Fluid - 24

Though there are still a couple of hours until dawn when I awaken, I don’t shift to Sanctuary. Bringing out my harp, I wrap the room in a sound barrier and set about using the time to practice the fundamentals. Playing the scales for hours, I’m told, is tedious to some, but listening for the shifts in the pure tone and vibrato of each note is almost as relaxing as reverie and deepens my appreciation for the harp’s range.

When I hear the others rising from the depths of slumber, I slip downstairs to tend to the morning needs and get breakfast started. When Phile and Nikias come down the stairs, they stop in surprise at the clink of coins from the bags I set down. “Dwarven currency, so you’ll have to see what Esdras will give you in exchange. You might get more than you’d expect, as their coins are heavier.”

“How much is it each?”

“It was an odd amount, but I’ve rounded it to 153 small golds for selling the crabmeat.”

Phile blinks and lifts the bag from the ground, frowning at the weight. “How much now?”

“There are silvers and coppers in there as well; I didn’t think you’d want it all in gold,” I explain.

“When did you-” starts Phile, but stops to rub her forehead in disbelief. “You went last night? What market is open at night?”

“Stoneheart is underground except for the outer fortifications, so it doesn’t matter if the sun is up or not. They split the day into three work shifts so places are always open. Though it took me a while haggling, I got a better price than expected from a shop in their central food market.”

Nikias gives me a surprised look. “You haggle?”

“I’m quite good at haggling—otherwise mother would have tied me in knots, and I still wouldn’t have my classes,” I laugh and, motioning for them to serve themselves breakfast, I get out of the way.

“Why?”

“Mother is very protective of me, and father is worse—he wanted to come along,” I snort. “I still half expect him to turn up because my messages aren’t enough.”

“Your mother wouldn’t come to check on you?” Zosime asks from halfway down the stairs.

“In a heartbeat, but her visiting would be far more complex to arrange,” I say, and the conflict from yesterday gives me a truthful distraction. “Family situations can get messy and complicated.”

Zosime frowns. “Yes, they can.”

I’m glad when the morning conversation moves to everyday matters. Though Phile passing over her share of the profits has Zosime wanting to pay for the furnishings.

Our haggling over that sets Phile laughing, especially when I throw in various frivolous arguments about my energy wearing at everything—I know I wear on some people’s patience. After offering to transform the house’s wooden sections into stone, I win the furniture debate.

Before we head off, I pass her a plain-looking amulet in the shape of Hestia’s holy symbol. While the polished reddish stone looks nice, it's hardly something anyone would steal.

“What’s this?” asks Zosime, turning the amulet to examine the carving of the brazier and flames.

“A storage device, but magic can’t detect it, so it's safer from thieves. You’ll be able to store 30 kilograms in it. Touch the bag and will it to be stored by the amulet. Once you’ve stored something, focusing on the amulet and wanting to know what’s in it will give details of its contents. You can take out a single object without opening the container, such as a coin, without retrieving the bag.”

Zosime’s jaw drops, but she quickly stores the bag and plays a quick game—various coins appear and disappear on her outstretched hand. Slipping the amulet’s leather cord over her head, she lets it settle beneath her neckline. “Thank you, Gail. I’ve heard adventurers speak of storage items, and I’m sure I don’t want to know what this is worth.”

“Especially since it's not detectable,” murmurs Phile, and rubs a hand along the side of her neck. “You just keep doing things for people, don’t you?”

“It got me experience,” I protest cheerfully.

Zosime steps near and gets me to bend so she can kiss me on both cheeks. “Excuses. You’re such a good-hearted girl. Stay safe, all of you.”

“Mum!” Phile protests. “Gail’s older than you.”

“No‌, I’m not,” I admit. “I’m closer to your age, Phile. I matured faster than a Human, not slow like the Taurë, Isil, or Andúnë elves who leave home after a century.”

“But your guild registration had an age of 120 on it,” queries Phile in confusion.

“Checking up on me?” I tease and wiggle my eyebrows at her.

Phile's blush goes all the way to the tips of her ears. “No, not that… it just came up in conversation with the other guild clerks.”

