Novel Everyone's a Catgirl!

---​

Side Quest: Prasaad aur Balidaan

The brilliant morning sun warmed Krethik’s back as he knelt on the dampened ground. He’d washed the previous day’s piece clean and hovered over the cool stone expanse with a wooden bowl in one hand and a paintbrush in the other.

“Kanninan maa mathilpudaisoozh,” he softly sang as he dipped the bristle into the soaked rice flour once more.

A careful swoop of his paintbrush here, a mirrored curve there. The floral kolam had near-perfect symmetry, but he still had trouble capturing the same beauty within the lines that his mother had flawlessly executed day after day.

“Kanapuraththen karamaniye— ah, good morning,” he murmured to a bird with striking pink feathers as it hopped to the edge of the kolam. “Here to break your fast?”

The bird trilled two sweet notes, then pecked at a bit of the dried rice flour. Krethik smiled and resumed humming the nostalgic lullaby as he added another swirling corner to the design. Familiar padded footsteps caught his ear, but he continued to work.

“You’re awake early,” he said once Naeemah was in earshot. “Another nightmare?”

“Yes.”

Krethik’s heart broke for Naeemah—she’d never known her parents. When Krethik had arrived in Rājadhānī, Naeemah had sought him out and demanded he take her into his Party. She had no traditions of her own, and her only role model was an overworked woman with a short temper.

The young woman sat far enough away that she wouldn’t disturb the bird. “You really do this every day?”

“I do. As my mother did and her mother before her,” Krethik replied with a nod.

“But… your mother wasn’t a catgirl, right?” Naeemah tilted her head to the side, keeping her voice low. “I… my nyanny never did that.”

“Correct. This is not a custom of Nyarlea, so far as I’ve learned.”

Naeemah blinked, then pulled her knees to her chest. “It’s pretty.”

After his limited time on the island, he’d gathered that joining his Party was a dangerous proposition. The life of men in these lands was often short and perilous. But he couldn’t say no to the determination in her eyes.

Naeemah began their companionship in silence, sticking to the shadows when they traveled and closed to idle conversation. He did not wish to push her and hoped she would come to trust him. Poruthar boomi alvar, as his father often said. The one with patience shall rule the world.

And his patience was rewarded just after the last full moon. She’d approached him in confidence about her nightmares. Dark dreams that rendered the teen feeling helpless. Ones that blessedly seemed to dissipate the longer they shared company.

Naeemah inched closer to the kolam. She rocked to the balls of her feet, her dark tail flickering behind her. Her eyes followed a trail of tiny beetles making their way to dine beside the bird. “Why feed the Encroachers?”

“Do they not feed us? Both in Experience and physically?” Krethik asked.

“Yes, but that’s…” She worked her jaw and furrowed her brow, thinking on her response. He wondered what had made it so difficult for her to speak freely. “Isn’t that what they’re supposed to do?”

“And who decided that?” Krethik asked patiently. He enjoyed each opportunity gifted to him to learn more about Nyarlea through Naeemah’s eyes.

Naeemah laid one finger on the ground, letting the insects walk over her dark skin. “Hm. Saoirse, I guess.”

Krethik nodded. The goddess of the world. While a feline goddess wasn’t far removed from the deities of his own upbringing, he’d often wondered if his gods had forsaken him in his rebirth. Laxmi, will you bless this dwelling?

He pushed the thought away and continued. “Even if it’s what they’re meant to do, I believe we should thank them for their sacrifice.”

“Why?” She raised her hand close to her face. The beetle wandered to her wrist, and her ears leaned forward with interest.

“Because we share this world together. Our home, together,” Krethik explained. He added the final dots around the outward circles and set the bowl aside to stretch. “Each plant, creature, and person deserves our respect.”

Naeemah lowered her arm, allowing the insect to return to the rice flour. In a high, strained voice, she asked, “What about the Defiled?”

“Mm.” The nyanny Naeemah had stayed with mentioned the possibility of a Defiled claiming the lives of Naeemah’s parents. “The Defiled are also deserving of our respect. However, it does not mean that they will show reverence in return.” He leaned back on his hands and locked her gaze. “People are the same way. Always hold your head high, Naeemah. No matter how you find yourself treated.”

Naeemah slowly nodded and let her knees fall to the side to sit cross-legged. She chewed her lower lip as she reached into her [Cat Pack], withdrawing a small brown pouch. “I… I had an idea. For your design, if I may.”

Krethik grinned. “Of course.”

“I found a lot of extra sumac in the kitchens. I— er, I liked the color.” She blushed and reached into the pouch. “And, I think…” Her thoughts trailed as she withdrew a pinch of the deep red spice. She leaned forward, careful not to disturb the lines of the kolam, and sprinkled the sumac in thumb-sized circles at the centers of each flower.

“That’s beautiful, Naeemah,” Krethik marveled. “You have an eye for art.”

Her blush deepened. “I-It’s nothing, really. You did the hard part.” She pressed the tip of her forefinger into the center of the red hills, adding small divots to each circle.

“Nonsense. You’re very good at this.”

Naeemah finished and replaced the pouch inside of her pack. “Would it be okay…” She hesitated, tugging her black braid over her shoulder and peppering it red with her spice-covered fingers. “I mean, would you mind if I helped you with these? In the morning?”

“I would be honored to have you with me, Naeemah.”

“Thank you, Krethik.” Naeemah beamed—one of the first true smiles he’d ever seen from the young woman. It was lovely; a reward he held close to his heart. Like standing witness to a blooming glory lily vine.

He returned her smile and stood, circling the kolam and extending his hand. “Shall we begin our day?”

Naeemah took his hand in hers and stood. “Yes, please.”

Naeemah knelt in the castle’s main hall, a brush in one hand, a bowl of golden paint in the other. More pots of paint lined the back wall with bowls stationed at their sides, ready to be used once she’d completed the outline of her kolam. She’d traded her satins and silks for a pair of white trousers and a green fitted top with long sleeves and a high collar.

This was the largest design she’d ever attempted, and she wanted it to stay a part of the citadel’s history. A permanent remnant of the man who changed her life.

“Your Highness? You called for me?” Jeenie appeared at the door leading from the dining hall.

“Yes,” Naeemah replied without looking up. It was time to return all of Krethik’s designs to Rājadhānī. “We must return the Encroachers in the training grounds to their homes.”

 

Chapter 234: Setting the Table

Ceres sat with her hands in her lap, upright and straight-backed. Like a proper Shi Island maid. As the wagon moved, she shuffled one thumb over the over, wondering with great interest what their visit to Irisil would be like. She sat beside Cailu, who sat across from Matt and Cannoli.

The silence in the cart was palpable, so Ceres thought to add her voice.

“I am much anticipating the visit to Irisil,” Ceres said, a hand clapped to her breast. “What is it like, Sir Cailu?”

Matt clicked his tongue, his attention on something outside the window.

“It is a compact city,” Cailu said, “and stands as an important beacon for the Saoirse faithful.”

Cannoli glanced at Cailu, then turned back to the window. “That’s nice,” she said.

There seemed to be a rift between Matt, Keke, and Cannoli as of late. Ceres wondered if she had been too forthright with her desire to sit in the same wagon as Matt. With so little time left, she wished to spend every second breathing in his masculine glory.

“I would like to hear more,” Ceres said, hoping to add Matt and Cannoli’s thoughts to the conversation. “How did it come to be?”

Cailu raised a brow, regarding her with the hint of a smile. “According to scripture, it served as one of the first bastions for the Saoirse faithful.” He rested his gauntleted hands on his knees. Goodness, the man was imposing. “There is little more to tell than that without going into the entire history of the city.”

“I would not mind.”

“What are we doing there?” Matt asked suddenly.

“Our first three nights will be spent camping on the road,” Cailu said firmly. “Irisil will serve as a site of respite before we continue our journey.”

“Alright.”

“With that said,” Cailu continued, “we must discuss whether you intend to change to your next Class. I have a list of experienced [Myrmidon]s and [Battleguard]s that I could bequeath to you.”

“I think I already know who I want to be my trainer.”

Ceres cocked her head to the side. “Are you referring to Erina? The [Battleguard] from Shi Island?”

At that, Matt looked away from the window at Ceres. The air around him felt sharp, potent, and somehow aggressive. Yet he had done nothing. “Yeah. Why?”

“With all due respect, Sir Matt, she has one arm now. I am unsure as to whether she would serve as a proper instructor.”

“The men don’t have to meet the same requirements, right?”

Cailu narrowed his gaze on Matt. “That does not mean you should take the paved road. Nyarlea is not a winding path of niceties. She will struggle to teach you proper technique without a second arm.”

“Yeah, I got that,” Matt said with irritation in his voice. Cailu had his full attention now, and he was leaning over with his elbows on his knees and his hands clasped. “I just really respected her, and she survived the encounter with the Defiled. I’d like to see if she’s willing to take me on.”

“I must implore you to reconsider,” Cailu said with a deeper tone. “We cannot afford to make mistakes, Matt. Not now. Not when we are this close.”

“Close to what?” Matt snapped.

“To uniting the islands.” Cailu punctuated each word with venom. “The islands have spent countless generations bickering and competing with one another for a higher seat of power. No matter the cost, it must come to an end.” He drew a deep breath, then exhaled. “The men hold the greatest sway of power, Matt. Do I need to explain what that means?”

“Uniting the men means to unite the islands,” Ceres said, stealing a side-glance at Cailu. “It may not occur in a single generation’s time. However, if the men were to set a precedent—a new standard of unity amongst the islands, then, one day, the Defiled threat could potentially be eliminated.”

“Precisely.”

“What of the word of Saoirse?” Cannoli said barely louder than a whisper. The wagon hit something in the road, and she squeaked. Matt made to steady her, but she shook her head. “Does she not say four islands under one queen?” She visibly swallowed, then bit her bottom lip. “The queen acts as Saoirse’s will, after all. The men aren’t supposed to leave their island.”

“The doctrine will be honored,” Cailu said, “within reason. Our current methods are desultory at best, reprehensible at worst. The Defiled threat creeps upon us like a shadow. Kittens scrounge for whatever morsels and Bells they can find, and without the right men,” Cailu paused to look at Matt, “future generations will be unprepared for what awaits them.” He looked back at Cannoli. “To refuse change is malfeasance.”

Ceres thought on the man’s words. Her entire life had been devoted to the cause of Saoirse, and the devout obedience to the whims of men. To see two men coming to disagreements was unheard of, and yet she had seen more men in a few months than most catgirls did in an entire lifetime. Perhaps Cailu was right. Perhaps the status quo was imperfect.

That would imply that Saoirse was wrong, she thought. That is imperceivable.

“Do you believe Saoirse exists?” Cannoli asked.

Matt’s head spun around to regard her, his brow raised. “Cannoli, that’s—”

“The scriptures are exceptional,” Cailu said, his words unwavering. “I respect the doctrine.”

He does not believe, does he?

“What of you, Matt?” Cannoli asked, looking at him next. Ceres’s heart skipped, her adoration for Matt, and her faith at an impasse. “Do you believe Saoirse exists?”

“H-Hold on,” Matt said, his hands raised, “I don’t know anything about Saoirse. How could I believe in something I have no experience or knowledge of? I barely know myself sometimes.” His words were rushed, as if in a panic. “I… I can’t say if I do or I don’t. To put me on the spot like that—” His voice cracked. “Cannoli, that kinda hurts.”

“Hm.” Cannoli didn’t appear affected one way or the other. She returned to gazing out the window, leaning her chin on her palm while she rested her elbow on the windowsill.

“Sir Matt,” Ceres began, although she had no idea where she was going with this, “I implore you to explore to your heart’s desire. I will be by your side every step of the way as you partake in this journey.”

Matt seemed to relax at that. “Thanks, Ceres.”

Ceres nodded. “Cannoli?” The white-haired catgirl’s eyes flickered to the corners, but she continued to stare out the window. “I share your love of Saoirse. However, Saoirse’s teachings did also state that the men bring forth foreign knowledges and expertise we can scarce fathom.” Ceres felt she knew Cannoli’s answer already but decided to prod to help mend the discomfort. “Have you read the hymns?”

Pink colored Cannoli’s cheeks. Ceres couldn’t remember when she’d last seen that. “No. What I know I learned from my mother.”

“I mean no disrespect when I say then that Saoirse encourages the very actions Matt and Cailu take.” There was room for interpretation in the words, but Ceres chose to believe Saoirse a benevolent goddess. “Hymn forty-three. ‘Judge not the whims of man, for he is an enigma. Judge not the thoughts of man, for he is courageous. Judge not the words of man, for his burden is heavy.’ Have you ever heard this hymn?”

Cannoli’s cheeks continued to darken. “N-No,” she said softly.

Ceres smiled, confident she’d found a crack—albeit a temporary one—in her accusations. “Several of Saoirse’s teachings were passed down through song. Most were dutifully recorded, and the tomes no doubt cared for by the temples.” A hymn she and her fellow [Magic Knight]s rehearsed resurfaced, and she recalled standing in a line, praying and singing. The memory brought warmth to her chest. “To be clear, I never performed the pilgrimage required of many [Acolyte]s and [Priest]s. However, I do know many of the hymns, and they bring with them a wealth of wisdom.” She grinned. “I would love to sing alongside you when you learn a few.”

Cannoli blinked, fidgeting as she glanced between the faces in the wagon. “I’m sorry if I made anyone uncomfortable. I have more to learn than I thought.”

“Ignorance,” Ceres said, resting her hand over Cannoli’s, “is a vice most potent when willingly embraced. You cannot fault yourself for wisdom you were never taught.” She hoped she had not come off arrogant or patronizing. As widespread as Saoirse’s teachings were, most of the temples and places of worship resided in Nyarlothep. Without the guidance of a local [Bishop], Saoirse’s word was often misspoken. When she took her hand away, Cannoli smiled.

“I’m excited, but…a little scared,” Cannoli said, curling an errant strand of hair around her finger. She kept her gaze to the floor, and Ceres couldn’t help but feel that Cannoli may be feeling ashamed. As far as she’d seen, few had encouraged Cannoli’s beliefs, and Ceres wished to be a wise voice which Cannoli could rely on. “I’m starting to realize just how little my mother taught me. She was a [Bishop], but I’ve never heard of the hymns.”

“[Fighter]s often learn about the word of Saoirse,” Ceres said, glancing at Cailu. “[Paladin]s and [Arbiter]s from history recited the songs, and some [Bishop]s even weaved them through their Magic.”

Matt frowned. “I thought bards didn’t exist as a Class?”

“Yes, Sir Matt,” Ceres nodded. “That is true. However, songs, hymns, and chants are all different. Though Ravyn is loath to admit it, the words she recites are chants—forms of song.”

“How is that?” Cannoli asked. “Do you mean I may sing?”

“‘Singing’ may not be the correct word,” Ceres said. “‘Tis true that bards do not exist as a Class, but the hymns of [Bishop]s, the chants of [Sorcerer]s; they are both forms of music. Admittedly—and you did not hear these words spoken from my lips—Ravyn’s chants could use some adjusting. They do not maintain the consistent tone associated with chants.”

Cannoli giggled. “I’ll make sure to mention that to her when I see her next.”

The tension in Matt’s shoulders vanished. “I’m gonna miss you and Ravyn.” He reached for her hand, and to Ceres’s relief, Cannoli blushed when he laid his hand atop hers. “I’ll be looking forward to seeing what you have to teach me about Saoirse.” There was a strange vacancy in Matt's eyes as he said that. Cannoli didn’t seem to catch it, though.

Saoirse, please guide Cannoli, Ceres thought, to a path of goodliness and righteous behavior.

 

Chapter 235: Slice and Dice

Kirti inspected the tent’s contents, noting with amusement the fine silks and cushions utilized in the cots’ construction. Enchanted lanterns threw a soft yellow glow throughout the room, and a wicker bowl of fruits and bread was perched on a side table. Their lodgings while traveling were better than the homes contained within the Third Shell. There was never an expense in Nyarlothep that was spared; it was the one continent in Nyarlea with a constant influx of Bells from the queen’s seat in Ronona.

‘The queen has abandoned us,’ the stone between her fingers whispered, the voice distorted as if it were drowning. Time was a merciless filter to memory. ‘What do we do?’

It was a favored memory she’d captured from a dying companion many years before. When Naeemah disappeared and left Magni in her wake.

“Kirti? Are you alright?” Zahra asked, touching her shoulder.

Zahra was kind. Simple. Naïve. “Yes. Simply thinking.”

“A dangerous notion,” Cailu remarked from the opposite side of the tent. The caravan had provided a compact square table with three polished wooden folding chairs, and he reclined in the one farthest from them, watching the exchange.

Kirti smiled. “You’ve been unusually cheery since we left Ichi, Cailu. Were you able to properly thank Nae after all?”

Zahra stiffened, her eyes widening as she looked between them.

The barest touches of pink appeared on the tips of Cailu’s ears and the bridge of his nose. But it was his eyes that betrayed him. There were a great many things one could learn from a person’s gaze. He frowned. “I do not see how that concerns you.”

“And here I thought we were bonding,” Kirti teased, adding a lilt to her voice. “Nae is precious to us both, is she not?”

“Naeemah is rightfully restored as queen. She is well aware of my,” Cailu hesitated, resetting his jaw, “...gratitude.”

Spirits forbid you ever say ‘feelings,’ Cailu. Kirti giggled, rolling the stone across the backs of her knuckles.

‘Did Lady Naeemah truly consort with another island’s man? That can’t be,’ the voice grew pained and distant.

“Calm yourself. It is merely an observation,” Kirti replied. “How is your arm?”

Cailu rolled his shoulder, then opened and closed his fist. “As good as new. Thank you for tending to it.”

“Mm.” Kirti hummed and returned the stone to her [Cat Pack], retrieving another smooth pebble and a deck of cards. “Shall we play a game?”

Zahra blinked. The proposition had taken her off guard. “I… I like games,” she said slowly.

“It would depend on the game.” Cailu crossed his arms. “However, something to pass the time would be welcome.”

“Agreed. I’m not tired yet, even though dinner was delicious,” Zahra remarked as she took one of the wooden chairs. “I didn’t realize you could cook such fine food while traveling.”

“That aspect depends on the company you keep,” Cailu replied, gaze lingering on Kirti. “As well as the Bells you are willing to part with.”

“That certainly works well when you’ve an unlimited income,” Kirti quipped. She slinked toward the last chair, enjoying both Zahra and Cailu’s incredulous stares as she moved. “Or remain in a Party with access to such.”

“That is not a feat that happened overnight, Kirti,” Cailu said carefully.

“And yet, the outcome is the same.” Kirti slid into the chair.

‘Krethik’s pacifist methods are what made us weak,’ Sanrai hissed as Kirti rubbed her thumb against the brilliant red rock. Sanrai’s words rang clearly, as hers was a recent capture. ‘I am not weak, Mother. And those that are don’t deserve to live on this island.’

“What’s the game, Kirti?” Zahra asked, her sanguine tail flicking in excited ticks behind her.

“It is called Benzi.” Kirti parted the wooden box, revealing a deck of thick playing cards with hand-painted backings. “It is a game that can teach you how your fellow players think.”

Cailu grunted with a sound of disbelief.

Zahra leaned forward, her features intrigued. “Why’s that?”

“Because there are no winners.” Kirti flipped the box over, dropping the cards into her hand. “Only losers.”

“Pardon me, but is that possible?” Zahra drummed her fingers along the tabletop. “What I mean is, if you don’t lose, that would make you a winner, right?”

‘You and Zahra worship the ground Naeemah walks on, and she tossed you to the side for her own gains. Where is the strength in that?’

“Not necessarily,” Cailu murmured, eyeing the shimmering rock on the table. “Both in games and in life, I fear.”

“I have a feeling that you, in particular, will enjoy this game,” Kirti said, catching Cailu’s gaze.

Cailu furrowed his brow. “Must you always speak in riddles, woman?”

“Better in riddles than in circles,” Kirti countered. She lifted the top card. The image depicted a screaming catgirl, half of whose face dissolved into a whirlwind of black brushstrokes. White streaks scraped rectangular strips away from the painting. Chaos. “We will each have ten cards to begin. Each turn, we play one card face up. Whoever plays the weakest card must take all three. This continues until only one person has cards left in their hand. That person is the Benzi.”

“What does that mean? Benzi?” Zahra asked.

Kirti snickered. “The fool.”

Cailu gestured to the cards with a sly smile. “It seems you must always begin as the fool, then.”

“Ah. But I never end as one,” Kirti replied. “Can you say the same?”

Cailu rolled his eyes.

Zahra covered her mouth with one hand, but not before a soft giggle escaped her.

Kirti raised an eyebrow. “Something you find amusing, child?”

Zahra blushed, the bright red hue nearly matching her eyes. She deferred to a frowning Cailu. “Only if I may speak freely.”

Cailu shook his head and sighed. “You do not require my permission to speak, Zahra. You are a member of my Party.”

News to us both, I’m sure, Kirti mused. She passed each of them ten cards, holding the final ten for herself.

Zahra collected her cards into a neat pile, then traced the emblems on the back with her fingertip. “When I first watched the two of you interact, I wondered how you managed to stand each other with your bickering.” Her blush deepened. “But, when you fight side by side, so few words are exchanged. Like you know what the other is going to do.”

“I fail to see how these two situations are related,” Cailu said, examining the cards in his hand. Immediately assessing his position, Kirti noted. “If we were not compatible in battle, Kirti would not have a place at my side.”

“You wound me.” Kirti feigned offense with a slight pout.

“I think it’s more than that.” Zahra pressed on. “You trust one another. You can talk to each other the way you do because you trust what the other would say.”

“An interesting conclusion indeed.” Kirti lifted her hand, betraying nothing on her face. Cailu served as an excellent stepping stone. He could open every door in Nyarlea with a single word. His trust was necessary, but she was not the person who held it. There was only so much one [Witch Doctor] could do to sway the whims of the world’s most powerful man.

