May I Enjoy My Life: Entry 51 (Patreon)

14/8/1100

We spent less than an hour in Leithanien, then took off again. Empress Hildegard would follow shortly in her own craft, heading for Londinium. All surviving Rhodes Island Operators were making their way there. Speaker Vina, AKA Siege, had put out a message with Closure and Warfarin that they had a place for Rhodes Island to rebuild and rally. Plus, it was a good staging point to deal with whatever it was that was happening in Laterano. 

I thought about that as we flew. Laterano…wasn’t really home anymore. Home was with Penguin Logistics, or with Odda. Or even Rhodes Island, sort of. My home had never really been one place, it had been the people I loved. 

And there was no one that I loved more than my Big Sister. Well, big sisters, if we included Mostima, who was in the back with Odda. Fia was in the cockpit with me now. No shade on Odda, but he’s not fully certified on a VTOL. Just better than the other options at that point. Fia, however, is an excellent pilot. Like most liberi, she has an instinct for 3D spatial awareness, a high tolerance for G forces and motion, and of course, incredible vision, especially for objects far away. Honestly, she’s a better pilot than even Croissant, which is why I’m in the co-pilot's seat now. 

She’s really uncomfortable, though, always sneaking glances out of the corner of her eye at me. We’re going to have to talk, but I’m still considering Lemuen. My sister is a Bishop in the Church, working for the Seventh Tribunal, which is foreign affairs, intelligence, and national defense. She mostly works in intelligence from what I understand, but she’s experienced in a lot of areas.

She’s also just woken up from a 5-year coma, and confined to a wheelchair. She’s got an exosuit she can use to walk short distances, but she doesn’t have much stamina still. Sort of like James, though she’s not sick in other ways, nor does she have his hand problems. She’s known as Lemuen the Silent, as her preferred approach is to observe and think before taking sudden swift action. And, well, she’s on the short list for promotion to Cardinal and head of the Seventh Tribunal, despite being pretty young still. 

We don’t talk much anymore. Even through letters. The last time I saw her was…well. Long before I fell. But she’s still my Big Sister. I still love her. After my parents died, she took care of me. And she did a good job too! It must have been hard, being promoted to parent when she was barely an adult herself, but she did her best, and I love her for it. 

“So, uh, does Lemuen know?” Fiametta says, breaking into my thoughts with a near-identical one.

I shake my head. “No. It only happened…fuck, nine days ago? Maybe eight? But yeah, barely even a week,” I say with a shake of my head.

Fia bites her lip and nods, eyes on the horizon. “You…you haven’t self-harmed yet, have you?”

“That’s not me,” I told her firmly. “Make a bad choice and get myself pregnant? That might be.”

Fia’s head whips around, her eyes wide. “You’re pregnant?!”

“Probably not, or not yet anyway. We didn’t have sex for the first time until last night,” I said as blase as I could manage. 

“For fuck sake, El, use a condom!” Fia snaps, looking back towards the horizon. “You’re going to- FUCKING SHIT!” 

She slams the yoke down and banks hard, and I hear screams from the back. That’s when the target alarm starts blaring. Someone’s just painted us with radar. A moment later, a missile streaks by and explodes not far from where we would have been, even as Croissant begins to take similar evasive maneuvers. 

“Wow, nice one!” an eerily familiar voice says over the radio in a taunting tone. “Pointless though, we weren’t aiming for you. Because if we were, that little trick wouldn’t have done jack shit. As you can probably see by now, we’ve got six AA launchers on both your birds. That was just a friendly hello. Now touch the fuck down at the coordinates I’m sending you, or we blow your engines off and salvage what we can.”

I pick up the horn as Fia levels us out, sweat breaking out on both of our foreheads. We’re in the middle of the empty badlands on the Leithanien/Victorian boarder. There shouldn’t be anyone out here, but that voice… “Hey, W, we’re friendlies! Don’t shoot!”

The manic laughter in response chills my blood. “I know who you are, little angel. And who you’ve got on board. Land. Or I’ll pull your little wings off one by one, like the disgusting bug you are.”

