Midday of the fourth day of our journey and we're on the final leg of our land travel. The traffic has only been increasing as we near the coast passing by towns and farms along the way. I can feel myself untensing at every crossroads and caravan we pass as the odds of our being picked out of the crowd plumets. Never mind the fact that a day's travel head start thanks to artifact flight, a false trail, the necessary wait for some kind of warrant to conduct searches, the fact that the bank would need to hire bounty hunters and that bounty hunters would have to accept despite their preposterous odds of success. I was still worried.

Our only concern about being caught now is if we're searched and that is unlikely, if only because I could fly over any hard checkpoint and people know it.

I'm still relieved when we crest a small rise and a lush river valley expands below us. Thick blankets of vegetation cover every surface. The dense foliage rustles and shakes with the weight of the wildlife that it hosts.

Spicer leans forward and smiles at the sight. It is admittedly spectacular but my attention is not on the verdant vista spilling towards the horizon but instead it is dominated by Spicer's incessantly tapping leg. He's been going all morning, fidgeting and buzzing. It's making me increasingly anxious, no that's not right, it has been grating my nerves all morning like a rusty knife on harp strings and I'm just about to snap. I can't even tell if he's excited or nervous, the tension is killing me.

I should just ask. The thought makes me queasy but I gather my courage. Spicer has only hit me three times, twice my fault and never that hard, he won't lash out for a simple question… probably …even if he is wound tighter than a krakens' crushing pseudopods.

"Somethin' got y'u stressed there boss?" I ask hesitantly trying not to let on that I'm prepared to dodge.

"What? Oh yeah." He answers distractedly, still absently tapping away. "Just happy to have the crew all together again. I always miss the flea bitten lot of them when they're not around, despite how infuriating they can all be."

I try not to feel an stab of envy. Does he think of me in the same way as the rest of the crew? I was loaned out to them when their last sneak got nicked. Will the guy at the top pull me out and make me do other stuff? I should have more than repaid my debts after this and we work well together. Can I stay with the crew?

The rush of questions through my mind is disorienting. I don't know what I will do after this but I think that I know two things. I like this group, and I want to stay with them if I can.

"You've been with us for a while now Pyre, do you like working with us?"

Woah. Don't panic it's just an innocent question and not maybe the chance in a lifetime to join up with a competent group that actually values loyalty.

"Yeah. I really like working with you!" It comes out more forcefully than I'd meant but once my mouth is open I can't stop. "I've been learnin' so much too, mostly safe crackin' from Gotz f' obvious reasons bu' also Violae has been teaching me a bit of the language an' Hant helped a lot with trainin' my balance an' stuff. Amelie too!" It all falls out of my mouth in an ugly tumble of words. More than I've said at once in a long while and it's not stopping "I mean Amelie mostly jus' teaches me swears 'cause explosives are too expensive, but still. You've obviously taught me a bunch about artifacts and enchantments. The only problem is that I've been missing the twins but it's not like that's your problem anyway."

Spicer's face is spreading into a smile throughout my sudden verbal eruption, an expression that seems to me to represent genuine pleasure at my ongoing outburst. But as the breathless stream comes to an abrupt end with my final admission, I watch in real time as something in his face sets. The amused look of growing joy suddenly becomes a mask, something worn to hide his real thoughts until they're ready to be shared. The sudden change brings me up short, the wind abandoning my sails. What did I say, do, wrong?

Spicer sits back, and looks up at the canvas awning. He is silent for a moment. I try not to stare. I end up glancing back repeatedly which is probably even more distracting. With an effort of will I still. Now he's got me fidgeting. Damn it!

"You know fawn… After all these months I still know so very little about you…" The accusation hangs uncomfortably long and the itching of sweat beads across my brow. "Tell me a bit about your twins. Their your siblings right?"

I nod slowly. "Half. I d'know. They're seven now, well las' month actually, they jus' started school. They eat a lot and their da's a giant, really I think he's a'tually twice my height, no exaggeration, so they were pretty much my size 'effore we left. Probably taller than me a'this poin'… Edva loves clocks, gears, pretty much anythin' that ticks. I got him a pocket watch once, totally mundane one, expensive stuff, he took it apart t'see how it worked in abou' five minutes. Alpic is probably goin' t'be an explorer or somethin' she's climbed all across the roofs around the neighbourhood, I got her a book of creatures… wasitcalled ...a bestiary? I got her one of those and she slept wit' it under her pillow for ages."