“I told Imhotep he could put 120, as it was an age that would make sense for a local Elf; I didn’t say that was my age. Plus, asking someone their age? Talk about rude,” I huff playfully.

“Does Gail’s age matter? Are we going to get going or talk the morning away?” Nikias grumbles impatiently.

“Excellent. Nikias can handle blunt subject changes for me,” I laugh and teleport us away.

On arrival at Hestia’s Temple, our other team members are waiting for the service to finish. Nanok’s heated glare makes me wonder what I did wrong, though Nikias’ snicker makes me relax.

“I should have mentioned that this morning,” mutters Nikias.

“What?”

“Hagen!” snaps Nanok.

I spin around as if looking for him, and when I turn back, I look at Nanok blankly. “Where?”

“How do you know Hagen?” grunts Nanok. “He was at the Guildhall last night to ‘teach’ me.”

“He was? How remarkable! He must have taken my jest seriously,” I laugh, and Nanok’s irate glare heats further. “Did you two have fun playing? He’s an energetic puppy, so I had to point him to someone else to be his chew toy.”

“He sparred with me until I was black and blue and then healed me so we can train more,” grumbles Nanok.

Motioning for more details only gets me the same grumpy look. “Did you call an end to the sparring, or did he?”

“Hagen did,” admits Nanok begrudgingly.

I don’t roll my eyes, but the way his gaze narrows, something must have given me away. “Next time you’ve had enough sparring, say you’re done; he’ll respect your choice.”

Passing out the coins doesn’t garner questions, but Nanok hefts it curiously before storing it in the provided pouch. “This pouch is worth more than the entire haul of crabs so far.”

“Everyone now has one with a 20-kilogram capacity. If we need to haul more gear, I can carry it or make better ones, depending on the situation,” I announce.

“You could destroy most artificers’ livelihoods,” notes Nanok with deliberate casualness.

“I’ve no interest in doing that. Though if the dwarves started to sell their equipment in the Human kingdoms, it would have the same effect,” I say, and catch a few blank looks. Sighing, I point at the visible runes on Nanok’s axe. “Dwarven artificers know how to set the enchantments’ essence inside the metal, not just scratch runes on the outside. More species artificers should figure out how to evolve their Class powers.”

Ipy frowns in surprise. “Elves don’t know this trick, either?”

“Not the local elves, but most are on better trading terms with the dwarves. Too many humans like to cheat dwarves rather than stick to agreed terms, which doesn’t go well,” I reply and give Myrto a wave as she exits the Temple proper.

“You casually mentioning other worlds the other day still has my mind spinning,” mutters Ipy.

The only thing I can do is shrug helplessly—it’s not like I had planned to let anyone know I was an Anar. After Nikias’ brush with death, that cat was out of the bag. It's a small consolation that I get to have fun creating things without the need to be sneaky.

When Myrto joins us, I shift the team to our start point, and we find the beach sparsely populated with a half-dozen crabs. But the second-kilometre stretch has almost as many as the day before, and some are even bigger. Their lone predator nature at least means it remains easy to separate each target from the others on the beach.

None of the crabs shows signs of more intelligence, and our wolf pack tactics let us make quick work of individuals. The downside is the speed of the fights provides minimal challenge to our coordination now that we’ve got the pattern down.

Despite Phile’s prediction of weirdness, after a morning of vigorous violence dismembering poor crabs, the rest of the day goes peacefully. The crabs taste superbly good when Zosime and I cook some up for dinner. The various cuts I’d seen the golem make while slicing and dicing the crabs are duplicatable with Inventory and set us experimenting. Between us we go slightly overboard and invite the neighbours and others from further afield to help us eat it all. Invitations to a few quickly snowballs into quite the gathering.

Various ballads I’d learnt translate well into Greek, and those attending get loud in their appreciation when I sing with, and after, supper. Otis and other men show off with dances I’d never seen before while wives and some hoping-to-be wives look on. I'll need to find out what the village record is for parties in one week.

It becomes somewhat louder when I buy some of Georgius’ smaller barrels. The price makes Nikias’s father happy since I take his initial price. Like I was going to haggle with him—I’m not mean.

Alfarr slips through the crowd between sets. “You look to be having fun.”

