MD3: Cross Purposes Chapter 31: Epilogue I, a frozen fanfic

Cross Purposes

by Concolor44

. . .

Author's Note:

Today is 15 December 2019. It's been three months since the last update, which is quite simply unacceptable, and for that I apologize. Life's been kicking my ass.

Welp. Here we are at the end … eh, the beginning of the end. The Epilogue is in three parts, which will be published a week apart so that I don't drop a 16,000-word behemoth on you.

Please pay close attention to the time-and-date stamps. Things move along much more quickly than they have been up to now.

Epilogue, Part I

. . .

King Charles's private chambers, Friday 10 June 1842, 10:00pm

The King's gaze whipped up from the parchment he'd been reading, giving Josef Sundberg a narrow eye. "Twenty-seven? That rash bastard cost me twenty-seven dragoons?"

The Courier didn't flinch under his Sovereign's glare. "Twenty-seven dragoons and one scout. He was the first to encounter the Sentinel that, ah, stopped them." Sundberg had caught up with the invasion force the day before. Once out of Arendelle, they had stopped to rest for three days, taking time to bury the dead with appropriate honors, and then spent another day in official mourning. They hadn't pushed their horses or the soldiers on the trip back, and wouldn't be arriving in Stockholm until late the next day.

Charles paced in front of his desk, then circled it and dropped into his seat, muttering a few dire curses. Rubbing his face with the heels of his hands, he sighed and said, "At least it wasn't the whole force. But by God, I want to know what that blackguard did."

"Aronsson, Your Majesty?"

Leaning back in his chair, the King said, tiredly, "Yes. I'd had second thoughts about allowing him the second-in-command spot, but Bladberg was insistent. Said Aronsson's hawkish ways wouldn't matter since he'd be under his direct orders, and lauded the man for his strategic ability. And then Fate had to take a hand, witty little bastard that he is." He pounded a fist on the desk, silently furious that the Marshal was still comatose. "I want every scrap, every stick of Aronsson's effects examined. I want to know if he was in any way responsible for this debacle. And if he was, his rank will be voided and his name struck from our records." Realizing then whom it was he was addressing, he gave a grunt and said, "But why am I telling you this? Go back to your post. Have the Sergeant-at-Arms come see me. Roust him from his bed if you must. I want the right men in place to do the search as soon as the cohort gets back."

Josef Sundberg saluted, bowed, and hurried off to do his King's bidding.

Charles picked up the other official parchment, the one from Queen Elsa. Her story, incredible though it was, stopped short of giving many details. It made him intensely curious. What sort of artefact had the kind of power she'd claimed? Were there more? Were they dangerous to anyone, or only those who could use magic? Those answers might be important at some point in the future. He dropped it back on his desk, grunting again. "Eh. Not like it matters now. And she certainly seems unwilling to blame Sweden, which is all to the good." With a resigned shrug, he got up and went to pour himself a snifter of brandy.

. . .

Arendelle, Mikael Naismith's office, Saturday 11 June 1842, 8:10am

The Admiral was still reading through his first piece of mail when his door opened and Nicolai Petrov slid in. He gave the old man an abbreviated salute and said, "I was told you wanted to see me."

"Ah, Nic, yes, come in please. Close the door." Once that was done (and knowing the ex-assassin would rather stand) Mikael came right to the point. "When did you get back?"

"Last night, shortly after the evening meal."

"Good, good. Doubtless, then, you have heard all about the late unpleasantness."

Nicolai gave a stiff nod. It irked him more than he could express that he hadn't been around to battle (or prevent) any of the awful things that had befallen Arendelle and its Sovereign.

"Well and good. I have a job for you. It's directly related to what happened to the Queen."

That perked him up. "I am at your command, sir."

"Our Queen was lured to the site of her abduction by a false cry for help. Elsa went to heal a farmer who had supposedly fallen on a pitchfork, but there was no injury; instead, she was brought low by that accursed Hand thing."

This was news to Nicolai, and it cost him a bit to contain his anger. "Her mission of mercy was nothing but a ruse?"

"Correct." Mikael held up a hand to calm the man. "As you likely have not yet heard, our illustrious King Consort dealt with the kidnappers in a manner most final."

"Oh?"

"Nothing left to bury."

"Huh. Okay. Good."

"But that was only the kidnappers. What I want you to do is track down the one who sent the message for help."

"… That was … there was someone else?"

