Archive of Our Own ^beta

Hexum Manor looked much the same as when Laudna had been here last year. Strange, when she felt like an entirely different person. The mansion, as she spied it from her tree perch, inspired a feeling of kinship within Laudna; the stone dark and intricately carved, the arches sharp, the trees lining the approach gnarled and knotted. It was imposing, and gothic, and honestly a little intimidating. Was it normal to be jealous of a building?

She clocked the guards, living and inanimate both, noted the position of the minimal windows, and scurried back down the trunk of the tree to drop between Imogen and Fearne, hidden in the shrubbery below.

“Ashton was right,” she whispered. “She’s definitely upped security.”

“Do you think we can still get in?” Imogen asked, brow furrowed. Laudna wanted to smooth her frown away.

“I think it may be to our advantage, actually; it’s mainly people. People can be avoided and tricked far better than constructs. Last time we were here, there were only magical defences.”

“Must’ve been burned badly during the Solstice,” Imogen murmured, the side of her mouth pulling into a very fetching smirk. Now would be an inappropriate time to kiss her. Probably. “Any ideas, Fearne?”

“I’m pretty sure if I asked for it, they’d just give it to me,” she suggested again. “Then we wouldn’t have a problem at all.”

“Look, you’re probably right,” Imogen said, “but this is Ashton’s rodeo, much as saying it makes me regret my life choices. They want it done quietly.”

“Fine,” she huffed, peering over the bushes to spy on the house. “Laudna, did you see any windows?”

“Three on each floor, none of the front face,” she recited. At least it matched the information Ashton had provided.

“Well, some little birds could probably get those open if they had help hiding.” With the final refutation of her proposition, Fearne’s voice was excited, coy. She looked to Imogen with a raised eyebrow.

Imogen. Ashton’s voice, gruff in their heads. Hexum’s on the move. You’re up.

Alright. Hang tight. Imogen looked between Laudna and Fearne, her discomfort at leaving them plain. Laudna squeezed her hand. “Be careful,” Imogen said softly. “This doesn’t need to happen today. We can just scope it, alright? Any doubts at all, you call it off.” Laudna shone at the protectiveness of her words, of the care wrapped about her shoulders.

“We’ll be fine, darling, don’t worry about us. Now go, before we lose our chance.”

“Any problems and you holler for me, ok? I’ll be here before you can blink.” Imogen let go of her hand, cradled her jaw instead. She leaned in and kissed her, slightly too intimately for company; they weren’t much used to company any more. When Imogen pulled away it was with visible reluctance. Laudna didn’t like the shadow in her eyes.

“We’ll be fine,” she said again. Imogen’s hand remained on her cheek.

“Hey, where’s my kiss?” Fearne teased, her hand dancing into Imogen’s. With a fond eye roll, Imogen kissed her quickly on the cheek.

“Alright, I can make you invisible, but I don’t know how long it’ll last. I may have to drop it in a snap, it may run out if you’re taking your time. Act like you’re visible, ok, take it as a perk if you’re not.”

Laudna looked to Fearne and nodded. She didn’t see her shift, merely glanced away for a moment towards the house. When she looked back, Fearne was gone. Instead a vibrant, conspicuous woodpecker was perched on Imogen’s hand, flamebacked and bold. Invisibility was definitely going to be a perk.

Laudna felt the familiar charge of Imogen’s magic start to hum against the skin of her cheek. Amid the apprehension of what they were about to do, the frisson of her power and the warmth of her hand were a balm. Laudna smiled at her as she and Fearne vanished from sight.

“Good luck,” Imogen whispered. The hand left her cheek and, in a flash of static, Imogen was gone.

It was much easier to think when she wasn’t basking in Imogen’s smile. “Pâté,” she hissed, and was met with the scratching of claws on her scalp as he untucked himself from her hair.

“What?” he tried to whisper back. Loudly. “What’s happening, what’re we—“

“Shh! Shut up, shut up.” She yanked him out; a significant mass of hair came with him. “We’ve got a little job for you, alright, a mission.” No one could see the empathic gesturing of her hand, not even her.

“Oh ho,” he growled, “what do you have in mind?”

“Just a little breaking and entering, a little retrieval job.” She turned her hand so he was looking at the house. “I need you to fly up to that middle window there, first floor. Have a look around, inside and out, check that no one is watching. Evaluate if it is a worthy entrance point.” He started to wriggle. “Invisibly, obviously. Honestly, Pâté.”

“Right, right,” he muttered. With a grunt, he vanished from sight to join them.

“Fearne will be going with you.”

“Oh, Fearne’s here?” She felt him twist in her hand as his head tried to dislocate from the rest of his corpse. “Hello, hello, pretty—“

“None of that, thank you,” she hissed, she squeezing him in mortification. “She’s a bird, right now, anyway.”

“Even bet—“ She squeezed again.

Fearne, she said in her head, along the channel that Imogen, capable Imogen, had provided them, sound good?

Sure, she replied, the gust from her wings tickling Laudna’s cheek.

“I’ll be looking through your pathetic excuse for eyes,” she informed. Warned. “Be a good boy.” She threw him as far towards the house as she could, which was not very. She heard his wings squelch from his exposed chest cavity as he flapped away. There was an affectionate peck to the side of her head, and Fearne flew after him.

She hunkered down. She closed her eyes and opened Pâté’s. There was a ground patrol, a guard shift walking the perimeter. Not one raised their eyes towards the two bird-adjacent entities that soared over their heads and alighted on the first floor windowsill. Laudna added it to her tally: no obvious truesight, no obvious blindsight, no automatic dispel magic or see invisibility. Her own house was warded to the bones. This was amateur. Laudna smiled.

Pâté pressed the crest of his skull to the glass as they peered inside. Looks good, mum, he said in her head. I don’t see no one inside and no one saw us come up. Just the usual bloody goons.

Agreed, yes, it does look rather enticing. She switched her focus, said to Fearne, Any objections?

Where’s the fun in that? she said. Pâté heard the definitive knock of a beak on wood: once, twice, a hammering thrice. I’ll have to unbird to get in, though, it’s locked from the inside. What a waste, no one even saw my plumage.

Oh, don’t worry about that. Laudna couldn’t help the wide pull of her grin, the sharp bite of her teeth. You keep your pretty wings for now, Fearne. She and Pâté chose a nice alcove on the other side of the glass.

The manor held its shadows close like a veil, but Laudna was their mistress. She stepped from the shade of the canopy and into the darkness inside.

Two weeks ago, in the companionable quiet of their kitchen, Imogen lifted her head apropos of nothing and cocked it like a particularly endearing golden retriever. “Someone’s here,” she said, then frowned. “Ashton’s here.”

Laudna usurped them at the front door, yanked it open to meet a broken-glass fist at knocking level, unfortunately also level with her head. She spluttered a curse as they narrowly pulled it back, just in time to avoid crushing her skull like a bug. Not that she was in the habit of crushing bugs.

“Hey,” Ashton shrugged, unremorseful, “couldn’t’ve waited?”

“We don’t tend to be generous to uninvited guests around these parts,” she said, though the smile pulling at the edges of her mouth betrayed any false ill will.

“I thought it was an open invitation?”

“An open invitation means you’re not smited as you walk the garden path, not that you can saunter in as you please.” She lost her battle and wrapped her spindly arms around their shoulders. Their grumbling was only half hearted, a testament to the expanding yawn of time since she had last seen them. She muttered her apologies at the controlled wince of pain and retracted her limbs.

“It’s fine,” they muttered, hoisting the pack dangling from one shoulder. “I’d cross the threshold but you hear all sorts of shit about witches in the woods?”

“Oh, of course,” Laudna said, remembering her manners. “Come in, come in.” She hassled them to the living room, steered them to the sofa. She tried to relieve them of the pack and found herself in a one sided tug of war. She managed to lift it free only with the helpful caress of Imogen’s telekinesis.

“Hey, Ashton,” Imogen called from the kitchen, head peeking around the doorframe. “Be there in a sec!” Laudna could hear the clatter of china, the whistling of the kettle, accelerated with a little helping hand. More assembly than could be managed with two hands alone. It was rare that they had guests, and neither of them had ever had the opportunity to play hostess. Imogen seemed to have decided it was her turn.

“To what do we owe the pleasure?” Laudna asked, settling herself next to them as Imogen gently lowered Laudna’s favourite tea tray to the table in front of her, her mind far more cautious than her hands. Imogen dropped into the armchair opposite.

“I was in the area,” Ashton lied with a blatant smile, lounging back against the cushions.

Imogen scoffed. “No one is ever in the area. We chose the area so that we were the only ones in it.”

Laudna poured Ashton’s tea into her favourite cup, delicate and dainty, painted with tiny phalanges. When she handed it to them, they cupped it in two hands like a baby bird. “Uh, odds are pretty high I’ll crush this fucking cup, Laudna.”

“Nonsense,” she tutted, prodding encouragingly at their hands.

Imogen picked up her much more robust mug. “I’m not allowed to use the fancy china,” she grinned.

“A self imposed rule, my love, I won’t have it thought I’m a tyrant. You can use whatever you want.”

“Well, I don’t like breaking your things,” Imogen said lightly, the sincerity curling at the edge of her voice.

“I don’t mind, I’m a dab hand at fixing them up again. What’s mine is yours.” Laudna smiled at her softly. She added, along their unending and perpetual connection, You can break whatever you want if you continue to make it up to me so sweetly. Imogen choked into her mug.

“Ok, I don’t want to know.” Ashton scowled and looked between them. “Way to make me regret visiting, it’s been two fucking minutes.”

“Shut up,” Imogen muttered, a slight colouring to the tips of her ears; it was very becoming. “Let me grab you a biscuit or something. Dinner’s not for a bit.” She disappeared back towards the kitchen.

“So why are you actually here?” Laudna asked; Ashton was not the type to drop in without an agenda. They didn’t meet her eye, took an awkward sip from the bone cup. “Oh my gods! Did you miss us?” Her hands came to her cheeks in touched surprise, if slightly mocking. “Ashton! You missed us!”

“Fine, so what if I did?” they grumbled, the heavy crystal of their body pulling them deep into the soft cushions. They pushed themselves back up.

“Oh it’s so sweet,” she gushed, an uncontrollable shimmy ruffling her shoulders.

“Yeah, sure. I missed your creepy little face and your fucking backwards bones. I even missed your wife’s stupid fucking smirk, though don’t tell her I said that.”

Oh, I heard it, Imogen said into her head. Laudna couldn’t stop her tittering laugh.

“She heard me, didn’t she?” Ashton sighed. “Imogen! Are you listening in?” they called towards the kitchen. Imogen was already on her way back.

“Only with my ears,” she said, dropping a plate of shortbread in their lap, baked courtesy of Laudna. “You don’t know how to whisper for shit.”