“I am. I love singing and seeing people happy,” I admit, and listen to the melodies within the crowd. “Yngvarr’s not with you?”

“The Tower of Singers asked him about his involvement in a rumour; he’s gone to talk to them,” replies Alfarr, switching into the Andúnë dialect.

Blowing a loose strand from my face, I gather it all up and tie it back before I reply. “Already?”

“Already,” affirms Alfarr. “No idea who told them but, as Yngvarr warned you, a few elves are in the Adventurers’ Guild. Magical means reveal nothing about your truth crystal, leaving only a few things it could be.”

“Given its hardness it's not a psi-crystal, leaving only one option I know of,” I advise, and there is honestly nothing I can do about what’s done.

He considers my words before he sets the matter aside. “You don’t seem upset.”

“Alfarr, I will not worry, as I can’t change the past. Not that I wanted their presence, but the Guildhall’s transformation alone would have had them here eventually,” I admit.

“Did you have any suggestions for Yngvarr delaying them?” asks Alfarr cautiously.

“Are you expecting me to threaten them?” I ask, laughing at the face he pulls. “I’ll keep working with the team until they get here, and then I’ll see about handling the elves.”

Taking a sip of Georgius’ tsikoudia buys me time to consider the implications; the spirit isn’t hard-hitting, but some dwarves might still enjoy it.

“Whoever comes should arrive at Sanctuary, not in the village. Whatever escort they’ll likely bring might make people nervous if it just shows up out of the blue. Obviously, for a large delegation I’ll need advance notice. Have you spoken to the guild’s Grand Master and the village council? Any arrangement I make with them will probably impact the trade in this region of the kingdom.”

“You are thinking ahead,” acknowledges Alfarr. “I’ve already informed the Grand Master and the council, though I hadn’t expected you to be changing trade.”

“I can manage planning when I’m aware of things. I was wondering if the elves would like to trade for seafood.”

“Looking to ensure the village prospers from your disruptions?” asks Alfarr, leaning against the wall near me.

“Seafood, alchemical reagents, and salt are the main trade goods from here that elves might want. I know the dwarven markets would love more of the first two,” I explain with a smile.

Alfarr nods in satisfaction. “So you are planning to sweeten the taste of your presence for the village?”

“Making me sound all sour, but not all the sweetness is in my control. You’ll have to devise trade rules or the higher prices they’ll offer will mess up local food prices. I’ll work on some portal crystals to set up a permanent connection.”

“If you can make a portal, why didn’t the Anar and Lómë flee?” asks Alfarr.

“After they’d all gathered for the usual draconic challenge, Leviathan and the dragons used a grand ritual to disrupt spatial energies over the planet. From what Roher told me about its scale, I doubt anyone could use any dimensional shift for years afterwards.”

“Usual?”

“It wasn’t the first time chromatic dragons had challenged the Anar and Lómë after their arrival on a new planet—the elves considered beating up the local challengers a bit of sport. But that’s not important now,” I say. “How many days do you think I have?”

“Before their representative gets here?” asks Alfarr.

I nod.

Alfarr shrugs helplessly. “It depends on their end goals and who they send. The tower’s leader is the same High Singer that Amdirlain met with, so she might cut right to the chase in her discussion with Yngvarr.”

“Lady Glingaerneth?”

“That’s her.”

A note in my aunt’s journal is the only concerning part of that meeting. “Aunt Am liked her, though she said Glingaerneth’s guard was ready to cut her down.”

“Her situation was a bit unique,” observes Alfarr.

Giving him a helpless shrug gets a smile since we both know there isn’t anything to contest. “Just a touch, but I’ll keep my mother’s origin story under lock and key.”

“You and your family are weird,” agrees Alfarr.

My laugh gets a smile. “And?”

“What you want and what the Andúnë court wants might not align,” cautions Alfarr. “I’ll let you get back to breaking hearts with your silken voice.”

Giving him a pout I opt for a playful song and have the crowd laughing at the lyrics featuring some playful puppies' antics. None of them needs to know the song’s inspiration was hound archons playing games on Cemna.

On that high note, I bid them good night, and the guests are decent enough to help clean up before they head off.