"Yes. A citizen of Arendelle; she had a Lens. But that, and a physical description, is all we've been able to discover so far."

"… If she had a Lens, shouldn't our Lady Queen have been able to track her with it?"

"I brought up that very point myself. Her Majesty explained that due to the extremely broad and diffuse nature of the protection it offered, no single Lens was in any way remarkable. She can't tell one from another, even when they are close."

"I see." His fertile mind already busy outlining the investigation, Nicolai asked, "Who have you had working on it?"

Mikael couldn't help a smirk as he passed him an envelope. "Everything we have uncovered to date is in there, including the Queen's account of the attack, Carlos's statement of how he rescued her, and the warrants for their arrest. Good hunting."

Nicolai hesitated. "Arrest? Am I to assume this is not exactly like my last mission?"

"Correct. We want her back alive – or them, since the supposedly-injured man might have been with her rather than the kidnappers. Our Queen has questions for them."

"It shall be as you say."

. . .

The Tarred Rope pub near Arendelle's docks, Friday 17 June 1842, midnight

The barkeep shuffled over to the old woman at the corner table. "Yah?"

She wore a long cloak with a hood, odd considering the weather, but the barkeep figured she was from somewhere farther south (or her advanced age had thinned her blood). Dimly-lit though the place was, a small lantern hung on the wall nearby. When she turned her head and spoke, he caught a glimpse of her mouth: her lower teeth were like a row of tiny black marbles. All she said in her cracked, dry voice was, "Beer."

He nodded and ambled back to his station, poured her a beer (they only had the one keg tapped) and delivered it.

She watched him closely as he walked away, feeling around in his mind for more answers. The citizens of Arendelle were, as best she could tell with her admittedly limited experience, an appallingly law-abiding collection. This fellow was one of the few exceptions, though he kept his dealings under the table, his goals close to his chest. He'd taken a bribe to look the other way some few weeks back when a mob of mercenaries tried to topple the throne. From her previous three days in this quaint burg she deduced that fact would get him lynched if it became public knowledge. Not that she cared.

No, the only thing occupying her interest was finding the one responsible for the destruction of her hut. She'd made a promise to deal – harshly – with the culprit, once identified, and Baba Yaga didn't make promises on a whim.

A few things had slowed her search, though, not the least of which was the Queen herself. When she had made her way into the castle courtyard earlier this day, and cast her mind out to find the answers she sought, she ran into not one, but two psychic shields stronger than any she'd before encountered. Quickly she drew her consciousness back within and shrouded it to the best of her ability. In that nearly-instantaneous contact she was able to identify one as belonging to the King Consort. The other, logically, was Elsa's.

This led her into some serious thought. She'd long prided herself on her use of logic, and everything she had learned to date led her to the conclusion that she should simply talk with the Queen, who might likely know at least some of the answers she sought.

Ah, well. When all other paths were barred, one had to take what was left. She finished her beer, laid an ancient coin on the table, and left.

. . .

Arendelle Castle, Saturday 18 June 1842, 9:08am

The guards at the gate hadn't seen her, but then they were somewhat distracted by the construction going on.

The guards at the great doors hadn't seen her because she didn't wish for them to.

The guard in the hallway to the throne room hadn't seen her, or heard her, either.

When she got there and stood before the large, icy creation, she had to grin. The Snow Queen certainly was fond of her art. Baba Yaga settled herself at the foot of the dais, closed her eyes, and opened her mind …

. . .

Elsa had pressed upon Carlos to lounge in bed for a while to see what things might prevail. Said things were just heating up nicely when they detected a mental probe. He sent his wife a questioning look. She sighed and shrugged her shoulders in irritation. He gave her head a light skritch.

She complained, [[ It's been three days! ]]

[[ Let's revisit the topic once we've dealt with this. ]]

[[ Eh. At least she's being polite, whoever she is. ]]

[[ She's not Fey. Feels more like some of the witches I've run into before. ]]

[[ We'll keep our shields up. ]]

[[ Too true. ]] He slipped out of bed and started dressing.

Five minutes later, flanked by half a dozen of the Queen's Own, they entered the throne room.

[[ Well. That's … not what I expected. ]]

[[ True. ]] Carlos frowned in sudden, furious thought. [[ You know, I think I might know who that is. ]]

Meanwhile, Baba Yaga had gained her feet. She made an abbreviated bow and said, in heavily accented Swedish, "Morning to you, Your Majesty."

Carlos switched to Russian. "And good day to you, Baba Yaga."

