Astra had no energy to spare as she fell into her armchair, limbs hanging useless around her. Breaths drawn and deep, entire body, she suspected, reeking with the scent of drying sweat.

She stared upwards while resting, reclaiming the mental and physical effort that had been squeezed from her so thoroughly.

It was only when she felt herself restored that she lowered her gaze to throw it across the room, taking in the slumbering sight of Crow as he lay across the sofa.

Her brother looked worse than her by far. Hair burned short and patched, more of his skin pink and tortured by regrowing than not. A pale sheen clear even beneath the brightness of his restored flesh, where veins still ran empty.

The boy’s breathing was just loud enough to reach her, if she listened carefully. The fifteen feet between them proving a difficult gap for such frail sounds. Each exhalation betrayed his remaining weakness.

Astra found herself studying him further, absently staring and waiting for any sign that his condition might deteriorate. Suddenly relapse and shunt closer to the grave, as it had so many times during his treatment.

Crow remained stable. Weak, fragile, disconcerting to look at, but stable. It did little to calm her, knowing that his condition was merely failing to worsen.

Time passed as a river’s current, and an hour had slipped by almost without her notice when Crow finally woke. He announced his return to consciousness with a groan.

Before Astra could so much as greet him, he began trying to sit. She hurried across the room, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder as she talked.

“Careful.” She hissed. “Careful, Crow. You’re still hurt.”

Pain seemed to reason with him more than her, for it was only when the touch of agony blossomed across his features that Crow relaxed back across the sofa. Paler than before.

“How long was I asleep?” He croaked.

She shifted beads on her mental abacus.

“A few hours I think. You came out of the task unconscious, remained so until just now.”

Urgency came alight on the boy’s face at that, his efforts to sit resuming with vigor.

“I lost?”

“No!” Astra hurriedly corrected. “No, Ajoke Balogun was unconscious as well and it was left to the organisers to decide who won. You drew the lucky lot. Though… you were hurt. Badly.”

Crow studied Astra before nodding, apparently satisfied. He placed his head back, sighing as if to empty himself of tension along with air.

“How badly exactly?”

Astra found it difficult to go over. She was saved only when Deka entered, face dark. Clearly having overheard.

“Most of your body was burned down to the deepest layers of skin, the parts not covered by Gem’s armour even further. You had a hand-deep stab wound beneath your ribs that missed everything vital through luck alone, and no small number of bruises and scrapes. You’d have died without treatment.”

The apathy with which Deka gave her account unnerved Astra almost more than the wounds themselves had. Such pure intellectualism seemed inappropriate for the situation.

She was grateful, nonetheless, to be spared giving the explanation herself.

“I was that hurt?” Crow asked, wonder filling his voice as he looked down at himself. Studying hands and arms as if he might find the burns hiding.

Mobility seemed to be returning to him. Astra was thankful of that, but worried too. Movement would leave room for yet more recklessness on his part.

“We treated you as best we could.” Deka explained. “Used up almost all of our credits to do so. I’d not imagined what half a dozen healing relics could do to a person, but restoring them from death’s door is luckily well within their limits.”

Astra recalled her own amazement as the first relic, a viscous, restorative gel, had seemed to reverse time about Crow’s burns. Leaching the ugly discolouration from them and detaching charred skin to fall like blackened leaves from the wounds.

It had taken four more to return him to his current state, practically growing a new epidermis. Even after a life of exposure to magic, she’d considered the effects a miracle.

But the miracle had cost everything they’d had, and it had been an imperfect one.

“You’re still hurt.” She pointed out. “Deka said something about joints.”

“They were almost melted.” The luminar confirmed . “I’m amazed you could throw that last punch at all, it almost defied reason.”

She eyed Crow with a peculiar look for a moment, as though there were a question weighing on her. It vanished after just an instant.

“Regardless, joints are apparently harder to heal. Or perhaps just healed worse because we smeared the gel onto the skin above them. Either way, you might find yourself stiff and slow for a while.”

Crow nodded at her words, peering levelly with his emerald eyes. Unflinching at the news.

“How long is a while?” He asked, still calm.

Deka seemed lost, for once. Face apologetic and helpless. She merely shrugged.

“Days?” Crow asked, revealing his hope with the question. Deka looked mournful as she met his gaze.

“Maybe weeks.” She answered. Hesitating, she added. “Maybe never.”

The revelation was news even to Astra herself, tightening her guts as if amid a butcher’s fist. She straightened, staring at her brother.

“Contestants are healed after they drop out of the Sieve.” She said. “With magic. Free of charge. You should forfeit, get your aid as soon as possible.”

Crow shook his head slowly.

“I can’t.” He answered. Almost reluctant in his rebuttal. “I need the Nectar.”

His words ignited something that had been long building in Astra.

“You don’t need the fucking Eclipse’s Nectar, Crow. You need your life. No matter what you win here, it’s useless without that.”

She’d shouted, her temper lost with a moment of fury, but Crow surprised her by exceeding the raised voice with his own.

“Of fucking course I need it.” He roared. “I’m going after an Immortal, how else am I going to have a chance in Eclipsium?”