“Look, it’s fucking weird to go from living every world-ending moment with someone to not seeing them for months, alright?”

“And you want something.” Imogen said, tilting her head. “Don’t pretend you don’t want something.”

Ashton ignored her, unabashedly looked around their home. Laudna followed their gaze, took in the warm carpets and large windows, the delicate woodwork and exposed rafters; the stone fireplace and mantelpiece; the paintings and the blankets and the upholstery and the books and her little arrays of trinkets. The warmth of the approaching sunset casting a soft shine on Imogen’s hair. The shadowed corners where Laudna got to play.

It was the most important place in the world to her, something she and Imogen were building for themselves, something safe and lasting. She was proud of it. She loved it. She was going to spend the rest of her life here, with Imogen.

“It’s nice. Homey. Spooky.” They turned back with a mocking grin. “You didn’t want any doors?”

“You know what, Ashton,” Imogen said, sweet as honey, sting barely masked, “if you see Chetney, you ask him where my fucking doors are.” Laudna was suddenly very interested in her own cup. It was pretty, with wilting buttercups. Just endlessly fascinating.

They’d decided on something simple for the doors, something classic, and Chetney had been happy to oblige. No such thing as simple with craftsmanship like this, he’d warbled. Maybe Laudna had mentioned a slight little theme to him offhandedly, nothing much, maybe a style, a motif. Maybe that’s why he hadn’t delivered yet. She suspected Imogen knew this, which was why she wasn’t as annoyed as she was pretending to be. A biscuit lifted from Ashton’s plate and landed gently in Laudna’s hand.

“Alright then, out with it,” Laudna demanded, because Imogen was right, as she always was. Ashton clearly wanted something.

They sighed. “It’s Hexum.”

“Fucking hell, Ash, it’s barely been a year.” Imogen put her head in her hands.

“Alright, calm down, it’s not me this time. It’s Milo.”

“Milo, likes-to-pour-slag-glass-in-your-head Milo?” Laudna clarified.

“I’m sure it’s the highlight of their day.” Ashton drained their cup, ruined the devil-may-care outlook somewhat by placing it gently back on the tray. “Yeah, that Milo.”

“Milo’s in deep with Hexum?” Imogen asked, bewildered.

“Not quite, just—“ Ashton ran a rough hand down their face. “Look, Milo may not be set up like the Lord of Whitestone, but they’ve got a brain that’d put that fuckwit to shame. They’ll claim that they’re small fish but some of the shit they can do— You may not have noticed when you were hanging out with people from the fucking moon, or living out a fucking romance novel in the backend of nowhere, but the world’s changed.”

“Yeah, no shit,” Imogen muttered, putting down her mug.

“We probably noticed with the moon people, shockingly.”

“Yeah, well, shit’s gone to hell, up is down. Milo’s been hanging out with this other kid, some prodigy from Ascension’s Rise he met through Prism, thinks slumming it is a fun little edge.”

“Prism knows Milo?”

“I made the mistake of taking her to the Krook house, don’t worry about it. Milo’s an artificer, though they wouldn’t call it that; they know how to mash arcana and tech, but whatever magic they and this guy cooked up— I don’t fucking understand it, but according to them it was weird, and unprescidented, and probably only possible because of all of the shit that happened to magic during the solstice. They made something. A device.”

“What has this got to do with Hexum?” Laudna asked.

“Hexum knows everyone. Hexum’s a collector.” Laudna remembered Jiana Hexum trying to collect FCG and felt something inside of her spark, abrasive against the sense of ownership. She didn’t know what rippled under her skin, what thought bled from her mind, but she could feel Imogen’s eyes on her, knowing and concerned. “Hexum took it.”

“She stole it?”

“She bought it, unfair and square, and by that I mean she fucking blackmailed Milo into handing it over. ‘Your friend Ashton paid their debt, I don’t recall the same from you.’ Nevermind that they weren’t even fucking there that night. They were still a Nobody.”

“And you’re here because?” Laudna asked, though she had a suspicion.

“I’m here because I want it back.”

“Don’t suppose you’ve asked nicely?” Imogen scoffed, crossing her arms.

“Oh sure, I went to Hexum, said pretty please, got back on my fucking knees,” Ashton mocked. “No, obviously not.”

“You’re here because you want us to help you steal it.” Laudna said knowingly.

“Because it went so well last time,” Imogen added.

“Last time I was a fucking idiot.” Imogen opened her mouth. “This time I’m still a fucking idiot, but I’m an idiot with people I trust. I’m an idiot with friends that I can ask for help.” Imogen closed her mouth.

Ashton sighed, pained, before they continued. “Look, before I met you fuckups, Milo was the only person who’d ever stuck around. They were the only Nobody who didn’t take to the fucking hills. They may have dealt with me like I was a smashed plate but they saved my life. They’re family like you’re family. They did the same to FCG, patched them up after I found them in that fucking cave, kept them functional, kept them from doing the shit they did on Ruidus. For that alone—“ They worked their jaw, clenched their fists. Neither Imogen nor Laudna spoke into the silence, just let Ashton sigh again. “I’m here because I missed you, and I’m here because I want your help.”

Laudna turned to Imogen, found her already looking back. She supposed Ashton thought a conversation passed mentally between them, but there was no need. Laudna said, “What did you have in mind?”

Laudna stepped from the shadows into the hallway. After the Divine Gate had fallen, and the Matron’s boons had faded, so too had her ability to dance between shadows. It had taken her time to relearn, but she was nothing if not stubborn and, try as the Ashari might, Lake Umamu was a utopia of shady corners.

She was alone. She crossed silently to the window. She could see nothing, but there was telltale chittering on the other side. With an embarrassing amount of effort she turned the creaky latch and unlocked the window, sliding it open only enough for some little birds to fly through. She almost snapped an elbow trying to shut it again.

A set of claws gripped to her left shoulder, a set of talons to her right. The thought fleetingly crossed her mind that should look into this; it would definitely be an update to her look. All sorts frequented their garden in the Taloned Highlands: rooks and ravens, swifts and starlings, finches and, when she was lucky, a particularly shy nightjar. There were days when she fell asleep to the serenade of a nightingale. The raptors and owls were very well fed. She could be her own scarecrow. If she could—

Let’s split up, Fearne said, lifting from her perch.

Is that really wise?

Ashton said the less time we spend in here the better, that you should go for the main collection and I should check upstairs. How typical of them to impart this wisdom selectively. Scream if you need help. There was a tickle of feathers against the cut of her cheek in parting.

Fine, fine, but please be safe, Fearne? she pleaded. She could only just hear the flap of wings on the edge of her hearing.

I’m always safe! That did not inspire confidence.

Laudna backed herself into a corner and took stock. She was in a corridor, their window of ingress at one end, what appeared to be a vast open space at the other; the upper story of the atrium, as she had seen on her last visit. A plethora of doors. According to Ashton, the majority of Hexum’s ephemera should be here somewhere; a collector’s gallery.

There was no time like the present. With a deep breath, she opened the door behind her. It was a bedroom, but clearly one not in use; no personal belongings, no clothes, the bedspread as utilitarian as was found in the Mahaan houses. There was a door on the far side that led to what she assumed were servants quarters. She closed the door.

The next room along was the same, guest quarters for a woman not known for her hosting prowess. She closed the door.

A music room. A cupboard. An office which sparked her interest but in which there was nothing but paperwork (full of incrimination and leverage, she was sure, but not her objective). A servant's staircase.

Finally, she opened the door to what could only be a room of curios. “Jackpot,” Pâté growled as they slipped into the low light and closed the door behind them.

There were dozens of artifacts; on plinths, in display cabinets, mounted on the walls and ceiling. Laudna thought it reminiscent of Nana Morri’s collection in Ligament Manor, if less macabre and worse for it. She supposed in thirty years a room in her own house might boast her treasures, if Imogen’s indulgence regarding the bones proved abiding.

“Alright,” she whispered to her familiar, “listen up. Are you listening?”

“I’m listening, boss.”

“We’re looking for a device, a curiosity. About the length of my forearm, thin, cuboid. Cobbled together from scrap, honestly the worst junk you’ve ever seen, but it’s got a clasp, alright, a claw on one end. It should be absolutely filthy with runes, apparently just covered with wizard nonsense. It’s not pretty, so I don’t expect it out and about. Do you understand?”

“Can you say it again?” She snatched him from her shoulder, brought him close to her face.

“Are you joking.”

“No! You said a lot of things! It’s arm length? There’s a wizard?” He squirmed in her tightening grip.

“It looks like a fucking box made of pipes! It’s got runes! It’s janky!” she said, a frantic hiss. She was probably heard by half of the house but she could not fathom the incompetence, the impertinence—

“I’m not really an aural learner, mum, I’m much more of a visual—“

“For fucks sake, Pâté, it looks like this,” she growled, casting minor illusion, the approximation of Milo’s abomination hovering over her hand. Which was visible, Imogen’s carefully and tenderly imparted invisibility banished in the face of her magic. “Fuck,” she cursed. “Fuck. Now look what you’ve done!”

“Sorry, I’m sorry, but that really does help!” He squirmed until she let him go, hovered invisibly in front of her face. “Janky wizard pipe box, got it.”

Laudna tucked her anger away. “Split up. Find the box. Don’t get caught.” She batted him towards the left. She took the right.

It was not a gallery for display; it was a gallery for seclusion. Laudna doubted that anyone had been in here apart from Jiana Hexum or her staff in a long time. There were no labels, no descriptors, no sense of classification other than her whim. It would be a fine thing to throw every piece from the window. A wooden door at the far end of the room promised further troves to explore deeper within the manse, though she was beginning to edge closer to pillage.

Laudna found busts and statues and bronzes. Staves and wands and rings. Automata and constructs, primitive compared to Hexum’s hungry pawing at an Aeormaton. Paintings and lithographs. Devices upon devices upon devices, sleek glass and steel, welded scrap and wire.

No clawed, runed box.

Soft footsteps shuffled outside the door, barely on the cusp of hearing. Someone’s coming. Hide, she demanded in Pâté’s head, well aware that her own concealment was significantly more difficult. Her pulse raced into sluggishness.

She could still spider climb, could haul herself into the rafters and perch in a web but she didn’t know what was coming, didn’t know if it was a routine sweep or a hunting party. Her fingers found the handle of the far door and gently pried it open as light spilled into the collection from her foiler. She slipped through and pulled it closed; the near silent latch of the door closing reverberated through her like the crack of bone.

It wasn’t an extension of antiquity or innovation as she had suspected, but rather a small antechamber, a windowless dead end. Flameless light spilled softly from sconces bracketing the walls. She should have taken her chances in the dark.