I can imagine them now; Edva. Cagey and reserved asking probing technical questions in a constant battle to understand a world that is too often strange. Alpic. Fierce, loyal, curious and daring, always chasing the next adventure.

"You seem to care about them a lot." Spicer's voice interrupts my thoughts. "You don't normally talk so much."

I blink. This is the most I've spoken at once in a week. Since I went over my entire heist plan a final time, in detail, with Gotz. I suppose that Spicer is right, I really do care about those ravenous money sinks. My non-existent savings scream in theoretical protest.

The road brings us rolling around a bend and the glittering blue of the Oratin ocean becomes visible in the distance. The scent of salt, so faint it might be imagined tickles my nose.

"Have you ever thought about emigrating?" Spicer asks suddenly.

I wrinkle my nose at the unfamiliar word. "What-igratin'?"

"Leaving." He corrects ruefully. "You've said that it's hard for you to live there… You never wanted to just pack up and go somewhere else?"

I hum in consideration. "I honestly never though' abou' it. I mean… It's what I knew. I just kind o'figured it was a fact of life."

Out of the corner of one eye I get to see the rare spectacle of the coolly composed stag looking genuinely baffled. "I suppose Gottrebann are nothing if not adaptable. People can always shock me with what they can become used too."

I just close my eyes and sigh. "This trip's been strange, that's f'sure. I didn't think I'd ever be glad to be half Hustish. Back home I normally just get a kicking for my trouble, but here I actually get some of the advantages, it's nice."

Spicer huffs "Good for you, I've mostly just been sunburned." he grumbled back, picking a flake of dry skin from his uncovered shoulder. He examines the piece of dead tissue before flicking it into the bushes for the insects to fight over. "No urge to go to your mother's homeland then? I mean, If the city is so shit to you, why not leave?"

I shrug. The question twists something inside of me. Just leave, like it's that easy. It's not like I'm drowning in options for how to make a living and… Why should I leave? It's my home too isn't it? The place I was raised, where my family lives. My family... how could I leave them without support? Mum tries, she really does, but there are times when she can't manage the twins by herself. I don't say that though.

Instead I say "I figured people would hate me for bein' too pale instead of too dark."

Spicer grunts. "In and around Ethona they just might… I hadn't realised it was that bad though."

I sigh. "It's not that bad really, it's mostly just… I stand out a bit and I don't know why but some folk just seem to hold a special hate for mixed people. Like the idea that people who look different can fuck, pisses them off."

I should shut up now, before I say something I regret. It' not that bad really, and the twins don't get nearly so much trouble.

My mouth isn't quite done though. "To be entirely honest though… It's home. Y'know?"

Spicer lets the moment rest… then relaxes. He smiles broadly, pats me lightly on the shoulder, which I tolerate, then lies back on the bench again. It's a friendly, encouraging motion and something about it sets me to tingling with suspicion. It's probably nothing, I'm neurotic at times, my fear can't be trusted.

'Your friends can't be trusted either little Pyrite. You know better than that.' The cruel voice whispers in my ear. Best not to answer or acknowledge, even in thought.

The cries of birds distracts me a flock of feathery sea birds is harrying a larger but solitary flier with membrane wings and an attitude. The aerial duel wheels and dives as the combatants seek to catch and ride the winds of victory. I wonder… Will ever fly again?

The thought hits me with sudden paired bouts of melancholy and euphoria. I probably won't ever get the chance to fly again and that hurts far more than it should, the glorious skies are lost to me and I am yet again ground bound, I will be wading through the dust and mud of the world for the rest of my short life. But I got to fly! How many people can say that and mean it? Even if only for a few hours, I was a part of a world above.

In that world the battle still rages, the conflict has risen higher upwards, the more nimble sea birds forcing their sleeker heavier opponent to use its greater more powerful wings to gain height and distance. The hostile murmuration weaving and moving as a united and furious whole. They look to be getting the upper hand despite the relative elevation. Then the skin wing dives. The flock splits at its passage then turns to follow, they can't catch up though, the big one pulls ahead. It's going to escape.

Entirely defying my expectations membrane wings burst open and the diving bird pulls into a spectacular loop. The sea birds at the front dart to the sides, but those in the middle are blind to the turnabout as the larger bird spears through the middle of them claws outstretched. The flapping war party burst apart like a firework as blood and feathers scatter in their midst. Their previous synchronicity turning to panic in a moment. The victor of the conflict makes a hurried escape before they can reorganise, a pair for limp forms clutched in its talons.

