The door clicked shut behind her, and her mana immediately depleted. A throbbing pain roared in her head and her vision spun. She rubbed her temples until it passed.

Her hand was already holding the flask of Dew as she thought to take a sip, with the other poised to open it. She needed Dew and Oil in equal parts and she still had plenty. A sip would be all right. She opened the flask and put it to her lips. A few sweet drops graced her tongue, and as she swallowed them the familiar chill hummed through her body. For a moment she knew how a hive must feel, with the buzzing of a thousand bees in her skin. Then it was gone, and though some of her mana was restored, she was left feeling empty.

Her daughter kicked in her belly, so she gave it a rub to reassure her. Her stomach was cold as though some of the chill still lingered there. Lyrua cast her invisibility spell over herself and spared a bit of Light for her baby just in case, rubbing it with both hands into her belly as she descended the stairs.

Six people were mopping the floor and rolling up the rug to get it out of the way. They had the main doors open to dump water in the street, so she stepped out the front. She hurried away from the inn and returned to her quiet spot at the side of the Puppet Masters’ Guild Hall. It was comforting to be in amongst the obscuring standees. The hall and the yard behind it were still quiet, so she released her spell. She sighed, her heart beating firmly.

There was something thrilling about stealth that kept her heart beating quickly. If only she had learned it sooner, she could be a master of stealth like Ove. She imagined sneaking through Manataklos and watching everyone go about their day, ignorant of her covert gaze, before shaking off the thought. Ove was waiting for her.

She put the flask back in her pocket and returned to The Sleepy Kiln.

Lyrua knocked on the door to their room. It squeaked open in Lander’s hand, and she stepped inside. Athen slid off the wall-to-wall bed and tossed his entire body at her.

“Mother!” he cried, tears dripping over his cheeks. “I was worried, and Ove is still sick.” As he squeezed her, he dug around beneath her cloak. “Did you lose my dagger?”

“What happened?” Lander asked. His armour was standing in the corner. He crawled over the bed and lounged in the corner with his hands behind his head.

“I retrieved the Dew and the Oil is what happened.” She looked around the room for something to use as a bowl, but there was nothing. “Lander, I need a bowl to mix them.”

Shrugging, he glared at his armour, bending one of the chest plates with his mind until it fell off and rolled across the floor. Lyrua waited a moment before picking up the hot steel bowl and set it on the table.

“What are you doing?” Lander shouted. He pushed himself forward.

“What?” Lyrua had the bowl ready on the table, and the flask of Dew ready for her lips just under her chin. “I… am just listening to the odd sound it makes.”

“With your mouth?” Lander pushed himself to the edge of the bed, and she began to fear he would take her dew from her. “I can hear it from over here. Please tell me you haven’t been drinking that. Even I know it’s bad for a brewing baby.”

“O-of course I knew that. I know that!” She held the flask away from her body.

“I should have known better than to let you go after that Dew,” Lander said. “I’d almost believe you forgot what happened last time.”

She emptied Osvaldus’s flask into the bowl. The glimmering moonlit fluid filled about a quarter of it, humming as it swirled around like a whirlpool in the stars. “I remember a strange Iron assigned to guard me every minute to keep me from doing what I wanted.” Lyrua did not look at him while she spoke.

She poured the singing Oil carefully and as the first drop, like a dollop of sunlight, plopped gently in the Dew, the humming and singing joined together, and the liquid became brighter, a ring of sunlight spinning amongst the stars like the ring of Machina itself. Each drop intensified the lustre, until the bowl oscillated with a divine choir and shone with radiant flame in colours that only the Gods could have described. By combining the extracts of the rival Trees, Lyrua created an aberrant union of divine powers so potent that all of its properties were not known. The Empyreal Elixir.

“Children aren’t responsible enough to do what they want,” Lander said, lifting Ove onto his lap. “If you’ve grown up at all you should understand that.”

Lyrua scowled at the memory. Lander would never understand how a developing girl felt being watched like a toddler. Her father had not understood either, or he would not have put him on her. A brutish Iron from the archipelago without the couth to do as the princess ordered.

She picked up the bowl. The magnificent liquid inside never slowed its swirling. She wished she could see herself reflected in its beauty.

Athen held Ove’s beak open as she approached and she carefully poured half the shining Elixir. The liquid sang even into Ove’s body as she gulped it down, her feathers fluffing up with vitality with each swallow. A resonant melody lingered in her, fading as her body absorbed the Elixir’s power. Ove’s leg sprang up, her taloned foot pressing against Lander’s chin.

“I’m glad you’re feeling better, Ove,” he said earnestly, letting her down.

Ove put her hands over Athen’s ears and screamed, shaking her head and letting her feathers stick up. She looked even healthier than she had before she was silverstale, but her talons tore gashes in the thin rug and scarred the maple planks as she vented her swollen frustration. Lander watched her with concern instead of mirth this time.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

‘That was awful,” Ove said, simmering down. Her head still shook a little. “I thought I would be stuck like that for ever.”

“You did not believe I could get the Elixir?” Lyrua’s fist went up to her hip as the Elixir sloshed against the bowl in her other hand.

“No, my Lady,” Ove said plainly. “I thought you would come right back and tell Lander to get his father. But thank you.”

