Mira was intimately acquainted with the concept of family drama.

Her household was no exception to the rule; she remembered with startling clarity being a rebellious youth who would fight against her father’s established rules with such passion and defiance that the subsequent heaviness in the air that accompanied the aftermath of the fallout was so thick, she could’ve sliced with a knife enough times to feed a village.

Sitting on the couch in Alaric’s house while he tended to Bjorn’s healing wounds, Mira was nearly positive she could’ve done just that.

To her left, Jovie was sinking into the cushions of the couch, a small bandage wrapped around her right shoulder that Mira hadn’t even noticed was injured when they were regrouping from the ambush. The Scepter was glaring at the wall ahead of her, white clouded eyes burning with contempt.

Magic, sitting on the other side of Mira, was hunched forward and silent, his eyes trained on the injured goat on the floor. He had his glasses off, the legs of them tucked into the collar of his shirt and it had taken Mira a good few minutes just to get used to looking at him without them on. Her brother was always wearing them. Even when he slept he had them on, and Mira had to wonder if the damage to the glass was that bad to make him consider dealing with his horrid eyesight.

Soma was chirping, the sound echoing and, based on the sound of her hooves on the wooden panel floor, Mira could tell that the Spectacle was somewhere close by to the animals, as if trying to offer assistance. Alaric, however, waved his hands dismissively before tying a bandage around one of the animal’s crooked hooves and sitting back in the rocking chair he had pulled up to assist his flock. “Well,” he said, “when I agreed to lend you my two best workers, I didn’t think you’d repay me like this.”

“Wasn’t intentional,” said Magic, his voice soft. “Bjorn made his decision.”

“I kid. Mostly. Bjorn is a good goat. Very protective, even if he startles easily. He takes the task of caring for his handlers pretty seriously, I just didn’t think he would’ve taken a bullet—or four—for the two of you.” Alaric slowly reached out to stroke the goat’s curled horns. “Do steer clear of trouble, though, Bjorn. I can’t lose one of my best goats to the Vultures of all people.”

The animal let out a small, defeated sounding bleat and Mira heard Magic sigh in relief.

“I will say, though,” continued the old man, “Soma did quite some work for being as weak as she is. Had it not been for her, I don’t think Bjorn would be here. Give him a few days of rest and he should be back to normal.”

Soma made several short chitters; based on Jovie’s eye roll and scoff, Mira assumed the Spectacle wasn’t just accepting the praise, she was basking in it. Were all the Spectacles this prideful? Mira thought of the small, yellow bird that Magic consistently mentioned—Ori—and wondered, too, if she was as pompous as the jackalope in her presence. It wouldn’t shock her if that were the case. Higher beings had a tendency, in every story she’d ever heard, to have trouble with humility.

Alaric rocked back and forth in his chair, finally turning from the goats and Soma and towards his three guests on the couch. Soma’s skittering hooves approached and softened on the carpet as the man said, “Now that we’ve taken care of that, what other help are you asking of me, Jovie?”

The Scepter stared at the ground, her eyes tracking the soft skittering of paws. “We have a bit of a Cardinal issue. The library was attacked.”

“You’ll have to give me more than that. There isn’t much I can do aside from house you until we’re certain they won’t return—”

“They have Val and Delilah, Alaric.” Now Jovie glanced up, but the eye contact didn’t last long. The second Alaric squinted at her in question, Jovie avoided it again, but it didn’t change the utter shock on the man’s face.

“How?” Alaric asked, confused. “How did they manage that, the library—”

“Val wasn’t at the library, Alaric.”

“Isn’t that his job? To manage the building?”

Somewhere beneath the hang of the couch, Soma growled. The Scepter winced as if something in her jaw was bugging her. It was quick, almost imperceptible, but Mira was staring at Jovie while she spoke. Had she not been, she would’ve missed it.

“He left,” Jovie said. “He left to go find us”—she motioned towards Mira and Soma—“and helped out. I guess one of his drones in the Eastern District went off. He left Delilah with her usual sitter. She’s dead.”

