I awoke in an opalescent sea. Its waters were the softest strands that whispered across my skin. Yet I wasn’t cold, but rather warm—light must be hitting my back—so I pressed deeper into the waters. Found that now it was my face that was hot. I pressed my hands into the water and pushed myself up. With each yawning breath I found more clarity—I saw Sphinx.

“It’s our hour of departure, Nadia,” Sphinx said. “I won’t be blamed for your misaffairs with time.”

My opalescent sea was the broad, warm chest of Sphinx. It stretched its paws and the implication of its claws traced my back. I hissed low and sharp as its claws re-sheathed; toyed with puncturing my skin. Sphinx raised a brow, message received?

I slid down from its chest onto the bed. Looked around to spot my clothes tossed over a chair. Sphinx ignored me to pad over to the elevator where my bags and glaive stood ready.

“Wait,” I said.

Sphinx’s head spun backwards to see me. Its face, waiting for its favorite scene to happen.

“I’m sorry,” I said.

Sphinx sighed, “You were forgiven already. Doubts of conduct, and debts of guilt are ill-fit between us who have only us. Now, you toss aside time as you do words, and I wish to depart.”

It briefly stood on his hindlegs and struck the elevator button with its paw. I hung back in the bed to turn around Sphinx’s words. They were dismissive, forgiving, and made the guilt chime up my spine for last night. I decided against paying them back for the lack of grief they could’ve given me by entering more ruminations—thus more delays—and hurriedly dressed.

When I arrived at the lobby I found Sphinx sprawled across a leather couch. In the chair opposite was Amber—looking none the worse for wear unlike myself. Every Train sat in the chair next to her, sipping tea while she oversaw Amber’s work.

On the coffee table were a series of blank token slates arrayed beside Amber; waiting patiently as she fought and slaved to finish the one that currently commanded her attention. Sweat dripped from her chin as she dragged her finger quarter-inch by quarter-inch. Underink painted her finger tip black as any brush. Three sat in front of Every Train, already finished.

“I thought we already paid?” I asked.

I crossed the lobby floor and dropped on the couch—Sphinx flicked its tail in annoyance. Every Train slid over a cup of tea, raspberry and hibiscus. I took a slow sip. Refamiliarized myself with a flavor that I’d forgotten since I broke the engagement. It was her flavor. Our flavor, really.

“You did, for the tickets.” Every Train said, “However, there is the debt to be paid for delaying me. I reminded Ms. Scorizni that those are best paid expeditiously.”

“Reminded, right,” Amber said. “Damn train threatened me.”

Her face was pouty like any child forced to clean up after themselves. When she noticed I wouldn’t dispense any sympathy she sucked her teeth in frustration.

“You’re slipping,” Every Train informed Amber.

Amber turned hastily to the slate. Rolled her shoulders forward as she clenched her wrist. Inched further. I walked to flank her other side, and gasped at the complexity of the sorcerous phoneme she labored at—the final mark, close to tying it off. The already completed ones had dyed their tokens a deep royal purple. A white phoneme floated inside the little slate, its power diffused out from itself. The source of the dye.

“These are royal tokens,” I exclaimed. “Wait, we owe eight royal tokens?”

“I owe eight royal tokens,” Amber said. “Paying off half now.”

“And the other half at a rate of once per day. Her skill is, mediocre, and I can’t risk further delays even for a debt’s fulfillment. Even for you, much as I’d wish to hear more of Kareem and Ishisaga-no-Maturama’s life together,” she said.

“Ishisaga-no-Maturama?” I asked.

The world was struck by a gong as I finished the name—no, not the world, just the world as I felt it. In the gap between waves of feeling I felt my mother’s smile. Her touch as she guided my arms and legs into the first glaive technique she ever taught me. Soon as it came the feeling left. My eyes opened—they had closed in reverie—and noted the surprised face of Amber, Every Train, and Sphinx.

“Woah,” Amber said.

Her ears bled. Trickled down the sides of her head—the red string of a chinstrap. Every Train produced a box of tissues, handed some to Amber, and then bowed to Sphinx.

“I’m sorry for endangering your summoner,” she said.

A honeyed voice oozed out of Sphinx’s lips. “Forgiven, but only because your foolishness is to be expected.”

Sphinx coughed and added, in its own voice this time, “My Sovereign’s words. . .”