If she was surprised he knew her identity, she hid it well. "Good. You speak proper language."

[[ Baba Yaga? You mean THE Baba Yaga!? ]]

[[ Absolutely! ]] He couldn't quite contain his grin at meeting a living legend. "To what do we owe the pleasure of this visit?"

The old witch wagged her head. "Not so much pleasure. I have been made homeless by an attack of dark magic, and seek those responsible." Giving a jerk of a thumb in the vague direction of the city, she continued, "For three days I search the city to find him. He is not here. But my craft tells me you may know." Catching the look that passed between the couple, she gave a short cackle and commented. "Yes. Right again."

Elsa asked, "Did this attack happen on the twenty-fourth of last month?"

She waved off the question. "Don't know from months. Happened twenty-five days ago."

Carlos counted briefly and nodded. "That matches."

"Ah. So." She crossed her arms. "What was it?"

It took close to ten minutes for the couple to explain all the details of the attack on Elsa. About halfway through, Baba Yaga betrayed a sense of recognition, and by the end – where they'd all taken seats on the dais – was nodding her head. "I know of that thing. Hellish thing it was. Cursed left, right, and center."

With barely-damped excitement, Elsa asked, "Where did it come from? Are there any more?"

"Ah. No. Just the one. Legend has it that Hand came from a troll."

"… Huh." Carlos frowned over that information. "Now that you say so, it did sort of resemble a troll's hand. Kind of long, but three-fingered and grayish green."

She gave him the eye. "… You know of trolls?"

"We do. We have a rather good relationship with the local tribe."

"Hmh. Well. That's as may be. I'd watch my back around 'em. Got their own ideas, their own ends, and seldom do they find accord with Mankind." She stretched out a leg with a groan. "Not as spry as I was at a hundred and thirty."

"I'd imagine not. You're fully human, correct?"

"Yes." She paused and then gave a dry chuckle. "I know I'll have to die sometime, but the Reaper will have to chase me down."

That made Elsa giggle.

"So. The Guild. I'd watch my back for them, too. They won't have given up on the contract." She shook her head firmly. "Not in their nature. Not the way they do things. 'specially now they know who and what you are."

Carlos's jaw grew hard. "Let them come. They'll get more of the same."

"That is good attitude. But if I was you, I'd plant a bevy of spies through the land to watch for 'em. They'll be back. Count on it."

[[ Maybe we should start sweeping the area for ill intent again. ]]

[[ Not a bad idea. Morning and evening? ]]

[[ Sounds good. ]]

{{ Well, if you're so set on broadcasting like that, can anybody join the conversation? }}

They stared at her, jaws agape.

{{ What, you didn't know? Isn't that how you knew I was here? }}

Elsa gave herself a mental shake. "You're right. My apologies. That was rude."

"Heh. No more rude than interrupting your fun."

That made their eyes go wide.

"Well," said the old witch as she slowly gained her feet, "I've discovered all I need to. The attack was aimed at you, so you've no blame; the men who carried that curséd thing are dead and gone. It's a shame I've no one on which to vent my spleen." Giving a snort and a shake of her head, she muttered, "Guess I'll have to see about making myself a new house." She bowed. "Your Majesty. Your Grace. I'll see myself out."

"Wait …" Elsa put out a hand.

A cocked eyebrow was Baba Yaga's only response.

"Would you … be able to use a house … of ice?"

"… What?"

"If you think you could get it to work with your kind of magic, I could make you a house to your specifications. It wouldn't take a minute."

"Huh." She rubbed at her scratchy chin. "That's so, ain't it?"

"I'd be honored if you'd let me."

"… Fair enough." She took a few moments to describe what she needed.

"Certainly! That should be no problem at all. Come, come!" In growing excitement, she led them all to the courtyard. There she concentrated briefly and then began construction. True to her word, it was less than a minute until a (brilliant white and somewhat larger) copy of Baba Yaga's Hut stood before them.

The old woman cackled again and rubbed her hands together in delight. "And you say it won't melt?"

"No. It's immune to fire, the temperature inside will always be comfortable for you, and it's significantly harder than steel. It's the same material I built my Defense Stations from."

"Heeheeheehee-heh-heeeeeee! I'm gonna drive this thing through the middle of the Czar's gardens! See if I don't!" She took a moment to connect her magic to the creation's inner workings, whereupon it knelt on its tall, birdlike legs so she could step inside. Before anyone could say 'Arendelle', she was over the wall and out of sight.