“The fuck is wrong with you, bitch!” Emperor barks over the radio. 

“A lot of things. But you’re not my fucking therapist. Land. My trigger finger is itchy, and my boys haven’t got to kill anything in days. It’s making them grumpy,” Wiš'adel croons. 

“I’ve got the coordinates,” Fiametta says, her voice tense. “But she lied. There aren’t six radars painting us. There’s a dozen. Each. I’m good, but I’m not that good. In that interlocking field of fire…we’re fucked. We’ve got to put down.”

“Fucking roach,” I muttered, and shook my head. “Put us down where she says, Fia. Hey, back there, everyone in one piece?”

“We were all strapped in but Mon3tr,” Sussurro replied. “And she just ruined another shirt and kept herself anchored with her extra…arms. What just happened?”

“Seems like the Kazdelian Speaker wants to have a quick chat!” I said brightly as Fiametta cuts our airspeed and takes us in for a landing. “So, um, we’re going to set down and talk.”

“Oh fuck, it’s the cockroach,” James groans. 

I nod, reaching for Victor as we settle down into a valley, surrounded by hills from which all those AA radars are active. A dozen Sarkaz mercenaries pop out of the bushes and trees nearby, which means there’s at least twice that many still hiding. They’re all heavily armed and wearing the colors of Wiš'adel’s personal band. This is bad. W’s always been extremely unstable, but with Rhodes Island gone…she might see a chance to seize James, and turn Kazdel into a geopolitical threat again. 

“We do not need a Fourth Kazdelian Crusade,” I growl, and dash to the ramp, slamming the button to open it. “Odda! Mostima! With me! The rest of you, stay here.”

“I’m coming too,” Hibiscus says, getting up with her doctor's kit and staff. “That was the Speaker’s voice on the radio, wasn’t it?”

I nod grimly, and Fiametta comes forward with her grenade launcher at the ready. She doesn’t say anything, but her expression is hard.

“Maybe not the best time for a representative of Notorial Hall,” I tell her quietly. 

“Too damn bad,” she replies, her eyes forward as the hydraulics of the ramp whine. 

I sigh, but I don’t argue. Now isn’t the time. Mon3tr takes up a defensive position with Czerny, Ingrid, and Red. Rosmontis is probably ready too, but she’s just sitting quietly with her hands in her lap. Not that Wiš'adel’s mercs would ever underestimate her again. Not after watching her throw entire city blocks at them during the Lungmen Crisis. 

The ramp lowers, and I see Croissant has landed her own ship not far from our own. 

“I’m going to kill her this time,” Odda says through gritted teeth. “Fucking bitch.”

“Odda? Maybe let me talk,” I tell him.

He glances at me, and grimaces. “You’re going to play the ‘I’m Sarkaz’ card?”

I nod, and he shakes his head. “You’re Fallen, so you’re not going to be killed out of hand like a regular Sankta would. But you don’t have the right to speak at a Council. Hibiscus and I barely do. We’d be considered to be a part of the Rhodes Island Band, which does give us standing, but we’re no chiefs. This is a problem: none of us are Sarkaz with the rank to demand a formal audience with the Speaker.”

“Fuck,” I grunt. “Politics.”

“Yeah. Politics,” Odda agrees, making a face. 

We slowly walk down the ramp, weapons in our hands, but lowered. Wiš'adel isn’t there, but there are a dozen heavily armed mercs, led by a tall red-headed Goliath with an eye-patch, and a woman who looks like a sarkaz, but I know is actually a Caprinae who cut her horns to appear sarkaz.

“Ines and Hoederer?” I cry, rather surprised to see them standing there, stone-faced. The last I’d heard, they’d opened a bookstore in Kazdel and retired, but here they are in full merc attire. 

“Exusiai,” Hoederer says, and nods to me. “We’re here for Bones.”