We’re midway through day four when Myrto’s Priest Class levels, and their combined excitement has me calling for an extended break. Nikias is practically levitating off the sand celebrating Myrto’s news. Despite them champing at the bit, I insist they stop, eat some dried fruit, and breathe to centre themselves before we continue.

Nanok eyes me, looking at the pair with my arms folded. “Mother hen?”

Imitating a chicken clucking nets me a snort from him.

That earlier rush makes their combined advancement almost matter-of-fact when it occurs soon after. With them both at level two in all four classes, that shared milestone calms them further. The additional levels make a relatively noticeable difference in the power of their strikes, and we move on steadily through the rest of the morning. The strength of their evolved classes makes them far more dangerous than most would expect given their youth, but they still have a long way to go.

All life grants us is two days of the routine I’d hoped to achieve. It was nearly noon the next day when a glowing firefly of mana appeared by my shoulder. I don’t even have to trigger it to hear its contents from Yngvarr.

“Gail, the Lady Glingaerneth, High Singer of the Andúnë Court and Tower of Singers, accompanied by her entourage, would like to meet with you. Though she argued for less, the King’s councillors insisted that a full hundred royal guards are required for the court’s dignity and her safety given the village’s location. They’re still arguing about which courtiers will accompany her.”

Once the crab we were fighting is dead, Ipy nods to the light still hovering by my shoulder. “Problem?”

“If I ignore it, do you think the news will disappear?”

“I’d doubt it, but if that’s the choice you want to make,” replies Ipy dryly.

“An elven official from the Andúnë court wants to meet with me after the demonstration of Guildhall,” I explain. “As I mentioned, there are few elves that can make use of the singing that I can.”

Phile eyes me with poorly concealed mirth. “You gave lack of drama a good try.”

“You asked if I ever had weird things not happen. A bit of excitement isn’t weird,” I point out and trigger the Spell’s effect to get rid of the light.

“A fancy official is more than a bit of excitement,” counters Phile, pinching at the air between us.

“Not from my perspective,” I refute and waggle a finger at her.

“Skewed indeed,” laughs Myrto. “We should go back. It's easy enough to make up the count another day if you insist on rounding out to lots of seven.”

“They’re not here yet. Yngvarr asked when I’ll receive them; maybe I’ll make them wait a few days,” I counter. With that remark, Nanok freezes and stares at me in surprise. “What? You don’t think I should make them cool their heels?”

“A royal court official will let you determine the meeting time?” asks Nanok quietly. “Exactly who are you, Gail?”

“Not a noble, but I have fancy relatives. Aside from that, all you need to know is that it doesn’t impact this team, nor is it a threat to the village. If anything, I believe I can ensure the people here prosper,” I reply.

“Then I’d like to witness the next round of chaos you’re going to usher in,” drawls Nanok suspiciously.

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” I laugh, already sure I don’t want him anywhere near the delegation. “I don’t know if her entourage will be well-behaved or a bunch of arse hats, so I’ll endure this torture alone. Though technically not alone, since I’m sure the Grand Master and others from the guild will attend at least part of the fun.”

Nikias frowns. “I doubt I can help much, but given my classes, shouldn’t I attend you?”

The offer eases tension I didn’t realise was there, and my smile warms my insides again.

“Not yet, Nikias. You’ll need some education about diplomacy and expected decorum before I inflict a function on you, but I appreciate the offer. I’ll even need to speak to a few people and get their suggestions for properly hosting my unwanted guests.”

Ipy motions at the beach. “Leave it here, or continue the culling?”

“Let’s continue.”

That’s all the prompting Ipy needs to start towards the next crab some twenty-odd metres down the beach.

Following along with the others, I quickly dispatch a reply. “Yngvarr, I’ll be happy to receive the High Singer and her small entourage. I’ll expect her arrival late tomorrow afternoon.”

His amused response was lightning quick. “I’ll convey that precisely as worded.”

With the team slowly improving, and the beach more crowded with crabs, the haul improves on the fifth day.

Arriving back at the Temple, I give the others a wave. “I’ve got to set up accommodations for my visitors, so I’ll catch you all later. Whatever they want to discuss, I won’t disrupt our morning progress.”