Cailu laughed, but his expression remained cool. “In this, Zahra, you are wrong. I would sooner trust a Defiled.”

“In this, we are the same,” Kirti said, parroting his tone.

Zahra’s smile faltered.

‘Zahra is too soft. You raised her in the ways of a dead man. You’ve ruined her,’ Sanrai snapped, her anger palpable.

Cailu shifted through the cards in his hands. “These cards are not numbered. They are,” he drew them closer to his face. “Concepts?”

“Correct.”

“The art is beautiful, but… how do we know who has the strongest card?” Zahra asked.

Kirti nodded, selecting Transformation from her hand. A pillar of butterflies spiraled upwards from a mangled corpse. “We must argue their worth ourselves.” She placed her card in the center of the table. “For example, the Transformation of dead Encroachers into Experience. Such a strong concept, yet few question its importance.”

Cailu raised an eyebrow. “It is a law of this land.”

“Yes. And why?”

Zahra chewed her lip, pushing forward a card embellished with flowering vines. “For Growth,” she began slowly. “Which is more important to keep us all alive.”

“Excellent play, Zahra,” Kirti said. “Cailu?”

“If we cannot stay alive, we cannot keep this world Balanced.” Cailu slid a painting of golden scales to meet the other two cards. “An issue we face presently. One greater than growth or transformation.”

“Very good. I will yield this round.” Kirti pulled all three cards to her side of the table. “Cailu, you play next.”

Cailu’s expression spoke volumes. This game made him uncomfortable. He was no fool—this would lead to conversations that were frowned upon—blasphemous, even. Yet his pride would not allow him to back down.

‘Neither of you know what it’s really like out there, do you?’ Sanrai murmured.

If Cailu would not open the doors Kirti required, she would force them.

 

Chapter 236: Derecho

Yomi paced the room, chewing on her fourth piece of nailbark that hour. It tasted like thick parchment coated in vinegar, and it took an overwhelming amount of clawing to free it from the tree. Her bandaged throbbing fingertips were a testament to that. But it was one of the few options in Nyarlothep that gradually restored [Energy] and could be found without traveling far. Speckles of blood dotted the white linen, and she’d had to be careful when feeding Ruyah. The kitten liked biting on anything that came within an inch of her mouth.

This is better than the dreams, Yomi repeated to herself. Just stay awake.

Saoirse had infected her sleep like a sickness. Every night, her golden mask burned into Yomi’s vision; her voice etched into her ears. “Confess.”

Yomi had no one she could confide in. No one to tell her how to make the dreams stop.

She’d sold her house on San Island and moved to a small, unnamed outpost outside of Ronona in the hopes of escaping her memories. It was a population of catgirls that had made outcasts of themselves one way or another. Some of them talked about it—like Nimbus, the thief who’d invited Yomi there in the first place. Others, like Yomi, kept quiet. As Nimbus said, they all shared the same quiet disposition and air of solitude. The two-bedroom cottage was more than enough room for Yomi and Ruyah, and Nimbus was a convincing salesman.

But no matter how far she ran or how many Bells she spent, Saoirse followed her. Mornings began when she woke up screaming and sweating as if riddled with the same fevers as her pregnancy. She never slept for more than a few hours each night. It was to the point where her secretive neighbors asked about the dark circles beneath her eyes and her pallid face.

Yomi snapped another piece of the bark between her teeth.

In the other room, Ruyah slept soundly in her cradle, swathed in warm blankets, cuddling a stuffed rabbit. Yomi had seen them in shops around San Island, and Ruyah took to the toy immediately—as if it were her familiar.

Stay awake for Ruyah. Stay alive for Ruyah.

“Yomi,” a deep voice called behind her.

Yomi leaped backward into a corner with a hiss, grabbing her staff from its resting place and thrusting it forward. She spent the majority of her time in [Combat Mode], refusing to bow down to Saoirse in the waking world without a fight.

“Yomi,” Belial repeated and stepped forward.

Yomi lowered her staff and rubbed her eyes against the back of her arm. “I didn’t summon you.”

“No. But I have been watching,” Belial replied. He reached forward, then hesitated. “I…”

“You what?” She carefully replaced her staff against the wall. The chimes hummed pleasantly as they collided.

“I fear for you, Yomi of Nyarlea,” Belial said.

A gurgle of giggles sputtered from her lips before she could stop them. “I—haha—I must be dreaming again,” she managed. “You’re worried for me?”

“Yes.”

The laughter continued. Yomi couldn’t stop. Tears pooled in her eyes, and the nailbark cut the inside of her cheek. The goddess of Nyarlea demanded that she confess. A demon that never should have been hers to call worried for her health. “I—I can’t—” she couldn’t breathe. The tears turned to sobs, wracking her chest as she battled for air. “I can’t.”

Belial closed the distance between them in three swift steps, catching Yomi before she hit her knees. He sunk to the floor, scooping her into his lap. She leaned her head against his chest and let the grief take her.

The trouble was Yomi had begun to believe Saoirse. That she’d be better off dead, and Ruyah could be properly raised by nyannies. What Yomi had done was unforgivable, but turning herself in would stain Ruyah’s life. Ruyah would forever be known as the child of a blasphemous criminal.

But each night that Saoirse appeared, a sliver of Yomi’s conscience believed her. All would be forgiven should she simply confess to her misdeeds.

I won’t see Ruyah grow up. I won’t be here to teach her how to survive in Nyarlea. She… she wouldn’t remember me.

Yomi choked on her cries and buried her face in her hands. She didn’t want to wake Ruyah. Her daughter couldn’t see her like this. She couldn’t see Belial like this.

Belial rested his hand on Yomi’s head, then slowly stroked her hair. It was strangely human and oddly comforting. The dark fur on his chest grew damp with her tears, but he never so much as flinched. He simply waited.

When her cries quieted, he nuzzled his mouth between her ears. “Who is this ‘Saoirse’ you call out to at night?”

“You’ve watched me sleep?” Yomi murmured. Her voice was hoarse from crying.

Belial huffed a noncommittal growl.

“S-she’s the goddess of Nyarlea. All things are designed by her hand,” Yomi explained. “At least, that’s what we’re told.”

“Mm.” Belial twined his hands and rested them around Yomi’s side. He’s so warm. “You have only one goddess?”

“So far as I know. She’s the only one haunting my dreams, anyway,” Yomi said. The words sounded as bitter as they tasted.

“I see.” He paused, and Yomi listened to his heartbeat until he continued. “Dreams are a powerful medium. They are a canvas upon which demons and deities rest their brushes.”

“Why’s that?” she wondered aloud.

“To coerce and manipulate. Teach and rebuke. We cannot force the dreamer to acknowledge the call. But as you seem to be experiencing, resistance can be chiseled down with enough power.”

“Why in dreams? Why not appear in person?” Yomi distantly recalled hearing tales of Saoirse appearing to catgirls in Nyarlothep and bestowing gifts.

“It is difficult to explain.” He coiled his tail around his body, resting the fluffed end in Yomi’s lap.

She picked it up and caressed the soft hair without a thought. It was still one of her favorite aspects about Belial. Does he enjoy me touching it? “Try?”

“Hmm. All mortals exist on a single plane, separate from gods and demons. However, when you sleep, it opens a small gateway to other planes.” A low purring emitted from his chest as Yomi stroked his tail. “It requires immense pools of magic to enter a mortal’s dream—lesser eternal beings are not fit for the task. But to torment the dreams of one mortal for so long? Your goddess—this Saoirse—seems…” His words trailed.

“Seems what?” Yomi reached one hand up and stroked the side of Belial’s face, memorizing the strong lines of his long muzzle.

“Cruel.”

“It’s because of what I did to Matt,” Yomi whispered. “The same act you said deserved eternal damnation.”

Belial was silent for a time, the only sound his purring with Yomi’s touch.

At last, he replied. “Our pact grants me a say on your soul’s final resting place, Yomi of Nyarlea. I have borne witness to your sorrow and experienced your regret as if it were my own. I understand my forgiveness is not what you require, but I believe you feel true remorse for what you have done.”

Silent tears dripped down Yomi’s cheeks. “I do,” she breathed. “I’m so sorry.” She didn’t realize how badly she’d needed to hear Belial’s words. “Why can’t Saoirse believe that?”

Belial shook his head. “That is not something I can answer for you.”

“Of course.” Her hands shook as she wiped the streaks from her face. “Belial.”

“Yes?”

“Do you worry about everyone you’ve made pacts with like this?”

His nose touched the tip of her ear, and his breath was hot against her hair. “No.”

Warmth spread through Yomi’s chest and into her limbs. Her lids felt heavy, and her breathing steadied. I need more nailbark. But it was too far away and outside of Belial’s embrace.

“Sleep, Yomi of Nyarlea. I will guard your dreams tonight.”

She wanted to protest. Ask how he could possibly stand against the goddess. But the last shreds of her [Energy] faded away.

For the first time in weeks, Yomi fell into a dreamless slumber.

 

A note from DoubleBlind:

Monthly acrylic pins are now included in Saphira Tier and above pledges on Patreon! More information here!



A huge thank you to my new Patron, Jacob Moore!

---

Chapter 237: Supercell

The sun was rising when Destiny woke. During the evening, someone had draped a sheet over her shoulders. She couldn’t remember falling asleep, only that she’d taken to a chair to one corner of the room, offering advice whenever Tristan appeared troubled.

Tristan sat at the center of the room, hunched over the book Melody had given them. The gentle light offered by the sun seeping through the blinds cast a soft glow on his body, outlining the tiny hairs on his forearms. He continued to turn the pages, the crisp sound of shifting paper wading through the room.

“Tristan?” Destiny said, rubbing her eye. “Why are you still awake?”

The young man turned his head toward her, forcing a smile. “Good morning, Destiny.” Deep, dark bags hung beneath his eyes. His blonde hair was tousled more than usual, sticking up in the back in thin sheets. Much of the color had drained from his skin. He yawned. “Couldn’t sleep.” He turned his attention back to the book, turning another page. “Thought I might as well look into more of the expenditures.”

Bless your heart, you poor thing. Destiny removed the sheet and stood, balling it and setting it down on the chair. This is really bothering you, isn’t it? She sat, tucking her legs beneath her, then gently positioned his head on her shoulder. “Don’t overwork yourself.”

He sighed. “This is a real mess.”

“Want to talk about it?” Despite Celestia’s constant disappointment banging against the doors of her self-esteem, she liked to believe she was somewhat intelligent. At least, when Tristan or Lara were involved. “I might be able to help.”

I hope I can. I can, right? Saoirse, please give me the wisdom to help him.

Tristan shut his eyes, and Destiny ran a hand through his hair while Lara and Ravyn snored and kicked in the beds behind them. Destiny giggled softly, listening to Tristan’s breathing. “Where do I even start?”

Whenever Destiny struggled to find solutions, she liked to start with the biggest problem first. As she’d learned during her time in Venicia, taking care of the most troublesome issues before anything else was the best way to alleviate stress and anxiety. “How about where the most money is being spent?”

That didn’t sound stupid, right? I phrased that correctly? Surely that made sense.

Destiny combated her rising anxiety and waited for Tristan’s answer.

“Military. As I expected.” He lifted his head from her shoulder, and her skin immediately felt cold from his departure. He pulled the book closer, positioning it so the center aligned with where their knees touched. “Sixty-seven thousand, three hundred and thirty-three Bells spent in one month. That’s just for guard fees.” He rubbed his chin. “I didn’t even make that from a single, erm…copulating Quest.”

Destiny blushed at his word choice and sucked in her lips. She loved how carefully he spoke.

“I’ve never seen that many Bells in one place,” Destiny admitted.

“Nor have I.” Tristan flipped back a few pages, brushing his finger down a list of names. “These are all the guards that were paid. I counted one hundred and fifty-three guards in total. That accounts for Shulan, alone.” He clicked his tongue, then sighed. “The number I gave you before also only accounts for Shulan. If we look here,” he tapped his finger to a guard’s name, “Maribelle is paid eleven Bells a day. In the entire month, she earned one hundred and sixty-four Bells. I did some math,” he gestured to a sheet of paper set to the side littered with rows of numbers, “and estimated she worked fifteen days out of the month.”

“So they’re paid a wage for the day and not by the amount of time worked?” Destiny frowned at the concerning number of rows on his sheet.

“That’s the fun part,” he said with a hint of sarcasm in his voice, “I don’t know. Admittedly, I’m working under the assumption that they receive a set payment each day they work—like a salary. Every time I end up with an answer, I’m confronted with another question. This is not something I can fix in a day, a week, or…” He paused. “Hell, even a year might not be enough time.” His last sentence came out in a frustrated groan. “This is like San Francisco all over again.”

Destiny had lost count of how many times she’d heard of San Francisco during their time together. Curiosity prodded at her mind as she wondered how such a strikingly beautiful city could suffer from so many issues. In Tristan’s mirror, the place lit up as night fell, sparkling like thousands of stars.

It was too bad Shulan, and the whole of San Island for that matter, seemed to have more in common with this San Francisco than Destiny imagined.

“Okay,” Destiny said. “So the guards are where the most money is being spent. Where are we not spending the money?”

I should have rephrased that better. That sounded stupid coming out like that.

“That’s been taking longer to figure out than I’d anticipated.” Tristan picked up the book and set it atop their touching knees, clumping a thick number of pages between his fingers and flipping through until he reached a section labeled ‘Nyannies.’ “See here.” He pointed to a name halfway down the page. “This Caroline person was working for a couple of months. But then, there’s just a list of X’s in the other brackets where her earnings should be listed.”

“What does that mean?”

“I don’t know,” Tristan shook his head. “It could mean she was fired or that she’s a no-show— ah, sorry. That means she just didn’t show up for work that day.”

Destiny smiled. “I thought as much.”

Tristan half-laughed, keeping his voice low. “What was I saying?” He rubbed his forehead, then worked his way down to his brow, and then his eyes. “Right, X’s. I found more X’s in other places outside of labor. Like item inventory and livestock.”

“So, then, the X’s could mean a lot of different things?”

“Yeah,” Tristan sighed. “Judging from that, I’m inclined to believe that it means they disappeared in some way. I mean, if they were fired, why continue to mark them down?” He bowed his head. “Or… it could mean they did work, they just didn’t receive pay on that day, for…whatever reason. But why use the same mark in other places?” He groaned. “I’m probably overthinking this.”

“Let’s return to the X’s later,” Destiny said, hoping to distract him. From her experience, Tristan tended to focus on a single problem, seeking answers for said problem, then quietly buckling under pressure when he came to another issue that continued to exacerbate the problem. “You said something about the nyannies?”

“Ah, right. Sorry, lost my train of thought there,” Tristan replied, flipping a few more pages to the left.

“Don’t be. This is a lot of work for a group, let alone a single person.” She put her hand on top of his. “Please remember that you are not alone in this.” Tristan turned his head toward her, his eyes blood shoot. Her heart skipped a beat, and she had to fight the dour expression she felt coming on. He needed her smile right now. “I know Lara and I may not seem it at times, but we learned much from Venicia’s School of Etiquette.”

Are you sure about that, Destiny? Didn’t you flunk almost every class you took? Destiny swallowed the thought.

“Rely on me,” Destiny continued. “Please.”

Tristan nodded, his stare vacant as if he were chewing on her words. “Okay. Something strange I noticed about the nyanny situation,” he pointed to another list of names, “is that there is never any consistent organization to it.”

“Meaning?”

Are you not paying attention? How are you going to help him if you keep asking stupid questions like that?

“Well, everywhere I look, the funding for projects, jobs, roads, structures, you name it; they’re all organized into neat rows with consistent page counts. See here.” He flipped a few more pages over, counting out loud. “Three pages in, expenditures for guards.” He turned back. “Three pages forward, expenditures for guards. That’s not how it plays out for nyannies, however. They’re always footnotes at best. That leads me to believe that they’re an afterthought.”

If she were being honest, Destiny struggled to keep up with what he meant. She was sure that whatever he was saying was the truth, but his mouth and hands moved with a speed she often struggled to comprehend. As if he were always thinking five steps ahead.

Wondering what it’s like to be smart and not stupid? Destiny shut her eyes, mouthing for her inner monologue to silence itself. When she opened them again, it was with the express intent to offer aid.

“Could that be part of the problem?” Destiny asked. She thought she recalled Ravyn complaining about the number of orphans in the street. Pickpocketing was a large issue in the city, so perhaps there weren’t enough nyannies to keep the orphan population under control. “Why are there so many orphans to begin with? Should the nyannies not be taking care of them?”

“This is a question for Ravyn,” Tristan admitted. “I don’t know enough about San Island, its culture, its people, or really much of anything.” He looked over his shoulder at the sleeping [Sorcerer]. She’d taken the other bed after Lara had insisted they try speaking with Fire. “We’ll ask her some questions when she wakes up.”

Suddenly, Ravyn shot up, startling Tristan and Destiny. On reflex, Destiny scooted away from the young master, half-ashamed that they’d been so close with others in the room.

You think anyone wants to see you naked, anyway? Ravyn is what the men desire. Not someone like you.

A line of drool hung from one corner of Ravyn’s mouth. “You say my name?”

“Uh, yeah,” Tristan stammered.

“Mm.” She sat there for a few seconds before collapsing backward into a deep sleep. Her snores filled the room, and Destiny and Tristan chuckled.

Destiny resumed her spot beside Tristan, flushing. “Perhaps we’ll give them a little longer.”

“Yes. I think they need the rest.”

“You should sleep too.”

Tristan glanced at the book and sheets of paper he’d been writing on, then nodded. “You’re right.”

“Shit,” Ravyn said after hearing what Tristan had told Destiny earlier. “I could spend some time explaining things to you, but it wouldn’t make a difference.” She took the book out of Tristan’s hand, opened it, and shuffled through a few of the pages. “Nyannies are paid like garbage.” She snapped the book shut, then proffered it back to Tristan.

“I’m open to suggestions,” Tristan said, sighing. “It’s kept me up all night.”

Ravyn blinked. “You’re that worried?”

He nodded. “Of course I am. I hate to see others suffer.”

“My favorite trait about you,” Lara said, grinning. Her apron was tucked so that it folded in awkwardly between her sash. Destiny motioned to it, and with slow and methodical motions, Lara went to work adjusting it.

“I’m done watching people take on the world by themselves,” Ravyn said flatly. “San Island can’t be fixed in a day. You said it yourself. When you work on it, we work on it together. Do you understand?”

“I… Yes. Yes, of course,” Tristan said with a half-frown.

Wow, some kindness. She’s capable of it after all.

“Good.”

“Let’s take the book back and get outta here,” Ravyn said, flicking her head toward the door. “We can’t do this as we are. We’re going to need help.”

“Useless fucks, useless fucks! Squawwwk!” Ball cried from atop Ravyn’s shoulder.

“Wait, where are we going?” Destiny asked, grabbing Ravyn by the elbow.

She turned her head toward the maid, a hint of anger twisting her lips. “To Zhuli. We need a master’s touch. My mother’s touch.”

 

A note from DoubleBlind


I'm giving away the last two Kickstarter boxes on Twitter and Instagram! This will be the final opportunity to get a Portia keychain! Don't miss out!

---

Side Quest: Emilio's Second Chance

It was as good a morning as any for a fight. Emilio adjusted the enormous anchor on his shoulder and rolled his head from side to side. His neck cracked, and he grunted with satisfaction.

“Where did they all come from?” Pearl asked. Her long taupe hair flew free in the mountain breeze. She wrinkled her nose when a few flyaway strands tickled her face, and she brushed them back. “This isn’t the right season for harts to feed.”

The damn things had surrounded the gates of Lyncina, picking off the chickens or sheep that strayed too far from their herds. Hart hooves were made for the mountains. They came and went like packs of bandits in the night, creeping up and down straight inclines to hunt, often leaving many farmers worried for their livestock.

“Who knows what woke them up.” Emilio shrugged. “Claudia’s been smoking all kinds of fish this week. Could’ve made ‘em hungry.”

“It’s certainly made me hungry,” Yazmin remarked. She rocked from one bare foot to the other, her dark skin glowing in the sunlight. She didn’t wear much for armor—it just got in her way.

“You’re always hungry,” Pearl laughed.

Yazmin grinned and licked her lips. “Who wouldn’t be? Ni Island has the best food.”

“Seems the harts would agree.” Emilio scratched his chin. “Let’s hope this is all of ‘em.”

Two of the harts at the edge of the herd noticed the Party. Beady red eyes locked on Emilio, and their gruff bleating revealed sharp black teeth.

“Time to work, ladies.” He lifted his anchor from his shoulder and rested the shank in his palm, gripping it by the throat. The arms and bills were sharpened to razor edges—a weapon unlike any other.

“Alright. Ready.” Pearl reached toward Emilio and rested her hand on his shoulder. She closed her wide, clear eyes, then quietly recited, “[Sigil of Power].”

A glowing white rune appeared on Emilio’s bicep, and a flood of [Strength] rushed through his veins. No matter how many times she cast that Spell, it always felt just as intoxicating. He felt unstoppable. With a thrilled laugh, he took a step forward.

The harts screamed and charged.

“[Sanguine Wrath]!” Emilio called. A dozen tiny cuts bit into his arms and legs, gradually sapping his [Health Points] as he launched himself at the herd.

His first swing of the anchor cleaved the throats of the two harts that had initiated the fight. Blood soaked their dark fur and sprayed over Emilio’s arms. Another hart jumped, kicking all four legs into his chest. Emilio swung again, slicing one anchor’s arm straight through the roach’s limbs. It screamed. The severed torso dropped to the ground, and the legs bounced around it.

Three more harts flanked him on opposite sides, lowering their heads and readying their sharp horns.

“Shit,” he grumbled. Harts adapted to every battle like a seasoned battalion—using the losses of their units to adapt and conquer. It made them a pain in the neck to kill.

“Go left!” Yazmin called. “[Extend Nails]! [Blood Bite]!”

Emilio took the hart to his left, racing toward it before it charged. He did not want to be on the tips of those horns.

