Rhian

Twenty-one years. Felt more like a hundred, but I was happy to be alive. Celebrated my birthday on the twenty-fourth day of the eleventh month, and we made it back to Oskari just in time. I wasn’t too keen on celebrating, but Gus would have none of it. Reckon the conversation went a lot like:

“We’ve got to do something.”

“What? So the Crazy Bitch can kill us all in one place?”

“At least we’ll have had a few laughs first. Come on, there’ll be free things.”

“I like free things.”

“You do.”

“Fine, but I’m not celebrating at the church.”

We didn’t celebrate at the church.

After catching up with Michael, the lot of us piled in The House—the one Faust left us by the stinky, grimy pond. At least I finally got to see inside, and it was all right. We crowded around on the couches in the living room I suspected Strauss recently had his way with. Smelled vinegary.

Nobody bothered asking why I left, or what I was up to while I was gone. They didn’t really have to when they saw me come back with Gus. For the celebrations that night, Michael was there, and Feargus, and Strauss, of course, and even That Varis which was strange seeing as I hardly knew her.

Anyhow, Gus had just finished telling everybody about the time we caught Councilwoman Oranen bumping uglies with a Delphi in the woods back at Palisade. We leveraged that one as much as we could until the lad mysteriously disappeared one day.

Everybody laughed—almost. But the trickiest part of the night wasn’t dealing with an uptight Legacy. It was pretending to drink from my flask.

“How are you both not permanently incarcerated?” That Varis asked.

“I’ve wondered the same thing,” I said. “I’ve also wondered if you sit around all day thinking up ways to be more boring.”

Commander Sir Michael Sir to the rescue. “I think now’s a good time for presents.”

Any time is a good time for presents, I say. Take what you can get, give what you can give, and to my surprise, even That Varis had something to give. It was a throwing star, which was nice on account of she was an excellent blacksmith and she didn’t even like me.

“Incidentally, I crafted this whilst studying in Stracha,” she said.

“It’s real nice, Varis. I’ll think of you when it comes in handy.”

That Varis might have smiled, or it might have been something she ate. I also might have felt bad for giving her such a hard time a minute ago.

But never mind, the feeling wouldn’t last long.

Next up, Michael gave me a hug and a speech.

“Rhian, we’ve been friends for almost a decade. But now that we’re partners, I’ve come to rely on you in a way I never imagined I would. Namely, to make me look better.”

Nearly everybody laughed. Funny enough, the feeling was mutual.

Strauss was quiet for most of the night. He might have been irritated with me for leaving without saying a proper goodbye, or he just didn’t have much to say. That Varis kicking around made things a bit awkward, but I’d get to him later.

Feargus’s gift was next, wrapped in about six thousand layers of blue silk so I wouldn’t feel what it was straightaway. It was a pistol.

“Do you like it?” he asked.

It was all right. The wood was brownish-blackish, and the metal bits were burnished so they wouldn’t reflect much at night.

“Haven’t got any love for fire-weapons or the means to use them, but otherwise, it’s perfect. Thanks, mate.”

Gus nodded sagely.

So, free things. Better yet, those free things were things I might have been able to use—options I didn’t have afore. Maybe Those Things could be shot dead again. Or maybe it wouldn’t matter, and they’d regenerate around the bullet, or pluck it out and chuck it at my head. Either way, it’d probably hurt. It’s not like I had any ammunition anyhow.

It was a few hours until morning by the time everybody went upstairs to bed—everybody except Strauss who had his own room to go back to at the church. Seeing as I reckoned we could use some time to talk, we made the walk together.

There isn’t a whole lot to say about the walk except that it was dark, and it was cold, and it was starting to smell like winter. Along the way, I told him all about how I’d met the man he sold the portrait to, and that I’d finally had the chance to see the purple suit for myself. I told him how that same man was the one who rescued us from the schoolhouse-slash-tavern, healed Michael, and brought us to the Drop. It took him a minute to come to terms with the fact Alexander was one of Those Things, seeing as he seemed so nice.