“Court officials have ways of disrupting plans,” cautions Ipy.

“Well, you have more knowledge of that than me,” I say, and as my remark sets the others’ attention on Ipy, I teleport away.

The chamber with its mithril summoning circle is unoccupied and feels as if it has sat undisturbed since I’d summoned Hagen. A thin film of dust has already started to coat the floor and furnishings, drawing my attention to the fit of the pivot windows. Though the latch holds them in place, the vibration of the ocean wind is enough to let debris and dust through the window’s imperfect seal against the stone frame.

Sending off a message, I clear the dust from the chamber and start setting up an enchantment to keep the other rooms clean. I’ve barely got the first two rooms sorted out when I get a reply I hadn’t expected.

Entwining aunt Sarah’s draconic name within the Spell’s formations opens a Gate within the circle. The silvery frame lets me sense the thrumming True Song on the other side, but fortunately, most of the energy isn’t audible to anyone without the Resonance Power.

Still, I hurriedly set a barrier to stop the audible din from escaping my chamber. The twitch of her muzzle makes Sarah’s game clear even without the amusement I can hear chiming within her red-diamond hide.

The glowing Gate frames my view of the vast stone chamber. Light sources of red, silver, and gold blend to fully illuminate the vast chamber that echoes with the roaring power. Experiencing it firsthand, I’m unsure how they withstand it daily.

With my Resonance’s reach taking in the chamber, despite the circle’s barrier, I try to follow all the songs involved in their mammoth creation.

In her Dragon form, Sarah sprawls along the chamber’s perimeter. From the tip of her snout to the end of her tail, her body looks composed of interlocking faceted red diamonds, though she’s a fancy variation, not a typical Red Diamond Dragon. Psionic energies cause the interior glow from within her form, and she’s the source of the chamber’s brilliant scarlet light.

Amdirlain and Roher stand on either side of the other Gate’s threshold. Similar to each other in height and the fineness of their elven features, they share the bronze-gold skin tone of the Anar and Lómë. Though where Amdirlain possesses platinum-blond hair and glowing liquid gold irises, Roher’s long hair is metallic silver and his eyes contain luminous emerald irises.

Despite the distraction of the twin threshold’s energy, I can make out his complex music perfectly, yet aunt Amdirlain’s theme is silent behind her curse.

As I watch, completed crystal rods, twice the length of my hand, finish forming. Most of the completed rods fly away to join a mound within a stone crate easily four metres cubed in size. Once filled to the brim, they seal the container while the remaining rods drop into another box already prepared.

One batch of crystals at a time, they let the duets of creation fade away and leave the completed crystals to Sarah’s care. The pattern continues until the end, but before Sarah can whisk away the last of the crystals, Amdirlain blurs and snatches a score from the floor. She steps away from the threshold in time to let the filled crate float through.

“I’ve told you to be careful opening gates, munchkin,” rumbles Sarah when the last song fades.

“The circle is high quality, and I was opening it to you. You could have warned me about the decibel level, auntie,” I grumble, but it gets me only an amused snort. “Have you moulted since the last time we spoke in person?”

“Amdirlain’s been shooing me off to hunt more frequently,” huffs Sarah.

Roher waves at me from beyond the other threshold. “Take care, Gailneth. I need to leave, unfortunately.”

I’ve barely acknowledged his wave when his Gate closes.

“Sarah was making too much noise snoring lately,” adds Amdirlain. “Roher was procrastinating here over a meeting he didn’t want to attend.”

Sarah waves a tail reprovingly. “Don’t tease, Amdirlain. He has other commitments for his wife and he left on time.”

Dropping a bunch of crystal rods into a bag Amdirlain gets from somewhere, she tosses it through the Gate. The weight thumps lightly against the circle’s barrier and chimes when it hits the ground. Then I catch the material’s perfect song, and a shiver runs up my spine.

“I don’t understand how you can make things out of your flesh that way, auntie. It’s gross, and I’ve still got crystals you gave me left,” I protest.

Amdirlain shrugs nonchalantly. “It becomes the material it mimics. Not being Mortal means Protean provides me with distinct advantages. As for the crystals, now you have more. Quest stage reward: you’ve got a team formed.”