The majority of the space was occupied by a large wooden desk, oaken and carved, the accompanying chair married in intricacy. There was a rocking horse. A bureau. A handful of other, smaller pieces.

Laudna threw herself across the desk in an ungainly tangle of joints, contorted her body into the small space underneath, and affixed herself to the underside like a particularly decrepit limpet. She waited. She didn’t move, didn’t breathe.

No footfalls followed her through the door. This chamber was muffled but there were no shouts from next door, no clatter of drawn weapons.

What’s happening? she whispered in Pâté’s head. When she opened his eyes she could see nothing but a film of darkness. She pulled back into her own head, kept her eyes closed. What are you doing?

I’m hiding! he protested, his death rattle of a voice as hushed as he could manage.

Where? she hissed. You’re supposed to be watching as well, you dolt. Are they gone?

Not yet, not yet. But they’re not looking for us, just wandering.

Good. Tell me when they’re gone and we’ll resume our search. She shifted her focus to Fearne, calmed by the silence of the house, worried by the silence of her friend. Fearne, are you alright? Have you had any luck finding it?

Oh, I’m good, Fearne’s voice, light and airy in her head. Luck is a tricky thing, Laudna. Sometimes it has to be fate.

You’ve found it? Laudna said excitedly, marvelling at the ease; how incompetent were the Nobodies that they were decimated by this house? Laudna had practically wandered in through the front door.

Not quite, Fearne said, and Laudna’s superiority was kicked down the stairs. I’m pretty sure it’s down there with you.

Then what—

I’m a little busy right now, she sang, let me know if you find it, ok?

Fearne? Fearne! Laudna was left in confused and apprehensive silence.

She saw it when she opened her eyes. Familiar as the dawn light through her bedroom curtains, as the warmth of the fire in her hearth. She knew it in her bones, had been finding it in surreptitious corners of her house for seven months. There, carved delicately and deliberately on the inner face of the desk: C-POP.

Laudna settled Ashton in the guest room, thankfully outfitted with a temporary door to match their own. She was combing out her hair in front of the mirror when Imogen leaned down from behind her, tucked her head over Laudna’s shoulder. She met Laudna’s eye in the mirror and smiled.

That smile lit up Laudna’s world. That smile calmed every frenetic vibration into a peaceful stillness. Laudna was going to grow old in the radiance of that smile, gentle and fond. She still had not fully come to terms with it; a whole life together with Imogen, a whole life where she was loved by Imogen, where she could love Imogen, where she was married to Imogen. She still wasn’t entirely sure it wasn’t a particularly vivid hallucination, that she wasn’t dying a slow and painful death, crushed under a pile of rocks on the moon.

Imogen held up a brass ring, her smile pulling edgeways into a conspiratorial smirk. “Want to go for a walk?”

“Darling, I thought you’d never ask.” She slid the ring on, attuned to it as she finished getting ready for bed. Her original evening plans had been derailed somewhat by Ashton’s presence across the hall, but she didn’t let it stop her from pressing Imogen into the bed and kissing her until she couldn’t breathe. The attunement took a little longer than it should have.

When they were on the verge of sleep, Imogen nestled snugly in her arms, Laudna reached out with the edges of her magic. She let her shadows entwine with the enchantment of the ring, used it to cast shared dream on them both. She closed her eyes, kissed the top of her wife’s head, and let the magic knit them together.

Laudna opened her eyes to a twilight forest, dark trees swaying in the low light of Catha. Tangled through the brush, through the branches, through the canopy, through their legs, was a loose weave of innumerable threads, golden and shining. They grew denser through the thicket, knotting and braiding into corporeality until, in a break between the trees, they ascended towards the stars to form a throne.

Atop the throne sat a faun, sharp in her fey glory, square pupilled and black clawed. “Oh my gods, you guys are here!” Fearne called down to them; her exuberance startled a raptor-like bird from the trees. “Wait, you are here, right? This is an Imogen-dream, not a dream-dream?”

“We’re here,” Imogen confirmed with a gentle smile.

Laudna raised her hand, waved excitedly in greeting. “I like your throne, Fearne.”

“Isn’t it just the best?” Fearne leaned towards them confidingly. She could have been two feet away or two hundred, but Laudna had learned how to blur her mind to the unreality of dreams. “I need to learn how to dream it comfier, but it’s got the gravitas, you know. It’s fit for a princess, for a scion. A fatestitcher-in-waiting.”

“How’s the stitching going?” Imogen asked a little uneasily, hovering her hand over the thread threatening to wrap itself around her waist.

“Great, just so, so great, Nana has so much to teach me, I’m learning so much about magic, about fate. I’m getting to spend a lot of time with her, which is just amazing, because I missed her so much when I was away.”

“Are you actually, like, touching them and stuff?” Imogen said, shuffling a little closer to Laudna, who was very happy to take her hand. She had always been a little uncomfortable in the Feywild; Fearne’s dreamscape was a manifestation of the unruly forest around Ligament Manor, the foliage dark and unnatural, creeping closer to ensnare unsuspecting visitors.

“Of course! How else do you learn?” Fearne gave an affected, blasé shrug, pushed her hair back over her shoulders. “Nana hasn’t quite let me do it by myself yet, but that’s alright. Laudna, I’m so thrilled you’re here too because I’ve just been dying to tell you. Ok, a couple of weeks ago I was having a lesson, and I gave Whitestone Andy a terrible day, just truly awful. No one gets to throw dirt in your face, alright? Not without consequences.”

“Oh,” Laudna said, immensely touched. She felt it at the back of her throat, a little lump forming at the unexpected retribution for a hurt grown cold. “That’s very kind of you, Fearne.”

“You’re sure it was him?” Imogen asked, her skepticism clear.

“Pretty sure,” she nodded decisively. “It was either him, or that crêpe guy again.” Imogen made a quiet sound that Laudna couldn’t parse.

“We’re here with a proposition for you, Fearne,” Laudna said. She couldn’t help the sly uptick at the side of her mouth. “Ashton has asked Imogen and I for a favour, and they were very insistent that you join us.”

“Oh a favour. A favour is very interesting.” Fearne’s smile was the mirror of her own. Laudna hadn’t been worried about her saying no, but she felt the excitement kindle inside her at the collusion regardless.

“Isn’t it just.”

“And how is Ashton?” she asked. “They were here a little while ago.”

“I’m sure they’d be very grateful for your help,” Imogen said. Laudna did not miss the insinuation in her tone.

“And what would I be helping with?”

Laudna smiled. “We’re going to break into Jiana Hexum’s house in Jrusar and steal back something that doesn’t belong to her.”

A spark jumped in Fearne’s strange, goatlike eyes. The threads weaving around them began to vibrate. “You know that there is nothing that I wouldn’t do for my lovely witches.”

“Fearne,” Laudna said, “we are so glad you agree.”

Fearne leaned down towards them in performative innocence. “Since you’re here, do you wanna have some fun? It doesn’t count if it’s in a dream.”

“Yes, it does,” they said in unison. Imogen ducked her head to hide her pink cheeks, but her smile was smug. Laudna only squeezed her hand, trying not to glow.

From her throne above them, Fearne grinned. “I meant that we could pluck some of these threads. What have you been up to, girls?” Quite a bit, but nothing that Laudna thought Imogen would want her to disclose.

“We need you to be in Jrusar on the 17th of Duscar,” Imogen said, ignoring her. Fearne stared down at her blankly. “It’s in two weeks.” She gave a slow smile, and Imogen sighed. “How about I come see you the night before and Nana Morri can send you through?”

“That would be such a big help.” Fearne propped her elbow on the arm of her throne, let her chin rest on her fist. “This is exciting! Our first adventure after the big one.”

“We’ll see you in Jrusar,” Laudna smiled. “Sweet dreams, Fearne.”

“Wait!” With a single mirthful leap, Fearne crossed the leagues of dreamscape and landed in front of them. She was far taller than she should have been; Laudna barely reached her shoulder. Fearne wrapped an arm around each of them, pulled them to her until they were huddled together. The warmth from her touch melted Laudna’s perpetual chill like the sun on morning frost. “I love you guys so much. I’ve missed you so much.”

Laudna reached out and let her nails dig into the signature. Something in her mind tilted, started to click and whir. The fear of being caught sprouted its tendrils within her and wrapped around something suspicious, something sharp. Laudna did not believe in coincidences any more.

They’re gone, Pâté rasped in her head.

Keep searching, she ordered absently, looming closer to the mark. C-POP. A Pock O’Pea desk in a hidden room of wooden treasures.

Laudna dropped to the floor, skittered towards the chair. There, on the base of one of the legs: C-POP. She pushed the chair away. The rocking horse tried to race away in her haste to upend it. On the saddle: C-POP. She checked the bureau (C-POP), the bookends (C-POP), the jewellery box (C-POP).

Laudna stood in the centre of the room, still as the grave, and tried to think. Just because she didn’t believe in coincidences didn’t mean they didn’t exist. Chetney was very popular. Hexum was a collector. Something was trying to right itself in her memory but her foolish semi-dead brain could not align it.

I found it! Pâté yelled. Laudna, I found it, the wizard pipe!

Her head snapped towards him. Good boy, Pâté. She was here for a reason. She was here to get Milo’s shitty arcane device and get the hell out. Maybe it was paranoia to see Chetney’s work and leap to conspiracy; it wasn’t as if paranoia was unfamiliar to her.

Laudna walked backwards to the door and reentered the collection. It was entirely as she had left it. Where are you?

I’m in the back corner. I can see you! She briefly jumped into his head, saw herself from his perspective, contorted and twitching like an electrified sparrow. She straightened her spine.

Just go visible ok, you have the luxury that I don’t.

Right, right! He popped back into view, ineptly hovering at the far reaches. She crept through the display towards him, alert for anything he may have missed, any secondary lurkers that lay in wait.

Milo’s device was sequestered on a bottom shelf, far from anyone’s view. It truly was hideous, as if a massacred pan flute had gotten too frisky with a grappling hook, and that was before the scribe had gotten to it for rune practice. It was barely in the collection; everything around it was similarly bizarre, similarly mistreated.

Sometimes a tiny voice in the back of her mind liked to offer an opinion; not Delilah Briarwood in truth, sequestered away in her soul anchor, but the imprint that thirty years of her insight and cunning had left in Laudna’s judgement. It was not a cruel voice, which is how she knew it wasn’t real, and why she often trusted it. Spite, the voice said. This has been done out of spite.

Laudna reached out to grab it, then stopped with her spindly fingers spread wide. It was too easy. She had waltzed into this room and met no resistance, but resistance was inevitable. “Pâté,” she said softly, coaxing, “be a dear and pick it up for me?”

“On it,” he nodded, his head a rattle of bone. Pâté flopped his body onto the bulk of the device, his sinewy arms and legs spread wide with the intent to grapple.