“He’s busy,” I say, meeting his eyes, hands tight on Victor. I can’t read Hoederer. He’s normally stoic, but he has a warm, soft side to him. I know he’s more than a bit of a scholar and lover of romance novels by the packages I’ve delivered to him. Don’t believe the lies that they’re for Innes: She’s not much of a reader, and only technical manuals or non-fiction guides, and self-help books when she does read. Hoederer is the one reading 7th-century Taran poetry and Siracusan love ballads. 

“Don’t try that, Exusiai,” Ines says, a bare knife in her hands. She’s flipping it and catching it alternatively by the blade and by the handle. Her expression is steely, and I can read it easily: she’s mad as hell. Not sure at who though, but she’s tense, and her tone tight. “You’re coming with us, and so is James McCoy.”

“What right do you have, outsider?” Odda demands, stepping up to my side. “I am a son of Kazdel. What are you?”

The others tense. Ines meets Odda’s gaze flatly. “I’m Wiš'adel’s top lieutenant, messenger. You have no right to question me.”

“I am a son of Kazdel. And they send a Caprinae to arrest me and my band? Outrageous,” Odda snorts. 

Hoederer coughs, looking embarrassed and flushing slightly. The mercs with them all laugh, but it’s a cruel, rough laugh. I think Odda’s scored a point, but then Ines smirks, and hold up her right hand.

There’s a ring on her finger. 

“By right of marriage, I have forsaken all other bonds, and become a daughter of Kazdel,” she says, her tone neutral, but her words barbed. “This idiot finally broke down and proposed to me.”

“I’ve been asking for years, you just finally said yes,” Hoederer snaps, turning his head so his good eye can see Ines, he usually keeps her in his blind spot, and the mercenaries laugh and whoop. 

Now it’s Ines’ turn to flush slightly, and she hastily lowers her hand. “Yes, well…”

“Congratulations!” I say, and mean it. They’re a cute couple. “I’m so happy, you two! Texas and Sora finally got hitched as well!”

Hoederer grins for a moment, and Ines smiles. Then, the smiles vanish, and a hard look enters both their eyes. A look I’ve seen before. A look before the killing starts.

“Yes, well, with the Island fallen…I needed to reevaluate my priorities. And loyalties,” Ines says, her tone tight. “You’ve been keeping the cure from us. We tolerated that for a while. But now? Now, Kazdel is going to take the cure for itself. It’s what my people need.”

“Bones is with my band,” Odda says, folding his arms over his chest. “Rhodes Island is a recognized warband with standing in the council. You can’t just take him.”

“You’re no chief, messenger,” Ines says, shaking her head. “If one of your chiefs were here, perhaps they would have the right to negotiate. You don’t. As it is, we can take him by right of conquest on the command of the speaker.”

“No, you can’t!” 

I turn in surprise as Sora runs over, her skirts lifted up as she scrambles over the sandy soil, Texas bounding along at her side. 

“You have no right to speak, Lupo,” Hoederer states. “You- wait.”

“I’m not a Lupo!” Sora gasps, coming to a hasty stop. She straightens her back, and thrusts out her jaw. “I am Aliza Springs, Chief of Penguin Logistics! As my pilot was flying James’ ship, he belongs to my band, and you have no right to take him!” 

“Penguin Logistics belongs to…” Ines begans, and Texas silently holds up sheef of paper. Ines accepts it, quickly reading over it. Hoederer leans over so he can see as well. After a moment, he starts laughing, and Ines lowers the papers, looking irritated. 

“Emperor sold you Penguin Logistics…for one kazdelian shekel,” Ines growls, obviously disgusted with the shenanigans. 

“That’s right, he did,” Sora says with a nod. 

“You’re no war leader, Aliza Springs, even if you’re a Sarkaz,” Hoederer says with a shake of his head. He does get a goofy grin, though. “I might have to promote you to my favorite singer. I never even suspected you weren’t a lupo.”

“I have very good arts. And no, I’m not a warleader. But my wife is,” Sora says, and nods to Texas.

Texas steps forward. “I am Cellinia Texas-Springs. Leader of Famiglia Texas, and War Chief of the Penguin Logistics Band. And a Sarkaz.”