“You don’t think the Cardinals have—?”

Jovie snapped her head up. The flare in her features returned and something in the air hummed. “No.” The word rang with the force of a bell, loud and sure. Spoken like an oath. “It would be stupid of the Cardinals to do something like that knowing full well that I would burn them to the ground if they so much as laid a finger on them.”

Mira shot a glance at her brother, who only shrugged. Between them both, she gathered one shared thought.

This discussion was going to take a while.

“Don’t presume to know your enemy, Jovie,” said Alaric, with all the energy of a chiding grandfather. “You don’t know what the old birds would do to provoke you into rushing to their aid.”

“They have my niece. My best friend.” Jovie was on her feet now, every part of her tense and rigid like a board. The woman was damn near shaking with rage. “They don’t have to do anything other than hold them hostage to get on my nerves. Harming them would be a foolish way to die.”

Soma growled. It was the low rumblings of an angry cat. A warning. The pressure in the air thickened and Jovie flinched with it as though a jolt climbed up her skin. Mira couldn’t see the creature, but when Jovie spun on the jackalope, her location was obvious: dead center in the middle of the room.

“I don’t need your sass, Soma!” hissed the Scepter, combating rising squeaks from nowhere. “I never wanted to agree to your idea in the first place!”

The Spectacle made a harsh hiss and Alaric cleared his throat, his hands in the air slowly moving down. As if the action would clear the air, push away the conflict. Jovie only stared at him with defiance in her jaw ticking like a timed bomb.

It made for a funny sight, a woman arguing with thin air. Had the tension in the room not been so apparent, Mira might have laughed. But she knew that doing so would make her into a target, so she kept her lips pursed tight while Magic squirmed uncomfortably in his seat at the rising tension.

As Jovie seated herself down with some mumbled curses under her breath and Soma’s paws because to clunk against the keratin of her antlers, Magic wrung his hands and said, “What would the Cardinals do to people like Val and Delilah?”

The old man sighed and leaned back in his chair. “Depends. Vallian is a tinkerer; he’s very well known for his work with cipher. He understands how it works at an intrinsic level and can manipulate that energy for scientific purposes. I imagine the birds would much like that skill. Would certainly allow them to experiment with a number of things—or people.”

Jovie inhaled sharply at the add-on. Mira remembered the innkeeper’s arms, the holes near the crooks of her elbows. The battle scars she’d earned by virtue of being alive and blessed—or cursed—with power.

She couldn’t fathom the idea of that happening to either the child or the librarian. It didn’t matter to her that she barely knew them. That wasn’t something that any human deserved.

“Delilah, though,” Alaric went on, rapping his nails along the top of his walking stick, “is a different story entirely. I don’t think they would be able to do any real harm to her. She’s a bargaining chip at most. It isn’t a secret that Delilah and Jovie share blood—in fact, Delilah is very happy to tell people that. It wouldn’t shock me if the Cardinals knew that fact either. How long do you have?”

Mira bit into her cheeks and her hands slowly glided into her pockets. She didn’t have to look around the room to know that every single pair of eyes was on her—they glared at her like a spotlight on a performer and Mira was just the pawn at work on the stage. It was a pitiful, crumpled mess in her palm, but she held out the note like an offering to Alaric. Jovie swiped it as Mira took a breath and mumbled, “A day.”

“One day?” asked Jovie. Then again, louder, accusatory, “One day?! Why didn’t I know about this!? Soma’s grace, why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because I found out about it before we left!” She was so sick of being berated for events beyond her control. And she certainly wasn’t going to stand for being scolded for attempting to be considerate. “I was going to give you the note when you calmed down—if you even know how to do that. What are you getting so pissy at me for?!”

“Mira,” Magic whispered, but Mira held a palm out, silencing him with a sharp flex of her fingers.

“You do not get to yell at me for something stressing you out,” Mira went on. She wasn’t sure when she’d gotten to her feet. Jovie had risen, too, and Mira was acutely aware that the Scepter was only the slightest bit taller. Not by much. A few inches, really. “Because I don’t deserve to be screamed at for your inadequacy!”