I don’t understand the reference, but aunt Amdirlain tells strange jokes.

“Mother thinks it's weird as well,” I counter. “I think you like freaking people out.”

Her smile is perfectly enigmatic. “I’m sure my habit of self-flaying isn’t why you messaged Sarah asking if we had time to talk about your guests.”

The choice of terminology is deliberately provocative. When I pretend to barf towards the circle, I get a dry laugh from both as prize.

Amdirlain beckons me to spill, making me wonder if she is trying to break the ice or if there is bad news she wants me relaxed to receive. “Tell us how things have gone and what you need. We’ve news of our own that’s local to you.”

Neither interrupts nor asks questions through my recounting, even when my stomach’s grumbling prompts me to eat. If I weren’t aware of the reasons behind her stillness, my aunt’s utter silence, not to mention the complete lack of blinking, would be unnerving. It's only after I get through the details of this morning's news that Amdirlain even shifts her balance.

“Glingaerneth was in a difficult political situation, and the Tower of Singers had been losing influence with the court before she met with me. That seems to have changed, given the King is sending her with a royal escort and appointing an entourage of courtiers. I’d suggest learning more about her situation from Yngvarr.”

“I’ll come help with your visitors,” states Sarah, and she changes into her Human form—a willowy brunette Human with a lean but well-toned build. Her skin is pale like many of the Norse, but her features possess a fox-like sharpness, making the weight of her dark gaze seem predatory.

“Did you miss me mentioning there is a Gold Dragon here, auntie Sarah?”

“Send him a message and ask him to come to meet me. Let him know my request is for negotiating guest rights without hunting permission. I’ll stick to your property except in emergencies,” orders Sarah. “I won’t be solving everything for you, Gail.”

“What exactly are the terms of your aid?”

“I’ll act as your household’s chamberlain while the delegation is present. While I’m your chamberlain, I won’t help you negotiate with anyone—you sink or swim on your own in that regard. What I will do is hire some household staff for you, as you can be sure this won’t be the last visit. Also, I won’t involve myself in your work to recover the Oírë Coivië Nandë. If any evil priests show up, you leave them to me. Last, I might ask you to do me a favour when this visit ends.”

Sarah makes it sound as if she’s not interested, but every condition makes it clear she doesn’t want to overshadow me. Of them, that last condition catches my attention the most. Her song's hints of longing and pain are audible, unlike so much else within her, and they fill in for the blank expression she’s maintaining. “Do you think Gaius is still alive?”

“Still got big ears,” huffs Sarah. “If Gaius is, he’s old and grey, and likely cursing my name.”

“Only if he hasn’t figured out why you injured him,” I retort. “And if he couldn’t figure out you freed him from Hell’s contract, he’s beyond help and stupid.”

“I told her a few times she should have checked on him,” pokes Amdirlain.

“Bite me,” grumbles Sarah, and she ignores Amdirlain’s snort of forced laughter, her focus still on me. “Well?”

“I can agree with those conditions with one of my own.”

“What’s that?” asks Sarah, not bothering to don any clothing.

“If he’s still alive and things work out between you, then I’m allowed to offer him the opportunity to change into a Scarlet Lonsdaleite to match your species.”

“You’re assuming he’d want to be a Dragon,” dismisses Sarah, fixing me with a flat look.

“If he wants to be with you, wouldn’t it be fair to offer? I accidentally reversed Androkles’ age, and I could do that intentionally with Gaius, but it wouldn’t be fair.”

Sarah’s fingers trail along her bare arms, tracing patterns that are likely memories of her former scars. “Agreed. Now let me get dressed.”

I half expected her to put on hunting leathers, but she outfits herself in a dress that makes the one I wore on my arrival here seem sedate. Its diaphanous red silk comes to her knees and barely hides the lines of her body—teasing at the edge of transparency. Cinched at the waist with a belt made of interlinking golden adamantine circles, each set with a procession of red diamond chips that sound like her scales. The only other jewellery she puts on is a set of serpentine bracers, made of mithril and black adamantine, that start at her wrist and wind the length of her forearms. The enchantments in the bracers and belt are scarily apparent across the noise of the Gate’s threshold.