That causes a stir amongst the mercenaries. Ines and Hoederer step to the side and have a whispered conference. I glance over at Sora, who grins at me and shrugs. Huh. Guess the Boss is pretty smart. 

“We recognize that Texas has the rights of a War Chief of the Sarkaz, but Penguin Logistics is not a recognized band,” Ines says. “We still-”

“As the recognized representative of the Speaker of Kazdel and Chief of Bands, I formally petition you for an audience with the Speaker, that my band may be recognized in the halls of our home,” Sora says, meeting Ines’ gaze evenly. 

Ines grunts, then nods. “Fine. But you’re bringing Bones with you. And no non-Sarkaz.”

“Over my dead body, Ines. You try and keep me out, and I will bite your nose off,” Lucia snarls as she wheels James down the ramp. 

“...excepting necessary medical personnel,” Hoederer says, and rubs his nose with a finger to hide his smile. “The charter does make an exception for doctors.”

“I will be coming as well,” Mon3tr adds, hurrying down the ramp.

“You? Who are you, feline?” Ines demands. “You have no-”

I AM THE DAUGHTER OF DAME KAL’STIT, AND THE DEMON OF THE THIRD CRUSADE. I CLAIM RIGHT TO THIS COUNCIL BY THE BLOOD OF THE KING ON MY BLADE. 

As soon as Mon3tr’s pincers shot out of her back and she lifted up on them, the mercs dove for cover and raised their weapons. Even Ines and Hoederer took shelter behind a rock, both of them wide-eyed and terrified. 

“And,” Mon3tr added, lowering herself back down, but not retracting her blades. “It’s nice to see you again, Ines and Hoederer! Congratulations! Mother and I were hoping you two would get married!”

“Fuck me,” Hoederer growled, slowly standing up with his giant sword in one hand. Ines had knives in both hands and was tense all over, her eyes locked to Mon3tr. “That’s you, Mon3tr?”

“Yep!” Mon3tr said, and smiled cutely for a demon, raising her hands in her oversized sleeves. “Mom decided I needed my own body! So here I am!”

“She has the right,” Ines said, her tone tense. “If Kal’tsit is dead…then her demon takes her place.”

“Wiš'adel won’t like it,” Hoederer sighs, but he nods. “Very well. Is anyone else going to come up with a convoluted political reason they should be allowed to come?”

I took a deep breath and stepped forward. “I claim the right.”

“You are allowed in the city, but not in our Councils, Returned,” Hoederer says with a shake of his head. 

I reached into my pouch, and pulled out a stone coin. I hold it up. “I was given the right, recognized as Sarkaz by the Speaker of the Earth and Shaper of the Stones, Behemot, of the Gargoyles.”

A hush falls over the mercenaries. Slowly, Hoederer steps forward. He holds out his hand, and I drop the stone coin in it. He lifts it up, studying it carefully. Then, with great reverence, he gently places it back in his palm. He turns to his men. “This one is adopted of the Gargoyles. Counted as sister by the Speaker of the Earth and Shaper of the Stones. She is granted the rights and titles of War Chief of the Clan Gargoyle. She has the right to two retainers to accompany her.”

Then he turned back to me, put his left fist over his heart, and bowed. “Welcome, Lemuel Exusiai of Clan Gargoyle.” Then he dropped his voice and whispered, “I hope you know what you’re doing.”

“A Returned, adopted as a full clan member?!” one of the other mercenaries protests. 

“Silence! Or do you doubt that I am of Clan Goliath?” Ines demands, whirling on the speakers, knives at the ready.

The other mercenary hastily backs down. “Of course not, Lady Ines. I just…a Returned? You have long practiced our ways, and spilled your blood alongside us. The Returned are to be celebrated, but…full membership in a clan? She was a blood traitor not a month ago, unless the reports are wrong.”

“She slew a Sankta, or near enough. As such, she is a full member of the blood, and her deeds recognized by Lady Behemot,” Hoederer says. 