“They’re her own. I was at fault,” Amber said as she waved off Sphinx’s concern. “Nadia, don’t fall into a habit of speaking Coronation Names.”

“If I knew that was hers I wouldn’t have repeated it. My Court’s Sovereign warned me about saying her name, but I didn’t know why,” I said. “What are they?”

Sphinx answered, “They’re the summation of a Sovereign. Dense with every spell and perspective that could be found within the Court beneath its ruler. The beginning and end to one of existence’s great phrases.”

“Why could I say Mom’s then?”

Amber chimed in. “What kind of mother wouldn’t want to hear her child say her name?”

Her words rippled between us all. Cleared away our remaining thoughts or questions. I looked down to the token she had just finished—royal purple again.

“How do you know these phonemes?” I asked.

Amber dropped the four she had left to complete into her jacket pocket. Every Train collected the finished four—pressed each of them into her arm. She closed her eyes and I watched the slates dip down into her flesh like a sinking stone.

“A wandering summoner taught me,” Amber teased. “I use his so I can keep my Court off the Public Record. Token crafting is how they get you, you know.”

“And what is your secret special Court that’s worth all the paranoia?” I asked.

Amber smirked, and said nothing.

“It’s not fair you know all of my big secrets,” I said.

Amber shrugged. “Not my fault you keep learning them with me around to see.”

The elevators dinged. Melissa ran out of hers while the conductor made a slow march from his. Melissa’s backpack caused her to tilt side to side as if it couldn’t decide how to throw her to the ground. Then it did, and I was already there to catch her. My arm about her waist—I could feel the dense muscle that was woven beneath her skin. I propped her back up. She smoothed out her dress and then punched my shoulder—felt like getting struck by a rock. Did she harden her bones too?

“Alls below, where were you?” she asked. “Couldn’t find you anywhere on our floor.”

“Well,” I said, “I wasn’t on the floor. My dad was a guest with my mom, like way back, and I guess we have a personal suite. I slept in the personal suite.”

Melissa was stunned. “How much does that even cost?”

Every Train answered, “Fifty royals for the creation of it, and five royals for its yearly maintenance.”

“Oh,” I said. “I can’t pay that.”

“You’re not expected to. Kareem paid fifty years in advance, and funded the construction of the outpost we departed from. Net him another fifty years of operation as compensation.”

“Why’d he pay so far in advance?” I asked.

“Maybe so you could use it,” Melissa said.

Amber countered, “Maybe he wanted to always have a way out.”

I thought of the earliest photos in the album—Dad was always drenched in blood, hesitant at first to stand near me—and placed them alongside my memory of him, peaceful and kind. Both stories sounded likely, but I didn’t have the heart to choose which was true. So I deflected.

“Why were you looking for me anyways?” I asked.

Melissa blushed. “Wanted to make sure you didn’t have us late. From how you looked yesterday I didn’t think you were getting up anytime soon.”

She wanted to wake me up—for years she would wake me up to get to school. It would’ve been the first time she’d try since I had bothered her that rainy day only a few weeks ago. Before I could say anything, Sphinx arched its back and called from the couch.

“I’ll handle that duty, thank you. It’s hardly an effort,” Sphinx said.

Every Train saved us from the verbal sparring that was seconds from breaking out. The world slid to a stop—we all tilted acutely—and the conductor began to cry. He sat in a chair at a different part of the lobby. Every Train gestured for us to stand once we were perpendicular, and led us to the large double doors we had passed through the day earlier.

We stepped out onto the platform in Brightgate and into the dry touch of summer—the only refreshment, a crisp breeze. I turned back toward Every Train. Craned my neck to peer around her at the conductor who had just bent over and vomited. He tore off his tie and screamed in the wailing tone of a dying beast.

“What’s happening to him?” I asked.

“He’s breaking. Some are ill-fit to handle consequences,” she said. “Though, I wouldn’t want my niece to worry. It’s not proper for royalty to show so much emotion at the natural flow of things.”

Amber pulled me back to clear the platform. I could hear the wretched scream of space parting as something hurtled from a seam that had split in the air—a train? It mirrored the one we had stepped off perfectly, as its appearance was eternally shifting. A train that looked like every train. The two cars slammed together with a bellow of metal parting and the pain of every opportunity one could miss by a delay of an hour and a half.