“Fuck this,” Jovie hissed, turning on her heel and marching towards the back of the house. Soma was squeaking, but the woman’s voice carried louder, stronger, and it shuddered with enough force for Mira to feel the hair on the back of her neck rise. Towards the staircase, the chorus of goats began to bleat in warning. “I did not ask for this. I didn’t ask for a target on my back. I didn’t ask for my niece and my best friend to share that burden.”

“Jovie Miller,” called Alaric, but Jovie had already left, the back door of the house slamming shut with a bang. The old man paused for a moment, sighed, sat back in his rocking chair, and held his walking stick across his lap. He closed his eyes and merely allowed the furniture to move him up and down and up and down.

The motion made Mira nauseous and she slowly sat down on the couch, trying to focus on anything to keep her heart from jackhammering in her chest, her nerves from forcing her into movement.

Soma huffed, the noise morphing into a sneeze before the wood panels creaked. Hooves clopped along the ground and up in a rhythmic trot along the steps to the second floor. Mira could hardly believe it. Cosmic temper tantrums. It was baffling. Because if not even Soma could stand being in the same room, and Jovie was so worked up she could barely function to create a plan of action, then what hope did they have?

In the silence, Alaric muttered under his breath, “She never learns.”

Magic coughed into his elbow, a muffled noise to bring life back into the room. “Learns what?”

“That whether she chose this life or not, it doesn’t change the fact that she was granted her title the moment she agreed to the terms. She’s still just as stubborn, just as hard headed as she was years ago. Though, I suppose things like that will never—Hey!” Alaric glared over at the goats. “Leave him be!”

Among Jeralt and Bjorn, who were lying peacefully on the carpet, was a small goat kid, nudging Bjorn with its muzzle. Jeralt had his horns primed and ready, lowered as if he were ready to charge. At Alaric’s voice, though, both turned to stare at the old man; Mira watched the goat kid’s tail sway back and forth slowly, wary, unsure. Then it turned, casting a bright yellow gaze towards her that sparkled with the iridescence both Bjorn and Jeralt had in theirs. She wondered if the stardust was the reason for the kid’s curiosity—or if it was just naturally inquisitive?

When the animals settled, Alaric rolled his eyes and tapped his walking stick on the ground. “I should have known better to expect Jovie to change. I would’ve hoped she’d come to terms with her responsibilities by now, but… Alas. I fear that stubborn resolve of hers will come back to bite her.”

“Where do you know Jovie from, Alaric?” Mira asked.

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“Friend of her father’s. He was a good man; he used to drop by additional food he’d gotten from the markets when I was too busy raising up the goats and sending them out for people to help with their own errands.”

“Was?” echoed Magic.

Alaric closed his eyes, brows raised in silent affirmation. “Cardinals slaughtered him and his wife in a raid. I’m told Jovie and her sister had no head to identify their father by.”

Mira swore under her breath, stealing a glance at her brother. He was rebounding from a flinch; she didn’t have to see him do it to recognize the stuffiness in his limbs. When he noticed her gaze, Magic held his palm out lightly in her direction, a silent I’m good, and Mira damn well hoped he was. There were only so many emotions she could handle today.

“As for the girls’ mother,” Alaric went on, his eyes still closed as if to pull the memory from his brain, “no one is certain. She wasn’t at the house when Arthur’s body was found. Jovie thinks her dead, but I believe her sister was of the mind that Nora was still alive and captured in the Cardina’s den further north. Of course, there was never any proof for either theory, but … if she was captured, it’s a kinder thought to make peace with death than wish for suffering.”

Mira doubted that highly. Wishing for death never lessened the blow of anything. She would know. She’d wished for her father’s death hundreds of times whenever he found himself too drunk to function, living only by the will of hospital machines and stubborn doctors and even more stubborn liver.

Wishing for death wasn’t the same as a wish for the absence of suffering. Those were two different things. And she didn’t like the implication in the old man’s words.