“Uh, it was Arturia Giallo,” I blurt. I don’t know why. “I shot her.”

It is, apparently, the right thing to say. There is stunned silence for a moment, then the mercenaries all start laughing. Several come over and slap me on the back and pump my hand. Apparently, Arturia’s reputation as a stuck-up crazy bitch extends beyond Laterano.

Which is too bad, because I sort of like her now? She was really sweet, after I Fell, and even before we were becoming friends.

“Well, if you did that, then perhaps the Speaker will buy you a drink,” Hoederer chuckles. “Right. Who are your retainers?”

“Mostima and Fiametta,” I say instantly. 

The party vibe couldn’t have been killed faster if there had been a record scratch. Hoederer’s expression goes stony. The previously happy mercs glare at me. Ines shakes her head, but sheathes her knives. “Well. Then you have made your choice. Come. The Speaker awaits.”

Fully four score mercenaries appear around us. Some rise out of the grass. Others become visible as Banshees and Liches drop veils. We’re surrounded by an army. The elite of Kazdel. There is no way we could have fought our way out of this, not even with Mon3tr and my new combat arts. 

“Oh fuck,” Odda whispers as we begin to trudge along the trail. “I recognize Fremont of the Liches, along with Laqeramaline of the Banshees. Those are top-tier casters, on the level of Emperor at least. Nadine of the Nachzehrer is here as well. She’s high in the Withered Court. Wiš'adel really brought everyone with her.”

“How did they get so far undetected?” I hiss back. “This is a huge force of Sarkaz, not just some mercenary band.”

“Are you kidding? With this many casters, it would be near impossible to find them even if you stumbled right over them. And with this much firepower…you wouldn’t survive that even if you were an entire regiment of the Victorian Guard.”

We are led up a hill, to where three large bonfires have been built in a triangle shape. Between them lies a throne made of scrap metal. Wiš'adel doesn’t sit on the throne itself, but she’s lounging on the steps in a smaller chair. 

“Shit. This is a full court,” Odda whispers. “She’s got the Empty Throne ready and everything. And if Wiš'adel is thinking of Theresa…we’re fucked. She’s already decided we’re dead.”

The woman in question is picking her teeth with a knife and eating ration packs, her legs over one end of her chair, her elbow on the other arm. She’s in a crop top and shorts, with her thong straps showing, and a low-cut jacket on. She has red and black horns and two red antennae, along with a barbed tail that’s swishing back and forth in the air above her head. 

The really dangerous part is her Revenant Launcher. I don’t know all the details, but the Church considers it a profane weapon, powered by the souls of the damned. I haven’t seen her since she was W back in Lungmen, but I recognize Wiš'adel on sight. She worked for Reunion back in the day, but even before that, had a reputation as a mercenary leader who got paid, and kept most of her men alive. During the Londinium Crisis, she covered herself in glory and took apart the Military Commission, then led the Sarkaz back to Kazdel and seized power. 

Odda’s known her since the Babel days, though they were never close. He tenses when he sees her, and swallows hard. Wiš'adel ignores us as we approach, taking out a grenade and twirling it by the pin around her fingers.

“Wow, is everyone here stupid, or just hard of hearing? I said no extras,” she says to no one in particular. 

We’re surrounded by more Sarkaz. This isn’t a band: I see members of every Sarkaz tribe. There’s a vampire lord with several retainers, an ancient Cyclops leaning on his retainers, a Djall, and even three or four members of the Diamatzi hive mind. There are also several skull-faced Weinegos, though I thought they were extinct. Maybe not full-blooded, but the northern warriors look grim with their steel axes and hide armor. 

“Your commands were followed to the letter, Speaker,” Heoderer says, bowing to his Chief.

Wiš'adel’s eyes flick towards him, then back to her grenade. She’s still picking her teeth with that knife. I’m half impressed, half worried she’s suicidal. 