Metal strips peeled back from the twin trains like overlaid flower blossoms. Wood and granite spires stabbed out from within, and gorey strips of carpeting splattered into the air. Then it was frozen. Imploded upon itself until a bright point in space where time warped at its edges. Only to pop like a soap bubble. One whole train remained—blemish-less. The doors re-opened, and after a glance inside the three of us hurried from the platform. Eager to escape the memory of the conductor’s limbs sprouting from every surface like some fungal growth of flesh.

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We emerged from the platform area to be greeted by the smell of charcoal and the grilled meats that came with it. Under those scents was frying oil, fresh bread, and yeasty ale. Before I could wander, Melissa had already clasped her hand about my wrist. She had Amber’s too.

“My first meal in Brightgate is not going to be train station food. Got it?” she asked.

“I only want a drink,” Amber joked.

“Lodge first,” Melissa said. “Do it for your princess?”

Amber grinned before shrugging exaggeratedly. “What senior would I be if I couldn’t honor even that request?”

“A poor one,” Melissa said.

Amber wagged her finger as she led us between hawker stalls.

“Ah, but poor and Amber don’t go together,” she said.

My brow furrowed as I processed their little play. The mood volleyed between them without entry for me—they were flirting! I looked aghast at Amber—above Melissa’s head—but only when Melissa turned to me did Amber’s face twist into one of contrition. Melissa caught none of this. She huffed, dropped our wrists and stormed ahead of us.

We hurried after—found her on the steps leading into the hawker center. Around her flowed a current of arrivals, departures, and those rare locals who decided that they’d grab breakfast here. They wore leather jackets, silk kimono, worsted coats, and some wore clouds of blue fire that banded their body like a dress one strong wind from being blown away. Often trailed by their entities from a number of Courts—they carried bags, ferried summoners, rode on shoulders, and swam through the air.

“Stop looking like tourists,” Amber said. “I wanna hit the lodge, so I can enjoy the scene here. Brightgate has some amazing breweries that I want to visit.”

Melissa asked, “I thought Moontower was where you were supposed to go for breweries?”

Amber waved her hand, “Moontower, The Port, and Brightgate all have good breweries, and I’d like to visit them. Now let’s move.”

She led us down the steps toward a streetcar stop that stood resolute at its place on the hill. From the bench you could see Brightgate flow up and down over its many hills and deep valleys. Apparently, back during the Changeover the people segmented themselves hill-by-hill for years. Fought over the valleys cyclically until they lost the heat of violence that led them at the start. Buried old grievances beneath track and cable car wire—a beautiful testament to letting go. I looked beyond the city, and found that point where sea met sky. My vengeance hadn’t docked into place yet, but it’d be here. As we waited for the cable car I imagined my vengeance painting that Old World bridge—the eponymous, Bright Gate— in blood fresh from the necks of my foes. I had only painted a third of it in my mind when the car arrived.

We piled in alongside others. A bundle of men sporting jackets sewn with linings of blue bandana, members of the Blue Tear collective way to the south. There was a woman wrapped in black shadow whose face broke the light into rainbows—her skin was flowing silver—a witch, probably from farther north near Moontower. Most others weren’t that interesting; locals whose route necessitated the pathing. Unlike me they didn’t gawk at the passengers. The unusual and uncommon was altogether too common when you had to pass a station everyday.

As we pulled away I turned my eyes onto Amber. She looked uncomfortable—she never looked uncomfortable. Her hands picked at her fingers flinging flakes of skin to the floor of the car.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

Amber pulled a taut smile. “Just worried about the state of my favorite brewery. I loved the booze, trust me, but they had this fried chicken that’d come in a creamy sauce. I’d die if I didn’t get to have it again.”

“You’re a better liar than that,” I said to her.

She said, “I am worried about the brewery. And other things. I contain multitudes.”

“Like more secrets I won’t get to know?” I asked.

Amber stole a glance toward Melissa—she was distracted gawking at passing architecture—before returning to me. Gave a quick squeeze of my hand. Trust me?

“I let you work up to your things,” she said. “Let me work up to mine.”

Her voice wobbled the tiniest amount. An indecision that crept in—maybe she wanted me to press, to not just accept things to be equal. The one time, where she expected selfishness from me. Needed it. Only for me to fail to provide—it wasn’t all my fault though.