He didn’t get the chance. As soon as his patchy underbelly made contact there was a flash of red light and an inaudible humming that Laudna felt in her jaw. Pâté did not do her the disservice of a corpse; one second he was there, the next he was gone. “Well, shit,” she sighed. Laudna would summon him back when she got home, would fill his little house with the mealworms he liked to crunch on before they fell back out of his open abdomen. He had earned it.

Her hand was still extended towards the artefact. She had no natural disposition towards the dispellation of magic and, whilst the study of arcana had become somewhat of a hobby as of late, was still woefully underprepared. They had brought a spell scroll with them, just in case. It was tucked into one of Fearne’s many pockets.

Laudna reached out with her mage hand, wrapped the shadowed fingers around the posterior claw. She beckoned the hand towards her and the device came willingly. Underneath was a rune, neat and journeyman, blackened and spent. Pâté would be getting double worms for his service.

With a thought, the device dropped into her outstretched hands. She barely spared it a glance before she stuffed it into her bag. Fearne, she called, I’ve got it. Time to go. Laudna made towards the door.

Oh, good, Fearne said and Laudna stopped in her tracks. Fearne spoke lightly, cheerily. Fearne spoke with so much forced nonchalance that Laudna forgot about the artefact entirely.

What’s wrong? Fearne, are you alright?

It’s fine, it’s fine. I’m fine. She gave a nervous chuckle. I may be slightly stuck. Just a little, though!

For the first time, Laudna thought it prudent to be worried. Ok, I’m coming up. Tell me where you are.

When you get to the top, go down the long hallway. I’m on your left. Somewhere.

Just hold on, ok? Laudna slipped back into the corridor. With a brief glance either way (still empty, still quiet), Laudna skittered up the walls and scrambled along the ceiling towards the atrium.

Uh, Laudna? Maybe be careful, because there are definitely people coming. For Fearne to sound apprehensive things must have taken a severe walk off a cliff. Laudna started to run.

Are you still a bird, still invisible?

Not exactly. Which meant absolutely not.

Can you hide?

So, when I said stuck—

Laudna reached the end of the corridor, where it opened into the main atrium: two floors worth of open space, a massive mural, multiple ornate staircases. There were guards on the ground floor, servants too; Laudna tried to be as quiet as she could, scrambling along the ceiling towards the top floor.

There were plenty of shadows to step to, but none that would get her where she needed to be. She was well aware that she was probably walking into an ambush, or at least deeper into the lion's den, but Fearne was alone, and trapped. Fearne needed her help.

When she was more noticeable above than below, Laudna let herself drop, twisting to land on the staircase proper, her fall muffled by the plush of the deep maroon carpets. She was halfway to the top floor of the house; the stairway curved out of sight before her.

A mirroring staircase ran down the opposite wall. Laudna heard the thud of heavy boots, the rattle of a sheathed sword, glanced over to see a guard descending almost opposite her. She dropped to her stomach, flat against the ground, the crest of each stair pressing uncomfortably on her ribs, her pelvis. She twisted her head until she could watch the guard through the ornate slats of the bannister, absently pulling on his leather gauntlets, traipsing to the lower levels of the house.

Laudna pressed her face more fully into the carpet. She was exposed here, she was vulnerable here. She had to find Fearne.

She scurried up the stairs on all fours, pausing when she reached the upper landing, enclosed from the rest of the atrium. She could see the top of the second staircase directly ahead. The only other option available to her was a long hallway, running straight and wide across the length of the house. She pulled herself back up to the ceiling, skittered along upside down.

There were voices ahead, not shouting but definitely raised. Laudna let the dread that slithered within her seep to the surface, let her limbs crack and elongate until they were skeletal, let her cheeks fall in and her mouth pull wide. Her teeth sharpened. Her eyes blackened to scleraless voids. She was a harbinger, an omen, a banshee with her keen held fast. She dragged herself silently towards the commotion.

She found them at the far end of the corridor, as far from the stairway as she could go. “I’m sorry, I can’t hear you,” Fearne said, the apology clear in her tone only so long as you didn’t know her. Laudna let her head fall backward to observe the standoff through the open door.

Fearne was bathed in the red light of a rune illuminated around her feet, hands raised lazily at her sides in a facsimile of surrender. I’m here, Laudna said quietly in her head. Whatever you need.

I think I’ve got it, Fearne replied. Aloud, she said, “Can you just turn it off, please? It’s so loud.” To Laudna the room was quiet but for Fearne’s voice; she couldn’t tell if Fearne could hear something she couldn't, or whether she meant the light. “Come on, what am I going to do?” she asked with a sly smile. “You can even draw your axe.”

There were three of them that Laudna could see, spread out in a triangle around Fearne, jackets and tunics the same as the guards outside, as the one she had avoided on the stairs. The half-orc she was talking to had his hand firmly on the grip of a two-headed axe. There was another, a gnome, with his sword drawn and levelled. The third was clearly a caster, hands spread wide, pouches on her belt, young and human.

The half-orc said, “What did you—“

“I’m so sorry,” Fearne said again, “what? Can you turn it off, please?”

He looked confusedly between his companions, hand tightening on his axe. He nodded towards the caster, who drew a sigil in the air in front of her. Laudna felt the pulse of magic spread through the room, smooth like fresh ink, and the red glow faded. Fearne stretched her shoulders, let her hands fall to her sides. “Thank you so much,” she smiled at the caster, who faltered under the attention, blushing profusely.

They were in another room of Hexum’s collection, significantly less populated than the lower floor where Laudna had found Milo’s device. There were six plinths arranged in the centre of the room. The case behind Fearne was empty.

“Who are you?” the guard tried again. “Why are you here?”

“That’s such a good question,” Fearne said. “I’m not sure. I think I got a little turned around. I was looking for the sitting room.”

“Sitting room?”

“Jiana said to wait for her in the sitting room.” The sound of Hexum’s name in Fearne’s mouth was practically indecent.

Laudna asked, Are you stalling or—

Just give me a minute! Fearne interrupted sharply, at odds with the serenity of her smile. Sorry. Sorry, I think I can— Let me just—

“Jiana?” he said, incredulity wiping the stoicism from his face.

“Oh, she prefers Ms Hexum?” Fearne tilted her head as she whispered an incantation, carried on the breath of her words. Her hand swirled, out of view of the mage, fluid and mesmerising. Laudna watched as something clouded over in the eyes of the guards, as Fearne wrapped her will around them and bound them close. The big one removed his hand from the grip of his axe; the caster loosened and relaxed. The gnome did not lower his sword, but looked between his two companions with confusion, suspicion. Damn.

“I think we might have had a tiny misunderstanding,” Fearne said, stepping closer to them. Stepping closer to the door.

“Stay where you are,” the gnome demanded, his low voice sharp.

“Wait,” said his companion, hand out in placation. Laudna felt calmer with every inch that hand moved from the axe. He moved to put himself between Fearne and the gnome. “She’s a guest of Ms Hexum. We should help her get where she needs to go.”

“Yes, absolutely, you should do that,” Fearne added beguilingly. “I’m a guest.”

“So she says. She set off the wards.”

“It’s easily done,” the caster said, gazing dopily at Fearne as if expecting praise, clamouring for the gift of another smile. “They’re just proximity.”

Fearne reached out her hand, walked her fingers gently up the forearm of the charmed guard. “Can you escort me back to the sitting room?” she asked. He nodded earnestly, offered Fearne his arm.

“Stop!” the swordsman demanded, stepping into the doorway and pulling his blade into guard.

From Fearne’s side, the guard looked to his fellow in confusion. He reached out, trying to calm him, before a slight shift in his periphery startled him. His eyes snapped to the top of the doorway, widening in fear as he spotted Laudna, hanging with her head twisted under the lintel. “What the fuck is that!” he exclaimed, strangled and terrified.

“Hey!” Fearne snapped, offended on Laudna’s behalf, and backhanded his arm in reprimand. When her hand made contact, the cloud of enchantment cleared from his eyes. He inhaled sharply as his wits returned to him, as his jarred awareness sharpened. “Oh, right, right,” Fearne murmured to herself. She let out a rueful laugh. “I always forget about that part.”

His meaty fist clamped tightly around her wrist. Fearne looked to Laudna, the apology clear in the tightness around her eyes. Oops, she said.

“So, I assume you have a plan,” Laudna said. They had converged in Jrusar, had rented a room in The Spire by Fire for their conclave. Laudna was perched on the end of the bed with Imogen, legs pressed together. Fearne sat cross legged atop the desk opposite. Ashton, the last to join them, was standing with crossed arms against the door.

“I thought you would have a plan?” they said with poorly veiled belligerence. Laudna sighed. “Yeah, obviously I have a fucking plan.”

“I hope part of it is you staying very far away from that house, Ashton,” Laudna said, raising an eyebrow.

“I’m not getting in the door without all of Hexum Manor descending on me,” they agreed. “I’m keeping Jiana Hexum out while you go in.”

“And how do you plan to do that?”

“By bringing her something to make it worth her while.” Their grin was hard, slightly smug. They were looking at Imogen.

“What the fuck have I got to offer?” she scoffed disbelievingly.

“I don’t know, Godeater. Why would she possibly want to get you in her pocket.”

“I’m sorry,” Laudna snapped, deeply unapologetic, “are you suggesting we use my wife as bait?” Imogen's hand came to rest on her knee.

“No one I trust more to talk her way both in and out of trouble.” Well that was certainly fair, even if Laudna chafed at the proposition, not to mention the audacity. Imogen was silver tongued. “Come on, Laudna,” Ashton smirked. “She’s very capable.” Laudna threw a pillow at their head. It barely crossed half of the distance it needed to, flopping pathetically onto the rug. Imogen’s mage hand lifted it back onto the bed.

“So Imogen does all of the work whilst you stand around scowling,” she tutted, “and Fearne and I retrieve the item?”

Ashton pointed between them. “She’s sneaky, you’re skulky.”

“Anything further, Ashton, or does this whole plan amount to ‘steal the device back’?” Laudna had learned that there was nothing she would not do for her family. Sometimes she wished her family had a little bit more initiative.

They rolled their eyes, kicking a foot up against the door. “Braius and I did a lot of recon. We got guard numbers, shift patterns. Got eyes on a lot of the enchantments.”

“Last time we were there,” Laudna said, “any defenses were strictly magical. Constructs. Statues. Wards. Has that really changed so much?”

Ashton raised their hand, rocked it back and forth. “Kinda. They’re still there, just diminished. Word on the street is that when magic went fucking haywire during the solstice last year, things at Hexum’s went south. Statues deactivated, went walkabout. The runes flared, broke some of her fanciest shit. Some of the more disreputable citizens seized an opportunity.”