“He seemed so… nice,” he said.

“Maybe on account of he is, or maybe on account of he’s not. I haven’t sorted it out yet, but he says he wants to help us, and the one causing all the trouble is his sister.”

“Lidia Ruza.”

“Aye—wait, how do you know that?”

To explain how he knew that, Strauss told me everything he’d figured out about the Waste, what he’d learned from the library records, and from Ivana. I was able to confirm the story about the Ruzas wasn’t too far from the truth, only it wasn’t an old man with a mustache, or her bloody ten-year-old brother, or her father that assaulted her.

Lidia was having an affair with a Partisan.

“That could explain why she was asking me questions about my celibacy.”

“When was she doing that?”

“The day we met.”

“That’s a strange thing to talk about on the day you meet.”

Strauss shrugged, looking altogether shamefaced. “I just thought she was curious about Partisans. She seemed so sincere.”

I couldn’t help but chuckle.

We were approaching the church when Strauss invited me back to his room. We still had a lot to talk about, so that’s where we went. As usual, I made myself comfortable on the corner of his desk while he paced the room like legs were going out of style.

“There’s something else,” he said. “Someone else I met while you were gone.”

“Oh, aye? And did they ask you how often you tug the boat?”

Strauss went from pasty-arse white to beet-red in about half a second. “No, I—I met an old man, a defected Partisan. His name is Emerich Bach.”

I was still smirking, but Strauss carried on all the same.

“He told me about an organization made up of defects devoted to studying the creatures he calls Devourers, among other things. He said we would be welcome. I believe we could even be together there.”

The truth is, I didn’t know how to feel about the news, let alone how to react to the news. And when I wasn’t sure how to react, I tended to under-react.

“Eh—I don't know.”

Strauss knew me well enough to let my non-reaction slide. He stopped pacing, stepped in toward me, and took my hands. “He’s invited me to visit the compound, and I’m going to go. I won’t be gone long but it’ll be soon. He seems legitimate, if annoyingly elusive, and we can use all the information and all the allies we can get—even Alexander, for now. And, if the place turns out to be some sort of utopia, then…”

“…then we have our out.”

You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

Strauss nodded, and then I nodded. There was a lot of nodding.

“All right, fair enough,” I said.

“In the meantime, I have a theory and I need your help.”

"What is it?"

“I’d like you to find the entrance to the crypt.”

“What crypt?” I asked.

“The one beneath the church.”

“Uhh—”

“It’s been sealed off.”

Reckoned I could work something out.

After agreeing to help, Strauss shuffled over to Gus's old satchel sitting on a chair in the corner of his room.

“I have presents,” he said, returning to my side with a flask and something else shiny. “This came from Emerich Bach, when I mentioned it was your birthday.”

It was a flask filled to the top with Strachan Hocks. Honey. Cloves. None of that copy-cat shite, aged at least a decade and straight from Hollyhock by the smell of it. Too bad I wasn’t supposed to drink it. According to Alexander, it wouldn’t be wise. Either way, the flask was a prize in itself. It was bigger than mine, but it was also engraved with the letters “RS” which I found odd. I didn’t even know That Bach, but he sure went out of his way. Then again, birthdays were a big deal for Partisans—signifying another year not dead.

The doohickey was from Strauss. He said he found it in Leberecht, that he knew I’d like it the moment he saw it. I’d seen one similar in Delphia before, but not nearly as beautiful. The metal casing was filigreed with flowers and leaves, and the wheel didn’t hurt when I spun it with my thumb. Most folks assumed I didn't care for pretty things, on account of I didn't have any. That's why Strauss was different. He knew I liked pretty things, I just didn't have any.

I thanked him for being so goddess-be-damned thoughtful, and we spent around an hour staring at each other with hearts in our eyes and whatnot.

As for the rest of the night?

That’s between us, his lumpy bed, and your imagination.

