Emma's kneecaps throbbed painfully, but she remained perfectly still, kneeling beside Vakyr's chair as he had instructed her to. Today's conclave had been going on for at least an hour, and she hadn't moved a muscle. The curse he'd put on her was strong, and she had to pick her battles. She hadn't spoken a single word, not yet. That was the important thing. He'd commanded her not to speak unless it was to answer his questions about the girl in the prophecy, and that she would never do even if it meant never speaking another word as long as she lived. And if the price was obeying him meekly when he told her to follow him, and even kneeling like a dog next to his chair, she would do it, as long as she could hang on to enough inner resources to resist his questions. It had been three days since he'd cursed her, three days of constant cruelty, but she was stilling hanging on to her silence.

"Brother Maiv," said Vakyr. Something in his tone caught Emma's attention. She'd hoped these daily conclaves would provide information that she could use, but so far it had been a never-ending series of reports on topics like rations, harvesting, recruitment efforts and the like. She knew Regina would've found it all endlessly fascinating, but Emma tuned out quickly. Her mind wandered inevitably to the Jolly Roger, and to her husband and daughter, and she let herself float in a pleasant daydream for a time. Vakyr's voice called her back to herself. He didn't like this Brother Maiv, whoever he was. Emma studied the old man who had approached Vakyr's chair at the head of the assembly.

Maiv was openly studying her in return. He was elderly, small in stature and slightly stooped, but there was an underlying strength to him as he faced Vakyr. Most, if not all, of the Brothers reporting to him throughout these conclaves delivered their news with nervousness, eyes downcast. But not this Maiv, who appeared unfazed.

"Brother Vakyr," replied Maiv, with a polite nod.

"What brings you to the conclave this evening? Has something disturbed your rest? Tell me of it, so that I may help."

Vakyr's words were soft, but there was an unmistakable iciness beneath. Maiv smiled indulgently.

"There is a rumor, exaggerated, I'm sure, that you have created an Ond-Praell," said Maiv, his eyes darting to Emma, "and I have assured our brethren that this is untrue, as no Brother would be so foolish as to disobey Odin himself."

Vakyr smiled without warmth and reached down to grab Emma's neck. He forced her to turn, still on her knees, so as to display her bare back to the assembled Brothers. With perverse delicacy, he lifted her blonde hair over her shoulder to improve the view. She'd been dressed that evening, as she had every day since the curse, in a black gown of rough wool, which hid the dark obsidian cuff that still wrapped her right wrist and blocked her magic. The dress was extremely modest except for the fully exposed back, the purpose of which she now understood. He intended to flaunt what he'd done to her. A surge of fury, not entirely her own, caused her to clench her hands to avoid hitting something. Vakyr was not happy to be challenged. It was hard to tell the difference between her own emotions and his at times. This damned curse had connected them in some way she was still trying to understand.

The crowd gasped and murmured at seeing the lacy pattern of scars that covered her from the neck down. She'd mustered enough courage to peek briefly at it in the mirror that first day, and had avoided it ever since, horrified. Vakyr had taken his time carving her up not just out of sadistic pleasure, though that was definitely part of it, but because he was actually drawing the symbols he needed for this horrible curse directly into her skin. It made her feel nauseous to think of Killian seeing her like this.

Vakyr's grip on her neck relaxed and she swung back to face Maiv and the crowd. She kept her head held high, refusing to look weak. There were many Brothers smirking openly, enjoying Vakyr's display of her, but several looked appalled, or like Maiv, disgusted.

"So, it's true. You have disobeyed the gods and created a soul-slave of this human. Why?" asked the old man, softly. His eyes glittered with anger.

"Because she is our enemy. Have you forgotten that she melted half our Temple a week gone? Have you forgotten our brethren she killed? She is touched by the Diviner, and she has information that will lead us to victory. So yes, I used a curse that will deliver what I require. I do as I must to serve Odin, even if that means bending the rules on occasion."

There was muttering in the assembly, mostly approving, but not all. Emma tried to take in the scene, memorize faces of those who were for or against Vakyr's treatment of her. She caught sight of the young acolyte who'd carried her from the torture tower that first morning. He was watching her and frowning, pale and miserable-looking. The boy flinched when he realized she was watching him, and melted back into the crowd, but not before she saw his eyes flicker to Maiv, as if for guidance. Interesting. Perhaps she could find allies even here, inside the Temple itself.

"And have you learned anything of value? No one has yet heard her speak a word."

"I have bound her to say nothing until she answers my questions. Until then, not a word can she utter, on pain of death. She is strong, but I will get what I need, eventually. No one can resist the power of this curse forever. But at least, as you can see, she has come to heel nicely."