Yazmin moved in a blur of leather and black hair, descending on the roach to Emilio’s right.

“[Sigil of Confusion]!” Pearl shouted. The third hart veered to the side, spilling to the ground mid-stride with strained bleats. It kicked up rocks and dirt in a disorienting cloud as it spun in chaotic circles.

The hart focused on Emilio managed to pierce his tunic with its horns before Emilio buried his anchor in its midsection, striking through its spine and deep into its bowels. At his side, Yazmin descended on her target, ripping through fur and flesh with her hands and teeth. Wet sounds of her feeding on the roach’s blood mingled with the whimpering mewls that escaped inside its dying breaths.

“Yazmin! I thought you already ate breakfast!” Pearl said, wincing.

The [Whisper] leaned back and sucked her teeth before giving Pearl a gruesome smile. “I did.”

“Come on, girls. Keep at it!” Emilio called, not wanting to lose his focus. The [Sigil of Strength] was beginning to fade from his bicep, and the cuts from [Sanguine Wrath] were difficult to ignore.

Yazmin cackled and pounced into the center of a group of four harts. “[Flurry of Needles]!”

Emilio turned just as hundreds of tiny spines emerged from Yazmin’s skin, from the tips of her ears to her ankles, then shot and pierced the circle of harts. It was an off-putting sight—one he was still getting used to.

The Encroachers screamed, their eyes fogging from the resulting venom. It slowed their attacks and gave Yazmin time to kill them one by one.

While Yazmin decimated her group, Emilio finished off the hart still struggling with Pearl’s confusion sigil, then engaged the final group of three.

It was a bloody affair as they silenced the last of them. A handful of stragglers rushed down the sides of the mountain in a hasty retreat. He hoped it wasn’t enough for the roaches to reform and return.

They piled the harts together, and Yazmin moved through them, searching for the tiny gems that grew on their horns and carving out the powdery chalk from their hooves. The gems were well-liked for jewelry and gear crafting, while the chalk was used in multiple [Alchemy] recipes.

“This is a nice group, Emilio. Out-of-season hart materials should fetch us a lot of Bells,” Yazmin mused while she worked.

Emilio nodded, and the motion made him dizzy. [Berserker] Skills had that effect. “Pearl, would you mind throwing me a heal?”

“Oh! Of course!” Pearl skipped to Emilio’s side, then touched his arm and murmured, “[Mend].”

The cuts vanished, and Emilio’s head cleared. “Thanks.”

“Are we going to have to eat hart meat for a month?” Pearl asked.

Emilio laughed. “Aw, Pearl, but you love hart meat.”

Pearl stuck the tip of her tongue between her lips and groaned. “You know I hate it.”

“I’ll have Claudia smoke it for me,” Yazmin said. She stood and slipped the rest of her findings inside of her [Cat Pack]. “And Emilio. I guess.”

“I’m sure the Tower could use it for stew,” Emilio suggested. That tavern would throw damn near anything in a stew. “Why don’t we head back in and ask around?”

“That sounds like a good idea,” Pearl agreed. “Though, maybe the two of you should clean up first.” Her white and blue garbs were strikingly spotless compared to the blood-covered Emilio and Yazmin.

Yazmin snickered, then dragged her tongue from the crook of her elbow to her wrist, licking up the drying hart gore with a gleam in her eye. Emilio had realized early on how much Yazmin enjoyed getting a rise out of other people.

“Is every girl from Ichi insane, or are you just special?” Pearl teased. She’d adjusted well to Yazmin’s antics.

“Maybe one day you’ll find out,” Yazmin replied. “Let’s go. I’m hungry.”

Pearl sighed, and Emilio laughed. The two women turned and strode into Lyncina, but Emilio paused. Outside the walls of the city, he could get a perfect view of the expansive ocean lapping at Ni Island’s shores. The sun glittered on the clear surface, and the breeze carried the salty air all the way up the mountains. Ever since he’d arrived in Nyarlea, Emilio hadn’t been able to bring himself to get back on a boat.

But he could feel the itch to sail returning. His whole life had been spent at sea, and the idea of uncharted waters was too tempting…

“Emilio? Are you coming?” Pearl called.

“Right. My apologies.” Emilio shook his head and jogged to catch up.

He’d figure out some way to get them a boat. Soon.

 

A note from DoubleBlind

Two days left to enter the Kickstarter box giveaway!

---

Chapter 238: Storm Glass

Clang! Clang! Clang!

The walls of Espada’s shop echoed with the stringent, rhythmic ring of hammer to metal. Smithing was solid and sure, like the passing of time. Any material, any shape; she could do it. Her father had taught her how in another life long ago.

A woman could learn a lot with so many lives to her name.

Clang! Clang! Clang!

Espada lifted the glowing knife from the table and quenched it in oil. The satisfying sizzle turned her ears, and she flicked what was left of her tail to the side. It was a hell of an expensive way to finish her weapons, but Nauka had perfected the quenching recipe and kept it coming in exchange for [Alchemy] tools.

A shadow appeared in her shop’s doorway.

Talk of the devil, and she’s on your tail.

“I’m surprised you’re working today, girly,” Nauka called, shuffling over the threshold.

“Your knife’s not done yet, Granny.” Espada had refrained from the title for years, but hearing the kittens say it so often had forced it to finally trickle into her vocabulary.

“Nah. I’m not worried about that.” Nauka waddled closer, leaned far over the counter, and set a tall, dark bottle to the side. “I’m worried about you.”

Every fucking year’s going to be like this, isn’t it? “I’m fine, Granny.”

Nauka pushed the bottle closer to the edge. “You’ve always been a terrible liar, girly.”

Espada pulled the blade from the oil, examining her craftsmanship. The edge glittered in the light of the coals, and the spine was a perfect, straight edge. Somehow, Nauka had snapped the tip of her last one, but the new knife should last far beyond the ancient woman’s years.

“You know, most people get to celebrate their name days, Starbirth, Cherishing Day, the sentimental rubbish that all the little kittens get bright-eyed and bushy-tailed over.” Nauka sighed and pulled the cork from the bottle before taking a swig. “Instead, each year while mourning the passing of our beloved late queen, I hafta wonder why a Queen’s Guard appeared in Junonia. On my porch. In the middle of the damn night. Covered in so much blood she shoulda been dead.”

Espada’s fingers clenched harder around the knife’s handle. Her knuckles turned white. “Have you ever thought about not wondering?”

Nauka cackled, then sucked her teeth. “I’ve been on this island for more years than you have hairs on your stubby little tail, girly. All I do is wonder.”

“Guess you’ll have to be content to keep wondering then, hm?” Espada set the blade aside and marched to the counter. She snatched the bottle from Nauka’s hand and took a drink. It burned on the way down—strong as hell. Probably brewed by the granny herself. She dug in her apron for a few Bells and slid them across the counter. “Thanks for the bottle. Your knife’ll be done tomorrow.”

Nauka covered Espada’s hand with hers. “I know what pain looks like, Espada. And I know what I saw on your face that night. That’s not something a young woman should hafta bear alone.”

Espada ripped her arm away from the [Alchemist]. “You don’t know a goddess-damned thing.”

Nauka looked behind her, then lowered her voice. “Did someone put ya up to it?”

The coals hissed as Espada narrowed her eyes. Her chipped ears flattened to her head. “You think I killed her?”

“I don’t know what to think unless you tell me,” Nauka pressed, her expression impossible to read.

“Alright. Shop’s fucking closed.” Rage rippled through Espada’s veins, and a red haze framed her gaze. “Get out, Nauka.”

“Now you look here, girly—”

“Get out!” Espada bellowed, slamming her fist onto the countertop.

Nauka slowly straightened and shook her head. She murmured an unintelligible train of words as she shuffled out of the shop.

Espada slammed the door behind her, setting the lock and breathing hard. Her hands shook, and she leaned her forehead against the door. Nauka would never understand. No one would ever understand.

With one last kick against the door, she swiped the bottle from the counter and killed the flames of her furnace before culling the meager lamps that illuminated her workspace.

Her home was attached to the back of her shop; a modest cottage with one bedroom set away from the kitchen. Very few decorations adorned the walls—gifts, mostly, from some of the girls in Junonia or clients in Nyarlothep. Trinkets and baubles that kept the place from feeling abandoned.

But there wasn’t much she could do to keep it from feeling empty.

Every fucking year.

Espada took another drink and moved through the kitchen.

In her bedroom was a small chest of drawers that held her limited wardrobe and linens. She lit a candle, then sat cross-legged before it, cradling the bottle in her hands.

For a few minutes, she hesitated, staring at the copper handles she’d forged to fit. Why take it out? What good would it do?

“Because it’s all I have left of you,” she murmured.

She set the bottle to the side, then pulled the bottom drawer entirely out of the chest before sliding a tiny key from a pocket in her belt. She reached into the shadowed rectangle and fingered for the nearly imperceptible lock on the bottom of the next drawer. Once she found it, she slid the key’s pin inside, turned it to the left until it clicked, then carefully lowered the locked box into her hands and out into the open.

It was a smooth wooden case of a simple design. The only way to unlock it was with a ring she’d forged that held the matching signet; a complex pattern of lines and swirls that looked like decorative filigree. But if you held it up to the light at just the right angle, it cast a silhouette portrait of a woman. Of Melasia.

‘We have the rare chance to start anew. If we cannot carve a new path, then who?’

“Eight years without you, Melasia. Not a damn thing’s changed,” Espada replied to the queen’s words in her head. “I think I’m the only one that remembers you anymore.”

‘Why must we hide? Why musn’t we love?’

Espada slid the ring from her finger and then pushed it into the lock. The mechanism caught and released, and she carefully lifted the lid. Three items were positioned in place with expensive pieces of plush blue velvet—the last of Espada’s unbloodied Queen’s Guard cloak.

A lock of Melasia’s shining hair. A love letter Espada had carried with her in so many battles against Defiled that it was crinkled and worn. And the Queen of Nyarela’s crown.

Espada stroked the lock of hair. It was as soft and silken as the day Melasia had tied it with a white ribbon and promised Espada to keep it with her always. She had the words on Melasia’s letter memorized.

‘No matter where your journey takes you, you must always return to me, my savior.’

She traced a finger over the delicate golden contours, remembering the perfect curve and frame it had around Melasia’s ears. Hundreds of tiny sapphires glimmered from within their settings, and three large stones stood prominently at the front. It was meant to mirror Saoirse’s mask, just as Melasia was meant to mirror Saoirse’s teachings.

And one man had shattered it all.

 

A note from DoubleBlind:







A huge thank you to my new Patrons, Lazarus G and Alex H!

---

Chapter 239: Tropical Storm

It’d been two days since Ravyn and the others left Shulan. They returned the record book to Melody, as requested, beckoning for a carriage only an hour later. For an extra fee, the coach agreed to take them the rest of the way to Zhuli.

The nights spent camping out with the coach—whose name was Lily—were uncomfortable at first, but Ravyn quickly acclimated. To Ravyn’s benefit, Lily had a similar sense of humor. That made things somewhat more tolerable.

The carriage’s interior was lined with intricate reds and browns and was incredibly comfortable. Ravyn’s gaze lulled outside the curtained window when it came to a sudden stop. Moments later, the shuffling of feet approached the door. A knock followed, and Lily pulled it open.

“We’ve arrived!” Lily said proudly, her arm extended in a large sweeping bow. She was dressed on the modest side for a woman who did most of her business in Shulan—long sleeves, a high neck, and traveling leathers. Considering Lily’s Zhuli roots, however, Ravyn figured her reserved choice of clothing had something to do with that. Zhuli women were always prudish. “Thank you kindly for taking a ride with me!” She held out her palm, and Ravyn set two one-hundred Bell coins in her hand. “Ohhhh, fancy!”

“Thanks for not hitting any of the fucking rocks on the way,” Ravyn said with a hint of sarcasm in her voice.

They’d hit a rock nearly every fucking minute.

Lily was quick on the uptake. She flashed a toothy grin, a natural fit for a face pocked with freckles. Her orange ears flattened against her head as she whipped her long braid over her shoulder. “Only the best for you!” she said, reciprocating the tease.

“Thanks a bunch, Lily,” Tristan said as he exited next. He rubbed the back of his head. He’d spent most of the ride having his head knocked against the back of the carriage no matter what position he tried to sit in. At least the walls were padded. Destiny and Lara followed shortly after, offering their own thanks to Lily.

The sun had just set, casting an ominous glow over the city of Zhuli.

A myriad of emotions swept over Ravyn. She wanted to cry, to scream, to smile. She hadn’t been back to Zhuli since the day she left on her adventure. Without a single letter to her mother in the last five years, Emberlynn no doubt had many questions for her daughter.

Most of which Ravyn wasn’t sure she was ready to answer.

“My goodness, what a beautiful city!” Destiny marveled, a hand mere inches from her lips.

Zhuli had grown much since Ravyn had last seen it. It still retained its rustic appearance—at least as far as the marketplace and residential areas were concerned. What surprised her was the moat. There was a river that had always run through Zhuli, and it seemed to taper off directly into the new fortification. Five large towers surrounded the city on the inner side of the moat, each complete with a catgirl at the top. Built with its back against the mountain, this meant there was but one way in and one way out.

“It’s bigger than it was last time I was here,” Ravyn said.

“When was that?” Lara asked, taking to her side.

Ravyn raised a brow and stepped to the right, away from the airy blonde. “Not long enough. Come on, let’s go.” She beckoned them with a hand.

“Hurry up, hurry up! Squawwwk!” Bally cried.

Ravyn and the others made their way into the city while Lily set up her horse and carriage at a stable outside the moat. Despite the improvements they’d made to the city, it still smelled like home. Fresh green scents from the nailbark trees that flourished throughout Zhuli and the damp smell of algae baking in the sun from the river. A pang of longing vibrated in her chest, and she swallowed hard against it.

As the sun continued to set, catgirls carried step ladders to the front of their homes to reach into the lanterns lining the streets outside. One by one, the lanterns began to glow, their sterile white light just dim enough to allow one to see without being blinded.

“Remarkable,” Tristan said as they passed a lit lantern. “How does that work?”

“Gemstones,” Ravyn said flatly.

“Are they Enchanted?” he asked when Ravyn didn’t elaborate.

“Yes,” Ravyn said, stopping to look at a home to their left. The buildings were made of sturdy brown wood so dark, they appeared black at night. Unlike the grand and ornate structures of Shulan, Zhuli bore browns, whites, and varying shades of black and gray. “Courtesy of my mother, no doubt.”

“I’m a little nervous meeting the famed Emberlynn,” Destiny said, a pink hue coloring her cheeks.

Ravyn regarded her over her shoulder. Mother would like Destiny very much, she was sure. “So long as you dance to her tune, you’ll be fine. Come on.”

Ravyn guided the group across a path of winding streets and pathways leading up to a large castle nestled against the mountain. Catgirls passed by on occasion, pulling large carriages of goods down the incline. Ravyn couldn’t hide the smile that crept onto her face. She recounted the times Maya and Isabelle had soared down this incline with a cart of their own, shouting all manners of obscenities.

And now they’re gone.

Ravyn stopped when they came up to a large pair of thick, wooden doors. The family insignia—a pair of birds circling a star in flight—brought with it the memories of countless parties and business deals behind these walls. The Bells that were exchanged, the devious words shared, and the constant red glow.

“Halt!” one of the two guards at the gate said, the spear’s point held toward Ravyn. She gripped it with both hands, her gaze veering from Ravyn to the others. “State your business.”

“Catherine,” Ravyn said, forcing a smile. Catherine was stubborn, but she had a good heart and a strong sense of justice. “Don’t you recognize me?”

The blue-haired catgirl frowned, then slowly her eyes widened, and a gasp escaped her lips. “Cecily!” She shook the shoulder of the guard beside her—who seemed to be dozing off—and pointed at Ravyn. “It’s Ravyn! It’s really her!”

“Hah? What! We getting attacked?” Cecily cried, shaking her head.

Catherine sighed, then smacked the back of Cecily’s head. “No, you roach! It’s Ravyn! Look!” She pointed.

“Woah!” Cecily carefully set her spear down, then jumped over and threw her arms around Ravyn. Bally yelped, flapping away and landing on the ground beside his master. “Is really you! Is really you!” She’d had awkward speech patterns ever since she was a kitten, but her body language always spoke volumes.

“Y-Yeah, sure is,” Ravyn said, patting Cecily’s back with reluctance. “Just give it a rest, okay?”

Cecily parted, her hands held firmly on Ravyn’s biceps. “Hmm. Where has been?”

“Long story. Is Mom home?” Ravyn asked.

The two looked at each other briefly, then nodded in unison. “Yes, she’s home,” Catherine said. “She misses you, you know. She’s always talking about you.”

Ravyn shrugged away Cecily’s grip, then crossed her arms. “I figured. I need to talk to her.”

“As if Mistress Ravyn needs permission to enter,” Catherine said, turning around and walking over to a small slit in the wall. She said something indiscernible, then nodded and walked back over to where Ravyn stood. Seconds later, the doors began to open, revealing a long snake-like walkway that led up the mountain to the Emberlynn Estate. “It’s good to see you again.”

“Yeah. Likewise,” Ravyn said, unsure how she felt. “[Civilian Mode].” Ravyn’s Ichi Island garbs disappeared, replaced by the intricately embroidered dress of San Island. As comfortable as the new gear was, it left little room for her skin to breathe. She turned toward Tristan and his Party. “You should return to [Civilian Mode] as well.”

“Of course,” Tristan said, nodding. “[Civilian Mode].”

Destiny and Lara followed suit, though little changed about them. Ravyn did note, however, that Destiny made less sound as she walked. Perhaps due the bottles and tinctures that were no longer strapped to her waist and legs.

Lara was still… Lara.

As the gate’s doors shut behind them, Ravyn breathed a sigh and Bally fluttered down and landed on the crook of her arm. She let him rest, and the familiar waddled sideways up to her shoulder. She scratched under his beak, and he clicked his beak in a soft pur beneath her touch. “Come on, let’s get this shit over with.”

“Catherine and Cecily seemed happy to see you,” Lara said, quickening her pace so she stuck close to Ravyn. “Are you friends?”

“Sorta,” Ravyn said.

“That’s a striking castle,” Destiny said in awe.

Ravyn looked up. Sure enough, the Emberlynn Estate was just as she remembered it. For all of Zhuli’s reticent culture, the estate sure didn’t look the part. Oh, sure, it still had the same colors and patterns many of the other homes and businesses in the streets, but the wood was finer quality, the paint crisp and perfect, and why in the fuck did she import so many plants? Was that some cheap trick to appear the sophisticated and immaculate catgirl of culture and commerce?

It made her sick.

“Sure fucking is.”

She couldn’t wait to get this over with. Of all the times she had to meet her mother, why did it have to be now? No doubt Emberlynn would try to convince her to stay and mend after such a brutal and overwhelming series of events. This was not the way this was supposed to play out. She was supposed to introduce Matt to her mother. Not Tristan—

Matt?

Ravyn frowned and felt a brief hint of heat in her cheeks. “Fuck,” she murmured.

“Are you okay?” Tristan asked, jogging to keep up with her. “You seem a little…preoccupied.”

“It’s just been a long time,” Ravyn sighed. “We have a lot of things we have to talk about.”

Night had fallen by the time they reached the doors to the mansion. Ravyn put a hand to her chest, breathing in slowly through her nose, then exhaling through her mouth. She rapped her knuckle against the door and waited.

“I’m so nervous,” Destiny whispered as she moved closer to Tristan.

“I’m sure she’s a wonderful lady,” Tristan said with a charming smile. The boy sure knew how to bewitch any catgirl within a hundred feet. He wrapped one arm around Destiny’s shoulders, hugging her close. “You’ll see.”

Destiny smiled, and Ravyn turned back to the doors, gagging just as someone answered the door.

A young woman with blonde hair that curled at her shoulders and vibrant green eyes answered. She wore an outfit just like Ravyn’s, though hers was more modest, covering every inch of skin from the neck down to her ankles. It was colored red and black, and three silver rings pierced her left ear.

“Welcome. What brings you to the Emberlynn Estate?” the woman asked, one brow cocked in suspicion as she eyed their group.

“You must be new here,” Ravyn said. “My name is Ravyn. I’m Emberlynn’s daughter.”

 

A note from DoubleBlind:



---

Chapter 240: Microburst

The afternoon following their first night traveling, Ceres stretched off to the side of the caravan. Clean air swelled in her lungs as she moved through the motions of her [Magic Knight] training, and birdsong filled the air.

Nyarlothep was beautiful.

It seemed so impossibly untouched by the Defiled threat. The forests were dense and teeming with life. No billowing towers of smoke or the constant scent of flames on the air. Those who watched their camp at night were always at ease, explaining that the watch was more for the travelers’ comfort than necessity.

This is what I want for Shi. Listening to Sir Matt and Sir Cailu converse had reignited the spark of hope that she may one day restore her home.

“Ceres,” Keke called, jogging to Ceres’s side. “Can we talk?”

Ceres paused her forms, shifting to stand at attention. “What is it?”

Keke bit her lip and glanced over her shoulder. Content with her findings, she turned back to Ceres and lowered her voice. “You have to switch places with me. I’m losing my mind.”

Ceres tilted her head to the side. “Forgive me, but what do you mean?”

“In the wagons. Please let me take your spot,” Keke continued. Her words were strung together in one quick breath. “I don’t know what happened. Zahra’s barely speaking. Kirti’s…being Kirti. I could cut through that tension with a knife.”

“Oh. I see.” But my time with the men! Ceres knew the tiny voice that echoed in her ears was illogical and unkind. It was the same voice that reveled in battle and insisted upon acting on instinct. Look at Keke. She is clearly distraught. Keke’s dark hair was disheveled, and she wore a worrying frown. “Keke, perhaps Sir Cailu—”

Keke shook her head and pitched her voice down. “‘I must speak with Matt on important matters.’ And then he ignored me.”