. . .

West of Särna, Sweden, Wednesday 22 June 1842, late afternoon

No one who didn't already know the location of the Guild's camp was likely to find it. They were that good.

Sentries stood hidden at the cardinal points, alert to any sound, any presence. The remaining twenty-five assassins stayed in a tight knot around the smokeless fire in the large, camouflaged tent. The evening meal was quickly passed out and just as quickly consumed. Cleaning up took even less time. Now they were hunkered down, going over once more their various options for when they arrived in Arendelle. One of them pulled out a flask, un-corked it, and took a swig. He immediately gagged and spat it out with a curse.

"Vlad? What's wrong?"

"This … this isn't akvavit! This tastes … tastes like … p-" He began vomiting blood and bile; inside a quarter-minute he slumped bonelessly to the ground.

Two of the other men, ones the Khan had placed in leadership roles, pulled long knives, glancing around at the group. The taller one, in a dangerous voice, said, "Whoever poisoned Vlad … this is the wrong time to be trying to advance your rank," at which point his knife curled back and stabbed his wrist. He yelled, staring at the now-viper with its teeth embedded in his flesh before gasping twice and dropping dead.

Full panic ensued.

One man's cloak became a giant bat and smothered him. One's hat grew venomous fangs and plunged them into his eyes. One was using a stump as a chair; as he made to stand, its roots snaked out of the ground, wrapped around his legs, and jerked him under. And on. And on.

The sentries, of course, were by that time already dead, victims of the landscape.

Five of the men had bolted at the first appearance of the viper, grabbed horses, and were riding hard back east, back toward the coast of the inner sea. One looked behind them, and shrieked at the sight of a huge, dead-white thing on long legs rapidly gaining on them. They spurred their mounts on to greater efforts, but in vain. Inside a minute it was among them, stomping and kicking. Their weapons did nothing to it. Soon they were dead.

Inside the Hut, a very old woman cackled to herself. She hadn't had that much fun in decades!

All right, Snow Queen. Now we're even.

. . .

Arendelle Docks, Friday 29 July 1842

Nicolai Petrov was the first man down the gangplank when the Coral Sea moored in Arendelle's harbor. Quickly he rounded up a few of the Watch and with their help had a pair of prisoners frog-marched to the palace.

. . .

"They went all the way to Stockholm?"

Nicolai nodded. "Indeed, Your Majesty. But that was fortunate for me. It was her Norwegian accent that gave her away."

The former assassin had been following various leads across Norway and Sweden for weeks before arriving at the Swedish capitol. A keen facility for observation, a smooth tongue, and plenty of gold (and a couple of situations he would be keeping to himself) had narrowed his search to a three-block area he haunted for a few days before spotting a woman who fit the description Elsa had written down. He followed her back to her house, listened in on a couple of conversations she had with her husband, and then gave his bona fides to the local authorities. The Royal Guard carried out the arrest and arranged for transportation.

Elsa laid a grateful hand on his shoulder. "You did well, Nic."

Bowing low, he murmured, "All in your honor, Lady." The fact she had made herself some new eyes that, by all accounts, worked better than her original equipment merely cemented her place in his pantheon. He was the soul of deference any time he was in her Presence.

Once she'd dismissed him, she and Carlos adjourned to the dungeon for Elsa's chat with Lena and Ole Sigurdsson. The two had been separated for this exercise, and the Queen chose to start with the wife.

Lena sat on the rough bench, her back against the tiny room's corner, tears drying on her cheeks below closed eyes. Elsa and Carlos came and stood before her cell. "Lena Sigurdsson."

The woman drew a ragged breath, but made no other response.

"Mrs. Sigurdsson, did you understand what those kidnappers had planned for me?"

She looked up then, light gray eyes meeting cerulean, and grimaced. "Doesn't matter now, does it?"

"Did you know?"

Her eyelids drooped closed again. The back of her head thumped against the wall. "Less than you deserve. Monster."

Elsa had trouble hiding her shudder at the word, but her husband's arms around her helped. He ground out, "Giving someone up to be blinded, maimed, and tortured to death is more than anyone deserves! And she's no monster! She's the kindest, sweetest, most self-sacrificing-"

"Blinding you didn't 'take', though, did it?" Lena's head rocked forward; she gritted her teeth, her gaze of hatred seasoned with despair. "Monster. Inhuman abomination." She spat on the floor. "I did my best, but it wasn't good enough. You're still here. My sole comfort is knowing you'll spend eternity roasting in Hell."

