, but one Ajoke had found herself more sick of hearing than even sympathies and placations. It poured oil on the spark of rage that seemed always beneath her thoughts.

“No.”

Ajoke felt compelled to say no more than that, but Fisher’s stare made it clear he was unconvinced. She couldn’t blame him.

Reluctantly, she elaborated.

“My father is over a millennium old. His past sons and daughters are, without exaggeration or hyperbole, legion. I am one among thousands, albeit a rarity. It’s not within my power to sway his mind on anything, let alone matters of my own discipline.”

Fisher looked as though he’d say more, leaning forwards on his undersized seat and wavering with an unasked question. He was interrupted as a voice reached them both from across the room.

“Well spoken girl. It seems you have understanding of your progenitor, if only some.”

A chill ran along Ajoke’s spine at the words, familiarly accented and chillingly delivered. Coaxing her gaze inexporably towards their source.

Lady Balogun stood with all the grace and dignity she held in Dumare’s own court. Head high as ever, adorned in technicoloured fabrics that seemed to hide her form, leaving only the ruler it belonged to.

She smiled as she looked at Ajoke, expression poisoned by loathing. Finally undisguised and open after years behind its veil of etiquette.

There were a thousand things Ajoke could have brought herself to face, even after her own death warrant’s signing. Lady Balogun was not one of them.

“Good afternoon.” She remonstrated, not meeting the woman’s eyes.

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Balogun’s steps rang out against the stone floor, heels striking it sharply as she closed in. Images of circling sharks occurred to Ajoke at the sound.

“Good afternoon, my dear child. And please, allow me to be the first to express my sympathies for your defeat. I’ve rarely seen such a hard fought battle, were there any justice in the world it would have been called a draw.”

Ajoke could practically feel her nose caving in all over again as Balogun made mention of the task. The feeling of cheeks fracturing beneath knuckles, skin blistering at second-hand heat. She took a moment to marvel, once again, at the resilience of her enemy.

Then her anger reached boiling point, thoughts turning to how the decision might have been reached. Ajoke had no doubt Balogun herself swayed it.

“It was hard fought. I believe I can say that without arrogance or self delusion. And, however bitter it might sound, I think I agree about the decision being a faulty one. Why, even Remi would surely have been struck from the proceedings if he’d been subjected to the same judgement as I.”

Balogun’s face turned stiff and combative, but she forced her own to remain innocent. The woman’s son had always been a tender spot for the Queen of Bârëi. If she was to converse with the wretch, Ajoke intended on striking as many of its like as possible.

“Yes.” Murmured Balogun. “Perhaps you’re right. Though I hardly think Remi would find himself in your position to begin with. Requiring a decision to win, I mean.”

That’s a fucking lie and we both know it.

Ajoke screamed the words into her own thoughts, mingling them with a hundred others. Less than half so kind as that. Still she held her temper tight. Retained her stoicism.

The unbroken mask of calm lasted her all of a heartbeat, shattering beneath a single, vital realisation.

I’m dead. Ajoke reminded herself. There’s nothing more that can happen to me.

She grinned, revelling in the deranged relief her position brought, then spoke. Unrestrained for the first time she could remember.

“You’re right.” She said, only smiling wider as she drank in the woman’s confusion. “Remi wouldn’t have spoken out when he saw our father sacrificing men like toys. He’d have sat back and bitten his tongue, just like his pathetic mother. But at least he’d have known it was wrong. At least he’d have thought for himself, instead of breathing his sycophantic mewling in so deep that it replaced his very mind.”

Anger washed Balogun’s face like a solar flare, and for just a moment Ajoke worried she’d pushed her too far. Remembering all too keenly that she was locking eyes with an adult mystic, one capable of making kindling of trees and graveyards of armies.

But no obliteration came. Moments passed, time unfolding with an agonising lethargy like waves eating a cliff. Gradually the anger became cool again in Balogun’s glare. Cooler still in her voice.

“So you’ve decided to finally speak your mind, now that you’ve already cost yourself everything.”

There was no true bite to the answer, not when measured against the terror of her own life’s forfeiture. Ajoke found her grin unwavering, strengthened even.

How had she ever let her tongue be tied before a woman so petty and bitter as the one before her?

“If I were to speak my mind, I’m afraid it would leave you terribly confused. I’ve just grown tired of wrapping everything we say to one another in an extra meaning. Though I must say I find myself tired. Would you mind leaving me to rest?”

The shock marring Balogun’s expression at her dismissal was delightful to witness, lasting a dozen wonderful heartbeats as she spluttered for an answer. Fury growing across her again, she turned amid a storm and began her march for the door.

She was only halfway to it when her voice rang out again.

“Enjoy your candour while you can, girl. You are expected to return to Bârëi by the fortnight’s end.”

Ajoke tried to loose another retort, to enjoy the fruits of her fate once more, but her tongue moved like rubber in place of muscle. Mind wiped blank by the reality of Balogun’s answer.

Long after the woman had left, she remained silent. Dread creeping in again to displace the temporary vindication she’d found. It was only Fisher’s concerned voice that drew speech from her.

“Boss, are you…”

Whatever question he’d been about to ask was left unfinished. Ajoke could imagine why. None she could think of herself would coax an answer that did her thoughts justice.

“I’m fine.” She sighed. “Or as fine as I can expect, at least. A fortnight is practically the end of the universe away.”

Fisher’s unchanging eyes told her just how convincing a lie she’d managed. The boy made his excuses, leaving soon after. She was grateful for the absence, grateful too that he’d had the sense to leave her alone without needing to be asked outright.

In the empty quiet of her room, Ajoke thought on her return to Bârëi. The date looming in her mind even as she sat.

All the verbal ripostes she’d answered Balogun with, every barb she’d thrown the woman’s way, it all seemed thin as paper when measured against it. She’d distracted herself with the novelty of unchecked speech, but it had been no more than that.

Nothing she did would outweigh her oncoming execution. And Balogun had bested each of her insults by far, in giving her its date.

The residual ache of her pains a distant thought, Ajoke lay further back as she stretched her mind for a solution. Thinking habitually, rather than with any great purpose. Fighting not to win, but simply because she’d never learned how to lose.

She almost surprised herself with the volume of possibilities making themselves known from the froth of her mind.

Dewlz seemed the obvious choice. The Jaxif Faction was ever eager for talented young mystics, and Rora Kasta was among the few who’d be able to stave off Dumare’s grasping hands. A solid choice, but not one Ajoke was content to leave alone.

Still she stretched her intellect, and other possibilities soon floated forth to join the first. Arcane, where her sex and skin would be a great boon. Gol, where the colonial warriors were eternally in search of powerful mystics to aid them regardless of origin.

Her heart swelled as yet more options made themselves known. Then deflated like a harpooned stomach as the obvious crept back up to banish them.

Dumare was an Immortal. Anything Ajoke had thought of would have crossed his mind within minutes of passing her sentence. He’d find ways to hurt her, no matter where she fled to.

Fisher’s smiling face moved before the forefront of her mind, bristled and leathery. Hard and friendly.

He’d be among the ones killed in retaliation if she crossed her father again, Ajoke knew it. Fisher, those few closest of her brothers and sisters. Doubtless many dozens more. The mystic’s wrath had almost been a match for old He’aran’s in the past.

There would be no running without unleashing a cataclysm onto those closest to her. Ajoke realised the terror. And still she considered her flight all the same.

Thinking, even as it made her feel ever more wretched.