Ceres couldn’t help but smile at the dramatization.

“Might I make a suggestion?” a new voice joined the fold.

They turned to greet the newcomer. A young woman with deep blue hair that swirled around her shoulders in the afternoon breeze and sapphire eyes that glittered in the sun performed a polite bow. Ceres recognized her as one of the guards in their caravan. “My apologies. I couldn’t help but overhear your conversation.”

Eavesdropping, are we? Keke had spoken lightly—the guard would have had to strain to listen. A flash of excitement tickled the end of Ceres’s tail. What was it that you were listening for? “It is no trouble at all.”

“Where are my manners? My name is Lucia.” Lucia straightened and smiled. “I take point on the first carriage and have ample room for a companion.” Her warm gaze lingered on Ceres as she spoke. “If Lady Ceres would honor me with her company, it seems that would solve your quandary.”

Keke looked back at Ceres, her golden eyes brimming with her silent plea.

Ceres glanced between them, then nodded. As much as removing herself from the conversations between Sir Matt and Sir Cailu pained her, Ceres’s curiosity won the battle. “It is likely that I would benefit from fresh air for a time.”

Keke clamped her hands around Ceres’s bracer. “You’re the best. Thank you.” She nodded at Lucia. “And thank you.”

“The pleasure is mine,” Lucia said with another bow.

“I’ll let Matt know what’s going on,” Keke said. She left them alone, a new spring in her step as she departed.

Ceres studied Lucia for a few quiet moments. The guard was stunning, fitted in expensive travel leathers that clung to her curves and moved as if they were part of her form. But beyond appearances, Ceres found Lucia’s mannerisms and word choice achingly familiar. “Forgive me for asking, but have we met?”

“No. However…” Lucia smiled, then murmured, “[Civilian Mode].” Her leathers glowed a vivid blue and were soon replaced by a high-necked, long-sleeved dress with silver buttons that rested over ankle-high boots. A white apron with two thin straps and gathered edges hugged tightly to her waist and flowed free over midnight blue skirts. Silver embroidery decorated the edges of her apron and ribbon in intricate floral patterns. Her loose hair was tied back from her face with a white satin ribbon.

Ceres feared that her chin would strike the ground. “Anyona.”

“Correct, my lady.” Lucia bowed again. “It may be foolish of me to ask, but I’d hoped we could speak of home.”

Nostalgia clutched Ceres’s heart and held her breath. Shi Island… Lucia’s home…

Ceres’s discomfort must have shown plainly on her face. Lucia’s eyes widened, and she shook her head. “My lady—”

“Lucia, you may call me Ceres. Please.”

Lucia smiled, though sadness crossed her features. “Ceres, I know what’s become of Anyona. What I meant was, well… I hoped to reminisce a bit. If you’ll humor me.”

“O-Of course!” Ceres stammered. It only stood to reason that she would meet others from her island on Nyarlothep. And yet, that knowledge did not quell her excitement nor diminish her desire to bombard Lucia with questions. There was so much she wished to know. “I would—”

“Lucia! Let’s go!” One of the other guards called. “Everyone’s ready!”

“One moment!” Lucia called back, then whispered, “[Combat Mode].” Her wavy hair loosened from its bow and cascaded down her shapely neck. Her combat equipment returned, and she brushed her hands over her thighs. “Shall we?”

“Yes, of course!” Ceres started, realizing her thoughts had drifted beyond the wagon. She only wishes to converse! Stop these ridiculous ideas.

Keke gave Ceres a tiny salute as she followed Cannoli, Sir Matt, and Sir Cailu into the carriage. Ceres reciprocated, stealing a glance at Zahra and Kirti. Kirti wore her bewildering smile while Zahra seemed to be searching for a place to rest her gaze. Ceres sighed and caught up to Lucia.

While another guard took her place on the rear edge of the carriage, Lucia stepped up on the front foothold of Sir Matt’s carriage, shuffled across the metal dash, then took a seat. She smiled and patted the cushioned leather beside her. Ceres followed suit, hopping up to take her place before Lucia grabbed the reins.

“Let’s move!” Lucia called, snapping the reins with a quick flick of her wrists. The grazing horses lifted their muzzles and laboriously began to trot along the dirt path.

Once they’d settled into a comfortable rhythm, Lucia relaxed her shoulders and smiled at Ceres. “Is this your first time outside of Shi Island?”

“Hm. I believe it is better to say this is my first time to Nyarlothep,” Ceres replied. “I left Shi Island months ago.”

“Oh?” Lucia blinked. “I recognize Cailu, but the man that’s with you, Matt. Is Shi Island not his?”

“Matt is from Ni.” Ceres laughed when Lucia favored her with a look of bewilderment. The expression was adorable. “It is a very long story. Shi Island’s man is currently assessing the problems that plague San Island.”

Lucia shook her head. “Goodness. That does sound like a long story.” She reached forward and adjusted the hem of one of her tall black boots, and her shirt dipped low on her chest.

Ceres blushed and looked away. “S-So, Anyona,” she stammered. “If that is from where you hail, you must be a bit older than I am.”

“It does look that way. Though, you seem a lot more experienced than I am.” Lucia settled the reins in her lap. “You’re a [Magic Knight], right?”

“I am. I studied beneath the Knights of Sorentina.”

Lucia’s ears perked. “Under Lady Giselle?”

Ceres’s tail quickly ticked back and forth with excitement as she looked at Lucia. “Oh my goodness! Yes!”

Lucia squinted her eyes, masking her smile with a frown. “‘I’m going to grind you into the dirt!’ Saoirse help me, but that woman had claws,” she laughed.

“For me, it was much needed,” Ceres admitted. “Does this mean you are a [Magic Knight] as well?”

“No. I attempted the test four times. The Sword of Virtues never accepted me.” Lucia lulled her head back and stared up at the sky.

Ceres’s ears and tail drooped. She recalled the fear of rejection before her own test. If she was never chosen… “Oh, no. Lucia, my sincerest apologies.”

Lucia shrugged and looked at Ceres. “I accepted that it wasn’t my place, and so I followed a new path.”

“Have you resided in Nyarlothep since then?” Ceres asked.

“Sort of. I frequented the Guild Hall in Sorentina for many years, working as I do now. As a hired hand to protect travelers on their journeys. Then a merchant ship hired me to help escort them to Nyarlothep when a particularly horrid Defiled reared its fangs between Shi and the mainland. I fell in love with life here, so I chose to stay.”

“Did you not have an established life back on Shi?” Ceres wondered.

A mischievous smile twitched at the corner of Lucia’s lips. “Didn’t you?”

Ceres hoped the heat that rushed to her face was not apparent. She had left her own life behind when Sir Matt had appeared without a second thought. The draw to something greater was too powerful. Saoirse had gifted her with a chance to make a true difference in Nyarlea, and she had leaped in ears-first. “Right. That was a silly question.”

“I only jest, Ceres. I believe Saoirse blessed me with wandering feet. I’ve never been able to stay in one place for long.” Lucia reached out and touched Ceres’s hand. “Service, grace, and urgency shouldn’t condemn us to haunt a single doorway all our lives. We— ah!”

Ceres felt a tiny jolt beneath her skin where Lucia’s hand rested. As if a thousand wing beats from a firefly had triggered beneath Lucia’s fingertips. She twitched with surprise and cocked her head. “Was that you?”

Lucia’s cheeks turned a deep red, and she drew her hand away. “My affinity has a mind of its own.”

“Your affinity is lightning?” Ceres studied the back of her hand. There were no marks or signs that Lucia had activated her Magic. “That is quite rare.”

“So I’ve been told. Most of the time, I can control it. But sometimes…” Lucia gestured to Ceres. “Sometimes that happens.”

“It did not hurt at all,” Ceres murmured. It felt…exciting. She wondered how it would feel along her spine. Goodness! Contain yourself! “My affinity lies in ice.”

“An apt affinity for a [Magic Knight].” Lucia nodded, and her expression warmed as she considered Ceres. “I find ice Spells quite beautiful.”

Why is my heart beating so quickly? Ceres self-consciously touched her golden braid, unable to hold Lucia’s intense gaze. “So tell me, how many times were you assigned to kitchen duty while you trained?”

Lucia’s face lit up. “More than I can count! But we were always playing tricks on one another, so really, it was my own fault.”

“Oh? You must tell me more.” Ceres had believed herself alone with her love of antics—her father had certainly driven her to think so.

“Well, once, a catfish wandered into the dorms, and I took him in as a pet…”

The hours passed like minutes as they exchanged stories and laughter. Ceres found herself with tears in her eyes and an aching belly when Lucia relayed a joke she had played that had caught Lady Giselle by mistake.

Ceres wished the afternoon would never end. To meet someone so very like herself was as lovely and fresh as the afternoon breeze.

When they stopped for the evening, Ceres hopped down from the carriage and stretched. Before the others had exited the wagon, Lucia clamored down to Ceres’s side. Her eyes were wide, and she fretted her lower lip.

“Lucia?” Ceres’s heart skipped.

Lucia lifted herself on her toes and kissed Ceres’s cheek. She lowered her voice to a whisper. “You would be welcome in my tent after dinner. If you want.”

A shiver slid down Ceres’s spine. “I… I would like that very much.”

Lucia sighed, relief blooming on her face, and she smiled. “See you soon, then.”

Ceres’s heartbeat hammered against her ears as she watched Lucia join the others in setting up for the evening’s meal and resting quarters.

See you soon.

 

A note from DoubleBlind:



Never too late to have a Halloween chapter, right?

---

Side Quest: You Are a Pirate!

Fall on San Island was beautiful. The tree leaves changed their colors from bright greens to yellows, reds, oranges, and browns. The weather cooled and more people traveled outside of Shulan than usual. That was Finn’s favorite part—the city was a lot quieter this time of year.

Finn, Ravyn, and Yomi perused the Shulan shop stalls in search of ingredients for that night’s meal. Yomi had recently taken up [Cooking], and while she wasn’t the best at it, Finn was grateful to be able to stay home and eat. Taverns were nice and all, but a night in a tavern almost always led to a catgirl propositioning him. Another stranger’s bed. Another night away from Ravyn.

He was more than happy to eat some subpar stews in exchange for a few nights of peace a week.

“Oh! Gourdkins are back in season!” Yomi proclaimed at a vegetable stand.

“Nani? What-kins?” Finn asked.

Ravyn wrinkled her nose. “We’ve bought them before, Finn. Gourdkins. These.” She tapped three large vegetables in various shapes and colors on the stand. All had thick skins and a stem at their base, but those were about the only traits they sold.

Oh. Right. Like gourds.

“Fucking vegetables, Finn! Squaawk! Stupid Finn!” Ball Gag screamed from Ravyn’s shoulder.

Finn rolled his eyes. Miserable hellkite.

“Hey. Bally. Not nice.” Ravyn tapped him on the beak. “Just because you weren’t allowed to eat Finn’s cookies yesterday doesn’t mean you can be rude.”

Ball tucked his head under his wing.

“Orange gourdkins make delicious pies,” Yomi continued, ignoring Ball’s comment. She picked one up and held it out to Finn. “I can try to make one if you’d like.”

Finn accepted the ribbed gourdkin and blinked. “This looks just like a pumpkin.”

Ravyn snickered. “Now who’s making up words?”

“No, seriously. Where I’m from, we’d make these into pies or carve out their insides and then carve patterns on the front.”

Yomi crossed her arms over her chest and tilted her head in curiosity. “Patterns? Like what?”

“Like designs. You could carve out a face on your own or actually buy patterns for really intricate stuff. Haunted houses, witches, spiders, whatever you like.” Finn marveled at the orange gourdkin as he recalled the jack-o-lanterns that lit his neighborhood around Halloween.

Ravyn raised her pointer finger and opened her mouth. She closed it, then opened it again. “...Why?”

Finn grinned. “For Halloween. I can’t believe I haven’t talked about this before.”

“Here. Let me buy that one and a couple other things for dinner. You can talk about it while we walk.” Yomi fished her coin purse from her [Cat Pack] and quickly finished her shopping.

Ravyn accepted a small bag of spices from Yomi, and Finn took a satchel of fruits and vegetables to carry alongside his pumpk— gourdkin.

“So, Halloween?” Yomi picked back up.

“Yeah. It was a holiday where I’m from. Like Cherishing Day or the Starbirth Celebration. There was a lot to it, honestly. Mostly around spooky themes.” Finn shifted the satchel in his arms. “You could take your carved pumpkin and put a candle in it, then put it on your porch. People would dress up—though every day was Halloween if you were a cosplayer.”

“A what?” Ravyn and Yomi asked in unison.

“...Kuso. Forget that part.” Finn shook his head. There wasn’t any way to explain cosplay in Nyarlea. Especially to catgirls—one of the most cosplayed races in history.

“Hmm. I thought you only dressed up for Christmas?” Ravyn asked.

Finn tried to hide his blush with a cough. Oh, yeah. Forgot about the dress-up Santa story. “Halloween, too.”

“What does Halloween celebrate, exactly?” Yomi wondered.

“Erm… I think it started off as a night to ward away evil spirits, or something?” Finn guessed. He briefly remembered a lesson about it in elementary school, but everything blurred together. “Then it kind of became a day where kids go get as much candy and chocolate as they can.”

“Shit. That must be expensive,” Ravyn replied.

Finn shrugged. “Not for the kids. They go door to door, say ‘Trick-or-Treat!’and get free candy.”

Yomi furrowed her brow and studied something invisible off in the distance. “Forgive me, but I’m still struggling to see the point of Halloween.”

“Yeah, honestly, I couldn’t really tell you either. But it’s a lot of fun,” Finn replied.

They arrived at Ravyn’s house and unlocked the door. Yomi lived just down the road, but Ravyn’s place—and, by proxy, her kitchen—were bigger, so that’s where they spent most of their time. Finn loved it; it was the perfect excuse to stay there in the evenings. And it always smelled like Ravyn when they walked in. The heady scents of smoke and ginger.

“What did you dress up as?” Yomi asked as she disappeared into the kitchen.

“What?” Finn blinked. He’d already begun to imagine spending that night next to Ravyn.

“For Halloween? Did you dress up as something?” Yomi repeated.

“Oh. Uh, a zombie once. A couple of characters from books I liked. And I was a pirate for a couple of years.” Finn sank into the sofa and rested his head on the back cushions.

“A zombie? And you didn’t get set on fire?” Ravyn asked, taking a seat next to him.

Finn laughed. “Why would someone set me on fire?”

She snuggled closer to him and leaned her head on his shoulder. “Because they thought you were a roach. Or a Defiled. Baka.”

Finn snaked his hand behind her back and held her close. Having her next to him always felt like home. “Zombies aren’t real where I come from.”

“Are pirates not real, either?” Yomi called.

“Oh. No. Those were real.” Finn touched his chin. “Actually, are pirates a thing in Nyarlea?”

“They were a ‘thing,’” Ravyn teased. She always got on him about his language. But he wasn’t raised as an aristocrat like her. “They’re now an outlawed ‘thing.’”

“Isn’t [Swashbuckler] a Class?” He thought he’d remembered seeing that in the iPaw or a book somewhere.

Ravyn poked her tongue between her lips. “That’s different.”

“What do pirates dress like where you’re from?” Yomi asked, carrying a tray of drinks into the common room. She passed them each a mug before sitting on Finn’s opposite side and enjoying her wine.

“Well, I think Halloween costumes are pretty hyperbolic extensions of what they’re supposed to represent—”

“You’re avoiding the question, Finn,” Ravyn interrupted and poked his side.

“Right. Fluffy shirts, tight pants, big hats, an eyepatch sometimes. A lot of pirates have parrots, actually.” He nodded toward Ball Gag. “With way more limited vocabularies.”

“Aww, Bally’s just so smart. Aren’t you Bally?” Ravyn nuzzled the parrot with her cheek. He chirped happily in response. She licked her lips. “Tight pants, huh?”

His blush crept to his ears. “Uh, yeah. And sometimes swords.”

“So, if you dressed up as a pirate, could I dress up as your parrot?” Ravyn asked.

Finn imagined Ravyn in a parrot kigurumi and stifled a laugh in his mug. It was equal parts hilarious and adorable. “How would you dress up as a parrot?”

“Like Bally! I’d get a blue dress and plenty of feathers. Obviously,” Ravyn snapped. “I mean, I don’t have to look like an actual parrot, right?”

“No, that would work.” Finn looked at Yomi. “What would you dress up as?”

“The Defiled from the depths of the ocean,” Ravyn said and giggled.

“Ravyn!” Yomi leaned forward and shot Ravyn a sharp glare.

“Actually,” Finn stepped in. I mean, Ursula was kind of like that. “On Earth, there was a pretty cool dress with tentacles attached. I think you’d look really good in one.” Better than a sea witch, anyway.

“R-really?” Yomi flushed and her smile returned. “Who would have thought of making a dress like that?”

“Dunno. There were a lot of crazy costumes that I saw.” Finn took a drink. “People dressed up and went to Halloween parties that whole month.”

“And put candle-lit gourdkins on their front porches?” Ravyn asked. There was a hint of doubt in her voice.

Finn sighed. “Look. I can’t sew to save my life, but I can at least carve a gourdkin for you. That way you can see what I mean.”

“That’s why I bought two. I want to see it,” Yomi supplied. Her ears flicked forward and her tail straightened out behind her. She was really excited about this. “Will you carve one?”

“Yeah. I just need a spoon and a knife.” Finn finished his drink and slipped off the couch. Yomi hopped up behind him and rushed to the kitchen.

“Pirate Finn.” Ravyn laughed. “You’re hilarious.” She stood and kissed his cheek before following Yomi.

“Maybe one day you’ll believe me,” he grumbled and ran a hand through his hair.

I’d still pay to see you in a parrot kigu.

Cleaning out the orange gourdkin was just as slimy and stringy as the pumpkins he remembered. Yomi separated the seeds from the strings and promised to dry them out at Finn’s suggestion. Ravyn watched and sipped her wine, feeding Ball Gag a few seeds here and there. It took a long time to scoop all the gourdkin guts away before he could draw a quick face on its surface.

“Ano sa! The triangles are uneven!” Ravyn exclaimed, pointing to the sketched face.

Finn leaned back, admiring his work. “The eyes look even to me.”

“Why are they triangle eyes? Aren’t eyes supposed to be circular?” Ravyn asked, forming a circle with her fingers and resting it over her right eye.

“I’m not sure. I’ve always done triangles on pumpkins. And, well, now a gourdkin, I guess.”

“Here, let me try.” Yomi gently took the carving knife from Finn and corrected the smaller eye until it matched.

“Oh. Yeah. That does look better,” he admitted.

“Damn. You can’t draw for shit.” Ravyn cackled.

Finn took the knife and plunged it inside the gourdkin. “Be nice to the guy with a knife.”

“Oh-ho-ho. Yes, sir, Mr. Pirate.” Ravyn performed a sharp salute.

“I bet you were a very handsome pirate,” Yomi added. “The best around.”

“I don’t know about that.” Finn concentrated on his gourdkin, but Yomi had leaned in very close to him to watch. It was hard not to let himself be distracted by the dip in her dress or the swan-like curve of her neck.

He did his best to distract himself with a ridiculous song while he worked. Yar-har, fiddle-dee…

Carving the blasted thing went a lot faster than cleaning it. He had a decent looking face in a little under half an hour.

Ravyn snapped her fingers and a flame appeared at their tips. “Great. Now we set it on fire?”

“No, no, wait!” Finn grabbed her wrist. “We put a candle inside! Not set it ablaze!”

Yomi laughed and went to fetch a candle. She snuffed out the oil lamps on her return, then slid the candle inside the gourdkin. “Ravyn, think you can light it without destroying the gourdkin?”

“Of course I can. Baka.” Ravyn carefully lit the candle with one finger and withdrew her hand. The smiling face lit up the room and the small flame flickered across their faces.

“That’s really cute,” Yomi said. “I like it a lot.”

Finn was proud of his first gourdkin-o-lantern. Yomi’s correction had helped to make it nice and even. He looked at Ravyn expectantly. “So?”

Ravyn grinned. “Yeah. Okay. I get it, kinda.” She finished her glass and cupped Finn’s hand in hers. “Next time we should dress up, too.”

“Ooh, that would be fun,” Yomi agreed. “Our own little Halloween.”

“And get candy.”

“And get candy.” Finn nodded. “Our own little Halloween.”

They stayed in the kitchen together for a long time, enjoying the low light of the candle and the fresh smell of the gourdkin.

 

A note from DoubleBlind:



I'll be at Barnes and Noble in Surprise, Arizona on December 9th from 1 pm to 5 pm. If you're in the area, come say hey!

Also a Big Shout Out To:


Zeke doesn't want to destroy the world. Problem is, he's an Apocalypse.
Zeke and his friends are enjoying the city when suddenly, the apocalypse begins. Which one? All of them. Lucky (or unlucky) enough to be chosen as an apocalypse, Zeke sets off to [Devour] his way to the top!

It wouldn't be so bad, but his best friend's out to kill him, that rock has a gun, and everything, literally everything, has gone to hell. Zeke came out here to have a good time, and honestly, he's feeling so attacked right now.

Weak to strong prog fantasy with skills and skill fusion.

---​

Side Quest: Ravyn's Garnet

Ravyn stood on the balcony, peering down at the catgirls below. They looked like tiny bugs moving across a pond. The thought of them getting lapped up by the long tongues of aplitods—a slimy, green roach that lived in lakes—elicited a giggle. Using her pointer finger and thumb, she shut one eye, overlapped her fingers over the specks of catgirls, and pretended to gobble them up.

“Nom! Nom! Nom!” Ravyn said, mimicking the feeding behavior of the aplitod as she held onto one of the many balusters.

The air was cold this time of the year. Ravyn wore a thick wool dress that came down to her ankles. Red and gold embroideries in the likeness of dragons decorated the black fabric in intricate patterns. A long cord of silken rope kept the ensemble together. It was one of Ravyn’s favorite outfits.