There were malicious chuckles at this last.

"Yes, it is a powerful curse indeed. Which is why Ond-praell were forbidden during the Long War, by Odin himself, and the way of it purged from our knowledge. You think yourself above the gods, my Brother?"

"How do you think I learned how to cast the curse? I recovered the Wanderer. I raised him from obscurity and returned his memories, including the casting of the Ond-Praell, which he shared with me, his counselor and friend. I will walk beside him as we conquer the nine worlds, as Asgard was meant to do!"

Cheers and shouts erupted from the crowd. Maiv pressed his lips into a thin line and scowled at the assembly.

"Found the Wanderer you did. Restored his memories, you did, though we can debate the wisdom of your methods. But where is he, Vakyr? We hear that Odin has abandoned your wise counsel, and Wanders the worlds without the Order's guiding hand."

Fury, white hot, seethed in Vakyr, and transmitted itself to Emma. She wanted to strike out at Maiv, to hurt him, and restrained herself with difficulty. What the hell was this curse doing to her? She fought the tide of foreign emotion, biting the inside of her cheek so hard it bled.

"Lies. The boy is being trained in secret, for his own protection, until he fully regains his powers and knowledge. The Order guides him, until such time as he is ready to rule once more," replied Vakyr, eyes glittering.

Emma tried to focus. Vakyr was lying, she was sure of it. Her gift told her as much, and it was affirmed by the small flicker of panic she could sense through the curse-bond. Her heart beat faster. This was news she could use to fight Asgard, when she finally got the hell out of here.

"Reports have reached our ears which say otherwise-" began Maiv.

"False rumors, planted by our enemies! This woman, who you seem to pity so much, is one such enemy. Just days ago, we buried our murdered brethren - dead at her hands!- and yet you condemn my use of a forbidden curse to find out what she knows? Be glad, old man, that one among us has the balls to fight for Asgard, with whatever weapons are to hand. I tire of your questions, old man. This conclave is at an end. Dismissed!"

Vakyr rose and stalked from the chamber, acolytes scurrying to get out of his way as he went. Emma followed, but not before casting one last look at Maiv, who stood stroking his beard thoughtfully. Whoever he was, he'd just hit a nerve with Vakyr. And that was something she could use.

00000

Emma took the punch, and heard her nose crack. She didn't fight back, since Vakyr didn't want her to. They were in his private quarters, and she was absorbing the brunt of his anger after the audience he'd just had with Maiv. The curse meant that each blow he landed on her body pleased Vakyr, which, grotesquely, pleased her, too. She was racked by physical pain, yet happy about it at the same time. It was so messed up.

"Do you want me to stop, my pet?" panted Vakyr, running his hand gently through her hair. He traced her bloodied lip with his thumb.

Emma stood quietly, waiting for the next blow, with a touch of eagerness that disgusted her. She knew it was Vakyr's eagerness, and not her own, but that didn't make it easier to ignore.

"No, I thought not," he whispered, slapping her with an open hand. She could feel his glee, his surge of joy at causing her pain, and it was her own joy as well. There was something else this time, something she'd dreaded but hadn't had to face yet. He stalked toward her with a wild expression. He whirled her around so her back was to him and bent her forcefully over the table. She felt his excitement, his tongue against her skin as he traced the scars with his lips. She shuddered with disgust. His hand was raising her skirts. Panic broke through her trance, and she struggled against him, but he held her firmly.

"Tell me your name, and I'll stop. Just your name, one word, and this will end!"

Emma shook her head firmly, fear giving her the strength to resist his assaults, both physical and mental. She raked a foot down his shin, and snapped her head back, taking him squarely in the nose and breaking it in turn. In that moment, she learned quickly another aspect of the curse: his pain became hers, but magnified by a thousand. She collapsed in agony, screaming silently as her world turned to fire. It was pain like she'd never felt, worse than having her back flayed open, and it obliterated her. She lay panting on the rug, willing it to end.

"I see you've learned what happens when a Praell attacks her master," spat Vakyr, holding his sleeve to his nose. "It hurts, yes? Let's begin again, pet."

He started toward her but was interrupted by a knock on the door.

"What is it?" he snarled, stomping over and flinging the door open.

Emma saw the same acolyte who'd been in the audience, the one who'd carried her that first day. The one who, she thought, was working with Maiv. He carried a tray, and stared wide-eyed at their bloodied faces.

"Your wine, sir," he squeaked, the silver service clattering in his hands.

"Put it on the table and get out."