It was a good day.

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Gus was gone again, and I was getting irritated. Whatever business he had with Faust, I didn’t like it. I also didn’t like how often I was randomly running into That Varis those days. I might have softened on account of the gift-giving and all, but in case you hadn’t picked up on it, I took issue with most Legacies. Making it to thirty was an accomplishment, but it was no excuse for all the judging, and sauntering about like they’d earned the right to be boring and rude.

Anyhow, after spending the day looking for a hidden crypt at the church, I was on my way back to The House when it happened again.

“Good evening, Enforcer,” That Varis said.

“Hello,” I replied.

“There’s something I’d like to show you.”

“Is it your warm and fuzzy side?”

“No.”

“All right. Lead the way, then.”

I thanked Stracha for every step we took without small-talk. The lass meant business and that was fine by me. We walked, and walked, and walked until we stopped in front of the old Ruza house, also known as Ivan’s old house, also known as the Murder House.

That Varis opened the door and stepped inside.

“Come,” she said. And it was a good thing she did, otherwise I might have stood outside like a nitwit wondering what to do.

I followed her to the kitchen.

“See?” That Varis pointed to a rotting portion of the countertop. “There.”

I took a step forward.

That Varis took a step backward.

And then the Legacy lunatic wrapped her big Amali hands around my skinny Strachan neck. I could say I had seen it coming, but that’d be a stupid thing to say. If I’d seen it coming, I’d have stopped it. But never mind. It’s rarely too late to fix a mistake, and I had hands. Out came my knife, and I sliced her clean across the arm. It sure as shite wouldn’t stop her, but it did the trick. The Varis loosened her grip around my neck. And I ducked and dodged out of range.

The Legacy moved in after me. She was faster than I expected.

“Don’t look so surprised," she said. "This is all your fault, Rhian.”

I was caught off-guard, cornered, and by the time I plotted my escape, it was too late.

That Varis readied up for the blow, and that’s the last thing I remember before her fist made friends with my face.

It was a bad day.

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The morning after I got my arse kicked by That Varis, Michael found me unconscious in an alley not far from the Widow’s Peak. He brought me back to The House, and when I woke up, I was relieved I wasn’t dead. My body ached in a way that didn’t make sense for someone who’d been punched in the face. I couldn’t be sure how far she’d taken things after I hit the floor, so I felt around for bruises, and I stopped counting at eight. To make matters worse, my face was burning, so I searched my satchel for the practical doohickey Adeline gave me all that time ago. I popped the timepiece-slash-compass open and peered at myself in the mirror only to find my face was bruised and scratched to the six unholy hells.

I hoped for intimidating scars.

The House was quiet, but I limped my way down from the bedroom to find That Varis and Michael sitting at the dining table having a cup of tea.

“Hey, sleepyhead,” Michael said. “Good to see you up and about.”

Ignoring Michael, I glared daggers over at That Varis. The squinting hurt, but it was worth it. “What in the six hells was that about?”

That Varis looked at me, then at Michael, then back at me.

“What—are you speaking to me, Rhian?”

“You know bloody well I’m speaking to you, Varis.”

Michael glanced between us. “Rhian? Helena? What’s this about?”

“That’s right, Michael,” I said. “You should be asking her what happened to me.”

“Helena?” Michael repeated, looking a lot like he was the one who’d been socked in the face. “Did you see what happened?”

“Not exactly. I was out for my walk when I witnessed an argument between Rhian and some local peasant. Quite frankly, it was above my head and beneath my station.”

If I weren’t so angry, I’d have laughed.

“Horseshite,” I said. “She did this to me. Look at her arm, Michael.”

“My… arm?” That Varis lifted her sleeves. There were a few old battle-scars, but no fresh wound. “Michael, the woman is insane.”

“Horseshite,” I said again. “But let’s pretend for a second it isn’t—if you saw me getting my arse kicked by a Barren apparently, why didn’t you help?”