“Ravyn, dear,” Ravyn’s mother called from behind her. Ravyn snapped up and spun on her heels, straightening her back and throwing her arms behind her. Her mother smiled. “Come inside where it is warm. The hearth shall give you comfort.”

Ravyn hesitated, glancing over her shoulder. “But, Mother. I am watching the people from here. They look so small. Can I not visit sometime?”

Ravyn’s mother—Emberlynn, as most people knew her—was a woman of incredible beauty and wit. Long red hair tied into complex braids framed her alabaster skin, and a pair of knowing violet eyes bore daggers into all she looked upon.

“Perhaps one day, when you are older,” said Emberlynn. With her palm held downward, she extended her hand, gesturing for Ravyn to take it. “Come now, child.”

One day Ravyn would see Nyarlothep. No, all of Nyarlea. She would walk the same streets, eat the same food, and wear the same clothing as all the catgirls of legend. Of that, she had no doubt. But, for now, she would need to appease any and all who walked Mother’s halls. The banquet would soon start, and neither Ravyn nor Emberlynn could afford to be seen at anything less than their best.

Ravyn followed her mother into a large dining hall beset with ornate decorations. San Island lanterns hung from the ceiling, bathing the room in a soft, orange light. Mother had spent a small fortune on the garnets required for such exquisite lumination. They could keep a room lit for a lifetime and were a fine conversation piece. So long as they graced her home, they would be captivated by all they saw. To Ravyn, it seemed no price was high enough for Mother when it came to impressing her peers.

Ravyn brushed one finger against the ruby of her golden necklace, entranced by the gentle glow above. She struggled to explain the pull she felt when looking at the garnets. A voice inside her said it was not the same dazzled stare she saw in so many others’ eyes.

To Ravyn, those garnets were like a flame. There was life in that stone somehow—a soul.

“Oh my goodness, Emberlynn! Your daughter is so cute!” One woman kneeled to level her gaze with Ravyn.

Ravyn offered her hand, just as her mother taught her.

The young woman took it, kissing the top. “What’s your name, beautiful?”

“Ravyn.” She tugged at the hems of her dress, bowing at the waist, face parallel to the floor. “Madam Linda, I presume?”

Linda clapped a hand to her mouth. “Yes. I am Madam Linda. You are so well-spoken! How old are you?”

“Five, Madam Linda.” Ravyn rose, clasping her hands in front of her.

Madam Linda looked up at Emberlynn, then back at Ravyn.

“My goodness, you are incredible.” Madam Linda stood, beckoning another woman over—and then another, and then another. All banquets played out like this. It was a dance. A pointless, petty dance with Bells on the line and Ravyn as the shining star of the show. Catgirls would line up one after the other, discussing business and other complicated matters Ravyn didn’t yet know about, and Mother would be a heap of Bells richer.

Somehow, it was always about Bells. Nothing mattered more to Mother than Bells.

As for Ravyn, her attention remained firmly attached to the garnets in the lanterns.

---​

Ten Years Later​

Ravyn slammed the door to her room and dove into her plush bed. Reaching for one of her frilly pink pillows, she punched it a few times and then buried her face into the soft fabric, screaming, “Fuuuuuuuck!”

She did this a few times before a knock came at her door.

“What?” Ravyn shrieked.

“M-Mistress Ravyn, are you quite all right?” It was Isabella, one of Mother’s servants. “I thought I heard screaming.”

Ravyn never had it in her to take out her frustrations on Isabella. She was a kind woman, kinder than any in the household. As the future Mistress of the mansion, Ravyn had a duty to see that all servants were treated as equals.

Ravyn leaped from her bed and strode across the soft carpet. She wore a long, form-fitting dress befit of a Zhulian woman. It was uncomfortable and challenging to walk around in but bore the elegance in which her mother had prided herself. Ravyn had requested a version of the dress that cut high on the legs so she could move around better, but her mother wouldn’t have it. The city of Zhuli emphasized modesty, and her mother would be damned if her daughter were seen showing off so much skin.

Swinging open the door to the hallway, Ravyn offered a curt greeting. “Isabella.”

“M-Mistress Ravyn. My apologies if I’m intruding on your privacy.” Isabella bowed at the waist, then leveled her gaze. “Is something wrong?”

“Think nothing of it, Isabella. I’m fine. Just frustration with my…peers,” Ravyn replied.

“I see. Well, Mistress Ravyn,” said Isabella, “please feel free to call upon me if you require anything.”

“I’ll remember that. Thank you, Isabella.” Ravyn shut the door and leaned against the wood, her hands behind her back.

Tapping one toe against the carpet, she looked up at the lantern. The garnet that lit her room was nearly as old as she was now. It was the only thing in the room that had been with her through thick and thin, heard her screams, heard her cries. Ravyn felt something of a weird kinship with the gemstone, reminiscing on the days she’d talked to it as a kittengirl. “What do I do, Garney? I can’t keep living like this. I don’t want to become my mother.”

At dinner time, Ravyn sat beside her mother at a long banquet table. Ever since she had begun attending school, the table felt out of place and far too large for two people. The servants weren’t allowed to eat there with them, so what was the point?

It was a statement to anyone who dared to enter Mother’s mansion. It promised that no matter how large a problem you presented, Mother would have a hefty hand of Bells ready and waiting to placate.

“How is school?” Mother suddenly asked.

Ravyn finished chewing before replying, as was proper. “It’s fine.”

“Are those girls leaving you alone? The Headmistress thinks it was a misunderstanding.”

So Mother had gone to the Headmistress after all. No wonder she was being picked on so fiercely. How embarrassing. “I suppose so.”

“I see.” Mother hummed. “If they continue to pester you, please let me know, Ravyn. I shall see to it that I speak with their mothers.”

“Okay.” Ravyn stabbed the fish on her plate with a bit more force than she intended, sending a screech through the air. Mother flinched, and Ravyn’s eye twitched. She brought the food to her mouth and chewed it rigorously.

“How are your friends? Is Maya still taking her dance lessons?”

“Yeah.”

“Ravyn.” Mother raised a brow and tipped her wine glass toward her.

“Yes, Mother.”

“Very good. We do not use such slang in this household.”

“You don’t, maybe,” Ravyn said as her mother sipped her wine. She silently cursed herself for the comment.

“And what,” her mother asked, her wine glass clinking as she set it on the table, “is that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing.”

“Talk to me, my daughter. Explain your thought process clearly. Please. I cannot help you if you do not speak to me.”

Ravyn gritted her teeth. “I’m not you.”

“Yes, I gathered that.” Ravyn’s mother took another sip of her wine. She rolled the liquid around in the container as she spoke. “You must learn to bury that hatred of yours. I understand your disdain for me, as I carried similar disdain for my mother at your age. One day though, I hope you will understand that my actions are for your benefit.”

“Your actions are a weight upon my shoulders,” Ravyn muttered.

“What was that?”

“Nothing.”

Ravyn’s mother sighed and furrowed her brow. “Child, look at me.”

“I am not a child!” Ravyn exclaimed, standing up and knocking over the chair behind her. “I am a grown woman now! I can go adventure and learn all there is to learn out there! That beats sitting in some castle waiting for the next man to show up just so I can continue this tired tradition!”

Ravyn put a hand on her chest. “I want to be my own person and not have Mommy come to help me every time I run into trouble! Do you know how humiliating it is not to know how to handle my own problems? You went to the Headmistress? Why? Why not let me try and handle it? Damn it, I want to figure things out on my own!” She punctuated the remark by pounding her fist on the table.

A pair of servants standing at the opposite end of the room were obviously growing increasingly uncomfortable with the situation. They fidgeted in place until Emberlynn dismissed them with a wave.

“Ravyn,” Emberlynn said, rising to her feet and walking over to her daughter. “Everything I do, I do for you. You have a duty to this house—to the people of Zhuli.” She reached for Ravyn’s hand, but Ravyn pulled her arm back. “You owe it to your grandmother, great-grandmother, and generations of women before you. We’ve worked tirelessly to provide for the generation that followed. Please do not throw away our efforts.”

“I don’t owe anyone anything!” Ravyn growled. An errant strand of gray hair fell from Emberlynn’s braids, her eyes wide. “I’m tired of living the lie you built for me.”

“Ravyn, it… it was never a lie. I just wanted you to have the life I never had. It’s a rough world out there, and—”

“Spare me.” Ravyn brushed past her mother and opened the door to the living room. “I’ll figure things out my way.” With that, she shut the door behind her and marched back up to her room.

---​

Regret filled every fiber of Ravyn’s body as she lay on her bed, her eyes glued to the garnet above her. As the glow washed over her, the fight between her and her mother replayed itself over and over in her head.

“Damn it,” Ravyn muttered, her hand over her face. “How am I supposed to face her now? What do I do, Garney?”

Someone knocked at her door.

“Who is it?” Ravyn asked.

“It is I, Ravyn.” It was Mother. “Can I come in, please?”

Ravyn rolled to her side, her body pillow clenched between her arms and legs. “Fine. Come in.”

The door clicked, and Ravyn listened as the door shut, the shuffling of feet following. A weight pressed on the bed, slightly bobbing Ravyn up and down.

“When I was your age, I was clawing at the walls,” Mother said with a half chuckle. “I hated all of it. The schoolwork, the magic, practicing my Class, all of it.” Ravyn felt the soft touch of Mother’s hand and shook it away. “I understand. If you still hate me after this, then so be it. But please just listen. May I?”

“Fine,” Ravyn said after a while.

“My mother worked day and night to provide for me. She sent me to school, demanded I learn an instrument, practice my magic, everything.” Mother paused. “It was never enough. When I turned sixteen, I demanded to participate in the process. I wanted to learn the important things, like how to make Bells, be a good mother, and start a business. That way, I could care for you in ways my mother never could. It’s why I never leave home, dear. I can’t bear to be away from you.”

“But, Mother—”

“I am nearly finished. I understand you want to leave and make your mark on the world. Or, perhaps you do not. Perhaps you wish to discover who you are. That— that is fine too.” Mother hiccupped, and soon a quiet sob followed. “I never want to see you hurt. It is a cruel world out there for men and catgirls alike, Ravyn. I do not want you to be a part of that suffering. I-I do not want to see my daughter in such pain.”

Ravyn felt the warm hand of her Mother on her foot, and this time she didn’t refuse her.

“I may have coddled you too much. The fault lies with me. If you are still intent on leaving Zhuli, then I shall let you go on one condition.”

Ravyn shot up in her bed and turned to her mother. She almost wished she hadn’t. Emberlynn’s eyes were red, her cheeks wet from crying.

“Mother,” Ravyn breathed.

Mother forced a smile. “My single condition is that you finish school. Finish your time at the academy, and decide on a Class. If you can do that, then you have my blessing.”

“Mother… do you mean that? Truly mean that?” asked Ravyn.

“Yes,” Mother said, nodding. “Yes, I do.”

An enormous weight lifted from Ravyn’s heart.

“That reminds me of another thing,” her mother continued. “We need to talk about your language. Promise me you will work on it even after you leave. I do not wish to hear such foul words out of your mouth. Where did you even learn such profanity?”

“Isabella,” Ravyn hissed under her breath, averting her gaze momentarily. She turned back to her mother and sat on her legs with the utmost dignity she could muster. “I will do my best, Mother. With Saoirse as my witness, I shall purify this mouth of its taint.”

Mother clapped a hand to her mouth and gasped.

“What? Did I say something wrong?”

 

A note from DoubleBlind:

A huge thank you to my new Patrons, William M!

---
​

Chapter 241: Fire, Walk With Me

The servant gaped, and the whites of her eyes glazed over. Ravyn found that amusing. It was too easy to get exaggerated reactions from newer servants.

“M-my apologies! Allow me a moment to check with the mistress,” the servant said in a barely audible tone. She shut the door while Ravyn and the others waited.

“Why did she close the door?” Destiny asked, frowning.

“Because I haven’t seen my mother in over ten years,” Ravyn explained.

“Ten years?” Destiny was aghast. “How could you go so long without seeing your mother?”

This again.

Rayvn turned her head toward her. Don’t lash out. She doesn’t know any better. “It’s none of your business,” she spat.

Destiny opened her mouth, but the servant had returned, opening the door wide and moving to the side. She beckoned Ravyn and the others in with a wave of her arm. “The mistress is waiting in the dining hall. I…trust you know the way.”

“Yeah, I do,” Ravyn said, walking past her. “Thanks.”

The servant shut the door once everyone was inside, then followed them at a distance while Ravyn marched through the hall. The mansion was just as exquisite as she remembered and had undergone few changes. While the exterior of the mansion was beautiful and ornate in its own way, the inside was a marvel to behold to the average viewer’s eye.

Black walls with intricately carved windows lined the hall. Doors leading to the quarters of several servants flanked Ravyn in pairs as she strode through, the walls lit by scarlet light from the lanterns above.

Mother never did have enough servants to do the bare necessities for her. Always another order, another meal, another record. It was overdone and shameful to have so many catgirls under a single person’s employ. There was no single job or task that Ravyn could think of that warranted so much coddling.

The damned queen has fewer servants, I’m sure.

Ravyn’s blood threatened to boil, and she made an active effort to quell that anger. It drove her to combative word choices, impulsive behavior, and an intoxicating desire to drown it in liquor.

“What’s your name?” Ravyn called behind her without looking back. She needed something, anything to distract her.

“D-Dana,” the servant stammered.

“How long have you worked here?”

“I started just last month.” She gasped. “Oh my, I am so sorry. I should be addressing you by Mistress.”

“Don’t.”

“But I—”

“‘Ravyn’ is fine.”

After traveling down the hallway that never ends—a nickname she’d given it as a kitten—she came to a pair of large doors. The knobs were gold in color, embedded with tiny diamonds that caught the light in a way that drew the person in. It had no glare—as if the gems captured the light above for their selfish desire. Captivating and gaudy, and a gentle reminder that Emberlynn had the means to sweep you under the rug with a snap of her fingers.

Ravyn drew a deep breath, then pushed open the doors to the ballroom, where Mother had spent countless evenings dancing and conversing over the next big business deal. Barking those terribly fake laughs, dropping handfuls of Bells into the palms of noteworthy associates. Bells that could be better used to house and feed the orphans crawling through the streets. Paying the nyannies what they were worth.

Doing something that made a fucking difference.

I hate this fucking dance we must do, Mother, Ravyn thought, disgusted that her own parent couldn’t be bothered to see her daughter at the door. What game are you playing?

Ravyn walked through the ballroom, surprised to see how old the carpet was. Holes pocked the fabric, the color was fading, and it was peeling up in spots. Of all the things Mother was so proud of, presentation sat amongst the top of her concerns. There could be no better way to bury your adversaries than under the weight of your own wealth and prestige.

So, why did the carpet look so worn?

Tristan put a hand on Ravyn’s shoulder to stop her. “We’ll stay here. I think you should talk to her alone.”

“Yeah,” Ravyn said. “You’re probably right.” As Tristan’s hand parted from her shoulder, she turned to him briefly, smiling. “You’re a good man, Tristan.”

He blushed, then chuckled.

“The best,” Destiny said, smiling wide.

“Are you going to be okay?” Lara asked, blinking slowly. As irritating as she was, she at least seemed to understand the gravity of the situation.

“I’ll be fine,” Ravyn said without knowing if it was the truth. She swept her hand under Bally’s talons, extending him toward Tristan. “Here, take care of Bally while I talk to my mother.”

Tristan received the bird easily, and Bally sidled up to his shoulder. “I will. Promise.” Bally nibbled his ear. “Hey, that tickles!”

“Keh. He likes you already. You little shit,” Ravyn said, eyeing the bird. Bally returned the stare with squinted eyes. “Don’t burn the place down while I’m gone.”

“Allow me to prepare some refreshments,” Dana said.

“Allow my sister and I to help you,” Destiny offered.

“I couldn’t allow that! My pride as a Shi Island maid would be wounded.”

Lara gasped. A smile steadily tugged at the corners of her mouth. “We have much in common.”

Dana put a hand to her mouth. “You two aren’t—”

“And that’s my cue to leave,” Ravyn said, walking toward the dining hall anew. “Have fun.” The four of them continued to converse as their voices grew distant, and soon Ravyn found herself at the doors to the hall.

Ravyn gripped the knob to the dining room, pausing to compose her thoughts. Despite saying that it had been ten years, she wasn’t entirely sure if that was true. It could have been longer than that. She’d visited once during her early years as an adventurer, and never again. That would’ve been when Finn was still alive.

It’s been easier to accept your death lately, Finn, Ravyn thought, somewhat ashamed. She felt that, somehow, she was betraying his memory. Her devotion to him. Her eye twitched as the thought crossed her mind, and she actively worked to recollect a memory of him. His warm smile, his disarming voice, his carefree attitude. Stop that. What are you doing?

She sighed, turned the knob, and pushed open the door all the way.

Before her was the long dining table she was so familiar with. It stretched horizontally from where she stood, still as striking as the day she first set eyes upon it. Deep dark brown wood. Foreign symbols engraved into its make. Long white candles set in equally exquisite black candlesticks. Silver cutlery crafted to perfection, each plate with an accompanying fork and knife.

And at the end of the table to her left sat Emberlynn.

“Mother,” Ravyn said, surprised to hear it come out of her mouth as a mumble. She shut the doors behind her.

The woman looked weathered beyond recognition. Her skin was as fair as it had ever been, though now splotches of brown and pink spattered her face and neck. Two violet eyes were set in a face with large bags underneath. One of her eyes had lost its color, and the woman’s hair had grayed so much that it looked pink. She had lost the vibrancy, the aristocracy she once bore.

Ravyn felt her bravado deflate. Emberlynn had not aged well.

“My daughter,” Emberlynn said with a wispy lilt. She took a deep breath, her teeth and the air entering her nostrils trembling. As tears threatened to fall from her glossy eyes, she quickly rubbed them—once each—and swallowed hard. “I missed you dearly.”

Ravyn couldn’t say the same, but neither did she have the willpower to be antagonistic. She strode over to her mother, her hands balled, and stood at her side. “I… how are you?”

Emberlynn forced a smile. Always forcing. “I could be better,” she nodded. “But my day has improved with your presence.” She reached out with one hand. Ravyn gripped it, alarmed at how osseous it felt. No, it looked the part too. Her face was gaunt, her skin pale. Something was wrong with her. “I thought you were dead.”

Fuck.

Ravyn averted her gaze, but kept her head level with Emberlynn. “I have been busy.” A terrible excuse. What could make a person so busy that they’d gone five years without writing?

“I see.” Emberlynn rubbed the top of Ravyn’s hand. It almost hurt, with how jagged her fingers felt. As if there was nothing more than a flimsy film of skin between them.

“Pardon me, Mother.” Goddess above, she was still stuck in her mother’s speaking habits. “But you do not look well.”

Emberlynn giggled, eliciting Ravyn’s attention. She let go, then leaned forward to reposition her chair—an act that seemed too difficult for her now.

“Here, let me,” Ravyn said, walking behind the chair. “Stand up.” She craned her head around, watching as Emberlynn shambled away from her seat. Ravyn grabbed the armrests and shifted it to the side. “Go ahead, Mother.”

Once Emberlynn was seated again, Ravyn stood before her. “What happened?”

Emberlynn shook her head. “Saoirse’s penalty for my poor decisions, I suppose.”

Ravyn frowned at that. “Saoirse did not blight you, Mother.”

“Still as faithless as ever, I see.”

Ravyn sucked in her lips and bowed her head. This wasn’t how this was supposed to go. Sick or not, they would need Emberlynn’s help. She could request her help, she would just need to be… gentler.

“We should refrain from talking about me, Mother. Please. I have come with a request.”

That tipped her over the edge. Emberlynn’s tears fell freely. She leaned her head against her palm as she sobbed, and Ravyn’s heart sank. “All these years without you, and you come to me with demands.”

“Mother, I—”

“I thought you were dead!” Emberlynn screamed. “Could you not have written me a letter? Just one letter? You grew so distant, so cold after…after…”

Don’t say it. Don’t fucking say it, Ravyn thought, gritting her teeth.

“After Finn died,” Emberlynn said, coughing between sobbing fits. She raised her head and wiped her sodden face. “We had something wonderful before you left. I thought I had a daughter I could love and cherish. We made amends; we had an understanding. You became an adventurer. I was proud. So, so proud. You found a stable Party with Finn. And then…” She shook her head. Her stare grew cold, distant, as if she were experiencing the memory all over again. “Then you…hated me again.” She locked eyes with her daughter.

I can’t do this. I can’t. I thought I could, but I can’t.

Run. She needed to run. There would be no amending of relations here. Not right now. There was no shortage of alcohol in Mother’s kitchens. A bottle of that, a good night’s rest. Then she could think. Yes, she could—

“I love you,” Emberlynn said, grabbing Ravyn by the wrist. “I’m so sorry about what happened to him.” Her grip tightened. “I had hoped you would come home for a time. Mend from your wounds. I would not have halted you from returning to your adventuring duties. You have an adventurer’s heart. You always have.” She brought Ravyn’s hand to her forehead. “I am so very sorry, child.”

“You…” Ravyn felt the heat of tears and fought to control them. “You did not do anything wrong, Mother. The fault lies with me. I am responsible for his passing.” She clenched her jaw, and a visceral image returned to the surface. Burned skin. Screaming. Charred blood. Exposed bone. Then silence. “I should have continued to write.”

She would never come home. Reliance on her mother would’ve been an admittance to her methods. But she could’ve at least written. Depended on her mother’s words for guidance. Yet somehow, she’d fallen right back into the hatred she’d developed for her so long ago. Why?

Fuck. This isn’t how this was supposed to go.

A knock came at the door behind them. Emberlynn took a moment to compose herself, letting go of Ravyn’s hand. “Come.”

The door opened, and a kitten with braided red hair poked through the crack. Her ears wriggled, and her violet eyes sparkled with curiosity.

“Sophia, come to Mama,” Emberlynn said.