Carlos retorted, "I think you've got that backwards."

In less than a blink she was pressed against the bars, grabbing impotently at Elsa. "You might have 'em fooled! You might have the whole blighted, blasted kingdom under your thumb! But you don't fool me. I know what you are!"

Taking a couple of calming breaths, Elsa inquired, "And what, exactly, is that?"

"A murdering monster! Ghoul! Murderer!"

Perplexed, and with a frown growing, Elsa asked, "Are you referring to the pirates who died when they attacked Arendelle?" She was reasonably sure this woman wouldn't have known about the time one of Anna's kidnappers died trying to stab her. "They fired on the city! Or do you mean when assassins invaded the castle? That they died in the attempt doesn't-"

"You murdered my Brigid!"

Elsa and Carlos both took a step back from that vehement declaration.

"You murdered her! You murdered Brigid, and you'll kill again! You and your hell-spawned sorcery." She slumped against the bars. "Killed her. You killed her. Murderer. Sorcerous murderer and your damned magic. Killed her."

The royal couple exchanged a glance. [[ I don't think this woman is entirely sane. ]]

[[ Maybe not, but who is this Brigid and how am I supposed to have killed her? ]]

They turned back to Lena. Carlos asked, "When did Brigid die?"

Paying them no heed, she only mumbled, "Murderer. Foul fiend. Damned murderer. Hell spawn. You'll pay, maybe only in God's time, but you'll pay. Murderer."

"I've never murdered anyone! I've never purposely taken innocent life. How do you-"

"IT WAS YOUR STORM KILLED HER!"

Elsa took another step back. Swallowed. Whispered, "… What?"

"Your storm! You jinxed the weather! My Brigid froze to death and its YOUR FAULT! You KILLED her!"

For the last two years Elsa had always assumed – because no one told her different – that there had been no casualties from the Great Freeze. Certainly, the crops never suffered; no one in the city even came down with a cold. She'd felt she had dodged a bullet in that. But apparently not.

Lena sank to the floor, and was back to mumbling her imprecations under her breath.

Carlos guided his shocked wife out of the dungeon.

. . .

Later

Anna's fork made light scraping sounds as she pushed bits of roasted parsnip around her plate. Tonight only she, Kristoff, and Carlos sat to dinner. Elsa had begged off. "So, you went back and talked to … her husband …"

"Ole Sigurdsson," supplied Carlos.

"Right, him. You talked to him by yourself?"

"I did. He was a little more coherent than his wife. Their daughter was twelve at the time. She often took most of her day outside in the forest, hunting, and they didn't worry about her. Supplied most of their meat, she did. Sometimes she spent the night out. She was doing that the night of the coronation ball." He stabbed a bit of sausage with a little more force than was necessary. "They didn't find her until after Elsa lifted the winter."

"… Damn."

Kristoff, frowning, said, "Sounds to me like they're just as much to blame. I don't care how mountain-sure she was, a twelve-year-old girl didn't have any business being outside at night by herself. That's asking for trouble."

"Well, they don't see it that way."

"Obviously."

"Still," offered Anna, "they organized Elsa's kidnapping and … um …"

"Yes," agreed Carlos with a nod. "I'm not interested in their reasons. I'm interested in seeing them hang."

From the doorway came Elsa's voice. "Are you sure that's just?"

He rose and hurried to her side. "I'm glad you decided to join us. Are you feeling better now?"

"No."

"Oh. Um …"

Elsa waved him off. "Feeling 'better' isn't in the cards, I'm afraid." She approached the table. Carlos held her chair for her. She sat. Stared at the various dishes on the table. Sighed.

"Still not hungry, sis?"

… Shrug.

"Need to keep your strength up, though."

The Queen glanced up at her sister (who noted Elsa's eyes were shading toward gray) and sighed again. "Well. You're not wrong." She speared a piece of lamb, cut off a tiny bit, and chewed it slowly.

"El … you know it isn't-"

Kristoff's sudden hand on his wife's arm stopped her declaration. She gave him a funny look. He shook his head.

Elsa swallowed, finally, and took a sip of wine. She stared off at nothing for a moment, then rested her forehead on the back of one hand. "It is my fault. What I'm not sure of is whether it is my responsibility to do anything about it. They broke the law. Repeatedly. If Carlos hadn't found me, I'd be dead by now, and it would be on their shoulders."