“What should I have done, Rhian? Am I expected to fight your battles now? From what I understand, you’ve been sentenced numerous times for assault. Stumbling innocently upon it is no anomaly.”

“Right,” I said. “Never mind.”

“Never mind what?” Michael asked, still stupefied.

“She keeps calling me Rhian,” I said.

“So?”

“So? She never calls me Rhian, and there’s only one other person who calls me Rhian in that same creepy way.”

“She’s finally lost it,” That Varis decided.

“I think she’s just confused.” Michael frowned, mussing up his brown hair. He was the one who was confused. “Rhian, Strauss is on his way. Make sure he looks you over well—you might have head trauma.”

Whatever. I got what was coming to me, didn’t I? Consequences, kids. The Crazy Bitch wouldn’t be happy I was back, and I was starting to suspect she used That Varis to make her point. I doubted she had very good training—if any at all—against telepathy.

Once Michael and That Varis left The House, it wasn’t long before Strauss showed up with his bag of tricks, fretting straightaway about infection. He organized all of his tools, bandages, and whatnots, and we settled in the living room while he plastered my face with an ointment that smelled a bit like Ivana’s garlic potatoes.

“Won’t be handling any covert operations like this. Wait—did you grow whatever you’re smearing on my face? I’ve seen that garden. That garden is the anti-garden.”

“Precious,” Strauss said tersely. It was the way he spoke when he was worried. “Please tell me what happened.”

Seeing as he said please, I told him everything I hadn’t told him already—well, almost everything.

“You left because Lidia promised she’d leave us alone?” he asked.

“Aye, but now she’s raging, and Gus is gone, and on any other day, it’d be strength over numbers but we haven’t got shite for strength or numbers against Those Things. I can’t kill them. You’re, uh—well, you did all right that one time. I’m starting to think That Varis is one of Lidia’s meat puppets, and Michael can’t shoulder it all.”

“What about Bach?” Strauss asked.

“What about Bach?” I returned. “You said yourself he’s elusive, and besides, he can’t really show himself around That Varis.”

Strauss dabbed some dried blood from my face with a rag and water from a clay pot. It might have hurt, but I only remember his company.

“You suspect the Legacy is somehow being used in Lidia’s plot, but how or when would that have happened? She and the Commander have been inseparable.”

“For the most part, but what about when Michael went looking for me at the Drop? Or what about when we were in Istok? Michael hasn’t told her anything about Those Things, and she wouldn’t know to expect mind tricks from a Barren.”

“Can you prove it?”

I’d had experiences Michael and Strauss hadn’t. I’d spent about a decade training with that Delphi seamstress on the subject of telepathy. I might have been wrong about some things, but I wasn’t usually wrong about those things.

“No, but if everyone would quit accusing me of being paranoid, it’d save us a lot of time arguing about it.”

Strauss shook his head. “The proof isn't for me, but for the Commander. He’s requested a binding ceremony. I’ve advised against it, but the man is rather invested.”

That was some unidentifiable shite right there. Strauss will explain it better later, but binding to That Varis was the worst possible thing Michael could do. He’d never get out of that pit of a village. Oskari, That Varis, the Crazy Bitch—at least one of those things would suck the life out of him until there was nothing left but a puddle of armour.

“Well, that stinks,” I said.

“Yes, and he wishes to proceed posthaste.”

“All right, then proceed posthaste. We’ve got work to do and arguing between us isn’t it. Nothing’s gonna change. We’re all stuck here for now, and if I’m right about That Varis, then at least we’ve got eyes on the situation.”

“Rhian,” Strauss said.

It was odd hearing my first name come out of his mouth like that, and if I didn’t know any better, I’d think the Crazy Bitch had gotten to him as well. But I knew what was coming, so I pretended there was something interesting to look at on the floor.

“Rhian,” he repeated, and he waited until I looked up again. “I love you."

"Aye," I said. "You're all right, too.”

Look, he was still a pain in the arse, but it was a slightly better day.