Ravyn turned to Emberlynn with wide eyes. Mama? Fucking what?

Sophia jogged alongside the table, her arms stretched out to her sides like a bird. She wore a long, black robe with red embroidery. It covered her from head to toe, leaving only her head and hands exposed. She came to a halt in front of Ravyn. Now that she was closer, she saw that hints of blonde speckled her hair, tail, and the insides of her ears. Her tail stood straight up, vibrating the way many kittens’ did when they were excited.

“Sophia, this is Ravyn,” Emberlynn said. “Ravyn, this is Sophia. Your sister.”

 

A note from DoubleBlind:



Shout out this week to Quill & Still by Aaron Sofaer!

Sophie Nadash once yearned to understand life and chemistry. Now a disillusioned scientist approaching middle age, she yearns to set aside pipettes and polymerase forever.

A chance encounter with the Goddess Artemis sets her on the path to becoming the Alchemist for the rural Shemmai village of Kibosh, where the rat race gives way to peace and the quiet life. Freed from the hustle of Earth, she can relax, make friends, and rediscover her love for chemistry through its mystical precursor... and come to grips with the Jewish faith she left behind as a child.

---​

Side Quest: Smiley, Smiley

Matt sat in a secluded corner of the coffee shop, scrolling through his social media feeds while he waited for his date. From what he’d been told, it was best to look approachable and confident. Square shoulders, straight back, curved brow, side smile. The works.

After spending an hour fighting down his anxiety, he left the game store he’d been visiting across the street and headed over to the coffee shop, making sure not to arrive too early. Another tip he’d heard—don’t look desperate. Women appreciate a man who doesn't need them. It sounded like terrible advice in his head, but after ‘being himself’ had failed him countless times, he was willing to try anything.

He looked up from his phone, watching as people entered and left. The shop was a local place, not one of those franchises or chains looking to pull the rug out from any who opposed them. Mornin’ Cowboy.

A woman came over wearing a black tank top and a pair of blue jeans with holes. “Can I get ya anythin’, hon?” She was gorgeous, perhaps a few years older than him. Her hair was shoulder length, dyed a vibrant green-blue, and her face was a mess of freckles framing a face of fair skin and strikingly blue eyes.

She’s not your date. Relax, dude. Chill.

Matt’s heart pounded against his chest. “Ah, n-no. Thanks, though.” He smiled. He hoped the smile seemed natural. Too often, it felt like every time he smiled, it sent girls running. This one didn’t seem affected one way or the other.

“You’ve been sitting there for fifteen minutes,” she said with a half-smile and a cocked brow. “Why don’t I getcha somethin’ to drink, eh?” She flicked her head toward his phone. “Whatcha lookin’ at?”

“Oh!” Matt set his phone down on the table, screen forward. He rested his hands over it, one on top of the other. “N-Nothing. It’s just stupid social media crap, you know how that goes.” How was it that every time he tried to sound casual, he sounded like a squealing mouse?

“Riiiight,” the woman nodded, not sounding convinced. “I’m gonna getcha somethin’, and if you don’t tell me what it is, I’m gonna bring you the pinkest, bitchiest lookin’ drink we have.” She pulled out her notepad and pen. “So, have at it, boy.”

“Ahh, fine. Okay, uhm… I’ll take a cappuccino?”

“On the rocks?”

“What?” Matt started. He figured she was asking if he wanted ice in the drink, but a cappuccino was a type of hot drink, wasn’t it? He didn’t think there was alcohol in it, either. Besides, wasn’t that more of a bar term? “I, uh—”

“Dude!” the woman laughed, patting him on the shoulder. “I’m just messin’ with ya! Are ya feelin’ alright?”

“Oh, yeah! Right, of course!” Matt forced a laugh and scratched the back of his neck. Kill me. “Sorry, just a weird day for me, I guess,” he lied. “Uhh, just a hot coffee and do some sort of fancy thing with the swirl, I guess?”

“Hm?” She frowned, then pointed her pen at him. “Oh, you mean the foam art we do.”

Matt nodded. “Yeah, is that extra?”

She snorted. “No, it’s not extra. It’s standard, actually. What shape would you like?”

“How about a smiley face?” The girl he’d set the date up with was almost twenty minutes late, anyways. The way he figured it, he could use a smile.

“One cappuccino, on the rocks, with a smiley face. You got it!” She flipped her notepad shut and waved as she strode away from the table with a grin.

She’s kinda nice, Matt thought. Where the heck is Brandy?

Brandy was, what Matt thought, a nice woman who had showed all the signs of wanting him to ask her on a date. They worked together at Dynamite Pizza—a local pizza parlor he joined for some part-time cash. Being a college student meant he didn’t have much time or money for himself, so at the risk of burning both ends of the candlestick, he picked up the part-time work so he could take some girls out.

Brandy and him seemed to have good chemistry. They’d laugh about memes, quietly voice their griefs with people who didn’t come in for their shift, and send friendly texts on occasion. He’d heard through the grapevine that she wasn’t seeing anyone, and being the desperate, hormonally-challenged man he was, he bided his time until the moment was right, then asked her out.

Matt remembered the event with painful crystal clarity. Brandy had paused for a second or two, blinking and gaping. When at last she spoke, she seemed somewhat open to the idea, but didn’t remark much on it. He carried most of the conversation, and Brandy nodded and smiled as he arranged the place and time. Figuring that her apathetic response was a figment of his imagination, Matt kept a positive outlook, and the date was set.

It’d been almost twenty minutes by the time the woman with dyed hair returned with his drink.

“Still sittin’ here by yourself, huh?” the woman asked, setting his drink down in front of him.

“Yeah,” Matt said, trying to keep his voice neutral. Instead of looking like a petulant child, sulking against his palm, he grabbed the cup by the ring and brought it to his mouth. The foam smiled up at him, and he sighed. It had a faint aroma of cinnamon, and when he breathed in the hot air, he felt his sinuses clear. He hadn’t even noticed they were backed up. “This smells incredible.”

“Thanks. Made by yours truly,” the woman winked.

Matt took a sip, feeling an ounce of his stress melt away. “Thanks. I really needed this.”

“No prob. It’s gonna be eight dollars.”

“Oh, right,” Matt said, setting the cup down. He arched his back, reaching into his front pocket for his wallet. “Do I pay you here, or at the register?”

The woman laughed again. “Bro, c’mon! I told ya it was free. Chill out, put your wallet away.”

“Right, yeah. You said that,” Matt said, cursing under his breath.

“You feelin’ okay, dude? You’ve been here a while. Waitin’ for someone?” The woman cupped the tray beneath her arm and leaned on one leg.

“Uh, not really,” he said, not wanting to look like some desperate, stood-up dude. He glanced at the deformed smiley face in his drink, feeling a strange sort of kinship. “Just…thinking, I guess.”

The woman took the seat across from him, leaning on her elbow as she set the tray to her side. “About what?”

Well, this was unusual. He’d never even met this person, but she was asking a lot of questions. “Just struggling to make meaningful connections, I guess.” He regretted the words the moment they came out of his mouth.

Good job, Kelmer. Way to look like a creep.

“Join the club, buddy,” she said. “Name’s Misty, by the way.”

“Uh. Um. I’m Matt. Matt Kelmer.”

“Wow, super polite, too,” she said with wide eyes.

Matt shook his head. “Sorry, runs in the family. Military dad and all.”

“That’s aight! Mine’s Hayes,” and then her tone changed to how a person would sound if they were mocking an aristocrat, “since you felt so inclined to offer yours.”

“Nice to meet you.”

“Same to you, buddy.”

A brief silence passed before Matt got up the courage to speak again. “So…you struggle to make connections, too?”

Misty nodded. “Mhm. All the time.”

“I see.”

“All we can do is keep tryin’, though, ya know?” she shrugged. “Parents don’t approve of my tastes,” she said, tugging on a lock of her hair. “That just made me wanna stick out more. It was a sorta way to say, ‘Hey, I’m here! Witness me!’ But it just seems to make more folks turn away… Maybe that sounds stupid.”

“I don’t think so. Besides, I think it looks great on you.” When she blinked and tipped her head, Matt shrank under her stare and averted his gaze. “Sorry if that was forward.”

“Haha!” Misty rested both of her arms on the table, laughing. It was so infectious, the way it sounded. It was as if a squeak and a horn played at the same time. “Thanks, sunshine. I appreciate it.”

Sunshine?

“Yeah…yeah, of course,” Matt mumbled.

“What’s really eatin’ ya?” she probed.

Matt’s toes curled. “I just don’t feel like…anyone gets me. I’m trying. I’m trying all the time, but I don’t feel like much more than just some bystander. Does that make sense?” Misty nodded, and Matt continued. “My parents seem more interested in making me useful than actually loving me. The friends I have—if you can call them that—would much rather go out with their girlfriends than play online games together.”

You. Moron.

If there was anything he’d learned, it was that video games were a clear sign of someone who had no idea what they were doing in life. Well, it didn’t matter. It wasn’t like he was going to see Misty again anyway, so he could afford to gush a little.

Still. It was kind of embarrassing.

“I get that,” Misty said. Her lips formed a flat line, and she gazed out the window to their side. “Everyone’s chasin’ a high, stuck in their own little bubble where they can hear their own voice.” She clicked her tongue. “Sorry. I might have projected a bit there.”

“It’s okay,” Matt said. “I don’t mind.”

Misty smiled, then looked at him. “Thanks, Matt. Sorry your girl didn’t show up.”

I was that obvious, huh?

“It’s fine,” Matt said with reluctance. “You miss a hundred percent of the shots you don’t take, right?”

Misty nodded. “Hey, now that’s the spirit!”

Matt’s phone vibrated, and he was a little more quick to pick it up than he would’ve liked. He unlocked the screen, then scrolled to the message he received from Brandy.

‘Sorry. I’m pregnant. - Brandy.’

Matt frowned, then set his phone back down.

“Bad news?” Misty asked.

“You could say that.” He shook his head. “She’s not showing up. Oh well. Here’s to next time, I guess.”

Misty slipped out of her seat, snatching the tray from beside her. “Sorry to talk and run, but my manager’s gonna be on my ass if I don’t get back to work.”

“It was nice talking to you,” Matt said, forcing a smile. Admittedly, Misty hadn’t done much to improve his mood, but he appreciated her attempt.

“Likewise! I like the streak in your hair, by the way.”

“Thanks,” he said nervously. “Guess it was my own way of making a statement.”

“I feel that. Hang in there, Matt. Maybe one day, girls’ll be throwin’ themselves ‘atcha!”

“Maybe.” Matt laughed. “Not much to throw themselves at, but a guy can dream.”

“Don’t give up, sunshine.” Misty saluted and vanished behind the counter.

Matt drained the smile from his cappuccino and let his thoughts wander out the cafe window.

 

A note from DoubleBlind:

A huge thank you to my new Patron, Zeklor!

---​

Chapter 242: She's Filled With Secrets

Emberlynn’s servant, Dana, had been amicable with Destiny and Lara’s desire to aid. Destiny poured a dark liquid from a teapot with sucked-in lips, anticipating the delicious taste that would no doubt accompany the incredible scent.

“I’ve never had this kind of tea before,” Destiny said, pouring Tristan a cup. He seemed in better spirits today, and for that, Destiny couldn’t be happier. Ball maintained his position on Tristan’s shoulder, and she tapped his beak playfully.

Destiny offered a curt bow before tending to her sister’s cup next. “What is it made from?”

Dana poured herself a cup, then approached Misha’s—another servant sitting at the table—cup next. “It’s made from nailbark and poja leaves.”

Lara blinked, looked down at her cup, and then back up at Dana. “Doesn’t nailbark keep you awake?”

“It does,” Dana nodded as she topped off Misha’s cup. She set the pot at the table's center, then took a seat across from Lara and Tristan. “This is simply mere dust compared to directly ingesting the bark.”

Destiny knew the effects of nailbark well. She and Lara had partaken in its effects during particularly rough evenings when Celestia had been unhappy with their performance.

Couldn’t take pride in your own work, so you had to rely on nailbark. Typical.

Destiny swallowed the thought.

“It’s a wonderful treat to have in the morning for a boost,” Dana said, sipping from the end of her cup. Unlike the cups they’d used in Venicia, these were tall and cylindrical, bearing ridges on the outside to allow for a better grip. The cups were black but apparently came in a wide variety of colors. “The poja leaves give it much-needed flavor!”

“Thank you, Dana,” Tristan smiled, bringing the cup to his lips with both hands. And what fine lips they were. From that mouth spilled the most wonderful words Destiny had ever heard. It didn’t matter what words they were, so long as they came from that mouth. Soft, full, wonderfully—

“Destiny?”

“Y-y-yes?” Destiny asked, turning toward her sister.

Lara pointed at Misha.

“I was wondering if Madame Celestia was still head maid,” Misha said, resting her chin on her palm. She wore an identical outfit to that of Dana’s. The estate’s uniform, Destiny assumed.

“A-ah!” Pay attention! Get your head out of the clouds! Destiny sipped her tea, and her heart skipped a beat. It’d been some time since she last felt the effects of nailbark. It was alarming, but she quickly acclimated due in no small part to the poja leaves. They left behind a sweet and woody flavor that tickled the nose. “Goodness, this is wonderful.”

“Thank you for your kind words,” Dana said. She’d already drained half her tea.

“Celestia is no longer head maid,” Lara supplied, drumming her fingers against her cup. “Madame Ara is the head maid now.”

“Ho ho! Ara?” Misha said, her black ears perking up. “Now that’s a woman fit for head maid. Is her sister doing okay?”

“Y-yes,” Destiny said, trying to hide the incoming blush. You’re just afraid. Admit it. It was nice to be away from Shi Island, where no one could record your failures. “Lynn had a rough time for a while, but she’s doing better now.” She swallowed, afraid of looking stupid. “I’m sorry, my memory seems to be failing me. I don’t remember you from school.”

“Because I quit,” Misha said flatly. “One year was enough for a lifetime.” She leaned back in her chair, then glanced at Tristan. “This the Shi Island man?”

“Yes,” Lara nodded. Destiny noted that she’d finished her tea already. When had she done that?

It’s because your head is stuck in the clouds. Like always.

“We’ve been tasked with, uhm…solving the economic problems you have,” Lara continued.

Dana and Misha exchanged looks.

“Then, the reason Mistress Ravyn is here—” Dana began.

“Is to assist me,” Tristan said with a hand to his chest, “in solving the issues San Island is suffering from.” He set his cup down and laid his hands on the table. “We’re hoping that Emberlynn can shed some light on where San Island is struggling.”

“Got your work cut out for you,” Misha said. “You basically get two options on San Island.” She held up one finger. “You go to Shulan and try to peddle your wares.” She lifted her middle finger next. “Or, you come to Zhuli for a job.”

“It can’t be that simple,” Tristan replied.

Misha laughed. “Well, of course, it’s not. Mind you, I’ve only been working here for two years, but that’s what I’ve seen.”

“That sounds awful,” Destiny said.

“Beats slaving away in the only decent town on Shi Island.”

She’s right. You know she’s right. You should admit you were wrong. “I…suppose that’s fair.” She bowed her head, shutting her eyes.

“Are you feeling alright?” Dana asked.

“Yes. Thank you.” You’re in the presence of proper maids, so act like it.

“Do you have any input?” Tristan asked. “Any advice or experiences you’d like to share? I must admit, I’m at a bit of a loss.”

Dana shook her head. “I’m afraid I don’t have much to offer. I’m sorry.”

“Came right to Emberlynn’s estate after I left the Venicia School of Etiquette.” Misha shrugged. “What I told you is just what I’ve heard since living here.”

Tristan wore a complex expression. He had worn the same expression when he read through Melody’s book and when they parted from Matt and the others.

How I wish I could take your pain away.

“We’ll figure it out,” Destiny said, putting a hand on his forearm. The gesture was a bit more intimate than was proper, but for some reason she didn’t mind. “Lara and I will be with you every step of the way.”

Tristan glanced at Destiny’s hand, then at Lara before returning Destiny’s gaze. Then he smiled. “Thank you, Destiny. I hope Ravyn and Emberlynn have some answers for us.”

“Do you think Mistress Ravyn will wish to stay?” Dana asked, her eyes unabashedly curious.

Lara laughed, then clapped a hand to her mouth. “I’m sorry.”

“What’s so funny?”

“You haven’t really met Ravyn, yet,” Tristan noted.

“She’s rather… independent,” Destiny said. “And favors an unusual method of speaking…” Did I word that right? Please tell me I didn’t just spit all over the daughter of Emberlynn.

Dana and Misha looked at each other, then back at Destiny, Tristan, and Lara. “That’s not how Emberlynn described her,” Dana said.

“Oh. The conversation’s over,” Lara said.

“What?”

“Do you mean with Ravyn and Emberlynn?” Destiny asked. Perhaps Wind had brought her a message.

“Yes,” Lara said. “Oh. Ravyn is quite angry.”

Suddenly, the door slammed open, and everyone turned to the source. There, wearing an expression so twisted and contorted with fury, stood Ravyn.

Dana and Misha shot to their feet, hands behind their backs. “Mistress Ravyn!” they cried in unison.

“Sister! Sister, where are we going?” a kitten said behind her. She wore a long black dress with red accents. Her hair was deep red like Ravyn’s, flecked with blonde. The girl put a hand on each of Ravyn’s legs, peeking between them with large violet eyes. “Oh, the servant quarters!”

Ravyn visibly swallowed, and her eye twitched. “Who’s the other one?” she growled.

“That’s Dana,” the kitten said, pointing at the servant. She pointed at the other servant. “And that’s Misha!”

“Thanks, Sophia.” Ravyn drew a deep breath, looking at Misha.

Misha flattened her ears against her head. “Can I assist you with anything, Mistress Ravyn?”

Ravyn sucked in her lips. “Some tea would be nice.” Just as Misha turned, Ravyn stopped her. “None of that nailbark sh— stuff.” Her tone changed to one that even Destiny could tell was a forced attempt at kindness. “If you would be so kind.”

“Yes, of course.” Misha returned to the workstation behind her.

Tristan rose to his feet and approached Ravyn, glancing at the girl between her legs. Bally flapped over to his master’s shoulder, and the two shared a quick look. “Sister, huh?”

“Yeah,” Ravyn said.

Oh no. This is not good. Ravyn’s not going to—

“What’s your name?” Tristan asked as he knelt down.

“Sophia!” the girl cried with enthusiasm.

“What a pretty name!”

“What’s your name?”

“You can call me Uncle Tristan.”

Sophia tilted her head to one side. “Ooncle? What’s that?”

Tristan opened his mouth, then paused. “Like your sister’s best friend.”

“Ohhhh! You’re a man!” Sophia clapped. “Mama says men are strong. Are you strong?”

“Very strong! Want to see?”

Sophia nodded, and Tristan grabbed her under the arms and swooped her away from her sister, lifting her into the air. “Rawwrr!”

Sophia giggled. “Wow!”

Tristan held Sophia to his chest. The girl nestled herself against the crook of his arm, seated atop his spare forearm. “You’re pretty strong yourself, Sophia!” He spun around. “Want to meet some new friends?”

“Yes!”

“My name is Lara,” Lara said, standing and bowing. “I can talk to the Elements.”

“Ooooh!”

Ravyn strode past Destiny and Lara, joining Misha at the other end of the room. The two shared a hushed conversation while Tristan continued to play and talk with Sophia.

Can I somehow capture this event? The image of Tristan playing so happily with the kitten sparked ideas of what her own kittens would look like. What kind of women would they grow up to be? Would they follow after their father? Their mother?

You would be a terrible mother.

Destiny balled the fabric of her maid attire into her hands, averting her gaze.

“I can speak to them too!” Sophia said. “Put me down, Uncle Tristan! I want to show her!”

Tristan did as she asked, and Sophia ran to Lara’s side. The two carried on their conversation as Tristan retook his seat beside Destiny.

“She’s cute,” Tristan said, lifting the cup of tea to his lips.

“Yes,” Destiny said, her mind bombarded by a dozen self-deprecating scenarios. Her heart throbbed, each of them more painful than the last.

I don’t want to ruin what we have. Visiting Tristan in the evenings at the school for years had planted a slow-growing seed of affection. She was the one person who didn’t come to his door in search of a kitten.

She knew how much that meant to him.

It’s better if I say nothing.

But now that they were in one another’s company every hour of the day, her adoration had sprung thorned vines that wrapped around her heart.

It’s not like I’d be a good mother, anyway. Tristan has enough going on without me adding to it. I need to support him. He didn’t need another girl at his door. He needed a friend. A trusted companion.

“I’m surprised Ravyn has a sister,” Tristan noted.

Things are better this way.

“Water seems to like you quite a bit,” Lara said as she and Sophia giggled. “Have you spoken to Fire before?”

“Fire’s my favorite!” Sophia said. “Fire says he likes Sister Ravyn a lot, too!”

“Maybe we could both convince her to speak to him.”

“Does she hate him?”

Destiny rocked back and forth in her chair.

“Destiny, are you okay?” Tristan asked.

Destiny gasped, broken from her reverie. “I-I’m sorry. I was distracted. Yes. I’m fine.” She smiled.

“You barely touched your tea. Are you sure?”

Only Lara knows as much about me as you do.

“Yes,” Destiny lied, taking a drink of her—now cold—tea. “Delightful. What a wonderful brew.” She would not be a burden on him. She would not destroy what they had. “Lara seems to really like Sophia.”

Tristan blinked, then smiled. “I think we would all be better off if we could see smiles like that more often.”

“I couldn’t agree more.”

Bury those thoughts. Bury them, and never unearth them again.

 

A note from DoubleBlind:

IMPORTANT NOTE: This is non-canon. Patrons voted on it as a Side Quest. Enjoy with a side of AC/DC.

---​

Bonus Quest: The Claw

Day 0

There was nowhere to hide from the sun.

Sweat poured down John’s face and neck as he clamored through the sand dunes of…

Where the hell am I?