“I said this was going to be an official Court. That means no outsiders. I see at least two agents of Notorial Hall, some dumb bitch with four extra limbs, a lupo, two angels with clipped wings, and a vulpo. So what exactly is your damage, Derder?”

Ines clears her throat. “Speaker, may I present Aliza Springs, and her wife, Cellinia Texas-Springs. Leaders of Penguin Logistics. They wish to be formally recognized as a band.”

The grenade comes to a stop as Wiš'adel catches it. She swings her legs around, and glares at Texas, who meets her gaze impassively. “You’re no chiefs. That damned washed-up music producer is playing fucking games. Her? Anyone bother to check if this girly pop diva is even a Sarkaz? Or if she’s just using more illusion magic.”

“She is not,” Fremont says, stepping up to the right of the throne. The Lich King is in antiquated formal Kazdelian robes, and seems bored with this entire affair. Though his eyes haven’t left James, and his gaze is hungry. 

Wiš'adel turns to glare at him. “Who the fuck asked you, old man?”

“You did,” Laqeramaline of the Banshee’s says. Her face is veiled as always, but her red eyes see all. I wonder where Logos is? 

“Oh, fuck off,” Wiš'adel growls and begins to pick her ear with her knife tip. “Fine. Play your games, but I’m onto you. You fuck with me, I will bend you over and fuck you right back. I formally recognize Penguin Logistics as a Sarkaz Band, with Sora and Texas as its leaders. You have the right to speak in the assembly of chiefs, blah blah blah. Next.”

Without missing a beat, Hoederer indicated me, “And Lemuen Exusiai, adopted sister of Behemot, representative of Clan Gargoyle, and her two retainers, Mostima of the Returned, and Fiametta of Notorial Hall.”

Slowly, Wiš'adel lowered the knife. She stood, then came up to me. She’s got about 6cm on me, so she glared down at me for a bit, her expression blank, for her, though she still was radiating fury. 

Then she whirled. “Xanatos! Do you recognize her as a member of your clan?”

A gargoyle man in heavy plated armor stepped forward, and bowed to me. “Welcome, Sister Exusiai. The Earth and Stones spoke to us of your coming. Welcome also, Mostima, who has been returned to us from the Lost. And you as well, Fiametta. May the Lost all be found.”

I returned the bow, even as Wiš'adel stalked back to the throne. This time, she kicked over her chair and sat on the steps of the metal dias. “None of this fucking matters. I’m the Speaker. And if I have to kill your bands to get what I want, I will. I have a reputation for getting paid, and the world is not stiffing the Sarkaz. Not this time. So stop hiding, and wheel that crippled fucker out.”

Slowly, Lucia brings James forward. He’s looking at Wiš'adel, so she’s infected enough that he can see her. “Hello. I’m Doctor James McCoy.”

“Is that what you call yourself?” Wiš'adel chuckles, and starts tossing her knife one handed and catching it by the blade, just like Ines did. “I hear they’re calling you Savior. False messiah is more like it.”

“I’m not a savior. Just a doctor,” James says.

“Heh. Well, at least you’re walking small now. So. Someone finally finds a cure, and what happens? They cure a bunch of random assholes. But do they cure any Sarkaz? No, of course not.”

“That’s not true!” Lucia protests. “He cured Vigna! You know her!”

“Oh, sure, he cures one of Rhodes Islands pets. One of the Ghost’s brainwashed subjects,” Wiš'adel says with a roll of her eyes. “And now look at you. All used up. How many cures you have left in you, mmm? One? Maybe two. Shit. You’re worthless.”

“I have a few in me.”

Dead silence. Slowly, the gazes of all the Sarkaz, and even my companions, turn to me. I step forward and plant my hands on my hips. 

“What was that?” Wiš'adel hisses, knife held between two fingers like she’s ready to throw it. 

“You heard me,” I state. “I can cure Oripathy.”

“Bullshit,” Wiš'adel snarls, getting back to her feet. She flicks the knife at me. I react faster than I can think. Victor barks once, and the knife pings away. There’s the creak of weapons leaving scabards, but Wiš'adel makes a cutting motion with one hand. She steps up to me, thrusting her chest in my face. “Prove it. Prove you're not a brainwashed little angel still. Prove you can cure oripathy. Because I call bullshit.”