That was incredible! I'm so glad I could see it. And that loop! It might have been literally magical

My memory is a blessing, I'll never forget this moment.

We trundle along rough roads for a few more hours and a dozen more miles, eventually joining the true ocean road. With the ever present roar of the waves crashing on the cliffs below. Salt wind whipping our skin with sea borne spray. The coastal route is well used and smoothed by years of passage. The grit and brine has beaten back the thickest of the vegetation so that the forest has receded. It makes the next few hours of travel easy and comfortable, the breeze cool and refreshing in the heat. Eventually a mid-sized town crawls into view, the masts of ships scratching at the air as they bob up and down. I wonder which one is ours. As we come in closer I get a better look.

The out sized harbour burrows out of the cliff and crawls into the path of the lapping waves. Old stone stubbornly holding against years of wind and rain in craggy faced defiance against nature. The ocean itself is patient and serene in its opposition. A soft breeze rolling across its undulating surface. Deeper in the glossy back of an ocean leviathan breaks the surface in a shower of droplets then slips below the salty surface. Scavengers fight and shriek on the small beach, tussling over scraps of fish carcass and the right to sandworm burrows. The constant conflict of wildlife a surprisingly comforting accompaniment. Buildings become clearer as the wagon trundles ever forward. They are about as I expect, local wood and rock made to be sturdy and functional but pretty just the same. What I don't expect is the strange protective cladding on the front. We came through during spring when the elements where milder and annual renovations where underway, but it's autumn now and panels of corral have been cut from the sea bed and attached as colourful organic armour to the windward walls of the erstwhile buildings. The fantastic myriad of shades is steadily fading to grey in the sun but retains some of its glossy finish.

The impressive protection from storms is not matched by the landward walls. Whatever threats crawl out of the salt marshes not worth the effort compared to what rises from the deep, be that weather or worse.

The gate is open as we approach, a bored doe leaned against the sun heated stone wall, with a hat over her eyes and a block of half carved wood in hand. She yells some directions as the convoy passes her by and it takes a moment after we've passed to realise that she is probably on guard duty.

The town is busy, the afternoon a pleasant temperature and the work of preparing vessels for tomorrow morning occupies most of the wharf with bustling activity. Sailors move with direction and purpose while traders call orders and otherwise stand around getting in the way. I notice a someone messing with an uncovered stack of harpoons sheltered under a sea facing bench, then see other benches all along the dockside. It seeps a measly defence against some of the monsters that can have been known to come from the brine for Gottrebann snacks but… what else are people supposed to do?

Spicer clicks his tongue and flicks the calox then we're changing direction. A few calls of farewell trail after us but the group is splitting up now, the vehicles breaking away.

"Goodbye little one now!" The friendly mercenary, 'Nax' I should try and remember their name, waves over at us and I wave back.

"Tell your uncle to feed you more now! Good fortunes!"

I give Spicer a glance and he chuckles. "Not likely niece, I spend plenty of your food budget as is."

Better not to voice my disagreement probably, I should stay skinny anyway for burglarising purposes.

The broad street narrows as when rattle away from the docks and narrows further when we head onto a road that does not look designed for carts. We just about squeak through the corner and halfway down the partially dilapidated street we come to our destination.

The Inn is small but pleasant and still has some afternoon light streaming through its front facing shutters. A hanging sign depicts a red sea serpent coiled around a frothing tankard in apparent jealousy. There looks to be a small area for the wagon down one side, but probably not room for the animals. The calox come to a halt next the coach house and I jump down intending to help with unhitching the animals, I'm interrupted though.

"What a surprise seeing you here!" Comes a bright friendly voice that rings across the space as clearly as birdsong.

Violae sachets across the intervening space like a dancer on stage. She graces us with a dazzling smile that makes me, and probably everyone else who sees it, feel like it would be worth charging a cannon battery to see it again. There is only one person I have ever met who is prettier than her and it's a close thing. Her every step is grace incarnate and when she gives Spicer a coquettish wave I feel the tiniest most irrational needling of jealousy. Which is stupid for a number of very good reasons.