He lived in Vermont. There wasn’t any sand in Vermont.

The last thing he remembered was the long drive home from the office. It’d been another late night with his boss out of town. There were only two days left to meet their project deadline, and Mark had decided it was the best time to take a trip to Cancun with the wife. Typical.

John ran a hand over his face, then brushed the sweat off on his thigh. He was still in his button-up shirt and tie. His loafers weren’t fit for trekking through sand, and the grains trickled between the gaps of leather and his socks. Heat beat against his back and soaked through his dark hair.

Am I dreaming?

He had to be. He had to have stumbled from his car to his bed and just didn’t remember. Stress from work was obviously getting to him.

An engine revved in the distance. John turned to see a cloud of dust swell in the air around the silhouette of four dark figures on what appeared to be motorcycles. Dirt bikes? It was impossible to tell.

But without water or shelter, he would die in the heat. Even if it was a dream, that sounded like an awful way to go.

“Hey!” John raised his arms over his head and waved a panicked signal. “Over here!”

The bikes turned toward him, the cloud of dust masking their riders’ appearances. John covered his mouth with one arm and closed his eyes, feeling the torrent of sand-soaked wind slam into him as the engines roared their approach.

When the sound died and the dust settled, John rubbed his face and opened his eyes. He blinked and opened his mouth. Then blinked again.

“They always this quiet?” A woman with fiery red hair that seemed to defy gravity popped the stand on her bike with one leather boot and dismounted. Feline ears protruded near her forehead, and a thin tail swayed behind her.

“Hell if I know. This is my first time finding one.” The second rider with similarly teased blonde hair stayed on her bike. She straightened her spiked gauntlets and adjusted the bandoleer over her enormous chest. Her cat ears flicked forward, then rotated to the sides. They looked…real.

“W-who… W-what—?” John stammered. Where did he even begin? “Is this supposed to be Burning Man or something?”

A tan, dark-eyed woman at the opposite end of the red-head smiled, her teeth sharp. “Why would we burn you? You’re too important for that.”

The last woman, a dark-skinned beauty with a shock of white hair and yellow eyes smeared with black, snarled and clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth. “Get on the damn bike, new guy. Before the others find us.”

“The others?” John managed. He shook his head. Pinched his arm. What the hell was going on? “Alright. Seriously. Who are you?”

“We’ll explain at the base. The rest of the Vixens’ll want to see you,” the redhead said.

John gaped. “Wait, Vixen? Like the band?”

“Look. You can either get on the damn bike, or I can tie you to it,” the blonde snapped.

“Er, right.” John padded through the sand toward the white-haired woman and slid onto the seat behind her.

“Hey! Watch the tail!”

John froze, then carefully maneuvered so that he didn’t touch the fluffy white tail poking above her black leather g-string.

Their engines revved, and John wrapped his arms around the woman’s waist.

A sinking feeling in his stomach warned that he wasn’t in Vermont anymore.

Day 3

It wasn’t a dream. This was all very, very real. It had taken John a full day to absorb the shock of his death and apparent rebirth. A second day to restore his fluids and this new [Energy] thing. Today, two of the four riders that had found him were showing him around the Vixens’ base.

It was partially built into a cliff side; a land feature John was positive didn’t exist until the mountain was almost on top of them. There was a small, natural spring that ran through the cliff, offering the clan of thirty or so catgirls—their term for themselves—enough clean water to live.

“There are six other clans like ours. Some bigger, some smaller,” Jewel, the blonde, explained as they walked. She raised one hand and ticked the names off on her fingers. “Twisted Sisters, Queens, Gypsies, Poison, Scorpions, and Rush.”

John laughed.

“Oh? Is something funny, Johnny?” Stevie, the sharp-tongued white-haired woman, poked a long finger into his chest. John hadn’t told her to call him that, but it’d stuck from day one.

“No. I’m sorry. It’s nothing.” They were armed to the teeth. John did his best to control his reactions—offending them could mean dying. Again. “And you said that this was an island?”

“That’s right. The Claw,” Jewel continued. “Branches just off of Ichi. But no one comes here, and no one leaves.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because we have our own ways here, and the rest of Nyarlea can eat shit.” Stevie narrowed her coal-drenched eyes. Black streaks decorated her cheeks and throat, curving down to her chest and across her bared abdomen. From what John had gathered, Stevie was the leader of these Vixens. “They come on our turf, and we shoot them dead. They don’t fuck with us.”

Nyarlea. The Claw. Ichi. Clans. There was so much information to remember.

But that wasn’t the most pressing thing on his mind. “Your friend said I was important here. Why?”

Stevie grinned. “So you can give us kittens, Johnny.” She dragged her sharpened nails down John’s back, and a tiny moan escaped her lips.

John flushed and shivered. He was an unmarried man, sure, but this still felt…sudden. Courting a woman was supposed to take time and respect. These women all stared at him like he was a piece of meat.

“Only the strongest clans get to breed,” Jewel added, her tone cautious. “We’re not allowed to touch him yet, Stevie.”

“Take all of the fun out of it, why don’t you?” Stevie spat and dropped her arm. “I already sent a rider to the Summit. We’ll see in a few days.”

“We’ll see what?” John asked, looking between them.

Day 7

Oh.

All six clans had gathered at the Summit. Hundreds of catgirls surrounded an enormous metal cage that reminded John a lot of the Thunderdome. John stood beside Stevie and six other women who served as the respective leaders of each clan at the center of the cage.

The only man.

A dozen women swung from the bars in various states of undress. More raised their guns in the air and beat them against the metal. Some carried torches, some made provocative hand gestures and licked their lips. The whoops, hollers, screams, and engines revving deafened him.

This makes Altamont look like a picnic.

A single bullet fired behind him, and John nearly jumped out of his skin. The crowd immediately fell silent.

“Our new man has arrived, delivered to The Claw in the hands of Clan Vixen!” Stevie cried. “It is time to determine who has earned the right to breed!”

A wild cheer erupted as the girls slammed their weapons against the bars.

Stevie raised her arms, and the cheers died down. “As Clan Vixen found him, we will battle first in this contest! Who will challenge Roxy?”

The redhead he’d met on the first day swung down from high on the dome, landing deftly on her feet and slowly straightening her back. The thick leather armor that wrapped around her chest, arms, and waist was marred with deep scratches and marks that suggested the woman had been in a lot of fights. But she kept her legs bare, save for the calf-high boots. She held a long blade in each hand and clanged them together over her head, her expression starved.

They’re seriously fighting over me? It should have been any man’s wet dream. But the knots in his throat and stomach weighed him down.

“Clan Scorpion calls for Lenita!” a woman in blue leathers near Stevie called. “Come forward!”

Lenita slithered through the bars. Her purple and black-streaked mullet was tied back with an animal-print headband. The armor fitted to her chest looked more like the carapace of an insect than the tightly sewn leathers of the other girls. She carried a sickle-shaped sword and a menacing smile.

“To safety!” someone called.

Stevie grabbed John’s arm and dragged him away from the center of the arena to a space that was sectioned off from the jeering crowd. She put a hand on his shoulder and pushed him down into a chair shaped like a large throne.

“Enjoy the show,” Stevie whispered into his ear.

“They’re not going to kill each other over this, are they?” John shouted over the crowd.

“Of course not.” Stevie looked surprised. “That’d be barbaric.”

“...I see.”

Another woman appeared at John’s side with a canteen of water and a plate of food. “Hey there, babe. Name’s Jackie. If you want anything else, you just let me know.”

John nervously accepted both with a nod. “Thank you, Jackie.”

Jackie giggled. “What a sweetie.” She took a seat on the arm of the throne. “I hope Clan Gypsy gets to take you home.”

What do I say to that? “I-I guess we’ll find out soon enough.”

“To first blood!” A woman acting as a referee raised a flag in the center of the dome. “Fight!”

Roxy and Lenita crashed together like lightning. They moved so quickly that John had a hard time telling them apart. Red blurred into purple. Blades glittered in the firelight from the surrounding torches. The atmosphere was electric with excitement.

A blinding light coated Roxy’s blades as she took another swing, breaking straight through Lenita’s weapon and slicing two bright red streaks into the Scorpion girl’s arms.

It was over almost as quickly as it had begun.

“One win to Roxy!”

Another purple-haired girl rushed from the edge of the dome to Lenita’s side. She laid her hands over the wounds and closed her eyes. John watched as a warm glow washed over the girl’s body and into Lenita’s arms. When she dropped her hands, Lenita’s wounds were healed without a trace of blood.

“Magic…?” John whispered in disbelief.

The fighting continued. One by one, Roxy felled her opponents with terrifying speed. Besides the short breaks she took for water, Roxy’s stamina—her [Energy], apparently—seemed endless. She didn’t look the least bit winded.

“We’ve been training her for years,” Stevie murmured in John’s ear as if reading his thoughts. “Clan Vixen will not fall this age.”

As Roxy defeated the last girl from Clan Rush, Stevie wrapped her fingers in John’s hair, scraping her nails along his scalp.

“It has been witnessed!” The referee raised Roxy’s arm with a brilliant smile. “The new man goes to Clan Vixen!”

The onlookers cheered and screamed. Carnal howls sounded from Vixen’s corner.

Stevie leaned forward and nibbled John’s ear. “You’re mine tonight, Johnny.”

Day 372

John stopped questioning most of the ways of life on The Claw.

The clans made their own food and bullets. Their technology was a combination of magic and what they had available. They took care of him and each other. They’d armed and armored him, and he found that he enjoyed learning how to repair and maintain their weapons and motorcycles—he preferred it over the spreadsheets and work emails.

In time, he discovered that it wasn’t the other clans or the catgirls he had to worry about. It was the Encroachers and the Defiled. Fearsome beasts the likes of which he’d only ever seen in horror movies.

John lay quietly beside Jackie, watching as she slept. Every three hundred days, they handed him to the clan that won the battle of the Summit. Gypsy had been the second clan to win the breeding privilege.

But Jackie felt like a friend. He found himself in her bed almost every night.

When he left Clan Vixen, Stevie’s parting words to him were a warning. Even after two months, they still rang loud in John’s ears.

No man has ever survived more than eight hundred days on The Claw.

 

Chapter 243: Garmonbozia

Cannoli sat beside Matt the next afternoon when the caravan had stopped for lunch. Keke sat Matt’s opposite—barely a tail’s length away. But despite their close proximity, Cannoli felt alone. Again.

Ceres took her meal with a blue-haired catgirl away from the main body of the group. The way they spoke and laughed with one another seemed warm. Intimate. Cannoli didn’t know the girl’s name. However, a pang of jealousy at their easy way with one another struck Cannoli’s heart.

What’s happening to me?

Very rarely had Cannoli ever experienced such negative emotions before joining Matt’s Party. Perhaps once or twice when she’d caught him and Keke sneaking away together. Or a few times when he preferred to sleep next to Keke instead of her. But now Cannoli felt the same sour disposition toward Ceres. Like none of them deserved their happiness.

The throbbing she’d experienced on the boat ride over had subsided to a dull ache, but in times like these, it grew loud and incessant. Like a needling reminder of her inadequacies. Ceres’s mention of the hymns had shown just how little Cannoli knew about her ‘unwavering’ faith. She needed to know more. And at the same time, she couldn’t seem to let go of her unrelenting bias.

Kirti caught the corner of her eye and smiled. Cannoli suppressed a growl. Buttons appeared on Cannoli’s shoulder and then rubbed his cheek against hers.

“—excited?” Matt asked.

Cannoli blinked and turned to face Matt. He and Keke were looking at her expectantly. When had they started speaking to her?

“I’m sorry. I didn’t hear you,” Cannoli admitted. She picked up Buttons and moved him to her lap. “What did you say?”

“Oh. We’re almost to Irisil. I was just asking if you’re excited,” Matt repeated.

“I…I suppose so.” Really, she felt numb. To this whole ordeal. I wish I could turn time backward.

“Keke was saying that there’s only one church on Ni Island and that it’s hard to get to,” Matt continued. “Have you ever been?”

Cannoli shook her head. “It’s in Lyncina, which is quite a ways from Junonia.”

“Lyncina’s up in the mountains. It’s best to visit if you have a guide that can take you,” Keke added.

“Pretty steep hike then, I take it?” Matt asked.

“Yes. And there are many dangerous Encroachers that live in the forests surrounding the town. It isn’t safe to go by yourself,” Cannoli replied. “My…my mother made the journey a few times when I was a kitten. But I never went with her.”

At this, Keke chewed her lower lip as if she was holding back something she wanted to say.

Normally, Cannoli would have let it go. But for some reason, the expression on Keke’s face rubbed her tail the wrong way. “What is it, Keke?” Her words were sharper than she intended. Go ahead, Keke. Speak ill of my mother, as you always have.

Keke flinched. “I-I was just thinking about how Mom went with Aurora on those trips. They’d bring back hart meat and cook it for us both.” Her mouth relaxed into a sad smile.

Cannoli blinked. When had she begun to expect the worst of her dearest friend? “A-ah. I see.”

“Wait. Hearts? From what?” Matt furrowed his brow. “You just tear it from their chests and cook it?”

“No, Matt. Not hearts. Harts.” Cannoli giggled, and it eased the tension in her chest a little. “H-A-R-T,” she spelled the word out loud for him. “It’s a type of Encroacher.”

Keke grinned. “It’s like a goat. A really, really mean goat.”

“Why mean? Nasty horns? Something else?” Matt pressed.

“Very nasty horns and sharp teeth. They travel in packs, and they’ll attack anything that gets in their way,” Keke explained. “But, sometimes, you can find precious gems in their horns. And their meat is delicious.”

“It’s too stringy for me.” Cannoli poked her tongue through her lips, then laughed. A sudden memory washed over her like a warm summer rain. “I remember once, Elona and Mom brought back a whole satchel filled with hart gems. They were so sparkly! Keke and I stole them from the kitchen and fashioned ourselves crowns and earrings and necklaces.”

Keke gasped and covered her mouth with one hand. “I forgot about that!”

“We scavenged for all kinds of things to use. Flowers, twine, wire from Espada’s shop, adhesive from Granny Nauka—while they weren’t looking, of course,” Cannoli continued. The images felt perfectly encapsulated with her retelling. “We even, erm, borrowed some of our mothers’ clothing and used the gems to decorate them.”

“We thought we looked like queens!” Keke said. “There had to have been over a hundred tiny gems in that pack, and we used every one of them.”

Matt was grinning, chuckling as they recounted the tale. “I’m assuming you were caught.”

“Goodness, yes,” Cannoli replied. “If the sun struck us the right way, I’m sure you could see us from San Island.”

“It was blinding. We used all the blue ones for our crowns, like Saoirse’s mask. The looks on our moms’ faces when they found us—” Keke sputtered into giggles.

“Did you get in trouble?”

“They were so mad. Elona had to bring what was left of the adhesive back to Granny Nauka and pay for what we’d used. Then buy an oil that would let us take all of the gems off of what we’d stuck them to,” Cannoli said. “It was, erm, slow-going.”

“It took us a full week,” Keke supplied. “We had to use little pads that soaked the gems in oil until we could start wriggling them off. Then, we had to use our nails and a file to pick away whatever remained of the adhesive on the gems. Otherwise, no one would buy them.”

Matt barked a laugh. “Well, there’s only one important question that needs to be answered. Was it worth it?”

“Yes,” Keke and Cannoli said in unison. They exchanged mischievous looks, then giggled.

For just a moment, Cannoli felt like a kitten again. In the middle of another clever idea that one of them had contrived. Buttons ran circles in Cannoli’s lap, excited by the sudden conversation. Cannoli fished him out a peanut from her [Cat Pack].

Keke squeezed Matt’s hand and nodded. Cannoli watched as they shared a short, silent conversation, her ears tipping forward with curiosity.

“I’ll be right back,” Matt announced.

“Oh. Okay,” Cannoli nodded.

As he moved across the way to join Ceres and her new companion, Keke inched closer to Cannoli.

Keke lowered her voice. “I wanted to talk with you.” Her words were slow and measured. “If that’s alright with you.”

Cannoli’s first instinct was to run. But that would only prove Keke’s previous accusations—that she was isolating herself—to be correct. So instead, she nodded.

“I know that we haven’t had a lot of chances to spend time together. Just the two of us, like before,” Keke began. “But I wanted you to know that it doesn’t mean I don’t care about you anymore.”

Cannoli blinked and searched for her reply. The pulsing in her head quieted, and something stirred in her chest.

Keke laid a hand over her heart, and her tail rocked back and forth behind her. “Honestly, I really admire you.”

“Really?”

“Absolutely.” Keke nodded. “You’ve constantly stood up for what you believe is the right thing to do. To Jazz, to Kirti, to Matt. Cannoli, you’re incredibly brave, and I can only hope I’ve shown even a fraction of your courage.”

Cannoli didn’t feel very brave. In every one of those instances, she’d been terrified of what would happen next. That she’d made the wrong decision and put everyone’s lives at risk for it. “Keke…”

Keke reached forward and gently touched her hand. “I’ll miss you, Cannoli. I really hope you won’t stay away forever.” Her golden eyes glossed over and she blinked hard. “I can’t stand the thought of never seeing my sister again.”

The stirring in Cannoli’s chest erupted into a hurricane of emotions. Keke never cried. Tears built in her eyes as she clasped Keke’s hand. “I couldn’t stay away forever, Keke. I just… I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” she admitted, a sob catching her words. “I’ve never felt like this. Like my entire life is one big question.”

“We’ve never been through this, either,” Keke said softly. “But that’s why we’re doing this, right? To find our answers?”

Cannoli nodded. “I suppose so, yes.” She sniffed back her tears. “I can’t help thinking that I should just have a kitten and go back to Ni. That I’m no good to anyone like this.” Her ears flattened against her head, and she closed her eyes.

Buttons scampered up her arm and retook his place on her shoulder, curling himself around her neck.

“Even if I disagree with you, in the end, that’s your choice to make.” Keke squeezed her hand. “One day at a time, though. You don’t have to make any decisions like that right now.”

Cannoli blinked, and Keke wiped away the tears that escaped down her cheeks.

“Neither of us have to face this alone,” Keke murmured. “So let’s not force ourselves to, okay?”

“Okay.” Cannoli wrapped her arms around Keke’s arms and buried her face against her shoulder. “I promise.”

Keke returned the embrace and stroked her hair—something their mothers did when they were still kittens. “I promise, too.”

As Cannoli cried into Keke’s shoulder, the throbbing stopped.

 

Chapter 244: The Last Evening

By the time the caravan arrived in Irisil, the sun had fallen, and much of the company had grown tired of sitting in carriages—Keke included. She fought hard to hide how she felt—something she was good at—but Matt read her sour expression like a book.

“Yeah, I feel that,” Matt said, yawning. “I can’t wait to get out and stretch my legs. Feels like we’ve been traveling for weeks.”

“I’m sore, too,” Cannoli admitted. She’d taken to Matt’s left while Cailu and Keke sat across from him.

The wagon came to a stop, and a gentle knock confirmed it was time to exit. The door opened, and the lithe coach beckoned them outside. “Welcome to Irisil,” she said.

Keke carefully stepped outside, marveling at the city before her. Unlike the Port of Elliot, this place was surrounded by walls of black stone. At the city's center was a prominent spire taller than any building she had seen before. A smoky orange glow emanated from a cavity beneath the spire’s point.

“Oh goodness,” Cannoli said, clapping her hands beside Keke. “What a beautiful city.”

Matt took Keke's opposite, crossing his arms. “Spooky. Kinda reminds me of Halloween.”

Keke turned her head toward him. “What’s Halloween?”

“A holiday where I’m from. People dress up as zombies, monsters, demons, that sorta thing. If you’re a kid, you go to other houses and ask for candy.”

“You get candy for dressing up as a demon?” Cannoli asked as her face paled. She looked ashamed to be breathing the same air as Matt.

“I-it’s better than it sounds, I swear.”

Keke frowned as she tried to imagine kittens dressed like Defiled going from door to door, asking for sugary treats. “That sounds kind of dangerous. How do they know you’re not the real thing?”

Matt blinked, then laughed. “Monsters like the Defiled didn’t exist for me before. They’re just stories, myths. Well, until now, I mean.” He returned the frown. “What? I’m serious!”

Half the time, she believed him. But sometimes, his customs sounded far too strange to be true. The very idea that he’d lived in a place with as many men as there were women was difficult to comprehend. What would a society like that even look like?

“Well, I hope Irisil isn’t as scary on the inside as Halloween,” Keke said.

“Irisil was once a bastion,” Cailu explained as he joined them next. His armor clinked and shuffled, and he appeared more stiff than usual. Keke supposed he had his limits to how long he could sit, as well. “The city was constructed from black stone so as to conceal its prodigious size.”

“Yep! See those orange lights?” the coach asked, pointing at the tower. “They were meant to guide the lost back to the city. Lots of people thought the lights doubled as a sort of repellent for Encroachers, so they still use them to this day.”

“Does it actually work?” Matt asked.

The coach shrugged. “No idea.” She shut the door and climbed back into her seat. “If you got nothing else, I’m going to take this beauty back to the Port of Elliot.”

“One moment,” Cailu said, approaching her with a hefty bag of Bells. The coach’s eyes widened as he poured a heaping sum of coins into her palm. She squealed with delight, then whispered something into his ear. He shook his head, then waved his hand as if he were trying to hurry her along. She raised a brow, shrugged, and her wagon began to trot away.

Cailu returned, and the remainder of his Party soon arrived from the other wagon. Ceres hung back for a time, speaking with the coach named Lucia. The two bowed to one another, and Ceres smiled wide while Lucia urged her horses away from Irisil.

“Say your goodbyes?” Keke asked with a knowing smile when Ceres came.

“Yes!” Ceres said. “Lucia lives at the Port of Elliot, so we agreed to pen one another from time to time.”

“That’s great, Ceres,” Matt said, smiling.

Kirti stood beside Cailu while Zahra took to his other side. “You waited. How kind,” Kirti said.