“She, she cured me,” Odda says, stepping forward.

Wiš'adel throws another knife, and Odda screams as it takes him in the shoulder. I have Victor under Wiš'adel’s chin, but she’s just grinning at me. Hibiscus has Odda and is frantically treating him, but while a shoulder wound is nasty, it’s not life-threatening. 

“Do it. Prove you're still an angel. Prove you're still a blood traitor. Sure, I die. Then these fuckers tear you apart, little angel. 

“Fine. Don’t blame me if it kills you,” I snarl at her. And then I reach into her soul, and start yanking.

“Pff, as if you could-YAAAAAAAAAAA!” 

Wiš'adel screams in pain as I draw the shards out of her right arm. She’s bleeding everywhere, and I realize I’m howling too as I absorb the originium into me. It burns like fire and freezes like death, and I gasp for breath as I feel it coursing through me. 

Then James is there, Lucia half-dragging him over. He puts his hands on Wiš'adel, and she stops screaming as her wounds heal.

“Don’t do that again,” he says, turning his ruined eyes towards me. “You’re at the upper half of stage 2 now. Even with treatment, you just cut your life expectancy in half.”

I nod, but I can’t speak. It hurts too much. Then James turns to Wiš'adel.

“Can’t see you too good anymore,” he mumbles, and Lucia gently corrects the direction of his gaze. “Congraduations. You’ve now got Stage 1 Oripathy. At the cost of her own life, Exusiai just gave you decades.”

Wiš'adel is panting hard, her eyes wide with shock. She is staring into the depths of my soul, and I think she’s confounded by what she sees there. She pushes herself away from James, and staggers back towards her throne. She’s also stripping off her jacket and shirt, leaving herself in only a sports bra and her shorts. “Examine me, now!” 

Fremont and Laqeramaline hurry forward with several attendants. They peer over Wiš'adel, and have a whispered conversation. James sags back into his chair, and leans down to me. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“You couldn’t survive it,” I hiss back, then groan as Lucia injects me with something. Probably morphine, since icy relief is flooding through my veins.

“Thank you,” she says, and give me a quick hug. I just nod. 

James heals Odda too, and when it’s over, Wiš'adel’s examination is finished. She sits back on the steps, her court crowded around her. 

“Alright. So you can cure oripathy. And you can teach us how to burn it off. Fine. You do that, and maybe we’re square. Maybe I’ll let you teach a couple of Siege’s stooges, too. But the Sarkaz come first. We’re done being stepped on.”

James shakes his head. “I can’t, I-”

“Yes, yes, you need to teach someone else first,” Wiš'adel says with a flick of her hands. “Fine. Find someone you can teach to burn it off, and someone you can teach to draw it out. We’ll figure out how to do a transfusion or something.”

“You don’t understand,” I say, shaking my head. “Only Elders and Ancients can learn the healing arts that burn originium. It’s just us Sarkaz who can learn how to cure Oripathy by drawing it out.”

A hush falls over the crowd. Wiš'adel’s eyes grow large, and her jaw drops open slightly. Then, she starts to tremble with barely suppressed rage.

“Lock them up,” Wiš'adel rasps, her face flushed. “Don’t take their weapons. Full protective detail. Then you idiots see me in my tent. We’re having a talk.”

“You need to let us go,” James calls. “I have a chance to teach this to more people! We could pass it on, spread it to-”

“YOU CAN’T TEACH IT TO US!” Wiš'adel snarls and stomps forward, her expression wild, and to my surprise, tears streaming down her cheeks. “YOU CAN TEACH THE WHOLE WORLD TO HEAL THEMSELVES, BUT NOT US! WHAT, YOU GODDAMN BASTARD! WHY!? WHY CAN OUR ANCIENT ENEMIES HEAL THEMSELVES, BUT NOT US!?”