"Exactly!" agreed Anna. Enthusiastically.

"But a niggling little voice is telling me they would never have been in this position – at all – if it hadn't been for my, ah, loss of control."

"But-"

"No, Anna. If you follow the chain of 'Why' back to the beginning, it ends with me."

"Or me," insisted the redhead.

"… I beg your pardon? How-"

"I was the one who made you lose control."

Elsa took a deep breath to refute that … then sort of deflated. "It would have happened eventually."

"Because you spent thirteen years trying to stuff your powers into a hole! And whose idea was that? Not yours! If Papa hadn't been so wrong about what Grandpabbie said when-"

"And we get back to the core of the matter. My hurting you with my magic started the avalanche of bad decisions."

"You were eight, Elsa. You weren't old enough to make a bad decision!"

"Ladies?" interjected Carlos, holding up a hand. "If I may?"

They turned to him.

"I think you're looking at this from the wrong angle."

His wife cocked an eye at him. "How so?"

"You're assigning blame where none exists. The situation with the Sigurdssons is a matter of bad timing and circumstance and their own vehemently evil reactions."

[[ But their reactions are understandable from a certain point of view! ]]

[[ Let me finish, please. ]]

She pouted that little pout he found so cute.

Pointing at Kristoff, he said, "You've got a point about them letting her stay out in the forest overnight. But they lived in a relatively safe area, and it had never been an issue before. She had a bow and a long knife and knew how to use them. They trusted her to take care of herself because she'd demonstrated she could." Turning to Elsa, he continued, "Your hitting Anna with your magic was an accident."

"Well, yes, but-"

"Bup-bup-bup! Please?"

She crossed her arms and gave a sharp flick of her fingers to continue.

"Children have accidents. It's a fact of childhood. If Anna, here, hadn't been born with her powers of regeneration, she wouldn't have been present at the coronation ball in the first place because, as noted, children have accidents. She had several; she wouldn't have survived."

That concept gave Elsa a chill.

He concluded, "I don't necessarily believe in Fate, as it is presented in classical literature. I tend to think we have the power to chart our own courses. But sometimes, such as times like these, I think the circumstances dictate our actions more than we would like to admit." He took his wife's hand gently. "There isn't anything you could have done to stop what happened. You had neither the experience nor the information. Finding fault for that fact is an exercise in futility."

Kristoff had been nodding through the last two sentences. "That. What he said. I would have said that, but wasn't sure how to say it. But, yeah, talking about who's at 'fault' is coming at it wrong." He rested his elbows on the table, laced his fingers together, and rested his chin on them. "The Sigurdssons made their own bad choices. They didn't have to. They decided to help some awful men try to kill you. That was their decision, and they'll have to live with … um, that is, die with the consequences."

Elsa stared at him while the silent seconds stretched out. Finally, she heaved yet another long sigh and picked up a soft roll to dab in her gravy. They waited while she chewed and swallowed and took a couple of sips of her wine. "Very well. Turn them over to the Magistrate. But I won't be testifying at the trial."

[[ You won't need to, Dear One. ]]

. . .

Arendelle, Spanish Embassy Monday 8 August 1842

Bren had casually pocketed the tiny slip of paper he'd discovered in the back fence earlier. Now, in the quiet dark, he unfurled it and read the two tiny lines of writing. Then he read them again. Turned the paper over. Examined it from several angles. Read the message once more. Then he flopped back on the hard chair in his cramped room and blew a disgusted sigh. Six months of careful surveillance, chucked down a rat hole. "Ah, well. It's the Khan's will." He began packing what few of his possessions he couldn't do without. He'd need to report in to headquarters in just under three weeks, so traveling light was a must.

In the farrier's garret at the royal stables, Thom was going through the same motions.

Down at the docks, a short, nondescript man with brown eyes and a forgettable face shouldered a small pack and picked his careful way eastward out of the city.

The three agents departed separately, aiming to meet up many leagues east at a predetermined tavern. From there they would travel together into Russia.

It would be more than a month before they learned why they'd been recalled, before they heard the story from the assassin whom the Khan had assigned to follow and check up on the group he'd sent after Elsa. When they had digested all the details of the deaths of that team, they understood why the contract was being voided. The loss was a major blow to the Guild's ranks; they didn't have that many more to lose. Considering that group had contained all but three of the Masters, it would be years before they could rebuild their talent base.

Still, they would from time to time – for the rest of their lives – wonder how Elsa had managed it.

. . .