“Was Brightgate always known for its street art?” Melissa asked, distracting us.

She pointed up at a building we were passing. Its wall a dramatic slash of stone to keep the building atop its crown level. Painted across was a mural of a whale in its dying descent as it drifted down into the dark of the sea. Its flesh decayed to form jellyfish that glowed bright as they spiraled out toward the viewer.

“Whalefall,” Melissa said. “Kind of a haunting subject, right?”

“Where shadow is invited it is to be expected one would find schemes lurking,” Sphinx said.

Melissa’s face fell—she had hoped that we’d left the Lurkers in the Deep behind. I’d failed to mention what I’d learned with Secretary about the Lurkers—the extent of their plans. Amber tsk’d and tapped her closed fist, quiet. She swirled her finger at the room, we aren’t alone. I looked around to see if anyone reacted to what Sphinx said. Which earned me a kick to my shin from Amber. Her eyes frustrated and confused, what’s wrong with you?

We didn’t talk about the “street art” for the rest of the ride. Though after Melissa had pointed it out it was hard not to see it everywhere. The whale’s wide dead eye watching from between buildings, layered lenticular across the vertical beams of a house, and those jellyfish glowed across the top of roofs. It was everywhere once you knew to look. I only examined it once using the Omensight, but I didn’t glean much—the art missed a key thread that otherwise left the entire image inert. It was hardly worth the tears the spell exacted from me.

After a half hour of dangling in mid-air and soaring down hills, we’d arrived at the Lodge district. If comics and books are anything to go off—they aren’t, but it was all I knew until then—every city had a district like it. An area cordoned off socially by the residences, dorms, and shops that all traced their way to the Lodge. Whether in service to its members or its aims. We stepped off at our stop alongside the Moontower witch and the boys from the Blue Tears. As you’d expect they were also examinees.

We passed through the eastern gate—it was stone, five men thick—and marched direct as our cable car to the spiraling building of glass and living wood that corkscrewed into the sky. Cherry blossoms surrounded the tower—a murmur of petal starlings endlessly reshaping. Amber sucked her teeth in distaste. Muttered something about it being a waste of dues to maintain.

Down the brick streets and gentle slopes, we made our way to the Lodge headquarters. A small line of examinees unspooled out the front door and down the steps. We passed a man calling for people to place their bets on the prelim results. The line moved fast though, and we found ourselves inside the lobby no more than ten minutes after joining the end of the line.

The lobby was a wonder of wood—the floors covered in rings that told its story—and above the central open air were multiple stacked balconies that looked down on us. Far above them though was a ceiling of stained glass from which a waterfall of colored light descended in great beams. Sphinx bumped me; it was our time to register. At five terminals a number of androgynous workers in suits identical to Secretary’s—save the jacket—registered entrants.

“Greetings, I’m Secretary,” they said.

Their face was soft, body sharp, and voice bright like a sparkler. They weren’t my Secretary.

“We’re here to register for the exam,” I said.

They nodded and pointed to a medium-sized sorc-deck attached on a swivel arm. The slate showed a screen with instructions to write down our name and Court. Melissa and I followed, but Amber’s finger hovered just above.

“How honest do we have to be?” Amber asked.

The Secretary—I’ll call them the Lobby Secretary—giggled behind their hand. “Always those of you trying to be enigmatic. You’ll have to tell us if you pass the exam anyways.”

Amber smiled. “I’ll handle that when I pass. Until now,” her finger flew as she scrawled her name, “this is all you get.”

Lobby Secretary nodded with a polite service smile. Swiveled the slate back toward themselves. Tapped away at a keyboard below the desk. Their eyes rose in disbelief.

“Oh, you’re all exempted,” they said.

“We are?” I asked.

“Mhmm,” they hummed. “Quite a rare one as well.”

“There are rarities to the exemption?” Melissa asked.

“No, just the one who gave it,” they said. “I haven’t known them to hand out one in the four years I’ve worked this desk.”

“Secretary came through,” Amber said, a little surprised they did.

They fished out three cards. When I tilted mine I noticed a slight holographic effect below the surface—a mark of some sort.

Lobby Secretary said, “These are your Probationary Lodgemember passes. They’ll grant you access to our highest level of restaurants, deals at all Lodge approved shops and facilities, and will serve as your room keys for the residences prepared for all examinees. Note, they will expire two days after the exam, pass or fail.”