“I’ll make you something that will construct a residence.”

A crystal staff taller than me appears in Amdirlain’s hand, and she starts on a complex melody that I can’t completely follow. It takes twists and turns, making some of my more complex composition lessons seem easy. Hiding more and more layers as she proceeds, it takes an hour before the melody winds down. When she’s done with it, the crystal doesn’t fade back into transparency but remains glowing like a blue star.

“This will make you a residence able to fit a few hundred knights and guests properly, with secure wards. The main feast hall will serve three meals daily, and the place will handle the basic cleaning itself.”

“Main feast hall?”

“It includes a small dining room big enough for your team plus some guests,” clarifies Amdirlain. “This will save you further straining yourself constructing suitable facilities.”

When Amdirlain hands it over to Sarah instead of tossing it through the Gate, it disappears into her Inventory.

“Why did your conditions involve evil priests, aunt Sarah?”

Sarah looks at Amdirlain instead of me. “She asked.”

“Torm has been sending Livia presents for the last few years,” explains Amdirlain, and she shows a flicker of pain before all expression leeches away. “Livia only told us yesterday after she learnt of your arrival on Vehtë. Mortal agents delivered them if they, or Torm, learn of an Anar’s creation occurring on Vehtë, he might arrange for someone to summon him.”

The news dries my mouth out so fast that it takes a bit before I can speak. “What sorts of presents does a Fallen send?”

“Flayed bodies, each with their hearts removed after death. The souls are still bound to their bodies, experiencing the torture leading up to their demise,” states Sarah.

The description has me wrinkling my nose in disgust. “Did Livia bring them back to life?”

Amdirlain shook her head. “Every one of them was a sadist, murderer, or worse.”

“It seems he is now favouring extreme forms of vengeance instead of justice. Did the magic give Livia any sign of who he’s aligned with since his corruption?” I ask.

“It didn’t have to,” replies Sarah. “I know of the curse; it's one favoured by a certain faction of Hell.”

That news threatens to strip my composure away and has my pulse pounding in my ears. The risk of him allied with a Demon Lord was one thing, but the danger Hell represents to Amdirlain is on another level entirely. “But the Abyss corrupted him. You’ve been trying to track him down in the Abyss. Why is he dealing with Hell?”

“The transformation site should have corrupted him into a Demon, but it turned him into a Fallen. Honestly, we’ve no way of telling his mindset now, and also no closer to discovering what name he adopted,” answers Amdirlain, and I hear the hitch of pain in her tone. “Go on, Sarah; talking about this won’t help anyone.”

At the break in her composure, Sarah steps through the Gate and collects the pouch. The barrier vanishes when I close the Gate since no extra-planar entity is present—just my draconic auntie.

“I think I had a picture in my mind that his Fallen state would be like Amdirlain’s, right? Just something he needed to shed,” I whisper. “That isn’t the case, is it? He’s likely the biggest danger to her.”

Sarah’s sad expression hits hard, and she enfolds me in a careful hug. “The Anar’s perfect memories are ridiculous but cut yourself some slack. You weren't even two when you met him. But no, he isn’t, and his song will never again be that melody your mind is broadcasting right now.”

“Are you sure he’s working for them?”

“We don’t know if Torm has aligned with Hell or is manipulating their agents. This whole situation is a mess. If your aunt could get off Culerzic right now, I wouldn’t dare leave her alone,” states Sarah, not moving to release me.

“She’d be storming the gates of Hell,” I whisper into her shoulder and sniff back the tears, worry for Amdirlain twisting my stomach in knots. “So you plan to see Livia and track down those agents after this visit?”

“I’ll help you get a house in order so it's efficient to receive any guests, and then I’ll start hunting.”

“Are you going to find Gaius, or was that for Amdirlain’s comfort?”

“I’ve got lots of hunting to do. Finding if Gaius is still alive will be my first step,” admits Sarah. “We’ll see how other things go. Now dry your eyes and message Esdras.”

“You stink of the Abyss,” I say, and give an exaggerated sniff.

“Yeah, so does this room, so let’s see if Esdras makes an issue of it.”

"No, I'm going to clean you up first."