“It happened at a rough time; Jovie and her sister were freshly eighteen at the time, which meant they were old enough to look after themselves and hold jobs. Keep themselves afloat.”

“That shouldn’t be possible,” Magic said, his head tilted in that calculated, assessing way. “You don’t become an adult until twenty.”

“Perhaps in Droidell where you folks are from that’s the case.” Alaric opened his pale eye, his attention flickering between them. “Subsidians are considered adults at eighteen. And it wasn’t as though they had much of a choice in the matter. They needed a means of survival, so I pulled some strings and pushed for them to join a program of their choice. They chose health.

“Jovie excelled—quick-witted, smart, able to separate herself from what needed to be done. But her sister was too squeamish to continue, so she dropped and settled for working a smaller job that allowed her to be home most of the time.”

In the very few moments Mira had known Jovie, she’d heard her talk about several things. The mythology, her role, but of all the things to enlighten her or Magic about, a sister was never in that equation. “Why isn’t she around? Her sister?”

Alaric shrugged. He sank further into his chair with his palms up as if to say It’s complicated, then clanked his walking stick along the base of the rocking chair. “I know Jovie didn’t drag the two of you folks here to talk family history—not that she would be pleased to know that I told you anyway, but…nothing to be done about that now. The lot of you need a plan.”

The couch shifted to Mira’s right as Magic adjusted himself. He sat cross-legged on the cushions, arms over his chest as if to guard the fragile glasses tucked into his shirt. “How plausible would it be to sneak them out?” he asked, which made Mira’s brows shoot up. She’d never had her brother pinned for a strategist. He always seemed too meek for action, though she supposed planning didn’t exactly put anyone in the front lines. “Storming the building doesn’t make enough sense, not when they’re expecting our arrival.

Alaric hummed. “Do the birds know what you look like?”

“Well,” Mira said, “Cardinals that did know what we looked like are dead now. So, my bet is on no, probably not.”

The old man considered them a moment, tapping his chin thoughtfully against his stick. If he suspected anything about her words, Alaric didn’t say. He did, though, look around the house and settle his eyes on a clock closer to the kitchen. “There is something you could do. Bit of a risk, but what kind of encounter with the Cardinals isn’t? Only thing is I don’t exactly have the skills to craft disguises.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Mira watched her brother lean forward, elbows propped on his knees. There was a giddiness to his features, the same kind of barely restrained energy he had when they discussed the myths at the inn or walked a circle around the Maidenwood tree to spot the carvings.

“If the disguise you need is something that needs to be worn,” Magic said slowly, precisely, as if to not seem too over eager, “I might be able to make use of any materials you have.”

A large, tooth-filled grin spread along Alaric’s face. Energy filled the man’s limbs and he surged forward, the wooden chair swaying with the momentum as the walking stick clanked on the ground. “Good man!” he cheered, a roar so loud that the goats began to bleat. He sauntered over, the limp in his step visible and clapped Magic on the shoulder, ignoring his flinch and stiff limbs. “Best we get started then! I’ll talk you through the idea I had and we’ll work from there!”

The expression on Magic’s face was priceless.

It took all of Mira’s composure not to laugh at the co-mingling of shock and minor fear on his face, but she gave him a reassuring smile and motioned for him to stand. “You go put your skills to work,” she said. “I’m gonna double check on our Scepter.”

Alaric’s backyard was spacious; pens took up most of the space, animals peacefully slumbering within them. Subsidia’s lights had flickered down to nothing, the darkness combated with nothing more than the space spread of yellow lamp posts. A goat bleated as Mira opened the door, carefully toeing the porch steps that Jovie was sitting on. It hadn’t even closed, let alone made a sound, but the woman seemed to sense her arrival.

“If you’re here to sugarcoat the situation,” said Jovie, “I don’t want to hear it.”

“I was going to ask how you were doing,” Mira said as she let go of the door. It banged and shuddered twice as she sat on the porch beside the other woman. “But fine. I’ll do my best not to be positive in your presence.”

“You can go back inside if your only objective is to piss me off.”