“Poor Hexum,” Imogen drawled. “Now she has to slum it with the rest of the populace and their regular old guards?” Laudna watched her out of the corner of her eye, was distracted by the dusting of freckles over her cheeks, the pull of her wry smile. With how closely they were sitting, Imogen’s hair had fallen over Laudna’s shoulder. She wished they were alone, so that she could gently push it back behind her ear. Imogen’s hand tightened on her knee; Laudna didn’t know if she had heard her thoughts, or just noticed the attention. The pressure was a promise.

“Let’s not be hasty, it’s still Hexum. She’s basically got a private militia force in the basement.”

“Full of conscripts like you, Ash, who need to pay a debt?” Laudna was always impressed that a voice so sweet could sound so scornful.

They snorted. “Can’t say she’d overly like me in uniform, not that she wouldn’t try.”

“Were your observations strictly external?” Laudna asked before they were both too derailed, before she forgot herself and fell inexorably into Imogen’s aura.

“We got pretty far in before we had any problems,” Ashton shrugged, oblivious to the creeping annoyance that climbed Laudna’s spine, the ceaseless frustration. “Braius isn’t exactly stealthy with Truthbringer, or whatever the fuck it’s called.”

“Hang on,” Imogen said slowly. Laudna could feel the disbelief radiate from her, affianced to her own. “You’re asking us to break into a house that you got caught casing? Are you fucking kidding, Ashton?”

“We didn’t get caught casing it. I went there, down on my luck, looking for some coin for a shady job. We just happened to have a look around at the same time.”

“And she bought that?”

“Well I did the fucking job for her and she paid me, so yeah. Her opinion of me isn’t exactly high.”

“Can’t imagine why. And Braius?”

“Braius can lie his way out of a paper bag.” Laudna didn’t know how she felt about them spending so much time together. “I don’t know what he said, but whatever it was she’s sitting for a portrait next month.”

Fearne, who had been watching them snipe with a bemused smile, said, “Just hear me out. I think I made a pretty good impression last time we went to visit.” She tilted her head braggingly. “She gave me that statue for free, just because I asked. I really think that if I asked her for it, she would give it back. And we can go sneak around elsewhere. I do really, really want to do the sneaking part.”

“Just because you don’t know the cost of something doesn’t mean it’s free,” Ashton said.

“Ok, but you and Jiana Hexum—” she said, but didn’t end her sentence. It was strange for Fearne to sound concerned.

“Yes, that’s a good point,” Laudna added. “We all have history with Jiana Hexum, but you especially. And, correct me if I’m mistaken, we cannot be entirely sure that she does not sit on the Chandei Quorum.”

“Laudna’s right,” Imogen said, squeezing her knee in support. “This may be bigger than we first thought. We’re not exactly the most inconspicuous group, right?” Laudna looked between them, tallied the roster: a person made entirely of rock, reforged and conspicuous; an unnervingly striking six foot faun, entrancing and conspicuous; the woman who had remade the world, unfathomably beautiful and singular, capable and conspicuous; and Laudna, a corpse, who had never not been conspicuous enough to burn. Imogen had a point. “We’re known entities. Maybe we should take a different tack?”

“You’re worried about the Quorum now?” they griped, pushing off from the wall. Their arms came to their sides, half raised in condescending disbelief. “The first thing we did as a group was fuck with the Quroum. Don’t tell me you’ve started respecting authority now, Laudna, come on.”

Laudna chewed on her lip, tried valiantly not to take the bait before inevitably clutching at it. “Alright, no,” she admitted, quick and sharp, “an anonymous aristocratic oligarchy is not a transparent and accountable form of government. I mean, it’s an improvement on decades as the sole subject of a tyrannical fiefdom, but honestly it’s a matter of sliding scales.” Laudna said it lightly, and did not feel any particular way about it, but Imogen’s hand still slid from her knee to take her own, their fingers entwining. It was not something she was going to protest.

“Look,” Ashton said, taking a folded up wad of paper from the inside of their jacket, spreading it out on the desk next to Fearne. Laudna pushed past her reluctance and stood with a sigh, pulling Imogen up with her. She peered down at the map, hoping that there was some semblance of a plan. “This is the layout, everything I’ve seen from every visit to that fucking mansion, including the first one.”

“When she shoved you out a window,” Imogen said tautly.

“Exactly, so I know there’s a fucking window here.” Ashton stubbed an angry finger into the map. “Every construct I’ve seen, every protective rune.” There was poorly hidden entreaty when they added, “Do you think you can do it?”

Fearne haphazardly draped her arm around Laudna’s shoulders. “Obviously we can do it. What kind of question is that?”

Laudna? Imogen said into her head.

What do you think, my love? Laudna leaned forward to take a closer look at the map.

I think we’re missing something. I think it’s too roughshod. Imogen’s hand tightened in hers. It did not sound like she was about to dissent.

But?

But I’m worried that if we walk away they’ll do it anyway. Laudna could tell that this was Imogen’s true fear; that something would go wrong and they wouldn’t be here to do anything about it.

Significantly messier for all involved, she agreed.

And they asked. Imogen raised her head to look at Ashton, who had come to them for help. Who had white knuckled their way through a show of vulnerability to help their friend. If the request was reversed, they would do this for her in a heartbeat.

And they asked. “Alright,” she said aloud. “Tell us about this damned artefact.”

The first eldritch blast took the guard in the side of the head, spun him around so she could catch centre mass with the second. The force of it allowed Fearne to pull her arm free; she ducked out of his reach as he drew his axe. The third punched the shoulder of the caster. The fourth went wide.

Laudna drew the shadows towards her, unshackled the magic she kept knotted tightly in her chest. The time for subtlety was over. She unleashed another volley of eldritch blasts, hit the mage again, managed to catch the gnome standing below her twice in the back before he dodged her final shot.

“Sound the alarm!” the half-orc called to his colleagues. Fearne conjured a sword made entirely of fire and took a wide, hacking swing, carving up the front of his chest. Laudna only heard his scream on the periphery of her awareness, too focused on the mage running directly towards the door.

Laudna thought of dropping on top of her, of wrapping her extended limbs around her like a strangling vine and holding her fast, but when the mage got to the door she misty stepped past in a puff of deep blue smoke. The gnome hesitated, unsure which of Laudna or Fearne to swing for. Laudna pressed the advantage and gave chase to the mage, already halfway to the top of the stairs.

There was a familiar yelp of pain from behind her. “Fearne!” she called back as she leapt from the ceiling, righting her orientation.

“Go, go!” Fearne yelled back. “I’m right behind you!” A significantly louder scream, low and growling, followed in the wake, accompanied by the uncomfortable smell of burning flesh.

The caster was getting away. Laudna ran as fast as she could but did not get any closer. Instead she harried her with beam after beam of eldritch blasts, rarely making contact but trying to impede the flight.

The mage turned and raised her hand. Laudna could see the fear in her eyes, could see her backing away even as she tried to stand her ground. Laudna’s grin was that of a predator reaching the end of a chase but as she prepared to pounce, every single one of her pathetic muscles tensed and froze. Her body denied her commands to move, to run. She was halted in her tracks.

“Intruders!” the guard yelled. Laudna fumed at the triumphant grin on the face of her assailant, but was far more concerned by the soft, quickened footsteps chasing her down the corridor. She was stuck, exposed in the open. If she didn’t move there was going to be a sword in her back. Not again, she thought, and railed against the magical hold to no avail. Imogen was going to be so upset.

A scorching ray singed the collar of her dress as it careened over her shoulder and burned the mage from chest to jaw. She cried out, young and scared, and Laudna only felt guilty for a moment before a second bolt of fire soared over her head and knocked the concentration from her captor.

Laudna regained her faculties just as the swordsman stepped within touching distance. She hastily cast mirror image, only just managing to dodge out of the way as one of her duplicates was slashed from sacrum to scapula.

She dragged herself up the wall by the fingertips, trying desperately to get out of range of the gnome with the sword, her two remaining duplicates crawling along with her. One of them made the jumping leap to the ceiling a split second before she did, the other but a moment after.

The guard sprang up after her, dashing her hopes of evading his reach. He pushed off from the dado rail, slashing at her as he crested towards the ceiling. Laudna leapt to the other wall, her doubles mirroring and obfuscating.

She lost all sense of up, all sense of down; her proprioception decided that gravity was irrelevant as she bounced and danced and fell from floor to wall to ceiling in a tumbling, frantic scramble. The guard met her jump for jump, springing and bounding interspersed with the vicious cut of his blade.

He ran one of her duplicates through as she dragged herself over the ceiling. He beheaded the other when she made a clawing vault between the walls. He outmatched her in speed and he outmatched her in dexterity.

Laudna had one saving grace, the same benediction that had protected her since the day Imogen had taken her hand and brought her back to life; Laudna was saved by her friends. The guard moved like Orym, danced like Orym, sprang and hounded like Orym. Laudna had watched Orym fight at the end of the world. She knew what Orym would do next.

She made one last daring swing from the ceiling, feinted so that he would follow her with no chance of recourse. Laudna snapped herself in half as she fell, let the dread absorb the catastrophe that would have befallen another whose body was forced to obey the laws of biology. Thoroughly shattered, she dislocated her shoulder to swing her arm behind her.

Her chilled, stretched fingers clamped around the back of his neck. His soul opened itself to her touch; she siphoned his life force and drank it down, fed the shadow inside her with his vitality. They hit the floor in a sickening embrace, her foe unconscious but breathing. Laudna bared her sharpened teeth and through them sucked a breath.

She turned the void of her eyes on the caster, huddled against the wall in fear, burned and charred. An oleander-threaded vine snapped over Laudna’s head and ensnared the mage, dragging her bodily towards them. She landed in a dishevelled pile by Laudna’s feet. Fearne had left her alive.

Fearne's warm hand clamped around her elbow and yanked her to her feet. “Are you ok?” she cried, her hands wandering over Laudna’s arms and torso. “I can heal you, do you need me to heal you?”

“I’m fine,” Laudna said. Her form of dread faded, spent, but she sank down into the wellspring of power trapped in the pinion behind her breast and wrenched it back to the surface. She could hear commotion ascending the stairs. “We have to go.” Behind them was a windowless maze. If they retreated they would be trapped. Laudna grabbed her hand and pulled her to the top of the stairs, past the bodies they had felled, past a tapestry that was starting to smoulder where a stray scorching ray had caught.

There were more guards running up the stairs, drawn by the call of intruders. It was almost beautiful, the way the fire that poured from Fearne wrapped around her own magic, as each eldritch blast forced them back and back and back. She didn’t try to be clever, didn’t try any little tricks; she forced them to yield through the sheer force of her power.

Something inside of her thrilled at the opportunity to let go, to loosen the reins she normally kept cinched tightly to her chest. She realised that fighting for her life and her heart at the end of the world might have desensitised her to the raw spill of power inside her.