Stunned by his outburst, Astra remained quiet as Crow continued. Tirade gaining momentum rather than losing it.

“You keep looking at me as if I’m insane.” He snapped, breaking into a storm of coughing as his tortured voice gave way. He withdrew his arm as Astra tried to place a hand on it, pressing on. “You do. You act as if pushing myself in some fucking contest with judges and referees is the height of danger. Don’t you understand it’s the only way I have a chance of saving Galad? If I let a fucking contest daunt me, I’ll run before I’m within a hundred leagues of the one who took him.”

The fury on his face stayed Astra’s tongue until her temper had cooled. Then shame came to replace it.

Recalling the Gemini’s certainty that his quarry was an Immortal, she found herself realising how right he may have been If Galad lived, by some miracle, and was held by a creature of such power as that, Crow might well have been taking the most pragmatic course in his unflinching self destruction.

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“I’m sorry.” She said, mustering every ounce of self control she could manage to force the words out. It surely said something about her that Crow was surprised by them.

“I’m sorry I dismissed you so completely.” Astra continued. “But I’m still right. You can’t push yourself like this, Crow. You just can’t. You say it’s all a contest, that it’s safe because of its judges and referees, but you almost died just a single task ago. You may still be permanently hurt even with the healing we gave you.”

He began to protest, but she pressed on. Drowning his voice with her own.

“Yes Crow, you might be. Magical healing needs to be done quickly. If you insist on continuing with the Sive, by delaying your own treatment for however long it takes, you might be beyond help. Your body will heal on its own, imperfectly. And imperfect healing is never guaranteed to be fixable.”

She could practically see the words sink into him. Crow had never been a student of magic the way Astra was, always too busy with its application to pay any heed to its mechanics. It didn’t surprise her to see his shock.

But nor did the revelation shake his resolve an inch.

“Then that’s a risk I’ll take.” He said, as if it were the simplest thing in the world.

Astra’s frustration was thick enough to choke her, but still Crow drowned the emotion by standing. Ignoring every ounce of screaming flesh that must have burned in his body, moving as if his residual wounds were an inconvenience rather than torment.

She kept her silence as he walked jitteringly to the door, finding herself more curious than concerned. Assessing her brother’s condition as he moved.

It did little to restore her calm.

The thought of Lavastro Kaiosyni still haunted Lichos. Moreso even than it had before they’d met, when she was a name made great by distance.

Pyrhic seemed to share his nerves openly as they made their way towards her.

Lichos couldn’t help but study his temporary companion as they walked, taking in the mix of apprehension and excitement burning beneath the surface of her face. He’d known no love so great as that which she held for Lavastro Kaiosyni, and to see even that affection fail to keep the fear from her was a confusing experience.

Maybe it’s feeding the fear, rather than weakening it. He thought, long walk giving his mind time to move.

In a way, that seemed even worse to Lichos than if the dula had simply dreaded a beating.

On they walked, corridor marking every step with the hard, echoing clicks of Pyrhic’s heel and the dull bludgeoning of Lichos’ boots.

He found his nerves worsening as they approached Kaiosyni’s quarters, Pyrhic’s own fear enhancing his own. Making him certain the woman knew something he did not.

When they reached their destination, as he stood still and waited for her to knock, Lichos was unsurprised to find his stance tainted by the twitches that always came when adrenaline mingled with immobility.

Kaiosyni answered in moments, moving her burning-star eyes between them both. Lichos’ mouth dried beneath her gaze in the mere instant it lasted.

“Enter.” She ordered, stepping into her own chamber and leaving the way open. Lichos followed Pyrhic inside, closing the door after him and trying to bury his worries.

Kaosyni looked haggard, somehow diminished since Lichos had seen her last. The flesh beneath her eyes sagged, her clothes creased and disheaveled in a way he’d never seen. Hair, though still darker than the night itself, seemed frayed at its tips.

He recognised the sleeplessness in an instant, mind turning back to her talk of relief. To the endless stream of refugees moving through the city, emptied from the inhospitable warzone he and Pyrhic had set foot in just hours before.

Lichos had heard Kaiosyni’s time was consumed work, but seeing the exhaustive exertions’ effects firsthand gave new weight to them.

“Report.” Ordered Kaiosyni, eying Pyrhic expectantly. Lichos swore a foul mood tinged the woman’s words, her hooded eyes seeming to burn with more than just their usual severity.

If Pyrhic found herself intimidated by the glare, she hid it well. Speaking without pause or worry.

“Yes, katoch Kaiosyni.” She answered dutifully. “It began…”

Pyrhic didn’t need long to recount their activities, compressing hours into minutes with a mastered eloquence. She was done almost before he realised she’d started, meeting her master’s gaze with equal parts expectancy and fear.

He stared alongside the dula, studying Kaiosyni’s face as she chewed on the information. The twitches of her expression gave almost nothing away, visage of stone unsoftened by fatigue.

It took only seconds before the revelations were digested, Princess’s eyes raising to focus on them once again. Unclouded by thought.

“Mystics are feared greatly.” She said, speaking slow. Seeming to form her thoughts and convey them at once. “Powerful mystics, of the kind to do what Flecke seems to have been, are feared even moreso. Few would try to kill one, whatever the pay.”