As the acolyte passed Emma, he cast a meaningful glance at the wine and shook his head imperceptibly. She froze. Was he giving her a message? Was the wine dosed? The acolyte poured two goblets and backed out of the room, head bowed.

"Fetch a healer," Vakyr barked at the boy, before slamming the door in his face.

Vakyr spat a mouthful of blood at Emma, spattering her dress, which was already liberally soaked with her own blood. She flinched, but didn't otherwise react. The aftermath of that pain was still ricocheting through her body, and she was trying to deepen and control her breathing.

"Here, drink," he said, gruffly handing her a goblet. She remembered the acolyte's head shake, and only pretended to sip as Vakyr took several long swallows.

"You must speak to me. I have to know. I have to know about her," mumbled Vakyr, sitting down heavily on a chair.

Emma pretended to sip again, sitting opposite him at the table.

"You know who she is, I can sense it. Or, at least, you know this woman, the Savior. The girl's mother. Perhaps you are she, though what could've induced you to abandon a young child, I can't imagine…no, it can't be you…"

Emma carefully kept her expression smooth, though her insides were churning as if she'd swallowed battery acid. Vakyr's lids were drooping, and his next words were slurred.

"I have to find the girl, to destroy her, before she can destroy him. It's my fault…I…ruined…his…Torsten's mind. Gone mad. I returned all Odin's memories to him too…fast…too…much. Couldn't foresee what it would do. Have to help him…save him…save Asgard, before she…she…"

The goblet of wine slipped from his fingers, landing on the carpet with a thud. Vakyr snored gently, bubbles forming in the blood drying around his nose. Emma set down the goblet with a sigh and rubbed her temples. She was only ever able to relax when Vakyr was unconscious, and whatever he'd been dosed with had put him deeply under.

The door swung open silently, and the acolyte slipped inside. He tossed her a cloak, and motioned her to rise and follow him. She ignored him, and waited patiently for him to explain himself. He returned to the table, casting nervous looks at the door. He poured water on a cloth and passed it to her to clean the blood off her face.

"My name is Mekri, and I work for Brother Maiv," he whispered. "Not everyone agrees with Vakyr about your treatment, or about the war. Maiv pressed him today about Odin because we believe Vakyr hasn't been truthful with the Order about him. Now, if you want to get out of Asgard, you'll come with me, now!"

She wasn't necessarily convinced that the acolyte was on her side, but he was telling her the truth. He was going to help her escape, and Emma supposed she didn't really care what his motivations were. She donned the cloak, hooding her face, and followed him into the hallway. Emma's heart was pounding in her ears. Vakyr hadn't explicitly forbidden her to escape, thankfully. She'd not been able to disobey direct orders, either issued by Vakyr himself or otherwise dictated by the magic cuff around her wrist. As they neared one of the small rear gates, she kept waiting for an alarm to sound, or for some magical barrier to rise up and trap her. But nothing happened. They reached the door, which was mysteriously unguarded. Maiv had planned this well. Mekri led her through unmolested, and they merged into the flow of the city around them. He was clearly nervous, watching the crowd as though expecting to be pounced on at any moment. She nudged him with her elbow and rolled her eyes, indicating he needed to chill out.

"I'm drawing too much attention, aren't I?" he asked, licking his lips nervously. He was just a kid, even younger than Henry. She gave his arm a reassuring squeeze, and was rewarded with a hesitant smile. They continued on, wending their way toward the city gates. She wanted to ask what the plan was, and was trying to figure out how to get her point across, when Mekri stumbled beside her. He looked down in confusion at the arrow sticking out of his chest, as did Emma. She turned to see gray clad men running toward them. Several people screamed. "Run," he gasped, pushing her forward.

And she did. Not looking back, she dashed through the crowds, which were chaotic with panicked citizens trying to escape the melee. She wasn't entirely sure where she was at first, but soon stumbled upon a familiar street. She darted through side alleys, avoiding people as much as possible, until she reached her destination. Rapping on the door of the Golden Cup, she prayed that Jael was still there, and willing to help her.

0000

"I must say you've looked better, darling," said Jael, surveying her swollen nose and bruising.

She rolled her eyes and said nothing, gesturing excitedly that she needed to get the hell out of Asagarth. She pulled on her red leather jacket and checked through the contents of her satchel. The old man had kept everything safe for her. It felt reassuring to strap her gun to her hip, as strange as it looked over the dress. Being without magic made her feel way too vulnerable.

"Yes, I'd heard about the hideous spell Vakyr cast upon you. Here, try this," he said, handing her a pad of paper from his desk. She scribbled quickly and handed it back.

Jael put on his spectacles and read aloud: "Trouble must leave now secret pls help."