So focused was she on keeping the blades back that she didn’t see the guard with his hands raised as he cradled his magic, only felt the deep, penetrating cold as it crawled into her core and froze. Laudna was no stranger to the cold; this felt like she would never thaw.

Next to her, Fearne shivered violently, let out a chattering hiss; there were delicate ice crystals forming on her lashes. Laudna spotted the caster at the base of the opposite staircase, the cone of cold dissipating in the air between them. He had caught a number of his companions in the periphery of the spell, now frozen on the stairway. An unintended boon in their escape.

Turn about was fair play. Laudna stared down with her blackened gaze and smiled with her split, cracked lips. She wrapped her shadows around the spark in his chest and pulled. There was nowhere for the energy to go, but she cast blight, tried to hollow him out, and met resistance. Her incantation tried to spill from her grasp, tried to unravel before her as the mage drew a sigil in the air, as he tried to counterspell. Unacceptable. It was unacceptable.

Her own refutation erupted from her hand as she denied him, as her power subsumed his, her counterspell parasitic and indisputable. His vitality was pulled from him through every opening; he crumpled to the floor a desiccated husk. She left a flicker of life behind from which he could claw his way back.

With the negation of the mage they had cleared a pathway to the ground floor, which they seized hastily, rounding the bannisters and dashing wildly down the grand staircase. From the bifurcated top it widened as they practically tumbled down, racing towards the entrance foyer.

The rear guard of the basement militia were waiting for them, swords drawn, clubs hefted. Fearne and Laudna stumbled to a halt halfway down the stairs, hands hovering at their sides. Laudna didn’t know if hers were up to stop any incoming force or whether to cast down at them. There was a tense, unsure pause between adversaries, all unsure as to the coming progression.

Something cracked to her right, deep and heavy. There was the sound of a landslide, the movement of a mountain. When Laudna had been here last, the gaze of the statues had followed them, had moved and shifted and tracked them, Hexum’s protective panopticon. There had been nothing like this construct, lumbering into view, hewn from the stone of the spire itself.

It dwarfed them, it overshadowed them, twelve feet of stone with empty eyes that looked at nothing but the interlopers. The guards held themselves in reserve to this giant, grins pulling across their faces. None of the other statues in the atrium shifted into animation. Laudna hoped that this was not a consolidation of power.

“Uh, was I distracted when Ashton mentioned this?” Fearne asked out of the side of her mouth. She was still gazing down at the assembled forces with an affable, nonplussed smile.

“No, no they seem to have forgotten the monumental construct about to pummel us to mush,” Laudna said lightly.

“Oh good,” she sighed. “I’d hate for this to be my fault.” This was very clearly all her fault. Laudna didn’t have the heart to break it to her, to dim the spark in her eyes. It would be like kicking a baby bird.

The statue took one step, then another, the guards drawn but holding in its wake. Laudna only had eyes for the construct. One of the guards prematurely let off his crossbow, whether in anxiety or excitement she did not care. The bolt took her in the shoulder, stuck fast all the way to the fletching.

Laudna hissed, and seethed, the pain arcing down the nerves of her arm, spreading through her chest. Any exhilaration she had previously felt curdled along with the blood that seeped into her dress, that splattered the floor like ink.

Fuck this, she thought. She wasn’t supposed to be here, bruised and battered and bleeding. She wasn’t even supposed to be in Jrusar. She was supposed to be in her little cottage, in her home, pottering in the garden, or baking in the kitchen. She was supposed to be curled up on the sofa with her fingers running gently through Imogen’s lovely hair. She was meant to be at peace with Imogen. Absolutely fuck this.

Laudna shifted her bones, rearranged her sinew and tendons. She pulsed against the bolt, assembling herself around it, behind it. The pain faded in the wake of her rage as she pushed the bolt back out from the inside. She let out a low, inhuman growl as it clattered against the stone of the stairs, wet and slick with her blood.

Oblivious to her utter loss of patience, the construct advanced. A granite fist the size of her head shattered the delicate bones of her ribs, knocked her back onto the stairs with a cry. She barely heard Fearne call her name in distress. Laudna let the dread absorb the sharp, biting pain, let the ichor that spilled within glue her fragmented body back together. The statue pulled its hand back and Laudna forced it to take her magic too, as she channeled all of her hurt and rage into an impetuous hellish rebuke.

A corona of deep purple fire sparked from the smear of blood on the construct’s knuckles, racing up the chiselled arm in a flash, a bursting coruscation. It staggered, unable to scream; the other fist demolished the stone step next to Laudna’s head.

She scrambled back out of reach, another hammering blow cracking the steps by her feet. Laudna jerked her body to standing like an ill used marionette and pulled to her the tangled strings of magic as the golem bore down. One, two eldritch blasts to the head, three, four to the chest. Fist-sized clusters of stone dislodged and shattered against the ground. The construct kept on coming.

Laudna lost her temper. No one would deny that she had more insight than most to the animation of that which should not be animated, to the puppetry of the dead or inert. A being of stone, extant by the grace of magic alone; there was no soul to grasp, no life force to siphon. Laudna reached her awareness towards the creature, slithered her essence into the cracks of its construction, bled her shadows into the very nature of the transmutation. She gathered to her as much magic as she could control without shattering, channelled it towards the construct, and took it apart.

There was no great cry, no explosive destruction; when her working of disintegrate disrupted the facsimile of life woven through the stone body of the construct, it simply ceased to exist in a state of coherence. When it tried to take the next step, the raised leg crumbled, then the hip, the torso, the chest and head, until all that remained was a generous pile of dust scattered across the grand staircase and Laudna, standing with her hand raised.

“Woah,” Fearne murmured under her breath, and she must truly have funneled a great deal of magic into her frustration if Fearne, who had seen her at her best and her worst, was surprised. A fearful pall draped over the guards blocking the door; perhaps they thought capture was assured with such a force on their side. Laudna had disassembled it with a flick of her hand.

Through? Laudna asked in Fearne’s head. The guards certainly had the numbers; they had power on their side, but it would not take much for them to be swarmed. Somewhere in the foyer, someone found either their wits or their courage; two of the statues lining the atrium, the original guardians of the manor, shifted and turned on their plinths. The movement spurred the remaining defenses; Laudna saw the glint of steel, heard the taut draw of a bowstring.

Back up? Fearne asked. An arrow glanced off the point of one of her horns. “Back up!” Laudna started to scramble backwards up the steps, unwilling to show her back to the guards. Fearne didn’t follow. Instead, she threw up her hands; a wall of fire blazed into existence at the base of the stairs, a conflagration that extended far above their heads, separating Fearne and Laudna from those who sought to harm them. Laudna could hear the shouts of fear and pain even over the roar of the flames. Satisfied, Fearne turned and ran back up.

Upon reaching the first floor, Laudna realised that their options were somewhat limited. The smouldering tapestry on the top floor had caught; smoke was pouring down the stairs, flames licking at the bannisters and carpets, stretching towards the magical inferno below. Hexum Manor was burning.

They could not go up and they could not go down. There were adversaries at their back and promises of more scattered throughout the house. It was trouble enough trying to get the two of them out, but a small part of her wished that she had the rest of the Hells at her side, that they had their troupe of losers here to watch their back. Rarely did she want to be far from Imogen; she was desperately glad that Imogen was not trapped here with them.

Without her usual resources, Laudna grasped for what she did have; there were gargoyles on the top of the newel posts at the crest of the stairs. Something friendly at their back was better than nothing. She reached out for them as she passed, acquiescing to the will of the manor; with a thought she cast animate objects and brought them to life.

They swivelled on their perches, stone wings utterly useless, and stretched out their legs. “Protect our retreat,” she commanded. She could have sworn their sharp, jagged mouths widened in matching grins, but her view was glancing. She was still running, Fearne following her lead.

Laudna led them around the side of the atrium overview to a service passage running parallel to the corridor they had first entered. If they could reach the end of the passage, there should be a window. Once they were out, they were home free. She roughly took Fearne’s hand in hers and urged her on.

It wasn’t long before she realised her mistake. This space was much narrower than the open but shadowed hallways used by the residents of the manor. There were shouts from behind them. There were half a dozen guards in front of them, attempting to use the passage as a rout. The net was closing.

“Go back,” Laudna said hastily, pulling on Fearne’s hand. “Maybe we can—“

“I can clear them,” Fearne said, determined. “At some point, we have to go through.”

“What—“ Laudna didn’t get the chance to question her further. Fearne started to shift, to transform. Laudna thought that perhaps she was going to be left to fend for herself, that Fearne would make herself small, unseen, would fly her way out; it was a course of action she agreed with. She should have known better.

Fearne’s limbs lengthened, as did her face. She grew, and grew. She fell forward onto all fours. “No, Fearne. Fearne!” Laudna cried as the space around her, the space she was currently occupying, was subsumed. “Not again! Not the horse, Fearne, it never works! Fearne!”

There was nowhere for her to go, the giant bulk of the warhorse before her practically touching the walls. Foolishly, Laudna clambered underneath her, clung to the barrel with her thighs, nails clawed into her flank like an emaciated baby monkey. This was not appropriate horse husbandry. Imogen would be so disappointed in her.

Fearne’s horse body shifted underneath her, the muscles rippling, the legs stretching. She had said she could clear them. Laudna belatedly understood what she was about to do.

A warm, calm voice caressed her mind, like the sunrise cresting over the horizon, a gentle hand against her cheek. Hi honey, Imogen said, how’s it going?

Everything’s fine, sweetheart, she lied, trying to hide the frustration from her mental voice, mask the effort it was taking not to be trampled under the hooves of her friend. She pressed her head tight to the horse’s chest. Everything is calm and we’re not having any problems at all.

Imogen paused. When her response came it was decidedly more worried. You only ever call me sweetheart when there’s a problem, Laudna.

I’m not entirely certain that’s true, she said. There were cries of alarm up ahead at the sudden appearance of a massive green horse.

Laudna, the invisibility is gone, I can tell, what—

Imogen, I’m going to have to get back to you later.

Laudna—

I love you so much! she said quickly over the objection. Bye bye bye!

The glossy coat pressed against her face was warm, almost hot. It was definitely hot. It was very hot and it was getting hotter. Fearne—

You’re getting so good with fire, Fearne said. It doesn’t hurt you, right?

What? No! Of course it hurts me! Laudna had to pull her face back from the heat. Her hands were starting to sting.

Oh. You should probably let go, then. Fearne reared up on her hind legs, Laudna clinging desperately underneath. The bray that accompanied was like nothing Laudna had ever heard, and she had recently become very knowledgeable of all things equine.

Laudna dropped. She hit the floor far harder than she anticipated, jarring her injured shoulder. She rolled out of the way of the lofted hooves, squirming and dragging herself between the rear legs and out of trampling range, sprawled in a tangle on the ground.