“Takes a lot to put a mystic down.” Lichos added. “A volley of musket fire will do it for most, but not all. Best way is to cut their throat while they’re asleep.”

“And not many would be willing to do even that much.” Noted Pyrhic. “It’s one thing to kill a sleeping man, another to do so knowing that they could obliterate you within a moment of waking.”

If Kaiosyni felt herself perturbed by the casual discussion of killing her kind, she gave no hint of it. Merely continued thinking, mental gears churning away behind desert-sun irises.

“I have spent no small amount of time studying this city, in the past few weeks.” The mystic mused. “Though most of that was dedicated to infrastructure, I’ve learned more than a whisper about its organised criminality as well. There plenty of hired killers in Udrebam. If even a tenth would be willing to kill Flecke, that leaves over a dozen suspects. How much do you think the serrated edge narrows that down?”

Lichos spoke before he could check himself, spurred on by certainty.

“A lot, I’d say.” He answered. “Killing people is hard with a sharp, smooth edge to nick an artery. Anyone who uses a saw blade is a bigger bastard than most I’ve met. Can’t imagine there’s many, even among assassins.”

He held the fiery eyes for a few moments before Kaiosyni nodded, apparently satisfied.

“I’ll take your word for it, soldier.”

Turning to Pyrhic, it seemed she had more to say. Lichos did as well, pressing on before the woman could abandon the topic.

“But I don’t think this is necessary to begin with.” He cut in, drawing both women’s eyes. “We were investigating Flecke, only that damned Guillotine gang knew that we were. We find her recently dead. And by the looks of things she died around the same time we found out she worked for them.”

“What are you suggesting?” Kaiosyni asked.

“I’m suggesting that we’ve seen evidence enough already.” He shot back. Pyrhic protested, but Lichos ignored the woman as he pressed on. “We both know this wasn’t a coincidence. Why not hang the lot of them, wait for a coward to squeal what they know about whoever they’re working for and be done with it?”

For a few moments Kaiosyni said nothing. Merely stared at him, face blank, eyes hot and hard. Gaze so intense that Lichos thought, if only for a moment, he could see air bubbles welling in the pooling magma that surrounded her pupils.

Then the silence was broken in an instant.

“You know nothing of Immortals, do you Kleidra? Nothing of how they think.”

Kaiosyni spoke with a total lack of vigor or force, yet her words held weight all the same. Forcing quiet upon him as if by an unspoken command. She continued in his silence.

“Immortals are not like humans, not in how their minds work. They measure time by centuries rather than decades. Plan for women in their twenties to die of old age or empires to crumble.

Most have spent more time manipulating humans than most humans have spent alive, even a fool would be made sharp by such practice. And few fools live long with Immortality. We’ll get nowhere with brute force.”

There was a silent fear in Kaiosyni’s tone that pricked at Lichos’ nerves. He realised with horror

that he’d not seen the woman express anything of the sort before.

It niggled at him to see a statue as immovable as her feel fear just at their enemy’s mention.

“So how do you beat something like that?” He asked. “If the Immortal that killed Tamaias really doesn’t want you to find out who they are, what’s your plan to uncover their identity?”

Kaiosyni took a while before speaking. Whether thinking or mastering herself, Lichos didn’t know. Didn’t want to.

“By digging deeper.” She said simply. “Thinking harder. Substituting natural intelligence and mental sharpness in place of experience and practiced skill.”

Lichos’ scepticism must have been evident on his face, for the woman continued.

“It isn’t easy.” She sighed. “Not as easy as it sounds, and I realise that out-thinking the sort of creature I just described sounds plenty hard enough already. But it’s possible. All living creatures are prone to error. All make mistakes, all carry unidentified biases that may misdirect them from the path of reason. In this case that mistake may well have been laziness, or else recklessness. Killing a witness they doubtless kept the truth obscured from to begin with.”

Despite himself, and the madness of Kaiosyni’s talk of outwitting gods, Lichos found a reason in her words.

A silence fell in their wake, bathing the room thoroughly and breaking only when the Princess dismissed them once more.

“I expect you both to do the legwork for this investigation.” She said as they left. “Compile a list of the most likely candidates for our assassin, I shall have names sent your way to get you started, though most of this will need to be discovered by the two of you in person. Such things are poorly recorded.”

Lichos was just barely to the door when she called him back again, eying him coolly and impassively as he stood.

“About my outburst, a few days ago.” She began, turning the blood to ice in his veins with those words alone. “I assume this goes without saying, but I would like to make it clear just in case. You are to speak to no one about it, ever. Should I hear of a single detail of what transpired between us anywhere else, I will personally do all within my power to destroy you.”

His heart caught in his throat, but Lichos kept his face still even as the blood beat his ears like a drum.

“Is that all?” He asked.

Her nod dismissed him, and he moved through the corridors with a greater speed than before. Cursing Kaiosyni, cursing Taiklos, cursing He’aran. And cursing the idiotic soldier who’d gotten himself placed on the chopping block by sticking his head up and opening his mouth.