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Then she turns back to me and with the magnanimity and care of a Goddess takes me into her arms. Violae runs hot and her embrace is the warmth of a hearth, wrapped in a blanket. She's soft too and despite my instant reaction to stiffen and tense when touched I am able, just barely, to loosen enough to enjoy the hug. My hands very hesitantly wrap around her back, I'm so much shorter than Violae that my head is pressed against her ribs. I can hear her heartbeat and feel the plushness of her.

There's muscle underneath all the warmth and softness though and for as much as I like Violae she should not be trusted. It takes a certain kind of ruthlessness to be as gorgeous as she is in the underworld while remaining free and clear, it takes more to be the designated face for a group of criminals.

"I was so worried about you my little bonfire." Fingers slide through the dark hair of my mane as Violae speaks. "I've been agonising for days. I was so afraid something awful might have happened." Her voice is singsong and flawless, vocal training as good as any singers' makes it smooth as honey. "But you are back, and everyone has arrived safely. We are waiting for your story in eager anticipation. Did you succeed in your daring expedition?" She dances the syllables on notes of a perfect pitch. It's no wonder she's so successful in her role, misers would shill out for her scams and monks make no protest when invited to a dark alley.

She pulls back, perhaps just a bit put off by my uncontrollable tension. I give her a tight grin and a nod. Her eyes light with joy and pride. "That's my girl!" she turns away from me too fast, taking my warmth with her. "Spicer you scoundrel get down here and greet me properly."

Did Violae look guilty just now? No. She's far too good at controlling her face for that. I'm probably just seeing things again.

The wagon is locked up Violae taking care of the animals, for which I'm thankful because they always make me nervous. Spicer hops down and waves shoos me towards the pub.

"I'll take the calox where they need to go, you go see everyone. Violae gimme a moment…"

I leave them to their chat and head inside. The safehouse, if you can call it that, is a small cosy inn that's been commandeered temporarily. A small common area warmed by the evening light beaming in through the unshattered windows. Rough wooden furnishings smoothed and polished by years on years of use make the space homey in a way home isn't. The pleasantly familiar smells of stale beer and hot food greet me as I enter.

Sitting at a nearby table with a stein in hand and a new boytoy is the familiar form of Hant. He leans back in his seat and waves at me with a meaty calloused hand. The stag probably has more muscle than the rest of us put together and it shows in a bulging shirt creaking with strain that his new lover is just drooling over.

"Pyre! You're alive!" His voice is low and booming bass that I can almost feel in my chest. "We've been worrying about you." The big man's waving hand pulls back to scratch at his antlers and hairline in an uncharacteristic show of awkwardness. "Glad to have you back in one piece."

What the hell is going on today. First Spicer now the others, why is everyone acting strangely today. I… don't know what to do… Should I just act normally? Yes, for now.

"Hey Hant. Who's this?" Deflect attention, good idea me, wish I'd thought of that.

The youth sitting at the table is a dark skinned local guy. Narrow build accentuating sharp features with the sort of masculine squareness that Hant seems to favour. Somewhere in his early to mid-twenties at a guess, almost a full decade younger than Hant. Big, clay brown eyes watch me approach with a hint of frustration crinkling the edges but the boy says nothing.

"Don't mind him, he doesn't speak a word of Gestan. How'd you do? Did the training help?"

"Yeah… Thanks." Damn it Pyre you can do better than that! "The balance stuff helped a lot… and I'm not mush."

'How is it possible to hate a person as much as I hate you?' The cruel voice whispers in my ear. 'The man kept you from splattering us across the ground and that's the best you can do?'

I'm staring at my feet my shoulders tight and hunched but Hant, either unaware of or unwilling to acknowledge my shame, cheers.

"You did it then?" I look up with a nod and the man guffaws. "I knew you could! Amelie doubted you, thought you would be sensible and bow out, but I knew you could do it!"

It hurts a little that Amelie didn't believe in me, but Hant's good mood is infectious and a small smile spreads to my face too.

"I did not think she couldn't I thought she wouldn't, on account of the plan being insane." Amelie herself enters the room a moment after her response. Scar studded features contorted in annoyance. "I just thought Pyre was more sane than the rest of us, and I'm not sure I would have made that jump."

Hant is still celebrating, to the bemused delight of his guest who's received a full kiss on the mouth, with tongue, his response is practically gleeful. "You didn't train her. Our girl is as mad as they come, she just hides it better." I take absolute control of my muscles and then do not move a single one. Hant continues speaking, oblivious to the effect his words are having on me, spilling my secret like it's a joke.

Maybe it is.