The horse burst into flames. She burned so brightly, incandescent in close quarters, that Laudna involuntarily threw up a hand to shield her eyes. Another shriek followed with the kicking of her hooves, and then she was gone.

Fearne charged down the corridor, aflame and merciless. Such was her bulk that Laudna could not see her quarry, could only hear the shouts, and the screams, and the familiar snap of bone. She was more concerned with the wood that panelled the walls of the passage, which was charring, and smoking, and starting to burn.

Laudna felt a tug against her magic, turned to look back down the hall towards the atrium. She heard the grind of steel against stone as her gargoyles slowed their would-be captors and were cut down for their trouble. She stumbled to her feet and turned back to pursue the horse. Fearne had vanished.

She was running before she made the choice to move. At the end of the hall were an assortment of bodies, struck down like skittles, groaning and twitching; useless. They trailed like breadcrumbs to a door, undiscovered in her earlier explorations, half closed and swinging creakingly on its hinges. She slowly pushed it open to reveal the bedchamber within, and her heart forgot how to beat.

Fearne was surrounded. No longer transformed but still alight, her beautiful faun form was bleeding from a deep gash in her side, the blood spitting in the heat of the flames before dripping to the floor. Fearne could overpower every one of these guards with barely a thought, but they were legion and she was outnumbered.

Deep breath, Laudna said calmly in her head, hoping desperately that she remembered their last stand on Ruidus. It’ll just be a tickle. Laudna knotted together as much magic as she could compress into a tight singularity, a pinprick of a spark, and cast it gently into the room.

The taut quiet ruptured as her fireball roared to life, greedy and voracious, filling the room with a deep purple fire. Laudna couldn’t see through the flames, but she heard the screams. When the ruination cleared, only Fearne remained upright in the wreckage, unscathed and beaming. Inside of Fearne there was an ancient flame. Fire could not touch her.

Laudna lost any form of high ground that she had been hoarding. The bed was on fire. The curtains were on fire. The rug and the armchair and the tapestry were on fire, the wardrobe and the chest of drawers and the dressing table. “You were always my best student!” Fearne called, her flames dancing in delight.

“I would like to leave, please.” Laudna strode into the room, stood looking up at her, hands petulantly propped on her narrow hips.

“You got it, babe.” Fearne was still grinning. Laudna had to use every ounce of her willpower to fight the puckish smile from pulling at her mouth in response, and even then she failed.

The smoke was starting to bite at her lungs; breathing was becoming harder. Laudna led them across the room, let Fearne pull open the other door to the chamber lest she burn herself.

She emerged into chaos. Servants were hastily sprinting down the corridor, the same one they had initially infiltrated, ferrying the most prized of Hexum’s collection away from the encroaching inferno. “The desk!” someone called. “Someone help me with the desk!” Laudna ducked back into the bedroom and kicked the door closed again.

“Turn the shard off,” Laudna coughed, smoke swirling around her. “We can escape in the furore.”

“Without the shard—“

“I know, I know, but it’s a shambles. We can simply walk out.” Fearne chewed on her lip, shifted her shoulders in uncertainty. “We do it together. You can go big better than almost anyone, Fearne. But you are so good at being sneaky.” She raised her hand and cupped Fearne’s cheek. The fire licked and snapped at her, but she wasn’t burned.

The searing heat against her palm began to cool as Fearne lost her glow, as she floated to the ground until her hooves touched down. She sagged against Laudna’s hand as the exhaustion set in. Laudna made her smile as encouraging as she could. “Wait,” Fearne said, closing her eyes.

Laudna blinked. When her eyes opened Fearne was gone. Instead, she was cradling the cheek of the half-orc guard who had first found them. Laudna pressed their foreheads together, narrowed her eyes conspiratorially. She could feel the soft waterfall of Fearne’s hair tangle with hers. “Sneaky,” she whispered.

“Skulky,” Fearne said softly, her stolen mouth wry.

“The window we came in was open. They must be trying to clear the smoke. A poor decision when fighting the fire, but—“

“So we go for the window. I can just,” she made a gesture with her hands, accompanied it with a whooshing noise. “Shoebill.”

“I think—“

“Actually, shit,” she cursed. “I don’t think I have enough juice to— No! No, it’s fine. It’s fine, I can do it the other way! Old school. Just jump on—“

“Inconspicuous, Fearne! A shoebill is not inconspicuous.”

“But—“

“Once we’re out we split up, I think. Meet at the rendezvous.” They needed to go soon; the guards in this room were starting to stir and the commotion on the other side of the door was becoming more frantic. There were gruffer shouts now, demands, defensive forces mixing with the house staff. Laudna was struggling to breath through the smoke, and Laudna barely needed to breathe at all.

“Laudna, I don’t want to leave you behind.” It was rare to hear her so earnest, so worried. Laudna gave her with a fond smile.

“You’re not leaving me behind. We’re executing a strategic escape. If we don’t go now, we’ll probably just suffocate.”

“Imogen would be so mad at me,” she whispered.

“Yes, let’s not break Imogen’s heart, shall we? Fearnie,” she said, tapping her lightly on the nose, “let me see your plumage.”

Laudna wrapped her hand in her skirts and opened the door. The fire hadn’t reached this far down the hallway, but she could see it starting to lick at the other end, proliferating from the foyer. The casters were trying to push it back with whatever water they could conjure, corral it with their will. She ducked behind the bulk of Fearne’s illusory form and turned her back on the flames.

It wasn’t hard to weave their way to the open window. The servants who bumped into Fearne didn’t seem to notice that the sensation didn’t align with their vision. Smoke was drifting along the ceiling; Laudna couldn’t tell whether the entire house was a lost cause.

Laudna hoisted herself into the window frame, balanced on the sill with Fearne blocking her from view. “See you soon?” Fearne asked.

“I’ll race you,” Laudna winked. Fearne flicked her hand and, with a smile, polymorphed herself back into the little flame backed woodpecker. She fluttered her wings and darted into the afternoon sunshine.

“Hey!” someone called from within. Laudna turned to see the mage that she had drained, pointing at her from the end of the hall. “Stop her!” He could barely stand, but still managed the motion required to cast magic missile. A swirl of sharp white darts shot towards her, bobbing and weaving through the chaos between them. Her own casting was more graceful, even elegant; a swish of her hand formed a silhouetted penumbra, an arcane shield. The beads of magic impacted, nullified and pointless, each one generating a small flash of purple lightning.

Laudna grinned and threw herself backwards out of the window. She let herself fall, twisting in midair; she kept her eyes on the shadows formed by the perimeter walls. Laudna raised her hand and summoned a cloud of darkness below her. When she fell through it, she stepped between the shadows, emerging at the edge of the estate. From here, she could see the smoke pouring from the upper windows of the manor, the frantic scrambling of the staff. A vibrant bird fluttered over her head.

Laudna glanced over her shoulder, spotted the overhang of a neighbouring house. She recast spider climb, just in case, then walked to the next roof in a single step.

Then she did it again, and again, and again, a network of shadows under her command. She jumped between roofs and alleys, the shelter of awnings and the shade of foliage. She walked and walked and walked until the shadows were no longer required, then tucked her hands into the pockets of her skirts and casually strolled through the streets of the Lucent Spire.

Laudna, Imogen said softly in her head, clearly worried but trying to hide it. Laudna smiled at the care in her gentle voice. Please tell me you’re alright, baby.

I’m alright, Imogen. I’ve got the device, Fearne and I are out. Truly, the Lucent Spire is a lovely place for a ramble.

Oh thank fuck, Imogen said quickly, the relief spilling from her voice. You had me worried there.

We’re heading for our prearranged rendezvous, if you have escaped Jiana Hexum’s slithering clutches?

Yeah, we’re already pretty close; Hexum bolted, she said, and Laudna was slightly disquieted by the suspicion in her tone. Wouldn’t happen to know anything about that would you, Laudna?

I’m sure I don’t know what you mean, she replied with a wince. Imogen? Don’t take too long. I’ve missed you.

Yeah, yeah me too. Even if she had been on another spire, Laudna would have felt the warmth of the smile in her voice. I’ll be there soon, honey.

Laudna turned into the alley where they’d agreed to regroup, just as a little bird alighted on her shoulder. “Let’s call it a draw,” she said, making a perch of her fist. Fearne hopped down her arm and wrapped her talons around Laudna’s thumb. “You're absolutely right, Fearne. This colouration is very fetching.” The bird pecked at her wrist in agreement.

Laudna gently flicked her hand and Fearne flew up to hover in front of her, before dropping the spell and shifting back into her regular form. She shook out her hair, stretched her shoulders. She placed a hand over the gash on her side; her hand began to glow as she healed herself. Laudna reached out and cast prestidigitation to clean some of the smoke damage from her shoulders, the blood from her corset.

“You should probably focus more on yourself,” Fearne said kindly, her hand coming to rest over the hole in Laudna’s shoulder. Laudna felt the spark of Fearne’s magic bloom on her skin, felt the tingling burn scorch its way through the muscle and sinew as her flesh knitted back together.

“Thank you, Fearne,” Laudna smiled. She cleaned the blood from her dress, cast mending to sew the hole closed. She prestidigitated the char from her collar, the dust from her hem. “I spoke with Imogen,” she said as she finished. “She and Ashton should be here shortly.”

“Great. That’s great.” Fearne was chewing on her lip, her eyes glancing to Laudna’s healed and mended shoulder. “Maybe we don’t tell Imogen everything that happened inside that house?” she asked hopefully, a nervous waver to her voice.

Laudna frowned. “I don’t lie to Imogen.”

“Not lie! I’m not asking you to lie.” Fearne spoke with her hands, waved them around in an unconvincing display of nonchalance. “Just, maybe leave out some of the details?”

Laudna tilted her head. “What did happen in there? Fearne?”

It took her a moment to respond. “I was just looking around, you know. For the thing. Milo’s thing. I didn’t see the rune; when I stepped on it it just—“ She spread her fingers wide, puffed out her cheeks. “Like that little wizard said, the cute one. Proximity.”

The itch in Laudna brain was back, the suspicious prickle that told her she had missed something. That she was being lied to. It was with a flicker of guilt she said, “Probably would have been a good time for that dispel magic scroll.”

“Right,” Fearne nodded. “You’re absolutely right.”

“Do you still have it?” Laudna asked, suspecting she knew the answer.

“Oh. Well.” Fearne laughed again. She was still standing close enough to touch. Laudna looked at her, really looked at her, in this first moment of calm. There was something tucked down her cleavage, a bump in the ample lines of her chest.

Laudna felt her understanding snap to attention, felt that elusive alignment finally right itself. Here is what you missed, it whispered. This is the thing you should have seen. Slowly, coaxing, she said, “What’s in your dress, Fearne?”