James doesn’t flinch. “I don’t know. But I did teach Exusiai to-”

“Take the curse upon herself! That’s what we’ll be, you MONSTER. I should kill you, here and now!” Wiš'adel rants. Mon3tr growls and skitters forward, but Wiš'adel just spits on her. 

“You fuckers don’t get it, do you? What this means?” Wiš'adel points at me. “She’s Sarkaz. Oh, she’s a Returned, yes. One who has the angel's taint. But I get it now. Don’t you? Don’t you see it!? You’ve doomed us!” 

“What are you talking about? You told me to cure you, I tried! I can finish the job if-” I begin, but Wiš'adel whirls on me, tears falling from her face, snot running down her nose, and she screams at me. I flinch back, and she tears at her hair.

“IF YOU TEACH US, THEY’LL MAKE US TAKE THEIR ORIPATHY! THEY’LL MAKE US ALL SLAVES AND HAVE US RIP THE SHARDS FROM THEIR BODIES, HEAL THEMSELVES USING YOUR DAMNED ARTS, AND LET OUR CORPSES TURN TO CRYSTAL DUST! IT’S A FUCKING TRAP! IT’S ALL A FUCKING TRAP! NOW GET OUT OF MY SIGHT BEFORE I KILL YOU ALL TO TRY AND SAVE MY PEOPLE!”

I’m stunned into silence. The other Sarkaz are horrified, but not at Wiš'adel’s behavior. They’re looking at James not with hope, but with fear. 

“I, I didn’t, that’s not what I-” James began.

Wiš'adel pulls out a grenade. “You have until three. One.”

We don’t argue. We run away, and are taken to a cluster of tents and shoved inside. They let us keep our weapons, but we all sit together in a huddle. James looks shell-shocked. 

“I…I thought…but they’re supposed to be a cure. A blessing. They don’t…that can’t be how it works, right?” he mutters.

“I don’t know,” I tell him, feeling horrified myself. If what Wiš'adel says is true…then she’s right. This will be the death knell of the Sarkaz. They’ll be rounded up. Used to suck the oripathy out of people. Forced to be living scapegoats. That…that can’t be how this ends. 

“We thought spreading these arts was the cure, but if it gets out that you can just use a Sarkaz to cure people….” I swallow, and turn to Odda.

“I just…we’re supposed to be the Saviors. The hope,” Odda says. I gingerly put my arm around him, worried he’ll push me away. Instead, he clings tight to me, and cries into my hair. I hold onto him too. 

We’re stuck here, while the Sarkaz argue about what to do with us. 

And all the while, my sister is trapped in Laterano. Controlled by the Law, which has been enslaved by Priestess. 

Originium. One way or another…its going to be the death of us all if we don’t do something. But how can we ask the Sarkaz to make this sacrifice? Shit, I’m even Sarkaz now and…and I don’t know if I could do this. The pain…I don’t want to ever have to try to cure anyone of oripathy again. I look at James, who’s shut down completely now, even with Lucia holding his hand and talking to him quietly. 

This feels like the end. 

We sit like that for hours. The sun sets. We take turns sleeping fitfully, but I only have nightmares and awake with screams and gasps for breath. Odda passes out for a little while, but he cries in his sleep. No one really rests. 

 Then, just before sunrise, a trumpet sounds.

“What’s that?” I ask, as Odda jumps to his feet, along with Hibiscus. They both look shocked, as more trumpets take up the cry.

“Execution?” Texas asks, her knuckles white on the hilt of her sword.

“No,” Odda says, his tone reverent. “That’s…that’s the King’s horn.”

“It’s Amiya,” Hibiscus gasps, jumping up and clasping her hands together. “Amiya is here!” 

We all wait, tense, until ten minutes later, when the tent flap rustles. 

Amiya steps inside, Black Crown on her brow, and gives us all a gentle smile. “Don’t worry,” she tells us, her voice gentle and sweet. “It’s going to be alright. I’m here now.”

And somehow? Somehow, I know she’s right. 

The King has returned.