"I know you military types think your tough as they come, but short stuff here has the pain tolerance of a statue and the dedication to match. You should have seen some of the tumbles she took early days, core strength of a toddler at the start I tell you, but no matter what she would be get back on the balance beam muttering corrections to herself the entire time."

Wait, what? Is he… complimenting me. I don't get it. I shake my head in denial. He's talking about my actions during training like they're crazy… and treating that as a good thing. This is wrong all wrong, madness is either hidden deep, made useful by violence or stigmatised by others, sometimes a mixture but always it is these things. It isn't, can't be, acceptable, much less of praised.

"…And I'm saying that being tough isn't the same as being cracked. You muscle farming oaf." Amelie shoots back. I've missed part of their argument, that's okay.

"You call Gotz crazy and he's mostly just obsessive! Pyre is at least as stubborn as the old man."

"I say Gotz is nutty because he's wildly unpredictable, it's not the same!"

"Who speaks my name and calls my wrath!" Gotz himself strolls into the room with all the uneven, ramshackle ceremony he can manage, which is a lot for a sixty something year old, then he immediately charges me like a greying battering ram. "Pyre! Excellent! You are in good nick, I see. Wonderful! And I take it you were successful. Incredible! I expect no less from my talented protégé! You simply must give me all of the details. How very exciting!" Bony hands lock around my shoulders and practically start shaking me in excitement. "What specs were you dealing with? How many digits?" The old safecracker's eyes are alight with burning curiosity.

"Erm, it was a rotating cylinder pin lock. Like you said. Stings and false gaps, gave the game away too early missed a trick there, there was a clock after the first number."

"Those devious bastards!"

"Only four digits though, three on the timer, seems a bit low but…" I shrug "I'm not complainin'."

I am interrupted by the arrival of Violae. "Belay that explanation Pyre. Hant, kiss your boyfriend good night and kick him out. Amelie, please check my food isn't burning. Gotz grab us some dishware. Drums are rolling and times wasting, it's an evening to celebrate!"

Dinner preparations stir us all into motion. Chairs are moved around, a couple of tables pushed together, cutlery set out. I am sent into a musty cellar to get a fresh keg, despite being the least suited to the task. I eventually manage it by lifting the heavy container one narrow step at a time, taking a moment to rest each time, then roll the small barrel in front of me. I come up to everyone gathered together and looking grim. What's going on? They've all been stiff and weird today, Violae probably sent me to get the beer just so they could have this suspicious conversation. Should I just ask?

"What's eatin' ya?" I ask. Good enough.

Amelie fully jumps when I speak and a couple of the others start. In surprise. They've got to start paying more attention. I wasn't even trying to sneak, I was rolling a keg! My inquiry is made by a group of faces that are full of guilt. My hackles rise in instinctive response, if ruthless criminals feel guilty…

"It's our first time without our old sneak." It's Gotz who responds, uncharacteristically subdued. "You never met Luken but we all needed to have a moment to reminisce. Our apologies."

I scratch the back of around the base of one ear and the sensitive organ flicks in response. Was that all it was. They want to morn their lost friend. 'You trust them too easily.' The cruel voice growls in my mind. 'Hold your suspicion tighter than that.' I ignore it.

"Sorry. Didn' mean t' stop y'u."

Amelie laughs, the sound just a little strangled. "Don't worry about it. Come on let's all eat. Violae's going to try not to poison us this time."

The other woman scowls but doesn't object and soon we're all sat around the table tucking into our food. It's a kind of spicy seafood stew and whatever Amelie says about Violae's cooking I think it's incredible. The others are eating theirs with chunks of bread but Violae put in the effort to get me a bowl of nuts to mix in. I'm not sure if it's the spice that's making my eyes water or something else but I don't stop eating until bowl is clean. Conversation goes on around me but I don't need to talk. It's nice.

I look around the table at my companions. Violae to my left, so kind and friendly but with a predator lurking underneath. Then Amelie, the soldier, tough as old leather, scarred like a chopping board, full of eclectic knowledge, graphic foul language and stubborn capability. Spicer, the shot caller the expert and the gambler, sometimes a realist, other times a dreamer. Hant, muscle and threatening expressions at work, soft and pleasant the rest of the time, a lover more than a fighter. Gotz the eccentric genius, the lover of progress, my teacher more than any of the others and someone I think I truly understand. I have known these people for half a year and during that time they have each helped me more than almost anyone else. I rub my eyes, a mistake because some spice must have gotten in my eyes, that's why I'm crying. It's alright. I pull my knees to my chest and rest my face against them so that nobody can see my tears. Not that they mean anything, my tears, it's just embarrassing to be so careless with the spice.