“I’m not trying to. I just figured you might want company sitting outside. Wallowing in your own misery isn’t exactly fun.”

“I’m not out here to sulk for fun,” Jovie said with a frown, and Mira had the distinct impression that humor was something beyond her understanding. “And I’m not wallowing in anything. I’m just … feeling.”

“Feeling?”

“Yes. So I would appreciate the silence for now.”

It was then Mira realized that Jovie wasn’t looking at her. The Scepter wasn’t looking at anything for that matter. Her eyes were closed. Mira didn’t know how Jovie could stand just sitting here doing nothing and she didn’t have the energy in her to deny the woman’s request, so she obliged and surveyed the area.

She took specific notice of the goats, most of which were sitting in the pens, lounging or asleep, but some of the smaller goats, kids like the one inside of the house, were staring. Not at Mira, but at Jovie, with an uncertain shuffle of their hooves. Like they wanted to approach, but were afraid to and Mira wasn’t sure if it was because Jovie was exerting some kind of influence from her bond with Soma, or if it was because the goats—even the non-enhanced ones—were able to innately tune into something that Mira was incapable of picking up on.

“Did he come up with something?”

The Scepter’s voice was jarring in the quiet.

Mira only shrugged. “I think so. As we speak, I think Alaric’s dragging Magic along the house to try and execute the idea.”

It was small, but the woman’s mouth curled into the barest smile, a flicker of humor. Jovie opened her eyes, hands clasped together, the tips of her fingers against her chin, staring directly at one of the goats in front of her. “I’m sorry in advance for your brother’s sanity.”

“Trust me, Magic’s dealt with my bullshit practically his whole life. I think he can handle a few minutes enduring someone else’s antics.”

“Minutes? Try hours. If I know anything about Alaric, it’s that he has a way of talking so much that it goes in one ear and right out the other.”

Mira found herself grinning. Maybe this woman did know how to take a joke. “Perfect. He’s already got all the training he needs.”

Jovie shook her head, staring at the floor. She ran her fingers through her hair, tangling through threads of brown. Her fingers caught on a knot or two and she winced before smoothing out the strands. Then the amusement on her face was gone and the pensive, forlorn look was back. The distraction had run its course and melancholy had crept back into the conversation uninvited.

Despite herself, Mira scowled. “Don’t get that look on your face.”

“What look?” the Scepter asked.

“That kicked puppy look on your face. You were doing so well.”

Cloudy eyes found hers and the intensity in them made Mira pause. It was such an odd thing—but not new—to be stopped purely by the look in someone’s eyes.

Except Mira didn’t feel like she was stopped by the mystical fog hiding most of Jovie’s pupils. It was worse than that.

She felt captivated.

The Scepter took a long breath and directed her attention on the goats gazing back at her. “Sorry,” she said, her voice a feather in the wind. “It’s just … I’m worried.” Her voice cracked on the word, as if the weight of that simple truth—worry—was too much to bear saying aloud. “I’m worried about what the Cardinals will do to Delilah or Val to get at me. It scares the hell out of me and I want—need—to sit with it. Because if I don’t, it will stress me out and Soma will give me shit for not being focused enough.

“I don’t often get the chance to feel, to wallow, to sulk. Everyone seems to have this preconceived notion that because of my status—my title—that I’m this omniscient being, capable of being a savior to my own people. That I’m the answer to their problems. Meanwhile, it couldn’t be further from the truth. I’m not a divine being. I’m human. I may share a connection with the Spectacle, but I’ve only ever been good at helping people because I’ve had Val with me every step of the way. Sometimes I think he does most of the work.”

“Why agree to Soma’s terms, then,” Mira said, “if it causes you this many problems?”

Jovie’s arms retreated into her sleeves, fingers tightening on the cuffs. Without breaking eye contact with the kids, the woman snaked a hand into her pocket and produced a small piece of paper. It was crudely folded, corners poking out beyond flat edges and as Mira took it from Jovie and began to unravel it, she had a feeling it was done by a child’s hand.