“Why do we get all this just for taking the exam?” I asked.

“Think of it as motivation for you to do your best,” they said. “Or a consolation if you die somewhere along the way. Next!”

Any worries I had were dismissed along with me. The three of us left the line and dropped into a small huddle of seats. We glanced between ourselves and then broke into smiles. Mine was the biggest as I leaned back and stared up toward the rainbow waterfall of light.

“We made it,” I said.

Amber squeezed my thigh. “I told you we would.”

Melissa squeezed the opposite thigh. “I, um, hope we pass,” she said.

I grasped their hands and gave them an equal dose of my confidence.

“Whatever we have to do, we’re passing,” I said.

Melissa shook her head. “Not whatever. I think we need a line.”

“Really?” I asked.

Amber nodded, “It’ll help. When things stop making sense, and we have to make choices.”

“Okay,” I acquiesced, “what’s the line?”

“Each other,” Melissa said. “No matter what, we don’t hurt each other. None of us dies either.”

“I thought it’d be something hard,” I said.

We all shook hands on three. It wasn’t like the oaths I struck with Sphinx—no magic hid behind the words. I’d never feel a razor to my spirit if I went against it. Instead, when I looked into their eyes I knew that if I broke this oath it’d be a knife to the heart. Mine and to the nascent thing that I felt when our hands were together and we became a chain of belief held only for each other.

“What now?” I asked.

“Brewery,” Amber said. “I’ll drop our stuff at our residence on the way.”

Melissa answered, “I’m going to make a reservation at the fanciest place here.”

“With what money?” Amber asked.

Melissa glanced.

“No,” Amber said.

She gently pouted—exactly like Amber would.

“Please,” Amber begged.

“For princess?” Melissa asked.

Amber broke. She reached into her storage-spell and removed four token pouches. Dropped them into Melissa’s hands. Melissa raised a brow. Amber added another two.

“You better get us a table that overlooks the bay,” she said. Then ran off before Melissa could beg for more money.

“What about you?” Melissa asked.

I thought for a moment. My thoughts tilted toward Suzu—Other! Toward Other—and I answered.

“I want to see the prelims,” I said. “Maybe scope out the competition.”

Melissa patted my shoulder. “Have fun.”

* * *

It wasn’t fun. I got lost a few times trying to find the stadium where the prelims were being held. Sphinx was the one who pointed out I should follow the crowd of rambunctious locals spilling beer and popcorn onto the street. They led us down toward the bay where we caught a ferry that led us out to the stadium—it “floated” atop the water.

The line of locals was massive, but I got to take the fast lane—Lodgemembers only. I fiddled with my probationary pass as I slid it back into my pocket. Followed the directions to where seats were reserved for any Lodgemembers that wanted to watch. The area was a block—middle row, perfect height—and largely empty. There were a few people present to watch, but whether they were there to cheer for someone or gather information, I didn’t know. I didn’t really care to know anyways. I needed to be alone.

I took a seat to the far end of the block, and slid down into it. Sphinx tried to find a good space to sprawl out but there was none. It huffed and walked into me—folded itself so it could curl up inside my spirit. I kicked my feet up onto the railing, and took the whole affair in.

Down on the grounds, a small mob of examinees milled about in anticipation. They stood on a field of clover at the center of the stadium. Watching as technicians sent commands to some hidden temple that slowly raised slopes, platforms, and whirling blades of ginkgo gold light. There were hoops to jump through, plush bats to dodge as they swung to and fro across a trail, and I even saw what looked like a maze of golden webs that caught what little moisture was in the air. It was impressive and complex—so beautiful that a tear came to my eye.

“It’s an obstacle course,” I said. Guilt crawled up into my words.

“You killed to get out of an obstacle course,” a voice teased, more audible than my conscience.

I remembered and found Secretary—my Secretary—lounging in a seat next to me. Their skirt was traded for thin shorts, stockings for bare olive skin, and like the ones at headquarters, had lost the jacket. Instead they only wore a thin shirt with a ribbon tie under the collar. They pulled their feet up onto the seat, head rested against their knees, and smiled at me.

“Did I get it right?” they asked, teeth bright and smiling at the chance to play with me again—whether I wanted to or not.