'It is not wrong to feel.' The calm voice tells me, 'It is not a mistake to be happy.'

The meal is finished and the raucous conversation calms. Eventually Gotz runs out of patience. "Damn it I've had enough waiting! I'm old goddess damn it, if I wait any longer I might just die! Pyre girl. Tell us what happened."

Suddenly I am the centre of attention. Shit. I hate this so much. My palms are suddenly itchy with beading sweat, my heart is hammering like it wants out. With deliberate, careful slowness I stand on my chair. "So I did the jump."

"Come on, a little more detail." Hant calls like he isn't just across from me.

I sigh and relent, dipping into my memory of the night and sifting through the whirling emotions to find the solid truth. Better do it right or they'll just keep heckling me. "I couldn' see where I w's goin'. The fog was thick. With the moons ou' it looks alive y'know? The mist moves."

The table has gone quiet. The adults paying attention. Something bubbles up in my stomach at their wrapped expressions.

"I start runnin' an' half way down the beam I'm startin' to think I'll be swallowed up, some monster waitin' in the fog for me to jump int' its mouth. I don' stop tho' I don' think I could'a if I tried. Last step, I feel my toes curl on the edge and I off… hangin'… weightless… I was almost short, but I caught it."

I wave three scabbed fingers. Hant claps his hands in approval. I force myself onwards.

I take a breath, I need to do it now. "Thanks f'helping me train Hant. I would've splattered."

The bundle of muscles looks about as uncomfortable with the thanks as I feel telling the story. "Keep going." I do.

"I got int' the vent space. People where still up an' workin', makin' noise. Nobody heard me. Thanks t' Violae I knew where to go."

The woman herself is much less apologetic about receiving thanks. She beams at me and I look away to hide the response that causes. This story telling business is exhausting. I can feel myself running out of steam already.

"Ran through the hallway, the guards' middle room w's open, some buck w's making a hot drink." The feelings of the memory nip at my concentration. The fear, the exhilaration. "The lock to get through was easy. Relocking was honestly harder."

Spicer nods at that. "Good attention to detail."

"The office was flush, like… we could'a sold the curtains, the fuck had clear glass skylights." I continue.

"Well that's why we rob 'em." Amelie interjects. She's not wrong.

"The safe door was behind a ship painting."

"Well that’s boring!" Gotz this time. I can't help but grin at his response though.

"That's what I thought! First number almost got me. There was a false gap, the cylinder was pretty light too." I wince at the recollection, unable to stop my mind from picking over my mistakes.

"I don't know what that means." Hant says cheerily.

"Then it started ticking."

"It what?!" half the table responds.

"There was a clock in it. Anyway, I got in the zone and managed the next three. Thanks f'the help practicing."

"Well done!" Gotz congratulates. "My student excels!"

"I thought that ticking would mean an explosion." Mutters Amelie. Of course she would think that.

I'm determined to finish but I think I need to hurry up. "I got my ropes ou'. Thank you Amelie for helping me with the knots an' stuff. Then I Lowered a lantern down, popped my arm and squeezed in."

"You're welcome, but also… How big a space is that again?" Amelie again.

I hold up my hands to demonstrate.

"Fuckin' moons! Sometimes I forget just how bloody tiny you are." She gives me a look of concern, then Violae for some reason.

"Gettin' down weren't so bad. I just kinda slid. Then I got to the bottom and fell int'a big heap of treasure." Violae is handing out hot drinks and I accept a warm mug.

"Ooooh I've always wanted to lie in a pile of riches. What was that like." She asks enthusiastically.

"Uncomfortable… and pokey." I take a sip of warm, but not boiling, sweet liquid because my throat is starting to hurt. It's nice, slightly weird aftertaste. "Most of the locks inside were basic. I opened all the cupboards, found my wings."

"We have the wings?!" Hant crows his question.

"Of course we have them, that was the whole plan you oaf." Gotz rebukes mildly.

The designated muscle looks briefly chastened. "I know that I'm just very excited. The power of flight is a big deal. It's basically one of the pillars of magic." His excitement mollifies Gotz somewhat and spreads to the rest of us.