Lyrua was almost insulted, but something about Ove’s comment made her feel good. Beyond that, she was just glad to see Ove better. Her mind wandered back to what Osvaldus had told her, and her stomach felt like it was twisting again. She looked at Lander. “Take Athen into the next room, I need to speak to Ove.”

“Mother?” Athen cried out, as Lander picked him up and carried him to the door. “Is something still wrong with Ove?” His voice faded away as Lander shut the door behind them.

Ove stood with her black eyes still and staring. “You never told me you used to drink Dew,” she said.

“I spoke to Mayor Osvaldus,” Lyrua deflected.

“And I guess you didn’t speak with your boot this time? What venom-ous things did he say?” Ove climbed stiffly onto the bed and folded herself in her wings.

“Please tell me it is not true, that you turned a person into a puppet.” Lyrua’s eyes swelled with tears.

“I did.” Ove angled her head, staring at Lyrua sideways.

“Why?” Lyura murmured through her tears. Her knees no longer wanted to support her. “What could someone do to deserve that?”

“She was weak,” Ove chirped quietly.

“And what is she now? Dead? I protected you because I believed you were wronged!”

“You were even more naive then than you are now, my Lady,” Ove said. She flexed her arm, grasping it near the shoulder with her other hand. “But you have always been a good judge of a cha-racter.” Ove’s expression was dour as she twisted, and her arm… clicked off, wing and all.

Lyrua’s head was spinning, and she felt her chest begin to tighten. Ove turned herself into—But… that was not as bad as what she had thought, and that relieved her. It was gruesome and horrible, but… “You did not torture or murder anyone?”

“Not unless you count my old self.”

Lyrua slumped to the ground, and her relief brought her tears even stronger. “Your old self?”

“Well I think it is fair to say a pro-cedure like that changes a person.” Ove reattached her arm, and shrugged.

“Did it hurt? Why did you do it?” She sniffled. “And how?”

Ove climbed off the bed, and wiped Lyrua’s eyes with a clean cloth. “It hurt. I thought it would be worth it. I don’t know if it was.” She sat down, and took Lyrua’s hands. “I had many reasons. I thought I could be strong. And I wanted to fly. I don’t have hollow bones like birds, or even some of the other birdfolk, so I was a bit too heavy for my wings.” Ove looked up at Lyrua. She looked happy. “You’ve seen me fly. Others are jealous. People who aren’t birds are jealous. It’s the most em-power-ing feeling. I don’t need Air spells, but they still help.” She sighed, “The Dark spells I used…” Ove’s head sagged.

She touched Lyrua’s shadow, pressing her hand against it until the shadow gave and her hand vanished as if passing through the floor beneath. She pulled her hand back out, and gripped in her thin fingers were another set of thin fingers gripping her back. A second Ove climbed out of Lyrua’s shadow. The two Oves were identical; even their cloaks seemed to be cut from the same cloth. More eerie than Ove having a second Ove, was that the second Ove was alive as well.

“… I could not cast them very well,” the second Ove finished. “I could not do what I had wanted to do. Four dolls, made with a limb from my natural body so I could bind a fifth of my soul to each one.” The first Ove held up the arm of the second, then let it drop. The second Ove crawled into the cloak. “They are all me. I am one woman in five bodies, but each only has a fifth of the power. I could not make them come back together into one. That spell is beyond me, and I feel embar-rassed by that failure.”

Lyrua sniffled. “Osvaldus told me you turned someone into a puppet. He did not tell me… I was so horrified, thinking you gutted someone for a doll. Why did you not tell me?” Lyrua hung her head to hide her tears behind her bangs.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were addicted to Dew as a child?”

“It is embarrassing and shameful,” Lyrua said, averting her eyes. “I still do not want to speak of it.”

“Then maybe you under-stand. That dullard Osvaldus does not. He thinks my business some how is his own. ‘If you are in the Guild, it is Guild business!’ he says. No it’s not! I did it in private. If they don’t like it, no one has to go telling every one!” She clacked her beak. “I didn’t tell you because I was afraid you would hate me. The Guild beat me and tossed me away. They were sup-posed to be my friends. You saved me. You wanted to take me in. What if you reacted the same way? Would you have left me to die, if you knew?”

“I do not know what I would have done,” Lyrua said. “I think I would not have let you die, but I doubt I would have taken you back with me either. I cannot say I understand, but I do not think it makes you evil.”

“Of course not. I’m not evil.” Her feathers puffed up.

“I am sure an evil person would say that,” Lyrua chuckled. She wiped her tears away with Ove’s cloth. It was a kerchief, with orange daffodils on it.

“I bet the Moon-flower King and the Yawn-ing Sun said it every day,” she squawked.

“Herluf Sorenrov and Bartholomaeus Gammel as well. I believe I actually remember Herluf saying something like that once. Although, perhaps in that case I should have listened…” She took a deep breath. She was right about Ove after all. She was a strange woman, and… perhaps too extreme, but she was her friend.

There was still plenty about Ove that she did not know. She was beginning to think she did not know much of anything. She would have to start by learning what she could. “Why did you not simply use your dolls to free yourself?”

Ove shrugged. “Silver broke the connect-ion. I fixed my arms, and then I was out of mana and that collar made me silver-stale.”

Lyrua sat on the bed next to Ove, and her weight caused the small birdfolk to tilt into her. “I wish you had not had to go through all that.”

She was her friend most of all.