“Laudna!” Fearne’s mouth fell open in performative outrage. She pressed her hand to her breast, apparently scandalised. It conveniently covered the evidence. “What would Imogen say!”

“She’d say what’s in your fucking dress, Fearne!” Fearne’s eyes were wide in doe-eyed innocence, her smile small and guileless. Laudna didn’t buy it for a second, but still took a deep breath, tried to soften her tone. “Please tell me there is not a Pock O’Pea egg in your boobs.”

Fearne blinked once, twice. “I will if you want me to?”

Laudna let out a sigh, long and pained. By the end it was more like a groan. She walked a small circle on the spot. When she caught Fearne's eye, saw the unapologetic smile and fluttering of her lashes, she walked another. Reluctantly, she said, “Let’s see it, then.”

Fearne plunged her hand wholesale down the front of her dress. When she removed it, there was a wooden egg clutched gently in her hand. It was around the size of a goose egg, smooth and sleek and intricately carved. Fearne pressed the sides, and the top, then twisted her hands.

The egg parted and opened, birdcaged itself into an expansive, delicate lattice. On the inside there was a platform. On the platform was a shining pearl. Laudna clenched her jaw, shook her head. She dug the points of her nails into her cheeks. Irritated, she said, “Gods, the craftsmanship is genuinely stunning. That old bastard is a genius.”

Fearne turned her hands back, locked the egg into its dormant state. She cradled it like it would fracture at the slightest provocation. “It’s so beautiful. This is what happens when you are the mistress of fate,” she whispered.

“You said that before, that it was fate,” Laudna said. “What do you mean?”

“I’ve been looking for them, the eggs,” Fearne said dazedly, gazing down at her cupped hands. “I didn’t know this one was here. For it to fall into my lap—“

“Wait, you didn’t know?” Laudna interrupted. “That’s not why you’re here?”

“No?” Fearne cocked her head like a bird. “Weren’t we here to get the pipe thing? The box? I’m pretty sure we were supposed to be getting Milo’s thing. Didn’t you get it?”

“Yes,” Laudna said, mainly to herself. There were footsteps at the mouth of the alley. “Yes, I did.”

She raised her head to see Imogen and Ashton hurrying towards them, in one piece but slightly frantic. Imogen had eyes only for her. She reached out for Laudna’s cheek, gently cradled her jaw as she took stock of every inch of her. Laudna was glad she had cleaned herself up, that there was no longer a puncture wound in her shoulder. She had decided a long time ago that such a rectification didn’t count as lying.

“You’re alright?” Imogen asked. Her thumb stroked softly over the crest of Laudna’s cheek. Despite her frustration, and her rage, the warmth of Imogen’s touch elicited a tender smile.

Laudna nestled her face against Imogen’s hand. “I’m alright. Are you?”

“I’m good.” Imogen smiled and drew her hand back reluctantly.

“Did you get it?” Ashton asked eagerly. Laudna’s anger swelled, and growled, and consumed her like an infestation. Fearne hadn’t known and Laudna did not believe in coincidences.

“Did we get what?” she said, voice cold and hard. Imogen looked between them, confused but alert. Ashton seemed to take it as a challenge, squaring their shoulders.

“Did you get Milo’s device?” they said, eyes narrowed.

Laudna unslung the bag from across her back. “Oh, this?” she said lightly, and tossed it towards them. Ashton scrambled to catch it before it hit the ground, managed to hook a strap and hold tight, the artefact clattering worryingly within.

“What the fuck, Laudna?” they growled, clasping the bag to their chest. “After everything we did to get it—“

“Everything we did?” she hissed. “I suppose we did an awful lot. I mean, it was the whole reason we were here, right? Right?”

Ashton didn’t answer. Imogen tentatively said, “Laudna, honey, what are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about that,” she said, emphatically pointing towards Fearne, who was stroking the egg, practically cooing at it.

Imogen, capable, clever Imogen, did not flinch from Laudna’s anger, only planted herself by her side and snapped, “Is that from the Oblivion Edition?” She turned her glare on Ashton.

They sighed. “Look—“

“Don’t you look me, Ashton,” Laudna said. “Was this whole thing a ruse?”

“No!” With uncharacteristic care, they tucked the bag over their shoulder. “I didn’t know the fucking egg was there until I started trying to get Milo’s shit back. I saw it in a fucking ledger, alright. And I thought, you know, two birds—“

“One dense lump of stone that I am going to punt into a wall.” Laudna angrily posted her hands on her hips. Imogen crossed her arms, sentinel at her side. “I can tell you’ve been hanging out with Braius because you’ve become a betrayer.”

“Did you forget about them trying to take that shard?” Imogen added, voice hard and sharp, absent her usual warmth.

“Thank you, darling, you’re absolutely right. You’ve just regressed without constant supervision!” Ashton worked their jaw. Laudna was surprised that they had the grace to look shamefaced. “You should have told us,” she said, her anger tempered slightly, the hurt bleeding through. “We still would have helped if you’d told us, and we wouldn’t be in this mess.”

“What happened?” Imogen asked her softly. Laudna glanced at Fearne, who was looking at her pleadingly from under her lashes.

Imogen raised an eyebrow. “We burned down Hexum Manor,” Laudna blurted. Imogen’s eyes widened.

“Laudna!” Fearne whined, holding the egg to her chest.

“What? It’s not like she wouldn’t have found out!”

“All she did was raise an eyebrow!”

“Yes, and it was devastating.” Laudna tried to keep the petulance from her pout and didn’t know if she was successful. She tugged absently at the ends of her hair until Imogen’s hands gently took hers unwound them. “We set it on fire when we were trying to escape. Accidentally. Kind of. It was— not quiet.”

“Explains why Hexum scarpered out of nowhere,” Ashton said to Imogen. They had the gall to sound gleeful.

“Also, everyone saw us do it,” Laudna added. “And she definitely knows it was us. And probably you. I don’t think she would have noticed Milo’s little rustbag going walkabout, but the egg…”

“Right,” Imogen said softly, squeezing her hands. “We should probably make ourselves scarce, then.” There was a moment of quiet as they looked between one another.

“I’m Wildemount bound in the morning,” Ashton admitted, hoisting the bag.

“Nana said she’d be watching, that she’d pick me up.” Fearne didn’t take her eyes from the egg.

“Good,” Imogen said, but her lovely voice was tinged with melancholy. “That’s good.” Laudna tangled their fingers together. Imogen smiled. “Home?”

“Home,” Laudna agreed.

Fearne fell upon them, an arm around each of their shoulders. “Come visit soon?” she whispered to them. “Whenever you want, ok?”

“You’ll come see the house?” Laudna said softly in her ear. “There’s a spare room with your name on it.”

“Promise.” She pulled back with a smile. The egg was tucked back into her cleavage.

Imogen led Laudna by the hand. They paused by Ashton, though she was still too angry to hug them. “You enjoyed it,” they said. They were brash, and goading, but she could tell it was a veneer, a poor attempt to mask their hesitance. “At least part of it.”

“I did not, you absolute bastard,” she lied. Imogen turned away to hide her smile.

“Yes you did,” they retorted, surety firmly reestablished in one fell swoop. “You’re a terrible liar.”

“Get fucked, Ashton. It’s a five bottle toll next time you show your face and I make no promises about the smiting.”

When they were halfway down the alley, Aston called after them. “Thank you,” they said. Imogen and Laudna turned back. “I won’t forget this.”

Laudna smiled slowly, watched the unnatural shiver run down Ashton’s back. They’d earned the unsettling presence. With a thousand voices, she whispered, “Neither will we.”

“Haven’t you heard the stories about witches in the woods,” Imogen said, saccharine and dangerous. “Sleep well, Ashton.”

Ashton’s delighted laugh followed them back to the leafy thoroughfare. As they rounded the corner, Laudna glanced back to see Fearne kiss them on the cheek. “Thank you,” she said, private and intimate. Laudna hadn’t known that Ashton could blush.

“Want to take a walk first? See some of the old haunts?” Imogen asked, content to amble through the affluence of the Lucent Spire. It had been unthinkable when they’d lived here, but they’d argued with world leaders, appealed to royalty. Imogen had convinced a pantheon of gods to forsake their divinity. The aristocracy of the Mahaan houses meant nothing to them. “You know, so we have some legitimacy and aren’t actively fleeing a crime scene.”

They walked in companionable silence towards the gondola, hand in hand. Laudna ignored the trail of smoke rising behind them. It was lovely to be back in the place that they had called home. It was nicer to welcome the anticipation of winding down in their cottage, just the two of them. “Did you get hurt?” Imogen asked quietly as they strolled.

“Only a little,” Laudna said honestly. “Fearne patched me up. Good as new.” Imogen tightened her grip.

“I didn’t like not being there,” she confessed.

“I know, my love. I kept turning around, expecting to see you next to me.” Laudna nodded towards the gondola. “Are you alright with this?”

Imogen bit her lip, surprised her by clutching tight around her waist. “Why waste the silver.” Laudna wrapped her arms around Imogen’s neck as her feet lifted from the ground, a crackle of static permeating the air.

Imogen held her close as she flew them towards the Core Spire, Laudna’s arms tight around her shoulders. Laudna kissed her cheek, her temple, kissed along her jaw. “Careful,” Imogen laughed. “Don’t distract me too much; it’s a long way down!” When they landed, Imogen was grinning. Laudna didn’t know what she’d done that meant she got to spend the rest of her life with this woman, but she wouldn’t give it up for the world.

They checked in on Zhudanna, then wandered lazily through the Vertical Gardens. The sun was starting to set when they reached the market, haggling for odds and ends to take home for a late dinner.

They were on their way out when Imogen slowed, her eyes shining with fondness. “This was where we had our first kiss,” she said quietly. She reached up and tucked a stray lock of hair behind Laudna’s ear, leaned in to kiss her.

“Wait,” Laudna said hastily, and Imogen stopped. Laudna pulled her three feet to the left, switched their positions. “This is where we had our first kiss.” Laudna drew her close and kissed her. It was not that first, nervous touch of their lips, but rather a kiss of contentment, of home. Imogen hummed into her mouth.

Laudna broke away abruptly; Imogen didn’t even flinch. “There were so many Pock O’Pea originals in that house, Imogen,” she whispered.

Her wife smiled, kissed her gently. “Let’s not tell him.” Laudna nodded in agreement. “At least until he finishes the doors, ok?” Imogen leaned in, whispered in her ear. “I’m sure whatever you asked for is going to be beautiful, baby.”

Laudna sighed, unsurprised. She was graced with a soft laugh in her ear. “Ready to go home?” she asked.

“Always,” Imogen smiled. She grasped the staff on her belt, pulled Laudna in close, and took them home.