"Thanks everyone for helping get the wings inside." This is directed at Spicer realy and he raises his cup in acknowledgement. "I tied the goods together an' climbed out." I skip recounting the gruelling, suffocating climb. I don't think I want to relive that yet. I take a long sip, which warms me all the way down. "Pulled everythin' ou' and moved it t'the roof in bits." I take another small sip of my drink, this is really good. Story tellers really don't have it as easy as I thought.

"Strapped everythin' on as best I could. Powered up the wings, which is absolutely gross by the way, y'can feel these like… root things crawl under your skin." I shudder, acid in the back of my throat. "Then I jumped off the roof and flew away."

There's some overly enthusiastic congratulations as I slump in my seat feeling exhausted. Blood rushing to my face in a wash of delayed embarrassment now that the ordeal is finally over. My ears might be about to catch fire.

"Thank you Pyre. You are a natural story teller." Spicer says. I know it's not true and he's just being kind but It's still nice to hear, it settles a heat in my stomach. "Everyone, a toast! To risky ventures and great gains!"

"Hoora!" We all say and I take a gulp from my mug.

It feels like the warmth of the drink is spreading slowly from my core. It's a nice feeling, another sip. The group goes back to chatting but more subdued now. I feel a little detached, adrift. That's alright. Gotz on my right pats me gently on the shoulder.

"Well done girl. You did… you did very well." Something about the way he says it is wrong.

I look up at his face and narrow my eyes as if squinting will make the truth easier to spot. He's not looking at me, but off into the middle distance. What is his expression though, upset, regretful, resigned, guilty? I blink slowly. I'm tired. My limbs are lethargic. I blink again, it takes energy to reopen my eyes. Ever so slowly I lean against Violae to my left. She's so soft, so warm, she smells nice.

I jerk upright. What the hell? This isn't like me. I turn to Violae to check she isn't offended. But when I look she is smiling at me warmly. It's not real though. I'm not sure how I know but I do.

'You cannot trust them, any of them, her least of all.' The cruel voice reminds me but now it's tone is urgent, uncertain. 'Something is wrong here.'

I take another sip of my drink to disguise my long stare at the people around the table. There's something wrong with the way they talk, the way they laugh, it's all too stiff. I catch Spicer's eyes staring at me with a look of distaste, no, not me he's looking at my cup. Now he catches my eyes and his expression flickers, for just a moment, to that of a child caught out in a lie.

Oh… Fuck.

I put the Mug, half empty, down on the table with a careful motion, my hand trembles. I taste that strange after flavour on the back of my tongue. I am so very tired. I carefully reach across the table and under the view of all, while they let their stilted conversations trail off, I grab the handle of the bread knife.

I push backwards and half tip, half dive out of my chair. The movement is clumsy, far too much so. There's a commotion behind me. I stumble up and start running, the ground tilts and I hit the wall. No time, they're all in on it. A couple of steps using the wall to steady me then I'm bee lining it for the door. Somebody's hand grabs at me and I lash out with the knife without even looking. The motion overbalances me. I hit the floor hard, knife still clutched in my hand. Fine, I'll crawl, more stable anyway. There's noises, they're close, too close. I thought I was moving fast, it felt fast.

Some of the noise is directed at me. I don't want to understand, some of it's getting through my addled mind to the small core of functional thought within though… like a dagger to the heart it pierces right through to the core of me.

"Pyre, baby, please stop." It's Violae her soft melodic voice made scratchy by emotion that I do not trust.

I need to vomit. You eat poison, you should puke it out right? I'm not certain but I jam two fingers down my oesophagus and try. "No, don't do that sweety. It's alright, everything will be okay, just rest."

I pull take my fingers out to answer, it wasn't working anyway. "Liar." I choke. "You're a liar."

The floorboards shift and Violae comes to kneel down beside me. I could lash out, cut her, I should. A warm hand rests on my back rubbing small circles. Warm like the poison she gave me, warm like home. I start sobbing, fat jagged gulps of air pulled unwillingly into my lungs. "Why?" I am so sleepy, so tired.

"Why?" What do they want to do to me? Harvest my organs, sell me into slavery, get my bounty from the bank? It's probably the last one. Tears pour down my face.

"I'm sorry my little bonfire. I'm sorry. This is a terrible thing we're doing but it's for the best." Soft arms pull my head onto Violae's lap, I'm too tired to resist. I curl up and sob, while fingers run through my mane. She starts to hum. A lullaby I half remember...

So tired..