Cailu frowned. “Come. The [Bishop] will be waiting.”

Keke drew a sharp breath as she, Matt, Ceres, and Cannoli followed Cailu and his Party into the city. If not for [Low-Light Vision], Keke was sure she’d been unable to tell the difference between the wall and the sky during the late hours of the evening. Even with the light of the setting sun, it was difficult to see the walls and fences unless she was up close.

There was a quick discussion with the guards before Keke and the Parties were allowed through. Though, with two men in their group, there were few places they couldn’t go, especially with Cailu in tow. She just wished he wouldn’t phrase everything like a demand. The man had a way of talking at people, not with them. When he wasn’t hissing demands, he wore a smile that could charm any woman. It felt manipulative and demeaning, and it was clear that he valued himself quite highly.

Cailu was right about one thing, though. The city was compact—awfully so. The streets barely had enough room for three people to walk beside one another comfortably. Homes were separated by even tighter spaces, the alleyways barely allowing for one person to pass through at a time. Maybe two if you kept your back to the wall.

“A-are you sure we’re in the right place?” Cannoli asked as she huddled closer to Keke. Keke wrapped an arm around her, keeping an alert eye on anything suspicious. “I feel weird.”

“So do I,” Keke admitted.

Many of the catgirls that passed by wore thick robes of black and gray with hoods over their heads. They hissed words under their breath as they passed by, and Keke felt a chill sweep over her skin.

Keke heard Matt mutter something like, “Halloween meets new pork,” but figured it was something else he’d remembered.

“How fascinating,” Ceres said, craning her head. “Tell me, Sir Cailu. For what reason do they dress in such dark clothing?”

“They hide,” Kirti answered, “from the Defiled. As if such dark clothing could protect oneself from them.”

Cannoli glanced at her.

“I feel a bit naked,” Zahra admitted, rubbing her bare bicep.

“Pay it no mind,” Cailu said, stopping before a larger building. Above the door was a plaque that read, ‘Clumsy Orchid Inn.’ “The [Bishop] should be waiting inside.” He pushed the door open, and a bell alerted the barkeep to their arrival.

“Welcome in!” To Keke’s relief, the voice sounded chipper.

The interior was the same as any other inn. Round wooden tables, a bar at the counter, and entertainment to a stage on their left. Some of the catgirls turned to see who’d entered, but they quickly returned to their drinks and company. They dressed just as the ones outside did, but they’d undone their cloaks and lowered their hoods.

Now they felt like people and not shadows.

“What whiplash,” Matt said. “I was expecting all the tables to be black. Maybe a creepy catgirl at the door asking us for a secret password.”

Cailu regarded him over his shoulder with a frown.

Keke giggled.

Cailu shook his head and gestured toward a pair of tables to the right of the door. “Seat yourselves while I ascertain the [Bishop]’s location.” He undid his cape and set it on the table before promptly leaving in search of the catgirl in question.

Cannoli took a seat to Matt’s right, so Keke took the spot next to her. Keke gripped Cannoli’s hand tightly, hoping to be the net of assurance her best friend no doubt needed.

“I’ll be okay,” Cannoli said as if she’d sensed Keke’s bittersweet feelings. She reciprocated the grip, smiling. “I’ll be a great [Priest]. One deserving of the name.”

“A devout follower, no doubt,” Kirti mused, observing her nails in the faint orange glow of the Enchanted stone above them.

Zahra averted her stare, barely shaking her head.

“Just back off, alright?” Matt said. “Things are hard enough without you trying to get a rise out of everyone.”

“It’s fine,” Cannoli said. She bowed her head for a moment, then when she raised it, she looked Kirti in the eye. “What you’ve done is wrong.” Cannoli’s voice trembled. “I don’t like you, and I have no intention of getting along with you. Spew your venom, if you must.” Buttons suddenly appeared from between her collar, glancing between his master and Kirti. “But I will seek answers for the evils you’ve committed.”

The orange glow glittered in Kirti’s matching eyes, and a slow smile spread across her face.

Keke’s toes curled, and her mind desperately searched for something to say.

“You will learn much,” Ceres said, putting a hand to her chest. She’d taken the other seat next to Matt. “I hope you and I can recite the hymns when you return.”

“Yes!” Cannoli said, looking at Ceres. “I would love that!”

A woman came to their table, a small pad in her hand. She had bright pink hair that curled at the tips, stopping just above her shoulders. Sea-green eyes set in a face full of freckles bore into them with perky curiosity. “Heya! My name’s Lily. What can I get you all tonight?”

Keke couldn’t help but think that Lily’s orange and white checkered dress was extravagant amongst the crowd of darker-clothed figures. It cut just above the knee, and a white apron dressed the front.

“I could use a decent drink,” Matt admitted. “How about you girls?”

Keke nodded. “Something lighter, please.”

“Do you have any teas?” Cannoli asked.

“Sure do!” Lily said. “What are you in the mood for?”

“Something with a tiny kick to it.”

“Lily’s got you covered!” She scribbled on her notepad. “And, for you?” She pointed her pencil at Matt.

“Something in the middle for a kick. I don’t want to get sloshed or anything like that.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Just enough to clear my head.”

“Ah-ha-ha, I gotcha. How’s a Gut Buster?”

“That sounds…like not what I want.”

“Nah, nah, nah, it’s not as bad as it sounds. Promise.”

He shrugged. “I’ll take your word for it, then. A Gut Buster it is.”

Zahra smacked her lips. “Water, please.”

“That’s all?”

“Yes,” Zahra said, blushing faintly.

Lily finished taking everyone else’s orders and then offered a quick salute before departing. She brushed by Cailu, who brought a catgirl to the table.

“This is Sahzi,” Cailu said, gesturing to the woman beside him.

The catgirl offered a curt bow of her head. Golden twine embroidered the edges of her white robes in intricate patterns, and she wore her long brown hair in two braids that rested over her shoulders. Emerald eyes regarded them with curiosity. “Greetings, children. Who amongst you is named Cannoli?”

Keke swallowed. It was happening. It was really happening.

“That’s me,” Cannoli said, raising her hand.

Keke briefly closed her eyes, reflecting on the day she’d caught Mom and Aurora speaking. The depravity and desperation Aurora spoke with was terrifyingly reminiscent of how Cannoli had sounded the past couple of weeks. She curled the fingers of her free hand, then opened her eyes with a forced smile.

“Saoirse bless you for taking the burden of an [Acolyte] upon yourself.” Sahzi offered a warm smile and made a bridge with her intertwined fingers. “Cailu has expressed to me your desire to undergo formal education in the ways of Saoirse. Is this correct?”

Cannoli sheepishly nodded.

“Excuse me,” Matt said next, “but what does formal education look like?”

“Forgive me, but what is your name?” Sahzi asked.

“Matt. I’m from Ni Island.”

“Goodness, is this your first time in Nyarlothep?”

“It is, and I just want to make sure she’s taken care of.” His cheeks turned red. Keke sympathized. It probably wasn’t easy to talk about such a personal matter in front of everyone like this. “I just need some reassurance. She’s been in my Party since I first arrived.”

Sahzi’s eyes widened, and she gasped lightly. “Saoirse be praised. To be in a man’s Party since his birth is a true blessing indeed.”

Kirti cracked open a peanut and plucked the nut from inside. She tossed the morsel into her mouth, chewing loudly. Keke shot her a glare, suppressing the urge to shove the whole bowl of peanuts down her throat.

“Birth?” Matt asked.

“Yes,” Sahzi nodded. “Many of Saoirse’s faithful refer to the man’s arrival as his birth. It is more metaphorical, less of a literal term.” She smiled. “You have my promise that I and the others will do our utmost to see that Cannoli is cared for. Falselle is the safest place in Nyarlothep.”

Matt’s shoulders relaxed. “I’m glad… Thanks.”

“Of course. It’s an important time, and I’m sure all of you are going to miss her.”

Keep it together, Keke. No more tears. Stay strong.

“Yeah,” Matt muttered.

“Very much,” Keke said, rubbing the top of Cannoli’s hand.

Cannoli sniffed. “Thank you. W-when do we leave?”

“I must depart at sunrise tomorrow. Would you prefer to remain with your Party until then?” Sahzi asked.

“Yes.” Cannoli leaned against Keke, and Keke had to shut her eyes to avoid crying.

“I understand. Meet me outside at the south entrance. Cailu can show you the way.”

Cailu nodded. “If you require it, I shall accompany you to the gates.”

“No,” Cannoli said, “I remember. I’ll meet you tomorrow morning, Sahzi.”

Sahzi nodded. “I shall return to my room in the meantime. Saoirse be with you.”

“Saoirse be with you.”

The rest of the evening played out in lazy conversation. Despite Lily’s best attempts to lighten the mood, the air remained heavy until they retired to their rooms. Keke and Cannoli shared a room while Ceres and Matt took another.

Keke and Cannoli sat across from one another in their San Island dresses, clasping one another’s hands.

“Promise me you’re okay?” Keke asked, terrified that Cannoli was still burying how she truly felt.

“Promise!” Cannoli said. Buttons skittered to one shoulder, licking his eyeball. He bobbed his head in rhythm with Cannoli. “I’m going to become a great [Priest], you’ll see!”

“I’m sure, but I just want to be sure you’re okay before you go.”

Cannoli bowed her head. “I’m still struggling a bit, but…I have Buttons with me, I have Ravyn’s frying pan and bow, and a necklace from Ceres.” She smiled, then moved one hand to her throat and fingered the shimmering snowflake pendant.

“Hang on.” Keke reached into her [Cat Pack] and extracted her tackle box. She flipped it open, then carefully dug for a lure—a green and red striped hook in the shape of a worm. A pair of feathers—one pink, the other white—were fastened to the top. Keke’s mother, Elona, had crafted it, and it was Cannoli’s favorite, but Keke had hesitated to give it to her for fear of losing it. They both knew Cannoli’s [Fishing] was…well, wanting.

But that didn’t matter anymore.

Keke held the hook in front of Cannoli. “Here. Take it.”

Cannoli’s eyes widened. “Really? Are you sure?”

“Positive.”

Cannoli held both hands out and received the hook. She stared at it like it was made of gold and that the simplest movement could shatter it to pieces. Tears fell from her eyes, and she sniffed. “I-I’m so sorry I a-acted the way I did,” she stammered.

I can’t cry. I shouldn’t.

It was no good. Keke began to cry, too. “I-it’s okay,” she hiccupped. “I-I know you’re going through a…a lot.” She buried her face into her hand and allowed the hot tears to fall between the crevices of her fingers. It’d been a long time since she'd really cried. Too long.

Cannoli opened her [Cat Pack], tossed the lure inside, and pulled Keke into a tight hug. Keke made no attempt to escape, and the two stayed that way for what felt like hours.

Until, at last, they fell asleep in one another’s arms.

When the sun was up, Keke was up with it. As much as she detested being awake so early, she would’ve cursed herself for missing Cannoli’s departure. As soon as they were finished eating, the two Parties accompanied Cannoli outside, Cannoli’s hand firmly gripped in Keke’s.

Just as Sahzi had promised, a beautiful carriage was waiting for her and Cannoli outside the walls of Irisil. A pair of stout white horses neighed and snorted as the coach—who was dressed similarly to Sahzi, just less decorated—sorted through her [Cat Pack] for last-minute preparations.

Cannoli let go of Keke’s hand and approached the carriage.

Sazhi turned and nodded. “Are you ready, my child?”

“Y-yes,” Cannoli said.

Ceres approached first, enveloping her in a warm embrace. “May Saoirse protect you. Safe travels, Cannoli.”

Ceres stepped back, and Matt walked up to her next. “It’s not going to feel the same without you.” He grimaced, and Keke knew it was taking great effort on his part not to cry. “I…I really hope this gives you peace, Cannoli. You’ll have to tell me all about it when you return.” Cannoli ran into his arms, and the two shared a tight embrace. “I’ll miss you.”

“I’ll miss you too, Matt,” Cannoli said in choked sobs.

Matt kissed the top of her head.

The two parted, and Zahra stepped forward. “I know we didn’t fight together for long, but I consider you a friend and an ally. I hope you find the answers you’re looking for. May the wind carry your desires and the sun warm your back.”

“Thank you, Zahra.”

At last, it was Keke's turn. She walked up to Cannoli, even though her fingers and toes were numb. She hadn’t felt this scared in years. Somewhere down the line, she’d taken it upon herself to keep Cannoli safe. Whether it was because of Aurora’s actions, their mothers’ nomadic way of life, or the horrors they’d suffered beneath the Defiled, Keke was unsure.

All she knew was she was about to say goodbye to her sister.

“I…I’m sorry, I don’t know what to say,” Keke admitted. She thought she’d have some wise words or at least something consoling ready. Yet, she felt as if someone had taken a chunk out of her heart, squeezed the air out of her lungs, and ripped out her tongue. It was difficult just to keep an even breath.

“You’ll always be my sister,” Cannoli said. She calmly walked up to Keke and wrapped her arms around her. Keke reciprocated, holding her in a tight embrace.

When the two parted, Keke’s face was soaked with tears. “No matter what anyone says… no matter what anyone does… don’t let them change who you are, Cannoli. Stay true to yourself. No matter what.”

Cannoli smiled wide, and she sniffed as fresh tears raced down her cheeks. She nodded. “I-I will. P-promise.”

Cailu and Kirti offered their own curt farewells, and Cannoli stepped into the carriage. Sahzi followed shortly after, then shut the door. The horse began to trot away, and Keke watched as Cannoli waved from the back window.

Keke waved back to her best friend.

Her sister.

Be safe… Cannoli.

 

A note from DoubleBlind:

A huge thank you to my new Patron, GreatFireLegend!

---​

Chapter 245: The Black Lodge

Ravyn ground her teeth as she and Misha brewed evening cups of tea for Tristan and the others. Misha had been adamant about allowing her to perform their expected duties, but Ravyn was exhausted of the veiled politeness and exquisite service. She was Emberlynn’s daughter, not some prized vase to be put on display whenever it suited her mother best.

Calm yourself.

Tristan, Destiny, and Lara had taken Sophia into the large common room, where guests typically lingered. Their conversation was lively, and their giggles filled the air. Lara and Sophia were suddenly both chatterboxes, and if Ravyn didn’t know any better, she’d assume Sophia was Lara’s sister, not hers.

Cailu. That fucking cunt. Making his way into my family’s bloodline. What a pompous, insufferable, soulless fucking—

“Mistress Ravyn?” Misha asked under her breath.

“What?” Ravyn growled.

Misha’s gaze flickered to the cup she held. Ravyn’s knuckles were practically white as paper. “I fear you may break the cup if you continue to grip it like that.”

Ravyn hummed, then released her grasp and stretched her fingers. Bally perched on the back of a nearby chair to her left and offered her a squinted glance, snaking his head from side to side. With Lara and Sophia being as busy as they were, it was unlikely anyone would eavesdrop on their conversation.

Bally knew it, too.

“I’m going to step outside for a few minutes,” Ravyn said, marching to the door. She motioned to her familiar, and the bird flew to her shoulder. “Don’t come looking for me.”

“Y-yes, Mistress Ravyn,” Misha said, offering a curt bow.

A hand caught her by the shoulder just as she was turning the corner of the doorway. Ravyn turned and found Tristan. “Hey, you doing alright?”

“I’m fine,” Ravyn muttered.

Tristan retracted his arm. Unlike Matt, he seemed to understand when it was best to leave things alone. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to impede you or anything.”

“I know.”

“Let me know if you need anything? I’m sure with everything that’s been happening that meeting Sophia is…probably a lot to swallow.”

“Mhm.” She turned and left him at that.

The muffled clicks of Ravyn’s shoes followed her down the hall. She carried herself at a brisk pace, eager to get out of the house. In a single day, she’d learned of her mother’s illness, the existence of a sister, and how Cailu’s involvement ran deeper than she’d realized.

Worst of all, she’d breathed the same air, sat beside him, and spoke to him without ever knowing that he was the father of her sister.

Her teeth squeaked from how hard she clenched.

“We’ll figure this out,” Bally whispered to her.

“I know,” she mumbled.

Ravyn pushed the door open slowly so as not to hit anyone who might be outside. To her relief, no one was there, so at least that was one less person she would need to explain herself to. She slipped through the crack, quietly shutting the door behind her.

The evening was dark and cool, just as it was when she was a kitten. A pair of torches strode close to the front gate at the bottom of the hill. Ravyn squinted to see who was carrying them, noting that one of them was Cecily. She didn’t recognize the other catgirl.

She sighed and glanced up at the sky. Stars speckled the space by the thousands. Blue-green mist stretched from one side of the sky to the other, shaped like dozens of tiny ribbons—a San Island spectacle best seen from Zhuli. Mountains loomed on the distant horizon, stretching high like spires desperate to touch the stars. She blinked, remembering a similar sight with Finn back in Shulan.

The memory didn’t upset her like it normally would. She wondered if that was okay. If she was finally coming around to forgiving herself for killing him. It was becoming easier to accept what had happened. To understand the accidental nature of it all. For years, she’d hoped to receive a sign—anything—from Finn that he’d forgiven her.

But that never happened. And now she didn’t feel like she needed it anymore.

This hadn’t been transpiring the way she anticipated at all. In the beginning, she’d planned on sticking around with the new man and his naive set of collectible girls. Berate them, play around, get drunk, maybe even give Matt some head if she was feeling particularly generous. Anything to kill the boredom and numb the pain of losing Finn and Yomi. And yet, as she traveled with her new Party, she couldn’t bear the thought of losing them.

Are you okay, Matt?

She shook her head and brought herself back to the present. Tristan would struggle without her help. Whether she liked it or not, she was here, and she’d have to do something soon.

“Ravyn,” Bally said, flapping his wings.

“I know. Just…give me a minute.” Ravyn strode to one of the pillars farthest away from the door, sitting with her legs propped up. She wrapped her arms around them and pulled them close. “This is just a lot.”

“I know.”

“Are you sure they won’t find out about you?”

“I’m not sure. Sometimes, I detect a strange presence, one I can’t explain. There’s a fluctuation in the air. I sensed it when we spoke with Emberlynn.”

“The Elements might actually be fucking sentient?” Ravyn frowned. “That’s just great.”

“If they are, then there’s a possibility that Lara will find out about me.”

Ravyn blinked. “Yes.”

“Does that bother you?”

Absolutely. She and Ball Gag’s partnership was meant to be their own. Familiars rarely learned to speak to their summoners, and instead were dismissed until they were required in combat. There were plenty of Spells that [Sorcerer] could learn in order to communicate with their familiar, but they all involved methods of telepathy. No, she much preferred to hear Bally say what he thought.

“Yes, it does.” She tightened her grip. Teaching Bally how to talk was a daily exercise. Yomi and Finn had helped teach him phrases, and she used several different tools and toys, including bells, whistles, and hand gestures. Yomi’s eyes would light up whenever Bally would say something new, and Finn would offer him a ‘bird biscuit,’ as he called it. It wasn’t until Finn passed away and she and Yomi drifted apart that Bally began to learn more complicated phrases.

Ravyn’s face grew hot at the thought of what she was about to say. “We have a reputation to uphold. If everyone knew you could speak so eloquently, that would destroy our entire dynamic.”

Bally cackled. It was high-pitched, like a squeaking whistle. “Very well. Will you at least tell Matt of our…dynamic…next time you see him?”

Ravyn blinked, and the heat in her cheeks intensified. What the hell is wrong with you? Stop acting like a fucking kitten. “Fine.”

“As soon as he gets back?”

“You just had to add that part.”

“You will put it off otherwise.”

Damn bird. “As soon as he gets back.”

Silence swept by them for a few minutes. A gentle breeze was making its round, biting the skin on her knees and elbows. Her anger was beginning to dissipate, and she drew long breaths to make sure it continued to do so.

“So, when are you going to speak to Emberlynn about Tristan?” Bally suddenly asked. “You can’t keep putting this off.”

“Soon. I’m just trying to digest this whole having a sister thing.” The realization was beginning to settle in. If her mother’s condition continued to worsen, that would make Sophia the head of the household. That was, assuming her mother still wished to make Sophia the new mistress. With Ravyn’s sudden reappearance, Emberlynn would likely return to the status quo and name Ravyn head of the estate. “Sophia won’t have anyone after Mother dies. And it looks like that could be soon.”

“She will have you.”

Ravyn cackled. “I got too much of my own shit to deal with. No, that would have to be a job for the nyannies and servants. I don’t think I’ll make a great sister.”

Silence.

Bally fluttered down to the ground in front of Ravyn. His talons clicked and scraped against the stone as he walked in circles. He liked to do that whenever he was thinking. Like master, like familiar.

“I think you will make a wonderful sister.”

Ravyn sighed and leaned her head against her shoulder. “Where do you get all of that optimism, Bally?” She reached over and scratched him under his beak. Bally puffed up and shut his eyes, and she smiled while he relished in the sensation. “You’ve seen what I’ve had to go through. You saw how he perished, how I killed him—”

“You didn’t kill him. It was an accident.”

She ignored him and continued, “—the endless nights spent drinking. Yet you never judged me.”

Bally gently shrugged away her finger and marched up to her leg, nuzzling against her calf. “Because I want to see your smile.” He drew back so the two’s eyes were locked. “You have smiled a lot more since you met Matt. Did you realize that?”

She hesitated. “Yes. I started to realize that when Matt almost died on Shi Island. I was so afraid of losing the happiness I never thought I’d see again. I was afraid of losing my friends and of losing…him. It hurt.”

“I was scared, too. He’s good for you.”

Ravyn gasped. “Bally, don’t…please.”

He nodded once. “Okay.”

“I’ll…go talk to Mother in the morning. Maybe this will give me a chance to, erm, bond with my sister.” The idea was equal parts embarrassing and sickening, though she fought hard to vacate the ‘sickening’ part.

“Promise me, Ravyn. You need to do this if you are going to move on.”

Ravyn paused and looked back up at the sky. “I promise.”