Sure enough, beyond the folds and the past the creases, was a small portrait of stick figures and scribbles; of bright neon colors that barely showed on the page and wiggly lines that almost resembled names. But Mira had spent enough time reading her father’s own poor handwriting that she could make out the names, however misspelled and poorly composed they were.

Jovie.

Val.

Delilah.

And beside the names and their child-like caricatures, was a space for another figure, wiped out in purple marker.

“Delilah was sick,” whispered Jovie. “Nothing my staff and I did was enough to calm her fever. She was slowly dying with every passing day, every passing second. I couldn’t bear the idea of losing her—not when she’s all I have. So when Soma asked, I answered the call.”

I was forced to look for a Vessel then, Soma had said, and Jovie was willing enough to offer mind, body, and power so that we may act together to halt the sickness.

Mira felt ill. Jovie wasn’t just willing to agree to Soma’s offer. She was desperate.

“Sorry,” the Scepter added. “Didn’t mean to kill the mood.”

“It’s okay,” Mira said. “To be fair, I didn’t think you were capable of being able to improve the mood.”

“Just for the record, I’m very capable of having fun. My job—if you can call it that—doesn’t leave a lot of room for it, though. It’s weird to say, but I rely a lot on Delilah, not just for my sanity but for reminding me that you can find enjoyment in even the simplest of things. Child-like carelessness. A trait I wish I had. Not so different from her mother in that way.”

“Was your sister at least able to take jokes?”

A frown, but Mira could see the teasing in it. Small victories. “Don’t start,” the Scepter said. “She was a very ‘glass-half-full’ kind of person. She liked to see the bright side in everything, my sister. Of course, that left me with taking the ‘glass-half-empty’ approach to almost everything just to give her a reality check.”

Just like Magic, Mira thought to herself with a scowl. She couldn’t count on her ten fingers how many times her brother had butted into a conversation or while she was expressing an idea just to tell her that it wouldn’t work or didn’t make sense—and proceed to lay out the ways in which she needed to change it in order for it to work.

She scoffed. “What use are siblings if they don’t annoy the hell out of you by making absolute sense?” muttered Mira, half to herself, but Jovie caught it and smiled in a way that it took up half her face. “I mean it,” she went on. “I love my brother; there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for him to make sure he was safe. But sometimes I wish he would stop being right. It’s a bit annoying.”

“Does it ever go the other way around? Because it did for me.”

“It does. Except my brother doesn’t like to admit that he’s wrong because it would mean saying that I was right. He’s got too much pride to admit that.”

“I sympathize.” The Scepter rolled her neck, lightly tossing her neck from side to side. Mira found herself staring, but to her relief if Jovie picked up on anything, she didn’t say. “Y’know,” added the woman, “when you’re not being a pain in the ass, you’re not bad for a westerner. You’re clueless, but you’re determined.”

“That’s probably the nicest thing you’ve said to me since I’ve met you.”

The Scepter leaned back against the porch steps, brown hair drifting along her shoulders. It was the closest thing Mira got to an answer and she tore her eyes away so as not to stare. She focused on the empty neon lights, the ones that were once frizzing and now dull.

They sat this way side by side for a few fleeting moments, a silence that Mira both didn’t know what to do with and desperately felt like she needed. Sitting in silence was something she could get used to—if the buzzing thoughts in her head could ever learn to settle.

“I never asked,” Jovie said into the quiet. “But this plan Alaric’s made … is he certain it’ll work?”

“He hasn’t guaranteed anything.” Mira heard Jovie sigh—a long, drawn out sound that implied as much irritation as it did stress relief. “Look,” Mira added, quickly getting to her feet, “if you don’t trust Alaric to come up with something that will save Delilah and Val, then at least trust me and my brother.”

She held a hand out, a silent olive branch between them. Jovie looked between Mira’s palm and up at her face. The first time she did, the Scepter’s attention immediately went elsewhere. The second time, she stared Mira directly in the eyes.

Again that warm chested feeling of intensity.

It vanished the second Jovie slapped her hand in Mira’s, held tight, and stood up. “Let’s get to work fooling some birds, then.”