Emma clasped her hands together in a universal symbol for begging.

"I thought as much, my dear. This way, hurry," said Jael, leading her toward one of the bookcases. He tugged on a candlestick and it swung open silently. He gestured her to follow him. The passage was low and narrow, so they had to crouch. Jael moved nimbly despite his age, and obviously knew the passage well enough to not need a torch. Emma followed in his footsteps, hoping this led somewhere outside the city walls. The path branched several times, leading, she assumed, to various places Jael preferred to visit secretly. It was certainly handy, knowing a former Spymaster. They emerged at last into a field just south of the castle, popping up beneath a rock which Jael shifted to the side. They climbed out, and took a moment to catch their breaths.

"Now, I assume your way lies to the south, as it did before you were captured? Good, there is a band of Xoraxai on their way south down the main road. They left the city this morning and you should be able to catch up to them if you hurry. They are not fast travelers, as you know. Ask for Boyash, or, er, hand them a note asking for Boyash, and tell him I sent you. They will conceal you amongst them."

Emma had recognized the name. It was the same band of Xoraxai they'd traveled with on the way into Asagarth. It seemed like a lifetime ago. Emma pulled Jael into a brief hug, planting a kiss on his cheek in thanks.

"Good luck, my dear," he said, kissing her hand. He winked as he disappeared back into his tunnel, and pulled the rock back into place. Emma set off in the deepening twilight, trying to put as much distance as possible between herself and Vakyr before he woke up.

000000

"It's you!" exclaimed Boyash, rushing forward to greet her. The Xoraxai hadn't gotten very far beyond the city before making camp for the night. He drew her to sit with them at the fire, sharing the meal they'd prepared. He'd attempted the formal greeting of the Xoraxai, but Emma had indicated she was unable to speak. It didn't seem to matter much, since Boyash made enough conversation for both of them. He pattered on about the poor quality of trade in Asagarth, and how the war was adversely affecting the flower and silver trades. Emma wrote on her little notepad asking if he, by chance, still had her old clothes, which she'd traded for a dress last time they crossed paths.

"You're in luck! No one has wanted to trade for them. Come, this way."

His wife, Lhyia, embraced her warmly and led her to the vividly painted wagon that held the clothing and supplies. After some rifling, Emma happily exchanged her black wool dress for her jeans and sweater, sighing with delight to be back in normal clothing. Feeling more like herself than she had in ages, she shouldered her pack and handed Lhyia a note asking for food and water. Though Jael had told her to travel hidden with the Xoraxai, she knew she was placing them in danger just by being here.

"Of course, you may take whatever you need. But surely you aren't planning on traveling tonight?" asked Lhyia, aghast that she wanted to strike out on her own after dark.

"You should camp with us, young lady. There's a storm brewing. And with ruffians on the road these days, you shouldn't be alone at night," added Boyash.

Emma looked off to the west, and saw that storm clouds were, in fact, gathering. Just great. She sighed tiredly. It had been a long day, and her broken nose was throbbing unhappily. She hadn't looked in a mirror, but she was sure she had a couple of black eyes to go along with it. She wanted desperately to lie down and sleep. But she squared her shoulders. Scribbling on her pad, she thanked her hosts and added, in the formal goodbye of the Xoraxai, 'May our steps cross again one day.'

Boyash and Lhyia exchanged worried glances. They put hands to heart, and bowed. "May our steps cross again."

A clap of thunder sounded in the distance as she turned to depart. Emma grimaced, pondering a night spent trudging through wet grass. A bolt of lightning illuminated the fields, and she saw, to her horror, a pair of Sentinels a hundred yards out, and gaining fast. She grabbed Boyash's arm and pointed them out. Lhyia began barking orders, telling her people to run and hide. Boyash pushed Emma toward the woods. "Run!"

She ran, tears streaming down her face. She shouldn't have come to them. Shouldn't have put these people in danger. There were children in the camp, for god's sake! She was such an idiot. Of course the Order would send Sentinels. Of course they would be willing to hurt or kill anyone who helped her! She had just reached the shelter of the trees when she felt a stabbing pain in her side. A small silver dagger was sticking out from her ribs. A gray-robed acolyte was running toward her, shouting triumphantly. She tugged the blade from her body and gripped the slick blade with trembling fingers. She threw it back with a strength borne of desperation. It was hard to say which of them, her or the acolyte, was more surprised when it sunk to the hilt in his chest. He fell silently to the grass, a boy no more than eighteen. Emma felt sick, and not just because of the hole in her chest. She ran deeper into the woods, trying to ignore the taste of blood in her mouth.